#and i wanted an excuse to post his pictures (it was either this or 'joel's bare arms - a compilation')

[theflyingfeeling]

Joel sitting on the floor - a compilation

#blind channel #joel hokka #i just have a lot of feelings about joel sitting on the floor 😭💞 #and i wanted an excuse to post his pictures (it was either this or 'joel's bare arms - a compilation') #please everyone look how he folds!! 🥺🤲 #+ bonus niko with a bun! 🥰 #feel free to add more if i missed any good ones #most of these are from joel's ig or the band tiktok #the left one in the 3rd row is from the live they did with the rasmus last year #idk where the photoshoot ones are from sorry 😔

[sillyrabbit81]

Thrill Me, Chill Me

Summary: Your best friend invites you to a The Rocky Horror Picture Show Halloween party. Dressed as Janet you feel a little vulnerable, until you meet the guy dressed as Rocky and then the evening takes an exciting turn.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 5.4k (this was supposed to be a fucking drabble!)

Warnings: fluff, very mild angst, smut, p in v sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), mild dirty talk, a bit of silliness, Sy being a cheeky bastard.

Authors Note: Thanks to @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed for Beta reading.

This fic is a duel request sort of. @cavillsthighs (why can't I tag you) requested a birthday drabble HAPPY BIRTHDAY! (I know I’m posting it early) and we decided on pumpkin carving with smut (she said she didn’t think I could make it smutty!) and on a conversation I had a long time ago with @nashibirne about one of our favourite movies and would Sy dress up as Rocky. So here we are. I hope you enjoy.

Edited by me, there will be errors.

Title comes from the song Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me from The Rocky Horror Picture Show

For those who haven't seen the film I have added a picture in the story of Janet and Rocky.

Masterlist

Thrill Me, Chill Me

As you ring the doorbell, you pull your coat closer. Despite being late October, the night isn’t too cold, and the coat is unnecessary. However, it is necessary to hide your revealing costume. You like dressing up at Halloween, but you aren’t one of those girls who uses it as an excuse to wear something a little revealing. You are more like Cady in Mean Girls, the kind of person who dresses as a zombie or a witch for Halloween instead of a Playboy Bunny.

Tonight, your costume was assigned so you have no choice.

Your best friend’s new boyfriend, Joel, has a themed Halloween party each year. This year he let Carmen decide the theme and of course she chose The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It had been her favourite movie for years. When she told you which costume you had to wear, you were cool with it at first.

“Janet, yeah, I can do that.”

“Well…” Carmen says. “Don’t kill me, but your costume is specifically Janet during the scene she hooks up with Rocky.”

“What? Just the bra and tiny slip?”

“Yeah. But it could be worse! You could have gotten the finale where they all wear corsets and stuff.”

You roll your eyes. “That would only be slightly worse. Who are you going as?”

Carmen grins, “Janet in the finale.”

Giving yourself a shake, you try and wait patiently but your foot taps with nervousness. It’s loud inside and you think they don’t hear you until you hear a booming voice call out, “Want me to get the door?”

Moments later the door opens to one of the largest men you have ever seen in real life. He is dressed as Rocky, only wearing little gold shorts, his whole strong and fit body is on display. You swallow hard, trying not to look at his broad chest, flat stomach with the faintest hint of abs, and most alluring of all is the perfectly placed woolly hair across his pecs and the thicker, darker hair that trails beneath those tiny shorts.

Forcing yourself to look at his face you realise you can’t look there either. Beneath the obvious and tacky blonde wig he wears, he has a thick and a bit unkept beard that can’t hide his handsomeness. And his eyes, bright, blue, and full of roguish intent seem to know exactly what you are thinking. He smiles, you nearly gasp and forget to breathe, you have never felt such an instant lust.

“Hi,” he says. “Come in, let me take your coat.” You are not going to get over this guy, not only was he as attractive as sin, but he also has an accent, a southern drawl that seeps like honey into your brain.

Struggling to find your voice, you clear your throat. “Nah, that’s ok. I’ll leave it on.”

The man crosses his arms and nods seriously. “Well, that means we’ve got a problem here, Sugar.” You barely hold barely supress a moan. He called you Sugar, no one but old ladies at the store have ever called you that, and it never hit you deep in the guts like when he says it. “I’m under strict orders not to let anyone in if they ain’t wearin’ a costume. So, it’s gotta come off.”

Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, you take your coat off and hand it to him, deliberately avoiding his eyes.

“There ya go, Sugar. I’m…” the guy gets interrupted by your screaming friend who quickly envelops you in a hug. She looks amazing with her hair all slicked back, overdone make up, and sexy lingerie.

Carmen tells you you look great and you return the compliment while she drags you down the hall to where all the noise is coming from. As she pulls you away, you turn back to look at the guy. He’s looking at you too. His arms are crossed over his chest again, and his legs are slightly apart. The raw dominance in his stance makes your eyes widen as he smirks at you. You quickly turn away before you are hauled around a corner, your cheeks burning. He’s so hot.

The party is in full swing, and you are introduced around to all the new people. You feel slightly less naked as you see the vast array of costumes and when you see Joel, completely at ease as Frank-n-Furter, you really start to relax.

Carmen knows you well and sticks by your side. She knows you need a bit of time when you meet new people and so she takes you off to the side, handing you a premix drink and you settle together in some chairs.

“So, what did you think of Sy?” Carmen asks.

“I don’t remember you introducing me to a Sy,” you reply, a bit confused.

“I didn’t. He’s the guy who answered the door.”

“Oh,” you say. Feeling heat return to your cheeks. “He seems nice.”

Bursting out laughing she says, “He’s hot right?”

Relieved, you giggle and admit with a tiny squeal, “I know, right?”

Carmen laughs. “He’s single too. Recently retired from the military,” You nod, trying to take it all in as she spills everything she knows. She tells you he’s Joel’s roommate, they’ve known each other since high school, and he seems like a great guy. “Well, except for last night when the two of them got drunk and didn’t finish carving the pumpkins. That’s where he is now, all alone in the kitchen, carving pumpkins. Alone. Single. Hot as fuck.” She wriggles her eyebrows at you.

“So, what you’re trying to say, is that I should go and offer to help?”

“Yeah. Or a hand,” Carmen chortled. “Or a warm, wet…”

“Stop!” You say covering your eyes. “Oh my God! Now that’s all I’m going to think about.”

Sighing you put your head on your knees. What are you thinking? Are you really going to go in there and talk to him? You can’t. What would you talk about?

“Go on. Don’t be chickenshit,” Carmen encourages.

“He’s too hot.”

“I saw the way he was looking at you. He thinks you’re hot too.” Carmen laughs when you turn your head to look at her and she sees the disbelieving look on your face. “Trust me, his eyes…” she waves a hand over her breasts, “he liked, he liked a lot.”

“Oh God.” You cover your face again. “You did this on purpose didn’t you.”

“Yup,” Carmen says brazenly. Then her voice softens as she says, “Just go talk to him. Tell him I told you to see if he needs help. If it’s weird or you don’t like him, just leave.”

Sitting up you look at her, she’s giving you an encouraging smile. Taking a deep breath, you stand. “Ok. I’ll try. Don’t laugh at me if I come running back out here.”

Carmen squeals and claps her hands. “Ooh, I’m excited!” She pats your ass as you walk away. “Go get ‘em tiger.”

“Oh my God,” you shake your head at her. But she’s already bounding away to see Joel.

You have met Joel several times and he seems like a good guy. Surely that’s a good sign, he doesn’t seem the type to be friends with assholes. Maybe this Sy guy will be like him. You square your shoulders, stand up tall and take a deep breath. You can do this, you tell yourself and you step into the kitchen.

Sy looks up when you walk in. You see the tiniest twitch of his brows before he drops his head back to his work. He’s scooping the insides of a pumpkin, the juicy slop going into a large bowl next to him on the island counter in the centre of the kitchen. His bare arms leave nothing to the imagination as his biceps curl and his forearms strain as he scrapes the inside thinning the walls.

“Can I getcha anything, Sugar?” he asks. “Most of the drinks are outside, there’s only beer here.”

“No thanks,” you say, proud of yourself that your voice comes out steady. Sy looks at you again as you hold up your half empty drink. “Carmen sent me to see if you need any help.”

“Did she now?” Sy smirks. Dammit, was it that obvious? “Takin’ pity on me or is she just impatient?”

“She’s impatient,” you reply with a smile.

Sy puts the pumpkin down and reaches for a bottle of beer and brings it slowly to his lips. His eyes rake you shamelessly while he takes a swig. He licks his lips when he’s done and lets out a soft “ah” sound.

“I’m on my last one,” he says, picking up his scoop again. He uses it to point to the stools on the other side of the island bench and gives you his full 1000 watt smile. “Why dontcha take a seat and keep me company while I finish up. Might make this last one a little more bearable.”

Forcing yourself to smile back you take the few steps to the tall stools that sit below the countertop, praying that your knees don’t buckle. The force of his grin is like a sledgehammer, and the worst part is he knows it. You normally feel repulsed by men who know how attractive they are, but something about Sy’s easy nature makes you feel comfortable, like he’s not arrogant or creepy, just a little cocky and secure in himself.

He doesn’t talk straight away, instead works the tool inside the pumpkin for a while. You try and avoid staring at him, but you can’t help it. His brows are low and drawn together as he looks down and you watch as his stomach clenches, shoulders tighten, and his arm flexes as he scrapes. The longer you watch him, the more you can’t stop thinking of the scene in Rocky Horror where Janet and Rocky get together. You want to get up and scream, just like in the song, “Touch me! I want to be dirty!” The thought makes your cheeks feel hot again and you stifle a giggle.

Sy looks up at the noise, and you look away, hoping he doesn’t see the embarrassed look on your face. You can feel his eyes on you as you become very interested in the bowl of fruit at the edge of the counter and you pick up an apple to keep your hands busy. When you think he’s looked away you glance back at him. His eyes are back on his work, and they stay there until he gives a small grunt and starts scooping out more pulp.

“What’s your name?” Sy asks, taking another sip of his beer. You tell him yours and he puts his hand out to shake. “My name’s Sy,” he says as his hand encloses over yours across the table. You notice his gaze quickly drops to your chest before he corrects himself. His lips jerk as his he tries to hold back a smirk when he realises he was caught looking. He doesn’t say anything about it though and goes back to scooping.

“Yeah, I know,” you say, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Carmen told me.”

“You two been friends long?”

“Nearly all my life. Like you and Joel I suppose.”

Sy nods and grabs the bowl of pulp and takes it to the trash. His back is to you, and you lick your lips as your eyes wander down his broad tanned back to his shorts, the tiny tight cloth hiding almost nothing as you can see how thick and tight his ass is. You tear your eyes away and roll the apple over the counter between your hands, so you don’t get caught looking.

“So, have you seen Rocky Horror or will tonight be your first time?” you ask as Sy comes back.

Sy grins and wets the stencil before laying it on the pumpkin. “My older sister loved it. She used to watch it all the damn time.”

Knowing Sy had not only seen the movie but must know it pretty well made you a little jittery. He would know the scene between Rocky and Janet, and the song too. “Really?” you ask, softly.

Standing back from the counter he gestures at his costume, your eyes follow the movements of his arms. Your eyes widen as you notice the not so small bulge in his pants. Jesus Christ, he’s big everywhere.

“You think I just had this lyin’ around. This ain’t my first rodeo, Sugar,” he says laughing.

“You’ve dressed as Rocky before?” you ask, incredulous.

“For some reason my sister’s friends always wanted to drag me to those midnight screenings they do where everyone dresses up and yells shit at the screen.” For a moment you think he’s too arrogant, too full of himself. Then he winks at you, his failed attempt is endearing, and you giggle.

“You’re the hairiest Rocky I’ve ever seen.”

Sy looks a little offended and peers down again. “Do ya think I shoulda shaved my legs?” He looks up at you smirking.

You laugh openly, despite feeling a little embarrassed. “You know what I mean, Sy,” you whine.

Rubbing his beard he says, “No way I’m getting’ rid of this bad boy.”

“It does suit you.”

He looks at you, his expression is one you can’t read. “You like it, huh?” his rumbling tone gives you a clue as to what the look on his face might mean.

“It suits you,” you repeat. You start to roll the apple over the table again. You hear Sy chuff, then he starts to carve the pumpkin, his fast sawing motions make his muscles ripple again. You roll the apple faster.

“Shit,” Sy says. His bottom lip is pulled into his mouth, and he sticks his hand into the pumpkin, trying to poke out the part he just carved. “I hate when it gets stuck, don’t you?”

“I’ve never carved a pumpkin before,” you tell Sy.

“Never?” You shake your head. Sy does too, “Unbelievable. Come ‘ere and have a turn.”

“Ok.” You go around and stand in front of the pumpkin and Sy stands behind you. His arms cover yours. “Now, whatcha wanna do is grab that little saw blade,” you take it and Sy wraps his hand around yours, “and gently push in ‘n out in a sawing motion. No need to hack at it or use much force.” You feel his breath on your ear and his voice drops lower and he seems to emphasise his drawling, seductive tone. “Just smooth rockin’ motions, in ‘n out.”

“Does this normally work?” you ask, turning your head to look at him. You assume it does, it is definitely working for you, but you aren’t going to let him know that.

“What do you mean?”

“Do girls really fall for this bullshit?”

Sy chuckles softly. “What? You tellin’ me this ain’t workin’ for ya?” You shake your head grinning. Sy frowns slightly to cover his amusement and raises his eyebrows. “Ok. Ok. How ‘bout I try somethin’ else, and you tell me if it’s workin’ for ya?”

“Ok,” you reply, trying to hold back your excitement.

Lifting his fingers to your chin he guides your face so it’s looking forward again. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs. You bite your lip, you feel like you’re trembling, wondering what he’s going to do. You grab hold of the counter, the anticipation is killing you.

You gasp as you feel the rough pads of his fingers on the side of your hip, his touch is as light as a feather as they slowly ascend. Goosebumps break out over your belly and arms as he glides up your waist and over your ribs, while this other hand leaves your chin and rests gently on your throat.

“How’s that workin’ for ya baby?”

Dropping your head against his shoulder you smile. “No good,” you murmur, teasingly.

Sy grumbles, but you can hear his laughter. His hand tightens on your waist, squeezing as he pulls your hair back and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his breath is hot as he asks, “How’s this?”

“Still nothing,” you say.

“You’re such a liar,” Sy accuses playfully as his teeth sink gently into your neck. Your hips move slightly, you can’t stop them, and you feel Sy press his body closer to yours. “Anything, baby?”

“Maybe a slight tingle,” you concede.

“Hmm,” Sy hums. His teeth sink deeper, his hips press against you until your forced against the counter and you can feel him rutting his hardening cock against your ass. He feels so big, you wonder if those little shorts can contain him. You push your hips back into him, and you hear him groan into your neck.

Sy’s hand leaves your waist, and his fingertips trace the curve of your breasts. You let out a ragged sigh and he turns your head to his. “Open your eyes,” he demands. You do, and you stare straight into his. They are narrow, dark, and full of fire. You bite your lip to hold back a moan, and his eyes are drawn to the movement. He licks his lips, you let yours go, he leans closer, and you close your eyes.

Sy’s kiss is strong, confident, there’s no hesitation as his lips move over yours. You let yourself be drawn into his kiss, going with him, meeting his movements with your own. His hand covers your breast, softly palming you and you feel him press himself harder against you. Aware that you weren’t exactly in a private place, you pull away and Sy removes his hands and rests them softly on your upper arms.

“Too much?” Sy asks, gently rubbing his hands over you. The feeling of the hardened skin of his palms is nice and you sigh.

“No,” you say and Sy grins leaning in to kiss you again. As much as you don’t want to, you pull back and his brows furrow in confusion. “Anyone could walk in Sy.”

Sy’s face relaxes as he understands. He grins wolfishly. “My room has a lock on it.”

“Oh my God,” you laugh. “This escalated quickly.”

Shrugging, Sy kisses your neck, trailing wet kisses up until his teeth nibble on your earlobe. You giggle as his beard and warm breath tickles. “I’m just offerin’ a solution to your problem,” he whispers in your ear.

“What would we do in your room, Sy?” you ask feeling breathless. God, he kisses so well, and he is so seductive, you don’t plan on saying no but you don’t want to appear too eager.

“Whatever you want to do, baby,” he says simply. “We could keep doin’ this, or we could do somethin’ more, or we could just hang out and talk. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t have a preference?” you ask.

Sy growls and rubs against you. “Oh, I have a preference, sugar,” he says, his voice is full of cheek.

“I can tell,” you grin. You turn and face him putting your arms around his neck. He looks you up and down, his hungry look makes you feel hot, desirable, and electric. “Where’s your room.”

“I’ll take you there,” Sy smirks. He pulls your little shift up and wraps his hands around your thighs and lifts you onto his waist. You yelp in surprise, then giggle as he starts walking you to his room, already burying his face into your cleavage. “Fuck, you’ve got nice tits,” he groans.

Still laughing you lift his head off your breasts. He looks up at you with a big grin. “Sy that tickles!” you whine.

With a growl he bounces you in his arms then squeezes your thighs, his strong fingers dig into your flesh. “You’re fuckin’ cute when you giggle, baby.” You must be in his room because he closes the door with his foot then turns pushing you against it. He presses his chest into you, holding you there and you hear a lock click.

Your laughter made you breathless and now you can feel adrenaline pumping through your veins. You see his chest puffing too as you look at each other. You’re alone, you can’t be disturbed, but Sy holds you against the door. His hands are still on your thighs, his fingers now softly caress the sensitive skin just below your ass, but other than that he doesn’t move. For a moment you’re confused, then you realise from his open and undemanding smile, he’s waiting for a sign from you.

With fingers trembling with hot blood, you put your hand on the back of his neck and bringing him closer you kiss him. He kisses you back instantly but does nothing to deepen the kiss, as if for the moment he’s seems content to let you take the lead. You want more though, and you let your tongue lap at his lips and with a rumble from his chest he parts them for you.

Without breaking your kiss, Sy carries you to his bed, laying you on top of the blanket. He covers you with his body, and you let your hands roam, moving over his back, and down his sides to his shorts. With your heart thundering in your chest, your grab his ass pulling him closer and you feel him hard as he presses himself against your core. Your centre throbs as he moves against it, clenching, aching, feeling so maddeningly empty.

“I’m thinkin’ about all the things I want to do you, baby.” You look between you, and you can see the tip of his cock poking out the top of his shorts. You swallow hard, he’s bigger than you thought, thicker, and you wonder what he would feel like inside you.

“What do you want to do to me, Sy?” you ask.

Lips twisting into a near snarl, he leans over you again, and growls into your ear. “I want to touch you here.” You gasp as you feel his hand cup your pussy, the thin silky material of your panties doesn’t stop the heat from his palm reaching your drenched core. “I want to taste you,” he says, and you feel him pull your panties to the side.

“Oh God…” you murmur as the pads of his fingers part you and slide over your hidden skin.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice is almost shuddering. You feel a slight pressure as one of his fingers slips into you. “Oh hell,” he says, his voice half a laugh, half a groan. “Fuck, your cunt is so warm and tight. Then I want to put my cock here,” his free hand comes up to your mouth and his thumb brushes over your lips. You take it in your mouth, your eyes on his and you watch his nostrils flare as you suck on his thumb. “Shit baby, yeah. Just like that. Then, I want to fuck you.”

Your eyes flutter shut, Jesus, just his words take you close to your peak. Your body feels like its trembling, your heart pumping so hard you can feel it’s rapid tattoo everywhere, but your brain feels like mush, weak, stupid and lust crazed.

The heels of your feet dig into the mattress as he moves down your body leaving wet kisses over your breasts and belly. He takes his time, keeping you writhing by slipping a second finger inside you and slowly pumping them. Nestling between your legs, he uses his free hand to pull your panties away more, allowing him to see more of you.

You feel his breath roll over your clit and a tremor ripples up your spine. You hear Sy chuckle, and you look down at him alarmed pulling your legs together. He uses his shoulders to keep your legs open. “Don’t do that baby. I ain’t laughin’ at you. You’re perfect. I just like seein’ you shiver with antici…”

Your eyes go wide, he’s not going to say it is he? He pauses, smirking and you start to smile.

“… pation.”

You laugh and so does he. “Oh my God!” you giggle.

Chuckling, Sy says, “Keep those legs open for me, baby.” Closing his eyes, he drops his head, and you feel him remove his fingers before quickly replacing them with his tongue. He groans, you can barely hear his mumbled curses. “Fuck me, you taste so fucking sweet.”

Throwing an arm over your eyes you lean back and let Sy take his fill. He is good, so good, you know you aren’t going to last long. He seems to know it and teases you, licking and sucking on your folds inching far too slowly to where you need him.

“Please,” you cry. “Please, Sy.”

“Hmm,” Sy hums. “No need to beg baby, I’ve got you.” And his mouth latches over your clit, putting you out of your misery. He gently sucks you into his mouth, his tongue rolling over you, bring you closer to the edge with every soft flick.

Sy’s fingers slide easily inside you, you’re so wet with your arousal and his saliva, there is nearly no resistance. He hums against you as he fucks you, hitting your spot over and over. Your feel your body tighten, every part of you screams for a release of tension and when you come undone the blissful wave of euphoric heat makes you sink low into the mattress panting. You jerk your hips and push Sy away, too sensitive even for his soft kisses on your still shaking thighs.

Sy stops, realising you need a few moments and undresses you, pulling your wet panties off, then your slip, before rolling you to your side, unclipping your bra and sliding it down your shoulders. You feel a little exposed, but as soon as you are undressed, he gets to his knees and takes his shorts off too, leaving you feeling less vulnerable. You bite your lip as Sy reveals himself, relighting the fire in you that you thought your orgasm had doused.

Like a moth to a flame, you crawl to him, your gaze flicking from his cock to his face. You feel a wave of power rush over as his eyes widen. You look at him while you lick your lips, and he sucks in a breath, uttering a curse as your hand wraps around him.

You smirk as you lay a soft kiss on him, your lips barely brushing the throbbing head of his cock. Sy’s eyes don’t move from yours as your tongue flicks out, giving him a playful little lick. He growls, his eyes narrow as he pushes your hair from your face, gathering it in his hand. He pulls your hair gently, stretching your neck until you’re straining, looking up at him.

“Open your mouth,” his voice is rough, gravelly, and harsh as he commands you. You feel your core clench as his fingers glide over your cheek, an unexpectedly tender touch. You open your mouth slowly, and his hand leaves your cheek and covers your hand that’s holding him. You feel the silky skin of his cock against your lips, and he slips himself into you and you wrap your lips around his thick velvety shaft. He seems to know how big he is and doesn’t force himself too deep as he starts to guide your head up and down.

You watch as Sy’s brows draw together, his jaw tightens, and he starts to grunt with each breath. “Fuck, you look so fuckin’ hot.” He’s getting close, his eyes shut, and he groans, “And your mouth is so fuckin’ good.” With a growl he pulls you off him. His lips crush into yours, and he uses his kiss to force you back onto the bed. He hooks his arms under your knees and with a jerk pulls you close to him.

Sy pulls away and you see him quickly fit a condom over himself before he lays back over you. He slides his cock over your slit, lining himself up, holding a hand around the base of his cock, keeping his position. His eyes find yours and you see the question in them. You don’t give him the chance to ask if you’re ready, you nod desperately, pulling his mouth back to yours with a moan. You hear his soft rumble as he pushes inside you. He’s hardly past the head and you feel stretched nearly to your limit. You can tell he’s trying to go slowly, let you get used to his size and you’re grateful, but you’re also impatient. You want him now, you want to feel full, and you want him to ruin you.

Mewling as he kisses you, his hips rock slowly until you feel his body meet yours. He fills you just shy of the point of pain, and it feels electric. His kisses move to your neck as he starts to move within you and your hands wrap around his chest, feeling his surging back as his thrusts get harder and faster. “Fuck sugar, you’re takin’ me so well.”

Your hands paw at him, holding him tighter and as you catch his rhythm, you move with him. The sensation of his powerful body moving beneath your hands is so erotic, you can’t stop touching him. His back, his ass, his shoulders, his arms, the muscles rippling under his skin feels so good.

Sy hovers his face over yours, and he grins as you smile at him. He leans his forehead against yours and says, “You feel so good, baby.” You put your hand on his neck and bring your mouth to his.

“So do you,” you mumble before you press your lips to his. He groans into your mouth as you feel his rhythm start to increase, his strokes become shorter.

Suddenly he lifts his head and his hand goes to your hip, holding you still as you feel him push deep within you. His eyes close and his mouth opens. “Fuck!” he shouts. You watch as his body tightens, and he lets out a guttural groan. He pulls back and slams into you again, and again until his head drops back onto yours. He lays there a moment, breathing deeply, his eyes slowly open and meet yours.

His hand leaves your hip and rests on the side of your neck. He looks at you for so long you start to feel embarrassed and look away. He chuckles when you do and kisses your cheek. “You’re real cute, you know that?”

You don’t know if he expects an answer, so you hum noncommittally. He chuckles again and rolls of you before getting up and pulling a pair of sweats on. He goes to the door opens it a little, peeking through. He turns to you and grins.

“Stay there, I’ll be back in a minute.” And then he disappears.

Alone in his room, you look around for the first time. The first word that comes to mind is spartan. There is a tv with a playstation and a small laptop, but the only real decoration was a signed poster of Pantera and a full bookshelf. You go to the shelves and have a look. You smile as you run your finger over the spines of the fantasy books, you had read most of them, you had not expected that. The rest of the books were non-fiction, history books mainly, some biographies. You bite your lip, suddenly feeling like an intruder alone in his space and start to gather your clothes, getting dressed as you go.

When you’re dressed, you pace the room. He’s been gone a long time and you start to worry. Maybe you shouldn’t be here when he gets back. Maybe, he’s waiting for you to leave. You slip on your shoes and are about to leave when you hear him at the door.

“Can ya open the door for me Sugar, my hands are full.”

Opening the door, he slides past you, kissing your cheek as he goes. Your eyes widen when you see the bottles of beer, the bottles of the same premix you were drinking earlier and a bag of chips and dip. He puts the bottles on the bedside table and sits on the bed, resting his back against the headboard.

“What…” you start.

He shrugs. “I thought we might hang out here for a while. Maybe have that chat I offered earlier.”

You blink, you hadn’t expected this. A little stunned, you don’t answer for a moment and then you see he notices that you’re dressed.

“Or we can go back to the party, if that’s what you want.”

Slowly you smile and shake your head before climbing onto the bed sitting cross legged next to him. He hands you a drink returning your smile and clinking his bottle against yours. “Cheers,” he says.

“Cheers,” you reply.

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[rainbow-spiral]

Crescendo

Vanessa had a problem.

She had somehow forgotten—well, no.  These days, when Vanessa forgot something, she virtually always knew who to blame.  Somehow, naming no names, she had ended up wearing the wrong panties to work.

They were the red backless ones.  Vanessa happened to think that she looked magnificent in them, but they weren’t the sort of underwear you wear to work.  Especially since, like so many of Vanessa’s underwear, they had a special effect attached.

These were the underwear that turned Vanessa up slowly.  She didn’t notice it at first.  Hadn’t noticed it at first.  She had come to work, said hello to Shawna on her way in, and settled into her routine of making processing patients’ files.  The computer was being its usual recalcitrant self.  Tech support said that the new portal would make things so much easier, streamline the entire process.  Tech support, as usual, were lying dogs, and Vanessa would almost have preferred to work with manila folders and paper charts.

At least she had her own office.  Some of the things that she got up to would have been very difficult without her own office.

At around eight fifteen, she noticed that she was slightly aroused, and immediately suspected Joel.  Just so you know, she texted him, I have a meeting at nine.

I know, Joel texted back, after about two minutes.  You told me.

Oh.  So it was like that.

Joel wasn’t going to get Vanessa fired.  For one thing, they needed both incomes—mortgage and everything, just like people who enjoyed adulting and didn’t behave like horny teenagers every time they were alone.

Joel wouldn’t mind making things very, very uncomfortable for Vanessa, though.

At eight thirty, the arousal was growing.

At eight forty, she found her hands creeping towards her crotch, and snatched them back.

At eight forty-five, she stood up to stretch because she couldn’t sit still anymore, and realized what the problem was.  The backless panties.  The slow acceleration panties.  The panties that Joel would have her put on at seven, right after supper, and then strategically neglect her until she was helplessly humping his leg at nine.  Joel was remarkably good at his MMORPGs; he could make strategy decisions on the fly with someone rubbing up and down him and begging in a whisper for him to sink his dick into her.  Vanessa sometimes wished that Joel was less good at his MMORPGs.  At the very least, he seemed to schedule his raids for the damnedest times.  Or maybe he scheduled her for the damnedest times.

That wasn’t the point.  The point was, she was stuck trying to cope with these things.  And the delicious need between her legs.  And the fact that she was squirming in her seat, wishing for Joel’s cock, or Joel’s tongue, or her little flower-embossed butt plug, or anything down there to give her some sensation to go with the arousal.  That was one part of being a hypnotized mind-slut that she hadn’t counted on: the wide variety of ways that she could be aroused without a touch, without a sensation, with nothing but her mind to make her squirm.

It made her so incredibly wet.  Or maybe that was the panties.

How was she supposed to hold out?

Maybe she could text Joel and persuade him to give her an orgasm around lunch time, take the pressure off and start the slow climb again.  Joel could be stingy with the orgasms when the mood took him, but surely, surely he would understand that she couldn’t last a day like this.

First, though, she had that meeting.

Vanessa was skilled at meetings.  Which was to say, she was skilled at pretending to be interested when people were telling her things she already knew, and it was a good thing that she already knew them, because God, oh, God, her panties were so wet, and her fingers were right there, and—

She had images of starting to masturbate right in front of all these men.  Shocking them, yes, but also arousing them.  What would they do, if they knew she was a mind-slut, if they knew that she spent half her evenings deeply hypnotized and the other half following some sexual suggestion?  What would they do if she threw her head back and moaned?  What would they do if they knew about the raw, aching need between her legs?

Something different than droning on about a bar graph.  Probably.  Maybe.  Possibly their natural state was droning about bar graphs.

Dr. Bharucha wasn’t shutting up.  Dr. Bharucha wasn’t shutting up, and Vanessa needed to get back to her office so that she could writhe the way she wanted to, so that she could text pictures of her dripping pussy to Joel and plead with him to make her come, so that she could—

The clock’s hand hit nine thirty, and Vanessa abruptly remembered that she could just take the panties off.

“Excuse me,” she gasped out.  “I think—maybe something I ate—excuse me.”  And she dashed from the room.

In the bathroom, stuffing the red panties into her purse with a certain feeling of regret, she realized that she had just texted Joel.  Numbers.  A time.

Mean, she texted.

Definitely, Joel agreed, adding a smiley face.  Because next time, we’re going to see if you can beat your personal best.

My buymeacoffee link!

A reminder: if you go to my Pencils in the Margin  page and donate any amount of money to Black Lives Matter or similar  charities (there’s a long list) I will either write you a new story or read out a fic that I’ve already written.  If  you donate a larger amount of money, I will write you a new fic and post an audio file.  Here is an example of my voice.

#hypnosis #male dom #female sub #joel/vanessa #fiction #my fiction

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations ADDISON! You’ve been accepted as EPIMETHEUS with a FC change to JOEL KINNAMAN.

When writing Tierney’s skeleton, I tried to hint at how his emotions are something that can rule him - and you picked up on that right away. In fact, you picked up on it, wrapped it, and delivered it to us with a backstory that tore at my heart as the bow. ‘Had he always been a mutant?’ God, the way his power was discovered hit me in the face and I loved it. The theme of taking care of his family is one that I’m excited to see translate to the Blackburn Syndicate. I can’t wait to see Tierney flex his big dumbass energy on the dash! 

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information:

NAME/ALIAS: addison/hellsign

PRONOUNS: she/her/hers.

AGE: 20

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST, uhhhh activity level….6

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Tierney Sinclair, FC: Joel Kinnaman

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cismale, he/him/his

DETAILS & ANALYSIS: 

To sum him up, BDG - big dumbass energy. But anyway:

Tierney (Irish): lord’ or ‘master

With names like these, at age 40, why the hell was he just a hitman, a tool for other people to use? Like every man when close to power, he should want that power, right? With Tierney, I think that was the last thing he wanted. Let me explain.

The only time he ever came close to being a “lord” or a “master” was taking care of his brothers growing up. Not that he would ever demanded them to call him that, it wasn’t some kind of title he would’ve liked to keep since it never felt like he ruled over them. Power equated to responsibility and he was a boy forced to become a man. He does not trust himself with power, he doesn’t know what he’ll do with it. Being a hitman is simple. He can clearly see the line between success and failure and he knows what it takes to achieve both. That’s where he gets his comfort. Some people may perceive this as laziness. But Tierney had been alive for 40 long years now. It was about time things became easy.

Epimetheus (Greek): afterthinker, hindsight, foolish Sinclair (Scottish): pure, renowned, illustrious

“red eyes” “always with malice” “burn of whiskey” “rusty pipe…whole world a show”

Why was he so EMOTIONAL??? Perhaps, he was a fool because he was ruled by anger. I thought I had more thoughts than just this, but yeah, he’s just an emotional man showing signs of intermittent explosive disorder.

BIO:

TW: murder/death

Dallon Sinclair was a good cop turned dirty. It was the sort of thing that happens when you knock up your mutant informant. Katelyn Monroe never wanted this baby, but she wasn’t about to die getting rid of it either. At one point, what they had between them was love. This was that one point.

Regardless of the gun pointing to his head, Dallon sworn to protect Katelyn and his unborn child. But his tenure in the depths of the underworld didn’t last very long. After a close shoot-out, Dallon came home and begged Katelyn, please, let me marry you, let us get out of here. Her boss didn’t like that very much.

When Tierney first opened his eyes, the world was a bright flashlight. He was born in the back of a car, seats pushed down with sheets thrown on haphazardly. A night in July, new moon in the sky enveloping the world in darkness. Nothing spectacular about it. Later on, his mother would tell him the story of a car chase, screeching wheels, leaving flames in their wake. He would never remember it.

Here was what he knew: his father was a paranoid old fuck; his mother was a fleeting apparition; his brothers were the only ones worth anything. He would die for them. Really un-fucking-fortunate that he wound up killing for them instead.

Katelyn Monroe came back into their lives like a raging hurricane.

Look, Tierney was only a Sinclair through blood, never by meaning. All that fucking purity shit that was supposed to come with it, circumstance never allowed it. They lived on the outskirts of Chicago’s underbelly and he dove right in to provide for his brothers whenever his father would swan dive back into his own darkness. Fucking faster than going to college somewhere and getting a good job. Tierney fought for money. He scammed for money. He robbed for money. He had a damn line. But somehow, holding Keaton and Charlie in his arms, he couldn’t remember why he had it in the first place. She wasn’t going to take from them anymore.

Katelyn Monroe lied motionless, blood soaking the wood under her. Dallon Sinclair hung like an ornament, his head secured in the wall. The floating glass didn’t fall until Tierney collapsed to his knees.

That was the first time Tierney was aware of his powers. The second was later that night, floating his parents’ bodies into the graves hastily dug under the new moon. Now that he was a mutant (shit, had he always been a mutant?), more doors opened and more questions were asked. There were several syndicates for mutants in Chicago, but Blackburn caught his eye. Protection. And fuck, Tierney knew enough to know that he’d be way over his head to think he could do this on his own now (shit, had he always been a mutant?). Using his connections from the neighborhood fighting ring, he got some names and a way in. And the rest was history.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

Okay, for CIARA SAWYER, I first noticed how young they were which gave me some pseudo-sibling vibes. They’re around his brothers’ age so I totally see Tierney taking them under his wing when they were younger. To Ciara, Tierney is why they still have a job within and outside of the syndicate. The two already work well together, but I think Tierney would’ve sought Ciara out even if they didn’t and make sure they learn how, projecting onto Ciara to cope with his failed relationships with his brothers. Ciara’s power is invisibility, but I also think personality-wise, they prefer to be unknown, or at least, try to be unknownable (“[Tierney doesn’t] ask too many prying questions” —so they prefer him). For whatever reason, they trust Tierney to see them and that means more to Tierney than he’ll ever say.

As for GERRARD BERMUDEZ!!!!!

“They have moral differences that clearly set them apart, but the similarities that they share are what makes Tierney hate them the most… What bothers them is how they notice the barely contained anger sitting behind their eyes because they’ve seen it too many times in their own mirror.”

DIFFERENCES:

Gerrard Bermudez: Jem Family, goals of a Mutant Supremacy.

They don’t kill/torture though.

Scare-tactic, bruiser

Doubles as a bodyguard when unassigned to a mission.

Hyperion - “God of Watchfulness, Wisdom and the Light”

1. One of the titan children that overthrew their father 2. Profitor on Cornerstone Convenience 3. No rules

Tierney Sinclair: Blackburn Syndicate, with a focus on being a safe haven, not necessarily political

Hitman - kills (+ malice = murder)

Epimetheus - “afterthinker, hindsight, foolish”

1. No positive trait for humans

I think it’s kind of ironic that despite being in different groups with very different goals, they are more closely aligned with each other’s organization.

The Blackburn Syndicate, for the past 17 (excuse me, SEVENTEEN) years, has been trying to shed its reputation as a crime-ridden mob. Here’s the thing though. Tierney is a hitman, he kills people but oh it’s okay because he’s one of the good guys. His anger feeds into a motive of justice. Gerrard is all bark and no bite, hiding under the Jem Family because of fear. Their anger is selfish and unproductive. Chaotic for the sake of chaos. That’s what Tierney believes anyway. To him, Gerrard is a victim that wants to be a school bully. Seeking revenge instead of avenging. In his post, his history with Gerrard “has long been forgotten.“ With Gerrard, their history is constantly brought up with snide remarks and an upturned nose. Tierney lies to himself because how can their history be forgotten when he can always feel it looming over him every time he’s in the same room with Gerrard? I think whatever happened between them solidified their morals and had them join different organizations with different goals. And it eats at Tierney to be so close to Gerrard—thanks to the treaty—but yet, they’re still lost to him. (This may change since I’m coming at this with the headcanon that the two were friends… not to god-mod Gerrard or anything). So really this hatred stems from heartbreak. (Tierney is a Cancer, of course).

AND LIKE… NOT TO GOD-MOD GERRARD OR ANYTHING, but if I were to hate Tierney, it’d be because of his hypocrisy and self-delusion. It’s like… what you do is bad but when I do it, it’s okay because I’m better than you. Which, bullshit. So I’m really interested to explore that.

EXTRA:

Honestly, the idea of Tierney having brothers stems from me thinking all white men look the same. I see one picture of Joel Kinnaman and I’m like is this Luke Mitchell?? Anyway, CHARLIE - Luke Mitchell, KEATON - Ross Lynch.

Okay, let me just get my family headcanons out of the way first.

Tierney’s oldest memory was of his little brother. He was six years old, eyes wide with wonder, with his hands reaching out for the warmth of his brother. They weren’t in a car this time. The Sinclairs finally had a house with a dining table, though the sheets might have been the same. Tierney wasn’t the first one to hold Charlie in his arms, but he was the first Sinclair to do so.

Tierney had his father, but Charlie had Tierney. And with those six years between them, Tierney always felt like Charlie was his.

Charlie, when he was younger, couldn’t pronounce Tierney so he called him Ernie.

Tierney used to walk Charlie home from school. Waited outside and everything because he got out earlier.

Being six years apart, they were never in school together so he had to teach Charlie how to fight so people wouldn’t mess with him.

Charlie never did like fighting though. And Tierney wasn’t above picking on kids so they’d leave his brother alone.

That was how he got a rep as a bully.

But if he liked you, he’d protect you too.

He got higher grades on the homework he did with Charlie because Charlie would ask him to explain everything and make him think through shit.

But usually he would do them during homeroom on the days they were due.

Tierney THINKS his powers activated on that fateful day, but really he’s had them this whole time and never fucking noticed.

It’s not that he’s good at finding things. He just subconsciously moves them closer.

He was able to hold Charlie because of his telekinesis. Charlie didn’t float because Tierney wanted to hold him in his arms.

At Fight Club, he expected to win with his punches and kicks, so he did.

Tierney had his fists locked by his side, but his mom flew out the door because he wanted it more.

He couldn’t join the Jem family because his father wasn’t a mutant and he had loved Katelyn, who was, and protected his family, who were. He couldn’t join the Jem family because his mother was a mutant and she hurt them more than anybody else.

Remember how I said that his connection with Ciara was to make up for his failed relationships with his brothers?

Charlie had a fiancé who was actually working for a small org that wanted to test mutation implementation (and Charlie were to be one of their victims). Tierney found out and mentally manipulated him to feel sick and disgust whenever he was with Charlie so they’d break up. Charlie found out that Tierney did that (but not the reason why).

Keaton never felt close to Tierney (mostly because of the age gap) and growing up, Tierney was mostly away working for the syndicate (not that Keaton knew that). Also, Charlie told him what happened and honestly fuck Tierney.

Tierney’s favorite color is yellow.

He never falls first, but he falls the hardest.

I mostly listened to THIS while writing this app. To me, it represents Tierney’s softness but also his desire to keep everybody at far more than arms’ length.

ANYTHING ELSE: 

ok i was never into mob/mafia rpgs but i’m so FASCINATED by the premise of mutantsrising anyway anyway i’m super pumped for it. i would apologize for sending in like 2k of analysis but i know yall live for this soooo YOURE WELCOME i hope i did well and this MAKES SENSE I’VE NEVER CONNECTED SO HARD WITH AN OLD MAN

#accepted #accepted: epimetheus

[saltandstranger]

Slow Down You Crazy Child

Unblocking the block

Hmmm. Imagine there's a thousand puzzle pieces all laid down in front of you. On the side, you have the picture of what the finished product is supposed to look like, but you can't seem to figure out which piece to lay down first. So for the sake of starting, you take one puzzle piece, put it down, then take it out again because you feel like it's not the right piece. You start over. This time, you carefully mull over the piece you're going to be laying down. You've got a couple of options, you check the picture, try to figure out the color patterns, shapes, and sizes to somehow build a strategy, but you still can't seem to figure it out. You're frustrated but motivated at the same time.

Somehow, this is what a writer's block looks (feels?) like. (Insert 5-day gap right here)

I began writing this post nights ago while I was on a jeepney ride home. And I was trying to finish this up just while coincidentally I am, again, on a jeepney ride home. Obviously, I wasn't able to meet said [internal] deadline hence here I am lying down on my bed at 00:05 AM on a Saturday getting it done!! I lost some of the words I intended to write down so I'm having to fumble around for new ones to try to recollect my thoughts. Where was I again? Oh yeah, still here tryinta write about how to unblock this writer's block!

So I'm going to tackle this like it's a science project in essay form. Haha. In my own opinion and personal experience, a writer's block... Sucks! It's counterproductive and frustrating, but motivating when dealt with correctly.

So, I've looked into my personal writer's block moments and here are a couple of reasons (theories perhaps?) of why this phenomenon phenomenates (is that even a word? If not, it should be) and some tips to counter it.

1) Excuses

This could be very broad but I'm just going to throw it all here. Lots of excuses escape our system: "I don't have time to write", "I don't know where to start", "I can't write right now, I'm hungry", "I have other things to do", "I'm not that equipped", "I don't think I can do it." Excuses ekshmyuses (Sa tagalog, excuses mo mukha mo).

I get it, believe me I do because this is prolly my top reason for my writer's block. It's so easy to put off writing because it's something that you can do "during your free time" but what if- WHAT IF instead of writing to kill time or writing during your free time, you free your time to write? I think you've got to view writing as more than just a hobby or activity. It's essential to your sanity. It's essential to the advancement of the plan of God because yes, mmhmm, your writing has a purpose much greater than you can imagine because, to put it simply, words have power. This "hobby" can actually change lives if you really think about it.

And if your excuse is that you're afraid, then by all means just do it afraid. Hey, if fear is not an issue (and it's not, trust me), ask yourself this- how would you begin? See, your greatest critic sometimes is your own self... Be patient with yourself Patience is one of the secrets of your growth process as a writer and as a person altogether.

You can make up a lot of excuses, but none of them will get you anywhere near the starting line let alone the finish line. So scratch out all the items that are hindering you from starting, continuing, and completing the work.

2) Exhaustion

I think the number one enemy of inspiration is exhaustion. This is one of the easiest traps to fall into, but it's also one of the quickest to beat.

It should be instinctive for us to rest when the first blows of exhaustion kicks in, but in a fast-paced world, we could sometimes push ourselves to the limit until exhaustion turns to emotional exasperation. You've got deadlines, but also a family to feed, chores to complete, et cetera... And the next thing you know, you are having a creative breakdown because you're tired and stressed out emotionally and physically. There's only one formula for this: TOTAL REST.

Go on. Go somewhere you've never been to. Go someplace familiar and comforting to you. Rest but remember: don't isolate yourself. And I'm not just talking about physical rest (which is of no lesser importance nonetheless). But there's a rest that you can experience, one which you can never exhaust- and that's resting on God's Grace.

P.S. Take it easy on the caffeine- sometimes, it ain't even helping anymore. Take a day off. In the words of Billy Joel, "Slow down, you crazy child. It's alright you can afford to lose a day or two..."

3. Expectations

Here's where it gets tricky. Expectations can either move you or limit you; build momentum or stop it and it all depends on how you handle pressure. Oftentimes, expectations could put unnecessary pressure on you and that could be because of performance anxiety (kinda like stage fright). Worrying about what people think is counterproductive. Yes, I get that we aim to be excellent; We want to be and we should. But when impressing people becomes a priority over creating something that will impact and inspire them, then you might need a change of perspective. Remember, aim for Godly excellence, not worldly perfection.

Dear writer/creative person/any human being on planet earth, just be yourself (though careful that this doesn't become an excuse to settle... I think that's for another write up). Be who you are created to be. No one else can do you. When expectations (either internal or external) become the wall you hit, look up. See that you have an audience of One. You're not performing. As long as you are alive and breathing, you're bound to make honest mistakes along the way and that's okay!

And hey, from my personal experience, the best way to learn how to handle expectations is simply just to understand that it's [not in your own strength] for it is God Who is all the while effectually at work in you [energizing and creating in you the power and desire], both to will and to work for His good pleasure and satisfaction and delight. -Philippians 2:13

So there. Excuses, exhaustion, and expectations are some of the reasons why I personally experience writer's block. This could be relevant to you too. If you're feeling like you're stuck, not just creatively speaking, but even about life in general know that you are never alone! You can overcome. There is hope. And there is always fresh Grace and fresh strength for you to keep on going, creating, writing, designing, dancing, leaping, living, and breathing.

[akechi-kikyou]

Long Goodbye: Chapter 4

AN: Two posts in one night!  I will never accomplish this again. Also, I have decided that Genji is a precious cinnamon roll that needs to be protected from Hanzo.

When Hanzo reached the lobby, he looked around before spotting who he was looking for leaning against a column.  As he approached this person, he could see why Genji hadn’t assumed that this was who they were supposed to be meeting.  McCree’s hat was completely gone, giving Hanzo a full view of his chocolate brown hair.  The cowboy was also wearing a dark grey Johnny Cash shirt, tan shorts, and black sneakers over white ankle socks.  In other words, he looked like every other teenage boy that Hanzo had seen here.  

After taking in a breath, Hanzo asked, “What do you want?”

McCree chuckled as he held out a box shaped object, “Helluva way to greet your new business associate, boss.”

Rolling his eyes, Hanzo all but snatched the gift from McCree as he retorted, “I thought the boss of Jesse McCree is Jesse McCree.”

“Shh,” McCree hissed as he pulled Hanzo closer to the column.  There was really no one out here except for the front desk person, and they weren’t paying attention, but still the damn cowboy insisted on discretion.  “Don’t say my name so loud.  I’ll hav’ta take pictures and sign shit.  Why d’ya think I’m dressed like this?”

“Because you have no taste,” Hanzo fired immediately.  While Jesse recovered from that, the young Japanese man finally looked down at his gift to find that it was actually a box made of jade and trimmed in gold.  It was beautiful, and now Hanzo couldn’t stop running his fingers along the smooth stone.  “Where did you get this?”

“Told ya I could get you anything,” Jesse was found to be smugly smiling.  

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, Hanzo found himself staring at Jesse while lost for words.  After a few moments, he looked down at the box again and then brought it to his nose.  “It smells funny.  Is there something inside?”  Opening it, he caught a glimpse of a small plastic bag with something green inside before McCree hastily shut the lid.

“So that’s where that went,” the cowboy laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Well, not like I can’t get more.  Call it a two for one.”

Hanzo was a bit speechless again as he looked over this person.  Trouble was the word that immediately came to mind.  Jesse McCree was definitely trouble with his brown eyes and his damn smile and those lips.  Wait.  Why was Hanzo even looking at his damn lips?

“I have to go,” he turned quickly.  “My brother is sick.”

“Oh no, Genji!”

Hanzo was starting to rush away, but he could hear footfalls right behind him.  Turning again, he sighed, “Listen, I have to take care of my brother.  I don’t have time for…”

“Well, can’t I see him?  I just wanna see if he’s alright.  Please?”

What the hell was this - puppy dog eyes?  Hanzo wanted to punch him, but then he thought that would just lead to more of this pathetic look.  Grumbling for Jesse to come on, he led the way to the stairs.  “I thought you were supposed to be some hard criminal.”

“I get hard when I need to,” McCree replied.

“I should push you down the stairs,” Hanzo grumbled, but the damn cowboy only laughed.  What kind of odd person was he?

At least he knew how to be quiet.  Once he was done laughing, he didn’t say another word until Hanzo opened the room door and let him inside.  Genji was up again and was flipping through the channels, but when he saw the cowboy, his face lit up.

“McCree, what are you doing here?!”

“Yes, what IS he doing here?”  Hanzo gave his brother a suspicious look.  

“I gave him your number, but…” Genji was cut off by McCree flopping on the bed next to him and immediately getting comfortable.

“This is nice, ain’t it?  I always wanted to stay in this place, but you gotta be 18 to a book a room.”

“And you’re not 18?”  Hanzo’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head.  Once again, he was ready to go mining for salt.

“I’ve got a few months.  You wanna come to my birthday party?”

Hanzo rolled his eyes again as he went to his bed and sat the box down on the nightstand.  “Genji, should we start to think about dinner?”

“I can take you guys some place again,” Jesse immediately suggested.

“You two go,” Genji grimaced.  “My mouth has a disgusting taste.”

“Kay, well it’s just me and Hanzo then,” the damn cowboy didn’t seem too upset about this at all.  In fact, he looked happy with his ankles crossed and his arms behind his head.  “Or we can order room service.”

‘Or you can get out’, Hanzo was thinking.   But he knew enough not to say it that way.  Instead, he shook his head, “No, I will be alright.  I have leftovers from yesterday.”

“You threw that away,” Genji spoke, immediately ruining the excuse.  “And maid service took it out while we were gone, I think, because the trash is empty except for puke.”

“You threw away a $200 steak?”  McCree stared at him in disbelief and then shook his head.  “Wow, that’s some privilege right there.  I mean, I got money, but I ain’t got it like that…”

Now aggravated, Hanzo started towards the door, “Whatever!  Take me to get food then!”

“Alright!  See you later, Genji,” Jesse sat up and pat the other’s leg before following Hanzo out.

The eldest Shimada brother was grumpy yet again, and much the same as last night, he was unable to put the why into exact words.  Instead, he let his angry feet carry him out onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel, where anger turned to embarrassment at the fact that he didn’t know where to go from there.

“This way,” McCree stepped in front of him and led to a parking lot across the way.  

Hanzo followed Jesse to the passenger side of an orange-red pickup truck.  The cowboy got the door and then pulled out a stack of books, which he threw into the bed.  Then he smiled and went around to the driver’s side.  Hanzo was a little curious, and so once he and Jesse were in and rolling, he asked, “What were those books?”

“Algebra, European History, and some other second hand textbooks,” McCree shrugged, looking straight ahead.  “Just grabbed them today before stoppin’ in to see you.”

“You’re going to read those?”  Hanzo found himself impressed to see the other’s nod.  Now endlessly curious, he asked, “But why?  Aren’t you an outlaw?”

“Just in case the outlaw business stops payin’ the bills, gotta have somethin’ to fall back on, don’t I?”  Jesse shot him a smirk.  Then he turned serious.  “No, I um… didn’t get much out of schoolin’ mostly cause I didn’t go a lot of the time.  Could pass the hell outta any math class, though.  Last teacher I had said I had real aptitude.”

“So why don’t you just go to school?”  Hanzo asked.

Jesse’s eyes were on the road as he made a turn, but he answered, “Cause school’s the first place they go lookin’ for you.”

“Who is they?” Hanzo furrowed his brow.  For once, the cowboy wasn’t smiling.  This situation seemed bad.

“Well, I’mma outlaw, right?”  the reply came with a shrug.

Hanzo had so many questions, but they were put on a backburner when he saw that Jesse was turning into the parking lot of that steakhouse.  Reaching out, he put his hand on the other’s to stop him from turning off the truck’s engine.  

“No,” he shook his head.  “Not here.”

“What’s wrong with here?”  McCree asked with a wrinkled brow.

“Here is where you go when you’re trying to impress someone with a $200 steak.  I don’t want to be impressed.  Take me somewhere you go when you just want to eat and not worry about impressing someone.”

“You’re… a really strange man, Hanzo.  But ok!”

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

Hanzo was a little unsurprised that they ended up in the Railyard Arts district again, this time walking together through the farmer’s market.  They entered an area of dirt and gravel where several food trucks were parked in a large circle around a group of picnic tables. The trees in this area were strung with bauble shaped lights, and at the center of the ring of trucks was an icehouse serving beer.  Jesse led the way to one truck and ordered while Hanzo looked around. A few minutes later, the smiling young man presented a cardboard food container.

“Here ya go!  Frito pie!”

“What?” Hanzo asked as he was given the container to hold.  

Jesse grabbed one of the two forks stuck into it and immediately dug in, “It’s the best, I swear it.  Fritos on the bottom, then chilli and cheese and a little tabasco sauce for extra kick.”

Hanzo grabbed the other fork and had a cautious taste.  Making a face, he ate a little more before pushing the rest into Jesse’s hands.  “Too spicy, but it isn’t bad.”

Jesse had a little more before throwing the remainder in the trash.  Then he pulled Hanzo to another truck.  “Ok, this’ll be a change of pace then.  I always get the meat sampler.”

They were at a barbecue truck now.  Jesse ordered and they were given another of those containers, this time holding a chicken leg and wing, two slices of brisket, two ribs, and a few pieces of sausage.  

“Pick a table, will ya?  For this, we need beer!”

Hanzo chose a spot in the shade of one of the trees and the furthest away from other people that he could get.  A few minutes later, McCree joined him with two plastic cups of beer, sitting one down in front of Hanzo.  

“They let you buy beer?”

McCree grinned as he pulled out his wallet and put a driver’s license down in front of Hanzo.  Picking it up, Hanzo read the name aloud, “Joel Morricone.  Is that your real name?”

“Naw, that’s my super secret name,” Jesse chuckled as he took the license back.  “I mean, I really do have a valid driver’s license if that’s what you’re worried about.  Just ain’t 21.”

“And you don’t look it, either,” Hanzo remarked as he used one of the plastic forks to try some of the sausage.  While chewing, his face lit up with delight.  This wasn't bad at all!  In fact, he liked it so much that he ate all of the pieces without saving McCree any.

But the other was content with eating his half of everything else.  He seemed to be just happy that Hanzo liked the barbecue.  Once they were finished, he got up and threw out the container. Then he briefly returned to the table in order to tell Hanzo,  “Stay there.  Next course!”

Hanzo had to admit that he was looking forward to seeing what this would be.  Usually, he didn’t mix foods like this, but everything about today was unusual.  For one thing, he was starting to have fun.

Jesse came back and sat down a container with two tacos and two bottles of Coke.  Grinning from ear to ear, he announced, “Street tacos!  The best in all of Santa Fe, in my humblest of opinions.  Go first.”

Hanzo did just that, biting into one while Jesse drowned the other one with the contents of a hot sauce package.  Once again, Hanzo that he liked what he was served, and he finished it quickly.  Then he started to eye what was left of Jesse’s taco.

“Go on,” the other offered.  “It’s gonna be hot, though.”

“I can take it,” Hanzo spoke confidently.

Too confidently.  While at first it seemed he was going to be alright, he had finished the taco too quickly.  The burning happened all at once, and he started to sweat as he chugged the Coke and then what was left of his beer.  

“Oh no!”  Jesse laughed.  “Nooo, the Coke was the worst idea!  I’mma get you another beer.  Just drink what’s left of mine while I’m gone!”

He did just that, and when Jesse returned with another cup of beer, he downed that desperately.  Then he belched, making the other laugh even more.  “That was spicy, yet satisfying,” he said, making McCree nearly fall over.

Hanzo was amused with his amusement, and actually chuckled a little as he helped himself to the other’s leftover Coke as well.

“Ok, I think I can fit one more place,” the cowboy said when he recovered from laughing.  

“What about that one?” Hanzo pointed to a truck that read Goomba’s.

“I never ate at that one,” McCree replied as he turned to look at it.  “Think it’s new.”

“Then this will be a new experience for the both of us,” Hanzo replied, getting up and then going around to pull Jesse up.  “Come on.”

They walked over together and then stopped to look at what was on offer.  Hanzo had never really eaten anything other than pasta when it came to Italian food, and so he was unfamiliar with a lot of what was available.  Thankfully, he had McCree.

“Ok, I got this,” the cowboy said as he stepped up to order.  “We want the meatballs and the Italian beef sandwich.”

“That is a lot of food,” Hanzo cautioned when the other stepped away to wait next to him.

“I know, but we’ll make it somehow.  The good thing’s I’m drivin’, so there’s that.  You ever walk on a full stomach?”

Hanzo nodded, “I have.  And also stairs.  It was torture, but worth it.”

He couldn’t believe he was going to repeat that mistake, but sure enough, they went back to their table with two more containers of food.  It was a struggle.  They finished the four meatballs and marina, but only half of the sandwich.

“I can’t eat anything else,” Jesse complained as they started to walk back towards his truck.

“Same,” Hanzo agreed.

But then he saw a gelato stand, and that sealed their doom.  He did take pity on poor Jesse and got a single cup of green tea for them to share.  They found a children’s playground and sat next to each other on the swings to have dessert.

This was oddly quiet.  Every now and then, they would share a glance, but neither of them seemed to have anything to say until they finished and McCree threw out the cup.  A bit after returning, he pointed to one of the tall climbing structures connected to a slide.

“Let’s go up there.  I wanna lay down a bit.  I think I’m dyin’.”

“You want to go on the children’s playground equipment?”  Hanzo questioned even as he got up and started to follow Jesse.

“Ain’t that long ago we were kids, right?” Jesse shrugged before jumping up onto the monkey bars and climbing over to the platform.  

Not one to be shown up, Hanzo did the same and then laid down on the metal surface next to the other.  By now, night had fallen and they were staring up at a beautiful sky full of stars.

“This was… actually fun,” Hanzo remarked at length of staring up.

“Did’ya think it was gonna be horrible?”

“Maybe,” Hanzo smirked while still looking up.  “I didn’t know where to expect we would go.”

“Guess that’s fair,” McCree answered.  “I thought it would be horrible cause I thought you’d hate everything.”

“Hm, that seems like me doesn’t it?  It seems like I’m allergic to fun.”

He heard shuffling and turned on his side to see that Jesse had done the same.  It wasn’t the most comfortable, but he chose to endure it in order to continue looking at the other young man’s actually rather handsome face.

“You’re not even that much older than me, are you?” McCree questioned.  “How old are you?”

“18,” Hanzo replied with a shrug.  “And you are what?  17?”

“Mhm,” McCree nodded.  “You seemed surprised before, but I’m used to it.  I’m a criminal child prodigy.”

“I’m not sure you should be proud of that,” Hanzo frowned.

But Jesse only shrugged, “It is what it is, ya know.  I gotta get by, same as anyone else.  There ain’t a lot of prospects for a high school drop out. ‘Sides, ain’t you from a whole criminal family?  Oh yeah, I do my homework.  I know all about the Shimada family.”

“Do you really do your homework?” Hanzo retorted, hoping to change the subject as well.  “You’re a high school dropout, after all.”

“Hm,” Jesse turned onto his back again.  “Ain’t by choice.  It’s like I said.  The first place they look for you is at school.  Can’t just enroll myself in a new one.  Can’t go back to the old one.”

“Because you are a criminal?”  Hanzo asked, turning onto his back again as well.

“Somethin’ like that,” Jesse replied. “I’ll tell you someday.  Prolly aint as complicated as I make it sound, but…”  He paused with a sigh and then scooted his body closer to Hanzo.  “Tell me somethin’ bout you.  Make it somethin’ I wouldn’t know by researchin’ your family or anything like that.”

He actually did try to think of something, only to end up frowning and shaking his head.  “No, there’s nothing really to tell.  I am not interesting.”

“Wouldn’t keep botherin’ you if I thought that was true,” Jesse replied.  

“All you know is about my family, so how can you make that assessment?”

McCree turned on his side again, “I think the best judge of what interests me is me.  Come on.  Tell me something.  Anything.”

Hanzo sighed, “Fine.  I’ll tell you that my life is very strict and boring.  At home, I would never have eaten so much food in one night.  I certainly would not be up here with you.  I am only doing these things because… well… I don’t know why.”

“I think I knew that, actually,” hearing this, Hanzo turned to find the other smirking at him.  The young man nodded, “Yeah, I’m sure I knew that.  I can see it when I look at you.  You’re all reserved and well behaved and all, but there’s somethin’ in you that’s just wantin’ to burst out, and it does every now and then, but only just a little.  I’m right about that, ain’t I?”

Maybe too right.  Hanzo didn’t want to talk about it any further, and so instead, he deflected by asking, “And you?  Make it something other than ‘I’m a delinquent child prodigy’.”

“Damn, that’s my whole identity,” McCree chuckled and then shrugged.  “I can tell you somethin’ you guessed already, I bet.  I ran away from home.”

“I thought so,” Hanzo sighed and then laid on his back again.  “It bothers me because family is so important to my culture.  You ran away from yours.”

“I know,” Jesse laid down as well and sighed.  “I know.  Running away was stupid, but I did it, and I don’t know how to go back.”

Sadly, Hanzo couldn’t say that he hadn’t thought about it at least once.  There were times he had received the harshest of punishments, and while his body was sore and bruised, he had felt bitterness at seeing how carefree his younger brother seemed to live.  But it had always been just a thought.  He could never imagine just leaving his family.  Either McCree was very brave or his life had been very terrible.  Hanzo found himself wanting to know which it was, and so he turned to ask.

“Why?  Why did you run?”

“It’s a long and complicated story,” McCree answered.

“Tell me,” Hanzo demanded, moving so that the other had to look up at him.

He saw the other young man swallow several times before sighing.  “It’s because I was stupid.  I didn’t know how to see a good thing for exactly what it was.  So when things got too good, I panicked and ran.”

“Are you going to be just vague?”  Hanzo frowned.

“Yeah, tonight,” McCree smirked.  “It’s a heavy subject.  Don’t even know why I brought it up.  Or well, I mean, I thought if I told you somethin’ heavy like that, you’d open up just a little.”

“Why do you care if I do?”

He didn’t know why he asked something that he knew the answer to.  Later on, he wouldn’t be able to say who moved first, but before he knew it, his lips were meeting Jesse’s.  His eyes closed and he moved his elbow so that his upper body rested against the other’s.  Their tongues wrestled a bit before he finally shoved Jesse’s aside to be the one in the lead.  In response, he felt the other’s arms around his neck, pulling him closer.  

By the time they pulled away, he was breathless.  Looking into the other’s eyes, he asked, “You like men?”

Jesse closed his eyes as he moved his face towards the other, clearly wanting to kiss more.  On the way, he whispered, “Of course.  Don’t you?”

He would let his kiss be his answer.  His body seemed to move on its own so that it completely covered the other’s, and then his hips began to grind.  He could feel that Jesse’s body was responding well to this, but to his surprise, the spell was broken by the other pushing him off.  

Now realizing what he had been doing, he shook his head, “I can’t do this…”

“Do what?”  Jesse asked and then frowned.  “Oh, I get it.  Thanks for implyin’ that I’m easy.”

“No, I… I’m…” Hanzo didn’t know what to say, especially when his eyes caught sight of the front of Jesse’s shorts as the other stood.  Looking down at his own, he spoke words that he didn’t mean to say aloud, especially because they weren’t true.  “I’m not gay.”

The other huffed at this and then slid down the slide.  It took him a few seconds to realize this, but when he noticed that he was alone, Hanzo stood and called after Jesse, “Wait, where are you going?”

“Home,” the other shouted back.  “And I assume you know how to walk to yours.  Bye.”

“Jesse, wait,” he called after him as he jumped down.

But the other wouldn’t stop, and instead spoke over his shoulder.  “It’s McCree to you.  Find your own way home, boss.”

Stopping in his tracks, Hanzo looked down and muttered to no one, “Jesse… I’m sorry…”

#Overwatch AU #McHanzo #Young McHanzo #Hanzo Shimada #Jesse McCree #Genji Shimada #mitsu's fics

[saintkimora]

i will make a full post about the retreat another day since i have so much hw rn but here is how my storyline w the republican club president went

so i met him at the start of the retreat, during the diversity training on campus. he told me that he was the republican club president so i was mentally like ew and then he told me he was gay and i was like ??? and he said he was also one of the founders of the gsa 3 years ago like.......HOW do you go from founding gsa to founding the republican club?????????????? literally what happened

so then he sat across the aisle from me and jami on the bus but i didnt talk to him. then we got to the actual retreat camp and he was STUCK to me and jami like he followed us everywhere!!!!! he sat with us at every meal and whenever he had group activities he always made his way into my group. at one meal we were all talking about our various hair problems and i said how i was growing mine out for my man but i dont like having it this long bc its thin and i dont like it and he was like “dont worry your hair is nice! youre very handsome” i was like ...............did he just call me handsome. but still we just thought he was really desperate for friends (since he was a huge attention seeker in every activity) and that he just attached to us bc we were somewhat nice and approachable or s/t

at one point he asked for my number bc he wanted our clubs to collab when we got back and i gave it to him just bc i didnt wanna be rude but i will literally die before i let my gsa collab with the republican club

so then jami and i were walking to the gazebo on the beach to take cute pictures and on the way there i was talking w her and i was like “he follows us everywhere...what if he develops a crush on me or something???” then we got to the gazebo and he was already there hanging out w a few others but i didnt mind bc i was like whatever i just wanna take cute gazebo on the water pictures for snapchat

so i pulled out my phone to open snapchat and saw i got a text 2 min ago that i didnt notice the vibration for and it was from adam and it said “do you wanna have some fun later? if you know what i mean” and i was like UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM jami we’ve gotta go

i tried to be discrete so luckily there were bees in the gazebo so jami and i were like ew bees and used that as an excuse to leave. so i walked w jami up the beach some more then up these stairs onto this grassy area with pews so we were out of the gazebos line of sight and showed her the text and she was SHOOK and so was i like i was freaking out i could NOT believe my eyes

like first of all i would never ever hook up w a republican let alone the very republican that united the evil on our campus and he wasnt cute either he was gross and his personality was fucking annoying too i hated him even before he made a pass at me

i didnt respond yet and at one point i had to go to my room to get my water bottle but he was in there in bed on his phone (his bed is diagonally across from mine) so i didnt wanna see him obv so i went in and he didnt notice me so i got my water and i saw my new friend anton on the bed reading hellboy (tbt to joel saying hellboy was hot) so i was like “ooh what are you reading?” just to make conversation since i was there to make friends after all. and as soon as republican adam heard my voice he like shot up in bed and looked at me like.....extra

after i told a few more of my new retreat sisters (including rochile) (also he is out btw and he literally announced he was gay to everyone during the diversity training so it wasnt like i was putting him on blast to everyone) and we all strategized and settled on me replying “i dont know what u mean” and we went about our business having fun and bonding and then he replied “i was thinking we could cuddle, or maybe something more intimate?” and i was like ............MESS so my sisters and i agreed to just say “No” so i did that and he didnt respond and then at our next meal i was escorted by my friends and we made people sit with us to fill up our table so there wouldnt be any room for him to sit with us lmao

so yeah i avoided him the rest of the day. then that night we played trivia but i was a little late along w many others so the csi (the org thats running the retreat) people were saying how some people werent there yet so according to multiple UNRELATED sources when the csi people said that adam got sad and said “why isnt he here yet....i should text him” and at the time i was peeing in my cabin and i got a text from him saying csi needed all of us in the willard cabin. i didnt respond bc i was rushing to get there 

then after the bonfire it was our last night and i needed to shower. all of these guys were so shy like they would literally put their new clothes on IN the shower bc they didnt want anyone to see them naked like...flops but anyways i did not do that! adam could see into the bathroom from his bed if the door was open. i wanted to be petty and show him a glimpse of what he couldnt have so i showered but left the bathroom door open that way when i stepped out of the shower cubicle adam could see me towel myself off. i had the towel strategically hanging so it was just covering my dick so he could only see like my legs and then when i lowered the towel only my upper body. so sure enough when i was drying myself i caught him looking at me like LMAO 

then he went to bed later and on the final day he didnt talk to me at all and sat far away from me on the bus ride home lmfao so that is my story of how the republican club president tried to get with me

#idk if he just wanted to get with me sexually or if he had an actual crush #i think it might be the latter since he literally followed me everywhere and always tried to talk to me and be nice to me #either way it was messy #it was like the scandal of the camp lmao #i only told like...7 people though and i didnt mention his name for some of them #personal

[nxrcissamxlfoy]

uptown girl

pairing : charlie x daphne word count : ~2.7k prompt : "uptown girl” billy joel | modern muggle au for : @petuniaevans and the @slytherdornet & @hprarepairnet love song challenge [an: there will be a part two if anyone’s interested]

The the cyan blue pool skimmer is entrancing.

The muscles in Charlie’s arms fall into a fluid rhythm as he drags it back and forth, leaving a serpentine pattern of ripples in the sparkling water. He’s so mesmerized and calm that he doesn’t hear the gate behind him open, but he does hear it slam shut. He winces, remembering the

“Where’s Richard?” comes a snooty voice. “And who are you?”

Well, he had to at least give them credit for remembering Richard’s name. Most of the families who require the company’s services don’t bother to even look at the help, let alone know their names.

“I’m Charlie,” he says, removing the skimmer from the water and resting the tip on the cement at his feet. “And Richard moved.” He finally turns but is a little surprise at the sight of her; disheveled blonde hair, giant sunglasses, smeared lipstick, and shoes in her hand. She had all the signs of a late night rager.

She frowns and her eyebrows dip behind her glasses as she pulls a bit of her bottom lip into her mouth. He feels as though he’s being harshly scrutinized and his spine instinctively straightens.

“Well, if anyone asks, you haven’t seen me. Any time anyone ever asks, I’m in the pool house as far as you’re concerned.” She walks by him, nose in the air and feet slapping on the wet concrete as she heads for the pool house, a smaller but still no doubt extravagant version of the main house.

“You want me to lie for you, then?”

She stops and turns her head over her shoulder but doesn’t actually look at him. “You will if you know what’s good for you.”

For the next few weeks it’s more of the same. No matter when he starts his shift, she seems to stumble home not long after. But charlie is observant, and finds information in even the most predictable of routines.

He learns that her name is daphne, but that she often gives the boys who drop her off a fake name; hayley, anna, marie. He learns that she actually lives in the pool house in an attempt to pub distance between her and her family. He learns not to say anything when she walks by, because he will only either be snapped at or completely ignored. He learns that her father is rarely home and that her mother is an overbearing, insufferable perfectionist, a hawk of a woman for whom nothing is ever good enough. He learns that she loves pissing her mother off. He learns that she is smarter than she appears, and that she knows how to play people to get exactly what she wants. He learns that her party girl persona is a facade. He learns that she’s bored, even if she doesn’t realize it.

Worst of all, though, he learns that he is more intrigued than he should be and that he may just even like her.

She comes in through the back gate, closing the tall privacy fence in the face of a still drunk boy. “I’ll call you, June. I swear I will,” he slurs. She leans against the fence, he head falling back with a thud, and lets out a scoff and an eye roll.

Charlie stays silent, keeps fiddling with the pool pump as if she’s not there. He glances up just as she walks by him, but returns his gaze to his work when she stops at the door.

“What is this?” she asks, completely disgusted at the glass of brown sludge sitting on the table by the door.

“Cure for your hangover,” he says, snapping the piece he was cleaning back into place.

“It’s abhorrent,” she sneers.

He shrugs. “But it works.” He looks up when the door slams and smiles when he sees the glass is gone too.

“All right, what’s in it?” she asks a few days later, when he’s made her another one.

He smiles as he winds the garden hose around his arm. “Old family secret, sorry.”

“What am I supposed to do when you’re not here then?”

He shifts the spool of hose up to his shoulder and walks by her to put it up. “Not drink so much?”

“Ass,” she spits, and disappears inside.

But things start thawing after that. He continues to leave her his miracle hangover cure and she starts warning him when her mother is in an extra foul mood, so he can make sure his work is flawless and get out of there before the beratement starts. They still never exchange more than a few short words, but a thin veil of friendship starts to settle between them.

Then one day he’s cleaning off the patio furniture when her mother shows up before she does. Mrs. Greengrass has a list of things for him to do and as she’s verbally assault if him for doing everything wrong before he’s even started on it, he sees Daphne sneaking into the gate behind her.

Mrs. Greengrass is just about to turn and spot her when he does the first thing that comes to mind and leans too hard on the edge of the glass table next to him. Tt tips, falls, shatters.

There’s a screech and a string of insults but in the commotion Daphne gets safely into the pool house. “You will pick up every single shard by hand, replace the table, and find somewhere else to work!” Mrs. Greengrass demands as she storms off with a haughty and indignant flurry.

“Bitch,” he mumbles with a sigh. He rights the frame of the table but knows there’s no way in hell he’s picking up the glass.

“Thank you,” comes a quiet voice behind him. “You don’t have to pay for that table,” she adds quickly.

“How generous,” he quips, but there’s no bitterness to his tone. If he were being honest with himself, he was glad to be rid of Mrs. Greengrass’ shrill demands.

She bites her lip. “I’m sorry you lost the job,” she mumbles, and it’s almost as if it hurts her to be so nice. “If there’s anything I can do...”

He waves her off but then spots his bag by the gate and eyes her for a moment. “You probably have, what, like hundreds of insta followers?”

She raises an offended eyebrow. “Thousands,” she corrects.

A smile slowly spreads across his face. “I have an exhibition Friday night,” he starts, heading for his bag to dig out a flyer. “Come, snap a few pics and rave over everything. Maybe I’ll get a sale or two out of it.”

“Exhibition?” she asks, looking over the slip he hands her. “You’re a sculptor?”

“Metalsmith, in between jobs anyway. And now I have one less of those so...” He looks at her for an answer and sees her frown at the address in a less than shining part of town. But she sighs and nods.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

It’s not so much an art gallery as it is an abandoned old factory, full of dust and debris and probably rats. But there are lights on and music blaring and Daphne reassures her driver that yes, this is the right spot, and no, she doesn’t him to escort her in. As the car pulls away she takes a deep breath and pulls out her phone to snap a picture, wondering if there was a creepy murder factory emoji.

Inside it’s louder, and she sees the DJ set up in the loft in the back. There are people everywhere, some dressed as though they found their clothes in the dumpster out back and other dressed in loud and creative nearly avant garde outfits.

She takes a deep breath, and in one corner spots Charlie, his red hair shining like a lighthouse in a storm. She snaps another quick picture of the DJ and heads his way. He’s chatting with a few people but upon seeing her he excuses himself and meets her with a smile. He has on dark, well fitted jeans, and a deep red button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, different than the baggy shorts and loose t-shirt he wore while cleaning her pool. He holds out his arms, gesturing to the warehouse and all the art and she could see his muscles shifting under his tight sleeves.

It was much different than the baggy clothes he’d worn to work.

“What do you think?” he asks, looking at her expectantly.

She looks around and nods. “Yeah, it’s definitely... something all right.” She watches his face fall just a little, into something less friendly and more business like, as though he’s realized what kind of night it was going to be. “Which one’s yours?” she adds quickly.

He eyes her for a moment, his eyes squinting like he’s trying to figure her out and she notes just how expressive his face is even if he doesn’t realize it. He nods behind her and she turns.

She doesn’t know what to say, because to her it just looks like a bunch of metal strips, twisted and spiraling and standing up right. “It’s...” she starts, but falters.

“Not meant to be viewed from one angle,” he picks up, his low voice right in her ear. A chill runs up her spine and she feels his body heat on her back and curses herself for choosing a nearly backless blouse. Hiis hand touches her shoulder, it’s rough and calloused but the touch is gentle and it nudges her in the right direction.

As she walks around the sculpture it morphs and changes, the metal weaving around itself, darker in some areas, lighter in other, creating more depth and optical illusions. Some parts even look like they’re moving thanks to the ribbing hand etched into the sides. She reaches a hand out to touch it but stops, thinking that maybe she’s not allowed so she looks back up to Charlie, who gives a half nod and a shrug as permission.

“You made this?” she asks, running her fingers along the groove, trying to ignore how he’s staring at her. she stops when she reaches her starting point and looks up at him and realizes just how blue his eyes are. “You have to show me more.”

His shop is small and dirty and hot, even though the forge in the center isn’t currently lit.

"You really didn’t have to leave your exhibition,” she says as he rolls up the large metal door in the back, letting in a stream of moonlight.

“S’all right, I’ve already got four emails thanks to your post.” He flips a switch and a few lights come on, most of them hanging above the multiple heavy worktables along one wall.

Well aware of his gaze on her back, she walked over towards the tables, upon which all manner of smaller projects along with scraps and tools lay scattered. her eyes fall on a small collection in one corner. faces, formed with flat metal strips made to look like they were pressed onto a face by the wind, leaving the ends flying behind them. There are eight of them, two women and six men.

“My family,” Charlie explains, leaning on the other end of the table.

She sets down the one she’d picked up, in all likelihood his mother, and turned to face him. “Do me,” she says.

Charlie's hand slips and he almost smacks his elbow on the table. “What?” he coughs and Daphne realizes what she's just said and laughs.

“My face, I want a sculpture of my face.”

“Oh,” he breathes but he looks unsure. “Well, the thing is… they really take a lot of time and work and-”

“I'll pay you.” Daphne crosses her arms like she's won but he scratches his jaw and still looks contemplative. “I'll pay you very well.”

“I mean, that sounds great but…” He sighs. “I'd have to sketch you, a lot. And you'd have to visit the shop at least once a week so I can make sure I'm getting your features right.”

She frowns and looks around, notices the face he makes, like he knows he's right, like he knows she won't want to spend time in a dirty old place like this. So she shrugs, a practiced nonchalant motion. “Okay. We can do twice a week if it helps.”

“Um, yeah.” He smiles and her heart shifts gears. “Okay then,” he nods, “I guess you can come by Monday?”

“Monday it is,” she says, wondering why it’s suddenly so hard to breathe.

Monday morning Charlie finds himself pacing the floor of his workshop. He’s already pulled out his sketch book and even neatly organized all of his pencils and erasers, he’s straightened up his shop and tried to finagle the lights just so. But she still hasn’t shown. Finally, he fires up the forge, planning to work on a few smaller projects until she arrives, hoping it’ll take his mind off it.

This is what he was worried about, that she’d lose interest and stop coming, wasting his time and energy. He just didn’t think it would be so soon, though he supposes he should be grateful that she has blown him off so early and saved him the trouble.

The forge is nearly ready and he’s pulled up the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face when he hears her.

“It is literally hotter than hell in here.”

He lowers his shirt just in time to see her swallow and avert her eyes. She drops her bag on to the floor by the door and fans herself with her hand. “I can not sit in here.”

He sighs, reaches over to turn the vent fan up higher, then grabs his rake. “There’s a breeze out back,” he says, starting to pull at the coals with the rake, spreading them out so they can die out. “Grab a stool.”

It’s not much cooler outside, but there’s shade, and an occasional breeze to make it bearable. “Better?” he asks, flipping to an empty spot in his book.

Daphne sighs. “Marginally.”

He lets out a small huff of a laugh and shakes his head, wondering if anything is ever more than marginally acceptable for her, but then he catches a brief glimpse of the corners of her lips and sees them twitch up ever so slightly.

“You don’t need to pose,” he says as she straightens her spine and pulls her shoulders back, sticking her chin in the air. She blushes a little and nods, relaxing and brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’m just going to focus on your eyes today,” he explains.

He holds the pencil above the sketchbook and peeks over the top of it to get started but pauses at the sight of her. She looks nearly like an angel, with the sunlight is trickling in from the trees, kissing her cheeks and reflecting in her eyes.

“What?” she asks as he smiles.

“Nothing. You’re just… not wearing any make up.”

She shrugs. “I thought it would be better, if I wanted it to look like me, anyway.” 

“Makes sense,” he nods, and looks back to his book. He starts sketching and even though he’s trying to focus on just her eyes, he can’t help but notice the subtle differences in her face. Her cheeks have a natural slight pink tint to them, and they’re rounder than they’ve always appeared. There are even a few light freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose.

They sit in silence for a little while, and Charlie is on his third rendition of her eyes when she finally breaks through it. “So, do you do anything else?”

“What’s that?” he asks, not looking up.

“Besides sketching, and sculpting. Do you paint? Or work with anything other than metal?”

“No, not really. I really only even sketch to help with my sculpting.”

“Oh.”

He finally glances up at her and she’s looking around, up at the trees and he decides to start a new sketch, a set of her eyes looking upwards. “What about you?” he asks, starting with the pupil.

She laughs. It’s only a small burst but it’s the most he’s ever heard from her and he finds himself instantly eager to elicit another one from her. “I’m not artistic at all.”

“Well, any hobbies then?”

She shifts on her stool. “I read a lot. So, I guess that’s a hobby?”

“Yeah, definitely. What are you reading now?”

“Taber’s War of the Flea,” she says, not missing a beat.

His hand stops, he glances up to see a small smile on her face and it brings about one to his. “Remind me to never start a dictatorship in your country.”

#charlie x daphne #charlie weasley #daphne greengrass #hprarepairnet #slytherdornet #hp rare pair #rare pair #mywords #slytherdornetchallenge #hprarepairnetchallenge

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 73 - TOR - The Nylander Bowl

There was a part of this season the Sabres and Leafs were on a collision course. Right after the win streak there was that game that felt like a real rivalry matchup. I suppose I’m a little bias since I experienced it in person, but I think we all felt the same way at the time. The Sabres, slotted right behind Toronto in the standings at that point looked like they were finally in the same league for the first time in a long time. Perhaps they were both in a quite shitty place together at one time but that’s not nearly as fun. That game was so close it damn near went to the shootout. It was not to be and since that matchup Buffalo has tumbled down a hill in a historic way, not only falling out of the playoff picture but losing so much in the back half that there is an outside chance they pick top 5 in the Draft. We can rehash our mournful lack of playoffs or we can look north of the border where getting playoff games hasn’t exactly made our Canadian brethren all that much happier. They have also been rather shit since the New Year, albeit not quite as shitty, and they’re now staring down the barrel of a first-round matchup that runs a high likelihood of knocking them out early. Trust me, I’m near to selling a kidney for a Sabres playoff series at this point but in Toronto they’ve had one going on in April three years in a row now and enter this one prepared to sound a five-alarm fire when their predicted knockout comes. The grass is always greener on the other side and sometimes with the way we talk about the Leafs that other side is the other side of the border as it were. This game was a bit of that. This game last night was hardly fun but when it was it reminded you of what this matchup could be a behemoth of a rivalry waiting to happen. I’ll save the Leafs’ playoff fate for Playoffs according to the Sabres because if you are a Leafs fan reading this… well first off thank you, share this, you Ontario folks love your hockey…  you probably aren’t from Toronto. Leafs fans who show up to Sabres games are mostly the St. Catherines/Hamilton bunch who either can’t afford Toronto ticket prices or just don’t want that. All the whining about Sabres fans not showing up for Leafs games is warranted but its more stupid than you think at first glance. Now let’s talk about the game that happened last night.

This game had fewer shots than some Church events I’ve been to, particularly that first period. Carter Hutton was playing the role of Nun evidently and stymied a lot of the Leafs fun. The game was grossly lopsided in favor of the not so lonely visitors from the start. The Sabres only had seven shots the whole period and didn’t break five shots until the final five minutes of the first. The Leafs shot 19 shots in the first. Some weaker opponents don’t put up that much in a game… like uh, the Sabres who only put up 24 shots the whole game! This lopsidedness perhaps colored both fanbases reactions then when the only goal of the period was by Sabre Casey Mittelstadt. Mittelstadt tapped in a Dahlin slapper from the line behind a Garret Sparks who was apparently struggling to locate the puck. Exhaustion may have been an excuse the Leafs could use, this being the back end of a back-to-back but Sparks was fresh as Spring morning so that didn’t extend to him. That said, the Leafs started on time and outplayed the Sabres in every category in the first except powerplay goals. Mind you, the Leafs have been in a bit of a funk lately and the fanbase is beginning to fire up the hot stoves for Mike Babcock’s firing. The funny thing is, they’re complaining about a lot of the stuff Sabres fans complain about Phil Housley about: player deployment, player minutes, roster choices… oh no, this is going to be another summer of courting hall-of-fame coaches isn’t it? HURRY, TO THE PEGULA JET! FIND QUENNVILLE’S HOUSE AND DROP MONEY ON IT! I DON’T WANT ANOTHER DAN BLYSMA, PLEASE! GENEROUS LOCAL PLUTOCRAT, PLEASE! I KNOW YOU CAN GIVE Q JUST AS MUCH MONEY IF NOT MORE THAN THE ENTIRE CANADIAN ECONOMY, DAMMIT!

Nonetheless, the Leafs funk was snapped out of in this game and they proceeded to put up another 19-shot period, this time scoring two goals. While the first period had a smattering of penalties that somehow the Sabres were the team to get something out of, the second period only had one and it was Zemgus Girgensons cross checking Nazem Kadri. I’m a Buffalo Sabres blog so by law I have to state what a little pest Kadri is. There you go. While I’m on it let’s just say if Girgensons scored as much as Kadri does I wouldn’t be thinking about what I can get for him in a summer trade. I’m just saying. That goes for you to, Risto. Poor Brandon Montour, showing off how great a pickup he was for the Sabres these last few games, he gets just bamboozled by Auston Matthews. You could see he didn’t realize it went in off his skate because he looked like a ghost had just given him a weggie. I’m not going to bring anymore light on his plight because once again, he’s been doing great. The feature of the second period I will bring to light is the almost goal William Nylander scored. John Tavares ended up getting credit for the second Leafs goal but for a moment it looked like it could’ve been Willie’s. Hold that image in your head as we fast forward to the third where we find noted brother of William Nylander, Alexander Nylander, getting a puck from VLADIMIR SOBOTKA, and absolutely drilling that one home from between the circles. If this game was going to be the Nylander bowl, which it is on this blog as long as it continues to feel like an unnecessarily lopsided matchup every time we face the Leafs, then fam, we have won. We won the Nylander bowl. Nylander < Nylander, obviously! Having already won the game with that goal, the Sabres pushed hard for the equalizer to perhaps force overtime and get their first back-to-back wins since November. By the time Zach Hyman scored the empty netter I was already popping bottles celebrating Buffalo’s first Nylander Bowl Title! All kidding aside, this game stung something mighty and ended up 4-2 Leafs. I literally cried in the shower.

Don’t worry, I was kidding about the shower. The good news is we have some fun speculation to talk about! I know I bit hard on the Duchene stuff and that didn’t come to pass but give me a break, the Sabres season is still active until I get back from seeing their last game in Detroit next month. Until then, I am going act like the championship can still be won with some key additions! To start out with Dave Poulin and Jeff O’Neill were having a little talk about Joel Quenneville on one of probably eight dozen hockey segments on Toronto radio stations the other day and they think Coach Q’s best option if he wants to return to coaching may just be Buffalo. All the stuff about whether or not Housley will get fired aside, is that something we want? I’ve talked about it hypothetically up until now but would the second winningest coach of all-time coming to Buffalo finally be the coaching solution we’ve been looking for since Lindy Ruff was shown the door back two millennium ago? There is certainly an argument and if it happened I can’t imagine Jason Botterill isn’t crafty enough a guy to A. work with him as now the smaller fish in the pond, and B. provide him with a good enough lineup to replicate some of the success he’s known for. I can imagine about half a dozen other options that don’t seem too bad either and also do something different than just bringing in the big Hall of Fame guy but its fun to speculate. This next rumor is all speculation backed up by zero experts… its actually more of a Play-a-GM kind of thing actually… what is the likelihood of Erik Karlsson? So: disclaimer; he’s not coming here, and that cap hit is probably not so bueno, but let’s imagine this low year he’s having with San Jose causes second thought and Karlsson leaves. He’s said he is proud of Rasmus Dahlin and loves the Swedish phenom, what if he mentored him like Ra’s al Ghul and Batman? Again, just saying. I saw some joking on twitter and it got me going. That’s what we’re here for: stupid fan shit like that.

So anyway: like, comment and share this blog around. I appreciate all you readers so much, whether you’ve been here all year or not. If you haven’t and you think it would be awesome to go back and read the win streak New Look Sabres posts than maybe use that time to share this with a friend instead; I did just that thing the other day and it made me sad. Speaking of things that make me sad: the Sabres have a chance to sweep the season series against the Montreal Canadiens on Saturday. Why does that make me sad? Well, we have now lost five straight games to the Leafs and it feels cheap to wipe out Montreal in a season series while not getting the Leafs the same way. It’s like going to the Duty-Free store on the border and getting Aunt Jemimah’s pancake syrup: you got all this Canadian around you and you take the crap! The only thing diminishes a season sweep of the Habs is getting swept on the season by the Leafs. I better end on a more positive note than that… Jeff Skinner hasn’t signed yet… SHIT!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. The Sabres getting a couple games in the “Global Series” in Stockholm, Sweden in November is pretty rad considering how much of this organization is Swedish now. On the other hand, I see all of us complaining about the travel and those games actually counting in the standings. Can we all resolve right now to just enjoy those games?

#buffalo sabres #hockey #blog #NHL

[sohiam-blog]

Cricket is a game of failure

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[flauntpage]

Extending Brett Brown is a No-Brainer

Was news of Brett Brown’s reported three-year contract extension a smoke screen for the Colangelo/Ringer bombshell?

I have no idea, but it’s not like any misdirection would be strong enough to pull us away from that story.

So on Tuesday, the most talked about Sixers’ news probably went in this order:

Colangelo Twitter allegations

Simmons dating Kendall Jenner report

Markelle Fultz doing cartwheels

Joel Embiid dunking on fools

Brett Brown extension

I could sit here and list out reasons why locking up Brett Brown is a good idea, but let’s actually do it in reverse order. Phil is not a Brown fan for many reasons, so I’ll give him the floor first to lay out his argument on why this is the wrong move.

Phil Keidel:

There’s nothing like getting it when you haven’t gotten it in a long time. For men, it can lead to “I love you” or even “will you marry me” way sooner than it should.

Some of you are nodding knowingly; a lot of you are pretending to know but you’re not fooling me.

Anyway, the Sixers hadn’t had it in a really long time — playoff basketball that is — and after winning one series against a pretty bad Miami Heat team and then getting humiliated by a crippled iteration of the Boston Celtics, the Sixers have extended their head coach for three seasons beyond the one he was already signed for.

And there’s no good reason why.

Even if you are willing to overlook the seasons where he had little talent (I don’t), judging him on only the past season still doesn’t justify this extension.

Ben Simmons won’t shoot from outside five feet. Markelle Fultz gave them nothing this season. Even if the coach didn’t draft these players, isn’t he supposed to make them better? In Fultz’s case, to make him play at all?

The Sixers won a lot of games in the Eastern Conference. The conference champion is an absurd underdog in the Finals. Making the playoffs in the Eastern Conference has little competitive value.

He worked with Gregg Popovich for awhile. Great. Charlie Weis worked for Bill Belichick, too. And Pop just fell out with Kawhi Leonard. Brand names aren’t always as good as the packaging.

Add in the multiple blown 20+ point leads — one in Game 2 of the Boston series — and the urgency to extend a 57-year-old basketball lifer just because he’s what’s here… just isn’t there.

Five years is a long time to go dry, but that’s no reason to put a ring on it before it’s even remotely necessary.”

For starters, I disagree with the stance on the Process years. I’m willing to overlook the seasons that Brett Brown coached Kendall Marshall and Phil Pressey and Henry Sims. I’m on the record saying that I considered 2017-18 to be his first year in charge of a real roster, but if you want to lump in the prior year to his evaluation period, the year where Joel Embiid played 30-some games and you had guys like Dario Saric and Ersan Ilysasova in the fold, then I think that’s probably fair.

Here’s the thing – and I mentioned this yesterday – but the modern-day NBA is less about coaching and much more about talent. How much coaching did Ty Lue, Mike D’Antoni, and Steve Kerr do in their respective conference finals? D’Antoni watched his team miss 27 straight three pointers in a game seven at home. Kerr found a way to play nine and 10-man rotations in games four and five. Lue just stood there watching LeBron James. Coaching matters to a point, then it’s all about star power from there.

Anyway, Phil mentions Ben Simmons’ inability to shoot. If you wanna blame Brett Brown for trying to mold a 6’10” ambidextrous dude into a point guard, sure, that’s fair, but I think you give it 2-3 years before deciding if it’s a success or failure. Markelle Fultz feels more like a Colangelo misstep at this point, but again, we’re a whopping one year into a kid’s NBA career. He turned 20 yesterday. Sure, Brown is ultimately responsible for improving these guys, but Markelle needs to get out of his own head and Ben just needs to start knocking down shots that we know he can make. You need a sample size > 1 season.

Yes, there’s no guarantee that assistants are automatic slam dunks. Phil correctly mentions Charlie Weis, who is 41-49 as a head coach. Romeo Crennel and Josh McDaniels were whatever at the helm after branching out from the same Belichick tree. James Borrego probably won’t do a ton with that Charlotte roster right away. I think the Spurs/Popovich thing is a little overvalued, if we’re being honest. Hiring the assistant brewer at Smuttynose doesn’t mean he or she is gonna automatically roll out a killer Old Brown Dog spinoff at your industrial park startup. The water is different and so are the co-workers and customers.

As for the blown leads, I’d simply chalk that up to a young team not knowing how to close out games. The Sixers were fast starters and came ready to play. Isn’t that a credit to the coach that his team was often prepared? You can’t blow a big lead if you don’t build a big lead, but you know as well as I do that the NBA is a game of runs, and the Warriors’ third quarters in these playoffs should prove that. It’s misguided to think that any double-digit lead built up in the 1st or 2nd period is going to OBVIOUSLY hold until the end of the game. The Sixers got much better at this as the season continued.

But more than anything, when you evaluate Brett Brown, you need to look at what he’s building here from a big picture sense. Here’s a coach that won 52 games with a rookie converted point guard and second-year big man coming off of multiple injuries. He’s constructing a high-tempo, pass-happy team that values the sharing of the basketball, three-point shooting, defense, and consistent rhythm and flow. He is diametrically opposed to slowing the game down and playing isolation ball, which he’s said on the record several times before. He doesn’t want to walk the ball up the floor and play a deliberate and conservative game just to curb turnovers and stem runs.

Now, of course you can approach that philosophically and say that it’s stupid to try to mirror what the Warriors are doing. Playoff basketball, as Boston and Cleveland showed us, is about defensive matchups, hunting mismatches, exploiting weaknesses, and game planning around or against superstars. The Sixers were a freight train built for the regular season that hit the skids in the playoffs. Brown’s biggest challenge moving forward will be to tweak his team for April and May basketball while keeping intact the fan-friendly and aesthetically pleasing brand that he’s installed over the last few years.

If you accept that, you can tolerate blown leads and turnovers, because that’s just a natural by-product of the play style. The Warriors get disjointed and sloppy, too, and they cough up the ball and go cold from the floor. But when they’re on, they’re on, and it’s the best thing to watch in the association. Similar to Chip Kelly’s Oregon, Brett Brown is not going to line up with a fullback and run out the clock. Should he learn how to do it? Maybe.

As for the timeout issue, yeah, I think Brett can be better there. I think he got better with it as the season progressed and he became comfortable with the new rules, and you’d see him often call time right the beginning of an opponent run, or when he saw something defensively he didn’t like. He’d usually nip it in the bud, so game two in Boston was a bit of a head-scratcher to me. He also should have kept T.J. McConnell in during game two and was slow to make his adjustments overall.

And when it comes to play calls, Brett Brown is not incapable of dialing up looks for JJ Redick from dribble hand-offs and a variety of off-ball screens. He’s not incapable of baseline designs that get Ben Simmons posted up on the low block. He called some beautiful “horns” sets this season and was very good in ATO and BLOB/SLOB situations.

At the end of game four in Miami, he whipped up two brilliant calls, essentially icing the game with this Redick/Embiid fake pick and roll + DHO action:

So whether or not he calls more set plays or prefers to let his players freestyle out there, that’s a really interesting thing to pay attention to going into this next season, when the stakes are higher and the excuses are fewer.

I always viewed this season as a developmental year bridging the end of the Process era to the future. For that reason, I wouldn’t have cared whether the Sixers won 52 games or 32 games if we saw significant progress. Ben Simmons looks like a stud who needs to work on his shooting. Joel Embiid became an All-Star. Dario Saric was an unheralded banger. Redick was, more or less, a natural fit. The jury is still out on post-contract Robert Covington and Fultz was really the only true disappointment of the season.

So if the alternative is to fire Brett Brown (and bring in who?), or to leave him guessing on the final year of his deal, I don’t think either of those strategies make sense. Most teams are going to extend a 52-win coach with a young core of players who like him. If he ultimately fails, like Dwane Casey, then you can always justifiably pull the plug after 59-23 and a semifinals sweep.

We’re not at that point yet. We’re not even close to it.

Extending Brett Brown is a No-Brainer published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/