#un-fucking-fathomable

[psqqa]

okay wait, because i can never edit tags on poll posts and the notes on that one are like genuinely catching me off guard: do americans for real not use duvet covers? like as a rule? across the entire country? like you’re all just using random blankets or quilts and shit all the time? and then sticking a sheet between you and the blanket pile? or is this one of those “depends on where you are but obviously each regional standard is considered universal by its adherents” situations?

#un-fucking-fathomable #like for real you guys don’t have a nice heavy yet poofy feather or something filled plain blanket #that you stuff into a nicely patterned bag? #that matches your pillowcases? #that you change out and wash on a regular basis? #this is unheard of to you all?? #you all just do a bunch of sheet tucking every day and hope for the best? #fucking wild #although it does explain why quilting is such a Thing i guess #if you’re actually using them to sleep under and just as like…..daytime bed decoration or whatever #*and NOT just like daytime bed decoration or whatever #apologies for missing that critical sentence word #ditto the ‘comforter set’ phenomenon #really couldn’t figure out what function that was meant to be serving at all

[viktoriakomova]

like............ with the way floor has evolved in the last decade im stunned people think that the e dance cap is like hamstringing the dutch girlies etc etc etc. please be serious

#you just know that if it were worth it to do the ugliest triple twisting straddle jump a Power Gymnast would find a way to get it #requiring 3 dance elements and having an E cap is Good Actually im sorry #imagine a floor routine composed of the hardest double back variations u can fathom #zero front tumblr reqs beyond punch front tuck thru to double back (IF THAT) #plus the most hideous flailing 'difficult' jumps/leaps u have ever seen #plus a sloppy 3x wolf turn #thats it thats what ur fucking arguing for lmao #*tumbling not tumblr lmao finger muscle memory nuking my un-editable tags here

[miss-morland]

telling the nice qdoba lady “it’s no problem!!” in a way that conveys “i’ll kill myself if i inconvenience you so please don’t exert yourself for me”

#they close in like 35-40 minutes so it’s not like i came in right when they were closing?? #but i asked for ground beef and she went to look in the back and i wanted to scream no please just give me whatever you have i’m begging y #i’m so normal it’s un fucking fathomable #personal

[gogh-with-the-flow]

Part 4 of cheating!Soap. Simon's POV. Angst. Potentially ooc Simon.

---

Simon Riley is a bad man. He wasn't given much of a choice really. He was dealt a bad hand that kept getting worse and worse. He tried to live a good life, despite his childhood, but it was all taken away from him in fire and blood. So he threw himself into it headfirst. He dove into it and found comfort in the fire and blood. He knew fire and blood. He's good at fire and blood.

Simon Riley is a lonely man. All his life, he's never had anyone. He keeps everyone he meets at arms-length at a minimum. He doesn't do love. He doesn't believe in it. The last time he tasted it was from his mother, and that taste has long since been replaced by the tinny taste of blood. He's comfortable being alone. He fills his time with work, and on the rare occasion he's sent back home to his barren flat in Manchester, the most he does is find a quick fuck at a pub.

He doesn't care about their names, he doesn't particularly care if they're a man or woman or something in between. He doesn't care what they look like, he hardly looks at them at all. They're just a means to an end for him. Just a warm hole to stuff himself into to feel good for a bit, to make his head quiet for a bit. He leaves once he's done. He never stays the night, never even stays much longer than to tie off his condom and pull his trousers back up.

It all changed when he met that damned spitfire of a man John MacTavish. Goes by the name 'Soap'. A ridiculous nickname in Simon's opinion, but then again, he goes by Ghost, so he doesn't have much room to talk.

Soap is loud and brash, but he can be careful and focused, too. He's intensely loyal and has a deep sense of justice. He fights for what's right, Ghost has seen it. He makes the icy shell around Ghost's heart melt, ever so slightly.

It's a slow progression, the way Soap draws Ghost into his orbit. Ghost doesn't even fully realize its happened until Las Almas. There was a moment when he thought he lost Johnny- when did Soap become Johnny? They had gotten separated and Ghost waited for him. Ghost never waited. But he couldn't, in that moment, hiding out in a church with a whole militia after him, even fathom leaving Johnny behind.

By the time Simon realized he loved Johnny it was too late. Johnny was married. Simon hadn't noticed that when he read Soap's dossier years ago. It must have happened in the time they had known each other. Simon had never pinned Johnny as someone to keep his cards so close to his chest like that, but he was proved wrong.

Johnny didn't wear his ring in the field. It was a liability, not just to have jewelry on in life-or-death situations, but also for anyone to see he was married, be it friend or foe. He didn't find out until after Chicago. It seemed that Soap's near-death experience at the top of a skyscraper had shaken him more than he'd let on. He'd snuck off at the bar to use the payphone and Ghost had followed.

"Hey, its me... Just needed to hear your voice, bonnie... No, no, I'm alright, just a wee bit banged up... Yeah, I miss you too, lovie... No I promise I'm alright. Just got a bit worried the whole 'til death do us part' thing was comin' sooner than expected... Sorry, bonnie... No, no, you're right, it's not funny. I'm sorry... I'll be home in a few days... Yeah... I'll see you then. I love you."

Simon hated you. He hated you and he didn't even know you. He didn't even know you existed and he hated you. Who were you? Some civilian? Some random woman who decided to shack up with Johnny? Probably just chasing valor or benefits or something. What could you possibly have to offer someone like Johnny? You could never understand him the way Simon does. Their bond is forged in fire and blood. You could never hope to understand it. They'd been through hell together. And yet you've wormed your way in between them. You, a woman he doesn't even know, have ruined everything. But Simon, ever the stoic sentinel, keeps it all under wraps with practiced patience. He didn't survive this long by letting his emotions control him. He'll figure out a way to fix this.

Then several months later, Simon meets you. It's after another mission, and you're picking up Soap from base, who had gotten a mild concussion and couldn't drive himself. You're there, waiting for him with a lovesick smile on your face. Simon watches as you embrace Johnny, wrapping him in your arms and holding him for a long time. Too long, in Simon's opinion. And then you pull back and hold Soap's head in your hands, turning his face side to side to get a better look at him. You laugh at something he says. Simon sneers. Oh, aren't you just perfect? A sweet little doting wife?

And then Johnny brings you over to introduce you two. You shake Simon's hand with both of yours, gratitude broadcast to the world as you thank him for getting your Johnny home safe. Your Johnny. Simon hates it. He hates how sincere you are. He wishes you were something worse, something worth hating. But Ghost reads people. He's great at it. But he can't read anything but genuine in you. And it makes him hate you more.

It isn't fair, Simon thinks. You don't deserve someone like Johnny. You haven't earned him. You haven't fought for him like Simon has. You haven't fought alongside him like Simon has. Simon has suffered. His whole life has been nothing but blood and fire. Doesn't he deserve something good for once? Hasn't he earned it? Even the devil himself got to taste heaven before he fell to earth.

That's what he tells himself on that night. The night they were stuck in that frozen safe house in the middle of Bumfuck, Russia. They'd narrowly escaped the enemy, and they didn't dare poke their heads out for risk of being spotted. Soap's radio had broken in the escape. Ghost was the only one with a means to communicate with Watcher. She tells him exfil will be there in the morning. He unplugs his radio. He tells Soap he can't get through. He tells himself that he's justified. He's a devil seeking a taste of heaven.

And what is Johnny if not heaven? Simon needs him. He needs to taste him. Johnny is worried. Simon can feel it rolling off him in waves. Simon can make it all better for him. Just for tonight.

"Who knows when exfil's gonna get here?" He asks. "What do we have to lose? It's just for tonight. Just let me take care of you, Johnny."

Simon can feel the hesitation in Johnny's body when he kisses him. But Johnny let's Simon lay him down. Simon whispers words into Johnny's ear. Not quite words of reassurance. But Simon Riley is a bad man, and a lonely man, and those two things make a nasty combination.

Simon tastes every part of Johnny's body he can get his mouth on. Neither man has bathed in days, and a lesser man would be disgusted, but Simon has experienced far worse. Besides, nothing about Johnny could ever disgust him.

And when Johnny let's him inside, Simon, that devil, finally tastes his slice of heaven. A whole life of suffering was worth is just to feel Johnny beneath him. It's perfect, he thinks. Even if only for the night. Simon looks Johnny in the eye. Simon stays with him afterward. Simon sleeps beside him.

Then morning comes. Exfil comes. Regret comes for Johnny, but not for Simon. Maybe he shouldn't had lied about his radio, but it was worth it, wasn't it? But now Johnny won't look at him. He won't speak to him. He practically runs from him when they land.

No, no, no. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This was supposed to fix things! It was supposed to fix what you had ruined! You, Soap's perfect wife with your perfect life, perfectly ruining Simon's. Johnny was supposed to see that he needed Simon more. Johnny was supposed to see that he needed Simon as much as Simon needed him. What happened? What went wrong? Simon blames you. He always blames you.

Simon calls Johnny late that night, after he's sure you must be in bed. He pleads with Johnny to come to his senses. It wasn't a mistake! How could he say that? How could he say that it was wrong when Simon had never felt so right in his whole life? It's your fault. You've got Johnny trapped under some kind of spell. You can't love him like Simon could, like Simon does. Simon changes tactics.

"You have to tell her," Simon tells him. Maybe if you know, you'll leave. Then Simon can have Johnny all to himself, without you getting in the way again. "The guilt will eat you up, it's better if you just tell her. Its the right thing to do." Johnny reluctantly agrees.

Simon waits for Johnny to call him the next night, to tell him you've kicked him out. He waits for the call so he can swoop in and be Johnny's rescuer. Maybe then Johnny will see how much he loves him. But Johnny never calls. Simon would be tearing his hair out with anxiety if it wasn't so close-cropped to his head. What's happened to him? He hasn't lost control of his emotions like this in years. What have you done to him?

Simon drives to Johnny's house. He watches from the curb through your window. Johnny's alone. Good. He has half a mind to walk up to the door when he sees you come around the corner. He watches you two talk. He watches you cry. Crocodile tears, they must be! Poor you, having your perfect life be derailed. Simon was justified. It's only fair that you suffer even a fraction that he has so he can take some of your perfect life for his own.

But then Johnny is holding you. Johnny is kissing you. No, no this isn't right! You should be screaming at him to leave! You should be beating Soap to a pulp so Simon can put him back together! Why won't you let him have this?

He watches Johnny carry you away. He forces himself to drive away before he does something he'll regret. He speeds the whole way home. He turns his apartment upside-down. In the back of his mind he's thankful he lives in a shit part of town where no one calls the cops unless someone is actually dead. No noise complaints as he shatters every mirror.

It's your fault he's losing control. You you would just let him have Johnny, it would all be fine. But you, you selfish bitch, want to keep Johnny all to yourself. Why? Because you've got a ring? Because you made a vow? Well, Simon makes a vow to himself. No matter how long it takes, he will make Johnny his.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley angst #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish angst

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen: Let’s Do This Right

Plot: Jamie and Y/n settle into their new relationship and Ted makes a shocking announcement.

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: f!reader, allusion to smut, light innuendo, language

A/N: We are finally over the angst hump and into happier times 🥰 Thanks y’all for sticking through the storm 😂 Hope you guys enjoy this one! We’re almost done 😭

—————

Waking up sober with the man you loved was an entirely different experience than doing it drunk.

Y/n traced the sharp edges of Jamie’s face as he slept, content to stare at him forever. He was snoring lightly, his face twitched every once in a while indicating he was probably dreaming. It was peace beyond what she could fathom.

It had been three days since the Man City match and the two of them had barely left the house. Jamie was cleared of any injury by day #2, but he swore on his life that he needed Y/n to stay in case he relapsed. She’d pointed out that an unbroken, un-sprained, un-fractured ankle had a slim chance of backsliding. Jamie’s rebuttal consisted of viciously attacking her with his lips on the couch. They made the mutual decision she’d stay in the name of recovery.

Jamie’s eyes drowsily opened, landing on Y/n. “Watching me sleep again?”

“Mm-hm,” her smile was lazy.

“Creep,” Jamie teased, rolling onto his back and rubbing at his eyes. He didn’t think there was a better thing to wake up to than her eyes on him.

“Part of the perk package,” Y/n shrugged.

Jamie turned back onto his side, tugging his girlfriend to him. “Thought you were scared of me,” he said, his voice was gravelly with sleep.

Y/n reached up and ran her fingers over his cheek. “Terrified,” she whispered playfully.

Ignoring the morning breath sensation, Jamie captured her lips in a slow kiss. They hadn’t done much else for 72 hours. For all the weeks he’d pined for her, Jamie was enjoying not having to hold back any longer.

Y/n hummed against the kiss, ever the more sensible of them. “We can’t be late,” she said in between kisses.

“We can be late,” Jamie rolled on top of her.

“No,” Y/n elongated the syllable, “We cannot. How many times has Ted called a full staff meeting?”

Jamie deepened his kisses, trying his best to derail her train of thought. “Loads of times.”

Y/n was unable to challenge the lie with Jamie’s mouth glued to hers. She pressed a hand to his chest and pushed, which only made Jamie hold her tighter.

“Jamie-“

“It’s gonna be some team motivational shit,” he argued, tracing her form through the borrowed t-shirt of his, “West Ham’s next weekend. We’ll be doin’ trust falls and watching movies about friendship. We can miss it.”

Just as he was going in for another kiss, Y/n slid her hand between their lips.

“Then we’d better get there before all the good partners are taken,” she countered, pecking Jamie’s nose before slipping out from under him.

Jamie groaned dramatically and fell face-first into the pillows. If everyone else had been second priority when Y/n and him were just friends, nothing and nobody fucking mattered now that they were together.

“Get up,” Y/n ordered as she padded across the floor to Jamie’s dresser. She’d convinced him to let her go home once to grab clothes.

“Fine,” Jamie moaned, flopping onto his back, “But the second it’s done, we’re comin’ right back here,” he drilled his finger into the bed. “We can’t chance my recovery.”

Y/n laughed, looking back at the mess of a man watching her every move. Hair falling in his face, sleepy eyed and pouting, he’d never looked more perfect.

“Deal.”

—————————

Word had spread quickly around Nelson Road that there was a new couple alert.

Jamie and Y/n entered the building hand in hand, giggling to themselves over something he’d said, and were welcomed to a flood of congratulations. From the physios to the security guards, everyone seemed to be taking joy in the two of them finally getting together.

Jamie held the door open as they entered the press room. Any and all conversations came to a halt, all their friends and teammates hooting and hollering at their appearance. Y/n rolled her eyes but grinned through the whole thing. Just before taking a seat with the boys, Jamie kissed her and the whole room exploded. Y/n shoved him away, sharing a sensational smile as they separated.

“So,” Rebecca said teasingly, “He allowed you two to leave the house.”

“She hasn’t answered one of my texts since we got back,” Keeley interjected, coming to stand on the other side of Y/n, “Been busy nursing him back to health, have you?”

Y/n could feel her cheeks heating up and kept her eyes focused ahead of her. Jamie was fielding several high fives and back slaps from the boys. “This is a workplace,” she tried to pull her lips straight.

“Of course. You want to focus on work,” Keeley nodded, “I’m sure it’s been very stressful, making sure Jamie’s comfortable, attending to all his needs.”

Rebecca snorted quite loudly.

“I hate you both,” Y/n tried her hardest not to giggle.

Before any more innuendos could be birthed, Y/n spotted a face on the far end of the room she’d only ever seen through screens.

Nathan Shelley.

“So Jamie wasn’t kidding,” she commented. The team’s text chain had spilled the news that Ted was rehiring their former coach. “Excuse me.”

Y/n walked the edge of the room, stopping in front of Nate, who looked a bit nervous. “Hi,” she stuck her hand out, “We haven’t met yet. I’m Y/n.”

“Oh,” Nate smiled, “Nathan. Ted told me you took over for Keeley.”

“Yeah,” she replied sweetly, “I’ve been handling PR, helping the boys out with interviews…dealing with unpleasant headlines created by other club’s coaches.”

Nate’s face dropped, he swallowed hard. “Oh.”

Y/n crinkled her nose, “Yeah.”

“I-I do want to apologize if I made your job a-any harder,” Nate stuttered, pulling his now sweaty palm from Y/n’s grip, “It’s uh, it’s a bit complicated but-“

“Look,” Y/n kindly stopped him, “Clearly a lot of things went down before I ever got here. If Ted trusts you, I trust Ted. Just,” her stare turned more somber, “Don’t fuck with us again.”

Nate shook his head quickly, “No. Never.”

“Good,” Y/n smiled and patted Nate’s shoulder, “Glad you’re here.”

Y/n turned on her heel and returned to her spot. Nate didn’t feel threatened so much as firmly reminded that if he ever lashed out at AFC Richmond again, there was one more person who would be displeased with him.

Just then, Ted stepped up to the front of the room, Beard in tow. “Alright, chatty Kathys and Kens. Let’s press pause on the small talk.”

The room’s attention redirected to the head coach.

“Now, first off, let me take a minute to congratulate y’all again on our win against Man City,” Ted started, everyone clapped and whistled on cue, “Took a heck of a lot of effort from you boys, and I’m proud of every one of ya.”

The boys seated around Jamie slapped him on the shoulder. He’d all but clinched the win for them.

“Second,” Ted hesitated, “Coach Beard and I’ve got a little announcement we wanted y’all to know about first.”

One minute, the room was all smiles and laughter it was just another average Tuesday.

The next, the floor had been ripped out from beneath each one of them.

Y/n’s eyes were glued to Ted, waiting for the punchline of whatever joke he was telling. He was creating the world’s longest fake out and in seconds, he’d grin reassuringly.

When Ted’s gaze crossed hers, giving a brief but resigned smile, Y/n realized it was real.

She looked up to Rebecca, who was caught between a frown and an even deeper one. She already knew.

Ted explained the details of it all, no one asked any questions. For once, every part of AFC Richmond was rendered speechless.

—————————

Y/n and Jamie drove home in silence. They’d made plans to return to work the next day. Jamie needed to get in all the practice he could, Y/n and Keeley had to handle Ted’s announcement. Life had to return to normal.

They went their separate ways once they got back to Jamie’s place. Jamie headed for the bathroom while Y/n dragged into the kitchen. They’d left happy with the promise of a long and lazy day spent at home. The change in plans was unspoken.

Y/n leaned against the counter, crossing her arms across her chest. Here she’d thought everything had just settled. Jamie, work, a chance at the Premier League title…

Jamie emerged a second later, padding over to the refrigerator. He reached in and grabbed a drink.

Y/n sighed, “I’ll start lunch in a bit.”

“Sure,” Jamie nodded, his gaze was focused on…nothing. He started to walk off to aimlessly wander the next part of the house.

“Jamie,” Y/n pushed off the counter, reaching for his hand before he could escape.

He turned around, still unable to meet her eyes. It wasn’t until she guided his chin up that the red veins around his pupils became visible.

In sync, Jamie and Y/n slid their arms around one another. Nothing needed to be said.

—————————

While England was having a tremendous reaction to the news that Ted Lasso was departing AFC Richmond at the end of the season, business at Nelson Road Stadium went on as usual.

Most of it was because people didn’t want to acknowledge that Ted was leaving. The boys didn’t really talk about it, Rebecca flat out refused to discuss it. Even Y/n was touchy about the subject, quickly changing the topic when a KJPR client mentioned how sad it was. No one wanted to deal with their feelings on the matter.

Y/n and Keeley carpooled from the office over to Nelson Road, discussing how well Ted’s recent press conference had gone. With Y/n no longer in hiding, their weekly meetings with Higgins and Rebecca had returned to their normal rhythm, relaxed and upbeat. This time, they were seated around Rebecca’s couch, going over a very interesting piece of news that had recently broke.

“The press are asking if you have any comments about Rupert’s divorce,” Keeley looked to Rebecca.

“Yes, of course,” Rebecca hummed as she scrolled her phone, “But no, no comment.”

“Classy,” Higgins nodded.

“Smart move,” Y/n agreed.

“Moving on,” Keeley said firmly, “Leslie, Y/n and I are asking if you have any comments on Rupert’s divorce.”

Rebecca sighed and eyed each one of her colleagues.

“Juicier the better,” Higgins gestured around them, “Safe space.”

“Also no comment,” Rebecca replied.

Keeley, Y/n and Higgins voiced their disappointment with boos and raspberries.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Rebecca smiled, “I just genuinely don’t care anymore.”

“Yes, but can you care for just two seconds,” Y/n begged from her spot on the couch, “I don’t even know what happened!”

“Well, perhaps if you hadn’t been using personal days on a certain someone,” Rebecca fired back, smirking, “You’d have gotten the story.”

Y/n gasped in mock offense, while Keeley laughed and poked at Y/n’s knee with her pen.

“I might need to be filled in on that one as well,” Higgins said to Y/n, “Again, safe space.”

“Next order of business,” Y/n ended the conversation.

Higgins took out his own notebook, turning serious. “We need to talk about who we’re hiring to replace Ted. I’ve made a list of the usual suspects,” he got up and handed the book to Rebecca, “And I threw in a basketball coach from New Zealand just to spice it up a bit.”

“Hey,” Y/n shrugged, “It worked once before.”

Rebecca glanced down at the list, her face a bevy of mixed emotions. “Right,” she set the papers down, “I can’t think about that yet.”

“Okay,” Higgins said, sensing her tone, “After the season then. Oh, last thing from me. On a happier note, now that we have a guaranteed spot in the Champions League next season…”

The four of them squealed together, waving their hands wildly.

“We have had many requests to buy a piece of the club,” Higgins continued, “Our value is at an all-time high, so it’s worth considering,” he gestured to Rebecca, “You give up 49%, retain full control and make a huge pile of cash. We can buy more players, renovate the stadium.”

“Ooh,” Keeley straightened up, “Maybe we can get some of those fancy seats. The ones with the heaters like they have at Tottenham.”

“Ooh, they’re amazing,” Higgins agreed, “In February. You see, I accidentally turned mine on last summer and nearly melted my bottom crack together.”

The women went silent.

“Think about it anyway,” he finished, “It’s only 49%.”

Rebecca was already running it through her head. “Leslie,” she called him back, “How much would I get if I sold the entire club?”

Y/n’s eyes bulged, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Rebecca,” Keeley scolded her boss, “You can’t sell the club.”

“Why not?” Rebecca shrugged, “I mean, I only got into this to ruin Rupert’s life. And he seems to be doing a pretty good job of that himself.”

Keeley and Y/n shared a worried glance.

“So come on, Leslie,” Rebecca lifted her tea cup, “How much?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Higgins cautiously reentered the room, “Off the top of my head, I’d say two billion.”

Tea sprayed out of Rebecca’s mouth all over the table, hitting most of Y/n and Keeley’s papers. Not that any of them noticed.

“Fuck me,” Rebecca breathed.

Suddenly, Y/n had a whole new concern to add to her list. If Rebecca sold the club, the whole structure would change. Players could be traded, the entire staff could change, KJPR could be looked at as too much of a risk and dropped. The decision would leave no part of AFC Richmond untouched.

A text alert pulled Y/n out of her spiraling thoughts.

Roy Kent: It’s time.

“Sorry,” Y/n mumbled, “I’ve got to take care of something.”

“Are you coming back to the office?” Keeley asked.

“Yeah,” Y/n grabbed her purse, “Don’t leave without me.”

She hurried out of Rebecca’s office and down the stairs. Jamie had let her in on a surprise the boys had planned as a going away gift for Ted and Beard. They’d all been working tirelessly on it and after witnessing rehearsals, she had to see the final product.

Y/n got to the pitch just as Roy announced the end of their last practice with three coaches. She snuck through the gates to the fan-packed stands and took a seat behind Trent. Pulling out her phone, she hit record and aimed the camera toward the pitch.

A clang of a bell rang loud through the air, Will’s boombox positioned on the water table. The boys were lined up behind Sam and Isaac, crouched and waiting for their cue.

What happened next could only be experienced in person. The Greyhounds performed their rendition of ‘So Long, Farewell’ from The Sound of Music. They were perfectly on pitch, their choreography was flawless, and took visible pride in hitting their marks. By the time Dani finished his solo and the boys waved and sang ‘goodbye’ in harmony, Y/n found her eyes were watery.

“Thank you, fellas,” Ted said once it was over, “That was perfect.”

The team and the fans broke out into cheers. Y/n moved her phone to capture the pandemonium that apparently came whenever grown men completed a musical number. Had it not been for the witnesses, it would have been too insane to believe.

Afterwards, Y/n met Keeley inside, ready to head back to the office. She was carrying pink fuzz trimmed gift bags in each hand.

“You know I can say these are from both of us,” Keeley offered as they strolled down the hall.

“No,” Y/n repeated the same answer she’d already given, “It’s a sign of protest.”

“Fine,” Keeley relented as they passed Nate, “Hey, Nate.”

“Hey, Keeley, Y/n,” the assistant kitman greeted them, “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Keeley answered for both of them, “It’s so good to have you back.”

Nate nodded, “Thank you. It’s really good to be back.”

The women rounded the corner to the coach’s office, cutting past Trent and Roy’s desks.

“Hi,” Keeley greeted her ex.

“Hey,” Roy spun around in his seat.

Y/n chortled as she passed him, smirking knowingly. As much as Keeley had pressed her for details on her and Jamie, she’d also revealed a few key developments between her and Roy.

“Hello, boys,” Keeley approached Ted and Beard’s desks.

“Hey, Keeley, Y/n,” Ted smiled, eyes darting to the gift bags, “Uh-oh. What do we got here?”

“A little last-day present. One for you,” Keeley set one down on Ted’s desk before Beard’s, “And one for you. Don’t,” she jumped, “Open that before you get on the plane!”

Both men threw their hands up in surrender.

“Or better yet,” she softened her tone, “Just don’t get on the plane.”

“Thanks, guys,” Ted and Beard both said.

“Oh no,” Keeley placed her hands on Y/n’s shoulders, “These are very much my gifts.”

Y/n smiled sweetly, “I don’t give gifts to traitors.”

Ted laughed understandingly. Y/n was less than thrilled with their decision.

“I respect that,” Beard nodded.

Following Keeley into the locker room, Y/n and Beard shared a high five.

“Is everybody decent?” Keeley asked the boys, uncovering her eyes before Y/n did to a fully clothed room. “Aw, one of these days, right? Okay, remember, you’ve got your extra press session tomorrow at noon.”

“Which does not mean 12:15,” Y/n interjected, “There’s no such thing as fashionably late when you’re all wearing the same thing.”

“And you’re confident,” Keeley instructed while the two of them crossing the room, “Generous. Excited,” she threw her arms in the air, “You’re fucking legends!”

The room erupted into cheers. Not only were the boys hyped for the match and all that was attached to it, they genuinely loved having Keeley and Y/n around.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” Y/n smiled as they exited into the hallway.

“And to think,” Keeley elbowed her friend, “You almost missed it.”

Y/n rolled her eyes just before a pair of arms yanked her backwards and into the air. She yelped before recognizing the familiar grip.

“Should I assume you’re staying here for the day?” Keeley smiled, watching Jamie spin Y/n around.

“No,” Y/n grunted, “This will be very quick.”

“No, it won’t,” Jamie called to Keeley as she left the two of them to their moment. He set Y/n down but kept his arms round her waist.

“Well, that was professional,” Y/n teased, settling her hands to his chest.

Jamie shrugged, “It ain’t like nobody knows.”

“Yes, well, there’s still rules.” Y/n adjusted a stray hair that was slipping out his headband. “The dance went well, yeah?”

“Yeah, think we crushed it,” Jamie smiled proudly, “You got it on video?”

“Every second,” Y/n nodded, “It’ll go locked away in my vault of special Greyhound Only media.”

Jamie laughed, the lads and him had worked hard to nail the choreography. There needed to be proof, however secret.

“So Roy invited me out tonight for a beer,” he switched topics.

Y/n pulled back and grew mockingly serious, “That goes against the Jamie Tartt Diet Plan.”

“He said that since I’m with him, I get a pass.”

“Well, that would’ve been nice to know he was so lenient before he made me tape the pre-approved food list to my fridge,” Y/n remarked. Wherever Roy knew Jamie would be, he made sure training followed.

“So you’re okay if I go?” Jamie asked.

“Of course,” Y/n replied, a little puzzled, “You didn’t think you needed to ask my permission, did you?”

“No, just-“ Jamie’s fidgeting thumbs rubbed lines into Y/n’s waist. “It’s been kinda nice, just me and you. Just wanted to make sure you were cool with it.”

And it had been nice. Shutting the world out for the days after the Manchester match, coming home to one another after work, getting to explore the new territory of their relationship. It was heaven and it warmed Y/n’s heart that it clearly meant as much to Jamie as it did her.

Without any care for if they were alone or not, Y/n pulled Jamie in for a soft kiss. She smoothed her fingers against his cheek as they broke apart, Jamie kept his eyes shut and rubbed his lips together.

“Go have fun,” she smiled, “I’m always here, but Roy’s kindness is fleeting.”

Jamie chuckled and adjusted his gaze to his girlfriend. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Y/n beamed.

With a final peck, the two of them headed in opposite directions, Jamie back to the locker room and Y/n out to Keeley’s car. Even though it had only been a few days, Y/n was bewildered that there’d been a time where the three words they exchanged so freely were impossible to fathom.

—————————

With the sun setting on him, Ted nudged a ball along the training pitch. Nearly everyone had gone home, but he was taking his time saying goodbye to the place he’d called home the last three years.

“Y’know, I’m mad at you.”

Ted turned around to see Y/n, leaned against the wall. The small smile she wore contradicted her words.

“Oh no,” Ted smiled back, “What’d I do?”

“You give me this whole speech last week about how people here won’t leave me,” Y/n sighed, trying to keep her voice steady, “And then you go and do the very thing.”

Ted’s smile changed with sympathy. Y/n hadn’t pulled away like usual when she felt something big, she’d just been quieter. Still present, but withdrawn. It was nice to hear her admit the problem so quickly.

He walked across the pitch and sat down on the concrete, gesturing for her to join him.

“I’m also very jealous of Henry,” Y/n continued as she took a seat next to Ted, “To have a dad who’d move across the country to try and help their family, then move right back the second you say you miss him.”

The real reason for Ted’s departure had been spoken of privately. If anyone didn’t understand, they did after hearing it.

“Y’know he’s still talkin’ about gettin’ to play coach for a day,” Ted lightened the mood.

Y/n chuckled, that had been a good day. “He’s definitely got a future in sports.”

They let silence come naturally, waiting for the words to present themselves.

“You know, I haven’t thanked you for everything,” Y/n looked down at her lap, her hands fidgeting. “Everything you’ve done for me. If you hadn’t smacked me upside the head, I wouldn’t have come back here. I wouldn’t have the boys, Keeley, Rebecca…I certainly wouldn’t have figured things out with Jamie.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Ted clicked his tongue, “I think you and Jamie would have found y’all’s way to one another no matter what.”

“No, Ted,” Y/n turned to him, her eyes sober with seriousness, “I would have never had the guts to say what I said. I would have watched him fall for someone else and it would have been…” she shuddered at the thought, “Miserable.”

It was the truth. Y/n and Jamie may have taken the steps but if Ted hadn’t knocked on Y/n’s hotel door, nothing would have come to be.

“I owe you a lot, Ted,” Y/n continued, looking between their bodies, “Thank you.”

Ted’s eyes turned misty. He never quite knew what to do when people praised him. He never felt like he did enough to earn it. He also saw the potential in Y/n that had come from opening herself up.

“Well, you’re welcome,” he replied.

“Any plans for what you’ll do when you get back?” Y/n asked.

Ted exhaled, “I dunno. Didn’t know what I was doin’ here, coaching soccer. Maybe I’ll try something else new. Maybe lacrosse or rugby.”

“Or pickleball,” Y/n added.

“There you go,” Ted smiled, the two of them sharing a laugh, “Whole word of possibilities.”

The sky was turning dark fast, the golden glow illuminating the pitch gleaming for the last time.

“Y’know the best part about family’s that,” Ted nudged Y/n, “It don’t matter where in the world you are. It’s still a family.”

Y/n smiled sadly, tracing the last visible edge of the sun. It had been nearly a week since she’d left the shocking voicemail to her parents. Not a word from either.

“That helps a little.”

“And you gotta promise me you’ll keep the patriotism goin’,” Ted grinned, “Confuse the heck outta this country.”

Y/n laughed. Her, Ted and Beard could be their own trio at times. The three Americans.

“I will,” she looked up at Ted, “Promise me we’ll win this weekend?”

Maybe at the beginning of the season, each member of AFC Richmond had different motivations for wanting to win. Rebecca wanted revenge against Rupert, Y/n simply wanted to work at a successful club, the boys had wanted to prove their critics wrong, and Ted wasn’t much concerned at all with victory. Now they felt united. Everyone wanted to win for Richmond.

Ted and Y/n grinned. It was unspoken that the only guarantee was that Ted and the team would get it their all. That was all that was needed.

Finally, Y/n rose to leave. “You heading out? I can give you a ride.”

“I think I’m gonna stick around a little longer,” Ted answered, letting his eyes drift fondly around him.

Y/n nodded and saved the memory in her mind. A coach on his pitch one last time.

“Goodnight, Coach,” she said, turning to leave.

Ted watched her walk off towards the car lot. Her future at AFC Richmond was brighter than she even knew.

“‘Night, Y/n.”

—————————

With the season wrapping up, Y/n’s evenings were free from working overtime. And with her new outlook on life, doing nothing was actually enjoyable.

She was in the middle of catching up on a show when there was a knock at the door. She headed downstairs and peered out the peephole, pleasantly surprised at the sight of her boyfriend.

“Hi,” she greeted as she opened the door, “Roy cancel?”

“No, I’m just coming back,” Jamie answered.”

“Oh,” Y/n leaned against the doorframe, “You two have fun?”

The single drink he’d been allowed hadn’t lasted Jamie longer than two minutes. But the kinship with Roy was the real highlight. “Yeah,” he smiled, “Yeah, it was good.”

“Good,” Y/n grinned, glancing back at the stairs, “Well, you’ve missed nothing but tv of questionable quality and crap takeout so-“

“Actually,” Jamie hesitated, knocking his fists together, “I wanted to ask you somethin’.”

Y/n waited for him to continue.

“I think we should go out. On a date.”

“A date,” Y/n repeated.

“Yeah,” Jamie nodded, his nervous eyes scanning her face, “What do you think?”

Y/n laughed, “I mean, we’ve kind of done this whole thing backwards.”

“I know,” Jamie closed his eyes and rubbed at his face, “I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to ask or what but…I wanna do this right. Us.”

Jamie’d had many short-lived relationships and meaningless flings. He’d never tended to any of them, preferring to let them fizzle out when he got bored or he fucked up enough to make them leave. Keeley had been the last one to do so and it had left a lasting impression on Jamie. Now with Y/n, so precious to him, he was taking great pains to make sure this was the one that stuck.

“I’d love to,” Y/n smiled warmly.

Jamie’s grin was boyish, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “Name the time and place, I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

Y/n gestured behind her, “Are you coming up?”

“Eh,” Jamie paused, thinking the decision over, “Not tonight,” he met Y/n’s eyes, “Tryin’ to do this right.”

The whole of their relationship had been so unconventional. They’d practically lived together the first few days, said ‘I love you’ more than some couples did in a year and saw each other nearly every hour at work. A little structure wasn’t a bad idea to start out with.

“Fine with me,” she beamed, “Go get some rest.”

“I will,” Jamie replied, sparing one more look at his girlfriend before heading down the steps, “Night.”

“Goodnight,” Y/n said softly.

She’d just turned on her heel, beginning to shut the door when Jamie rushed back up the steps, reached for Y/n’s wrist and tugged her to him. They both smiled into a passionate kiss.

—————————

Jamie had been very strict in not giving Y/n any hints on what their first date would be. He’d texted her an address, told her not to Google it, and said to arrive at 7PM.

And so, right on the dot, Y/n showed up in a white floral dress and sneakers to a spot in Richmond. Stood outside a large pair of gates was Jamie, hair swept to the side, in a blue dress shirt and pants.

“I didn’t Google,” Y/n held her hands up, “Promise.”

“You look fucking incredible,” Jamie said, a little dumbstruck. He came to meet Y/n halfway and held her waist, “Shit.”

Y/n slid a hand over his shoulder and up his neck, “I’m not sure I want to be with someone who’s got such a foul mouth.”

Jamie matched her smirk, “Fuck off.”

They slid into a slow, easy kiss, one they knew if they didn’t break would become the main event of the night.

“You gonna finally tell me what we’re doing?” Y/n asked when they pulled away.

“Come on,” Jamie teased, taking her hand, “I know it’s killing you not knowing what’s going on.”

They entered through the gates. “Oh, you know,” Y/n said casually, “I only wanna break into hives a little bit.”

Jamie chortled, he loved pushing her out of her comfort zone. It wasn’t very hard.

They walked a short tree-lined path and passed a small lake before a massive glass building revealed itself. Surrounding it was pristine cut grass and gorgeous beds of flowers.

“Wow,” Y/n muttered.

“Welcome to Kew Gardens,” Jamie announced, his soft tone matching the mood.

Y/n shook her head distractedly, “I’ve never been here. Always meant to come but…I never really had a reason.”

Jamie smiled as he watched her take it all in. “Well,” he adjusted her hand in his, “Now you do.”

Turning them around, Jamie led Y/n towards the rose garden where there was a candlelit table set in the middle. Nearby were two waiters, waiting with a cart of food.

Jamie pulled out Y/n’s chair and helped her slide in, taking his own seat after.

Y/n glanced around them, suddenly aware of the silence. “Did you…close this place down for us?”

Jamie shrugged playfully, “One of the perks of bein’ famous.”

The waiters strode over, placing a plate in front of each of them. Where Y/n’s had some sort of pasta, Jamie’s was a plain chicken breast and wild rice.

“Well, the food’s certainly not a competition,” Y/n remarked, trying not to laugh.

“Home stretch,” Jamie replied. He didn’t suspect he’d change much about Roy’s regiment after the season ended, but he fucking missed food.

Y/n bobbed her head, “Then it’s, what, waking up at 10AM and gorging on sugary cereals?”

Jamie looked up from his plate, dropping his fork. He pointed to Y/n, “That’s the first thing we do on Monday.”

She laughed, covering her full mouth with her napkin.

“I’m serious,” Jamie continued.

Y/n shook her head at him in adoration.

Things grew quiet quickly, the two of them eating and their minds drifting suddenly to what Monday would bring.

“It’s gonna be weird,” Y/n observed as her eyes traced the nearest rose bed, “With Ted gone.”

Jamie lowered his gaze down to his plate. They had yet to talk about their feelings on Ted’s departure. The news had affected them in different ways. Jamie had finally found a coach who, despite many personality differences, he could count on. Ted had seen the best in him when there wasn’t much to see. He’d always be grateful for that.

And Y/n, though she’d tried with all her might, hadn’t been able to keep Ted out of her heart. He was the best of the home she’d tried to erase. He’d become her biggest guide through her time at Richmond.

“Yeah,” Jamie agreed.

Y/n’s eyes darted between her plate and Jamie. “A lot’s changing. Ted, the Champion’s League…”

Jamie smiled up at her.

“Couple other things…” Y/n matched his expression fleetingly, “You know, we haven’t actually…talked about anything…about us.”

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Jamie settled back in his chair. “Guess not. But…” he shrugged his head, “Is there anything to talk about?”

There couldn’t have been a more perfect example of the contrast between them. Jamie thought with his heart, Y/n with her head.

“Manchester.”

Y/n’s answer came the second Jamie finished his sentence. As soon as they’d come out of their cocoon and back to real life, the topic had started eating at her. The night at Georgie and Simon’s hadn’t been spoken of.

Jamie’s face tensed, though he tried to hide it. He wanted to put that whole night behind them. They were fine now.

“Jamie, what I said to you was…” Y/n paused, tears beginning to build, “Awful. I didn’t mean them and I still said them-“

“But it’s fine,” he reached across the table and took her hand, “Look at us. I think we recovered.”

“Jamie.”

At her insisting eyes, Jamie’s facade faded. Their long friendship allowed them to read each other better than most new couples.

“Yeah, okay,” Jamie admitted softly, “It sucked.”

She was glad he’d said it, truly, even if it only made her guilt more real.

“But…” Jamie sighed, “It’s not like I don’t understand why you did it. I’ve kicked a lot of people outta me life because I didn’t wanna let ‘em…” he waved around his chest, “See all the shit.”

“I know,” Y/n whispered, squeezing his hand, “But I shouldn’t have said it. I was scared and overwhelmed and…”

She drew a deep breath, shutting her eyes and waiting for the oxygen to bring strength. Jamie held her hand the whole time.

“I’ve never loved anybody like I love you,” Y/n said, locking eyes with Jamie, “I kept it that way because I didn’t want to get hurt. And then you show up and just…” she smiled, “Mess up all my plans.”

Jamie chuckled, ducking his head briefly.

“And when I realized that, it terrified me because you already had me,” she continued, “You knew me. I just felt…exposed. So instead of dealing with my shit, I hurt you. And I don’t know how I’m ever going to forgive myself for it but,” she bristled at herself, sniffling, “I just need you to know how much I regret it.”

Jamie was, for once, struck utterly speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so cared for. The delicacy and devotion Y/n treated him with was new to him, regardless of how long they’d been friends. He hadn’t doubted her, not since the moment she’d stormed into the med room and told her she loved him, but this was just further confirmation that it was the real thing.

“I think you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Y/n’s watery smile finally broke, a tear sliding down her cheek.

“I know we’re both fucked,” Jamie said, “It’s the truth. And I know I’m probably gonna mess this up a lot, but…I wanna try. Really try at this.”

Y/n only knew Jamie before she’d arrived through headlines and interviews. The man sitting in front of her, pouring his heart out, stroking her hand with his thumb didn’t resemble him in the slightest. She knew every syllable was intended with the most sincerity possible.

“You say ‘try’ like I’m ever gonna let you go,” Y/n chuckled.

“Fuck no,” Jamie’s face shifted seriously, “I just mean…I’m gonna try and be the best I can for you.”

“Me too,” Y/n agreed, smoothing her fingers over his knuckles, “I’m gonna fuck this up a lot too.”

Jamie chuckled, “You don’t fuck anything up.”

“I almost fucked this up,” she pointed between them.

“Fine, fine,” Jamie relented, playfully smirking, “Love confessions and turkeys. Those’re your fuck ups.”

Finally, Y/n laughed with might, naturally making Jamie do the same.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Jamie assured, gazing at her so confidently, Y/n’s fear couldn’t react at all.

“Yeah,” she smiled.

Jamie peered around them, brushing over the beauty of the gardens. “I know I got all this together but…I’ve got an idea.”

Y/n let him help her out of her seat and lead her off into the night. She wasn’t going to analyze anything to death about them. Jamie was her spontaneity.

He drove them through Richmond until they were on an all-too familiar road making an all-too familiar turn into an all-too familiar car lot.

After tipping Renee heavily to turn on the lights, Jamie and Y/n were in the stadium, Jamie kicking balls into the net. Y/n sat in the coach’s dugout.

“When’d you know?” She called.

Jamie lined up the ball, it was difficult to move properly in dress pants. “After Wembley. But looking back,” he paused, filing through the memories, “Probably ‘round that time we went out clubbing and that dick came up to you. Just felt wrong to see you with someone else.”

“Yeah, you were a bit weird that night,” Y/n recalled the jealousy, but not the poor soul’s name.

“Like you were any better about me and Keeley,” Jamie chuckled, making another goal.

“I wasn’t weird” Y/n insisted, her voice’s pitch shot up, “It was just…new information.”

Jamie was cheesing hard, reveling in the memory of her stumbling and stuttering and insisting it was fine. “Was that it for you?”

“It was certainly the first sign that something was wrong,” Y/n adjusted in what was typically Roy’s seat, “But I think Wembley was…I don’t know. My life was in the toilet, I thought I’d lost my job and all this,” she waved around her, “But being there with you, cheering you on…it felt like I was right where I was supposed to be. You made me forget about all that stuff.”

Jamie had stopped, giving Y/n his full attention.

“But looking back, it probably happened way before that,” Y/n shifted, suddenly nervous over the vulnerability.

“I think I know my moment,” Jamie declared.

“Hmm?”

“It was after that match where Isaac jumped that fan,” Jamie took a few steps closer, there was still feet of distance between them, “And you came over that night. We’d had this, uh,” he hesitated, “This talk in the locker room and I just realized how lucky I was to have you in my life. And then I realized…I wanted to be with you all the time.”

Y/n stayed quiet, awestruck.

“So if you think you ain’t ever letting me go,” Jamie turned around, nailed another goal and came right back, “I promise I’m gonna be worse.”

“I’m okay with that,” Y/n beamed, “God, I was so set on not dating a footballer and now look. You’ve made a WAG of me.”

“Stupid fucking word,” Jamie made a face, “Maybe I can be the WAG. The…HAB.”

Y/n laughed hard enough that she snorted.

“What? You’re a badass. I’d make fucking great arm candy,” he smiled, glancing back to the goal. “You coming? I didn’t bring you here so I could practice.”

“Right,” Y/n hopped off her seat and crossed the pitch, “You’d better step back because that kid’s league training ‘s gonna whip your ass with a vengeance.”

Jamie rolled the ball to her and Y/n caught it under her foot. She nudged it into position in front of the goal and took a breath. She was ready to kick when-

“Hang on,” Jamie interrupted, looking down at her with such intense focus, “Your posture’s all off. Let me-“

He proceeded to press his body flush against Y/n’s, getting a cackle out of her.

“This is not golf,” she remarked.

“You gotta correct mistakes like this straightaway,” Jamie held her hips, speaking over her shoulder, “Could affect you in the long term.”

“Oh, well,” Y/n twisted in Jamie’s hold to look at him, “My Premier League future rests in the balance.”

“Exactly,” Jamie lined his lips up with the shell of her ear, “You’re gonna wind it back, keep your foot steady, don’t flinch at the contact, and fuckin’ send it.”

Jamie shifted a few inches to avoid Y/n’s leg. She took a second to visualize the ball going in the net, swung her leg back and kicked the ball with all her strength.

It flew straight in.

They erupted in cheers loud enough to make anyone near think Richmond had won the whole fucking thing. Jamie crouched down in front of Y/n, giving her the opportunity to jump on his back. He ran them around the pitch, the two of them screaming and laughing like children.

In two days time, the pitch would be filled by two teams. The seats would be packed with fans. Richmond’s destiny would be decided.

But for the night, it belonged to Y/n and Jamie. The place they’d fallen in love without ever realizing it.

—————

Heartfirst Taglist: @lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield @thewildestwonderland @sablecities @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @strawberryacethingz @mentalistfan @tortilla-maria1 @katdahlali @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @glitterquadricorn @jamieolivia27 @imvibin69 @katlizada @lil-tracys @fanaticalfantasist @heyitz-julia @cactajuice @peachyy-tea @notalxx @rockchickrebel @anxiety-prime-max @loveforaugust @jellycolors @actuallybarb @heletsmelovehim @lovinnscarletknight @imfalling-inlove @leslieiscrying @meg-ro @littlemisssunshine192 @beboldbebravethings @maydayfigment @spencerreidsbookclub @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @lemoonandlestars @im-a-weirdo-for-life @mindless-rock (tags cont. in comments ❤️)

#ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fic #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #keeley jones x reader #rebecca welton x reader #heartfirst

[sebsxphia]

ptolemaea. | spirit in the basement.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: all you can feel and see is darkness, but someone else is there with you. you pray for your preacher in these desolate times.

￫ word count: 2K.

￫ c/w: heavy religious themes, preacher!rhett abbott, death, love and cannibalism.

￫ a/n: this is it, the last chapter! i’d highly recommend listening to spirit in the sky by norman greenbaum and strangers by ethel cain when reading! i also want to say to every single one of you who have loved and supported this series, thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. i’m genuinely so proud of this series and please know, that this is never the end either! my inbox is always open for these two! this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

| previous chapter |

What was this?

What was this feeling?

Your muscles in your calves tensed first on instinct to familiarize yourself with this feeling. They squeezed against something and you tensed them again, in an attempt to push against this something and feel it out.

Your forearms and biceps together repeated the same action and once again, you felt them squeeze against something.

No matter how hard and tight you flexed, or squeezed your muscles, they would not move against this something.

Something was binding you together and as you moved against this feeling, it felt as though invisible ties of fraying rope were twisting and turning over your body. You could feel them contort over your ribs, and tug at your ankles and wrists. Your limbs were glued tightly shut to your body in a position that you couldn’t even fathom to picture. And you were cold. You were so fucking cold.

Throughout all of your winters back in your home town, you don’t ever think you’d felt a chill this cold. It was prickling at your skin and covering you from head to toe. But, although you felt this piercing cold, your body wasn’t shaking like it would back home. You wondered if you were moving at all.

You thought you felt your eyelids blinking against each other in an attempt to try and see this something, but no matter how hard you blinked, your eyes remained open and there was nothing to be seen. It was just black. A black, deep, dark void that consumed your vision and everything you knew to be true.

And then you heard it.

There was a faint hum of music above your head. It was muffled considerably, but you couldn’t mistake that tune for anything else. Spirit In the Sky by Norman Greenbaum entered your hearing and swarmed your head with its familiar lullaby. It was a familiar favorite with yourself and soon after, with Rhett.

Rhett.

The song was still severely muffled, but further muffled creaks and groans contorted above your head. They paced around in an un-predictable pattern, and slowly they started to grow louder and closer to you. The sound cleared up and you recognized them to now be rhythmic patterns of footsteps. They were descending lower and growing louder, but something else came with it.

The low hum of the tune playing above you was turning into a whistle as something, came closer to you.

This was someone whistling the tune.

“R— Rhett?”

Your voice was broken and it croaked out from your throat.

“Rhett!”

You screamed louder with desperation, but your throat felt coarse and torn up.

As you desperately pleaded for Rhett to find you, over and over, you could feel the flesh on your neck tearing with your muscles. Your vocal cords were severed as you screamed.

You came to the deafening conclusion that he couldn’t hear you, as you heard his low drawl draw closer to you and hum out the words, “Never been a sinner, I never sinned. I got a friend in Jesus…”

His voice was so close to you now and he was practically on top of you. A crack of light dawned to your left and widened quickly. The darkness was now cut open above you and, you thought, you blinked furiously as your eyes adapted to the light. It was a dim and flickering light, yet it felt as though you had seen this darkness for your entire life. Your eyes adjusted and they went wide as you finally saw him.

Rhett had heard your pleading prayer.

He had always spoken to you about how you would find yourself in the Garden of Eden with him, therefore this wasn’t right. This wasn’t God’s plan for you, nor it wasn’t Rhett’s plan for you either. Your Preacher had come to save you from whatever horrid Hell this was. You would be safe in his arms again. He would hold you tightly against you, so tight his flesh would mould to yours and you would be tethered for eternity. You needed him, you craved him.

You made another futile attempt at screaming his name, but they fell on deaf ears. Your words never came. And Rhett simply continued to hum out Spirit In the Sky as he looked down at your neatly tied together body, which was frozen solid in your freezer, at the bottom of your basement.

You saw his hunting knife twirl in his slender fingers. You felt a blunt thud! whacked against your body and you were thrown back into the darkness.

You had no idea how long you’d been surrounded by this pitch-black, aching, darkness. The concept of time had all but disappeared with the light you saw your Preacher with. You thought it funny how the dim lightbulb that flickered above his head, silhouetted him like an Angel.

Concepts and things were starting to merge. You got confused and you felt yourself forgetting what time was all together, what your Daddy looked like, where your home was, how to breathe… But, Rhett was what you thought of most.

As you thought of him you could feel your heartbeat quicken in your throat and trail down to your heart itself. His initials of ‘R.A.’ thrummed on your hip bone with it. When you thought of him in this darkness, your body would vibrate and the blood in your veins would fizz.

He always made you feel as though you were coming alive. Every kiss, touch and bruise from his hand during sex, made your flesh come alive. Your hearts were tethered together, with his arteries suffocating yours.

You missed him.

And then you saw him again.

The darkness around you knocked down like bricks, before coming back together and forming a kitchen, specifically your kitchen, that you lived in together.

You were home and Rhett was with you there.

It was a sickly sweet, warmth inside your kitchen and it was just as you had left it. Left it where exactly, you weren’t sure of, but the heat made it feel as though wind was blowing gently along your arms.

Still, Spirit In the Sky played on the antique radio and you remembered how it would play in Rhett’s truck during blistering hot drives to the West, with the wind blowing through his rolled-down windows and onto your arms. You would mumble the lyrics to the tune with your knee bouncing in time. Soon you began to notice how Rhett would hum the tune with you, quietly making it known to you that he loved the song just as much as you did. His slender fingers would tap against the wheel of his truck, or his truck door as his hand stuck outside.

You suddenly felt his fingers tapping against you and you jolted with a spark. You watched him in the kitchen as he seared something with his hands in a sizzling hot pan. That sickly sweet, warmth was all you could feel as it clung to your flesh and stuck you to this particular place.

The song died out faintly on the radio and it followed with the town's local news.

“The missing persons case that has been wracking and worrying the people of Wyoming is causing another wave of paranoia as it’s suspected links to the missing persons cases that recently happened in the state of Florida. At this point, it is only suspected and local authorities are questioning…”

The monotone voice on the radio wasn’t interesting to you. It was drowned out from your ears as you gazed fondly, with an emptiness still behind your eyes, at Rhett. Your heartbeat picked up its pace and thrummed heavily against your rib cage as you watched him still. He was so handsome as he walked over to you, and then by you, reaching out to the cupboard that held your tableware.

His forearms now had small freckles splattered over his skin. You adored how they came up darker in the hotter weather. The fuzz of his arm hair, trailing up to his calloused fingers, had got lighter in the sunlight and you felt it softly brush against your cheek like he would when he’d lean in to tenderly press his lips to yours.

You’d only ever just wanted to be his. When you would kneel by your bed each night in nothing but your thin cotton nightdress, you’d pray to be his. You would beg him through prayer to tell you that you’re his. With your hands clasped so tightly together that your palms became damp, you’d mumble against your flesh, “Can I be yours? I tried to be good, Preacher Abbott. Am I no good? Can I be yours? I tried—”

When he told you that you were finally his, his forehead was pressed to yours through your screen door at the back of your house. His lips fumbled over the mesh material as he spoke and you laughed with pure, undeniable happiness that you were his. Through the small holes in the screen door, his familiar scent mixed with Marlboro Reds blanketed over you and wrapped you up with comfort. His tiny glass bottle of aftershave would always be splashed on his pulse point, just under his jaw, which was now tensing tightly as he chewed.

You watched as he devoured his smoked meal sat in front of him, and suddenly you felt an overwhelming and all-consuming love. You felt loved and protected by him, and you came to understand, like it was the most simple thing on this bountiful Earth, that this was his plan to keep his little lamb safe with him.

As he swallowed you thickly, you could feel his heart beating rapidly. You thought it funny because you never considered yourself tough before.

You felt whole as his heart was beating and intertwined itself with yours again. You were turning in his stomach and making him feel lovesick off of you and your tender flesh.

Tender pieces were still bleeding red and you thought, that Rhett had never looked so handsome when you were all over his mouth. His dog teeth that bit the meat off of your bones, were stained red. He groaned quietly, as he occasionally let his tongue wrap around his calloused fingertips. Doing so, he would smear your blood across your chin. His face was the portrait of a lover's rage.

This feeling was euphoric, in some strange and delightful way. You could never blame him for loving you the way that he did, because you were happiest here and because he would always be tethered to you. You’d never be without your Preacher again. Never alone, or fearful. He could protect you now from any hurt, or pain. This was meant to be and you would always forgive him, because he would always come back to you.

This sensation crept up your body, and you recognized the feeling of Rhett’s large hands running along your fingertips, down your forearm, and then up your biceps and to your shoulders.

You watched as the kitchen fell around you again like bricks, before building themselves back up and Rhett’s board arms were incasing you against his bare chest. You felt warm again, but it wasn’t the sickly, sweet type of warmth you’d experienced in the kitchen. This was instead the comforting warmth of Rhett’s flesh, pressed and moulded against yours.

The bricks came back together, stacking atop one another to form your bedroom in your home, where you lay together. Your hearts pounded against one another and you could finally feel his breathing. You could feel how his lungs expanded steadily below your own. The steady thrum of his pulse that you could feel under his jawline. As you scratched over it, his stubble pricked at your fingertips.

But you knew this was different.

In his basement, you would grow cold. The memory of you to everyone who knew you would simply be restricted to the Polaroids Rhett had of you. And whilst you were torn apart by the dog teeth of Preacher Abbott, you would still wait for him in your bed, in Death.

You felt safe, loved and protected with Rhett as you turned in his stomach, and you were held in his comforting arms. You just prayed that he knew how much you loved him.

But, it’ll be okay.

You can tell him when he gets here.

to my muse, jenna, thank you.

taglist: @sunblchdfly @beachbabey @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch @kmc1989 @randomfandomgirl97 @peachystenbrough

tagging those who may be interested: @attapullman @lewmagoo @floydsmuse @auroralightsthesky @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbitch @sugarcoated-lame @becks-things @roosterbruiser

#rhett abbott #preacher!rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott angst #rhett abbott drabble #rhett abbott imagine #outer range #lewis pullman #ptolemaea

[wildpeachfarm]

i read the transcript. kind of. and what the fuck philza, “the wrong uns got fired” like WHAT ?! okay yea fuck him and the duck who doesn’t quack. even bad im disappointed in like, i can’t fathom even TRYING to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes. he pisses me off so much.

fuck that smp

yeah idk how he can say the "bad ones" got fired when those are...the people who were mistreated...

#ask #anon #anti drummyache tag

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Request:  fuegoleon nsfw fic with wife s/o who's really hot? Fuego has been really busy with work lately and s/o feels neglected and sadly tells him one day that she's the only one who wants him but he doesn't want her? And it kinda hits a switch in fue, because he just can't fathom his wife thinking that HE doesn't want her, and he goes feral? Overstim, breeding kink, Dom!Fuego Lots of adorable aftercare too of you're okay with it🥰

A/N: Hiya! I got immersed into this while writing it, and it’s not 100% on with her telling him that she’s the only one wanting him, but the theme is there. This is also the hardest smut I’ve written to this day, I think, because while my Fuelara smut has been longer and more romantic, this is harder. Anyways, I do hope that you like it. And now I need a cold shower 🥵

Pairing: Fuegoleon x f!reader (written in 1st person POV)

Fanfic type: Oneshot

Genre: Smut, hurt-comfort

Length: ~3.0k

Warnings: smut, cunnilingus (reader receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, no mention of birthcontrol, overstimulation (reader receiving), breeding kink, one mention of face fucking but no actual act, implied cervix fucking, crude language (”fuck me”), reader and Fue and married (established relationship), Fue says “I love you” mid act, Dom!Fue, aftercare minors DNI

It’s quiet. Well, if you don’t count the crickets. A part of me is surprised that there are already crickets at this time of the year, even if the summer is warm, which is why I have the window open in the first place. And another part of me is still glad that I can still hear them.

Another, much smaller, part. The part is muffled under the sigh that leaves my lips in an effort to relieve the restlessness in my body. But even if I wandered off from the open window, I’d find my way back to it soon enough I’m sure. Because the cool night air feels as if a caress against my skin.

A caress… that I crave for. The caress that I’ve longed for… for too many nights.

They say that the time your relationship is passionate is short, a few months, a year if you’re lucky, and then it starts to die down. I suppose I should say that I am luckier than most people then, granted that it took so long for us to get to this place. We had a good run… But that makes is sound like we would be heading for a divorce, which is far from the truth.

It’s not… bad… our relationship. It’s just more like a partnership. A business deal. And I could certainly do a lot worse, which argues against divorce.

Plus… I still love him.

And I hope… I hope that he still loves me. He says that he does, but the lack of touch, more than the generic hand on the shoulder in passing, speaks a different tale.

I hope that he loves me… and I hope that he still wants me.

There’s a thought that occurs to me, a very distasteful thought that makes me nauseous for a passing second.

But I know that he’s not the kind of a man to cheat on his wife. He’s not the type of a person to go behind one’s back and seek comfort in the arms of another.

I still love, and trust, my husband.

He’s simply a busy man, that’s all. And he is busy. There is a lot on his shoulders. I want to trust that, that’s all there is to it. I want to believe that he’s just tired… But there is not even a gaze to my direction anymore. Before, his busy schedule didn’t stop us. Though a long, sweaty night, or just a few hours of passionate, romantic love making was preferrable, a quicky was never out of the question.

And I swear, all the times I went down on him in his office, behind his desk, despite him feeling conflicted about doing such a thing in his office, he loved it. The way he smile, and the glimmer in his eyes told me that he drank it up like a starving man.

Besides, he never seemed all that … un-eager to do so. If anything, he seemed more concerned about my integrity than anything else. But we were married, and me going down on my husband was far from a scandalous thing. Though the rumours, and the noble circles might blow it out of proportions for some time, who cares? They can blow it out, and I can simply blow my husband.

Come to think of it…. How long has it been since the last time I went down on him?

How long ago was it that I last… satisfied myself?

It doesn’t feel right doing so in our bed, when he’s in deep slumber right there. And he could walk in on me in the shower, though I suppose that’s just wishful thinking.

I no longer know. All I do know is that it’s been long… far too long… And I have to wonder if he really does want me anymore… Because… though I’m only a few years younger than he is, maybe my body has changed away from his liking. Maybe I’m not… firm enough, perky enough, thin enough… Though I don’t think I have changed all that much since we met.

I… think…?

I don’t think I have changed that much. But maybe that’s just him losing his rose coloured glasses.

Maybe…

I sight to myself again as the loneliness I feel wraps around me as if a blanket, but that blanket just makes the warmth between my legs intensify and a knot form into my lower stomach which is trying to grasp onto something that isn’t there.

The door opens and closes behind me, and I hear another heavy sigh.

“My love? You didn’t need to stay up and wait for me,” his tone is warm and caring, but it is also tired.

I can’t blame him for it. I can’t blame him for being tired.

“I know….” I tell him as I walk away from the window and closer to him with my arms wrapped around myself, pressing the silken fabric of my nightgown against my skin even tighter. “And I know that you’re tired, but… there’s… something I want to talk to you about,” I admit, because this has gone for long enough. And there seems to be no end in sight to his schedule, so this night is as good as any.

“What is it?” He asks, and the question is fair. It’s frank, on point, and it is fair.

“I’ve… been… I’ve been wondering if…” I glance at the ceiling, because though this is hard, it’s a lot harder than I think. Because I don’t want to admit that I feel neglected. I don’t want to admit that I feel a yearning for him, even if I do. Though some time back I wouldn’t have as much as blinked about telling him that I want him.

Because I did. I do… I do want him.

“Yes?” His eyes are full of worry. There is a small frown on his face as he stands there, so close to me.

I can feel his warmth radiating through the air, and I can smell the faint scent of his lavender hair oil.

By gods how I miss that scent… I miss busying my nose into those auburn locks as his hands run over my body and I… miss him moving over mine, under mine… in mine…

I miss… him. All of him…

“Tell me, what’s wrong,” he implores again, this time with a tone that is both concerned and unwavering. He wants to know. He wants to know, because he cares. I know as much.

But it doesn’t make it any easier. However, regardless of whether it’s easy or not, I need to tell him. This is something that just needs to be discussed.

“I…” I utter while looking to the side. “I know that you’ve been busy lately, but I’ve…” I trail off again, because though that’s true, it’s only loosely connected to what I want to say.

So, I take a deep breath, and swallow, before whispering: “Do you… still… want me…?”

He takes a moment. But the moment, which must be no longer than a few seconds, feels much, much longer. It feels like an hour, a day, one fifth of an eternity.

“Do I still… want you?”

There is amusement in his tone. It is disbelieving amusement. It sounds like the question is absurd to him. Much more than to me.

“My love… Every night that you’re not next to me, I ache for you. Every day I long for you. And… I know that I’ve been tied to my job far too much as of late, it’s every day that I find myself craving for you.”

He takes a step closer to me. The warmth radiating through the air grows stronger, and I can hear his breathing growing lower, heavier… louder.

His hands take a hold of me…

“I crave… for you…” he whispers like sin, like the words that drip from his lips would be sweet like honey, decadent and filled with lust that he is feeling, just as me.

I turn to look at him, and I press closer to him, but that’s the last thing I realize before finding myself on our bed.

His frame, which is much broader than mine, is over me. His eyes, in the dim light of the bedroom, seem dark, like velvet, but the spark cast by the light of his flames, makes him seem hungry. It tastes like passion, feels like lust, and sounds decadent, like sin itself.

But I don’t mind the sin, not if it’s him.

I don’t mind the way he rips off my nightgown with an apology.

“I’ll buy you a new one…” he half whispers, half growls.

But I don’t mind.

I most certainly don’t mind.

I don’t mind as he pressed his head between my legs, and licksssss…

But it’s just a tiny, little kitten lick with the tip of his tongue.

I can still feel his breath gliding over me, over my clit, over my folds and his right there! But all he does is make the little lick that doesn’t satiate my hunger.

“Please…” I utter, but that’s when I realize that he’s just admiring me, because…

“You look gorgeous from every angle,” he tells me before pressing his mouth against my lower set of lips.

And he is hungry.

His tongue dances around, dips inside of and swirls around as my walls try to hold onto him. I try and I try as I clench the sheets in my fists. It’s been so long, and it feels so good… The way his tongue moves in and out and around in me…

And I want him in!

“Please!” I cry out to him and all he does is press his face harder against my folds as his fingers press harder against the tender flesh of my ass.

He hums, sending vibrations through me, and that’s when my toes curl and I see stars.

But that’s not enough for him.

I can feel his tongue licking around everything that flowed out of me with my orgasm, as he’s casing another high of mine.

His nose is pressed against my clit, and occasionally he flicks it with his tongue. And every time he does, I can’t help but mewl at him. Be-cause! Because… I need him, I want him, inside of me!

And his tongue isn’t enough. It is just not enough!

“Honey! I want-,” I manage through my pants, and I’m sure he can hear the desperation as my legs tremble. As they shake under him.

He lifts his head, and my hips jerk up, as if they’d crave for the touch as much as I do, and my legs open wider for him. Which makes his eyes glance down to my trembling, wet core, and then to my eyes as a smirk, a proud, grinning smirk frames those purple eyes that look like lust and velvet.

“I can’t… take this teasing anymore,” I tell him as my body is already on edge from the stimulation.

“Well…” he utters, looking pleased, and a bit smug, I have to admit. But then again he has every right to look as smug as he does, because he just make me cum for the 4th time tonight. “If you so wish,” he continues as he climbs on top of me and takes off his pants.

His cock is hard. It’s pointing upwards and the tip is oozing with precum.

It is twitching.

And it takes everything in my not to crawl down, shift down under him, against the sheets, and engulf that cock into my mouth.

He has never, properly, fucked my face, and he probably wouldn’t because he prefers me to be able to breathe. But if I did, that’d probably be the closest we’d get to it.

It might be, but I don’t have time to think about it more, as his cock is already sliding over my wet slit effortlessly, teasing my sensitive bundle.

I moan, and I gasp, but not in the way I would if he had inserted it.

He’s teasing me more, and as much as I love it, I hate it. Because this isn’t-, it’s not what I-

I don’t use crude vocabulary in bed. I don’t curse. And I’m bad at dirty talk, but…

“Fuck me,” I tell him.

His eyes open wider. He seems surprised by my words. But the surprise is quickly overtaken by more amusement.

“Breed me!” I tell him.

And he chuckles. He chuckles, but there is devilish intent in those eyes that stare down at me.

“You wish my seed to paint your insides that badly?” He asks with a smirk, and he has every right to smirk.

“Yes.”

And then he pushes in. With one. Swift. Motion.

My back arches, and I see stars again as I cum.

And through the white noise, through the sound of blood rushing in my ears, I hear him chuckle with a pleased sound. He is pleased. Because the way he has stimulated my body to this point, made it possible for me to cum with just him inserting himself inside of me.

“I’m going to cum inside of you,” he tells me, and I love that he tells me, that he whispers it against my ear with that low, sultry voice of his. “And then I’m going to…” he pauses, to choose the words, but instead of what I might expect, he chooses the words, the crude words that I chose a moment before. “I am going to… fuck you, with my sperm still inside of you.”

And by the gods, this man, this man who is my husband, who has talked so eagerly about starting a family with me, is driving me to oblivion in the best possible way.

He pushes in, and out, and in and out and I… loose track of how many times I cum. But when he pushes down once, and hard, and warmth spreads within me, the corners of my lips tug up because I know that he came.

He came and he’s still in me, plugging me up so that all of his seed stays inside of me.

“And now, my love…” he murmurs against my ear as his hand settles onto my cheek.

He lowers down, and pressed a kiss onto my lips. One, hard, passionate kiss…

And then his hand trails down to my neck… his big, broad hand that could wrap around my neck effortlessly… It trails down, and down, and down, until he scoops my legs and he presses me into a breeding press.

“I’m going to rid any loneliness from you,” he promises as his hips pump up. And. Down.

His hips slap against mine, as he pins me down. And his cock reaches all the way to my cervix. It’s like he wants to give it a French kiss.

And he can. He can. He can, he can, he can…

My walls clench around him, and I can feel my fluids mixing together with his between our legs. The damp, sticky feel that I don’t mind.

I don’t mind.

I don’t think to mind.

Because I’m focused on every groove, every vein of his cock as he slams in, and out, and back in me again. The way my body clenches around him, trying to keep a hold of him. Desperately tries to embrace him as he slides out, and then back to me again.

Drool drips from the side of my face as my eyes roll back, and all I can think is the building ecstasy in me.

His breathing rings next to my ear, and it’s growing unsteady. And still…

“I love you…” he murmurs, nearly growls as he slams his hips against mine for one… last, time, pressing himself against my cervix.

My toes curl, and my fingers press against the skin of his back so hard as I scream out his name while coming undone under him.

I can feel my body twitching from the pure bliss. Trying to clasp onto him again. But I’m also growing relaxed as I’m coming around from the orgasm.

He pulls out and lays down next to me as his fingers trail over my skin with a feather light touch. His eyes are on me, looking around, trying to spot any signs of discomfort while simultaneously admiring me.

I turn to my side while catching my breath, and snuggle close to him, against his chest.

“Are you alright, my love?” He asks as his fingers draw circles onto my back; his words cascading onto me like a dawn, like silk and every good thing in the world.

“Yes,” I tell him, while still trying to gasp for air, but there is a smile on my face.

He leans down to place a kiss onto my head before laying down properly next to me, head on the pillow. His eyes are still looking over me, but now the gaze is filled with almost only admiration, no searching for signs of discomfort. Because there aren’t any.

Only those of fulfilment.

He still loves me, and wants me. Just as I still love and want him.

And even when I close my eyes, I can still feel him lying there, his hand carefully tracing over my skin. He’s so close, so very close that I can almost feel his heart beating for me through the air.

But the thing is, I know that it’s there without feeling it. I had simply forgotten it. I had forgotten how he, how this stern, loyal, loving and caring man is when he is in love.

Now I remember, and I never intend to forget again.

#black clover fanfiction #black clover smut #fuegoleon x reader #fuegoleon vermillion x reader #fuegoleon smut #steamy #I'll go fan myself for a while now

[deandoesthingstome]

AU where Syverson becomes a dog trainer

Word Count: 1091

Warnings: smut of the cerebral and physical variety; kissing, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, cuddling, idk it’s been so long I don’t know how to do this anymore; you tell me

I don’t own Captain Syverson or Sandcastle but I do own these words and I do not give any permission to copy or repost them. I would absolutely love it if you liked or commented or reblogged. Stuff of life right there.

Written in a mid-week wine haze and completely un-beta’d. So I own the mistakes, too, is what I’m saying. But you can be me for a while if you want.

Sometimes when I'm walking my crazy-ass rescue pit in the woods, I imagine coming across dog trainer!Sy and Aika.

Aika is off-leash, which of course she is; Sy trusts her recall unconditionally.

When he hears my panicked calls for Ginger to return and stop straining against the lead, Sy immediately clasps a leash on the heavy D-ring of the neon green collar around the German Shepherd's neck.

He stands patient and calm about 10 yards away while I spew profuse apologies in his direction and gentle curses at my dog.

"She's a rescue. I'm so sorry. She really doesn't like other dogs. Ginger, sit!"

"She's a spitfire for sure, but she wants to say hi. She just needs to learn some manners."

When I tell him I've been watching training videos on Instagram, he can barely contain the smirk that forms beneath his rugged beard as he drops his head to the side and gives a slow shake.

He takes note once I finally have G under some semblance of control and asks if I've tried an in-person trainer yet.

I tell him I hadn't yet; that I'd adopted a rescue before who had a much easier disposition and I hadn't thought I would have so much trouble with a second one; that it'd only been a month and I was honestly regretting the decision to adopt again.

He pulls a small white card out of the pocket of his tan camo cargo pants and lets me know he's gonna just drop it on this tree stump here and back away with Aika in the opposite direction.

He tells me his name and says maybe the girls can meet again someday and I notice his biceps flex in his maybe just too small tee as he tugs Aika’s leash.

When he goes, I wipe the sweat of frustration off my face and pick up the card from the stump.

I see the nickname he failed to mention underneath the name K9 Tactics and see he's a certified trainer and I just want to die from embarrassment because this guy with the close shaved head and beefy thighs apparent in his pants is hot as all fuck and there is no way in hell I would ever summon enough courage to put my shortcomings on further display in front of him for any length of time ever again.

But I hear him holler back "Don't overthink it. First session's free. She’s got promise!"

And, like, imagine my surprise when he admits day one while we're walking G down the path near my apartment that I'm technically his first client since he made the choice to start this side gig after retiring from the Special Forces.

He's managed to calm her down after their frenetic meeting and hooked her up to the most convoluted convertible leash I'd ever seen.

We were stopping every so often while he waited for her to step back from her pulling before we moved forward and he praised her with a happy Yes every time she did.

I had a hard time concentrating on everything Sy said while I tried to wish the ache of those yesses away, but I did catch that he was finishing up a few business courses before stepping into an executive position at a new protection company forming in the area.

By the time Ginger was able to heel without hesitation, Sy had already asked me out on two dates and kissed me so passionately at the end of the second after walking me to my door that I was left reeling when he stepped back and I could not fathom for the life of me how I let him go home that night.

We waited until the girls met, G circling in and out trying so hard to approach Aika calmly and say hello, before we ended the night in bed together.

It was messy and hesitant and a little uncomfortable until we both laughed and admitted we were just thinking it might be better to kennel the girls in separate rooms for the night so they don't trip out that the bedroom door is closed for the first time in forever and destroy the living room while Sy was destroying me.

He pounced immediately upon entering the room after securing G and Aika, tossing me to the bed and diving right between the sprawl of my legs.

I practically melted into mush when he raised his eyes to me and mouthed a silent "okay?" and it didn’t take long after he latched his lips around my cunt and dug his tongue deep and pressed it into my clit with such fervor for me to come crying out his name.

Through my blissful haze, I caught him swipe a paw across his beard before he crawled up over me and dipped his head to catch my lip between his teeth before sucking a kiss and tipping his tongue into my mouth.

“Was that okay?”

I gasped in disbelief and could think of only one way to express just how okay it was besides asking him to do it again which would have been totally selfish of me but dontchu think I didn’t think it.

I asked him if he preferred standing or laying down and I was so grateful his decision allowed me to wrap my hands around his legs while I sank to my elbows and knees on the bed before him, taking his hefty cock as deep as I could.

It allowed him to bend over and stretch a hand down my back, sweeping over my ass and back between my legs, teasing out the slick and fingering me to another orgasm while he came down my throat with a growl.

He laid me back gently, slipping in beside me and wrapping an arm behind my shoulder to draw me close, placing a kiss on my forehead before turning my chin and capturing my mouth with his.

I could feel his hand trace the curves of my body while his tongue assaulted my mouth and lips traced my neck and I could tell exactly why when he paused because I heard Ginger thrashing in her cage, too.

“You wanna wait ‘er out?”

I honestly didn’t know what the right thing to do was but I could tell Sy was going to let me do whatever I wanted in the moment and in the moment I knew there was no way I could ever want to let this man go.

A/N: I’ve been dreaming of this Sy for a while now, on just about every woods walk with my dog since I first read Even If You Don’t Mean It by @sillyrabbit81 and I knew it was never gonna be enough for a full series or anything but I just really needed to get it out. And I hope it’s okay I tagged you, Rabbit, and you, everyone else I’m about to tag. I’ll likely never post another Sy story again, but if I did and you don’t want a tag, please please please just let me know. I don’t mean to overstep. @fvckinghenrycavill @mayloma @winter2112rose @daydreaming-in-letters​ @just-chirpin​

Edit: I DID post another Sy story, complete with you and Ginger and Aika. Wake Up Call

#captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson smut #syverson #syverson x reader #syverson smut #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fic #syverson fanfiction #syverson fanfic #sand castle fanfiction #henry cavill fanfiction #dog trainer au #dog trainer!sy #mine

[therealieblog]

Please for the love of God do not tag your diet culture posts with "Intuitive Eating"

I get that you've decided to get "healthy" and so you found some completely-unfounded and un-researched fake information on Intuitive Eating from some diet culture blog, about how allowing yourself to have a few squares of dark chocolate or a piece of pizza once a week will help you "make peace with food" but also lose weight (of course), but just don't tag that shit as "intuitive eating."

It's literally not at all Intuitive Eating, and is in fact promoting the exact opposite of Intuitive Eating.

The first step in ACTUALLY practicing IE is to read Evelyn Tribole and Elyse Resch's book, Intuitive Eating (I suggest the 3rd/latest edition), or, Lindo Bacon's Health At Every Size.

Then, you follow a series of steps to unlearn bullshit advice like the kind you've put in your blog. To stop listening to the food police. To stop trash talking food. To DITCH the diet mentality, not to "eliminate cravings" for food by having two squares of dark chocolate a day or some shit.

Intuitive Eating is about removing all restrictions on food. People who tag diet culture bullshit as IE probably (at this point anyway) can't even fathom that as a concept. They've been starving themselves in one way or another for so many years, or even decades, that the concept of just eating as much pizza as you want, whenever you want must be horrifying and mind blowing in equal measure.

I don't honestly care if you don't get it. I just want you to stop tagging your diet advice as "Intuitive Eating". Call it "making peace with food" if you must (though it's the exact opposite of that). Call it "being healthy" or "taking care of yourself" or any number of other platitudes, but for the love of fucking god, please do not tag it Intuitive Eating. That's like tagging photos of extremely thin models with "body positive". Just stop.

#intuitive eating #diet culture #anti-diet #fatphobia #food #actual intuitive eating #actual IE

[biceratops7]

The hopeful ordeal of being known

I never really payed this scene much mind at first but on latest rewatch I want to put it in my mouth and shake it around like a scrap of meat till it’s bones are lying all over the floor for easy reading.

The layers of this initial reaction are so interesting to me. It’s a blunt response for blunt information, but you can tell by Ed’s tone it was highly unexpected. Ed knows full and painfully well that when he says “jump” anyone who’s even sniffed the ocean says “how high”. There’s a wonderfully strange mix of offense and baffled fascination at the notion that anyone, a newcomer no less, would tell him no.

So now after the initial shock Ed’s coming to his senses. Oh yah. He’s new. Duh. A little uncommon, but it’s not entirely inconceivable that there’s still people out there who don’t know who Blackbeard is. The possibility becomes even less ridiculous when the person in question has gained a reputation for having absolutely no friggin’ clue what he’s doing or what’s going on in a matter of hours. And this scenario here is certainly desirable to Ed. Someone who doesn’t know his reputation is a fascinating oddity at least and a potential although temporary refuge at most. It’s honestly almost impossible to tell whether or not Ed is consciously looking for genuine human connection at this stage, or simply a mechanical plan to escape the boredom of his life via the ye old trick-n-maim, but either way the start is the same. He needs to get close to someone, and the fear Blackbeard elicits has made that increasingly difficult.

But then Izzy manages to haphazardly sweeten the pot even more.

No actually, he does know who Blackbeard is, and he still doesn’t want to meet him. In fact he is so utterly un phased by the fact that Blackbeard summoned him in the first place, he turns down the invitation in a gratuitously insulting way. On top of that, Ed’s being lied to. The context that half this stuff isn’t even true and Izzy is just balls to the wall making shit up to drive the situation is so friggin’ hilarious cause he’s driving it on the one way highway to “sign me the fuck up”.

Ed turns toward the light. We’re able to see his face clearer than ever, and it’s hopeful, a smile playing on his lips. Well and truly stunned out of the persona of inhuman legend, there’s a reserved giddiness daring to shine through just a little bit. It’s a mere shadow of the utter delight to come, seeing Stede be his weird little self, sharing his wonderfully ridiculous idiosyncrasies with him completely unafraid.

The untaken care of hair that blocked these expressions from our view like a head made of smoke? It’ll soon be tied back. “Fascinating” quickly becomes “isn’t he amazing Izzy!” As Stede happily brings new life to the leathers that’ve come to dehumanize him over the years. And Ed doesn’t know any of this yet, probably can’t even fathom a guess, but he’s just learned that this bizarre fancy man already knows who “Blackbeard” is, and is unimpressed.

Although “Blackbeard” didn’t come out of nowhere and is a genuinely authentic side of Edward Teach, his monicker signals to everyone that he is less than human, and has done so long enough for anyone to snap. The turning point here isn’t that he’s allured by Stede’s boldness, nor is it that he’s captured by how absolutely unhinged you’d have to be to deny him. It’s the promise that someone who doesn’t fear the consequences of Blackbeard, doesn’t even care who he is, might maybe, just maybe, be able to see who Ed is.

#the head of smoke is so literal yet so not- #I wanna write a meta so badly about Ed and Stede’s absolutely horrifying loneliness but it’s just such a big topic #idk how to start #meta #analysis #Blackbeard #our flag means death #ofmd #Stede bonnet #Edward teach #Izzy hands #blackbonnet #1x03 #biceratops meta

[slamminslamminmcgill]

Perrito: Chapter 1 - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)

you were supposed to be doing 6 months in prison for drug possession and prostitution. that is, until you met lalo salamanca, and he decided to make you his puppy. for $10,000 a week, you were to wear a dog collar around your neck 24/7, and once he clipped the leash to you, you were to obey his every command. tags/warnings: petplay, dom/sub, bdsm, possessiveness, implied stalking, face slapping, praise kink, degradation/humiliation, oral sex, vaginal sex, squirting, needles/syringes/injections, medical exam, a few tiddlywinks of blood, non-consensual body modification (you'll see >:33) anatomical terms: cunt/pussy/hole, (t-)dick/cock words: 6,918 ao3 link author's notes: baby's first multichapter fic!!! had a LOT of ideas for this concept and im super excited to write more for this 🥺 y como siempre no soy un hablante nativo pero estoy aprendiendo. entonces por favor corríjame si se encuentra algo de errores :3

“Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”

A generic job interview question meant to gauge your desires and plans for the future. 5 years ago, you would’ve said the best case scenario would be a life of modest success and comfort. You would have never imagined that by this point in your life you’d be living in a lavish estate and making 10 grand a week. 

Let alone the fact that you were making 10 grand by wearing a dog collar for the drug cartel boss who owned said lavish estate. 

Whichever deity wrote your life story had a fucked up sense of humor. Your thread of life was being used to draw dicks on the tapestry of existence. You’d gotten great at lying to friends and family. As far as they knew, you were moving abroad to work as an on-call assistant for a shipping executive. You rationalized that it was technically true, but it was an egregious lie of omission. Don Eduardo Salamanca, or “Lalo” as he preferred, was a wealthy businessman; there was no denying that. Though your assistance was the furthest thing from business that anyone could fathom. It was a stable position that came with steady income, job security, and benefits. Sure, these benefits just so happened to include the best sex you’d ever had on the comfiest bed you’d ever touched, but that was neither here nor there. 

It all started how most job interviews go: prison. You were supposed to be doing 6 months for drug possession and prostitution, but Lalo took a liking to you the moment he saw you. He said that your skills would be highly valuable in an organization such as his, which was jobspeak for “I want to get my dick wet”. You thought he was talking out of his ass, but judging by the respect he got from your fellow inmates and even some of the guards, you took his word for it. He promised you a job when you both got out, if you’d take it. 

You agreed; it sounded a hell of a lot better than going back on the streets. He promised to set you up with his lawyer, who’d been working on a way to get him off. Luckily, the lawyer actually knew his shit. He had found some tiny loophole in your case and was able to get the charges dropped and your record expunged. Much to your surprise, Lalo was waiting outside the jailhouse to pick you up when you got out. He dropped you off at your place and gave you a week to get your affairs in order. Then, you’d be moving to his place across the border in Chihuahua, Mexico. 

The week after, he showed up at your apartment in a car that, if it could speak, would definitely call you poor. On the way to his house, you discussed the specifics of your position. 

“So!” Lalo declared in a cheerful voice as he adjusted the rearview mirror, “What do you remember from what we talked about?”

You combed through your memories, the many conversations you two had in the prison showers, cafeteria, and rec yard. “10 grand a week, I wear a dog collar 24/7, and when the leash is clipped to it, I’m working. When I’m working, you have full control over me, and I have to do everything you say. Is that right?”

“Yeah! There you go. That’s the gist of it.” Lalo affirmed, “But, you won’t have to do literally everything I say. If you’re uncomfortable, you have your signals, and I’m not gonna press your limits unless you say I can.”

That was one of the promises he’d made that had put your mind at ease. Discussing this over state-sanctioned lunch one day, he had asked you your boundaries, things that you would never ever do under any circumstances. He was receptive when you told him. Plus, he’d given you safewords to use: green for “I’m okay. Keep going.”, yellow for “Ease up a little bit.”, and red for “You need to stop everything right the fuck now.” There were also corresponding hand signals in case you couldn’t talk: 3 fingers up for green, 2 for yellow, and 1 for red. 

“Right, yeah. Thank you for that.” You said. 

“Ah, don’t be silly. You don’t have to thank me. I want you to enjoy this. It’s a lot more fun for me if I know you’re having fun.” He patted your shoulder, “And, if you want to really have fun,” and squeezed it tighter than you expected, “you can talk back once in a while. You can be a naughty little puppy, if you want, but you’d better be prepared for discipline. So make sure you know what you’re getting into, alright?” He put his hand back on the wheel.

That was generally good life advice, but you’d be lying if you said you knew entirely what you were getting into. “Alright, sure. Fair enough.” You gazed out the window at the desert terrain. Nothing but cacti and sand for miles and miles. You’d weren’t entirely sure which side of the border you were on anymore, or if it even mattered. “Question,” you posed. 

“Yeah?” Lalo prodded. 

“So, like… what am I supposed to call you while we do this? Just Lalo, or…?” Your voice trailed off, as if you were expecting a different answer out of him. 

“Oh, good question! I was actually getting to that. Such a smart boy.” He laughed and ruffled your hair, making you jump a little in your seat. His touch felt nice, but it was definitely something you’d have to get used to. You probably shouldn’t react that strongly every time. “You can call me Lalo when the leash is off, but if it’s on, you need to be professional. If you’re working, you call me ‘Don Eduardo’, ‘sir’, ‘master’, ‘señor’, ‘jefe’, or ‘patrón’. Those last two basically mean ‘boss’. Make sense?”

Sense was made. “Yeah, alright. Easy enough.” 

“Very good. And how’s your Spanish?”

You shrugged, “Mediocre at best. I can understand more than I speak.”

Lalo chuckled, “Well, I appreciate the honesty. I’ll have to teach you to speak it, then, no worries. Also, if the leash is on and I have you speaking Spanish, call me usted, not tú. That’s just when you’re working, though. Es formal, ¿comprendes? (It’s formal, understand?)”

Okay, sure, you could do that. It might take you a bit to figure out, but you’d get there. “Sí, yo comprendo. (Yes, I understand.)”

“Bueno. Now, what can I call you?” Lalo poked you in the arm, “And I don’t just mean your name.”

Your first thought was an idiot. That seemed like a fitting label for someone in your predicament. Thankfully, your second thought was much more receptive. “Well, uh… what did you have in mind? I’m pretty open.”

“Oh ho, you wanna hear what I think of you? I got a whole list of ‘em in mind. They might not all be flattering, just so you know.”

You secretly hoped they wouldn’t be. “That’s fine. Go for it.”

“Well, there’s the animal related ones. Puppy, dog, perro, cachorro (puppy), and then variants of those like doggy and perrito. Reminds you what you are to me, y’know? There’s also other animal terms like conejito (bunny) and osito (little bear). Basically, anything that lets you know how cute you are.” He reached over to pinch your cheek. 

You giggled. The attention and praise was definitely a perk to this whole arrangement. “That all sounds good.”

“And, if you’re a naughty little puppy.” His tone darkened to a rich growl and he dragged his hand down to your upper thigh, squeezing it hard before he spoke, “I may call you chucho, or a dirty little mutt.” He spat that last word at you with mock disdain. 

The idea of him changing up like that, getting rough with you, putting you in your place, that was another perk. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you were more excited for the praise or the punishment. “Oh… Oh wow…”

He leaned in closer to you, his breath hitting your face. You wondered how he could watch the road like that, but maybe that’s why he drove you through the middle of nowhere. In his mind, you were the only thing worth watching. “You like that?”

“Yeah…”

He showed you how quick he could change by pulling back and switching back to his friendly tone. He gave you whiplash, but not from how he was driving. “Good! ‘Cause I got more. You’re okay with me being mean to you?”

You were more than okay with it, especially if he would say it in that same sexy tone. “Yeah, I mean, like, just don’t call me a girl and you can pretty much say whatever you want.”

“Heh, I’ll keep that in mind.” He patted your thigh before putting his hand back on the wheel once more. 

A few more hours, a few more rest stops, and a few more hundreds of miles, and you pulled up to what looked more like a military base than your future home, complete with friendly, welcoming armed guards and a concrete wall topped with warm, fuzzy, barbed wire. 

Actually, the armed guards were friendly and welcoming, once they realized who was coming at least. Lalo rolled down his window and spoke to a man with a ponytail, who greeted him with a smile. 

“¡Buenas tardes, señor! (Good afternoon, sir!)” He pointed at you in the passenger seat and leaned on the window. “Ooh, ¿es este el nuevo chico? ¡Él es más lindo de lo que usted dijo! (Ooh, is that the new kid? He’s cuter than you said!)” Apparently, his other employees referred to him with the same formalities.

“¡Ay, ay! ¡Mucho ojo, cabrón! (Ay, ay! Watch it, asshole!)” He laughed and pushed him off the side of the car. “Pero sí, es él. Parece un buen chico, ¿verdad? (But yeah, that’s him. He looks like a good boy, right?)” He turned to you. “This is Miguel. He’s one of the guards I have working here.”

Your eyes were fixated on the gigantic rifle across the man’s chest, enough so that you forgot your vocabulary from Spanish 101. “Bien a… bien a conocerte? (Nice to… Nice to meet you?)”

The two men laughed, but you could tell it was all in good fun. Lalo smiled, “Ah, tan tonto… (Ah, so silly...)” and petted your hair again as he corrected you. “You’re kinda right, but ‘Mucho gusto’ is what you’re trying to say, mijo (my boy).”

You blushed the tiniest bit and course-corrected. “Oh, lo siento. ¡Mucho gusto, Miguel! (Oh, sorry. Nice to meet you, Miguel!)”

“Igualmente, chiquito. (Likewise, kiddo.)” Miguel turned around and punched in a code on the keypad. “Listo, patrón. (All set, boss.)” Another term you shared for him. 

“¡Bien! ¡Gracias! (Nice! Thank you!)” Lalo waved him off as he pulled through the gate. He could see the tension in your face and slung his arm over your shoulder. “What, did the gun freak you out? Ah, don’t worry about that. He’s just compensating for something, y’know?” That got a hearty snort from you. “Nah, but really, he’s a nice guy. All of my people are great. I told them all about you, y’know.” He drove up to a spot in his massive driveway and parked the car.

His last statement tied your stomach into a knot. You couldn’t imagine facing an entire army of employees, your potential coworkers, knowing what they knew. “Uh… all about me? Like… what exactly?”

Lalo turned the car off and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Well, basically, your personality, your looks, how we met, and what you’ll be doing here. They don’t need to know all the details. Just enough to know what to expect, right?” 

You unbuckled yours as well, even though you were now mortified to step out of the car. “What I’ll be doing here? How the hell did you explain that?”

Lalo waved off your concerns, “Oh, what, are you worried about? That they’re gonna judge you for it? Don’t be silly! They know better than that. Honestly, they’re all psyched to meet you. Now, c’mon, you’ll see what I mean!” He opened his door and saw you reach for yours, “No, no, let me get that for you, sweetheart.” He stepped out of the car and walked around to your side, opening your door and offering his hand for you to take.

“Thanks.” You gave him a timid smile as you took his hand and stepped out. Sure enough, a couple steps later and you saw an eager crowd of people waving you over. 

Lalo raised the hand you were holding and called out to the crowd as he approached, “¡Aquí él está! Entonces, tengo suerte, ¿o qué? (Here he is! So, am I lucky or what?)” He let go of your hand and patted you on the back. Knowing his ego, he definitely wanted to show you off. 

An older woman was the first to answer him with a voice that sounded like how fresh baked cookies smelled. “Claro, tienes razón, mijo. (Of course, you’re right, my boy.)” She approached you and held her arms out for a hug, which you graciously accepted. “¡Bienvenidos, querido! Estamos encantados de tenerte aquí. (Welcome, dear! We’re happy to have you here.)” she said, hugging you with all the love in her heart. Oh, god, that wasn’t his mother, right? You dreaded to think of how that conversation must have gone.

Lalo introduced her as she let go of you, “This is Yolanda. She’s my housekeeper, cook, and the reason why I have such a fat belly!” He laughed and patted his stomach, clearly exaggerating. In reality, he was only slightly pudgy, but hey, you liked a man with a little squish. Much better to cuddle with. “Let me tell you, she looks sweet, but her cooking is dangerous. I’m told she's got something great planned for us, you’ll see.”

A young man, even younger than you were, raised his hand to ask a question. He looked tense, probably afraid to speak out of turn. “Uh, perdón, ¿señor? ¿Él habla español? (Uh, excuse me, sir? Does he speak Spanish?)”

Lalo scoffed, “¿Por qué te importa a tí? ¿Qué, le vas a decir que huir? (Why do you care? What, you gonna tell him to run?)” He was staring him down like he was trying to melt an ant with a magnifying glass. The kid looked like he was about to piss his pants, he was so nervous. Suddenly, Lalo burst out laughing and flicked the boy’s forehead. “¡Ah, solo te estoy jodiendo, chamaco! (Ah, I’m just fucking with you, kid!)” He then turned back to you. “This is Ciro. He’s another one of the guards here, believe it or not with a babyface like that. He was asking if you speak Spanish.”

“Oh! Hi! Uh…” You took a moment to think of an answer for him, “Comprendo más que yo hablo. Solo hablo un poquito. (I understand more than I speak. I only speak a little.)” You glanced over at Lalo, who gave you a thumbs up. 

Lalo snapped at him, both physically and verbally, though his words had an edge of sarcasm to them. “Entonces, no le digas algo estúpido a él. ¿Entiendes? (So, don’t say anything stupid to him. Understand?)”

Ciro nodded, “Sí, señor. Entiendo. (Yes, sir. I understand.)”

“Bueno. Pues ve a llevar sus cosas a mi habitación. Tiene dos maletas en la cajuela. (Good. Then go take his things up to my room. He’s got two suitcases in the trunk.)” Lalo patted the boy on the shoulder and handed him the keys. 

“Si, señor. (Yes, sir.)” Ciro replied before he ran off to get your bags from the car. 

While he was doing that, Lalo took the time to introduce you to his remaining staff: Cecilio, the gardener, and the other two guards, Herardo and Raul. Everyone seemed like decent, hardworking people, and you couldn’t wait for dinner tonight. After having said your hellos, Lalo said there was one more person you had to meet, a visitor, and he was waiting in the living room. 

Lalo led you into the house, guiding you with his hand on the small of your back. To the right of the foyer was the living room, where sure enough, someone was waiting for you: an older man in a white lab coat. A doctor?

“So!” Lalo gestured to the man standing before you. “This is Dr. Cruz. He’s been with my family for years. Actually, he helped deliver my little cousins Marco and Leonel when they were born, so we have a lot of trust in him. I just brought him in today to give you a quick checkup and see that you’re fit to work. Is that okay?” 

A physical? That seemed pretty excessive, but this was a new job, at the end of the day. You figured it wasn’t entirely abnormal. “Uh… yeah! Sure. I think I’m actually due for one, anyway.”

Dr. Cruz smiled at you. “Great. I just need to talk to Lalo here for one second, and then we can get started. Please, have a seat on the couch. I think that will be the best place for everything. It’s a pleasure to meet you, by the way.”

You returned the smile. “You too.”

As you sat down on the examination couch, Dr. Cruz walked Lalo over into the next room. You could hear bits and pieces of what they were saying, but you couldn’t decipher any of it. He spoke in a hushed voice. “Está seguro que yo no pueda disuadir a usted de esto? (Are you sure that I can’t talk you out of this?)”

Lalo responded at the same volume. “Estoy seguro. No quiero que él se pierda. Te pagaré doble por el molestia. (I’m sure. I don’t want him to get lost. I’ll pay you double for the inconvenience.)”

The doctor sighed. “Bien. Entonces… (Alright. So…)” He put on a friendly grin as he walked back over to you. He reached into a bag that was sitting on the coffee table and started pulling things out. Needles, syringes, bandages, alcohol wipes, and some other medical supplies you couldn’t quite name. Then, he pulled out a file and handed it to you. “These are your medical records from your time in MDC Albuquerque. Would you just tell me if the information here is up to date?”

You briefly wondered how in the hell he was able to get his hands on those, but hey, the cartel family doctor probably had connections. You scanned over a list of medications, vaccinations, diagnoses, allergies. Everything was correct. “Yeah. Looks good.” You said plainly and handed the file back to him.

“Alright, perfect.” Dr. Cruz accepted the file from you and placed it back in his bag. “Now, we need to take some blood to run labs. Just to make sure that nothing has changed and that you’re clear for work. Don’t worry, we won’t need much. Just a finger stick will be enough.”

Bloodwork? That seemed excessive too. But, come to think of it, you’d basically be sucking Lalo’s dick for a living. He probably wanted to make sure you wouldn’t give him anything. “Okay, yeah. Hit me.” You held your hand out. 

Dr. Cruz snapped some gloves on before he grabbed your wrist and stamped the needle into your fingertip. You winced at the stab, but it was over in a flash. Then, he milked your finger to get some blood, enough to fill up a small vial. “This will be used for STI testing. We’ll have the results back in a few days, but we’ll only call if you test positive for something. As far as we’re concerned, no news is good news.” Once the vial was full, he capped it and bandaged you up. He put the vial in a bag, sealed it, and stored it with the rest of his equipment. “Okay, last thing on the agenda. Your records state that you’re due for a tetanus shot. It’s a big injection, so I’ll have to numb you first. The injection site will bruise and be sore for about a day or two. Now I’m sure this is probably different from how they do it in the states, but this is how it’s done in Mexico.”

“Oh, really? Interesting.” You pondered, none the wiser to your boss’s plan. He’d exploited your naivete and trust in him to get you to do this, and it worked like a charm. You had no clue. “Yeah, I mean, if I’m due for it, might as well.” You rolled up the sleeve for your non-dominant arm.

“Perfecto.” Dr. Cruz said as he grabbed your forearm. He sanitized the underside of your bicep with an alcohol wipe. “First is the local anesthetic. Tiny pinch, but then you won’t feel a thing when we do the second one.” He positioned the syringe just below your muscle. “I’m gonna have you breathe in and out twice, and on the second exhale I’ll inject. You ready?”

“Yep.” You said, closing your eyes and calming your nerves.

“Alright. Breathe in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale.

“And in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale. Pinch. 

“Beautiful. Now, it’ll take about 30 seconds for the numbing to kick in. I’d advise that you keep your eyes closed while I prepare the vaccination. The needle size may frighten you.” 

“Sure thing.” You obliged, keeping your eyes closed and your arm out. You could hear the doctor rifling through his bag, unwrapping sterile equipment and popping containers open. It was hard to picture exactly what he was setting up, but you could tell he was done when he grabbed your forearm again. “Can you feel me touching you?” He asked. “Not where I’m holding you, I mean right here.” He poked your bicep again, not that you knew, of course.

“Where?” You asked. 

Dr. Cruz chuckled. “Okay, you’re numb. Now, same thing as the last one. I’m gonna have you take a deep breath twice before I stick you. Ready?”

“Yep.” You repeated.

“Breathe in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale.

“And in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale. You didn’t feel a pinch this time.

“Amazing. You can open your eyes.” As you did, you watched Dr. Cruz set the syringe on the coffee table and grab some gauze. He debriefed you as he wrapped it around your bicep. “The numbing will last for a few hours, so it’ll probably wear off in your sleep. You may bruise and be a bit sore tomorrow morning, and you can take the gauze off then as well. Try not to overwork the muscle for a day or two.” He taped the gauze to secure it, then patted you on your shoulder. “And you are good to go, my friend. I wish you all the best in your new position.”

You gave him a friendly smile. “Sounds good! Thanks so much!”

“No problem. I’d say see you around, but hopefully you won’t have to deal with me too much.” He laughed as he finished packing his bag. Once he was done, he grabbed it and turned over his shoulder to Lalo, “Y enviaré a usted la factura mañana. Me llame si él se molesta. (And I’ll send you the bill tomorrow. Call me if he has any problems.)”

“Claro. Gracias otra vez. (Of course. Thank you again.)” Lalo replied as he led the doctor outside, patting him on the back for a job well done. He shut the door, and finally, finally, he could focus on you, and he was chomping at the bit to get started.  “Alright! We’re good to go! Got the formalities out of the way, so now,” He sauntered over to you, swaying his hips as he walked. When he got to you, he snaked his hands behind your back and grabbed your ass. “Now, we can put you to work.”  You barely had time to react before he let you go, but not before giving you a playful spank. “Follow me, doggy.”

You squeaked at the literal pet name. Being ordered around by him felt better than you thought it would. This was going to be amazing. He led you up the stairs to his bedroom, though you were practically chasing him up with how excited you were. When you arrived, he closed the door behind you two. “Stay right here.” Lalo commanded. He walked over to the dresser and opened a fancy box that sat atop it. You heard the clinking of metal, and when he turned around, he was holding a black leather collar in one hand, and a chain leash in the other. You beamed at the sight of it. This is what you were here for. You couldn’t wait. You’d be such a good boy. Lalo knew that, but still, he had to ask. “You ready, puppy?”

“Yes, sir!” You responded cheerfully.

Lalo smiled and fastened the collar around your neck. His calloused fingers swept your hair out of the way; his hot breath billowing against your sensitive skin. It was intense. You could feel your thoughts fading away as you focused on getting into your new role; a cute, silly little puppy. You closed your eyes and let the warmth of his embrace dress you up. 

Lalo cupped your face in his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead, whispering sweet nothings in his native tongue as he petted your hair and scratched behind your ears. “Oh, mi chico hermoso, eso es. Se veas perfecto con ese collar. Es como tú has nacido para ser mi perrito. Vas a ser un buen chico para mi, ¿verdad? ¿Vas a hacer lo que yo digo? Oh, sí, sí, buen chico. (Oh, my beautiful boy, that’s it. You look perfect in that collar. It’s like you were born to be my puppy. You’re gonna be a good boy for me, right? You’re gonna do what I say? Oh, yes, yes, good boy.) Such a good boy.”

Your head lulled from side to side, following his gentle touch. As he pulled back, your eyelids lifted up, and you saw his gorgeous face. Dark brown eyes half-lidded, his mouth curled into a smile. You were so happy to see him. You really did feel like a puppy, so bubbly and playful at the sight of their master. You gave him a goofy grin and said, “Hi…”, one of only a few words left in your brain.

“Hi, puppy.” Lalo cooed as he caressed your cheek. “You ready to get started for real?”

You nodded. You’d been ready for hours.

“Bueno.” Lalo hummed as he clipped the leash on your collar. Thus began the start of your first shift. You were working now. Henceforth, you were at his beck and call, his perfect little lapdog. “Now, I’m gonna teach you some tricks. I’ll say them in English and Spanish so you learn a bit. Okay?”

You giggled, already feeling hazy and obedient. “Okaaay…”

“Perfecto. Entonces… (Perfect. Now…)” Lalo backed off you to straighten his posture, and pulled the leash taut. “Siéntate. Sit.”

You dropped to your knees without a second thought and gave him a cherubic smile. If you had a tail, it’d definitely be wagging. You were anxious to make him proud of you.

“Good boy! So smart!” Lalo praised as he crouched down on one knee and held out his hand. “Dame la pata. Shake.”

You laid your hand in his and waited for your next command.

“Bueno. ¿Puedes hablar? Can you speak for me, boy?”

You could. Barely. “Yes, Don Eduardo.”

Lalo smirked and shook his head. “Oh, no no no. Not like that, mijo. Like a dog. Habla. Speak. Let me hear you bark, okay?”

You blushed, but you wanted to be a good boy. And good boys do as they’re told, no matter how embarrassing it may be. “Woof! Woof!”

Lalo couldn’t help but laugh. You were just so cute! “Oh, that’s perfect! Good boy!” He kissed your forehead again before standing up. He tugged the leash to get your attention. “Stand up. Levántate. Two legs.”

You rose to your feet and stood upright, hoping it wouldn’t be for too long. It was hard to act like a puppy when you were standing like a person.

Lalo could read your mind. His next command solved the problem you were thinking of. “All fours. Cuatro patas.”

You smiled and went down on your hands and knees for him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the leash. “Ven aquí. Come here.” 

You crawled over to him and knelt between his legs. Instinctively, you rested your hands on his thighs, before realizing he didn’t tell you to touch him. You started to pull away, but Lalo interrupted you.

“You can keep them there. That’s fine.” He traced his fingers from your collar up to your chin and tilted your face up to his. “You’re a real lapdog, aren’t you? You want your master to take care of you, right boy?”

You nodded.

Lalo tugged the leash and gave you a firm command. “Habla. Speak.”

“Woof!”

He snickered again. God, you were just perfect for this. “Oh, good boy. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.” He tapped his hand on the bed. “Arriba. Up. Up on the bed, and then get in my lap.”

You crawled onto the bed, the smile never breaking from your face as you sat in his lap. Lalo’s hands dragged down your back, mapping the curves of your hips. He took his time admiring his new pet. “You can use words now, puppy. ¿Quieres tu patrón que te haga sentir bien? (You want your master to make you feel good?)” 

You whimpered and nuzzled into his neck, trying to translate and then answer him in Spanish. “S-Sí, patrón… (Y-Yes, master…)”

Lalo’s hand made its way back up your spine, your breath shuddering as he traced his finger up. “Mírame. Look at me.” He took a handful of your hair and tugged your head off his shoulder. You let out a soft gasp and met his gaze. He was staring you down. Before, you’d felt calmed and nurtured by his attention. At this moment, you felt weak. Exposed. He was just so intimidating. He had you quite literally in the palm of his hand, right where he wanted you. He kept you waiting for longer than you would have liked, almost like he was sizing you up, trying to see when you’d break. Once your anxiety reached its peak, he pressed his lips against yours.

You sighed into the kiss and collapsed onto him, your arms slumping onto his shoulders, gripping his silk shirt. Lalo’s lips enveloped yours, his tongue pushing inside your mouth to swipe across your own. His teeth tugged your bottom lip. Since he was holding onto you by your hair, he slipped his hand through the loop of the leash and let it explore, groping your chest, your ass, your thighs, eventually letting his hand rest on your front between your legs, cupping you through your jeans. 

Even though you were the dog, you praised your master, “Oh, fuck, Lalo...”

Your master yanked your hair back and reprimanded you. “No, no. You’re working. What’s my name?”

Panting like the dog you were, you tried to parse the meaning of his question. When you got it, you said it. “Don Eduardo…”

Lalo confirmed your answer, “Good boy,” and took your lips back in his. He released his grip on your hair and moved to unbutton your shirt, unwrapping you like a gift with his name on it, “Oh, chico, you have no idea how much I missed this.” He placed an open mouth kiss on your neck, just above the collar, “I missed that tight little hole,” and on the other side, “Always so wet and needy for me,” and bit down enough to leave you with a glaring mark. 

You wanted to moan his name again, but hesitated. Lalo seemed to roll off the tongue more easily than Don Eduardo, especially when you lacked the brainpower to talk more than absolutely necessary. Thankfully, you recovered. “La-ah… oh, fuck, patrón…”

Lalo peeled your shirt off and let it fall to the floor. “Yeah?” He asked, biting on the other side of your neck. “You like that, puppy? Habla.”

This time, your bark wasn’t loud and confident. It was akin to the yip of an overstimulated Pomeranian. “W-Woof, woof…” you whimpered. 

“That’s it…” He pried himself from your neck and tugged the leash. “Date la vuelta. Roll over. On your back.” 

You scurried off his lap and onto the full expanse of the mattress, flopping onto your back with your knees propped up. It was much softer than the prison bed you two were on last time you did this. Lalo climbed over you and worked your pants off, then everything of his except his boxers. He pushed your legs apart and smiled at the visible wet spot in your underwear. 

“Aw, perrito, look at you! I got you all worked up, huh?” He was honestly one to talk, judging by the tent in his boxers, but you weren’t about to argue, especially when his face was mere inches away from your core. Lalo slid your underwear off and threw it over his shoulder. He laid down on his stomach and pushed your thighs up to your chest, revealing your weeping, aching hole. He bit his lip at the sight, and flicked his eyes up to yours. “It’s good to see you again.” He said before diving in headfirst.

You gasped as his tongue swiped up and down your cunt, lapping up as much of your wetness as he could. He pulled away to warm you up some more, leaving wet kisses and sharp bites on your squishy thighs. The teasing made you whine, though not as loudly as he’d like. He took your t-dick into his mouth and started to suck, which gave him the exact response he was looking for.

“Ah! F-Fuck! Fuck!” You cried as your hands scrambled for something to hold on to. One found the sheets, and the other his hair. Keeping him still, you bucked your hips up and started to fuck his mouth, whimpering pure nonsense the whole time. Just combinations of “please”, “fuck”, “more", and the cutest little sounds he’d heard in a while. 

Lalo let you have your fun. He even winked at you, which you interpreted as a signal for “Yeah, you like that?” He took one of his hands off your thighs and brought it down. You didn’t realize why, until you heard some soft grunting. You felt the mattress bounce, just a tiny bit, and strong vibrations against your cock. He was stroking himself, feverishly so, to the point where he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Lalo ripped his head up and gasped for air. “Dios mío… (My god…)” He laughed breathlessly before getting off the bed and tugging his boxers down. “I hate to rush this, but… I don’t think either of us can wait any longer.”

He was right, of course. You’d been waiting for this moment ever since you got out of prison. No bars, no guards, no spectators, no worries. Just him filling you up and fucking you into the rest of your life, a life of luck, luxury, and lust. He hopped back onto the bed and positioned himself in front of you. You held your legs open for him, making it easy for him to slide inside. He gripped the base of his cock, and looked into your eyes for approval. You nodded, and he pushed in.

The sensation of being full was too much for you to keep quiet. Reflexively, you moaned his name. “Oh! Lalo! La-ah!” Your praise for him was cut short by a slap across the face.

“No! Bad boy!” He tugged you up by the leash to face him. “I told you, you’re working. And what’s my name when you’re working?” He snarled.

You hastily corrected your mistake. “Don Eduardo! Don Eduardo! I’m sorry, Don Eduardo!”

“Much better.” Lalo lessened his grip on the leash, allowing you enough slack to fall back against the pillow and hook your legs around his waist. He gave you a hard thrust, making sure he bottomed out inside you. Then another. And another, until he had a good rhythm going. His efforts earned him a slew of pathetic babbling from you.

“Don Eduardo! Don Eduardo! Ah! Fuck…! Fuck me! Please!”

As much as he loved hearing you beg, he didn’t want you bossing him around. He was the master here, not you. You were his dog, his bitch. He lowered himself down, pressing his elbows into the mattress, and shut you up with a kiss. You hugged him tight, whining into his mouth as he rutted inside you. He pulled away and growled into your ear. “Eso es. Tómalo. Tómalo, puto. Eres mío. Eres mío y de nadie más. Perteneces a mí, y voy a follarte como la perra que eres. (That’s it. Take it. Take it, whore. You’re mine. You’re mine and no one else’s. You belong to me, and I’m gonna fuck you like the bitch you are.)

You couldn’t hear a word he was saying over your own cries and the obscene sounds your bodies made. He held you tight against him as he used your body like a toy. You couldn’t move or fight him off, not that you’d want to, but you were completely powerless, and in turn, he had complete power over you. From now on, at any time he wanted, he could clip a leash onto your collar and take you for himself. You’d spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, knowing that you could be stripped naked and fucked senseless at any moment. Exhilarating, thrilling, intoxicating, none of these words seemed to fully encapsulate what you were feeling.

You choked on his formal title as you pleaded for mercy, mercy that you didn’t expect to get. “D-Don Eduardo! Don Eduardo! I’m gonna…! Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“Oh, already? Is that right?” Lalo sneered and slithered one of his hands in between you two. He gripped your dick and started to stroke it, knowing that was the key to making you break. “Do it then! C’mon, puppy! Be a good boy and cum for me!” 

You didn’t need him to tell you twice, or even once, for that matter. You orgasmed on his command, squirting hard enough to force his cock out of you. You sobbed into his shoulder, overwhelmed and overstimulated, clinging to him for support through it all. When it was over, you collapsed back against the bed, gasping for air and relief.

Lalo sat up for a moment, admiring how beautiful you looked when you were too pleasured to think: your face flushed, chest rising and falling, tongue hanging out of your mouth. You really were like a puppy, all tuckered out from playtime. It was adorable. 

You stared up at the ceiling as you basked in the afterglow of climax. It was like lying on the beach at sunset. The warmth of your body heat being cooled by the dots of sweat on your brow; the oxytocin flooding your brain like waves on the shore. Blissful. Peaceful. Serene.

Yet you had no vacation time left to use. You were called in to work by your master slamming his cock into you and bringing you back to reality. You yelped and stared up at him in shock as he pumped in and out of your abused hole.

“What?” He scoffed. “What did you expect, doggy? You’re not finished ‘til I finish.”

You weren’t sure how many times he made you cum that night, but the last thing you remember was dozing off with his seed spilling out of you.

–

You woke up the next morning in Lalo’s bed, alone. On his pillow, there was a note. You reached for it and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes to read it. It said: 

Good morning, puppy! Great job yesterday! Come to the kitchen when you’re awake and I’ll cook you breakfast. 

XOXO,

Lalo.

You smiled. He was so sweet. You folded the note and stretched to put it on the nightstand, but suddenly, you felt a jolt of pain in your bicep. Right, the tetanus shot. The numbing had worn off. Oh well, at least you could take the gauze off by now. You unwrapped your arm, and just as you suspected, there was a nasty bruise at the injection site. Going against better judgment, you pressed down on the mark. Something you felt shocked you enough to recoil, not the tender bruise itself, but rather the foreign object implanted underneath it.

That’s when it hit you. 

When Lalo said you were gonna be his dog, he meant it. You were to be collared and at his beck and call 24/7, and in return he’d give you food, water, a place to live, companionship, everything a responsible dog owner should provide.

And what else do responsible owners do for their dogs?

They microchip them so they can’t run away.

#bcs #bcs x reader #better call saul #better call saul x reader #better call saul smut #better call saul imagine #better call saul headcanons #better call saul hcs #lalo salamanca #lalo salamanca x reader #lalo salamanca imagine #lalo salamanca smut #lalo salamanca headcanons #lalo salamanca hcs #ftm reader #ftm puppy #lalo salamanca x ftm reader #perrito

[saint-batrick]

FUN BAT LORE.

some of y'all may know this, most of you probably don't.

i was 14 when antichrist superstar (the manson album) came out, and had already spent a year obsessed with the band when it came out.

sometime in...i wanna say early 08? i was stoned as hell and messaged scott (aka daisy berkowitz aka the co-founder of marilyn manson) on myspace and made an entire bff out of him.

he died in october of 2017, when i was in another country. i have yet to forgive him.

i bring this up because...i cannot even begin to tell y'all how strange it is for me (even moreso than my bringer of strange revenge. stranger than that, even. no, you're not meant to get that.) to listen to old-old manson, and to be able to go...oh. that's physical evidence of my friend.

that's un-eraseable evidence that someone i loved beyond reason...he existed. and he didn't know i existed when any of those tracks were laid down. but he damn sure knew me when he died. and i damn sure still grieve him.

"built for the ages, now cut down..."

scott, i will stop writing you sonnets the second i die.

but seriously. can any of y'all even begin to fucking fathom how strange it is for me when sweet dreams comes on the radio. he talked to my mom. he loved that she loved things he had put into the music.

"says goodnight."

my life has been a strange one.

if y'all ever hear anything that came out prior to antichrist superstar, know you're listening to the physical evidence that someone i loved, and someone who loved me back, existed.

okay?

#he did a psychedelic furs cover just for me. #only 3 people outside of him and i have heard it. #it's pop rocks‚ by the way.

[gynandromorph]

un-fucking-fathomable to me that no one has rolled out a mod that simply tells you how much time is left for seeds to grow, machines to finish processing, etc. it was only UI suite and that is deprecated

[plain-white-knuckles]

I've returned from thesis-writing-hiatus to say one thing:

I'm so incredibly ashamed of the German government. I went to high-school for 8 years, 4 of which we spend most of history class talking about the Drittes Reich, Hitler and the Holocaust. My grandpa was in the Hitler Jugend as a child. His dad died somewhere in Russia fighting for Hilter. My Polish grandma told my mom stories about how the Germans devastated the Polish people during WW2. I am very well aware of my German heritage and rightfully so are most of us Germans. We've been taught about the unforgivable acts our ancestors have committed against the Jewish people and we are aware of the xenophobia still taking place in Germany today. And I am all for keeping this knowledge alive in each new generation for the purpose of never forgetting what people, regular ass human beings, are capable of doing.

The German representatives at the UN have chosen to not vote for the ceasefire that almost all countries of the world are asking from the Israeli government. And I cannot fucking fathom this. I'm ashamed. So goddamm ashamed. Us Germans, after what our ancestors have done to the Jewish people, as a result of them commiting a GENOCIDE, we have an obligation to forever be the first ones to get involved when we see someone else committing the exact same heinous crime! How can our politicians and parts of our people think that the main lesson from the Holocaust for us Germans needs to be: "Never again criticise or hold accoutable any Jewish person ever again for anything they do because of our past." When the ONLY lesson we should have learned from this devastating crime should be: "We can never ever again let this happen. We need to be the first ones to call it out. We owe this to every single person that was killed during the Holocaust. So that no human being has to suffer throught this again".

I understand that us Germans feel the guilt. We all know what we did to the Jewish people and that these actions can never be forgiven. However, we cannot let this guilt be the reason to stay neutral right now. It cannot justify us watching on as thousands of human beings are being slaughtered by the Israeli government and military in the present day. They are actively murdering civilians. They are systematically destroying the health care system in Gaza. And they are not even trying to hide those atrocities from the world. It's a genocide they're commiting right now. And it's well past time to start believing that.

Again, I can't put into words how disgusted and embarrassed and ashamed I am that many of our German representatives are acting like spinless cowards. Yes the matter is complex. Yes there's been death and destruction on both sides. However, only one side is currently invested in eradicating an entire people from existence. They don't want anyone to survive this! Call it what it is. We owe it to every person that died by our peopels hands nearly a centuries ago. And for every person alive in Palestine right now scared to death that each moment could be their last.

#palestine #israel #germany #genocide

[the-jester-doc]

If you would allow me to talk about dumb shit:

Hyaline.exe, as a ship, kinda shows off things... I'm not sure what but I feel like I'm onto something. Please note each bit is completely unrelated

First: the disbelief phrases.

Writer above.

The writer is the god above gods. And in a culture where gods walk among men, he obviously ends up being the closest thing to a capital G God. He is the WRITER the god ABOVE gods. There is a linguistic evolution of them shortening it.

Meanwhile, from what I can tell, peaks.... Is just a place. It's probably important, but... It's replacing god. How important can a mountain be? This is a genuine question please help me make my mini essays this little bit easier.

Second: the two idiots scenes together

The easiest one.

The ghost wrote his experiences into thinly veiled fanfic. You could read him like a book (Literally)

Meanwhile, hyaline basically tells nothing, other than who they hate, and who they don't.

And, of course, the most important scenes, the kisses, and the "I love you"s.

The ghost has been, possibly, my most changed character who still stays in their own logic. His redemption was never planned. I just thought it would be funny, and now he is genuinely one of my nicest characters. This is not a joke. He wears his heart on his sleeves around those he trusts. And he trusts hyaline WITH HIS LIFE.

Him leaving his pocket dimension for anything could spell years of agony for him, followed by Being un-existed. Yet he left repeatedly to go hang out with... Well, let's be frank, a mean weirdo loser who everyone hates.

And that's who he is risking his literal existence on.

Because he sees something.

Someone who has made the same mistakes as him.

But hyaline stood up for him too. When the ghosts of the past (or, let's be frank, the shittiest co-worker imaginable) came knocking, they were also ready to risk life and limb just to help him. If they know it or not is up to you.

And three: they both really need therapy

Oughhhhh I love your thoughts btw— and here’s a little Evershock lore rundown to explain the Peaks thing!!

Evershock (the game Hyaline and Hyper are from) is centered around three heroes who all fit the criteria to a prophesy to save the world. Basically,, waaay in the past, a bunch of wizards and sorcerers created the Great Peaks (physically, it’s literally just a mountain range) to purify the evil monsters into beasts docile enough to benifit the world. (Basically, they invented animals by making a magic mountain) Well,,, the wizards prophesied that the mountains wouldn’t always work and a hero would wield the sacred weapon, the Evershock, and save the world forever. One day, the largest of the Great Peaks cracks in half and the spell is undone, spurring the prophecy.

The Peaks are effectively god: a higher power that protects and gives. Saying “Great Cracked Peaks” is like saying “Jesus fucking Christ” etc etc. Hyaline says it more than Hyper does because Hyper has been exposed to the internet.

And the thing about Hyaline only saying who it hates and who it doesn’t— VERY intentional. Hyaline is a textureless faceless shadow of Hyper, and sees itself as such. Hyaline doesn’t think it’s anything more than it’s hatred for Hyper, and so Hyaline’s opinions on people become the only thing it thinks it is. Hyaline wants to make Hyper pay for what he did to it, and wants to do it without help.

And BRO. Hyaline would ABSOLUTELY endure torture specifically to piss off someone who tried to boss it around— even more willing for Apples.exe. Because ‘he’s different’— I said that was just gayness but it’s really true because no one treats Hyaline the way Apples.exe does, and Hyaline notices it even if it can’t fathom why. (Everyone hating on it is totally deserved btw— hyaline is a jackass) Also let me just paraphrase the “[[ I don’t feel anything. I wonder if I’d prefer constant pain…]]” line here cause uh- yeah.

And yeah. Get these mother fuckers a therapy session. Like, yesterday.

#long post #important hyaline lore #hyaline.exe #side note ablut the trust thing #hyalines only other ‘friend’ is jay/Jota who both hate it #and hyaline would throw them under the bus immediately if it furthered it’s goals #apples.exe on the other hand…