#if anything he would have an irish name
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Related to my tags on the Irish American reblog, how long have bastardized "Celtic" crosses been neo-Nazi symbols? I wasn't aware of this stupid use until I was an adult and my father was equally unaware until I learned about it, and in our Celtic (American) Pride we often used Celtic cross imagery in decor and accessories. Granted these usually did resemble actually woven/knotted crosses (which by no means meant they were authentic. At best a few came from local Celtic Pride fests–which as I said in those tags was plagued by Confederate and Nazi imagery), but most of them came from like JoAnn's or Michael's or Walmart whenever Saint Paddy's Day rolled around. That said, the woven pattern of a Celtic cross is a bitch to draw especially when you have yet to nurture or be nurtured in any art skills, so when my borderline-Gothic ass would doodle graveyards in my school notebooks I would often doodle simplified Celtic crosses as grave markers, which unfortunately just meant a simple cross with a simple circle in it, unfortunately reminiscent of the neo-Nazi symbol.
Me and my family were staunchly Indiana liberals (to be fair that wasn't that shocking in our democrat enclave city) and have only become more leftist as time goes on, so those who knew me well would know I didn't mean anything by it, but like I have to wonder/worry that those who didn't know me well (like most of my classmates. I was pretty lonely in high school) or people who would briefly visit my home or come across us while we were wearing Celtic pins that day or something came away with the wrong impression. I'm especially dismayed at the thought that the kids I knew to be actual neo-Nazis might thought I was one of them
For the record I left school in like twenty eleven and had been doodling graveyards for years and wearing Celtic imagery for even longer. I can't really find out when the "Celtic" cross became a dogwhistle
#Celtic cross#Celtic Pride#tbh when going to those fairs it was under the pretense of being (mostly) Scottish#it was all a farce my dad leaned into because he was adopted by a Scots-Appalachian man with a Scottish name going back to an actual clan#BUT i was never supposed to know he wasn't my biological grandfather (even tho it was pretty damned obvious)#so my dad played heavily on Scottish pride#that said we had Irish ancestry from other branches of the family so we indulged in Irish pride and imagery too#plus we just felt the knotted crosses were pretty and cool looking#anyway i/my dad did end up having more Irish genetics than Scottish pending our DNA tests#the Scottish is there but the Irish is more. especially in me because my bio maternal grandfather was also Irish Appalachian#(i have some Ulster Scots too but less so. which is more surprising because it's more common for 'Irish' Appalachians to be Ulster instead)#somewhat-Gothic because i usually aligned with goths in personality and depression but rarely wore black#i usually wore boys graphic tees with stupid sayings and memes on them#at least until the obscenely stupid dress code went into affect (search my blog for that if you're interested lol it's a saga)#i was lumped in with the goths for lack of better placement anyway but arguably i was more boy scene#my high school didn't really have cliques or anything strictly categorical so like goths would hang with 'preps' and such anyway#but i did have more commonality with Goths and most of my few friends were#anyway I'm losing the thread#rambling in the tags
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Last year, the lead singer of The 1975, Matt Healy, managed to offend a whole lot of Gaelgoirí (Irish speakers) when he appeared to mock a fan’s name – Dervla – at a meet-and-greet.
Healy isn’t alone, though, when it comes to anglophone bafflement at Irish names. A recent study based on an analysis of Google searches revealed the words that British people have the most difficulty pronouncing. The names Aoife, Saoirse, Niamh and Siobhán occupy places in the top 10.
And it’s not exclusively a British problem: I always cringe watching US talkshows where the host quizzes their Irish guest (usually Saoirse Ronan) on the pronunciation of their and other Irish names.
I’ve heard every possible variation of my own name from non-Irish people. It’s not uncommon in Ireland; in secondary school, there were four Niamhs in my class. But I rarely come across an English person who is familiar with it, despite the proximity of our two countries.
In case you don’t know, it’s pronounced “Neev” or “Nee-av”, either is perfectly acceptable. The prefix Ní means “daughter of”. My surname is trickier, and has even tripped up a few Irish people; it can be translated as Herbert, and is pronounced “her-a-vard”.
When I was living in London, I quickly learned that saying Niamh at the counter in a coffee shop or over the phone to make a booking simply wouldn’t fly. This led to the invention of what I call my “Starbucks name”. Anything easily pronounceable with a simple spelling would do. Mia, Sophie and Rose were among my common aliases.
Speaking to others reveals a litany of similar experiences. Aoibhe Ní Shúilleabháin, a designer and teacher, spent two years at college in England having her name mispronounced and disrespected. (Her first name is pronounced “Ay-vah”.) More than one lecturer resorted to calling her “blondie”.
She tells me: “I was asked to say, ‘Three hundred and thirty three trees’” – a tongue-twister that does the rounds on TikTok – “more often than I was asked to repeat my name.” She recalls the lack of interest when she attempted to explain that Irish and English are different languages with different pronunciation rules.
Clearly, the sensitivities at play here are rooted in history: Ireland was colonised by the English and our national language was all but wiped out. A language revival began in earnest in the 19th century, but it’s never quite recovered. Ireland’s most recent census shows that about 40% of Ireland’s population can speak Irish. The English destroyed our language once before, so every little throwaway comment and scoff at our names hurts a little bit more – and ultimately becomes just tiresome. A handful of people even remark, “Oh! I didn’t know Ireland had its own language,” when I tell them about my name.
Writer Darach Ó Séaghdha is all too familiar with these difficulties. (The “rach” in Darach is pronounced like “Bach”, he says.)He hosted a podcast called Motherfoclóir, a podcast about the Irish language and culture, and whenever there were guests on with Irish names, “inevitably the episode would turn into group therapy”. There was one bad experience, he recalls, when he was told that his surname “looked like a wifi password”. But he decided to give his children Irish names, too. It’s a common trend, he says, “because parents with Irish names have been battle-hardened”.
Like the others I spoke to for this piece, writer and director Rioghnach (think “Ree-nock”)Ní Ghrioghair believes that a sense of superiority among English speakers is to blame for the constant mistreatment of Irish names. But she’s defiant. “We are going to scrutinise the British for any transgression regarding the pronunciation of our names,” and other things, she tells me, like British media claiming Irish actors as their own during awards seasons.
There is no easy crash-course I can give to you on the pronunciation of Irish names, but you can always try out “how to pronounce”-style websites (which themselves can be contested). But the simplest and most reliable solution is perhaps just to politely ask an Irish person – and listen attentively to what they say. I may have accepted that English people are very rarely going to get my name right on the first go, but I appreciate a well-intentioned effort. Just don’t laugh at it, please.
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imma need some tommy shelby w equestrian!reader omg like anything
(i’m a sucker for this man)
admiration
pairing: thomas shelby x equestrian!reader
warnings: none, just tommy fanboying over reader
summary: you are the first woman to ever join and win a horse-racing competition. thomas shelby, who loves horses, deeply admires you and your skills. you meet him in a pub called the garrison and there, you witness his admiration.
“well, i’ll be… win after win. victory after victory. all in different places. proud to say this woman’s a birmingham resident.” arthur shelby said as he held up a newspaper, a cigar in his mouth.
“i’m guessing it’s about that (y/n) (l/n) girl, eh?” polly gray or aunt poll as the shelbys liked to call her, asked as she downed a glass of whiskey. “she’s become quite the hot topic.”
“oh, she’s hot, alright.” john shelby smirked, fiddling with the cigarette in between his two fingers. “still a turn on despite wearing fucking trousers all the damn time.”
“john.” thomas shelby warned, not wanting to hear sexual remarks about you, especially from his own brother.
thomas admired you. how could he not? you were the one who raced his beloved horse, monaghan boy, and brought victory to his name.
he hadn’t gotten the chance to meet you yet. unfortunately. he wondered when you would be done with your little world tour and back in birmingham.
but lo and behold, you stood there at the entrance of the pub, wearing a loose blouse and a pair of trousers as you always do.
“what can i get for you?” grace, the new irish barmaid, noticed your presence and asked.
“you choose. i’m fine with anything.”
“you look worn out.” grace pointed out.
you did look worn out, like you hadn’t had a wink of sleep in ages, but you were beautiful nonetheless. actually, more beautiful than thomas imagined. he stared at you, mouth slightly agape, captivated by the mere sight of you.
“been rough for the past couple of months.” you sighed. “traveling, competing, attending social events. haven’t gotten much sleep.”
“i see.” grace nodded, pouring whiskey into a glass and handing it to you.
thomas couldn’t believe it.
you were here.
in the garrison.
in the flesh.
“well, aren’t you gonna talk to her?” aunt poll raised her brow at thomas, who couldn’t get his eyes off you.
“if you aren’t then i will.” john volunteered.
thomas quickly snapped out of his daze, whipping his head to john. “no.” he pushed his seat back and stood up.
“i never thought i’d see the day tommy boy falls in love.” arthur chuckled.
“i thought he was in love with the new barmaid.” john scoffed, taking a long drag from his cigarette. he was upset that his older brother wouldn’t allow him to talk to you let alone talk about you.
“apparently not.” aunt poll shook her head as thomas eagerly made his way towards you.
“how much for the drink?” you questioned.
“it’s–“ grace was cut off by a deep voice, belonging to the one and only thomas shelby.
“–it’s on the house, ms (l/n).”
“mr shelby.” you shot him a look of surprise. you had forgotten the shelbys practically owned the place.
“leave us be, grace.” he ordered the barmaid and she followed, resuming back to her duties and leaving you two alone.
“here. take a seat.” he pulled out a chair.
you did as told and he pulled out another chair, sitting across from you.
you took a sip out of your glass. “you’ve some fine whiskey, mr shelby.” then looked around the dimly lit pub. “nice looking place as well.”
“please, call me thomas.”
“okay… thomas. call me (y/n) then.” it felt weird to call him by his actual name. you had only just met and he already wanted to be on a first name basis.
“so, what brings you here, (y/n)?”
“felt a little homesick.” you shrugged.
“no, i mean, in the garrison.”
“oh, it’s been a while since i drank. i wanted a drink, so i went to the nearest pub. why?”
“nothing. just curious.”
“is that all you have to say to me, mr sh– thomas?”
“do you enjoy racing horses?”
you hesitated. “the fame can be overwhelming. i love racing horses, it’s my passion, it’s what i do… but i want to be away from people… just for a little while.”
“fame can be overwhelming, yes. i know a thing or two about that feeling. only difference is i’m not famous for being a horse jockey, i’m famous for being a gangster.” he joked. the thomas shelby, the man who always had a straight face, made a joke.
you let out a laugh. a sincere one.
god, your laughter sounded like music to his ears.
“i can’t believe i’m having a decent conversation with one.”
“we gangsters are capable of having decent conversations only with the ones who deserve it.”
you let out another laugh. “goodness. if that’s the case, i’m glad you approve of me.”
“you raced my horse, after all.” he reminded.
“monaghan boy.“ you remembered the beautiful, black horse that you were assigned to race. the horse that led you to fame. “he’s a good boy.”
“aye, that he is.” he agreed.
“you know, thomas, you’re not half-bad.”
he found himself gleaming, enjoying every bit of the conversation, whilst the two shelby siblings and their aunt watched the scene unfold from afar.
you took another sip of the whiskey, humming at the taste, while thomas lit up a cigarette.
then, came silence.
none of you spoke a word, but you enjoyed each other’s company. it was evident in the way you looked at each other. you looked at each other as if you were the only people in the room.
“i’d like to take you somewhere tomorrow.” he suddenly said, breaking the silence.
“oh.” you perked up. “where?”
“the stables. let’s race, you and i. no audience. it’ll be just the two of us.” he proposed.
“is that a date?” when he didn’t deny it, you couldn’t fight off the smile that was making its way to your lips. “you’re rather bold, aren’t you, thomas?”
“what’s your answer?”
“i’ll have to check my schedule first…” you trailed off, but then you decided, why not? it sounded like a good offer. “you know what. fuck it. sure.”
thomas grinned at your rebellious behavior.
“what do you think about two in the afternoon?”
“fine with me.”
uncharacteristically, thomas’ heart fluttered. it had never done that before. it was an odd sensation yet it felt good at the same time.
you informed him your address, so he knew where to pick you up. “need me to write it down or you got it?”
“i got it.” he reassured.
you finished your drink and got up. “it was lovely talking to you. thank you for the drink.” you began walking towards the exit, but before stepping outside, you turned to look at him and uttered. “see you at my doorstep tomorrow, thomas.”
“see you tomorrow, (y/n).”
#thomas shelby#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby x you#peaky blinders#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders one shot#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders x reader#peaky blinders x you#peaky fookin blinders#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x reader#tommy shelby#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby x you
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୭ 🗝️ ✧ ˚. 🪩 don't delete the kisses . . . (l.n.)
— you and lando walk a fine line between ‘just friends’ and something more. but sometimes, it seems like love just isn't meant for you (2.6k words)
+ mentions of drinking and clubs, a lot of miscommunication and pining but i promise it's somewhat fluffy. based on don't delete the kisses by wolf alice.
+ part two | divider from cafekitsune
lando: where r u???? 02:43
lando: y/nnnn:(( 02:45
lando: charls told me you left 02:48
lando: get hmome safe 02:49
you didn't mean to pull an irish goodbye, honestly. but the club was far too loud, and you were nowhere near drunk enough to tolerate the remixed house music and overpriced drinks for any longer.
the easiest option was simply to slip out unnoticed, send a quick text to let everyone know you were okay, and head home alone. if you'd mention your wanting to leave early, no doubt at least three of your friends would decide to leave with you in solidarity, no matter how much you insisted they stay and enjoy their night. that way, everyone was happy.
after confirming that the car you were about to climb into was your uber, you sank into the plush seat, offering your driver a tired half-smile through his rear view mirror. you were thankful that he seemed to understand you weren’t quite in the mood for conversation, and the rest of the ride was silent save for the music playing from his radio.
pressing your forehead to the glass of the window, you allowed your eyes to flutter closed as you thought over the events of the night, replaying every last detail in your head.
it had all started with the fucking shirt.
official galas and nice dinners meant that you were no stranger to lando wearing nice shirts, the sleeves cuffed and a tie usually hanging around his neck. but when lando greeted you with a hug, his ironically named black button-down unbuttoned to the point that it could be considered obscene, you almost forgot how to function. warm skin pressed against your own, and you hated yourself for realising just how perfectly you moulded against his chest.
never had you been more thankful for the presence of max verstappen, whose offer of heading to the bar allowed you the perfect chance to slip away and regain your composure. the red bull driver made small talk with you as the bartender took your orders, and you responded politely, nodding when you were supposed to and laughing along to the odd joke.
but like a moth to a flame, you couldn’t keep your eyes from falling back onto lando.
somehow even in a packed, lively club, lando’s presence shone the brightest out of all the partygoers. worst of all, he didn’t even have to do anything special. he was simply standing there, nimble fingers wrapped around a cup that you assumed contained a vodka soda as he laughed with his friends. dark curls had started to slip into his eyes, whatever he’d used to style them clearly wearing off as he began to sweat a little.
even doing nothing, he managed to look like he’d fallen from heaven right into your life.
someone up there clearly had it out for you, as lando scanned the room and caught your eye. to look away would only incriminate you further, make it look like you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t be, so you smiled. lando shot you a toothy grin back, eyes scrunched shut with the enthusiasm of it.
a cold glass thrust into your palm stole away your attention, and you turned to meet the knowing smirk of max. he nursed his own drink, and one thick brow was raised in a silent question. though he never spoke, it was clear that he knew something was going on between you and lando.
maybe he didn’t want to embarrass you, or maybe he truly didn’t care, but whatever the reason max didn’t vocalise any of his thoughts to you. he simply nodded back over to where your group was standing and gestured for you to walk ahead of him. as you made your way back to the group, you suppressed the urge to worry your bottom lip between your teeth.
to anyone else, the interaction wouldn’t be much to think about. max had caught you, what, smiling at your friend? it was hardly criminal activity. you were just overthinking, the rational part of your brain insisted. but the other part took max’s expression and ran with it.
if max had noticed you harboured certain feelings for lando, then who else had drawn the same conclusions? the last thing you wanted was to be caught staring longingly over at lando, stars in your eyes and a far away look.
in circles like these, people talked, and where formula one drivers went, gossip’s eye was never far around the corner. you’d seen it happen before to other drivers, countless tweets and headlines about who they were caught talking to or dancing with, and the last thing you needed was the speculation of the public on your relationship with lando.
sobered by this thought, you brought the paper straw to your lips, taking a long sip of your gin and tonic and hoping the alcohol would calm you down a little. much to your relief, almost upon arrival you were dragged into a nonsensical conversation with george, alex and lily. george’s slurred speech and alex’s loud laughter granted you a distraction, though it would be a lie to say that your eyes didn’t constantly wander back to lando.
but the heart wants what it wants, and so you couldn’t ignore him forever.
not even a second after an upbeat, bass-heavy song reverberated through the club’s speakers did lando appear by your side, grinning wildly.
“y/n! i’ve been looking for you, come dance w’me!” he shouted, dipping his head down to position his mouth next to your ear.
hot breath tickled your skin, and you shuddered slightly as lando’s larger hand enveloped your own, allowing him to drag you through the crowds towards the dance floor. every now and then, he’d peer over his shoulder to ensure you were still with him, the smile never leaving his lips. everything around him seemed to fade, the bright lights and crowds eclipsed by his radiance.
the crowd seemed to open up around him, blooming like a flower to grant you both more than enough space to dance comfortably without the threat of being hit by stray limbs. lando didn’t even let you get your bearings before he spun you around, high pitched laughter managing to meet your ears even over the pounding music.
it was impossible not to laugh too. you reached up onto your tiptoes, hand still in lando’s own, and spun him around in return. thanks to his height advantage, lando had to duck a little to make the move work, but his hair still brushed against your bare wrist as he passed under it. the tickle travelled along your skin like lightning, leaving goosebumps.
dancing had never been either of your strong suits. even after years of clubbing together, it seemed that each night out was another chance to try to learn exactly what it was you were supposed to do on the dancefloors of clubs and bars, yet you never cared too much.
around lando, everything felt right.
you two continued to dance, mirroring each other's sloppy movements. lando shot you a faux insulted look as you imitated his default dance move, awkwardly moving one arm around to the beat and pointing to the ceiling.
"i do not look like that!" he protested, struggling to keep up his irritated act.
you only shrugged, smirking slightly as you continued to mock him.
another bass-heavy, sultry song began to play, and you dropped your hands. a re-evaluation of how you were supposed to dance was much needed, but lando was one step ahead of you.
without a second thought, lando's hands came to rest on your hips. he took a step closer to you, moving to the beat and prompting you to move along with him.
how you were still breathing was a miracle.
lando was so lost in the music that he was oblivious to your abrupt change in demeanour. suddenly, everything was heightened. even the slightest brush of lando's thumb burned through the fabric of your dress, and you'd gladly bear the marks of the searing touch if it was proof he'd been there at all.
delight soon turned to nerves, as the butterflies in your stomach quickly evolved into wasps, prickly and angry. you'd gotten carried away, dancing with lando like this, and it was beginning to catch up with you.
"i need some air!" you blurted.
lando's eyes snapped open, roaming over your face in concern. he lifted his hand to your face, but to do what, he was unsure. you cursed inwardly at his reaction, his kicked puppy look making you feel even worse.
before he could question you, you forced a wide smile, waving your hand dismissively. "i'm fine! go have fun," you promised, patting his shoulder firmly.
after lando had turned his back, you’d wasted no time in making your way to the club’s exit. just before you could slip through the doorway, you made eye contact with charles. the man only gave you an understanding nod, deciding it wasn’t worth it to pester you to stay.
cold wind whipped your cheeks, and for the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe properly. haphazard texts were sent to a handful of people you’d seen tonight, and you’d ordered an uber straight after.
all that was left to do now was sit with your thoughts.
maybe romance wasn’t meant for you. maybe lando wasn’t meant for you. like some sort of divine intervention, your apartment came into view before you could spiral too far.
the familiar sight broke you from your daydream, as your focus now lay on getting out of the car and into your apartment without falling over or dropping anything. it was a welcome distraction from the thoughts of lando that plagued your mind.
it’s like your own head was conspiring against you: even when he wasn’t physically around, you still found a way to gravitate towards him.
there were few sights better than that of your freshly made bed, the sheets practically begging you to slip beneath them and go to sleep. unfortunately, you still needed to change out of your club outfit. and take off your makeup. and text lando back.
fumbling around in your bag for your phone, you let out a triumphant noise and perched on the end of your bed to type out your reply.
y/n: sorry lan, i just-
[MESSAGE DELETED]
y/n: i'm home! sorry for leaving like that, it was-
[MESSAGE DELETED]
you groaned, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself. there was no reason you should be overthinking a text to lando, of all people. after a deep sigh, you let your fingers dance over the keyboard, rewriting yet another poor excuse for leaving unannounced.
y/n: home safe! sorry for disappearing, couldn't find u before i left and the uber was outside xx
your finger hovered over the 'send' button before you made one final, crucial revision to the text.
y/n: home safe! sorry for disappearing, couldn't find u before i left and the uber was outside:( 03:24
checking the time at the top of your screen, you figured that lando probably wouldn’t respond until morning. well, afternoon, more likely.
you’d been on countless nights out with lando before; by now his drunken behaviours were engraved into your brain.
like clockwork, lando would hit a certain level of drunk and abandon his phone altogether, opting to sling an arm around someone’s shoulder - usually yours - and drag them off to dance. he wouldn’t even think about his phone until the next morning, checking his messages after finding the device tangled somewhere within the sheets of his bed.
sleep quickly became your top priority. as tempted as you were to just lay down in your current state, you knew that the future, sober you would regret it. in your eyes, you deserved an award for dragging yourself to the bathroom and removing your makeup carefully, not without performing a shorter rendition of your skincare routine and brushing your teeth.
yes, your clothes were bundled up and thrown into the corner of your room, and you opted for an old t-shirt - frustratingly, one of lando’s - instead of a set of pyjamas, but you were only human.
exhaustion seemed to take over you the moment that your head hit the pillow, and you let out a soft sigh of relief as sleep began to take its hold. messy curls and a bright smile was the last thing on your mind as you finally lost consciousness.
meanwhile, the other drivers were still in the club with no intentions of slowing down.
lando squinted at the bright screen of his phone, vaguely able to decipher the letters that made up your text. a sigh of relief escaped him as he realised you had gotten home safely, but disappointment still sat heavy in his chest.
“she’s home,” he shouted in oscar’s ear, though his teammate hadn’t asked.
oscar didn’t have to ask who lando was talking about to understand. he’d noticed that lando’s head had operated on a swivel from the moment he’d realised that you were nowhere to be found. he was like an owl, spinning around in a way that dizzied him, all in the hopes of catching a glimpse of you.
if ever questioned about the pout that settled on his lips, lando would probably blame the alcohol for causing his dramatics to be heightened. of course he wasn’t actually that upset that you’d opted to leave a little earlier, not at all.
“that’s good! she say why she left?” oscar shouted back, dipping his head down so lando could hear him a little better over the chaos of the club.
his question made lando frown further.
“no.”
though it was in response to oscar’s question, lando’s answer was directed more towards himself, voice barely above a mumble. he’d only just realised that you hadn’t actually mentioned why you’d left the club early, just why you didn’t say goodbye.
deep in thought, lando’s brow furrowed as he tried to piece together some sort of timeline. last he’d seen you, you had been dancing together, having what he thought was a great time. okay, maybe his hands had wandered a little further than he’d expected, but it didn’t mean anything. he just got caught up in the moment, the fabric of your clothes beneath his hands far too tempting for him to be able to think clearly.
fuck, what if he’d made you uncomfortable?
lando knew that he became more touchy when he was drunk, his desire for affection growing exponentially as his propensity for shame decreased. your personal space became his, too. it was common for him to sling his arms around your waist, or rest his head on your shoulder as the night grew longer, but he’d never gripped your hips like that until tonight.
it would explain why you were in such a hurry to leave, not stopping to say goodbye to anyone and give them the chance to persuade you to stay for just one more dance. he’d overstepped an unspoken boundary in your friendship, and panic began to bubble in the pit of his stomach.
lando swallowed thickly before standing up, garnering a confused look from the australian sitting next to him.
“i need another drink. i’ll be back.”
before oscar could even speak, lando had disappeared into the thronging mass of the party without another word.
🏷️ tags : @faerieroyal @starriesworlds @itscrzy @srrcsm
#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris fic#lando norris fluff#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula one fic
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i have been struggling to find it, you seem like you might know tho.
i think you may have reblogged it or maybe you've seen it but it's an actor redoing a photoshoot of an older actor wearing like a really thick and soft looking sweater and the modern photo's sweater is just depressingly thin and lame? do you know of any avenues I could use to look for one of those really thick soft knit sweaters?
you seem to be good at finding 'vintage' or otherwise good clothes so have you seen anything like this in your travels thank u
i think ive seen that, let me look it up for you.
i remember the specific context of the discourse around that post was highlighting the difference in quality between a genuine Aran sweater (super fancy special expensive irish heirloom knitting technique, thats as best as i can summarize off the top of my head), and a fast fashion sweater made of cheap bullshit materials warn by a stupid dumb- sorry i started thinking about how shit the modern fashion industry is my insults started pouring onto the dude in the picture whose name escapes me. i remember hes from parks and rec so i'll look up the IMDb for it. i dont remember his name but i remember his face and his bit. he was the really energetic neuvo-yuppy freak who was always doing weird fashion stuff, or so ive gathered from my limited knowledge of that show.
ben shwartz! so if i look up "ben shwartz aran sweater"
here ya go!
actually looking at him he is kind of a doofus in that rinky dink thin ass bullshit nothing sweater. i dont think he IS one but he looks like one here, i feel.
anyway, this has been the process of finding that thing you wanted. thanks for stopping by.
oh wait i just reread the question, u were looking for how to buy old vintage stuff. uhhh ebay, vestiaire collective, and uhh. i mean if you'd be willing to just buy from an actual aran sweater company, which would be similarly spendy to buy a genuine vintage one in good condition, you can buy one made of recycled wool from an irish knittery called Sheep Inc, who display the carbon offset each individual product they produce creates.
they could be secretly evil, i dont know because this is all information ive had to dust off from the back of my mind.
anyways, i hope that you have found something similar to what you were looking for.
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finished dead boy detectives!!! (spoilers ahead!)
quick disclaimer: i haven’t gotten around to the comics yet but i’ve been very interested since the sandman came out and i do plan on reading them eventually lol.
- edwin is my new blorbo cutie and i too would go to hell for him. also, his style is immaculate, exactly how i want to dress all the time.
- i am SO sad about niko. but i’m glad that it seems like she’s not totally gone? i hope she’s not an antagonist in the next series (the ending was a touch ominous), but i’ll honestly be happy either way. it’s so rare to find good western-japanese characters. it made me incredibly happy when she switched into a japanese accent when saying “osaka” because it’s something i recognise in my family and in me. i know people from lots of different backgrounds do that with words from their own languages, but i’d never seen a japanese character do it before so i was very tickled.
- charles. man. please fall in love with edwin. how tf are you quite literally dragging him out of hell and he confesses to you and you look him in the eyes and say that you love him but you’re not in love with him. i mean that’s the best possible way he could’ve gone about it, but if i were edwin i might just have gone back down to the doll face spider thing.
- i hope that crystal’s past doesn’t land her in jail or anything. i really like her dynamic with the others but i’m not sold on her and charles romantically, mostly because edwin is so fucking sweet and i don’t want his heart to be broken. he’ll be happy if charles is happy, but i cannot stand see him get hurt even the tiniest bit.
- jenny is amazing. she’s literally me fr. also i love how she just hands people cleavers.
- i found the night nurse’s breakdown when she was in angie’s stomach very relatable. i feel like that a lot lmao. and i love her accent. i will go to bat for my own weird ass culchie irish/valley girl hybrid, but if had to pick another accent…
- i need a wise and eternal south asian man to talk me down from the ledge. it’s almost finals week and a ring from kashina would be a big help.
- tragic mick (top tier wordplay name) is a sweetheart and i hope he gets to be a walrus again eventually. my first reaction when i saw the cat king was “oh my god, it’s the piss kink guy from You!” but that aside, he was ok in the end. so was monty. i hope the night nurse can help crystal drag david the demon back down to hell.
#dead boy detectives#renew dead boy detectives#i need more!#netflix don’t be evil please#i willl never forget or forgive what they did to the oa#george rexstrew#jayden revri#kassius nelson#yuyu kitamura#briana cuoco#the sandman#tom sturridge#kirby howell baptiste#neil gaiman#to boost:#good omens#david tennant#michael sheen#and technically the two of them are in the sandman universe so
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EVERY PIKMIN 4 CASTAWAY'S CANON DOGSONA
Link to the rescue corps
After hours of research, I've compiled a definitive chart of what every dog every single Pikmin 4 NPC's name references. This time, I also added their original Japanese names in comparison to their English localized ones, as some of the breeds aren't entirely clear in the latter. I cross-referenced Pikipedia and Yuatoa Game Labo to formulate the best guesses between the two languages, so I hope this satisfies curious onlookers!
Special conundrum: Wolfgang.
So you would think Wolfgang would be an easy character to do this for, right. Obviously the wolf's in there, that's it, right? Except it's not because his name in Japanese isn't anything close to Wolfgang. It's Airu. As in Ireland. So all leads in Japanese led to Irish dogs, but all leads in English led to wolves and wolfdogs. And I have no idea why this translation discrepancy is so ridiculously gigantic that it blows all the rest of the names I was having issues with out of the water.
But I came to the conclusion that obviously the translation team would have the knowledge, they would choose something that still references the original concept especially on a theme as universal as dogs, so with that idea I came to this 3am guess: he's an Irish wolfhound.
Probably no one cares about this character, and I don't either. But this is my informed speculation conspiracy corkboard theory on his dogsona. Please leave your thoughts below and let me know how you feel about the doggy dog world of Pikmin 4.
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@amikoroyaiart did this awesome commission of my OC Lennie and my version of Ghost! I've wanted to commission her since I first came across her art over a year ago but it took me a while to save and just ahhhhhhh so worth it
Fun fact! The pants are uniform accurate. 141 is an international task force, and while Ghost and many of the rest of the team are SAS and wear black or navy fatigues, Lennie is an tArm (Irish Army) and wears that specific camo pattern! Their neon pink hair is definitely out of regulation, but no one dares call them on it.
Lennie is nonbinary and their full name and rank is Lieutenant Lennie Lynch. They're from Carrick-on-Shannon in Leitrim County of Ireland, and they're the 141's Chief Logistics & Supply Officer. Anything from toilet paper to ammo to fresh fruit to video games, it all goes through them. They have a ton of smuggler contacts in order to get supplies out to remote areas, and they use this network for information as well.
Basically Laswell's job, but more focused on keeping people alive via food and bandages and etc than keeping people alive via intel on the enemy.
Price met Lennie at the same time he met Nikolai. It was a joint an tArm and SAS operation where the two squads wound up trapped in a snowstorm with dwindling supplies, including much-needed medical supplies. Lennie asked for an hour with the sat phone, spent that time making threats and promises and calling in favors, and then Nikolai (the only pilot good enough and crazy enough) dropped off the supplies not too much later, which is how he and Price met. Then, a few years later, Price pulled Lennie for the Taskforce knowing their skills would be needed.
Lennie drinks far too many cups of coffee a day, barely sleeps, and spends the majority of their time in their dark office staring at computer screens. Their first date with Ghost was a joint nap on their office couch. Their best frenemy is @atohii 's OC Niko, the Chief Medical Officer, friend because they've made him weep tears of gratitude over the supplies he needs to keep everyone healthy, enemy because they've cut him off from energy drinks (the hypocrite) and gotten the entire rest of the base involved in it.
It's best assumed that Lennie knows everything and could be anywhere. They walk very quietly and often surprise people by slurping their coffee from right behind them. If they were an animal, they'd be a wild hare - the kind that surely speaks a thousand tongues and knows exactly how you die.
Ghost is still with Soap, and Soap is also with Niko, and sometimes Ghost and Niko are together as well, but romantically, Lennie's just with Ghost. We love a poly141.
This Ghost is based on TikTok cosplayer Kuromi (his account is tagged MDNI, please respect that) and Irish actor Fra Fee (because Les Mis is an old SpIn and my Ghost is Irish, his ggparents immigrated to Manchester during the Great Hunger). I don't have any specific scar or tattoo headcanons for Ghost, but I like Amiko's usual spread so I asked her to just use those, and I'm thrilled with how it came out!
And just ahhhhhhh I'm still screaming over Lennie 😍
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Hotel Hell - Part Two
Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader
Part One Pinterest
WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, Fighting, Shoving, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, MAKEUP SEX
WORD COUNT: 3,812
A/N: omg i am sorry this took me years to finish, life has been busy but it should calm down soon. i got such a good request the other day and i haven't gotten it off my mind so i will start that tmrw if i have time. also i proofread this at 2am so please ignore any mistakes lol
“The Brutalization Chamber? You want to know what The Brutalization Chamber is?” The Irish man laughed out, his eyebrows raising once you turned your gaze towards him.
An expression of curiosity displayed on your face as you repeated the name of the supposed ‘chamber’. It was obvious to the man that you wanted to know more.
The man began making his way down the stairs, “No offense sweetheart…but I don’t really think this is the place for a girl li-” He tried to speak before being cut off.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“I don’t really care what you think sir, I want you to show me what's down there.” You chirped out, following the male down the flight of stairs, your hand hovering over your aching ribs.
“Well shit, if you insist,” The guy chuckled out, “Feisty, she’ll like you.” He muttered under his breath as he opened the door.
She’ll like you…was he talking about the same ‘she’ you had spent your night with? The same woman who just got done unleashing pure cruelty onto you? The same woman who disappeared into this exact building moments ago?
“Name’s Finn by the way,” He mentioned, “It’s just us, the big boss is probably around here somewhere as well.” Finn spoke as you scanned the room looking for ‘the big boss’.
Grimy was the only way to portray the room. Rope lights scattered across the ceiling, some were dim while others flickered. There were freezing concrete walls with cracks littered all over. A red neon sign displaying the letters ‘TBC’. A blood stained ring sat taking up a quarter of the room. Various pieces of gym equipment and punching bags were compressed into a room off to the side.
“So…just a gym?” You questioned the man, there was no sign of Rhea.
“Nah, it’s a little more than just a gym love…think of it as a fight club. A fight club with a fuck ton of money involved.” Finn stated leading into a room the size of a walk-in closet, the room seemingly being a pathetic excuse of a nurses office.
You leaned against the door frame while Finn babbled on as he started unpacking his bag, “People come to us in desperate need for money. They’re entered into our roster, put in the ring and bet on. If they win their match they get fifty percent of all bets placed. Bunch of sick wealthy men love wasting their fortune on this shit.”
“Don’t you think this is just a tad bit illegal?” You chuckled, sending a small wave of pain to your ribs.
“Eh I don’t worry about that too often,” Finn shrugged, digging around his duffle. “Rhea’s not too worried about the legalities when there's this much money involved, she can pay her way out of damn near anything.”
Rhea.
Despite your pain you perked up at the mention of Rhea’s name although you stayed silent.
“Rhea would like you, you’re quiet but there's just something about you, like there’s a fire inside you.” Finn mentioned, pointing at you. “I would introduce you to her but earlier this afternoon one of her top guys lost her like seven thousand. She stormed off to god knows where. Another one of her main guys has a big match in about half an hour. Going up against some new kid we’ve never seen so I’m sure she’s busy worrying her ass off.”
You heard a scoff echo from the main room as footsteps approached. “Jesus fucking christ Finn! Do you ever shut your goddamn mouth?” You heard Rhea sarcastically laugh trying to cover her anger.
You slowly turned to face Rhea, examining her tensed jaw and narrowed eyes. Reality had finally washed over you. The weight of Rhea’s actions flooded into your brain. You couldn’t figure out if you felt more betrayal or anger in the moment.
“Ah! Rhea mate!” Finn exclaimed, trying to divert from Rhea’s critiques. “I was just telling this young lady how much you’d like her…I never caught her name though.”
Your face turned to the ground as you tried to mutter out your name. “We’ve met.” Rhea butted in, her voice was fully flat-devoid of any sign of emotion. That’s when the regret hit you.
You shouldn't have come here.
“I should leave…it seems you guys have a busy night.” You muttered quietly. Rhea took a firm grasp on your forearm, “That can wait, let’s go have a chat.” Rhea said as her head motioned towards what you assumed to be her office.
“No, I-I can come back another time, I really don’t want to be a bother.” You barely managed to stutter out while Rhea’s middle and pointer finger of her opposite hand guided your chin up, forcing you to look at her. “I said let’s go have a chat.” Rhea commanded, her grip on your arm tightening.
You reluctantly followed the woman as she dragged you in the direction of her office. You knew you were in for it big time.
“You are a fucking insane bitch! What could have possibly made you think it was okay to fucking show up to this place?!” Rhea lashed out at you the moment the latches of her door clicked together. She dropped your arm before shoving you towards the other side of the room. You had been lucky enough to catch your balance as you were just inches away from barreling into the concrete walls.
“I just wanted to learn more! I wanted to figure you out Rhea! Can you blame me for wanting to figure out why you’re so angry and cruel every time I see you?” You said loudly, your voice filled with hurt.
“That doesn't give you the goddamn right to follow me to where I work! You don’t fucking get it, these people I work with are dangerous and I don’t want you getting caught up in this bullshit!” Rhea retorted out as her breaths began picking up speed.
“What makes you think I’m so incompetent that I’m incapable of being around danger?! You put me in danger nearly every fucking time I see you! ” Your hands flew around as you yelled at the woman, tears accumulating in your eyes.
Rhea began inching towards you, a look of irritation covering her face. “I don’t fucking put you in danger!”
“Yes you fucking do! You have no idea how many bruises you’ve left me with. The other month you choked me till I passed out, yet you didn’t stop fucking me to check if I was okay! For fucks sake Rhea, an hour ago you left me bleeding and collapsed to the floor!!” All hell had broken loose between the two of you as your tears started escaping from you.
“You told me you could take it! I don’t get why you’re bitching and moaning all of the sudden.” Rhea continued arguing.
Your fist crashed down onto Rhea’s nearby desk, “I can take it rough, but you can’t keep disappearing after being borderline torturous! You’re so damn immature!!” Your screaming matched showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.
“I’m immature? You’re the one that followed me to my job and is throwing a tantrum right now!” Rhea’s voice thundered around the room.
“You don’t get it Rhea! I’m a fucking person and you dont give a shit about me! Why don’t you fucking care?!” You yelled through broken sobs as you started unleashing your sadness and anger onto Rhea, pushing and beating on her chest.
Rhea made no attempt to stop you. She made no moves, just allowing you to inflict your pain onto her.
Once your hands had dropped to your sides in exhaustion and your breaths became heavier as you tried calming yourself down Rhea quietly mumbled, “I do care…”
“But you don’t…” You looked up at her with wide eyes, lifting your shirt. You exposed your aching torso displaying your cut up skin, dried blood pooled around your laceration and the letters of Rhea’s name carved into your skin. “Someone who cares doesn't do this and run away.” You quietly said, your voice strained from the screaming match.
The regret in her eyes was apparent as she darted her eyes away from you. The realization she had gone too far had hit her hard, feeling as if she was being crashed into by an eighteen-wheeler.
Her vulnerability was short lived, Rhea quickly repressed her display of emotion, replacing it with her regular cold and emotionless stare. She had to put on her tough guy attitude. It was her only safety blanket. Emotions are for the weak, Rhea could never be weak.
“You get worse every time I see you, something has to change Rhea…” You breathed out, trying to articulate your speech as you lowered your shirt back down. “If you can’t fix this behavior I’m done.”
“You know you don’t mean that.” Rhea sighed as she ran her hand through her black hair. She didn’t want to lose you but she could never admit that. “I need to think about…everything. Just give me a some t-”
Rhea was cut off by a deep voice from outside the door. “Ten minutes till the bell Rhea.” Rhea rolled her eyes and made her way to the door, “Just give me some fucking time Damian! And go get a roll of gauze from Finn. Quickly.” Rhea demanded after opening the door just a sliver.
You clenched your jaw as you sensed Rhea’s levels of anger were once again rising. The last thing you wanted was to end up back at square one with her. You couldn’t handle another argument with her. Not tonight at least.
The pair of you stood in silence as you waited for the man to return. Once he had arrived he opened the door, handing Rhea the roll of fabric. His eyes curiously examining you through the crack in the door.
“I’ll be out in a minute…” Rhea aggressively muttered before closing the door. She mumbled your name under her breath before walking to her desk.
“You’re lucky Finn showed up early, only God knows what could have happened to you if one of the other guys showed up before him.” Rhea grunted as she unlocked a drawer and began rummaging through the mess inside.
What is it about her?
“Why such a dark line of work? What made you choose this of all things?” You questioned, you were terrified to set her off but on the other hand you wanted to push for answers from her. It was the only way to get your foot into the door of her life.
Rhea stumbled her way towards you avoiding eye contact, a tube of antibacterial gel in her hand as she shrugged. “Not something you choose. You’re born into it and can’t escape it, you just have to accept it and make the best out of it.” She mumbled while she lifted your shirt up.
Rhea applied a small glob of the antibacterial gel to her finger while she lowered herself to her knees, becoming face to face with your shredded skin. The woman began dabbing the gel onto your skin causing you to let out a small hiss from the pain.
Once she finished applying all of the gel she wiped the residue from her fingers onto her pant leg and grabbed the roll of gauze. Rhea cleared her throat before speaking up, “Just stay in here for a while, I can take you home after this match.”
“I’m perfectly capable of walking home by myself, Rhea.” You stated, watching Rhea carefully wrap the gauze around your waist.
“I’m walking you home and that’s final.” Rhea stood her ground, “Seriously though, just stay in here. I’ll be back.”
You weren’t planning on fighting about this with her, deciding to keep your mouth shut you let her take the win. “Fine, whatever.” You gave in as Rhea tied a knot in the gauze to hold it in place.
“Shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.” Was all Rhea had said as she stood up. Nothing else left her lips as she exited the room.
No apology?
You groaned as you sat down in Rhea’s large chair. You blankly stared at the wall for several minutes before your mind started to wander. Exploring anything that popped into your head. Places, things, people, Rhea.
If you were being honest with yourself you were doubting the woman's ability to change her ways. You assumed she would most likely be this way her whole life, although you prayed she had it in herself to change. She had the potential to be great if she would put her pride aside.
It wasn't long until the cheers of the crowd on the opposite side of the door had started drowning out your thoughts.
You wanted to catch a glimpse of the madness. You stood up from the large chair, your feet scuffing the ground as you strolled to the door
You cracked the door open, taking a peek of the ring surrounded by a flock of rowdy men that were yelling. The large man you made eye contact with earlier was in the ring brutalizing a much smaller guy who couldn’t even be older than twenty-five. He was putting on one hell of a fight but it was clear he stood no chance.
Rhea was the only woman there, she was stood right against the ring watching intensely. She had caught your image in the corner of her eyes. Her face turned in your direction, she tilted her head as if she was asking you what the hell you were doing.
You mouthed the word sorry to her before quickly closing the door.
Fifteen excruciatingly boring minutes had passed, the cheers had dispersed into muffled conversations. Rhea had finally arrived back in her office. She seemed content which you enjoyed.
“You ready to go?” Rhea asked, you answered with a simple nod.
As the two of you made your way out of the building Rhea exchanged goodbyes with some of the strange men.
The entire walk was silent, the both of you reflecting on the weird night you had been through together. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was almost peaceful. Having Rhea in your presence when she was somewhat calm was pleasant. You wanted to hold onto this peacefulness for the rest of your life.
It took you by surprise when Rhea insisted on taking you directly to your door instead of just dropping you off in the front of the large building and ditching.
“You didn’t need to take me all the way up here.” You quietly mumbled as you unlocked the door to your apartment. “Lot’s of bad people around this time of night.” Rhea muttered as your door swung open.
You turned around to face the woman, her eyes peering over your head, scanning the entry of your apartment. “There’s bad people around all times of the day. I’m used to it.” You said quietly, her eyes returning to you.
An awkward silence filled the air as the both of you gazed upon each other. Rhea began rubbing her neck, “Uh…I should go. I’m gonna go.” She feebly stated before turning away from you, quickly walking down the hall. She had stormed off before you could even speak up.
Still no apology?
—
Multiple days had passed. Rhea had made no contact yet. You spent a concerning amount of time just staring at Rhea’s contact in your phone, debating if you should press the call button. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.
She’d call if she cared enough.
It felt as if life had paused, your days seemed empty. The busy streets of New York City felt devoid of any livelihood. The live music that took place at work sounded muffled. The flavor of your favorite foods had been stripped away. Once colorful flowers sold down at the street market now sat dull.
Days just painfully repeated.
Tonight you had the night off, your only plans were to stare out the window of your bedroom and pray for a text from Rhea.
You sat criss-cross at the edge of your bed twiddling your thumbs, your mind seemingly empty as you stared into the windows of the skyscraper across the street when the sound of a knock echoed down your short hall.
Groaning in annoyance as you got up you began making your way to the door, chewing the inside of your cheek as your feet shuffled below you.
You weren't sure who you were expecting to be in the hall but it completely caught you by surprise when you swung the door open to see the dark haired woman waiting for you.
Without a word Rhea launched herself onto your lips, the force causing you to be pushed back a few inches.
Jesus Christ.
This felt like more than just a kiss, it had an intense amount of passion intertwined into it. Rhea’s hands gripped onto your waist as you backed into the apartment, her foot kicking the door behind her closed.
She had never kissed you in this way before. Before tonight you had only received measly pecks while the two of you had sex. It was never emotional.
Rhea slowly pulled away from your lips, both of your breaths were heavy as she finally spoke, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Finally.
“God, I’ve treated you like shit and I have been such a dick. It’s been the only thing on my mind. You don’t deserve that, It’s not okay.” Rhea began rambling as you stared into each other's eyes. “I get it if you never want to see me again but please just give me a chance, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll get my temperament under control, I’ll go to therapy, whatever you say I will do it.”
“Rhea-” You whispered, trying to calm her down but she continued her rant.
“I want to know you, more than just your body. I wanna know everything, The good, the bad, the boring…I wanna know what pisses you off and what makes you cry. I don’t know why I kept you a stranger for so long and I’m sorry for that.”
You led Rhea into your small living room as you listened to her rambling. You took a seat in your chaiser lounge and ushered her to sit in front of you as her speech continued on. “I don’t know why I ran away…I think it's cause I didn't want to hurt you. But I did hurt you, so badly. I don’t want to run away anymore, I had no right to ever hurt you the way I did, just for me to leave you alone right after. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done and I’ll never forgive myself for it. It’s just that I-”
“Rhea!” You slightly raised your voice causing Rhea to finally close her mouth. You leaned closer to her, placing a quick and gentle kiss on her lips. “You’re okay, don’t worry.” You comforted the woman, softly chuckling.
“I didn’t interrupt your night did I?” Rhea asked, slightly nervous as she scootched up closer to you. You shook your head no as a smile creeped on your face.
It didn’t take long for the two of you to end up in a heated makeout session, your hands roaming over one another's clothing. Rhea groaned your name against your lips before pulling back just a few centimeters.
“Please let me show you how sorry I am.” She practically pleaded, her eyes full of desperation, “Yes please” you quietly giggled, your eyes adoring the woman's face. The second Rhea heard the word yes echo from your mouth her lips went straight for your neck, causing a whimper to escape from you.
Rhea took her time as she kissed upon your neck, carefully leaving soft love bites every so often, marking the skin a flushed pink shade. Her lips only leaving your skin as she pulled off your sweater before she began peckering kisses against your collarbones.
Her hands crept behind your back, unclasping your bra and pulling it from your chest. Your fingers grazed upon Rhea’s tense shoulders as she left a path of kisses down your torso.
As Rhea’s face reached the base of your stomach, her eyes fixated on your face as if she was asking for your blessing. You gave her a nod before lifting your hips into the air, allowing her to slide your sweatpants off your legs.
“Rhea, please,” You whined out while Rhea’s fingers toyed with the seam of your panties. Rhea grinned to herself as she slowly shed the final layer of clothing off your body.
The woman wasted no time connecting her mouth to your heat, causing you to let out a breathy moan. “So fucking beautiful…” Rhea praised against your skin.
Truthfully, her tongue felt like heaven as it worked its way around your wetness. Rhea didn't want to rush you. This wasn't for her, she just wanted to make sure you knew she had the ability in her to change for the better.
Your breaths picked up their pace as Rhea’s hand inched its way closer to your core. Her ring and middle finger traced a circle around the perimeter of your entrance before slowly being pushed into you.
“Shit,” You whined out, your back arching as both Rhea’s tongue and digits worked their magic on you. Although you enjoyed roughhousing with the woman, you undoubtedly appreciated the amount of care Rhea was putting into you.
You were a whimpering mess under Rhea’s touch, and she loved every small sound that escaped from your mouth.
“More! Please, I can take it!” You begged for more of her. Rhea obliged, sliding her pointer finger into your tightness causing you to roll your eyes back as her fingers filled your insides.
“That’s it baby,” Rhea preached quietly when your hips began to rock against her fingers, your moans filling the room. “Such a good girl for me.” She added on before her tongue got back to sailing over your clit, her fingers picking up their pace.
Your legs tightened around Rhea’s head as your orgasm quickly approached. “C’mon sweet girl, let go.” Rhea’s encouraging words were muffled, your walls clenched around her curling fingers.
“Fuck Rhea!” You squealed out as the knot that filled your stomach released onto Rhea’s fingers. Your hips twitched into the air as the fingers inside of you helped you ride out your climax.
Rhea was grinning ear-to-ear as she slowly pulled her fingers out of your hole. She groaned in pleasure, licking her fingers clean.
She soon brought her face to meet yours, her plumped lips giving your jaw a kiss before whispering in your ear.
“How’s that for an apology, hm?”
Chapter Taglist: @babybatlover @whiteleoqueen @luvvleah @lovingperson1
#rhea ripley fanfic#rhea ripley angst#rhea ripley smut#rhea ripley x reader#rhea ripley x you#wwe smut#rhea ripley fanfiction
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Dublin Girls II Katie McCabe x Reader
masterlist I word count: 2250
a/n: we combined two requests here which were Katie McCabe fluff and the Reader having dyslexia. Enjoy ! ❤️
Dublin, 2015
“Katie, your teammates have arrived.”, Fiona, Katie McCabe’s coworker at Nando’s yelled at her. It turned out that her statement was not even necessary as Denise O’Sullivan rushed in to hug her Irish teammate excitedly:”Katie!” “Hey, girls!”, the midfielder beamed as she looked into the faces of the other young female football players. Amused you noticed out loud, being one of her teammates at club and country:” My girl looking like a glaced donut, we really need to get her out of here mates.”
“Wait. I have two minutes left. My boss is going to kill me if he hears I left earlier again.”, your girlfriend quickly replied. Hopefully Denise glanced at the brunette:” Can we at least get some Nando’s before we go back to our hotel.” “Do we look like the church? Is this a charity restaurant?”, Fiona scoffed. She reacted with a defeated sigh as the older woman noticed all the players were doing puppy eyes on her:” Okay, fine, what do you hungry girls want?” Those girls were one of Fionas soft spot which was an open secret by now even though she pretended to be annoyed by them whenever they came in. Slowly Katie shook her “Just give them whatever’s left over.” “Hey, she asked us whatever we want.”, Ruesha Littlejohn protested laughing. Unimpressed she stated:“We’re not making fresh food for you at the end of our shift.”
“With alcohol everything tastes delicious anyway. Also, Katie, I need to introduce you to someone later.”, you winked secretive at your girlfriend. “Who? Can’t believe you all had drinks without me.”, the midfielder pouted. Immediately Denise added: “Not much.” “Yeah, sure.”, Katie snorted in disbelief. With a look on the clock Fiona confirmed:” You can go now Katie.” “Thanks. See you next week.”, she waved at her co-worker before joining her Ireland team.
When they reached their hotel Ruesha closed her eyes, devouring the food she was holding in her hand:” Oh my god, this is so good.” “Only drunk people would say that about cold chips.”, Katie commented chuckling. Eyerolling the blonde told the brunette:“Oh shut up and start drinking!” “I wasn’t offered anything yet.”, Katie pointed out. A cheeky smile was on Denise’s face as she was handing her a beer bottle:”Here.”
Impatiently you guided your girlfriend to the hotel room you two were sharing:“Now let me introduce you to her.” “To whom ?!”, expectantly she was looking around the area, there was no one in sight. “Can’t tell you who because she has not got a name yet.”, you answered, picking up a small kitten who seemed surprisingly comfortable in your arms, as if she knew she was in save hands.
Katies jaw dropped at the little fur ball you were holding and reached out a hand to pet her; “Oh my god. Who are you? What are you doing here?“ “This is a little girl with no home so I thought maybe we could take her with us… I’ll just get more shifts at the coffee shop.“, you explained, having everything planned and calculated already. But Katie just raised her eyebrow at you; “Seriously? You found her and took her with you?“ “No, I asked the hotel manager and he said she was homeless.“, you defended yourself with a laugh. “Poor girl.“, Katie grinned, scratching the kitten behind her eyes. Looking around the hotel room, she added; “Are you trying to keep her in here?“ “Yes, until we go home.“ You pointed over at a blanket and a bunch of hotel towels rolled into a cat bed and a makeshift litter box. “You’re really a lucky kitty.“, Katie laughed, stilling petting the little cat. “She’s.“, you agreed.
A forceful knock on the door and Rueshas voice interrupted you; “Girls, let’s go!“ You sat the cat down while your girlfriend opened the door just wide enough for your teammates face to appear in the gap. “What are you up to, Rue?“, Katie asked excitedly. Ruesha grimaced at her as if Katie said something particularly stupid, so Denise explained; “We’re sneaking out on to the mens pitch!“ You didn’t even have to see your girlfriends face to know that her eyes got big at the thought of the much nicer pitch. “The one with the perfectly cut grass?“, she asked. You grabbed Katies jacket and shoved it into her hands; “Yes. So what are we waiting for?“
“I’m in.“, Katie smiled brightly as you let the door fall close behind you. “Who’s got a ball?“, you asked. Denise held one up with a wink; “I came prepared, don’t worry.“ You gave her a mischievous smile before the four of you snuck out of the back entrance as quietly as possible. The mens training pitch was not far from your hotel but it was locked and surrounded by a fence. One by one, you climbed over it, landing on the soft artificial grass.
The moon was bright enough to light up the field. With a sigh, Katie let herself drop to the ground and felt the grass with her hands; “They are living the life, huh?“ With her arms crossed in front of her chest, Ruesha stated; “I think we should play here. They can have the muddy dirt pitch we usually play on.“ “That sounds like a fair deal.“, you laughed, helping your girlfriend off the ground to finally play some football. Denise shrugged; “But only for us. They’d kick us out immediately if they saw us here.“
As if the blonde knew what was about to come a man shouted at them:” What are you girls doing? Get off the pitch!” “Oh shit.”, you mumbled under your breath. “Hurry, girls!”, Katie cheered her teammates on. With a glance back Ruesha observed cheerfully: “We’re faster.” “Shit. My ball.”, Denise cursed. Because you knew how much the football meant to her you patted your friend’s shoulder before running back:” Wait, I’ll get your ball.” “No, fuck the ball. We need to go.”, your girlfriend shook her head.
Triumphantly you picked the football up from the grass while walking back to your teammates:” Got the ball!” “Run. He’s coming.”, Ruesha warned you. The tension got too much for Denise who dramatically turned her back to not see what was happening in front of her: “Oh, no, he’s running faster.” “Come on, you almost made it!”, the brunette clapped her hands for you. Amused Ruesha caught you, so you did not fell over your feet:” We got you.” “Thanks for saving my ball.”, Denise threw a grateful smile at you. With a huge grin on your face, you replied: “You’re welcome.” “That was close though.”, Katie remarked while putting an arm around your hip as you were walking back to your hotel.
London, 2023
It was a grey and rainy autumn day in London when you returned to Katie and yours home, you could not help but to beam at what you were seeing, your cat being asleep on the defender’s upper body, that peaceful moment between them was definitely a little light on such a day: “Katie, what are you watching?” “Just a video.”, the captain of the Ireland women’s national team tried to wave it off. Still your curiosity was awakened by her reaction, which is why you took her phone to see for yourself:” Wait, someone filmed that moment?”
“Hey! That’s mine.”, Katie protested. Lovingly you nodded into the direction of your cat:” Look how small the little missus was.” “She literally fits into the palm of your hand when you found her.”, the defender cooed over your little furry roommate. The pet being one of her soft spots since the day she joined your household. Winking you commented:” And now look at her majesty laying here in all her grace and length.” “Acting like she owns the place.”, Katie noticed smiling. “Oh yes.”, you giggled. More serious your girlfriend continued, reminiscing about the time eight years ago: “But I do miss this time.” “Oh, you miss your shifts at Nando’s and not earning enough money with just playing football.”, you teased her. The defender looked up to you: “That’s not what I said.”
You rolled you eyes with a fond smile; “Yeah, I know what you actually mean.” “Our shenanigans?”, Katie replied, making sure that you were both talking about the same thing. “You‘re still doing shenanigans in club and country.”, you interjected, laughing. Now it was your girlfriends turn to roll her eyes; “Yes, but not like that.” But she couldn‘t suppress a smile either. You sat down at the edge of the sofa and tilted your head; “True though.” “Those were some good times.”, Katie reminisced. Softly, you patted her thigh; “Yes, but we also came a long way since then.” Laughing, your girlfriend agreed; “We did.” You let out a shriek as Katie pulled you towards her all of a sudden.
Your cat had abandoned her spot on top of Katie and lazily watched you two from her scratching tree. “Excuse me?”, you protested, your head pressed to your girlfriends chest. Katie let out a laugh and shrugged; “She doesn’t want to snuggle with me anymore, so you have two.” “You‘re such a softie when you’re not receiving yellow cards.”, you remarked while you reluctantly moved to find the most comfortable spot on top of your girlfriend. “Hey!”, she frowned but a smile tugged on the corners of her mouth. You lifted your hands in defense; “Just saying.” Playfully, the brunette narrowed her eyes at you; “I‘ll show you how tough I am.” “Should I be scared?”, you answered, more of a challenge than a question. “Of course you should be.” “I‘m not.”, you stated plainly. “Why not?” “Because you’re not scary, love.” “I‘ll show you how scary I can be on the pitch then.”
You laughed; “Will you score another banger at our next game?” ”Do you want me to?” ”Yes.” Your girlfriend acknowledged your answer with a nod; “I‘ll score one for you.” She winked at you. “How do you make clear that the goal is dedicated to me?”, you wanted to know while thoughtfully drawing small patterns on your girlfriends sweater with your fingertip. Confident, like she was waiting for you to ask that, she suggested; “How about I steal the ball out of the goal and run away with it?” “I like that one.”, you grinned. “As a tribute to our adventures at the national team.”
Your eyes met and you were reminded of the moment on the mens football pitch in Dublin eight years ago. ”Did you know that Denise still owns the ball I saved for her?”, you asked. Your girlfriend grimaced at the sentimentality of it; “Sounds like something Denise would do.” ”It‘s cute!”, you defended her. Katie shook her head; ”We really were some troublemakers. And sometimes we still are.”
At the next Arsenal game, you jumped into the open arms of your girlfriend: “That was a stunning goal, Katie!” “Hope you liked the celebration as well.”, Katie smirked. Excited you nodded: “I did.” “Me too.”, she admitted.
After the match Vivianne wanted to know from both of you:” What was the story behind Katie’s goal celebration?” “Long story, Viv.”, the defender replied nonchalantly. The forward kept pressing:” Will you tell it at your wedding?” “Maybe I’ll.”, your girlfriend answered. Curiously Steph intervened: “Who said wedding?” “Of course, they’ll get married. They’ve been together forever.”, Beth laughed. Her girlfriend shared her opinion:” Exactly.” “Guys.”, Katie rolled her eyes at your teammates even though they all were very dear to her heart as you knew. Still giggly Beth shot back: “It’s legal in Ireland.” “I’m aware of that.”, the defender said.
Later in your bed, the cat between the two of you, you turned to look in your girlfriend’s eyes:” Katie, you’re so quiet?” “Hm?” “Are you okay?”, you asked her a bit worried. Quickly she reassured you: “Of course.” “Good, I’m glad our teammates did not scare you.” “Why would they scare me?”, Katie glanced confused at you. Taking a deep breath, you added: “With the wedding talk?” “Beth and Viv are just so in love.”, the defender scoffed but her love for them shine threw anyway. Winking you reminded her:” That’s young love, sweetheart.” “Unlike us. Maybe it’s time to get married. I mean I’d love to call you, my wife. It also has some other benefits.” , your girlfriend grinned. Automatically an eyebrow of yours went up: “Like?” “Tax benefits?”, Katie snorted. You fell into that:” And your mum stop asking when we’re getting married?” “Good joke.”, the defender exhaled deeply. You thought out loud: “Oh right, she’d move on from that straight to children.”
“She’s so annoying. I didn’t know I’d be held to the same hetero-normative standards when I came out to her.”, your girlfriend sighed dramatically. Calmly you took her hand in yours: “Honestly, we already have a found family in London. But I’d like to marry you on our own terms.” “I’d like to marry you too.”, Katie said in an honest tone. You began to blush:” But you’ll have to proofread the invitations because you know with my dyslexia.” “Don’t worry about it. We’ll let them get done somewhere.”, the defender kissed your cheek which turned even more red.
Grateful you thanked her, enjoying the company of her and the cat and the thought to celebrate your upcoming wedding with the friends you made along the way at Arsenal aswell as in the national team.
#katie mccabe#katie mccabe x reader#katie mccabe imagine#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso#woso one shot#arsenal wfc#awfc#irewnt#woso oneshot#arsenal wfc x reader#arsenal wfc imagine#beth mead#vivianne miedema
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Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen: All That You Are
Plot: A chaotic press conference precedes a match that ends in violence.
Word Count: 5.2k
Warnings: f!reader, language, minor violence
A/N: I’m gonna chalk this week’s chapters up to having some free time and also being really motivated to get to the next few. Phew, let me tell you…this is the last chance I’m giving y’all to breathe. The final act kicks off in the next chapter and we don’t stop till the very end…so everybody enjoy the fluff and the jokes while you’ve got them 🙃
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged and, as always, enjoy!
————————
AFC Richmond’s hot streak just…kept…going.
They were killing it, both at matches and training. More importantly, they were happy. Joyful, even. Which meant everyone else was too.
More and more fans started showing up to watch training till eventually, the stands were packed. Y/n had begun to come out more often, genuinely enjoying watching the boys practice, and had found a way to make it a PR matter. She helped get the crowd riled up, engaging with them and encouraging them to cheer and chant for their players. She’d collected whatever merchandise they had a surplus of, pens or coffee mugs usually, and made a game of handing them out to the fans that came. Ted had encouraged her to keep doing it, it only further fostered the atmosphere he wanted to create.
Y/n hurried upstairs one day in particular, having missed the alarm set on her phone while she was hauling a bag of freebies from the gift shop to her office. She was never late and felt like she was going to burst into flames for being so.
“Whoa,” Ted called, just a few steps behind her, “Someone call Allyson Felix. Let her know she better watch her back.”
Y/n hung back on the landing to catch her breath, falling back in step once Ted caught up. “We ran out of the mugs the other day but I’ve got coasters and coozies for this afternoon.”
“Ooh,” Ted exclaimed, “You’ve been killin’ it in the swag department, missy. Everyone’s a little more hyped knowing they get a prize just for participation.”
Y/n grunted, “Trophies for doing nothing is also why my generation hates work, so don’t applaud me yet.”
They entered Rebecca’s office laughing only to find the atmosphere contrasting their good moods. Spread out on the couch, Keeley had her face buried in Rebecca’s lap.
“Uh-oh,” Ted announced his presence, “When girl-talk turns into girl-hug, you know that either means something horrible’s happened, or absolutely nothing at all.”
“Please say nothing at all,” Y/n set her purse down and grabbed the takeaway box Rebecca had ordered for her.
“Jack’s ghosting Keeley,” their boss explained.
“Oh, no,” Ted frowned.
Y/n sunk into the cushion beside Keeley, rubbing her shoulder as the blonde snuggled back under Rebecca’s arm.
“First, she wants to go on a break,” Ted recounted, “And now the old digital Irish goodbye. Which is a term I never really understood. ‘Cause I got a buddy back home named Seamus O’Malley, and that son of a gun hugs folks goodbye for, like, twenty minutes before he leaves anywhere.”
Y/n smiled down at her salad. The last few months may have softened her, but decades could pass and Ted would remain the same.
“Yeah,” he looked to Keeley, “Sorry to hear about that. Hey, I did make you some biscuits, you know, just to soften the blow.”
“Oh, thanks Ted,” Keeley took the pink package from him and opened it. Her eye blew open, “What? There’s like forty quid in here.”
“Well, I didn’t know you were gonna be here till this morning,” Ted explained, “No time to do anything special so I just tossed a little cash in there.”
Keeley nodded, “That is very sweet. Thank you, Ted.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to it but to do it,” he shrugged, turning to Rebecca, “Hey, boss. You mind if I skip the press conference today? Michelle and I got these parent-teacher meetings I don’t wanna miss.”
Rebecca shrugged and smiled, “Of course, Ted. Family first.”
“I appreciate it.”
“So…” Y/n trailed off, “Who’s next in line?”
A metaphorical lightbulb went off over Keeley’s head. “We could have Roy do it,” she suggested, “I know he hates that stuff, but he is really good at it.”
Y/n struggled to see the “good” part of how Roy handled the press. On her last count, he’d cussed out no more than six reporters.
“I mean, you know, fine by me,” Ted replied.
Rebecca agreed, “Great idea.”
“Look at you,” Ted smiled at Keeley, “Heartbroken, but still kickin’ butt.”
“I mean, I’m not heartbroken,” Keeley fidgeted in her seat, “It’s more like heart-bent.”
“Heart-bent,” Ted mused, “I like that. It’s a great title for a country song. You know, like,” he began to sing, “I’m heart-bent, in my apartment, ‘cause all that you left, was your fart scent.”
“Alright. Goodbye, Ted,” Rebecca cued him up to leave, though Keeley was laughing and Y/n was smiling through a bite of spinach.
“And now that you’re gone,” Ted continued on his way out to the hall, “I wrote this song, ‘cause all you left was, the smell of your farts.”
Y/n pointed to the door with her fork, “Speaking on behalf of our homeland, we can do better than that.”
Rebecca snorted and Keeley rested her head on Y/n’s shoulder.
“Right,” she held out her hand, “Show me.”
Keeley handed it over and Y/n bore witness to the mile long chain of texts her boss had sent their boss. It was embarrassing to say the least, but Y/n wasn’t about to kick Keeley when she was already laid out.
“Wow,” she strained as she scrolled.
“I know,” Keeley moaned.
“It’s like a river,” Y/n mused as she surfed the rest of the blue bubbles, “Can you promise one thing?”
Keeley hummed.
Y/n handed her phone back, “No more. She’s the one that stomped on you, she gets to do the groveling.”
And grovel she should. From what Keeley had told Y/n, Jack had handled their conversation regarding the video leak and the so-called “statement” horrifically. Jack seemed offended that Keeley had dared to have a meaningful relationship before her. It was jealousy where jealousy didn’t belong.
Whereas Y/n was still struggling to comprehend Jamie and Keeley ever having been together.
“I won’t, I won’t,” Keeley threw her phone on the other side of the couch, “I’m done.”
“Good,” Y/n nodded firmly.
“And that’s all you’ve got to say?” Keeley asked with a raised brow, “Nothing else?”
Y/n purposefully filled her mouth with a far-too-large bite of lettuce. She had plenty to say on the matter, Keeley knew damn well, but she was determined not to do so unless there was a confirmed break-up. After all, Jack was still their boss.
“Nope,” she mumbled.
Rebecca and Keeley descended into a fit of snorts.
Later, the three women were were seeing Keeley out to her car. Roy was just coming down the hall when they came off the last step.
“Oh, speak of the devil,” Rebecca said.
“Okay,” Roy replied before looking to his ex. An awkward silence came about for three seconds, though it felt like much longer. “Keeley.”
“Roy,” she nodded back to him.
Rebecca, blissfully, pulled them out. “So I need you to fill in for Ted at today’s press conference, if that’s okay.”
Roy didn’t hesitate in his reply, “Fuck no.”
Keeley, Rebecca and Y/n were just as unflinching as they waited for the answer to change.
“I mean,” Roy backtracked, “Why can’t Ted do it?”
His eyes went from woman to woman, waiting for one of them to answer or crack or…something.
Or nothing.
“I mean,” he pasted an unnatural grin to his face, “I’d love to.”
Y/n pointed a finger and nodded.
“Wonderful,” Rebecca replied, looking to Keeley and Y/n, “Shall we?”
The three of them left Roy in the hall, waiting for the inevitable reaction.
“Fuck,” he said rather loudly.
“I heard that,” Rebecca smirked.
“You still have my word,” Y/n remarked to her boss, “Send me up there, I’ll give them all they want to know. Sell everybody out. We’ll be on every front page in the country.”
Rebecca laughed, though Keeley missed it entirely. She was too busy glancing back at Roy.
—————————
Later in the afternoon, with the press conference a few minutes away from starting, Y/n swung by her office to pick up the notes she’d jotted down for Roy.
As she grabbed her notebook, she noticed there was a tea sitting next to her laptop.
She picked it up and examined it. It had come from the café, her name was written on the side in the big loopy handwriting Delilah, the barista, used. Assuming she wasn’t being set up to be poisoned, she took a sip and accepted the anonymous kindness.
Y/n made it down to the press room, meeting Higgins in the back and waiting for Roy to enter.
The door opened, and Beard walked through.
Y/n’s face dropped, “Um…”
“Where’s Ted?” Higgins asked.
“Where’s Roy?” Y/n corrected, “He’s supposed to be filling in.”
Beard took his seat at the desk, “Good afternoon. I know you all were expecting Ted, but he couldn’t make it today. I, however, will be happy to answer any and all questions, so,” he gestured to the desk filled with recorders and phones, “Fire away.”
Y/n took a breath, it wasn’t so bad. Beard, while not always the most sociable, was well-spoken and highly intelligent. He might have even been a better choice than Roy for his mood alone.
She regretted every thinking such a thing within two minutes.
“Look, man,” Beard sat back in the chair, “We can debate all day, Zeppelin versus Eagles, but one thing that is absolutely not up for debate is Walsh versus Page.”
“Oh, come off it,” the man fired back, “You honestly think it’s Walsh over Page?”
Y/n whispered to Higgins, “How did this go so far off the rails this fast?”
“I don’t know,” he replied.
She handed him her tea, “Hold this.”
Y/n quietly and calmly exited the room, breaking into a light jog in the hall and up the stairs. She knocked on Rebecca’s open door but didn’t bother to be invited in.
“Hi,” she greeted quickly, “Um, did something happen to Roy in the two hours since he was last seen?”
Rebecca’s brow lowered, “No, why?”
Y/n thinned her lips to a line, “You might wanna come downstairs.”
Without question, Rebecca followed her down and into the press room. Things had taken another turn in the minute Y/n had disappeared for.
“That is not what I said, Gary,” Beard angrily pointed to the reporter in question.
“I have your quote right here,” Gary chuckled.
“You did say it, Coach,” another on agreed.
“Stay out of this, Lloyd,” Beard snapped.
“Don’t shout at Lloyd,” Sarah, another reporter, said.
Y/n flattened her palm against her forehead.
“You said, and I quote,” Gary looked down at his notes, “‘Joe Walsh is a better guitarist than Jimmy Page.’ That’s what you said!”
Beard leaned back in his chair, exasperated by the fight he’d started. “Fine! I said it,” he spread his arms out in defeat, “But what I meant was that Joe Walsh, underrated. Jimmy Page,” he got stuck on the last word in his rage, “Overrated!”
The room was arguing amongst itself.
“I mean, Joe Walsh is a poet,” Beard went on, “Jimmy Page is a fucking court stenographer on Adderall.”
As the room digested the answer in shock, and amusement, Y/n reached out to Higgins, retaking her tea and taking a large swig as if it were wine.
“Are you out of your mind?” Gary laughed, “Page could beat Walsh with one string.”
“What do you mean, beat him?” Beard replied angrily, “It’s not a competition, man. It’s art, you fucking Neanderthal!”
Y/n, Higgins and Rebecca surged forward at the same time.
“Hello,” Rebecca cheerily announced, trying to draw the attention to herself while Higgins grabbed Beard, who was still arguing with Gary. “Hello! Hello!”
Y/n acted as a shield for Higgins as he walked Beard out of the room, dropping him in the side hall. But not before Beard could get in one last insult.
“‘Stairway to Heaven’” is a glorified fingering exercise, and you all know it!”
Higgins smiled at the press as he shut the door, Y/n blindly reaching behind to help him push against Beard’s weight.
“I can’t think of the last time I was able to be here with all you absolutely…” Rebecca spoke loudly over the noise of Beard still yelling into the door. Y/n and Higgins blocked his face from view. “Just brilliant members of the press down here in the pressroom. So with that in mind, I would love to take some questions. Come on,” Rebecca spread her arms welcomingly, “Absolutely ask me anything.”
“Oh, shit,” Y/n mumbled. This wasn’t any better.
Marcus from The Independent announced himself when Rebecca nodded towards him.
“Hello there, Marcus,” she greeted, “How are you?”
“Very well.”
“Good, good.”
“Miss Welton,” Marcus asked, “In your opinion, who’s the greatest classic rock guitarist of all time?”
Rebecca stuttered a bit, stuck on the question that had her blanking out on any rock she’d ever listened to.
“The, uh…” she struggled, “The…guy from Cream.”
Higgins snorted, Y/n buried her head in her hand as the pressroom quietly and collectively laughed.
“Uh…” Rebecca began.
“I think,” Y/n came to stand beside her boss, grinning abnormally large, “That in the wake of our recent wins, we’re all still a bit hazy from the excitement. I think we’re going to call this for the day, but we’ll be ready and waiting for you after the match this Sunday against Brighton. Thank you so much!”
Y/n placed her hands on Rebecca’s back and marched her towards the door.
“Uh, Ms. Y/l/n,” Marcus spoke up, “Care to comment on who you think the greatest guitarist is?”
“Keith Richards,” Y/n answered, “Purely because he’s still standing.”
Whatever reaction she’d caused, she didn’t hear them. Her and Higgins had gotten Rebecca safely out into the hall.
“Sorry about that,” she shuddered.
“You’re alright,” Y/n patted her shoulder.
“‘The guy from Cream,’” Higgins giggled.
“Yes, all right,” Rebecca twisted to face Higgins, “Don’t start with me, Leslie! I panicked,” she took a seething breath, “I’m going to murder Roy Kent.”
“If you don’t, I will,” Y/n exhaled.
“Look, Roy not doing press is just Roy being Roy,” Higgins stated.
Y/n gestured to the door they’d just come out of, “And look where it got us.”
“Well, I am sick of Roy being Roy,” Rebecca spat, hands on her hips, “So it’s time for Rebecca to be Rebecca.”
Without another word, she marched off in the direction of the training room. The boys would nearly be done with their afternoon workout.
“Oh, yes,” Higgins agreed, “Absolutely- I couldn’t,” he turned with Y/n to watch Rebecca strut away from them, “Yeah. There you go. Yes! Ooh!”
Y/n breathed a laugh, if anyone rubbed off on her from Richmond, she hoped it was Rebecca. There was a fierceness inside her that Y/n had never possessed in her life, but she’d have liked to.
“Stay for the aftermath?” Higgins asked.
“Oh, definitely,” Y/n nodded. She wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to stare down Roy.
Quick enough, Rebecca marched back up the stairs, Roy following thirty seconds later. While Higgins’ best frown was still his worst smile, Y/n glared at the coach unflinchingly. He did his best to ignore them both on the way up to Rebecca’s office.
“Another day,” Y/n mumbled, her and Higgins heading their separate ways for the rest of the afternoon.
As she walked down the hall, some of the boys came out of the training room. She high-fived them before coming up on Jamie, bringing up the rear.
He flicked the cup of tea, still in Y/n’s hand, and smirked. “Cheers.”
Y/n looked back and met his waiting gaze, the two of them sharing a smile. The days at Nelson Road grew more unpredictable the further into the season they got, but some things were as constant as breathing.
——————
The day of the Brighton match started as normal as any other. Y/n made the familiar trek to the owner’s box, taking a seat between Keeley and Higgins, and braced for the ninety minutes of nerves she both hated and loved.
“Oh, it’s Jack,” Keeley announced as she scrolled her phone. The three of them sat to attention as they waited to hear the text, “She’s saying that she’s in Argentina…for the next couple of months.”
“Ouch,” Higgins commented. Y/n scoffed while Rebecca pulled Keeley into her side.
“Well,” Keeley took a breath, “I think our break is actually an ‘up.’ So now that Jack is officially my ex,” she looked between the group, “Please feel free to say any of the things that you didn’t like about her.”
Rebecca sighed, “Well-“
“Ooh,” Higgins chimed in, “Her handshake was way too firm. You know-“ he groaned and grunted as he imitated the action, “I get it. You’re friendly. Good riddance.”
Y/n bit down on her bottom lip, trying to keep the comments from flying out her mouth.
“Something you’d like to say, Y/n?” Keeley asked knowingly.
Shaking her head, she tried to go the diplomatic route. “Just want to watch some football.”
Keeley slowly nodded, staring out at the field with her.
“And she’s a fucking asshole,” Y/n muttered as low as she could to let only Keeley hear it. They smiled to one another.
Right off the bat, the Greyhounds were struggling. Isaac, usually so focused, was off his game. He cost them a goal kick and earned Brighton a corner instead. It wasn’t like him and the fans were letting their displeasure be known.
Even worse, when Colin lost an easy goal, Isaac went after him. The two of them argued until Jamie and Sam, playing peacemaker, held Isaac back from following Colin any further.
Y/n frowned, something had to have happened before the match. The boys were far more in sync than this, and they sure as hell didn’t fight each other.
The first half ended on the heels of Dani just nearly making a goal, only for Brighton to block it. The score was 1-nil as the Greyhounds trudged back to the locker room.
Higgins, Y/n, Rebecca and Keeley went silent as the fifteen minute break began. There wasn’t anything to say.
Y/n’s eyes were glazing over the crowd on the opposite side of the stadium when a commotion started. She followed the noise to the tunnel to see Isaac, leaping into the stands and grabbing one of the fans.
“Oh my gosh,” she mumbled. Keeley, Rebecca and her all rose to their feet.
With the distance, the scene could hardly be seen properly, but it appeared that Isaac was holding the fan by the shirt and yelling in his face. The ref had never pulled the red card out so fast. It was unprecedented and unacceptable.
Higgins rushed out his seat, the women moving to make room for him down the aisle. Y/n’s eyes followed Roy as he helped Isaac down and started shouting something to the security guards.
The scene died down as quickly as it began. The fan was escorted out of the stadium and the Greyhounds disappeared into the tunnel.
“What the hell was that?” Rebecca finally asked.
“I don’t know,” Keeley breathed.
Internally, Y/n began to feel some sort of panic build. She couldn’t decipher the complexities of it, all she knew was she had to move.
“Where are you going?” Rebecca asked as Y/n slid past them.
“I don’t know,” she mumbled Keeley’s same answer, already climbing the stairs.
She hurried through the suite, past all the fans opening social media to post that they’d witnessed the fight themselves. Past all the fans in the concourse exclaiming how McAdoo was about to fucking kill the twat. Y/n couldn’t hear any of it as she made for the personnel-only entrance into the building.
When she made it to the empty hall outside the locker room, she faltered. Her immediate reaction would be to run in, but she knew it was far from appropriate. Her hand instinctively reached toward the door, even with feet of space between her and it. She couldn’t.
Nearly as soon as she’d thought it, Isaac came bursting through the door, unaware of her presence as he stalked to the boot room. He slammed that door shut and Y/n flinch at the sound.
Ten seconds later, Roy came out much more peacefully, but still with purpose.
Y/n stepped forward, her movements and her voice hesitant, “Hey-“
Roy could see the concern etched deeply in her face and touched her arm as he passed. “I got it.”
It wasn’t often that Roy wasn’t scowling, wasn’t speaking like he smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. For him to speak softly, to voluntarily comfort someone, he had to have meant it.
Y/n stood frozen as he shut the door to the boot room, all the pieces of her reaction making sense suddenly. After Isaac had attacked the fan, her first thought hadn’t been about PR. It hadn’t been about the clean-up her and Keeley would have to do, the stress of it all. It hadn’t had anything to do with what the internet would think or the fans or anyone.
Her first thought was to wonder if Isaac was okay.
She knew by now she cared about AFC Richmond. She had a special affection for Rebecca and their weekly tea. Keeley had cracked her way past Y/n’s gates simply by being herself. Ted was the nicest slice of home she could have gotten.
This was different. This was caring so deeply for the team that she was standing in the hall, unmoving until she knew they were all alright.
It was no longer about letting them in, Y/n knew, it was about how deeply etched in her heart they were.
She waited, waited, the whole fifteen minutes, hearing only the muffled mumbles of the team’s conversation through the doors. When they cheered and exited the room, their spirits seemingly lifted, none of them even noticed her against the wall.
Y/n moved to stand outside the boot room, catching Colin and Trent as the last ones to exit the locker room. Trent threw her a small salute that she matched, before heading out to his own seat. She still wasn’t leaving until she knew all was well.
Eventually, Roy came out of the boot room with Isaac in tow. The disgraced captain glanced up at her as he passed, Y/n made a point to squeeze his arm. He didn’t flinch at her touch, but didn’t make a point of lingering as he headed to the locker room to wait the game out.
As Y/n inhaled, Roy nodded, “He’s alright.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
The two of them walked back to their separate paths, Roy heading out to the pitch and Y/n heading back to the owner’s box.
The match turned around after that, tremendously so. The Greyhounds had hit the pitch united once more, particularly Colin, who’d assisted in both goals that had led them to victory. Balance seemed to have been restored, and while Isaac would still be the most memorable part of the game, Colin’s efforts wouldn’t be forgotten.
And, as always, Y/n’s work began the moment the ref called it.
There were strict instructions from both Keeley and her to Higgins not to grab any of the players. They’d no doubt be asked about their captain’s actions and none of them needed to deal with that stress. Ted was the only one who could comfortably handle it.
They waited with Rebecca in the back of the room, Higgins and Trent joined them at the last minute.
“He’s on his way,” Higgins said.
“Thank you, Leslie,” Rebecca replied before turning to Keeley and Y/n, “You gave Ted some talking points?”
Keeley frowned, “No. I haven’t done that in a long time.”
“Not for a while,” Y/n added.
The side door opened before Rebecca could truly begin to worry. Where Ted should have strolled in, Roy did instead.
“Fuck,” Y/n whispered, punctuated by a gag from Higgins.
Roy took a seat at the desk, staring down the entire room. No one was wearing their surprise well.
“Yeah, alright, you got me today,” he growled, “Any questions?”
Every reporter’s hand went up, all of them shouting to get Roy’s attention.
“Fucking hell,” he mumbled before pointing to one of them, “You. Five-o’-clock shadow head.”
Gary, self-proclaimed Jimmy Page fan, stood up. “Coach Kent, do you or the organization condone what Isaac McAdoo did today?”
“What a stupid fucking question,” Roy was quick to reply, Rebecca, Higgins and Y/n all screwing their eyes shut. “‘Course we don’t. What Isaac did was awful. He was lucky he only got a red card.”
“Okay,” Gary relented, “So why’d he do it?”
Roy chuckled, looking like he was nearly about to say something before stopping himself. Instead of cursing or snarking, he settled back in his chair.
“When I was first coming up through Sunderland, there was an old-timer on the team,” Roy began, “Local guy. He and his wife were about to have their first kid. So during training one day, I made a joke that statistically, I was probably the real dad. And the boys fell about laughing, but he went fucking nuts. He battered me. Properly. I had a black eye, chipped tooth, three broken ribs…I couldn’t play for six games. He got booted off the team. After that,” Roy shook his head, “No club would go near him.”
“Then in the summer, after I could breathe again,” he went on, “I bumped into him in a pub. And I got the chance to say sorry for my stupid fucking joke. And he got to tell me he and his wife had lost the baby a month before all that went down. He hadn’t told anyone. Kept it all inside.”
The room had fallen hush, save for the occasional click of a camera.
“Look, I get that some people think if they buy a ticket,” Roy’s voice regained its strength, “They’ve got the right to yell whatever abusive shit they want at footballers. But they’re not just footballers. They’re also people. And none of us,” he dragged his finger across the room, “Know what is going on in each other’s lives.”
“So for Isaac to do what he did today, even though it was wrong,” Roy pointed to his chest, “I give him love. And as for why he did what he did,” he leaned closer to the microphones, “That’s none of my fucking business.”
That was it. There was nothing left to say. Roy had handled it with more grace and patience than anyone could have expected.
Y/n smiled to herself, “Okay.”
“Next question,” he called to the room, which erupted back into shouts and flashes, “Yeah, new Trent.”
“Coach,” Marcus spoke up, “Let’s talk about Colin Hughes.”
“Yeah, he’s a hell of a player,” Roy answered, “And a great man. I think we’ve underused him.”
“I think you’re right,” Marcus said.
“Glad we agree,” Roy replied, “I prefer you to old Trent.”
The room laughed before Roy called on the next reporter. Rebecca and him shared a look of acknowledgement, this was making up for his ditching of the last presser.
Roy went on answering questions a few minutes longer before abruptly calling it. As everyone was saying their goodbyes for the evening, Y/n caught him in the hall.
“You did good,” she complimented.
Roy grunted a little, still bad at taking praise about anything other than his professional abilities. “Sorry if I…made your job harder the other day.”
She shrugged, “No more so than anyone else. You’re just more of a dick about it.”
Having said it with a smile Roy knew Y/n wasn’t serious…totally. His lips quirked up ever so slightly.
“Night, Roy,” Y/n said, hitting his arm as she walked past him.
“Cheers,” he replied, heading his own way.
—————————
While the day was a victory, Jamie was exhausted. Some of the boys had gone out to celebrate, he was one of the ones who decided heading home was more appealing.
A ring of the doorbell dragged him off his couch and into the entryway. He opened the door, his chest both filling and draining at the sight.
Y/n was leant against the frame, a soft smile on her lips. She held up a paper takeaway bag.
“I won’t tell Roy if you don’t,” she promised.
Jamie chuckled under his breath and moved to let her in.
It wasn’t just the match that’d worn Jamie out. Colin’s confession in the locker room was…heavy. Weighing most on Colin, of course, but when the celebratory noise had died down and Jamie was left to his own thoughts, he found they were louder than normal.
Y/n showing up only acted as an amplifier.
Here was Colin, hiding away one of the biggest parts of himself. Forced to keep the person he loved in the shadows for fear of the public’s reaction. He couldn’t hold them, couldn’t be seen with them, couldn’t claim them. The person who meant everything to him.
And here was Jamie, with the woman he cared about most standing before him, feeling the weight of his privilege.
“Samir was working tonight,” Y/n announced as she slipped off her shoes, “He kept asking me if I was buying for us both. I think he slipped in some extra-“
She was cut off by Jamie, wrapping his arms around her in a full embrace.
Jamie wasn’t good with words. He was barely good with feelings. And expressing them was a whole other matter. What he did know to be true was that Y/n was the singular most important person in his life. Whether he’d realized it before or not, he wasn’t sure. But it was suddenly crushing him, he was overwhelmed by his affection for her. She was the best part of his worst times, the highlight of his days. The literal sunshine lighting up the darkest parts of him, the parts everyone else looked at and ran from. But not her, never her.
Y/n stumbled a bit, Jamie steadying her as he tugged her to his body. It wasn’t like they never hugged, but this felt different. The whole day had been so emotionally charged, she wasn’t surprised that he was feeling some of it. She wasn’t sure what had happened in the locker room between halves or after the game, but whatever it was had done something to him, and she apparently was the solution.
The truth was, Jamie was the first person Y/n hadn’t tired of being there for. She wanted to save him at every possible opportunity. To be there for him in whatever way he needed her. Lord knows he had done it enough for her. He’d looked at her ugliest parts and matched them, the two of them somehow growing together through their horrible histories. Some relationships were easily replaced, but there could never be another Jamie.
Y/n slid her arms around Jamie’s back, stealing some of the comfort for herself.
Jamie rested his chin on her shoulder, shutting his eyes and letting the moment wash over him. The world could stop, just for a moment, and it would be there when they broke apart. But for now, Y/n was all he wanted to feel.
They stayed in the hall, clinging to one another, having only unwrapped the first layer of what all they felt meant.
—————
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 fic#ted lasso fanfic#ted lasso fanfiction#ted lasso imagine#jamie tartt x reader#jamie tartt imagine#ted lasso x reader#rebecca welton x reader#keeley jones x reader#heartfirst
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Sherlock fandom
The Greatest Gift
Sherlock still remembers the day like it was yesterday. The sixth day of July. He turned seven and a half years that day. And every birthday gift up until then had never come close to this marvellous surprise.
“Open your eyes, darling,” Mummy said, her voice filled with restrained excitement.
He did as she asked, but slow because he didn’t know what awaited him when his eyes were wide open. How could he have predicted that his life would change forever after that moment. He wonders if his parents knew all those years ago, that they literally gifted him his first best friend.
Sherlock opened his eyes and on the floor in front of him was a basket. Inside the basket was a dog. A living breathing dog. His dog he realised after a while. When those chocolate-brown eyes met his, Sherlock zoomed out anything but the puppy who struggled to get out of his prison.
His fur was wavy and some places curly. The colour of it was auburn. An Irish Setter.
“What will you call him?” Father prompted.
Sherlock startled, having been totally engrossed in watching the dog’s pathetic tries to get his small frame over the top of the basket.
“I get to name him?” Sherlock asked incredulously.
“Of course, Sherlock. It’s your dog,” Father told him.
“Do you like him?” his mother coaxed.
By the tone of her voice, Sherlock discerned that it wasn’t the first time she had asked the question.
“Yes,” Sherlock whispered.
“You can pick him up, you know,” his father said mirthfully. “It’s clear that he won’t be able to get out of there by himself.”
Careful, so he didn’t frighten the animal, Sherlock sat on his knees and leaned over the basket to lift the dog up. Seconds after an eager tongue licked his face and Sherlock giggled.
“It tickles!” he exclaimed.
His parents chuckled and told him he had to train the dog to obey, to teach him what was allowed and what wasn’t.
“In due course. Today you can play all you want with him,” Father assured him when Sherlock looked sceptically at his parents by the mentioning of rules.
Every morning after that, when Sherlock opened his eyes to a new day, Redbeard was there, ready to follow him wherever the day would take them. They became inseparable and Redbeard was quite obedient and didn’t need all the training and commanding his parents had mentioned. The dog was happy to follow Sherlock everywhere and if his master told him no, Redbeard refrained from doing whatever shenanigans he’d been up to at the time.
***
“Open your eyes, love,” John whispers.
Sherlock gets a sudden flashback to a certain July day almost six decades ago. Just like then, he opens his eyes slowly, and just like then he’s gobsmacked by what awaits him. At his feet, in their Sussex cottage, is a basket with an English Cocker Spaniel, red in colour, inside, looking expectantly up at Sherlock.
“John.”
It’s all Sherlock’s capable of uttering. In a fluid motion, unsuitable for his age, Sherlock seats himself on the floor beside the basket and stretches out his arms. The puppy comes eagerly and just like Redbeard did all those years ago, licks Sherlock’s face with fervour.
“Easy, my sweet,” Sherlock coos burying his hands in the soft and curly fur.
He looks over at his husband who’s seated himself beside Sherlock, with a bit more effort.
“The kiss will have to wait, I’m afraid,” Sherlock says, his face still damp from the greeting.
John chuckles.
“You always make it up to me. Do you like her?”
“Oh, yes, John. She’s adorable. How did you keep this a secret?”
“A puzzle you can figure out later, my heart,” John teases. “What will you name her?”
“Hudders, would be appropriate, but I’m afraid our former landlady’s ghost would hunt me for eternity if I did. Hm…how about Queenie?”
“Perfect,” John agrees. “One drama queen and one…what role would she…”
“John!” Sherlock exclaims affronted, which makes the puppy bark.
“Ah, I see…she’ll be your protector,” John quips.
“Mm. I guess one more couldn’t hurt,” Sherlock ponders.
“Agreed,” John says emphatically. “Now, let’s get up and you can wash that beautiful face of yours so I can get that kiss you promised me.”
@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @safedistancefrombeingsmart @phoenix27884 @gregorovitch-adler @a-victorian-girl @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @raina-at @helloliriels @7-percent @ninasnakie
#flash fiction friday#sherlock fandom#sherlock#john watson#johnlock#bbc sherlock#sherlock fanfic#FFF249#open your eyes
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Surprise
Hi guys ♥
Sorry to be a little slower to post those days, I have some change in my personnal life and I need time to adjust, I think.
I still have some request for McFoord, like here, here, and here. And the prompt come from here .
Thank you!
TW : Homesickness I guess, past Ruesha-Katie mentionned
Despite the international break, Caitlin finds herself stuck in London due to a very slight thigh muscle injury. Since these are only friendly matches, the Australian staff decided not to take any risks with the player and leave her at home in London. Caitlin genuinely hesitated to accompany her teammates to Australia to have time with her mother, her sister and her sister-in-law for a few days. But the break falling during Katie’s birthday, the Australian finally decided to stay in London to at least make a FaceTime in the rules of the art with her girlfriend.
Despite the distance, Caitlin has arranged things with a restaurant near the hotel where the Ireland team is, to be able to have a dinner face to face with FaceTime. And she also gave the gift she plans to offer to Katie to Grace, whom she has come to know well since dating Katie. And that Caitlin appreciates a lot.
It’s been three days since Katie and most of their friends left London. And Caitlin’s already a little bored, taking care of Katie’s cat to pass the time. Coopurr had time to get used to the presence of the Australian at her side before, but Caitlin sometimes feels that he misses the presence of the Irish woman too.
The typical September London rain waters London when Caitlin goes home to Katie's after going shopping for her and the cat.
"Bloody hell" Caitlin yells, getting rid of her wet jacket.
Sometimes she really misses Australia.
Taking off her shoes and socks, also wet, the young woman puts on Katie’s slippers to go drop her things in the kitchen. When she puts the last package in the cupboards, her phone starts ringing. Taking a brief glance in the direction of the clock, a smile appears on her face, knowing that it's most certainly Katie.
But her smile turns into a worried look when she sees Grace’s name appear on her phone screen. Why would her girlfriend’s best friend call her? Already imagining the worst, Caitlin hurries to answer.
"Hello?"
"Hi mate. It’s Grace"
"Is Katie okay?" Caitlin asks, forgetting any manners.
"Yeah, yeah, she’s fine, don’t worry" Grace quickly replies, suspecting Caitlin’s worry.
"What’s going on?"
"I mean, when I say she’s okay, I’m talking about physical well-being. But I’m not hiding from you that since she came here she seems… I don’t know, sad? I even thought at one point that you had an argument or that you had broken up"
Despite her, Caitlin feels her stomach twist. Everything was fine between them when Katie left and during the various exchanges of messages or calls they had.
"What? No, we’re fine. And she didn’t tell me that something was up when we talked."
And they were talking at least once with FaceTime everyday, in addition of messaging through the day. Frowning, Caitlin sits on the first chair near her. She tries to understand what can bother Katie so much, not really finding answers. What intrigues her is that her girlfriend doesn't seem to have wanted to share her moods with her, whereas normally they talk about everything.
"I tried to talk to her, but you know her. She doesn’t want to say anything." Grace continues
"Does Ruesha give her a hard time?"
There is a few seconds of silence before Grace's answer and Caitiln imagines her perfectly shruging her shoulders after having thought a little while.
"No more than usual. Katie avoids being with her as much as possible but they can’t avoid each other all the time. Rue is Rue but it could be worse tho"
Caitlin gives up a grunt for any answer. Letting Katie go with her ex wasn’t something easy for Caitlin and not just out of jealousy. We can’t say that Ruesha was nice to them.
Persuaded that Katie has cheat with Caitlin even before their breakup, Rue seems to take a malignant pleasure in taking revenge on something that never happened. Despite the multiple explanations from Katie, who finally gave up.
"I think spending her birthday away from you and most of her friends weighs more than usual, because of all that." Grace says.
"Oh…"
Of course, Caitlin would have preferred to spend that day with Katie. She could also have followed Katie to Ireland to spend a few hours with her that day, but the two women made the decision not to do so to avoid any drama with Ruesha precisely.
"Look, I know you both agreed it was better that way, but I really think Katie would like you to come. She needs you. But I don’t mean to put pressure on you, obviously."
"I’ll get someone who can take care of Coopurr and I’ll be there as soon as possible."
It was easier for Caitlin to find a plane ticket to Dublin than to find someone to take care of her girlfriend’s precious cat. It's finally Laura who has custody of it for a few days, after receiving a long list of recommendations from Caitlin who finally became almost as fond of the feline that Katie is.
Caitlin came to Ireland twice, but it was always with Katie and to meet her girlfriend’s family. Learning that Caitlin was coming, Ella and Lauryn, some of Katie's sisters, offered to pick her up at the airport and then take her to Katie’s hotel. Grace is supposed to help Caitlin sneak into Katie’s room while another teammate keeps Katie busy.
"Oh wow" Caitlin says when entering the room she rented.
The decoration she requested for the occasion is already installed and it's even better than what she had imagined. She takes the time to open her suitcase to install the last elements to the decoration, some pictures of them in particular.
Then Caitlin takes a quick shower to cool off after the trip and changes clothes, before heading to the suite lounge to wait for Katie. She voluntarily didn't respond to Katie’s messages as quickly and as long as usual, wishing that the surprise effect for Katie was to the maximum. But she transferred the photos of the cat that Laura sent her in the last few hours, giving her the impression that she is still in London. In her humble opinion, Caitlin will be able to embark on a second career in events when she has to retire from sport.
But these thoughts are quickly pushed back when Caitlin distinctly hears the voice of her girlfriend ringing in the corridor leading to the room. She is grumbling, something based on "I hope it’s worth it Gracie, I just wanted to put my ass in front of Netflix" which amuses the Australian a lot.
Thanks to the double magnetic card that Grace has, she opens the door of the suite on Grumpy Katie.
Her face changes instantly when she sees Caitlin patiently standing in the center of the room.
"What the fuck?!" almost shout the Irish.
Caitlin’s laughter mingles with Grace's in front of Katie’s stupor, who doesn't seem to dare sketch the slightest gesture. The fact that it's two days before her birthday probably plays a little too.
But Katie ends up getting out of her stupor and suddenly rushes inside the room to hug her girlfriend. Grace takes the opportunity to make a discreet exit, delicately closing the door behind her after depositing the card on the cabinet of the entrance.
"What the hell are you doing here?" asks Katie, taking Caitlin’s face in both hands, as if to make sure she’s not dreaming.
"I heard my girlfriend was having a hard time. And I missed her very much too"
"Wait where is Coop?" frowns Katie
"Really? Your damn cat before kissing me?" Caitlin laughs.
A guilty smile on her lips, Katie hurries to put her lips on Caitlin's to properly celebrate their reunion. A tender and delicate kiss and Caitlin would swear she feels Katie’s muscles relax one by one in her arms.
"Hi" smiles Katie after kissing
"Hi" replies Caitlin smiling back, dropping a new kiss on her lips. "Coop is with Laura"
Katie hums simply, sticking herself in the arms of her girlfriend. Grace was right in calling Caitlin, the captain of Ireland has had better times than now. But she obviously wasn’t going to complain to anyone. Understanding the message, Caitlin tightens her arms around her, affectionately stroking her hair by gently rocking her, giving her the confort quietly asked.
"What’s all this?" Katie asks several minutes later, looking at the decoration.
"The second part of the surprise. The first being me, of course"
A smile appears on Katie's face, who becomes aware of the whole decoration, her gaze lingering on each of the photos that Caitlin has installed. Some are recent, some are from last year and some are even older.
"This is the first photo we took together" informs Caitlin pointing to a photo
A smile appears on Katie’s face when she looks more closely.
"We look like babies" Katie smirks
"You do. I still look the same actually"
"You’re right. You’ve always been beautiful"
"You're such a simp"
Caitlin rolls her eyes, unable to retain an amused smile. This is probably not the right time to talk about all her adolescent and young adult complexes. The Australian prefers to focus on the present and her girlfriend. Although they were quickly interrupted by knocks on the door, announcing the arrival of their dinner.
********
"Thanks for coming" whispers Katie, a few hours later.
They enjoyed their meal accompanied by champagne (without alcohol of course), talked and laughed. Katie has honestly not felt as relaxed as she is since arriving at the camps. When Caitlin offered to take a bath, Katie didn't hesitate a single second before accepting. Before, she was not a fan of baths, considering that it was a great waste of time. But if she has the opportunity to add Caitlin naked with her in the hot water, she's suddenly a very big fan.
Sitting in front of her in the bathtub that is about to overflow with foam, Caitlin leaves the foam with which she was playing, to report her eyes on Katie.
"Sure. But next time I’d rather you tell me directly if something’s wrong. You don’t have to pretend with me."
Katie looks thoughtfully at Caitlin for a few seconds, a slight guilt creating in the pit of her stomach.
"I- I just…"
"It’s not dramatic, Puddin" Caitlin says, smiling, taking her hand in hers.
"I just didn’t want to worry you and complicate things"
"It's ok, I’m not angry. You want to talk about it?"
Katie sighs, her hand slowly playing with the foam. When she thinks about it, she feels like she's overreacting or something. That's partly why she didn't talk to Caitlin about it.
"It's nothing really. It's just that everything seems harder here. Without you" she adds, without looking at her. "Rue is an ass and the team's dynamic isn't really the same. It's like every single one of them has to choose their side between me and her, but I never wanted this. It's really weird."
"I'm sorry" mumble Caitlin.
"It's not your fault" frowns Katie, looking at her this time. "It will get better"
Caitlin shrugs and sighs too. If she has the choice, she would pack her bags, put Katie in it and go back to London. But she can't, for obvious reasons.
"I know how much you loved the Irish camps, I just want you to be happy"
"I will kill you if you say other people and they see how much you make me sappy, but I am happy, thanks to you. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy in my life as I have been since we are together. I know I like to play the big guy, but you make me feel cared, safe and loved. There is no stupid competition between us to know which of the two is better. I’ve always looked for someone to push me to be better every day, but you do it and in a much healthier way than I’ve known so far."
Caitlin’s tormented face transforms into tender and Katie barely has time to finish her sentence as the Australian moves to find herself as close to her as possible, sending some hot water and foam on the ground.
"I hope to continue to feel this for a very long time" adds Katie on a whisper, Caitlin’s face a few inches from hers.
"I intend to love you for the rest of my life. And you will have no choice" Caitlin replies with an amused smile.
"Sounds good to me" Katie smirks, before grabbing her girlfriend’s face to kiss her.
#woso imagine#woso fanfics#caitlin foord#caitlin foord imagine#caitlin foord x katie mccabe#katie mccabe x caitlin foord#katie mccabe imagine#katie mccabe#woso one shot#mcfoord
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British insight for those military men fics
Coming from a British person
Use this for your angsty british backstory
Will include:
-insight to healthcare and low income situations
- opinions on the royal family (all negative)
- british food
- talks about home life and low income
• none of them would care for the queens death. They would not be mourning, they would not be sad, they're not tories. If anything theyd be glad and wishing death upon the rest of them. The monarchy sucks the only downside is that we have Charles and camilla now. Diana rest in peace
• to add on to this they wouldnt care for the coronation they would most likely insult it, they probably hate the entire royal family like almost all of the entire uk does. I am repeating this again but they are NOT tories 🚫nuh uh🚫 stop painting, price, gaz and ghost as people who love the royals while soap hates them 💀💀 they all hate the monarchy
• they most likely wouldnt drink fancy tea Pg, Yorkshire, tetley etc are their go to because that's what most of the uk drink especially low income houses as it's the cheapest. Taste of home I guess.
• also they're not out here eating beans on toast whenever they get the chance💀 they're probably eating an entire meal because they're giant men??? Like beans on toast is what parents give to their kids because it's cheap and fills them up, the only time they're having beans is with:
1) breakfast
2) jacket potatoes
3) sasauge and mash
4) Gregg's bean and sausage pasties
• also soap probably eats beans too?? I've seen fics where hes wholeheartedly against beans like??? Hes Scottish?? I know he ate beans as a kid, no one grows up and decides to have a mohawk otherwise
• they're all meat and potatoes type of men (like all british men) that's it. That's the facts
• fries =/= chips
• also british people are like really lazy when they speak
"would you like a cup of tea?"= "fancy a cuppa?"
"I'm just not in the mood to do that" = "cant be arsed"
"How are you?" = "ya alright?"
"Should we get some Chinese/Indian/Italian/etc food?" = "you want a chinese/Indian/italian/etc?"
• we tend to just drop words off In sentences because the person were talking to probably already understands what we mean and because like I said we're lazy
• British accents also vary so much!!! Even if you're from the same street you'll probably have a different accent and we also swear a lot, we also use a bunch of mixed slang as thete are people from everywhere over here (poland, Bulgaria, Romania, Lithuania, india named from just my class)
• Irish travellers are also really common so their would probably be a few in recruitment idk why people dont add Irish people to their fics ?? maybe they fear putting Scotts and irish people together (watch big fat gypsy wedding for more insight I used to love that show)
• Aussies understand us pretty well (shout out to my uncle Andy) a lot of our language dialects are pretty similar and our humour is both pretty dry and blunt
• also British people dont care for like anything?? Even tho we have free healthcare most of us just slap a wet paper towel on it and call it a day. The most reaction you'll get is a room temperature ice pack
• british teeth are also something that Americans dont really understand since we have free healthcare but I'll they to simplify it. our Healthcare is free and so is dental care but only if you're younger than 16 except for check ups etc and unfortunately alot of us are born into low income households whose parents are a)mentally unwell b) physically unwell c) involved with drugs or are just simply neglectful so that means a lot of us arent taken to the dentist and by the time we are old enough to take ourselves we would have to pay for it and some of us just dont have the money for things like braces
• also I really want to see someone include chavs/roadmen in their stories because i think it would be funny plus some of them are really nice and genuinely curious when asking
• there are things called council houses/ council estates and they arent the nicest places to live and are usually not in the best shape but it's a place to sleep, most of the people who live there are usually people who live on benefits and are really lovely (might be biased I used to live in one tho), you usually have to top up on gas and electric every so often via a card (gas) and a key (for electric) usually able to get these topped up from you local corner shop
• alot of the nosies we make are as if we're cave men
*throws paper ball into trash*
Anyone in a 5mile radius: WOOOOO
• we also make up chants alot?? Idk why but we're just a musical country usually has something about your mum, your nan, a nonce, or one of the many other british wonders *nonce = pedo
• our beauty standards are a lot less extreme like theres obviously beauty standards but there are a lot more regular looking people on tv over here rather than supermodels ?? I've been to America and some of the people on tv you'd swear they were made in a factory for hot people only. Let people be regular
• British tv has a commercial every 15 minutes or so and our commercials dont offer lawyers or medication, some our commercials have songs, silly gags in them or are terrifying (check out: money supermarket, the antibiotic song, the meerkat adverts just to name a few)
• our eggs are orange not yellow
•our sandwiches have butter on them (not all but most) + brits arent much of foodies we just eat to survive really especially during the cost of living
• our drinking culture is a big thing over here, a lot of us start drinking around 13
• we have stores like asda, tesco, lidl, aldi, iceland, sainsburys and big Tesco, corner shops are really common depending on if they're owned by a large company or not some of them arent in perfect shape and are run my people from other countries but they have good stuff so who cares about how they look
• you have to be 16 to buy an energy drink and 18 to buy alcohol/ cigarettes
• outside cats are a thing, they're not homeless they just come as they go
• for some reason people are really classist?? Because how dare the poor be alive, and I'm not talking about just rich people being bad to the poor if you have bad living conditions expect to be made fun of by other low income people 💀 you'll be lucky if yoire funny because otherwise you will just be getting bullied.
•our weather is pretty much grey, our grass is almost never fully green and usually patchy, our summers are so hot they cause wild fires because we have no humidity and no air con, our winters are a hit or miss either too cold or a regular day
• tv shows that most of us call soaps: eastenders, coronation street, emmadale and hollyoaks
• some uk shows, naked attraction, snog marry avoid, friday night dinner, bad education, plebs, come dine with me, him & her, some girls, the Keith lemon show, gavin and stacey, not british but Derry girls, inbetweeners, anything with philomena cunk in it, the great british bake off
• Some documentaries (ish) for those who love information: old people homes for four year old, emergency, educating greater Manchester, educating Cardiff, poor kids, anything with stacey Dooley or louis theroux in
• it's kinda hard to describe the uk to someone whose never witnessed or experienced it.
#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#price x reader#gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle garrick x reader#soap x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#john mactavish x reader#simon riley x reader#big beefy british military men#call of duty x reader#cod x reader
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It's the 17th of March, so y'know what that means-
Happy Saint Patrick's Day to you all! I know the majority of you probably don't celebrate, which is fair, BUT I decided I wanted to talk a little more about the country I was born and raised in- the Emerald Isles of Ireland!! :D
If you're just here for the art, well here ya go! However, if you want to learn more in a VERY long post:
Just to start off, here's the Irish flag and the Ivory Coast flag! Wanted to add this because they can get easily mixed up (I got them muddled up a LOT when I was younger-)
Since it is Saint Patrick's Day, I should probably elaborate what that's about- what I've been taught in school is that Saint Patrick preached the Gospel to the Irish, one method including the shamrock to represent the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Of course, and the whole "he drove the snakes out of Ireland" but don't worry. There are still snakes in Ireland. And I'm pretty sure "snakes" is a metaphor anyway. And, turns out, he wasn't even originally from Ireland- he was British! Oh yeah, and he was kidnapped by pirates to become a slave when he was a teenager for 6 year s -
Here are some stereotypes or the first things that pop into your mind when you think of "Ireland"- leprechauns, short gingers, "Top of the mornin' to ya" and our love for spuds and beer. And, to tell you some stuff about them too!
Leprechauns originally wore red! They pop up in fairy tales quite often too.
Ireland is second when it comes to having the highest percentage of gingers with 10%, with Scotland having 13%. As for being short, I reassure you, there are plenty of tall and/or lanky people around. (A lot of my teachers are like this-)
I've heard no one say this as a greeting. The only Irish person I can think of who does is Jacksepticeye. You might be more likely to hear "How's it going?" or "What's the crack?"
As for loving beer, we are one of the highest consumers for it, but there are many other higher consumers! Also, I don't know if this is a thing in America or not, but we tend to call them pubs. Bars are a bit more...fancy? I don't know how to describe the difference.
And for loving potatoes? Okay. This is probably true lol. Almost everyone I know likes potatoes (with some exceptions). And, of course, who can forget the Great Famine when blight destroyed the potato crop and killed around a million people- spuds were a huge source of food back then.
And now, for language! Here are some I'm used to hearing quite regularly (and use often, too!)
Another two that I want to add are more Cork exclusive, but saying "boy/girl" at the end of sentences and using "like" a lot is quite common (especially the like one- I say "like" all the time ;v;).
And now, Irish itself! Now, I'm not going to tell you anything major (I'm not a teacher) but I will try my best to explain a little!
Irish is not the main language of Ireland but in some particular areas (shown in the right image) there are regions called Gaeltacht districts which predominantly speak Irish. Their Irish would be a lot better than my school-knowledge based Irish :'D
Another thing to add is that different provinces (the provinces shown in the middle image) have different versions, or pronunciations of some words. Being from the province of Munster, I've been taught the "Munster" pronunciations and words.
So..."Tá mé éan sásta" would mean "I am a happy bird" :D
I apologise for how messy my writing looks-
OKAY. ONE MORE THING I WANTED TO COVER IN THE IRISH LANGUAGE IS THE NAMES, because I've seen plenty of people online and in real life joking lightheartedly how hard Irish names are pronounced. So here are some Irish names!!
Saoirse - this one is brought up quite a bit- It can either be pronounced as "seer-sha" or "sair-sha"!
Róisín - "roh-sheen" !
Eoin - even I had a hard time pronouncing this when I was younger- it's pronounced as "owe-in" like "owing" but without the g!
Fódhla - I remember this appeared in the newspaper once and a family member was baffled by it- it's said as "foh-la" :]
Another I want to mention is Eilish- you probably know it thanks to Billie Eilish, which is pronounced as "eye-lish"- but it can also be pronounced as "eye-leesh"!
Last one, Sinéad- you may have seen this one once or twice as is pronounced "shin-aid" :D
And now, some more quick stuff!!
Musicians from Ireland!!
On the left you have Hozier (love his music!! :D) and the right is the Cranberries!!
Some other Irish artists you may be familiar with are U2, Thin Lizzy, Westlife and Sinéad O' Connor!
Some popular Irish snacks!!
crisps/chips!! (I love em both dearly)
of course, how can I not bring up Irish bread: soda bread and blaas :D
Hot chicken rolls!! (seriously how are these not more popular elsewhere-) and spice bags!! (chips with spices, peppers. maybe chicken)
Animal wise, we haven't got anything too crazy, but we do have one of the largest breeds of dog, the Irish greyhound and the now extinct largest deer, the elk.
I think I'm beginning to run low on space, so I'll end it there!! If you're also Irish, free to add on facts/words!!
I don't usually say this but I would kinda appreciate reblogs since I felt like I put a bit more effort into this ;v;
So uh, yeah- Happy Saint Patrick's Day!! :D
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Hero is an alcoholic and the villain finds the hero on the sidewalk with a bottle of alcohol in his hand, and then the Hero starts to vent to the villain about his issues
“Hero.”
The villain hadn’t meant for such thickness to creep into their voice, but it had. Seeing the hero, such a prized little monument in their city, squeezed in an alleyway with an entire bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand, might do that to anyone.
They shouldn’t have thought anything of it.
Maybe it was a kick to keep him going through the night.
Maybe he would leap to his feet and engage the villain in another breath taking battle. But even in the dim light, they see the unnatural flush on his cheeks. They see the unfocused, glazed look in his eye.
It even takes him far too long to register that his name had been called.
The whiskey bottle clanks against the concrete as he sets it down, but doesn’t unfasten his fingers from the slim neck.
“Villain.”
His voice is shaking. They can sense a slurred drawl creeping effortlessly through each syllable. The villain steps closer. They can almost smell it.
“What are you doing, Hero?”
He languidly nudges the half empty whiskey, as if the answer was obvious.
“Drinking,” he slurs. The villain’s brow pinches.
“Why?”
The hero gulps down another swig. They almost see it hit him, his eyes popping open wearily, before his head lolls lazily so his chin is almost touching his chest. He sucks in a wet breath.
“Why does anyone do anything?” He grumpily groans, struggling to twist his tongue around his own words. He looks as though he barely knows what he’s saying. “Jus’...leave me alone.”
The villain grimaces. They stop in front of them with a pinched brow etched onto their face, and they reach down to pry the bottle from their hands. Surprisingly, he has enough to strength to rip it away. Some liquid sloshes onto the pavement with a wet smack.
“Oi,” he loudly snaps. “That’s mine. Hands off.”
“I think you’ve had enough,” the villain sternly tells him. They can feel this resonating anger consuming their very being. They don’t know why seeing the hero in this state is getting them hot under the collar. Maybe it’s because the hero is doing it to himself.
The only person who should be bringing him pain and misery, was them. Not a bottle of Jameson.
“I’ve only had three bottles,” he huffs, barely stuttering out the words. The villain’s eyebrows raise.
“Three?”
“I like Irish whiskey,” the hero hums.
The villain resists the urge to curse under their breath. They hadn’t ever once thought of the hero as an idiot until now. They yank the bottle from his slipping grip with more force this time, and it pops right out of his hand. They already have an arm lay over his collarbone to prevent him from moving when he attempts to lurch forward in a hasty effort to take it back.
“Hey!” He snaps, barely fighting him off. “S’mine.”
“Why are you drinking yourself to death?”
They don’t ask because they care. The villain hasn’t ever cared; they just don’t want the hero to be easy pickings while he’s out here in this state. He puts up a valiant fight for a drunkard.
“Why do you care?” He hisses, and the villain can smell the warm wood and nutty undertones radiating from the bottle. They make a point of tipping it all out onto the pavement.
The hero fights harder this time, a ragged groan tearing from their throat.
“Fuck you,” he growls, clumsy fingers trying to latch onto their shirt. “Jus’...fuckin’, ruining everything—”
The villain can see tears in his glassy eyes. They wonder whether it’s because he just poured an expensive bottle of Jameson on the floor, but they find their voice softening regardless. Not because they care.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” they ask.
The hero grits his teeth, a soft little huff choking in his throat. It takes mere seconds before the tears begin to roll down their cheeks.
“Twenty two people died on that bridge,” he forces out, sucking in a sharp breath. “It was my fucking fault. Mine.”
They look at them gently.
“Hero, that was months ago,” they whisper. “You know that wasn’t your fault.”
The villain can feel him visibly shaking from under their arm, and they decide to slowly remove it from his collarbone. The hero sways, and he’s clearly fighting off a huge wave of drunken dizziness that slams into him.
“I’m a fucking joke,” he sobs. “I need it.”
“You don’t need to do this,” the villain murmurs. They try to ignore the returning thickness in their throat. “You’re not a joke.”
“Leave me alone,” he groans, head falling limply onto their shoulder. They stiffen. “Please.”
They don’t like the way the hero begs. It isn’t nearly as fun as they had imagined; none of this, seeing the hero broken and miserable, was as fun as they had imagined. They gently cradle him into their side, and slowly heft him off the ground. It takes him a while to even find his feet.
“Come on, Hero,” the villain hums, voice strained. “I’m taking you home.”
He quietly sobs to himself as they do, and the villain realises how much he must have been struggling for months by himself. They take him back home, but it isn’t because they care. Even when they put him in some clean clothes, and make him sip at some water, making sure he lies on his side so he doesn’t throw up.
When the hero is asleep, they stay. But not because they care.
#ask#hero x villain#villain x hero#hero and villain#villain and hero#heroes and villains#villains and heroes#hero villain#villain hero#hero#villain#alcohol abuse#writing#my writing#avvail snippet#avvail
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