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hrina · 4 years

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In The Ring, Pt. IV - Uppercut

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 10.6k REQUESTED: yes!

well lads................this is it 🥺🥺🥺 thank u guys so much for all the love you’ve given this series. i would’ve never expected to receive such a positive response, but u guys rly went above and beyond. i adore u all so much

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

as always, my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio! i worked really hard on this last part! i wanted to make sure it was all perfect, so i hope everyone enjoys it. gentle reminder to reblog the fics you like! it’s a great way to show appreciation as well as give authors more exposure. ok that’s all hehe can’t wait to hear your thoughts! take care 💙💙💙

PART I: Jab

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

~*~

March 20, 2021

Harry keeps his promise, and Artie brings your car back around to your place the next day. You sit up straight at the table when you hear the familiar honking of a horn sound from outside. Your feet suddenly seem to have a mind of their own, carrying you out of the kitchen quickly with your father’s confused inquiries ringing in your ears. You open the front door before Artie even has the chance to knock.

“Thanks, Jason,” you tell him, breathless.

He hands you your keys and accepts the quick hug that you bestow upon him. “No problem, little girl. Is everything alright?”

Harry didn’t tell him.

“Yeah,” you lie, nodding. “I just—I had a bit too much to drink last night, that’s all.” Your voice drops an octave. “Don’t tell my dad, okay?”

Artie presses two of his fingertips together and drags them over the seam of his mouth, metaphorically sealing his lips. You smile, your heartbeat returning to its regular pace beneath the confines of your ribs.

You step back, extending an arm and gesturing for him to enter.

“Are you hungry? We were in the middle of eating lunch.”

“Sure,” he says, kicking off his shoes and arranging them against the wall. “Thank you.”

He and your father talk about anything and everything during the meal—boxing, the economy, the basketball game that had aired late last night. You just sit there and eat your food, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention.

They include you in the conversation for a bit—Artie asks how classes are going, and you tell him that you’re waiting for medical school acceptance (or rejection) letters to start rolling in. Other than that, they don’t bat an eye when you rinse your plate in the sink and politely excuse yourself from the table. You hide behind the fact that you have to work on an assignment that’s due in a week—the paper is worth a third of your grade and it’s crucial that you ace it.

But once you hobble back into your room, you’re crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over your head. You reach around blindly for your phone, snatching it up from where it’s charging on your nightstand. You unlock the device, scrolling through all of the grey messages that pop up right away—sent last night, one after the other, each of them unanswered, growing more and more desperate as the hours pass.

Can we please talk about this?

I’m sorry, please let me explain.

Are you ignoring me?

I know you’re seeing these. Please respond.

And then a final one, dejected and crestfallen, laced with palpable weakness even through the pixels of your screen.

Goodnight.

April 6, 2021

Harry’s on a losing streak.

A five-match losing streak, to be precise.

He’s never been bested this many times in a row. Your father is baffled by it, unsure of why he’s been so distracted in the ring. It’s even more confusing, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s at the gym every single day, lifting weights, practicing his technique, throwing himself into the sport. But once the actual fights roll around, things change. You’re not there, and you’re his lucky charm, and because of that, he finds himself meeting the ground far more often than he’d like to admit.

Your father said that the end of the semester was approaching—as a consequence, you were buckling down with school. Harry supposes that the timing is right, so the pretext must be true. But his opponents don’t know that (nor would they care). Your absence doesn’t stop them from knocking him down with snarling faces and heavy fists. The crowds holler loudly, goading him to get back up, but Harry doesn’t. He refuses to give them the satisfaction of watching him get beaten to a bloody pulp.

He stopped trying to reach out to you a week after the night of the kiss. He composed several texts a day, but each message had been met with silence. He remembers staring down at his phone one time, watching as three grey dots wiggled on the screen for a minute or two before disappearing entirely.

That’s when he gave up. If you didn’t want to talk, fine.

It hurt like hell, though.

And it’s still hurting like hell, even a week and a half later.

You told your father about James. He had mentioned it in passing to Harry, having to end practice earlier than usual because he had to set a court date to deal with some bastard who wouldn’t leave you alone. And that’s comforting, Harry thinks, because at least he knows that you’ll be safe, now.

He just wishes that he could’ve been the one to bring you that bit of solace.

That’s why, when your father invites him over for dinner one night after a particularly strenuous evening of training, he jumps at the opportunity. You’re making lasagna, your father says, having taken a break from studying for exams. Harry agrees to come over, because it’s been a while since he’s had a real, curated, love-infused, home-cooked meal.

And because you’ll be there, too, obviously. But he refrains from letting that incentive slip loose.

His heart is racing nervously when he parks his truck in front of your house. Memories flood his brain, reminding him of what had happened the last time he’d been here—the glint of your necklace under his fingers, the alluring twinkle in your eyes. The softness of your lips against his, the sensation of your nails carding through his hair—

Your father taps on the window of the driver’s seat.

“H?” he says, muffled through the glass. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” Harry chokes out, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the vehicle. “Yeah, sorry.”

He follows your father up the porch steps, waiting anxiously as the other man unlocks the front door. It swings open; they both step inside. Harry’s eyes widen when your father calls out, “Gioia? I’m home!”

“Hi!” comes your reply.

He freezes when the sound reaches his ears, because he hasn’t heard your voice—much less seen you—in over two weeks. He shuts the door discreetly, removing his shoes and trailing after your father as he pads down the hall. The closer he draws to the kitchen, the more he can smell it—meat, spices, cheese. His stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Hope you made enough for three,” your father says, entering the room.

Harry lingers behind you, leaning against the wide threshold with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. He’s still a bit sweaty, but he hopes that the lasagna in the oven will mask the musky scent of the perspiration gleaming on his skin.

“Three?” you ask. You’re standing at the sink, your back to them. “Hi, Jason.”

A beat of silence passes, and then—

“Er, not exactly,” Harry grunts.

You stiffen immediately before spinning around. He doesn’t miss the quiet little gasp that leaves your mouth.

Your gaze locks with his, lips parted in surprise, and he can’t help but wonder if coming here was the smartest or the most foolish decision he’s ever made.

~*~

He and your father set the table.

After a few minutes, three plates and three collections of cutlery are laid out over a pristine white cloth. Harry eases into his chair as you carry over a hot tray of lasagna, your hands sheathed in a pair of red oven mittens. You put the pasta down in front of your father, who is sat at the head of the table. He inhales deeply, a small smile forming on his face.

“Smells amazing, sweetheart,” he tells you, nodding in approval. “Even better than your mother’s.”

“That’s a lie,” you tease, chuckling quietly and removing the crimson gloves from your fingers. You cut a large piece from the platter and deposit it onto his dish. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he says.

He waits patiently as you separate another chunk of pasta for Harry, setting it down on his plate without a word.

“Thank you,” Harry tells you, his voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” you say. The response is short, painfully clipped—it makes him wince.

As soon as everyone has food in front of them, you sit down in your chair, reaching for the fork and the knife resting a few inches away from your dish. Before you can dig in, however, you pause, lifting your chin and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Shit,” you murmur. “Forgot the drinks.”

“There’s juice in the fridge, I think,” your father says through a mouthful of pasta.

“No.” You wave his suggestion away. “How about some wine? I’ll grab a bottle from the cellar.”

“Alright.” He nods, but then speaks again as you stand. “Wait—I think the treadmill in the basement is blocking the door. Harry—,” Harry’s head snaps up, nostrils flaring at the mention of his name, “—would you mind going with her? She won’t be able to move it by herself.”

“Uh,” he says stupidly. “Yeah, sure.”

He quickly excuses himself from the table, glancing over at you to register your reaction. Your expression is stony, betraying nothing. You swallow heavily, looking away and marching quickly out of the kitchen. He follows you without another word, hot on your heels.

The basement is dimly-lit, stocked with a few shelves of non-perishable foods and household supplies. Harry remains silent as you make your way over to the far wall, approaching the dark grey treadmill pressed against the door of the cellar. You place both hands on the side of the machine, giving it a firm push and grunting when it budges only an inch.

“You going to help me, or what?” you ask, casting an expectant glance at Harry from over your arm.

He blinks. “Right.”

Together, the two of you manage to ease the treadmill a few feet to the left. It’s enough space for you to open the door of the wine cellar and slip inside. Darkness envelopes your bodies, dissolving only when a small click! echoes through the still air. A moment later, the alcove is illuminated in a dull glow, compliments of the scrawny yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling.

You release the thin string attached to the light, turning around and gasping when you find Harry perched directly behind you. Your chests brush together—the contact sends sparks whizzing down his spine. You spin back around quickly, clearing your throat and scanning all of the different bottles balanced on the shelves.

“Thanks for your help,” you say dryly. “You can go back upstairs, now.”

“I’m good,” Harry mutters.

He clasps his hands behind his back as you trail your index finger along dozens of cream-coloured labels. Your hair is gathered in a low ponytail; a few shorter, wispier strands peek out from behind your ears. You’re not wearing makeup, today—and why would you, Harry thinks, when you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

“So,” he starts, itching to break the silence, “your dad told me that you’re filing a restraining order against James.”

“Yeah,” you reply curtly. He waits for you to continue, but you say nothing else.

“Feel better now that you’ve come clean?” he questions. Immediately, he knows that it’s the wrong thing to ask. But it’s out there, now, and he can’t exactly take it back.

A hollow laugh tumbles off of your tongue. Behind you, Harry notices the way you shake your head in disdain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?” He cocks an eyebrow challengingly, frowning at your tone.

“I said that you’re ridiculous,” you gripe, whipping around and fixing him with a fiery glare. “Need me to repeat it again?”

“If that means you’ll finally be speaking to me, then yeah, go for it,” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest.

“I—,” you break off, surprised by the bite in his rebuttal. Harry clenches his jaw when you turn back around. Your hand quivers as you reach for a random bottle of red wine. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“When, then?” he demands, taking a step closer. His front skims along your shoulder blades, and when you face him once more, your eyes widen in shock at the close proximity of your bodies. The little room suddenly feels much smaller, walls looming forward and closing you in. Your chest swells as you suck in a deep breath.

“When are we finally going to fucking talk about this?” Harry presses, meeting your gaze. Desperation drips from every syllable of his query.

You purse your lips, exhaling raggedly.

“Soon.”

A feeble assent.

An insipid shake of your head.

You angle your torso to the side, easily slipping past him and out of the cellar.

“But not today.”

April 10, 2021

Your nose is buried in a textbook when the message comes through.

Cell biology. So much information to remember, so many reactions to list, so many molecules to name. And weeks of studying, just for a two-hour-long final that’ll take place three days from now. If you weren’t so stressed out, the sheer nonsensicality of the situation would have made you laugh.

So when your phone chimes with the alert, you figure that it’s time for a break. A quick conversation with one of your friends, maybe. Something to take your mind off of the looming exam, even if it is just for a few minutes at a time. After that, you’ll get back to revising.

Sadly, nothing is ever that simple.

We need to talk. Come to the gym.

Your eyes widen when the words sink in. As you rub your clammy palms against the grey material of your sweatpants, another text pops up below the first.

Please.

You shouldn’t. You need to study. But even as you warn yourself against it, your brain is already coming up with a multitude of reasons to meet with him. It’s just one night. Your exam isn’t for another few days. You have time. You deserve to take a break.

Your keys jingle cheerfully as you toss them into your bag.

~*~

Harry is going to town when you walk into the gym.

You’re not quite sure how that poor punching bag has managed to stay balanced on its hook. Harry’s coming at it from every angle, pummeling the leather with hard, heavy fists. He’s wearing a black tank top today; deep armholes cut into the sides of the fabric and expose most of his torso. The dark tattoos on his skin glisten under a thin sheen of sweat; a small, stupid part of you expects the ink to run and smudge before you remember that the designs are permanent.

What’s even worse? Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande is playing on his phone. The soft, feathery croons of her voice mix with the low grunts that escape Harry’s throat—sounds that claw their way out of him with each blow delivered to the bag. Under normal circumstances, the juxtaposition would have made you snort.

Now though, it just reminds you of that night all those months ago, when you’d asked him to teach you how to box. This entire train wreck could have been avoided if you’d simply kept your mouth shut.

Harry still hasn’t noticed you. How could he, when you’re standing behind him?

You clear your throat. He freezes mid-strike.

His grassy eyes are wide when he turns around.

“Hi,” he says, surprised. “I—I didn’t think you would come.”

“I was halfway here when I realised that I didn’t text you back,” you reply, scratching awkwardly at the nape of your neck. “But, like…no handheld devices behind the wheel, and all that jazz.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, scanning your surroundings. You don’t know why you do that—nothing in the gym has changed. You’re just trying to avoid Harry’s gaze, which is a lot easier said than done.

“You, um…you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He nods, walking over to the ring and pausing the music streaming from his phone.

He then reaches for two pairs of boxing gloves, nestling one in the crook of his elbow and tossing the other at you. The strap of your purse slides from your shoulder as you catch the leather in your arms. You peer down at the gloves, eyes narrowing in confusion before you train them back on him.

“I don’t get it,” you deadpan.

“Really?” Harry asks. He hoists himself onto the raised platform of the ring and slips through the gaps in the ropes. “Because you’ve been begging to go up against me since January. Are you seriously gonna back out now?”

“Go up against—” The rest of your sentence fizzles out. “I…I thought you wanted to have a conversation, not a competition.”

He shrugs, regarding you evenly as he pulls his gloves on and tightens the straps around his wrists. He then bumps his enclosed fists together, tilting his head to the side.

“Why can’t we do both?”

~*~

You look pretty, Harry thinks.

Standing on the far side of the ring, wearing a black tank top, grey sweatpants, and bright pink sneakers—yeah, you look pretty. You’ve cuffed your bottoms so that they’re rolled up to the spot just below your knees, and your hair has been pulled back into a low bun. There’s no emotion on your face as you stare him down, taking a few steps closer and assuming a fighting stance.

You’ve gotten better—he’ll be the first to admit it. But he’s going to beat you, and you both know it. It’s just a matter of when.

He decides that, for the time being, he’ll go easy on you. The two of you will talk things out, and afterward, he might let you win. Maybe. He’s still on the fence about that.

You both begin to move in a circle. After a long moment of silence, Harry says, “You go first.”

“No, you,” you grit out. He just shrugs.

Fine. Have it your way.

You block the straight, pointed jab that he throws, and pride swells up in his chest. It’s a simple punch to deflect, but nevertheless, it tells him that you’ve learned something over these past few months. And that means that he’s done a good job as your teacher.

As your friend…not so much.

Do friends kiss other friends the same way you’d kissed him in front of your house?

He really doesn’t know.

“Right, then,” Harry starts, nodding. “Let’s talk.”

“About what?” you ask. Your nose wrinkles in concentration as you direct a blow toward his stomach. He blocks it easily. “About how you kissed me back and then told me you didn’t have feelings for me?”

“I—,” he’s stunned, because okay, you’re coming right on out with it. “I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry for lying, but you don’t seem to realise that.

“I was so fucking embarrassed,” you say, lunging forward and throwing a cross at his nose. He bats your fist away like it’s nothing more than a pesky fly. “But I guess that I’m mad at myself, too. Here I am, starting to like you, meanwhile I barely know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks, keeping his arms in front of his face.

(Deep down, beneath his stoic exterior, he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You had been ‘starting to like’ him? He’s scared, then, because that means he ruined everything that night in his truck. Do you still feel the same way?)

Harry blinks—shakes his head free of those thoughts and continues. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you.”

“Really,” you reply, though it isn’t exactly a question.

You drop your hands, taken aback by his offer. He’s not usually this open—you should seize the opportunity to probe while it’s still available. You will, he thinks. Over these past few months, he’s learned how you operate. You’re not predictable, by any means, but he knows that you can’t resist inquiring about his personal life when given the chance.

You want to know him. If he thinks about it for too long, his affections become exceedingly difficult to bear.

“Really,” he says.

He steps forward and curves his right arm in a powerful hook. You yelp jarringly when the rough leather of his glove makes contact with your left shoulder. He just shrugs, pulling back.

“Remember: don’t let your guard down.”

You clench your jaw and raise your fists once more.

“Fine, then,” you say, sidestepping another one of his jabs. “Where were you born?”

“Redditch, England,” he answers simply. “Moved to Holmes Chapel when I was a kid, though.”

You nod. The two of you continue to circle each other.

“Got any siblings?” you ask, charging him and attempting to deliver a series of punches to his torso. He deflects each of them with his forearms, never faltering.

“A sister,” he says, unbothered. “She lives back home.”

“And what about your parents?” you press, retreating and watching him with careful eyes.

He swallows roughly, shaking his head. “Dad left when I was seven. Mum died when I was fourteen.”

At that, you pause. You heed his earlier advice and keep your hands in front of your face, but it’s clear that his confession has caught you by surprise. Your gaze softens, and he watches as your lips curl down into a sympathetic frown.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly, your shoulders slouching. “That’s terrible.”

He shrugs. “It’s in the past—can’t change it, now.”

He takes advantage of your pitying nature, springing toward you and aiming a punch for your hip. You barely manage to avoid the blow, jumping back at the last second. His glove scrapes swiftly against your side. The attack seems to snap you out of your emotions, because you scowl deeply and return to your original stance.

“What happened after that?” you ask, breathing erratically.

“They put me in foster care,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It was shit, though. I ran away after a couple of years. Went off on my own—that’s when I met your dad.”

“And he started training you?”

“And he started training me,” he confirms with a curt nod. “Couldn’t actually fight until I turned eighteen, but after that…I was taking up as many matches as I could.” He chuckles warmly at the memory. “Your dad said that he’d never seen anything like it. Told me I had to slow down.”

You smile a bit at his words. Your fondness quickly melts into shock, however, when Harry aims a hit for your face. You block the punch, retaliating quickly and throwing one of your own. Your fist makes contact with the barrier of his chest, and he stumbles backward, his eyes widening in disbelief. You got him.

Only once, but still.

You got him.

“Not bad,” he grunts, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe I should actually start trying, now.”

You grit your teeth, glowering at him. “God, you’re such a dick.”

He flashes you a contemptuous grin before lunging forward. You dodge two of his punches, but the third one catches you right in the stomach, making you double over and cough. Harry retreats, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Done getting to know me?” he simpers.

You shake your head, straightening back up. “Not yet.”

You make a valiant effort, Harry thinks. Your dedication is commendable. But he’s had a decade of training, whereas you’ve only had a few months. Your technique—though improved—is still sloppy. And that’s what allows him to sidestep all of your strikes and react quickly, enough so that he’s got you pinned to the ground in just under two minutes.

You’re panting heavily; one of his forearms holds your crossed wrists down over your head. His other hand is planted on the floor just above your shoulder, the flat front of his boxing glove providing a stable surface to keep him balanced. His knees are next to your waist as he hovers over your stomach, giving you no room to worm out of his grip. You flail your legs in frustration, but he’s perched too high up on your body for the action to do any real damage.

“I win,” he says simply, arrogance dancing in his eyes. He leans down so that your noses are only inches apart. “Any more questions, baby?”

“Just one,” you bite, panting heavily.

He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for the inquiry to leave your lips. Once it does, however, it knocks every molecule of air from his lungs.

“Have you…,” you inhale deeply, “…ever been in love?”

The expression on your face tells him that you know exactly what you’re doing. Your chest heaves with exertion, and when his gaze flickers down to your breasts for only a fraction of a second, your eyes illumine with realisation.

“You want me,” you tell him, breathless. A thin, reflective layer of perspiration has gathered at your hairline. Your arms twitch from where they’re pinned beneath his. Despite the gloves still covering your hands, you grasp at his slippery skin, hoping that the contact will somehow make his already-weak resolve crack and crumble into nothing.

“No,” he says, his voice hard.

His green irises burn into your face. Who is he trying to convince?

“You’re lying,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “You want me.”

Your skin is hot. He can feel you radiating warmth like a fireplace. Heated, cozy, welcoming—it’s everything he loves about you, everything he’s been craving since he first became conscious of how badly he desired you. And, to top it all off, you’re looking at him like that—with eyes that could persuade him to jump from a skyscraper, if you so much as asked.

Just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry spits. He pulls back sharply and stamps his own eyes shut. His nose screws up in frustration. “Fuck.”

And then he’s kissing you.

The elated moan that slips from your lips has his cock twitching fitfully in his shorts. You arch your back to get closer to him, because with his hand still pinning you down, it’s not like you can throw your arms around his neck and bring him to you. The kiss is messy and frenzied and hot and carnal. Harry licks into your mouth, savouring the squeak that echoes in your throat.

You’re vocal—he’s going to fucking die.

When the two of you pull back, no words are exchanged. Harry stares down at you, taking note of how your pupils have dilated immensely. Your chest is still heaving, but this time, it’s for a completely different reason. He releases your wrists from where they’re pinned beneath his forearm, watching you carefully as he sits up.

He lifts his fist to his face and takes the strap of the glove between his teeth. The sharp riiip! that ensues may as well be a starter gunshot.

You both dive back into a sea of teeth and lips and tongue. Harry throws off his gloves easily. You struggle with yours, but he wastes no time, helping you discard them in a matter of seconds. With your hands finally free, you bury them in his hair, pulling at the soft, damp tendrils as he presses several hard kisses to your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, slanting his body downward so that his crotch is level with yours. “You—you have no idea—”

The rest of his sentence fades into a groan when you suck harshly on his jaw. He shudders at the sensation.

Gradually, you bring your legs out from beneath his own, lifting your knees up to your chest and then wrapping your thighs around his waist. It’s an impressive feat, if he’s being honest. And it gives him more room to lean over you, to grind his cock against your centre through the layers of fabric separating your skin.

“Off—,” you choke, tugging at the bottom of his black shirt. “Get this off!”

He complies, sitting back up on his knees and ridding himself of the fabric. You take advantage of his instability, wrapping one hand around his bicep and giving it a hard shove. He topples to the side and you scramble up to straddle him, a small, smug smile ghosting across your face.

“What are you—?” he starts, but you place one finger against his lips, cutting him off.

You start to roll your hips gently into his—he groans, wishing more than anything that there were no clothes in the way. Goosebumps erupt on his arms when you lightly scrape your nails down his bare chest. You settle at the butterfly inked into his abdomen, tracing the insect’s wings with a wondrous look in your eyes. His palms sweep up your thighs.

“Why did you lie to me?” you murmur, keeping your gaze trained on his torso. “You feel the same, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly.

“Why, then?” you press, frowning gently. “I—we could’ve avoided this whole thing if you’d just told me the truth.”

“Your dad,” Harry says weakly. “I can’t—you’re his—”

“My dad has no control over who I date or who I fuck,” you say. He’s stunned by the crudeness of your claim. “And if I want to fuck you right here, right now, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You—Christ,” he swallows heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why not?” you smirk, grinding against him harshly and feeling the stiff outline of his cock in his shorts. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

“Fuck,” he grunts. You shriek when he flips the two of you over so that he’s back on top. His nose brushes against yours as he speaks.

“If we do this,” he warns, hot breath fanning out over your chin, “I won’t be gentle. In every single one of my fantasies, I’ve ruined you—made you drool, made you cry. You name it, I’ve done it. You sure you can handle that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, utterly enthralled. “I’m sure.”

Harry tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear, peering down at you tenderly.

“Look so pretty,” he coos, fingers skimming down the side of your throat. “Can’t wait to wreck your cute, little—” He sucks in a deep breath, weakened by the shamelessness of his own thoughts. “Gonna make sure your knees knock together once I’m through with you.”

And maybe it’s not smart to get you naked in the middle of the gym, where anyone walking by could easily peer inside and witness him fucking you into oblivion. But he can’t find it in himself to care—he’s been waiting for this moment for years, and damn him if he doesn’t seize it while you’re like this: open, inviting, presented to him like gourmet food on a silver platter.

And speaking of food…

“I’m gonna stretch you out,” Harry states. “You’ve got to cum first if you wanna take my cock, understand?”

You nod rapidly.

He shakes his head. “Need to hear you say it, baby. You want it, too, right?”

“I want it,” you confirm, breathless. “I want it, I understand.”

He smiles. His fingers ruck up the material of your tank top, and you lift your back from the ground to help him remove it. Your bra is next, pale pink with a simple bow resting between the cups. He swears when you unclip it quickly, letting the straps fall down your shoulders before tossing it away.

“Christ,” he says, blinking. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

He lays you back down onto the floor of the ring, ducking his head and enveloping one of your nipples in his mouth. You moan. The bud hardens between his teeth, sensitive to his touch. He sucks harshly before pulling off, littering kisses along the skin of your breasts. His head swims with lust, transforming him into someone nearly unrecognizable. You seem to like it, though, so how bad could it really be?

“Next time,” Harry murmurs into your flesh, “I’m gonna get a proper taste. Eat you out ’til you go blind. But for now—,” he dips his hand past the waistband of your sweatpants, “—my fingers will just have to do.”

You shimmy your bottoms down, kicking them off unceremoniously and spreading your legs. And fuck, he nearly loses it right there, because this is what he’s been picturing for months, if not years. Having you laid out in front of him, exposed and ready and willing. Your thighs stretched wide, miles of soft skin leading inward and morphing into sticky, wet folds. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales deeply—the scent of your arousal floods his nose, rendering him utterly helpless. Something akin to a man unhinged.

He rubs you over your panties, first. They’re nothing special—simple black cotton covering your mound and your hipbones. But fuck him, he wasn’t expecting the ocean of excitement that seems to have pooled and soaked through the fabric. His fingertips are damp when he pulls them away.

“You’re drenched,” he groans, shaking his head in disbelief. He hooks one digit into the elastic of your underwear, looking up at you with inquisitive eyes. “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please.”

He tears the material down your legs, and then you’re naked beneath him, save for the rose-gold pendant resting on your sternum. He sits back on his heels as you spread your thighs wider, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His index finger taps the skin just below your navel, tracing a path down to where you need him most. You whine when he bypasses your clit completely, dropping instead to gather some of your wetness before trailing back up. He smears your arousal over the nub—just to get a steady, slippery rhythm going—and then leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Don’t wanna be too far,” he says sheepishly, sweetly kissing the tip of your nose. “Missed you.”

You seal your lips to his.

He makes you cum after a few minutes, slipping one finger into your channel, and then another. The entire time, his thumb stays perched on your clit, drawing expert circles and pulling wanton moans from your mouth. And when you cum—oh.

Oh.

You’re glorious, with lidded eyes and warm cheeks and teeth bared in pleasure. You ride out your high, spasming gently. Harry lays a firm hand on your stomach, feeling the muscles of your abdomen twitch beneath his palm. He continues to stimulate your clit, basking in the little aftershocks that zip up your spine and make your legs tremble.

If you were aroused before…good fucking God. He didn’t know it was possible for a woman to be this wet.

You kiss him as you come down from your orgasm, nipping softly at his bottom lip and sighing in relief. Both of his hands find your face—you seem unbothered by the fact that his fingers are coated in your juices, smearing messily against your cheek. He melts into you like he’s dying of thirst and you’re an oasis, lush and green and good. So, so good.

“Do you—,” he exhales raggedly, “—do you still want to?”

You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. It’s crazy, Harry thinks, how quickly you can oscillate between actual human sunshine and the devil personified. One minute, you’re asking him to fuck you, and the next, you’re giving him those eyes that make him feel as though every cell in his body has been liquefied.

“What were you saying about not being gentle?” you tease.

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. You gasp when he hooks a finger into the chain around your neck. He takes your pretty pink pendant between two fingers, lifting it up and dragging the cool metal along the seam of your lips. You inhale sharply.

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmurs, sighing mournfully.

“I have an IUD,” you whisper, playing with the curls at the back of his head. “We’re good.”

He groans, dropping his face into the column of your throat. “You’re fuckin’ marvelous.”

You giggle.

He shudders when you begin to push his shorts down. You look up at him with raised brows when his cock slaps against his stomach, completely unrestrained.

“No underwear?”

“Always sticks to my balls when I get sweaty,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “Need to let the boys breathe.”

A loud laugh flops out of your mouth. Harry snickers, too, trailing his nose up over your jawline so that he can catch your lips in a quick kiss. He moans as you wrap your fingers around his length, giving a few experimental pumps. Instinctively, his hips buck into your grip.

“You’re big,” you murmur. “Are you sure that it’s going to fit?”

“It’ll fit,” he promises.

He guides your legs up so that they’re wrapped around his waist, allowing him to slot himself closer to you. You gasp when his hand finds your cunt again, dipping two fingers inside before sweeping his palm over the length of your folds. He then smears your wetness along the shaft of his cock, makeshift lubrication to facilitate the first breach of your channel.

“You ready?” he says, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance. “Deep breath for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You inhale, and he nudges his hips forward. You gasp as he slips into you, inch by thick inch, stretching you out in a way that you’ve never felt before. Harry reaches for your hands, tangling your fingers together and lifting them above your head. You arch your back with the new position, and he’s unsure of whether you’re trying to wiggle away or bring him in closer.

When the heels of your feet press against his ass, guiding him deeper, he assumes that it’s the latter.

“Fuck,” he stammers as your tight heat surrounds his cock. “How—how do you feel this good?”

A wheezing laugh punches its way out of your throat.

“Feel that,” Harry says hoarsely. “So fuckin’ hot and—and wet. Not gonna take any time at all, is it?”

“For me, or for you?” you taunt. He grumbles quietly, and you snicker.

After a brief moment of silence, you squeeze his knuckles reassuringly. “You can move.”

“Thank you,” he moans, capturing your mouth with his. Your breathing hitches as he pulls out before slowly sliding back in. When you sigh in response, he takes it as encouragement to pick up the pace.

Soon, he’s fucking into you quickly, your skin slapping together in a series of brutal thrusts. With each drive of his hips into yours, soft whimpers escape your lips, floating up into the hot air and melting like ice cream under the sun. Harry growls, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder. The pain makes you writhe—in a good way.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he grunts, laving his tongue over the indents on your skin. Your necklaces clink together—silver and rose-gold tangled in a mess of thin, delicate chains. “My—my hand could never—”

“Neither could mine,” you tell him, breathless.

His spine stiffens at your words, brain overcome with the thought of you lying in bed, your fingers buried between your legs and low whines pouring from your mouth. He groans; his next thrust is hard, keen, unforgiving.

He keeps you close, your bodies never separating. Your skin is slick with sweat, chests gliding together. Adrenaline rushes through Harry’s veins—he drives ahead, plunging inside of you with each fierce snap of his hips. You can’t do anything but lie there and take it, take it, take it.

“I want you,” he gasps, warm air washing out onto your collarbones. His hands are clammy, still locked with yours; he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I want you, I want you, I—” He gulps. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Harry,” you murmur, grazing your nose against his temple. “Harry, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he pulls his face away from your throat. Your eyes are soft when they land on his, forehead shining with sweat, lips swollen and raw. The bun holding most of your hair back has come loose (Harry is certain that it’s due to the way your bodies shift along the ground with every thrust.)

You swallow roughly and shake your head, staring past his features and searching for something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, nearly crushing his fingers in your grip. “I’m here.”

Your walls pulsate around him, and his rhythm falters. He swears softly, releasing one of your hands so that he can bring his thumb down to rub haphazard shapes against your clit. You moan, surprised.

“Cum for me,” he orders, nodding rapidly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll do the same. Where do you want it, hm? Tell me.”

“Inside,” you pant, your nose screwing up in pleasure. “Cum inside me.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” he asks, awestruck. His stomach twists hotly at your invitation. “Want me to claim your pretty cunt? Is that it?”

“God,” you say. You squirm beneath him, nodding frantically. “Please!”

“Fuck!” he cries, and when you clamp down on his cock, he’s gone.

The two of you ride out your highs together, quivering and grunting in unison. Harry wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest. You dig your nails into his back, clinging to him like a piece of wood drifting through the stormy sea. Colourful spots dance in his vision—he tries his best to blink them away. Your thighs tremble around his hips, caught in an endless cycle of vibrations.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, exhaling shakily. “That was…”

Harry braces himself over your face, keeping you shielded from everything outside of your little bubble.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

A low laugh falls from your lips, but it quickly morphs into a moan when he pulls out of you. He pauses for a moment, watching as white liquid trickles from your abused entrance. The erotic sight nearly has him ready to go again.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He scoops his release up with two fingers and plugs them back inside of you. “That’s hot.”

You gasp at the slight overstimulation, wrapping a hand around his wrist reflexively. He just shoots you a wicked grin, which has you giggling girlishly in response.

“I want a kiss,” you say, craning your neck.

Harry hums, crawling up your body to fulfill your request. You smile against his lips, tossing your arms over his shoulders. The two of you exchange soft pecks for the next few minutes, basking in the aftereffects of your orgasms. Warmth unfurls in Harry’s chest, potent and contagious. It spreads through his veins, dousing his senses in a golden glow.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “And I like you. So much.”

“I like you, too,” you reply, tracing your fingertips over the muscles in his back. “But if you ever lie to me again—” Your expression grows serious. “—let’s just say that you won’t have to worry anymore about your boxers sticking to your balls, okay?”

It’s an earnest threat—he knows that you mean every word—but nevertheless, it makes him laugh. You giggle along with him; he rolls off of you, his spine meeting the floor of the ring, and you cuddle into his side. Your nails tap languidly against his sternum as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. The two of you lie there for a few long moments, enjoying the peaceful silence.

“They’re taking my case against James to trial,” you say at last.

Harry stiffens, lifting his head so that he can look down at you properly.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, refusing to meet his gaze. “But, um…my lawyer said that it might be a good idea to bring a witness to the stand. Just to seal the deal and stuff.”

You peek up at him shyly, and it clicks.

“Oh,” he says softly. “You want me?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” you say hurriedly, resting your chin on his chest. “Please don’t think that I’m forcing you—”

“Hey, no,” he cuts you off, sweeping his fingers through your hair. The action soothes you, makes your eyelids flutter shut and your lips tremble with a nervous exhale. “’Course I’ll testify. I don’t want that piece of shit coming anywhere near you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to his skin. You litter a few grateful kisses along his pectorals, and he smiles. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t have to keep saying that,” Harry mumbles, chuckling tenderly. He takes your face between his hands, thumbs trailing idly over your temples. “I wanna keep you safe. Or—or make you feel safe, at least.”

Your eyes glisten.

“I do feel safe around you,” you say. Your lips twitch. “Except for when you’re trying to punch me in the gut.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “If you want to start tussling with me more often, you’re gonna have to get used to that.”

“Duly noted.” You smirk.

Harry sighs, letting his head fall back against the ground.

“Speaking of keeping you safe…,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers resume their previous ministrations, stroking languidly through your hair. “You should go pee, yeah? Heard it’s important for girls to do that after sex.”

You laugh, surprised by his words. “How—how do you know that?”

“Sister,” he reminds you. His cheeks dimple as he grins.

You nod, mouth curling into a fond smile. “Right.”

April 26, 2021

The crowd is deafening, encasing him in a cloud of noise. He refuses to let it distract him, zeroing in on his opponent with the intensity of a thousand suns. An experimental jab comes his way, gauging the distance between them, but Harry sidesteps it easily. He retaliates with a right hook, catching the side of the man’s head. It’s not a powerful blow, but it succeeds in disorienting him for a few milliseconds.

He charges forward, then, sensing an opportunity and seizing it before it can fade away. In a flurry of fists (and the odd kick here and there), he backs his opponent up until the ropes around the ring are digging into the man’s waist. He’s ruthless, giving him no chance to react, delivering blow after blow until his rival can barely stand on his own two feet. At that point, he retreats, stepping back and letting his victory come to him.

He needs this win. He needs this win. He needs this—

His challenger falls into the trap, stumbling forward with double vision and throwing a sloppy hook. Harry bats his hand away effortlessly, lunging forward and curving his arm up. Pride flares in his chest when his fist makes contact with his opponent’s jaw, making the man’s head snap back on his neck. He drops to the floor in an unconscious, muscular heap.

The seconds pass by like molasses, but at last, the referee is climbing into the ring and lifting Harry’s hand high above his head. The crowd roars. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the praise. When they flutter open again, they’re trailing upward, searching for one particular face in a sea of strangers.

And there you are.

You’re beaming, clapping frantically and pausing every so often to cup your hands around your mouth and amplify your cheers. Harry smiles, tilting his chin upward and letting his head fall back in relief. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you, even as the referee releases his wrist and crouches to rouse his opponent from the ground.

He hears someone call his name and turns to the side. He finds your father peeking at him through the ropes circling the ring, a wide grin on his face. He beckons him over, a water bottle clutched tightly in his outstretched hand. Harry complies, breathing out a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, you’re pushing through the throng of people that have now started moving toward the exit. Going against the current is difficult—you murmur quick apologies as you nudge past countless shoulders and elbows—but finally, you emerge from the crowd, unscathed. You see Harry chatting with a few people approximately thirty feet away, but before you can take another step, a big, burly security guard blocks your path.

“No spectators beyond this point,” he tells you gruffly.

“But, I—,” your mouth opens and closes, though no words come out. Instinctively, you point over the guard’s shoulder, your finger pinned on a very sweaty, very shirtless Harry. “That’s my boyfriend.”

You only have a moment to feel shocked by your claim. Boyfriend?

It’s been weeks since that night at the gym, and yeah, you suppose that the two of you are a thing, now. You’re going out. You’re exclusive. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

But you’ve never referred to him as your boyfriend, and he’s never referred to you as his girlfriend. You haven’t talked about potentially putting a label on your relationship, despite the fact that you’re both clearly interested in seeing each other and no one else.

Is it time to have that conversation?

Harry jumps in surprise when he hears you call his name. He turns toward the sound and then grunts when you barrel into him a moment later, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. One of his hands reflexively falls to your bottom before quickly moving away. The feeling of his calloused palm on your ass sends a shiver down your spine.

You bury your face in his shoulder. He’s sweating all over, skin wet and muscles bulging from exertion. You know that you’ve caught him off-guard, because he whispers your name incredulously into your ear and presses a gentle kiss to your jaw. When he finally sets you down, you peer up at him with bright eyes and a large grin.

“That was incredible,” you gush, your hands falling to his biceps. “You obliterated him!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. His cheeks are pink—you don’t think it’s because of the match.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch sight of your father. He’s standing there with raised brows and parted lips, and you suddenly remember that he hasn’t yet been made aware of your…situation. You gasp, stepping away from Harry quickly and draping your arms around your own torso. He seems to recognize your blunder as well, because his shoulders tense and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

The two of you speak at the same time.

“Coach—”

“Dad—”

“I don’t want to know,” your father announces, holding up one hand and cutting you both off swiftly. His eyes bounce back and forth between you, features betraying no emotion whatsoever. Finally, his shoulders slump.

“I’m gonna call it a night, gioia,” he tells you. He then looks to the left, directing his next words at Harry. “Congratulations on your win, H. Have her home by midnight.”

“Dad, I’m a grown woman—,” you begin to scoff, but he gives you a pointed glare.

“Midnight,” he repeats.

You shrink away and nod.

~*~

Before leaving, Harry decides to take a quick shower in the men’s locker room. You sit on one of the benches, tapping your foot against the tiles as you watch him get undressed. It doesn’t take him long—he’s only wearing a pair of shorts, after all—but you savour every moment, your eyes raking over his muscular back as he bends down to pick his bottoms up off of the ground. He tosses the fabric into his drawstring bag before peering over his shoulder at you.

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” he asks, a coy smirk playing on his lips when he catches you staring.

You look away quickly, picking at your nails and feigning indifference. “Where anyone could walk in? I’m good.”

He shrugs, snickering quietly. “Suit yourself.”

You ogle his plump ass as he walks away.

A moment later, one of the showers turns on. You can hear Harry humming softly as he steps under the spray. You sigh, leaning back against the wall and fishing your phone out from your pocket. For the next few minutes, you scroll distractedly through social media, bored out of your mind.

You grunt softly and set your phone down, tiptoeing over to the door of the locker room and fastening it shut. The lock above the handle slides into place with a low click!

“Fuck it,” you mutter.

You flick open the button of your jeans, shoving the material down your thighs. Eventually, you’re naked, goosebumps pebbling on your arms. You set your clothes back down onto the bench and grab a spare towel, fiddling with the necklace hanging from your throat. A thought occurs to you; you unclasp the chain, pulling it off and letting it pool in the palm of your hand.

Harry’s idle singing grows louder as you approach the row of showers. It’s not hard to find his cubicle—it’s the only one with the curtain drawn over the entrance. You pad toward it, hanging your towel next to his and calling out, “Harry?”

“Yeah?” His hums stop.

You grasp the fabric of the curtain, pulling it back and peering inside. Immediately, Harry’s gaze locks with yours. He’s completely bare, standing beneath the water with hooded eyes and shampoo foaming in his hair. You slip into the cubicle, not missing the way he gawks at your naked body.

“I changed my mind,” you murmur, peering up at him shyly.

He presses his lips together to fight back a smile. “Yeah. You sure did.”

“Shut up and let me rinse your hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before you can bury your hands into the wet strands, however, you remember the jewellery clutched between your fingers.

“Actually—,” you say, hesitating. “I, um—I wanted to give this to you.”

You scoop the necklace up from your palm, holding it out nervously. Harry recognizes it immediately, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What for?” he asks, not unkindly.

“It’s my lucky charm,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “I just figured…maybe it’ll work for you, too.”

He kisses you, then, grabbing your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours. You whimper into his mouth, finding his wrists and encasing them in a tight grip. The kiss is passionate, bruising, fiery—you’ve never felt so wanted.

Harry pulls back once the two of you run out of air. Even then, he keeps his forehead pressed snugly against yours, staying close. He’s breathing heavily, and you’re starting to sweat, the humidity of the stall seeping into every last pore on your body. Harry shakes his head, gazing into your eyes.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he says.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

“But,” he continues, smiling softly, “I’ll take the necklace. It’ll be good to have for when you’re not there.”

You nod wordlessly, and he steps back. His hands find his throat, fumbling with the chain dangling over his collarbones. He reaches over his shoulders, unclasping his own necklace and presenting it to you.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll take yours, and you take mine.”

You nod again.

You turn around slowly, electricity thrumming through your body as Harry guides the silver chain around your neck. The shiny cross pendant rests against your sternum; the warmth of the metal seeps into your skin. When you face him again, Harry whistles lowly, his lips twitching.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding proudly. “My girl.”

“Is that what I am?” you ask, peeking up at him through your lashes. “Your girl?”

He pauses. He really does look ridiculous with the white, frothing shampoo slicked through his hair.

“Is that what you want to be?”

A moment of silence ensues.

“Yeah,” you finally say, biting your bottom lip. “It is.”

Harry smiles. He leans forward and kisses you again, softer this time. You nudge his shoulder with the hand that’s still holding your necklace, prompting him to spin around.

“Come on,” you murmur, delivering one last affectionate peck to his mouth. “Your turn.”

~*~

Harry pulls up to your house fifteen minutes before midnight. You unbuckle your seatbelt, modifying your position in the front seat so that you can look at him properly. Your hair is still slightly damp from your shared shower, and your skin is fresh and clean. You smell like him—like the body wash you had both used to scrub yourselves down in the small cubicle. A silver necklace—his necklace—peeks out from beneath the collar of your denim jacket.

The jewellery suits you. He doesn’t ever want you to take it off.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment until you eventually crack a smile.

“You look like you want to eat me,” you say, laughing.

“C’mere, then,” he chuckles, already leaning forward. “Lemme have a taste.”

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out playfully but obey him nonetheless, your lips meeting over the middle console of the vehicle. Harry cups your face in one hand, keeping you close. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound down—it’s the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

You carry on like that for the next few minutes, exchanging soft kisses that don’t go beyond him placing a calloused palm on your thigh. When you finally pull away, a breathless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” you ask.

“Only a dozen times a day,” he replies, smirking gently.

You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair and tilting your head to the side as you stare at him. Your eyes are far away, getting lost in your own thoughts, it seems.

“What is it?” he whispers, even though there’s no one else in the car aside from you and him.

“I love you,” you murmur absentmindedly.

Harry freezes; your confession knocks the air from his lungs.

“What?” he says, his brows knitting together.

At last, you snap out of your trance. Your admission sinks in, and you recoil, shocked at your own boldness.

“I—,” you start, your eyes growing impossibly wide. “I just meant—we’ve known each other for years, now, but I feel like I really got to know you these past few months. These past few weeks, especially.”

You shrug, playing nervously with the silver cross hanging around your neck. Harry’s heart somersaults at the sight.

“I’m sorry if it’s bad timing,” you continue; you’re rambling, now. “And I understand that it might be weird considering the fact that we just put a label on this, but—,” you break off, taking a deep breath, “—I love you. I do.”

He reaches out, trailing his fingers over the faint curve of your jaw. You gasp softly when his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip.

“Did you just apologise for telling me that you love me?” he says. Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

You squeeze your own eyes shut, cringing at his words and shaking your head.

“Don’t repeat it,” you plead. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Oh, so loving me is embarrassing?” he asks, smirking slyly.

You frown, batting his hand away and shifting your body so that you’re no longer facing him. You place your elbow against the ledge of the passenger door, resting your chin on your fist and staring pointedly out the window.

“Hey,” Harry coos, though he can’t stop the inkling of laughter that seeps into his voice. “Don’t be like that.”

“I take it back,” you say flatly, refusing to turn around. “I hate you, actually.”

“Really,” he says, but it’s not a question. He unbuckles his own seatbelt so that he can lean over the middle console and nuzzle at your cheek.

“My girlfriend hates me?” he asks; he knows that he’s being insufferable, but he can’t help it. Messing with you is so much fun.

“Yes.” Your response is curt. “She does.”

“That’s not nice,” he says, curling his lips down into a dramatic pout. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your neck—right against a particular spot that makes you melt every single time. He knows it, and so do you.

“That’s not nice at all,” Harry continues, littering sloppy pecks down the column of your throat. “This how you treat the man who loves you?”

You pause when his words register in your brain.

“Stop lying,” you mutter, keeping your gaze glued to the scenery outside your window.

“’M not lying,” he tells you, squeezing your thigh gently. “Said you’d cut my balls off if I did it again, remember?”

And despite your initial sense of humiliation, you laugh. Harry smiles, placing his free hand on your cheek and guiding you to look over at him. You submit to his wishes, gazing at him through pretty, wispy lashes. He tilts forward ever-so-slightly, nudging your noses together and fastening his lips to yours. When he pulls back after a moment, he pinches your chin between two fingers.

“I love you,” he says earnestly.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

Your eyelids flutter shut as he slides his palm up your leg; he stops only once it’s resting in the crease between your hip and your thigh, dangerously close to your groin.

“We have—,” he cranes his neck, peering over at the digital clock on the truck’s dashboard, “—five minutes until you have to be inside. Think I can make you cum between now and then?”

You scoff, pushing him away and laughing at his crudeness.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, shooting him a faux-stern glare. “Behave.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, frowning childishly. You just grin, slipping your hand around his neck and pulling him in for a doting kiss. You press a series of rapid pecks along the seam of his mouth, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before retreating. Instinctively, he follows you, but you dig your fingers into his shoulder, stopping him before he can get too far.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, reaching for the handle on the door.

Harry watches with wide, awestruck eyes as you exit the car. You clutch your purse closer to your side, looking back at him expectantly and waiting for his response.

He clears his throat, blinking out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” he nods, nostrils flaring slightly. “Goodnight.”

He peels away from your house only once you disappear through the front door. Subconsciously, his hand finds the rose-gold chain hanging around his throat. He fiddles with the necklace, running his thumb over the smooth surface of your shiny pendant. There’s something unreal—almost dreamlike—about having it between his fingers. He’s spent so long watching you fumble and toy with it—watching it bring you comfort when you’re nervous, or bored, or afraid.

Now, it’s his.

And so are you.

Faint music plays from the truck’s stereo; Harry reaches forward, twisting a knob and turning the volume up to its full capacity. Ariana Grande’s familiar vocal riffs pour through the speakers.

He sings along at the top of his lungs, hollering triumphantly the entire ride home.

~*~

Extra: Knockout [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

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#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #oh my god i can't believe this is the last part aaaaaaaaaa #i really hope u all like it!#boxrry #harry writing

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bbarican · 2 years

Text

april 15, 2022; holy week thoughts and plans

hi tumblr! still here, just lurking about whenever i have the time to reblog stuff or actually post something

ended the work week on a really good note before the start of holy week kaya im taking this long weekend as my chance to really rest and drop everything and have a mental and physical reset before going back to work on monday

was supposed to go to the beach today until tomorrow pero tinamad yung parents ko since wala din naman kasi kaming ginagawa doon most of the time so we opted to stay at home this holy week

no complaints so far kasi i really missed this - in my clean and organized room, just watching movies and typing my thoughts away on tumblr

i really do want to read a new book so tomorrow, im gonna stay in my room the whole day and try and finish a book in one sitting; giving up on normal people for now kasi im not the biggest fan of the writing style of the book

the french dispatch was such a lovely movie, i love how each short story/chapter of the magazine was portrayed in such different art styles pero if you look at everything from afar, its still so cohesive, plus obviously wes anderson never fails when it comes to his cinematography so it was just such a great film

might watch another studio ghibli film to end the night kasi ive been meaning to add another film to my list, now i just have to choose whice one i actually wanna watch already

we started trying out being plant based here at home and tbh with how amazing my parents cook, i honestly dont see any problems; syempre need din talaga ng discipline and i really want to make sure na i follow through with this kasi its for my own good din naman

i really want more hummus but since its so good, naubos din namin lahat ng ginawa ng mom ko today

i hope you guys are all okay!

#bbarican #prsnl #thoughts #writings #life #updates #recently #list #personal

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we-are-inevitable · 3 years

Text

guys oh my GOD i just found my newsies rants from the first BIG night of my hyperfixation and. hng. there's so much good content in here

*messages copy and pasted under the cut!

NOTE: all of these messages are from April 19, 2020- the first day of my newsies hyperfixation!

listen racetrack and crutchie are some of my babes and i fucking love them

BEN TYLER COOK IS THE ONLY VALID RACETRACK AND I DESPERATELY NEED THEM TO REDO THE CAST ALBUM TO GIVE HIM THE SPOTLIGHT HE DESERVES

I CANT LISTEN TO KING OF NEW YORK ANYMORE BECAUSE. IT ISNT RACE. dont get me wrong racetrack from the soundtrack is like. really good but he ain't livesies racetrack good

also everyone ships race and spot which is valid but idk I just feel like race and albert have more in common?? like. spot is a great character and all of the Brooklyn Newsies deserve so much more screentime and so much more content but i just feel like the only reason people like race × spot is because of the Inner-Bourough Relations and the territorial stuff (bc the brooklyn bois are pretty spooky) but race × albert is so much cuter ?? like they're both Manhattan newsies and they share a lot more screentime and they have a lot more in common and like !! their interactions throughout King of New York makes me cry so hard i love them so much

something is telling me that if i dont learn All Of The Newsies by tomorrow i'm gonna scream

so i think later today i'm gonna rewatch livesies, then watch 92sies, then make myself a google slides presentation with a pic of each newsie and their name so i can figure this shit out

JACK AND CRUTCHIE ARE BROTHERS BUT WE STILL STAN THAT JACK/RACETRACK DYNAMIC

if anyone tries to tell me that racetrack ain't Jack's #2 Dude i WILL bite i dont care

like??? we literally see race kinda take charge after the bulls bust up their strike and jack fucks off to be Emo On The Rooftop (which is still valid and i love him for it) but race steps in and lifts everyone's spirits again and god i love him for it

it's real "Loving Racetrack Higgins Hours"

OH OH OKAY SO THE EMO ROOFTOP SCENE

LIKE. FUCK. people kinda got on Jack's case for leaving after the big fight breaks out and the bulls take Crutchie, but what else can he do? jack is 17. he's scared. he's dealing with his own trauma after what happened to him at The Refuge (which is never explicitly stated, but his reaction leads me to believe there was definitely some kind of ab•se (and its canon that the officers at the refuge don't feed the kids as they should)). he's seen as the tough guy, as the leader, as the father figure for all of the newsies, but he's a kid. he put his life on the line for them, but that's too much responsibility for a teenager.

jack got thrown in the refuge- a jail for kids- because he stole food and clothing for the other boys. he did everything he did for everyone else, without ever taking his own feelings into consideration; it was never a case of "what's in it for me?", it was always "will this help the guys i love?" and that is Jack's biggest quality i think.

anyway- so, he disappears after the fight because he's guilty. he watch his best friend- no, his brother- get taken by the bulls and watched the others he loves get hurt, and he couldn't stop it. again, this is a 17 year old we're talking about. his whole Santa Fe scene is the most pivotal part of the show in my opinion? like- we see Jack having a breakdown, essentially. "just be real is all i'm askin', not some paintin' in my head" is such a painful line because he's holding onto the hope that somewhere he's never seen is good enough to risk leaving his life behind for, and we see the struggles between wanting to stay and help his friends and wanting to get out and live and be able to have a life where he doesn't have to live with such a huge responsibility on his shoulders.

ALSO THE WHOLE THING WITH THE GUYS THINKING JACK IS A SELLOUT BECAUSE HE GOT MONEY FOR TRYING TO CONVINCE THE NEWSIES NOT TO CONTINUE THE STRIKE HURTS MY HEART

like Pulitzer basically said "if you don't tell them to stop this, i'll personally make sure all of them end up in the refuge" and even used Davey as a plot device, since Davey is one of the few that has folks and a little brother, and Pulitzer essentially said "you wouldn't want your pal Davey getting separated from his family, would you?"

Jack believed in the Strike, and he believed in the Newsies, but he couldn't handle the risk of more of his family getting beaten and thrown into The Refuge, and it kills me to see that he couldn't tell the others why he suddenly had a "change of heart", and that they all think that jw just gave up on them until they realize later on that Pulitzer manipulated him right where it hurt most

I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT NEWSIES AND NO ONE TO TALK ABOUT IT WITH SO UH,, IM SORRY YOU GUYS GET THE SHORT END OF THE STICK

listen i could write an entire essay over Santa Fe and i love that song and it's just such an iconic "I Want" song and !!! fuck !!!!!! it's so sad but it bops!!!!!

"folks are fightin, bleedin, fallin, thanks to good old Captain Jack! Captain Jack just wants to close his eyes and GO"

and then theres a really long pause and his voice cracks and the next line just ?? hurts me ??

"let me go, far away, somewhere they won't never find me, and tomorrow won't remind me of today"

HE'S SO SAD AND STRESSED AND HURT AND GUILTY AND JUST WANTS TO LEAVE THE SITUATION TO PREVENT ANYMORE BAD THINFS FROM HAPPENING ADN I JUST WISH I COULD HUG HIM

i just realized ive been ranting for 30 minutes i love u all goodnight

#jac txt.#newsies #discord rants

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ofclaires · 3 years

Photo

IV. CLAIRE WALSH

PAST SELF PARAS: april 2020 / september 2020 / march 2021.

hi, before the read more i just wanted to say THANK YOU. getting to play claire has been absolutely a treat, a challenge, and genuinely, a huge part of my life for the past year and a half or so. it occurred to me when writing this and looking back at other things i’ve written for claire that i didn’t just feel like i was writing this for myself or for claire ; but i was writing it for you guys, too ! that has been one of the most special things about gallagher for me is the writing community that i feel like we built, taking such a huge investment in our characters and everyone else’s writing. i feel like i’m writing with and for some of my best friends. i also feel like i’ve grown so much ( ok, i actually don’t just feel like it, i can look back at those three paras and SEE how my writing has improved. ) i am so blessed to have gotten to write claire with all of you and to share her story, i feel like she has been so fucking beloved & it’s given her so much life. i am so proud of her and it’s really bittersweet that i’m finally saying goodbye to her as well. so, thank you all so, so much, gallagher has been a writing experience like no other for me & i love you all !

trigger warnings : domestic violence & abuse, death

PART ONE: CHILDHOOD.

The trailer that Claire spent the back half of her childhood in never felt like home. Maybe because trailers are made to be temporary, or the fact that if she accepted that this was where she belonged, she’d have to give up hope.

It’s normal Maggie Walsh to be out late, Claire’s usually cleaned up the kitchen and tucked herself into bed by the time her mother comes in the door – but she’s not sleeping. She’s always had trouble with that, brain bouncing around from one thought to the next until eventually she hears the creak of the door.

Her mom’s home.

She hears the usual stumbling, the clatter of dishes falling from where she’d neatly placed them on the drying rack. Maggie’s drunk, Claire’s sure of that. Ten years old and she knows what it means to be so drunk that you can hardly see straight, that the words you say under the influence are a different reflection from the person that you really are. She inhales deeply and crawls out from under the covers to check on her. Ten years old and she knows the steps: Help her take her makeup off, make sure she sleeps on her side, glass of water on the bedside table, trash can on the floor. Maggie is only twenty-six years old herself now, not done with her childhood by the time that Claire was born, not ready to be a mother. Claire’s had to figure it out most of it herself.

“Mom?” Claire knocks on the door lightly, plastic cup full of water already in hand.

“Don’t – don’t come in!” Maggie sputters, and Claire’s confused. She defies her request and opens the bedroom door the rest of the way. When she sees her mom, she drops the cup on the floor, small hands curling into fists.

“What happened? Who did that to you?”

“I told you not to come in here, Claire,” Maggie repeats, but Claire has always been on to disregard commands. She learns at a young age that authority only means older than you or some assigned title, not that they know best.

“Who did that? Why?” She repeats her questions. Despite being mature for her age, it’s hard for Claire to wrap her head around the black eye obscuring Maggie’s face, and the swelling on her cheek.

“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie sighs, dejected as she flops down on the bed. Even in her state, she knows that there’s not much use telling Claire to back off or go away once she’s decided that she’s not going to. Her little girl is a spitfire, strangely enough reminds Maggie a lot of her own mom, like living with a miniature version of her. Maybe that’s why Claire wins most arguments. “Come here.”

Claire walks closer to the bed, kicking the cup aside on her way for no reason other than to kick something. She crawls into bed next to her mom and looks up at her, waiting for more of an explanation or literally anything but silence.

“I don’t know why I keep looking for a happy ending. I leave you home alone, I come home like this...not helping either of us,” Maggie presses a kiss to the top of Claire’s head, runs her fingers through her daughter’s hair. It’s so soft and Claire is so little, she can’t help but look at the spilled cup on the floor with a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” she adds, voice choked up and words a little slurred. Tears squeeze out of the corners of her eyes when she closes them, hugging her daughter closer, “I’ve blamed you for my fucked up life for so long...that’s not fair.”

Now, Claire is only ten, but those are the kind of words that you remember forever. Still, she smiles. “It doesn’t have to stay fucked up. It can get better,” a childish spark of optimism in her heart that hasn’t yet been put out. It makes Maggie smile back though, kissing her daughter on the top of her head yet again.

“I like that,” she says, and they fall asleep curled up beside each other. Claire sleeps soundly, thinking that it’s possible. Things really could get better, and for a while, it seems like there really is a sort of shift. Maggie starts cooking, cleaning again, and she doesn’t even stay out so late. That’s when she meets Martin.

He seems better than the rest. Until he isn’t.

But Claire does her job as her mother’s protector, just as she’s been doing all of her life, and it’s that event that jumpstarts the rest of everything that happens next.

PART TWO: GRADUATION.

Claire’s come to the formal conclusion that graduation ceremonies are a waste of time. There’s all this build up, everyone’s so excited, and then you have to sit around and wait for your name to be called so you can spend two seconds walking across a stage while everyone claps. She would have skipped it entirely if her mother hadn’t already come up, and if she knew that people were going to insist. The small talk afterward is even more agonizing than the ceremony itself. It is sort of painful saying goodbye to everyone, and it occurs to Claire that there’s more people that she’s going to miss than she ever expected.

“Callum and his mother are here,” Maggie points out.

“And?” Claire rolls her eyes. Seeing Callum again to begin with had brought up a lot of old feelings, and generally, even though they’d resolved things, she tries to avoid him whenever possible.

“Well, it’s probably weird if we don’t say hello, at least, right? I’m going to say hello,” Maggie interjects, “he’s such a sweet boy.”

Claire’s eyebrows rise on her forehead as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Go ahead then,” she sighs, “I’ll wait right here.”

“Claire,” Maggie draws out her name with a withering stare, but Maggie has never been able to establish that sort of authority with Claire that would prompt any inclination of obedience, so Claire just shrugs her shoulders, unimpressed. She’s not going to budge. “Fine, I’ll be right back.”

Claire’s done her best to put the chapter of their life that includes Martin out of her mind when rekindling things with her mother, and she certainly doesn’t want to stand around making small talk with his other ex-wife, trying not to look at Callum with his matching jawline, trying not to remember everything she hates. It all comes back in a flash. The horrible cracking sound that her mother’s head had made when it connected with the wall, the blood on the marble floor. They say you don’t remember trauma properly, that your memory doesn’t work quite right, but she will never forget the way her fist connected with Martin’s face : like a puzzle piece, like it BELONGED there, and she’d done it over and over again until she heard sirens.

And yet, Claire can’t deny that it’s a part of her life that got her here, where she is today. She thinks life is shitty and random, and that not everything has to happen ‘for a reason.’ Still, she’ll catch Kass’s eye across the room and see her smiling so brightly that it seems impossible not to believe in something. Claire can’t help herself anyway – she smiles back. No one has ever been able to produce Claire’s smile in its truest form the way Kass has, unashamed of being so happy to look at someone. She once thought the idea of looking at a person and seeing your whole future was ridiculous, that you’d have to be stupid to put that much of yourself into someone, but it isn’t like that at all. All of it was unintentional, like by the time she realized it, Kass was already everything. And she feels so safe with that thought that she doesn’t mind at all.

“Am I interrupting something?” A figure steps in front of her, cutting off her line of sight. She’s not really fond of being snuck up on, so she opens her mouth to say something snarky when she’s met with the gaze of Lisanna Harlin, one of last year’s mentors. Her daughter, Elisa, is there, but she’s not graduating, so Claire’s confused by Lisanna’s presence.

“No, Ms. Harlin,” Claire says, though there’s a spark of indignation in her words that practically goes hand in hand whenever an adult commands authority.

“Lisanna is fine,” she says with a light laugh, like she’s amused Claire’s greeted her this way.

“Can I...help you with something?” Claire asks, mostly curious about how long this interaction has gone on. While she’s friendly with Elisa, she was Kass’s roommate last year, they’re not exceedingly close, so she’s not sure what else Lisanna would have to say to her other than maybe a polite hello.

It’s more than a polite hello. Lisanna Harlin works for Lexon Corp in Durham, North Carolina, a private military company that provides armed guards, bodyguards, and guns for hire. They’re the sort of place that would be looking for the best of the best in combat, and they have a bit of a reputation for hiring Gallagher girls. Claire had given up on the job search months ago since the video went out, in fact, she’s had a job lined up for graduation already : at a boxing gym in D.C., where the scene isn’t too bad. It was suited to her, but not exactly the sort of thing that her Gallagher education had prepared her for. Lexon Corp? Everything her rigorous love of January boot camps were tailored to. And they want to interview her.

A month later, Claire’s sitting on the cusp of a completely fresh start. It wasn’t easy to backtrack on the plans that she and Kass had made together, knowing how much was changing for the both of them, it had been nice to have the stable idea of an apartment together on the horizon. Now, she’s a four hour drive away, and she goes home to her one-bedroom studio in Durham after rigorous training throughout the day. But she’s grateful for the chance to work her way back into the field, and she can remember what Lisanna said to her when they gave her the offer.

“We’re aware that with your history that we’re taking a chance on you, Claire,” Lisanna said. “But we think the reasons that made other agencies look past you are exactly what makes you an asset. You care about your jobs, the people that you’re involved in, and you’d have a partner’s back until the bitter end. You listen to your intuition, trust your gut...and above all else, you have follow-through. I’m excited to be able to offer this position. Don’t prove me wrong.”

Claire swears that she won’t.

PART THREE: KIPTYN.

Kiptyn isn’t supposed to be in the left hall closet.

In fact, he’s not supposed to be awake at all. But who can sleep the night before their birthday anyway? Sure, he’ll be thirteen, and that’s probably old enough to have gotten over the magic of it all, but...he’d still been lying awake with excitement, the anticipation keeping his eyes open for hours on end. Well, that and the video game he’d been playing under the covers, but he’d obviously only been playing it because he couldn’t sleep in the first place.

Then he started thinking about the left hall closet and the conversation that they had at dinner the other night. In Kiptyn’s defense, Dahvia – his younger sister – had totally started it and he was an innocent bystander. After all, Kiptyn’s old enough to know that they don’t bring up Claire to mom, because it just puts her in a mood and then you can forget about doing anything else for the rest of the evening. But Dahvia’s ten, practically a baby, and she doesn’t know any better.

“Hey, mom? What sort of accident did Claire die in? Nina asked me at recess and I didn’t know,” Dahvia pipes up, before she’s even properly sat down. Kip visibly cringes. He’s older, wiser, knows this won’t go well. Still, he dares to look at his mom’s face and he notes the faraway look in her eye, like she seems to experience a bunch of things at once. Kip notices how even though her eyes are glassy, she doesn’t cry. Though sometimes, their mom will just cry randomly, like two weeks ago when he asked for help with his Spanish homework and she couldn’t even help him finish the first worksheet.

“It was a car accident,” she says stiffly, “eat your dinner.”

Kiptyn kicks his sister under the table and flashes her a look that says : Great. Look what you did, ruined dinner. Dahvia sticks her tongue out at him.

So, he knows that he’s not supposed to be in the left hall closet because he could ruin many more dinners, but he’s here anyway. He’s been thinking about it ever since they sat in silence for the rest of that half hour, and he’s come to the conclusion – his mother was lying. Because all sorts of things make their mother cry, like a bowl of mac and cheese or Spanish class, or motorcycles, and she won’t let Kiptyn take boxing lessons though his friend Robert is and he thought it sounded really cool, but she doesn’t have any problem with cars or driving, and also, she’s never told them a single thing about Claire except that. They aren’t allowed to know anything about her, especially not anything true, so Kiptyn is pretty sure that’s a lie. There’s just something just weird about it.

So, in the middle of the night before his thirteenth birthday, he looks up a video on how you pick locks and then he figures it out on the door of the left hall closet. He’s there for at least forty-five minutes, practically ready to give it all up when he hears the clicking sound, and then it opens. His first thought is : Woah. This is a load of junk.

And he’s right. There’s boxes upon boxes of paperwork, old clothes. Some things start to click, like when he finds a pair of worn boxing gloves with Claire’s initials embroidered on them. His favorite thing that he finds is the fattest scrapbook he’s ever seen – his mom always makes them, there’s one for every year of his life. Dahvia’s too, they love looking at them. The cover of this one, though, says Italy 2021. It’s all pictures of his mom and Claire, probably in their early twenties. Kiptyn mostly notices his mother’s smile, how he’s only seen her look like that a couple times in his life and yet it looks so EASY here, like she wears it all the time. It’s so strange to him. He sets the scrapbook down and crawls toward the back of the closet. His eyes land on two leather folders with gold embroidery, and he opens up the first one. In big letters at the top : GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

It’s a diploma.

This certifies that Kassandra Sutton has satisfactorily completed the…

“What are you doing?”

Kiptyn yells out like a child, not having heard anyone creeping up on him. He claps his hand over his mouth as if to shush himself. “The door was open! I don’t know how, but I just...noticed it was open and wanted to make sure that...no one was stealing your stuff!” he grins sheepishly, hoping that he can ride on the high of his birthday week to get him out of this one.

“It was just...open?” his mother looks down at him with raised eyebrows before brandishing a twisted paper clip between two fingers. The one that had formerly been stuck in the door. His guilty expression widens, he can’t help it.

��Okay, I might know how it opened,” Kiptyn admits. He hesitates for a moment, before he realizes that he’s ALREADY in trouble, he might as well just come out with it and pray to the birthday gods. He holds up the diploma with her name on it : “What’s Gallagher Academy?”

Kass’s sigh is heavy and deep, accompanied by the amount of exhaustion that comes with raising two curious kids by herself. After Claire died, she moved her family to London to be closer to their aunt and away from everything that reminded her of Claire. She never told her children why. From hiding that world from them, the world that took so many people from her : her father, her ex-girlfriend, and the love of her life. She swore that she would never lose her children to it, too. But Kiptyn looks up at her with wide eyes, desperate to know about his mother and his past, and Kass also knows what it’s like to have part of yourself missing due to family secrets that are being kept from you. He is practically a teenager now. So, she relents.

Kass doesn’t go into all of the details, of course. Just that Gallagher Academy was a school for spies, and that’s where it all started. Kiptyn already knew that his moms met in college, so it’s the spy part that’s most interesting to him. She talks about Claire with a light in her eyes he’s unfamiliar with, how she was one of the best fighters in their year, that she grew up with such a talent in the ring that she probably could’ve gone pro if her life had gone in a different direction. She talks about how they had to part ways after graduation, because Claire got a job in North Carolina and she got a job in Washington, DC, but they made it work, and both got very accustomed to the four hour drive – though it was sometimes closer to three for Claire, because she always drove too fast, even on this big, black motorcycle which Kass swears that she hated. She tells Kiptyn about how they got married, the way she’d almost moved to England for a dream job and that long distance threatened to drive them apart again – until Claire chased her down in the airport with a ring and proposal.

She also talks about how Claire really died : the abridged version. It was an overseas mission where they’d been cornered, and Claire risked her life to save the rest of their team. There were no other casualties, and the information they were able to bring back helped stop the terrorist organization they’d been chasing to end them for good. Kass tells the abridged version for her son, gives Claire a hero’s death. In some ways, it was. She doesn’t mention the ways that Claire was consumed by the case, it was an organization hellbent on killing spies and it likely reminded her of the brotherhood. Kass had been worried about the case the whole time, because it felt like Claire was taking it too personally. In the end, she may have been right : because Claire had let it take her life in order to close it. She also doesn’t mention that such a sacrificial death means that her wife died fighting alone, swinging her fists until her very last breath. But still, she was all alone.

She had no choice but to take her kids as far away from that life as possible.

Kiptyn tries, but he doesn’t really remember Claire. He’d only been three years old when she passed away, and before then, she’d been so consumed by her last case that she was barely present. Still, he thinks she sounds badass.

He falls asleep on his mother’s shoulder that night, looking through the scrapbook of pictures from their trip to Italy in 2021. He’s animated for the first part, pointing out buildings and asking questions, wonders if Claire was sweating in all that leather, but he slowly starts to drift off. He wakes up on the couch the next morning, no trace of the book or any of the other papers he’d hauled out of the closet the night before. He looks at the closet and there’s an extra padlock. Figures.

It comes up in little ways, like a private joke that he has with his mother, like she’ll say something and flash him a secretive smile. He likes that, and he understands that this is a big secret that he has to keep. It doesn’t come up again until his fourteenth birthday the next year, the summer before high school. It’s a strange letter in a manila envelope, sealed with some expensive red wax, his name written in fancy calligraphy. The most attention-grabbing part, however, is not Kiptyn Sutton-Walsh in big cursive letters. It’s the return address :

GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

learn her skills, honor her sword. keep her secrets.

#*#self para

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spamton-g-spamton-moved · 2 years

Note

For the Alter ask game: ❤️— Share a fun fact about yourself. @ everyone. Sorry i love fun facts. If that’s too much (which is completely understandable!) then @ fern, Spamton, Dusk, Midi and Sylv! Also as the op of the ask game says, no problem if someone doesn’t want to answer ✌️

OK SO srry for late reply ive been trying to gather facts from ppl jkfdhghsjkd i don't think any of us are......v good at describing ourselves. also we have like 80+ in the system so. yea only doin the ones u mentioned :3c

fern: i am the host and i dunno how long ive actually been the host. 2, maybe 3 years?? there may have been overlap with valerie for a hot minute bcus like, we're identical, but i think val now holds memories of the Hell Period that he formed in and doesnt come out much anymore. also the memories i feel the strongest connection to are from our young childhood so....???? i could potentially be one of the "originals" im not entirely sure.

spamton: he can turn into his neo and ex forms at will in the headspace! also most comfy around bannton (our blue addison). they share a room but their relationship is exclusively platonic. spam's a bit high-strung and types exactly how he speaks in our head which is pretty similar to his source, phrases often being replaced with various ad excerpts or other notable phrases the body has seen/heard throughout our life. ever since our dental surgery he's dealt with a bad stutter too, similar effect to hallucinations we experienced under the laughing gas. it's been getting better tho!

dusk: funney guy here to cause a little mischief. this system shares one brain cell and he definitely does not hold it. loves cats, has wings similar to his persona arsene in his source. showed up in like april and we have not known peace since. (jk hes super sweet and rlly likes the walten files i give him a headpat)

midi: another lil mischief maker but also like. a breath of fresh air in the system! its only mood is :] and types in all caps like spam. loves eyeburning colors and late 90s/early 2000s tech. likes the ENA series by joel g a lot. epitome of webcore. vocal stims the most when nobody's home and has one of the more unique voices when talking as itself out loud

sylv: absolutely the brain cell holder, i think they split primarily to help us navigate tasks after we ran away from our parents to a friend's house for a year. often fronted for laundry, cooking, cleaning, making phone calls, and doing online schoolwork. we hit rly bad burnout by the end of the year though and we dropped back out of school the next semester, but honestly after like 5 months straight of doing so much i think we and especially sylv needed a rest. and also proper therapy. we still need proper therapy bcus our current therapist is shit. ANYWAY sylv decided to base themself off an oc i'd recently made at the time who's a gnc as fuck psychiatrist and ig that's what our brain decided we needed as sorta a parent figure in the headspace? also i think they were the one who helped us finally realize "bro ur a system"

#systalk #ok typed more than anticipated epic!#fern.txt

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argumentl · 3 years

Text

The Freedom of Expression Ep 16 - UFO expert's recommendation as the Japan Air Self Defense Force sets up Space Operations Squadron.

K: Hi, this is Dir en grey's Kaoru, starting this week's installment of The Freedom of Expression. Joe san, Tasai san, welcome.

J: You looked at us the opposite way then.

K: I did (laughs)

J: I don't mind though.

K: Hahaha.

J: Im sorry to be so pedantic.

K: No, i thought the same myself.

J: I just wondered whether you'd forgotten our names, or whether you were a bit tired.

T: He's probably tired.

J: I was a bit concerned *laughs*

K: You got me.

J: I just noticed it, so..

K: How have you been recently?

J: Well, how? hmm, well..

K: Its still around the middle of April now, as we record this, right? The shops are starting to open again. We are still in...what was it, a state of emergency..

J: It hasn't been lifted in Tokyo.

K: But the stores are slowly starting to operate again if you look around. Ramen places are really busy and such. But, how has it been for you guys?

J: Well, ive been cooking for myself as much as possible. Buying stuff from the grocers, and making salad and stuff every day. I don't have a frying pan though.

T: You don't have a frying pan??

J: No.

K: Do you have a microwave?

J: I do have a microwave. But a frying pan...well, recently, i bought some eggs, and tried to make fried eggs, but i had to cook them in a steel pan.*T laughing a lot* And when I tried to scrape them out, the yolk got destroyed. *K laughs* It was chaos.

T: How have you survived this far in life?

J: No, I mean I usually eat out, so this is a first for me at 52 years old, this self catering lifestyle.

T: I have a special pan for cooking eggs, its designed especially for eggs (tamagoyaki).

J: Really?

K: Oh, that square type?

T: Yeah, yeah.

K: Ehh!

J: Really?

T: I keep it really clean, and make sure I don't use it for anything other than eggs.

K: Oh, so do you cook a lot?

T: I do, yeah.

J: Kaoru, can you cook?

K: Do I look like I can? *laughs*

J: You don't, you don't. *everyone laughs loudly* You don't at all, sorry.

K: I can manage fried vegetables and stuff like that.

J: Oh, well, you are probably better than me then.

K: But honestly, I havn't cooked anything in years.

T: *To J* If you say he's better than you, that puts you at a super low level! *K laughs*

J: Well, now you mention it, maybe we are about the same level.

K: A long time ago, when I first came to Tokyo, I made curry once.

J, T: Oohh?!

K: Yeah..And with curry, if you let it sit for one night, its supposed to taste better the next day.

J: Yeah, the flavour deepens.

K: When I checked on it the next day, it had grown mould. *the others laugh a lot*

T: How?

K: I don't know.

J: What did you put in it?

K: Just the normal stuff...curry cubes and stuff.

T: It grew mould after a day...?

K: It did, yeah.

J: Ehhh? By the way, did you eat any of it on the day you made it?

K: No, because I thought it would taste better after leaving it for a day. Also, it was actually kind of watery. Maybe I got the measurements wrong. So I thought if I leave it for a day, it would thicken up, but it grew mould.

J: *laughing* Wow. If you cooked it properly, it wouldn't grow mould unless there was something wrong with it though, would it?

T: Yeah, exactly.

J: Thats incredible.

T: Yeah, were you living somewhere funny?

K: Haha, the place?

J: Lets do this sometime. Lets have a curry party with Kaoru making the curry.

T: Oh, yeah.

K: Um, in my blog magazine TheTheDay, I appealed for ideas of what people want me to do, and people said they want me to cook.

J, T: Ehhh.

J: Will you do it? Get your revenge?

K: Revenge? *laughs*

J: Curry revenge. We'd have to have a doctor on stand-by though. *K laughs* We'd end up with curry poisoning. Everyone who ate it would collapse one by one.

K: It would be dangerous.

J: It would, it would.

K: Okay, so today...Tasai san.

T: Yes, so..uh..finally we've reached this era! Finally!

J: What is it? What happened?

T: Well, uh, on May 18th, for the first time, the Japan Air Self Defense Force (JASDF) started a specialist division to monitor regions in space, the Space Operations Squadron.

J: At last!

T: Its like Space Battleship Yamato, its as if that kind of old sci-fi is finally becoming real in this current Reiwa era. Well, actually, its not really like Yamato. What they are really doing is keeping an eye on space junk, and watching for any suspicious looking man-made satellites. To begin with they will ????*1, and by 2026, they say they want to put thier own satellites into orbit too. Its true that America, Russia, and China are leaders in this field, but its like Japan has also started to think about self defence in terms of space too.

J: I see. This is quite serious news then, isn't it.

T: Well, Tokyo sports always has a different take.

J, K: *laugh*

J: Of course.

T: So, in response to the inauguration of this devision, a UFO expert had one thing he wanted to say, which was...well, there is the 'scramble', yes? A kind of emergency take-off, if for example, missles are heading towards domestic land, or if mysterious sightings*2 happen, there is stuff like this. And in 2018, the JASDF actually had 999 scrambles, where they saw something they thought was dangerous, and had to take off immediately. So, of those, 638 cases involved Chinese vessels, 340 cases involved Russian, and 18 cases were classed as 'other'. This UFO expert thinks these might be UFOs, so with the creation of this new devision, he says they could check to see if they actually are UFOs.

J: By the way, what is the Japanese government's stance on the existence of UFOs? It seems like America already thinks they exist, and are taking some action, right?

K: There is a lot of???*4

J: Yeh, on the news. I havn't watched it properly, but what do they think again?

T: ????

K:????

J????*5

T: The Japanese government hasn't clearly confimed whether or not they think UFOs are real or not.

J: Hmm, Kaoru what do you think? Do UFOs exist or don't they?

K: Well, I want them to exist. I like reading about them.

J: Well, its fun isn't it?

T: While I've been working at Tokyo Sports, we've had quite a few reports on photos people have taken of UFOs. Um, you know Hyper media creator Takashiro Tsuyoshi..?

J: Ahh, Takashiro san.

T: When he reported...where was it Australia, Byron Bay..or something. He went there for a festival, and he showed me a photo of a UFO that he took while he was there. And there really was a kind of triangle shaped UFO looking thing on it. And when he showed it to an expert, they said after about 2 seconds, 'Ah, yes, this is a UFO', without even checking properly. *the others laugh*.

J: You'd want them to analyze it a bit more

K: It seems too easy, right? Like, ah, yeh yeh.

T: Yeh, thats a UFO..

J: Saying its a UFO that quickly...

T: According to this expert, if you see a UFO, a big change will happen in your life....and then straight after that he ????*6 and stuff like that happened...Also, the former actress, who turned to that religious cult..

J: Oh, the Happy Science cult.

T: Yeh, Sengen Yoshiko. She captured footage of a UFO in Toyama, and showed it to me, so I kind of think they are real.

J: Have either of you ever seen a UFO yourselves?

K: I've seen things where I've thought, what is that?!. Like...*imitates zig zag movement in the sky*

T: There is something isn't there.

J: There are things that move like that, aren't there. They are different from shooting stars, and airplanes couldn't move in that way. I've wondered what they are.

K: And when you try to catch it on your smartphone or something, you can't, can you?

T: I just remembered! I did catch a UFO on my smartphone. I went to Mexico once to do a story.

K: Didn't you mention that before?

T: Oh, maybe I did, on the radio. Well, when i was in Mexico, what is it..when the sun takes a long time..

J: The summer solstice?

T: Yeh, on that day, we climed to the top of a big rock, and held hands with all the local people. At that time we took loads of photos of the sky, and when we checked later, they showed a UFO.

J,K: Ehh?

T: Yeh, and I don't know the first thing about it. Im in the club of people who've photographed a UFO.

J: A UFO was close to you....Isn't this the right time for him to come out? That guy?

Kami:.....

K: He's not coming.

Kami: Um..

J: He's here, he's here.

Kami: We're talking about UFOs right? When I saw that the JASDF had started a space army, I was excited. And when I wondered what they would get up to, it said they would be picking up space junk..

T: *laughs*

Kami: Its like when we lost at the world cup, and picked up all the garbage, then went home. So I was a bit shocked at what was written.

K: But thats just the starting point, right?

T: Yeah, starting with the little things, moving steadily.

J: But, hey, while they say that, they might be carrying out some bigger project behind the scenes.

K: Well, yeah.

T: Thats right.

J: Kami, what do you think about UFOs?

Kami: I've never seen one.

J: Oh, you havn't?

K: But from your perspective, do UFOs exist?

Kami: Do they exist?...Im not sure.

K:.*laughs*

J: He's not very articulate, is he? This is different from when he was talking about mahjong!

K: *laughs*

J: He never stopped when he was talking about mahjong. Losing 30,000 and such. Coming into Tasai san's conversation that much..He's changed completey since last time. A poor response, Kami. Hey, but what is it?...Can't gods transcend space-time?

Kami: Im not sure.

J: Wait, you're not sure?

Kami: Space-time? Well, I can't talk about it, cause I'll get into trouble if I do.

J: Ah, if you tell us?

K: *laughs*

T: Is this a new organisation?

K: An organisation, right?

J: Gods have them too.

K: They probably have unions, right?

Kami: Yes, yes. *K laughs*

T: Someone more powerful than Kami will be onto him.

K: Yeah, he'll be stopped.

Kami: But the gods know this, theres nothing faster than light, right?

J, T: Ahh

Kami: Did you know that?

J: Yes, I did.

Kami: Yeah, thats it. Theres nothing faster than light, yeh. Thats the thing. Do you know who decided that? It was a god.

J: Ohh.

T, K: Eh?

Kami: Not me, one of my distant relatives.

J: Distant relatives? *laughs* One of the gods in the group?

K: It wasn't himself, but..

Kami: Yes, thats it.

J: Hang on, wait a minute, so in terms of what we are talking about, Kami, what did YOU create? Gods make many different things I think.

Kami: I make parts in a factory. *J, K laugh*.

T: What? The old guy in a backstreet workshop?

K: *laughs* He's the type who can descend to earth very easily, right?

J: He really is one of the commoners.*laughs* Its funny.

Kami: Its because Im an ally of the common people.

K: Well, yeh, it seems like he often goes to Chinese restaurants..

J: Right.

T: And he likes Mahjong

K: Yeh, he likes Mahjong.

J: He's kinda just like my Dad.

K: *laughs*

J: Ah, but UFOs, right?

K: It would be good if they develop this.

T: There might be things like space wars in the future, in reality. With America and such. If they are competing for supremacy in space.

K: Ah, yeh, fighting for supremacy.

T: Right?

J: But Japan is a little late getting started, in relation to that.

K: Oh yeh, its impossible.

J: Right? We wouldn't ever take supremacy.

T: Well Japan can already be seen from anywhere by spy satellites, they'd get all our info.

J: Well, thats it. That kind of thing is going on at the same time.

K: Well, thats just how it is.

J: Thats how it is, right?

T: Thanks for listening.

J: This was a spaced themed chat.

K: Please look forward to next week, thank you very much. Please subscribe.

J,T, Kami: Please do.

*1,3,4,5 Couldn't catch these bits.

*2 mysterious sightings...or something like it.

*6 Sounded like, 'he got divorced', but i couldn't distinguish it clearly enough.

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression #tfoe #薫 #kaoru

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marveloustommy · 3 years

Text

Faith chapter 1

Alright guys - this is the first time i’ve written pretty much anything so dont expect it to be that great. Im mostly writing to get my mind off stuff so if you have any requests, feel free to send them in :) like ive said - i havent really written much so please be nice lol. Im writing this slowly but im also putting it on my wattpad Pounce500, so if it looks familiar thats why! Anyways enjoy the story

Rosie Atwood woke up to the sun shining right into her window. She could hear the movement of her family downstairs as her body fully started to wake. Rosie stretched out and heard the satisfying cracking of her joints, rolling onto her back. Dark brown hair scattered over the pillows while Rosie floundered around in her bed. Rosie’s blaring blue eyes slowly adjusted to the light as she turned to grab her phone. 9:23am April 12, 2016. Rosie unlocked her phone and went about the daily routine of a teen and checked her social media.

At 19 years old, Rosie was still living at home with her parents. She found not paying rent while trying to figure out what she wanted to do with her life to be the best option, and one she didn’t necessarily mind. Her family consisted of Rosie, her mother, Patty, her father, Derek, and her 2 twin 15 year old brothers, Jace and Matt. Jace was the older of the 2 by a 15 minute delay and would never hesitate to remind his younger brother of the fact. Rosie got along with her family quite well and was always willing to help with her brothers. Ever since Rosie was a kid, she was always like a parental figure to her younger brothers. She loved them dearly.

“ROSIE” she heard Jace yell up the stairs. Damn kid was too lazy to walk up the stairs like a normal person to even see if she was awake. Matty was always the kinder one (and the least lazy). Rosie groaned as she pulled herself out of bed. She could smell breakfast being cooked, her stomach rumbled, thinking of the food she would be eating. Rosie through on a hoodie over her sleep shirt and slowly wandered to the kitchen, where she saw her brothers fighting over a piece of bacon. Reaching in between them, she took it from the twins’ joint grasp and took a bite off the end.

“Rosie, what the hell?” Jace yelled as he watched his older sister easily grab the piece of bacon between 2 fingers and raise her eyebrows at the boys.

“Jace! Language please!” Patty chastised her oldest son before turning back to the stove. Rosie looked around the room in search of her father. For 9:30am on a Tuesday morning – the kids father would be sitting in his seat in the living room watching some rerun of a sports game while sipping a coffee. She took a seat at the table next to Matt.

“Where’s dad?” Rosie turned to her mother, turning herself in her chair to face the women at the stove.

“He got called in to work a little bit today – they’ve been understaffed, and he could always use the overtime hours” Her mother stated. Rosie sighed, this happened often. Her mother used that lie around the twins, but Rosie knew the reason. Her parents never had the greatest relationship, being married young after finding out they were expecting. All to keep Rosie’s grandparents happy. Ever since then, her father has been “working” often in order to get away from the stress of having children that young. Rosie’s parents were high school sweethearts and found out at only 20 years old that they were expecting. Being raised in a religious home caused Derek to marry Patty at only 21. He didn’t regret it – Derek loved his kids, but at only 39, he got easily stressed and would take it out in yelling matches against his wife. The two fought over nothing and everything, and while her parents did a good job raising the kids, a lot of responsibility fell to Rosie.

“Dad was supposed to take us to the new Captain America movie today mom.” Matt stated. The twins had gotten into the Marvel universe after their father had showed them some comics he had found from when he was a kid. The boys had been overjoyed when they found out their father would be taking them to see, hopefully, one of the greatest marvel movies made. Patty looked apologetically to her sons, knowing how bad they had wanted to go.

“How about I take you guys?” Rosie questioned the boys after seeing how genuinely upset they had become at the knowledge of their father’s absence from the day’s events. Rosie didn’t necessarily hate the movies – she just never got invested enough to call herself a fan. Sure, she had seen all the movies once, due to having obsessed younger brothers, but she never fully paid attention to care a lot about the plot. Both her brothers heads shot up to look at her after she popped the question.

“Who wants their sister to take them to a movie?” Jace replied looking somewhat offended at the question. Rosie scrunched her nose up at the boy.

“Do you want to see the movie or not?” She replied to the stubborn kid.

“Could you just maybe……. not sit with us?” Jace came up with a compromise, really wanting to see the movie, but not wanting to be caught with his older sister. Rosie rolled her eyes but agreed, which made the boy jump up out of their seats to cheer. Rosie looked to her mother who was smiling at her daughter. Rosie and the boys excused themselves to get ready for the great day ahead of them.

Rosie took her time getting ready. It was only 10am, and the movie didn’t start until 3pm. She had plenty of time to get her self ready and looking presentable. A knock sounded through her room and Rosie walked towards it.

“We need to leave by 12:30 to make sure we can get tickets and get good seats, Rose” Matt spoke quickly when she opened her door.

“Why do we need to leave that early? I’m sure the tickets won’t be gone that fast, right?” Rosie asked in confusion. It was just a movie? Why would it be sold out nearly 3 hours before the showtime. Despite her confusion, she agreed to the curly haired 15 year old before rushing to the shower. She now only had about 2 hours before they needed to leave. Once Rosie was done in the shower, she threw on a pair of ripped jeans and a clean hoodie before starting on her makeup. She filled her eyebrows, added a little mascara and a nice wing of eyeliner to either eye before sliding on her glasses and fixing her hair. Both Rosie and Matt had been cursed with her father’s thick curly hair, where Jace got the straight thin hair of their mother. She applied some curl cream before adding a bit of gel to hold her curls in place as the day went on. She ran downstairs and threw on her black VANS before grabbing her purse and the $30 her mother gave her to get into the theatre. She yelled at the boys before saying goodbye to her mother and pushed the twins out the door. The drive to the theater wasn’t bad – but parking was another story. She drove around the block 3 times before finding a space and quickly parking the car. The 3 Atwood siblings made their way to the theater, heading inside to get tickets and seats.

“Hi, 1 adult and 2 teens for Civil War please?” Rosie smiled at the older man behind the counter. He nodded and rang the siblings through. Once she paid the man he swiveled the screen towards her to pick their seats. The 2 boys immediately picked seats as close to the middle of the theater, while the older girl picked a seat up in the top row of the theater.

“You’ll be in cinema number 2, up on the right there” The man smiled as the 3 set off to watch the newest movie in the marvel universe.

#tomholland #tomhollandxreader #mcucastfanfiction #tomhollandfanfic #spiderman #Marvel #mcu

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shardbearing · 4 years

Note

1, 2, and 25 to 30!

1. your favourite playlist (made by yourself or someone else)

i have a playlist called 'songs that make no goddamn sense' that i fill with songs that you listen to and go 'wait, what???? why is that a song' and i love it

2. how many houseplants in your room, and what kinds are they?

i live in a tiny motel room and i dont have any plants :( and im moving into a basement room soon with lots of animals who eat things :( but im gonna have a vegetable garden next spring and a bee+butterfly garden too !!!!

25. a game you’re playing that takes your mind off things

polytopia on mobile !! I've been playing it for no joke four years straight and it's the only game I ever play. yes i own multiple switch games 😍 no I never play them

26. the film you watched most recently that you could watch again and again

you know what I really dont watch a lot of movies but while I was making masks for work I watched 18 new movies in one week and the only one i might watch again was mr right featuring anna kendrick. i liked the old guard too but idk if I could watch either one of those over and over. now one that I definitely can watch over and over is venom !!!! but I haven't seen it since we watched it back in april

27. your favourite flavour and brand of tea

orange cream popsicle oolong from old barrel tea company !!!

28. a good-will story you’ve heard on the news that’s made you feel hopeful

honestly ?? i couldnt think of one so i went on goodnewsnetwork and found out they found more elephant shrews in djibouti that they thought were extinct and they're so cute 🥰 i love those little guys

29. a favourite easy recipe: 5 ingredients or less, or takes less than 30 min to make

i really like cooking so most of the things i make take like an hour but when i was a kid when i was hungry my mom would go "you waaaant egg sandwich ???" and she would make me an egg sandwich on toasted oatnut bread with two fried eggs and a little mayo so ive been making that lately

30. a song that makes you want to have a boogie round your bedroom

unironically ??????? the boys and i listen to caramelldansen all the time

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skye242424 · 4 years

Text

As The World Caves In (A Ticcimask oneshot)

If you know the song you already know this is gonna be sad af. I have a problem I know 😂

Summary: WWIII has begun. Not too long into the war, threats of atom bombs begin. Tim has been drafted and Toby is lucky enough to stay at home. Soon after being drafted, a nation has sent a bomb to the United States to wipe out the entire population and the U.S. has sent one back. Combined these two bombs will wipe out more than half or the population. This is Toby's and Tim's final night alive. Based off of the song As The World Caves In by Matt Maltese

___

Tim's POV

Toby sat in his chair on the phone, the light illuminating his features. I sighed and watched him for a second more before switching on the living room light. It flickered slowly giving my cover away.

Toby looked up from the small screen in shock. His face quickly turned to pure joy. "Tim! You're home!!"

In seconds he was in my arms. I smiled and hugged him tightly. "Yes, I'm home darling."

"Why so suddenly? Did something happen? Are you injured?" He quickly examined me. "You weren't called to be back until April, is everything ok out there?"

I paused. I couldn't tell him, even if I wanted to it was government orders. I had to come up with something quick. "No, everything's fine. It's just getting brutal out there, the government wanted all soilders to take a night to see their families." He wasn't sure if that sounded very convincing, even if it didn't Toby just smiled and pulled him close.

"I don't care. As long as I get to see my husband." Toby placed a kiss to Tim's cheek and grinned. "I'm sorry ive already eaten. Is their anything at all I can make you? You must be starving!"

Toby made his way to their kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator.

"No, no! They fed us before we got here. I'm full." I pay my stomach to make my point.

In all reality I didn't have an appetite, after all who would have an appetite knowing it's his and his spouses last day on Earth? I loved when he cooked for me, he was surprisingly good at it, but I really just wanted to feel him against me the entire night.

"Are you sure? I have leftover casserole, also we have snacks and sweets." He still had his back turned to me.

A tear ran down my cheek as I watched him. "Hun, seriously, I'm absolutely fine. I just want to spend the time I have at home cuddling and holding you. You're birthday is pretty far off so I'm just happy to see you before then."

I was lying through my teeth. I couldn't stand lying to him but I wasn't sure how to say the world was ending, and legally I couldn't (even though I'm not even sure what they could do to me that would be worse than what's about to happen at dawn.

Toby smiled sadly back at my from the kitchen. He made his way to me and sat on my lap.

"Sorry, I just miss cooking for you. Since the wars started ive been so lonely. I miss having you around all the time." He pulled at my uniform as he spoke.

"I know, I'm sorry. I just want you though. They feed me good there I promise." I poked his button nose.

Toby smiled and examined my face. Soon his fingers joined the exploration. They made there way to my jawline slowly.

"You've been growing you're beard out." He stated as he felt my stubble.

I nodded and lightly chuckled. "only for a few days. You like it?"

"Hmm I think I need to do one more test." He giggled.

I tilted my head slightly and before I knew it he kissed me. It was a passionate sloppy kiss, his way of telling me how much he missed me.

He slowly pulled away. "I like how it feels. It tickles my face and it looks good on you." He kissed me again after saying that.

I smiled into him. One of my hands rubbed his back slowly while the other rested on his thigh.

We both pulled away slowly staring into each other's eyes in content. I grabbed his hand and kissed where his ring was.

Toby was smiling ear to ear, a smile Tim loved. "I have an idea!"

Toby hopped up suddenly grabbing his phone and aux cord. He quickly hooked the aux cord to the speakers in the living room. He paused for a moment as he stared at his phone.

___

Toby's POV

My heart skipped a beat at the news headline on the screen. A quickly read the headline and let the shock sink in for a second. So that's why he was here. I was glad they let the soilders see their families one last time. I quickly gathered my thoughts and searched for songs to play.

I looked back at Tim and he was standing a few feet away from me, and as the music started playing he held his hand out to ask for a dance.

I smiled despite the anxiety running through my entire body. I grabbed his hand and he quickly spun me and I fell back into his arms. Despite everything, as long as I had Tim here, I felt safe. I knew there was nothing to stop this, and in the process of a stupid quarell the entirety of humanity would be destroyed. It seemed unreal.

I didn't let myself think anymore troubling thoughts. I had my husband and that's all I needed.

My feet are aching

I smiled and giggled as the time flew by. We never stopped dancing. Tim complained that his feet were tired and his back hurt but he insisted he kept going.

And youre back is pretty tired

And we've drunk a couple bottles, babe

And set our grief aside

We both knew what would happen at dawn. We where both afraid but oh so calm about it. We never revealed we knew or gave hints. We both just knew in our silence.

The Papers say it's doomsday

The button has been pressed

We're gonna nuke each other up boys

'Til old satan stands impressed

I pondered what it would look like after this, not just our house but the entire world. Everything would die. It would be a shell of what it is still tonight. Come dawn everything will be gone.

And here it is, our final night alive

And as the earth runs to the ground

Oh girl it's you that I lie with

As the atom bomb locks in

Oh it's you I watch TV with

As the world, as the world caves in

Tim kissed my forehead as the song shifts. A solemn tune played as the first light of morning appeared. His eyes were sad but when they looked back down at me they shimmered in the light and I knew how he felt about me just from that one look.

"Toby I have to tell you-"

You put your final suit on

I paint my fingernails

Oh we're going out in style babe

And everything's on sale

We creep up on extinction

I pull your arms right in

I weep and say goodnight love

While my organs pack it in

I kissed him quickly, interrupting him. "I know. I saw on the news. I just wanted to enjoy my last night with you."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. One of the soilders must have leaked it to the press. I wasn't allowed to tell you. And I just wanted you to not be worried." He held my cheek in his hand.

And here it is, our final night alive

And as the earth runs to the ground

Oh girl it's you that I lie with

As the atom bomb locks in

Oh it's you I watch TV with

As the world, as the world caves

Oh it's you that I lie with

As the atom bomb locks in

Yes it's you I welcome death with

As the world, as the world caves in

"Shh. I love you forever Tim." I whispered as I kissed my husband goodbye.

"I love you to Toby Wright. Always."

As the world caves in

____

I know I know. I need to stop writing sad shit but I'm in a mood to write sad shit rn 😂. Love you guys. I hope I didn't make you cry ♥️

#ticcimask #creepypasta #creepy #fanfic #fanfiction #wattpad #ticci toby #timwright #marble hornets #tim sutton

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the-lady-bryan · 5 years

Text

Weird Waitressing Dream - April 7, 2019

So last night I had a weird ass dream that felt so damn real I was disoriented for about 10 mins after I woke up and honest to got believed I'd made a big mistake quitting my job.... Only to realize that there's no such thing as an italian/waffle house fusion restaurant and I haven't been able to work due to medical shit since 2014. So.... anyway, here we go.

The best way to describe the start of the dream is I guess dream logic? A sort of montage but not montage I guess. This period encompassed around seven or eight years of dream time where I worked as a waitress in a, as stated above, italian/waffle house fusion restaurant. (I'd like to note that in the dream, I never saw what my life was like outside of work. I only know that I had a family and needed this job to help support them. And that my son was in high school. I may or may not have had other children. I don't know.) You know how every waffle house-type restauarant has "everyone's fave waitress"? I was it. I busted my ass, got great tips, the customers loved me and I was actually perfectly happy with my job even if the hours were long and most of my co-workers were assholes....

Speaking of co-workers... The only ones I ever saw were Angie, a teenager who worked after school that I'd trained so she was awesome. And The Bitch. She had a name but I never learned what it was in my dream because she always forgot her nametag and everyone except one other person called her "The Bitch". So, I'll assign her one now. Let's call her Brittany. I knew a lot of bitches in school named Brittany. And the last member of this cast of workers was Jamie. He was a lazy asshole who I think was a cross between maintenance guy and cook but I never saw him cooking or, well, doing anything really. He always sat at the end of the bar and drank Coronas all day, every day. (I only know they were Coronas because right before bed I'd looked up to see if a local bar, called Coronas, was still open of if it had closed down since I ain't seen people at it in a while. It closed down. Anyway, back to the dream.) The cast is rounded out by assorted customers coming and going, a few of them are regulars.

Okay so like, dream logic time lapse thing happens and then I walk in for a shift one morning. I'm pulling a double and relieving the general manager who is just finishing a double. I never see her, but anyway, I clock in and already Brittany is riding my ass and I ain't been there but less than five minutes. Angie isn't there yet because she's still at school. Brittany doesn't do shit but run her mouth all morning and afternoon till Angie gets there. Jamie's in his spot sucking down beers and I'm pretty much running the place alone but like a well oiled machine. I've got a system, and it's letting me cook, clean, and serve without any problems. I'm keeping the customers happy, racking in fantastic tips, all the while The Bitch just keeps on bitching and once in a while does a table that doesn't look like they'll be ordering anything too complicated.

Angie gets there and suddenly she's singing a different tune. Butter won't melt in her mouth. I know somethin is up because Britt the Bitch HATES Angie nearly as much as she hates me (I still don't know why she hates me but whatever. I just keep on a working). I work Angie into my system and the pair of us are doing great. Then Jamie decides he's done being the cook but he'll still do maintenance and what do you know he's decided fuck us using the grill - he's gotta fix it right this fucking second! - So the grill gets broken but I'm like "don't worry, I gotchu burger people!" and BAM! I whip out a George Foreman and slam it down on some clear counter space in the cooking area where I can keep an eye on it. And me and Angie just keep on bangin out orders.

My double ends and then weird dream time passing shit and I'm back at work. General Manager had pulled another long shift and has gone home. Jamie's in his spot, the Bitch starts her bitching, and I get to work as usual. But there's something.... different. Angie is there. And we're working like normal but she's not supposed to be there. She's supposed to be at school. So between orders I'm like "bitch you need to leave and get to school. your education's important and you don't wanna end up here forever." and she's like "eh." I eventually get her to leave and go to school. Late but she still goes. Angie's a great gal and whatever dream world she exsts in, she's gonna go far as long as she sticks to that life plan she's made for herself to get into chemical research.

Anyway so Angie leaves and I'm alone with the two laziest motherfuckers on dream-Earth.

Shift eventually ends and I leave.

TIME SKIP DREAM SHIT AND..... I'm walking in the door at work. Got my apron on. There's a promotion up for grabs and it's pretty obvious who's gonna get it. Me. I just have to get through one more shift before the owner of the place makes the announcement. This is pretty much just a formality at this point. Plus I was scheduled anyway so whatever.

The entire fucking day Brittany will NOT shut the fuck up about this guy "Justin" and how she's gonna totally hire him to be the new pizza chef. She's so bad with this that customers are like "Z, your awesome spaghetti sausage omelette is the best but even that isn't worth this shit. Here's my money, here's a tip for having to put up with this bitch, but I'm out." and she's literally driving away business to the point that after Angie's gotten out of school and clocked in the place is fucking dead. So, I decided fuck it, I'mma start cleaning shit to make it easier for shift change and cleaning your restaurant is just some really good positive shit man. I've got myself a big glass of iced sweet tea and I'm boppin along. And then, I take a break cause we're still dead. The moment my ass hits a stool at the counter, Brittany starts going on about "Great, now that SOMEONE is finally willing to sit down and shut up, we can get this meeting started" and I'm like "wtf? what meeting? Did Antonia call a staff meeting today? When's she get here?" and this bitch is all smug like "Ive been here for fifteen years so what I say goes and when I get the manager job" and I stopped listening after that and was like "Look, if you wanna hire this Justin guy then do it and shut the fuck up about it because you sound like an obsessive ex girlfriend the way you keep fucking talking about him." and Jamie's like "you can't talk to her like that!" and Angie's like ".......uh....... just pretend i'm not even here...." and Brittany, smug as shit is like "you've always had a problem with me since your first day! you'd better shape up or-" and finally i'm just so fucking done with this bitch. I very calmly say, "You're right." which shocks her enough and distracts both her and jamie enough for me to get up, untie my apron, take one large gulp of my huge ass iced sweet tea and then throw the liquid in this bitch's face while very calmly saying "Fuck this. I quit." I then threw the actual glass, it bounces off of jamie's head and hits the bitch in the face before falling and finally breaking, and then i take off the apron, drape it over my arm, and still weirdly calmly walk out the door.

once outside, i round the corner of the building and i call my boss, the GM, Antonia... who is also the owner. and i'm apologizing all over for waking her up because i know she had to pull another super long and hard shift and i know she's tired but i wanted her to know from me instead of hearing it from someone else that i had just quit and walked out and that i just can't work with "The bitch and that lazy fucking whale" anymore.

Now, Antonia was shocked to hear me swear because apparently despite real world not-dream me swearing like a goddamn sailor all the time, dream me NEVER talked like that. only in the most extreme of situations and then it usually had been like, Ned Flanders level of swearing. But I'm so done. i've lost my chill. i have none left. there are no more fucks for me to give. they've all been used up and i can't buy anymore because they stopped manufacturing the fucks for my model number. the point is, to Antonia, me swearing is "oh shit is this the purge?" level of panicing she should be doing right now.

after a few minutes of me losing my fucking cool on the phone she's like "i have another call and need to put you on hold." so she does, then not even a full sixty seconds later she's back and she's like "go home, calm down, and i'll talk to you tomorrow." and i'm like "why? i don't work here anymore. so fuck it." and she's like "no. go home Z, and calm your tits. i WILL speak with you tomorrow."

the last thing i heard before waking up was The Bitch screaming from the front of the building about having to actually fucking do her job for once and that Jamie was a useless piece of shit and Angie was a lying whore and I was a drug addict and shit.

after i woke up i sat in a chair for ten fucking minutes worried about having fucked up my family because i quit my job in a fit of rage instead of landing that promotion and that we'd have to sell the house and now i can't afford my meds and...

then it hit me. the building in my dream where i worked corresponds to a real life waffle house location down the street from my neighborhood, and they definitely are not an italian/waffle house fusion restaurant.

#weird dream #dreams #dream #weird #weird dreams

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dwightkschrute · 5 years

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In 2014 and 2015 I did a my year in review kind of thing where I, of course, reviewed it and accompanied it with a picture from that month. I somehow forgot to post 2016 (until now) and forgot to do it at all for 2017 but unfortunately, I am back with a really disappointing year. I was debating not putting myself through the legit pain of “reviewing” this year but I think of how I love going through my 2009-2010 posts and seeing how much I’ve grown so this is for you, successful and cooler future me.

2016 and 2017 were amazing but 2018 was my most promising year. My boyfriend and I were going to move in, I was going to start my dream job; everything was perfect. It definitely started out as one of the best years of my life! Then exactly halfway through the year everything changed and I was left having to pick up the pieces and completely restart, making it one of the worst years of my life.

I started January in Mexico, which was the best, but my family and I got home early in the month. I had quit my job the month before so I dedicated the entirety of this month to job hunting. Our friend (my bf’s bff who became mine and my brother’s bff early on)’s dad got a boat so it was like we got a boat too because despite the cold, we lived on it. (My boyfriend couldn’t go on the trip with us, which he was super bummed about (and that we had to spend like 10 days apart which was killer then), so he was the one to pick us up at the airport and he greeted me with a bouquet of flowers. Out of the many gifts/gestures he gave me, that was one of my favorites.)

February I started my amazing new job so life was back to 40 hour work weeks and not having much time for much else. I was always attached to the hip to my bf so almost every day after work entailed going out with him or having dinner with my family or his. That was my month. My favorite part of every February is Valentine’s Day and this one was as amazing as the rest. I don’t even have enough space (of the allotted space I give myself for each entry at least!) to describe that day. (My bf at our Valentine’s Day dinner. We finished our long day at this restaurant (so, so cool, once popular with Old Hollywood stars) on Hollywood Blvd and it was dreamy and romantic and amazing.) Oh man, I don’t have a lot of interesting things to say about March. Oh, my parents got Influenza (A/B/idk tbh), so it was two weeks of my brother, bf, and I taking care of them. My dad has a serious chronic disease so it was especially dangerous for him so it was a stressful time. Once we weren’t in hazmat suits anymore (no but really, we were gloved and double masked around them and kept them quarantined), I’d be at work or with my bf. I also started to get close with a co-worker, who I quickly became close friends with! (My bf’s two huskies. I’ve just loved that picture since I took it! I’ve never been loved by a dog more than the one in the back of this pic. Not even by my own! He has a special place in my heart.)

April was barbecues at my house or my bf’s, trying every brewery and bar around, hikes, bike rides, beach visits, baseball games, boat rides, late night cooking and baking. It was lots and lots of love and happiness and I would give absolutely anything to go back to those days. (My brother and bf grilling on Easter. This was a familiar scene, I have so many pictures of this exact scenario, yet looking at it just now made me so emotional! Stop! They’re just grilling!) May was so exciting! Very first day I got a new car! I was so happy! It was long overdue because my finicky, expensive Volkswagen had to go and I’d fallen in love with the new Honda Civic (I’ll admit I have basic taste but I don’t care!) so I finally bit the bullet and did it. This month my bf and I, after a long time of “oh wouldn’t it be nice!”, bit the bullet as well and decided to finally get serious about finding a place together. So the apartment search started, but we soon realized our home, Orange County, was super expensive. My bf, in that “ha ha jk but I’m down if you are” way, suggested we pick up and move to Oregon and I immediately agreed. It just felt right and despite us being the most careful and non-spontaneous people ever, we decided to do it! So we began to research, look for apartments but most importantly, jobs. (My car the day I took it home!)

Uhhhhhh, well, June hurts to think about! We went to visit Portland, where we decided we’d want to live because that’s where the jobs were, on a quick trip since it was strictly “business.” Portland was everything I imagined and more. We loved it and I think we loved playing house in our airbnb more than anything about the city. Back in LAX we came to the easy conclusion that though we lived Portland, that’d require a lot and for our first time moving out we’d like to stay close to home and above anything else, we just wanted to live together as soon as possible. We immediately started to look for places in LA, we spent the month apartment hunting, and towards the end of it, decided on one we really liked, one he begged me to please say yes to so we can move in already. I was so, so, so happy this month but what made me happier was seeing my bf, I swear, even happier than me. I seriously felt unstoppable and was beyond excited for our future. (I had a lot of Portland pictures to choose from but my bf and I liked this one because it reminded us of Always Sunny for some reason.)

In July, everything changed. To start, I left my job. I thought, new chapter in my life, new job coming, I’ll live really far, I should leave now. So I did. My last day was an emotional day because I loved my job so much and every single person I worked with. That very same day, my bf and I broke up. For unrelated reasons to my last day, to our moving in, to our relationship, etc. We had an amazing, amazing relationship but he has a lot of demons and issues/insecurities he has to deal with and conquer, and though I was aware and was there for him and would continue to be by his side no matter what, he decided that this was a battle he had to handle by himself and I figure before he got into a more committed situation. It didn’t have to happen, though. I hadn’t talked about the specifics of the breakup on my blog so sorry for changing the mood of the post, but yeah, July happened and it felt like my world stopped. Really regret quitting my job now, huh? I was hit by two huge losses and changes right at the same time. (I took this on my friend’s boat 20 tequila shots in, drunk and sad as fuck. Not to get fake deep but how sad. Literally on a boat, beautiful sunset, would rather die.)

August was a blur and I’m still not convinced I didn’t just dream it. God, alright, here we go, the rest of the year is a mess so get ready. I fell into a deep depression fast. It also didn’t help that my dad had to start getting radiation/infusions for his illness shortly after the breakup. I couldn’t believe how much my life had changed. I started dating someone else and then I dated another guy shortly after. I wanted to replace and/or forget and I really thought that’d be the solution. I was miserable when I was with them. I took absolutely any opportunity to get really drunk or high, and the opportunity came often so I spent most of my days desperately trying to not feel anything. The only time I’d feel okay was when I was extremely high and I couldn’t even think. Since I had a lot of savings for my out of state move, I had a lot of money to blow, which I did. I realized I even liked the feeling of the temporary “high” of spending a lot and receiving the stuff. I’d hang out with any friend who offered (out of boredom? loneliness?) and even ended up on a mess of a Vegas trip. Worst month ever. Maybe. (Here’s a positive! I like that bathing suit and my tiddie looks so round!)

When September came I realized two months had passed and all I had done was be a huge depressed mess. I no joke forgot about work. I just straight up forgot. I started to look for a new job, which hurt me so bad because I had to face the fact that it wouldn’t be my Cool LA Dream Job anymore. I stopped dating. Most importantly, I completely stopped drinking and smoking because it’d almost always make me sadder but also it scared me that I had no self control nor did I care. I saw a whole lot of my close friends and they, along with my immediate family, kept me afloat this month because time felt like it was going so fast. I couldn’t believe that at a blink of an eye it was night again and then a new day. Time had no mercy for me, please let me hold on. (Me at a baseball game. Tbh I’m looking at this thinking, did this really happen?)

October started out nice because my best friend of years, who I unfortunately had a falling out with three years ago, reached out to me. I’ll always give her all of the credit for doing that. I can’t begin to explain what this meant to me. It was a nice, bright shine of light that managed to shine through the dark clouds. Having my best friend is exactly what I needed. I’m a big believer in the universe acting in mysterious ways and though I had grown disappointed in its little surprise for me lately, this was the kind I always appreciate. I spent a good part of that month with her, catching up and doing things just like we did back then. It was like nothing had changed. That’s all I remember about this month, and a super fun Halloween! That day was probably one of the best days in months. (My best friend Rylee and me the first time seeing each other in 3 years. We’ve had our blogs for 8-9 years so please follow her for quality content)

November was rough. I was frustrated because surely things should had been better by then. I was still feeling so low, I was going to job interviews to no avail, I “relapsed” and had a high/drunk off my ass on a boat messy moment.. To make matters worse, I accidentally drove up on a cement divider in a parking lot and my airbags deploy, which is so expensive to fix, so my car was out of commission for a month. Then I got so sick and I rarely ever get a small cold. I seriously felt like I was cursed, even the smallest thing felt like an insult towards me. The one good thing is that since July I had been forcing myself to go to the gym five times a week. My mom said exercising was the only thing that’d help her feel that sweet release of seretonin, endorphins, dopamine, and all that good stuff when she was depressed so, though I enjoyed going to the gym before, I did it just for that reason alone. It worked and as another result I got like pretty fucking fit. Revenge body, you’re one of the few good things in my life right now. (I literally had no idea what to choose so I said fine, here’s a pic of the scene of the crime. Whatever.)

In December I turned 26. Which I hate, naturally. I went to a million more job interviews. I’m seriously so embarrassed to admit that but whatever, it’s the truth. (I have a degree, experience, and an awesome cover letter..I’ll keep blaming the curse!) What kept me sane was that we had different family members visiting from the very beginning of the month. Playing with an energetic, adorable baby kept me distracted and happy. Having so much company around also distracted me (slightly, but it helped!) from the fact that the holidays and my birthday would be quite different now. I’m one of those annoying Christmas lovers, usually at least. This year everything just happened and I didn’t care. But I survived December! (I don’t care. This is the appropriate representation of 2018 and how I feel at the end of it.)

Jesus if you’ve read all of this.. I’m sorry you had to read about the mess of my year but really more like the mess that is ME. Yknow those like “people my age I went to HS with vs me” memes? I seriously went from being that bitch with a good paying job, brand new car, a serious, great relationship with a promising future together (Like. We would color coordinate outfits! LMAO. We would have dinners with both of our families together. We were obsessed with each other. You’d roll your eyes if you saw any of this. I can’t get over how perfect we were, it’s hilarious what happened to us.) and then at the blink of an eye I went to not having absolutely any of that, casually dating (something I’d NEVER done) anyone who resembled my ex and sadly and drunkenly puking off the side of a pier. Who is she? I don’t know, I got whiplash. (Queen of parentheses and side notes, I know. But another thing about me is... I’ve never been affected by people leaving my life. I’m used to it. I’ve never been anywhere as affected as I was when my ex and I broke up. This isn’t normal for me, my ENTJ/Capricorn ass doesn’t know what this feeling is.)

Please curse that has been put on me, release me. Whoever is attacking my voodoo doll, calm down! Please! I’ve gone through enough sadness and loss. If 2019 is even slightly as bad, I’m going to be like that pigeon I reblogged the other day that’s like “fuck this I’m just going to sit here.” I can’t even make a cute but corny, hopeful “hope 2019 is great!” comment. I’m literally begging you...pleading you... I don’t believe in karma but after all of this shit, I better have something much better in stock for me. “Good things are coming!” I fucking hope so. Like, I’ll be even more annoying right now and say that it’s not fair that I didn’t get to have the future I was about to have. I don’t care about any cliche you may have for me. One door closes, everything happens for a reason, God has a plan, etc. No. Why did all of this have to happen? What can be better than the future I was going to have? I felt so unlucky. It all feels like a nightmare and I’m just waiting to feel whole again. Oh shit I got really intense. I know I’ll get over it and life will be good again eventually but for now, I am still so mad. I would have never in a million years guessed this is how my 2018 would go.

So fine, I’ve accepted things now, so now I’m impatient and say please prove me wrong, 2019. I’m THREATENING you to be amazing!

#2018 #OMFG MESSSSS of a year..#and i acted so embarrassingly sigh but that was 2018

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thesportssoundoff · 5 years

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The UFC Released A Schedule; Let’s Play Matchmaker For It

(As always, this shit is tiring but also a lot of fun. If you read this, I appreciate it. It's a lot of work to even try to play around with this stupidity but I also think having to do this exercise makes you a teensy bit smarter, if only because you gain an appreciation for its difficulty.)

Joey

November 12th

The UFC unveiled it's 2019 early schedule slate and it is in so many words, an attack on you, me, the world of MMA, the universe as a whole and all we love dear. It's a loaded slate of 11 fight cards compared to 8 in 2017 and 9 in 2018. It's the debut of the ESPN era where 42 guaranteed shows at 12 fights a pop are coming our way with rumors of as many as 4-5 Fight Pass slates as well. The UFC will be on ESPN, ESPN+ and PPV from locales like Brooklyn, Brazil, Australia, London and Arizona with plenty more to be announced in the coming weeks obviously. The past year whenever the UFC has rolled out their scheduling in THIS format, I've tried to play the best Sean Shelby/Mick Maynard I can and matchmake for the events. It is a long painful process and if you're reading this, I hope you're prepared for me to do it again.

Couple o' caveats before I begin:

-I am not predicting any flyweight fights. Until they book a single fight in 2019 at the weight, I'm assuming it's gone.

-We're rolling with what we got. No GSP, no Diaz Brothers. no Rumbles bails out, none of that. We got what we got.

-Just doing co-mains and main events. If I got a PPV fight or two in mind, it'll be in the overview of it.

-Don't expect a non-Brazilian main event in Brazil or so on so forth. There ARE rules to this game, ya goons.

Ready?

January 19th UFC on ESPN+/ESPN Barclays Center Brooklyn New York

ESPN+ Main Event: Anderson Silva vs Israel Adesanya Co Main Event: Yoel Romero vs Anthony Smith

ESPN Main Event: Rachael Ostovich vs Paige Van Zant Co Main Event: Cub Swanson vs Jeremy Stephens

At the press conference, Dana White said somethings at UFC 230 were going to lead into what would happen for this card. Given the amount of middleweights on the show, I suppose that's where the action is. We know Yoel Romero has a signed contract for Jan 19th so right off the jump, the first assumption is Romero vs Costa which, I suppose, is the right fight to make at least until Ariel Helwani broke news that Paolo Costa is hurt----again. The question I have (and perhaps will continue to have) is where Anderson Silva fits into the discussion. Silva is rumored to be returnign in January LIKELY for this card. Silva vs Israel Adesanya sounds very interesting and I'd be 100% with it. It would be a tremendous treat for striking fans and is the perfect use of both guys. My concern is that Adesanya, Paula Costa and Jacare Souza are all basically jockeying for the back up spot for the February show from Australia. It makes FAR more sense to put Adesanya there vs JAG and roll with something else for Silva----but you're not going to get a lot of these opportunities. Silva vs Adesanya will probably draw more eyeballs to your ESPN+ debut than any other fight you could come up with that isn't a title fight (and for the record, I bet the app will get a few title fights here or there). More on that in a pinch. Keeping Yoel Romero on the card and finding somebody else to fight him keeps a dude who just headlined a PPV on your undercard in a somewhat premier role. I am all aboard on Romero vs anybody but let's go with Yoel Romero going UP in weight to try his hand at 205 lbs vs Anthony Smith. Let's roll. The ESPN "prelims" need to be treated like a main card due to the attention it's going to receive and while PVZ vs Ostovich might sell folks on your app, PVS vs Ostovich probably gets more eyeballs on your ESPN debut on a network. Go with that because it's a lie to assume you can come up with another fight to garner that level of attention.

UFC 223 January 26th Honda Center Anaheim, California

Main Event: TJ Dillashaw vs Henry Cejudo Co-Main Event: Robbie Lawler vs Ben Askren

This one is I guess pretty much locked up. The UFC isn't going to bring Ben Askren in without the plans to showcase him and a co-main under this kind of a title fight makes some sense. Personally I'd go with something else BUT I'm also not sure what would fit better. If they're committed to Askren fighting for a title, might as well co-main event him. Cruz vs Lineker is a tremendous #2 fight with the idea that a guy can jump up in the case of an injury to Cejudo or something of that ilk. Wouldn't surprise me if they roll out a title fight to protect them in the event that fight falls through BUT I'm not sure we're going to get one of those. Your PPV main card could look something like TJ/Cejudo, Lawler/Askren, Till/Mike Perry, Cruz/Lineker and a filler fifth fight. Not awful but probably not the greatest shakes either.

UFC on ESPN+ Feb 2nd Centro de Formação Olímpica Fortaleza, Brazil

Main Event: Jose Aldo vs Donald Cerrone Co-Main Event: Demian Maia vs Diego Sanchez

Brazilian Fight Nights often times suffer from cards that are sliced and diced and picked apart before fight time comes around. The UFC's got an easy one to deal with here as apparently Aldo vs Cerrone was in the works once upon a time. Aldo has said he's waiting to see if Holloway or Ortega wins to make a move to 155 lbs but my belief and hope is that he'll simply make the decision to go up 10 lbs regardless. The co-main event can just be a fun time. Demian Maia has said that he's retiring at the end of his UFC deal so let's just give him safe and fun fights. Watching Maia vs Woodley, Covington and Usman combined with the losses from the top guys he beat gives off the impression that his run to the title shot was very much the work of some amazingly fun yet brief smoke and mirrors. Maia vs Sanchez is a rare "fun" fight that sort of protects both guys and could give way to some intriguing grappling exchanges. Let's not beat the devil out of Demian just yet. Throw in your usual collection of good solid Brazilians on the undercard (Thiago Santos will show up here for sure, I'd imagine Shoeface and Lil Nog will as well) and you're on your way to something good.

UFC 234 February 9th Rod Laver Arena Sydney, Australia

Main Event: Robert Whittaker vs Kelvin Gastelum Co-Main Event: Cain Velasquez vs Either Tai Tuiavasa or the winner of Curtis Blaydes/Francis Ngannou

There are very few fights I'm as intrigued about as Whittaker vs Gastelum. On paper, that's a fantastic fight well worthy of a main event spot. It's the confirmed headliner so there's not much to play with there. I originally figured Rose vs Andrade would make sense here but there's a problem; Rose Namajunas says she's not going to be ready to go until the Spring. Andrade vs Suarez as an interim title fight would be nice and all but I imagine most fans would reject that fight on principle alone. Let's dream big and by big I mean HW. Cain Velasquez is APPARENTLY healthy and ready to fight soon for the UFC. Per Javy Mendez, Cain and the UFC are wrapping up a new deal and once that's done, Cain's getting brought back out for a fight. I don't TRUST that but Cain vs anybody is a fantastic co-main event and would give Australia something nifty and different. I don't need to see Cain vs JDS IV especially since both men are cooked and Stipe Miocic has a more important role to fill. That means that Tai if he beats JDS or the winner of Blaydes vs Ngannou can get the Cain fight instead. Rounding out the main card, I've got my eyes on Jacare as the back up for the main event. While UFC booking says Jacare gets the best MW available (because why would we do something simple?), I'm giving Jacare a soft touch for doing me a favor and staying on the show. Italian Alessio Di Chirico is coming off a win and is a weak-ish enough grappler that I could see that being easy work for Jacare. Ross Pearson is bound to show up on here somewhere (it's the way of the world) and the same goes for Tyson Pedro (fighting in early December). Wouldn't snub my nose at maybe one more Mark Hunt old dude HW fight either vs another old dude (Arlovski?). Also if Volkanovski wins vs Chad Mendes and is fresh enough to return around this time? Put him in the showcase spot.

UFC on ESPN February 17th Talking Stick Casino Phoenix, Arizona

Main Event: Tony Ferguson vs Dustin Poirier Co-Main Event: Frankie Edgar vs Josh Emmett

The UFC's official OFFICIAL debut on ESPN comes in February in Arizona so let's go out there and give us some of that fresh out the oven violence for fight fans. Let's say Khabib Nurmagomedov gets suspended for six months from the date of UFC 228. That puts him in line-ish to fight in April which is basically the cut off point before he takes off for Ramadan. It would be doable but a tight squeeze for the UFC to pull that off, right? Okay NOW let's say he gets suspended for eight months. An eight month suspension is basically a year long suspension since it'll take Khabib into Ramadan and Khabib tends to re-emerge into the September to December months. As such, Khabib could be out into "it's reasonable to have an interim title" range. The same goes for a year long suspension or potentially even longer. With the lay out as it is, Tony Ferguson vs Dustin Poirier makes a lot of sense as a potential interim title fight. Tony Ferguson is the unofficial official UFC lightweight champion while Dustin's never been hotter as a fighter. The co-main event just feels like a good way to get Edgar back into the mix vs a guy who has some steam on him. Holloway vs Ortega, Moicano vs Bektic, Volkanovski vs Mendes sucks up six of the top featherweights and I've seen Edgar beat Swanson twice and Stephens once (and I kinda booked them against one another but shhhhhh!). That leaves very little that's appealing for Edgar at 145 lbs and the idea of doing a fun as shit Edgar vs Cruz fight at 145 lbs probably has very little zest with fans PLUS Cruz is fighting in December. The only other option I felt moderately interested in seeing Edgar face would be Josh Emmett. Emmett is coming off a loss but he did headline on Fox (and was a co-main), he's got some spark behind his name and I feel very comfortable and confident that it'll at least be a somewhat captivating fight on paper. As for the rest of the main card? I don't have anything definitive in mind given how loaded November and December are for the UFC. If you forced me to flesh out six fights, it might look something like this:

Ferguson/Poirier Edgar/Emmett Mackenzie Dern/Felice Herrig Aljamain Sterling/Rani Yahya Gian Villante/Khalil Rountree (Because deep down inside of my soul, I really do hate all of you and myself)

That's assuming they do five fights. If they do four, scratch that last one and thank me for it.

UFC on ESPN+ February 23rd Scotttrade Center St. Louis, Missouri

Main Event: Justin Gaethje vs the winner of Dan Hooker/Edson Barboza Co-Main Event: Marlon Moraes vs Raphael Assuncao II

The UFC hasn't announced a venue for this yet so we're playing a little bit of God here. There are heavy rumors that this show is bookmarked for South Korea but if that were the case then the UFC Would be going Korea, Australia and Brazil in a span of a mouth and that doesn't seem overly likely. If it was up to me, the main and co-main event here would be swapped and reversed. The only way you're going to get bantamweights accepted as main eventers is to roll them out and see what happens. Assuncao vs Moraes II is supposedly a fight the UFC is working on and both guys are #1 contender types in a division hungry FOR a number one contender. Feels like a fair and easy fight to make but ALAS----welcome to MMA where everything is fine until it isn't. Figuring that the desire to have a "big" main event trumps logic and common sense, even for a digital streaming app, let's go with what I think is a perfectly acceptable headliner of Justin Gaethje vs the winner of Barboza vs Hooker. Gaethje has main evented in three of his four UFC fights so he's clearly a guy the company has faith in in that spot. Barboza is a proven headliner and IF Hooker beats Edson then there's no doubting where he should be ranked and who he should wind up facing. That main event just feels right in the UFC's never ending division of great fights. Moraes vs Assuncao II is a perfect co-main event, teeth firmly grinding together as I type it.

UFC 235 March 2nd T-Mobile Arena

Main Event: Daniel Cormier vs Brock Lesnar OR Stipe Miocic Co-Main Event: Tyron Woodley vs Colby Covington

The main event feels like a lock for DC's final fight before he either goes off to work as a WWE commentator or replaces Dana White as the face of the UFC while Dana takes a more behind the scenes role in the company. Despite Cormier saying he'd fight Jones again at LHW, I don't see that ever being the case just due to the weight cut. Not cutting to LHW has been such a positive for DC that he has joked (perhaps?) that the lack of a weight cut has opened the door for him to extend his career if he wanted to. That means either Brock or Stipe is getting the call to face Cormier. My immediate thought is that they will do everything in their power to get Brock vs DC in March. Why? Because if both guys are retiring then you're just free to do whatever. It's sort of like how Bisping turned down Vitor as a retirement fight when both were looking for one last fight; what's the downside to cheating if you're going to be gone anyways? As for the co-main event, we can't avoid this forever. At some point, Tyron Woodley vs Colby Covington is coming our way and our collective asses are going to have to deal with that. It's an intriguing fight I suppose inside the cage but at the end of the day, there's simply no way to workaround the ugliness that'll follow it outside of it. And just for the sake of funsies, add a third title fight here for good measure. Give me the winner of Jonna/Shevchenko vs the winner of Eye/Chookagian in December. Feels like everything should match up in a timely fashion there. Hell I wouldn't even be totally opposed to Nicco Montano getting the shot here either. Throw in Michelle Waterson vs Livia Souza and Chris Weidman's debut at 205 lbs vs Misha Cirkunov and we are happily off to the races.

UFC on ESPN+ March 9th Boardwalk Hall Atlantic City, New Jersey

Main Event: Cody Garbrandt vs Jimmie Rivera Co-Main Event: Dominick Reyes vs Jan Blachowicz

Again, no location is listed here so we're left to play creative games with locations. The UFC has agreements in place to run shows in China and Russia twice a year (in theory) but they also have deals with Singapore (normally in June) and Atlantic City. Let's keep it in the States and turn our attention to Atlantic City. AGAIN the only way you're going to get bantamweights respected is if you give them main event opportunities. I would've gone Cruz/Lineker winner vs Garbrandt but I'd imagine the winner of Cruz vs Lineker is the fast track candidate for the bantamweight title fight. Garbrandt needs a break from TJ Dillashaw and Cruz----and a fight with Jimmie Rivera feels a bit like a safe and secure rebound fight. Rivera is probably the easiest of the available top 5 guys and I'd like to see if a refreshed Garbrandt could handle Rivera's pressure and crisp combinations. The co-main feels like a damn good fight that even Reyes has chimed in about. Dom Reyes wants this to be a main event but I'm more committed to helping improve the imagery of bantamweights as main eventers than I am in giving Reyes a main event spot. He doesn't need it as much as bantamweight overall needs it.

UFC on ESPN+ March 16th The 02 Arena London, England

Main Event: Darren Till vs Derek Brunson Co-Main Event: Marcin Tybura vs Alexander Volkov

Guys like Jimi Manuwa, LEon Edwards (the hell do you find a spot for him on these shows?), Arnold Allen and the wealth of other good European fighters figure to be on here somewhere. This is where not having a Mousasi type hurts because you could willingly plug him in here at any spot and he'll be a reputable international draw. For me, give me Till vs Brunson in a test to see whether Darren Till is ready for the move up to 185 lbs. Brunson is sort of the Mr. Reliable a la Uriah Hall who the UFC calls on when they need a guy with some clout who can pop in and do a deal. The co-main is just the usual international bit; two big European heavyweights being told to go out there and throw hands at one another. Sneak in Overeem somewhere on this main card in an easier fight (Shamil Abdurakhimov, lookin at you!) and you've got a pretty decent top of the billing for a return to the UK. Leon Edwards is the one guy I kind of lack a spot for; Edwards was supposed to fight a bunch of different guys but the UFC has basically hidden him out in Europe (with a pinch hit in Brazil or Asia) so it's hard to find a good spot for him. Just talking out loud here on that one but maybe the loser of Usman vs RDA? I can't see RDA being willing to go to Europe but he fought in Mexico and Singapore recently so perhaps the travel isn't going to be THAT big of a deal. Also I assume this is where we'll see the return of Gokhan Saki despite him being MIA for what feels like a century now. Mairbek Taisumov vs David Teymur would be a dandy too.

UFC on ESPN+ March 23rd American Airlines Center Dallas, Texas

Main Event: Holly Holm vs Amanda Nunes/Cris Cyborg Co-Main Event: Yair Rodriguez vs Ricardo Lamas

I am going to BET you that ESPN has some "You'll get a title fight" assurances from the UFC. Just a random guess. With Amanda Nunes bottoming out on PPV with under 100K buys vs Rocky Pennington and Cyborg always one foot in, one foot out the door, maybe this is where you use your digital platform to help make some folks happy. Holly Holm is (usually) always really good at attracting eyeballs to her fights in some form or fashion. Consider that she sold 200K+ buys with GDR as a headliner for the love of all that's holy (with some help from Anderson Silva too) and remember the numbers she's drawn on free TV. Holm vs Nunes is a fresh fight at 135 lbs that would/could make folks happy on all fronts. It's a respectable main event. Cyborg vs Holm 2 could follow a similar suit as a "big" fight main event given to fans for $4.99 a month. It's an enticer and perhaps that ESPN+ sub count means more to ESPN (and the UFC) than whatever rating you pop the week AFTER this one. Things don't always make sense in MMA anyways. Yair vs Lamas is a fight the UFC has tried to make apparently three times before and so now I imagine is as good a time as any to pull it off. Yair's stock will never be higher and Lamas seems to be on the downswing of things in his career potentially. Maybe that's a fight you can pull off and feel good about. Also I imagine March is more than enough time for Derrick Lewis to heal up and grace us all with his wonderful presence

UFC on ESPN March 30th SAP Center San Jose, California

Main Event- Luke Rockhold vs Paulo Costa Co-Main Event- Anthony Pettis vs Nik Lentz

And so we end this long and painful march towards the end of the "official" calendar with one more show on ESPN. I feel like at this point the "obvious" fights are exhausted and you're left to try and get creative with a smidge of spots that make sense for an ESPN headliner. The one fight that remains that I'd feel most comfortable with is this one; a clash between rising MW contender Paulo Costa and longtime stalwart and guy who seems too stubborn to cut to 205 Luke Rochold. In reality, it's a pretty fair match up for both guys. Costa gets to chase the big "name" that eluded him and after pulling out of two fights and struggling with injuries, it makes sense that Rockhold's return would be a bit more subdued. Rockhold is still a guy who can draw eyes to TV sets and so Rockhold vs Costa on "free" TV feels like a bit of a dandy for fans. As far as a co-main event for the ole boys at ESPN? Kinda stuck. At this point I'm projecting 10 events (and like four months into the future) so it's not exactly the easiest deal in the world. As such how about Anthony Pettis vs Nik Lentz? Pettis is still a name who can be relied upon for some semblance of notoriety and Nik Lentz is one of the few dudes at 155 lbs he hasn't fought quite yet. Most of the fun exciting LWs I believe Pettis has either fought or has passed on as well given that he turned down Mairbek Taisumov (not the worst idea), Kevin Lee (for UFC 228) and so Lentz feels like a fair shake in giving Pettis someone he COULD beat while also presenting challenges to him. Throw in Ovince St. Preux somewhere and give us the latest from Cat Zingano and I'm cool with that.

#MMA #UFC #Fight Nights #2019 #Match Making

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