#Apologies my fellow audience

[dynamic-k]

I am so sorry for not updating much aside from the Guessing Game (which is super easy even on zero coffee).

I have been tired and busy and trying to finish assignments, and as a result, writing got pushed to the back burner for a bit.

Stay tuned and thank you for your patience!

I sure hope you all don't end up like:

XD [meme by Xyna]

Anyways, as far as a specific date is concerned for when chapter 4 of Arc Two will be out... uhmmm, I have no idea.

I'm almost done with it, yes, but there's a conversation scene I'm trying to nail just right and it isn't cooperating. XD

I'll get it soon, fret not.

Small Hollowhead chapter 5 is the closest to being finished out of every other fic I have been focusing on. If I'm lucky with my time today, I may even be able to wrap that up and post within the next few hours, but no promises.

I have also re-picked up my beloved Red Menace series. Whoops. I left that one on the floor for a bit. 😅

And Second's Tale may be a little while too. I am trying to take my time with that one since I still have no solid plan for the final chapter. And with how close I am to the end, l really wanna get it right! Maybe even better than how I ended Super Sticks - Arc One, if that's even possible.

All in all, I thought I may as well update so everyone isn't wondering if I'm dead or abandoning ship.

I WOULD NEVER ABANDON SHIP. WRITING IS MAH LIFE, GUYS.

Also, I got like this finance book I was supposed to read back in November of 2023, and I still haven't and the book report rough draft for that book I haven't read... is due tomorrow. And the final draft is due the 28th...

DBSJBWJDJW

I'm procrastinating on a writing assignment. Who knew...

Why can't my writing assignment be little baby Second instead of three things I learned about this financing budget book?

I know this is important, but it's boring important!!

halp

[yanderenightmare]

Have you ever wrote something like

Detective reader x criminal yandere or vice versa

♡ TW: yandere, kidnapping, serial killer, mutilation, blood and gore, amatuer amputation

♡ gn reader

It’s so sweet of you to be so obsessed with him. Following his every track—of the tracks he decides to leave behind for you, of course. But in this game the two of you play it’s clear who’s the better player. But then again, it’s not exactly a fair fight. You have to follow the law, after all, and he doesn’t. It’s way easier for him when he can watch you through any means he deems necessary—while you have to go through your boss each and every time you wish to follow up on any simple lead.

Oh, but you’re so cute—with your little crimeboard. “Is all that red string for little old me?” he’ll chuckle under his breath, sipping his coffee as he stares at your busy body from across the room. It’s too bad it’s all a waste. You’ll never find him, even though he’s right under your nose as a fellow detective. 

In a way, he wishes you could play cat and mouse forever, constantly switching the roles. Though he salutes you for getting this far—there have been times when you’ve made him have to work twice as diligently—but in the end, it’s far too easy to stop you.

“I’m sorry about this—I wish I could do it differently, but you, of all people, know my M.O. better than anyone,” he apologizes, kneeling before the spot he has you strapped to a chair in his living room—a plastic sheet beneath you with your wrist neatly fixed to the armrest as he holds a heated knife to your pinky.

The gag between your teeth soaks with your spit and screams as he expertly snips the little finger clean off.

“There we go, all done!” he cheers, smiling at you gently, then putting your lopped-off digit into a plastic container filled with ice. “I’ll make sure our respected coworkers find this tomorrow.”

You shiver, screams turning to sobs and gasps. He places the box and knife onto the floor, then proceeds to cup your face in both blood-wet hands.

“Don’t worry,” he ushers. “I’m not gonna kill you like I did all the others.”

He gets in close. Thumbs stroking your tear-soaked cheeks, painting them red. His eyes seem black—eclipsed with something inhuman as he skitters across your face from your glassy doll eyes all swollen and glittery to your sniffling nose and your plumped lips sucking the cloth he’d tied around the back of your head. 

Even closer now, he continues with a rasp, “No—just for you—I’ll break my ritual and keep you safe and sound with me as a living trophy,” he laughs then, breathily with elation, placing his forehead upon your sweat-pilled one. “You’ll be my audience while I continue my work,” he muses while smiling giddily up at you. “My sweetest and prettiest little fan.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Hawks, ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo ♡ HQ – Tendou, Atsumu ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Kiryu, Umemiya, Togame ♡ AOT – Armin

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[justhereforthemeta]

Romantic expectations and the story we didn't see: A magic trick hiding in plain sight

Here's a hopeful meta for all my fellow celestial brainrot sufferers out there. Cheers! :)

This idea started as a dead end, trying to track the movements of Crowley’s sideburns/tattoo because I thought time travel shenanigans were afoot. I had to abandon that theory when it was pointed out that David was simultaneously filming as the sideburns-having Fourteenth Doctor, and in-universe Crowley can do whatever he wants with his facial hair whenever he feels like it. But hey - null findings are still findings!

On the bright side, pausing the show to make notations in a spreadsheet forced me to slow down and notice other changes I'd overlooked the first time around: acting choices, costuming choices, references to book lore. And possibly a few surreptitious flicks of the wrist, in places where we’re meant to be focused on the magician’s other hand.

@amuseoffyre and @ineffablefood had a great exchange recently about romance and “the significance of misdirection and three-in-one (magic) tricks” throughout the show. I suspect Neil has done something brilliant with the audience’s long-standing expectations (since the 1990s, really) for the love story between Crowley and Aziraphale to develop. And while it is a wonderful story indeed, playing to this expectation lets Neil distract his audience from the blink-and-you'll-miss-them seeds he's planting for the final chapter.

Continued below the cut...

Let’s start at the beginning of Episode 2. First, context: In the previous installment, Crowley stormed out of the bookshop, was whisked away to Hell by Beelzebub where he learns about the Book of Life threat to Aziraphale’s existence, then returned to the bookshop to dance a little apology dance and hide Gabriel with an unintentionally massive joint miracle. In S2E2, we and Shax catch up with Crowley as he's snoozing in the Bentley.

Shax: “You’re in trouble”

A. J. Crowley, cool as a cucumber: “Obviously. Former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”

Interesting! Sarcastic? Yes, absolutely; but that’s also a good 4500 years and an averted apocalypse away from “I’m a demon. I lie,” wouldn’t you say? Someone is sounding a whole lot less depressed and aimless and navel-gazey (do snakes have navels?), and a whole lot more like he’s got a project to focus on, since his "what's the point?" ruminations on the park bench in E1.

And of course we all noticed the costume change right away. Hello, black turtleneck. Feeling cute today, thought I’d cover up my graceful long neck? That sounds unlikely. Let’s put a pin in this one.

There’s also an interesting acting choice going on here. Crowley speaks to Shax in a funny, drawling, too-cool-for-you voice that we haven’t heard in a while. Specifically, not since 1967. If you go back and give the S1E3 scene in the Dirty Donkey a listen, you’ll hear it (and if you know of another instance of it that I've missed, please let me know!). In S2E2, he keeps up this odd voice (if anybody knows what kind of affect this is supposed to be, please do tell!) throughout this dialogue with Shax, except for the brief moment when she first surprises him about the joint miracle having been detected.

1967 was a fun year. Crowley masterminded a heist! And seemed like he was having a ball doing it, right up until his little caper was called off after Aziraphale brought him the thermos of holy water. Crowley spoke to his co-conspirators in that same funny, very 60’s-caper-film voice. He wore a hip 60’s turtleneck. He bought petrol for the only time ever, so he could get those sweet James Bond bullet hole decals for his car (per the book, seen on the Bentley in the show).

Those James Bond bullet hole decals would of course have been part of a promotion for this 1967 release, which you just know our film-enjoying demon went to see in the theater:

Starring this suave, be-turtlenecked guy:

And now - begging your forgiveness - a brief rant.

There are a number of posts out there that refer to Crowley’s S2E2 turtleneck as a flirtatious sartorial choice - actually, ‘slutty’ seems to be the favored accusation. There are even a few posts floating around commenting on how sweet it is that Crowley swaps out his slutty, kinky, throw-me-over-your-desk-and-take-me turtleneck for a more dressy and appropriate collared shirt specifically to attend Aziraphale’s Jane Austen ball. 

Now this is all in good fun, and Crowley does indeed look fantastic here, and I do love a good fangirling sesh as much as the next person. However, fandom’s collective tendency to interpret what we are seeing on the screen through the lens of romantic expectation can, at times, give rise to a kind of blinkered enthusiasm that obscures the original text in a haze that is part Mandela Effect, part unrestrained horniness, and part in-group code talking and identity reinforcement.

Respectfully, Crowley’s black turtleneck does not appear at all in S2E5: The Ball. In fact, it never appears again after the end of S2E2.

For Someone’s sake, let’s collectively pull our heads out of the romantic fog/gutter for a moment and focus on what we are actually seeing in the book and on the screen. For Crowley, this is an uncharacteristic within-period costume change. There is a surreptitious flick of the wrist happening here, out in broad daylight, and we are all missing it.

So here’s a thing. Aziraphale appears to have settled comfortably into life on Earth, his neighborhood, his books, using Crowley as an outlet for sharing his good deeds that he would once have reported to Heaven. Meanwhile, at first glance, Crowley appears stuck in a rut. There he slouches on a park bench with Shax in S2E1: a guy who lives in his car, stagnantly clinging to old familiar habits, mulling over the pointlessness of it all.

Setting aside the bit about living in the Bentley (I’m going to attribute this to well-documented issues between him and Aziraphale, discussed in many other excellent metas, and move on), Crowley has at least two very good, proactive reasons for maintaining his contact with Hell through Shax. First and foremost, it’s a source of information he can use to keep ahead of potential threats to Aziraphale and himself.

But also, I would posit…he kinda likes it.

Recall that book GO was first conceived as a parody, with Aziraphale and Crowley as spy-against-spy (but not really) field operatives in an ages-old cold war between Heaven and Hell. Their entire book dynamic is rooted in the trope of two opposing agents who have been in the field for so long that they now have more in common with each other than with their respective head offices. Their St. James’s Park meetings among other spies and ministers trading secrets are a sendup of what was once a well-known Cold War-era cliché. 

Our contemporary Crowley still likes slick outfits and hellaciously expensive watches and high-performing vintage cars and pens that write underwater while looking like they could break the speed limit. He coaches Shax on how to blend in as a demon on Earth, and he helpfully redirects the wayward contact looking for the Azerbaijani sector chief. He loves improvising and getting away with shenanigans under the institutional radar. And boy golly was he impressed with Jane Austen: master spy, brandy smuggler, and mastermind of the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery. 

And if you look at it a certain way, for as long as Crowley has considered himself to be on “[his] own side” - going at least as far back as Job - he could almost think of himself as a sort of double agent. It’s actually a very romantic sort of notion, befitting our hopeless romantic of a (professedly former) demon; but it’s romantic in a very different way than we, the audience, have been primed to watch for.

In other words, in a very “on my own side” kind of way, Crowley really gets a kick out of being a spy. Or at least, dressing up and accessorizing as one, and moonlighting as a good-doing double agent when he can get away with it. And also being a plotting criminal mastermind. Two sides of a coin, really. Just look at Jane Austen.

My point is: No, Crowley did not wait around for Shax to come find him in a turtleneck so that he could go flirt with Aziraphale later. He’ll flirt with Aziraphale no matter what. No, this:

is actually this:

Much like the one he wears to the Dirty Donkey in 1967: 

whilst holy water heist-plotting. Here's a clearer shot with gratuitous Bentley, because I love them:

…and which he'll wear again, with appropriate camouflage, while infiltrating Heaven in S2E6:

That is the 1967 planning a HEIST turtleneck for committing ESPIONAGE and STEALING THINGS in. Because turtlenecks are what modern human master spies wear to get their hands dirty - after all, he saw it in a movie once. 

Crowley dons his tactical turtleneck sometime during the first major break in the action (which doesn't happen until after the joint miracle to hide Gabriel) after he learns about the threat the Book of Life poses to Aziraphale. Loverboy started mentally preparing himself to go after that book immediately upon learning that it was in play as a genuine threat. 

Now let’s pick up at the S2E2 Dirty Donkey scene, reading the story from this angle. Of course, Crowley enables Aziraphale’s delusions about Heaven by hiding information from him, and does not disclose the Book of Life threat when they meet again. They go into the pub, Aziraphale shamelessly paws Crowley’s chest like the seductive Bond Girl he is, and Crowley gets to act all smooth and suave and intimidating as he chases off the interloping Mr. Brown (or Mr. Collins for the Pride & Prejudice fans, take your pick).

Ergo, theory: beginning in S2E2, Crowley is already thinking of himself as a Jane Austen/James Bond action hero (“How will our hero cope?”), psyching himself up to rescue Aziraphale by getting his spy game on and stealing the Book of Life.

Now, watch closely...This is where Aziraphale and Crowley brainstorm their plans to solve the problem they both know about: getting Maggie and Nina to fall in love and thereby get Heaven off their backs. Crowley’s vavoom plan is drawn from yet another movie (“Get humans wet and staring into each other’s eyes - vavoom, sorted. I saw it in a Richard Curtis film.”). But Crowley also implicitly shares his solution to the problem he hasn’t told Aziraphale about. And true to form, Crowley’s Jane Austen solution isn’t the same as Aziraphale’s Jane Austen solution. 

Two solutions that fail by the end of Season 2, and a secret third one that might still work...and there's our magic trick of three.

‘“I’m lost. Am I doing a rainstorm?” Yes, babe. And a heist, too - just not until season three. Can I get a wahoo!? 

I won’t spend time on A Companion to Owls during this meta, except to note that in all three minisodes, we get to watch stories that involve Crowley acting as a double agent on “his/their own side” - successfully making Hell and Heaven think he’s fulfilling their will while saving Job’s goats and children; failing to fool Hell when he does a good deed in Edinburgh; and of course, collaborating with Aziraphale whilst evading detection as an infernal turncoat during the Blitz.

(Because this is getting long, I'll also skip over Crowley's interrogation of Jim in this episode - I'll probably come back to that in another meta. But interrogating is a rather spy-ish thing to do.)

When we catch up with Crowley again later, he’s already slipped out of the bookshop, having left Aziraphale to his biblical reverie about Job. He saunters snakily down Whickber Street as usual, but with a very pointed and swift glance over his shoulder (see pic above). This demon is up to something - possibly something we didn’t get to see, something that may have happened offscreen while he stepped out. In any case, knowing there’ve been unfriendly angels in the neighborhood that morning, he’s rightly concerned about being spied on.

From this point until the beginning of episode six, there isn’t a whole lot of opportunity for Crowley to make any next moves. He babysits the bookshop, during which time he manages to wring some crucial information out of Jim; he follows his Crowley’s Angel around like a puppy, and downs a bottle of red like a good old fashioned lovesick boy once that’s been pointed out to him. If any plotting or scheming is underway, this occult being is keeping stumm for now.

This has been a long one, so I’ll wrap up with Crowley’s infiltration of Heaven with Muriel. The turtleneck disguise works (Archer fans, be vindicated!) long enough to gather some information that will be crucial not just to the denouement of S2, but also to Crowley’s journey in S3 (previous post on Crowley's Fall, Saraqael, and memory wiping). And Aziraphale gets to enjoy that view exactly zero times. The point isn’t oh, a turtleneck! How flirty! So cunty! So cute! Y’all. Everything matters. The costume change was a deliberate choice. In-universe, Crowley’s decision to wear his special spy turtleneck for spying in is a signal that he is out doing spy things, even as we watch.

In sum: Beginning in S2E2 and continuing through the end of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley are actively living out the scripts of two parallel, concurrent, and completely different Jane Austen stories. But you and I, dear fellow audience member, we came here for a comedy with a hefty jigger of romance, and that’s what Neil gave us to focus on. And right up until the Final 15, that was the only story we saw.

Meanwhile, Special Agent A. J. Crowley doesn’t have time to mope around at the end of S2E6. He’s kicked down, but he’s not out. He's got a Book of Life to steal, a very serious bone to pick with a certain memory-wiping angel, and his Angel and the world to save. 

“‘Heigh ho,’ said [romantic, optimist, former demon, hero, master spy] Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.”

[temis-de-leon]

Day 8 - Unwanted kiss

Characters: Diavolo x fem!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: non consensual kiss, implied other types of sexual harassment (not from Diavolo's nor MC's part), MC defends herself, pre-established relationship

.

There were a dozen reasons that could explain MC’s presence in his office. Did she miss him? It wouldn’t be the first time she visited him out of the blue with a wide smile, hands locked behind her back with a certain innocence that made him put his paperwork aside in order to pay her attention.

Sometimes she'd need his help for homework and in what universe would he say no? Of course, there were also the official meetings, but having part, if not all, of the brothers and his butler there made bonding time with her barely impossible.

No, Diavolo perfectly knew he very much preferred their private meetings, the ones where he could ask about her daily life without an audience and where her eyes were fixed exclusively on him.

So when he heard a knock and the one to enter was MC, he couldn’t help but smile immediately. However, her sour expression made him stop in his tracks. She was pulling the hem of her pleaded skirt down and her hair looked messier than ever.

“MC?” he called, but she wouldn’t raise her head.

Diavolo was in the middle of getting up to console her when she handed him a slip of paper showing a familiar signature and RAD’s official stamp. He grabbed it and read it, his face unpleasantly serious and stomach churning in worry. The signature belonged to one of the professors and his message described, amongst a myriad of insults to the human race, how MC had been seen punching a fellow classmate.

He gasped in surprise, instantly setting his gaze on her. MC still didn’t seem able to look at him.

“Is this true, MC? You punched another student?”

She sighed heavily, crossing her arms before finally locking eyes with him and nodding in silence. In a subtle movement that didn’t escape his notice, she pulled her skirt down again. It didn’t take him too long to put two and two together, and when it did, nausea hit him like a train.

Then anger.

He forced himself to stay calm, not wanting to aggravate her further, and the teacher’s notice, which he’d make sure to revise later, slipped through his fingers and fell to the carpeted floor. MC’s hands met his and he felt the primal, dark and visceral, need to keep her close.

“I’m afraid you will have to explain to me exactly what happened, MC. What did he do…?”

“He kissed me” she interrupted him, but would not let go of his hands. Not that he minded it. The sickening tendrils of jealousy filled his guts for just a second before he pushed them down. It was not what she needed at the moment.

“He’s part of my fanclub and has been asking me out for days, but I always said no. He asked again today, but I had a test and I was tired and I wasn’t in the mood to be nice and he had the brilliant thought of kissing me as a way to finally get me to accept his proposal… So I punched him. And the teacher saw, I guess, so now I’m grounded”

Diavolo listened carefully at her nervous monologue, discreetly caressing her knuckles while walking towards the sofa and sitting down next to her. She didn’t seem to be afraid, just frustrated and profoundly disgusted.

“I’m deeply sorry, MC”

“You don’t need to apologize...”

“Allow me to do it still”

He felt his cheeks heating up, the warmth only increasing when he bent down to kiss the back of her hands and her fingers let go of his to cradle his face and scratch the back of his neck.

There was nothing he wanted more in the three realms than stay next to her and enjoy her touch, but it wasn’t the moment.

“Wait for me here”

He got up, straightening his uniform.

“Where are you going?”

MC stayed on the couch and the distance between them felt impossibly long. He bent down, constraining himself to kiss her on the lips as to not remind her of the recent experience, and spoke in a whisper.

“I’m going to personally take care of them”

.

.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation  @owlisbuffering  @chizukimp4  @ravenredwine @darkflowerav  @beatlebeesstuff   @mehkers

[wisteriaw0rld]

hii your writing is so good, it’s actually helping me write for kny characters!!

but anywayss could i recommend a sanemi x fem!reader (or gn!reader idrc) where they both like each other but neither of them have confessed! oh also can sanemi have a soft spot for the reader.. i just love that trope so much lmaooo

also feel free to ignore ^_^

-ˋˏ ༻softy༺ ˎˊ- kny x reader

✰synopsis: Sanemi with a kind and caring s/o who’s the complete opposite of him. Regardless of their differences, they love for each other. And Sanemi undoubtedly has a soft spot for her♡

✰additional tags: fem! reader, cursing, fluff♡

✰pairing: sanemi x kind! fem! reader♡

✰a/n: I’m glad I’m helping you write for kny characters as well!!

“they mistook my kindness for weakness.” -Lana Del Rey

“Y/n, it’s so obvious he loves you!” Mitsuri yelled out before plopping a sakura mochi in her mouth. Shinobu nodded in agreement, taking a sip of green tea as she looked over at you, your face red.

The insect pillar smiled softly at your nervous look. “Mitsuri’s right. I’ve never seen him treat another so kindly before.” She told you reassuringly, recalling a few days ago when she caught the two of you talking to each other and sanemi being surprisingly open and kind.

“I don’t really know..” you stated, unconvinced. The two girls looked at each other before looking over at you, a sigh escaping both their lips.

“Y/n, Are you kidding? Have you even seen the way he treats you compared to the other Hashira’s! It’s obvious favoritism!” Shinobu exclaimed, setting her hands at the table making a small thud noise.

Just as you were about to reply, footsteps could be heard approaching. You looked up seeing Sanemi waiting there patiently for you to join him.

“uhm- I’m sorry shinobu, mitsuri, but I promised I’d go to a nearby restaurant with him.” You told the two with a smile before getting up and walking over to Sanemi.

Mitsuri and Shinobu both watched as you left with Sanemi, a smile on both your faces as you began talking to him as he contently listened, a light pink blush on his face.

“They’re so in love!”

“Mhm.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚

“Hey, Sanemi, Look at how cute those koi fish look!” You exclaimed, shaking Sanemi’s arm excitedly as your free hand pointed down at the two koi fish dancing around together in the small pond outside of the restaurant.

Sanemi nodded, one of his arms wrapped around you as you had your head resting on his shoulder.

“is that…” uzui, who had so happened to be passing by, noticed his two fellow Hashira’s. “Y/n and sanemi?” Tengen snickered, looking at the female and male who had looked so peaceful.

it was almost funny how obvious it is he likes you.

“pfft, they’re so in love.” Uzui stated before rolling his eyes and finally walking off.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚

Your face flushed as Sanemi had a few flowers in his hand, looking the other way with an embarrassed look and a flustered expression.

With a red face yourself, you took the flowers from his hand as you heard the wind pillar mutter a small, “I love you.” Immediately, you threw your arms over him, pulling him into a tight hug as he hesitantly hugged you back.

The moment you hugged him, you noticed the multiple demon slayers watching the scene unfold while hiding behind a bush that couldn’t even hide half of them. You giggled at the sight. “Sanemi, we’ve got an audience.”

Sanemi let go of the hug and turned around, noticing the Hashira’s and the Kamaboko squad watching from a far.

“You idiots better leave, Right now!” He yelled out angrily, flipping off the large group as they gasped before running off.

“I love you so much sanemi.”

His face quickly turned red as he felt the tips of his ears get hot.

A/n: I apologize for how short I made this oneshot, I didn’t have much ideas, but here’s a Taisho Secret!⇩

Taisho Secret: Quite literally about every cute moment you had with Sanemi, one of the Hashira’s “accidentally” stumbled upon you two, wondering how despite the difference between you two, you two still obviously love each other.

[erule]

Nothing you can take | c.s.

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

Summary: you and Sejanus make a bet involving you and Coriolanus, that you’ll have to become a couple in order to get some money from him, but everything changes when the two of you fall in love for each other for real.  

Warnings: fake dating AU, (kinda) enemies to lovers, bet to fall in love trope (if I can call it like that), sunshine x grumpy/black cat x golden retriever trope, light violence and mention of blood, romance, comedy (I think), (probably) slow burn, fluff, angst

Word count: every chapter of the series will have a different amount of words 

A/N: hi! Here we go with my first Coriolanus story!! I don’t know if Coriolanus is OOC here, because I watched the movie like one month ago and I still have to read the book, but I did my best to make him similar to the character I saw. Anyway this is a fanfiction, so please don’t be mad at me if he’ll be, I’ll probably need him to be for the storyline. I apologize to the people in the tags, because I’m really late with the upload, but I’ve been really busy in the past few weeks. Anyway, I hope you like it. Enjoy! X 

Tag list: @meeksity, @mxacegrey, @astess, @jasmineee05. 

Masterlist

Prologue – Don’t fall in love with me 

“Coriolanus Snow? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. What’s the matter, Y/N? You think you can’t make him fall in love with you?” Sejanus asks with a grin. 

“Oh no, I was just thinking about the amount of money you’re gonna give me when I’ll win”.

“Don’t, he’s not easy”.

“A challenge, uh? Even better!” You exclaim. “Now excuse me, but I have to go. Before your last drink, watch me sing and put under my spell mister Coriolanus Snow”.

“Careful, Y/N. You don’t wan’t to fall in love, right? People say he’s got a very cute pair of blue eyes”.

“I prefer the color green as my money, Sejanus. Prepare to lose”.

“I think you don’t know what’s coming for you, Y/N”.

You run to the stage, your place in the world, where you can finally give free scope to your passion: singing. Singing has always made you feel free, but tonight, perhaps due to the tension of the challenge, you feel a constriction in your chest. You and a little tipsy Sejanus have agreed on a bet against Coriolanus, but you have a better idea to win: you will tell him everything immediately, in order to pretend to be together for a while, so Sejanus will pay you and you will split the money with Coriolanus. No one will be fooled in the end, right? And then everyone knows that he needs that money too, so he certainly won't suffer from it. While you taste the victory on the tip of your tongue, the words escape your mouth. You apologize to the audience and your gaze falls right on Coriolanus, who isn't paying you the slightest attention, while he's drinking a beer on the sidelines, his Peacekeeper uniform making his eyes as blue as the tide stand out. Sure, Sejanus was right, but that doesn't change anything: a pair of light eyes isn't enough to make you fall in love.

Coriolanus Snow goes to the Academy, he dresses well, but that doesn't mean he's rich, far from it. You, on the other hand, were kicked out of the Academy because you didn't like their behavior, which is why Sejanus is your best friend. You always had the feeling that Coriolanus liked to follow the rules, but in reality he probably preferred to have control, power or money more than a conscience. That's why he's never been kicked out and you've never particularly bonded. It's not that you're greedy, no, it's just that you need money for your family and if a stupid bet can get it easily, then you will do anything to earn it, since the pub doesn't pay you enough for your fantastic shows. And anyway, Coriolanus is certainly an attractive guy, which isn't a bad thing.

“This song is dedicated to all the handsome blue-eyed boys here,” you announce, then grin, while some of your fellow soldiers make fun of Coriolanus and he finally notices your presence. “This song is called Nothing you can take from me and I dedicate it to my old school friend, Coriolanus Snow. Come say hello to me later, Coryo!” You exclaim with a wink and notice his gaze shift to you. For a second, just one, you feel a shiver run down your spine. You would never have believed that playing with fire could make you feel so cold.

Your song makes everyone present dance, everyone except him obviously, who continues to stare at you coldly, without smiling or saying a word, like a marble statue and this almost scares you. It also happened at the Academy, but there you didn't pay attention to it, also because there was no need to win his attention, but here there is a lot of money at stake and you need it desperately.

You descend onto the stage with a feline leap, you leave your guitar aside, while a roar of applause and compliments accompanies you behind the scenes, hoping that Coriolanus will follow you. The door closes behind you, but when you turn around, no one is there. Well, no big deal, it means you'll go look for it later or tomorrow at the latest, there's no rush anyway. But you feel observed and this sensation worries you a lot: it's as if you have someone behind your back.

"Well?"

You turn around, surprised that he's there. Up close he's taller than you remember and you can see his blonde hair well, even though it's shaved. His arms are crossed as he looks you up and down, but without eyeballing you, just a look of pure curiosity painted on his face. So why do you feel like a hunted animal?

“Coryo”.

"Do not call me that. You asked me to come here, right? You asked for my attention in front of everyone. I'm here now. What, the cat got your tongue?” He asks you, a crooked smile somewhere between amused and mischievous that gives a sinister light to his face. He has enough charm to seem like the Devil.

“Don't get any illusions, it's just a game”.

“I don't like playing and you don't like winning, as far as I know.”

“Those games are abominable and I think you know it too, since you're here, right?” You ask him. His smile fades and inside you rejoice, because you know you've hit the mark.

“Speak quickly, Y/N, the rooster crows early in the morning.”

“I have a proposition for you,” you tell him, getting dangerously close to him. He doesn't take a step back, but you see him on guard, almost as if he expects to be stabbed at any moment. “I bet Sejanus that I would make you fall in love with me,” you reveal to him and he smiles wickedly. “I only did it because he promised me money in return and my family needs it. I'm telling you this because I think we could pretend to be together for a while so he'll think we're really in love. In the end, I will split the money with you, since you need it as much as I do,” you explain to him.

For a moment, he observes you, perhaps because he is trying to understand whether you are sincere or not, then he nods, his face serious.

“You know, maybe I was wrong about you: you like winning as much as I do.”

“I wouldn't play if it wasn't for a serious reason. We both know that Sejanus pays and well."

“But he's your friend, right? I wonder why he is doing all this."

“Maybe he's just bored.”

“Perhaps,” Coriolanus repeats, thoughtfully. “Anyway, Tigris must never know. I only ask for this in return,” he says and you offer him your hand.

"Deal".

“And try not to fall in love with me, Y/N. Unlike many others, I don't like playing. You wouldn't survive."

“There's no danger, Coriolanus,” you say, shaking his hand.

Now you feel less sure: why do you feel like you've just sealed a pact with the Devil?

[serenelia]

ᴍᴀꜱQᴜᴇʀᴀᴅᴇ

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ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴀᴍᴏᴜᴄʜᴇ/ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Content includes: SFW, mentioned vampire Harbinger Childe, ball room dancing that's probably all over the place, the reader experiences stress (to say the least) and vomits.

Scroll away if you don't entertain any au's regarding vampires, witches, and hunters. Also this is quite long (yes again), almost two-thousand and five hundred words, grab a drink!

If you haven't read the first part: ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʟʟ

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Before she could even begin to theorize who the person was, she’s promptly shut up once he ceases spinning her around and intertwines their hands. One of his hands takes hers from the same side and places it on his shoulder, resting his on her waist soon after. The gentleman looks.. soft; compared to his intimidating gaze and aura, his features are similar to those of a porcelain doll. A pretty one at that. If one were to differentiate between Childe and him, she could definitely say with confidence that the stranger is more pleasing to the eyes, one would be easy to be distracted by such a man.

The two stared at each other as they swayed gently from side to side, and [Name] felt her breath be taken away upon examining his face even further. Illuminated by the bright light of the chandelier above, his soft indigo-colored hair framing his soft cheeks, his pale skin, and sharp eyes perfectly compliment his very being; even [Name] could feel herself slowly starting to get insecure in his presence. And upon shifting her gaze to his lips, she could see the corner of his lips quirk up and the shine of a sharp and long fang.

[Name] gulps. “Is it too late to back out now?” the stranger muses, evidently entertained by her previous comment that was very obviously for the man she danced with before.

“..My apologies, dear sir; I had intended that for my previous dance partner, Childe, who.. had suddenly left.” She forces herself to look away, her gaze locking with the audience as she turns away, and sees Childe scurrying away in the crowd, not even bothering to look back at her.

Well, it's not like she wanted him to, but she was hoping he'd be attached somehow. Those make the killings easier.

The latter snorts, “Do you…” His laughter dies down as quickly as it came, and [Name] didn’t have enough time to react as he abruptly raised their intertwined hands and spun her around, eliciting a surprised gasp from the lady.

He slows her down after a few spins, intentionally making her land right on his chest. He places a careful hand on her back, pulling her closer, and he whispers, “When dancing with someone, it's rather rude to focus on other people, don't you think?”

“…” Her eyes widened, her mind turning to mush at their nonexistent distance, and her heart started beating loudly in her chest. Yet before she could even respond, he swiftly maneuvered her back to her previous place and started swaying them once again, wearing a small but polite smile.

“..My apologies; I was simply confused for a mere moment.” [Name] says through gritted teeth, mentally cursing at the rate of her heart at that one cheesy action. How many more times is he going to spin her around?!

“Forgiven,” he replies, a smirk growing on his lips. “I am Scaramouche, the 6th of the Eleven Harbingers. I must apologize for my fellow Harbinger’s actions. I’ll make sure to ask him to give you a proper apology later.”

[Name] smiles back politely and shakes her head. “Good evening, Sir Scaramouche, I am Lady [Name]. You ought not to, I’m sure the matter is something of outmost importance for him to handle.”

“Even if that is so, it’s still rather rude to leave your dance partner in the middle of it.”

“You need not to fret; I take no offense to it.”

Scaramouche squints his eyes. “Lying is not a very friendly mannerism to a stranger, is it?" he says, tilting his head to the side and peering down at her.

forcing a smile, [Name] made an effort to avoid glaring at him, “Quite so, though, may I ask why you took it upon yourself to replace my previous partner?” her charm was working marvelously on Childe, a little more would have him end up in her lab. Why did he have to intervene?

The Harbinger replies in a sly tone, “Upon realizing his gaze would inevitably stray away from you, I had to clean up after him to make sure he doesn’t do more harm than good.”

[Name] raises a brow, “Then one should not bother himself with a fleeting matter such as this, I assure you, there is no need to occupy your time with a dance.” She removes her hand from his shoulder and takes a step backward with her body following suit, accompanied by an outreached hand; the latter does the same and assists her once she spins herself and lands carefully near his chest. His hands outlining her waist, she wraps her arms around his neck and threw her head back as Scaramouche leans her downward.

She tries her utmost best to avoid ogling his face, “Why, there is no need to belittle this wonderful dance; I am finding it rather enjoyable, so consider my time well occupied.” Scaramouche praises, though [Name] could clearly see the empty words behind it.

He guides her back to her feet by the waist, “I am incredibly honored to hear such.” [Name] lies, moving her hands from his neck back to his shoulders as they started swaying side to side, frowning at his natural beauty and nonchalant behavior.

a flicker of doubt crosses his face, “..I find myself honored as well to be able to speak to you, Lady [Name].”

[Name] forces out a smile.

silence overruns the space between them, both plastering polite smiles on their faces, one more visible than the molecule of a smile the other has. After a few more seconds of their bodies swaying, they switched their perspective positions and once again intertwined their hands together. [Name] takes a step back before raising their hands to hang above her head to be able to place herself by his side, facing the opposite direction with their arms resting on top of each other.

To her surprise, it was he who broke the silence between them: “How does one find the event so far? I hope it suits to your adequate tastes.”

[Name] glances at him from behind. Is he one of the people who arranged the whole event? Or maybe well acquainted with the person who did?

Perhaps she should watch her mouth from now on.

“This event has been wonderful so far; I can tell a lot of effort has been put into it to make it satisfactory for both races,” she replies, which, in a way, is true.

Scaramouche suppresses what sounds like a scoff: “Yes, this whole event wishes to bring both the human race and the vampire race together.” The two break off the physical connection between their arms and held hands, with Scaramouche raising them as [Name] spins herself before doing the same for the latter. After he spins, they repeat their outstretched arms by their sides. “I must say, this whole idea is rather.. idealistic. Don’t you think so?” he continues, gaze glued to her figure during the whole step.

[Name] remains silent for a second longer. “Why does one think so?" she asks, her eyes finding it difficult to maintain eye contact. They each took a step to meet at the center and held hands, withdrawing for a mere moment before letting go of one pair as she started to slowly walk in a circle around him, with Scaramouche having to adjust his hand over his head once she made her way behind him.

“Anyone who had proper education would be able to process that.. ideas like that are just utterly impossible. It defies the natural law in the food chain, no? With who has the most favor in the eyes of the “gods,” it’s pretty obvious whose more deserving to rule.” Scaramouche states.

[Name] could almost trip at the absurdity of his belief. “…Is that so?”

He tilts his head once they come to face each other. “Do you not agree, Miss [Name]?”

“I.. don’t have a particular view on that subject,” [Name] mutters, lowering her head slightly to avoid his unwavering stare. Aside from the predicament she finds herself in, at least she can confirm that this gentleman is a vampire. A psychopathic human who would be willing to be a blood bag for vampires doesn’t seem to be a plausible explanation. It is also worth adding the glimpse of a fang she saw earlier, further supporting her theory. The only remaining challenge here is figuring out where he prefers his blood to come from.

They repeat their outstretched hands from their side, and [Name] could feel her anxiety (or could it be giddiness?) spike up once she felt his hands embrace the sides of her waist firmly after she spun herself to land with her back to his chest, “To be able to grasp the true reality of this hierarchy-focused world, one must adapt their beliefs and get rid of this foolish agenda,” he speaks up while lifting her carefully into the air, her feet kicking purely out of instinct at the loss of ground beneath her. [Name]’s heart rate only increases as he spins himself around, taking her along with it, her beautiful dress a dazzling display for the awed audience.

He swiftly gently places her back on the ground, their hands instinctively finding their way to each other, “Only in that way can you accomplish your desired goals,” Scaramouche adds, his eyes boring onto her whole being with silent but much perceived expectations. [Name] feels the overwhelming urge to run away to her bones; she feels naked around him. With the way he worded his sentences and the tone along with them, it was as if he knew everything about her already.

Cold sweat drips down her back.

What does he mean by that?

Does he mean something more?

Does he know I’m a witch hunter already?

Is he going to expose me?

Oblivious to her panic, Scaramouche continues dancing to the music, seemingly thinking she’s merely thinking about it in her head. He decides to take the lead. His hand always with hers as they became the sole partners left dancing under the light. Their movements were graceful and calculated, appearing to be peaceful for both parties, with the exception of [Name], whose expression slowly turned to one of morbid horror the longer they danced. Scaramouche, for some reason, doesn’t react whatsoever, only keeping a small smile on his face. Only giving rise to her unparalleled feeling of distraught.

The cheerful atmosphere inside the manor suddenly becomes claustrophobic, and the space around her seems to be choking all the air remaining inside her lungs. She needed to get out of there fast. She had underestimated the gravity of her whole situation; she had overestimated herself.

When will this dance end?

The music provided by the musicians was constantly fighting with the dominating ringing in her ears, the muffled voices of the audience increasing and decreasing in volume; it pierced her ears, yet it was almost as quiet as the soft whisper of the wind. Her feet stumbling even at the perfectly made marble floor, her heels screeching upon contact, they trip among themselves, every spin and turn made, but never did she make an attempt to run away. She can’t.

It’s all too much. She could feel the merciful brush of the wind upon her hair, the warm touch of the light above, the tight hug of the corset in her chest, yet the most primary of all, his penetrating gaze set on her, the strong scent of his cologne hazing her mind, his cold touch on her clothed skin, leaving a burning sensation behind. Every trail of his finger from her hand to her shoulder, down to her waist, creates a shockwave of shivers that resonates with her very core.

Please, please, have pity on me, gods!

Let this night end!

Suddenly, everything stops.

The crowd applauds as the music slows down, and they’re both standing in the middle of the circle, facing one another. [Name] had to take a moment to process it. She scans the room around her, and with her raggedy breathing, she can’t find it in herself to say anything, let alone breathe in his presence.

It’s… over?

Something heavy and tight presses itself against her neck, and she involuntarily flinches. Her hand immediately shoots up to her collar; it grasps on nothing. The imaginary force’s hold on her tightens as she locks gazes with Scaramouche. “I thank you again for having this dance with me, Miss [Name]. I hope the rest of the night treats you well.” He purrs and takes her hand up to his lips, pressing a light kiss on the glove.

She clutches her free hand tightly, “..To you too… Sir.” [Name] manages to croak out, barely hearing him over the sound of her heart in her ears and the audience’s amazement.

And with that, he lets go of her hand and leaves his station, blending in with the crowd only a few seconds later, and [Name] is left on her spot, frozen. Looking in his direction with a chill up her spine, this mission was too precious to give up, but was it really worth it just for her experiment?

Her stomach twists and turns in her throat, and [Name] makes quick work with her feet in finding the restroom.

She hastily washes her mouth and hands after exiting the cubicle, banging her hands onto the sink counter repeatedly.

Curse him, curse him, curse him!

her voice strains itself in her throat, tempting her to let it out, but imagining the possibility a fellow guest walking in on her and having to explain brings a blush to her cheeks and a headache in her already dazed head. So she settles by whispering it loudly to herself instead, resulting to her coughing into the sink as flashbacks of the previous dance floods her mind. She takes a deep breath with her eyes closed, but it proved to be useless meditation for his smell clouded her sense of smell everywhere she turns. Oh, how she wishes she could wash it off her right this moment.

It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating.

the sensation of dread and excitement only continued to plague her mind. It never occurred to her—the real danger of being undercover and having a dance with your victim. It was as if the gods were punishing her and keeping her humble.

She scoffs and takes out a small container she kept hidden in her, opening it before applying the ingredients imbedded in it to her lips, wrists, and neck.

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..this was originally supposed to be like 5k words but I held back (my schedule partook in it too). Truly, I was supposed to make this plus two more scenes all in one post, but I was editing and decided to check the word count and... almost 2,500k words... And I know that'll be a mouthful 😪 and I thought that if I delay it further I was afraid ya'll would lose interest and would probably forget about it, haha.

Apart from my self-pity, I really enjoyed making this! Took me like 5 days for this and the rest of the outline.. It was still enjoyable nonetheless. So I hope it's a joyful read too!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!

[deathmetalunicorn1]

How would the Gods react if they found out that you, a Goddess (Queen of the Gods) is helping humans in ragnarok?

The Gods are:

Thor, Beelzebub - cuz I love the way they smiled in round 6

Loki, Poseidon - big hater of humanity, would be interesting to see their reaction

Hades - just wanted to, he seems to side to neither of the sides before Poseidon's death

Hermes - my fav audience ofc I love his comments in every fight

You can add anyone you like :D

-Being a warrior queen goddess as well as a goddess of compassion and rebirth, you were the very definition of tough but soft. You wouldn’t hesitate to defend the weak from others and then you would comfort those you’ve rescued, guiding them. -Ragnarok was something that immediately pissed you off, furious that your fellow gods refused to do anything to help humanity, the thing they created and then failed to manage! -Brunnhilde wasn’t shocked when you came to her, seeking her out almost immediately, and pledged to aid humanity where you could. -You could care less what the other gods thought about you, they brought this on themselves, and you were going to make damn sure that they knew it. -Being a goddess of rebirth had it’s advantages, when Lu Bu and Adam died first, you brought them back, secretly with none of the other gods knowing, giving them their lives back, and telling them that you weren’t going to let a single one of them suffer at the hands of the gods. -You brought Poseidon back next, you couldn’t let him just disappear as well, your kind heart wouldn’t allow you to ignore him and that’s how everyone quickly found out that you were helping humanity. -Many were outraged, calling you out, but were quickly shut up with one fierce glare as you chewed them all out, “Take responsibility for your actions! You created these humans, and then failed to manage them and you took pleasure in torturing them for your own amusement! You’re all gods- act like it!” -Zeus tried to sass you and you immediately bent over and removed one of your shoes and he panicked, holding up his hands, begging you for mercy, before you told him to shut this tournament down and start acting like a true god!

-Thor- Had a feeling you were going to do something like this, but he wasn’t mad, you brought Lu Bu, his soul mate, his friend, back to him so the two of them could have as many fights together as they wanted. Surprised everyone by hugging you tightly, whispering a soft thanks into your ear which did make you a little flustered, something he and many others saw, and it made him smile, stroking your cheek gently, his fondness for you growing.

-Beelzebub- Was stunned when he realized you had brought those back from the void of destruction back to life, gods and humans alike, he wanted to study your abilities, if you would let him. However, you brought Nikola back into his life and he only cared about hugging his friend, calling him such, as Nikola made him happy, before he hugged you, thanking you. Your hug was warm and gentle, he never wanted to leave your arms.

-Loki- You tricked him!! How dare you trick him?! He pouted at you for what felt like days, upset that you had lied to him when you had brought back Lu Bu and Adam. However, after your speech and after threatening Zeus, which made Loki laugh so hard he couldn’t breathe, he forgave you, hugging you from behind, pecking your cheek which made you smile softly as you apologized for deceiving him. He pouted some more, but this time while hugging you, not wanting to let you go.

-Poseidon- Was stunned when you brought him back to life, the pain in your eyes made him freeze, as you didn’t want to see anyone die or suffer. When he asked you why you were helping the humans you turned with a grin on your face and your fists on your hips, “Because that’s what the gods should do, the strong should always protect and guide the weak.” He always saw humans as creatures beneath him, weaklings, but your words made him remember that they were the ones to create humanity, humans were the children of the gods. Poseidon relented but before he went to speak with Zeus he stunned you by bowing at the waist, taking your hand and pecking the back of it, asking you to marry him. The shade of red that you turned was quite lovely.

-Hades- He wasn’t going to lie to himself or others, but he was relieved that you were helping humanity and that you brought not only the humans back, but the gods as well, including his brother and nephew. Hades enjoyed watching Zeus cowering to you as you held your shoe, finding it funny that someone was putting his youngest brother in his place. Hades embraced you tightly once you were alone, thanking you, his voice soft and you smiled softly, stroking the back of his hair gently, comforting him and he all but melted into your embrace, never wanting to leave it.

-Hermes- Knew what you were doing from the beginning, but said nothing, as he didn’t want to ruin the ‘surprise’. When the cat was out of the bag he approached you, a soft smile on his face, “You were able to keep it hidden for a while, Y/N, but I think the others got the message.” You nodded, leaning into his arms as they wrapped around your waist, “Glad they did- I’m tired from bringing all of those fighters back.” he chuckled softly before sweeping you into his arms princess style and your arms wrapped around his neck, cuddling him softly which made him grin as he took you to a private room so you could rest and he could cuddle you.

[letsgetrowdy43]

Josephine in the eyes of Luke—

This couple is a part of the Littlest Hughes Universe!! If you have any questions or ideas please leave them in my inbox :)

All the thoughts around Josephine and Luke will be under the hashtag #LukexJo

Luke and Jo met for the first time when they were both 18 and starting a new chapter of their lives at university. He had never met someone so unapologetically themselves, Jo was dripping with certainty and confidence, and Luke was in awe, magnetized by the way she held herself.

Before her, Luke had viewed the world in measurements of living up to expectations, being the best, and proving oneself to show worth.

Jo was probably the furthest thing from that mindset.

They bumped into one another at one of the rowdiest parties of the semester, she spilt her drink all down his sweater, and she apologized sincerely before pulling him into a bathroom to clean him up.

They never returned to the busy atmosphere, instead, they chatted in the bathroom, soon moving to the nearly empty kitchen, and eventually ending up in the backyard of the random sorority house they were in.

It was a night of talking and sharing, and it ended with a sweet but sloppy makeup that left Luke with numb lips and a heaving chest.

at the time he couldn't explain why he was so drawn to her, he was fully attending the party with his team and a girl who his fellow frosh had been trying to set him up with, but he left all of that behind to be with her because there was something just so peculiar about this girl who oozed with authenticity.

Josephine was like a whirlwind of energy and passion, her presence magnetic and captivating. She had a way of making the mundane seem extraordinary, of turning a simple conversation into an adventure.

Luke was mesmerized by her zest for life, her unfiltered honesty, and how she seemed to live each moment to the fullest. She challenged his views and made him question his rigid focus on achievements and expectations.

He remembers watching her play for the first time, she booked a gig with her band at the small pub on campus, Luke wasn't legal age at the time but the captain of the team Nick Blankenburg had somehow pulled some strings with the bouncer and got him into the bar.

Luke was wide-eyed and in love, her cheeks tinted pink from the anxiety of her first-ever performance and the shot of liquor she had snuck (she was too underage, but was made an exception to play). Her lips chewed up as she strummed on the forest green electric guitar she had been gifted as a gift for making it into her dream school and program.

She was wide-eyed and giddy, high off of the cheers and the people dancing along to her voice in the crowd. It was like watching her in her purest form, she loved that stage, and they loved her.

She was the most beautiful when she was on the stage, pretty under the purple and warm lights that lit up her face, her smile growing by the second as she tapped her foot along with the beat of the drums.

To Luke, this was everything. He could see the joy and passion radiating from Jo, a stark contrast to the calculated and disciplined world of hockey he was accustomed to. The way she lost herself in the music, how her entire being seemed to light up, was nothing short of magical. It was in these moments that Luke realized there was so much more to life than just living up to expectations.

He remembered every detail vividly: the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders, the sparkle in her eyes as she connected with the audience, and the raw emotion in her voice as she sang. Each note she played, every smile she flashed, and every laugh that escaped her lips pulled him deeper into her world.

Luke was hooked, not just on Jo, but on the idea of living a life driven by passion and authenticity. He found himself drawn to her concerts, often sneaking into venues or convincing teammates to cover for him just to watch her perform. Each time, he felt that same rush of emotions, that same sense of awe.

They never crossed that line of friendship though, and if Luke was being honest, just being in her presence was enough.

She was an addictive thought in his brain, a constant presence he couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried. Every time he laced up his skates or focused on a game, there was a part of him that drifted back to her—the girl with the electric guitar and the magnetic smile.

When they reunited a few months after her graduation it was full-blown love the second he laid eyes on her. Seeing her again made him realize he wanted more than just fleeting glances and stolen kisses. He wanted more than a friendly conversation, a promise to check up on one another, and an empty feeling in his chest.

He wanted to know Jo deeply, to understand what made her so passionate and fearless. Jo lived in the moment, embracing life with an authenticity that Luke found both inspiring and intoxicating.

Loving Jo was everything that he was missing, it was romantic, and it was freeing. It feels cliche to admit it, but she felt at home. In Jo, Luke found not just the one who got away, but the one who made him want to live more fully, more truly, he was free to feel, to love, to embrace imperfections and focus more on how they enrich him rather than ruin him.

She was also just a soft lover, a person whose love life never felt like something he had to earn, just something she would always feel for him.

Pushing away from his feelings, Jo is also just the prettiest person like has ever laid his eyes on. Her smile is so very gentle, that causes him to feel so at peace. Her eyes were full of kindness, the kind of eyes that, when they met his, made him forget everything else around him.

She's just everything to him :)))

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If you have any questions or things you wanna talk about, please lmk!!

[adiluv-moved]

❥ 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑 + 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐇𝐂𝐒. ˚⊹꒷

📜୧・꒰word count꒱ 1099.

🎐୧・꒰warnings꒱ takes place pre-manor.

🍦୧・꒰adi moment꒱ a commission for @mellisono! literally loved writing this, frederick has been ever steadily growing on me and this is such an adorable prompt! if you're interested in commissioning me, you can find more into through my intro post! hope you enjoy! ໒꒰ྀི´｡•᎑•`꒱ྀི১

꒰🎹꒱・Having been raised as a member of the aristocracy, the idea of marrying a person for ‘love’ has always been unthinkable to Frederick. A common belief among people of his status, the only real motivation to wed a person was for the sake of bettering your social standing—more so a business transaction than anything even remotely romantic. His exile from the Kreiburg lineage would plague him with the idea that he’d be destined to remain a bachelor until death, losing both the money and status that his fellow nobles sought after. Those notions would be very quickly redefined once you’d entered his life, the thought of proposing to you becoming more and more alluring as your relationship progressed.

꒰🎹꒱・He’s got a minimum of twenty pieces dedicated solely to you, and it’d really only make sense for him to incorporate them into his proposal! Bits and pieces of melodies that you’d helped him refine, motifs from your favorite songs, cute jingles and chimes that you’ve heard whilst walking with him—it’s the composition he’s worked both the longest and hardest on, wanting to perfectly convey just how happy you make him; how much better his life is, thanks to you. His intentions are clear as crystal when he asks you to listen to a ‘special’ piece, his face matching the hue of his garnet coat as he slides the engagement ring onto your finger.

꒰🎹꒱・The two of you would live in an apartment somewhere in the heart of Paris. Small but cozy, sheet music in nearly every corner with a balcony that overlooks the rest of the city. Frederick is initially rather discontented by this living situation, a sense of shame for only being able to afford something so small. He’ll make a few off-handed comments, saying that it’d be better for you to “marry a man that can buy you a house instead of this shoddy apartment,” but he’s secretly relieved when you reassure him that he’s the one for you. There’s something so… comforting about knowing you love him regardless of financial status—even when he feels most others consider him to be a failure.

꒰🎹꒱・He becomes far more open and affectionate after the wedding. While not necessarily the best at singing your praises, there’s a very noticeable improvement in his abilities to express affection verbally. He’s far more straightforward with his compliments, gaining the confidence to directly comment on something you do well or something as simple as how gorgeous you look while going about your day. Frederick also opens up more about the issues he faces with his family, who ꒰unsurprisingly꒱ didn’t show up to your wedding. Your friends and family make quick work of saving the mood, but he writes his parents a very strongly worded letter once you both return from the honeymoon. Even more, he swears off all contact with them until they apologize, a decision that you never would’ve expected him to make.

꒰🎹꒱・Still, he continues to remain shy when it comes to more intimate forms of affection, like kissing. ꒰Something you get great joy in teasing him about.꒱ As such, the ones he gives you tend to be rather chaste in nature, like quick kisses on the cheek—or lips, if he’s feeling bold—before he rushes away to continue working on compositions. You’ll have to initiate anything more than that, something he’s eternally grateful for—even if he is too embarrassed to admit it. He’ll also always make sure to give you a quick smooch before heading on stage for any performances, regarding it as good luck. Although he appears straight-faced to the audience, you’re able to catch sight of the faint blush dusting his cheeks from your spot behind the curtains.

꒰🎹꒱・Frederick’s a bit of a hit or mess when it comes to housework. Having lived independent of his family for some time before meeting you, he does have the capability to take care of himself..! Though there are times where you’re reminded that he never grew up having to do any sorts of chores. He hates having to deal with anything dirty, meaning that there’s a fair amount of collaboration between the both of you. He’ll cook the food, and you’ll do the dishes afterwards. Whenever you wash the clothes, he’s the one that puts them up to dry. He’ll do some light dusting and cleaning, but larger messes scare him off.

꒰🎹꒱・At some point, he just comes to accept how much he adores cuddling with you. A workaholic since his youth, he’d never exactly been able to understand how people could content themselves to just… sit back and do absolutely nothing—finding the idea boring enough to drive him mad. But, wow. He absolutely understands it now. Lying in bed while the first rays of sunlight sneak through the blinds, casting an ethereal glow on your hair and face as he holds you in his arms… Normally, he’d already be out of bed by dawn—even on days when his psychasthenia decided to have mercy and allow him a good night’s rest. But seeing just how adorable you look… Well, the idea of leaving you so soon just seems outright cruel.

꒰🎹꒱・Frederick’s weak spot is his hair, a fact you’d discovered accidentally whilst drifting off to sleep with him. A particularly bad bout of writer’s block certainly didn’t mix well with his insomnia, forcing him to remain awake as the both of you idly chatted and hummed tunes in an attempt to restore his creative spark. At some point, you’d started to massage his scalp—the sensation initially causing him to stiffen beneath your touch. Your attempt to pull away and check in on him was quickly interrupted as he pressed your hand back into his hair, asking you to continue. The stresses of his day-to-day life just seem to melt away with your touch, it seems.

꒰BONUS꒱・Although he considered it cheesy, he often regards your wedding day as the  best day of his life—and he keeps the wedding attire in pristine condition. They sit in the back of your shared closet, the thought of them becoming dirty or damaged utterly devastating him. While you’d lived long enough to know of canes marking members of the nobility, it’d been the very first time that you’d seen him using one of his own. Considering the other costs of the wedding, it hadn’t exactly been all that luxurious ꒰a fact that he quietly keeps to himself꒱—though you might just see him using it more often if you tell him you like it. Don’t mention it, really. He’ll get flustered.

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[bunthebreadboy]

OMG!!! A FELLOW AZUTARA SHIPPER!!

Please please please!!! What are your headcanons for this ship??? Like, how do you think they would meet and feel about each other? What would they feel when they realize they have a crush on the other??? And how do they get together???

And how do they navigate their relationship once they get to confess, considering they are both stubborn and that they would butt heads xD

AAAAAAAA, I wanna know all about it!!!

ok ok azutara headcanons GO:

these are not canon compliant cause we know how they meet and feel about each other and all that in canon lol

- azula isn’t evil by any means! yeah she’s a little bit of an asshole (or maybe a lot), but she was also a kid raised in an abusive household. katara on the other hand is a proud, self-proclaimed lovable asshole.

- they’ve been in the same social circle since they’re both kids of world leaders, but they weren’t fond of each other as kids.

- they forget about each other and meet again years later! when they’re adults, because you will never catch me writing an au where they’re 14. in canon, whatever. but i’m more comfortable writing characters closer to my age! you will also never catch me writing smut btw, it also makes me uncomfy.

- also azula has been in therapy since she became a legal adult and she has a good relationship with zuko because of it.

- so let’s say they meet again when they’re in their undergrad. neither of them recognize each other, both of em think of the other as “the smartass girl from my gen psych class”

- katara’s in bio pre-med but is 100% that girl that has three minors and a certificate in something. probably things like sociology, anthropology, women’s studies, etc.

- azula’s a business major. not by choice. i could definitely see her in something like forensic science or chemistry instead.

- anyways, they have a shared gen ed class and both of em are really into it because they both have mommy issues! which is why when they’re forced to work together on a project they decide they hate each other again.

- they realize that they knew each other in childhood when zuko and sokka walk into the water siblings’ shared apartment while katara and azula are fighting over making a powerpoint.

- katara makes an offhand comment about ozai being an asshole and azula just. loses it. bursts out crying. and katara’s there panicking like “oh my god what do i DO”

- katara ends up comforting azula and opens up about her mom to try and make azula feel less alone in the family trauma department. azula thinks she’s a dumbass but in a tsundere way where she secretly respects katara but won’t admit it.

- after that the two of em start hanging out out of class more often and (shocking, i know) enjoying each other’s presence

- katara realizes she has a crush first. it happens when they go to present their project and katara freezes up out of nowhere (which is so out of character for her) and azula immediately picks up her sentence and helps katara get through her part of the presentation

- so disaster bi katara ends up pining for at least a year because azula’s a dumbass who is subzero in flirting skills and completely oblivious

- azula’s also completely unaware that she’s gay as hell

- so azula realizes that she likes women…no not women…katara…at some sort of banquet where azula’s receiving a scholarship or smth and katara starts cheering for her from the audience (azula was tense, katara lightened the mood)

- so azula’s on stage having her gay awakening like “oh my god i’m in love with this dumbass who’s making a scene at this formal event and oh my god…” and as soon as she gets off stage she grabs katara’s hand and pulls her outside

- katara’s panicking and thinking azula’s pissed and goes to apologize but azula just. kisses her.

- katara’s immediate reaction is “fckin took you long enough”

- azula immediately goes red and is like “kat i realized i was gay less than five minutes ago please let me live”

- and therefore is subject to teasing for the rest of her life. the end.

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Fifteen

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hey, besties! Guess who passed their State Board Exams…? ME! I DID! Now, all I gotta do is fill out some paperwork, and I'll be licensed. I've started working already, but it's only three days a week right now, so pretty good! Don't hesitate to comment or ask me questions. I love hearing them and seeing others discuss them. Happy reading, everyone, and let the celebrations commence!

Chapter Warnings: Violence

The celebrations of Aegon's birth had finally arrived. All the Great Houses were expected to come—all but one. The Velaryons and part of the Targaryen faction were not extended an invitation. Rhaenys had taken this as a political slight by Queen Alicent. She was collateral damage in the cold war between Rhaenyra and her old friend. Guilty by association.

Lord Corlys was still fighting for control of the Stepstones and had put his loyal Lady Wife on the Driftwood throne to rule in his stead. The alliance of the Triarchy and House Martell of Dorne was of much concern, and without the aid of the King's fleet, the battle was all but lost. Yet, through it all, the Sea Snake remained on the collection of islands, fighting tooth and nail against those who wished control of his rightful territory.

Princess Rhaenys did not know of your efforts inside the Keep, slowly but surely attempting to send help to the losing battles. The day she was crowned the "Queen Who Never Was" came to mind. She felt abandoned by her cousins, Daemon and Viserys, for refusing to take a stance on the insurgents. Baela was her only solace, her heart missing the pieces her children used to occupy. She would never forgive them if her husband died.

You sat at the exponentially smaller desk in your room, the maids you had yet to become familiar with brushing your silky hair as you read two pieces of parchment.

Jace and your father had sent you letters. Daemons were curt, mentioning nothing about how he missed or thought of you while away. It was as if he was speaking to a fellow warrior, not his daughter. Only ensuring you were still on track with your efforts, wanting to know how far the influence of the Hightowers reached and when to expect words regarding the Stepstones. You ignored him for now, folding it in threes and placing it in the side drawer of your desk as you read your brother's.

"Dear Sister,

Jealousy became me when I bid you farewell a few days ago. I knew what I said was wrong as the words lept from my tongue. I am not proud, and regret has haunted me since. I express my sincerest and deepest apologies.

You have always been open and honest with your emotions, and I wish to do the same. I love you, sissy, despite what my words may have alluded to. You have experienced hardships that no child of that age should witness, and you did not grow to resent your family for it. I cannot say the same for me if something similar happened.

I wish the Queen did not invite you to Kings Landing, not because I am jealous, but because I haven't a clue what I mean to do without you. Father wants me to be strong, like you. He wants me to practice swords like you. He wants me to listen to Mother's audiences like you, but I am not you. I am a boy whose lineage is clouded with stolen kisses and an accidental fire.

I wish you were still here so I could feel your embrace. I do not believe I can handle Daemon for much longer. How have you done it for so long?

The days cannot go fast enough as I await your return. I intend to give you a proper apology once you are home. Perhaps we can spend some time in Aegon the Conqueror's Garden as I grovel? I will arrange a picnic for when I do. I don't want to beg on an empty stomach.

Missing you,

Jacaerys Velaryon, your wretched little brother."

His endearing letter did not help the ache for Dragonstone. A smile burned your cheeks as you rubbed the dry paper between your fingers. You could smell the brimstone on the fibers, the sulfuric scent taking you home.

"My Lady," a servant gained your attention, taking your focus off the sweet words. "The men should be returning from their hunts in the Kingswood soon. I would suggest we start readying you for the tourney later today."

You nodded wordlessly, giving them a tight-lipped smile as you put Jace's letter next to Daemon's. You will be sure to write them both later.

You were confident Jace would love to hear how the tourney went. He had always gravitated toward stories of knights in shining armor valiantly jousting for a lady's favor. He had spoken several times about wanting to participate in the events. That was the only thing that pushed him to pursue the sword, other than your mother's and father's orders.

You could picture your little brother atop a white steed, armor resembling a dragon with a lance in his hand, asking for the favor of one special noble girl. The image brought a genuine grin to your face. Jace was always the gentleman his Mother taught him to be.

You wanted to stand out amongst the crowd of green royals you were sure to be seated with. It was to be your first public appearance since your legitimization, and you had to make an impression. You allowed your ladies to bathe you, and upon your exit from the tub, you requested one to show you the variety of gowns you had brought. Black was always the most innovative option, representing the colors of your House, and there were plenty to choose from, thankfully. It was only a matter of which one.

You decide to help your decision by considering the weather and environment. Most of the gowns you had were thick for the constant chill of Dragonstone and would indeed have you draped over a chair with a fan to cool off despite the changing seasons. That had only left you with a few options, which immensely helped. It had revealed a dress you once deemed too scandalous to wear in your family's presence.

It was not typical Westerosi fashion. Rhaenyra had commissioned a tailor in Dorne to create a gown when you officially became of bedding age.

You could tell it was something she had longed to wear as a girl, a freeing and rebellious design, but etiquette and her position would not allow her to wear such exotic clothing. You did agree with her that it was stunning. The deep plunging 'v' of the neckline certainly accentuated your breasts and made them much more pleasing to the eye as your maids tightened the strings in the back.

The fabric was a combination of red with an overlay of black lace. Golden thread held the seams together, and a matching cape to your shoulders, leaving your arms bare. Pieces of Aurelian were sewn on the shoulder pads of it, looking like crumpled yellow leaves that cascaded down your biceps. A circled belt of silver was delicately snitched around your waist, the excess of the metal resting between your legs.

After you were dressed, the servants ushered you to the vanity, holding the draping fabric so it did not catch as they began to fix your ebony hair. They elected not to put it in its usual braided style, instead rolling and twisting the long strands onto themselves until they reached the base of your head, pinning it to your head. It was simple, and you immensely enjoyed the freedom it gave to your range of motion.

Next, they adorned you with matching jewelry and a delicate headpiece that arched over the crown of your head. A necklace of a curled golden dragon wrapped around the hollow of your throat, a long needlelike chain attached to it as a polished metal fang hung at the end. They then slid a hammered bronze cuff on your wrist and rings of the same color, dragonglass, and rubies for its gems. The ladies applied the final touch of makeup to your skin, a fine powder to rid the shine from your nose, a dusting of rouge, and a hint of rose-colored balm to your lips.

You felt like the Targaryen princesses of centuries past, the blood of old Valeryia pumping your heart.

You would give anything for your Mother to see you now, dressed in the traditional colors of her House. Though you couldn't hide your relief in Daemon not being here, you were sure he would've made you change or barred your door to stop you from escaping in such scandalous garb. You stood, finding the dagger Daemon had gifted you and the belt it was connected with. You hooked it around your waist, adjusting it to be just out of view.

Your servants stared at you in awe, more amazed by their work than you as you grabbed the wreath of black charm lilies and black crystal pansies you requested to give your favor to the knights who asked. You didn't believe any of them would but knew it was proper to have one nonetheless. You smiled at your ladies, conveying your gratefulness through your unusual eyes. You turned, facing the three women, your cape resembling a waterfall.

"I believe I haven't inquired of your names yet," you prompted, looking them over. The youngest of three fiddled with the hem of her white apron, avoiding your gaze. "I do apologize for that. You all have been very kind to me."

"I am Jeyne," the oldest spoke first, giving you a curtsy. Grey hair poked from under her servant cap, wrinkles creasing the corners of her eyes.

"I am Fiora," the next one spoke, bowing. She appeared not much older than you, with bright green eyes and a splash of tan freckles on her nose and cheekbones.

You would guess the youngest girl, around Jace's age, continued playing with her clothes, muttering a meek "Dyana" and quickly bending her legs. You frowned at her response, sensing her anxiety, and reached for her tiny fingers, rough and dry with callouses.

"You need not be frightened, Dyana. I am not as wicked as the whispers claim me to be," you jested with a grin. She returned it, but it did not reach her eyes. A pang of sadness struck your chest as your gaze flicked over her as if you could understand the reason for her apprehension at a glance.

"My Ladies," you said, standing and clasping your hands in front of you as you bowed your head. "It is a pleasure to become acquainted finally. I am sure we will become close during my stay here." You smiled at all of them once more, your attention resting briefly on the meek fair skinned girl. "If any of you need something from me in the meantime, no matter how small or trivial, I will be at your service as you are to me."

The three shared bewildered expressions, Fiora's mouth agape as all muttered their thanks.

You supposed their reaction was understandable. They had never been treated like people before, almost making you feel bad for your motives.

Your plan would not hurt them in the long run. If anything, they would most likely be grateful to have a princess as an ally. Most nobles did not realize how much of their life depended upon the people serving them, not considering that they saw and heard everything within their homes. You would be a fool not to take advantage of that during such tumultuous times.

"Well," you clapped your palms together, giddy to finally have that out of the way, "I have grown rather famished and wish for some snacks before I watch men get rammed with sticks." Jeyne grinned, and Fiora bit her pink lips at your crude words. "I know that this is not proper, but I truly am in the dark. If you would not mind, could you lead me to the kitchens? I frequented them much at Dragonstone, as midnight snacking is a vice of mine, and wish to know where they are when the cravings emerge."

Knowing your next moves hinged on their response, you had planned those words carefully. You needed to tell them something that they believed was a secret. Daemon had told you once that revealing something one would deem embarrassing, that displaying vulnerability to a fellow human would have them drop their defenses, but if they were smart enough to realize this, it would ruin everything.

Fiora gave a toothy grin, nodding vigorously before looking at her companions. The other two shared the same smile. Through those actions, you could quickly tell what her personality was. She was a giddy and sweet girl, albeit a bit more susceptible than someone of her age should be. The other women followed along. Her joy was contagious as they approached the kitchens with you on their heels.

A self-satisfied smirk replaced the kind smile you wore for your servants.

Everything was going according to how you imagined it. Your maids took kindly to you, and as you traversed the long hallways and steps of the Keep, each passing nobleman and servant noticed your presence. One Lady gasped as you rounded a corner and met face-to-face, quickly scurrying away like a scared field mouse. A man who stood over a full head taller than you raked his eyes over your form, his attention staying on your breasts long enough for Jeyne to notice. She silently stepped before you could truly capture his face, only noting his long black hair and eyes.

Servants bustled throughout the kitchens, some throwing large pieces of dough on a floured table, others running with plates of food and ingredients in their hands. None of them paid attention as you entered, hidden behind the uniformed girls, having to duck beneath a misplaced stone in the stairwell ceiling.

Jeyne, Dyana, and Fiora led you through an archway into a room filled with even more people who still did not notice you, peeling carrots, potatoes, and other vegetables. You felt your chest deflate in defeat at your seemingly unimportant presence, not anticipating them to continue their tasks and not spare you a glance. It was not every day a member of the royal family graced them with their appearance.

It almost felt like the servants of the Keep did not see you as a Targaryen but as just another one of them. Your mouth soured at the thought, digging your nails into your palms until they left imprints. It would be best if you were happy to see them collectively agree you were not like the rest of your kin, but still, not receiving the recognition you tried so hard for was gutting. You could feel your body deflating, curling in on itself as your previous confidence dwindled.

No matter, you told yourself. This can work to my advantage.

They saw you as not someone to be feared, and perhaps you could extend those same opinions toward your Mother. Rhaenyra needed everyone who resided in the Red Keep to be on her side when she ascended the throne, the nobles who lived at court, and the knights who protected and defended the Targaryen name. Everyone was needed.

Jeyne handed you a peach from off the wooden table a male servant used to cut some vegetables, smiling as your thumb stroked the fuzzy skin. You could still remember when fruits such as that were unavailable to you, though these memories were faint and grew more difficult to recall as time passed. Dyana then found a jug of cider, filling a small goblet up to wash down the sweet taste that danced on your tongue, and Fiora used the corner of her apron to wipe the stray juices that dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. You smiled at them both gratefully, fighting on the inside not to swat their doting hands away, feeling like a child again.

You sucked the last bit of the pulp from the large seed before removing it from your lips and throwing it in the bucket they used for scraps. You continued to sip on the brass goblet Dyana had given you, following them from out of the kitchens and into a courtyard you had never seen before. It was lined with pens filled with livestock. Sheep, pigs, goats, and chickens belting, chirping, and snorting as you passed.

You were still determining exactly where the tourney would be held but had yet to hear of the vast and spacious arena it was. You knew you would be sitting inside the royal box next to the other noble members of your family, and you couldn't hide how less than joyful that made you feel. You did wonder if the King would be there, knowing that what the Maester and Otto said were complete lies about his health. Some of you still held onto hope that there was some truth in their deceitfulness. Indeed, they couldn't be so bold as to say something that could easily be disproven with one's eyes. The next Council meeting would undoubtedly be an eventful one.

Your ladies led you back inside an entrance of the castle you had never seen before, urging you to follow their steps and assuring you were close. Soon, the low rumbling of voices could be heard. Different pitches and accents all melted into one continuous barrage of sound as you ascended the stairs to your seat.

The first leg of the tourney was set to begin in a short while, and most of the royal family had already made their appearance. Even the eldest prince sat in a high back chair, practically falling asleep with a cup of wine in his hand. A slight grin formed on your face at the endearing sight, appearing as if you were looking at a babe rather than a man grown. His perfectly pink lips stuck out in a pout, a sigh escaping as he adjusted in his seat.

You were standing above him diagonally on the top riser and could see every huff, and every scoff he made as his Mother spoke to him, but Aegon could not see you. Queen Alicent said straight ahead, not looking at him as you saw her permanent scowl. It was her firstborn's name day, which should be celebrated with nothing but smiles and laughs. One would think she would be happy for such an occasion.

Aegon said something to his Mother that made her snap her head in his direction, ready to offer him some choice words as she saw you.

You could hear the gasp leaving Alicent clutching the pointed star of the Seven glued to her neck. You swore by the sound she made she had not seen you but the Stranger himself as her face paled. The Queen whispered something as she quickly looked away. Aegon was just as shocked as you regarding his Mother's reaction. He thought she might faint as he swiftly turned to see what it was all about.

Your gazes looked at one another, and your cheeks reddened under his stare. You felt your heart flutter in your chest, offering him a quick curtsey as you walked to an open seat at the lowest riser, crossing your legs as you adjusted the dagger at your hip.

Aegon had died. Well, it certainly felt like it when he laid his eyes on you. For once, his vision was clear and not yet clouded by the drink, and he could see your perfectly crafted body. He immediately went to the plunging neckline of your dress; how could he not? Your breasts were right there where he could see, noticing how much bigger they were than he initially imagined. He then noticed the curled golden dragon around your neck, reminding him of his own, Sunfyre. Had you chosen that for him? Did you purposefully put that on with him in mind? Aegon could feel his cock harden at the thought.

He watched you descend the giant stone steps, holding your skirts up so you did not trip as he saw your bare ankles. He could hardly contain the twitch of his hips at the sight. Aegon had been with many women in his life, too many to count, and yet seeing just a peak of your hidden skin had him nearly spilling in his breeches.

He thought back to your moment in the Godswood. Underneath the Heart Tree, the fragments of the sunrise peeking through the leaves dotted your skin with beautiful rays of yellow. One had been over your eyes, and Aegon had seen your pupils shrink and reveal more of the purple that bathed there. He never wanted to leave that moment with you. He wanted to stay forever underneath that tree, trace the scars on your skin, and kiss every part of you until he had you squirm underneath him.

Aegon remembered how your breathing hastened as your jaw trembled at his touch, your face contorted into a gorgeous pout as he pulled your lip with his thumb. He noticed how you were clenching your thighs together even though you had no idea. Nothing had changed between the two of you, he realized. Aegon knew you desired him as much as he desired you. You just did not know it yet.

Gods. He wanted to take the empty seat next to you so badly but knew what his Mother would say if he did-- what she would do if he did. So, instead, he signaled for a serving girl to fill his chalice to the brim, drowning his sorrows in Arbor Red.

***

You felt rather pathetic as you shifted in your seat, the wood creaking with your weight as you still held your wreath of flowers. You could sense everyone's eyes on you and the empty chairs positioned at your sides. No one wanted to sit next to the bastard, you mocked in your head, feeling as if your eyes would pop out of your skull if you rolled them any harder.

It was the fifth round of the tourney, and five men had been knocked off their horses, but no fighting had ensued. Bracken, Tully, Arryn, Tyrell, and Blackwood boys had to skulk back to the stables knowing they had lost.

The King had still yet to show if he was ever going to, and you had given a fierce glare at Otto Hightower a few rows up when he announced the tournament had officially started. You had caught the stare of Princess Helaena in the process and immediately softened, returning her kind smile before the One-Eyed Prince stole her. You made a mental note to see her at the feast the following evening, perhaps share a dance or two.

With the end of the fifth round started the sixth, and the vibrant lion banners of House Lannister were prominently displayed as Ser Tyland entered the arena. He sat atop his chestnut horse, trotting over to the squire that held his lance. He approached the royal box, and you thought for a moment he might ask you for your favor. You couldn't hide the distance as he smiled up at you but turned his face away, looking at someone behind you.

"I am Ser Tyland of House Lannister," he announced.

Yes, you twat, you said internally, we know who you are. You live here.

"Princess Helaena," he called, and she looked up from her fingers to the man below her. His voice nearly made you vomit. "Would you do me the honor of bestowing your favor for the next round, Princess?" he asked chivalrously.

She glanced at her grandsire beside her, and he nodded in approval as she stood, her pale yellow dress shining in the autumn sun.

"Of course," she smiled, walking to the steps to place her ring of white and blue flowers on the pole of his lance.

"I thank you, your Grace," he replied and then trotted back to the waiting young squire.

Helaena stood there momentarily, her eyes glassy as she looked at you. It didn't feel like her gaze was on you, but more looking through you as she whispered. "Heed the beast within the deep. Rock runs red, and rocks bleed."

You looked at her confused, brows furrowing, and reached for her hand, asking her to speak louder. She quickly smacked it away, her eyes widening in fear as if she was suddenly woken from a dream, and she hurried up the steps.

You didn't have time to dwell on Helaena's outburst as Ser Tyland Lannister's opponent entered the wring. His armor was an impenetrable crepuscule steel and as shiny as the scales that covered your dragon's flesh, a helmet the same color with a mane of yellow hairs spanning from his crown to the base of his neck. His banners were ones you had only seen on paper. Most of the fabric was black, just like his thick armor, but the sigil was a deep golden kraken with ten long tentacles, nearly spanning the entire flag. The squid-like beasts of House Greyjoy were said to terrorize the depths of the oceans and sink the ships of those unsuspecting.

You were unsure of which Greyjoy it was. Dalton or Veron or maybe a cousin or some distant kin that shared the name. You didn't care who it was. They were just another lord or knight seeking fame inside a wood and dirt stadium.

You signaled for a servant, and he gave you a chalice of wine as you slumped in your seat. You didn't want to cloud your mind with alcohol, always the one to be alert and observe things other people may not notice, but this was getting rather irksome, and you needed something to do other than sit and look pretty.

"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," the knight said, his horse a dusty grey color as he lifted his helmet off his head. You ignored him with confidence that it was not you he was speaking to, taking another gulp of wine as you swirled the drink.

Dalton was a fierce and ruthless man. You had heard his stories of his youth sailing the Basilisk Isles with his late uncle, pillaging the towns there. He had somehow claimed a Valyrian steel sword named Nightfall during those plunders. At one point, he had aided in the battle of the Stepstones as a sellsail, where his uncle was murdered. It had been rumored in a fit of vengeance, he killed every enemy within his sight and emerged from the battle victorious and drenched in blood. Since then, he bore the title of the Red Kraken.

"I come seeking the favor of the bastard girl the court speaks so much of." A collective gasp sounded in the royal box, shocked at his words.

You barked out a laugh at Ser Dalton, attempting not to choke on the liquid you just swallowed. You should have been insulted at him for calling you such a name. In the eyes of the law and the Seven, you were no longer a bastard, but clearly, that did not stop people from claiming you as such.

"You have found her, Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," you mocked, crossing your legs as you began to play with a small leaf. You smiled as you noticed the maroon outline of his House sigil on his breastplate.

Everything thing about him was dark and menacing. He radiated an aura of malevolence from the inside as if you would cut him open; he would not bleed the same red. "Though, I do not think you deserve my favor after calling me such a name." Men and women released more gasps, and you could hear someone muttering a soft "Gods be good" under their breath.

You waited for the following apology, but it did not come, leaving you sitting there like a fool. You hummed in disapproval, pushing yourself upright.

"I am no longer a bastard girl," you stood, holding the flower wreath between your fingers, "but that of a woman born from a night of sinful heat and passion. I am skilled with the blade and well-read. I study history, philosophy, and the politics of the realm." Ser Dalton's onyx gaze crept from your leather slippers to the white streak in your hair. He watched you step closer and lean over the railing so only he could hear you. "I am not just a simple fucking bastard girl."

He watched the words roll off your tongue, gripping his lance tighter with parted lips as you placed the circle of black and wine-colored flowers on it.

You fixed your spine, staring down your nose at the bannerman before you. "Win this joust Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy, and I will forgive the slight you have made upon me. For I am afraid if you do not, the sand of the Iron Islands shall turn to glass, and your Salt Wives will finally be free. You have my favor and my luck." You flicked your wrist as you walked back to your seat. "Off with you."

"Thank you, Princess. You honor me deeply." He lifted the fist that carried his helmet and crossed it over his chest, bowing his head with an amused smirk.

You sat down, grabbed the cup you had been working on, and asked the servant to fill it again, unbothered with his courtly manners. Ser Dalton placed his helmet back on and readied his horse for the first bout.

You almost chuckled at the sight, drink to your lips. Sitting on his horse, he looked like a nasty black pony with a yellow mane, ready to bite and kick anyone nearby. His whole get-up was quite ridiculous as you continued to watch.

Ser Tyland's armor was so very much... Lannister. There was no other word to describe the style. He wore a long red flowing cape, his dense silver breastplate trimmed with gold in the shape of a lion.

An announcer with a sizeable brass horn stepped onto a wooden platform a few meters before the royal box. He wore a plum-colored hat with a dyed feather and an off-white tunic dampened with sweat and stained with dust as he shouted the outlining phrases for the beginning of this round. He introduced each House and their respective ranks within them.

"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, conqueror of thirteen Salt Wives, Lord of the Iron Islands," he boomed into the sky, swaying his hand to the right side of the arena to where the man was. He paused to let the crowd shout their praises.

Screams and hollers of people echoed loudly, drowning out the announcer as he introduced Tyland next. You could see the proud Lannister boy's ego was hurt at the apparent favoritism, and you feigned a pout at the sight.

Finally, he blew his horn, signaling they could begin. Ser Dalton did not waste a breath in fear as he charged at Ser Tyland, his yellow-striped lance already bent and ready to take his opponent off his horse. You scoffed, taking another sip of the sickly sweet wine.

If he planned to knock Tyland down on his first try, he clearly did not comprehend the point of a joust. You did not understand why the audience would love him if he intended to get this over swiftly. This was supposed to be entertainment and not battle. It was meant to be a spectacle for the crowd, a break from the mundane life of the court.

At the last second, as Dalton and Tyland were about to collide stick to the chest, Ser Dalton lifted his lance straight. Ser Tyland's breezed past his rival, completely missing his goal with a cheer from the crowd. You mirrored their sentiments but did not show it on the outside, only adjusting in your seat with a soft sigh. You saw Dalton to the left now, and if you did not know any better, smirked at you. Arrogant, just like the Lannisters.

They went at it again, the hooves of their steeds thundering on the packed earth. This time neither of them started with their poles down, only for Ser Tyland to raise it at the last moment and knock Ser Dalton in the shoulder. Sadly, he did not fall off his horse and only lost his grip on the lance, dragging a line in the dirt. You laughed, pleased to have witnessed at least some bruising to the man's pride.

You tried your best to ignore the stares of those behind you. They had been on you since you sat. No doubt, if you looked, you would only be met with aversion and disgust. You steeled yourself, moving from your slouched position to rest your hands on the arms of the chair.

Aegon was part of the stares, though his expression differed significantly from the others. His Mother had cast him a sidelong glance at his reaction, and only then did he outwardly calm. He had been inside his mind until the squid boy approached you, asking for your favor. He even had the gull to call you a bastard! In front of nearly the entire court of the Red Keep! Oh, how Aegon wanted to call his dragon and burn the fish to pieces.

It also did nothing to soothe him when he saw you lean over the box fence, telling the squid boy only something he could hear. He knew your breasts were on display for the man judging by his hungry gaze. At one point, Aegon swore he saw him adjust his stance in the saddle.

Aegon was furious. His nails dug into his seat's material, feeling splinters wedge underneath them. He stole a pitcher of wine from a servant, keeping it on his lap so he could have continued access to it.

He was so, so furious as he watched your sudden interest in the tournament. He knew you were only mesmerized by the men in front of you because Ser Dalton gave you attention. Aegon wasn't upset over that; no, he was upset over the fact that the Lord of Pyke had won the round by hitting Tyland Lannister straight into the chest, sending him flying into the dust. He noticed how your shoulders lifted with barely contained excitement as he watched Ser Dalton send a bow your way.

He groaned, not filtering his discontent for the rest of the rounds that unfolded, which, sadly, each one Ser Dalton was the victor of. Eventually, the final bout started. His opponent was a Glover boy from the north, unsure of which one, but it didn't matter as he witnessed the Red Kraken get thrown from his horse. Aegon couldn't help but cheer theatrically at the sound of the lance splintering when colliding with his stomach.

He had caught your sudden gaze then, brown eyes flitting over how he stood and clapped his hands. You didn't smile but gave him a look of confusion, your thick brows furrowing. He had felt his jubilance subside, but only slightly.

Suddenly, Ser Dalton shouted, yanking a sword and shield from his squire and challenging the victor to a duel. Aegon felt his stomach sink into his chair as a strand of his blonde mane obscured his vision. Oh, splendid, he mused; the squid has pride.

The Glover had taken up the challenge without strife, still proudly wearing the banner of his House on his back. Aegon wondered if you had ever witnessed a duel before. He knew you had taken a life, but it was not the same as watching someone do it. Selfishly, he dreamed you would turn away at the sight and seek comfort from him, but that was all it was... a dream.

You watched with surprise as the Glover's and Dalton's swords clashed, the clang ringing in your ears. Each slash and thud of their metal longswords sent a jolt through your bones, curling your toes and squeezing your drink in a vice-like grip. You hated to admit that you felt nervous, your heart beating just a little too fast to be considered normal.

Ser Dalton's swings were wild but held a skillful precision, connecting with the Glover's side. It knocked the wind out of the poor boy's lungs and had him raising his shield as Dalton kicked it, sending him stumbling further.

He was so savage, so bloodthirsty that it made you shiver. You finally understood why he was called the Red Kraken, and you feared for the Glover's life. Surely, he wouldn't kill the boy; you hoped he wouldn't. The poor lad looked like he had just become a man. He was much shorter than Dalton but still taller than you, and he looked like this was his first tourney. You wished he would yield.

Ser Dalton swung at the boy, his armored fist connecting to his jaw with a nauseating crunch of bone and metal. Confidently, he kicked to disoriented teen in the stomach, knocking him to the ground, his sword falling just out of reach. He went to pull his shield to defend himself, but Dalton stomped on the arm that carried it. You could see how the Kraken stood over the Armored Glove, unable to hear what he said to him. You didn't need to. You knew what came next, and it did not frighten you. The Glover lost the duel as the Greyjoy raised his sword, cutting off the words that attempted to leave his tongue with a blade to the throat.

It was bloody. So very bloody. The essence of the Glovers' life force spurted from his body onto the face of Ser Dalton Greyjoy, dripping from his chin. You heard the gasps of those around you, a platter dropping at the horrific show as the ground became saturated with red. You didn't feel sad as you watched two people drag his body away, the crowd bursting into cheers and applause. In fact, you felt hardly anything, sitting as if nothing had happened as the announcer raised Ser Dalton's hand in triumph. You were used to death by now.

To the outside person, you looked alright, but Aegon knew you were anything but. Your knuckles blanched around your drink, resting it in your lap. He felt foolish to think you would shy away from such things. He knew you were much more robust than that, but still, he hoped you would run to him.

Everything next seemed to happen in slow motion. Aegon watched the crown of roses intended for the Queen of Love and Beauty be placed into Dalton's bloodied palms, strutting over to the royal box as he called out the most beautiful name he had ever heard... Yours.

His little one. His love.

Aegon went to jump out of his seat, but the firm hand of his Mother yanked his arm, abruptly pulling him back down before he could mock the royal family with his outburst. He wanted to rip his Mother off him and run to you. He wished to hide you from the hundreds of eyes staring at you. This wasn't right. He panicked. This cannot be right. You were his, and he was yours until the end of days.

He pictured what Ser Dalton's head would look like on a spike as you walked down the stairs and onto the small platform below. He watched the Salt Lord's eyes rake across your body as he placed the crown on your head, whispering something that made you clench your fists.

Everyone knew what this meant grandiose display meant. The Lord Reaper of Pyke intended to court his pretty girl and make a Salt Wife out of her. No, Aegon thought. That will never do.

Master List of Series

Spotify Playlist

YouTube Playlist

I hope y'all liked this chapter. It's an exciting one! We've met a new character, Dalton Greyjoy. He plays a big part in The Dance of Dragons. I won't spoil it for anyone, but let's say his heart runs black… The next chapter is the feast for our baby boy's 20th birthday! Let's hope Aegon gets everything he wishes for.

Tagged Peeps:  @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @fatalewomen, @somemydayy, @ariana-dumbledore8, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @sunny-boy-06 

Bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason :(

[wavypotatochips]

𝑺𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓 | 𝑵𝒆𝒚𝒎𝒂𝒓 𝑱𝒓.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 : Neymar Jr x Female reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 : You are an upcoming Call of Duty streamer that's ends up in a private lobby match with Neymar. During the match, you constantly kill him with his own operator skin. He gets upset and decides to message you.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 1.9𝘬

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: This is my FIRST time writing an imagine and I am currently learning a 3rd language so I apologize if my grammar is horrible-my brain is frying lol c': If you guys would like a part 2 pls interact!

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ♥

You are an upcoming Twitch streamer who has around 8,000

subscribers, streaming Call of Duty Modern Warfare II on a Friday

night- very typical for someone like you. You were playing with

another streamer at the time; she was a good friend from college and

had more subscribers (about 500k) than you had. She is the one who

suggested that since you have always been a gamer, you try your

hand at being a streamer. While your friend Jocey, a fellow Twitch

streamer, left to get a drink, you were considering which operator to

get by looking through the storefront within the game. "Okay chat

which skin should I purchase?" The 4,560 viewers of the livestream

immediately started spamming the chatroom with "Messi" or

"Neymar Jr.", which wasn't much assistance because so many people

said one or the other that it was impossible to determine which one

was most popular. "Well, that wasn't much help, now was it?" you

chuckle. Leaning closer to the monitor as you modify your position

on your gaming chair, you try to decide which one you like. You click

to make the purchase while muttering to yourself. "I guess I'll

choose Neymar for the time being and get Messi afterwards." Even

though you didn't know much about Messi or Neymar, you were

aware that they were two of the best three football players in the

world. Once more you glance over at the chatroom and read, "Why

don't I just buy both? Since I spend most of my money on new video

games, I really can't afford to buy both." Jocey's voice may be heard

briefly through the microphone saying, "Yeah, you totally didn't

spend your money on going to a concert." "Alright, maybe that was it

too." You click on the game invitation she sent you and muttered. You

inquire, raising an eyebrow, "Search and Destroy?" She answers

swiftly, “Another streamer wanted to host a  search and destroy

lobby, is that okay? If not, we can go back to doing our own thing.”

You're not bothered at all. Call of Duty's Search and Destroy game

mode calls for 4-6 players per squad. While the other team works to

defuse it, one team must plant a bomb at the explosive site. Every

player only has one life. By successfully defusing the bomb,

successfully placing the bomb, or being the last team standing, you

can win the game. “No it's fine no worries… I'm ready to destroy all

these bitchesssss.” You stretch a little, crack your knuckles, and look

across at the other gamertags in the lobby not being able to make

out any of the names. To ensure that the squad can all join the party

together, Jocey says, "Okay, I'll provide you the discord connection."

While navigating to Discord to join the link and join the channel you

spotted, you nod your head despite the fact that she couldn't see

you. Jocey had entered with four other people already. Shortly after

the introductions, everyone turned their attention to the game.

Naturally, it wasn't a competition, but we didn't want to look bad in

front of our audience. The game shortly started and you were doing

decent as you were averaging at least 2-3 kills before dying. One

game suddenly became six which wasn't surprising as you can never

believe a gamer when they claim to be playing just one. You always

eliminate the player with the gamertag "Neigh" that was on the

opposite team in each game that was played. “ I just know this Neigh

person is pissed off.” The seventh and last game loads. With both

your team and the opposing squad each having three victories, the

game was now deadlocked. Jocey laughs and says, "Since this is the

last game, when we die we should leave the main chat so the ones

who are alive can concentrate." "Alright bet bet bet bet.” You

respond, the other guys in our party agreeing. As soon as the game

began, bodies began to fall from both teams; on your team, you and

Jocey were the only survivors. “Jocey if you die I will strangle you

myself.” You gripped the mouse firmly, feeling as though your heart

may jump out of your chest. How challenging can a 2v2 be? You

and Jocey have done this a lot of times. Before you can cheer, Jocey

dies. The Kill feed shows Jocey getting a kill, which made you joyful.

You bite your bottom lip when the game tells you that you are the last

one left alive, "Well chat, it's just you and me now, and let me tell you. Eu acredito que eu poderia cagar um tijolo agora ... Eu odeio ser o último vivo!" (I believe I could possibly shit a brick right now... I hate being the last one alive!)

As you searched the map for the last person, all you could hear was

silence. The game informs you that a bomb has been planted, and

you have 30 seconds to locate and neutralize it. One of the bomb

sites suddenly begins to glow. The only words that came out of your

mouth as you moved cautiously toward the explosives were "Fuck

fuck fuck fuck fuck." You watch the opponent stoop down and start

hardscoping the bomb location as you draw nearer, which makes you

grin evilly. They are unaware that you are directly behind them.

You make the decision to try Neymar Jr.'s execution move instead of

shooting them since he is the operator you are playing. When you are

close enough, you press the keyboard to start the execution by

catching the enemy. Neymar Jr. execution consisted of kicking the

opponent in the back of the leg, causing the opponent to fall to his

knees and then elevating his leg, kicking him hard in the face. As it

happens, you chuckle, and once he was dead, you hurried over to

defuse the explosives. You glance over at the chat room while using

the keyboard to disarm the explosives. “Quem quer que tenha sido a

última pessoa precisa excluir seu jogo.” (whoever that last person

was needs to delete their game)” As you read some of the messages,

you smile. When the game ended and your team was the victor, you

realized it was the "Neigh" individual you had slain yet again. “Sim, o

cavalo precisa ficar em um lugar de cavalos. Devo enviar-lhe

cenouras por correio?” (Yeah, the horse needs to stay in a horse's

place. Should I mail him carrots?) Even if you thought the joke was

humorous, you must admit that it was really corny. As you become

perplexed upon seeing your view account soar to over 200k viewers,

your laughter quickly comes to an end. “What the...?” You instantly

thought Jocey viewers were just raiding you (raiding= many viewers

join their livestream for a short amount of time), “Oh, ei Jocey, os

telespectadores gostaram disso? Apenas saiba que foi uma

embreagem rara e é mais do que provável que eu não possa fazer

isso novamente haha” (Oh hey Jocey viewers, did you like that?

Just know that it was a rare clutch and I will more than likely not be

able to do that again haha)  Little did you know that the person you

kept killing with the operator skin was the man himself, and he was

now observing you from the other side of the screen. Your stream

was open on his monitor allowing his viewers to see you, which

resulted in them searching you up themselves.

Neymar found it infuriating to keep dying by the same individual,

especially since it was his own operator. He had a small tantrum

every time he died, cursing towards his monitor and letting out

stressful sighs. Once the game was over he read his chat

noticing that someone had mentioned the identity of the Twitch

account that kept killing him, Smilingxo. “Smilingxo, eh? Vamos ver

quem eles são.” (Smilingxo, eh? Lets see who they are.)  He instantly

opens Twitch and types in the username, expecting to be greeted by

a male but to be astonished to see a female.  one that is also

appealing. He joined exactly at the time when you made fun of his

username,“Ela acabou de me chamar de cavalo?” (Did she just call

me a horse?) He laughs as he turns to his camera, “Vocês podem

acreditar nisto! Eu morri constantemente por ela... Eu sou tão ruim

neste jogo." Another sigh was released, " Isso me estressa.”(Can you

guys believe this! I constantly died by her… I am so bad at this

game. It stresses me out.) He takes one more look at you before

closing your channel. “Alright guys I'm gonna end it here and get

some rest.” He says to the chat, not bothering to join in the discord

channel that everyone was talking into-instead he just sent his

friend, the host, a text message. He yawns as he waves at the

camera, saying ‘Goodnight’ while ending the stream and beginning

to shut everything down. The sight of you continued to linger in his

mind. You were not only attractive to him, but seeing how good you

were at the game definitely made you get extra brownie points. With

him only seeing you for a few minutes, he couldn’t help but feel a bit

curious about you. Grabbing his phone once more, he looks back at

your twitch account to see if he could take another look at you. 

Meanwhile, since the viewers have been here, not all of them have

been polite; the majority of them were offended when you referred to

the username "Neigh" as a horse. You didn't believe them when they

said that Neymar Jr. was the user. Really, what are the chances that

you two are playing together?  “Mesmo que fosse Neymar, não tenho

culpa que seu nome de usuário me fizesse pensar que ele era um

cavalo.” (Even if it was Neymar it's not my fault his username made

me think he was a horse) you respond sarcastically while rolling your

eyes at the others comments. “There is no reason for y'all to be

acting this way over a practice match.” You mumble as you watch the

screen say you were disconnected from the match. When Jocey

returns to the channel you were in, you hear a tone through your

headphones. "Hey Y/N I believe everyone is leaving; do you want to

continue playing? Or are you also finished?"

“I think I'm done. Your viewers are starting to annoy me with this raid.

Why am I getting attacked because I kept killing the horse?”

“My viewers? What do you mean…. I am not raiding you?” She replies

back confused. “Nevermind. Yeah I'm gonna get off, I'll text you

tomorrow. Goodnight Jocey!” You wave your hand at the camera to

also say bye to the viewers, “ Sweet Dreams to the Smiling family

and to everyone that was being rude I hope you guys get

nightmares.” The broadcast was subsequently cut off, and your

computer was turned off. You sigh, realizing that you really shouldn't

have wasted your time arguing with the random chat users, but you

did so because you found it amusing that they were unhappy for the

wrong reasons. You shut down your computer and then get ready for

bed by taking a shower. When you are all set for bed, your lovely bed

beckons you, and you breathe a sigh of relaxation. You hear a "ding"

from your phone as you settle in and cuddle up under the blankets.

You sigh and sit up to grab it because you believe Jocey messaged

you. When a notification appears on your lockscreen, your eyes

widen and you cover your mouth with your free hand as you

immediately start to totally regret everything you said on video.

Instagram : NeymarJr wants to send you a message.

Edit : PART 2 POSTED!

[proshipcallblog]

Welcome to the proship call blog!

This blog is designated to find fellow proshippers and make friends!

Rules and Info

-> Please specify if you are a minor or an adult. This is purely out of safety precautions and comfort of others.

-> Please add your way of getting in contact (messaging, likes or reblogs on the call, discord usernames, etc.)

-> If you'd like, you may add specific fandoms or interests (and also if you'd like for me to add the fandom tag as the default is without the fandom tag to avoid antis)

-> We will promote discord servers or blogs if I am told about their existence but I am usually not aware of them if I'm not told lol

-> You may send multiple calls or a repeat call after a week since your other post. This is purely out of convinience for others on this blog.

-> If you don't see your call after a while (wait 2 days atleast) feel free to shoot a message as I may have not gotten it but alot of the time I'm a little busy.

-> Please be respectful in your calls or replys, this should be a known.

-> This blog has no DNI and everyone is allowed here. However, please do keep in mind that this blogs target audience is for proshippers who want to talk to other proshippers.

-> Also keep in mind that we are allowed to delete calls or asks we don't wish to post (for my comfort or for the comfort of others).

-> This blog is run by one person who sometimes uses we but is just one person (Mod Stella). Mod Stella also has short-term memory loss so we might forget something! We do apologize for any future mishaps.

[heartfullofleeches]

Clown reader ! What about yandere manager ?

Clown reader ! My second favourite from Jester reader ( i'm sorry )

( basically a yandere manager ;-;;)

They have their number one fan, whom will always be there at their shows and buying each and every merchandise that got released.

But what about the fan that's been with them for the longest of time ?

Their manager has always been there - since the first day of their debut. And going all the way with them until now !

So why not go grab a meal with their dear manager after the show ? After all, it's just for asking how both have been and some talking.

Nothing could go wrong..

..right ?-

( this is my first time sending an ask so :')) My apologies if it was too long! And i also apologize if I got anything wrong about the character cuz i don't have very good memory ;-;;

I hope this ask get through)

Sincerely,

🎠

You furiously scrub as your face with a wet paper towel as you exit the bathroom. If you had known they were taking you to such a fancy place after today's recording, you would've brought a change of clothes. Walking back to the table, wandering eyes follow the colorful corners peaking from your coat. You do your best to hide them. A fellow customer from a neighboring table lifts their phone to take a picture of you as you sit; camera lens blocked by a menu.

"Sweetheart, there you are! Kept me waiting, but you're lookin stunning as always. I can't tell if I like you more with or without the makeup. Get comfortable, order whatever you want.

You can't help but grin at the nickname. They've been using little pet names since the beginning of your partnership, but they feel more sincere now than the faux kindness that they showered everyone in. It makes you happy to know they see you as someone good to spend time with other than for the paycheck. Your manager hands you the menu; drilling in the notion you could have whatever your little heart decided. With a quick look at the menu, you notice there's no prices next to the entrees.

"Are you sure you don't mind paying? This place seems really high class. We can split it if you like."

Your manager raises their hand to stop you. "Y/n, please. I gotta treat my star player well, plus you deserve the finer things in life. It's my pleasure."

"If you say so... Just kinda feels like someplace you'd take someone on a date."

The thought slips out before you can realize what you've said, but it's no harm on their conscious. Quite the opposite in fact. They fold their hands together.

"Well, like I said, I wanna treat you right. Probably the only person in town who can. Not to mention, ratings for this quarter came in the other night and viewer scores are through the roof. You can think of this as a celebration."

"Really?"

"Would I ever lie to you? Got the papers right here." Your manager places a folder on the table. You don't have to look at it to believe them.

"That's great." You look at your reflection in an empty wine glass, paint smeared into the corner of your lips. "Makes saying goodbye just a little harder."

Your manager chokes on a mouthful of water. "Bye? You're not thinking about leaving us, are you?"

You raise your hands in surrender. "Course not!... Not yet anyway."

You tug on your frilly sleeves. You're happy where you are. That's something you know for sure, but you're not positive it's the life you want anymore. The word is your stage; audience far bigger than you ever could've dreamed, but it's suffocating. Your fans love you. Not just your character, but the face benath. Sometimes it feels like that love goes beyond the screen and fan letters. Sometimes - you feel like you're being followed.

"I... wanted to keep this private until I was sure, but I think I've been followed home before. Obviously I don't want to ruin everything for one person's actions, but I know it's more. On top of that I'm pretty well off financially. This was never for the money, but I just kinda miss things before I got big, you know?"

Of course they know. Your manager knows your story better than any of your little fans could ever imagine, even if they squeeze every detail of your life from everyone in it. They had been with you through it all. Your small failures, and your biggest leaps. It was an insult to think otherwise, and that they'd give up everything you built together.

"Y/n." Your manager reaches across the table to grab your trembling hands. "Everything's going to be fine. We'll get through this - together, and nobody's going to touch a hair on your head. To start off, we're moving you out of that shoebox you call an apartment and getting you a real place to live. You can stay with me until we find something."

You close your eyes, nodding along to their proposal. "Okay... that sounds like a good place to start."

Your manager draws closer, touch working up your arm. Someone taps on your shoulder before they can reach.

"Hi- I really hope I'm not interrupting, but can i take a picture with you? The kids I babysit love the show your costume is of."

You glance at your manager. They're already looking down at their phone. "Sure."

Taking photos with the stranger, your manager is left at the table alone; reliving memories of the past immortalized by old photos. Why did they ever agree to this? If you hadn't got so popular, they wouldn't have to share you with the world, but now they used the grounds of that success to remain stable in their own right. Maybe with you in their home they'd find a new start in your relationship.

Lord knows they'll never let you leave once you're inside.

[shelfthe-reader]

Where am I going with this? That’s between me and God

I finished 9-1-1 three weeks ago and the one thing that’s stuck with me these past three weeks is not Buck’s coming out, but his LACK of one + what that means to me as a fellow bisexual. I kinda talked about it in @lenaboskow’s ask box but I wanted to write a full essay on it. (Spoilers for (9-1-1 S7 but if y’all are seeing this you’ve watched it already let’s be real)

ALSO TO BEGIN EVERYONE COMES OUT DIFFERENTLY I JUST WANTED TO POINT OUT WHAT I RELATE TO ON A PERSONAL LEVEL AND I AM IN NO WAY BASHING PEOPLE WHO HAVE BIG COMING OUTS

So his bisexuality is revealed to the audience circa one of those “if i kiss you will you stop yapping” moments. Right? Cool. Not the important part since we’ve had fruity undertones since the beginning. Moving on.

Officially, Buck only comes out TWICE. But that was never the important part of the scenes.

First, with Maddie, Buck needed support after a date gone wrong. He avoids pronouns because it’s not the important part. But the “he” is slipped because its dramatic etc etc but even when Maddie is like “Let’s go back to the pronoun” Buck is like “Yeah he but THATS NOT THE POINT I LIED TO MY BEST FRIEND”.

I guess we COULD classify the Buck&Eddie scene at the end of 705 a major “coming out” since that was a lot of the scene but we ALSO need to remember that the main focus was Buck apologizing to his best friend for his jealous antics. Him going on a date with Tommy was just collateral. He just wanted to make sure everything was out in the open so something like 3A didn’t happen again.

And he doesn’t even come out to his team officially. He kisses Tommy who he KNOWS is covered in soot and dirt and sweat and walks back into his sister’s Wedding on purpose. No fanfare. No nothing.

And personally, I’m glad how it played out (though I wish it was literally anyone BUT Tommy but thats not the point here.) Yes, big emotional coming outs are a thing, but media often portrays it as the ONLY thing. Buck being all “fuck it we ball” about it really hit me because I’m not one for big coming outs either. Offhand comment here, action there, but NEVER the focus of the conversation. That’s just not who I am and seeing another person in popular media, ESPECIALLY a bisexual who, to outsiders, may not fit the “queer mold” made me feel comfortable in who I am.

So yeah. Evan Buckley, I love you with my entire being and wish you all good things in the world.

SO TL;DR: Buck not having official BIG “coming outs” means a lot to me because it supports the idea that not everyone has/needs a big official coming out and THATS OKAY. I really needed that assurance.

Did any of this make sense I’m high on pain medications 😃

(also PS not tagging Tommy because I hate that man SEPARATE from me being somewhat of a Buddie shipper)