#Elegant Coach

[fairytale-poll]

ROUND 1A, MATCH 12 OUT OF 16!

*The image being used for The Wide-Awake Princess is the book cover, though neither of the characters on it are Eleanor / Cinderella. There is no official art of her that I could find and am using the book cover as a place-holder. If you have found OFFICIAL art of the character that I did not feel free to send it in.

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Eleanor:

She’s a pretty typical Cinderella, but her magic falls apart early because she bumped into the protagonist who has anti-magic >:3

Elegant "Ella":

Ella fights for labor reform! I just reread the book intentionally so I could make propaganda for her but now my head is empty only LOVE FOR ELLA. She has two (gay) fairy godfathers, she worked in a sweatshop where her mother died, she has a well-developed with her prince, Dash Charming. The glass slippers are a very important motif even though she doesn’t actually get a pair herself because she was a secret fairy godparent case because the fairy godparent organization had become corrupt and wasn’t helping needy children, only the rich. It’s a sequel to Grounded which is a Rapunzel story, but Disenchanted stands alone in the same world and it’s my most favorite of the two!! She’s so kind and helps institute kingdom wide labor reform and ahhhhhhhh

Former child laborer who wants to use her family's newfound privilege to fight for workers' rights. Brave, smart, and compassionate, although she can also be reckless, because she's just a kid and she deserves BETTER. Actually has a good relationship to her step-family, who are badass and Black like her, and there's this really touching moment at the end that recontextualizes things a lot and it's very sweet and cool worldbuilding. Her fairy godmother is two gay contractors who overthrow their boss for being complicit in a corporate espionage/coup scheme. She has a nice and believable relationship with her prince, who is a fucking dork that learns to be less of a privileged idiot and would absolutely put his ass on the line for her in return. She's just so GOOD and Disenchanted is UNDERRATED, everyone go read it.

Her goal is to improve workers rights, directly inspired by the 19th century textile industry, right down to child labor and workers getting locked in factories. Her mother died working in a sweatshop. She struggles with her working class upbringing and her new upper class status after her father's invention made them rich. Not afraid of breaking the law. She's so cool and her book is so good.

[monicafinias]

Places you shouldn't be as a single woman looking for a Man!

1. Among bitter single women that speak ill of men and relationships

2. Gatherings where relationships are not encouraged

Reblog

[janjanenrico]

Zhongtong Bus LCK6118H Elegance Coach

CTTO: @compulsivewriter and Kerjzz Inspired by @techno2025

[georgiasedify]

Deportment - today's word of the day!

Georgia L Landers LLC

[rebeccablogs]

Autumn 🍂🍁 Ball Gowns Extravaganza

Autumn is a great season for beautiful bold orange,chocolates ,and reds ,and even dark plum colors which can be used in art and expression for the seasons fashion. Don’t forget about your accessories this Autumn 🍂 I love autumn balls,and formal events ,it’s the season to get creative and bold with fashion ball room gowns. The best thing about Autumn events is the food and music at the parties…

[parelmoer]

.

[sapphire-writes]

the winner takes it all

Art x Reader x Tashi

summary: winners deserve rewards, and Tashi is more than happy to spoil her star athlete with the help of her ever-dutiful husband.

word count: 2.7k

rating: mature/explicit/18+

warnings: porn no plot (deep breath) m/f/f dynamic, threesome, dom!Tashi, switch!Art, sub!Reader, p in v, creampie, overstim, hair pulling, titty play, use of toys, praise, teasing, spanking, orgasm denial, oral (fem receiving), oral (reader giving fem), face sitting

note: hope you enjoy! my first non-HOTD related fic!

link to other stories from me!

To be notified when I post something new, be sure to follow @sapphire-writes-updates & turn notifications on 💙

Your match had taken place several hours ago. You’d been anxious the entire time, but ended up winning, much to you and your coach’s pleasure. The ride back to the hotel was torturous, as well as the following mandatory ice bath, sauna, shower, and footage review. It was the routine you’d followed ever since Tashi began coaching you.

She was nothing if not thorough.

After tying up several loose ends, including Tashi grilling you for every point you missed, every fault she could see when she paused the footage, you now found yourself in a more pleasurable position. 

Art held your legs open as he continued his even thrusts, cock sliding against the walls of your pussy at a torturous pace. Tashi sat beside you, clad only in a silk robe and lace panties, brushing some hair from your face that was sticking to your forehead with perspiration.

You had the suite to yourself for the night. Tashi and Art’s little girl was safely tucked away with her grandmother in another elegant suite on the other side of the hotel. Another part of the routine. 

“Tash….”

“You did well out there today,” she interrupts, reaching beside her to the end table drawer and pulling out her Hitachi wand. It buzzes to life as she turns it on and a strangled whine leaves your throat as she presses it to your clit,  “See what happens when you put in the extra time? That backhand of yours is a lethal weapon now.”

“Fuck!” is the only response you’re able to give as Art moans at the vibrations as he continues to pound into you. 

She likes you best like this, fucked dumb on Art’s cock, mindlessly agreeing to her plans for future matches, eyes rolling back in your head. Different moves she’ll have you practice. How hard she plans to work you on the court the following morning. 

“Come on, come for me,” Tashi insists, hand trailing over your breasts, “What’s my girl need to come, hm? Need these pretty tits attended to?” She pinches your nipple for emphasis and your jaw slacks, a pleasurable current in your gut winding tighter and tighter with the continuous stimulation.

Art slings your left leg over his shoulder, pressing a tender kiss to your calf as he does so. 

The new angle sends him deeper inside of you and you clench, mouth falling open with an uncontrollable moan.

“That’s it,” Tashi murmurs, eyes never leaving your face, “Feels so good doesn’t it? Art knows how to treat his girl, huh? Don’t you baby?”

“Yes,” he hissed between clenched teeth, beads of sweat forming on his brow, “Fucking perfect pussy, god—”

Tashi removes her hand from your breast, taking hold of your chin.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes water with pleasurable tears but you do as she asks, always keen to follow her instructions. The tennis court, the bedroom, it was all the same playing field in the end.

“Come on baby,” she murmurs, leaning down and pressing a kiss against your lips, “Come for me, you’ve been such a good girl, you deserve it.”

“Fuck!” Art courses as your pussy tightens around him, “Oh uhhh—”

“I’m cumming,” you helplessly whimper, the words nearly a sob, “Tashi…..fuck….Art fuck feels so—-“ your abdominal muscles tense as your reach your peak, white-hot ecstasy flooding your body as a shudder rolls through you. 

Tashi smiles as you come, fingers dancing down your neck. Art fucks you through it, leaning forward to pound into you at a harder rhythm, chasing his imminent release. It’s only then Tashi glances at him, her smile dropping slightly.

“Don’t cum.”

Art’s hips stutter as your walls continue to flutter around his thick length, his jaw slacks, eyes watering as he looks at his wife.

“Tash—”

“I said no,” she insists, shutting off the vibrator and throwing it to the side. Leaning forward, she captures your lips in a kiss. She sits up, a smile on her face as she kisses Art as well. He whimpers against her lips, hard and pulsating inside you still. But Tashi never changes her mind.

“You want to come, you should try winning.” 

“Tash please,” Art’s voice was strained, Adam’s apple bobbing, his expression pained, “please let me come.”

“Yeah?” She taunts moving up to kiss him. She brings her lips close to his, his eyes fluttering shut as she barely brushes the soft pout of her mouth against his. His lips part, head tilting to chase her. 

You watch from below them, still trying to slow your breathing. You like watching them dance, this push and pull they have. It’s hypnotizing, the effect she has on him. On you. Tashi pushes his chest and his eyes flutter open.

“Sit.” 

Tashi nods to the chair in the corner of the room. Art hesitates and she raises a brow when he doesn’t move quickly enough. Teeth clenched, Art unsheathes his aching cock from your warmth, hissing as he pulls completely out. Your breath hitches at the loss of him, and you gaze up at Tashi waiting for her next instruction. 

Fully naked, Art walks to the chair, cock hard and swinging between his legs as though he’s nothing more than a scolded pup. 

Tashi stands walking over to him, and Art tilts his chin to meet her eyes. Slowly, she lets the silk robe fall from her shoulders, and she takes her time removing it and placing it on his lap. You can see his erection through the soft purple fabric. 

“Hold that for me, would you?” she asks, turning back to face you.

You can’t help it as your gaze falls to her breasts; supple and mouth-watering, dark nipples taunting you. The dip of flesh between her abdominal muscles, a spot you’ve run your tongue along countless times now. Tashi rejoins you on the bed, lying next to you, looping her thumbs in the waistband of her lace panties. 

“You want a taste, baby?” she asks, smiling slightly at you.

You nod eagerly as she beckons you with a tilt of her chin. Scrambling into a kneeling position you slot yourself between Tashi’s toned legs, replacing her fingers and gently pulling off her lace panties, tossing them to the side and revealing her glistening sex.

Two things turn Tashi on. Telling you and Art what to do, and tennis.

Tashi brings her hand down her front tracing down her toned stomach until she reaches the soft curls that frame her pussy. She takes two fingers and spreads herself before you. 

“Come on, baby,” she murmurs, her voice low and seductive, “Eat up.”

She’s an enchantress, you swear, using some sort of siren song to pull you in. Even here between her legs, she’s in charge; it’s you who’s helpless. You lower your face toward her pussy, already drunk on the scent of her even before your tongue reaches her warm slit. 

You couldn’t hold in your moan of pleasured relief even if you tried as your tongue dipped lower, parting her lips and dipping inside her right entrance. There’s something about her, how she feels, how she tastes. You’ll never get enough of it. You nuzzle closer to her, nose bumping against her clit and she rewards you with a breathy sigh. 

“Art,” she calls as you eagerly continue lavishing her pussy with attention, “How’s the view?”

“Fucking breathtaking,” he answered, his voice strangled, “Tashi please….”

“She’s so good,” Tashi praises, nails taking against your scalp sending pleasurable tingles down your spine, “Put that pretty mouth of yours where it counts. Show me how badly you want it.” 

Your tummy flutters with excitement and you suction your lips around Tashi’s clit, sucking the sensitive button as you hear Art stand up. 

“Put that ass up,” Tashi instructs you, her voice airy, nearly breathless. You arch your back, leaning forward into her as Art’s hands cup the front of your thighs. 

You wiggle as he kneels behind you, his breath on your pussy before his lips meet your pussy. You moan against Tashi’s cunt as Art trails his hands up your thighs, spreading your cheeks wider as he feasts on you, tongue dipping inside of you and then up to circle your clit. 

“I’ll make you a deal baby,” Tashi purrs, back arching off the bed slightly as your tongue circles her pearl, “If you make her finish before I do, I’ll let you come.”

Art groans against you, finishing with a frustrated whine as Tashi chuckles. You glance up at her, drinking in the blissed-out expression on her face, that sly smirk that reaches her eyes. 

“Deal?”

Art doesn’t hesitate, he simply redoubles his efforts, tongue entering you with desperate precision. Your lips falter, the pleasure messing with your coordination as Art ups the ante. You feel him pull away from you, and hear the wet pop of his fingers entering his mouth and leaving just as quickly. Then he’s breaching you, fingers slipping inside you with ease from the continued attention following your first orgasm.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as Art fingers you. He sets a rough pace, placing his opposite hand on your asscheek and squeezing the soft flesh. 

The two fingers he has plunged inside you to the knuckle curl perfectly against your spongy walls, hitting that sweet spot inside you every time he curls his fingers. 

“Come on,” Art murmurs, slapping your ass, “I know you want to come again.”

“Yes she does,” Tashi agrees, unable to help herself. 

“Greedy girl, never satisfied with just one, huh?” Art teases and Tashi chuckles at his efforts. Art never speaks to her like that, only you. Tashi prefers the more dominant role over both you and her husband.

Still eager to please her you sloppily continue eating her out, lost in the sensation of Art's fingers in your pussy, Tashi’s fingers in your hair—

“Come on baby,” Art encourages, though there’s a hint of desperation in his tone. He wants to come just as badly as you do.

“Such a messy girl,” Tashi coos, propping herself on her elbows, “Oh but so so good. I’m getting close…”

Art slaps your ass again, curling his fingers against your g-spot, and it’s no use. Your jaw slacks and your head lolls against the softness of Tashi’s inner thigh as your walls clench around Art’s fingers, your release barreling through you like a freight train. It knocks the air from your lungs, a desperate cry leaving you as Art makes a noise of triumph. 

“So you are capable of winning,” Tashi snaps, a little too cold to be simply a bedroom taunt. Art stares at her, before she sits up, “I haven’t come yet.”

“Let me,” you murmur, looking up at her, still lying on her thigh. She smiles down at you, stroking your cheek.

“You’re a sweet girl,” she praises, “But Art won. I think he deserves to finish in that sweet little pussy of yours. Would you like that?”

“Tash…I can’t,” you whimper, still sensitive and tingly from your previous orgasms, “I can’t come again.”

Her smile fades back to that familiar smirk. She glances at Art, nodding at the bed. Cock still standing at attention Art joins you both, lying on his back. Tashi’s hand winds its way in your hair, tugging you not so gently from your resting place. You follow her lead like a puppet on a string. 

“Don’t be ungrateful,” she accuses, pushing you towards Art’s lap, “This is a reward. You deserve this.”

Art’s cock pokes at the soft plush of your inner thighs as you straddle him. His hands move automatically towards your hips, rough thumbs brushing against you leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

He looks at you with wide, watery eyes, blonde hair a tousled mess.

“One more?” he asks, and you know at that moment if you tapped out, he’d respect it. Art was never one to make you feel uncomfortable in any way, shape, or form. 

He rubs your hips again, a soothing motion, and you lean into his touch. Something deep inside you tightens with want. You need him. You need her. You inhale a shaky breath and lift your hips, lining the swollen head of his cock with your entrance. Sinking onto him slowly like this is something else. The way he stretches your insides as you come to rest against him is a feeling you’ll never get used to. 

“Good girl.”

Art’s head falls back against the pillows and then Tashi pulls them from underneath him. Her husband knows immediately what she’s after and tilts his head back as she climbs onto his face. 

Tashi sits on her husband’s face as though it’s her throne. As though he was made for her and no one else. 

She pulls you closer as you lazily begin to ride Art. Lips crashing against yours she kisses you passionately, rolling her hips at the pace you began. Soon you find your rhythm, moving in sync together as Art moans beneath you, happy to pleasure both his girls at once. Tashi’s hand finds your hair again and she tugs your head back, latching her lips against your neck.

She’s fond of leaving marks. Art is hers through their marriage, but she likes to remind you that you belong to her as well. 

Art bucks his hips up into you, the head of his cock nudging perfectly against your sweet spot, just as his fingers had moments before. A whine leaves your lips and Tashi laughs against your neck. 

“He’s good at that, yeah?” she murmurs, placing soft kisses up your neck and returning to your lips, “Good with his cock, good with his…his tongue.” Her eyes squeeze shut in ecstasy as Art does something you can only imagine.

He moans again, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he decides the pace you’ve set simply isn’t enough. Art’s hands dip below the curve of your ass right where it meets your thighs, lifting you with ease up and down on his cock. He meets you halfway, thrusting up into you as he slams you up and down. 

Your whines increase in volume, turning into elongated moans swallowed by Tashi’s kiss. You can feel her nipples pressing against your own and you reach out to caress them. Tashi gyrates her hips on Art’s face and his pace becomes more frantic as he plants both feet on the mattress fucking up into you harder, faster, deeper.

“I—” 

Words are lost to you as your mind goes fuzzy; that familiar pressure in your gut builds, a wave of pleasure cresting deep within you. Tashi’s mouth captures yours once more as she snakes a hand down your front, nimble fingers circling your clit giving you just what you need to reach your end. Again.

With that the rubber band in your belly snaps and you come with a startled cry, pleasured tears leaking from the corner of your eyes as you clench around Art’s thick cock. His hips falter only for a moment as he chases his own release, and soon you feel his cock twitch within your warm walls, his spend blooming inside of you.

Tashi smiles proudly as you and Art ride out your highs, the pair of you moaning, limbs jerking from the exertion. Everything’s a game to her. And she always wins. 

“Just like that,” she murmurs, hips still swirling around Art’s face, “Oh god I’m—” 

You watch as her thighs tense, her head dips and her eyes squeeze shut as her orgasm crashes over her at last. 

Carefully you ease Art’s softening cock from within you and lay between the both of them. Tashi on your left, Art on your right. You’re facing Tashi, watching as she comes down from her high, feeling Art’s chest press against your back.

It’s quiet for a moment, the soft sound of a kiss being pressed to your shoulder the only noise in the room. Art snakes a hand around your waist, fingers brushing the soft skin of your tummy. You giggle slightly at the ticklish sensation which causes him to bite down gently on your shoulder. Tashi simply watches, wetting her lips. 

“On the courts at five tomorrow,” she says, before standing, “I’ll run us a bath.”

Art sighs and you can’t help but agree with his subtle frustration. Back to business.

“Whatever you say, coach.”

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated but never expected 🩵

[arjwrites]

crawl home to her- dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: heaven or hell, dean will always crawl home to you.

warnings: brief mentions of hell, references to drinking, fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i got a bit carried away with this one and it ended up a little longer than anticipated hehehe i had too many ideas. this song is so sickening and is so dean-coded in the very best way. i hope you enjoy <3

arj's 100 follower event

xxx

Dean awoke in a permeating blackness, blinking his eyes, unable to tell at what point they were open or closed. His first instinct? To draw in a deep, sharp breath. His lungs resisted him, hesitant to stretch and swell as if they had been sitting stagnant for months. They offered him no help in forming words, a call for help. It took him a minute to gather his bearings, but the next thought that came to his mind? You. And from that moment, his body took over. As he kicked his way out of the pine box and clawed his way through the cold and heavy earth, he felt almost animalistic. He didn’t know where he was, he hardly knew who he was, but he knew he had to crawl home to you. Wherever you were. 

As Dean emerged from the ground, he gasped for air- clean, fresh air. It swirled around inside of him, exacerbating the emptiness of the cavern of his chest. He grappled with the earth around him, arms reaching out in a desperate fervor to pull him safely from the grave. There were sensations everywhere, almost screaming at him, so loud and foreign as if he hadn’t experienced them in… he didn’t know how long. The tickling of the damp grass against his arms, the hot sun beating down on his back, the heavy breeze settling behind him. It was you, he thought. It had to be your way of welcoming him back earthside- planting soft green kisses to his skin, wrapping him in healing warmth and light, and lifting him up to carry him home with the wind. He let his body push him to his feet, feeling every flex and release of his muscles individually, excruciatingly. 

 It was agonizing for Dean to will one foot in front of the other, trudging aimlessly in search of civilization. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the hunger, but he could see you right there next to him, clear as day, coaching him through each step of his journey. You floated along next to him like an angel, filling his emptiness and setting direction in his footsteps. 

He thought back to the day your paths had been undoubtedly intertwined forever. You and Dean had known of each other for a while- hunters always did- but never exchanged more than a few cordial hellos in passing. That was until a vampire hunt in a small town drew the attention of more than just himself and Sam. When you showed up on the hunt, he couldn’t help but be enamored by you. The way you made hunting, something so dark and painful, into something so graceful, so elegant, so beautiful. 

When he was able to convince you to stick around and celebrate after finishing the hunt, Dean felt both his heart leap and his stomach sink. As he drove, he kept glancing up into his rearview mirror to catch a glimpse at you, following behind him in your own car. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with conversation topics like he was rubbing together stones trying to create a spark. He was so excited to have you around, yet so nervous- an accusation he defended against when Sam taunted him on the ride over to the bar. 

“I don’t get nervous, Sammy. I- I don’t know, man. There’s just something about her. Can’t put my finger on it.” 

His eyes flickered back up to the rearview mirror as he spoke, catching you singing along to whatever song you were listening to. His heart fluttered- he wanted to know you, to memorize your favorite songs, to hear his inner thoughts spoken in your voice. In the here and now, where he was trekking through the woods, he smiled at the memory and let it instill in him a surge of motivation. He picked up his pace, humming your favorite song as he went, half to keep him grounded in the moment and half to help his mind wander back to you. 

Still thinking back to that first day, he remembered getting to the bar and admittedly, letting his nerves get the best of him. He threw back shots and tipped back beers in the hopes of quelling his anxieties, suppressing the parts of him that weren’t useful and drawing out his confident, personable self. Sam had left early, as usual, leaving the two of you alone, sat at a table in the corner of a crowded bar. The surface was a graveyard littered with empty bottles and glasses, very few of which belonged to you. You had been nursing your drinks, sipping slowly as Dean downed and gulped. So when he got a little out of hand, you were there to carry him home. 

When Dean woke alone the next morning, he was sure you had been a dream- too perfect to be real life, or his real life, anyway. His head pounded as he glanced around the unfamiliar motel room, noticing the single bed and feminine belongings that clued him he wasn’t in the room he had rented with Sam. He sat up, grasping at his head, trying to piece together where exactly he was. There was no way he had gone home with you. He remembered the way he had acted the night before, and how sober you had still been. You must have dumped him with a random girl to take him off your hands. His heart sank to his stomach- if he had messed up his chances with you, he wouldn’t forgive himself. 

Before he could linger in this fear for long, he heard two separate laughs nearing the front door. When it swung open to reveal you and Sam, chatting and clutching coffees and paper bags of breakfast food, Dean let himself flop back down to the bed in relief. Wishing him a good morning, you tossed him pain relievers and a water bottle, setting a coffee and a breakfast sandwich down on his- no, your- bedside table. You briefly recounted the night before for him, noting how you had brought him back here when Sam didn’t answer his phone. You didn’t dwell on his actions, didn’t poke fun, didn’t complain or criticize. Your presence was light as a feather, your body and voice floating around the room as you tidied things up or nibbled at your breakfast. Sam shot him a knowing glance that would later be supplemented with verbal approval. I like her, Dean. Don’t mess this up. 

Back in reality, Dean had finally emerged from the woods, stepping from the dense tree cover onto a dusty road. There wasn’t much to see- no buildings or signs of civilization in any direction. The breeze picked up and whistled through his ears in the form of your voice- keep going, Dean. So on he went. 

As he walked, sometimes his image of you would flicker and fade like a ghost and his thoughts would plunge back down to Hell. There were a few moments along his path where he would pause to hinge at the hips and dry heave in a desperate attempt to purge the memories from his body alongside the dust in his throat. It made him sick, what he did in Hell. At a few points, when he got too caught up in his thoughts, he’d come to a full stop. In those moments, he didn’t care if he lived or died. His heart ached for you, but he didn’t deserve you anymore. You were the only pure goodness in the world that he had ever known, and now, he was tainted beyond repair. But then would come the breeze. This time, it smelled sweet- miraculously, as there was nothing but dirt road and baking heat to scent it. It was beckoning him, calling him home. It was washing him of his sins. You didn’t care, you never would. Always kind, always forgiving. That was his baby. Sweet as can be.  The journey ended in your arms. At times, he thought it never would. He thought he was trapped, imprisoned on a long dirt path, being taunted with the promise of you like a carrot on a stick. But he found a car, found a map, found his way home. You didn’t believe it was him at first- why would you, when a long list of monsters seemed so much more plausible? But if Dean’s first act of repentance had been his passage home, his second act was proving himself to you. That it was him, here and now, real and resting in your fingertips. All Dean knew was Hell. It was real, he had lived it. But when you reached out your arms to embrace him, Hell was just a word that dissipated into space the moment it left his lips. This must be Heaven. You must be heaven.

[fairytale-poll]

ROUND 2A, MATCH 6 OUT OF 8!

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Queen Cinderella Charming:

She's kind, she's funny, she learns to use a sword, and she's related to Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Red Riding Hood. She helps the protagonists any chance she gets and even hosts their mother and step-father's wedding. She never gives up and  never lets her fear stop her. Absolute queen (literally) &lt;3

While she isn't hugely relevant in the story itself, she is always down to help out the protagonists where she can. When they need one of her slippers, she sneaks it into their bag without them noticing. She calls them family. She loves her daughter too, and is a badass mom.

When the main characters need her glass slipper for a spell, she snuggled it into their bag, and she has a daughter named Hope &lt;3

I think she’s a minor character in the first book, but she’d really nice and stuff!

Because I LOVE HER!! also she has a daughter called Hope who got kidnapped by rumplestiltskin at one point but that is besides the point. She is a strong independent woman and we love those she was NOT about to sit around doing nothing and i love her for that

Vote Land of Stories Cinderella because she's the best!!!

Elegance "Ella" Coach:

Ella fights for labor reform! I just reread the book intentionally so I could make propaganda for her but now my head is empty only LOVE FOR ELLA. She has two (gay) fairy godfathers, she worked in a sweatshop where her mother died, she has a well-developed with her prince, Dash Charming. The glass slippers are a very important motif even though she doesn’t actually get a pair herself because she was a secret fairy godparent case because the fairy godparent organization had become corrupt and wasn’t helping needy children, only the rich. It’s a sequel to Grounded which is a Rapunzel story, but Disenchanted stands alone in the same world and it’s my most favorite of the two!! She’s so kind and helps institute kingdom wide labor reform and ahhhhhhhh

Former child laborer who wants to use her family's newfound privilege to fight for workers' rights. Brave, smart, and compassionate, although she can also be reckless, because she's just a kid and she deserves BETTER. Actually has a good relationship to her step-family, who are badass and Black like her, and there's this really touching moment at the end that recontextualizes things a lot and it's very sweet and cool worldbuilding. Her fairy godmother is two gay contractors who overthrow their boss for being complicit in a corporate espionage/coup scheme. She has a nice and believable relationship with her prince, who is a fucking dork that learns to be less of a privileged idiot and would absolutely put his ass on the line for her in return. She's just so GOOD and Disenchanted is UNDERRATED, everyone go read it.

Her goal is to improve workers rights, directly inspired by the 19th century textile industry, right down to child labor and workers getting locked in factories. Her mother died working in a sweatshop. She struggles with her working class upbringing and her new upper class status after her father's invention made them rich. Not afraid of breaking the law. She's so cool and her book is so good.

[monicafinias]

Because truly the only way to truly enjoy the soft life, is when it comes with commitment!

Most men with money have broken the code, they know if they dangle a few shiny things in front of us, we are sold. But all it os is, he takes what he wants and leaves us empty with just a few high end restaurant experiences, a purse or two and nothing else.

The damage to our hearts can not compare to what we get.

Let’s be sober minded in 2024, and not take the bare minimum.

Like and comment 🙌🙌🙌 if you agree 💖

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[eseongsubs]

9:18. kang taehyun.

“Help Me?” Your eyebrows furrow, a particular pout on those lips that he can’t see. Taehyun is blazing with euphoria beyond his wildest beliefs, still half asleep and wriggling around from post-orgasm sensitivity. As you inquire upon him such a question, so sexually, it brings his poor cock right back to life. Taehyun’s short eyelashes flutter over his large crystal eyes currently puffy and rolled backwards in complete exhaustion.

He’s hot, messily so. Sweaty but nicely warm, falling into a trance of whispers chanting one mantra. I’m all yours. You talked to Taehyun so nicely. You coached Taehyun through his orgasm, praised him, cooed at him as his face turned deliciously pink and screwed up in pleasure. He looked high as fuck with his elegant grin, it certainly didn’t fool you when he tried to hide the expression by biting his lip. Taehyun was so sensitive. You woke him right up out of his sleep, told him what a beautiful boy he was, how he needed to start early in serving you because he does such a good job. He can’t help but crave it and the feeling that comes with it.

“—yeess....”

It’s not really like Taehyun had much of a choice. His hair, currently a mahogany brown, flounced and glimmered about his head. The sound of his body shifting over the bed kept him grounded. He almost felt numb, exquisitely trapped beneath you, between your legs, nothing but pleasure and soft affirmations being sung into his skin. Taehyun wants so bad to help you, he wants so bad to please you and make you orgasm that it’s hacking away at his resolve.

He could already cum again.

“hurts.” whimpers your sleepy, dozed off boyfriend. So soft and light that you know he is begging for more. Completely under your control.

“I know baby, but you want to please me. Right?” It’s meant to be teasing but Taehyun’s heart squeezes so much. His foggy, sleepy morning head unable to keep up with the processing feelings of desire to commit to and serve your every whim. Taehyun is so weak, so at your mercy that he could just melt. Sit there forever while you used him like a lifeless dildo. As long as it would make you happy. As long as it would please you.

[dorabellingham]

Be like them

warning: none

characters: jude x fem!reader

summary: when you want to straighten your hair to go to an event with him, but your boyfriend doesn't really like the idea

request: yes (sorry I had to change a little because i couldn't write it)

may contain spelling and translation errors!

You looked in the mirror, holding a lock of your hair, still damp from your shower, as you scrolled through Instagram. Jude had mentioned that Real Madrid was hosting a special event to launch their new kit, a premier that would bring together players, coaching staff and some of the WAG's. He invited you to go with him, and the simple invitation was enough to make you think about how to get ready.

From what you saw in the photos, all the women were incredibly sophisticated, with straight, perfect hair, impeccable in every detail. Suddenly, your own curly locks seemed a little... out of place. You never had a problem accepting yourself, but when you imagined yourself next to your boyfriend at that event, doubts arose. Maybe it would be better to straighten your hair just this once, to have a look more in line with the other women's style.

Later, Jude came into the room, already changed for a dinner they were planning before the event. Seeing you standing there, with a lost look, he slowly approached you and hugged you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

—What are you thinking?

He asked, looking at your reflection in the mirror.

You gave a weak smile and hesitated before answering:

—I was thinking about straightening my hair for the premiere. I think that way I would look more... —You paused, not knowing how to finish. —More like the other women.

Bellingham frowned and looked at you in the mirror, clearly surprised.

—And who said you have to be like them?

He asked, with a touch of disbelief in his voice.

You sighed, trying to put into words what you felt.

—I know it's silly, but... have you seen what they look like? Each one more stunning than the other, and they all have such a... polished style. I think I would look better with straight hair, more "sophisticated".

You said the last word with a tone of uncertainty, as if you didn't even believe it.

Bellingham let out a soft, affectionate laugh, squeezing you a little tighter in his arms.

—Honey, you’re beautiful just the way you are. And besides that. —He smiled, looking into your eyes in the mirror. —I love your curls. We’re the curly couple, you know? I don’t know what I would do without those curls by your side.

You laughed, but you still seemed a little hesitant.

—Jude… you know I’m proud of my hair, but… it’s just that at this kind of event, maybe I should be a little more… “elegant”? I don’t know if that makes sense. I guess I just don’t want people to think I don’t make an effort to be by your side.

He turned around, holding your face gently and speaking with a softness that you loved.

—It makes perfect sense. But who cares what people think? I wouldn’t trade those curls for anything. They’re part of who you are, and I wouldn’t change a thing about you. —He stroked a lock of your hair, twirling it around one of his fingers. —By the way, I want to be the guy who arrives with the most beautiful and authentic girl of all, the one who doesn't need to change a thing to be amazing. And, in my humble opinion, you already are. Totally.

You couldn't help but smile. Jude always had a way of making you feel valued, even when you tried to find fault with yourself. Still, doubts insisted on appearing, and he noticed the glint of uncertainty in your eyes.

—I know it's easy to say, but I'll show you that I'm not joking.

He said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and opening the gallery. He showed you several old photos of the two of them together, taken throughout their relationship, almost all during simple, quiet moments of everyday life. In all of them, your curls appeared naturally, and Jude always seemed enchanted by you, with a sparkle in his eyes that spoke for itself.

—See? — He smiled. —It's not your straight hair that will make me find you more beautiful. It's you. It's the way you smile, the way you look when you're comfortable and happy. And that's it. —He ruffled her curls slightly with a playful smile. —That's what I love.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of expectations dissipate a little.

—I guess I'll trust you, then. And let the curls be successful, right?

You said, half joking.

—That's my girl! —Jude replied, kissing you on the forehead with a proud smile. —Besides, the curls make you even more unique, and I love knowing that I have someone so incredible by my side. Let the other WAG's stay straight; I want to be with the most special one.

On the night of the premiere, as you were getting ready to go out, he could barely take his eyes off his girlfriend. You had put on a blue dress that highlighted your skin, and your curls were loose, forming a perfect frame around your face. He smiled when he saw you, feeling incredibly proud to have you by his side. As you approached the event, photographers and fans surrounded you, and you noticed the looks and whispers around you. For a moment, insecurity tried to return, but when you looked at Bellingham, you saw only a glow of admiration and love on his face.

—See? You don’t have to change a thing.

He whispered, holding your hand firmly as you walked together.

The curly-haired couple, as he joked, shone that night, drawing attention and leaving a unique mark. And you realized, amidst the flashes and Jude's affection, that their authenticity was their true strength, something that no one could take away.

[pitchsidestories]

met someone II Lena Oberdorf x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1452

a/n: dear readers, the poll chose Lena Oberdorf for this oneshot, we hope you're enjoying it. 💖💖

“Lena?”, Lea sounded surprised.

“Lea, this bar sucks!”, the dark-haired woman yelled into her phone

“But that’s there all the hot lesbians are according to Georgia.”, the blonde frowned.

“Georgia is wrong. The thing is full of straight women.”, she observed with growing frustration as a group of them was laughing hysterically about a joke one of the girls had made.

“Wait, but it’s a gay bar are they all celebrating their bachelorette parties?”, the forward asked confused.

“I don’t care what they do here but they’re all here. I think I’ll go home.”, Lena replied grumpily.

To lighten up her best friend’s terrible mood the blonde suggested. “Tomorrow at my place? I’ll cook a lot of hot chocolate and then we’ll watch a stupid romcom?”

“Didn’t you do that today already?”, the brunette teased the older player.

“Uhmm.”, Lea responded awkwardly.

“I know you.”, Lena stated chuckling.

“Well, I can do it two times in a row if you don’t tell our coach.”, she answered sheepishly.

“Okay, I won’t tell him if you don’t tell him that I’m out at a bar.”, the younger footballer offered grinning.

“We’ve a deal. See you tomorrow night!”, Lea chirmed.

“Bye.”, the brunette ended the phone call. Her dark eyes wandering one last time through her surroundings. The bar had its charm, she could admit that. It had a fading elegance to it like an old diva where you could tell that the woman once was a great beauty, something with a lot of history.

The barkeeper had mentioned to her that back in the 1980s Freddie Mercury was a reoccurring guest. Probably it was a bit more colourful back in the day.

For a second Lena tried to imagine how it would’ve looked like when the British rockstar was still alive but when her eyes locked with yours and all she could think about was you. Why hasn’t the football player noticed you before?

“Uhmm hi.”, the brunette greeted you nervously.

“Hey.”, you bit your lip.

“I’m Lena.”, the stranger introduced herself. Her smile was infectious, it immediately calmed you and made you feel less awkward than you’d usually feel in front of a person you just met.

You told her your name and when added. “You’re alone here too?  There’s a lot of groups tonight?”

Lonely hearts recognized each other you thought to yourself. Especially in a crowded room where people who came alone were rare.

“Yeah, I was about to go home. But then I saw you and I thought.. I could at least try and shoot my shot.”, Lena winked.

“That’s funny because I was about to leave too until I saw you.”, you confessed without hesitation in your voice.

A smile spread across Lenas face: “Oh really? Looks like this was meant to be.“

You chuckled in response, teasing her: “Are you a romantic, Lena?”

“Not really.“, she shook her head, her smile unwavering.

“So you don’t believe in love at the first sight?”, you asked.

She tilted her head slightly: “I believe in attraction at the first sight.“

You could barely tear your eyes away from that smirk, confident and cool.

“Me too.“

Lena pointed back towards the entrance of the bar and suggested: “Maybe we should stay for another drink?”

You nodded quickly: “Yes.“

Unsurprisingly, the bar was still crowded when the two of you went back inside. Lena led you right towards the counter to two empty bar stools. She had already ordered drinks while you sat down.

“Come on, it’s on me.“, she grinned as she pushed one of the glasses towards you.

You smiled politely at her: “Thank you.“

“You’re welcome.“

You sipped on your drink. Despite its dangerously clear look, you could barely taste the alcohol.

“So, what got you here tonight?”, you asked.

“I moved here a couple of months ago. I guess I’m just looking for someone…“, Lena admitted willingly.

It was more than understandable.

“A big city like Munich can get lonely…“, you mused, absentmindedly swirling the liquid in your glass.

Observing you, she raised an eyebrow: “Speaking from experience?”

“I do…“, you replied but quickly frowned at yourself. That sounded all wrong, you weren’t lonely. “I mean I love my friends…“

“But a romantic relationship is different. I get that.“, Lena completed your thought.

You paused for a moment, not because her interruption felt invasive, but because you felt an immediate connection.

“It is.“

“I feel the same way about that.“, Lena agreed.

You lifted your glass and clinked it against hers: “Cheers to the Lonely Hearts Club.“

Lena laughed: “Who knows. Maybe we’re at the right place at the right time and won’t be part of that club for much longer.“

Your heart skipped a beat, swelling with hope that this could be more than just a last-minute flirt at a bar but your forced it to calm down.

“Do you want to go for a walk after this?”, you asked, once your heart had started pumping blood to your brain again.

Lena checked the clock on her phone and nodded: “Sure.“

“Perfect.“

Both of your glasses emptied quickly.

“Ready to leave?”

“Yes, I’m ready.“, you said as you got up.

“Let’s go.“

Lena followed you outside where you both were met with the chilly breeze of the late night.

Side by side, you started walking against the cold. Streetlights illuminated the sidewalk just enough. You watched the shadows dance across Lenas face as you walked to nowhere in particular.

“Do you like living in the city so far?”

“I do. I expected the move to be harder but.. I like it.”, she admitted. You could tell that the young woman meant it. Immediately you asked yourself where Lena had lived before. Possibly somewhere smaller and calmer.

The brunette glanced at you with curiosity. “What about you? Have you lived here for a long time?”

“Yes, I moved here for university. It felt very freeing.”, a shy smile played on your lips as you spoke.

“I can see that.”, she observed in a friendly tone.

“In Munich you can be yourself.”, you added meaningfully.

A moment of realization hit the dark-haired woman unexpectedly. “You came out here, huh?”, Lena recognized.

“I did.”, you nodded. Pictures of the past were flashing behind your eyes. The small Bavarian village you grew up in, the catholic church being the centre of everyday life and gay people were basically non-existent. When you came to Munich it felt like you were able to breathe normally for the first time in forever.

“I think I understand why this city means so much to you.”, the brunette replied.

“You were out before moving?”, you asked her although it was more an observation than a question.

“Yes, for a while. I’m a football player so everyone is very open about it.”, Lena explained blushing.

“Ah a football player.”, you smiled at her mildly.

“Oh. You don’t sound impressed.”, she stated sounding almost a bit disappointed. But from the inside the midfielder felt relived too as sometimes the only thing women found interesting about her was her job.

The Lena off the pitch didn’t interest them at all, the one who loved her friends and family fearlessly, who liked to have fun, party a little and who wanted to take care of a dog again, but knew she wouldn’t have enough time without a partner to help her.

“No, I was just wondering why your arms are so impressive.”, you countered grinning, your fingers intertwined as you kept walking.

“You’re impressed by my arms? You should see my thighs.”, she smirked.

“Can’t see them through those trousers.”, you continued the banter making the woman you felt attracted to break into a warm and loud laughter.

“Sorry that joke went a bit far for a first meeting.”, Lena biting her full lips apologetically.

“A little but I’m already liking what I can see.”, you responded truthfully.

“Oh, you do?”, the football player raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, too much honesty?”, you chuckled.

“No, I like honesty.”, she replied earnestly.

“Same. So, what if I’d like to see you again?”, you questioned bravely, your heart pounding hard against your chest.

“How about tomorrow?” That ask sounded like music to both of your ears. Like this night might came to an end but it was only the beginning for you two.

The following day Lea exclaimed surprised. “Wait, you’re bringing a plus one to our movie night?!”

“Either that or I have to cancel. And you won’t forgive me for that.”, Lena said smiling.

“Okay, you can bring her.”, the striker sighed dramatically.

“You won’t regret it.”, the brunette promised wholeheartedly. Lena got butterflies in her stomach as she thought about you.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗛𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗬 𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗠𝗔

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N is a hockey player of the Boston High-school hockey team, and during one of her games, her temper is tested by her opponent while her boyfriend, Matt, is watching.

WARNING: Physical fighting, blood, bruises.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N adjusted the straps of her helmet and took one last look around the locker room. The muffled noise of the crowd, which already filled the gym, pulsed through the walls. The tension in the air was palpable. This game wasn't just another game of the season; it was the decisive game that would define the regional champion. And for Y/N, there was an extra motivation: Matt. Her boyfriend was in the audience, and she wanted more than ever to impress him with her performance.

While sliding across the ice during warm-ups, Y/N observed the opposing team, known for its physical and aggressive play, looked more determined than ever. Among them, one player in particular stood out: Lilian. Tall, robust, and with a look that exuded competitiveness, Lilian had a reputation for being ruthless. Y/N knew she would have to pay attention to her throughout the game.

The opening whistle sounded, and the game began with frenetic intensity. Y/N moved with agility, looking for gaps in the opponent's defense. Every pass, every deflection, was meticulously calculated.

And it didn't take long for her to find an opportunity.

With a quick sprint, Y/N escaped to the right, receiving a precise pass from her teammate and, with an elegant movement of her stick, sent the puck directly into the corner of the net.

The electric sound of the puck hitting the net was followed by a roar from the crowd. Matt, who was sitting in the center bleachers, jumped to his feet, cheering and shouting her name, a huge smile taking over his face as his hands grabbed the front of his brothers' hoodies, shaking their upper bodies with euphoria.

Y/N's confidence was high, but the game was far from won. The opposing team increased the pressure, and Lilian, especially, seemed to have fixed Y/N as her main target.

In one of the most critical moves, Lilian came forward with force, bumping into Y/N with an intensity that bordered on brutality. Y/N managed to stay upright but felt the impact reverberate through her bones.

She returned Lilian's gaze with firm determination. She would not allow herself to be intimidated.

The minutes passed, and the game became increasingly fierce. Y/N was determined to score another goal. Her ears seemed to constantly search for the loud and firm comments of encouragement that escaped her boyfriend's lips, drawing strength from there. With a combination of speed and precision, she advanced towards the opponent's goal again.

But Lilian was there, and this time, she wasn't willing to allow Y/N to pass. In a split second, Lilian collided violently against Y/N, knocking her onto the ice. The impact was so strong that Y/N felt the air leave her lungs, her hands quickly letting go of the stick and gluing to her chest covered by heavy clothes, trying desperately to take a long breath.

The referee blew the whistle, signaling a penalty, but the damage was already done.

With anger boiling inside her, Y/N stood up with difficulty, breathing harshly. She felt humiliated and enraged. Without thinking twice, the girl skated towards the locker room, ignoring the screams of her teammates and her coach, who called for her, cutting through the silence that had settled in the gym after the incident.

The door closed behind her back, muffling the sound of the crowd and the frenzy of the game, echoing like a dull thud throughout the space. In the silence of the locker room, Y/N took a deep breath, trying to control the storm of emotions that was stirring inside her.

She sat down on the main bench, removing her helmet and running her hands through her sweat-damp hair. Anger burned through her veins, not just because of Lilian's aggression, but because of the frustration of feeling like she was letting down her team and, especially, Matt. He had come to watch her play, and all she wanted was to put on a spectacular show for him.

Tears began to form, but Y/N took another deep breath, refusing to let them fall. She wouldn't give in.

The girl closed her eyes tightly, trying to center herself, but as she did so, a stab of pain appeared above her eye. A wince scaped her lips as she touched the painful area, noticing something warm and wet on her fingers. Raising them to her eye level, she saw blood.

The anger, which was already intense, intensified even more. The girl felt her blood boiling as her hands shook with hatred. The sight of blood dripping from her eyebrow was the trigger that was needed for her uncontrolled fury.

Without thinking twice, Y/N put the helmet back on harshly, ignoring the pain. She wouldn't let Lilian get away with that. Y/N got out of the locker room with firm slides, determined to show that no one would take her down without consequences.

Back on the ice, Y/N felt a new surge of energy, this time fueled by anger and the need for revenge. Her eyes were fixed on Lilian, who didn't seem to expect her to return so soon. With impressive speed, Y/N skated directly towards her opponent, leaving her coach's questions behind.

When the distance between them closed, Y/N kept going, hitting her shoulder against the other girl with all the strength she had. The impact threw Lilian to the ground, who fell onto her back, surprised and in pain, a loud cry scream echoing afterward.

The referee blew his whistle frantically, but Y/N ignored his and Lilian's screams. Her focus was absolute.

She took the puck from one of the opposing players with surprising dexterity and began advancing towards the goal. Every movement was fierce, precise. She was in a state of flux, where nothing else mattered other than the next goal.

With impressive skill, Y/N scored one after another. The crowd was in a frenzy, and the energy in the gym was electric. Matt, in the bleachers, watched everything with wide eyes, his screams standing out among the crowd. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Y/N was playing like never before, in a way he himself had never witnessed.

With each goal, Y/N felt increasing satisfaction. She was showing everyone – her team, her opponents, the watchers, and especially Lilian – that she was really good. Blood was still running from her eyebrow, dripping onto her lips held by the mouth guard, the metallic taste flooding her tongue.

When the final whistle sounded, declaring her team's victory, Y/N felt a wave of relief flood her body. She dropped the stick on the ice floor and ripped off her helmet, taking her mouth guard off of her lips, finally breathing properly, her eyes darting around the gym as euphoria took over her body, adrenaline rushing through her veins like lightning.

It was at that moment that she saw Matt jump over the railing that separated the bleachers from the ice. The brunette ran towards her, slipping slightly on the ice, a consequence of his inappropriate sneakers, leaving behind the screams of his brothers who tried to dissuade him.

She felt her heart speed up even more, wetting her lips in anticipation.

When Matt finally reached Y/N, he quickly threw himself in front of her, raising his arms and cupping his girl's face with both hands firmly, his gaze filled with concern and love. His blue eyes scanned the cut on her eyebrow, trying to wipe away the blood on her skin with trembling fingers.

"Y/N, baby, are you okay? You're bleeding so much. Let me see this..."

Y/N, still breathing heavily, felt a wave of emotions wash over her. Before Matt could continue, she cut him off with a passionate kiss, wrapping her hands around his thick hoodie-covered waist and pulling him closer, the significant height that her skateboards provided her aiding her in her action.

It was a kiss full of intensity, relief, and love.

Matt sighed deeply, the hot air hitting the girl's cold face, causing the blush in the area to intensify, feeling enveloped by the passion and strength that emanated from her.

When they finally separated, Matt hugged her tightly, his body shaking slightly with the adrenaline that took his body along with his heart racing at a thousand miles per hour. His large hands hugged her head against his own right shoulder, his fingers stroking her tied hair gently.

"I'm so proud of you, Y/N. You were amazing. I've never seen anyone play like you played today. You were so strong, so brave..." Y/N smiled against his covered skin, feeling his hushed words warm her heart.

"It was all for you, babe. Every goal-"

"Y/N!" The coach shouted, approaching with quick, steady steps, his ice-appropriate sneakers keeping him upright. "What in God's name was that? This is a hockey game. What, are you trying out for the gymnastics team? If you do that again, you'll be out!"

Matt watched him with wide eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line in an attempt to hold back his laughter.

"Sorry, coach. I just did what I had to do." Y/N rolled her eyes, letting out a breathless laugh.

The coach shook his head, opening an almost imperceptible smile.

"You played with your heart today, kid. Just try to keep a little more control next time, okay? We don't want you to miss big opportunities."

"You got it, coach." Y/N nodded quickly, Matt's arms still holding her tightly, one arm grasping firmly around her waist, keeping her close.

"Now take her to the infirmary, boy." The coach approached, casting a glance toward Matt while patting her right shoulder.

"Yes, sir, I'll take care of her."

"You better."

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[fourmoony]

𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧

james potter x f!reader | modern!hockey au

cw: injury, language, use of pain medication (gas and air), exes reconciliation

summary - James is there for ex!reader when she has an accident on the ice.

2.8k

Took a break from writing ch3 of FOW to write this lil ficcy.

---

The arena goes silent the minute the programme music starts, the lights a deep blue, the music soft and slow. He’s on the Gryffindor bench, helmet at his feet, bottle half empty and hanging limply from his hands – they’re cold now they’re out of his gloves. The rest of the team has eyes on the tunnel, the whole arena does, and when James catches sight of you, he understands why, would singlehandedly go into the stands and force anyone who wasn’t paying enough attention to just – look.

Look at the way you skate so softly, like every movement comes straight from your soul, the way your dress glitters under the light, the way it makes your skin glow. He thinks you’re ethereal, honestly. He always has. But he’s not exactly allowed to think that, anymore, is he?

You skid to a stop in the middle of the ice, getting into position. Remus places a supportive hand on James’ shoulder, gives his friend an understanding look. Everything you do is always so precise, so fluid and beautiful. The way you skate is pure elegance, unlike hockey, which is rough and fast, harsh movements and even harsher words. The music fades out, changes to the start of a song James has never seen you skate to, before. But then, he supposes – he hasn’t seen you skate in four months. He hasn’t watched you try, and try, fall, and try, and fall again until you get a new move, a new routine, a sense of achievement.

He hasn’t sat on the bleachers freezing his arse off after practice just to be in your presence, or took you to eat, after. He hasn’t made sure you’re eating, sleeping, taking time to look after and care for yourself, and not just your talent.

You look different. Still beautiful, still the girl James fell in love with. But you look different. He can’t pinpoint it, really. There’s just a difference in the way you look straight at the empty penalty box as you wait for your cue that doesn’t sit right in James’ chest. It’s clunky and a little painful, a broken promise of something. You’re not looking at him. Whenever you skate at Hogwarts Arena – you look for James. Whether he’s playing or in the crowd. A nod from him, and you’re off like a shot into whatever performance your coach has chosen. Now, though, you’re staring blankly at the penalty box, not James.

He gets it, he does. It’s over. Has been for a while. But he wishes you’d look over, knows how nervous you get, wants to give you a reassuring smile. James sees the way your knees wobble as you kick off, floating across the ice like you could be flying.

You make it look so effortless, skating. You look weightless as you twist and turn into jumps James could never imagine being able to pull off – and he’s been skating since he could walk. He admires the steady movements, the emotion on your face as you glide, and spin, and jump, and the emotion on your face as the music follows the highs and lows of your routine. You’re so focussed you don’t seem to notice how the pain, the heartache of the song, the weight of the routine, bleeds from you.

It’s beautiful, in a way.

You’re beautiful in every way.

James feels the weight of watching you crushing him like a building sitting on his chest. He’s been slammed into the boards eight times in the first two quarters – not once had it hurt as much as watching you out there, so lovely, so gentle, so sad, so close but so fucking far. James thinks perhaps Remus’ hand on his shoulder is to keep him in place, for if it wasn’t there, he’d be out on the ice following you, right now. Heart in his hand, begging you to take it, no matter what it costs you both.

He’s always been selfish with love. He knows that, now. He does.

James should see it coming a mile off. He knows everything about you, the way you skate. He has every breath change, every wobble, every movement you make on the ice memorised. So, when you jump off with your left pick instead of your right – James should know what’s about to happen. You spin once, and James realises, too late, that jumping with the wrong foot has thrown you off. You’re on the ice in less than a second, the music cuts off, the crowd and both teams make gasping noises, murmured concerns. James doesn’t hear any of it.

All he can hear is the ice shattering scream you let out.

You don’t get up. James waits several seconds, and you don’t get up. Remus shoves him, Sirius pulls open the board door and James, in only his under armour and protective trousers, skates loosened for the break, skates to you as fast as he can. There’s cheering from the crowd when James comes flying out of the team box, but James can’t hear any of it over the sounds you’re making.

He’s seen you fall hundreds of times. He’s seen you pull muscles and break ribs, bruise tail bones, sprain ankles and he has never heard you make noise like this in his life. The medics haven’t arrived yet, James skids to a stop, drops to his knees. You don’t look up, face tilted towards the ice – a media training stunt so the crowd can’t see how much pain you’re actually in. But he can tell your eyes are screwed shut, fists clenched so tight he’s concerned you might break your wrists.

He says your name, soft, gentle, and it sounds foreign coming out of his mouth.

You take a shuddering breath, head tilting in the cage your arms have made for it just slightly. Your eyes are filled with so much fear that James finds it hard to breathe, tears spilling out and onto your red cheeks, “My hip. My hip, Jamie, my hip.”

You sound terrified, broken, in agonising pain. James shouts for a medic, loud enough that he thinks the whole arena can hear. There’s refs and managers, your skating coach, all on the ice when the medics come running. James feels as though he could throttle every last one for taking so long. You’re crying, curled in on yourself, and James knows better than to touch you, like this. It makes the pain worse, makes you feel like you’re suffocating. And he thinks, maybe, that you just don’t want him to touch you, regardless, anyway.

The medics slide the board under you, roll you onto your back and the scream of agony you let out breaks James. He’s crying, and you reach for his hand, squeeze it so tight he feels his bones rub together.

“Potter!” Moody, his coach, yells after him when he starts to follow the medics off the ice with you.

“I’m not leaving her.” James doesn’t leave room for negotiation, doesn’t want Moody to challenge him on this because he might do something stupid and lose his place in the league all together.

His coach sighs, nods, and James is off like a shot. He catches up with you in the tunnel, headed straight for the Gryffindor PT room. You’re still sobbing, awful, throaty cries that are etching their way around James’ ribs, threatening to break and scratch and pull at them. It’s a flurry of noise and shouting and protests from you whenever someone comes close to touching your hip. It’s chaos.

James isn’t really all that sure if you’ve fully registered that he’s there, honestly, or if you’re in so much pain you don’t have it in you to argue over his presence. The medic gives James a look, a rather pointed one, when you refuse for the millionth time to let anyone touch your hip. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. You’re not his girlfriend, anymore. You’re not his, you don’t love him. He can’t comfort you the way he used to.

“Jamie,” You’re breathless, face red and blotchy, hand gripping his, looking up at him with fear, “Don’t let them. It hurts.”

And James feels like he’s drowning.

“Hey,” He gets close to your face, the thumb of his free hand swiping away the tears from your eyes, “They can’t help you if you don’t let them see what’s wrong.”

“It hurts.”

“I know,” He soothes, pushing strands of hair from your forehead, “But it’s gonna hurt a lot longer if you don’t let them fix it.”

You seem to consider, hiccupping breaths filling the silence. The medic makes an impatient sound and James throws him a cutting look.

“Short term pain, long term gain.” James murmurs into the skin of your forehead. It's a joke saying - something you used to say rather bitterly when you hurt yourself learning a new stunt.

You don’t flinch, don’t pull away or protest when he presses his lips to the heated skin. It provides the distraction the medics need to cut the seam of your dress and reveal the skin of your hip. A junior medic passes you a nozzle, wheels a tank to the side of the table you’re on, and passes you it, “Gas and air. You’re going to need it.”

James wishes he could have some, too.

The medics work, you almost chew through the air nozzle when they try to push your hip back into place, and eventually, James has to murmur panicked and overly loud sweet nothings into your ear over the gut wrenching cries you let out when the medic yanks and then pushes your hip right back into place.

The game is long since over. Gryffindor won.

You’re limp on the table, waiting for the crowd to leave before the ambulance can make it to the player exit. James sits, watches you drift in and out of consciousness, begs his heart to return to normal because you’re not in pain anymore, not in danger. You’re here. In front of him. Okay.

Sirius appears a little after the game, freshly showered and in his suit.

“She okay?” He asks, hands stuffed into his suit trouser pockets.

You and Sirius are close. Still. James doesn’t hold it against either of you. You’ve both been such an intracule part of each other’s lives that he’d be evil for expecting that to come to an end just because you and James didn’t work out. You both deserve better than his jealousy.

“Dislocated her hip. They think she’s torn some ligaments; need to wait on the hospital scans to be sure.” James replies, eyes roving over your face.

You look so peaceful, asleep. So free of pain, of the fear and agony you’d been in only half an hour ago. His heart aches. He wants to coddle you, assure you you’ll be okay. He knows he can’t.

Sirius nods, “She’ll skate again? Or no?”

The medic hadn’t seemed hopeful. James doesn’t know who’s going to have the job of telling you, but he’s praying for them. You won’t take this news lightly, “Not at the level she’s at now.”

He watches the concern wash over Sirius. They both know what it’s like to skate. Sure, hockey and figure skating are different – but the mindset is often the same. James can’t imagine being told he couldn’t skate. It’s part of him – his soul. As it is, yours.

“You okay?”

James shakes his head, “No. I can’t stop hearing her. That scream, Padfoot - It hollowed me out.”

Sirius nods, like he understands. Perhaps he does, in some way. He heard it, too. “She’s okay. For now. You going in the ambulance?”

“I don’t think she’d appreciate that.”

“I’ll wait for you in the car, then.” Sirius leaves without another word but offers James an understanding look. He gets it. He knows what it’s like for love to hurt. He and Remus spent years hurting each other for no good reason.

The room is quiet when Sirius goes. Just the steady sounds of your breathing, the beeping of your monitor. James allows himself to press his palm to your cheek one last time. He wills himself to stand up, to leave. He can’t manage it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to walk away from you. Not like this.

“Stay. Please.”

You’re awake. He’s not sure how long you’ve been awake, but he has a feeling you heard his conversation with Sirius. His heart feels like it’s been kick started, like for the first time since you hit the ice, he can breathe.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He promises, thumb rubbing at your neck, hand cupping your jaw.

You nod, swallow, “I won’t skate again, will I?”

“You don’t know that.”

A noise akin to a scoff escapes your lips, which wobble as you speak, “Everyone knows how these injuries end, Jamie. I’ll be a coach, at best.”

He wishes he could tell you that you might make a full recovery, that you’ll go back to being the ethereal, elegant skater you’ve been since he met you all those years ago. He’s never lied to you before, though, so he won’t start now. You both know the statistics, the stories, how it goes. Rehab for six months, and if you’re lucky, you’ll skate in a straight line again.

“I’m so, so, sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say.

You shush him, a fresh set of tears springing to your eyes, “I should’ve looked for you. I should’ve, I knew I should’ve, but I thought if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from coming to you. From coming to tell you that I was sorry, that I was wrong, I should’ve…”

James takes his turn shushing you as the quiet sobs rack your body. You used to chide him for his superstitions, it breaks his heart that you think breaking one caused this. He leans over, lips to the skin of your forehead, pressing over and over as though it might make the weight of his love settle into your brain, “No. Please don’t do that, please. Don’t blame yourself. These things happen. Accidents, they happen, no one is a perfect skater, okay?”

“But it’s my fault we broke up.”

You sound so broken, so tired. James doesn’t know what to say, isn't sure what relevance that has to this, so he says nothing.

Time passes, the medics return, bring James his joggies and hoodie and his shoes. He changes quickly, comes in the ambulance to the hospital.

He waits with you, holds your hand, gives you as much reassurance as he can. The doctor tells you three hours later that you’ll never skate at the same level again, and James holds you. He’s careful not to crush you when he climbs into the hospital bed, and he holds you until there’s no more tears left for you to cry. He sits with you in the silence, is patient when you get angry, frustrated, blame yourself and the world, even him, and he’s there. He stays. He doesn’t allow you to push him away this time.

The sun creeps up over the trees, cuts through the fluorescent hospital lighting and casts its golden glow on you, and James remembers.

He remembers all the time away from the rink, the beach, his parent’s summer house, road trips, theme parks, early mornings in his apartment, coffees in the car after practice. He remembers that there, once, had been more to your relationship than skating. It became habit, after a while. Skate, fight, train, skate, fight, train. It got tiring. It got old, and it drove a wedge between you both.

But he remembers how freely you once loved each other, the person you are, not the way you skate. Your soul, bright and luminous, off the ice. You’re so much more than a pair of skates and a beautiful routine. You’re ethereal all on your own.

You wake not long after, the pain medication worn off and reality starting to set in.

If you’re surprised to find James in your hospital bed with you, you don’t show it. You offer him a gentle smile. A kind smile. A hopeful smile. He kisses the crown of your head, nestles as close as your hip will allow. You make a grateful humming noise.

"I'll survive this."

James notes that you don't sound all that sure. But he knows you will. He squeezes you gently, "You will."

"And you'll be there? I know it's selfish of me to ask..."

"I'm not going anywhere. Promise." James' thumb pulls your lip from where it's worrying between your teeth, and you look so soft, so scared. So. Lovely.

You seem happy with that answer, cheek rubbing happily against his shoulder, "We'll work it out."

"We will."

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Vyjayanthimala (Madhumati, Amrapali, Sangam, Devdas)—Strong contender for /the/ OG queen of Indian cinema for over 2 straight decades. Her Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award came not a moment too soon with 62 movies under her belt. Singer, dancer, actor, and also has the most expressive set of eyes known to man

Audrey Hepburn (My Fair Lady, Sabrina, Roman Holiday)—Growing up, Audrey Hepburn desperately wanting to be a professional ballerina, but she was starved during WWII and couldn't pursue her dream due to the effects of malnourishment. After she was cast in Roman Holiday, she skyrocketed to fame, and appeared in classics like My Fair Lady and Breakfast at Tiffany's. She's gorgeous, and mixes humor and class in all of her performances. After the majority of her acting career came to close, she became a UNICEF ambassador.

This is round 6 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Vyjayanthimala:

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Audrey Hepburn:

"She may be a wispy, thin little thing, but when you see that girl, you know you're really in the presence of something. In that league there's only ever been Garbo, and the other Hepburn, and maybe Bergman. It's a rare quality, but boy, do you know when you've found it." - Billy Wilder

Raised money for the resistance in nazi occupied Hungary. Became a humanitarian after retiring. Two very sexy things to do!

where to begin......... i wont her so bad. i literally dont know what to say.

My dude. The big doe eyes, the cheekbones, the voice. The flawless way she carried herself. She was never in a movie where she wasn't drop dead gorgeous. Oh, also the fact she raised funds against the Nazis doing BALLET and she won the Presidential Medal of Freedom for her humanitarian work.

"It’s as if she dropped out of the sky into the ’50s, half wood-nymph, half princess, and then disappeared in her golden coach, wearing her glass slippers and leaving no footprints." - Molly Haskell

"All I want for Christmas is to make another movie with Audrey Hepburn." - Cary Grant

I know people nowadays are probably sick of seeing her with all the beauty and fashion merch around that depicts her and/or Marilyn Monroe but she is considered a classic Hollywood beauty for a reason. Ironically in her day she was more of the alternative beauty when compared to many of her contemporaries. She always came off with such elegance and grace, and she was so charming. Apparently she was a delight to work with considering how many of her co-stars had wonderful things to say about her. Outside of her beauty and acting ability she was immensely kind. She helped raise funds for the Dutch resistance during WWII by putting on underground dance performances as well as volunteering at hospitals and other small things to help the resistance. During her Hollywood career and later years she worked with UNICEF a lot. Just an all around beautiful person both inside and out.

No one could wear clothes in this era like she could. She was every major designer's favorite star and as such her films are time capsules of high fashion at the time. But beyond that, she had such an elegance in her screen presence that belied a broad range of ability. From a naive princess, to a confused widow, to a loving and mischievous daughter, she could play it all.

Look at that woman's neck. Don't you want to bite it?