#The revenge for all the innuendos would be RELENTLESS.

[jazzy-a]

There's only one way Alastor could really get away with embarrassing Angel Dust.

And that would be going the "mom" route.

He will publicly out this boy for the fact that he's technically old enough to have been in Alastor's "outdated" era and understands all his references. If this man finds out that Angel has any memories or love for classic things from when they were both alive, he'd use it against him.

It would be like your parents pulling out your baby book in front of the biker gang you just joined.

Angel's like, "I DON'T like the Charleston! I-It's stupid and lame! I'm a fricken' stripper, baby, of course I wouldn't be caught DEAD doing that!" (visibly sweating)

Has to make a call on one of Alastor's phones and doesn't think twice about being like, "Operator, connect me to 2247," while checking out his nails.

Makes ONE reference to an old starlet in 1925 that no one (except Husk and Alastor) knows who he's talking about and he tries to backpedal so hard.

As Angel fumes to deny he is old or outdated and is IN FACT trendy and modern, Alastor is wearing a shit-eating, patronizing, grin, like, "Aw, it's adorable how he tries." (Boops his nonexistent nose)

[sope-and-shine]

Do You Have The Receipt For That?

-> Pairing: Jin x Gender Neutral!Reader -> SFW // Domestic!AU  // Fluff // Comedy -> Word Count: 1.9k -> Summary: “Get married,” they said. “It’ll be fun,” they said. You thought the honeymoon stage was supposed to last a few months. Yours didn’t even last 48 hours. -> Warning(s): Chaotic Jin, Jin gets drunk, Adam Sandler grade humor and innuendos, a healthy dose of blackmail

a/n: Jin deserves all the love in the world  

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When Jin asked you to marry him, you honestly thought he was joking at first. He’d said it so casually over a glass of wine that when he actually dropped to his knee in the restaurant and pulled out the ring you were left completely speechless. He’d teased you about him being so handsome that he rendered you speechless, but you knew he was just trying to soothe his own worries over you possibly saying no. But he didn’t have anything to worry about.

All he had to do was get the ring on your finger.

Getting married to the love of your life was the biggest dream come true for you. Walking down the aisle dressed to the 9’s, your fiancé in a tux and looking as handsome as ever, your closest friends and families gathered along both sides to celebrate and enjoy your happiness. There was nothing more that you could have asked for, and you wouldn’t have changed anything about the day at all!

Over the course of your engagement, he did his very best to help you with every decision. He tried to be involved as much as he could to ensure that this wedding was something you both would be able to look back on and remember just how lucky you both are. Every venue search, every cake testing, every question over the smallest flower, he was by your side giving his opinion and reassuring you that whatever decision you made would be good.

Waking up in your honeymoon suite next to the love of your life felt like waking up on your birthday, knowing the day was going to be good. Seeing his recently dyed locks sprawled across his pillow with his cheek lightly smushed against his hand has your heart a flutter. The way his skin glows under the light peeking through the hotel window making you want to look at his forever. He’s always joked about being worldwide handsome, but why stop at just this world when he looks so ethereal?

You reach out - unable to stop yourself - and thread your fingers through his bleached tresses. For the amount of times that he changed his hair color, it was still so silky and smooth. If he’d let you, you’d run your hands through it all day and refuse to ever let him leave. Even as he stirs underneath your touch, you continue to play with the hair on his head.

“Didn’t you get enough of me at the reception?” He teases, a slight hoarseness to his morning voice.

You chuckle and sigh, “I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.”

“Is that because of my looks or my talents?” He asks, winking playfully. You can’t help but roll your eyes at his suggestion. 

You lean in and place a kiss on his forehead, “Your cooking is one of my favorite things about you.” 

You ruffle his hair and he lets out an annoyed groan, “Now I’ll have to fix that.”

“You had to fix it anyway. It didn’t survive last night.” You remind him, slightly proud of your accomplishment.

A hand reaches out to lay across your bare stomach and pull you closer to him, “I didn’t think you’d survive last night…” He says, his lips next to your ear.

You laugh as you squirm in his grasp, “Stop it! I’ve had enough to last me a week!”

“I thought you said you couldn’t get enough of me!” His other arm slides under your back to cage you into his chest. His fingers dance across your sides until he’s finally in a good position to attack you with well-deserved tickles for your treason, “Have you lied to me? How dare you! I’m your husband!”

“Ah! I’m sorry!” You cry out in a fit of laughter, moving every which way to try and get away from his relentless attack. He doesn’t let up, tickling every part of you that your position allows him too. 

He manages to work his way on top, effectively straddling you as he continues his relentless torture, “How could you lie to your husband like this?! We just got married! Oh, who is this person I’ve married?”

“I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it!” You laugh, hands flailing as they try to grab at his own. Tear cling to your eyes, “Please, Jin! No more! I can’t! I’m gonna pee!”

“Oh, wow, isn’t that sexy?” He teases. He ends his attack and replaces it with soothing caresses, running his hands up and down your sides as you calm down from the excitement. He watches you from above with a soft, genuine smile as he wonders just how lucky he is himself to have you.

You take notice of his content smile and give him one of your own, “What are you looking at?” 

“My amazing best friend.” He leans down and places a soft kiss against your lips, a much different pace from the activity before. You both enjoy the intimacy of just being together, loving the simplicity that comes with just a simple press of your lips together.

When he pulls away, he sighs, “We have a long day today. We should get ready soon.”

“We should.” You nod in agreement. You can’t help the playful smile that reaches your face, “But we should probably try to save some water by showering together. You know, for the environment.”

Jin can’t stop the blush that rises to his cheeks at your suggestion and laughs, “Oh, you’re cheeky!”

---

Your shower took longer than the two of you had planned for. The two of you had gotten carried away throwing suds back and forth and wasted the complimentary soap in one go. If Jin hadn’t tried to steal it out of your hands to try and squeeze it over your head, then he probably wouldn’t have slipped and taken you down with him. You could barely hear him whine over how heavy you were and how bad his back hurt for how young he is over the sound of the shower and your own laughter. 

Needless to say, he got his revenge by tickling you again.

Though, with him hurting himself in the morning, the both of you had to change up your plans for the day. What was supposed to be a day out on the town and sightseeing turned into a relaxing spa visit for you both to recover from the morning. 

The spa itself was very lovely, with an amazing atmosphere. Very calm and serene, and it felt so refreshing just to walk through the front door. With Jin, you explored all of the spa options they had to offer, walking through various rooms and relaxing hand in hand. Occasionally, Jin would lean over and whisper a joke or something completely random into your ear.

“I have indigestion.” or “What do you call a cow with no legs? Ground beef.”

He followed both up with his contagious laughter, always doing his best to muffle the sound but failing miserably. You had to drag him out of one room before he disturbed the other patrons, and you thought for sure an employee would hunt you down and force you to leave. But that looming concern didn’t stop you from enjoying the time you got to spend with your husband. You both spent all day enjoying the spa, and it wasn’t until dinner time came around that you began to realize that it was a bad idea.

As lovely as the spa was, there was on downside to what they offered.

Alcohol.

Seokjin isn’t a lightweight, but when he’s relaxing he has the tendency to drink just a bit too much. Not in a sense that he became completely reckless or abrasive, but in a chaotic drunk sort of way. He was himself, but more eccentric.

When you returned to the hotel fully relaxed and ready to crash on your bed to cuddle and watch movies, Jin seemed to be a bit more out of it than his usual self. You initially thought this had to do with the alcohol, and you were already planning on getting him some more water and maybe a painkiller or two. But what you had thought was a crash from the alcohol turns out to be your drunk, chaotic husband contemplating and overthinking.

“You love me, right?” He asks, sitting on your hotel room bed while you get him a bottle of water.

You chuckle, “Of course I love you silly!” You walk over from the mini-fridge - water bottle in hand - and sit down next to him on the soft sheets. You cup his cheek with one hand and smile, “I wouldn’t marry you if I didn’t love you, Jin.”

The blonde takes a moment to fully comprehend your reassurance before he nods, “That’s right.”

You try to hand him the water bottle, but he stands before you get the chance. You watch him walk over to the bedside table and pull something out of the drawer, hiding it in the palm of hand. He then walks over to his laptop bag on the table by the window and pulls out a manila folder.

The manila folder with your marriage license in it.

You watch him pull the document out and set the folder back down before he walks past you to the bathroom. Concerned, you follow him, worried about why he would possibly need to bring your marriage license to the bathroom. You’re sent for a loop when you see what he’s doing.

In the sink is your marriage license, and in his hand is a lighter. He holds the light to the edge of the paper and waits for it to set before he closes the lighter and turns to you with the biggest shit eating grin, “Ha! Good luck trying to return me without the receipt!”

You say nothing. You only stand in the doorway, mouth agape looking between your drunk husband and the singular piece of paper you overpaid for to tie yourself to his dumb ass. You honestly want to believe that you can’t believe he just did that, but a part of you really isn’t shocked at all.

He takes your silence as a victory and goes to leave the bathroom, but not without leaving you with a kiss to the cheek and a few words of wisdom: “Close your mouth before you let a fly in.”

When you get over your shock enough to try and salvage what’s left of your burnt marriage license - there isn’t anything to save - you return to the main room. On your bed, Jin is already lying on the bed and passed out with a half empty water bottle on his bedside table. He looks so peaceful lying in bed that you don’t have it in you to wake him up.

So instead, you pull out your phone and record what’s left of the incident. You recount what happened during the day, what happened when you returned home, and you end it by showing yourself tucking in the “man of your dreams” and kissing his head.

“I can’t wait to show this on our 10 year wedding anniversary.” You chuckle, smoothing back the hair that falls over his forehead. You turn to the camera in your hand and smile, “You’re lucky I love you, Kim Seokjin.

[paladinwife]

The God and the Queen

Afflicted with feelings, Ares pursues a coy Hippolyta. ~2k words. Warnings for alcohol consumption and suggestive banter from Ares.

How strange that what should have been a burden to him instead filled him with warmth. 

He wasn’t sure what brought the sensation on. Perhaps he had annoyed Aphrodite, and she decided to curse him with the weakness of feelings. Perhaps her intentions were more benign and she simply wished for him to lighten up. Or, perhaps, she had nothing to do with it and he had brought the feelings on himself.

The object of his affection - the Amazonian Queen Hippolyta - had been in his sights for some time. As of yet he had been unable to speak to her, yet he observed her through the dark shroud of the underworld as she assisted in rescuing his kin time and time again. He had seen her, and the way she fights - the ferocity of her strike and the fire in her eyes. When she wiped the sweat from her brow, he felt almost mortal in the strangest, most exciting of ways. 

Still, he had yet to speak to her - an issue he intended to solve quickly. 

~~~

The plan was simple. He needed to speak to the queen, alone, without alerting her Amazon sisters to his presence. How better than to lure her in disguise?

In the form of a dog, he limped pitifully towards the queen. In truth, he was uninjured - but a convincing enough performance may persuade her regardless. Surely enough, she approached, following him while talking softly to him. He led her, slowly and carefully, to a clearing, and finally he dropped the guise.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Queen Hippolyta.” He stood before her in all of his godly glory, his armor gleaming in the sun.

“Ares,” she responded, raising an eyebrow. “How did you know who I am?”

“I have kept a close eye on you.” His gaze was intense. “You are the one my sister sent to rescue my kin Zagreus, are you not? I’ve seen how you fight. I must thank you for the show.”

The queen looked even more puzzled. “Did you come all this way to compliment me on my fighting?”

“More than that.” The god of war stepped closer. “I wanted to finally speak to the woman whose work I have admired so much.”

The queen’s confusion turned to suspicion. “Just to speak to me?”

“I have a proposal of sorts.” The war god’s wicked smirk was enough to lure many women, but perhaps, not the queen. “I meant to court you. Get to know you better. Perhaps see some of that glorious skill up close.”

Hippolyta’s face no doubt reflected the wildly varying emotions she experienced in that moment. “You saw me fight and came all this way to tell me you’re interested in me?”

“That would be one way of putting it.” Ares’s calm demeanor did not falter at all.

“Well, Lord Ares.” Her look of shock faded and was replaced with a confident smile. “If I take you up on your proposal, you’ll have to win my interest fair and square.”

“That I will do, Queen Hippolyta.” And with that, the god was gone.

By all accounts, his pride should have been wounded. A mere mortal should have fawned and groveled at his divine feet. Still, he found himself even more interested.

~~~

“Queen Hippolyta!” Two Amazons rushed towards the queen, arms full of weapons. “We have a message!”

Hippolyta raised an eyebrow. “What is the message? And where did these weapons come from?”

The Amazons set weapon after weapon at her feat. A spear much like the queen’s own prized weapon, a bow that shone in the sunlight, and perhaps most notably, a saber with an eerie red tinge.

“An old man brought these. He said they were an offering to you.” One of the amazons explained.

“An offering? What old man?” The queen had picked up the sabre and was looking it over, scouring for any signs as to where it had come from.

“That’s not all. He said something about… a dog? That you had saved his dog or something like that?”

Hippolyta froze in recognition. That smooth bastard. Was this his game? 

“...Display them, if you please. Except for this saber. I plan on keeping it.” The other women gladly took the remaining weapons and left.

Once they were gone, the queen sighed, looking over the saber again. Of course he would.

~~~

Hippolyta had an idea. If he insisted on presenting her all of the gifts that he has, why shouldn’t she give one to him? 

She sought out the clearing, the same one where he had first revealed himself to her, a bottle of wine in hand - something fine enough for an Olympian, she thought, from her own personal supply. But would he accept?

She held up the bottle. “Lord Ares, I know you’re here, and I don’t intend on drinking this alone.”

Sure enough, the god himself appeared before her, eyeing her mirthfully. “Wine, you say? How gracious of you, Queen.”

Hippolyta’s smile was unmistakable, and it was not lost on Ares. “With all of your thoughtful gifts, I thought I should return the favor.” She opened the bottle and began pouring him a glass. “Surely the god of war himself appreciates a fine bottle of wine.” She handed him his glass, pouring her own.

“I hardly expected such gifts from you so soon.” He took a generous swig from the glass. “Though, I’ve never been given wine without a feast to enjoy it with.”

“What, is my company not enough? And here I thought you were interested in me.” She sipped from her own glass.

“Oh, it is more than enough.” He gave her an intense look. “Though allowing me to watch you train has been rewarding enough for me.”

She laughed. “I hardly share my wine with anyone, Lord Ares. Stay a while and enjoy it.”

“I couldn’t refuse your company, Queen.”

Wrapped in the solitude of the night and far away from the prying eyes of the other Amazons, the two continued their conversation until the bottle had been drunk dry. 

~~~

The queen once again knew something was amiss when she noticed an eagle in a nearby tree as she trained alone.

“Show yourself, Lord Ares,” she called, raising her spear. Sure enough, the eagle revealed itself as the war god himself, armor gleaming divinely in the high sun.

“I have a proposal for you, Queen Hippolyta.” He stepped forward, extending a hand to her.

“If it involves more gifts, it doesn’t need my approval, does it?” She looked at his hand suspiciously for a moment, before reaching her hand out to take it.

“Even better. I’m certain you remember King Theseus, the current champion of Elysium.”

The queen’s face reddened. “That bastard…”

He chuckled. “I see you do. And I’ve come to offer my assistance.”

“Assistance? How?” 

He laced his fingers with hers. “I intend to offer you my blessing for you to get your revenge on him.” Hippolyta opened her mouth to speak. “I know you can handle the champion alone. Consider it my endorsement.”

Hippolyta paused. “What’s the catch?”

“There is none.” He smirked a wicked, heart-rending smirk. “I simply wish to sit back and enjoy as you tear the king to pieces.”

The queen laughed. “I like the way you think. Fine, then. I’ll accept your help.”

“A wise decision, Queen.”

~~~

“Hey, Zag?”

Zagreus looked up. “Yes, Lyta?” The two waited outside of the arena in Elysium, the champion and his trusty bull companion awaiting them inside.

“It’s about the fight coming up. You focus on Asterius, alright? The king is mine this time.” She turned her spear in her hands, its unusual red glow going unremarked upon by the prince.

Zagreus raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he nodded. “He’s all yours, Lyta.” He had heard her feelings before, her unbridled anger over his kidnapping of her sister. Somewhere inside, he expected her to ask at some point.

He thought nothing of the serious look on her face, or how quiet she was as they entered the arena together. 

“Foul demon, I see you have brought the scourge of Athens to our fair arena again!” The voice of the king boomed, filling the space. 

“She’s not a-“ Zagreus was quickly cut off by the “scourge” herself.

“Listen here, king.” Her voice was as strong as her will. “We have unfinished business, and I plan on putting an end to it right here.”

“Ha!” The champion readied himself, lifting his spear. “I’d like to see you try, villain.”

“King, this is a bad idea,” Theseus’s bovine companion warned, but it was too late and lost on unlistening ears. Hippolyta wasted no time in charging Theseus, and for a moment Zagreus could have sworn he saw her eyes flash red.

Ares… it must have been. 

“Lord Ares!” She called, and her spear took on a reddish hue as she thrust it towards the king without hesitation or mercy.

“Sponsoring the scourge? How typical of you, Lord Ares!” Theseus cried, his pride wounded.

So it was Ares, Zagreus thought. Was that why he had been appearing more often? And why he had been asking about Lyta? Asterius’s charge shook him from his thoughts, and a last-second dodge narrowly saved him from injury.

“Face me, coward! You will pay for what you did to Antiope!” Her attacks were relentless, and each strike brought the characteristic red glow of doom. Her ferocity repeatedly drew the attention of a charmed Zagreus, who endured several near misses from his opponent.

As he focused himself on fighting Asterius, he couldn’t help but feel that the champion of Elysium was finally getting what he deserved, at the hands of his vengeful companion and Lord Ares himself.

~~~

“A beautiful job, my queen.” That evening, beneath the stars, Hippolyta was once again confronted with the god of war and his wicked smile. “Such passion behind each and every thrust.”

Hippolyta, coy as ever, pretended to not notice his innuendo. “Was it the vengeance you had hoped to see, Lord Ares?”

“Everything I had hoped for and more, Queen.” His hand cupped her chin, tilting it up. “How thrilling to see the champion defeated by your hand, and with my blessing.”

Hippolyta’s gaze was playfully defiant. “Did you come all this way to compliment me again?”

He drew her face closer to him with his hand. “Do you remember my proposition? How I wanted to romance you?”

“How could I forget? You haven’t left me alone since.” She placed her hand over his.

“You’ve certainly warmed up to me.” His hand moved to her cheek, his thumb rubbing careful circles. “I dare say it seems like you’ve fallen for me.”

“How arrogant of you, Lord Ares.” Her gaze turned towards his hand, her face tinged with pink. The god chuckled deeply.

“Have you ever thought about being a consort to a god? Most mortals would be honored.” His voice lowered to a husky whisper as he leaned his face in close to hers.

“Since when have you known me to be ‘most mortals’?” Her gaze met his again, her confidence building once again. Again, he chuckled.

“You’re right. I wasn’t looking for ‘most mortals’.” She could feel his breath on her skin, he was so close. “Then let me rephrase: will you have me, my queen?”

For a moment, they were silent. Only the sounds of Mother Night’s domain could be heard: the chirping of insects, the quiet rustling of branches in the breeze, mingling with the soft sound of his breath. 

The queen herself interrupted the stillness, not with words, but with a kiss. She closed the shrinking space between them, claiming his lips with hers. He reacted without hesitation, as if he had been waiting for her; one hand cupped the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, and his other arm held her waist tight. The kiss was hungry, as if they had both held in their passion for too long and it all spilled out at once. Once he parted from her, Hippolyta was breathless.

“Should I take that as a yes, then?” Ares ran his fingers through her hair.

Hippolyta quickly recovered her confidence. “I’ll be your consort, Lord Ares. Just don’t get too cocky.”

His grin took on a kind of warmth unlike him. “I’ll behave, mostly.” He offered her his hand. “Now, shall I show you Olympus?”

Hippolyta took his arm instead. “No need to be so formal with me. Let’s go, together.” 

[elle-aaron]

If you could write Dele x Eric for #4 or #62, that would be lovely. Hope you’re having a fab day :3

Watch Me

People: Eric Dier and Dele Alli… deledier if you will. 

Warnings: none, beside some innuendos (minor)

   Tuesday. A day notoriously known for drills. Drills on top of drills with a sprinkle of drills. The day that every player at Tottenham hated but Poch loved as it was his little ‘revenge’ for the team’s attitude and outcomes during games. And so the day rolled around and the moment Dele got out bed he felt the dread building up. It wasn’t that he didn’t like to run around with his friends and he was quite a competitive lad but, a certain tall blonde could take the fun out of it. That powerful blonde was the one, the only … Christian. No, just joking, it was Eric. After a coupe of drills Eric would start to pout and complain that his knee was hurting, he was on a bad team, other people were cheating and the worst of all… he would start shading Dele. “bet you can’t get there before me” “my nan could outrun you” “your nutmegs are getting lousy and nonexistent”. Let’s just say even though Eric was Dele’s bestfriend, he was an absolute pain in the arse when it came to drills.

  A couple of hours later, after breakfast and warm-up, the drills were starting. Poch announced it was doing to be sprints and then team exercises, a things which could’ve been fine, but Dele saw he was facing no one other but Eric and his team of dorks.

  “Come on Dele! Cheer up! It’ll be a good day today!” Sonny yelled after him, “I’ll even let you nutmeg me.”   “Sod off, Sonny! You know very well who I want to nutmeg.”   “I know who you want to do more than nutmeg…” Serge chipped in.   “Keep it PJ, guys!” said Hugo.   “Cap, no disrespect, but it’s PG, not PJ, and I honestly don’t think you know what it means.” said Kieran, but completely regretting it the moment his captain turned around and looked down at him.    "Va te faire foutre, I know what it means, I have 2 daughters,“ said Hugo which led to his fellow French parle-ers to giggle.    "Cap, don’t make yourself mad over something Delboy said, it’s useless,” said Eric making his presence known to everyone but especially Dele. As the lads giggled like school girls, they started making their way outside and when they reached the field, Eric approached Dele, “Come on Del, cheer up! I won’t go as hard (hehe)!”

  After a couple of sprints, and unnecessary but hilarious banter, Dele was finally coming around to the idea that Eric was actually trying to be nice to him this session. However, this was obviously interrupted by a certain someone *cough cough*. While Dele was looking peaceful, looking at the sky and birds and other philosophical shit, Eric took this opportunity to make the brown haired man even madder. And so, he swooped past his teammates, swooped the ball from Winksy (“Mate, that wasn’t bloody cool”) and led it straight between his favourite pair of chopsticks. When Eric turned around, he was prepared to bask in his glory that HE, Eric Jeremy Edgar Dier, nutmegged the supposed king of nutmegs, however he was faced with a rather sour faced Dele. The moment the pouty mess opened his mouth wanting to say something, Poch started yelling.

  “Alright, get in your assigned teams! Well be playing 7 on 7. I’ll give you 3 minutes to come up with a game plan!”   “Coach, did you say a gay plan?” asked Mousa.   “I think Dele has quite a good gay plan so our team is going to win!” added in Jan.   “All I ask is for ONE SESSION WHERE YOU DON’T MAKE FUN OF WHAT I SAY, YOU CABRONES!” said Poch, walking away from the lads, leaving everyone a laughing mess, well, everyone but Dele.

  The 3 minutes went by and Jan seemed to be right… that his team, the glorious white team, would be winning. The other team, the blue team, was formed of gits who honestly didn’t know what to do and who were more making fun of each other than making up a game plan. The only good think going for the blue team is that they knew how to hide it, or rather, how to not make it obvious that they didn’t know what the bloody hell was going on. Well… almost good, Serge would eventually start giggling which would make Moussa laugh and his laugh made everyone laugh, but it was fine (at least they hoped so).

  As soon as the whistle blew, the white team took control of the ball, with Harry at the front dribbling the ball to Sonny and later passing it to Jan whom tapped it into Michael’s net and led to their first much expected point. All the lads (of the white team, of course) started celebrating and jumping on each other which Dele immediately joined, however his mood was once again ruined by Mr Dier.

  “That’s great and all, but we already know that we’re going to lose, so the only way I’m actually accepting a win from you is if any of you 7 do the impossible and nutmeg me,” said Eric, raising his chest like a bloody peacock, “I’ll give you extra points if Chopsticks does it since he seems to be losing his touch”

  “Oh, yeah? Then watch me.” replied back Dele. This time, he thought, this git will not make a fool out of me.

  And so the game restarted and even though the obvious focus was to score goals, the lads were only seeming as if they were actually trying to score so Poch wouldn’t swear at them and call them God knows what in Spanish, but in reality, they were trying to give Dele a chance to do the impossible and it became so tense that even Hugo was stressed. Eric, on the other hand, was only playing the bare necessary and was very often caught in a closed legged stance, making it even harder for the nutmegging to happen. Harder, but not impossible, which is exactly what happened when Winksy accidently slipped, directing the ball however making it airborne, making the blonde raise his leg in the air to receive it and then planting his foot a good distance a way from the other, and in that exact moment Dele stole the ball and slipped  it in between 'the champions’ legs, leaving Eric with the cutest shocked-sad reaction.

  “So how many points is that, Direwolf? 4? 5? That stunned look on your face can result in 3 points singlehandedly.” Dele said oh so confidently and mockingly, which unfortunately was caught by the Argentinean manager.

  “You are not paid more that 70,000 pounds a week to stand around and mock each other! You are paid to be great footballers and role models! NOW GET PLAYING!” yelled Poch, however it didn’t matter how mad the manager was (or maybe it mattered a little bit), Dele was finally able to a) nutmeg someone again b) that someone was Eric and c) stop the relentless mocking coming from the blond and rather change it with respect or at least Eric wouldn’t bring it up at the next few trainings, or maybe he would to achieve his goal, annoying his dark-haired crush.

A/N: So, darling, I chose to do #4 because a whole story popped into my head the moment I read it. There are so many sexual innuendos which I wanted to address but didn’t get a chance to. 😥 However, I really enjoyed writing this and including some of the Spurs squad. HOPE YOU LIKE IT! 💕💕💕 Small dedication to @avsensio for making me think of her while I was writing the french swears. 😘

Lots of love, Elle. Xx ❤❤

[ive-always-been-a-pirate]

Breathing Dreams Like Air + CS Neverland One Shot

So here’s a little smutty thing that’s been prodding me for a loooooong time :] set in Neverland post 3x05 when Emma learns that Hook hears the cries of the Lost Boys at night just like she does. Basically Lagoon smut with some of that season three UST.

Rating: M Word Count: 6K

The voices echoed in her head as she shot up, allowing the dream - or rather, nightmare - to pull her from what had been a very uneasy sleep. The night was dense around the camp, only the sound of distant crickets and rippling water from the nearby lagoon to soothe her dizzied brain. Taking a deep breath, Emma glanced around the open space to notice her parents still soundly slumbering near the fire while Regina had finally succumbed to exhaustion beneath a blanket they'd brought from Hook’s ship.

Hook, she wondered as her frantic mind finally settled. Wait, where was he?

The question was curious at best, though there was and probably always had been more to her so called ‘casual’ thoughts about him. Her trust regarding the innuendo accompanied pirate captain had always been slightly off balance, but she knew he wouldn't leave them to their own less than knowledgeable devices on this island. He'd come back for them when he didn't have to. He'd opted to face his own apparent fear of this place to assist them - to help her and save Henry. That surely meant something.

She just didn't know what.

Emma knew if he'd been present at the moment she'd been ripped from her unpleasant rest, he would have made sure she was alright, given her a possible explanation for her bout of island insomnia, and flirtatiously offered to accompany her back to her makeshift bed - probably in that order. She rolled her eyes at the idea of how his smoldering smirk and those deep cobalt eyes would likely be able to make her mind wander if he'd propositioned her in such a manner.

Not that it wasn't partially her fault for letting him finally get the best of her in the heat of this damn jungle.

Perhaps gratitude is in order…

Emma shook off the echoing words before her relentless memory could drag up any more details. She didn't have time for that man or his shameless charm. If they were going to find Henry, she'd need a focused mind - and that was something her nightmares surely wouldn't help her gain.

Rising to her feet, she quickly laced up her boots and grabbed the sword she'd been gifted back on the Jolly Roger. She took a moment to admire the slight curve of the blade and wonder about the story that might surround it. It still wasn't totally clear why Hook had insisted she have it - well, other than the basic need for a way to protect herself. She'd seen the conflicted blue in his sympathetic gaze and heard the quieting of his tone when he'd extended it to her, the proof that perhaps he really was grieving Neal as well. Turning over a weapon that he'd coveted for quite some time seemed out of character for the selfish scoundrel who did little that didn't assist him in his own revenge. The cutlass was an unexpected and almost thoughtful gesture - along with now being a helpful item to sling across her back before she took what was about to be a very late night departure from the campsite.

Hook had warned them about the unpredictable trickery of Neverland when they’d finally docked, vowing to their group that ‘there are dangers all about and only I can guide us past them’ as they hiked through the overgrown vegetation. Emma scoffed to herself as she thought back to his ominous words, a little irritated as she remembered how she’d jumped to support his claim so effortlessly. If he was around now to watch her tiptoe around the dwindling embers of the fire pit, he’d tell her that gallivanting off into the dark jungle was far too treacherous and that she’d only be tempting Pan to pay her a visit.

Bossy idiot, she thought with spiking nerves and a slow burn dancing across her skin. Why did she even care what he thought?

She shivered as the recollection of the night before entered her weary mind. The kiss she’d somehow pulled him into as a speculated ‘thank you’ had definitely been a bit more complicated than that, but she’d been fighting the urge to believe it since the moment she pulled away. The feel of his lips on hers and the smooth texture of his leather collar in her grip were memories she couldn’t will away no matter how she attempted to distract herself. It was becoming more irritating by the minute and as she took a deep breath, Emma wondered just how she was expected to get him out of her mind and her system when the desire to kiss him again was almost as plaguing as her recent haunted dreams.

She finally resigned with a low groan. This was ridiculous. Hook wasn’t there and she sure as hell didn’t have to answer to him. Plus, as much as she hated to agree with Regina, Pan had only proven so far to be a petty teenager with way too much free time on his hands. One defiant adolescent villain was certainly something her savior skills could handle if needed.

She knew her mounting feelings about the Captain who’d brought them to this place were truly what should be of concern.

Her boots plodded the dirty, swampy pathway through the tall reeds as she listened for noise beyond the sound of persistently noisy insects. The small lagoon they'd seen from one of the cliff tops nearby wasn't far and the idea of catching her bearings by the serenity of the water was a call she’d answered many times before - a habit that surely didn't have to cease just because they were in Neverland. All seemed relatively quiet and Emma remembered quickly that it wasn't this strange silence that had shaken her from sleep.

She'd had a nightmare - well, maybe that's what it was. It felt a little more real than that though and like hell if she knew why.

It had only been three nights ago when she'd had a similar sort of fitful slumber. Tossing and turning on the damp dirt of the jungle floor had left her body tense and breath heaving by the time she snapped upright in a state of panic, the voices and soft cries of something unknown ringing in her ears. It wasn't until she had taken a short walk to chase away the demons that she'd learned from an intrusive Pan what had caused her troubled dream.

It was the call of the lost boys - broken and lonely as it hung in the distance. It hadn't taken long for her to recognize their empty sound as one she'd made in her younger years of abandonment. It was the plea of fading hope and the acceptance of loss. It was familiar and something only she had heard, despite the presence of the other members in the determined search party.

At least, that's what she'd believed until this moment when she reached the edge of the somewhat concealed body of water. The sight ahead confirmed she wasn't alone in her midnight venture.

Submerged cautiously in the water was the man she'd been annoyingly pondering just moments ago. Hook , she realized silently with a soft bite of her bottom lip. He looked somewhat calm in the soft moonlight, his silhouetted stance in the shallows cut clear as he ran a wet hand up and down his face. Even with the distance, she noticed a strangely haunted expression as he pulled his fingers through his hair and began shaking off the moisture with a quick tilt of his head. It was easy to see the way his bare chest heaved with a deep breath and she wondered briefly what had brought him to his current place of obviously much needed relaxation. It was late, but here he was - looking as familiarly confused and tormented as she felt.

It wasn't possible he'd heard the droning cries from beyond the trees. It wasn't possible that they were that kindred. It definitely wasn't possible that he could understand one other element of the past she just couldn't put away.

“Evening, Swan,” his voice welcomed suddenly, the shifting of the still waters and his locating glance grabbing her attention. “A bit late to be out and about, isn't it?”

Emma sighed softly, folding her arms to hide the shiver rolling over her skin. She tried to look away from his dark gaze, knowing full well how impossible that was recently becoming and knowing even more so just how hazardous a staring contest with the perceptive pirate truly was. The drops of water lingering on his skin and the way his shaggy wet hair clung to his forehead quickly reminded her that he was perhaps one of the real perils she'd be forced to face in this realm.

She’d come to that inconvenient realization the night before in the concealed space of the trees when she’d kissed the hell out of his arrogant lips. God, what had she been thinking - and why was she thinking the same thing right now?

“I thought I'd warned you about the dangers here plenty of times to discourage you from taking any midnight strolls.”

“Yeah, I, umm….couldn't sleep,” she offered, taking some entranced opportunity to move a little closer. “But it looks as if I could accuse you of the same problem.”

“Aye,” he started, dragging his hand back through his drenched scalp before lifting an eyebrow. “Suppose I might have wondered if you could hear them too.”

Emma felt chills move across her skin as she watched his expression go from curious to sweetly sympathetic. His stare softened as the water rippled around him, the moonlight emphasizing his handsome appearance as he proved once again just how well he did understand her. There was something knowing in his eyes - almost like he’d assumed she’d disobey his advisory and go traversing the island in the wake of sleeplessness anyway. They were similar in so many ways already, but now they apparently shared a common cause of insomnia as well.

“You alright, Swan?”

His eyebrows furrowed with concern and Emma tried to straighten her unsteady stance. She'd seen that look and heard that question from him far too often in the past few days and it seemed to push her - to suggest she address elements about him that she wasn't ready to. It was almost too difficult to fight the temptation in the form of his echoing words.

I thought all you cared about was yourself.

Perhaps I just needed reminding that I could.

Her mouth parted, her lower lip vibrating as he looked on with intense concentration. He moved closer slowly, the water surrounding his body sinking lower as his motion navigated him to a slightly more shallow place. Emma tried to quiet the gasp leaving her throat as he ruffled his wet hair and the tiny waves he created brushed against his ribs, the brace that kept his hook in place still strapped skillfully around his arm. He was certainly naked - and she was definitely wondering. She was busy trying to remind herself just how bad of an idea that was when the distant sound of sorrows broke through the tense air once again.

“You do hear them-” he said after a moment, raising an eyebrow. “-don't you, love?”

There was no point in lying to this man - she'd decided that long ago. He could see through her in a way she'd never expected. After all, nobody else had ever been able to.

“Why do you hear them?”

“Seems a bit evasive to counter with a question you already know the answer to,” he remarked with a sly smirk. “If you're that keen on avoiding my inquiry, I can take a hint.”

“It's not that,” she said softly, shaking her head as the toe of her boot tapped the edge of the water. “I just….I didn't know….I mean, you aren’t an orphan - you're a pirate, Hook.”

“There's no rule in Neverland that says you can't be both,” he told her with a suddenly exposed shrug. “Very little restrictions here at all, in fact, which means you won't have to spend all of your time policing everyone - something I figured you’d appreciate, darling.”

The subtle curve of his lips was curious - a slight flirtatious challenge that was completely customary of this man and a little quirk she’d been trying to ignore since the day she started to scale the beanstalk alongside him. It was one of those little conversational things he did that she knew she shouldn’t feed into, but for once, she wanted to.

Just to catch him off guard, she thought silently. Just to even the playing field in this game they’d somehow been competing in for a while now.

“Not all of are as interested in testing local laws as-” she returned, folding her arms with a smirk of her own. “-you are, Captain.”

“Well, maybe some rules are meant to be broken,” he grinned as his hook skimmed the water. “Not that you’d dare do such a thing, right, Sheriff?”

“You’d be surprised.”

He stilled at her response, her answer invoking a rare silence between them. Typically the air was so thick with sexual tension and unspoken somethings when they shared space, but this was different. Emma fought the instinctive urge to take back the simple sentence she’d just let slip from her mouth, but the way he looked at her with that blue fire in his eyes made her want to let the words hang there in the humid dark night while he decided what to do with them.

“I’m fairly certain I don’t believe that, love,” he replied as he ran his damp hand over the thick scruff on his jaw. “In fact, when it comes to pushing aside principles, I'm quite sure you’re the one who can't handle it.”

The words slammed into her with scorching recognition and she fought quietly for breath as she remembered saying something quite similar to him after he’d saved her father’s life. It was that low tone of his voice and that teasing look in his always attentive gaze that she’d given into, but it was the skill and precision of his smooth lips that kept the memory lingering in her mind. Now here he was again - coaxing her forward with a competitive edge while the shadowy light of the moon illuminated the tense clench of his jaw and the toned broadness of his shoulders.

She wasn’t sure if she could handle him or anything about this, but seeing him awake for the same reason she was made her wonder if she should try.

“Of course, if you are determined to prove me wrong, the water’s quite warm tonight,” he offered, giving her that vaguely hopeful glance. “Nothing like a swim to soothe a worried mind.”

“My mind is not worried,” she refuted quickly, placing her hands on her hips as she considered the idea. “Is it even safe to be in there? What about these ‘lurking dangers’ you keep mentioning?”

“This particular location isn’t quite so perilous,” he assured her, shaking the water off his head before winking far too salaciously. “Neither Pan nor his minions have been welcome here for centuries.”

“Why?”

“Well,” he said lowly with a lift of his eyebrow. “The former inhabitants of this lagoon weren't quite so fond of the self proclaimed king of Neverland.”

“Former inhabitants? Someone used to live here?”

“Aye, love,” he continued. “They ran a rather tight ship, if you will.”

“Please don't tell me you're talking about mermaids.”

“No,” he grinned before his eyes grew playfully serious. “Sirens, actually.”

“Ah,” she replied, trying to recall any knowledge she already possessed in regard to this brand of mythological creature. “Did they try to lure you to your death at any point in your travels here?”

“Perhaps once or twice,” he chuckled. “But I'm a survivor - as you know.”

Emma let his answer tease her pulse, her mind racing as she realized just how much his many decades alive supported that claim. This man had endured multiple lifetimes - some of which was spent on the island they were currently navigating - and Emma knew there had to be plenty of stories that came along with those years. Watching him glance up at the starry sky, she wondered just how many times he'd done this before - how many times he'd visited this lagoon with the mission of feeling like anything but a lost boy.

Because yes, that's what the mighty and fearsome Captain Hook truly was - a lonely orphaned sailor who apparently knew her better than she knew herself.

“It's safe here, Swan,” he told her in a careful tone, his gaze bright with hope. “The water might put you at ease.”

Emma stared briefly at the smooth shoreline, letting her eyes follow the length of it and then curve back around to where he was waiting. The level of the lagoon wasn't that high - the surface of the water steady against his wet chest - and contrary to the outcome of the mermaid fiasco, she was a decent swimmer. Emma knew why he was telling her to give the lagoon a chance and for once, she didn't think it was merely an effort he was making to seduce her. She'd seen how he looked at the helm of his ship, the sway of the waves and the view of the horizon clearly calming him like nothing else could. He seemed to want that serenity for her too and inviting her into the warm depths of a glorified pond was obviously his way of telling her so.

She'd become very skilled at turning down every form of request or flirtation he could offer, but as the water splashed against her covered feet, Emma decided she didn't want to shut him down this time - at least, not yet.

“Just-” she stammered, sighing heavily in submission and furrowing her eyebrows. “-turn around.”

He smirked as he realized what was happening, his teeth teasing his lip as he appeared to hold back a victorious grin. Emma rolled her eyes as he faced the opposite directions, a strange type of nervousness rising in her bones as she stripped quickly. The night air was humidly hot, but her skin still tingled with a tense chill as she kicked aside her boots and followed the removal of those with her tank top and dark jeans. The black lace garments beneath her clothes were basic but well fitted and she allowed herself to wonder just what expression he'd be wearing if he were to see her in them. Tossing the final pieces of material to the small pile, Emma realized she might never know.

After all, he was naked beneath the warm water. It was only logical that she should be too.

Logic, however, was something that seemed to be in short supply as she dipped her leg into the lagoon. The small ripple she created caught his attention and she sunk lower into the shallows before he could fully turn around. The way he glanced over his shoulder toward her was smoldering and tempting, his bare skin almost magnetic as she drifted closer. Her ankles bumped against his as she reached him, the feel of his legs making her pause and lean back to wet her hair. Anchoring her feet, Emma let the cool moisture run through her long blonde tresses for a moment. It was relaxing in a way she definitely needed, but she was not at all prepared for the way he was watching her when she lifted her head back to match his eye level.

His simmering stare seemed to study her, his tongue tracing his bottom lip as he watched her wring out the wetness from her wavy locks. It had never been a secret that Hook found her attractive, but in that instance, it was obvious that he found her downright irresistible - and oh, how she suddenly loved the power that gave her.

“So,” she finally said, trying to hide her shaky tone with a small smile. “Captain Hook likes to swim.”

He laughed at that, his amusement in the statement that could have been a question somewhat endearing as a smirk turned up the corner of his lips. How he could go from sexy to stupidly sweet with one simple reaction was perplexing and Emma tried not to appear too anxious to decipher it.

“I don't know if it's so much that I prefer it, but it’s a necessary skill when you've spent as much time near the ocean as I have.”

“Ah, yes - all those centuries,” she teased. “I’m assuming the ability to tread water was rather helpful in seducing sirens too, right?”

“Hmmm,” he grinned, his hair hanging just barely over his eyes. “What makes you so sure it was me doing the persuading, love?”

“The fact that you constantly speak in a series of innuendos I guess,” she told him. “It seems like you've had plenty of practice.”

He shifted a little closer, his eyes locked on hers and their heated hue as blue as ever. She knew that look - she'd learned just how far it could tempt her the night before when she'd wrapped her grip around the collar of his heavy coat and succumbed to his simple request. Well, it had started out simple at least, but kissing Killian - errr, Hook - wasn't ever going to be an ordinary endeavor.

She'd always known that on some level, but ignoring it was a solution that was fading fast as the water made subtle swirls between them.

“Suppose I have,” he agreed, reaching up to swipe a stray piece of her damp hair aside skillfully with his hook. “But I must say, you tend to encourage it.”

“Oh, please,” Emma scoffed with realization that she was blushing. “Like when?”

“Last night, for starters-” he replied, his hand slipping to locate hers. “-and now.”

He wasn't wrong. She hadn't come here to do this - to trap herself in a close conversation like this - but lord help her, she was powerless to avoid it now. It didn't really matter though.

She wanted to see where his heavy words might take them. She wanted to feel that passion and spontaneous breath of relief he'd given her once before.

“Is that a complaint, Captain?”

“Not at all, Swan,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “Merely the start of a question.”

“Hmmm,” she countered as his fingers toyed with hers, her touch ultimately landing on his shoulder. “Would you like to elaborate?”

“In a moment,” he answered as he pulled her further into his space, his hand holding her cheek tenderly. “But first….”

It was him that snapped this time. His arm wrapped around her and he lifted her, pressing his weight against her and igniting a kiss that rivaled the first one they'd recently shared. He clung to her cautiously and Emma’s pulse pounded erratically as her mouth followed his in a pattern she hoped she wouldn't forget. The world around them dropped away, the blur of careless intimacy drowning out the sounds that had been taunting her as his tongue caressed hers. She wanted to push him further - to see if he really wanted more than just another kiss. His lips seared hers only a few seconds beyond that daring thought before he gasped, interrupting the heated endeavor that had put a hell of a dent in her walls.

“Swan .”

His labored accent began to caress the sound of her name like an uncertain warning while his hook traced the skin of her back. She kept a firm palm on his wet chest while her swollen lips chased the abandoned kiss, her nails teasing the coarse hair she'd considered so many times. He kept a rigid stance though the exploration of his gentle hand moved decisively to her hips, his deep blue eyes studying her mouth with intrigue and want while they stood submerged in the tension filled water. She could sense his need to talk and to likely analyze in a way only Killian Jones seemed to often do.

Why did he have to do such a thing now though? That's not what she had come here for - though in complete fairness, she hadn't expected to end up doing any of this either.

“Emma,” he nearly pleaded, keeping his lips parted but spaced irritatingly away from hers. “Wait ….”

“Shhh….not now - I can't talk about that now….”

“I just want an answer,” he breathed, pressing his mouth to hers once more. “Just one.”

“What?”

“Why, love? Why did you kiss me?”

“I just….because-” she replied, her explanation mumbled as her forehead pressed against his. “-I don't know. I just wanted to.”

It wasn’t a sufficient response - she knew that. His breath was panting as their brief pause threatened to make her think twice. Letting his eyes linger on her in a state of pure lust and desire nearly screamed danger, but his staring was the only thing keeping her focused. He'd always scared her because of moments like this one - simple, scorching instances where the space around them was all but on fire.

She was never nervous about Captain Hook. No, she was always much more afraid of the honest curiosity and tender affection she knew Killian Jones possessed regarding her - because there was no way that such a passionate pirate would be anything but that as a longing lover.

“Emma….”

“Later, Hook,” she pleaded, pressing her hips against him as the water around them shifted. “I just….I need this.”

“You need-” he breathed, a slight question between his ragged words while his hand caressed the length of her body. “-this?”

“You,” she mumbled against his mouth, her fingers moving to tangle in his hair. “I need you.”

“You have me, darling,” he assured her as his hips moved with the weak current, swaying suggestively. “However you want me.”

Emma tried control the pull of his words and the way they seemed to invite her into a territory that was so much more than this blinding itch that needed to be scratched. There was commitment in his reply - a sort of submissive offer that insisted he wasn’t doing this in the name of physical attraction or the desire to break this tension between them. He wasn't just offering her this as a one time thing.

“Love, are you-” he mumbled as his lips barely pried away from hers. “-certain you want to? Because I….I don't-”

“I'm sure,” she cut in, her fingers threading through his dark wet hair. “I….I want you.”

He inhaled with a labored gasp and a brief grin before diving back in, his motions as tumultuous as the waves they'd battled on the journey here. He kissed her hard and breathless as his hand gripped her thigh beneath the water, his dull fingernails scratching lightly as he pulled her tight against him. The assault of his mouth was scorching and it didn't take long for the kiss to pull her under, the feel of his hook along her spine and the heat of his lips more hazardous than any water in Neverland.

“Emma,” he managed, his lips hot against hers. “Love….you have to-”

He'd barely begun to instruct when her legs rose weightlessly in the water, wrapping tight around his waist as her arms looped around his neck. The drops of water clinging to his beard felt cold against her bare chest as he explored her neckline with a heated mouth. She allowed her fingernails to press against his scalp when his teeth nipped her collarbone, the reality of being physically tangled with this man suddenly burning her from the inside out. The water splashed slightly between them when he widened his stance, his fingertips toying with her wet hair before his hook smoothed the space between her shoulder blades.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, kissing her breast softly and his free fingers slipping down between her legs. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

His voice was sincere - nearly too genuine. She shook off the wave of uncertainty he sent coursing through her body, shivering with a small gasp his thumb circled her center. He rubbed her lightly a few times, the pressure of his teasing touch making her moan quietly. Emma let her forehead fall against his - she couldn't allow herself to hinge on the hypnotic look he was definitely about to offer her.

She couldn't let herself believe in anything quite so honest - not when the spark of happiness she'd finally found in Storybrooke still hung so delicately in the threatened air.

“Kiss me,” she pleaded in a whisper. “Like before.”

He didn't speak, perhaps sensing how much she needed the wordless intimacy. His lips were pliant as they moved against hers, but with a purpose she couldn't define as he held her close. The brush of his chest hair against her front was tortuous and the sensation sent her body into overdrive. She hadn't planned to wrap herself in such an aroused state - especially not the kind that would lead to her writhing in his arms. Now as he teased her with a firm press of his hips, it seemed impossible to accept anything less than this.

He clearly knew what she needed, even if she wasn't ready to admit that it was also what she wanted - and she knew without any sign of a doubt that he'd give it all to her. She just had to tell him. She merely needed to ask.

“Hook,” she started, her head hazy with building pleasure as he stole a sequence of passionate kisses. “I….I-”

He stepped forward with a strong stride, the water now only up to just below his waist. He strode quickly to the shore as his lips continued to guide hers, his hand buried in her damp hair as he moaned into her mouth. Emma barely registered the feel of mud against her back as he lowered them to the ground, their bodies almost entirely out of the lagoon. His torso was heavy against hers and she almost whined at the loss of his weight when he leaned back, bracing the curve of his hook on the wet sand before surging forward with a low grunt.

“Mmmm, yes,” she managed as he gripped her hips. “Like….that-”

He answered with a hard kiss, his free fingertips dancing over her cheek as he rocked back and forth above her. The way they fit together was almost too perfect and it was obvious he felt it too. Her hands clawed anxiously at his biceps as he thrusted a little deeper, their heaving breaths matching as he pushed her closer to the brink of oblivion.

She'd always known it would be like this. From the moment his clever tongue had curved around that first flirtatious remark, she'd always known this could happen if she'd let it - and as he gazed down at her with pure understanding and the promise of protecting her, she realized this was a choice worth making.

“Killian,” she finally said as her head fell back a bit more, her back starting to arch. “Almost….yes-”

“Hold onto me, love,” he begged, the water of the serene lagoon still glistening on his naked skin. “Emma ….”

Her name had never sounded so good as he kissed her once more, his tongue moving over hers the final straw. He held her steady as she came undone, letting himself follow as they both trembled in an effort to regain coherence. They remained speechless a little longer as they each took in the last remnants of whatever the hell had just happened and when his head finally rose from her weak shoulder, Emma realized she had no clue what to say.

What exactly was she supposed to say to the man who'd just defined distraction in a way she had only dreamed of?

“Bloody hell.”

He spoke in a near gasp, tucking her hair behind her ear with a sated smile. His strong embrace was warm around her as he shifted them a little further away from the water and Emma tried to summon any fraction of energy. Her eyes met his lazily and the pure adoration he offered her in that moment made her heart race. He found the permission in her gaze that she couldn't seem to vocalize, leaning down to meet her mouth with his own.

“You okay, Swan?”

“Mmmm,” Emma replied with a slight smirk. “Just….tired.”

“Well,” he chuckled, rolling over onto his back and beckoning her closer. “I tend to have that effect on people.”

“I guess I should have been expecting that,” she grumbled as she rested her chin on his chest. “You're always one to fill the silence.”

“Forgive me, love,” he grinned, his words hushed and his fingers smooth against her back. “But for the record, it is rather quiet now.”

Emma’s eyes fluttered fully open and she glanced up toward the trees. The air was still and absent of the noise that had kept her from the sound sleep she truly needed, a fact she wasn't sure she should try to analyze. Her head became hazy as she let him hold her, her smile briefly pressed against his chest. His thumb grazed her skin with slow strokes as he relaxed and laid a soft kiss on the crown of her head. It was an affectionate action, one that seemed to come easy to the man who was clearly made up of far more depths than this mystical body of water. Emma knew they were both muddy and damp from the short swim, but as the stars shone faintly overhead, she decided not to care for a few more minutes. He didn't seem to mind and she tried to keep her wits in check, knowing how easy it would be to fall asleep on the sandy bank with his strong arms keeping her safe.

Not that she needed that - and not that she'd ever admit it if she actually did.

“Thank you-” she mumbled, picking the words he really did deserve. “-for everything.”

“Mmmm,” he said with a faint laugh. “I’m quite sure I'm the one who should be expressing gratitude this time, Swan.”

Emma felt her heart flutter at the way the tables had turned, his consistent embrace pulling her into total exhaustion. These quiet surroundings were all she had been in pursuit of when she'd left her makeshift bed on the jungle floor, but finding him and letting him silence her demons was an outcome she was now all too grateful for. His breathing evening out as her eyes closed, his sudden yet soothing voice now the only thing keeping her from finding a cozy slumber.

“We probably shouldn't get too comfortable, love.”

“Maybe not, but-,” she said with a defeated groan. “-maybe for a minute, you could shush and let me sleep?”

“Here?”

“Mmmm,” she nodded. “For now.”

He sighed heavily, wiggling against the ground and settling in for what he'd probably call ‘the long haul’. This certainly wasn't something she should get used to, but for now - well, for now, she’d allow it.

A one time thing, she thought with a yawn. That's what this was.

Tagging some lovely people: @optomisticgirl (my amazing beta and fellow Neverland junkie), @xpumpkindumplingx, @jennifer-morrison, @laschatzi, @kat2609, @spartanguard, @its-like-a-story-of-love, @captainswanparrilla, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @deathbycaptainswan, @timeless-love-story, @shady-swan-jones, @thesschesthair, @captain-k-jones, @cherrywolf713, @kmomof4

[olliefilm]

Films of the Decade (20 - 11)

What can be said with the utmost confidence is that the quality of film has not slackened. Every now and again, some curmudgeon will grumble that film “is not the same”, “not what it used to be”, “not like the classics”. Oh puff, it will continue to sustain and challenge. Always has, always will. The one ultimate takeaway from this decade is that of how film is seen. By the end of this year, Martin Scorsese’s The Irishman will be released on Netflix, thus proving financial carte-blanche for already established filmmakers is now available outside of the giant studios. Streaming is happening and next year the Disney juggernaut will follow suit with their own service - truly a new, somewhat unnerving era. 

So in revealing my favourite films of the past decade, let’s celebrate the glut of amazing work these last ten years have produced. The list honorable mentions would stretch the circumference of the Earth, but I was close to including: Kathryn Bigelow’s nail-biting Zero Dark Thirty, Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s slow-burn procedural drama Once Upon A Time in Anatolia, the colonial fever dream that is Zama, Todd Haynes’ lush Carol, Leviathan and its biblical injustices, Gianfranco Rosi’s quasi-documentary Fire at Sea, the lip-smacking Raw, and Debra Granik’s outstanding Leave No Trace. Not to mention the countless animated features and documentaries which show no signs of letting up. Here’s to the bar being raised forever more as we sit in the dark.

20. Locke

If there is one film this decade for which the weight was placed entirely on the shoulders of one actor to make it work, it is Tom Hardy in Locke. Essentially, it’s about a man trying to “fix” things over the phone while driving at night. Ultimately, his professional and personal life is obliterating around him, all due to a silly one-night stand. What we hear are voices bombarding the tiny space of a car. What we register as an audience is down to the brilliance of Tom Hardy. It is a role many actors would relish and go to town, but Hardy’s performance is introspective, collected, yet far from calm. Locke would work brilliantly as a radio play, but what is also impressive is how it genuine it feels someone driving through the night; from the smooth humming of the company car to the amber lights overhead. It lends a crushing air of solitude.

19. Song of the Sea

Animation has been the most consistently reliable form of media over many decades. The bar is so high, that I honestly struggled to pick one for this list. I floundered between the ingenius of Pixar’s Inside Out, Isao Takahata’s beautiful swansong The Tale of Princess Kaguya, the jaw-dropping sweep of The Red Turtle, the laugh-riot of The Lego Movie, the list truly goes on. One film left me inconsolable with floods of tears, and that was Tom Moore’s Song of the Sea. It is a film soaked in folklore, but it doesn’t fall into the trap of being twee. There is wave upon wave of gorgeous animation being reinforced by themes of family grief, brotherly responsibility and heartbroken spite. Song of the Sea defines a terrific balance many animated films achieved this decade: sublime artwork matching exceptional storytelling. 

18. Dreams of a Life

British documentaries continued the up-and-up throughout the 2010s. It was tough to decide between Clio Bernard’s innovative The Arbor, Asif Kapadia’s poignant Amy, the lovingly delicate Notes on Blindness and the compelling A Syrian Love Story. What Carol Morley manages to do with Dreams of a Life is bring poetic legitimacy to a heartbreakingly lonesome death: Joyce Carol Vincent wrapping presents in front of the TV, she dies suddenly, and is not found for another three years. The interviews with various friends and distant family confirms Joyce’s presence in the world, but the recreations provide her a body and soul so sorely deserved.

17. Under The Skin

There is a tragic forgone conclusion with Under The Skin. The interpretations are plentiful: is it a feminist discourse on male attraction? Alien alienation? Or the destructive nature of human beauty? Director Jonathan Glazer uses the recognisable star power of Scarlett Johansson to plunge her in the grit. She is an alien entity who scouts her prey on the Glaswegian streets. At first she obliterates the characteristic lustful male, then the lines shudder and blur. Her objective becomes lost and she wanders into the Highlands. Even if you don’t buy the meanings behind Under The Skin, it is a striking audiovisual exercise. Not least of all, Mica Levi’s haunting and quivering score.

16. Girlhood

Is it asking for trouble to include two ‘Hoods’ in amongst the pack (spoiler) ? Cèline Sciamma is one of the best female directors to come out of this decade (look out for the sublime Portrait of a Lady on Fire this year). Her ebullient compassion for her teenage subjects against the Banlieue is why Girlhood is a powerful entry in the already-reputable French social-realism subgenre. Where there is roughness there are some thrilling interludes of joy. In particular, one scene with the gang of friends dancing in a hotel room with stolen goods, all set to the affirming “Diamonds” by Rhianna. Sciamma knows how to capture the vibe of a moment of happiness and let it flower. It makes social realism less a one-note descent into collapse. It takes a knowing and deft hand to pull that off.

15. Paddington 2

Paddington has all the charm and playfulness of a well-crafted pantomime. Paddington 2 visually represents that perfectly through flip-book canvases, which pull back like a colourful and jaunty set change. What is lovely is how first film was a sigh of relief. In other words, Paddington as a beloved literary character has not only been untainted, but it has been brought so cleverly up-to-scratch. The warmth of its message about inclusiveness and family is nothing terribly new, but Paddington has so much heart to back it up. Comedically, the films pack just the right amount of innuendo and silent cinema show pieces, to make this sort of humour seem so fresh. Paddington 2 refines the winning formula.

14. Force Majeure

Force Majeure is about a family going on a skiing trip. The family are initially mundane in how well-maintained they are. They are financially stable, brush their teeth in a squeaky clean bathroom with their electric toothbrushes, and the children are all kitted up. However in one riveting long still shot, the solid family unit is doomed. It is the fallout of that one event and the marital crumbling which makes Ruben Östlund’s Force Majeure deliciously tense. Better yet, it makes one want to watch that one event again. Is the father’s one instinctive act a true reveal of his selfish character, or is it something worth forgiving in the heat of the moment? There are no sturdy answers and that is the consequence of a fleeting act.

13. You Were Never Really Here

Lynne Ramsay’s You Were Never Really Here is a psychological revenge drama in which the revenge is achingly taken away from Joaquin Phoenix’s contract killer and us as an audience. It is a film about trauma. The scenes of violence are either jolting or they are exhaustively unsatisfactory; that is how realistically it is portrayed. One scene in particular robs us of a clear picture of how violence plays out. Like Phoneix’s Joe, we are left with a cold sweat. Revenge is an unhealthy picture through and through. Ramsay makes us feel the discomfort and the lack of glory, at odds with what we are so used to seeing these days.

12. A Separation

A Separation is a constant roll-out of trail and consequence. The ‘separation’ has formally commenced in the opening scene. The couple addresses the camera with pleas and arguments. The judge they’re speaking to has a line waiting outside with couples in a similar predicament, but we’re dealing with one. The film presents the separation like a case study, and it continues to be gripping and emotionally charged throughout. Director Ashgar Farhadi scrutinises our judgement of these characters, for there is always one morsel of information that leaves us second guessing. In the end, the film is tragic because there is no right and wrong. What is clever about A Separation is that, whilst there is a steady underlying context which points towards Iranian society, it is a borderless film. 

11. O.J. Made In America

“There’s no more powerful a narrative in American society than race”. O.J.: Made in America charts a monumental rise-and-fall narrative like no other. For the good part of 467 minutes, there is a wicked absurdity in how the American Dream is favoured and unstable. Ezra Edelman’s charting of O.J. Simpsons’ career, lifestyle and persona is set very knowingly against the relentless chronicle of racial injustice and poverty. It makes re-living the already well-documented murder trial gut-wrenching and compelling all over again. O.J.: Made in America is already touted as one of the best sports documentaries since Hoop Dreams. Like Hoop Dreams, it is little to do with sports, it is about everything around it.

[theconservativebrief]

When Ariana Grande tells you she’s going to be just fine, believe her.

The sentient cupcake with a four-octave range says as much in her bouncy new kiss-off song, “thank u, next” — a farewell letter to all the men she’s loved before. And the most recent addition to that list is her ex-fiancé, Saturday Night Live cast member Pete Davidson.

The two were in love until they weren’t.

Grande and Davidson first announced their relationship in May, shocked everyone with an engagement announcement in June, and then, in the middle of October, called the whole thing off. That’s seemingly plenty of fodder for a break-up bop, but Davidson’s post-breakup behavior added some edge to the saga.

In a promotional clip for SNL’s November 3 show, Davidson used the breakup as a punchline, facetiously proposing to that week’s musical guest, Maggie Rogers:

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Grande didn’t see the humor in the situation, revealing as much in a series of subtweets. “For somebody who claims to hate relevancy u sure love clinging to it huh,” she wrote, without mentioning Davidson. She followed up with “thank u, next” and “k, that’s the last time we do that” before ultimately deleting them all.

The SNL promo and Grande’s tweets both made headlines, as many people wondered aloud whether Davidson would further address the breakup on the show. And then, ahead of the SNL episode, Grande tweeted hints about a new album and song that would reference Davidson and the breakup:

The displeasure in Grande’s deleted tweets, along with the tease of a new song and the potential for Davidson to make more awkward jokes, amped up anticipation for SNL.

Then, 30 minutes before the episode premiered, Grande released “thank u, next.”

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But the biggest surprise was the content of the song itself. Grande’s tweets might have set everyone up to expect a thrashing laced with pettiness, but “thank u, next” was actually a pump-fake. Far from the overt diss track many expected, the song was more about finding love with in herself:

I met someone else We havin’ better discussions I know they say I move on too fast But this one gon’ last ’Cause her name is Ari And I’m so good with that.

For his part, Davidson did comment on the breakup during SNL, gracefully acknowledging Grande during the show’s Weekend Update and saying, “She’s a wonderful, strong person, and I genuinely wish her all the happiness in the world.”

Though, after Grande’s power move, Davidson’s response was an afterthought (especially after he drew backlash for jokes on another topic entirely).

The 25-year-old Grande followed up the song release with a tweet on Sunday morning, echoing the idea that she is truly grateful:

thank u ♡ for hearing me and for making me feel so not alone i truly am grateful. no matter how painful! i’m thankful and i love u. breathin visual this week too! thank u, next pic.twitter.com/Qq62vjM0gI

— Ariana Grande (@ArianaGrande) November 5, 2018

Churning out hits is what we’ve come to expect from Grande, but what makes her a remarkable pop star isn’t just that “thank u, next” is a great song but also the latest example of Grande’s toughness and grace in the face of personal tragedy.

A year and a half ago, in May 2017, a suicide bomber attacked a concert that Grande was performing in Manchester. This September, just a few months into her now-ended engagement with Davidson, Grande’s ex-boyfriend Mac Miller died of a drug overdose — and a faction of his fans blamed her for his death.

Through all of this, Grande has handled herself with grace. After the Manchester attack, she hosted a benefit concert that raised $13 million for the We Love Manchester Emergency Fund. This summer, she released an album called Sweetener, which drew raves — some critics called it the pop album of the year. After Miller’s death, she paid tribute to him in a way that felt genuine and honest:

She also honors Miller in “thank u, next” — a key reason why the song, which is the sonic equivalent of strawberry champagne, heart emojis, and bubble bath, is so illustrative of her arc as a performer. Like Grande herself, beneath its sweetness is a story of empowerment, resilience, and maturity. That’s a rarity in this age of pop culture where taking the low, petty road has been praised. And it’s what makes Grande a breath of fresh air, and an unforgettable pop star.

“Petty” has become a default setting for pop culture.

It is now commonplace for many public figures to respond to any slight or a perceived wrong by shining a spotlight on it, forming a grudge, and then dragging whoever wronged them at the next appropriate opportunity. Bonus points are available to anyone who can pull this off exclusively through the use of oblique innuendo, without naming names.

Taylor Swift has spun pettiness into some pretty successful songs, and turned her 2017 album Reputation into a scavenger hunt for mentions of all her feuds. Drake has done the same, referencing beefs at his concerts and taking shots at his rivals in songs that are seemingly written and shipped overnight. Armie Hammer insulted a journalist who dared to write a negative thinkpiece about his acting career.

Usually, these moments of pettiness are escalated and egged on by thousands of fans, who delight in watching celebrities bicker with each other.

So after Grande had expressed her displeasure at Davidson’s jokes and then teased the release of “thank u, next,” there was an anticipation that the song would reveal some less-than-flattering things about Davidson. In the end, the true surprise was how sweet it was:

Thought I’d end up with Sean But he wasn’t a match Wrote some songs about Ricky Now I listen and laugh Even almost got married And for Pete I’m so thankful Wish I could say thank you to Malcolm Cause he was an angel

Grande’s lyrics refer to four of her ex-boyfriends: Big Sean, Ricky Alvarez, Davidson, and Mac Miller. She comments on each relationship, but without any insults or low blows. Sean, for example, simply “wasn’t a match.” And no matter how ill-advised her whirlwind love affair with Davidson might have seemed to many of her fans (not least because it involved moving into a Manhattan apartment but living without forks), Grande specifically says that she’s “thankful” for him.

But it’s what she says about Miller that helps drive home the spirit of “thank u, next.” The disarming way she refers to him as Malcolm, acknowledging his death and his soul, is arguably more scintillating, tender, and newsworthy than anything about Davidson in the song.

Grande also sings about what she’s learned from each of these past relationships, and how they’ve made her a better person:

One taught me love One taught me patience And one taught me pain Now, I’m so amazing.

She doesn’t credit the love, patience, or pain to any of her exes in particular. And by the end of the chorus, it’s clear she’s ready to move on. At its core, “thank u, next” isn’t about Grande dissing her ex-boyfriends, it’s about Grande embracing herself.

This theme continues through the bridge, where Grande sings sweetly about getting married someday — something she only wants to do once:

One day I’ll walk down the aisle Holding hands with my mama I’ll be thanking my dad ’Cause she grew from the drama Only wanna do it once, real bad Gon’ make that shit last God forbid something happens Least this song is a smash

The result is the “sweetest, the sanest, and also, gloriously, the most cutting diss track of an especially cutting year” according to the Ringer’s Rob Harvilla, who argues that Grande’s maturity and cogency are what gives the song power — that in “thank u, next,” she’s showing that she doesn’t need to trash Davidson to prove that she’s better off without him.

“It’s a generosity rarely spotted these days, when it is so much more tempting to clap back with vinegar instead of honey,” Quinn Moreland wrote at Pitchfork. “The high road might not be the easiest path, but Grande offers to lead us there by her own example.”

“While Grande could’ve released a scathing track, she dropped one that was, instead, respectful and mature,” Amanda Arnold explained at The Cut.

Her fans responded immediately, replaying the song over and over. It shot up to the top of the Spotify US and Global Charts, tallying 8 million global daily plays and breaking the company’s single-day streaming record for a female artist. It made waves on Twitter, where, according to a company representative, the phrase “thank u, next” was tweeted over 1.5 million times in just a few days. Justin Bieber called it his favorite song. It even inspired a meme:

And now it’s in contention to debut at No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

Pop stars and the industry that creates them are salespeople. And more and more, a huge part of the sale isn’t just how a pop star looks (with some glaring exceptions, it’s difficult to find an unattractive pop star) but rather the image he or she has crafted.

Beyoncé sells a power fantasy in untouchable excellence and relentless dedication. Taylor Swift sells an underdog story, having gone a Girl Next Door type to girl squad leader to revenge monger. Lady Gaga is a creature of transformation.

And the question underneath all this imagecraft is whether we’re ever seeing the “real” version of who pop stars are versus the narrative of they’re selling.

When Beyoncé sings about Jay Z’s alleged cheating, how much of that is a measured move by a singer notorious for controlling her image, her albums, and even Anna Wintour? When Taylor Swift sings about Kanye’s crooked stage, or about a paper airplane necklace in reference to Harry Styles, is she conveying genuine feelings of revenge or longing, or have her lyrics been carefully calculated to send a specific message and appease an audience?

We could ask the same kinds of questions about Grande and her whirlwind love affair with Davidson.

Grande’s relationship with Davidson began in May, and their engagement was confirmed on June 15. The relationship seemingly materialized in the short period of time between Grande releasing two new singles — “no tears left to cry” on April 20 and “the light is coming” on June 20. Pre-orders of Sweetener began the same week that the latter song came out, five days after the couple confirmed their engagement.

Grande and Davidson’s relationship (which has since been portmanteau’d by some into “Grandson”) and the abruptness of their engagement drove interest in the album, which also contains a song named after him. And even with the dissolution of the relationship, public interest in the couple’s breakup is helping Grande sell music.

Grandson could be either the most convenient and album-friendly relationship ever, or a savvy publicity stunt.

With so much intrigue swirling, there was a question of whether Sweetener would be all about the Grandson relationship, offering more details about the inner lives of Grande and Davidson. Perhaps Sweetener was going to be fairy tale love song performed by a princess who had finally found “the one.”

But just like “thank u” turned out to be a love song from Grande to herself, what Sweetener turned out to be was an album of resilience.

Sweetener was not about Davidson but rather a glimpse into Grande’s response, at times a joyous one, to the tragedy that changed her life.

On May 22, 2017, after Grande finished performing at Manchester Arena, a suicide bomber attacked the concert, killing 22 people and injuring 59 more — a tragedy that completely eclipses her relationship with Davidson.

“It’s the absolute worst of humanity,” Grande told Time one year later, in May 2018 in an interview about Sweetener. That’s why I did my best to react the way I did. The last thing I would ever want is for my fans to see something like that happen and think it won.”

The critically lauded album was a triumph, but it’s easy to imagine how difficult it was for Grande to make and sing songs about her life in the wake of the attack.

Perhaps that’s where the undeniable, winsome appeal of Grande lies: beyond her catchy songs and in how she has consistently proved that she’s a lilliputian pop princess with the toughness of a tank.

As with any pop star, you don’t have to agree with what Grande is singing about, whether it be sex or God being a woman or both. But you can admire the guts it takes to keep singing after the rough year that she’s been through. And in “thank u, next,” when she sings about picking herself up and believing in herself after a breakup, that’s something we all want to believe in.

Original Source -> Ariana Grande’s greatest asset isn’t her amazing voice. It’s her resilience.

via The Conservative Brief