#im still giggling at west's team

[aliendragondreaming]

I had a bad day so I made pokemon teams for everyone in nsr

[jaidens]

You'll See Me In Hindsight, Tangled Up With You All Night

pairing [s] : daniel larusso x reader

warning [s] : | kissing | jaiden releasing not one but TWO daniel fics in a row 🫢 | y'all im sick and I wrote this on benadryl brain so if it's horrible let me know fr

a/n [s] : requests are open stinkers

Whenever Daniel invited you to his house for dinner and a movie with him, it made you undeniably giddy as you walked inside with him. Lucille, his mother, is throwing around pots and turning around in her tiny kitchen making some sort of Italian food you weren't able to put your finger on. “Sorry about the mess.” Daniel apologizes as you walk inside of his tiny room. He has a twin bed in the corner, a desk, and the walls are decked out in posters and The Jets flags.

“Baby it's fine!” You let out when Daniel begins picking up everything on the floor and throwing it in different places. He stands up and you pull him into his bed, tugging against his dusty pink button-up t-shirt. “Sorry, I just forgot.” Daniel apologizes for a second time and you shush him and your hands fall into his thick mop of hair that's on his head. He's mumbling about school and how one of his teachers was yelling for no reason.

His mother calls you both for dinner and you jump up with him, holding onto the belt loop on the back of his jeans. Lucille is setting things on the small table, lasagna and other plates on it. “This looks amazing, Ms. Larusso!” You exclaim and Daniel agrees, thumb running circles on your thigh. “Well thank you! It's my Nonna’s recipe. When Daniel was a kid, he used to beg everyday for this lasagna!” Lucille is quite loud and now you understand where Daniel gets his likeable personality.

You and Lucille share stories from childhood, about Daniel, and other situations as you get to know his mother. You had only met her at karate tournaments or accidental run-ins at school. Dinner ends after a while as Daniel scrapes his plate of leftover sauce and cheese as he smiles at the interactions with both of the people he loves. Lucille picks up your plates and Daniel pulls you to the L-shaped couch and he turns the TV on and scrolls throughout the channels.

Eventually, he ends up on a Jamie Lee Curtis horror movie, and it's just begun. You're laying in his arms and he holds onto your hand as he draws circles on your t-shirt. The t-shirt you're wearing is his, and it's the West Valley Soccer team championship one. You had borrowed it permanently whenever he had left his gym bag with you after you had accidentally taken it home.

You cannot tell if he chose to, or not to. He knew you weren't exactly scared of horror movies, but they still made your bones shake and shiver when you watched them. Daniel. holds onto you at a steady grip. He makes sure to continue soft runnings of the tips of his fingers across your chest.

You rely on the calming feeling of his touch, soft kissing against his lips once the movie starts to almost reach the climax of it. Your lips clash and cling together as you take your attention from the television to the feeling of him everywhere. “Thank you Daniel. For inviting me over.” You say to him, twirling the longer hair in the back that curls on your pointer finger. “Of course baby, anytime.”

The night ends with pecks against lips, giggling and laughing, and jumps on the couch after someone screams too loud or something different. This is where you need to be: in Daniel’s warm touch and the smell of him that wraps around you.

[uswntxfootball]

subtle hints (jackie groenen x muwfc!reader)

surprisingly, an injury might just be the turning point you needed.

(ft. preath as team moms)

word count: 2697 ish

rated T for this is feeding into my massive jackie crush but oh well and F for fluffy babies

——

christen shook her head as she watched you and jackie from across the field.

you were laughing at something jackie said, completely missing the loving stare the midfielder gave you.

“she’s so oblivious isn’t she?”

christen nods at tobin, who then wraps her arms around her.

“if i were pinoe i would intervene, but i’m not, so i guess we’ll just have to see who does it first,” christen sighs.

“i’ll-“

“tobin no we’re not going to bet on people’s lives!”

“shh i wasn’t done talking. i’ll bet you a coffee date that it’s y/n.”

christen thought about it for a minute.

“are you kidding? it’s totally going to be jackie. you’re on.”

tobin and christen glanced back at the two of you, jackie letting out a squeal when you pick her up over your shoulder and run around.

the two watch in silence until tobin says:

“wait isn’t jackie a judo champion?”

~~

“yeah i’m just really grateful for this team, casey’s done a really good job bringing us-“

your interview is interrupted when jackie jumps onto your back.

you grunt at the impact and stumble a bit before maintaining your balance again.

“jacks im in an interview,” you mutter quietly.

jackie only gives the interviewer a charming smile before laying her chin on your head, mumbling back:

“so what? i can still scare you whenever i want.”

the way she said it made you just a little bit nervous.

it sounded almost, flirty.

your heart skipped a little at the prospect of that but you shook it off and gave the interviewer a smile.

“sorry what was the question again?”

you finished the interview a few minutes later with jackie still on your back.

“you gave me a heart attack earlier you know?”

jackie just giggled and said:

“oh i know, that was the point.”

you rolled your eyes and pretended to drop her, the midfielder letting out a yelp when you do so, but when you catch her again she slaps the back of your head.

“don’t do that you-“

“oh sorry did i give you a heart attack?”

jackie huffs in annoyance but still wraps her arms around your neck.

the two of you walked- well more like you walked back to the locker room, manchester united having just won their game against west ham.

the locker room was met with cheers, especially aimed at tobin and christen, who both got their first goals this game (and russo who had a brace).

all through casey’s locker room speech, jackie was next to you on the bench with her head on your shoulder.

your eyes met christen’s, who gave you a knowing smile but you just responded by tilting your head in confusion.

to add to your confusion, when tobin turned to christen, she saw the two of you gave you a teasing wink, with you just furrowing your eyebrows in response.

however, the second half of casey’s briefing was barely heard by you, because in jackie’s boredom she decided to start running her fingers up and down you leg.

yeah there’s no way you could focus on what casey was saying.

across the room tobin almost bursts out laughing.

“y/n looks like she’s about to combust.”

christen looks at you after tobin’s whisper and has to bite back a smile upon seeing your state.

luckily for you the second half of the briefing was fairly short, and when casey dismissed everyone, you shot up out of your seat, a blush crawling up your neck.

“are you okay?” a concerned jackie asked from beside you.

“no i’m fine just- just had to stretch my legs that’s all. they were falling asleep.”

jackie furrows her eyebrows a little but nods, accepting that response.

on your way back to the bus, jackie grabbed your hand and intertwined her fingers with yours, pulling you with her.

your cheeks flushed red at the act, but you followed her nonetheless.

she held your hand through the remainder of the trip all the way back to the apartment you shared with her, christen, and tobin, who gave you very pointed looks through it all.

tobin whispers to christen when she sees jackie give you a kiss on the cheek.

“y/n is so oblivious that i agree with you it’s going to be jackie. is it too late us to call off the bet?”

~~

you jumped up and down, nerves eating up at you in the locker room.

you were the last one left in the room, everyone else having walked out and began warming up.

it was the game against arsenal, one of the most hyped games of the FAWSL, one that would determine who would sit atop the league table.

and you were in your head.

you often had prematch nerves, but they got especially bad in big games.

you were worried.

what if you messed up?

what if you had the one chance and you blew it and then-

“you know everyone is outside right?”

a soft voice took you out of your thoughts and you spun around to see jackie, with an even softer smile plastered on her face.

your nerves were clearly visible, jackie let out a knowing sigh before adding:

“you’ll do great y/n. you’re one of the best forwards i know and you’ll kill it today okay?”

you gulp and nod, still jumping up and down, trying to shake off your nerves.

jackie watches you for a little bit before pulling you into a hug.

your jumping stops and your body softens immediately at the contact, releasing all the tension and stress you had up to that point.

the two of you stood silent for a while, your body sagging into hers, the midfielder’s hand tracing patterns onto your back.

when jackie pulls away a few moments later and looks at you with so much admiration in her eyes, it makes your heart stop in your chest for just a bit.

the two of you forget your surroundings, your hands falling to her waist while hers sat around your neck.

unbeknownst to you, you were glancing at jackie’s lips, and she noticed, a faint blush present on her cheeks.

then before anything could happen,

“hey what are you guys-oh.”

jackie turned and shot away from you so fast it was a wonder that she didn’t get whiplash from it.

tobin stood frozen in the doorway.

you were confused.

you stood there glancing back and forth between tobin and jackie, one frozen in the doorway (still) and the other sporting a bright red blush.

“what’s happening?”

no one answered your question, and the three of you stood in silence until tobin snapped out of her phase and muttered:

“fuck chris is going to kill me.”

and now you were even more confused.

“what? can someone tell me what’s happening?”

jackie cleared her throat before saying:

“nothing! let’s all get back to warmups now!”

with that said, jackie rushed out onto the pitch, leaving you and a very bothered tobin in the room.

you glanced at tobin in confusion once more, and followed jackie out of the room.

~~

it was tough, no doubt about it.

the game was deadlocked at 0-0 for the entirety of the first half, and everyone was getting a little frustrated at it.

after a brief halftime talk, the second half began and everything was fine until the 60th minute.

you get the ball via a short pass from jackie, and you were making a good run up the pitch before you saw her.

daan was chasing you and slid in, tackling you and knocking the ball away.

her tackle was unfortunately a little late.

you fell at an awkward angle, your ankle twisting slightly in the process as you go down with a pained cry.

jackie’s at your side in a flash, face full of worry.

seconds later christen and tobin run over, the former cradling your head as tobin calls for the medical team to take a look at you.

“it hurts,” you mutter quietly.

“oh i know i know everything will be fine okay?” christen said soothingly, gently stroking your head.

as the medical team arrive, they take one look at your ankle before giving you a diagnosis.

you would have to sit out.

for the next few weeks.

it was sprained.

fuck.

suddenly you hear a loud scream in dutch, looking up to see jackie face to face with daan.

the normally happy and smiley girl was livid now, screaming at the other dutch midfielder.

you saw christen nudge tobin to get up to try to console jackie, and viv and jill hopped in as well to calm the two dutch midfielders.

jackie still didn’t relent, screaming at the three of them now in addition to daan, mostly in dutch so tobin was left in a very confused state.

you had enough.

“help me up.”

christen furrowed her eyebrows.

“no, y/n you need to lie still you’ll hurt-“

“i said help me up.”

“y/n no.”

“if you don’t help me up i will figure out a way to get up by myself.”

christen sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before relenting.

by now beth came to console daan, who seemed to calm down a little bit with the forward beside her.

you fight your way out of christen’s grasp and hobble over towards jackie, who at this point is still screaming, and place a hand on her shoulder.

she stops immediately and turns around to look at you.

“why are you up?! your ankle- you need to-“

“jack. calm down i’m okay.”

“no you’re not! you shouldn’t be up- you need to lie down you’ll hurt your ankle if you keep standing and-“

“jack. seriously. i’m okay.”

jackie nodded with a little bit of uncertainty, worry written all over her face.

“promise me something?”

“depends on what it is,” jackie said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“promise me you won’t kill daan?”

“she went for your ankle! how can i-“

“promise me.”

“i promise i will try not to-“

“jack.”

“fine fine i promise.”

“okay good. i’m fine okay?”

jackie nodded, giving you a hug before trying to help you off the pitch.

“jack you still have a game to play,” you laugh.

“i don’t care i just want to help you-“

“i will call casey if you don’t let go of me.”

jackie gasps.

“you wouldn’t.”

“watch me.”

“i-“

“casey! one of your midfielders is running away!”

“you’re an asshole you know that?” jackie mutters.

you give her a cheeky grin before she whispers again:

“i’d punch you if you weren’t injured.”

“groenen!”

jackie’s head whips around when she gets called by casey, and she relents, letting you make your way off the pitch with the medics.

~~

christen gets subbed out in the 75th minute.

she comes in to check on you immediately.

“how’s the ankle?”

you let out a defeated sigh before saying:

“sprain. i’ll be out for the next month.”

christen wraps her arms around you to comfort you.

“did jackie kill daan?” you mumble, face covered by christen’s arm.

“no your girlfriend didn’t kill anyone.”

you blush a little at her words.

“she’s not my girlfriend,” you pout.

christen pulls back to look at you.

“yet.”

“chris!”

“i’m just saying!”

“jackie’s not my girlfriend. plus hypothetically speaking, even if i did like her she doesn’t even like me back.”

“you don’t know that!”

“yes i do i-“

“you won’t know if you don’t ask her.”

“i said hypothetically! i don’t like her! she’s just my best friend!”

“sure y/n, i mean tobin and i were best friends once.”

“that’s different.”

“is it though?”

upon seeing your silence, christen pulled back a little bit and gave you another hug.

both of you jump when you hear screaming and cheers outside, most likely from someone finally scoring a goal.

“i think we scored.”

“how do you know?”

christen blushed before saying, “i’m pretty sure i just heard tobin cheer.”

you fake a gag and christen gives you a little shove.

the two of you talk a bit about how you’re adjusting to manchester and about the us team.

the clicking of cleats on the ground is what makes the both of you look up.

“what’s-“

“hi jack.”

christen shot up out of her seat.

“i’m going to go look for tobin.”

the forward hurriedly rushed out of the room and now it was just the two of you in the room.

the midfielder walked a bit more until she was right in front of you.

“how’s the ankle?”

“oh just a sprain, don’t worry jack.”

“how long are you going to be out?”

“about a month.”

jackie lets out frustrated sigh and runs her hands through her ponytail.

“i should’ve broken her ankles-“

“jack!”

you try to stand up, before jackie shoves you back down.

“no. you’re going to hurt yourself. stop.”

you sigh and pout, looking up at the midfielder.

fuck she’s pretty.

“pouting won’t work y/n, even if it is cute.”

your cheeks flush hard at her words.

maybe christen was right?

maybe you did like her?

“hey.”

jackie’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“what’s on your mind?”

you shake your head, whispering a quick “nothing” before glancing down at your bandaged ankle.

you let in a sharp intake of breath when jackie tilted your head up with her hand propped under your chin.

“no what’s the matter?”

you gulp, trying your best not to get lost in the midfielder’s strikingly blue eyes.

“i- i like you,” you blurt out suddenly, cheeks flushing red at your sudden confession.

jackie’s eyes widen a little in surprise but her grip under your chin never falters.

“i-“

jackie’s response gets cut off when tobin walks in.

“hey! how’s my favorite forward do-“

the older forward stops suddenly upon seeing the position the two of you are in, and backs away slowly.

both of you laugh at her reaction, before you turn to one another.

at this point jackie still hadn’t replied and you were getting a little nervous.

“i get it if you don’t want to be friends with me or something- i didn’t mean to make it weird and-“

you’re cut off by jackie’s laugh.

you furrow your eyebrows.

“and now you’re laughing? did i do something?”

jackie looked at you, eyes bright before saying:

“i’m just relieved. i’ve been flirting with you ever since you joined united dummy.”

“oh. oh.”

your cheeks are a little red, and you start to say:

“oh um i’m a little oblivious i guess? i’m-“

jackie cuts you off when she kisses you.

you gasp a little in surprise but kiss her back softly, pulling her down into your lap.

your hands fell to her waist, one of jackie’s arms draped over your shoulder.

tobin’s wolf whistle is what makes the two of you break away.

the two of you hear a slap and a “tobin!” and a “sorry!” before you turn to the doorway.

you blush when you see casey and the majority of the team (and some of the arsenal players) who came to check on you.

jackie suddenly realized the position she was in and shot up out of your lap, face painted scarlet.

thank god for you, casey didn’t comment on it, only briefing you a bit over your ankle.

however, your teammates weren’t as kind.

as soon as casey left the room cheers and whistles broke out.

“damn jackie!”

“that’s why you were trying to kill daan!”

“aw your girlfriend got injured!”

you and jackie stood blushing, but all and all you were met with lots of supportive teasing.

“hey who said it first?”

you blushed before muttering, “i did.”

“YES YOU OWE ME A COFFEE DATE CHRIS!”

christen lets out a sigh before mumbling:

“i shouldn’t have helped you y/n.”

[cloudycrystalkpop]

SMOKY | Heaven Above

Blind! Prince! Mingi x [unstated skin deformity] fem! Reader

words: 3k+

warnings: childhood trauma, smut

au: crown royal au | moodboard 

series masterlist: SMOKY

~

You lay in bed, just a bit away from the edge of the king sized mattress. Tonight was your wedding night, dressed in a silk slip that left little of your figure to the imagination, you looked to the other end of the bed, where your husband lay.

The boy was curled in a ball, his large frame made incredibly small and just a breath away from falling off the edge of his bed.

His body twitched and shook every now and again, you could only assume it was tears.

You couldn't blame him, in the madness of the last month youd cried yourself a sea of saltwater, watching as your future slipped away like sand from your fingers.

"... Mingi?" you spoke as softly as you could to the other end of the dark bed. The man jumped at the sound of his name.

"... Y-yes?" his voice shook in his throat, laced with fear. This caused you to frown.

"I know youre upset but, would you like to talk about it?" you offered gently. He stiffened at your words.

After a long minute of silence, and no movement from the other end of the bed, you assumed that perhaps he had fallen asleep, turning back to gaze up at the canopy.

"... Im sorry." the voice was so quiet you thought you might have imagined it. "Im sorry for everything. Im sorry youre stuck with someone... Someone like me."

"Someone... Like you? Marrying a stranger isnt something i resent you for." you tried to comfort him.

"No-well, yes but... You didnt have a choice..."

"Neither did you." you turned to face him, watching the outline of his back.

"... Mother says I should have run away and died in the woods." you felt shock fall on your chest at his confession. "Mother says im an embarrassment, that i shouldnt have been born. All ill ever be is a burden... And im sorry... Sorry that it falls to you know, and when im nothing more than a stranger... "

You felt a piece of your heart break at his words, the sniffles in his voice and the shaking of his shoulders now falling into place.

"Mingi, you are my husband. Which, means we are meant to be a team. I... Understand all of this is frightening, but, will you please give me a chance? So we can be... Not strangers anymore?"

After a long pause, the man rolled over, now facing you. You saw the stains on his cheeks reflected in the moonlight peeking in from the silk curtains.

Upon instinct, you reached out to tuck the hair away from his eyes, but you hesitated.

"... May i touch you?" you asked.

Mingi nodded his head, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow.

He flinched only slightly as you brushed his hair away from his eyes. Watching as he blinked them open, the smoky, empty irises stared back at you, tears still hidden in the corners.

"Mingi, I think... We can prove your mother wrong. With practice, you wont be a burden on anyone," you placed a hand on his cheek, watching his eyes flutter closed at the contact.

"With time, i think you can be a good king." the boys body racked in sobs once more as you pulled him close.

You slept that night, with your husband wrapped up in your arms. Tomorrow, is your coronation. You are to be the crown princess, and the sleeping man in your arms, the prince.

~

Mingi disliked walking with a cane. it was loud and he too often found himself still tripping on his own two feet. at home he knew the halls by heart, navigating them even when tired like any other resident. but in this new strange place, he had to keep one hand pressed against the wallpaper, feeling his way to build his map of this castle. the castle that was now his new prison.

he had been assigned a guard as his guide, a charming young man who gently guided the prince, Mingi’s left hand resting on his shoulder, his right hands fingertips brushing the walls.

you trailed behind the pair, watching curiously. Mingi’s head rested bent, his chin almost touching his chest. his resting state seems to always involve making himself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

the guard’s playful voice chimed in, interrupting your studying of your husband.

“I must say, I really expected you to deny the request for me to join you today, Your Highness.” he smiled over his shoulder, clearly speaking to you.

“oh? and why is that?” you asked.

“well, you have that knight of yours~ he speaks so fondly of you, and I almost never see you two apart. I was almost frightened id make him jealous.” the man giggled.

“hmm, Seonghwa has been loyal to me since I was a teenager. I trust him very much as I'm sure you've seen.” you nod. “may I ask your name sir...?”

“Hongjoong!” he smiles over his shoulder, bowing his head.

“...are...we in the main hall?” a quiet voice speaks. Mingi’s hand fell from running along the wall, instead laying limp at his side.

“ah, yes! it would seem we have arrived!” Hongjoong chimed.

~

the coronation was, a frightening experience. you stood at the head of the hallway, almost envying Mingi for not having to look the countless royals in the eye. see the seething and loathing, and plots for your murder, just to take a crown you never even wanted to begin with.

you placed your hand on your husbands bent arm, and it was then you realized, he was shaking. it was customary that the now crown prince lead his princess out of the hall, but Mingi still had only half learned the layout of this castle. never mind the panic he was hiding under the circlet on his head.

“Mingi,” you spoke, not even a whisper. you felt his arm flex under your hand. “match my footsteps, and lets get out of here.” he let the smallest nod, and the two of you set off.

you held your head high, eyes forward, not even bothering to return the stares from the court. you would be queen, weather you liked it or not, and now was not the time to show weakness. now was the time to prove that you were unshakeable. your “unroyal appearance” be damned.

~

when you arrived back at your bedroom, Mingi asked if he could have a moment alone. the poor man was close to tears once more, arms wrapped around his body as he shrunk into a chair, curling in on himself once again.

a part of you wanted to go and pull the shaking man into your arms just as you had done the night before. cooing soft words into his hair. but, you didn't want to invade his space, so instead you ventured out, closing the door behind you.

“my Lady!” a new voice called from down the hallway. you turned to see a head of dirty blonde hair, as a court member walked up to you. you braced yourself, turning to face the man head on. “my Lady, I don't mean to intrude, but I wanted to introduce myself. I am Duke Kang Yeosang, of the west valley.” he kneeled before you, head bowed low.

you blinked in surprise. a duke? on his knees in an introduction?

“you needn't be so formal, Duke Kang. there is no guard here to pierce your breast for sneezing at the wrong time.”

the man let out a hearty laugh, raising to his feet.

“ah, I see you dread such social conventions as well. and please My Lady, just Yeosang.” he smiled. the man before you was incredibly handsome, his speaking voice a gentle but deep baritone. he then took your hand, placing a kiss to the back of it, bending in a low bow with his eyes closed as his lips lingered just a moment on your skin.

your heart beat echoed in your head as the warmth of his mouth on your bare skin. swallowing your blush down, you gently pulled your hand away from his touch. his eyes opened, staring up at you through his lashes.

“I am sorry my Lady, have I made you uncomfortable?” his brows furrowed in a frown, before the edge of a sword meets his neck.

“step away from the princess please.” a growl like voice calls from behind the Duke.

“Seonghwa! this man means no harm, leave him alone.” you glare to the man with the sword.

“if that is true perhaps you should answer his question Princess-”

“no. no, he did not make me uncomfortable. he simply took me by surprise.” you stated, staring down the man with the sword. he sighed, but sheathed his blade nonetheless.

“you should speak to your future Queen with more respect.” Yeosang stated.

“you shouldn't touch people without their consent.” countered Seonghwa.

a sigh fell from your lips. so this is a new dynamic you are going to have to deal with.

~

as the days bled into weeks, you found yourself within the company of the young Duke often, your guard dog never far behind. the pair could never get along, Seonghwa seeming to think every time Yeosang breathed, it was a threat to your safety.

you’ve spent countless hours in the library, Yeosang at your side, coaching you through politics, philosophies, and ideologies. his eyes sparked every time, he as well fit for the part of a Duke.

you’d be lying to say that the closeness with the young man didn't stir something within you. his curious eyes, his intelligent speech, the way he guided you.

more than just a flutter in your stomach, Yeosang’s long thin fingers dancing across the pages, the small dart of his tongue to his lips before speaking. this man sired feelings in you you had ignored since your girlhood.

days curled up in the library, hiding away from prying eyes, reading the strangest erotic poems you could find. most so ridiculous they made you snicker. but others... that was the same warmth you felt when Yeosang grabbed you by the wrist to keep you from knocking off your water goblet.

“my Lady, you must be careful! you could have stained your dress.” he placed your hand back in your lap.

“nonsense, water will dry. it leaves no stains anyway.” you huffed. Yeosang let out that hearty laugh once again.

~

Seonghwa complained about the Duke while escorting you back to your quarters. you simply laughed and rolled your eyes at his childishness.

“princess, please promise me you will call me if that... that mockingbird, ever lays his hands on you.” you laughed once more at his words.

‘mockingbird’ for his deep and ‘droning’ voice Seonghwa hated so much.

“you are not my father Seonghwa. you needn’t be so protective over such things.” you teased. “or are you perhaps, jealous?”

Seonghwa’s cheeks tinted pink as he looked down. “...you have not called on me for such... help, in a long time.” he admitted.

ah, that explains his borderline possessiveness.

“...Seonghwa, I am a married woman.” you stated.

“I know that! but you are not married to that Duke-” you cut him off with a sharp turn on your heel.

“enough.” Seonghwa fell silent at your stern tone. “watch your tongue, for you speak above your rank and I have little interest in hearing it.”

he clenched his jaw, but did not speak further.

“I have no further need for you tonight. you are dismissed.”

“as you wish, my princess.” he bowed low, but he never dropped his eye contact with you. Seonghwa begged you silently, begged for the affection you used to wrap yourself in. Seonghwa was a loyal knight, one who would carry out any request you had of him, be it sinful or murderous.

but you had little interest in making an adulteress out of yourself tonight.

you turned your back to the man, and entered your room.

it took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, but once you had settled into the darkness, you could see the figure of your husband sitting on the bed, head in his hand.

“Mingi? are you alright?” you quickly rushed to his side of the bed, kneeling before him.

“y-yes, I'm alright, I'm sorry to frighten you.” he spoke softly, raising his head from his hands. you felt a twitch of pain in your chest at the puffiness around his eyes.

“have you been crying, my darling?” you asked, raising to wipe the dampness from his cheeks. his breath hitched, before he sniffled. grasping at your wrists, Mingi raises his head, empty eyes level with your own.

“...will you be honest with me?” he asks.

“of course, Mingi you are my Husband, I have nothing to hide from you-”

“stop. do not- please... please don’t say that until I've asked you my question.” his face is pulled in pain and sorrow, cracking your heart. you fall to your knees once again, placing your hands in his lap, and leading your head against one of his bent knees.

“what is your question, my prince?”

“is it true you have slept with the Duke?” his voice is small as tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“no. I have never had any form of physical intimacy with Duke Kang. the man kissed the back of my hand when we first met, never have we done more.” your words were true, and you saw relief flood Mingi’s chest.

“...thank you... thank you thank you thank you...” he let out a hiccup just as you cupped his cheek.

“who told you such an awful rumor?” you questioned, raising to your feet.

“i... I overheard some of the guards speaking about it.” he admitted. “people forget... I am blind, not def.” you nearly jumped to ask who he had heard saying such things, but thought better of it for the moment.

“and people are fools for such a thing.” you lifted Mingi’s head gently, before placing yourself on his lap. “and they are bigger fools for gossiping about something with no evidence.” gently, you lay Mingi’s head to rest on your collar.

the man melted at your touch, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your chest.

“...you smell... like honey...” he mumbled, voice far away and almost intoxicated.

chuckling you petting his hair, “perhaps you are hungry, my darling prince.” Mingi let out a whine at your words. quickly pulling your hand away you raised his head again, thinking you had caused him pain from the sound.

his eyes were glazed over, cheeks pink, and breath panting in his chest. ah, not pain, pleasure.

“Mingi... have you ever slept with a woman before?” you purr. the man swallows hard.

“no. you think... any woman would want to crawl into bed with me.” he sighs. you tisk, grabbing a fist full of his hair and pulling his head back.

Mingi lets out a squeak of surprise, that quickly turns into a high pitched moan.

“you are the fool now, little prince. I understand you may have not had the privilege of seeing yourself in the mirror, but” you lean down so your lips graze the shell of his ear. “you are one of the most attractive men I have ever laid eyes on.” you feel Mingi shiver beneath you.

grabbing his jaw tightly, you twist his head, turning it away from you. “I do not care about your blindness Mingi, if I hear such negative self speech from you again, it will earn you a punishment.” he whines once more, before you begin peppering his open neck with kitten kisses.

“p-pl-please-” he whines, hands fisted in your dress, chest rattling with every breath he takes.

“please what? my darling prince~” you coo softly, hands now scratching through his hair.

“p-please... please... use me... I need you...” his voice cracks, barely speaking each word. you coo, cupping the mans cheeks.

“we have been married for almost a month, my prince, and yet we have yet to consecrate our marriage~” you tease, tracing your fingers down his throat.

~

Mingi may be blind, but it takes little time for him to map out your whole body.

his head thrown back against the pillows, neck on full display for you. one of his large hands with a bruising grip on your hip, the other’s fingers tangled with yours above his head. you coo softly to the man as he gasps in pleasure, your free hand bracing yourself on his chest.

you press your forehead to his, panting from the energy it takes to keep bouncing on him. you are thankful he never asked if you had experience in sex, for you worried he might be saddened at the truth.

yet even still, the mere... size of Mingi had your eyes rolling back in your head when you first sunk down on him.

you heard his voice hitch in his throat, hand pulling more on your hip.

“..I-i-ahh-” you could feel him pulse within you. shushing him, you leaned over to place more kisses over his throat.

“its alright, little prince, let it go. will you cum for me?” you cooed softly.

right at your command, Mingi came, spilling himself within you. his voice cried out your name, shoulders shaking as he squeezed your hand.

you softly cooed as you helped him ride out his orgasm, petting his hair and running your hands over his torso. his body finally stilled, and you felt him begin to go soft within you.

your thighs burned slightly as you lifted yourself off of his lap, feeling his cum drip and pool out of you. Mingi whined at the loss of warmth, hands pulled at your hips.

“I-i’m sorry, you didn't...” his face still burned pink, hair a mess on the pillows as he finally began to catch his breath.

“its alright Mingi, you can make it up to me another night.” you chuckled. He swallowed, but nodded.

after leaving to the attached bathroom to clean yourself up and change into your night clothes, you returned to the bed to find Mingi had managed to change the blanket the two of you had soiled. you smiled, noting not to underestimate the man in the future.

“can we... can we do that more?” Mingi mumbled as you crawled into bed beside him.

“of course~” you cooed, stroking his cheek. he sighed in contentment, mumbling to himself.

“what have I done to deserve you...” he wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you against his body. “...I am no good for a husband... and probably worse choice for a king... but, for you..” he blinked his eyes open, somehow managing to stare at you. “for you... I'll be whatever you want me to be.”

“is that so? you’ll do anything I ask?” you cooed.

“yes. yes, I promise. you... you own me, mind, body, whatever you want from me... take it.” he begged, eyes hazy once more.

“lets not worry about such things now, little prince.” pulling the man against you, Mingi quickly fell asleep against your chest.

“you own me, mind body, whatever you want from me... take it.”

“oh sweet boy, you should be more careful with your words. you’ve already got me falling in love with you.”

[wienerbarnes]

The Electrifying Mind Reader (1/2)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 3,186

Warnings: violence, capturing, angst👀, drugging, reader doesn't have fun in this one but i don't wanna spoil it yall know i always end w happiness so part 2 will fix things

A/N: hehehehe i had this idea but im still trying to see where it goes depending on how fatws ends, how the loki disney+ series goes, etc, etc, but ugh i never wanna stop writing these two so imma just make shit up forever also don't let the warnings scare you lol yall know im soft on the inside

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

The mission was rough, to say the least.

Another HYDRA base found in Eastern Europe. One you’d worked for for a few years. Making you have both a personal connection to the mission, and be the only person on the team who knew this base intimately. This specific location arose after Bucky’s time, but during the prime of yours. So, you, Bucky, and Sam took it upon yourselves to go out and investigate while Sharon helped from the tower.

Until it was occupied with more HYDRA soldiers than any of you could’ve imagined.

580 soldiers. 580 Nazi’s all in one building. You wanted to blow it to shreds as soon as you landed there, but Sam went against that idea; there was too big a possibility that there were innocent people in there, either those brainwashed or those being held hostage. Neither you nor Bucky could argue with him there, the two of you fell under those categories yourselves.

We can take 'em, Sam said. With him in the sky and Bucky and I on the floor with the brawn and mind control powers, we can totally take ‘em.

What a fucking lie, that was.

The three of you got separated fast. And it didn’t take long after a few fights and punches that your coms broke and went offline. You think they would’ve made better com devices that were better adapted for this kind of stuff. They make arms and shields out of vibranium but not tiny coms to go in your ears?

Being separated from your teammates with no way of contacting them while still not being completely confident in your powers was not good for you, especially considering the history you have with this place. You want to hope that your handlers aren’t at this location anymore, but there’s really no way to know. The last thing you need is to run into one of them and for them to recognize what used to be their favorite play toy.

Except somehow, something worse happens.

A bomb goes off. Not necessarily blowing you to pieces, but with you being placed next to a window, being hurled a few stories into the snowy woods didn’t exactly put your body in good shape.

It takes about twenty minutes to orient yourself again. For your ears to stop ringing, for your body to stop shaking, for you to look around and have some kind of a feel for your surroundings. You don’t see the quinjet you arrived in anywhere, nor Sam and Bucky. But you know with the tracker sewn into your stealth suit, someone will find you eventually.

So, you start walking.

The shoes on your feet aren’t exactly made for the snow; you didn’t imagine you’d be hiking much on this mission. But the boots are thick enough to keep your toes from getting wet, which is good enough.

You stick close to the trunks as you walk on, planning to make a large circle around the perimeter and hoping to run into the quinjet, wherever it is. You hope they waited for you, at least.

Meanwhile, Bucky yells at Sam on the ramp to the quinjet, engine already purring as Sam is telling him to get on, that we’d come back for you with Sharon and better equipment to help them look.

“I’m not getting on the fucking plane, Sam!”

“It’s a jet, not a plane.”

“I’m not leaving my fucking girlfriend in the snowy woods alone outside of the Nazi base she used to be held at! Come back later, I’ll find her myself!” Bucky yells, vein popping out of his neck in anger.

If it was any other agent, he would’ve agreed. To go back to the tower, to get more equipment, to bring more people. But this isn’t any other agent; it’s you.

So, he starts walking.

He figures you’ll walk a few miles out, keeping your distance from the base in case anyone who survived that blast goes looking for any one else in the area. He begins heading west, planning to go a few miles straight and then start rounding the area, he can clear by nightfall, but hopefully he’ll find you before then.

Bucky doesn’t think to look for you in the treetops, though.

You hear a voice, and you panic. There’s nowhere to hide; only tall trees and mountains of snow around you, so the only way you think to go is up. You quickly hoist yourself up into the tree, balancing on a branch and hoping you’re covered enough by the snow covered branches.

It’s quiet again, and for a moment you think it was just the voices in your head; that there was nobody actually in the area. It’s hard to get a peek out with the blanket of snow clouding your vision in this tree, but you think you see a flash of metal. It could either be a gun or it could be Bucky’s arm. You cross your fingers and take your chances.

Wrapping your hands around the branch, you slowly bring your legs down to swing a bit before landing on the ground, prepared to greet your boyfriend and joke about engaging in monkey business.

Except it’s not Bucky.

A tall man, both arms made of metal, one with a shiny red star on the shoulder and the other with a skull and tentacles, turns to face you, drawing his gun and aiming it at your head.

“Oh, fuck.” Is the last thing you hear yourself say before a shot is heard and you see black.

Bucky hears a shot from the direction in which he was walking from. That could either be someone from HYDRA shooting at someone or you shooting at someone. He doesn’t like either option.

He breaks out into a sprint, gaining momentum and speed as he flies through the snow, charging back in the direction he came, hoping he can figure out where the shot came from in time. There was only one, so either it was a warning shot, or a lethal one.

When is Sam getting back? The longer he imagines your bleeding body on the white floor, the more he feels his anxiety spike and his heart race. You have your gun. Even if that shot was for you, you don’t go down without a fight. You’ve been training with your mind control with Wanda. You’re fine.

Surely, you’re fine.

The next time you wake up, it’s to a sharp slap across the cheek.

Your eyes open to see two men in front of you. You ignore the stinging in your face and the ache in your arm and glance between the two soldiers before you. You former handlers. Two of them at least.

“Sorry, boys,” You begin, glancing down at the bandage wrapped around your right bicep, where you assume a bullet was a while ago, “I’m unfortunately taken and only like it when my boyfriend slaps me around.”

You try to rub at your shoulder with your opposite hand, by there tied behind your back to the chair you’re sitting in. There’s also ties around your ankles and the fold of your knees.

You take a moment to stare at them to see if there’s a way to tap into their heads, get one to shoot the other, or untie you at least before they do that. But nothing. 

They both giggle. “Just as feisty as ever, aren’t you.”

“Yeah, yeah, listen, great catching up and all, but I actually have a doctor’s appointment I need to get to and I do need to get going -” Another smack, and then two hands vest the collar of your top.

“You’re not going anywhere! You left once, but now that I have you again, I’m not letting you leave my sight, my Mind Reader.” He tells you.

“...Can’t read minds. Can control them! But, can’t read them, sorry, no dice.” You correct, hiding behind your fear with a plethora of jokes and teases.

“We’ll see about that.” He looks deep in your eyes.

You smile drops and you look over your shoulder, realizing the room you’re in.

A large, black, metal chair sits above a few steps of concrete. Dark screens and bars surrounding it. There are open brackets for your arms and legs to be restrained, and the infamous headpiece that sends painful shocks to your brain. The man with two metal arms who shot you earlier stands beside it.

You remember the first time your powers manifested. Hours of drowning and waterboarding, followed by hovering candles and fires around your skin, poking and prodding you with needles to make something, anything happen. The goal was to send you into such an overdrive, overwhelming you to the point that your body to work with whatever poison they were putting in you.

“You wouldn’t,” You tell them, “You’re not stupid. You’re evil, but not stupid. You wouldn’t risk me in good ole’ Sparky.”

“Wouldn’t I?” The two men hoist you up and begin to drag you towards a heaping pile of metal. You try with all your energy to tap into their minds, tap into anyone’s mind, but to no avail.

This is it, you think. Who knows what will happen next, what you’ll remember. I hope Bucky doesn’t find me, I don't want him to see me like this. Two metal arms hold you down, one choking you hard and the other sitting heavily atop your injured shoulder while the machine powers up. The ties around your limbs are cut and the brackets automatically close, locking you in by your wrists, biceps, and ankles.

“See you on the other side.” He tells you maniacally, a syringe being pushed into your neck by the man with metal arms and the head piece coming down over your face before the worst pain you’ve ever felt courses through your body.

You scream.

Bucky has spent the last couple of hours running around this stupid forest with only failure to show for it. His last option is to go back to what’s left of the base. Sam’s about to land again, this time with Sharon and an extra agent or two.

He’s tossing the pieces of rubble around, looking for something, anything, to show him that you’re around here, that you’re alive.

Until he sees it. It almost perfectly looks like a metal rod sticking out of the ground. But it’s a handle. He pulls on it with all his strength until the lock and chain from the other side snaps, the door swinging open.

He climbs down the small ladder barely hanging against the wall before his feet thump on the ground again. He doesn’t like the nostalgia he feels slowly walking through the dark room, the distant groaning of a body, and smell of just pure evil.

He finally sees a slight glow coming from around the corner at the end of the hallway he’s ended up on, and he speeds up his pace, desperate to find someone, desperate to find you.

And he’s sorry he does. He’s sorry that he’s seen what he’s just seen. A door, on the opposite side of where he’s entered, left ajar and slightly swinging, signifying that someone’s just gone through it, and you, sitting slumped in that fucking chair, groaning and using what little strength you seem to have to weakly pull at the restraints around your wrists and ankles.

It’s his worst nightmare. You, stuck in that chair. He doesn’t waste a second running over to where you are, latching his hands on the headpiece that still sits on your face. He grabs a hold of the two pieces of metal and props a foot to the back of the chair, using all his might to snap it apart. He lets out a yell as he pries it off, bending the metal handle that connects to the main body of the machine.

He pants, reaching for the other restraints and prying those apart too, the sound of metal on metal making his ears hurt, there’s no way his metal arm isn’t wrecked after this.

He grabs a hold of your face to get a good look at you, to make sure you’re still alive. Your pupils almost completely cover the iris, the whites tinted pink. There’s also drool staining the corners of your lips and you're mumbling something to him that he can’t understand.

“Baby? Baby, I’m here, we’re leaving now, okay? I need you to stay awake for me while I get you to the jet, okay? Can you walk?” He coos and speaks to you softly and calmly, gently lugging your body into a standing position, but all you do is slump against his frame.

He can still hear the silent whirring of the machine, and from the subtle shakes in your body, he can guess the chair wasn’t used on you too long ago. He remembers having to be carried by two guards larger than him after a session in the chair, and he's about twice your size and strength, no matter your powers; he can’t imagine what your body’s feeling right now.

You whimper as he catches you, and he’s quick to slide an arm between your legs, the other grabbing a hold of your good arm and slinging you over his shoulders. The metal in his left arm is pinching into the skin of his shoulder, letting him know the plates are messed up from his pulling apart the machine.

Kinda went full Banner on the chair, didn’t I.

“Sam should be here, love, okay? So, just stay awake for me and you can rest on the plane. Huh?” He tells you, trying to engage and hoping you’re awake as he talks to you.

Another groan from you, which is good enough for him. He finally climbs back out of the basement and doesn’t see a jet in sight.

“God damn it, Sam,” He mumbles, and you whimper above him again, your breathing turning into panting and he senses your panic rising.

“Babe… Babe!” Bucky, sets you down gently, trying to capture your attention. A sharp call of your name forces you to look up at him.

You see three of him, and every color you see is much more vivid than you’ve ever seen before. You feel yourself shivering but also feel like you’re burning from the inside out. You know he’s talking to you, but you can’t focus on a single word he says because all you’re thinking about is how you don’t want to feel like this.

“Put me to sleep, knock me out, make me not feel this,” You interrupt him, but by the look of utter confusion in his face, you don’t think you’re speaking clear enough for him to understand you. Which only makes you panic more.

His eyes travel around your face and neck, observing the bruising on your forehead from where the headpiece of the chair rested and the finger-shaped marks on your neck. He also takes notice of the small hole on the side of your neck, about the size of a needle.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry this happened to you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to stop it, to protect you, like I’m supposed to. But, I need you to be strong right now, I need you to suck it up until I can get you on that fucking jet and in a fucking hospital, okay? Please! Please, baby, just tough it out for a little while longer, can you do that?” He cradles your face and head with both of his hands.

Bucky’s on the brink of a panic attack himself. The only thing keeping him from breaking down is the fact that he’s the only one here to make sure you stay awake.

A distant purring of an engine is finally heard and his head darts up at the sky to see the quinjet come into view.

“Look, babe! See? Already here! Just the short trip to the tower, okay, love? You can’t die on me, please,” He trails off.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you try to bring yourself up into a kneeling position to stand up, and a cry escapes you as you feel an utter lack of control over your body. Your brain is trying to move your arms and legs but they feel so heavy that they just don’t move.

Suddenly, Bucky’s hoisting you up again, bridal style this time, and he’s running to the quinjet. You don’t even feel the pain in your shoulder and chest when your arm bounces around because you feel like your insides are melting.

Your brain and head haven’t stopped buzzing since sitting in that chair. You only remember flashes; flashes of black, flashes of the room, flashes of those bastards’ faces while they stare amusedly at you writhe in pain.

You don’t realize you’re on the jet until your body is laid on a cold table, the only table on the quinjet that’s attached to the wall. You look around to gauge your surroundings; you see a blonde head of hair and two other taller figures. Your hand twitches, wanting to reach out for Bucky, but he’s not looking at you. You whimper again, but it must not have been loud enough because he only continues to speak to the two other people, who you guess are Sam and another agent.

You straighten yourself on the table as your heart speeds up faster and faster. You brace yourself for a panic attack but it doesn’t come.

Nothing does.

Bucky tries to tell Sam everything as quickly as possible while the jet takes off. He can only imagine how hysterical he looks right now, and how much explaining he’ll have to do to the other agent on the jet with them; he’s pretty sure he might’ve slipped in calling you his girl by mistake once or twice.

He glances over his shoulder to check on you but does a quick double take. You’re not moving. Your eyes are open, but you’re not moving. Not shaking how your body was before from the electricity, not groaning or whimpering from whatever was wrong with you.

He remembers going on autopilot from there. He strains his ears and can’t hear the rapid beat of your heart, he doesn’t hear anything coming from you. His own heart feels like it stops when he climbs on top of you, straddling you, and leaning his head over your mouth to try and catch your breathing - which he doesn’t - and raising a hand to feel your heartbeat - which he also doesn’t feel.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” He starts CPR immediately, pumping his fists roughly against your chest, counting in his head among all the other chaos floating around in there.

“C’mon sweetheart. Wake up. Wake up, baby.” He continues.

“Bucky, you’re going to break her sternum!” Sharon tries to warn him.

He pauses only for a brief moment to turn his head towards her, “Sharon, shut up!” He snaps, this probably being the first time he’s ever screamed at Sharon. He turns his head towards Sam and Agent 36, “Sam get this fucking plane to the tower, now!”

“Please, please, please don’t do this to me. Not now. Not because of them.” He resumes the CPR while mumbling to himself, leaning down to breathe air into your mouth.

“Can’t lose you, can’t lose you.”

He can’t lose you.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 15: Midnight Manhattan]

A/N: Hi y’all! Thank you so much for your patience and support. I think it’ll be worth it...this chapter has something you’ve been waiting for. Only three more chapters left after this one! 💜

Chapter summary: A family visit turns awkward, Chrissie loses her cool, Roger and Y/N have a difficult conversation, John tells the truth.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies, miscarriage, cute kids, drama, angst, more drama, more angst.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @writerxinthedark @culturefiendtrashqueen @allauraleigh​@deakydeacy​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

They say losing a child will destroy a marriage, and you’re sure that’s often true; but it didn’t destroy yours.

Roger is the only one who can truly understand—who can feel that same aching and eternal, ravening absence in his bones—because he’s the only one who lost her too. He mourns with you, he stays awake through long nights with you, and when the future seems too oppressively bleak to imagine he drags you back into the light with tired daybreak smiles exchanged over mugs of tea and songs plucked on his acoustic guitar by the roaring fireplace, stories and jokes, walks through the green trellises of Hyde Park and the marble halls of the British Museum filled with ancient treasures stolen from Egypt and India and the Yucatan Peninsula, Italy and Greece, leaving craters of hollow memory littered across the planet like the imprint of the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs.

Together you bury her ashes in the garden behind the Surrey house. John brings you a pot of white calla lilies, and when the weather warms you plant them beside the small black stone carved with two names you never speak: Joan Aurora. Together you watch the blossoms grow up and grow old and wither back into the earth like everything does when the clock runs out, when the universe claims back the debt of life we borrow thinking that we own it. And through it all Roger is so persistently kind and patient and present that you’re willing to try for another pregnancy, despite the odds stacked against you like moving boxes, despite the crushing heartache that another loss would entail; despite your fearful, growing suspicion that in both casinos and the genetic lottery, the house always wins.

It never happens again, and you reach a sort of peace with this; but it’s a peace that makes you feel small and immaterial, like when you think too much about how vast the universe really is, like when you wake up restless before the dawn and wander out onto the cracked cobblestones in the garden as the sun burns the darkness off the world from east to west, watching the stars as they vanish in a sky bloodied with another world’s light.

A year passes, and then another, and then another; and every February 15th John sends you a new pot of white calla lilies to plant in the garden where other people’s children play.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Look, look, look!” Laszlo frenetically waves a crayon illustration in front of your face. On his head is the hat you knitted for him, green and featuring a large white L and with sprigs of fluffy brown hair like John’s peeking out around the edges. “I can draw like Daddy!”

It’s November 24th, 1981, and Queen is in Montreal. The band is playing two sold-out shows, one tonight and one tomorrow, and Brian and John have flown in their families for one last visit to tide their wives and children over until the touring break at Christmas. Laszlo is six years old now, Anna nearly five, Lena three, Antoni—fast asleep and presumably dreaming of such complexities as Hershey’s chocolate bars and Care Bear plushies—two; and there have been no additional Deacon children, a fact which seems to be the source of some disharmony between John and Veronica. What Laszlo has drawn with his rainbow of Crayolas most closely resembles a very chubby banana, but with black spots like a Dalmatian’s.

“Oh my goodness, you’re a young Picasso!” you exclaim. “It’s amazing! It’s a...it’s a...a...” Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up. “It’s a...giraffe...?”

“Yeah!” Laszlo confirms, grinning.

Oh thank god.

“Very impressive,” John tells you. “I would have guessed pineapple with leprosy.”

“It’s not a leopard, Daddy,” Laszlo says seriously.

“Yes of course, I didn’t say leopard, I said leprosy, which is entirely different—”

“It’s not a leopard!” Laszlo insists.

“You heard the kid, Deaks,” Roger says, winking. “No leopards. Come over here, kiddo, let me see the nice giraffe...oh yes, it is so obviously a giraffe, you can tell by the expertly placed spots...”

“You’re so good with them,” Veronica marvels, perhaps not quite approvingly, noting how Antoni is dozing peacefully against your chest, a red hat stitched with a massive A snug over his jumble of auburn hair. “He never sleeps for anyone. Not even me.”

“Being comfortable to nap on is one of my many talents.”

“It’s true,” Roger notes, smiling, combing through the knots in his brittle bleached hair.

“No, no, no, don’t try to be modest, you’ve always been fantastically good at caring for people. I remember Brian was half dead when you brought him home from that hospital in Boston.” Chrissie is sitting on the floor of the dressing room with Anna and Lena, helping to facilitate a glamorous wedding for Barbie and Ken. Teddy and Evelyn, both four years old and with massive mops of dark ringlets, are scribbling on coloring book pages of screeching dinosaurs and plunging prehistoric comets above tangles of jungle treetops.

“Hmm,” Veronica agrees lukewarmly. “You’ll be a wonderful mother to your own one day.”

You wince, bite your lower lip, peer down at Antoni’s pacific little face. His eyes, when they’re open, are a greyish blue like John’s. Chrissie kicks Veronica’s ankle and glares at her. Brian glances over from where he’s tuning his Red Special, one rangy leg propped up on a chair.

“Not so sure that’s in the cards,” you demur.

“Keep praying, dear,” Veronica offers. “The Lord will provide in his own time.”

You blink at her. She stares pityingly back with infuriating, weepy eyes. Everyone is suddenly very quiet, except for Freddie; he starts humming Another One Bites The Dust and taps his white Adidas sneakers in rhythm.

“What uniquely helpful advice,” you reply.

“Well, surely one doesn’t need biological children to be fulfilled in life,” Roger tells Veronica lightly, like it’s a warning.

She looks thunderstruck, like this is such a novel concept, like Roger just shared with her the secret to time travel or immortal life. “Perhaps not, but you know...it’s so terribly important for most women.”

“How feminist,” Chrissie quips, lighting a cigarette, flicking the ashes away irritably.

John leans into Veronica. “Stop it,” you can just barely hear him say.

“It’s interesting you would bring up timing, Veronica,” you observe. “We were all so discrete about yours.”

Freddie snorts, tries to pretend it was a sneeze, smooths his moustache as he studies himself in the mirror.

“I’m just trying to help, love,” Veronica claims innocently. “All this can’t be good for you, this ceaseless globetrotting. Almost never waking up in the same place twice. The stress of it!”

“What do you want her to do?” Roger snaps. “Sit at home nine or ten months out of the year and, what, scrub the windows until I come back? Take up watercolor painting? Knit the world’s largest quilt?”

“I’m just saying that less physical and emotional strain might help with the situation.”

“Because you’re a freaking doctor, right?” Roger flares. Chrissie kicks Veronica again.

“People should spend more time close to home,” she continues, undaunted. “There’s nothing more important than family. Look at me, I should have another on the way by now, but the band’s schedule is simply murderous...”

“Trying for a football team?” you inquire. And in the same moment you realize: This isn’t about me at all. This is about her and John.

Freddie is still humming, modelling his Superman tank top and tight white jeans in the mirror, cinching and re-cinching his belt, sliding a red sweatband unto one wrist. The kids—all except the unconscious Antoni—are giggling and pushing each other around on the slippery linoleum floor, seemingly oblivious. John whispers something to Veronica, his face dark and furious.

“John should be home more,” she bursts out. “For me, for the children—”

Roger scoffs and rolls his eyes. “For christ’s sake, lady, he’s not your bloody lapdog!”

“You don’t really need him,” she protests, almost pleads. “He’s just the bassist, he thought this would be a hobby to fill his time on weekends when he was in school, he didn’t sign up to live this way and Queen could find another bassist and you don’t need him—”

“We do need him! He’s not just some bassist! He’s a genius and he’s irreplaceable and there’s absolutely no Queen without him, we swore to it, I’d leave if he ever did!”

“You did what?!” Brian exclaims. Freddie hums louder, stomping his sneakers to the beat, mock-boxing with his reflection in the mirror. John raises his eyebrows at Roger as if he had assumed Rog wouldn’t remember that, assumed he had never really meant it. Roger, flushed, fumbles with his lighter and finally lights a cigarette on his third attempt.

Antoni stirs, his eyes fluttering open, and Chrissie swoops in to take her turn holding him. She bounces him on her hip as she sashays around the dressing room, casting fierce scowls alternately at Veronica and John and Roger.

“You don’t understand,” Veronica hurls at Roger, lashing out like a cornered animal, her voice raw and splintering. “You’ve never sacrificed anything. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of just falls into your lap. No heartache. No consequences. You don’t know what it’s like to be one of the people who get burned.”

“You don’t know anything about me—!”

“Look, I get it,” you tell Veronica. “You want John to yourself. Anyone would. You want a normal life. But that’s the tradeoff when you love someone brilliant, isn’t it? You have to learn how to share them with the world. Because the world is so much better off with them in it.”

Veronica glowers, venomous and spiteful. She’s wearing makeup tonight, quite heavy makeup; she’s started doing that with increasing frequency. “I have no intention of sharing a husband the way you’ve had to.”

Roger stands, stalks to Veronica, towers over her, blows smoke into her stunned face. “Ma’am,” he says quietly, so the children won’t hear. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Okay, darlings!” Freddie flits over, pulls Roger away, fluffs his hair and straightens his black smock-like shirt as Roger glares around Fred’s shoulder at Veronica. “Fabulous. You look like a ten-year-old about to make a papier-mâché vase for his mum in art class. I adore it. Off you go.” He pushes open the door to the hallway and shoves Roger through it.

Roger nods for you to follow him, and you do.  

John frowns as you pass him. I’m so sorry, that expression says.

You shake your head in reply. Not your fault.

Roger slips his arm around your waist as you disappear into the hallway with him.

“That fucking miserable, judgmental, delusional, dogmatic bitch—”

“Shhhhh.” You cup his feverish cheek with your left hand, weighty with the ruby ring he gave you four years ago in New Orleans, and yank the white bandana out of his back pocket with your right. Then you knot it around his neck, smiling. “There. Now you look a little more rock and roll.”

“You’re not mad?” he asks in disbelief. “How are you not mad?”

“She’s clearly very unhappy. I feel sorry for her.” You tug on the bandana gently, fondly. You can hear Chrissie chastising Veronica behind the closed door of the dressing room. “Don’t let it ruin your show.”

“No, I would never.” But his eyes are still distant, unsettled, anxious in a way that is rare for him. “You are a freakishly good person, you know that?”

“I try. Don’t forget to smile so I can get some good pictures.”

“Oh, I’ll smile plenty. Just like this.” A grin splits through his face, and the Roger you know and love is back: bright, triumphant, flashing the daggerish points of his canine teeth. Then he draws you into him and kisses you, his rough hands in your hair, his lips smiling against yours. “Love of my life,” he whispers, rather pensively.

He shakes out his right arm—the one with the jagged scar along the soft vulnerable underside, the one he broke in a stairwell in Yokohama in the spring of 1975—and stretches the hand a few times. And you find yourself wondering, as you always do when he seems distracted like he does now, before he starts staying out late into the night, before he starts coming home drunk or high or not at all: Is he getting bad again? Is he?

I would never have to worry about that if I had married someone like John.

You fling that thought, that inconvenient and perpetual thought, back into the shadows where it came from; like a pebble tossed into the misted tree line of a forest, like a shell pitched into the sea.

“Rog, are you—?”

“I’m fine,” he cuts you off like a blade.  

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s someone screaming out in the hallway.

You reel out of bed in the darkness, step into your slippers, yank on your fuzzy white robe. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 4:11 a.m. Roger and Brian had stayed for one more round of drinks at the club when you and Chrissie left to go back to the hotel, Chrissie to relieve her nanny from kid duty, you to quiet a budding headache. You note—with a vague, drowsy sort of dread—that Roger is not in the bed beside you, his hair a disheveled blond mess peeking from beneath the covers, snoring softly, his calloused hands outstretched towards yours. Beyond the door there are earsplitting clashes of broken glass, thumps and pounding footsteps, people shouting. And now you can recognize Chrissie’s voice, shrieking and wrathful: “Now you’ve done it, now you’ve really done it, you’re going to fucking kill her!”

You throw open the door to see Roger crouched against the hallway wall, covering his head with his hands; he is surrounded by shards of glass, tiny hotel shampoo and mouthwash bottles, Bibles ripped from nightstand drawers. He’s dripping with what smells like a combination of every kind of alcohol you’ve ever tasted, and maybe some you haven’t as well.

“I wish she’d never fucking met you!” Chrissie screams, launching a bottle of Grey Goose from the minibar in her room at Roger. It explodes against the wall just above his head, and glass and vodka rain down on him. Brian is unsuccessfully attempting to coax Chrissie back into their room as she ignores him. “I wish she’d never stepped off that fucking plane because the day she agreed to come to London with you was the worst day of her life!”

“Will you stop?!” Roger yells. “Jesus christ, Chris!”

“She saved you,” Chrissie hisses, landing an elbow into Brian’s gut and sending him flying backwards. “She saved your life and this is how you repay her, you disgusting degenerate bastard!”

A bottle of Captain Morgan hits the wall and detonates two inches from Roger’s face.

“What’s going on?!” you shout at Chrissie, your arms crossed over your chest.

A few rooms down the hallway, a door opens and Freddie wanders out in a pink kimono. After a moment, John and Veronica appear from their own room in their pajamas, rubbing bleary eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep so I phoned my mum and guess what’s on the cover of the News Of The World this week.” Chrissie points at Roger. “Go on. Tell her. Tell her what you did.”

He knows; he doesn’t say anything, but he knows. You can see that he does. It’s lurking in the shallow cerulean pools of his glistening eyes like a shadow, like a ghost.

“What did you do?” John asks him, mystified.

Roger doesn’t answer. He’s looking at you, at Chrissie, back to you. It isn’t often that Roger is fearful, acutely and bone-rattlingly afraid; but he is now.

“Fine, you don’t want to own up to it? I’ll do it. I’ll tell her, you coward.” Chrissie spins to you. “Dominique Beyrand is seven months pregnant.”

I’m surrounded by goddamn mothers. “Okay. Good for her.”

Chrissie waits for it to hit you. And then it does.

Oh. Oh.

“Bleeding christ,” you hear Freddie sigh, rubbing his forehead. Veronica covers her gaping mouth with one pale hand, and she doesn’t look smug or vindicated or condemnatory; she looks terrified. John is watching you, you can see him on the periphery of your vision; you are dimly aware of him edging closer as you gaze at Roger, your eyes wide and blurring with tears, your throat burning.  

You can’t understand it, can’t imagine it, and then suddenly you can: his fingers threading through her glossy black hair, his lips skating over her neck, promises whispered through nightscape phone calls, haphazard lies whispered to you; reckless, small-boned, doe-eyed children with Dom’s olive skin and Roger’s sharp little canine teeth.

This is the part where I wake up. This is the part where it turns out to be just a hellacious dream.

But you don’t wake up, because this is real.

“Oh,” you exhale, brainlessly, helplessly.

Roger doesn’t sputter some desperate apology, he doesn’t beg you to forgive him. He stares at you with huge, starry blue eyes, booze dripping from his hair, surrender etched into the concave slump of his back and shoulders.

You ask him, already knowing the answer: “It’s not just a fling, is it?”

“No,” he replies miserably. “I thought it was, but it isn’t.”

You nod, those first hot tears spilling down your cheeks. “Okay,” you concede, your words brittle and fracturing. “I’ll file as soon as we get back to London.” File for divorce. File this entire misadventure away in my mind as a horrific and juvenile mistake. Shred the good memories into oblivion so I can’t remember how alive he once made me feel.

That seems to bother Roger, jolts him into urgency. The white bandana is still tied around his neck. “You don’t have to do that—”

“Are you fucking joking?” you pitch at him. “Are you not done humiliating me yet? Am I not ruined enough? Do I somehow still look remotely whole to you?”

John’s hand closes around your wrist. “Don’t,” he tells you gently.

Roger begins: “I never wanted to hurt—”

“But you did,” you seethe, tears slithering down your face. It’s sinking in now, it’s becoming real, it’s materializing from years of gnawing distrust into fact. They were all right about him. They were always right. John’s arms circle you, holding you back as you struggle against him. “You fucking did and I forgave you like an idiot just so you could prove to me over and over and over again how exceptionally little you cared.”

“That’s not true—!”

“You’ve done enough!” Chrissie roars at him. Brian wrestles a bottle of Don Julio out of her grasp. “You deplorable slut, can’t you see that you’ve done enough?!”

Freddie approaches Roger, dusts the glinting flecks of glass out of his hair, wrenches him staggering to his feet.

“Come on,” John murmurs, towing you towards your room. Veronica is tracking him with blazing eyes. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Go ahead, Roger!” you shout as John drags you away, as Roger is corralled into Freddie’s room. “Get clean for her, get clean for her children, tell her she’s the love of your life and marry her and give her a ring but don’t forget to remind her that none of it means a single fucking thing—!”

John stumbles with you into your hotel room. He slams the door behind him, and the world goes deathly quiet. You reel aimlessly, collapse onto the edge of the bed, dazed, staring at the bland landscape paintings on the wall, ticking down the mental list of things you’ll need to get from the Surrey house: photographs, paperwork, John’s sketches, the conch shell from Ostia.

What about the calla lilies? What about her grave?

And there’s another list as well, whether you want there to be or not; a list of things you’ll never feel again.

His teeth grazing my knuckles, his palms cradling my face, his raspy voice as he writes songs on quiet nights, the way he loved our daughter, the way he sets souls alight like wildfire.

John just stands in the middle of the hotel room, heaving in ragged breaths, his hands on his waist. And for a long time, neither of you speak at all.

“Do you want me to stay?” John says finally.

“You can’t,” you reply, thinking of Veronica and the children.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No. I’m fine. I want to be alone.”

He comes to you, lifts your chin with one careful hand, touches his forehead to yours before he leaves. “You are never going to be alone.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You hear the key clatter in the lock, and your hotel room door creaks open. You’re laying on the floor after Queen’s second show in Montreal, staring blankly up at the ceiling, counting the black dots in the tiles like stars, imagining constellations of monsters and heroes and doomed love.

John appears above you, his brow furrowed. He shuttled all of Roger’s things to Freddie’s room after you packed them up this morning, then he took Roger’s key. “What are you doing?”

“Fantasizing about my own death.”

He checks his watch. “Will you be done in twelve minutes?”

“What happens in twelve minutes?”

“We have to leave for the afterparty on a yacht.”

You groan, sitting upright, rubbing your sore and sleepless eyes with the heels of your hands. “I can’t do it, John. I don’t have it in me tonight. I can’t mingle with all of those obnoxious music industry people. ‘Yes, hi, hello, yes it’s true, I am the sad barren soon-to-be-ex-wife, oh what a charming nineteen-year-old model mistress you have on your arm there, I too was once young and desirable and disastrously stupid.’”

He smiles. “You’re still somewhat desirable.”

“Thanks.” You reach up, take his hands, let him help you to your feet.

“You realize if you don’t go I’m going to have to hide in the corner and compulsively eat miniature quiches all by myself.”

“Your enchanting wife isn’t attending?”

“She wanted to stay with the children. Also, she hates me.”

You chuckle. “She doesn’t hate you. She passionately does not hate you, which is the problem.”

“So you’ll come with me.”

You mull this over. “Can I get so drunk I forget I exist?”

“Sure. If you promise to stay near me and away from the water.”

“Yes, I suppose that you, as a convicted felon, would be high on the list of suspects if I was to go overboard.”

“Losing you would be the worst thing that ever happened to me. Who would I call to post my bail?”

You laugh as you beam up at him, knot your fingertips through his hair, see your silhouette reflected in his greyish eyes that today remind you of storm clouds, of torrential autumn rain, of thunder. “Okay. Fine. I’ll go to your torturous yacht party.”

“Aww, what a tragedy, being forced to enjoy all the trappings of stardom” John teases, and then you can see the regret wrinkle across his face; because people don’t joke about things like tragedies around you anymore.

“It’s a hard life,” you agree. “But it feels a little easier when you’re around.”

You slip into a dark blue dress and heels and your bomber jacket that doesn’t match at all. John meets you in the hallway in a black suit. You share a limo with Brian and Chrissie, who chatter nervously about anything they can think of that doesn’t involve Roger or marriage or children or love. Bri points out constellations through the open moonroof as frigid Canadian air pours in and rattles your dangling diamond earrings, whips through your hair. John smooths the runaway strands, rests his arm across the back of your seat, smiles in a tranquil sort of way and actually appears to pay attention as Brian narrates the stories of the stars and their celestial families: Pegasus, Aquarius, Pisces, tiny Triangulum, the lightning strike zigzag of Lacerta, Perseus.

“You look gorgeous,” Chrissie tells you, and she seems to mean it.

“Thank you,” you reply politely. “If only I was also French and fertile.”

The yacht is docked on the bank of the Saint Lawrence River, an island of roaring laughter and music and twinkling strands of lights in an ocean of night. John leads you onboard, waves at the photographers who douse you in flashbulb luminescence, stands with you by the railing at the stern of the vessel as it pulls out into the river. Periodically some palpably accomplished stranger will appear, shake John’s hand, start asking him about You’re My Best Friend or Another One Bites The Dust or Under Pressure; but mostly the two of you are left alone. You drain flute after flute of pink champagne as John nurses his Manhattans, debating the merits of the various appetizers; you—ever the proud Bostonian—are partial to the bite-sized lobster rolls, while John prefers the Swedish meatballs speared on puzzlingly tropical toothpick umbrellas.

Roger is on the yacht too of course, and every once in a while you catch a glimpse of his blond hair or his blush-colored polka dot suit, hear his voice carried on the cold November wind; and you ignore this as much as you can. Twice he starts migrating towards you, and you and John pretend not to notice, dart through the crowds to the other side of the boat, your hand clasped in John’s as he weaves relatively anonymously through ballgowns and suits and reporters’ microphones. And he peeks back at you, grinning, and says: “I bet you’re thrilled no one knows who I am tonight.”

Chrissie steals you away briefly to keep her company when Brian gets snared into an excruciatingly dull interview about Queen’s next album; and when Brian comes to collect her, John greets you with a fresh glass of champagne in one hand and his fourth Manhattan in the other.

“You better make sure you don’t go overboard, Mr. Deacon,” you say, taking the champagne flute and resting your forearms on the yacht’s railing as waves break against the hull. Freshwater mist peppers your cheeks, your collarbones, the backs of your hands. Through the speakers pluck the opening notes of Hotel California. “Oh god. This song.”

“Fond memories?” John asks with a smirk. “That whole night is a blur to me.”

“It makes me think of sharks for some reason. And the Olympics.”

“It makes me feel...” He considers this. “Overwhelmed with self-loathing.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re the least loathable person I’ve ever met.” You sip your champagne, gaze out into the moonlit currents that run from the Great Lakes to the Atlantic Ocean, to the shores of every place you’ve ever called your own. “How long did Dante live in exile from Florence?”

“Twenty years.”

You whistle. “That’s a long time to be away from home.” The fingers of your left hand clutch the railing, which is gold and sturdy and stingingly cold. “I feel a little like him sometimes. Except as you get older, home starts to feel less like places and more like people.” You twist off your ruby ring, glance down at it fleetingly, and toss it out into the glistening black waters of the Saint Lawrence River.

John looks over at you. “It’s really over, isn’t it?”

You nod slowly, mournfully. “Yeah. It’s really over.”

“And how are we feeling about that?”

“Relieved. Petrified. Exhausted. Mostly I’m just sad.”

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “For everything.”

“Why? None of it was your fault.” You sigh, shake your head, peer out into the river, into the night sky, into the stars. “Maybe this is a good thing, you know? A blessing in disguise or whatever. I can move on knowing I did everything I could to salvage the marriage. I can be free. No more waiting up at night for someone who isn’t coming home. No more searching through pockets and suitcases for white powder or used needles. No more News Of The World headlines.”

John is still staring at you.

“What?” you ask, smiling warily.

He downs the rest of his Manhattan, twirls the glass as the ice cubes clink against each other. Finally, he says: “I could have given you a very different kind of life.”

Your lips, slick with gloss and tingling with sharp carbonation from the champagne, part to ask John what he means; but then you know. Your voice is a quivering, astonished whisper. “It was about me. You’re My Best Friend.”

“Yeah, it was. And most of the others were too.”

It was about me. All those years ago, that song was about me. And it still is.

“John...”

“I watched you fall in love with Roger, watched him fall in love with you. Watched this agonizing fucking dance that you do...he can’t give you what you want, you can’t be happy with less...and I just kept waiting to wake up one day and not want you anymore. And it never happened.” He laughs, briefly, bitterly. “I mean, for christ’s sake, I refused to propose to the mother of my child until I was sure you’d stay with Roger because I thought...I thought...you know, maybe. Maybe one day you’d change your mind. And I wanted to be there if you did.”

You gaze at him, soaking him in, unambiguously aware that there is no part of you that is afraid, no part of you that is shuddering or surrendering or apprehensive; there is no instinctive chorus begging you not to fall in love with him. There’s no sensation of falling at all. It feels like you’re somewhere you’ve never left.

“I know that next to someone like Roger Taylor I don’t look like much,” John confesses. “That I don’t feel like much. That I don’t light anything up the way he does. And if you can’t imagine a future with someone who isn’t him, someone who isn’t like him...then I completely accept that. But you’re always going to feel like home to me.”

You’re My Best Friend. You And I. Spread Your Wings. In Only Seven Days. Need Your Loving Tonight.

They were all about me. They were always about me.

“John...”

You don’t know what to say. You know exactly what to say.

From the crowd, a man dressed in a blue pinstripe suit and holding a Cuban cigar bellows for John. He whirls, offers a shy wave, trots over to say hello. But as they discuss concerts and albums and tours, John’s eyes meet yours through the sea of strangers and cigarette smoke, through the shifting shadows cast by flickering incandescence and moonshine.

And you watch him as the constellations and all their stars rage above, the same stars that in the time of Dante sailors read to point them home.

[marvels-agents100]

the keeper of horae

spring

seasons change, but he never does

pairing: aaron hotchner x gender neutral ! reader

warnings: fluffy soft hotch

word count: 1,775

author’s note: this is it, kids ! im sad to see this series end, but i will be grateful for its existence, not mourning over its loss. aaron might seem a lil ooc, simply because in this universe he and the reader are very ~ poetic ~ so,,,, yeah. enjoy, thank you joining me on this journey

The conference room was silent, empty of life besides Aaron, who gently took the official crime scene photos off of the evidence board. The lines below his eyes ran deeply, his shoulders weighed down by the pure exhaustion that coursed through his veins. A soft click echoed from the door, his eyes dragging lazily to see who had entered the room. He could only muster a small smile when he saw it was you.

“The rest of the team is already back at the hotel,” you said quietly, your hands intertwining behind your back, “how are you doing, boss? I can handle this, if you want to go get some sleep.”

“I’ll be okay,” he answered quietly, turning back towards the mostly empty cork board, “you should rest.”

Your teeth gnawed on your lower lip for a moment, mind contemplating your next question, “Can I show you something?”

His gaze found you once more, eyebrows pulling together, “What is it?”

“It’s a ten minute drive,” you explained, “but, I can promise you won’t regret it.”

He held you in his stare for a second, trying in vain to pull any nonverbal clues as to what you were talking about. When no hints were visible, he let out a small sigh, “Alright, okay.”

The drive was silent, the sun beginning to settle into the mountains as you reached your destination.

You exited the car, Aaron not far behind you, and walked off of the dirt road. He was on your heels, not once questioning where you led him. You looked back and offered your hand with a small smile, his steps faltering slightly, before he reached and interlocked his palm with yours. You tugged him along by his arm, your forward focus missing the blissed smile that graced his lips.

You finally reached the small hill; the hill whose west side was covered in vibrant wildflowers, facing directly at the setting sun. Releasing Aaron’s hand, you walked into the flowers and sat yourself in the midst of their color, legs crossing as your eyes stared at the yellow and orange that painted the sky. He followed your actions, shoulder brushing yours as he settled into the ground, legs stretched in front of him and palms leaning on the earth behind him.

He looked at the land around him; flowers dancing in the breath of spring, their lively hues bringing the promise of sunshine and occasional soft, warm rain. He breathed in deeply, letting the smell of honey and lavender overwhelm him, the wind carrying the fragrance of the blooming petals beneath it.

“Spring is my favorite season,” you spoke softly, your words being carried by the breeze, “it always reminds me of how alive our earth is.”

He hummed in response, eyes skimming over the pink that reflected off of the clouds.

“Why did you bring me here?” He questioned, his voice low and soft.

You looked to him, studying the way the sun reflected in his honeycomb irises, “This case was a bad one.”

His gaze met yours, “It was.”

“You said once that you had begun to see the beauty of this world,” you nearly whispered, “I figured you would need to witness some of that beauty after this week.”

Eyes jumping between yours, the corner of his lips twitched upwards, “Thank you.”

You nodded once before looking back to the falling sun, it’s rays reaching desperately to cling to the clouds. The flowers surrounding you perfumed the air, carding through your hair and embracing you completely. A content sigh escaped you, a smile settling on your face.

His eyes never left you, tracing over the slope of your nose and the minuscule curl of your lips. He memorized the way your hair seemed to glow in the orange light of the sun, the way your eyelashes brushed delicately against the wind, the way your shoulders relaxed as you took in the scenery surrounding you. He wanted to commit every detail of you to memory, just so he could look upon you when you were absent. But, the more he tried, the more he realized- you were already there, living in his thoughts. 

He could remember the way the snowflakes landed on your eyelashes and reddened your nose as he wrapped his scarf around your neck, or the way the ocean sparkled light into your eyes as you told him how you confessed your secrets to the sea, or how your skin glowed next to the golden leaves that surrounded you, his scarf once again draped upon your shoulders. He didn’t need to remember every hair and freckle and wrinkle and dimple- he already knew them, he already knew you.

“I don’t need the world’s beauty,” he confessed, the words tumbling from his mind to his mouth before he had a chance to hold them back. You looked to him, head tilting in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean- I just,” he sighed, closing his eyes momentarily to collect himself, “This world is bright, it’s beautiful, and it took me a long time to realize that,” he looked towards the sun, “the sun shines it’s light down upon us, whether we deserve it or not.” He looked back to you, your eyebrows raised in curiosity, “You helped me see it. I was so focused on the night, that I never saw the stars.”

Your cheeks began to redden.

“But, my love,” he continued, “none of this beauty can compare to the beauty within you.”

You took a shaky breath in, willing the tears glistening your eyes to go away.

“Aaron Hotchner, are you calling me pretty?” You chuckled, your voice coming out watery and wavering.

He let out a small laugh, “I am,” his smile remained, “but not just in how you look, but who you are.”

Your hand quickly wiped at the droplet that trailed down your cheek, eyes blinking to prevent any further losses. “You’re making me cry,” you joked.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his thumb reaching forward and delicately brushing your cheekbone.

You sniffled, “You deserve to see it, the light this world has. You’ve lived in darkness and pain for so long.”

“And now, because of you,” he held onto your cheek, “I can believe that.”

Your eyes searched his face, your head leaning into his touch. 

“I always talk about the seasons,” you begin, “how each one is uniquely captivating,” your hand came to rest upon his, “and I always mention the sun, moon, and stars, how they’re constant and beautiful and wonderful.”

You broke his stare for just a moment, collecting your courage before looking at his warm honey eyes once again.

“It’s always been you, Aaron, you are my sun, my moon, and all of my stars. You are my winter, summer, autumn, and spring. You are every breeze that brushes the leaves, every petal the flowers grow. You’re every drop of rain, every ray of sunshine. Hell, Aaron, you are the words that fill the pages of my story, and I wouldn’t ever want to change that.”

He could feel the tear roll down his cheek, tracing along his dimples and dripping from his chin. He breathed, trying to ground the sudden dizziness that overwhelmed his head- probably from his heart beating far too rapidly- before speaking.

“I am completely and utterly in love with you,” he whispered, voice wavering slightly.

A wide, uncontrollable smile took over your face, your arms reaching to latch on around his neck, your body colliding into his as you let yourself fall into his arms. Your face rested in his neck, your giggles muffled by his skin.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you spoke against his pulse, “please tell me this is real, not just a dream.”

“You’re awake, love,” he whispered into your hair, back landing on the ground as he pulled you impossibly closer. 

Your head lifted, face hovering above his. You admired how the wildflowers adorned him, the foliate creating a crown around his head. His eyes were still golden and soft, staring at you with a look of adoration. You hand brushed along his cheek, thumb grazing his bottom lip.

“Can I kiss you?” Your whispered, your words no more than a breath, their only listener being the man before you and the blossoms surrounding him.

“Always.”

Your head dipped slowly, giving plenty opportunity to put an end to everything before it had even started, but he gave no complaint as you inched closer to him. His eyes fluttered shut, hands reaching your cheeks, your breath upon his lips. You paused, lips brushing against his, letting yourself smile just one last time before finally reaching him.

His lips connected to yours with a soft passion, a sigh leaving his chest as he gripped onto your cheek. Your fingers wrapped around the hair along the nape of his neck, a satisfied groan escaping him. Pulling you closer, he refused to let you go, despite his hungry lungs.

The way your lips felt against his just made him fall further. He decided then, while kissing you in a field of flowers as the sunset watched, that he would do anything for you. If the stars ceased to exist, he would hang each individual light just to fill your eyes with wonder. If the clouds fell from the sky, he would spend a lifetime painting them back onto the sunlight, just to see you smile at them once more. If all the blossoms shriveled and died, he would summon the April showers just to make the May flowers grow. If you chose to dance in the rain, he would dance alongside you, with joy in your smiles and daisies in your hair. You had planted a seed in his heart as the snow fell to the ground, and now, in the middle of Spring, your seed had become a garden.

You pulled away from him, despite your mind’s protests. Lips still brushing against his, your chest heaved slightly to make up for lost air.

“Promise me,” you said breathlessly, “promise you’ll never stop kissing me like that, you’ll never stop loving me like this.”

“I promise, on everything I am,” he swore, just as winded as you.

Your lips met his again, but pulled away after a moment.

“I love you too, by the way,” you giggled.

He laughed, a full laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes and nearly burst your swollen heart.

And you knew. You knew he would keep his promise, you knew he would love you endlessly. 

You knew that your love was just a bud, and would only continue to grow.

taglist:

@quillvine​ @winterscaptain​

[chcrrybmb]

what goes on angels ! it’s is , ur twenty year old cancer gal , property of bae irene and mark lee only ! i was in pinky during its first run n fell in love w ,, all the people and all the charas there ( even if i dipped twice but we’on talk abt that rn :pensive: KSJDKSD ) , so when i heard it was comin back i couldn’t refuse ! making her grand re-re-entry into ur lives is the grand .. the chaotic ... the incomparable ... the Stupid ass miss brooke bae !!! as always , click down below to read more abt her and give this a lil HEART if ur down to clown n plot at the same time ! luv luv y’all and i cant wait to get this show on the road !

* im nayeon . she + her . female . ╱ i am pretty sure i saw 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐞 at manon’s party that night . the 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚘 year old is in their third year at west bridge studying 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓭𝓲𝓮𝓼 . i hear they were at manon’s party because she cheated on her ex with manon . i wonder if they got the same restricted call as us . will they comply ? + a brightly lit computer screen ; cherry wine lipstick ; a messy bun held together with chopsticks .

brooke bae is a twenty two year old aquarius from the bronx who’s a gender studies major by day and a professional league gamer all day !

she’s the only child of her mom n dad , who met when her mom was taking up law in college and her father was a professor . they had a pretty rocky relationship that ended when brooke was about 8 and her mom skipped town on both her n her dad 

she likes to think she doesn’t care ( narrator vc : she does ! it’s such a sore spot ! don’t mention it unless u want her to slice ur throat open ! )

growing up she was pretty timid and bullied for her bunny teeth that were too big for her face and her hair that was always tangled and other dumb , superficial things kids get bullied for . girls r mean :/

so brooke found solace in gaming and computers and eventually found out she was really good at them ? so from something that was just a hobby it became something she actually really .. really liked doing

puberty came along and suddenly wow she’s . Hot ? suddenly everyone’s flockin to be her friend and grab her attention and of course she lets that go to her head

she still loves gaming though , and opens up her twitch channel in her senior year of high school to massive , massive success ; she even forms her own team and plays in the occasional tournament

from the timid , awkward girl that she was , she’s now a .. how u say .. raging BITCH ! with red lipstick and fake bubbly giggles and long eyelashes to match

she’s very manipulative and self-centered and likes to look out for herself while having other ppl wrapped around her finger ; she’s all too aware of how fleeting popularity is , and she’s lowkey afraid of it disappearing just like that

she’s the sigma president and members of the gaming club now and basically knows ? everyone ? is sexy ! and cute ! and popular to boot ! the whole shebang .

the whole manon thing’s lowest of keys got her shaken to her core but she’s been running from her feelings all her life so how’s this any different to her really lmao

the whole thing w her mom kind of skewed her entire view on relationships so uh . she has v self destructive tendencies n tends to self sabotage any chance of happiness she has

unstable and chaotic and is basically based on lorde’s version of everybody wants to rule the world ? yeah .

[tiny-maus-boots]

Wild West AU pt 5

A/N: I dunno why. Blame @lilhan. There is Bechloe and there is Staubrey. If you’re not into one or the other or either please run far away. Thank you. I own nothing. Generic disclaimers. Please enjoy.

A/N: Parts 1, 2, 3 and 4 can be found on Ao3 and thank you to @chloes-yellow-cup for doing the thing with the posting and all that stuff.

It was quiet around the Caverns as Beca saddled her horse, King snuffled at her shoulder blowing her hair back and she laughed despite the heaviness in her chest. Beca rested her head against his neck as she stroked his shoulder. Chloe led her horse forward and leaned against a wooden pillar just watching as Beca straightened up to tighten the straps before turning around to face her mate with a tight lipped smile. “I’m ready.” It was about as much as she said all morning. Chloe hadn’t pushed her and she was grateful for it but she knew she had say something at some point. “The girls already head out?”

Chloe reached out to pet King’s nose before answering. “Yeah, Stacie rode out with her tail between her legs and Bree was hot on her heels looking more surly than usual.” Beca’s lips twitched in a slight smile at the annoyed tone of Chloe’s voice. The protective streak was endearing and Beca reached to tug on the sleeve of Chloe’s duster letting her mate know that Beca appreciated her. “We can find another way you know. We don’t need him, Bec.”

Beca led King out of the stable before she reached up and hauled herself into the saddle. “It’s a lot Chlo. I dunno how I feel about it. Him.” She had loved him once, or as close to love as she knew at the time. They had been a team and his betrayal had cut her deeply, much more deeply than she ever imagined it would. It wasn’t just that he had let go of her hand and left her to the mercy of a posse, he hadn’t even been waiting for her when they got back. For a long time it kept her from trusting anyone else and now he was suddenly thrust upon them again, unwanted and unexpected.

Chloe hoisted herself into the saddle and clucked her tongue at her horse, settling into the easy cantering pace. “Well I sure know how I feel about ‘im.” Beca gave a half chuckling nod of acknowledgement. She knew exactly how Chloe felt about him and given the opportunity she was sure her mate would draw down on Jesse without batting an eye. Beca kept pace and her silence until they had a few miles under the hoof. When they were just shy of their spot she slowed her horse to a trot and let her shoulders drop.

“It’s not that I love him still. You know that, you’ve got all of me.” Chloe matched Beca’s trot and gave a slight nod of her head. She did know it and she didn’t question the fact in the slightest. Chloe understood how complicated it must be for Beca.

“Never even a question, Cowgirl.” She offered Beca a wink before jerking her chin at the entrance to a boxy canyon. They slipped in one by one, the trickle of water from a sluggish stream splashing up under their horses as they trotted out into the valley. Aubrey and Stacie were watering their horses a bit upstream and Beca pulled King to a halt near them. Stacie scratched at her ear and kicked at a loose stone as Beca and Chloe dismounted. She looked like she had something she wanted to say but Beca didn’t really need to hear it. She knew it wasn’t meant to hurt her, it just was what it was.

Beca let her horse drop his head to the cool water, tying his reins off on the trunk of twisted knotty tree that had fallen over long ago. “Beca, look I’m real sorry about bringing it up. I should have thought it through…” Beca raised a hand and shook her head to forestall more of an apology from her tall friend.

“S’Okay Stace. I know you didn’t bring it up for shits and giggles. Maybe when the girls get here we’ll come up with something else.” Something better that didn’t involve her having to face Jesse for the first time in years. Aubrey made a rumble of dissent and raised a flask to her lips to take a long pull, wiping at her chin with the back of a gloved hand. Aubrey wasn’t by any means a saint but she was as good a Christian woman as she could be given what she had left behind, so she wasn’t prone to much drinking and certainly not during the day. Beca and Chloe shared a brief look, each as confused as the other.

Aubrey took a deep breath and let it out slowly, one hand came up to idly scratch at the long scar on her face. Over the years Beca had come to realize that it was one of Aubrey’s tells. She touched it when she felt vulnerable and small and watching her do it now unsettled every last one of them. Stacie focused her intense gaze on Aubrey, noting every twitch of movement that crossed Aubrey’s face. “Bree?”

“The damned Army is in Penitence.” They took a collective breath at that, Chloe shaking her head with a sigh. It was to be expected really since they did technically steal gold intended for the Federal Reserve. Twice. She just didn’t understand why Aubrey was so bothered by the news that the Army would be interested in getting it back. Stacie frowned and took a step closer to Aubrey, gently pulling her hand away from her face so that she could tip Aubrey’s chin up.

Aubrey took a breath then swallowed but couldn’t seem to look away. “I’ve seen you stare an Army regulation Gatling dead in the face and laugh. You gonna tell me what’s so big it’s got ya spooked?”

Beca reached out blindly and met Chloe’s hand, giving it a squeeze for reassurance. “Avery’s with them.” It dropped between them like a lead weight and the air rushed out of Beca’s lungs. Avery Posen was the devil’s son. There was but a heartbeat before Stacie turned on a heel to stride to her horse, one foot already hooked in the stirrup to haul herself up. Beca reacted first, pushing herself between Stacie and Rowdy trying to block her friend from a ridiculously disastrous course of action. The taller woman roughly shoved Beca out of her way and hauled herself up into the saddle.

Stacie tried to back her horse up to get around them but Beca gripped Rowdy’s bridle in her hand. “Let. Me. Go.” Chloe scooted behind Beca and grabbed the other side, holding his head steady and making it harder for Stacie to fight it without seriously hurting someone. Not that she didn’t still try.

“Stacie stop! STOP!” Beca winced at the echo of Chloe’s shout as it bounced off the canyon walls. She didn’t dare let go of her grip on Rowdy and watched Stacie warily. Aubrey had dropped her flask from nerveless fingers and stood frozen in mute horror of the idea of Stacie going after her brother. Her lips moved but her words were barely more than a choked whisper.

“Please don’t leave me…” It was more than just a plea to stay. If Stacie rode out now she was sure to die. Standing against one man was easy, standing against an army? That was a horse of a different color all together. “I can’t Stace…I can’t without you.” Aubrey’s tanned face turned a stricken gray her eyes dim making her look more lost than Beca had ever seen.

Beca felt her heart rise to her throat, threatening to choke her with the depth of hurt in those words. She caught Chloe’s eye and swallowed thickly. If anything ever happened to Chloe they might as well put her down like a bull gone wrong. She felt the echo of Aubrey’s pain stir inside of her and she had to take a second to blink back the sudden rise of hot prickling tears. She had lost Jesse and it had hurt but she never really stopped living, or being, she just kept moving forward. It settled inside her chest with a calming weight despite the fact that watching Aubrey broken at the mere thought tore at her heart something fierce because she understood it. She couldn’t without Chloe either.

Chloe snapped when it looked like Stacie might try to kick her way free and pulled her gun, the hammer cocking back before the barrel was fully out of the holster. She took one shot to the sky and leveled it right at Stacie’s face. “Damnit Stace, stop!”

“You’re not gonna shoot me Chlo.” Stacie scoffed at the idea of it but she didn’t dare take her eyes from the steady steel pointing straight at her. Beca’s girl might be soft and cuddly but she was hard when she had to be and right now she had to be. The gun lowered and Chloe pressed the tip to Stacie’s foot then raised a challenging brow.

“Ya got 9 others give or take depending on how stupid you decide to be. Look at her. Just look! Look at her and tell me your way is better.”

Stacie tossed her head in disbelief and looked over her shoulder to Aubrey. Her face crumbled and her shoulders bowed under the sudden weight of guilt when she realized what she was doing to her partner. Stacie let the reins drop from her fingers and carefully swung a leg over so she could dismount. Beca sighed softly in relief and let go of the horse’s head so she could move in closer to Chloe’s comforting warmth. When she was close enough to cling to Aubrey buried her face in Stacie’s neck, hands balling in Stacie’s shirt with a slight tremor. The taller woman murmured soft apologies as she cradled her mate close to her chest, her eyes soft in apology when she gazed over at Beca and Chloe.

Chloe holstered her gun, fingers lingering on the butt as if she itched to use it still and Beca knew the desire for vengeance ran through them all. Regardless, this new information had to be weighed carefully, had to be considered from all the angles. Beca half leaned into Rowdy’s shoulder and brought her harp to her lips, twanging idly as turned it over in her mind. Chloe gave her a regretful smile and tipped her head. They needed Jesse and his boys, there was no other option as best as she could see. Beca let the harp drop to her chest and nodded her head in agreement. Chloe moved forward to stroke down Aubrey’s back soothingly. “So the way I see it we have two options. Cut our losses, call in our favors and hide or run until we can make our way up north to new territory to plunder until we have what we need to move on. Or we can pony up with our old outfit and plow down anything that gets in our way. I’m not so much for the former myself but we should all have a say because where one goes we all go.”

Aubrey gave Chloe a slight nod, her hand finding her friend’s with a warm squeeze. “I agree with Chloe. We can tuck tail and run up north but the Army will be after us still and whoever else we cross along the way. We chose this mark so we could use the gold to buy us new lives, seems a shame and a sin to give it up for getting caught somewhere else.”

Beca watched as Stacie gave a short nod of agreement. There wasn’t much to be said but she figured she had better cast her vote as well. “Then it’s unanimous for the border, anyone gets in our way we send them to hell and I hope to God that swine of a brother of yours plants himself in our path.” Stace raised her eyes to Beca and gave her a nod and slow smirk that meant she was going to kill Avery whether he got in their way or not. Beca didn’t rightly mind that plan so she gave a wink to Stacie letting her know she was on board for that. “Good now let’s just focus on one thing at a time for now. How are we getting Emmy through with supplies with Cox’s men circling around searching for us?” There were only so many options and all of them left Emily in a wagon full of supplies in plain view of any interested eye.

Stacie looked over her shoulder and then pointed to a cleft in the wall that hid a deep cave they’d used on more than one occasion to hide out and heal up. “Let’s go for a walk. It’s better if I show you.” The leggy brunette took the lead ushering them through the craggy face. Beca stopped just inside to let her eyes adjust to the dark even though she knew the interior well enough to walk it with her eyes closed. Someone struck flint with their knife and used it to light a few lanterns stashed with the emergency supplies. Beca blinked at the warm yellow glow when Aubrey handed her the lantern and moved to light another. “Where exactly are we going?”

Stacie shouldered a bug out bag on her shoulder and gestured to the lowest hole in the back wall. “About six miles up through there. It goes down a bit and gets a little tight in places but it goes all the way through the mountain. Comes out at the Old Crow Mine.”

Chloe peered into the darkness dubiously. “Didn’t that mine close because of a collapse?” Stacie chuckled and hefted a coil of rope in her other hand.

“Yeap. Didn’t take much to clear it and shore the supports. Even still has the old track runnin’ through the main vein.”

Beca gave a half laugh. “Train track huh? Exactly how long have you been working on this escape plan of yours?”

“Since you got caught in El Paso.” Beca grumbled under her breath and rubbed one butt cheek that she swore still had buckshot in it. Well. If they managed to pull this off it might be nice not having to worry about get shot or stabbed. Or caught. A thing that happened far too frequently for Beca’s liking. A tight smile crossed her face and snorted.

“Well then g’wan lead the way, this is your rodeo.”

[luisneer]

selected tweets 2016-17

These are tweets from my first @luisneer twitter account. Recently I made a new twitter account with the same username, after having deleted my account and having been without twitter for several months. These tweets are from August 2016 to March 2017, which was most of my first year of college at Shepherd University, in Shepherdstown, West Virginia. I don't go to Shepherd anymore; I transferred to West Virginia University, in Morgantown, WV, after my second semester. My tweets from late March 2017 to [July or August] 2017, when I deleted my twitter, were not archived. 

I'm creating this blog post so the world will have access to some of my tweets from the deleted @luisneer, in case they have any merit as literature. I'm still not sure if I will continue to use twitter in 2018/the future. Usually when I use twitter I feel like I'm actually wanting to be doing something else, but I don't know what; or wanting to be using "another app" that doesn't exist. Twitter generally seems bad for me. Questions about my tweets August 2016-March 2017 can be directed at luisneer@gmail.com. Thank you

    2016

   morgantown has ~48 vape shops

 **morgantown has ~480 vape shops

 siri has werner herzog-like inflections

 considering changing outfits when i take several walks in one day (so nobody thinks im a serial killer, stalker, spy, alien)

 think i remember ~5% of things i said today

 imagined vague connection btwn 'vitamin d' and 'reptar'

 felt distinctly that i was a monkey or chimpanzee while crouching in the corner of my dorm room eating peanuts out of a jar

 just thought (as a request to my mom) 'fax me my skateboard...'

 looked at toilet in bathroom stall with expression of 'utter terror' for what felt like ~15 seconds while it flushed

 listening to bright eyes with headphones at house show

 feel that the toothpaste i use is advancing decay of my teeth

 feel 100% certain that i could train myself to use telepathy to operate my phone during classes

 enjoying the sensation of my right leg 'falling asleep' during psychology class (left foot is also 'asleep')

 felt 'sociopathic' after eye contact w library worker who watched me pick up & pocket a pair of apple headphones someone had left on a chair

 left stolen apple headphones on gray bench across the street from my dorm

 repeatedly placed/removed sunglasses while walking in hallway

 strong desire to remove all positive patterns from my life and perpetuate/embrace all negative ones

 feel that my laptop 'knows' which parts of its screen im looking at

 in winchester, VA

 thought of my own music as having 'no compelling audible elements'

 thought of myself as being legally named 'the fuck up', then couldnt remember my actual name

 successfully, i feel, duplicated 'sociopath facial expression' during eye contact with arch-nemesis in stairwell

 ive taken 13800mg ibuprofen since i got to college

 feel compelled to ask my 9 yr old brother for advice re 'college-level' personal issues

 feel smart after sitting on couch in painting studio + reading art magazines for 2 hours

 persistent notion that 100% of students at my college personally hate me

 psychology professor muttered something like 'scary snake... endocrine system...'

 feeling heavily drugged/sedated in psych class

 psych professor seems obsessed with/terrified by snakes

 imagined kanye smoking crystal meth and tweeting something like 'please help me... cant feel mouth... need help'

 saw a moth at open mic, thought about god

 experiencing difficulty trying to smile

 enjoying using numerous cliches ('the case is closed', 'taking a step back', 'harsh realities') in an essay

 intrigued by conversation i had 9 hrs ago w/ 2 boys who countered my tone (calm, eloquent) exactly by being loud and rude in a friendly way

 felt simultaneously really cute and really lonely while giggling with my mouth closed in french class

 imagined kanye inventing the word 'compactualize' and using it in a sentence during a televised interview

 enjoyed 8-sentence john updike bio in norton lit anthology

 perceived person standing outside bathroom stall occupied by me could 'sense', via something like echolocation, that i was/am depressed

 spoke to french professor in what felt like a distinct persona/alternate luis neer called 'marge simpson voice' luis neer

 feel confidently that the public debut of 'marge simpson voice' luis neer was a success

 feel that 'marge simpson voice' luis neer is the culmination of an unconscious process that initiated in my mind maybe 3-5 years ago

 i want to identify/analyze additional alternate luis neers

 i dont like videos

 i came to college and got weirder, better at writing, more arrogant, more defeated, more sensible

 simultaneously feel that i should run 3 miles and that, at this moment, i would be incapable of running any distance

 feel urged to draw new attention to my 'marge simpson voice' tweets

 huge power outage at shepherd lol

 realized theres no such thing as a 'nation'

 remembered ive blown off obligations to several people, not just one person, so my irresponsibility doesnt 'have a focus', felt comforted

 feel that my follower count is 'crystallized' / will never increase or decrease ever again

 struggled to convert 'stick-and-poke' to past tense during conversation in line at sheetz

 feel it would be pleasurable to take a donut + bottle of coca-cola from this sheetz via armed robbery

 crossed busy road, felt really surprised i didnt get hit by a car, also i wasnt wearing glasses, was walking to sheetz, bought an icee

 laughed alone in my dorm thinking that i should print out a picture of barack obama to put on my wall

 drank from separate glasses containing soymilk, coffee, iced coffee, apple juice, cranberry juice, water, sprite for dinner/breakfas

 just thought 'from adorno to zizek' sans context while shitting

 opened gmail, emailed my father, closed gmail, opened gmail again, viewed email to my father, forwarded it to myself

 'camcorder' would be a good band name

 i thought arnold palmer had already died

 willem dafoe doesnt make me uncomfortable

 i want to stop being mean

 i hate bfs but i want to be someones bf

 wishing i was in a car with friends and no cellular service

 tangled up in myself and others

 twin peaks is depicted as a small town but its population is greater than that of every city in west virginia including the state capital

 eating shark

 thought of my own intelligence as 'frightening'

 thought while walking to class that ginger ale should be made public domain

 had the stitches on my chin removed today, touched the scar tissue for the first time

 i miss being in therapy

 i love carpet

 i love carpet !!

 just thought about my own tweets and lol'd

 mood lately very fragile

 this is what i get for staying up til 5 am

 all night i've felt a wave of dread swelling up, now it's really hitting me

 sound of laughter in public still frightening + unnerving

 my instinct for when to unfriend people on facebook has adapted so that i unfriend people over statuses that make me feel no emotions at all

 fuck, im feeling so much terror

 gucci mane was born 3 days before conor oberst

 the other day i mentioned that i was a poet and this vape guy interrupted me to say "and you didnt know it" and i went fucking nuclear

 interacted with mailman who was picking up mail as i was trying to mail chapbooks, he didnt notice at first that i was talking to him

 what if old people have secrets

 my dad is making me root for a football team but im in pain emotionally

 i feel guilty in general

 thought of my poem "portrait of a nation without any people" as the "lead single" for my full length; it appeared in potluck 14 months ago

 im close friends with satan rn

 feel like travis scott never intended for people to spell his name with a $

 from now on every time i get honey on something ill list the thing in this thread

 finger

 desk

 coffee cup exterior

 pajama pants

 knee

 carpet

 chin

 phone

 shirt

 shoe

 thought that my elderly geography prof. moves by "shuffling"

 feeling shorter, broader

 the only part of the new bright eyes box set i want is the booklet

 is there a booklet? i know there are nvr b4 sn photos

 the song "lime tree" came to conor oberst in a dream

 i like citing things in MLA

 i write essays by pretending im werner herzog

 doesnt seem to be getting later

 lit professor gave my project (sequence of 6 sonnets) a C, i wish she would have gotten me expelled, shelley + ginsberg both were expelled

 heard someone in another room ask "where's wal-mart?" as if wal-mart were a person whose location could change

 i think i just swallowed a filling while eating popcorn, i am very scared, please help

 crazy how things get worse

 there are people on my floor having tons of fun and im upset

 bit my mattress while sitting in the chair next to my bed

 weird that chance the rapper only has 2.4 million followers when he's sort of one of the most famous artists in the world rn

 also weird that donald trump has made 34,000 tweets, seems like an incredibly large number

 the strangeness of yesterday was, for me, augmented by people on the internet talking about a tv show that ive never seen or heard about

 the sunlight is obscene

 im so upset about the sun being so bright im afraid to go outside

 im glad im the only poet who likes trailer park boys

 i slept in a blanket fort under my bed and havent left it all day

 yr = your ur = you're

 my favorite things are pdfs

 now that ive adapted my living space to allow me to never leave my blanket fort i feel like my roommate, omar, exists in a parallel universe

 i hear him but i never see him

 i love latte art, i drink many lattes

 thought that twitter "isn't worth it" in an upset tone while drinking mtn dew

 felt pleasant considering uniqueness of all parent-offspring relationships

 went through my closet + made sure all shirts and jackets were zipped/buttoned

 my blanket is generating flashes of light from static electricity

 record store guy became visibly sick of me several months ago; feel a little guilty every time i enter his store to spend money

 i prefer EPs

 felt "out of control" walking downhill listening to dead kennedys with headphones

 writing an essay is difficult because idk how much relevant information other people have already considered / moved on from

 have been wanting to write at least one poem inside my blanket fort but i don't think it's going to happen, i don't know why

 the internet isn't big enough

 usually when i think "i dont understand the uproar about [event]" i realize there is no "uproar"

 "uproar" is media's way of manipulating the public spotlight and distracting people from important tasks

 feeling helpless + melancholy after dying 15 times and killing 2 stormtroopers in star wars battlefront

 the only way to attain conor oberst-level emo hair is to lay in bed and sob for hours

 i'm sad

 my mom was confused when i told her my first book comes out today

 was luis neer in odd future

 thought "sometimes i just want to end it and start all over" in an exasperated tone re my goodreads account

 becoming increasingly convinced it would be best for me personally to take myself extremely seriously/never joke about myself

 thinking that my tweets would seem terrible if i were a senator/governor/other politician

 imagined doomsday device for future @starwars movies: the "death train," a normal train that exists in space and destroys planets

 how does anyone do it

 in science fiction movies, spacecraft usually look like shopping malls

 everyone in the world is high except me

 feel like i want to have poems published immediately

 having delusions of grandeur

 im sitting on my record player

 my most-used word in 2016 was "bleak"

 prepared and ate garbanzo beans w a lot of rosemart at 2:00 AM

 my brother has a friend over and is being mean to the friend

 all i want for christmas is to never cheer up, ever

 watching eyes wide shut and hugging duckuc

 my nose feels like it's going to bleed

 im sad because every bf looks like me

 getting better at eating ice cream by punching it with my tongue

 the internet is too freaky...

 i think 2017 will be a year of realizing things

 im watching the angry birds movie

 the angry birds movie is so shitty... why was it made...

 ive never had a new years kiss

   2017

   im weird

 eating medicinal ice cream

 im not going to do any drugs in 2017

 made a medicinal phone call

 i want to drink some blood

 i dreamed that roger ebert wrote a negative review of life after ppl and called it "liner notes"

 years dont kill people

 feel inexplicably/explicably really scared about the future of my poetry career

 i've felt stoned since i was a baby

 downloading google earth

 made eye contact in starbucks with possible luis neer incarnation from ~50 years in future; bon jovi "dead or alive" played through speakers

 realised that at some point in the future i will become extremely interested in watching football

 i recommend reading poems extremely slowly while touching the text with your middle finger/index finger

 experiencing cognitive dissonance

 used phonetic clues to correctly predict meaning of & use the word "tandem" while discoursing with myself internally

 i miss steel pedal guitar sounds on conor oberst songs

 my previous incarnation "college luis neer" has evolved to become "high school luis neer-like luis neer in college setting"

 thought "man, i got to stop caring what people think about me" in an emphatic tone that seemed confusing/interesting

 mediocore

 beyonce is cool i think

 i want to re-read "v for vendetta" and to not tweet about it

 remembered that i own a pinata

 i will be at awp

 how could i make twitter a better place

 i saw 4 people wearing yeezys in dc this weekend

 feeling increasingly self-conscious about how much i use the phrase "in the world" or refer to "the world" in poems

 felt robot-like while attaching detachable headphones cord to my headphones while wearing the headphones

 watching shepherd univ lacrosse team practice from "safety of" student center

 i invented releasing two chapbooks in one day

 im dumber than me

 reasoned mentally that im more likely to produce accurate drawings of myself because "i basically look like a bird, so i just draw a bird"

 i want to have a "fake tweet" (e.g. a simple phrase) to tweet repeatedly every time i feel urged to tweet an uninformed/unimportant opinion

 my fake tweet for the foreseeable future will be "i dropped my textbook in the stairwell". when i tweet this it means i have an opinion

 i dropped my textbook in the stairwell

 does anyone remember the chapter of "the hobbit" where bilbo avoids starvation by ingesting peanut butter, honey, cherry nyquil, and water

 sensed that all my college friends just simultaneously shifted from having vague/non-serious negative feelings about me to hating me

 resulting from continuous building of irrepressible/inevitable conjecture in the friends' conscious thoughts

 eating chicken and squash

 i click on 100% of poetry links tweeted by poets i follow

 when i was writing Waves i was obsessed with waves (e.g. energy waves, frequencies) and used the word "waves" at least ~10 times every day

 i dropped my textbook in the stairwell

 white nike swooshes on shoes of boy in library look vibrant/magical

 terrified of being cool

 walked to library really slowly while listening to noise music through big headphones

 i was really, really yung when i started publishing and i'm still really yung

 2 chainz always looks like he's walking in an airport

 i have 5 twitters

 i didnt know what bill paxton looked like, i was thinking RIP gene hackman

 why doesnt anyone blog about me

 thesis statements arent real

 thinking about my book

 i deleted both my tumblrs by accident

 sad about my tumblr

 my name is all over the internet

 im a lizard

 someday there'll be no more ppl

 a lot of conor oberst song titles have parentheses

 feeling sad about the actions of my clone, who passed away

 idk how to use venmo or what it is

 present-day tumblr is like the end of the never ending story where atreyu is talking with the rock biter and the nothing is swirling around

 when someone, anyone, is upset with me im afraid im going to be assassinated

 the views-era apple music ads that depict drake working hard in the studio have really affected and inspired me

 on tumblr i have 4 followers

 almost all of my tweets seem unimportant

 feel that if someone told me that one of my tweets made them upset i would just apologize and delete it

 ground control to commander venus

 i like my new tumblr

 i would be wearing a cardigan rn but i dont have one

 feel that i will continue to generate bright eyes-related content throughout my life

 is everything ok

 i look like michael moore

[endclean]

Before || Mianite

idk if this counts as a fanfic

its about Kevin, Betsy, and Terry from Mianite and Jordan’s channel

Im sorry this is s u ch   s h i t but i wrote it in literally a day and its satire soooo...

So, here’s the epic adventure:

This was the night.

The night Betsy, Terry, and Kevin were going to break into Disneyworld. It seemed unusual, but the three have been planning this since high-school. It was the initiation into their very own club, “Tiem Reester”. They made it up to spite their nemesis friends, “Team Rooster”.

But why Disneyland? It’s simple. Each had a job to take care of that involved them not getting caught. Kevin was in charge of the maps and the cameras, Betsy was in charge of timing and activities, and Terry was in charge of the security team.  Everyone had to trust eachother and everyone had to do their job right. That was the test.

So, At 12:38 am, the trio reached the back of Disneyland. The only thing left to do was get over the gates. Kevin started to set up the rope.

Terry rubbed her wings around nervously. “I don’t know… What if we do get in trouble? What if you or I go to prison? I don’t want to be alone! Would you visit me, Betsy?” She said, looking at Betsy for comfort. All Betsy could do was smirk at her girlfriend.

“I know for a fact nothing will go wrong. We all can trust each other.” Betsy calms Terry down, before pressing their foreheads together in an intimate moment before briskly running off. Climbing up the rope Kevin set up, she shouts, “Now come on, we got some rides to climb!” This idea made Terry a bit more scared though. She was deathly scared of heights but would never tell Betsy.

The next person to climb the rope was Kevin. “We can never Leave Disneyland if we never enter Disneyland, so come on!” He tried his best at giving advice, but it pretty much sucked.

Once both Betsy and Kevin reached the top, They looked down to see Terry, the Terrified™. Betsy let out a slightly irritated but humorous sigh. Kevin shouts out some words on encouragement that eventually get Terry up the ladder.

Once every chicken was up on the wall, they stood, gaysing at the empty, dark park. Sure, there still were a few security guards walking around, so they were not completely alone. They couldn’t even see any while overlooking the whole park. Betsy had her eyes fixed on the giant Ferris wheel with the ladder on it, imagining herself standing on it, taking in the breeze. Kevin was looking at the drop down the wall. It was at least 15 feet on gentle falling, and he knew that would be the calmest moment of the night. All Terry could look at was the passion in Betsy’s eyes. The tip of her right wing moved around the promise ring that was located in the bottom of her bag. It had, “Loving forever” inscribed on the inside, and a ruby design on the outside.

“Wow. It sure is nice being on top.” Kevin says.

“You betcha.” Betsy, replies, smirking.

Kevin goes to playfully punch her in the arm, but she doges it by jumping down first. Without hesitation, Kevin grabs Terry by the elbow, and looks her in the eyes, making sure she is ready. With a nod, they jump off towards the concrete below.

After a few seconds of falling, they join Betsy at the bottom. “Home, sweet home” Kevin says, shamelessly. Betsy punches him in the arm.

The first thing on the list was to visit the spinning swing set. It wouldn’t be functional, but at least the three could spin around on it before making the trek to the Ferris wheel. And that is exactly what the three did. Betsy and Terry span Kevin around, and then Kevin span Betsy and Terry around on the same swing. By the end, the trio were laughing, and dizzy.

Betsy took a map out of the pack she brought. After studying it one last time, she points in one direction, down a road to the west. “This way, guys.” The other two follow silently, anticipating the fun games from atop the Ferris wheel.

But, once they arrived at the ride, all three were frightened by the massive height of the structure. Even Betsy quivered at the sight of it. Putting her wing on the first ladder step, she gulped. Terry felt comfort in knowing the others were scared too, so she went up before Kevin could.  They climbed up steadily and slowly.  Breathing heavy, it took a few minutes to reach halfway. This was when the unexpected happened.

When the couple heard Kevin shout, “Oh my god! We are so high” they both looked down. Below them was 80 feet of nothing. The sight was terrifying, even for a chicken.

A moment was all it took for Terry to lose her grip on the ladder. While falling, she panicked and flapped her wings. The flapping made her fall sideways. Instead of floating, she was falling. Falling fast. Betsy called out her name, unable to do anything. Betsy let out a terrified, “TERRY!” in fear of her own bestfriend and girlfriend dying. Kevin was frozen in fear.

Fortunately, Terry was able to grab back onto he ladder before she reached the ground. Gasping for breath, she was asked if she was okay by Betsy. Nodding slowly and refusing to look neither up nor down, she waved upwards at the other two chickens. Betsy shouted down, “Do you want to go back?” But all Terry could do was shake her head and start to climb up again.

Once all three were at the top, Betsy pulled Terry into a tight hug. The eventually went to the seat of the wheel, where Terry leaned on and hugged Betsy, while crying quietly.

Terry became of aware of how cold and tired she felt. Some feeling of dread and sadness overpowered her. She felt absolutely helpless as she sat there, selfishly gathering every bit of warmth from Betsy’s body. It wasn’t satisfying, though, so she just stayed there. Still. Tranquil, almost. As if she had actually died. Her eyes were stuck wide open, and no matter how dry, cold, irritated or teary they got she couldn’t bring herself to move enough to close them.

Kevin just stared onto the void that replaced the park, grateful that nothing permanent had happened. This was both false and true, because nothing is permanent. But the memories of that night would stay with Kevin forever. It is both fortunate and unfortunate.

After about fifteen minutes, Terry was able to recover enough from the stress to sit up and look more relaxed. With a deep sigh, “We should start heading down.” Broke the silence. Betsy and Kevin nodded and all three jumped off and floated down gracefully. They kept a watchful eye on each other to make sure everyone stayed upright and safe. Betsy pulled out her map, but before she could look at it, a bright light appeared behind them.

They turned around to see nothing but a security guard. He had gelled down feathers and a nametag that read “Guard Tom”.

“Alright, turn around, wings behind your necks.”

He called for backup. Two other guards came.

Everyone was being read their rights as they were escorted to the front gate. Betsy was speaking harshly to the guards and Terry was crying at a volume that was almost lukewarm, if you could compare the two. Kevin just looked up. He chose a star.

He said, “If there is anything out there, please do something. Take me somewhere where this never happened. Where I can be safe. Come on, Help me out, please!”

Selfish, almost.

I say it’s selfish because it was all about him. He really didn’t give a fuck about the other two, even if they were his best friends.

As he was getting pushed into the main office until the police would arrive, Kevin noticed that everything seemed damp. Quickly, the entire place was filled with water. Kevin couldn’t breathe. He eventually passed out.

..

He woke up on a beach, somewhere he had never seen before. After standing up and gaining some energy back, he tried to yell for help. All that could come out was clucks. He looked around for his friends. He made his way into the civilization, where he would spend his time spying on the humans and gods for entertainment. There was gods, love, hate, death, and life. There was even a relationship between a Goddess and a man. And other between a man and a man. It wasn’t satisfying.

Every night, he wished upon the stars that his friends would be reunited with him.

The End.

 ~7 years later~ (lmao chickens live forever in mc so suck it)

Kevin was making his way to his makeshift hut in the forest, when he chose to peek through a window of Urulu. Inside, he saw the young man that was dating a god. With his messy hair and pajamas, he was trying to get a small child to eat something. She looked like she was under 10 years old. She was too excited to go to school, so she insisted on skipping breakfast. The young man groaned.

“If you don’t eat anything, you won’t have a good time.” The girl was persistent in keeping her mouth shut, even though she was smiling and holding back giggles. The young man groaned.

“Please. For me?” He sounded irritated, but you could see a soft smile on his face. The girl sat down at the table and started eating her breakfast after agreeing that she would take 10 bites of food. This was when the young man let his grin grow cheek to cheek. Kevin forgot what it was like to have that kind of closeness with a person. He missed it, yes, but he thought he didn’t deserve it.

But that was before he met Waglington.

[confoundingconfessions]

Ramsdell House

Our first stop brings us to the town of Ceredo in Wayne County, West Virginia. Here sitting a top what is believed to be an Indian Burial Mound sits the historic, red brick dwelling known as The Z.D Ramsdell House. The house belonged to Quaker Abolitionist Zopher D. Ramsdell and was built between 1857 and 1858 and was believed to have been a stop along the famous Underground Railroad. Ramsdell was quite the public figure. He owned and operated a Shoe and Boot Factory, Joined the Union Army as a QuarterMaster advancing to Capitan and was asked by President Grant to assist in rebuilding the Postal Service by serving as Special Agent Inspector. Mr. Ramsdell died of Tuberculosis in 1886 but according to some, his spirit still lingers to this Day. 

Several Paranormal Investigators have made their ways through the now Historic Landmark and Museum in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the fleeting spirit of Mr. Ramsdell or that of his Wife and Children. All you have to do is google this location and you will be met with several instances and reports of supposed Paranormal Activity and strange happenings. From Full Bodied Apparitions, Disembodied Voices and Cold Spots to the Residual Sounds of Children and Footsteps. Even more tangible phenomenon such as Object Manipulation and Physical Bodily Contact. I have personally spent several nights here over the years and although the activity has been sporadic and somewhat slow as compared to other Hauntings ive investigated, I have encountered truly unexplainable activity and Im not alone. The following are a few instances of such encounters.

On my very first visit to the location I was totally oblivious to the history and ghost sightings. I knew only that the location was listed as a Historic Landmark and a local Museum but I had no Idea what kind of eerie phenomena awaited me. We arrived at the house around 10pm and began to unload the mounds of equipment, cables and gadgets we would use to flush out and detect any Paranormal Activity that might occur. We ran cameras all through the house as well as audio devices and various energy meters, lasers and other specialized tools, surely if there was any activity to occur we would be ready. One personal encounter I had happened on the stairway by the front door. I was gathering cables to run upstairs to a camera we had on the landing when all of a sudden I heard a quick giggle and the sound of children fleeing away in excitement. I quickly grabbed my flashlight and darted up the stairs searching each darkened room only to find nothing there physically that could account for the sounds. Another such strange occurrence was the night we were all sitting at the dinning room table and heard movement coming from the kitchen. As we began to discuss what we were hearing a loud clicking sound came from the kitchen which turned out to be the light switch on the wall as the kitchen light was turned on of its own accord. My most frightening encounter came the night I believe I came face to face with the Residual Energy of Mr. and Mrs. Ramsdell. I was coming down the stairs and as the living room came into sight I saw a quick glimpse of a bearded man standing in the window looking out onto the street below. He didn't react to my presence and vanished just as quickly as he appeared. Later that night as we were winding things down. I went up to collect some of our equipment when I rounded the corner and there at the end of the narrow hallway has a fleeting apparition of a woman in a white dress of night gown heading into the bedroom. I remember calling out to the woman thinking and hoping it was a member of the team but when I got to the entrance of the bedroom there was nobody there. Oddly enough, however, there was a white bedding gown on a display that was very similar to what the apparition I saw was wearing. Other teams who have visited the location have had similar encounters and have seemingly confirmed my own observations and theories. There have also been visitors who have taken advantage of the location conducting cheap events and very questionable activities such as supposed exorcisms and rituals. Just like in any other profession, you have your bad apples and they tend to break buit trust and ruin things for the rest of us. Those of us who have dedicated our lives to this research. Such is the way it seems. 

No matter what brings you to Ramsdell house, be it Ghosts or Historical Ambiance, this location is surly one to visit. I can't say with certainty that if you walk through the doors you will encounter any spiritual happenings but who knows? I look forward to my next visit and yet another chance to add a piece to this amazing puzzle.

[adambstingus]

Leicester City and Carolina Panthers: a friendship founded on underdog success

Cam Newton and Co play in the Super Bowl this weekend as the Foxes ride high in the Premier League. And the two teams have exchanged admiring glances

Their bandwagon has beer. Charlotte gets the swag and the bromance, but Leicester Citys true Carolina hearts actually rest two hours north and west of Bank of America Stadium, nestled in a mountain range.

If ever an official mid-south Foxes supporters group were to see the light of day, the odds are good it would probably spring from Asheville, North Carolina, dubbed Beer City USA four years in a row, a soccer-friendly burg of 83,000-plus thats home to more than a dozen craft breweries. A burg where Chris Watts has been preaching the gospel of blue for more than 15 years now.

Its like a dream, says Watts, a Leicestershire native who has called Asheville home since moving to the States almost two decades ago. My brothers a season-ticket holder and he gets to the games. I was over there in October, against Crystal Palace and Watford, and it was just unbelievable to see where we were. And you keep thinking, Is this going to keep going? Its a bit like a dream. At the same time, its brilliant.

Pinch him, he giggles. And why the hell not? Watts has been a Carolina Panthers fan for more than 10 years and a Foxes fan for pretty much the last five decades, through thick, thin, and thinner. Some eight years earlier, he had shepherded a group of US friends back to Leicestershire for his 50th birthday and a series of matches in the Midlands, including a pair at the King Power, then the Walkers Stadium.

Five minutes into the [match], one of those friends, Tim Branson, recalls of his initial Foxes experience, I saw four guys carrying out two.

But he was hooked.

The second game, they got the skybox treatment. Watts landed a program signed by the team which, as it turned out, would become the first Foxes side ever to be relegated from the Championship to the third tier of the English football pyramid.

Ive still got it, Watts chuckles. Ive got a signed program, in a frame, of Leicester at their lowest.

And look whos laughing now.

The Panthers prepping for the biggest single event in North American sport, Super Bowl 50s NFC gatecrashers. The Foxes are atop the most popular soccer league on the planet. First, they were cute. Then a curiosity. Then a fluke. Then a stubborn anamoly. They werent supposed to here, either of them.

The parallels are valid and real enough: theyd finished their previous seasons on an unexpected, almost desperate hot streak. Theyd been dismissed by the experts, were under-appreciated outside their own province, middling brand names turning in gold-caliber performances, week after week, month upon month. Leicester City looked at the Carolina Panthers, 3,924 miles and an ocean away, and saw well, themselves.

The beginning of the year, [Leicester City] didnt have great expectations and kind of the same goes for us, says Panthers kicker Graham Gano, one of four Carolina players to receive customized Leicester City shirts from the surprise Premier League leaders last month. Theyve done really well this year, and so have we. So they kind of thought their season was similar to ours and they pulled for us and thats how we got the jerseys.

Before their NFC Divisional Round test against Seattle on 17 January, Panthers players turned up at work to find that the Foxes had sent over customized blue shirts for quarterback Cam Newton, cornerback Josh Norman, linebacker Luke Kuechly and Gano.

Carolina have had an incredible season, the Leicester left-back Christian Fuchs told the teams official website. Like us, they ended last season really well and again, like us, some people didnt expect them to do what theyve done this season, even after the great start they had.

Leicester City (@LCFC) January 15, 2016

#KeepPounding, @Panthers!@vardy7 and @FuchsOfficial on #lcfc‘s pick for #SuperBowl50 https://t.co/3nAsHdpXzA pic.twitter.com/78I9uVyeE6

Before long, they shared a narrative and a hashtag: #KeepPounding. The Panthers returned the favor, and Leicester shared pictures and videos on social media of striker Jamie Vardy, centre-back Wes Morgan, Fuchs and goalkeeper Kasper Schmeichel decked out in Carolina black, tossing and kicking an NFL football around.

They were natural at it, Gano says. It would be interesting to see them kicking field goals and what it would look like. Obviously, their form looks good, but I never saw the ball going through the uprights. Its a little different swing than [it takes] to keep the ball under the posts. But Id love to have an opportunity sometime to have a kick around with some of the pros over [there], and compare how I match up with those guys.

But he thinks theyd probably be thick as thieves, especially after the Foxes posted a video to YouTube of Fuchs attempting a series of keepy-uppis with the oblong American football.

I was in the airport in Chicago and Im sitting at the bar and got talking about football American and English, Watts recalls. And I pulled up [the Fuchs video] to show a few others. Its pretty neat to see an English soccer player, albeit an Austrian, keeping up an American football. They thought it was pretty cool.

In one corner, the Panthers, unloved, slapped with 22-to-1 odds to win the NFC back in May and 40-1 to win the whole shebang. In the other, Leicester, dismissed almost universal preseason favorites to be relegated this term, 2000-1 odds to win the league at the start of the campaign.

Its not quite the same, Watts says of the two franchises and their comparative roads. But nobody was expecting the Panthers to be where they are. A lot of my friends, when they saw the stuff about the shirts [coming over], and then the Panthers sent shirts back the other way, its been neat.

Carolina Panthers (@Panthers) January 15, 2016

.@LCFC pic.twitter.com/Eo8yFJuwtO

Carolina are playing in their first Super Bowl in 12 years; since 2003-04, 13 different NFL teams have qualified for the title game. Leicester are the first squad other than one of the Big Five clubs [Manchester United, Manchester City, Liverpool, Arsenal and Chelsea] to be leading the Premier League in the last week of January since Newcastle in 1995-96.

Being on both sides, [the more remarkable story is] Leicester City, for me, just because of what theyve had to do, the fight, where theyve had to come from, says Branson. Going down to the third division and going back into the second and having to fight their way back to the top. Ashevilles got a single-A [baseball] club. It would be like them somehow winning and if they did promotions, getting promoted to the majors. In a little city like Asheville, it doesnt happen very often.

Youve got to have respect for them, Gano says of the Foxes rise. I havent been able to catch a ton of their games weve been pretty busy over here, so I havent really had the opportunity to catch up with them.

And, full disclosure, Gano is a Bayern Munich fan, having grown up bouncing from Scotland to Germany to Scotland to Canada as a Navy brat (I used to have a thick accent, he chuckles, without a trace of brogue.) Born in Scotland, he also maintains a bit of a soft spot for Rangers.

But I didnt have a favorite English team, the kicker says. So I guess I can pull for [Leicester] now.

After all, theres plenty of room on the wagon. And in Asheville, the best beer on the continent never tasted better.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/leicester-city-and-carolina-panthers-a-friendship-founded-on-underdog-success/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/181466020937

[samanthasroberts]

Leicester City and Carolina Panthers: a friendship founded on underdog success

Cam Newton and Co play in the Super Bowl this weekend as the Foxes ride high in the Premier League. And the two teams have exchanged admiring glances

Their bandwagon has beer. Charlotte gets the swag and the bromance, but Leicester Citys true Carolina hearts actually rest two hours north and west of Bank of America Stadium, nestled in a mountain range.

If ever an official mid-south Foxes supporters group were to see the light of day, the odds are good it would probably spring from Asheville, North Carolina, dubbed Beer City USA four years in a row, a soccer-friendly burg of 83,000-plus thats home to more than a dozen craft breweries. A burg where Chris Watts has been preaching the gospel of blue for more than 15 years now.

Its like a dream, says Watts, a Leicestershire native who has called Asheville home since moving to the States almost two decades ago. My brothers a season-ticket holder and he gets to the games. I was over there in October, against Crystal Palace and Watford, and it was just unbelievable to see where we were. And you keep thinking, Is this going to keep going? Its a bit like a dream. At the same time, its brilliant.

Pinch him, he giggles. And why the hell not? Watts has been a Carolina Panthers fan for more than 10 years and a Foxes fan for pretty much the last five decades, through thick, thin, and thinner. Some eight years earlier, he had shepherded a group of US friends back to Leicestershire for his 50th birthday and a series of matches in the Midlands, including a pair at the King Power, then the Walkers Stadium.

Five minutes into the [match], one of those friends, Tim Branson, recalls of his initial Foxes experience, I saw four guys carrying out two.

But he was hooked.

The second game, they got the skybox treatment. Watts landed a program signed by the team which, as it turned out, would become the first Foxes side ever to be relegated from the Championship to the third tier of the English football pyramid.

Ive still got it, Watts chuckles. Ive got a signed program, in a frame, of Leicester at their lowest.

And look whos laughing now.

The Panthers prepping for the biggest single event in North American sport, Super Bowl 50s NFC gatecrashers. The Foxes are atop the most popular soccer league on the planet. First, they were cute. Then a curiosity. Then a fluke. Then a stubborn anamoly. They werent supposed to here, either of them.

The parallels are valid and real enough: theyd finished their previous seasons on an unexpected, almost desperate hot streak. Theyd been dismissed by the experts, were under-appreciated outside their own province, middling brand names turning in gold-caliber performances, week after week, month upon month. Leicester City looked at the Carolina Panthers, 3,924 miles and an ocean away, and saw well, themselves.

The beginning of the year, [Leicester City] didnt have great expectations and kind of the same goes for us, says Panthers kicker Graham Gano, one of four Carolina players to receive customized Leicester City shirts from the surprise Premier League leaders last month. Theyve done really well this year, and so have we. So they kind of thought their season was similar to ours and they pulled for us and thats how we got the jerseys.

Before their NFC Divisional Round test against Seattle on 17 January, Panthers players turned up at work to find that the Foxes had sent over customized blue shirts for quarterback Cam Newton, cornerback Josh Norman, linebacker Luke Kuechly and Gano.

Carolina have had an incredible season, the Leicester left-back Christian Fuchs told the teams official website. Like us, they ended last season really well and again, like us, some people didnt expect them to do what theyve done this season, even after the great start they had.

Leicester City (@LCFC) January 15, 2016

#KeepPounding, @Panthers!@vardy7 and @FuchsOfficial on #lcfc‘s pick for #SuperBowl50 https://t.co/3nAsHdpXzA pic.twitter.com/78I9uVyeE6

Before long, they shared a narrative and a hashtag: #KeepPounding. The Panthers returned the favor, and Leicester shared pictures and videos on social media of striker Jamie Vardy, centre-back Wes Morgan, Fuchs and goalkeeper Kasper Schmeichel decked out in Carolina black, tossing and kicking an NFL football around.

They were natural at it, Gano says. It would be interesting to see them kicking field goals and what it would look like. Obviously, their form looks good, but I never saw the ball going through the uprights. Its a little different swing than [it takes] to keep the ball under the posts. But Id love to have an opportunity sometime to have a kick around with some of the pros over [there], and compare how I match up with those guys.

But he thinks theyd probably be thick as thieves, especially after the Foxes posted a video to YouTube of Fuchs attempting a series of keepy-uppis with the oblong American football.

I was in the airport in Chicago and Im sitting at the bar and got talking about football American and English, Watts recalls. And I pulled up [the Fuchs video] to show a few others. Its pretty neat to see an English soccer player, albeit an Austrian, keeping up an American football. They thought it was pretty cool.

In one corner, the Panthers, unloved, slapped with 22-to-1 odds to win the NFC back in May and 40-1 to win the whole shebang. In the other, Leicester, dismissed almost universal preseason favorites to be relegated this term, 2000-1 odds to win the league at the start of the campaign.

Its not quite the same, Watts says of the two franchises and their comparative roads. But nobody was expecting the Panthers to be where they are. A lot of my friends, when they saw the stuff about the shirts [coming over], and then the Panthers sent shirts back the other way, its been neat.

Carolina Panthers (@Panthers) January 15, 2016

.@LCFC pic.twitter.com/Eo8yFJuwtO

Carolina are playing in their first Super Bowl in 12 years; since 2003-04, 13 different NFL teams have qualified for the title game. Leicester are the first squad other than one of the Big Five clubs [Manchester United, Manchester City, Liverpool, Arsenal and Chelsea] to be leading the Premier League in the last week of January since Newcastle in 1995-96.

Being on both sides, [the more remarkable story is] Leicester City, for me, just because of what theyve had to do, the fight, where theyve had to come from, says Branson. Going down to the third division and going back into the second and having to fight their way back to the top. Ashevilles got a single-A [baseball] club. It would be like them somehow winning and if they did promotions, getting promoted to the majors. In a little city like Asheville, it doesnt happen very often.

Youve got to have respect for them, Gano says of the Foxes rise. I havent been able to catch a ton of their games weve been pretty busy over here, so I havent really had the opportunity to catch up with them.

And, full disclosure, Gano is a Bayern Munich fan, having grown up bouncing from Scotland to Germany to Scotland to Canada as a Navy brat (I used to have a thick accent, he chuckles, without a trace of brogue.) Born in Scotland, he also maintains a bit of a soft spot for Rangers.

But I didnt have a favorite English team, the kicker says. So I guess I can pull for [Leicester] now.

After all, theres plenty of room on the wagon. And in Asheville, the best beer on the continent never tasted better.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/leicester-city-and-carolina-panthers-a-friendship-founded-on-underdog-success/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/12/27/leicester-city-and-carolina-panthers-a-friendship-founded-on-underdog-success/