#little danish boy

[ratfc]

[pjshermann]

willem's name meaning "helmet protection" is so fucking funny. yea man he couldve used a helmet in the car crash for sure. wasnt very helmet protection of him then was it.

[hamletthesanedane]

humiliated Rosencrantz because he can’t play the recorder, lmaoooo, nor can he play me! off to talk to my mom….

[klirk-hammurton]

Metallica M72 Tour Night 1

[somedaytakethetime]

Say hello to the highest rated Danish player on the pitch and the only one that showed up for a game:

[ilonacho]

ugh i missed silly little danish movies

[manunuscript]

I miss Hamlet

[nonsensetwo]

Soooooo cute!

William Roepstorff

[quarterlifekitty]

on the fantasy aus.. witch!reader who bakes her spells into pastries and stirs them into drinks at her little cafe and perchance any one of the 141 boys being a frequent customer? big ol knight who needs a little pick me up sometimes?

You’re getting all of them because sometimes I look at these asks and otome games flash in my mind

Gaz, to be quite honest, is mostly here for the pastries and tea. The magic stuff is just a bonus. As a result, the charms he gets are very simple, mostly cosmetic stuff. Clearing under eye bags, whitening teeth, stuff like that. His relentless flirting does not get him free hand pies, much to his dismay.

Soap is on that painkiller pastry grindset. He has various chronic pains that you have spells to soothe in the form of blueberry and cheese danishes. And he probably gets a horrifically sweet drink with whatever the magic equivalent of adderall is. He dabbles in apothecary himself, so he likes to flirt by talking shop with you about potions and reagents.

Ghost comes in like clockwork. Right before closing every day that you’re open. Gets a sleepy time tea and whatever pastry has got the dreamcatcher spell in it. Always overpays and refuses to take any change. Every time he casually reminds you that the offer for marriage is still open, but you’re not yet entirely convinced it’s not just a ploy to have a limitless supply of your tea.

Price is not here for the pastry or the magic— he’s here to wife you the fuck up, to be honest. He sees that you’re hardworking and talented as well as stunning. In addition, he thinks you should come work in the palace to provide your services to the royal guard, rather than running this tiny shop on a side street in town. So he’s trying to sweep you up on two fronts.

König gets the same kind of spells as most knights— treats to soothe various pains and accelerate healing, drinks that encourage pleasant dreams. His most frequent orders are for fruit tarts that increase luck and fortune— sometimes he gets the ones for coming battles, but mostly he gets the ones that are meant to bring luck in matters of the heart. He’s desperately hoping you’ll get the hint soon.

Nik travels vast distances often, and is one of your primary suppliers for ingredients. He’s guilty of regularly offering steep discounts in exchange for kisses (you’ve limited it to just the cheek). He also likes to remind you that you wouldn’t have to compensate him at all if this were more of a family business between you two, yes?

[0-n-1-x]

WBC!Carl Gallagher x Rich/Northside!reader

link to my masterlist <33

Your private school requires you to do community service, and you’re assigned to help out at a youth center in the Southside. It’s far from your usual environment, and you feel a bit out of place, but you’re determined to make the best of it. You could've gone to the pet center, like the other girls your age, but you desperately needed to get out of suburbia. Carl, who occasionally visits the center for free meals or to hang out, notices you the moment you walk in. You’re clearly not from around here, and he’s instantly curious about why someone like you would be spending time in his hood. At first, Carl’s interactions with you are laced with sarcasm and teasing. He pokes fun at your clean-cut appearance and the way you seem so out of your element, but there’s no real malice behind his words— mostly curiosity. I mean remember this is still Carl, just in the body of a wanna-be gangster

You actually responded to his quips just as quickly as he spoke them, but you also spoke with interest, most of it in your appearance

I'd believe that you aren't full a nepo baby, I like to headcanon that you'd be half or part southside, having spent time there young and maybe one of your parents married rich and such

But you do know how to make your words somewhat powerful, and that intrigues Carl, in a different way than trying to scam the other kids

You’re organizing supplies in the back room of the community center, stacking boxes of canned goods for the food drive. It’s your second day volunteering here, and you’re still getting used to the place. The door creaks open, and you glance up to see the same boy from yesterday leaning against the frame, watching you with an amused smirk. “You lost or something? This isn’t exactly the country club.” he says. Crossing his arms, he saunters into the room, eyes glinting with curiosity. Without missing a beat, you straighten up, brushing the dust off your hands before replying

“I could say the same thing. You don’t look like you’re here to volunteer.”

“Nah, just checking out the new blood. It’s not every day we get someone like you around here. You sure you can handle it? This place can get a little rough.”

“I’m tougher than I look. Besides, I’m not here to play it safe.”

“Is that right? Most people like you wouldn’t last a day down here. You must really be slumming it to end up in this part of town.”

“Real, huh? Well, you definitely found it. But be careful—get too close, and this place might suck you in.”

“Maybe I’m counting on it. I like a challenge, I guess I’ll just have to see for myself.”

He grins, finally extending a hand "Gallagher, Carl Gallagher" You reach for his hand, “Nice to meet you, Carl. Now, are you gonna help me with these boxes, or just stand there and look all pretty?”

After a few days of volunteering, (its mostly you guys talking) he invites you out with him on a 'tour'. You visit The Alibi, his corner, and he ends the trip by taking you to his house

The Gallagher house, if you could call it that, was way different than yours. Not just in size, but in functionality, you hear 3 different people screaming talking and a baby crying with loud video games noises in the background. Luckily, when Carl takes you to the basement which of course resembles what you identify as a 'mancave' there's no one there and its mostly silent

"So.. nice family uh- ya got there?" you joke, slightly uncomfortable in the bean bag he sits you on, the pleats of your plaid skirt ruffling up and you don't miss the way his eye flicker down and the way his cheeks blush peach "Um, y-yeah, it's not always like that but it usually is"

For Carl: it's weird that he's drawn to you, southside kids are literally raised to the 'eat the rich' mindset. Especially Gallaghers, but he couldn't help but want to spill everything he knows and even what he doesn't to you. So he does, he tells you about juvie, about the dysfunctionality of Gallaghers and their shit, fuck he even tells you about Monica

You guys talk for what comes across as hours. Part of him is scared that he opened up to quickly, but surprisingly you listen, without judgement. You even mention how you find some of his life similar to yours. The feelings of being ignored, or in your case paid to go away (which Carl finds not too bad).

As you speak, he moves from his beanbag chair to yours, inching and inching closer together you eventually are a breaths away from one another. You halt your speech, all your well thought out analogies fading away as you both look between the other's eyes and lips.

Carl speaks, "is it crazy.. that I find it really hot when you talk about being rich?" you pause, a sly smile reaching upon your face as you answer "no.. is it crazy that i find it really hot when you talk about being poor?"

More silence fills the room, then Carl brings his eyes straight down to your lips. "No" he whispers, as light as humanly possible

And that's when it happens. you lean in, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. His touch is surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the rough-and-tumble image he usually projects. You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. The kiss starting out rushed, messy, and all over the place. But it's not lustful, more childish if anything and you both have no idea what you're doing.

His hand hesitantly moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. You respond in kind, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him even closer

When you finally pull back after what feels like forever, you’re both breathless, panting as your bodies gasp for air. Carl’s thumb gently returns and strokes your cheek, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. But all he finds is a soft smile and the lingering warmth of the kiss you just shared.

“Damn,” he mutters, a crooked grin spreading across his face as he leans back slightly, still keeping you close. “You’ve got me all messed up, you know that?" you respond

Then it hits you, that was your first kiss

and it was with Carl fucking Gallagher

[pseudowho]

When Nanami Kento was just a little boy, his mother, father, and Danish grandfather took him on holiday.

It was hot, and sunny, and Kento pretended he was exploring the jungle in the depths of darkest Peru, in his shorts and little sunhat. He hunted for leopards, and other wild beasts of great renown.

The days were long and full of laughter; he threw his shoes off up the sand to splash in the water, flicking it at his chuckling grandfather with tiny hands and feet.

"I shall retire here!" His grandfather warned, in Danish, "And then, at whom shall you flick water, hmm?"

His mother took him shopping at the little market; dinner was plenty of seafood, piping hot on the sandy hearth of their little cabin. His father read him long stories, with all the voices, and Kento always begging for another chapter, just one more before bed.

When little Kento thought nobody was looking, he would spin where the waves lapped the shore, with his arms thrown wide and his eyes squeezed shut and his head tipped back, breathing deeply of the salt and the sun and the dizzy dizzy dizzy.

He remembered this place, always, when his childhood was stolen away just a few short years after. Most of all, in his final moments, he remembered the sunsaltsea euphoria, the bliss of sandy-toed bedtimes, the soft embrace of old yellow pages.

He could almost taste it, just on the tip of his to--

[hamletthesanedane]

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern??? Loyal?? They literally spy on me????

[hamletthesanedane]

Super bored at sea. On a boat headed urgently for England. Gonna go see what Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are up to.

[klirk-hammurton]

Incorrect Tallica Quotes

Lars Learning how to Drive

Cliff: alright, you're going down the road

Lars: yeah

Cliff: let me finish

Cliff: there's an old man and a boy standing in the road

Lars: why is there an old man in the road

Cliff: SHUT UP!

Cliff: -sighs- they're in the road. What do you hit?

Lars: the old man, duh

Kirk: I'd hit the kid

James: no seriously....why is grandpa in the fucking road?

Cliff: the brakes. YOU HIT THE BRAKES!!!!

[somedaytakethetime]

Someone is looking dashing for tonight's game 🥰🥰

[apocalypse-shuffle]

AGATHA HARKNESS (mcu | agatha all along)

—

“A Witch’s Bargain” (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader) and (mentioned Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader)

| Once you find out a witch as infamous and powerful as Agatha is seeking you out you decide to go to her before she can pull one over on you; an attempt was made.

| SFW, obeah, flirting, hints at immortality, reader has something going on with both Agatha and Rio, -caribbean!reader & witch!reader

| pic source: Agatha All Along (2024)

| Note, the Reader-Insert is speaking with an accent but I didn’t write the particulars of it down bcs that would’ve been a lot to parse through even for me. Also, happy less-than-forty days till Halloween!

| 2k+ words

“Oh my,” you drawl, leant back against a large tree near Westview’s local psychic shop and nearly lost in its shadow, “this is…underwhelming.”

A whopping three people — only two witches, one of which was currently powerless — pause in front of you on the sidewalk, your words ringing even truer at the way the boy amongst them jumps at your abrupt entrance.

Lips pursed, you look him up and down with little favor. If this was to be the makings of Agatha Harkness’s “great coven” the pickings truly must’ve been slim.

The very witch you came to see turns to you, her hair falling into her face with the movement like she’s in some big brand shampoo commercial. Without another word, you watch on with an opposing stillness, your heart remaining steady.

Interesting.

For a woman you’d all thought dead Agatha looked well. Hair not clumpy, skin not worn or leathery. Even the way she held herself still bellied her comfort in mysticism, even dressed like a modern day woman as she was.

“Mm,” she hums shortly, turning in place with a few unhurried steps until she can cast narrowed eyes onto her apparent newest tag-along. Matching her stare head on you lean into the sun’s light a little more, your own thick curls brushing across a few low hanging branches where your hair is wrapped in cloth atop your head. “I don’t recall asking for an Obeah Woman,” she announces, tone bitingly light.

A scoff falls past your lips.

“And I didn’t expect the whispers for a coven would lead me to you, like this,” you twitch, letting your smile spread your plush lips thin, “broken and without your gifts.”

“I wouldn’t test me, New Girl,” she parries, and you hold your palms up in surrender.

Though your expression doesn’t sober.

The smile that rises to match your own in response to that is lopsided and sharp. Years worth of condescension she’d grown too used to falling back on without caution due to the magic coursing through her coming to the surface.

Agatha Harkness’s name in whispers had sent you into a fit at first — a witch of her caliber and age with your name on her mind never meant good — but looking at her now you could only tilt your head.

On the other hand, the boy with her seems eager to shake apart with laughter that grinds upon your nerves. Luckily, one look from the Salem veteran keeps him quiet.

Mostly.

In seconds she too is cackling, however — the boy’s muffled laughter acting as background noise — and you don’t bother stopping your sneer then.

“Oh, I see. You think you're hot shit,” she draws out, voice dropping an octave. “Don’t you operate a failing apothecary out of your apartment?”

Lips flattening, you step from the shadow, your face fixed without obvious malice to the best of your ability.

“It’s a side hustle,” you sniff. “And still better than being sentenced to 100 lashes and persecuted by the Danish; if I ever see the inside of a Christianshavn prison again I’ll frig up more than a few rum distilleries.”

“Of course. Now you just get persecuted by American Authority instead,” she says, the cut of her mouth sly.

With a flourish you wave her off. “Wretched as your worry is, it’s unneeded. Poison is no different than an elixir when you make it backwards.”

“Okay,” she simpers, shrugging herself, voice light and eyes never straying from your form as you glide closer over the concrete.

Powerless or not, something beneficial could surely come of making the occasional acquaintance of such a renowned woman.

Movement in your peripherals catches your attention though, and you stop moving to turn your head to find who you can only assume is the cause of your blight today.

Your sneer situates itself right back over your lips.

“Lilia,” you announce, the woman stops in her tracks and cuts you a brazen look out of the corner of her eyes. You take caution to only let your molars grind together for a second, releasing the tension in increments as your gaze narrows on her and you stand taller. “I should cut you down where you stand.”

The psychic huffs, shawl sliding a bit down the slope of her shoulder.

Slowly pulling the covering back into place she tuts at you, “Or…you could not. I mean, let’s face it, you would’ve been drawn here regardless of if I gave Agatha your name.”

“Unlikely,” you snap, words ground out like you’d rather spit on her than keep to something so civil as using mere words to express yourself.

And you would if you weren’t in such mixed company. Lilia was only meek when she was playing some angle after all.

You didn’t like anyone else making your moves for you, forcing you to speed up your timeline. Your own plans be damned.

“Witches, witches!” Agatha cuts in, holding her hands out to keep you and the psychic apart despite the way she’s only looking your way. “Let’s not tear each other apart just yet, hm?”

She eyes you from head to toe, taking her time to pan down as she takes in your flowing clothing and lightly clacking beads, before giving you a wicked look. “We wouldn’t want to mar anything too pristine before things really get interesting, now would we?”

Knocking your gaze to Lilia for a second you clock how she initially meets your glower, but keep your gaze steady regardless, just up until she finally twitches in discomfort. Only then do you ease up, tossing a grimace of a smile her way, before watching Agatha closely once more as the psychic wanders off somewhere out of sight with a few muttered curses you pay no mind to.

Meanwhile, Agatha’s expression has changed, having lost its begrudging appraisal and turned furrowed.

You raise your brows, “Harkness?”

She squints, obscuring fine cut hazel.

“I know you, don’t I?”

“Ah,” you grin without teeth, shoulders shaking, “so you can’t tell your porridge from your oats either I see.”

She rolls her eyes.

“The ‘wise sage’ act is very annoying, I have to tell you. It’s really ruining an otherwise beautiful package and I think you should work on that.”

“Should I?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Oh, alright,” you examine your bare nails, twisting your wrist this way and that to get a ‘better’ view of your cuticles, “you’ll have to put the request in with my secretary first, though, I fear.”

Agatha’s pet’s head pops up from over her shoulder, his face screwed up, “You have a secretary? …No offense.”

Sighing, you drop your hand back to your side and make a point of rolling your eyes hard enough to nearly make yourself dizzy.

“No. I don’t,” you tell him finally, though you don’t look away from the actual witch in front of you even as you do.

Immediately after you raise your brow at Agatha, however, “As for you, you know full well that I’m better than any sage, and that passing me up would be a waste when you need a potion maker. Regardless, no we haven’t met, but your backside is just as unpleasant as people describe.”

“Hm,” she hums in agreement, moving to toss her round brunette curls around to her back with a wink in your direction, “unpleasantly beautiful, you might say.”

“Worthless more like it,” you correct.

Agatha stops putting on her little show so quickly you might as well have just lashed her across the face.

Briefly, her eye spasms, “Watch it.”

“I might,” you say, “so long as you prove me wrong. Now, if we could get back on track.”

“Huh,” she scoffs, glaring at you now. “Fine. How bout’ this, unless you can make an elixir to make me invincible from every witch closing in on me, then scram. I’m dealing with enough ameatures as is.”

Head thrown back for a second, you laugh, letting your fervor echo throughout Lilia’s forever vacant parking lot.

“Oh, make no mistake, Harkness, I can do that...” you say eventually, voice easy in a way that gives the other woman pause. You jerk a brow up, briefly mirroring the way her interest seems to physically jump up to stare at you, “…for a price.”

Gaze finally brightening she moves to knock her male companion on the shoulder, gesturing your way afterwards before plastering a much “nicer” smile on her face.

“Teen’s got the money. Give the woman whatever she wants, come on.”

“Oh no, I don’t want money,” you cut in with a flick of your hand at the grabble she’s making for the boy’s wallet.

Agatha pauses in the middle of silently arguing with Teen, glancing your way from her slightly bent position.

“—You don’t?”

“I might not call myself a witch, but that in no way means I’m confused as to what you witch them does do.” You get closer to her, and how she straightens to meet your advance makes you preen. “I want a favor. A binding one.”

“As if,” the boy cuts in with, “A witch of her caliber doesn’t do binding spells, they’ll only hinder her.”

Oh my—

“You well fucking rude,” you say distastefully, giving him a harsh look. Irritatingly, his forward ass only lays his hand over his heart with a gasp.

For her part all Agatha does is laugh, knocking you lightly on the shoulder as if you’ve told a particularly funny joke, and taking you right out of your stare down. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Dear. Cause you sure are delusional.”

She snorts.

You suck your teeth.

This back and forth routine was getting far more tiresome than you’d anticipated.

“The only lucky one here is you,” you deadpan.

She opens her mouth to respond, that same dismissal in the curve of her mouth, but then pauses. Expression twitching, she leans even closer to you to inhale.

Frowning, you pull your upper half away from her.

“What—?”

“—I should’ve known,” Agatha exclaims lowly, pointing her finger at you. “You reek of her plague, that's why you seemed so familiar. What have you been dabbling in, I wonder, to smell so thoroughly of Rio? Joining her plot against me?”

You shake your head, looking away from her. You’d only hung around Vidal for the same reasons you were hanging around Agatha: to gain connections and, better still, favors you could cash in on if you ever found yourself in a bind due to your own ventures.

You hadn’t been lying earlier when you’d said you’d start making drastic moves if you saw the inside of a cell again, you didn’t care where it was. You’d burn it all down until they had to put you down before you’d waste away imprisoned ever again.

“Absolutely not. Whatever cuhruckle that went down between you two is yours alone. All I’m worrying about is my deal.”

To the displeasure of your heightening pulse, however, Agatha doesn’t just look passingly interested or even admiring any longer. She looks like she’s been given a puzzle, and like she likes it.

“Too late,” she chirps, fluttering her lashes, “Rio is far too picky about the company she keeps alive for your involvement to be left unexplored.”

Hand coming up, she runs her nails along your jaw. You stave off a flinch from the ticklish sensation her touch elicits. “You’ve taken on too potent a poison, Darling, situating yourself in the middle of our fight,” Agatha finishes, clicking her tongue, before walking her digits back up the umber expanse of your skin to press the pads of them into the hinge of your jaw.

You swallow roughly, hope she can’t hear it.

Agatha smiles, pressing in until she can force you to meet her eyes again. They’re roving, almost manic when paired with her smile.

“Yes,” she breathes, eyes alight. “Maybe I do need an Obeah Woman after all. We’ll be going to the Witch’s Road, won’t you come with?”

No. It’s on the tip of your tongue. The feel of Rio’s blackened energy still a hot, sizzling brand across your lips.

One deal had been made already, yes, but were you sure about pursuing this one as well with the inevitability of getting caught in the middle of a centuries old rivalry so probable?

Unfortunately, your, “Fine,” slips past your lips before you can stop yourself, and rather than deal with the indignity of walking your agreement back you stay quiet.

Watching for her move. Reasoning with yourself that there were still benefits here despite this new hiccup, if only you played your cards right.

She doesn’t make you wait long.

A shiver rises over you as her presence does the same, her steps carrying her till there’s hardly a whisper between your bodies. Even without her magic, being this close to Agatha Harkness allowed her to snake herself across your soul same as Rio Vidal had when you’d also unintentionally peaked her curiosity a while back.

“Wonderful,” she coos, the pad of her thumb gliding up your cheekbone as her hazel bores deep into your brown, “let’s see about that deal then.”

Dammit to hell; this had better be worth whatever Agatha and Rio’s combined interest would do to you.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

Fun fact, actually, I wrote this when I’d only watched episode two up until Agatha and Teen left Lilia’s place, and so didn’t know that Jen (gorgeous as she is) would be who they went to for poisons (or that that was in any way a requirement in the first place) so that was a fun little coincidence. Otherwise, the setting of this oneshot I just pulled out of my ass fr.

Also, character motivations are a bit funky but I can’t pinpoint the exact reason and really want to post this tonight so we’ll all have to deal.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

—

Caribbean word of the day (i.e.,the glossary): “Frig” - an alternative way to say ‘fuck’. so ‘frig up’ = ‘fuck up’.

“Cuhruckle” - a fight or (intense) disagreement; drama.

*remember, though, that dialects are regional so the words in this glossary aren’t used by every caribbean* 

EDITED: 9/26/24 & 10/26/24 (after s1ep7 I’m even more in love w/ Rio now)