#there goes the tent and stage

[sidecharactersdomatter]

Just imagine if GBBO and the Cornley theater collaborated with the British Bake Off goes wrong

[thatgirlonstage]

The Nigerian Job is such a special pilot to me. “THE Parker?” “Is there someone better?” “No, but Parker is insane”. “I don’t even know what it is you do” to “That’s what I do”. The OT3 elevator scene. Eliot helping to haul Hardison out of the warehouse before it explodes. Their mini-con escape from the hospital. “What’s in it for me?” “Payback, and if it goes right, a lot of money” “What’s in it for me?” “A lot of money, and if it goes right, payback�� and “I was just gonna send 1000 porno magazines to his office but hell yeah”. The Sophie “this isn’t her stage” reveal. The bait and switch that they meant for Dubenich to know he was being conned. “It’s a walk away job” but none of them do. “So go find some bad guys. Bad guys have money.” It does so much good work to establish what this show and these characters could become without jumping the gun on making them get too close too fast.

Like, the thesis of the episode is Nate’s “You all know what you can do, but I know what you can do together” and it’s such a fantastic way to handle a pilot because it’s all about potential: we understand immediately that these people are already hyper competent, but by the end of the episode we see what they could become together too. It’s about showing you the tentative beginnings of this partnership and all the space it still has to grow.

[lullabyes22-blog]

"I think the cycle only ends when you find the will to walk away."

Got a lot of Q's for this in my inbox. Figured I'd just address them here.

tw: mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation

Re: the ending of S2:

Jinx did not die.

She symbolically killed her old self, and with it, her last ties to the past that imprisoned her. She understood that for her sister to move on and live her life - be happy without guilt - she'd have to renounce the bonds that held them together.

Her talk with ghostly Silco was the 'sign-off' she'd been waiting for, ever his dutiful daughter. Throughout S2, she kept hoping he'd haunt her, and in doing so, offer some impetus given her aimlessness. Maybe just straight up boss her around, and tell her how she's supposed to exist now that he's no longer there to be a (subversive if loving) guiding hand.

But it was the promise of time (as represented by Ekko) healing old wounds, and the courage to feel, as she once had - a hopeful child with a hopeful future - that allowed Jinx to commit impetus to action.

Her blimp-ship in the climactic battle is a tribute to Isha - but also to the child in Jinx's own fractured psyche: Powder. She's letting both little girls have one last hurrah before she takes care of business - and cuts off the last oaths, duties and commitments that bind her to a past whose parameters she's outgrown.

Better still, she knows she's got the capacity to outgrow them.

That was the point of Jinx's arc with Isha, and why, no matter my misgivings on Isha's character herself, I found Jinx's trajectory towards a more nurturing and fun-loving figure more life-affirming and positive than the straightforward 'Daddy's Villain Goes Postal' shtick.

It's even why there's a minigame titled Jinx Fixes Everything. It's Jinx, struggling and stumbling, as she tries to rewrite her narrative, and finds in herself the capacity to do good.

To fix things that seem irreparably broken.

And to understand why she's reached this stage, we've got to let go of our tendency to project our own stuff onto Jinx (precious meow meow, unrepentant terrorist, manic pixie crazypants, edgy hot psycho) and acknowledge the purpose she plays in Arcane's thematic structure.

Jinx's character comes off as a death-seeker, and that's no shocker. She is hounded by terrible guilt and loss. She's got blood on her hands, and ghosts on her heels, and no matter what she does, she can't seem to be rid of them. Her inner mind's fractured, her mannerisms ooze pure chaos, and she seems a creature of pure feral impulse and no mercy.

That's the Jinx we're accustomed to seeing in S1 - except that's also both the front she's most likely to put on during that timeline, and the persona that is necessary for her to inhabit to survive, as Silco's daughter and his top enforcer.

Then Silco kicks the bucket, she symbolically fulfills his dream by shooting at the Council HQ, she accepts that she must inhabit this path of shadows and loneliness (as symbolized by her starkly decorated chair in the tea party scene), she accepts the fragmented push-and-pull between past and present, and...

And now what?

Silco's given her a semblance of direction for six years, and he's gone. Vi, the sister she'd hoped would return, and whom she'd hinged so many childishly idealized hopes on, is herself traumatized, and afraid of what her sister's become.

Jinx has her shadows and her loneliness. Jinx is traumatized. Jinx is suicidal.

But Jinx is still, whatever else, alive.

And all living things need connections.

That's why we as the audience enjoy her little found family dynamic with Isha and Sevika. It's Jinx, taking the first tentative steps to reach out to people beyond Silco and Vi, and realizing, wow, she enjoys the pay-off.

And all throughout S2, we see Jinx growing more and more comfortable in this newfound space - even jealously guarding it at the expense of Zaun's liberty, and Silco's wishes, because she can't bear to lose what she's found.

And what she finds empowers her enough that, when Warwick shows up, she's actually willing to reach out to Vi, and call upon their family connection, because Jinx is learning the value of bonds, not as baling hooks of guilt, but as buoys to carry her forward.

That's the story Jinx's relationships serve to tell in S2. Each one shapes the choice she makes in the finale. Until she learns to accept the past (Vi), to lay the monsters to rest (Silco and Vander/Warwick), forgive herself (Caitlyn) trust that time heals all wounds (Ekko), and hope for happier new beginning (Isha), she'll never trust herself enough to just seize the chance.

Jinx's culminating arc is not about death, much less self-erasure. It's about resurrection, and embracing the sublime chaos of a freed mind, and a lightened spirit. That's what she craves beyond simple death, and what her baptism by fire, blood and riverwater, has been about.

Each trial grinds her down into someone else. Someone new.

Someone closer to who she is meant to be, rather than who she's expected to be.

That's why she's so glad to make the sacrifice for Vi. She's not dying as an act of self-immolation. She's giving her sister - the one who's proven she'll never give up on her - the ultimate gift, and showing Vi that she deserves to live.

She needs Vi to live, so Jinx, the persona, can finally die.

"He (Silco) didn't make Jinx. You did."

She's basically saying, "I love you, I will always be with you, but you are no longer responsible for my actions. Please move forward with your life, and grant me the choice to do the same."

It's two sisters embracing everything they've meant to each other, acknowledging the pain weighing them down on both sides, and welcoming the new so they can each slough off old paradigms and live life as a whole person - or at least take steps to remembering what wholeness feels like.

That's the reason the show's final shots linger on the Hexgate tunnels, Jinx's monkey bomb, and the aircraft.

It's the show's way of reminding us that Jinx has ascended to a different version of her identity - one removed from the past that haunted her. It's Jinx, finally striking out alone, away from the sister whose memory she clung so desperately to, and who was, in turn, horrified by her hand in making Powder a monster (perceived guilt or real, fandom may debate ad nauseum) due to past mistakes and abandonment.

The ending of Arcane isn't tragic. It's deeply hopeful, and serves as a reminder that no matter how damaged you think you are, and no matter how monstrous the world finds you, there are still ways to come back to yourself - or to walk the path toward a new you.

Jinx is symbolized by crows. Jinx is shown with firelights emerging from her mouth. Jinx is depicted holding a torch like Janna ushering in the winds of change.

Thematically, Jinx is change.

And the best way she can embody that change is to write her story, and make it her own.

[wifeyoozi]

ot13 seventeen : backstage quickie

seungcheol : it took one pout from you after you saw him all dressed up in that sexy purple suit and slicked back red hair for him to pull you aside in an empty restroom. Didn't even bother taking off his clothes, just pulled down the zipper and took his dick out and railed you pinned to the wall. Precisely 15 minutes later he was scolded by the stylist for messing up the hair and getting all sweaty over the make up.

Jeonghan : he'd been making out with you right there in front of everyone, shamelessly, holding you down on his lap and grinding against you. Someone (seungkwan) begged him to get a room and not cum all over his pants in front of everyone.

Joshua : he'd gotten so horny thinking of how he'd be able to fuck you all night after concert since it was the last day and had a very embarrassingly visible tent in his pocket. He'd call you backstage and scurried you off to an abandoned room to have you up on his cock.

Junhui : the concert was starting in exactly 10 minutes and he had his fingers knuckle deep in you in the restroom. He knew everyone had been searching for him to get on his position but he also refused to let go of you undone.

Hoshi : it was just a simple good luck kiss which turned into deep kissing which turned into heated make out which turned into him ramming his dick in you as fast as possible which turned into the manager and stylist scolding him for the mess he's made of himself.

Wonwoo : he wasn't even that horny when he pulled you into the janitor's closet and lifted your skirt up and started scissoring you to prep you for his dick. He just thought the orgasm-induced endorphin and dopamine release would make him more energetic for the stage. And it was probably one of the best performances he's ever given, thanks to you.

Woozi : it wasn't his fault when you came into the green room wearing that tight red leather mini skirt to wish him goodluck, that too paired with the hot red lipstick. He's brain is just associated you wearing anything red with sex enough for his dick to come back to life immediately and having you take care of him backstage.

minghao : he was usually very self-composed and has a good control over his dick. But he is, at the end of the day, a man. And seeing you wink and openly flirt with him in front of everyone sends heat directly to his crotch. And since you caused it, you gotta sort it. He'll find you an empty room, lock it and sit on any available chair, giving you the liberty to sate his arousal however you can.

Mingyu : fucking before shows is a ritual. If he can't fuck you before show, he'll be (secretly) sulky the whole time. He's very adamant about blowing your back and filling you full of cum and have you keep that cum in you till the show ends.

seokmin : the first time he did it, he was so nervous, wanting to get done as quickly and quietly as possible. After a few times, he's confident enough to fuck you at his pace without having you shut up. If anyone hears, it's their problem to be wandering around unused changing rooms.

Seungkwan : he loooves the part where he fucks you. Gives him the energy pump needed to be the greater entertainer on the stage he is. Loves eating you out, your juices are his lucky potion. What he hates tho is when everyone started teasing him after he's come out of the restroom with you, all messed up. If the stylist scolds him, he'll whined and somehow pass the blame on you. Tho nothing will stop him from doing it again.

Vernon : I think unironically the only smart one because he'll have you suck him instead of getting in your puss cuz that's the least messy way to do it. He initially only did it that way to avoid cleaning up mess after but realised this way no one scolds him after he goes missing for some time for messing up his hair and outfit and make up.

Chan : excited and agrees immediately when you ask him for a quickie and steal him to the restroom. Locks you two in a restroom stall and sits on the bathroom seat before you ride him. You have to cover his mouth when you hear someone enter, for it to turn out to be the leader calling him to get his make up done immediately. He calls out five minutes in a shaky voice and you have to hurry yourself on him to get you both orgasm immediately.

Bonus : cheol scolded chan for not using condoms in the heat of the moment when he knows of it. How he knows of it? That's cheol's business how he looks after his kids.

[brucewaynehater101]

AU Baby Stalker Tim universe hopping

In this AU, babystalker!Tim gets hit with a portal gun (or something) and winds up in Gotham around 7 or 8 years in the future. He was in Crime Alley when he got hit, so that's where he is when the lights stop imitating the absolute worst kaleidoscope to exist meshed with LED car headlights.

Hearing some poor kid probably upchucking in an alley of the worst area of town, Red Hood goes to investigate. He finds what must be a baby ("I'm 10!") clutching an expensive camera.

If that's not weird, the child has no clue who Red Hood is. Not that Red Hood knows who the child is. Maybe an out-of-towner?

[There's barely any baby photos of Tim and Jason wasn't around at the early Robin stages.]

The kid is ecstatic (and slightly confused) to learn that Crime Alley, the area that Robin comes from, has a protector! There's another vigilante Tim can add to his collection (and subtly stalk).

While Tim ponders who this guy is and what his identity might be, Jason is concerned as hell that this infant is following him to his safehouse. Has no one taught him stranger danger?

Eventually, after annoyingly growing fond of the gremlin, Jason realizes two facts: this kid is from a different universe, and the child is the infant version of the placeholder.

Although Jason is upset he has to deal with this situation and somehow Red Robin fucked his day over, the crime lord can't take the anger out on pre-Robin Tim. The "I'm-probably-emotionally-neglected-and-have-no-clue-what-puppy-dog-eyes-are" puppy dog eyes are way too powerful.

Jason drags himself to the cave to have the Bats help him with this situation. Their current relationship is tentative, slightly aggressive coworkers. They don't trust each other, but they also no longer attack on sight.

Tim is hiding behind Red Hood as he stomps into the cave. Everyone else becomes alert and wary at his presence. Hood usually only appears when it's urgent.

Before Red Hood can introduce Tim and get into the issue, the kid peeks out from behind him. He notices how the other vigilantes are so hostile to the man that's been nothing but nice to Tim. He doesn't understand. He tugs the man's pants, causing the man to look down at him and says:

"They look so angry... Why does everyone always look at you that way?"

Red Robin startles at hearing a younger version of himself ask that of Hood.

The Red Robin feels his heart break at realizing that his childhood hero still exists in the figure of Red Hood. The man just isn't safe to the current Tim.

Both Jason and Tim come to the realization that a younger Tim would've trusted Hood. He would've defended the protector of Crime Alley.

Jason feels his world start to tremble with the idea that he would've loved a younger version of Tim. He would've felt protective and caring. The sight of him wouldn't drive anger and betrayal. If he hadn't attacked Tim, he might still look at him as if he wasn't a monster.

[servicpop]

Hhhhhhh this is gonna be embarrassing 4 me to write out shshjsjs but I LOVE your writing and I have a request

If your like up for it, could you write another yanfic? But cowboy x ‘showgirl’ (a dude cross dressing for fun) it’s sfw

Like the cowboy goes to one of the readers shows and is immediately obsessed with the performer who he assumes is just a really flat woman, but when the cowboy goes backstage to find the woman he’s met with a man who looks identical to the woman on stage and realizes that the woman of his dreams was actually a man and to the cowboy that’s even better

N they go on a date and it’s fluffy and shit cus i love fluff and cowboys, i really fucking love cowboys

-🎱

✶ ﹑ love at first performance ﹏

NOW STARRING : Soft cowboy (Cole Hudson) x show"girl" reader

「ㅤSFWㅤ」ㅤCole goes to watch one of reader's show and was captivated by the performance but he didn't know that reader wasn't really a showgirl.

✙ warnings — fluff, reader cross-dresses, addresses reader as woman in the first bit (he doesn't know yet) use of her once! I'm not very good at portraying a cowboy well...

notes ,, this got me doing my research ! not too sure if this is accurate for show girls (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) not proofread!

Dusty boots scraped on the floor as Cole navigated through the bustling crowd; his heart raced from how many people there were. As the cowboy wandered in the dimly lit venue, his gaze fixated on the stage where beautiful women dressed in flamboyant clothing that glittered and swayed with their movement, danced along with the rhythm of music blaring through speakers. One showgirl especially caught Cole's attention. The way your body moved like water was hypnotising and he coupling stop his heart from thumping against his ribcage.

At first, Cole wasn't interested in these loud events; always scarin' his poor cows and his horse, but this time his pal had really insisted for him to visit one. 'It would be fun,' he said, 'see lots of spectacular performances and maybe some cute girls,' he said. So, Cole rode his horse into the heart of town and here he was now, stuck between sweaty bodies and glaring lights in his eyes.

That one performer though, your radiance was brighter than the other showgirls. Cole was entranced by your dancing, oh how he wishes he was there with you, hand on your hips, slow dancing under the soft streetlights of his home town. He slid his hat off, placing it over his chest almost like he was trying to muffle the sound of his racing heart. The costumes were bright, dazzling, and flowed easily in the wind. They were also quite revealing, accentuating the girl's cleavage and showing off the performer's midriff. All but you.

Cole noticed the lack of well— a larger chest like the other girls had, but he just assumed you were flat-chested. That didn't matter to him, besides, he prefered modesty anyways. After a few minutes, your performance was unfortunately coming to an end. The music faded out and the vibrant lights dimmed as he watched you all bow. The venue filled with deafening clapping but Cole couldn't help but stare starry-eyed at you as you walked off stage. He needed to meet you in person.

The next act slowly made their way to the stage but Cole couldn't care less about them; it was a horse show! He's pretty skilled with horses himself so there was no need to stay. Once again he pushed through the crowd of cheering people, weaving his way out of the venue. When he emerged out, Cole was hit with the crisp night air, a stark contrast of freshness compared to inside the venue. His eyes scanned the area, trying to find where the performers went after their show and he was able to spot a small tent that had light seeping out of the gaps. Cole walked over to said tent and grazed the fabric with his fingertips in hesitancy. He took a deep breath; his chest heaving before he shut his eyes and pushed the fabric aside, walking inside.

He opened his eyes as he walked in, a few showgirls turned around to look at him with confused faces and he just stood there dumbfounded. The words he wanted to speak were clogged by the lump in his throat. You walked up to him, waving your hand infront of his face, "Hey, are you okay?" You asked with a raised eyebrow. He blinked a few times before tilting his head down to meet your gaze. Christ you were beautiful, almost hauntingly similar to the showgirl he was infatuated with earlier. "U—um, I'm looking for a specific showgirl that performed tonight and I was wonderin' if I can... find her," He mumbled out, his eyes locked onto your features as if he was assessing your face. "Are you two, by any chance, relatives of some sort?" He questioned, his country accent shining through his voice.

The girls giggled while taking off their make-up and Cole shot them a confused glance. You sighed with a small chuckle and you looked down at your feet, "By any chance, would this 'showgirl' you're looking for, be me?" Once again, Cole stared at you with his jaw open. He felt his heart strangely flutter despite knowing that you were a guy. He swore he wasn't into guys but you were— different. Not like any man he's seen. He just couldn't shake off his attraction towards you.

"You're a fella?"

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

"Well I'll be damned, you are one beauty."

The mixture of his country accent and your more refined accent strikingly contrasted but for some reason complemented eachother. City boy meets country boy. It seemed like Cole had a staring problem because once again, he was blankly gazing into your eyes. It was charming though, how Cole always looked like he was admiring you. Pretty flattering to say the least. Out of nowhere he spoke up...

"How 'bout takin' a ride on my horse?"

How did you get here? Holding onto Cole's waist, you screamed pathetically. Your eyes were screwed shut and your cheek was pressed against his back, all you could hear were hooves thumping on the ground and Cole's warm laugh that echoed through the valley. You two were going so fast that you swore you'd fall off if you didn't hold on tight enough. "You enjoying the ride darlin'?" Cole chuckled, peering over his shoulder to see you clutching onto him like a koala, "Slow down, please!" He ignored your pleas to slow down, "C'mon sweetheart, open your eyes, the stars tonight are just somethin' else!" He yelled through the noise of the wind instead. When he saw that you didn't budge from your terrified position, he just let out a soft laugh and placed one hand over your ones that were clasped around his waist. The warmth of his calloused palm spread to your fingertips and you almost forgot how cold it was tonight. "We're almost there, don't worry," his voice was gentle and thick like honey as he reassured you.

You weren't used to this, not used to the serene silence of the nature, not used to the wind beating so hard against your body, not used to clinging onto a cute cowboy for your dear life as he rode his horse with such passion. You've grown used to the smoke filling the city, used to the loud noises of late night partiers and engines running, used to being by yourself in an apartment with only the warmth of your blanket to keep you company. When was the last time you felt so— free?

The wind died down and you two slowly halted to a stop; you didn't even realise. "You can let go now sugar," Cole giggled as he waited for you to look up from the comfort of his back. You raised your head, your eyes meeting the beautiful scenery of a small cliff with forests lining the background and a starry display of the night sky that seemed like the stars were winking at you. This was a sight you could never see in the city. Cole slides off his horse, planting his two feet on the floor before extending a hand up to you to help you get off too. Your hand reluctantly meets his, the warmth of his palm returning to your finger tips as he guides you down, catching you when you hopped off. The way he handled you was so gentle, as if he was a beast and you were a fragile butterfly.

"Guess you could say we're on a date, huh?" Cole's smile punched your gut from how soft he looked, his hand never left yours. You scoff at his remark — but in a light-hearted way — as your eyes leave his instead, and returned to the scene presented infront of the both of you. It really did seem like a date, far more romantic than any fancy dinner in the big city. Oh and the way his eyes aren't even looking at the sky. He's looking at you. "Ain't it a sight for sore eyes?" He marvelled, and you know he's not talking about the scenery.

"Yeah, it really is," You breathed out quietly like your breath had just been taken away. Cole's eyes finally leave you and he stared at the soil beneath him before he spoke, his voice hushing to barely above a whisper, "You goin' back to the big city soon?" He doesn't want you to leave. Not now. Not yet. Before you could speak, his large hands bring yours together and he traps them between his. His eyes were wide and his brows were furrowed, "Please don't go," he blurted out, embarrassingly higher pitch than he wanted his voice to be.

Your eyes soften as you couldn't help the giggles that escaped your throat. Your eyes lingered on his hands over yours and you noticed the way his fingers trembled slightly but his strength in his grip never faltered. He wasn't allowing you to leave. You did have time before your next gig so, why not?

"Maybe I'll stay for a little longer."

Your heart ached when you saw Cole sigh in relief, his eyes darting everywhere but yours with dusted rose cheeks. He let go of your hands, clutching his own. "I reckon I'll take you out to the strawberry farm my buddy owns. You can't find nothin' sweeter than the fresh grown strawberries out here," He proposed, his fingers skimming over his own knuckles. He was somewhat afraid that you'd reject him. You were so sophisticated, so refined that he couldn't help but feel silly next to you, a big performer who traveled the country to entertain. You, on the other hand, almost instantly fell to your knees from his adorable invite. Strawberry farming? With this cute cowboy you just met? Hell yeah!

"Sounds like a deal, um—" You just realised, you never got his name, "Oh! It's Cole, Cole Hudson," He replied, tipping his hat at you. Jotting his name down in your mind, you glanced at the sky, and noticed that it was incredibly dark, your manager and the girls would be worried if you were nowhere to be found in an unfamiliar place, "Well, I guess it's time to let you be. Let me take you back to your place for tonight." A whistle breaks through the silence in the air as Cole called over his horse, her hooves tapped against the floor in a trot as he took your hand in his and hoisted you up onto the horse's back before hopping on himself, "Hold on, sweets," He smiled, waiting for you to wrap your arms around his waist, securing yourself to him. With a gentle nudge of his foot and the flick of the reins, he guided his horse forward.

You were a little braver this time, keeping your head up as you tried to look around you but it was practically useless now as everything was pitch-black. You wondered how Cole could navigate in such darkness, maybe it was because he travelled up this same path multiple times and knew it better than the back of his palm. As of now, you put your whole trust in him to escort you to your hotel safely.

The lights of the town in the distance inched closer as you two finally made it back. The town was eerily quiet as many people were presumably asleep at this hour — it was so different to the city. "Thanks for the ride, Cole, I really enjoyed it," You thanked him while fumbling to get off his horse; you were still getting used to it. Cole had a hand gently caressing the mahogany-coloured fur of his mare as he looked at you with those hazel eyes of his.

"See you here tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure."

You found yourself rushing to meet up with Cole the next morning. Something in you just— felt at home with him. You met up with him, he took you on his horse, and after a few long conversations about seemingly anything that popped into your minds, you and Cole arrived to the strawberry farm. It was a surprisingly big farm with green rows of leaves with a pop of red peaking out from behind the leaves. Cole helped you put on your boots and strapped a hat to your head to shield you from the harsh sun of the countryside.

"I'll teach ya how to find the sweetest ones," Cole grinned, flicking his head to the side as he encouraged you to follow him. He trudged along the rows of strawberries with his sleeves rolled up above his elbows, showing his well-built forearms. He had given you a little basket and labelled you on 'basket duty,' but you didn't complain. You stared at his back while he proudly walked infront of you, it was now that you realised how big he was compared to you, both in height and muscle. Could you grow to his height in the future? Probably not.

You were snapped out of your trance when Cole squat down and reached a hand out to one particularly red strawberry, "Here, this is a good one," he hummed contently before plucking it off the stem before handing it to you, "Y'see, a bright red tells you its a sweet strawberry, and these green caps are also good," Cole explained. He placed the strawberry into the basket and turned back around, walking forward with peeled eyes. He wanted to find the best ones for you.

"How 'bout you try, darlin'?" Cole asked, glancing over his shoulder before reaching out his arm to encircle around your waist, drawing you closer and leading you forward. "Alright," You hesitated on agreeing but why not give it a try? You couldn't get this experience anywhere in the city. Your eyes caught on specific strawberry that fit the 'Sweet Strawberry' criteria that Cole suggested to you. Vibrant color? Check. Green cap? Check. You picked it off the stem and showed Cole for approval. He placed a hand on his chin as he looked like he was lost in analysing the strawberry. A smile plastered on his face and his dimples appeared, "You'll ain't gonna know 'till you try it."

Bringing the strawberry to your lips, you sunk your teeth into it, the refreshing sweetness meeting your tongue. Your gaze was casted off into space as you took some time to process how to describe the taste until you suddenly felt warm fingers tilt your chin up. Before you could question it, Cole leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, savouring the taste of the strawberry that was lingering on your lips. It was only a small peck before he pulled away. You swear you were just swept off your feet and— was it getting really hot or was it just you? You stood there, frozen, unsure of how to act after that kiss. That was enough to send your heart running laps.

"It's real sweet, you sure did a good job pickin' that one sweetheart."

♡

notes ,, I loved writing this so much! Thank you nonnie ♡♡ I wasn't planning on writing this much but I just had to ,, anyways! If you wanna see more Cole please request scenarios/date ideas/etc etc, also, thank you for 400+ followers ♡ my read more thing keeps breaking so don't mind if its kinda weird!

[shalomniscient]

arlecchino has recieved many nicknames from you over the years. love and dearest are her favourites, though she does sometimes field darling as well. when you’re feeling mischievous, arlie takes the stage. and when you’re feeling especially tender, under the sheets with the warm hearth crackling away opposite the bed, perrie graces her ears as gentle as your embrace.

she thought, perhaps naively, that you’d run out of clever little ideas for yet more nicknames for her. but tonight, as you pick out your necklace from your vanity, you surprise her yet again.

“angel, can you help me with this?”

and arlecchino, fourth of the fatui harbingers, father of the house of the hearth, goes completely and utterly still. her hands, which were busy fixing her cufflinks, pause midair as she looks at you in the mirror with a thoroughly perplexed expression. when she finally finds her voice again, it’s uncharacteristically tentative.

“angel?”

you return her look in the mirror, head tilted at a questioning 45 degrees. “my necklace, i can’t clasp it on my own.”

“no, i—“ she huffs, mildly exasperated, but steps over to help you with the necklace. it’s a delicate gold chain, with an iridescent rainbow rose charm hanging from it. a gift she’d gotten you for your birthday. “what do you mean, ‘angel’?”

“what about it?” you ask with a smile, leaning back into the delicate touch of her warm hands against your nape. “it’s quite cute, no? unless you dislike it?”

“i don’t dislike it,” she corrects, her eyes in the mirror fixed on the way the charm rests delicately above your sternum. “i merely find it… unexpected. i’m afraid i do not see how it fits.”

you hum at that, turning in your seat to face her. you take one of her dark hands, then work on fixing her cufflinks which had previously been forgotten. they’re cast in silver, and encrusted with a single, shining gem. it gleams the same colour as your eyes.

“after you gave the children that… lesson—“ Arlecchino’s expression pinches ever so slightly in something close to guilt at the small bite in your words, “—they’ve all been telling me about those wings of yours that you keep hidden. Angel happened to be one of the many descriptors used.”

You conveniently leave out the part where the children added ‘of death’ behind it. To your uses, it is blissfully unnecessary, despite how accurate it may be.

“I… see.”

You pat her hands once you’ve fixed both cufflinks, intertwining your fingers with hers as you stand from your vanity stool. Arlecchino’s expression is caught between bewilderment, surprise and the barest hint of mirth. You press a gentle kiss to her cheek, then squeeze her hand.

“Well? Shall we go, angel? Our reservation is in twenty minutes.”

Arlecchino clears her throat, then nods. Turns her gaze slightly to the side so she doesn’t have to see what she knows is an abjectly self-satisfied grin on your face at the delicate flush on her pale cheeks, her body betraying her at just how she really feels at this new nickname.

“Yes, of course. Let’s go, dearest.”

And as she walks hand in hand with you on the way to the restaurant, trailing but a few inches behind you with her eyes resting on the way your profile glows in the setting sun, she can’t help but think—if she really is an angel, then her only god would be you.

[kayhi808]

First Crush - 11

You just walk into the event site and it's already a win. They gave Abby a paper wristband and she thinks they gave her a bracelet as a gift. It's going to be a fight later when you have to cut that off her.

Bucky leans down to you, "What's the game plan?"

"Maybe we can walk through everything first, to see what they have and see what Abby likes? Is that ok?"

"Sure, whatever you want, doll."

Looking at Abby up on his shoulders, "Let me know when you want me to carry her. Or you can let her walk. She can get heavy."

Giving you an insulted look, "I'm a super soldier. My ruck sack is heavier than she is."

You put your hands up in surrender, "Sorry, Super Soldier." You adjust Abby's backpack on your back and follow them. You weren't sure what they'd have here, so you packed some of Abby's necessities, but you don't think you'll be needing it. There's a section marked off for a dozen or so food trucks, a small stage & tents sent up. Some families where on blankets having picnics. Others were under the tents. "I've never taken Abby to Coney Island or a fair like this before. This is all new to her." You look up at Abby & she is so wide-eyed trying to take everything in.

You stop at the tent of Midway Gallery of Games. You watch people play trying to win stuffed animals & all sorts of prizes. Some of the Agents were yelling & getting rowdy in their competition. You look up and you notice Abby looking frightened & covering her ears. "Baby?" You hold your arms out to her, and she frowns & reaches out to you. "It's ok." Bucky deposits Abby into your arms & rubs her back. "It's a little too loud, huh?" You make your way out of that section & head to the rides. "Ok, this is better. It's quieter out here."

You walk pass the rides, Abby showing zero interest. She has her thumb in her mouth & snuggled into your neck. All the noise and lights were too much for her. You walk a little further and come across a petting zoo. "Abby, look!" You put her down & hold her hand, leading her to the pens.

"It stinky, Mama." Bucky laughs as she scrunches her nose.

"But what are those?"

She squeals, "It's baby duckies!" You let Abby run over to the pen & one of the workers walks up to her with a duckling in her hands and asks Abby is she'd like to pet it. "Mama?" You smile & nod. She's so good & gentle with it. You pull out your phone wanting to get pictures, and the worker takes Abby to a stool to sit & places the duckling in her lap. She's so adorable, You thank the worker & Abby waves goodbye.

"Mama did you sees me? The baby duck sat on my lap!"

"I did, Baby! You were so good with the duckling." And that's how the next half hour goes by. You visit all the babies. PIg, chicken, rabbit, lamb, horses, cows...the baby goats were a little too wild for her. Abby ran to Bucky asking for "upsies".

"I'm ready for a snack. Who wants a treat?" Abby gives you a quick look to see what your reaction is. You raise your hand, so Abby copies you & yells out "Me!" You go to a nearby stand to pick out some lemonade & ice tea in Avenger logo mason jars. You're ready to pay for it, "I'll get it, my treat."

"It's all taken care of. Stark is picking up the tab. The food, rides, games, it's all unlimited."

"That's insane, Buck!" He shrugs and hands you another lemonade. He noticed you were just going to share one with Abby, which you happily take. He grabs a churro for you all to share. He wanted to get one in every flavor for Abby, but you nixed that idea. The last thing you need is for her to get a tummy ache. And you already know you want to get her cotton candy later. That'll be enough sugar to blow her mind.

You take a break to eat your snacks & sanitize your baby after touching all the animals. You bring out the baby wipe & hand sanitizer. Bucky laughs at you, but Abby doesn't care because she now smells pretty, not like the stinky animals.

Now that she's in a better mood, you'll give the rides another round & see if she's interested. She did a round in the jumper house. You're so worried because she's so little and you don't want her to get trampled on, but that's part of being a kid. She fell down & couldn't get back up with all the other kids jumping but she was laughing as she crawled to the wall to get herself back on her feet. She came out of there all sweaty & cheeks pink from laughing.

Then the 3 of you went on the ferris wheel. She didn't want to go until you said you'd all go together & that she could sit in the middle so she'll be safe. She had a tight grip on Bucky's Vibranium arm, but after the first time around, she relaxed and enjoyed it. She could see everything being so high up. Bucky said they could ride it again at night so they could see all the lights and maybe even the fireworks.

The Carousel was next. "Do you want to ride the pretty horses?"

"Oh Mama!" She tries to spin you so she can see her backpack, "It's a unicorn, like i gots!"

Bucky laughs, "You want to ride that one?"

"Yes! I needs to." She jumps up & down. You all wait in line for the next group to enter. Once Abby gets up to the gate, Bucky scoops her up and makes a mad dash to find the unicorn. You hear her screaming with laughter. You try to chase after them. Abby is pointing him in all different directions & giggling. Finally they capture the unicorn for Abby to ride. You take quick pictures of Bucky & Abby with her unicorn. "Mama lookit!"

"It's so pretty! You look like a fairy princess, baby!" There's so much joy on her face you want to break down & cry.

Buck nods over at the horse across from Abby, "Get on."

"No, I don't..."

"Yes, Mama! You needs to!"

"I got her," Bucky resting his arm around Abby's back. "Ride with Abby."

You climb up on the horse as the ride starts and you feel silly and carefree all at the same time. When was the last time you were on a carousel? "Mama, you looks like the fairy QUEEN!"

Bucky looks up at you, "She sure does." You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze.

The ride was over way to quickly. Bucky helps you both off your horses & escorts you outside the gates where Steve awaits you all. "Mr. Captain, you sees my unicorn? I rides him & didn't falls off." Steve so surprised that Abby's even acknowledging him, he laughs.

" You know what? I did. I saw you and your Mama racing up there, and i think you won."

Abby covers her mouth with her hands & giggles, "Mama, I wons you!"

Bucky wraps his arms around you, pulling you back against him, "Did you? Mama was going really fast."

"No, I wons. Mr Captain says so."

"Well, if Mr. Captain says so," Bucky shrugs.

"You guys had lunch yet? Or visited the food trucks?"

"Not yet. Are you hungry Abby? Want to find lunch?" She nods & jumps up and down.

There's so much food and snacks to choose from. The guys end up with BBQ plates and you and Abby are sharing pizza and tacos. You're enjoying your break when Abby stands up on the bench and starts waving, "Frien'! Frien'!" You look around to see who she's calling. "Mama, pretty lady!"

"Natasha."

"N'asha! N'asha!" Abby jumps down & runs to Nat. Bucky's already on his feet ready to follow her. Natasha sees her & picks her up and walks her back over. You can see your baby's mouth moving a mile a minute. "But the goat was jumping and jumping. I's so scared, but Bucky lifts me so they can't gets me."

Taking a seat next to Bucky, "Wow! You had some excitement, huh?"

Climbing on the bench next to you, "It was baby but it was big like me. Ands you know what?"

"What?"

Gulping for air because she's talking so much, "Mama & I race, and my unicorn won. Mr. Captain says I wons her!" Abby claps for herself.

"You won. Not you wons her." You roll your eyes but inside you heart in overflowing with love for her excitement and how everyone is so kind to her. You were so worried about being a single parent and not being able to give your baby the life you wished for her. But you think you'll actually be able to do that. Things are looking up for you both. She's going to remember this day for a long, long time. You both will.

Next chapter

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @crazyunsexycool @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @ozwriterchick @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan @blackbirdwitch22 @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella

[avocado-writing]

do you have any headcanons on how the bg3 men + teifling bachelors would react to their s/o teasing them ? i have a desperate need to see these men needy

minors dni

Astarion teases right back. He is an expert at driving people wild, after all, but with you it’s sincere. He loves to hear the way you moan and whine for him. He pretends he’s fine when you play with him and that he can take it, but wants to even the odds as soon as he possibly can… you’ll be crying out each other’s names by the end of the night, if he has his way.

Gale panics. Goes bright red. Coughs out a reply, tries to hide the growing bulge in his robes. If you’re not at a stage where you’re intimate, will need to excuse himself and take his hardness into his own hand in order to finish off. If you are intimate he’ll pull you into his tent immediately. The man has no patience and you’re glad for it…

Wyll teases you back too and is surprisingly good at it. Honeyed words whispered into your ear when you’re with company, pulling back and giving you a sweet smile as if he didn’t just tell you all the ways he wants to have you when he gets you alone. You can tell your words rouse him from the way he crosses his legs, but he’s a masterful opponent in return.

Halsin enjoys a tease as much as the next elf, and loves a long day of the two of you riling each other up before one of you breaks and takes the other with gusto. Find him picking you up and pressing you into a tree to make love to you, or dropping onto his knees to satisfy you with his mouth. The work up is just as good as the payoff in his opinion 💕

Dammon becomes surprisingly overwhelmed, red cheeked and words stuttered. A little rub of his horns or fingers along his tail give him a full-body reaction. The strong, professional tiefling becomes willing putty in your hands, happy to do whatever you ask so long as you please him in return…

Rolan is so touched-starved that any teasing will almost immediately get him off. Rub him through his robes, run your tongue across the shell of his ear, he’s gone. Masterful wizard reduced to a needy and whiny mess. Finishes quickly but will work his magic on you until he’s ready to go again, and draws it out all night ✨

Zevlor is thrilled you’d want to tease an old man like him. He enjoys the game of it all, willing to drag you into dark corners for long, steamy kisses before the two of you get caught. When you get to bed that night he drags out his pleasuring of you, drives you wild for him, but tuts and tells you to be good for him and wait with a glint in his eye 😈

[s0fti3w1tch]

Human Tentative Devotee Leonardo (ft. Human True Colors Leonardo) drawn over Alien Stage screenshots. I entirely blame @v-albion because of this.

Anyways, this is called: Lee purposefully trying to give his dear friend, Trainee, a panic attack so he fumbles during the [if you lose the singing competition you die] stage.

ID: Digital art. 2 Images. Image 1: Human versions of Rise of The TMNT Leonardo drawn over a screencap from Alien Stage - FINAL ROUND. Trainee (left) from Tentative Devotee AU is drawn over Till, with Cerulean a.k.a. Lee (right) from True Colors AU is drawn over Luka. Image 2: Human Trainee drawn over a screencap from Alien Stage - Round 6. Trainee is drawn over Till, who is singing into the mic with a tired, devastated face. /End ID

Original

ID: Screenshot from VIVINOS's Alien Stage FINAL ROUND video where Luka goes up to Till during the 2nd pre-chorus, grabbing his arm and reaching out to touch his neck, to intimidate him. /End ID.

ID: Screenshot of Till in Round 6 of VIVINOS's Alien Stage web series. Close up of Till sadly singing. /End ID

[ghouljams]

And I Can Only Think of You (Act II End)

Words: 5.3k Tags: Knight!Ghost x Princess!reader, Keegan x f!oc, knight fights, tournament violence, blood, love confessions(sort of), shitty dads, König being a creepy weirdo, major character injury, no beta we die like [redacted] Summary: Your stage has been set, the player take their places, and suddenly decide to improvise.

< prev part Masterlist

The flags are raised first. Tents follow. Then the knights and their squires, then the arena and brown dirt that will so quickly become darkened with blood. You watch the set up from the castle, content to think through your plans as fences are raised and benches are built. Your mind is made up, wheels in motion, and players taking their places. You have every confidence in Ghost. 

Perhaps you should have that same confidence in yourself, but… one step at a time. It’s hard to turn around a lifetime of conditioning. You have to remind yourself of your convictions, remind yourself that you’re worth the same confidence you offer your knight. Yet, too often you find yourself hoping this is a terrible dream that Ghost will wake you up from, and you’ll find yourself back in the forest with him. 

Suddenly bandits and assassins seem so much easier to deal with. “The enemies you know” as the saying goes.

You’ll find your confidence when this is all over, when you have proof of your abilities. Until then you have your embroidery.

-

It shouldn’t surprise you that your Ghost is popular. He’s at least a head taller than most of the other knights, standing proudly and directing his subordinates in that lovely deep voice, of course there’d be women that admired him. You don’t know why there needs to be so damn many of them though, especially this early in the morning. Your heart clenches so tightly in your chest you think it might have stopped. You wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake, a mistake of the heart that you don't know how to recover from. Until he spots you and his dark eyes lighten with a flash of warmth that may as well melt you. 

You feel so suddenly like yourself, like that damsel he’s always been so dutiful in his protection of. A princess running from her father’s attempt at a marriage arrangement and leaving her slippers with a stranger. Even with that dark cloth over his mouth you know Ghost’s smile by the crinkle of his eyes. You clutch your token close to your chest, something you should have given to Ghost when he'd been taken off your detail. You’d thought he’d be wearing your colors at least, but the cool flash of his armor holds no green besides the reflection of grass under his feet. You tip your head to look up at him, letting his dark eyes hold your gaze until he reaches to smooth his thumb between your brows. 

“What are you frowning about now?” He asks, the low rumble of his voice warm and teasing. The leather of his glove under the cool steal of his armor only makes you pout more. He’s always touched you so easily, too easily if the rumors around you two are to be believed, but it’s never warmed your skin like this. Your fingers dig into the token you’d fashioned, nearly crushing the embroidery under the weight of your nerves.

“I’m merely anxious for the tournament.” You tell him, and earn a crease of his eyes, an amused hum.

“Have I ever disobeyed an order from you, my lady?” Ghost asks, his fingers slipping from your forehead to trace your jaw.

“Of course not.” You frown. You feel strangely… scolded.

“Then trust me,” He tilts his head, “You told me to win, and I intend to.”

The cold determination in his eyes washes over you like a chill. You’ve seen those eyes too many times, caught the fury in them as his sword splattered blood over his helm. It’s the same look he’s held every time he’s saved you from certain doom, and you want nothing more than to give into it, to let him save you once more. What once held your hopes now feels burdensome in your hand. You wish- 

No, no more wishing. You made a promise to yourself. You're not going to be that scared little princess anymore. You're not going to wait on someone to save you. You're in charge of your own destiny, and if you want something you have to take it for yourself.

“You’re not wearing my crest,” You change the subject, leaning to inspect his cape, or lack thereof. Ghost huffs.

“Never would’ve made it out of the barracks if I ‘ad.” Your father’s doing you’re sure. Anything to keep Ghost separated from you, unburdened by responsibilities to the throne. Despite his new position as captain of the knights he doesn’t wear the royal crest. Disavowed, abandoned by the throne he serves. Ripe for a new king to swoop in and claim him.

“Well,” You nod, reassuring yourself, “it’s a good thing I came around then.” Another satisfied hum from Ghost, approving. It leaves your cheeks burning. You hold up the deep green fabric clutched between your fingers, the long strip embroidered carefully with the curling ivy and white dahlias that make up your personal crest. 

“Just in the nick of time,” Ghost makes no move to take it, “was worried one of the other ladies would tuck theirs in my belt first.” It’s a joke, but it stalls in your brain. His hand drops to his side, fingers tugging at the leather belt looped around his middle. Making room for you to slide the banner in.

“Oh,” You stall, beg yourself not to stutter, without finding a single word to stutter on. You glance around at the other knights, house banners and lovers’ tokens hang off their belts. It makes sense, capes would get in the way of combat, but something simple like a flag on their belt…

You glance up at Ghost, feel his stare like a two ton weight. He’s teasing you, you’re sure. The same dry humor that made you throw sticks at him when you made camp. Horrible jokes. 

You look down at his belt, watch his hand raise out of your view, feel his fingers pluck at the hair peeking out from under your circlet. Your own fingers go to his belt, calling his bluff as you thread your banner over the leather, and tug it into place. He leans to press his lips to the strand he’s pulled free, his shadow makes a chill run up your spine, and you feel the tug at your scalp as you shudder. You try to look busy making the banner lay flat, picking at the forest green until it’s perfectly draped over his belt, your crest on display for all to see.

Your fingers won’t pull away from him. You will them to, but there they stay. 

“Thank you,” Ghost says, his voice a low murmur. You nod. His gloved finger traces over your cheek, tips your head up to meet his eyes. “Where did my confident lady go?” He teases you.

“Waiting for her father.” You mutter.

Ghost hums, his distaste clear in the tone. You fidget with the banner on his belt, enjoy the nervous flutter in your stomach as his fingers stroke your cheek. You don’t know how he does it, how he can be so steadfast. There’s never a moment where he’s wavered, never a time you’ve questioned his devotion to you. Ever since you met him, you’ve known that Ghost was here by his will alone and no one else’s. 

Maybe that was why your father hated him. The one man in the kingdom who held no allegiance to the crown. Who never would have taken his commission if he hadn’t wanted to. Who told the monarchy “no” with as much mirth as he did conviction.

“I have to talk to the priest,” You tell him, hoping mention of your errands will help move you. 

It doesn’t help to move Ghost. His hand stays as it was, the worn leather covering his knuckles skirting over your cheek with painful care. 

“What do I get when I win?” Ghost asks.

When, you remind yourself, not if.

“Hopefully whatever you want,” His eyes crease at the edges, warm honey brown making your heart patter, “so start making a list.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You have to look away from him, your cheeks far too warm to allow for eye contact. It takes his hand from your cheek, gives you the strength to pull your hands from his belt. You can’t hang around him all day. Both of you have roles to play, proverbial swords to swing.

“Good luck my lady.” Ghost mumbles. The heat of his hands following you as you hurry back to your retinue.

Your lady-in-waiting smiles at you, takes her hand off your knight’s arm. You note that her family’s crest decorates his belt with, perhaps, too much interest. You’d noticed them growing closer, but not that close. Your knight covers the banner with his hand, and you force your eyes from it to smile at your maid.

"You have everything prepared?" You ask her. She nods.

"Of course m'lady." She twists to unhook the pouch she'd brought, producing a scroll for you.

You'd been worried after your letter to Ghost, that she might resent you. You've known your lady-in-waiting since you were a child, but knowing who you could trust was difficult when your father's grip on your life only seemed to tighten. Still, she'd been steadfast in her allegiance to you, and almost excited to help you in your scheming. You're sure you've been too clear in your affections for your knight, clear enough to risk her as well, it's nice knowing she's in your corner. Even if you hadn't thought she'd been there.

Maybe she weighed her options. Though you're not sure how you won if she did.

"Who's with my father?" You ask Keegan. He makes a face, his nose scrunching his mask in distaste.

"Graves."

"Perfect." You take the scroll from your lady-in-waiting and turn to find the announcer.

"I'm sure he'd be chuffed to hear that," Keegan tells you with an almost audible eye roll.

You're sure he would be. Just like you're sure Graves is doing his best to shove his entire head up your father's ass with how much he kisses the damn thing. That man has his eyes on knight captain, and you're sure your father has already let him know that the position will be open shortly.

Not if you have anything to do with it.

You spot the bored looking priest that's been assigned to announce the contest. Impartial in that he seems uninterested in all of it. You couldn't think of a better puppet than one who seems so keen on staying out of the actual event. Who better than someone who won't question changes because they simply do not care?

"Priest," You wave him down, dissatisfied with the placid smile he turns your way as you walk towards him.

"Princess," He greets.

"My father asked me to deliver this," You hold the scroll out to him, he nods once, a slow and steady bowing of his head. You detest it. Your fathers name carries God's weight. "König had some changes he wanted made to the prize." You smile. An explanation that's unasked for, short and sweet for a man that cares only enough not to crush the paper in his hand.

"Of course." The priest agrees. Inept, you think. There's no chance the man checks your switch, even less that he checks with your father about it. You won't be sad to see him go when your father decides to behead him after the tournament.

You nod, the priest bows, you part ways. You count yourself lucky that his ineptitude extends to his desire to pray for you.

Your lady-in-waiting sticks close to your side as you make your way to the sheltered seats reserved for your family. Another point of luck that you're sitting beside your mother. You father is too busy with his attempts to impress König to notice you settling in your chair, though you do see König's eyes flick to greet you. Mad dog he may be, at least he keeps track of his surroundings.

Your stomach ties itself into knots as your parents are plied with wine. You decline your own glass, too nervous to entertain even thoughts of alcohol. You may throw up. Your confidence, or lack thereof, in the priest is waning the longer you wait. Maybe he's peaked at your alterations. Maybe he'll send a page to alert your father. Maybe you'll be locked in your room for good to prevent any further scheming before you're sold to the highest bidder.

The priest takes his place, carried by long divinely purposeful strides, in the center of the arena. If nothing else, at least he's loud.

You tune out most of the drivel he spews. Artfully copied word for word by your lady-in-waiting from the real scroll, you really should ask where she learned such forgery, it's all praises for the king, the day, your god on high. Worthless. Less than worthless. At least the paper holds value, the ink, the time taken, but the words themselves? God. Get to the important part.

"The prize-" The priest screeches, "-which shall be allotted in full to the victor alone, announced to the people by their gracious and loving king, heretofore and forever regarded as the divinely appointed ruler of the land, shall be His Majesty's only daughter's hand in-" The priest stalls, stutters, stares at the parchment and finishes weakly, "-in marriage."

There's silence.

Then chaos.

The knights in their pen turn to you with such pinpoint precision you'd think they'd practiced the movement. You keep your eyes on the priest. Of all the eyes on you, you feel your father's the heaviest. He nails you in place, unable to speak a word over the raucous excitement of the crowd. The crown princess, finally to be married, and to a knight- no, the best night in the land, no less. It's like a fairy tale.

If you can survive it.

Your eyes dart to the pen, to the stoic figure of your knight, his eyes fixed on the priest as well. His hand is clenched tight around the hilt of his sword. Even with all the excitement he stands like a statue, his gaze level. If you didn't know him better you might mistake his stillness for calmness. He's thinking, calculating, weighing his odds. You told him to win, he'd already known what he had to do, but this- this changes things. Chaos is harder to account for.

He turns your way, his eyes dark when they lock onto yours. He gives you a short nod, and you feel the weight of it settle in your chest. Ghost turns back to the arena and disappears behind the helm he presses over his head.

You haven't seen it in ages. Burnished steel, the white pattern of a scull pained over the front, and his eyes flashing cold in the shadows. He cuts a fitting picture, your father's nightmare given human form. He has no one to root for now.

You turn your attention back to your family. Your mother hides her shock behind a facade of calm, her eyes fixed on her people with a placid smile. You never had a chance to truly ask her- no matter. Your father hides his contempt well. Practiced at it, you suppose. König has his cheek resting against his hand, his lips curled over his teeth in an approximation of a smile. You've seen monkeys in caravans make that expression, baring their teeth the way their human handler has taught them. Some part of you feels glad to have earned some semblance of his approval, as detestable a man as he may be. At least someone is having fun.

You wonder what human taught him to approximate a smile. You can't imagine his kingdom has many saints, but his handler must be one of them.

You'll try to enjoy yourself as well. After all, you're soon to be betrothed to your knight. You can't think of a better man to hand your future to. Ghost has never let you down, and you can't see him starting now.

That's how the first match goes.

Your knight swings his sword with such practiced precision that it sends his opponent's flying from his grip barely moments into the fight.

Not to be outdone the rival knight lunges for him, and you taste bitterness on your tongue when Ghost brings his sword down hard on his rival's helm. The poor fool is crushed, sent sprawling flat on the ground with the imprint of Ghost's hilt decorating the back of his helm. The cheers are as violent as the match-up as Ghost raises his fist to the crowd, his sword hung lazy at his side. You can almost feel the smug air radiating off of him. Similarly, you can feel your father's ire poisoning the air around you.

You care little for the other matches. Tournaments are only fun when you have someone to root for after all, and when it's your life hanging in the balance you find yourself looking away from the lecherous gazes of the other challenging knights. You can't find it in yourself to feign an interest in their matches.

If your mother is to believed you shouldn't have to.

Rumors of your attachment to Ghost are the very reason he was taken away from you. You're sure the other knights know all too well who you're rooting for. If it weren't clear from the banner on his belt, surely they'd know it from the gossip that floods the castle. It's only their own greed and lust for your crown that gives them any hope at all for taking your hand at the end of the day.

One thing is for sure. You've never seen a tournament so bloody.

The knights fight like rabid dogs. If they cannot disarm their opponent they will attempt to kill him, searching for the breaks in their armor and beating their sword into the bends. Men beat each other with their fists, they batter each other with maces, they claw for every scrape they can achieve until the priest yells for them to stop.

You watch Keegan dodge a particularly deadly blow from a larger knight, his eyes wild with bloodlust. It makes your skin crawl to think such a man might ever force his way into your bed. Your only saving grace is watching your knight swing his sword, twisting with the grace of a dancer to hold his blade against his opponent's throat.

You suppose it's good that Keegan has no dreams of the monarchy, content as he is to pull your lady-in-waiting's banner from his belt and press it to his helm. He could give your Ghost a run for his money.

One of the servants offers you lunch partway through. You bundle bread and sweet meat into your handkerchief, and pass it off to your lady-in-waiting to take to Ghost. You're sure he's resigned himself to hunger, and you'd rather he keep himself in fighting shape.

You smile when you catch your father's eye.

There is something pleasant about going against the man. Not pleasant enough to go so far as killing him, despite König's suggestion, but satisfying nonetheless. Your father has always seemed larger than life, untouchable in his judgement, but now you see him as exactly what he always has been: a man in a fancy hat. A man without half the strength that your Ghost has. A man that could crumble under the weight of a sword.

Your father has strength in his eyes, but straight backs can be broken as easily as hunched ones.

You hear the sickening crunch of yielding bones and catch the way Graves jerks and twists at his opponent's arm under the hollering jeers of onlookers. The man screams out in pain, and your father's knight releases him. Only to plant his foot against the knight's chest and kick him to the ground.

The priest calls the match, and Graves moseys to fetch his sword from where he threw it. He wears your father's --the monarchy's-- crest on his belt.

You look at your father, his smile proud beside your mother's wide eyed horror. He turns to look at you.

“A late entry,” the king tells you, “but quite impressive, don't you think?”

You don't think. Not on your life would you think your father's pick impressive. Not with the way he saunters towards your stand and leans against the banners. His blue eyes now black, swallowed by his pupils, look you up and down like a hog for slaughter.

“Y'know princess,” he smiles, “I always thought you were a pretty thing. Guess now I'll finally get to see you without the big guy staring me down.”

You shouldn't entertain that with a response. You keep your eyes firmly on the priest as he announces, silently, the next match. Your hearing rolls with the crashing of waves, the thrum of your blood circulating and rushing against your brain, trying to find purchase for some new brilliant plan. Trying to find reason against your faith in Ghost. You find nothing but your own affection.

“You will lose.” You assure Graves. He hums, his smile unwavering. Unnerving. He pushes away from the banner covered fence and pats the knight coming into the area on the shoulder. 

You won't let him or your father's bastard-airs dissuade you. Ghost has fought twenty men and come out unscathed. He's rescued you from far worse than Graves could throw at him. Besides, the only good Graves has done in his life is give you someone to root against in the tournament.

And root against him you do. When you aren't cheering for your Ghost(and Keegan, bless him) you're cheering on whatever poor soul is stuck facing your father's pick.

With each rung the knights climb towards your hand the matches grow bloodier. Men seem less afraid to go against the rules of combat, more willing to darken the dirt with their opponent's blood. You watch Keegan take a nasty blow to the face before managing to disarm his opponent. When he flips the visor of his helm up you're treated to crimson staining his brow, flooding his eye such that he has to call for a cloth to clear it. Your Ghost too, seems to grow harsher, his goal --your goal-- closer with each victory he achieves.

He batters one opponent with his sword still sheathed, beating the other knight into submission with a singular focus that you so rarely see. Still, he seems to be the only one to avoid spilling unnecessary blood on the field. Your sword raised carefully against your subjects, rot excised with surgical precision.

Graves holds none of the same delicacy.

Yet he turns to be sure you're watching with each man he injures. His hand raised to you --to your father more accurately-- as if to more openly show off his ruthlessness. Even the mutt king seems impressed with him.

"Scheiße," König hums, his smile still biting into his fingers, "What is it you English call it?" He asks your father, "Cutting the same clothes?"

"Yes I was rather brash at that age too," Your father agrees, so smug, the bastard.

"Oh no," König's smile, now at least, seems to fill with joy, perhaps he can only do that when faced with someone else's misery, "It is my clothes he cuts from."

It's the first you've seen your father hesitate. His eyes draw to Graves' grin, his helmet tossed and his cheek wearing the blood of his victory. It drags a path over his teeth, and you know you'll see the pink tinge of his spit in your nightmares. It's as if this is the first he's seen his personal guard without the blinders of stopping your betrayal.

And what can your father say? That he hopes Graves isn't? That König is the last kind of king he'd ever want to hand his kingdom over to?

He glances at you.

That he'd want to hand you over to?

He is still your father after all. It's the first time in years you've seen the same concern he held for you as a little girl. The first time you think he's looked at you as something other than a tool for his own political gains. You wonder if he's wondering: Can he really hand his daughter over to a man like König?

To a late entry?

You look away from him, and to the man your father had so cruelly put forth to win you. Not because he thought you were a particularly good match. Not because he had a particular fondness for Graves. But because he hated Ghost. You wonder if his own petty resentment is good enough reason to hand you to a man with blood in his teeth.

All the more reason to cheer for your own men.

You pay little attention to the rest of the matches. You gossip with your lady-in-waiting and do your best to ignore the rest of the world. You only know when Keegan has taken the field again when your friend stops talking. She looks so worried you'd think he was facing the devil himself. Serves you right for ignoring the matches, you suppose. You must have missed the dark lord's summoning.

Turning to the field you do see the problem. He's up against Ghost. If this were any other tournament you might feel bad rooting against the poor fellow, but as it stands you can't find it in yourself to hope Keegan wins. You have neither the desire to marry him, nor the desire to take him from your friend.

It's probably best that he puts up a lackluster fight. His grip is loose when Ghost's sword swings, and much like the knight in the first round Keegan's sword goes flying.

The two men stand facing each other before Keegan lets out a long breath.

"Oh no!" He yells, "Not my sword! God not my sword!" He makes an exaggerated showing of shrugging, "Oh well, I suppose the match is yours."

You snort. It's good that he has his knighthood to fall back on, he certainly has no future in acting if that performance is to be believed. Still, your lady-in-waiting cheers loudly for him as he exits the field. You cheer as well, falling into your friend's laughter even through the nerves that grip your stomach.

You look at the tournament board and watch your crest move to the final round. The tree finally reaching its inevitable conclusion. Ghost is going to win just like you told him to.

Your eyes flick to the other side and land on the royal seal just as Graves is announced in his own semi-final round.

You know in your heart that he'll win with the same understanding that you know fire will burn you and the sea will swallow you whole if you let it. It is a fact that cruelty like his rarely goes punished.

You stand from your seat, you can't watch this match. No matter how short it may be, you can't watch. You can't see that man win again.

You go to find Ghost.

There's a page fussing over him when you make your way to the knight's rest area. You don't recognize them, but you don't spend much time at the training grounds. Ghost spots you immediately and waves off the boy to greet you.

"Go back to your seat," He advises, though there's no push behind his words.

"I wanted to congratulate you." You grin and see his shoulders lower slightly, softening beneath the armor.

"Thank me after, my lady," You can hear the smile in his voice even behind that horrible helm, "I'm only following orders."

"You're following them beautifully." You reach to fix the drape of your banner on his belt, and see him tilt his head in your periphery. His hand raises and he brushes the steel knuckle of his glove against your cheek. Soft despite the cold, unyielding material.

"The other knights think you've fixed the tournament." He mumbles.

"I have," You tip your head back to look at him, trying to find the warm copper of his eyes through the slits in his helm, "I put you in it."

The huff of breath Ghost lets out is as close to laughter as you'll get from him, but it warms you all the same. He turns his head away from you, surveying the field of defeated knights. All men he'll be commanding as king soon, men who must envy and revere him in equal measure. You're sure how it must look to them, but perhaps it's better they think they lost due to some predestination rather than their own inability.

"You should head back," He turns back to you, "No need to hear what your father's man has been saying about you."

Your stomach churns, "What's he saying?"

"Nothing he won't pay for." Again you can hear Ghost's smile, and it settles your nerves. You nod, gathering your strength around you.

"Then I'll be waiting for you," You assure him.

"You'll never have to wait again when this is over."

You push up onto your toes, and press your forehead against his. The bend of his back must be painful under the layers of steel, but you're sure he'd agree it's worth it for a small parting comfort before you turn to hurry to your seat.

You're only too happy to see the field bare when you make it back. Your lady-in-waiting is beaming in a way that makes you think perhaps she paid her own knight a visit.

Your father's crest has been moved to face your own. An inevitability, but one that you find your confidence bolstered on. You have Ghost's assurance, what else could matter?

König leans forward in his seat, his eyes sparking with excitement next to your father. There's a tightness on your father's lips, nerves in his eyes. You've never known him as a man who shows fear, but perhaps that's just because he's never been on the losing side. You're sure to cheer particularly loud when Ghost takes the field once again. Your father doesn't even stand for Graves.

The priest gives his spiel, the knights bow before the king, and you stand to smile at the crowd when the prize is reaffirmed. Your hand in marriage, and the whole kingdom as a result. You're not surprised when the priest nearly runs from the area, not when both knights draw their sword as soon as they raise their heads.

You can't say who swings first, only that the clash of their swords is deafening. Both knights hold the other back before Ghost squares his shoulders and swings again.

Graves deflects.

Ghost swings.

Graves deflects. Swings.

Ghost deflects.

They trade blows that make your ears ring. Their swords swung with such force you can almost see the flex of muscle under their armor. You can see why your father has kept Graves close, he's a talented swordsman, but he isn't Ghost. Graves is fast, following the momentum of his swings. It's flashy compared to Ghost's technical perfection, hollow with wasted movement.

Ghost takes a step back and you watch him switch his grip. In all the years you've known him you've never seen him change hands, but when he twirls the blade you see an ease of movement that seems supernatural. It's enough of a display to make Graves lunge forward.

You remember Ghost telling you once that the only true rule of combat is to win at all costs. That chivalry is for those that can afford a loss. There's no weakness in the way Ghost moves, and you have no doubt in his ability to win.

He side steps Graves' attack, his sword raised to bring the hilt down hard on Graves' shoulder, and stops as his armor's straps pull tight

and snap.

You watch with the rest of the helpless audience as Graves flips his grip and plunges his blade deep into Ghost's side. Slicing the metal clean through through the back of him dark with the sheen of blood spattering onto the dirt like a waterfall.

It's not the cling of swords the rings in your ears as you leap to your feet, but your own shrieking. It follows Ghost to the ground as he settles hard onto one knee. The shouting of the crowd is a deafening cacophony of "Blood! Blood! Blood!"

And your world crumbles into a single point as Ghost's helm tips to stare up at your father's victory.

[meazalykov]

nationality switch

esmee brugts x uswnt!dutch!reader

summary: choosing a national team almost made you drift away from the person you love most

warnings: angst

it’s been a long time since you’ve seen esmee, since that fight—since everything changed. 

you’re sitting in the corner of a cozy café in barcelona, sipping your iced coffee, lost in your thoughts about how things used to be. the only noise around you is the coffee machines brewing or the ovens beeping in the background of your thoughts.

you never expected to see her today. you thought she moved to arsenal in london. a club that she mentioned her interest in. but then again, nothing with esmee ever goes as planned.

the bell above the café door chimes, and you look over at the door on instinct. when you see her, your stomach flips. is that her? you had to do a double take.

it is esmee. her eyes lock on yours instantly, and for a second, it’s like no time has passed. the familiarity, the memories, all come rushing back. you miss her, but the weight of your last conversation—the fight—hangs heavily between you both.

you don’t move. you don’t know if you should, and maybe she doesn’t either, because she hesitates before walking over. you freeze before you see her stop at the counter.

you took a deep breath before she gets her flat white and walks over.

when she finally reaches your table, you see that same spark in her eyes, but there’s something else now. something different.

“hey,” she says, her voice soft, almost tentative, as if she’s afraid of how you’ll respond.

you raise an eyebrow, trying to keep things light. 

“esmee, how did you even find me?”

she offers a small smile, a little suspicious. 

“we never turned off each other’s locations on our phones.”

that breaks the tension for a moment, and you can’t help but laugh. 

it’s such a typical esmee thing to say. well for you, as someone who is the closest to her. she never fails to make a heavy moment become lighter. you shake your head at the absurdity of it all. 

“of course.”

she sits down across from you at the wooden table, and suddenly, the reality of everything hits. you’re both here in barcelona. after all this time, all the distance, somehow, fate—or maybe something else—has pulled you back together. 

it feels like you’re supposed to be here, like you were always meant to end up on the same team again. it hasn't been too long since you were both at psv. your contracts ended at the same time and you had a bad feeling that it would've been your last time together.

it wasn't.

“so…” esmee starts, her fingers fiddling with the edge of the napkin in front of her. “i heard the news.”

you nod slowly. “yeah. barca. i guess it was inevitable, huh?”

“inevitable,” she echoes, her gaze dropping to the table before lifting back to meet yours. 

“we were always supposed to end up here together, it was our dream.”

the silence stretches between you both, and it’s not uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. there’s so much unsaid, and you know it. she knows it. 

the past months have been complicated. after the women’s world cup, after that game against the netherlands where you scored that header, after you told her that you weren't going to represent the netherlands on the senior level, things between you two were…different.

“you were mad,” you say softly, cutting through the silence.

her eyes darken slightly, and she nods, not bothering to deny it. “yeah, i was.”

“because I celebrated my goal?”

“because it felt like you were celebrating more than just a goal,” she admits. 

“it felt like you were celebrating the fact that you chose them over us. over me.”

throwback to july 26th, 2023

it’s the 62nd minute, and the game between the u.s and the netherlands is 0-1. the tension is suffocating—this isn’t just any group stage match. 

it’s a battle between two teams who were in the finals of the last world cup. the netherlands want revenge.

for you, it’s personal. you are dutch and american. your mother was born and raised in eindhoven, while your dad is an american who studied there then met your mother.

while growing up, you considered yourself to be dutch. you never lived in the united states. however, you've wondered what it was like to live over there.

at the age of 8 you met your bestfriend, esmee, at a soccer club. the both of you grew up, joined psv together, and played for the dutch youth teams together.

when your father expressed how he wanted you to chose the uswnt when you reached the senior level, you didn't count him out. the team was the best in the world.

the 2019 world cup solidified your decision to represent your father's side of the family. however, sometimes you think about the other world where you chose the dutch team instead of the americans.

you jog back to your position for a corner kick being taken by rose lavelle, feeling the weight of the moment settle on your shoulders. 

your heart pounds in your chest, and as you glance toward the dutch goal, your eyes flicker briefly to the orange clad figure on the left. esmee. 

she’s looks at you briefly, her expression unreadable. for a split second, it’s like time slows down. you remember the late nights practicing at psv, the laughter, the way she used to tell you that you’d both dominate the world together one day.

now, you’re on opposing sides, thanks to you choosing your other nationality.

the whistle blows. you snap back to the present, focusing on the corner being taken. 

the ball soars through the air, heading toward the front post. you leap, eyes locked on the ball, and your timing is perfect. you rise above the defenders, connecting with the ball in a powerful header that rockets past the dutch goalkeeper.

goal!

for a moment, the world stops. then the noise of the crowd hits you like a wave, and you’re running, arms outstretched in celebration. your teammates swarm around you, shouting, grabbing your jersey, jumping on your back. 

you can hear julie yelling for you and lindsey clapping you on the back with a proud grin. it’s chaos—pure joy, adrenaline, and pride.

but as you slow down, turning back toward midfield, your eyes find esmee again. 

she’s standing there, watching, her expression unreadable at first. in the moment that you look away before turning back, you see it: the hurt. the disbelief. you know it’s not just about the goal. it’s about everything else.

you swallow the lump forming in your throat and try to focus on your teammates still celebrating around you, but esmee’s look is burned into your mind. 

she goes back on the left-back then stands, her hands clenched into fists by her sides, it looks as if she’s frozen. you see her teammates—players you grew up with on youth teams—pat her on the back, but it’s clear she’s not hearing them.

it’s the celebration that did it. you know it. the way you threw your fists in the air, the way you smiled at your teammates like this goal was everything. 

to esmee, it wasn’t just a goal against the netherlands. it was a statement, a reminder that you chose the united states over the netherlands, over her.

as the game resumes, you push the thought to the back of your mind. you have to stay focused. there’s still time left, and the dutch team isn’t going to back down easily. but every time you glance in esmee’s direction, it stings. 

you see the frustration in her movements, the way she presses forward with even more intensity than before. she’s angry—at you, at the situation—and it shows.

the game ends and its tied. the rest of her team is exhausted, but she doesn’t even wait for the usual post-match handshakes and shirt swaps. she walks straight down the tunnel, disappearing from view, and a pit forms in your stomach.

you want to go after her, explain that the celebration wasn’t meant to hurt her. but deep down, you know this moment has been building for a long time. 

the decision to play for the united states on the senior level, the arguments, the silence between you two—it’s all led to this. 

in the locker room, your teammates are quiet, they’re focused on the next match. 

your thoughts are stuck on esmee. you stare down at your phone, wondering if you should text her, try to explain. but what could you say? what could make this better?

back to the barcelona cafe, a month later

you blink, taken aback by the raw honesty in her words. 

you’ve had months to think about it—about what it meant when you chose to play for the uswnt, about how your dad had always pushed you to follow in his footsteps. but you didn’t think esmee would take it this personally.

“esmee, it wasn’t about that,” you say, voice soft, almost pleading.

“you know it wasn’t like that.”

it was your first goal for the national team. it happened to be against your other country, the other country that wanted you to play for them too. 

your mother is dutch, and your father is american– so you had a tough decision to make.

esmee shakes her head, and for a moment, you think she’s going to argue. but then she sighs, leaning back in her chair. 

“i know. but it hurt. i wanted you to play with me and for the oranje. i wanted us to play together, like we always did in eindhoven. and then, when you celebrated after that goal…it felt like you’d forgotten everything we’d had.”

“i didn’t forget. i could never forget,” you say, and it’s the truth. you haven’t forgotten a single moment. 

“but esmee, you know how much my dad wanted this for me.” 

“i know,” she whispers, and there’s pain in her voice. 

“but i wanted you to want the same things i did. i wanted you to choose me.”

her words hit you hard, and for a second, you can’t respond. this is about more than just football, more than just a decision you had to make when choosing a national team. 

it’s about the two of you—about what you’ve meant to each other all these years.

“esmee,” you start, leaning forward, trying to make her understand. “it wasn’t about choosing them over you. you mean everything to me. i-i didn’t even realize—”

“that’s the thing,” she interrupts, her voice trembling slightly. 

“i was upset because i always want to be around you. it was selfish, maybe, but it’s the truth. i thought…i thought i was going to lose you when you chose them. what if you didn’t choose to come to barcelona? what if i didn’t? we wouldn’t see each other anymore..”

you frown, confused. “esmee, you’re never going to lose me. what are you talking about?”

she bites her lip, her eyes searching yours, and suddenly, it’s like all the walls she’s built up come crashing down. her hands stop gripping on her coffe cup and goes to gently hold your right hand instead. 

you froze.

“i’m talking about how i feel about you,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. 

you feel your heart skip a beat, and for some reason, her confession doesn’t surprise you. 

it’s like you always knew, like a part of you had been waiting for her to say it out loud. she’s been your best friend for years, but deep down, maybe you always knew there was something more.

the left-back never made her crush on you a hidden secret. she was never outright, but her actions towards you spoke for itself. 

“es…” you start, but you don’t know what to say. so instead, you reach across the table, gently taking your other hand and holding hers.

she looks at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable, like she’s terrified of what you’ll say next.

“i like you too,” you say softly, your thumb brushing over the back of her hand. 

“i think i always have.”

her eyes widen even more, but there’s a soft smile playing on her lips now. 

“really?”

you nod, giving her a small smile in return. “yeah. really.”

you stand up slowly, moving around the table, and she doesn’t pull away when you lean down and press a soft kiss to her forehead. 

it feels right and natural, like something you should’ve done a long time ago. you wanted to, but you didn't know how she felt about you then.

nobody was present in the cafe instead of the barista who was too focused on making drinks, so you didn’t feel embarrassed to kiss her.

when you pull back, esmee smiling up at you, and for the first time in months, you feel like things between you two might finally be okay.

“so…barcelona, huh?” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

esmee laughs, that familiar sound you’ve missed so much. “yeah. looks like we’re stuck together again.”

you grin, squeezing her hand gently. “good. i wouldn’t want it any other way.”

my masterlist is here if you want to read more!

[sylveon-official]

thoughts on angel's heartbreak

viv has already said that angel is gonna get his heart broken sooo

i imagine husk pushes a boundary. we've already seen husk push angel's limits quite a few times. he's obviously really judgmental and i think that's one of his biggest flaws. it almost seems like a defense mechanism, that because he's already given up on himself, he doesn't want to waste angel's potential and so he's harder on him.

we've got tons of examples of this in masquerade, with husk calling him fake. and even in welcome to heaven when angel is considering taking drugs, husk totally plays a guilt trip - "go ahead if you wanna mess up all your progress, i just thought you were better than that"

i think that's how the 'heartbreak' is gonna happen. angel can't believe he's got a someone like husk in his life and he's so smitten, coming to terms with his feelings for husk and tentatively getting hopeful that they're reciprocated. like husk has built him up enough to the point that angel feels he can break down his walls around him, so they're getting closer, more flirtatious in a really sweet way, sometimes even a little touchy.

so imagine them being at this stage, where angel so fully trusts him, which is a big deal for him. and then angel fucks up real bad. he's been clean for almost 6 months and him and everyone else in the hotel are super proud. but after a hard day in the studio he just breaks and goes on an all night bender. like he's out so late husk starts to worry and texts him, but all he gets is a belligerent phone call like "huskYYY BAaaby don' worry i'm jus' out w the girls from the studio u should be here miss yoo-" and then some guy cuts in like "angelbaby, i thought you were gonna show me a good time?" and angel's like "mmm oh ya cmere daddy~" and the call cuts off.

husk is fuckin pissed, not just bc angel is off the wagon after making so much progress, but he's also jealous. like they were obviously heading in the direction of something more, or so he thought, but here's angel back to his old self-destructive habits, getting fucked up and fucking random guys.

the next day, husk finds angel passed out on the on the couch. usually he would wake him up with breakfast or coffee if he knew he'd had a long night at the studio, but this time he just rolls his eyes and gets to work on the bar, maybe stuffing glasses back into cabinets a little louder than usual.

that wakes angel up and he's like, "huuusk what the fuck couldya keep it down?"

"it's almost noon. don't you have something to do? or someone..." he mumbles the last part, but angel hears and is wide awake like, "fuckin' excuse me?"

"what? you don't remember callin' me last night? sounded like you scored a real charmer"

angel is stalking up to the bar getting embarrassed and defensive, "wtf? since when do you care who i'm fuckin' in my free time?"

"i guess since it obviously wasn't a choice you made entirely sober! what were you thinking?! you were clean 6 whole months, and you gave it up to what? snort coke off of some hunk's abs?!"

angel's mouth drops open and he doesn't know what to say but his heart stings. he knows he fucked up real bad, but it was a hard day and he guesses old habits die hard... it's his first real attempt at getting clean, and of course he's disappointed in himself. and honestly, he was planning on talking through it with husk, but now...

"well that is just rich coming from you," angel says, shaking, rolling his eyes in the direction of husk's bloody mary.

"yeah, well, i'm not the one trying to get into heaven-"

"fuck off with that shit husk! you don't think i know i fucked up?! i'm not an idiot! you don't gotta keep that line in your back pocket for every time i screw up! i already know it's fuckin' pointless, you don't need to keep reminding me, asshole, get over yourself!" and he starts storming off upstairs, eyes welling up.

husk does feel guilty, and wants to continue the conversation, but he's still firmly of the belief that if angel just pulls himself together, he's a shoo-in for redemption and it's frustrating to see him self-destruct after making more progress than ever before.

"angel, wait-"

"NO, fuck you husk!" angel turns around, tears streaming down his face, pointing an accusing finger. "i thought if anyone could understand, it'd be you! i know everyone else is gonna be disappointed in me, but you-" he pauses, gulps down his tears and steels his face, "i guess i don't know you as well as i thought i did" and then storms upstairs.

then angel would have a few consecutive weeks of totally self-destructive behavior on a whole new level than anyone else at the hotel had ever seen. maybe he even moves out of the hotel and back in with val, having given up not only on himself and his grand delusions of getting clean and redeemed, but also his "stupid school-girl crush" on husk.

this turned into something way longer than i intended lol, but my point is that since angel is gonna experience heartbreak we know it has to involve husk, and with husk's habit of guilt-tripping angel... i think it will need to blow up at some point and be seriously discussed.

i also think we need to see the 'it gets worse before it gets better' side of recovery bc obviously it's unrealistic that now that angel is a serious resident of the hotel, his addictions are just gonna magically disappear. and i think that's gonna cause some misunderstanding and turmoil with not only husk, but also our main cast.

[nycreid]

Lover

spencer reid x popstar!reader

H/T means hometown

part 1

SPENCER IS STANDING IN THE VIP TENT next to many celebrities but as Y/N knows them, her best friends, Lily Rose-Depp, Gigi Hadid, and more. Spencer feels out of place, this isn’t his usual Saturday night, until he started dating Y/N. Spencer did get acquainted with her friends, they’re easy to talk to, this just isn’t his scene.

Spencer is dressed in concert merch, a pastel pink hoodie that reads ‘THE DAYLIGHTS TOUR’ and a pair of black trousers, again, something he usually doesn’t wear but for Y/N he would wear a garbage bag if it meant it would support her.

As Spencer waits for Y/N to come out and perform, he sees a fan trying to throw something into the tent. Spencer leans closer and sees it’s a bracelet- and it’s for him, he takes the colorful beaded bracelet from the girl and thanks her. The bracelet reads “KING OF HER HEART” in white beaded letters with pink and yellow beads surrounding them. Spencer smiles and blushes, knowing the bracelet is a reference to her song about him, “King Of My Heart” , Spencer slips on the bracelet proudly.

“Did you just get your first friendship bracelet?” A voice appeared next to him, it was Y/N’s mom. Her parents turned up to the concert as well, it was in her hometown, of course they weren’t going to miss it.

“Y-yeah I did.” Spencer nods nervously, he’s talked to her mom many times. Why is he so nervous?

“You’ll have a wrist full by the end of the night, it’s something you get used to.” Y/M/N chuckles and shows her wrist, she’s already accumulated at least 10 and the concert has barely started.

Spencer chuckles and hears cheers and screams before he can reply to Y/M/N and notices Y/N is rising onto the stage. The lights illuminate her glowing skin and make her eyes pop in the best way possible, the stage design doesn’t overpower her but make her stand out. Spencer is entranced and she’s barely been on stage for 30 seconds.

“WELCOME TO THE DAYLIGHT’S TOUR! It feels good to be back in my hometown!” Y/N giggles into the microphone, “To start off, I just want to say thank you for joining me today and taking time out of your day to attend.” Y/N smiles.

More cheers erupt as she speaks and you can see her grinning ear to ear, Spencer smiles as she speaks and is in love with how passionate she is about her music and her fans but he can’t help but feel hot and overstimulated by the humid weather and loud cheers.

“Now I have a question for you H/T, have you ever been in love?” Y/N alluding to her hit song, Lover (also written about Spencer). The backtrack to Lover starts playing and she brings out her guitar and the backup dancers and singers pool onto the stage.

Spencer blushes as her friends in the VIP tent tease Spencer and nudge him, ‘This is your song man!’, he even heard but he’s too out of it to notice someone said anything.

“We could leave the Christmas lights up ‘til January and this is our place, we make the rules.” Y/N sings and strums on her guitar as she searches for a certain face in the crowd, before looking over in the VIP tent and seeing a familiar tall curly haired man. Y/N practically lightens up even more as she sees him, she maintains eye contact with him while singing his song. She’s basically singing it to him.

Spencer blushes as he keeps the eye contact, he feels his worries go away as she sings (basically to him). The fans singing along and the cheering tune out as he can only focus on her, he feels more calmer as he listens to her soothing voice. How did he get so lucky?

“Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand? With every guitar string scar on my hand, I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover.” Y/N sings and very obviously points to him and casually goes back to strumming as if she didn’t turn Spencer into a pink blushing mess.

“You’re as pink as your hoodie, aww!” Gigi giggles and snaps a picture for Y/N to show later, Spencer chuckles and feels his heart grow for Y/N by the minute.

The rest of the concert goes by with long flirty glances by her, more eye contact, and Spencer recording half of it to put in his Y/N 💝 photo album. The concert finally ends and Spencer’s wrist has gained 15 brackets on each wrist and 20 more in the tote bag he brought for Y/N with her ‘after concert essentials’.

As the fans depart from the stadium, Spencer, her parents, and her closest friends go backstage to see her. Y/N runs backstage, not even taking out her microphone and earpiece, immediately running into Spencer’s arms.

“I missed you! Sorry, I’m kinda sweaty right now.” Y/N mutters into his chest with her arms wrapped tightly around him.

“It’s okay, honey. You were amazing up there! You took my breath away.” Spencer kisses the top of her head and rubs his hands on her back. Spencer is a germaphobe but he doesn’t pull away from her, he doesn’t mind her germs.

Her parents and her friends pull up in a golf cart later and she converses with them and pulls them into hugs as well.

“I think it’s time to call it a night!” Y/N sighs and says her goodbyes to her friends and parents. “See you guys tomorrow!” She’s performing one more day in her hometown.

“Ready to go?” Y/N takes her hand in Spencer’s, and he nods.

—

IN HER HOTEL SUITE, Spencer and Y/N are comfortably cuddling in bed after a fresh shower together and in pajamas and are on twitter looking over the videos after today. Y/N would be staying at her parents house since she’s in her hometown but her team suggested a hotel room so transport and makeup is faster and easier.

Y/N giggles, “Wait look at that tweet!” She clicks on it. The tweet reads ‘he is DOWN BAD but like i would be too…’ followed by a video of Spencer watching Y/N perform with a lovestruck smile.

Spencer chuckles a little embarrassed, “Like this is new news? Everybody knows I’m in love with you, Y/N L/N.” Spencer pecks a kiss onto your forehead.

Y/N blushes and playfully swats him away, “Oh stop it.” She bites her lip, trying to hide that painfully obvious smile.

“No matter how hard you try to hard your smile, your pink cheeks sell you out.” Spencer lightly pinches her cheek and laughs.

Spencer noticed Y/N rubbing the King Of Her Heart bracelet he got, “I promise to be delicate with your heart for as long as I live.” Y/N smiles and brushes a kiss against his cheek, “I know.” She says with certainty.

—

lmk what you guys think!! pls tell me other songs popstar!reader would make if u guys are getting tired of the taylor swift songs + references! and don’t be afraid to send asks 😉😜 AND TYSM FOR SO MUCH LOVE ON THE LAST POPSTAR!READER FIC

[woso-dreamzzz]

Shirt Swap IV

Pernille Harder x Child!Reader

Keira Walsh x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You finally meet Keira Walsh

You've spent the weeks running up to the group stages of the World Cup with the Swedish girls - for one of the first times in your life - but you flip flop between Morsa and Momma when you want to.

This is one of those times.

Momma's been put into a group with England, meaning Leah's team, meaning Keira Walsh.

It was a struggle this morning for Momma to put you in her Denmark shirt instead of a Keira Walsh England one.

Your Denmark loses and, even worse, Keira Walsh goes off injured. Your grandparents cover your eyes when it happens so you don't see her get stretchered off but you remain antsy the entire match afterwards, especially when Momma gets into a few scrapes herself.

You're allowed out of the box and onto the pitch when it's over and you tentatively approach Momma, pulling on her shorts.

"Does this mean Denmark stops playing?" You ask, biting at your lip.

"No, princesse," Momma says," So long as we win our next match, we can finish second in the table and get through to the knockouts."

You nod, pulling at your jersey. "So you're not too sad?"

"Only a little sad," She confirms, taking your hand with a smile," Come on, princesse, I think Rikke has some skildpadder just for you waiting in the locker room. How about we go eat our feelings?"

You smile as Momma brings you into the tunnel. "Morsa says that's unhealthy."

Momma winks. "I won't tell if you don't."

You giggle and nod, holding Momma's hand tightly just in case she really is upset about the loss and needs comfort.

"Luce!" Someone from the England side snaps," I can walk!"

"You're on crutches!"

"Yes! And I can walk!"

Momma seems a bit confused at the upset and hurries you along a bit quicker, hand moving to your shoulder to force you ahead of her and further down to the Denmark changing rooms.

"Hey! Wait! Harder, wait up!"

Momma stops, shoving you behind her a little bit. When you peer out from behind her legs, Keira Walsh is standing there. She's on crutches and looks to be in quite a bit of pain.

"Keira Walsh," Momma says neutrally, still keeping you pinned to her side," How is your knee?"

"Not good," Keira Walsh replies," It'll get better." She seems a bit distracted and she smiles down at you before looking over her shoulder. "Luce, G, mind helping me out here?"

Lucy Bronze and Georgia Stanway (you recognise her because Momma says that she plays at Bayern, where you all are going to be moving to after the World Cup) hold onto her as Keira Walsh takes off her shirt.

She smiles at you again. "Hi," She says," Er...Aitana sent your mums a picture with me in it. I...er...I heard she sent you some of my shirts as well."

You nod, stepping out from behind Momma.

"Well...here, I'd like you to have this one too."

"Really?"

"Course. Anything for my biggest fan."

You take the jersey and Momma helps you put it on.

You look up at Keira again, smiling. "Thank you."

Keira's smiling at you too even though she looks unsteady on her feet. "You'll have to return the favour one day, huh? When you're playing in a World Cup, I'll want your shirt too, okay?"

"How about that, princesse?" Momma says. She kneels down next to you, a hand on your shoulder. "Keira gives you her shirt now and you give her yours when you play at the World Cup. Seem fair?"

You nod. "Yeah!"

"I'll look forward to it," Keira says," I think that I'll be your biggest fan when you're older."

Your face grows a little bit red under the praise and you shift on your feet a little bit to dispel your excitement. "I don't know if I can give you my jersey when I win," You say a little apologetically," Because I already said that I'd give that to someone else. Maybe when I beat England though."

Keira laughs. "That's good by me."

Georgia Stanway laughs too. "It won't in a few years when she's scoring past us."

"I don't score." You shake your head quickly. "I save. Like Zećira."

"A keeper then," Keira says," Even better. I've never had a keeper shirt."

"I'm gonna be the best keeper," You say.

Lucy Bronze laughs and yells out," Oi! Mearps! Take off your shirt!"

Mary Earps, who has begun to make her way down the tunnel, frowns. "That's a terrible pickup line."

"Not for me," Lucy says," For Pernille's kid. She's going to be a keeper when she grows up. Says she's gonna be the best."

Mary Earps is a very good goalkeeper and, a bit like Keira Walsh, you're slightly star-struck. She smiles easily at you though and strips her shirt without a second thought, passing it over to you.

"Thank you," You say, practically whispering as you hold it tight in your hands. She's smiling at you and you feel a little bold wearing Keira's shirt and holding Mary's. "I'm going to be better than you."

It sets off a howl of laughter from Lucy and Georgia and a wry smile from Keira.

"God, I hope so, kid. I'll hold you to that."

"I will!"

Mary laughs too and crowds into your space as Momma snaps a photo before sending you off to the locker room to have your skildpadder.

"I think you all just made her week. It's all she's going to be talking about. I don't know if she'll sleep tonight."

Keira winces. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Magda's got her tonight."

[stereksimp]

*Scott has just been saved and they are all leaving the church.*

Stiles: He made me leave him to go save you. He's dead. He's really dead, and I never told him that I love him. Scott, I lost my chance.

Scott: You'll be OK buddy. I promise and hey maybe he's not dead. For as long as we have known him he has not been easy to kill.

Stiles: Yeah, because I have been the-

* A large black wolf slams it's body into Stiles knocking him onto the ground and proceeds to lick his face. Stiles squirms and pushes but this wolf is not moving.*

Stiles: What the fuck is happening! Where did this wolf come from? Who's wolf is it?

*After the wolf has licked every inch of him face and neck at least twice it flops down on Stiles and shoves his snout into his neck, and starts purring.*

Scott: *Trying his best not to laugh.* Buddy I think that might be your wolf.

Stiles: *Fingers mindlessly carding through fur.* What do you mean my wolf? I don't have a wolf. Scott the only wolf I would claim as mine...is...

Stiles: Holy SHIT! Derek?? Derek is this you big guy? How did you- When did you- Can you turn back?

*The black wolf huffs in his face before slowly shifting back until Derek is laying on top of him human and very naked.*

Derek: Hi *the biggest smile splits his face*

*Stiles mouth drops open and he just stares for a few minutes as everyone else decides to leave the 2 alone for a bit. Maybe get Derek some close?*

Derek: *He stares at Stiles, listening to his heart jackrabbit in his chest, and smell his emotions go through all the stages of grief in record time then happy then pissed then awe.* I love you too.

Stiles: *Suddenly confused and pissed.* You what? When the fuck did you learn to full shift? How dare you say that now after everything we have been through you choose post dying to tell me!

Derek: I figured it out when I was nearly dead. I saw my mom. She whacked my head and told me to get over myself and go to my mate. That I was torturing myself for no reason. I tried to tell her that my mate didn't love me but she just gave me this look she did when she was alive that said 'you are and idiot but I love you'. Then she roared at me and I snapped awake as a wolf.

*All the confused anger melted off Stiles' face after the first scentance and now he just stares up in awe and what Derek now realizes is Love.*

*Stiles reaches a tentative hand up to Derek's cheek and when his hand touched Derek's eyes close and he leans into the touch. He slides his hand back, carding his fingers through soft hair until his hand is on the back of his head. Then he slowly brings Derek's head down until their lips are just ghosting together.*

Stiles: *whispers softly* Of course I love you dumbwolf.

*Derek pushes the last distance and kisses him with all the love he can.*

*There is an awkward cough behind them that makes them pull apart.*

Scott: This is beautiful and I'm so happy for you guys but the rest of us would like to go and none of use want to see Derek's naked ass.

*He tosses clothes on top of Derek.*

Stiles: Speak for yourself Scotty-boy.

Derek gets dressed and instead of leaving with Braden he goes home with Stiles and they make a plan together to find and kill Kate Argent.