#this happened in stakes also hey

[pluvio-floret]

huh

[larabar]

How will they react once they find out that Metal is a roboticized version of Sonic? I'm curious

not my au or theory or anything but ! i would lovee for it to go like this. sonic is the only one to know. maybe eggman, maybe sonic finds out while at his base, but i think itd be nice if it was just something sonic knew

as for his reaction. whats the word. empathy? anger, at eggman? its not good for eggman, thats for sure. he and metal's interactions would be very different afterward. i need them to be friends (still fight/race each other)

[pankomako]

are there any indie animated sitcoms? i feel like all the indie cartoons ive seen have some sort of big plot, all action and drama, none that are purely episodic and low-stakes

[obstinaterixatrix]

was rereading Ameagari no Bokura ni Tsuite again because it’s a solid fave. I know however long ago I was talking about how I thought the family dynamics were really interesting especially with the tension and sympathy between the li and his mom and how it feels like a relatively grounded take on a caretaker with some kinda mental health stuff going on and how li as an adult struggles to navigate it. also I think it’s a fun example of a cheerful and straightforward character having emotional complexity, I like how the mom thing interacts with how he sees himself in his relationship with mc.

[cocolacola]

it's 3 am and i am deeply invested in the fanon i have created for myself with my various evil british people shows

[creepyclothdoll]

The Devil's Wheel

The Devil’s Wheel

“If you say yes,” said the Devil, “a single man, somewhere in the world, will be killed on the spot. But three million dollars is nothing to sneeze at, missus.”

“What’s the catch?” You squint at him suspiciously over the red-and-black striped carnival booth. You’re smarter than he thinks you are– a devil deal always has a catch, and you’re determined to catch him before he catches you. 

“Well, the catch is that you’ll know you did it. And I’ll know, too. And the big man upstairs’ll know, I ‘spose. But what’s the chariot of salvation without a little sin to grease the wheels? You can repent from your mansion balcony, looking out at your waterfront views, sipping a bellini in your eighties. But hey, it’s up to you– take my deal or leave it.”

The Devil lights a cigar without a match, taking an inhale, and blowing out a cloud of deep, sweet-smelling tobacco laced faintly with something that reminds you of rotten eggs. If he does have horns, they’re hidden under his lemon yellow carnival barker hat. He wears a clean pinstripe suit and a red bowtie. No cloven hooves, no big pointy fork, but you know he’s the Devil without having to be told. Though he did introduce himself.

He’s been perfectly polite. 

You know you need the money. He knows it too, or he wouldn’t have brought you here, to this strange dark room, whisking you away from your new house in the suburbs as fast as a wish. Now you’re in some sort of warehouse, where all the windows seem to be blacked out– or, maybe, they simply look out into pitch darkness, though it is the middle of the day. A single white spotlight shines down on the two of you. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” you say. “I bet the man is someone I know, right? My husband?”

“Could be,” the Devil says with a pointed grin. “That’s for the wheel to decide.”

He steps back and raises his black-gloved hand as the tarp flies off of the large veiled object behind him. The light of the carnival wheel nearly blinds you. Blinking lights line the sides. Jingling music blares over speakers you can’t see. The flickering sign above it reads:

THE DEVIL’S WHEEL

“Step right up and claim your fortune,” the Devil barks. “Spin the wheel and pay the price! Or leave now, and a man keeps his life.”

You examine the wheel. 

The gambling addict

The doting boyfriend

The escaped convict

The dog dad

The secretive sadist

“These are all the possible men I can kill?” You ask, thumbing the side of the wheel. It rolls smoothly in your hand. Then you quickly stop, realizing that this might constitute a spin under the Devil’s rules. He flashes a smile at you, watching you halt its motion. 

“Addicts, convicts, murderers– plenty of terrible options for you to land on, missus!”

“Serial wife murderer?”

“Now who would miss a fellow like that? I can guarantee that the whole world would be better off without him in it, and that’s a fact.”

The hard worker

The compulsive liar

The animal torturer

The widower

The desperate businessman

The failed musician

The beloved son

“My husband is on here too,” you say. 

“Your husband Dave, yes. The wheel has to be fair, otherwise there’s simply no stakes.”

“I know what’s gonna happen,” you say, crossing your arms. “This wheel is rigged. I’m gonna spin it around, and it’ll go through all the killers and stuff, and then it’s gonna land on my husband no matter what.”

“Why, I would never disgrace the wheel that way,” the Devil says, wounded. “I swear on my own mother’s grave– may she never escape it. In fact, take one free spin, just to test it out! This one’s on me, no death, no dollars.”

You cautiously reach up to the top of the wheel and feel its heaviness in your hand. The weight of hundreds of lives. But also, millions of dollars. You pull the wheel down and let it go.

Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity

Round and round it goes. 

The college graduate

The hockey fan

The Eagle Scout

The cold older brother

The charming younger brother

The two-faced middle child

The perfectionist

The slob 

Your husband Dave

Clackity-clackity-clackity.

Finally, the wheel lands on a name. A title, really.

The photographer

“Hmm, tough, missus, but that’s the way of the wheel. But hey, look! Your husband is allllll the way over here,” he points with his cane to the very bottom of the wheel, all the way on the other side from where the arrow landed. “As you can see, it’s not rigged. The wheel truly is random.”

“So… there really isn’t another catch?” You ask. 

“Isn’t it enough for you to end a man’s life? You need a steeper price? If you’re really such a glutton for punishment, I’ll gladly re-negotiate the terms.”

“No, no… wait.” You examine the wheel, glancing between it and the Devil.

You really could use that three million dollars. Newly married, new house, you and your husband’s combined debt– those student loans really follow you around. He’s quite a bit older than you, and even he hasn’t paid them off yet, to the point where the whole time you were dating you watched him stress out about money. You had to have a small, budget wedding, and a small, budget honeymoon. Three million dollars could be big for the two of you. You could re-do your honeymoon and go somewhere nice, like Hawaii, instead of just taking two weeks in Atlantic City. You deserve it. 

Even so, do you really want to kill an innocent photographer? Or an innocent seasonal allergy sufferer? Or an innocent blogger? Just because you don’t know or love these people doesn’t mean that someone doesn’t. 

The cancer survivor

The bereaved

The applicant

Some of these were so vague. They could be anyone, honestly. Your neighbors, your father, your friends…

The newlywed

The ex-gifted kid

The uncle

The Badgers fan

“My husband is a Badgers fan,” you say.

“How lovely,” the Devil says. 

Then it hits you.

Of course.

The weightlifter.

The careful driver.

The manager.

The claustrophobe.

Your husband Dave lifts weights at the gym twice a month. You wouldn’t call him a pro, but he does it. He also drives like he’s got a bowl of hot soup in his lap all the time, because he’s afraid of being pulled over. He just got promoted to management at his company, and he takes the stairs to his seventh-story office because he hates how small and cramped the elevator is.

“I get your game,” you announce. “You thought you could get me, but I figured you out, jackass!” “Oh really? What is my game, pray tell?” The Devil responds, leaning against his cane.

“All these different titles– they’re all just different ways to describe the same guy. My husband isn’t one notch on the wheel, he’s every notch. No matter what I land on, Dave dies. I’m wise to your tricks!” 

The Devil cackles. 

“You’re a clever one, that’s for sure. I thought you’d never figure it out.”

“Thanks but no thanks, man,” you say with a triumphant smirk. “I’m no rube. No deal. Take me back home.”

“As you wish, missus,” the Devil says. He snaps his fingers, and you’re gone, back to your brand-new house with your new husband. “Don’t say I never tried to help anyone.”

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[sailforvalinor]

Thoughts on my first Tarzan rewatch since I was a kid:

• Golly gee, I did not remember that both Kerchak and Kala’s very young son AND Tarzan’s parents get mauled by a leopard, it happens within the first ten minutes, and you actually SEE his parents’ bodies. Modern Disney would NEVER

• Also remember when Disney actually animated really good fight scenes, they had nail-biting tangible stakes, and they actually showed blood??? Remember when they weren’t cowards????

• REMEMBER WHEN TARZAN KILLED THE LEOPARD TRYING TO PROVE HIMSELF TO HIS ADOPTIVE FATHER HAVING NO IDEA THAT HE WAS AVENGING HIS BIOLOGICAL FATHER (AND MOTHER). REMEMBER THAT

• It’s been said before, but the effort put into the physicality of Tarzan is just top-tier—especially later into the film where he starts to mix his gorilla and learned human mannerisms. There is so much detail here and it’s fascinating

• Also, the times where they chose to make the gorilla conversations understandable to the audience or make them sound like gorillas (aka switch to Jane’s pov) is SO fascinating and does wonders for building up the “two worlds” dichotomy.

• Jane’s crush on Tarzan is SO obvious and honestly comes on so suddenly, she is delulu for days, but honestly I cannae blame her, if *I* was saved by a strong handsome wild man who couldn’t understand me but stared deeply into my eyes as if he could see my soul through them as he pressed the palms of our hands together, I’d probably fold too

• My favorite character was Tantor the elephant. WHAT a character arc, I was so proud of him

• Hey uhhhhhhhh remember how the villain of this movie died by inadvertently hanging himself and the movie indicated this by showing his dangling silhouette in a flash of lightning??? HELLO???

• Y’all like to give Ariel a hard time for giving up her voice for a man when Jane Porter permanently and irrevocably left civilized society to run away to the wilds of Africa to live with gorillas for a man she met a week or two ago who she’s still getting over language barrier issues with. I’m not saying she shouldn’t have done so, I completely support her decision, but I feel like if this movie weren’t so slept on some of y’all would have a lot more to say about it.

• In general Jane is a bit more unhinged than we give her credit for, and more power to her. She’s rapidly climbing the ranks of my favorite Disney princesses.

• And then her father joins her??? “People go missing all the time”???? LOL

• Finally, it’s been said before, but: Phil Collins, you legend. You did not have to go that hard on this film, but you did and we appreciate it so much

[yuvany]

#GIRLFRIEND PRIVILEGES

𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 and certain privileges you have becuase they love you ｡

OT7 ENHYPEN x f ! reader CONTENT / WARNING(S): fluff + est relashionship + pet names + kisses + skinship & not proofread WORD COUNT : 835 ꒰ CHECK THIS .ᐟ ꒱

( reblogs + feedback always appreciated !! )

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

Heeseung asks you if you'd like to tag along going to the studio and record a new song. You of course accept the invite happily. In the studio, you sit with the producer, observing Heeseung from behind a glass window. He puts his headphones on like he always did, and turns to you and waves him hand your way with a smile, and you blow him a kiss. "What do you think about this?" He asked after listening to the parts with him, his arm snaking around your waist as he pulls you closer to him. "It sounds good, babe." You say, and Heeseung nods, giving you a peck on the cheek.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

You had blurted out that you were craving a stake, and Jay who heard this, made a mental note for later. You returned home from a long day and slumped your weight onto the soft couch, pulling a pillow from your side onto your lap to hug as you loudly exhale and the smell of something cooking in the kitchen catches your interest. You rush over there and see that Jay had plated the table nicely, and in the oven you see something cooking. "Welcome home, babe" he says and you walk over to him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck and kiss his cheek. "This is such a delight to come home to."

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

You and him played basketball in the soft and crisp evening. Layla tagging along for her walk, now running free from the dog leash. You go and sit on a bench after becoming exhausted from running after Jake who wouldn't let you have the ball. He sees this, and calls out for you, catching your attention so that you'd look at him. "Look!" He shoots the basketball right in the basket before running over to you. "That one was for you, angel!" He cheers, and you clap with him. "I also wanna play, you know?" You point out, and Jake quickly nods before running after the ball and handing it to you with a smile after returning, his hand lingering on yours for a while.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

You had come home and heaved a sigh from your chest as you threw your shoes to the side. Sunghoon called out, wanting to confirm that it was you. You replied and made your way into the livingroom. "Hey babe, look at this." He says, and you look over at all the shopping bags he had collected during just one day. "Why so many bags, hoon?" You asked him, surprised, but Sunghoon calmly lends you one bag and says, "I really couldn't choose one thing to give you since they all reminded me of you:" You invite him into a hug and he has a geeky smile plastered on his face.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

He lets you take his hoodies without saying anything. It was as if it was something natural, an unspoken rule between the two of you. At first, he might've raised an eyebrow at this action, but now? Not anymore. When you spend time together, and he sees that you're freezing, Sunoo throws a hoodie your way. "You're freezing, take this sweetie." You pull it over your head and mutter a soft 'thank you'. When it is time to leave, you accidentally left with his hoodie on and it wasn't until you returned home that you realised it, so you called him to inform him. "No need to give it back. I want you to have it." He says into his phone.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

Jungwon has nice hair, of course. So when you guys cuddle together, him in your arms as you both watch a movie together, your fingers can't help but to be allured to his head. Your fingers comb through each hair strand, massaging his scalp and twirling it around your pointer all while your focus is on the screen. Jungwon moves slightly, and you realised what you were doing and pull your pair of hands away from him. He turns around with an arched eyebrow. "What happened?" He asked. "I thought you didn't like it babe." He giggles and says, "No way, it felt really nice actually." Jungwon hold your hand in his and guides it to his hair.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

Riki takes pictures of you, both when you ask him to and not. You and him checked out some areas in town that no one ever went to because it had been left abandoned for a while. The tunnel you two walked under looked mysterious with all the overgrown roots surrounding it. "This looks interesting." You say, and walk in front of him, letting the excitement lead you. Riki pulls out his phone and snaps a picture, and it somehow ends up really nice. On the other hand, if you found yourself on a fancy dinner, you'd ask, "Please take a picture of me, 'ki." You hand him your phone. "Of course, Pretty girl, since you asked so nicely."

[tinkerkinkers2]

The Right Decision.

By TinkerKinkers

Based on a true story

“Ugh, where is she…?”

I sat and fidgeted with my phone, desperately hoping it would ding with an update from her. My stomach hit me with another wave of discomfort, reminding me of the desperation of my situation.

As I waited, I thought back on the 12 months prior, and the events that led up to my current predicament. If I had only been more careful… I didn’t know that she was checking my phone after I’d gone to sleep every night. I can’t even imagine the wild things she found on my secret Tumblr account. I just thought she was vanilla, I didn’t think there was any way she’d ever accept the things I only thought about in secret, let alone that she’d want to participate.

But when she came home from work early to surprise me on our one year anniversary, and found me humping a pillow in a thick, full, diaper, everything changed in an instant.

“What’s going on here?!” She said as she stood in our bedroom doorway.

My jaw hit the floor, my stomach met my throat, my ears started ringing. I’m not sure how I didn’t just black out.

“Jake, I’m not going to ask you again, what are you doing? Please explain this to me, RIGHT NOW!”

I don’t even remember those first few minutes or what came out of my mouth, but it must have been mostly gibberish, I just remember how relieved I was when she cut me off.

“Just stop. I’ve seen what you’ve been looking at on your phone, I already know. I just didn’t think this was really something you wanted… I just wish you would have talked to me about this. But here you are, on our anniversary, acting like… I don’t even know.”

She dropped her head into her hands and pulled at her hair, taking a deep breath in.

“Okay, listen to me. We need to talk.” She said, looking up with resolve now. She came and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me into the living room.

I don’t remember most of the conversation, my nervous system was in full flight mode, but I was somehow glued to the sofa. I wished to be out of my diaper so badly.

“Well if this is what you want, this is what we’re going to do, but it’s going to be by my rules. Got it?” She said, somehow bringing me back into my body.

I didn’t even know what exactly what I was agreeing to, but I swallowed hard enough to finally be able to speak.

“Wait, please, I’m so sorry, you don’t have to do this though, I can stop, I promise!” I said with a tongue that felt like a brick.

“I’ve done enough research to know that that’s unlikely. But I appreciate you saying that. Also, you’ll be calling me ‘Mommy’ until I tell you otherwise. C’mon now.” She snapped back quickly.

With that she led me back into the bedroom…

—————————

“DING” My mind snapped back to the present as I looked down at my phone.

“Hey sweetie! Sorry, work went late today, I’ll be home in 30 minutes or so. How’s your diaper doing little one?”

I furiously texted back; “Mommy! My tummy hurts so bad! Please can I use the potty?!” I was desperate. I knew the rules. I couldn’t ever touch my own diapers. I knew what she would say, but there was so much more at stake today, of all days.

*DING* “Sweetie, you know the rules. Please hold it till I get home. I really do want to have sex with you tonight, especially since it’s our anniversary. But if you mess yourself, that’s definitely not happening. I’m in the car now. See you soon love. Please make the right decision.”

My fingers couldn’t move fast enough, they felt like sticks of concrete against my phone, I knew she was already driving but I had to try;

“Please!!! I don’t think I can make it!”

*Read at 4:33pm*

No response.

I waited. I went upstairs to lay on the bed, hoping to ease some of the pressure in my gut. My tiny penis strained in its cage thinking about her. Every minute drug on for hours. Each wave of pressure in my stomach stronger than the last. It was 4:55pm, and I couldn’t hold it any more. I had a last ditch plan. Maybe if she’s distracted when she gets home she’ll just tell me to jump in the shower and get ready for dinner without even checking my diaper, it wouldn’t have been too far fetched of a scenario, it’s happened a few times before, and we were already cutting it close for our reservation. She would definitely notice if the diaper tapes had been tampered with though, I learned that lesson the hard way. There was no way I was gonna miss my chance to have sex again. It’s been a long and desperate 12 months.

I convinced myself this plan could work. I moved to the floor and squatted in my droopy diaper, I felt a gap between my butt and the soggy padding, a space that I realized was about to be filled. I prayed that the probiotics I’d been taking would minimize the smell, if so, I might have a chance at this plan actually succeeding. My legos were still strewn about on the floor where I was playing earlier, I stepped carefully to avoid the sharp pieces. I grabbed my teddy bear, happy that he still happened to be there for me, holding him somehow gave me some reassurance. Just getting into position started to relieve some of the pressure. I tried to relax and give a slight push. Instantly, it felt like I had released a soft slick submarine into the thick damp diaper around my butt. The padding resisted the push initially but my mess quickly softened and filled every bit of space within my diaper, pushing the padding even further out from my skin. I winced as I felt my shame simultaneously spread from the top of my but to the tip of my cage. Another wave of cramps hit me. I tried to breath through it. I didn’t think my diaper could hold more but I didn’t have a choice at this point, my body gave way and released more soft goo into the back seat of my already full diaper. I finally felt some relief, and exhaled deeply, burying my face further into my teddy bear…

“Oh wow….. well that was quite a show sweetie…” Her voice startled me.

My face flushed instantly at the sound of her, my heart dropped, my ears rang, the false sympathy in her tone lit my face on fire. “Oh no, please no….” I thought, “this can’t be real… How did I not hear the keys in the door?”

“Looks like someone is a stinky boy!” She said with a slightly elevated tone now.

She stepped a few feet inside the doorway and paused, hands on her hips. She saw me still squatting, knees bent, legs apart, hiding my face behind my teddy bear, trying not to move, trying not to worsen the mess I’d already made.

“Uh oh....” Her voice slightly deepening as she slowly walked towards me. I knew she wanted to see my face and make me admit what I did. She never missed an opportunity to turn me all shades of red. As she approached I could feel my pulse intensify. I was ready to say whatever I had to say to get this humiliation over with as quickly as possible. There might still be a chance to be free tonight if I complied.

She gently pushed the stuffy away from my face, taking my chin in her hand, lifting my face to meet hers.

“What happened here sweetie?”She said as she reached her other hand around me to firmly pat my bottom. I cringed and flinched as she used her palm to spread my mess even more. I hoped this would be over soon.

“It, it was an… uuhhh… accident...”

“I can see that baby boy... and smell it too.” She said with a side smile, and wrinkled nose. “Are you sure it was an ‘accident’ though?”

The smirk on her face intensified my shame. She turned and walked a few steps away from me. For a moment I thought my embarrassment was finished, that she’d release me from my stinky shame. But she kneeled down and started clearing some of the legos, making a clear spot on the floor. She lightly patted the spot she’d cleared.

“Do you wanna show me what you were building over here kiddo?” Her smile widening even more.


I was confused, what was she doing? She knows what I did, I needed a diaper change! Why did she care about the stupid legos? The realization of her intentions suddenly hit me and I started to panic a little, as she started walking back towards me. Before I knew it, she held my wrist firmly in her hand and was guiding me over to the spot.

“Come on kiddo! Let’s see what you’ve been building here!” She said as she started to kneel down, my wrist still in her grasp, forcing me to squat. I instinctively dropped to both knees when I was low enough and stabilized myself with the hand that was still holding my teddy.

“Why don’t you sit down and show mommy what you were making huh?”

My ears were ringing, I was so nervous, full panic mode.

“Oh please don’t make me do this!” I thought.

I remember wishing she wasn’t so attractive, I knew she was wearing a low cut top just to drive me even more crazy, and the mini skirt… not much was left to my imagination. I felt my pathetic penis strain against its plastic chastity cage, in spite of my overwhelming shame. By now her smile had turned into a full devilish grin and she was directly in front of me.

“I uhh… I umm… mommy I… mommy can we…”

I couldn’t even form a coherent thought, let alone think of a way to talk myself out of this situation.

“Stop stuttering sweetie, use your words.”

Her eye contact was relentless, I felt like she was looking right through me. It was too much to reciprocate.

“I need a diaper change mommy.” The words dumped out of me, like they came from someone else.

“You’ll get a change when I think you need a change little one, now sit down and show mommy what you’ve been working on mister!”

There was a sternness in her voice now that frightened me a little. I had a feeling she wouldn’t take “no” for an answer, but I had to try, this was just too humiliating to accept, and I knew I’d regret it later if I didn’t at least try something. I began to get off my knees, to get my feet under me, maybe I could stand up and at least distract her.

Before I could fully stand she put her hands on my shoulders and stopped me from getting up any further.

“Sweetie, we’re not going anywhere until you do what I’ve told you to do. Now sit down!”

The tone of her voice was enough to make me realize she was dead serious. Before I could decide for myself how this would happen, I felt her pressing down on my shoulders as I caught myself slightly falling, leaning back on both hands.

My drooping diaper was now inches from the floor, she moved her right hand from my shoulder down to the front of my diaper. In any other situation, I would have expected this to mean some special attention down there, and my hips instinctively thrust into her hand. She responded with a gentle but firm squeeze and pressure, causing my tiny member to throb even harder in its cage, but I realized my bottom was getting closer to the floor as she rubbed me.

She paused just as my diaper made soft contact with the carpet, I whimpered and finally made eye contact while giving my last thrust of resistance, almost as if to say “please no…”

“Shhhh…. it’s okay sweetie, be a good boy for mommy and sit down.” She said as she continued to press down

I wasn’t prepared for what I felt. The mess was much bigger than I thought as it spread even more, slowly outwards towards the front and back of my diaper. Shame washed over me and my face was burning with embarrassment. The thick mush spreading inside was sensory overload, moving into every crevasse of my underside. My tiny penis had now grown to fill all usable space of the already small chastity tube, and was begging for more room. I groaned and whimpered again as mommy’s hand continued to apply pressure to the front of my diaper, which caused me to fully come to rest on my bottom, there was no space in my diaper left uncovered by my mess. I saw the telltale brown stains inside the leg gathers that were now desperately holding on. It felt like I was sitting down but the shifting yuckyness under me made me unsure of my seating.

“Aww there you go baby boy!” She said, her tone finally softening.

I let out a few tears as I brought my teddy up to my face again. Mommy then started to massage where her hand already was on my diaper. She knew I couldn’t help but grind back against her hand in desperation. I heard her giggle a bit, surely relishing in my abject humiliation, which in turn only made me cringe all the more, yet the inner turmoil seemed to only burn hotter as I continued to squirm and thrust.

She moved even closer to me now, I could feel her warmth and smell her perfume, in sharp contrast to my now pungent odor.

She brought her face towards mine as if too kiss me, but shifted and whispered into my ear;

“You are such a good boy sweetie. You made the right decision.”

She kissed my forehead softly before she stood back up. She reached out both hands for me to grasp.

“C’mon up now kiddo! Let’s get another diaper over that one really quick, we don’t wanna be late for dinner!”

[auroralwriting]

poker face

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

spencer and you go to the casino to find the unsub. you think he looks pretty hot playing poker.

word count: 2.0k

warnings: making out, gambling, poker face spencer aghhh

"Forensics got a fingerprint match on the last victim. Eddie Langdon. We're looking into him." You said as you walked back into the office that held some of your team members.

Hotch came in behind you, "Hey, any luck?" Emily asked.

"No, they don't want to allocate agency funds for the buy-in. I'm still working on it." Hotch replied, looking down to his phone as he got back on another call.

Rossi chuckled, "Well, I can't imagine why not. We're only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money so that FBI agents can play Texas hold 'em."

Emily eyed Rossi, "Hey, what about you?"

"What about me? What?"

"You could stake us the buy-in." Emily smirked.

Spencer sat down next to you, "Yeah, you're a best-selling author."

You nodded enthusiastically, "Don't forget a best-selling author and longtime FBI agent. You could loan us the money, or something."

"No," Rossi shook his head.

"Why not?" Emily frowned.

"One, it's against regulations, and I'd like to hold on to this job for a little while longer." Rossi began.

Under your breath, you muttered, "It's just a little violation, 's all."

Rossi just rolled his eyes at your comment. "And two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single-malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork."

"Poker chips are things!" JJ replied quickly with a smile.

Rossi just scoffed as Spencer spoke up again. "Maybe just think of it as like a new experience. I mean, at your age, how often does that happen?" Oh, no he didn't.

"At my what?" Rossi slowly turned his head to Spencer who just gulped and awkwardly looked away.

"Rossi, this may be our only chance to get this guy." You said slowly. "They government isn't going to give us the money. You're our only way to catch this killer. Please?" You paused for a moment. "And if it helps, you can just write a new book to get some more cha-ching."

Rossi sighed, "All right, fine. But I'm ignoring that last comment. I'm a decent poker player, but I can't promise that I can stay in the game long enough to--"

"You know what?" Emily interrupted. "I bet you're a great poker player, but what if we sent in Reid?"

"I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Parump because of my card-counting ability." Spencer commented as if it was the most casual thing in the whole world.

You raised your hand slightly, "Why did I not know this sooner?"

"Look, I know I'm not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not Blackjack." Rossi argued. "It's about bluffing, reading human nature, head games. It's not math."

That's when Spencer stood up, "That's not entirely accurate. There actually is a mathematical equation for knowing when to raise and when to fold. If P represents the size of the pot at the time of play, then P times N minus one, with N representing the estimated number of players in the final round of betting--"

"Okay! Fine, I surrender!" Rossi cut Spencer off quickly. "Just try not to lose all my money. Actually, you know what?" Rossi quickly spoke your name. "Take her with you, I don't want you losing all my money and if she needs to interrupt the game, then so be it."

Your eyes widened, "Rossi, I've never stepped foot into a casino in my life."

"You'll be fine!" Rossi waved it off as Spencer gave you a comforting look.

Oh, this was not what you expected at all.

Spencer and you had to get checked by security with the handheld metal detectors. Yours didn't go off, but Spencer's did. He played it off as just a pen. Thank god they accepted that.

The two of you walked in. For someone who stared at dead bodies and killers all day, this was the most nerve wracking thing you'd experienced in a while. It also didn't help that Hotch decided you and Spencer were to play a couple when you had such a big crush on him.

"Hey," Spencer muttered, "It's okay."

"Just nervous," You replied under your breath. The two of you made your way to the bar. Spencer got himself a drink, and you got some champagne. "Is it really just math?"

Spencer nodded, "Math, and a little bit of luck."

The moment you felt Spencer take your hand, you tried to pull away. "Spencer, what about germs--"

"I don't mind your germs, you're my friend. Plus, we have a part to play, remember?" Spencer muttered, locking his fingers between yours. Your heart pounded as you did the same.

"I'll observe as you play," You muttered, remembering the list of things you needed to look for to find the unsub. "I know you don't need it, but good luck."

Spencer smiled at you, the comment being just so sweet and innocent. "Thank you." You looked so nervous, so out of place. It made Spencer notice you more.

Spencer had taken a seat at a table, which you stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder. Your hands rested on the back of the chair. So far, no one caught your eye, until one man at another table did. Casually, you poked Spencer and he caught onto your stare.

"You know, would it be all right if I sat at table two instead of four? I have a pre-glaucoma condition and the light's kind of bothering my eyes." Spencer called over the employee, who took him to the desired table.

The men didn't just eye Spencer as he sat down, you noticed they eyed you too. Defensively, you wrapped your arms around Spencer's neck from behind. "Ah, I'm calling." One of the men said."

"I'll raise." One guy said. You stared at him, noticing his red eyes. Weird. "Eight thousand."

"Eight thousand.. That's, uh, fifty-six months wages for the average person in Bangladesh." Spencer commented casually. In reply, you giggled and played with some of hair, pushing it out of his face. Spencer hoped you didn't feel his face turn hot under your fingers. "Uh, kind of makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Hey, it's eight thou to you." One guy remarked. "Now, are you in or are you out?"

Spencer sighed, "I.. am in. And I raise."

"Three raise? That's too rich for my blood." The guy sighed. One man, the one who raised before Spencer, bored holes into him.

"Are you in, sir?" Spencer asked.

"I'll call."

"Call?"

Spencer flipped his cards, "Straight."

Based on everyone's reactions and Spencer's coy face, straight was a very good thing. Playing the act, you kissed Spencer's forehead and squealed lightly, deciding to stroke his cheek for a moment. "A gut shot straight draw? Are you kidding me?"

"That is just-- that is nuts."

It was no wonder Spencer was banned from casinos. Spencer's poker face was good. He simply just covered his mouth after a moment and stared, watching everyone's reactions. His hand slowly ran down to his chin, and in that moment, it did it for you. Sure, Spencer was your cute little nerd, but he'd never been so hot to you.

You noticed next to the man who was staring, he had an eight ball keychain. "Hey, mind if I look at this?" You asked, reaching for it.

The man was quick to grab your hand hard. Spencer jumped into action, pulling you from him.

"Hey. What's the problem, sir?" An employee asked.

"She's reaching for my chips!"

"I'm not even in the game," You remarked.

The employee grabbed your arms, "You need to come with me."

If Spencer's eyes could've gotten any wider, they would've popped out of his head. "Hey! Don't manhandle her! She can walk, let go!" Spencer ripped the mans arms off of you and pulled you into his chest. "Come on, love. Let's just go."

Spencer's words caused your chest to tingle as he guided you away. You watched as he clicked the call-device, it lit up red. The look on the mans face, your unsub, was clear. He knew.

You met up with the team as you were lead out the doors, "They're FBI agents," Hotch informed the guard.

"There he goes, plaid shirt, baseball hat." Spencer pointed.

After searching the whole casino, the unsub made a break for it. His name was Curtis Banks. You and Spencer were sent to his house to see if he was there. After a quick search, it was clear he wasn't there.

"Hey Hotch, he isn't here. There's a foreclosure sign in the lawn." You informed your chief.

"All right, you and Reid stay there in case he comes back." Hotch hung up the phone.

You shrugged to Spencer, "And we wait."

After a beat of silence, Spencer turned to you. "At the casino, you couldn't keep your hands off of me after I won." Spencer said out of nowhere. "Your physical proximity was close, you frequently stared at me--"

"I was playing my part," You argued.

"Yeah, too well." Spencer pointed out. "Were you checking me out?"

Heat rose to your cheeks, "No. Why would I do that?"

"Look at me and say it," Spencer demanded, but his tone wasn't harsh. It was simply just firm. "You won't look at me."

Slowly, you turned to look at Spencer, "I wasn't checking you out."

"You can't look me in the eyes. You've never not looked me in the eyes." Spencer continued.

"Stop profiling me," You tried to end the discussion. It was clear Spencer had caught you. You weren't interested in being turned down, especially when you were in some sort of steak-out with the genius.

Spencer frowned, "I'm not profiling you. I'm just telling you as it is."

"That's what profiling is," You countered. "We don't need to have this conversation. Was I checking you out? Yes, I was. Is that what you wanted me to say? That you looked so damn hot winning thousands of dollars with your best poker face while you let me all over you?"

Spencer said your name, but you kept rambling. It took him grabbing your chin and forcing your face closer to his to make you stop. "You think I'm hot?"

"Yeah," You stuttered. "Yeah, I do."

Slowly, Spencer trailed his finger over your bottom lip. "I always thought you were the most gorgeous girl I'd ever seen."

"Where's this confidence coming from?" You asked.

Spencer shrugged, "Gamblers frequently experience a phenomenon called the 'winning high,' it releases dopamine and adrenaline, making gamblers do riskier things than they'd normally do."

"You gonna use that high to kiss me?" Your voice was a mere mutter. Your lips were just grazing Spencers.

"Is that what you want?" Spencer lowly asked.

"What do you think?" You retorted.

Spencer's lips slammed onto your own, harder than you expected. His large hand had the back of your neck, and he pulled you impossibly closer. It was hot, just how you wanted it. Flimsily, Spencer reached to the bottom of his seat to scoot it back. His hands went to your hips, guiding you to move across the seats to his lap.

"You know, we're still on the lookout." You mumbled, pressing another kiss to the genius's lips.

"They haven't called us yet." Spencer challenged, hand running down your back to your waist.

Slowly, Spencer's hand began to creep up your shirt, just to your navel-level. His kisses descended to your neck, pressing opened mouth, warm kisses to your skin.

"Spence," You whined, grabbing his hair to push him closer. He sighed in reply.

You both jolted when your phone began to ring. You grabbed it quickly, "What?"

"Ooh, someone's frisky." Derek teased over the phone. "We got the guy. You two are all good to head back."

"Thanks, Morgan. See you back there." You hung up the phone, tossing it back to to your seat. "Looks like we have to wrap this up."

Spencer smirked, "We fly back in the morning. We'll find some time soon."

Spencer's words weren't a tease, they were a promise.

[dewwinchester]

stitches | d.w.

synopsis: dean texts you for help, and you drop everything for him.

requested by: @dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy

pairing: pre-series!dean winchester x reader

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: fluff, some angst, john winchester, blood, wounds/injury, stitching up wounds, typical spn series warnings. no use of y/n, no pronouns used!

a/n: if john winchester has no haters, i'm dead <33 also, it's currently 12am, so if the editing is a little wonky, pls forgive me

You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as you navigated through the torrential downpour hammering down around you and your car. The rain was relentless, blinding you as it pounded against the windshield. The smell of wet asphalt filled your car as the tires slipped on the rain-soaked road. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears – a mixture of adrenaline from trying to avoid a horrific car wreck and anxiety from the message still illuminating your car in a dim light.

I need your help.

It wasn’t a message you were expecting. Normally, in your line of work, pleas for help came in the form of a frantic phone call or a scream in the dark. They never came in the form of a random text message.

And they never came from Dean Winchester.

You were having a relatively normal night, working a case and staking out a couple of vamps, when your phone buzzed with several messages from Dean. First, he asked if you were busy. Then, he asked if you were nearby. Moments later, he sent you an address to a motel. Then, came the message that caused you to leave the stakeout completely and go frantically speeding down the road.

Your tires screeched as you rounded a corner. The neon light of the motel soon appeared ahead, its reflection dancing across the many puddles on the asphalt. You pulled into the first parking spot you saw and stepped out of your car. The rain immediately soaked you to the bone, wetting your hair and your clothes, sending a chill through you, but you couldn't find yourself caring as your eyes scanned for Dean's room number.

The motel was rather seedy-looking – more so than normal. The wooden palings were splitting, and the paint was chipping off the trimmings and walls. There wasn't any other car in sight. You wondered just how bad things were if Dean had found himself in a place like this.

Once you found his room, you practically ran over to the door and threw it open, not bothering to knock. Your eyes immediately landed on Dean, who sat on the edge of one of the beds, his back to you. A wave of relief washed over you – he was alive – but the sight of his tense shoulders and the untouched beer bottle in his hand kept your anxiety simmering.

You closed the door behind you and took off your saturated jacket, leaving it next to Dean's leather one.

"Hey," you said with a sigh, "You okay?"

Dean responded with a curt nod but said nothing more. You stepped closer to him and placed your hand gently on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, and you felt a pang in your chest. When you finally got close enough, you quickly scanned his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and his normally sharp gaze was clouded with exhaustion. HIs hair was wet and spiky, and his lip trembled from the cold.

Your eyes continued to trail down to his side, where his shirt clung to his skin, dark and wet with blood. Three jagged and deep gashes spread across Dean's side. His shirt was torn.

Your eyes widened as panic once again surged through you. You frantically looked around for anything you could use to stop the bleeding. You grabbed the first towel you could get your hands on and pressed it to his side, grimacing when Dean winced in pain.

"Jesus, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Werewolf," he gritted out.

"I think you're gonna need stitches."

There was no first aid kit in sight, so your mind began running through alternatives. You could go to the front desk and ask if there were any supplies, but asking for anything more than a simple band-aid would cause suspicion, and the last thing you needed was someone knocking on the door asking too many questions.

You could use dental floss. You had known plenty of hunters that used it in the past and not had a problem, but you weren't sure there were any needles…

"There's a sewing kit in the bathroom."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "You read my mind."

“One of my many talents.” 

----

Needle, thread, dental floss, tissues, water. You looked over the supplies in front of you, mind racing at a million miles an hour. Despite being a hunter yourself, you weren’t exactly a natural when it came to stitching wounds and performing first aid. In fact, the sight of too much blood caused your head to throb and your legs to go numb.

Dean had already taken off his shirt, leaving you to see the full extent of his injuries. The gashes started at the top of his ribs and curled around to his left shoulder blade. Blood continued to trail down his back, causing your mouth to go dry. Pins and needles tingled your toes, and the room began to spin…

You shook off your thoughts and shifted your weight between your two feet, hoping to get some blood flow back there. You put your thoughts and discomfort behind you and prepared to begin. 

“This isn’t gonna feel great,” you said, trying to control the shake in your voice. 

“Not my first time,” he replied. 

You grabbed the needle and thread, and – with shaky hands – tried your best to thread the cotton through the eye. You sat behind him, deciding to start around his shoulder. With a damp cloth, you tried your best to clean around the area, whispering apologies whenever Dean flinched. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly, using your gentlest touch to guide the needle through. 

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “werewolf.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” you trailed off. “Where’s your dad?” 

Dean clenched his jaw, and you immediately knew you had touched on a rough subject. Throughout the time that you had known Dean, you had learnt his relationship with his father was far from healthy. John Winchester was not your favourite person in the world. In fact, you and Dean had gotten into plenty of arguments about him in the past. 

“He’s not here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, continuing your stitching. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Do we have to do this–?”

“--Yes.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. The anger and tension radiating off him was palpable, his shoulders were tense and his breathing was heavy. You finished stitching the first gash, and tied the thread off with a neat little knot. Instead of immediately moving on to the next one, you moved around and knelt in front of Dean so you were eye level. You placed a hand on his right knee and traced gentle circles into his skin with your thumb. You raised your eyebrows, sending him a look that was simultaneously stern and empathetic.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

“We’d been stakin’ out the thing for weeks,” Dean began. “We finally pinpointed it to this boathouse. Dad was sure that it was in there, so he sent me in first to sweep the area.”

“And…?”

“Turns out it was a lot smarter than we thought,” Dean said, a dejected smile on his lips. “It was waitin’ there for us. Dad knew, but I didn’t.” 

“Then why did he send you in there?”

Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But the thing had me on the ground before I even realized what was goin’ on. Put it’s claws in me and ran.”

You shuddered. 

“Dad didn’t stay,” Dean continued. “The second he realised it jumped ship, he went too. Left me with my phone and wallet… I walked here.” 

“What?” 

If Dean’s anger was palpable, you were damn-near irate. You pressed your lips together, trying to control yourself from spewing all sorts of profanities. If you had it your way, you would have marched your way up to John Winchester and given him what for. You would have knocked his lights out if Dean had let you. 

You stood and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes.

"He – you? God!"

"Alright hot-head, calm down."

"No, I will not calm down!" You spun on your heel, turning to face him again. "Your own father left you for dead!"

"He's done worse."

You laughed bitterly. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Alright," Dean sighed, raising a hand to stop your tirade. "I'm okay! I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Oh yeah, you're the pinnacle of okay."

"Your sarcasm isn't helping."

You shook your head. Angry tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you were too stubborn to let them fall.

"I just wish you would understand that you deserve better," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You could leave his ass behind any time you like -"

"Oh yeah? And then what?"

You paused, and looked down to your feet. 

"You could come with me?" 

For half a second, Dean smiled. “You and I would kill each other in half an hour.” 

He was right – but you’d never let him admit it. 

“Why’d you text me then?” You asked. “If we’re just gonna kill one another–”

Dean shot you a pointed look. 

“– I’m serious.” You said. 

Dean stood up with a groan and walked over to you. You stood with your arms crossed, a slight frown creasing your brow. Nothing could be heard but the rain that battered against the windows and the thundering of your own heartbeat in your ears. 

Dean tucked a strand of your wet hair behind your ear, “You’re the first one I thought of… The only one I wanted here.” 

A blush crept onto your cheeks and you shook your head fondly. “You’re fantastic at changing the subject.” 

Dean winked, but his smooth-talking was soon replaced by a painful scowl. 

“Let’s finish this up later, shall we? I’d rather not bleed to death.” 

You helped Dean back to the bed and prepared to finish stitching him up. You knew this was far from over – with Dean, it never was – but for now, you would focus on the rain that pattered against the roof and the relief that Dean was with you, safe. 

[eff-plays]

Ok fine you guys twisted my arm (I say to a completely empty room) here's why I think Mass Effect 2 worked and Veilguard tried to copy it and failed.

First up is the complexity of the goal/plot. In ME2, the end goal was simple: Stop the Collectors from harvesting humans. Blast off through the Omega 4 Relay and probably die. Take down as many Collectors as possible before you die. Basically, shoot stuff until it explodes. It made sense that half of the squadmates were just "legendary badass", "legendary badass (green skin version)" and "legendary badass (huge tits version)." You need to kill dudes, so you pick people who are good at killing. There are a few who are better at tech or science, but they use tech and science to, you guessed it, kill dudes. Then you have a few who join due to aligning goals (Legion) or loyalty to Shepard (Tali, Garrus) or humanity/Cerberus (Jacob, Miranda), or they're literally getting paid to be there (Kasumi and Zaeed). But all of them have reasons to stick around, of various importance.

The specificity of the main plot is also relevant here, because everybody in the galaxy is like "oh humans are getting kidnapped? sucks to suck dude rip in piss ://" so it makes sense to recruit whoever you can get. You need help for an issue that (according to everyone who would otherwise help) only concerns you. So you're like "hey are you good at killing? and do you mind dying?" and most of those freaks go "yeah lmao whatever." They're self-selecting, because the cause is so specific and explicitly suicidal.

The suicidal thing also helps explain the loyalty missions, btw. They're not presented as "hey can you umm help? or I'm gonna be distwacted 👉👈" but as "hey man, these people are willing to die on your command, you should probably help them with their unfinished business at the very least." And yeah, the mechanic of "if you don't help they'll fucking perish" remains the same, but the framing is different. In ME2, you're basically helping a bunch of professionals to do this final thing before they die for your cause. It's both a sign of respect and of consideration for them as people, and strengthens your bond with them and their loyalty to you. The way it's framed means that you don't have to do this in order for them to do their job, but doing it helps strengthen their belief in you.

And because the stakes are relatively low (as far as everyone knows), of course the squadmates will respect and appreciate a Shepard who takes care of them more. Of course it builds loyalty. This person isn't just using you as a meat shield for their pet crusade, they're genuinely trying to do what's right and don't want you to die for nothing.

In Veilguard, you're literally told multiple times that you have to do their dumbfuck busywork or else they're gonna throw in the towel. Hey man can you do this thing? Or else I'm not saving the world :3c The stakes being SO HIGH while their issues are SO NOTHING makes most of them look really immature and incompetent, which clashes against the whole "gang of experts" thing. You're telling me this couldn't wait? I have to go into Lucanis' mind and figure out his traumas or else he won't ... hold a knife good? And that will doom the world because he's the only guy who can hold a knife? Okay???

ME2 presents everybody as professionals and experts in their field, but at the end of the day, they're just there to kill stuff. Remove one, and another will be found. The mission is (as far as everyone in power knows) not galaxy-threatening yet, so finding new guys to help would be easy. That's why Shep taking the time to solve their final issues means something and why it earns their loyalty. It shows that Shep cares about them as people.

Veilguard presents these people as experts in their fields, too. They're considered irreplacable in this conflict. And the conflict is saving the whole entire fucking world. And YET, that has to take a backseat to them figuring out what happened to a work colleague or Lucanis' grandma, because none of these experts can take a fucking chill pill to SAVE THE WORLD.

ME2 offers "low" stakes for the conflict and high stakes for the characters, so when it focuses on the characters' stories, it makes sense. You get the impression that it's character drama with a common goal that brings them all together. Veilguard offers high stakes for the plot and low stakes for the characters, but still focuses on the characters, so you get the sense that we're fucking around playing therapist while the world is on fire in the background, and it's presented as totally logical, because these guys can't save the world without a clear mind!! Despite being ... experts in their fields.

That's why, to me, Rook feels like a therapist while Shep feels like a leader.

Anyway, this is the formal end of the post but I wrote more on the specific character motivations of the Veilguard and why they don't work/feel trite to me and how that adds to Rook feeling like they're a therapist but it didn't fit with the rest of the post so under cut.

Another thing is that, while sometimes the problems of the Veilguard are technically higher stakes than the problems of the ME2 squad, there is a sense of "Hey do you actually need me for this?" And that I think is in part to the lacking motivations of the Veilguard. It's so unclear why some of them stick around that it becomes difficult to justify why they wouldn't just leave to fix their own issues.

(For example, Garrus asks us to help kill a guy. The guy isn't dangerous, he's not out there killing people or in possession of a superweapon ready to destroy a city. He's just an asshole and Garrus wants revenge. He could, technically, leave and just kill the guy himself. He knows where the guy is, so what's holding him back? Well, the job is. And Shepard is. Garrus wants Shep's help, because he doesn't trust himself to finish it on his own. He needs somebody to rely on, but he also knows that he can't just leave without Shep's permission, and that Shep needs him, too. Everything is on Shep's schedule, and there's no real time limit. His revenge can wait until Shep is ready to offer their help.

Neve is hunting an old rival who is a blood mage threatening to enslave her favorite city in all da world. It's pretty damn high stakes. But in my playthrough, Neve wasn't counting on Rook's help at all. In fact, she explicitly mentioned several times that she didn't. Yet, she still sat around and waited for their help. She didn't leave to deal with this on her own, didn't even consider it. But why not? What about Rook or this cause is keeping her there, especially since there's canonically time before the next big move and the issue is so high-stakes and pressing? People will die if she doesn't do something, yet she's sitting on her ass waiting for Rook, whose help she isn't counting on, to step up? What???)

Neve is introduced as being hired by Varric to find Solas, which she does. In the tutorial mission. She sticks around after Varric dies because ... she's in too deep now, I guess. She has to help save the world, you see. Even though all she wants is to go back to Minrathous and protect the people there. She wants your help to. Figure out some stuff. The famous big city detective needs the help of a person who's introduced as somebody who "thinks in straight lines" and whose nickname is probably a play on "rookie." She is not getting paid for this. She's doing this out of the kindness of her heart, even though most of her time on screen is spent dreaming of her favorite city in da world. She's not an expert in anything that has to do with the current plot, so she's in-fiction not really vital to keep around. Her role as a mage is made entirely pointless by the existence of Bellara and Emmrich. Supposedly her area of expertise is in blood magic ... despite hating it and not actually practicing it, on account of it being bad and evil. So she's an expert in killing blood mages, then?

Well, no. That's Lucanis. He's the resident mage killer ... who we find in an underwater prison, guarded by blood mages. I get there is a reason for why he was defeated, but the optics aren't great, ya know? We don't really free him as much as we lightly distract his guards, so he can bust out of the prison fully clothed and armored. He's suuper eager for revenge, but he's also been forcefully possessed. But that's okay, because we need his expertise for um. Killing mages. Which is what the Evanuris are. So this random possessed human guy will know better than anybody else how to kill the Evanuris. Sure. He decides to stick around on account of ... the Crows always finishing a contract. Who is paying him? Who is paying the Crows? His gam-gam ordered him to stay, she's basically offering us his services for freeing him. Guy is an indentured servant but acts like it's his choice, like it's an honor thing and not his grandma putting him in the toilet. And when it's time for him to show/offer his expertise in the field, he says "How am I supposed to fight a cloud?" which is fair enough, sure. But have you not fought mages before? Do you not have any reference for them doing weird shit at all? Do you not know how to disrupt rituals, break barriers? In the end, all he can practically do is hold the special knife and attempt to stick the pointy end into his target. Which my rogue Rook or Davrin or Taash chould've done. But gam-gam says to sit so he sits! It's not a very compelling motivation for this epic expert mage killer to just kinda. Stick around out of obligation. It could've been interesting, if he chafed against it or had to be won over, but he's just fine with it. It's treated as natural that this dude, who isn't even slightly an actual expert and is just a glorified knife holder and who isn't practically useful in any sense of the word, is still in the group. It's treated as natural that Rook has to go out of their way to help him clear his mind so he can hold the knife better next time, instead of just finding another guy to hold the knife. Maybe the spirit in him makes him stronger and more capable of fighting mages? No, the spirit is what made him miss in the first place, actually! So you have to help him figure it out or he'll miss again. DON'T ask somebody else to hold the knife though. It HAS TO BE Lucanis. Because he's the mage killer expert. Who missed. And can't handle mages.

Then we have Taash, who we need to kill the blighted dragons. They're the only dragon hunter around and have an encyclopedic knowledge of said dragons. Unfortunately the blighted state of the dragons that are actually necessary to kill are behaving in unexpected and different ways from normal dragons. They're literally manipulated by the Evanuris to be harder to kill. Making Taash's expertise moot. I didn't even have them in my party when I took on two dragons at once, and in fact the only dragons that Taash is presented as capable of killing are ones that they want us to kill. So this expert we recruit mostly introduces more dragons for us to kill that aren't actually threatening us in any way. The main time Taash has to show off their knowledge is when we use the dragon trap ... which was fashioned by Wardens. Who are all trained specifically to fight Archdemons. Who are dragons. That are blighted. Do you uh. Do you see my problem here. Taash also sticks around the Veilguard for inexplicable reasons. Mostly it seems they don't want to go home to their mother, which is fine, but this is a whole-ass adult, supposedly. They could go back to hunting dragons for the Lords, because they're written as too self-absorbed to really care about stepping up to the fight just for the sake of it. So despite them not really being useful in any way to the overall plot, we still have to help them figure out their gender identity, or else they won't be able to ... fight the blighted dragons. Which they couldn't fight. On account of the blight. Cool cool cool.

Then we have Emmrich, who is a professor and has shit to do. He is also presented as a Fade expert, while Bellara is somehow not, despite doing most of the Fade-related and artifact-related magic on-screen. Emmrich joins the Veilguard on account of um. Well we asked nicely, and he's a good guy, so he has to help save the world. Despite the fact that he's terrified of dying. Which he's far more likely to do after leaving his job. And the thing is, yeah, "the world might end so we need to stop that!" is a valid motivation, but if we accept it as the motivation of a central character whose plot we must find compelling, then why is it that it's only a few guys trying to save the world? This conflict is prestented as bigger than all the previous games combined, bigger than (the) Inquisition, which had literally entire armies and different branches and infrastructure for it's "smaller" conflict, and people were still volunteering and joining in droves, but here we're 8 guys? Are we meant to believe Emmrich's willingness to join the Veilguard is somehow unique to him, and that nobody else in the world would volunteer to join? When Harding exists, on the same team?

Speaking of, Harding is a character who can really get away with "I wanna save the world", because her joining the Inquisition is literally how she got into the plot in the first place. She's a joiner. She joins heroic causes. So her having this sort of bare-bones but noble motivation works. Same with Davrin. Bellara seems to join out of both curiosity and guilt, which are interesting enough reasons and come through visibly in her subplot and characterization, but more importantly, she doesn't have anything holding her back that might take priority until she finds out her brother is alive. Her sticking around also makes some sense because she's ya know. An elf mage Fade expert. Or sorry an elf artifacts expert.

I'm not saying "somebody's gotta do it!" or "it's the right thing to do!" aren't valid motivations, they clearly are, but there's gotta be more to it, especially when it comes to characters who have something to lose like Emmrich. My guy is terrified of death but he's such a good dude that he jumps into this life-threatening conflict without a second thought? But then gets so "distracted" by his wacky scientist former colleague that he needs our help figuring it out? Huh???

Um. I didn't have a conclussy for this part of the post so. bye

[rosenclaws]

Hi again! 👋

I'm throwing another request at ya since you did such an awesome job with the last fic idea I requested. (Thank you again for that)

This time with the OG Logan and all his kitty cat hair glory lol.

The reader has similar powers to scarlet witch. Like telekinetic powers, levitation, etc. Can it be a scenario where she loses connection (like how wanda feels connected to vision) with Logan and thinks that he's dead and she just snaps. The villians who claims they killed him mock her and she pulls the move like wanda did in Endgame where she's like you took everything from me, and the villians don't know who she is and she's like you will and just goes full beast mode on the villians involved.

Bonus, Logans alive, he just was knocked out real bad and sees the whole fight happen and was like wow I love her and they reunite and it ends all fluffy with a kiss, maybe a proposal? Lol 😘

Heartbeat || Logan Howlett x Reader

a/n: This was such a great request and I have to say I really loved writing this. I did. go a little angstier than I thought I would and its darker than I expected it to turn out but I really hope you like it. Your mutant name is firefly. Also. I still haven't seen the movies so I apologize if its not accurate to how the X-Men work or anything im sorry sdakfjl;

warnings: fake out death, violence, blood, killing, angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending, the reader goes on a rampage, he calls you honey, reader almost dies, creepy ass villian guy.

wc: 2.3k

"You alright there honey?" Logan's hand gently rests on your shoulder.

You're staring blankly out the jet window, watching the clouds pass by as you ready yourself for what is pretty much a suicide mission. A whole organization that had been hiding underground, dedicated to eradicating mutants.

They've studied you. Planned. They know things, your strengths, your weaknesses. A few people had infiltrated their base and what they found...It made you shiver. Photos and articles and deeply personal information.

They had photos of you and Logan.

It made you paranoid sometimes. Like they were always watching. So you had to put a stop to it as soon as possible. You didn't go on missions often. Your powers were, quite destructive. Powerful yes but not always needed but the X-Men needed everyone they could. You take a deep breath and try to smile convincingly.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Logan snorts and cocks an eyebrow.

"You're lying right through those pretty teeth." There's an air of fear in the jet. You all know what might happen if you don't succeed.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. Promise."

"Yeah they're no match for the Wolverine and Firefly." Scott teases making Logan roll his eyes. Scott just loved messing with Logan, taking any jab he can to lighten the mood.

"Can it bub." He turns his attention back to you, happy to see a small smile on your face. Logan takes your hand and places it on his chest. Your hands glow as you reach deep and feel his heartbeat.

"See?" You take a deep breath as you listen.

Sometimes you got too much into your own head. Your powers were tricky and when you got overwhelmed Logan always knew how to calm you down. The world around you fades as you focus on the beat of his heart. The rise and fall of his chest. He was your rock. The jet jolts and Logan holds onto you as you stumble.

"Think I got time for a quick smoke before we head out?"

"No you do not." Storm walks up to the two of you, she shoos Logan away who reluctantly leaves.

"We're landing in 10 minutes, are you ready Firefly?" You take a deep breath and nod.

You stare at your hands as you little particles of orange start to sprout from your fingers. You had control of your powers most of the time but they were still a work in progress but you knew that this mission was important so you couldn't afford to lose control.

Once the jet lands Scott and Storm tell everyone the plan again. This was for the future of mutant kind and there was a lot at stake. Each of you had a small usb drive that would corrupt and destroy any files still left in their system. Infiltrate and destroy all of their plans.

"Do you feel like pancakes?" Logan asks as you step out of the jet.

"What?" He shrugs and stands a little taller.

"There's this diner, open all night. Thought that after you'd want to get something to eat." You know what he's doing. Trying to make you feel better, to believe that you'll make it out alive. You can't die if you have a plans.

"Sure Logan, pancakes sounds great."

"Then it's a date." Logan heads in the opposite direction of you.

He's part of the brute force while you slip into the shadows. Still it pains you to be away from him. A storm rumbles in the distance and you hurry off to your position, afraid of what was to come. Still you keep going.

This was going to end tonight.

"Shit!" You hiss as a bullet wizzes past you.

Things had went to shit pretty quickly and it's an all out brawl now. With a wave of your hands soldiers go flying to who knows where. You sneak behind one and infiltrate his mind. Using his fears to show you exactly where the main computer was being held. He falls to the ground and you step over him as you sneak inside.

It was getting bad, you could feel it. Feel the tiredness and pain your friends were feeling. The guards fall one by one as you make it to the center console room. Exhaustion was creeping up on you. Your powers exerting every bit of strength you had. Still you knew what had to be done.

You plugged in the usb drive and watched as the system crashes, deleting every single bit of information they could have on the X-Men. Then you slowly envelop the console with your powers, crushing it until there's nothing left. You press your finger to your ear, alerting the team you had wiped their main computer in the comms. There's nothing but static on the other end.

"Guys?" You feel your heart start to race as you run out of the building.

"Hello? Anyone? Storm, Jean, Logan?" Still nothing.

Suddenly you feel this horrible, horrible pit in your chest. You stop in your tracks. Blood running cold as terrible feeling washes over you. Logan. You can't explain it, but somethings wrong.

"Logan!" You plead into your comms for him to respond.

You burst through the doors and back onto the field. Your breath hitching as you see the destruction in front of you. For any normal villain's they would have been nothing in the way of you guys, but these people knew exactly who you were. Exactly how to stop each and every one of you.

It was a losing battle.

Your eyes dart around as you send blast after blast, trying to help but with every move of your hands you feel weaker. Suddenly you hear a loud yell, you turn around to see Logan driving his claws deep into the chest of someone. You feel relieved seeing him still standing.

"Logan!" You call out to him and he looks your way. There's blood splattered all over his face and he looks worried. He runs towards you as fast as he could go.

"Get down!" He roars.

BANG

It all happens so slowly.

You look to your side to see a man with a gun aimed right at you. The exhaustion plagues your brain as you react too late. You see Logan running at you. A desperate look in his face as he jumps at you. You hit the ground and so does Logan. He rolls away and lays still. To your horror there's a bullet right in his forehead.

"Logan!" You screech.

You scramble to his side. He's not getting up. Why is he not getting up? He heals. He should be fine. His healing factor should have kicked in so why isn't he getting up. You reach out to him but someone grabs your leg before you can. Your hands dig into the ground as you're yanked back. Dragged to the center of the field.

"Get the fuck off me!" You kick your feet and scream loudly.

Your hands glow but you're face is shoved to the ground, a foot on your neck slowly stopping the air from entering your lungs. You can feel your strength draining. You try and use your powers but you can't.

"He's dead sweetheart. Think we don't know about that neat little regeneration of his?" The man above you laughs and you start to feel sick.

"We're not fucking stupid." He takes his foot off your neck and you gasp for air. He reaches down and grabs you by the neck, forcing you to turn and look at Logan.

"Where's that healing of his now?" Logan remains unmoving, you try and reach out to him. Using any bit of your power to search for him but nothing. You can't feel anything. Tears start to fall as you let out an anguished cry.

"I thought you were supposed to be strong? We heard so much about you and now look at you." He lets go of your neck and you crawl to your knees. Clutching your chest as sobs wrack your body.

"Don't worry though," You hear a gun cock behind you.

"It'll be over soon. Go ahead and say hi to your little boyfriend for us."

You look up at him and feel nothing but an overwhelming amount of pure rage. How fucking dare they. They threatened your life, your friends, your world. They took your peace. They took Logan. The love of your life, he died saving you. Your hands glow bright orange, your chest heaving as you glare at the man standing in front of you.

"Oh look at that, looks like you can do something." He sneers. You chuckle darkly. Tilting your head to the side you smile. Your eyes start to glow as you become strangely calm.

"You took everything from me...So I'm going to take it all from you." You scream as a large wave of energy bursts from your body.

A wave knocking back everyone in your radius including your team. The line of friend and foe blur as you go on a rampage. Disposing of anyone who came after you with ease.

"Firefly!" Storm calls out to you, you were becoming uncontrollable. No one can even get near you. Jean tries to get into your head but you block her out.

No one can get to you now.

They took him from you and you were going to make him pay. You stalk to the ones that were foolish enough to stay. Though they were crawling away now, pleading for mercy. It almost makes you laugh. They were showing no mercy when they planned to eradicate you and your friends. Why would you show them any now?

"That's enough!" Scott fires a beam to stop you in your tracks.

"They're surrendering." He reaches out to you but you push him away.

"I don't care." You snarl. You raise your hand and lift the stragglers up in the air. You're about to slam them to the ground but someone grabs onto your wrist.

"Stop!" The grip is tight as they spin you around. The glow in your eyes fade as you take in who stands in front of you.

"Logan?" You whisper. You try and shake your hand free but he doesn't budge.

"Let them go, honey." He says gently.

"They tried to kill you." You feel the fire come back but Logan does everything he can to calm it.

"But they didn't. They can't hurt us anymore." Still you don't move. He loosens the grip on your hand, taking your other hand and placing it on his chest.

"I'm alive, just feel." Slowly you lower your hand, softly letting the men fall as the rest of the team deal with them as you collapse into Logan's arms.

"I thought you were dead!” You cried. You rest your head against his chest, hand still gripping his suit.

“You weren’t moving and I, I couldn’t feel you.” He cradles the back of your head and holds you tight.

“I’m so sorry I scared you honey, I’m alive. Just knocked out for a little bit.” Logan feels horrible.

Maybe if he had been a little quicker you both would be okay and you wouldn’t have had to deal with any of that. He grabs your face and kisses you with an intensity you've never felt. It's sloppy and desperate but full of life. He's alive. He's telling you that he's alive.

When you pull apart there's still tears streaming down your face. Still so overwhelmed from everything. He lets you cry into his chest as he soothes you. Wiping away the tears as they come.

"I love you so much." He whispers so only you can hear.

The rest of the team watch but don’t say a word. Letting the two of you sit there as long as you need. Soon your tears dry up but you don’t let go of Logan.

It’s a quiet walk to the jet. Everyone is absolutely drained. You lean on Logan's shoulder as he draws shapes on your thigh with his thumb. Your hand rests on his wrist, pressing into his pulse just to make sure he's still breathing.

"Pancakes." You say quietly. Logan looks over in slight confusion.

"Huh?"

"You promised me pancakes," You crack a tired smile.

Logan stares at you for a moment before laughing in disbelief. The weight of what happened finally catching up to him. How close he was to losing it all, how close you were to complete destruction. The toll it's taken on everyone in the jet. The last thing on anyone's mind mind should be doing anything other than sleeping for a week yet pancakes feel like the best fucking idea ever.

"Yeah we can get pancakes honey, as many as you want." He kisses your forehead and places his chin on your head.

"With chocolate chips?" You ask playfully.

"I'll make 'em put in extra. Just for you." You hum happily as you lean in closer to him.

It's still a long flight back and one by one everyone starts to fall asleep. Soon it's just the rumbling of the plane. You look up to see Logan has fallen asleep, you watch his chest rise and fall. Just for a little bit.

He grumbles in his sleep, twitching slightly. There's a scowl on his face as he starts to shift more. Quietly you tap your fingers against his head, taking away his nightmares. He stops moving, relaxing under your touch. You smile softly as you slide your hand down to his chest.

Closing your eyes you feel his heart again. In the back of your mind swirls the horrible memories of today but you choose to ignore them for now. You close your eyes and allow yourself to rest. The steady beat of his heart acting as the perfect lullaby.

Just a steady reminder that everythings okay, there's nothing to fear anymore.

Thump

Thump

Thump

[onehoplessromantic]

Masterlist | Glen Powell

Jake “Hangman” Seresin - Tyler Owens

Updated: 11/3/2024 (link check)

!!authors!! if you want ur work removed please pm me

I’m back again with another one!!! It’s definitely not as lengthy as my other lists (yet) but I’m hoping to find some more for all three. I also figured I’d get a stake in this territory as the Glen Powell fanclub grows post-twisters. I hope y’all find what you’re looking for!

peace 💕

join the taglist here

fluff-> 🤍 | smut -> 🍋 | angst -> 🌧️ | major tw -> ‼️

Jake “Hangman” Seresin

𐚁 BROTHERS BEST FRIEND | @tongue-like-a-razor

13 parts | ongoing | 🤍🌧️🍋

Jake Seresin x Bradshaw!Reader

The trials and tribulations of falling for your brothers best friend.

𐚁 BRUISES | @ohtobeleah

8 parts | complete | 🌧️‼️

Jake Seresin x WSO!Reader

After a mission goes south, Jake finds himself captured by insurgents that show no remorse. But whats worse than knowing he failed his mission? Knowing that the Weapons Systems Officer who trusted him to bring her home safe was in the same cell as him. Collecting bruises that match his own.

themes of heavy violence, sexual assault, torture, 18+ content, minors dni, mature themes, being held in captivity, hostage style situations, main character death! whump, angst, conversations that discuss antisocial and antisemetic views

𐚁 ROCKS ARE ALLOWED TO CRACK, STARS ARE ALLOWED TO DIM | @sarahsmi13s

oneshot | wc: ~8.0k | 🌧️

jake ‘hangman’ seresin x fem!pilot!reader

everyone deserves someone to comfort them in their time of need, even the ones that always lend their shoulder.

angst, language, ptsd, description of accident, panic attack, injuries, descriptions of scars, flashbacks, fear of death, familial death (mentioned), crying, bottling up feelings

𐚁 THE WALLS ARE CAVING IN | @desert-fern

oneshot | wc: 5.5k | 🌧️🤍

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!Reader (known as honey bee/honey)

You are sunshine incarnate, the life of the party who is so free with your affection. Jake finds himself struggling to express his desire to be like you while wrestling with his past, what happens when it all comes crashing down around him? AKA Jake is both touch-starved and in love.

jake has a shit dad, angst, still fluffy tho

𐚁 THE BEANERY | @callsign-peach

oneshot | wc: ?? | 🤍

established hangman x female!reader

Jake goes from drinking the base’s stale coffee to bringing in cups from the cafe down the road from the hard deck, and the dagger squad is determined to find out why.

tooth-rotting fluff

Tyler Owens

𐚁 LIKE MOTHER LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER | @wisdomssdaughterr

oneshot | wc: 3.7k | 🌧️🤍

tyler owens x harding!reader

you had made a name for yourself in the storm chasing game; it was in your genes, being the daughter of the famous chasers jo and bill harding. tyler found your knack for knowing just what the storms thinking, a little infuriating and incredibly impressive

fem!reader, reader gets injured, mentions of blood and injuries, probably inaccurate meteorological info and medical info, angst, fluff, some hurt/comfort

𐚁 CHASE YOUR FEARS | @briefinquiries

oneshot | wc: 11k | 🤍🌧️

tyler owens x f!reader

you and your younger brother are road-tripping across the US when you encounter a tornado. Luckily, the tornado wrangler himself shows up to help.

tornados, fear, flufffff

𐚁 WORTH YOUR WHILE | @wisdomssdaughterr

oneshot | wc: 2.9k | 🤍🌧️

tyler owens x fem!reader

As the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. While you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, Tyler barreled into it head-first. But things change in the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than the safety of a newsroom.

dramatic fluff, hurt/comfort, description of tornadoes, language, description of injury, slightly inaccurate meteorological info

Glen Powell

𐚁 HEY THERE DARLIN’ | @shellbilee

6 parts | complete | 🤍🌧️🍋

Glen Powell x OFC (Billie James)

fluff, swearing, angst, eventual smut

ⓒ onehopelessromantic, November 2024

[gpcwsl]

Lia wälti x reader where reader makes a mistake in a massive game like a semi final / final but it’s very unlike her as she is always so good on the ball and the definition of calm but sometimes we all can’t help being human. Because she is a defender her one mistake leads to the opponent scoring the winner and as it’s already extra time arsenal have no time to respond meaning they lose. Once the whistle goes reader is beyond distraught (head in shirt , crying , lying on the pitch you name it ) lias heart breaks to see her gf like this she tries to shield her from the cameras and get her off the pitch asap. Reader ends up crying herself to sleep that night only to wake up to a hoard of abuse from online trolls and so called fans. Lia helps her through it but also speaks out with a statement of her own being like “r has been so important for us let’s not forget that”

Warnings: hate online, arsenal losing an champions league final, short?

Lia Wälti x Reader:

- Always Human -

MasterList

The crowd was deafening, a sea of red and white in the stands cheering Arsenal on as they played the Champions League final. The energy was electric, the stakes higher than ever. You stood on the pitch, heart pounding in your chest but mind calm as always. Calm and composed, that’s what you were known for—your ability to keep it together under pressure, to make the right decisions in moments when others would falter.

You had been here before, in high-stakes matches, and you thrived in them. But this one felt different. It wasn’t just the pressure of the game; it was the fact that Lia, your girlfriend and captain of the team, was right there with you. Her presence grounded you, reminded you that no matter what, you had someone who believed in you.

The match was tied 1-1, and extra time was ticking away. Legs were heavy, breaths came short, and minds were fatigued. Every decision mattered. You could feel the weight of it as you intercepted a pass, scanning the field for your next move.

But then it happened.

You went to play a simple back pass to the keeper, something you’d done hundreds of times, but the ball rolled awkwardly off your foot. It wasn’t the clean connection you needed, and the opposing striker pounced. Before you could recover, she was through on goal.

A split second later, the net rippled. 2-1.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. The sound of the crowd, the cheers from the opposing fans, was muted by the pounding in your ears. You froze, watching as the other team celebrated and your teammates tried to rally each other for one last push.

But there wasn’t time. The final whistle blew not long after, and Arsenal’s dream of lifting the trophy was gone.

You fell to your knees, the enormity of your mistake crashing over you like a tidal wave. You couldn’t believe it. How could you, of all people, make such a mistake? You buried your face in your shirt, hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

Lia’s heart shattered at the sight of you. She had been jogging toward you to console you the moment the whistle blew, but seeing you like this—so broken, so unlike the strong, composed woman she loved—made her chest ache.

She crouched down beside you, her hand gentle on your back as she leaned in close. “Hey, it’s okay,” she whispered, her voice soft but urgent, trying to cut through the fog of your despair.

You didn’t respond, too lost in your own anguish. Lia glanced around and saw the cameras pointed in your direction, the lenses capturing every second of your pain. Anger flared in her chest. You didn’t deserve this—not the scrutiny, not the blame she knew would come.

“Come on,” she said gently but firmly, looping her arm around your shoulders and helping you to your feet. You stumbled, still shaking, and she held you closer, shielding your face with her body as much as she could.

The walk to the tunnel felt endless. You couldn’t stop crying, your head bowed as the weight of guilt pressed down on you. Lia whispered reassurances the entire way, but you barely heard her.

Back in the locker room, the atmosphere was somber. The team was heartbroken, but no one blamed you. If anything, they tried to console you, but you couldn’t face them. You sat in the corner, Lia by your side, until everyone else filtered out. She didn’t leave you for a second.

That night, you cried yourself to sleep in Lia’s arms, her gentle words and soft touches the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart.

The next morning, you woke to a storm. Not the literal kind, but the online kind. Notifications on your phone buzzed relentlessly, and against your better judgment, you checked them.

The comments were brutal. Fans and trolls alike were blaming you for the loss, calling you everything from “useless” to “a disgrace.” You stared at the screen, your heart sinking further with every word.

Lia walked into the room with two mugs of coffee, her smile fading the moment she saw your expression. “What’s wrong?” she asked, setting the mugs down and sitting beside you.

Wordlessly, you handed her your phone. Her jaw clenched as she read the comments, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “This is ridiculous,” she said, tossing the phone onto the bed.

Tears welled up in your eyes again. “But they’re right, Lia. I cost us the game. I—”

“No,” Lia cut you off firmly, taking your face in her hands. “You didn’t. Football is a team sport. We win together, and we lose together. One mistake doesn’t erase everything you’ve done for this team.”

You shook your head, the weight of guilt and shame still crushing you. “But—”

“No,” she said again, her tone softer this time. “You are one of the best players on this team, one of the best defenders in the world. One mistake doesn’t change that. And it definitely doesn’t change how much I love you.”

Her words broke through the fog, if only a little. You leaned into her, letting her hold you as fresh tears fell.

Later that day, Lia took to social media herself, posting a heartfelt statement:

Lia Wälti Instagram Post:

“Football is a game of highs and lows, and last night was one of the toughest moments we’ve faced as a team. But I want to be clear—Y/n has been an integral part of our success this season. Her talent, her dedication, and her calm presence have carried us through so many moments. One mistake doesn’t define her, just like it wouldn’t define any of us. We win together, and we lose together. Let’s not forget everything she’s done for this team. She deserves our support, not our criticism.”

The post quickly went viral, with teammates and fans rallying behind you. Messages of support began to pour in, and while they didn’t erase the hurt, they reminded you that you weren’t alone.

That night, as you lay in bed with Lia’s arms wrapped tightly around you, you finally started to believe her words. One mistake didn’t define you. You were human, and that was okay.