#he's supposed to be european what were we expecting

[cuchufletapl]

This is one of my favourite omake comics simply because, as a matter or fact, Ed has canonically gotten wasted out of his mind in the manga. In chapter fucking three, actually.

"Never, ever." Arakawa is so funny and for what.

#he's supposed to be european what were we expecting #we don't see him drink per se #but we see him get offered drinks by the youswell miners in celebration for now owning the mine #and next panel he's passed out on the floor with bottles around him and al complains about him barfing and falling asleep #put two and two together #fullmetal alchemist #fma #heymans breda #jean havoc #edward elric #my original post #manga #reading!

[gremlingottoosilly]

The Horror and The Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader] Medieval Fantasy AU (ch.3)

You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one.

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2| Chapter 3| you're here! AO3 Word count: 3349 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig

The empire has met you with nothing but silence. 

You don’t know what you were expecting – a quiet servant, sheltered just as much as your princess was, you had no idea of what to expect from a place that was supposed to destroy any ounce of drema you still had in your tired, weak body. For all you know, all the people from the empire had beast heads instead of human ones and ran around the cattle like barbarians they are. For all you know, the Empire could have flying carriages and the methods of transporting a message from one person to another immediately – and hoarding that knowledge to themselves, like the egoistic maniacs they are. 

But, the empire is quiet. If anything, it is as normal as your country should be – if only you stepped outside of the castle walls even once to check if that’s true or not. If only you were independent enough to take the Princess by her hand and run away to the wind, searching for adventures. If only you weren’t covered in König’s cloak, sitting heavily on your shaking shoulders, if only your legs weren’t helpless from all the long days of traveling by horse. 

— Not impressed, little princess? The emperor is wild, the emperor is rude, and terrifying. He forced you to sit beside him, pressing you closely against his chest, and you never felt weak in your life. His strong, muscular form is keeping you pinned to him, stopping you from ever attempting to leave. After your last little stunt with jumping from his horse, he held you tighter than ever – by your hand, by your neck, sometimes simply grubbing you by your shoulders and hauling you like a sack of potatoes. He isn’t soft with you, isn't fragile at all – sometimes you wonder if he really thinks that he could treat a princess this way. Makes you think that he already blew off your cover, revealing nothing but endless possibilities of torture. 

— I’m not impressed by architecture that was stolen from other countries, my lord. 

— We didn’t steal anything. They agreed to join the Empire. 

— Like I agreed to marry you, sir? 

— Ja. Something like that. 

He laughs, and you force yourself to look nowhere but forward. He is smiling, and you force yourself to not imagine how his face must look right now – you try to convince yourself that he is ugly, a freaking beast, someone who shall never be called by his name – if he was normal or somewhat handsome, he wouldn’t kidnap you, right? He would just find some other princess and ask for her hand normally. 

 The empire is big, you read about it in books – but the bordering city isn’t as impressive ad you thought it would be. If anything, people here look normal. If anything, the dissonance makes you want to scream. 

König laughs when you frown at his words and pushes you from the horse. This is a small ritual now – constantly having you in his arms, your hands are finding his shoulders in a feeble attempt at steadying yourself. He might be a beast, but you refuse to die a slow and agonizing death from a broken hipbone – you’d much rather find a good knife and…

As a servant, your most important mission is to serve – to help Princess with whatever she may need. And if her illustrious Highness could not make it to the safety of various relatives of the royal family, the only thing you could do for he is to die – so you could proceed to serve her. It would be an honorable death. Much better than screaming in agony under the Emperor. 

Alas, you were here now. The first serious stop on the way to the capital. Your personal road of shame – with your face displayed openly for everyone to see and with your broken, torn dress that was only accented by tear streaks that weren’t drying on your cheeks, you were nothing close to a wife – you were a trophy. Another conquest, another fancy name to the title, and riches that can be extracted from your country. 

Your only mercy is that the Princess isn’t here to witness your shame. Unfortunately, König is. 

— Why are you so nervous, little Princess? You should get used to the sight of your husband’s body. 

The steam filling the room wasn’t nearly enough to cover his naked glory or your broken embarrassment. You would wish for the steam to fill the whole place, to cover every last inch of his scarred, somewhat tan skin. You can see the bronze of his sun lines the way he had so much scarring on his chest and stomach that it’s almost fully white. You find yourself wanting to trace the little scarring – you find yourself stopping and nearly hurting yourself over having such silly thoughts on the matter. 

To your surprise – utter, complete shock as you could not believe what you were seeing – he was still wearing a mask. The wet sack on his face was, indeed, uncomfortable – but you couldn’t even concentrate on the sight as you were too charmed while looking at his…

The water was clear, only filled with some transparent aromatic essence that smelled like metal and some healing elixirs, but it wasn’t enough to cover what was happening down his sculpted chest, perfect waist, and large, thick legs. He is built like a tree trunk, larger than any man you knew – which only made you oh so aware that you will not survive the wedding night. There is no way anything that is close to whatever was peeking from his spread legs would fit into you. Not that you know too much about reproduction anyway. 

— It’s… perverted. To see you like this. 

— Ach, meine Liebe. It’s natural for husband and wife.

— We’re not married yet, Your Highness. 

— Might as well be. I’m not letting you go anywhere. 

Despite his antics and confident demeanor, Emperor was…nervous. A little bit, yes, anxiety creeping to his form while he was too distracted by looking at your scared face and trembling hands – he knows that you’re a princess, a being with a fragile mind and weak stature. You can think that he is ugly – that his body, maimed on the battlefield and belonging to the war, not the bedroom, resembles more of a monster than the one of a husband. 

You can faint right now – he can see the trembling of your hands, the way your lips are quivering and shaking. You were crying almost the whole ride, only stopping to eat or argue with him, and while he adores your pouty face and miserable expression, it only made him understand more just how dangerously fragile you are. 

All the battles he fought, and now he is scared of what his bride will think of him. 

— I’d advise against looking at old soldier like this, Liebe. I might get…ideas. 

He laughs, but there is underlying anxiety behind this laugh. You look at him, blink a few times, heat spreading across your cheeks. You used to bathe the princess, so various toiletries and elixirs are nothing new to your sight. Of course, König doesn’t use rose water and fragile colored salts – his bath smells like pinewood, like blood and metal, nothing you were used to. 

You aren’t sure what traditions the empire has, but you never heard that the wife is supposed to bathe her husband – especially if said wife is a princess. Your hands are used to work, you can almost imagine a princess playing in her marble bath as you go around with cleaning cloth and make sure she doesn’t have to even lift a finger – but you suspect that acting like a loyal servant would only break your cover of a spoiled, treasured creature. 

— Ideas? What are those, your royal…

— Call me König. 

— I won’t call the name of the conqueror. 

— But you’re fine with calling me Your Highness. Full of contradiction, princess. 

You call him like that because it helps you to pretend that everything is fine. That princess is here with you, that you are going to bathe her for the evening, then take on her precious jewels to warm them up before they would go on her body – that you could do everything for her, whatever she needs. That your life still has a purpose other than lying and hoping for a quick death. 

But, König is perfect in the bath – you can’t pry your eyes from his muscles. Not a statue worthy, exactly, because they would spend too much marble on a statue of his size – but you beg to allow yourself to trace his scars, blue veins, little tan lines that were going all the way down his…

— I won’t force you to bathe me yet. 

— I appreciate your modesty. May I leave? 

He laughs, turning away from you. Showing you his back – predators would use it as a sign of assigned weakness, but you are mesmerized by even more scars covering him. Just how can a man survive this many stabs in the back? Almost made you want to put a few new ones, just as a little treat. 

König turns away from you and, with a swift motion of his hand, removes the wet hood from his face. You look away immediately, not wanting to look in the face of a monster – putting human features into your nightmares would break you fully. He chuckles softly, tracing his hand to yours – not allowing you to leave, no matter how much you wanted to simply ran away. 

— Wash my hair first, little princess. This is empire tradition, ja? 

— It’s a work for…

You bite your tongue before you can say “servants”. You tried to play the role of a spoiled brat, and not having to work felt nice – but you can only see the long, wavy red hair running from under the hood, free of containment. You want to touch the fiery locks, play with them and put some flowers inside – the urge to care for someone, to do your job as a royal dog, is rooted deeply in your body. 

— A wife must serve her husband, no? Come on, put your royal hands to work. — I believe you have servants for this. 

— I do. And I want you to wash my hair. — It’s really…

— I’d love you to wash some other things, in that case. My hair isn’t the only thing that is long. 

You gulp, trying desperately not to slap him. König is crude, like an old soldier – because he is one, as you are reminded constantly. Not a fragile and attentive prince from your dreams, but a horrible monster who’d love to simply use you like a freaking…a freaking something. His wife, you’d say before, but the princess and royal consort won’t be used like a lowly servant. Nothing in your soul stirs again, washing him whole – and this is why you’re nervous. The desire to serve is going to break your cover. Break you.

God, his hair is beautiful. 

Long and thick, ginger with hints of early silver – you could touch it the whole day, trace every lock, and play with loose strands. Maybe putting them in braids, just about a billion of them – he’d look perfect with touches of gold and bronze, with something to accent the beauty of his hair, something for…

God, you almost started to like him. Or, more naturally, his hair. Same thing – and terrifying at it. 

You gently flush his locks with warm water, feeling the softness under your fingertips. This is a job you’re familiar with – you braid his hair with surprising ease, playing with the softness as much as your heart desires. If you close your eyes, you can almost pretend that you’re with your princess, cheering her up with some silly stories and fairytales you both were reading like a holy book. If you close your eyes, you could almost pretend that the world will end when you open it. 

But, the emperor – your emperor, if nothing would happen to prevent it – wants you to look at him. But, he is securing his face with a second, thinner mask that doesn’t intrude into the process of washing his hair. You don’t ever try to peek at his expression, too terrified of him actually having scales and furr – even though you can see his skin fully, and it doesn’t resemble the one of a monster. 

— Don’t close your eyes, little princess. 

— How could you…

— Good soldier always pays attention to his surroundings. Water is a perfect mirror, meine Dummes Mädchen. 

You don’t know what he just called you – and, quite frankly, you couldn’t care less about the opinion of a person who kidnapped you, who endangered your princess and tried to force her into marrying him, an old bastard of an emperor, the worst person imaginable, the…ah, but he does have great hair. And you are just a sheltered lady in waiting, frail maiden with no prospects of romantic love – even as much as stealing a glance at the stable boys when you were of their age would make Princess incredibly jealous. 

Now you have the full attention of the one whose hand in marriage was the most feared and the most desirable – and you don’t know whether you truly want to dismiss it, or to give it a…ah, no, you’re daydreaming again. Perhaps all this work on his hair made you delirious, made you think he may actually be a decent human being. To hell with him and to hell with his gorgeous, fiery hair. 

Hair that you…already made into a thick braid. You were thinking too much, dwelling on the past like an old lady of the castle – and now, the nostalgia for having to braid princesses’s hair is almost unbearable. You took the aromatic oil – even more pine with a rich, expressive scent that made you wince. 

Emperor laughs, a little rumble coming from his chest. He touches his hair, thick fingers going into even thicker locks. You were expecting to be killed for such frivolity – then you remember that, oh god, you are not a servant anymore. Husbands have their ways of disciplining disobedient wives, as you think from rare romantic books you were able to get from the library, and you don’t even want to imagine what those ways could be. 

— You’re good with your hands. I wonder what else you could play with. 

— I can play lyre and piano. 

— Ach, what about flutes? 

The implication makes your cheeks burn. You can’t tug his hair in fear of the punishment, so you simply huff in frustration and start dropping oil beads into his hair. It’s a surprise for such a manly and strong soldier to have scented oil in collection for his bath – if anything, you thought he would be a murderous beast who never takes a bath and prefers to wash his hair in the blood of his enemies. Alas, he smells of pinewood and clean water – you force yourself not to push his hair up to your nose, inhaling his essence. So different from the rose oils and flower extracts you were using for the Princess, but…perhaps you miss your old life too much. 

König stirs nervously in the bath. He knows that having a scented oil for his hair and body isn’t something that he usually does – his manliness is coming up with little cries of frustration every time he smells the essence on his skin. It’s not something a soldier should not – maintaining his hair in empire fashion, long and wavy, is hard enough, taking too much time to prepare in the morning, and comes as a horrible challenge in battles – but he sees the way your face lit up when you took his hair into your hands and, well…god, he is getting sappy over a little princess. It might just be his downfall. 

He is anxious about your opinion of him – not because he thinks you really have a choice in marrying him, but because he doesn’t want you to hate this marriage. He got quite a few concubines who loved his rank and even more enemies who hated his guts yet were still available for pleasure – but you, his dearest bride, shouldn’t hate him. Not too much, at least. 

— What do you think? 

— About what, Your Highness? 

You speak those words so quickly, it’s a surprise for him. Is the king, your father, so strict that his beloved daughter had to always address him by his title? Do you hate König so much that you force that abyss between you and him with ease at the click of your tongue? 

Your hands are good with washing his hair, your manners are excellent for someone who grew up spoiled and pampered – he thought that he’d have to spank the brattiness out of you and buy your affection with expensive gifts, but so far, you were just a sassy mouth and smart tongue. 

You are…weird, for a princess. Really, really weird. 

— About the essential oil. Not so soldier-like, ja? 

There is nervousness in his voice. It’s absurd – he had fought countless of battles, but he is scared of what this spoiled girl can think of him. He is the ruler of the largest empire on the continent – yet he is as scared as a little boy just stepping into knighthood. You’re making him soft, and he almost wants to drown in your touches, eat from your hand and force you on your knees so he can bury his head between your legs and show you what a real treat feels like. 

— I don’t think there is anything wrong with smelling good, Your Highness. Unless you appoint your fighting abilities with smelling like a wet dog. 

— You like it. 

— I am fine with it. As far as I’m aware, I should not touch your naked body before the wedding. 

— You’re lucky I adore your pouty face too much to whip you. 

— I’m glad that I’m lucky then. 

He can’t take it – not with your adorable expression and shaky hands, not with how tender you were with his hair, like he was made of glass. He is the strongest fighter in his country, the one who managed to capture dozens of terrible supernatural beasts – yet he never had anyone touch him so…softly. Your fingers are delicate, your touches are gentle, and he feels almost fragile. None of the rare concubines ever came as sincerely in their desire to please him – even when mixed with hatred. 

He grabs your hand and pushes you to the bath with him – the expensive nightgown he had gifted you when you came to the bordering Empire city is now heavy with water. You whimper immediately, all the sass escaping your body when he first touches your collarbones, your wrists, traces your burning face, and forces you to look at him. König almost rips his mask from his face, only stopping because he wanted to show himself at the wedding – as to not ruin the surprise. 

You try to run from his hold, wet clothes clinging to your body, revealing way more than you wanted to – every curve and trace of your figure is now open for him to devour. His burning desire is evident in the water – so you don’t look in between his legs, deciding to simply turn away even as he pushes you closer to him. Like a little kid, and you feel…

This is so like the old times, with Princess and her little pranks – and you can’t help but sob into his chest, the overwhelming recognition that nothing will ever feel quite the same as before. He soothes you with a hand on your back, making you hide your face in his chest and cry to all your heart’s content – the smell of pine wood filling your nostrils, further speaking on how utterly alone you are. 

You sob in his chest, allowing your emperor to touch you as he pleases. For some reason, you find comfort in this. 

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod

[so-so-woso]

i wanna be the one | part 1

Edit: Changed title. Thanks to Dru for the suggestion. From the song "Things We Never Say" by the Bad Bad Hats. Great song, potentially relevant maybe who knows.

Summary: Reader is an English-American GK who joins the Arsenal squad and ends up in an interesting back and forth with Leah Williamson. This chapter is mainly set-up for the future. The vibes will probably be very different going forward lol

Warnings: Angst, swallowing self-doubt, and mentions of parental death in the first section.

Word Count: 3,284

London felt just like Seattle. You were expecting it to feel different, more European (whatever that meant), but when you stepped out of the airport and that familiar January rain hit your skin, it was a welcome feeling. It wasn’t quite Home – you hadn’t had one of those in a long time – but it was definitely welcoming, and nice enough that you didn’t bother with an umbrella. It would’ve been hard enough trying to carry one along with all your bags anyway, although by the look on your driver’s face he really wished you had at least tried. It was nice that the team had sent a car to meet you, especially since you didn’t really know anyone here that well, but you supposed they would do that for any new signing. The driver helped you get your bags into the car and then you were off to the club to dot some Is and cross some Ts to make everything truly official.

Wistful thoughts crept into the back of your mind as you were chauffeured through the streets of London, and you decided for the first time in a long time not to fight them. Not here, anyway – not now. Not after everything it took to get you here. Get you here again, technically. You were born in London after all, and raised in Sheffield where your mother had grown up. Your father was an American, from Dallas, who came to England for graduate school and stayed for the woman he fell in love with. He often teased her about “real (American) football” but she converted him to Sheffield United fan, though he would never admit it – at least not until you were born. Match days became a family event as soon as you could stand up on your own, even though you were still too young to really remember anything at that point, but by the time you could run you wanted nothing more than to play. You were always bigger than the other kids so they made you play with the boys, but you knew a lot of the women’s national team players had played on boys’ teams growing up, so you didn’t mind it. You were never upset about that, but you were upset when they made you move to the goalkeeper position when you were eight. It was the boring position and you never got to do anything, but you were the only kid on the team who didn’t seem scared of the ball when it came flying at you, so the job fell to you. Many years later, it would prove to be the right choice, but for a while you thought it felt like a punishment from the universe. Then you found out what that kind of punishment actually felt like.

You were only eleven when your parents died. It was a car accident; your mom was driving. She took the brunt of it and was gone by the time the ambulance arrived. Your dad was in the hospital for two days, but he never woke up. You had been in the back seat. Heavy bruising, a busted ribs, broken collarbone, and a big gash across the side of the head was it for you. You were in the hospital too, for a while. Your paternal grandmother came all the way from Austin to pick you up and take you to live with her. Your mom’s parents had been gone for a while now, and GiGi – what you had called your father’s mother – was all you had left. You had only met her a few times before, but you didn’t really have another option, so across the pond you went.

It would be a massive understatement to say that Texas was different from Sheffield. It was truly a whole different world, but kids are resilient enough. You were famous for a while, because of your accent, and then you were weird for a while, because of your accent, and then eventually you became just one of the kids. Your GiGi was supportive as well, more than you had expected her to be. You didn’t know much of the specifics as a kid, but you knew she and your father had had some sort of falling out and weren’t as close as they had been when he was younger. You always thought it had to do with him choosing to stay in England rather than come home to America. When you got older it seemed like maybe there was more to it than that, but GiGi wouldn’t talk about it. She did help you get into therapy, so that you could learn how to process what had happened and all the big changes that came with it. You didn’t like it at the time, but in hindsight it was probably the best thing she could’ve done. She even started trying to learn about football – soccer – too, because she knew you liked it, and she made sure to sign you up for the local league. You think maybe that time doesn’t heal wounds, but it sort of scabs them over enough that they only hurt when you pick at them, so eventually you learn to stop picking at them, and after that life became kind of normal.

You eventually played soccer in high school – goalkeeper, naturally – and were good enough to get recruited to the University of Texas. From there, the NWSL draft sent you to Seattle for the OL Reign. You spent a season as the third-string goalkeeper, then a season as the second-string, and then were presented with an opportunity you couldn’t dare turn down. It had been Kim Little’s idea, apparently. She had only played with you in Seattle for a month or so, and you never really hung out, but she knew you had grown up in England and that you had really wanted the chance to play football in Europe. She would tell you later that she was impressed with your resilience, something you had heard often growing up, and that you had a “dead brilliant reaction speed” which you guessed sounded good. So when Arsenal’s back-up goalkeeper transferred out and they were weighing their options, she suggested they give you a look. She had said it offhandedly, like it wasn’t a big deal, but you would wager she fought harder for you than she let on. You had only played a handful of games in two seasons, and while you were admittedly good, the offer from the English club still came as a massive surprise. They were up front and adamant about your status as a pure back-up to Zinsberger, and while you would’ve had a decent chance to win the starting spot in Seattle, you just couldn’t say no to European football, to England, to the Arsenal.

That’s how you ended up in the back of a dark car being driven through the streets of north London in the pouring rain. Your fingers fiddled absently at the chain around your neck and the two golden bands that hung from it while you considered everything that led you here, hoping that you made the right choice. Only time would tell, you thought, as the car squealed to a slow stop. You hesitated for a long moment before tucking the necklace under your shirt and moving to exit the vehicle. The driver met you at the car door, an umbrella extended overhead. You were taller than him, so you had to awkwardly bend your neck as he moved to close the door behind you.

“This shouldn’t take long,” he said, “Then we’ll get you home.” You thanked him and stuffed your fists in the pockets of your coat as you followed him up to the club, your stomach slowly rising higher and higher into your throat as the series of decisions you had recently made began to congeal rather quickly into a hard reality. It was some grotesque mix of nerves and excitement and fear that just fully slapped you in the face when you stepped inside the building. You hadn’t felt like this in Seattle, or on the plane, or in the car, but now that you were here, physically, it’s like everything else was physical too. It wasn’t some amorphous Choice floating in the metaphorical ether of your life; it was a foreboding Presence leering down at you, clawing at your shoulders from behind, and whispering ‘you don’t deserve this’ into your psyche. Nausea began to swell up, to the point you were just starting to feel dizzy. Out of instinct you reached forward and put your hand on the driver’s shoulder, who stopped walking to turn and see what you needed. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but was interrupted by a distinctly Scottish, “Oh ‘ey, Tex!” behind you.

You both turned to see Kim Little striding down the hallway, followed closely by Jonas and one of the other coaches. You swallowed hard, all the torturous feelings slowly fading away as you saw a familiar face. “Hey, Little Kim, “ you retorted. She scoffed and faked a jab towards your ribs before she reached up to hug you.

“Welcome to the party,” she said, stepping back to introduce the coaches, who shook your hands. They welcomed you as well and explained that the evening would be brief, they were sure you’d be tired from the flight, but just needed to finalize some things on the business side and then Kim would give a tour of the facilities. You thanked them, probably too many times, and went with them all to finish your paperwork and pick up your official training gear. Your kit wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow since they’d have to put your name on and weren’t sure what number you wanted (you picked 18 because it was available and made sense for a goalkeeper). Kim showed you around, asked about the flight, and made you feel as welcome as she thought she could. It was nice to talk to someone for a while. You weren’t exactly an extrovert, but you were Southern enough you enjoyed being around people, and being able to talk to Kim, even if it was more or less small talk, made you feel better, and by the time the tour was done all of the earlier feelings were forgotten. You started to think that maybe this whole thing was a good idea after all.

“So no rest for the weary – first training tomorrow, yeah? Text me your address and I’ll pick you up. Since you won’t have a car, Uber’s always an option, but until you get sorted, you can get rides with me,” Kim said.

“Sounds good. Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m picking you up extra early tomorrow – the girls’ll want to meet you before kickin’ balls at your head.”

“Well, I guess that’s only polite.”

You both laughed and hugged goodbye before heading your separate ways, you pulling out your phone to look up your new address to send it to Kim. This was a good decision, you thought, this was a good decision.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your apartment – or flat? – was nicer than you expected it to be. You had done a Zoom tour while you were still in Seattle and it looked fine, but you had tempered your expectations to be safe. Turns out, you didn’t need to. It was a two-bedroom and furnished with the basics, so there was plenty of space for you and plenty room to decorate as you saw fit. You had what was sometimes described as an eclectic taste by your friends, mainly because you liked to decorate with things that made you happy. That seems like an obvious thing to decorate with, but you were kind of – literally – a giant dork, which meant you had a lot of “nerd shit” as your friends would tease. You expected the Arsenal girls would do the same if they ever started coming over, but all of that would be a long time coming. Tonight, all you wanted to do was collapse into bed, which is exactly what you did.

Kim wasn’t lying when she said she’d pick you up early. At least she had the decency to bring you coffee, but she was completely taken aback when you admitted you didn’t really drink coffee and actually preferred tea. “Guess there is some English in you after all,” she had joked as she drove. She asked about your night and how you slept, and pointed out all the important-to-know shops and stops between your apartment and the training center. When you finally arrived, you asked her if she accepted tips for her tour knowledge – to which she responded with “only big bills”. You laughed as you retrieved your bag from the back of her car, and the two of you headed in.

The next few days were an absolute blur. You were introduced to everyone, and they all seemed pretty nice. McCabe kept talking about how tall you were, but from how everyone else acted that was normal. Manu was happy to have another goalkeeper in the squad despite the fact you would both technically be competing for the starting spot, even though you were explicitly hired as a back-up. At least it didn’t seem like there would be any weird hurt feelings or anything there, so you were glad for that. All your other time was spent trying to discern personality types and team dynamics, and also actually training. The coaches had told you they wouldn’t expect you to go full on for the first few days to give you time to acclimate to everything. You thanked them, of course, but that didn’t stop you from diving in head first.

By the time your official day three was over, you wished you had taken it a little easier. It felt like jet lag hit you late, on top of the normal physical tiredness of training. But that evening as the team as the team filtered out of the locker room, Katie McCabe slapped you on the back and said, “Drinks on you tonight, mate!” You turned to look at her, but before you could ask, Kim interrupted with a sharp “Katie–“

“Hold on, hold on! I don’t mean a big to-do, but we gotta welcome the newbie right, right?”

A couple of the other players voiced their agreement and Kim rolled her eyes. “Two drink maximum.”

“Four.”

“Two.”

“Three?”

“Two, McCabe.”

“Two and shots?”

“…”

“Two…and shots?”

“…one shot.”

“Fuck yes, best captain ever! You’re riding with us, Y/N!”

A mix of confusion and amusement spread across your face as you looked between the two of them, and Kim just shook her head and waved at you to go with Katie, so you let yourself be pulled away into whatever the night would bring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite telling you that you were paying for drinks, Katie was nice enough to only make you buy the shots, and despite Kim’s hesitance at you all going out mid-week, it was a surprisingly calm evening. You ended up sitting at a table with just a handful of your new teammates. Most of them were joking around with each other, teasing and taunting. You sat quietly, unsure of how inserting yourself into the dynamic would come off. You thought of a few quips throughout the conversations, but made sure to hold your tongue, choosing to sip on your beer instead.

“You always this quiet?”

You glanced over in the direction of the voice, inadvertently locking eyes with Leah Williamson. You knew who she was, obviously – won the Euros and all. What you hadn’t known was that she was even more attractive in person. You didn’t even know that was possible, but it was certainly a pleasant surprise.

“Not usually,” you responded, drawing in a breath. “Just can’t get a word in edgewise with this one goin’ off.”

You gestured towards Katie, who didn’t even register the comment. It did get a chuckle out of Steph and Foord, though, which made you relax a bit. Looking back at Leah, she was still looking at you, but didn’t seem to react otherwise. You paused for a moment, chewing on the inside of your cheek, before deciding to just go for it.

“So in the summer do you ever get a weird tan on your forehead from frowning so much?”

That did draw Katie’s attention; you could tell from the way she practically guffawed.

“Oy, she’s got you dead to fuckin’ rights!” she said, leaning over to elbow at Leah. The Aussies had laughed as well, as did Kim. Leah didn’t look impressed at the remark, but from the twitch of her lips you would swear she was biting back a smile. She had nice lips. Were you staring at her lips? Your eyes flashed back up to hers and she was still looking at you. She would’ve been able to tell where you were staring. That’s…embarrassing. You swallowed hard, and quickly looked away, taking a long swig of your drink. If anyone else at the table noticed the interaction, they didn’t react. Katie started in on you immediately, dragging you into whatever she had been talking about before, and from there you spent the rest of the evening integrating yourself into the team.

The bar was really only starting to fill up when Kim decided it was time for you all to get a move on. There was some light-hearted grumbling, but everyone was professional enough to know how to behave. You had popped into the toilet before leaving, and when you came out of the stall, Leah was washing her hands. You hesitated for a brief moment before moving up to the sink next to her to wash your own hands, the little bit of alcohol you consumed tonight just enough to embolden you.

“Man, Williamson, what kind of a world is this where you’ve got those legs and no rhythm,” you teased, quickly busying yourself with the most thorough hand-wash you’ve ever done so you didn’t have to look over at her and see how poorly she took the remark.

“You spend a lot of time thinking about my legs?”

You froze. It would seem she didn’t take it too poorly at all. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you turned off the sink and turned to look at her. She was staring at you again. Seemed like maybe she did that a lot.

“Yeah, maybe,” you finally said. She hmmed a bit and cocked her head to the side. The glint in her eye was the only thing that kept you from worrying you were being too forward, and you silently prayed it wasn’t a trick of the fluorescent lighting overhead.

“You think you’re being all charming, with your little jokes?”

“No, not really,” you shrugged. “I think I have the personality of a 14-year-old boy and it’s the only way I know how to flirt with you.”

Leah changed at that. Her posture shifted. Her shoulders dropped slightly. The glint in her eye was gone. You fucked up, you thought. You’ve been here for four days and you already fucked up.

You moved to apologize at the same time Leah moved to respond, but both of you were interrupted by the door to the bathroom slamming open and a group of girls rushing in. You turned around and pushed yourself up against the edge of the sink to get out of the way, but Leah dipped her head down and shoved out past them, taking the opportunity to escape without you being able to stop her.

Yep. You fucked up.

#woso #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #woso fanfics #woso x reader #arsenal x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson

[unholyverse]

waterparks // marvin magazine issue #10

(full transcript under the cut)

Waterparks

WORDS by HOLLY SOLEM

PHOTOGRAPHY by DANIEL PRACOPCYK

Waterparks are places you go for fun; both pools and slides and the gloriously buzzy, pop punk band featuring members Geoff Wigington (lead guitar), Otto Wood (drums), and singer/guitarist Awsten Knight, whose neon energy matches his hair. Their music leads you down sonic chutes and up rainbow ladders with four albums, countless tours, millions of listeners and a recent signing with Fueled By Ramen, the label under which they are about to drop their highly anticipated 5th studio album. MARVIN had the good fortune of catching up with Knight—who is busy prepping for a European tour, a US tour and the release of the band's new album—to talk about all that goes into creating the bubbly world of Waterparks.

The new album titled Intellectual Property features eleven legit bangers filled with anthemic choruses. psychedelic experimentation and hooky melodies all polished to a sheen. There are hints of megalithic rock bands like Muse, inspiration from The Beach Boys and the pop punk sounds we have come to expect. But as for the "pop" part, this record goes in hard with collaborations with the likes of blackbear and songwriter/producer Julian Bunetta.

I love pop music and we got an offer to write with this dude, Julian, who has credits on 95% of One Direction's discography. I fucking love One Direction. I don't want to be dramatic but let's say I've got a top 60 favorite songs, I think four or five are One Direction songs. And Julian's written on all of them. I was just like, 'I want to do what I do but with him too.' And then I made "FUNERAL GREY", "BRAINWASHED", and "FUCK ABOUT IT", with him.

For this album, the band brought in more outside alliances than on previous albums, with Knight saying. "I think I was more open to [collaborations] on this album. Other people's opinions and thoughts and stuff like that. Normally, I don't really love writing with people that I don't know very well because it can feel very sterile. You walk in and they're like, 'what do you want to write about? You're like, 'oh fuck'—because it's a personal thing." And when it comes to getting personal, Knight is also realizing that to his surprise, the more personal he gets-the more vulnerable lyrically—the more universal the message.

I feel like I used to be kind of freaked out by [vulnerability], especially earlier, on album one. I was really nervous about it and it sounds so lame in retrospect but I didn't even want to do any acoustic songs. I liked burying myself a lit- tle bit behind a big instrumental. [The song] "21 Questions" for example. I sent that along with all the other demos to Benji because I wanted his opinion and he was like, 'this is one of the best ones.' Those wind up being the favorites, which seems counterproductive because songs are supposed to be relatable. And I never feel like I'm being relatable but I try to be less selfish with the writing. I want this to be for someone else.

When Knight refers to "Benji" he is talking about Benji Madden, one half of legendary pop punk duo Good Charlotte. Benji, along with his brother and bandmate Joel, manage Waterparks after discovering them on YouTube and DM'ing them on Twitter back in 2015. Knight received the news of the Maddens' invitation to fly to LA for a meeting while working as a babysitter who gave guitar lessons.

I called the guys and we're like, 'holy shit.' So we all went and bought swimsuits because…California. And yeah, that was it. After we met them, we went back to our hotel and were just like, 'what is happening? A week ago we were still passing out flyers outside of other people's shows. And we're right here, right now. This is the weirdest shit.'

A literal dream-come-true for Knight and the band, who eventually would make the move to LA from Houston while missing its Tex-Mex and Thai food, and of course, his family. But when it comes to the weather, he's all about California. He doesn't even mind the earthquakes. He was in a rooftop hot tub during one and actually found it rather exciting. For a man who has toured the world, there's a bright-eyed innocence and almost childlike wonder to him. His seeming lack of cynicism is as refreshing as freshly fallen snow which he admits he only saw for the first time not that long ago. But now, Knight talks about having stress dreams as he and the band get ready to embark on a European leg, followed by an extensive US tour.

Here's the thing, I like to play shows and I like to meet people. The other 22 hours of the day, I like having my space. I'm pretty particular, you know what I mean? I like my zone where I can sit and just do stuff. You go from peace and quiet and doing what you want all the time to sharing a small living space and a bus with twelve people. It's basically having twelve people in your living room for two months. And you're just like, 'ah, but the shows are great' as long as the shows are fun and everyone is having a great time, that makes it worth it to me.

He's also superstitious. Around his apartment there are crystals, there are obsidian and selenite wands in front of all the mirrors. He has a healer-type person come in and energetically clear his space, insisting he throw away objects that may have "dark entities" attached. "I'm luckier than people I know. They're like, 'why is the light always turning green when you go to it? Why do you always get the front spot at the store?' I'm like, it's because I don't split the pole, you know? Can't split a pole when you're walking. There's a bunch of superstitions. But I follow them and I'm crazy lucky."

In addition to music, he recently penned a well-received book of personal essays called, You'd Be Paranoid Too (If Everyone Was Out to Get You). He plans to write a novel next and has also started a clothing line called HiiDef. that fabricates small collections that sell out fast. His enthusiasm for the line is on par with music. "If everybody made the songs that I wanted to hear, I wouldn't have to do this. The same thing applies with clothing." Passion abound, he is all smiles when discussing plans for the future of Waterparks.

How do I get to the fucking moon? I think anyone who hears this album is going to love it. Cause I think it's incredible. I'm looking at the songs right now. I'm just like, 'man, straight slappers.' Even the last song, which I know wouldn't be a single or anything-that's probably one of the best accomplishments of a song that we've ever been able to pull off. I see this album in plaques on the wall. All right, we're manifesting now.

He names his goals out loud, as one is meant to do when calling them in, mentioning things like how much he'd like to play the Redding and Leeds Festivals at sunset. Then he pulls up the Waterparks US tour schedule online while musing, "I want one of those big "Sold Out" things across all the dates. It's getting there dude. Yeah, actually, it's going crazy right now." In real time, he seems to discover that the banners that cross nearly all of the show dates do indeed read, "Sold Out". And then it's clear. Awsten Knight is lucky. But luck is really about preparation meeting opportunities and he has definitely shown up to the game prolific and prepared. Five albums in, it's clear that Knight and Waterparks have only just begun.

@waterparks

#i scanned this big ass magazine and photoshopped it back together after i found out you could buy this digitally so you better reblog #awsten knight #otto wood #geoff wigington #waterparks #i.zip #anyways story time #only reason i bought this is bc i saw this at barnes and noble at the mall and it was wayyy cheaper than if i got a physical online #$25 instore vs $30 online + $20 shipping which is INSANE but the fact that this is the size of my torso is even more insane #it's just some puff piece like the rest of the shit you'd expect from a rich people magazine that brands itself as punk #and that josh madden shilled his way into again lol

[pommedepersephone]

You Say Potato, I Say Excellent! Or blocking, dialogue and legacy of morality tales in ‘The Resurrectionists’ minisode PART I

Alternate title: how Aziraphale’s naivety in this episode was supposed to make you a bit outraged

I have to shout out to @bowtiepastabitch for their AMAZING historical analysis of this minisode - it prompted me to finish this long ramble that has been drifting in my notes. Anyway, I have a major obsession with the ways blocking and dialogue interplay in Good Omens - you can check out my analysis of the blocking in the flashbacks in S1. But The Resurrectionists is really something special. This got so long I am splitting it into two parts.��See Part II here!

I should start with three important caveats that brought me to this analysis -

If we accept that S1 is narrated by God, then I propose that S2 is being told from the viewpoint of our Ineffable Man Shaped Beings - and they are NOT reliable narrators.

All three minisodes share a feeling of being… stories. They feel like a slightly exaggerated version they might be told between two old friends sitting in the back room of a bookshop, soused off wine and whisky. Like a journal entry that you don’t actually expect outsiders to see.

All three minisodes have some relation, in style and structure, to film and literature. I'm focusing on the lit aspect here. A Companion to Owls is very illustrated bible. Nazi Zombies from Hell is a pulp fiction master class. So what is The Resurrectionists? A morality tale.

My first thought when we opened on the romantic graveyard date in Edinburgh was “OH it’s like a penny dreadful!” but it didn’t take me long to reassess. Morality tales are a genre of children’s literature that was extremely popular in the early 1800s where the minisode is taking place. But THIS morality tale itself is a more nuanced version of these stories, more along the lines of what an author important in the Good Omens universe would pen. So, first, a little bit of history behind morality tales and a very important author to know, then we get to the blocking and dialogue!

Morality Tales for Children

There had long been differing views in European circles of thought about the nature of children - were they born innately tainted by Original Sin, or were they born as blank slates? In the late 1700s to early 1800s, the view of the blank slate was winning with the help of highly influential educators like Friedrich Froebel (who coined the term kindergarten and emphasized the importance of play in learning.) 

At this same time, there was a rise in literature produced specifically for children. One of the most popular children’s genres? The morality tale. These stories showed Good triumphing over Evil and the importance of leading a respectable, Christian life. The stories were extremely binary, black and white in their presentation of morality, something which deeply influenced many authors who were raised reading them. Authors like G.K. Chesterton.

G.K. Chesterton 

Over his career, Chesterton wrote several plays, 80 books, 200 short stories, 4,000 essays, and several hundred poems. He’s an interesting guy, but suffice to say for our purposes - he was deeply Christian, and his work contains a lot of religious themes and symbolism which he used to write serious commentary on politics, economics and philosophy. If you haven’t read the book, you should know that it the dedication reads thus: 

The authors would like to join the demon Crowley in dedicating this book to the memory of G.K. Chesterton. 

In fact, Crowley says in the book that Chesterton was “The only poet in the twentieth century to even come close to the Truth." So it is probably relevant that Chesterton had opinions about children’s morality tales. He once wrote -

Many people have wondered why it is that children's stories are so full of moralizing. The reason is perfectly simple: it is that children like moralizing more than anything else, and eat it up as if it were so much jam. The reason why we, who are grown up, dislike moralizing is equally clear: it is that we have discovered how much perversion and hypocrisy can be mixed with it; we have grown to dislike morality not because morality is moral, but because morality is so often immoral. But the child has never seen the virtues twisted into vices; the child does not know that men are not only bad from good motives, but also often good from bad motives. The child does not know that whereas the Jesuit may do evil that good may come, the man of the world often does good that evil may come.

In summary, we know that children’s morality tales were supposed to teach important lessons about Good and Evil. We also know that later authors like G.K. Chesterton were aware of this genre and it influenced their writing (which in turn informs the Good Omens universe). So why pick this framework for this minisode? Because it is FRUSTRATING to watch, on purpose. We are meant to be annoyed with how Good has so little relation to right, to see how complicated doing real good can be, and it lays out a strong case for the complete inadequacy of black and white world views - and not just religious ones.

So (grabs gloves and a knife) let’s dissect the blocking and dialogue, shall we?

Part II: Blocking and Dialogue

#good omens #good omens meta #the resurrectionists #just theatre kid things #history is my jam #look the blocking has me feeling things #shades of gray

[silentglassbreak]

The plot with Jolly at the fest sound like very interesting story. I'd love to read it

I didn't get too much detail on this one, so I'm just going to run with it? First time writing for Jolly, so let's give it a shot.

**After writing notes: WOW this one went in an entirely different direction than I expected...

It just happened. I hope someone enjoys it. LOL.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Soft smut, mentions of death

Sweater Weather

Why does no one ever have the balls to tell Noah he’s being a diva?

Listen, the man is my brother. We’re family. För alltid mitt blod. I would take a bullet for him, and I have no doubt he would do the same for me.

But, sometimes, he’s so fucking irritating.

How hard it must be to have such talent and be so attractive, everyone loves you, and you work hard to maintain an image. However, taking out the stress and pressures on the only guys who also know how being in this band feels?

Noah was arguing with one of the stage techs, telling him that the image they had prepared to be behind us doing our set was wrong. He’s right, they had prepared the image of the mannequins, when it was supposed to be the album cover, but that wasn’t this poor little man’s fault.

“God, it’s not a hard fucking thing to do!”

“I’m sorry, dude. I’m putting in the request to have it switched.” The man wasn’t exactly cowering, but he was intimidated for sure.

I stepped up behind Noah, letting a gentle hand fall on his shoulder. I could feel his muscles relax slightly under my fingers.

“C’mon man. It’ll be fine. We have an hour until our set. They’ll get it fixed.”

I felt him take a deep breath, and saw how he closed his eyes to center himself. This was something I taught him.

The tech scurried away, leaving us alone in our tent.

It was so fucking hot, which was interesting, given we were in Michigan. Upheaval festival was one of my favorites. It was a smaller event, which meant a more regular experience with the fans. Usually, it also meant better food and beer vendors.

“Hey, guess what I found?” Nick came bounding into the tent, a large mug in his hand.

“Beer, I assume?” Noah pointed his attitude at Nick, who rolled his eyes in return.

“They have a beer garden! Jolly, they’ve got a Swedish ale you might dig!”

I snorted. “Guarantee it isn’t actually Swedish.” Grabbing my hat from the couch, I placed it over my long hair that was pulled back in a low ponytail, and headed for the exit.

“I will go check it out though. Folio out there?”

Nick nodded. “He was spotted, so he’s chatting with some fans.”

I smirked. “Let’s hope he can get out before the set.”

Noah turned and looked at me. “Don’t be late getting back, please! We go on in under an hour.”

Shooting him a thumbs up, I headed for the mayhem of the festival.

As suspected, there was nothing Swedish about the beer, but it did have good flavor. I stood to the right of the beer garden, sipping my mug, and people watched.

It was always so fascinating to see the mix of people who came to these shows. European festivals were one thing but American festivals? You saw everything from multi-colored hair to breasts only barely covered by mesh tops or pasties. It was a sight to behold.

After a moment of zoning out, I looked down at my watch to see I still had twenty minutes before we had to head to the stage. Noah was likely bursting because I wasn’t back yet, and I smiled to myself at the thought. He could sweat for a few minutes, would do him good.

Deciding I should at least start making my way back there, my eyes scanned for the direction I needed to go, somehow getting turned around. Eyes searching over heads and bodies, I didn’t even see the person coming toward me, knocking my shoulder directly into them as I began walking forward.

My beer sloshed over the edge of the cup, pouring foam down the girl’s arm.

“Fuck! I am so sorry!” I turned, and my eyes locked onto the face in front of me.

Wisps of natural, dirty blonde hair floated in the slight breeze, framing a tan, small face. The rest of her hair was pulled up on top of her head in a bun, tightly secured. Her eyes were lightly lined with black, mascara clinging to her lashes. Pink, full lips covered by only a thin gloss were hanging open, startled by the cold liquid on her shoulder.

“Shit! I didn’t even see you, I’m so sorry!” She apologized, wiping her arm with the sweater tied around her waist. Her white tank top was now an amber color on one side.

I couldn’t speak. She was gorgeous.

“Jesus, I’m such a fucking klutz.” She groaned, hastily grabbing napkins off of the cart behind us and wiping at her arm, and then at my hand.

When her ice blue eyes looked up at me, I felt the air rush back into my lungs.

“No, no that was my fault. I’m very sorry.”

When the realization crossed her face, I saw it like a firework exploding behind her vision.

“You’re Jolly fucking Karlsson!”

This made me chuckle. “Something like that, yeah.”

I reached a hand out, which she took graciously, smiling at me with a wide, toothy grin.

“It’s such an honor. I’m a huge fan. I was actually rushing so I could get back to see your set!”

Her words snapped me back.

Fuck.

“Oh, good! I’ve got to get over there! But, uh,” My brain was working overtime. “maybe I can find you after? You can buy me another beer?”

I let any suave I had take over, which seemed to work decently, given she blinked multiple times.

“Sure, of course!”

“Jolly!” My head snapped over to see Matt barreling toward me. “Dude we go on in ten minutes!”

Looking back, I watched as her face fell slightly, my arm now being physically pulled in the opposite direction. Being led away, I hollered.

“I’ll meet you back here!”

I was only given a nod, and a wave in response.

-

The set was electric, Noah's earlier nerves rolling off of him comfortably as he put on a show. Nick was absolutely flawless on his bass, flipping his hair over and over. Folio, as usual, lost himself in the drum beats, freestyling here and there.

I, however, was way off my game. Something about my encounter with the mesmerizing blonde earlier kept me thoroughly distracted. Over and over, my eyes swam through the sea of people in the crowd, trying my hardest to find a blonde messy bun and steel blue eyes, but it was in vain. I couldn't see anything.

I thought about her again and again, unable to shake the feeling of wonder from my bones. For whatever reason, I needed to see this girl again. Her aura, her energy, it radiated beauty, rarity, like a gemstone.

Pärla. A magnificent treasure.

The thoughts racing in my brain made me lose my focus more than once. During Nowhere to Go, I missed several notes, my guitar making an awful screeching sound. I forgot to sing backup vocals during Limits entirely, earning me a glare from Noah, and a look of concern from Nick.

I had ignored it, and continued on, my eyes still searching. It was hopeless. I would find her after. I had to.

Once Dethrone concluded, and I ran off stage, setting my guitar down, I felt a hand pull my arm, flinging my backward.

"Dude, are you okay?" Nick looked straight at me. "You drunk?"

I furrowed my brow. "Of course not."

"Well, you don't really fuck up on stage, Jolly, so what the fuck?" Noah was standing directly behind Nick, eyes shooting me down with fury.

I shrugged. "I'm sorry. I was looking for someone."

This made them both leer backward a moment. "Who?" Noah asked.

"This girl. I met her at the beer garden."

They reacted equally differently. Nick let up a sly smirk, his eyebrows raising. Noah, however, narrowed his eyes.

"You almost blew the set for some broad?"

Rolling my eyes, I turned toward them. "I didn't blow the fucking set, Noah. Quit being so dramatic."

I could see the fire burning behind his irises, which I would definitely pay for later in the form of his attitude.

"Are you fucking kidding, dude?" Noah began scolding me, but Nick held up a hand.

"Chill. Jolly never fucks up, ever." He turned to Noah, giving him stern eyes. "And the set was fine."

Huffing, Noah stomped away, throwing a tantrum like a child.

I smiled at Nick, grateful. "You know how he gets at festivals."

Nodding, I began to walk away. "Got to go."

Waving him off, I weaved through all of the people behind the stage area, making my way back out to our tent, where Davis and Matt were already packing up equipment. I grabbed a clean shirt out of my backpack, and slipped it over my head. I pulled half of my hair up in a tight bun on top of my head, and slipped on my sunglasses.

Headed back out, I noticed the sun was nearly set, and the beer garden area was almost vacant, most people over by the stages. Sleep Token had just started, so the vendors were long abandoned by almost everyone.

I found the napkin cart, and stood, arms crossed, scanning around. After about ten minutes, I had to remove my sunglasses to be able to see clearly as night was falling. A chill ran up my spine as the temperature began to drop. No sign of her, but I didn't mind waiting.

Thirty minutes.

Forty-five.

One hour.

I stood, eyes glancing around, head bobbing to Sleep Token's heavy bass and Vessel's incredible vocals. However, my mind was elsewhere. Maybe she didn't want to miss their set? Maybe she forgot where to meet? I didn't know how to find her.

I didn't even know her name.

It was a mystery, and I couldn't get it out of my head. I was going to have to give up soon. The festival would be ending, and I would have to get back with the guys, head back to the hotel. The thought made my stomach sink. Why was I so entranced with the idea of this girl? All she did was spill beer on me. Why did I insist on finding her?

"Jolly?"

I spun, much faster than I should've, on my heel, and was met with cold, freezing blue eyes, staring up at me. Her gloss was worn off, and her eyeliner was smudging ever so slightly under her eyes. Her bun was long gone, blonde hair now free-flowing down across her shoulders.

"Pärla."

Her smile was confused. "Uh,"

"It means gem. I didn't know your name, so I decided to go with that."

The blush on her cheeks was a sweet addition to that gorgeous sun kissed skin.

"I like that." She rubbed her palms on the front of her jeans. I noticed her sweater was now around her shoulders, covering the beer stain on her tank top. "I'm sorry, I know we said we'd meet after your set. I had to get one of my friends back to our hotel."

Shaking my head, I waved her off. "No worries."

"Did you wait long?"

An hour wasn't a long time, I don't think.

"Nope."

With a finger pointed at the beer garden, she asked, "So, you want that beer?"

I perused this. I wasn't much for a drink right now, comfortable with just talking to her. "You going to have one?"

Shrugging, she looked over toward the crowd. "I don't think so. I've got to get back to the hotel with my friends soon. One of them is really drunk, and is a sick mess."

My face soured. "That doesn't sound fun."

Scrunching her face, she stuck her hands in the pocket of her sweater. "It isn't. I'm pretty annoyed about it, actually."

Nodding, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I had been ignoring it for a while.

Matt: Dude, if you're coming with us, we gotta go now.

I typed a quick response.

Me: Meet you back at the hotel.

We walked around the festival grounds for a while, just chatting about different things, somehow managing to distract her from the fact that she should go back to her hotel, and I, mine.

"You're from Florida?"

She nodded. "Daytona. I hate it."

"Why? Isn't it sunny and beautiful all year-round?" I chuckled.

She joined me. "Sure, if you like a lot of drugs and alligators everywhere."

We found some benches, having a seat. I pulled a pack of smokes from my pocket, lighting one.

She stared at me, smirking. I lifted the pack toward her. "Want one?"

She shook her head. "I'm okay. Thanks, though."

Blowing out the smoke, I turned my attention back to her face.

"So why come to Michigan for a festival?"

Her eyes were lost on the crowd, amused. "Why not?" She leaned back on her seat. "I love the adventure of traveling. Seeing different cities. If I get to enjoy good music while I'm at it, why not?"

"You get to meet a lot of cool people doing it, huh?"

Looking over to me, I saw her lips turn up slightly. "Yeah, I do."

A cool silence fell over us for a moment while I finished my cigarette.

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw her head turn toward me. "It's closing."

We noticed the bodies moving past us toward the exit. I nodded. "We should get going soon."

I swore I saw a flash of disappointment cross her features, but only for a second before a look of excitement crept across her face.

"Hey, you want to go somewhere?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Where?"

Smirking, she stood, pulling at my arm. "I know a place, c'mon."

With no time to protest, she pulled me, and I had to nearly jog to keep up. I watched her hair, looking nearly silver against the bright lights at the parking area, fly behind her as she ran toward the Uber line.

We waited, and I slipped my sunglasses back on, and tried not to be obvious.

Once our turn came, she leaned forward to give the driver the address, quiet enough so I wouldn't hear. The driver raised a brow.

"I'm pretty sure it's closed for the night."

She waved at him. "Just go. It'll be fine."

With a nod, he began driving. I stared at her. "Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?"

Her teeth flashed. "You'll have to wait and find out." And she turned to look out at the darkness beyond her window.

Something inside me wasn't worried.

We walked along the boardwalk, out onto the sand. We could hear the soft waves crashing, but it was difficult to see beyond she shoreline.

"Welcome to Lake Michigan!"

The stars, bright and vast, seemed to bounce off of the stillness of the water. It was breathtaking. She bound ahead of me, slipping her shoes off and holding them. Her eyes were fixed on the water, before she dropped down in the sand, looking up at the sky.

I followed suit, taking a heavy seat next to her. It was so quiet, so calm. We weren't supposed to be here at midnight, but something in the chilled air felt so serene.

"What did you call me before?" Her voice was even, still looking at the sky.

"Hm?" I had to shake out of my thoughts.

"At the festival. You called me a name. In another language."

I smiled. "Pärla." She looked back at me. "It means gem."

A warm grin spread across her lips. "I like that." She echoed her earlier sentiment.

It occurred to me at that point, that she still had not told me her first name.

"What else do I call you?"

Her eyes narrowed, thinking. What was there to think about?

"I think that'll do."

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Her gaze turned back up to the sky. "Pärla. That's good."

"You're not going to tell me your name?" Confusion laced my voice.

Hugging her knees to her chest, her eyes transfixed on the stars, she bit her lip. "Not yet."

It was strange, but what could I do?

Silence fell over us again, but she eventually spoke up.

"Do you ever miss Sweden?"

Clearing my throat, I mimicked her body language, pulling my knees up.

"Sometimes. It's my home."

Her lips were pulled in a tight line, and I saw what looked to be a tear brimming at her eyes. "I never miss mine. I'm never going back."

"Why not?"

Turning to look at me, a slow tear rolled down her cheek, but she held a sad smile. "I'm happy right where I am."

Trying to process what she said, I struggled, because all I could feel was the urge to grab the tear with my finger, and wipe it from her face. I kept my hands to myself, however.

"So," I tried to lighten the conversation. "how long have you been a fan?"

This made a genuine grin crack across her face. "About a year. I heard you guys for the first time on TikTok. When I looked into the music, I was hooked."

I nodded, listening to the smooth sounds of the waves. "Yeah, that's how a lot of people found us."

"It's good music. I really enjoyed the new album."

"Yeah, it was fun to make."

She looked directly at me. "Do you like being in a band? What's it like?"

That made me huff out a laugh. "It's something else, that's for sure. Chaotic, at times. Rewarding, most others."

Amused, she crossed her legs under her and turned her body to face me. "What are the other guys like?" I raised a brow and she smiled sheepishly. "I'm not trying to fangirl, just curious."

Shaking my head, I turned to face her as well. "Nick is awesome. Mediator when things get tense. He tends to keep a cool head easier than the rest of us." I sighed. "Folio is...young. He's so lighthearted, and full of life. I envy that sometimes." She smiled at that.

"And Noah is..." I trailed off, choosing my words carefully. "Brilliant, but can be a lot sometimes."

"Like how?"

"Like," I intertwined my fingers. "he gets anxious. He's a perfectionist, so there's never room for error. It can be a pain in the ass, but we owe a lot of our success to it."

She nodded. "He's talented."

"Very. So, we put up with it, mostly."

Peering up at me from under her lashes, she spoke low. "And what about you, Jolly? What are you like?"

This gave me pause. How do I answer that?

"I'm..." I really had to think about that answer. "I don't know, really. I'm just, me? The guys call me the 'Dad' of the group, but I'm really only a few years older than Nick."

A hand slid over my knee, and I glanced down at it. "Well, I don't know you very well. Only from what time we've spent the last few hours, but I think you're very interesting."

Resting my chin on a fist, I considered her words. "Do you?"

"Yeah, I do. I think you're very sweet. And complex."

"Complex?"

She let out a giggle, which broke the quiet air with a sweet sound.

"Well, you got in an Uber with a complete stranger, without knowing where you're going, and now you're sitting on a beach in the middle of the night."

This made me smirk. "Point taken."

"That's shows adventure. I like it."

I focused on the ring piercing her left nostril, and the small batch of freckles on her nose. Her hair was hanging long, the moonlight illuminating it.

I felt the pull, the same one that brings the planets together. The pull that gravity is made of. Her eyes flashed back and forth between mine, and her lips parted so slightly. Instinctively, I leaned close to her until I could feel her breath against my face. It was cool, almost cold.

When the soft skin of her lips touched mine, she took a breath in, gasping.

My hand lifted to press against her cheek, pulling her closer, and pressing our lips together.

Like a lightning bolt struck the sand between us, we were lit up with energy. Her body lunged toward me, knees climbing up into my lap as she kissed me, tongue pressing into my mouth. My hands wrapped around to her back, pulling her into me, as she writhed against me.

Her hips pressed down, jeans grinding against mine, the lack of friction making it nearly unbearable. My lips kissed down to her neck, sucking and biting at the soft skin. Her hair had fallen over her face, eyes fluttered closed. Her fingers were grazing down my chest, pulling at the fabric of my t-shirt, and eventually landing to the button of my jeans.

My own hands located the access point of her pants, popping them open. Disconnecting for a moment, she pulled back to shimmy out of her jeans, leaving her in a pair of black panties, kneeling in the sand in front of me.

Staring directly into my eyes, she reached to my jeans and opened them effortlessly, unzipping them, my aching cock bulging against the fabric of my boxers. Her hand slipped to the waistband, freeing my erection. I stared at her with intent. Something in her eyes was dark, something I couldn't place.

"Do you want to?" Her voice was so small. So desperate.

I couldn't respond, so I only reached for her, pulling her face back to me. I laid her down on her back, leaning over her and letting my mouth mold over hers, one hand slipping down her stomach, to her core.

My fingers easily grazed past the elastic of the underwear, running through the soft patch of curls just underneath, until I felt the moisture of her lips between my fingers.

She moaned into my mouth as I slipped my middle finger inside of her, curling it to press against that soft, sweet spot that had her breathing erratic.

"Fuck." She breathed against my mouth. My hand was pumping her hard, a delicious wet sound nearly drowned out by the waves behind us.

"I don't have a condom on me, Pärla."

Her eyes snapped open, and she smiled. "I'm okay, if you are."

Morals? Rational thought? Responsibility? What is that?

I was okay. More than okay. This could be bad. Dangerous, even. Something in my gut - no - my soul told me that this needed to happen, and it needed to happen now.

Steady fingers pulled her panties down, slipping them off, before I hovered over her, lining the head up with her entrance.

As slow and precise as possible, I pressed in, my eyes falling closed with the vibrant sensation that engulfed me. She let out a long, deep groan with me.

"Oh God, Jolly."

I let my lips fall back down to the flesh on her neck, thrusting in and out comfortably, savoring the feel of her on my skin.

We went on like this for longer than I would've expected. Our voices echoed off of the water, the darkness swallowing us as our bodies synchronized. Her pussy tightened around me each time I pulled out, begging for more.

Eventually, I sped up the snapping of my hips, leaning up to get a better angle, pulling her knee up to her chest.

Her hands dug into the sand around us, head careened backward.

"Oh Jolly, fuck, so fucking good." She was biting down on her lip so hard, it was sure to bleed.

I was so close. I needed her release. "Come for me, Pärla." My breathing began stuttering. "Let go, for me."

A long, visceral moan left her lips, and I felt her walls spasm around me as I began emptying into her, my orgasm smacking me hard in the chest.

I pumped us through it, one hand holding her face, watching the waves of pleasure rush over it.

Once we slowed to a stop, I collapsed next to her, a lazy smile on my face.

"That was..." I started, too tired to finish my sentence.

"Unreal." Her words were stark. Matter of fact. Her eyes were looking back up at the stars.

I followed suit, zipping my jeans back up.

"I'm glad I met you today, Jolly."

I let my eyes fall on her again, and smiled. "Me too, Pärla."

My eyes opened to a flashlight shining directly on them.

"Hey, asshole!" I squinted, my hands coming up to shield my vision from the abrasive light. "You can't fucking sleep here. Go find a fucking shelter!"

"What?" I sat up, looking up at the person in front of me. A police officer.

"You've got to get out of here, man. I don't want to take you in."

I held my hands up in defense, standing to my feet. My eyes glanced around, realizing I was very much alone.

"Where's the girl I was with?"

The cop raised an eyebrow. "No one but you here, bud. Let's go."

His hand grabbed my arm, leading me off the beach. I turned back toward the water, hollering out into the darkness.

"Pärla?!"

No response. Just silence.

-

A week had gone by, and I was back home.

I had done everything I could think of to find her, but still came up with nothing. No name. No number. Just a physical description and vague location. Have you any idea how many blonde-haired, blue-eyed, tan-skinned girls are in Daytona, FL? It was comical.

After about four days, I had pretty much given up. Part of me felt hurt. Why had she left? Was she okay? She knew me, why hadn't she reached out?

Was she just in it for the sex? Or to say she screwed a member of the band? Did she regret it?

Something felt wrong. Her presence, her energy. It felt so genuine. I struggled to believe she really just ran off, leaving me to fall asleep alone on that beach.

I had Ubered back to the hotel, heading straight to Noah's room to tell him what happened. It was 4AM by the time I made it back, and he looked at me like I was insane.

Still, he showed his human side for a moment, and empathized with me, offering to help try and find her.

Back in Los Angeles, I was sitting in the studio, trying to perfect a guitar rift, when Noah bounded in with Folio. We had everyone together for the next two weeks before we left for the next festival.

"I don't get why people are so scummy."

I raised an eyebrow at Folio's words. "What's that?"

He turned to look at me, falling into a chair. "This article, man. About Upheaval?"

I stopped my strumming, looking up to give him my full attention.

I took note that Noah was scrolling on his phone fervently.

"What about it?"

Noah looked up at me, pursing his lips. "I guess someone got really hurt?"

"Not hurt. Someone fucking died, dude."

This made me furrow my brows. "What?"

"Yeah. Some girl got trampled in the fucking crowd."

Noah rolled his eyes. "The article I read said she had a seizure, and fell into the crowd. They didn't get her out in time."

"During which set?"

"Sleep Token." Noah responded.

"Wow, really? I saw damn near the entire thing. I didn't see anything happen."

"Well, that's the point, man. No one did, until the end. By that time, she had choked or something." Noah handed his phone to me, and I noticed it was scrolled to the bottom of the article.

"It's bullshit they waited so long to say something." Folio chimed in.

Noah shrugged. "Trying to protect the festival's reputation, I guess. Too bad. She was fucking cute, too."

My thumb scrolled to the top of the article, taking a moment as it was long.

When the picture at the top came into view, my hand that held my rig went slack, dropping the instrument on the floor.

It didn't make sense. It was a mistake of some kind.

25 Year Old Female Dies At Music Festival - Safety Protocols Being Investigated

The photograph that stared back at me, mocking my dropped jaw and widened eyes.

"Jolly, you good, dude?" Folio asked as he reached down to grab my guitar, now on the floor.

I couldn't respond. My blood had coagulated in my veins. My skin hardened to stone as my eyes stared at the picture, mind blanking.

The girl in the picture stared into my very soul.

Dirty blonde hair. Ice blue eyes. Small patch of freckles. Plush pink lips.

Pärla.

#jolly karlsson #jolly karlsson fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens #fanfic #bad omens cult

[motsimages]

Since that article about physical contact vs non-physical contact in different countries, here are some experiences I've had about it:

Usamericans are, by far, the most different from my experience. They are the only ones that get physically tense if you unexpectedly touch them, the only ones that would make a step back if you get to close so as to keep their personal space safe. The first time I met a Usamerican, he was my age (17 at the time), and he was staying in my house for a week as part of an exchange program. My mother felt that he was always very tense, that he needed to relax and so she did what every Spanish mother in her place would do: hug him, hold him, touch him and feed him. He would only get tenser, to my mother's frustration. Nobody explained us or him that the reason he was so tense in our house was the incredible amount of physical contact he was seeing and experiencing all the time by everyone. I have also met very huggy and physically affectionate usamericans and I wonder in which circles they usually move or where are they from because they are an exception. It was on the internet that I first saw "PDA" (public displays of affection) as something negative that people shouldn't do. I guess it comes from the US, it may also be a UK thing?? I don't know. It was confusing because people seem to get angry at it and I am like "what are you supposed to do then? How do people know you like them?" Also, learning that teachers are NOT (never ever) supposed to touch their students, I was in shock. What do you do with toddlers? They need physical affection and they will come up to you for it. What if a 12 year-old is crying? Aren't you going to at least confort them? How do you confort someone without touching them? Now that I know more about US culture, I wonder if white people are more distant than black people, or if religion plays a role.

Chinese and Japanese people I've met tend to keep their distance and may feel uncomfortable but, the ones I've had more contact with, soon get used to it and even enjoy it. I guess many won't or will find it invasive, but I have met some who went all in the moment they saw a world where you could hug people just because. I particularly remember two Chinese girls who, upon meeting a lot of Spanish people in France and seeing we were always hugging and touching, started to do it *way too much*, touching body parts you are not supposed to touch (like ass or boobs) because I guess for them it was all equally accessible/non-accessible, so we had to teach them to control themselves a bit. There was also a Japanese young man, a friend of a friend, who was shocked at first but then travelled around Europe and came back like "nobody was touching me :((((". He thought it was a European thing. He told me that back home in Japan, nobody would hug him, not even his mom.

Northern Europeans always keep their distance and won't hug you unless there is a need for it (and depending on the country/person, maybe not even then). Any other physical contact that is frequent in Spain, like grabbing someone's shoulder, is weird and could be interpreted as flirting. I have seen hugs and physical closeness in Sweedish series in situations that US series won't do, but I still had to tell my Northern European friends in Russia that, now that we were friends, I expected hugs and would ask for hugs frequently. Even with that, I once asked a Swiss friend for a hug and he went "why?". I was in shock. "What do you mean "why"? Because I want a hug? You shouldn't question hugs!". A Spanish friend in Switzerland told me that when she broke up with her boyfriend, her Swiss friend was there listening and giving company but not once did she got close enough to touch her. Not even for a hug. A Sweedish girl who couchsurfed at my place for a couple of weeks said that Madrid was the city of love because people were always hugging, snogging, kissing and touching each other everywhere (particularly couples).

A UK friend once told me about a girl he knew was feeling sad and he left her crying in her room and I was like "what the fuck. why would you leave her crying" and he said "that's what you do, if she wants to cry, you give her space" and I was like "listen to me: if a Spanish, and I would go as far as saying a Mediterranean, is crying, you better stay around. You keep an eye on them, you hug them, hold their hand, give them food. You do not leave someone who is crying and having a bad time alone unless they ask for it, and even then, you keep watch and check on them later on". He told me that you should leave English people alone when they are feeling blue (I can't promise I would do that but fair enough, I'll keep it in mind).

The UK is the only place where I don't know what is it that I do that people think not only that I'm flirting, but that things are happening between us, when I'm just there. I'm usually very good to know when I'm flirting and when I'm not but somebody may be interested. In the UK, it has happend a couple of times that we were having a normal conversation and then suddenly there was a certain complicity and I was there like "whaaaaat.... oh shit, I got in too close, didn't I? I may have touched their elbow on my way to the toilet or something".

Russians are surprisingly similar to Spanish, culturally and in character. There wasn't that much cultural shock there. They are not as touchy as Spanish people are, but they enjoy it, they hug people easily and they like physical closeness. Particularly, young girl-friends are very tactile, they often hold hands in the street, hug, etc. I have seen teenagers sitting on each other in public parks, I have seen couples hugging and kissing in the street. When travelling by train with my Spanish friend who lives in Switzerland, we chatted with some 50 year-old men in our wagon. She joked to one of them (in Spanish, I translated) and touched his arm to help drive the joke (he mentioned weaponry and she said "are these the Russian guns?"), and he didnt' bat an eye, he laughed and nodded. "Oh, they don't mind being touched" she pointed out.

Latin Americans seem to me just like Spanish, but they feel Spanish are cold and distant.

I think, amongst the Mediterraneans, we are all more or less the same, whether it's Europeans, Maghrebians, Balkans... I have a feeling that some Asian countries and some African countries might be similar too, but I don't have much experience with them.

I'd say the way it works in Spain is this: we touch people to communicate with them. It serves the purpose of showing we are there, we like your company, we are listening. If you paid attention, you could see who gets along with whom, who are closer friends or family by how they stand next to each other and how they touch each other.

I will end with an anecdote. I am currently interpreting psychological sessions for Russian refugees. We were in a session and the psychologist received a phone call, she excused herself saying that it was the doctor and maybe something had happened at school with her daughter. She apologised herself, she was only picking up in case there was an emergency. It wasn't the doctor so she asked to be called later but she was quickly given some good news before hanging up. She said "I apologise, but I need to share this with you." She shared the news with us, crying because she got emotional. My first instinct (that I noticed only because there was a Russian person there who may not be familiar with Spanish ways) was to touch her arm so she knew we were there. I asked her "do you want a hug?" and she said yes. So we hugged and the patient came to hug her as well, copying us. We stopped a professional work environment to hug a person who was celebrating some happy news, to help her regain composure and feel accompanied.

[stxrshxpxd]

those who have kissed before

pairing: 90s graham coxon x reader

word count: 796

warnings: none

prompt: reader is playing a game of truth or dare with the boys and graham and her relive some untold memories

* * *

“I said from the start this was a bad idea,” I reminded Graham as he grimaced at the question he had just been asked. Being one of Damon’s oldest friends, I had tagged along for the UK shows of their European tour. It was about to be 2 am and we were all sitting in a circle around a small table in the back of the tour bus, lazily playing some sort of card version of ‘truth or dare’.

“No, I’m trying to count,” Graham laughed, thinking hard about his body count. To my right Damon rolled his eyes, laughing, and slid down in his seat till the back of his head was lying against the low backrest.

“Right.. Depending on what counts and what doesn’t, somewhere between ten and thirteen,” Graham said, his cheeks shifting to a light red shade. Everyone around the table was grinning and I could swear we all felt like giddy teenagers. We were definitely a good few drinks in and all nearing delirium.

“Did you count Damon?” Dave asked with a jokingly serious tone and expression.

“Fuck off!” Damon chuckled and tossed a bottle cap at him and the rest of us laughed.

“Alright,” he muttered and sat up straight again, picking a card.

“Oh shit.. This one’s for all of us.”

He looked around and we were all quiet again now, expecting the worst.

“Those who have kissed before need to kiss again,” Damon said in a calm voice. My eyes somewhat discreetly shot up at Graham right away. I imagined we were both remembering at the end of a party last year when we had sat on our friends’ balcony and somehow ended up kissing for a solid minute, before someone had stumbled out to puke onto the street and the spark between us was killed. What’s weird is I don’t remember us being that drunk.

“Alright, sluts first,” I announced and nudged Damon in the side, earning a dramatically offended expression.

“Oh, have you not kissed every single person in this room?!” I argued and Alex, Dave and Graham held in giggles. Damon sighed and heaved himself over the table, placing quick and rushed pecks on all three boys’ lips and ended it with one on mine. We were all back to falling in and out of laughter and I took a sip of my beer.

“I haven’t seen you two kiss before,” Alex said but it sounded like a question and he was pointing at me and Damon.

“Oh, please, he was my new year's kiss like every year from when we were twelve to like.. nineteen.”

“Fair enough,” Alex laughed and shrugged and then he suddenly turned to his left to grab Graham’s face and pull him in for an unnecessarily wet kiss. Dave, Damon and I collapsed in a pile of yelps and laughter as Graham was let go and his cheeks grew even redder.

It seemed everyone had kissed who they were supposed to kiss and were coming down from our giggling highs for a moment. But my heart was beating hard and I was avoiding eye contact with Graham.

“I would quite like to cleanse my palette after that,” he said at last and I couldn’t help but return the obvious stare he was directing at me. Our eyes met and everyone got completely quiet for a second. Damon’s eyes frantically flickered between the two of us a few times.

“You’ve kissed?”

Neither one of us answered for a few seconds. Then I exhaled and nodded.

“Last year.”

Damon was shocked neither of us had told him. I didn’t know why I hadn’t. It was just that it didn’t really feel like it was a silly drunken sloppy thing between laughing friends. It was something else entirely, and neither of us had talked about it since. Hence why it felt incredibly strange to do it again now in front of the boys.

“Shit. Well, go on then.”

Graham and I shared eye contact again and he laughed softly and forced a shrug of his shoulder, and he began to stand and lean across the table. I couldn’t do anything other than to follow his lead, and forcefully suppress any emotions so as to not let him feel them. We kissed shortly and sweetly. It was definitely more than a peck but there was no tongue.

I found my brain had instantly blocked out all the sensory details of the kiss, and being sad about having done so, when I sat down again. I wished it had lasted longer and I felt I desperately missed his tongue from the party last year.

My ears tuned back into the scattered laughter all around the room and I was back to avoiding Graham’s glances again.

#take a shot every time you read the word ‘kiss’ #this miiiight get a part 2 i feel like it needs it #britpop #damon albarn #blur #graham coxon #alex james #dave rowntree #au #fic #imagine #y/n #graham coxon x reader

[zaceouiswriting]

Lost Love

Character: Derek Hale x male reader, Death/Dea (original) x male reader, mentioned Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore, and Eli Hale. (Scott never gets a mention)

Universe: Teen Wolf

Warnings: None

Authors note: Hello. I've finally dealt with another request, (Only three months after receiving it, I'm really late with my requests) and well, I may have to apologize. I had a lot of creative issues with it, from the timeline to all of the characters that were supposed to be involved. I might also forget a character, but since it's been three months, I don't feel like rewriting everything again. So I’m sorry @arekmaximoffkq but I hope you can enjoy it anyway.

"We can't win this alone!" That was a statement no one would have ever expected from their fearless True Alpha. No one ever thought that Scott McCall could feel hopeless by a threat. That was until the Legions of Darkness and the Hunters under Monroe, who could never be stopped, made a pact. It was a fragile one considering the Legions are supernaturals.

Either way, they found a common enemy. Scott McCall. Although the Legions have made massive strides to dominate the world, beginning in North America, he causes them too many problems with his alliance network.

"Before anyone says anything, I've already asked the Asian Dragons Alliance and United European Tribes, but apart from a few smaller groups within them, they can't help us much. They also fight the Legion on their continents.”

"We've never lost to anyone, Scott. Why should it be any different this time.”

"Because he's not here anymore, Liam." Derek was the one who reminded everyone of what had happened nearly fifteen years ago.

The room went silent from one moment to the next. A deadly atmosphere hung over their heads. Liam couldn't understand what was happening. He never understood when his pack went silent like this after something remembered them about someone he never got to know.

Lydia was the only one who never looked as sad as the others, she always did her best to look that way, but if people watched her closely, they could tell the subtle difference. She was also the only one who offered to help Liam and the other people who weren't around at the time.

Everyone accepted, even if it was just about getting out of the room. In Scott's kitchen, she was surrounded by a larger group, all staring at her, desperate for answers. And she told the tragic story. About her husband being possessed by a Nogitsune, causing him to more or less kill several people.

Scott had saved his girlfriend Allison but instead damned Derek's fiancé. The sword intended for the archer pierced the older man who was there only to protect the youths. Before Derek could reach him, his body dissolved, hatred in his eyes as he died. But worse, it didn't save Allison for long because just moments later, as she nocked another arrow on her bow, she was stabbed from behind and died in Scott's arms.

Since then, Derek hasn't been able to look Scott directly in the eye without wanting to kill him. Instead of just one death that day, there were two. And one of those deaths was so much more important than the other. Allison was just a formidable archer but useless in the long run. Even Lydia had to admit that as her best friend.

Derek’s fiancé - a powerful mage - did everything for them, protecting and even making sure that the threats they faced never got out of control.

To say the next generation wasn't impressed would be an understatement. They always looked up to Scott, his supposedly strong moral compass. But now they knew his true intentions; selfishness.

Lydia knew from day one you saw Scott for the vile person he actually is. She only saw it after a few years of being separated from him. Being under the same roof with him now made her sick. She could only see her best friend's dead face and Derek's broken face.

Now more and more people have been able to see it, although it doesn't change anything because Scott is still their Alpha. But at least now they know that most of his decisions are selfish and not for the greater good.

"So what can we do?" Mason asked Lydia, slowly getting restless himself.

The look she gave him, and the whole group spoke all the necessary words. "I don't think we can do anything. We can only hope it doesn't get any worse."

Lydia should never have said those words. Mere days later, the sudden appearance of the Oni, quickly followed by the Nogitsune they thought had been killed, and then someone who broke their fragile pack even more apart.

She had no choice but to get help herself.

With the rest of the pack still at home, Scott tried to keep everything together while getting his Allison back. Lydia was in Jackson's car with him and his husband. "Who are you looking for anyway? I thought the supernatural council already told Scott we couldn't help."

But she said nothing. Not ready to say anything.

Ethan had the idea right away, but his husband didn't. Jackson kept nudging Lydia. To the point where his husband put his hand over his babbling mouth before Lydia would overturn the car.

They spent the rest of their journey in absolute silence until they came to a private road. "Please wait here. Don't follow me, and please don't ruin this, okay?" Without even waiting for an answer, she exited the car.

As she walked up the street in high heels, her arrival could be heard far out. She never intended to be secretive, which worked well enough for her.

She could feel the heavy air everywhere, filled with so much raw magical power that she kept marveling that the animals that lived there didn't suffocate. For example, she never had trouble breathing, but once she got there, she could never take a single proper breath.

“If this is not Lydia Martin. We haven’t seen each other in a couple of years!“ Your voice suddenly called out to the banshee. Already used to your antics, she turned around but could not see you immediately. “Turn around again.“

And she did, slowly, but she did. With a big smile, you stood before her, a crown of flowers with red and white roses, without thorns in your hands. Without hesitation, you crowned her again as you normally do whenever she comes by.

"You never change, do you?"

"Nope." With another big smile, you pulled Lydia into your arms. "It's so nice to see you again!" After their brief hug, he put her arm around his. "Now tell me why you are here. Our next meeting was only a few months away.”

Lydia would have been a fool to think you didn't smell the need for her to come to you so early. She was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them.

"A lot of things happen, and I know you don't like it when I talk around, so I'll just ask you. Could you come and-"

"Dad!" The panicked voice of one of your sons jerked you away from Lydia. Before you could react, however, your two sons stood before you and Lydia, with someone you knew and someone you didn't. "We found these intruders and- Aunt Lydia, what are you doing here?"

"You two have grown." She was utterly surprised to see them standing so tall, which made her slightly uneasy, knowing she would have many questions that the man she was meeting would most likely won't like.

Luckily Jackson - who was brought by one of my sons - was doubled-over from feeling sick because of the teleportation.

Shaking your head in amusement, you couldn't hold back your snarky thought: "Jackson, are you still not used to this?" Your voice froze him in his tracks.

Slowly, very slowly, almost scarily he raised his head, his eyes though still fixated on the floor. Standing almost straight again he still did not dare look at you. Lydia told him that he could and with her reassurance he finally did. His eyes quickly filled with tears as he locked them with yours. His baby-blue eyes shimmered with shock but in a happy way.

Without warning, he lunged forward at a pace neither your sons nor you could do anything about. He pulled you into his arms, much more muscular than you remembered. Now he feels and looks a lot like a young Derek. Thinking about him always made you sad, which not only your sons felt this time.

Only Jackson was apparently unaware of this. "This is Ethan, my husband!" he told you excitedly, smiling cheek to cheek, ignoring the fact that you were not dead and standing still alive in front of him.

You gently cupped his face, which now looked much older than yours. Just another curse of your existence. "I will meet your handsome husband in a moment. But before, how are you and your parents?" His face darkened. "You forgot what you promised me, didn't you?" Shame crossed his face for a short moment. He became the little boy you met when you moved to Beacon Hills, who just found out he was adopted again.

You saved him from getting hit by a car, talked to him, and brought him back to his parents in the evening. For years you tried to get him to see them for who they are; but you were unsuccessful. You finally got through his thick skull, but you died before Jackson, his parents, and you could meet again.

"Then we must do it soon. They are not getting any younger and deserve to be loved by you. After all, they raised you. But I also have to blame them for spoiling you little shit!” You jokingly shook his head with your hands, ruffling his perfect hair. It eventually brought a small smile to his face.

Booping his nose brought back many sweet memories with little Jackson and even moody teenager Jackson. Slowly you pulled your hands away from him. In the same movement, he turned and looked at the other man, who finally rose from his slouching position.

"Ethan is your name, right?" you asked in a dangerously low voice that sent a cold sweat down his son's back. He nodded and swallowed hard. "I think this little rascal over here told you about me?" You glanced back and forth at the couple with a raised eyebrow.

"My big brother," Jackson whispered to his husband to refresh his memory. Suddenly, Ethan's eyes widened with shock and realization.

His body suddenly went stiff. He even held out his hand to most likely properly greet you. 

“Hey, little brat?“

“Yes?“

"How come you've got not only a handsome man but also a well-mannered one while still being the same obnoxious brat?"

He could see your cheeky, teasing grin that had torn holes in his heart so many times before, believing the hurtful things you said until you made it clear it wasn't meant like that.

However, Ethan knew nothing about it.

"Because Jackson is an amazing man, passionate, gentle, romantic-"

"He didn't mean it like that. He complimented us both."

"What? He attacked you!"

Both Jackson and you looked at each other, giggling at his words. "Brat is my nickname for him because that's what I called him the first we met. He is and remains obnoxious to me because although he has a hard, unfriendly demeanor on the outside, he has a heart of gold. I'm just glad he hasn't changed."

Horror filled Ethan's eyes as you explained the rather adorable things you had to say about his husband. You could see that he wanted to fall into a hole right then and there.

Without a word, you suddenly stood before him and put one of your hands on his cheek. "If you hurt my little boy, I will kill you and destroy your body on a molecular level, dissolve you, and destroy every memory anyone ever had of you, understood?"

At first, he seemed amused by the innocuous-sounding threat, but when he looked into your eyes, he knew it wasn't a joke. Eyes wide, you pulled him into a hug. "Welcome to the family!" In your arms, you whispered something else in his ear, a threat he couldn't ignore, but you made sure no one else could hear.

As you pulled away smiling, Jackson smiled too without looking at his husband, who looked pale, horrified at you.

"Now, can someone explain why you're all here?"

“Scott needs your help.“

"No." You turn and motion for your boys to come with you. Even though they were intrigued by the name Lydia mentioned, they followed you anyway.

"We need your help," Jackson pointed out. Looking into your eyes melted your heart a little, but you still couldn't.

With gentle eyes, you looked at the boy who was like a little brother to you. You still had to say it, even though you didn't want to: "No. I'm sorry, but I can't." 

Jackson's face twisted, hurt at my refusal to help him. "If you had asked me, I would have done it immediately, but not with this boy and possibly the man who let me die." Suddenly the ground shook under your words, and time flew by, just for you to reverse it again.

"No one would be safe without your help!" Lydia tried again, but you waved your hand and teleported her back to their vehicle. Your boys wanted to know what it was about, but you couldn't tell them. They only know the bare minimum, and you want it to stay that way.

Days went by without Lydia trying to contact you again. You have feared for the safety of those who have been good to you, but you cannot save them every time they get into trouble. You were working on the ranch when you felt something strange.

One moment you were standing in one of the barns, and the next at the edge of your property. "What do you two are doing there?"

Your sons were jumping around in utter fear. One of the few rules they have to follow is that they can't leave the property without you.

"We have to help them!" the elder twin said bluntly while his younger brother had his eyes on the floor.

"You want to see your father, don't you?" That question silenced him immediately. "Don't worry. He won't die. He's like a cockroach. He comes out of everything with a few little bruises and maybe a few wounds.”

But they were determined to help Scott's pack. You could see it in his eyes and later even in his brother's eyes when he finally looked up at you. When they saw your eyes glow purple, magical energy flowed around you, and a moment later, the bubble that kept the ranch hidden from supernatural beings. It as well saved it from natural disasters.

They stared at you in surprise as your eyes went back to normal. "Then go. But not with all your abilities. You can teleport to them but not back or anywhere. Your powers will be minimal."

After that, you just disappeared, hurt, disappointed, and proud simultaneously. Being able to feel your boys teleport away, a strange pain immediately filled your chest. At first, slowly, and then suddenly, you winded in pain. Somehow able to suppress it, you walked back into your house, taking a book out, trying to just forget about it.

Just a sentence in, you were unable to concentrate anymore. For minutes you just stared at the filled pages before you threw it away, awaiting to hear it land on the floor.

All the alarm bells went off in your head at once because that sound never came. Ready to rip some heads off, you were suddenly frozen in place. "Finally, we meet again!"

"That's impossible!" you called out loudly through clenched teeth. "I killed you!"

Suddenly there was a child in front of you and next to him a middle-aged man. "You killed one of us and we want his powers back, you filthy mortal!"

The child was about to touch you. His small hand was outstretched to do whatever he wanted to you when suddenly a spear pierced his head. Blood splattered everywhere. Gasping in shock, he fell to the ground and disappeared. Only to reappear shortly thereafter. "I am the past! You cannot kill me!" Anger emanates from the small body, much more than a child should be able to feel.

You had an intense desire to contest this but believed it might be a while before you would find something that could actually kill this spoiled brat.

In complete contrast stood the middle-aged man. "We just want grandfather time back. After that, we'll leave you alone... forever."

Anger surged back through your body, reminding you of how they tried to erase your existence multiple times, the first being right at your birth. "No!" you told him after lashing out with your powers and destroying his body in no time.

"You'll see," the same middle-aged guy suddenly told you from the other side. “Maybe you can kill my son, the past because the past is quickly forgotten. And maybe even my father because the future hasn't been written yet." Out of nowhere, without you even feeling him move, he leaned in with his mouth next to your ear. "I am the present, omnipresent, unkillable except when the universe implodes in on itself."

The anger you were feeling did not subside. It even became worse, as his words felt like a looming threat to you. „What if I kill your son as well? Wouldn’t I be the controller of the present, through manipulation of past and future?“

The man smiled for the first time. "You're a lot smarter than I thought." After that, his voice softened a lot. "I allow you to keep the future, but use it wisely. You are a part of me now, and I am one of you, don't risk the balance of nature. At least no more than you have already done. You perversion of nature!"

You fell over as time worked again and lay on the floor while the middle-aged man crouched in front of his arms on his thighs. "You and your sons are abominations, an error of a magical nature. Therefore, in order to have the foresight of future events will be useful, but you must protect the universe with your power and that of your children! If not, we will find a way to kill you like we did the one who freed people's minds giving them absolute freedom."

Now that a real threat was being uttered, chills ran through your blood went cold – almost as cold as ice – you could already tell that his words were not empty.

You agreed with him. Though you knew you were powerful, you doubted there was any chance for you to win against something or someone so fundamental to the workings of the universe itself.

He smiled at you. A smile so malicious that fear was no longer the right word; you were horrified by this man. Somehow he must have sensed this because he turned to his son: who glared at you but took his father's hand.

They disappeared suddenly and without a trace; no magic, not even a smell.

Startled by this event, you fell back in your seat, exhausted and angered by your passive behavior. Maybe it was finally time to show everyone just how powerful you really are and not just give them some showings of lesser magical abilities you harbor. But where?

The pain that was gone came back a thousand times stronger than before. A scream so high you thought your vocal cords would eventually tear apart came out of you. It felt like your heart was exploding into a million pieces.

In a panic, you suddenly found yourself in a school that you had to attend many times considering you were - under normal circumstances - still would be, the mother figure of a pack of supernaturals.

Only now, you see older versions of all the teens you helped grow, broaden their horizons, and more. They fight the same enemy you died against. Right in the middle were your children - they were more of a hindrance than a real part of the struggle. Without much of their powers, they are almost useless.

You were watching the fight, but soon a girl - the cause of your death - snuck up behind the group and your sons.

You watched wide-eyed as she put an arrow in her bow, drew it, and let it fly. Your eyes followed the line of it exactly. As you realized where it would end up, a burning hatred began to flare in your veins. Not only was she the cause of your death, but now she was after your children?

A burst of raw magical energy shattered the illusion of the time - in which you were being held. With the smell of revenge in your nostrils and the tingling in your fingers, your scene changed again, only this time it was your own doing.

***

How can that be? Where did these two guys come from? And why do they look so like... him? My mind was racing as two boys about eighteen suddenly shoved Eli and me out of the way of danger, and then their hands glowed in that familiar color.

With only a few movements of their hands, they threw away the Onis with absolute ease. It reminded me even more of him. Honestly, everything reminds me of him, especially these days. Watching Eli grow up didn't make it any better. Maybe he would have stayed, even after what I did. But no, I had to be selfish and believe that she would stay with me.

Before I could ask them if they knew of him, they had summoned magic to forge weapons and engaged the Onis in sword fights.

Soon most of the Onis came to their comrade's aid and pushed both boys to their limits. First, their magic began to flicker before it just…disappeared.

As I watched them fight against those who had killed my one true love, I had this strange feeling, as if it was my duty to protect these young men as if they were my own flesh and blood.

"Get out of the way!" The boys only looked at me in shock, not moving at all. It forced Eli to suddenly transform, to push the other boys to the ground. Even though no blood was spilled or flesh pierced, my heart stopped even thinking that any of the three might have been injured.

Just as I wanted to scold my son, I froze in place, seeing the light-breaking shine of the sword rushing down.

A growl escaped my dry lips, my sore throat already dying, but not even that could stop the Oni from its hatred-filled attack against the three.

Since my body was too weak to move, even as a werewolf, I became too tired after hours of fighting. I could only watch as my son, the only good thing in my life that I ended up doing, would die right before my eyes.

Tears were already welling up in my eyes as the sword went deeper and deeper, now piercing his skin.

A sudden burst of violet light blinded me from seeing the death of my only loved one left. Screaming his name on a tongue that scolded and disciplined him more times than was necessary. I couldn't hold back my tears over the death of my son! He had to die without being able to see me: his father. Even though I was the worst father imaginable, I was still his father. Not being able to comfort my son in his last seconds of life will be the second worst experience of my life. It was hard enough living without the light of my life. But without my son? I could make my own life there!

"Don't go near my sons, you hellspawn!"

I... I know that voice! That voice... so soft and yet stern at the same time, it put all my hair up almost immediately.

I could only hear its magic crackling and things colliding. I could only imagine what had happened. But slowly, very slowly, the blindness - from the bright light - wore off. From blurred eyes, I saw a silhouette fighting like a monster against the real monster attacking us.

"Are you both all right?" His voice again, his beautiful voice. "I warned you, outside of the bubble, you will not be able to use your full power. As my sons, your powers are immeasurable. Therefore, it will take time and discipline to unlock your abilities again!” 

Hearing his voice scolding these young men and calling them his "sons" almost broke me. They seem so old! How is that possible? Did he have these kids before we met?

Before I could ask, however, I felt a burning pair of eyes on me and saw one of the twins pointing at me. When his eyes met mine, it was as if I hadn't been dazzled by his striking entry: my eyes could take in all of him. I could see its raw beauty right in front of me. He never had to do anything to look good, but now? He was gorgeous, just as young as I had met him.

But his eyes didn't show me the same love as they used to. There was disgust and anger in them instead. Of course, I deserve both, but it still hurt me.

"Dad, are you okay?" Even though I've never treated Eli the way he deserves, he still cares about me, which made my heart skip a beat.

"Dad? How old are you?" My veins turned cold, freezing even, hearing the angry voice of my true love. I just realized that if he knew Eli's age, he would know the whole truth.

At first, Eli didn't realize he was being addressed like the clueless boy he always was. It warmed my heart a bit. But soon, he must have felt the twinkling eyes on him because he turned and asked his question again. Eli, almost forced to speak now, looked at me confused, almost scared, but I nodded, not wanting to know what he would say or do.

"I-I'm fifteen, s-sir."

Sir? Eli was never that well-behaved or reclusive person who respects strangers.

His eyes widened instantly, and the anger turned to pain as his hand flew over his heart, pinched his skin, and even a tear found its way to the corner of his eye.

"Who was it, Derek?" He was speaking to me, speaking directly to me, and I could hear him! But does that mean... he's alive? 

Just now, realizing that I wasn't actually hallucinating, I nearly shit my pants lying on the floor, bruised and sore.

"Who did you cheat on me with? Fifteen years..."

There was no way I could lie to him again as I had so many years ago. "It was Breadon."

"Are you serious?" There was only disappointment in his eyes, and I could only feel the same. I feel ashamed of myself every day. Even though Eli came out of it, I still feel terrible.

"She died ten years ago. But she left right after the birth, leaving Eli and me alone. I thought if you weren't there, my heart would be hers. But we soon realized that neither of us loved the other, and I didn't date anyone else after..." A lump in my throat kept me from spilling out everything I could think of.

"You betrayed me? Let me die like I didn't mean anything?" He could hardly contain his anger but did his best, most likely for his sons and not for me. "You know what the funniest thing is? I was so in love with you that I would have forgiven you for cheating on me and getting a woman pregnant."

It was like a dagger piercing my heart when I heard that. Hearing those words of love once more, I realized in the next moment that my life could have been so much sweeter with that man. A man so deeply in love with me to forgive the worst betrayal of all.

***

When you saw Derek again, you felt a sudden outburst of hatred, but hearing that his life was so bad made it... subside, just like that. He's a lot worse off than you are now. It gave you a kind of satisfaction you never knew you needed.

"Get up, you pathetic man, and fight. I won't do it all by myself." Derek looked up in surprise when you spoke to him in a disgusting tone like that. "As I did with the hunters and the Legion of Darkness!" you mumbled softly afterward.

Derek stared at you in absolute shock. He knew you were strong fifteen years ago, but this?

A hiss came out of nowhere. A tone Derek and all other werewolves know all too well. You heard it often before as well. Far away was someone you knew should be dead. The arrow she released was in line with you. Without even trying to get out of the way, use your magic to surround the projectile to deflect it in a different direction or stop it mid-air. 

Knowing this was the only way it could go: you turned back to Derek. Only for the arrow to pierce your shoulder. It only got stopped by your bone.

For a second, you were shocked, only to feel the dark magic of another being. The Nogitsune - a powerful spirit - could not simply be killed, as you now know.

“Hmm… I should have been prepared for that. After all, his disgusting smell is all over this damn place!”

"Dad, what are you talking about?"

"That stupid Nogitsune. As always, Scott can't do anything right.”

Just as Derek opened his mouth, you stared at him, effectively silencing him before he could even utter a single sound.

"Huhu... Death, where are you?" Your voice sweet as sugar. Your sons already know this sound, and Derek did it too. Only Eli was confused, but even he broke out in a terrible sweat. "Do I have to go up there and beat your ass again?"

Just as your threat sounded, an extremely low chuckle could be heard from somewhere. A smile graced your beautiful face when you heard it.

"I think you got it the wrong way around." His heavy footsteps echoed through the school corridors.

"Uncle Dea!" your two sons shouted and jumped into the man's arms.

He laughed heartily at this warming gesture; A six-foot and seven-inch-tall man was tall enough for your two boys to hold on to, and his muscular torso, wrapped in a himation - white lose clothes - showed off his big, muscular pecs and his eight-pack. In your eyes, he was and always will be the most handsome man in any world or realm.

Soon he was pulling your sons away, his eyes fixed on you. "What did I do to annoy you this time, sweetheart?" His deep bass voice is so dark it sends shivers down your spine. He slowly moved towards you while your knees were already weakening. "It's so nice to see you again after all these years."

"I'd say the same thing... if there wasn't someone you promised me the last time we saw each other is dead and in heaven." Irritated, especially by your disrespectful tone, he slightly angled his head, almost as if he wanted to warn you. But as he followed your outstretched index finger, his eyebrows suddenly jumped up in confusion.

"What the hell is she doing here? Her soul should be at peace!” he muttered angrily to himself as a book appeared in his hand. As he flipped through it, more and more arrows flew in your guy's direction. Strangely enough, your magic still couldn't protect you from them. All you guys could do was evade them.

Until the atmosphere suddenly changed, darkness blossomed from a place where you only knew warmth. Death glowed in that atmospheric-changing darkness, ready to devour all life.

"Someone stole her soul and gave her a new body!" he roared loudly, his voice deafening, exploding all the windows and even doors around us. It even threw Allison off balance, forcing her to the ground and snapping her bowstring.

"Can you do something about it?"

"Do I look like a wizard?" After a moment's pause, his dark eyes met yours, "Don't answer that, or I'll have to spank you later."

An angry blush appeared on your face. "Not like a wizard, but a really hot farmer, at least with the scythe."

His dark eyes swallowed you whole; it was pure lust, but deep down, also love. "Even if your god were still alive, not even he would be able to save you from me when I get you later alone." He licked his plump lips, causing an immense lump to form in your throat, making it impossible for you to breathe effectively. "But I can't do anything at the moment. Someone has to kill the body the hunter girl is in before I can take her soul this time, so she can never be reborn.”

Cracking your fingers and neck, your eyes were solely on the huntress. Knowing that only you would kill that bitch, because everyone else is riding Scott’s dick, trying to make this joke of an Alpha happy.

Before you could cast a single spell at her, the same useless Alpha had his claws rammed into your chest. Determination in his eyes as you two looked at each other, on eye level.

"No!" suddenly, a familiar voice sounded behind you. In a flash, dark hair pushed Scott away from you. His claws ripped from your chest before the Alpha had a chance to crush your heart.

Breathing heavily in pain, you bend over to hide the true extent of the pain. "Dad!"

"Don't worry. I'm okay. Angry, but okay." You smiled at your two sons, who immediately came to your side, each holding an arm. Just then, you glanced over at them. "Lydia? Jackson? If any of you ever come to me to ask for another favor and still be associated with Scott... you'll wish you had jumped into lava because the death you would suffer at my hands will even make the devil blush! "

Lydia has known for a long time that you hated Scott, and over time she realized that your hatred was not unfounded. Especially after Stiles' death, which was also his fault, leaving her with two young children, the last born a month after her husband's tragic death.

Jackson wasn't even a part of the McCall Pack, but as an old ally and somewhat friend to the 'True Alpha‘ he still does his bidding if asked nicely.

They both looked at each other, their friendship still there, even after all these years. They talked silently before nodding at each other. They quickly switched from Scotts' side to yours.

In all honesty, you knew these two would come to your side before you even issued that ultimatum. Especially Jackson. If he didn't already know, he would soon learn that you've always taken care of him.

"Please, look after my boys. I'll take care of this devil spawn!” Allison was Lydia's best friend. You knew it was hard for her, but she had cried after her long enough. She's a smart cookie and aware that Allison is dead, and it isn't okay that she is back, especially not for nature, to which Lydia is close herself.

Using your magic, you lifted yourself into the air and flew to where Allison was last seen.

But when you got there, only her ruined bow was left. Before you could react, a knife was in your thigh. Groaning in pain, you pulled out the dagger and threw it at her, only hitting the wall behind her. Because she was already gone again, cursing under your breath, you began to search for her again.

A massive salvo of knives hit you quickly, your entire left side being scratched, punctured, or sliced open by them.

At that point, you had it with these games. You jumped from room to room with your powers and found them soon enough. With your magic around her neck, you imprisoned her; Before you could finish her little game by killing her stolen body, someone or something pulled her back and cut off the magic holding Allison in place. You were confronted with a being that had once been human, mummified, but it was still obvious.

You were the only person who could fight the Nogitsune. In your opinion, Stiles was always useless, but you have to give him one thing: he was an intelligent guy and the only one who could outwit a dark being like this. Without him, only you and your brute strength could be an enemy to him.

Meanwhile, the others tried to capture Allison despite her being faster, smarter than ever, and most horrifically deadlier.

"I swear by all the dead gods, if Scott had ever been responsible enough to kill his damn enemies, none of this bullshit would ever have happened!"

With renewed anger, even hatred, seething so deep in your soul that something strange happened, something painful.

Your magical core, which many people call 'soul' exploded, not in a destructive but an opening way as if nature had accepted your requests and could finally see the value in your existence.

Even the dark being, fueled by hatred, fear, and anger, suddenly became afraid. Your son's, just as you experienced something similar. Their eyes glow a purple hue, just like yours. But unlike you, their other side - they inherited from your ex-fiancé - has broken away from the many walls you built inside them.

For the first time in fifteen years of their lives, they transformed. The boys knew they could have done that from birth because of their vast magical abilities. But as they did so, the walls around them crumbled with their enormous size.

At that moment, you pulled yourself out of your pain and helped your sons control their magic that could shatter the very fabric of existence. Although slightly smaller, they are still at least five times larger than a regular wolf. In unison, they howled loudly, startling the nogitsune even more and making it tremble with terrible fear. You gathered magic in a ball of violet energy and threatened the dark being that tried to flee but failed this time. As it slowly began to warp into the shadows, you blocked the shadow, isolating it from everything else. Shocked, the Nogitsune tried to escape, but the magic-like handcuffs pulled on all four of his limbs.

"What must I do to keep you away from the mortal realm?" you asked him, sighing heavily. You looked away from that for a second, mostly for dramatic effect, over to Dea. Strangely, he pointed to where the Nogitsune was. But when you looked back, he was gone again. "Are you fucking SERIOUS?" Your voice echoed loudly through the school hallways, alerting everyone that something was beyond wrong.

Pissed off, you were going to blow up the whole building. But out of nowhere, the younger of your twins pulled something out of a shadow. A leg. But only one leg, not the whole dark being, but at least part of it.

Frantically, the leg tried to get out of his sharp teeth, but your son held it tight and carried it over to you with a toothy doggy grin.

Instead of pulling it out, you put it in a purple magic prison. Separate it from his body. Immediately after that, it stopped moving but stayed there. Although it was no longer bound to his body, it still existed.

It wasn't long before your younger son was carrying Allison, also in his mouth, mauled by him. A gasp could be heard from the sidelines, a hurt, irritated one. "If you dare touch one of my sons, Scott, I will maim you in ways you can't even imagine!" You didn't even look at him, but your voice told him the threat was real and near. So he quickly withdrew.

Your son threw Allison to your feet; her body was bleeding badly. "Finally, I can do what was supposed to happen!" Without guilt, you formed a sharp weapon in your hand and raised your arm to strike. As the blade swung through the air, but you had to stop as Scott jumped in front of his ex-girlfriend. You weren't shocked at all. He built everything around her, and she is with him now. Jumping from girl to girl, even dating his former best friend's ex-girlfriend, like a cliché player in romantic high school movies.

Instead of killing her, you sliced him with the blade. He cried out in agony as his skin began to burn slightly. “It won't heal, Scott. Any cut I give you with this blade that might heal will leave permanent scars.”

But he didn't seem to care because he stood there, teeth clenched. So you slashed him again and again... and again. You soon found yourself enjoying causing pain to this narcissistic little boy who never grew up.

"My love!" His deep voice finally snapped you out of your crimson thoughts of revenge. Dea's hand on your shoulder, his eyes looking at you with concern.

A slightly embarrassed blush rose to your cheeks. You averted your eyes far from him. But he pulled you into his arms. As you began to sob softly, your two sons came to your side and wrapped Dea and you in their united arms. Warmth, a happy and hopeful warmth, welled up in your broken heart.

When all eyes were on your little family, even the pain and jealousy of your first love, no one heard the bloody gasp at your side. Not even you until you felt something drip down your arm. Looking slightly down, there was a red substance. As your eyes looked around some more, you found the origin.

Scott sat up, his mouth bloody and a blade sticking out of his body, piercing his heart. "The mage is right. You really should have killed me when you had the chance!" An ominous chuckle followed those words.

Your eyes widened in shock as they flew toward the magical prison. Only one leg remained from the bandaged leg: a female leg. As your eyes darted back to Allison, you could see her skin slowly peeling off, revealing the Nogitsune.

When you tried to hit it with your magic sword, it disappeared. Leaving its blade pierced in Scott's chest. But you didn't give a damn; his alpha status should never have happened anyway. Maybe now someone more worthy could be elevated to this status.

At that moment, there was something more urgent. Telepathically, you told your sons to look for the real Allison. It didn't take long for them to find her: hiding behind some desks. But they just howled, which meant they couldn't carry her, so you walked past the dying Scott into the classroom and closed the door.

Soon you came out again, not a hair out of place. “Our work is done here. Lydia, Jackson, and even Ethan, you know where to find us. I'd be happy to host you whenever you want. Maybe next Christmas?” Ignoring Scott, who made his death so melodramatic.

Before you could leave, however, Derek pulled you aside. "Why didn't you ever tell me I had children?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me you cheated?" I stared at him for an answer. "Of course, no answer. Due to my short death, I had to put more magical energy into them. Their bodies became too weak to sustain the immense magical pressure. I had to kill one of the three gods of time to force their bodies to age to keep them alive. I suffered great pains to give birth and keep them alive. Now they look like eighteen-year-old men but are actually only fifteen. I'll keep them sealed for another three years, then if they want to have contact with you, they can. But I won't."

"Neither will we." your two boys said in unison as they look at their father in disgust.

It brought a smile to your face. As you teleported back up with your sons, you looked at Derek one last time. "I wanted to tell you the day I died. At least the blade cutting me down showed me the real you. I hope you never find love again and die despised by most.”

Before that day, you never told your sons what happened, only that something happened that forced you to get away from their father. You always wanted them to form their own picture of their father.

He tried to grab you, but luckily you got away just in time. Derek stayed there, his hand grasping air.

"Three more years... I have to train more people to be able to retire by then and finally marry this man!" Death himself murmured softly. It immediately caught Derek's attention. "Oh, I am sorry. The man you cheated on and I've been with for several years. I fell in love with him when he won against me: the first time anyone's won, for that matter. At least I'd never betray him.” The smug grin on Death's ice-cold face had been enough to make Derek wince in fear.

Unfortunately, you didn't witness his fear of your one true love: a man, an otherworldly being just like you. But no matter how much you despise Derek, you will forever be grateful for your relationship with him for giving you your two beautiful boys.

However, for now, you will most likely have to cuddle them to make the day's horrible events go away.

[Masterlist]

#derek hale #derek hale x male reader #Derek Hale Request #derek hale one-shot #teen wolf #teen wolf x male reader #teen wolf request #teen wolf one-shot #x male reader #male reader #Eli Hale #Lydia Martin #Jackson Whittemore

[queen-mabs-revenge]

well. that was an episode of something alright.

no but truly whatever is happening is so fucking disappointing wrt the emotional journey and catharsis for these characters, and honestly i feel condescended to as an audience member and as a football fan. you can't just slap an isolated didactic speech over a heart tugging score and call it story telling, you can't take an 11th hour 180 turn while ignoring the characters for 10 episodes and call it character development, and you can't take a story of mass working-class fan protests against club owner greed and give it to a rich white lady as her slay girlboss story without it being actually gross.

sorry but this was 63 minutes...of what exactly?? just going through the story lines in some kind of vague order of least to most consequential for sam, keeley, roy, rebecca, and nate and this gets long so under the cut it goes:

sam - what was this supposed to even be? ok so you bring back edwin akufo for the superleague story (which by the way, changing this to the akufo league instead of the story's inspiration the european super league - which was proposed by white european billionaires - is some level of racism i can't even...) to do what? get some laughs in by retreading the grudge? putting sam through the ringer again for...??? what was the end result here? like i'm genuinely asking bc i don't understand what i'm supposed to get from his being all smiley and putting the nigerian national team photo in his locker? he's happy because jamie gave him a shout out and that's good enough for him? what the fuck is this even supposed to mean?

keeley - what was the purpose of any of this genuinely. the amount of time we spent with kjpr and i have no idea what keeley does, if she's good at her job, how she's built her relationships with her silent co-workers. when she was at richmond we got to see her in action and her stories brought out not only her own character but other characters we cared about. keeley has been utterly passive this season - her biggest moment of agency was hiring shandy and that was exploded and scrubbed from the narrative. everything else from jack to the leak to being defunded just happened to her and she cried about it. and now rebecca's swooping in to refund her again and genuinely what is even happening here? the conflict for her character that was set up last year was that she was experiencing success in a completely new way and she was scared she wasn't going to live up to it and the conflict between the work she felt she needed to do to live up to expectations and how that would affect other relationships in her life, especially that with roy. how was that addressed? at all? we've seen her nebulously stressed, we've been told she's working a lot without being allowed to experience what she's doing, we've seen her try and emulate both ted and rebecca without success, and what? what else? a couple of looks between her and roy? her getting picked up and put down by a vc funder both financially and personally? what kind of synthesis has she reached here???

roy - which brings us to roy. we get the 'i'm talking about my football career but actually i'm talking about my relationship with keeley' in the chelsea episode which was great because it set up a conflict for roy this season - the idea that he cuts and runs to put distance between himself and moments of vulnerability to avoid possible failure and as a result never truly engages and enjoys experiences or people in the moment. great brilliant amazing love it -- what the fuck happened. i feel like you can vaguely connect something about how his training jamie is teaching jamie not to do what he did - to actually give his emotional all to his development as a footballer instead of detaching when things were at there most frustrating with zava there. that where roy used his anger and gruffness as a mask, jamie was using his cockiness but both to the same end of detaching from a situation they felt was out of their control. but i feel like i'm carrying a lot of water with all that, and while yes there have been moments of roy being more open this season, he's for a lot of it been relegated to weird comic relief if you can even call it that? (sorry but the rope monologue and the dick string training are both fucked up and weird and went on for way too long). he pulled a ted at the press conference (and told someone else's miscarriage story hmm)? he and keeley have been kept apart for the entirety of this season so like....i don't know? what was this? a fake holiday to wedge in a scene with his sister, phoebe and jamie? an epiphany that he was a mess? that he caused damage? and he writes a letter and now everything's good roykeeley back on track? the fact that they were kept apart for the majority of the season just feels like.......was any of this actually sorted through? did we experience either of these characters interact in any way where they challenged each other in this journey? that lead up to this reconciliation? this culmination feels so unearned.

rebecca - and speaking of unearned, the entire set-up for her arc of getting the fuck over rupert and finding joy in the team without it being about someone else was there. from her rashness in swooping zava from under rupert's nose, to her yelling at ted about winning, the 'him-you-mean-them' conversation, her maniacal behaviour at half-time during the west ham game. but where was the move out of this? she met a guy on a boat? she..........what??? how have we seen her grow out of this moment? what have we seen besides this deus ex machina of....what? remembering a story about rupert's childhood and bing bang boom - oh he was just a child once too? and the end, job's a good'un? fast forwarding through the total football catharsis short-shrifted rebecca, too. if the football is the expository tool to reveal things about our characters, the idea that a strategy that puts a singular thing at the focus to the detriment of everything else is bad for football and it's bad for people is a great narrative device. but...just as we're being told and not shown that it's working on the field, we're getting the same treatment off. rebecca is realising that the community both in and around the club is more fulfilling than a psychic's quote unquote predictions and using the club as a tool for narrow-focused spite -- ok show that??? show her reactions to the fans attending training. show other small moments where she enjoys the game? puts the club above embarrassing rupert at all costs? that moment with higgins talking about possibly firing ted bc of the winless streak could have been a glimpse of that but it was thrown away instead (but to be honest, how much of that is a retreading of her journey in s1?). so what do we get instead - girlbossery with, i'm sorry, a really fucking beyond heavy-handed moment with seeing her young self in the mirror? that does what? tells us that she's able to stand firm in a room full of men? did we...not know that? that she realises she's in it bc she loves the game? does she?? again, by not seeing the moments of total football triumph, we missed out on the opportunity to show her falling in love with the sport and becoming a true fan, not just an owner. if that's even what i'm supposed to be getting from this!!?? not to mention that her big moment of realising passion for the beautiful game was more important than her spite was directly ripped from the headlines but completely twisted. as i mentioned before, in april 2021 a bunch of white european billionaire club owners did indeed try to form a european super league out of a closed group of 12 of the richest european clubs, but clear cash grab wasn't stopped by a rich white lady having a moment of #selflove and altruistic benevolence, it was stopped by a mass protest of working-class fans pointing out the clear capitalist greed of the move:

nate - and god if all of this isn't just a slap in the face to nate's character arc. again, the set up of the first two seasons was clear and great! nate's struggle with self-worth especially rooted in his inability to live up to his father's expectations; his being bullied and undervalued and then clinging to someone who was giving him the affirmations he was craving, his projecting those unresolved issues onto ted who both couldn't live up to those expectations, and who made his own mistakes as he struggled through his own personal turmoil and mental health issues. the way all of those unresolved issues and referred anger came to a head for the both of them in nate's exposing ted's panic attacks to try and hurt him the way he felt hurt. and then falling into the arms of someone who was ready to exploit nate's talent and insecurity for his own gains. it's so good! it's so fucking good that it's bananas that we barely get to see any of his reconcilation play out! we get the beginning with rupert's emotional manipulation on display...and then what? nate is sidelined for the majority of the season! he's absent in some episodes altogether! HE QUITS HIS JOB OFF SCREEN AND WE GET NONE OF HIS INNER THOUGHTS AS TO WHY EXACTLY AND WE'RE LEFT TO DO THE WORK OF FILLING IN THE BLANKS??? we get that tell-not-show moment with his family with his dad's map, but like then there's no significant interaction between nate and his father until this episode? we get most of nate's personal development through his relationship with jade instead of diving into his relationship with his parents and teasing that out to build up to the emotional cathartic moment in this episode? there's so much untapped complexity in nate's arc! that tension with his parents, how the pressures both his father as an immigrant and himself as first gen are amplified by the pressures of rigid masculinity. how his father felt the need to stifle that creative sweetness in himself to make sure nate succeeded and had the best opportunity because of the combined pressures of race, class, masculinity, and feeling out of his depths when faced with his son's brilliance. nate's conflict between expressing his own softness and creativity v his feelings of the expectations of masculinity and success. so much of that could have been drawn out instead of sidelined and then infodumped and concluded in a few minutes of one episode! look! nate plays the violin aren't you feeling emotions? so many minutes of nate laying in bed and so few of the exploration of his and his father's dynamic that was set up to be the hingepoint of his frustration, insecurity and anger that manifested in his ruptured relationship with ted and richmond! and it's back to the total football -- that jade is part of his development isn't a bad thing! showing nate as becoming fulfilled both familially and romantically is actually good, esp for a character of colour! the idea that a healthy life is a full life with many different elements of one's community playing in tandem and concert to build towards a fulfillment and joy! but like...ok??? do so that???? and not all in one moment with All The Right Words At The Same Time???? what the fuck man this feels so fucking surface level and i just with the sheer amount of minutes given to episodes this season, what the fuck were they spent on if not this???

i'm sorry, but epiphany moments like the four (four!!!) in this episode work in romcom movies because we have 90 minutes with the characters. we accept certain shorthand for character growth because we understand the constraints of the narrative framework. it's bananas and fucking lazy to think that's OK for a serial format, especially one that's ballooned in time over the past season! what the fuck have those minutes been used for except for apparently spinning the fucking wheels on all of these development arcs until the last saccharine moment? aren't you crying with emotions, hmmmm?????

none of this feels earned and i feel genuinely gross at being thrown a few Emotionally Coded scenes and being expected to have my little heartstrings pulled enough that the squandered and self-indulgent mess of this season - that threw all of this character development into the trash - doesn't matter. we've spent years with these characters, the first two seasons carefully set up deep conflicts that should have been given careful and deep resolutions.

instead this episode gives us a naked ass and insists that it's clothed in glorious tie dye.

it's a naked fucking ass. and whatever patchwork loincloth the last two episodes whip up, it can't make up for the wasted potential, laziness and self-indulgent disaster of jason sudeikis's showrunning.

#ted lasso spoilers #ted lasso critical #seriously dead dove do not eat #but like...fairly i think? dead fair dove do not eat lmao #anyway trent crimm you will always be famous please make it throught the last two relatively unexplored #and therefore relatively unscathed by whatever the hell is going on here

[llynwen]

hi you're European right? I'm curious to know your thoughts about how the American south is portrayed in true detective bc I've been there and yes it's exactly like that but even moreso. Haunted ass beautiful country

Thank You So Much for such an interesting ask!

In the case of many europeans who were born before the Internet was such a big thing, we mostly learned about the us from films and shows. my childhood experience was watching reruns of spaghetti westerns and early 2000s rom coms, family comedies and kids movies, and feeling that the technicolor reality of america was somehow so much better than the Gray of eastern europe. the discrepancy isn't as noticeable now as it used to be when i was a kid, but you could Smell the post-sovietness some days. the life i saw in the movies was anything But the bleak, overwhelming reality of the early 2000s in my country that just made you feel nauseous and gave you a migraine. like i remember being Shocked at the technology of CDs and MP3 players. it was 2007.

the consensus was always that america was somewhere where everything was better. bigger. brighter. america was where you went to be happy. where you could breathe.

then, as i grew up, i obviously realized that this was a load of bullshit. i don't remember when the shift took place, but sometime in my teenage years, i suppose. by that time, my english has gotten good enough to actually participate in social media (that are predominantly american, like tumblr for example. i've been here for a decade) and actually engage in discourse. to learn about the Real america and what life looked like for the average person. and it wasn't great. guns, systemic oppression, privatized healthcare, the capitalist rot. none of that was present in the movies of my childhood.

now, in true detective, the south reminds me so much of how eastern europe felt in my childhood. it's nowhere near similar to it visually, the nature and architecture and people are all different, but it is Stifling, Suffocating, like the sky is gonna come down on your head. the ash and aluminum line actually describes it so good. what i was most surprised by, though, was the people. starting from marty (let's not focus on rusty here as we can all agree he doesn't really belong with the rest of the characters), he is a perfect example of the average family man. i love his character Because he's a shit and a cringeass loser, but in the scenes of him interacting with his daughters in '02, the feeling that he evokes in me is Disgust. and i feel like that's a common archetype of the father-provider that thinks his role in the house ends with making money. he sits in his chair, makes everybody miserable with his very presence, and expects the food to be brought to him. that man has never scrubbed a toilet in his life. i know men like him. i've met them, talked to them. i'm related to them. they're everywhere. that disgust feels intimate. now, the other characters that surprised me were the side characters, the people rust and marty go to question. tyrone's mother, the prostitutes, dora's friend at the scrap yard - they remind me of my people. now, i really don't want to come off as classist or some shit like that - but in both the show And my reality, the divide between the working class and the educated crowd is Stark. that is not to say that one is better than the other (i firmly believe that a lack of education can make you happier, if you think about it. content with a simple life, happy to work in a mine your whole life, live in a wielka płyta apartment and go to the sea once a year. if that. this is very specific to my region, sorry). the way those side characters talk, behave, even look - that is Nothing like the movies. they're not the flashy main characters, they're imperfect in every sense - they Look like people, have flaws, crooked teeth, they don't dress like supermodels, they can be stupid, they drink and smoke and cheat and lie. they're Human, not movie protagonists. and i love that reality in the show. makes it feel that much more authentic.

i don't know how specific that is to the south; are the people like that in other places? are the fishermen in luisiana the same as in minessota? is the suffocating feeling specific to the iberia parish, or is that just how it is in small town america? i dont know. the problem is, i wanna find out.

see, i never lost that childhood wonder. call me naive, but i still wanna Go. i still want to see the american dream with my own two eyes, even if it means i'm gonna watch it shatter in real time. i graduate college in a little over a year with a masters degree, and for right now my plan is to find a way to go work at a ranch in montana or wyoming. that's all i want. my favorite thing about america is not the culture, not the people, not the Possibility, but the Space. ironically, the stolen land is what compels me most. i want to experience that open space, to Breathe, and for the first time in my life feel my lungs filling up fully. i will be disappointed, full stop, but i want to have that experience.

the american south is a fascinating place to me, always has. the specific mix of cultures, the tradition and lack of it, even the bigotry and hate, it's all endlessly interesting. as you said, haunted but oh so beautiful. it scares the shit out of me. i need to go and feel it bite me.

#sorry for going off like that lmao #but yeah. thats them thoughts #if you wanna talk about it more PLEASE LEAVE ME ANOTHER ASK/RESPOND TO THIS/DM ME #thank you again for this ask #love you mwah mwah mwah #ask #true detective

[misssalvatore1904]

The Original Faery

Prologue

I make my way reluctantly downstairs to where the party has already started. I hate dressing up for parties, but it’s worse now, I am expected to smile and dance and act like my brothers - Stefan and Damon Salvatore - are not dead and my best friend was not burned to ashes for being a vampire.

I disagree with my father often, but when he said that Katherine Pierce was an evil blood sucker, I was ready to kill him. She was kind and understood me in a way no one else did. And for her to be punished for what she is, is wrong. And to kill Damon and Stefan, his own children, for becoming vampires to be with Katherine was so horrendous. I haven’t spoken to Giuseppe Salvatore since the incident.

My anger at my father is not helped by the itchy, monstrous dress a maid forced me into. And the fabric cages that were the shoes that were already chaffing my feet. And when I see him standing at the foot of the stairs, with his cold glare piercing through me, all the anger at my father resurfaces.

“I’m pleased to see you can do one thing right.” He hisses at my as I come to a stop in front of him. He grabs my arm harshly and pulls me close so he can whisper in my ear: “ Embarrass me this evening and I will make sure it is the last thing you do.”

And with that we enter the ballroom as if nothing was wrong.

I sit down on a chair in a dark corner of the room as I let my feet take a break. I had been dancing with young boys my age and my feet were screaming at me to sit down.

I heave a sigh as I sit and think.

“Rough night?”

I whirl at the voice and see a gentleman sitting in a chair close by. He chuckles lightly.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He had a faint European accent, dark brown hair and eyes of a soft hazel green. He looks expectant and I realise dumbly that I have been silent for a good two minutes.

“Sorry. Yes, it’s been what you call a rough night.” I say the last few words bitterly, glaring over at my father. I see him gaze at me curiously out of the corner of my eye. Then he chuckles again.

“Something funny?” I snap, furious that this man finds humour in my discomfort.

“I just thought that you American women were supposed to be well mannered mouth breathing idiots. In no way do you fit this description.”

I can’t help but laugh at this. “ Well I’m not a woman yet, so just you wait.” I reply with a grin. He returns it with a smile of his own, though it’s shaky, as if he hadn’t smiled in a long while.

“I’m Finn Mikaelson by the way.” He says, extending his hand.

“Cassiopeia Salvatore.” I reply as I shake his hand.

I spent the rest of the night sitting and talking with Finn, until my father pulled me away, claiming that I should get to bed, but he was not subtle in the way he looked at me.

He dragged me upstairs to his study and locked the door behind him.

“What did I say about embarrassing me tonight?”

I knew he didn’t want an answer, he was already cemented in his belief that I had somehow tarnished the name Salvatore, but I answered anyway.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Father.” I state.

“You were supposed to be mingling with the boys your age so that I could fix the public image of our family, that your brothers destroyed!” He all but yelled the last words, coming closer with each declaration. “You were supposed to fulfil your only purpose, which is to marry into a rich family and produce heirs. That is all you are good for.” He was right in front of me now and I tried desperately to hold back the tears threatening to fall at his words. “You are however also good at destroying everything you touch!” He shouts at me.

“I’m ten years old!” I shout back. “I shouldn’t be expected to marry, or even fix what you broke. Not Damon or Stefan. But you! You broke this family!”

Then, he slaps me. I cry out in pain.

In a whirlwind he is ripped off me and thrown into the wall. I gape in shock as he falls to the ground, along with the now shattered remains of a few pictures.

Standing before me was Finn Mikaelson, with veins beneath his eyes and the elongated canine teeth. Vampire. But I couldn’t care less about what he was I ran at him and hugged him, burying my face in his chest.

“Thank you” I whisper into his shirt.

“You are not afraid?” Finn asks. He seems scared of what my answer could be.

“There are worse monsters in this world.” I mumble. He holds me close as I cry.

Finn compelled my father not to remember this altercation. To only remember me dancing with all the young boys, then retiring to bed for the night.

While my father didn’t remember our argument that night, it didn’t stop him from finding other reasons to punish me.

It only got worse, midnight visits in my room after getting drunk at the bar and claiming that I had embarrassed him or somehow deserved to be punished. So he would take off his belt, and whip my back with it, until my skin hung in ribbons, and the maids had to bandage me up.

Finn and I still saw each other often. Going for lunch or just sitting in the town square and talking. I never mentioned my father’s wrath, or the reason he believed I deserved it.

But I asked Finn to talk about his life. And he regaled me with the stories from when he was human. He told me all about his family and how they became vampires. He told me how his half brother, Niklaus, was the original hybrid, and how he used these mystical daggers on his siblings when he got mad at them. Finn also told me how he had been entrapped by this dagger for almost 700 years before Niklaus decided to free him.

I did tell Finn about what happened to the vampires in this town, and how my brothers were killed for being sympathisers. He was empathetic, revealing that he too has lost a brother and understood my pain.

I was happy. Finn was my escape from the harsh reality I faced when I was at home. And it continued like that for six years. Until Finn disappeared without a trace.

At first I was angry, Finn was my best friend and was always there for me, how could he disappear without at least saying goodbye? But I soon realised that Niklaus must have come for him.

After this revelation, I dedicated my time to tracking Niklaus down. Looking to the witches that lived in the town. But when they couldn’t help me, I turned to the power that ran in my veins, the reason my father hated me. But that too failed me.

As I sat in my room, staring dejectedly out the window, my father came in.

“While you are utterly useless and unlovable, the young Gilbert boy appears to think you a worthy wife.” I must have been going insane because I thought I heard a note of pride in his voice. “His family will be coming over for dinner to discuss.. Arrangements.” He sneers at me “You will finally serve your purpose.”

“No.” My voice was quiet but firm. I wouldn’t let him tell me what to do anymore. “I will not marry a Gilbert.”

“You will do as I say.”

“Why should I? You will never see me as anything more than a reminder of what you have lost. You will never love me, never be proud of me. So I am done. Find another mindless puppet to play with.” As I try and walk past him, he grabs my arm so hard I cry out.

“You will not disobey me.” The pure rage in his eyes scares me to my core. I pushed him too far this time. In my panic I didn’t notice my magic surface, but I could feel it now, like electricity crackling beneath my skin. I felt powerful.

As my father shoved me back to my seat at the window, I exploded. Pure energy escaped me, rushing at the cause of my fear. As my magic made contact with is body, it engulfed him in a storm of fire.

His screams echoed through the house alerting the servants. They rushed up the stairs and they assumed it was the house and not my father that was on fire, they ran at me and helped me out in front of the house.

As I watched my home burn down, with my monster of a father trapped inside, I thought I would feel peace or safety now that the root of my troubles was dead, but all I felt was emptiness. Nothing. I was alone in this world and I had only myself to blame.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed the story😁

I think I’ll be making a second part to the prologue….

So stay tuned😉

#Giuseppe Salvatore x daughter!reader #Finn Mikaelson x reader #vampire diaries #The Original Faery

[adachimoe]

Remarks from Persona Club P4 about the Midnight Channel and the TV world

On my previous post about the Club book, 2 of the things I mentioned were:

Compared to Persona 3, there are more silly shadows because the Midnight Channel is influenced by the people who watch it.

The design of the people on the ground on the floor of the staging area when you enter the TV world from Junes is the result of the main characters having murder on the brain when they first enter the TV.

As the book explains various locations inside of the TV, it becomes apparent that what we see inside of the TV is a formed on a mixture of both "the public's perceptions" and "the thoughts of people inside the TV". From my experience, there are a lot of fans who discuss Persona 4 who seem to believe that what shows up on the TV is influenced by people, but what is actually inside the TV is not influenced by people. Like the dungeons reflect the "real" victim.

The book just describes stuff like so:

The staging / landing area resembles a studio where TV shows are recorded because the public who watches the Midnight Channel are expecting some kind of television show to appear.

Teddie is able to provide you with a TV to exit back into the real world because a TV is something you'd expect to find in a TV studio.

Teddie's bear mascot appearance is a combination of Teddie's desire to be liked by people and also the thoughts of people watching the Midnight Channel.

Yukiko's Castle spawns from her thoughts about getting away from Inaba, the design is based on Neuschwanstein (as is every fictional castle), and it's European to counter the image of her being a Yamato Nadeshiko-type girl working at a traditional Japanese ryokan.

But then for Rise's Theater, it specifies that the public's expectations flowing in from the Midnight Channel play a part in the creation of her dungeon and why it's the way it is.

Yomotsu Hirasaka's design is very different from the other dungeons because it's not supposed to represent or be based on humans.

The Velvet Room, as know from the other games, is a special case and is different from the rest of the TV world. But the appearance of it is still actually shaped by the protagonist. In this case, the protag being anxious about the murder mystery case has turned the Velvet Room into a limousine which drives through the fog. That you can't see the driver makes you more anxious. Even if you were able to turn around and look at the driver's seat, it's unlikely there would be anyone there.

The appearance of the shadows is also based on the public who watch the Midnight Channel. The king-type shadow was influenced by people watching shows for children, the nyogo-type shadow (the tree wearing a kimono) was influenced by people who historical dramas tuning into the Midnight Channel, the mecha looking shadow comes from anime fans, etc.

For Adachi's dungeon, it's something he made to lure in and confuse the Investigation Team. The structure of the dungeon having two levels represents his thoughts. The red and black zig zaggy circle-y line pattern shows Amenosagiri leaking fog from the center.

The places in the TV world correspond to real life, kinda sorta. If you were to put another gigantic TV in the Junes electronics department and enter from there, you wouldn't wind up in the studio plaza, but you'd be fairly close to it. When you fight Amenosagiri on top of Magatsu Inaba, you can see the city beneath you, as if the TV world were layered on top of the real world.

My rambling corner:

The book doesn't talk about like, "Why don't the protag, Yosuke, Chie or Adachi auto-spawn dungeons when they go inside of the TV". Perhaps it's because of the 4 of them didn't appear on the Midnight Channel before going into the TV and didn't have some public perceptions that helped form dungeons beforehand? Or are the dungeons that form around the victims related to their own shock of being thrown in unexpectedly? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Or the "staging area" *is* the protag, Yosuke and Chie's collective dungeon.

The bit about the structure of Adachi's dungeon... It might sound like they mean "Magatsu Inaba and Magatsu Mandala are 2 separate things" (e.g. the journey and the destination), but when I read "二層", I think of a house having 2 stories. My take personally is that it refers to how when you progress further into the dungeon, you find Adachi on a "2nd story" of sorts up that's high in the sky. Like it reflects how he looks down on other people and also looks down on Inaba?

#persona 4 #persona club p4 #tohru adachi #teddie #kuma #rise kujikawa #yukiko amagi

[alicepao13]

So. The 7th episode of Hudson and Rex after a long and fully undeserved hiatus. First of all, good episode. Even if the plot is ridiculous and overdone in other crime shows, and the concept “Russian spy in St. John’s” is kinda laughable. But hey, I’ve heard more improbable stories in the news lately, so who am I to judge what’s realistic anymore?

How many English speaking people would be able to differentiate a French accent from an Eastern European accent in three words? Just wondering.

I don’t usually laugh in this show (not where I’m supposed to, anyway) but Jesse’s deadpan delivery of "Is it interesting?" was spot on.

Absolutely thought the boyfriend would have somehow ended up being tied to the murder. That didn’t happen. Then I thought the professor would have something to do with it. Didn’t happen either. Either I’m broken or they finally wrote a good script.

Charlie speaking out loud his findings as he searched the victim's library. It's probably for Rex who can't read lol

"I'm not a caveperson". Nope, it's still caveman, you can have this one, boys.

A Canadian getting banned from entering the US for violence? That’s truly a bad guy.

I did not understand anything about oil rigging in the Arctic. Nor do I want to. You guys can keep your Canadian secrets.

It happens in every show. If it's a cop show, we hate the feds. If it's a show about feds, the cops are morons.

How come I've watched so many shows referencing Russian spies and I don't remember Novichok nerve agents being mentioned by that name?

The moment Sarah gave Charlie the antidote that was pretty much where my hopes for a ride to the hospital were dashed. Like, come on, man, let me live a little.

Joe was rightfully pissed about getting stonewalled, although I don't think this case would have been necessarily solved faster if CSIS shared their intel.

Ah, Trina. That must have been her on the phone. It's nice to see they kept in contact.

Charlie’s house??? On my screen???

Charlie and Sarah in Charlie’s house??? On my screen???

Charlie knows the story of Sarah’s family. That’s cute.

Some mentions of Sarah’s family this season. I’m getting my hopes up.

*Charlie and Sarah about to kiss* Rex: Oh shit they’re gonna fuck again. *runs away* Charlie truly meant it when he said that Rex knows to make himself scarce.

“CSIS Safehouse” in large, Arial font letters. Oh boy, I’d like to see the audience screening that warranted that. (People are dumb. I know.)

So the first three letters of CSIS are for Canadian Security Idiot :P

Rex with the syringe in his mouth: Anyone with thumbs around?

Of course Charlie would inject himself with the antidote as he was dying like we’re in some Die Hard movie (I’ve never actually seen them). This was like 5% of the whump I was hoping for.

And then he gets up and stumbles a little and that’s it? How is it that difficult to write some whump? Arrest him and then pass out!

I liked that they finally managed to set up something comedic in the first arc and finished it in the last scene, with Jesse’s interpretation of what every other character’s reactions meant. I agree with them, by the way, Austin Powers is a bad choice, Jesse.

Also, Rex would make a fine ballerina apparently. Charlie secretly agrees.

It was a good episode, I don’t feel let down. As I’ve said before, it’s hard to have that promo hanging out there for 3.5 months and have the episode live up to the expectations. But it had the team working as a team again, Charlie’s house came back from the war, there were cute Charah moments again, there was team banter and funny scenes and Rex saved Charlie's life a bunch lol. I’m not sure what they were trying to do with the first couple of episodes. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

The next episode is promising me whump again. I refuse to get my hopes up again but at least it will be only a week until then. Sadly, it seems like Rex is inside the prison. Like, what the fuck. That alone would be a major red flag for any inmate, they wouldn’t even need to know he’s a cop. Although if Charlie ends up getting beaten to protect him, I’ll forgive them for that and for that atrocious undercover hairstyle. However, it truly was an opportunity to see them working separately.

I love that they mention that Charlie has arrested so many guys in there. Maybe it would work if Charlie slicked his hair back… and Rex turned into a cat.

#hudson and rex #this is the trimmed down version lol

[betterbemeta]

You know my biggest disapointment with breath of the wild was the Shiekah, they turned the VERY indian inspired group into bland ass ninjas and in the story that most revolves around the shiekah's agency that feels off, i suppose an indian group being servants of a european monarchy sucks but the erasure still leaves a bad taste in my mouth, what do you think?

I've never heard that the Sheikah were inspired by Indian art. Which does not mean it can't be a read-- I just haven't encountered it before. I WILL say that I noticed a LOT of architecture inspired by South Asia and India in Skyward Sword. But the dungeons and ruins in that game are rarely associated with a specific people, only 'the ancient past' and 'the goddess Hylia'. I wish we actually got confirmation that ancient Sheikah were associated with those ruins, rather than the only direct clue to Sheikah culture in that game being a time traveling exposition lady.

We had really few direct depictions of Sheikah architecture and customs before BotW, and in that game the 'ancient' Sheikah features were designed with the Jōmon period, the earliest known Japanese art and culture. The 'modern' Sheikah features were also very Japanese in aesthetic.

This kind of brings me to the point I want to bring up and reply to in your ask, which is that I take slight issue with the idea that Hyrule is a 'European monarchy.' I think it could be easy to read it that way where I live, because we tend to trust the aesthetics of stuff in a story to match up to locations in 'real life.' If we see a guy wielding a 14th century straight longsword we tend to assume the guy, within the bounds of style, is a medieval European dude. We don't expect him to lift his helm visor and reveal he's Japanese.

But for the same reason we look at anime characters and assume that many of them are probably intended to scan as Japanese to a Japanese audience, I think we need to extend that to Legend of Zelda. Even though the Hylian monarchy isn't wearing fashions that look Japanese, their nationalist myth throughout many games is set up to be extremely familiar to the domestic Japanese audience. Link and Zelda may be Blondes but the Sheikah analogs to a 'japan' themed culture are given white hair.

(Somebody else than me might have better insight into Anime Hair Colors.)

I live in the USA, 'the west', so by default narratives about imperialism and orientalism most accessible to me are going to assume whiteness and euro-centrism. But I feel it would be wrong to frame a piece of Japanese media as about whiteness, especially when it's clear that we can see the same type of stuff happen wherever racism and imperialism intersect.

There's only so much detail or nuance I can really have, given that I'm a white person in the anglosphere who's able to take Asian Literature in college, and Use Wikipedia, and Compare mythology, history, and news out of other countries to Video Games.

But yes, with all that said. It does put bad tastes in my mouth. Basically any depiction of entire cultures existing in some way to ensure a monarchy's security will do that, and the recent installment TotK extends to other fantasy races the horrible fate that has always been slapped onto the Sheikah: bound by an oath to serve Hyrule, Zelda and by extension, Link who paradoxically exists to both be the nation's tool but also the inheritor of everything in it.

#botw #totk #totk spoilers #totk critical #legend of zelda #the hylians are japanese and their imperial myth is japanese and their artifacts are japanese and the game is comfort food to japanese norm #and that doesn't make any of the issues better

[darkcircles4lyfe]

You've written about queer rep and implied queer rep in MHA so I was wondering what are your thoughts on Aoyama? In the beginning of the series most of the audience assumes that he's gay or queer because he's feminine or not traditionally masculine, and I also assumed that his line about being 'different' was a not-so-subtle reference to him being gay. But flash forward!! That 'different' line is actually foreshadowing him being quirkless. I personally see this as Horikoshi playing with people's expectations and assumptions again. The joke was on the audience for assuming that behaving feminine = gay when there's really no way to 'behave gay', it's just social norms. Aoyama got a plotline with flaws and conflicts beyond what the audience initially assumed and it has nothing to do with being queer at all. He could still be queer, but the rep is casual just like Tiger. Horikoshi disguising quirklessness with perceived queerness caused the audience to miss the foreshadowing from a mile away. It's also interesting how Aoyama and Deku are supposed to be compared since they're both quirkless kids. Aoyama, the guy the fandom perceives as queer, being paralleled with Deku... perhaps another hint to Deku being canonically queer as well? I really wanna hear your thoughts on this haha

You know that song, “Gay or European?” Haha. Anyway.

I’m glad you brought this up because it appears to be yet another example of Horikoshi planting an obvious looking trope, only to subvert our expectations. And it’s funny because it worked perfectly. If you ask the average cishet fan, they would most likely concede that Aoyama is not straight. Even a homophobe would agree. And thus we all had to deal with the excuse, “Deku can’t be gay! Look! *points to Aoyama* this is how The Creator draws gay people!” He’s the Gay One. End of discussion. But I’m sure Horikoshi’s intent was mostly on disguising Aoyama’s angst about being quirkless and a traitor, like you said. I think it’s cool that his backstory ends up being totally unrelated to his potential queer identity. It laughs in the face of those who wrote him off as a flat stereotype.

When you think about it that way, Horikoshi must have made the connection that the angst around being quirkless is similar, and can even be seen as a metaphor for queerness. He’s aware of the double entendre. So I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that there is also queer coding involved in comparing Aoyama and Izuku for their similar backgrounds. For the longest time, we were led to believe they have something in common, but were not told what that was. Of course Horikoshi must have known how that sounded.

That’s why I’m not so sure he used Aoyama to intentionally deflect attention away from other potentially queer characters. Idk, but the idea doesn’t sit right with me. People made this assumption that if he made some characters obviously and explicitly queer, then he wouldn’t try to be sneaky with others. But that’s kinda disingenuous. Aoyama definitely does still service the whole general picture of the manga seeming predictable at first glance, though. I just don’t think Horikoshi was like “I’ll make this character obviously queer so no one suspects Izuku” because again, he makes an effort to draw attention to their similarities. It goes over the cishet audience’s heads, but it’s there for anyone who is familiar with the more nuanced intentions and methods of queer coding. Maybe that’s the whole genius master plan, to fool the straights, but do a little wink wink nudge nudge for the rest of us so we’re in on the game.

#asks #lin speaks #bnha meta #aoyama yuuga #midoriya izuku #bkdk #bakudeku #dkbk #dekubaku