#i’ve never actually watched an england game live

[katelynnwrites]

hi do you know where to watch live england games outside of the uk?

no idea sorry…maybe someone who sees this will be able to help you?

[sunsburns]

naked in manhattan

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader / implied art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’re just hours away from a flight that will change your career forever—one that will take you to london, england, for the 2012 olympics, a milestone you never thought you’d reach. thrilled yet trembling with nerves, you find yourself at the hotel bar, celebrating alone. it does not help when you run into art donaldson and… his wife?

—or: you and tashi rekindle an old flame

word count: 6.9k

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, semi-public sex (a gym at the middle of the night so idk if that counts), mid-challengers movie (a year after the atlanta scene with tashi and patrick), angst with no comfort, fingering, homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, no use of y/n, old situationship best described in terms of “casual” by chappell roan (iykyk), art is lowkey a shit starter

author’s note: so i finished this a while back and added it to my queue and did not realize i put it for july instead of june so LOL MY BAD. this is kinda like a prequel to “good luck, babe!” but you don't need to read that to get this. alsoooo thank you for all the love and feedback in “good luck, babe!” i’ve read every single message and tried to reply to all of them! you guys are so sweet and inspired me to write more! thank you thank you <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

Manhattan, New York City, 2012

"I hope you're planning on getting laid tonight."

Your drink is cold, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as you swirl the straw absentmindedly. The dim lighting of the hotel bar casts a warm, golden glow over everything, making the polished wood of the bar counter gleam. Around you, the murmur of conversations, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clinking of glasses create a lively yet intimate ambiance. You glance at the TV mounted in the corner, where a muted sports channel displays highlights from a basketball game.

You try not to snort into your drink at the words of Patrick Zweig on the other end of the call. You push your phone closer to your ear, unable to bite back the grin spreading across your face.

"Are you serious?" you ask.

"What?" Patrick's tone is mockingly innocent, full of playful mischief.

"I thought you called to say something a little more... I don't know, sincere? Heartwarming?"

He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh that you can practically feel through the phone. In the background, you hear the faint sounds of a city—honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional bark of a dog. The noise fades slightly as Patrick likely moves to a quieter spot, and you can almost picture him getting in his car in some other state—you think he's in Arizona.

"The only kind of warming I wanna hear about is cockwarming," he retorts, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You make a face, "You're disgusting."

"I mean it," he insists, still laughing. "I'm actually so jealous of you right now. You qualified for the Olympics, for fuck's sake! How's your mom doing? Did she have a heart attack? Did she call you already? I hope she packed you some condoms. There's gonna be such a wide variety. Literally every country in the world."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick."

Your mother did call, her voice crackling with emotion over the phone just before Patrick rang you. She told you how proud she is of you, how she can't wait to watch you play and tell everyone she knows that her daughter is an Olympic tennis player. A gold medalist, maybe.

Her words echo in your mind, filling you with a warmth that battles the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

You take a sip of your drink, savouring the blend of fruity and bitter flavours, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts. You try not to spill it on your Ralph Lauren sweater, custom-made, just for the Olympics, with your name stitched on the arm.

Around you, the hotel bar is alive with the buzz of other athletes celebrating with their teams. The fellowship is appreciable as laughter and cheers fill the air. But for some single athletes, like yourself, it's a different story. You feel as if you're in high school all over again, too awkward to make friends, hoping someone braver than you will come by and say hello first.

"You better not be sitting at the bar alone, drinking that orange juice you like."

"A sangria isn't just juice, you dick," you retort, rolling your eyes.

"You're such a loser."

You do feel a little bit like a loser, sitting alone at the bar, but you know you shouldn't. You're hours away from your flight to London where you'll have the chance to play tennis in the Olympics. This is all you've ever wanted since you were a child, all you've been working for—sweat, blood, and tears. You can't even remember a time when you've dreamt of something other than this.

Tennis has always been your escape, your sanctuary. You remember those early days when you played with second-hand rackets and makeshift nets, the local court becoming your second home.

And then there was Patrick, your closest… friend(?) and fiercest rival. His encouragement, his competition, and his company kept you grounded and motivated. When the going got tough, the dream felt too distant, and all of it made you feel far too guilty as if you had stolen someone else's life, Patrick was there to reassure you that you deserved it just as much as the next. Without him, you likely would have walked away from the sport you love.

"I can't believe you made it to the Olympics before me," Patrick's voice pulls you back to the present, a mix of envy and pride lacing his words. You can almost see the playful smirk on his face, a familiar expression that often surfaced during your countless matches together.

"I wish you were here, Pat." Your voice softens, the longing evident. It was hard to track down Patrick Zweig, especially while he was constantly on the move, hopping from state to state, playing as many challengers as he could sign up for, each match a stepping stone toward his dream of winning the US Open. And you think he will. You've played against him enough times to know he's better than you at hitting a ball with a racket.

There were nights when you'd both crash in a shabby motel or back at your place after a gruelling day on the court, strategizing and critiquing each other's play styles (sometimes in more than just tennis). His tenacity was a beacon for you, pushing you to strive harder and to reach further.

His voice softens, becoming more earnest. "Yeah, me too. I'll try to get tickets for one of your games in London. If not, I'll catch up with your mom and watch it with her. Is your dad still in the picture?"

You roll your eyes, a reflex to his familiar teasing. "Oh, my god."

"I'm just asking," he chuckles. "Listen, I'm gonna let you go, 'cause I've got a date tonight. But call me when you land."

"Oh, yeah, okay." You try not to let the disappointment seep into your voice, but it's hard. It's not like you and Patrick were together, at least not publicly, at least not in the sense that you couldn't see other people. But even as you tell yourself that, a knot tightens in your chest.

It feels a bit teenageish, you think, messing around with friends and acting like it means nothing just to avoid making things awkward. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were leaving something unsaid, something unacknowledged. Patrick was one of the few people in your life who kept you on your toes and made you feel good—truly good.

Now, the idea of him with someone else, going on dates while you chase your dreams, feels like a betrayal you can't quite articulate. But what right do you have to feel that way? You never made things official, never dared to cross that line.

You never bothered to search for love outside of tennis.

"Have fun on your date," you manage to say. It comes out more brittle than you'd hoped. "Talk to you later."

"Bye!" he says, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart. His voice is light and carefree, and why wouldn't it be?

You end the call and set your phone down on the bar with a bit more force than intended, the hollow thud echoing your frustration. The bartender glances your way and you try to flash him an honest smile before ordering another drink. The TV overhead flickers, switching from basketball highlights to a recap of the latest tennis matches. You watch the screen without really seeing it.

The bar is still lively, yet you feel an overwhelming sense of solitude. You can't help but feel like you're stuck in limbo—caught between your dreams and the reality of your personal life.

You take a deep breath and a long sip of the rest of your first drink, the cool liquid doing little to ease the heat of frustration building inside you. You tell yourself you should be happy, grateful even. But right now, all you can think about is Patrick, and how much easier it would be if he were here with you.

But he's not. And maybe he never will be.

Maybe no one will.

Maybe you will die alone, your tennis racket as your only companion.

"This seat taken?" A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts.

You turn, startled, "No-" you start, but then the blur of blonde hair comes to focus and you're stumbling over your words, "Art? What- what are you doing here?"

"Oh," he smiles, a shy faint red blush already growing on his pale skin. He sits beside you, almost hesitantly, "Just stopping by the city. I saw you and thought I'd say hi."

"Hi." You return his smile, albeit a bit warily.

It's been years since you last spoke to Art properly, though your paths have crossed a few times. You've seen him in magazines, TV, and brief passings usually at major tournaments—Wimbledon, the Australian Open, the US Open. Each time, there were shy smiles and waves from across the room, lingering eyes, and awkward conversations where mutual friends tried to reintroduce you as if you hadn't once known each other

Art looks different every time you see him. His hair, now a little shorter than you remember, still maintains that boyish shagginess. There's a darker tan on his skin, evidence of his time spent under the sun. Some days he has a brighter smile, other days, it's a smile that never reaches his eyes.

As he sits there, you can't help but think of how golden his hair used to look whenever he wore his old Stanford hat, the one he used to pull low over his eyes during your college days. The memory makes you aware that you're staring, maybe a little too long. But he's looking at you too, his blue eyes trailing from one end of your face to the other, as if trying to memorize it all, capturing a photograph of who you are now.

A warmth spreads through you under his gaze, and when he finally looks away, you turn too, tapping at your empty glass, pretending to seem interested in the way the ice has started to melt.

But your eyes betray you, slowly trailing back to him. You watch the way he sits, the way he calls over the bartender and orders himself a glass of water. You try not to notice the deep timbre his voice has gained over the years, and how it resonates in the noisy bar. He looks at you, then the empty seat on your other side, and finally scans the room anxiously, as if he's searching for someone or something.

"He's not here," you finally say, breaking the silence that has grown too heavy. "If that's what you're wondering."

He nods, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably. "What city is he in now?"

"Vegas, I think."

He makes a face and rests his chin on his hand. "There's no challengers in Vegas this month."

"Then he's just visiting. I don't know." The truth is, you don't want to talk about Patrick right now. Especially not with Art. Not after the way they ended things. You watch Art shrug, and the bartender sets your drink in front of you. You take a grateful sip, savouring the blend of flavours. Art holds his glass carefully, and the two of you sit in strained silence for a moment, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

You can't help but ask, "What are you doing here? In Manhattan?"

"I have an interview tomorrow. For the New York Times," Art says, leaning back slightly. He seems a little surprised as if he expected you to sit there without acknowledging him for the whole night. It makes you wonder what he thinks of you. "They're doing a piece on my career, the highs, the lows... the beginning and stuff."

You study his face, trying to gauge his emotions. You know what it's like to be interviewed, to have a team of people making you look your best for photos and another team crafting answers to help you maintain your reputation. It’s exhausting and thrilling all at once. "Congrats, I'm happy for you."

"Thank you. If anything, I should be congratulating you. Olympics? That's huge..." He continues talking, his lips moving, but you’re barely registering the words. For the first time that night, he seems genuinely enthusiastic, a faint spark in his eyes as he talks about you, about London, gesturing with his hand in excitement.

That's when you notice it. The gold around his finger. It glimmers under the warm lights of the bar, catching your eye like a beacon. You can't stop staring at it even after he's done talking.

"Oh, yeah. It's great." The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. You struggle to find the right response, not wanting to be rude. "You're married?"

His face falls, and he looks down at his hand resting on his lap. "Oh, yeah, yeah. We, uh..." He scratches the back of his head, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before looking away. He seems nervous, like he's bracing for your reaction, worried to tell you, as if you weren’t supposed to know at all. "We got married last year. We kept pushing the date for a while because we were... we were busy... and stuff just kept getting in the way."

"We...?"

"Tashi."

"Tashi," you echo, the name tasting foreign and bitter on your tongue. "You're married? You married each other?"

He nods, "Yeah, we've been engaged for a few years now. You haven't heard?"

You feel a lump form in your throat. "No, uh. My coach tries to keep me away from certain news... my mom suggested it. So I don't get uh, distracted."

This is exactly the kind of situation your team has been trying to avoid.

The reality of his words sinks in, and you feel a sharp pang of something—loss, regret, maybe even jealousy. The air around you feels thicker and harder to breathe. Each word he says feels like another brick being laid on your chest, pressing down, making it harder to stay composed.

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."

You force a smile, but it's a fragile thing, threatening to shatter at any moment. "That's... that's great, Art. I'm happy for you. Really. How was... how was the wedding?" Your mind races with thoughts of broken promises and missed opportunities. You imagine Tashi in her wedding dress; you know she looked beautiful. The image stabs at you, and you wince.

"It was beautiful. Both our families came in, and we kept it traditional, in a church. It was..." He pauses, watching you before adding, "It was a small ceremony. Private. Just family."

His words twist the knife deeper. Tashi's family used to see you as such. "No, yeah, I get it. Wouldn't want any trouble at the wedding. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for the both of you." You turn to the bartender, desperate to keep your voice steady. "Hey, can I get another drink? Something stronger?"

Patrick was right; your stupid orange juice won't get you through the night.

Art watches you with concern, his brow furrowing. "How many of those have you had?"

You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your ears. "Not enough."

"Does your coach know you're drinking?"

"Does yours know you're talking to me?"

Art leans back, his posture stiffening. He turns to his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass as he takes another sip. The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. You watch as he processes your words, his expression shifting from defensiveness to something more pained. You instantly feel a pang of guilt, realizing you've struck a nerve.

You've heard all about Tashi's coaching with Art. Whispers in the locker rooms during tournaments, hushed conversations about how she's pushing him until he cracks. You never wanted to believe it, never wanted to think that Tashi, of all people, would be the one to break him down.

"She calls you Ace, you know."

You make a face at the name. A journalist had written an article about you a few years ago when you won your first US Open, nicknaming you Ace since your serves were almost impossible to hit. The nickname stuck, plastered across headlines, magazine covers, and merchandise. People even bet on you becoming the youngest tennis player with the most aces in history before the season ended. You were only off by a dozen.

"Does she?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected.

"You do have a killer serve."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Killer." The word feels bitter on your tongue. "Tashi used to hit those back at me like it was nothing."

Art nods, taking another sip of his drink before pausing to look at you. "Only 'cause she knows you."

"Knew," you correct him.

The silence stretches again, heavier this time. You're about to say something, anything to break it, when Art speaks again, his voice softer, more earnest.

"I miss you."

What. The. Fuck.

"I do," he insists, leaning forward, his eyes searching yours. "I miss hanging out with you. I miss playing with you. Watching your games live and not recorded on my TV."

"Art, c'mon." You feel the dread crawling up your throat, wishing you had left the bar sooner. Every word he says seems to pull you deeper into a past you've been trying to escape. Art has done nothing but throw you off your game all night.

"I miss you outside of tennis, too," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I miss our late-night walks, studying in the library. You remember those?"

"Of course I do."

"Tashi misses you, too," he says, and you can tell he's crossing a line, testing your patience. You can feel the corner of your mouth twitch, your eyes unable to meet his. "She tells me every night. She's always keeping up with your stats, watching all of your games, rewatching your old ones. She makes notes for you, how you could improve. She wants to coach you."

"Art, stop it," you finally snap, turning to face him. The night feels ruined, any semblance of peace shattered. Was this all some elaborate scheme against you? After all these years, is this how they repay you? Out of spite? Is that what it is, a way to get back at you because you somehow got it all, and Tashi's taking whatever she can scrape off from Art?

"I don't want her to coach me. And I highly doubt she wants to coach me either."

"I booked the hotel," he says suddenly, his voice softer, more sincere. "She doesn't know you're here. And I really think it will be good for you two to talk." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, placing it carefully on the bar in front of you. "Here's our room number. I'll be out tonight with some friends, so the room is yours till late. Just, don't kill each other or break anything if you fight."

"I'm not going—"

"She really does miss you," he interrupts, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you might understand, might relent.

You stare at the piece of paper, feeling its presence like a burning brand. Art stands up, hesitating for a moment as if he wants to say more but thinks better of it. "I mean it. Think about it," he murmurs before turning and walking away, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space of your mind.

You watch him go, each step he takes pulling at the threads of your carefully constructed facade. As he nears the entrance, your eyes follow him instinctively, and that's when you see her. Tashi. She's standing there, with her bags looking around with a familiar intensity, her eyes scanning the room until they lock onto yours.

You feel sick.

Meeting Art was a pleasant surprise; he makes your heart race and your cheeks burn. But Tashi makes your heart stop and your brain shut off.

She looks different—older, more mature, hair straight and cut to a mid-length but also a lighter colour—but still heartbreakingly familiar. Her eyes widen slightly as she recognizes you.

She opens her mouth as if to say something when Art stands next to her, pressing a kiss to her temple, but no words come out.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

The weight of her gaze is too much. You're the first to look away. You stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. "Excuse me," you mutter to the bartender, slapping a couple of bucks on the counter. Your voice feels distant, and detached, as if it belongs to someone else.

You push through the crowd, your mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. You need air. You need space.

As you reach the elevator, you can feel Tashi's eyes still on you. But you keep moving, your footsteps quickening with each step. You need to focus on tennis. That's the only thing that's never let you down.

Tashi had once picked tennis over you, and now it was your turn to do the same.

You reach your room and close the door behind you, leaning against it as you finally let out the breath you've been holding. The walls seem to close in on you, and you slide down to the floor.

You need to remember why you're here. For the game. For the dream. And that has to be enough.

Only one problem.

You can't sleep.

Hours later, you find yourself in the hotel gym, the quiet hum of the machines the only sound in the stillness of the night. Your mind is racing, a chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions you can't control. Desperate for an outlet, you hop on a treadmill and start running, hoping to exhaust yourself into some semblance of peace.

Anything is better than sitting in the hotel lobby, scouring the internet on the public computer for any proof of Art and Tashi's marriage while drinking wine straight from the bottle.

Art was right, it was a small wedding. There were almost no photos of it caught by the paparazzi, only articles upon articles talking about it, magazine covers and everything. God, how could you have missed this? How out of the loop were you?

There was only one photo posted, and it was from Tashi's Facebook and Instagram from less than a year ago; a picture of just her hand holding onto Art's, where you can see her wedding ring. There was no caption. But the photo had millions of likes.

You wonder if Patrick knew. He probably did. He stalks her account religiously and only recently started to tone it down. And then there's you, who had her blocked on everything since your last argument.

The music playing in your ears drowns out the world around you, a heavy beat pulsing as you hum along. Your eyes fixate on the rising numbers on the treadmill screen, sometimes glancing out the window at the city skyline, other times catching your silhouette in the glass reflection.

Sweat makes your clothes cling to you like a second skin, rolling down your spine in rivulets. You're still a little tipsy from your drinks, the taste lingering in your cheeks, but you think you're sober enough that a few more miles will drain it all out.

Art's words are burned into your mind. The wedding you were never invited to, how he suddenly wants to be friends again. You can see where he's coming from; tennis is lonely. You're lonely. You press the button to go faster, your legs burning as you push yourself harder, trying to escape the thoughts that chase you.

You don't hear the door click open, and it takes a few seconds for you to spot the reflection of someone walking behind you in the window's reflection, rolling out a pink yoga mat. But they don't step onto it, they don't move, and even worse, you catch their eye in the reflection.

Fuck.

It's Tashi Duncan.

Your heart lurches in your chest. You quickly look away, panic setting in. You turn your music up higher and make the treadmill run faster, the machine whirring louder in response. Your pulse races, not just from the exertion, but from the presence of the one person you can't bear to face right now.

In the corner of your eye, you see her approach you. When you hear her call out your name between songs, you pretend you can't hear her. You pretend to be captivated by the sight of the city at night, pretend that you're lost in the music as P!nk's voice blares into your ears, cursing out one of her old lovers.

You wonder how long you can keep the act up.

Tashi moves with a determination that you've always admired and feared. She walks around your treadmill, eyes locked onto you with a fierce intensity. Without hesitation, she reaches down and unplugs the machine from the wall, forcing it to power down abruptly.

Not long enough.

"What the fuck?" You huff, yanking out your earbuds. "What's your fucking problem?"

"You're my problem," she says, her voice steady, unyielding as she rolls her eyes.

"I haven't said a word to you."

"And that's my problem. I'm talking to you," Her gaze bores into yours, refusing to be ignored. You can see the resolve in her eyes, the same decisiveness that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court.

"I'm busy," you snap, and your breath comes in ragged gasps, both from the exertion and the emotional storm raging inside you. You feel trapped, cornered by the very person you’ve been trying to avoid.

You bite your tongue, stepping off the treadmill and walking around her when she steps in front of you. You make a straight line for your bag, watching her from the mirrors as she follows you closely.

"Can you listen?" It's more of a demand than an ask, "I just... Art told me what he did. He's a little shit, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. You have other shit to worry about."

You're taking long chugs from your water, staring at her without saying a word. Part of it is because you have nothing to say to her, and another is because you're afraid that if you speak, she'll see through you.

Tashi's eyes roam over you, lingering on your shorts and the way the wires from your earbuds snake from your iPod, under your tank, and peek out from under your sports bra. Her gaze is both appraising and filled with something unresolved between you. When you don't respond, she sighs. "You look great, by the way. On the court. You've changed your approach. You're vicious."

The compliment stings more than it soothes. You still don't say anything, letting the silence stretch between you like a chasm.

"...Or maybe you've always been. I haven't seen you in a long time. So a lot could've changed, I don't know."

You lower your bottle, swallowing the water. It feels cold as it runs down your throat, a stark contrast to the heat of your rising anger. You can't help the way your eyes drop to her hand when you pull your hair down from its ponytail. The sight of the ring on her finger feels like a punch to the gut.

She notices.

"We didn't want you to find out this way."

Your eyes snap up to hers. "And how was I supposed to find out?"

Tashi looks taken aback for a moment, her confident façade faltering. She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "I don't know. Maybe we should've told you. Should've invited you. But I thought... I thought it would be easier for you if you didn't know. I didn't want to hurt you more than I already had."

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of any real amusement. "Easier?

"Look," Tashi begins, her voice tinged with a hint of impatience, "I'm not a fan of the way I ended things. But I think that keeping a grudge for this long is embarrassing. We were teenagers."

"You're right," you concede with a bitter chuckle, "it is embarrassing. But you know what's even more embarrassing?" Your voice rises, fueled by a mixture of frustration and hurt. "Having your husband come to me and tell me how much he misses me. And how you miss me. But you don't have the guts to tell me that yourself, do you? Do you miss me, Tashi?"

"Of course I miss you," she scoffs, her tone defensive. "You were my best friend. My serving partner. We played and won doubles together."

"Is that all I was to you?"

"Was there supposed to be anything more?"

There it is, the moment you've been dreading, the confrontation you've been avoiding. You can feel the familiar ache in your chest, "You know I fucking loved you, Tashi," you admit. "And yeah, whatever, everyone loved you. No one could get enough of Tashi Duncan. But you know damn well I loved you for more than just that."

"Loved?" She steps closer, her eyes searching yours. "You don't love me anymore?"

"No," you tell her. "I don't. I dropped out of your groupie a while ago."

"What do you love, then?" Her voice is almost a whisper, the distance between you closing.

"I love tennis," you confess, your gaze never leaving hers. "I love winning. Turns out I'm great at both. And I love that too. And people love me. That's more than you could ever give me. Or Art."

"Even Patrick?" The mention of his name is a sharp jab; she's trying to get under your skin.

"I don't know, you tell me." You're taunting her. And you love the way she falters for a split second. "You saw him at the Open last year, didn't you?"

The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you. "Listen," she says, her voice dropping lower, "I just came here to tie some loose ends. For Art's sake. He says It'll be good for me."

"Okay," you reply, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation in your favour. Hook, line and sinker. "Is there anything else you want to get off your chest?"

Hook.

Tashi's eyes narrow slightly, but she takes the bait, her expression shifting to one of determination. "You raise your arm too high when you serve. You're gonna dislocate your shoulder one day."

"I bet you're waiting for the day I do."

"I can make you the best."

"Am I not already?"

Line.

"You're one of the best at most. But not the best. I'd be surprised if you bring back bronze. You're too short-tempered for silver. Let me coach you. I'll make sure you bring back gold."

"I don't need you," you say, the words catching in your throat.

"We both know you do," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

And sinker.

In that moment, everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. The words hang in the air, a silent challenge. You can feel the heat radiating from her, the closeness almost unbearable.

Without another thought, your lips crash together in a desperate kiss, a release of all the pent-up tension and longing that has simmered between you for far too long.

It's a whirlwind of heat and passion, each touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume everything in its path. Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your body pressed against hers with a fierce urgency.

The kiss deepens a symphony of desire and desperation, all the words you couldn't say pouring into it with a fervour that borders on reckless abandon. You can feel yourself start to become absorbed into the bubble that is Tashi Duncan, it sucks you in, and it scares you, makes you feel as if you're sinking into the bottom of the ocean.

She grips the back of your neck, hard enough that her nails dig into the skin. Tashi waits for your gasp, and when you do, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, past your teeth until it collides with your own.

You're moaning, groaning into her mouth with the way she shoves you until your back hits the mirror behind you. You're arching into her at the way she fucking smiles against your lips at your reaction.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic. Almost in the same way Art is. You know it. She knows it. But in your defence, it's been a while since you've been kissed, it's been a while since someone's touched you this way, with heat and flavour. You're a little dizzy from it, cheeks flaring with embarrassment.

Tashi sucks your tongue into her mouth and you buck your hips against the thigh she's pressed between your legs.

There's a sweetness that lingers when she bites your lip, you wonder if she's wearing lipgloss, maybe chapstick. You hope she can't tell you've been drinking, that talking to Art made you spiral, that you've been bluffing since the moment she walked into the gym. Since the night she packed her things and told you she was leaving Stanford, her scholarship has no use since she can't play anymore.

When her hands run down your neck to your waist, gliding over the sweat on your skin, you can feel the cold touch of her wedding ring. It's frigid, making you shiver when Tashi starts to lick up the column of your throat. You almost feel bad about how wet you've become.

"Tashi..." you huff, her hands found their way to the base of your ass, guiding you to rock faster against her, only making you whine. Her grasp is tight, wanting. She pulls at your hips, slowly, dragging your crotch closer to hers and then pushing you back down on her leg. She repeats the motion a few times, rolling her own hips up into you a little more with each motion, and soon your muscles start to work so you can grind down onto her.

Tashi rewards you with a quiet moan—oh, you want her to do that again, you're going to make her do that again, louder and louder—and then, with a touch so light you could cry, she traces one hand over your hipbones and down to your pussy.

You can feel your stomach nearly drop, "You're married, Tashi."

She pulls away just to laugh at you. One finger traces your slit through your shorts, and you hear yourself moan. She raises her brows, a challenging look in her eyes, "Are you jealous?"

You try to scoff, but the cold glass of the mirror behind you squeaks when you shift. Even just this feather-light pressure through two layers of fabric, and every nerve ending in your body sets alight at once.

"What would Art say?" You try to say, your hair falling over your face as you try to collect some kind of morality. If you were caught, you can already imagine the headlines and the stories people would write about you. "What would he do if he found us right now?"

"I don't know," Tashi hums, leaning closer. She pretends to think as if the answer isn't obvious, teasing you a little when she gets close enough to kiss you but doesn't. "He'd probably ask to join."

You can't stop the way that thought alone makes you melt. You remember the jokes Patrick used to make back when you were in college, of you and Tashi being his wet dreams. You can almost imagine, how he would moan at everything, want everything, his whiney moans too similar to the ones he makes when he's on the court.

Tashi rubs gently at your pussy a few more times like she's exploring you, and then suddenly she taps right where your clit is. You cry out, and she sighs against your mouth. "You're so wet. You like it when I touch you?"

"Yeah, please... touch me." You nod. And in your head, you're telling yourself you only like it because you haven't been with anyone since Patrick left for his tour.

Tashi kisses you again, and it's a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath her shirt she starts to fumble with your waistband, and you're both angry and resentful and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet.

Her fingers are clumsily slipping into your underwear and then she's there, her fingers are brushing right against your clit—you're so wet that her fingers brush right through your folds, gliding like silk, and by the time she reaches your hole, two fingers easily sink in right to the knuckle.

Tashi leaves you gasping and she teases you for it. "So sensitive," she taunts against your lips, pressing her thumb against your clit so she can see you squirm, pumping her fingers at an urgent pace to hear you moan. "So needy."

With each movement, she scissors her fingers a little, spreading you wider every time, and she starts to mouth at your neck with hot, wet kisses. "Do you like that, yeah? Am I making you feel good? I am, aren't I? I'm exactly what you need. C'mon say you want me. Tell me you need me, Ace."

"Maybe—" You're breathless, and the nickname has you tugging at her hair again, "Shit, I saw the way you made Art. He... oh god... he wouldn't be half the athlete without you. I also... I also wouldn't want to ruin my shoulder... while—while serving."

"I'm not talking about tennis."

For a moment, you worry that you've fallen for a trap, that you've said too much. You're vulnerable, a little drunk on lust and wine, and Tashi isn't stupid to not catch your sapphic crush on her since the two of you became friends, an old high school love that's never really disappeared, from slumber party kisses and how you've gawked at her, at her husband and even her ex-boyfriend.

"C'mon, Tash, you're always talking about tennis."

"Not this time."

You barely catch onto what she says. Your body feels like it's going through the most intense orgasm of your life, especially now that she's given up on pumping her fingers in favour of curling them in rapid beats against your g-spot, but you know that you're not even coming yet: you're close, though, judging by the way the room is spinning around you, and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach—"I think I'm close... oh, I don't—fuck—keep touching me like that."

She bites your neck until you say her name. You pull her hair until she moans. Her touch is blistering against your skin. She says your name in a breathy drawl like she's pleading with you, humouring you, wanting to take everything from you.

"Keep going, please, please don't stop," you all but shout, and Tashi continues the massaging movement right up on your g-spot: the positioning of her hand means the heel of her palm is dragging over your clit, and your hips are frantically grinding up into her hand—you're gonna come, the world feels like it's crashing down around you.

Every muscle in your body tenses up and through it all you hear Tashi whispering, come on, that's it, I've got you, come on, come on, and then you're coming—

Distantly, you can feel her fingers continue their movements inside of you, unrelenting—and the other hand keeps a firm grip on your hips, grounding you onto her lap—but other than that, all you know is the pleasure slamming into each nerve in your body, one by one and then all at once. A hot sting against your skin that reminds you of the sun whenever you're on the tennis court, deep into the game you've turned into the love of your life.

It can't have possibly been this long since the last time you've gotten laid, right?

Then, suddenly, you're back in reality. Tashi is heaving for breath against your shoulder and her fingers are back to a slow, steady pumping, in and out of your swollen pussy. "You're so pretty, you know that? No tennis talk."

You lean your head back against the mirror, a slow grin forming on your lips, "You don't think I'm pretty when I play."

"I think you're hot when you play."

You peek a glance at Tashi, meeting her eyes as she watches you, watching the way you catch your breath, skin shining against the fluorescent lights of the gym, similar to how you shine on the court. Yeah, you're a sight for sore fucking eyes.

Tashi takes slow, taunting steps back and away from you, and then she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks, moaning around the digits, and through hazy eyes, you can see the most fucked-out look on her face just at the taste of your cum.

She licks her fingers clean—you feel your pussy clench down again at the sight—before opening her eyes, fixing you with an intense stare, and panting, "I'll be in my room," she rolls up her pink mat (which she never used) and picks up her bag, "I'm sure you know the number. I'm hoping you can return the favour and touch me or something. You know, before you leave in the morning."

tags 🏷️: @begoniaespresso / @sceletaflores / @too-deviant / @wolflover384 / @sevikasblackgf / @supercutszns / @diorrfairy / @24kmar / @apolloscastellan

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[greynatomy]

luck of the irish

katie mccabe x reader

i’m having sm trouble writing rn that i feel like i’m just rambling when writing at this point. hope it makes sense for y’all

part 2 part 3

———

“Come on. Please. For me?” You ask the two people on a video call with you

Your best friends, Selena and Taylor, and you are having a virtual hangout, seeing as you all live in different places.

“What’s in it for us?” Selena asks, taking a sip of her wine.

“Absolutely nothing, but you get to go to England.”

“And what are we gonna do? Sit and watch you ogle your girlfriend for like two hours.”

“Exactly.”

“Stop teasing me. You can’t hardly blame me though, my girlfriend is hot. And y’all are just bitter that you’re single.”

“Hey! I’m not anymore.”

“Shocker!” You say sarcastically. “You’ve been going to your boyfriend’s games so much and brought us with you, now it’s my turn.”

“Sel, you need to get yourself an athlete.”

“I know.” She whines, extending the ‘o’. “You guys need to set me up with someone.

“You might catch the eyes of some footballers if you come here.”

“We’re gonna be in so many news headlines.”

“Just gotta make sure we don’t look stupid in them.”

———

The Arsenal Women’s team are all on the pitch, warming up for their match. All of a sudden, the crowd throughout the stadium starts cheering, confusing all the players and staff on the pitch.

Looking all around, the crowd is watching the big screen. There you are, with your two best friends, all completely oblivious to what’s happening. The three of you were too preoccupied doing the marshmallow game to notice all the eyes on you. Well, to be fair, you all grew up with eyes always on you that you all learned to block it out.

“Stop fucking it up Taylor. You’re like the whole music industry, where’s the rhythm?”

“Fuck you! I don’t have to listen to you. You’re not my Mom.”

“Okay! Let’s just try it again okay?”

“I’ll start. One marshmallow.”

“Check it out.”

“Woo.”

Down on the field, Katie watches the big screen, not being able to stop the huge grin of amusement on her face.

“Dude! There’s no way that’s actually Y/N Y/LN, Selena Gomez and Taylor Swift.”

“I mean, if you open your eyes you would see that it actually is.” Caitlin shoves Katie away because of her sarcastic response.

———

Nothing really happens for the first half, but as soon as the second half starts, Arsenal in playing like they’ve got some fresh pairs of legs on them.

“Now I understand why people watch sports.” Taylor says loudly.

“Dates an athlete and is now obsessed with sports.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“But seriously. I’ve never watched a sport on my life until I met Katie. And it’s a plus she looks hot doing it.”

———

We’ve got McCabe, Katie McCabe I just don’t think you understand she plays out on the wing, she hits it with a zing we’ve got Katie McCabe

You started chanting with all the fans, encouraging your friends to join in.

“C’mon guys! Just like I taught you!”

———

Arsenal eventually won from a banger from McCabe, who was now getting interviewed.

“Katie, good game today. You scored the game winning shot, how’d that feel?”

“Oh, em, I was just doing what I usually do. But I’ve actually got my girlfriend here, so I had to put on a bit of a show for her.”

“Oh! Wow! Well, thank you for your time Katie.” The reporter says a bit shocked at the news.

Katie walks into the locker room, everyone is just sat at their cubby, cooking down from the match, when a knock is heard from the door.

“You girls decent?” Jonas’ voice comes through the door.

“Yeah!”

“Alright, well, we’ve got some guests that would love to meet you all.”

You, Taylor and Selena walk through the door being met by the whole team. The team fan girls for a bit, the team’s social media videographer catching it all on camera.

After greeting everyone, you walk over to where Katie is still sat in her cubby and place yourself on her lap, her arms immediately wrapping around your waist.

Her teammates are too preoccupied with Selena and Taylor to notice the two of you, but both your friends know you like to wander off, instantly noticing you weren’t next to them anymore.

Looking around, she sees you with your girlfriend whispering in her ear that has her biting her lip.

“Oh my god! Stop flirting in front of other people please!” Taylor speaks out, grabbing the attention of everyone in the room.

“You’re just mad cause your man who’s not your man is off playing fake football and not with you.”

“Oh, she got you there.” Selena laughs at Taylor’s offended face, giving you a high five.

“We’re no longer friends.” Taylor pouts, crossing her arms across her chest.

“You’ll get over it cause you love me.” You wrap her in a hug, Selena joining in. “Okay, enough of that. Can we all take a group picture?” You ask the Gunners. “I’ve gotta cook dinner.”

After the photo, the three of you bid farewell to the team, you giving Katie a quick kiss and a ‘see you later.’

“Actually, can I go with you? I’ll just shower at home.” Katie asks, packing her things.

“C’mon. Bye guys!” You wave at everyone.

“See you soon!” Katie leaves after you.

The team was silent for a bit after the four of you left, not knowing how to process that their Irish teammate has a girlfriend and who her girlfriend is.

“That was unexpected.”

“Indeed.”

“How’d Katie get a girl like her?” Beth asks, not quite understanding.

“It’s probably the luck the Irish have.”

“And Y/N is her pot of gold.”

“Damn.”

[djarins-cyare]

Get to Know Me (tag game)

Thanks @burntheedges and @sydneyinacoma for the tags! 💖

I guess I don’t post much about myself on here, so behold the mystery of Jyar’ika revealed under the cut (because I waffle and didn't wanna take up y’all’s dashes)…

Ahh space to include GIFs (*is happy*)...

1. Were you named after anyone? Hmm, that’s a sneaky way to get a name reveal outta me. Alright, I don’t mind… apparently one of the hosts on Blue Peter (the longest-running children’s TV show in the world - you’re not getting an age reveal outta me too!) had a baby just before I was born. Why my parents were watching a children’s TV show I have no idea, but this host evidently wrote/sang some kinda song on air about calling her baby daughter Jemma with a J not Gemma with a G. So I was named after a terribly trite and obscure TV reference that nobody will ever remember. You may call me Jem if you wish, my friends all do, and if you’re bothering to read this then you’re in that category.

(If you're wondering about the GIF, the show was always broadcast live and they had several pets. The outtakes are numerous.)

2. When was the last time you cried? I think I’m weird… I don’t tend to cry? Or only if I’m really really upset. Maybe I’m Cameron Diaz in The Holiday? So yeah, I can’t actually remember 🤔.

3. Do you have kids? Nope, although it’s a fairly recent decision to not have them. I spent much of my life assuming I wanted kids until I realised I had been conditioned by society to think I did. Since I started considering what I genuinely want and need in my life, I’ve never been happier! I'd make an exception to adopt a certain little green guy, though.

4. What sports do you play/have played? Ugh, I hate questions like this. Nope, I’m a lazy asshole and now you all know it 🫣. I mean, I activity-hopped throughout my school years (gymnastics, karate, soccer), but these days I live in front of a computer. My exercise is lugging 24 bottles of water up 4 flights of stairs twice a week.

5. Do you use sarcasm? I’m British. Sarcasm is my mother tongue.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people? I’m the least observant person ever! So voices a lot of the time, I think. Pretty sure that’s why something clicked inside me as soon as Din Djarin spoke his first on-screen words.

7. What’s your eye color? Depends on the light, but somewhere between dark blue and grey.

8. Scary movies or happy endings? I’m an absolute wuss when it comes to scary movies, so I don’t put myself through that. Also, the literature student in me desperately wants to point out that these things are not mutually exclusive, as you can have scary movies with happy endings, so a more appropriate ‘either/or’ scenario would be tragedies or happy endings. But either way, I will say no to the former and yes to the latter. I dislike making myself feel scared or sad – I consume fiction (in all formats) to feel good, so I’ll always look for the positive. I’m currently experimenting to see if I can write a massively angsty fic, and it was supposed to be done by the New Year, but I’m struggling. I will also have to include one of those open-ended ‘maybe it could work out after all’ epilogues. I just can’t leave my characters in pain.

9. Any talents? Not sure what constitutes a talent… I can sing, play guitar, write a longass Din Djarin fanfic that people seem quite keen on, uh… cook, I guess (though I rarely bother), understand quite a few languages (less proficient at speaking them). I’m sort of a jack of all trades, master of none. I would say I have a talent for procrastination – I can complete a whole workday and get barely anything of substance done!

10. Where were you born? In a village outside a town in Surrey, England. It's only about 30 miles from London. Lots of trees. Very dull. I left as soon as I could.

11. What are your hobbies? Writing is my main obsession, specifically Din Djarin-related, of course. Also reading (same genre). Throughout my entire life I’ve enjoyed stories in all formats – reading, writing, watching, listening, proofreading the fuck out of them – so if it’s a good yarn, I’ll have a good time.

12. Do you have any pets? Not currently, my landlord won’t allow it. I used to own 3 rats who were the most adorable boys and so smart – they knew their names, responded to commands, liked to snuggle. When I can finally buy my own place I’ll probably get a dog, as I like pets that listen to you, even if only sporadically. I had a very non-communicative chameleon once. He was called Minion. He was not a good minion.

13. How tall are you? 5’4. Not tiny, but sometimes I have to go up on my tippytoes to reach stuff.

14. Favorite subject in school? English literature (see hobbies question above). When I got to university and enrolled on an English lit/lang degree, I tried to take as many literature courses and avoid the language ones. It wasn’t until years after graduating when I started proofing/editing and writing more seriously that I developed a respect for all the mandatory language courses I had to do. I also liked media studies and film studies; you can guess why. Psychology was interesting too, it’s good to understand human nature if you want to write realistic characters.

15. Dream job? I wish I could write novels for a living. It’s a goal as well as a dream. I know a couple of authors who’ve self-published via Kindle Direct Publishing (I proofread/edited for one of them), and they were successful enough to turn that into their careers. They keep encouraging me to try, although I’m currently in my ‘obsessed with Din Djarin so just writing fanfic to develop my authorial voice’ era. When my obsession wanes, as obsessions inevitably do, I’ll hopefully feel ready to write something original and take my shot. But I’m not pressuring myself, and right now I’m happy attempting to entertain the Mandalorian fan community. I feel safe here 💖

Now I know I’m supposed to tag people since that’s the point of a tag game… but I’m that autistic kid in the corner who is too shy and worried about tagging people who might not reply. So I’m foregoing tags today. But, if you’ve bothered to read this and you haven't already played: TAG YOU’RE IT! That’s me tagging you, please take it seriously and thank me for your tag in your own post (I will be genuinely thrilled if anybody does this, and I’m sending advance love to anyone who does – you don’t know how much it means to someone autistic to have the decision-making element dealt with for them). So go on, now it’s your turn!

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Christmas Tag Game

Thank you @sweetxvanixlla @panzershrike-pretz and @malarkgirlypop for tagging me

Favourite nickname you've ever been given?

I don’t really have many nicknames. My mum calls me Jessie sometimes.

Where are you located?

England

What season is it where you are now?

Winter

Favourite tradition this time of year?

I love putting up all the Christmas decorations with my mum. We have hot chocolate with marshmallows, put on Christmas music and decorate the house.

Favourite holiday food?

Gingerbread biscuits

Mulled wine, eggnog or hot apple cider?

Hot apple cider

Turkey, ham or nut roast (Or Tofurkey?)?

Turkey

Would you rather spend the december holidays in: a cabin in the woods surrounded by snow, or a house on the beach with sun and sand?

Definitely in a cabin in the woods. I watch far too many Christmas movies where it’s snowy and I really want a white Christmas.

are you pro-snow or anti-snow?

I love snow, but I rarely get it where I live. ⛄️

have you ever built a snowman?

Yes when I was a child

Skiing or snowboarding?

I have never done either of these but I’m going to pick skiing

Do you decorate for the holidays?

Yes I love decorating the house for Christmas

Favourite holiday movie?

It’s a tough decision between Love Actually, The Holiday and Die Hard

Favourite holiday fanfic?

I’ve not actually read any Christmas fanfics yet so if anyone has any suggestions please send them my way.

If you were to star in a hallmark movie, who would be your love interest?

How could I pick anyone but Shane Taylor. I mean look at him that adorable little smile. It gives me vibes of those films where the girl returns to her home town and there is an adorable, sweet guy in the town. That is Eugene.

No pressure tags: @whollyjoly @georgieluz @next-autopsy @samwinchesterslostshoe @iceman-kazansky

[peregrineroad]

Tagged by @brigdh! <3

Last song: It Tore Your Heart Out by the Dirt Poor Robbins, which I really liked, but when I googled the lyrics something pinged me as...off, somehow, so I did a bit more reading and realised the artist has far right views. Apparently Jordan Peterson is a fan. Eeek. A shame, because I liked the couple songs I’d heard before looking them up, but it’s deal-breaker stuff, so. I’ve also been listening a lot to The Stupendium’s body of work.

Last Book: Not got any published fiction on the go at the moment. Working slowly through ‘Women in England 1760 to 1914: a Social History’ by Suzie Steinbach and ‘Lords of the Horizon: A History of the Ottoman Empire’. The latter wasn’t what I expected when I bought it—it’s prettily written, but comes off as a bit orientalist to me, maybe?

Last Movie: Dark Waters, the 2019 dramatisation of the Dupont Teflon lawsuits. I enjoyed it. I know they’re inevitably simplistic compared to real life, but I like stories about do-gooder lawyers fighting some vast injustice. It was enjoyable, and I think the last five minutes elevated it by resisting too neat or victorious a conclusion. I'd like to do more reading on the subject soon.

(I waited to answer this until I’d watched a reasonably non-cheesy movie, haha.)

Last TV Show: Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End is the last narrative show I saw: I’m watching it and Dungeon Meshi with my sister whenever she comes over. Also a bunch of furniture restoration/upcycling reality tv.

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Sweet if I /had/ to choose. Unfortunately I can’t eat spicy any more due to my chronic health issues: even the mildest, smallest amount of chili makes me sick.

Relationship status: Single, likely permanently due to being probably ace/maybe aro.

Last thing i googled: The aforementioned search for lyrics/context.

Current obsession(s): Still The Dresden Files, with the caveat that it’s the fandom I’m here for and I don’t actually love the books—never made it past the fifth except to read a handful of scenes my favourites are in. I don’t think Butcher’s a terrible writer; I’ve enjoyed some of his stuff and there are definitely things he has a genuine talent for—but the things he does which I find annoying, I find REALLY annoying, so I can only take him in relatively small doses. I’m also spending a lot more time thinking about original fiction these days.

Looking Forward To: Going with my family on holiday to visit my aunt who lives In Ireland in June. I’m also working on an Interactive Fiction Game right now, and really looking forward to being done!

I love being tagged in these things, but as soon as it comes to tagging other people I start worrying about imposing, so—if anyone wants to answer, consider yourself tagged!

[what-gs-watching]

“Saving people, hunting things…the family business.”

Alright. We’re gonna do it. We’re gonna talk about Supernatural. We can’t talk about ALL of Supernatural, that would be ridiculous, but it deserves a comfort show spotlight. 

I’m going to admit it: I resisted for a long time. My husband used to stream a shit ton of tv, he needed something to fall asleep to, so in the past I’ve groggily slept through random episodes. And I didn’t really care about it. 

I remember when it came out, I loved Jared from Gilmore Girls naturally but I never got into it. Honestly, I was really annoyed there was a character named Dean that wasn’t Jared, I’m a fickle bitch. 

So it was whatever. But again, I lost all sense of everything during the pandemic and started binging. I went through all of the X-Files (even the newer seasons, I did it all, it was a thing). I went insane  watching Fringe. I was devastated when I lost Peter Bishop, aka perfect New England boyfriend. And then Netflix really started flinging Supernatural at me. Like, really hard.

Last December, I was already spiraling with my job a bit, I can see that now. I was tired. And I needed something else to get lost in. TV was literally the only thing I had energy for.  And there were 15 fucking seasons. That’s too many seasons. So I begrudgingly gave in, and I started it.

Y’all know what it’s all about: two brothers, Sam and Dean, are hunters (of monsters) because their mother was murdered by a demon when Sam was just a baby, and their father, John, couldn’t let it go. So he packed the boys up for life on the road, hunting the thing that had ruined his family, thrusting his kids onto a path they did not choose. 

And I’m gonna be honest, I fought the whole way. I really did. I kept asking my husband what the eff was up with Sam and Dean. Just…why? I kept shouting at the screen that the two of them needed boundaries. But I also kept watching. I like a good Monster of the Week. And I’m a weirdo for overarching storylines. I like the lore, I do. Secret nerd, me.

And like I said, there’s no real way to talk about ALL of Supernatural, but that’s okay because  it’s really about the little things for me. 

_

The brotherness of it all Does Sam and Dean’s absolute and unwavering dedication to each other drive me nuts a little bit? Yes. They make so many stupid decisions to save each other - Sam with the demon blood, Dean selling his soul to save Sam, Dean with the mark, Sam jumping into the cage with Lucifer. There are literally probably hundreds of examples. It’s exasperating.

Dean thinks his entire existence is meant to protect Sam, I get it, he was conditioned that way, and Dean is basically the only thing Sam has left in the world, so it’s mostly mutual (except for that whole purgatory situation, he really didn’t try at ALL to find him? C’mon) but it’s also heartbreaking. John fucked up their lives, that dude was driven by the singular thought of avenging his wife, when he had a six month old and a four year old to take care of? Like, she’s dead my dude, but you have these two little fragile things you’re supposed to take care of and protect and foster, and this is the route you take? Fuck, man. I can’t imagine going through that.

Creating your own family Which leads me to Bobby. Crotchety, kind, beleaguered Bobby. Those boys needed an actual father figure and this weirdo stepped up so perfectly. He encouraged them and tried to guide them with a gentle hand - he knew those idjits would fuck it all up but he went along with them as much as he could, playing that parent game of trying to let them make their own choices as long as it wouldn’t destroy them. The episode where he’s fighting his reaper, trying to get away, and his last memory is an innocuous movie night with Sam and Dean? Tragic and sweet. I’m still mad my boy Bobby was done dirty, dying during one of the worst seasons (Leviathans, am I right?) but I appreciate their grief over losing him was real.

On the topic, I also have to say that I love the people Sam and Dean end up pulling into their orbit. Charlie was a fucking delight, and her bond with Dean was so pure; she was the little sister he never had and you can tell he let her in right away. When she says “I love you” and he just says “I know” it’s as far as Dean can go and it’s just good. I don’t think I could have forgiven Sam for getting her killed in a stupid plan he purposely kept from Dean. She agreed to help because she wanted to save her brother and she got murdered for it. Good deeds don’t go unpunished, gang.

Also, Jodie and Donna. In a show that doesn’t really seem to care about women at all, you get two badasses that can hold their own and won’t take any shit, and Sam and Dean acknowledge how strong they are. Out of all of the random spinoffs they tried over the years, theirs is the one I would have preferred to get lost in. 

And, I’m gonna say it, Jack. I was ready to hate that little antichrist but he charmed the hell out of me. Mostly because of the ‘three men and a baby’ vibe, Dean and Sam and Castiel trying to rear that sweet summer child away from destroying absolutely everything and eventually, really really succeeding. I might be in the minority, but it was really satisfying. Jack is my babe, I’ll shout that shit from the rooftops.

Castiel Castiel is a whole thing, I know. And I love it. He gets his own category. 

Sweet, complicated Castiel. I have a special place in my heart for Cas. And it’s not entirely because of the whole Destiel situation. That crazy angel had a big ol’ character arch and I truly appreciate it. Hated him in the beginning, and then that whole “assbutt” moment happened and he turned away from heaven and the great plan and toward humanity. And then a lot more drama, trying to rule in heaven and the leviathans, ending up as a human for a bit, his whole thing with Metraton, etc. 

But Cas is important because Dean is long-suffering, always the one to lose and make the hard (sometimes stupid) choices and he’s so resigned to his fate but Castiel is the buoy in all that. He’s the only one fully committed to Dean. The episode where Dean forgets who he is and he stands in front of a mirror repeating ‘Sam is your brother, Cas is your best friend’ - of all the things Dean is and needs to remember, that’s important. Castiel raised him from perdition, searing him with the mark of his grip. They’re bonded.

I really love that Castiel gets to be his own thing a part from the boys,  he grows so fucking much, but he’s also always Dean’s anchor. No matter how you feel about Destiel and the implications, the fact that Cas comes to understand humanity enough to say that just telling someone you love them without that being returned can be the best moment of your life, can be true happiness, is really something. Sometimes that is enough. Getting out of your own way can be enough.

I clearly have a thing for angels that can be a little bit of a bastard. I will ALWAYS root for Castiel.

Baby I’m not sure why I’m so charmed by the dedication to Baby, but I love it. It appeals to a very specific aesthetic in me. Of course that’s the kind of car they roll around in, perfectly old and beautiful, all sharp black lines and power and time. It’s Dean’s dedication to the family business and one of their only constants. He teaches Sam how to care for her, and he rebuilds her over and over. He even manages to pick her out in the first place, eventually. It’s sweet that Baby is home. She’s the heart, gang. Solid, strong, broken over and over again but always persisting.

The universe One of the best pieces of Supernatural is the universe it creates for itself. How adamant they’d been in the beginning that yeah of course demons exist, but God definitely doesn’t, but the random other gods found in lore throughout history do. It's so easy to change a universe that draws a line in the sand, and it just keeps getting bigger and more complex and silly and reckless. 

I love the little touches. The fact that there’s a Supernatural book series, with an underground fan base enough to host a con (though I don’t want to get into the Chuck of it all, I’m still absolutely irate over all of that). Sam and Dean being so utterly embarrassed by them is hilarious, but it’s a way for them to get the recognition they deserve, even if it’s through fiction. People love those books, their story, and even if they never get thanked in real life, there are people out there believing in them. 

I mean, the all girls’ school musical? Absolute perfection. That episode was meant to be a love letter to the entire thing, and it’s so perfect. Sam wonders why it isn’t “Samstiel”, and Dean is upset to learn about BM scenes, aka boy melodrama. The song girl-Cas sings, I’ll just wait here then… and their stripped down version of the boys’ unofficial anthem. It makes my tween heart sing, it satisfies my cravings for all things meta (jesus I’m basic). It’s just warmth and love and appreciation.

Frenemies AKA, unlikely and this-is-a-stupid-fucking-idea allies. All good shows need this. Crowley was never a true favorite of mine, but I appreciate that he saw how valuable keeping a tenuous relationship with the Winchesters could be. And I will still always and forever laugh at the fact that Dean was in his phone as ‘Not Moose’. One of my absolute favorite gags. Those two are perfectly Moose and Squirrel. His affection for the two of them proving that demons can be a little bit human, too. But that doesn’t get him off the hook for convincing Dean to take on the mark, even though I secretly enjoy their bromance once he does become a demon. Sometimes you need to have that friend you secretly kind of hate a little because they’re a dick,  but they’re useful.

(Side rant: the Crowley/Crowley situation between Supernatural and Good Omens is making my brain bleed, I can’t make myself say it differently enough in my mind for there to be a good enough distinction because y’all, one is an obvious smash and one is an obvious pass. I’m just sayin’. It’s making it difficult to yell at the tv…)

Also. Rowena also falls into this category. Again, another strong woman in a room full of idiot men, holding her own. I’ve been that woman a lot of times, surrounded by boys who just can’t get their shit together and you stand and you watch and you help or hurt when you can, because at the end of the day. you need to be out for yourself. I respect the fuck out of her for looking out for herself. She was world weary because she had to be, she lived through hundreds of years of oppression and she was gonna get what was hers, but by the end, she came around to those boys. She’s the friend you keep at a distance because you’re never sure what the fuck they’re gonna do, but you can appreciate her seeming unpredictability because sometimes she uses it to help you, or thrust some unfortunate truth at you that you need to hear.

_

The point is:  all of these little random things amount to something absurd and funny and gruesome and welcoming and silly and strange. And I could probably write ten different posts like this, pulling out more things that make Supernatural what it is, and that’s what makes it so all-encompassing. 

So. I spent four months watching this show. Every day, some ridiculous Sam and Dean adventure. What were they gonna get up to? I never knew, but it was reassuring  to know they’d always get out of it. It was my main comfort, and four months is a really long time.  

When I got to the end of it, I was mired in yet another ridiculous work emergency and everything about me was fried. I was raw, fraying ends. So when I watched the finale, I sobbed. Like, really sobbed. Trying to take breaths I couldn’t quite make deep enough, while Dean was driving Baby and they were playing ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’. The episode ended and I kept crying. I went and found my husband and just cried at his face. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever watched the end of it or not and I tried pathetically to explain why I was crying so hard. I cried for everything that I was. It broke a dam I’d been holding in.  And I felt stupid for it, who gives that much of a fuck about a show about hunting monsters?

But  it wasn’t necessarily about the show, I mean it was a little bit, but it was also about me and whatever the fuck I was going through. And that’s what content is for. I’d wrapped myself in a Sam-and-Dean blanket for months to try and blunt a bunch of things, but they brought those things up to the surface anyway. 

Feeling the real emotion of things through fake things. Is it healthy? Probably not, but it’s an art form, it’s a coping mechanism. I was crying about software and work melodrama and life frustration (can I still claim to be having a quarter life crisis if I’m in my 30s?), but also about Dean dying on the job in the way he’d always assumed he would, about Sam’s kid having the same tattoo, about Bobby being there at the end, about Sam being there at the end. It’s just easier that way.

All that to say, I can’t recommend the Sam-and-Dean blanket enough. It’s cozy and it’s sprawling and ridiculous and complete. I put it down for a month before yet another stupid thing happened to rattle me (so many things this year), and I knew right away where I needed to go. Back to the blanket. Which means I’m in the middle of my second watch. And I’m pretty sure, that at any point in time in the future, I’ll be in the middle of some rotation of it, even if I go off for months at a time. It’ll always be in the queue, because I know when I need it, there’ll always be an adventure I'm sure Sam and Dean will get out of.

[kingedwardvi]

Curiously enough, I’ve only recently watched “Becoming Elizabeth” as I’ve concomitantly read Edward VI’s biography.

It is hardly a surprise to observe there were great differences between the show and the book, specially concerning Katheryn Parr and Thomas Seymour’s own relationship.

Admittedly, though I know little of this matter myself, came across the excerpt below which gave me a lot to think about. For those who are little familiar with the first Dowager Queen of England in an almost a century (the last being Queen Elizabeth Wideville), the following content might actually come a surprise—or not.

What matters here is to promote not only a healthy discussion about their union, but showing that whereas Katheryn did love the man, she was not his first option to marry and she was not a “fool” completely blinded by her affection for him: she hesitated at first, unwilling to remarry in at least two years before becoming Lady Seymour out of respect for the king of England. However, Lord Thomas was a persuasive man, writing as far as a poem to claim the dowager queen’s heart—and he eventually succeeded it, as we are seeing next.

“Katherine moved into her dower house at Chelsea - away from the eyes at court, it was the ideal setting for Seymour to pay secret visits by night. Letters were sent and received, their contents, upon Katherine's urging, were quickly burnt: 'Your letter being finished ... I remembered your commandment to me’, Seymour wrote, ‘wherewith I threw it into the fire, be minding to keep your requests and desires’, yet the survival of both their letters suggest that neither was quite so willing to part with these tokens of love and affection.

Katherine confided her feelings to her friend Lady Paget, who urged marriage. But Katherine was hesitant. She wished 'it had been her fate to have him for a husband' but she was mindful of her position as queen. She had even kept the affair secret from her sister Anne who, when Katherine finally revealed the news, 'did not a little rejoice'.

As a growing number of friends discovered the secret of the affair, it became increasingly difficult to keep it hidden and rumours soon abounded. Meeting Seymour in St James's Park, Princess Elizabeth's servant Katherine Ashley challenged him over his marriage plans. Seymour boasted 'he would prove to have the queen', to which Ashley retorted that she thought this 'was past proof as I had heard he was already married to her'.

Ashley was right, for sometime between mid May and the beginning of June the couple had wed in secret, with one commentator believing the marriage had taken place as early as thirty-four days after Henry's death.

If this was true, then Katherine was playing a dangerous game - if she had become pregnant, there would have been no certainty that the child was Seymour's or Henry's. Katherine remained unwilling to commit herself, having doubts to the last.

She claimed she was his 'loving wife in her heart' but was determined 'never to marry, and break it when I have done, if I live two years'. Nevertheless, Seymour got his way. News of their marriage could not stay secret for long.

'I wish the world was as well pleased with our meaning as lam well assured [of ] the goodness of God's’, Katherine had lamented, 'but the world is so wicked that it cannot be contented with good things’. Instead she suggested that they find support for their union amongst the most powerful members of the council and court.

Seymour tested Princess Mary's reaction. It was not good. Mary considered it 'strange news', writing that if Katherine was keen, there was little she could do. In any case, 'being a maid' she was 'nothing cunning' about 'wooing matters'.

Instead, Mary appealed to her dead father's memory: if Katherine was not willing, certainly she would not 'persuade her to forget the loss of him, who is as yet very ripe in mine own remembrance’. Privately Mary was horrified at the prospect, and blamed Katherine for the affair. She possibly even appealed to Elizabeth to discourage the queen, but her half-sister, not wishing to stir up trouble, told her that they lacked any influence at court and should suffer with patience what was impossible to prevent.

Seymour would have to look elsewhere for support and he knew precisely whom to turn to. His confidence rested in the fact that he had managed to remain in regular contact with Edward through John Fowler, a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber, whom Seymour gave a bribe of £10 (£3,000) shortly after the coronation and before long was in his regular pay. Despite being almost continually in the presence of other gentlemen of the chamber, Fowler was soon able to converse with Edward and soon struck up a close friendship with the king, speaking to him alone.

It was not long before Seymour was calling in the favours. At the end of February he had met with Fowler over a drink and asked whether Edward had mentioned him - and in particular whether the king had ever wondered why he had remained unmarried. Would Edward be happy for him to marry? And who should he take as his bride?

Without asking too many questions, Fowler approached Edward a few days later, somewhat unsubtly repeating Seymour's queries. Edward's first reply was to suggest Anne of Cleves, but then, giving the matter more serious attention, answered that he thought Mary to be the best choice, if only 'to change her opinions'.

When Seymour heard, he laughed. 'I pray you, Mr Fowler, if you may soon, ask his Grace if he could be contented I should marry the Queen.’ He also wanted to know if Edward would write a letter on his behalf in support of the marriage.

It was at this time that Seymour, without Fowler's knowledge, began to visit Edward in private. It was not long before he had persuaded him to write a letter to Katherine, dated 25 June. Despite Edward writing to Katherine at the end of May urging her to 'continue to love my father', now the king seemingly endorsed her relationship with Seymour, since the letter ingeniously made their marriage appear as Edward's personal request to Katherine.

Moreover, it gave specific assurance that Edward would safeguard Katherine against any reaction from Somerset, who the couple knew would be furious at their secret union: 'Wherefore ye shall not need to fear any grief to come, or to suspect lack of aid in need; seeing that he, being mine uncle, is so good in nature that he will not be troublesome ... if any grief shall befall, I shall be a sufficient succour.'

The entire letter was no doubt composed by Seymour, who probably dictated it to the king.(…) When news of his brother's marriage leaked out, Somerset was furious. Edward's blessing made Somerset all the more enraged, and the king was not immune from the brunt of his anger, noting in his journal that 'the Lord Protector was much offended’.

But it was his wife Anne, the Duchess of Somerset, who took the greatest offence to the union. Described as 'a woman for many imperfections intolerable, and for pride monstrous, subtle and violent' who held Somerset under her sway 'by persuasions cunningly intermixed with tears', she detested Katherine.”

SKIDMORE, C. “Edward VI: The Lost King of England”.

[rhysiana]

Hi, I needed some time to think what I want to ask for the ask game)))

so, I am greedy - I’d ask for several recs, you can choose one (or all!) of them*_*

A book! A historical mystery (east, west, north or south of the globe - doesn’t matter))), (optional) with some magical elements; romance is a bonus but preferably not the main focus;

a TV show! Korean! Something a bit heavier, slice of life (I’ve just watched in quick succession 8th sense and Beyond evil and crave smth with real life earth shattering realisations, emotional healing etc.) but not too violent, can’t take it lately^^”

a colour! Deep deep orange!

I will attempt answering all of these! (Mostly because I'm not sure how easy the books will be to find anymore, so it seems more fair.

Historical mystery rec: I will actually rec the entire Victorian-Edwardian series by Robin Paige. They start with an American penny dreadful writer moving to England to be a companion to an aunt (great-aunt? it's been a long time since I read the first book) she's never really met before, and then inheriting the woman's house. As the books progress, her relationship with the lord who lives on the estate next door deepens and we actually get to see a realistic marriage depicted, which is still relatively rare in series like this, but the thing that really made me love the series was how each mystery features an actual historical figure as a character. (The amount of research that entailed is actually why the authors, a husband and wife team, brought the series to an end, but I definitely appreciated their attention to detail!)

TV show(s): For true slice of life, I rec Would you like a cup of coffee?, which is not particularly heavy, so if you need a nice, gently paced break, that's a good one. For a slightly heavier (emotionally speaking) choice, you could do To My Star + To My Star 2. The real emotional hurt/comfort, break up/make up payoff is in the second one, but you need to watch the first one to get the full set up and impact.

Orange: A firewheel (Gaillardia pulchella) from the beach!

[Ask for recs while my queue is empty]

[survey--s]

383.

Describe your hometown. What’s it like there? It’s a really typical white British middle class country town lol. It was one of those really idyllic places to grow up - safe, lots of green space, lots of nice independent shops/cafês as well as plenty to do.  What did you do yesterday evening? Watched Chopped, ate dinner, messed around online, played on my phone. Are you comfortable with leaving the house without any makeup on? Sure, I do that pretty much every single day. Do you have any expensive hobbies? Horse riding, for sure, but it’s 100% worth it. Being on a horse is my happy place - no matter what the weather or what we’re doing. I had such an amazing lesson on Stanley yesterday despite the horrendous wind lol. What length do you like to keep your nails at? Short.

What’s your favourite memory with your last ex? We had some nice weekend breaks away. Have you ever felt physical pain in a dream? I don’t think so. What is the oldest online account that you still use? I have no idea, maybe my Yahoo e-mail account or my online banking. Have you ever had Christmas carolers come to your house and sing for you? Yeah, that happened quite a lot when I was younger but I haven’t seen carriers in years now. Do you know anyone whose family has lived in the same house for…3+ generations? Not so far as I know, but it’s not really something I ask people. What was the last video game you beat? Uh, Klondike. What’s your favorite Studio Ghibli film? I’ve never seen any of them. What did you learn from your last failed relationship? People will lie about anything when it makes them look good. What country does your favorite band hail from? England. What’s something on your to-do list that never actually gets done? Finish painting and decorating the bathroom. Tidy my wardrobe. Have you ever been really passionate about something but then lost interest? If so, what was it? Yeah, reading. I just don’t really do any of it anymore. Do you sleep with the TV or the radio on? Not as standard but I have fallen asleep with the TV on before. What’s the worst thing about being male/female (whichever you are)? Oppression, sexism, periods.  What movie has the best special effects? I don’t really pay attention to things like about. How many work hours per week is too much for you? My “happy number” is 25-30 hours. What habit is essential to your daily life? Aside from the essentials to living, coffee and internet. What is your favorite documentary? Anything by Louis Theroux or David Attenborough. When did you last have a vision test? God, two years ago maybe? I’m definitely overdue one. What do you typically eat for breakfast? Normally toast and coffee, plus a glass of juice. What are three things you need to do tomorrow? Strip the bed, go to work, do laundry.

[ntriani]

Fever dreams: the nearly man of Euro 2016 For the past month, Nick Triani has lived every moment of Euro 2016 in a fever dream of football nirvana. For the past month, Nick Triani has lived every moment of Euro 2016 in a fever dream of football nirvana. 

The Fan  I have to resign myself to defeat. Not a personal defeat you understand. This is far more primitive than that. More tribal. Over the last four weeks of rollercoaster rides, I’ve used my Facebook feed as a journal to document my match day concerns, predictions and general comments on Euro 2016. My rarely seen bravado is often found in all its brazen arrogance on this feed. My confidence oozes forth until the crash comes – and yes this year it did come – a double implosion. One was a ‘caught with your pants down’ realization that football may never again reign over the Queen‘s closest domain, at least not at an international level. The other exit was more respectable, and due to low expectation, almost taken as a victory in defeat. Supporting two teams at a major football event such as this is not so good for the old fingernails.

What I do notice when something like the Euros is on, is a new level of stereotyping – and not just within the broader media. Friends via social media suggest Italiansare all cheats. Some other proclaim that Italy are also so defensive and anti-football. They don’t recognize the art of a Bonucci or a Chiellini. These defenders even have Renaissance names for crying out loud. Of course, all English fans are beered up hooligans, and so this goes on. But the casual stereotyping doesn’t just affect me. Control is slightly lost and people choose their sides. In a country like Finland this means the approach tends to be from a neutral perspective. But still, temperatures rise.

The Italian coach Antonio Conte was the star of this competition. Animated to extremes, you’d want some of what he’s on. Often more interesting than the football on display (Italy vs Sweden?), Conte supplied the box office off camera too, with a series of interviews that showed his way with words could only be described as poetic and philosophical. Compare this to earnest Roy Hodgson, a laymen on the highest salary, trying to convince us that his lieutenant Wayne Rooney is the new Andrea Pirlo (surely Pirlo has never been more insulted). Hodgson’s ordinary, resigned demeanor offers enough reason why a team of talented players, let alone a nation, could never entertain the notion of England winning the bloody competition.

But since Conte (and Italy) left the competition, it all fell a bit flat for me (of course, I’m biased). The Icelandic defeat by France just confirmed it. Yes, Wales kept me dreaming of the underdog for a bit longer. On a managerial level, Didier Deschamps anyone? The everyman Chris Coleman? Or how about Joachim Löwand his amazing scratch and sniff testicles? Conte is in a class of his own in the personality stakes. With his perma-tanned sidekick, brother Gianluca, you could easily imagine these two fronting an Italian Bon Jovi tribute act. There was something of the spandex variety going on. The Football  I’ve watched a lot of the games – perhaps 80%. That’s a lot of football. What differentiates the experience is how my own mind and body behave when watching say England and Italy, compared to anyone else. When ‘my’ teams are playing, I become tense, unavailable, rude, a coil ready to unleash a stream of expletive bile into this known universe. There is confidence of course, but that threat of the ultimate disappointment, that crushing inevitability of knowing this unreasonable feeling, this taking part and being a part of, could end any moment – it’s actually impossible to put into words.

The England team were half of the Tottenham team this year (the club team I’ve supported all my life), so I had extra interest in how England got on. Eric Dierbecame my new god. After his no-nonsense season with Spurs, a man-crush ensued. Falling ill against Iceland was his only serious blot on a very blotchy English landscape. Harry Kane was a disaster. As were all England’s strikers if we’re honest. Kane got the brunt of the striker hate, once England got eliminated. Hodgson couldn’t accommodate a system that could release the considerable goal threat Kane, Daniel Sturridge and James Vardy posses. Raheem Sterling, along with Jack Wilshere (and to a lesser degree Jordan Henderson) should have stayed in England, so out of form and unfit these players proved to be. Hodgson stuck by his talisman Wayne Rooney, who often looked off the pace. The English media fawned at Rooney’s early midfield exploits, but he was average at best, as were England. Hodgson displayed much loyalty at this tournament, it was misplaced and cost him his job. The new, incoming England coach has the bones of a good squad. Some tactics of any form should bring better form and signs of progress.

But Euro 2016 didn’t only involve England’s self-subscribed Brexit. Zlatan said farewell: vulnerable, slow and humbled. Cristiano Ronaldo was strangely stiff (till Hungary) and then finally firing against Wales. Gareth Bale was a giant at times, but then uninvolved. Paul Pogba showed flashes. Thomas Muller was there in bodily form but in reality he was a real life ghost of his former self. Wayne Rooney played in midfield (ahem). Andrés Iniesta, still a class act, found himself surrounded by average, non motivated servants. The galactico football superstar has generally had a bad Euros, exemplified by Ronaldo’s injury in the final. None of these super footballers capturing the imagination like the Iceland team or even the showmanship of Conte. Of course there were exceptions: early tournament it was Dimitri Payet, then Antoine Griezmann came to life and has been the player at this Euros. Griezmann, like a dynamo whose duracell battery spluttered into life mid-tournament, has simply wanted it more than anyone else. France to me have not quite seemed the real deal. Their run to the final has in reality meant the French overturned Albania, Romania, Iceland, Republic Of Ireland, drew with Switzerland and then rather fortuitously beat their first real test – Germany. It was an enthralling semi-final, where the French were outplayed for large parts. But in this new football landscape, the French understood the new rules perfectly despite an overall lack of conviction. On the other hand, any team that can make the ‘looks like he’s treading water’ Olivier Giroud come across as an amazing, speedy goal scorer deserves some respect. The Euros has prescribed a new form of football entertainment that surely reflects the worldwide game at these times. This has been a tournament dominated by teamwork and pragmatic application. Very few goal fests or easy wins were clocked up – instead we viewed many tight and tense affairs, where the overall standard and technique on display has been more than competent. From Albania to Hungary, Poland to Iceland and Wales, these teams all played a very disciplined game. Tactically versed. Play deep, counter attack with genuine speed. Possession was for the ancients. This made most games close. Moments of explosiveness – Ronaldo’s in air backheel, Luka Modric‘s bullet voley, Emanuele Giaccherini‘s amazing first touch against Belgium, Griezmann in general. Then there was England and Russia, two teams without a plan A or B. Slovakia came close to matching their depths. Note to the English media: there are no easy games anymore in international football. The defeat to Iceland was not humiliating. It was just the natural order of things.

Mothman Prophecies  Someone left the lights on all night and the moths came to roost. There was a ‘day of the locusts’ type of dread surrounding the final. Ronaldo, felled by Payet rather innocuously, left the field injured after 20 odd minutes. There were tears. If the football didn’t quite ignite, surreal qualities certainly did. France, after a positive opening 10 minutes, stuttered and spluttered. Portugal lost their star, but their formation looked more solid. Ronaldo’s injury left the contest pretty redundant for 90 minutes. But Portugal came alive in extra-time whilst France floundered in a tired heap. Again, Portugal recalled the virtue of patience, whilst Pepe, much to a general annoyance, was excellent here. Eder, the player unable to score for and unwanted by Swansea, struck a glorious winner. The final was a disappointment. But this tournament did much for France after a dark period of national history. In the end, the tears turned to smiles as Ronaldo got one over on his biggest rival by lifting an international trophy.

Highs  Highlights were many: Zaza memes lead the way. Ronaldo’s preening self-love and over the top poses, mic throwing, Iceland blasting behaviour was fun. Conte’s expression. Pogba’s confidence and a pretty good standard of no-fuss refereeing – apart from that penalty! Hodgson resigns. That Robson-Kanu goal. Pelle’s hair. The self-obsessed tika-taka fanboys retreating further into their caves. The Icelandic chant ringing round stadiums. The great atmosphere that even translated to jubilance through my laptop headset. The fans, as always.

Lows Gianluigi Buffon‘s tears and Joe Hart‘s tunnel swearing and slow dives. The camera angles for offside decisions – plus the overhead camera shot for a third of the Germany vs Italy match. The reemergence of hooliganism, English and Russian fans running amok in France. There was much comment suggesting England fans were blameless. The taunting of refugee children by some of those English fans will stay with me for a long time. And despite not having those expectations, Italy getting such a tough route to the final despite topping their group: Spain, Germany and it would have been France. FFS, how did that happen? England disappointing again, the promise of youthful exuberance wasted. Harry Kane’s soul was lost at the Euros. And somewhere, with that loss, my own mortality swings into the frame. At fifty years of age, how many of these tournaments do I have in me? Five or six with some luck maybe? It’s too little. That makes me sad.

Team Of the Tournament Lloris Chester Bonucci Chiellini Bale Ramsey Modric Kante Payet Ronaldo Griezmann

Subs: Buffon, Walker, Dier, Pepe, Di Rossi, Williams, Pogba, Lukaku, Konchinsky, Iniesta, Renato Sanches

Games of the Tournament: Italy 2-0 Belgium, Czech Republic 2-2 Croatia, Croatia 2-1 Spain, Hungary 3-3 Portugal, Switzerland 1-1 Poland, Italy 2-0 Spain, England 1-2 Iceland, Poland 1-1 Portugal (first half), Wales 2-1 Belgium, Germany 1-1 Italy (penalty shoot out only), Germany 0-2 France.

Goal of the TournamentRonaldo back heel vs Hungary

Player of the Tournament: Antoine Griezmann.

[veworextreme]

How to install the oregon trail 5th edition

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One even rested on the picture frame he lived in while telling me he was tired-just A+ scene chewing. They were far more entertaining than the 3rd Edition's click-the-crotch to talk function or the 5th Editions' cartoons. Rather than just reading what my party thought, each interaction with them came with a short clip, performed by some terrifically over-the-top actors.

How to install the oregon trail 5th edition Pc#

Weirdly for a game made in 1999, just as the '90s were ending, this version felt the most true to my memories of '90s PC gaming. You can shake your phone to pan for gold, steer the cart through a river to collect coins, hammer nails in a rhythm, and a lot of other nonsense. It's basically a lot of those annoying mobile minigames you see advertised while you're waiting for your own annoying mobile minigame to load, with some Oregon Trail flavor in there.

How to install the oregon trail 5th edition full#

This is a mobile game which has been pulled from the App Store, so I technically haven't played this one but I did watch a full Let's Play of the journey, so feel confident enough to put it on the list. I'm sure it was impressive back in 1975, but I'm not ranking them in 1975, so… what are you gonna do? 9. This one predates the game many of us would actually think of as the 'original' Oregon Trail, and it just feels too stripped-back and basic today despite its influence. It's obviously held back by technical limitations, but that doesn't change the fact it's not particularly fun or challenging. I'm not saying I have the mind of a child who can't follow a story unless there's pictures, but I'm also not not saying that. The game is literally all text, so it's a bit hard to get to grips with. I mean, a kid died on me, but other than that, it was pretty smooth sailing. I didn't always know what I was doing, yet never really encountered any hardships. This was actually the first one I cleared on my first try, but it didn't feel particularly satisfying. It proved so popular that it eventually inspired the 1980 Apple II version.

How to install the oregon trail 5th edition code#

For a few years, the original 1971 code only existed on a printed out stack of paper, before Rawitsch added it to a MECC mainframe. That's pretty much my experience with this one, which was the first created at MECC by programmer Don Rawitsch. Originally published by the Minnesota Educational Computing Consortium as an educational tool for schools in Minnesota, it was so popular it became a breakout hit, sold around the world across PCs and a variety of other platforms down the years, and spawned spin-offs like The Yukon Trail and The Amazon Trail. The series has sold over 65 million copies in total, and is one of the most popular, important, and definitive PC games of all time. I did play at least one version when I was younger, but recently devoted a few weeks to diving into every version of the most famous edutainment game of all time. Surely then, I'm perfectly qualified to compile the definitive ranking of every version of The Oregon Trail ever made. I'm from the Northeast of England, but they say the US and the UK mirror each other (I swear I've heard someone say that), and I like The Simpsons. The guy who created The Simpsons is from there, and it's in the Northwest United States. Finally play the game right away with no installation nonsense and with no more issues.Until recently I knew precisely two things about Oregon.

How to install the oregon trail 5th edition iso#

Start up PCEM as you normally would take the new ISO you created and mount it to the drive on PCEMħ. This bypasses the dumb installer issue I had and allows you to play the game immediately.Ħ. Install the game how you would normally.Ĥ.The same steps from number 2 applies for the OT3.exe then run the game and see how it goes.Įxtra steps: You will need a way to make a iso file like Power ISO etc also PCEM.ĥ.Go to the TLC folder and Oregon Trail 3 Folder and highlight everything in it then make the ISO. Right click the Setup.exe go to properties and compatibility mode make sure you check mark everything and set it to 256 colors as well as having it on Windows 98 compatible mode.ģ.

How to install the oregon trail 5th edition windows 7#

You must have a 32-bit system for this to work Windows 7 for example I have my PC double Partitioned to Windows 7-32 bit and the other side Windows 10.Ģ. After a long struggle I managed to finally get this game to work even on Windows 10! Unfortunately it has some graphical and sound issues you can use the ISO on here or the official CD tho.ġ.

[feathered-serpents]

I’ve been DMing on and off for eh, five years? And I think one of the moments that helped me grow most as a DM was also objectively one of the most hilarious things to ever happen in a game 

It was a Halloween one-shot for me a three of my friends, one of the rare one-shots that actually STAYED a one-shot in fact. It was a cosmic horror game with a Victorian-England inspired backdrop (NOT run in 5e, this was a specific horror system that I can’t remember the name of), obviously, my jam. The start of the game was the party all meeting in a bell tower after being forced into its lobby to take shelter from a storm. 

Now, obviously, there was some spooky shit in the tower. I don’t remember my original plan well as this was four years ago (disgusting) and the note doc I could find was 101 words long, but, from what I remember, the tower was cursed by the bellringer Virgil Belle (I think I’m funny) completely under the nose of the tower keeper Lady Adelaide who knows about the curse rumors but also thinks they are complete nonsense. However, the tower maid Emma recently came across Virgil doing curse antics and is now terrified of him and trying to tell what she saw to anyone who will listen. That’s what I had going into the one-shot.

My plan was for Emma to burst into the tower lobby from outside claiming things about Virgil to hook the party to start the quest. 

So, that’s what I did. After the players had introduced their characters and roleplayed a little bit and I sensed a pause in the moment, I had Emma show up. “You suddenly hear loud bangs coming from the front tower door.” However, I decided her just running in terrified wasn’t quite scary enough, so, when one of the players went to the door I describe the rain as suddenly turning thick, and black, like tar. Before him is this woman, wide-eyed and white as a sheet in a grey dress, looking up at him dripping with this mysterious ooze is now falling from the sky. 

The player sees this, this terrifying woman standing in the rain that has suddenly turned black, the hook of my entire plot for this game ready to spill the beans on what’s going on in the creepy tower. What does he do? 

He closes the door in her face before she can say a single word  

And suddenly I am DMing a completely different story 

Suddenly, the story is about uncovering the horrific secrets of Lady Adelaide, or as she is truly known, Adelaide Belle, a woman bound to the clock tower living endlessly through unnatural means. Those means? Bringing an aspect of an unspeakable cosmic horror in the world by forcing her daughter, Emma Belle, to birth it, killing Emma in the process but “rewarding” Adelaide with eternal youth. Emma’s ghost appearing to the party to try and beg them to put an end to it. 

And what is that aspect? Adelaide calls it Virgil Belle, an unseen inhuman thing that lives in the shadows of the upper bell tower floors and never actually confronting the party physically, them only knowing he was truly up there when the bell started ringing. 

All of that I pulled directly out of my ass during the course of a four hour game by just watching what my players did and suspected and building off of that. A game which, by the way, ended with the party blowing up the tower in a gas explosion and walking away without looking at it

I still think of it as one of my “shining moments” in DMing. It taught me that I work best as a DM when I am forced to improvise and think on my feet, not only that, it taught me that I like to improvise and think on my feet which is pretty good if you’re going to be a dungeon master. 

But I will never forget how fucking funny it was to have the plot knock on the door, and for my player to just be like “Nah fuck that shit” and slam the door shut 

[skyeet-the-writer]

The Love Among Us

Chapter 1-- I’d Never Snitch On Daddy

so i haven’t seen many corpse husband x reader stories on here, so i decided to upload one myself. i’ve been watching jacksepticeye’s among us videos and when i heard corpse talk for the first time, i was like, “hol up” and now i’ve been obsessed with him. also, go stream his music on spotify, it’s amazing. enjoy! x. 

 corpse husband x female!reader

summary: while playing among us, y/n watches corpse kill felix in o2. when his body is reported, however, she doesn’t tell who killed him. 

 word count: ~3.6k

warnings: swearing, mentions of death (not real death), mentions of murder (not real murder)

EDIT: before i wrote this and after i published it, i did not know that corpse did not like to be referred to as “daddy”. had i known this, i would have not even thought of posting this. and since i know now, i won’t refer to him as such in the future. thank you. (10/19/2020)

EDIT 2: this is the first part to my corpse x reader series. i will be adding chapters as we go!

next>

4 rounds before the incident

“I was in coms with PJ!” Sean exclaims. 

“He is doing the liar voice!” Felix shouts with a laugh. 

“I’m not,” Sean tries to say, but everyone talks over him and the voting time ends. Everyone left alive, though it was only four people, had all voted for him and he yells at them as he gets ejected. 

stinky was not the imposter

2 imposters remain

The round ends and everyone unmutes themselves. 

“Lizzie, you saw Felix kill me and you did nothing!” Roomie yells as soon as the round ends and the imposters are revealed. 

“Yeah, because I was the other imposter.”

“Oh. Okay, well that makes sense.”

Everyone laughs and Ken starts the round again. 

“Wait, can I invite y/n to play? She’s doing her twenty-four-hour stream and she just finished playing Monopoly with Mark, Bob, and Wade,” says Lizzie, looking down at her phone as they all appear back in the waiting room. 

“Yes,” Corpse blurts out and there are a few laughs and chuckles. 

“You were quick to answer, Corpse,” Sean teases. 

“Shut up,” Corpse mumbles and there are even more laughs. 

Lizzie smiles and taps into her phone. “I’m gonna invite her.”

~

“I can’t believe that you actually made that deal, y/n,” Wade is telling you after ending the second round of Monopoly that you’ve played with them. 

You smile and cross your legs on your chair. “Look, I was going bankrupt and it seemed good at the time. Besides, Mark was going to win anyway, he owned half of the board.” Your phone buzzes beside you on your desk and you pick it up. “Lizzie texted me.” There’s a sound effect that plays in your headset and you look up at your screen and smile. “Thanks to _lorieplays _for donating a hundred dollars, that means a lot. Thank you so much.”

“Do you want to play another round?” Marks asks. 

You shake your head, reading the text from your friend in England. “No, I don’t want to lose to you again.” You laugh. “Nah, Lizzie wants me to play Among Us with her and a few others. It was fun playing with you guys.”

“It was even though you took all of my money,” Bob snaps. 

You laugh. “Yeah, yeah. See you guys later.”

“Bye,” says Mark.

“See y--” Wade begins but you cut him off when you disconnect from the call. 

“Oops.” You put a hand over your mouth and laugh. “Sorry, Wade. Okay.” You straighten up and glance over everything, making sure it’s all working properly. “I have to pee and I think my roommate ordered pizza, so we’ll be back after this short break. Enjoy this live feed of my pet rats.” You giggle and switch the stream over to a view of your two rats in their cage where you have a camera set up. You take your headset off and head out of your recording room. 

Every two months, you have a twenty-four-hour livestream where you play games with your friends from all around the world. Despite being only twenty-five, your Youtube channel had grown exponentially in the past three years and you’ve had the chance to meet lots of other Youtubers like Markiplier, PewDiePie, and your close friend, LDShadowLady. 

Currently, you’re on hour twenty of twenty-four and you’re beginning to feel the effects of not sleeping for a whole day. You had been drinking coffee and energy drinks for the past four hours and that seemed to perk you up for two hours max. But your roommate had ordered pizza and that would hopefully wake you up. 

After going to the bathroom and grabbing an entire box of pizza, you return to your recording room and sit down. You put your headset back on and eat a slice of pizza before switching the views back to you. “And we’re back. I hope you guys enjoyed my rats because I don’t. They keep me up at night.”

You read a comment while loading up Among Us and laugh. “No, they’re not dead. They’re sleeping. They do that a lot when they’re not fighting.” 

When you finally get into the game and entire the code, you spawn in. You also quickly join the Discord chat and wince when nearly ten voices hit you at once. 

“y/n!” exclaims Lizzie and the other voices die down for a moment before rising to greet you. 

You wince again but laugh. “Jesus, you guys are loud. Hey, Lizzie.” You move your character to the customize tab and go to try and switch your color. But then you frown and realize that you’re stuck with being dark blue. “Damn, I wanted to be white.”

“Do you want to switch?” Corpse asks. 

Your eyes widen you your stomach flips. You hadn’t noticed Corpse was in this game. Immediately, your chat became flooded with keyboard smashing and lots of “omg my shipp” and “y/n rlly said ‘anna oop-’” 

“Uh, yeah, if you don’t mind,” you manage to stutter out and take a bite of pizza as Corpse’s player comes over and the white option becomes available. You select it and also select the goggles in the hats menu. 

“How’s your stream going?” asks Sean. 

You shrug. “Pretty good. I’m super tired, though. I literally almost fell asleep while playing Monopoly with Mark, Wade, and Bob.”

“You went to college, right?” You’re pretty sure that’s Roomie. 

“Yep,” you affirm with a nod even though they can’t see you. “You’d think that those all-nighters writing papers and studying for finals would make me able to do this.”

There’s a laugh in the group and the round starts.

3 rounds before the incident

You scratch your eyebrow and sigh in relief when you’re the crewmate. You mute yourself and slide up in your chair. 

“I like being the crewmate,” you say, heading towards admin as a habit. “It’s a lot less stressful than being imposter.”

After doing your tasks in admin and fueling the engines, you stumble across a dead body in the lower engine and a vent closing. 

“Oh,” you say, and press the report button. You unmute yourself and begin with, “So I saw a vent close but I didn’t see who went in.”

“Who died?” asks Lizzie. 

“Felix,” says Sean. 

You smirk. “It’s always yellow that dies first.”

“Where was the body?” Ken asks. 

“Lower engine,” you reply. 

“I was in medbay with Corpse doing the scan so it wasn’t him,” PJ says and Corpse makes a noise of confirmation. 

This makes your cheeks heat up and you smack a hand over your mouth. Your chat explodes again but you decide to ignore it. 

“And I was doing wires in cafeteria,” Lizzie says. 

“Sean, where were you?” 

“I was in reactor doing the simon says thing,” he answers. 

You sigh. “I hate that one. What about you, Ken?”

“I was with Roomie in electrical doing the power thing. You know, the one where you have to divert it somewhere else.”

“So do we skip then?” asks Lizzie. 

“No one is super sus, so I’m going to skip,” you answer. 

When no one is ejected, you mute yourself again. “I dunno why, but Sean seems pretty sus. Because I didn’t see him on the way down from upper engine. But I guess he could have gotten there in time.” You shrug and run over to the trash chute in the cafeteria. “RIP to Felix, though.”

After doing the trash there, you head down to storage, running into Corpse doing the wires in there. You wait there to clear him and once you do, you run a few circles around him to get his attention and he follows you over to the trash in storage and watches you do that. After that, the two of you head over to electric together and do wires there. 

Suddenly, there’s a body reported and you unmute yourself. 

“Sean just killed Lizzie in front of me!” exclaims PJ. 

“PJ killed Lizzie,” Sean retorts, flipping the blame. “I watched it, he didn’t realize I was there and murdered her.”

“I watched PJ do the scan in medbay, he’s cleared,” Corpse says and you find yourself smiling for no reason. “Sean, you killed Lizzie.”

“I knew he was sus,” you say, grabbing another piece of pizza. You look at the box and your eyes widen. Had you really already eaten half of it?

“Wait wait, how am I sus?” Sean asks. 

You take a moment to swallow. “Because when I was doing fuel earlier, I was running down from upper engine and didn’t see you in reactor. Sure, maybe you could have gotten there earlier, but it was super weird.” 

The discussion time ends and PJ immediately goes to vote for Sean as well as you, Corpse, and everyone else still alive. Sean ends up getting ejected. 

stinky was an imposter 

1 imposter remains

“You’re such a detective, y/n,” Sean says when he gets ejected. 

You laugh. “I just play this game too much.” You then mute yourself and smile. “I am a genius.” 

You end up finishing your tasks quickly after that and then stand in the cafeteria and eat another piece of pizza and read some of the chat. 

“’ What am I going to do after this?’ I don’t know. I might play some Minecraft. Should I have a poll on Twitter? I’m stuck between public Among Us games, Minecraft, and taking random quizzes on Buzzfeed.” You smile and hear another sound effect and something pops up on the screen. “Thank you to coochie man for donating a hundred dollars, that means a lot.” You laugh at their name. “I love your name, by the way.” 

There’s some rattling in the cage behind you and you turn around to see one of your rats drinking water. You turn back to the chat and read another comment. “’ Do you have a crush on Corpse?’” You blush and smile, biting your lip. “I mean, his voice is hot. I’ve never met him since he lives in San Diego and I live in h/t, but yeah, I guess I do. I’ve been listening to his music for the past few days and it’s really good, you guys should go check it out.”

You look up and unmute yourself when a body is reported. “Who died?” you ask. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Are you already done with your tasks, y/n?” Corpse asks. 

God, even the way he says your name is making you blush. “Yeah, I get them done quick.”

“She does that,” says Lizzie, “She always gets her tasks done quick.”

“Ken is dead by the way,” says Roomie and your snort, smacking a hand over your mouth. “I found him in the hallway by navigation. Where was everyone else?”

“I was in cafeteria doing nothing,” you say, leaning back in your chair and spinning around just a little. “I think I saw PJ downloading while I was in there, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, I was downloading,” says Ken. 

After more discussion, Corpse points out that Jaiden had been following him and it looked like she had been faking tasks. 

“No I haven’t,” she says. 

“That sounds like something the imposter would say,” you hum with a smirk. “That’s pretty sus, Jaiden.”

Everyone else agrees and you all end up voting Jaiden out. 

jaiden was the imposter

0 imposters remain

You cheer as the round ends and a blue victory screen pops up for the crewmates. “Good game, guys,” you say and play again, waiting for the host. 

~

1 round before the incident 

“Oh my god, I’m imposter again?” you groan and sigh when you spawn back in. “I was just imposter, I don’t want to be it again. I’m so bad at it,”

After another short round of you and Felix losing to the crewmates, you all agreed to play two more rounds before Sean had to leave. So you move your character to admin where PJ is and fake the card swipe before moving over to the admin security thing where you could see who was around where. Luckily, no one appeared to be near admin, so you quickly kill PJ and escape through the vent and come out through medbay. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you whisper over and over, running down to storage. “That was clean.” You fake getting fuel and go back up to the upper engine. 

When PJ’s body is reported, you see that your fellow imposter, Sean, had reported it. You stay silent for most of the round and only say that you were in the fuel area when it was reported. 

“Yeah, I saw her run past electrical earlier,” Corpse says. You blush and glance at your exploding chat and shake your head. 

After everyone skips the round, you mute yourself once more and head towards navigation. “I hate this.” You drag the last syllable and watch Lizzie enter the room. You wait a moment before walking towards her and killing her, jumping into one of the vents. You let out a sigh and flex your fingers. “I’m so stressed.” You exit out of the vent into shields and your heart stops when you see someone else in there but you realize that it’s the other imposter, Sean, and you relax. 

You run past him and go to the trash compartments and pretend to unload those. And that’s how the rest of the round goes. You kill someone, someone reports it and you vote someone off. Eventually, you and Sean do a double kill and end up winning the round.

You unmute yourself. 

“Let’s go!” Sean exclaims and you smile. 

“I can’t believe you killed me, y/n!” shouts Lizzie. “I thought we were friends.”

You laugh. “There are no friends in this game. I’m not loyal to anyone in this game. You could be my best friend and I would fucking murder you.”

“That’s cold,” says Roomie as everyone else spawns back in. 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

“Wait, PJ disconnected,” says Sean, and you all end up waiting for him to rejoin. 

In that time, you look at your chat and say, “Hey, do you guys have any questions for who I’m playing with. I’m asking you, chat.”

“I swear if someone asks about my hands, I’m leaving,” Corpse says and everyone laughs. 

You laugh louder when you read a comment and read it aloud, “_Ironlady _says that you should be a hand model, Corpse.”

“Okay, I’m leaving,” you hear Corpse say over everyone laughing. 

“No, stay!” you exclaim, trying not to laugh. “C’mon, don’t leave.”

He sighs deeply and your brain goes fuzzy. “Fine. I’ll stay for you.”

You beam and your tummy turns. You ignore the whistles and remarks from everyone else and stand beside Corpse. You suddenly wish that the little bean characters could hold hands. 

When PJ joins the server again, Ken starts the round and you cross your fingers, hoping to get crewmate. 

0 rounds before the incident

You mute yourself and sigh when you’re a crewmate. “Thank god.” You let out a breath and go over to admin with everyone else. You swipe your card and go to the cafeteria to do some wires there. 

The game turns out to be rather uneventful. A few people die and two people are voted off before the game gets truly interesting. And that happens when you walk in on Corpse and Felix. 

“I’ve had this song stuck in my head for days,” you’re saying, walking from electrical over to O2. “And I can’t get it out of my head. Maybe singing it will help.” You hum the first part. “Don't go in there, you'll become one. Freaky creatures, monster party. Eyes of yellow, scales and feathers, tails in tethers. Turn the lights off. Bend the nightmare, you control it. Artful dodger, easy does it. Shut the closet, get under the covers. Snakes and lovers. Turn the lights off.” You do a little dance for a moment and continue hum the song, glancing at the chat as you go towards O2 after doing wires in storage. 

“Like, I know the song, it’s just been stuck in my head,” you explain. “And it kind of annoys me--”

But you stop as you enter O2 and watch Corpse murder Felix. Neither one of you move and you don’t know what to do. “Uhhh.” 

Then, without thinking, you turn straight around and make your way away from the scene of the murder. “I didn’t see anything!” you shout to no one. “I suddenly can’t see who murdered Felix.” You smack a hand over your mouth and stand in the middle of a hallway. “Oh my god, what do I do? I don’t want to snitch on Corpse, he’s hot.” You scratch the back of your neck and shrug, continuing on to reactor. “I didn’t see anything.”

You’re in the middle of doing the simon says in reactor when Felix’s body is reported. You unmute yourself and fidget with the sleeve of your hoodie. You know exactly who killed Felix. 

“--was in O2,” says Jaiden and you focus back into the conversation. “And I didn’t see anyone around.”

“I saw you heading that way, y/n, but I know it wasn’t you because I saw you do the trash in storage.”

You look at the screen when Sean talks to you and you chew your lip. “I know who killed Felix.”

“Who?” asks almost everyone at the same time. 

You close your eyes and swallow. It’s just a game, why are you taking this so seriously? Suddenly, a song lyric pops into your head and your stomach flips. You imagine yourself saying it and no one knows who you mean except for him. 

You open your eyes. “I’d never snitch on daddy.”

There’s a laugh in the chat and you blush fiercely, your livestream chat blowing up once again.

“I think we know who it is, then,” says Sean, laughing. 

“Yeah,” agrees Lizzie and your eyes widen. 

“Wait, what?” you ask, watching everyone vote almost as soon as the discussion time ends. “Wait, hang on, who--”

“We know who you’re talking about, y/n,” PJ tells you. 

You vote for yourself and your brain goes blank as you see that everyone voted for Corpse. He even voted for himself. They knew. They all _knew _about your feelings for Corpse. 

The round ends with Corpse being voted out and the crewmates win. There’s some talking, but you stay on the victory screen. You’re trying to decide if your mad or embarrassed or both. 

“I didn’t know you’d say that, y/n,” Corpse says, effectively breaking you out of your trance. “I thought you were gonna snitch on me.”

“You heard her,” teases Lizzie and you can tell she’s grinning. “She’d never snitch on you, Corpse.”

He laughs and you feel something in a certain place. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die of embarrassment.” You put your face in your hands, listening to your friends tease you in the chat. You suddenly want to jump out your window and run into traffic. 

“Don’t die,” comes Corpse’s voice through the onslaught of teasing. “I’ll be sad.”

“Fuck!” you shout and slam your hand on your desk, shaking your equipment and scaring your rats. “I’m so sorry, Corpse, that was really weird, I--”

“Stop.” He interrupts you and the chat goes silent and you look up at the screen even though you can’t see him. “It’s okay. It was funny.”

Your eyes widen and then narrow. Funny? He thought what you said was funny? How could he think it was funny?

But then he speaks again and he sounds oddly flustered. “Uh, I gotta go. Um, it was fun playing with you guys. Bye, y/n.”

“Bye Cor--” but then he disconnects and you’re left talking to no one. “--pse.”

There’s a long moment of silence until Felix breaks it. “I can’t believe you just watched me die and didn’t do anything about it.”

There are some laughs and you smile faintly, rejoining the game. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that.”

“Are you okay, y/n?” asks Lizzie. 

You blush and swallow. “I don’t know. God, I’m so weird.” You run a hand through your hair and adjust your headphones

“No, you’re not,” Roomie assures you. “He has a crush on you, too.”

Your eyes widen and you scoot up in your chair. “He does?”

“I mean, he called you pretty once during a game and said that he watches your videos a lot, so maybe.”

You groan and sink in your chair. “I’m gonna go, I need to run into traffic now.”

A few people laugh or chuckle and Lizzie asks you if you’re actually going to leave. 

“Yeah,” you tell her. “But not to run into traffic. I’m going to go play Minecraft to soothe myself.”

“Aw.” You can practically hear her frown. “Okay. Bye, y/n.”

“Good luck with your stream,” Ken tells you. 

You grin. “Okay, thanks, bye.”

When you exit the game and leave the chat, you scream. You actually scream and it’s loud. Your roommate even knocks on your door, asking if you’re okay. 

You look at them and nod. “Yeah, totally fine. Probably about to have a mental breakdown, but I’m fine.”

“Okay,” they say and lean on the doorframe. “But I’m not cutting bangs for you again.”

You laugh and nod. “Yeah, okay, fine.” They leave and you turn back to your stream, feeling like you’re about to cry. Corpse knows you have a crush on him. And it seems like he has one on you as well, but now you’re embarrassed because you called him ‘daddy’ on stream.

You rub your eyes. “Well, now I know what’ll be streaming on Twitter tonight,” you tell the chat. 

[mountswhore]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 — mason mount

summary: after your breakup, mason realises just how much you need him. and how much he needs you too.

warnings: mentions of drinking, slight mentions of drugs, swearing, angst

requests are open!

It had been a month since your breakup, and you were at an all time low. But you couldn’t let Mason or anyone else know that. Luckily, you lived alone. So you had your own flat to mope about in, before painting on your fake smile and leaving for whatever errands you had that day. Your breakup was… unfair. Mason treated you like a toy, thinking he could just drop you and then pick you up just as quick. But you weren’t having it anymore.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” you laughed in disbelief at the words your boyfriend was spewing, “you’re really doing this to me, again?” Mason just stood with a stone cold face in front of you, in the comfort of his own living room.

“Y/N, believe me when I say I didn’t want to do this.” Mason consoled, taking a step forward. “You’re a distraction to my career, I barely see you. What would be the point of this anymore?” His words were like bullets, your chest full of holes and you were bleeding on the floor. But Mason was just staring back at you.

“I’m a distraction to your career. Lovely.” You mentioned, pushing past him and grabbing your bag from the stairs. Mason tried to stop you, he wanted to talk this out. “For the love of God, stop trying to hold me back. What is there to say? Or do you just want to ease your conscience? If you’re going to break up with me, be a man and own it. Leave me alone.”

With that you left, and you hadn’t spoken since.

You were going to meet a good friend for lunch, a WAG, but your breakup with Mason didn’t affect your friendship. She was adamant on it, saying, “just because Mason dumped your fine ass, doesn’t mean I can’t be friends with you. He’ll just have to deal with it.” You’d gone to your usual place, waiting in the foyer for her before booking a table together.

“How’ve you been, doll?” Abigail asked, putting her bag down beside her. “You know, considering.” You nodded, putting your fake smile to good use.

You let out a small giggle. “Good, yeah. I’ve been focusing on my work, which I should’ve been doing from the jump. I think I’m really making progress.” Abigail just nodded and smiled.

She didn’t seem the least bit frightened to say what she said, as she’d heard how you felt. “Good, because you’re coming to a party this weekend.”

“What?”

“A party.”

“Yeah I heard you,” you groaned, “are we sixteen- years old? Or am I just growing quicker than the rest of you?”

“Oh shh,” Abigail sighed, digging into her food that had now arrived with yours. Every time you came here, she got the carbonara. “Look, you said you’re making progress, and I want to have fun with my best friend again. And if I’m honest, all the other girls just aren’t as good of a laugh as you.”

“Thanks for the ego boost.” You added, smiling a genuine smile at her. You were still thinking heavily about this party, where was it? When was it? Who was going?

“Clear your weekend. It’s this Saturday, at some private lounge in London.” Abigail stated, twirling her fork once again. “It’s the England squad celebrating something or another, I don’t know. Dec told me about it.” The reason the pair of you were so close, was mainly because of your boyfriends being so close. Declan knew that his girlfriend was still friends with you and planned on keeping that, he’d always ask about you.

“Right. I’ll see if I can work overtime on Thursday to make up for my weekend off.” You mentioned.

So it was settled. You’d be going to a party with Abigail and the England squad. You weren’t the least bit excited, the only fraction you were was purely because you’d be seeing Abigail. You had your dress, you’d worked your overtime, and you were on your way to this private lounge in London. No matter how nice looking this lounge was, you’d always feel out of place. You were wearing your nicest dress, tallest heels, and Abigail had even done your hair and makeup.

“How are you, Y/N? You doing okay?” Declan asked, in the seat beside Abigail. You were sharing a taxi, Abi in the middle. Both you and Dec on either end. It was quite awkward, to see Declan. To know that he still speaks to Mason.

“Yeah, I’m doing good. How’s football going for you?” You asked. You despised small talk, it make you want to throw up. But it was only being polite to Dec. Declan mumbled a similar answer and paid attention to his phone. A text from Abigail appeared.

I don’t think she’s okay.

Declan wrote back to his girlfriend: I was thinking the same thing.

The three had gotten to the private lounge, Abi promising to not leave your side. You spent the first hour with her, constantly drinking to increase your confidence. Abi had finally left you, like you knew she would, but you weren’t mad. She’s here for her boyfriend, it’s only right she spends it with him. So now you were the loner at the bar, downing shot after shot.

Mason was sulking around like a shadow, holding tightly onto his mixer and speaking to some of his teammates. He’s not even sure why he came, all he knew was Declan forced him. And yet Declan had barely spoke to to him all evening. His mixer was empty, so he made his third beeline for the bar this evening. And saw you.

His heart had began beating irregularly, clammy hands almost dropping the cup he had. Why was he so nervous to see the ex he dumped? Luckily, you were occupied with talking to Jesse, so he could quickly grab his drink and leave. He found himself staring at you during his wait, how you laughed so genuinely with Jesse. You always did. He was one of your closest friends and now talking to him felt awkward because of your breakup. You looked at Jesse so happily, he wished it was him. It was a stupid thing to wish, considering he dumped you.

What had dumping you even done for him?

“Mount. Whatever the hell has happened to you outside of training, undo it. You’re off today.”

“Mase, why haven’t you been as on par as you usually are?”

“You keep playing like this and you’re being benched next game.”

Nothing. The answer was nothing. He was told he wasn’t playing well, saw you as an issue and dumped you. And now he plays worse. He’d been benched on his second game, overlooked by his manager due to his lack of focus in training. It was horrible. But you told him to leave you alone, he could never forget the look on your face. The look of exhaustion, of being dumped and picked back up again.

Mason had zoned back in, seeing you looking at him rather lazily. You looked drunk, high, or both. Jesse had gone, and you were throwing the shots back. You made it a game. Every time you had a good Mason thought, you’d have a shot. If it was bad, or any thought at all, you’d be having your stomach pumped by the end of the night.

Mason watched the bartender pour straight vodka into your cup, and then watched you stagger away to the stairs. The stairs led up to toilets, and were empty and quiet. Perfect. You collapsed onto the stairs, still sipping on your vodka before laying your head onto a step. You didn’t know Mason had followed you until you felt his hands on your arms.

“Come on, we’re going home.” He declared, holding you around your waist. You frowned at him, trying your best to use your half-working limbs to push him away from you.

“We’re? No, you are going home. I’m staying here.” You slurred, downing the rest of your drink and throwing the cup at his head. You laughed at the face he made, finally freeing you and you returned to your seat on the stairs. “You aren’t my dad, or my boss, or my friend. So leave me alone.”

“You’re off your face. So you’re going home.” He reaffirmed with you, folding his arms. You just shook your head again, looking up at him. You were having good Mason thoughts again, seeing just his face stare down at you. It made you want to cry and throw up.

“Get me a drink.” Mason left after your instructions, returning with a cup. You had downed it, waiting for the warm throat and slight burn. But nothing. “Not water, you asshole.” Mason kept a stone cold face with you, resting against the wall beside the door. Nobody had come into the toilet and you wished they had now. You needed someone to save you from happy Mason thoughts.

“So how is football? You must be scoring goals left and right.” You jested, tipping your head back and laughing. “Right?” Mason sat down beside you in defeat, knowing this wouldn’t be an easy conversation with you. It would end in you crying, or leaving, or both.

“No, actually.” Mason admitted. “I’m doing rubbish. My friends know I’m off my game, the gaffer knows I’m off my game. It’s atrocious.” You stared at him, kind of feeling bad but then remembering what he did to you. All those times he’d break up with you, just to say he missed you a few days later. If you were being honest with yourself, you thought it would happen again. But a month had passed, and nothing.

“Oh.” It was all you could say. Knowing what he did was for no reason, it had no benefits whatsoever. Your life had been completely thrown out of balance for nothing. It made you mad all over again. “So you’re telling me you broke up with me, and nothing good came of it?”

Mason hated to admit it. “Yes.” He spoke quietly, ashamed of the answer he was putting out there. “I was actually told to fix whatever happened outside of training, in an effort to make me better again.” You should be laughing in his face, glad he’s been royally fucked over after he royally fucked you over. But instead, you held your hands to your face to hide your tears.

“Hey,” Mason hushed, pulling you into his side. He knew you’d had a lot to drink, so maybe your emotions were all over the place, “don’t cry about it, you don’t need to be upset.” Why was he being like this? He broke up with you, why did he care how you were now?

“What’s happened to us?” You cried, pulling away from him. Just because you were at a low, doesn’t mean he can swoop in. “Ever since we broke up, it seems our lives have been shit.”

Mason laughed through the pain, resting his elbows on the step behind him. He’d tried to avoid his feelings instead of confront them, but it proved difficult when you had showed up. “I might be benched for the next game, or better yet, be taken from the squad.”

You shook your head. No matter how much you hated him at this very point, you couldn’t deny the man’s talent. “You deserve that spot on the team. There’s a reason you start for England every time. Don’t doubt yourself because something bad happened to you.”

Mason took your words and remembered them, keeping them in his head for the rest of the night. “Come here.” He put an arm around you and held you tight, sighing as your heads rested together. “I’m sorry I did this to you. I shouldn’t have left you, I had issues with myself and saw you as the problem instead. I’m really sorry.”

“I just don’t think I can take it again.” You confessed, laying your head in his lap and keeping your eyes closed. “I can’t take being broken up with again, only for you to end up in my bed a few days later. It hurts me everytime, Mase.” Mason was rubbing your back, hating himself for the way he made you feel before. And he hadn’t seen an issue with it, he treated you like it was okay to use you as an emotional rag doll.

“You don’t have to jump straight into it,” he whispered, hands now smoothing your hair out of your face, “you can take as long as you need to trust me again. But I’m telling you it’ll never happen again, I’ll never throw you about like I did before. It was reckless of me and I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Mase.” You sighed, the weight finally freeing your chest. You could finally move forward with your life, and choose whether or not to take Mason with you. It wasn’t an answer you needed to know now, it could take it’s time. And Mason was willing to wait.

[randomshyperson]

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - The Fourth Year (Part I) - Chapter 04

Series Masterlist ||  Read on AO3 || All Works Masterlist

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies.

Chapter Words:  9.832K

Authors note: In this one I start to explore more of the magical bond between reader and wanda, and well, it will be very much about that from this one on. I need to know if you all prefer longer (and more detailed) chapters about the reader's years at hogwarts like this one (which has been divided into three parts) or if you prefer the pace of the first three chapters (with only the relevant events of the whole year). Enjoy your reading.

//-// x //-// //-// x //-//

It's very different having Nebula and Gamora at home. 

You were used to having only Tony and Jarvis, and occasionally your father, but now that you have your friends sleeping in the next two rooms, you always have someone your own age to talk to and laugh about the same things.

It took a while for things to normalize, especially the first week. Thanos was furious about the letter that Gamora sent him, saying that they would live with you now. He showed up in the yard of your house the next day, and you have never seen your father so enraged.

They talked for many minutes, and then Thanos demanded to speak to his daughters. Nebula was trembling as she walked out the door, but your father stayed by their side during the entire conversation.

When they went back inside, Thanos left. Two days later, your father signed the adoption papers.

You were surprised when you discovered that Nebula was as passionate about magical mechanics as Tony, so it didn't take long for it to become commonplace for her to disappear into the basement of the house along with your brother, both of them wrapped up in some strange invention. You and Gamora usually spent most of your time in the backyard, she reading some Arithmanian stuff you didn't understand, while you played quidditch, or the two of you tended the garden. Mantis also came to visit you in the summer, and Groot was the size of a small dog now.

You exchanged many letters with Wanda during the vacations. And when Iron brought another one of them a little after dinner, on the antepenultimate week of vacation while you and Gamora were in your room talking about the coming year, she acquired a mischievous look on her face.

"What do you guys talk about so much?" She teased as you took the letter from Iron's beak. You shrugged, feeling your face heat up, and thought it better to look at the paper in your hands than Gamora's face.

“I don’t know,. Everything i think”. You answer.

Gamora is silent as you read the letter. You smile, because it is as if you hear Wanda's voice in the words you read. 

"Can I ask you something?" Gamora speaks next, you make a noise with the little one in agreement, without taking your eyes off the paper. "Have you ever kissed anyone?

"What?" you ask in surprise, raising your eyes to her. "N-no."

Gamora's arms are crossed and she's sitting on the bed, and she raises her eyebrow in disbelief.

"Is that so?" She asks and you swallow dryly, confirming. Her expression softens. "I'm only saying that because a lot of people start dating in third grade."

You close the letter in your hands, placing it on the shelf beside you. Ignoring how the subject makes your stomach flip with nervousness, you rest your hands on your knee.

"Do you think we'll start dating too?" You ask shyly, and Gamora smiles, shrugging.

"Who knows?" She retorts. "I never thought about that either. But I do know that Pietro kissed Monica on the mouth after our leave vacation inside a cabin on the Hogwarts express."

"Are you for real?" You asked in surprise. "How did you find out about that?"

"Quill wrote to me last night." She says. "I forgot to tell you."

"Wow." You say. 

"Yeah." She agrees. "Peter told me that Pietro turned red as a tomato, but kept smiling. I thought Wanda would tell you that."

You bit your tongue to avoid mentioning that you and Wanda don't talk about such things, and cleared your throat before shrugging.

"Maybe Pietro didn't say anything to her." You say. "I probably won't tell Tony when I have my first kiss."

"You're probably right." Gamora said casually. "But you're going to tell me, right? When you kiss someone, you need to tell me how to do it."

You laughed, walking over to Gamora.

"I promise I will." You say extending your pinky to her. She looks at you confused, "It's a pinky promise, haven't you ever sworn like that?"

"That's muggles' stuff." She comments with a smile, and you laugh.

"Yeah, my dad probably learned it from my mom." You say using your other hand to take Gamora's hand. "Come on, you put your finger like this, and then we swear."

Gamora laughed as she followed your commands, and then you repeated the promise. After you yawned, she bade you goodnight and went to her room.

You fought the urge to reread Wanda's letter, and threw yourself on the bed, not understanding why your brain was replaying Gamora's questions in your mind and you kept thinking of Wanda afterwards.

//-//

The Quidditch World Cup is happening this year, and you can hardly contain yourself with excitement.

You had been to the event a few times when you were younger, but now that you actually played quidditch it was a very different feeling.

Your favorite team was the Guardians of the Galaxy, who had played for England for many years, and were also your father's favorite team. Tony stopped liking them the first year, saying that they were losing too many games, but you knew it was because Steve Rogers was rooting for the Brooklyn Soldiers team and Tony was trying to impress him.

All your friends will be at the event, including many thousands of other witches from all over the world. 

You have to wake up at dawn in order not to miss the time of the portal keys that have been scattered around the country by the Ministry of Magic, to prevent wizards from being seen disappearing into inappropriate places that could expose the magical world.

When you came down to the kitchen, everyone was already having breakfast. Your father kissed your forehead as he walked past you, a mug of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

"Finally awake, sleepyhead." Teased Tony when he saw you, you just yawned. 

"Are we leaving already?" You asked sleepily, grabbing some toast.

"Yes, dear." Her father replied looking at his watch. "Get ready soon, or we'll miss the schedule."

You grumble in agreement, hurrying to get back to your room and take a shower. 

When you are ready, and stretching as you walk to the outside of the house, Gamora joins you, a backpack on her back resembling yours.

"I can't wait to see the foreign wizards." She comments excitedly making you smile. Gamora didn't like the sport, and was far more excited to see the witches from the rest of the world than to watch the match.

"I bet there's going to be some Ilvermorny people's stall." You say as you catch up with your father, who was waiting next to Tony and Nebula. Jarvis waves goodbye to you from the doorway, and you begin walking toward the trail beyond the mansion grounds. "They are so show-offy."

Gamora laughs.

"I've never met anyone from the United States." She counters. "But some witches from Japan have been to my house."

You know that the mention of home or Thanos makes Gamora very uncomfortable, so you try to skirt around the subject.

"I guess Nurse Cho was from Mahoutokoro, huh?" You comment, and Gamora shrugs. "Thor had mentioned that during a class, I think."

"I wonder if the other schools are cool like Hogwarts?" She asks, and you smile.

"No place is like Hogwarts."

Gamora laughs, but agrees. You walk in silence for a few more minutes, and it is only when you reach an empty area that you stop.

"Here we are, people." Your father says next, slightly tired from the exercise. He waves for everyone to form a circle as he checks his watch. "Two minutes to go, children. Stand in position please."

There is a small cloth boot in the center of the circle, and you are not the least bit surprised because you know that portal keys are usually the most mundane things you can think of.

You all reach down and touch the boot with your fingertips. You smile at Tony who looks up at you. Two minutes later, you feel a tug, and everything spins around you. Taking a deep breath, you focus on controlling yourself as you are falling into the portal key. And then you land on the ground.

"Here we are." Your father says smiling beside you. You look to the side to see Gamora helping Nebula to stand up properly, as she had remarked that she gets a little queasy with this kind of magic. Tony throws an arm around your shoulders next.

"Ready to see the guardians lose, kid?" He teases causing you to let out a humorless laugh.

"You wish." You grumble pushing Tony lightly, who lets go as he laughs.

And then you start walking again, until you come to a place considerably noisier than where you were before.

The ministry seemed to have bypassed an area with low chains, and you notice the magical aura around the metal, signaling that everything was magically hidden.

There is a wizard in uniform at the entrance, and he collects the tickets before letting you pass into the hut area. 

There are many tents of the most varied characteristics. You laugh in surprise when your gaze catches a conjuration exactly like a vacation castle, but much smaller in size. As you walk through the crowd, your father asks everyone to hold hands so as not to get lost as he guides you to the area where you would be staying.

Your father has rented a tent in a more private area of the place, and there are hardly any witches where you are. You like the silence, but you miss how much more fun the other place seems.

"The Rogers and the Barnes should be here by now I imagine." Your father comments as he waves his wand to open the cabin. You enter the room next, it is like a small winter home inside, very cozy.

"Yes, dad." Tony replies throwing his backpack on one of the couches. "I wrote Steve last night."

Howard grumbles in agreement, walking to the kitchen. You place your backpack on the floor next.

"Daddy, can I go look for Wanda and Pietro?" You ask and your father laughs, denying it.

"You didn't eat anything before you left, honey." He says turning around. "Eat something and then you can go look for them."

You grumble, but agree. While you are making some eggs, Steve's family arrives.

"Howard, you outdo yourself every year, my friend." Joseph Rogers comments as he enters the cabin. Your father smiles cheerfully as he hugs him in greeting, then greets Sarah, Steve's mother, with a kiss on the cheek. He ruffles Steve's hair and pats his arm, repeating the same gesture to Bucky, who follows behind.

" Is your father not here, James?" Howard asks next, and Bucky clears his throat.

"No, sir." He replies. "Since my sisters can't come, he took them to a music event in the muggle world. If you want my opinion, rock concerts are as cool as quidditch."

The comment makes Howard laugh in agreement, but Steve's family doesn't seem to understand very well.

Soon they were all around the room, talking animatedly about the most varied subjects. You exchanged a complicit look with Gamora and Nebula, and you took advantage of your father being involved in a conversation with Joseph to leave the cabin.

"Do you have any idea where Professor Lehnsherr has placed the tents?" Gamora asks you once you are outside and you look around.

"No." You reply. "Wanda just wrote that she and Pietro were going to be here too, but I don't even know if it's Magneto that's bringing them."

"We're just left to look then." Nebula concludes and you nod in agreement, starting to walk.

You walk back to the common tent area, looking around.

Gamora and Nebula are easily distracted by the amount of interesting things to see, and almost lose track of you when some witches from the Salem Institute hand them some exchange pamphlets. 

It is only at the food stall that you finally find who you were looking for.

"My god, is that...?" You hear Gamora exclaim next to you in surprise. You know she was talking about Professor Lehnsherr, who is wearing jeans and a T-shirt and sunglasses and looks very well, and has a completely different posture than he usually has in class, but you are not looking at him anymore. 

Your stomach is restless because you are looking at Wanda, wearing a black skirt with knee socks and boots, and a red jacket. She looks beautiful, and you are blushing.

Gamora waves to them from a distance, and it is Pietro who notices you guys first, waving back cheerfully while nudging Wanda on the shoulder. She blinks in confusion and then smiles when she sees you.

You think your legs have turned to jelly, but you continue walking toward her. 

"It's so good to see you girls" Pietro exclaims happily as he hugs Gamora. 

"Hi, Wanda." You greet with a half-hearted smile, but Wanda's face lights up and she jumps at you, hugging you tight, and making your heart soar. "It's good to see you too." You whisper humorously against her hair, and Wanda releases you with a reddened face, smiling widely.

"I missed you." She says to you shyly making you look away clumsily, but before you can add anything else, Pietro is greeting you as well, and Wanda does the same with your sisters.

"Hello everyone." Said a male voice next, and you stared at Professor Erik awkwardly. He didn't seem bothered by being approached by any of you, however, a hot dog in his hands. 

"Hello, Professor Lehnsherr." You and your sisters said in unison, but the man had an almost friendly expression. 

"Don't worry about being formal while we're here, girls." He says. "We're just sorcerers in here, looking for a little cheap entertainment."

You and Gamora exchange a look, not knowing exactly what to say next. Professor Erik sighs, and then looks at his children.

"You can go spend some time with the Starks, twins." He says making his kids let out excited exclamations. "Be back by the start time of the match, please. I don't want to lose sight of you in a place with so many people of unreliable origin."

You don't quite understand what "unreliable origin" means, but you don't question it, excited to spend some time with the Maximoffs.

After Erik gives them a few galleons to buy whatever snacks they want, you walk back to the cabin.

//-//

You spent the whole afternoon with all your friends in the cabin, playing magical games, practicing simple spells, and trying to guess the outcome of the match. When the first warning alarm sounded, you all let out a chorus of excitement.

You ran to your room, looking for the cheerleader accessories you had obtained, while ignoring the teasing Tony was throwing at you about the opponent team's sure victory.

He and the Rogers were all wearing blue and white scarves, bracelets and hats, which represented the colors of the Brooklyn Soldiers.

Your father was wearing a big red jacket with the symbol of a gold star, the team's mark. You gave him one of the buttons you brought.

Pietro was also rooting for the Soldiers, along with Nebula and Bucky, so you didn't try to lend any of your accessories to them.

Wanda was in the room when you put a blue scarf with gold accents around her neck.

"For you to support the team." You commented excitedly, without any idea that Wanda's flushed face was because the scarf smelled like you.

"Thanks." She said shyly, and you just nodded, holding some bottons on her shirt.

Gamora borrowed one of the hats you brought.

When you walked towards the stadium area, all the other spectators were leaving their tents and tents and going in the same direction, so the crowd was even bigger. You did your best not to get lost.

Once inside the iron structure, you felt someone nudge your shoulder.

"Pietro and I need to find Dad." Wanda said and you waved, but then frowned, nodding back.

"I think he found you first." You comment while watching Erik look at you as he enters the same iron corridor. He looks at your family and friends next for a moment, his expression serious. "See you after the game, right?"

"Of course." Wanda smiles before touching your arm lightly. You still feel the touch many moments later.

//-//

The match is absolutely incredible. It is even better because the guardians win with a remarkable difference when catcher Jean Gray captures the Snitch after the second half, the stadium vibrating in celebration.

It's a complete mess after that. There are fireworks, and a lot of noise. Even though they lost the match, all the Brooklyn Soldiers fans are so impressed with the incredible match that they join the celebrations.

You stumble out of the stadium between laughter, Gamora's arm around your shoulders as she laughs at the dance that your father and Joseph are doing on the way back.

Fans of the Guardians continued to light the celebratory fireworks, and there was a huge fireworks scarlet dragon streaking through the skies above your heads.

Your dad and the Rogers family go back to the cabin while you stay outside with Bucky and your friends, wanting to enjoy the rest of the fireworks display. You also want to see Wanda again.

"The Guardians are very excited, aren't they?" Bucky comments with a laugh, noticing an increase in the volume of the crowd's screams. You laugh and you look at the sky again.

When you blink, there is an explosion noise in the distance, so muffled by the other sounds that it makes you confused. Your friends don't seem to have heard, and you step forward, watching the crowd closely.

You see a lot of people laughing, and dancing, and it takes a minute for you to also notice those who are running.

"Guys." You call in confusion, and Gamora who was closest to you turns around with curiosity. "I think there is something wrong."

Another explosion occurs and this time everyone listens. The crowd in front seems to gradually realize that there is something wrong going on. And then the firework dragon in the sky is fading, considerably dimming the lighting.

Your father came out of the hut the next moment, a concerned look on his face, and the wand in his hands.

You feel a panic rising in the pit of your stomach when people start running and screaming, and you notice spells being cast from a distance. You were thinking it might be some kind of cheering team fight, but the possibility is completely ruled out when you notice the masked men in the crowd.

"Get your things now." Order your father out loud and then you are all moving back to the cabin, picking up all your belongings quickly. You hold the backpack tightly against your shoulders when you go out again, complete chaos around you. Your father, Joseph and Sarah lead you among the people, shouting that you need to get back to the portkey. You gasp in surprise when you feel a twinge behind your eyes, and you are struck by a vision of a forest. This little delay is enough to make you stay behind and lose sight of your family.

But you are not looking for them anyway. Your feet are spinning in the opposite position, and you are pushing people to run. You need to find Wanda.

//-//

You end up at the end of the camp, the tents far behind you. The sound of confusion drowned out by the distance. Feeling a new stab of pain in the head, your knees give way and your body lowers, while you raise your hands to your face, immediately being hit by a vision. This time you see a shadow of a tall figure, perhaps a man, standing in front of you. There is a metallic taste of blood in your mouth, and you want to get away, but there is something holding you back. When you blink, you're back the end of the camp.

You don't understand what's going on, and there is a feeling of hopelessness and helplessness in your chest, but you keep walking, crossing the magical chain and moving into the forest. You fall to the ground on your knees a moment later, intense pain all over your body. Gasping, you look up, only to see a green light form in the sky.

At first you thought it might be fireworks, but it was magic. The symbol of a hydra conjured in the clouds was beginning to move, and your entire body weighed.

You looked down, and your eyes caught a figure in the woods. It was a man, but he was too far away and you couldn't see his face. He had his wand raised to the sky, clearly being responsible for conjuring it up. Your head started to spin in pain, and you rested your hands on the ground to try to normalize your breathing, and then the man looked at you.

You felt your heart race when he started walking towards you, but then there were screams and footsteps, and he ran. A moment later, your father was kneeling beside you.

"Darling! Are you okay?" He asked worriedly raising his hands to your face looking for bruises. You sighed, still in pain. Only when the aurors of the ministry of magic raised their wands to the sky and made the mark disappear,  you feel your body relieve immediately.

"I saw a man." You confessed breathlessly, and your father looked at you with confusion. But the wizards of the ministries seemed quite interested.

"Where, child?" Asked one of the aurors, you gasped slightly, feeling your body tremble a little.

"He went in that direction." You say pointing. "He was the one who conjured."

The woman nodded in understanding, and left after whistling for the rest of the Aurors to follow her. Your father helped you to stand.

"Honey, listen to me carefully." He said in a mixture of concern and seriousness. "Don't tell anyone about this."

“What, daddy? I don't.."

"Honey, please." He interrupts by stroking your cheeks with his thumb. “I will explain everything to you, I promise. But this needs to stay between us. You can't tell anyone what you saw in the sky.”

You swallow dry, but agree. Your dad doesn't let go of your hand all the way back to the portkey, and when you rejoin your friends again, you lie and say you just got lost in the food stall area after he gives a little grip on your fingers.

//-//

Your father doesn't explain anything to you.

When you return home, he receives urgent howlers from the ministry, and then he returns to the ministry of magic.

You are walking around the kitchen, outraged that you were prevented from looking for Wanda on your way out of the stadium and you have no idea if she is okay.

"What if the Maximoffs have a phone?" You grumble to yourself, but then you remember that you don't even have the number. You press your hands to your face, trying to calm yourself down. Wanda was fine. She had to be.

Gamora and Nebula are sitting on the couch, discussing something with each other, looking concerned. Tony locked himself in the room after Howard refused to tell him what was going on.

You don't understand why you have this horrible feeling in your chest, and you can't stop wondering if Wanda is okay, and then you support your hands on the table, trying to normalize your breathing and stop yourself from crying.

"Hey, breathe." You are almost startled by the voice at your side. Gamora touches your back tenderly, and you shake your head, feeling the tears flow. "She's fine, you need to breathe."

"You don't know that." You snap out of breath, and then Gamora puts her hand on your shoulder, asking you to look at her.

“We met Erik on the way out while you got lost. They left before you came back. ” She tells and you blink confused. “Wanda is safe. Breathe."

You gasp, and then your body relaxes as if a weight has been lifted off your back. Gamora looks at you with a mixture of concern and confusion, but you sigh, hugging her in appreciation.

"Thank you." You whisper against her hair. "I should have asked."

When you let go, she still looks at you with concern.

"Yeah, I know." She says assessing her face. "You should have asked how anyone else would do it."

You frown, not understanding what she is saying. But she still looks at you, suspicious.

“It looks like you were barely listening to us when your dad brought you back. And then I find you like that, and one word is enough to get you back to normal. ”

"What do you mean, Gamora?"

"I'm worried about you." She says. "I don't know what it is, but there is something strange about the way Wanda affects you."

You change the weight of your feet, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

"What are you talking about?"

"She's talking about you not being able to bewitch Wanda." Nebula adds by getting up and walking over to you. You blink confused, ready to say that story was too old, but the girl is not intimidated. "She's talking about the way you behave around her."

"I don `t…"

"It's not just about liking someone." Nebula interrupts and you feel your cheeks heat up. "Gamora thought it was because you are in love, but that seems like something else."

Something in your stomach falls. You gasp in surprise.

"I'm not i-in love!" You exclaim with a racing heart. "I'm not…"

Gamora sighs impatiently, messing with hair. And trying to calm you down, she puts her hands on your shoulders next.

"Listen to me, okay?" She asks. "There's something weird about the way you care about Wanda. We don't know what it is, but you need to admit that you can see that too."

Facing your friend back, it takes a moment while you think of your words, for you to speak again.

"I saw a mark in the sky." You confess, deciding to disobey your father. Gamora blinks in confusion, and you clear your throat before you clear up everything that happened. Her hands fall off your shoulders when she opens her eyes wide for your confessions.

"Are you sure it was a hydra?" Nebula asks seriously and you wave.

"Do you know what that means?" You ask, and the girls exchange a look, but before they say it, you hear another voice.

"It is the Mephisto mark."

You get scared of Tony coming down the stairs, his gaze on you as he walks over to where you are. He folds his arms when he reaches you.

"Which means death walkers are back."

"Tony ..."

"You said you saw a wizard." He interrupts seriously. "Do you have any idea who it is?"

"No." You embarrassingly deny it, feeling your stomach sink with the look Tony is giving you. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You are the one who's been weird." He replies. "I'm just trying to understand what's going on."

"What did you mean by that?"

"What did you see in your head?" He counters with another question and you start to get angry at the way he is behaving, but tell him anyway. Tony sighs impatiently, turning in the opposite direction. He circles the room for a few moments before speaking again. “Daddy is never going to let us get involved in this. Especially now that you are having visions in your head. ”

"I still haven't told him about it." You grumble and Tony looks at you in surprise.

"Then don't say anything."

"What?" You exclaim with a frown in confusion. "What you mean? I need to say. I have to find out what it is. ”

Tony laughed incredulously.

"You still don't get it, do you?" he retorted. "Dad won't tell us anything. He didn't tell us about being an Auror, or about being friends with Professor Lehnsherr. He didn't even bother to try to understand why you can't bewitch Wanda!" Tony squirms angrily, and you shrink your body to the pitch of his voice. But he sighs, running his hands through his hair, and softening his expression. "I'm sorry, I'm not angry with you. It's just... I don't like being lied to."

You looked away, feeling tired. All this talk was making your head hurt, and the previous events had affected you more than you would like to admit.

"I don't know what we can do about this." You say. "I don't understand what's going on, and Dad would be the first person I would ask something, but he's not willing to help us. I feel like I'm at a dead end."

Tony lifts his arm to your shoulder, trying to reassure you.

"Hey, don't be so concerned about it." He says. "I'll find out what I can, and well, we're going back to Hogwarts next week. You and Wanda can try to figure out what this connection is about, while I try to figure out what's going on at the ministry."

You nod in agreement and Tony smiles, hugging you briefly. You hope that despite everything, you will have a quiet year at Hogwarts.

//-//

The Maximoffs are not on board the Hogwarts express.

You are in the same cabin as your friends, squeezed in because not everyone can fit in there, and you take several turns with Peter and Darcy in turn to sit down, while you are spread out in the corridor. 

"No sign of Wanda, huh?" Gamora asked as she saw you looking around the hallway for the tenth time while you were standing outside the cabin, listening to Mantis tell you about her summer from inside.

"No." You reply. "I talked to her Slytherin colleagues, but none of them were very happy to tell me anything. Wanda didn't say anything in her last letter."

"Maybe she will arrive in a flying car, I hear they are popular." She jokes, making you laugh briefly. You can't ignore the nervous feeling in your stomach, and you sigh. Gamora places her hands on your shoulders. "Let's find something to distract you, okay? How about some explosive snap?"

//-//

Laughing at Quill's joke about the last statement in the Daily Prophet, as you walked off the train with the rest of your friends toward the castle.

A chorus of excitement coming from some students ahead of you caught your and your friends' attention, who looked in the direction curiously.

"Is that a ship?" You heard someone ask as they pointed in the direction of the lake.

There was a large old ship, right in the center, coming toward the castle. Everyone looked on excitedly.

"Students, please continue toward the castle!" Drax loudly commanded the crowd, and the students exchanged nervous whispers, all extremely curious to know who was coming to the castle. You swapped a glance with Gamora before following the crowd.

//-//

Already seated at the Hufflepuff table, you startled slightly when Mantis touched your hand.

"Calm down, you're making it snow." She asked gently. You shook your head, realizing the cloud you had accidentally conjured up above you. You had been so nervous the last few minutes, which only got worse when your gaze failed to find Wanda at the Slytherin table, and to no avail was the look of reassurance Gamora threw at you when she said she would ask her colleagues about her over dinner. As soon as you sat down at the Hufflepuff table, you played with your wand between your fingers, and before you knew it, it was snowing.

"Sorry about that." You mumble clumsily, putting your wand back away. Mantis is not angry, her look is one of concern.

"I'm sure everything is fine with Wanda." Mantis says to you, and you sigh, running your hand through your hair.

"I think so too." You say. "I just don't know why I can't stop thinking about it."

"Y/N..."

You lost your attention completely on Mantis as your gaze reached the door of the hall just as you noticed the figures entering. Wanda and Pietro, walking hurriedly to the Slytherin table, being two of the last students to enter the hall before the door closed. You made mention of getting up, but Mantis held you by the shoulders. 

You were about to complain, but she pointed in the direction of the teachers' table, and you rolled your eyes, because the welcoming speech was about to begin. Your gaze remained on Wanda, but she was looking straight ahead. The only good thing was that the feeling of worry in you diminished considerably now that you were seeing her.

"[...] and I am proud to tell you that a very special event will take place at Hogwarts this year: the Triwizard Tournament!"

You are startled slightly when Headmistress Harkness' words reach your ears at the same moment that the main hall explodes in hubbub. You lose sight of Wanda because people are moving excitedly, and Mantis is nudging you to look forward.

It is only now that you notice the large stone globet and the blue flame displayed in front of the bench. You blink in surprise, feeling your face flush because you spent all the minutes of the speech staring at Wanda without realizing it.

Then the principal speaks again.

"Of course, the ministry has determined rules for the safety of the students." She recounts. "No student under the age of seventeen will be allowed to participate in the tournament, in addition to the dueling rules..."

The principal's speech was drowned out by the chorus of protests from the younger students, especially those in the fifth and sixth grades. You raised your eyebrow slightly, because you noticed that your brother was one of the boys who was shouting in annoyance. 

Agatha then made a stern expression, clearly annoyed at having been interrupted, and it took only a few moments for the hall to become completely silent, and for her to smile again.

"Note that the other participating schools will be staying with us this year." She continues her speech. "Please welcome the students from Durmstrang Institute."

The doors to the main hall opened again, and a small crowd of students wearing thick winter coats entered. A tall, shabby-looking man with a scar over his right eye was at the front, guiding the students.

"Agatha!" Greeted the man with open arms as he reached the headmistress. Agatha smiled as she hugged him, and you tried to get a look at the new folks, as did the rest of the school, who were looking excitedly at the crowd. You let out a surprised exclamation when you recognized one of the faces. Your classmates also seemed to realize who it was, because many whistles and comments were heard. 

"That's Jean Grey, isn't it?" Peter Parker asked sitting next to you. When you confirmed it, he widened his eyes. "Wow, I didn't know she was still in school."

"She's the youngest catcher of the century, Parker." You commented with a smile. 

"She's very pretty, isn't she?" He retorted, and you made a noise of agreement.

The students reached the front of the hall next.

"It's good to have you here, Yondu." Said the headmistress. "How was the trip?"

"Wet and noisy, woman!" Rebutted the man humorously. He didn't seem too excited to greet any other teachers, focused only on the woman in front of him. Agatha looked at the students next.

"Please feel free to join any of the empty seats, all the houses were honored to accommodate you." She warned the students, but they only moved after Yondu waved lightly at them.

You bit the inside of your cheek, noting that almost everyone sat down at the Slytherin table. Yondu joined the students next, not failing to take a good look at the goblet before sitting down.

Agatha looked down the hall again.

"Let us also welcome our honored guests from Beauxbatons."

The students at Beauxbatons' institute seemed nicer the first moment you saw them, but as soon as you noticed the way their cloaks were bewitched to land gracefully on the floor as they moved, you figured they must be the kind of people who wouldn't be happy with Hogwarts' cleaning schedule.

The principal of Beauxbatons was a tall, stout woman, very beautiful. She had a crown on her head, and you wondered if the people of Beauxbatons were royalty in some way. 

"Ovette, it is an honor to have you with us." She greeted Principal Agatha, but unlike before, her smile was cold, almost fake. The other woman didn't seem happy to be there either, but returned the greeting in the same formality.

The Beauxbatons students sat down at Gryffindor's table, and you giggled when Quill grimaced at you from his table as one of the boys sat down next to him.

Suddenly you felt very hungry. And dinner didn't disappoint. 

"I think you'd better wait to talk to Wanda tomorrow," Mantis remarked next to you as soon as you finished eating. You frowned, looking at her.

"Why?"

"Professor Lehnsherr has been staring at the Slytherin table like he's going to cast a good behavior spell at them the entire dinner." She counters as she looks at the teachers' table. You look just in time to catch Erik with a stern look toward the students who were talking loudly on the end before he went back to eating his potato salad. 

"Maybe he just expects better behavior while we have guests here." You comments, glancing back to the Slytherin table. Wanda's gaze has not searched for yours all dinner, and you are starting to get annoyed by this.

"If you're going to risk it, I suggest you do it before curfew." Mantis quips as she looks down at her own lap. Groot is trying to steal her piece of chicken, and she smiles as she hands him a loaf of bread.

You look around. All the students are sitting at their respective house tables, and despite the loud buzz of conversation, no one is standing. You know that if you stood up, and walked to the other side of the room, everyone would look at you. Sighing in annoyance, you rest your face on your hand and your elbow on the table, giving up on talking to Wanda during dinner.

When dessert arrives, you become distracted.

//-//

Your best idea is to catch up with Wanda at the end of dinner, but you frown when she doesn't get up from the table along with the other students. The next moment, Professor Erik is joining her, and the crowd of Hufflepuff students pushing you out makes you lose sight of her.

You mumble softly to yourself when you have to go back to the dormitory, and Mantis gives you a short smile, equally annoyed by your nervousness.

//=//

You tried to sleep. Maybe at some point you did.

After you went back to the dorm with everyone else, put on your pajamas and turned off the lights, you think you fell asleep almost immediately. But there was no rest.

The minute you fell asleep, you were somewhere else, fully conscious.

It looked like a graveyard, and there was a lot of smog. You turned over, feeling breathless, and saw a red light, maybe it was a spell. The next moment you woke up, panting, opening your eyes and immediately sitting up in bed. Surprised at the amount of sweat on your shirt, you frowned.

The dormitory was completely dark, and everyone was sleeping around you. You felt thirsty, and as you tried to understand exactly what you had dreamed, you left the room.

The rest of the common room was also empty, and you sighed as an idea crossed your mind. Biting your lips, you shook your head. No, you were not going to sneak through the dormitory into the Slytherin hall, because that was absolutely against all the rules, and more importantly, it would be weird.

Ignoring the sudden urgency you felt to follow your idea, you forced yourself back to your dormitory, hoping that you would be able to sleep again.

//-//

The next day, you had no need to look for Wanda, because she found you first.

As soon as you left for breakfast, accompanied by Mantis, you gasped in surprise as you felt some jump on you just before the entrance to the main hall.

"I missed you." Wanda sighed as she wrapped her arms around your neck. Some students looked at you curiously, but you didn't mind, circling Wanda's waist to return the hug. 

"I missed you too." You retorted by hiding your face in her neck, feeling your whole body relax with the scent of her perfume.

But a sound of someone clearing their throat broke the moment, and Wanda turned away from you, her cheeks flushed.

"You saw each other last week." Pietro teased with a slight frown on his forehead. He didn't press the matter, however, greeting you afterwards.

You made your way to the Slytherin table, your newly awakened friends looking sleepy as they lazily enjoyed their breakfast.

After greeting everyone, you sat down next to Gamora, who was looking at the daily prophet.

"Not a word about what happened in the Quidditch world cup" She commented indignantly. The group shared the same reaction. "All the news is about the triwizard tournament being held at Hogwarts."

"Maybe they don't want to cause a panic." Quill then reasoned. You knew that he, as well as Mantis, only knew about what happened in the cup because of the letters you and Gamora sent. 

"It just seems like they are hiding the truth." Gamora retorts without taking her gaze off the paper. You glance at the figures moving around before turning your attention back to your coffee.

"Clearly corrupt wizarding ministry matters aside, is anyone here going to try to sign up for the tournament?" Quill asked next, causing you to frown as Nebula and Gamora gave a giggle.

"No one here is of age." You comment with confusion, but Quill gives a wry chuckle.

"You Hufflepuff people are adorable." He teases making you laugh. He stretches his arms out to Pietro and Monica's shoulders next as he is sitting between them. "My Gryffindor buddies have found the perfect solution to solve this problem."

You look at the three of them curiously. Gamora rolls her eyes, and turns her attention back to the cereal.

"Let me guess, aging potion?" Nebula then suggests, and Quill lets out an impressed exclamation.

"Look at you Nebula, who would have guessed?  I'll make a troublemaker out of you yet." He jokes, but Nebula just raises her middle finger at him, making the rest of the table laugh.

You are slightly distracted because Wanda asked you to pass the jelly to her and your fingers brushed against each other, and you had to keep it together, unaware because the sensation spread a tingle across your skin, so you are startled when Quill lets out an excited exclamation next.

"I just remembered!" He says. "I didn't complain enough about the cancellation of the Quidditch cup between the houses. I was sure Gryffindor would win this year."

Wanda lets out a wry chuckle, and Quill makes a mocking face at her, tossing a piece of bread in her direction. 

You like to see your friends like that, playing with each other. The next moment, Mantis asks how Quill intends to get past the goblet spells to put his name on it, and the boy spends the next few minutes arguing that the aging spell is enough to break the enchantment, and your friends seem happy to argue with him about it.

//-//

You're not sure how you're going to tell Wanda that you need to talk to her about the events of the vacations, and the cup, and well, your connection to her, so you ignore the suggestive look Gamora throws at you after coffee and decide to put it off for as long as you can.

Your classes seem to have gotten even harder and more boring, but you struggle. It's even trickier to pay attention when the whole school is excited about the triwizard tournament, and there' a lot of noise between and during the classes, after a while, the teachers give up on calming the moods.

Without Quidditch, you have free periods, and you use this time to spend with your friends, either playing witch chess or explosive snap, or even getting some practice with your broom.

The foreign students get more comfortable as time goes on. You would think that they would be sleeping in one of the dormitories, but they are staying on the ships and in the carriages that they have come on.

The only times you got a glimpse of Beauxbatons' carriages was on the way to the class on the Tract of Magical Creatures, and you weren't the only one trying to get a better look, but the guardian Drax was quick to scare off any curious people who got too close.

With three weeks of classes, the atmosphere at Hogwarts had changed a lot. You knew it was because the date for choosing champions was approaching, and everyone seemed to be holding their breath about it. 

Pietro and Quill actually proceeded with the idea of trying to fool the goblet with an aging potion. You and the girls joined them in the room where the magic object had been placed, and witnessed them try. And fail miserably. Wanda was worried that Pietro had been hurt when he was thrown across the room trying to get through the protective circle, but as soon as she saw his aged face, she laughed, and all the girls followed her.

Pietro and Quill were annoyed for three seconds before they began to laugh as well.

You fell silent the next moment, however, because Jean Grey entered the room accompanied by Headmaster Youndu, both of whom looked at you all reproachfully.

Jean placed a piece of parchment in the flame, and you all watched with some admiration as the goblet accepted her inscription.

The small admiring smile you had on your lip completely disappeared when Jean looked at Wanda on her way out, her gaze flashing in a way that made your stomach turn the wrong way.

When Pietro started talking about how amazing it was to have a famous player at school, you didn't feel excited about the idea anymore.

//-//

After your double period of potions on Thursday the last week of September, you could practically catch the anxious tension of your classmates in the air.

At dinner that night, the school champions would be chosen and even you, who were more concerned about the lack of news from home and the way Tony was clearly avoiding your presence, were curious to know who would be chosen.

The Goblet of Fire had been moved to the center of the main hall and you joined the Hufflepuff table with Mantis, noticing the warning look that Headmistress Okoye cast at anyone who was not behaving in the most chivalrous manner possible, but you didn't remark on it, noticing the wizards wearing formal attire at the teachers' table, probably being employees of the Ministry of Magic and reporters for the Daily Prophet.

A characteristic buzz was going on among the students, but the room fell silent as the students from the other schools entered the hall together with their principals.

When Headmistress Agatha began the selection ceremony, everyone seemed to hold their breath.

"[...] Tonight the goblet will choose the one who is worthy to represent their schools in the triwizard tournament. The ceremony of choice begins now." She gracefully presents, wand in hand. Agatha touches the tip of the goblet next, and the flame on the top changes to red briefly, expelling a piece of parchment through the air. Agatha catches the item between her fingers. "The champion of Durmstrang is Jean Grey."

The room erupts in applause and tears of celebration. You clap happily too, completely forgetting about that day in the hall. You knew that Jean had become quite popular among the Hogwarts gossips, especially since she is already a celebrity, so the reaction of your classmates was not a surprise to you.

You and the rest of the students watched as she accepted the parchment from Agatha before greeting the ministry wizards, and then walked into the small door behind the teachers' desk. As she left, everyone was silent again.

Principal Harkness repeated the wand movement on the goblet, and the flames turned blue again. She paused briefly before announcing the next champion.

"Beauxbatons' champion is Maria Hill!" 

You watch a very elegant girl get up from one of the front seats and walk in the same direction as Jean amidst the applause. The commotion is a little less than Grey's, but you know that it is only because Grey was famous.

A moment later it is the turn of the Hogwarts champion, and you are much more excited for this.

Agatha also seems more excited about this, a small smile escaping her lips before she repeats the wand movement.

When the parchment falls into her hands, she reads it aloud.

"The champion of Hogwarts..." She begins and her expression falls, her frown frowning. The brief suspense only makes everyone even more anxious. "Wanda Maximoff."

The crowd's reaction is remarkably different from the other champions; the hall explodes into a buzz of accusations of cheating, pointing out that Wanda was underage, and even snide remarks about a Slytherin representing the school, but you were barely listening. A wave of preoccupation takes over your body completely, and you look around the table for Wanda, but she is already standing up, her chin held high despite all the negative comments. She accepts the parchment Agatha hands her and heads in the same direction as the other champions. 

Harkness makes another movement with her wand and the flame from the goblet goes out. In the next second she is leaving the room, being escorted by the other directors and the ministry officials to the Hall of Champions. As soon as the door closes, the hall explodes in agitated hubbub, and many people stand up.

As the teachers call for calm, especially for the Gryffindor students who accuse the Slytherin of cheating, you and Mantis stand up and join your friends.

"I can't believe that just happened." Gamora comments as soon as you reach her, as impressed as she is concerned.

Your gaze searches for Pietro however, and he looks upset.

"Comrade, your sister is the champion of Hogwarts! She managed to do what we were trying to! Why the long face?" Quill asked his friend excited and confused, but when he went to hug Pietro, he pulled away, an angry grimace on his face.

"I can't believe Wanda kept this from me." He grumbled, you and your friends looked at him in surprise. 

"Come on Pietro, maybe she didn't think it would work and didn't want to say anything." Quill suggested but the boy shook his head.

"No you don't get it." He retorts. "She absolutely could not have risked doing something like that."

And then he turns away, and heads for the teachers' table. You and your friends are left with puzzled expressions, but upon noticing that he looked like he was going to be talking to his father for quite some time, you return to your conversation.

"I can't believe Wanda didn't tell anyone about putting in the name on the goblet, that's incredible." Quill adds. Nebula begins to argue how dangerous it was for someone without enough magical acquaintance to be in such an ordeal, and your stomach does a turn. You walk away from the conversation, heading toward the group of Tony's friends who were standing a few feet away from you.

"Hey, your friend just caused a stir around here." Tony jokes as soon as you reach him.

"I noticed it." You retort as you spot Professor Strange separating with a spell a student who jumped on top of another. "Everyone is talking about how dangerous it is for her to participate, can you tell me anything good about it?"

Tony laughs at the desperation in your voice. 

"I figure eternal glory and the thousand-gallon prize is the good part." He teases, and you run your hands through your hair, trying to ignore the urge to go into that little room and find out if Wanda is okay. Tony assumes a serious expression next, and lowers his tone, not that it was necessary, since everyone seems wrapped up in their own conversations. "You also find it strange that this happens after what happened at the cup, don't you?" He asks and you nod. Tony sighs. "Maybe this is a good time for you to talk to Wanda, little sis. About how you feel about her. And well, maybe as you help her practice for the tournament, you guys can figure out what that connection means."

You nod, feeling your cheeks warm. It was still strange how all your friends knew about the way you cared for Wanda.

You wanted to ask Tony if he had found out anything since you last talked properly, but Professor Strange ordered everyone back to their dormitories the next moment, and after Tony messed up your hair, you turned and headed toward the Hufflepuff students who were leaving the hall.

//-//

There was no way you could sleep without talking to Wanda, so you risked an detention by sneaking out of the dorm after curfew. Mantis grumbled at you to be careful before turning over in her sleepy state, making you laugh softly.

You used a simple invisibility spell on yourself, not so strong that you were completely invisible, but enough to blend into the shadows of the castle as you descended back into the dungeons. Hogwarts was, yes, very scary at that time.

The board at the entrance was sleeping, and after removing the invisibility spell, you poked it with your wand to wake it up.

"What, what is that?" Complained the irritated painting, looking around and acquiring an angry expression when he noticed you.

"I'm sorry. Keep your voice down please." You asked. "I need to get inside."

The painting looked at you suspiciously.

"I have seen you here before, but you are not from the honorable house of Slytherin."

"That is not your problem, Mr. Talos." You retort impatiently. "Just let me in. The password is Polyjuice Potion."

"Your friends will get in trouble if they keep sharing their password with you." Warned the painting before moving, giving you passage to enter.

"Thank you, Mr.Talos." You said with slight irony, walking into the dormitory.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you looked around at the empty environment. You were used to the place, but it was still creepy when poorly lit like this.

"We don't like intruders." Spoke a voice in the corner of the room, making you jump in fright.

"Damn, Nat, you scared the hell out of me." You complained, putting your hand to your chest and feeling your heart racing. The girl giggled, closing the book in her hand and standing up in your direction.

"Why are you here?" she asked with her arms crossed.

You gave her a lopsided smile.

"I came to check on Wanda, of course."

Nat narrowed her eyes at you.

"Why?"

"Why?" you retort after a short laugh. "Because she has just been chosen for the deadliest competition in the wizarding world, and everyone in this place wants to remind me of it!" You exclaim, and can't stop yourself. "I heard a girl say in the hallway that the tournament was banned for the number of deaths! Did you know that? Yeah, neither did I. And well, I can't sleep, because I keep thinking that something like that might happen to Wanda. And when I think about it, I can't breathe and I..."

"Stark, breathe!" Natasha interrupts you with concern, placing her hands on your shoulders. You gasp slightly, realizing that your eyes are filled with tears as you notice your vision blurring. You sigh, trying to normalize your breathing as you force a smile and wipe your face. "God, what was that all about?"

"It was nothing." You grumble. "I'm just worried."

Natasha doesn't buy your excuse, though.

"Tony told me about what happened in the cup." She says as she lowers her arms. You look at her in surprise. "He also told me about how connected to Wanda you have been feeling. I just didn't imagine that you would almost have a little tantrum at the possibility of her getting hurt."

You feel your cheeks flush, looking away to your shoes.

"I didn't have a tantrum."

"Nearly." She teases, but you don't laugh, feeling your stomach churn. Nat looks at you seriously next. "Wanda's not here."

You raise your head in surprise.

"What? Why?"

"I don't know." She replies. "Believe me, you weren't the only one who tried to talk to her. The whole dorm was wanting to know how she tricked the goblet, but no one has seen her since the selection."

You feel your heart soar, and seeing the way you react, Nat raises a hand to your arm again.

"Hey, try not to think about it so much." She says. "Maybe she's with her father. I imagine it's been quite a commotion that a minor has swindled the goblet, and the ministry must be trying to decide what to do. She must be in the teachers' dormitory, she is still a child after all."

"Wanda is already fifteen." You grumble.

"Yes, and I'm sixteen. We're all kids, Y/N." She retorts. "I don't think Professor Lehnsherr was going to leave his daughter alone at such a time."

You sigh, nodding in agreement.

"Try to get some sleep, will you?" Nat asks next. "I'm sure Wanda will talk to you tomorrow. And well, I think she's going to need her best friend to not sleep through the conversation."

"Wanda said I'm her best friend?" 

Nat laughs at the way you talk, probably sounding like a lovesick puppy. 

"God, you two are a disaster." She comments before waving you toward the exit. You bid her goodnight and thank her before walking back to your dorm.

//-//