#『harry hook / countenance』

[firendgold]

Since I saw that you're doing the violence ask game can you answer 22, 25 and 7??

I sure can.~

This one got long af though, so another readmore.

(still choosing violence)

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

This is another one I've answered already, but tbf... it was yesterday. So I can pull my second favorite part of canon instead so you don't have to re-read an older answer.

There's two moments that tie: one in year 5 and one in year 6. Year 5's moment is a nice warm-and-fuzzy "the trio are such good friends" scene, in the midst of Umbridge torturing Harry with her quill:

It was nearly midnight when Harry left Umbridge’s office that night, his hand now bleeding so severely that it was staining the scarf he had wrapped around it. He expected the common room to be empty when he returned, but Ron and Hermione had sat up waiting for him. He was pleased to see them, especially as Hermione was disposed to be sympathetic rather than critical. “Here,” she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid toward him, “soak your hand in that, it’s a solution of strained and pickled murtlap tentacles, it should help.” Harry placed his bleeding, aching hand into the bowl and experienced a wonderful feeling of relief. Crookshanks curled around his legs, purring loudly, and then leapt into his lap and settled down. “Thanks,” he said gratefully, scratching behind Crookshanks’s ears with his left hand. “I still reckon you should complain about this,” said Ron in a low voice. “No,” said Harry flatly. “McGonagall would go nuts if she knew—” “Yeah, she probably would,” said Harry. “And how long d’you reckon it’d take Umbridge to pass another Decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?” Ron opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out and after a moment he closed it again in a defeated sort of way. “She’s an awful woman,” said Hermione in a small voice. “Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in . . . we’ve got to do something about her.” “I suggested poison,” said Ron grimly.

Just seeing the trio bounce off each other is soothing (especially after reading days or weeks worth of fanfics where they all suddenly hate each other or were never really that good of friends or whatever). Harry's gratitude and stubbornness, Hermione's caretaking and forethought and plotting, Ron's voice of reason and necessary dash of humor... all perfect. Also, just... Harry is so used to going things alone, toughing things out by himself. It's heartwarming and sad that he still doesn't expect Ron and Hermione to do something as simple as waiting up for him to get back from hellish detention. Also also: Crookshanks curling up with him. ^^

Year 6's moment is just between Harry and Hermione:

Hermione stopped dead; Harry had heard it too. Somebody had moved close behind them among the dark bookshelves. They waited and a moment later the vulture-like countenance of Madam Pince appeared round the corner, her sunken cheeks, her skin like parchment and her long hooked nose illuminated unflatteringly by the lamp she was carrying. ‘The library is now closed,’ she said. ‘Mind you return anything you have borrowed to the correct – what have you been doing to that book, you depraved boy?’ ‘It isn’t the library’s, it’s mine!’ said Harry hastily, snatching his copy of Advanced Potion-Making off the table as she lunged at it with a clawlike hand. ‘Despoiled!’ she hissed. ‘Desecrated! Befouled!’ ‘It’s just a book that’s been written in!’ said Harry, tugging it out of her grip. She looked as though she might have a seizure; Hermione, who had hastily packed her things, grabbed Harry by the arm and frogmarched him away. ‘She’ll ban you from the library if you’re not careful. Why did you have to bring that stupid book?’ ‘It’s not my fault she’s barking mad, Hermione. Or d’you think she overheard you being rude about Filch? I’ve always thought there might be something going on between them …’ ‘Oh, ha, ha …’ Enjoying the fact that they could speak normally again, they made their way along the deserted, lamplit corridors back to the common room, arguing about whether or not Filch and Madam Pince were secretly in love with each other.

Very, very cute scene showing Harry and Hermione getting along casually, something we're not often treated to even in canon. A frankly disturbing amount of fans (particularly fans of A Specific Ship I Will Not Mention Here) have bought into the propaganda that Harry and Hermione aren't really that good of friends just because during GOF, when he'd just experienced his first ever schism with a close friend, Harry privately confessed to missing Ron and enjoying the things he did with his male best friend more. The trio is not "Harry and Ron, then Ron and Hermione". It's "Harry, Ron, and Hermione"; all three of them are necessary pieces of the whole. Harry and Hermione's friendship is different than Harry's with Ron, but it's no less valuable, and not any weaker, or else Hermione wouldn't have stayed in that damned tent.

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

Every bit of discourse about Sirius not getting a trial. We know. The injustice is the point. The cruelty is the point. The POINT is to show that wizarding Britain is glitz and glamor and not all that fair to its marginalized peoples and underclass, you nimrods. Frankly, the fanfics that purport to 'fix' it by giving Sirius his "restored Lordship" or a bunch of seats on the Wizengamot or immediate "wizarding guardianship" over Harry or some unnamed hot babes for him to fuck on or off-screen are very... shallow and unsatisfying. Either that or they give him a bunch of money, though this would at least be on brand for the Ministry. But like... yeah. I'm tired of this complaint always going in the same direction and not being a gateway to Greater Commentary On The Series and the World. Because it's not like Sirius and/or Harry become the type of people who rebel against this ideology. If anything, they embrace the pureblood nonsense in a lot of these fics and are just mad that Sirius was the target that one time. Gaaaah.

And, and. Every bit of discourse about Dumbledore leaving Harry at the Dursleys and/or the sacrificial lamb throwaway line by Snape, especially because 99.9% of people discussing it either haven't read the books, haven't read them since the first time and desperately need a re-read, have only seen the movies, are parroting opinions from some other wrong person on the internet, are all read-up but blatantly ignoring what Dumbledore and Harry say (and don't say) over what they THINK they mean, or some other lovely form of ignorance that leads to the same long-debunked takes being re-introduced as GASP-DID-YOU-EVER-CONSIDER soundbites over and over and over and OVER again. I'm so sick of it.

I get it, JKR's a TERF, you don't want to re-engage with her work, and you don't have to. You don't have to give her any more money. Hell, you shouldn't, ever again. But please, fucking make sure your knowledge is correct and not fandom telephone when it comes to Harry's childhood and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I'm not-even-lowkey sick of some of y'all at this point.

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because of how the fandom acts about them?

I... don't have an immediate answer for this, so I'm going to have to think about it. To you it's only going to take me one line, but for me it'll actually be like... an evening or something.

...

Okay.

This is difficult because (to use the exact terminology) I can't think of a character I've come to hate because of how the fandom acts about them. I definitely have characters whose most popular fanon versions are so irritating or repulsive that it has caused me to look more critically on the real versions of them, though. I guess maybe I'll list those here.

Fleur came to mind first. She seems (and can be) very shallow and haughty in canon at first, but shows compassion and hidden depths in all three of her appearances. She has some veela hair in her wand from her grandmother, and a deep devotion for her younger sister. However... many fanfics (especially harem fanfics or flowerpot fanfics) paint her as either this femme fatale who uses her "veela allure" at will and Cannot Fathom the idea of a man who can resist her (and is thus more vulnerable to falling in love with such a man) or as a super-powerful witch whose family is basically running Magical France (since of course, she is the only French character we know, so why wouldn't she be the most influential person there? /s). Basically, the "foreign" version of what people do to fanon Daphne Greengrass. Ironically, the best fanfic portrayals of Fleur I've seen are the ones that keep her shipped with Bill (with a few flowerpot exceptions, see A Beautiful Lie by MaybeMayba as the prime example), or ship her with Hermione or Ginny... which is sad because I love me some ship variety. (And I still think Bill/Tonks would've been rad as hell.) So I don't dislike canon Fleur, but fanon's "over-attention" to that possible veela heritage and the weird implication that Harry was just "forced" not to notice this perfect woman in his life, rather than just noticing her beauty and not being interested, rubs me the wrong way and disinclines me from including her in many of my own works.

The Bones family is next. Yes, both Amelia and Susan. Susan isn't as bad (I think she has... two lines in Order of the Phoenix? maybe?), but as with most "mostly undefined" HP girls, the personality the fandom has given her (the super sweet politically-savvy Hufflepuff girlfriend of "just do independent!Harry with Lordships and pro-Ministry propaganda and plenty of Wizengamot meetings between Hogwarts classes") is one I've seen so many times it has come to negatively affect my view of the real girl, even though I think the way she calls Amelia "auntie" in canon is adorable. As for Amelia, fanon likes to make her either the Only Sane Man in the Ministry or the leader of the sane faction, who magically is able to fix or ignore all the corruption in said Ministry and can railroad through whatever decisions Harry needs done once he needs to Do Political or Pureblood Stuff Outside of Hogwarts--provided, of course, he's been nice enough to Susan recently.

The closest actual answer to this question I have is Tom Riddle. I didn't like him in canon by any means--I'd probably say I was neutral toward him, just seeing him as "the young Voldemort before he did his magical girl transformation". But fanon kind of acts like he and Voldemort are... two different people? There's these pervasive ideas that either Tom could've been "saved" if Certain People Just Did More (to stop him sneaking around and bullying and murdering???), or that Tom wasn't really so bad when he was gathering up supporters, murdering his family members and the few people who trusted him, and generally going around Becoming the Dark Lord--it was just when he made the switch that he became bad. And like... no. I can't buy that. Even in fanfic, I can't get fully behind the idea of a sane Tom Riddle who was Doing Good until he got sidetracked Oh Nooo. He wasn't. I believe Voldemort was saner before he tried to kill a baby and it backfired, but I don't think there was ever a point where he could have been saved. At every fork he made the wrong decision--to soothe his ego, to feel powerful, to feel special, to feel better than others and make them feel that way too. Tom Riddle's a prick. If anything, we should've seen him squirm a little more before he died.

The last one stings, because it's a character I adore: Hermione. Hermione is a very polarizing figure in canon and always has been, I get it. But what particularly hurts me about her fanon portrayals is that they are VERY SELDOM accurate, or even balanced. Either the author sees her as Their Wife and so she is perfect and never does any wrong and basically becomes the main character of the fic (even if she is not actually the main character), or they overinflate her flaws and use it as a reason to hate on her and bash her to oblivion. There's rarely an in-between. I'm not sure which one is worse. If you held my feet to the fire, I might say the former because a character without any flaws or one who takes over the entire narrative and doesn't let other characters breathe is not fucking interesting to me in the slightest.

This especially hurts because I am a huge Harmony fan and like 60% of bad Harmony fanfics are always the same fucking tropes/plotlines. Hermione is unironically referred to as The Brightest Witch of THE Age (incorrect, not what Remus said. he said "the brightest witch of your age I've ever met", basically meaning she's unusually smart for a fourteen year-old girl). She's treated like the next female Dumbledore who has all the answers (even about stuff she wouldn't know) and often guides Harry's every move.

And speaking of Dumbledore--the same girl who is supportive of him in canon and (after Harry) is MOST likely to recognize Dumbledore as a human who can make mistakes is ALWAYS turned into a Dumbledore Skeptic Who Has Been Suspicious of His Motives All Along, and who will do whatever it takes to get her boyfriend away from his manipulations... by taking manipulative!Dumbledore's place. That's right. This version of fanon Hermione ALWAYS becomes the same thing the author is supposedly railing against, because Harry becomes her mouthpiece, spends all his time with her to the exclusion of anyone else, and can't have a single meeting or meaningful scene with any other character unless she is also present.

Haphne fics do this too, but I swear they got it from bad Harmony fics and it makes me so mad. For once, I would love to read a Harmony fic where Dumbledore is portrayed accurately and both Harry AND Hermione are equal, independent partners who don't have panic attacks if separated for more than five minutes. Especially because as a child Hermione never struck me as the kind of person who even would get married or have a serious relationship distracting her from her Great Work!

But yeah. That last one hurts the most because I love Hermione as an individual, as the very important third of the trio, as a potential partner for Harry (though this isn't the right blog for that!), and just as an iconic character.

I... think that's all? Yep. Thanks~!

[rcksmith]

Heaven — Five Hargreeves

Request: “Can I get 53, 31, 48 from fluff and 28 and 29 and 68 with heavy smut? Where Five is an emotionless Assassin from the commission and does his job without remorse or mercy until he meets the reader and he will do anything to make her his? And will kill anyone who gets in his way between him and the reader? If your okay with this!”

Fluff prompts:

31. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.”

48. “nothing else matters except for you.”

53. “There are no limits when it comes to you. I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

Smut prompts:

28. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

29. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

68. “Say my name over and over again and, once you think you’ve said it loud enough, scream it. I want the whole neighborhood to know who’s making you feel good.“

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

My God, I loved it so much!! Thank you so much for request, I loved writing it!💖💖 I hope you like!

Guys, I really understand who doesn’t feel comfortable reading or writing Five’s smut. But I always say that I only write with him (any genre: romance, fluff or angst) with the notion that Five is 20 years old here. All of my fanfics mention swearing or sex, even if it is a memory or something shallow, but as I am writing with Five as an adult, it is consistent that the fic has aspects of an adult life.//

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves / Fem! Reader.

Warnings: SMUT, SMUT, bad words, blood, murder, mention of death (and sooo explicit heavy smut), fluff too.

— — — — —

He was not a saint.

The trail of blood, bodies and the smell of death he had left behind could terrify even the strongest mind. He could get the devil to run.

He has already broken many bones, but none of them were his own. Once, there was an army, he was alone, and he broke many bones.

He was not a saint.

If there was a note for death and danger, it would be his symphony of life. Echoing and constant whenever the viscous and metallic liquid stained him white shirt.

Five Hargreeves did not consider himself a good person. But he didn't think he was bad too. He was just minding his own business. Even if it meant killing the innocent people that the Commission was ordering.

It was ironic. Five had been raised by Reginald to be a hero, to save people, and what he was doing was just the opposite. Was Needed cold blood, a focused mind, an objective.

Five had a closed and serious countenance. And in his case, the book could very well be judged by the cover, because Five it was also closed and serious inside. He It had the typical soul of a storm and a rough sea, where the wind blew with fury and the rain punished, while the sea was brutal and with aggressive waves capable of swallowing up a city in its entirety.

Anyone could see the warning sign hanging from his chest: "GIVE UP ALL THE HOPE IF YOU ENTER HERE." He was advancing with heavy artillery. Five was heavy artillery. The Commission considered he best of the best.

Five Hargreeves could get the devil to run. Nobody couldn't fool him, hook him, he wasn't a trout. He was a shark, dangerous and big. With a sharp and cruelly intelligent mind. Working in an equally sharp and cruelly intelligent environment.

But none of that bothered him. Five did not fear the fury of the Commission or its representatives. Machiavelli said that: you can only insult the other if you are not afraid of his retaliation. And Five feared no one. When angry, he had the same caustic look that Lucifer threw around shortly after The Fall. And it was a surprise that that look did not leave a trail of rubble wherever it passed.

Five did not liked what he job did, but it did not affect that he was very good at it. He had been anesthetized for years. Submerged in an inertia of emotions that not even the largest number of victims could tremble. He was already convinced that his furthermore emotions were buried as deep as possible in his soul of the troubled sea, lost. Such as Atlantida. Perhaps, like Atlandida, his emotions were a myth.

And Five had already accepted that. Even he sets eyes on you.

It was another routine day of that profane work: finding the target, shooting down, not leaving witnesses and leaving. And that was exactly what would be done. If it was not you.

Five was seated at one of the tables at a local Irish bar, the glass filled with cold beer set in front of him. The rays of the sun, from a year that he did not even care to know more about, were entering inside the large windows that overlooked the busy streets. People's humorous conversations filled that place with bright, welcoming walls, but Five felt none of it. Anesthetized.

But for some reason, when the door bell rang when someone came in, he raised his face towards the door and... his breath was gone.

The moment you walked through that door, Five knew it was hopeless for him. Your beauty was blinding. Sublime. Impressive. He felt as if his whole life had been wandering in the desert and finally found his oasis. Lepid, fierce heat swept Five's body from the top of his head with night-black hair to the tip of his feet.

You wandered your eyes around the place, and you seemed to find what you wanted because your eyes softened and you went towards your goal.

But just as Five was oblivious to the world because of you, so were you oblivious to the world, but for something else. And it was like this, oblivious, that you hit your waist on the front end of Five's table, causing his glass to swing and fall on the table, pouring all the beer on the floor. Five stood up quickly to keep from getting wet, but a few splashes of the cold drink had hit his suit.

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry!”

You said promptly, trembling hands quickly lifting the glass from the table, your voice nervous and embarrassed. You righted his table while the waitress came to clean up the spilled liquid.

“I wet your suit, god, I'm so sorry.” And when Five noticed,your hands were drying the beer droplets with a napkin.

That was when the two of you looked at each other for the first time. The heat immediately gave way to a cold sweat.

Something inside him stirred and woke up, something that had been dormant for years. Sensations that had never before appeared now snaked through his body, waiting for the best time to hang him. Even with a layer of clothing and a napkin, Five felt the warmth of you touch, and he wondered if you had been forged in the sun.

Dangerous. The sensations you aroused in him were dangerous. And therefore, you were dangerous.

“It's all right.”

If it had been anyone else, Five would have burst. His moods were not one of the best and he felt that anything could set him on fire.

But apparently, not for you.

That afternoon, Five convinced you to join him, saying, whit charming, he would forget about the incident if you sat with him.

He tried to convince himself not to do that, that he should just give a mocking smile and leave. He had done this millions of times, and he knew it was one of the best ways to avoid headaches. Even so, the smile didn't come and he couldn't turn his back on you.

The sensations you stirred up in him were addictive, and Five was lost in a hurricane, trying to understand what was happening to him. But he couldn't let you go. Not without knowing his name.

But it took on proportions that he never considered. You were funny, witty, with an intelligent, warm gleam in your eyes. At that moment, while Five found himself really enjoying someone's company instead of just tolerating it, he felt out of his own body.

God, he was losing track of reality.

He had a job to do, a person to finish. The list was full but... but his body didn't order any muscles to move. It was like... while you were talking to him, with an extraordinary friendliness and ease of making friends, he felt alive for the first time.

Five had been alive for 25 years. But only now did he feel his own heart beat.

But when your time inevitably came, and you said goodbye and thanked you for the lunch that Five and you had — he didn't even remember how the situation got there. Since when did he have lunch with someone? — As soon as you left for that door, it took with you all the new feelings that were aroused within him.

Executing the target that day was weird, going to Motel's room was weird, and cleaning the blood was weird. There was something different, a shortness of breath, an itch in the palm of his hand, his body desperate for something he didn't know what it was.

Five Hargreeves stayed in that martyrdom for days, weeks. He was trying to understand his own body, his own mind. He felt he was losing his sanity and that the body, now that he experienced what it was like to be alive, repudiated the feeling of feeling dead.

He was trapped in some damn spell that you had cast on him. If Five looked in the mirror at the place of the chest you touched over his shirt, he could feel his skin tingle.

Fuck, he was losing his sanity!

The situation was stupid, he didn't need anyone, he didn't depend on anyone. But after the second week Five found himself returning to that bar again, feeling completely stupid to be looking for someone he barely knew.

What a stupid thing. He said to himself as soon as entered that place.

But that's when he saw you. With the bar uniform on, you hair tied up in a ponytail with a few strands dangling from your face, your chest slightly heaving, a pad of paper with a pen in hands. His heart skipped a beat, as if he found something he didn't even know was lost.

Five felt lost amidst a jumble of thoughts and reactions. But as soon as you saw him, with a smile was purely sincere and happy appearing on you lips and went towards him, the answers to all the questions that plagued him for weeks flashed in his mind like neon lights:

I want her.

He wanted you since the day he saw you. You were beautiful, with a maddening body, a sublime smile and the heat of a thousand suns. Now Five realized that had never wanted anything so desperately in his life.

Five thought he understood the desire: an attraction, a magnetic current between two people. He thought he knew what lust was: an intense hunger, a strong yearning. And he found out that he didn't understand anything.

For when you embraced him and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, the desire was a hot, black whirlwind that ripped you from end to end, with dizzying speed, and dragged you towards perdition, below any intellect. Five thought he was going crazy when he felt your heart beat next to his, in the same frantic rhythm. The same compass needed.

But Five was not going crazy. He wasn’t crazy when he saw your cheeks flush when he looked at you more carefully, he wasn’t crazy when he noticed your hands trembling slightly with his presence.

Were you feeling the same things?

Yes. And he found that out when first kissed you. It had been a few weeks since he had used, for himself, the excuse that he was going to that bar just to drink something and not to see you again.

But that was not how you two met that day

Five had just finished a job that did not end soo much great. A fight had taken place, and a bullet had grazed his left shoulder, tearing through the flesh. His clothes were flooded with red, thick, metallic liquid. His muscles ached and the wound stung like hell.

He was on his way back when the car popped loudly, the car stalled in place and smoke began to rise from the bikes.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me!” Five punched the steering wheel, cursed the Commission for making such a damn fuck thing available.

He had just gotten out of the car when a car passed by and stopped.

“Five?” This time, his body throbbed for something else instead of pain.

He saw you get out of the car, your eyes shocked, the livid concern on your face, your hands shaking.

“My god, are you okay?!”

Five hated to appear that he was not able to deal with anything, but there was no plausible and peaceful lie to what you were seeing. You didn't let him make any decisions at that moment, you just stuck him in you own car, and when the chance of taking Five to the hospital had been vehemently denied by him, you ran the car to you own apartment.

“Oh my god, oh my god.”

You whispered to yourself, now at in your bed, closing the cut on Five's shoulder after he took a shower.

“I can do this.” He repeated it for the ninth time, but you shook your head.

But, while for you the situation was only for first aid, for Five it was torture in a very different sense.

Your touch was addictive, hot and fiery. Five didn't want to want you, but he did. He wanted you to beg for it too, so that Five could pretend to be in control. He wanted you to burn for him, just as he always burned when he was near you.

Under a light gauze, you covered the bruise on his shoulder, letting out a loud sigh that went to another very specific spot on Five's body. You asked for an explanation and he said that he had been mugged and reacted, but that the bandits had received what they deserved. He had to lie. At least for now. At least while he wanted you so much to touch him.

Perhaps this madness would pass.

But it didn't pass, your hands were still on Five's warm skin and he felt his heart pounding in his chest.

He wanted you. Holy Mother of God, he wanted you so fuck much! The knuckles of his fingers were whitened, the strength with which he clenched his fists.

But you whispered his name under your breath, as if you too were trapped in that cloud of lust and passion. So it was the end. Five kissed you, hungry, desperate, as if he wasn't going to have a tomorrow. He pulled you around the waist so you could sit on his lap, his hands roaming your body, squeezing all the flesh he could touch.

“I was asking how much more time was take to you to kiss me.”

You whispered against his lips, with a mischievous smile on your face, your hands roaming through his hair as you held a sigh when he adjusted your hips under you. God only knows how long you've been dreaming about this guy.

“Such a needy little thing, aren't you?” Five barely recognized his own voice.

This time, you who kissed him, your body burning in suppressed passion and desire, burning under the intense touch of Five. You hardly saw it when your shirt left, nor when you skirt went up until it was exposed to him. You whimpered, your lips going down to his neck and hiding your face there, squirming when his hand went up from your thigh to its pulsating center.

“Your skin is so hot. You were wishing for that, weren't you?” Five whispered, his voice hoarse.

You heart was beating fast in chest, cheeks were flushed, and Five brought your face up to look at him, lust bubbling in her eyes. You frantically agreed, rummaging you hips in him when you gasped. He curled his mouth over your left breast, groaning against your skin as you tightened your fingers on the back of his neck.

“F-five!” The liquid dripped from inside you to your thighs, and Five let out a loud moan of satisfaction when he saw it.

He raised his mouth to you, and, without kissing you, he sighed maliciously on yours lips: “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

After that point, everything became more crude. Five's touch on your waist gained pressure, marking your skin with purple marks on his fingers, his mouth bit and sucked on your breast, like a hungry man, and you were being driven crazy.

That's when two of his fingers entered you, deep, strong, opening your walls.

"Five!" You moaned loudly, your body hot under his lap, at the mercy of lustful desires.

“Shit! You are so tight!” His moan transcended between painful and angry, as if you were pushing him to the limit. “How are you going to put up with my dick, doll? You almost can't take my fingers!”

Five jerked his fingers inside you and hit rock bottom. You screamed, tears welling up in your eyes, the walls throbbing on his dick.

“Answer me!” His free hand came down on your thigh, and you bit your lip to keep from moaning loudly again.

“II am going to put up with you-everything.” You whined.

“How much?!” Five pulled your chin up to look at him, the hunger overwhelming his eyes, he's holding on as much as possible so he doesn't deal too badly with you.

Not yet.

“An-Anything as you give it to me.” You purred like a kitten "Fuck me hard, Five."

Oh you didn't say that.

His hand came down on your left cheek, letting out a soft slap and pulled your chin back at him, he jaw clenched by the effort he made to keep from fucking and hitting you so hard.

“Do you want it hard?! I will leave you without walking for days!” Five got up with you on his lap, threw you on the bed and slapped your thigh.

“Turn around!” He ordered in a snarl, removing his own pants, and as soon as you positioned yourself with your hips up and your face on the mattress, a hard, brutal slap made you moan loudly, squeezing your hands on the pillow.

The right hand wrapped around your hair, pulling your face off the pillow as Five positioned itself behind you.

“What you want?” He growled.

“I whant You fuck me hard!” God, you were begging, you needed him so much, you wanted him so much.

“How much hard?”

“Much! I want you to fuck me until I can't stay…”

Five came inside you brutally, pushing your body onto the mattress, making you moan loudly. He didn't let you finish, it barely gave you time to moan. As soon as he started to move, his rhythm became relentless, coarse, rude, forcing himself deeper inside you with each thrust.

Tears stung your face, you pussy throbbed in excitement, so fucking good that you felt like you were in heaven.

“What is it, lillet slut?” He pushed deeper, his voice arrogant and condescending, “Am I too big for you? For that tight pussy?” A slap went down your ass again, the other hand never coming out of your hair.

“F-fi-five! Please, I need this so much!”

The desperation in your voice did things to him, further igniting Five's desire to fuck you until he broke you.

“You were so tight! So. fucking. tight!” And you moaned and pushed him hips at him like you couldn't live without what he gave you. “Fuck, this is what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted me to broke you!”

“Yes!” You screamed as he keeping fuck you deeper and deeper “Pl-please!”

Your voice was too much for him! Five's hunger snarled and roared like a beast, increasing the desire to get you so badly. He hit your ass hard, letting go of your hair and sticking both hands on your waist, pulling you violently to his dick.

“Say my name over and over again! And, once you think you’ve said it loud enough, scream it. I want the whole neighborhood to know who’s making you feel good! ” Five combined a deep thrust with the tug on his waist, making his dick reach your unimaginable corners.

“Five!”

“Higher!” A slap.

“Five!” One more slap.

“Higher!” Another slap.

“F-FIVE!”

His mouth went to your shoulder, his lips tightening there as he pushed himself deep inside you. You were very close, super stimulated, your legs were shaking, your heart was pounding.

Five was fucking you so hard that you could barely groan, giving you sensations that you never felt before. You came with a loud groan, trembling on his dick, losing your breath when Five sank to the bottom of the well and came there, filling you with his hot cum.

Five Hargreeves thought that after that he would be free of your effects, freed from that desperation that was always wanting to be with you.

But then again, he was deeply mistaken.

Everything only increased in unimaginable proportions. Jealousy came, the overwhelming sense of protection, the need to be with you. Now he not only fucked you hard, but he made a point of leaving you at work and picking you up at night.

And that's when you said you loved him. And his world has turned inside out once again. Five didn't respond right away, he was dumbfounded and bewildered, and you said he only had to speak when he was ready.

He love you? That question hung around his mind for days.

Five felt at peace with you company, relaxed with your touch, happy whenever he heard your voice. You were the only place he thought about going back after a hard job, after the day had gotten the best of him.

He love you?

That was when The Handler told him, in one day, that it was good that his new “pet” did not make him deviate from the Commission's objectives.

Five has never felt so furious in his life. He came as close to her as possible, making her look death in the eye, and said that if any hair disappeared from your pretty head, he would stop everything and kill everyone on that commission. And The Handler knew that Five was not bluffing.

That's when he found out that he loved you. That the idea of ​​seeing you hurt, even if it was a scratch, was unacceptable. And that's when Five realized that his world only revolved when you were with him.

“I love you.” He released that night, you were lying on his chest, watching some series on TV when Five cut off the characters' lines.

You looked at him in bewilderment, propping yourself up on your elbow to see him better.

“What?”

Five looked him in the eye, and in the most sincere and truthful way, he said: "nothing else matters except for you."

Your eyes filled with tears, and you kissed him as if Five were your whole world. In fact, he certainly were your world. But it was at that moment that he said he had to talk to you, and that's when he told you the whole truth.

Shocked would be an understatement to say what you felt at that moment.

It took a few days for you to digest the whole truth and several conversations with Five to understand what was really going on. You saw his powers, his briefcase, his life story. And Five knew, when the dust settled and you said that none of that mattered, that you really loved him.

“I just can't have anything with someone who hides things from me.” You said “ I understand the reasons why you didn't tell me before, but now I don't want any more lies between us.”

“None.” He smiled, and looked at you as if he finally understood that you loved him.

And it is logical that you noticed.

“ I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you." You laughed.

And in that moment, in that fraction of a second, Five realized that he would never be able to live without you.

“I'm just afraid of your job. Whether you get hurt or they want to hurt you coming after me and…”

Five didn't let you finish. He held you in his hands, your cheeks in his palms, and whispered, “There are no limits when it comes to you. I'll do anything to keep you safe. ”

[go-scottishgal14]

DAN WOOTTON: Shame on Meghan Markle as her propa-gandists use the fantasy that the Royal Family is racist to derail Wills and Kate’s Jamaican tour and destroy the Commonwealth

By DAN WOOTTON FOR MAILONLINE

PUBLISHED: 18:25, 23 March 2022 | UPDATED: 18:25, 23 March 2022

Imagine Prince William’s fury.

As his royal tour to Jamaica with Kate is increasingly overshadowed by a toxic row over local calls for reparations to compensate for British colonialism (yawn), it’s the words of his own sister-in-law being weaponised against the Royal Family.

In fact, Meghan Markle’s pack of lies to her nodding BFF Oprah Winfrey suggesting the monarchy is a racist institution and casting doubt on its senior members is now providing a significant boost to the fast-moving republican cause in Jamaica at the worst possible moment.

For all their talk of believing in and loving the Commonwealth pre-Megxit, Harry and Meghan have become the pin-ups for its destruction.

This was always the concern of senior courtiers when Meghan’s claim to Oprah about a so-called unnamed ‘royal racist’ who asked about her unborn baby’s skin colour went unchallenged: Republicans across the Commonwealth would try to use the claims to bring the Queen’s reign to an end in the monarch’s twilight years.

That’s exactly what’s happening – and campaigners are using the media attention around William and Kate’s trip to inflict maximum damage.

‘This was the nightmare scenario after Meghan’s Oprah lies – now it’s coming true,’ says a concerned royal insider.

Leading the charge is Jamaican attorney and reparations advocate Bert Samuels, who swallowed Meghan’s crocodile tears hook, line and sinker to help advance his political cause for the UK to be forced to pay reparations to compensate for African slaves brought to the island before the practice was made illegal in 1833.

He told Newsweek: ‘Jamaicans were very torn up to hear about Harry and Meghan's issue, and Harry and Meghan's interview with Oprah Winfrey, and that has torn us. That's William's brother, that's his nephew, and for Harry to have been treated the way he was, and worse yet Meghan.

‘The Jamaicans are very hurt by the treatment of an African American woman in that family. William needs to speak to that when he comes and as it were, he should come here with an apology, not only for slavery but for the treatment of a black woman who had to run out of the palace with her husband. That's a strong issue and that's a fresh wound.’

As the journalist who broke the most stories about former Suits star Meghan’s tumultuous time in the Royal Family, including the Sussexes decision to Megxit, it’s utter hogwash to suggest her race played any role in the ensuing rows.

Meghan wasn’t pushed out of the Royal Family because of ethnicity and to even countenance such a fantasy is irresponsible.

In fact, she was given a huge amount of support from the Queen down but scarpered because, as a pampered actress used to assistants giving into her every whim, she wanted to return to the comfort of Hollywood and make the serious big bucks she thought she deserved.

Meghan soon realised a life of service wasn’t for her.

She had zero interest in supporting the Royal Family and zero interest in the Commonwealth, but cared a whole lot about her bank balance and celebrity status.

So it was convenient for the Sussexes to fashion a narrative behind their exit to make it more politically palatable to their leftie supporters, to hell with the damage it would cause to the Queen’s legacy - and that’s what makes me so angry.

Of course, Jamaicans have a right to self-determination and if they want to follow Barbados and become a republic, having first gained independence from Britain in 1962, then so be it.

Reparations to Jamaica were last ruled out by then-Prime Minister David Cameron during a visit to the island in 2015 where he said: ‘I do hope that, as friends who have gone through so much together since those darkest of times, we can move on from this painful legacy and continue to build for the future.’

But there’s not much hope of that after the disgraceful position the Jamaican Prime Minister Andrew Holness put William and Kate in today as he launched a political speech as they stood by his side, despite how diligently the couple try to stay out of politics.

Holness said: ‘There are issues here which as you know are unresolved but your presence gives us an opportunity for those issues to be placed in context, to be out front and centre and to be addressed as best we can.

‘But Jamaica is, as you would see, a country that is proud of its history and very proud of what we have achieved. And we’re moving on and we intend to…fulfil our true ambitions and destiny to become an independent and prosperous country.’

That came hot on the heels of Lisa Hanna, a former Miss World turned politician with the People's National Party, a republican who has campaigned for reparations, rudely snubbing Kate during yesterday’s ceremonial arrival.

Despite only 60 protesters bothering to show up outside the British High Commission, Queen's Counsel Hugh Small says senior figures on both sides of Jamaican politics now want to address ‘the question of reparations with far more urgency’.

I think there’s zero chance of that happening, which is why it’s unconscionable for public sentiment to be whipped up using total falsehoods propagated by Meghan to Oprah.

After all, in the year since the CBS interview, claim after claim has been resolutely debunked, resulting in the Queen’s extraordinary statement that ‘recollections may vary’ and William publicly stating furiously that ‘we are very much not a racist family’.

That said, the Duke of Cambridge is a modern man acutely aware of Britain’s history and he will do his best to show Jamaicans he has listened to their concerns. Tonight, he intends to reference historic slavery in a speech in Kingston.

Prince Charles too recently referenced ‘the appalling atrocity of slavery’ in the Caribbean during the ceremony he attended as Barbados became a republic. I would say the future king even took it one step too far by admitting it ‘forever stains our history’.

The point is this is no longer a Royal Family burying its head in the sand about historic controversies.

However, Harry and Meghan’s personal propagandists in the craven left-wing US media shamefully continue to try and paint William as some sort of racist at every opportunity, delighting the vile Sussex Squad trolls online.

Omid Scobie – author of the hagiography Finding Freedom, with which Meghan had to admit she had forgotten collaborating with in court – now regularly tries to bring down the future king with snide snipes suggesting he is some sort of gammon.

Today, silly Scobie has suggested that a lack of diversity on William’s team (translation: the fact he has white staff members) resulted in negative coverage about the Jamaican protests.

Scobie tweeted: ‘I do wonder what the hell palace organisers were thinking with some of yesterday's photo moments. The planning and recon that goes into every step of these engagements is next level, so how did no one think to avoid certain imagery? This is why diversity on a team matters.’

It’s all quite embarrassing, given we now know from whom silly Scobie takes his marching orders.

But those trying to paint a picture of our 95-year-old monarch – who has spent her entire life working to strengthen the Commonwealth – as some sort of racist is a disgrace.

Anyone who knows anything about the Queen is aware that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Shame on Meghan Markle for the damage she’s caused to the Commonwealth and shame on the propagandists in Jamaica and the media using her fantasies to advance their republican cause.

[ardentmuse]

No Ties (Harry Hart x Reader)

Kingsman - Harry Hart x Reader

Wordcount: 6.3k (sorry, not sorry)

Summary: When Harry is recruited to KIngsman, he is an engaged man. But the organization’s policy means he can have no ties. He’s willing to sacrifice his happiness to keep you safe, but can you ever really get over having it all? 

Warnings: angst, angst, angst... did I say angst?? Talk of death and violence, just a little bit of soul repairing at the end, but not much

Masterlist

A/N: This started a fem!reader which I then made gen!neutral so let me know if I missed anything. This also isn’t a song fic but is GREATLY inspired by I Was Gonna Marry You by Tristan Prettyman. So angsty and so lovely. Listen to it if you want! Also I need something fluffy after this so there may be another fic tonight to heal my soul. Also note that Kingsman - Day refers to the day Harry starts at Kingsman. Also I did not proofread this because I didn’t want to tbh. Thanks, sweeties! 

Kingsman – Day 12

“What’s that you got there?” came a voice from the door of Harry’s new bedroom in the Kingsman manor. Harry turned to see Merlin, the newly-hired tech specialist, peering in and over his shoulder.

Realizing he was caught, Harry took the frame that he was intending to slide under his mattress and placed it prominently on the bedside table.

“Beautiful,” Merlin remarked as he took in the smiling face of a person about Harry’s age their nose scrunched in laughter. “Yours?”

“Was,” Harry mustered as he moved back to unpacking his bags. Merlin turned at the phrase, surprised at the finality of it, but when he saw how rigid Harry’s back was at the inquiry, he didn’t push the matter.

Eight Months Pre-Kingsman

“Darling, will you marry me?”

Harry knelt in the grass of the airfield, having just returned from his third and final tour with the military. His back was straight and his shoulders rigid as was customary in his regalia, the crisp blue suit holding his body in form.

The newly added third Bath star upon his shoulder, the sign of his most recent title, seemed almost as bright as the ring he held out to you. But your eyes seemed to take in neither. You only had eyes for Harry. Your gorgeous, glowing countenance was smiling down upon him, so desperate to hold him in your arms after months and months apart with only letters, much of which were redacted, to keep you connected.  You hadn’t even got to hug him yet before he fell to his knees in front of his entire regiment. Tears were rolling down your cheeks at the sight of him, but he couldn’t even be sure you had seen the ring at all.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered as your hands came down to brush across his freshly shaven cheeks.

“And I you,” he smiled against your mouth as you took him in a kiss, completely ignoring his question. But he didn’t mind. He needed you, wanted you, and after so long apart, your touch was like a salve to all the open wounds of his heart, healing his mind from the terrors of war and replacing them with impossibly beautiful images of you naked across his white sheets, flush from lovemaking, or dancing with him on your back patio to soft jazz after dinner, or the sight of your face tilted downward as you walked towards him down a cobblestone path blanketed with flowers to exchange your vows.

As you collapsed into his shoulder, breathing in deeply his scent, his arms found the soft flesh of your waist and tugged you close, two humans wanting nothing more than to never have to part again.

“Say you’ll marry me,” he whispered in your ear, “Please.”

He felt you nod against his jaw more than he heard the mews from your lips. You pulled your hand away from his neck enough to give him the space to adorn it with the precious metal. And as you admired the ring over his shoulder, he admired the skin of your neck, the curve of your legs, and the soft feel of your waist under his hands, the greatest gift in his life his now for good.

Kingsman – Day 01

“I’ll only be gone a week, love,” Harry said as he kissed the top of you head before returning his attention back to the small travel bag he was packing. “And then I will be right back in your arms before you can even miss me.”

You laughed, “I miss you now.”

Harry sighed and turned to you fully as you reclined among the pillows of your shared bed. You were twiddling your thumbs, a weird new habit that formed since he placed that ring on your finger several months ago. The diamond shined in the soft bedroom lights, each turn of your hand catching a new beam. Your gaze danced in your lap and he could tell you were trying not to whine any more than you already had.

“I know,” he whispered, allowing his fingers the joy of running along your jawline. His touch had you lifting your eyes to meet his, still so captivating from behind your lashes. He had to kiss you.

As his lips moved down your jaw, he found himself crawling onto the bed with you, his body hovering over yours in a silent question.

“But I’m right here, right now,” he said with a cheeky smile against your neck. “No need to miss me already.”

His licks and nips across your skin had you smiling in earnest.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him hard against your body. You could already feel him responding to your closeness, the pleasant press of his hardening length against your core just an enjoyable sensation.

“You could always give me something to remember you by,” you cooed into his ear.

Harry chuckled, “How’s a card sound? Or maybe a nice tray of cookies?”

You lifted your hips and ground against him, shutting down his witty banter in a satisfying moan.

“So predictable” he laughed as you slowly sucked on his ear, rocking into him with vigor now, “my perfect little vixen.”

And he gave you quite a bit to remember him by.

Kingsman – Day 05

Several days of tactical tests and mental games had Harry worn down. He was succeeding at whatever they threw his way, but he was finding himself missing you more than he had during any previous training or deployment. Maybe it was the isolation. Maybe it was the raised stakes. Maybe it was the lies. But whatever it was, he could taste you upon his tongue each night as he tried to sleep. He could feel your warm body pressed against him. And if his dreams were any indication, he spent several hours of the night whispering to himself how much he adored you.

But today’s task may have been the very worst yet. He watched on a screen in the tech room as you danced around your kitchen, cleaning and singing and enjoyed the day. He even watched as you ran a finger lightly over a framed photo that hung just beside the sink of the two of your from last year’s military banquet. You gave two firm taps to Harry’s face before pulling your finger away, kissing the tip, and doing it again.

For minutes he watched as he sat as the alone recruit in the room, a few scattered agents watching along as well. No one said a single word.

That was until as you went back to your dishes, faint red crosshairs appears on the screen, centered perfectly on your precious skull.

Harry let out a primal yell, unsure to whom he was really yelling, and rose from his chair, clutching Mr. Pickles, as he decided a few hours ago to call his dog, to his chest.

“If we can get this close, just imagine what your enemies could do, Harry,” Agent Lancelot said with the firmness of a man who knew what he was saying from personal experience.

Harry held tight to the tiny puppy in his arms, unsure of what the actual test was here. Was he supposed to protect you? Was he supposed to call their bluff? Could he trust these strangers with your life?

“You’re bluffing,” Harry said, stern through his teeth as he watched another agent, Gawain he believed his name was, move the mouse, and the target, along with you. The lines gently bobbed along to the music you had playing.

Sensing Harry’s heightened attentions, the agent turned the volume up ever so slightly and the sounds of the third track off the record you listened to so often together when you cleaned came pumping into the suffocatingly cavernous room.  And even fainter was the sound of your voice, humming along; happy and completely oblivious to the harm he was bringing to your life simply by being the capable soldier he already was.

“I assure you we never bluff here,” Lancelot said with a smile that only served to make Harry’s blood boil. “But we do have a strong code of honor here. I assume you’ve read the Gentleman’s Guide? Kingsmen only take life to save life.”

Lancelot took long steps towards the desk at which Gawain sat. The tactical agent was still staring intently at you as he kept his target as he had been instructed. But something in his gaze set off flares in Harry’s head and he saw red, a deep possessiveness overtaking him at the fact that any man could look at you as a target, for bullet or otherwise.

“But if you read the Gentleman’s Guide, then I assume you also became acquainted with another one of our rules, an important one. One that is necessary for the safety and success of our missions, and by proxy the safety of the crown, the country, and the planet in general, including your precious fiancé(e) right here.”

Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand as Lancelot nodded at Gawain.

“No ties.”

A shot rang.

You screamed, piercing through the speakers with shattering waves.

Harry bolted towards the monitor as the agents watched him. You had moved several feet away from the sink but appeared uninjured. But Harry saw what you had yet to see: a perfect prick right in the middle of the beautifully framed photo of the two of you, a bullet piercing what little space existed between your heads. Glass was shattered everywhere and the frame hung limply from its hook.

You slowly moved towards the photo, picked it up between your hands. You examined the damage while avoiding the shards of glass so fractured and sharp.

“What the fuck,” he thought he heard you whisper before you whipped your head around quickly to examine the room for the source the explosion.

Before Harry could see you calm, assure you that there was no harm to come to you in the home you loved, the monitor shut itself down.

“That right there is a liability, Harry. Sure, you can leave all of this, go back and live your happy little life. But you are a man of a certain set of skills. It won’t be long until someone finds them and wants to use them. How long until someone finds your lover who doesn’t have the same code as we?”

A pregnant pause filled the air, only the soft, whimpered breathing of Mr. Pickles at the clear distress of his owner broke through. Harry locked eyes with the man who just dared threaten your life. But did he really threaten your life any more than Harry’s mere existence did?

“Gawain,” Lancelot finally called out. He opened the door to the tech room and left Harry alone in the space. Once the door shut tight, Harry fell to his knees and cried.

Kingsman – Day 10

“I’m taking this job,” Harry said with a deep breath. His words pulled your eyes from the book you had been reading as you lounged so peacefully among the throw blankets on your sofa. “And you aren’t coming with me.”

You scrunched your face in confusion at Harry’s words, more serious than the kind of conversation you were expecting at this time of night, but then softened after a moment of thought.

“Like another deployment? Harry, whatever the time or the distance, we can make it work. I support you. What is another year when we’ll get to spend our whole lives together?”

You smiled up so sweetly at him, so sure that your love could endure any distance, any time, any weird radio silence his operations required. You suffered through so much already, supported him through years of putting his life on the line, going into the most dangerous places in the world and setting up systems to support British forces. And here you were, willing to do it all again, even when you’d come so close to a normal, domestic life. And that smile, that confident smile plastered on your face, broke his heart in a way he knew would never be repaired.

And yet somehow that smile also tightened his resolve. You were too good for this life, too good for him. And you deserved to live in a blissful world that was just as bright and pleasant and welcoming as you were. He couldn’t burden you with the darkness he knew, the darkness that would surround him wherever he went, Kingsman or not.

“You are misunderstanding me, love,” he said, cursing himself at how easily the pet name fell from his tongue, completely betraying his heart.

You looked at him with a serious expression. Your mouth fell open as the wheels turned. You gapped like a fish a time or two, watching the rigid tension of Harry’s jaw as he bit the inside of his cheek, trying his hardest to appear firm.

“… so that’s it?” you whispered. Your lip curled upward and quivered, causing tears to fall from Harry’s eyes as yours did as well.

“Yeah,” he managed before losing it completely, “it is.”

Harry fell at your feet, his hands coming down upon the blankets to draw circles into your tender knees as you cried in earnest.

“Was it something I did?”

You looked up at him with wells in your eyes, your hand kneading at the fabric in your lap. That image, the one of you broken and lost and just inches from him, a few inches of space so easily closed for a kiss but so vast now that those kisses were off the table, that image would be plastered in his mind forever. He knew it would haunt his dreams seeing the only thing he ever loved destroyed by his choices. But he told himself his own pain meant nothing if he couldn’t protect you. You would recover from this. What was he compared to you? In a few years, you would move on. But to move on from someone like you, he knew he never would. And that was his burden to bear, the burden of assuring your happiness and safety, even if he wasn’t the one to benefit.

“Never. You could never do anything—“ Harry said as he rubbed at your ears and your draw. “You’re perfect. But this is something I have to do for me.” Harry swallowed so he wouldn’t fill the space with the words he wanted to say: ‘for us. For you... Everything I do is for you.’

After a few minutes of crying and Harry trying his hardest to calm you with soft rubs of his hands, you took a steadying breath. You reached down to your hand and began to pull off the ring that had sat there, unmoved, for so many months.

Harry felt his heart stop. He had understood what leaving you meant intellectually but the sight of you without your ring, no longer wearing the symbol of where you heart lied, was simply too much. He felt like he couldn’t breath, the tightness in his chest too much for him. He had a brief flash of the flooding of the recruit room, the near drowning that has taken ahold of him just as he reached the toilet and the lightheadedness that was much closer to blacking out than he would like to admit. But this was worse. This pain couldn’t be alleviated with a few deep breaths and a couple minutes time.

This damage was permanent.

Quickly, his hand came down to hold the ring against your fingers and your gaze flicked up in hopeful question. But Harry simply shook his head no.

“It was a gift without condition,” he said to you, hoping you would understand just how much he needed you to keep it. “It is yours.”

You hiccupped, “I can’t keep it. I can’t. I can’t remember that I was going marry you.”

At your imploring gaze, Harry yielded, just like he always did for you. A final tug removed the diamond from your finger.

“It’ll hurt too much,” you pleaded as you dropped the ring into his palm. He didn’t have the heart to tell you it hurt him too much to take it away from you.

As he slipped the ring into his pocket, the weight of it feeling like it could sink him in a sea of despair, he heard you whisper, “I love you.” He ran his hands through your hair as he watched your eyes, still filled with tears pooling and pouring over down your lovely, kissable cheeks.

“I know,” he said and kissed your forehead, slow and sweet like it was the last time.

And when he pulled away, fully expecting to remove himself from you and your life for good, you met his gaze, pleading and honest as you leaned forward. And he could not deny himself the pleasure of feeling your lips, and your love, once more.

The kiss was bruising and all-encompassing. Your mouths melted together in a song they knew so well, but what were once bright chords became a mournful melody, a goodbye ballad.

And when he pinned you to the couch, sucked on your collar bone, and entered you, he moved as slow as his body would allow, memorizing the feel of your muscles gripping him so perfectly, the warmth of your hands upon his back and your breath on his neck, and the sounds that purred from your lips at his lovemaking.

He carried you to bed that night and held you close to his chest until your tears lulled you to sleep.

And when you woke in the morning, Harry, and his things, were gone.

Kingsman – Day 42

Harry walked down the high street away from the Kingsman tailor ship. It still felt quite strange to be wearing such a complicated piece of technology masquerading as formal wear, but he found he liked it. It was a uniform, the same as the kind he grew accustomed to as a soldier, but without the air of force or stoicism. He held his back tall as he continued down the road.

But something simple caught his trained eyes, just a flash of the familiar at the end of the road, the tap of shoes and a black top that sparked his brain, that set off sensors of love in his mind, signaling to his aching heart that it wasn’t done mourning the loss of the only thing that seemed to make life worth living.  

When you lifted your head, Harry knew for sure it was you. Your eyes were puffy and your hair less kept than normal, but you still shined brighter than anything else on the road. Your best friend stood in front of you, holding your hand as she pulled you across the street. And it really was a tug as your limbs seemed to not want to move. But you entered the restaurant on the corner without much protest.

Harry felt his chest tighten at the sight. He wanted to run to you, to beg you to forgive him, to come back to him and love him again, but the gentleman’s code ran through his head, and having no ties, no relationships, was a large part of what made the organization successful. A collective of spies with nothing to lose is much more useful than those who hesitate. He had to do this to make the world a safe place for you. And so he watched with sadness as the slumped shoulders and tear-stained cheeks he caused disappeared into the restaurant just beyond his grasp.  

And with his head held high and your engagement ring still weighing down his breast pocket, he continued on his way

Kingsman – Day 381

Harry collapsed in a ball on the jet, his hands still covered in the blood of Agent Kay who had so valiantly sacrificed himself to secure the team’s safety. The bomb at the World Cup stadium was disarmed and disposed of, another normal day to any excited fan, and another happy headline to add to the wall of the home Harry had just bought in the part of the city you had always dreamed of calling home.

Maybe he had hoped he could at least have the pleasure of seeing your head in the produce aisle of the grocery store or imagining he had just missed you by a few minutes at the underground station. But really it was just that Harry needed to play pretend. In the year since he had joined Kingsman, he had seen more evil than all his years at war. And to come home to a quiet neighbor, a charming flat, a home cooked meal and families walking down the sidewalk, cleared his mind better than any other distraction.

Right now he needed that distraction more than anything.

Hours later, and completely numb, Harry found himself in his kitchen, pretending like everything was normal. But nothing was normal about this life he had chosen.

He had normal, with you.

Harry tried to cook himself dining, to play music to distract himself. He even put on a movie, a last resort gesture for him if there ever was one. But nothing cleared his head of the sight of Kay slumped over and pool of blood under his body. Or the image of thousands of fans walking just over that spot an hour later like nothing had occurred.

Harry threw on his robe and took slow, long strides up his stairs. He collapsed in his bed and closed his eyes, but the images still remained. The bed felt wrong somehow: the blankets too scratchy, the mattress too firm, the pillows still holding their shape from such light use, and more than anything the warmth of your body and the thrill of your lips soothing him from his nightmares were starkly absent.

He wanted to go home.

His eyes sprung open. The clock beside his bed flashed midnight. Before he knew it, his slippers were on and he was sliding down the hall into his office.

As he sat at his computer, beside him resided that same picture of your face that he brought with him to the Kingsman manor. You were smiling so bright and it was motivation enough for him.

But not today.

Harry booted up the machine, went through the login processes Merlin had set up for him, and soon he had access to every CCTV camera throughout the city. Harry’s fingers typed in the coordinates to navigate to the cameras that pointed towards the front of your new apartment. You had moved a few weeks after Harry left, not that that surprised him. You had picked the place with your joint needs in mind and more room than was necessary for one person. Plus, the memories… so many memories.

He found your window, two stories up and right above the door. Your lights were off. You were safe. You were sleeping. The world was turning as normal for you. Harry smiled.

But then two figures walked into the frame. Harry recognized your form immediately, though the figure beside you was new. He was tall and lean like Harry but his attitude was confidence and charisma in a way Harry always felt he lacked.  

Harry watched as you walked up the stoop and looked down at the well-dressed man. This hands were in his pockets but as you spoke, he lifted one to play lightly with your wrist, a move so intimate that it formed a lump in Harry’s throat. And after a few more seconds, the man pulled your forward and into a kiss that seemed as passionate as any you’d ever shared with Harry.

It seemed like minutes, though Harry knew it had only been seconds, before the man pulled away, his fingers dancing with yours as he made his exit. Harry watched you wave at the man’s retreating form and then felt the knife push deeper into his heart as you smiled bliss-filled to yourself as you fumbled with your keys.

Once you shut the door, Harry powered down the computer. He grabbed the photo of you from his desk and tossed it hard against the wall, cracking the frame in two and sending glass flying. Harry was fuming; consumed with a rage he hadn’t felt in years. He was so angry, with himself more than anything, for hoping that you might stay in mourning a little longer. He had wanted you to move on, deep in his bones he had prayed for it more than anything, because if you did it would make his choice justified. But even deeper, he had hoped you would pine forever, so on nights like tonight, when things became too stressful, he could run to you and find solace in your arms once more, let your laughter heal him, your kind words reassure him, and your body erase the pain.

But your life would not wait for him. There was no going back.

With some stabilizing breaths and a hard punch into the most stable part of the wall, Harry began the work of cleaning up the mess that was the one remaining piece of you in his home. He swept up the shards and put them in the bin along with the photo of you which all the mess had once enshrined. He needed to leave you behind, just as you had left him.

But upon seeing you thrown away, your face discarded among dust and debris, he just couldn’t do it. He pulled out your photo and tried his best to wipe away what scratches now littered its surface. He tucked your photo away in his filing cabinet among his mission briefings, safe and secure.

You may have not needed Harry anymore but the time may come when he needed you.

Kingsman – Day 710

Harry failed to prevent a car bombing in Bosnia. Your photo came out of its hiding spot one more time.

Kingsman – Day 1001

A plane is hijacked in Brazil. Harry opened the cabinet.

Kingsman – Day 2484

A sleeper agent assassinated. A peak in the drawer.

Kingsman – Day 3111

The death of Lee Unwin. The reminder of your face.

Kingsman – Day 8851

The death of Harry Hart. Nothing more.

Kingsman – Day 9245

“I know it is against the Kingsman rules, having a relationship—“ Eggsy said as he paced around Harry’s home office, still completely frazzled about how to handle the current state of affairs. Harry had just returned to him but Kingsman as they knew it was not the same. The protocol here was so unclear and the only man Eggsy could rely on for guidance seemed to be a shell of himself these days. But at Eggsy’s words, Harry cut him off, a quick movement of his head that let Eggsy know he had said something that broke the fog.  

“When I was shot, you know what I saw?” Harry’s eyes were already gleaming with tears at the reminder of his near-death experience.

Eggsy merely shook his head, urging his friend to continue.  

“I saw Y/N,” his voice was raw with emotion as he tilted his head upward to the only piece of newspaper on Harry’s walls that wasn’t a front page. Instead, it was tiny cut out from the Wedding section of the Telegraph, a beautiful face smiling brightly as a rather dashing man, not too dissimilar to Harry, stood behind, the date on the page well over a decade previous. “The love of my life, a person I haven’t held in my arms in over twenty years, but one I still love to this day.”

Eggsy looked away from the newspaper to Harry’s face. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks and he was swallowing over and over, waiting for the words to find space in his throat.

“Probably doesn’t even remember me anymore. Married, has a family, runs a business. I stopped looking into things a decade ago. But still, they are the closest I’ve ever had to something worth dying for. And I’d still die for them. I nearly did.”

Harry lifted his eyes to look at Eggsy in earnest, “In that moment, Eggsy, all I felt was loneliness… and regret.” Harry choked on his words and Eggsy felt the emptiness in his own soul acutely.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Harry cut him off, wiping at his own eyes with a new resolve, “I lost my chance. But you haven’t. Just know that having something to lose makes life worth living.”

Harry stood and walked towards his desk and opened the lowest draw. He pulled out a tiny velvet box, unmistakable to Eggsy as to its contents.

He handed the box over to Eggsy without meeting his eyes. Eggsy opened it to reveal a beautiful pave diamond ring with scrollwork detailing along the elegant gold band.

“Why—“ Eggsy started but the way Harry couldn’t meet his eyes explained everything.

“Let’s go get your girl.”

With a nod, Eggsy sprung out the door and down the stairs of Harry’s home. Before Harry could follow, he took the steps he knew too well to the old filing cabinet in the corner. He hadn’t bothered with paper files for missions in years, but the filing cabinet served another purpose in his mind. He pulled at the bottom drawer, to the single manila envelope that contained the frayed photo of your face, some 25 years younger than he knew you probably looked now, but just as happy and enthusiastic as he believed you always would be.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said as he shed the last of his tears. He placed you back in your folder and back in the home he had built for your memory – the external storage of his heart – and left his study in pursuit of Eggsy.

Kingsman – Day 9504

Harry smiled from his seat at the main table overlooking the dance floor of Eggsy’s wedding. He had entertained himself for quite a bit chatting with Tilde’s parents and his new friends at Statesman. But now, from where he sat, taking in all the details of the place settings, the floors, the music, and the happy couples spinning circles on the hardwood, he couldn’t help but picture the bright and festive events you were planning when he started down this path with Kingsman.

You had narrowed down the venues to a handful of places and had already made quite a few decisions about aesthetic. Harry had cared so little, as long as he got to call you his spouse at the end of it all, that you had tasked him with planning your honeymoon. He had never told you about the tickets he had already booked before you gave him back his ring or the extra vacation days he had managed to negotiate with your boss behind your back.  

It didn’t matter. It was all a wash anyway.

But at his mind wandered, his thoughts wistful about the life he could have led and the happiness he may have found beside you, he failed to notice Eggsy take the seat beside him.

“You think too much, Harry,” Eggsy said, passing a stiff drink his way. Harry didn’t bother asking what it was but shot it back in a single gulp regardless.

When he set back down the glass, Eggsy passed a manila folder across the table, filled to the brim with papers.

“Consider this a best man gift from me,” Eggsy said, his smile growing just a little cheeky as he sipped his own drink.

“I’m supposed to get you a gift, I’m fairly certain.”

“You being alive is gift enough.”

Harry went to open the folder but Eggsy’s hand stopped him, pulling Harry’s eyes upward to meet his.

“If it isn’t too late for me, it’s not too late for you,” Eggsy said, and with a pat to Harry’s wrist added, “It’s about time for the Gentleman’s Guide to change, don’t ya think?”

And Eggsy stood up and walked away.

Curious, Harry opened the folder and on top sat a photo of you, the pose almost the same as the one secure in his home but the wrinkles at the corners of your eyes and the laugh lines along the corners of your lips gave away the passing of time.

But you were still breathtaking. God, you were breathtaking.  

Harry pushed the tears in his eyes down just a little to find your marriage certificate,  nothing he hadn’t already known, but behind it he found something a new. Six years ago, a divorce filing and court paperwork documenting just what a cheating bastard your husband had been. Harry knew he shouldn’t be happy that life that treated you so poorly, but part of him felt justified. He thought that man was too cocky for his own good, too sure of how handsome he was and of the power he had over you.

But it seemed you turned out alright. A fat settlement came your way and you bought a house just a tube stop away from his own home. Your work was thriving, your most recent pictures seemed to depict many a fun night out with a handful of friends, and some charity work too, exactly the kind of person he remembered you being. He had been doing his best to keep the world a good place for you, and you had been doing the same, even if it wasn’t for him.

But it was the last few documents that really got to him: security footage from outside your house, the camera able to see into your kitchen. And beside your sink, in the place it always had been, hung a picture of Harry holding you tight in his full regalia. A shot mark marred the middle of the photo, but the intention was still clear. And in a series of photos, Harry could make out your form in the kitchen, your finger moving to your lips, and finally you touching his face the way you had when he was a recruit. And for the third time in his life, his chest was so tight he thought he wouldn’t be able to breath.

Maybe some days you needed him, too.

Harry didn’t think. He just moved. He left the wedding and the folder, his friends and his life, and an hour later he found himself in front of the address that had been listed as your home. The lights were on and in the kitchen he could see the faint outline of frame that he just knew held his own face.

He walked the steps, tears already threatening to leave his eyes and wet his cheeks. His heart was beating faster than it had in years but he didn’t take it as a sign to stop but rather a sign to keep going.

And so he knocked.

When you opened the door, your face was just as soft and vibrant as he remembered. Not a single mark of age made you less beautiful, but just enhanced all the lovely parts of your bone structure his fingers spend years memorizing. You were still in your work clothes except for your shoes were soft slippers covering your toes in a strange combination of serious and comfort that made Harry smile. This was you all right, in front of him and still the same as the person he fell in love with so many years ago.

“Ha-harry?” you gasped as your eyes moved up and down his body, settling on his eyes. He realized then how silly he must look too in his wedding attire at this odd hour of night, but then again the man you remembered was often in uniform.

Harry tried his best to smile more but he simply couldn’t. His lips quivered and his mouth grew dry. All he could do was nod in affirmation.

He watched as your shoulders fell and your hands moved forward hesitantly to touch his face.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, gently brushing at his skin. The feel of you was still magnetic, smooth and soft and warm, pulling him into your orbit.

“And I you,” you said, laughing at the realizing that this conversation had happened once before. You laughed too, though it was more of a hiccup between your tears. His hand reached for your cheek on instinct, wiping away the tears that collected there.

After a moment of just staring, moving closer and closer, unsure of what was right or real, you pulled away.

“Do you—do you want to come in?” you said with hesitation, quickly gesturing to the open door behind you and the faint sound of television going in the background.

Harry felt the butterflies collecting in his stomach at the sight of your beautiful face staring at him once more in the flesh, the manifestation of endless nights alone in his bed.

“I would.”

And with that you grabbed his hand, unsure until he wrapped his fingers once more around your own, and walked in into your home.

As the door shut behind him, Harry felt the large chunks of his broken heart that had been severed since he took in that crestfallen look on your face the night he left slowly begin to sew themselves back together. And come back together they would in time. What was twenty-six years, when you get to spend our whole lives together? 

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug Kingsman tags: @allonsymexgirl, @eiensteiner, @thecaptainsgingersnap, @madamcadaver, @doct0rstrange, @ratwrites Harry Hart tags: @un-education, @lexicon04, @bananzaa, @consultingdoctorwholock, @sparrowharkness, @newconnorwhodis

[hookedreign]

@softbrawn asked: “ trust me , i’m a professional . ”

recklessness   is   the   pure   epitome   of   harry   hook   .   𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒   and   𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃   reign   wherever   he   may   be   .   harry   wasn’t   afraid   to   *𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚎   into   the   unknown   ,   the   thrill   of   the   hunt   (   if   you   will   )   ⎯⎯⎯   and   this   time   ,   it   bit   him   back   .    “   yer’   actin’   like   am   bleedin’   ta’   death   .   ”   he   shrugs gil off of him , but he does it lightly   to   where   he   still   can   help   .   he   trusts   him   and   uma   to   treat   his   wounds   with   delicacy   .   “   ah say jus wrap’a  shirt ‘round the shite and call’t  a  day  ,  ey ?   ain’t   not’tin   ah   can’t   handle   .   ”   his   words   are   meant   to   be   reassuring   ,   not   dismissive   .   ruby   red   liquid   trickles   along   busted   skin   ,   scooping   it   up   with   his   index   finger   and   tasting   it   .   “  ya’   should   see   da’   otha’   guy   .   ”   wicked   grin   plasters   his   countenance   ,   gripping   onto   his   rib   cage   ⎯⎯⎯    cacophonous   laughter   is   hoarse   and   he’s   in   pain   .   in   the   midst   of   his   boasting   ,   he   feels   a   tug   from   the   spot   gil   is   cleaning   out   and   his   mood   quickly   shifts   ,   “  ah  thought   ya   were   a   PROFESSIONAL   ?   ”

[lolgen792]

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

Despite it being midterm season here at school and the fact that I just do not have time to succumb to a new obsession, I have made a way where once there was no way. I recently started rewatching the Lizzie Bennet Diaries and they have been so addicting to binge.

I love Lizzie’s personality, how she’s focused on her goals of finishing grad school in a subject that she’s passionate about – new media. I love her interpretations of her mother. Ashley Clements is an amazing actress. The way she acts as her mother is exactly how I would expect Mrs. Bennet from the books to speak and react. More recently, I’ve come across Lizzie’s impression of Catherine de Bourgh and I am utterly impressed. I literally laughed out loud so hard, she is just too darn good at impressions.

Lately, I’ve gone back to Tumblr looking at the Pride and Prejudice memes but also classic literature memes in general. I just think it’s so cool that there is a world of people who enjoy reading as much as you do and that after you read, you can go and essentially laugh at all the characters you just learned to love. 

The themes of Jane Austen’s novel were groundbreaking at the time – marriage based on love, the value of money and its effect on happiness, and the way class distinctions were portrayed in Regency society. The translation of these themes to the Lizzie Bennet diaries is well done and the humor expressed by Lizzie mirrors Austen’s wit in her original work. There is something special about the journey you take with the characters of P&P. In Austen’s work, it’s from pride and prejudice based on class and a terrible first impression to a shared understanding, gratitude, and mutual love. In LBD, it’s Lizzie’s lovely obsession with her irritation of Darcy to a genuine respect and care for one another. 

There is just something that literature does. It moves slowly and surely, warming the characters up to you that by the end of the novel, it is quite devastating to say goodbye. 

Two household both alike in dignity, in fair Purrona

Several for Pride and Prejudice

  If anything, literary web series have inspired my love of media and how technology can create connections through the stories that are being told. Isn’t it amazing how you can learn more about Pride and Prejudice, be along for the ship that is Darcy and Lizzie, and enjoy the costume theater and emotional portrayals of all the characters? 

There is something wonderful in classic literature – whether it is commentary on society – but even more wonderful is the adaptation of the commentary to modern day times so viewers like myself can bring new life and joy to such a powerful story.

Classic novels are great stories but they are also reflections of the time they were written in. Jane Austen’s novels were a reflection of family life and societal expectations in the 18th century Regency era. Charles Dickens wrote about poverty in London during the Industrial Revolution. 

For me, though I should be studying about religion and news media and writing papers, I am really grateful to get lost in a world that is not my own. To enjoy stepping into someone else’s story. I love the modern way of interacting with their stories through memes, and even the memes themselves can cause their own bouts of laughter. 

Here’s a collection:

If you are looking for web series that won’t get you hooked in a Netflix kind of way, will educate you and make you laugh, look no further:

  Lizzie Bennet Diaries

Lizzie’s personality is incredible, witty, and fun. Her interpretations using costume theater has been one of my favorite components. The actors are amazing in the series. The downside is you’re waiting until episode 60 to meet Darcy but he is well worth the wait. The ending is a little different from the books, and honestly, it is better. Set in modern times with an incredibly clever adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, I love the Lizzie Bennet Diaries. 

  Carmilla

Carmilla is truly wonderful because of the romance between Laura and Carmilla. It’s binge-worthy. It’s hilarious and it’s the only web series I’ve seen with the supernatural done really well. If you’re looking for queer representation, Carmilla is the way to go.

  The Cate Morland Chronicles

Before I rewatched LBD for the 3rd time, I stumbled across the Cate Morland Chronicles. It’s based on Austen’s Northanger Abbey, which I’ve never read but need to. This is the 2nd adaptation of Northanger I’ve seen – the first one being Northbound, which was fun and entertaining – but Chronicles has a twist. Cate is a self-professed and self-evident fangirl. She loves Marvel, Stars Wars, and Harry Potter. She’s all in for being a fan. She’s an aspiring journalist with a successful blog on being a fangirl, and what she’s really obsessed with is Udolpho. This series was nicely done in tying in the book in such a natural way – making Cate a fangirl was brilliant! She rants about not being taken seriously for the stories she loves. The romance builds over time and everyone’s characteristics are revealed over time.

  Jules and Monty

Jules and Monty is about Juliet and Romeo. Home to various memes – all of which I love. It was created by two college sophomores – the main leads – and it’s so well done. It takes the original families are turns them into opposing fraternities. I highly recommend this one if you love Shakespeare’s original language and any stories of young love.

  Nothing Much To Do

Nothing Much To Do is about a great group of friends in their last year of high school living out the Much Ado About Nothing. The main videos are about Beatrice and Benedick who vlog about how much they hate each other. We watch in anticipation as their countenance towards each other changes, all the while enjoying Hero, Dogberry, and Verges. Balthazar is a wonderful surprise with this talent in music. All around, it’s a fun web series to watch.

  If you have nothing much to do, consider getting into a literary web series!

Signing off, 

Gigi

  Do you want any web series? If you do, send me some memes!

All memes found via Tumblr, Twitter, or Instagram. None are my own.

Literary Web Series “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

[hoistsails]

—–    @islewrecked​ said :         ❛ it’s not my fault i have my father’s eyes . ❜

          what a cruel irony that has been thrust upon the hook siblings .   a curse to look like their father ,   and a curse to not look like their father ,   all rolled up in one neat little package .   it’s a pandora’s box of shame ;  to fail carrying on his legacy without his looks ,   or to fear carrying on his legacy with them .   it is no secret or surprise that harry’s countenance so closely resembles their father ,   from the crystal blue of his eyes to the sharp point of the hook he carries .   and harriet ,   on the opposite end of the spectrum ,   inherited almost no genes from their father beyond her hair ,   which could easily have been inherited from her mother too .   she struggles to forget that she only looks like him when she is consumed by rage . 

          “   no ,   it isn’t your fault .   don’t ever think it is .   ”     harriet sighs and pats his shoulder .     “   but the old bastard doesn’t matter .   and he never will .   ”

not accepting !

[part-time-psychotic]

‘– so it would be down to Filch to realise it wasn’t a cough potion, and he’s not a very good wizard, I doubt he can tell one potion from –’ Hermione stopped dead; Harry had heard it too. Somebody had moved close behind them among the dark bookshelves. They waited and a moment later the vulture-like countenance of Madam Pince appeared round the corner, her sunken cheeks, her skin like parchment and her long hooked nose illuminated unflatteringly by the lamp she was carrying.

so this is when Malfoy overheard them talking bout Filch and potions. So the person moving close behind them was Malfoy and Madam Pince is apparently a ninja who can creep up on you in silence

[thesinglesjukebox]

NIALL HORAN - HEARTBREAK WEATHER

[6.86]

Paging Jason Orange: our highest 1D-related score ever...

Alfred Soto: Wit frightens him. Eroticism is beyond him. Yet the One Milquetoaster's too long second solo album is the best thing anyone in 1D's been involved with since the breakup, in part because Niall Horan hasn't cleaved himself from 1D's writer-producers. The mild electro skank of "Heartbreak Weather" complements the sub-mental lyrics and Horan's granola yell. [7]

Kat Stevens: It seems clear that Niall is gunning for Will Young's old position as the polo-necked Mum-friendly regular on the Radio 2 playlist. Unfortunately here, his affable (and catchy!) melody simply lacks that knife-in-the-gut twist that's embedded throughout Will's best material. It's going to take more than a pastel-coloured Mr Benn job-of-the-week video to guarantee that Zoe Ball breakfast slot. "Heartbreak Weather" is about the sun coming out after the storm, but Niall breezes through it with the easy countenance of someone who's never been hailed on while queuing to get into Tesco Express, two metres apart from the person in front, never to touch anyone again. [6]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: The track's production is a pristine, 80's romantic-comedy dream, and could have been an apposite backdrop to the cheesy lyrical conceit. The problem, though, is Niall Horan's delivery: jejune and lacklustre, barely unconvincing in portraying the shift from "heartbreak weather" to whatever greener pastures he's finally found. Imagine a Carly Rae Jepsen song that's had a lobotomy. [5]

Oliver Maier: I assumed last time was a fluke and that I'd never like another of Niall "J'adore la mer" Horan's singles so much but "Heartbreak Weather" goes down real smooth. It's a big stompy electropop track! Remember those? Swap out the vocals and this is basically a below-average Emotion cut, which as a general standard makes it: still pretty good! [7]

Edward Okulicz: Don't know how it works, but this incredibly wide-eyed, daft song approaches something like profundity coming out of Niall Horan's Vanilla Coke of a mouth. I'm almost sold that "heartbreak weather" is a clever and meaningful phrase, because I'm definitely sold that "Heartbreak Weather" is a very dumb but meaningful song. [8]

Michael Hong: "Heartbreak Weather" isn't quite as goofy as its announcements would suggest (nor as silly as lead single "Nice to Meet Ya"), but instead, a lushly romantic piece, a set of memories building up to a relationship. Horan's fragmented recollections attempt to touch on pieces of specificity ("dancin' to Bruno") but fail, fail in the way that only love can make you fail, by blurring every smile, every moment, every feeling into one. His realization is that lift that love makes you feel, the way everything seems to shine a little bit brighter and stormy weather no longer seems like a such a bad thing. [8]

Scott Mildenhall: While Harry Styles doggedly pursues some classic rock ideal, at least one of his bandmates seems content with the version they already had. Horan was wise to keep working with the same people as during One Direction's later period; "Heartbreak Weather" runs on the mileage that was still in that kind of material. Carried further by the strength of its original idiom and singalong secondary hook, this is the sound of someone who isn't beholden to a desperation to prove himself. [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[krissysbookshelf]

Free Ebooks (8/2/17)

    PLEASE REMEMBER THAT THE FREE PRICING IS ONLY A SPECIAL FOR THE DIGITAL FORMAT OF THE BOOK THAT IS LISTED AND IS ONLY AVAILABLE FOR A LIMITED TIME, SO BE SURE TO PURCHASE THE E-BOOKS BEFORE THE PRICE RETURNS TO ITS NORMAL LISTING. (Unless you want to buy them at full price:)

  Don't forget to check my Free Ebook page on Pinterest for more Free Ebook titles and genres not listed below!

      Diary of a Confused Harry Potter: The Cowardly Wizard by Alex Pan: Everybody knows the story of a brave Harry Potter: he was the great wizard who conquered Lord Voldemort. But have you ever heard the story of a wimpy Harry Potter? Harry’s a regular kid, who hates fighting, and just so happens to be named Harry Potter. But he’s not the Harry Potter you’re thinking of! Coincidentally, this wimpy Harry Potter does go to Hogwarts, and guess what? Hogwarts stinks!

This book is Free on August 2, 2017

Kindle

  Anna, Who Lived in a Banana by Tina Rantes: There was a small woman named Anna, who lived all alone inside a banana. Her home was long and thin and tall, with not much room from wall to wall.

This book is Free on August 2, 2017

Kindle

  Growing Girl: The Extraordinarily Ordinary Life of Cassandra Jones by Tamara Hart Heiner: Quirky, humorous, and oh-so-real, Cassandra Jones is Diary of a Wimpy Kid meets Ramona the Pest. She’s a typical American girl trying to survive the scary world of preteens. Her struggles with friends, body image, money, and family will resonate in the heart of every person who reads her books.

This book is Free on August 2, 2017

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  Black Bayou by Sara Clancy: Marigold La Roux had a perfectly average existence…until the night her parents tried to murder her. Barely escaping with her life, she moves to New Orleans. But now she’s haunted by ghostly voices whispering in her ear and wakes up to mysterious claw marks on her back. As she tries to end her torment, she realizes evil will stop at nothing to get what it wants: her life.

This book is Free on August 2, 2017

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  DIY Herbal Gardening For Beginners by Donna Mcgrathson: DIY is the best method for beginners who don’t have the resources as a master gardener! Learn the best methods for beginners about herbal gardening as well as how to use them DIY Style.

This book is Free on August 2, 2017

Kindle

  100 Awesome Ideas for Authors by Courtney Kenney: Stop sweating the small stuff and have fun with your writing again… The writing life is supposed to be, above all, fun! But sometimes we get lost in the minutia…stalking our sales rank, marketing to our email list, chasing after the next shiny object. Have you ever thought about finding the humor in your daily challenges? How about adding a little wackiness to your writing life? This book has 100 bite-sized ideas to help you write better, faster, and sell books while still having fun.

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  Hope for Garbage by Alex Tully: “Marvelous, astounding, magnificent, genius…” Amazon reviewers. For fans of Catherine Ryan Hyde comes a story of resilience, a story of overcoming adversity under the most extraordinary circumstances – a story of hope.

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  Tesser: A Dragon Among Us by Chris Philbrook: Tesser is an ancient and immortal dragon. Powerful beyond reckoning, he is stunned when he awakens beneath the city of Boston. He doesn’t know when he fell asleep, nor why he’s slept so long, but when he realizes magic is dying out from the world, he sets out to discover the reason. Welcome to the Reemergence.

This book is Free on August 2, 2017

Kindle

  Singularity Barbecue by David Delaney: Come for the food, stay for the blood sacrifice. Sebastian Stevens, a food and special events reporter, believes his fortunes have changed when he discovers Singularity BBQ, a food truck run by three of the hottest women he has ever met. The food is incredible and the women seem to have an almost cult-like hold over their customers. Even Sebastian can’t help himself from getting caught up in their flirty, seductive games. But who are they? The ladies of Singularity BBQ are cooking up something wicked.

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  A Necessary Darkness by Susan Catalano: Merry Chalmers is found near Gallows Hill, an angry rope burn around her neck and no memory of her life. William Darling struggles for his soul. They must find their way back to each other in time to unite against The Tall Man as the hysteria he ignited in the 17th century culminates in an epic battle fought in the modern streets of Salem.

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  Rahab and Joshua: A Biblical Love Story by Rivka Gonen: The biblical story of Rahab, the harlot of Jericho, and the Israelite spies she saved, comes to life in this beautifully written book. Rahab and Joshua – A Love Story is a tale of courage, resistance, faith, and love.

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  Evanescent: The Countenance Trilogy by Addison Moore: *A Paranormal Alice in Wonderland!* Laken Stewart burst through a windshield and died one sunny afternoon. The next thing she remembers is waking up two months later in another state with another name. Laken finds her long dead boyfriend in this alternate world and is determined to find out what’s going on. Unfortunately, the truth proves to be truly deadly.

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  Crossing In Time by D. L. Orton: If someone took everything you live for, how far would you go to get it back? Fall into this edgy, action-packed, darkly comedic, dystopian love story, and be prepared to encounter a finicky time machine, a mysterious seashell, and a very clever do. It’s The Andromeda Strain meets Back to the Future with a healthy dose of Dirty Dancing.

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  Betrayed by Trust by Frankie Robertson: Marianne works for the Trust, a secret organization guarding against abuses of paranormal power. Her next assignment: rescue an Elemental Spirit from slavery by seducing the heir to an occult dynasty. As a Green Beret, Dan carried out some unusual orders. Now he has to help Marianne sleep with another man. Easy—until the men with the guns show up. Falling in love is optional.

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  All for Love: 3 Series Starters by Kris Pearson: Your introduction to three sizzling series by New Zealander Kris Pearson. All for Love brings you three full-length standalone novels – the first book in the Wellington Series, the Heartlands Series, and The Sheikhs of Al Sounam. Once you’ve finished these heart-and-soul filled stories, you’ll find plenty more to enjoy from this superb storyteller, too.

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  Bad Stepbrother by Mara Leigh: Good girl Harley’s wild night of abandon turns into a nightmare when the hot-as-hell bad boy who made her quiver turns up at her dad’s wedding—as the son of the bride. Zach’s mom has a type—a bad type—and he’ll do anything to keep her safe. Protecting his mom gets complicated when he discovers his new stepdad is the father of the good girl hook-up he can’t get out of his head. On paper, Harley and Zach are all kinds of wrong, but can they resist their incendiary heat?

This book is Free on August 2, 2017

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  Perfectly Reasonable by Linda O’Connor: She’s got it. He wants it. It’s Perfectly Reasonable.

This book is Free on August 2, 2017

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  The Tao of Hockey by Melanie Ting: Eric Fairburn has one last shot at an NHL career, so distraction—in the form of a beautiful woman—is the last thing he needs.

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  The Big O by Nelle L’Amour: From USA Today Bestselling author Nelle L’Amour, a new steamy STANDALONE that’s guaranteed to make your eReaders melt! The perfect summer read! The first time Owen King sets eyes on her, she’s in a focus group, chomping into a cream-filled donut and having the most orgasmic reaction he’s ever witnessed.

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  Rock-a-bye Baby by Willow Rose: ROCK-A-BYE BABY is a thriller novella from Willow Rose, author of the International Bestselling horror-series starring the Danish reporter Rebekka Franck. It is not for the faint at heart.

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  Cloak Games: Thief Trap by Jonathan Moeller: In an Earth enslaved by magic-wielding elves, wizard/thief Nadia Moran must use all her wits to save her brother and stay alive.

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Original post: http://ift.tt/2ulK12o

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[hookedreign]

⁝ — @softbrawn liked for a starter.

FINALLY , SOME SORT OF PEACE OF MIND SINCE THE BARRIER CAME DOWN . or , rather , some kind of variant of it at least . thankfully , he no longer has to sneak outside of the isle — the vks can just enter & exit at will . it’s not like he had any issue with sneaking anyhow . he was good at it ; he was good at being bad . in truth , harry wasn’t even truly a psychopath he was made out to be — he was blurred between the lines of good & bad . he was grey in a world composed of blacks & whites . anyone who knew him knew this . gil had known this better than most , he was his best friend . something of the sort , at least .

speaking of GIL evoked curiosity on his whereabouts . the two typically could be seen attached to one another’s hip — but this time , there was no sight of his moron . he probably lurked about with JAY . the son of JAFAR — how he irked the son of captain HOOK ; he got under his skin , only when it came to GIL LEGUME . otherwise , they had quite a decent dynamic — by this , it’s meant that HARRY was the one annoying JAY . however , ever since they’d accompanied mal’s crew upon their journey to the PRETTY LAND ; jay and gil had gotten uncomfortably close for harry . some would even say he was JEALOUS .

harry’s search for gil eventually ceased once he’d gotten a glimpse of him — he was avoiding harry . gil’s strides were unusually kept at a faster pace than usual , and his head hung low . something ignited in him , he knew something was wrong with the other male . he was determined to figure it out . once he’d finally caught up to the son of GATSON , he rested his palm firmly onto the latter’s shoulder ; turning him to face him .

❛ ye’ve been keepin’ yer’ distance from me recently , eh ? ‘s t’ere some’tin ye’ wanna — ❜ abrupt pause lumped within his throat . his thumb brushes the surface of gil’s countenance , brows knit as he discovers a bruised eye . optics widened at the sight , pure rage flaring amongst his veins & replacing crimson fluids in his bloodstreams with utter wrath . ❛ WHO DID T’IS ? i’ll have t’eir SKIN scalp’t from t’eir bodies . tell me , who hurt’chye’ ? ❜ i’ll kill them .