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ediths · 3 years

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fic recs january 2021

hi guys!! okay so i got to thinking and i’ve seen a lot of these posts around so i made my own!! i think that fic rec masterposts are such a great way to support writers and get more people to have the chance of seeing fics!!! plus i’m leaving a bit of feedback too :))

if you know of any fics that you’d like to share a little love on / you’d like me to read so that i can reblog and give it a little love, send me an ask with the title and the author’s url!!!

so here it is, all the fics that i read in january 2021 (and the very end of december but i’m including them anyway)

total number of fics listed: 92 (series counted as a single piece)

@moonchildstyles

aster / tattoo artist harry aster | daffodil | sweet pea | gardenia | poppy

i read this entire series at like 8 am after not sleeping the night before and oh my god i was literally so soft!! like this is so fucking cute i literally felt like i was going to throw up the entire time (in the best way yk) like omg the butterflies i got from this series? unmatched. also, i feel that it’s necessary to add the part of this that made my heart absolutely explode: Harry’s thumb stroked her jawline, a smile molding his features. “Y’not a baby love, unless you want to be my baby. And I like you a lot, too. And stuff. like okay kill me <3

alright so h is literally so sweet in this one!! he’s so gentle and lovely and i truly fell in love with him in the very first few paragraphs. and he’s so out of tune with everything but he’s trying his best to understand and just... sigh. “I’d look forever for you, if I had to.” love love love this line so much it’s literally the perfect way to tie everything together

this is very creepy during the first chapter but in such a good way!!! i literally found myself gasping and i barely ever vocally react to a fic unless i am squealing at the fluff or crying but i vocally react to lindsee’s fics literally they are so good pleaseee. and omg the growth throughout this fic truly is impeccable i swear.

@gucciwins

adore you

okay this is so cute!!! loved every single word of it!!! there was a bit of angst at the very beginning that had my heart hurting but it was all mended by the end!!! the dad!harry content was absolutely immaculate omg i literally loved reading about atticus!!!!! i absolutely love long pieces and i think that this piece was the perfect length!! there were so many things that were packed in there but it didn’t seem rushed or jumbled or anything like that!!!!

@soysauceharry

watashi no sakura

okay first things first, i love japanrry in any form so i knew just by looking at the description that i was going to love this regardless of what was in it. to be honest i didn’t expect him to have a penny board that he used to get everywhere but there’s something so cute about that to me. throughout this entire fic, i was so amazed at the way that their relationship moved along so naturally and at such a good pace. i feel like there’s an art to making things move along at the right pace, and you definitely have that down!! i truly loved this fic so much and will probably be coming back at times to reread!

@havethetimeofyourstyles

143

i am very in love with this!!! boxer!h is so freaking yummy plus it’s so well written that i can feel everything, which is so amazing. i love that i’m able to feel all the emotions and picture everything while reading!! my heart broke a bit for harry while he was sad and just looking for love in any way he could find it. like mega sigh. also, i love the way that the characters are introduced. like, y/n doesn’t come at the very beginning but it’s so natural when she’s finally introduced. and omg the interactions that they had??? the reassurances??? *chef’s kiss*

baby, it’s cold outside

before i even started reading this, i knew i would love it!!! teacher!h has a special place in my heart for some reason i truly love him so much!! oh my god the yearning in this piece is so heartbreaking!!!! i literally read through the entire thing thinking that i was going to cry because of how much i could feel y/n and harry yearning for each other. sigh this is so cute i will definitely be rereading (most likely multiple times)

bright & blooming

ahhh this is literally so cute i live for the long distance friendships + only seeing each other over the summer!!! that is literally so amazing to me that you love someone that much to wait all year to only see them for a month!!! and this was such a good representation of the love and yearning that come with that!!! and i absolutely adore the way that you described each of them and their nicknames for each other!!!! love love love!!!

where the world takes you

this is my study abroad dream!!!!! the loveliness of them meeting and drunk!harry is just so sweet i love it so much!!! and the way that the flashback is in the middle and explains everything is so genius!!! and the full circle of it all makes me so happy!!! also the way that i cried at the end of the four months!! like that was heartbreaking but everything was pieced back together as it went along!!!

extra credit

this is prof!h so you know it’s great!!! i am such a sucker for this au i swear. this was so cute!! the way that everything progressed and the confession and the tension!!!! and then the “Yours.” at that one part had me screaming!!! and the way that he literally had a plan oh my god that’s so cute!!!! i love their dynamic so much!!!

deep sleep

this is so :) :( :) :( if that makes sense!! like i love love love dad!harry but there are just a few things that make me want to sob <3 i absolutely adore it though!!!!! it’s very sweet how mr. styles comes out here comforting as he should!!!!

beautiful inside & out

this is so sweet oh my god it’s beautifully written and i really felt everything that was going on!! personally, i’m not a person of color, but i think that this piece truly was written so wonderfully and it’s very lovely!!!! the insecurities made me literally want to cry, but the way that h was there to comfort was very nice, it made me so soft!!

admiring

this is so sweet!! the background snippet in there is so well done i love getting to know exactly how they met!!! and the way that harry’s being admired is just!!! so good!!!! like i love the descriptions and the feelings connected to that!!!! the entire thing is just so cute!!

for your eyes only

i shed tears reading this!! like it is so sad but also so happy!! i know that makes no sense but there was just a sense of my heart breaking and then it being put back together again and i love that!!! definitely a fantastic use of ‘if i could fly’ which is one of my fav one direction songs so that’s just a plus honestly!!!

@greenorangevioletgrass

to feel good

miss ava!!!! coming out strong with your first harry fic!!!! it’s so lovely, so pure, so sweet!!!! the memories that are included make everything that much better!!! the flashback really fills out everything nicely!!! the interaction that the two of them had at the end was so comforting to read like... that’s literally one of the most wonderful endings i’ve ever experienced on a fic like this!!!

@adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy

demon!harry angel!y/n - a total of 51 blurbs, drabbles, and one-shots demon!y/n - a total of 8 blurbs, drabbles, and one-shots

yeah okay so there are...... a lot of things here so i’ll do a demon!harry + angel!y/n feedback thingy and a different one for demon!harry + demon!y/n demon!harry + angel!y/n: he’s such an asshole but he’s... already kinda turning soft like... he’s already got the little simp showing through!! “ When it comes to love, if it doesn’t hurt, it isn’t fun.” i’ll cry right here right now what the fuck is this?? sigh. “Tell me…” He gulps thickly, licking his burning lips in anticipation, “tell me you want me. Tell me this— whatever this is— tell me it’s real.” yeah that made me almost scream literally shut up andrea. also not me reading this and literally sobbing at some of the pieces like... no <3 “I promise on my soul— as damned as it may be— that I will not let anything bad happen to you. I swear.” i literally want to set myself on fire what the hell the things your brain comes up with literally what the fuck. i literally read all 51 pieces in a day and cried a million times but they were just because i’m soft for simprry. demon!harry + demon!y/n: okay so i am writing this after i’ve read the first two pieces and.... that escalated quite quickly i would say!!! if you like smut, you’ll like this!!!!!! if you like smut just go to andrea she’s got you!!!!! and we see some more simprry but not full swing because he doesn’t want to admit that he’s wrapped around her finger!!! and the way they’re not exclusive but they’re each other’s? *chef’s kiss*

@jawllines

harry is the bad boy cliché of y/n’s dreams, she just doesn’t know it yet

this is so very sweet, so very soft!! all the pet names have me crying omg it’s literally one of the cutest things!!!! the way harry is so soft for her and he’s just so sweet and so obvious about his feelings even though she doesn’t completely see it is so sweet!!!!

harry’s a porn star and y/n is new

i love their dynamic here!! they automatically click and everything between them is so genuine and lovely!!! the way that they care about each other so immensely even though they haven’t known each other that long is so beautiful!!

harry is y/n’s dominant

okay obviously this is like... smut but it’s so much more than that!!! their relationship is so sweet and lowkey domestic even from the very beginning and i love the trust that they have in each other!!! very cute!! and the ending was so so perfect!!!

y/n works in a roller rink and harry goes there to read

literally so sweet!!! the shy, kinda introverted h is to ide for!!!! and the way that they’re so cute together ahhh!!!!!! and i absolutely love the way that they support each other and are falling for each other before they even admit that they are!!!!

harry’s a vampire and y/n never dresses for the weather

i love how when they met it wasn’t on great terms and he couldn’t get her off his mind so he was like “no, stay away!” but he was already so whipped for her and then!!!! when he asked how to be warm for her??? that made me so soft i literally thought i was going to cry.

harry and y/n are best friends and y/n isn’t his “type” (or so she’s heard)

this is so absolutely soft!!! they’re so whipped for each other and don’t even know it!!! and miss y/n hearing things made my heart break but all was well at the end!!! love love love!!! the entire dynamic that they have is so fun plus there were peeks of jealous h so that’s always a win!!!

y/n and harry don’t really mesh well, until they do

we love a bit of an enemies to lovers moment!! and the whole “y/n’s being a good friend to jeff, that’s it” and the tension and the drunk cuteness and literally all of it, it’s so wonderful!! harry being a softie is one of my weaknesses and although he’s a bit mean at first, he redeems himself!!

harry’s on the football team and y/n steals a dog

this is absolutely so cute!!! y/n has such a beautiful little personality and harry feeling things with her even though his “reputation” is different than hanging out with people like her is so great!! and the way that he takes up for her and the way that she comforts him is so lovely!!

harry is y/n’s grumpy neighbor and he has a secret part 2

this is actually the second time that i’ve read this fic tbh!! it’s just so good!! the dynamic of him trying to stay away from her because it’s dangerous for her to be too close to him and then him trying even harder to stay away from her and hide his feelings only for her to make a move is golden.

y/n pretends to be harry’s girlfriend

okay this one hurt a bit at first. i wanted to flick h in the forehead at first for trying to make someone else jealous with y/n but he redeemed himself as he does so i shall let him off the hook this time haha. i think that the way that they progress is so sweet plus!!! everyone loves a good fake dating au!!!

werewolves exist... pt. 2

this is the first werewolf au i’ve read in a while and it’s actually really good!! i love how everything progressed and the way that harry was like.... this isn’t supposed to happen like this!!!! it’s all very cute and it’s very enemies to lovers-esque even though they aren’t enemies lmao

y/n delivers sweets and harry lives on the side of a mountain

this made me so sad tbh like... the fact that they treated harry so bad just because they judged him before they know him makes me so sad and i really wanted to punch some people but it’s a fictional universe so i can’t actually do that lol. but the way that y/n was with him made me so soft i really love this piece

y/n is on harry’s tour crew and harry just think’s she’s lovely

y/n is so sweet in this piece!!! it makes my heart hurt when harry gets overwhelmed and snaps but thankfully everything is well in the end and he gets his act together so that he can realize what is truly important!!!

harry is y/n’s criminology instructor part 2

this dynamic is an automatic yes and that’s on my love for this au. anyway, the way that he was like “it’s just a kiss” made me absolutely want to scream but i didn’t and thankfully i didn’t write him off as a prick because he’s actually so sweet and he takes care of her and loves her and just... he’s everything.

harry used y/n as a model for his art final

i wanted to smack harry upside the head so hard when he kept talking about his crush when y/n just wanted a good partner. thankfully he finally saw the light and realized that the only thing he wants is y/n by his side because y/n is there for him and cares about him and loves him

#fic recs #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #i was reading SO MUCH at the beginning of january but i've kinda dropped off :(#i'm hoping to read more this upcoming month though!!#i have three fics that i want to read before i go to bed but they'll be on the next list :)

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trashyswitch · 3 years

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The Strange Flower

Logan and Roman take a walk in the imagination. Not long after, Logan is plagued with the giggles and phantom feelings! What ever could they be from?! Whatever it is, Roman is loving it!

I'm gonna be gone to the cottage for a week starting today. So, I'll be working on fanfics a little, but less than usual. It's a vacation!! I'm actually really excited!

This fanfic prompt came from @little-lee-lo-simp. Thank you so much for the prompt and I hope you enjoy the fanfic.

These are the morning Giggles:

Logan was walking around with Roman in the imagination, admiring the many flowers and trees surrounding them. There were so many colors! And so many different fruits and things hidden within the trees! From creatures to vines and flowers, it was beautiful.

There were poppies with smiley faces on them, different fruits that were covered in ‘paint splash’ syrup, there were lettuce bits that could be fresh, sweet or crunchy depending on your preference, and there were banana-shaped fruits that had edible skins and pomegranate-like seeds in the middle of the fruit.

There were vines covered in pickable sticks that were edible and used for healing purposes, and twisty flowers that had yarn-textured petals yet, were still real and growing on their own. There were thick leaves that held different-colored inks in them that could be used for mixing and writing, and there were thin large leaves that could be written on like paper without ripping when written on with a stick.

Many flowers looked like they were squirting different things. One flower had honey running down the stem. They were labelled ‘Buzzy suckles’, a wordplay of honey suckles. There were even different colored roses that looked like they were splashed with layers of watercolors. Red, yellow, purple, pink, they all covered the roses in a drippy paint-like pattern.

Logan smiled as he knelt down to look closer at the small cluster of roses. “These are beautiful, Roman.” Logan reacted calmly, filled with awe and delight.

Roman smiled at the complement. But when he looked upon the flowers that Logan was looking at, Roman tilted his head in thought. He...didn’t remember what he had called those specific flowers. Obviously they were a type of roses, but he liked to give them a spinney, cute kinda name to go with them. But...Roman had forgotten this particular cute name.

But he most certainly remembered how beautiful they were! “Thank you!” Roman replied.

Logan picked one of the roses and put it behind Roman’s ear. Roman giggled at this and wore the rose with confidence and pride. The flower started blooming little sticks that had...rectangular flags on them? And they had the gay flag on each one of them!

“Awww, it knows you’re gay!” Logan reacted.

“Yup! This flower can specifically tell what sexuallity you are. If you were straight, you’d have a straight flag. If you were pan, you had a pan flag. If you identified as multiple things…” Roman looked at the flower and pointed to hated multiple Gay pride flags that popped out. “Each of these flags would be different, to identify what kind of person you are.” Roman explained. “And if you’re more than 3…” Roman poked it and watched as a single LGBT flag poked out. “The LGBT community flag will pop out, specifying anything!” Roman explained.

“I love it!” Logan reacted.

“You can also use this flower to find out what you are in a few seconds.” Roman added.

“But it still has the usual sexuality journey, right?” Logan asked. “Cause everyone needs a journey.”

“Yup!” Roman replied proudly.

Logan continued to look around at the different varieties of flowers and plants that filled the imagination. There were even weeds that looked surprisingly pretty! A few of the weeds had pretty leaves and pretty flowers that were hidden within it. Even the dandelions were nicer to look at. They were more of an orangey yellow color, and were slightly bigger than the usual dandelions.

But in a specific spot: a small field of these strange flowers had been planted. They were blue flowers that looked a lot like Morning Glories. But...they resembled a heavenly blue version, and had a very visibly yellow middle. “Wow..I’m gonna head over here.” Logan decided.

Roman didn’t think much of it. “Okay.”

Logan walked to the blue and yellow flowers, and laid down inside the flowers’ fields. They looked so pretty...and very detailed when he looked closer at them. They had these dark green leaves that extended out of the stem. The flowers actually looked like they were dancing in the wind like Groot did in Guardians of the Galaxy. It looked really cute. It also seemed to be spirting out tiny bits of pollen. Logan tilted his head and placed a finger closer to the pollen. It was yellow looking, like all pollens were, and looked fuzzy.

Strange...

Logan got up and walked away from the pretty flowers a little while after. He dusted off his fingers on his shirt and pants to get rid of the pollen and walked to Roman.

“You have some really pretty flower and plant ideas. I love them!” Logan reacted.

Roman smiled eagerly. “Thank you! I worked really hard to make sure every single one of my flowers were distinctive and different in their own way.” Roman declared proudly. “Now: Cherry?” Roman asked, holding up a black cherry to him.

Logan smiled and took it. “Thank you, Roman!”

The two boys walked themselves out of the imagination and back into Thomas’s house. Logan was feeling a bit of an itchy feeling, but he didn’t think much of it. He just kept scratching it and continuing with his day. But soon the itchy feeling turned tickly. And it started spreading.

Logan attempted to ignore the feeling and hid his smile, but it felt like a single finger was scratching at one side each. It was distracting and made him wanna tense up. Soon, the feeling moved to his ribs. It felt like poking and wiggling in between his ribs. Logan could barely hide his smile without looking like a doofus that was trying not to laugh at a stupid joke. Logan looked away from Roman in an attempt to cover it up. But Roman could tell something was up.

“Logan...What are you smiling about?” Roman asked. “Are the smiley flowers making you smile?” Roman asked, referring to purple poppy’s that had a smiley face on each petal.

Logan shook his head and hummed ‘no’.

“Huh...I thought that may have been it. What’s making you smile, Logey Bee?” Roman asked. Logan accidentally let a giggle slip at the weird and strangely cute nickname. “Ooooh, you’re a giggly bee! I see now!” Roman declared. “What’s making you so giggly?” Roman asked.

Logan shook his head and couldn’t stop the giggles that left his mouth more and more. That’s a good question! What IS making him so giggly? He’s never like this!

“Iiiiis it a funny joke?” Roman asked. “Hey I’ve got one for you:” Roman cleared his throat. “What do dentists call their X-Rays?” Roman asked.

Logan frantically shook his head. Even if it wasn’t funny, any amount of jokes is gonna worsen his giggles!

“Tooth Pics! Dentists call X-Rays tooth pics!” Roman declared proudly.

Logan squeezed his eyes shut. That was a bad one...An obvious joke- “Hehehehehehehe!” Logan giggled. SHIT!

Roman gasped. “PATTON! PATTON, I MADE LOGAN LAUGH AT A JOKE!” Roman shouted. “YESSS!”

Logan growled through is giggles. “Nohohohohoho! Stahahap ihihihit!” Logan begged. Logan covered his belly as his inner stomach was attacked with the strangest phantom tickles he’s ever felt in his life. “Thahahahat tihihihicklehehehes!” Logan giggled, nearly falling over. He was beginning to lose his balance.

“Tickles? What tickles?” Roman asked, getting closer. “Does your belly tickle? Maybe your sides? Or your neck?” Roman asked.

That word was enough to throw Logan into full on laughter, mixed with giggles in between. “HAhahahahahaha! Rohohohomahahahan whahahat dihihihid yohohou puhuhuhut ihin yohohour flohohohowehehers?” Logan asked.

“Well that depends. The smiley Poppy makes you smile uncontrollably. The blue and red Mushrooms make you overly hyper. The morning Giggles make you- Ooooooh…” Roman turned to Logan. “Did you cover yourself in the pollen from the Morning Glory flowers? You silly, giggly goose!” Roman teased. “Those are called Morning Giggles! They make you giggle and laugh through means of tickling and softly teasing your ticklish spots!” Roman declared.

Well, that seemed to be the most conclusive answer.

“But when did you get in contact with the morning giggles? You never struck out on your own until the end- Oooooooh…” Roman smirked and leaned into his ear. “You brought this upon yourself, Giggle berry~” Roman teased.

You could say that again...He really did get himself into this. But why didn’t he warn him!

“If I had known you were gonna look at the morning giggles, I would’ve warned you! But nope! Telling by the spot you’re holding so tensely, it looks like you decided to lay on your poor, ticklish belly to admire the beautiful, giggle blooms!” Roman declared. “Does that sound about right?” Roman asked.

Logan finally kneeled over and flopped onto his side with laughter. With his feet free, Logan started kicking and squirming on the ground, unable to contain any of it. The pollen was tickling everything it touched. His belly, his thighs, his nose, his neck, his abs, his feet, the tops of his feet, even his armpits were partly covered in ticklish pollen! It felt like the pollen bits were jumping around and snuggling into Logan’s ticklish spots on his body! Even his hands were being tickled by the micro-sized pollen bits! What a strange conundrum!

To make things even worse, Roman’s teases were flustering him beyond saving. Logan was practically the color of a strawberry! How dare!

“Aww! Listen to that sweet little laugh! It’s so fun and cute!”

“You should laugh more often, Logan. It suits you! And you of all people know, laughter is very good for you!” Roman teased.

Logan covered his face and cowered into the fetal position.

“Where is my camera? I need to get a picture of this. Or maybe even a video! Or 5!”

Logan whimpered and whined. “SHUHUHUT UHUHUP!” Logan ordered.

“Are you whimpering now? You be careful doing that! Patton just might think there’s a puppy in this house!”

Logan whimpered again and covered his mouth. Just about every part of Logan’s front side was being tickled by the bits of pollen. It was so much tickling at once.

“HEHEHEHELP MEHEHEHEHEHEHE!” Logan begged.

“Hmmmmmm...Maybe in a bit. I wanna enjoy this for a little longer! Then I’ll dust you off!” Roman decided. “How’s that?”

Logan whined and groaned. “FIHIHINE…”

Logan handled the tickling for a little longer, despite his want for it to stop. It was getting to be too much light tickles for him to handle. “Ihihihit’s soho lihihihihight!” Logan reacted.

“Ohh! Do you want more? Does the blueberry Logan bean want the stronger tickle tickle tickles?” Roman asked politely.

“Yehehehes plehehehehease!” Logan begged.

Roman nodded. “Your wish is my command, your royal blueness!” Roman grabbed Logan’s hand and started tickling his palm.

Logan’s laughter TRIPLED in volume! “OHOHOHOHO NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Logan screamed!

“WHOA! Okay! What’s up with you?! You sound like you’re gonna rip a vocal cord if you keep screaming like that!” Roman reacted.

Logan cackled and laughed hysterically as his hand was attacked by Roman’s hand. His hand was moving the pollen around, which only made it tickle even more! And the pollen in Logan’s armpit was more free to move around, making the pollen tickle much worse in that spot too! There was just so much tickling!

Not that Logan minded, of course…

Logan squeaked, squealed, cackled and snorted through the whole thing. “OHOHOKAHAHAHAY, OHOHOKAHAHAHAHAHAY! EHEHENOHOHOUGH! IHIHI CAHAHAHAHAHA!” Logan couldn’t even get some of his words out properly at this point.

That was when Roman realized he should probably stop. Roman let go of his palm and placed it down. Then, Roman summoned a big broom-like paintbrush and brushed off the pollen. Though the pollen did end up coming off (Which lessened the tickling), the brush itself tickled as well. Even with the shirt and the pants on, it tickled! Logan giggled and squirmed around as Roman brushed the pollen off his poor body.

Roman soon stopped and looked at Logan. “Alright. I have a new plan.” He decided. “Let’s get you into a shower to let the pollen wash off you.” Roman decided.

Logan nodded as he held his belly somewhat lightly. Roman walked to the shower, started it up, checked the water, and left the bathroom so Logan could get in.

30 minutes later:

Roman was playing a game on his iPad when Logan walked in with his hair somewhat wet, and his body in new, yet identical clothes. Logan had a small smile on his face. “That was quite the ordeal.” Logan admitted.

Roman giggled. “I’ll say. I guess you gotta keep in mind the morning giggles from now on. And some of the other ones I mentioned.” Roman added.

Logan sighed and looked at him with a serious face. “I have another idea:” Logan picked up a sign that said ‘Morning Giggles: Pollen makes you laugh’ on it. “How about placing signs in front of the plants?” Logan asked.

Roman nodded and took the sign he made. “Thank you Logan. That’s a better idea than I could’ve come up with!” Roman reacted.

“No problem.” Logan replied. “Though I will say…” Roman turned to face Logan as he continued. “I would consider laying in the morning glories- giggles again.” Logan admitted.

Roman bursted out laughing at that. “Yohohou know you can just ask people to tickle you, right?” Roman added.

“Yes, I am aware of that. But doing that would ruin my image. I would much prefer there being an uncontrollable reason to my giggles and laughter.” Logan explained.

“Okay. Suit yourself.” Roman replied, sneaking a poke to both sides.

Logan jumped and shot a wobbly glare at him. This just made Roman laugh at him more.

Roman’s imagination is filled with thousands of different flowers. But only one flower’s pollen can make the most monotone person laugh beyond their years:

The Morning Giggles.

#the imagination #flowers #tooth rotting fluff #ticklefic #lee!logan #ler!flower #ler!roman (kinda)

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cloud9in · 3 years

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The Half of It

A Mc x Poppy fic inspired by the film

Summary: Bea, the town’s outcast is recruited by the school jock to win Poppy’s heart. But what happens when she starts falling for her as well?

Author’s Note: So this will be a multiple part series that includes scenes heavily inspired from the movie “The Half of It”. I certainly recommend watching it. My version will have different twists and a different ending, and definitely more angst. It will include mature themes as the story progresses.

Warnings for this chapter: Swearing. This is a good thing for now.

Chapter 1-

“Love is simply the name for desire and pursuit of the whole.”

- Plato, The Symposium

It is said that when one half finds its other, there’s an unspoken understanding. A unity. And each would know no greater joy....than this.

...Except this is highschool. And in my opinion, there is no other half. Maybe the other half is a paper on Greek God philosophy due at midnight. But make that four papers, including mine.

My name is Bea Hughes and let’s just say...this is not a very happy story. Well maybe some parts are, but you’ll have to read to find out. I come from a small town called Farmsville, and when I mean small, I mean really small. Except the highschool seems fucking huge, with never ending hallways and when you do somehow find the end, there’s usually two inbreds eating each others mouths off. Lucky for me I am the epitome of antisocial, reserved, an introvert, or whatever the inferior beings, aka every other senior, calls me when they think I can’t hear. But I hear everything, including that one time Bradley Denbrough, upcoming hotshot actor, or so he claims, found out about a crush a poor unsuspecting freshman had on him. Everybody knew what Bradley and his goons did to that boy, even the adults, but no charges were pressed. This town is as conservative as it gets, but no one knows of my secret. I carry this school on my back when it comes to having everyone graduate, but that’s all I am to them, a pawn. And that’s all I wanted to be, nothing more and nothing less. I preferred to be in the shadows.

***

...Except the mandatory Senior Talent Show forced Bea out of her hibernation hole. The thought haunted her as she sat in the dance studio, the last fucking place she wanted to be. Dance was so not a Bea kinda thing, but the blonde knew exactly why she granted herself the misery of picking the class. Poppy Min Sinclair, the golden girl of Farmsville High, the preacher’s daughter on a more serious note. She is...the most fascinating girl Bea ever laid her eyes on even if her boyfriend was a complete asshole who sermonized his duties as her future husband. Like seriously? Poppy has got to have some screws loose to date such a fake loser who plagiarizes all of his speeches at sunday church, and once literally begged Bea to write an apology letter to his father for him after completely upending their summer cabin. Except the blonde wrote the opposite of an apology, it went something like this…

Dear beloved donkey, I mean dad,

I am terribly sorry for inviting 20 hookers to the summer cabin. I have these strange impulses and you should at least be grateful I didn’t invite the big boss as well. His wife came though, in many, many ways. You should get the carpet changed.

Sincerely, your STD free son

It was safe to say that Mr. Denbrough had a near heart attack after reading it, and Bea did kinda feel bad, kinda. He never mentioned the letter to Bradley though, instead silently calling up the owner of Teopoli Catholic Summer Camp and essentially deporting the boy to Canada for the summer. No son of his would end up in hell was what the old man preached everyday from then on. It was the quietest summer Bea had ever experienced.

Being the towns outcast, Bea could have her fun when she so chooses to, but that didn’t pay the bills. In fact, the multiple essays that people paid her to write was her way of surviving and taking care of her mother. They weren’t very rich but Bea worked with what she had, helping her mother manage the farm, which included getting on her knees and wrestling the pigs. And that’s how she was gifted the name “pig girl”, stupid Bradley and his fake friends just had to wander too far and catch Bea in the act. She swore a remixed video of her hog calling surfaced the web at one point and that gave the blonde her five minutes of fame. Boy was it an awful time in her life.

Bea worked her mother’s previous job as station master or signalman for the trains that passed through, even if it barely paid her shit. The secluded feeling of sitting in that booth and having a moment with her thoughts was enough to give her purpose. Bea was fond of poetry and it usually helped her come up with song lyrics.

Song lyrics…

That she would have to sing at the talent show. A huge sigh escaped her lips as she slumped further into the ground, maybe hoping she could bury herself six feet under. It wasn’t that Bea hated singing, no she absolutely loved it. Playing her guitar at night and belting out lyrics that only resulted in her mother banging on the ceiling below in efforts to shut the blonde up. But the mere fact that she’d have to sing in front of the ruthless seniors rubbed her the wrong way. Something would go wrong, it always did. Bea was shaken out of her thoughts when Poppy crossed the center of the room, moving her hips slowly to the sound of Rihanna’s voice. The class chose a slow r&b song to choreograph today and of course all eyes were on Poppy.

If i’m your girl say my name boy

let me know i'm in control

Her silky blonde locks swayed as she danced to the beat, hands thrusting sensually along her sides. Bea stared in awe, almost like Poppy was the only one in the room and a spotlight illuminated every movement, every curve. Except she definitely wasn’t the only one picturing Poppy in that way. Carter, the school quarterback leaned against the railing, arms crossed and eyes trailing the rise and fall of her chest.

Got me wondering, I’m wondering if i'm on your mind

Bea sat up straighter but nearly lost her bodily functions when Poppy locked eyes with her before spinning away. It was simple eye contact Bea, don’t let it get to your head. You already have multiple lyrics inspired by Poppy offering the bare minimum in human interaction. She doesn’t actually like you. Poppy is popular and has the perfect life...and boyfriend, even if Bea heavily disagrees. Poppy was a bitch of course, but not a bitch bitch. Unlike the other wannabe mean girls, the blonde didn’t give Bea hell, well that was because the girl paid her zero attention. She seemed distant, off in her own world, or well in her parents world learning the strategies of business. Poppy was expected to follow in her parents footsteps and keep up with her reputation of being the richest in town, and of course a faithful future wife. So fun. But the blonde had other prosperous dreams of travelling and following her passion of music and dance. Highschool was her only outlet and she took advantage of it any chance she’d get. Bea knew this because she would ride her bike every friday night to the school and watch Poppy dance from outside the glass window. Maybe Bea realized it was kinda creepy, but she’s dumb enough to not realize her obvious growing attraction. I mean who pedals miles just to watch someone trip on their feet?

***

The sound of the bell caught everyone's attention and the teacher slowly lowered the music. Bea watched as Bradley approached Poppy and smothered her with kisses and praises. She rolled her eyes painfully, this kind of PDA definitely wasn’t it, she could have gone her whole life without seeing that. She walked silently through the crowd of kids in the hall, everyone was laughing and talking to their friends. All Bea could allow her mind to focus on was the very intimidating billboard of names a few feet across from her.

Winter Talent Show Sign-Ups (Mandatory For Seniors)

Bea glared at it quietly before signing her name on the sheet, sealing her inevitable fate. Through the hustle of students, Carter watched the blonde with a yearning look from afar. This should be great…

The next few classes were a blur and Bea eventually found herself getting up to hand Ms. Kingsley her paper. The older woman looked at her with a knowing glance as she took a generous sip of her coffee, which was 75% tequila.

“6 different interpretations on Plato? Colour me impressed Miss Hughes.”

Bea shrugs nonchalant, “yeah well would you rather read their actual essays?”

“Oh hell no.” Kingsley feigns shock as she looks at the stack of papers with a comical expression. She takes another sip, watching her younger, prodigy of a student carefully. “You know there are places outside of this godforsaken town where you can put your talents to use... Real use. I teach at Belvoire University occasionally.” Ina winks and slides Bea an application, studying her initial reaction. “It’s...in New York.”

“Damn right! The Big Apple.”

“Kingsley you know I have to stay here. It’ll be easier for me to manage the farm and be close to home”, Bea says confidently even though her body language displays otherwise. She predicted the big sigh filling her ears before it actually happened and it still managed to faze her. “Who ever said you had to do anything? What about what you want to do?” Bea doesn’t make eye contact with Ina, that woman could convince you to do just about anything with a certain look. “No we are not doing this. You can take your reverse psychology and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. I’m outta here.” The blonde stomps out of the classroom, the sound of Ina’s chuckles still ringing in her ears.

“Hey! Everyone in this town fears God, but you know what God fears? My ability to hide a bottle of Don Julio in my left boot.” Ina pulls out the newly bought bottle and cradles it. “Come to mama.”

***

Bea rode her bike alongside the dirt road, Kingsley’s words on replay the entire ride. Maybe she did deserve to experience something more than what this town had to offer. But would her mother manage without her? Sacrifices, sacrifices. Bea was used to making those for her mother after her father’s death. What would her dad think of all of this?

“Hey!”

He’d surely smack Bea upside the head for the little antics she pulled occasionally. And then he’d buy her vanilla coconut ice cream and ask for every single detail of what happened as they sat and laughed together. That’s the kind of relationship Bea would have had with her father, she liked to assume so. She also liked to assume that she’d get home safely everyday without a scratch, but then there’s Carter.

“Hey wait up!”

The jock seemed to be running ridiculously fast and crashed right into the rear end of Bea’s bicycle, sending her face first into a mount of dirt. The initial impact was enough to boost the blonde straight back up like nothing happened and into a fighting stance, fists out and eyes wild. Very scary Bea. When she realized it was him...well it only pissed her off even more. “What the fuck Carter! You asshole!”

“I’m sorry Bea! Here let me help-”

“No! Move away! You- my bike- I…” Bea groans frustratingly, stepping away from the wreck as she tries to catch her breath. Carter watches her sheepishly, rubbing an envelope between his fingers awkwardly. After a few minutes of painfully uneasy silence he speaks up, “Okay...I didn’t want to ask you this way but I was wonder-”

“Oh, so you practically break my ass and now you want me to do you a favour? Real nice way of communication you have there Mr. Quarterback. What is with you and those freakishly large muscles anyways? Maybe it’s my fault I didn’t hear your avalanche built ass coming from behind.”

“Hey! They are not freakishly large!”

“I hate to break it to you Jackson but mine are significantly more appealing to look at.” Bea smirks widely, flexing her arm as best as she could. It’s a work in progress… just bare with her.

It didn’t take much effort for Carter to break out into a smile and look at her fondly. Maybe there was more to this girl than just being a human dictionary. Well that’s what people called her, and he maybe believed it at first.

Bea noticed the lack of response and shifted awkwardly, clearing her throat. “Listen, its $10 for three pages, $20 for three to ten, I'm not in the over-ten-page biz.”

“No..no I’m not here to cheat!” Carter blurts out. “But I’ll let you know if I do plan on- anyways. I uh..” He hesitates before handing her the envelope. “What’s this?

“Well you see it’s a letter..”

“Yeah but who writes letters these days?”

“I thought it seemed romantic..”

“And I thought women writing Jeffrey Dahmer letters in jail seemed romantic”, Bea says sarcastically, her smile dropping instantly after catching a glimpse of Poppy’s name at the top of the paper. It was like the blood stopped flowing through her body for a few seconds as her mouth went dry. This had to be the work of the so-called God everyone praised in this town, or it was one cruel coincidence. Bea wasn’t sure why seeing her name made her heart beat ten times harder, but it also wasn’t a necessarily uncomfortable feeling…

“I- I can’t help you.”

“But if you just add a few more words-”

“I’m not writing a letter to Poppy Min Sincla- to..to some girl for you. Letters are supposed to be authentic, from the heart, your own words, your...feelings.” Bea hurriedly turns to grab her bike, suddenly losing all interest in being social.

Carter was afraid this would happen. But he was stubborn. “But I can pay more for authentic!”

Too bad Bea was stubborn as well. “Just get a thesaurus...Good luck, Romeo.”

***

Bea sat in her room, strumming away softly at the strings of her guitar. Some of the keys were off but the old thing still worked, and that was good enough for her. She could hear the tv blasting downstairs, her mother most likely watching the news. There’s something about old people and news, were they secretly ogling the news anchors? Just like Bea ogled Poppy any chance she could. The blonde frowned to herself, her eyebrows crunching together in question. What so hard about writing a letter to Poppy? It’s not like it's coming from her. Well it technically is, but Carter is taking the credit and Bea never had a problem with people taking credit for her words. So why did this very thought prove to be such an inconvenience? Lucky for Bea, her mind drifted elsewhere when she heard a painful snap. Even if it wasn’t physically connected to her body, she felt a horrible ache. Slowly peering down at the guitar in her hand, Bea found that the neck of the guitar had miraculously split almost clean off, a splinter of wood just holding it intact. She wanted to scream but nothing really came out, except air of course. Much to her disapproval, this was definitely a result of her strength. Stupid muscles couldn’t contain themselves at the thought of Carter being with Poppy. Now how could that be?

But now she had no guitar. And no guitar means no strings to strum, and no lyrics to sing, and no talent to show at the talent show. Now she was in trouble. Probably because she knew that the only way to get the money to replace the guitar would be through sealing the deal with Carter. Oh fuck it!

***

“One letter. And enough money to buy a new guitar.”

“Deal!”

Bea turns away with a sigh, completely ignoring Carter’s high five. Now all she had to do was write this letter, and pray that Poppy wouldn’t completely consume every fiber of her being in the process.

-------------------------------------------

End note: So how we feelin’? Carter and Bea Brotp??

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @zigxryanz @uselesslesbianfr @aleiramacaii @thedaft1 @alexlabhont @iamsimpforpoppy

#queen b #poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #mc x poppy #playchoices #I couldn't come up with a unique title #throw some ideas if you have #do share your opinion on this #it is valued #oblivious bea is a pain in the ass #but certainly fun to write

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sxvxrxssnape · 3 years

Text

minerva mcgonagall’s personal mission to make severus love christmas part 5

aka snolidays/snapemas day 11 and 12 (hot chocolate, baking) // pre-PS/the years between. minerva and severus friendship // content warning: panic attack and mentions of lily potter. i feel like this should be considered a snapetober entry oops. word count: 4287 @blog4snape

The night ended with more hot chocolate as the five stood together and watched a choreography of lights move above the pond, creating elves loading a sack full of gifts onto the outline of a waiting sleigh, watched it become glowing reindeer pulling it off the ground, rising in height and getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared and the light show began again.

It felt like magic and he refused to believe none was involved.

He fell asleep fully clothed that night, contentment and milk chocolate running through his veins as he begrudgingly made another mark on the imaginary scorecard.

Minerva was definitely winning.

Saturday was spent finishing the potions for the infirmary, bottling and stoppering the dozens of phials, and methodically scrubbing the cauldrons clean as he read from a book hovering above the wash basin, the pages turning with a flick of his head.

He dropped the potions off at the hospital wing, secretly pleased that Poppy was far too busy with a floo call to a student’s parents to bother giving him more than a thankful nod and a wave of her hand. He didn’t mind their conversations, but when three students were laid up sick on starched cots, Severus preferred to be as far away from the infestation as possible.

He spent the night reading, a cup of tea in hand, the soft glow of candlelight nearby to illuminate the words of one of the books he had picked up from Diagon Alley.

Sunday morning found him sprawled out on the couch in his living quarters, fully dressed once again, with the candles snuffed and the book astray, the teacup still nestled between a cushion and his thigh.

He spent the day holed up in his office with a correcting quill, the stack of essays he kept putting off, and no less than four packets of crisps. It was dinnertime by the time he finished reading all the scrolls of parchment, his fingers cramping and eyes bleary. He had the beginning of a headache forming, but the grading was nearly caught up on.

The remainder were short-answer questions, at least.

He wasn’t sure he could sit through another stack of eighteen inch essays for at least another month.

Perhaps two.

The crisps had made him nauseous, so rather than attending dinner in the Great Hall, he flooed into the staff lounge and helped himself to his precious french press that had been left behind. As the coffee grounds soaked, he glanced around the room and took in the stockings.

There were some new additions.

There were his and Minerva’s - white, cable-knitted with fur trim, bearing their names embroidered in black thread - but also a bright blue with Filius’ initials, a pastel-pink made from crushed velvet with Pomona’s name spelled out in tiny yellow flowers, a black with silver snowflakes bearing Aurora’s family crest, and a neon orange war crime that could only belong to the headmaster.

All of them had candy canes peeking out.

There was a tree in the corner now - a tall, proud-looking noble fir - looking like an oversized houseplant when it was devoid of lights and decorations. He finished making his coffee and sat down at the round table, eyeing it carefully.

The rest of the castle was still surprisingly devoid of holiday decorations, but if this tree had already arrived, it was only a matter of time before the rest of it started creeping in. Soon enough, the place would look like a tinsel factory had exploded inside of it and the number of trees within the castle walls would put the Forbidden Forest to shame.

He scowled at the thought.

Later, he realized he had spoken too soon.

Monday morning brought a fresh shower of snowflakes, a drop in temperature, and about thirty-six douglas firs into the Great Hall. These were already decked out with lights, ribbon, and colorful baubles. Some of the trees had clearly chosen sides, cheerily standing tall with the weight of red and gold ornaments, while others were laden with green and silver, blue and bronze, or gold and black.

Garland clung to the old brick, neatly tied with red ribbon and perfect pinecones, spaced out above the portraits and high, arched windows.

He didn’t want to think about the rest of the castle.

There was white chocolate peppermint tea waiting for him at the staff table, so he conceded that not everything that morning was absolutely terrible.

Tuesday was a bad potions day.

Not for him as a brewer, of course, but as a professor.

By the time both his classes ended, eight different cauldrons had either melted, exploded, or absolutely disintegrated without a trace. He lost a full jar of moonstones because one student had decided to bring the entire fucking container to her table rather than count them out beforehand like he had advised, and it had taken all his self-control to stop himself from breaking down right in front of the class of sixth years.

He had collected those moonstones himself, wandering the Forbidden Forest all fucking night, with only a lantern to light the way. They were supposed to last him at least another two months before he would need to venture out again - and the last time he had gone out, he’d nearly sprained his ankle on an upturned root and gotten a tree branch to the fucking face.

Tuesday evening found him four drinks in, asking the house elves to please bring him some hot, salty chips from a local shop, and when the darling little elf returned with the newspaper cone, he babbled stupidly for two solid minutes from gratitude alone.

Wednesday was a headache, a blur of back-to-back classes, a lot of frustrated yelling at completely inept students, a full pot of that wonderful white chocolate peppermint tea, and a sudden decision to not assign any more homework for the rest of the year.

Not because the awful little slimeballs deserved a break, but because he did.

The elves made mushroom and wild rice soup for dinner, alongside everything else they always made, and Severus took more comfort than usual in the hot meal.

Wednesday night was his turn to patrol the castle, so he stayed up half the night wandering the empty corridors. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he entered the Astronomy Tower, groaning as he realized Aurora was still there, carefully packing away her supplies post-lesson.

“Oh, don’t act like you aren’t glad to see me.”

“Believe me when I say I’m not.” Severus returned, stepping to the edge and looking over the grounds. Most of it was cloaked by shadows, but the silver light from the moon was still enough to softly make out the silhouettes of the greenhouses and Hagrid’s little hut. “What, no comment on how I’m out past my bedtime?”

Aurora laughed, putting a bronze telescope back into its case and fiddling with the straps. “Not this time, no.” She glanced up at him and warned: “But don’t you ever make me miss out on family dinner again or you will regret it.”

Thursday morning he slept in.

He barely had enough time to pull on his teaching robes and run fingers through his hair before he had to hightail it to his classroom, frazzled and out of breath. He hadn’t had time to prepare the chalkboard the day before, and was quickly writing out the recipe in his messy scrawl, when the seventh years started filtering in.

“Alright, you’re going to need number three pewter cauldrons today,” he called out over his shoulder, finishing the last line of script. “Fill them with two liters of room temperature water and put your burners on low. Today we’re going to be brewing a more complex -”

“Professor?”

He scowled at the interruption. “What is it, Mr. Greenwood.”

“I think your robe might be inside out.”

He blinked and tried not to let his face flush with embarrassment. “Thank you, now as I was saying -” he continued awkwardly, shrugging out of his robe and flipping the sleeves inside out.

“Your shirt buttons are fucked up too.”

“Language!” he scolded, swallowing down the sharp coil of emotion building at the back of his throat. “And do not speak to me like that.”

“Hey, you’re the one walking in here, unprepared, with your clothes all fucked.” Greenwood muttered. “Just what were you up to before class, sir?” he grinned, his comment eliciting a few chuckles.

“Detention, Greenwood.”

“Now, wait a second!” the boy faltered.

“Do you wish to make it two?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he raised an eyebrow in questioning contempt. “Because we can surely arrange that.”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

He finished the lesson on autopilot, quickly fixing the buttons on his shirt in the supply closet, fingers shaking nervously as he muttered angrily to himself. He shrugged back into his robes, double-checking they weren’t inside out again, and downed a calming draught on a whim - the shiny light blue bottle catching his eye from its place on the shelf - before returning to his desk.

He made sure to scowl at each of them in turn and surprisingly enough, not another student made an unwarranted comment about his appearance, his teaching, or even each other. It kept him from reaching for another calming draught when he felt its effects lifting.

Friday found him having a panic attack.

Then again, if no one opened the door to the broom closet he had squandered in, if no one came face-to-face with his crouched down, fingers tangled in his hair, not-quite-yet-out-of-breath, full body trembling self, could anyone really prove he was having an anxiety attack?

He’d barely made it through his second class and had dismissed the second years twenty minutes early, sans homework - and oh, Merlin, they were going to think he'd gone soft - before attempting to return to his personal quarters.

It didn’t quite work out as planned.

His knees had felt shaky and he’d felt as if something were gripping at his throat, pressing down on his lungs, and he had to sit down and ground himself before he had a full-on breakdown in the middle of the corridor. He’d found himself stumbling, as he hid behind the closest doorway, the tidal wave of unchecked emotions too much.

His resolve was breaking.

He tried to focus on his Occlumency shields, tried to push back the unfiltered pain and fear he refused to think about - could not think about - because if he did, he was afraid he would never be able to function again. He was afraid he would break.

The dam was already broken though and now, now the rest of it felt inevitable.

Now he was simply gasping for breath, tears welling in his eyes that he refused to let fall, sitting on the floor of a dusty broom closet, bathed in the dull yellow light that flared whenever it sensed movement, like some sort of spotlight - a beacon honing in on him, existing solely to put his downfall on display.

Far too many thoughts were flitting around his head, crashing into each other and making it difficult to tell them apart, to pinpoint just what had been the trigger, the reason behind his weakness - because surely, that’s what this was right now: weakness.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and he tried his best to muffle his ragged gasps, hand curled into a fist and pressed into his mouth, teeth sinking into the pale flesh, threatening to break through from the force he was using, so desperate he was to not make a sound.

It didn’t work.

The footsteps paused, their owner faltering.

Voices were speaking from the other side, hushed and mumbled, and with another stroke of panic, Severus realized they belonged to more than one. Students, most likely, and he curled tighter into himself, vehemently wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Are you okay?” a hesitant voice traveled through the aged wood.

He didn’t answer, but he figured his breaths were answer enough.

“Are you having a panic attack?” a different voice called out, sounding just as unsure as the first. “It sounds like you’re really struggling.”

“Do you need help?”

“They probably can’t answer, dummy.” a third voice spoke up, but this one wasn’t addressing him. They were all familiar, but his brain wasn’t letting him process anything to fruition. “Hey, if you can hear us knock on the door.”

He considered ignoring them, but in the end he knocked.

“Good!” the first voice praised. “Alright, knock if we were right about the panic attack.”

Again, he knocked.

“Do you want help?” the second student asked. “I’ve helped my share of students through these.” He suddenly recognized Casper Jenkin’s voice, one of his seventh year Slytherin prefects.

He groaned; as if this situation could get any worse.

“I’m gonna take that as a no.” Oliver Greenwood’s voice muttered, so apparently yes, it could get worse. He was stumbled upon by his own snakes - and his disrespecting seventh years, at that.

“Do you want us to get someone?” Allison Bone, the original speaker, questioned. “Madam Pomfrey or your Head of House? If you’re all the way down here, you’re probably a Slytherin, huh?”

He choked out a laugh at that.

“Laughing!” Bone approved. “Laughing is good! That means you’re getting control of your breathing. The worst part of it is over now.”

“I’m going to open the door, okay?” Jenkin told him, and the doorknob started turning. “It’s probably pretty cramped in there - definitely won’t help.”

“Don’t!” he let out, just as the door opened and he found himself blinking up at his snakes, the three of them blinking down at him, equally dumbfounded, and he wanted to scream at whatever joke of a higher being had shifted the cards enough to lead him here.

“Oh!”

“Professor Snape?!”

He lifted a shaky hand to his face, brushing back disheveled locks of hair. “Get out.” he whispered, low and angry, not caring about the semantics that it technically didn’t apply.

“Are you sure you don’t need -” Bone started, then faltered at the growing expression on his face. “Right, we’re leaving.”

Greenwood eyed him a second longer than his companions, but rather than the teasing glint he usually held whenever addressing him in class, he wore something softer. “Sorry.” he mouthed, genuine concern flickering for a brief moment before he also left.

He put his head in his hands and started laughing, softly at first, but when it became an ugly sob, he fought to regain his composure, nails digging into his scalp.

He managed a deep breath, wiped his face on the sleeve of his robe, and hurried to his personal quarters. He was moving on autopilot now, slipping out of his teaching robes and into a jumper, grabbing a bit of floo powder and calling out a quiet, “may I come through?” when the flames turned a brilliant green.

He stepped into Minerva’s quarters, bypassing her concerned look and collapsed onto the old couch, pointedly ignoring her as he stared at the vaulted ceiling.

“Severus?”

“Panic attack.” he mumbled.

He remained silent after that, listening to the rustling of parchment and paper, the soft scribbling of a quill nib making its way across the page. For a few minutes, that was the only sound, until suddenly Minerva stood up and opened up the floo. Hushed voices followed, then silence, and he finally sat up when he heard the distinct pop of a house elf apparating into the room.

Dorset, one of the school elves most identifiable by his height, was balancing a tray on one hand and a heavy-looking box on the other. He placed both on the kitchen table, nodded at the two, and apparated away.

“What’s this?” Severus asked, his voice gravelly and tired, as he stood up and approached the table.

The box was filled with an assortment of items - butter, eggs, icing sugar, flour, and the like. He could see a bag full of dirigible plums sitting right on top and he smiled despite himself. The tray was holding two ceramic mugs, their contents hidden by the mountain of whipped cream and cinnamon they were topped with.

“Sit down with me.” Minerva said simply, picking up the tray and bringing it to the couch. She sat down at one end, placing the cups on the coffee table, and waited. When he sat down, facing her, she handed him a warm mug. “I asked for hot chocolate.” she told him, eyeing him carefully. “Specifically the gingerbread one we had last week.”

“I liked that one.” Severus mumbled, staring down at his cup.

“I know.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, sipping on their hot chocolate, and Severus could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away as it was replaced by warm comfort.

“You look awful.” she finally spoke up.

He smiled ruefully, but it felt more like a grimace. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“Have you noticed, how every time you experience feelings of distress, someone always tends to interrupt before we can talk?” she asked, watching him. “I think we’ve been putting it off long enough, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“We never got to talk about Yaxley.”

“We didn’t need to.”

“We also never finished our conversation about how you ask for my company whenever you venture out of the castle.”

Severus gripped his mug tightly. “You said enough.”

“You still flinch when people touch you.”

“Can you blame me?”

Minerva paused, studying him in a way that left him feeling exposed. “They’re all connected.”

He kept silent.

Her next words were unexpected. “What about Lily?”

“What about her?” he growled out, anger taking hold and manifesting into shaking hands. He swallowed down the bile he could feel rising, the taste of milk and chocolate suddenly acrid on his tongue.

“You never talk about her.”

“That’s because I don’t have anything to say about her!” Severus finally yelled, nearly dropping his mug. He set it on the coffee table and balled his hands into fists, refusing to break eye contact with the professor before him. “Lily died four years ago, but she stopped being my friend long before that! Do you want to talk about the guilt I carry, knowing it was my fault she died? Because no amount of talking, nothing I do will ever be enough to make up for the fact that I killed my best friend! And I hate myself for that, but Merlin, do I hate her too.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” he burst out, the words he could never dare himself to say aloud now slipping off his tongue without trouble. “She was my best friend and then she sided with them, with him, after what he did to me! And that’s when I knew she was never really my friend! She saw what he - what he did,” he was starting to gasp for air again, “and she still, she - he -”

He focused on steadying his breathing, arms wrapped around his torso.

“I don’t.” Severus finally amended, in such a soft voice he wasn’t sure it even carried. “I want to hate her so much - and I am so angry at her, angrier than I’ve ever been at anyone - but I don’t hate her. I can’t. Maybe I wasn’t her friend, in the end, but I know she was mine. I lost so many people in the war, but she’s the one who hurts the most, so no, I don’t want to talk about Lily.”

Minerva hummed. “You sort of already did.”

He scowled.

“Drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”

Some of his anger fizzled out as he finished the drink. When they were done, Minerva stood up and started pulling out the contents of the box, lining them up on the counter. He joined her, watching as she leafed through a cookbook he hadn’t noticed.

“We’re going to do some holiday baking now.”

“Are we?”

“If you’re not going to talk to me about what led to all this,” she gestured in his general direction, “then we’re going to bake some things for the staff party tomorrow.”

He nodded, sighing. “Where do you want me?”

They spent a few minutes in stilted silence, as he washed the bag of dirigible plums and cooked them down into a sauce, stirring in ground cardamom and honey. Meanwhile, Minerva whisked double cream and cornstarch with vanilla sugar and salt, the pot resting over low flames. He added the plum sauce and smiled as it came together and turned into the warm orange color he remembered.

“What next?” he inquired, after the thickened mix had been poured into a mold and tucked away in the cold cupboard.

“Biscuits?”

The sugar dough came together easily enough, pale yellow and perfectly smooth, and as they sprinkled flour over the table to roll it out, Severus started fiddling with the holiday cutters.

“I can hear you thinking.” Minerva spoke up a few minutes later, dusting her hands off on a clean towel. She reached for a tree-shaped cutter and started pressing it into the dough. “Are you ready to talk now?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Sure you don’t.”

They finished cutting out all their shapes, moved their biscuits into the oven, and cleaned off the kitchen table. Minerva was opening small jars of sprinkles while Severus whisked together icing sugar and egg whites. He focused on dividing the royal icing into small bowls, adding droplets of colored dye and stirring carefully as if they were a temperamental potion, when he finally broached the earlier subject: “They are all connected.”

“Pardon?”

He didn’t look up, merely repeated himself. “They’re all connected.”

Minerva pulled the baking tray out of the oven and cast a cooling charm before bringing the perfectly baked biscuits to the table. Severus picked one up and absentmindedly broke it into pieces. He shared it with Min and picked up another biscuit, carefully dipping this one into the bowl of red icing and shaking off the excess.

He reached for the star sprinkles. “I try not to think about any of it.”

“You’ll have to, eventually.”

He thought about the broom closet. “I know.”

Minerva dipped a star biscuit into the bowl of yellow icing and handed it over to Severus, who immediately covered it with three different colors of sprinkles. They worked in tandem for a few minutes, dipping and sprinkling all their biscuits, and eventually a spoon was introduced to their project and Severus found himself drizzling thin stripes across some of them.

“I’m giving this one a Dreadful.” Minerva decided, picking up what was supposed to be an ornament, originally dipped in white icing, but then covered with uneven globs of blue.

“Fair enough.” Severus shrugged, levitating the dirty dishes and moving them to the wash basin, spelling the water on. He picked up a candy cane-shape that had been rolled in yellow and violet sprinkles and then drizzled with green. “This one, however, is deserving of a Troll.”

Minerva spelled the dishes to wash themselves and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Severus, you decorated that one.”

“I’m aware.”

The yule log cake was a little more time consuming to make. He sat down at the table and watched Minerva separate eggs and whisk the whites with sugar until it foamed.

“It would be faster if you spelled the whisk.” Severus offered.

“We tried that once.” Minerva laughed, not slowing down. “It worked great at first, but all of a sudden, the whisk was flinging meringue all over the room.”

“How delightful.”

Meringue was light and shiny and the brightest white he could imagine. Min filled a piping bag with the foam and showed him how to pipe little mushroom tops on the baking paper. When he took the bag from her, he was surprised to find it bore no weight.

“Do you not know how to hold a piping bag?”

“Evidently not.” he grumbled, looking at his hand and the fluff of meringue that had spilled out of the bag and over his hand.

“You’re supposed to hold the end closed, you numpty.”

“Numpty?” Severus muttered under his breath.

“Elphinstone always did the same thing.” Minerva shook her head, fixing the bag and finishing the job. “No matter how many times I corrected him, that man couldn’t hold it right. Always went off about how he’s the ministry liaison for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Min, I don’t need piping meringue mushrooms in my skill set.” She took in a shaky breath and set down the bag. “See? Perfect.”

“Min-”

“Don’t just stand there, Severus.” she scolded, thrusting the cookbook in his hands. “Get to work measuring the dry ingredients. You can make the cake while I make the frostings.”

He started sifting flour and cocoa powder. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”

“Of course I know that.” she humphed, putting the tray in the oven and spelling the dishes clean. She unwrapped a stick of butter and stared at him. “Do you know that?”

“Minerva, I only met your husband twice.” he deadpanned.

She flicked a bit of icing sugar at him. “Don’t be smart with me. I’m not the one repressing all my emotions and pretending they don’t exist until I can’t stave off the impending panic attack and end up crashing in my colleague's quarters because of it.”

“Fine, you win this one.” he muttered. “You are the pinnacle of mental health, professor.”

“Excellent.” Minerva grinned, but her smile seemed a little bitter. “Does this mean you’re going to talk to me now?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Numpty.” she repeated.

---- a/n: i was in the mood for angst tm also the ending feels a little rushed but it is 3am rip. im not gonna finish this series by christmas but my goal is new years. time exists in a vacuum anyway and is not real. ps. let me know what you think pls!! it gives me all the seratonin

#snapedom #pro snape #snapemas #snoliday2020 #severus snape #professor snape #snapecember #holiday writing challenge

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scarlettwitcher · 4 years

Text

Baby Girl Chapter Four

Summary: Y/n tried to avoid her past with a certain Statesmen but when they’re partnered back up for a mission that could cost millions their lives, Y/n must make the right choice. (This is the Kingsman: The Golden Circle movie basically in writing with reader insert. I recommend watching the movie, it’s amazing! It’s on Amazon Prime Video.)

Characters: Agent Whiskey x Agent Gin(Female Reader), Tequila, Ginger Ale, Eggsy, Merlin, Champ, Harry, mentions of Poppy, Charlie, and Clara

Word Count: 3,306

Warnings: angst, canon typical violence, fluff, cursing, really bad insults

Author’s Note: We are now halfway through this series ladies, gentlemen, and my nonbinary friends. Taglists will be updated soon so if you would like to be tagged for Forevers, Dean Winchester, Marvel, Henry Cavill, or Pedro Pascal, please let me know! REQUESTS ARE OPEN! As always, thank you for reading and feedback is always welcome/needed.

Previously..

You were exhausted after the many sessions you both had and you were asleep, tucked into Whiskey's side. His arm was wrapped protectively around you, holding you tightly against him. You didn't expect this side to him but you loved it. You slowly stirred in your quiet slumber, knowing you had to return to the agency to prepare for anything to appear for the mission. You felt a heavyweight against your hip and you smiled, remembering everything from the night before. You never expected things to go this way but you were happy. You turned in his hold for a little, and watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful, like all the worries that weighed heavy on his shoulders were gone. You loved seeing him like this and you silently vowed to yourself to try and help him feel like that more often. You leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his lips before deciding to get up for the day. It was going to be a long day and you felt it in your bones.

Now..

Slowly pushing Whiskey's arm off of you, you stood, stretching and wincing. There was a dull ache between your legs and you willed it away. He had gone rough on you, taking you several times, barely any time to breath. He had missed you just as much as you missed him and he showed just how desperate he was for you. You didn't think a man of his age would have that much stamina. You knew there was a huge age gap between the two of you. Big enough to where you could pass as his daughter. But the two of you didn't care. You loved each other and that was enough. Walking over to the mirror to rub any makeup smears away, you stared at your body, seeing all of the bruises, hickeys, and bite marks Whiskey had left on your skin. Ginger was definitely going to give you shit for returning to the agency like this. It didn't help that the bastard left them on every surface that couldn't be covered by your outfit.

You changed quickly, slipping on your shorts and simple black tank top back on. You found your cowboy boots, sitting on the edge of the bed to put them on. As you pulled the first one onto your foot, you felt a thick arm wrap around your torso, your shoulder being kissed delicately. "Morning baby girl." You hummed as his deep voice was rougher from just waking up.

"Morning baby."

"What time is it?" You slipped on your other boot, standing up and turning to face your lover as he sat there sleepily.

"It's 9:30. We should catch up with Eggsy and head back before Champ has our heads." Whiskey nodded as he kissed the back of your head before getting up, walking around in his naked glory. You couldn't help but stare at him. Even though you spent the night making love to him, seeing him still brought a deep blush to your face. He noticed this and smirked, walking over to pull you into his arms as he kissed you roughly.

"Still can't get enough of you." You laughed and pushed him back, trying to put a stern face.

"Stop it. If you keep touching me, we'll never leave this tent." Whiskey chuckled as he shook his head, collecting his clothes that were tossed all around.

"Who said I wanted to leave when I can have you all to myself?" You bit your lip and you looked at him as he slipped his jeans on, not buttoning them yet, leaving them hanging low on his hips. He knew you were watching him and he thrived under your stare.

"Soon Jack. This mission will be over and we can have some time to… catch up." Whiskey raised an eyebrow and smirked as he finished getting dressed. You bent down, collecting the rest of your things as Whiskey moved quick, slapping your ass. You squeaked out at the sudden contact, glaring at him. Truth be told, you loved when he spanked you but if he kept teasing you, you really weren't going to leave anytime soon.

Whiskey behaved himself as you finished getting ready, and you met up with Eggsy at the jet. He gave you a curious look as he stared at your skin. Eggsy wasn't going to question how you got those, Whiskey's smug smile was enough of an indicator. Whiskey smiled cockily, the smug bastard knowing exactly what he did. He laid his claim on you. You flew back to Kentucky and met up with Ginger in her lab. She showed you how the tracker was online and updated you on Tequila's condition. "So, Gin are you going to tell me what happened at Glastonbury?"

You rubbed the back of your neck before clearing your throat. "I talked to Whiskey and he, uh, well, we caught up." Ginger looked at you concerned but she saw the way your eyes lit up when you talked about Whiskey. She had watched you suffer and she didn't want you to fall down the same hole you did. You placed your hand on her shoulder and you smiled genuinely. "He said he loved me Ginge... You and I both know he wouldn't ever say it unless he meant it."

Ginger smiled softly, placing her hand on top of yours in reassurance. "Just be careful Gin."

"I will." You placed a soft kiss on her cheek before walking off towards your sleeping quarters, knowing a restless Whiskey was waiting for you. A few days after arriving, news of the lepidopterist regaining his memory circled around the agency. Eggsy and Merlin were ecstatic, circling the poor man as he came to. You didn't blame them. They had lost everyone and the fact that they had their friend back was good news. You had bonded with the brit during his stay. He taught you many things about butterflies and sometimes when you needed a silent company, you would visit his room and sit with him as he studied his butterflies. Now that he regained his memories, the boys wanted to catch him up.

The five of you decided to go out for a drink, driving down to the closest bar near the agency. You all slid into one booth, Whiskey, you, and Harry on one side and Eggsy and Merlin on the other. Whiskey was taking a sip of his drink as he moved his hand on your thigh just as Eggsy finished catching Harry up. “Now that we've finished the debrief, Harry… Here's a couple of welcome back gifts. First up… a brand-new Kingsman watch. Advanced software, it can hack into anything with a microchip. It is bollocks.” Eggsy held up a fancy looking watch, handing it over to Harry as he looked at it a bit amused, slipping it on. And Merlin…”

“I made you these.” Merlin placed a glasses case on the table in front of Harry and smiled, as he watched him grab it. Harry opened the case and let out a soft ‘ha’ as he looked down at the glasses. He placed the case down, pulling off his eyepatch leaving the air thick. Eggsy swallowed thickly as he tried to meet Harry’s eyes but was having a hard time, sharing a look of concern with Merlin. You tried to act casual as you leaned further into Whiskey, seeking his warmth. He responded automatically, wrapping his arm around you and placing a kiss on your head.

Harry placed the glasses and looked around the table. “Thank you, Merlin, Eggsy. How do I look?”

“You look…” Eggsy held up the ‘OK’ sign with his fingers as Merlin was going to compliment him but your peace was interrupted.

“Like some faggot lookin' for an eye fuckin'. Now… why don't you get out of our bar...before I take out your other one?” Everyone looked up at Moonshine with disdain. You, however, looked up in confusion. You had never seen him behave so crass. Moonshine was a fellow agent who didn’t take well to outside visitors, especially other agents.

“Now, is that any way to welcome visitors from out of town, Moonshine?” You cleared your throat as his eyes landed on you, unashamedly checking you out. Everyone at the table noticed the way he was eyeing you, including an irritated Whiskey. He stiffened next to you and you laid your hand on his thigh, calming him a bit. Moonshine chuckled before focusing his attention back on Harry.

“Okay. Suck my southern dick...bitch.”

Harry looked completely taken back as he murmured back respectfully. “Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary. Good day, sir.” Harry grabbed his umbrella and slowly stood, walking past Moonshine towards the entrance of the bar.

“Well? What are you ladies waitin' for?” You glared Moonshine down as you were about to retort but Harry’s voice echoed throughout the room.

“Manners…” Harry started to handle every lock on the door with every word. “Maketh…” You raised an eyebrow in his direction, having a feeling of where this was going and you didn’t think it was a good idea. ”Man. Do you know what that means?” Most of the men at the bar had stood, standing defensively with Moonshine. Harry stared them down from a reflective frame on the wall. “Then let me teach you a lesson.” Everything happened so quick from Harry grabbing the glass cup with his umbrella to unsuccessfully throwing it at Moonshine. The cup flew past his head straight towards you. Whiskey was quick and caught the cup before it hit you. You looked at the cup, to Whiskey, and then to Eggsy and Merlin in concern. You looked back at Harry seeing him a bit disoriented. Whiskey gave Harry an irritated glance at the fact that he almost hurt you.

“Harry, sugar, maybe you shouldn’t-”

Harry ignored you as he was focused on the men. “Are we going to stand around here all day? Or are we going to-” Before Harry could finish talking, one of the men lunged for him, punching him in the face. Harry went flying into the bar, trying to catch his bearings. Whiskey rubbed his lip with his thumb and watched as the men started to fight with Harry. He was successful in landing a couple of blows into a few but he was easily getting overpowered and losing. One of the men used Harry’s umbrella against him, landing heavy blows to his face. Whiskey had slipped out of the booth, quick using his lasso to pull out Harry from the fight. Harry landed next to the booth as Whiskey started to round up his lasso.

“Well, pick him up.” He motioned to Eggsy and Merlin. They were quick to grab Harry and help him into another booth. You stood up, next to Whiskey as he spoke. “Now, that is not what I call a Kentucky welcome.” You giggled quietly as the men stared at the both of you in confusion. You tipped your hat back just a bit, watching their confused stares turn into smirks at the sight of you. It made your blood boil. “Manners maketh man, ain’t that right baby?”

“Sure is, sugar. Thing is, I don’t think these men are smart enough to understand. We should translate it for ‘em.”

“You read my mind darlin.” One of the men had deemed you an easier target and he ran after you, screaming as he had his fist out but Whiskey was quicker and he threw his lasso at him, roping him, throwing him against the bar. Another man with a knife ran after Whiskey. He opened the loop of his lasso, jumping through as he tightened it around the man’s wrist, hitting the knife out of his hand with his elbow. He landed a punch before throwing his lasso to grab the flying knife. He caught it effortlessly and you laughed, watching him.

“Show off.” Whiskey laughed as he whipped his rope in the air with the knife, throwing it towards his next victim, the knife embedded itself into the man’s shoulder. He pulled the man with great force towards the bar. The man hit it hard and his cries of pain mixed in with the others.

“Only for you baby girl.” You ran towards Moonshine, using your small form to your advantage as he tried to punch you but you avoided every throw like it was second nature. Of course, in your case, it was. You jumped on a nearby table, using it as a force to throw you in Moonshine’s direction as you swing your leg, landing a brutal kick in his face. You landed swiftly on the floor, preparing for the next guy. Whiskey dropped his lasso, pulling out his whip. He lashed it against the floor, filling the room with the loud sounds of it cracking. You stood back and watched as he hit every man with the whip, the men screaming in pain. You bit your lip as you watched him, hating to admit this was turning you on more than it should. Whiskey noticed this and smirked as he took a second to flick the whip in your direction, hitting you in the ass. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt you but it definitely got your attention.

“H-hey!” Whiskey laughed as he wrapped the whip around one of the men’s necks.

“This one’s for you pretty lady.” Whiskey used a lot of his strength to fling the man towards you. You smiled widely as the man went flying towards you. You jumped in time to punch him in his chest, making him fall and smash his head against the pool table. Soon, you both found your rhythm. If a man came for Whiskey’s back, you’d swiftly cut in and punch the guy hard in his neck, watching as he fell to the floor, clutching his neck in pain as he tried to catch his breath. Whiskey did the same, protecting you from any unwanted harm. You were both ruthless. You were considered one of the best teams across the agencies. When you two paired up, it was almost impossible to break through.

You knew you couldn’t kill any of the men or else Champ would have your head. So you stuck to your fists and Whiskey to his whip. One of the men threw a chair at you but Whiskey was quick and grabbed it with his whip, throwing it back at the man, sending him flying through the window.

“That was hot.” Whiskey erupted into a loud laugh, his shoulders shaking violently as he tried to catch his breath. He pulled you in for a rough kiss before pulling back and looking around the room, the bodies of the unconscious men surrounding you.

“Whoo, I feel like a tornado in a trailer park.” You were about to retort but Poppy’s broadcasted message interrupted you. You watched in horror realizing that the effects that Tequila was having were because of Poppy’s horrible drugs. Once the message was over, you all drove back to the agency as fast as you could, meeting Champ in the main room. You listened to the President as he spoke about how he wanted to handle the situation, leaving you in shock.

“Fox, shut up. McCoy, declare Marshall Law. We need to keep control, commandeer stadiums, schools, civic centers. Order a press blackout and put the military on standby to round these junkies up.”

“Whether they broke the law or not, those victims are human beings. Tequila,” You watched as Champ looked over his alcohol before picking one, grabbing a glass. “He's a great guy. And a great agent. Right now, he's lying in deep-freeze waitin' on our help.” You swallowed thickly, staring at the table. You didn’t know what you’d do if Tequila passed away. He was one of your best friends. Whiskey noticed your tense nature and he took a deep breath, trying to lighten the situation for your sake but he didn’t go about it too well.

“We can't make this personal, sir.

“Personal? Agent, we can't stand by and let folks like him die. These people, we're their only hope. Now, we have to find that antidote.” Whiskey sighed as he looked up, noticing Harry analyzing him. He didn’t pay much attention to him, soon moving his focus back to you as he held your hand in his. You took a deep breath, pulling Whiskey’s hand onto your lap. He rubbed his thumbs against your soft skin, sending goosebumps across the surface.

Champ took a sip of his drink before turning and spitting it into a nearby tin. “Poppy's stockpiles, well, they could be anywhere.” Whiskey gripped your thigh in comfort as you watched Champ sympathetically. You knew he was battling with his own addiction and this was his way of dealing.

“She must have some on hand. Locate Poppy and obtain a sample for analysis. Maybe it can be replicated.” Eggsy and Harry exchanged glances of confusion as they watched Champ but they chose not to comment. You took a deep breath as you kept quiet. It wasn’t like you but your head was swirling with thoughts of the disease and of Tequila.

Soon, your thoughts were interrupted by Ginger’s voice echoing through the room. “Sorry to cut in, guys. But Charlie is on the phone with his girlfriend. Looping you in now.” She appeared on the large screen in the room with Merlin by her side before she changed the screen to display the soundwaves of Clara talking to Charlie and her location on the map.

“Don't worry. I'm on a payphone covered in a fucking blue rash. Why didn't you tell me? All you said was, "Don't take any drugs." It was a music festival for fuck's sake.” You rolled your eyes as you listened. You already didn’t like her from your last mission and this was just solidifying that dislike.

“Fuck. Shit. Shit! Okay. Listen. You need to get to the lab in Italy. Do you remember where we went skiing?”

“Yes. Yes, I remember.”

“Yeah. Meet me there and I'll give you the antidote.”

Clara’s deep sigh filled the room before she mumbled an okay, hanging the call right after

“All right. Jet's ready. Whiskey, Gin, Galahad, get to Italy.” You nodded your understanding and as you looked up, you saw both Eggsy and Harry standing up, looking at each other awkwardly. Eggsy smirked and you knew he wanted to laugh. You watched them both curiously as Whiskey spoke up.

“You two need to fix this code name thing.” He leaned over to Champ as he motioned towards Harry. “And with all due respect, sir… I don't think Galahad senior is ready to return to fieldwork.”

Champ nodded his agreement as he pointed towards Eggsy. “I did actually mean…”

“Of course.” You gave Harry a sympathetic smile and he returned a small smile in return. Even though he recovered his memories, he still remembered your kindness and trustiness for him. He remembered the things you told him about your life, the quiet evenings you spent together, the way you talked about the “man” who hurt you. It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was Whiskey you were talking about and he had his disagreements with you returning to his side but he chose not to say anything on it, respectfully leaving you to make your own decision.

“And with all disrespect… I'm not going anywhere without him.” Eggsy sat down next to Harry as he motioned towards him. Both Champ and Whiskey looked at Eggsy with different thoughts running around their heads. One thing you respected was Eggsy’s undying loyalty. You knew this was a hard trait to come by and with the way he was protective of you already on missions, you trusted him. “Brains,” He motioned to Harry before motioning to himself. “Skills,” He looked at you and winked as he motioned towards you. “Bad-assery.” You snorted as his comment brought a smile to your lips, giving you a bit of relief from the entire situation. Eggsy looked at Whiskey and took a second to think of what he wanted to say. “Skipping rope?”

Whiskey clenched his jaw as he stared Eggsy down, before moving his gaze to Champ who went into a deep laugh. You couldn’t contain your smile and you covered your mouth with your hand, hoping Whiskey didn’t hear your muted giggles. Whiskey glared at you as he spoke, his deep baritone voice sending shivers your way. You knew you were going to pay for laughing. “It's a lasso.’

“Whatever. Come on.” Eggsy stood, looking to Harry to follow him as Whiskey watched them both as Champ continued to laugh before dismissing the both of you.

“Go on. Vamoose.”

“Yes, sir.”

Forever Tags: @iwantthedean @authoressskr @sorenmarie87 @reigningqueenofwords @goldenolaf25 @giftofdreams @winchesterprincessbride @chelsea072498 @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @itakeawfultoawholenewlevel @fictionalabyss @gabby913 @angelkurenai @sea040561 @sleepylunarwolf @smoothdogsgirl @carryonmyswansong @feelmyroarrrr @evyiione @sofreddie @sis-tafics @nitelotus @trexrambling @manawhaat @mermaidxatxheart @winchest09 @ellen-reincarnated1967 @mrswhozeewhatsis @just-another-busy-fangirl @lovebodymindstuff @backseat-of-deans-67chevy @chook007 @akshi8278 @evansrogerskitten @bringmesomepie56 @persephonehemingway @blacktithe7 @donnaintx @queenxxxsupreme @whitewolfandthefox @riviawitch3r

Agent Whiskey Tags: @thesadvampire @le-roman-rose @mcudisiac @someone-take-my-bagelseverywhere @chibi-liz05 @marvel-avengers01 @themandjalorian @floccodineveautunnale @jassiepoohbear @gollyderek @retrobhaddie @wolf-lover74 @paryl @laubeck10 @ithinkwehitametaphor @wizard-b1tch @domino-oh-damn @c-ly-g @rosamedina92 @sunshinepascal @ariespedro @libellule2001 @ohpedromypedro @two-unbeatable-beaters @menacingmandalorian @scribbledghost @blushingwueen

Tags I Think Would Be Interested: @spacegayofficial @ariasfandom @lannister-slings-and-arrows @sendhoots @stevieharrrr @dindjarindiaries @hiscyarika @qveenbvtch @forever-rogue @jimmythegirl @catfishingmorales @generaldamneron @cptnbvcks @swhiskeys @honeychicanawrites @thepascalorian @ladydahliawrites @roboboyjinx-writes @zeldasayer @damerondjarin @aint-that-a-mcfreakin-bitch @aerynwrites @mandadoration @absurdthirst @huliabitch @gryffindorwriter @ghostofthebarricade @astrolo-galaxy @siempre-pedro @cherryplasmids @spacedadheadcanons @madadlorian @sithlordmando @bubble-tea-bunny @beskarsexual @longitud-de-onda @archieimagines @outfatuating @inknopewetrust @softpedropascal @pascalisthepunkest @swimmingbyrd @buckyodinson @everstarry @waywardodysseys @paniclana @tiffdawg @siempre-pedro @fandom-imagines-stories @umbrellasandlassos @kingsmanstories @bucks-angels @the-real-xhorse

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rhydianww · 4 years

Text

Kicking and Screaming

“You don’t need the trouble, Rhydian. Just leave her alone.” This was the sage advice from the Slytherin’s just barely older sister. Owena sat next to her brother in the back seat of their mother’s car, a pile of snacks and a forgotten game of Uno laid between them. They were on their way to Kings Cross station, ready to start their fourth year of Hogwarts.

But Rhydian was paying no head to his sister’s warning, he could hardly hear her over the music reverberating between his ear drumbs and the soft black cover over his headphones. His violet eyes were cast outward to the blurring scenery as the vehicle moved down the winding highway away from the northern welsh coast and the place they called home. Had his father been around, the family would have apparated somewhere with a floo that connected to King’s Cross, but Louis had been beckoned for work in the dead of night. His father had woken him up in to hug him goodbye and wish him well in school, and Rhydian had been too tired to be rude and deny his father the simple affection.

He felt bad for him, Rhydian, even if he’d never admit it to the older wizard’s face. But Louis hated his job and it was clear for anyone to see. He was always tired and grumpy when he came home from a mission, and he often didn’t speak to his family members until after Caerwyn would take her husbands hand and lead him to the bedroom, the door would lock behind them and they’d be gone to the world for a few hours. Rhydian knew some of what his father experienced must be horrific. Louis never spoke about work but Uncle Cleary, Louis’ partner and Rhydian’s Godfather, was much more forthcoming with information now that Rhydian was older. Knowing the bits and peices of what his father had done at work, and what had been done to him made Rhydian just as sympathetic to his father as it did angry.

On one hand Rhydian understood his father put his life on the line and was witness to many dark and terrifying things for the sake of his family. Caerwyn and Louis had ended up pregnant and unwed at nineteen freshly graduated. His father had done what he needed to and found a job with security. On the other hand Rhydian felt that Louis’ experiences should have made him more sympathetic to his son’s illness. Louis never slept well and could be found nearly at all hours with a cup of black hot coffee in his hand. Rhydian knew it was because of work just like Rhydian had trouble sleeping because spirits. Shouldn’t that mean Louis could understand why Rhydian didn’t going new places? Why he needed his music? Why he couldn’t pay attention all the time? These were all coping skills Rhydian had unconsciously picked up from his parents after all.

But Louis didn’t seem to understand his son, and Rhydian felt he never would.

As if sensing the way her son’s thoughts were heading, Caerwyn spoke up. Owena nudged her brother, and two matching sets of violet eyes met in the rear view mirror.

“It’s Poppy’s first fucking year, you’ll keep an eye on her, won’t you?” Caerwyn asked. She was always interrupting Rhydian and Louis when they started to go at each other, always trying the ease the waves between them. Could she feel the impatience Rhydian had begun to stew in the fleeting thought about his father’s absence?

“She’s going to look simply adorable in her robes, oh I can’t wait to see her, I bet she’s going to be in Hufflepuff, just like Aunty Lils.” Owena cheered, always bright and cheerful. She was like the sun, Owena, and just like the gaseous celestial body, the world seemed to revolve around her. Everyone liked Owena, everyone wanted to be her mate. Rhydian was envious of such magnetism but also thankful. He had gone his whole life being left alone he shouldn’t think he’d take to being popular all that well now.

“Mmm.” Was Rhydian’s gruff response, his eyes falling away from his mother’s and back to the landscape. Poppy was one of Rhydian’s dozens upon dozens of cousins, a daughter of his father’s cousin Lily and her husband Lorcan. The Potter/Weasley family was large, too large for Rhydian to feel all that comfortable around every one of his cousins the way his father was, but he got on well enough with Aunty Lils’ girls. Briar and Thistle, the eldest of his aunt’s surmounting hoard, were close enough in age to Rhydian that they had been able to play as children. There were also no spirits in the valley Aunty Lils and Uncle Lori had made their home which meant Rhydian was willing to spend time there on occasion.

But home was one thing, school was another. As sort of a social pariah, Rhydian was generally avoided at school, even by his cousins. Rhydian didn’t care, he wasn’t particularly close to any of the one’s in his year anyway. Owena was really the only one he hung around with regularly at school, usually tagging along to whatever she was doing with her mates at her insistence. Most of the cousins he saw consistently were older anyway, after Addie had been born it was like a baby bomb had gone off. Sophia, Tante Vic’s daughter had been born, then James’ oldest, Junior, and then a whole ton more. If he had to pick favorites Rhydian would have to say it was Viktor, Tante Doma’s son, but he lived in Eastern europe with the Dragons so it was rarely Rhydian got to see him, they certainly didn’t go to school together.

Poppy was alright, but young and a girl. Shy but sweet. She’d make friends fast enough. Rhydian agreed with Owena’s assessment, Hufflepuff was likely.

“And leave fucking Maggie alone.” Owena quipped. Rhydian rolled his eyes as he replaced his headphones, not looking up to meet the violet eyes staring at him once more in the mirror. It was no secret what had happened over the summer at Addie’s going away party. Louis had blamed Rhydian but he hadn’t cared. There had been no use in arguing. But just because he had accepted his father’s lame punishment of having to sit at a table with him -probably what he would have been stuck doing anyway- that didn’t mean the Slytherin didn’t blame Maggie Stonefyre for him getting in trouble to begin with.

Rhydian wasn’t the forgiving type, and Owena was probably sensing her brother was scheming, but Merlin did she have no idea what was in store for the weirdo snake bitch was in for. Maggie was a nice girl, according to Owena, ‘a Hufflepuff’ Owena had stated, dragging the house name out, her eyes reflecting exasperation. She believed no Hufflepuff was rotten to their core. And Rhydian supposed Maggie wasn’t rotten to her core, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t deserving of justice.

He started picking on Maggie the first day of classes. He found them sharing a bench in Potions oddly enough, other students were weary of the snake that curled itself around her body. Rhydian had learned the snake was passive enough though and so he took the opportunity and grabbed the seat next to her. They hadn’t spoken, but she had gone to the loo which allowed Rhydian ample time to poor a sickly smelling sap into her book bag. He had been carrying it around of hopes of seeing her.

He expected to give her a hard time for a week or so, then move on. Just enough to upset the girl. Rhydian however did not expect retaliation. Perhaps he should have, looking back on the event over the summer, but he had assumed the gun had been Hads’ idea, she could be a wicked little thing Rhydian had observed. But you know what they say about hindsight; it’s always twenty-twenty. Maggie came back at Rhydian was a vengeance, pouring the same sap in his trunk and on his bed, he had no idea how she got in his dorm. From their things escalated to name calling, to school work sabotaging, and it was now to the point they were hexing each other in the corridors much the frustration of their Professors. They could hardly stand each other, Maggie and Rhydian to the point their anger was on sight. Peers knew to stay out of their way if they noticed the pair glaring at each other and drawing their wands.

It landed them in detention more than once, but the Professors were loosing their patience. It wasn’t very fair either that they favored Maggie over Rhydian, especially the Arithmancy Professor who was particularly defensive of the annoying witch. But Rhydian couldn’t let it go even though he had received angry letters and phone calls from his parents by now about how often he was getting in trouble. Even Addie had written inquiring what it was that was upsetting her brother so much. He didn’t write back. Rhydian had always been a difficult and was in and out of trouble most of his school career but no one thought this fixation he had on ruining Maggie Stonefyre’s day was healthy.

Eventually the Professors decided if the two couldn’t resolve their differences on their own, they would force them to do so. And so as a pair, the two were sent into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid to tend to the Unicorns. Rhydian doubted it would go well, the whole thing was ludicrous. How was he, a boy, supposed to even see the unicorns?! How had Hagrid been feeding them to begin with?! It didn’t make any sense.

“Yer Grandfather Ron-”

“Bill. My grandfather is Bill. Ron’s my great uncle.” Rhydian had reminded the half giant gently. He was getting very old, Hagrid, forgetful. He had enough wit however to recognize a Weasley when he saw one. His father having been close with Harry and Ron’s respective children, Auntie Rose and Uncle Shithead, had known the half giant well in their time at Hogwarts. And he was kind, Rhydian noted, in a way that was quite rare.

The two spoke about family and Great Uncle Harry’s heroism until they were joined under the stars at the edge on the Forrest by Maggie. Hagrid gave a small lantern to each of them a bid them to follow after him into the woods.

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malereader-inserts · 5 years

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Way Down We Go

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Remus Lupin & Son!Reader Summary: Oh, father, tell me, do we get what we deserve? Word Count: 2,135 Request: @apple-pie-and-ice-cream “Can I request Lupin x son Reader where the reader is also a werewolf?” A/n: Headcanon that the week of the full moon, senses are heightened because here’s some whump for yer. Remus is so easy to write for, send me more request for this dork

“Think I’m losing my mind.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as you leaned your head down on the long tables in the great hall, tired as you struggle to keep your eyes open, after a full moon in May you were getting back on your feet after being bedridden after the full moon.

“You’re being dramatic, (Y/n),” Hermione vocalised, though she paused when she hears your wince, “Are you okay?”

“Sensitive ears,” You hummed, rubbing them gently before propping up your face, leaning your elbows against the wooden tables, “I’m fine.”

Hermione narrows her eyes, opening her mouth to say something until she decides against it. You stare at her, knowing what she was thinking. She had her suspicion for a while since Snape had set the werewolf essay back in November - she’s been keeping an annoyingly close eye on you.

It happened over the summer, Dumbledore was right at the door the day after the full moon with Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. Your mother had been worried sick, considered pulling you out of Hogwarts. So, as you lay in your bed recovering from the bite, Dumbledore explains to your mother about your predicament.

Dumbledore had explained that you could continue going to Hogwarts, as Hogwarts is the safest place to be. Madam Pomfrey would tend to you and McGonagall was there just to support your new life, to mother you when you get to Hogwarts.

The two women remember a boy your age, with similar eyes like yours. If they could provide Remus Lupin one good time at Hogwarts, they sure will do the same for his son.

“You know, your father came to my office on Wednesdays for tea, you’re welcome to come visit,” Poppy says, smiling softly as she heals the wounds as best as she could, grimacing that there would be a permanent bite on your neck and scars running from your torso to your stomach.

You sat up so she could look at your back, you were much more scarred than your dad, more on the body and less on your face.

“I’m slowly turning into dad,” You hummed, “Next thing, I’ll be reading books willingly and wearing sweaters with patches on the elbows.”

McGonagall couldn’t help but smirk, “Yet, your dad was one of the greatest pranksters of his year, and your dad isn’t bad.”

“I’m a were,” You snorted at the joke as McGonagall and Pomfrey roll their eyes because that was a common joke that was thrown around, before frowning when they noticed how you stared at yourself in the mirror, “I’m hideous.”

Sure, there were no major scars on your face, just minors one. Two serrated scars cutting through your right eyebrow, small but definitely someone would mention. There is a scar on your lip too, in the same direction as the other two but this was cutting through the upper lip and space before the lip.

“I think you’re still handsome,” McGonagall says, “If I recall, many people fancied your father because of his scars, and I tell him all the time whilst he was in school that features do not define who you are, it’s what on the inside that does.”

Being at school was bearable but you had no heart to tell your dad about the condition, Snape was involuntarily making wolfsbane potion. Remus would have his monthly batch delivered by Snape whilst Snape drops yours off at McGonagall’s office where you would collect yours.

You talk a lot to your head of house, how you couldn’t bear to tell your dad about your condition because he was so happy to find out that his son did not burden with such a heinous illness. The shrieking shack is a place you were supposed to go, but you avoided that area since that’s where your dad takes place to shift.

Though you notice a cat in the forbidden forest in your first shift, it stayed with you all night and when morning came, dragged clothes by its teeth close by for you to notice but at the same time not giving you any looks before running away so when you shifted back bare you had clothes to change into.

So, over the course of a year, you got closer to McGonagall and Pomfrey, had Friday teas with your dad to catch up weekly and spend time with your beloved father, keep up with your studies, stop yourself from decking Snape in the face when he has a snark with you, and try not to die whilst being friends with Harry Potter.

Then, just a few weeks before the June full moon, you informed your conditions to your friends, they comforted you that you were no different to what you were before they had known. You explained you hadn’t told your dad and some professors were known of your situation.

“It doesn’t make you any different, you said Snape has been giving you potions?” Ron asked as you nodded, “So, you’re not a monster, you’re a brilliant person (Y/n)!”

You smiled, “Really?”

“Really, mate,” Harry nodded, grinning, “Can we make wolf jokes though?”

“Yes mate,” You laughed, nodding, “But, not too obvious.”

“I’ve always wondered where you got the scars from,” Harry says, thumbing your scars on your face, “I noticed the ones on your back.”

“Have you been watching me dress, Potter?”

“Can’t help it, Lupin,” Harry teased, grinning impishly, “You talk loudly, you draw attention to yourself.”

“Sod off, Harry.”

Which brings you to the present, hearing your dad snap at Peter as Hermione and Ron watches you gag on the potion, your back facing your dad.

“How does that taste?” Ron asked.

“Spectacular,” You responded, sarcasm evidently on your tone.

“Full moon this week,” Hermione asked, as you furrowed your eyebrows, “What is it?”

The trio was aware that you had to drink the wolfsbane potion the week leading up to the full moon and just before the full moon.

“I don’t feel so good,” You gagged again, stumbling away from your friends.

Remus turns his attention towards you, getting concern when he sees you stumbling away from the rest of them then cringing when he hears you emptying your stomach. He wants to go to your aid but then he had to keep an eye on Peter.

“Harry!” Hermione shouted, pointing into the sky and seeing the full moon.

Harry’s eyes widen, driving straight towards his friends watching his godfather beg his best friend to remember who he is. The three off them watch in horror to see their professor transform in pain, they can’t imagine what you’re going through.

“(Y/n)!” Harry exclaimed, trying to look for you in the long grasses.

“Harry, no!” Hermione bellowed, gripping Harry, “He’ll be fine, he’s taken his potion.”

Harry had turned his attention to Snape grabbing them, before getting floored as the werewolf tried to wipe them clean. Of course, a dog intercepted mid-air swing, the two were at it before the dog was once again flung into the long grass.

The werewolf slowly made it’s way closer before getting attacked by another werewolf, smaller. The trio watches with wide eyes as you protected your friends from your dad who was no state of mind of his actions.

“(Y/n)!” Ron shouted, causing you to turn to look at him before your dad had attacked you.

Whimpering as you watched the werewolf snarl at you move towards the long grass were Sirius had landed as a dog. Harry had escaped Snape’s grip to follow.

“(Y/n)?” Hermione softly says, Snape was about to snap at her but stops when he hears the werewolf whimper slightly.

Looking at them, you paw your face then neck, blood was seen before stepping away.

“He’s injured,” Ron says, his eyes softening when he sees your human eyes plead, “He’s-”

A werewolf howl was heard into the forest before they knew it, you followed your dad before anything else could happen. Your friends prayed you were okay.

Morning breaks out, the summer sun shining through the trees. You groaned as you found some clothes by the bushes, you smiled to yourself as you put them on. Feeling the comfort of the sweater, you noticed that there were extra, larger clothes for your dad. You sighed, touching your chin to feel dried blood.

You remember most of the night, you followed your dad into the forest and it was hunting. You tried to pry him away, fight him, but he was larger and stronger. You had lost him for the rest of the night.

You try to crack the discomfort in your bones, your body weighing you down as you try to search for your dad in the large forest. When you found him, he was just coming around to the land of the living.

You threw him his clothes, shielding your eyes, “Morning dad,” You mumbled.

Your eyes too sensitive to the sky and you did not want to see your dad naked. Remus opened his eyes and noticed you, shutting your eyes close.

“Go to the shade,” Remus says, groggily, “What are you doing out here?”

“Making sure you’re okay,” You say, taking a few steps back into the shade, “Are you decent?”

“Mhm,” Remus confirms as you pull your arms and hands away from your face, “(Y/n)... What happened last night?”

yes, Remus felt like utter shit, but you were bleeding and bruises were formed. You were pale, uncomfortable, you looked sick almost.

“The full moon happened,” You say as if it explains everything, but continues as you did not want to make out your dad had attacked you to become a werewolf, “I took my wolfsbane potion, you didn’t.”

Remus remembers now, he had witnessed seeing your head tilt back with a small vital in your hand, taking down its contents before you suddenly started to retch in the long grass.

“Did I-?”

“No,” You interrupted, knowing what he would ask, “Sirius and I, well, mostly I put up a good fight, Merlin, is it always this loud?”

Remus knew what you were complaining about, sensitive ears - everything was louder. You were looking down rather than looking at him, the sun was blinding you even more. Remus had gotten used to the heightened senses, but the way your body shook he could tell you were not used to it.

“Come on, it’s a long walk back to the school grounds, but if we go now, we can make it before anyone wakes up or notice us.”

You don’t wait for his response as you start to limp your way back to the school grounds. Remus groans as he stands up, popping back his joints into place as he made his way next to you.

“When?” Remus asked, his voice soft as he hears you softly wince.

“Summer,” You responded, “I hadn’t had the heart to tell you...”

Remus’ fatherly senses could tell that you were ashamed, he knows what you’re feeling - he went through it your age.

“I could have helped you,” Remus says, coming to your aid as you limp, he may be in immense pain but he was used to it - you, not so much, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He stops you, makes you face him as he sighs, his thumb runs over a bruise under your right eye, he examines you. The scars, the scabs, the bruises. He noticed your werewolf bite in your neck, he wonders how he has never noticed it. He placed a firm hand on your shoulders.

“We have each other’s back, you said that yourself,” Remus comforted as a small smile started to form.

“I know, but-” You shake your head, “You would just, I don’t know, be afflicted with all my problems.”

“(Y/n), you are my boy, my son - as a parent, I have to guide you. I want you to be better, to know better. I can’t do that when you’re keeping secrets.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” You let out a shaky breath, offering him a smile, “You’re too good of a dad, I don’t deserve you.”

You lunged yourself on to your dad into a massive hug, you both groan at impact, but he grips your tight nevertheless, afraid you would slip out of his arms.

“You’re still my boy, werewolf or not. As you said, we have each other’s back, we do things together, all the way down we go.”

“Way down we go,” You affirmed, you shuffled before cowering, “I really need to get to the hospital wing so can we wrap his hug up for later?”

Remus simply laughs, as he lets you go, helping you onto the Hospital Wing.

“Do you think Madam Pomfrey will let us have chocolate for breakfast?”

“You wish, kid.”

#Remus Lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x male reader #x male reader #platonic

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trashtheater101 · 4 years

Text

Prompts

Been meaning to make this for a while: Free list of skele-prompts! No credit needed (although I’d love to read it if you make one, maybe drop me a note?), and feel free to change ANY of the details or ships. This list is meant to ✧INSPIRE✧ not restrict.

These are largely old ideas that I realize I’m probably never going to get around to writing myself and thought I’d share. Mostly Papcest, but there’s some left open for Fontcest and Sanscest, and you can always change it up. I probably forgot some, so I’ll add to it as I remember them.

RoyalMoney (Poppy/Cash)

Poppy is a wealthy, and unbearably bored Nigerian prince. Kept safe and sound, a prisoner in the castle by his overprotective brother, Poppy is allowed only limited contact with the guards or servants, and nothing at all with the outside world. When a thief breaks in through his bedroom window (captured easily by the Great Prince Poppy! He’s sheltered, not helpless!), Poppy can't help being intrigued… [His brother can shove it; He’s decided to keep this one.]

Fellcest (Red/Edge)

Red is a scientist. Or at least he used to be. He’s studied the wonders of the universe, tested the limits of time-space, and even broken through the divides between worlds. […none of it compared to learning the way his brother reacts to flirting.]

SpicyHoney (Edge/Stretch(Rus))

Edge is a loyal knight, through and through, and Rus is the true heir to the throne. Edge is determined to protect him no matter the cost. Even now that the kingdom has been overthrown and they were barely able to escape with their lives. Even now that they must keep moving, and live in hiding, lest Rus be captured and executed. Even though Rus is used to being pampered and spoiled, and Edge is the only one left to treat him with the sort of devotion and reverence that a true prince deserves. [Originally a Edge x Anyone, but the pouty, stubborn prince kept morphing into Rus, soooo…]

Edge and Stretch are stuck in a car together for a long trip, and expect to bicker the whole time. Unfortunately 5 minutes in one of them accidentally confesses. Neither are prepared for this, and now the car ride is spent dealing with THIS instead... oh dear…

Stretch needs to get a physical. Cool, no big, even doctors aren’t sure what to do with a pile of bones, so no point in being embarrassed, and—bonus!—most don’t know how skeleton magic works, so he gets to skip the more invasive stuff. Except—wait—this time his doctor is a skeleton? A really hot skeleton?? And since Stretch is missing so much from his chart, he’s getting a THOROUGH exam??? ...great… [Bonus points for Stretch aggressively flirting to hide his nerves, “w-wow doc. i don’t usually spread my legs before the first date, haha. guess you must be special.”]

SpicyBBQ (Edge/Slim)

Edge’s new lamia is a dominant type, strong, and eager to breed him. But Edge isn’t inclined to submit, and he’s pretty sure he knows exactly how to tame his horny pet. [Succeed or fail, both are tasty~.]

MapleBlossom (Slim/Papyrus)

Slim is the lead singer/guitarist/drummer in an up and coming band. Hanging out at an afterparty of one of his shows, some cute little groupie, or a fan, or whatever, catches his attention when they start chatting him up. Slim is charmed, and while he’s got a pretty firm rule about not fucking the fans, he’s gotta make an exception this time. He’s gonna rock this groupies world. [Except that Papyrus isn’t a groupie. Or a fan. He was just invited along by a friend and thought this stranger might want someone to talk to. But boy is he flattered by all the attention! Is this… flirting?!?]

SweetMoney (Sugar(HT!Pap)/Cash)

Taking his first ever train trip to the big city, Sugar ends up sitting next to a stranger. Cash seems friendly enough on the ride, but when they get off he refuses to leave??? He keeps insisting it’s too dangerous for someone like Sugar to be alone in the city, and that all well and good, but Sugar’s pretty sure he has a stalker now??? Blood had warned him about this… oh well… For a stalker, Cash is awfully charming.

Edge x _______

Edge is an Alpha. All the Papyruses are Alphas, so of course he’s an Alpha. He is the most Alpha-y-est Alpha to ever Alpha, thank you very much. And as long as he keeps taking his Alpha-supplements, surely no one will be any the wiser. But the supplements can only repress his instincts so much when he’s surrounded by so many fine, aggressively-dominant Alphas. And let’s be real, how long would it really take a group of Alphas to notice an Omega in their midst? [Easily could be one-on-one, but this prompt is feeling pretty gang-bang-y to me~]

In hindsight I think I may have seen this idea around before (so let me know if it’s already a thing…), but Edge as a Heinz Doofenshmirtz-(Or like MegaMind, Dr. Horrible, fuckin.... Team Rocket??)-style villain! Over the top dramatic! But also pretty ridiculous... But definitely EVIL!!!!! But also is he though??? Red is his henchman. His love interest can be the Hero, but also could be his usual kidnapping victim, or the cute skele from the laundry mat, or I suppose his henchman, or a brand-new unique dynamic!

Loud Top Edge. That’s really all I’ve got for this prompt. It really didn’t have to be under Edge specifically… you could make it anyone, but I was thinking of Edge. ...as just... a… noisy… really verbal top... yeah...~<3

Papyrus x _______

Someone has been stealing apples from Papyrus’s apple orchard, and he is determined to catch the culprit! [Well, it turns out the culprit happens to be very attractive and that is a whole new, very different problem!]

Papyrus x _______/Sans x _______

Undertale is Universe 0. It’s the base, the original, the one every universe is spun off of. As such, there is some sort of general law of attraction pulling all the copies towards their originals. Or at least, that’s Sans’s theory anyway. That would explain all these Sans’s that keep hitting on him and—don’t think i don’t notice the rest of you making passes at my bro-! are you looking for a b a d t i m e ?

Bonus Lamia prompt

[A]’s lamia goes into a submissive heat. No matter what they do, however, [A] can’t seem to satisfy them. A quick google search reveals their lamia is looking to be bred with eggs, but—uh—[A] can’t produce eggs, and neither of them really want kids yet anyways, and—hey, you can buy safe to insert pseudo-eggs!—Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna give you just what you need~

- - - - -

A list of loose themes and thoughts. Poke through and see if anything catches your attention. Or maybe mix some together? (Conveniently numbered for a random number generator!)

1. Bitties

2. Asleep on shoulder

3. Shopping trip

4. Bandaging after sparring

5. Broken down car

6. Attractive salesman

7. Trapped in a box~

8. Good old fashioned temporary amnesia

9. Is that a dog in your jacket?

10. “If you touch him I will END you...!”

11. Crossover

12. Lamias

13. The meal was unrecognizable...You eat it anyways.

14. Classic fairytale, but with a twist!

15. A more obscure fairytale. (With all the ‘wtf??’s they tend to entail.)

16. “Please tell me you meant to do that...”

17. Ectoboobies

18. “God, you’re so hot… You look hot! SWEATY! Do you want a drink!?!?”

19. “F-FLIRTING? SO YOU FINALLY REVEAL YOUR ULTIMATE FEELINGS!?”

20. Borrowed pajamas

21. Candle light

22. BEACH DAY

23. Someone not normally collared: collared~!

24. “Sit down and shut up! ...I’m going to serenade you now.”

25. “What will it take to make you realize I’m no good for you?”

26. Running out of water

27. Physically shielding from harm

28. Can’t stop staring

29. Broke something important

30. He only ever acted like this when he was covered in dust…

31. Well... people always say you should marry a doctor

32. “I think I’m falling for you”

33. “Guess you fell for me~”

34. A bad vacation

35. Missing the bus

36. A WAY too fancy restaurant

37. Good morning kiss

38. That’s probably a serial killer chasing you tbh.

39. Lost & alone…

40. Annoying Dog is secretly a matchmaker

41. A goodbye note

42. Freezing cold

43. A slow dance after the lights go down

44. Exploring

45. Hey! You’re that actor/singer/etc I like-! Why are you grinding on me!?!?

46. “I failed you…”

47. A non-traditional Heat symptom

48. Soul-bonding: the aftermath.

49. 2 dudes sittin in a hot tub, 5 ft apart cause they’re very gay and sorta nervous and-gosh-it sure is hot in this hot tub…

50. Flowey: “Okay, look. I don’t normally give advice but…”

#Fontcest #Papcest #Sanscest #Prompts

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7deadlycinderellas · 4 years

Text

The Ghost of the Red Keep, ch6

Ao3 link

Six and ten and all her years later, Arya will never forget the sight of Bran’s broken leg twisted and deformed. It’s the bone in his upper leg, close to his hip. Maester Pycelle says it may be well over a year until he can walk again, if ever.

He’d slammed his head into the ground as well. If he hadn’t still had his helm on then he could have died. As it was, he took a hard hit, and couldn’t say quite what had happened when he woke up.

“All I remember was riding Storm and then black,” Bran tells them when he finally wakes from the milk of the poppy induced sleep Pycelle had put him under while he set his leg. “I guess something spooked him, and he threw me.”

That’s horseshit, and Arya feels like Bran knows it. Storm was well trained, and had never so much as stumbled. It would take a great fright to even make him bolt, much less throw off his rider. And Bran’s leg…

Arya can’t quite remember what Maester Luwin had taught them what that bone was called, but she recalls that it was supposed to be one of the strongest bones in the body. A fall from a horse shouldn’t have been enough. Arya doesn’t think it was an accident, but she’s frightened to say so.

It will take ages for him to heal, and Ned insists that he shouldn’t have to do it in the capital. So in less than a fortnite, as soon as his condition stabilizes, Bran and Catelyn are loaded into the wheelhouse to return to Winterfell.

Bran is completely bereft when Arya sees him leave. This is basically the end of his dream.

Arya bids them a tearful farewell, and tries not to be too terribly jealous.

Everyone is walking on eggshells in the following weeks.

Arya manages to sneak around in the tunnels when the septas come to take Stan and Leo’s bodies away to the sept. There will be no funerals for them, the two bastard boys, but the least they could do, Arya thinks, is not cart them away in front of their mother.

She sees one’s hand sticking out of the cart, his skin pale with a strange, almost silvery sheen.

The plans for the tourney continue.

The next full moon is the second to last day of when the tourney is planned. Arya’s skin itches again. There’s danger all around her, and she can’t think of anything to do about it, she can feel it in her bones. She’s not sure if she should say anything to Ned about it, she’s not sure what she even could say, and all she wants to do is talk to Gendry.

She writes him what she can, but she’s not sure what’s safe to say. He writes her back, when he can, scrawled on the back of her letters in his still rough, He consoles her over Bran, understands how devastating it would have been. Tells her of another boy, an apprentice smith, who’d leaned too close to the fire and fell, burned his hands nearly to black. That boy wouldn’t smith anymore, he’d been on the mercy of the gods and the septas.

Arya’s so worried, she doesn’t even fight having her gown for the ball made and fitted. It is beautiful, silvery gray silk, the same shade as the rabbit fur in her cloak, even if the skirt is volominous and hard to run in.

Sansa finishes it up, her hand as steady and certain as any professional seamstress.

She twists, and bends over to grab something, and her rolled up sleeves ride up even further up her elbows, and Arya just barely catches a glimpse…

She grabs Sansa’s arm and forcefully pushes the sleeve upwards, ignoring her objections. The bruise is angry, purple with spots already turning yellow-brown. Sansa snatches her arm back before Arya can search any further.

“Did the prince give you that?” Arya demands.

Sansa looks away.

“It doesn’t matter. Soon we’ll be married, and I’ll only have to see him in public. I’ll have guards all around me…”

Her voice trails off and Arya has to stop herself from screaming. Screaming that those guards will likely be the king’s men, not hers. Screaming to Sansa that Joffrey’s not even a prince, but a rotten bastard. She has to use all her willpower to squeeze it down, to squash the urge. No one can know, Ned had said.

“Tommen told me he wanted to join the Kingsguard so he could protect me...Bran too, before... That’s what Ser Jamie did. He joined the Kingsguard so his sister wouldn’t be alone here...some good it did.”

Arya barely has time to acknowledge that yes, the Kingslayer did seem unsually close to his twin, before her brain starts screaming again.

“The queen knows this?”

Sansa snorts. Arya is astonished, she’s never heard Sansa make that noise before.

“I wonder if the queen knows much of anything anymore. She’s drunk on wine half the time, rambling on about things that don’t make sense. She said once that Robert’s struck her before...that made me feel bad, but then she laughed like it didn’t matter. She keeps going on and on about how she’ll show him…The things about Lord Baelish and Jon Arryn, and something about imports from Essos...I don’t know how her mind gets to where it does.

Sansa takes a deep breath before plastering a smile on her face.

“At least soon, I will be queen, and she won’t be able to make anyone else suffer.”

Arya thinks on that for a while. Once her son marries, Cersei’s power will be diminished. Once Robert dies, she might as well not be a royal anymore. Would she go home then, to Casterly Rock? Would that make her happy?

Arya thinks going home to Winterfell would make her happier than anything, but not without knowing her family and friends were safe.

The first day of the tourney comes. Arya smiles brightly and forces Sansa to the edge of the bench, on her one side, Ned on her other. No room for princes to force themselves. They’re not even wed yet, she insists.

She wants to enjoy the tourney. She would normally, would lap it up, would eagerly watch the riders and try to learn their tricks, pick a favorite and cross her fingers for them. Daydream about entering one herself. Aunt Lyanna had, she had said that the joust was nine-tenths horsemanship, and Arya could ride as well as a boy.

But everytime she looks at the horses, and the lance, her stomach sinks and she thinks of Bran.

No bone would break like that from a fall from a horse.

There’s a rush of stiff applause, and Arya watches the man they call the Mountain that Rides. He looks like he could break a man in two with just his pinky finger. He’s one of Cersei Lannister’s prized champions, or Tywin Lannister’s rabid dog, depending on who you asked.

She watches him holding the lance, and feels a chill on the back of her neck.

The next day, the melee, she begs off the festivities, claiming an upset stomach. She wonders at the empty seat beside Sansa, and her heart lifts when it ends up being taken by Edric Storm.

“My uncle is off seeking the maester, hoping to find a tea for my constitution,”

“Perhaps I should find him,” Arya interjects, “I’m feeling a bit out of sorts myself. I think we should both lay off the cherries.”

She tilts her head, and sees the very base of Edric’s hands. Marked with an ever so slight metallic sheen. Arya does her best to meet her father’s eyes, but she can’t be sure if he sees.

Sneaking into the kitchens is easy enough. The servants who can are outside watching the tourney, one of the bits of the entertainment there for all, those who aren’t are rushing about in early preperation for the feast that will end it.

Most of them pay her no mind. Lady Arya Stark never yelled or gave them trouble. Oh if they had known Arya Underfoot. She finds Mheagan easily enough, Barra sticking closely to her side. The little girl is bigger now, nearly five or six, though still quite small. Big enough to fetch and carry, but too small to stray from her mother’s side and be seen.

Today, she has a whining tone in her voice. Arya recognizes it, from Rickon, or shamefully, from her own voice on occasion.

“Mumma, I’m hungry,”

“Then you should have eaten your breakfast.”

“Don’t like cherries.”

Arya wrinkles her nose. There they are again, those cherries.

Something in her mind blinks to life. And that’s how Arya finds herself in the Red Keep library when there’s a tournament going on outside.

It’s not hard to find the book. She’d found it by accident before, it had been sitting on one of the tables when the Septa had been teaching her and Sansa their history. Arya had been admonished for reading it instead of listening, but she remembers.

Why a book on poisons had been so easily accessible had never occurred to her.

The joili nut, she read, was once a popular snack food in parts of Essos until it was discovered that consumption over time would cause poisons to build up in the eater’s body, causing weakness and stomach upset, eventually leading to vomiting, seizures, and death from too much.

They could be distinguished by the almondesque taste, at times almost tasting like ripe cherries, and the slight metallic look caused by the oils staining the skin.

Cherry tarts, is all Arya can think of. She smuggles the book out under her jerkin, and when Ned returns to the tower, she’s left it open to the correct page.

Early the next morning, Arya wakes to a note from Ned atop a pile of packages wrapped in burlap.

“Take the top to the kitchen, leave it behind the flour barrel. The middle to the stable, on the ladder above the saddle rack. The bottom is for Gendry, I trust you know where to leave it. Renly has Edric covered. We’re getting them out before this week is through.”

Being the ghost of the red keep has it’s benefits.

She saves Gendry’s package for last, and risks Ned’s wrath by sneakiing down to see him.

It’s early, only a tiny strip of sun, and he’s still asleep on his cot.

He sits up, blinking, when she flings the package at his chest.

“Hold onto those and listen. We’re sneaking you out, you and your siblings too. “

“What are you-”

Arya shushes him, sitting on the edge of his cot.

“The queen’s children are bastards. They aren’t the kings. We think she was keeping the rest of you around...poisoning the others, so she could have something to hold over King Robert’s head if he ever found out about her infidelity.”

Gendry laughs roughly. The golden children, flaunted in front of all of King’s Landing, bastards just like him. She doesn’t tell him the other bit, that other thing Ned confided in her. She had watched Jamie Lannister in the first days of the tournament, her stomach twisting each time in disgust. She hopes it’s not true, but Lord Renly has insisted that the rumours have persisted about the Queen and her twin for years.

“So your-”

“We’re sending Mheagan and Barra up north to Winterfell. You and Mya are going to the Riverlands, and Renly’s sneaking Edric back to Storm’s End right after the ball. “

She reaches out and squeezes Gendry’s hands tight. Her heart tugs. She would say that she wishes they could send him to Winterfell, but she’s not sure where she’s even going to end up when this is all done. If Ned’s accusations don’t go as planned...there could be war, and it’s better if they aren’t all in one place.

She hesitates, before handing him the other package she had grabbed when she brought Ned’s.

Gendry’s eyes go wide when he unwraps the sword.

“You’re giving me Needle?” he asks breatheless. Arya is similarly out of breath when she responds.

“You’ll need it more than me. I know you can make yourself a better sword, but on the road, until you get to where my father’s sending you…” her voice trails off, words rendered babbles, “Right now you need it more than me,” she steels her voice, “And when you see me again, you can give it back.”

She surges forward and kisses him, once, hard. She pulls back, his eyes are so incredibly blue.

“I’ll come and find you when it’s time to leave...please stay safe.”

Arya bounces on her heels for the rest of the tourney. Ned whispers more of his plans to her. All three groups will leave in the early morning, once the ball is officially over, when most of the castle will be too drunk or hungover to pay attention, and Arya must help them be ready.

He also tells her that he’s sending Sansa away with Renly and Edric.

“That will put her in danger too-” Arya tells him. Ned nods.

“But she will be far away from here, and I do trust Renly. He may not be the most brilliant or thoughtful of lords but he is not cruel and he is not duplicitious. He would bear her no ill will. And if she stays here, than she will be in danger too.”

The tourney and the ball will end, the ghosts will disappear into the night and the next day, Ned will levy his accusations at the queen. These accusations of adultery, treason and incest. Arya doesn’t ask what will happen to her, or what will happen to him.

At the suggestion of a visitor from the Reach, the ball will be a masquerade. That evening, Sansa and Arya prepare their masks. Sansa’s is simple, it barely covers her eyes.

Arya tsks at her while adding the fake fur to her wolf mask, that will go all the way over her head, like a helm.

“What’s the point of that, everyone will know it’s you.”

Sansa smiles sadly.

“Everyone will already know it’s me. They all do.”

Sansa’s gown is a gorgeous pale gold, enveloping her pale figure and making her look all the more regal, despite the anxious look on her face, and the filmy shawl hiding the marks on her arms. Arya’s heart tugs in her chest. She so desperately wants to tell her sister that everything will be okay, that she won’t have to marry that awful prince, but she knows how to keep mum, and she must.

The jousting ends, and the melee, and the archery contests, and Arya would be hard pressed to tell you the names of any of the winners. She doesn’t like this and hopes it ends soon.

Arya dresses for the feast and the ball, and tries not to let her worry show on her face. Sansa helps her lace up her gown and Arya places the wolf mask over her face, braids pinned neatly underneath.

Ned pauses outside when the handmaiden leaves, looking them both over. It’s been so long since he’s looked happy at all, that Arya beams.

“You look lovely,” he says, giving each girl a hug over their shoulders. “The both of you.”

When he hugs Arya, he slips her a bit of paper, which she tucks into her waist pocket. They’ve already discussed this, but she wanted it just in case.

“I’ll see you both at the feast.”

Arya and Sansa walk to the great hall arm in arm. Arya feels that her face must look preoccupied, because Sansa whispers to her,

“Thinking about your secret friend?”

Arya chuckles. She knew she was going to regret letting Myrcella call him that.

“One of these days, I’ll tell you all about him. But for tonight, I can’t.”

Sansa wiggles her eyebrows, and Arya realizes she’d never even let it slip before that Gendry was a “he”. Suddenly, she does wish she could tell Sansa all about him. As fun as it had been keeping him a secret all these years, suddenly, she just wants her sister’s advice.

The feast is lavish and rich. The centerpiece is what must be an entire roast auroch, with leeks and potatoes and huge boats of gravy. Smaller platters abound, rabbit in wine sauce, crispy fried duck, ocean fish wrapped in bacon. Arya barely has a tiny bit of each and she’s already nearly stuffed even before getting to the side dishes, the piles of oat breads, the parsnips and onions boiled in gravy, the little fried fishfingers. She barely even wants to look at the desserts, the gorgeous cream swans and piles of cakes, though she manages a single honey biscuit.

The spirits are flowing freely, and Arya watches as the king and queen at the high table make their way through what seems like it must be a whole barrel each. Sansa sips daintily at a single glass of Dornish red, while Arya slowly learns to appreciate her own cup of mead. No one else around them seems to be holding back.

By the time most of the dishes have been cleared, the music has started and the dancing begun, Arya is so full she feels like she can’t move. The nerves deep inside her don’t help. She can’t think that after tonight, she doesn’t know when (or even if) she’ll ever see Gendry again. Him being safe has to be the most important bit.

When the dancing begins, Sansa can’t refuse Joffrey’s offerred hand. He’d crossed all the way across the hall to ask of course, and this feast is in celebration of their upcoming marriage!

Everyone in the crowd are in masks. Some are as simple as Sansa’s (much as Arya said, the blue feathers do little to disguise her fair face and red hair), others are elaborate, more like headdresses than masks. Cersei herself is wearing a fringed golden mask, likely intended to resemble a lion. King Robert has apparently foregone the theme of the ball, and wears no mask.

Arya dances a few times. She’s not great, but as far as most of the expected ladies skills she was expected to gain, dancing is far from the most obnoxious, so she mostly sticks to the sidelines, watching.

King Robert is so drunk that he’s begun to slump over, though his mouth is still moving. Cersei’s back is ramrod straight, but her hand never leaves her wine glass, and it is never empty.

The night goes on, the crowd waxes and wanes, and Arya listens closely for the faraway sound of the time-keepers’ chimes. She’s waiting for twelve, the hour of the ghost.

Just when the night is beginning to drag on, and she hears the chimes go to eleven, Arya feels a tap on her shoulder.

The clothes he wears are simple, a wool tunic and leather breeches, but well made enough not to be out of place at the ball. He wears a simple black mask covering the upper part of his face, underneath the black iron helm, horns twisted to the front. All Arya has to see is his eyes before a grin sprouts on her face.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, excitedly, grasping both of Gendry’s hands in hers.

“Your father left a bit ago to go and rouse us all, so we could get ready,” he nods off to the edge of the ballroom, where Ned sits with a mug of ale, as though he’d never left. He’d only been wearing the simplest of black masks before, and is now bare-faced. “He gave me the mask, said he thought I might want to see you before we leave.”

Arya feels her face glow red, and she glances, embarrassed, towards where Ned sits.

“I’m glad he did.”

She reaches out and touches the helm. The metal is smooth, the horns well shaped.

“Is this-” she asks in awe.

Gendry nods.

“Your father went out, found Master Mott. He wanted to make sure I didn’t have any belongings I wanted to take with me.”

Arya swallows a lump in her throat. Of course Father thought of that.

“Have you ever been to the Riverlands?” Arya asks, choking back the emotion in her voice.

Gendry chuckles in response.

“I’ve never been out of King’s Landing.”

“Well it’s much nicer. I haven’t been many places there, but they’re all better than King’s Landing.” Arya assures him “Most places don’t stink like this.”

Inch by inch, the eleventh hour ticks by.

“Would you like to dance?” Arya asks at one point. Gendry quirks an eyebrow.

“This is a very rare offer, so I suggest you take me up on it.”

Gendry stands slowly, taking his hands in hers.

“I don’t really know how,” he admits.

Arya giggles.

“Don’t worry, neither do I.”

No one else on the dancefloor is paying any attention to them, the wine having flowed too freely. Arya hadn’t even finished her mead, but the butterflies in her stomach still take flight when Gendry places one hand on her shoulder and one on her waist like she shows him. As time keeps ticking, the butterflies turn to a body-wide sense of warmth. She rests her chin on his shoulder, and wonders if this was what all of Sansa’s breathless, giggly stories were trying to tell.

Their pleasant reverie is interrupted, by a sudden clamor and yelling. The two of them turn to find that King Robert, red-faced and full of rage. Cersei is standing, as red-faced as the king and shouting. Arya and Gendry are clear on the far side, and can’t hear what’s being said, but even from the distance, Arya would swear she sees the Queen’s lips stained silver.

Arya turns to Gendry, looks him up and down, and says,

“Let’s get out of here.”

She takes his hand and they slip out of the ballroom. The stairs outside that the walk following Ned’s direction twist around the outside, and when there’s a sudden loud noise, Arya can kneel and peer down through one of the balconies.

There’s another noise, more recognizable as a crash, and people start yelling in alarm, and milling about, and there’s someone on the floor, and Gendry tugs Arya’s hand and they leave it behind.

The path they follow comes out behind the stables. When they get there, there are already three horses saddled up, and one of the Stark’s men already in the saddle.

Mheagen holds Barra, who’s sleepy but not quite out, in her arms. She looks a little wane, and Arya suddenly wonders if she’d been eating any of the food left for her daughter and inadvertently consuming the poison. Gendry takes her from her, and lets Mheagen mount the light brown mare before handing her daughter back to her.

It gives Arya an odd feeling, seeing him hold a young child.

The two of them, and the guard, leave first, once they have their packs. Mheagen looks frightened, and Arya wishes deeply for their safety. She hopes Winterfell isn’t too much for them.

Mya is tall, nearly as tall as Sansa, and despite her diminished weight, the joili nut doesn’t seem to have taken much of an effect on her. Her and Gendry catch each other’s gaze, and Arya can’t quite name the emotion going through them.

Mya can mounts her horse easily, but Gendry’s never been on a horse in his life, and Arya has to show him how to step into the stirrup and swing his leg over.

“Let her do most of the work,” she tells him, still gripping his hand.

She doesn’t have time to even attempt a farewell, when they’re interrupted by the thumping of feet. Arya spins rapidly, expected Gold Cloaks. Instead she just sees Ned, holding a bundle, sweaty and frantic.

He shoves the bundle into Arya’s arms.

“Go,” he tells her.

“Father what-”

“It’s not safe,” his voice spills, “The king is dead, the queen too. Poison. Joffrey ordered the city closed off.”

Arya’s head swims, but Ned is already looking from Gendry to Mya.

“Keep her safe,” and they both nod solemnly.

He hugs Arya, whispering.

“You remember Harwin right?”

Arya’s head is still swimming.

“The master of horse from Winterfell-”

Ned runs a hand along the back of her head, unpinning her braids.

“He’s living in the Riverlands now. He’s loyal, you can trust him.”

He looks Arya up and down.

“Can you ride in that gown?”

This is real, Arya suddenly realizes.

“Umm, help me unlace,” she asks, turning her back. Ned pulls her laces on her gown, and laughs softly when she lets it drop to the ground, revealing the deerskin breeches she’d slipped on underneath. Old habits are hard to break.

Ned hands her the gown, folded up, along with the bundle.

“You should be able to sell that, but don’t right away. People might come looking.”

Arya mounts the horse in front of Gendry, clutching the bundles, and one of Ned’s hands.

“What about Sansa and Edric?” She asks, in a very small voice.

Ned sighs.

“I’ll do what I can for them,” he rubs the back of Arya’s hand, above her thumb. “Be safe, Little Wolf.”

Arya has to show Gendry how to kick to get the horse to move. It’s still pitch black as they leave the Red Keep behind, the lights from the celebration still shining in the distance.

Arya’s not even seven-and-ten yet, and she’s not sure where her life is going to go.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #fic #gendrya

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newsies-geek · 4 years

Text

“You is cute, maybe” - Javid Fantasy/DND AU

Fanfic for @nervously-spouting-poetry ‘s concept for a Javid DND/Fantasy AU ((Kinda jusr went with writing a one-shot that hit as many potential scenes as possible, let’s goooo))

Had to separate the part because they were too long—

***

CW: Blood, stabbing

Davey Jacobs couldn't describe his life simply because it just wasn't constant.

Everything seemed to be a never changing cycle, while in rival with that, it never seemed to stop changing.

To put it plainly, history had seemingly been repeating itself, just with different people in different towns. The one constant that he could clearly put a pin to was safety. Or rather, the lack thereof. Safety was a luxury that Davey Jacobs was unable to have, and a prompt to make sure that the opposite was true for Les.

David was sure he could put up with the constant riots and protests that came with being a Giant, but he wasn't sure if Les was able to as well. And given that the other boy wouldn't even have to deal with these issues in the first place if not for Davey left him feeling as though he constantly had to make up for everything he did.

Les was different to Davey in ways that could be spotted from the first time you saw him- in size, species, and characteristics.

Davey preferred a quiet life, one that didn't take too much energy to uphold but gave him the opportunity to feel energetic about it when he wanted to.

Les was a nonstop ball of energy, he had been since Davey had first found him, a very small abyssal tiefling, abandoned by his parents in a rickety building, part of an empty town Davey had resided in until bandits drove him out.

Les had no desire to continuously live in the confinements of a cave- such as their current residence.

It was a nice cave, in comparison to others they'd lived in. It wasn't too drafty, seeing as it only had one clear entrance, a make-shift door set up there that kept trespassers from coming in, and Les from getting out.

It wasn't as if Les was some kind of prisoner though, if he truly wanted out, Davey couldn't say no to his pleading. He understood what it was like to have your life controlled by other people's actions and he didn't want that for the younger, but that didn't stop him from enforcing rules that were set with their current location.

"What do you mean I can't go to the edge of the forest? It's just the edge! Not even in it- and it's halfway down the mountain anyway!" The tiefling whined.

"Because, knights could very easily be waiting there- or lord knows who-"

"And what's wrong with knights? Not all of them are bad." Les scoffed and rolled his eyes from where he sat on Davey's shoulder, the older boy sitting with one knee up and the other leg laying flat as he struggled to read a book the size of his finger, "These words are just gibberish at this point..." he muttered before processing Les's words, "Not all bad? Les, there are many people after me but knights are the most persistent. Stubborn, I should say. They're not good news and they'll take any chance they can get to have leverage over me. That means you."

"I can outrun their swords!" Les defended, standing up shakily.

"And what if they have bows? Their aim may be god-awful but an arrow to any part of your body means possible immobilization. You can't even fly yet-"

"Can too!" Les argued, bending his knees and tearing up to jump.

"Les-" Davey groaned with a tone that implied that this was a frequent occurrence.

The smaller boy had already set his mind to it, jumping swiftly from the brunette's shoulder before spastically flapping his wings and squeaking as Davey caught him a few feet above the ground.

"Nice try, but until you learn proper self-defense and basic flying, you shouldn't go beyond the meadows." Davey set Les down gently to his left on a small pile of lamb's wool that Davey had managed to collect from where the local livestock had left bits of their tufts on prickly bushes, making Les a make-shift bed.

"They won't attack me if they don't know I'm with you! I can be sneaky!" Les tried, looking up at his brother with a pleading grin.

"Humans go after me specifically because of how noticeable I am. It doesn't matter to them what species you are- if you aren't human, you aren't worthy of their presence." Davey spat out the last part cynically.

"Oh come on, not all humans are bad." Les groaned, flopping onto the wool and staring up at the stone ceiling, winds spread out behind him, laying flat on the wool.

"Oh yeah? Which humans have you been talking to?" Davey chuckled, bringing the book closer to his eyes and squinting, "I can't see when it's this dark- we need to get some lanterns in here, or- hey, how about we go catch some fireflies later? Of course, we'll have to release them in the morning but-"

"That Human with the cape that keeps comin' to talk you seems awful friendly." Les hummed like this was nothing, closing his eyes.

Davey flinched, laughing nervously, "What?"

"Oh please, you think I don't listen whenever I hear you talking outside? The cracks in the door may be small for you to see out of- but they're Les head sized for me!" Les grinned up at his now panicking brother who had set his tiny, for him, book down on the side of him that Les wasn't on.

"He comes to threaten me every week, Les- I wouldn't call that friendly-"

"He just doesn't know how to start a conversation and that's the best way he can!" Les sat up defensively, "He threatens you, you try to stutter out a response, and then you two go off on some nonsense about town politics or how the weather is going. His threats are like- completely empty." The small boy snorted.

"Oh please, he's a knight." Davey huffed.

"But you're always so happy to see him." Les scoffed.

"I am not!" Davey blushed, "I told you, all knights are-"

"Bad news, yeah, I know. But you guys just end up flirting and-"

"Flirting? How do you know what flirting is?" Davey stuttered out.

"Well..." Les shrugged, "I just figure it's when you make the other person kinda flustered and-"

"Jack does not make me flustered." Davey sniffed.

"You know his name?" Les perked up with a cheeky grin.

"Be quiet." Davey groaned, running his hands over his face.

Les paused before continuing, "Does he know your name?"

Davey kept his hands over his face a moment, "Obviously. I wasn't going to be rude and not introduce myself."

"How come you can he so closed minded about knights when you're obviously wrong?" Les argued, furrowing his brow.

"Jack is- I don't know what his intentions are-"

"I think if he had the means to hurt you by now, he woulda'." Les sighed.

"He could just be..trying to warm up to me and-"

"He comes here once a week red in the face when he sees you. Nobody is that good at acting, especially knights. We've got bards for that." The younger flopped back down onto the bed.

"He...he doesn't actually..." Davey whispered, thoughts that he'd tried so hard to suppress beginning to surface. He immediately snapped into productive mode to keep the thoughts at bay, "I'm going go out and do some gardening. You're welcome to come outside as well if you promise not to go past the meadows-"

"I'll stay in here until nighttime." Les yawned tiredly, curling up so he could tuck his nose under his tail, "Light hurts my eyes too much."

Davey smiled fondly at his brother before giving a small nod and heading for the door made up of tree trunks, laced together with twine, opening it, with a croak from the wood, before exiting and shutting the door behind him.

The feeling of bliss that sunlight gave him as soon as he walked out of the shadows of the front of the cave filled Davey with pure bliss. He gingerly placed a bare foot down on fresh, green grass before sighing and turning to the right where a field of orange poppy flowers that ran down the hill greeted him, a small stream running on his side of the field, he cupped a hand and threw it over the field, affectively watering a third of the flowers. He moved downhill so sunlight touched his whole face, and part of his shoulders now. The light of evening being soft and warming against a gentle breeze.

Davey sighed blissfully before taking another handful of water and tossing it onto the field, large droplets splashing down until Davey heard a screech, causing the giant to take a few steps back, "O-Oh dear-" He whispered, "Did um- did someone move into the flowers? I'm sorry I didn't notice- I-I was just watering them and-"

A brunette sat up from where he was laying down in the field, hidden from the poppies that had draped over him, he stood up slowly and shook his arms, water flying off around him, "Geez, this'll rust it for sure." He groaned.

"You-" Davey froze.

Jack stiffened at the acknowledgement before giving a small wave and immediately regretting the decision, "I'm, hi, I- uh- I was just uh- got tired walking up the hill and-"

"What are you doing here again?" Davey sighed tiredly but couldn't hide a small smile twitching at his lips.

"Th-The usual um- just- just checking in and-"

Davey suddenly frowned, "The usual is you threatening to take care of me, if that's the case, can I politely ask you to um- just- just not today?"

"N-Not today?" Jack sounded dejected, "Oh um yeah- I uh- just uh- was uh- well, I wasn't coming to slay you- I was just-"

Davey stiffened, "W-Wait are you- are you after my brother-" His voice was hushed and terrified and he began backing up towards the door protectively.

"No! No, no, I would never- y-your what?" Jack swallowed nervously.

"Listen, I can take you and your people getting after me, but you can't bring Les into this, okay? He wouldn't hurt a fly-"

"And you would?" Jack chirped up.

Davey furrowed his brow before leaning forward, crouching down and picking jack up by his cape, eyes solidly serious, "You think I would?"

"F-From my current point of view?" The knight squeaked.

Davey cocked an eyebrow, "I'm not hurting you, am I?" He sounded genuinely concerned.

"N-No- I um- no- I don't think you um- you don't seem to? To have the uh- the intentions to hurt others-" Jack looked at his dangling feet, "I-I do have um- a particular dislike of these here heights though- if you wouldn't mind- I jus' fell from this rickety ol' penthouse once an'-"

"You what?" Davey tried to stifle a chuckle, respectively placing Jack down.

"Well I Uh- got a second story room in this inn down in the town and may have lost my footin' while sparring with Crutchie and-"

"Crutchie?" Davey cocked his head.

Jack's eyes lit up and he smiled with a nod, "He helps me with uh- with business and what not."

"Like slaying giants?" Davey frowned slightly.

"Um...yeah.." Jack muttered sheepishly.

"Right..well, it was um...interesting chatting with you...for the third time this week, but-"

"I've never actually-" Jack started at the same time.

"What was that?" Davey lifted his eyebrows.

"Dave, I don't have the means to- to hurt-" The swish of an arrow interrupted Jack as it whizzed by him, just missing his shoulder.

Davey swiftly looked to the edge of the forest, seeing two men, one with a sword drawn and the other with a bow.

"They're here for me." Davey and Jack both remarked in unison before looking at each other in confusion.

Another arrow flew and hit Davey this time in the hand. He hissed in pain, waving it with a few curses, "God awful aim-"

"Dave I-"

"Sh, no time for words, we have to go." Davey scooped Jack up and covered him with both hands, beginning to turn towards the cave before the aspect of them finding Les came to his mind, causing him to stumble down the side of the mountain, away from the two men who begin to race after them, appearing and reappearing just behind David, "How are they using magic, Jack-"

"Oh, you don't want tah know nothin' about them-" Jack mumbled from within Davey's protective hands, just barely able to see through his fingers, "Look jus- just uh- drop- drop me off somewhere, they'll stop chasin' you-"

"Aren't they just doing your job for you?" Davey remarked bitterly.

"That's- that is not a fair accusation, Dave-" Jack began.

"What is then?" The giant rolled his eyes, continuing on with some space between him and the two pursuers, "You come here every time under the pretense that you've got a job to do and all you do is stall. Why not just get it over with? Are you trying to- befriend me or something so you can get me when I least expect it? Because I- just do something, I can't continue to talk to you without ever knowing what to expect."

Jack swallowed nervously, "I-I don't have the means to hurt you-"

"How do I know that?" Davey whispered, not that Jack couldn't hear.

"Because-" Jack nudged with his back at Davey's hands, making him loosen his grip, "I ain't lettin' these fellas hurt you."

"What? S-So that you can- take the bounty versus them-"

"Christ, Dave! I don't care about no bounty, I care about you! You don't believe me? Fine, I'll show you-" Jack hopped on the edge of Dave's hand, looking down at the stream they were about to pass over.

"Jack-" Davey began to close his hands as Jack prepared to jump.

"I ain't lettin' them hurt you, Dave-"

"Jack-!" Davey clamped his hands shut a moment too late, Jack leaping from his grip and falling towards the water, "JACK-" Davey leapt over the stream, nearly falling over with how quickly her turned around to try and catch the boy, only to see him disappear from thin air, "O-Oh god- he disintegrating on impact-"

"Not quite!" A snobby voice came from a dark brunette, one of the pursuers who now had Jack held back by his arms, struggling for freedom.

"Thanks for the help!" The other pursuer cackle before tightening his grip on Jack, "I'm sure you won't mind us takin' care of your boyfriend then- they did say it didn't matter if he was dead OR alive, did they Morris?" The dark brunette cocked an eye at his brother.

"So they says." Morris nodded.

The other boy got a firm grip of Jack's head, "I'll be merciful to him, giant, you don't gotta worry about him anymore, just a quick snap and-"

"NO-" Davey yelled, grabbing for Morris and quickly picking up, holding him up high threateningly, "Touch him and and drop him." Davey growled, blood dripping from the arrow wound in the hand he held Morris in.

Oscar looked panicked, "He can just-"

"Oh trust me, I know how magic works, I can crush him faster than he can transfer himself anywhere." Davey's eyes narrowed as he tightened his grip on Morris, "Let him go."

Oscar looked conflicted before he seemed to growl and release Jack.

Jack stumbled forward, scrambling away from Oscar and looking up at Davey in a panic.

"N-Now let him go." Oscar glared up at Davey.

"Promise you won't hurt him again." Davey nodded fo Jack.

"I can't promise nothin other than his life is safe right now." Oscar spat.

Davey held onto Morris tighter, "Let him-" the breath got knocked out of Davey as something sharp pierced his skin, causing him to drop Morris, who quickly vanished from thin air, not reappearing anywhere that Davey could see.

"Having a giant on your side i-is cheatin'!" Morris snarled at Jack before also vanishing.

"So is usin' magic that ain't yours-!" Jack snapped quickly before becoming aware of the silence and absence of the Delanceys. He sighed and fell onto his back with a groan, "I hate those two and-" Jack yelped as the ground shook with Davey falling to his knees.

Jack sat up, looking concerned at Davey before his eyes widened, only just now noticing the long-sword plunged into Davey's palm, halfway through, "O-Oh my god, Dave-" he quickly waded across the river, chain-meal making it harder but not impossible to do so as he made his way to the other side of the stream, where Davey sat on his knees, clutching the base of his hand with his other, looking like he might cry.

"I-It really hurts." Davey's voice cracked and he mentally cursed himself for how childish he sounded.

"H-Hey, it's goin'a be okay.." Jack swallowed nervously, "Can I see it?" He murmured.

Davey hesitated before gingerly lowering his hand.

"Oh geez, Dave, that's nearly all the way through your hand.."

"Mhm.." Davey hissed in pain, the grass beneath him colder than earlier as night began to fall, "I need to- to get back to Les- the mountain is just a few minutes walk- I've got medicine there-"

"O-Okay, just take it easy." Jack murmured as Davey nodded, offering his other hand, only slightly covered in blood, allowing the brunette to kneel down on his palm, getting it wet from the stream water, not that Davey particularly cared or noticed as he slowly got to his feet and began to drag them back towards the cave.

"I'm sure you've...you've got a lot of questions." Jack cleared his throat.

"That doesn't even begin to sum it up." Davey snorted.

#javid #javey #jack kelly #davey jacobs #newsies #newsie #musical #musicals #kelly #fanfic #jack #jacobs #gay #DND #fantasy #fantasy au #au

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poppytheorist · 5 years

Text

Me Laughing

must’ve been one hell of a joke

Preamble

So, I was in the middle of writing a piece on [redacted] when Poppy released a 27-minute video of herself laughing. Naturally, that took priority. Sorry for my absence, this post took some time. And by “some time,” I mean “45 hours.”

This may be the best thing I’ve written, but it’s also the most insane thing I’ve written. In fact, I would label this post as ‘maddening.’ It’s possible you won’t be able to look at Poppy the same way again. I know I don’t. You can’t unread this, readers beware, [other dramatic warnings], etc., etc.

Descend when ready.

…

I thought “Concrete” was pretty #wild, but “Me Laughing” takes the cake. This video is pure lunacy, and I mean that somewhat literally since Poppy does laugh at what appears to be nothing for almost half an hour.

Due to the sheer insanity of “Me Laughing,” I’ve put together a handy little collage to help readers follow along. Behold: my barely passable Paint skills!

the pic for Section 4 basically explains everything

Before we begin, I need to address a few things. There’s at least, like, nine people who read this stuff, and while I can’t say that I envy you, I can say that I appreciate you. Thanks for sticking around.

However, there’s a funny thing that happens when you know you’re writing for an audience. You feel pressured to adapt your style. I feel the need to be a little more careful about some of the things I say, but that’s probably for the best. Hopefully this extra care will result in more coherent posts, but I doubt it.

This post will be long. Partially because “Me Laughing” is long, partially because I’ve padded this out with shaky theory about how the world works. Guess that’s no different than my other posts, but still, feel free to tune that out if you’re just here for the Poppy stuff, though maybe you’ll find some of it interesting.

I tend to write authoritatively, which may be misleading because I’m not always confident about what I’m saying. I simply enjoy taking things to their natural conclusions. Typically, there’s something interesting at the end. Or, at least, a premise insane enough to make writing about it enjoyable. See, for example, my post on “Concrete.” This post won’t be much different, maybe just a little crazier.

Now, I’ve got a funny feeling that some people may think I am “reading too much into this” or that Poppy’s work “isn’t that deep.” Hey, I get it. Those objections are completely understandable. I was once there myself, but now I’ve moved away from thinking that way. I’ll do my best to explain why.

From what I’ve seen, aesthetics (roughly: the study of art) is a total battlefield. Nobody agrees on anything, everybody thinks that only they can ‘properly’ understand art and that everyone else is wrong. There’s people who think beauty is objective, there’s people who think “no, that’s stupid, beauty is obviously subjective,” and there’s even the people who outright deny that aesthetics exists. Recently, we also had the pleasure of witnessing the aesthetics debate become another facet of the everlasting culture war. Think a line from “Play Destroy” sums my thoughts about that up: “oh boy!”

Needless to say, it’s a massive shitshow.

Despite my rather war-torn depiction of modern aesthetics, it might be a good thing that we can never ‘understand’ art. I hear that’s, like, part of the point. If art was ever ‘solved,’ well, we’d be faced with the idea that there is nothing ‘special’ about being human, that we’re just sacks of meat bumbling around with no purpose. Then everybody would, like, die or something. Truth hurts, art heals, let’s stay alive.

Anywho, I mention all this because there’s no rigorous way to determine how ‘deep’ a song (or any piece of art) is. You can’t just take a stick, poke it into some art, and say: “yep, this Poppy song is 75 [metres/fathoms/hands/whatever nonsense unit] deep!” Besides, nobody even agrees what ‘artistic depth’ means, and most attempts to define it flounder. If you listen closely, you can just faintly hear Goodhart laughing.

This is also why people who think they can ‘objectively’ analyze art are dogmatic blowhards. Any amount of rigorous thinking reveals that our standards for what make art ‘good’ or ‘bad’ are entirely baseless. No, seriously, it’s a case of channeling your inner Socrates and repeatedly asking ‘why’ until the other person throws their up their arms, leaves, and stops answering your texts.

We don’t even know what art is, so thinking you can ‘understand’ art and judge its ‘depth’ is pure arrogance. At least, until someone finds a way to math that shit. “Sounds solipsism.” Well, ya gotta start somewhere.

Now, does this mean we should also throw up our arms, say: “screw it” and return to binging Netflix and eating foods that you know aren’t good for you but you eat them anyways because they make you feel good and that’s what you need right now? Well, no, actually.

Even if we aren’t 100% sure what art is, or what we should do with it, there are some theories on art that I would call: “pretty not-terrible.” Some people have spent their entire lives thinking about these things and their insights are fascinating. However, I’m not here to talk theory. If you want to learn more, go pick up a book or something, nerd.

Anyway, one time this German guy said: “without music, life would be a mistake.” He also said that looking at things from multiple perspectives is pretty neat, so that’s what we’re here to do. Turns out art is kinda fun and spending a bit more time thinking about it pays dividends.

See, art just wants to be understood and so does Poppy. I want to give her and Titanic the benefit of the doubt and take them seriously as artists. While I don’t think everything they produce is God’s gift to earth (see: [redacted]), I do enjoy the majority of their work. Plus, the abstract and absurd nature of their content means writing about it is a blast.

Whether I truly believe any of the interpretations I come up with is irrelevant. Hell, I’m not even sure half of what I say even remotely resembles what Poppy and Titanic envisioned. But, that’s not the point. Shallow readings are a dime-a-dozen, see: Genius; I’m here to provide something better. To show that Poppy’s work, or any art, really, can be a whole lot more fun if you spend even just a teensy bit of time analyzing it. Hopefully I can also provide some of the tools to do so.

Enough rambling, let’s get into it.

Intro

At first glance, “Me Laughing” seems like Poppy doing cute ASMR for 27(!!) minutes while simultaneously trolling anyone who expected a video titled “Me Laughing” to be about anything different. Sure, but that reading gets a ‘B’ for ‘Basic.’

Yes, Poppy and Titanic often troll their audience. See: “A live Interview with Poppy.” But the trolling is both part of the delivery of their message and part of the message itself. So while “Me Laughing” looks like a simple ASMR troll video, I’m going to argue that it’s not.

Previously, Poppy released videos like “Delete Your Facebook” and “I’m Poppy.” Fun vids, but they’re made of looped clips. Thirty seconds in and you’ve watched the whole thing. Consider: “Me Laughing” is 27 minutes, but no parts are looped, it’s all original. As always, I’m just here to ask: why?

Since “Me Laughing” is not made up of looped clips, but is instead all original content, there is an inherent progression to the events. Each segment is unique, and when considered sequentially, pieces from each section build on each other to produce an artistic whole.

Yes, that’s a fancy way of saying it has a ‘story.’

Also, if you’ve watched the video, you’ll know that something just feels ‘off.’ If “Me Laughing” was ‘just’ Poppy ASMR, why does she constantly focus on a single point in the distance? What’s with Poppy’s frequent stares into the camera? And why the fuck is she wearing latex?

Clearly, something else is going on.

Detailed Summary

Let’s recall what actually happens in “Me Laughing.” Hopefully this recap will convey a sense of what ‘else’ exactly is going on and make the insane claims later on in the analysis a tad easier to swallow.

“Me Laughing” starts off pretty normally. Sections 1 and 2 are mostly Poppy laughing, as promised. Even in these early sections, however, we can still pick out some peculiar things.

In Section 1, and throughout the video, we see Poppy looking upwards as she laughs, as if she was remembering something funny that happened. Or as if she was thinking about something for a while and suddenly found it hilarious. “Maybe Poppy just looks upward when she laughs.” Doubtful. Try doing it right now. Feels weird, right? Whatever, moving on…

Next oddity: there’s a strange transitioning shot at the start of the video and between Sections 1 and 2 where the camera sweeps over Poppy’s latex-ed body. “Well, maybe Titanic just thought it would be cool to do it like that.” Yes, but why did he think it would be cool? Why that transitioning shot, out of all the possible ones? What purpose does it serve?

Also: Section 1 was a very steady shot, probably filmed using a tripod, or whatever fancy word camera-people use. However, the shot for Section 2 is shaky. Like, weirdly shaky. Maybe even too shaky. And this isn’t the only section filmed this way, half of “Me Laughing” is too. “Well, maybe Titanic can’t hold a camera steady.” No, that doesn’t seem right. We know Titanic can, in fact, hold a camera steady, or, at the very least, he possesses the means to take a steady shot. See: literally all Poppy videos. No, the shaky-cam is intentional. Again, I’m just here to ask: why?

Now, I don’t mean to tip my hand too much here, but to me, the camera’s sway resembles the unsteady gaze of a curious observer. Perhaps one who is timidly stepping around the beheld, drinking in all the angles. Recall my post on “Touch Poppy.” With steady camera shots, it’s easy to forget someone is on the other side, but with unsteady shots, it’s downright impossible to ignore, e.g., “wow, that shaky-cam is really noticeable. What is this, a shitty sequel to the Blair Witch Project?” Perhaps these sections were filmed this way to emphasize the presence of an observer. As for why such a thing would be emphasized—well, we’ll get to that.

Around the 3:30 mark, Poppy shakes her head and clearly utters a, “m-mm,” as in, “nuh-uh, no way.” This gesture is repeated throughout the video. I’ll let you think about that one.

The video continues, and at 3:52 the camera lazily pans down, focusing on Poppy’s body and cutting her head out of the shot for several seconds, similar to the transition shot from Section 1 to 2. Thirty seconds later, the same thing happens. Guess this isn’t just Titanic diversifying the shot composition. It’s also about this point where attempts to pass “Me Laughing” off as anything resembling a ‘normal’ video start to fall apart.

Poppy’s sitting position in Section 3 is both clever and hilarious. It shows her whole get-up, highlighting how absurdly tall her platform shoes are. She also flip-flops her feet back and forth several times as if to further emphasize her mega-shoes. Why would she wear such crazy shoes for a simple video of herself laughing?

That’s not all that’s ‘off’ about Section 3—this is also the first section where Poppy stares at a spot in the distance for a prolonged period of time. In several instances, she quizzically tilts her head to the side, not unlike a faithful dog trying to decipher commands from her master. At 6:23 we also get a clear “huh,” a noise of acknowledgement, of understanding. Further, Section 3 has several stretches of silence where Poppy is no longer laughing. She just sits there while you watch. It’s… unsettling.

Section 4 is shot in a similarly shaky-style to Section 2, but this time with Poppy sitting down. Also, we see instances of Poppy focusing on something off in the distance both when she is laughing and when she is not, as was the case in the previous sections. However, there are some weird things about Section 4 that set it apart from the others and further develop the video.

Around the 8:38 mark, Poppy utters a “mm-mm-mm” sound while shaking her head and staring off into the distance. It’s fairly clear that she is communicating with something off-screen. Perhaps entities that are invisible to us. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say these off-screen entities are the things making her laugh.

We will see more evidence of Poppy supposedly communicating with invisible beings later, however, this is bordering on fetishizing Poppy’s lore as opposed to analyzing her artistic message. If you’re half-learned on Poppy lore (which, you better be, considering the fact that you’re reading this), this would be like focusing on the identity of ‘They’ instead of the significance of ‘They.’ Another example would be focusing on the ‘origin’ of Poppy, e.g., is she an android? Who is her creator? Etc., instead of asking why someone would create the artistic work of Poppy in the first place and/or considering the implications of said work.

If you’ve read anything else I’ve written, perhaps you’ve noticed that I try and stay away from acknowledging that Poppy even has lore. I want to take Poppy seriously, not literally. Or, in “pretentious asshole” terms, to consider her work artistically, not canonically. There are many reasons for this and I didn’t just get here randomly overnight, but that’s for another post.

Edgy ranting aside, there’s another part of Section 4 that I’d like to point out. Before this section, there was only a single instance of Poppy looking into the camera (happened in Section 2), but in Section 4, she frequently looks into the lens, acknowledging that an observer is present. She shoots this observer a flurry of dark and mischievous glances. Then she laughs.

Section 5 features more head shaking, distant staring, etc., but it is also a relatively sad section. Poppy laughs very little, and frequently looks down. Yes, a pun. Poppy has been laughing for most of the video, so why, all of a sudden, does she seem so sad?

Section 6 is shot shakily and close-up. I mean, really close-up. Like, right-in-her-face close-up. To the point where the camera is often out of focus. We’re also given a blatantly voyeuristic sweep over Poppy’s chest as the camera shifts position around her. Further, there are several instances where Poppy looks deep into the camera, with what I refer to as a “model pout,” where she slightly parts her lips and opens her eyes wide. Recall my post on “Computer Boy” where I talked about the fan-idol relationship. That lustful look? It’s for you, except everybody knows it’s not.

Quick note: I will elaborate on this when I talk about “You’re Too Close,” but it’s important to stay mindful and know that despite some uncomfortably voyeuristic shots in “Me Laughing,” it doesn’t necessarily mean that the video, or anyone who worked on it, is, y’know, perverted or something. Depicting the voyeuristic nature of idolism is how we talk about the voyeuristic nature of idolism, the same way that depicting racism is how we talk about racism.

The problem is that nowadays, we are trained to think quickly, not critically. Your initial response (also called your ‘knee-jerk’ response) to Poppy’s work shouldn’t be your final response to it. It’s important to consider context and think carefully. Ask yourself: why would Poppy choose to show you this? What does she want you to think about? What is she trying to tell you?

Section 7 is where things start to get really fucking weird.

Previously, I said that there was something darker lurking in “Me Laughing,” and Section 7 is where this darkness begins to manifest. The segment starts with Poppy having another one of her imaginary conversations with demons or whatever where she nods her head and gives some “mm-hmms” in agreement. Shortly after, she looks right at the camera and laughs in your face. Not only is her laugh absolutely maniacal, but it seems completely sincere too. This section really relates the feeling that you are not in on the ‘joke’—maybe the joke’s about you.

Section 7 also provides a sense of violent foreboding: a creeping feeling that something is going to happen to you, but you don’t know what that ‘something’ is, and you have absolutely no power to stop it. What really drives this sense of helplessness home is the way the scene is shot. At one point, the camera spends a few seconds just looking at Poppy’s hand. This emphasizes your lack of control. You are completely at the mercy of the camera’s whims. You only see what is shown to you. Then, as the scene closes, the camera is put down in front of Poppy, and, after a few tense seconds, she slowly reorients her body and starts crawling towards you. Luckily, the camera is picked up before she reaches it—you were saved, but what if you hadn’t been?

Oh, right, I forgot to mention: Poppy didn’t laugh much in this section.

Section 8 is a more amped-up version of Section 6. We get Poppy staring deep into the camera for almost the entire scene’s duration. Her lustful gaze relates a feeling of vulnerability, like you are spying on a defenseless little girl, but at the same time, it feels like she is giving you one last dose of what you want before she brutally murders you.

Section 9 is fairly straightforward. We have Poppy staring at a fixed point in the distance as if she is receiving orders from her alien overlord. We also get several rapid glances toward the camera, as if her orders somehow involve you, or as if she and someone else are sharing gossip about you right in front of your face.

…

…And then Section 10 happens.

Poppy says: “goodbye.”

In Section 10 we have a bit of a climax. No, not that kind of climax. Well, unless this essay is really doing it for you.

The first interpretation of Section 10 is fairly basic, Poppy is waving goodbye because you’re about to die. Obviously, whatever scheme she and her invisible monster friends cooked up is going to be carried out, and it’s probably going to result in the destruction of everything, yourself included. This is sad, probably, but she seems to find it highly amusing. Again, I’m not a fan of obsessing over canon or lore, so I’ll tackle this one slightly differently in the analysis, but I do think this reading of “Me Laughing” is at least semi-faithful to Poppy and Titanic’s vision. This interpretation also serves as a very nice teaser for P3. I mean, if “Do you disagree?” has told us anything, P3 will have a lot of destroying.

The next reading of Section 10 involves the objectifying nature of idolism. Yes, the $5 words are starting to come out, brace yourself. Anyway, in this section, Poppy giggles as she waggles her hands around, back and forth then forth and back, as though she is using her hands for the first time. Almost like a shiny, new automaton discovering its motor functions. It’s cute, but silly. And by silly, I mean overly silly. You have to remember that Poppy is played by a woman in her mid-20s. Reminds me of some lines from “Hard Feelings”: “my arms and my legs are so stiff / Is that the way you wanted it?” Or, rather, is this how you want her to act?

At the end of the section, the camera moves right up to Poppy’s face and she looks at you and just… stares.

…

And stares…

…

And stares…

…

She knows.

Finally, we get to Section 11, which would be my main argument against the totally boring ‘Poppy communicating with demons’ reading. Poppy is seated, again, with her arms wrapped around her thighs. Note again the sense of her smallness and vulnerability transmitted by her sitting position. Also note the way the shot is filmed, with the camera looking down on Poppy and frequently swooping in for close passes.

And then, in the last two seconds, something really bizarre happens. For a brief moment, some foreign object enters the shot, just in the very corner. Now, I’m about to make a weird argument, be wary of it. Other than the random piece of equipment entering the shot, “Me Laughing” does not end off on a noteworthy moment. Just Poppy sitting there, looking up at the camera. Plenty of instances of that. The video could have easily been trimmed by 2 seconds and nothing would have changed. We can also (probably) assume that somebody carefully reviewed this video before it was uploaded.

We’re left the possibility that those last two seconds were left in the video for a reason. And that reason is—

Hey, wait a minute, was that a mirror?

Analysis

“Me Laughing” is a really interesting video, and you can have a lot of fun if you spend some time looking into it, so that’s exactly what we’re going to do. We’ll tackle it from several different angles, watch for the switches.

Quick words of warning here: I’m about to use the words ‘parody,’ ‘satire,’ and ‘sarcasm’ interchangeably, a practice some would refer to as: “really fucking lazy.” Frankly, I don’t give a damn, I’m not a professional, I’m going to type my silly words anyway and you can’t stop me.

As content loses any sense of shame in attempting to draw your attention, nuance withers away and it becomes harder and harder to differentiate parody from parodied. For example, is “Old Town Road” criticizing the state of the music industry or embracing it? Now, I’m positive that Lil Nas X has the self-awareness of my pug when he’s lapping up his own boogers, yet I personally couldn’t write a song that so perfectly encapsulates everything wrong with modern music. So, is “Old Town Road” a parody or not?

This is where someone ripping off Westworld would say: “if you can’t tell, does it matter?” to which I would answer: “yes, yes it does.”

Context may be fleeting, unreliable, and arguably nonexistent, but I still believe it’s possible to differentiate parody from parodied, it just takes a little more effort. See, I think “Me Laughing” is satirical as hell, especially considering its context within Poppy’s body of work and how it compares to mainstream internet content.

First, consider that the frankly-titled video “Me Laughing” was hyped up for three days before it ‘premiered’ on YouTube. Hilarious, but also incisive. Who waits three days to see someone laugh? “Well, I did.” Ah.

The sarcastic nature of the video also shines through in the description, which reads: “A motion picture starring Poppy.” There’s a tired, yet necessary, statement here on the continuing degradation of internet content. What won’t people eat up?

We all know Poppy’s no stranger to sarcasm. See: “Bleach Blonde Baby” or “Poppy loves Politics.” She will often refer to her videos as “high quality internet content,” while uploading videos of herself eating cotton candy or ‘ooo-ing’ at things. With “Me Laughing,” a video where she laughs for 27 minutes, Poppy further questions where the line is regarding what content people will happily consume.

Fun story: I’ve seen people call “Me Laughing” ASMR. In fact, I think I did, at some point. Huh, I should probably change that. This isn’t totally wrong, but know that “Me Laughing” takes so many shots at ASMR you’d think the video shared a set with Sicario. And, if that’s the case, they could have saved some money and just filmed the video in my neighborhood haha… hah… ha… (seriously though I’m in danger)

Considering “Me Laughing” as a genuine ASMR video would obviously be antithetical to Poppy’s entire body of work. Recall lyrics like: “Poppy is an object.” No, “Me Laughing” is much more than simply Poppy recording cute ASMR.

Poppy has been questioning the nature of people’s ASMR obsession since her first YouTube video, “Poppy Eats Cotton Candy,” where she had the mic uncomfortably close to her throat so her little gulps and coos were clearly audible. What leads to people wanting to hear these things?

Zoom out: many of Poppy’s videos are about obsession. Forget that and the point will fly right over your head. Let’s now reframe the question: why would people want to hear such intimate sounds from Poppy? Answer that and “Me Laughing” will make a lot more sense.

What I’m about to say next will be very dense because it will outline the thesis of a large part of Poppy’s work. Sorry, hopefully it’s still readable. I’m still developing my interpretations of her work, and I promise to expand and explain them more in the future.

I’m also sure some fans will want to stab me in the neck with a rusty spoon for this post because it’ll appear like I am directly criticizing them. In reality, I am actually insinuating that Poppy is criticizing them, but nuance is dead, knee-jerk reactions reign supreme. Whatever. If you react that way, it means you’re so eyeballs deep in obsession that you fail to realize why Poppy courts your obsession in the first place. Poppy’s work entices fans to obsess over her, but it also berates those who do so.

Note that this is all as a means of criticizing the status-quo. And guess what: fans are part of the status-quo. It stings when you realize your idol’s criticisms are actually about you, but I’m not convinced Poppy is malicious. She wants you to be a better person.

This is my best estimate of her thesis: the nature of the objectification of celebrities is rooted in a sexual obsession—that is, a desire for their bodies. Pun intended. Objectification stems from fantasizing over what the celebrity shows you, which is almost always physical, or at least results in the fantasy manifesting itself as a physical representation.

In other words: “everybody wants to be Poppy.”

Poppy recognizes the inherently sexual obsession with figures in the ASMR community. She wears latex in “Me Laughing” to draw attention to this. It’s as if she was saying: “this is what you’re here for, right?”

Note that obsession is inherently progressive. It grows and grows, eventually leading to fans voyeuristically observing the objectified person’s intimate bodily functions. This culminates in “Me Laughing.” Poppy knows what you want, but as payment, she’s going to leave a nagging feeling in your brain that somehow you have done something wrong. That you shouldn’t really be watching this video, but she knows you are.

Recall Titanic’s comments about making people slightly uncomfortable. Consuming is harder with a lump in your throat. The key to understanding Poppy’s work is to ask why she wants you to feel uncomfortable. What about your behavior does she want you to realize?

Earlier in the post, I mentioned that I’m not a huge fan of the whole ‘Poppy talking to demons about destroying the world’ reading because it comes dangerously close to obsessing over her lore. Lore is like history without the usefulness, so I’m going to ignore it. Regardless, I said I would use that interpretation for something more interesting, so I’d like to ask:

What makes someone want to destroy the world?

Throughout “Me Laughing,” Poppy shoots dark glares at the camera. There’s something sinister in her eyes, something genuinely evil lurking in her gaze. We know she obviously has an immense disdain for the status-quo. What else would lead to lyrics like: “down, let it all burn down / burn it to the ground”?

Preceding any cries of “viva la revolución!” or “apocalypse, now!” is an implicit judgement that what is left of the world is either not able to be saved, or not worth saving. That tearing everything down and beginning anew is preferable to salvaging what remains. To reach such a mindset, one would need to see modern society with such disgust and be so disenchanted with our current world that it no longer appears worth preserving. One would also need to have given up hope on the ability for people to come together and solve their problems. To have lost hope in humanity’s ability to adapt and overcome. To think that perhaps our problems have become too big for us to solve, that perhaps we have finally dug too deep a hole to climb out of.

Again, people don’t reach a hopeless mindset overnight; it takes many steps to descend into the darkness. But, the numpties on r/GetMotivated tell me, “every journey begins with a single step,” so let’s take one together.

In a tweet, I mentioned that “Me Laughing” was also about absurdism. No, that wasn’t a typo for ‘absurdity.’ I may write ridiculously deep-dives into Poppy lyrics and lore, but I try not to waste words.

Anyway, let’s play a game. I call it the “imagine something real quick because I need to prove a point” game.

Imagine being stuck in a system. Yes, it’s cliché to use the word ‘system,’ and any time you do, it carries the connotation that you are some conspiracy nut, e.g., “you can’t trust the system man!” I understand all this, please just bear with me and let me use the word, it’s useful. Anyway, you don’t like the system because a lot of the system is bad and it’s slowly, but surely, getting worse. The cracks are starting to show and the whole thing is poised to come crumbling down. Okay, that’s not good, you want to tell people about this. To warn them. However, in order to obtain a sizable audience for your message, you need to first succeed within the system, and to do that, you need to play by the system’s rules.

Okay, no sweat, you release some pop songs. There’s a couple of them that people really dig. Unfortunately, the songs people like don’t contain much of your message. They have a watered-down version of it at best. That’s a little sad, but oh well, at least you’re getting some sort of message out there. Hey, maybe if you make the music video really weird, people will realize there’s something more going on! Hm, that didn’t seem to work either.

So you release some YouTube videos too. Some of them are pretty biting, especially that one on politics. Should get people thinking, right? Hah, no, wrong. People like them, yes, but not for the reasons you want. They like them because they’re “weird” and “addictive” e.g., “its 3 AM on a school night and I’m still watching Poppy videos why can’t I stop lolol.” Imagining that the videos contain some sort of Illuminati-esque hidden message to decode is preferable to examining the real-world implications of the work. Plus, like, there’s experts for that, right?

Anyway, a couple albums and hundreds of videos later, you have a sizable following, sweet, now you can transition to doing what you’ve always wanted to. Change the persona to something a little truer to yourself. Make your message a little clearer. Finally, you have the power to change the world like you always promised you would.

Uh-oh, Houston, we’ve got a problem. Your audience listened to you for X, but now you’re giving them Y. It’s not a total loss, though. You have a lot of loyal members in your audience, and they like your new stuff too. Doesn’t matter what you make, they’re loyal, they’ll watch/listen/whatever to it. Their dedication has become investment which has become even more dedication. In fact, they’ve been following you since the start, when you were first trying to get big. “Yes, but I was trying to get big because I wanted to spread a message and to do that I had to make compromises to grow an audience so people would liste—“

They also have their own ideas of what you’re saying, plus, like, they make neat art, here, check this out, please give this a listen, look at this, read this, please, please? “Hey, nice article. Wait, the next one is how many words?!” And you keep every piece of fan art because it really does mean a lot to you. “Wow, I appreciate it, that’s beautiful, thank you. Oh, what? There’s even more?” Hey, if you have spare minute, could you give a shout-out to my friend? It’s her birthday. “Sure, hold on…” It’s also my birthday tomorrow, could you give this post a like? “Um, okay, just give me a minut—“ Also, could you answer my DM on Instagram? It’s important. And after that there’s only 100 more to answer! kk thanks! “Wait… one second… whoa!”

Now you’re releasing Z, hopefully that will get your message across…

…

Wait—what was your message again?

…

Oh no.

…

Somewhere along the way, probably between performing [this] and signing [that], the essence of your message was lost. Whatever remains has been drowned out by the noise of the system. If we’re talking decibels, notifications are loud, problems are whispers, and these days everyone’s got ear plugs.

Thinking about problems is hard, thinking about them for too long is sad, being sad is uncomfortable, hey, look, Taylor Swift just dropped a new album, that “Lover” song is dope, let’s look at memes.

So, you want to change the system. But to change the system you need power. To get power, you need an audience. But the only way to get an audience is to make content that gets rewarded by the system. And the content that gets rewarded by the system is that which is easily digestible for a large audience, i.e., devoid of substance. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I don’t think “Turn Down for What” resulted in much positive social change. “Well, maybe the system should reward content that is creative, challenging, and conscientious instead!” Ah, yes, I see what you mean. So, you want to change the system…

Pass the mic, Camus, I’ve got a real knee-slapper for ya. Oh, right, guess I’ll just grab it myself.

These days, we’re faced with a new kind of absurdism, one which involves recognizing that societal systems are getting worse and need changing, while simultaneously recognizing that you are chained by said systems, and thus, powerless to change them.

This new absurdism describes the maddening exercise in doublethink where people wrestle with the knowledge that they should be Making The World A Better Place but also the knowledge that they cannot possibly live in a way that satisfies such capitalized phrases. The end result is a mental tearing fueled by impossible societal expectations and the inevitable guilt of failing to live up to them.

After a while, people stop fighting. They give up. They give in. When enough people throw in the towel, all that’s left is to hold on tight and enjoy the ride, e.g., the trajectory is set, all aboard, no, there aren’t enough seat belts for everyone, must have been one of those damn cost-saving initiatives.

“Yeah, that definitely sounds absurd. So… what do we do about it?”

Well, sometimes all you can do is laugh.

#poppy #me laughing

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blondecarfucker · 5 years

Text

Bed of Roses (Chapter 14)

Roger Taylor x Reader

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Fic Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

Fic Note: So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can't put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

Chapter's notes: I'm sorry.

Words: 3800ish

---

ACT TWO - NIGHT

“Everything is more intense at night.”

Chapter 14

It was already summer, a month and a half later, when Roger woke up with Ticket To Ride, by The Beatles, in his head. Y/N was all settled to move to New York in the next afternoon, the last month being a nightmare of packing and getting her parents to prepare her room; Rog and you barely saw each other, between Roger wrapping up the album with the band and you moving her things out.

You didn't pack everything. Your crystals, from your hippier phase, were all around the house, along with your essential oils and incenses. It made Roger sad to see that he missed the part where you gave up on caring so much about these things - he didn't even knew what you were into now.

Whenever he was home, you was out, working with the researcher and meeting with your new bosses. You never took him to meet them, and he tried not to be bothered, but he was.

He knew he had no right to be mad; he also stopped taking you to Queen promotions. Poppy was in each and every one of their meetings and interviews, intoxicating him with her french perfume, blinding him with her diamonds - she always had them on her, rings, bracelets, necklaces.

She would always find a way to touch him, her long nails and cold hands contrasting with your short and warm ones. She was the complete opposite of what you were right now. She still had mystique - something a long relationship took from both you and Roger. But he always told himself that yeah, maybe he was physically attracted to someone else, but that's okay - he was in a relationship, not dead! - as long as he didn't do anything about it. He wouldn't cheat on you again.

He kept a mental list of all the opportunities he had to flirt with Poppy and didn't; it was a defensive mechanism, almost as if he was already in a fight with you, trying to argue that he changed, he didn't cheat. His guilt was already flowing through his body, pumping along the blood through his veins.

He couldn't cope with the idea of you and Poppy in the same room. You were almost like two sides of him: Rog and Roger Taylor, boyfriend and rockstar - and one time he thought, and then censored himself - past and future. The two of you couldn't coexist.

The rest of the band noticed that Y/N was absent. When Deacy asked what happened, Roger told him everything - the graduation, you moving out and going back to New York. "Shouldn't you be spending more time together, then?" Veronica said, wrapped around John. And then Roger looked at the two of them - always in peace, always warm, Veronica always focused on being there for John and very little else - and he knew he would never have that, and he didn't knew if he wanted to. He always liked how you were independent of him, how you always had your goals and interests.

He noticed how that started to be less apparent in you as you tried to adapt to his life, as you tried to be more like Veronica or Chrissie. You'd be quiet, supportive, trying to fade into the background.

And that was not the girl he met at the pub. The girl who cheered on him watching her.

It was always good to play lovebirds, like you did in the little time you were spending together, and you did love each other. But none of you were in a good place now. Not a good place to make decisions.

Sadly, that's exactly what the two of you had to do.

She said that living with me

Is bringing her down yeah

For she would never be free

When I was around.

"Shut up, Lennon", Roger said to himself, putting the pillow over his head as if it would help muffle the music in his head.

He turned around and realized the bed was empty. You left already. You had a good time last night, a way to say goodbye already, but you were not there to have a last morning with him in your shared house.

You were already in the museum. Your boss told you to spend all your time helping Will in whatever he needed, but his research has been complete for the last two weeks. You were just talking about your childhoods and New York now. Listening to his accent, his lingering fragrance; it made you feel like home.

And you missed being home.

"Yeah, I went to St Jean Baptiste High School. We used to go out with the Loyola boys all the time", you told him, leaning over the table in which you were both having a Coke.

"Now that's interesting. In my Loyola days, the Jean Baptiste girls were very shy, very quiet. We had to put in a lot of effort to go out with them", he looked at you through his long lashes, chewing on his straw.

"Well, that's cause you're old", you said, and he laughed. "The sixties were more liberal, you know", you told him, raising your brow.

A giggle interrupted you two. "Hey, Y/N. Nice song your boyfriend put out… I'm In Love With My Car… Didn't knew you had weird nicknames for each other", one of the interns said, and you felt your cheeks blush. She could see that you were talking, quite closely, to another man - you refused to see it as flirting. You wouldn't cheat on Roger again.

You did spend too much time with Will, more than necessary, but he just felt so familiar and yet so new to what you were now used to. His accent, his clothes, the way he had a scruff - Roger was always clean shaven - and fluffy short hair. You wanted to run your hands through his hair, and you held your fingers down when that happened. It was like trying to stop yourself from rubbing your nose; the desire felt like second nature already.

"I guess we do", you answered the intern, annoyed that she mentioned your boyfriend in front Will. "But it's cute that he wrote a song for you… I guess. It's a bit raunchy, but maybe it's just how you are", she said, and left. It hurt you that you didn't have a song to prove that Roger did love you, very romantically, at least sometimes, but you had to play along with the intern to avoid a more embarrassing situation.

He could make things easier for you, you thought. But you censored yourself. Don't get annoyed at Roger while talking to Will about your city, you answered your own invasive thought.

"Hm, didn't knew you had a boyfriend", Will said, a bit cold. "Yeah, I do", you said, looking down. You could feel Roger's lips in your neck from last night, and you wondered if Will could see the mark they left.

The thing you and Roger would agree if you ever spoke to one another about your feelings - hell, you didn't even admit it to yourselves - was that your relationship felt a bit like a terminal patient. The diagnosis was when you took the job, or maybe when Roger decided to move to a fucking farm for months and leave you alone and vulnerable - again. You didn't knew, precisely, when the end began.

But as soon as it began, you both knew there was no way to save your relationship, just try to make it last as long as possible. The end was inevitable - you were both just waiting for it.

There was some good days - days when you felt like the in the beginning of the relationship, but grayer. There was nothing to be infatuated over anymore. You were growing bored of the parts you liked about each other, deep down. And scared of the new parts you were developing.

Roger was decided to make it a good day when he got off bed. He drove around, thinking of a way to impress you tonight - you were spending your last night away from each other, since the band had to perform in Brussels for some TV show. He invited you because he knew the answer; you couldn't. You had a last dinner to go to with your new bosses. A celebration. You invited him, knowing he couldn't cancel the promo. You said it was fine; it was not a goodbye, really. Just a see you soon.

He would still have you around him - the house had more of you in it than it had of him. But you would have nothing to remember him.

So he had an idea.

You came home to an empty house. Roger was not there, so you decided to get ready for the dinner. You took a bath, lighting up your rose scented candles, but this time, just for its smell.

You enjoyed crystals and oils and incenses and such because they gave you a sense of control - maybe if I put this rose quartz here, the living room will be a space we're being romantic, and if I light a rue incense in the bedroom, the place will be cleaned of bad energies - but now you didn't believe the universe gave you any opportunity to control your life, to have things your way. You were just trying to live one day at a time, at the moment.

You had no goals, not anymore. You didn't really knew who you were, now that you didn't knew where you wanted to go.

You heard a knock on the door, and you lift your head up from the headrest just as Roger walks in. "Hey, Y/N", he says, holding a small box on his hands.

"Hey, Rog", you say, and for old times sake, you smirk as you say "Care to join me?". But you know the answer.

"I'd love to. But I have to go to the label to catch our helicopter to Brussels", he says. "I got you something for your trip", he says and he gives you the box.

You open it and find a heart shaped, shiny red crystal pendant on a gold necklace. "It's beautiful, Rog", you tell him, and he shrugs. "I wish it was ruby, but yeah… Crystal will do for now. I can switch it for a ruby one later, if the album sells well", he says, and he brings in the memory of one of the last really, really good days you had. Before the farm and before your job and everything started to go downhill at a faster pace. When he said he wanted to provide for you. That he was in it for the long run.

"No, you don't have to. I love it", you say, and you move your gaze to meet his. You were then surprised with a realisation you didn't have for a few weeks now - how Roger could be sweet, how he'd go out of his way sometimes to show you that he cared, that he will do whatever it takes to make you happy.

"I love you", you say, looking at his blue eyes and not thinking about anything else - New York, Will, the fact that Roger barely invited you to spend time with him outside of the house, the fact that you felt like you had no way to make your relationship - or your life - work the way you wanted to. You just saw his eyes.

And you felt like the lost girl who just moved to London and was full of dreams, not only working at the British Museum, but belonging, finding out who she really is. All those dreams were purposely forgotten now, as you gave up on them. But those blue eyes made you remember why you obsessed over this guy, this fucking guy for over five months. And why you kept fighting for your life with him ever since the moment you met those eyes again, in a stall at Kensington Market.

Because those eyes, when looking at you honestly like they were now, are a powerful sight.

"I love you, Y/N" he said, and his voice trembled a bit as he started to talk again. "But there's a meaning to it; the heart. I know we're not in a good moment, you know. I know it. But I refuse to give up on us. I still remember how I felt when it started, how I never even knew I could feel this way with someone", he said, tears starting to fill his eyes, and you could feel yours mirroring his as he continued. "And I realized that I don't know if I will ever love someone like I love you. You have my heart", he said, gesturing to the necklace, "And this little expensive crystal is there so you can feel it with you", he said, and you wrapped your fingers around them. Because of the steam in the bathroom, it didn't feel cold. It was the same temperature as you.

"And I know that this is going to be hard, and we're in for some tough times in our relationship, maybe the hardest ones, but I love you. I don't want to deny myself from admitting that just so it hurts less if something happens to us. Cause even if it does, you still have my heart, and you can do whatever you want with it", he said, a tear rolling down his cheek. He didn't wipe it, so you moved your hand out of the bathtub to do it. "It's yours to keep", he completed, and you pulled him for a kiss.

It wasn't really a long kiss - your lips barely moved. You just wanted to know that the two of you were still there, together, present, at least for that moment. At least for that moment you both agreed to love each other in whatever way you could - you knew this was the end of an era for the two of you. You didn't knew what would follow it, but you were willing to admit that you loved one another. And, sometimes, this could be enough.

"I have to go", Roger told you, breaking the kiss. "Can you help me put the necklace on before you go?" You tell him, turning around in the bathtub and twisting your hair up.

He smiled as he helped you. "Beautiful", he said, and he really took in the sight of you, flushed face as the steam moved up from the bath bubbles to your cheeks, the necklace making your lips more pink.

"Will you take me to the airport tomorrow?" you asked, and he nodded. "I'll be back before noon", he told you, giving you a peck on the lips before going out of the door.

And you didn't know it yet, but just like a terminal patient, your relationship had Last Good Days, or better, Last Good Moments. This was it.

Roger laughed with one of the studio heads, a glass of whiskey in his hand and a cigarette in the other, as he watched Poppy watch him from the other side of the hotel bar. She was completely comfortable in her seat, exuding power. This was were she felt comfortable in. She looked like a tigress resting on her velvet armchair.

Her lipstick wasn't red today; it was almost black, how dark it was.

He couldn't help but compare it to your lips, always a natural pink, since you never wore lipstick around him. "It doesn't make sense. We'll just get it rubbed over our faces", you told him one time, when he asked why he didn't see you wearing your red lipstick anymore.

He missed it. He missed how you were before you tried to be Roger Taylor's girlfriend.

How you were in the beginning.

But now there was nothing he could do but hope things eventually worked out, hope he didn't cheat on you, hope you didn't cheat on him, hope the hazy cloud caused by the whiskey didn't compromise his decisions.

He hated, absolutely despised doing TV show performances; he hated lip synching and pretending to play the drums. And he hated how you were not there to laugh over his mood, kiss his pout as he'd go backstage.

He tried to keep a conversation with Freddie, for a while, but none of them were in the mood to say interesting things and keep the conversation going. So before Roger could notice, he was surrounded by people from his label.

And that included Poppy, who was sitting by his side - he could feel his skin burning where she touched him, sitting closer than it was necessary - and when she leaned over him to get a lighter on the table by his side, he catches himself watching her, how her cleavage looked so close to him, how soft the skin seemed to be.

He felt an urge to brush his lips over it.

And, filled with guilt, he stormed away from the bar.

You were sitting with Will by your side, sipping on champagne as your new bosses told you a story about how they bought an original roman chariot from a farmer in Italy, and how difficult it was for them to rebuild it.

"We spent too much trying to figure out how long should the draught-pole be" the lady told you, and the man completed, "Until we realized it wasn't so important as finishing the chariot so we could expose it!", and you laughed. It was nice to spend a night talking about subjects you dominated; you were now used to spend dinners just listening, as people spoke about music and the industry and stuff you didn't understand.

Will laughed, too. It was a nice view; his sunkissed skin would crinkle around his lips, his bright smile almost blinding you. You looked at his scruff and you wondered how it would feel against your inner thigh - would it chafe it? - when you realized what you were thinking. Shut up, Y/N, you told yourself, and you could feel the blush in your cheeks.

You order another glass of champagne.

Roger would laugh at your nervous drinking - he'd always tell you to calm down, he didn't want to spend the night holding your hair up as you threw up in the toilet - but he would always do it anyway.

His skin didn't chafe your inner thighs.

You took another sip of the champagne.

"Well, time flies when we're having a good time, right? We have to go to our hotel already. Our flight leaves first thing in the morning", the lady told you. "It's been a pleasure to meet you and it's going to be a bigger pleasure to work with you, Y/N", the man said, shaking your hand and then Will's. "The people you find, Will. You're gifted", he says, and then follows the lady outside of the restaurant as Will says "I guess I am".

You get up, but you feel dizzy. "Shit, I got up too fast", you say, but Will looks at you worried. "Are you sure?", he asks, a concerned look on his blue eyes - so pale, so different from Roger's. "Yeah, my blood pressure's kinda low, so it happens", you shrug.

"We can share the taxi home", he says, and you correct him in under your breath. "Cab" you say, but he doesn't listen, and is already on his way out. You follow him; it was late, you didn't want to ride a cab on your own. London could be dangerous.

As you sit on the backseat, he sits beside you, his fingers ghosting on your thigh as helps you with the seatbelt.

You could feel the shiver on your spine.

Roger marches over to the elevators, going inside one, and the doors are already closing when a clutch stops it.

"Almost missed my chance", he hears a familiar voice purr.

Poppy goes inside the elevator, her high heels clicking, and Roger wonders if she was really talking about the lift.

She stops besides him. Closer than necessary.

The elevator was panoramic, and Roger's suite was on the top floor. They watched as the city got distant from them, as they were brought apart from the rest of the world.

"Nice view. I wonder if your girlfriend wouldn't appreciate it", Poppy said, and Roger felt his shoulders tense.

"I'm sorry?", he says. "Your girlfriend. I heard you have one. Funny that I never see her around", Poppy says, clicking her nails against the elevator wall.

"Hm. She's busy with her own career", he was able to say, trying not to get distracted by how close Poppy was from him, how he could feel her perfume penetrating his pores.

"That's interesting. Y/N, right?" she asked, and he nodded. He hated hearing your name coming out of Poppy's lips - it felt wrong. Not natural. "Kinda sad for you. You could spend some interesting times with people that are around you, you know", she said, moving closer to him, staring deep into his eyes.

He couldn't focus enough to answer something. She made him feel like a teenager.

"Someone who's a bit more like you", she completed, moving her hands to his jaw.

He felt paralyzed when she kissed him, but he soon realized he was answering her kiss, but not very well - part of him thought it wasn't right, but a bigger part of him could only taste her lipstick.

And it was the only thing on his mind as he followed her to her hotel room.

Will's eyes stared deep into yours as he asked you about details on your trip, offering help.

You found his eyes distracting, but disturbing. They were so pale you felt like you could see through them, if you tried hard enough.

His mint scented breath hit your face every time he said something, and you felt relaxed at the sound of the familiar accent. He sounded just like home.

"Y/N, I actually decided to listen to some of your boyfriend's work. Roger, right?", Will asked, and you felt disgusted. Roger's name on Will's voice and accent felt invasive, wrong. "Don't say it", you said, moving your finger to Will's lips.

He looked at you, confused, but soon moved his hands to meet with yours. It was the first time you touched him like this, so close to his lips.

And, very carefully, very slowly, he got closer to you, his eyes on yours, almost asking for permission to kiss you.

You didn't stop him.

He kissed you, carefully, and you responded slowly, the guilt weighing down on your arms.

You felt his beard irritate your skin, and you thought of that when Will broke the kiss to tell the cabbie to take the two of you to his house.

---

Chapter 15

Masterlist

Taglist:

@taylorroger-s @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @its-nessi @anamcg317 @frenchieswiftie @queen-danielle-dani-dan @minihemo @shutup-sorry @theyrealllegends @killerqueenisthebest @ashagracelove @hardy-s @fuckinghurricanesoul @secretsweetscollectionblog @mrswinterhater @11mb0 @tamtam-go92 @derptatosaur @patrick-the-stumping @phantom-fangirl-stuff @the-hysterical-queen @rogerofmylife @notevenlxvely @discodeakyy

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itsjustforce · 6 years

Text

He Can't Hurt You Now - Bucky Barnes One Shot

This is based off an ask I had sent to @ringpop-poppy and it ended up inspiring me enough to get me to write this awful little thing. You can find the ask here!

First fic I ever post and it's kinda poorly written soft smut. Go big or go home, right? 18+ for the smut pls

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (i guess??????)

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, anxiety attacks, mentions of depression/past suicidal tendencies, mentions and reflections on PTSD triggers, smut, death by fluff, Soft Bucky™, cursing

Words: 4719

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Bri and Bucky were sitting on the couch in the common room, cuddling one another and watching a Disney movie while wrapped in her large fluffy Star Wars throw blanket. ("the fact you have not seen the absolute MAJESTY that is the rest of the Disney films they've made over the years is actually a crime, and I'm fucking SUING the people responsible. Wh-Hey! Stop laughing! I'm being serious here, dammit!")

Bucky had his arms wrapped around the slighter shorter woman, the lower half of his face pressed against the side of her head and allowing him to get a whiff of her conditioner and her vanilla perfume. While the scents were nice, having them forever be linked to this living, breathing ball of sunshine made a warm feeling blossom in his chest and a flush to grace his cheeks.

When he met her, he and Steve had taken Peter to the Captain America museum as per Tony's request. "I'm too busy, and the kid's been wanting to go. And besides, who better to go with than the man himself and his similarly elderly best friend?" He'd said, and Bucky thought if he rolled his eyes any harder they'd get stuck in the back of his head. He and Steve got in some semblance of a disguise, trying not to make themselves look suspicious while not being too obvious, which actually was a bit of an ordeal for Bucky because while it was the middle of July and New York was currently dealing with a heat wave: if he didn't wear his jacket and gloves he would be recognised and probably get kicked out or unwillingly make a scene, which was not exactly what he had on his to-do list for the day.

He first saw her at one of the larger scale exhibits in the museum, and even though he'd been there dozens of times before he'd never seen her before. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a ponytail, showing off her sharp jawline and little assorted freckles, her pale green eyes sparkling as she gave the background behind said exhibit and answered any questions the guests had. She was obviously not wearing any make-up besides a warm pink tinted chapstick on her full lips (which he'd find out was a thing the hard way: he used it once and Sam spat his coffee on Steve in brief shock before bursting into a laugh that had him in a ball on the floor of the kitchen with tears in his eyes), and her excited grin at every question asked caused the corner of her eyes to crinkle, the underneath of her eyes to wrinkle, and her cheeks to dimple and Bucky swore the look alone was the equivalent of being outside in the sun, she just seemed to beam with joy and positivity.

When that group had moved on, Bucky had decided to drift away from Steve and Peter and go to the woman at the exhibit. He was intrigued. When her eyes met his, a spark lit in them and her bright smile found its way back onto her face. Her voice was silvery and kind as she greeted him, engaging in a bit of small talk with him to see where his limit of knowledge was. She was so expressive, from the shifting in her face to her hands gesturing around to accentuate or further explain her points, and even though he knew nearly everything she told him already he found himself gripping onto her every word. She made the facts seem interesting, cracking little jokes and making little comments that got him to smirk and chuckle at, and in the time he spent with her he found himself hooked.

Once or twice a week, when he could, he went to see her, spending time learning tidbits of the stuff he'd missed after the fall that Steve either didn't mention or didn't know, and also getting to know her as a person. She came from a town on the coast of the Florida Panhandle, having a little sister and divorced parents. Her great-grandmother on her mom's side immigrated to the US from Norway in 1921 and her husband was born in Sweden, but Bri wasn't sure when he'd immigrated over or met his wife. She was a bit of a history nerd, being a high school history teacher during the school year and working as a docent during the summer months. She has ADHD, depression, anxiety, and PTSD, the first three causing her to have severe insomnia. She takes medication for her ailments, but for a seemingly bright and bubbly person the fact she had depression and anxiety had surprised Bucky at first. She brought up the fact that she was fairly quiet and reserved when she was just by herself (which was something he'd witnessed himself, but didn't really think much of at the time). If he had asked, she'd tell him vague stories of her battles with her depression, of the very few times she nearly lost, of the times she was fighting tooth and nail just to get through the week, and how even during that dark time she would be found being another person's rock and shoulder to lean on.

"I tend not to let people see that side of me, because the people who know me and talk to me often see me as their own rock. They come to me because something in their life is going to shit and they need someone they know will be there for them and maybe even give them advice if they need it. Hell, I'm one of the most important people in my little sister's life. She-When my dad left for the first and second time, she fell into a really bad state of depression, and like, how could I be there to try and help her if I was openly showing I was in that same spot? I couldn't. From birth I sorta had this personality trait to just be nurturing. It's sorta second nature for me to put my feelings to the side and put everyone else's emotions and issues before my own, because everybody needs that someone who can put on a brave face and be there for them no matter what."

She'd either be listening to him talk about literally anything that could be on his mind, looking at her phone and maybe showing him some of the stuff of technology and the internet he didn't understand, sketching in a little sketchbook she keeps in her backpack, or reading a book. And with both her teaching and docent job, she would tell him that even though she got anxious and quiet around new people and also get anxious talking in front of other people, she took those jobs because history was something she adored and she wasn't going to let her fears stop her. Both were actually some things he'd come to admire about her: her strength to push through and her determination to do what she sets her mind to even if she's at a disadvantage.

It was established early on she knew who he was, she wasn't exactly trying to hide it, but she also didn't say that fact out loud. It was sort of a silent understanding, if you will.

When he'd asked her out on a date, he actually had to be coaxed to do it by Steve, who basically gave him a 20-30 minute pep talk because HOO BOY he was so nervous his metal palm was sweating. But, as time would go on, one date would turn to two, then to five, and then he asked her to be his girlfriend. Their relationship was slow, she moved at the pace he was comfortable with, and she was always making sure whatever she did he was comfortable with it.

"I don't want you to feel like you need to force yourself into situations you aren't comfortable with just to make me happy, okay? Your feelings are just as valid as mine, and I can't exactly read your mind, so please talk to me and let me know about stuff. I don't mind waiting if that means I get to keep that pretty little face around." She'd told him after he had stuttered out an admission that he still wasn't ready to kiss her yet, getting so close to it when he was dropping her off from a date. She had said it so gently, sweeping a lock of his bangs behind his ear while barely touching his skin in the process before gently running her thumb against the scruff on his right cheek and smiling softly. He gave a kiss to the knuckles of that hand instead, giving a small 'thank you' as his chest was filled with a warm feeling that made it a little bit hard to breathe.

Nearly three weeks later, he kissed her beneath a realistic display of the night sky that was projected onto the ceiling in a planetarium they were visiting. (They're both such big science and tech nerds its actually ridiculous.)

Three months pass, Bucky is now comfortable with the more basic displays of affection. Hugging, kissing, hand holding, basic little touches she'd give like cupping his cheek, tucking some loose hairs behind his ears, and nose/cheek booping (her personal favorite because it got him to either grin or giggle). But, at this time, their relationship exits its honeymoon faze and some trials began. Bri very slowly began to withdraw into herself, many of her smiles would eventually not be able to reach her eyes like they used to, she would more often than not be forced to take a nap by her concerned puppy of a boyfriend because she wouldn't be able to sleep well at night: which showed in the dark rings around her eyes, said eyes losing their sparkle and becoming seemingly dull and lifeless, her strained and tired smile, and her increased tendency to zone out or get distracted EVEN on her ADHD medication. He made sure she was taking her medications like she was supposed to, listened whenever she decided to tell him a bit of the turmoil going on inside her, was there with her when she booked an appointment to the same therapist Bucky was going to and went with her to said appointments to make sure she knew he cared for her and that he was always going to be there for her (which actually caused her to tear up a bit when he'd told her that face to face). She got better, and another month later here they are, binge watching every single Disney animated movie because Bucky not having already seen them is "absolute sacrilege" in her eyes.

Bucky got to cuddle with his best girl, her resting on his firm chest while she sits in a space Bucky'd made for her between his legs. He wanted to hold her. He can hear her softly sing along to the songs she remembers, and use her excessive body heat to stay all warm and cozy. He wasn't exactly in a position to complain.

The sound of something vibrating catches her attention, her rolling over and grabbing her phone from the bedside table and looking at the screen. He didn't much mind it at first, but when she tensed up and gave a small "shit" under her breath he looked at her.

"What's up?" He asks, pausing the movie and turning to her. She sets her phone down and turns to him with a small smile and a "it's nothing" before reaching for the remote. He seems unimpressed as he moves it to have it just out of her reach, her looking to him with an unimpressed look. He has an eyebrow raised both expectantly and as a silent question, to which she only sighs in defeat and tilts her head down onto his chest.

"Look, it's nothing. It's just that my dad's come to New York for business and he wants to see me." She says, feeling him tense against her.

"Seriously?" He asks quietly, her tilting her head to see him looking at her with anger.

"Yeah." She replies, placing a hand on his stomach to rub her fingers in soothing circles.

"You aren't thinking of seeing him, are you?" He asks, her sighing and sitting up for him to follow.

"I dunno, Buck. I mean, maybe?" She says, running a hand through her dark brown hair.

"Bri, do you not remember the last time you saw him?" He asks, Bri looking at him with a defensive yet vulnerable look in her eye. One day while she was working as a docent her father and his new family came to visit the museum. Sam had been there watching her on Bucky's orders, him having been on a mission that was set to come in later that night and apparently people already were threatening on hurting her, and after they talked for a bit they said their goodbyes and moved on. But, as the two hugged, she seemed to freeze, and as the family moved on she had to go off to the side and proceeded to have a panic attack. It took a coworker AND Sam to calm her down, and she was sent home with Sam to wait for Bucky.

To say Bucky was angry at the story, and the backstory, was an understatement. He was furious.

"I know, Buck! I just-"

"No, no. He's toxic, sweetheart. He treated you like shit doll, and as long as your my girl I'm gonna look out for ya." He turns her head so she looks at him. Suddenly, a thought enters his mind, and his eyebrows furrow in thought.

"You know I love you, right?" He asks softly, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah." She murmurs.

"So I want you to be honest with me here. Is he the reason you don't want me callin' you baby?" He asks, her hesitating before she looks down and nods.

"And," she looks at him, confused there's an addition. "Is he the reason you refuse to call me James, even though I've told you that you can."

She waits a long moment, before she sighs heavily, nods, and mutters, "His name is James, so I've kinda just... avoided the name entirely just because of the bad memories it has with it."

"Alright, then y'know what?" He says, her looking to him confused. He pulls her onto his lap with her giving a surprised yelp, having her straddle him as he cups her cheeks.

"How about you 'n' I make it have some better mem'ries?" He asks, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"What uh, what exactly did you have in mind?" She asks, Bucky giving her a smirk. He takes her lips in a soft kiss, his hands moving to rest on her hips. She takes a gentle hold of his cheeks, letting out a satisfied exhale as the tension in her body seems to diminish somewhat. He breaks away to place kisses along her jaw before stopping at her ear.

"Well, I was thinking I'd take care've ya. Maybe have you sayin' my name as I run ya a bath, maybe have ya moanin' it as I eat that pretty lil' pussy've yours, but I'd definitely have you screamin' it as I fuck into ya nice and slow." He takes her earlobe between his teeth, a gasp accompanying the shiver that shakes her body. He lets it go, moving up to hoarsely add, "All ya gotta do is say my name, and I'm all yours doll."

She tightens the grip on his cheeks, moves his head back, and hungrily takes his lips in a kiss. He lets out a surprised noise at the force before completely caving in, kissing her back with the same intensity and fervor. He moves his hands to her ass, and just as he runs his tongue along her bottom lip he gives both a squeeze as a distraction to move her to his half-hard length. She lets out a small gasp at the feeling of him being so close yet so far, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth. He meets her with soft, languid strokes, a sense of calm replacing the more usual heated urgency, and she gave a pleased moan to the action. He broke the kiss, his head ducking to her neck to kiss at the spots that send all of her nerves into a tizzy.

"Gonna treat you so good, sweetheart." He husks out, kissing, nipping, and licking at the spot near her ear and above her jaw. She squirms at the feeling of his lips and stubble tickling the area, her letting out a mix of a giggle and a whine when she can't seem to wiggle free. A warning nip at the middle part of her neck and a squeeze of her hips gets her to stop, her resolve and worries seeming to crumble away like a sandcastle hit by a wave. She lets out an airy moan in response, one of her hands going to card through his shoulder-length locks while the other goes to the junction between his neck and his shoulder. He nips and suckles at the spots on her neck, drinking up every little noise she made to meet it with an encouraging purr.

"God, Buck." She breathes out, biting her bottom lip.

"James, sweetheart. Call me James from now on. Not only gonna make the name better for ya, I'm gon' show everyone how special you are t'me in the process." He murmurs back, kissing the prominence of her collarbones while rubbing on her thighs.

"Feel good?" He asks, slowly running his thumbs up her inner thigh.

"Oh God yeah. Fuck, don't stop." She purrs, him kissing his way back up her neck.

"Who's making you feel this good, huh?" He asks, moving his head up to look at her through long lashes.

"I-You?" She asks, the infliction adding a questioning tone.

"What's m'name, doll?" He chides, almost tutting at her. Her cheeks blush as she looks down, biting her bottom lip.

"Y-You, James." She murmurs, Bucky grinning widely at her.

"And don't you fuckin' forget it." He growls before kissing her deeply. She runs her fingers through his hair, tugging on it from time to time for him to let out a moan. He runs his hands under the hem of her black t-shirt, for a band called 'Ghost Town', and it takes her a moment to break away and tug it off. She wasn't wearing a bra, and Bucky couldn't help but run his thumbs on the hot flesh of the underneath of her breasts.

"You're so pretty, doll. Not only on the inside, but you're gorgeous on the outside, even with these lil' scars've yours. God, I dunno why your dad would even wanna hurt such a sweet lil' rarity like you." He coos, pressing wet kisses to her slowly flushing chest.

"James." She whines impatiently, gently tugging on his hair as the other tugs at his t-shirt. A warm arousal spreads through him at the way she says his name, him grinning wide before he takes her lips in a searing kiss. He places his right arm around her lower back, flipping the two of them over so she lays on her back. He holds himself up with his left arm, the vibranium glinting in the low lamp light as he sits up, removes the arm from under her, and tugs off his shirt to throw it somewhere. Leaning back over her, he watches with amusement as the fingers on her left hand gently trac the gold lines in the dark metal, following them up to the scarred seam of the metal and his shoulder. She rubs gentle little circles into it, getting a pleased whimper from him while he bites his lip. She moves her hand to then place it on the back of his neck, her other hand cupping his cheek while she looks at his face with eyes full of admiration.

"Beautiful." She whispers, her tone soft and sweet as her thumb rubs his cheekbone. He leans in and kisses her again, this time being hot and heavy and brimming with passion. His right hand caresses her body, running over every line and curve with a gentle touch that sends shivers through her. He breaks away to return to her neck, singing sweet praises about her and his love for her as he goes, until he reaches her breasts. He gives each of them equal attention, her mewls, moans, and whimpers sending blood straight to his cock and leaving him achingly hard when he reaches her cotton sheep shorts. He rests on his heels as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of both the shorts and her cotton underwear, looking up at her for permission to get an enthusiastic nod. Tugging them off and tossing them away, he pulls one of her lips to the side to see the start of her slick beginning to coat her folds.

"God, look at you." He purrs in admiration, wetting his thumb in her slick before going to her entrance and pushing in to the first knuckle.

"Please don't tease." She begs, Bucky huffing in amusement as he removes his thumb and places her legs on his shoulders.

"Just wantin' to get right to the point, huh?" He asks, locking eyes with her as he spreads her open and places a kitten lick to her clit. She jumps, letting out a gasp as her eyes widen and her hands dart to fist up her sheets.

"I can do that." He grins, and he dives in, pulling her apart and taking her like a man starved. His every groan is met with a breathy noise from her, ranging from a squeak to a moan to even his own name, her hands clutching his hair like he was the one thing keeping her on the ground. He takes as much time as he can stand, opening her and preparing her for his cock while whispering praises to her and writing love letters on the sensitive nerves of her clit. She comes undone with a loud moan, her shaking thighs trapping his head in place as he rides her through her high and laps up as much of her release as he can. He then takes of his sweatpants and his boxers, grabbing a condom from one of the drawers in her bedside table. Sliding it on, he props himself up over her body to meet her lips with them and his chin covered in her juices. He wipes her slick from his face, quickly licking it off his hand before he kisses her and rubs his cock along her folds to get slicked up, her moaning at the action and the taste of herself. One of her hands pulls him off of her while the other takes hold of his hard member. He lets out a shaky breath, his head falling to her left shoulder while his thigh muscles begin quivering in anticipation.

"Need you in me bad." She pants, lining him up with her entrance while finger combing his hair. He nods and begins pushing in, the two of them letting out moans as he restrains himself from slamming into her.

"So tight, sweetheart, shit you're so good to me, huggin' my cock so nice." He groans out, her responding with a pleased sigh as he finally slides home. He pauses, making to get a grip back on himself and trying to catch his breath. He looks at her face to find her eyes are closed and her mouth is open to let out her gasping breaths. His right hand cups her cheek, his thumb rubbing her cheekbone and causing her eyes to open.

"Always look so pretty around my cock, skin all flushed with y'lips all red and that smart lil' mouth opened up. Lookin' so sinful for me and I can't believe it's all mine." He coos, Bri biting her lip.

"James, c'mon." She whines with a small pout, Bucky chuckling at the look as he begins moving. He moves soft and slow, taking care to make sure he doesn't hurt her while pressing wet kisses to every reachable piece of her. He praises her up and down, leaving absolutely nothing about her out of the equation while giving her scars some extra attention. She's a squirming noisy mess beneath him, running her hands through his hair as he makes love to her. When he begins to speed up in order to catch his orgasm, his flesh hand goes to her sensitive clit while the metal one maps her body even though he knows it like the back of his hand. He never stops the praise, doting on how she feels around him and how well she always takes him. He places his sweaty forehead to her own, their panting breaths intermingling as his long hair tickles her cheeks.

"Sweetheart, I'm-shit-I'm not gonna last much longer." He grunts out, her nodding.

"I'm right with ya, hon. Fuck! I-uh, shit, just let go if y'need to." She responds, his amusement at her cursings shadowed by the feeling of the tightening coil at the bottom of his stomach. He picks up the pace on the stimulation of her clit as his hips begin to slow, the action causing her to gasp and arch her back. As his hips begin to stutter, the keening cry of his name as Bri's coil snaps and her muscles sieze tightly sends him over the edge, his grunting her name as he spills into the condom. He rides the both of them from their high before collapsing on top of her, his heavy body pressing her to the mattress as they catch their breaths.

"James, you're-you're gonna... crush me." She says between breaths, Bucky lifting himself up to look at her with narrowed eyes.

"You callin' me fat, doll?" He jokes, Bri letting out a breathless chuckle that gets him chuckling too.

"I mean, you said it." She responds, him swatting at her causing her to loudly laugh. He pulls out of her, the both of them shivering at the loss before he moves to dispose of the condom. He tosses it, going to the bathroom to clean himself up and grab something to clean Bri to find she's up, wearing his t-shirt and her panties, and entering in the bathroom to do her own business in cleaning herself up. They return to the bed hand in hand, Bucky finding his sweatpants and boxers to pull them on. She's already on the bed under the Star Wars throw, remote in hand as she wakes the TV and goes to restart the movie where they left off. He slides underneath the blanket to lay beside her, pulling her to his side and hugging her waist.

"Movie fuckin' shut off. Was just gettin' to my favorite part too." She grumbles, Bucky chuckling as he nuzzles into her neck.

"You said this entire movie was your favorite." He responds, Bri giving a short huff of air.

"I mean, I'm not wrong, my middle name is a reference to the little white kitten Marie. Even with that said, The Aristocats is a masterpiece, and it really doesn't get enough credit." She retorts, starting the movie again to look at Bucky. She finds him looking at her lovingly through droopy, tired eyes, a lazy smile resting on his face.

"What?" She asks softly, brushing some of his slightly sweaty hair from his face with a soft smile.

"I love you, jus' want ya to know that." He says tiredly, her smile turning into a goofy fullblown grin.

"I love you too, James. Ya dumb goof." She replies softly, booping his nose and causing him to giggle.

"But I'm your dumb goof." He coos, Bri snickering as she nods and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

"All mine."

#bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes smut #Force writes Fanfics

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queen-asante · 6 years

Text

ejucated immigrant

((AUTHOR’S NOTE: @eene-fangirl For the Fanfiction Weekend Challenge! I should probably wait to post this for Rolf Appreciation Month, but there’s a lot of Jonny backstory/headcanons in here, so I thought it would count. Basically, it’s a poem from Rolf’s POV but it’s technically about Jonny, or rather, Jonny was my muse for this.

I haven’t written a poem in Rolf’s ‘’voice’’ since 2014 but believe it or not, that one little line that Edd says in ‘’A Case of Ed’’ inspired the poem (you know, the one), and as I was reading Ntozake Shange’s for colored girls who have considered suicide/ when the rainbow is enuf, it produced said result. A turnip for your thoughts? I don’t normally write Rolf like this, it’s actually more like Rolf emulating Ntozake Shange for those familiar with her style. As an Indian Immigrant girl who’s considered suicide, that book changed my life, she’s my idol. Hence, the poem is written in ebonics and all lower case to pay homage to Shange (and I consciously dropped third person redundancies, it wasn’t a mistake). Three non-EEnE characters are briefly mentioned: the first one is Vanessa, my friend who’s half African-American and half Haitian. The second one is Ice, who belongs to my friend, Dani. Ice, in her world, is a black and white cat who becomes Double D’s pet. Rolf fears him because he’s not only black and white, but he shares the name of Immigration and Customs Enforcement by pure coincidence. Dani didn’t plan this, as she created Ice before she met me but she liked the idea of giving Rolf a reason to fear the cat, and so we came up with that story together. The third one is Dr. Feelgood who was my therapist, it’s not her real name, it was an affectionate nickname I coined for her in my years battling Bipolar Disorder Type 3.

As a closing thought, much apologies for the length, also tumblr’s going to mess up the format.))

‘’ejucated immigrant’’

dear gods,

i be 14 wit skin as rough as treebark & hands dat look old

i waz the dark skined immigrant wanting to bathe in bleach

Brown Black / Blue Black / Amber Beige / Bister Brick Bronze / Chestnut Chocolate Cinnamin

Copper / Drab / Dust / Ginger / Fawn / Ochre / Coffe Colourd Caramel

Tawny / Terra-Cotta / Henna / Sepia / Umbre

lookin in the thesurus eddward wit two ds give me when i come to dis country

everything spell Brown but nothing spell White

White sound nice like pearl like snow like milk like golden skined white skined light skined

honey dipped / lemon kissed / but begging for ivory / fair frosted silvery ashen boy jimmy

your white hands on my brown skin

i waz the dark skined immigrant botherin to drag you round

you stand there like a closed mouth statue & you insult my way of life

think you know everythin / rolf just some ignorant third world peasant or somethin

but we be livin dis way longer than the foundin of your land

your country young my country old

numbers & poppy / it just to give you illegitimately born breeds of donkeys

somethin to hee-haw over / science say there no gods either but who know dat

you cannot contain lightning bugs in a jar

i waz the dark skined immigrant dreamin of shakin the mr presidents hand

the former mr president wit eyes like a tired old man & Brown his Brown like a mud bath

it really too bad you know / rolf like your former president

dat black man who dont check dixtionaries for validation of his blackness

he not so bad / he waz sympathetic to the plight of the immigrant but his hands tied

not blame him / he not god he not have all the power in the world to fix dis weather

dis cloud dat hang over your land & who the hell is perfect?

it really such a shame / i dream to see the Hill / see the pearly house painted white the place where he live meet him shake his large brown hand / one brown hand to another

cept i not black / rolf not have to be / not pass / rolf european he is white not bloodless

he not pass he not be white enough for your country

cept i be white on the inside look coloured on the out but i aint no coloured

under my skin i am more than a colour

whoever herd of white passing for person of colour

but suddenly i get to dis country & i be treated no different than jonny

so alls i got is coloured dreams

poor grate nano lived & died on silly dreams / well they not exist

there be only reality & reality not kind to the dark skined indigenous immigrant

no one know what i supposed to be / take a wild guess

indian pakistani mexican romani rolf herd it all & none suppose right

they only looking at my face / the outside the outside not matter

cuz i waz the dark skined immigrant not italian not irish but the other kinds

& no one will see unless rolf cut open his veins & bleed

a Wood Nymph have my colour & if i check off the box dat say caucasian i get a funny look

from the lady sittin behind the counter wit the yellow nail polish & beaded eyeglass

spose if jonny do the same they wont believe him neither

jonny be good

yous see him dancin / wearin his stomach out / dark skined bare feet / swayin his hips

& grate thin arms but he not care dat he gots splinters in his fingertips

his nails turnin all black & blue & those chapped lips look like eyes starin out atchu

the gods make dis child the way he is

wit skinted knees & all & elbows pointed outwards readin you like a map

always wit the label on the left side

but he bootiful & he know it / beauty sometime come in the empty coffee can

not in the paper lillies or plastic pearls

you cant make a silk purse from a sows ear / even if dat ear be made of wood

of wood widda crayon drawn smile

jonnys mother the madwoman in the attic

rolf be certain jonny the wood boy some kind of elf from the passage of Valhöll

the mother of the Tree Sprite she not like rolf / well she not like any child it seems

weepy jimmy-boy & rolf invited to jonny-boys abode for a meeting of the Urban Rangers

& tho his mother never says so we feel she not like us very well

she never ast us to stay for lunch

even tho rolf personally would not eat a morsel of what these people eat

& we always been so polite to her but still she build walls

rolf believe she jealous of us becuz jonny likes us

she come out to the parlour / barefoot / flowers in her wild tangled mess of black raven hair

like yoko ono & wearing a long paisley skirt / she bootiful in an earthy sort of way

but she has a wild look in her eyes like a tigress

a violently insane expression like a german vampire dat make rolf think of bertha mason

she looms over her son like a dark older sister becuz they look so alike

altho her skin much darker / a deep chocolate brown / her complexion remind rolf of vanessa maybe she is haitian / she like the demon in nanas stories the one we all have widdin us

who comes out when we try too hard to be good children

she look at white as snow jimmy & myself like she disprove

either she not like us the uniforms or both

rolf forget tho these hippies wit their anti-establishment

they think every uniform represents what jonny calls ‘’the Man’’ & dats what it is rolf think

she not want jonny in the organisation

becuz she think it goes against their opposition to social norms

rolf could tell she wanted to ast us to leave / she not like jonny spending so much time wit us

becuz then he not at home meditating wit her or whatever it is they do

jonnys family is strange / they not eat meat & walk around shoeless

rolf has been called a gypsy by the children at school but flower child jonny seem to rolf more of a gypsy if there ever waz such a thing

he is almost ethereal / his family must be from a clan of faeries the kind nana warns rolf about but brown-skinned jonny seem harmless enough

i watch his mama put a daisy in the pocket of his jeans

i not know if his daddy be white or black but what difference does dat make

rolf understand it is important for a child to love their family no matter their faults

i know The Giving Tree still love his mother

even if she would prefer him to leave the Urban Rangers

of us three jimmy be the whitest of white jonny the blackest of black & i somewhere in between

but any one of us can walk into a puerto rican bar & start speakin spanish

& no one would know what we are

race too complicated & people too narrow minded / want everything boxed in

one day we waz layin on dat grassy knoll / jonny & i

where the trees whisper to us & we whisper back

cuz you know the boy talk to trees & i listen to his voice / & i be lookin at our hands you see

cuz we waz layin inches apart a flower between us & i tuck it behind his ear

then i look & see my skin only one shade lighter than his

tho the sun make me browner than i really be

out in the sun for hours & hours plowing & plowing the fields

by sundown i roasted coffee bean brown / as black as the inside of a chimney

& if i stumble into town any passing stranger would think i waz Black i mean African

id have to stay out of the sun for days to get my old colour black lest i wander round wit only the whites of my eyes visible on my sun burnt dyed rust brown brown skin

& hair so course youd suppose it come off a horses ass

lookin more like an American Indian than a White

i holdin the back of my hand up to jonnys now

how bout dat two brown hands one dark & one light but whos to say i not be a dark white & he not a light skined brown

dont you dare tell me what i am & am not

bitch dis aint no south africa where yous all can reassign us based on what you think

i aint no sandra laing but sometime i wouldnt mind bein black if it meant for you to leave me be

in fact ill gladly be whatever you want me to be but i am what i am

not black enough for black not white enough for white so what am i?

dont box me into Black & White / cuz in dis world brother dat not exist

im sorry as hell but i gettin real tired of bein called

an illegal / an alien / a wop / a gypsy / a guinea / a brownie whatever you want to call us

all your bigoted slurs clumping us together like we one & the same

dat fine but papers or no papers not define who i am

so uncle sam can take it & shove it

welcome to america!

i be having a long love affair wit your country & people

i also be having a war wit em

mama told me there are limits for dark skined immigrants stuck in dis light skined first world

we come over the border wit all the rest of them

wit all them people from central & south america

wit all them refugees from africa & asia

guess what we blend right in we look no different

look just like any other brown faced ‘’illegal alien’’

border patrol take one look at us & think we just like the rest

cuz yesterdays europeans are todays mexicans & middle easterners

coloured Sons of Shepherds gots few chances

what it like to be bilingual / to speak in two tounge

ah but to be fluent in one & not the other tryin to find any definishun in the dixtionary

in which i drop third person redunduncies cuz i only one person not three

& i only speak two language

you speak spanish?

no habla inglés

you speak english?

i dont speak spanish

one day the hat & head as one edd boy say oh rolf! youre so unejucated!

i think my ears deseeve me but i know what i herd

i wish to strike his milk honey cheeks full of nonsense

& say to him i am the ejucated immigrant you be warned about

dont talk to me bout ejucashun

i sale cross the oshun

i wash up on your shore

i lern another language

it wasnt easy

what you know bout ejucashun

all you know come from books & theories

at least i know where i stand

you are a child & i am old old old my hands notted thick wit veins like the roots of a tree

you say i sound angry / yea i angry but not as angry as you

cuz there nothing they fear more than a minority who knows what up

i used to be fraid but not no more

i used to fear the plainclothes agents in Black & White uniform

of immigration & customes enforecement / of ICE police

of eddwards Black & White cat name Ice on ICE

he must be making fool out of me to call a domesticated beast after homeland security

a cat in uniform because the gods make him so not by choice

like there be some purpose to it / i waz the dark skined immigrant you made fun of

i see what they do to the undocumented immigrant on the telly

but now i not be fraid / becuz you cant touch me

so the grapefruit widda red ugly mouth & bleached hair sit in office now

damming all them people from ‘’shithole countries’’ / just as well but we here to stay

it not what i ast for but no use fighting it

& i will gladly pull the bookmarks from my english dixtionary

the one double d edd boy give me

no longer will i bathe in bleach / only use to washing dishes & floors

i not some bloody floor

‘’immigrant’’

at least i can spell dat / i look it up in the dixtionary

websters dixtionary / who the hell is webster?

but now it marked up used copy wit yellow post it notes

i use it a lot to lern your tounge

i not smart but i sho as hell not unejucated / papa can tell me dat

i be in your country in first place to reseeve ‘’best ejucashun’’ like grate nano wanted

grate nano waz an adventurer / a dreamer wit big goals

he travell far & wide seeking fame & fortune

when he a very young boy immigrants from every cesspool in western & eastern europe set sale for The North / it waz always grate nanos dream to travel North

everyone say he more insane than a bovine wit mad cows disease

there no room in dis life for dreams they tell him / he prove our village wrong

when rolf eight years of age grate nano briefly left the Old Country to set sale for america

everyone say he be too old / he never too old for dreams

he wanted to find dat American Dream he hear so often about

spoken wit fondness by the tinkers who visit our land

he returned from his valiant voyage wit stories about what he seen

in the North he said everyone has cars & money & television & running water

no one listen / The North the North they say dat is all you ever talk about

he waz a man who dreamed of a new life for his family & so he decided to send for us

& make a better life for ourselves after the plagues of the land had haunted our family for years grate nano promised us america he said youll soon be eating apple pie from off a china plate white picket fence / coca cola / santa clause / marilyn monroe / empire state building

it sound like a fairytale he spun a legend dat the streets waz paved wit gold

& we believed him for shining in grate nanos eye waz a dream & so here we are

rest his soul he wanted so much to buy us light & sun & clean wind of the oshun

‘’immigrant’’ waz a new word for rolf when he first come here

did not know after hearing the stories from grate nano dat he would soon be one himself

rolf not know what dat mean & still really dont

the dixtionary definishun say \ ˈi-mə-grənt \ noun. a person who comes to a country to take up permanent residence

\ ˈi-mə-ˌgrāt \ verb. [to go or remove into; in, into, and migrate, to remove.]

to come into a new country, region, or environment in order to settle there: opposed to emigrate.

oh sorry dat definishun not say we unclean people / flea invested vermin

sickly serpents who not speak english / greaser / sheenie

contagions of american society / incredibly dirty tramps fresh off the boat

so pervasive / such nonwhite filth / staring back at pitch black faces

not blonde haired & blue eyed / nonwhite skin only fit for dirt & waste work

mama papa kiss me goodbye i going to haiti

but it is what rolf is now it part of his identity just as much as the colour of his skin

just as much as bein a pagan / just as much as bein a male

just as much as bein the Son of a Shepherd

now rolf a new man living in the New World

i am an immigrant

sometime i wish i waz shug avery / bootiful fictional dark skin harlem singer

half man half woman / wit my large glittering masculine thighs i make an animal of men

maybe i have the courtesan complex

so i ast dr feelgood what my diag-nonsense

& she say poor soul you suffer from Stressed Shepherd Syndrome

okay so we all crazy in one way or another / it alright for some

of a mannequin in tears / of personal prejudices

im an unejucated farm boy from No Mans Land

im a poet who write in english

neisatnaf i isatnaf ne / ttim tetrejh dem gnyalp re lesgnel og gem tolrof nuh

rettenremmos i sirb ne mos rav ed / gem etlatrof nuh dro retsem nadrovh

etted tal eddejks rofrovh? / enneh lit gem trekided gej og enneh teksnø etrejh ttim

senneh enenyoø ås gej etted tla eddejks rofrovh

& this is for Sons of Shepherds who have considered suicide

fin

#my writing #poetry #poem #eene #ed edd n eddy #jonny #jonny 2x4 #rolf #jonny appreciation month

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elletromil · 6 years

Text

Only love can hurt like this - Part 4 of ?

Ok so back when I first started writing this story, I think we had like the first trailer of the sequel and that’s pretty much it. So obviously I didn’t know what would happened in the movie concerning Tilde. All this to say that I don’t care about canon. Tilde didn’t freak out at Eggsy obviously since in this story they’ve you know, talked about an important aspect of Eggsy’s job before it came up. She probably got sick anyway because she was stressed for her people and worried for Eggsy and might have made some questionable choices before they knew what exactly was causing it.

But it’s not the focus of this story, so I won’t be mentioning it except for here.

So without further delay, I’ll let you read the next part! Enjoy my good peeps!

@insanereddragon @liprouvaire @hulahoopingingthesand @sententiousandbellicose @solrosan @solarrift @futuredescending @trekkiepirate

Only love can hurt like this

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

It’s been about two weeks since they’ve kissed and they haven’t mentioned it again. Not that it is all that surprising. Their work doesn’t stop at saving the world after all and they have to figure out their next move concerning Kingsman before thinking of more personal issues.

Not that Harry is under any illusions Eggsy hasn’t contacted Tilde during that time. And he wouldn’t have wanted him not to anyway. He would have done the same if the people he cares about weren’t the same as those he needs to contact regularly about Kingsman after all.

But now, they’re finally back in London and his only priority is to find some place to stay. His old home is a no go, having been destroyed by Poppy and he would go over to Merlin’s, but with Roxy and Percival already crashing there, it would be a bit cramped. And to be frank, he’s had enough of the cranky Scot. He’s grateful to let the others take care of him for a while.

He’s trying to remember which hotel isn’t too far when Eggsy suddenly grabs him by the a hand and tugs him along as he flags down a cab.

Before he can say anything, he finds himself sitting in the backseat, Eggsy telling an unfamiliar address to their driver. Eggsy must notice his slightly confused expression, because he smiles a bit sheepishly before explaining.

“Tilde’s been staying over some diplomatic quarters. It’s for a family, so even if- if-” he trails off there, but it’s not like Harry doesn’t know exactly what he means. “So yeah, even if, you’ll get your own room until you can figure out something better than a hotel… Or decide to stay.” That last is said in a rush, Eggsy smiling hopefully and it would take a better man than he is not to take his boy’s hand in his, gently pressing his fingers.

He’ll not know for sure until he finally meets Tilde, but if given the option between staying close or going away, he knows already what he’ll choose.

He’s always been selfish.

The quarters are empty when they get there and Eggsy lets him have the first shower while he gets started on dinner. He indulges in the warm water a bit longer than he should, but not enough that Eggsy and Tilde will be forced to take on a cold shower later on.

Though it might not be a bad idea, considering the heated kiss he walks in on once he steps in the kitchen.

It’s not a very gentlemanly thing to do, but instead of announcing his presence or leaving them to it, he finds himself staying and looking at their embrace. He would feel bad for it, but it’s also exactly why he’s here now. He needs to figure out if he really can share Eggsy with another.

He tries to feel jealous of the way Eggsy has clearly let Tilde back him into the counters, of how they cling to each other with clear desperation and sheer relief, but can only muster fondness. He might not have seen enough to really be a good judge of their relationship yet, but it’s heartening to see them like this, so young and in love. If anything, he’ll at least have a newfound resolve to protect the world, just so he can see their love grow in it.

He’s always been somewhat of a romantic.

He gives them a moment before clearing his throat lightly. To their credits, they don’t jump apart like naughty children and in fact, they even get into another chaster kiss before leaning away from each other and facing him.

Eggsy looks sheepish, but Tilde looks completely unapologetic and breaks into an even wider smile when her eyes meets Harry’s. Without hesitation, she leaves Eggsy where he is and steps up to him, offering her hand to shake.

He takes it readily, but brings it up to press his lips against her knuckles instead, rewarded for his gesture by a delighted chuckle from her and a falsely exasperated groan from Eggsy.

“Princess Tilde-”

“Just Tilde, please.”

“Tilde, then. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine. I’m glad you’ve accepted my invitation to come live with us for now.”

He doesn’t want to be difficult, but at the same time, in their situation, blunt honesty is the only way to go.

“I wasn’t exactly given a choice.” He smiles so that she doesn’t think he’s in anyway mad about it, but she still turns to glare at Eggsy who raises his hands in a defensive move.

“Oy, babe, don’t look at me like this. You say ‘invitation’ but if you re-read the text you sent me, you’ll see it’s more of a ‘royal decree’. I feared you’d have me beheaded if I didn’t bring Harry here.”

Tilde huffs, but stays silent at the accusation. Her silence is far more revealing than anything she could have said and Harry decides to take pity on her by diverting the conversation for now.

“Is dinner ready soon Eggsy?”

Eggsy’s only answer is to roll his eyes before going back to the oven and Tilde flashes him a grateful smile before starting to set the table.

It’s... easy to help them both with their self-assigned tasks and the silence they all share is comfortable. Somehow, Harry finds himself relaxing slowly, something he’s usually not capable of doing when he’s not in his own space and completely alone. There’s still a hint of nervousness around him, but that too is being dispelled by Tilde’s sweet smiles and Eggsy’s barely-there touches.

When they sit down, Eggsy at the head of the table and he and Tilde each at one of his side, there is none of the awkwardness he would have expected and they fall into an easy conversation about the political climate in Europe. He’s delighted to learn that Tilde shares his love for politics and his hate of politicians and Eggsy seems content just listening to them, if one were to judge by the slightly goofy smile on his face.

Before they know it, they’ve finished dinner and Harry would suggest dessert or a drink, but he’s starting to feel the jetlag and Eggsy has been yawning nearly non-stop while even Tilde is trying to repress her own. It’s one of the most adorable thing he’s seen.

“I know we didn’t really talk about any of it, but do you want to share our bed tonight?”

He wasn’t really expecting such bluntness from Tilde, but apparently, Eggsy’s not the only one full of surprises. At least he knows she’s just talking about sleep and it is a very tempting offer. Of course, she did raise the very good point that they haven’t discussed anything yet, but her invitation is in good faith and he’s felt no hostility from her all evening.

It doesn’t change the fact that they’ve just met, but with Eggsy there, the suggestion doesn’t feel awkward. And he doesn’t seem to mind either, if his hopeful smile is any indication.

“Well, if you aren’t averse to having an eggs sandwich-”

“Ugh, no Harry, no.” Eggsy seems torn between facepalming or hitting him and he should maybe feel sorry, but it’s hard to when Tilde has to turn a snort-giggle into a cough when Eggsy turns to glare at her. “No puns with my name, they’re never funny and I’ve heard them all. And no, that’s not a challenge.”

From how Eggsy is now narrowing his eyes suspiciously at him, he really needs to work on his poker face again. Luckily for Eggsy however, Harry truly feels completely knackered.

“Alright no more puns. Do you plan on going to bed soon?” They might be as tired as he feels himself, but he doesn’t know anything about their bedtime ritual. For all he knows, they might want to watch telly or something before heading to bed.

“Just a shower first.” Eggsy’s earnest nodding from where he’s standing behind Tilde reminds Harry that he’s the only one who took the time to shower before dinner and that’s the first time of the night he actually feels bad. Not that either of them seem to have minded the delay. “Feel free to wait for us or join us later, whichever you prefer.”

Tilde is the first to leave the kitchen, Eggsy following quickly behind her and they both brushes against his side when they walk past him. It’s harder than it should be not to simply throw his last reservations through the window and joins them, but that’s the exhaustion talking, not common sense.

Like Tilde said, they haven’t talked about it like they should yet and he won’t make her regret inviting him by taking more than he’s been offered.

Instead he cleans the dishes and puts away the leftovers, before going to change in his pajamas.

When he finally gets to their room, they’re just getting into bed and Eggsy holds the blankets up on his free side.

It probably should take him longer to settle into a comfortable position since he’s not used to sharing his bed with anyone, much less two people, but soon, he finds himself hugging Eggsy’s side, his face pressed against his neck. It’s only when Tilde leans close to kiss Eggsy goodnight and that she press a quick kiss on his cheek that he realises that Eggsy’s scent is a bit of hers too and for some reason that makes his heart beat slightly faster.

But it’s not enough to keep him awake, not in the little cocoon of warmth and comfort they’ve created all three together.

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