#thanks tilde town

[leshitshow]

Well this is fucking freeing...

"

SOFA 🛋 Start Often Finish rArely

Start Often Fuck Achievements

SOFA is the name of a hacker/art collective, and also the name of the principle upon which the club was founded.

The point of SOFA club is to start as many things as possible as you have the ability, interest, and capacity to, with no regard or goal whatsoever for finishing those projects.

The goal is acquiring many experiences. The side effects include entertainment and increased skill.

Here are some ways to get starting with SOFA:

Start reading lots of books. If you don't like a book you're reading, stop reading it and put it down. Maybe give it away. Start a new code or art project. Get at least as far as writing a detailed README[1]. Maybe you complete the project, or maybe you never get further than that. It's fine. Start learning a new language. Spoken or computer. Just start, you don't have to commit to mastering it. Open up duolingo[2] or exercism[3] and just do a few practice exercises. Here's the secret sauce that makes the whole thing work:

You can be finished with your project whenever you decide to be done with it. And "done" can mean anything you want it to be. Whose standards of completion or perfection are you holding yourself to anyway? Forget about those! Something is done when you say it is. When it's no longer interesting. When you've gotten a sufficient amount of entertainment and experience from it. When you've learned enough from it. Whatever, whenever. Done is what you say it is.

And here's why it works:

Nothing is fixed, nothing is permanent, and nothing lasts. This is true of all things, including your ideas of self and identity. Want to be somebody who knows how to cook, or code in Lisp? Or somebody who knows how to rollerblade, or only eats plants, or worships the moon? Just start doing those things and then, poof! Now you are that person.

If you find out your new self doesn't suit you, just stop being that person and be someone else.

Be as many different people and do as many different things as you want. Start often. You don't have to commit your entire life to any one thing. Finish rarely.

Here's the final bit about how to finish things:

It can be hard to end things because of societal pressure to stick to things until the bitter end. Traditional marriage is the ultimate form of this ideal. You're supposed to stick to it until you die, no matter what, come hell or high water, even if it makes you and everybody around you miserable. That is neither sane nor healthy! That is not the SOFA way. Done means what you say it means. And ending something does not lesson its value. Just KonMari[4] that shit: have a moment of gratitude and appreciation for the experience and the things you learned and the ways in which you benefited from it. Thank it with conviction for having served its purpose, and then let it go and dismiss it. There. Done.

Now get out there and start doing stuff! And then stop doing stuff, so you can do more stuff! Do as much stuff as possible! Never stop doing stuff! Always stop doing stuff!"

[gaylordscooter]

You're at the Party

“so you brought mass murderers to my place without warning me beforehand?” Cross said.

“Haha, nice.”

“don't humor them, chara.”

Blue wrung his hands together, opening his mouth to explain only for Ink to cut in.

“Listen, these guys aren't gonna cause any trouble. Besides, I thought this was a place where people could start over.” Ink crossed his arms.

“Two of them killed everyone in their universe? Hm, a Sans killing a bunch of people…Where have I heard that before?” XChara nudged Cross’s arm.

“you know that isn’t the problem here.”

Everyone gave Cross a look as if he was the one that was being unreasonable here.

Cross sighed, “fine, they can stay. but they need to pass a test first.”

Blue narrowed his eyes skeptically. “What kind of test?”

“well, i guess it's more of a favor.”

“Is this what I think it is? You're not sending them there.”

Cross waved away his concern. “it’ll be fine,” he insisted.

“What are we talking about?” Ink questioned.

Blue leaned close to Ink. “He’s totally planning to use them to retrieve his friend.”

“Oh! Hah. Ahahahahaha!” Ink giggled like he told him a joke. His eyelights reflected his amusement as he stared at Cross. “So we’re at this part now, huh?”

Cross looked confused while Blue huffed at his words and XChara looked bored.

Ink clapped his hands together. “Well then~! Have fun with that~!” he said cheerfully.

“I'm sure those tildes have no malice behind it,” Blue deadpanned.

“Oh, when have my tildes ever held malice~?”

Blue opted for putting his hands on his waist rather than gracing that with a reply.

“Anyway, I gotta bounce! I’ll see y’all later. Don't have too much fun without me~!” He painted a hole in the ground and hopped into it while waving goodbye.

“Eugh, he's like a kid that just learned about emoticons,” XChara said.

“you can't even see the tildes,” Cross pointed out.

XChara rolled their eyes. “I don't have to. I can hear it in his voice.”

“Never mind that. Cross, you can't send them there! I’ve already been making a careful plan. To just toss it out the window and replace it with an improvised one isn't a good idea!”

He rolled his eyelights and crossed his arms. “It doesn't need to work, anyway. I don't expect it to.”

Blue’s sockets widened as he gasped. “So you're just,” he gestured wildly, “sending them off to their deaths? Where's your compassion?”

“Where was their compassion when they hurt all those monsters?”

Blue narrowed his eye sockets. “Where's your compassion?” he repeated in a duller tone.

“Don't you have a Mettaton to serve? This isn't your business.” he snapped back.

Blue threw his hands up, “Wow! Sheesh. Fine. Go have fun torturing the prisoners of war.” He stormed off with a frown.

XChara and Cross watched as he walked in a direction that definitely led to nowhere rather than towards the town.

“He has a point,” XChara stated.

“Awful navigation skills is what he has,” Cross spat. He noticed XChara’s unamused face and did a double take. “Do you actually agree with him?”

“Huh! Do I agree with him that you have no right to judge these morally messed up monsters and that sending them to that freak’s place as punishment is completely hypocritical of you?” They stroked their chin and pretended to think about it hard. “Yes, Mr. ‘the reason why our world has become a hotspot for people who messed up like you!’”

“You don't care about them at all. You're just saying that to spite me.”

“I am, thanks for noticing,” they deadpanned.

Cross brought a hand to his face and sighed.

Killer awoke. He wasn't refreshed in the slightest and he nearly panicked over waking up in unfamiliar surroundings if it wasn't for Dust smacking him on the head.

No wait, he was called Dusk now. He even came up with that name for him.

Sheesh, the sudden change is gonna be hard to get used to.

Right. New chapter of his life. Again. Again again, actually.

Ironically, he was starting to get sick of new experiences.

This wasn't a bad change, really. In fact, it was a clear upgrade. Well, that's what he thought back when Nightmare first found him too, so.

He was waiting for the catch. He was ready this time.

There was a knock on the door.

Both of them had the knee-jerk reaction of summoning a blaster angled at the door but then the rational part of their minds took over and they scrambled out of bed to hold their blasters' mouths shut.

“good morning to you guys too,” said the voice behind the door.

They managed to desummon their blasters once they recognized that it was, in fact, Horror that knocked.

There was unmistakable joy on Killer’s face. He didn't say it, but he was convinced Horror was going to avoid them since they got settled in.

He skipped over to the door like a gleeful idiot and opened the door.

Killer was surprised by his getup. It was the first time he's seen him in different clothing. If it wasn't for the red eye in his socket he wouldn't have recognized him.

The first thing he noticed was the cap he was wearing. It was a generic white cap that covered the hole in his head. Other than that, his outfit was the same as any other normal Sans, sans the signature hoodie. He also looked a lot less tired.

“‘sup, h—sans. ‘sup sans,” Killer said, barely catching himself. He couldn't help but still refer to him as “Horror” in his mind, since from the day they met that's what he called him and known him as. But those names were nothing but brands that Nightmare put on him and Dusk. They weren't names that they chose for themselves.

“hey,” he replied with a small wave, mostly aimed at Dusk to acknowledge his presence even though he hadn't approached the door yet. “so…” he trailed off, unsure.

So.

They were in unfamiliar territory now. After a whole year of living with Nightmare, they formed somewhat of a schedule. A loose one, but a schedule nonetheless—mainly built off of the way Nightmare acted. 

With that thrown out the window, every step they took was unfamiliar. Potentially dangerous. Ironic, considering they were in a safer area now. At least they assumed so.

They hoped so.

They would normally eat breakfast at this time, probably. They weren't ever exactly sure what time it was, but that's how it's been their whole life. It felt like it was around that time, at least.

“my bro said there's a bakery here.” Another pause. Okay, he didn't have to make this that awkward. “you two wanna scope the place out with me?”

Killer’s smile perked up at the edges. “hate to say it, that sounded like you just asked us out on a date.”

“‘k, forget i asked.” He made the move to shut the door.

“nah, i’m joking! we’ll go—” he whipped his head to Dusk for verification, who gave him a thumbs up. “—yeah, let's go.”

So they got out of the hotel room. The lobby had a few people, unlike last time.

None of the three really acknowledged anyone there and no one acknowledged them, until some Monster Kid said a mere hello that made them all awkwardly respond; either with a curt head nod, wave, or quiet “hi” back.

Boy, they weren't ready to be perceived by anyone else. How the hell were they going to handle entering a cafe, let alone going outside? Well, Sans managed, so.

Sans was probably the most stable of the three, let's be real. He was the only one who had contact with other people before Nightmare came to them. When it comes to interaction, Killer and Dusk have done nothing but literally talk to themselves for who knows how long.

The second Sans started to open the door, Killer protested, “actually. could you just grab me something instead? i’ll stay in the room.” When he turned to retreat, Dusk grabbed him by the arm.

Dusk gave him a look that spelled “really, coward?”

“i don't think i’m ready, okay? sue me,” he said. He could already feel eyes on him. The stares gnawed away at his bones, trying to eat him alive. 

They knew what he wanted to do.

Dusk sighed, letting go of his arm. “we can't go,” he signed to Sans.

“right…” he sounded disappointed—no that was pity in his voice. He probably didn’t even expect the two to agree in the first place. “anything specific you want?”

“nothin’ with chocolate.”

Dusk shook his head.

“gotcha. i’ll be back in a bit,” he said.

Dusk and Killer watched as he sauntered off to be a normal monster that was a part of society. Then they walked at a breakneck pace back to their room.

Once they were back in the safety of their private room, they collapsed on their beds.

Killer, face buried against his pillow, groaned in frustration. “i hate this. we're safe now and i can't even go outside. do you feel it too, dusk? that tug on your soul?”

He might kill someone if he went outside. It was highly likely.

Of course it wouldn't be that easy to return to a normal life—of course his high LOVE would haunt him. He was too tired yesterday to be bothered by it, but now, any other monster he saw that wasn't Dusk or Sans had his soul screaming for more exp.

“i’m trying to ignore it,” Dusk mumbled.

He laughed. That's not going to work. That is not going to work and they both know it. 

That’s.

That's not going to work.

“it was—it was better when we were stuck with Nightmare. we wouldn't be able to—”

“It wasn’t better,” Dusk interrupted.

“—we’re going to kill someone. we're going to kill someone and it's going to snowball and it'll—hah—it'll be like a snowball of dust!”

He was choking now, on the rotten determination coming out of his skull.

“killer.”

That's what he was, wasn't he? A killer.

“killer!”

That's all he was.

“Killer.”

Oh, someone was holding him by the shoulders. Wow, everything was blurry and stained black. No, that was just the liquid in his sockets. He tilted his head down, letting it flow out until he could see better.

Oh, it was Dusk. Right.

He shuddered out a breath. He realized all his senses had turned off for the past few seconds. When the hell did he get on the floor?

His eyelights finally focused enough to stare back at Dusk. He didn't like the worried look he had on his face. He cleared his throat, trying to play it off, but all that did was make him hack out more rotten determination.

“well…” the sentence died on his teeth the second he started. “i want to go back to sleep,” he settled on saying.

Dusk brought him into a stilted not-quite-a-hug, where he brought him closer and draped his skull over his shoulder.

They just. Stayed there. For a bit.

“another episode…i’m starting a daily streak, really.” Any humor he thought that statement would have was completely absent. God, how fucking pathetic was he? Surely Dusk was struggling with his LOVE just as much as he was but he didn’t fuss about it. He shouldn’t need Dusk’s comfort and Dusk shouldn’t need to comfort him. He was so selfish. So needy.

Killer willed himself to move away from Dusk to lay back down on his bed.

The room was quiet until someone knocked on the door again.

Dusk opted to answer the door since Killer wasn't budging.

Fortunately it was Sans who was at the door but unfortunately, he wasn't alone. Behind him was another skeleton he hadn't seen before.

He wore monochromatic clothing and there were large x’s on his sleeves and boots. He looked a lot younger than all of them. He must've been in his 20’s. His eyelights were a lot bigger than the average sans, with a slitted pupil reminiscent of a cat’s.

Despite the youthful look, one glance was enough to tell Dusk that he had a lot of LOVE too. It wasn’t nearly as much as he or Killer had, but it was more than the amount Sans had.

Dusk glared at the stranger as if he personally wronged him.

Sans didn’t look too happy either with the death grip he had on the bag containing their breakfast.

“hey,” Sans said. He walked in as if everything was fine and normal.

The stranger also tried walking in as if everything was fine and normal.

A wall of bones rose in front of him to block his path.

Killer sat up on the bed, “nope. not dealing with unwelcome company now, thank you.”

The stranger cleared his throat, straightening his posture. “well, i’m actually the organizer of this place. the name’s cross. i’m sure ink told you three about me.”

“i’ve never heard of you in my life,” Killer said.

It was painfully clear that Cross was already annoyed by Killer, despite his attempts to keep his face neutral. “i’ll just get to the point—”

“he’s gonna test us. if we pass, we can stay. if we don’t, we’re getting kicked out,” Sans said. He opened the bag of food and grabbed a pastry for himself before handing it over to Dusk.

Dusk hesitated as he grabbed the bag. He quickly grabbed the first pastry he laid his hand on and turned to Killer.

“we’re getting kicked out?” Killer repeated.

“only if you don’t pass the test,” Cross emphasized.

Killer stood up as the wall of bones went away. He shambled over to him with a misleadingly calm expression. He leaned close to Cross’s head, keeping his hands by his sides. “what’s the test?”

Cross stood his ground, keeping his eyes locked on Killer as if he would attack him if he merely glanced away. “a rescue mission,” he answered with a steady voice despite the tension.

“the blue guy said you weren’t going to torture us,” Killer spat.

“it’s not torture. i have a plan. it should be simple,” Cross insisted.

He narrowed his eye sockets. “so why are you using us as fodder?”

“it’s a test.”

Sans snagged the bag from Dusk and shoved it over to Killer. “no point in complainin’, just roll with it.”

Killer pushed the bag aside. “why are you being so compliant? he’s going to send us to our deaths!”

“because we don’t have a choice,” he sighed. “besides, we’ve gone through hell and back, what’s one more trial?”

Killer caved in and grabbed the bag to fish out a pastry for himself. He took a hefty bite from it specifically to talk with his mouth full, “you gonna leave us alone after we complete this ‘rescue mission’?”

“yeah, just this one thing and you’ll all prove that i can trust you to stay here.”

Killer winced at the word “trust”. He quickly scarfed the rest of the pastry down. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t really blame Cross for putting them through a trial considering that they’re all murderers. Well, he didn’t think Sans should be judged to the same extent as them. He needed to kill all those humans in order to survive.

“why does sans need to go too? his friends and family have already been staying here,” he asked.

Cross looked surprised by his question. Fucker probably didn’t expect him to be considerate. “the plan’s easier with three people, and all three of you worked with nightmare.”

“worked!?” Killer shoved the bag towards Sans and grabbed Cross by his shirt. “we didn’t work with that bastard. he KIDNAPPED us! if you think for one second that we associated with him? oh you got it entirely wrong, asshole! do you think we had fun being his fucking toys?” he snapped.

“killer, let go of him,” Sans said.

“y’know what? fine. i’ll do your stupid test. nothing you put me through will be worse than what he did to us,” he snarled before pushing him away.

Cross fixed the wrinkles Killer made on his clothes. His nonchalant behavior pissed Killer off even more.

He was lucky he actually listened to Sans.

“sorry, i wasn’t aware of that,” he said quietly.

Killer calmed down only slightly at the apology. He crossed his arms and scoffed, “you better be.”

Cross waited for them to finish eating breakfast before he went over the plan.

As he talked more, the three were even less psyched about doing this.

They were going to disguise themselves and then enter the place through a portal made by Ink. The first part of the plan was finding the right monster. Cross handed them an image for reference. They collectively sighed when they saw it was yet another Sans. If he wasn't wearing the same outfit it would be hard to find him, that's not to mention that Cross said the place they were infiltrating was a packed warehouse.

The second part of the plan was actually leaving the place. Which was supposedly the easier part of the plan because Ink will arrive and make another portal once they find the monster.

All in all, this just sounded like some dumb hidden object game rather than a rescue mission.

Ink arrived at the room shortly after Cross finished explaining. He came in holding a pile of clothes, their disguises.

Said clothes were all campy and flashy.

“in what world,” Sans held up a sequin jacket that had colors that could blind hawks, “are these disguises?”

“Well you're going to a party! A rave, specifically,” Ink explained.

Killer snatched a red leather jacket and bell bottom jeans from the pile. “all of these shirts suck, i’m gonna change.” He went over to the bathroom with the articles in hand.

“Oh yeah!” Ink snapped his hand. He reached into the pockets of his pants and took out three pairs of sunglasses, each were different shapes. “Almost forgot the most important part.”

“glasses,” Sans remarked.

Dusk and Sans exchanged glances with each other.

“it's really bright there,” Cross explained.

“in a warehouse?”

“trust me, the strobe lights could probably blind you otherwise.”

Sans narrowed his sockets.

Killer finished changing and waltzed out of the bathroom, flaunting his gaudy outfit.

“no shirt?” Sans remarked.

“i said they all suck.”

“surely you could just wear the shirt you already had on.”

“actually,” Cross butted in, “after you three get back we’re burning those clothes immediately. so probably don't wear anything that's actually yours.”

“and why are you doing that?”

“Cooties,” Ink deadpanned.

Cross frowned at him.

“Anyways, take a pair. Whatever you do, do not take them off.” Ink held out the shades with a wink.

Killer opted for the triangular ones while Dusk grabbed the rectangular ones and Sans got the circular ones.

Then Dusk and Sans grabbed whatever clothing, tossing any attempts to make a cohesive outfit out the window, and took turns changing in the bathroom.

Finally, Cross looked over the three, determining if their disguises were good to go. Dusk and Sans’s fits were horrible. That neon fluffy bucket hat that Sans wore was definitely not comfortable. At least Killer had a cohesive outfit.

He spent a second longer looking at Killer's sunglasses. He leaned close to Ink. “it doesn't cover his sockets fully,” he whispered.

“It’ll be fiiine,” Ink assured. He clasped his hands together. “Okay! You're all ready to go. Don't forget, you're looking for Epic, the most notable feature is the scar on his eye socket. Keep your distance from other partygoers and do not take off those shades.” His scarf swept at the floor underneath the three, creating holes that lead to their destination.

The three could barely see Ink waving goodbye as they fell.

The landing wasn't bad, all of them landed on their feet just fine, but the change in atmosphere gave them whiplash. While it was dark as night, strobe lights flashed and lit up the place erratically.

Oh god the music.

Eurodance from the 90’s was blasting with bass heavy enough to shake the building.

Oh god, the amount of monsters.

They were also dressed in gaudy outfits, which explained why their disguises were like that.

“cool. all we need to do is find whoever the hell ‘epic’ is. should we split?” Killer asked.

“oh god no,” Sans said.

Dusk grabbed them by their shoulders to drag them around and start their search.

“they're all wearing glasses too, didn't they say a scar on the socket is how we can differentiate him?” Sans said.

Killer groaned, “this is gonna take forever! we should just ask around or something.”

“you suddenly in the mood for social interaction?”

“this sensory nightmare’s making me feel like i’m floating out of my body, i just want to get this over with.” Killer approached one of the partygoers. “hey, y’know where a skeleton called epic is?”

He was completely ignored.

“cool. awesome. if we don't split up this’ll literally take forever, peace.” Killer walked off without waiting for the other two’s input.

Dusk and Sans watched as he got lost in the crowd in a whopping five seconds.

Dusk face palmed.

“maybe…maybe we can ask the dj? then they'll put out an announcement, or something,” Sans said.

“not that simple,” Dusk signed. He spelled out “fishy”.

“would it hurt to try?”

Dusk frantically shook his fist in a “yes.”

“eh, don't be a downer. where is the dj, anyway?” He looked around, fortunately most of the monsters here were around the same height as him so his view wasn't too obstructed. “yeesh, this place is big.”

The strobe lights flickered more as they all started moving to one point. The lights shone on the DJ station, the DJ themself was still shrouded in darkness. The sound of scratching discs filled the building as the music quieted down. “HOW WE FEELIN’ BROSEPHS ‘N JOESEPHS!?”

A mechanical roar of cheers rang out among the crowd.

They recognized that voice. They most definitely recognized that voice.

Dusk grabbed Sans by the arm.

“okay,” Sans breathed, “that's fine. maybe, no one knows his deal. we can just. leave the building.”

Dusk tugged at Sans, pointing furiously at the ground.

It was hard to notice due to how dark and packed it is, but on the ground were several piles of dust.

“hm. nice knowing ya.”

“You party animals havin’ fun?! I know I am, yo!” The unmistakable sound of Fresh’s voice boomed throughout the warehouse. The lights finally shone on him. He looked exactly the same as the first time they saw him. He was spinning. a disc on his finger. “I just gots some totes rad news before we continue on with gettin’ jiggy.”

The colored lights moved over to his side, revealing a stage that was hidden in the darkness, and on the stage was Killer. He looked confused, as if he didn't even know how he got up there.

Sans nearly swore but Dusk slapped a hand over his mouth.

When he caught sight of Fresh he stood frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

“Any bros know this fool?” Fresh asked. He put the disk back on the turntable and scratched his chin. “I don't. Did we invite him?” His bemusement barely masked his elation at having prey he didn't have to catch.

Killer didn't know what to do. He looked down at the crowd. The sunglasses they wore were originally all blank but the familiar “YOLO” text was on them now.

Running definitely wasn't going to help.

“Eh no biggie. I’ll give him a proper introduction to this rad party.” Fresh turned the music back on.

Killer internally swore at Cross, cursing his entire life. He was going to die and it was going to be to the fucking tune of a stupid 90’s song about sex. Well he wasn't going down without a fight.

He summoned a blaster aimed at Fresh and fired.

Only for one of the partygoers to leap into the blast to block it.

Killer watched in horror as he dusted that monster. The familiar rush of exp hit him like a truck, he couldn't help but fall to his knees.

“oh god,” Sans muttered from the crowd.

The three were completely powerless in this situation. This wasn't a fucking test. They were sent to their deaths.

What a sick joke.

“Oh snap! Well, you're just gonna hafta replace that now, aren't ya?” Fresh disappeared with a poof, promptly reappearing behind Killer.

Killer quickly pushed himself up and backed away from him.

Fresh didn't even follow him, the stage wasn't that big anyway.

He reached the edge of the stage, back to the crowd. Only Fresh could see the fear on his face.

Some of the crowd climbed on stage to grab his ankles, anchoring him down.

 He was hyperventilating, he was overwhelmed, he felt nothing at all.

He felt nothing at all.

Dusk and Sans went as far as they could away from the stage. They eventually reached a wall. Sans leaned against it in defeat while Dusk banged his skull against it.

Sans winced at the loud thud.

They could vaguely see the stage from here. Killer was gone and Fresh returned to his station.

The party continued on like nothing happened.

“so. do you think you’ll end up back in your universe after, or.”

Dusk huffed.

“right.” Dumb question.

They just stood there against the wall watching the neverending party. They questioned if this was hell or purgatory. No, this was definitely hell.

“ey, i finally found you guys.” It was Killer.

Dusk and Sans tensed.

His soul was a shape they’ve never seen it be before. It was in the shape of a flower.

“chillax, i’m not gonna do anything,” he said. His cadence was off. “you two have just been standing there all gloomy…” He put a hand on the wall just above Dusk’s shoulder. “why don’t you come join the fun?”

With how close he was, Dusk was able to see the parasitic flower in the small sliver of his sockets that wasn't covered by the triangular shades.

Killer leaned closer to his face. “c’mon, i’m getting lonely.”

Sans socked him in the face.

Dusk flinched back in surprise as Killer fell to the ground from the impact.

Sans shook the pain off his hand. “i think we're good.”

Dusk knelt down by Killer. He took his shades off and immediately plunged his hand into the socket containing the flower.

“uh—” Sans reached a hand out but was interrupted by Killer’s lucid screaming.

The nearby skeletons slowed their dancing, turning over to the interruption.

With one last quick yank, the flower snapped off. Dusk dropped it and stamped his foot on it repeatedly.

Killer gasped for air and keened in pain. Then he passed out.

Dusk blinked in shock.

Sans cringed, “think you went a bit overboard.”

“you were the one who punched him!” Dusk blurted stupidly.

“yup, and you committed malpractice.”

The music came to a halt with a dramatic record scratch.

The lights landed on the three.

“Yo, dudes. Quit harshin’ the vibe,” Fresh scoffed into the mic.

Dusk rolled his eyelights and picked Killer up, draping him over his shoulder.

They were surrounded now, by the skeletons under his control.

Dusk summoned multiple blasters overhead, ready to fire if any of them stepped closer.

“Yeesh! You three weren't even invited! What's the dealio? That scummy octo brought you here to rustle my jimmies or something?”

That. Wasn't even 90’s lingo.

There was some feedback coming from the mic. “That thing’s not comin’ here for real, actually, right?” For once he sounded unsure.

Was he actually threatened by Nightmare?

They had to roll with the lie. They could survive this. They just had to convince him he was coming.

Sans put a hand on Dusk’s shoulder. “nah yeah, he won't have to intervene as long as we get what he needs.”

“Bogus! Whaddaheck would that dillweed need?”

Sans pulled out the image of Epic from his pocket and showed it to the nearest partygoer. “we just need this guy, and we'll be outta your hair.”

“Oooh, yeah, I get what you're layin’ down.”

Said nearest partygoer grabbed Sans’s wrist.

“You're fibbin’.”

Welp.

Dusk was just about to fire the blasters on standby, only for a cluster of bones to sprout from the ceiling and stab through the giant skulls.

Dusk grumbled. He adjusted his grip on Killer so that he didn't drop him.

“you're kinda grabbing his butt,” Sans pointed out.

“we’ve done worse.”

“go back to not talking.”

“Aight. So y’all come on in uninvited and interrupt my bodacious party? S’all good. I’ll let you dudes bounce…not!” Fresh yelled into the mic. “I’m gonna enjoy taking y’all over. You're not worming your way out this time.”

Right as his sentence ended, it was disproved. A portal opened. It was like the light at the end of the tunnel.

That portal looked similar to the ones Nightmare made, actually.

“Ah, nah, what’s the dealio?”

But instead of the guardian of negativity arriving, a huge wave of tiny not-quite-skeletons poured in like a flood.

“what,” Dusk and Sans said in unison as absolute chaos unfolded in the warehouse.

These “not-quite-skeletons” acted more like hyperactive temmies. Their giant skulls were bigger than the rest of their body making them look more like aliens than anything. They all wore bandanas that matched the color of their huge star eyelights. They bounded around the place causing total anarchy.

Fresh among others were trampled by these small menaces. Some were simply dancing to the music while others were actively jumping some of the partygoers. They swore they even saw one playing with a pile of dust.

And all of this was happening while “We Like to Party!” by the Vengaboys was playing.

A second portal opened up behind them. They didn't even get to process this before someone yanked them through.

They both landed on their backs. Killer peacefully laid atop Dusk, still managing to sleep through that all. Hopefully he wasn't in a coma.

Dusk and Sans looked at each other, unsure if they were both already dead or if what they saw was all real.

Certainly one hell of a deus ex machina, but with all the shit they’ve gone through they might as well accept it with open arms.

It was Blue that stood over them, looking utterly concerned. “oh my GOD, you three almost died! well, you would’ve been under fresh’s control for whoever knows how long and then you would collapse from exhaustion and then die, but still,” he rambled. He put a hand on his face. “If my plan didn't work…well! Glad it did! Even if it wasn't the one I initially had,” he sighed in relief. “I’m SO sorry you guys went through that! I told Cross not to do it but, ARGH, no one listens to me!” He stomped his foot, it reminded them of Papyrus.

Another portal appeared next to him and two skeletons walked out. One was dressed like they just walked out of an anime convention and the other was clearly a skeleton from Fresh’s party.

“Thank you so much Dream,” Blue said.

Dream?

The two looked closely at him. There was a star made out of magic floating by his forehead. It reminded them of the crescent moon that rested near Nightmare's forehead. He was the one that created the portals similar to him too.

“you're his brother,” Sans said.

“Hm? Brother? I don’t…”

“They already know he's your brother, Dream,” Blue interrupted.

Dream darted his eyelights away guiltily. “I promise you, I’m not like him at all. I’m so sorry he held you all captive for a year! It must've been horrible.”

Dusk and Sans didn't really care about the needless pity. Both of them had one thing on their mind and it was punching the living daylights out of Cross.

“Right…” Blue said awkwardly. “Anyway, Dream, please tend to Epic, I’ll take these guys from here.”

Dream nodded and teleported himself and the other skeleton, who was apparently Epic, off to someplace else.

Blue stared down at the three who hadn't budged at all. “So, do you guys need help getting up, or.”

“i’m staying down here, thanks,” Sans said.

“Is Killer knocked out, or sleeping?”

“he's been out cold ever since Dusk ripped off the flower in his socket.”

Blue smacked the side of his skull, looking distraught. He looked around the place—they just realized they were in someone's living room—and told them to stay there before bolting off to another room.

Sans turned his attention to Killer and Dusk. “are you just gonna have him lay on top of you the whole time?”

Dusk shrugged. Honestly he was kind of comfortable like this. Killer was like a weighted blanket.

Sans finally got up from the floor, stretching his back with a groan. He stumbled over to the couch nearby and flopped onto it. He massaged his face. “god, i don't want to do anything ever again.”

Dusk hummed in agreement.

Blue came back shortly after with a stash of snacks. He dumped them onto the coffee table in front of the couch. “I got some snacks so you guys can replenish your energy. Do any of you know healing magic?”

Dusk nodded.

Blue walked over to him, leaning down to pick up Killer off of him only for Dusk to slap his hand away. “Oh! Sorry, I thought you were stuck,” he said, embarrassed.

Dusk sat up, holding Killer in his arms. He carefully put his hand over his soul and started healing it.

“you're not even going to eat first—Okay, that's fine.” Blue looked away from the poor medical practice. He waited a moment. “Okay, you're not supposed to keep going until he wakes up, you're gonna overload his soul with magic.”

Dusk rolled his eyelights and drew his hand away.

“He should wake up in a few minutes. In the meantime,” he grabbed something off the table and threw it at him, “eat something!”

The packaged snack bumped his head and fell to the floor sadly.

Dusk laid Killer down, having his head rest on his legs so that he could pick up the snack and eat it.

Blue turned to Sans. “You should eat something too.”

Sans glanced at the food on the table, then back at Blue. “why are you helping us?” he asked.

Blue looked disheartened by his suspicion. He fidgeted with his hands. “because i want to. And why wouldn't I? Everyone deserves help!”

“real naive of you to say.”

Blue’s expression hardened. “Fine, maybe it’s more than that. Maybe I want to feel like I’m worth something by helping people out. Maybe I’m sick of people dying when I could’ve done something. Maybe I’m guilty, so I help assholes like you in order to cope! Is that a selfish enough answer for you?”

Sans grabbed something off the table to eat. “sure.”

Blue sighed, crossing his arms. “good.”

They sat in silence as the two ate a bit. After a few uncomfortable minutes, Killer finally woke up.

He rolled off of Dusk. He immediately fired a round of questions, “everything hurts. why’s it so dark. where am i?”

“The lights are on?” Blue said.

“who the hell are you?”

“i think you blinded him, dude,” Sans said.

“what?!” Killer shouted.

“He shouldn’t be permanently blinded, he just needs to eat!” Blue assured. “Carelessly yanking out Fresh’s flower temporarily blinds the victim because it injures the orbit, and any injury to that area causes temporary blindness as our magic prioritizes healing it over being able to see.”

“oh, you’re the nerd that gave us food yesterday.”

“i’m the huh?” Blue mumbled. He shook off the insult and grabbed some packaged crackers off the table to give to Killer. “Anyway, we’re not at the hub right now. You guys are gonna crash at my place, which is here, until I give Cross a talk.”

Killer gnawed on the crackers without removing the wrapper, until Dusk snatched it from him to properly open it and hand it back to him. 

Killer poured the crumbs into his mouth, a good amount of it missed and landed on the floor which Blue decided to ignore.

After blinking a few times, Killer was able to see again. “where is ‘here’?”

“I don’t really have time to explain what this place is but uh, I suggest not going outside because you might end up in a different universe,” Blue said casually. “I shouldn’t be gone for too long, but in case I am, you guys are free to raid the kitchen, watch some tv, etc—Oh yeah! I also have a book containing all my notes on the multiverse if you wanna read it. Since you three are outcodes now it’ll be useful to know about some of the threats and important areas in the multiverse.”

The three of them looked at him like he was speaking a different language.

He coughed into his hand and pulled the book out from his inventory to set it on the coffee table. He awkwardly waved goodbye which got no responses and left the house.

“that guy’s too nice,” Killer remarked. “how hasn’t he died?”

“my guess is dumb luck or he’s hiding something.” Sans sat up on the couch, looking curiously at the book, which was actually just some spiral bound notebook. He picked it up, might as well read it to pass the time.

Killer stood up, stumbling a bit as he waited for the vertigo to pass. “i’m gonna snoop around,” he announced.

“have fun with that.”

While Killer wandered off and Sans read, Dusk went over to the fridge.

Sans flipped through the pages of the notebook, skimming over the titles of various names of people and places. He paused when he saw Nightmare’s name.

“dusk, get over here!”

Dusk walked over with no haste at all. He was holding two glasses, and was currently drinking out of one. He held out the other to Sans.

Sans looked up from the book to see the concoction he was giving him. It was nearly the same as all the past times Dusk made the mistake of playing bartender. Except this time…”did you add crushed chips? that thing has at least four different textures in it now.”

Dusk shrugged.

Killer walked back in the room, looking very dissatisfied. He wasn’t able to find anything interesting or any skeletons in the closet. His sights immediately landed on the drinks. “what the fuck is that?” he chuckled.

“nah, killer this ain’t for you.” Sans took the second drink from Dusk’s hand.

“aw, what?”

“anyway,” he took a sip, “this guy has notes about nightmare.”

Killer walked around the table and sat next to Sans. “woah, that's crazy.” He leaned closer at the book, but quickly switched his target to the drink.

Unfortunately, Sans was quick enough to move the drink away before he could take a sip.

Killer grumbled disappointedly and looked back at the book, actually reading the page this time. “i mean, we already know all of this, i don't see how this is…” he trailed off as he got halfway through the page. “huh. he’s had quite the history.”

“whaddya think being ‘the guardian of negativity’ means?”

“does it matter? we hate him. end of story.”

Sans eyed the line that said Nightmare couldn't feel positive emotions. If that was true, that explained a lot of things, but did that change anything? Not really. “yeah, i guess it doesn't.”

Once he was back at the hub, Blue hunted down Cross. His angry speech died on his metaphorical tongue the second he saw him and Epic having a reunion. He stopped in his tracks and watched them from a distance.

Ink appeared by his side, also watching the two. “Ah, a happy ending.” “It was completely unnecessary for any of this to happen and you know it,” Blue said sternly.

Ink pouted. “Aw, are you mad at me? It wasn’t my idea to send those three to their deaths.”

Blue scowled at him. “But it’s your fault Fresh kidnapped Epic in the first place.” Ink looked dumbfounded and then guilty, like a dog that was caught doing something it shouldn’t. “You’re getting too good at reading me…” he sighed. “How long did you know?”

“The second we found out it was Fresh that took Epic I immediately knew it was you,” Blue deadpanned. There were only a few people who could’ve let Fresh into the place, and only one person who would’ve. Besides, ever since Cross rescued Epic from his scripted death, Ink would glare at him like he personally wronged him.

“Aw,” Ink gave him a hug, “and you didn’t tell anyone?” He didn’t just not tell anyone he also covered for him. There was a reason Cross didn’t know he did it. “There wasn’t any point to.” “And you wouldn’t rat out your best friend!”

Blue flicked his cheek bone. “Sure,” he said sarcastically. He ended the hug with Ink with a gentle shove. “Those three are probably gonna try to kill Cross though. I’m making that your responsibility.”

Ink giggled at the idea of the three hunting down Cross. “Eh, he can handle that on his own.”

[happenedinmiddle-earth]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜

s: you are one of the few medics in the small town of Esgaroth

p: Bard The Bowman x fem!reader

w: illness, canon-violence (upcoming chapters), explicit scenes (upcoming chapters), canon-poverty etc etc.

next chapter →

1. It starts from the beginning

The usual, certain softness lacked in Bard’s brown eyes when he looked at me by my doorstep. His chest heaved, up and down, and the barely controlled panic made his words tangle together. It didn’t take a academic to know something was truly gone wrong, given that the man rarely bothered me after sunset.

”Tilda’s sick.”

I didn’t ask any more questions before grabbing my satchel and running with Bard through the town. All my medical preparations laid in my satchel I always carried around; pain-easing herbs, sleep inducing flowers and other convinient medications I would need while tending to others. The satchel had been a family posession for a long time, having seen the world with my late father and his father before him.

As soon as the door was opened, I was met by two of the three siblings, worried and pacing around the room. Based on the look Bard gave them, he must have told them to go to bed already. I couldn’t quite blame them, knowing how tense the situation was.

Bard led me through the room and behind a curtain. There was a small chamber, most likely the children’s bedroom, with three beds covered with thick cotton linens to keep the cold away. In the middle on, the largest, laid a very pale and small child.

I kneeled by the bed and took out my pocket watch to check Tilda’s pulse, my fingers carefully placed over the child’s sweaty neck. Next I rested my head against her chest to hear her very ragged breathing, Bard stayed by the curtain door. His stance was rigid and tense, one hand by his mouth in a worried way, no doubt all the worst possible scenarios going through his head. My face was calm, just like I had been taught to look like. No need to cause more panic.

”Hey, sweetie”, I spoke softly to the small girl and wiped some of the hair off of the forehead. Droplets of sweat had already formed and rolled down her face, and her usual thick and rosy cheeks were hollow and white.

”Can you show me where it hurts the most?” the child opened her eyes the slightest. Poor thing couldnt even lift a finger but I did my best to read off of her dry lips.

”Chest? Alright”

I rolled open your leather binder where all my concotions were in small viles and looked up at worried Bard, face stoic and calm as I slipped into the professional demeanour. I had to pretend it wasn’t anyone I knew, anyone I actually cared for so my feelings would not tangle in the way.

”I’ll need two bowls, cold and hot water and towels for her”, I stated clearly, wanting that the worried father would understand. He nodded promptly and dissappeared behind the curtain. I could hear him speak to Bain and Tilde while I prepared my medicines

Soon Bard emerged again, and he carefully placed two bowls on the bedside table. I thanked him briefly, alreay going through my head about which herbs would help the most in the situation.

Sigrid coughed once more, her small body wailing like a rag in the wind. Someone who didnt know better would think she’d break her bones from such.

”Oh, dear...” My face went almost as pale as the poor childs when you caught the glimpse of the back of her hand. My heart almost skipped a beat at the sight of the blood. I quickened my work, doing my best to continue staying calm.

The red blood was haunting against Tilda’s pale skin. I could hear Bard’s sharp intake of breath (one he tried to cover as well as he could, I imagine), but couldn’t glance up at him from the midst of working. Grounding up some kingsfoil and hagás to ease the pain and mixing some of my medicine into the hot water bowl, I wished and prayed these would offer some aid with the fever.

”It’s a little bit hot”, Tilda didnt seem to mind, as the hot liquid helped with the sore throat for a brief moment. Bard, who had by now gotten back up, walked out of the room. Once again I heard the two chilsren outside chatter.

Carefully I placed the bowl back by the nightstand.

”You don’t need to swallow this just yet if you feel unable”, I said softly while gently prying the girls lips open just enough so I could slip a rolled leaf with kingsfoil and hagás into her mouth.

”The leaf will soften in few minutes and then it’ll be easier”, I priomised the girl.

Outside the children’s room, Bain and Sigrid were sitting by the fire, while their father was staring out the window, into the snowy night. There wasn’t much light, other than the few candles the children had been kind enough to put on the wooden table. It made the situation at hand even darker.

”I’d like to speak with your father”, I spoke so softly it was almost a whisper to Sigrid. She bit her lip, eyes glossy and nodded. Both turned to the dark haired man. Desperation was written all over his face. He looked so different from usual. It wrenched my heart.

A bit further away from the children I broke all the knowledge I had so far with a heavy heart in my chest.

”Tilda has blood cough”, I grimly stated , making Bard swallow thickly. ”I’ve given her some kingsfoil and hagás for the pain and a concotion of mine for the actual illness.”

Bard’s eyebrows were furrowed deeply and he clenched his jaw. I didn’t know of the Bagreman that much, but I did know of his late wife, who had passed away from the same illness a long time ago. And now little Tilda was in same position, so I couldn’t even imagine the worry.

”The night will show wether she’ll...” I trailed off. ”But you did right getting me. Now she has the help she needs”, I attempted to ease him.

”What do you believe?” Bard asked, his already deep and gravely voice even huskier. His brown eyes pierces through me like a bolt and I bit the inside of my cheek in thought, glancing at Tilda’s siblings further away.

”Tilda’s very young, she has much better chances at beating this than the old townfolk”, I said confidently. It was true, her immunity factor would kick in much stronger. I lifted my hand by his bicep to give him a reassuring squeeze.

”I know it’s difficult, but you have two children right there who need you right now”, I reminded, tone a little bit more stern this time. Bard looked at me and nodded in agreement. He wasn’t a daft after all, not even in such ill conditions.

”You should all try and rest, I’ll be with Tilda’s the night. No buts or ifs”, I cut the man off before he even managed to say anything in between. Bard, seemingly knowing about my stubborness enough, didnt put up a fight, instead nodded. I turned to Bain and Sigrid aswell.

”That goes for you too, medic’s orders. You can’t do anything for your sister if you’re dropping like weed”, I noted, lips tugging into a faint smile in the faint lighting.

I helped Bard and the children (mostly the children, given that the Bagreman barely stood still for a few seconds) to get comfortable by their fireplace. Every now and then Bard would offer me tea or anything warm for that matter and every time I’d politely decline, knowing how hard it already was to someone feed their family.

As the midnight rolled over the town and the sky was now painted with stars, I sat by the small girl’s bed, wiping the sweat away. It was a sad sight, of course it was, and even though as a medic I had seen quite many things this one was one of the saddest ones.

”Your da and Bain and Sigrid are very worried”, I spoke to Tilda , the same way I had done for many others while they were battling with fever. Poor lass’ face was paler than before and her breathing was very raggedy. Everytime she’d cough there would be dark splatters of blood on the tissue.

I dapped a few drops of her medication on her lips and let it fall into her mouth itself. I could hear Bard walking around in the other room, despite of my attempts to calm him down. He had made sure that Bain and Sigrid had gone to bed, by the fire and now kept and eye out for the medic if I happened to need anything. I was ready to go give him the ultimatum, not wanting for him to drop from lack of sleep aswell although I knew better than that. He was a passionate man, and very caring to the point he’d stay up the whole week if that was what it took.

I hadn’t really talked with the bargeman much before, but his reputation exceeded him. He was thoughtful, and rational and calm, something I could appreciate. Especially now. Only if his thick head would give in for a moment.

It wasn’t like I actually needed to know someone to help them. My father had taught me ever since birth to overlook the wealth and prosperity of someone, as it sometime would be better to help the less fortunate than a man with all the gold in the worlds. When I was younger I never really understood what he meant by it, but I thought it was a nice sentiment. The master of Laketown had all the gold in the town, and because of that believed he could buy anything and everything. As if he was a sort of a god. And now I absolutely despised him because of it.

”You’re going to alright, darling”, I swiped Tilda’s forehead again, glancing outside through the small window. The moon was almost full, and shone light into the room. It made the poor child look even more pale and I sighed heavily, leaning to the side of the bed.

[multifandomfanfiction]

Kingsman: The Bear and the Fairy Chapter 6

TITLE: Kingsman: The Bear and the Fairy Chapter 6 PAIRING: Jack “Agent Whiskey” Daniels/OC RATING: M CHAPTER: 7/? SUMMARY: When the Kingsman and the Statesman join together to stop Poppy Adams, the last thing Elizabeth expected was to fall in love with a tall, dark, and handsome cowboy named after a brand of whiskey.

[A/N - Hey! It’s been a hot minute since we’ve seen Elizabeth and Jack! But they’re back!]

Elizabeth woke up to someone banging on her door early the next morning. Eggsy and Tilde were in a fight, so they were staying at Statesman HQ now.

Elizabeth threw the door open. “What?” she hissed.

They’d gotten back late last night.

Jack had walked her to her door and kissed her goodnight on the cheek. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

“Harry’s back. He’s got his memory back,” Eggsy told her.

“What?”

“C’mon.”

The two of them ran to Harry’s room and Elizabeth all but collapsed in his arms. It seemed like all she had been doing was crying.

“Shh, I’m here Lizzy-Bee.”

Elizabeth laughed hearing her old nickname.

Harry was the only one allowed to use that particular nickname.

It came from the fact that she used to flit about his house or the Kingsman shop like busy little bee. She couldn’t ever sit still, which made her an amazing fighter in the field.

“You’re back. I can’t believe you’re back!”

“Well, it’s all thanks to Eggsy here.”

Elizabeth hugged Eggsy. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing him back.”

“I know how much he means to you, Bethy.”

Elizabeth pulled away, tears still glistening in her eyes. “To us, Eggsy. To us.”

Eggsy wrapped his arms around Elizabeth again. Eggsy would always be more than a best friend to her. He was her brother and nothing could tear them apart. He had leaned on her while going through Kingsman training and now he was her rock.

They were a family.

Her, Eggsy, and Harry.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They went out to celebrate at a local bar. Jack and Harry sat on one side of the booth, while Eggsy, Elizabeth, and Merlin sat on the other.

Elizabeth rubbed Jack’s calf with her foot as the agents talked. Feeling a little more adventurous, she slid her foot further up his leg.

Jack’s hand shot out and grabbed her ankle. He placed her foot on his thigh and rubbed circles on her ankle bone.

Elizabeth was thankful she’d gone with a simple pair of ankle boots, because Jack’s rough fingers felt amazing on her bare skin. But it was taking everything within her not to moan.

The thrill of getting caught messing around with the much older agent across from her sent a shiver down her spine.

“Now that we’ve finished the debrief, Harry, here’s a couple of welcome back gifts,” Eggsy said, bringing Elizabeth back to the present.

He held up a watch. “First up, a brand-new Kingsman watch.” He handed it to Harry. “Advanced software, it can hack into anything with a microchip. It is the bollocks. And Merlin…”

Merlin set a glasses case on the table. “I made you these. Elizabeth picked out the frames.”

Harry opened the case and took off his eye-patch.

Elizabeth looked away and Jack squeezed her ankle to try and offer her some comfort.

Harry slipped on the glasses. “Thank you, Merlin, Eggsy, Lizzy-Bee.”

Elizabeth met Jack’s eyes and she could see the laughter in them.

“How do they look?” Harry asked Elizabeth.

“Perfect. Just like your old pair.”

“Elizabeth is right. You look…” Eggsy started. He was cut off by a cowboy standing up and walking over to their table.

“Like some faggot lookin’ for an eye-fuckin’.”

Elizabeth’s blood boiled and she moved to get up, but Jack had an iron-grip on her ankle. She looked at him and he subtly should his head.

“Now, why you don’t you get out of our bar before I take out your other one?”

Jack finally let go of Elizabeth’s ankle and turned to the cowboy. “Now, is that any way to welcome a visitor from out of town, moonshine?”

“Okay. Suck my Southern dick bitch.”

The men at the table could tell Elizabeth was about to have a meltdown.

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Harry said, trying to remain diplomatic. Harry stood up. “Good day, sir.”

The cowboy turned to the rest of them. “Well? What are you ladies waitin’ for?”

Harry reached the door and locked it saying, “Manners maketh man. Do you know what that means? Then let me teach you a lesson.”

Eggsy and Elizabeth shared a look, both having seen Harry fight before.

Harry flung a beer glass, but instead of hitting the cowboy in the head, Jack caught it in his hand. “Are we going to stand around here all day? Or are we going to…?”

One of the cowboys punched Harry in the face.

“Harry!” Elizabeth yelled. She scrambled up on the table, but Jack caught her around the waist. “Let me go! He needs help!”

Harry got a few good hits in before he was overwhelmed.

“Do something!” Elizabeth screamed.

Jack pushed Elizabeth out of his lap and jumped up from the booth. He threw his lasso around Harry and pulled him out of the fight.

Merlin and Eggsy just stared.

“Well? Pick him up,” Jack told them, “Now that is not what I call a Kentucky welcome. Manners maketh man. Let me translate that for ya.”

One of the cowboys rushed at him.

He threw his lasso around him and flung him into the bar.

The next one had a large knife in his hand.

“Jack! The knife!” Elizabeth yelled.

Jack jumped through his lasso and knocked the knife from his hand. He tossed it to Elizabeth who spun it in her hand.

She rushed at one of the cowboys and took him out quickly. She got a couple of hits in before another grabbed her around the waist.

Jack dropped his lasso and grabbed his whip. His whip grabbed the guy around the neck.

The guy let go of Elizabeth and she jammed the knife into his thigh, taking him down.

The two of them worked together to take out the last remaining few.

Jack straightened his Stetson as Elizabeth came down from the high of fighting. “Goddamn darlin’. You’re a little hellcat, ain’tcha?”

Elizabeth smiled, pretty sure that Jack was complimenting her in his own weird Southern way.

He winked at her and tipped his Stetson to her, causing her to let out a high-pitched giggle. “We make a pretty good team, darlin’.”

Eggsy looked at the two agents.

They had looked rather good fighting together.

“We might as well call you two the Bear and the Fairy,” Eggsy told them.

Elizabeth was tiny next to Jack, even if he wasn’t as tall as some of the other agents. She barely met his shoulder.

Before Elizabeth could say anything, the TV came on.

[londonspirit]

Occasionally, Dan Levy will pick up his phone and send a text: “Can you believe it?” These messages are sent to Annie Murphy or Noah Reid or Emily Hampshire or Karen Robinson, former inhabitants of Schitt’s Creek, titular town of the series Levy co-created with his identically-browed father, Eugene. What Levy can’t quite believe is that a CBC and Pop network show that aired in the U.S. after reruns of The Young and the Restless became a no-shit international phenomenon and won every major 2020 comedy Emmy from Outstanding Series to Outstanding Contemporary Costumes, plus awards for the show’s four main cast members: Levy, Levy the elder, Murphy, and Catherine O’Hara.

Not that Levy has any qualms about the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Or, more accurately, the best thing he’s ever made happen: In addition to creating, writing, and starring as skeptical scion David Rose on Schitt's Creek, Levy occasionally directed episodes and sourced many of the award-winning costumes. But the endless wretchedness of 2020 is perhaps an inopportune time to publicly garner good fortune.

“What this year has done has opened so many people's eyes to so much of the social unrest that is happening in America and really forced people to learn more,” Levy says, sitting in the bland Toronto apartment the 37-year-old is temporarily renting until he can head back to LA. “Read more. Educate themselves more. Check their privilege more. And yet…” Levy’s magnificent eyebrows unfold from a furrow of probity to an arch of delight, and his mouth into a crooked tilde of a smile. “There are moments when I think it is important for your sense of self to also be OK to say, ‘Something good happened to me this year, and I worked really hard for it.’ And so did a group of really talented people that I love. You're kind of caught in this place where only you can talk about it amongst yourselves.” Levy’s conversations with his co-stars are couched in language familiar to anyone who doesn’t want to give off the vibe of an Instagram caption on a pandemic birthday trip to a private island: "Well, obviously, you know, this is not of much significance" compared to everything else that’s going on. Still, Levy has to acknowledge that, yes, a good thing did happen; after all, he says, “You're talking about breaking records at the Emmys!”

Since he began social distancing, Levy has engaged in something like a fame-offset program, matching his good fortune by taking, publicizing, and raising money for University of Alberta’s online Indigenous Canada course. Levy’s queasiness about his success happening with a 2020 backdrop seems to stem from goodness so pervasive he’s caught himself thinking, Am I going to seem too, like, sincere? (When I ask if he believes he’s a good person, Levy frets, “Is being a good person something you can proclaim? Or is being a good person something that someone has to observe about you?”)

And Schitt’s Creek itself is an oasis of kindness — it doesn’t seem coincidental that after a slow five-season ascent, the show’s viewership exploded in its final year as we quarantined with our own bad thoughts. Levy has said that the arc of the Rose family — a “Balenciaga” to “consignment Balenciaga” to “back to current season Balenciaga” story — is based on the question, “Would the Kardashians still be the Kardashians without their money?” To Levy, the answer is obvious: Yes, and they would be better for it because, he says, “There is a love to that family.” So of course when the Roses lose the fortune amassed from a video rental empire and are forced to move to a Canadian town purchased as a novelty gift, they learn what truly matters.

Levy’s father and collaborator, Eugene, who co-wrote Christopher Guest films Best In Show and A Mighty Wind, says, “There are people who work in the world of comedy where they like to push envelopes in terms of what they can get away with, but that may come at the expense of other people. If it's at all important to you to avoid then you, you know, avoid it.” With the notable exception of programs like The Great British Bake Off — Levy, naturally, used to host the Canadian iteration — it is quite a bit more difficult to be entertaining and kind than entertaining and cruel. But Dan Levy attributes some of Schitt’s Creek’s success to what he calls “a purity to the storytelling and the show that caught people off guard because it was so unexpectedly sincere.” “There was something badass about the fact that it didn't have the kind of edge that people had often equated with cable comedies,” he says.

Making Schitt’s Creek a source of goodness and light was an unrelenting crush for Levy. “How much anger and rage do I have to repress in order to get the light out?” he says, laughing and stroking his elderly dog, Redmond, so vigorously I worry about ginger fur getting on Levy’s David Rose-appropriate black and white JW Anderson T-shirt. “Um, at times a lot.”

When Levy was working on Schitt’s Creek, he was picked up every morning at 5 a.m. and driven to set, where he would rehearse and rewrite scenes. Next was making decisions about sets and wardrobe fittings for cast members like O’Hara. Moira Rose, the actor mother of Levy’s character with a grandeur as flamboyant as her choice of syllable emphasis, might have to go to meet someone who makes her feel exposed. Levy would supervise an outfit selection that functioned as a billboard for her emotional state. “How do you express vulnerability?” Levy asks. “Well, you put more clothes on, and more aggressive clothes on, so as to armor yourself.” Levy needed to approve budgets, which didn’t increase even as the show gained more attention. He would act and sometimes direct, and then be back in wardrobe picking out the right statement necklaces for O’Hara to wear to buy a used car.

After filming ended, Levy went to the writers’ room to work for a couple more hours. He’d get home at 8 p.m., quickly eat dinner, and write until 2 a.m. on some nights. Then he’d sleep for two hours and get in the car to go back to work at 5 a.m. When shooting wrapped for the year, Levy went into post-production, spending months in windowless rooms. Once a season was finally completed, preparation would begin for the next one. Levy charged himself with making sure every detail connected to each other and tracked with the personal histories he and Eugene had written for each character before the series began. Eugene can remember only one deviation from those bios during the entire run of the show. Originally, the father of motel employee Stevie had been a roadie for Fleetwood Mac before receiving a restraining order from the band; the detail was later transferred to the father of diner waitress Twyla, who was played by Levy’s sister, Sarah. Several times during the run of the series, Levy developed anxiety so literally paralyzing that his neck would seize up, forcing him to wear a brace and receive chiropractic treatments between scenes.

“Through every phase of Schitt's Creek,” Eugene says, “Dan had a very strong sense as to what it was he wanted the show to look like and what he wanted it to sound like and what the tone of the show was going to be and what the message of the show would be. He certainly makes himself responsible to make these things happen. He doesn't go with the flow at all.”

Total control let Levy create a perfectly realized world, from the menu size in the Café Tropical to the caws in Moira’s comeback film The Crows Have Eyes III: The Crowening. But it’s perhaps not the healthiest arrangement when the confines of quarantine feel normal to you. “Over the past six years,” Levy says, “I really haven't been outside that much.”

When he was a boy, Levy became so anxious that he did not want to attend birthday parties. He did not want to go to summer camp. He did not, in fact, want to engage in any social situations. Levy’s anxiety physically manifested as iritis, an inflammation of the eye which doctors feared would eventually take his vision. It was as if the anxiety that drove Levy indoors had then decided to draw all the curtains.

“I think that came from a deep-rooted fear of knowing that I was gay and not being able to be free,” Levy says now. “By the time I got to high school, when your brain is starting to catch up to your physical impulses, it led to a very confusing time. Because on the one hand, you are now being introduced to things like self-awareness and anxiety. At the same time, you’re becoming more and more savvy when it comes to hiding it.”

The escape was theater. Levy began writing, directing, and performing in school plays, including a student-run stage adaptation of Clue produced during a teacher’s strike. “I was starting to develop a sense of confidence by way of being able to entertain people,” Levy says. “It was like a decoy version of myself that I was putting out there to not have to live with the reality that when the bullying was happening — if someone was calling me a f----t or whatever it was — they were speaking the truth.” What a cursed blessing to discover you have a gift but to understand it as a distraction from who you really are and not as a true part of yourself. No wonder that Levy says of creating a persona — naturally, in the self-distancing second person — “Your sense of self gets chipped away. You lose sight of your own value.”

Levy had a ticker of fears scrolling through his mind broadcasting what might happen if people knew who he really was: “Fear of being ridiculed. Fear of being othered. Fear of exposing something that I think a lot of high school students at the time didn't have the tools to process properly, to make it comfortable for me.”

Then, when he was 18, Levy came out. Actually, his mother, Deborah Divine, invited Levy to come out, over lunch. Levy accepted, and was accepted in return. It was one version of an inflection point that Levy has explored in some of his most impactful work. In Happiest Season, Hulu’s lesbian Christmas rom-com, Levy delivers the film’s high point in a monologue; filmmaker Clea DuVall tells me, “I cried during every take.”

“Everybody’s story is different,” Levy’s John says to Kristen Stewart’s Abby, who is planning to propose to a woman whose family doesn’t know she’s queer. “But the one thing that all of those stories have in common is that moment right before you say those words, when your heart is racing and you don’t know what’s coming next,” John goes on. “That moment’s really terrifying. And then once you say those words, you can’t unsay them. A chapter has ended and a new one’s begun, and you have to be ready for that.”

On the Schitt’s Creek episode “Meet the Parents,” David’s future in-laws discover their son Patrick is gay before he can come out to them. “Did we do something wrong, David?” Patrick’s father asks, inadvertently head-faking homophobia before saying, “The thought that Patrick was feeling like he couldn't come and talk to us about this…”

Obviously not everyone who comes out gets the response they’re hoping for. But like Patrick, Levy had a happy ending sitting in front of him: accepting and caring parents wondering when their son was going to tell them he was gay and trying to respect his timeline for doing so. When I ask Eugene if it’s painful knowing that he could have potentially alleviated the anxiety Levy was feeling by approaching him sooner, he concurs. “I would have done things so much differently, you know?” Eugene says slowly. “I would have gotten more involved in talking about what was going on.” But he doesn’t know that it would have changed anything — after all, the flow goes with Levy. “Not necessarily that we would have gotten any direct answers,” Eugene says. “You can only get back what you get back.” (Levy confirms he was not ready to discuss his sexuality before he was; despite his parents’ openness and love, he had created Schrödinger’s Eugene and Deb in his head, simultaneously welcoming him and rejecting him at the news.)

Newly out, Levy went to college and began dating. However, he says, “I was not in any place to be of great value in a relationship.” Like David Rose, Levy’s pitch tends to ascend on the back half of sentences, making him sound like he’s interrogating his own thought process. “You then get into these habits where you're dating people who are totally wrong for you because they're seeking out people who are a bit damaged,” Levy says, “and you're seeking out people who have one foot out the door so that you don't actually give yourself over in any kind of way.” (After I mention that while watching Happiest Season, I wanted Stewart’s character to dump her semi-emotionally damaging girlfriend and leave with Levy, he says, “In this conversation, I'm brought back to many a relationship [where] ‘RUN’ was just, like, the subtitle flashing for about a year and a half of my life.”)

Dating, then, became another way to keep people out. “I really got to a point where I felt like if I didn't make an active choice to pull myself out of this shell that was becoming such a comfort,” Levy says, “I would not be the adult that I want to be.” He spent a summer in England, answering phones at the ICM talent agency as exposure therapy for speaking, unscripted, to strangers. A month and a half later, he auditioned to be a host on MTV Canada. Levy says it was “the ultimate exercise in pushing myself and getting myself out there. If I could get a job on television asking other people questions — which had previously been on the top five things that I would never want to do — this could be the final kind of exercise in changing myself for the better.”

Like Levy’s high school theater work, his success as a host was a gnarled little monkey’s paw of unfortunate wish fulfillment. He was charismatic on screen and became famous enough to travel to New York on the weekends and get into the clubs he wanted to get into. Levy also pioneered the now-prevalent televised after-show with his The Hills discussion series, which exists in the same tonal universe as Schitt’s Creek: sharp enough to make you feel smart for laughing at it, but warm enough that Lauren Conrad herself was a guest.

But much of the work felt limiting. The questions he had to ask celebrities were pre-negotiated with publicists and written by producers — as Levy notes, “No one wants to sit down with someone from MTV Canada and have a revelatory chat about life.” One of his last appearances before quitting was the MTV Movie Awards red carpet. “You could see a kind of judgment in the people you're interviewing,” he says. “They're not rolling their eyes, but you can feel them thinking about rolling their eyes. And I know that a lot of the times they were questions I didn't necessarily want to be asked if I were in that situation.” Pretending to be the version of himself he thought people would accept, Levy says, “kind of just didn't feel worth it anymore.”

You know the next part. Levy realized he could keep the traits people had responded to when he performed — his charisma, his humor — add sincerity, and still be compelling. He spent half a decade grinding out something that was truly of himself. And through Schitt’s Creek Levy became, his father points out, “one of the top showrunners in the entertainment business right now.” Eugene says, “After the [Emmys] broadcast I think there were probably some executives who — if they even remember us going in to pitch the show — are probably kicking themselves.”

Based on what he does next, Levy is now in the unique position of being able to calibrate how famous he becomes. It’s evening in Toronto, and Levy mulls the question over what simply cannot be good wine; when I ask what kind it is, he says, “Red?” Levy knows he could choose to stay behind the scenes and work on the ABC Studios projects he has in development. But Levy is also in the early stages of a romantic comedy he would star in. He worries that he wouldn’t be able to handle uber-fame with the aplomb his co-star Kristen Stewart does. When they went out to a dive bar while filming in Pittsburgh, he says, “I was just so kind of in awe of her confidence and comfort in herself. She's so at ease — [I say that] as someone who I think will always be on their journey to have that for myself.”

“Dan’s assessment is actually incorrect,” Stewart says later. “But what I have done is try to keep that experience [of fame] fairly insular, not make other people I’m with take on the weight of my own self-consciousness — or, God forbid, have someone think I’m up my own ass and loving the attention. It’s easier for me to pretend [people noticing me] is not happening, even though on the inside I still feel like the world is a big school yard of giggling onlookers. Are they laughing at me? Yes, no… Who cares.”

If Levy ever does find himself in the position of being Stewart-famous, she thinks he’ll be fine. “What I did notice was how absolutely wonderful Dan is with everyone,” she says. “He is so loving and gracious towards people that recognize him. The positive force he puts out into the world is clearly reflected in how people come back at him.”

What Levy is putting out into the world next: “I would like to date more,” he says, shoulders bashfully rising ceilingward. “Circumstance plays such a huge part in what we accept for ourselves. When you're doing something that you love it’s like, ‘I have a full plate.’ Even though [Schitt’s Creek was] super intense and even though at times I need a neck brace, it was never not inspiring, and it was never not thrilling and exciting and totally satisfying. So to [want to] make space for someone else…in a way, it is the ultimate filter. You’re basically saying, do I want to carve out the space in an already full and fulfilled life for this person? And a lot of the time, the answer is no. But it only makes it that much better when the right person comes along.”

For now, Levy’s plate is full of his multiple simultaneous projects. (He says there are more than three but few enough that you could count them on both hands, though he doesn’t want to talk about them in detail until there’s actually something to talk about — if Levy follows the Schitt’s Creek model, he jokes, he’ll “get five seasons on television before anybody sees them.”) Before he begins writing, Levy must make sure his entire house is immaculate. Even today, months after the series finale of Schitt’s Creek aired, Levy is negotiating the length of the “fuck”-blocking bleeps of syndication. But as we have all learned this year, not everything is under our control, even if we are Dan Levy. Stewart remembers him panicking as he tried to decorate a new home and realized none of the furniture he bought made any sense together. “The idea of him left and right showrunning and developing and acting and writing — and then his sweater closet confounding him — was very cute,” she says.

A certain amount of acceptance will be useful as Levy figures out how to follow up a beloved hit show. “The goal was to make sure that the first season was exactly what we wanted it to be,” Levy says of his Schitt’s Creek thought process. “To use the resources that we have as best as we can to get that season out there, so that we can go to sleep at night knowing that if people don't respond to it and it gets pulled off the air, there was nothing more we could have done.” Levy leans forward with a sincerity he’d surely second-guess if he were writing this scene and explains the daunting task of living up to yourself. “That’s the goal of anything I'm gonna do from here on out. It's just, try and do the best job you can. Try to make sure that you're loving it.”

[elletromil]

Harry/Tilde/Eggsy: ❛❛ I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through the evening with. Or, at least, good memories of when you did. ❜❜

Took me some time but I know you understand darling ❤

Thank you for the prompt, I hope you enjoy this :D

Sleeping through the evening

“-- I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through the evening with. Or, at least, good memories of when you did. Goodnight listeners. Goodnight.”

The voice on the radio dissolves into static and Eggsy doesn’t even bother trying to find something else. He’s been here all week and that show is the only thing he’s been able to tune into. And sure, he doesn’t understand how he can catch a community radio show of some town in the US (as far as he’s been able to figure out) when he’s doing a recon mission in Nulogorsk, a tiny fishing village in fucking Russia, but that’s probably the less weird thing about this mission so far.

He’s just glad that he finally managed to convince Merlin that there is no way Russia is using it as a front for nuclear testing. Sure, there is definitely something happening here, but he’s pretty sure it’s not anything spies should get involved with. Scientists probably, like that team that got to Night Vale. Or priests maybe.

Because while he will never say that he saw angels fishing on Tuesday in his official report, he also doesn’t know what else he could call it.

But the overall strangeness of the village isn’t why he can’t wait to head back home in the morning.

He’s just felt insanely lonely for this entire mission. As if somehow, he's been cut off from the world, even with Merlin ever present in his ear.

And the radio host's parting words have only served to make him long for the people he loves even more.

“Fuck that.”

Sure, he was briefed to not get into contact without anyone but Merlin if he didn’t absolutely needed to, but he’s willing to risk it. He feels like it’s either that or losing his sanity. So really, it’s not much of a dilemma.

He taps on his glasses only realising that it might be a bit late for a social call when a sleepy voice answers.

“Hej?”

“Tilde?” He’d feel bad about waking her up if not for the fact he was calling Harry on his glasses. “Is everything ok?”

“Hmmhmm. ‘course.”

“Why are you answering Harry’s glasses then?”

“They woke me, I answer.” Which fair enough. He’s answered Tilde’s phone plenty of time when a call came while they were sleeping and he was closer. But he usually makes sure his glasses are on his side of the bed and he’s certain Harry would do the same. “Hold on.”

He hears the soft rustling of fabrics and a soft thump before Tilde’s voice picks up again, sounding farther away this time. “For you. Eggsy.”

He knows her well enough to know that she is probably going right back to sleep, completely unconcerned. Which would seem rather cold but then again, he hasn’t given her any indication that he was in danger or anything. And after three years together, she’s very adept at knowing when he’s trying to hide something from her.

Harry isn’t so calm however.

“Galahad, is everything all right? Do you need an extraction? Why aren’t you calling Merlin? Is-”

“It’s just a social call Harry,” he cuts him off before he can work himself in enough of a frenzy to leave the bed. Tilde would be mad at him if he cost her her bed companion over nothing. “I miss you.”

“Oh.” There is a short pause during which Eggsy knows Harry is switching from his panicked-Arthur mode to Harry-his-lover again. “We rather miss you to.”

He vaguely hears the muffled sound of Tilde saying she doesn’t miss his snoring and he chuckles lightly at that. “I don’t miss hers either.”

And she truly knows him well because even if she can’t have heard him, she replies that ‘princesses don’t snore’ followed by what he is sure is some impressive cussing in swedish.

“Really, must we resort to insults so soon?” Harry sounds very disappointed which only means he finds their antics very amusing. And while Tilde does stop saying whatever she is saying about his parentage, Eggsy is pretty sure it’s because she’s too tired to continue.

“Why are you together?” Not that he minds, far from it, but Harry rarely travels now that he is Arthur and he was sure that Tilde was stuck in Sweden for at least a month last time he heard.

“We needed an in into some gala and your wife gracefully agreed to free her busy schedule for a week to assist us. But to be honest, I think she was mostly bored.”

Eggsy hears a not-so-soft ‘thump’ and Harry grunts a chuckle.

“You would too if you had to deal with the same stupid people she has to.”

Though to be fair, Harry does deal with a lot of stupid people since he took on Arthur’s mantle. But unlike Tilde, he does have a few way to blow off some steam when his frustration levels get too high. Sometimes, quite literally.

“So I hear your mission was a bust and you’ll be heading home tomorrow?”

“Yep. Can’t wait to leave this place. It’s… weird. Not in a bad way, but not in a good way either? Which just makes it worse.” He grimaces even if Harry cannot see his expression. “Anyway I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Of course. But if you ever want to, I’ll tell you about that one mission I had to hide in Franchia.”

It’s not a name Eggsy is familiar with but then again, neither was Nulogorsk before he got his briefing a week ago.

“Ok.” It’s ‘thank you’ and they both know it. Sure right this moment, Eggsy would rather not think about his time in Nulogorsk at all, but he can’t know how he’ll feel when he’ll have put some distance between him and the village. But for tonight, he just wants pretend he’s in bed with his wife and their lover. “Tell me about that gala?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate and even if he must be just as tired as Eggsy, he describes in many details everything that happened two nights ago, from the color of Tilde underwear to the taste of the sole glass of champagne he indulged in.

And Eggsy is certain he says a great deal more, but at some point he falls asleep, lulled by Harry’s voice and Tilde snoring in the distance.

[sadchappuccino]

Fun & Fair

Pairing: Roxanne (Roxy) Morton x reader

warnings: Angst if you squint, FLUFF, vomit, language

Summary: Roxy, Eggsy, Tilde and you go to the fun fair

A/n: I’m not sure what to think about this yet please tell me what you think

———

“Come on Roxy it’ll be fun” you whined, trying to convince your girlfriend to join you, Eggsy and Tilde to the fair fair in town. “I don’t know y/n, I’m pretty tired,” Roxy said. She shook her head as you continued to whine for her to come.

“It’ll be romantic,” you said, seeing Roxy’s expression cleared to a bit more positive you knew that you were close, “I promise that I will score a big teddy for you.” At this Roxy chuckled and kissed your cheek, “Alright, I will come for you.” You immediately brightened up and hugged her. “Perfect, let’s go.” Together you took the underground to the fair and went into town to meet Eggsy and Tilde.

Your hands held each other as your fingers were intertwined. You were close to the meeting point and you could already see the other couple standing. “Hey guys,” you smiled as you waved at them.

“Hi Roxy and Y/n” Tilde smiled politely at you. “So what do you guys wanna do first?” Eggsy asked you. “Oh, I want to do a shooting game because I promised my girl a stuffed animal” you winked at Roxy and she chuckled. “Alright let’s go” Eggsy said.

The four of you walked to the stand and you paid a few pounds to play a game. “I would watch out no one has gotten a good score before,” the owner of the game said. You just rolled your eyes and grabbed the fake gun. You shot a couple of rounds and all hit the bullseye without any issue on your side.

“I guess it’s not so hard” you smirked. The man grumbled and gave you a big plushy, which you immediately handed Roxy. “A promise is a promise” you smiled at him. You shook her hand and took the bear from you. “Thank you hun” she kissed your cheek and you blushed.

“Let’s eat some churros” Eggsy suddenly says. You agree and the four of you walk to a foodtruck. You ordered the food and walked further through the fair. The soft evening night made your skin glow and Roxy couldn’t keep her eyes off of it.

The four of you decided it would be fun to go for a ride on the rollercoaster. Eggsy and Tilde sat next to each other and you and Roxy sat behind them. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a rollercoaster” Roxy states. “I’m not surprised,” you said honestly, “Work got you swamped Rox Nd when we go out it’s normally not to an amusement park” you laugh.

“I know baby,” she looked down. “It’s okay Rox, we have enough time to spend together, remember last week when we suddenly went to town around midnight” you comforted her. “I love you y/n/n” Roxy smiled. “I love you too Rox.”

The ride went by fast. The four of you stepped out everyone seemed to have enjoyed the ride, only Tilde looked a bit pale. “You okay?” you asked, the moment you said that she bend forward and puked. “I think it’s time we head home,” Eggsy says checking if his girlfriend was alright. You nodded your head, “It’s late I think it’s time we go back too.”

“Yeah we have to get up early,” Roxy said about you and herself. The next day you both had to go back to work, dreading the moment you had to step into the office you worked in the city center. It was a dull job and you’d much rather spend your time with Roxy only you had to make money somehow.

You walked to the parking lot and Eggsy took his own car to get back home while you and Roxy hauled a cab over to get back. In the ride you could already notice how Roxy was a tad more tired. Whenever she would get sleepy, she would become more affective. Her head was placed on your shoulder and her hand was holding yours. “You tired darling?” you whispered in her hair before you kissed her. Apparently just sitting down made Roxy release how tired she actually was and all she desired was being wrapped up in your arms.

She needed you to hold her as much as you possibly could, her hectic and dangerous job made it hard for her to feel relaxed and only when she was wrapped in your loving hold she felt truly safe.

“We’re almost there Rox, just stay awake a little bit longer,” you said in a hushed voice. When you get home you pay the taxi driver and head in your house.

You and Roxy change into your pyjamas and brush your teeth. “Ready for bed babe?” Roxy asked, she was already sitting on the bed. “Yeah I’m done” you sat down beside her and snuggled up under the duvet.

You placed your head in her hair and smiled. “Goodnight” you muttered in her neck “G’night” she grinned, before Roxy slowly fell asleep.

———

Taglist: @loxbbg @zabdisamor @hcllander @tom-hollands-blog @meg-holland @vintageroses1014516 @jackiehollanderr @whyamihere-bro

Specific tag: @yanderepeterparker

(I’m laughing about specific bc it’s for a specific fic and the worst pun I’ve thought of so far)

[izzy-b-hands]

Dancer Chapter One

This is set in a Post-Golden Circle AU wherein nobody in Kingsman died (aka we still have Merlin, Roxy and JB, but we also got to meet the Statesman folks through...we’ll save that for when I eventually do my rewrite of Golden Circle lol.) 

For now, the point is everyone is alive, and Eggsy has a very important mission he must undertake.

In booty shorts.

For the greater good (and because why couldn’t Rocketman and Kingsman share wardrobes you know. Why not. There is not reason why not is the answer.)

Warning, we get NSFW in this. A lot. Just. Be ready for that. Violence because spies, sex because of lots of things (emotions and other things, you’ll see when you read.) If that ain’t your cup of tea, maybe skip this one. 

And yes, I did title it after the Queen song. 

Shout out and my thanks to @bearkare for helping me figure out how to chop this up into chapters properly; I owe you one big time!!!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“These are...necessary?” Eggsy asked, and snapped the waistband of the golden shiny booty shorts. 

“Absolutely,” Harry replied, and handed over another stack of similarly shiny clothing. “These should get you through the rest of the mission without needing any laundry done.” 

“Are they all...” 

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Harry smiled. “Besides, these missions can be...fun. I quite enjoyed one I did, in the seventies, in a club where you could-” 

“Oh, you could tell me about that later,” Eggsy interrupted, shoving the stack of multicolored booty shorts into his bag. “A reward for finishing the mission.” 

“It was a swingers club, is what it was.” 

“Aaah, you said it anyway,” Eggsy sighed. “And the tops are all-” 

“Mesh,” Harry finished. “But there are also sweatshirts, in case you get cold.” 

“Booty shorts and mesh shirts in December, how could I possibly get cold,” Eggsy murmured. “Sweatpants?” 

“One pair that I could find, so be careful,” Harry answered, and handed over a pair of Juicy Couture sweats that read ‘Bitch’ in sparkling fake jewels on the back. 

“...you found these?” 

“I did.” 

“So who previously used these here at Kingsman? Just...wondering. Or was that you, at the club? I presume you still go, since you’re keen to talk about it-” 

Harry cut him off with the toss of a pair of heels. 

“Male strippers don’t have to wear these, I thought?” 

“Some do, some don’t,” Harry shrugged. “Most anyone can wear most anything. Give them a try. We’ve got platforms as well, if you’d prefer.” 

“I would, I think. Might break an ankle either way,” Eggsy sighed, and handed back the heels in exchange for a pair of golden, shimmering, chunky platforms. “Shoes for after work?” 

An extra pair of Adidas were the last thing he tossed into his bag for the mission, before taking a final look at himself in the mirror. 

“I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“Why not? You look fantastic, and the club we need you to infiltrate doesn’t even require you to strip every night. Hell, intel has revealed that some of the men that work there don’t even strip, they just work the floor and go about sitting in laps and whatnot. You could stick to that, whatever, so long as you find it.”

Harry’s confident words echoed as he stepped out and headed down the street to the waiting Kingsman cab. ‘It’ was a chemical formula, that the biochemical weapons dealing club owner was threatening to use to create what he called ‘the ultimate weapon.’ Whether that was really true they’d find out after, when they could see the formula and what it actually contained. 

But that all came down to him.

The club was a four hour flight away, in Ibiza. Even on the Kingsman private plane, he was restless, plucking at the elastic edges of the shorts, pacing in the platforms to try and practice balancing in them. 

“Where’s all this coming from?” Merlin asked from the pilot’s seat. “All I can hear is those damned shoes; on a regular plane, you know I’d have to make you sit down, right?” 

“It’s nothing,” Eggsy muttered, even though it was indeed something. Tilde was less than pleased he’d been called in for a mission, and unhappier still that involved him working in a strip club. Never mind that they’d spent weeks arguing over how he could continue to complete his princely duties while staying out of the limelight and skipping public events. She wanted him to be able to show his face and be at her side, but couldn’t understand what it would mean. 

Giving up Kingsman. Giving up the thing that had helped him become the man she loved. 

Or that she might still love. Maybe. He wasn’t so sure anymore. 

But he’d asked Roxy to stay with Tilde, so he could provide them both with mission updates (edited as needed to protect Tilde from the club owner and anyone he might send out should their communiques somehow be discovered) and he hoped she would see that as a sign of his love and care. 

“I don’t believe that,” Merlin sighed. “But we’re nearly there. Have you got everything?” 

‘Everything’ consisted of not just his bag of clothing, but one bag of regular make-up, eco-friendly glitter, pasties that he did not understand the point of his having, and another bag full of...’make-up.’ 

Eyeliner that could be used to essentially draw a fuse on a surface and lit on fire, perfume that was in a super-pressurized nozzle and contained a flesh eating toxin that acted as soon as it hit skin, eye shadows that if brushed on a finger and then dipped in a drink could knock out a bull elephant in a minute (what it would do to a human...well. Better not to think about that, and to use it only if absolutely necessary.) 

That, plus the regular Kingsman kit, of course, carefully hidden in among all three bags, very carefully in the case of the pistols and ammunition. 

All of it banged against his legs as he did his best to look...however he figured he was meant to look. Confident, and not like he was worried about whether or not this was a mission he could pull off, and not like he was worried he might come home to Tilde too upset to be consoled or worse. 

“You!” the man that called out to him from the club’s doorway was a fierce-looking person, literally. A tiger with open mouth was tattooed on the front his neck, down onto his chest, with blood dripping from the fangs. “You’re fucking late! You know, in my day, when they sent a new boy, they sent him on time! No fucking respect for the show anymore, none at all.” 

“I’m sorry, my flight ran late,” Eggsy tried. “But if you let me set my things down, I can get started right away, get out on the floor, serve some drinks, you know.” 

The man scoffed, and pulled him into the doorway, nearly knocking him off his platforms. “Serve some drinks, pah. You’re tonight’s main entertainment. How else is the boss supposed to know if you’re worth the investment money? After all, your agency doesn’t get paid until we see how you work.” 

He led Eggsy by the arm down a dark hall, and shoved open a door which led to a small green room. “And you should know...not many of you work out.” 

“Then I’d be headed home, I suppose,” Eggsy replied as he stepped into the room, taking in the cracking paint on the walls, the cushions with stuffing coming out of them on the couch, and the filthy mirror on the make-up table. 

The man laughed. “Home? Is that what they told you? I thought they weren’t going to lie anymore...ah well. Not my monkey, not my circus, as they say. Sure. You would be sent home, let’s say that. Just hurry the fuck up, get into something good, and when I knock, you take a left, then another left, and come out on stage. We’ll be waiting.” 

Eggsy dropped his bags carefully by the couch, and as soon as the door was closed rifled through the clothing one to find the earpiece hidden in it. 

“Merlin!” 

“Eggsy! Safe and sound then, good to know. Now, I’ll be laying low around town, got myself a little set-up so I can assist you if needed and-” 

“You can assist me by telling me why the fuck none of you warned me they’d want me to strip the first night. I literally just got here, and they want me on stage, now!” Eggsy spat. 

“Okay, alright. Keep calm,” Merlin soothed. “This isn’t like you anyway; are you sure you’re alright?” 

Eggsy sighed, and contemplated spilling his heart to Merlin now. But he couldn’t, not really. For his own sake, and for the sake of the mission. 

“Just...I’m sorry. They made it fairly clear they kill any performer who doesn’t make the cut, so I’m a bit tense, is all.” 

“...sure,” Merlin replied, and Eggsy could hear the disbelief in his voice. “We can talk later, perhaps? Just in case there would be anything else you aren’t telling me. Not that there is! But...if there were.” 

“I’d like that,” Eggsy said softly. “So, any suggestions on...” 

“The stripping? Oh Jesus, no. Could you imagine, me? Be like watching an Ent strip,” Merlin chuckled. “You’ve got this, you’ve done your research, I know you asked us not to watch you practice, but I do know you spent a good few hours in the studio space we rented for you. Just do what you’ve researched, put your heart into it, and you’ll be fine for the night, at least. From there...we’ll figure it out, alright?” 

“Okay,” Eggsy muttered, and hid the earpiece back in its spot. From the bag he pulled a purple glittery mesh tank top, and a black thong that, as far as he could tell, was held together purely with wishes and will for as little material it was made of. Over that went a pair of black velvet booty shorts, and the top-

“Oh good, I caught you before you were all done,” a younger blonde man, his make-up bright gold and glittery with eyeliner winged sharp, in a black feathered mesh robe strode in. “Your agency said they weren’t sending your whole wardrobe, so here-” 

He yanked open an apparently half-broken closet door at the side of the room that Eggsy hadn’t even noticed, to reveal a sea of bright colors and patterns on all variety of clothes. “What you have on looks fine, but he’ll want you to take off more layers than that. I’d say, this, this, and ooh! I bet you look handsome in a suit, so this as well.” 

The man tossed a black T-shirt, a pair of loose tear-away joggers, and a suit jacket and pants towards Eggsy. 

Eggsy stared. “Thanks. Do you-” 

“Oh!” the young man laughed. “Not anymore. No, I oversee. Like a manager, but better, because I don’t have to fuck the boss anymore to keep my pole and my space in the club. Well, at least I said I was done with doing that now.” 

Eggsy realized he must have made a face, because the man laughed again. 

“Oh darling, bless you. How else do you think you keep your spot? Any other club would make you pay to rent the pole, the stage, right? Well, here at El Tigre, we don’t make you do that. You get paid to be here, to do your work. But, in order to stay...” 

The man shrugged. “Life is dirty, and difficult. It could be just as bad anywhere else, so make a garden out of the mulch you’ve got, I say. I’m Evan, by the way.” 

“You aren’t from here, I take it?” 

Evan smiled. “No. I don’t think anyone who dances here is actually from Ibiza. No, the ladies and gentlemen who come in like their...imports, if you will. Even if that means us white-bread boys raised up on fish and chips, you know? And the boss has his tastes as well, and that’s the final say on it, really.” 

Eggsy nodded. “Thank you. For the clothes, and the information. I didn’t realize they’d want me to dance right away, I mean I just got off the plane and made my way over here, and-” 

Evan interrupted him with a hug. “It’s intimidating, I know. And ignore Tony, he’s an ass, but he only hurts people if ordered to. He’s loyal like that.” 

“That man with the tiger on his neck?” Eggsy tried and failed to bite back a giggle. “His name is...Tony.” 

Evan giggled right back. “He hates it, but yeah. We all call him Tony the tiger behind his back. Long as you don’t let him hear you say it, you’re safe. Now, you finish up. Oh, and match your shadow color to the color of your thong. Boss really goes for that.” 

Evan was gone with a clack of his heels and a swish of his robe, and Eggsy wished he’d have stayed. Not even to gain more intel (though it was all good and needed), but just to not be alone in the moment. 

But he managed it, and after choosing a new pair of platforms (shiny black vinyl with purple laces) he made it to the stage. 

The club was empty, except for Evan, sitting on one side of the stage. Tony was on the other. 

And at the end of the stage, dead center, was the man he needed to get close to, close enough to find and steal the chemical formula that might destroy thousands, millions, if sold to the wrong hands.  The club owner, the “boss” as everyone apparently called him, Boniface Gagneux. 

He wasn’t the stereotypical ‘club owner’ at least not in the way movies would show, to Eggsy’s memory. He was sharp-looking both in handsomeness and in the way a canine poked out just a bit from his top lip as he smiled at Eggsy, as though he’d bite if he got too close. His dark hair had just a touch of grey in it at the sides, and the dark suit he wore was beautifully tailored, sprinkled with sewn in tiny rhinestones on the shoulders, so he actually sparkled under the club lighting. 

“Mr. Wyn Morris, we meet at last. I haven’t heard much about you, but-” Gagneux’s eyes traced him from top to bottom. “You look even better than your picture. Hopefully you dance as pretty as you look.” 

Eggsy bit back a comment. That wasn’t what his character, Wyn, would say, not at all. Wyn was happy to be here, and happy to please, even if Gagneux’s glances made him feel sick to his stomach. 

He simply nodded, and the music started. 

The song he didn’t know, but it was something that seemed it would have fit only in setting like this, something about ‘being wanted at seventeen.’ The beat wasn’t too fast, nor too slow, but it took him a minute to find it nonetheless, to roll his hips the way he’d seen in every video lesson he could find online. 

Even with practice, he still felt horribly out of it, and was sure he had to look ridiculous, as he tried to vamp it up, stripping off the suit jacket and tossing it to Evan, who blessedly gave him a smile. 

Gagneux’s face was an imperceptible mask now, watching him with piercing blue eyes. Was he impressed, did he hate it, was he busy worrying if he’d accidentally left the stove on? There was no way to tell. 

The suit pants were rip off just like the leggings beneath them, and those he tossed to Tony, who glared at him so sharply he almost looked for a stab wound. 

Instead, he kept on, and bemoaned that they’d chosen such a long song. Actually spacing out when to rip everything else off was difficult with music he hadn’t used before (and Tilde, upset as she was, had refused to be a practice audience to help him get it right, though he’d begged her to do it, and had thought he might find it all funny.) 

It felt too soon to shed the T-shirt as he strode on-beat further down the stage, but he did it anyway before dropping to his knees and rocking backwards on his haunches, hips gyrating the entire time. It fucking hurt, and he realized he should have used his time on the plane to stretch, not to worry. 

He leaned forward, then crawled a bit further down, locking eyes with Gagneux. Still no change in expression though, not even when he ripped off the joggers and tossed them to a happily laughing Evan, who caught them and hugged them close. Evan was the hype man he desperately needed, and he made a mental note to thank him later for the help as he dropped again to his knees at the end of the stage. 

Gagneux reached a hand forward, and plucked at the string of the thong, then raised an eyebrow at him. 

There had been no mention of that, full frontal. But everything about the damn mission had been a surprise so far, why should this be any different? 

He tossed his mesh tank top to Tony, then with a bit of effort, snapped the string of the thong, and handed it to Gagneux, who had leaned forward so close he could have pulled Eggsy off the stage. 

He half thought that might be what would happen, but instead Gagneux just held the destroyed thong tight, and raised a hand to stop the music. 

“Not bad. Go back, down the hall, and take a right.” 

Eggsy nodded, and slowly stood. “I’ll be a just a moment, to grab some clothes.” 

“No.” Gagneux said softly. “Come as you are.” 

The DJ started up another song once he was off stage, and he could hear Evan chattering to Tony. He wished he could have another moment with him, to ask what to expect now. He had an idea, but hearing it from someone who’d actually been in the moment would have been better. 

Instead, he did as he was told: down the hall, and to the right, into an office. It was elegant, all in black, a black marble desk and black velvet couch. The chair he when to sit on had a towel emblazoned with his fake name, also black, sitting on it. A blessing, he certainly wasn’t about to sit his bare ass on a chair that likely was meant for use by whoever came into Gagneux’s office day-to-day. 

The song that was playing outside filtered in just before Gagneux walked in, then shut the door. The aggressive beat was just audible through it, but Eggsy had a sinking feeling not much else would be audible to anyone listening in on the office from the outside. 

“Look at you,” Gagneux smirked, and ran a hand along Eggsy’s jawline. “Those thighs alone will earn you fans, but with the face? Forget it. You’ll have men and women coming in here begging for you.” 

He sat behind the desk, and chuckled. “That means you’re in, if you weren’t sure.” 

Eggsy laughed lightly. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. We set up a schedule now then, or?” 

Gagneux smiled. “We’ll get to that. First, I need to know you won’t be swayed by any of those offers.” 

“From patrons? No, of course not.” 

“Good. Because, as Evan may have already mentioned, when you’re working for me, you’re mine. Is that understood? Dancing, and the club, and me-those are your three priorities,” Gagneux said, holding up a finger with each word. 

“And myself?” Eggsy asked before he could stop himself. 

But Gagneux just shook his head. “I look after you. Mutual caring: you look after the club and your work and our patrons, and I look after you.” 

Eggsy could swear Gagneux had the DJ doing this on purpose, changing up the music to manipulate the moment, as a slower, but still bopping and more romantic song came on. 

“Come here,” Gagneux stood and walked to the front of the desk, in front of Eggsy. “Stand up.” 

He obeyed, and waited to shiver as Gagneux would presumably do something horrible, or god only knew what else and-

The kiss was soft. And sweet, and not at all what he was expecting. He didn’t mean to kiss back either, but it took him by such surprise, and it was just something else. 

Gagneux pressed his forehead to Eggsy’s, a hand gently holding his chin. “I’m excited to work with you. Tomorrow, starting 22:00, we’ll have you just work the floor, to get used to the place when it’s full. I close completely the days I’m getting new talent in, so what you saw out there is far from the norm. Just lap dances and drinks on the floor. We’ll let you get your sea legs before putting you back onstage, though I don’t think that will take you long. Evan will walk you to your apartment; nobody leaves the club alone is one of my rules.” 

He let go of Eggsy’s chin and moved away from him. “Have a good night, Wyn.” 

Eggsy swallowed hard, and nodded. “You as well, Mr. Gagneux.” 

“Boniface. No need for such formalities here,” Gagneux...or rather, Boniface, said, leaning back against the desk. 

Eggsy nodded again, and picked up the towel before trotting back to the green room, his head spinning, and his heart beating entirely too fast for comfort. 

[fanfic-scribbles]

(Don’t) Play It Again

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Everyone has that one song that they just can’t stand for whatever reason, regardless of how good, bad, or innocuous it actually is. For you, hearing that song is like getting a bucket of ice water dumped on your head.

Gabriel, of course, takes this as a challenge.

Quick facts: Romance – [established] Gabriel/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, tildes (~) for scene breaks because Tumblr’s line breaks are nice in theory but that seems to be the only place they truly exist aside from on desktop sometimes

Words: 2512

A/N: WHEW I did not think I’d finish anything this week but I made it under the wire, even after a week from Hell with being really sick and taking someone else to the hospital. And then going to Wondercon today which, not bad, but tiring. Oh well; less whining. Here! Have a Gabriel/Reader fluffy-nonsense fic; I hope you enjoy it.

   You wake to a chill where your skin meets the air and sunlight is just barely grazing the curtains. An arm slips around your stomach and pulls you back into a very warm, very bare chest. You smile as lips move from your shoulder to your earlobe.

“Gabr’l,” you say, mangling the word with a tongue still trying to sleep in the early morning hour. You wish your consciousness could claim the same.

“We have some time,” he says, still kissing with light brushes of his lips over your bare skin. “Before you have to get up and…ugh…be responsible.”

You laugh as the motions begin to tickle and the rest of your body begins to stir. Well, he has a point. Especially the ‘ugh’ part, so you're more than willing to add something nice to the morning…

Until the alarm goes off.

The alarm being the crappy clock radio by the side of the bed that tunes into the most static-riddled radio station you’ve heard playing that fucking song. You slam your hand on the top of the radio once, twice, but it isn’t until the fourth hit that the thing finally turns off and it’s too late– you’re very much awake now and very much not in a good mood. In any form or fashion.

“Uh…everything okay?” Gabriel asks, looking at you warily. If he wasn’t who he was you’d expect a splash of holy water or handful of salt.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just…out of the mood,” you say and sit up.

“What? Why?” Gabriel asks, on the edge of pouting. “Where do you have to go in such a hurry?”

You chuckle and give him a little kiss on the nose. He scrunches it in displeasure. “Sorry Gabriel,” you say and slip out of his hold to get dressed.

“Seriously, what did you set that alarm for?”

“The alarm was set well in advance so timing isn’t a problem. It’s that fucking song.” You stick out your tongue like it can get rid of the bad taste.

“The…song?” Gabriel sounds almost as confused as Castiel at his most angelic.

“I can’t stand that song. It’s just…” You shudder. “If I listen to it too much it puts me in a bad mood. Certainly knocks me right out of that mood, so that’s one more reason to hate it.”

“It’s…” Gabriel appears in front of you. “It’s just a song. It’s dumb, yeah, but you’ve listened to way worse.”

“Maybe.” You lean forward and kiss him again. “But it is what it is. Honestly, I cannot hate that song any more than I already do.”

Gabriel pouts and you laugh, leaving him to sulk quietly. He’ll get over it, you figure, because he always does. And hey– once you’re showered, maybe you’ll be up to making the morning a little better for the both of you.

And you do. However, you really should have chosen your earlier words more carefully.

~

“How’s it hangin’ sweetcheeks?”

You stop before you can take a bite and glance up with wary amusement, half-expecting Gabriel to be dressed in neon, or like a villain from an eighties teen movie. But Gabriel looks as Gabriel always tends to look– blending in. More or less.

“Hey.” Gabriel swipes a fry and waves it at you. “Johnny Lawrence has nothing on me.”

“Of course not,” you say as he starts eating your food. Somehow (“somehow”) the amount of fries remains the same. “Are you riding with me?”

“No.” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I promised Castiel I’d help him with something.”

“What a nice big brother you are,” you say and laugh when he flicks a fry bit at you. Suddenly he appears next to you and kisses you deeply, salt melding and melting between your tongues.

Gabriel pulls back abruptly and winks. “Thanks for the snack, Sugar,” he says, and vanishes.

Shockingly, his disappearing act draws no notice. Well, Gabriel can be subtle. When he wants. So you just shake your head, pick up your burger, and prepare to take a bite.

That’s when you hear it.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” you say and drop your food. But no– it’s that song. And this stupid place has the volume up too loud for you to ignore it. You rifle through your bag but your headphones are nowhere to be found, of course. Thankfully, by the time you’re done searching, the song is at least almost over with.

Then the sound system glitches.

And it starts from the beginning.

“F–” You toss your food back in the bag and take it to go. Apparently it’s just one of those days.

~

A few hours later you’re driving to the next state over when The Song comes on the radio. On two different stations. You punch it off but that’s…weird. Really weird.

The road is straight, flat, and empty. You slip on your Bluetooth and make a call.

“Hey,” Dean answers, not short of breath or otherwise distressed. Good.

“Are you involved in whatever Cas needed Gabe’s help for?”

“Uh, yeah. He’s actually being pretty helpf–” Dean’s voice becomes fainter, like he’s turned away from the phone. Even though it’s a cell phone. You roll your eyes, but smile at Gabriel’s voice in the background. Your smile grows when Dean’s voice becomes clearer with, “–not going to tell them you love them! You got your own damn phone.” Dean huffs. “Anyway, what’d you want?”

“Tell Gabe I love him too.”

“Wh– I’m not going to–” There are kissy noises in the background but still relatively close and Dean swears. “You two are disgusting,” he says and hangs up.

You laugh and toss your earpiece onto the passenger seat. So, it’s not Gabriel then. You’ll have to tell him about all this later– far from being offended, he’ll probably get a kick out of it.

~

You’re speaking with a witness who might have information on whatever the hell you’re hunting, when some sort of instrument starts playing. If it was tuned you might have a shot at figuring out what it is. (A tuba? You think?)

“I’m sorry,” the woman says and winces at a…a very interesting note. “My Oliver has to practice for school.”

“I understand completely,” you say and open your notebook. “Now, you told–” In with discordant notes you can barely hear it, but once you do hear that song, you can’t stop hearing it no matter how badly the kid is trying to mangle it. “Son of a bitch!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, um, just a flash of insight,” you say quickly and scribble some nonsense on the page. You give the woman your kindest smile.

“Oh, well all right then,” she says and sits a little straighter. You carry on with the interview as the kid practices. And practices. And practices.

To his credit, the song does get more recognizable as time goes on.

By the end of the interview, your eye is twitching and Yvonne, the very nice lady who has inadvertently helped you identify someone within the police as the town’s source of problems, looks concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Job hazard,” you say and smile blandly. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

The song starts again, and you’re too tired to even grind your teeth. You really need to kill something.

What happens if you tear out a werewolf’s heart with your bare hands before you jam silver in it?

~

At first you assume the song is having a resurgence. Or maybe it never actually went away, you just got lucky. In either case, you’re hearing it a lot again.

Naturally, it is not putting you in the best mood.

“Are you okay?” Sam murmurs as you both sit at the bar, waiting for the monster du jour to take Dean’s bait.

“I’m fine,” you say and watch Dean work. He’s doing good, charming the pants right off the bitch who very obviously wants to drain him dry. But then the chorus starts and you twitch. “God I hope this nest is big. I want piles of heads. Piles.”

“Easy, Venom,” Sam says and you actually stare at him. He frowns. “I’m not completely out of the loop.”

You snort and go back to watching Dean. Though you try to tune out the song, it seeps into your consciousness regardless and Sam jabs you a couple of times to make you lighten up. When Dean and the vamp leave you have to slow up to keep off their heels.

You clear out half the nest on your own. Dean and Sam are impressed and frightened, respectively. Or both, equally.

~

You’re currently at a drive-in with Gabriel and channeling your inner rebellious fifties teenager. You have no idea what the movie’s about. It’s fantastic.

And then.

“What’s wrong?” Gabriel asks, ruffled in a way you wish you could appreciate.

But not right now. Those opening bars… He opens his mouth and you shush him. As the next notes come, you recognize it as a goddamn slow cover version of that fucking song. You let out a heavy sigh and try not to grind your teeth as you sink back into your seat.

“What just happened?” Gabriel asks, looking from you to the screen and back again.

“I, uh…” But irritation is rising and the mood is fading. You are tired. You are just…tired.

“It’s not–” Gabriel guffaws. “You're joking.”

“I. Wish.”

Gabriel makes a ‘tsk’ noise and leans in closer to you. “Come on; I’ll take your mind off of it.”

“No.”

“But–”

“Gabriel.”

Sufficiently convinced that no, you’re not kidding, he sits back in his seat, and glares straight ahead. His hands, once roving over your body, are folded under his crossed arms, and his lips, just moments ago grazing your skin, are furrowed into a pout.

You hate that you can literally say that this song is now ruining your life.

~

However.

Maybe less than a week later you’re in a movie theater, suffering through that same mediocre film and posing as an usher as you scout a potential haunting. But when the scene comes on…the song doesn’t play.

Hm.

~

It’s a nice day in the library. A quiet one. As of late, Dean won’t even play his own music around you, just in case. You figure it’s better that way. And today, working around Dean and Sam and Cas, the silence is nice.

At some point, though, Cas starts humming. That’s…strange. He keeps his face in his book while you, Sam, and Dean all trade confused and bewildered looks. And the way Cas is humming is very mechanical– like he’s trying to remember each note as he gets to it. You and Sam smile, and Dean rolls his eyes but you see a smile start to form before he puts his head back down. You and Sam follow suit, and while you’re cleaning up a clumsy translation, you let the song filter through your brain in the background. It sounds so familiar, you just can’t place–

Wait.

“Son of a bitch!” you hiss and slam your book shut hard enough to make the table rattle and Sam and Dean jump.

“Uh oh,” Dean mutters as Cas slowly lifts his head.

“Are you all right?” Cas asks, somewhat wary.

Not wary enough, but you do your breathing exercises. “I’m fine. Castiel…” You breathe deep. “That’s an…interesting song.”

“It is,” Cas says and looks thoughtful. “Very ‘catchy.’ That’s the word, right?”

“Mm hm. That’s…a word,” you say and steadfastly stare at your project. It goes back to being quiet.

Then Cas starts again, and your pencil snaps in your hand.

“Uh, Cas, let’s–” Sam clears his throat and bumps the table when he scrambles to get up. “Cas, can I talk to you? Somewhere else?”

“I suppose so,” Cas says slowly and stands.

“I’ll help,” Dean says, closing his laptop and backing away from you like you’re a hungry tiger. Sam and Dean then basically run away with Cas caught in between them.

You sigh and let your forehead fall against the table. This has got to end. Soon.

~

You don’t let anything musical come on for a solid week. The alarm buzzes, you drive with only the wind rushing past your ears, and the TV gets muted ASAP. The things you can’t control– stores, homes, cars with a broken volume button– you…handle. So far, you haven’t heard it again, but you stay on edge, just waiting.

“You look like a live wire, Sugarplum.” Gabriel cracks his fingers and wiggles them. “C’mere and let me work out some of those kinks. And then we can work out a different set of kinks.”

Tempting. You’d very much like to work out some tension, but you’re just not up for it. Gabriel is a good time– and a very involved time. “No thanks, Gabe; I’m really tired.”

“I could energize you,” he offers and reaches, but you dodge him quickly, if clumsily.

“Thanks, but all I need is some sleep,” you say and blow him a kiss. “Good night, Gabriel,” you say, shut off the lights, and go to bed.

You hope the message is received.

~

Several days later, after you’ve moved on from the last hunt, you wake up to a song on the radio. Your stomach sinks in dread, but what’s playing is…pleasant. It’s not that song. As far from that song as possible. It’s not your favorite, but the sound of it is benign and the memory of it is…

“May I have this dance?” Gabriel asks, leaning over you and kissing your neck.

You smile as he trails kisses on your skin. “If you had been a real, actual trickster, I probably would have been dead. You were so smooth.”

“Not even a demi-god could have killed you,” he says.

You chuckle and turn over to kiss him. “Still are smooth.”

“I was hoping you’d notice,” he says, eyes glinting in the light. “No hunts lined up today, right?”

“No helping Cas with his mysterious project?”

“Completely done.”

You eye him. “Completely, one-hundred percent, done done?”

“Done forever,” Gabriel says. He affects innocence so well sometimes you can only hope you’re speaking the same language right now, but then his lips cover yours and, well, you’re certainly speaking the same language there.

You break for air and Gabriel looks pretty pleased with himself. You smile and hover just in front of his mouth. “Hey Gabriel?”

“Hmmmmm?”

You trail a finger down his chest. “Every second I hear that song will be a week you feel without me touching you. Comprende?”

“Si, mi amor,” Gabriel says and a painfully fake moustache appears on his face, fresh out of Casa Erotica.

“Ew, I finally found something worse than that song,” you say and start to pull back, but Gabriel drags you back in. You laugh, he gets rid of the moustache, and you both spend the rest of the morning making out to the sounds of the song that played when you first met.

[mavspeed]

thank u @honkychateaus for tagging me in this!!

rules: answer 17 questions and tag 17 people you want to get to know better

nickname: I’m called dona or su by irls but call me that online and I’m hitting block

zodiac sign: libra

height: 5’1” 💀

hogwarts house: gryffindor like believe me I’ve tried Not to get it but I keep getting gryffindor

last thing I googled: madman across the water songs, I was trying to do something funny with Elton song titles

song stuck in my head: goodbye yellow brick road. esp the chorus as sung by jamie hxbdjsjs I have No clue why

following: 955 I never cleaned out my list from previous fandoms I get a ton of crap on my dash

followers: 987 spare 13 followers 🥺🤲🏽

amount of sleep I get: on average 6 hours but it varies

lucky number: 8

wearing: I’m in my lecture theatre and it’s freezing so black pullover, grey shirt, navy shorts, chappals (like Indian slippers)

favorite songs: honestly it changes every week currently it’s I’m gonna love me again by Elton john, Bennie and the jets and sad songs (say so much) by Elton john, victim of love by Elton john (I’ve beengoing through it the past few days and I will prob continue to go through it), new by Ben platt, teeth by 5sos, only girl in the world by Rihanna, run this town by Rihanna jay z and kanye. this is a weird ass list I’m so sorry to anyone who laid eyes on it

random fact: is this random? Here’s how eggvid as a concept Started started I saw someone say they shipped Eggsy and tilde and said why ship them when you can ship Eggsy and David Budd instead. Paige replied to it and was like oh fuck do you have headcanons and we traded headcanons for hours before settling on ptsd group eggvid (I had like three different ideas for east end lights and in the end I settled on PTSD eggvid djjdks). East end lights is the MOST tedious thing I’ve ever written and it took like five or so months to complete because it was so fucking complicated to create something out of uh nothing (I started writing it start of this year finished it slightly before May I think) basically but I’m glad it created a whole eggvid trend in this fandom no matter how niche and tiny it may be 👊🏽 also I have a feeling everyone assumes eggvid was started because of madderton and actually No.....after watching bodyguard I was like sure would’ve been nice for David to have someone to cuddle and my mind instantly landed on Eggsy because he’s peak cuddle material

instruments: I know Nothing. I’m shit at the piano that’s all I can tell you

The thing about rocketman fandom being tiny as heck is that karlie tagged half my mutuals 😭😭😭😭 I can’t think of 17 people to tag so uhhh do this only if you wanna @furnish-john @himbotork @mwagneto @hcnkycat @richardtaron @gayjakegyllenhaal @lolfluff @imsorrydidijuststutter @honky-stardust

[lokis-little-kitten]

Hey can you do a one shot with shy!reader and dom!Tom? Like, she hear something from his friends in a party or something that he acts diferent with her from how he used to be with his ex gf, and reader wants ask him to show her the dom/sub world but it to embaress and i don't know haha I hope you understand what i try to say. Maybe fluff&smut or whats the mood for today ^^

Sorry it took me so long but it is like 6 pages long so…

_________________________________

‘’T… Tom,’’ you start shyly and bite your lip. He looks down with frowned eyebrows. ‘’Yes?’’ He seems a little worried as he puts down his menu to look at you. ‘’I ehm… I was wondering if you maybe would… ehm order for me?’’ You look down as you feel your cheeks start to burn. ‘’I’m sorry it is just, it’s so fancy here and it is a bit…’’

You wander off looking around the large restaurant that would cost you a month of rent. Tom is more than rich enough to afford it and so he took you out here for your annual date night on Saturday evening.

Every Saturday you go out, or so it started. When you got together Tom promised that when he was in town he would always take you out on Saturday. That eventually ended with the two of you always being together and occasionally go out now.

‘’Scary,’’ he finishes your sentence with a smirk. Tom was quick to figure out that you are really rather shy. You’re scared to order, ask for things you need and even going as far as being slightly scared of Tom! He always assures you that there is nothing wrong with being shy but that you are free to ask him whatever you want.

‘’Yes… That.’’ You give him another awkward smile and bite your lip a little harder. Tom lays his hand on your cheek and kisses your forehead and then gives you a funny face to make you- effectively- laugh.

‘’Of course, I will,’’ he speaks as he leans back and picks up his own menu again, ‘’I’ll take the beef with chips and salade. What would you like exactly?’’ He asks glancing at you for a second.

‘’Number twelve without tomatoes and unions please… with a water,’’ you tell him putting down the menu. Tom scans the menu to see what it is and finds out that it’s a salad. He fights the urge to scold you and gives you a gentle smile.

‘’Sure that that is all you want? No side with it or chips?’’ Quickly you shake your head and taking a sip of you almost empty water.

‘’Alright… How was work,’’ Tom quickly asks to distract himself of it. He wants to scold you so badly for eating so little for whatever reason.

Tom is a Dominant and had been practising BDSM for a few years now until he met you. He usually met girls in dungeons or he knew that they were into it until he met you. You met at a Starbucks on Heathrow. He noticed you looked rather panicked so he sat down next to you to talk a little in order to distract you.

The two of you got together only a few weeks after and Tom knew that you were the one besides not being into the same things he is. At first, it was not a problem but later he started to have some issues with wanting to dominate you but being unable to. He never blamed you or loved you less for it, but it was hard. He would get through it, or so he tells himself.

He happily listens as you start your story about what happened at work. You’re an editor for a large publisher. It allows you to travel with Tom a lot because they email you the manuscript and you review it. Sometimes you have to go to the office though and get dragged into all of the drama as soon as you step through the damn door.

When the food is delivered you beam when diffing into the salad happily eating it while Tom enjoys his meal. While they eat dessert Tom asks for your attention and gives you a dashing smile as usual.

‘’Love, I’ve been thinking about is a lot and I think we are ready to take the next step. We have been together for over a year now and I miss you a lot when I’m away but also when I’m not because you’re in your home and I’m in mine… without you,’’ he starts his story staring at your innocent face. His heart breaks for your innocence, you don’t have a clue of what is about to happen.

‘’So, I was wondering if I could make my home yours as well?’’ Your eyes widen and your mouth drops in surprise. Tears gather in your eyes and your spoon falls into the plate.

‘’You mean… Me moving in with you?’’ He chuckles and nods.

‘’Yes. That’s what I mean, love.’’ You nod a few times and go to hug him. The tears start to slowly fall down your cheeks.

‘’Use your words,’’ he smiles in your neck kissing your shoulder. He is already thrilled but he needs to hear you say it. He wants to hear you.

‘’Yes! Yes please!’’ Tom crushes you a little more and kisses your neck a few more times. You hug him back tightly and kiss his temple.

‘’Thank you,’’ you cry, ‘’I love you.’’ Tom chuckles and rubs your back to suit you.

‘’I love you too.’’

Soon after you leave the restaurant to go home, your home! When you get to the enormous living room loads of people are there waiting for you and Tom. ‘’She’s moving in,’’ Tom cheers while holding up your and his hand. Everyone cheers and starts to congratulate you, Tom did make a show out of it.

You try to talk to some people but shy away from Tom friends and keep it with your own friends. They both congratulate you and talk about all the things you need to do. Eventually, you offer to get some wine so you get yourself to the kitchen. Tom is talking to Ron a childhood friend.

‘’Y/N, congrats.’’ You blush madly before thanking him. You like Ron but you never got close to him. Tom often talks to him on the phone since he lives in Scotland so he isn’t ‘round much.

‘’Tom, can I go grab some wine? I don’t want to just plunder your stock,’’ you blush as you grab his hand absently. ‘’What is mine is yours now, love, grab as much as you like.’’ You thank him and kiss his cheek before continuing his way to the kitchen. When you get to the doorway you see Chris, Tilda and Ben talking about… you.

‘’I don’t know. She’s so sweet but I’m just not sure if she is the right fit. You know how he was with his last girlfriend,’’ Tilda speaks looking at Ben. He slightly nods but doesn’t seem to completely agree.

‘’Like what,’’ Chris asks slightly confused.

‘’Tom is a dominant,’’ Tilda starts her explanation, ‘’like in BDSM. His last girlfriend was a natural sub and they had a great dynamic. Not that they Tom and Y/N don’t but it’s different. I can see he has to hold back sometimes.’’

Chris leans against the counter and frowns before looking at Ben. ‘’Sometimes yeah… Whenever she… I don’t know, doesn’t take care of herself or is being extra stubborn he has to bite back. I just think that if he truly loves her…’’

Tilda runs a hand through her hair and nods. ‘’Yes, I just hope that it won’t turn into a Fifty Shades kind of situation…’’ She then spots you breaking up her sentence. Quickly you run off but hear her follow you.

‘’Y/N, please wait!’’

You stop, turn, cross your arms and look down while biting back your tears. ‘’I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were listening.’’ You look up at her and wipe away your now flowing tears.

‘’Do you truly think I’m not the one for Tom.’’ Tilde sighs deeply and runs another hand through her hair.

‘’I want you to be.’’ You turn around and run up the stairs. You find Tom his room and lock yourself in there. You sit down on the bed and curl up while biting your lip.

Does everyone think about you like that, are you just a sloppy second? You can’t believe that this is happening… now. This was supposed to be a good day! You sniffle as tears rise in your eyes. Soon they start to drip down your cheeks onto your hands that are displayed in your lap.

You lay down on Tom’s bed trying to stop crying and get yourself together so you can go back down. But you are still you again so every time you stop crying your anxiety comes up with something new to cry about.

After at least half an hour- probably more- Tom knocks on the door when he saw the last people out. He noticed the shift in the room with Chris, Ben and Tilda but didn’t know why and before he could ask Tilda left. She said she would call tomorrow and soon after Chris and Ben left as well with apologetic looks written over their faces.

‘’Love,’’ Tom asks knocking softly, ‘’are you in here?’’ You have a tendency to vanish from parties when it gets too busy for you so he didn’t find it odd. When he heard your soft crying, however, he did get slightly worried.

‘’Yes, one second,’’ you call back and quickly wipe away your tears. You blink the last ones away while sitting up and put on a fake smile. You give Tom the sign you can come in looking at the door.

‘’Hey,’’ he smiles carefully, ‘’I heard you cry, are you alright?’’ Looking at his worried face almost makes you cave and start crying again.

‘’No I’m… I’m fine. Just tired.’’ You voice cracks in the last words when Tom comes to sit down next to you. Your lip starts to tremble once more thinking back to that horrible conversation. Quickly Tom pulls you into his arms and slightly rocks you.

‘’What is it, love? You can tell me.’’ Again you sniffle and look up at him. Your heart breaks when looking into his worried eyes and furrows brows.

‘’I… Are you happy? Are you happy with me?’’ Tom shakes his head in disbelieve at your question. How could you possibly ask him that? You are the best thing that ever happened to him! He couldn’t go without you anymore!

‘’Of course, my love. How could you possibly think I’m not?’’ You bite your lip and look away from him unable to see that pained look any longer.

‘’You’re a dom… dominant. Don’t you need more than me? Don’t I anger you?’’ Tom sighs and runs a hand through your hair. He buries his face in your neck and kisses is softly trying to comfort you a little more.

‘’I don’t want anything more than you.’’ You pull him in even closer to him and slowly stop crying. You fall asleep after a while so Tom tugs you in and changes you into something a little more confident. He goes down to clean and then joins you in bed.

He wraps his arms around you and kisses the back of your neck before inhaling your scent. ‘’Welcome home, my love.’’

The next morning you wake up a while before Tom does. You sit up and grab your laptop. What Tilda said yesterday keeps running round through your head. You type in the word dominant BDSM to find all kinds of black and white pictures of men gagging and tying up women but also some less classy pictures.

You then hop from website to website figuring out what it actually means. You find loads of empty information that tell you the basics but not what a scene really is or what it’s like. You fall back into the pillows and groan.

Tom his hand slides onto your stomach as he now too slowly awakens. ‘’Good morning, my love,’’ he mumbles and pushes he face into your neck. ‘’Morning,’’ you whisper and tangle your hand in his curls.

‘’Something is still on your mind, isn’t it?’’ You slightly twist your body towards him and kiss his shoulder.

‘’Yes…’’ He pulls you close to him and kisses your neck.

‘’Talk to me.’’ You sigh deeply and nuzzle your face in his shoulder. How are you going to say this.

‘’I ehm… I was a bit curious about what you said yesterday a-about ehm the whole ehm… B-BD… BDSM thing and ehm I was… I was maybe… Urg,’’ you groan and hide your face even more. Tom chuckles and rubs your back a little leaving to see if you could maybe find the words yourself.

‘’Use your words dear, what is it you want to tell me,’’ he asks despite having an idea of what it could be. He’s just happy you can’t see his amused grin. You’re always so cute when you’re shy.

‘’I was wondering if you and ehm… I,’’ you end with another groan, ‘’IwaswonderingifyoucouldintrocudemetoBDSM!’’ You’re too scared to look at him after you blurted it out. You can hear him chuckle and he then kisses your earl.

He then pushes you off of him to look you in the eyes. ‘’Do you want to try it to please me or because you want to try it,’’ he asks you with a serious look in his eyes.

‘’I… Both.’’ A wide grin appears on his face making him look more like Loki than Tom. It slightly scares you but also arouses you. He reacher over you into the nightstand where you keep your… adult things. Tom grabs a key and holds it in front of you.

‘’Go to the room that’s always locked and wait for me. You can look around but don’t touch anything, understood?’’ You nod and take the key from him. You then get up from the bed and run to the room he was talking about.

There is this one room in his- massive- home that was always locked, until now. Giddy you put the key in the lock to finally find out what is hidden inside. You take a deep breath before opening the door to the chamber of secrets.

When you walk in your mouth drops. In the middle of the room is a large round… bed? It is large round, purple and seems soft. On the edges are leather cuffs with a soft material on the inside. The floor is from a deep brown while the walls are black. The lights are dim but just bright enough for you to see everything in the room without much detail.

You look around the room and see a few cupboards but they are all closed and you are not allowed to touch anything. A few minutes later you suddenly feel two strong arms embrace you from behind.

It’s Tom only wearing black suit trousers with a black leather belt. You feel his short beard in your neck to kiss your hot skin. ‘’Didn’t touch anything, I hope?’’ Quickly you shake your head and lay your head on his shoulder to offer more of your neck to him.

‘’Good girl,’’ he grins and holds up his hand, ‘’key.’’ You lay it in his hand quickly as you revel in the feeling of his lips sucking on your neck.

‘’What do you think,’’ he asks as he suddenly breaks all contact. You whine and wriggle but then look around again.

‘’Impressive… intimidating?’’ Tom walks around you and looks at you with an unreadable look. He seems nervous in a way. Nervous to know your reaction. What if it scares you… would you leave him?

‘’You know I am a firm believer in learning on the job so that is what we are going to do. Don’t worry, I will explain everything before we attempt to do it.’’ Tom comes nearer to you and lays his hand on your cheek. He smiles when he sees the look in your eyes. Pure adoration.

You love seeing him like this, powerful and in charge. He kisses your forehead quickly and then steps away again. ‘’If something scares you too much I want you to say Kalender we won’t do it when you say that. You will also use Kalender when we are in the act and it goes to hard or fast for you. We will go back or slow down. Repeat it back to me, I want you to use your words.’’

Your knees are week seeing him like this. You can feel yourself get wetter with the minute and quickly nod. ‘’I will use the word Kalender when I’m near my limits or when something scares me.’’ He smiles.

‘’Good girl. Then I want you to use the word Clock when you’ve passed your limits. I will release you and remove you from the environment we are in at that moment. Yes?’’ Quickly you nod and repeat it back to him.

He comes closer to you again and lays his hands on your hips. ‘’Are you sure you want to try this? You can still say no.’’ You nod again and try to kiss him but he stops you.

‘’Use your words. I won’t kiss or touch you again before you use your words.’’

‘’Yes. I want to.’’ His lips crash into your swallowing you up. You can’t do anything but take what he gives you.

‘’Good girl,’’ he breathes into your mouth. He then picks you up and lays you on the round bed. He starts to undo your clothes and pulls them off easily. ‘’Such a sweet girl… All mine…’’

[grotesquegabby]

I keep forgetting to ask X3 How has Tilde been? Especially after meeting Lennie's family? uwu

She's doing good actually uwu she knows she's going to have a bit of a time cause it's obvious what Lennie and his family have been through if she knows her sister...and she does.

She understands uwu

Plus she's been settling into her new home thanks to the boys and just getting used to the town but she does like to take road trips

[justsomewritingsandshit]

Look Who Came Knocking

Eggsy Unwin x Male!Reader, mentions of previous Eggsy Unwin x Princess Tilde

Length: 1333 words

Warnings: male reader obv, could be edited better tbh, Eggsy does not pull a ‘Ross Geller’, angsty middle but happy ending

Requested

Eggsy Unwin would never be considered a ‘normal’ guy. He’s a young man, who was full of controversies, and full of opposing characteristics.

When you met he was a very secretive person, but still managed to be unbelievably honest too. He would answer questions bluntly, never one to beat around the bush. And it always seemed like Eggsy either dressed akin to a member of high-society, or as a ‘chav from the ends’. He was a cheeky man, yet still entirely a gentleman. A joker who was capable of solemnity. Mr Eggsy Unwin was a true man of mystery… it turned out that he was in fact a spy.

You didn’t find out that he wasn’t a tailor until at least three months into your relationship. And, it was only because the Princess of Sweden came knocking on the door, too.

You’d spent the day before with Eggsy, in his lovely townhouse – a perk of his job as a Kingsman ‘tailor’. You had spent the night, the two of you eating and just enjoying each other’s presence. You had softly caressed each other’s skin in front of the roaring fire until late, and you had laughed loudly at each bad joke or pun – you just spent time loving each other. He had run out early that morning, off on his usual morning jog (which was realistically more of a two-mile run). While he was running, you’d been boiling eggs for a lovely breakfast. The doorbell rang just as you’d plated the eggs.

Opening the door, you were free to see the Princess of Sweden, Tilde, on the doorstep. You’d frozen for a moment, wondering if you were dreaming. Remembering back now, she had been surrounded by her security. Tilde had been shocked to find a man, who was not Eggsy Unwin, answer the door to her – her eyes had widened dramatically, telling you she had no idea you would be there.

Your mother would have rather seen you dead, than forget your manners, so you had invited her and her guards, as well as the other members of staff that she’d brought with her, inside. When she expressed a desire to speak to Eggsy, despite your obvious confusion as to her arrival, you went about making several cups of tea (which had to be tasted by one of the guards first, before Tilde even sipped hers). It had taken your boyfriend of three months twenty minutes to arrive back home, and he walked in on you tearing up at the words spilling from Tilde’s mouth – the truth about her, Eggsy, and their relationship completely shifting everything you thought you had known.

It felt like your world was turned upside down. The young man you’d fallen for was a spy. Someone who had saved the world, and had dated a princess… In that moment, you hadn’t been quite sure what was what, which was up or down. An argument with Eggsy occurred two minutes after Tilde had left the home, understanding she had unknowingly exposed Eggsy’s secret to you, who at that time had not known.

You remember screaming at him, with tears pouring down your face, demanding to know how much you knew of him was real. He had apparently dated girls (Tilde), yet he had once told you that he hadn’t before – Eggsy desperately informed you that their relationship had been confidential, so he hadn’t been able to tell you. Also, his trips to other countries, where he’d be gone for extended periods of time weren’t for his work as a tailor, but rather his work as a covert agent. In your mindscape for that event, nothing had made sense – you were questioning the very foundation your very relationship. The two of you had run into each other outside that tailor-shop, only now none of it was real.

You walked out, quickly telling Eggsy that you needed some time to come to terms with what had just been revealed to you. You begged him to give you time, and he’d whispered his consent. No sleep came to you that night, nor the next.

It was a Tuesday morning, when you’d made your way back to Eggsy’s house. You’d somewhat come to terms with everything, and had been planning on further conversing with your boyfriend, but had spotted something that had frozen you in mid-step, on the pavement opposite his home. Eggsy was kissing the cheek of Tilde and smiling at her, before she gracefully stepped into her town-car, followed by her guards. They drove away, and left Eggsy waving at the disappearing car.

Now, as a man who’d just had the rug swept out from under you days before, you couldn’t help but jump to the conclusion that Eggsy had slept with her. Had he pulled a ‘Ross Geller’? You couldn’t bear asking, and turned to walk away. Before you could get very far, Eggsy was hoarsely calling your name and jogging after you. He was at your side faster than you could react. Eggsy reached for your hand, pulling you towards him, and cradling your body against his toned one. You let him, having missed him desperately the days you’d been apart despite everything.

“Where you going, love?” His voice had been heaven-sent for you, in that instance. Despite your slight suspicions of infidelity, you nuzzled your face into his neck, seeking the familiar scent of his skin. “I missed you. Please just, uh, just sit down an’ I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” His eyes were locked onto yours, as earnest as a child’s. His openness had left you speechless, unable to understand fully what was going on. “C’mon, babe.” You let him pull you into the house, and softly push you into a chair. He ran off for a moment, and brought you back a tea. “Please say something.”

You accepted the tea, and decided to begin with, “Who is Tilde to you?” It was the easiest one to start with, and secretly the one you cared most about that morning.

“An old fling. Just someone I fucked before I realised birds weren’t really my thing.” He sat next to you, his whole body screaming honesty. His gorgeous eyes were locked onto yours, craving to know your every thought to what he replies with. “She came around today, and told me she’s engaged. She wanted to personally invite me (and you) to the wedding.” Eggsy had grabbed your free hand, pulling it into the warmth of his own. “I saved her life, and she wants to say thank you. That’s it.” It was a relief to know she didn’t want to continue her fling with Eggsy, but still…

“When were you going to tell me?” About who he was, what he did, and why? “Never?”

He’d sighed, looking away for a split-second before he turned back, “I don’t know. I wanted to, yeah, but I’m not supposed to tell anyone, Y/N. My mum don’t even know ‘bout it all – and she was married to an agent too!” Secretly, it had relieved you to know you weren’t the only one who had been unaware, “We’re not supposed to tell anyone, ‘cause it can get people hurt. I love you, I don’t want you hurt.”

That day (three months, six days into your relationship), was the first time Eggsy had told you he loved you. The two of you had eventually worked through the issues you had, especially the ones with him being a spy. Sure, it had been plenty of work, but it was work that you truly believed had been worth it. You two went to the wedding in Sweden, and you’d sat in the back of the cathedral as to not draw attention to yourselves…

Three years later, the Princess of Sweden, her husband (the Duke), and their young child (the Prince) all sat at the back of yours and Eggsy’s wedding. They were surrounded by your family, Eggsy’s family, your friends’, and several well-dressed ‘tailors’.

TAGGED:

@snowbubby1, @iamwarrenspeace, @stilesloverdaily, @itsnotnormalteen, @emojit

[myriadimagines]

182 & Roxy please!

Characters: Reader x Roxanne “Roxy” Morton

Warnings: kingsman: the golden circle spoilers

Prompts: “Stay the night. Please.”

Word Count: 472

A/N: i hope you like it !! and you can probably tell but i’m! still! bitter! (y’all know what i’m talking about). 

NOT TAKING ANYMORE REQUESTS!

It had been a few hours since you heard the news, and you were still crying. You were staying at a friend’s apartment when it happened, taking care of her dog for the weekend while she was out of town. 

The Kingsman agency meant everything to you. They were your family. They had taken in you in when you were barely a teenager, and you didn’t know what you’d do without them.

But now you were forced to think about life without the Kingsmen – the homes of every agent was just blown up. The base included, where your girlfriend, Roxy, was. 

You suddenly heard a loud knock at the door, and your head shot up. You immediately grabbed your gun from the table and quietly stepped towards the door. You glanced threw the peephole, and almost burst into tears again as you yanked open the door. 

Roxy herself almost looked like she was about to cry upon seeing you alive. She quickly rushed inside as you closed the door behind her, and she immediately crashed her lips against yours. You pulled her closer to you, clinging to her and not wanting to let go. Against your lips, she mumbled, “Thank God you’re safe.” 

Roxy gave you a small smile a she wiped the tears from your cheeks. Caressing her face, you asked, “H-how’d you get out? I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up, and-”

You felt yourself getting choked up, and Roxy kissed your forehead. “Hey, hey, I’m okay, don’t worry. I was at the grocery store when it happened, and my fucking phone died. I’m so sorry for worrying you.” 

“Don’t apologise.” you shook your head, leaning closer to kiss her again. “You’re here now.”

“I need to go find Eggsy.” Eggsy ran her hands through your hair, and you bit your lip. You had to admit, you were so worried about Roxy you hadn’t even thought about Eggsy. “He was supposed to have dinner with Tilde and her parents tonight, but I just need to make sure he’s alive. If he is, we need to regroup and stick together. Have you heard from him?”

“No.” you shook your head, and Roxy pressed her lips together. She seemed so collected in the face of such a catastrophe, and you admired that about her. 

“Right.” she straightened her coat. “I’m going to go to Tilde’s-”

“Wait, Roxy, don’t leave me.” you suddenly grabbed her hand, overcome with fear. You had no idea who would be able to cause such a disaster, but you felt so vulnerable. “I-I don’t want to be alone. Stay the night. Please.”

Roxy looked at you, and nodded before pulling you into a tight hug. She kissed your forehead again as you broke down again, whispering, “I’ll stay with you. Everything will be okay.” 

[egoiistas]

Please for the love of all that is holy, 38 and Royai.

Let’s pretend it hasn’t been like…..five months since you made this request, okay? ok! Have some young!royai with a little bit of trauma. 

words: 1791 ;; K+ 

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

A flash of lightning splits across the gray sky. It brightens her vision and she counts the number of seconds before the rumble of thunder reaches her. A gust from the rolling clouds fluffs her short hair and she lifts a hand to block her bangs from covering her face. “The storm isn’t far off now,” she says, turning to her companion. “According to your little trick.”

The city boy stuffs the centerpiece of their funnel cake into his mouth, nodding as he chewed. He swallows with exaggeration, as if he lacked manners. “How far away was that one?”

“Ten seconds,” she hums, calculating. “Two miles away.” Riza gestures towards the Hermanson’s barn; its interior is lit and with faint noises of people at work.  “The planners must’ve known it was going to rain too. They usually have the dancing at the end of the fair outside.”

“Is that right?” He glances over, shaking off the powdered sugar from his hands before stuffing them in his pockets. “How would you know,” He meets her eyes with a glint of mischief in his. “Bring any other boyfriends before?”

Her jaw slacks and a blush heats her cheeks before she can control it. He’s teasing her again and she always falls right for right for it. Every time. She lays it out like funnel cake and he eats it up at her expense. “You are not my boyfriend.”

“Yet..”

Her cheeks burns even more and she nudges his shoulder for lack of a witty comeback as the crowd moves around them towards shelter. She glares at him, “Come on, let’s go inside before it starts pouring.”

It is considerably warmer inside, and the petrichor mingles with the scents of tack, hay, and old wood. A bittersweet nostalgia settles from a time when farm animals were still kept in their barn, and her mother still graced her home.  A band in the corner plays a cacophonous warm up and people begin to situate themselves into seats or within their own crowds. She waves warmly to Mrs. Tilde who runs the bakery and the butcher Mr. Vibert asks for her father, offering a discount as thanks for his help before walking away. She realizes Roy is hanging out a few feet behind her and she motions him to come forward.

“Care to introduce me to the nice people of your town?” He says coolly, but the sway in his stance tells her something else.

Riza hops onto a haystack to sit. Her eyes narrow with a smirk tugging at her lips before she gasps in feigned surprise, “What’s this? Mr. Mustang is shy?”

Roy huffs, “Me? Never.”

“You’ve been here for almost a year. You’ve met most of them already.” She tuts, tapping her finger at her bottom lip. A gathering crowd of curious youths forms before them at a distance, but their sights on the newcomer is clear. “Ah, but it seems luck is on your side today. You won’t have to move a muscle.”

Roy quirks an eyebrow and it flattens with understanding soon after.

She leans into an upturned palm, having witnessed this before.

Tommy Chapman, a tall but stocky boy with a mess of red hair, steps up first. He speaks with a thick, East countryside accent - a rare treat, “Hi there.”

She watches Roy fidget briefly when he notes her absence by his side and awkwardly waves a single swoop of his hand before placing it back in his pocket. “Hello.”

“My names’ Tommy and this here is Bobby, Polly, Duke, Amber, Josh, Billy, Katie, Hunter, Will, and Billy, but he’s small so we call him Shortcake.”

“How do you do?”

Riza clasps a hand over her mouth out of courtesy.

“We know yous livin’ in with the Hawkeye family. We ain’t seen you around an’ we were wonderin’ where you were from.”

His face of confusion shakes her with laughter. But as her father’s apprentice, he picks up a bit quicker than she anticipated.

“Oh, from Central.” He says with his city boy smile. She can spot the twinkle in the girls’ eyes.

“From Central?!” Murmurs and gasps erupt from the small group.

Tommy tells them to hush. “Do ya’ll have lots of cars there?”

“Oh! Are there traffic hams?” Another chimes in. “You know, when there’n so many cars, you’re stopped on the road.”

“That’s traffic jams, you bumpkin.”

“Hey!”

Roy is no stranger to attention, she notes, when he answers each questions born out of fascination. She can’t help the giggle that escapes her as they surround him. He looks at her with pleading eyes to rescue him, but she shrugs in a “what can I do?” sort of way.

“Is it true that there are all sorts of military people there?”

“Are there people with lots of tattoos? I hear that’s becoming a thing now.”

Something within her unexpectedly plummets.

“Tattoos? What are those?”

‘No, don’t.’ Her eyes widen involuntarily and she slides off the hay, the prickling ends scraping at her flesh. Her feet turn into blocks of bricks.

“You know, someone takes some kind of sharp object filled with ink-”

‘Please stop.’

“Like a needle and inks your skin permanently. I saw it in a nickelodeon when I went to visit my Aunt Patsy in the No-”

‘Why me?’

All the noise - the band, Polly, and everything around her - garbles in her mind. Everything is muffled, like someone has stuffed her ears with cotton balls. A flash of cold sweat overcomes her suddenly, then the feel of her skin becomes a numbing sensation and her mind is swimming..

Pictures pop into her sight. Needles. The ink. The dark room. Her father’s study. Her mother’s apron. It burns. Searing, sweltering hot pain. Her arms are too short to reach. She feels it singe beneath her clothes. The funnel cake hangs at the back of her throat , mixed with bile and whatever else had once settled in her stomach. It is all threatening to release from the onslaught of nausea.

She needs to get outside. To breathe, to escape the barn walls from closing in.

When she begins to walk, her strength begins to wane. It seems so easy to just sit behind the hay but something urges her into the downpour.The flash of lightning jolts her, providing her with some clarity to move forward as normally as she can manage. She shakes her head, hands to her temples and closing her eyes to obstruct the images from late nights and silent tears. Riza grabs onto the one of the weight bearing studs for some stability before she wills herself to continue.

She stumbles towards the exit outside of the barn door, grabbing the attention of a few onlookers but no one thinks to pay any mind.

Off to the distance, she hears her name called.

‘Riza, be still.’

She gasps for breath as she reaches the threshold leading her outside.

‘And stop crying.’

The drops from the summer cloudburst pelts at her skin. It seeps into her linen dress and her hair clings to her face in a matter of moments. A hand goes to her chest. She briefly remembers reading about large snakes coiling around its prey. Currently, she feels like prey while an unseen force constricts her breathing. The thunder that roars overhead silences the cold voice of her father from her head. Riza manages to gain some distance from the barn, stepping into wet patches of grass, before her legs tremble and the world goes sideways.

Wrong, she was falling.

+++

The soft patter of the rain stirs her. She groans and notices a warmth underneath her, a comparison to the chill of her wet skin. Riza shivers from a soft breeze and she’s pulled closer to the source of warmth.

Riza’s eyes flutter and she sees the vibrant green shelter of leaves from a grand oak tree, the tiniest rays of sunshine poking through..

Someone gingerly adjusts her bangs away from her eyes, “Welcome back to the world of the living.”

She tries adjust to the light and the sounds around her. The rain splatters on the mud puddles nearby. Her head heavy as a tractor, she moves it slowly to see Roy looking down at her with his tendrils of black hair hanging toward her face, just as drenched as she. “What happened?” She croaks.

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

She grins at his absurd remark until the memory floods back to her. “Roy, I-” she clutches his arm, her eye blinking with the sporadic drops of rain landing on her eyelashes. His face falls into concern as he reads hers. She releases the tension in her chest and in her face as a sad realization dawns on her. If she were to tell him, absolutely everything, she knows he’d get uppity and risk his apprenticeship. Her eyes quiver at the thought of him going away, losing this opportunity, after achieving so much more than the others. She lets her arm fall. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he reassures her. “But I did tell you to stay away from that kabob.”

She releases the breath she held and laughs, nodding in agreement., “You were right, it was bad meat.”

“When am I wrong?” Before she can reply, he grunts and lifts her up, one arm hooking her back and the other under her knees.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Riza exclaims, looking around to all corners of the field but him. Her face heats up.

“Taking us home,” he tells her matter-of-factly, taking strides in the direction of the manor. “We’re soaked.”

“Yes, but-” Her fight to prove herself capable is short-lived. Her legs remain mostly unresponsive, shaking with any strength she tries to exert into them. Her arms are subdued by his grasp. Even as she tries to push away, he nimbly readjusts her back in his strong arms and she’s back to square one. She sinks into him, feeling the wet fabric of his shirt on the side of her face, “How embarrassing.”

“You’ll get over it.”

She looks up from her pout and he looks forward. Undisturbed by the rain, he wears a smile that puts her stomach through acrobatics. Her heart decides to join in, landing with heavy pounding and throbbing in her ear when she realizes her predicament. But she hears the thrum of his, through the moist fabric and warm skin - calm and steady.  He almost seems…relieved or happy and she’s silently thankful for him.

She closes her eyes after another string of lightning illuminates the clouds and she counts the seconds before it rumbles in her chest.

[bristolprintcollective]

Denmark Residency round up

Wow! We have had an incredible month in the Funen Print Studio. It was really hard saying goodbye to all of our new friends, who were so generous with their time, sharing their knowledge and skills, letting us nose around their studios, and taking us out on trips when we got cabin fever from frantically printing 10 hours a day, up to our elbows in ink.

Lene and Tilde showing us the beaches of Long Island.

Frank the sculptor in his studio.

Line in her studio telling us how she creates her lovely collograph prints. 

Wielsaw, a real master in stone lithography!

We did our best to cram in as much sight seeing as we could in between printing, visiting old Viking towns like Ribe, making our way around the enormous and gorgeous art gallery in Aarhus, going underground in Copenhagen to see an installation at the Cisterne gallery, driving to the West Coast to visit old abandoned bunkers...but anyway, back to printing!

Jemma found herself some ruins to work from (turns out they are difficult to find in Denmark!). Choosing to focus on the dilapidated industrial buildings that could be found on the harbour, she experimented with etching, stone lithography and monoprinting.

Vicky went on a stamping spree, carving out stamps to create a big jumbled map of Odense. The town is currently undergoing a lot of building work, so Vicky wanted to portray the confusion of all the constantly changing temporary pathways that the builders created every day. She also printed her first ever stone litho!

And Lisa reintroduced herself to etching, getting to grips with soft ground, hard ground and aquatint. She also stamped a pattern onto fabric, inspired by the vast amount of plum trees we picked from in the countryside. She discovered that there was such a thing as a ‘Danish Knot’ within embroidery, so decided to use it to stitch the plums onto the trees.

If you want to see more from our own experiences on the residency, you can find our Instagram accounts by clicking on our names above.

It’s been a whirlwind of an experience, and we couldn’t have done it without your support! Now that we are back, we are busy editioning our prints to send to our lovely Kickstarter supporters. Can we ever thank you enough?