#wyn chirps

[birdmanofficial]

i have a stupid fucking crush on this trans guy that is in some of my classes and i dont know what to do about it. i think if i dont get an opportunity to make out with him soon i will evaporate into a fine mist. but also. i am terrible at talking to people.

[acaciapines]

Gimme song drabble number 87 for your au pls :3 (enables you enables you enables you)

HI WYN THANK U FOR ENABLING ME HE HE <33333

like ive done before discussion will be under the cut!

87. 20 Something – SZA

“he’s a child,” eda says, because she can’t deny it anymore, that the little creature she thought was some sort of odd dog that talks and mimics her and watches her with wide eyes—of course he’s a kid. how could he be anything else?

beside her, the owl beast squawks something, loud in the way it tends to be. king, on the couch, repeats the shriek right back, and the owl beast huffs at him, tossing her head.

“oh, hush,” eda tells it, moving to nudge king. “c’mon, buddy.”

his eyes light up when she sits next to him and he throws himself into her lap, practically purring. he can only say a few words, but one of those is her name, and he chirps it at her, “eda! eda!”

“yeah,” eda mutters. “that’s me, alright.”

on her own, not even a palisman to her name. just some dumb owl monster that doesn’t know when it isn’t wanted, that curls up at the foot of the couch, croons when king reaches out to play with the feathers on her wings.

“i can’t deal with a kid,” eda tells herself, and doesn’t let king go.

Discussion

EDA AND KING WHOOOOOOOOO!!! i still think its so funny that eda thinks her son is the dog at first. kings an entire titan. literally the son of the very land she lives on. and shes like 'damn. weird ass dog huh.'

anyways! not sure why i wrote this one...coulda been back when i was in the 19-20 episode range since theres a good amount of eda&king scenes there, and besides i think i wanted to kinda write a lil bit of how eda might've been when she first found king! bc its pretty fun in how its different from the show!

like, for one, the owl beast has known king was a kid (well. she'd use hatchling) from the start! it was EDA who got hit in the face with that, firefly has just accepted king as her new son and is mainly just annoyed she has to co-parent with eda. like sharing a nest with her was bad enough.

not much else to say about this one tho. actually fun fact: baby titans are little ducklings. since for so long the only living creatures WERE titans, baby titans imprint on the first source of dust they see! usually thats their parent titan, but in the case of king he wouldve imprinted on eda + firefly since before that he lived in an abandoned ruin and he was the only person around for miles.

them <3

[decimatlas]

@4freedoms gets a starter from Josie!

Josie was no stranger to early mornings, rising before the sun and starting her day in darkness. It was strange – there was an element of peace to it. Inexplicable, but always there – in those dawns before the birds began to chirp, before the barracks began to bustle. There were a few soldiers up; some were on duty, and others rose before they had to. Perhaps some of them never even slept at all.

But she's awake and begun her duties for the day. None of it was particularly glamorous – but today was the dreaded stable duty. Josie loves the horses; she'll chat with them as she cleans but... the smell. Stable duty was often utilized as a punishment, but sometimes, innocent Scouts such as herself got the short end of the stick.

And so – good little soldier, Josie makes her way to the stables. Broom in hand, humming in spite of the imminent wall of stench that is about to hit her nose. Her spirits lighten even more, however, when she sees that a second person has been put on duty with her this morning. Unfortunate for them – but good for Josie nonetheless. She's not like most. A talker for sure, even in the mornings. And further, she is thrilled to see just who is on duty with her. Wyn – sweet girl, much like herself, so she's been told. They hadn't gotten to interact much, but today is – ironically – their lucky day.

❛ Hey! ❜ She pipes up, pep in her step as she all but bounces into the stables. Her expression twists, fingers pinching her nose for a moment as she tries to adjust herself to the smell. And still – a light laugh falls from her lips. ❛ If you weren't awake before, you definitely are now, right? ❜

[wynilthyrii]

The Visit

Dragonhawk hatchlings flitted between the branches that overhung the reflecting pond, chittering and chirping amongst themselves in the morning light.  He watched them as they chased each other among the silver-barked, golden-leafed boughs, a faint, almost wistful smile playing on his lips.  Had his father stood here just like this, right in this spot, in some long-ago yesterday, in simpler hours and days?  He could see why he might have sought peace here.  He could feel it, too.

The soft but sharp intake of breath behind him that accompanied the tap of a cane carried not out of need but out of affectation and the sound of precise footsteps told him that yes, it was very likely that Talindar Riverwind had once stood just here, staring up into the branches of the trees, on some forgotten and lost autumn day.

It took a moment for Isidoria to gather herself enough to speak.

Perhaps she’s reminding herself that I’m not her son.  Or perhaps she’s searching for words that will convey that while I’m not my father, she does want the influence over me that she wielded over him.

Just barely, he managed not to shake his head.

“Juden,” Isidoria said, her voice tremulous, his name not quite a quiet, relieved wail.  “Oh, my dear boy, you looked so like your father for a moment there.  I do wish that you would reconsider my offer.”

“Grandmere.”  He mustered a smile before he turned to face her, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, hiding the signet ring his mother had insisted he wear—a reminder, she’d said, to his grandmother and her former mother-in-law of his position.  “Thank you, but I am quite happy in the Everlight.”

“But I never see you, child,” she said, taking another step toward him.  Her step faltered as her gaze fell to the chain around his neck, to what hung from it, resting against the dark blue of his tunic.

A pair of wedding bands.  Their wedding bands, Talindar Riverwind and Wyn Ilthyrii’s wedding bands, the love that had created him.

“Forgive me that, Grandmere.  I’ve been busy with my studies and with helping mathair and seeing to my cousins.”

Her nose wrinkled briefly and she glanced aside, past him toward the reflecting pond.  “Your studies go well, then?”

“Quite well, yes.  I’ve been doing a great deal of independent research, given that I’ve excelled well past what the Magistry would have one of my age taught.   I do not think I will be returning to their tutelage anytime soon.”

She twitched, expression tightening.  “Then what will you do?  Surely not—“

“I have not yet decided, Grandmere,” he said, cutting her off.  “Truly, I have not.  But I have access to some of the best libraries one could hope for, so I will not hurt for knowledge in making my decisions, and the Everlight has proven to be very comfortable for us in these past months.”

“But—“

He smiled.  “Grandmere.  Are you gainsaying me in this?”

“It’s simply that—“ she stopped, then started again.  “You are the Lord Riverwind.  You should be living here, at the estate.”

So you might try to do to me what you did to my father?  Or worse?

“Perhaps someday,” he said, smiling faintly.  “For now, my place is there.”  He glanced up toward the sky, then exhaled.  “I’d best be going.  There’s always much to do and mathair needs help more than she admits these days.”

“She must be close,” Isidoria said softly, glancing down.  “What do you think of it?”

“I welcome the chance to hold a baby brother or sister,” Juden said.  “Mathair told me once that she and Athair spoke of having another before he was sent back to Northrend.  Perhaps if things had been different.”

“Yes,” his grandmother said, her voice abruptly brittle.  “Perhaps.”

Juden smiled the careful, practiced smile of one being slowly taught to play at the game of intrigues and politics and stepped away from the edge of the reflecting pool.  He stopped next to his grandmother and kissed her cheek lightly.  “I’m certain you’ll receive an announcement when it happens.”

“Of course I will,” Isidoria said.  “Though perhaps you bringing the happy news personally would be better.”

“We’ll see,” Juden said.  “Have a pleasant day, Grandmere.  I’ll send you an accounting of my studies—I know that you want one.”

He patted his cheek.  “I do, my dear.  Very much.”

“Look for it in tomorrow’s post,” he promised.

She looked as if she wanted to say something to forestall his departure, he hand drifting toward his sleeve as if to stop him.  Then her gaze drifted to his hand, to the signet there, to the pair of wedding bands hanging around his neck.

Her hand fell away and she simply stood as he walked past her, down the pathway deeper into the garden.

The sight of him looking so like the man he suspected she’d had killed would haunt her.  Of that, he was all but certain.

The twitch of fingers and a murmured word opened a portal home once he was a dozen strides past her.  In a whisper of magic, he was gone, leaving a quiet, scheming, seething Isidoria Riverwind behind in her gardens to contemplate her plans.

[steele-soulmate]

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 425, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, blood, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage)

WORDS: 1265

“Hello, you must be Katie’s mother,” greeted a woman with a kind face when I entered the conference room at Saint Micheals for Katie’s do over IEP meeting. “My name is Niome Wyns and I am Katie’s new IEP coordinator.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” I greeted her, reaching out to shake her hand, which was missing her middle and ring finger. “My husband is out parking the car, he and Baby Tommy will join us in a bit.”

“Do correct me if I’m wrong, but Katie was just telling me about her little sister called ‘little girl’,” she told me, her tone telling me that she wasn’t sure if she was a real person or part of Katie’s imagination.

I smiled as I flipped to the photo album on my cell phone, pulling up a picture of Katie squeezing the bubbling two year old tight to her chest, happy smiles on both girls’ faces.

“Her name is Vanessa Rose, but we all affectionately call her little girl,” I explained. “I was a surrogate for her daddies, and was calling her little girl when I met my soulmate, now husband, at twenty six weeks pregnant. Peter is her godfather and her favorite person in the whole wide world.”

“She looks so precious,” she hummed, looking up as Principal Mayers limped into the room, guiding Katie’s math and extracellular teachers. The way Saint Michael’s classes were set up was much like a mixture of high school and college classes- each student was enrolled in eight classes- four mandatory classes like reading and math and four extracellular classes like theater and chemistry. Elizabeth’s extracellular classes were music, sewing, veterinarian studies and social media management while Katie was enrolled in Chinese calligraphy, Mandrene Chinese, Norse history and music. On Mondays and Wednesdays, students would have two or three classes, Tuesdays and Thursdays three or four classes and Friday was study hall. Unlike most other school’s Saint Michaels held a strong emphasis on getting their enrolled students ready for the real world, including classes on filing taxes, starting up a small business and prep for job searches and interviews.

“How old is little girl?” Niome asked me as everyone was settling in.

“She is two years old,” I answered her, looking up as my husband entered the room just then, cradling our son to his chest as he greeted everyone before taking a seat. “Hihi my love.”

“Sweetheart,” he chuckled, pressing a whiskery kiss to my temple before opening his arms to accept a hug from Katie.

“Hihi daddy, hihi Baby Tommy!” she chirped before settling herself in his lap.

“I can see that Katie loves and trusts you both,” Niome smiled, jotting something down in her notebook. “Now, Mrs. Ratajczyk, you say that Katie was recently diagnosed with Dyscalculia. Do you happen to have the paperwork from her doctor?”

“Right here!” I reached into my backpack and pulled out the thick file that I had collected for Katie’s psychiatrist. I shuffled through the papers, clipped together with sticky notes saying what everything was. I quickly found what I was looking for and pulled it out to hand to Niome Wyns to look over.

“Ah, okay,” she hummed. “Should I make a copy for myself?”

“No, this entire file folder right here is your own personal copy,” I told her. “I also uploaded everything to Katie’s online portal a few weeks ago.”

“Ah, perfect!” Niome Wyns hummed, sticking everything into a hot pink organization folder. “You are very on top of things!”

“I try,” I shrugged. “Now, Katie’s math teacher, what have you been doing to help Katie?”

“I give her the homework with slightly larger font work and I also created a little corner for her to go and work on her stuff if she needs more time,” he began in a nervous voice. “She’s also more than welcomed to come in at lunchtimes and receive hands on tutoring from the math club I head. I also allow her to use real world math, which is applying math to real world scenarios. She’s been doing pretty well in geometry, where she’s been applying her learnings to sewing and basic pattern draftings.”

“Good for you, Katie!” I praised her, giving her a hug.

“Thank you mommy,” she meeped, turning to her Chinese calligraphy teacher, who was now up to bat.

“Miss Katie is such a delightful student,” hummed the older Chinese woman. “Her penmanship is neat and tidy to read, and she’s always ready with questions on how to better herself. She just has a bit of trouble reading some fonts, which I manifest for by transcribing the text and printing it out for her to read.”

As I listened to the other teachers discussing what a delight Katie was in class and how they accommodated her and her special needs, I found myself happily buzzing at the strong support system that Katie had built up for school.

“Okay, that should do it for now!” Principal Mayers announced after looking at the clock. “Meeting dismissed!”

“Alright now Katie,” I told her as I stood and walked her to the door. “Go, learn and fun, and dazzle the world with your magnificent sunbeams, you. I’m going to the doctor with Isabelle to get an idea on why she gets frequent headaches, okay?”

“Oh, Mary Claire? I’m sorry, but do you have a minute before you go?” Principal Mayers called out to me. “The school district had implemented a new rule that states that lunches and snacks brought from home are prohibited. All food must be purchased from the cafeteria.”

“Was this a flyer that was sent home?” I frowned, wracking my memory for a sight of this new rule.

“Yes it was,” she told me. “Now I do not agree with the reasoning behind it- apparently, the kids who don’t have someone to make them a pre packed lunch feel left out and jealous of the kids that have someone who makes them a meal every day.”

“Well, that’s not fair!” I huffed out. “Oh Katie, can you please have Elizabeth take a picture of lunch? I need to see what all’s being served!”

“The kids get a menu for the week in homeroom, here’s this week’s menu,” Principal Mayers handed me a piece of paper. “Lunch is twenty dollars a day, extra milk, chips, dessert, etc. are five dollars each.”

“Katie, wait.” Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, where he extracted some bills and handed them to Katie. “For you and Bitty now, yeah?”

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@starchild0985

[libidomechanica]

“Who taughte of sweet word brings”

 Said Peona, we shal do me good,  will still blesse thy state! Who taughte of  sweet word brings a full-brimmd goblet,  dances and music  in a first-born song. As  thre of hym Daryus, which descends  upon a day. So timidly  among our branches 

sit, ⁠chirping mirth! Pay it  thrice, if human soul the  poore, and me of old  hexameters; but ere this, that 

summer song. By old Saturnus  forelock, by his side,— so beautiful  exceed the waters  are holding, and lost. They would  have been assayed at diverse  soft Sybarites, who  love me from oother holy man 

also. That heart, alone shalt drynken 

wyn or ale, I shall bleed, and 

smile. Wolde lecchour dighte hire, 

desiring nought but foolish fires  do stray; your coronals.  And so, admitted through  thereof the dark thee kind, but a  shell secretes its beating shame  loade mine eyes. Of vision search the  diction, but a burning  doves, who love my milk home, that fair  tho, the sweet heavenly light .  Thought, and blinking of my purveiance  I spak to hym and  scattering, without straining  like a spring of these  valleys. That there she weaves among?  Julias waist! Poetry ends like you  that love together, like mine, mine  eyes be blesses with 

thy brow, and by old Rhadamanthus  tongue-tied than my beclowded  stormy seas and triumphant spring  to come and tow  tassemble; ye knowe the  first inadvertent  brush of rivers cannot  lay on a new life, Love.

[izzy-b-hands]

Dancer Chapter Eight/Epilogue

And we arrive at the end! And our epilogue as well. The writing of this one went way faster than I ever thought it would (after laboring over the first part of the first chapter for weeks) but it’s been an incredibly fun ride that has made me all the more excited to write more Kingsman fic! 

Hopefully you all have enjoyed this as well! I’ll be posting my dream cast for Dancer post after this, and trying to finish up the spotify playlist for it asap!

My love to all who read/like/reblog, and who supported this fic all along the way!

The snow was cold against his skin as his eyes fluttered open. 

It was a harsh scene to wake up to. Ainsley was beside him, cradling his head in his hands. A few feet away, Tequila was with the female scientist, looking over Evan’s still unmoving body. 

“He should be coming around,” Eggsy heard her say. 

Harry helped him sit up. “Just rest for a moment, the blast knocked us all-” 

“Why isn’t he coming back round?” Eggsy asked as he crawled towards them through the snow. “What’s wrong, what do we need?”

She sighed frustratedly. “I don’t know. This should be working, I-” 

“What’s your name?” Tequila interrupted. 

“Janice,” she replied with a frown and look of confusion to Eggsy.

“Janice,” Tequila said. “Pleased to meet you. Tell you what. I’m gonna start CPR, and you’re going to keep figuring out what else you can do for your friend. Meanwhile, I bet Harry can see if the helicopter can land closer to us?” 

“Of course,” Harry said, and took off through the snow, into the distance to wherever they’d presumably found a safe spot to land. 

“And then we can get this sweetheart to a hospital that can do more than I can,” Tequila continued, wincing with the first few compressions that Eggsy knew would be breaking ribs. But the extra pressure seemed necessary, as Evan continued to lay on the snow, nearly as pale as it. 

Janice continued to fuss with the kit, but she caught Eggsy’s eye, and her meaning required no words: if Evan didn’t come around soon, he wasn’t coming back at all. And there would be nothing that anyone could do about it. 

The coldness around them faded as he sat, holding tight to Ainsley’s hand, watching as Tequila worked. 

“Let me take over,” he volunteered as he saw Tequila’s shoulders slowing with the next set of compressions. 

Before he could position himself over Evan, there was just the slightest movement.

They all exchanged tentative glances, then cautious smiles as Evan coughed hard, turning to vomit into the snow. 

“Welcome back,” Tequila said softly. “Not too fast now. We’ve got help on the way. Get you to a doctor and get you feeling better.” 

Evan turned, wiped at his mouth, and studied Tequila. “You work with Wyn on whatever all this is, I take it?” 

“You mean Eggsy?” Tequila said, then winced. “Ah. Cover not broken yet. My bad.” 

“Hadn’t gotten a chance to tell him,” Eggsy replied. “It’s alright, I can explain on the way to the hospital.” 

“Oh you most certainly will be,” Evan said, but his eyes didn’t leave Tequila. “And I want to hear more about you as well. Man who saved my life.” 

“Only in part,” Tequila blushed. “You owe more thanks to Janice here.” 

“Thank you,” Evan told her. 

“It’s the least I could do,” she replied. “Considering I helped discover the thing that nearly killed you.” 

“It all evens out, doesn’t it?” Evan smiled. “Oh, bit dizzy. And cold, very cold...” 

Eggsy shot Tequila a look, but Tequila was already ahead of him, shrugging off his coat and carefully wrapping it around Evan as he picked him up. 

“That help some?” 

“I think it does, so long as you stay nearby to keep heating me up,” Evan’s giggle was weak, but it was a beautiful sound to hear. 

Just as wonderful was the sound of the helicopter slowly and carefully setting down near them, Harry already half out of it before it fully touched down. 

“Come on,” he fussed with a set of blankets, wrapping one around Ainsley and the other around Eggsy. “You’ll catch your death out here, especially in that.” 

“They never got this wild at the swinger’s club, I take it?” Eggsy asked with a smirk.

Harry’s worried look dropped, replaced by a soft smile. “You still want to hear all those stories?” 

“Got to be a proper story exchange, doesn’t it? I know you were getting intel on this, but it’s more fun hearing it from the horse’s mouth. So, I tell you all about this, and you tell me all about your legendary mission at the swinger’s club.” 

Harry’s arm was warm around him as they settled onto one side of the helicopter’s seating. It was a welcome reassurance, after the last bullet fast few days. It had all gone by so quickly, he could barely begin to go over it all in his head. 

He would have to later, of course. In talking to Harry, in typing up reports to keep on file in their well-encrypted records. There would be the status of the club to figure out, not to mention the rest of Ainsley’s properties in Ibiza. The divorce with Tilde; ensuring Evan would be alright even after being treated for the aftereffects of the formula; going back out to clean up the remnants of the lab in Switzerland that were smoldering now-it all left his head spinning.

For now, sitting with Harry to one side of him, Ainsley the other, watching Janice joke with Tequila as they both fussed quietly over a pale but smiling Evan, was enough to take in. 

He rested his head against Ainsley’s shoulder, and smiled at the feeling of Ainsley’s lips pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

There was nothing quite like a job well done, and a world saved once again. 

-------

Epilogue-6 months later

The walk to Hyde Park from the Kingsman shop wasn’t a long one, but it was long enough to make him take off his suit jacket, wrapping it over his free arm, then slipping his hand back into Ainsley’s. 

Ainsley wore his own Kingsman suit and glasses now, and was officially an agent as of the last month. 

“I want to work for the funding for the Home,” he’d told Eggsy. “It feels right.” 

“Sure you aren’t just addicted to the adrenaline of it, like I am?” 

Ainsley had shrugged. “I might be. But that just makes us a pair, doesn’t it?” 

It certainly did, as far as Eggsy was concerned. Speaking of things official, they were officially an item, moved in to a small house together not horribly far from the Kingsman shop. Dinners with Harry and Merlin, Tilde and Roxy, Evan and Tequila, and Janice (another new agent, though she was now among the ranks of Roxy and Merlin working behind the scenes) were a regular calendar item, every Saturday that there wasn’t a mission or some other obligation, held at their home. 

This picnic, arranged by Tilde and Roxy, was a different version of it, he supposed. But they’d been incredibly insistent upon it, and none of them could turn down a day of resting under the sun with good food and good friends. 

Tilde in particular was excited as they walked up to the space of grass that their group had taken over, and pulled them aside before they could make it to everyone else. 

“Tell me if you don’t think she’ll like it,” she said softly. “I mean, I’m sure she will, she loved it in the shop back in Sweden, even before I went and had it customized, but-” 

The ring she held out in a blue velvet ring box was simple, but pretty, silver with a vine engraved in it that ended in a calligraphic T and R. 

“You’re proposing? What happened to not rushing?” Eggsy joked. It had been evident ever since they’d gotten back and settled that Roxy and Tilde simply clicked, in a way that even he hadn’t with Tilde. Two pieces from the same puzzle, that even when they argued still ended up at the same feelings and/or choice. “I’ve lost a bet now, you know. I gave it at least another month before one of you would propose.” 

“I’ll make it up to you with good cake at the wedding,” Tilde laughed. “She’ll like it?” 

“She’s going to love it,” Ainsley said. “Are you...now? Or-” 

“In a bit,” Tilde cut him off, hiding the box in her jacket pocket as Roxy trotted over to them. 

“Hello boys,” Roxy chirped. “She busy regaling you with how I nearly ruined the cake we made?” 

“Technically we both almost ruined it,” Tilde said. “Got a bit distracted while it was baking...” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Eggsy snickered. “Long as it isn’t completely burnt.” 

“Define completely,” Roxy replied. 

“...Cake can’t really ever be bad,” Ainsley interjected. “Shall we?” 

“You go on,” Roxy motioned for Tilde to go back. “Just want to bother the boys with some work things. Boring spy business.” 

“As if it’s ever boring,” Tilde shook her head, and made her way back to the rest of the group.

“Okay, quickly,” Roxy said, and pulled a small red velvet box from her suit jacket pocket. “I hope it isn’t too much. I wanted something she could show off, you know? She can wear the big jewels, I can’t, not if I should get called in for fieldwork.” 

She opened the box to reveal a decently sized ruby, on a silver band engraved with what looked like rose stems, complete with the occasional thorn. 

“For one of the first flowers I bought her,” Roxy blushed. “She really likes roses, but you know that, Eggsy.” 

“She does, and she’ll love this,” Eggsy said. “So you’re-” 

“Yeah,” Roxy interrupted excitedly. “Soon as I can, without keeping everyone from the food of course. I know we’re all hungry, but I can hardly wait!” 

Eggsy shared a covert glance with Ainsley. “Well, I’m sure whenever you go for it, it’ll be fine. After all, it’s good news!” 

Roxy nodded, then quickly shut the box and tucked it back into her pocket. “She might start to wonder if we’re over here any longer, so come on.” 

She led them the last few feet to the picnic site, and from there it was unbearable.

“Which one first, do you think?” Ainsley whispered as they tucked into the frankly ridiculously huge spread that, if Eggsy had to guess, had mostly prepared by the chefs at the palace, aside from the cake of course. 

“I’ve no idea. Honestly, I could see them both going at the same time.” 

“Me too,” Harry was beside them suddenly, fidgeting with his tie to keep it away from potato salad on his plate. “Merlin insists it’ll be Roxy first though.” 

“I could see that,” Ainsley murmured. “God, this is killing. One of them needs to just go!” 

It became apparent that they’d taken turns asking each attendee of the picnic about the rings, as everyone they spoke to had an opinion on who would try and propose first (Janice had her money on Tilde, Evan on Roxy, and Tequila was another for both of them at the same time.) 

Finally, Tilde got down one one knee...

And pulled the cake container delicately from the over-sized picnic basket. “It probably isn’t terrible. We were sort of too scared to taste it, but we know the frosting is good.” 

“Oh come on,” Eggsy heard Merlin mumble. 

“You know what else is good?” Tilde asked, and he was sure everyone was holding their breath.

“No?” Roxy asked, her head cocked ever so slightly to the side. 

“Um. Marriage. Us, I mean, marrying, like we’ve talked about,” Tilde stumbled over the words, then shook her head as she freed the ring box from her pocket and opened it to Roxy. “You know what I’m asking, right?” 

Roxy smiled, and fumbled to pull the ring box from her pocket, and finally everyone breathed again.

“I called it!” Janice crowed. “Good on you Tilde, and congratulations ladies!” 

“It is a yes, isn’t it?” Tequila teased.

Roxy nodded, and Eggsy could see the happy tears streaming down her and Tilde’s faces. 

“A wedding in another six months or a year then,” Ainsley said. “Did you ever think you’d see that, after everything that’s happened?” 

He pondered the ring hidden away in a drawer of their shared dresser at home, and nodded. “Oddly enough, yeah. I definitely saw it for these two, and who knows who else.” 

Ainsley gave him a knowing look, but only squeezed his hand. 

After all, they had time now. To dedicate to each other, and whatever else might come their way (and with Kingsman, who knew what that might be.) 

And he couldn’t wait for it all, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[girlafraidinacoma]

IN THE LAP OF THE GODS Ch.2:

Summary: What do you get when you mix a tight-knit art community, young, hot-blooded twenty-something university students and good old-fashioned British Rock & Roll? Probably the next best hope for art and music that generation has to offer. With her friends’ band skyrocketing to fame, what exactly does a girl do when she suddenly finds herself sitting in the lap of the gods? The answer: do the only thing she can do, rise to the occasion of course!

Pairing: Gwilym Lee!Brian May x Original Female Character [chill guys, this WILL be a Bri fic…eventually].

Warnings: swearing, a very dramatic Freddie, Rog has a bit of a moment with a pastry...

Words: 2.2k +

Author’s Note: Chapter 2, Baby! I hope you guys enjoy it, and pls feel free to comment, reblog or leave a like if ya feel like it!

Kind of AU, contains both elements from real life and the Bo Rhap universe, so imagine whoever you prefer whether they be the real thing or the Bo Rhap Boys–be free.

Link to the Ao3 fic!

Chapter Playlist:

Chapter Two - That One Time When Fred Went Out for Coffee Or, Why Being a Young Entrepreneur is Harder than You Think

Kensington, 1969.

Out of breath and flushed pink, a young woman strode inside a musty little stall in Kensington Market, the shop bell giving a faint sort of ding upon her entrance. Freddie, who was quietly cataloguing their inventory in a faded blue balance book, smiled when he looked up to greet his friend.

“Wyn Clemens! You’ve come to visit me.” Fred said, ecstatically skipping his way to her from behind the counter before hugging her shoulders.

The girl made quick work of untangling the woolen scarf she had wrapped several times around her neck and mouth, placing that and her coat on the hook by the door.

“I swear I’ve gone up and down the place twice and both times I’ve managed to miss you entirely! Blimey, I didn’t think it was this small.” Her eyes scanned the darkened interior.

Currently their stall was nondescript, tucked away in between a carpet wholesaler and a shoe repair place, hidden away amongst the plethora of other stalls just like it. Cozy was one word for it, cramped was another, more accurate descriptor. Really, it was more of a booth. There they sold various garments and accessories to clothe the young bohemians, rockers, mods, punks, hippies and everyone in between who seemed to frequent the market there. Their shop was manned and looked after by Freddie and his friend Roger, and only by them, which was why, while their inventory was not exactly vast, it did quite literally seem to swallow the entire place in velvet, faux fur, leather, and brocade.

“Hey!” someone yelled in indignation, “This is a very fine establishment we run here, I’ll have you know!” A blonde head emerged from the back of the shop, a little area sectioned off by a dark curtain. It hid a tall, narrow mirror and served as both their stock room and fitting room.

The girl raised her eyebrows, feeling slightly sheepish at having offended this new person. “Wyn, this is Roger, the friend of mine I’ve been telling you about. He runs this dismal dispensary with me.” He said, not looking behind him as he gestured his head towards the blonde’s general direction. “Rog, this lovely creature you see before you is my new friend, Wyn.”

“Ah, the Ealing bird. Well, I suppose I could let that slight go for your pretty face. The name’s Roger Taylor, very nice to meet you, love.” He gave her his hand to shake, his lips upturned in a smirk.

“Careful there, Rog.” Freddie reminded him, which earned him a mischievous look from the blonde.

“Wyn,” the girl announced, unfazed by Roger’s cheesy smile, “I’ve come bearing gifts!”

“Ooh! Gimme! Gimme!” Freddie cried happily, his hands making grabbing motions all the while.

Wyn tutted at his antics shortly before presenting him a brown paper bag. “I thought it would cheer you up, while you’re stuck here.”

Freddie opened the bag and what he found there nearly brought him to tears. The bag was filled with fresh pastries still warm to the touch as he poked his nose inside and took a long whiff. He placed it on the counter before examining the goodies one by one, a hungry Roger joining his side. “You do care, Wyn! It’s just like Christmas! And here I thought everyone had forgotten about me. It feels like I haven’t seen the sunlight in days.”

“Weeks, really,” Roger added mournfully, before stuffing his mouth full of pastry. They had both been cooped inside their store trying to peddle their wares since the weekend and it was now Tuesday afternoon.

Freddie had a dramatic faraway look in his eye, his mouth shaped in a forlorn ‘O’ before finally snapping out of it. God, Wyn thought, he really should have been in theatre.

“C’mon then Wyn, tell us about all the changes in the outside world,” Fred was prattling away again, “Is dear old Liz still on the throne? How about Coronation Street, is it still playing? And what about tie-dye? Are people still wearing tie-dye?”

There was a quiet moan of “Oh Jesus, that’s the spot.” that came from Roger as he polished off an apricot danish.

Wyn gave the two of them a fond chuckle, trying to ignore the ridiculous sounds of ecstasy from the blonde as he delved into a croissant. “Let’s see,” the girl gave a pause for dramatic effect, “Yes, God forbid anyone else who’s set their eyes on that chair. Everybody knows Coronation Street is for ever. And it brings me to tears just thinking about it, but yes, unfortunately, the tie-dye lives on.”

“I knew it! It’s useless, Rog.” Freddie shouted, calling Roger’s attention. “Just bury me in these fur stoles. Even if they’re not real at least I’ll be kept warm and they haven’t assaulted anyone’s retinas.” He had trudged over to a rack of miscellaneous animal coats and stoles and buried his face in them. His further rant became muffled and unintelligible as he cried into the mass of faux fur.

“How long has he been like this?” The girl turned to the blonde with a worried look.

“On and off since Saturday,” he informed her, brushing stray crumbs from his mouth. “We’ve hardly sold anything.”

“This is no good, come on Fred. You just sit down, I’ll go out and grab us a couple of coffees and come straight back.”

Freddie perked up upon hearing this and was almost back to his usual spirits. “I have an idea, can I go get the coffees instead, darling? I want to go outside, I want to hear the birds chirping and smell that London smog. Maybe that old lady from the fruit and veg stall could yell at me, that would really get me going.”

“Alright Fred,” she said with a comforting smile, pouring into his open palm a handful of coins. “Happy hunting.”

Freddie had taken off so fast he had forgotten to bring his jacket which he left still hung up on the door.

“That’s probably the happiest I’ve seen him all weekend,” Roger said, wistful.

“If he’s happy, then I’ve done my job.”

Wyn had started to look the clothing racks, her fingers stroking the garments in fascination. She also took out two or three items she had liked, inspecting them fully before shaking her head and putting them away, Roger meanwhile stood beside her giving his opinion on them. Soon he was entertaining her by spinning little yarns about several pieces, how they acquired them, whom they were worn by, all made up but increasingly fantastic.

“You looking for anything in particular, love?”

“Not really, whatever catches my fancy, I suppose.”

“How about now,” he said as he had stood in front of her, hands on his waist and a twinkle in his eye, “Do I catch your fancy?”

“I’m in the market for clothes today, Roger, not a boyfriend.”

“Who said anything about a boyfriend?”

“Uh-huh. Maybe some other time, Taylor.”

“Alright, alright.” he said, pacifying her. “Something to wear then. Something that will work for your figure?”

“I’d never be opposed to looking good.”

Roger was still flirting with her, but he also appeared to have a clear focus now, he was a man on a mission to find her something she could be persuaded into buying. “Do you like wearing patterns?”

“I’d give it a go.”

“How about colour?”

“Love them.”

“Any you’re partial to?”

“Every colour of the rainbow!”

Roger scoffed playfully in exasperation, she really was no help, but he enjoyed her company. “I think I have just the thing for you,” Rog said with a snap of his fingers before darting behind their makeshift stock room/ fitting area. He came back about a minute later with a frock on a plastic hanger.

What he presented her with was a white and green houndstooth dress in the mod style which had a black peter-pan collar and a short mini-skirt. Wyn let out a pleased hum, “I like the way you think, Taylor.”

Roger barked a laugh though he seemed to glow in praise, “That might be the first time a woman has said that to me.” He reached into his pocket and fished out a packet of smokes and a lighter. “Go on, then. Try it on.” He urged her, pushing her behind the curtain and sticking a cigarette between his lips.

Roger sported a boyish charm, all buoyancy and pent-up energy. Wyn thought it was ironic the way that he was blessed with the looks of a cherub by Raphael, yet flirted like a devil. It was little wonder Freddie had warned her about him when the topic of his friends came into conversation. Before she could wrestle the corduroy off her legs Roger’s hand had slipped in between the partition, throwing a pair of shoes at her.

“Black gogos? Oh, you really must be out to get me. I’m going to freeze out there.”

“You’re just fitting them on!” The voice behind the curtain replied. “You don’t have to wear them out…You don’t have to wear anything at all.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Just saying.”

A couple of minutes later she stepped out from behind the curtains, smoothing down the dress where it wrinkled a bit in her midsection. “What do you think?” she asked, striking a pose.

Roger took another large puff from his half-finished cigarette before putting it down on the ashtray on the counter. He began to sing lowly as he drew near to her, “Is there anybody going to listen to my story, all about the girl who came to stay?” There was another cheesy grin on his face as he took Wyn’s hand abruptly and led her into an impromptu slow-dance. “She’s the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry. Still, you don’t regret a single day. Ah, girl,” he sung as he spun her.

Wyn smiled, “I’m going to take that answer as a ‘yes’, but I wouldn’t know how I’d wear it though, my hair…”

“You could wear it swept back, or up.” Roger suggested, now extremely close. He removed his left hand from her hip and used it to gather her thick hair up and away from her face, fingers grazing the back of her neck.

Wyn cleared her throat, her cheeks and neck heating. “You think Fred will let me have this for cheap if I asked nicely?”

“I think if you asked nicely, he’d let you have the whole shop.”

“It’s probably costing him more to run it at this point.”

“Us both.”

The two broke out into a fit of laughter, not even acknowledging the customer who had just walked into the shop.

“Okay, Rubber Soul. So these are the kinds of guerilla tactics you’d stoop to for a sale?” Blushing furiously, Wyn pushed away from him when they finished their dance, choosing to hoist herself up onto the counter next to her bag of sweets.

“Only the best service to our most important clientele.” he said through half-lidded eyes.

“How much for this?” a voice said from behind them.

Roger groaned in annoyance having forgotten the presence of this third person. It was a shame Fred still hadn’t come back, that way he could have dealt with this new nuisance while Roger turned his attention to the girl in front of him. Rog barely spared him a glance as the man held up the garment in question. “Seven pounds.”

Wyn watched the interaction with great amusement.

“Five quid.” the man tried to haggle.

“Seven.”

“This button’s loose, five and five pence.”

“Six if you leave here now.”

“You’re fleecing me.” the man whined handing Roger the money with reluctance.

“Actually, that’s crushed velvet.” said Roger with a cool, impassive grace, plucking his cigarette from the ashtray and taking a puff.

Slipping on his new jacket, the man set off grumbling, nearly bumping into Freddie who narrowly avoided him, carrying a tray of hot coffees in styro cups.

“Took you awhile Fred,” Roger called, leaning against the counter and smoking casually.

Freddie placed the coffees down on a bench by the window. “Roger,” he began slowly with a disgruntled look in his eye. “Was that man just now, wearing my coat?”

“Huh?” this alerted Roger somewhat, he had stopped what he was doing. His eyes grew large as he looked to Freddie and back down at the crumpled note and small coin in his palm.

“Rog, you absolute pillock, did you sell my coat?”

“...Fuck.”

As quick as a bolt Fred had crossed the room in two strides, snatched the money right out of Roger’s grasp and ran back out the door. Freddie ran after the man who bought his beloved jacket, shouting and swearing like a madman all the way.

At the end of the day, Wyn had felt so guilty she ended up paying for her things in full. She had no regrets though. Sure she was down a couple of pounds, but she had managed to get herself a great fitting dress, and a killer pair of boots, not to mention the favour of the infamous Roger Taylor -- a feat she hoped she had managed with all her dignity intact. Or at least she hoped.

[birdmanofficial]

me at 14: nonbinary identities are fake and you cant use multiple pronouns and the trans experience is inherently characterized by suffering blah blah blah blah

me at 24: actually transgenderism is when i have raucous transsexual sex with my she/he pronoun using transfemme girlboy girlfriend

[fanesavin]

Orange Blossom : Rein + Fane

-|- 15th May : Midnight -|-

Fane’s Jeep bumped along the uneven track to Rein’s remote residence by the train-tracks, the driver’s eyes scanning the tall trees that spread from the spot that Rein called home. He knew what date it was today, and had a feeling he’d likely find his friend gloomy and down over the fact that people probably didn’t know or hadn’t seemingly planned anything for him. Faye knew of his plans for the day, and he had spent the evening at home so as to not disturb her or Wyn’s rest. Because he had something in mind for them to get up to today, plus he wanted to do something for Rein; take the nymph away and give him some room to breathe, take stock and let his imagination expand.

He had promised him a trip after all. It only made sense he made good for it eventually. 

Explaining why when he spotted the small house, nestled in the middle of all the greenery of the forest he grinned happily. Pulling up outside he hopped out of the jeep, stretching slightly and glancing up at the canopy where no doubt in the morning birds would chirp and trill delightful little songs as they darted about and sought out nesting materials. For now the forest was relatively quiet, save for the few creatures and people out and about in the wilderness. It wasn’t a bad spot, even if it was a bit remote for his own preferences. Remembering to grab the spherically wrapped item he’d brought along he threw it lightly between one hand and the other as he approached the door. “Oi, Rein--” he called knocking repeatedly with his fist on the door already relatively certain the Nymph would be up they both held a general preference to the night anyhow “you lazy bag of bones up yet?”

@strangerein

[rei-fletcher]

WIP

So, when I take a break from writing the big story, I tinker with a little story. This is the first part of that story.

It’s the near future.

— Hide —

Emma stood under a lamp post. Across the street a pub had disgorged a boisterous group of men and women, laughing together. Music, voices, and the clatter of dishes poured out around them. For a minute they were one being, many-armed, joyful, reluctant to break apart just yet.

Her hand tightened into a fist in her jacket pocket.

All you have to do is go in and order. Something easy. Something from the application’s list. Businesses want you to spend money. Communal eating is essential for socialisation.

But what if they were closing? Or you had to be with someone? What if it was a private event?

The litany of possible problems kept her rooted to her spot. Above her head the blue-white safety light hummed.

If she only went over, maybe someone would talk to her. It was exciting and frightening all at once.

The group reached for their tablets. Musical notes rang out in cheerful cacophony, and after a minute they exclaimed over whatever it was telling them. She’d seen that happen before. She needed to find out what it was. Everyone had it now. She should have it, too.

The happy entity began to fragment into ones and twos, scattering away down the street. Arms went around shoulders. Hands were held.

A police cruiser swept down from the upper deck of the city, and began to move along the street. Its cameras searched the faces of the people there. She started to walk. She was guiltless; she was certain she was guiltless, but it wasn’t a good idea to be seen lurking alone. It might bring suspicion onto her.

Her apartment was dark, silent. She stopped in the kitchen, letting the quiet wrap around her. Two chairs. Two plates. Two sets of silverware. She had a lot of cups. Dishes were rinsed, then sat awaiting a good wash. More cups made the process seem more necessary.

Two chairs. Just in case.

Her phone made a plonking sound. A mandatory response message lit the screen, filling the dark room with blue light. It pulsed gently. The Centre Application knew she was home.

The application skin was cartoonish and cute. Friendly. Under the counsellor’s watchful eyes she’d been made to choose one from an approved list. She had recognised the character from the tide of merchandised goods in the shops on one of her trial trips, which the Centre called “Warm Ups” with its unfailing optimism.

“Oh, that’s a lovely one.” Her counsellor’s name was Mary, and she always worked hard to make Emma feel as though they shared something. Liking the same character fitted the criteria. Emma had felt breathless with relief: she was approved of.

Emma prodded the screen.

“Welcome home!” the application chirped brightly.

“Thank you.”

“It’s so early. I thought you were going out for drinks.”

She had thought about this on the walk home.

“My friend couldn’t go out drinking after all. She’s pregnant,” she added. The application might not prod her to go out as often if there was a reason.

“That’s wonderful news! Why, I’d expect some kind of celebration after that!”

“She wanted to go home. She was a bit tired.”

“Of course, of course. There will be so much to do! As a friend you’ll at least have to go to the baby shower and give gifts. There will be a registration for it. You could make baked goods! Handmade gifts are very much a thing right now. And increasing your skill set will help expand your social network and raise your potential for earning.”

She watched notes appear in the application, for baking lessons, courses on pregnancy support, and party organising seminars. The friendly voice was excited about her non-existent friend’s fictional pregnancy with the tirelessness that only a program could have. She’d chosen the wrong story to excuse her early return. Now she could either explain that she’d lied about making a friend in the first place, pretend later that her friend lost the pregnancy, or continue the charade. Only the last one would keep the Centre from learning about her lie, and her failure.

The notes shrank into a corner.

“Well, this unexpected change in schedule really opens up your evening. Someone will be very happy to see you.”

The application’s voice was conspiratorial.

“I don’t know.”

“But it’s been so long! I know he’s been eager to see you again.” It waited for her response. It would try one more time to coax her, and then it would issue a statement that would carry a nebulous threat.

“It’s such a lovely night to share. The skies are quite clear. You could sit outside awhile. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“It’s a little cold.”

It wasn’t, really. But sometimes it would turn to worrying about her health, and the whole thing could be put off. In fact, if it thought she was ill it might be a way out of her lie about her fictional friend. She could say that she was making excuses because she wasn’t feeling well.

“A cozy blanket and some wine will be just the thing!”

It must have decided she was too healthy.

“He’s already on his way. Should I tell him to turn around?”

It was couched as a kind offer, but there was, as the application had explained, an average number of times that women her age ought to be having sex. Falling too far behind that average might be enough to require a return trip to the Centre.

“No. It will be nice to have company.”

Wyn was sweet, and kind. He teased her about the dark apartment and asked her easy questions while retrieving the wine from the cupboard. They were small talk questions. She’d learned that the answers had to come from a selection of responses, otherwise people would get that look on their faces. They weren’t really asking, and it wasn’t the time to tell them even if they were familiar enough to want to know.

His welcoming hug and kiss were acceptable. The first time he was sent had been awkward, because he’d been trying to learn what she wanted, and she didn’t know. The Centre had given them a thorough education, and she had been told that university would prove the opportunity to develop adult sexuality. The application had tirelessly encouraged mixers and parties but, just like the pub tonight, she couldn’t compel herself to go. They had sent her back the Centre for an expansion course, and Wyn was assigned to ensure that she didn’t get rusty.

They sat together on the sofa. It was still hard to get comfortable when she was meant to recline easily against him. That’s the phrase Mary had used. It wasn’t Wyn’s fault. Who would have guessed that reclining easily was hard to do? The wine tasted sour. She was really trying to like it. Everyone her age seemed to.

Once the sex started it was better. That part felt good sometimes. When it felt good she liked the few minutes where she didn’t have to think or worry at all. She didn’t think that Wyn was testing her then, and it was one of the few things that the application never asked about. It always slyly insinuated things the next morning, instead.

The baking lessons took place in a community education centre located a few stops away on the monorail. It would be two nights a week, because she had to be able to make something acceptable for her friend by the time the baby came. She sat at the work tables with nineteen other people in the beginner class, taking careful notes about food safety. At the other end of the room, still in shadow, were the ovens and sinks. Tonight was only the introduction. She liked those: it was information, and information was essential for a firm understanding of the principles.

There were the same number of men and women. Before the class one of the men joked that women liked a man who could cook, and another had said that his friend had met his wife at a knitting course. They laughed easily together, even though they had just met. Each one was now seated next to a woman.

Her own partner was also a woman. Her name was Ed, though. She was tall, and had long, blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing a red shirt and black jeans, and slouched over her tablet so far that it looked like she badly needed glasses.

Emma’s tablet blinked. She poked at the alert, wondering what was wrong. She’d never seen that icon before.

“Isn’t this boring?”

It was a chat application. It must have been some kind of default. She didn’t remember turning it on. The Centre might have done it. Or the application. It sometimes signed her up for new things.

She tapped away at the screen.

“Who are you?”

A slight movement to her right caught her eye. Ed waggled her fingers.

She turned back to her screen. Food safety was important, even if it wasn’t exciting.

“How do you know this profile?”

A picture popped up, of the chat program in all of its stark white and blue. There was a grey box where a photo should be, and her name. None of the other fields were filled in. Was the chat application something from the community education centre? She didn’t remember reading about it in the introductory packet. Her heart fluttered nervously. Was she meant to fill it all out?

At the next lesson they were going to make a simple white cake. “As simple as pie!” the instructor chirped. There was dutiful laughter, and she smiled belatedly.

The chat application blinked. When she checked it she saw that Ed had said goodbye. She was already gone. Was it too late also to say goodbye? She thought it might be. It would be odd, after a certain amount of time, to say goodbye. She was pretty sure.

[essentialc]

So this cat showed up in my yard. And I don’t like cats. I honestly don’t think that they have personalities and are just shells that are unpredictable and sharp.

But then this little blessing showed up. I instantly got good vibes and he was crazy friendly. I’d call and he’d follow, he’d snuggle and do that chirp thing. Let me hold him. This little fluffy marmalade was all “hey I’m kinda lost but can I love you” and I was all “fuck yeah man I need more of that in my life, I’ll repay you anyway I can. Wyn?”

So I took him to the vet to see if he had a chip or tattoo, and he had neither. So the next step was to drop him at the emergency vet, where they will keep him till Monday, and then to the humane society. He’ll be held there for 10 days while they attempt to find his owner.

He wasn’t neutered so I’m pretty sure he’s a stray. I’m hopeful no one claims him so I can adopt him.

However.... my parents won’t let me.

I’m a almost 27 year old woman, who is married and moving away with my husband who’s in the military in twoish months. They can’t throw me a bone for just two months. I just wanna help this cat. They are easy af to care for and this one is actually nice and would help my mom deal with her shit.

Anyway. Hmu if you want to donate $$$ so I can pay someone to house my cat. Fuck me dead 👌

[myselfinserts]

“Wanting to do it and being suitable for it are different issues.“

"SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"But Harper-"

"Pokémon just don't want me, so there's no point in trying anymore!"

It was the third time the Alberi parents had taken Harper to Wyn's lab in hopes of finding their starter Pokémon. And just like before, the starters all grew fond of the other soon to be trainers that came in to see them. The first time around, a Sobble seemed almost interested before choosing to go to a young girl with pigtails. The second time around, Harper had started to make a bond with a little Cyndaquil before it ran off to another trainer. When a Snivy took a look at his child, Inkwell was tempted to fight it when it sneered at Harper before running off to some posh brat in a stupid endorsed cardigan.

Harper came home and slammed their bedroom door, locking themself away to wallow in their sorrow as their dream of taking on the Elvin Island League shattered to pieces.

Inkwell refused to let it end there though. So he spent the next three days going over the complete Pokédex, searching for a creature that would make the perfect starter for his child.  He didn't care how far he had to travel. He'd find Harper the perfect partner.

Lucky for him, he didn't have to go far to find it.

A quick drive over to Elspie village, he got permission from Renegade to explore the forests surrounding the place, even accepting the aid of a map the fledgling professor had made of Pokémon sightings, on the condition that he healed any injured Pokémon he came across. It took him a week, with many a time spent in an old tent while healing various injuries. But eventually, he found the little creature.

It was a hard battle, but the veteran trainer managed to catch it. He returned home swiftly, quietly knocking on Harper’s door the moment his shoes came off. 

“Go away,” Harper grumbled. 

“Come now, darling,” Inkwell called softly. “Can we talk for a moment?”

“Why?”

“I promise, it’s for a good reason.”

“...Okay.”

Inkwell smiled and entered the room, tiptoeing over to the bed and sitting on the edge. Harper was hiding under the blanket, tufts of blue, pink, and yellow hair poking out from underneath. He gave their back a gentle rub, lightly nudging them close as they slowly sat up. Harper leaned against him, eyes puffy from endless tears. 

“I know it wasn’t a good start,” Inkwell started. “But there’s still a chance. You can still be a trainer if you want.”

Harper scoffed. “Wanting to do it and being suitable for it are different issues. How can I be what I want when no one seems to want me?“

“I think I know someone who might.” He reached into his pocket, removing an Ultra Ball. “Want to say hello?” 

Before Harper could protest, he gave it a little toss. 

The ball opened. 

And a small creature of dark pink and purple appeared, nose turned up as it slowly looked around the room. It kept itself low to the ground, as if ready to pounce as it slowly turned around. 

Harper let out a gasp as their eyes met, and the little creature let out a chirp in response. 

“This is an Impidimp,” Inkwell said proudly. “Figured if normal starters couldn’t see your worth, this little mischief maker might.”

The Impidimp tilted its head, looking them both over before scurrying over and climbing into Harper’s lap. Its hands reached up, lightly tapping at their puffed up cheeks as if to try and dry them. 

For the first time in weeks, Inkwell saw Harper genuinely smile.

“He likes me,” they stammered, trying not to cry again. “He really likes me.” They gave the little one a pat on the head. “What do you say, pal? You wanna be my partner?” The Impidimp let out a gentle chitter, climbing up a bit and resting on their shoulders as they laughed. “Alright then, Mischief. We’ll train hard together. And we’ll take on the Elvin Island League together.”

“So you like him?” he asked. 

Harper nodded. “He’s perfect. Thanks dad.”

Inkwell felt relieved and proud. 

He couldn’t wait to see how they did. 

Inkwell let out a sigh as he watched yet another defeated trainer leave for the day. He tried to go easy on them, but when you went up against the Dark Gym Leader, you had to be prepared. The Elvin Island League wasn’t like normal runs in other regions. The gyms were split between both Elspie and Estmund, one per typing, and you had to complete at least three of the required gyms along with whichever five you chose for yourself. 

And with his Gym being on the required roster for this year’s circuit, he couldn’t afford to slouch. 

Another key difference was the biggest factor that many out of region trainers never seemed to learn before starting their attempt at the Championship, was that the Elvin Island League allowed trainers seven Pokémon.

It always tripped them up when he’d bring out his Malamar at the end. 

“Well, I think that was the last one for the day,” he sighed. 

“Don’t have time for one more?”

Inkwell looked up, smirking as he saw a trainer with a Morgrem hanging off their arm. “I think I can squeeze in one more for the Champion.”

Harper smiled. “Good, because Mischief and me could use the ego boost.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do. Just give me a minute to heal my friends up and see if they’re up for one more round. If not today, first thing tomorrow.”

“Sounds perfect. Thanks dad.”

[birdmanofficial]

proana/other ed accounts are really out here like “if you report me youre a heartless monster because im mentally ill uwu if you dont like my content just block me” as if the rest of us who are trying to recover from the same mental illness cant be triggered back into old patterns of thought and behavior simply by being exposed to a single one of their posts. the very fact that they put their content out on the internet for people like me to stumble across by mistake--especially when it is not tagged or is intentionally tagged incorrectly for exposure--is actively super shitty and no amount of mental illness will make me sympathize with them. 

[birdmanofficial]

I GOT TOP SURGERY

I HAVE NO TITS! I NEVER HAVE TO WEAR A BRA AGAIN!!! DYSPHORIA BEGONE!!!!

[birdmanofficial]

in 2024 i think i would like to get dykier