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everythingelseisextra · 8 months

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Love Song (Tommy's POV)

Part Nineteen: No Harm

Part Eighteen out of Twenty-One (Or Twenty-Two, haven't decided yet) Author's Note: Sorry for how short this is, and sorry for not responding to any of your guy's comments on the last part. I did read them, but I've been pretty overwhelmed with work recently and it just felt like Too Much. Description: Tommy formulates a plan. Warnings: language, references to trafficking, and poetic rambling Word Count: 1559 (again, I'm so sorry.) Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel @ce1iat @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @notalxx @chaengist @cookiez56-blog @skxawngs @h0neylemon

I thought nothing would bring me to my knees like that night. A sapphire on bloodied, pale skin. A gunshot ringing in my ears. Bones cracking beneath my brother’s hands. Glass shattering on the man with the gun. Her weight going dead in my arms. I turn women into martyrs. Does that say more about me or of them? Do we care too deeply for each other, or do we care too little about ourselves that a sacrifice comes easy?

Once Arthur pulls the bullet from the muscle in my shoulder and once the blood is stemmed, I stand, stagger forward, and almost fall. He catches me with an arm around my back and mutters like a madman, words thick and full of anger. “Where did they take her, brother? Where did they take her?”

He shakes me to break me out of the stupor I swim in. My gaze stays rapt on the door where I last saw her, where a group of hardened men walked her out. She went willingly and I sat and watched. I did nothing to protect her.

“I don’t know, Arthur,” I say quietly. “I don’t know where.”

He shakes me roughly again. “You giving up? You letting that woman get taken by the kind of men who think little girls are all grown up and ready for them? She’s not fucking dead, Tom, use that head of yours and go get her out of there.”

There’s one person in this damned city who could tell me where to hunt. One person with the knowledge of quiet transportation, stealing someone from their fate, bringing them home or into hell. Whether he’ll give me the gift of his advice and help me take her back; that’s a gamble. That’s the game I have to play, and I know for a fact that he will play it, too, toy with me the way I toy with others. Smart as I am, that man. Smarter, even.

I nod slowly and Arthur releases me. I pull a cigarette from its box in my pocket and light it, an excuse to take a deep, smoke-filled breath. An expectation lingers in Arthur’s watchful eyes.

I turn to look at him, faint mirth twitching my lips. “You’re not going to like this.”

—

“Good morning, Mr. Solomons.” Seven hours since they took her. Seven hours since she was walked out of Arrow House and placed in a car and driven off somewhere where hell and earth merge. And I am wasting time with pleasantries, because Alfie has a propensity towards what he refers to as ‘tittle-tattle.’

“Yeah, it is.” He meanders from the window over to my desk, placing a hand on it, leaning his weight on the wood despite the cane in his other hand. “You’re lucky I was passing, weren’t you, because you still seem to believe that you are some god from some religion that has the power to summon up Jews of a particular standing.”

I nod vaguely, wait for him to continue, picking bits of information from his phrasing. Confusing man, he is, with a habit of mixing metaphors and twisting his own words. He takes patience, like a stallion who’s learned he’s bigger than the rest.

“I’ve heard that you took in a girl, didn’t ya, who’s opened her legs to just about every man I’ve met from France! Now, that’s something, now isn’t it? You, a man of some standing, and a girl who used to go from place to place with a collar around her throat and someone begging her to use one of her holes. Now, I don’t know which one she used for you, but word is, she’s got you wound tight. You do know how many of them there are, don’t you? I could get you a man, I could, who would bring you any girl you like. White slaves, and all, you know the like.” He sits down on the chair beside me. Light shines in from the window across from us and plays in his bright eyes, serving to make them almost transparent. “Best thing to do, mate, is to forget about her and stop asking those questions and killing those men, right? You’ve been fucking around with the slavers, now haven’t you, you silly boy?”

I raise my eyebrows and stand, walking over to the windows to stare out at the grounds. “You’ve been keeping tabs.”

“Yeah, well, I was curious, now wasn’t I?” His mouth twitches, not into a smile, but sideways, thoughtful.

The sentiment hovers between us. That I had stepped lower than my standing to be with a woman who hadn’t a clue about the life I live. He doesn’t realize who she is and how easily her world merges into mine. Basic understanding stays preserved through the horrors we both have witnessed. And now, for the first time, she needs me, instead of the other way around. She can’t protect herself against something as big as the organization she’s been taken by.

“Then you should know, Alfie, that she can survive it.” I keep my back to him, one hand on the sill, the other in my pocket.

“Just like you did when you came back from France and like your fucking family did when they put the nooses around their necks. Eh? Just like that, right?”

“Just like that, yes.” I turn to face him, walking forward to put both hands on my desk, looking down at him. “She will survive, and we will bring her home.”

“Yeah, about that, there’s someth—”

“You will be properly compensated once the job is done, Alfie.” I look down at the desk, working my jaw. Reaching down, I slide a piece of paper towards him. “You’ll find the sum appropriate.”

He pulls his spectacles out of his suit jacket, his hand trembling slightly, and peers down through them at the paper. He looks back up at me, eyes bright. “I do, yeah, I do. Suppose you want a miracle worked, do you?”

“Something like that.” I step back, drawing myself up and taking a deep breath, eyes still on the paper.

I pay for her life, for her freedom, in the same way men pay for her body and their own pleasure. It brings a boiling sensation to my stomach and my jaw tightens slightly.

“If you asked, I wouldn’t fuckin bring you a woman.” Alfie shakes his head. “Not from them, anyway.”

“I know.” I move around the desk and sit down next to him again. “While I waited for you to arrive, I formulated a plan.”

—

I don’t believe in God.

I once talked to Him while I stood in my grave. I asked Him to give me a reason and He never could. He looked down on the End and he saw that it was Bad. He turned his back on me, and I turned mine on him. An eye for an eye, like the bible says.

I believe in poets and I believe in lovers. I believe in soldiers and I believe in hatred. I believe in the innocent and the guilty and the men and women and in-between who fought for the right to their lives. I believe in Her.

I know we are not soulmates because I can’t feel what She feels, not at all. We will love each other on purpose when this is all over. We will choose to fight for each other like we do now. We will stop sacrificing for the other and start building.

I don’t believe in God.

This life, this brief glimpse of heaven on Earth, this is all we fucking get. Not what we expected but what we have, and for Her, I would waste this one life on fighting. I would go back into that tunnel, that birth canal, and I would defuse and defuse and defuse and light and light and light until there were bombs under the men who keep Her and a pathway for Her to crawl through, back through my grave, my mother’s womb, and out into the world.

I have always had a hatred for Cain. Am I my brother’s keeper? Yes. We are our family’s keeper. It is being human that bonds us together, and to kill kin is to kill yourself. I have tried to do both, accidentally, on purpose, the line blurs. I understand him, though, in a way. If I was not in God’s good graces, I would want to wander. I would want to roam. His punishment was wanderlust and still, there is more to see. Always more, more, more. No place to go but everywhere.

I don’t believe in God. But I believe in Her.

A defiant act of creation, both haunted and holy, chaotic mess of joy and fear and memories pounding between temples. She is the reason I get up in the morning, and She is the reason I can sleep at night. Like every beautiful thing, She is poisonous, and I know those who bite into Her flesh will feel Her wrath.

There is an intimacy beyond sex or love to self-destruction, and I promise to Her that I will not give to it. I will give to Her and only Her. She saw the worst of me and hardly flinched.

I don’t believe in God.

#only the wild ones #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby imagine #poetry #alfie solomons

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musingsofaperpetualdaydreamer · 9 days

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The Tortured Poets Department: The Anthology first listen 🎧🪻✨

More than 15 years later wow it still feels so magical to listen to a brand new album. The joy, the excitement, the nervousness. I mark chapters of my life with her albums, they always seem to arrive with perfect timing. Is it fate or delusion? Probably the later, obviously she has no idea who I am. Idk it feels nice to delude myself now and again that we’re all journeying through this time together in some connectedness (is that a word?). It feels sort of nostalgic in some ways, from being just a child to now an adult, it’s like Sesame Street that grows up with you. Not a great analogy but what I mean to say is it holds a special place to me.

This album, this anthology feels much like we’ve been handed her diary, filled with sticky notes bound together, it’s so raw but so expertly crafted, messy feelings but the penmanship is exquisite. From her debut album, it’s always been poetry. She transports you to her world. What a journey, what a joy, what a gift.

I like to capture my first thoughts of each song in my silly chicken scratching written notes. Most of it makes no sense. It feels like a nice silly tradition and it’s fun to look back on. So here goes:

Fortnight

- It’s giving moody 1989??? Excuse me miss?!!! Ohhh she knows. Preach bye time to cry

The tortured poets department

- Ooooh we’re in an 80s dreamscape. Yes yes yes. Who’s gonna love you but me? A fluffy dreamland Patty smith? Insert wait I understood the reference meme. Ooooh it’s lovely. I am sad

My boy only breaks his favourite toys

- excuse me?? I’m shattered byyyyyeee. I’ll tell you that he runs because he loves me?? You should’ve see him when he first saw me? Once I fix me he’s gonna miss me??? Ladies and gents welcome to afternoon tea on the menu SCALDING hot queen’s special. Maybe I’m a crumpled up paper on the floor. Maybe I am no more.

Down Bad

- well damn she’s said the quiet parts out loud again. Oh smokes time to dissapear into this galaxy smoky cloud of night. One of us. One of us. One of us.

So long London

- literally standing by the river in the rain. May as well cry my damn eyes out . Darn it blondie. Poetic destruction. Crying my eyes out by the water like I’m in made in Chelsea. Darn.

But daddy I love him

- a folklore ode? Little house on the prairie Princess revolution. Serve it up serve it up I’m ready to be stuffed like a winter pig. A grown up love story. It’s ridiculous and maybe wise eyes know too well it’s chockablock of red flags but darn I’m a cheesin’ this is so cute.

Fresh out the slammer

- oh it’s like August but dark. August dark afternoon blistering hot and the storm is about to come.

Florida!!! Ft Florence and the machine

-ExXUSE MEEEEEEEeE?????!?!!?teee heee heee heeee. Your home’s really only a town you’re a guest in??? Sorry can’t speak my jaw has shattered. Pls pls. Palm tree pls.

Guilty as sin?

- A false God dreamy haze confessional? With sprinkle of Gold Rush??? I am a melted.

Who’s afraid of little old me?

- The who’s who of who’s that is poised for the attack? But my bare hands paved their path, you don’t get to tell me what’s sad? - I AM CHOKED. Silenced mute. Ohhhh miss blondie is on BUSINESS. TELL THEM SWEETIE. Oh my heart 💔

I can fix him (No really I can).

- Oooh moody blues preaching with generous dash of delusion? Ah yes my routine favourite beverage. I am drinking this up like air. Drunk on false hope? One of us. One of us. One of us.

Loml

- You Holy Ghost you told me I’m the love of your life. Oh no I’m crying again. Back to crumpled paper rocking back and forth on the floor in a ball it is. It’s so pretty yet, shattering. Devastating. I wish I could unrecall how we almost had it all. Dancing phantoms on the terrace, are they second hand embarrassed that I can’t get out of bed ‘cause something counterfit is dead? Yep that’ll do it.

I can do it with a broken heart?

- Oh damn. Honey nooooo. Oh myyyy. Oh I’m in this picture and I don’t like it. It’s so artfully done, so upbeat and Poppy yet so hauntingly sad. Yes that’s the point but it’s sooo well done. Oh sweetie. I can’t stop laughing it’s not funny, it’s just you too pumpkin. I wanna hug her and tell her it’ll be fine. Ok ok.

The smallest man who ever lived

- Oh I’m speechless. And I don’t even want you back, I just want to know, if rusting my sparkling summer was the goal. The bridge? Excuse me while I sink to the bottom of the darkest ocean.

The alchemy

- Oooh it’s so cute and dreamy. I’m beaming you can hear her smile when she sings.

Clara bow

- Oooh it’s the lucky one grown up. The bridge is a masterpiece. It’s hell on earth to be heavenly, thems the breaks it don’t come gently. She knows she’s a star, The never ending cyclical wheel of stardom, even the shiniest, ends with a new star born in its shadow.

The black dog

- Oh No no no I Am 1 billion percent destroyed. Byeeeee

Imgonnagetyouback

- Oooh blondie is on the prowl and what can I do but bop like the well stuffed clown I am. Insert meme of cat bopping their head.

The albatross

- Banjo? Haunting country cautionary tale? - scathing review of one’s reputation, worst traits but underneath it all is just vulnerability. Caged for ‘monstrosity’ but being so vulnerable and just wanting to be freed loved. The ‘monster’ trying to protect the one they love from the things that will come for them too? Do they even realise it? Do they care? Wow it’s poetically beautiful.

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

- Oh it’s sad. If you wanna break my cold cold heart, just say I loved you the way that you were? Oh myyy. Replaying old moments, looking for clues wondering if it can all have a new ending? Wow.

How did it end?

- Wow the invasiveness of empathy of the innate curiosity of wanting to know, so you can something comforting, learn from it but you forget how it can be the worst part, having to offer up a ‘post mortem’ to all when you’ve barely even processed its ended yourself. The cyclical nature of it happening every time like it’s just a formal process we’ve come to accept even though it haunts us all. Ironically as we listen to this. Wow so beautifully done.

So high school

- I wanna find you in a crowd just to hide from you, and in a blink of a crinkling eye, I’m sinking, our fingers entertwined. Awww the sort of bubblegum silly feels you roll your eyes but you have the biggest smile on your face. It’s soo cute. You know how to call, I know Aristotle.

I hate it here

- Oooooh tell me something awful like you’re a poet trapped inside the body of a finance guy. One of us. One of us.

ThanK you aIMee

- Oh my goodness it’s grown up mean but she made it out. It’s so sad but I’m beaming. I say that’s my baby and I’m proud. Andrea? Oh thank you next. Not the kid. I’m cackling.

I look in people’s windows

- Oh it’s haunted death by a thousand cuts glimmering of desperate false hope. It’s lovely.

The prophecy

- Oh. Damn yep that’ll do it. Right in the ticker. Damn. It feels very much like am I doomed to always be the one before the one? Wow. Just yeah.

Cassandra

- I don’t know why but this makes think of safe and sound. Like the woman that was there when everything burned around them. She’s telling her side. Everyone’s there to watch you burn, screaming your guilt but silent when they’re wrong? If that ain’t the truth miss. Oh wow. Shes beautifully captured such a dark chapter.

Peter

- Oh wow it’s beautiful. It’s like post cardigan and she’s all grown up. 'Cause love's never lost when perspective is earned. But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light. Oh wow it’s wow.

The Bolter

- Oh we must stop meeting like this but it always ends with a town car speeding. Wowowow. It feels like the time she fell through the ice, then came out alive. Oh my a BEAUTY.

Robin

- Oh it’s so pretty. It’s like never grow up, safe and sound and seven swirled together. Wow. It’s like she’s talking to her child but then also herself in the past and present, like from an older perspective? Ohhh it’s beautiful. Why does this make me think of coraline’s real mother watching her sleep? I wanna cry.

The manuscript

- Wow god it’s beautiful. Another time travel song. You keep revisiting past in your mind and you gain perspective and then you realise you aren’t that version of you that lived it anymore. You can feel it still, not as deeply perhaps but you’re disconnected from thinking the way you did at that time or after. Is sobering and haunting. The healing. Wow wow wow.

@taylorswift thank you my love 💕

#taylor swift #the tortured poets department #ts ttpd #the tortured poets department the anthology #first listen #musings #hope you guys are doing well

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plastic-summer · 6 months

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my thoughts on taylor's grammy nominations

i still think midnights is criminally underrated in the fandom, so it would be amazing to see her getting the awards she deserves! absolutely taylor's most cohesive album to date and you can just see how proud she is of it. the lyrics, the production, the visuals, the narratives, everything, just pure pop perfection. i'd expect nothing less from the legend that is miss taylor swift.

1. record of the year - anti hero.

anti hero is a fantastic song, i will never understand why people hate it all the time. it showcases something i think taylor is super good at and that stands her out from other artists - pumping endorphins into the most heart wrenching lyrics. this award is mostly for sound and production however - i'll come back to lyrics later. i think anti hero separates itself production-wise from the rest of midnights (which has a dreamier vibe to it) which i love because it's more raw and personal and honest than the other songs, which are more narrative or experience based. i wouldn't suggest it's the best song on the album, but it's absolutely a deserving single and winner of this award.

it has some super tough competition for this award - it's been an amazing year for music - especially sza's "kill bill" and victoria monét's "on my mama" (both of which i'd be equally happy with as winners). i would say myself that anti hero shines far more in its lyrics than its production, which might hurt it in competition, so if she loses out on any awards, it may well be this one.

2. album of the year - midnights.

in my eyes, midnights won album of the year as soon as it was released. it's just stunning in every possible way. again, there's lots of tough competition from all different genres, but midnights is in a league of its own. the production is gorgeous and (unpopular opinion probably) very different from what she's released in the past, with this amazing dreamy and nostalgic quality to it that brings to life the album concept without it being ostentatious. it follows a clear but not garish or derivative narrative path, again subtly and tastefully presenting its concept. the lyrics are consistently reflective but present differing emotions, which again is indispensable in this particular concept. it's absolutely a 10/10 album in my books, and clearly one of her best, if not her best overall.

3. song of the year - anti hero.

okay, this one is for songwriting, which we know is what taylor swift came to do, and what she will always dominate in. i said about the record of the year nomination that anti hero will be known for its gut wrenching honesty and not necessarily for its sound, and i stand by that here. for me, taylor's selling point is her ability to write music that is obviously deeply personal to her, but also general enough that any of us can relate to it and feel heard and seen. anti hero is a masterclass in this - every word is perfectly crafted in such a way that you can see yourself and your own struggles in it, even if they're nothing to do with hers, without a scrap of taylor's personal feelings being lost in it. it combines beautiful poetic lyrics with a punchy hook that somehow remains perfectly tasteful and never cheap or lazy, and every second of it is dripping with genuine emotion. this is one of the songs of hers that will outlast us, and deserves to be recognised as such.

4. best pop duo/group performance - karma (ft. ice spice)

i will be one to say this song is WAY overhated. it's a grower for sure, but i love it. ice spice is just so excellent with wordplay and rhyming, it's great to see them on a track together. karma is a brilliant song anyway, it's so tongue in cheek it regularly crosses into comedic in an artful way. i don't expect it will win, if i'm honest, not because it's not a good song, which it is, but because it has too much competition for it to live up to standards. most likely it will go (deservedly) to "candy necklace" or "ghost in the machine".

( her other nominations are for best pop solo performance for anti hero and best pop vocal album for midnights - not much more i can say there )

#taylor swift #swifties #midnights #taylorstans #grammys #grammys 2024 #music thoughts

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grandhotelabyss · 8 months

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A free excerpt from behind the paywall of my novel Major Arcana, Part One, Chapter 4, "Out of Time."

She kept an Instagram account for the store updated at least once a week with enticing photos and descriptions of new arrivals, and she followed everyone back who followed her. She kept her eye on the DMs for business inquiries, but she inevitably found either obscene demands (“tits or GTFO,” “feet?”) or, still more obscene to her mind, messages deploring her because she had not issued this political statement or that, which she never did, since she wasn’t one for the news either, being, as she’d been informed by her uninvited ethical tutors, a “privileged bitch.”

She did see a meme in the feed one day, however—the day after Jakey’s funeral in fact. Though she’d guessed that it had been meant as a dark joke, like most memes she ran into, commiseration in shared suffering and a shared laugh from some despairing boy in some suburban basement who couldn’t get laid (is that why Jakey had despaired? no, he was surely too young, or had been too young, young or old as he’d ever be, to have worried about that). Instead of giving her a grim chuckle at the often unspoken truth, however, this meme so succinctly but also strangely and beautifully expressed what she thought of as her dilemma that she, who had not cried at her son’s viewing or his funeral, began to shake and sob right there behind the counter, beneath the encyclopedia set, in her mercifully empty shop. The meme showed a little blonde girl, five or six years old. She looked dutifully into the camera, squinting or wincing more than she was smiling, a look more of apprehension and resolution than childish cheer. Above an expanse of grass behind her reared the old skyline of the city she somehow thought, even now, that she would eventually somehow run away to, the skyline as it had been for the whole last quarter of the last century, commanded by those two columns, those giant bars of glass challenging the sky, proclaiming the dominion of man, of commerce, of America, for better and for worse, over the face of the earth. In the grass between the little girl and the Twin Towers lay what appeared to be a couple indistinct on the old pre-digital film, too far away to see, but probably laughing, probably staring with new lovers’ inexhaustible appetite and fascination into one another’s eyes. The sky was clear but somehow ominous—probably the meme artist had with some digital tool or other exercised poetic license—not quite blue as a clear calm sky is blue, like the sky that Tuesday morning over two decades ago had been, but storm-darkened halfway to an electric indigo. The color reminded her of when a pleasant dream slowly curdles to a nightmare. You’re in the car with your father; you’re on your way to a party; it’s a sunny day. Then it’s not sunny anymore; he turns his eyes from the road to face you; those black marbles aren’t his eyes; that man is not your father; a party, you somehow understand, is certainly not where you’re going. In this purply unnatural monsoon sky above the girl, the couple, and the Towers, the meme artist had typed, in a typewriter font evocative of the middle 20th century, the slogan: The world you were raised to survive in no longer exists. Whatever it meant exactly—whatever political message the mememeister had intended—she thought it described her problem exactly. She could have been that girl on that day. Over a long weekend when she was a girl, her mother had taken her on a Greyhound to the city shortly after her father left. They’d shopped and dined and gone to museums; they got dressed up and went to see Miss Saigon. How could it be that she was 38 and had already lost so much?

And not to spill the magician's secrets, but one formal principle of the novel, which is set between the 1970s and the present, is that its temporality is always hazy, floating, dreamy, you never quite know exactly what year the characters are in—except that both 9/11 and the pandemic are constantly alluded to, as the brutal tears in/of 21st-century reality, history's nails on which humanity has been hung.

#creative writing #contemporary fiction

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3pirouette · 2 years

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Fic: Nobody's Baby: In Full Color (1/1)

Title: In Full Color

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Part of the Nobody’s Baby Universe

Story Summary: Peggy hadn’t been prepared for just what, exactly, was going to happen.

A/N: For Steggy Week 2k22: Domestic Bliss.

Fits in before the epilogue of Nobody’s Baby, somewhere before Baby Steps, right around the time of Sandy baby but after Chapter 24.

This is 100% inspired by the fact that for the last 6 weeks my bedroom/the second floor of my house has held little more than a bed, with my clothes and all my belongings in a horrible jumble two floors down due to getting a new floor, renovating an old ceiling, and waiting for fresh paint and other odds and ends to be done. There is nothing more domestic, and more frustrating, than home improvements and renovations.

Also, sorry it’s late. I’ve been trying like a fiend to get the renovations done. Thankfully, the amazing @doctorhelena pointed out that being late is kinda Steve and Peggy’s thing, making me feel 1000% better about the situation.

~*~

Peggy hadn’t been prepared for just what, exactly, was going to happen.

Not really, anyway.

The house was bigger than she’d initially wanted, but Steve had talked her into it. He’d held her and Mandy close and pointed to the little ramshackle shed in the back and waxed poetic about fixing it up, putting in a little garden, him mowing the lawn and her sitting on the back porch watching with a cup of tea as Mandy played on the swing he could see hanging from the tree just at the edge of the property. He’d sighed with a dreamy look in his bright blue eyes as he alluded to what they might do with the extra bedrooms someday.

She’d caved. Easily.

Like so many things now, she found herself wanting more things she’d never dreamed of for her life, things she’d never imagined wanting until she met him. A large, warm house with a fireplace and a swing from the tree in the back was just another of the things on her mental list that surprised her.

When they’d moved in, it had been easy: they had frightfully little of their own in that government apartment, and even though they’d managed to acquire what they’d needed day to day, they’d barely had enough to fill up Dugan’s truck for one trip when he came to help move them out.

Months had passed, though, and they’d settled into the house and a routine, acquiring bits and pieces that suddenly made the house feel like a home and running after Mandy as she crawled along, shielding her head as she bounced around, trying to figure out how to stand.

Which was why, eight months after they moved in, Steve insisted on painting. They’d been far too preoccupied with getting Mandy everything she needed while baby proofing any low and sharp corners, with finding their places in the new ranks of the SSR as Phillips tried to clean house as the war ended, to try to do anything about the stark white walls throughout the house before then. But one day she’d found him in the kitchen, pouring over little streaks of paint over the sink, asking Mandy quietly which one she liked the best as she babbled nonsense back to him while he pretended to take her nonsense as serious as a mission from Phillips.

She’d been unable to say no, both because she detested the way the clinical white sometimes reminded her of that horrible room they’d spent days in under the eyes of horrid doctors, and because he’d been far too excited about his plans to deny him anything.

The kitchen hadn’t taken much, they’d just avoided cooking for a day and were graciously fed a lovely dinner by Edwin and Ana while the charming, sunny yellow dried.

The living room was a muted blue, one that was neutral and matched the small mishmash of furniture they had acquired. Keeping Mandy out of it while Steve painted had been a challenge as she tried to scoot, crawl, and attempt to toddle her way away from Peggy every time she thought she was content on the floor and turned back to her work at the kitchen table. There was still one little perfect handprint from where Mandy had tried to stand, holding on to the wet wall right at the base of the stairs before Peggy grabbed her, that they both agreed would be a shame to paint over.

The front entry way was done while she was in the office with Howard one day, the only sign that anything had gone awry was the echo of the warm beige color in the beds of Mandy’s fingernails and Steve’s suspicious smile over dinner.

No, it was the upstairs she’d been unprepared for: the bedrooms.

She’d known it was coming. He’d been amassing brightly colored paints in little cans in the basement for weeks, mumbling to himself, measuring the bedrooms and the office, and staring at the walls with a look in his eyes that she knew meant trouble. When Phillips called, though, she didn’t have the luxury of asking him if he planned on painting while she packed her bag in a rush to try to catch the last train to Washington DC.

She’d come home three days later at nearly two in the morning to pandemonium.

He’d moved everything they’d owned, everything, from the whole floor. He and Mandy were sleeping in the living room when Peggy slipped in the door, her crib right next to the couch in the maze of dressers and side tables and piles of clothes.

He’d immediately blushed and brought their bed up the stairs, laying the mattress on the floor with a puddle of blankets in the middle and apologized that he thought the frame was under the couch where it wasn’t exactly accessible at the moment unless they wanted to wake Mandy. He showed her their room: a dark royal blue with bright white woodwork and fillagree hand painted around the border at the ceiling. She’d smiled, kissed him, and promptly fell asleep still in most of her clothes.

Even though it looked just as beautiful, if not more so this morning, she was at a loss and having a hard time keeping her temper. Not a single thing was where she could find it. Her robe had been hanging on her vanity, which was stuffed in the front corner of the living room. She’d had to climb over their bedside table (where she’d subsequently found her slippers shoved in a drawer by luck as she’d tried to move it) just to get it.

Steve had also cleared out their bathroom, which was now a bright inverse of their bedroom, with white paint and white tiles highlighted by dark blue accents, which meant she’d had to hunt down bath towels (in the filing cabinet from the upstairs office which was now next to the stove, obviously) her toiletries (in the dish drainer in the kitchen, of course) and a new toilet roll because the existing one had a large glob of blue paint glueing half of it together (surprisingly, where it was supposed to be, in the downstairs hall closet).

She’d managed to calm herself in the shower, relishing in the clean scent of new paint and the higher pressure of the shower head as compared to the musty barracks with communal showers she’d stayed in while in DC. By the time she’s stepped out and wrapped herself and her hair up in the fresh towels that somehow still smelled just a bit of typewriter ink, she’d almost forgotten why she was frustrated.

That was, until she looked at the sink where her moisturizer would usually be, then stepped into the bedroom and saw the empty space where her vanity and make-up and hair brush would be, and then turned her head and looked at the empty closet and bare space where the dresser would be, and it all came rushing back.

Traipsing through their living room that was bursting with nearly four other rooms of furniture, while not waking Mandy who was still somehow sleeping peacefully in the middle of the maze in her crib, was quite a bit more difficult in her robe and slippers with a towel wrapped in her hair than it had been in her pajamas.

The night before Steve had made it seem easy. His photographic memory knew each and every odd place he’d stored their things to save space: he’d produced her pajamas from the desk drawer and pulled diapers from a bag buried between stacks of shoes when Mandy woke and needed to be changed before he brought up the bed. He knew each and every little space to step in like he’d mapped it out in his brain, and those steps were made to fit his long-legged frame much better than they fit her size.

She nearly tripped when stepping around his old Army duffel to grab the armoire, and froze, hoping she hadn’t woken Mandy. The baby made a high-pitched sigh, but rolled and snuggled back down to Peggy’s relief.

He’d taken the drawers out when he moved the furniture, and stacked some of them in corners and put some of them back before pushing other pieces of furniture in to block them. In theory, she knew exactly where all the pieces of clothing she wanted should be, but after a half hour of looking, and with only a blouse to show for it, she gave up and instead looked over to try to pick her way through the maze to where her daughter was fussing.

Peggy carefully picked her way, baby in tow, to the changing table, and with one hand on Mandy and one very precariously placed foot, she managed the herculean reach to the diapers that Steve had somehow made seem like inches, though not without losing the towel she’d had wrapped around her under her robe in a puddle around her ankles first.

Mandy seemed to think this was hilarious. “Oh, you think that’s funny?” Peggy chuckled in a way that left no room for argument that she was absolutely not amused, however Mandy was far too young to understand that level of sarcasm and laughed louder. “Oh, he’ll pay, my love,” she muttered, dodging a swift little foot as she tried to reach the powder and pins. “He will wish Phillips kept me longer.”

She dressed Mandy, a balancing act for the ages, and set the girl on her hip, muttering as she picked her way through the maze to the bottom of the stairs. “Steven Grant Rogers,” she called in a voice she only ever reserved for the battlefield until today.

He was before her like a shot, standing at the top of the steps, paintbrush still in hand and eyes very much concerned. “Peggy?”

“This is absolutely unacceptable. I simply cannot find a thing. How did you manage to do this?”

Her eyebrows knit as his expression relaxed, nearly amused with her, as he busied himself with rolling the paintbrush so it wouldn’t drip on the floor below. “I’ll be done today, Peg, I promise.” He shrugged, wiping his hand across his white undershirt and leaving a bright blue stain. “I tried to move all the furniture fast while she was napping so I didn’t think much about where I put things, especially since I thought you’d be home after it was all put back.”

She huffed, bouncing Mandy a bit. “Well, I’m home now and I can’t live like this, Steve!”

“Peg,” he started, dashing away as he continued speaking to put the paint brush back in Mandy’s room before he lost control of the drips, “it’s just a little mess, I’ll—”

“This isn’t funny! I can’t find my knickers!” Peggy huffed, setting her hand on her hip and letting Mandy down to sit at her feet. “Is that what you want?” Steve started to smile, and she promptly scowled, crossing her arms over her chest and pulling her robe closed tighter. “Don’t answer that.”

Steve slowly moved down the stairs, a small smile on his face. He stopped at the last step and dropped a careful kiss on her hairline, aware that she was very angry. “You know exactly what I’d want, Peg,” he whispered, his voice both amused and suggestive. He pushed past her, wiping his hands and the remaining wet paint on his sweatpants. “What do you need?” he asked gently.

“Knickers, for a start,” she tried to maintain her anger, but felt it fade a bit as he started picking his way through the mess. “And a brassiere. I found a shirt, so just trousers will do for now.” She sat on the bottom step, running a hand through Mandy’s hair, watching as he patiently put together a stack of the things he knew she liked to wear around the house. “And the things from my vanity, if you don’t mind,” she muttered.

Steve picked his way back to her and set the pile in her hands. “All the things from your vanity are in the cupboard in the kitchen that was empty next to the sink. I put them there so they wouldn’t break by accident.” She felt her heart melt just a little more, and found the anger even harder to hold on to when he pecked her on the head again before bounding up the stairs. “When you’re dressed come up and take a look at Mandy’s room, alright?”

She looked down at her daughter, her chubby hand waving in a pulsating fist as Steve disappeared up the stairs. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I know. I know.” Peggy took a look around, and seeing all the shades were drawn dressed herself right there at the base of the stairs, tossing her towel and robe over the rail. “Come along,” she muttered, picking the girl up and setting her back on her hip. “We’ll ask Daddy to watch you while I do something with my hair for a few minutes, shall we?”

She didn’t even get all the way into the room before she heard Steve’s reply. “Yeah, I’ll take her, just…” she heard the grunt of him moving. “Just give me a minute to clean this up, ok?”

She stopped in her tracks, staring at the walls. “Oh, Steve.”

He paused crouched on the floor, and looked up at her, smiling. “You like it?”

“Like it?” She smiled; every inch of frustration gone. “Steve, it’s brilliant.” The room was warm pinks and oranges and reds and purples, fading into light then heavy blues, all radiating from one wall where he’d pained a mural of a sunset over the ocean. “I love it.”

He stood, taking Mandy’s hand when she reached out to him, but didn’t lift the girl into his arms as he was still covered in paint. “I have this really vivid memory of this sunset from one of the nights we were on the ship. I just remember looking out and there was this… this.” He paused, mouth crinkling up as he tried to find a way to describe it. “I thought I should maybe do some rainbows, or flowers, or something just pretty and generic for her, but every time I sketched something out, it didn’t feel right.”

She moved away from him, walking around the edges of the empty room, admiring where he’d set hard lines at the horizon and the way he’d expertly blended the colors into soft, puffy clouds that led to the ceiling and how he’d managed to make it feel so real and organic. “This is gorgeous, Steve.” Her eyes drifted to the edge of the paint where there was just a corner and a wall still bright white, ready to be done.

“Don’t worry, I’ll have it cleaned up in a minute, ok?” He crouched back down and started pulling paint tins together and setting lids in place.

Peggy leaned down, putting her hand over his. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“Peg, I…”

Peggy set Mandy down to crawl across the floor and took Steve’s hands in hers as she knelt next to him. “Don’t stop. I’m selfish and horrid and it was a horrible weekend full of red tape and Generals yelling at Senators, Senators yelling at me, and Phillips and I yelling right back.” She sighed, smiling when Steve pulled his hands away and plucked Mandy away from his paints and set her in his lap. “All I wanted when Jarvis dropped me off last night was to fall asleep in your arms then have a leisurely cup of tea this morning with the only person yelling at me being our daughter because she needed a nappy change.”

“Peg, I get that. I’ll clean this up in a jiff, you can get changed and I’ll put everything back—”

“No.” Peggy lifted Mandy from his lap. “No, you’re almost done and this is…” she sighed and looked around. “I was cranky and angry because I ended up falling asleep in my clothes and you were still on the couch last night.” She sighed, looking around. “This is beautiful. I’ll keep her occupied, you take as much time as you need, ok?”

“Well, let me at least—” Steve reached for Mandy and Peggy promptly side stepped around him, padding out of the room in her bare feet.

“No, darling.” She turned, smiling. “Paint. I’ll fix my own cup of tea and Mandy and I will be on the porch for a bit, yeah?”

Steve leaned in the doorway, face twisted up as he thought over the plan. “Alright, but only if you’re sure.”

“I am.” She turned away and then stopped. “Darling?”

He had moved to go back in the room and stopped, leaning back on the doorframe. “Yeah?”

“Can I just request that, perhaps, no matter what you do manage to get done, we can both sleep in our bed tonight? With the bed frame?”

He chuckled, leaning out to kiss her on the cheek. “It’ll be the first thing I bring up, ok?”

She smiled, pulling her wet hair from Mandy’s fist. “Sounds Perfect.”

Steve reached over, helping Peggy’s one handed struggle then combing his fingers through her hair to push it back into some semblance of a style. “Can I make a request?”

She smiled, letting her cheek nuzzle his hand. “Absolutely.”

“Can we leave the knickers downstairs?”

Peggy chuckled as she turned away from him. “Paint, may darling.”

“It’s an honest request!”

“I know,” she moved down the stairs her voice growing fainter.

He leaned out the doorframe. “I’m serious!”

“You’ll find out tonight, then, won’t you?”

He smiled, turning back to the paint. “Better get a move on, then.”

#steggyweek22 #Steggy Fic #3P's fic #Nobody's Baby #It's soooo late

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mermaidsirennikita · 2 years

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now I'm curious to know your rankings of wallflowers and hathaways heroines if you can

Sure!

The Wallflowers:

Lillian Bowman, It Happened One Autumn. I love a dumb bitch, and Lillian is kind of a dumb bitch, I gotta say. She's a really good deconstruction of the headstrong fiery heroine, because she is all of that, and her love interest is kind of a dumb bitch too, but he's 100% right when he says that Lillian is too inexperienced to boldly run into trouble the way she does. Yet I love that she does. It makes her very real. One of my favorite parts in the book is when Westcliff gets her alone in the butterfly room and has her like panting and near-orgasm and then he stops and is like "well shit Lillian if I could get you on your back that fast imagine what St. Vincent could do". BECAUSE HE'S RIGHT. Before Lillian fully fell for Westcliff, Sebastian probably could have ruined her super fast if he'd thought to do so, just because she's kind of naive and reckless but oh so endearing.

Evangeline Jenner, Devil in Winter. I recently waxed poetic on why I love Evie so I won't do it again, but suffice to say that for me she's just a super cool heroine. Quietly dignified and feminine and shy but also a bit of a freak and capable of bringing one of romance's biggest rakes believably to his knees. Her power.

Annabelle Peyton, Secrets of a Summer Night. I see a lot of people complain about Annabelle's snobbery, but I love Annabelle because she's a snob. She's a girl who has this dated idea of who and what she should be, and she's desperate to keep her family's reputation because they've lost pretty much everything else. I find it very endearing and human.

Daisy Bowman, Scandal in Spring. I think Daisy is a really fun, cool girl--I love her dreaminess and her creativity. Do I think her book necessarily served those qualities? Not fully. So I think there's a bit of unrealized potential with her. But she's still super fun, and I love her interactions with the other girls, especially Lillian.

The Hathaways:

Win Hathaway, Seduce Me at Sunrise. I love a horny heroine, and Win is nothing if not that. Win goes to the continent to get strong, but specifically to get strong so that she can get absolutely rawed by her hulking childhood friend, and I think that's so inspirational. She remains iconic in later books, too. I forget which book it is (maybe Tempt Me at Twilight?) but Win distracting Kev from his brotherly rage by being like "I'm pregnant btw" and then leaving the room? ICONIC.

Catherine Marks, Married by Morning. I just enjoy how much she doesn't take Leo's shit (or anyone else's) and is this kind of brash, bitchy, bossy woman. But at the same time, she does that thing I love most with a bossy heroine, when she's all "I KNOW EVERYTHING THERE IS TO KNOW ABOUT EVERYTHING" and then the hero gets her into bed and she's all "in fact there are some things I was uninformed about".

Amelia Hathaway, Mine Till Midnight. I related to Amelia a lot. She's a bit uptight and maternal, a classic eldest daughter who's also picking up the slack for her (then) dissolute brother. She's not necessarily the most easily swept away heroine, which makes her seduction all the better.

Poppy Hathaway, Tempt Me at Twilight. I think Poppy is a prototypical whimsical Kleypas heroine (an extension of Daisy, probably) and while I enjoy that, I don't know if that's my favorite type of Kleypas heroine. Nonetheless, she's very sweet and charming, and I enjoyed her taming the beast.

Beatrix Hathaway, Love in the Afternoon. Much like her hero, Beatrix's issue is that she didn't make a big impression on me. I have no issue with her, but she kind of is just kind and in over her head.

#romance novel blogging

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sirenofthegreenbanks · 8 months

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8 and 17 of the weird writers questions!

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

my secret super weapon is that im incredibly good at rambling!!! monologues and internal narrations are my forte! and i love stories that tell things a little bit different that your usual conventional story. assuming by „no-action“ this question is talking about characters (choice of) action, not physical combat, basically anything that is not internal narrative, i would choose this if i wanted to challenge myself a bit. in the end, it is a little difficult to string a whole, cohesive story together that is not boring without characters doing smth tangible. i would choose no-dialogue if i wanted to explore dreamy, whismical, introspective storytelling (which i love!!!!) like in fairytales. the fairytales i grew up with have very or even no dialogue, and instead rhymes and poetic prose. both are good!

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text

im not going to talk about the details of the WIP itself. i feel these things are very private, its not yet published and i want to keep it close to my chest a little longer. but im going to talk about what it means to me, writing this WIP.

so, basically, my family has a very personal relationship with dictatorship, propaganda, freedom of speech (and thought), silence (and the violence therein), unresolved trauma, and war. thus, im having lots of feelings for tyk that are stemming directly from this. my dad (not my real dad, but more a real dad than my actual dad) was a prisoner of war and a revolutionary, and we have reason to believe he still worked in the underground network even after his escape from the regime. my parents (all three, including my actual dad) are immigrants and refugees, my grandparents escaped the regime when it was still active, my grandpa experienced smth very similar to what zhang zhehan is going through, only as an official government-statuated example and without social media terror and identity fraud. as someone who grew up in the so called "nachwende" (after the fall of the berlin wall) generation, i can only imagine what it must have been like. tyk, to me, speaks about many of these things, and doing it in such a way i can stomach (but barely!!!). as a novel from a mainland chinese author, it was created in the context of censorship in a country that is keeping its citizen under tight wraps in a state of intentional illusion, dependence, anxiety, and normalized constant surveillance. here, too, i can only try to imagine what it must be like. now, it is debatable how much of what priest does (in both tyk and qiye) can be counted as "regime resitant" beyond the fact that its danmei, and i wouldnt be the right person to answer this question either; everything i know is researched, rather than lived. but i do think it has merit (is important, even) to be conscious of the wider context the text was created in, to be aware of it, as a fic writer. i know many fics rather "escape" and focus on positive things. i dont condemn not being political, everyone can do as they like. but unfortunately, im not like them. (im different. im other. do u see this stupid hat?)

not all my WIPs are like this (fortunately!!! i do need to relax!!!!) but this one is. im pretty sure its the love child of my own family's frustrating habit of not talking about the things that are important (i recently learned my grandma grew up door-to-door with a KZ, in the sense of "seeing KZ-prisoners bypassing her garden in a long trail" as a regular day-to-day occurence, and she never mentioned it ever, and i only learned of it because my grandpa shared it off-handedly but was immediately hushed back into silence), and my own habit of not talking about stuff i should talk about, probs. sometimes feelings are too big! experienes are too heavy! and ive always been better at finding answers in stories than in real life. so. this WIP!

im sorry, thats probably not the answer u thought u would get when seleccting this question! thank you for dropping into my inbox though <3 i still have your other ask and im staring at it everytime i open my inbox, feeling extremely guilty and happy at the same time

ask me weird writers questions!

#inbox #ask game #weird writers questions #the mutual tag #cryptid #muddling in words and stuff #tyk my beloved

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the-doomed-witch · 1 year

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Ok, after some "post-reading-smut time alone"... now I can properly answer you with my fangirling attitude 🤭

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH - FINALLY!!!

Thank YOU for that. So damn good... SO FUCKING DAMN GOOOOOD. Tell me there is a part 2. Pretty please, tell me.. come on.. she is so dreamy to be a stand alone kind of thing.....

First: I cannot unsee Olsen in a air-hostess uniform... is burned in my mind.

Second: Holy mama...mommy/daddy play is just so.. 👌

Third: yes to oral in the crew seat, yep, yep.. totally worth the googling "where do they seat on an airplane" mishap...

Uuuh, I liked to know I have requests freedom! Don't give me too much opening, I will use it 🤭. Oh, I have so many... let me get my best one forward and I will send you later.. (claps excitedly)

About reading my fics... uhm.. hard pass. 😂 I am joking. I will get off anon and DM you one of this days - you are so nice to talk to 😊. I am writing one for Lizzie. But is far from over.

GOOGLE CAN BE SO DAMN STUPID! Like.. just ANSWER ME! Sometimes I feel like it is mansplaning me.. 😅

No new dehli? Really? Where I would stay is so very nice! My cousin lived there for... like... 10 years? Maybe is because it was a very fancy place 🤣. His photos are extraordinary! But thanks for the advice ;) I will definitely consider it when I am ready to board on a 24hour wanda-less flight 😂

Oh, I am sorry. I shouldn't have anticipated your suffering :x... I had nightmares about balance sheets not matching for years.. hahaha. I can TOTALLY see you doing 34 pages of ledgers by hand. That was a very weird phase in life for me :x.

Well, my biology is more into human anatomy and physiologic, buuut mitochondria being a gift from your mother ... who gots from you grandma, and after grandma.. and so on..is so poetic. Hahaha my geek feminist side showing...

Ok, NOW I AM INTERESTED. We need to exchange smuts indications one of this days.... 😗

My god, exactly!! And I thought I was in a very dark path when I got to know slight smut.. then I stumbled on midnightcrimson and Wanda a few weeks ago? Is safe to say my soul if on the line to take the lift down to hell. 🤣

(Arrrgh, how can I add a freaking image here?? I got a Lizzie doing yoga one!! 😒)

. .

JUBGBKDDJHJKGB 😭😭😭 i’m so so glad that you liked it anon! 🖤🖤 i’m not sure if i’ll have a part two, but i am planning a small drabble in continuation about the strap-on 🫣 still, not very sure because one thing abt me is i suck at series or multiple parts of a story 🥲

olsen in an air hostess uniform yes. yes exactly. you seriously get me. that’s what i had in my mind the whole time 🤤 sitting in the crew cabin and eating out wanda? COUNT ME IN!

also!!!!! i’ll be eagerly waiting for your request <333 & enthusiastically waiting to read your fics!! 🖤

google a mansplainer? YOU ARE SO REAL FOR THIS. like my dudes don’t try to explain me shit #GenderfluidBossing (because girlbossing sounds very gender dysphoric to me hehe)

delhi has deteriorated a LOT over the time, the air quality index has risen to a very disturbing amount… if you plan on coming here then i suggest you to do a bit of a research, because it’s seriously dangerous. nothing is more dangerous than a flight with wanda tho. iykwim

34 pages is an understatement 😭🥲 the last time i wrote an accounts exam, i used up 70+ pages in three hours! queue this genre of taylor swift lyrics:

human anatomy is my only strong topic in the entirety of biology. reminds me of the time i scored 50/50 in science in 7th grade 💀😭🤣 yeah no i’ll never forget that, it was the smartest in science i could ever be! but scientific poetry can consume my heart. the thing is, i love learning about science but for academic purposes is a no.

a geek feminist? you’re like a billion times more iconic to me. i am a geek feminist too. but more of in a way where they should allow people who menstruate to have considerate holidays and exam timings. having cramps while writing a stupid ass 20 mark test should be banned fr😐

the moment i started reading smut i only confirmed my place in hell. i haven’t spared myself. funny part is, i cannot even stop thinking about it 😩 sometimes when i cannot sleep i keep thinking abt smut …should i be concerned?

if you have a pinterest link to the image, you can link it to the text :)

(again, i’m so sorry, i geniunely forgot to answer the ask!)

#skye answers #anon ★#. . anon <3

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ariesjupiter · 3 years

Text

Mitski Birth Chart Reading

This is just my interpretation based on Mitski’s birth chart and what I know of her music. Let me know if you have any suggestions of someone I should make a post on next! If you’re interested, I offer natal chart readings, just check my pinned post!

Libra sun: In terms of basic personality and ego, Mitski is focused on creating balanced, harmonic relationships. Intimate, one-on-one relationships are a major part of her identity. Libra is ruled by venus which represents love and beauty. After all, she is known for her lyrics relating to her romantic relationships. The lyric “I love everybody because I love you” is so profoundly Libra to me. She is friendly and charming. She sees herself reflected and other people and people see themselves reflected in her (for better or worse). Venus also rules the arts and Mitski is a natural artist in every sense of the word. Her music sonically is very unique, inventive, and creative as she experiments with mixing different genres. This is influenced by her sun in the 11th house. Sun in the 11th house also indicates an emphasis on friendships and memberships of certain groups and communities. It also indicates an importance of her hopes and dreams. Her sun in 3° explains why she is such a talented writer, communicator, and lyricist. Peak libra sun culture: “Young adult romance is the shit” (a real quote from the queen herself). And let’s not forget her iconic quote from 2016: “I’m a libra so my sexuality is essentially “you can really be any gender as long as you treat me like a princes.” Truer words have never been spoken.

Capricorn moon: Despite how personal her music is, Mitski is a rather private and reserved person, particularly when it comes to expressing her emotions. Also, Capricorn is associated with the father and she has been known to be especially private regarding her dad’s career. She is serious and intense with emotions but can sometimes get detached. The emphasis is on having control over her feelings. She is ambitious and a practical person. Her emotions are connected to her career. Those who do not know her well may see her as cold. In temperament she tends to be melancholic. Emotionally mature and wise beyond her years. Straightforward and honest with her expression. She is dependable, loyal, hard working, & realistic. Emotional fulfillment is often tied to achievement and success. Her moon in the 2nd house and 2° suggests material comforts make her feel safe. With the 2nd house being associated with venus, she is able to express her emotions in an artistic way. Could be protective over material objects. Sentimental. Music has a big impact on her emotions and mood. Peak capricorn moon culture: “I didn’t really feel anything. I’ve stopped feeling things for a long time” - Mitski, The Fader Interview, 2017. In all seriousness, I hope my capricorn moons are doing good.

Virgo mercury: Mitski is practical and detail oriented when it comes to communication and matters of learning. She takes the time to choose the right words to convey her thoughts. She is clear and concise. Mercury is in its sign of rulership here. Her mercury in the 10th house suggests that she will be known for her communication style. Has a lot of thoughts but is also organized. Analytical. Mitski likes making lists. Loves to give advice. Mercury is in 16° (cancer degree) and she has a soft spoken voice. Talks about the past and her roots (cancerian themes).

Virgo venus: In love, Mitski will assume a caretaking role and will gladly help her partner finish mundane tasks and chores. A devoted and faithful lover. Love is about the mundane and routine details of life. Love is about service. Acts of service tend to be virgo venus’ main love language. She wants to help improve her partner’s life. She is patient and observant. Values love that is simple and authentic. Appreciates a partner with whom she can have intellectual conversations. May have a tendency to be too critical on herself when it comes to love. Venus rules aesthetics & style and she tends to have a modest fashion sense. Mitski has voiced her interest in astrology and how she has asked people she’s interested for their birth times lmao. Her venus is in the 11th house, she treats a lover like she would treat a friend. In fact, romantic love probably equates to platonic love in her book. She has her venus in 24° which is a pisces degree, which explains this natural interest in astrology.

Gemini mars: Could be impatient because she moves quickly. Efficient. Has a lot of goals and likes to keep busy. She thrives when she talks to others and exchanged ideas. Likes to multitask. Very versatile. Probably has a flirty, bubbly energy when she’s attracted to someone. Attracted to intellect. Desire to see things from multiple perspectives. Gemini rules the hands so she’s skilled with playing instruments and writing. Likes to try new things. Witty and humorous. Could have nervous energy or fidget often.

Leo jupiter: The planet of luck and expansion in Leo is a big indicator of fame. Her jupiter is also in the 9th house and in 7°. Jupiter in the 9th indicates being born in a different country from where you reside now. Mitski is biracial and has lived in multiple countries growing up. She loves to learn, particularly about other cultures and ways of life. She is open minded, philosophical and values freedom and being independent. She attracts good fortune when she travels (touring!) and also when she focuses on partnerships/intimate relationships (7°). Combining this energy, Mitski attracts luck when she acts dramatically, demonstrates/teaches her knowledge, expresses herself artistically, shows her warm hearted and sometimes stubborn side, & takes chances, shows her bravery, and takes the lead. Be the Cowboy is big leo energy 🤠

Capricorn saturn: Mitski is responsible, practical, goal-oriented, and cautious. With saturn in the 3rd house, she probably had to grow up quickly and become mature at a young age. Capricorn saturn people tend to be very successful people. Strong willed. Tendency to be quiet and is a good listener. Could also be outspoken. With saturn in 18° (virgo degree), she’s very hard working but she may need to learn how to take a break and let herself rest and recharge.

Capricorn uranus: This placement also indicates that she goes after her goals and is efficient and practical in achieving them. Uranus being in the 2nd house shows that she could make money from being unique and groundbreaking. 2nd house also rules the voice! Her values are unique and she could be resistant to change them. Her self esteem could be in a constant state of flux and be tied to money. Her income could rapidly change, like maybe she did not get paid much but then suddenly she starts making a lot of money. Uranus is in 5° which is a fame degree. She’s famous for being authentically herself and very much an individual in the industry that can’t be compared.

Capricorn neptune: Capricorn neptunes are most likely realists. She is skilled at going after her dreams. Her dreams are practical and connected to themes of wealth, power, and control. Neptune in 3rd house shows a dreamy, poetic way of communicating. A very creative placement. Dreamy vibes. Could be elusive in communication, open for interpretation. Neptune is in 11° so this gives aquarian energy. Idealistic with friends and always searching for ways to achieve her dreams.

Scorpio pluto: Her power lies in her ability to analayze human interactions and be introspective with herself since it’s in the 1st house. She is very self aware. Mitski understands that life is about going through changes and she welcomes the ability to grow and rebuild. She has intense, deep emotions but has control over them and how she expresses them. Pluto in 16° adds a cancerian energy. Her strength lies in her ability to nurture and be empathetic.

Scorpio rising: First impressions of Mitski can be that she’s mysterious and secretive. A powerful and intimidating presence. This explains to me why she loves dressing in black. She probably has a strong dislike for anything superficial. She likes to get to know people on a deeper level and connect with them. She likes honesty and is probably very perceptive and intuitive. Privacy is so important to her! She has a lot of layers and wants people to unpack them, but it may take her a while to open up. She is powerful and has endurance. Her presence leaves an impact on people. Loyalty and intimacy is important. She’s not afraid to talk about taboo topics or scary, heavier emotions. Passionate and even a tendency to get fixed on or obsessed with something or someone. Her rising is in 15° (gemini degree) so she’s clever, curious, and thinks quickly. a little more flexible than a regular Scorpio rising would be.

Leo midheaven: People might see her as dramatic or arrogant. In the public eye, she was meant to be a performer. At her concerts she’s known for putting on a good show & includes interpretive dance and choreography. She becomes herself more when she’s on stage. The stage is where she shines. Has a lot of pride connected to her career. Reputation for creatively expressing herself and being brave and taking risks. Wants to be admired, especially regarding her career. Her purpose is to become a leader. Mc in 22° (capricorn degree) shows that she is a very hard worker when it comes to her career. She won’t let anyone stop her when it comes to achievement and success in her field. Another indicator of being at the top of her career and being publicly recognized for it!

TLDR: Mitski is a natural born singer, performer and artist. She is unique, talented, and an introspective writer. Being earth and water dominant, she balances practicality & stability with sentimentality & raw emotion. With all of her Capricorn placements, she is grounded and doesn’t let fame get to her head. Her chart ruler is Scorpio pluto in the 1st which means that major transformations will be a big theme in her life, especially regarding herself & her identity. She is always reflecting and looking at herself on a deep level.

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theweasleysredhair · 3 years

Text

I Wanna Be Yours [G.W.]

Character: George Weasley

Word Count: 6025

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: Love is complicated. Especially when the boy you love likes someone else. Or does he? [Based on the film Some Kind of Wonderful].

WARNING: brief mentions of alcohol and drinking

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @firewhisky-kisses @obsessedwithrandomthings @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @potterverseimagine @slytherineheir @kpopgirlbtssvt @rexorangecouny @mytreec @hemmoporro @thisismysketchbook @acciotwinz @shadowsinger11 @aaannabbanana @lestersglitterglue @anyasthoughts @lxncelot @harrypotter289 @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @valwritesx @hufflrpuffforfred @cappsikle @kiwi-sloan @potter-redheads @pigwidgexn @twinkyjohnson @tinylumpiaa @locke-writes @user12345321 @wand3ringr0s3 @ickle-ronniekins @sehunasbitch @cryingforcrystalpepsi @kashishwrites @girl-next-door-writes @susceptible-but-siriusexual @crissdanvers @whizbangs-78 @heart-of-tempered-steel @oh-for-merlins-sake @heavenlymidnight @aylinw3asley @andineversawyoucoming | message or send an ask to be added/removed!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: i am again naming my fics after arctic monkeys’ songs - fun fact this one is named after my favourite one of theirs, i’m considering having it for my wedding song bc it cute af

also yes i watched some kind of wonderful whilst writing this and cried. it’s not even a sad fic, i’m just emotional smh

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

“Y/n! Wait up!”

You span round on your heels, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen, “I said I’m fine, Fred! Okay? I’m fine. Absolutely fabulous, in fact.”

Fred stopped in front of you, a shimmer of pity in his brown eyes that made you feel even worse than you already did, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I-I’m sorry-“

“I know. I know, Freddie,” you replied, your voice quiet as you pressed your lips together, reaching out to grab his hands in yours, “It’s okay. It is, really. I just... I need to be alone.”

“But I- I just... it’s his loss, just so you know!” He pleaded, shaking his head at you, and swore under his breath at the sight of one of his closest friends in tears over his brother, “Merlin, he shouldn’t have given that to her- I shouldn’t have said anything-“

And that’s where your problem had started. Because a few weeks ago, you were, as you claimed, fine. Well, you had a few essays due and were having trouble finding the textbooks to help you write them, but that was all really.

How you wished you could steal a time turner and go back in time.

And yes, when this all started you knew that George had his heart taken by someone else. It’s not his fault, not really, that his whole plan, scheme, escapade turned into something that would completely crush your heart.

Affairs of the heart. That’s where this started. Because before a few days ago, you were unaware of your own feelings. Before a few days ago, you were unaware of any feelings towards him at all.

But that fateful moment - the one where you were sat with George in front of the fireplace, a half-drank bottle of firewhisky sitting between you, laughing and joking - was the one that changed everything.

You hadn’t even realised yourself, until Fred pointed it out to you the morning after, when he’d found you curled up by George’s side, empty firewhisky bottle laying on the floor in front of the couch, George’s arm around your waist, your face buried into his chest.

In Fred’s defence, he thought you knew. He thought you’d be aware of your own feelings.

How was he supposed to know that you didn’t know you were in love with his twin?

_________~*~_________

“This is the year I reckon,” George announced to you as he collapsed onto the sofa beside you, throwing his legs over your thighs as he rested his back against the arm of the couch, his arms resting behind his neck, “She’s finally single, first time since second year. Now’s my chance!”

You popped a Bertie’s Every Flavour Bean into your mouth and closed the book you weren’t really paying attention to, before dropping it on the table in front of the couch, “And how long have you liked her again?”

George blinked at the way you raised an eyebrow at him and sat up a little, “Since I found out she was single again.” At your pointed look, he shot you a grin, “Nah, since before the summer. Point is, I reckon I could really like this girl.”

“Poor love, having you snivelling around her all the time. I wonder how she’ll cope,” you grinned back, throwing one of the jelly beans at his head.

“Well you seem to cope just fine,” he retorted, batting another jelly bean away from his head.

“That’s just because I’m desensitised to you by now.”

“Is that so?” George asked with a raised eyebrow, a grin etched onto his face as he sat up properly, leaning a little closer to you. You turned your head to face him, meeting his stare as you nodded, “Course, how else would I have put up with you so long?”

He leant further forward and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, “Willingly, because you love me, stupid.”

You nudged him, making him laugh as he went back to lying down comfortably, “Yeah, yeah.”

You watched a few first years clamber through the portrait hole, laughing to each other as they made their way through the common room, an absent-minded smile gracing your lips as you recalled being the same in your first year with your friends.

“How do you reckon I should ask her out?” George’s voice brought you away from your reminiscing as you looked over at him, “She deserves something amazing, something no other guy will have thought of for her.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing this would be the topic of conversation for the rest of the evening, but nevertheless gestured for him to continue on. “I wanna go all out if she’s gonna turn out to be everything I’ve ever wanted in a girl,” George finished, a dreamy, faraway look crossing his features.

Reaching into the box of jelly beans, you grabbed a handful and threw them at him, ignoring his indignant “hey!” as you replied pointedly, “Don’t go mistaking paradise for a pair of long legs.”

Because truthfully, that was why a lot of guys were interested in Kiara. She was smart - being a Ravenclaw and all - surprisingly funny, and, as far as you knew, was really kind too. Not that this mattered to many of the boys in your year (and the years above and below), apparently, because she was also beautiful, with long, glossy brown hair, perfect doll-like features and, yes, long, lean legs.

“That’s not why I like her,” George insisted, grabbing one of the jelly beans that had fallen onto his lap and throwing it back at you, laughing as it hit you on the forehead. You playfully glared at him, rubbing your forehead in mock-hurt.

“Sure it’s not, stupid,” you replied, using his minor insult from before. “Ohhh, I’m the stupid one now, am I?” He scoffed, though the smile on his face told you he wasn’t offended in the slightest, “Now you’re in for it.”

He moved his legs off you and poked your sides, knowing you were ticklish, making you laugh out and push him away, “George, stop!”

“Take it back then, love. Say I’m the smartest wizard you know,” he grinned, continuing his minor tickling assault, making you move away from him so abruptly that you fell off the couch and onto the carpeted floor, bringing him down on top of you.

“Ouch- never! You are stupid, stupid!” You laughed, laying on the floor as you tried to catch your breath, George’s hands either side of your head, holding his weight up above you.

Both of your laughter faded a little and you found yourself staring into his brown eyes, his face barely centimetres from your own. You could have almost sworn that he started moving closer - though maybe it was your imagination - before he rolled away and lay beside you on the floor, his hand brushing yours.

“You’ll help me right?” He asked after a moment. You turned your head to look at him, taking in his side profile as he stared up at the ceiling.

“I’ll help you what?”

“Get a date with her,” he said as if it were obvious, turning his head to meet your gaze. You shot him a smile, “You’re George Weasley. You could get a date with anyone you wanted.”

“Just not you, right?” He turned onto his side, resting on his elbow as he looked down at you. You shook your head with a laugh, “Yeah well, I don’t count. I’m not just anyone.”

The smile he gave you made your heart beat a little faster, “You’re right about that.”

***

“All I’m saying is, is it such a bad idea if you just, I don’t know, asked her out simply? By using words? I really don’t think you need to wax poetic, or write her a bloody song to ask her out,” you shook your head in despair at the nerve-wracked boy sat across from you in the Great Hall.

“I can’t just ask her out,” George replied in a horrified voice, “What if she thinks I’ve not put enough effort into it and rejects me?”

“Trust me, Georgie, if she’s going to reject you, it won’t be because of the way you asked her out, I can guarantee that. It’ll be because you’re annoying, or because you smell, or, and I can’t stress this enough, because of your below-average skills in potions,” you laughed at his unimpressed look, taking the opportunity to grab a slice of toast off his plate.

“You’re supposed to be my best friend, you know,” he grumbled, waving his fork at you. “Yes,” you replied, “And as your best friend, I say to just ask her out. Look, joking aside, you’re a great guy, George. She’d be lucky to have you.”

He nodded, smiling gratefully at you as he reached forward and grabbed your hand to give it a squeeze, “Okay, I’ll trust you on this one. I’ll just... ask her out. How difficult could it be?”

Turns out, extremely difficult. You felt second hand embarrassment as you watched George head over to the Ravenclaw table, to where Kiara was sitting, wincing as he nearly dropped a goblet of pumpkin juice over her.

“Who’re you watching?” A voice said from beside you, making you jump. Fred laughed as you rolled your eyes at him, before replying, “For your information, I’m watching your brother ask Kiara on a date.”

“Wait, he’s asking another girl on a date?” Fred frowned, his eyes darting from George, who was currently speaking to Kiara, his cheeks reddening as she touched his shoulder and laughed, to your confused expression as you looked up at the older twin. “Yes?” You replied, bemused, “Why?”

“Does it not... bother you?” He asked gently. You laughed, “Why would it?”

And as you watched Kiara throw her arms around George’s neck, his hands coming to hold her waist, you swallowed thickly, before shaking your head at the odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Why would it bother you?

You forced a smile onto your face as George made his way back to his original seat, a smug grin adorning his features. “Well?” You asked, rather redundantly as you had seen the whole thing yourself.

“She said yes,” he replied excitedly, picking up his fork and popping some bacon into his mouth. “I told you!” You grinned at him, though you pushed your own plate away, no longer hungry.

“Attaboy, Georgie!” Fred congratulated his twin, “When’s the date?”

“This Saturday, at The Three Broomsticks,” the younger twin replied. You zoned out of the chatter on the table about this newest revelation, feeling your heart plummet at George’s words, though you couldn’t place your finger on why.

George was your best friend, you should be happy for him... right?

***

Saturday arrived quicker than you wanted, after a week of tedious lessons, and a bombardment of questions over what George should do on his date.

You watched him pull out two different jumpers, holding each one up at a time and looking at you expectedly. Tilting your head to the side, you pointed to the red one, “Was always my favourite one.”

“Red it is,” he nodded, throwing the other jumper onto his bed as he held the red jumper out to you for you to hold. Without warning, he pulled the t shirt he was currently wearing off, leaving his toned torso on show as he dropped said t shirt onto the floor and held his hand out for the jumper.

You handed it to him, gulping a little as you forced yourself not to stare at his abs. It was no secret the George was good looking - you’d always known it - but knowing and seeing were two different things. Being a Beater had done tremendous things to his body, you noted.

“Do you reckon I should bring her flowers?” George asked you, looking at you through the reflection of his mirror as he messed his hair up a little.

“Couldn’t hurt,” you shrugged, sending him a half-hearted smile as you grabbed your wand, muttering ‘orchideous’ and handing him the bouquet that was produced.

He thanked you, before taking a deep breath, “Well, what do you reckon?”

The smile that spread across your face this time was genuine, a soft look in your eye as you replied, “You look great, Georgie. Now go get her!”

He shot you one last grin, pressing a kiss to your forehead, before heading out of his dorm, leaving you alone. You picked up the t shirt he’d dropped, folding it and placing it at the end of his bed, before grabbing the jumper he’d discarded.

You took a breath before deciding to put the jumper on, relishing in the smell of George’s aftershave as you pulled it over your head, before rolling up the sleeves and heading out of the dorm.

***

“How many dates has it been now, three? Four?” You asked, wrapping your coat further around yourself as you trudged through the thick snow of Hogsmeade, passing by a couple of cute shops.

“The Yule Ball will be the fifth.”

You froze at the mention of the Ball. Somehow you’d assumed you’d be going with George - you didn’t even think about the fact that he’d have a girlfriend he could take, “Oh! So you um, asked Kiara to the Ball then?”

“Last night,” George bit his lip as he smiled, “Can’t wait!”

Your stomach clenched and mind raced, eyebrows furrowing as you realised you now had just under a week and half to find a date to the Ball - if anyone was still available, that was. You thought about every single eligible boy you knew of, wondering if you had the courage to even ask any of them, before you were pulled from your thoughts by George’s voice.

“I wanna buy her something for Christmas, what do you reckon?” George asked, picking at a strand coming off his woollen hat before placing it back onto his head.

“I don’t really know the girl,” you said truthfully, forcing yourself to stop thinking about George and Kiara dancing and him holding her all night, “I assume you’d have better judgment.”

He nodded over to a small shop on your left, one that you’d passed by many times but never had the chance to look in.

“The jewellery shop?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him. He grabbed your hand and pulled you over to the door, “Let’s just have a look, yeah?”

The bell chimed as you stepped inside and you instantly became enamoured with the little shop, rows of glass cases showing off sparkly pieces of jewellery and adornments. Most, you noticed quickly, were much too expensive for you - and by default, much too expensive for George, too.

“Are you sure about something from in here?” You asked, staring down at a ring adorned with sapphires, “These are pretty pricey.”

“They might be, but she deserves it. Besides, gotta prove I’m better than all the guys that want to date her, right?” George replied from across the shop.

“Georgie,” you looked over at him with a pointed look, “I can promise you are better than all the other guys.”

“No harm in making sure.”

You gave up arguing, knowing he wouldn’t listen anyway, your eyes taking in the beautiful products, before your focus was taken by a rather stunning necklace. Stepping over to it for a closer look, you breathed out in shock at the price, but nevertheless knew you were in love with the chain, a little pendant surrounded by crystals displayed at the centre.

“What’ve you seen?” George spoke, suddenly standing behind you and leaning over your shoulder.

You pointed at the necklace, “Someday, I’m gonna buy that one.”

George glanced down at the look on your face and grinned to himself, “Someday, I’ll buy that one for you.” You turned to look at him, shaking your head in amusement, “You need to choose something for your girlfriend before you start promising me presents.”

“What’s the fun in that?” George laughed as you both left the shop.

You sat beside George on the couch later that night, resting your head on his shoulder as you shared a bottle of firewhisky between you.

“It was not!” You screeched, your laugh echoing through the empty common room as you nudged the ginger boy, making him laugh along with you. “It absolutely was,” he insisted, grinning before taking a sip of the firewhisky, taking in the sight of you looking so happy, and realising your laugh was one of his favourite sounds, “You were the one who wanted to sneak food from the kitchens, so it was your fault we got caught!”

You shook your head, “It was you tripping into that metal armour. All that noise when the bloody head fell off.”

“You pushed me, stupid!” George scolded indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a child.

“I shoved you,” you corrected, laughing as George playfully nudged you, causing you to nudge him back, and soon you were play fighting on the couch.

He, once again, was above you, almost pinning you to the couch as he looked down at you, and it was only then that you realised just how inebriated you both were, the empty firewhisky bottle having fallen onto the floor.

George’s tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, “You know I love you, right?”

You smiled softly up at him, arms around his neck as you nodded, somehow feeling like those words had more weight to them than usual. Leaning up to kiss his cheek, you replied, “Of course, Georgie.”

Morning arrived quickly, much to your dismay, and you were woken abruptly by the sound of heavy footsteps stomping down the stairs. You couldn’t bring yourself to move to see who it was, too comfortable with your head resting on George’s chest, his arm securely around your waist, but luckily for you, said culprit of the noise came right by your line of sight, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Well what do we have here?” Fred cooed, rocking back and forth as he looked at you curled up in his twin’s arms. “Me and George falling asleep after drinking maybe a tad too much?” You replied as if it were obvious.

“You look awfully cosy,” he grinned, “But then, I suppose I would too if I was cuddling someone I was in love with.”

You felt like your heart stopped and you nearly choked on air, “Wait wait wait, someone I what?!”

“‘Someone I was in love with’?” Fred repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes at you, “You do know... right?”

At your blank expression, Fred raised an eyebrow, “You do know you’re in love with George... right?”

“I’m not in love with-“ You paused as you thought back over the years of your friendship. You’d never really thought about it before - never really had to. But you treated George differently to any other friend you had. No one could make you laugh like he could, or make you feel as protected and safe as he did. And no one ever made you feel like you were flying, like he did.

“Oh Godric... I’m in love with George!” You whisper-shouted, a hand coming to cover your mouth as the realisation dawned on you.

Fred nodded, “I didn’t know that you didn’t know.”

“That’s why you asked me if it bothered me when he asked out Kiara, isn’t it?” You suddenly realised, gulping harshly.

Fred nodded again, though a tad more hesitantly than before, “Hey, but listen- I really think he feels the same, if it makes you feel any better! He just doesn’t know it either.”

You moved out of George’s grasp and stood up, pressing your lips together as you looked at Fred, “He’s got a girlfriend, who he’s taking to the Yule Ball and who he adores and they’re probably gonna get married and have kids and I’m going to be alone forever!”

“Hey, that’s not- that won’t happen,” Fred replied, his gaze softening as he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and stroking your back comfortingly.

“He loves you, I know it. And he knows it too. He just doesn’t know that he knows it.”

***

Ever since your realisation in the early morning, you’d tried your best to act normal around George. It wasn’t easy, and you felt that maybe you were being a little more distant than usual, however you quickly pushed that thought aside as you noticed George being equally - if not more - distant, sitting at the end of the table beside Fred, Kiara on his other side as he whispered things in her ear, making her laugh.

You felt a pang of hurt, one that got worse the longer you stared at them, watching as they kissed, as George stared at her lovingly, as he pushed her long, brown, stupidly perfect hair behind her ear and making her blush.

Sitting on the opposite side of the table, you made yourself look away, instead immersing yourself in the conversation Ron and Harry were having about the Yule Ball.

“This is mad, at this rate we’ll be the only ones in our year without dates!” Ron hissed at Harry as you were all sat in the Great Hall, supposedly studying. You hid a laugh as Snape walked past and pushed his head.

“Well, us and Neville,” he continued with a small laugh. Harry leant over to him, “Yeah but then again, he can take himself.”

“It might interest you to know that Neville has already got someone,” Hermione interrupted their laughing with a frown.

Ron sighed, catching your gaze as you laughed at him - which made him sigh again, “Now I’m really depressed.”

You observed from the other side of the table as Fred threw a piece of parchment over to his younger brother, winking at you when he noticed you watching, as Ron frowned at the words on the page.

Ron handed the parchment back, glancing around to avoid Snape and whispered, “Who are you going with then?”

Fred grabbed the parchment and crumpled it up into a ball, before throwing it at you, the paper bouncing off your shoulder. You looked down at the paper, before meeting Fred’s gaze with a raised eyebrow.

He grinned at you, before miming the Ball, nodding over at you. You rolled your eyes, glancing round for Snape before throwing the parchment back at him, hitting him square in the face and causing half the table to hid their faces as they laughed.

“Well?” He asked, seemingly unfazed by the parchment that was now resting at his feet.

“Yeah, go on then, I suppose,” you whispered, shaking your head at him as he winked at Ron. When all the attention went back to school work, you caught Fred’s gaze again and smiled thankfully.

He saluted playfully, making you laugh, neither one of you noticing George’s frown and clenched fists beside him.

***

You hadn’t seen much of George since Fred had asked you to the Ball, him being too busy spending practically all of his time with Kiara.

It hurt, you had to admit, that he was constantly choosing her over you. Though you assumed it was only natural, what with Kiara being his first proper girlfriend.

Didn’t mean it hurt any less. And the fact you were so used to having George to yourself didn’t help - sometimes turning to ask him something, and then realising he’s not there.

He’d moved seats in class to sit by Kiara, meaning in some classes you were sat with whoever happened to be her previous partner, which therefore meant you were forced to watch as the boy you loved flirted with another girl, his hands constantly on her waist, sneaking kisses when the professor wasn’t looking, and, more often than not, simply not even acknowledging your existence, not even saying a simple ‘hello’.

In other classes you were sat by Fred, who, by all accounts, was actually a pretty good partner, being able to make you laugh and distract you from the show that tore your heart every time you saw it.

In fact, Fred had pretty much mastered exactly how to make you laugh until you cried, his aim in most lessons now, as he hated how sad you were because of his twin.

You were both giggling in the back of the classroom at something he’d said when McGonagall had pointed it out, asking you both to “Please quieten down.”

You bit your lip to muffle your laughing as Fred looked down at you, just happy he could make his friend smile when he knew how much you were hurting.

Much to the dislike of a certain redhead towards the front of the room, who immediately frowned every time he heard your laugh, knowing he wasn’t the one causing it, but his older twin.

His twin who was taking you to the Yule Ball.

George clenched his jaw as he heard you whispering something to Fred, barely being able to focus on anything else.

He knew you and Fred were friends, but since when were you both that close?

***

By the time the Yule Ball arrived, you and George were barely speaking at all. You’d cried about it more times than you’d like to admit, but you had decided that tonight, at the Ball, you would make it a night to remember, not wanting to mope and ruin Fred’s night since he had asked you pretty much as a favour - despite the amount of times he’d insisted he wanted to ask you, you knew he fancied Angelina Johnson, and had things played out differently, you were sure she’d have been the one he’d thrown the parchment at in the hall that day, not you.

Either way, when you’d made your way down the steps to the Great Hall, your dress swirling around you, hair and makeup perfect, Fred made a huge deal of wolf-whistling and complimenting you.

“Well aren’t you bloody gorgeous,” he grinned, taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss the back of it, “I am one lucky guy.”

“You clean up pretty good too, Weasley,” you grinned, reaching up to straighten out his tie.

George scowled as he watched you with Fred, hating you being in such proximity to his brother, hands clenching and knuckles turning white as he watched Fred kiss the back of your hand. He had to force himself not to run over and shove Fred’s hands away from your waist, as he guided you off to the Hall. He was so distracted by firstly how stunning you looked, and secondly by how forward his brother was being, that he barely even noticed when Kiara had arrived by his side, until she nudged him a little and he forced out a smile.

He complimented the brunette girl, guiding her into the Hall as his hand reached into his pocket, brushing over a box to make sure it was still there.

Fred had been the perfect date all evening. He was a gentlemen - besides the occasional flirty comment - and insisted on staying by your side and dancing, even when you tried to usher him to ask Angelina to dance.

He was just about to give into your insistence with a laugh, when he noticed your expression changed as your attention was taken from him to whatever was going on behind him.

He cursed under his breath as he watched George hold out a small black box to Kiara, who had a huge smile on her face as she took the lid off. She pulled out a necklace, bringing George into a hug immediately, pressing kisses to his face.

Fred stood in front of your view of them, taking your hands in his, “Y/n... I’m sorry. He’s an idiot- he doesn’t know he’s got such a good thing, and wouldn’t know it if you punched him in the face - which, for the record, I think you should do.”

You wiped a stray tear from your eye, forcing yourself not to cry, “He gave her the necklace.”

“I know. I know, but he-“

“No Fred,” you interrupted gently, “He gave her the necklace. That necklace is one I saw when we were in Hogsmeade, and I said I wanted it. He-He even said he’d buy it for me one day! Not that I’d let him but- He bought it for her.”

Fred’s gaze softened, his heart breaking at the sight of your sad face, wrapping his arms around you and swaying a little to the music absent-mindedly.

“I’m sorry,” Fred whispered in your ear. You nodded, leaning against his shoulder, “Not your fault your brother is stupid.”

The song that was playing ended, and Fred grabbed your hand, leading you over to the table where the food and drinks were, pouring you a glass and offering it out to you. You took it gratefully, thanking him before taking a sip.

“Didn’t know you two were that close,” a voice came from behind you. A voice you knew well, one you could pick out anywhere. Fred reached out to squeeze your hand reassuringly, as you placed your glass down, nodding at him before turning around.

“Fred and I have always been good friends. I do have friends, other than you, you know. Which is a good job, considering you’ve been so distant with me,” you replied, focusing on keeping your voice level, rather than on the fact that he’d just given your necklace to his girlfriend.

George felt himself get angry as he noticed yours and Fred’s intertwined hands, swallowing harshly and shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“You know I’ve been trying to impress Kiara, being in a relationship takes up time. Not that you’d know, but I thought you’d understand. Didn’t think you’d replace me that quickly,” George retaliated in the midst of his anger, only being able to focus on you and Fred, and how close you were.

“Replaced you?” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “You barely even say hello to me! So yes, I turned to a friend so I wasn’t alone. You’re the one who replaced me! And you gave her the necklace, George. The necklace you knew I wanted. You gave it to her.”

Not waiting for a response, you shot an apologetic glance towards Fred before rushing out of the Hall, suddenly needing some fresh air.

“Look what you did now!” Fred almost growled, before storming out after you, in an attempt to find you.

George took a shaky breath, cursing as he watched the two most important people to him leave.

“George?” A soft voice spoke from beside him.

“Kiara?”

The brunette girl smiled, pressing her lips together as she looked at the ginger, “I um... I think we should break up.”

George frowned, though he was surprised to find he didn’t feel too badly about what she’d said.

The girl held out a black box and placed it into George’s hands, “This should be hers. It’s more her style than mine, I think you know that too.”

The redhead hesitated, unsure of what to say in this situation, “Look, Kiara, I’m sorry-“

“She likes you,” Kiara interrupted him, grinning despite the situation.

“She doesn’t-“

“She does. And you like her. Now go find her.”

With one last hug, and another muttered apology, he nodded determinedly at her, and ran off in the direction of his brother and, he realised now, the girl he truly loved.

***

“Y/n! Wait up!”

You span round on your heels, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen, “I said I’m fine, Fred! Okay? I’m fine. Absolutely fabulous, in fact.”

Fred stopped in front of you, a shimmer of pity in his brown eyes that made you feel even worse than you already did, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I-I’m sorry-“

“It’s okay, I promise. It was always bound to happen right? I was always destined to fall for him, whilst he fell for her. Even if you hadn’t said anything, I would’ve realised. I’m- I’m so stupid, aren’t I? Falling for my best friend,” you let out a broken sob.

“You’re not stupid.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and you swallowed back another sob as you turned around slowly, your eyes catching George’s gaze.

He stood, hair messy as if he’d raked his hands through it a few too many times, tie askew and shirt almost untucked in his haste to run and find you. He felt his heart clench, knowing he was the one to make you feel like this, and stepped forward reaching a hand out towards you as you blinked back tears, allowing him to bring you into his arms as you finally let the tears fall.

You knew you shouldn’t, that you should leave to your dorm, but being in George’s arms had always made you feel safe, made you feel protected.

More tears fell as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, muttering over and over again how sorry he was. How he was a fool, a git, a complete idiot.

You finally calmed down a little, looking around the empty hallway, not being sure exactly when Fred had disappeared but thankful for the privacy.

You wiped away the last of your tears, cursing mentally as you realise your makeup would be a mess - if the state of George’s shirt was anything to go by.

“Kiara told me you like- I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he breathed out, a hand cupping your cheek as you blinked up at him.

“Yeah well, you’re stupid. I always knew you were stupid,” you replied with a sad laugh.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked with a frown, his hands moving to hold your waist.

“You never asked. And then you-you got a girlfriend. What was I supposed to do?” You asked quietly.

“I’m in love with you,” George said suddenly, earnestly, genuinely as he held you against him.

“Not Kiara?”

He shook his head quickly, “She knew I liked you before I knew I liked you. Maybe I am stupid.”

“Maybe you are,” you let out a watery laugh, looking away from his gaze.

George suddenly reached into his pocket and brought out a familiar box, “This is yours. I don’t know what I was thinking, giving it to her. It’s yours - it’s always been yours.”

He opened the box, taking out the necklace you loved so much, and offering you a sheepish smile, “It’s not a good enough apology, I know. But I’m hoping it’s a start.”

He gently turned you around, placing the necklace around your neck, you shivering at the feel of his fingers brushing against your skin, before turning you back around to face him, this time much closer than before, his forehead resting against yours.

“So, and correct me if I’m wrong,” he spoke as he leant forward a little more, his lips almost touching yours, “Does this mean that I like you and you like me and we both don’t think of each other as friends?”

You nodded a little, offering him a soft smile, “I don’t want to be friends, George,” you whispered just as his lips brushed your own, “I wanna be yours.”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley

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growup-thatbeautiful · 2 years

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What do you think Zeffirelli would be like as a father?

Also, just want to say thank you for all the Zeffirelli content you blessed us with, I honestly thought I would find nothing on him after I watched the film, so having the abundance of quality content you made is absolutely amazing. Thank you! 💕

OMGGGGGG THIS MADE ME SO SOFT i just love him so much *cries* and you’re so welcome!!! i honestly don’t feel like it’s a blessing to anyone, but you’re words are appreciated so much <3333 fr, thank you

i just wanna start this off by saying that Zeffirelli would be understanding to his partner not wanting to have kids, wanting to adopt, wanting cats or plants, and anything in between. he would love you no matter what your choice about the future is (because yes, it’s a conversation between the two of you, but it’s ultimately your choice. he respects that. he doesn’t understand anyone who doesn’t respect that. period. moving on the the prompt)

now, assuming he did choose to have kids with you and you become parents:

he would be extremely nervous. he grew up in a supportive family, had lots to be thankful for and has loving parents around. that doesn’t, however, stop the worries that he has.

what if he’s not a good father? what if it turns out he doesn’t know what to do? so many what ifs running through his head that he sometimes needs a reminded of his own value.

you try the best way you know how

“mon amour, do you have any doubts about my common sense?” he would answer no very quickly, shaking his head almost violently.

“then trust yourself the way i trust you. i don’t know anyone who will be more loving, and supporting of our child. not mine, not yours. someone who’s wholly ours. someone we’re going to get into fights with and tell horrible jokes to and love unconditionally. you already do those things to me, i have no doubts you can do it to them to.”

you would decorate the kids room with soft colors and hanging plants. he would spend hours looking through poetry to find the perfect quotes to paint all around the room.

my personal favorites are “how lucky i am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard” and “i will love you if i never see you again and i will love you if i see you every tuesday.”

he would be so cute holding them for the first time. also, so scared of dropping them, but he would be a natural.

i think he would be such a great dad to a little girl. you would name her something poetic

some ideas i have are Jules like Juliet, Emily like Dickinson, Slyvie like Plath, Angel/Maya for Maya Angelou

he would love her so much y’all. he would have zero impulse control when it comes to her asking for things, and would encourage whatever she got into

sports, writing, school, theater. if she does it, he’s going to be there for her.

he learns how to paint nails on you and then makes it a whole thing with her. he would call it “going to the spa” and paint her nails all of the colors she wants

he shows her all of his favorite kids movies like sleeping beauty and peter pan and tells her adorable stories that you can’t help listening to them too

you actually start having whole story nights with pillow forts and soft blankets

you’ll lay on top of each other and try to make her laugh as hard as she can, calling her more and more ridiculous nicknames that you flick him on the nose and he does the same to you, earning giggles from her

shadow puppets. he would be so proud of the shadow puppets he learned. you would laugh almost as much as Little Girl. it would be so dreamy, evening light and the fairy lights he got for himself her

he wears matching clothes with his Little Girl. there’s this red jacket that he and her both have and the make you take pictures of them together.

you’ve never seen them smile so much.

he’s always there to kiss her scrapes better and dance with her on his toes in the kitchen, you eventually joining in, a happy tangled family mess

as she grows older, he and you get more scared of her drifting away, but that’s just how things are

she still comes to you when she’s hurt, he still tells her stories after breakups or bad grades

she has his poetry and shows them to you two sometimes when shes proud of them

you get to watch her grow up and get hurt, learn who she is and see how she always, always comes back for a second hug from her dad

those red jackets are dusty in the closet, but their pictures are hanging on the wall.

he gives her one of those pictures when she goes to college, a note tucked in the back that has the quotes from her bedroom

shit this is making me sad i’m gonna go think about the new S&B cast okay bye

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lothlaer · 3 years

Note

Proposal: Jaskier's got a fist clenched painfully hard one time when he's really really hurt and Yen has to force his palm open so she can tangle their fingers together and try to keep him from hurting his own hand. And they're both kind of like "oh" at some point idk 😳

Anon this apparently awakened something in me, so thank you for expanding on my post and giving me the inspo to write (checks notes) 1.7k. Hope you enjoy whatever this is!!!

Pre-yennskier, description of blood and injury, 100% hurt/comfort. Read on AO3

“Stop fucking moving,” Geralt hisses, pushing down hard on the hips beneath his hands to still the man’s squirming.

A choked off, muffled whine dies in Jaskier’s throat, his lips pursed tight enough to turn them pale and thin. He’s panting through his nose, clearly in agony, and too out of it to understand that moving will only make this worse.

Yennefer spares the witcher a glance, noting the anxiety and fear that’s obvious on his face, in the tension across his brow, the frantic not-focus of his eyes that flick between the bard’s half-delirious expression and the gaping wound at his side.

She’s done all she can to heal him, sealed up the torn and leaking insides that they all know would have killed him if they hadn’t been here – that still might kill him if they can’t stem the blood loss and prevent infection. She thinks of it like this; clinical, sensible, because she has to.

Jaskier’s heartbeat is quicker than it should be, his breathing equally fast, panicked and pained and shallow. She keeps her ear trained to its frantic rhythm, notices how Geralt’s heart thumps faster than normal too, almost human, almost matching hers. She’d laugh at the symmetry of it all, if it were funny. She’s sure Jaskier would write a poem, if he knew, but she won’t ever tell him.

He stills a little under the pressure of Geralt’s hands, though still struggles. He probably can’t help it by this point, too confused and the pain too intense to allow much rational thought. Geralt can’t work if he keeps kicking, shifting his hips to try to escape the discomfort.

“Yen,” Geralt growls, and she’d tell him off if she thought it would help.

She tells him off anyway, growling his name back as she presses her weight onto the bard’s chest, keeping him pinned. She watches his face, stares at the lines of tears down his temples, wrung out from his scrunched eyes.

The tight seam of Jaskier’s lips splits open, a deep groan and hitching sob forcing its way out as Geralt flushes the wound. He shifts again, and it’s only then that Yennefer notices his hands. The one nearest her grips at her skirt, tugging it towards himself, the other clenched tight enough at his side that the whites of his knuckles stand out even against his bloodless skin.

She reaches for it before she can think about it, dragging his hand over his chest, looking at the way he’s digging his nails into the meat of his palm.

Yennefer doesn’t say anything as she fits her thumb under his, prying it open like the hinge on a rusted box. There’s no treasure within as she does the same with his fingers, forcing them loose enough that his reflex to clench releases, each digit unfolding only to reveal deep indents in his skin like faint purple mouths.

She slips her fingers between his, taking the pressure into her own grip, resting their joined hands over his heart.

He blinks up at her, eyes wet with tears, then lifts his head to look down at himself.

“Don’t look,” Yennefer snaps, pointedly leaning forward to block the vivid red of Geralt’s hands from view.

She knocks her knuckles against his breastbone, drawing his attention back, and he focuses in on the press of their skin together.

She thinks that if he had enough blood left in his body to do so, Jaskier would be blushing. She feels heat rise in her own cheeks in sympathy. His lips part on an inappropriately dreamy sigh, and she realises she’s stroking her thumb back and forth over his clammy skin, then swiftly stops.

Yennefer checks his expression and discovers his eyes on her again, a long moment dragging on as she finds herself unable to look away, their faces closer than she realised and his short breaths puffing against her skin. She’s horribly aware of their entwined hands, the unpleasant sensation of drying blood and mud between them, the frantic heart mere centimetres away, trapped beneath only by fragile human flesh and bone.

Between another aborted cry of pain and a feeble attempt at another kick, Jaskier lets his head fall back to the ground, gaze swimming and dizzy as he stares up at the canopy of the trees above them, his grip tightening to the point of pain as the joints in Yennefer’s hand compress.

She loses track of time for a while, her knees and back aching from being folded over for so long, the quiet and sometimes unpleasant noises coming from Geralt working opposite her the only way to gauge how long they’ve been here, alongside the warbling beat that still echoes against her eardrums. It’s not like his usual music.

She looks back to his face after some time, catches his eyelids fluttering.

“None of that,” she scolds, loud enough to jerk him back into wakefulness.

She turns her head to look at the wound, relieved to find it closed with stitches, no longer sluggishly leaking blood down Jaskier’s side. He’s still covered in it, soaked into his shirt and the trousers covering his propped-up legs, even on the blanket they’ve thrown over him.

Geralt looks up and the relief is clear on his face; they’re not out of the woods yet, but it’s a step in the right direction. His eyes flick to Jaskier’s hand in hers, looking pointedly at where he’s still gripping her dress too, then walking away with a mutter about getting bandages.

Yennefer finds herself alarmingly embarrassed, and withdraws her hand.

Jaskier doesn’t complain, his fingers falling loose and curled where she leaves them.

Geralt returns quickly, begins packing the injury. Jaskier jerks again, then they begin the agonising process of winding bandages around his waist, having to manoeuvre him upright enough to pass them under his back.

By the end he’s even sweatier and paler than he was before. His noises of pain throughout have been quieter than Yennefer was expecting, the usual volume and raucousness of his voice muffled and contained. It’s simultaneously impressive and irritating – men, she thinks.

He groans long and low nonetheless as they shift him sideways onto a bedroll and prop another bag under his knees.

“It’s done, it’s over,” Yennefer finds herself saying quietly while Geralt resituates the blanket.

She wipes a tear away from Jaskier’s cheek with the backs of her fingers, and tries not to overthink the action in the seconds afterwards as his sobs subside.

He’s trembling, either from pain or shock or the cold, and Geralt wastes no time getting him water with some herbs mixed in. He drinks greedily, water spilling out around his mouth until the witcher urges him to slow.

Geralt lays him back down, calls his name softly until his wobbly attention wanders back to them.

“All better?” Jaskier murmurs after a moment, eyelids already half-mast.

Geralt lays a wet cloth over the bard’s forehead and holds his palm on it, steady and reassuring, long enough to lean over and catch Jaskier’s gaze.

“Good enough,” he says, beginning to wipe away the sweat and dirt from Jaskier’s face in gentle strokes.

“Bastard,” Jaskier mutters, eyes falling closed. He only settles for a moment before jerking awake, his eyes wide and alarmed. “Yen?”

He looks around blearily, waving an uncoordinated hand out – seeking her presence, Yennefer realises. She reaches for him, grasping his hand in hers. His gaze snaps to her, and softens.

“Okay?” he asks.

His skin is cool, his heart still racing.

“You’ll be pissing us off with your usual obnoxious poetics within a day, I imagine.”

He frowns at her and shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

“No,” he swallows dryly, “you okay?”

Yennefer opens her mouth, ready for a witty retort to manifest, but all that emerges is the escape of a surprised breath. She thinks of the way they’d been standing side by side when the attack had happened, the way the bard had fallen against her and brought her to her knees in the grass and mud, last autumn’s shed of rotting leaves compacting beneath her hands. The drip of red blending against the dirt. Her stomach twists, then releases.

“Rest, Jaskier.”

He still stares at her.

“I’m fine, you fool.” She squeezes his hand again, thinks of the indents on his palm. “Rest.”

He does, finally, slipping easily into something deeper than sleep. She knows she and Geralt will have their senses fixed on the pump of his blood for days yet, and that it’ll be a while before his body replenishes what he’s lost.

For now, the steadiness of his pulse and his breathing will have to be enough, even if they remain unnatural and fast.

Yennefer realises she’s been staring for a while when she notices Geralt bringing a bowl over, his hands and arms already washed clean of the mess from the past hour.

“Wonderful timing,” he says dryly, shaking the red-tinged water off his fingers with a couple of quick flicks.

“For what, witcher?” Yennefer says shortly, her nerves strung thin and dangerous.

Geralt snorts. Yennefer glares.

“For a realisation.” He smirks at her, smug.

“Fuck off,” she spits, not turning away quick enough to miss the way the man’s smile widens further.

She draws her hands away from Jaskier, his grip limp now, and washes her hands too, surprised to see the ripples on the surface from where she’s shaking. Geralt comes up behind her, his hand falling to her shoulder, and they both look down at the bard. The porcelain tinge of his skin is unnerving, his eyes bruised, and dirt and leaves still cling to his hair. But he’s alive, alive, and the knots in their chests release.

She thinks about leaving now her job’s done, the unpleasant warmth blooming somewhere in her gut making her want to run away, to flee from whatever the bard’s pain and gaze and hands have triggered in her, the feeling snapping sharp like a wire under her skin.

Geralt squeezes her shoulder.

“Stay with him.”

Yennefer feels the words rumble through her, less than an order but more than a suggestion. Her heart leans into it, giving way so carelessly to harmonise with the rhythm of his.

She stays.

#yennskier #jaskier x yennefer #yennefer x jaskier #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfic #hurt!jaskier #geralt is here too lol but i think he's just their Bro #loth txt #my fic #anonymous #ask #i'm gay i like hands ok

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acemapleeh · 2 years

Note

Do you have any headcanons about the ancients? I loveeeee ur fics btw !

Thank you very much! <3

I'm unfortunately not very well versed in ancient history but I have a few ideas for the tiny handful I have some knowledge about. Celtic history is also a mess that I'm still trying to get a firm grasp on.

Britannia is interesting because realistically, she didn't actually exist as she was simply Rome's perception of the island at the time (too many things were). For fiction's sake... I want her to exist. I like her being a sort of mother figure to both England and Wales, historically accurate or otherwise.

Caledonia and Hibernia are other entities I want personally to have been around to represent some of the Ancient Celts. You look too hard and then have to get into the Gauls and the Picts and Scotia and really, I'm not versed enough to write in full detail.

In short without me spending hours reading articles or worrying about historical accuracy:

Britannia

actually feral and will hunt you for sport if you get on her bad side

likes trinkets but keeps them more to herself and tucked away

is extremely petty and will hold grudges for actual centuries (Britannia will remember that); she prefers to do what she wants and is headstrong to no end; this in turn made her feel distant from the people around her

is very in touch with the woods and animals that reside on her land and gives them the utmost respect, especially when hunting

beautiful singing voice, it’s said to this day you can still hear her singing in the wind and falling rain

her people sometimes referred to her as the Goddess Danu who represented aspects of regeneration, wisdom, death, and prosperity; others saw her as the Morrígan, the Irish goddess of death, destiny, and battle- she would sometimes specially be seen as Badb as legend says her battle cries resembled those of a banshee, inspiring chaos and terror

Caledonia

keeper of stories and will the be the one at the fire telling them; is incredibly poetic in his words and a gifted weaver of tales; this skill does not cross into practical conversation

perhaps in another life he would have been happier being a simple craftsman or even a bard

can easily find him resting under trees working with his hands, just making this and that; does this helmet or quiver need intricate spirals and artwork? no? too bad he’s been working on it for hours

incredibly loyal to his word and the things he cares deeply for; he would rather lose his head than to give up who he is

mask of being collected, strong as the earth, and shoulders his world’s worries to ease those around him

would be accidentally thought to be Lugh, the Celtic god of justice, oath keeping, and nobility, who was known for his skills in craftsmanship and battle

Hibernia

prefers the company of spirits and animals over people

always seems to have this dreamy, far away look in his eyes

needless to say, he was often depicted as being “weak” or “useless” and only a young man with a pretty face but that is far from the truth; he was just as skilled a warrior as his kin and was able to hold his ground

thoughtful, contemplative, and in tune with the natural and spirit world

extremely private- a mysterious, hooded figure lurking in the woods; a lot of his people feared him for his abilities and just how close he seemed to be with the fae

referred sometimes as the God of forests, beasts, and wilderness, Cernunnos. More often seen as The Dadga, god of magic, wisdom, prophecy, music, and regeneration: legend says Hibernia inherited his own versions of The Dadga’s harp, cauldron, and club and gifted them to three of his “descendants”

#hws ancients #hws britannia #hws caledonia #hws hibernia #historical hetalia #dumb little headcanons

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Death and an Angel part 3

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an unexpected heart-to-heart about what it means to be Death and a Cupid on route to a planet where Din’s potential soulmate lives.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,500

Warnings: Pining, smidge of angst, more plot development, Razor Crest (RIP I miss you darling!), a made-up home world for the reader (yes, yes, there’s like a million I could have picked but my brain said NOPE)

Author Note: Ahhhh, the comments are so amazing from you all! Thank you everyone out there sparing time to check out my little universe, it makes me sooo happy you have no idea! As always, I hope you enjoy this new segment as I try to plot this story out and get these two idiots to acknowledge there just might be something between them.

Also special thanks to @codenamewitcher for including the first two parts on Weekly Fanfic Recs. Be sure to go check out the list for a whole bunch of fantastic stories!

Links to Part 1, Part 2 and Part 4

Photo Inspiration: (What I imagine is beneath the armor in this scene...*dreamy sigh*)

There is a distinct silence that can only be found in hyperspace when the stars outside resemble sparkling streaks of silver tinsel and your breath is trapped within your lungs as you’re awestruck by the sheer beauty of it all. You experience this silence aboard the Razor Crest, sitting in the cockpit behind Din as he pilots his beloved gunship. It isn’t the first time you’ve been a passenger, having traveled with Din on two previous ventures where your Cupid services were required on planets far away from your home on Umbriel.

Off-world assignments for you were generally rare since your bosses were more inclined to choose Cupids of higher ranking to handle those clients, but sometimes you were the only available option left. Which, come to think of it, is exactly how you became the one roped into meeting with Death every full moon. Your bosses decided someone needed to check up on him to make sure he wasn’t reaping anyone before their fated time and thus messing with the natural order of things. You privately have reached the conclusion it was a decision made during a fit of paranoia as you had yet to find any evidence suggesting Din ever broke a single one of the universe’s rules, let alone even considered the mere possibility.

When you did travel for assignments, you never stopped feeling like a goldfish being dumped out of your familiar little bowl and into a massive ocean full of strange oddities. You would often find yourself wasting time trying to successfully navigate the unknown world when you should have been focused on tracking down your client’s soulmate.

That’s why Din had offered to start traveling with you. Actually, in his own words it was because, “You think about love so much you don’t see trouble until it’s an inch in front of you. Someone’s got to be there to look after you.”

You’d tried to argue, told him you had never experienced trouble and that if you did then you could handle it with your bow. All Cupid’s were required to master archery for self-defense purposes, though Din’s responding snort of derision made you suspect he wasn’t convinced of your skills. You wondered if he thought, just as humans incorrectly did, a Cupid only used their bow to spread love and lust. Or maybe he just thought you weren’t capable of such finesse. It was an insulting assumption, fueling you with the burning desire to prove him wrong. One day, you keep telling yourself, a repetitive chant. One day you’ll show him just how capable you are with your weapon and you imagine his look of shock, whether worn openly on his face or hidden beneath the visor of his helmet, will be utterly priceless.

But in the meantime, you’re in no hurry to encounter trouble. Finding enjoyment in taking these trips with him on his ship instead.

The Razor Crest had actually been a complete surprise to you when Din first welcomed you on it; primarily because the notion of him using such a primitive form of transportation despite the powers he possessed as Death was too outrageous to wrap your head around. However, it took less than ten minutes soaring through space for you to discover just how many details of the universe you were missing by relying on your Cupid abilities to teleport yourself between locations. Never would you have imagined Death to be the one to teach you to love the slowness of travel, to let your eyes linger on all the beautiful wonders along the way. But that’s exactly what happened.

You turn your head away from the window to look at Din. From your angle, all you glimpse is the back of his helmet, reflecting the passing starlight. Soon you’ll be introducing Din to the first immortal on your list of potential soulmates.

Death, you quickly correct yourself. He’s only Din when he’s around you.

You initially thought he elected to wear his armor because you told him he could to ease his comfort, but now you think it’s because this is him meeting his potential soulmate as himself. It is easy to forget sometimes this is the image of Death—a warrior enshrouded in beskar, cunning and ruthless—that is recognized throughout the universe. And feared.

If the handsome face he concealed was known instead, you wonder if mortals would readily choose to embrace the ending of their lifetime, rather than foolishly seek to run from its inevitability.

“What is it?” Din’s baritone voice startles you as it shatters the quietness. The modulator within his helmet gives his tone a low raspiness that never fails to send a chill down your spine when you hear it.

“Huh?” You respond ineloquently.

“You’ve been staring at the back of my head for the last five minutes, angel. I figured you had something worth saying.”

“Oh, no. I was just thinking about you.”

Immediately you wish a meteor would collide with the ship, providing you with the necessary distraction to escape and find somewhere you can hide until the end of time.

“...What about me were you thinking?” Din wonders after a solid thirty seconds of pure silence, voice somehow conveying an equally blended mixture of intrigue and wariness. He flips on the ship’s autopilot and turns in his seat to pin you with his gaze, apparently unwilling to let you try and weasel yourself out of the conversation.

You roll the question around in your mind, wanting to give an answer that satisfies him without it also embarrassing yourself further.

“I was thinking how much of an enigma you are,” you murmur at last, leaning back in the chair with your arms crossing over your stomach. “You wield such incredible powers and yet you choose to wear a human face, to call this man-made ship your home and to also spend your spare time living amongst those you will eventually reap. Why are these your choices?”

He tilts his head, and you just know there is a little crease of bewilderment appearing between his eyebrows right now even if you can’t see it. For as much as he is a puzzle you can’t put together, he is also at times an open book that you will never tire of reading.

“I would think you, more than most beings, would understand the discomfort that stems from loneliness and the lengths one will go to ease it,” he says, not unkindly. He mirrors your position, maneuvering himself until he’s comfortable in his seat and totally oblivious to the dilating of your pupils as you observe every subtle shift of his armor-clad body. “Isn’t that the true purpose of Cupids? To spare individuals the ache of living a life of solitude by introducing them to someone to love so they no longer feel it.”

“That’s a poetic way of putting it,” you answer, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “My superiors would just quote our mantra back at me when I used to ask. Amor vincit omnia.”

“Love conquers all.”

You shouldn’t be surprised he’s able to translate such an ancient and obscure language, but your eyes widen regardless. “That’s right.”

His voice is unusually soft when he asks, “Do you like being a Cupid?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by how easily he’s changed the topic of the conversation from himself to you. You’re used to taking orders and being thanked for your services, but no one has ever asked you if you liked doing any of it.

“I’m good at it,” you finally say, even though it’s not really an answer.

He nods his head still, as if he understands. A part of you thinks he actually does.

You lick your lips, eyeing him hesitantly. “Do you...like being Death?”

“I’m good at it,” he echoes, but your words sound somber coming from his lips.

The cockpit fills with hushed silence again, but there’s a unique tenderness unlike ever before. Minutes seem to stretch on for entire seasons as you watch one another, content to simply coexist and revel in each other’s presences.

It would be so easy to slip off his helmet and kiss him right now.

You stiffen, stunned at your own thought, but you aren’t given the chance to analyze it further as an alarm on the ship’s control panel announces with a resounding beep you’ve reached your destination.

Din spins in his seat, reclaiming control of the steering to begin the ship’s landing process. You look out the front window at the large green-blue planet drawing nearer with every anxious tick of your heartbeat.

“We’re here,” you say needlessly, forcing excitement into your voice. Fake it till you make it, isn’t that the human expression?

“Who is it we’re meeting on this backwater skug hole?” Din asks, pressing a series of buttons above his head.

You kick the back of his seat. “Be nice,” you scold when he shoots you a look. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath as he turns back around, prompting you to roll your eyes. “She’s a goddess of springtime and motherhood. The locals call her Omera.”

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