#The Five Year Plan

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Synopsis: When your fiancé breaks up with you, you start to question your timeline; who needs a man when you can have a baby yourself? Who better to ask for help on creating one than your arch-nemesis Kyle Garrick?

Note: F!Reader, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: none; besides a terrible grasp of british-isms

Chapter One: Piss off Kyle

It was while sitting beneath the awning of your favorite bistro that you’d come to a great realization. Hugo Montclair, your fiance of three years, was not just a bore but a bit of a jackass. 

Also, the lavender cake was no longer listed on Le Misa’s menu. So, technically two great realizations. As bad as it sounded, one concerned you more than the other.

Squinting you give the laminated sheet another thorough read to confirm your suspicions and… ah, yes. It’s not there. Where it should be between the ladies fingers and the lemon cake is an empty, discolored space. 

With a manicured finger you chip away at the corners to reveal the sloping letter ‘L’ beneath the meticulously placed correction tape. 

This was no good.

“Siggy, darling have you heard a word I said?”

You hum in reply, still deeply baffled with the current conundrum. Hugo calls your name again, not satisfied until you’ve given him your attention. 

He leans his head down to be in your line of sight. He’s a bit too blonde and polished for you not to focus your attention on. Like a shiny beacon. You try not to sigh deeply and instead plaster on a smile. 

“Yes, I heard you darling, you want to break up because you’re seeing Maddie from downstairs.”

Hugo extends his dainty manicured hands across the small table to cover yours above the menu. 

“I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you this way.”

His eyes are carefully soft and his expression does that awkward stretch people do when attempting to project a facsimile of contriteness. In this case it just makes the skin around his mouth pucker oddly, displacing the filler he swears he gets for preventive measures.

You pat his hand politely with a smile “It’s fine, Hugo, really. Do you think I can borrow your menu? I think there's been a bit of a mistake.”

You are sliding the paper to your side of the table before you can finish the sentence. Hugo is a bit taken aback and blanches.

Another sweeping glance at Hugo’s menu reveals much of the same. 

There’s no lavender cake.

“Look, I know this is hard to take in but I want us to try to at least be amicable. We’ve been together for years and your parents and friends adore me.”

At this you snort but quickly cover it with a cough. Your parents tolerated him at best and your friends had made it well known they disapproved of Hugo. (Something about being a posh chihuahua enamored with its own self importance.)

You frown thinking of the dramatics his mother would put on inevitably, so sure you’d ruined the engagement to her son on purpose. 

But really what could you do? 

It wasn’t the most convenient thing to have your boss's beloved son kick you to the metaphorical curb, but technically you were the one who had been cheated on. Totally not your fault this time!

“I said I got it, you can’t help who you love and etcetera.” You give a cluck of your tongue before looking up once more hoping to catch the circling barista's eye. 

The mid afternoon lunch crowd at Le Misa’s is blessedly tame for a Thursday. The gloomy weather outside makes it easier to spot the jittery teen in a crimson red apron. The poor girl is glued to a corner, hunched over and clutching a notepad in white knuckle grip. 

She sees you shift in her periphery and snaps terrified eyes to your half raised arm. You do your best to smile sans teeth as you wave her over, coaxing her closer with small fluid movements. 

You hope you’re projecting calming vibes because she looks a bit green around the gills from the very thought of being needed by a customer. 

When she’s meters from your table you lean forward, your tits and belly squash a bit over the table causing your empty saucer to clatter before settling. Hugo, despite his offended chittering, stops long enough to stare at your chest. With a roll of your eyes you ignore his open panting. Typical.

“Hi darling,” you chirp in an octave higher than your usual. “I just had a quick question about the cakes? There used to be a lavender one here, I’ve been ordering it for years. Can you tell me what happened to it?”

“Um w-well.” The trembling girl blinks are twitchy and rapid, sputtering out um’s and oh’s.

‘Oh, no’ you think to yourself. 

You might have broken her. Still, you nod your head in support waiting for her to gather her wits. The poor thing was obviously a new employ with a bitch of a case of social anxiety.

Your efforts are for nothing in the end because a loud clearing throat causes you both to freeze, just as it’s seem she’d gotten up her courage.

Your cheek ticks as you watch the skittish girl clam up again. Hugo’s gaze has pried off your cleavage long enough to laser something disapproving and pointed at the side of your forehead. 

He’s even doing that thing with his face that you’ve always hated. His cheeks suck in like a goldfish and he does the eyebrow raise and head cock that screams ‘I am very displeased.’

“What? I just need to ask her something. I'll be just a sec.”

Hugo’s frown only deepens and he lets out the most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard from a thirty two year old man.

It causes you to roll your eyes. Really, why couldn’t he just break up with you through text? This whole kerfuffle was starting to drag on and ruin your already limited lunch hour.

What happened to just saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me?’ or ghosting like a normal person? 

You give the hovering teenager a tight smile and lift a single manicured finger to signify the need for a moment. She scurries back into the safety of the French doors into the cafe's interior before your hand has a chance to lower.

“Hugo darling,” Your tone is careful, neutral like the one you use to disarm your irate clients. 

“I’m really not upset I promise, we’d barely begun planning the wedding and we never got around to moving in with each other. Really there’s no harm-”

“She's pregnant.” he blurts out suddenly. 

A record scratches in your brain because, “What?”

Hugo grimaces. “She’s about three months pregnant. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

One blink. Two… before you’re sure there wasn’t a punchline coming. 

“Are you taking the piss right now?”

“Sweetheart,” His hands raise in defense “don’t get upset-”

“Oh what the actual FUCK Hugo? You told me you wanted to wait until marriage before considering children!” Your hiss is low and dark. 

More than a small part of you is satisfied with his flinch back to avoid your venom. You're slightly aware of the scene you’re causing but really! The man had kept his sperm under lock and key like his swimmers were precious jewels!

It’s the one thing he’d put his foot down about, content to let you drive the relationship otherwise.

‘I have to be considerate of my legacy as a Montclair, Siggy.’

‘We can talk about it after the wedding, Siggy.’ 

You didn’t understand the hang up because the Montclair clan were as distant from the crown as you were to Beyoncé! Still he’d been adamant about not having a child out of wedlock. 

You’re not very kind about reminding him of the fact either.

“I did mean that, I swear,” he ruffles his coiffed blonde hair, the pomade holding firm but is no match for the havoc his slender fingers trail. “It just happened and Madelyn and I decided it was a good thing.”

He huffs “I mean let’s be realistic Siggy, she’s different from you. She’s a bit more equipped to take care of a child than you are.”

Oh ho! Now that was rich. You were chomping at the bit to hear how the barely legal heiress was better equipped to birth a baby than you were!

“How so!” Your tone is one translating the utmost disbelief and sarcasm. 

Hugo waves a hand in the air, it’s so dismissive and you consider punching him in the nose for it. “She’s just much more flexible.” 

Well ouch?

There’s a Rolodex of adjectives your litany of exes used to describe you before they dumped you. 

Uptight, strict, aloof, intense. ‘Heartless harpy who feeds on the souls of innocent men’. 

The last one came from a starving poet who’d been freeloading on your nice suede green couch before you'd kicked him and his lute out. How you managed to find the one man in London with dreams of being a modern day bard, who knows.

(You did admire his ways with words and his tongue was capable of art). It had admittedly stung a bit more than the others and you needed an extra hen session with the girls to unpack the resulting feels. 

Nonetheless, you’ve never been called inflexible. 

Matter of fact, you were pretty fucking flexible! Your Pilates teacher had crowed about it several times during class, thank you very much.  (Maybe he was just trying to get you to put out but still, a compliment was a compliment.)

Momentarily you consider if that was actually supposed to be a dig at your weight but Hugo frantically rambles on as if reading your mind. 

“I just mean that you work long hours at Mum’s firm and you’ve told me yourself you wouldn’t stop working even if you were pregnant.”

“So what!”

“So, that’s an awful way to raise a child Siggy! Madelyn works for herself and has the time to dedicate to a baby that you don’t.”

“Of course she has the time!” you cry out in exasperation, ignoring Hugo’s shushing. If he wanted you to react better he shouldn’t have dropped this bomb in public!

“She teaches yoga to the elderly in her perfect fucking apartment! I’ve been a barrister for all of 2 seconds and I can’t just give up my position!”

Hugo rolls his eyes with the dramatic flare only an aristocrat could pull off. “I’ve been trying to work on our relationship for months; you’ve blown me off every time saying you were working or there was a crisis with your friends.”

“I thought proposing would change things but…” The sad look does make some guilt well up into your veins. 

Hugo’s shoulder drop and his blue eyes are a bit misty. It makes your throat close with panic. Hugo was prone to sobbing and you really needed to intercept that train before it derailed.

“Hugo-”

“It doesn’t even feel like you like me sometimes!” He’s hiccuping and throwing his hands in the air in exasperation before you know it. 

Oh for fucks sake!

“It’s like you view me as more of a convenience than a partner. I’ve only ever seen you truly happy over coupons or work or cakes!”

Fat tears roll down his face and you’re handing him your linen napkin with a sigh. He thanks you and blows his nose loudly enough for other tables to glance your way. Wonderful.

When he composes himself you try to refute him.

“Hugo, that's not true, I like you,” His gives you a look of complete disbelief that sets you on the defense. “Really I do! I just…”

Your brows furrow as words evade you. You really wish he would have just broken up with you via text.

“I show it differently that’s all.” Your shoulders sag in defeat.

Hugo gives you a sad smile. It’s watery and his face is still a bit splotchy.

“But not like Madelyn does. Be honest, did you ever love me?”

You feel like an absolute bitch because you can’t answer him. After a while you both accept that it was about as much as you could say.

It’s only when you’re halfway to the office that you realize you never did get an answer about the cake.

Kyle Garrick had a radar for when you were about to make a fool of yourself. The man had somehow been privy to every embarrassing moment you’ve had in your shared building. You couldn’t prove it, but he had to have some kind of sixth sense for your personal humiliation. 

There was no other explanation because the entire six years you’d lived across from him, he was always conveniently near when shit went awry.

Like that time you locked yourself out wearing only a ratty towel when reaching for a parcel. His stupidly pretty face only twitched in amusement seeing you hunched over and dripping wet. 

You’d been attempting to jimmy the cheap lock with a stray paper clip you found discarded nearby. It hadn’t gone well, as you’d been more focused on trying to keep your tits and thighs within the thin, cotton fabric.

(They really should make towels for bigger girls more accessible, honestly it was ridiculous!)

It hadn’t been your finest moment but he could have had the decency to look away. Instead, he leaned his broad shoulder against his doorway, content to watch you struggle. 

You’d snapped at him asking what his problem was and his only reply was ‘nippy in here, isn’t it?’ 

He did eventually help you break into your flat, but only after you’d called him as many names as you could think of. He’d waited out your tantrum without as much of a twitch. He’d simply taken the paper clip from you and sank to the floor in front of the doorknob.

His big hands were surprisingly much more dexterous than yours. You’d never admit to the lump in your throat or the shudder starting at your toes while staring at the long brown digits.

It didn’t help that his whiskey colored eyes bore into yours with an unspoken question when you made a panicked sound. The side of his head had grazed your breasts and the back of the hand holding your towel when he shifted on his knees. The light touch was clearly accidental, but still molten lava shot through you like a rocket on fire.

Intrusive thoughts of him kneeling before you in another context caused you to choke on your saliva. You tried so hard to clear your throat subtly but an embarrassing wheezing sound still managed to escape. Add insult to injury, the infuriating man had to pat your back when your body wracked with coughs.

You weren’t proud that you told him to fuck right off when he finally got the door open. You ignored his sarcastic ‘You’re welcome, luv” and slammed the door in his smug face. 

That was nearly two years ago and the start of your vendetta against the irritating neighbor.

Per usual, he finds you just outside your doorway causing a scene. This time, you’re being clung to by your now ex-fiancés mistress.

Madelyn’s wails are loud, keening things that are razor sharp against your eardrums. Her tearful pleading is loud enough for you to miss the ding of the elevator as it stops on your floor. 

Kyle strides from the lift like a living bronzed Adonis. 

With gritted teeth you curse every deity known to mankind.

Wonderful. Truly, amazing actually!

He’s clearly coming back from a run, His arms are comically large and gleaming with a thin layer of sweat on his brown skin. You’re able to make out the intricate tattooed shield containing the numbers ‘141’ on his bicep. It’s the first you’d seen of it (not that you were keeping an eye out for it before). 

His sleeveless jumper is damp and half zipped to show off a view of his firm pectorals and the first row of his 6-pack. You’re about to peek lower to his loose gym shorts when he catches your stray perusal and raises a singular brow.

“Everything alright, love?”

“Just peachy, Kyle, thank you.” you snipe in a clipped tone. “Please feel free to run along.”

Your snarky dismissal is prickly enough that most people would call you a cunt but would blessedly sod off. 

The disgustingly fit nuisance just removes his headphones from around the cartilage of his ears and continues to linger just outside his door with crossed arms. Behind Madelyn’s trembling back you make a harried shoo-ing gesture. It’s meant to somehow relay that you had everything under control. 

You did not of course, but the last thing you could stand right now is Kyle fucking Garrick in the mix of this shit-show. No matter how angelic the bastard looked in the dim lighting of the hallway, he had an uncanny ability to piss on all of your emotional reserves. 

“Siggy!” Madelyn’s blubbering cuts off Kyle's next words. “I’m so, SO sorry!” She immediately descends into another fit of sobs against your cleavage. 

There’s a bit of an awkward lull when Kyle snorts out a laugh.“You think she can breathe in there?”

With closed eyes you lean your head back to look at the ceiling, shooting a ‘fuck you very much’ to the universe. 

You’d come home 20 minutes prior with murderous miasma cloaking you like a second skin. After being publicly dumped (without even the comfort of sweets to soothe the humiliation) you’d gone straight back to work just to deal with piles upon piles of paperwork. 

Your only reprieve was Hugo’s mother canceling her standing appointment with you. You’d still been forced to work with the old woman’s assistant and to your disdain, he was just as persnickety as his employer.

By the time you’d made it home on aching feet and a splitting headache your thoughts were filled with the desire to stuff yourself with a big fat American cheeseburger. Specifically one from the shady shop around the corner that you suspect may be a mafia front. They made damn good cheeseburgers though. 

Your mind had then of course wondered to the possibility of being caught up in a police raid and if ‘wanting to support local business’ be a good enough excuse to get you off the hook.

It’s how you missed the pint sized ambush lying in wait for you.

Madelyn had been planted outside your door in electric pink spandex and light up sneakers. She’d spotted you coming out of the lift and attached herself onto you before you could make a proper run for it.

Since then you’d been stuck holding her instead of the greasy end of a heart attack masquerading as a sandwich. Fat tears continue to wet the collar of the fleece outer coat you’d nabbed at a bargain sale.

“How long has she been like this?” Kyle asks with a raised brow.

Ignoring him, you do your best to wrestle Madelyn’s stiff form back enough to meet her eyes. 

The younger girl’s face is red and splotchy, snot and mascara darkened tears stain her usually fair skin. Her mousy brown hair could use a wash as well but you aren’t unkind enough to point it out. Even though she did shag your husband to be, it was clear the girl was torturing herself with guilt.

It is a bit unfair that the smudged makeup does nothing to detract from her beauty, much to your petty disdain. 

She’d make gorgeous babies with Hugo…

The thought makes you scowl. It was time to make a retreat.

“Madelyn, I’d really like to get into my flat. I don’t want to speak to you to be honest and I need you to let me go.”

More helpless wailing comes out of the younger woman.

“P-Please Siggy, I just need you to know I never meant for this to happen! Hugo and I tried to keep away from each other and I don't want you to hate me or the b-baby!” By the end she’s blubbering herself into hyperventilation. 

From the corner of your eyes you can make out the door of your neighbor adjacent to you crack open. Whipping your neck to get a look at the nosy pissant gets the older woman to slam the door closed with a fearful squeak. 

This had gone on too long.

Forcibly you use your hip and extra weight to maneuver the hysterical woman from your person. You hold her flailing arms to prevent her from launching herself back to your front. When she whines you’ve finally reached your breaking point.

“For fucks sake, you’re making a bloody scene!” You bark out, “I don’t care about Hugo!”

Madelyn flinches.

“But you care that we’re having a baby, right?”

It’s only when Madelyn lets out a whine of pain that you notice you’d been holding her thin wrists in a vice-like grip.

A forgotten Kyle chooses that moment to slink closer, his hands cup Madelyn’s shoulder carefully, despite your death glare.

“Maddy, darling, why don’t you let go for me.”

The brunette woman startles having finally noticed his presence in the vicinity. 

“Oh, Kyle! I didn’t know you were here!” It’s insulting how quickly she wriggles from your hold to catapult herself into Kyle’s waiting arms. 

With disgust you watch Kyle pat the shorter woman’s hair much like one would do a pet. Something about watching him with her makes your hackles rise farther.

“Why don’t you come in and calm down, hm? I’ll make you that tea you like and we can watch something.” Kyle makes a humming noise meant to soothe. It pisses you off but seems to work like a charm.

Madelyn’s sniffles subside dramatically and she rubs her hand across her button nose.

“Yes, that does sound lovely, but I need to talk to Siggy...”

You flinch as the two turn towards you once more. Kyle must see the cornered look in your eyes because he rubs his hands along Madelyn’s shoulders and whispers something in her ear. 

Madelyn nods and enters Kyle’s flat without any further hesitation.

It’s like the nearly thirty minutes of being held hostage outside your own home means nothing against his soft words.

God, you hate this man with every fiber of your being.

With a scowl you rummage through your bag for your house keys. Why did you have so many gum wrappers inside? You really need to clean your bag out. 

It’s not until you hear a throat clear that you realize Kyle still watches you from the threshold of his home.

“What?” Your tone makes a muscle in his cheek twitch. You hate to say it but it satisfies you to know at least you have some effect on him.

“Are you alright, love?” 

That causes you to abandon your search. You squint at his open expression and the genuine concern you see there. It’s unexpected and makes you a bit uncomfortable. How pathetic did you look that even your enemies pity you?

“I’m fine. Not like you actually care anyways.”

The last part was said in a mumble but Kyle’s sharp ears catch it. 

“Oy, what is that supposed to mean?” He steps closer to you crowding your space. 

Your senses are bombarded by the heady scent of the bergamot and cedar wood notes in his cologne. Coupled with the tangy smell of his natural musk, your brain does that thing where it shuts off and reboots itself.

“Siggy.” Kyle reaches out to touch your arm sending an electric current between you two that causes you to jolt back. He frowns, stepping closer, crowding you before you wield your bag in front of you like a shield and sword. 

“Garrick, I really, really don’t want to talk right now.” 

“Sig-”

“No, no, no! I don’t want to hear it! I’ve had a shite day and the cause of it is currently waiting for tea and cakes in your flat! I’m the one that deserves bloody tea and cakes for fucks sake!”

Enraged, you shove your hand through your bag and come in contact with the puff ball attached to your keys. 

You’re frantically unlocking your door and shoving inside your home, refusing to give the universe another moment to make a mess of your ruined day.

You look at Kyle as he stands in utter confusion and give him the dirtiest look in your arsenal. 

“Cheers, I hope you enjoy your sweets with Madelyn but you can piss right off, Kyle!” 

You slam the door with finality.

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[bandcampsnoop]

7/21/23.

The Five Year Plan were a Bristol, England band whose members went onto bands like Heavenly, The Beatnik Filmstars among others. It's always interesting to listen to the pre-bands of indie semi-gods. Rob Pursey (Heavenly, Swansea Sound) and Tim Rippington (The Beatnik Filmstars, The Charlie Tipper Rebellion) founded the band as teens. It's the classic story of learning to play instruments together and finding a sound.

The band wrote and recorded "1985" but it never released. A couple of years ago they reformed and "properly" re-recorded the album, but added no new sounds. We posted their 2014 compilation CD release "Peacetime Broadcast" back in 2016. A lot of the comparisons remain - The June Brides, Orange Juice, Monochrome Set. This has a decided C86 sound.

[bruthadave]

[viarayy01-blog]

happy 1 year of me posting!!! i had hoped to draw more for today but i’m still very busy so for now i hope this will suffice!! thanks for 1 awesome year of hanging out on here 🎉🎉🎉

psst… here’s some extra doodles i’ve saved up over the month….

[spitblaze]

If you’re gonna care about prison abolition and justice you are necessarily going to have to care about the people who DID do those crimes and just want to reintegrate and live a normal life without hurting anyone. You're gonna have to be cool with the fact that the guy scanning your groceries might’ve raped someone. You're gonna have to relax about the possibility that your bank teller used to be a career criminal. The person sitting next to you on the bus might’ve committed three different murders, and as long as he's not about to commit a fourth right now, that's not your fuckin' problem. People don't disappear from society after they commit crimes, and most of them really just want to live a normal, stable life instead of going back to that. And the best way to make sure they don't relapse is to ensure they're able to live that peaceful life instead of freaking out because the guy next door used to run a dogfighting ring. You don’t have to be friends with them, you don't even have to like them, but you're gonna need to be okay with them existing in society. Sorry.

[chucktaylorupset]

I think there's something to be said for fanfiction that loves canon in a way that’s rude. Like thank you for this wonderful thematic tragedy made out of this character’s entire arc ending in death, it was emotionally and intellectually moving, but also fuck you fuck you fuck you they live, this time and every time they live, they never died, their flaws are not their undoing, actually they have no flaws, actually they save everyone, actually who cares about a story, any story, where this one dies, actually i cared about that story so much i made a new one, actually i cared so much i unmade the old one, you gave me morals and i left them for the mortal, but they’re mine now and i will never let them die, actually thank you, actually fuck you, strongly worded letter to follow

A kiss for canon and spit in its face all at once, it’s great

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles as Soldier Boy THE BOYS (2022) | 3.05 – “Glorious Five Year Plan”

[demigods-posts]

me personally. i wouldn't have gone after all the olympians at once. you're biting off more than you can chew here. all you would need to do is take each olympian out one by one. and then convince demigods that once enough people stop believing in a diety, that diety ceases to exist. which is not a lie. and you could use the death of pan to back yourself up. sure, you'd be in it for the long haul. but chess isn't meant to be a quick game.

[skeletoninthemelonland]

a glimpse of what their early dynamic looks like

[eudociacovert]

WAIT WAIT WAIT so if Lucy is the one writing the books does that mean the several NDAs Lockwood & Co have signed over the course of the series have expired or something, or did she write an illegal tell-all?? I feel like it's the second???

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Note: F!Reader, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: nothing other than a terrible grasp of british-isms

Chapter Four (1/2): There's a Conspiracy Afoot

You are not late to work. You were simply… avoiding calamity.

Calamity in the form of an idiot blond ex and the knee hugger of a woman clinging to him outside your apartment building on a Monday morning.

You're glaring from behind the hedges where you'd darted upon seeing the couple canoodling hand in hand. The degree of happiness they emit is a great assault to one's senses. It would bring a smile to your face if a grand piano were to rain from the sky in cartoon-ish flare, right on-top of their disgusting display.

At the very least you'd love nothing more than to march right over and wallop them with your very cute (albeit dreadfully painful) heels.

But alas, you can't. The doorman stands sentry out front playing candy crush on his brick of a phone. You're already on thin ice with him for that big misunderstanding regarding the amount of packages you have delivered. Especially after that time you impulsively redecorated your living room all at once.

(It's what you get for following that monochrome minimalism trend knowing your fickle nature and propensity for color. And clutter.)

You’re chewing the gloss off your bottom lip when a dark form enshrouds your view between the gaps of the hedges. Your face drops into a flat expression as you take in the combat boots and wide stance of the bane of your existence.

With a guttural groan you straighten and roll your shoulders back with all the dignity you can muster under the circumstance. Kyle raises a brow, his features are obscured by the aviator glasses perched on his nose, but you know there's a teasing look in his eye. You scowl.

“Garrick," you lift your chin with an aggrieved exhale, "lovely to see you again as always.”

Per usual Kyle's smile is open and too bright for the early hours.

"Good morning Siggy, I'll ignore the sarcasm as usual.. but should I ask?"

Your eyes dart from him to the couple who'd finally stopped merging faces to slowly walk down the path to the building. 

You bend your knees and scooch to duck a bit more behind the overgrown greenery with a curse. When Kyle turns his head to look behind him you clear your throat loudly in panic, reclaiming his attention.

"Hm, ask what exactly?" you hope your smile is convincing but you do feel your eye twitch a bit when Madelyn’s high pitched voice sounds out. Kyle of course notices and smirks in a way you hate. 

The man was always so determined to be an irritant, such a shame.

“Why are you hiding behind a bush from Maddie?”

You squint your eyes and laugh in (faux) shock at his accusation. 

“Garrick, do not besmirch my good name in such a way, I hide from no one.” 

He scoffs and shifts his weight from one side to the other.  You want to call him conceited for taking off his glasses so you can properly take in his look of disbelief, but you are properly distracted. 

His brown eyes are very… well brown. 

Also almond shaped with lashes a man should have no business having. He chooses to squint them to give you a flat look that does nothing to dampen the obvious mirth. He reaches over to pluck a leaf from your hair and dodges your flapping hands with ease.

“Then what are you doing behind a bush instead of heading to work?”

That gets your hackles raised in defense, you did not have time for his judgmental tone or his Nosy Nancy proclivities! Especially with calamity on the horizon and less than a sneeze away.

“Garrick, I am continuously concerned about your knowledge of my schedule,” you wag a finger in his direction in reproach, he doesn’t bother to look at it. “Besides, I’m just… admiring the quality of this gorgeous plant- oh, Bollocks!”

You crouch so suddenly that your knees vehemently protest with a humiliating crack. You’re willing to ignore the pain in order to not be seen by a skipping Madelyn as she hops ahead of Hugo towards your hiding spot.

For the love of all things holy and baked, you couldn’t deal with either of them right now. No matter how much you long to pummel them, the stakes were higher with Kyle lounging about to witness. 

“Oh, Hi Kyle!” 

You’re muttering curses under your breath and pleading with a curious Kyle with your eyes. It is by some act of goodwill on Garrick’s part that he turns to face a jovial Madelyn who comes to a stop before him. He slides to the left to further hide you behind his solid form and you have half a mind to kiss him. 

(The other half of your brain of course calls you an imbecile but you choose to ignore such negativity.)

“Oh, you’re in your uniform, I’m glad I caught you before you left!” Madelyn says in a chipper voice. 

Frowning you realize you hadn’t taken in Kyle’s dark khakis and the windbreaker stamped with British Special Services on the sleeve. If you crane your neck further you can see the duffel bag at his side but you’re scared you’ll topple over in your heels and oust yourself. 

“Hi Maddie,” Kyle says politely, “Yeah I was just headed out. Stopped to take in this nice… bush.”

You make a note to kick him in the shin for his clear teasing when this is all over. It disgusts you that Maddie ooh’s and aw’s in genuine fascination.

“Yes, it is a nice hedge isn’t it? I’ve always thought so myself! Actually, I was just telling Hugo about how lovely the greenery daddy put down for the property was. Oh! Speaking of, Hugo darling!”

It takes all of your control not to reach out and strangle the bushels of pathetic plants in front of you in abject rage as you hear Hugo stride near.

Your knees are starting to burn painfully from the effort of kneeling for so long. You shift your weight, attempting to alleviate some of the strain but you freeze when your forehead jostles the bush slightly. 

Kyle gives you a look in his periphery and you take the moment to widen your eyes in what you hope translates: ‘Get rid of them now, PLEASE!’ He makes no sign of understanding frantic telepathy though, as he turns to greet the approaching Frenchmen. 

“Poppet, this is Kyle, the one I told you about! He’s Siggy’s neighbor and has the best assortment of tea in the building!” 

Nastily you wonder how many cups of tea the tart has had with her neighbors to make such a declaration.

Hugo hums and you watch Kyle outstretch his hand for a handshake. You know Hugo has given him one of his limp, disinterested wags by the way Kyle’s arm flops back to his side and the corner of his eyes tighten. 

“So you’re neighbors with Siggy?” Your stomach drops at Hugo’s tone and you watch Kyle stiffen imperceptibly, “That’s… unexpected. I’m sorry, I give you my well wishes.”

Now what the bloody hell did that mean?!

You’re summoning hellfire from your veins and about to totter up on creaky knees that were sure to be dust by now, to hurl an insult when Kyle’s clipped tone stops you.

“Didn’t ask for your apologies, mate.”

You’ve never heard sickeningly playful Kyle so obviously peeved before. You watch him cock his head in what you can only call an arrogant sneer that makes your traitorous core flutter.

“Who are you and what’s your relationship with Siggy that you’re giving out well wishes?”

You can practically see the lies rolling about in Hugo’s empty head when he sputters out some nonsensical tale about knowing you in passing and being friends that enrages you. Before you or Kyle knows it you’re popping up from your hiding spot and pushing Kyle aside. 

At least you attempt to but the man is as solid as a brick wall and doesn’t stumble for a moment under the pressure of your insistent hands.

(He does eventually give you the dignity of scooching over a smidge to allow you to stand at his left, which you suppose is generous of him.)

At the sight of you Madelyn lets out an unbecoming squeak and clutches at a stricken Hugo. You place your hands on your wide hips and enjoy the terror your very presence strikes in the two half wits before you. 

“Siggy? Have you been there the whole time?” Madelyn hides behind Hugo’s arm at your sneer. 

“No Madelyn, I just spirited here on my broom upon hearing lies!” 

Madelyn’s lip quivers as she hides her smaller form completely behind Hugo who finally gets his senses back.

“What were you doing behind the bush?” He is brave enough to pretend he isn’t struggling to meet your eyes, “And why aren’t you at work?” 

“Never mind that!” You give him your nastiest glare. “What were you saying just now, hm? You were explaining who we are to each other. Go on then!”

Hugo opens his mouth as if to speak but you cut him off and answer your own question. 

“Hugo here was my fiance,“ turning to Kyle you look him in his eye with a plastered smile stretching your lips. “at least he was as of three days ago before he let me know he and Madelyn here are expecting a bouncing bundle of joy!”

Kyle’s brow furrows as he looks from you and the now inflamed face of Hugo. 

“That’s really messed up-” he doesn’t have a chance to finish when Madelyn lets out a massive sob that cuts him off. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry Siggy! I ruined everything!” Madelyn clamps a hand over her mouth as fat tears befall her doe eyes. You open your mouth to tell her where to shove her apology but before you can she’s running off at speeds that may even rival Usain Bolt’s best timing.

Hugo shoots you a look of pure derision.

“Wonderful, look what you’ve done Siggy, very mature of you as always.”

You roll your eyes so hard you make yourself a bit dizzy. “Oh fuck off! You’re a lying, cheating, weasel and I don’t care if she cries. She deserves it!”

Hugo steps forward like he wants to challenge you but thinks better of it when Kyle shifts to stand in front of you. 

“Think you’ve done enough, mate. You should go check on your… Maddie.”

Hugo’s cheek twitches a bit but he has the sense to only shoot you another put out look and follow the wails into the building.  

“Well that was unpleasant.” With a huff you straighten your back avoiding Kyle’s heated gaze.

“Ha, friends! As if I would ever befriend someone so unbelievably-”

Kyle cuts you off with a hand on your shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me the other night?”

With a glare you shrug off the offending limb and level him with a warning look.

“Because it wasn’t and still isn’t your business, Garrick, because we are also not friends. I’ve never come to you about my relationship woes and I’m not going to start now!”

Kyle doesn’t seem to like that at all. 

He presses forward and you’re scrambling backwards which only corners you against the hedge. He scrutinizes you for something in your expression, brown orbs flitting between your irises and across the bridge of your nose.

Your mouth parts in a small gasp when his stare trails to your lips, the soft swoosh of air brings his relentless focus back to your eyes. A safe place for his attention to be, you think. You don’t like the stirring in your loins that his attention fosters.

“We are friends.” he says finally after a silent beat. 

You sneer at him, opening your mouth to say something caustic about his comprehension skills but it dies in your throat at the steely look he spears you with. You’ve never seen the look before from him. It’s one of that relays he will not allow you to broach objections to his statement. 

You close your mouth with an audible click of your teeth.

“We are friends and I would have never comforted Madelyn had I known she did something to hurt you. Especially something like that.”

Your heart doesn’t know whether it wants to clamber up your throat to hurl itself out of your mouth to its death or just stop completely in your chest. Kyle’s expression is open and soft as you search for signs of a lie in his face. Finding none, your breathing is a bit waspish and your tear ducts are doing this odd itchy thing that confuses you.

It’s peculiar to you that your sworn enemy would choose to protect your feelings in such a way in comparison to maintaining niceties with another. It’s something that’s never happened to you before even with those you love.

You don’t want to examine why that makes you feel so utterly lonely and confused.

“Um, yes…” you clear your throat and avoid looking at him “thanks for that I suppose.” 

He gives you one of his bright smiles that he passes out like candy. “No need for thanks Siggy. That’s what friends are for.” 

You ignore him and hike your purse farther up your arm. “Yes well, I’m officially in line to be sacked if I don’t make it to work in the next ten minutes, so I have to go.”

Kyle shifts his duffel bag from one hand to the other to look at the watch on his wrist before letting out a considering hum. “I’m just headed in for drills and some paperwork, I’ll give you a lift.” 

That causes you to jerk back. First of all, you didn’t even know he had a car and secondly, you’re not sure if you can handle being in close quarters with him for any amount of time. 

“I don’t-” Kyle waves off the beginning of your protest and slips an arm between one of yours. “Really love, it’s fine. You’ll never make it if you take the train now.”

He’s right of course, but still. 

“Garrick, really it’s fine. I can call a car and pop over to the station, there’s really no need.”

He’s nodding his head listening and thwarting your excuses all the while shepherding you to the carport attached to the building. He stops in front of the sleekest and cleanest car you’ve ever seen and you can’t help but squawk.

“Sweet blueberries! This isn’t your car is it?”

He shoots you a nettlesome look as he makes a show of clicking the locks on the door. You give him an unimpressed look up and down in return. 

“A bit showy for a man of your career don’t you think?”

Kyle lets out a bark of laughter. “I’m not a priest Siggy, I’m allowed to have my toys too you know.” 

Your lips are pursed, not allowing yourself to snark that you both have a different definition of ‘toys’.

With the practiced grace of someone far too obsessed with the optics of being a lady, you slide into the car's interior as Kyle holds open the door. 

You think you hear him mumble a something flippant about having the Queen of England in his presence but he closes the door behind you before you can question it. He stops at the boot of the car to place his duffel bag before sliding into the driver’s seat. 

Bergamot and the citrusy scent of his after shave fills the space and your eyes flutter shut.

“Okay?”

You snap your eyes open and give him a scratchy ‘yes, lovely’ that you hope is convincing. 

During the drive you’re careful about keeping your gaze out the car's windscreen or the tinted window on your side as Kyle drives. You do happen to take a peek from behind lowered lashes at the way he handles the wheel with one hand. He’s steady and efficient in maneuvering in and out of London’s morning traffic. 

When he catches you peeking at him he shoots you a grin that you roll your eyes to. 

The exterior of your office building is foreboding and it takes a bit of effort not to groan seeing your boss’s parking spot occupied by her vehicle. Kyle raises a brow in concern as he stops at the curb in front of the lobby. 

“Well thank you for the ride Garrick. I need to make my grand entrance now and hope for the best.”

“It’s not a problem.” He looks like he wants to say something further and you give him a look to continue with your hand on the door.

“If you ever need another ride you can just knock on my door when I’m in-”

“Nope!” you cut him off and prop open the door in a hurry.

Turning you squat slightly to look at his narrowed eyes. “Thanks for the offer but one time is enough. Have fun doing… whatever it is you do, Garrick. Good day!”

You don’t wait for a reply and close the door, obscuring his disgustingly heart stopping look of confusion. Sweet blueberries the man would not trick you into lowering your guards!

Without a glance back you make quick strides into your 8 hour prison. The pair of security guards out front give you a knowing look that you stick your tongue at. No time for judgment; you had a high risk mission to complete. 

Carefully you stomp-sneak up the stairwell closest to the office you share with your co-worker Estelle.

Estelle’s bespectacled gaze widens at the sight of you standing outside the threshold, separated only by the glass door. She’s mouthing something frantically to you and jerking your head in a way that makes you concerned that she’s coming down with something. 

“Stellie darling," you say as you open the door "why do you look like you’re having a spasm? What’s-”

Your body flinches back violently at the sight of your boss perusing your assortment of figurines on your shelf with her hands clasped around her back. 

Oh bloody hell!

Estelle gives you a ‘I tried to warn you’ look with her face that you actively ignore. Always the professional bullshitter you plaster on a wide smile, inching towards your desk to drop your purse atop it.

“Good morning, Mrs. Montclair! I don’t think we have a meeting scheduled today, so to what do I owe the ple-”

“You’re late.” She turns to you with a thinly raised brow. You want to sink into your So Kate shoes at the withering look but you steel your back.

“Uh yes ma’am, I had a bit of trouble with getting to the train station-”

She looks startled. “Was there another Piccadilly situation?”

You share a look with Estelle.

It was no secret Aimee Montclair had developed a phobia of terrorism after the Piccadilly attacks a few years prior. Any mere mention of possible organized violence sent her in a tizzy of anxiety. 

Estelle shakes her head at you but eventually the dark skinned woman rolls her eyes, knowing exactly what unsavory thing you’re about to do. 

You furrow your brow and look at your feet, mustering up a tremor in your voice.

“No thank goodness! There was just a bit of a fray this morning, it was so frightening! Ever since those awful attacks I’ve been wrought with worry and I completely lost track of time looking for alternate transportation.”

Aimee nods her head in understanding.

Her weathered hands fuss with the chain on her neck in anxiety, as you assume she’s in the midst of working herself up. After a moment her artic blue eyes snap to you and she lets out a huff. 

“Yes well, don’t make tardiness a habit.” She looks from you to Estelle as she strides to the door past you, “Set aside time with me before lunch to discuss… well you know. Also, send the Morrigan contract to my assistant, I expect it within the hour.”

Without waiting for a reply she leaves in a whirlwind of silks and coiffed gray hair. 

Estelle throws the top of her pen at you. “You are such a dirty liar you know that right?”

You give her a sarcastic curtsy and make your way to your desk. 

“I do what I must to get results, Stellie. Besides, pause your judgment. I have to tell you about the circus of a morning I’ve had.” 

Estelle mumbles something under her breath about being chaotic evil but concedes. 

When you recount your tales of horror and the unexpected save by the awful man that is your neighbor she gasps.

“He said you were friends?”

You frown. “That’s not important, refocus please! Let’s discuss the Hugo situation.” 

She sucks her teeth and huffs, turning back to the game of solitaire hidden behind her open emails. “Let’s wait until lunch to discuss it with the girls.”

That perks you up. This was indeed a moment perfect for a little hen session over treats at Le Misa’s. “Good thinking Estelle, I’ll reserve a table and you text the hens. They’re going to want to hear this.”

A/N Had to split this chapter in half because as you can see it's very long lmao. Working on editing the second portion and hopefully it'll be out by tomorrow. (Don't quote me on that I have classes and am but a frantic pterodactyl.)

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[blueskittlesart]

i get that people’s first reaction for the religious thing is often negative—being raised irish catholic i experience the same knee-jerk reaction—but that’s because we as adults are approaching the ideology from an adult perspective. we have our own associations with both religion as a concept in general, as well as the social phenomena around religion (and for this post specifically we’re talking about christianity more than anything else). kids don’t have that experience, and so while it might feel really uncomfortable to an adult listening to them speak with such a casual incorporation of it into their worldview, they truly wouldn’t see why that could be. and it’s only when it they’re older and it becomes the only point of perspective or logic for them that it’s truly a problem

EXACTLY. if you don't have a lot of experience with very young children it may be hard to conceptualize, but especially preschool-aged children are still learning LITERALLY EVERYTHING. like, I said the word "collision" when two of my kids ran into each other the other day and then had to have a like 10 minute conversation about what that word means and why I said it. Everything in the world is a new experience for them, including morality, storytelling, and social interaction. there's a specific, scientifically documented developmental stage (usually between ages 2.5-3) where they learn for the first time that they can lie. before that stage, they genuinely don't understand the concept that something can be fake, and it often takes even longer for them to understand that other people, especially adults, can lie to THEM, too. everything in their world is true unless proven otherwise, which can be a scary way for adults to hear religious concepts addressed, since among adults that kind of rhetoric very often goes hand in hand with radical beliefs or conspiracy thought. but for a child, it's just an age-appropriate way to conceptualize religion.

children of that age are also very self-centered in their thinking and largely assume that their lived experience is the same as everyone else's, and that anything outside their own little world doesn't exist. we almost all assumed as kids that our teachers lived at school. I once had a kid with lesbian parents ask me where my 'other mom' was. children I babysit for will very often be upset that I don't inherently know where things are in their house, because to them it's the most obvious thing in the world. they're still developing empathy and the ability to think from someone else's perspective doesn't exist yet. again, irt religion, when that kind of sentiment is expressed by an adult it's usually a supremacist or evangelical who believes that all other religions are inherently evil and their religion is inherently good, but that's not what it means when a kid expresses self-centered thought about their religion. it just means that they haven't yet learned that other people view the world differently.

[pixlokita]

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[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.

[vergeltvng]

YOUR FAVORITE TYPE OF ANTIHERO. Handsome, lots of swearing, violent, full of rage.

⸻ A STUDY IN: Revenge served cold, grief, moral corruption, ruthlessness, suffering for sanity, becoming what one once sought to destroy, doing whatever it takes and being a motherfucker 24/7.

【 . . . 】 Fuck "letting go." You should be out there with a fucking chainsaw, going after 'em.

— ⁰¹ 「rules.」 — ⁰² 「about.」 — ⁰³ 「starter.」 — ⁰⁴ 「inbox.」 — ⁰⁵ 「writings.」 — ⁰⁶ 「edits.」 — ⁰⁷ 「gifs.」 — ⁰⁸ 「credit.」

#VERGELTVNG, a singlemuse blog for BILLY BUTCHER from the Amazon Series THE BOYS, as V'd up by 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. Crossover-, multiverse-, multiship- and duplicate friendly. OCs welcome. Low activity, semi-selective, german preferred. English is fine for short interactions. Mdni, 18+ only.

[hoid-probably]

HE WAS SO READY TO JUST GET DRUNK BREAKFAST AT THE RITZ!!

AZIRAPHE GET BACK HERE.