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invisibleicewands · 11 months ago

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Michael Sheen: Prince Andrew, Port Talbot and why I quit Hollywood

When Michael Sheen had an idea for a dystopian TV series based in his home town of Port Talbot, in which riots erupt when the steel works close, he had no idea said works would actually close — a month before the show came to air. “Devastating,” he says, simply, of last month’s decision by Tata Steel to shut the plant’s two blast furnaces and put 2,800 jobs at risk.

“Those furnaces are part of our psyche,” he says. “When the Queen died we talked about how psychologically massive it was for the country because people couldn’t imagine life without her. The steel works are like that for Port Talbot.”

Sheen’s show — The Way — was never meant to be this serious. The BBC1 three-parter is directed by Sheen, was written by James Graham and has the montage king Adam Curtis on board as an executive producer. The plot revolves around a family who, when the steel works are closed by foreign investors, galvanise the town into a revolt that leads to the Welsh border being shut. Polemical, yes, but it has a lightness of touch. “A mix of sitcom and war film,” Sheen says, beaming.

But that was then. Now it has become the most febrile TV show since, well, Mr Bates vs the Post Office. “We wanted to get this out quickly,” Sheen says. With heavy surveillance, police clamping down on protesters and nods to Westminster abandoning parts of the country, the series could be thought of as a tad political. “The concern was if it was too close to an election the BBC would get nervous.”

I meet Sheen in London, where he is ensconced in the National Theatre rehearsing for his forthcoming starring role in Nye, a “fantasia” play based on the life of the NHS founder, Labour’s Aneurin “Nye” Bevan. He is dressed down, with stubble and messy hair, and is a terrific raconteur, with a lot to discuss. As well as The Way and Nye, this year the actor will also transform himself into Prince Andrew for a BBC adaptation of the Emily Maitlis Newsnight interview.

Sheen has played a rum bunch, from David Frost to Tony Blair and Chris Tarrant. And we will get to Bevan and Andrew, but first Wales, where Sheen, 55, was born in 1969 and, after a stint in Los Angeles, returned to a few years ago. He has settled outside Port Talbot with his partner, Anna Lundberg, a 30-year-old actress, and their two children. Sheen’s parents still live in the area, so the move was partly for family, but mostly to be a figurehead. The actor has been investing in local arts, charities and more, putting his money where his mouth is to such an extent that there is a mural of his face up on Forge Road.

“It’s home,” Sheen says, shrugging, when I ask why he abandoned his A-list life for southwest Wales. “I feel a deep connection to it.” The seed was sown in 2011 when he played Jesus in Port Talbot in an epic three-day staging of the Passion, starring many locals who were struggling with job cuts and the rising cost of living in their town. “Once you become aware of difficulties in the area you come from you don’t have to do anything,” he says, with a wry smile. “You can live somewhere else, visit family at Christmas and turn a blind eye to injustice. It doesn’t make you a bad person, but I’d seen something I couldn’t unsee. I had to apply myself, and I might not have the impact I’d like, but the one thing that I can say is that I’m doing stuff. I know I am — I’m paying for it!”

The Way is his latest idea to boost the area. The show, which was shot in Port Talbot last year, employed residents in front of and behind the camera. The extras in a scene in which fictional steel workers discuss possible strike action came from the works themselves. How strange they will feel watching it now. The director shakes his head. “It felt very present and crackling.”

One line in the show feels especially crucial: “The British don’t revolt, they grumble.” How revolutionary does Sheen think Britain is? “It happens in flare-ups,” he reasons. “You could say Brexit was a form of it and there is something in us that is frustrated and wants to vent. But these flare-ups get cracked down, so the idea of properly organised revolution is hard to imagine. Yet the more anger there is, the more fear about the cost of living crisis. Well, something’s got to give.”

I mention the Brecon Beacons. “Ah, yes, Bannau Brycheiniog,” Sheen says with a flourish. Last year he spearheaded the celebration of the renaming of the national park to Welsh, which led some to ponder whether Sheen might go further in the name of Welsh nationalism. Owen Williams, a member of the independence campaigners YesCymru, described him to me as “Nye Bevan via Che Guevara” and added that the actor might one day be head of state in an independent Wales.

Sheen bursts out laughing. “Right!” he booms. “Well, for a long time [the head of state] was either me or Huw Edwards, so I suppose that’s changed.” He laughs again. “Gosh. I don’t know what to say.” Has he, though, become a sort of icon for an independent Wales? “I’ve never actually spoken about independence,” he says. “The only thing I’ve said is that it’s worth a conversation. Talking about independence is a catalyst for other issues that need to be talked about. Shutting that conversation down is of no value at all. People say Wales couldn’t survive economically. Well, why not? And is that good? Is that a good reason to stay in the union?”

On a roll, he talks about how you can’t travel from north to south Wales by train without going into England because the rail network was set up to move stuff out of Wales, not round it. He mentions the collapse of local journalism and funding cuts to National Theatre Wales, and says these are the conversations he wants to have — but where in Wales are they taking place?

So, for Sheen, the discussion is about thinking of Wales as independent in identity, not necessarily as an independent state? “As a living entity,” he says, is how he wants people to think about his country. “It’s much more, for me, about exploring what that cultural identity of now is, rather than it being all about the past,” he says. “We had a great rugby team in the 1970s, but it’s not the 1970s anymore and, yes, male-voice choirs make us cry, but there are few left. Mines aren’t there either. All the things that are part of the cultural identity of Wales are to do with the past and, for me, it’s much more about exploring what is alive about Welsh identity now.”

You could easily forget that Sheen is an actor. He calls himself a “not for profit” thesp, meaning he funds social projects, from addiction to disability sports. “I juggle things more,” he says. “Also I have young kids again and I don’t want to be away much.”

Sheen has an empathetic face, a knack of making the difficult feel personable. And there are two big roles incoming — a relief to fans.

Which leads us to Prince Andrew. “Of course it does.” This year he plays the troubled duke in A Very Royal Scandal — a retelling of the Emily Maitlis fiasco with Ruth Wilson as the interviewer. Does the show go to Pizza Express in Woking? “No,” Sheen says, grinning. Why play the prince? He thinks about this a lot. “Inevitably you bring humanity to a character — that’s certainly what I try to do.” He pauses. “I don’t want people to say, ‘It was Sheen who got everybody behind Andrew again.’ But I also don’t want to do a hatchet job.”

So what is he trying to do? “Well, it is a story about privilege really,” he says. “And how easy it is for privilege to exploit. We’ve found a way of keeping the ambiguity, because, legally, you can’t show stuff that you cannot prove, but whether guilty or not, his privilege is a major factor in whatever exploitation was going on. Beyond the specifics of Andrew and Epstein, no matter who you are, privilege has the potential to exploit someone. For Andrew, it’s: ‘This girl is being brought to me and I don’t really care where she comes from, or how old she is, this is just what happens for people like me.’”

It must have been odd having the prince and Bevan — the worst and best of our ruling classes — in his head at the same time. What, if anything, links the men? “What is power and what can you do with it?” Sheen muses, which seems to speak to his position in Port Talbot too. Nye at the National portrays the Welsh politician on his deathbed, in an NHS hospital, moving through his memories while doped up on meds. Sheen wants the audience to think: “Is there a Bevan in politics now and, if not, why not?”

Which takes us back to The Way. At the start one rioter yells about wanting to “change everything” — he means politically, sociologically. However, assuming that changing everything is not possible, what is the one thing Sheen would change? “Something practical? Not ‘I want world peace’. I would create a people’s chamber as another branch of government — like the Lords, there’d be a House of People, representing their community. Our political system has become restrictive and nonrepresentational, so something to open that up would be good.”

The actor is a thousand miles from his old Hollywood life. “It’d take a lot for me to work in America again — my life is elsewhere.” It is in Port Talbot instead. “The last man on the battlefield” is how one MP describes the steel works in The Way, and Sheen is unsure what happens when that last man goes. “Some people say it’s to do with net zero aims,” he says about the closure. “Others blame Brexit. But, ultimately, the people of Port Talbot have been let down — and there is no easy answer about what comes next.”

#Michael Sheen #Times #Interview #Nye #The Way #A Very Royal Scandal

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hauntedwizardmoment · 5 months ago

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OKAY so: 2, 10, 11, 14, for any oc(s) you wish, but also, assuming you're taking asks about 'em, for jace's former party from blood and turpentine fic series bc I am legitimately obsessed with them and think about them daily

HIII oh my god this got so long i am so sorry but i got carried away:

2. What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

Peregrine: he’s a theater kid! he wanted to be a bard soooo bad or at least multiclass a la Fabian but due to the [gestures at his neuroses around his masculinity] he never did. i think in terms of levels, he ended up a level 20 fighter until he did some paladin training as an adult that put him at like, a 17/3 split between fighter/paladin. in a kinder timeline he’d be doing community theater and taxes with jace. in blood and turpentine. well no spoilers for what im currently writing but it’s not that.

Dagbert: out of everyone in the group hes the one thats into musicals unironically. and not even good musicals. like picture this massive goliath that’s taller than porter and just as broad, i think i have him as like 7 ft 1, and he just fucking loves Cats. he’s obsessed with fantasy andrew lloyd webber. has a jellicle-sona.

Ysvelde: she’s somehow got even less of a solid grasp of her identity than jace does. part of it is that she’s an actress, part of it is that she’s never really lived for anything besides the approval of other people (first her mom, then her adventuring party). she has no idea who she is without the approval of others. if you put her in a room alone she’d start climbing the walls instead of sitting alone with her own thoughts. girl who is constantly experiencing The Dread but she covers it up with a winning smile + really cool artsy makeup.

Aurora: [dan howell voice] one time she had a MESSY night out in [bastion city], kissed a GIRL, and SMOKED A CIGARETTE. no but seriously she has a secret wild side that she rarely lets out, especially as she gets more and more into fundamentalism and what she believes is sol’s true word, the very early beginnings of the harvestmen cult. during their first year adventuring, shes the one that suggested matching tramp stamps while they were all wasted.

Invidia: she’s a romantic. she really does want her friends to find love. she’s at aurora and peregrine’s wedding as a bridesmaid, and when she realizes that jace and porter are serious about each other, she’s genuinely happy for him. underneath all the cattiness and jokes she’s so glad that everything “worked out” (woman who does not know jace is a dead man walking)

10. What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

not to keep talking about this but my infidelity fic which is an au of blood and turpentine? i have so many dramatic scenes from it that i rotate in my head. when peregrine finds out that jace got promoted to vice principal and starts a huge fight about it. dagbert’s father’s funeral. invidia and ysvelde’s falling out. when peregrine finds out about jace’s affair and subsequently gets murdered by porter. aurora’s creepy midsommar-ass family hosting everyone for fantasy easter.

11. What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?

Peregrine: a lance!! by the time he’s a full-time adventurer i’m sure it’s a magical weapon too, probably has like a +2 or something. hes definitely used it before love a martial class.

Dagbert: his battle axe, absolutely has used it. he’s definitely got a magic weapon too, i think i call out in love’s never meant much to me that it has magic runes on it so yeah let’s call it the same level of magical as perry’s lance

Ysvelde: so she’s a college of eloquence bard and a fiend pact warlock, so i think she probably has a shortsword as a backup weapon but honestly that eldritch blast cantrip is getting her through most of her fights juuuust fine.

Aurora: circle of life cleric, definitely has a crossbow that she’s used a couple times in a panic early on but she’s more a healer than anything. i picture her spiritual weapon (the cleric spell) as a scythe.

Invidia: she’s a circle of the moon druid so i think she’d have a pair of broad claws that do some sick slashing damage, plus obviously her wild shape forms, and her animal companion (a wolf but for funsies ive flavored it as a husky named luna and she loves her so much, she treats her like a child, has little bows to put in her fur, etc. luna is fantasy instagram famous)

14. How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

ohhhh this is sosososo juicy

Peregrine: the true driving force in his life is to be seen as a protector, as a provider, as a good fighter and a good man. he will Freak Out if he perceives anything as getting in the way of that. especially if its his own actions that make him look weak or immoral in any way, i.e. sleeping with jace when he and aurora are on a break.

Dagbert: truly. genuinely. from the bottom of his heart. he could not give less of a shit. he wants to be known as a goddamn professional, unlike the rest of these people, apparently. he’s out here trying to earn a fucking paycheck meanwhile everyone else in his party is ensnared in insane psychosexual drama. he’s angling to get a raise to buy out his ailing father’s construction business from him and let the man retire and this clownshow of a party is fucking it up for him.

Ysvelde: she’s not real unless youre clapping and cheering for her if you dont clap and cheer for her she’ll die. she lives and dies on the approval of an audience. she’s a star. but like for real she needs validation constantly, it doesnt matter where it comes from or how she gets it, she just needs to know that she’s getting a good grade in existing, something normal to want and possible to achieve.

Aurora: her main thing is being right. she’s a cleric, she receives the divine word from sol, she’s his hand upon the world and she’ll spread his light to the darkest corners of spyre and consecrate it for him, make the world holy. she has her convictions and is firm in them, and she wants everyone to see her as a source of good and truth, both in battle and in spirituality. i think after a certain point she couldnt care less what her party thinks of her, she’s mainly looking for the approval of higher-ups in the church of sol to further solidify herself as a priestess and help shape the vision and direction of the church.

Invidia: her and aurora butt heads a lot because she also is very into being correct, but in a way that is entirely divorced from divinity. instead, she wants other people to see her as observant to a scary degree. she wants you to know that she sees what you do, knows your habits inside and out, all your secrets, and is taking notes and filing them away for blackmail purposes. and when you slip up she WILL brag about predicting your downfall to your face. it’s why she and jace are the ivy-and-oisin of their party, they both love gossip and reveling in the misery of people they dont like.

#asks #jadeandquartzes #oc talk

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chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

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I’m so sorry for essentially spamming you, because I legit stayed up until 2 AM reading Recovery Road because I just COULDN’T stop, and I def left you several novellas in the comments on ao3 because I couldn’t contain myself, lol.

But, in all sincerity, RR is one of the best things I’ve ever read. Ever. I mean fics, published works, anything.

As someone with a past history of substance abuse, I’m often wary of reading fics that touch on recovery or addiction at all, because I’ve been burned a few times by careless mishandling of what’s obviously a sensitive topic, or seeing it reduced to nothing more than a trope. But holy mother of god, the care and empathy you obviously took the entire fic was SO apparent. So many times while reading, I had moments of “oh, I have BEEN Natalie or Dieter or Heidi, I KNOW I exactly what’s going on right now and EXACTLY what it feels like, and this is IT.” Even when it was ugly and messy and painful, it was obviously written with such care in a way that was just beautiful.

And I’m seriously FLOORED by your ability to describe the hurricane of emotions through it all in such a visceral way. There were times where I could just FEEL the heat of shame burning in my gut, the sinking weight of grief, or my heart just damn bursting during their moments of triumph and happiness. And I so appreciate the time you took with the story and characters; a story like theirs, together and separately, just takes time, especially to have any hope of ending up where they did, and I love so much that you allowed them that (even if I did gasp out loud at the ten years reveal lol). I was truly just clutching at my chest, covering my mouth, and near tears the last two chapters especially.

Thank you so, so much for writing this absolutely beautiful story and for sharing it. I absolutely can’t wait to positively devour anything and everything else you go on to write. 🖤

this, without a doubt, made my entire week 🤍 i have no idea how to respond to this because this level of dedication and thoughtfulness towards something I wrote . . . i am gobsmacked!

first of all, the fact that you wrote an individual review on multiple chapters -- it's totally not spam and i read every single one of them twice and i think i'm a little bit in love with you??? seriously, that is like every writer's wicked fantasy 🤍

secondly and this is a big one - THANK YOU?!?!? addiction and recovery are things that have definitely affected me too, and I've always been the Heidi of the situation. But the way people treat or talk about addicts as if they are less deserving of care and empathy is horrific. In my own life, I struggle to find that balance of boundary setting and empathy all the time so I was genuinely worried about taking these sensitive topics and putting them in the realm of fantasy fanfiction. Of course, things are going to end well because it's fanfiction, but in real life it doesn't always and there's always that concern of relapse (which, in my opinion, makes addicts rather incredible to have to wake up every single goddamn day and make an active decision not to do the easy thing -- I struggle with doing my skin care routine daily).

I really have to shout out @spookyxsam for the realism -- she helped me through a lot of the scenes of Dieter's downward spiral, how someone on that many drugs might react or what they might say. And she diagnosed both Dieter and Natalie and wrote out their prescriptions! That is a very weird text chain to have in your phone! 😆

I had a couple of different phrases running through my head while writing this: "right person, wrong time", "loving someone is as much of a choice as it is to stay sober", (and if it wasn't totally obvious by Andrew's speech) "love above all else is what makes life worth living". I think by the end of it, both Natalie and Dieter made their own little families, independent of each other and then as one themselves. I genuinely hope you got some of that sentiment while reading this. There's something so desperately tragic about Dieter as a character (even in the original movie) that I am just obsessed with. Have I done way too much character analysis for a character from a Judd Apatow movie? Yes. Is that ever going to stop me? No.

*on my hands and knees* thank you for taking the time to write all of this out. this is a very close and personal fic for me, so to hear it affected you even at all, it means so much! 🤍🤍 I promise I will get to your request from my 100 followers event -- that one is SO DIETER IT HURTS! thank you thank you thank you and see you next time!

#nice things people say to me #dieter bravo #recovery road #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #yall got me crying in the club

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no-literally · 2 years ago

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10 books

Rules: 10 books for people to get to know you better, or that you just really like.

Tagged by @lyriclorelei and oh boy did I end up going on a lot about these picks!

The Monster at the End of this Book by Jon Stone - I was so extremely a Sesame Street-raised child. This book taught me about meta humor and histrionics, both of which I adore in my media today.

Maida’s Little Shop by Inez Hayes Gilmore - This is a book my grandmother read as a girl, and then my mother read as a girl, and then I got to read. It’s about a rich and sick girl who leaves her family to start a shop (with adult supervision) and finally makes friends. It taught me about pig latin and popcorn balls. (Also, turns out the author was a feminist journalist, so we love that.)

Meet Samantha by Susan S. Ader - I promise I didn’t just read books about wealthy girls from the turn of the century as a child! But I did get HEAVILY sucked in by the American Girl dolls, and I’ve gotten pulled right back as a pandemic comfort coping mechanism. Re-reading this book, I realized it influenced my creative writing, my sense of justice, and my understanding of how to be a good friend.

The Realm of Possibility by David Levithan - As a teenager, this book of interconnected poems from different characters let me feel like I was listening in on a full school’s worth of teenage issues and feelings. It taught me compassion; it let me feel less alone.

As You Like It by William Shakespeare - Seeing this play in college might have been when I fell in love with plays (I’d say theater, but I was sold on musicals by age 8). It’s more or less where my fake dating obsession starts. Give me a ship this messy any day.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro - This book is SO SAD and SO BEAUTIFUL and I’m glad I watched the movie to stay in the world a little bit longer. My Andrew Garfield and Carey Mulligan obsessions are due to this book.

Angels in America by Tony Kushner - Another sprawling obsession: I saw the HBO series, I immediately borrowed a copy of the play(s), I bought my own copy of the play, I saw the play(s) in real life, I saw the play(s) filmed for National Theater Live. Now I’m gearing up for another round of obsession when I read the oral history sitting on my bookshelf. I love these characters, the magical realism, the real-life people mixed with fictional ones, and the hope in the ending.

A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan - This book helped me realize I LOVE linked short stories that share a variety of perspectives. (In creating this list, I’m seeing just how many books I love are proof of that!) I’ve read other favorites, like Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi and There There by Tommy Orange, because this book taught me I loved this genre. Also, it has a chapter that’s just powerpoint slides? LOVE that.

The Wicked + The Divine comics by Kieron Gillen and Jamie McKelvie - This comic is so well thought-out that random lines and visuals in the first issue reference the plot points of the last. A comic series about fandom, power, mythology, and inspiration. Plus, a murder mystery! I enjoyed every issue, even the one that really, honestly, had too much gore for my liking.

The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics by Olivia Waite - This was the book that got me into romance novels, which would have been enough of a gift on its own! But in addition to being a wonderful intro to the genre, it stars two women who are passionate about their work (though that work is very different), a romance plot that is people-focused instead of circumstance, and a thesis about who writes history and why notable women’s legacies are willfully erased by the patriarchy. A great, gorgeous read.

Tagging: @onthecyberseas @dollsome-does-tumblr @homeschoolpromqueen @trianamars @nicoleanell @strix-alba

#10 books meme #books #about #sorry if anyone i have tagged has done this meme already - send me a dm with the link if so!#my dash is a whole thing and i am NEVER caught up #book recs

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fyapoetry · 10 months ago

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23 Side-Splitting Funny Poems To Brighten Your Day

Funny Poems

Funny Poems Humor changes the way we think and feel. Funny poems make us laugh, yes, but they also shine a new light on ordinary things. A poem about a messy room or a ninja kitten turns everyday moments into fun adventures. Poets like Shel Silverstein or Jack Prelutsky use witty words to paint hilarious pictures in our minds. This makes poetry exciting and accessible for everyone. Laughing together brings people closer. Sharing funny poems can turn a dull day bright and create memories. It’s not just about the laughter; it’s about feeling connected through humor. Reading these whimsical verses reminds us not to take life too seriously. So, whether you’re reading alone or with friends, funny poems offer joy and a refreshing perspective on the world around us. - Funny Poems - 23 Hilarious Poems to Brighten Your Day- 1. “Missing” by Anne Scott - 2. “Messy Room” by Shel Silverstein - 3. “My One-Eyed Love” by Andrew Jefferson - 4. “Doggy Heaven” by Larry Huggins - 5. “The Elephant” by Anonymous - 6. “The Cat Metamorphosed Into a Woman” by Jean de la Fontaine - 7. “The Horrid Voice of Science” by Vachel Lindsay - 8. “The Vulture” by Hilaire Belloc - 9. “My Shadow” by Robert Louis Stevenson - 10. “The Table and the Chair” by Edward Lear - 11. “The Stargazer” (author unknown) - 12. “Eletelephony” by Laura E. Richards - 13. “Strong Beer” by Robert Graves - 14. “The Parakeets” by Alberto Blanco - 15. “Phantasmagoria” by Lewis Carroll - 16. “The Silliest Teacher in School” by Darren Sardelli - 17. “My Kitten Is a Ninja” by Kenn Nesbitt - 18. “The Bashful Earthquake” by Oliver Herford - 19. “The Theoretic Turtle” by Amos Russel Wells - 20. “Be Glad Your Nose Is On Your Face” by Jack Prelutsky - 21. “The Attraction of Levitation” by H.G. Paine - 22. “The Purple Cow” by Gelett Burgess - 23. “Funny Young Fellow” by Anonymous - Concluding Thoughts on Funny Poems - FAQs About Funny Poems- References: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGOSlS815Z4 Dear Straight People, a Funny Poem

23 Hilarious Poems to Brighten Your Day

Get ready to laugh with a curated collection of 25 funny poems. Each one brings a burst of humor that can turn any frown upside down. 1. “Missing” by Anne Scott "Missing" by Anne Scott dives into the playful mystery of things that go missing around the house. Through her witty verses, Scott captures the frustration and humor in searching for lost items. Her poem resonates with both kids and adults, making readers chuckle at the relatable chaos of everyday life. Characters come alive with each stanza, hunting for what's vanished without a trace. Anne Scott's clever rhyme scheme keeps the pace lively and engaging. This poem stands out for its ability to turn a common complaint into a fun adventure. It’s part of a collection that showcases how funny poetry can illuminate the quirks of the human condition. Readers love "Missing" because it mixes laughter with the all-too-familiar feeling of puzzlement over where things end up in our homes. Read the Full poem below: Missing I’ve hunted near, I’ve hunted far I even looked inside my car. I’ve lost my glasses, I’m in need, To have them now so I can read. I loudly swear and I curse Did I leave them in my purse? Are they behind the sofa, under the bed? Oh there they are—on my head! 2. “Messy Room” by Shel Silverstein From the puzzling disappearance in "Missing" by Anne Scott, we move to a space that's all too familiar for many—Shel Silverstein's "Messy Room." This poem paints a vivid picture of a room turned upside down. Clothes are scattered, toys are strewn everywhere, and it seems like chaos reigns supreme. Silverstein uses this mess as a clever metaphor for life's disorganized moments. Yet, he does so with humor, making readers chuckle at the relatable messiness. "Messy Room" serves as a perfect reminder not to take ourselves too seriously. Shel Silverstein invites kids and adults alike to laugh at the piles of clutter that can accumulate in our lives..and perhaps in our minds. With its short lines and lively rhythm, the poem is easy for young readers to enjoy while delivering a punch of light-hearted fun. It stands out as one of those funny poems for kids that even grown-ups can't help but love. Read the poem below: Messy Room Whosever room this is should be ashamed! His underwear is hanging on the lamp. His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair, And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp. His workbook is wedged in the window, His sweater's been thrown on the floor. His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV, And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door. His books are all jammed in the closet, His vest has been left in the hall. A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed, And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall. Whosever room this is should be ashamed! Donald or Robert or Willie or— Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear, I knew it looked familiar! 3. “My One-Eyed Love” by Andrew Jefferson Andrew Jefferson's poem "My One-Eyed Love" finds humor in the unexpected. The author uses creative language to share a love story that is both unique and funny. This poem invites readers to see love through a new, albeit quirky, lens. It makes you laugh while also making you think about the different forms love can take. Jefferson crafts each line with care, ensuring the laughter comes from clever wordplay and surprising twists. His approach shows how humorous poetry can be as rich and compelling as more serious works. Readers of all ages will find something to smile about in "My One-Eyed Love," making it a favorite for those looking for a light-hearted read. See the complete poem below: My One-Eyed Love I've fallen in love- I don't know why I've fallen in love with a girl with one eye. I knew from the start. It was plain to see That this wonderful girl had an eye out for me She's charming and witty and jolly and jocular Not what you'd expect from a girl who's monocular. Of eyes - at the moment - she hasn't full quota But that doesn't change things for me one iota. It must be quite difficult if you're bereft. If your left eye is gone and your right eye is left. But she's made up her mind. She's made her decision. She can see it quite clearly in 10/20 vision. She'll not leave me waiting, not left in the lurch If she looks slightly sideways she'll see me in church. I'll marry my true love who's gentle and kind. And thus prove to everyone that loves not quite blind. Andrew Jefferson. "My One-Eyed Love." Family Friend Poems, May 5, 2014. https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/my-oneeyed-love 4. “Doggy Heaven” by Larry Huggins "Doggy Heaven" by Larry Huggins is a hilarious poem that will have you laughing out loud. It paints a vivid picture of where good dogs go, imagining a place filled with endless treats and fun. Prelutsky uses short, punchy lines to keep the humor light and the imagery cool and whimsical. Kids love this poem because it’s easy to imagine their furry friends in such a joyful place. Read the short poem below: Doggy Heaven All doggies go to heaven (or so I’ve been told). They run and play along the streets of Gold. Why is heaven such a doggie-delight? Why, because there’s not a single cat in sight! 5. “The Elephant” by Anonymous After laughing at dogs in paradise, we turn to another animal – the elephant. This poem captures the essence of its subject with humor and wit that both kids and adults can enjoy. The author, known only as Anonymous, uses short lines to paint a funny picture of this large creature. The elephant comes to life through playful language, inviting us into a world where size and clumsiness become sources of laughter. The verse plays with imagination, turning the elephant into a character full of surprises. Despite its anonymous origins, it stands out for its ability to make readers see the usual in an unusual light. Every line is carefully crafted to keep you smiling till the end—proof that sometimes, the best laughs come from simply observing nature's giants with a playful eye. Read he full poem below: The Elephant The elephant walks like this and like that. He's very tall, and he's very fat. He has no fingers, but he does have toes, And goodness gracious, What a nose! 6. “The Cat Metamorphosed Into a Woman” by Jean de la Fontaine Jean de la Fontaine tells a whimsical tale in “The Cat Metamorphosed Into a Woman.” This poem mixes humor and wisdom, showing how appearances can deceive. A man falls in love with his cat, and she transforms into a woman. However, she cannot escape her true nature, chasing mice even in human form. La Fontaine uses this story to teach that true nature cannot be hidden by outward changes. Readers find laughter in the unexpected twists of the narrative. The poem is short but filled with life lessons about identity and transformation. It's a favorite among those who love poems that make you laugh, providing a perfect example of humor intertwined with moral insights. Read the Full poem below: The Cat Metamorphosed Into A Woman A bachelor caress'd his cat, A darling, fair, and delicate; So deep in love, he thought her mew The sweetest voice he ever knew. By prayers, and tears, and magic art, The man got Fate to take his part; And, lo! one morning at his side His cat, transform'd, became his bride. In wedded state our man was seen The fool in courtship he had been. No lover e'er was so bewitch'd By any maiden's charms As was this husband, so enrich'd By hers within his arms. He praised her beauties, this and that, And saw there nothing of the cat. In short, by passion's aid, he Thought her a perfect lady. 'Twas night: some carpet-gnawing mice Disturb'd the nuptial joys. Excited by the noise, The bride sprang at them in a trice; The mice were scared and fled. The bride, scarce in her bed, The gnawing heard, and sprang again, - And this time not in vain, For, in this novel form array'd, Of her the mice were less afraid. Through life she loved this mousing course, So great is stubborn nature's force. In mockery of change, the old Will keep their youthful bent. When once the cloth has got its fold, The smelling-pot its scent, In vain your efforts and your care To make them other than they are. To work reform, do what you will, Old habit will be habit still. Nor fork nor strap can mend its manners, Nor cudgel-blows beat down its banners. Secure the doors against the renter, And through the windows it will enter. 7. “The Horrid Voice of Science” by Vachel Lindsay "The Horrid Voice of Science" by Vachel Lindsay brings humor to a serious topic. Lindsay uses clever rhymes and engaging rhythms to mock the sometimes cold nature of scientific facts. This poem turns the sterile world of science into something laugh-out-loud funny, showing how even the most serious subjects can be seen in a humorous light. Readers love this funny poem for its unique take on science. See it below: The Horrid Voice of Science "There's machinery in the butterfly; There's a mainspring to the bee; There's hydraulics to a daisy, And contraptions to a tree." "If we could see the birdie That makes the chirping sound With x-ray, scientific eyes, We could see the wheels go round." And I hope all men Who think like this Will soon lie Underground. 8. “The Vulture” by Hilaire Belloc Hilaire Belloc's poem "The Vulture" is a funny yet morbid look at the circle of life unexpected friendship This quirky perspective makes it a memorable piece that sticks with readers. It mixes humor with dark comedy, showcasing Belloc's talent for blending wit with thought-provoking themes. Belloc uses simple language but packs each line with meaning. Kids and adults find this poem both hilarious and a bit grim. It teaches us about nature in its unique way—reminding us that sometimes, the funniest poems have layers worth exploring beyond the laughs. See the full piece below and have a good laugh: The Vulture The Vulture eats between his meals And that's the reason why He very, very rarely feels As well as you and I. His eye is dull, his head is bald, His neck is growing thinner. Oh! what a lesson for us all To only eat at dinner! 9. “My Shadow” by Robert Louis Stevenson Robert Louis Stevenson's "My Shadow" captures the playful and curious nature of a child's imagination. It tells the story of how a child views their shadow as a constant companion that behaves in mysterious ways. This poem strikes a chord with its lyrical simplicity, engaging even the youngest readers. The verses explore the peculiar movements and qualities of the shadow, making it seem almost alive. Children relate to this poem because they've all noticed how their shadows mimic them but also seem to have minds of their own. Through clever rhymes, Stevenson makes this everyday observation both whimsically entertaining and thought-provoking. Read the complete poem below: My Shadow I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow – Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all. He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see; I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me! One Read the full article

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secretjeon · 3 years ago

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hey! hope you're having a great day. i saw that you're taking requests and have a very specific scenario that's been living on my mind rent free with tasm!peter. so basically he is into pottery, he likes to make mugs and cute shit for the gf and one day she asks him to teach her? cute, fluffy, wholesome, his hands on her hands shaping the clay kinda vibe, the lot (can add a bit -or a lot- of spice too iykwim). anyway, hope you like this and feel free to use it or ignore it! xo

Teach Me; Peter Parker

pairing: Andrew!Peter Parker x fem!reader

warnings: fluffff, cursing, a little smutty ;) thigh riding, nipple sucking, praise kink, handjob, cum eating, uses of the nicknames pretty girl, princess, ig it’s kinda messy because they were messing with clay(?) but its never directly stated

this was too fucking cute to not write ty for requesting this 😭 i feel like i accidentally made it more smutty than fluffy im so sorry (also lowkey stole that one scene from ghost) believe it or not, this is the first time i’ve written smut (or close to it) so i hope i did ok and i hope you like it! 😭

Your boyfriend had been into pottery for as long as you can remember. You couldn’t even count how many things you had around the house that had been handmade from Peter himself, mugs, bowls, vases, an adorable teapot that looked like an elephant that you had no idea how he made so perfect. Peter absolutely loved gifting you with items that he made, and you absolutely adored the gifts you got, knowing how proud he was of himself and how long he worked on it, and how they came out looking like absolute masterpieces.

You were currently over at his place, staying for a few nights, admiring him while he was making what he said was gonna be ‘matching mugs with each other’ as you both liked to have coffee or hot chocolate dates often. He was wearing an old band t-shirt he didn’t care about much and some loose pants while you were only wearing one of his shirts, having only panties underneath as you didn’t think any of your clothes were very comfy at the moment. It was quite a sight to look at, how focused he was on making it perfect, the way his fingers moved across the clay so carefully, you were ashamed (not really) that it was turning you on. You also thought it was an amazing art, wishing you could make pottery as beautiful as Peter did, which is when you got an idea.

“Pete,” He looked up at you while still moving his fingers around the clay. “Do you think you could maybe teach me how to make pottery?” He brightened up at the words he had heard, always secretly hoping you’d ask one day. “Of course Y/N, come here.” He gestured with his head downwards, implying for you to come sit on his lap. You got up and went to sit on him, careful for his clay covered hands not to touch your clothes, though you knew they would probably end up dirty anyways.

“Okay, so all you do is put your hands like this,” He put his chin on your shoulder and his hands over yours, carefully guiding them onto the messy blob that would eventually be a mug. “And just move them like this.” Putting his fingers between yours, moving them together and helping you shape the clay. It was more fun than you thought, but you figured a part of it was because you were doing it together. You enjoyed spending time with Pete, and this was definitely something the both of you were having fun with. You were doing pretty well so far, the mug shape coming together a little more, slowly but surely.

“You’re doing so good for me, pretty girl.” You felt yourself get hot, shifting around in his lap, slowly getting wet from his words and the way his fingers were moving with yours. “Well you’re definitely good with your fingers, Peter. This is way worse than how yours look.”

“Come on, you of all people should know I’m good with my fingers, Y/N.” He joked while your eyes widened, realizing what he meant. You pressed your thighs together, trying to cause some relief. He laced his fingers with yours, slowly taking them off of the badly unfinished mug and bringing them to your thighs, forcing them to open.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice how wet you were getting, sweetheart?” Fuck, you had forgotten about his spidey senses, and how he could definitely tell when you were aroused, recalling the moments he had known even when he was across the room from you. “Turn around,” he demanded. You shifted on his lap so you were facing him and straddling his thigh, while he was looking at you with darkened eyes, learning that he was now just as turned on as you were.

“Go on pretty girl, use my thigh to get you off.” He grabbed your waist, moving you forward to give you a start. You put your head on his shoulder, beginning to grind on his muscular thigh thanks to his spiderman activities. He started to bounce his leg a little, immediately making you moan from the stimulation. “Fuck Pete,” you whined, your pussy growing wetter by the second. You were glad he was wearing loose pants, teasing your fingers around the waistband before reaching in to take his hard cock out, spreading his precum around to get it slick before beginning to stroke it.

“Fuck princess, just like that,” He moaned. He took his hands off your waist to lift up your shirt, thanking the gods that you weren’t wearing a bra before leaning forward to take your right nipple into his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around the hard pebble before sucking on it, before switching to the other one. You moaned loudly, beginning to ride his thigh faster and jerking his cock harder.

“I’m gonna cum Peter,” You breathed out, feeling the knot in your stomach get tighter. “Yeah, pretty girl?” He took his mouth off your tits to talk. “You gonna cum for me? Cum, then. Make a mess all over me. Fuck, baby.” He moaned out the end as you swirled your thumb around the tip of his cock, bringing him closer to release.

“Cum with me Peter, please, please, please,” you began begging as your thighs started to twitch, your eyes rolling back, cumming all over his thigh. “Fuckkk Y/N,” your reaction bringing him to his own orgasm, hot spurts of cum shooting all over your hand. You sighed as you calmed down from your orgasm, bringing your hand up to lick his cum off. “I love you so fucking much, Y/N.” He kissed you harshly before you got up, getting a little embarrassed at the extremely obvious wet spot you had left on his pants. “Don’t get embarrassed darling,” he noticed your face, “It’s fucking hot. You should go lay down, you’re probably tired.” You smiled at his words before changing your soaked underwear into a clean pair and washing your hands of the clay that still occupied them and went to lay down in his bed, though with as much as you go over, it might as well be your bed too.

He came back with different pants on and clean hands and went to lay behind you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you closer. “I love you.” He mumbled into your neck. “I love you too, Peter.” You grabbed one of his hands that was wrapped around you and intertwined it with yours, closing your eyes and falling asleep with your lover by your side.

By the time you woke up, it was morning but Peter was nowhere to be found. You looked at the clock, seeing it was only 8 am when something caught your attention on the nightstand. It was the finished mugs from last night. Sitting side by side, both mugs sporting a sage green and brown with each mug having your names on it and little sunflowers scattered across. You smiled, absolutely loving everything about your life, knowing that with Peter, it would always be perfect.

was this bad? im so sorry i tried

#peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #andrew garfield x reader #andrew peter parker #andrew peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm #peter parker fluff

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omgrachwrites · 3 years ago

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All Too Well - Peter Parker

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: After months of crushing on Peter Parker, you move upstate with your family and make a heartbreaking discovery.

Warnings: fluff, angst

Words: 1433

A/N: Can't believe I haven't written for Andrew's Spider-Man! So here you go! Hope you guys enjoy this and please let me know what you think! Happy New Year, I love you all! xxx

God, I wish that you had thought this through

Before I went and fell in love with you

The knock on your window startled you as you were packing your things into a cardboard box, a smile spread across your face when you saw that it was Spider – Man. A few months ago the superhero had fallen into your garden, dressed in red and blue, and missing his mask. He had been hurt and he needed help. Obviously, you weren’t a doctor but you patched him up as best you could and sent him on his way, but every time he was in the neighbourhood he came to see you.

You put the box down and walked over to your window, opening it with a grin, “hi, Peter,” you stood aside to let him climb through the window.

“Hey, Y/N,” he grinned as he pulled off his mask to reveal his handsome face, you blushed as he pulled you into a hug, “how are you?” he smiled, leaning against the wall.

You tried to stop your eyes from ogling him but it was hard when he was smiling at you like that with his hair all messy, “I’m good, how about you? Are you hurt?”

You walked closer to him, looking for any sign that he was hurt, Peter shook his head with a small smile as he brushed his knuckles against your cheek, “just some bruised ribs, I’m okay.”

You smiled, looking away from his eyes to look at his mouth and you looked back at his eyes, “make sure you put some ice on it.”

“Of course, Doctor Y/N,” he smiled, kissing your cheek as he pulled away from you and went to sit on your bed.

You touched the place where he’d kissed you to find that it was warm, you wanted him, you wanted to kiss him properly but you couldn’t. You couldn’t ruin your friendship so you had to wait until he made the first move. He’d been coming to see you all this time, surely he had to harbour more than friendly feelings for you. How you wished that could be true.

He looked around at the boxes with interest, “are you moving or something?” he asked as you sat next to him.

You sighed and nodded your head, your family was moving upstate to Midtown for your dad’s new job, it was too far for him to commute. You didn’t want to move, you’d miss your school and your friends, you didn’t want to have to start afresh, “yeah, upstate,” you sighed, you’d really miss Peter too.

Instead of matching your glum energy, Peter smiled brightly, “I think you’ll love it upstate, it’s cool! And we’ll still be able to hang out, I’ll come and see you in your new place, if that’s okay of course,” he added quickly before he mumbled, “don’t wanna be a stalker or anything.”

You laughed with a nod, delighted that he still wanted to see you, you bit your lip as you gained the courage for what you knew you had to say, “why don’t you take my number?” you blushed, “then, you won’t have to search for the new place,” you laughed and shifted on the bed, you knee touching his.

The only reason why you knew Peter was because he kept coming to see you, you wouldn’t have known him any other way.

Your heart dropped when Peter gave you a pained smile, “a number comes with too many promises.”

“Like what, Peter?” you bit your lip as you watched the conflict play across Peter’s face.

“Promises that I can’t keep, look, Y/N,” he sighed sitting up and tucking your hair behind your ear, “I like you a lot, but I’m not looking for anything right now, not with the whole Spider-Man thing. Please, understand,” he pressed his warm lips against your cheek again.

Peter’s words were still ringing in your ears as you watched him climb back through the window later on that night. You watched him swing away on his webs with a heavy heart until he was nothing but a speck in the distance.

About a month later you were looking down the hallways of your new school with a confused look on your face. It was your first day and you were very, very lost, you were too anxious to ask anyone for their help. You were about to go wandering again when you noticed a very familiar looking boy taking photographs just in front of you. Happiness and perhaps a little bit of astonishment filled your body.

“Peter?” you called out, grinning when he put his camera down with a raised eyebrow, you couldn’t believe that he was actually here.

“Y/N!” he said with a shocked smile as you ran up to him and threw your arms around him, feeling his chuckle rumble in his chest. God, you loved his laugh, “what are you doing here?” he asked as he pulled away from you.

“I told you I was moving upstate, it’s my first day at this school,” you smiled.

“Wow, it, it’s so good to see you,” he smiled, almost looking dumbfounded.

You melted at his words, “look, Peter. I,” you blushed, hesitating as he looked at you with those gorgeous brown eyes. You wanted to tell him how you felt, you needed to tell him how you felt. You laughed nervously when Peter raised an eyebrow, “you see, the thing is,” you trailed off when a beautiful girl with white blonde hair walked up to Peter.

“Hey, you, who’s this?” she asked, looking at you with a kind smile.

Your eyes flickered over to Peter who was looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face, “Gwen, this is my friend, Y/N, it’s her first day. Y/N, this is my girlfriend, Gwen.”

Your heart dropped and sank to your stomach like a stone, quickly you managed to recover with a strained smile as Gwen spoke to you, “it’s nice to meet you, Y/N. How are you liking Midtown so far?” Gwen smiled and you watched her link her fingers through Peter’s with a sick feeling in your stomach.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you forced a smile, fighting back the tears in your eyes, “I like it, though I’d like it more if I could find my class. Speaking of, I’d better find it,” you glanced up at the happy couple and pushed past them without waiting for an answer. You walked with your head down, finally letting the tears streak down your cheeks.

Peter cornered you at the end of the day while you were putting your books into your locker, “Y/N,” he started with a guilty look on his face.

“Leave me alone, Peter,” you sniffed as you slammed your locker door shut.

“Y/N, please!” he grabbed your arm gently as you tried to walk away from him.

You whirled round to look at him and scoffed when you saw that he looked like a wounded puppy, “don’t you dare look at me like that!” you hissed. Is this what it felt like to have your heart broken? “I feel like such an idiot, I thought you liked me. I tried not to look too much into it. But, I wanted to be sure,” you didn’t want him to see you cry but it was too late, “you kissed me Peter. Twice.”

“On the cheek. It was a friendly kiss, I do like you as a friend, you’re my friend, Y/N,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair.

Anger rose in your chest, mingling with the sadness, “then why did you lie? You told me that you weren’t looking for anything. But, you were, just not with me,” your bottom lip wobbled, “you should have told me, Peter. You should have told me the truth, you can’t have been blind to my affections for you, not after all these months.”

“I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you,” he reached out for you but you backed away.

“That’s okay, I guess it just wasn’t meant to be,” you wiped your tears and your voice broke, “she’s beautiful, Peter. Gwen, really is beautiful.”

Peter nodded as he looked away from you, with a sigh you shook your head as you walked down the corridor, pausing to glance over your shoulder, “Peter?” with a hopeful sort of look, Peter looked up at you, “I don’t want to see you, or Spider-Man for that matter,” you looked away as a wave of sadness washed over you.

And that was how you left him, staring after you in that deserted corridor. So much for a first day.

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spirallabyrinthpodcast · 2 years ago

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Good morning I am mad! Like y’all said I am extremely appreciative of Cassie providing us this piece of media for free. Which I heard would be made into a physical book, which means she’ll probably get a lot of cash from it, anyway! So some fans should stop using that as an excuse, for it being a mediocre piece of media at best. The writing was great and the artwork was wonderful! But The plot could’ve been thawed out better. First of all, I left with more questions then I started out with. Like could Kit see Rupert? Was Andrew and Arthur aware of Rooper’s existence? If they were, why did Arthur came back to take the statues out of the garden? And many many many more other questions, we should’ve gotten the answers to. Second of all, this Kit and Ty thing is getting exhausting! SOBH is supposed to give us a look into the grove of the TWP team, warming them up to take the Baton from Julian and Emma. Like what COHF and Shadowhunters academy did for are main characters in Dark Artifices, with the wedding ceremony and Tessa teasing the potential, for a new Herondale. But no! They spend most, of what was supposed to be a opportunity for us to know them better, pining after each other! Kit’s character growth seem rough and out of nowhere, he didn’t really solve the kidnapping, Julian did. It leaves me fearful of what would happen when Julian is unable to save the day yet once again! Who is Kit and Ty without their romantic feelings for each other?

I’m in raged about how Ty’s struggle as a Neuro diversion person, living in a unyielding and rigid society, was once again sideline for someone else’s problem! But, I’m not going to further with that line of thought because there has been so many on here who’s been saying the same thing for months and years now! CC never listens!

To add the cherry on top of the proverbial pie, all the sudden, out of nowhere Jamie ( a character who we never given much thought to) is missing. Can she please tie up the loose ends first! This is so messy! It reminds me of a five-year-old, eating a cupcake, with the cream and cake splattered all over the table, creating a catastrophic catastrophe! At least the five years old is cute😂. A person going missing, on top of everything else on the other hand is not.

Thank you so much for listening to me rant and I’m so sorry about the long paragraph.

Omg, Anon!

First, it needs to be acknowledged that the opening to this ask had us dying (what a mood!) 😂 Bestie, we are with you.

Never feel like you need to apologize for sending a rant <3 we live for rants around here

Here’s a rant in return (as a bitter and salty treat):

On Criticism ...

The bit about it being sold and therefore that argument being moot is interesting, because it was never intended to be sold, and she can’t very well go back and edit it to make it worth the money we fully intend to spend on it at this point. You do have a good point, but at the same time, it is still free content in that purchasing a hard copy won’t provide anyone with anything that isn’t available to them online.

When it comes down to it, the issue is less about whether Cassie is profiting off of SoBH, and more so the fact that she is a published author who opens herself up to criticism through her profession. Her content isn’t ‘safe’ based on the revenue it generates. This was still a very fun project and experience, but it’s okay to criticize. It’s not a personal attack or an attack on her writing/content, which is something that is important for us to understand so that we don’t feel obligated to come up with excuses or defenses for the person behind the writing.

On Questions & No Answers ...

The point about ending with more questions than we started with is probably one of the most frustrating parts honestly. These in-between projects are essentially meant to fill gaps, aka answer questions, and instead we ended up with out-of-place fluff that didn’t exactly fit into canon — yes, we’re still mad and confused about how Arthur and Andrew could have lived in Blackthorn Hall in the canon timeline. Plus, we get no definitive information on Rupert or why he’d be trapped, which makes him being the ghost feel lackluster after the fact. We are Big Mad™.

On the TWP Gang ...

As for Kit, Ty and the passing of the baton, we get you. We’ve been a broken record on the point that the Kit Pain Train™ took way too long of a trip in this project. Kit’s character development wasn’t mingled into the story as well as it should have been, which lands on the fact that his arc in SoBH was tacked on to expand the plot after Chain of Thorns was pushed back.

It wasn’t terrible, but it definitely didn’t get the attention or drift off that it should’ve — which, as you said, could have been achieved if Kit did anything to actually help the Mina situation aside from getting bodied by Mother Hawthorn. He takes initiative, which is something, but to have him be the catalyst for success rather than Julian (or have him work more actively WITH Julian on a plan), would’ve hit much harder in a narrative sense. (There’s at least a lot to look forward to here, though, as we’ll get to see the growth of Kit’s leadership skills etc. from a better vantage point once TWP starts.)

The same goes for Ty and Dru. If Cassie genuinely wanted to have SoBH set up TWP (which is essentially what it did), they should’ve been given more of an active role, as well. Yes, Ty built the ghost sensor and helped with ley lines, but Dru never once interacted with anyone outside of Kit.

We feel like Ty being neurodivergent/autistic gets sidelined, as well as him as a character, because Cassie doesn’t have the time to do it or him justice. She’d rather push it back for TWP when she can dedicate the proper research and commitment to portray him correctly — honorable but cheap when you still have him lingering in the background.

On THAT Ending ...

The catastrophic catastrophe of ending on this last installment indeed! This is something we will discuss much more in our episode this week, but it would have been much more satisfying to end this in a way that rounded out Secrets of Blackthorn Hall, rather than create a new loose end for a character whose name had only been mentioned once before throughout the entire story, and whom no one really give two shits about other than Dru (including both the characters and the fandom lol).

It does set up the transition into TWP in a way that might make sense if (a) TWP wasn’t so damn far away, (b) we felt and or understood more about the gravity of that, and (c) Cassie had made mention of him more throughout SoBH.

Fin ...

In case you needed evidence that we live for rants … lol clearly we too have a lot of thoughts on this!! Thank you for giving us the opportunity to go a little insane <3 and we honestly appreciate you sending your rant our way. If you ever have any other thoughts, anon, we’d love to hear them!

Bry & Jules 🧡

#krp asks #krp #sobh #secrets of blackthorn hall #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #dru blackthorn #julian blackthorn #emma carstairs #jaime rosales #twp #the wicked powers #chain of thorns #rupert blackthorn #tsc

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sinematically · 3 years ago

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🪄thoughts on Dr Strange: Multiverse of Madness🪄 long post and will contain spoilers under the read more

Disclaimer: I enjoyed the movie but this somewhat review will contain some major criticisms.

When Martin Scorsese said MCU films aren’t real cinema, and the MCU fans consume films like one would enjoy a theme park. I don’t think he’s wrong but I don’t fully agree with him either, but, MoM is the best example (if there was any). I’m not sure how to properly put this into words. I’ll give it a few days to see if I can do this thought justice. But know that I genuinely think MoM is the best example for this opinion.

Goddamn that plot was MESSY. Three act structure whomst???? (Extremely derogatory). My film studies teacher would have destroyed that script, gave it a D- and a whole month to rework it because that’s how much time it would need. There’s a Lad Bible interview Cumberbatch and Olsen did. They were describing how often things would change, how the morning of the shoot they would get brand new info. It’s very evident in the pacing of the movie.

MoM would need a 6-episode show, with 45-60 whole minute per ep, to fully do justice to the characters. The lack of character development, or effective character development was a little sad. The pacing is my biggest issues with this movie because they’re just bringing in SO many things into one film when they cannot afford that rn

It’s basically a horror movie in a lot of ways. It was visually stunning and absolutely lovely in so many ways. The music!! (And that fight scene w the music ohmygod) I love it.

Spoilers here on out.

Dr Strange, sir, I’m sorry this wasn’t your movie. Literally so many things happened, I wish I got to see how you processed the snap and the “dust for 5 years” thing. I’m glad you gave us a better quote to express love I love you 3000 was kinda ????, (like a friend said, it’s superior). “I’d love you in any universe” was wonderful (and I might get the exact wording wrong, sue me, I’m still drunk)

WONG MY BELOVED. You deserve to be Sorcerer Supreme!! Ur amazing and can do no wrong. Beloved <3

America Chavez!! You’re super cool and I cannot wait to see the cool shit you do. But also, I’m going to acknowledge that they’re brining a new character without putting in the work? To me it seems like they introduced her with no personality and a tragic back story. Do MCU women have any real backstory other than “a tragic event thats entirely (female characters) fault or something they should feel shame/take blame for?”

Replacing Irondad-Spiderson with a Strange & Chavez, Father-Daughter relationship I see. It’s cute, fanfics will be fun. Can’t wait to block the inevitable ship name.

Christine, I’m glad that in every universe, you’re prioritising yourself and your sanity instead of dating a man too afraid to be vulnerable. Good for you, girl!!

WANDA. I have so many thoughts!! You might get your own post??? She’s so powerful, I love it. Even though I think it was a horrible way to show her power, watching her destroy the Illuminati was awesome. The whole bit where she used her Intelligence and the reflections was a 11/10 better way to show her formidable nature. I think there’s some major cognitive dissonance in her motives. If she knows that she can create her own world through sheer emotions, then why would she need to go to another universe??? If you’re telling me she feels guilt, and that’s why she won’t hurt the humans on earth-616, then how do you explain her being ok with taking away another Wanda’s babies for herself? Anyway. Thinking thoughts. Feel free to explain I guess? Idk.

The fucking Illuminati!!!!!!!!!! This is a whole thing bro

First of all, REED RICHARDS??? THEY KEPT KRASINSKI’S CASTING HIDDEN?? Alleged Tom Cruise was a fucking phenomenal distraction, I’m in AWE. Andrew Garfield could NEVER!!!! Everyone else on that cast list we had strong inklings but ufh Mr. Fantastic that was GG as fuck. (Also I think I read Tom Cruise and Haley Attwell were dating so maybe the whole Tom Cruise Ironman came from him visiting her on set? Idk)

Now to shit on it.

You’re telling me the smartest man in their universe, Who voted on killing their Strange for Dreamwalking the darkhold magic, didn’t anticipate Scarlet Witch’s power????? Even if he did anticipate it, why would you tell her about Black Bolt’s power!!! God that was DUMB. Good to see u Mr. Jim Kraskinski but you deserve to be noodle string cheesed. The fam service is great tho, and I really hope we see Kraskinski-Blunt and Evans in a new Fantastic 4 movie

CAPTAIN CARTER I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!! Thank you for not bringing Steve into her narrative in any way what so ever. Thank you for the “I can do this all day” It’s lovely!!!! She’s Amazing and strong, but like I said killing her off was just meh move. I like that you did it that way? But idk,,, I want to see more of her so maybe Marvel will listen to their fans again and give us more!!!

Black Bolt, why did I think Ben Affleck played you?? You died in a super fucked up way and honestly, thank you for that. Your death was refreshing and will scar at least one (1) child, and idk if that’s a good thing but, parents definitely need to adhere to the movie ratings on this one.

PROFESSOR X!! I love you, I missed you, you were dressed like your husband (Mr. Magneto) when you died why was that??? I hate that Wanda killed you but I missed you. So much. I love you.

CAP MARVEL MARIA YOUR AWESOME but I wanna see more of you also if ur Cap then where Carol and did you still have a kid? What happened?? I wanna see more!!!!!!

Okay I think that’s mostly it. Closing notes, could do better, y’all threw character development out of the window. Randomly introducing new powers, characters and strengths is a little weak in terms of writing. Employee foreshadowing instead of expecting your fans to watch over 20 hours of content. It was good but you could do a lot better.

I will not watch it in the movies again, and I watch NWH like 3 times full priced tix.

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sortasirius · 4 years ago

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“Carry On” and...Yikes.

Well clowns, looks like the clown calls were coming from inside the house this entire time.

I so desperately wish I wasn’t writing this right now. I so wish that I could be writing something better, something joyful, something happy about this fifteen year journey with these characters. It seems as though the show had other ideas, so in we go.

So...the dog was cool. Also interesting that Dean was back to his breakup/grieving coping mechanisms: not making his bed, messy room, beer all over the place, Sam making breakfast, etc.

So I guess I better just start off with how...off this episode felt in regards to Dean specifically. Idk why he suddenly wanted a dog and Sam had no real interest in one, since the opposite has been true for, idk, fifteen years, but whatever, I was willing to let it go.

I thought the pie thing was a sweet scene, it was funny and nice and a good button on Dean’s pie thing.

Weird to, you know, bring up Cas and not mention his tragic ass deal and why he got got, but whatever.

I cannot physically believe that this MOTW aspect was, quite literally, so much of the plot. Like...we figured that it was going to be an aspect, but for it to be SO MUCH? Bruh. I am such a fucking fool lmfao.

Again, cool to see Cas’ coat in the back. Too bad it wasn’t addressed.

Jenny. Bitch. Come on. Of ALL the villains in the FIFTEEN YEARS of Supernatural. Jenny. Who was in....one....episode. Ok.

I mean that line about the high school thing was funny, I did laugh at that moment. Fuck I love Dean Winchester.

I cannot believe I specced so much about the barn scene. Are y’all telling me that “The Night We Met” is being claimed by......Sam and Dean. Fuck off.

I mean, I thought Dean was going to die, and the scene actually did play out pretty similarly to how I thought. It was probably the most powerful moment in the episode. I am very glad that it was Dean’s choice, his choice and his peace to let go.

“Let me look at you. There he is. I am so proud of you, Sam.”

I do love this, I love this because Dean is able to look at his work, the man that he raised, and tell him these things. He was Sam’s parent, he raised Sam into the man he is today, and he should be damn proud of that.

I do love this most of scene, I really do, I love my boys, these brothers so damn much, and at least, at the very least, I have this scene of them.

Forehead touch was weird, I’m just gonna say it.

I feel like most of this episode was montages lol. I mean I always hate sad Sam but at this point I still fully felt like we were going to get closure and we just...didn’t.

The Austin number was a cool detail, I liked that bc I picked up on it right away (since, you know, my phone is a 512 number lmao).

What a lackluster goodbye to the Bunker. I had no clue that was going to be the last time we saw it ever.

FUCK AT LEAST I GOT MY DAMN HEAVEN BAR.

The scene with Bobby was nice, it was good to see him. We did get our remade Heaven, that’s also nice to know.

“It ain’t just Heaven, Dean. It’s the Heaven you deserve.”

He does deserve this. An open Heaven, the people he loves, finally some peace, he deserves that, and I am glad that he got it.

Our second Cas mention. Great. Thanks guys.

I mean thanks Jim and Jensen for the microexpressions I guess lmao.

So I am supposed to believe. That Dean. Whose entire arc has been speaking his truth, specifically speaking his truth to Cas. Where he has been stopped twice before this season. Is going to just drive around in circles for forty years until Sam gets there? Yeah, that’s gonna be a no from me, dawg.

And Sam gets married and has a kid that he names Dean, and the unspecified dark haired woman in the back of the ten minute montage is supposed to be enough for me to buy that it’s Eileen? Bruh.

Also it’s BACK TO BACK MONTAGES??? WITH TWO VERSIONS OF CARRY ON WAYWARD SON?

Sam’s age makeup???? Hello???? AT FIRST THEY DIDN’T EVEN AGE HIM THEY JUST PUT HIM IN A WIG?????

That cover of Wayward Son did slap but was it enough? No.

Even that bridge moment didn’t hit right because Sam didn’t cross it? He was just suddenly there.

It just fucking sucks. It sucks that their reunion doesn’t land right because they...didn’t do anything when they were apart. Sam had his kid sure but Dean literally just drove around. No mention of Cas or of Eileen. Nothing. So the last moment of this show I love feels tainted and hollow and just wrong.

It sucks. I’m not going to lie. But the worst thing about it? Is that it doesn’t make any sense. I have not spent two years of my life picking apart the writing rooms in Supernatural, lauding this current team for what they’ve accomplished for it to end like this. I know many of you will regard me as a complete tinhat freak right now, but this, to me, does not feel like an episode that Andrew Dabb wrote. Hell, it doesn’t feel like an episode of Supernatural.

None of the arcs were completed: Dean didn’t get to speak his truth to Cas, Sam never got to become the leader, the legacy hunter he was meant to. We don’t see them with Cas or Eileen, we don’t even hear about them.

Listen, there’s a lot that...simply doesn’t add up to me. First of all, the episode was SHORT, and most of it was montages. They had four montages AND the episode was only 38 minutes. The series finale of the show was shorter than any other episode and had four multiple minute montages. Okay. Make it make sense. Newsflash: it doesn’t, there is simply no way I can believe that there weren’t massive cuts and reworks done to this episode on an executive level.

I know there are people who will tell me that the writers are just bad and I need to accept that they gave me a shitty ending, but after all this time with this story, especially with Dabb’s arc, he just...doesn’t do shit like this. His arcs are always complete, always tied up well, always have a button. But this mess? This confusing episode that left everything hanging with a cover of Wayward Son hanging in the air? It just doesn’t add up to me.

This wasn’t the story they were telling, this hasn’t been the story they were telling all season, and I stand by that.

So, I sure do wish I could give you a better post. I wish that we had gotten something better. I still, after everything, love this show, and will still be here in the morning.

Thanks guys. Love y’all.

#my meta #supernatural #spn writers #spoilers #spn 15x20 #spn #this was upsetting to write but hey i knew i had to

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ezgithechaotic · 4 years ago

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pushing up the dasies . peter parker

pairing: Peter Parker x Reader, Peter Parker x female reader

summary: Someone has been stealing Y\N's flowers, and she is determined to find who it is.

warnings: she\ her pronouns (don't know if this one's a warning), mention of the death of a loved person, graveyard

author note: I’m sorry in advance if I have any fault. English is not my first language. But please let me know if you see anthing that doesn’t seem right. I really have no idea if this is good or trash. I’m getting mixed signs. So, please leave a comment about what you think, love you.

As a comic book nerd, I personally love both Andrew and Tom's Spiderman. Just thought this story fit Andrew's more, but feel free to imagine Peter as your favorite!

masterlist

The first time you realized a few flowers were picked from your garden, you didn't think much into it. The kids around the neighborhood liked to play hide and seek around your garden. You thought; it should be Thompson's girl, she likes flowers. It wasn't something that never happened before. You would simply plant new ones, it was no big deal, you could never get angry at children. But after some time, you started to realize the pattern. Every month on the same day, you found a handful of your daisies gone upon returning from your part-time job. Mrs. Thompson swore her daughter would never do such a thing without asking, and after the third time, you were sure somebody was stealing your flowers. Maybe it was that gruff man across the street that never got along with people. But you had a feeling if he had to do anything with your flowers, it would only be blowing them up.

Peter always wondered whom the pretty flowers and house belong to. The post box just outside the garden said Y\L\N, and he had always imagined an old sweet woman lived in the white-painted house with a green door. And Peter hoped he didn't make the poor woman too sad with missing flowers. Boy, was he wrong. You weren't old, and you were furious and determined to find the person who stole your beautiful daisies.

Your friends always wondered why you liked living in such an old neighborhood. The house was one of the few things your mother left you after she died, along with the considerable amount of money in your bank account. You could always sell the house, find an apartment downtown, so you can be closer to school that's what your friends told you every time you had them over. But you loved the house. You loved that the house held so many memories of your childhood, especially your garden. Even though your mother was a busy woman, she had always made time for you and her flowers. At the age of six, growing flowers with your mother quickly became one of your favorite pastimes. That week you did what everyone would do, changed your shift with Mary Jane to catch the flower thief.

So, no, selling the house or letting strangers steal your lovely flowers was not one of the many choices.

Now, Peter Parker was many things, but not a thief. Well, it depended on what you would call stealing. Surely picking a few flowers from a random garden couldn't count as stealing. And God knows he wouldn't do it if he weren't penniless. Trying to survive college and paying for an apartment didn't leave him much. The money The Daily Bugle paid was shit. He had been selling photos for the damn newspaper since high school, but it was no use, Peter had to find a job that paid more than The Daily Bugle. And there was no way he was going to ask Aunt May for money, even though she would be happy to give him some. But that was another day's concern, for now, the only thing he needed to do was be quick. Because he knew if you found out that it was him who was stealing, sorry picking, your flowers he sure wouldn't be able to swing away this time.

Peter honestly felt guilty about your flowers, they were lovely. And he knew this was a safe neighborhood, so he had no way of paying you back with saving you. He had been visiting Gwen every month since her death. It was one of the few things he could keep up with after he graduated high school. Daisies were Gwen's favorite. Peter knew he could easily find another place to pick the flowers, but he believed that there was something magical about the garden. He felt so much love around the house. Maybe it was a silly thing, but Peter thought Gwen would have loved that garden.

Y\N had been sitting on her porch, hiding behind the dark blue armchair, actually too anxious to face the flower thief. You felt childish after some time. It was just a few daisies, right? There was no need to act like a crazy woman. As you were getting ready to go back inside, you saw him. He had an average height, brown messy hair. He was wearing a black t-shirt and an unbuttoned baby blue shirt with a greenish-brown jacket. Y\N's anger turned back the minute she saw him touch the flowers.

"You, flower thief!"

A moment before, Peter felt like his whole body was on edge as if bells were ringing in his brain. But he was already late to realize she had been waiting for him and there was no way to run, he wasn't wearing his suit. Where were the damn spider-senses when he needed them the most? So, he just stood there, speechless, his hand hanged above the daisies. She was pretty, as pretty as the flowers before him. Guilt heating his face, Peter couldn't help but stare at you with his eyes wide open like a dumbstruck idiot. He felt like his lunch was climbing its way back up.

You were now, standing few steps away from him. "You've been stealing my flowers for months!"

Peter held his hands up in defense. "Look, I can explain."

Y\N put her hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised, waiting for an explanation. Your heart beating like crazy. Even though it was still bright and you were in the middle of a road, he was a man. A man taller and despite looking skinny, stronger than you. But you hold your face as still as you could.

"Go on then."

Peter couldn't find the words to explain. What was he going to say? Sorry, I thought my dead girlfriend would love your flowers so, I've been stealing them, I hope you don't try to kill me. No fucking way. His mouth opened and closed few times, making you sigh. You realized the boy wasn't going to give you any answer. He was probably taking them to his girlfriend or boyfriend.

"Are they pretty?" you asked, dropping your hands. Peter, very confused, kept on staring at her. You rolled your eyes at how silly he was. "The person you're taking my flowers to." Something at the back of your mind hoped he would say they were for his mother. Now that you were closer you could see the sweet hazel color of his eyes.

"Um-" His hand went up, scratching his neck. "She is."

She was.

He shuffled through his pants pockets. "I have a photo-"

"No." You stopped him. "I want to see if she is pretty enough for my daisies."

"What?" Peter tried to grasp his head around the idea.

"I want to see her and tell her that her boyfriend is a thief. C'mon."

"I don't think-" Peter was getting anxious, now. How was he supposed to tell you that her girlfriend was dead?

"Of course you don't think." You started walking. "C'mon, now. Take the flowers."

Peter didn't know what to do so he went with it. What could go wrong, right?

"I'm sorry," Peter said after some time. "I have no excuse for what I did."

His head hung low, watching his steps as he walked. He knew he would stutter if he looked at your face. Peter had a habit of getting tongue-tied around pretty girls. And, well, you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Mind you, he wasn't even thinking about Gwen anymore, which made him feel kinda guilty.

"It's okay." You had your hands in the pockets of your jacket. "My life's been boring lately. You were the only exciting thing, I guess."

"I'm sure you have more exciting things than me." Peter still didn't look at you but you could see him smiling.

"It's Y\N, by the way." You kept your eyes on him. "If you wanted to know the name of a woman you constantly robbed."

He laughed. "Peter, Peter Parker." His eyes finally met yours. It was ridiculous, how easy it was to just look at his face and feel safe even though he was a stranger. His smile grew even more. It was almost contagious, his smile. He had something about him that made you wanted to scream and purr like a cat at the same time. You felt yourself getting overwhelmed, he was making you weak at the knees. So, you pulled your eyes away from him.

Pull yourself together, woman! He has a girlfriend.

You were too distracted to realize where was Peter taking you until you arrived. It was the same route you took whenever you felt like talking to your mother. Peter and you were standing just outside of the graveyard. Your head whipped around, turning to Peter. He had a soft smile on his face.

"Peter, I-"

"It's okay."

"No, It's not okay." You took a deep breath, pressing your palms into your eyes. "I'm such a dick."

"No, you were just mad at me."

You slouched your shoulder, didn't know what to say. What would even one say in this situation?

"C'mon." Peter's warm hand was gently holding your arm, now. "Let's go see her."

You didn't talk until you arrived at the tombstone. Peter put the flowers in front of it.

"Daisies were her favorite." He had a sweet look on his face, he put his hands back into his pockets.

"They were my mother's favorite, too." You murmured, but Peter could hear you perfectly. "I think that's why I overreacted you picking the flowers. I wasn't thinking."

"Oh, It's not stealing anymore, then?" He teased. "It's okay, honestly. She would've liked you. You have that fire in you like you could make the world better just with a gesture of your hand. She liked that kind of people, that can light the room with their smile."

"I think I would've liked her, too." You said, your eyes on the tombstone.

Gwen Stacy.

Her name was familiar to you. You didn't know where, but you were sure you had heard before. Still, you didn't ask Peter anything, assumed he wouldn't be comfortable talking about it. You didn't say anything until you were out of the graveyard. You knew you would come back tomorrow to see your mother, but with Gwen on your mind.

The more you looked at his face the more you could see him. Peter wore his heart on his sleeve, he was easy to read. "You blame yourself." You said, nodding your head slowly. You smiled after seeing the face he made. "It's okay, I know the feeling."

"Your mother?"

"Yeah."

Neither of you talked for a long time. Peter could tell you weren't ready to talk about it. He knew it wasn't easy to open up, especially to a stranger. It'd been years since he talked about Gwen, so, he knew the feeling, too.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket. It was a message from Mary Jane. "Just arrived home, you owe me."

"That's it!" You exclaimed, remembering your talk with Mary Jane. "That's how I knew her name!"

Peter, looking very confused, asked you. "What?"

"Gwen, her name was very familiar." Pocketing your phone again. "I have a friend, Mary Jane, who went to the same high school with Gwen. I've seen her in the yearbook. That's where I recognized her name."

"You know MJ?"

"Oh, yeah," you laughed. "We met in Brooklyn, probably four years ago. I think it was very late, some guy was trying to get her number even though she said no, like five times. And I hadn't had the best day of my life. So, I punched the guy and told him to leave her alone. We have been friends ever since."

Peter was amazed. He didn't know how much cooler you could get.

"You know her, too?"

"Yeah, We've been friends for a long time. My aunt kinda tried to set us up."

You laughed. Peter and Mary Jane seemed like two opposite characters. You would never imagine them together. But again, maybe Peter's pretty face was affecting your judgment. You didn't know. He made your mind foggy. At last, you found yourselves at your front yard again. Your eyes wandered over the empty spots that daisies left.

"Would you like to get a coffee sometime?" Peter was leaning against white fences that surrounded your garden. He had that sweet smile on his face again. "So I can pay you back for daisies."

You bit your lips to stop yourself from smiling so much. "Gwen was pretty enough for them. You can have some once a month when I'm not looking." Peter was feeling like you were about to turn him down. Both of you knew this wasn't really about the damn flowers. But again, Peter was every so often wrong about these kinds of things. "But you know, maybe not Saturdays. I'm usually free for a cup of coffee on Saturdays." Peter was ready to feed himself with only pasta for a week if it meant he would get to see you again.

You could visibly see Peter's eyes liting up. "Just one cup?"

You shrugged. "Tea is fine, too."

"I didn't know MJ had friends like you." He said, intensely watching your every move.

"Like me?" You were so sure something bad was coming, he was simply too good to be true.

"You know, this beautiful. If I had known, I would have visited her more."

"Wow, you are hiding a monster under that pretty face, don't you?"

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x female reader #pter parker x f!reader #marvel #peter parker imagine #tom holland #andrew garfield #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine

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hrina · 4 years ago

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1923, Pt. I - The Day

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: PG (for now) WORD COUNT: 7k REQUESTED: nope

hi everyone! here is PART 1 of my historical AU featuring harry as a groundskeeper/farmhand (i know that those two professions are slightly different but just let me have this ok snfjsjfnsdsf)

warning: parts of this fic will contain mature language and nsfw content. if it makes you uncomfortable, you absolutely do not have to read! take care of urselves <3

this series will be composed of three parts altogether, so i hope u all enjoy this first one! as always, please reblog the fics that you like! and don’t hesitate to send in feedback, i promise that we, as writers, always love to witness your reactions :) anywayyyy now that we’ve covered all the bases, go stupid with 1920s harry! can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💌💌💌

~*~

July 5th, 1923

“What if he comes back with a beard that goes all the way down to his knees?”

You snort and shake your head. “He’s only been gone for a few months, Dee. I don’t think it’s possible for one’s whiskers to grow that quickly.”

Lydia shrugs, toying with the hem of her pale blue dress. “What if he met an evil witch in New York who cast a spell on him? And now he’s doomed to live out the rest of his life with horrifying facial hair!”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. I don’t think that there are any witches in New York, you want to say, but you keep your mouth shut. Believing in magic is an integral part of childhood—you don’t want to be the one who takes that away from her. Soon enough, she’ll figure it out for herself.

You wind an elastic around your fingers, securing the end of her braid so that it doesn’t unravel. “That’s one,” you say, sighing quietly. “Turn to the side so that I can start on the other.”

She obeys, angling her head to the left. You gather her dark curls in a loose fist, skimming your nails against her scalp to collect every last strand.

Her hair has grown hot, absorbing the heat of the sun. It’s a beautiful day—there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. The two of you are sitting on the front steps of your home, looking out over the paved circular driveway and waiting excitedly for Andrew’s car to pull up to the iron gate. Realistically, you know that he won’t be here for at least another few hours, but Lydia insisted that you unwind outside to pass the time.

Somehow, she persuaded you to fashion her hair into twin braids. And though you had groaned at the initial request, here you are.

“He’s bringing a friend, you know,” your sister suddenly pipes up. “He told me in his letter.”

“Oh, really,” you say wryly. “And who exactly is this friend of his?”

“Martin Russell,” Lydia says, as though she’s reciting lines for a play. “He graduated from Harvard and then built his own company with nothing but a nickel to his name. Drew says that they’re trying to merge and become an empire.”

“An empire,” you echo, humouring her. “That sounds awfully intimidating, don’t you think?”

“Not to me,” she boasts, lacing her fingers together in her lap and squaring her shoulders. “Drew told me that I’m a businesswoman in the making.”

“That, you are,” you agree. You tie your remaining elastic around her second braid, fastening it in place. “All done.”

Lydia jumps to her feet, tugging down the material of her dress and turning to face you. She strikes a pose, placing one hand on her waist and lifting the other above her head. “How do I look?”

“Stunning,” you say, smiling up at her softly. “You’re the prettiest little girl I’ve ever seen.”

At that, she frowns.

“I’m not little!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m thirteen and a half!”

“That’s little,” you say, laughing quietly. “Trust me. Once you get to my age, you’ll understand.”

“I’d rather be little than ancient,” she shoots back, sticking her tongue out good-naturedly. You scoff, bringing your fingers up to your forehead so that you can shield your eyes from the sun.

“Twenty-three is not ancient!” you say, baffled.

Lydia just giggles, twirling around a few times and watching the skirt of her dress fan out handsomely. Once she looks up, however, she freezes in her tracks. Your eyebrows knit together as she extends her arm in a frantic wave.

“Hi, Harry!”

You stiffen, reflexively following her gaze.

Harry is about thirty feet from the steps, crossing the driveway with a heavy bag of soil slung over his shoulder. In his other hand, he’s carrying a bucket filled with rusted gardening tools. You had been so caught up in your conversation with your sister that you failed to notice him. He’s making his way toward the pretty garden that separates the entry and exit of the driveway, tucked between the two strips of road and outlined with smooth grey stones.

You swallow forcefully when he pauses at the sound of Lydia’s voice. He turns, and you get a full view of his broad chest, tanned skin peeking out from underneath his white shirt. Brown trousers cover his legs, held up by matching suspenders. His black boots are speckled with dried mud—you guess that he’s just come from the stables in the back.

Upon catching sight of your sister, he smiles and begins to walk over. You shift quickly, trying to focus on something—anything—else.

“Good afternoon, little bug.” Harry’s tone is deep, slow, rough. It sends a shiver down your spine. “You alright?”

“Very much so,” Lydia replies, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Harry, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” he replies.

Your sister glances over at you, her brows arched high on her forehead. “He’s practically primeval.”

“Dee!” Her name leaves your lips as an admonishment, but you can’t stifle your laugh.

She just giggles and turns back to Harry; he’s smirking slightly, watching your interaction unfold. “Are you going to be planting more roses?” Lydia asks, changing the subject.

“Yes.” He nods. He sets the bucket down and uses his free hand to realign the bag of soil on his shoulder. “Would you like to help?”

Lydia spins around to face you, her eyes wide and pleading. “Can I? Pretty please?”

“You’re supposed to take Artemis out for a ride,” you tell her, pursing your lips. “You know how antsy she gets when she’s cooped up all day.”

“Can’t you take her out?” Lydia asks, clasping her fingers together and bringing them up to her chest.

“Dee,” you start, shaking your head, “you know I don’t—I couldn’t possibly—”

“Harry,” she says suddenly, glancing down at him from over her shoulder. “Have you been in the stables today? Did you see Artemis?”

Harry hums dutifully. His eyes fall to you—you look away.

“And did she seem anxious at all?” Lydia presses expectantly, placing her hands on her hips.

He hesitates. “Well…no. But if you need to take her out, please do. I’m perfectly capable of planting by myself.”

“Nonsense,” she says, waving away his words. She turns back to you, jutting her bottom lip out into an imploring pout. “Can’t you ask someone else to do it? What about Penelope? Or Beth?”

“Beth’s preparing lunch,” you say, scoffing quietly. “Besides, she refuses to work in a messy environment. What makes you think that she’ll willingly go down to the stables, of all places?”

Lydia frowns, blowing out an annoyed sigh.

“Fine,” she acquiesces at last, rolling her eyes. She spins around, hopping down the remaining steps and fixing Harry with an accusatory glare. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes! Don’t you dare start without me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, little bug,” he replies, his lips twitching. You watch as Lydia takes off, her braids whipping in the wind as she sprints toward the side of the house. Once she disappears around the corner and out of your sight, you press your palms to your face, sighing loudly.

“She’s too much,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Harry chuckles quietly from the bottom of the stairs; you freeze suddenly, remembering that he’s still there.

“I should—” You clear your throat, climbing to your feet. The light material of your dress tickles the skin just below your knees. “I should probably go. There’s still so much to do before Drew returns.”

You’re lying, of course. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sure there is.” Harry nods, running his fingers through his hair. The dark strands curl beautifully behind his ears. You allow yourself to study them for only a moment before diverting your gaze up to the sky.

“It’s hot—are you thirsty?” you ask, squinted eyes trained on miles of cerulean blue. “I can get Beth to bring you some water, if you’d like.”

“That’d be lovely,” he says. “Thank you.”

You simply hum in response. Your hands are abnormally clammy when you wipe them across the thin petticoat covering your thighs.

“Right,” you say, chancing a glance back down at him. “Well…have a nice day.”

“You too, miss.”

You pause, fiddling with the satin bow tied at the small of your back. “You—you don’t have to call me that, Harry,” you remind him, shaking your head. “How many times must I tell you?”

“My apologies,” he says, shrugging. “Force of habit.”

“It’s alright,” you say, intent on avoiding his gaze. “It just—it makes me feel as though I’m your—your—”

You break off, uncertain of how to proceed. Thankfully, though, Harry seems to understand. He chuckles softly, bowing his chin in agreement. “I know.”

Embarrassment festers in your chest, creeping up your neck and settling into your cheeks. You straighten, swallowing down the hard lump in your throat and retreating toward the door. “Lydia will be back soon, I’m sure. Good day.”

When Harry lifts his head again, his green eyes teem with an emotion that is somehow unrecognizable yet familiar all at once. The gruff timbre of his response makes your stomach churn nervously, flipping your breakfast of fresh fruits and toast. You hate it more than anything else in the world.

You don’t hate him, though.

No…you could never hate him.

“Good day, miss. Ah, I mean—” His face collapses into a grimace. He grunts at the thoughtless error, shaking his head. “—good day.”

~*~

It’s just past three in the afternoon when a car horn honks from outside. Lydia’s shrill squeal of excitement follows soon thereafter.

“Drew!” she cries. She rushes into the front foyer, white shoes squeaking against the polished floor. The bottom of her dress is dotted with faded spots of mud, a testament to her time spent in the garden earlier today.

“Dee,” you scold her, frowning. “I told you to change once you had finished planting.”

“Sorry!” she says, though her tone suggests that she isn’t sorry at all—not in the slightest. “Got distracted!”

She grabs your hand, and you yelp when she gives a mighty tug, towing you outside. You dust off the skirt of your dress, tucking your hair behind your ears and staring at the iron gate in the distance—it’s closing back up, metal spines glinting alluringly in the sunlight. On one side of the driveway, a bright red car rolls along the pavement, tires bumping merrily against the ground. Two silhouettes sit in the front; the man behind the wheel honks the horn again and extends his arm through the window, sweeping it upward in a triumphant greeting.

“Drew!” Lydia repeats. She charges down the front steps, her hands outstretched.

“Be careful!” you call after her, gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip.

The sun is still high in the sky. You crane your neck, surveying your surroundings. Heat rises from the driveway in murky waves, blurring the scenery. The large portico that spans nearly the entire width of your home is lined with bushels of potted plants—roses and peonies and daffodils. The lawn is bright and healthy, spearmint-green grass trimmed to perfection.

Something shifts in the periphery of your vision. Your head snaps to the left.

Harry is there, leaning against the corner of the house. He’s still sporting the same outfit as before, except it’s even more sullied, now. You’re not surprised. Gardening is grubby work, but gardening with Lydia…it’s a miracle that he’s not caked in mud, soiled from head to toe.

On cue, Harry reaches for a dirty rag dangling over his shoulder. He grasps the material with strong fingers, lifting it to his face and wiping down his forehead and his cheeks. You watch him closely, fascinated by the thin sheen of sweat sparkling on his skin.

As though sensing your stare, his eyes dart over, locking squarely with yours.

A soft gasp falls from your lips. You clench your jaw, incontrovertibly caught, and quickly look away.

As soon as Andrew steps out of the car, Lydia launches herself into his arms. He laughs gleefully, catching her with ease and spinning her around. He’s dressed in a cream-coloured suit, the collar of his periwinkle button-up peeking out beneath the lapels. His loafers are shiny and brown; a matching hat is perched atop his head, hiding his dark hair from view. The cap makes his ears stick out even more than usual—upon realising this, you smile.

“Look at how much you’ve grown!” Andrew grunts, setting Lydia back down on the ground. He puts his hand next to her shoulder, as though measuring her against an invisible wall. “The last time I saw you, I could’ve sworn you were only this tall.”

She beams before standing on her tiptoes and poking at his chest. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be gone for so long next time!”

“Touché,” he chuckles, nodding in assent. His fingers find the ends of her braids, fiddling with them absentmindedly. “And who’s responsible for these pretty things, hm?”

“I think we both know the answer to that question,” you interject, making your way down the steps.

Andrew looks up at you and grins widely. You hold out your arms as you approach, and he accepts your invitation with a happy call of your name. He’s tall—a few inches over six feet, if you had to guess. You hug him tightly, burying your face into his shoulder and flattening your palms against his back.

“You look very handsome,” you tell him when you break apart. “I like this colour on you.”

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the nape of his neck. “Do you? I was on the fence about it, truthfully.”

“You shouldn’t have been—it looks good,” you assure him, smoothing your knuckles over his collar. “What took you so long? You’re late.”

“Stopped off at the cemetery to visit mum and dad,” he explains. “Changed their flowers, too—calla lilies, this time.”

You nod grimly, pursing your lips. “Mum’s favourite. Excellent choice.”

One of the car’s doors slams shut; the noise pulls your attention away from your brother. You peer past him, eyes landing on the man who has just exited the passenger side of the vehicle. His skin is a fair shade of olive, complimented beautifully by the beige jacket slung over his shoulders. Checkered brown pants cover his legs, and he’s clutching a sturdy briefcase in one hand. Andrew retreats, keeping a palm on the small of your back as he leads you over to his companion.

“Girls,” he says, tipping his cap, “this is my business partner, Martin Russell. Martin, these are my sisters.”

Martin bows his head. “Lovely to meet you both.”

“Are you tired, Mister Russell?” you ask. “It’s been a long journey, I’m sure.”

“I’m quite alright, miss, thank you,” he replies.

You don’t miss the way his amber eyes trail along your figure as he straightens up. You step back before you even have the chance to register what you’re doing.

“Hello!” Lydia—much to your relief—butts in, grabbing Martin’s hand and shaking it frantically. “I’m Lydia. Say, how would you describe your time at Harvard? Did you enjoy it? Was it a lot of work?”

Martin chuckles nervously, taken aback by your sister’s blathering. “Er,” he starts, “I—”

“Dee,” Andrew says, snickering quietly. “At least let the man get settled in before you begin interrogating him.”

“Sorry,” Lydia mumbles, shrinking away.

“That’s alright,” Andrew says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of time to chat with him over dinner tonight, won’t you? Is it true that Beth is preparing my favourite?”

Your sister beams and nods. “I asked her to!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Andrew smiles. He looks up at the house, his forlorn gaze running over the plethora of pale bricks and clear windows. Abruptly, he pauses, squinting and lifting his fingers to shield his face from the sun. “Is that…?”

Your blood runs cold.

Andrew raises an arm high above his head. “Harry!”

And suddenly, staring down at the ground becomes your most pressing concern of the day. Harry makes his way over, a mountain of handsome grime. It’s unfair, really, you think. How does he manage to look so fetching, even beneath a thin layer of soot?

“How have you been?” Andrew asks, surging forward and shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” Harry replies, grinning. “I’ve been alright. Keeping the garden tame, keeping the stables clean.” He tosses a pointed look in Lydia’s direction. “Keeping this little bug out of trouble.”

“Hey!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest.

Harry just chuckles.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Andrew says, nodding in satisfaction. “It’s nice knowing that there’s still a man around the house to take care of these two.”

You bristle at his words, scowling in mock-offense. “We are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves, thank you very much.”

“I know.” Your brother shoots you a mischievous wink, and only then do you realise that he’s merely trying to get a rise out of you. You roll your eyes, though you can’t quell the fond smile that creeps onto your face.

“Let’s go in,” you suggest. “You can say hello to the rest of the staff, and then we can all wash up before dinner.”

Andrew hums in agreement. He tilts his head to the side, attention fixed almost exclusively on Harry. “You should come, H,” he says swiftly. “It’s been too long; we need to catch up.”

“Drew—” Your shoulders tense, and your nostrils flare. “I don’t think—”

“I’d love to,” Harry interrupts. He hooks his thumbs beneath the straps of his suspenders. “Thank you for the invite, Drew.”

“Of course.” Your brother nods before turning back to Lydia and Martin. “Shall we, then?”

The three of them push between you and Harry, climbing up the steps and disappearing through the front door. Inside, your sister unleashes a stream of fleeting questions: What’s it like in New York? Are the people nice? How was the food? Did you see the Statue of Liberty?

Gradually, her inquiries fade away. You stand there, chest inflated with a held breath and fingers fidgeting anxiously with the skirt of your dress. The sun beats down against the crown of your head, triggering a mild fit of dizziness.

Or maybe that’s just Harry.

“So…,” he begins, blowing out an awkward sigh. “What shall we be eating tonight?”

You scoff, unable to help yourself. “You accepted the offer without knowing exactly what it was?”

“Should I know?”

You swallow heavily, pinning your gaze on the scarlet vehicle still parked only a few feet away. “Minestrone,” you say. The word is clipped. “Drew loves it.”

“I’ve had it,” he tells you. “Beth always saves me a bit if there’s some left over.”

You nod wordlessly.

“Are you upset with me?” Harry asks, digging his hands into his pockets. You’re so taken aback by his question that your head snaps toward him, brows cinched together in confusion.

“What?” The question falls from your lips before you can blink. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You won’t even look at me,” he hums, shrugging casually.

“I’m looking at you right now.”

“Not before, you weren’t.”

“I—” you break off, pursing your lips and squeezing your eyes shut. You pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers, trying to keep yourself composed. “I have to go.”

“As do I.”

“Right.” You avoid his gaze. “Goodbye, then.” You whip around, hurrying up the steps.

“Goodbye,” Harry replies from behind you. The smile in his voice is painfully conspicuous. “See you at dinner.”

~*~

You’ve just pinned a final clip into your hair when Lydia comes barrelling through your bedroom door with no warning whatsoever. You’ve long since given up on reprimanding her for it. She always forgets to knock.

“Can you button me up?” she requests, spinning around and exposing her bare back.

“Did you run down the hall like that?” you ask, laughing at her eccentricity.

“Yes,” she says matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry—I made sure that the coast was clear.”

“Brilliant. Your reconnaissance skills are truly a sight to behold.”

She scoffs, smiling at you from over her shoulder. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

“Patience, Dee,” you say. You turn back to your own reflection, twirling your finger through a loose strand of hair and letting it fall picturesquely against your temple. “There.”

Her feet scuffle absentmindedly against the floor as you approach her. She’s wearing a pastel pink dress with short, puffy sleeves that cinch at her skinny biceps. The bottom hem of her petticoat tickles her knees, which strain against transparent white tights. You remember wearing something nearly identical when you were her age. The outfit isn’t a hand-me-down, though. The stitching is brand-new, and the fabric is crisp and fresh, like it’s never once seen the inside of a washtub.

“It’s nice having Drew back home, wouldn’t you agree?” you ask your sister. She squeals when the nail of your index finger ghosts playfully up her spine.

“It is,” she concurs as you begin to fasten the clasps at the small of her back. “I’ve missed him terribly.”

“So have I,” you hum, pressing your mouth into a thin line. “There are some things that I could do without, though. Like that comment he made about us not being able to take care of ourselves.”

“He was only teasing,” Lydia says. “You know that. Besides—” She shrugs, puckering her lips idly. “—he was right. Harry does take care of us, even though we may not always need it.”

At that, you pause.

“‘Harry takes care of us’?” you parrot, your brows knitting together. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” she starts, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Who trims the lawn and tends to the flowers early in the morning? And who cleans out the stables when they get messy?”

“We pay him to do those things, Dee,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “It’s his job.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she agrees. “But he does so much more, don’t you think?”

You say nothing. She takes your silence as an invitation to elaborate.

“For example,” she says—declares, “he never gets irritated with me whenever I prattle on about my day.”

“Oh.” You smirk. “So you are aware of your tendency to talk too much.”

“Not funny,” she deadpans. You giggle.

“He always lets me follow him around whenever I get bored,” she adds, her eyes glazing over. “And he likes to make sure that you’re alright, too.”

Your fingers fumble with the last button at the top of her dress. You pray that she doesn’t detect the sudden blunder. “How so?” you probe, trying to keep your voice level.

“You know,” she indicates, even though you most certainly do not. “Like today, as we were planting the roses. He asked me how you were doing—if you were eating well, if you were getting enough sleep. Those are fairly standard inquiries regarding one’s wellbeing, I’d say. Do you disagree?”

“No,” you murmur, gnawing on your painted bottom lip. “I don’t.”

You finish your task, fastening the final clasp on her dress and smoothing your fingers down her sides. “There you go,” you say softly, your throat dry. “All done.”

“Thank you,” she singsongs, twirling around to face you. She studies you closely, soaking in the black floor-length gown cascading down your figure. “You look beautiful,” she says, her tone sincere. “Martin’s going to be utterly speechless when he sees you!”

A weak chuckle falls from your mouth. “Shall we go down?” you suggest, wrapping a loose arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door.

“Yes, please,” she replies. She places a palm over her stomach, features crumpling into a theatrical scowl. “I’m famished.”

You smile.

And as you exit your bedroom with your sister in tow, you realise that she may have been wrong about which man you’re hoping to impress.

~*~

Dinner is full of surprises, many of which present themselves in the form of Martin Russell. It’s astonishing, you think, because the man who had barely spoken ten words upon first meeting you is now commanding the table at which you’re sat. Andrew is perched at the head, with Martin just off to his right. Lydia is next to him, and you’re directly across from him. And that means that Harry…

Harry is right next to you.

You do everything in your power to avoid looking in his direction. Thankfully, it proves to be easier than expected, considering the fact that Martin has been droning on about his company for the past fifteen minutes. You don’t believe that anyone else has managed to squeeze in a single word.

There’s wine, candles, and the finest china your family owns. But all of that pales in comparison to the man sitting beside you.

Harry cleans up exquisitely. Upon first entering the dining room, you were shocked to find him in a black tuxedo with a white bowtie resting just below his throat. It appears that he even combed and gelled his hair, though some strands have fallen free from the style and now hang down over his forehead. You don’t mind it, though—if anything, it’s a hint of the man you know peeking through. And the man you know is handsome—alarmingly so.

Drew had whistled as you descended the stairs. He then offered you his arm, patting your hand and telling you that you looked wonderful. Martin hadn’t been able to control his reaction, his eyes raking up and down your figure like you were a lavish meal on a silver platter. It had taken everything in you to hide your distaste.

But Harry…

Harry hadn’t said a word. He’d fixed his face perfectly, showing no sign of emotion whatsoever. You’d been hoping for something—anything—indicative of his opinion toward your outfit, but you observed no such consequence. He’d only acknowledged you with a curt nod before settling into his chair and pointedly looking away.

And now, here you are—a bowl of minestrone in front of you, a wineglass inches away from your lips, and an irritated groan simmering on the back of your tongue. Martin’s voice is growing more and more irksome by the minute.

“And then, it was as though they couldn’t get enough—”

“I had assured them that I would bring in at least twice the revenue—”

“It was incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it—”

You polish off the rest of your wine, reaching across the table for the half-empty bottle. No one notices as you pour a bit more of the alcohol into your glass, sneakily surpassing what would be considered appropriate for a lady to consume. You set the bottle back down with a silent huff, lifting the goblet to your lips and letting your attention wander.

You freeze when you catch Harry staring at you out of the corner of his eye. The edges of his mouth are curled up ever-so-slightly, nearly imperceptible. Heat rushes to your cheeks; you gulp down a large sip of wine, averting your gaze.

You deposit your drink onto the pristine white tablecloth, glaring intently at your food. You can feel Harry’s playful stare burning a hole into the side of your head; you suspect that he’s trying his hardest not to laugh.

Your soup has cooled substantially. You shovel a spoonful past your lips, swallowing it with a considerable amount of difficulty. Everyone else has nearly finished their dinner, save for Martin. You want to thrust his face into his bowl—maybe then, he’ll finally shut up.

You lift your wine back up to your mouth. The action draws Martin’s focus. His eyes flit down to your minestrone, and then jump to the other empty dishes around the table. At last, he seems to realise the disparity between your meals, because a small, sheepish smile creeps onto his face.

“Lord,” he chuckles, settling into the cushion of his chair. “You all must’ve been ravenous. I’ve hardly touched my food.”

“It’s hard to eat whilst boasting, I’d imagine,” you mutter into your glass.

A loud, hacking cough breaks you out of your little bubble. Your head snaps to the left. Harry is choking on his own wine, chiseled cheeks growing red with exertion. He curls his fingers into a firm fist, pounding a few times on his chest to dislodge the liquid stuck in his windpipe. Reflexively, you place a hand on his arm, your forehead wrinkling in concern.

“You alright, H?” Andrew asks, leaning forward over his plate.

“Fine!” Harry croaks. He makes an indiscernible gesture with his hand, waving your brother’s worries away. “I’m fine, thanks. Just went down the wrong way, that’s all.”

He coughs again, burying the sound into the crook of his elbow.

You watch him with troubled eyes. When your gazes lock, only then do you realise that your palm is still splayed out over his bicep. You pull away quickly, recoiling as though you’ve just passed your knuckles through an open flame. Harry’s body rumbles as he clears his throat. He hooks two fingers into the collar of his button-up, loosening it from where it’s secured tightly around his neck.

Lydia is talking, now, but her declarations fade into the background. You wish that you could concentrate on them—you really do—but you have more far more pressing matters at hand.

Like Harry shooting you a swift, secretive smile, and every piece of the puzzle clicking perfectly into place.

His unassuming sip…your quiet quip…

He’d heard you.

You sit back in your seat, your ears ringing. Harry places one of his hands on the wooden arm of his chair; his knuckles flex painstakingly. Across the table, Andrew and Lydia have resumed their lively conversation. Martin scarfs down the rest of his soup, trying to catch up. The candlesticks perched between your plates melt slowly, a mess of waxy dribbles and drops.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, you become aware that—for the first time tonight—no one is paying you any attention. The realisation makes you feel giddy, drunk on power and anonymity.

Or maybe that’s just the wine.

You peer down at Harry’s nails, studying them absentmindedly—they’ve been scrubbed clean.

And before you can even begin to register what on earth you’re doing, you reach out, tracing the veins on the back of his hand with one finger. Harry tenses; his concentration immediately falls to where you’re touching him. When you finally muster enough confidence to meet his gaze, you find him watching you with wide, awestruck eyes.

A small part of you is smug—that’s the reaction you’d been searching for at the beginning of the evening. That’s how you’d wanted him to look at you when you made your entrance, wrapped up in a pretty black gown and layers of opaque red lipstick.

You cease your movements and retract your arm, tucking it back against your side as you turn your interest elsewhere. In the periphery of your vision, Harry has pinned you with an unwavering, stunned expression, his body rooted in place. Despite the rapid thumping of your heart, you keep your gaze trained ahead and your chin held high, pride swelling in your abdomen like a hot-air balloon.

Lydia laughs at something that Andrew says. Martin tugs haughtily at the lapels of his suit. You release a heavy exhale and nudge your bowl a few inches away from your chest, completely sated.

~*~

Once everyone retires to their rooms for the evening, you wait approximately an hour before slipping out. You’re light on your feet, sneaking past Lydia’s quarters and the guestroom that was given to Martin for the duration of his stay. He snores—quite loudly, too. You can hear him as though he’s right next to you, even from where you’re hovering out in the hall.

You make your way down the spiral staircase, heading toward the large double doors leading to the backyard. You quickly tug on a delicate pair of slippers before sneaking out into darkness’ cool embrace. Midnight is only a few minutes away.

You pull your wool cardigan a bit tighter around your torso. The hem of your silk nightgown is shorter than that of a standard dress. The wind nips teasingly at your knees, making you shiver. Blades of grass tickle your ankles as you march toward the stables. There’s a single light hanging above the entrance, bathing the wooden panes in a faint yellow glow. Green grass gives way to dry soil and the odd piece of straw littered across the dirt.

Inside the stables, only two of the six pens are occupied. The first one houses Apollo, Andrew’s stallion. His skin is like chestnuts, his mane the colour of the sun. You’re sure that your brother will take him out early tomorrow morning—you doubt that he was able to find many docile steeds in the bustling streets of New York.

You bypass Apollo completely, stopping in front of your horse—Artemis.

She’s a sight to behold, white skin and jet-black hair. She reminds you of the first snowfall of the season: crisp and pure, untainted by footprints and pollution and everything else in between. She’s been your partner in crime for the past decade, even though you’ve spent the last few years simply guiding her along with your feet on the ground and a hand tangled in her reins.

Somewhere beneath the rational layer of your brain, you like to think that she sympathizes with your hesitation to get back on the saddle.

“Psst!” you hiss, leaning against the wooden gate of her pen. “Artemis! Come here, my love.”

She lifts her head up from the floor, chewing on a handful of hay. You dig your fingers into the material of your cardigan, producing a sugar cube from the depths of your left pocket. Artemis’ nostrils flare as you hold it out in your palm; she trots over happily, drawn to the sweet treat.

“Haven’t come to visit you in a few days,” you murmur as she dips her mouth against your hand. You stroke your knuckles down the side of her neck, petting her softly. “I’m sorry about that. Things have been so chaotic back at the house. I’ve barely gotten a moment to breathe.”

She whinnies quietly.

“Did you miss me?” you ask. When she nuzzles her nose into your arm, you smile. “I missed you, too. I thought that maybe you were developing a preference for Lydia. But that’s not possible, is it? I’m your favourite.”

Someone clears their throat from behind you. You gasp and whip around, hands flying to your chest. Your gaze locks onto an amused smirk and a pair of impish green eyes, and your stomach lurches uneasily.

“Hello,” you stammer, air caught in your lungs.

“Hello,” Harry replies.

He’s still dressed in his attire from dinner, though his appearance is significantly more relaxed. He’s abandoned the white bowtie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, allowing his collarbones to peek out from beneath the pallid fabric. The cuffs of his suit have been rolled up, and his hair has completely fallen from its acute coif. Glossy strands tumble down around his temples, curling in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch them.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. You hope that he doesn’t hear the twinge of embarrassment in your voice. He caught you in the middle of a one-sided conversation with your horse, after all.

Harry holds up his hand. There’s a pale pink envelope clutched between his fingers.

“Post,” he says, like it’s the only reasonable explanation. It is, you suppose. “I was on my way home when I spotted you.”

Home. The little cottage just down the trail—the groundskeeper’s residence. It was built years ago, only a few acres away from the main house. You pass it sometimes when you take Artemis out for a walk. More often than not, you’ve found yourself studying its red bricks and white windowsills, yearning for a peek inside.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, wrenching you from your thoughts.

“Yes.” You nod, blinking twice. “Your letter—,” you say, desperate to change the subject. “—who is it from?”

And you immediately want to sink into the earth, because it’s none of your bloody business, is it? You have no right to be poking around and questioning him about his personal life. A slight grimace tugs at the corners of your lips, smearing a pained expression across your features.

But Harry just hums, unperturbed by your inquiry.

“My sister,” he tells you, shrugging. “She writes to me from Paris.”

He has a sister?

“Paris,” you echo dumbly. “France?”

His lips twitch. You want to set yourself on fire.

“Does she like it?”

“I think so,” he says, watching you with twinkling eyes. “She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m—” He hesitates, looking away. “Well, I won’t bore you with the details.”

And though he hadn’t let the words slip out, you know exactly what he meant to say.

She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m stuck here.

A pang of guilt ricochets through your chest. Blood thunders in your ears as you direct your attention to the ground, kicking at the dirt below your slippers. You suddenly realise that whilst Harry is fully clothed, you’re dressed in nothing but a flimsy silk nightgown. You wrap your arms around your torso, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your knuckles.

“Er—”

You glance up at Harry when the awkward noise falls from his mouth. “Yes?”

He lifts his chin and gestures toward Artemis, who has returned to her tasty pile of hay. “She belongs to Lydia, does she not?”

“No, actually,” you reply. “Lydia takes her out, typically, but…she’s mine.”

“I see.” His face renders an innocent type of curiosity, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. “Do you ride?”

You balk, nearly choking on your own saliva. “I beg your pardon?”

And just like that, the innocence is gone. Harry’s features melt into a portrait of wicked mirth. His irises glint roguishly as he fixes you with a shrewd, crafty smirk.

“The horse,” he says slowly, his tone ripe with amusement. “Do you ride?”

“Oh,” you croak. “Sorry, I—”

Your nostrils flare as you avert your eyes, too humiliated to meet his gaze. He’s aware of the way in which you interpreted his question. He understands why you were so appalled. He knows exactly where your mind went.

“No,” you answer quickly. “I don’t. Not anymore, at least.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, confused.

“How long has it been?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mount.”

“I stopped a few months before you came to work for us,” you say, playing with a loose thread hanging from your cardigan. After a beat of silence, you add, “There was…an incident. I fell.”

“Oh.” He recoils slightly, taken aback by your revelation. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright.” Your feet scuffle against the dusty ground. “Sometimes, I catch myself longing for it, but I just—” You shrug. “I can never seem to get back on.”

“I understand.” His response is excruciatingly sincere.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. He takes an experimental step forward, gauging your reaction. When you don’t make a move to retreat, he does it again. You chew on the inside of your cheek as he draws nearer, and your heart stutters beneath your ribs when he angles his body to the side, offering you his arm.

“May I walk you back?”

Is there a hint of fondness in his voice, or is it merely your imagination?

“You may,” you concede weakly.

You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow and bid Artemis goodnight. The two of you stroll back up to the estate in silence, enjoying the tranquility of the evening. The wind whistles through the thicket of trees lining the edge of the property. Crickets chirp loudly, seeking shelter between blades of grass. Harry’s body is unbelievably warm, radiating heat despite the slight chill carried by nightfall.

You release his arm once you reach the steps of the back porch. He studies you carefully as you climb the first two stairs, a divot digging into the space between his brows.

All of a sudden, you pause, brought to a standstill by an invisible string. You spin back around, looking down and finding a pair of bright jade eyes in the dark.

“Goodnight, Harry,” you say softly, hands dropping to your sides.

Quicker than a bolt of lightning, he seizes your fingers between his. A faint gasp leaves your mouth when he bows forward and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Harry peers up at you innocuously, pulling his lips away from your skin after a long moment of stillness.

“Goodnight, miss,” he says. The words flow over you like molasses, viscous and warm and inconceivably sweet. “Sleep tight.”

~*~

PART II: The Week

PART III: The Month

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #there's not a single curse word in this fic holy shit.............i think this is a first for me snfsjsdnsfsjfsn #ANYWAY i hope u like it!!!!! i'll be here if yall wanna chat after lol #farmhandrry #harry writing

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Perfect Skin {Remus Lupin x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: @soularsmate Wordcount: 2570 Summary: Sometimes, a little jealousy can go a long way. Notes: Andrew Garfield as Remus Lupin.

To say that Remus got a little testy near the full moon was an understatement. Even James and Sirius knew to keep their joking and pranking of their best friend to a low around those times. It was like he already transformed into a wolf with how he snarled at anyone who poked fun at him. Even you. It wasn’t even like you had said anything mean to him, you just complained a little about a scar that you had from falling off of your broom the last time that you played Quidditch with James. “Why are you even with me if you hate scars?” He asked, making you and your group go quiet. He wasn’t loud enough for others in the Common Room to overhear over the sound of their own chatter, but he was getting there. “If you hate them that much, then I’ll solve the problem for you. I can’t hurt you if I don’t see you. We’re over.”

“Remus,” You protested, trying to reach out for him. Usually a hand on his shoulder or a kiss on his cheek was enough to calm him down somewhat. But he wasn’t in the mood for that today. He backed out from your touch, refusing himself that little bit of comfort. And refusing you that comfort as well. It hurt like hell when he got up and left the room, the cloud of bad temper over his head. You just watched, mouth agape, the sweet boy that you had been dating for four months, walking away like you were nothing.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean that...” James said, running his fingers through his eternally-messy hair.

“Yeah, he cares about you a lot,” Peter added in.

“It’s just his moon time, you know how he gets,” Sirius insisted.

But despite them staying with you and trying to convince you that everything was fine, you felt that sting in his words. He had meant them. You shouldn’t have been so stupid as to bring up scars, knowing that they were an insecurity for him. He often went on and on about how you had such perfect skin. It was like he was ignoring that you had scars of your own. That you went through your own pain and troubles and got to the other side of them. Nothing as intense as his of course but - it wasn’t a competition. It shouldn’t have felt like one.

“I don’t want to be here when he gets back,” You said, getting up after a couple of minutes of the boys trying to cheer you up. “Even if he didn’t mean what he said, he still said it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You left the three boys looking sheepish and upset - they rarely ever saw Remus snap at you like that and it left them feeling uncomfortable. James eventually got up and said he was going to go look for Remus, Peter went up to do some homework before the sunset and they would be going out, and Sirius sat there and stewed. He was close to both of you, closer to you than James and Peter were, anyway.

Remus was going to regret this when he came back to his senses after the Full Moon but Sirius had seen the hurt that was on your face, and wanted to make him regret it even more. A plan started to come together in that devious head of his, and he knew he had to talk to you first thing tomorrow.

“That’s ridiculous,” You said at breakfast, watching as the sleepy boy piled food onto his plate. The full moon was a rough night for everyone. You weren’t like the others, you didn’t change your form to try to be with Remus, but you spent the whole night worrying about him anyway. You tried not to, you tried to stay mad at him for attempting to break up with you over something as silly as scars but you loved him too much for that. You stared out the window of your dorm all night, waiting to see the weeping willow freeze and the boys come out of it. So you were much too tired to put up with Sirius’s strange ideas.

“No it’s not,” He said, stabbing a breakfast sausage and shoved it in his mouth. He spoke with his mouthful, making you grimace. How did so many of the girls in this school find this attractive? “It’ll work, I’m serious.”

“Yes, yes, we all know you’re serious,” You said, rolling your eyes at his weak attempt at a joke. “Look, best case scenerio is that he’ll come down for breakfast, he’ll apologize and everything will be okay. Worst case scenario is that he won’t. Why do you want to make an absolute worst ever scenerio by trying to make him jealous?”

“Jealous always works, haven’t you noticed? Plus this will totally help me score a date with that blonde Ravenclaw. Hogsmeade is coming up,” He sang, grabbing the maple syrup to drench his food. “We’ll be doing each other a favor!”

“Sirius...” You said, shaking your head.

“I do love the way that you say my name,” Sirius said, blowing kisses at me. The thought of kissing him, and knowing where those lips had been, made me grimace. But that soon abated when scruffy haired Remus walked past him, bumping into him, and continued down to the end of the table to eat with some third years. Sirius had gotten a head start on the plan before you even realized that Remus was in the room.

You watched him as he sat down and only took a piece of toast for his breakfast. You frowned, getting to your feet so you could tell him to eat more, but Sirius lightly put his hand over yours. “Just let him be for a little while, it was rough last night.”

“You’re one to talk about letting things be,” You said, but lowered yourself back down to continue your breakfast. That didn’t stop you from shooting looks back to Remus though. He looked so lonely down there. Peter eventually joined him, while James bothered Lily near you. He seemed to be trying his best not to look back at you. If he was going to be stubborn, there was nothing really that you could do, except for wait it out.

And that’s what you would do. You’d wait for Remus until the end of the world if you had to.

You finally gave into Sirius’s plan, but only because it meant that you wouldn’t have to walk alone to class or study by yourself in the common room. He kept you company, and was a laugh most of the time. He’d tell you about some of the pranks that you had missed out on the group doing, paying careful attention to Remus’s part in them. It had already been two weeks since the full moon, and he still had not spoken to you. You got to the point of trying to send him a letter through your own but Sirius stopped you from doing that.

“Don’t appear too clingy, it’ll blow the plan,” He said, grabbing the parchment from you when he caught the name written on the top.

“I just want to make sure that he’s okay...” You admitted.

“He’s fine,” Sirius said, rolling the parchment up between his fingers. “My brilliant plan is definitely working, though. You should have seen the way that he glared at me after I hugged you goodnight last night.”

“Yeah, why did you do that? It’s not as if the Ravenclaw girl was around to see it.”

“I like to throw myself into the role. Call me a method actor,” He ran his fingers through his hair, flipping it back behind his shoulders. “Plus I like the practice. This girl might actually make me settle down, if I can just get her to notice me.”

“That’s big for you, congratulations.” You said, more than a little surprised. Sirius Black, being serious? Almost unheard of. “But you know, just asking her out might be better than all of this-”

“I already asked you out, I don’t need anyone else,” Sirius said, his whole demeanor changing. He took hold of your hands, running his thumb over the back of them. He didn’t have to tell you that Remus was in the room for you to know that Remus was in the room. “Besides, who could focus on anyone else when there’s you?”

“That’s enough,” Remus’s voice came out in a sharp tone from behind you. You turned your head around, and saw that you were finally able to catch his eye. But instead of the warm, honey look behind them that you were used to, he looked angry. Downright pissed off, actually. “Sirius, what the hell? You could have any girl you wanted, why y/n?”

“I’m sitting right here,” You said, starting to stand up, but once again, Sirius had a good grip on your hands, pulling you back down.

“Calm down, pumpkin,” Sirius said, eyeing his friend. “It’s not my fault you gave her up, mate. She became fair game the minute you broke up with her for whatever stupid reason-”

“You’re a bastard,” Remus said, shaking his head, glare evident. “You’re a bloody bastard, Black, and I regret that I ever thought you were my friend.”

“Remus...” You said, breaking out of Sirius’s grip as the dark haired boy sat dumbstruck. “It’s really not what you think-”

“Save it,” Remus said, the anger in his voice turning to hurt as he addressed you. “Looks enough like you moved on.”

“I didn’t - let me explain, let me talk to you...” You pleaded. This was getting the attention of the others around the common room, and both you and Remus paused as you noticed the stares. “Please.” You said, one more time.

“Fine,” Remus said, taking your hand and pulled you up towards the boy’s dormitory. James was laying out on his bed, passed out, a book about Quidditch resting on his chest. Remus pulled the curtains over him so that he couldn’t see, then sat on the edge of his bed, watching me. “Why did it have to be Sirius?”

“Wow, he must be a better actor than I thought he was, if he had you fooled,” You said, crossing your arms. “Sirius, seriously?”

That usually got the guys to chuckle, but there was nothing this time. Remus’s eyes still looked at you coldly. You sighed. “He’s trying to play you and some Ravenclaw girl into being jealous. I was against the idea, by the way. But then Peter took your side, James was obsessed with Lily and I had no one else to hang out with so ... I sort of went with it. But I didn’t like it. It got all weird when he was start playing with my hair or trying to hold my hand. It never felt right. Not like it did when you did it. Now can we just put an end to this ridiculous mess, and be together again?”

Remus stood up, and paced in front of you. His usually sweet face was contorted into something angry. As confused as you were, and as much as you were wanting to be over, it was pretty hot. He came in close, his warm breath on your face, and took your chin between his calloused fingers.

“All of that - was a ploy - to make me jealous? Is that really what you’re going with?”

“It’s the truth,” You said, unable to look away from his eyes. “There’s absolutely nothing between Sirius and I. I swear.”

He gave a little grunt, and you couldn’t tell whether that meant he believed you or not. After a long moment’s silence, still gazing into one another’s eyes, he finally spoke. “Good, because seeing you with him...” This time a growl came from between his lips.

“Does that mean his plan worked?” You questioned.

“That smart bastard,” Remus muttered. “He knows that you’re my weakness. Seeing you with anyone else makes me a little crazy.”

Rather than feel angry, you felt a bit happy. Relieved. He still cared about you. He still had your chin between his fingers, and he pulled your face in towards his to meet him in a kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself in even closer. Chest to chest. He surprised you even further by letting go of your face, just to go for your legs, pulling them up so that they were wrapped around his waist.

Sweet Remus Lupin. You knew that he had something of a dark side, becoming a wolf whenever the moon was full, but he was in between cycles right now. This was all him and yet - there was something animalistic about it. Sexy about it, even.

He took a few steps backwards, turning you so that you would fall onto his bed while he was on top of you. With barely a wave, the curtains closed around the two of you, granting you privacy from the sleeping Potter in the next bed. “I thought I was going to go out of my mind,” He admitted, his lips detaching from yours for just a moment. “You’re mine, y/n, and seeing Sirius’s hands on you. Thinking about what you might have been up to...”

“Absolutely nothing, my love,” you said, keeping your legs wrapped around him so that he couldn’t get away from you again. “I’ve always been yours.”

He pressed possessive kisses all up and down your neck, down to your collar bone and then back up. Right at your jawline, he sucked, kissed and nibbled harshly, leaving marks. You didn’t mind at all, but rather you moaned beneath each and every touch of him. Two weeks had been much too long without him. And he clearly felt the same way about you. Hands were running over your ribs, over your chest. He was repeating your name, his arousal felt between your own legs.

The amazing moment of your reunion was interrupted by something bumping against the curtain, and falling down upon the floor.

“Great, you’re back together,” James’s sleepy voice came through. “But do you mind keepin’ it down? Trying to sleep over here, bloody hell.”

“Sorry James,” You giggled.

“I’m not,” Remus grinned.

“Gonna go sleep in the common room then,” James mumbled, and he disappeared out of the room and down the stairs.

The reunion commenced, and you didn’t mind this new jealous side of Remus that sometimes came out. Though afterwards, as he curled up in your arms, you were the one who comforted him that there was no one else out there in the world for you. That he was your one. And that no matter how many scars he had, or where they were, he had the most perfect skin in the world, because it was his.

#Remus Lupin #Remus Lupin x reader #Remus Lupin Oneshot #Harry Potter #Harry Potter oneshot #x reader #oneshot #one shot #remusl #request

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soyforramen · 4 years ago

Note

If I'm not too late, for the writing prompts: 9 and/or 47, dealer's choice

· “Just tell why you did it!” “Because I’m in love with you, okay!”

· You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you

Angst below, in an AU timeline...ish

It felt like a fire had lit up her lungs, the smoke crawling up her throat and choking her until her breath rasped out into the cold night air. Behind her, Jughead stumbled, his breathing coming like tidal waves. Betty spared a quick glance at him as she yanked at his arm and pointed to the ridge beyond.

“Just over there,” she lied.

It was becoming easier and easier to lie to him.

On their way up the ridge her feet slipped in the muddy wet leaves. Her knees hit the ground and her teeth rattled hard enough to see stars. Jughead slipped an arm around her waist and dragged her up the rest of the hill, his breath erratic.

It was another ten minutes until they finally reached Archie’s car, the only one in the Sweetwater parking lot. Not many people went hiking at 4 a.m., let alone to go chase down a kidnapped ex.

Thunder rolled above them, the vibrations lingering deep in her bones, and they leaned around the car. Jughead’s hand were on his knees, his breath gasping and desperate. His wiped at the water trickling down his face and coughed hard. Betty kneeled on the ground, hands grasping at the loose asphalt as she forced herself to focus on counting rather than what she’d encountered tonight.

“What the hell was that for?” Jughead wheezed.

Betty shook her head, still unable to talk through her sore throat. She let out a slow breath – 1, 2, 3, 4 – and breathed in again.

“Why’d you try and save me?” he yelled over the thunder. A crack of lightening illuminated them and she was startled by the intensity in his eyes.

“Did you want me to leave you back in there?” she shot back. Stars colored her eyes as she tried to stand, and she listed to one side, grasping for the car to keep her balance.

Jughead snarled and paced towards the far end of the parking lot, ignoring the pouring rain around them. From his limp, Betty assumed he had a Charlie Horse. Betty wanted to chide him about not taking care of his body, about his inability to treat it as something better than a dumpster for all his repressed feelings. It wasn’t her place, though. Not anymore.

Besides, it seemed cruel to point out, especially after he’d been on the verge of being tortured –

“I don’t need your help,” he said when he returned, his words still punctured by small gasps. “I had everything covered.”

She snorted and stood up to face him. A chill ran through her as the wind picked up, but she diverted the movement into massaging at her damaged wrist. Jughead, still as perceptive as ever, didn’t miss her wince. He reached towards her, his eyes fixed on her wrist. Realizing what he was about to do, he stopped short and bent over to retie his shoe.

Even from this angle Betty could see how thin he was.

“I’m sure you did,” she said. Even as the adrenaline seeped out of her body she still couldn’t keep the acid from her voice. “That great, big escape plan of yours was going swell, though I’m curious as to what you were planning after you got chained up in the basement and held to the wall with duct tape. Or did I miss something when I broke in?”

Half her words were covered up by an angry burst of thunder. Perhaps it was for the best; they’d both been through a lot. Or, perhaps it would have been better to put it all out there, fight out their anger until there was nothing left remaining.

Jughead’s lip curled, and Betty knew he’d caught enough.

Betty narrowed her eyes. Despite everything, she still didn’t know whether to trust him. There had been too much time between them, too much space and anger and - Not to mention his aliens and her serial killer.

“You can’t drive stick with a broken wrist.”

“It’s not broken,” she said petulantly, her lip pursed like Juniper’s when she didn’t get the last cookie.

Knowing that he was right, she dug into her coat pocket, angry with Jughead and herself. Another gust of wind blew through their wet cloths, and they huddled into the cab of the truck. As the engine turned over, Jughead scrubbed at the window with his damp shirtsleeves, trying to break through the fog that had followed them. The water streaked across, unable to change, and he gave up on the idea. With a grunt, he shifted into drive and turned towards town.

“Stupid,” he muttered, and Betty side-eyed him.

Her first instinct was that he was talking about her, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping. After everything she’d done tonight, and he still couldn’t think anyone could care for him. Betty stared out of the window, her fingers pushing and prodding against the delicate skin on her wrist, revealing in the sharp jolts of pain and irritation. Eventually the pain cleared through her fog of anger and she realized he was likely talking to himself.

“Just –“

Jughead stopped, cursing under his breath. They came to a blind curve, halfway under water, and he shifted to first gear. As they crept along Betty’s eyes began to shut. She could feel her muscles relaxing as the adrenaline wore off, and the only thing that kept her awake was the potholes in the road. In the flashes of lightening above them, she could see Jughead’s jaw clenching as he worked to keep something in check.

Fine, she thought idly as darkness consumed her. Let him be mad. It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t want to be near her.

She was startled awake when the engine stopped. In front of them was the Andrews’ home, normally bright and cheery, but in this light it was eerily still in the pouring rain.

“He’s not home tonight,” Jughead said flatly. “You can stay in his room. Unless you want to go home.”

Betty shook her head, trying not to let her fear overtake her. The house was empty and would be for the next week. They still hadn’t heard anything about Polly, and Alice had taken the twins upstate to try and get their mind off of it. After tonight (any night, every night, ever since – she cut off that particular voice, struggling to keep that terrible week out of her head), the last thing she wanted to do was to be alone.

The thought sent a shudder through her and she wrapped her arms around herself to try and keep the chill from sprinting down her back.

Jughead nodded, still staring straight ahead. He’d pulled the keys from the ignition and was now jangling them in his hand. He opened the car door and stepped out into the rain, not seeming to care whether Betty followed him or not. She scrambled out of the car, towards the front door and slipped in after him.

She held her breath, waiting in the long stretch of dark, for the lights to turn on. When they did, it was nothing more than Archie’s living room, still messy and smelling slightly of old clothing and pizza.

Jughead stalked towards the kitchen, his face set in an emotion she couldn’t discern anymore. A gut feeling told her it was because she was a stranger here, one who was encroaching not only on his ‘investigation’ but also on his personal space.

“I’ll make coffee,” Jughead said gruffly. “Take a shower or you’ll catch a cold.”

The way he’d said it, matter-of-factly and without any emotion behind it, contrasted so sharply with the fact that he’d remembered. He remembered, and wanted to let her know he’d remembered that she was prone to get colds when it rained. These little things twisted the knife deeper into her back and she tried not to think about her last foray into this home.

“Thanks,” Betty said softly.

She barely glanced at the mirror when she stepped into the bathroom. A thick cover of mud coated her lower half, while leaves had taken up residence in her hair. Her wrist, still throbbing and sore, was a swollen bright red. As bad as she might have looked, Betty revealed in the metaphorical duality of it all. Long ago, she might have said she was a good person, untouched by the corruption of life. Now, though, she felt as dirty and broken as she looked.

Pity about the boots though. Real suede apparently didn’t mix well with the more wild side of life. Betty didn’t dare think about what it would cost to buy Veronica a new pair.

The pipes groaned as the water warmed up. Peeling off her clothes was a chore, the damp, clinging clothes didn’t want to cooperate. The wet slap of them on the floor was a loud echo as she stepped into the shower.

The warm water was practically sinful after tonight. She let it cascade down her skin and shut her eyes to the world around her. Every inch of her body felt sore and bruised. She dreaded even thinking about how she’d feel tomorrow.

A draft of cold air sent goosebumps along her skin and Betty stilled. She trusted Jughead, of course, and yet…

The door shut again, and she peered around the curtain to find a set of clothing on the counter. Her heart stopped when she recognized a grey S from so long ago. Reluctant to let it out of her sight, Betty pulled the shower curtain to. He’d always had a bad habit of forming sentimental attachments to things, to items that had no right to such kindness.

But to have kept that shirt all these years? To have kept her shirt? Surely not. Surely her eyes, tired and sore from lack of sleep, had deceived her.

The ghost of her guilt churned again, deeper this time. A sharp pain went through her stomach – of guilt? regret? hope?

Betty picked up the bar of soap in her uninjured hand and scrubbed at her skin, hot tears running cold against her cheeks. Careless. She was always so careless with everything worth while. Archie’s hands ghosted across her skin, his lips, his whispers they both knew were lies. She was only looking for an escape, not another well to get trapped in. This time, though, she couldn’t think of a single way to escape.

A sob broke from her lips, and then another, and another. She shoved her fist against her mouth and curled up at the bottom of the tub. It was all she could do to keep from breaking up. A part of her, the one that saw reason, was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier tonight when she’d seen Jughead half-conscious with a red welt on his forehead. His head lolled absently against a support beam. His hands tightly bound with duct tape. Tight enough they were turning purple. Those stupid glasses lay at his feet only to reflect the beam of her flashlight onto the chains that bound him.

Images, real and imagined, flashed before her eyes. The well. TBK laughing above her. Polly, bound and gagged in the back of a cab. The twins, facedown in Sweetwater. Squeeky Fromme’s dead eyes staring up at the night sky, milky and flat. Jughead’s hands –

Betty shook her head, trying to shake the images away. No, that hadn’t happened, she chanted internally. It’s not real.

Not this time.

Long after the water had run cold, Betty finally came back to herself. Her movements were slow and forced; her head felt uselessly full of cotton. With a groan, she stood up and gasped as pins and needles threw her back to the ground. Unable to do anything, Betty turned off the water, gritting her teeth as she waited for the feeling to come back into her legs.

Into her life, even.

Now, with only the steady drip of a leaky faucet to keep her company, Betty heard just how quiet it was in the house. The wind blew outside, stronger than ever, but it seemed as if the house itself had gone into hibernation. Jughead had likely gone to bed, she realized. Or maybe he’d been smart enough to know he should see a doctor after all.

Perhaps that would be best. Then they could both pretend tonight had never happened and go back to the chilly detente they’d found themselves living in.

With an anticipatory wince, Betty hauled herself up and out of the tub. As she reached for the towel, she realized that the shirt loudly proclaimed ‘El Royale Gym’ in bright red letters. She scowled at the dancing rooster, ordering it to be something other than it was. Clearly, though, she’d been wrong.

Roughly, she pulled the shirt over her head, her damp hair catching at the collar, and stepped into the gym shorts. Why she put herself through this, why she tortured herself with something so impossible –

“Coffee’s on the counter,” Jughead said when she stepped out. His fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes never leaving the screen.

At least some things never changed, she supposed. Even that, though, rang hollow after what they’d been through tonight.

Betty wrapped her hands around the mug, grateful for something to occupy herself with. She sipped at it a moment, giving him the chance to say something. Do something. When he didn’t, she didn’t know whether she felt relief, or disappointment.

It wasn’t until she reached the stairs that he finally spoke.

“Just tell me why you did it,” he said.

She hesitated, knowing that this was her own personal Maginot line. Crossing this would mean the end of one life, and the beginning of another strange reality, one where she would have no control.

“Why did you come after me? Why didn’t you call Sheriff Keller, or Archie, or –“

“Because I’m still in love with you,” Betty said. Her voice was no more than a soft sigh, but it was enough to bring about a sudden calmness.

The calm before the storm, she thought morbidly. Whatever would happen now, whatever was said…

She waited, counting to a hundred. When he didn’t say anything, she set the coffee down on a side table and went to Archie’s room, shutting the door softly behind her.

(Part 2 here)

#bughead fanfic #prompt #riverdale #but instead of saying art i'm saying angst (with the long a like ahngst)#pretend i'm posing like that art dude from the iron giant

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