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the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 4 months

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Chocolate Princess ♡

Willy Wonka x reader

Description - Y/n Ficklegruber can't help but become enamoured with the spectacularly peculiar man stood in the middle of the galleria.

Word count - 1.6k

warnings - fluff ♡

a/n: Watched Wonka today with my sister and my little cousins and honestly have never smiled so much during a film. Every bit of it was just pure wondourous imagination. And Timothee as Wonka was just too scrumptious! Who couldn't love him!

Masterlist

PART TWO

--♡--

I began everyday as I always did. Being ungraciously tumbled out of my pink satin sheets, poked and prodded by our various servants, squeezed into the most painstakingly prissy pink gingham dress (with a matching bow for extra faff), and hauled into my fathers car to join him on his way to work.

You see, I am the sole child of famed chocolatier Felix Ficklegruber. Since I had completed my mandatory years of studies, my days consisted of lounging about my fathers office in complete boredom. My mind practically weakened with the mundane repetitiveness of it all, and I knew it would surely combust if it was not stimulated soon. For 2 years now, I had been begging my father to allow me to study at the prestigious university at the edge of town. But each plea had been met with a scoff, an eyebrow raise and sharp “no”. Even the library was off limits.

I paced around his office, deliberately scuffing my mary janes against the carpet. I smirked at how each scrape made his face tick as if it was being flicked.

“Would you cease that infernal racket. I am trying to work, precious girl.”

“What work? All you do is sit up here eating your own chocolate.” I slumped down onto the disgustingly green couch.

“Please darling, you are giving me a headache, I must ring for my 8am mocha.” He picked up the telephone, clasping his fingers to his eyes.

I drummed my fingers against my dress and clicked my heels together. “You know,” I trailed off. “I wouldn’t be here to bother you at all if…I was at the library.”

The phone was slammed back onto the receiver which made me flinch. He rose from the desk and stalked his way towards me.

“No daughter of mine will be caught in some stuffy book prison-”

“That’s not entirely correct..”

“--That are refuge for the ugly, the untalented and the p–” He dry heaved. I winced at the possibility of another spew. “The p-” I lunged for a bowl as he spluttered.

“I know what you are going to say so maybe we should avoid any bodily functions.” I picked up his monogrammed hanky and wet it from my glass of water. I dabbed the cool liquid against his mouth. His eyes softened at my action and his hand softly clasped around my wrist.

“Sweetheart, you live in complete luxury. Have treasures other children couldn’t even dream of. Why can’t you just stay.” My gaze fell. His hands held my shoulders to turn me around and led me towards the towering window which overlooked the galleria. “Besides, one day you will inherit my pride and joy, my fortune, the very thing that ignites my soul, my–”

“Who’s that?” I interrupted, and pointed my finger to a beautifully disheveled man who had risen atop his suitcase in order to address the crowd. I quirked a smile and took in the strange man, who was truly more a boy, and his frightfully exciting appearance.

The thickness of the window meant I couldn’t hear what the boy was saying but his movements and expressions delighted me to no end. I giggled as he began to flap, mimicking a butterfly. I gasped as he produced from his shallow hat, a large jar of what appeared to be chocolate eggs. But once he took the top off, I shrieked in delight, as each little egg floated up as if carried by wings.

I felt my father stiffen before he shoved me away from the window.

“Now, now sweetheart. Do not bother looking at this man any longer. Clearly another hopeful vagrant but do not worry.” He lifted my chin with his pinky. “We shall deal with him right now.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly who was ‘we’.

--♡--

Once the three had left their respective stores, I snuck out of our own and managed to squeeze my way through the crowd so I was left behind my father and my, and I regret to say it, godfathers.

They each took a bite of the treats offered by the mysterious man who beamed at them with awe filled eyes.

Even from my limited view I could see the flickers of enjoyment cross each of their eyes as they questioned the different ingredients. But my gazing was caught by the top hatted man. His smile grew even brighter as our eyes met. I felt unsure in the presence of a man such as him and all my normal instincts failed. So I settled on a little wave. He offered a small wave back.

“--100%, the absolute WORST!”

The man jumped out of his skin in glee, mishearing Slugworth because of his focus on me.

“Did you hear that ladies and gentlemen, an endorsement by–wait did you say the worst?”

Anger bubbling in my blood, I finally made my presence known.

“You lie, Arthur. I saw your face! You haven’t enjoyed a treat that much since daddy figured out how to make marshmallow flavored chocolate milk.”

There were murmurs amongst the three in agreement and fond memory of that chocolate milk. But they snapped back and I was held firmly by my father who apologized to Slugworth for my rude behavior. A cane was held down on the hand that gripped me. I looked up and met the sweet face of its owner.

“I am terribly sorry.” With a practiced flick I was released. I looped my hand around my saviours available arm. He led me backwards in comical cautiousness. “But I don’t think she’d like to be held for what comes next.”

Suddenly, the three men began to lift into the air.

“The hoverbugs from mumbai! They love chocolate! You must have put their eggs in the treat!” I exclaimed excitedly, whilst watching the hilarious display.

“Exactly.” In my glee, I hadn’t noticed the adoring look which the chocolatier had fixed on the side of my head.

The fun was interrupted by the chief of police. I rolled my eyes. Slugworth must have phoned.

“Now Ms Ficklegruber if you’d kindly step away from the criminal.” The chief of police gestured and I was led away as they interrogated the man whose name I still didn’t know. I looked on sadly as he was forced to give up his earnings. I shoved off the policemen’s arms, I made my way back over to the man whose face was as solemn as how happy it had been just minutes before. The excitement around the galleria had dimmed as various floating consumers were returned to gravity.

“I am really sorry.” I gestured to the measly sovereign he was left with.

“Don’t be. It was a law and I broke it. These fine men were merely doing their job. But a new day shall bring new promise.” He soldiered on with a smile and once again patted his hat back upon his head. “At least I can make rent.” He flicked the sovereign up and caught it once again.

“Where are you staying?”

“Scrubbits.”

My face fell in sympathy. “You didn’t read the fine print?” I pitied the poor man and what was about to befall him. Scrubbits contract was a common warning amongst residents but as I truly took in the whimsical nature which surrounded this man, I knew he wasn't from here. And that made me smile. This place could use something new.

He sheepishly scratched the back of his head and lowered his eyeline.

“You can’t read?” I questioned but my tone couldn't help but soften.

“I always thought my mama would teach me, but eventually my pursuits became solely chocolate.” I reached out and grasped his arm. Stroking the velvet beneath my fingertips.

Before I even knew what they were, the words left my mouth. “I could teach you.”

He was surprised. “You would? But why?”

“You’re interesting.” I peered back to the shop which loomed behind me. “I need that.”

“Forgive me, I have not even introduced myself.” He took off his hat and leaned into a deep bow. “My name is Willy Wonka.”

I giggled but responded with a curtsy of my own. “Y/n Ficklegruber.”

At the mention of my last name he looked towards the ceiling where my father still hung, gesturing feebly. “Wow. You really have chocolate in your blood. No wonder you’re so sweet.” Both our eyes widened when we realized what he said. A blush spread across my heated cheeks and meeting Willy’s eyes suddenly became impossible.

“Y/N GET AWAY FROM THAT CANDY GRABBING SCOUNDREL!” My fathers voice beat down from the ceiling where he had been watching my entire interaction with Wonka.

“Meet me at the fountain, tonight, 10pm sharp. Daddy will be in a sugar crash by then. It’ll be easy to sneak out.”

Before I could rush off to avoid my father once his feet returned to earth, Willy halted my movements and placed his empty palm out in front of me.

“Before you go, I want to give you something. You shouldn’t have anything I make in bulk. You deserve something a little more…” He placed a cloth over his palm and ripped it off revealing a deep red chocolate heart decorated with tiny flakes of gold. “Bespoke.”

I placed the treat in my mouth and audibly moaned at the taste. This man was a true genius. My father is going to be so mad. I could jump for joy.

“Till tonight, Mr Wonka.”

“Please, call me Willy.” I leaned up and delicately kissed his cheek in a way of goodbye.

--♡--

That night after discovering the true horror of what being a “guest” of Scrubbits included, Willy begged and pleaded with his newest friend, Noodle, to help him sneak out for the night because, in his words, he’d seen…

“The most beautiful girl to ever exist and if I don’t get to see her again tonight, my heart might just burst out of my chest!”

--♡--

#willy wonka x reader #willy wonka x you #willy wonka #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet wonka #wonka #timothee!wonka x reader #wonka x reader #wonka 2023

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cupid-styles · 2 months

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renaissance (art teacher!yn x single dadrry)

in which y/n is harry's son's art teacher and he develops a big dumb crush on her. or: kids art teacher!yn x single dad!harry

word count: 6.5k

content warnings: none, just kids! some mentions of different types of familial relationships/dynamics (death of a parent)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

"Alright, kiddos, let's clean up our big, beautiful messes!"

Y/N claps her hands three times to signify that class is slowly crawling to an end. Her hour-and-a-half art course for kindergarteners is one of the longest and, if she's being honest, labor intensive classes that she teaches. It's set at the end of the school day from 2:30 pm to 4 pm, designed specifically for parents that work late or need to place for their little ones to go after school is over. Most of her students' parents are single and working full-time, or have intense careers like nursing or... whatever it is they do.

Y/N weaves her way through the small smattering of children ambling over to the sinks. She watches to make sure they're having an okay time with washing out their paint cups and rinsing their brushes, followed by using the correct amount of hand soap to scrub paint stains away.

(That one almost always requires extra help — to this day, she tries not to get frustrated when she thinks about Johnathan dumping an entire bottle of Dawn soap all over his clothes because he had a tiny bit of yellow marker on his tee-shirt. It was the price she paid to teach kids, though.)

"Clementine, do you need a little help?" she asks, peeking over to one of her quieter students. With fluttering lashes and a slightly baffled look on her face (Y/N could always tell when she was getting stressed out by the way her little eyebrows wrinkled together), Clementine nods, and Y/N makes quick work to appear behind her. She gets down to her level, where her Mary Jane-clad feet are resting atop a stool to help her reach the sink. "What's going on, lovebug?"

"'s everywhere," Clementine whines lightly, her bottom lip forming a sad pout. "Paint all over my hands!"

"I see that, sweetheart! But you know what?" Y/N makes a show of pretending to look side to side to ensure no one else can hear her. "It's okay if we get a little messy sometimes. The cool thing about everything we play with in this class is that it's colorful and pretty, and if it gets on our clothes or our bodies, it can get washed away."

Clementine considers this for a moment. Her hands are still stuck under the lukewarm stream of water, where the caked on hues of bright pink and orange are slowly starting to fade away. "What about on my art?" she asks slowly. "Will that get washed away?"

"Nope," Y/N shakes her head. "That stays forever. But on your clothes and body? It doesn't stand a chance."

"Oh. Okay."

And just like that, Clementine's minor stressed out moment floats away. Y/N smiles to herself as she pours a bit of soap into her small hands and helps her scrub them together, the lingering paint forming a pretty swirl down the drain.

"There you go, lovebug," she murmurs as she stands back up, giving her head a light pat, "Don't forget to grab your painting when mommy picks you up, okay?"

Clementine nods and scampers away to her table. She chuckles, placing her hands on her hips as she takes stock of the kids. She has about 10 minutes until it's officially time for dismissal, and most parents are good about picking them up right at 4 pm. She thinks about playing a game with them to keep them occupied, until she sees it.

Riley Styles. With globs of red paint in his curly, brown hair.

"Oh my god," Y/N mumbles to herself, rushing over to Riley's table, "Riley! Can I ask what happened here?"

She tries to keep her voice at a measured, not-freaked-out level, but it's kind of impossible given the child standing before her is dripping with paint.

"My cousin has red hair." Riley answers simply before shrugging his shoulders. "I think she uses paint, too."

"Ohhhh, I see," Y/N replies, pressing a gentle hand to his back, "Well, Riley, I think it would be best to clean this up. It look like it feels a little messy and icky."

Her stomach is bubbling with anxiety as she glances up at the clock. There's now eight minutes to dismissal time, and Riley's dad is never late.

"But you told Clementine that messes are okay—"

"Messes are always okay!" Y/N exclaims in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, "Um, why don't you come with me to the bathroom, Riley?"

She doesn't give him an opportunity to reply before she's looping his hand with his and making quick steps to the faculty bathroom. Realizing she's just left 15 kindergartens in a room unsupervised with a plethora of art supplies, she peeks into Lea's classroom.

"Lea! Hey, um, Riley and I need to go to the bathroom to clean up a little mess! Can you keep an eye on my kids?"

Lea, who already has her jacket zipped up and looks like she's about to walk out to her car, furrows her eyebrows. Her eyes widen when Y/N backs up slightly to give her a view of Riley, who has been trailing red paint with every step they take.

"Oh my god!" she all but squeals, and Y/N's jaw clenches, "Yeah! Sure! No problem! Good luck with that mess, Riley!"

Y/N resists the urge to roll her eyes at her friend as they finally make it to the bathroom. She glances down at her watch, which tells her that took a whopping three minutes of their time. Swallowing tightly, she tries to figure out the best plan of attack, ultimately deciding that it would be best if she just attempted to wash his hair with soap and water while he stood there.

"Alright, Riley, can you try and stand still for me?" she asks, already pumping an absurd amount of hand soap into her hand, "I'm going to try to help get this mess out of your hair. Don't you miss those pretty curls you have?"

He shrugs as she begins to lather the soap between her hands. "I thought my cousin's hair was pretty."

"I'm sure!" she replies, massaging the foamy liquid into his hair. She's never been so thankful for washable paint before as the tints of red that latched onto his strands begin to wash away. "She probably didn't use paint though, and it's important that we keep the paint on our projects instead of our hair."

"Messes are okay, though. You said it."

She grimaces. Why do kids remember everything?

"You're right, messes are totally fine! But those are accidental messes. It's alright if we get it on our shirts or hands, but paint doesn't go in our hair. Does that make sense?"

His hair is completely saturated with hand soap now. She doesn't have a better way to wash it out (other than dunking the poor kid's head in the sink, which definitely feels unethical), so she's simply getting her hands wet and washing out section by section. It's going moderately well, especially since Riley's hair is on the shorter side, until the bathroom door bursts open, followed by angry footsteps.

"Riley!"

Y/N turns, her mouth forming an embarrassed o-shape when her eyes make contact with a seething Mr. Styles.

"Daddy!" Riley exclaims, rushing over to his dad. He latches his arms around his leg, giving them a squeeze, and getting the watered down red paint everywhere in his wake. Y/N winces.

"What are you doing alone with my son in a faculty bathroom?" He demands, jabbing his finger in Y/N's direction.

"I'm so sorry! H-he put red paint in his hair and I needed to wash it out, this was the only place I could do it since the kids' bathrooms aren't big enough—"

"And you didn't think to take another faculty member with you?" He spits angrily. Riley's now running around in circles, shaking his hair out like a dog. "How do I know you weren't doing anything—"

"I would never do anything inappropriate and you know that, Mr. Styles," Y/N cuts him off, feeling rage bubble up in her chest, "You've been sending Riley here for two years and this is the first time anything has ever happened. Until now, both you and him have only ever been happy with your experience here."

Mr. Styles clamps his jaw shut, his gaze falling to Riley, who's now pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back.

"It's washable, then?" he asks through a clenched jaw. "The paint?"

Y/N swallows, then nods once. "Yes. Everything we use is washable and water-soluble. It was coming out fine before."

He straightens his posture and runs his tongue over his two, slightly overlapped front teeth. "Okay. Riley, come on, we have to head home now."

Mr. Styles stretches out his hand and Riley takes it happily, his smaller one clutching his dad's fingers. The sight makes Y/N's stomach squeeze, but she quickly diverts her gaze and clears her throat.

"I can grab his backpack and jacket," she says, boots clicking against the tiled floors as she walks out of the bathroom. Her face is warm and she feels tears lining her eyes, but she refuses to let herself cry in front of a parent. What she said to Mr. Styles — it's true. She's been working at the studio for five years and nothing has ever happened. She supposes a fuck up was overdue, especially since she works with kids, but it doesn't lessen the sting any.

She's surprised when she hears footsteps behind her, realizing that they're following her. She swallows the lump of tears in her throat and flashes Lea a small, forced smile when she returns to her classroom. The rest of the kids are gone already, their belongings and paintings with them.

Y/N walks over to the cubbies, where Riley has his jacket and backpack hooked. Gently, she removes them, and turns to hand them to Mr. Styles.

"Again, I apologize for today. I was helping another student clean up and I must have missed this entirely," she says, trying her best to keep an even tone.

Mr. Styles nods awkwardly, taking Riley's stuff into the crook of his arm. "I, um, apologize for insinuating that you'd do anything... unsavory. I know you wouldn't. I just panicked."

"I understand completely." she replies, and she means it genuinely.

"Daddy?"

They both look down to see Riley tugging at his dad's pant leg.

"What does usavory mean?"

Mr. Styles and Y/N's heads both snap back up, eyes wide as they stare at each other.

"...Nothing," he says with a small smile, making Y/N's own lips curl into a grin, "I got you dino nuggets for dinner. Doesn't that sound yummy?"

Mr. Styles waves goodbye to her as he pulls Riley out of the classroom, chanting dino nuggets! dino nuggets! on his way out.

. . .

When Riley doesn't show up for class the following week, Y/N sincerely contemplates poking her eyes out with paintbrushes.

She feels stupidly embarrassed. It took her two full days to move on from the whole red-paint-in-the-hair thing, in which she replayed every single moment of Mr. Styles staring her down like he wanted to pummel her across the city. And while she thinks things ended on a relatively decent note, she wonders if he was just being polite and now he was pulling Riley out of her afterschool art classes.

She's never had a parent unenroll their kid for reasons that weren't out of her control. Moving? Sure. Wanting to try a new activity? Understandable. Parents wanting to spend more time with their child? Y/N wouldn't dream of getting upset over that. But Mr. Styles, who always showed up at 4 pm on the dot in his neatly pressed slacks and crisp button downs to retrieve Riley from class?

She didn't know much about him. Unlike other parents, Mr. Styles didn't care much for idle chatter or small talk. For most of her students, she knew at least something about their personal lives or home dynamics — Reese's mom was a pediatric nurse, Tyler had a twin sister who preferred playing soccer after school, and Sabrina's dad passed away when she was a baby, so she lived with her grandparents and mom.

Anything she put together about Riley's home life was from pure speculation: His mom never picked him up, so she wasn't sure she was in the picture. (She doesn't think Mr. Styles is married, either, considering he doesn't wear a wedding ring, but that's neither here nor there.) He alway showed up to the art studio in professional work clothes, which led Y/N to assume he came straight from wherever he worked. Riley never spoke about having any siblings, so she thinks he's an only child.

And that's about it.

She spends the entirety of class holding her breath and mentally preparing for her boss to ask to see her once all the kids were picked up. Nina would probably start out by thanking her for all of her hard work over the past five years, and then before Y/N even realized it was happening, would switch over to her lack of care for Riley and the complaints made on Mr. Styles' behalf. She could envision the words leaving her mouth now: And so, we have no choice but to let you go, Y/N.

Except... to her surprise, that doesn't happen. Nina doesn't come in after dismissal and she even tells her to drive safe on her way out of the building. There aren't any meetings placed on her schedule in the week that passes by before Y/N's next course with Riley's group, and she's damn near shocked when her students come bustling in seven days later, the curly haired boy included.

Today, Y/N teaches them about working with oil pastels. She breaks the medium down to a very basic, understandable level for kindergarteners and lets them go wild after her usual 15 minutes of instruction, instructing them to let their creative minds run wild. It's one of her favorite parts of teaching art to kids — they rarely overthink it, instead just allowing whatever flows to come through to the paper.

Unsurprisingly, oil pastels aren't as messy as paints, so there's less clean-up required than their previous unit. At 4, the parents arrive in quick succession, though when her eyes flit to the clock, she's surprised when Mr. Styles still hasn't picked Riley up by 4:07.

She doesn't like to bring attention to late parents (she's found that some kids get all knotted up about it, worrying that something happened), so she usually has a few busy activities prepared for this very event. She grabs her folder of coloring pages to bring over to Riley's table, who's busying himself with peeling glue off of the worn, messy table.

"Okay, Mr. Riley, what are we in the mood to color tonight?" she asks, flipping open the folder, "We have a garden, a firetruck, or a puppy!"

Riley silently contemplates the pictures in front of him and for a moment, Y/N feels like some childhood psychiatrist analyzing his decision. She has nothing to examine, though, beyond the fact that she's hoping he opts for the puppy or firetruck so she can work on the garden as they wait for Mr. Styles. With his small tongue poking out from the side of his mouth, Riley taps his finger decidedly on the puppy.

"This one, pwease."

She smiles and nods, stuffing the firetruck back in the folder and keeping the garden and puppy out. Riley always expressed good manners, and his sweet "pwease" and "tank you"'s always warmed her heart.

"Sounds like a plan," Y/N pulls the cup of used Crayola crayons so they're within easy access. She buys a new pack every semester because, as she expected from her very first year working here, kids love to destroy crayons, even if they don't always mean it. Even from just a few months of use, the current 64-array is in rough shape. "Do you have a puppy at home?"

Riley shakes his head as he immediately grabs a teal color to color in the fur. "No. I want one, but Daddy says no."

"Puppies are definitely hard to take care of," Y/N nods as she pulls out a light pink for the flowers on her page. "I have a cat. Her name is Biscuit."

"Biscuit?" Riley giggles. Y/N grins.

"Mhm. She loves to jump up on the kitchen counter and eat whatever food I make," she leans in closer and lowers her voice. "It's pretty naughty, if you ask me."

Riley's giggles erupt into full-fledged laughter. Y/N can't help but chuckle, too, but it's almost immediately cut off when Mr. Styles rushes in, looking frazzled with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Oh! Daddy's here, Riley," Y/N announces, standing up from the little table. Riley turns around with a grin, excited to see his dad as always.

"Hey!" Mr. Styles greets loudly, though his tone teeters on nervousness more than excitement. "I'm so sorry I was late. I had to, um... make a stop, and there was a lot of traffic. Rush hour."

Y/N nods understandingly, "That's alright. Riley, do you wanna show Daddy what you made today?"

"Actually, uh, one sec bud— why don't you keep coloring that... blue puppy, huh?" Mr. Styles's eyes peer over the page he's diligently working on, an expression of confusion making Y/N press her lips into a small smile. Completely content, Riley continues on, and Mr. Styles darts his eyes back over to Y/N. "Um, do you have a moment?"

She nods, swallowing harshly. She assumes this is it — the moment when he tells her that he's pulling Riley out of the program because of her unprofessionalism. It kind of hardens the blow a bit more given the massive flowers in his hand, which he assumes are for a girlfriend at home, maybe Riley's step-mom to-be. Or maybe he's trying to work things out with his birth mom. It's none of Y/N's business, but for some reason the thoughts swirl around in her brain, making her feel all the same — anxious, worried, self-conscious, and even a little down.

She leads him to the corner where her desk is so they're able to speak quietly and freely, out of Riley's earshot. Mr. Styles doesn't say anything for a brief minute. He's always been quite kind to her, so she figures he's trying to figure out the nicest way to say, "you're the worst art teacher and I never want my kid to be around you ever again."

"These are for you," he says, stretching his arm out to hand Y/N the flowers. Her eyes go so wide they feel like they could pop out of her head. It takes a second for her brain to compute the words and he looks at her expectedly, waiting for her to accept them. Finally, she does, hand clutching the brown wrapping around the excessive bouquet of stems. (Seriously, there's at least 25 in here.) "I wanted to apologize for last week. Again. It was... so rude of me to say anything even remotely close to that. You've been nothing but a bright light in mine and Riley's lives and I was just having an awful day already, and... kids are kids, they do silly things, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Y/N's eyebrows still feel like they're glued to her hairline. She's beyond surprised. In her years of working with kids, she's had parents say way worse things to her, and she never received an apology for any of it.

"Oh... Mr. Styles, this is—"

"Harry." he cuts her off, a wrinkle forming between his brows. "You can call me Harry."

She nods slowly, still processing the information. "Harry, this is very kind of you, but so, completely unnecessary. I didn't— I love Riley, he's a great kid, and I was worried you didn't want him to come back when he wasn't here last week."

Harry quickly shakes his head. "No, no. He had the flu. Ever since he started kindergarten, he's been getting sick left and right."

"Oh," Y/N says dumbly, beginning to realize that she worried herself sick for a week over quite literally... nothing. "Oh. That makes a lot more sense."

He chuckles and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his slacks. "Yeah. So, anyway, I hope you accept my apology, and even if you don't, I understand. Just know that I'll have Riley try to dye his hair blue next time or something," he teases, his face instantly falling the second the words leave his mouth. "That was a joke. I'd never do that."

Y/N laughs. "See, and I think pink would fit his complexion better."

Harry grins widely, and she realizes she's never noticed the cute little dimple that pops out of his cheek when he does.

She secretly hopes she gets to make it happen again sometime soon.

. . .

"How was Riley today?"

Y/N smiles knowingly at Harry as she wipes off one of the empty tables. "You know the answer to that. You don't have to ask."

Harry shrugs, putting his hands up in mock defense. He still has one of the Clorox wipes in his hand, quickly returning to cleaning off the crayon- and paint brushed-filled cups.

"I just like to make sure he isn't a complete menace, that's all."

"He's never a menace," Y/N replies, tossing the wipe in the garbage, "He's always very well behaved and well mannered. Kind of wondering if you built him up in a lab."

Harry chuckles. "Nope. Not quite how those things work."

Y/N's cheeks warm so she turns on her heel to glance up at the clock in the front of the classroom. It's edging closer to 4:30, which is about as long as she likes to stay after work. She always makes quick work of cleaning up the floors and tables, de-sanitizing them little kid germs for her 11 am disabled adult class tomorrow morning.

Ever since she and Harry had that chat with the enormous bouquet of flowers (they're all nearly wilted by now, but Y/N refuses to just throw them out), Harry comes to get Riley a few minutes after 4. By then, Riley's the only kid left, save for one or two on days with bad weather. Y/N will have them set up with their coloring pages and, instead of immediately helping Riley pack his things up to leave, Harry just... sticks around. Riley doesn't mind because he adores the different print-outs he gets to choose from, and Y/N can't help the way her heart hammers in her chest as Harry offers to help her clean up or ask about her day.

It's been nearly a month of this — once a week, dancing around tiny tables and conversations accompanied by the scent of Clorox — but Y/N secretly hopes that it's because Harry wants to spend time with her. She doesn't see any other reason why he'd do it, but she doesn't want to seem cocky, either.

"Okay, let's get you two out of here. It's already dark." Y/N announces as she unlocks her small closet in the corner, pulling her coat and bag out.

"Is it alright if we walk you to your car?" Harry asks.

She turns around to see Harry helping Riley zip his jacket up. The sight makes her chest tighten. The love he has for his son is so incredibly sweet that it makes her feel crazy some days.

"Um... sure, if it's not too much," she eventually replies, swallowing harshly, "I'm just a few rows back."

Harry nods and stands up from his place on the floor. He reaches down, a silent request for Riley to fit his smaller hand in his.

"Ri, what do you say to Ms Y/N for all the cool coloring pages?"

"Tank you!" he exclaims, his free hand in a tight fist, wrinkling today's coloring of a dinosaur.

"You're very welcome, cutie! I love that you made the dinosaur purple today." Y/N says with a grin. She follows them out, but not before turning all the lights off and locking the door.

"Daddy puts all my pictures on the refrig—refig—refigerator?"

"Refrigerator," Harry says as they walk down the empty hallway, "But close. Good job, bud."

Riley looks up at his dad with a grin. "Yeah! Daddy puts them all up. He says they're pwetty."

"They are pretty." Y/N nods, agreeing with a smile.

"He says Miss Y/N's pwetty too, and that's why we always stay late now—"

"Ah!" Harry yelps, cutting Riley off with an embarrassed flush. Y/N presses her mouth into a line nervously, trying to hide the excited smile curling at her lips. The conversation ends after that, though Y/N has trouble ignoring the butterflies flapping in her tummy. She clears her throat when they approach her car, her mitten-clad hands pressing the 'unlock' button on her keys.

"This is me," she says, pulling open the passenger's seat door to put her bag in.

"I'm so sorry," Harry rushes out. "I— that's not why we stay. Well, it is. Well, I mean, I think you're very nice and I like being around you, and I do think you're pretty, however I'm not trying to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just— I, um. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Y/N replies, this time allowing the smile to flower over her face, "We can always... we don't have to just hang out here. Like, we can get a coffee or something. Not in the company of your very sweet child."

He scoffs playfully, nevertheless pulling his phone out and opening his contacts. Hesitantly, he hands it to Y/N, who pulls off her mitten before accepting it and putting her information in.

"Text me when you wanna get together," she says as she gives it back to him. "Also, for the record. I think you're pwetty, too."

. . .

Harry texts her the following morning: I haven't asked someone out on a date in a long time, so I'm a little rusty... would you want to get dinner with me on Saturday night?

Y/N, who learned the whole wait-10-minutes-before-you-text-back thing back in college, doesn't even let her screen go dark before she messages him to say that Saturday sounds perfect, and he did a great job.

On Saturday evening, he picks her up at 7 pm on the dot. She's not sure what she was expecting, but she definitely didn't anticipate him getting out of his car on such a dreary, cold evening, ringing her doorbell, and bringing her yet another bouquet of flowers. She tries her best to hide the fact that she's shocked by his presence on her doorstep, her boots clacking against the wood floors of her rental, as she promises him she'll be back in a second once she puts them in some water.

Gentlemanly as ever, he escorts her to his car, a sleek, black sedan. She's not sure what he does for work and assumes he'll tell her tonight, but it's apparent that he has money — she doesn't think she's seen Riley in the same outfit twice and he's always showing up to pick-up in a stylish suit that may cost Y/N's entire biweekly salary.

They make slightly awkward, first date small talk on the way to the restaurant, which feels silly for both of them considering they know each other outside of this.

"What did you do today?" Harry asks, and Y/N's not quite sure how to say "I stayed inside all day doing nothing" without sounding like an elderly woman.

"Um, caught up on some TV. Painted a bit. Nothing too exciting, really. How about you?"

"Riley and I went to a kids science museum. It was fun, he enjoyed it," he replies, tapping his thumbs against the leather of the steering wheel. "Do you do a lot of art outside of work?"

Y/N nods, "Oh, yeah. I went to school for it. I actually wanted to be a museum curator."

"So how'd you end up working with snotty-nosed brats like my kid?" he asks teasingly. Y/N laughs.

"It was supposed to be a side gig until I found something more permanent, but... I started five years ago and got too attached, I suppose."

Harry hums. "Well, you're great at what you do. I've only seen you work with kids, obviously, but I'm always impressed with you."

Y/N shrugs, trying her best not to seem slightly overwhelmed by his compliment. He had a habit of doing that — making her feel dizzy and melty, all because he looked at her for a beat too long or said something she wasn't expecting.

"Thank you. It's nothing special, though," she says softly, swallowing tightly, "What do you do? I don't think I've ever asked."

"I'm in finances. It's incredibly boring," he replies almost instantly, as if it's a knee-jerk reaction. "But, um... pays the bills. You know how it goes."

It feels like an add-on, but nonetheless, Y/N nods understandingly. It seems like it does a lot more than pay the bills, but she doesn't question it.

The rest of the drive is on the quieter side. It makes Y/N's stomach bubble with anxiety, wondering if she's being too boring and attempting to come up with talking points that fall flat — every time she thinks of a question, she talks herself out of it, assuming it would sound silly leaving her lips.

Thankfully, Harry pulls into a parking spot not 10 minutes later. They're in a quaint part of town and, despite the holidays coming and going, the streets are still lit up with pretty snowflake displays. It's on the quieter side, which Y/N also appreciates — considering the fact that she already assumed Harry was fairly wealthy, she had worries that he'd take her somewhere far too fancy.

He looks slightly dejected for some reason when Y/N gets out of the car, burying her hands in the pockets of her jacket. He hurries over to where she's standing on the sidewalk, locking the car with the key fob.

"You look like you're freezing, I'm so sorry," he mumbles, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. It's an act he wouldn't do under any other circumstance if she wasn't all but shaking. "I should've dropped you off at the restaurant."

Y/N shakes her head, "No, don't be silly. Where are we going, anyway?"

He gives her shoulders a small squeeze as he guides her down the sidewalk. "Well, you mentioned not being able to find a decent sushi place nearby. This has been a favorite of mine for a few years."

She glances up at him, a look of confusion on her face. "I said that?"

"Yes," he chuckles. "A few weeks back."

She knows it's true — she gets a mean sushi craving at least once a week but has yet to dine at a spot that she dubs her go-to. She tries to think back to their conversations over the past month or so, but it's a fruitless effort, especially once he holds the door open for her, his large hand pressed against the small of her back. Immediately, the warmth of the restaurant is a welcomed sensation, but the feeling of his touch feels even more delicious.

"Reservation for Styles." he says to the hostess, who, without even looking down at the book on the podium, grabs two menus and walks them over to their table. Y/N's thankful that they're placed in a back corner, where she can cozy up and, perhaps slightly unattractively, stuff her face with spicy tuna rolls and sashimi until she can barely breathe.

"This place looks incredible, Harry," Y/N says softly as she looks over the delicate menu. "You come here often?"

She only says it because the prices are on the more expensive side, so it's difficult for her to imagine casually ordering in from here. She glances up to see him shrugging his shoulders lightly, eyes still glued to the menu.

"Every now and then." he answers vaguely.

As if on cue, a waiter approaches their table, placing down a bottle of wine.

"Your usual, Mr. Styles," he says, and Y/N swears she watches Harry's jaw clench, "Shall we do another tasting menu tonight?"

Her eyebrows furrow and a zap of anxiety electrifies her chest. Clearly, he does come here often. Why would he lie to her then? Was this where he took all his first dates? Y/N clears her throat uncomfortably, shifting on her bum as she starts to let her mind spiral. Suddenly, she feels like just another pawn in a man's game.

"Give us a few minutes, please. No tasting menu tonight, we'll be ordering entrees." Harry says curtly. The waiter nods with a smile and leaves them be.

Without thinking much, Y/N leans over the length of the table, the bones of her elbows pressing into the bright red tablecloth.

"Do you always take girls here?" she demands, a bite to her tone. Harry's head snaps up with wide eyes.

"What? No, why would you—"

"Because you said you come here 'every now and then', but the waitstaff knows your wine order and asked if you wanted a tasting menu again," Y/N replies briskly, blinking at the man in front of her. "You know, I'm not just some girl you can mess around with—"

"Y/N," Harry breathes, shaking his head. "No. No. It's not like that at all. I take my employees here quite frequently and do business dinners here. I'm aware that it's on the expensive side and I just... money is an awkward subject."

"Well, it's even more awkward when you pretend like you don't have any—"

"I wasn't pretending," he mutters, swallowing tightly. "I know you're not like that, but I haven't dated in a long time. Partially because of Riley, but also because people I've been with have only cared about the money. So I just try not to let it be a focal point, especially on the first date. I'm sorry if I didn't do a good job of that."

Y/N's stomach plummets. She feels sick — she hates that she assumed the worst out of him, letting her own dating traumas get in the way of him just trying to protect himself. God, she was the worst first date ever.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N breathes out shakily. "I'm being an asshole."

"You're not." Harry mumbles as he looks down at his lap. "Just... first date jitters, maybe?"

She smiles gently. "Can we start over?" Harry flicks his eyes up at look at her. "I like you, Harry, and I really, really want this to go well."

She watches as his throat bobs, a smile curling at his lips.

"So, Y/N. What is it that you do for work again?"

. . .

Harry feels like he's known Y/N for his entire life.

When they leave the restaurant (she attempts to put her card down and he can't help but snicker at her before explaining that they already have his on file), her hand curls around his as they walk back to the car. It makes his entire body erupt into flames as their palms press against one another's, intertwining their fingers tightly. Their shoulders bump into each other's with lopsided, goofy smiles on their lips.

"Tonight was fun." she says as they approach his parked car. He gives her hand a final squeeze before unlocking the doors.

"It was," Harry echoes her sentiment. They separate briefly to get into the vehicle; Harry immediately turning it on to crank the heat up. "Would you wanna do it again sometime?"

"Yeah. That would be nice." She nods, grinning. "What did Riley get up to this evening?"

He chuckles, "He's with the babysitter for the evening. She's used to my late nights with business dinners."

Y/N hums, peeling her hands out of her jacket pockets now that they're a little less chilly. "So you're not in a hurry to get home, then?"

Harry's chest dings with a bead of nervousness. He swallows and flexes his hands in his lap.

"Sort of. Riley has swimming lessons in the morning."

It's not a complete lie. Riley does have swimming lessons, but Harry wants to stay out with Y/N more than anything. He's not in any kind of rush — he's just anxious about what she's thinking about proposing after not dating anyone since his son was born.

"Oh, sure," she smiles, and Harry's surprised by the way her face maintains its happy composure. "Well, we can just end the night here if you need to get back. No worries."

That makes Harry feel bad — the fact that she's just so incredibly understanding, even if he's feeding her excuses based on his own insecurities. He clears his throat awkwardly and attempts to shift in his seat to face her.

"I haven't done this in a long time," Harry blurts out. "And I'm very nervous."

Y/N's face crinkles into an adorable smile. "The date is over, Harry. I thought we established that we had a good time."

"We did!" he rushes, lifting his hand to run it through his hair, "No, we did. I had an incredible time with you. I really like you."

"So what are you nervous about?" she asks softly, reaching out to take his hand into hers.

That.

That's what he's nervous about.

"It's just... it's been awhile since I've liked anyone. Since I've... touched anyone." His throat bobs and his eyebrows shoot up as he realizes the insinuation of his words. "Not like that! Well, yes, like that, but— I meant, not just sexually. Holding hands. Kissing. We don't have to do a single thing anytime soon, but I haven't done this in years."

"You're nervous about physical touch?" Y/N says gently, her voice soft. He nods. "That's fine, Harry. Like you said, we don't have to do anything anytime soon. We can go at your pace, whatever that means."

"I... I want to kiss you, though," he admits in a raspy tone. "I just don't know... how."

Y/N's heart feels like it shatters into a million pieces. With a thumping chest, she leans into his side over the middle console and gently takes his cheek into her palm. His face feels cold from the chilly winter evening and he can't help but press into the warm, comforting feel of her touch. His eyes flutter shut and she smiles, nibbling on her bottom lip as adoration fills every inch of her body.

"Can I?" she whispers, punctuating her question with a nervous swallow, "You can say no. I just... I'd like to try."

"Please."

She's hesitant in her movements, not wanting to overwhelm him as she slowly inches closer. She tilts her head ever so slightly and presses her lips to his raspberry ones, eyes flittering closed as fireworks explode between their chests. It's perfect — it's slow, and it's leery as both of them try to find a comfortable pace, but of all the first kisses she's ever had, she's positive this is the best one she'll ever experience.

They sit in Harry's car kissing until Y/N's breathless. Neither of them know how long it's been but eventually, she breaks it apart, panting quietly through spit swollen lips. He keeps his forehead pressed against hers with a dopey smile.

"'s good," he mumbles, and she mimics his grin, "That was... yeah. It was so good."

She giggles and her tummy feels like it's filled with butterflies and carbonated bubbles and excited tingles.

"So good." she echoes.

He's surging forward with a grin to reconnect their lips not a moment later, and they're both positive they've never been so content before.

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dorcas4meadowes · 3 months

Note

thinking abt daughter of aphrodite reader decorating lukes face w/ kisses in different shades of lipstick🫶🏻🫶🏻

Lipstick Smudges - Luke Castellan

Pairing - Luke Castell x Aphrodite!reader

Warnings: kisses

W/c - 1k

Masterlist (this was such a cute request <3)

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The Aphrodite sanctuary were the epitome of beauty, but it would be nothing if not for its inhabitants. Its delicate walls were adorned with oil paintings and a collection of mirrors, reflecting the children who called it home. A majority of the interior were carved marble with streaks of grey and gold, including the pillars that held up the roof that were enhanced with flourishing blossoms. The flooring harmonised with the column structures and quite adamantly noted the arrival of heels against its solid surface.

Mary Janes were the only sound that were produced when you entered your dainty cabin, your skirt lifted over your thighs with each step and your heels ceased to be heard when you drifted against the comfort of your seat. You veered towards your vanity and skimmed your fingers against the veneer, admiring the new possessions you had acquired since you last return to your cabin.

The surface was embellished with blooming tulips from you Demeter admirers, dark chocolate from your siblings - who had a fondness for the treat - and seashells from Percy who noticed you love for the sea's gift.

Grateful for your offerings, you reached for you signature perfume and allowed the subtle hints of cherries and wild flowers to enchant your clothes and those who ventured too close.

You broke of a piece of the chocolate and let you esteemed appearance to muse your glowing features, matching your movements through the mirror.

You readjusted the ribbons that were weaved through your hair, reaching into your draws to touch up your exterior. You dusted a deep blush along your cheeks and leant for a gloss which had seemed to have additional companions. You were confused at the increase of lipsticks, but that didn't pose you from setting them on your desk.

You received plenty of tokens from unknown campers, but this gift seemed too particular to be from a stranger. You slipped the lid off of one of the cases and took no time to apply the creamy formula against your lips, astonished at the specific shade which complimented you greatly.

"Thought you might like them".

You peeled your eyes away from your vanity and found your boyfriend leaning against the door frame, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"I do, very much, thank you" you chimed, placing your feet on the marble to float into his arms. His hands rested against the small of your back as you planted a kiss on his cheek, the mark reflecting the crease of your lips.

You never questioned where he got your gifts from, you preferred to linger in the feeling of being doted on and he took the pleasure in spoiling you. He sought out pearls and dewy lotions, sun kissed flowers and dresses which reached just above your thighs, he made you feel adored.

You were an angel, a breath of fresh air and he never once let you feel anything other than purely cherished. You were an embrace from the Elysium, the triple repeated numbers on your thighs only reinforcing the notion of your soft voice and gentle hands. He often toyed with the pleasuring thought that only his eyes would see your tattoo, that only his fingers would graze against the skin of your thighs and that the numbers were your shared secret.

"Wanna come in?" you asked to which he nodded, he would rather throw himself into Tartarus that reject an invitation to your cabin. You linked your hands together and tugged him into the room and closed the door. You pulled him towards your desk and sat him amongst the golden swirls and satin ribbons.

His hands took not time and settled around your waist, toying with the hem of your skirt while his arms swayed with your movements. He admired your busy eyes flutter around your space delicately as your reached for a lipstick behind him and applied a generous layer to your lips blending a lighter shade into the deeper tone. He was unaware of your next move, but he knew he would do anything if you asked with your lips.

Everything slowed when you draped your arms around his neck and brushed a kiss just above the previous stain, coming to a stand between his stretched legs. He felt you smile against his jaw as trailed deliberate kisses down his neck, leaving small bites along his skin.

"Can you pass me the darker one?" you questioned, your breath against him.

He wordlessly agreed and let a hand fall from your side and retrieved you case, slipping it through your fingers. You set a warm kiss on his other cheek, and grew to cover the thin scar on his skin, a small laugh leaving your lips as you decorated your boyfriend in your kisses.

Luke relished in the feeling before it stopped. "Do you need something my love?"

You nodded mindlessly and took his prying hands off of your waist, "My shoes are digging into my heels" you replied.

You know you didn't have to say much to have Luke leant to your ankles to unstrap the attachments while your fingers found his curls, playing with a few coils as he individually lifted each heel from your feet to place them beside your desk. His head slowly rose.

"Better?"

You smiled in response and peppered a few more kisses against his dizzy face noting how his skin had been tinted by pinks and reds.

"My pretty boy" you gleamed, pulling away, his thumb wiping smudged colour off from under your lip. "Wait one moment".

"What?"

Within a few moments you had evaporated from his arms and were reaching into one of you sisters draws, you rummaged until you found an old camera and brought back to your desk and to your boyfriend. "Smile" you mused. Your fingers eagerly gripping onto the polaroid as it came from the camera, you shook it lightly and handed it to Luke.

"I hope this comes off" were his only response as he took you back in his arms and held you close.

You were an angel with a sweet smile and he were a boy with soft curls and a mind full of thoughts. You were the perfect couple, the perfect combination of wits and ambition, but nothing could truly ever be as fragile as love. It was a drug which made your world rose and trusting, but the repercussions of this action are not for you to worry about, at least not at this moment of time.

What could possibly happen? Nothing with your boyfriend at least, he wouldn’t’ even hurt a fly let alone a scorpion.

The sweet memory of your day was encapsulated in the picture which was later weaved between the space in your mirror and it's frame, highlighting your affection for the boy and subsequently and your biggest anguish.

_________

Taglist:

@prettyinsatiable @daisydark @creamsweets @auttumnsayshi @y0urm0m12 @ashr0

#luke castellan imagines #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #pjo x reader #pjo x you #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #riawrites

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velvetures · 9 months

Note

could i request a ghost x “strawberry/cutecore/hello kitty” reader?! basically just everything is pink and they are super bubbly :>

pls and ty 🙏🏻

Simon "Ghost" Riley & Cutecore/Hyperfeminine Aesthetic

a/n: I loved this request... but it was my first attempt at the aesthetic/vibe as a whole and I'm not sure if I hit the mark. I used this pic as my inspo. ):( Summary: What it's like for Ghost to have an "everything in pink, please." gf, and what kind of feelings go along with it. TW's: suggestive content 18+ ONLY, established relationship, possessiveness?, def not proofread (the usual), fem!reader.

Of all the women that Simon ever entertained the thought of being, one like you didn’t initially even present itself as a remotely interesting option. The idea of someone such much different from himself sounded like nothing less than a good way of fucking up someone else’s -otherwise- normal life by inserting himself into it. You just always seemed so damn happy and excited about even the smallest of things; Practically amplifying the good feelings floating around in the air and blasting them right back at him. Never without something pink on and dressed up like you were minutes away from attending some kind of fairy party literally scared Ghost away from having anything to do with you.

You on the other hand, weren’t exactly sure what it was that made Ghost so averse to speaking to you more than a few words at a time. Yet made it your very private little mission of sorts to snoop and poke around until you found some kind of answer as to why such a massive and expertly lethal man couldn’t bear to stand within arms reach of you. He just intrigued you for some reason or another. Only getting glimpses of the man’s real self in his eyes -the only visible part of him- and having to make your next moves based off of nothing more than gut-feelings and the hope that you were reading his signals correctly.

At first, it crossed your mind that your preferred aesthetic of sorts could be a bit of the problem. For most people it might appear a bit too much, and when looking at Ghost dressed almost head to to in black with a skull painted on his masked face… there was good reason to assume it in the first place. What you didn’t know was that it was so much deeper than your affinity for lace-trimmed socks, Mary Jane’s, pearls, and practically anything hyper-feminine and in a shade of pink. Ghost didn’t believe you were weak or predisposed to acting childish. You held a massively significant job in journalism and worked harder than most people he knew at what you did. You just happened to enjoy everything around you looking like some damn cotton-candy tea party.

What bothered him was your sweet personality and an intrinsic value he held for just how fucking innocent you were towards him and everyone else around you. People could be utterly horrible right to your face, and you’d silently keep the hurt to yourself and never fight back against what they’d done. Revenge wasn’t something you cared for, while it was essential to Ghost’s motivation in his work and private life. For a long time he couldn’t balance his morals of being involved with you at all with the thoughts in the back of his mind about how much he might twist and form you into something unrecognizable. Something a lot less… pink. A person that didn’t enjoy such small little things like how a skirt had small pink flowers embroidered on it, or if the little bows you’d stick in your hair had a lace fringe on the edges.

Oh but how things changed when Ghost finally couldn’t stand looking at you without thinking about how nice it would be to have his arm wrapped around you, pulling you tight up against him to keep everyone from staring. The Lieutenant always had a weak spot for you and your sugar-sweet personality and looks. But goddamn did he start loving the color pink more than a professional murderer should. All the hues and tones of that fucking color began reminding him of you no matter where he was, or what he was doing. For the longest time, he’d been worried that he would be the one that changed you, all the while he was too deep inside his own mind to recognize that you were the one controlling the direction things were headed.

Just looking at you made him shudder with feelings of possessiveness and adoration. Standing there happy as could be with thigh-high white socks and a fluffy pink skirt, all dressed up just to go out to eat at a little late-night pub because he couldn’t stand the idea of having to show his face in the bright daylight. You knew to a certain extent that Ghost appreciated the way you lived your life just a bit more feminine than average… but the depths of his thoughts and ideas about you were surface level to say the least. He just knew what you looked like clinging to his arm walking down the street; His polar opposite and yet so happy to be close to him. A darling smile… pretty and glossed lips… frilly things on almost every piece of clothing you wore and just utterly adorable to him.

Knowing that gave him… fantasies.

Wanting to see all of the things he could buy for you to wear for him. Dress you up almost like his own little doll and get to show you off to anyone who’d look, only to have the pleasure of threatening them to do more than take one good glance. So delectable, squeezable; but for him and him alone. You were the princess Simon didn’t realize he wanted and unlocked this strange and insatiable urge to spoil the fuck out of you with every pretty pink or glittery thing you could wish for, just so he could take you home and watch you try it all on for him while sipping a bourbon on the couch.

Fuck… There wasn’t a better way to spend an evening. Well, almost.

Perfect didn’t count unless he got to see you under him, laying back on pink silk sheets you’d been adamant about buying for his house, watching your eyes roll back with every moment he made. Damn if he couldn’t make it more than fifteen minutes without needing to calm himself down, before needing to put you on your hands and knees so those pretty little fucking faces you made wouldn’t make him finish before he got started. If he was lucky he could leave hot and pink handprints on your ass for making him feel so good. Simon knew you weren’t sheltered. But to him you were still innocent. Kind in so many ways he didn’t comprehend or believe was humanly possible. For fuck’s sake, you allowed him to come into your life.

Him with his scarred hands, bullet holes, shitty disposition. A man who preferred destruction and death for it’s permanence and certainty. Simon, with his need to hide his own face and go by a name that lacked humanity. All of him starkly contrasted you in so many ways it made him spin with confusion and oftentimes guilt. Questioning why he’d been so weak as to touch you in the first place. Allow himself the chance at someone so full of life who could see the world -literally- through rose-colored lenses.

Yet you brought forth happiness and fulfillment that the soldier hadn’t found in his years of searching desperately for a purpose. He found someone he could visually see, and palpably touch who hadn’t been torn down or beaten into submission in one way or another. Sweet and innocent you had found such a simple yet powerful way of living life the way you wanted to. Ghost felt like he could protect you. Not only in the genuine aspect of loving you so much that he got physically ill at the thought of losing you to anything; but also because you were so full of life and love to give to everyone around you. He needed you. Selfishly. Then again, there needed to be more softness and genuine innocence and happiness too. And so long as he was alive and breathing, he’d always make sure you were safe.

Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated <3

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #velvetures writes #velvetures #anon answered #anon <3 #anon ask

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bettysupremacy · 6 months

Note

to shake things up a little, what about remus, sirius, or james with a s/o who's [ somehow ] more outgoing and boisterous than them? and she's always flaunting their relationship, her adorable boyfriend, and says the most genuine compliments out of nowhere both to him and other people and it's got him all shy and blushy such

This is such a cute idea!!!! I chose Sirius cause I felt like it in the moment, but this is such a cute idea for all of them. I hope you like it!!<3

“And he-“ You stumble, pausing at the mop of black hair in front of you. “Oh! Siri!”

He laughs at your state, flicking hair away. “That’s me.”

“I was just telling them,” You turn to the girls you met in the kitchen. They wave. “About you.”

“Only good things I hope.”

“Terrible.” You frown, pulling the cherry from the bottom of your empty cup to drop it in Sirius’s. He has two cherries now. Your fingers are wet, and sticky, and Sirius brings your knuckles to his lips to kiss the mixture away. You flush, alcohol and love warming you. “He’s so sweet.”

“Didn’t work very well.” He frowns. “You’re still sticky.”

“I don’t mind.” You laugh.

“I do,” He looks around for the nearest washroom. “Those sticky fingers aren’t going anywhere near my hair.”

You huff, watching him tap is fingers on the island countertop. They click lightly, the gloss of his black nail polish shining in the twinkling candles in every corner. The girls get up and leave, waving at you brilliantly. You grin, waving back just as hard.

“I think there’s one-“ He pauses.

“What’re you looking for?” James pops up, glasses a little crooked. He smiles when you reach up to straighten them. “Thank you, dove.” He nods.

You laugh, turning to Sirius. His eyes still search for a washroom, but his hands found their way to your hip, and the fingers molding into your skin distract you.

“You alright, my love?” Mary giggles.

Lily steps in front of you, holding your face in her slender fingers. You smile at the freckles on her nose, drawn messily like little constellations

“You’re my best friends.” You grin.

“Your friends?” Sirius gawps.

“Yes, padfoot.” Remus nods seriously. “We’re her friends.”

The room is light, love floating around airily. Lily presses a kiss to your cheek. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Just enough.”

“Perfect.” She murmurs, pulling away to reside in Mary’s arms. Her lipstick stains your cheek softly.

You turn to Sirius. Your fingers are still sticky to his dismay, but he doesn’t complain when they tangle in his hoodie. “You are so pretty, Siri, I’m serious! Isn’t he so pretty?”

“It’s the eyes.” James gushes for your amusement.

You nod enthusiastically. “I know!”

Sirius startles. “You need toast.”

“I need a kiss.” You tip toe in the flats you put on in the dim sunlight of your apartment before you left. “Please.”

He sighs, worried sick for your head in the morning. Aspirin can only do so much. “Honey-“

“He is not this shy at home.” You supply your friends. “Normally he-“

“Woah!” Sirius laughs, covering your mouth with his large palm. “You need a burger. We’re leaving.”

“What!” You gasp. “I don’t want to leave.”

“We’ll miss you.” Marls frowns sympathetically, leaning into Dorcas.

“I’ll miss you too.” You sigh. “And your skirt is so pretty.”

Dorcas grins. “You like it?”

“I love it.” Pulling away from Sirius, each of your friends are graced with a goodbye hug. One by one. “I love you.”

“Go eat.” Remus laughs.

“Siri doesn’t le-“

“And thats enough!” He laughs loudly, covering your sentence. “We’re leaving now.”

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peachesofteal · 2 months

Text

John Price/female reader The Ocean anthology

The girl is here.

You’re tucked in a corner booth, rigid against old cedar slats, brown bottle and half peeled beer label crinkled between your fingers. The yellow track lighting casts a dubious shadow across your face, faint flicker of unease painted through your brow.

Your lips touch the rim. John’s stomach pitches.

You look up. He pretends you don’t. Perches on the stool, empty one of many, and waits for his usual. Rocks whiskey. Amber syrup, a cold burn.

One like he feels now, when he catches a local giving you a once, twice over.

You’re a grown woman. Grown women go to bars.

“Saw Aly made a friend the other day.” The bartender is lighthearted, but the comment doesn’t land, just floats aimlessly in the stale air, floundering.

“Yeah.” This is more than curiosity, this interest the town has expressed in you. More than good natured, or ill natured, interest. It’s sinister. It’s calculating. It makes him want to lock you away, hide you from the eyes of this place, the ones watching from the dark, the depths, the pale orange windows lining the street.

“The conservation effort pays for the ranger position, you know.” Mari clips at his left elbow. “Wouldn’t kill you to be nice to her.” It might.

She’s not wrong. He glances at your empty bottle and wandering eyes, and then with a sigh, orders one with a second pour for himself.

John doesn’t meander. He walks with purpose. It’s a learned technique from his past, straight and purposeful. A captain’s walk. Still proud, still able. Still carrying the echo of gunfire, shouts of dying men, well laid plans gone to waste.

He wants to walk right out the door, pull his hat down around his ears, tuck his chin and take himself home.

But then he’d be awake. Listening. Waiting for the sound of your door opening and closing, your feet heavy on the staircase.

Silent watching. Too afraid to go close. Unable to bring himself to gentle a wild thing, again. He’d dig his fingers into your flesh, rip apart these pieces singing to him, the ones carrying an unnatural tune, a siren song trying to drag him into frigid waters.

He’d dig and dig until he’s made a new home. Until he’s hollowed you out, turned you in on yourself. Until he’s lost where he ends and begins, lost the feeling of the most sacred pieces of his heart, the ones already slipping through his fingers.

He burns with a desire to consume you. Pick you apart. See what makes your wild heart tick. You’re like the sea, he already knows. A wild thing, in a wild place, with a wild passion. An interest so feral it’d kill you.

It might.

So when he appears at the end of the table, peace offering in hand, he doesn’t expect a smile or a gesture. He expects what he gets: a confused glance and then, a hot streak dancing in your eyes, willful as the tides. Amphitrite herself.

He hates you for it. Hates how much the burn has blossomed. Hates how you smile at him in the mornings, even though he’s only ever given you frosty, grim half smiles and frowns.

You’re willful. He’d bring you to heel, do to you what was done to him, bend body and soul, and then you’d never leave this place.

“Hi.”

“Can I sit?” He motions, and you chew the inside of your cheek before nodding.

“Please.”

“Can I ask you about the wolves?” No. Ask about anything, but the wolves.

“What about them?”

“Thought I heard them, the other night when I was out.” His spine snaps straight to attention, liquid fire sticking to his stomach like tar. It settles there, in this uncomfortable space he’s built out for you, for all the pieces he’s trying to jam up and away.

“Out where?” A sheepish look crosses your face.

“I went for a walk.”

“Thought I told you not to walk alone at night.” It’s a grand assumption, you being alone. Grand assumption that any one of these starved boys hasn’t picked you up already, hasn’t already tried to make you theirs, to pin you under their body in a bed and give you pieces of themselves.

“I wanted to look at the stars.” It’s a simple answer, but makes the blood hot under his coat. He wonders how much you like the word no, or if anyone has laid you across their knee and spanked you raw before. His hands itch just thinking about it.

He’d do it. He’d lick your tears afterwards too, brine fresh on his tongue. Sweeter than sugar. His crying girl, bent and broken beneath his palms.

There’s a buzzing in the back of his head, a whine. High pitched and unbearable, like the sound Aly’s cries. It’s PTSD, or hearing loss, or tinnitus, something lingering past retirement, sharp and lurking in wait.

“The pack comes close to town. Often.”

“How big?”

“Eleven. Used to be twelve but…” he peters off, hand rubbing down his face. Not too much. “If you’re ever out around the house, or town, and they get too close. You run. Don’t freeze. Run.” He must instill this in you. This chance at survival. Running will make you prey, certainly, but if you’re close enough to town, they’ll peel off.

They know better.

“And if I’m not around the house? Or town?”

“Don’t be.”

#more vibes and nothing else sorry about it #john price x reader #John price #peaches writes #the ocean anthology #captain john price

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annabelle--cane · 3 months

Note

so I don’t have the knowledge of details that you have (complimentary) but is there anything in the computer code Colin looking into being written in German and Jonah Magnus’ buddy living in the Black Forest and finding that crypt that one time? Or is that Too far a reach?

vibrating at the speed of sound. so there are a couple of floating details around from the podcasts, the arg, and some promotional materials that may point back to germany having particular relevance. some of this is absolutely me going full pepe silvia, but there are enough threads here that I feel like it has to amount to Something.

so. germany.

archives 'verse:

-> point 1: johann von württemberg. while staying with his nephew in the schwartzwald in 1816, albrecht von closen finds an old mausoleum with the inscription "johann von württemberg" over the door, and it is guarded by a man with no eyes who nonetheless seems to be able to see. in a deep chamber well beneath the ground is johann's coffin, and the room is completely lined with books so old that they'd all rotted through and fused together, the marble shelves they're placed on having little carvings of open eyes all along them. the only two objects in a good state are an illuminated manuscript in arabic that had been kept apart from the rest of the books, and a gold coin with an engraving of a young man with flowing hair, the initials "JW," the year 1279, and the words "für die stille" (google translate tells me that’s “for the silence”). albrecht asks around for any information about johann because the name is unfamiliar despite his quite good knowledge about local history and nobles, and someone says they remember him being called "ulrich's bastard," likely referring to ulrich the i or ii, two counts of württemberg from the 1200s. with that information, in the present day jon is able to find some historical records that point to ulrich i having a son out of wedlock in 1255 who was rumored to keep the company of witches.

-> point 2: the von closens. it seems that a servant nicked the coin albrecht found before he could go home with it, and that was probably for the best for albrecht, because that servant Died Badly from what was ruled to be an animal attack. albrecht did take the book with him, however, and presumably went on to show it to jonah magnus. he then must have gone back for the rest of the rotten books at some point, though, because when doctor jonathan fanshawe visits his estate in 1831, albrecht has a full library of recently re-bound books that he tells fanshawe he got from the tomb, and owning them has done terrible beholding-esque things to him. fanshawe, in his capacity as a doctor, says they should return the books for albrecht's health, and they do so, but just as the last book is returned, albrecht dies, and fanshawe realizes that all the books were blank and finds out that jonah arranged to have them all swapped out by the book binder. when fanshawe performs an autopsy on albrecht's body, all of his insides are covered in eyes.

in his statement from 1816, albrecht says he and his wife carla have been unable to conceive, though in 1831 fanshawe mentions that all of albrecht's sons were away at school when he came to visit. not something that's impossible, they could have managed to have children shortly after 1816, but it does make me raise an eyebrow. magically blessed fertility? dimension shenanigans? fanshawe does mention a tree being burned on the von closen estate that feels remarkably similar to the tree on hilltop road.

anyway, wilhelm, albrecht's nephew, has some children, and the family stays in germany for about another century, but one branch eventually moves to england, and their descendants include mary and gerard keay. according to gerry, mary was big into mythologizing about the von closens and really tried to get him to continue her idea of a legacy for the family, but he thought most of what she said was made up.

protocol 'verse:

-> point 3: colin's comment about source code being written in german. nothing much to explain here, just that it's Weird that source code for some Weird bespoke program for the british civil service is written in german, right? Bit Odd.

-> point 4: the usenet forum. okay so I'm an avatar of the idiot and only read up about the arg after it was already over and don't know anything about code and whatnot, but as best as I can understand: on the OIAR's official website, if you try to submit a form, you get an error message, and if you look into the source code for the error then you find Some piece of code with an IP address shaped hole in it, and there's an IP address hidden in an OIAR advertising video, so you put that IP address into the code, do something else (???), and then find yourself at an old defunct usenet forum from the 90s/00s for people who left east germany.

(it is from here that I got too verbose for my own good, so the rest is under a cut)

notable things about the forum: most of it is pretty normal, and, naturally, it was pretty much all in german, massive shoutout to everyone who helped to translate all 21k words of it. there are threads about finding work in various countries, weird cultural idiosyncrasies, resources, reminiscing about berlin, yknow, normal stuff. the mod “SandmannS” (translates to exactly what it looks like) ran the forum with a bit of an iron fist, which I guess makes sense, it’s the kind of forum that attracted people who wanted to say some heinous stuff and he was really serious about not letting anyone solicit personal information, but he was also kind of overzealous about keeping threads on topic and locking any discussions that he thought were “pointless.” he was eventually strongarmed into opening a thread for cat pictures, and that’s as good an opening as any to talk about some of the Weird things about the forum.

one of the cat photos was posted in february 1994 and shows a cat standing in front of the thames, with what looks like the completed o2 arena in full view (great choice of a red flag landmark to include @ whoever chose it. nice big landmark that was called “the millennium dome” when it first opened, a handy reminder that it was made to celebrate the turn of the millennium and construction wouldn't even have started in 1994). several comments across the threads are dated as earlier than the comments they’re replying to, one person references the content of the phantom menace a few months before its release, and several comments were somehow made after the mod locked the forum in dec 2001/jan 2002.

and okay. the forum locking. I’m going to condense this to all hell because this is already [redacted] words long but basically, “einsamernarr” (translation: lonely fool) was an active user of the forum with a big conspiratorial streak, real paranoid about “the government” spying on him, always getting warnings and just dodging getting banned just before going too far, yknow, a Type of Guy. in december 2001, he mentions in a book rec thread that he was trolling through some databases and found a bunch of old records and he can’t tell if they’re fictional or not, but he’d like to share them if he can. about five days later, he starts posting in several threads that he did something really dumb, people are after him, the meetup they were planning is not safe and this forum is being watched, people should look for him if he doesn’t come back within a week, and he’ll try to leave some info behind for them just in case. a few days later, a couple of people post worried messages asking if anyone’s heard from einsamernarr and that they’ve been getting weird cryptic emails about an “institute” from him, and sandmanns says that he did everything he could, but he can’t keep doing this, and he closes the forum.

marina “avatar of the idiot” annabelle--cane showing my face here again, I don’t know how this next part happened, but it’s possible to retrieve the email einsamernarr sent, open it with a password found in colin’s code repository (that’s a whole ‘nother thing), and find inside: 1. some pictures of bonzobucks, 2. a weird pdf of an old german book on alchemy with a lot of symbols and codes in it, and 3. a spreadsheet of the names, ages, and test results of the hundreds of children the protocol 'verse magnus institute was performing psych studies on. which finally brings us to our next, much shorter section.

-> point 5: “gerard kaey” (sic). gerry’s name is on that spreadsheet, which I think is relevant to this conversation given mary’s obsession with the von closen legacy. archives ‘verse mary keay resented the magnus institute for what she felt it stood for comparison to what she felt she stood for; she saw jonah magnus as a thief who stole away her family’s honor, so what might be different about the protocol ‘verse situation? why would mary keay in this universe send her only heir to go get scrutinized by a bunch of self-important academics?

-> point 6: the berlin dead drop. more arg stuff, we’re getting into things that I’m sure probably have more to be said about them than I’m capable of saying, but from some clues in a picture of cookbooks that einsamermarr posted in the cat pictures thread of the usenet forum to annoy the mod, and a voicemail on the OIAR’s telephone line, people found out the date and location of the first irl arg event, and it was for somewhere in berlin. a newspaper covered in alchemical symbols was found in a bookshop, and from that people somehow derived coordinates, and those coordinates lead to the last irl event where a battered old video tape with a video of a creepy ritual was found (note: the tape was too badly damaged, so another copy of the video came from an arg affiliated tumblr account).

-> point 7: klaus.xls. from a floppy disk found in the second irl arg event, klaus.xls is a spreadsheet originally written in german with about 100 dates and times of potentially paranormal sightings. a lot of it is corrupted and unreadable, but there are columns for category, rank, “TSHU,” and notes. translated into english, notes sections that aren’t corrupted say things like “mr. b,” “war people,” “avoid, “unhappy child,” “ink,” “lady m,” “cats lol,” and “I hate witches.”

-> point 8: albertus magnus and the philosopher’s stone. right, this is where I go a bit off the rails, and credit to this post by @misfitmagpie for discovering some of this. first, nearly every official visual we’ve had for tmagp has been covered in alchemy symbols. they’re all over the logo, they’re all over the in-universe OIAR and magnus institute websites, they highlighted hints in the arg, they’re everywhere, and the end goal of alchemy was the pursuit of the mythical philosopher’s stone, a substance that could turn base metals into gold and produce an elixir for eternal life. the tmagp logo/the coat of arms for the OIAR is centered around an upside down alchemical symbol for the philosopher’s stone, a circle in a square in a triangle in a larger circle.

albertus magnus (aka saint albert the great) was a bavarian philosopher and scientist who did some writing on alchemy and has been widely rumored to secretly have been a master alchemist, mainly as a result of a lot of people attaching his name to writings about alchemy that he never touched. some have credited him as discovering the actual philosopher’s stone, and while he never made that claim in any way that survives, he did record that he’d witnessed seeing base metals be turned into gold. something of which to take note is that he didn’t go by the name “magnus” during his life, that was appended to him posthumously, it’s just another way of calling him “the great” with a fancy latin word, but it does kind of remind me of that edmond “reimer” halley -> maxwell rayner thing from mag 140. if you discovered the elixir of life and became immortal, you would probably need to nab a new identity at some point, and if people have already been nicknaming you “albert the great,” well…

anyway, the thing that’s really cemented his potential relevance in my mind is his birth and death dates: c. 1200-1280, lining up perfectly with the time period of johann von württemberg (thought we’d moved on from him, didn’t you?). I know magnus timelines are notoriously a bit unruly, especially the further back into the past we get, but it’s scratching at my brain. besides that, I think it would be a really cool move if the magnus this podcast is named for was a completely different person than the magnus the last podcast was named for.

if albertus magnus isn’t directly relevant then I’ve got another theory about the title that I’ll be posting in a hot minute, but it’s not germany related and this ask is already long enough.

just, to sum up, a lot of protocol content so far has been germany-adjacent, and even if nothing more comes of it I think there are a lot of interesting threads here to speculate about.

#tmagp #answered #anons #tmagp spoilers

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where-is-vivian · 11 months

Text

Kiss Cam Kiss

from @jegulus-microfic's prompt, camera (511 words)

“You kissed him?! You fucking kissed him?!”

Regulus stays silent. He’s painting his nails in black, and he has a smug smile lightly floating on his lips.

On the other side of their kitchen, Sirius paces frantically, eyebrows furrowed, his phone in hand, watching one excerpt of the rediffusion of the hockey match on loop. The more he’s looking at it, the worse his furious expression gets.

Regulus knows what’s on that video. He knows very well. The more he thinks about it, the bigger his smirk gets.

“Regulus?! Say something!” Sirius snaps at him, throwing his phone at him. “You— Argh!”

Regulus peeks at the screen that landed on his lap.

He sees the kiss cam stopping on James and him; James offered to take him to the match, since he was already going. Sirius already had a date with Remus, and James said Peter told him he didn’t want to go; Dorcas, Lily, Marlene and Mary already had plans too (something about a girls’ night, or something) apparently, and Barty and Evan were already all over each other and Pandora smiled at the offer to go, and simply said they’d be better with only the two of them.

They’re sitting next to each other on the bleachers. The cam stops on them; they’re both looking up. James immediately laughs at it, and Regulus grins slowly. James points up at the screen, all smiley. He says something to Regulus, still laughing.

Look, Regulus, we’re on the kiss cam!

Regulus looks at him defiantly, still grinning. He’s answering something, but of course, on the video, the only visible thing is his lips moving. It’s hard to guess what he’s saying just looking at the video. But Regulus remembers perfectly what he says.

Yeah we are. And? You know what that means?

James blinks, lowers his arm, and stares at him. Regulus is still speaking.

Means we have to kiss, now.

James blushes a bit; it’s not as much visible on the video but, oh, Regulus remembers perfectly how adorable James looked at this moment. Blush all over his pretty face, from his cheeks to his neck, eyes opened wide with a glint of hope, a little smile threatening to appear at the corner of his lips. No one could blame him for what he did next.

We have to kiss?

And then, on the video, Regulus grabs James’ chin and he kisses him. Rather passionately.

Looking at the video, Regulus smirks; they look good like that.

James is returning the kiss eagerly too, and the crowd laughs, cheers, and applauds in the background. They finally pull away from each other after the long kiss they shared, and Regulus’ hands are still on James’ hair. They both have matching smiles, and Regulus remembers the look of lust James was giving him; now that he thinks of it, maybe he had the same too.

He looks up to meet Sirius’ eyes, who’s standing behind the couch, with an offended look on his face. “He’s my best friend! Regulus, you’re disgusting!”

And Regulus chuckles.

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ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult · 3 months

Text

Unpredictable, Part 7-Limoreau x black!fem!reader fic

A/N: Thanks for your patience with this next part. Please let me know what you think!

Warnings: some sensuality, sexual references, and swearing

Words: 4.3k

Taglist: @badbishsblog, @gardenof-venus, @darksoul100

Series Masterlist

The first thing I noticed was a pair of voices. One was deeper while the other was higher pitched. I could not see anything or make any sense of what they were saying. It was like I was in a sensory deprivation tank, and I was just…floating.

How had I gotten there? How did I get out of there?

When I tried to move my arms, they wouldn’t move. It was the same with the rest of my body. I tried to open my mouth to ask for help but it was like my lips were glued together. My body began to tingle, and I could feel the panic begin to rise from the pit of my stomach.

Please…someone…help me.

Then, one of the voices got closer to me. “Y/N…Y/N, wake up! Come on, Y/N!”

I knew that voice…it was Andre. Then, I felt a strong pair of hands on my shoulders shaking them. The jostling made me want to flinch but instead, my eyes finally flew open, and Andre stared back at me. My eyes scanned the area for a second and my shoulders slumped, and the panic dissipated when I recognized we were in Cate’s dorm.

“What…happened?” I asked slowly.

Andre sighed. “Cate said you passed out.”

“I did?”

I glanced over at Cate, who was standing a few feet away. She hugged her stomach and smiled tightly.

“Yeah, I think the strain I gave you was too strong,” she explained.

At her words, the image of us sitting on her rug and laughing as we passed her bong flooded my memory. But, there was something off about it and I couldn’t explain why. All I knew was that I never passed out after smoking with any of my friends. Maybe there was a first time for everything?

“Oh,” I muttered.

Andre helped me to my feet. “So, how’s the investigation going?”

“Investigation?” I repeated.

Andre frowned. “Yeah, about our memories and what the hell happened at Dusty’s.”

It was like a lightbulb went off in my head and I remembered that we all had two days of our memories wiped. I vaguely remembered talking to Jordan and Marie about it, but I had a nagging feeling that we also talked about something else. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember it.

So, I told Andre what I knew, and he nodded as he processed.

Cate slowly approached us. “That’s why you came here, Y/N. You were stressed because you figured out who it was and didn’t know your next move.”

Immediately, an image of me pacing in Cate’s dorm while she actively listened flooded my brain. There was something off about that memory too but, maybe I was thinking too much.

“Oh.”

Andre’s eyes lit up. “You figured out who it was? Give me that name so I can handle that son of a bitch now.”

I remembered figuring it out and I remembered feeling conflicted about it. But, when I thought about who had done it, my brain felt fuzzy.

“It was Rufus, Y/N figured out it was Rufus and was nervous about how to approach because of my history with him,” Cate interjected.

Something shifted in Andre’s eyes as he faced Cate. Suddenly, I wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

“After that, he had the nerve to screw with all of us?” Andre seethed.

Cate nodded, eyes watering slightly. “That’s why Y/N was so scared, and I thought smoking would help. We also talked about her feelings about other things and right when it got resolved, she passed out.”

Even though her voice was strained, she rattled off everything confidently. There had to be something wrong with my head because I did remember opening up to her about Jordan and Marie, but I didn’t remember smoking or discussing Rufus. But, since Cate was the most sober out of the two of us, she had to be right.

Andre turned to me. “So, you’ve figured yourself out?”

My face warmed and I started shifting my weight from foot to foot. “I guess.”

While knowing how I felt about both Marie and Jordan was liberating in one way, the thought of telling either of them was terrifying. I didn’t know how I wanted things to work out either and going into that kind of conversation without a plan was daunting.

“At least something good came out of this. Do you know where Rufus is?” Andre asked.

“He’s at Dusty’s.”

My mouth moved quicker than my brain and part of me wondered where that came from. However, neither Andre nor Cate questioned it as they hurried out of the dorm, and I trailed after them.

Andre was a force to be reckoned with as he stormed into Dusty’s place with Cate and me right behind him. If looks could kill, anyone he made eye contact with would be in serious danger. He charged into the living room, interrupting whatever conversation Rufus was having with Marie and Jordan.

“Andre, what are you doing here?” Marie asked.

“I’m here for him,” Andre growled, glaring at Rufus. “He’s the one who messed with our heads.”

Andre started to charge Rufus but Jordan stood between them and Marie was at his side.

“What? No. Didn’t you tell him, Y/N?” Marie asked.

“Tell him what?” I replied.

“About how Rufus couldn’t have done this. We only came back here to try to get some more answers out of him but he keeps repeating himself,” Marie explained.

“He sounds so pathetic, I kind of believe him,” Jordan added.

Her words sounded familiar, but I was lost; it was like she was speaking another language and quizzing me on it. At the same time, though, I felt something in the back of my head, almost like a key turning.

“What are you talking about? Y/N’s the one who figured out it was him. She just told me,” Andre bit.

“And she’s never wrong,” Cate added.

I shook my head. “Why would I tell Marie and Jordan one thing and you two something else?”

“Maybe you were confused?” Cate suggested.

“Can someone just keep him away from me?” Rufus wailed from his cowering position on the couch.

“The more you talk, the harder I’m gonna beat your ass into the ground.” Andre tried to rush forward but Jordan easily held him back.

“Breathe, Andre.” Jordan’s voice was even but even they must have understood that an angry Andre was going to be tough to talk down.

Marie stepped away from Jordan and walked closer to me, a slight frown on her face. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing…I…I don’t know. I’m just---”

The ringing pain in my head cut me off and I yelped as I grabbed my forehead.

“Y/N!” Marie carefully grabbed my shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Cate asked.

But I couldn’t respond, the pain was almost mind-numbingly bad. However, the fuzzy and clear thoughts continued to battle in my brain, knocking into walls I didn’t know were there. I didn’t know how much time had passed but when it was over, all I could do was slowly look at Cate.

“You,” I whispered.

“What?” Cate replied.

“You…did this. I don’t know how I figured it out, but I know you did this.”

As I backed away from her, I realized that Marie’s hands were still on my shoulders, and it was like she was pulling me away from her. A new kind of tension took over the room as Andre straightened up and glanced at me.

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” Andre asked.

“She’s confused,” Cate insisted.

I shook my head. “I’m a little fuzzy but I have this weird feeling I wasn’t always like this. I have a feeling that I wasn’t in your dorm to smoke because I was afraid of Rufus or the other stuff we talked about; I figured it out.”

The silence in the space made me hyper-aware of everything; Andre was much more relaxed compared to when we came in and his eyes darted between Cate and me; Jordan strode towards Marie and I; Marie’s grip on my shoulders tightened; and Cate stared at us, eyes practically begging.

“That makes a lot of sense; you’re smart enough to pull something like this off and we wouldn’t have noticed if you touched us,” Jordan observed.

“Come on, why would I do something like that?” Cate challenged.

“I don’t know but I do know that Y/N doesn’t lie,” Andre affirmed.

I had never seen Cate backed into a corner. She was always so articulate and quick-witted that she could get out of everything. It was strange watching her squirm and I couldn’t help but coil away from her in anxiety of what she would do in such a new position.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times. Then, she looked at her boots for a while. After a few moments, she hiccupped and her shoulders shook.

“Why did you push us, Cate?” I whispered.

Cate looked up at me, tears running down her face. “I just wanted everyone to be happy.”

“Happy? You thought making us lose our memories would make us happy?” Andre spat.

“I can explain,” Cate insisted.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Andre muttered.

“I do,” Marie stated. “I want to know exactly what made you do this to us.”

“After she gives us back our memories,” Jordan insisted.

Cate agreed and I texted Emma to come to Dusty’s so she could recover her memories.

For a second, I thought that recovering my memories would be painful and overwhelming, but it wasn’t. It was like a montage of everything that had happened. All the smells, touches, and feelings were unfamiliar but comforting at the same time.

When Cate let go of my face, I backed away from her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

I couldn’t answer her. Instead, I glanced at Jordan and Marie, who both looked sheepish since they had gotten their memories back before me. Knowing exactly what happened that night added a whole new fun layer to the conversations I knew I would have to have with both of them.

Emma, who was standing next to me, playfully nudged me and wiggled her eyebrows. “I expect all the dirty details later.”

I playfully shooed her and stepped aside so that she could get her memories. Andre was standing on the other side of the room, stewing. He was the first to get his memories back and he’d been sitting like that since.

“Wow,” Emma exclaimed when Cate finished.

“That’s everything,” Cate muttered.

Emma gave her the dirtiest look possible and called her something that made me flinch. “I’m gonna go find Sam.”

She rushed out of Dusty’s, leaving the five of us in the living room. Cate looked at us helplessly and I felt something hard in my chest.

“You can explain now,” Marie encouraged.

Cate sighed. “Shetty said that you all needed to forget about the Woods; that it was too dangerous. She said that I’d be protecting you.”

“Wait, Shetty put you up to this?” I asked.

“She asked me to do this; she said that I would be helping you!” Cate insisted. “She said that Sam was too dangerous for any of us to get close to and I was trying to protect you----you saw what he did at Dr. Cordova’s!”

“That’s not a reason to mess with our heads, Cate,” Andre scowled.

“You could have talked to us; we could’ve figured something out,” Jordan mentioned.

“I’m so sorry,” Cate whispered.

Andre shook his head. “I’m done.”

He stormed off and Marie wandered after him. Cate’s eyes bored into the side of my head, and I forced myself to look at her.

“Y/N…”

“I…I need some water,” I mumbled.

My feet carried me to Dusty’s filthy kitchen and I started searching everywhere for some water. Suddenly, I was parched, and as my vision got blurry, I understood why. Then, I started focusing on my surroundings.

“I see five empty beer cans, I smell four different strange smells, I am touching two cabinet doors, and,” I paused at the heavy footfalls, “I hear one pair of footsteps.”

Jordan looked down at me for a second and I couldn’t read their expression as they handed me a water bottle. I backed away from the cabinets and accepted it.

“Thanks,” I said.

The water was a relief and I sighed when I finished gulping.

“So,” Jordan started.

“So…”

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

I laughed humorlessly. “Exhausted is the only thing I can think of. I feel like my brain was the ball in a game of ping pong.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Jordan glanced at his hands. “Yeah but, I still feel shitty about everything.” “Everything?”

Jordan’s eyes snapped up to meet mine and he almost looked panicked. “No, shit, I didn’t mean last night; I mean with Cate messing with us but especially you.”

I hesitated and fumbled with the water bottle cap. “Oh.”

“Yeah, you should’ve seen yourself earlier; you looked lost and confused and I hate seeing you like that,” he rambled.

Despite the reminder, Jordan’s words made me feel giddy inside and I tried to keep the smile off my face. I had to take the conversation slowly.

“I hated feeling like that, but I appreciate you backing me up,” I expressed. “You and Marie.”

Jordan grabbed my free hand. “I know you and I know that your intuition is always right.”

I hoped it was right then as I sipped some more water. “So, about last night…”

Jordan hesitated and released my hand to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, um, we should talk about that.”

This was new. Since I knew them, Jordan was always one of the most confident people in the room. They always looked people in the eye and had no problem seducing anyone they wanted. I only saw them flustered a couple of times but never when it came to anything romantic. It was kind of sweet.

“I know you said we were ‘okay’ but I also don’t know what that means since this is all new to me,” I admitted.

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in and once they did, Jordan’s eyes widened.

“You mean that last night was…”

I nodded and fumbled with the bottle cap. “And I know that guys freak out when a girl says that or they have some weird fetish about it, which is kind of why I’ve been avoiding talking about it with anyone. But, when you said things were ‘okay’ I felt really sad; like you were blowing me off.”

“No, shit, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jordan insisted. “I haven’t had the best experiences hooking up or dating people since most people only want one side of me. So, I tend to push my feelings away to avoid any…complications but I just didn’t want things to be awkward between us or for you to feel any pressure.” “But didn’t that just make things more complicated?”

Jordan groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but the last thing I ever wanted was to blow you off or make you think that I blew you off. I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

I softly grabbed his hand with my free one, smiling at how his hand easily swallowed mine. “Just don’t do it again. I’m also super offended that you thought I didn’t like both sides of you. I mean, I kissed you when you were in female form.”

Jordan paused and eyed me for a second. “I thought that was so you could win.”

Okay, here it goes.

“The winning part was nice but I’ve also wanted to kiss you for a while now.”

There, I said it, it was out in the open for the most part. I could hear my heart beating in my ears as I watched a variety of emotions play across Jordan’s face. Then, he smirked.

“So, freshie’s had a crush on me for a while?” he teased.

I smacked his chest. “Why do you have to say it like that? You ruined it!”

“It does explain why you can’t keep your eyes off me,” Jordan sang.

“How would you know unless you were also looking?”

Jordan paused and scowled at me. “I miss when you weren’t this comfortable with me.”

“Really? You want me to be scared of you again?”

“Not scared but slower with comebacks.”

I laughed and swayed our clasped hands. “You’re the one who kept telling me you wanted to see me grow.”

“And I’m glad I got to see it.”

Was this why all the Si Chi girls in committed relationships grinned so wide their concealer creased when they saw their boyfriends? Were they all this good at making their hearts flutter and making them feel comfortable at the same time? Was this what everyone was chasing?

“Now what?” I asked.

“Now it’s whatever you want.”

It was like they were in my head sometimes, forcing me to do things that I avoided.

“What if I want you and Marie?” I asked.

As soon as I said it, the familiar anxiety rose somewhere around my heart. It was exciting and nauseating at the same time.

Jordan’s eyes widened. “You’re full of surprises, freshie.” “I keep surprising myself,” I admitted. “But, I know you two like each other and I like both of you and I feel weird even though I just poured my heart out. I don’t want to make things weird with either of you so if you don’t want to do this or stay friends or anything, I can deal with that.”

I wasn’t sure if that last part was true, but I wanted to give Jordan an out. They didn’t sign up to be in a relationship with me and another person anyway. Seeing them all the time would be painful too but, people got over breakups or relationships that never started every day.

All of a sudden, Jordan’s thumb gently wiped my left cheek. It was only then that I realized that I was crying and smiling simultaneously. He seemed concerned and I opened my mouth but he spoke first.

“You don’t have to act happy when you’re really scared or miserable around me,” he stated.

His words almost made me cry harder but he continued.

“And you didn’t let me answer your question. I’m open to exploring things with both of you…in a relationship.”

I gasped and covered my mouth. “Seriously?”

Jordan laughed and nodded. “Yes. When you caught us in her dorm the other day, we both wanted to talk to you but all this shit with GOD U got in the way. We tried to talk to you but, you avoided both of us until Dusty’s party.”

“Oh.”

“And then we skipped talking and went straight to sex.”

“Jordan!”

“What? It’s true.”

Thanks to the recovered memories, I did recall diving further into Rush Week festivities to distract myself. I also recalled how they separately tried to corner me at Dusty’s party and how we eventually---

I shivered at the thought and let my hands fall to my sides. “But, what if Marie---” “Look into the future if you’re that nervous about it but, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

I huffed. “I can’t use my powers right now even if I wanted to.”

Then, I wondered why I never thought of doing that earlier. Was I that busy with uncovering the conspiracy with the school and house recruitment? Or was it something else?

Jordan’s jaw clenched. “I can’t believe she messed with your head that bad.”

“And after I spilled my guts to her. I thought she was my friend, but a friend wouldn’t do that to me.”

“I don’t get why Marie wants to hear her out so bad, especially when she hasn’t known Cate as long as us.”

I sighed. “I think it’s because she’s the type of person to see the best in everyone and she must still see something in Cate.”

“I never got people who acted like that.”

“Maybe this is your chance to learn.”

Jordan smirked. “Look at you being optimistic about this already.”

“It’s just a possibility,” I muttered.

Despite that, my face and body felt warm all over. It was like I just had some hot tea on a cold night. It was different than usual happiness, I felt elated. So, the thought of her rejecting any part of this was even more gut-wrenching.

Then, one of Jordan’s hands softly cupped my jaw, almost like he was handling a porcelain cup or a baby animal. He tilted my head up to look at him and his eyes seemed to bore into my own.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, breath tickling my nose.

I nodded.

“Say it,” he quietly requested.

“Yes.” When his lips touched mine, I mewled, and I tried to pull away as the embarrassment clouded me. However, Jordan just pulled me closer, grinning into the kiss. My hands roamed from his neck to his taut shoulders and then his chest. Jordan’s hands slid to the small of my back and pulled me closer to him. When we separated, he smiled, revealing his dimples that appeared on rare occasions.

“Why did----” “Don’t overthink it and go find Marie, freshie,” Jordan insisted.

Walking away from him was surprisingly difficult; it was almost like they had a magnetic field around him. Somehow, I stumbled away and started searching the other rooms for Marie. As I wandered, I wished that I had found the time to make a spreadsheet of all the things I could say. I was never good at improvisation and needed a plan when speaking with people.

Somehow, it worked with Jordan, but I had no idea how things would go with Marie.

When I opened the next door, I gasped when I found Cate slumped on the bed. She leapt to her feet when the door opened and her eyes were stunned when she saw me.

“Sorry, I was looking for someone else,” I grumbled.

“Wait!” she called as I turned away. “Y/N, can we please talk?”

Her statement lit a fire in me that I didn’t know was there. Immediately, I whirled towards her.

“What else is there to say, Cate? You manipulated all of us because Shetty told you to,” I hissed.

“I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you or anyone.” She approached me slowly, almost the same as a hunter would a bear.

I scoffed. “Your intentions don’t mean anything; you hurt all of us.”

Cate stopped a few feet away from me. “I know and I want to make it right.”

It was as though we were talking in circles, and I was so tired, physically and mentally. I didn’t know how much more of the conversation I could take.

“Make it right? You gaslit me in front of all of our friends and pushed me to the point where I can’t even use my powers!”

Cate’s eyes widened. “What?”

I nodded and pinched my nose bridge. “Yes, ever since I came to from whatever dimension you sent my mind to, it’s like my powers are on mute.”

Cate flinched and crossed her hands in front of her. With her red eyes and slumped shoulders, one would have thought she was the one whose head got messed with. It incensed me that she acted like that but at the same time, I wanted to hug her.

“I panicked and I was just trying to get you to stay quiet. I shouldn’t have done that but Indira said that you’d benefit from it,” she whispered.

“Why would she think that?” I wondered.

Unless she didn’t.

Cate smiled sadly at me. “All I know is that she wants the best for both of us and I don’t think she’d lie about that.”

“But what about the others? A-and why did you get to remember when we couldn’t?” I questioned.

Cate sighed. “I don’t know. I just wish I could fix it.”

Even without my powers, I knew there was a fraction of a fraction of a possibility for Cate to fix any of this mess. At the very least, Cate would not be able to fix it alone.

Despite my better judgment, I stepped closer to her. “If you could figure out a way to pass all your finals and keep us all from getting caught from going off campus, you can probably figure out a way out of this mess.”

Cate sniffed. “Yeah, Andre did not make it easy last year.”

“No. I remember Jordan and Luke had to literally drag him off a party bus one night.”

Cate laughed. “And he kept yelling about how they were cockblocking.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “And this isn’t me saying that I forgive you or anything. I’m just saying you might be able to make things better.”

My words didn’t seem to shock her as she nodded slowly. I couldn’t help but wonder how Dean Shetty got her to do all of this and how she thought I could benefit from this experience. This was the same woman I vented to about my parents, anxiety, Si Chi, and my goals. She was the same woman who helped me set up regular meetings with Brink to test my powers.

So, why had she made one of my best friends do this?

I reached out to touch Cate’s shoulder but as soon as I made contact, she disappeared. Actually, the room and Dusty’s house overall were disassembled like Legos. I was surrounded by the forest and the sight of a bright gray sky. I circled around several times but I didn’t see anyone else.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” I called.

It was such a stupid idea but it didn’t hurt. I swallowed and started treading towards the forest.

“Cate? Jordan? Marie? Andre?” I called.

A breeze whipped past me and I jumped but, this breeze was warm and it had been colder out lately.

“You forgot about me that easily?” a familiar voice teased.

I slowly turned around and choked out, “Luke?”

#black!reader #jordan li x reader #gen v x reader #limoreau x reader #marie moreau x reader

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bitterkarella · 2 months

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Midnight Pals: Desert Planet

Stephen King: so i'm gonna go over to space coven tonight to tell a story Clive Barker: what, the sci fi nerds? good luck with that King: oh they're not so bad once you get to know them, clive Barker: i do not intend to know nerds

King: look, clive, you know mary goes over to the sci fi campfire sometimes Barker: i do not believe it King: it's true! she invented sci fi, you know Barker: mary shelley? OUR mary shelley? the queen witch? Barker: she invented being a nerd?

Barker: oh steve Barker: you can't expect me to swallow that whopper King: it's true! edgar, tell him Poe: steve's right, clive. she really did Barker: Barker: well now i just don't know what to believe

King: i know those sci fi guys are a little odd but King: if you ever want to read a prose version of a mildly confusing math problem King: i mean bam they're your guys! Barker: Barker: yeah well Barker: have fun with that

King: you know, clive a lot of science fiction actually deals with important issues in today's society? King: they really make you think [at space coven] Robert Heinlein: so once we space-stead Pinochet's Gulch on an asteroid, we'll be free from the tyranny of age of consent laws

[at space coven] King: so in this story they invent a way to travel through space King: but you have to be unconscious for it to work Frank Herbert: i have a better idea for space travel Herbert: what if you had to get really blasted

Herbert: let me explain my vision steve Herbert: In a distant time Herbert: And far away place Herbert: The planet Arrakis floats deep in space Herbert: Sky of three suns Herbert: Land of precious spice Herbert: The melange rush brought great houses at any price

Herbert: Then one day, a Muad'Dib appeared Herbert: With powers of hawk, wolf, puma and bear Herbert: Protector of peace, scion of the Bene Gesserit ladies Herbert: Champion of justice, Marshall Paul Atreides! King: King: hey how many of those mushrooms did you eat

Herbert: so the important thing about Dune, okay Herbert: is there's all this political intrigue Heinlein: and worms? Herbert: yeah yeah there's gonna be worms Herbert: let's talk about these factions though Heinlein: how big are the worms

Herbert: you're gonna love this story Herbert: though its not as great as the melodic beauty & divine truth of the 114 surahs of the Qur'an Heinlein: Herbert: inshallah Heinlein: why do you always have to put so much islam in it Herbert: i just Herbert: i just think its neat

Mary Shelley: [busting into clearing] sup fuckers Shelley: who's ready for their weekly beating? Heinlein: no! no! not mary shelley! Heinlein: have mercy!!! Heinlein: here, take all our lunch money! Heinlein: just don't punish us anymore!

King: mary! Is this what you've been doing when you come to this campfire? Shelley: [wailing on Heinlein] what? oh yeah, p much.

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #clive barker #edgar allan poe #mary shelley #frank herbert #robert heinlein

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fresne999 · 6 months

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Half way through the journey of our analyses

I feel like roughly half of the analysis I'm reading about OFMD S2 is folks who clearly fixated on a character (it's Izzy, it's always Izzy that inspires this kind of analysis) write analyses that cause the 2nd response of, "Um…did you ever study literary analysis in school."

Now I come at this from a slightly odd place in that I did study literary analysis in school (30+ years ago) where I learned it's possible to interpret anything about any way, because we're all bringing different lenses to the analysis. Which isn't to say that an author can't have an intended interpretation.

Dante in Canto V of Inferno (Divine Comedy) would still like folks to understand fixating on the two damned-lovers and ignoring the details that the artist is putting in there for you to catch about how they are damned because they won't change the toxic patterns that got them there in the first place. Also, they can't because they are in hell, and hell is like that. That Dante-the-writer had Dante-the-character swoon over those same two damned-lovers (because Dante-the-character is on a journey of moral correction) is hilarious, but doesn't make it any less the point of that section of the work, but I digress.

As a career, I am very aware that folks love to misinterpret what is meant to be very clear instructions. Of course, I'm writing policies and procedures, which is a bit different from writing fiction, and is worlds away from creating a t.v. show. But that's the life experience that I always bring to literary analysis. Frequently, people choose their interpretations to fit what they want to see, and that's part of being human.

I've seen a fair number of folks interpret Izzy's redemption arc in S2 as one of a queer man struggling with disabilities and mental health issues whose struggle is made meaningless by his demise. Which sure, you could interpret it that way and in that it's coming from I'm sure an emotional place, I get it. And hmmm… I might give this interpretation more credence if I hadn't read a lot of Izzy analysis for S1 that was wildly different than the text.

So let's take a step back.

First, know the rules of the literary universe: OFMD is a show where the reality is not ours. It is either the Core Universe or something very close to it. BTW: If you've never heard of Core Universe or read the seminal BtVS+HtLJ "When Hellmouth's Collide" (https://www.ltljverse.com/index2.htm), a Core Universe is one where everything lines up. Row boats are magic, and where there is a Badminton, he will accidentally stab/shoot himself.

Terminology more befitting of that fancy literature degree might be to say that OFMD functions along the logic of Magical Realism. Characters will appear briefly for the purposes of the story and then disappear not to be mentioned again (Nana, Calico Jack, Mary Read & Anne Bonny). Things align because they are meant to align. It is a universe where the Gravy Basket is a real place, and meant to be taken seriously. It's also a universe where a man may become a seagull, because he loves the sea. You change for love, but the ways you change may be positive or toxic.

They can result in a bird that never gets to know rest. Always flying over the sea. Or they lead to becoming a bird, who can float in the sea or land on a unicorn's leg.

Transformation.

Anyway, S1 - Stede commissioned a ship with secret passageways. It did not have a buxom mermaid on the prow, nor something more befitting a ship named the Revenge. He commissioned a unicorn prow and went off to become a pirate.

A not particularly violent pirate. But a pirate who didn't have a problem with the violence of piracy. See Stede telling Lucius (hardest working man on the ship in S1) to take notes during a violent raid where the show's logo was literally carved into the chest of a dead man.

BTW: The tone about violence is darker in S2, but the violence was there in S1. It was just presented in a more whimsical way. The nose jar was full of noses in S1. We heard about Blackbeard's violence. A man was skinned alive off screen, but we focused on the Prussian (but also sort of French) party.

What Izzy needed to be redeemed from was established in S1. The problem is that folks who interpreted Izzy as a) the central focus of the show and b) a put upon manager just trying to do right by his crew (or as one Tumblerina referred to him as the man/father of the family going out to hunt - excuse me while I vomit - and support his family as men must do), are not going to understand what Izzy's S2 arc was all about.

Ed and Stede are the main characters in a romantic story. There are other characters with their own arcs, but they are the main characters.

In S1, Stede created a safe space where characters had a chance to breathe for the first time. Possibly ever, and as a result revisited parts of themselves they'd lost. Wee John got back in touch with his roots as the son of a seamstress. Frenchie got back to what he loves, scamming the rich. The Swede sang like a siren of the sea, because it doesn't always have to be scary.

Ed had his first good time in years. After expressing suicidal ideation to Izzy because of his terminal boredom in S1.E4 - Discomfort in a Married state, Ed found himself some balance. Some sweet marmalade.

Ed and Izzy were in a toxic relationship that only reinforced their toxic behavior. And yes, I'm going to overuse the word toxic. While piracy is a place where you can go be yourself and shag whoever you want (whatever happens at sea stays at sea), it's not a place where you can be soft. Gentle. Emotionally open. Available.

Ed's only path out that he could see at the time was to plan to skin the face of the man who built a ridonculous boat with a unicorn on the prow and wear it for the rest of his life. A plan to send Stede to Doggy Heaven.

BTW: This is why Izzy uses the line in S2.E3 - the Innkeeper, that they put Ed down like a mad dog, so that Stede could reply that they sent Ed to Doggy Heaven. Reiterating this concept of piracy as violence, as taking away faces / identity / lives, but also losing one's own. Forgetting even what day of the year it is. Also revealing that Stede knew about Ed & Izzy's plan to murder him, send Stede to doggy heaven, and had moved on.

This is also why the respite in S2.E4 - Fun and Games is so critical. Mary Read/Anne Bonney are portrayed as direct parallels to Stede/Ed. They are selling what are, no doubt, the spoils of their piracy. But they've chosen a remote location with no community, but each other and a life where they are not actually communicating. Which on its surface is where Ed and Stede end up, and yet…the Revenge can sail back. They are on the shore facing the sea, not in a jungle lost from a clear view. I'll quote the relevant Dante in just a bit, never fear.

Ed and Stede's new inn has the potential for a solid foundation, because the unicorn has been planted firmly in the ground, and if we get an S3, I firmly expect the unicorn leg to have transformed into a tree, because I've read a lot of medieval literature and that's how that sort of thing works.

Well, it could be a penis tree (this was a thing in medieval marginalia), but somehow I don't think it will be.

But I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

Back in S1, the plan to murder Stede and take his identity broke down despite Izzy trying to perform an intervention to get Ed back into the toxic soup, and ended with Ed curled up in a bathtub and opening up about murdering his father. An image the show chose to flash on the screen multiple times in S2 just in case folks forgot that this was a traumatizing event for Ed, and was itself the culmination of years of traumatic abuse at his father's hands.

Just as Stede kept flashing back to the moment his father tells him what it is to be a man, and kills an animal, the blood splashing on Stede's wee little face.

That this is the point of the show. Transforming past trauma. It's there. You always carry the scars. Sometimes, you decide to tattoo yourself with the image of the thing you fear, and then the thing you fear is always there, but you've got to keep moving forward. To stay in one place, to stay trapped in the same emotion/action, is hell. I've read a lot of lit crit of Dante's Inferno. Trust me, it's the same thing.

Izzy's redemption arc is firmly based in the events of S1E6 - Here Dragons Be, because it's where the pustule of his relationship with Ed breaks. His attempted intervention fails to get Ed to kill Stede, so Izzy tries to kill Stede. Not realizing that a) Stede is a main character and b) this is a Core Universe show. Where it's possible to win a duel by being stabbed in the left side of your gut and stay there for many hours and not die. So he loses the 1 thing that defines him, his job.

Izzy's redemption arc is firmly based in the events of s1E8 - We Gull Way Back, where he enlists Calico Jack to lure Ed off the boat (with all the toxic masculinity that entailed) so that the British could show up and shoot the head off the unicorn, and kill Stede. So Izzy can crawl back into his old patterns / job / life.

Izzy's redemption arc is firmly based in the big drama confrontation in S1E10 - Wherever You Go There You Are, when as a person whose entire identity is tied up in being Blackbeard's First Mate and after realizing that he couldn't cut it as a captain on his own, he does whatever the f- he can to get Ed back into the toxic soup so he can get his old role/job back.

This isn't to say that Ed's off the deep end actions in S2.E1&2 aren't his own choices. He is a main character. His emotional arc is one of the driving forces of the show. But they are the choices of a man who wants to die. After a lifetime of violent action that had been increasingly drowning him, he wants to die in the violence of battle, but the enemy are never good enough. He wants Izzy to kill him, but Izzy won't. Until he does…sort of. He wants to die in a storm. He's carving notches on his wall hoping to lure Ned Low to him so that he can die in pain. But Ed is the devil and does not die.

Except Ed's not the devil. He doesn't have a head made of smoke. He's a man. Not a fisherman. Not a fisher of men, and what an interesting attempt to go Christ himself off into the wilderness only to be fired for not being that good at it, and then receive his letter from the deep.

Because in a show full of magical realism, the bottles with messages will reach the intended recipient eventually.

"In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to myself in a dark wood for the straight way was lost. Ah, how hard a thing it is to say what that wood was. So savage and harsh and strong, that the thought of it renews my fear. It is so bitter that death is little more so. But to speak of the good that I found there, I will tell of the other things I saw…and like one with laboring breath comes forth from the deep onto the shore, who turns back to the perilous water and stares, so my spirit still fleeing turned to gaze upon the pass that has never left anyone alive." Dante, Canto 1, Inferno.

Instead of dying, Ed goes not to Purgatory (sorry I'd quote the opening lines, but Inferno actually works better here), but to the Gravy Basket, where he confronts the spirit of Hornigold. Dead spirit. Aspect of Ed's self. Both. Neither. Hated. Self. Unkillable.

Is saved by a goldfish incarnation of Stede.

But just as the imaginary as Stede's vision of what / who he thinks he needs to be for Ed, this is not true. Life being what it is, Ed and Stede rush when they need to go slow. They break apart because they are saying words, but the other person is hearing based on their own interpretation.

BTW: The clue Dante-the-writer gives the reader in Canto V of Inferno is how one of the damned lovers, Francesca, explains how she hooked up with her brother-in-law, Paulo. She describes reading an Arthurian romance. She and Paulo kissed when Gwenevere and Lancelot kissed in the story. Except the version they are reading (and Dante tells the reader which version this is) was intended as a cautionary tale. Also, Paulo and Francesca were real people who were murdered by Francesca's husband when he caught them together. So there is that too.

I always like it in fiction when characters misinterpret each other because they hear based on their life experiences and don't hear the things that are said/unsaid based on the life experiences of the other person speaking. That's good writing. It's also how we end up with wildly varying interpretations of works of fiction.

But I digress.

Izzy's S2 arc is that he must let go of his relationship with Ed and turn to others. He must learn to let go of toxic masculinity and let in softness. Not weakness. Water is not weak, but it is soft. Calypso, goddess of the sea, is not weak. Her birthday is whatever day you need it to be. She is vast and deep and soft and relentless.

In Ro-sham-bo, it's a shame that there is not a gesture for water. Because it is not paper that defeats stone, but water that wears away the stone. Of course, scissors wouldn't do much to water either, so that would sort of break Ro-sham-bo, so I suppose it must stay as it is.

It is through a craft's project that the crew of the Revenge find healing. Turn Izzy into the unicorn. A unicorn that Izzy's own actions caused to be decapitated with a British cannon ball in S1. That Izzy rendered legless (drunk). But the Revenge is a boat. They just need to swim/sail. It is through a craft's project that Izzy is able to offer healing to Lucius, who in turn is then able to turn their art away from fixating on Ed, and the trauma that he's been through and back towards love, and Black Pete.

But it's not possible to see Izzy's S2 arc, if you didn't interpret S1 Izzy as needing to go through his own gravy basket.

That Izzy dies because his transformation is necessary. He can't leave Ed, and if he doesn't leave Ed, then Ed can't stop being Blackbeard. The kracken. He literally tells Ed this as he chooses to transform. To free the world of Blackbeard, so Ed can be Ed. Yet, I've read so many posts by folks saying, "But why did he have to die?" Which sure, you can choose not believe what the character says while dying.

Which is a narrative privilege. To get a good dying speech. "There he is" get to be transmutted from an attack to an actual seeing. The larger than life concept of a smoke headed pirate can waft away.

Stories are hard to kill. They live on long past us, and as long as someone is remembered, especially in a universe like OFMD, we live.

Though always reject the gift of a clock. That's someone telling you that you've only got so many hours left of life. If you are a character in a story.

Thus the other parallel in this season is Izzy to Auntie and Ed to Zheng Yi Sao. Auntie must allow Zheng softness. Izzy must go through a sea change to something new and strange. Also, this would be a case of Doylistically the writers needed to line up Olu with Stede for that to work, and thus the new configurations of Olu and Jim's relationship, which, shrug, could be poly. Could be friends to lovers to friends. Woulda, coulda, had more time, but that's on Max for not giving us 2 more episodes.

Prince Richard was trying to become a concept, but was too in love with the mechanics of it. Stede was trying to become a concept too. Found his fame, and all too quickly the toxic end of that particular route. Magical Realism was on his side until he tried to face down Zheng Yi Sao, the Queen of Pirates, and then the rules of the story weren't. Because those clocks were ticking. Everyone was in a very dark wood. The memory of blood splashed on Stede's face as a little boy was a warning. It was a reminder. It was the wrong lessons we take from our childhood and must unlearn to become whole.

Having the final shot of the show being Buttons landing on the unicorn leg as a reminder that this is a show about transformation. One thing becoming another thing. Somewhere the dead are dancing in Calypso's court. A dance below the sea and on the sea and with the sea. While the living keep sailing on their magic ship to do…I don't know.

Because the Golden Age of Piracy is coming to an end. They'll go create new worlds and new places to be. Transforming.

If we get no more of the show, this is a resolution.

Since I've been quoting Dante, I'm going to end this with the final vision in Paradiso. Because folks who haven't been reading my analysis for the last 30 years / read it, may not realize that the Divine Comedy (a story that begins in sorrow and ends in joy) ends with the vision of a 3 way rainbow.

"In the profound and shining Being of the deep Light, three circles appeared, of three colours, and one magnitude: one seemed refracted by the other, like Iris’s rainbows, and the third seemed fire breathed equally from both. O how the words fall short, and how feeble compared with my conceiving!…Power, here, failed the deep imagining: but already my desire and will were rolled, like a wheel that is turned, equally, by the Love that moves the Sun and the other stars."

#ofmd #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd season 2 #ofmd analysis #ofmd meta

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