#but for now pls enjoy these pieces i am very proud to finally share on tumblr :’)

[lukesperfectharmonyhair]

im rewatching jatp instead of studying for the 3 tests i have tomorrow and i thought i would share my thoughts and reactions with each episode so enjoy!!....

wake up

- hearing the “1, 2, 3″ at the start of the episode gives me more serotonin than my antidepressants ever will

- julie’s slippers...that’s it...that’s the thought

- that dry ass pasta the molina’s are eating for dinner??? someone needs to give my man ray some cooking tips or a cookbook... something

-the looks the boys give julie when she says it was an OLD cd she found. as if they could be old??

-the entire julie and luke kitchen scene i mean there are no words to describe how much i am in love with scene. the banter, the flirting, luke giving this girl he literally just met an actual PIECE OF HIS SOUL so she can get music back into her life. not a single time have i watched that scene and not felt my heart literally grow cause of how cute they are. 

-the entire scene when julie is singing wake up. that scene is what made me literally CRAVE watching the other episodes. like of course i was going to watch them cause i wasn’t gonna just stop watching a show after one episode, and yes the show was good already but seeing the lighting and her voice, and just everything about the scene,,,,*chef’s kiss* 

bright

-flynn drinking seven sodas....SEVEN??? i would be throwing up if i drank more than like 2 and she drank seven,,,no ma’am.

- flynn and her trumpet. talented queen

- “ i wouldn’t have given you the song if i didnt think you were gonna rock it.” lmaooo im crying:)

- i start tearing up every time julie goes to play the first notes of bright,,, and then i’m full on bawling when the guys come in and play with her cause...they weren’t playing to be seen they were playing to be there for her and play to comfort her. pls i love them<3

- nick vibing in the front row

- the tech guy deserves so much more praise

flying solo

- reggie’s little butt shake or whatever you wanna call it!!

- julie’s little laugh when she yells at the guys to stop it

- “and we’re on the runway again” GENUINELY one of my favorite lines of the whole show pls i love luke’s humor

-this is the first time i noticed this but reggie’s face after alex says “DONT TELL ME HOW TO GHOST!”

-WILLIE!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOU<3333333

-the slow mo helmet take off,,,,me too alex me too

-willie’s little giggles:))))

- “oh-oh!”

- “no clue” alex i love you baby<3

- next season better give us a scene of flynn throwing eggs at someone’s house because i think it’s safe to say we were robbed of that experience. 

- the flying solo performance is just amazing

i got the music

- just the whole opening scene is so cute ....the dancing, singing, happiness RADIATING from julie 

-nick in an all white suit and fedora

-WILLEX MUSEUM DATE YEAH BABYYYYY

- carefree skateboarder bf and anxiety ridden drummer bf

- yelling. in. museums. 

-alex thinking he’s literally dying again because of the salt... zero braincells in this band.

- another scene we were robbed of that i need to see in season 2...reggie singing “home is where my horse is” while alex and julie sit patiently and attentively listen to him but luke looks like he’s about to commit murder

- i get SO MUCH second hand embarrassment for julie when she looks through luke’s songbook and says “ wow luke I didn’t know you were such a romantic” julie baby i love you but...eekkkkk

- “he looks like a substitute teacher”- where did he come up with that like so many other things he could be compared to but a substitute teacher??

- “luke introduced you to rock” heck yeah it did.. literal soulmates

- would like to see a picture of the raccoon in Flynn’s backyard

- wee woo wee woo police sirens://///

- julie’s outfit ughhhh i love it

- the poster that im pretty sure says “sexiest role” behind caleb... why was that necessary 

the other side of hollywood

- THE ENTIRE PERFORMANCE OF THE OTHER SIDE OF HOLLYWOOD 

- i lose my absolute shit over this song omg literal chills

- the cape grab i cannot physically do this rn

- willie being so excited the entire performance and looking over to see alex’s reaction

- reggie being in awe everytime one of the girls performing does something.. me too reggie

-”well i wouldn't really call it mAAgiCcCC bUT”

- nick and his fedora again

- alex has a crush, alex has a crush on.....WILLIE

-the boys eating food for the first time in 25 years is honestly so realistic

-alex shoving a whole slice of pizza in his mouth

- lukes ‘OH MY GODDDDD’

- reggie kissing his meatball sub that looks painfully dry but also delicious 

- the continuation of the other side of hollywood performance and everyone dancing

-reggie imitating caleb’s evil laugh and owen trying so hard not to break

-me getting mad at the boys for not showing up for julie and being sad with her but at the same time i’m obviously not mad at the boys just...disappointed?? idk 

finally free

- how did julie get to the school if she missed the first three classes?? wasn’t she still at flynn’s house from the night before cause she slept over so did she walk to school or was she just sitting in flynn’s house by herself and one of flynn’s parents was like you gonna go to school or???

-dance class with nicky poo<3

-reggie fixing his amp in the rain

-julie’s blue dress outfit in this episode is my ABSOLUTE favorite 

- the birthday candle scene makes me sob like a little baby,,,and rightfully so

- julie smart, smart to be taking calculus as what a sophomore??

- all eyes on me yes queen iconic

- alex dancing is how i dance in my brain whenever the song comes on 

- finally free as a song is NEVER given enough credit and why not?? it’s my favorite song they do as a band AND the madison’s vocals and the echoing part omg i loveeeee

- and the whole performance with luke’s heart eyes. i count this performance as the moment luke like fell in love with julie...like full on just blown away with how much awe and admiration he has for her in that moment and all the time.

 - julie and luke singing “and you’re a part of me” while staring directly into each others soul,,,yeah that’s love kids

edge of great

- carlos being the ghost hunter he is and tía being done with him

- luke’s pouting face 

- reggie and ray making breakfast together is so wholesome. reggie really loves and seeks comfort in ray and i love that

- luke just waiting next to julie’s locker and his little “hey”

- the first time i watch this scene i thought charlie was from new york cause of the way he says “ i can't do this without you” and then i watched the cast interviews and just realized he is somewhat joey tribbiani 

- jealous luke hehehehehhehehe

- “well dont you look shARrP”- yes he does luke thank you very much

- “uh oh i think someone has a crush on julie” yeah you do you little shit,,, now admit it to her

- the proud look on luke’s face when he realizes julie is still paying attention to HIM even though she’s supposed to be having a full on conversation with nick

- the shoulder push ( as someone who has had their own shoulder pushed in the middle of a high school hallway as a weird way of flirting,,,,i can definitely somewhat attest to how luke is feeling in that moment and i too continued to flirt with the person who shoulder shoved me while we were still standing in the hallway)

- the flow from whatever the hell dance nick and julie are doing and the perfect harmony dance is so special to me and i love it

-ADOANCLOBNAOVBCOAB THE HAIR PLSSSSS

- EVERYTIME THE SCENE COMES ON AND I SEE HIM WALKING THROUGH THE MIRROR I HAVE TO PAUSE THE SHOW FOR LIKE 10 MINUTES WHILE I DIE LAUGHING BECAUSE THE HAIR IS SO BAD EVEN THOUGH I SHOULD BE USED TO HOW IT LOOKS AFTER WATCHING THIS SHOW LITERALLY 30 TIMES

- i think people see my username and assume i like his hair in this scene but...ummm fun little fact i do not like it

- the dance is so good though ugh my babies

- the hair

- madison is gorgeous 

- another season 2 scene i need: julie teaching this dance to luke and they perform it in front of alex and reggie so they can see luke roll on the floor like that

-the hair

- the lift i loveeee

- the voices at the end of the song *chef’s kiss*

- the way julie spins out from luke and into nick omg so good

- “thAnKs pArTnER”

- luke denying his feelings for julie,,,babe pls

- the whole edge of great performance is so good and beautiful and the colors are SPECTACULAR 

-julie avoiding luke’s gaze lolz

- can't believe my mans really tried to deny he didn’t have feelings for julie like 5 hours earlier even though he’s getting upset because she hasn’t looked at him in 2 minutes

- THE. GUITAR. RIFF. SOLO.

- when i finally learn how to play the electric guitar well enough to learn the guitar solo... it’s over for everyone

-nick just came to watch the girl he likes perform not watch her flirt with a hologram plssss can we give this man a break next season.

- “we have to say goodbye to julie”- that’s literally more important to luke than not playing music anymore because julie is music to him now

unsaid emily

-already crying and the episode hasn't even started

-willex in the orpheum

- alex literally being OVER reggie

- nope too emotionally unstable to watch this scene right now

- my therapist will be hearing about this tomorrow

- show us the baby picture of luke cowards

- this is such a beautiful song that makes me cry every fucking time gosh damn it

- everytime i watch the flashback scene of luke on his bike i think of “christmas song” by phoebe bridges and i cry even more

- i tried to learn how to play this song on my electric guitar (because i dont have an acoustic guitar) and i ended up crying half way through so i do not think i will be playing it anytime soon:/

- the harmonies *chef’s kiss*

- THE POLICE LIGHTS ....i cry

- FAT tears rolling down my face

- there's literally not a moment i don’t cry during this episode

- interesting little relationship :0

- when i played percussion in 7th grade i used to lay down on the couch in the practice room at school ( which god knows what people did on that couch...ew) and stick my drumsticks up my nose too,,,, just another similarity between alex and i 

stand tall

- willie really drove a bus 200 miles into the desert for his crush

- WILLEX HUG 

- i love willie no last name so much,,,i just wanna hold and protect him

- alex’s ballerina dance

-julie’s overall outfit i love<3

- “im swimming”

- the way carlos hangs up the iPad on tía makes me CRACK UP he’s just lmao bye girl

- another julie outfit i love

- “anything julie. you know that.” AHHHHHAASIDSJFPACISN love bitches

- the suits

- luke’s hair in this episode is so much better than the perfect harmony hair pls

- YOU GOT NOTHING TO LOSE

- the way luke looks so restricted and confined in his suit... but at the same time he looks like a 10 week old puppy

-luke’s AGGRESSIVE but small foot tapping leading up to being on the stage

- the solos:)))))

- crying again over julie’s monologue to her mom

- julie really was brave enough to be ready to perform by herself

-the way Trevor looks at carrie when she says “been here before”

-ALEXXXXXX

-REGGIEEEEE

-luuukkKKKEEEEEEE

- this performance makes me cry

- especially the first time when i saw luke flickering...sobs

- he finally looks free in his suit:))

- alex’s solo is so pretty i love him

- reggie’s solo too 

- nick just straight up vibing the entire performance

- alex and luke holding hands...hehehe cute besties

- “thank you, guys” NO THANK YOU 

- the way julie begs for them to do something about the jolts for HER cause she knows luke would never say no to her

- “no music is worth making, julie, if we’re not making it with you,” I JUST SCREAMED AND IM PRETTY SURE I WOKE UP MY ENTIRE HOUSEHOLD...whoops

- going back to that line i could say so much about it but....for someone who’s life was literally MUSIC for the 17 years he was alive, and after finding out he could play music again even though he was dead and saying it made him feel alive, he would give that up- he would give up playing his guitar, playing in a band with his friends, give up writing and singing music- if he wasn’t doing that with julie. that’s more than saying i love you,,,that’s literally like saying i’d give up my ENTIRE LIFE and what i love to do if i dont get to do it with you

- i just made myself cry with that description...wow

-the hug<3

-also imagine how luke felt in that moment,,, hearing this girl, once again that he would give his life up for, saying in his ear that she loves them. i would motherfucking glow too, luke

- *passionately but gently holds each others faces*

-HANDS OFF MY BABY NICK, CALEB

- caleb’s outfit is....something

- the head turn plssss

this was so long and i am so sorry but if you read this far.....leave some of your own reactions or thoughts:)))

k goodnight im gonna, ugh, finally go study ://

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #julie molina #alex mercer #luke patterson #reggie peters #willie #flynn jatp #nick jatp #carrie wilson #renew jatp #netflix PLEASE we are begging give us a season 2

[bopbopstyles]

ROSE COLORED GLASSES: By Your Side (an extra)

SERIES RATING: R (cursing, smoking, alcohol use, violence, PTSD, and sex)

WORD COUNT: 8.3k

CATEGORIES: boxer!Harry, gang/mob!Harry, 1920s!Harry, Peaky Blinders!Harry (?)

As the daughter of the most powerful man in Birmingham, there were expectations of Cicely King: an advantageous marriage to save her father’s business, for one. But Cicely had never been one to follow orders. So when she woke up after an accident in the home of Harry Styles, the illusive boxer, she took it as an opportunity to escape her life. What she didn’t intend on was falling in love with him.

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: hello i am back with more RCG, my children, my loves, my everythings. i got a request for a wedding blurb and these two immediately came to mind. enjoy peak softness, some smut, and just general big RCG energy. this is an extra, set months after the end of part two. enjoy some Hicely and come talk to me in my inbox about them!

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

Harry could hardly hold it together.

The church pews in front of him were full with their neighbors and a few people from Cicely’s life before they had met, but by and large it was the people they had met since she had found him. Wide-brimmed hats and plenty of color, everyone in their Sunday best for a wedding between the infamous Harry Styles and his beloved Cicely. But it wasn’t the people that had Harry’s heart pounding.

It was the fact that he was about to marry the love of his life.

Harry had never really believed in fate—not after he had lost so many people, after he had been dealt bout after bout of pain. But then he found Cicely on a road in the middle of a thunderstorm and fell in love, and suddenly fate was the only thing that could’ve possibly explained it. How he had fallen in love in a matter of days, how he had let her in as he had never let anyone in before, how she matched his every trait and complemented him perfectly. Soothed him in his darkest moments, challenged him when he deserved it, pushed him when he needed it, and loved him every second of every day. Walking out of the ring and into her arms was a kind of peace he had never known; waking up to her body curved against his quieted his mind in the ways he never knew he needed.

And now she was about to be his for the rest of time.

He shifted from foot to foot, wiping his sweaty palms on the heavy material of his black suit jacket. Josiah had bought it for him—claimed it was his wedding gift to the couple, making sure Harry had a nice suit. It was the nicest piece of clothing he owned, tailored to perfectly fit the cut of his body and one look at it showed how expensive it was.

Frankly, he felt uncomfortable in it.

“Harry.” He turned his head to where Jack stood, his best man, flanked by Josiah and Tommy. “Stop worrying, you look like you don’t want to be here.”

“I just hate fuckin’ waiting,” Harry said under his breath. “Didn’t think I’d have to stand up here with all these people starin’ at me.”

Jack gave him a look of sympathy and understanding. “She’ll be here soon.”

As if right on cue, the music started up, the church organist playing from their corner as they did every Sunday. Except this time, it was for Harry and Cicely. Then, the doors to the room pushed open, and Harry felt his breath catch, the rays of the Saturday afternoon light streaming in the stained glass windows as Pippa stepped into the chapel, tossing rose petals onto the aisle way. It had been one of Cicely’s few requests for the wedding—that Pippa be their flower girl and Clarence their ring bearer, her affection for the neighbor children evident.

The little girl walked down the aisle grinning ear to ear as she dropped petals on a slow interval, soft coos from the audience at the sight of her pale purple dress that Josiah had purchased for her, wanting her to have a nice new dress for the wedding of his close friend. Behind her entered Clarence in a suit that was slightly too big on him, but held room to be grown into, also a gift from Josiah. His eyes were on the floor in front of him, as if he was nervous that he was going to trip on the tile.

Finally, the love of Harry’s life entered the room in a cloud of white and sunshine.

Her white satin dress glinted under the mid-afternoon rays, the floor-length material gathered at her side, a dip at the neckline that hinted at the cleavage Harry had run his fingers along the outline of only the previous day. A white cap sat on her head, the perfectly curled curves of her blond hair peeking out from underneath, and a long white see-through and embroidered train falling to the ground as she moved towards her. Long sleeves gathered at her wrists, where her dainty hands held a large bouquet of flowers, ones picked out by her mother, who stood at Cicely’s side.

In the months since Cicely had returned to Harry, she and her father hadn’t reconciled, but she had faithfully sent letters to her mother to keep her updated on her life. She had sent her an announcement for the wedding and her mother had replied saying she would attend, and asked to help plan. Through the process, she had demonstrated how much she loved her daughter, and when Cicely asked her to walk her down the aisle in the place of William, her mother cried. Now, she stood next to her daughter in a deep purple dress, a smile of joy and pride on her face as she guided Cicely down the aisle towards Harry.

Harry didn’t know if he had every seen someone more breath-taking than Cicely in this moment.

Well, she always took his breath away, but her she was in her wedding dress walking towards him with that wide smile that was reserved only for him, her brown eyes glowing with joy under the bright light of the room. His eyes trailed down her figure, taking in the sight of her and memorizing every curve of the material and the sight in front of him because he never wanted to forget what she looked like on the day she married him.

To even have a woman as magnificent as she was marrying him felt like his life’s work accomplished. He could never be more proud than he was to be her husband, because there was not a single title that meant more to him. No matter how many matches he won, nothing could ever top marrying her. Despite the fact that a year ago he hadn’t even known her, it felt as if he had been waiting for this moment for his entire life.

And now that it was here Harry couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have Cicely King walking up an aisle to become his for the rest of time.

Distantly, he heard the organ playing in the background as she reached the front of the chapel, her mother helping her adjust her veil around her. Her hands were covered in silk white gloves that when up her forearms, and then she finally stood within arm’s reach, he couldn’t resist immediately grabbing hold of them, desperate to touch her even if it was through fabric. She was beaming at him, and when her thumb brushed over his knuckles, his heart clenched. He couldn’t find the words to describe this moment, the sight of her in front of him, about to marry him.

But then he did. He found the words when he repeated his vows, his gaze never breaking hers. “I, Harry Styles, take thee, Cicely King, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold,” the word wife falling off his tongue like butter, a term meant to be there. “From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to you.”

He saw the tears at the corner of her eyes and admittedly, there were a few in his as well. He wondered if she could feel the way his hands shook ever so slightly as he said the words, his voice cracking a bit as he said “I pledge myself to you.” They had been able to choose between pledging their faiths to one another and pledging themselves to one another, and for Harry it was an easy choice.

She was his life. There was nothing else in the world he was loyal too besides her. The church, the country, the King, not even Josiah—none of them were more worthy of his life than she was.

The chapel was quiet when Cicely began to speak, the sound of her soft and loving tone filling his body as she recited her vows. “I, Cicely King, take thee, Harry Styles, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to you.”

Her blog hair curled into her face and Harry resisted the urge to reach up and push it behind her ear, the light blush on her cheeks making him break into an even wider smile. He didn’t think he had ever smiled this much—he didn’t smile very much before Cicely. But she made him laugh when she woke him up in the morning with kisses on his cheeks, smile when she walked up behind him and hugged him tight, grin when he saw her walking towards him with books she’d bought and wanted to share with him. Just simply being around her made him want to constantly be smiling.

Next to him, he heard the priest introduce the ring exchange, and Clarence moved towards where he and Cicely stood, presenting the simple wedding bands they had picked out. Cicely had been the one who insisted on their simplicity, telling Harry as they laid in bed one morning that it didn’t matter how expensive the rings were, it was what they represented that mattered to her. Told him that she had spent her life caring about people’s perceptions of herself and she didn’t care anymore—she wanted a ring that was hers and was from him, and that was all.

And that was how she had ended up with the engagement ring she wore now, and the thin band he now held in his palm as he recited the words to the ring exchange. “With this ring,” he said, taking in the sight of her looking at him with nothing but love in her eyes, “I thee wed.” He slipped the ring over the silk glove on her hand, the metal nestling between the folds of the silk, fitting her just as well as the glove she wore.

Then, Cicely picked up Harry’s ring and he saw it for the first time—a wide silver band, and when she turned it slightly he saw an inscription glint on the inside. She had gotten an inscription on it, he thought to himself as she held it in her palm. For some reason, that thought made his chest tighten, and it only got tighter when she began to speak. “With this ring,” she said, rotating his hand so it was aligned with the ring, “I thee wed.”

It felt no heavier in weight than the other rings he wore, but the meaning behind it made it more precious than the other metals he wore. The fact that it was what represented his bond to her made him vow immediately to never take it off unless he was fighting, to wear it with pride for the rest of his life.

With their hands clasped, the priest pronounced them husband and wife, and Harry’s love chuckled softly when the words You may now kiss the bride were spoken. Harry had never moved fasted in his life, not caring who surrounded him—he slipped his hand to her waist and tugged her into his chest, desperate to feel her body against him. His home, his love, his life, everything in the world that mattered existed in the body of a single person: her.

The sound of her giggle when his lips met hers made it all the more perfect. The taste of her lipstick and her mid-day tea, the scent of her perfume that had imprinted itself in his mind. When he kissed her, nothing else mattered—she was his, finally.

As they pulled away, just an innocent and chaste kiss unlike the ones they usually shared, Cicely pressed her fingertips to his cheekbones, brushing softly against his skin. She was all he could see, her features filling his faze, and he had never seen a more stunning sight. The joy in her expression overwhelmed him—how could he make another person feel that way? How could he make her feel that level of happiness? How could he be the reason for the smile that was so wide it blinded him?

It boggled his mind, but when she kissed his lips softly, one more time, a chuckle rising from his best man, he knew why: because she loved him just as much as he loved her. There wasn’t a soul on the earth who could illicit an emotion that would surpass the feeling that rested in both of their chest as they stood in the chapel. They were meant for one another, crafted and sculpted to fit each other’s nooks and crannies, designed to match.

A cheer rose up from the crowd—one he knew originated from Josiah’s men who were too rowdy to keep themselves together any longer than they had to, but he didn’t mind. It made Cicely laugh, and that sound was one Harry would’ve fought in another war just to hear one more time.

“Did we just get married?” Cicely asked him, just loud enough so he could hear it, her fingers intertwining with his as they turned to face the crowd.

“I think so,” he answered, squeezing her palm in his. “How do ya feel, Mrs. Styles?”

The corners of her lips turned up and she pressed her arm closer to his. “Happier than ever before.”

After the ceremony, there was at the pub, the first one Josiah ever bought and where the beer was always free for Harry, and by extension, Cicely. They closed the place down for the night and the barkeep was constantly carrying pints around the place, the barmaid laughing and handing drunken men and women their beers from across the bar. In the corner of the room, sat Harry and Cicely in the booth, his arm slung around her shoulders and a rare grin on his face.

They had decided to leave on their honeymoon the following morning—they wanted to celebrate with their friends. Friends who had become their family, who had protected and fought for them every step of the way. They would have plenty of honeymoons if Harry had it his way, the memory of their time along the sea one of the brightest days of his life. It paled only in comparison to this day, the day when he married his love.

Cicely still wore her wedding dress, mainly because Harry refused to let her change, and her fingers crawled up the material of his pants stretched tight across his thighs. “Our friends are menaces,” she said under her breath and Harry snorted in response.

It was a sound she rarely heard outside of the comfort of their home. This Harry was the one she had pulled from his shell, the one who laughed and smiled and tickled her until she swatted at him to stop. To experience him like this out in public meant something, even if only Cicely knew it. It meant he didn’t feel like he had to hide anymore or pretend. That he could simply live for the first time in a very long time.

“I want another pint,” she told him, pressing the pads of her index and middle finger into the inside of his thigh, earning her a wide-eyed glance from Harry.

“Do ya now?” He replied, rotating his upper body ever so slightly, just enough so that he could face her full-on. “When I met you, you’d never even had one before, and now you’re askin’ me for another.”

He shook his head and Cicely leaned in slightly, the drunken haze of her mind letting the barrier she usually kept up between them in public falling. “I was corrupted, I suppose.”

His eyebrows lifted at her words, surprised to hear his normally innocent girl say such a thing. “Were ya now? And who by?”

“A man,” she answered, running her fingertips along the seam of his pants. “A man with bloody knuckles and a soft touch.”

Even though she meant it to be tantalizing, Harry couldn’t help the tug the words had on his heart. He had always feared what he did for a living would scare away the most precious thing in the world, but she managed to find his humanity amidst all of the pain he caused. “That man must be quite lucky,” he told her with measured breath, his hand heavy on her shoulder, “to have the honor of touching you.”

Cicely’s eyes didn’t leave his as her hand crept to his knee, running her finger in a circle along the inside. Harry gulped at the pressure and watched her closely as she leaned in, closing the space between them. “He is,” she said, “but he’s not doing it nearly enough right now.”

Just as he was about to respond, a glass slammed down onto the table and he looked up to see Tommy standing there, grinning ear to ear. “The newlyweds!” He said, spreading one arm out. “To Mr. and Mrs. Styles!” He raised his pint and the entire pub cheered, echoing his words as they took a drink.

Cicely had the wherewithal to smile and wave, but Harry was too distracted by what she had said. Suddenly, it felt like his purpose in life was to touch her, to feel her skin against his. And she was wearing too much fabric—the long sleeves, the gloves, the long skirt. He couldn’t see her in the way he needed, and the need was something carnal inside of him. The desire to touch his wife.

His wife.

“You’re my wife,” he said out of the blue, drawing her attention back to him.

“Pardon?” Perhaps she couldn’t hear him over the boisterous singing that had taken over the pub, but Harry couldn’t hear anything bu her.

“You’re my wife.” When he said the words he ran his thumb across her cheek, from the apple of it to her ear, before sweeping his digit down to the hinge of her jaw and the slope of her neck. “My wife.” He said in a whisper, as if in awe with the concept, the reality of it settling in for the first time.

Reflexively, she leaned into his palm, resting her head in his touch. “My husband,” she answered. “I can’t quite believe it.”

The smile he gave her was soft, the edges of his mouth curving upwards only barely, but the real smile was in his eyes. The sea of green that she swam in every moment of her life, the edges of his irises that she bathed in in her dreams. “Will it feel more real in the mornin’?”

“I don’t know,” she told him, because she didn’t. She didn’t know what the morning would hold for them, other than a train ride to a cottage where they were staying for a fortnight. “Perhaps.”

Gently, he rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t think it’ll ever feel real,” he whispered. “I can barely even process that you’re real sometimes, much less that you’re mine.”

This was something they battled constantly—the fact that Harry constantly feared losing her. It had happened once and neither of them wanted it to happen again, but for Harry it was his darkest nightmare, the one that rattled him to his core. Sometimes, they bled into the daytime and he struggled with the concept that she was truly there with him, that she wasn’t a figment of his imagination or an angel come to take him away.

Cicely had grown used to it, though, as much as it hurt her. She was used to his requests to remind him and she did so gladly, reciting their story in the darkness and the light, no matter what time of day he needed it. Sometimes he would call her on the telephone he had gotten installed so she could speak to her mother, and he would beg her in a broken tone to remind him, to remind him of reality. He’d call from the boxing ring, breathless and mind whirling, struggling to piece it all together and she’d help him. She didn’t mind. She only wished that one day he would understand that she felt just as lucky to have him as he did her. That he was just as precious to her, that she would fight for him for the rest of her days, that he was worthy of every second of joy they experienced. It broke her to see him in pain, and sometimes he struggled to understand that—that she loved him just as deeply as he loved her.

To remind him on this occasion, she lifted her hands to cup his face, and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “Just as you are mine, my love.” Her fingers combed through his hair, the locks that she kept cropped to his preferred length. “And I will love you for the rest of my days.”

The pub around them continued to celebrate their union as the happy couple existed in their bubble, impenetrable from the love and adoration flowing between them. Cheers and song lasted well into the night, until the beer nearly ran out and Jack finally forced everyone out, the sounds of joy spilling into the narrow streets of Balsall Heath. The place where two people fell in love, despite who they were and the barriers that stood in their way.

The place where Harry and Cicely fell in love.

Josiah demanded that Harry and Cicely let one of his men drive them home, saying that newlyweds didn’t walk home after the pub. So instead they ended up getting dropped off at Harry’s home, the black car pulling away from the curb and leaving them alone in the dark, quiet night. They still lived in the same home, the same green-wallpaper and small kitchen, but Cicely had made a few updates.

“C’mere,” Harry said, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her body into his.

“What are you doing?” She said in a harsh whisper when he picked her up, her legs draped over one arm and the other tightly gripping her upper body.

“What does it look like?” He asked, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “‘M carryin’ my wife across the threshold.”

Cicely giggled as he stepped inside, crossing the threshold that they had each crossed an innumerable amount of times, but for some reason it felt different. It felt different between Cicely’s white wedding dress hung from her body as he set her on her feet, and she held the her veil in her hands so it didn’t drag along the floor. It felt different because when Harry’s hand pressed into her back, there was a new ring present on his fingers—one that she had placed there.

Inside, the home was still Harry’s, but by this point it was Cicely’s as well. Photographs sat on the hall table, ones of the two of them—one from a horserace they’d gone to, Cicely laughing into Harry’s chest as he held her, another of them at the sea. She’d even put up one of her and her mother in the living room next to the one of Harry and his family—who hadn’t been present at the wedding, as much as she had tried to force him to invite them. The bookshelf was littered with Cicely’s favorite books and her many bookmarks laid on various surfaces in the house, random scraps of paper that she would tuck between pages. On the floors were rugs that she had picked out at the markets, warming up the house that was now her home.

In the kitchen was new cutlery and plates and glasses, ones without nicks at the sides. The pantry stayed stocked because suddenly it wasn’t just Harry who ate dinner at the small dining table every night, it was Harry and Cicely. Her favorite tea was tucked in next to his in the drawer, and she’d sewn napkins from their old curtains which she had replaced, claiming they needed more color in their home.

Upstairs, she’d replaced the sheets with a pristine white and the duvet cover was now a dark blue, a soft material she had searched high and low for. In the armoire were her clothes lying next to his, her dresses hung up in the wardrobe and her shoes right alongside his. On the bedside table was Cicely’s favorite photograph: one she had had Pippa take on their front steps when they’d gotten back from the sea, a rare smile on Harry’s face as he looked at Cicely, their eyes both filled with love.

Now, Cicely leaned against the banister and looked at her husband, her eyes drawing down his body as he locked the front door behind them. “Why are ya starin' at me?” He asked, stepping towards her, the whiskey and beer making his accent more prominent and his words clipped at the end.

“Hmm,” she murmured, sliding her palms up his suit jacket. “I was looking at my husband.”

“Were ya now?” Harry’s voice was rough as he said the words, his body closing in to hers and pressing her flush against the banister, her back digging into the spindles. “And?”

“And,” she replied, her hands slipping down, fingertips brushing over where she knew the barbells sat under his clothing, taking joy in the hollow groan that fell from his lips. “I think I’d like to undress him.”

The sounds that slid from Harry’s mouth were sinful, a combination of curses that she would never allow him to say in front of their children, her name, and wordless, broken, moans. “Would you like to do that here or upstairs?” He asked, leaning in and brushing his lips to her jawline, nipping at the thin skin that covered her bone, reveling in the gasp that left her. “Your choice, love.”

She pushed back his jacket, not so far that it fell off his shoulders, but enough that she could run her hands up his dress shirt. Then, with a steady gaze that left him gasping for air, she hooked her fingers in each of the buttons of his shirt, popping each one with precision. “Partly here,” she answered once she had access to his chest, her fingertips pressing into his warm skin, his mind going haywire no matter how many times she had touched his bare chest. Then, she leaned in and her soft lips met his sternum, leaving a trail of kisses and pulls on his skin, the pop of her lips when she drew away the only sound other than the light exhales of her name in the air. “And partly there.”

Harry would let her do anything. That had been established long ago. He was a mere mortal to her holy aura, just a scrap of paper in a book of poems that were all her compositions. He was hers to do as she wished, and he never desired to be anything else. “As you wish,” he rasped, eyes darkening when her leg hooked around his calf and tugged him closer.

It was as if a gun had been shot off, one of the ones that were tucked into the jackets of Josiah’s men—suddenly they were hands and lips, a flurry of touch. Cicely couldn’t get enough, her desire to touch him having built up all day and was bursting at the seams. All she wanted was his bare skin under hers, to touch him and feel every rise and fall of his body. So when she hooked her hands under his shirt and tugged, neither of them cared that the remaining buttons were still clasped and that they were pulled free from the thread. Neither of them minded when they fell to the floor along with his suit jacket and his shirt, the fabric long forgotten in favor of Cicely touching every inch of his chest.

“Ci,” he whispered when she licked across his collarbones, drawing a path and humming his name under her breath. “Ci, Ci, Ci,” he chanted, her name the only thought he could process at the sensation of her so close yet so far away.

Her tongue dipped into the hollow above where his bone jutted out, and then down, nibbling at the skin absentmindedly before dipping her head and sucking harshly on the swallows on his chest. She had a mission—she wanted to lick and pull on her favorite part of him, the piercings adorning his nipples, the very things that had so intrigued her the first time she had seen them. And when she did, Harry did the same thing he always did, gripped her hips in his wide palms and clenched his jaw, barely holding himself together.

Warmth spread across his skin as she licked up, down, and in a circle over his right nipple, a rumble from her throat making goosebumps rise on the area surrounding it. Her thumbs brushed up her sides, the feeling of her touch overwhelming his senses—he could smell nothing but her perfume, the smoke in her hair and the lingering beer on her breath. She was sweetness and Balsall Heath all rolled into one—she was home, the only home he had ever truly known, the only one that ever mattered. She was his, to have and to hold, for the rest of his days.

And he would never let her go.

Cicely could’ve stayed there for hours, neck bent as she licked and pulled at his nipples, the cold metal beneath her tongue and pressed against her lips, exploring the sounds he made and the way he touched her body. But Harry’s fingers curled into her hair and pulled her face up to look at his, their eyes meeting as their chests rose and fell.

“Love,” he murmured, irises blown out as he looked at her, thumbs brushing up her neck gently. “I need ya.”

She didn’t even need to reply, she just pulled on his neck and connected their mouths finally, the press of Harry’s lips to hers pushing every other thought in her head to the side. He consumed her, the imprint of his body against hers as he held her close, the pull of his teeth on her bottom lip, the soft chuckles leaving his mouth when she squirmed in his grasp. “Harry,” she said, words caught in her throat when he drew a line down her neck of searing kisses. “Upstairs.”

His head bounced up at that. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” she answered, raising her ankle that was around his calf higher so it was hitched around his knees. “Want my husband.” Her sentences were incomplete, but they always were when they were like this. When their minds went blank, devoid of anything other than one another, their souls intertwined.

Harry’s eyes softened at her last word, hands falling from her ribcage to her hips. “Can I carry you?” He asked, knowing sometimes she liked to walk herself, but other times she didn’t mind it when placing all of her trust in him. Sometimes it made her feel powerless, the feeling reminding her of that dreaded day in the streets with her father and the police. When that happened, Harry let her lead the way, let her hold all the power in the moment so she didn’t slip into the depths of her mind as she sometimes did.

Tonight, Cicely said yes, the word light in the near-darkness of their entry hall. They’d turned on no other lights when they had entered, but they didn’t need them. They could describe one another perfectly without light, having memorized each other’s bodies long ago. But more than that, they could sense one another’s moods—Cicely knew what Harry wanted and needed, and vice versa.

They could survive in the dark.

They had before.

Harry carried her up the stairs of their home, Cicely’s lips sweeping across his shoulders like wildfire, hands curled around his shoulders as he held her in his arms. When they reached what used to be his room, and now belonged to the both of them, he set her down on the floor, knowing he would need her standing to undress her.

First, he bent to his knees and removed her heels, the white satin ruined from the mud in the streets, but he knew she didn’t mind. He placed them next to where she stood, balanced on the kitten heels, and then stood back up. “Turn ‘round for me,” he said in the quiet of their room.

She followed his directions immediately, turning so the back of her wedding dress was revealed, her veil forgotten somewhere downstairs. Harry’s fingers swept down her back, Cicely’s breath constricting at the sensation, and then popped each of the tiny buttons on her dress, revealing bit by bit of her skin.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, perhaps to no one but himself, but Cicely heard it. He said it every time he saw her like this, even if it was just the sliver of skin above her stockings, it was beauty to him. To see her bare skin was a sight he would never forget, and he always reminded her of how to him, she was the most stunning creature on Earth.

Then, his lips met her spine, and Cicely sighed, heavy and wet in the room, her hands reaching behind her to hold onto something—she caught the top of his trousers and curled her forefingers into them. “H,” she rasped.

“I’m tryin’ to savor you,” he said, humming against her skin. “Let me, please, love.”

She couldn’t refuse him, not when it was a request such as this. So she let him continue on his adventure, murmuring praises into her as he popped each button, imprinting his love on her skin so it would never leave her. It was like a tattoo, like the black ink on his body, except instead of ink it was the wet heat of his tongue and a trail of searing kisses.

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. He knew he was torturing her, but he knew she enjoyed the words he spoke and the way he touched her body. How he pushed the material off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, the light weight of the silk hitting their wooden floors in a whoosh of air. And in front of him stood his love in nothing but delicate white lace. “Ci,” he whispered, fingers crawling down her exposed back, brushing over the back of her brassiere and down her spine to where the tops of her underwear laid.

Slowly, she turned, her body just a hair’s distance away, and he saw the rest of her body—the rise and fall of her breasts, the softness of her stomach, the angles of her hips and the length of her legs. The flush of her cheeks and the glow in her eyes meant only for him. “Your turn,” she said, and popped the button on his trousers, which were all that remained of his wedding attire.

“Wait—“ he said, grabbing her hands. “My shoes, forgot my shoes.”

She giggled and the sound pulled them out of the heat of the moment for just long enough for Harry to poke her side and fall to his knees, untying the laces of his boots and pulling them off, letting them fall to the side next to her heels. “Done?” She asked when he rose back to standing.

“Impatient,” he mumbled, pushing the hair back from her forehead and behind her ear.

She laughed softly, air from her lips hitting his chest. “Perhaps a bit.”

“Oh?” It had taken them so long to get to his point—where Cicely felt comfortable asking for what she wanted, feeling confident in situations such as this. What had changed was the realization that their time had no end date, no expiration, that they had forever together. There was a sense of calm and comfort in that discovery, and it had allowed her to open up a part of herself she never had before, the part of her that toyed with him and prodded and taunted him just as much as he did her.

Cicely returned to the task at hand, her hand brushing against his cock and smiling when Harry jerked under her touch. Then, she pulled down the zipper on his trousers, and let them fall to the ground. He was wearing boxers, a rarity for him, if she was being honest, but she decided to leave them for the time being.

For a breath, they stood and stared at each other, eyes searching one another’s and taking in the moment. And then, Cicely sat down on the edge of their bed and scooted backwards, her underwear riding down on her hips slightly as she moved, and laid back.

Harry couldn’t breathe for a moment. Despite sleeping with her every night, his body curled up against hers, he never tired of the sight of her spread out in front of him, of how she reached out for him with one hand, waiting for him to join her. He took her hand and his knees hit the duvet, inching towards her, his knees on either side of her body as he made his way up.

“I love you,” he murmured, resting his forehead to her cheek, head bent and eyes shut. He did this sometimes hen he was simply overwhelmed with his emotions, unable to even put them into words. His eyelashes fluttered softly against her skin, and her hands swept up his back, nails lightly scraping across his skin to calm him. “I don’t—I—“

“Me too,” she answered, knowing what he meant without even needing to hear the words.

He lifted his head, took one look at her face, and closed the narrow space between them, lips slotting between hers. Gently, he lowered himself, needing to be closer to her, wanting his skin pressed to hers, and placed his knees between her legs. He laid flush against her and Cicely loved it, adored how he let his weight drop to her, how he let himself go in her arms. Her knees moved upwards and her ankles hooked around his lower back, and when she did so, they both groaned, the feeling of their centers brushing lighting a fire in both of their bellies.

She needed more. Anything he could give her, she needed. She wanted it all, every part of him, forever. “For the rest of my life,” she murmured when his lips met her jaw, then her neck, and down to her chest. “I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.”

Harry pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to be able to see her fully. “Rest of my life,” he agreed. “Only you, Ci.”

With that, they were clamoring for one another, Harry unclasping her brassiere and pulling it away, her hands tugging down his boxers, desperate for him. It was as if it was their first time all over again, even thought it was anything but—they’d had one another so many times they couldn’t remember a night without each other since Cicely had returned to him. They didn’t know how to sleep apart, in fact.

When Harry pulled down her underwear and bent to lick into her, Cicely pulled on his hair softly, making him meet her gaze. “No,” she said gently, “need you.”

He looked at her, at the desire in her eyes, and moved back up her body so he was hovering over her. Then, he pulled her leg up so it slotted around his hips, and ground his pelvis into hers ever so slightly, just enough for his length to rub against her folds, her fingernails digging into the skin of his chest where he was bound to have marks tomorrow, but he didn’t mind. She would be the only person he would be seeing for days, anyways.

“Please,” she begged, voice breaking, fingers tugging on the skin at the back of his neck to pull him closer. “Harry.”

The way she said his name had him unraveling for her. “Okay, love, okay,” his forehead fell to hers, pants of air leaving both of their mouths, and they could hear nothing but each other. He reached between them, pumping his length roughly, desperation seeping through his body.

Her hand met his all of a sudden, palm enclosing around his, and she built a harsher pace, one that had him bucking against her hips and hissing through his teeth. When his eyes found hers again, she licked her lips slowly, and then she shifted, brushing his tip against her entrance.

She was wet, like she always was for him, and it made Harry’s hands curl in the duvet, trying to anchor himself as she slipped him inside of her. Every time she was warm, wet, and tight, accepting him willingly, her body arching into his and sighing in relief. “Ci,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut as he pushed fully into her, feeling her walls constrict around him. “Fuck, love.”

And then he began to move, knowing she didn’t need much time anymore—from the way her fingernails dragged down his shoulder blades, he knew she was wound up as tightly as he was. He wondered if she had been thinking of this all day as he had, of having her alone, of having her to himself finally.

Now that he did, he never wanted it to end. The sound of her breathy moans in his ears, how she panted as he pushed slowly in and out of her, building a gentle rhythm because the emotions taking hold of his body wouldn’t allow for anything more. He wanted to show her with each press of his body how much he adored her, how she was his everything, how nothing could ever compare to her. She was chanting his name, mixed in with I love you and it broke him, a stray tear slipping from his eye that she kissed away, littering his eyelids with gentle caresses of her lips.

Cicely couldn’t think, much less find the words for how she felt in that moment. She had loved Harry from the beginning, had known he would be hers for just as long, and yet this felt new. This feeling of permanence; that no one could take him away, that he would always be hers and no one else’s. As he thrust into her, his face slotted against hers, their cheeks brushing every time he moved, not a centimeter of space between them, she didn’t know how it was possible to love someone this much. For it to overtake her every sense, for it to permeate every bone in her body, every part of her soul. He was everything to her.

“I love you,” he echoed in her ear, repeating it over and over again as his hips met hers. “Love you so much.” He was unabashed in his confession, needing her to know, and she did.

Her fingers found his hand, parting his digits so she could nestled hers between them, and he gripped her hand. She tucked her head, pressing searing kisses to every part of his face and neck she could reach, and Harry’s mind was short circuiting. He knew he wasn’t going to last long, but she was making it impossible for him.

How she was holding him inside of her, how she curled her body into his, how she held onto him like she was sinking and he was her life raft. Her bare skin on his, the brush of her breasts against the barbells tucked into his nipples, making his entire body even more sensitive. How she sucked harshly on his jaw, most definitely leaving a mark that she would giggle at in the morning when they woke up.

“Closer,” she begged suddenly, her request reminding him so vividly of one of their first times together. “I need you closer, Harry.”

He would give her anything she requested, and that one was first on his list. So he picked her up, just as he had many times before, arms curling under her back, and sat back on his heels. With her situated on his lap, her legs draped around his waist and her arms around his neck, there was nowhere either of them could escape to, their entire worlds caught up in that one moment. “Better?” He asked, pressing her hips down onto him more.

Her head tipped backwards and he took advantage of the exposed skin, nipping and sucking on her pulse point. “Perfect,” she rasped when he thrust up into her. Then she cursed and he smiled, loving when she let completely go and her posh self disappeared, replaced with the real Cicely who had no walls. Not for him—they’d broken them down long ago.

“Not going to last much longer,” he murmured, face nestled into the crook of her neck, buried deep into her hair. “Sorry, love.”

“Shh,” she said, squeezing at his hips as he pushed deeply into her. “Me either.” He was keeping the pace slow and it was killing her, but also making everything more intense, her boy craving each and every time their hips met. It was as if she couldn’t get enough, clawing at his back when he drove harshly into her than before, a mumbled apology leaving his lips.

“Ci,” he begged, not even sure what he was begging for, just her. Her. Something more, some more shred that she could give him.

She knew immediately, carding her fingers through his locks of hair and scratching at his scalp, a murmur of his name in his ear, and then she tightened around him. Her climax was rushing towards her in a storm, the sweat between their bodies and the press of their skin heightening everything about the moment, the hushed tones of love and desperation in their throats. “Stay inside me,” she whispered, lips brushing over his cheek.

“Wha’?” He asked, eyelids fluttering. He was so close that she felt it, his long eyelashes on her skin.

“Want it inside,” she repeated, not even really knowing the words for what she wanted, but hoping he understood.

“I—love, that means—“ A baby, he thought to himself, his hands tightening around her waist. They’d spoken about it, both knowing they wanted it, but they had said after the wedding. And now, he supposed, it was after the wedding.

“I know,” she said softly. “Please, H.”

His forehead rested against her clavicle, utterly overwhelmed. “Okay,” he said, voice hoarse from the prospect of their child mixed in with the love already rushing through him. It was too much—he could feel himself rapidly nearing his end, the buck of his hips speeding up. “I’m—“

“I’ve got you.” Cicely’s hands swept across his back and peppered his hairline with kisses, her legs tight around his waist. “I’ve got you, darling.”

Darling. That word was one she used rarely and only in private, but that made it even more meaningful. It made his heart clench, and when he lifted his head to let his eyes meet her, he was done for. She was crying, light tears streaking down her cheeks, but her eyes were filled with nothing but love, not a trace of heartbreak. No, she was crying for joy. From the knowledge that this love, it was unending.

That was what did him in. It was what had him stuttering in her grasp, body shaking slightly as he came inside of her, ropes brushing her walls, his thrusts slowing. He brushed her bud, not wanting to leave her behind, and their names mixed, one from each of them. Promises of love, echoes of adoration, reminders of what they meant to one another filled the room.

Cicely’s body was shivering in his hold, her high leaving her body mush. She could feel him inside of her, and she quite liked it, if she was being honest—liked having a piece of him left behind.

Her hands cradled his head and she gently said, “I love you, Harry.”

He didn’t even need to say it back, she could see the words written in his every feature, but he did anyways. “I love you, Ci. Always.” Then, he kissed her, letting their lips tell their story again and again.

Later, they laid in bed and whispered about their future together. He couldn’t help but sweep his palms over her belly where one day their child would rest. Before Cicely, Harry didn’t know if he would ever be a father. But now, it was the only path that was certain. A path with her, their child, their family, that was all he wanted. The rest of the world was meaningless without them.

Cicely’s fingers intertwined with his as they lay there, the clink of the metal of their rings softly sounding in the room. “Thank you,” she said.

He looked at her, curious. “For what?”

“Everything.” She didn’t have words for all of the individual things he had given her, and she hoped he would know what she meant.

And he did. He knew it all, every part of her, and adored each piece. He pressed a light kiss to her knuckles, and tucked her in closer to his chest, a silent answer that there was nothing to thank him for. That he would do it all over again with every reincarnation, that they would find each other again every time. After all, they were meant for one another, two halves to a whole.

Harry and Cicely, Cicely and Harry.

Until the end of time.

series taglist: @autumn-sunflowers @afire-hes @harrydobedirectioning​ @harryinsweatersandbandanas @vapingisntmything @frindgeyy @froggystyles @magical-mischief-makers @heslilac @ursogoldenshan @hhh33-3l​ @grace-ful-gold​ @tbslenthusiast @smirkingstyles @taeboonie @samjo1986

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x mc #harry styles smut #harry styles x peaky blinders #harry styles peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #1920s harry styles au #harry styles au #historical harry styles

[madhyanas]

I pronounce it as Yin hhahahah but also um 👉🏼👈🏼 are u going to share your poly fic with the class

i feel inordinately validated w getting an anon ask (also sorry this took so long wow i’m a hoe)

alright see anon i have a love for poly reader fics there’s a whole oberyn x reader x ellaria thing i want to talk about too asjdhgfsjhdgf 

@pettyprocrastination and @concussed-to-pieces really beat the shit out of me with their writing. in a really good way like i adore their poly content. also @wickedlyemma is simultaneously the best and the worst because her tua fics are what got me in this hellhole to begin with mwah

but the one i mentioned on the post you’re talkin about is a diego x fem!reader x lila fic for the umbrella academy. man it lives in my mind rent FREE. holy fuck. ok listen right just humour me for a sec.

this is about 1k lmao it really got away from me

not really what you’d call Good Writing but it’s a blurb that’s vaguely coherent please enjoy

(spoilers for s2)

s2 is where the gang finally find out they’re not the only ones w abilities, right? like they don’t know about the whole ‘43′ but they have an inkling. so: an au where lila STAYS, and after all that shit w the commission, the family gets back to the present and the next hyperfixation is to try and find these other super-powered people. (none of that sparrow academy shit alright - ben’s still hangin around - let me have my self-indulgent au where these kids catch a fuckin break)

———

It’s been a few months. The family takes in Lila as one of their own, but it’s stilted. Like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong space, made to mesh and fit in an image it doesn’t belong to. Everyone’s got their own shit to deal with after the time jump and very little time to make the effort to trust her. Five doesn’t even bother, and Luther’s inclined to agree with him. But that’s okay. They’re like her, in that they’re not normal. They’re all so laughably not normal. It’s so funny she cries. 

But she has Diego. Which is all Lila really cares about at the end of the day. They’re working through things. Things she put him through. Things he needs to let go. Things they need to talk about. Little by little, they make it work. No more secrets, not with each other. They love each other too much for all that pain, all over again.

But that’s family politics and emotional healing aight back to the romance. Listen ok maybe Five does his freaky investigation shit, maybe he digs up whatever records he can find of unnatural births on October 1st, 1989. Maybe he finds one of these unnatural kids and tracks em down to a flower store downtown - closer than any of them could’ve imagined, practically in the Hargreeves’ backyard. The owner is kind, pleasant. Boring, in Five’s words. You don’t seem anything out of the ordinary.

But even with a modest little greenhouse out back, you’re still in the middle of the city. With smoke, fumes, pollution. How are the leaves that healthy? How are the flowers that vibrant? How is it, that in your shop, no plant ever really seems to die? The flourishing life your shop fosters is beautiful, but uncanny. 

And yeah, sick of being treated like a knife in the back waiting to happen, maybe Lila volunteers for recon. To get away for a while. Some part of her is desperate for a mark, itching to get back to what she’s good at. Especially since the last one went... awry. 

Since they won’t trust her to go it solo, Diego gets dragged along as a handler supervisor. Perhaps because he’s the only one they think she won’t harm. Idiots. She’d never, not her boy. Not after the Kennedy clusterfuck. So Diego goes along, and to her surprise he’s actually looking forward to it. He knows the urge to stick to a lead like your life depends on it. He’s been that person before. God, he still is.

A honeymoon, she croons in his ear, and he snorts. His hand sliding into hers brings a grin to her lips and a warmth to her cheeks.

Out of all of them, Lila’s the least recognisable. She’s learnt how to blend in, how to appear innocuous. How not to appear at all. So she slides into the florist’s with ease, just another customer. And maybe the little gardener is cute. You smile at Lila like she couldn’t do anything wrong. You see her as a person, rather than a ticking time bomb. Your face falls meekly as Lila tells you she’s buying flowers for her boyfriend. You look so pretty when you’re flustered, scarcely breathing as Lila traces the smear of soil on your cheek, tucks that errant lock behind your ear. Oh, if only you knew.

Debriefing takes longer and longer as the days go on. Lila tells Diego with giddy excitement how you hum while watering the succulents, smile at the blooming buds like you’re proud of them. How you listen to Lila like she’s the only thing that matters and how your laugh sounds like the first break of spring. And Diego might take some convincing, but he can’t help but feel somewhat enamoured with the gardener. The idea of you, at least.

Falling for your mark. It’s so cliché.

Even so, Lila gets to know you. So does Diego, living vicariously through surreptitious surveillance and Lila’s own love-struck recounts. 

Maybe they break protocol a little. Lila takes you out for coffee, learns your order. Learns that the care you attend to your plants with is applied to just about everything in your life. Including her. Maybe Diego begins to join you, discovering that all the hiding and sneaking around was pointless because the name ‘Diego’ doesn’t mean anything sinister to you. ‘Hargreeves’, though, they don’t mention. Not right now. You’re kind, not stupid, and if you do have the abilities they suspect, then any mention of the mythic family will send you running for the hills.

While Lila’s in the bathroom, Diego throws a light jab. Just to test the waters. Maybe you counter with something quick and cutting, raising a brow. And oh, how his heart flutters once he finds out you have thorns. Diego falls quicker than he realises, your sweet half-smile taking hold of his heart just like Lila’s sharp grin did, way back in ‘63. He decides, then and there, that Five doesn’t need to know about this. None of the others do.

Maybe they break protocol a lot, and show up at the flower shop one day, asking you to sit down. No more secrets, they remember. Not between them, and now, not with you. They tell you a story of cruel parents, superpowers and lonely children. Of death and rage and destruction. Of the apocalypse, which never happened yet apparently did, and how you died, a speck amongst billions. Of falling down a rabbit hole to the 60′s, and falling all the way back again. They tell you who they are, who they think you are, and why they showed up in the first place.

Five definitely doesn’t need to know about this.

It’s... a lot. You need time to process, and they understand. They don’t like it, but Diego’s not Sir Reginald and Lila’s not the Handler. So they leave you be, thinking that’s that. Their florist, yet another mistake made by The Umbrella Academy, left in the dust. You feel confused and betrayed and heartbroken for a long while. Radio silence.

Until things get better. 

You show up at their apartment one evening, weeks later, holding a potted un-sprouted bulb, panting at the doorstep like you ran all the way there. They let you in without a word. You set the flowerpot on the table and god, you talk more than they’ve ever heard from you in one sitting. It’s rambling, not all that eloquent. But they understand what you’re saying, eyes softening at your misguided panic.

And then — shyly, as if they could ever deny you anything — you ask if they want to see. (It takes Diego’s elbow in her side to get Lila’s mind out of the gutter.) You dip your fingers into the soil, frowning gently in concentration. There’s a familiar pins-and-needles sensation in your fingertips, flowing through your nerves and into the moist earth. Absently, you worry if it’ll even work. These two have a tendency to throw you off guard.

But lo and behold, the dormant bulb unfurls before their eyes in a matter of seconds, springing forth a fresh green shoot, and a moment later, a starburst of golden petals. 

A daffodil, bobbing lightly on their coffee table.

———

ugh yeah lmao this got long but that’s the fic idea, anon. thanks for askin :)

and NO the super-powered kids aren’t related - in my mind the hargreeves’ were adopted/raised together and are therefore siblings and THAT’S why they shouldn’t date each other - but diego, lila and reader have no familial connection. at all. i’m not here for any pseudo-incest shit in this fic pls and thank u.

aha look at me writing blurbs for tua fics when i have a wholeass! paz fic! published! and u n f i n i s h e d ! alsdhfgalshdfg now i want to do more someone come scream at me about ezra and oberyn and ellaria and paz and boba and din and any other character under the sun

listen y’all i have a lot of IDEAS for various fics and i also have Zero self control - please ask me about them!!!! fuck it man ask me about anything odds are i’ll fuckin write it!!!!!! i am a desperate hoe!!!! i have no self-respect!!!!

#please come talk to me!!! about fics or fandom or anything!!! #don't be shy i'm just super talkative and v non-threatening #yeah #i wanna come up w a cute placeholder name for reader #greenie? some flower name? #who knows #also uh #daffodils signify new beginnings #and awareness #and forgiveness #👀 #look at me relearning flower meanings n shit for fics i feel Knowledgable #i am a Scholar #ask #anon #anon ask #i'm tagging for clout don't look at me #i too am ashamed #the umbrella academy #tua #diego hargreeves #number two #lila pitts #diego x reader x lila #diego hargreeves x reader x lila pitts #diego x reader #diego hargreeves x reader #lila x reader #lila pitts x reader #poly

[rainydawgradioblog]

a covidsation with mary claire

For the first Covidsation for autumn quarter, here is an interview I did back in May with Mary Claire, my dear friend and one of my favorite local artists. Mary Claire is a singer-songwriter based here in Seattle who makes “sad girl rock” (see: Mitski, Angel Olsen, etc.). I first met them through the DIY scene and was lucky enough to book them at the finale Red Room show, a house venue I used to live at and help run. As evidenced by the picture below taken that very night, seeing Mary Claire play live is a magical, mesmerizing, captivating experience. Often accompanied with minimal, but tonally-rich instrumentals, their powerful and hauntingly stunning voice paired with visceral, poetic lyrics transport you into another realm. I *highly* recommend listening to their album Phantom Limb, which you can find on your streaming platform of choice or you can snag a physical copy at Everyday Music on the Hill like I did! Last month, they also just released an incredible stop-motion music video for their song off PL called “I Don’t Like Drinking”, directed, edited, and animated by Barb Hoffman, which you can find here! Thank you Mary Claire for these thoughtful responses and for creating such vulnerable, beautiful art <3

Lola Gil: Tell me about your project. How has it evolved? Which artists are you most inspired by? How would you describe your sound?

Mary Claire: Hi hi I’m Mary Claire. I was never someone who was playing music since they were a little kiddo, it was something I picked up my senior year of high school. But pretty much everyone in my family has some amazing and weirdly specific aptitude for music, so I think being surrounded by that kind of allowed me to gather an eclectic, personal understanding, appreciation, and internalized feeling for music, so I never really took lessons or anything like that. I enjoyed and still enjoy that from the start, I was okay with the fact that I didn’t know “academic” theory and I just played with what feels and sounds right. And I still do that. So I played around with all those youthful punk feelings and had an angsty band in high school that was not bad for small town Sacramento. I think I learned so much from that and it gave me a flood of unhindered and unhinged confidence for recording, performing, maneuvering stage mechanics and technicalities, etc. Also it introduced me into the world of songwriting that I did for that band and for myself that just immediately poured out of me, which led me to what I’m doing now. I am extremely lyrically-focused and write mostly about lived personal experience that I surrender to and make extremely overly-wordy. I went from a solo act, to a bigger full piece crunchier band, to me and a piano player, back to a solo set, so I’m really just kind of evolving with my resources, the songs I’m currently living in and playing, and with what would bring everything to life most fully. 

I’m inspired by everyone, even if I don’t necessarily sound like them or listen to them all the time. Like, my adoration for incredibly angry punk music is what got me started in the creation of my own music, so that foundation will never leave me. Even though I won’t sound like IDLES or Shame or Pissed Jeans, their point of view and their devotion to cramming so many words into one breath is a place I also come from. We execute similar feelings in different ways. And though I currently am not anything like Yves Tumor, King Krule, or FKA Twigs, the layers in their stuff sends me so far. But I think lyrically and melodically, I pull inspiration from and sink most into Mitski, Sasami, Angel Olsen, Palehound, Big Thief, Bella Porter, Darci Phenix, Fiona Apple, Sufjan Stevens, Izumi, and Weyes Blood. 

Someone once said my tunes are “sad girl rock” and I think that sticks in a fun, quick way, so that’s what I tell people. But more recently, the stuff on my upcoming album I think is like a sad, fucked up, incredibly fast-paced nursery rhyme book (lol). I’m really excited for this album I wrote, more than anything ever. Also my good friend and twin flame Francis is helping me record it and is giving me a lot of knowledge and challenges and affirmations and inspiration. I owe a lot of this second album’s production and complexity him. There are a lot more people involved in the recording of this one, so it’s a lot fuller in a new and exciting and scary way.

LG: As an artist, how have you been affected by the pandemic? I saw most of your tour you had booked was unfortunately cancelled-- are you planning on rescheduling?

MC: Rescheduling feels so completely beyond me right now, so I am just considering it to be cancelled until things in the world really start to settle down to some degree of safety and responsibility. However, the silver lining in all of this ‘rona stuff is that it has given me a ton of time to recenter myself with my music and devote my own energy into recording and feeling the core of my upcoming album. I think when the world is moving so fast, it’s easy for me to feel like I’m behind, like other people are getting shit done faster and in a more “impressive way”, in a way that matters more or has more inherent value. So when we are all forced to stay at home with ourselves, not only does it remind me that all of those insecurities are completely not real and are in fact a delusion borne from a capitalistic-productivity-equals-artistic-worth-framework, but I also get time to actually enjoy and fine tune what I otherwise might have just thrown out into the ether desperately and prematurely in hopes to be current and up to date and ~with it~.

LG: Have you been working on writing any new tunes? Have you been involved in any other creative projects recently?

MC: When I was recording Phantom Limb, I wrote the majority of my next upcoming album, so while those songs don’t feel incredibly new, there is a ton of stuff I have yet to share and that I am so eager to scream to the world. It feels like some of the stuff I am most proud of making in my entire life. 

But since I left for Berlin to study abroad last fall to when I came back to Seattle this January, I really hadn’t written anything new. I think I had been going through a lot of personal and immense change and hard growth that wasn’t particularly inspiring, it just sucked and was intense and necessary, but sometimes all that bad stuff is not something you can just make art out of. Plus I had to just do something totally different and invest and surrender to techno and being a gross city Eurotrash gremlin and let that out cathartically. But recently, I wrote my first super new song in what feels like ages, and I’m so happy. I was afraid maybe I’d forgotten how to do it, but it’s pouring out of me again and I feel like me again. I have also been working a bit back and forth with a friend from the project World Peace. We just keep sending clips back and forth and weaving our separate projects together a bit, which is something I’ve never done and I’m having a ton of fun, especially because our music is so different. Besides that, I have some plans to work with another good friend Izumi after having adored them the moment I moved here. 

LG: How have you personally been dealing with the pandemic and the craziness that is 2020? What has your quarantine experience been like so far?

MC: I went home to Sacramento for a month and watched more TV than I had probably in my entire life. It was really good to see my family and siblings who I miss so much. But I came back to Seattle in April and since then have just been spending my days in a limbo of online school weirdness. But I’m so fortunate that I live with so many people who are all so unique, all of whom I feel are my best friends. So I definitely don’t get too bored:)

LG: What music have you been listening to during quarantine? What has been your go-to isolation album?

MC: Okay to be honest, when I begin to think of my next album and what it feels like inside of me, I make one single playlist with like hours and hours of songs on it and it’s the only thing I listen to for like a year. So I’m prone to listening to the same stuff perpetually forever and always, but I think I’ve always sort of been like that. It makes the feeling familiar. But since I’ve felt close to the sounds of my upcoming album for a long while now, I’ve actually pretty much been listening to what is my ~album 3~ inspo playlist, because I already feel that beast growing inside of me. I’m a planner. 

Most of the artists on those playlists are the ones I listed above in regards to who I feel are my biggest inspirations. But right when quarantine started though I would pretty much only play Man Alive!, I would just go through the whole thing and then restart immediately. When I was in Sacramento, my family had a rule I could only play it with headphones because it was literally nonstop, that’s just how I consume things; I take a bath in them until I feel every single part of what was made. But other than that, I’ve been bumping Peter Campanelli’s Pesto Baby and crying a lot about it, Darci Phenix’s (my best bud from Sac) Juniper Street which is some of the best songwriting literally ever, and Francis Farmer’s Bruised Fruit which is SO expertly recorded and thought out, I am so lucky he is my friend and wants to record my upcoming album with me.

LG: Arethere any spring shows that you were particularly looking forward to attending that got cancelled?

MC: Pretty much all of them imaginable. 

LG: How do you think the Seattle music scene is going to be like post-COVID?

MC: Hopefully, this can recenter us and remind us we’re all really really and truly in this together. It’s up to us to lift each other up and get each other on bills and spread the word and create community for those who need it most and for those whose lives rely on this art. Seattle seems like it is really good at that on a small scale, but once it gets to a little bit larger stage, it’s easy for people to forget where they came from, who supported them, and what should be at the forefront of our radars. I think shedding this cool guy persona and getting back to why this shit is so important and listening to/PROMOTING smaller artists who are making The Best stuff is something everyone could be reminded to do. 

LG: In this funky era of social distancing, how do you think artists can support each other during these weird and difficult times? How do you think social media is facilitating and/or inhibiting connection within Seattle’s overall creative community?

MC: I think people’s ability to make what seemed like such an immediate switch to social media music promotion and shows was really amazing. However, it makes me feel a bit hopeless and dystopian and sci-fi in a weird way. That being said, trying to resist the change has only proven to be detrimental to me and kind has come back to kick me in the ass. Like, I should not be turning down opportunities just because livestreams kind of freak me out in how foreign and disconnected they can appear to be. I’m no better than them, and it’s important I think to accept things where they’re at instead of pretending they’re not happening. 

That being said, I think everyone has been maneuvering with such grace and empathy and compassion for others in a way that I can really feel, and I hope that sticks around forever. 

- Lola Gil

[pinkykitten]

The time in Summervale: 1

Warning: none

Specifics: y/n=your name, oc, oc fic, comedy

People: athela (your mother), edward (your father), huxley (cook), ruthy (maid)

Words: 1,438

Summary: In the fictional land of Summervale, 1700, you, the Duchess are made into an arranged marriage.This is the dream of your parents but certainty not the dream of a longing inventor like yourself. You are taught to be a lady but who wants to be a  primp and proper lady when you can have fun and be yourself. You need to try to convince your parents this is not what you want or is it? How will it be seeing the Prince of Linwyn? Will you finally change your mind and side with your parents? 

Authors Note: this is something newwwwww. ive been wanting to do kinda my own thing for a while so this is not on any fandom this is a story i will be updating with chapters about my characters but in a x reader way if that makes sense so its still gonna use you and such just this is my own story. i got inspiration off of this story “the austrian suitor” by @headoverhiddles​, granted i dont know the character or the fandom i just read it cuz another blog reblogged it yet i rlly enjoyed it even tho it is smut and im not usually a smut reader just kinda skip that or whatever either way it was extremely well written and gave me such inspiration like wowowowowow. so i made this piece inspired by that and i hope you guys like it. this is just kinda an opening to the whole thing and to kinda see how it works out so there is not any romance in this but trust me there will be but like i said i want to see how this goes if yall like if u do pls tell me tell me what u think ur thoughts everything i worked rlly hard on this so pls share like reblog do what you gotta do it would me a lot to me. thnx guys <3

“Maybe this piece goes here,” you mumbled to yourself. An action you always did but it was something your mother hated. Sitting atop your bed you concentrated your efforts in inventing a mixer that did its job on its own. Call it a hobby or a dream but inventing was your world. You loved the satisfaction of creating something with your own two hands especially if it helped people. Unfortunately, your parents the Prince and Princess of Summervale did not approve. They called it very unladylike. Your mother, Athela, would scold you about getting messy and dirty and then throw you in the tub like a little child. Your father, Edward, was always forcing you to learn how to seam. His mother used to do it and he wanted to pass it down to you. Those things didn’t excite you, didn’t make you complete. Inventing was something you loved and was always thinking about. As you would look at an apple tree during your morning stroll you would wonder about what inventions would be good for peeling apples whilst your parents bored you with duties as a Duchess. 

“Almost done,” you screwed on the last screw to your creation. You had dirt under your nails and they were short and barely ever polished, only for special occasions. Your hair was almost every time how it was meant to be. None of those gels, ties, bows, again only for special occasions. Your mother, Athela, would buy you all these face creams, soaps, masks, but you were content with your scars and bumps, naming them every so often after royals, saying your “face was a castle and there should definitely be Queens and Kings roaming on it.” You were odd and different to others but to yourself you were this boring, normal, royal girl that everyone hated because you were granted everything you could ever want. Life was not that simple though. Sometimes when you have everything handed to you - all the money in the world - it still doesn’t fill up that hollow feeling inside or take away the sadness. It was something to help people cope but it was never the antidote. 

“Alright...finished. What do you think Karim?” You hastily got out of bed and sat on the floor presenting your mixer to your pug. One very lovely vacation you took with your family you had learn a bit of Arabic. It was a beautiful language and you had made many friends there. You named your dog Karim meaning generous. Karim was generous, he was the only one who would look at your inventions. “Do you think it will work?” You gave a toothy grin, excited. 

Karim grunted as he licked his nose, panting. 

“I knew you would like it,” patting his head you jump up ready to show not just your parents but also the cooks. You had a very good feeling about this one. Every time you made an invention you had hope that maybe your parents would change their minds about your future but every occurrence was the same. 

“Mother, father! Come look!” You yelled as you sprinted down the stairs not caring if your nightgown would get dirty sweeping across the floors of the castle. “Come quick!”

“What in the heavens is the matter my dear child?” Edward, your father, grumbled seeing you in such a hurry. 

“See, father, in the kitchen.”

“In the kitchen?”

You passed by your mother, she tried to catch you but you slipped from her grip. “Young Lady why are you not dressed and groomed properly? You look like a mess.”

“Doesn’t matter, mother in this moment time is of the essence!” You arrived at the kitchen and grabbed a blue glass bowl, plopping it with a loud clank on the counter top. 

“What are you doing y/n?” The cook asked. “You almost broke me bowl!” He was a plump older man, very short. His hair was salt and pepper and his face was as white as flour yet his cheeks were always red.

“Forgive me Huxley I just need to know. Need to see and dive deep into the unknown.” You opened up a recipe card that Huxley wrote down for your favorite cake. Vanilla cake, you were a simple girl. “Alright I need eggs and flour and oh yes milk! Almost forgot about the milk!” You were talking to yourself again as you ran around the kitchen like a mad woman. 

“Is this another one of your inventions?” Huxley crossed his arms knowing about your obsession. 

“Yes but my dear good old Huxley-”

“Old?” He lifted his brow. 

“No time to explain, I have a tingling within me. This one is going to be it, I know it. Mother and father will finally see and believe in me.” You poured all the ingredients in the bowl. Your parents walked in, perplexed. 

“Hello everyone. Today I show you something I have been working on the for the past week. I am very proud of myself but any who let me show you my newest invention-”

“Oh here we go again?” Athela rolled her eyes.

“The mixer!” You lifted it high in the air. “This mixer will not only mix greatly and fine it will mix to your acquired speed. Please watch.” You pulled the lever three times and then pushed the big button. The mixer turned on automatically with it squeaking from the gears. “As you can see the mixer is mixing all the ingredients together. No more of the hassle of blistered hands or tired arms, this does it for you! You can even look away and do other chores in the midst.” You turned around and your creation you thought so high about was creating smoke and making an odd sound. 

“Um y/n,” Edward said, “is it supposed to do that?”

“Huh,” you turned to it again and all of a sudden the mixer started to go faster in speed. “Oh no.” The mixer then flew high in the air and starting to spin around like a mini airplane. 

“Get down!” Huxley shouted and everyone in the room screamed in fear or bent down hiding under tables and items. 

“Its alright everyone! Just a little mistake!” You climbed onto the tables trying to fetch the item. “Blasted thing.” You jumped onto the counter and caught it making it stop. Until it started to mix again and it caught a piece of your hair. You screamed loud and tried running away but hit the bowl of cake mix making it hurl in the air on top of your head making you slip from the batter onto your back. The mixer finally stopped. You groaned knowing you were about to hear it from your parents. 

Athela stood up with a scowl on her face. “To your room. Now!”

You sat at your vanity disappointed with yourself. You had worked so hard on the mixer and had embarrassed yourself. Athela was standing next to you, glaring. Karim was laying in his bed munching on a treat and your maid Ruthy tended to your hair. 

“I cannot believe you chose to do this on a day like today. Of all days!” Your mother was furious. Her gloved hands were held into fists. “You were supposed to be ready!”

“I know. I’m sorry mother.” In the end you always apologized even though you really hadn’t meant it. You hated when your mother was right especially about inventing. You always wanted to prove her wrong but it ended in outright disappointment. 

“Look at this hair now.” Athela lifted the piece of hair that was wrapped around the mixer. “Can you save it Ruthy?”

Ruthy bit her lip as she heaved a sigh, “I’m sorry your Royal Highness it is very tangled I must cut it off.”

“Oh my! Are you sure?”

Ruthy nodded.

“Today of all days,” Athela repeated herself. “How will your future husband think of you now?”

“What?” You asked and then all was heard was a snip as Ruthy cut that one lock of hair.

“Make sure you take that disgusting batter out of her hair.” Athela pointed to your scalp.

“Mother what are you talking about?” You stood up throwing your precious now broken mixer onto your desk.

“My dear didn’t you not fall just mere minutes ago in that vanilla goop?”

“Thats not what I meant and you know it. I am asking about what you said about a future husband. What did you mean by that?”

Athela rubbed your shoulders up and down and broke into a huge smile. “My dear you are getting married!”

Tag list: @harrington-lover​​, @angelgl16​​, @perfectlybeautifulsuit​​, @hyehoney​​, @haven-prelude (wont let me tag), @leasly​​​, @totally-alexa21​​, @creamy-pasta-boi​​, @multireese​​, @fanfictionrecommendations-com​​, @prentisskelley​​, @malereaderforkpop (wont let me tag), @guardian-of-cookies, @justafangirl-97​​, @teenageshitposts (wont let me tag), @dippergravity (wont let me tag), @some-booty, @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople​​, @collectiveyou​​, @wtfisalltherandoms​​, @dirbel​​, @eastcoasthaven​​, @fangirl-4-life415 (wont let me tag), @melonreblogsstories​​​, @reginalinettis​​​

wanna be tagged in my crap? comment!

#x reader #fanfiction #fandom #imagine #plus size reader #x plus size reader #plus size imagine #fantasy #writing #chapter fic #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkelsen x reader #douglas booth #douglas booth x reader #netflix #aesthetic #art #princess #royalty #oc #my oc #my original character #original character #not requested #the time in summervale #the time in summervale pt. 1

[magdaclaire]

hiiii mer, can u pls write me a mob winteriron au with mob boss Bucky and daycare center worker tony? preferably with secret identity porn and some angst

It does not have identity porn, but it does have angst! 

Hope you enjoy it under the cut, Joanis! 

Ao3 Link

Tony clenches his jaw, leaning against the wall stubbornly and jutting his chin up at anyone who makes eye contact, though few are brave enough to even try. Even if people don’t know who he’s attached to, they do know the kid that’s huddled behind his thigh, sucking on her thumb with a cast on her arm. Tony only has to make the right expression to the right person for someone to run off and get who he’s looking for, and that’s a kind of power he never expected to have. He doesn’t even particularly want it, but it’s fine. Everything is fucking fine, after all.

Except the kid. She’s not fine, and if he doesn’t get his ass in front of Tony, begging for her forgiveness on his knees right the fuck now, Tony is going to kill James Buchanan Barnes. A few people offer him a cigarette when he has to wait more than a minute for Steve to run and go get James, but Tony declines. He doesn’t smoke, least of all in front of kids, and maybe Tony will read James that riot act after he’s done reading this one, which he just might read in front of all of his little friends.

Some might say that calling the entire mob “James’s little friends” wasn’t very good for Tony’s self preservation, but see if he gives a flying fuck. James likes him too much to have him killed, and everyone else is too afraid to even piss Tony off, let alone the man himself.

He feels like a fucking mob wife in the ‘30s and nothing pisses him off quite like that.

“Tony! Baby, what are you doin’ here? Becca? What happened to your arm, sweetheart? Are you okay?” James asks, hitting his knees in front of the pair just as he fucking should. Becca tells him the story of her sprained wrist when she lost her balance on the monkey bars, how an attendant had attempted to catch her but she had fallen too fast, how Tony had tried to call him three times before the ambulance even got there, but he never answered. James looks up at Tony with wide eyes and Tony gives him a flat look, the clench of his jaw accented by raised eyebrows. He revels in how James winces.

“Princess, how about we get you layin’ down for a nap at Aunt Peggy’s? I’ll read you a sleepy story after me and Tony have a bit of a talk,” James promises her, grinning awkwardly, but Tony shakes his head, calling Steve over with just a finger.

“How about Uncle Steve reads you a story? Me and Bucky need to talk for a bit longer than you might be able to stay awake, sugar plum, and I don’t want you to miss your whole story,” Tony advises, to which Becca nods.

“Yeah, okay. Uncle Steve, can you pick me up? My feet hurt,” Becca requests, making the gesture for up to her older brother’s best friend. Steve picks her up with a nod and doesn’t even get a confirmation from James before walking her up the stairs, out of the basement and presumably over to the house he shares with his fiance, a fierce brunette woman who holds an even higher rank than Steve himself. Tony turns his sharp eyes on James once he sees her go in the building, drumming his fingertips on his opposite bicep. James grimaces, knowing where things are going.

“Guys? Clear out. Me and Tony need the floor,” James says, to which grumbling begins as various mobsters put down their cards. Dum Dum brushes his knuckles across Tony’s shoulder as he goes out, obviously sorry for something that he couldn’t have controlled, but Tony brushes him off. He doesn’t need apologies from anyone but James, and James hasn’t even begun saying his piece. At this rate, he may never finish. Dernier is the last one to leave, bowing his head at Tony.

“Go soft on ze boss, eh? He has been doing better lately,” Dernier says, to which Tony gives a straight jawed nod. He’s not going to go easy on James, not even close, but it’s fun to think that someone wants him to. Tony sits in a seat across the table from James, one of the most direct ways to call an opponent in James’s world, but he’s okay with that. He’s not exactly looking to reassure James at the moment.

“Tones, I know you’re mad, doll -” James starts, but he knows to stop when Tony tilts his head, already madder than a fucking snake. Anything that starts with I know you’re mad is only gonna make things worse, and James knows it.

“You wanna tell me why you don’t know how to answer a fuckin’ phone, James? You been down here all afternoon? Actually, don’t fucking answer that second one, asshat. I don’t care if you’ve been down here for seventy fucking years, you still get service in this hole. So, back to the first question. How, in all of your infinite knowledge and wisdom, in the fuck did you forget how to answer a phone?” Tony asks, voice sharp as he leans his chin on his hand, carefully keeping his expression cool.

“We were…” James trails off, rubbing the back of his neck, “We were celebratin’ somethin’. Started playin’ about four hours ago. She don’ even get outta school for another hour, Tony, I - I didn’t even think about it, darlin, and I’m sorry.” He sounds almost sincere enough for Tony to want to drop it, but he remembers the fear he’s been holding in the bottom of his stomach for almost three hours, for all of the time that James hadn’t answered the phone, for all of the time that he hadn’t known where James was or what he was doing. He only knew where James was, that James was even okay because Steve answered a text.

“Honey, did you forget what you do for a living? Did you honestly forget?” Tony asks, to which James tilts his head. “You didn’t answer the phone. You didn’t answer a call, didn’t answer texts, satellite GPS on your phone doesn’t work well down here. James, I thought you were fucking dead. You don’t answer the phone, I have to assume the worst don’t I? I take care of Becca during the day. I’m the one who reminds her that it’s okay to have friends at the daycare, that she’s okay, that she’s safe. How am I supposed to tell her that she’s safe when you don’t even answer the phone when she needs you? What if it had been worse?”

He doesn’t mean to go on this rant, on the guilt tripping, awful thing that makes his throat hurt with the fact that he’s about to cry, but it’s easier. He can’t admit that he was terrified that he was about to lose the man he loves before he even got to tell him. He can’t admit to James that he’s caught feelings that feel much more permanent than their relationship. He isn’t proud of how James seems to choke on this argument, how his eyes cloud up with the first bit of tears, but it’s easier.

“Tony,” James says, choking on it, before he closes his eyes, steeling himself to continue. “I’m sorry that I made you deal with that. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there. It will never, never happen again, I promise you that. You’ll never have to deal with us again.” There’s a note of finality there that freezes even the breath in Tony’s lungs, and he feels like he’s dying.

“James, what are you saying?” he asks, freezing in his posture as well as he sits up and stays in some sort of stasis, completely caught off guard. He knows that James has a guilt complex, knows that he can take things to heart better than anyone else, but he doesn’t… he doesn’t know what James is saying.

“The daycare experiment was a bad idea. I’ll get Peggy’s friend to start teachin’ her again, and we’ll keep her within the guard. I’m sorry that I disappointed you, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t better to both you and Becca in this situation,” James says. It sounds just like one of the cuts in one of Tony’s father’s business meetings, just like the way that things end, and Tony can’t have the end, not yet. He stands from his seat and sits down on the table in front of James, just like he always does, just where he belongs. He usually feels safer here, but there is no safety in the way that James does not make eye contact with him, staring straight ahead, nor the way that James keeps his hands firmly on the arms of his chair.

“I don’t want either of you to go. I can’t - I can’t lose her,” Tony says instead of admitting that he can’t lose James, because that’s so much and so new and Tony can’t. He gets flashes of his father in his head, quiet reminders that no one will ever want him when he’s not inventing, no one will ever want him now that he’s a burnout, no one will ever want him now that he’s soft, now that he’s simple. Tony can’t lose either of them.

“Visits can be arranged if you want. I’ll have Steve organise them,” James offers, kinder than he needs to be, but Tony makes a noise that sounds like a wound has been ripped through him. James finally looks at him at about the same time that Tony is sliding into his lap, clinging onto the other man desperately. As confused as he obviously is (stone body structure, just the side of his expression out of the corner of Tony’s eye), he still puts his hands on Tony’s back, holding him with such care that it’s painful.

“I can’t lose you either, dipshit. Half the reason why I’m fucking mad and he misses it,” Tony mutters against the mobster’s throat, but he knows that James hears it for the way that arms tighten around his waist.

“I love you,” James says, just as quiet as Tony’s muttering, but Tony hears it anyway. He feels like he’s about to cry.

“I love you too,” he admits, and it doesn’t feel as much like a weakness as it did just before.

#winteriron #bucky barnes #tony stark #steve rogers #becca barnes #mine #joanis #kimannhart

[love-always-jordan]

Draco Malfoy- Study Buddies

A/N: Okay so this is my first time writing on here and i’m super nervous but I was at work earlier and i was like hell yeah i’m gonna write about Malfoy. You’ll quickly find out i low key hate capitalizing all the words that need to be so I apologize. Pls don’t be mean to me but feedback is encouraged. Also omg it’s kinda long.... sorry

I’ll probably write a part two eventually, but i’m tired rn

Summary: y/n is asked by Dumbledore to tutor Malfoy (Yeah Yeah it’s been done a thousand times. well not by me so suck my toe) 

Here we go!!!

-----

y/n sat in Charms class, quickly scribbling down the notes that were being written on the board by a floating piece of chalk. She knew very well that if she missed anything that was being covered in class she would fall behind. Y/n wasn’t one to sit and day dream during classes; she didn’t want to waste the opportunity she was given when her first Hogwarts letter arrived all those years ago. 

As she was writing down the last line of notes for the period, she could feel eyes on her back and hear some snickers from behind her. Not being one to show vulnerability in public, y/n just faced forward and finished writing, not letting those three Slytherins see that she was bothered. 

Draco Malfoy and his clan always thought it was so funny and pathetic how y/n actually tried so hard in class. Over the years he and his friends had come up with quite a few ways to annoy her as much as possible. They’d try to distract her during class as slyly as possible. Eventually y/n just stopped paying them any mind. She had things to get done and she wasn’t about to let them get in the way.

After class was dismissed for lunch, Professor Flitwick asked to see y/n at his desk in the front of the large room. The Slytherins listening in made some quiet ooooh-ing sounds as if y/n had done something wrong and was about to receive her punishment. Y/n walked to the front of the room and stopped in front of Flitwick’s desk.

“Professor Dumbledore would like a word with you in his office before you head to the great hall for your break,” he told her, reading a small piece of parchment on his desk. 

“Oh, um, okay,” y/n hesitated. “Do you happen to know what it’s about?”

Flitwick sighed, “I’m afraid that’s between the two of you. Or perhaps the three of you.”

Instead of asking any further questions, y/n decided to just go to Dumbledore and find out what this was about.

“Thanks, Professor,’ she said, turning.

“Miss, y/l/n,” he stopped her,” the password.” He handed her a piece of parchment with the word “lollipop” written on it.

“Right, thanks.” And with that she left the room and was on her way.

The halls were mostly deserted besides a few first years here and there. These were the moments y/n got caught up in her imagination and thoughts. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of a large statue of a bird. Y/n had had a few one on one conversations with Dumbledore, however, she’d never been in his office before.

Y/n quietly muttered the password but in the silent halls it sounded deafening. The statue began to swivel, revealing a staircase. Y/n began to climb the stairs, curious as to what awaited her at the top. 

Y/n knocked on the closed door that sat at the top of the stairs.

“Come in,” Dumbledore said loudly.

She entered and immediately began looking around, taking in her surroundings. Y/n had always been one for details and she didn’t want to forget anything about this office.

“Please, have a seat, Miss y/l/n. Could I interest you in a piece of candy? It’s from a small Muggle shop in London.” Dumbledore always had a way about him that was very calming to y/n. 

“No thank you, Professor. I’ll be off to lunch after this.”

“I suppose you are quite intrigued as to why I’ve called you here today. I can promise you I’m aware of your disinterest in Mr. Malfoy, however, I do believe you are the only one for the job. If you do decline, I will understand, but I hope you don’t make a decision hastily.” He spoke softly.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but what job am I the only one for?” y/n had no idea what he was talking about but if it involved Malfoy, she wanted nothing to do with it.

“Yes, my apologies, Miss y/l/n. You must forgive my old mind. I meant to ask you if you would tutor Mr. Malfoy. Just once a week until he gets his grades back up, if you would.”

Y/n remained quiet for a minute. There was no way Malfoy would ever listen to her. They would probably just spend the whole time arguing. Nevertheless, it would be a good excuse for y/n to spend more time in the library.

“Have you talked to him about this already? Are you sure he’ll even learn anything from me?” Y/n asked, unsure.

“I don’t believe Mr. Malfoy’s low grades to be from his lack of understanding, Miss y/l/n. I just believe he needs some encouragement. I’ve already spoken to him and he is aware that he will be given a tutor to meet him in the library after dinner on Friday evenings.” The more Dumbledore talked, the more y/n felt like she should do it. 

Y/n agreed at last and was sent on her way to lunch before her next class. The rest of the week went the same as it usually went, aside from telling Harry, Ron, and Hermione that she was supposed to tutor Malfoy on Friday nights beginning this weekend. They argued with her for a while before all agreeing that y/n couldn’t very well say no to Dumbledore. 

When Friday’s dinner came around, y/n sat beside Hermione, barely eating. She was completely dreading what came when she finished her dinner. She sat in silence for almost all of dinner before realizing that whether she ate or not, she’d still be stuck in the library with Malfoy for an hour. She began to scarf down the food in front of her. Once she stood up to leave, she took a big gulp of pumpkin juice, said goodnight to her friends, and took off for the library. 

Y/n sat alone in the library at her favorite table with her text books piled in front of her. She looked out the window at the school grounds and longed for warmer weather where she could study under a tree or by the lake. 

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud groan. Y/n turned and saw Malfoy standing in the doorway.

“Are you gonna sit down or what?” Y/n wanted to make it clear she wasn’t excited about this either. 

“I’m sure you’re enjoying this. Probably volunteered.” He scoffed and threw his bag to the floor, taking a seat across from her. 

“Oh please, I need you to understand there are people in the world who can’t get away from you fast enough and I am one of those people,” y/n spat at him. “I can leave if you want, but you’ll just keep failing your classes. I’m sure mummy and daddy will be so proud of you.”

Y/n reached for her bag to return all her books to their rightful place.

“Okay. Fine. You win,” Malfoy said rather quietly. 

“Alright, but if we’re gonna do this, we need some rules.”

“Rules? Seriously? Like what?” He laughed at her.

“No making fun of me while we’re in here. If I’m tutoring you, you can’t treat me like I’m nothing. I’m here to help you. This isn’t for my amusement.” Y/n was in no mood to be taken as a joke.

“Okay, I guess that’s fair. But you can’t tell anyone about that. We aren’t friends or anything, y/l/n.” He rolled his eyes a little.

“Whatever, what class do you want to start with. Not Potions, I know you’re doing fine in that class. How about Transfiguration?” 

“I don’t really feel like doing this right now.” He said blatantly. 

“Well that’s probably why you’re failing. And you would probably know more if you didn’t spend the whole class making fun of me with your friends.” Y/n was opening her book to the current chapter.

“We don’t make fun of you for the whole class period.”

“Yeah right. I’m surprised you haven’t burned a hole into my skull with the intensity of your stare. I can feel you staring at me all the time.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not making fun of you okay?” Malfoy was getting defensive. “Do you really think I’m that big of a prat that I spend all my time hating you? Because contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually hate you, y/n.”

Y/n stayed quiet for a second, thinking about what he just said. 

“So what? You just pretend to hate me so your friends think you’re cool? That’s stupid,” she said finally.

“It’s easier than explaining my life choices to everyone all the time. I didn’t like you when we first started school, but now I dunno. I changed my mind i guess.” He got quieter as he spoke. Malfoy was never one to share his feelings.

“So you’re saying that you do like me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, okay, y/l/n. It’s not like I’m in love with you. But I wouldn’t jump off a building if you said hi to me. It’s not a big deal.”

“So, we are friends?” y/n was mostly just teasing him now. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Can we just study now?” He asked urgently.

“Sure,” said y/n, looking down at her book smiling. When she looked up, Malfoy looked different. He didn’t look angry like he usually did. And if y/n wasn’t mistaken, he had a slight smile on his lips.  

#draco malfoy #imagine #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter #fantastic beasts #ron weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #hermione granger #hogwarts mystery