#had to return back to the start and draw grey people again

[danceguts6]

I sure love me some green cats

[rowie264]

Jinx x jinxer!reader. First meeting

You don’t really know how you ended up like this.

Truth to be told... you never really believed in your “leader”, if Jinx could even be called that. You didn't even fully dye your hair blue like the others. Just a small strand. In your eyes, Jinx did nothing but blow up the Council and redirect the Grey to Piltover. But even then… it was enough for you to make you join “Jinxers”.

You knew her actions will cause problems to Zaun. But you were so fucking done. You were too tired of being a rug under pilties boots. And maybe that was what Zaun needed to finally reach point of no return and fight back. And you wanted things to change.

So one day your hopeless gray life turned blue.

And now you were here, using your artistic abilities to portray Jinx as a kind of savior and leader of the revolution, as you were asked to do. Only instead of flag and shit you drew her with bombs and explosions. It was more like the image of Jinx you had.

“My eyes and nose are not like that.” Someone’s raspy voice reaches your ears.

You turn to face the intruder and see a girl sitting on the beam above few meters away. Somehow you just knew it was Jinx. You felt it in your gut, even though it was the first time you had encountered her.

You couldn't see her face completely hidden by the shadows, but you could see the color of her eyes. Pink, like shimmer.

“It’s the closest description I’ve got.” You say, too calm for a person who’ve met a Loose Cannon. And before you can stop yourself you add: “Maybe you could pose me so I could do it right?”

After that, there was silence between the two of you. Jinx didn't seem to expect such a reaction from you. You were surprised by your carelessness as well. She was dangerous and insane after all.

“Why not?” she says after a couple of seconds, probably agreeing out of boredom, and jumps off, landing smoothly like a cat.

As she comes over, you finally see her face. It does differ a little from what you were drawing. You also notice how short she is. She wasn't as intimidating as some people described. Although, perhaps, it was such thoughts that led many to their deaths.

You start correcting your painting, glancing at her from time to time, trying to convey her features as accurately as possible. You could lose yourself in art, even standing next to the most wanted criminal. Maybe you were crazy too?

“I'm not a hero you make me out to be, ya know?” Jinx suddenly comments after some time, looking at portrait of herself. Judging by the way she was tapping her feet, it took a lot of effort for her to stand still.

“I am aware.” You respond distantly too focused on your task, barely paying attention to anything around you. You almost finished.

“Then why?” She asks tilting her head and observing you like a hawk.

You take a step back, glancing at the wall to check everything one last time. “Why not?” you repeat her own words from earlier.

Jinx huffs, hiding that she's confused by your answer again. You're not like the other Jinxers she's met before. You treated her almost indifferently, like an ordinary stranger. Not like symbol of Zaun, not like Loose Cannon, but just… Jinx.

“So whatcha gonna do for me for posing to ya?” she casually changes the subject.

“You didn't mention that I have to pay you.” You frown at her, inwardly cursing yourself for being so carefree for not asking earlier.

“Don’t sweat it, toots, I don’t need money.” She waves her hand dismissively and you are not sure if paying with something else is any better.

“Then what?”

“Hmm… let's see…” Jinx walks around you, wondering what to ask you. “You drew me… so it would be fair if I drew on you back, don't you think?”

“Draw me, you mean?”

“I didn’t stutter, toots.” She scoffs pulling crayon out of her pocket.

“Don’t move.” Jinx orders and grabs your wrist. Without asking your permission, she starts drawing something right on your arm.

You didn’t protest – out of your safety and curiosity. Her grip was firm but surprisingly gentle. You couldn't help but look at her tattoos until your gaze landed on her face. This close, you could see her freckles. The word “cute" flashed through your mind as you stared at her in fascination.

“Here!” She suddenly announces with a beaming smile, pulling you out of your little bubble. You look down at your arm and see little pink clouds painted from wrist to elbow.

“Don't wash it off until I meet you again.” Jinx says and walks away, disappearing into the shadows without explaining anything, leaving you wondering when you'll be able to meet her once more. But to some extent… you want it to happen.

And until then, you would try to keep the clouds on your body.

[arduousflame]

For just one night

I'm still just playing around with who I want Rook to be. So have a little bit of the team finally getting a breather and a little backstory on Rook. I think I have settled on her being part of the Crow's but not an assassin per se. No spoilers at all.

----------------------------------------

For just one night

Lucanis moved behind the three women seated at the table, clearing the last of the evening’s dishes as his eyes skimmed over the pages of Rook’s book. Neve and Rook had relocated the detective’s case notes to the dining hall after dinner, working together to decipher coded messages. Rook’s knack for shorthands and cants had proven invaluable, and her personal key—a small leatherbound book—lay open on the table. It was filled with snippets of stories and songs, shorthand exercises, and codes she had accumulated over years as Viago’s eyes and ears.

“Westford Bay? Why does that sound familiar?” he wondered.

“Oh, that’s a classic! It used to be all the rage with the Ferelden minstrels” Harding chimed in, grinning from her seat near the hearth. “Rook, you know how to sing that one?”

“It is indeed a classic, but it’s been a while sing I last sang it,” Rook agreed, with a faint smile “I used to pull it out as a surefire way to keep a bar full of drunkards entertained. Works surprisingly well on Grey Wardens, too.” She flashed a toothy grin at Davrin, who shrugged but returned the smile. “We’re simple folk,” he replied. “Doesn’t take much to entertain us—a sweet smile, a song, a dance…”

Lucanis bit back a sharp retort—Spite’s retort, not his own—just as recognition flickered across his face. “The Castillon job! That was a joint contract—de Riva and Dellamorte. Illario insisted on a lookout for that one, someone who could entertain a crowd. Viago hesitated, but good thing we had one. That job went sideways fast when that paramour started screaming in the closet. The lookout got the whole bar singing—it drowned out the noise and gave us a clean escape.” He paused, his gaze locking onto Rook. “That was you?”

Her cup hid most of her face, but not the faint blush creeping across her cheeks and ears. “Yes,” she mumbled into the rim, avoiding his gaze.

He leaned in closer to examine the lyrics, catching the shorthand scribbled in the margins: Vi, you owe me for this one. offspring of that old vulture or not, if he dares that again, I’ll give them a reason to draw up a contract on me. I’d sign it myself.

Before he could ask her about the comment, Taash piped up. “Rook, you sing?”

From where he stood, Lucanis swore she was trying to crawl into her cup.

“Show us! It must have been good if Lucanis here remembers it,” Taash was oblivious to the embarrasment of their leader.

Rook groaned. “I don’t think I said anything about the skill of that lookout,” Lucanis replied with a smirk, “just that she managed to distract a bunch of drunkards.”

She shot him a mock-pained glare, but he grinned back. “Knowing the people in that bar, I doubt much skill was required.”

“I don’t think it would be wise to expose Manfred to this kind of music,” Rook deflected, gesturing toward the skeleton.

“Nonsense, my dear, any exposure to art, even those considered more folkish, is very educational.” Emmrich joined in. She sighed at the eagerly hissing skeleton. “I was counting on you”, she mumbled. Manfred gave her a thumbs up instead.

"I don’t have any instruments here…”

“You didn’t need any that night either, if I remember correctly,” Lucanis replied, his tone laced with a mock challenge.

This time, she shot him a look brimming with betrayal. “They were too drunk to…” she began, grasping at a final excuse.

“Easily fixed,” Davrin interrupted, cutting her short as he rose and headed for the bottles of wine and spirits stashed in the kitchen.

By the hearth, Harding and Bellara sat side by side, their eyes alight with expectation as they looked to Rook.

Rook turned to Assan with mock severity. “And what will you add to this treachery, boy?”

The griffon spun in a quick circle, then flopped dramatically in front of the two women, who were still watching with eager anticipation.

“Of course,” she muttered, resigned. “It seems I’ve met my match.” With a long-suffering sigh, she stood and leveled a finger at Harding and Davrin. “You’d better join in at the chorus.”

Harding nodded enthusiastically, while Davrin leaned back with a shrug and a grin. With a sigh, their leader stood up and gave a theatric bow to her audience. And started to sing the well-known ballad.

He did remember that job—and that young lookout. He must have been, what, twenty-five? Which meant she would’ve been in her early twenties. Illario had handled the preparations. He’d even petitioned Viago for a backup. Just in case it goes sideways, Illario had said.

He recalled how Illario had asked for someone specific. How had he described her again? That silver-tongued one, Gwynn is her name, no? The one whose wit’s sharper than a dagger.

Viago had tried to dissuade him. Warned him that she was a lightning rod for trouble.

All the better, Illario had replied with a grin. I might even help the Fifth Talon file down some of those burrs from her. Temper her, if I can.

He flinched at the memory now, realizing what Illario’s “tempering” of the younger fledglings usually entailed. They had met briefly before the job began—she’d been quiet then, wary of both Dellamortes. By that time, Lucanis had already earned his moniker, so he had not thought more of it.

They didn’t see her again until they reconvened at House de Riva. She’d been present for the debrief, where Illario had given her a glowing commendation. A nightingale among Crows, he had practically purred. A glance back between her and Viago and he had stepped in front of her, pushing her further back—a rare and uncharacteristic show of protection from the Talon.

Oh, Illario… That memory cast fresh light on the tense meeting at the Diamond, after they’d left the Ossuary. Whatever had transpired back then, it was clear Rook hadn’t forgotten—and had certainly not forgiven.

Her voice was more mature now than he remembered—more assured and steady—but still just as clear and melodic. The ballad told the tale of a sailor falling in love with a spirit on a drunken night. A lively dancing tune, despite its tragic story.

It didn’t take long for her to pull Bellara and Harding—who kept her promise to join in at the chorus—into the rhythm, dancing with her. The three women moved together, laughter spilling from their lips as Assan bounded playfully around them. At the table, Neve was laughing too, both she and Taash clapping along with the beat.

If Lucanis didn’t know her better, he might have accused her of weaving a spell through the song. She had enchanted their little group. Davrin hummed along, and even Taash had risen, joining the impromptu dance. With a graceful twirl, Rook handed Harding off to the laughing Qunari and swept Bellara into the steps, leading her with ease. The Dalish elf took to the Ferelden dancing steps with natural skill.

Manfred swayed at the edges, content to just watch. Emmrich, though he remained seated, tapped his foot to the rhythm. Lucanis couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

And then, just for a moment, Rook’s eyes met his. Her smile—genuine, unguarded—caught him off guard. Spite crooned in the back of his mind. Make her. Smile. More! Smells of cinnamon and cider. Just for a split second, before a twirl took her away again, to the other side of the room. He had not paid much attention to her that night all those years ago. He would not make that mistake again.

The song ended fartoo soon, with a floorish and a bow. Bellara collapsed in front of the fireplace, still laughing as she stretched out on the floor.

“Rook, you need to do that more often!” the elf gasped. Rook dropped into a chair, gratefully taking the beer Neve handed her. After a deep swig, she laughed breathlessly. “I’m severely out of practice. This is harder than taking on darkspawn, I’ll tell you that. Viago severely underpaid me, now that I think about it.”

“Oh, harder than killing Darkspawn, really?” Davrin took the obvious bait.

“I’d like to see you coordinate song and dance, Warden,” Rook shot back with a grin. “In my experience, Wardens are a bit… single-minded.”

She ducked just in time as a wine cork sailed past her head, prompting a round of laughter.

“But I’ll admit,” she continued, hands raised in defense, “some of my best stories came from Wardens. I’d be honored to add yours to my collection.”

The case notes were forgotten as the evening turned to jokes, stories, and laughter. Davrin eventually relented, sharing a tale of his own after Rook bribed him with another beer.

Rook, as Lucanis realized as he sat back down in front of her, did what she always did best: disarm and distract. He caught her looking at him when he reached for the wine bottle in the center. The smile she offered him was tired, but just as warm as before. Spite did that crooning again, somehow content for once. For just one night, they laughed, sang, and drank. Morning would call soon enough. But for now, they could breathe.

[ninyard]

Could we get a continuation of Kevin reacting to riko’s death?

To follow on from that last one, just imagine Kevin sat in a hotel room with David and Abby and the whole world has just come to a standstill. The room is quiet, or at least he thinks it is, and everything feels grey and nothing makes sense. His head is empty, mostly, but his hands can't stay still. He feels his internal temperature drop. He doesn't register it, but Abby notices; how his lip starts to quiver, his pulse almost bursting out of his skin, heart pounding so hard and fast that she can see it in his neck, on his chest. His eyes are wide when he looks at her, not a thought behind his forehead, pupils dilated as he just quietly processes what he'd just been told.

She says something to him about shock, and he nods in feigned understanding.

He's not in that room anymore when a knock comes at the door. He's in the nest, he's drawing on sharpie numbers on cheekbones and he's playing pretend olympics. He's in the nest and he's being held down and hurt and there's nothing he can do about it. Kevin can't remember the order of the words spoken around him, maybe it started with Renee needs to talk to Jean, or did you tell him? or Should I get Andrew?

Neil kneeling down in front of him was only a mirage at that point. There's a hand on his shoulder, and he knows that he's looking at Neil, but it's only his eyes that are moving, his brain unable to process what exactly is happening in his line of sight.

"I'm not going to ask if you're okay," Neil says, or something similar. "I know who he was to you."

"Who told you?" He manages, minutes or years after Neil had come to comfort him. It's Neil's turn to take too long to answer, but before he can, it comes back to Kevin - the staff taking Neil out of the room, how long he was gone for, and the smile on his face when he returned. "You were there?"

Neil nods, but all Kevin sees is that smile on his face. He watched it happen and he smiled. He knew, and he kept it from Kevin, and he smiled. He fucking smiled.

Kevin's hands are on Neil before he realises, before anyone has time to interfere. Wymack is yelling, pointless words lost in the air of shock and anger, and Neil has his arm locked into an outstretched position to keep him off him. But Kevin's arms are longer. The specifics of the scuffle are mostly blurry, but he remembers Neil's foot on his stomach as David pulls him back. Neil cradling his jaw where Kevin had managed to land a slap or a punch. Maybe he was holding his head, was he? Or was it a hand on his chest, soothing where he'd been hit so hard that it almost winded him?

"Who?" Kevin shouts at Neil, as Renee stands in the doorframe, watching. He frees himself from Davids hands and doesn't care about the stitches popping in his shirt as his coach tries to grab at anything to pull him back. He's crossed the room and shoved Neil up against the wall, his shirt balled up into his fists. "Who did it?"

Himself, he hopes to hear, naive and unprepared for Neil's hushed response of, "Ichirou."

Whatever he throws onto the ground smashes into pieces, and whatever piece of furniture follows it crashes so loudly that he almost registers the sound. He doesn't mean to hit David, such a sacrilegious act, but he doesn't care where his fists land. Everything hits him at once, and he needs to get it out. That was his first time meeting Ichirou. Neil was there. Riko is dead. That was his brother. Neil smiled. Riko is dead. His mom is dead. Jean is alone and he's going to find out. Is this sadness? Is he allowed to feel happy? Is he free now that he's dead? Is there a point of living on without him?

Whatever else happens in that room means nothing to Kevin. It's a blur of yelling at the wrong people about the wrong things, a rush of breaking things that the hotel was certainly going to fine him for later. It's a pause for a moment to look at Neil before it all starts up again. It's on the news. Nothing makes sense. At some point Neil and David are holding some part of him hostage to keep him from smacking himself in the head, to stop him from headbutting the wall, to stop him from hitting Neil again or from banging his fists on the carpeted floor. He's sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, Wymack behind him with his arms around his chest and arms, Neil in front holding his wrists to stop him from pulling out his own hair, as he sweats and heaves in pointless breaths. He lets out this anger around a panic attack that he can barely even feel at all. It's overwhelming. Kevin is having a full blown, full body meltdown, and he needs to get this feeling out of his bones before it destroys him from the inside.

"Andrew." Neil says, too soft, too careful. Kevin knew he had to be in the room, but since Neil had come back from Baltimore, his presence around him had become less of a guaranteed constant. Andrew sits down next to them without a word.

"You get it," Kevin says, and it cuts through Andrew like a cold gust of wind, a hundred knives thrown through his chest and embedded into the wall behind him. Kevin doesn't know how he has the mental capacity to know that he was correct, but it wasn't an assumption, either. Andrew knew who Riko was to Kevin, and Kevin knew enough about Andrew to know that it was the truth. "You know how this feels."

There's something there - an acknowledgment of Drake's death, another outburst at the wrong words said, a realisation that Neil understands it too. There's an inconsolable Kevin, and blips in his memory that he can't recount at all. There's him dipping in and out of this lucid, conscious state. Maybe he laughs. Maybe he's not able to cry. Maybe nothing makes sense but he feels it all anyway and he's not able to handle it at all. The pain in his chest and his heart is unbearable. Nobody has ever seen him like this. He's never seen himself like this, in such a flurry of unmanageable feelings.

Maybe Riko would've remembered him like this, from when Kevin found out his mom was dead, but maybe he'd been too controlled to not control his reaction to that news at that time. Maybe this was him feeling anger about the death of his mom, for the first time, too.

Why? is all he can think. Why now? Why Riko? Why did he treat me like this? Why did he let everything get so bad that this was the only possible outcome? Why Ichirou? Why did he not feel good about the death of his abuser? Why was he unable to process the death of the man who destroyed him and built him back up exactly how he wanted? (Maybe that just answered it all for him anyway.)

[serxinns]

I've got a devious angstish idea...

SPOILERS INCASE U HAVENT READ THE MANGA THO(҂` ﾛ ´)

I luv yer blog btw..... platonic kisses >3<

Ok ok ok post war arc, Shigaraki with a little sister(or gender neutral :shrug:) he (unintentionally since he was confident he'd win..ggs) left behind. Class 2-A finds little reader and they feel bad cause shes just a little kid but she absolutely hates them and does everything she can to make their lives 10x harder (esp for All might)

She runs off and torments the first year's too—they can't get under control at all but they try. (Quirk isn't decay rather than returning things to their original form but it doesn't work on people. Like reducing a shirt back into cotton for examle. They had to get her special gloves hehe.)

A/n I got lazy with it so my apologies but I hope you enjoy!

Tw:MAJOR SPOILERS mentions of Shigaraki's death

"Y/n! I know you're responsible for this! Come here this instinct!" Aizawa's voice raised as he was searching around for the culprit. You then appeared from behind him, startling him a bit with that mischievous smile plastered on your face "Y/n, did you draw all might is a killer on the bathroom stall?" Aizawa glared at the mess and then at you. "No, I would never-!" "stop the act, young lady. Iida saw you got out of the bathroom with a red marker." Aizawa cut you off as you dropped the innocent act and glared, "Stupid snitch.."

"And just for that, you are gonna clean up this mess and make an apology card for all might" You froze up you didn't want that MONSTER to an apology, especially for what he did to your big brother

The flashbacks of you crying out for your brother in the destruction and debris surrounding and collapsing onto each other the moment you realize that these heroes killed your big brother the way you collapsed onto the ground and cried your heart out while the green-haired boy was comforting you, the way Mr. Aizawa started at you with sympathy and wanted to give you a better life so he adopted you and now your here forced to go to a school Shigaraki hates but you promise yourself to avenge him you promise that heroes were gonna suffer for what they did to him even if it means giving everyone especially all might Grey hair

"I'm never gonna make one, especially to HIM out of all people, and you can't make me!" Aizawa groaned while gaining a headache from your usual everyday tantrums "If you don't go apologize I'll make you spend time with him again and this time it'll be longer than before your eyes froze and shuddered to hear that you hated that punishment so much that you were on your "best behavior" for a whole week without pulling any pranks on all night it was a very hard and suffering challenge but worth it

So in defeat, you grabbed the paper muttered something, and walked off in defeat in your and Eri's room (you two share the same room) closing the door behind

Time skip

"I'm done!" You shouted wanting to get this over with as Aizawa opened the door "ok now let's go to all might and give it to him" What Aizawa didn't know was that you held a mischievous smile on your face hiding it behind an innocent sweet smile

As the two of you open the door to see All Might reading a book with coffee in hand, he looks over to see you and almost chokes out his coffee. "The demon child!?" His eyes widen you notice a sense of fear on his face which makes your grin stretch even wider making the blonde male uncomfortable and praying for God to have mercy on him he cleared his throat "Why hello young Shigaraki is there anything you need" he softly smiled at you as your smile twitch a bit "Y/n here wants to give you a apologize card she made all herself" Aizawa nonchalantly said as he urge you to give it to him as you did and quickly running off to who knows where

Aizawa was about to stop, but all were reassured it was ok. "It's fine, shouta let them they were prob overwhelmed." Aizawa rolled his eyes at the excuse of you being overwhelmed. Yeah, right. "Plus, I bet you y/n made a lovely- oh.." just when All Might opened the card he stopped what he was saying and stared at the drawing you made it was a drawing of you hitting All Might with a hammer as the card read "Sorry to banging on your nerves!"

They both looked at each other in silence, still staring at the card. "Thar little sh-" Toshinori came to your defense, "It's ok, Shouta, they're just a child! Plus I think the card is cute... he reassured the teacher and signed wondering what was he gonna do with you as he heard screaming a maniacal laughter coming from Bakugo Katsuki cheering you on as he heard the 1st year screaming and pleading for mercy as you laughed mischievously Aizwa and Toshinori both stared at each other again thinking the same thing

"Shit"

[saccharinemeat]

I'm sorry but HOW do you find sodapack to be worse than lairy??

Oh anon, you've opened a Pandora's box.

Let's go through it in parts,shall we?

First, Why people consider lairy to be 'bad'?

From what I've seen, it's often mostly based around the fact that Airy himself had Liam trapped on the Plane, and it can be considered that Airy has an inherent abusive dynamic with Liam because of this. This is the major one,since Airy doesn't show any animosity, negative or positive towards Liam immediately. He didn't pick Liam out of malice,or abuse,or anything. It just was coincidence,and he wanted them to play the game,but didn't punish him for not playing. Even stuff like the drowning is shown to be unintentional or at least, Airy himself doesn't seem to consider it a punishment. When it was time for Liam to be returned home after the 5 month period, Airy did so without major hesitation, it's not like he wanted to keep Liam more than wny of the other contestants.

Second, why is sodapack seen as wholesome?

No, seriously. Liam and Bryce are mostly friendly and amicable within the game, especially while Amelia was still involved,and after they are placed on the same team along with Texty and Stone but without Amelia, Bryce becomes quite less responsive and sort of gives up on trying to communicate with Liam, he is mentally checked out. At this point, it's more of a traumatic bond than it is a deeper friendship. The later development,which i will comment on, is mostly driven through Liam pushing Bryce,and Bryce only ever says hes glad they went through it way past the point of no return. There's implications that this is how Bryce just deals with things,he tries to see them as 'for the best' to compartmentalize them. Same as never mentioning Stella, same as deciding that his life post-plane was better. Bryce is not particularly attached to Liam on his own volition.

Third, fandom blindness

Okay,this part is where I criticize the fandom. So here it goes: At this point, the fanon versions of Liam and Bryce are forcefully fit into what you (general you) want them to be,rather than actually acknowledging them as they are. ONE's characters are all morally grey,however the interactions within themselves are more or less harmful depending on intention or disregard of care at an interpersonal level.

Let's look at 'fanon' liam,for example

fanon!Liam is:

kind

awkward

romantically interested in Bryce

trying to save the others

traumatized

non violent

caring for the fellow objects still in the Plane

Canon!Liam however is...

Obsessive

Manipulative

Doesn't care about Bryce's trauma

Selfish, wants to solve this mystery because he feels his life got ruined

Uses Bryce's guilt to make him go along with things

Traumatized

He's considerably violent

My point here is that the fandom has a particularly skewed vision of both Liam and Bryce and their friendship

Fourth, Intentional Harm

In the case of sodapack, let's see how these awful behaviors are spread or balanced within canon. Liam's bad or harmful actions toward the other in green, Bryce's are in red

Liam seeks the unknown address,and hitchhikes his way over there, fully on impulse.

↓

Once he sees Bryce's terrified reaction, he insists on having him open the door. He starts by explaining why hes here but starts getting mad, accusing Bryce of ignoring or not caring for the other contestants

↓

Liam yells about how bad things were for him in the 7 month period,drawing a comparison of how 'easy' it must have been for Bryce to forget it,guilting him.

↓

Liam walks away....and comes right back,instead deciding to sleep against Bryce's door,effectively trapping Bryce and making it so he can't leave his apartment or home at all.

↓

Bryce lets him in and states his boundaries about listening Liam out and giving him Bradley's address.

↓

Liam IMMEDIATELY manipulates him into driving them to Bradley's house. Bryce pays for the laptop,too.

↓

Bryce states his boundaries AGAIN and Liam insists until Bryce breaks and agrees to seek Oscar. At no point Liam has even TRIED to learn Bryce's name,he gets told his name on the drive there, Bryce is clearly uncomfortable with his game name.

↓

Bryce helps get some information out of Oscar and PAYS HIM for his time,which Liam didn't even consider. Also he does this without reviving Oscar's possibly traumatic memories,which Liam was willing to do and hadn't been considerate of the other's mental health

↓

Bryce,AGAIN states his boundaries,and tells Liam that he is NOT driving him to the smokestack. Liam says he understands.

↓

And immediately steals AND CRASHES the car. has a fight with Bryce,holds the car keys hostage,and calls Bryce 'soda bottle' during the fight. Bryce calls Liam out on doing this out of selfishness,and hits him.

And as an extra:

Liam couldn't have not noticed that Bryce said the waiting room looked like his childhood neighborhood/Bryce trying to reach Stella. He just didn't care enough.

Liam got himself and Bryce killed several times during this ordeal.

Bryce let Liam stay in his home out of guilt,not kindness.

Through all of these interactions, there's not an ounce of balance, it's mostly Liam doing shit to fuck up Bryce's attempt to return to normalcy,and Bryce doing mostly emotiona self-harming

Now, let's look at Lairy,and how Liam and Airy interact in terms of intentional harm

Liam in green, Airy in blue

Airy picks Liam as a contestant for ONE,at random

↓

Liam freaks out and breaks a leg during the challenge

↓

Airy forgets about Liam's cast and accidentally drowns him during another challenge

↓

Airy disappears for the 7 month period,then sends Liam back to san Francisco

So far,none of this is intentional harm. Let's jump forward to their out-of-game interactions

Liam pushes Airy out his chair and yells at him,trying to hit him, upset.

↓

Airy remains polite and a little confused and explains why he can't do that yet

↓

Liam talks to texty,and refuses to consider killing Airy

↓

Liam Negotiates with Airy

↓

Liam falls and loses his belongings, Airy attempted to hold him from falling

↓

After Liam does attempt to kill Airy,a tree breaks his leg, and Airy makes him a wooden cast,and a bed of reeds.

As it's visible, there's almost no intentional harm from Airy to Liam,and even the murder attempts from Liam to Airy are mild at best.

Fifth, Intentional Kindness

I'll keep this shorter,but, Bryce,once he meets Liam again back on Earth, doesn't show kindness to him unprompted at all. It's always guided through Liam's manipulation and behavior. He let's Liam in because Liam had him physically trapped. He goes along because Liam insists and guilts him. He helps get information out of Oscar and keeps it vague for OSCAR'S SAKE NOT LIAM'S,because he doesn't want to do to others what liam is currently doing to him.

He gets on the smokestack to ask for his keys back. Not a single act of kindness is unprompted. Bryce is a better person than Liam,and he falls for Liam's controlling behavior and struggles to say no.

Now, Airy is... tough,just as morally grey, Airy truly believes he's doing his best,and he has no animosity for actually hurting others,not even Liam. Not even when Liam is trying to Kill him. Airy, unprompted, makes Liam a reed bed,attempts to save liam from the fall, makes Liam a cast after his accident,and is generally open about his backstory to Liam. Airy has been alone 10 years,only with the plane and it's contestants for fun,trying to do something relatively harmless,and he is willing to send everyone home in exchange for the cassete player and because Liam asked and negotiated. He's happy to have Liam around. And Liam mourns Airy's death,too. He looks horrified when Airy speaks of how he was trying his best,and how his life was beforehand. There's even a hint of Liam basically becoming the next one to fill Airy's role at the end. He seems to understand this deep loneliness,and hears Airy out. Liam can resonate with someone he called a monster especially when in retrospective, Liam himself is more of a bad person than Airy is. Airy just,lost part of his mind in the process,but he stays kind. He could've killed Liam. with the computer,leave HIM in the waiting room,forever.

So... yeah

in the big picture, Airy is just a guy whos trying his best after then years of loneliness,and tried to do something that's morally abhorrent but without intention of harming anyone as long as it could be undone. He's not harmful or a threat to Liam,or at least,not more than Liam is a threat to him. It's sad,and doomed,and balanced

And Bryce is a poor traumatized man who got forced into doing stuff he never wanted to do,ans to relieve trauma he never wanted to relieve,just to be thrown back into the plane,for no reason,just to be trapped in a looping hell. He fears or at least really dislikes the way Liam manipulates him,and stays in denial about it. And Bryce is not a threat to Liam,in any way, other than Liam making Bryce responsible for his life as long as this own.

I think that's all i got in me,at least right now

[justforbooks]

Bill Dare

Comedy producer behind many popular satire shows, notably Spitting Image, The Mary Whitehouse Experience and Dead Ringers

Bill Dare, who has died aged 64 as a passenger in a road accident, was an influential force in TV and radio satire for almost 40 years. He was the puppet master – literally – producing eight series of Spitting Image for ITV in the 1990s, then figuratively in creating Dead Ringers for BBC radio.

“We know how far we can go – as long as we are only upsetting some of the people some of the time,” Dare said during his time on Spitting Image (1990-94). He held back on featuring Woody Allen when the Hollywood star was accused of sexually abusing his adopted daughter Dylan (“It is a very difficult, very sensitive subject,” he said). But he had no qualms about introducing Jesus Christ as a drug-smoking hippy, only to discover that it provoked protest from both Christians and Muslims (who revere Christ as a holy prophet). Days after saying that “only nutters” would be offended, Dare retired the rubber puppet. “We upset a lot of people … so we never used it again,” he explained. “We do take notice of public opinion.”

Spitting Image, created by Martin Lambie-Nairn, a graphic designer and branding expert, with the puppeteers Peter Fluck and Roger Law, began in 1984. Its often cruel caricatures of politicians, the royal family and celebrities helped it to win an International Emmy award two years running.

Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother was portrayed as an elderly gin drinker, while Margaret Thatcher was seen as a tyrannical, cigar-chomping cross-dresser and Ronald Reagan as a bumbling fool with “Nuke” and “Nurse” red buttons next to his bed.

Dare’s stint as producer coincided with a change in the political landscape, when Thatcher was succeeded as Conservative party leader – and prime minister – by John Major. Dare initially made Thatcher “less extreme … rather than mad” and replaced much of the slapstick with more subtle sketches, such as an awkward Major – dressed in shades of grey – eating peas for dinner in boring conversation with his wife, Norma.

A shrewd talent-spotter known for the calm he brought to productions, Dare brought in – alongside well-seasoned voice artists such as Steve Nallon, Harry Enfield and Steve Coogan – Jon Culshaw, who mimicked Major and many other characters, from Michael Portillo to Liam Gallagher. Alistair McGowan was another he hired.

Culshaw – who described him as “the wisest comedy alchemist” – found wider fame when Dare devised and produced the Radio 4 programme Dead Ringers, starting in 2000 as a replacement for the satirical sketch show Week Ending. The impressionist added Tony Blair, George W Bush, Alan Sugar and many others to his repertoire, while another contributor to Spitting Image, Jan Ravens, made her mark in Dead Ringers mimicking Madonna, Helen Mirren and the news presenter Fiona Bruce. Culshaw also read the end credits, finishing with Dare’s name delivered in rasping tones in the guise of Tom Baker.

The programme was groundbreaking in including Radio 4 shows and continuity announcers among its targets. It ran until 2007, with a TV version airing concurrently (2002-07), and returned in 2014 to radio, where it completed its 25th series last year.

A stage version was toured across the country between 2019 and 2021, by which time Ravens’ characters included Theresa May and Angela Merkel.

Dare was born in London to the actor Peter Jones, best remembered for bringing laughter to TV sitcoms such as The Rag Trade and the radio gameshow Just a Minute, and his wife, the American actor and model Jeri Sauvinet. At the age of nine he won a spirograph drawing kit after sending a limerick to the comic Whizzer and Chips. On leaving William Ellis school, Camden, he studied philosophy at Manchester University, where Ben Elton was a friend.

He found his first broadcasting successes on Radio 4. After writing the Thirty Minute Theatre play Barker, Belgrave and Bigweed (1987), about two school friends’ differing recollections of a classmate, he became producer of the theatre quiz series Prompt! (1987-88), Week Ending (1988-89) and The News Quiz (1988).

Then he created and produced the late-night Radio 1 programme The Mary Whitehouse Experience (1989-90), a topical sketch show featuring primarily two double acts, David Baddiel and Rob Newman, and Steve Punt and Hugh Dennis – who had all met while working on Spitting Image. A spin-off BBC television series followed (1990-92).

While on Spitting Image himself, Dare produced the BBC TV version of Loose Talk (1994), billed as “a cross between Question Time and Whose Line Is It Anyway?”, with comedians commenting on the news. Armando Iannucci had previously produced the radio version.

Dare also produced the radio programmes The Now Show (1998-2024), a satirical mix of sketches, standup and songs hosted by Punt and Dennis; I’ve Never Seen Star Wars (2008-15), challenging celebrities to try out new experiences, co-created with Marcus Brigstocke and also on TV (2009-11); The Secret World (2009-14), with impressionists such as Culshaw putting famous people in bizarre situations; and Please Use Other Door (2020-23), featuring satire from talent new to radio.

He scripted the Radio 4 sketch show Life, Death and Sex with Mike and Sue (1996-99), which included McGowan and Ravens, and exercised his mind to the full when writing Brian Gulliver’s Travels (2011-2012), starring Neil Pearson as a documentary presenter finding himself in a hospital’s secure unit after claiming to have experienced a string of bizarre adventures.

Between 2017 and 2020, Dare took to the stage with Culshaw for a tour of The Great British Take Off, an unscripted show with them fielding questions from the audience.

Dare is survived by his wife, Lucy (nee Jagger), whom he married in 2020, and a daughter, Bex, from an eight-year relationship with Mary Downes, a TV director, as well as his brother, Charlie, and sister, Selena.

🔔 Bill Dare (William Dare Jones), producer and writer, born 16 May 1960; died 1 March 2025

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

I‘m here for you event my dear

So…….how come you like romantic stuff like wo did it began as a child?teen?or aduld?

So about my I love drawing and do stories wo are in front cute and fluff but in the background fuc€ up love craft like stuff what you don’t see if you don’t search for it but you can see it clearly if you search for it even whit my oc’s or comic’s

My Pronomen Are He/Him/them/they but I go more male pronouns

I‘m 163cm dark blonde hear blue/gray eyes have rounded golden glasses wear dark grey clothing mostly but other colors too have Akne and looking like a dude whit buba at clothes I looking like a intersex person???

😈

Hiya Marune!

Hmmm... I had to think about when did I actually start being interested in romance, because... I remember being told after starting to write fanfic that "[I am] writing a lot of romance" and I was taken aback by it because I had a very different impression of what romance as a genre is (I thought of those paperback books with Fabio(tm) that my mother had but never read). But I think that... even in my early childhood (like 4-5 years old) the stories I came up with while playing, there was always an element of being together with someone. While late my idea of "love" turned into more what I observed in my parents (marriage that seemed like a duty/something you do just because). And then again in my adult years I returned into the idea that genuine love isn't something you do out of duty, it's something you feel. I could go into this more in depth, but it'd be a long post ^^' (I'm easily prompted though)

Anyways! Back to the matchmaking! I tried to think objectively who I'd think would be a good match, instead of just giving the obvious answer of the Fausts (since you like them ^^') and in the end I match you with...

Gordon Agrippa

Gordon is a sweet and understanding person, who is rather shy, but his heart is in the right place. He might struggle to feel that he fits in, but it doesn't stop him from trying to make friends and be open minded.

Gordon is also artistic. He makes dolls, which people might see as creepy, but he does enjoy the process of creating. Also he is inventive in regards of his magic, because most would be confined to the idea that "poison" must just be that, and wouldn't think to evolve it into "medicine". So, his open mindedness and cleverness; ability to think outside of the box and be creative, reaches to many aspects of life.

He's also not turned away by the strange and the weird, actually he would be right at home with it, and would be more than happy to dwell into it with you. Investigate the things that might not be apparent right of the bat.

[dark-overlord-of-rainbows]

Drawn Apr 30 2023 I reused a bunch of my old character designs and some adopt I and my friend had never used to throw in this universe so I was redrawing some characters I haven't touched in so, so long... Not all of them, also idk why some are cut off like that? this is an old edit If you've attacked me on artfight before there's a chance you've seen a couple of these before I remember some of the ways I was trying to vary their looks but man so many of them have soft faces and big round ears.. I guess I still default to that but I've been trying to work on it a bit more since... still not perfect but y'know To be fairer to myself from back then though, this might've been my first time trying to vary the shape of the ears of a bunch of characters that weren't splatoon characters (Splatoon was actually indirectly the reason for me starting? More specifically: Because I was drawing splatoon characters during artfight, I noticed how differently people were doing their ears, and so I practiced varying my own characters ears with my cephalopods first based on the different styles I saw) and this is also missing quite a few of the other characters that I had done here, some of whom I did branch out a little more. And to be clear! I think there is some stuff I did well and can pull from again, I'm just not as proud as I once was. Anyway I'll talk about the parts I do remember since I was playing with style here

The one at the with the grey/purple eyes at the top, I don't think I had ever really used a palette like that. Sometimes I want to give a character eyes that - depending on the lighting - looks different colours (some people have this irl, people with eyes that are ambiguously gray/blue/green for example), so I was kinda wondering if making it like a gradient (that'd change which colour is more dominant) would work as one way of representing that? with another character (different universe) I've also tried making the eye one colour and putting the shine of the eye as a different colour instead of the white that everyone else got (it was also done a little different) With the character here just an ambiguous, in-between grey/purple would work (although if I'd done that I'd totally have forgotten my intention with them because I was so bad at writing this crap down.) but the other one I mentioned it wouldn't work because it was supposed to go between blue and red, and if I just did an inbetween colour... well, that's just purple. I didn't want it to be purple. ever. Liam up there (second from top, brown hair) is drawn with my right (non-dominant) hand (Sorry yes I'm one of those left-handed weirdos...) I wanted this cast to be a little more whimsical~ As an aside it is always very funny seeing people talk about challenges drawing with the non-dominant hand and refer to it as a "left hand drawing challenge". Lefties winning The blond with the hazel eyes, well, I kinda just realized I've never given any characters hazel eyes (amber as well). I was trying something else with the eyes there since they're the only one with that.... it kinda looks like a chip out of the iris? it's not the shine but it looks like how some artists do the shine out of the eye. not sure They were also an adopt I never used. The lower orange haired one's the only one without the outer outline for the eyes as well... With Ciara (lower right, red hair) and Aaron (her brother, not pictured) I'm not sure if I was specifically going for sectoral heterochromia with them? I've drawn Eliza before with yellow, albeit human not cat-like eyes before, but this is technically a return to form for her I can't remember what I was thinking with anyone else. did not realize I'd be mostly talking about eyes here either

[lonely-soul-02]

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/noel-gallagher-interview-oasis-reunion-high-flying-birds-l02r389l

Noel Gallagher: ‘Oasis reunion? Liam hasn’t called, but I’m free the back end of 2024’

Aweek or so before Noel Gallagher meets me at his studio in King’s Cross, the Oasis reunion rumour mill went into overdrive. In March, Gallagher’s younger brother Liam wrote on Twitter of returning to his frontman duties: “It’s happening.” In a radio interview in May, the rhythm guitarist Paul “Bonehead’’ Arthurs said: “I’m ready.” Then came reports that Knebworth had been booked for four nights in 2025. So I begin our interview by asking Noel: “What’s happening?”

“Liam ain’t called,” the band’s 56-year-old leader, songwriter and guitarist says, sitting deep in a sofa, an unmoving, authoritative presence with cropped grey-black hair, wearing Levi’s. “I’m not expecting him to, because he’s full of shit and very disingenuous with his beloved Oasis fans. I say to him, ‘Get somebody to call somebody my end. Let’s see what you’ve got to say.’ Guess what? My phone has not twitched once.”

According to him, there is a simple reason why his problem child of a brother will not pick up the phone. “He knows for a fact that should someone call me, and I go, ‘You know what? F*** it. Let’s do it,’ then he has to actually stand in the same room as me. Then it will be, ‘All right, dickhead, how you doing? Before we go any further, there’s a few things I have to say to you.’ That’s when the arse will fall out of his trousers.”

On top of that unhygienic scenario, an Oasis reunion would have to be off the scale in brilliance to not be a massive let-down. The end came in April 2009 when Liam threw a plum — and then, more dangerously, a guitar — at his brother before a concert in Paris, and that was 14 years ago.

“If it’s going to happen, Liam has to pull it off. It’s got to be the best it has ever been. But he’s one of these guys and they’re ten a penny, particularly up in Manchester, the bully, who when you put it on ’em and say, ‘Come on then, let’s see what you’ve got,’ start doing a lot of harrumphing.

“Liam is like a violent version of Arthur Fonzarelli. So I’ll say it again: I’m free, back end of 2024. He could even video himself calling me. That would be good for his little f***ing Twitter feed. But since then he’s gone quiet. Funny, innit?”

All of this feels particularly relevant because the new album by Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds is the older, wiser, sadder cousin of Oasis’s world-changing 1994 debut, Definitely Maybe. Council Skies has a reflective mood that draws not just on memories of Gallagher’s childhood in northern Manchester, but also his situation as a multimillionaire rock star dealing, for the first time in his adult life, with things going very wrong indeed.

There has been a divorce, health issues, and the psychological aftermath of a global pandemic and ensuing lockdown. Perhaps that’s why a handful of the songs, Dead to the World and I’m Not Giving Up Tonight in particular, have that hymnal, bittersweet quality of the Oasis classics Live Forever and Don’t Look Back in Anger. Oasis meant so much to people because they offered defiance against the everyday grind. Council Skies harks back to that feeling.

“I always thought there had to be a price to pay for happiness,” Gallagher says of his situation. “I’ve had over 20 years of absolutely no turbulence in my life whatsoever and I kept thinking, ‘It cannot be this great, all the time, until it comes to the end and I go, may as well die now and end up in Heaven.’ It turns out I was right. Luckily, as an artist you get to write about it.”

Dead to the World is one of those songs that Gallagher has a special knack for, which don’t do anything hugely different from what has gone before yet capture a universal feeling in a signature melancholic, soaring fashion. You wonder if the best material comes out of the most difficult times in his life.

“For sure, and right now it is the most uncertain time I’ve ever had,” he says. “It seems I peaked in my forties, because the moment I hit 50 it’s been one thing after another: personal issues, health issues, the city we love [London] going down the toilet. Definitely Maybe was born out of anxiety, thinking, this is the one shot we’ve got, we can’t f*** it up. There’s something similar here. Uncertainty is at the heart of it.”

Oasis took that uncertainty and made people feel, for one small moment, like they really might live for ever. “People will never forget the way you made them feel. I’ll never forget how the La’s or the Stone Roses made me feel. You can’t go back to 1995 because things cannot be the same — parents grow old, your cat dies, things rust — but the feeling remains and there is something beautiful in that. That’s why Dead to the World is up there with Live Forever. It’s just a different version of it.”

Gallagher grew up, by his own description, as a loner, estranged from his frequently violent father, Tommy, after his Irish parents’ divorce and taking solace in his bedroom in the Manchester suburb of Burnage, where he taught himself guitar and learnt to write songs by listening to the Beatles, Slade and T. Rex. While Liam was busy being the good-looking lad about town, the carefree kid who never second-guessed himself, Noel worked on an escape route via rock’n’roll.

“I didn’t invent anything,” he confesses. “I had good taste in music, a cool record collection, I could write a melody simple enough to make it work and it was 50 per cent inspiration and 50 per cent copying. It was a Tuesday night, raining, when I went into the rehearsal room and said, ‘I’ve just written the greatest tune of all time.’ We started Cigarettes & Alcohol and Bonehead went, ‘You can’t get away with that.’ ”

Bonehead was referring to the fact that Cigarettes & Alcohol is essentially Get It On by T. Rex after a trip to the off-licence, of which Gallagher says: “It’s not like I was expecting nobody to notice.” The genius of the song was in its celebration of working-class hedonism; the idea that you may as well live for the moment in the absence of any deeper meaning or nobler purpose. “That’s why Oasis were the modern-day Slade. They didn’t give a f*** either.”

Oasis’s take-no-prisoners assault targeted a few victims along the way, the most frequent being Phil Collins. What did Gallagher have against the balding king of 1980s smooth pop? “He kept the Jam off No 1 with You Can’t Hurry Love,” he reveals.

“I thought, ‘Once I get there, I’m not going to let him get away with that.’ The best thing about the Phil Collins thing is that Liam got accosted by his children one day because they thought he was me. They had a pop at him, saying, ‘Why are you always having a fing go at our dad?’ When I heard about it I thought, ‘I really hope someone filmed it.’ Anyway, f Liam. And f*** Phil Collins and all.”

As for Oasis becoming the biggest guitar band since the Beatles, Gallagher thinks it was down to a lack of artifice. “Oasis had a laddish, yobbo image, built in the image of the singer, but look at footage of Knebworth [two nights, 1996, two and a half million ticket applications] and you’ll see loads of girls down the front.

“Melodically it spoke to the masses, lyrically it spoke to people our age, and everyone looked at Bonehead and went, ‘If he can do it, any f***er can.’ My guitar rig at Knebworth was a piece of plywood, an on-off switch, and a tuner. It keeps going now because kids recognise the real deal. Oasis will never make another record, but if we put a tour on sale it would destroy everything.”

It makes you wonder if a band like Oasis, who summed up both the meritocratic possibilities of the New Labour 1990s and the black-humoured cynicism of Britpop, could happen today. Gallagher is adamant they could not.

“We would be killed before we even started,” he says with a sigh. “What made Oasis great was that we were moody c***s, a bit wild, and back then labels were run by amazing characters like Alan McGee of Creation and Jeff Barrett of Heavenly who loved the chaos.

“On the ferry to Amsterdam, when everyone got nicked [1994, first European tour, too much champagne and Jack Daniels, fights break out, Liam Gallagher goes on a Benny Hill-like rampage through the casino] I called McGee to tell him what happened and he went, ‘Brilliant.’ Nowadays, the label would wait to see what the public perception was before throwing you under the bus. And the word ‘career’ was never mentioned once. You were in a band. That was enough. And we could pull it off when we went on stage.”

Not always, though: In 1994 Oasis played the legendary Whisky a Go Go in Los Angeles, shortly after taking what they thought was cocaine but which turned out to be crystal meth. It resulted in the band members playing different songs at the same time before attacking each other. “Ringo Starr was there that night,” Gallagher remembers. “He walked out. One of the Beatles comes to see the new Beatles — and it’s shit.”

Gallagher thinks the music industry no longer has faith in itself, with labels monitoring how well an artist is doing with the public on TikTok and YouTube before taking a punt. “Can you imagine going up to someone in 1993, when [jokey indie duo] Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine were smashing it, and saying, ‘Got this idea for a band. Couple of gobshite brothers from Manchester, bang into cocaine, lager and shagging birds, ripping off the Beatles and T. Rex.’ ‘Oh no, thank you. I’d rather have Fruitbat and Dickhead from Carter, jumping about in shorts.’ Don’t focus-group anything! People are stupid! That’s how we ended up with Brexit. Now they will usher in AI. There is no hope for the world.”

How could we not mention AIsis, a virtual band with a “lost” Oasis album, conceived by some thirtysomething musicians who took Noel’s tunes and Liam’s elongation of the word “sunshiiiine” and got artificial intelligence to do its stuff? Needless to say, it hasn’t gone down well with the real-life human at the heart of it all.

“AI: made by robots, listened to by shitheads,” he summarises, before saying in comically pathetic tones: “ ‘Have you heard Ringo Starr singing She’s Electric?’ You’re all f***ing idiots! AI did a cover of Morning Glory and it sounded like shit indie music to me, but I can guarantee you the record companies are already buying up the technology.

“The label doesn’t want the artists to write the songs because they want to employ songwriters. Now the songwriters will be out of business because they’ll employ a robot to do it. You know what? I’m 55 and I don’t give a f***. AI is not going to put me out of the game. It is just going to make your life a little bit shitter.”

Whether Oasis or AIsis will be the first to fill the public’s desire for that much-talked-of reunion, Gallagher has the sanctity of his studio, the reassurance that his children, Anais, 22, Donovan, 15, and Sonny, 12, share his opinion on modern music (“The 1975 wear a guitar and get voted best rock band at the Brits. I’m going to the kids, ‘Is it me or is this shit?’ And they’re going, ‘Dad, it’s f***ing awful’ ”) and the creative satisfaction of making the best solo album of his career. Easy Now, a lonely ballad about strangers passing on the way to work and wondering about each other’s lives, has a mix of grandeur, hope and longing similar to the Oasis favourite The Masterplan.

“I can already picture a sea of lads in Scotland with their tops off, having it to Easy Now,” Gallagher says. “Usually, when a song starts sounding like Oasis I’ll go, ‘This is just a shit version of Supersonic.’ Now I’ve written a song that is a bit Oasisy but it is actually up there with them.”

Gallagher sounds like he has made his peace with Oasis, having made a solo album that doesn’t shy away from the quality that made people fall in love with his old band in the first place. Now he just needs to make peace with Liam and the next chapter in the Gallagher saga will begin.

“A new generation recognises how Oasis wasn’t manufactured,” Gallagher concludes, before heading off because Manchester City have a Premier League game. “It was chaotic, and flawed, and not technically brilliant. Blur did it all with a nod and a wink, but we were rough and ready guys from a rehearsal room and people recognised it. If we did go out and tour again, playing not just to blokes in their fifties but to the kids . . . We’d blow their f***ing minds.”

Interview behind a paywall. Anon, thank you SO much for sharing the content of the interivew.

Noel really wants to fend off any divorce claims on an Oasis reunion, or he really wants to see Liam lose it on Twitter again.

*sigh* Here we go. Isolated quotes:

“Liam ain’t called."

“I’m not expecting him to, because he’s full of shit and very disingenuous with his beloved Oasis fans. I say to him, ‘Get somebody to call somebody my end. Let’s see what you’ve got to say.’ Guess what? My phone has not twitched once.”

“He knows for a fact that should someone call me, and I go, ‘You know what? F*** it. Let’s do it,’ then he has to actually stand in the same room as me. Then it will be, ‘All right, dickhead, how you doing? Before we go any further, there’s a few things I have to say to you.’ That’s when the arse will fall out of his trousers.”

“If it’s going to happen, Liam has to pull it off. It’s got to be the best it has ever been. But he’s one of these guys and they’re ten a penny, particularly up in Manchester, the bully, who when you put it on ’em and say, ‘Come on then, let’s see what you’ve got,’ start doing a lot of harrumphing.

“Liam is like a violent version of Arthur Fonzarelli. So I’ll say it again: I’m free, back end of 2024. He could even video himself calling me. That would be good for his little f***ing Twitter feed. But since then he’s gone quiet. Funny, innit?”

"Anyway, f Liam. And f*** Phil Collins and all."

And finally we get to the core of it all:

“I always thought there had to be a price to pay for happiness...”

Fic writers are going to have a field day with that last one.

With my Oasis conspiracy theory hat off, It certainly does seem as if Noel is deliberately sabotaging any chance of reconciliation. But then he might say Liam did the sabotaging with his uncomplimentary tweets that began with the 'meet him or fuck him off' tweet that came from out of the blue, kickstarting the media spat.

He's using the strongest language to date in this interview, but he's also contradicting himself as usual. Liam is apparently a violent bully but he is also afraid of standing in the same room as Noel.

I also sense a lot of projection. The implication that Liam would somehow not be match fit, or not be able to 'pull off' an Oasis reunion is completely laughable when he's pulled off two nights at Knebworth on his own. This is all Noel's insecurity. Noel is afraid of not being able to pull it off. Because Noel would have to pick up his guitar, assume his old role and solo again. Over the years, he has become self-conscious about his guitar playing. He said that he left behind his ability to play guitar solos in Paris the night of the fight. It wouldn't matter that the songs are old and all he has to do is rehearse them. Noel is afraid of not measuring up. Noel is the one afraid to stand in the same room as Liam.

To be honest, I think they'd both be afraid of meeting each other and that's entirely normal. After 14 years, of course they'd be apprehensive, anyone would be. This is why I wish there were a mutual friend of both, who loves them both equally, and has both their best interests at heart to help them through a reconciliation process. Debbie has said it's not her place to intervene, but that's a hard disagree from me. If people continue to leave them to their own devices instead of trying to support them, the estrangement and conflict will drag on.

Update:

Not taking any bait today, good on you Liam!

[adoracora-elizabeth]

Drabble - waking up next to you.

Thank you for the lovely people who reached out yesterday! Wrote a drabble as a thank you note.

Robert had woken up due to the scullery maid lighting up the fires. He rarely woke up from her, but this morning he had been in a light sleep. He kept still, so the girl would not notice, she woke him up. He did not want to embarrass her.

Once the fire was burning high again and the maid left to tend the rest of the fires in the house, he turned on his side. Cora was curled up, sleeping on her side of the bed, facing in his direction. Her hair had gotten loose and was draped over her face and pillow.

The soft light of the fire gave Cora an angelic look. She had a serene look on her face. Robert was relieved to see her finally in a peaceful state again. Since her treatment started, Cora has, had many restless nights. She rarely admitted that to him, but he could see it in her eyes. There was a deep exhausting visible.

It reminded him of the many broken nights when the girls were young. Cora had insisted on feeding the girls herself. Much to his mother’s disdain. It resulted in her being awake a lot during the night. Even though she did not sleep much, her exhaustion had been different. She did get so much in return, she had said repeatedly and he could see it in the smiles their little girls gave her when she entered the room. As soon as she picked them up or started talking to them, they settled down. He had never been surprised by that, because her voice had the same affect on him.

This exhaustion was much deeper as if her whole body was weighing down on her. Every inch of her body was tired. It was no wonder she was this exhausted, her body had to work hard to keep her going and the treatment was far from, a fun ride on the carousel.

It was Rosamund who got her to take it easier. Cora had kept going on and on, not taking it any slower. Not wanting to disappoint anybody. Who did she think she would disappoint? Robert had thought. She had been the strong countess, especially on the day of Violet’s funeral. And even the days after, when there were no house guests and Dr. Clarkson started her treatment, Cora insisted on going on in their normal rhythm. Robert had tried to get her to slow down. He had told her, it was alright to not come down before lunch. It was even alright when she would decide to only come down for tea.

One afternoon, Rosamund had been over. They were all sitting in the drawing room. Tom and Lucy were talking about the plans they had with the villa when out of nowhere Cora dropped her cup. Rosamund had been the first, to take action.

“Cora, we better go upstairs.” She had said in a firm voice and helped Cora get up from the sofa. Robert had been scared when he saw how unstable she was. He had told her dinner would be brought up to her.

From that afternoon on, she stayed upstairs most of the day. Not wasting energy by walking downstairs. Robert carried her down, as soon as the walls of her room closed in on her. He was glad Cora let him take care of her.

Cora stirred in her sleep, Robert looked at her face again. A curl rested on her cheek, it had lost its deep chestnut brown colour. He loved the shimmering parts of grey in her hair. Scooting closer, he carefully put the curl behind her ear, and before he pulled his hand back, he traced her jawline.

Her skin was as soft as the first time he touched her, almost 40 years ago. He could not resist and pressed his lips on her forehead. He could still smell her night crème, it had a soft flowery smell.

Robert moved his hand to Cora’s shoulder and upper arm. He brushed over the silky fabric of her nightdress, he would love to feel her skin. It was a long time ago, she had enough energy for him. He felt instantly guilty because Cora had never denied him anything before they went to France. And she had been sick already. She had shown so much strength. He could never be that strong, he thought.

Cora moved and the curl that he just tucked away, draped over her cheek again. He picked it up and twirled it around his finger. He loved these stolen moments, where Cora did not know he was looking at her. Studying every line on her face, every little movement of her eyebrows. His other hand rested on her pillow, just above her head.

He saw her mouth twitch and a soft smile appeared, but her eyes were still closed. He knew she was waking up, he could see a slight change in the tension in her jaw. Her hand moved and now rested against his chest.

He moved his hand that was resting on her pillow and buried it into her hair, softly massaging her scalp. Cora let out a deep sigh and nestled herself firmly against Robert’s body. His left arm wrapped around her and rested between her shoulder blades. He felt Cora angle her face up and her lips pressed against his chest. Right on the spot where his nightshirt fell open. A slight shiver went through his body. “Good morning” she murmured.

Robert pressed a kiss on the top of Cora’s head. “Good morning my love.”

Cora wiggled herself even closer to his body and he felt another deep sigh leave her body. One of her feet found its way between his calves, he loved that feeling. As if she was trying to become one with him. Her hand had found its way under his shirt, making sure she was connected with him. He admired her so much, how she found ways to stay intimate with him, even though she lacked the energy to truly be with him.

“How long have you been staring at me?” She asked.

Robert felt embarrassed, he did not realize she had noticed. He had done it so many times over the last weeks. Not only when she was sleeping, but every chance he got he studied her. As if he wanted to ingrain every memory of her in his mind.

“I am not going anywhere.” Cora said as if she had read his mind.

Robert pressed her even firmer against his chest. He knew Dr. Clarkson had said she was not going to die. Not yet, but he could not rest before she was truly better.

While her one hand stayed on his chest, she moved the other one up and touched his cheek. He felt how she pushed herself up, so her face was at the same level as his.

“I will get better. And I feel better already.” Her eyes met his and he did not see anything besides her love for him.

“Oh, darling.” His words caught in his throat. He used the exact same words that night in France. Another escaped curl rested on her forehead. He picked it up, twirled it around his finger before tucking it away.

“Do you think I should dye my hair?”

Robert was surprised by her question. “I love the silver linings in your hair. They represent all the silver linings you brought into my life.” He touched the wrinkles next to Cora’s eyes and mouth. “As do these beautiful lines. They tell me the story of our life together.”

He felt Cora chuckle. “You romantic fool.” She said softly, but with so much love in her voice.

“Only for you, my darling. Only for you.” Softly he pressed his lips on hers.

[fantasycorrupted-a]

I'll be gone, hopefully about a month, possibly more. TL;DR just the usual isht, frustrated & tired, going on a break.

Y'all probably noticed my activity dipping. You must be tired of hearing me talk about my retake (sorry about that :'/). Well preparing for a job hunt (and a catch) is why I've been gone. I wasted a lot of time with no work because I'm an idiot and I'll be trying to catch up.

That aside I've been feeling shitty about writing. I still think I'm not portraying my characters properly, like they're just not fleshed out enough. Not themselves enough. They don't work as they should outside of their stories. And despite this I tried to take on canon characters again (from F.ar C.ry) knowing my inspiration for that would die just as fast as that for all the other canons I've had (damn you ADHD!). And here I am. Just disappointing myself.

(Another aside, but I recently made a bunch of changes to characters that I don't know if I like and can reverse, and how. Not sure how I'm feeling about them. And I've said before that I feel like I'm not writing Fiann properly. Fiann was a morally grey character, and she doesn't easily do friends at all but I can't bring that point across. I can't write villains lol. I have no idea what to do with this character anymore; same goes for the Corbeaus' and Hella's stories. Hell not even short stories are as easy as they used to. I hate writing.)

Maybe turning these blogs into ask blogs like what people used to have back in the day might kickstart inspiration... Then again I don't know. It's likely my inspiration will come back but it's been returning and then leaving so quickly recently that I don't want to rely on it. Or maybe it's just a year of letting go of shit. I turned my back on friendships that weren't making me feel okay at all in the long run and right now writing is doing the same to me. I may not stop writing forever, I can't give that up. Or drawing. It doesn't feel like I've gotten any better at either over these (almost) 2 years. And don't get me started on how I abandoned Arvid. I'm sad about that.

[texeoghea]

i just had an incredibly fascinating dream

it started with me and my mother sneaking into some school-like facility because i forgot something there but we typically werent allowed to come into the building outside of school hours and i guess my mom didnt want me to go alone. once we got inside though it stopped being a school and started being some kind of weird sci fi place. definitely a prey inspired dream. i was separated from my mom and after a while she stopped being part of it. i was being hunted through the facility and trying to escape without being caught. the dream seemed like it was kind of leading up to me being a typhon with me having this recurring vision of some scribbled thing in the mirror lunging at me whenever i saw my reflection. and at one point i got so afraid (in the dream) that i tried to think of something to cheer me up so i thought of darkrai my friend darkrai. and something about that gave me the ability to turn transparent…? not only was i invisible but i could walk through walls. the world “clear” kept running through my mind and i had to hold onto that thought to keep doing it. it was actually really incredible. whenever i walked through something it was like pushing through jelly. there was a moment of resistance and then a slow slide, and the colors of everything kind of turned into pink rainbow static like a broken tv screen, and then returned once i was through. i made my way deeper into the facility while trying to get away from security and found a very dark room. the rest of the dream had been mostly blue-tinted grey and white in the bright building, but the room was nearly black and there was no light except through a slatted window glinting off a big tv. inside the tv i saw the scribbled vision again, but i wasnt scared. i walked up to it and reached out my hand, and when the scribbled thing touched the tv as it lunged for me, it touched my hand and changed. the colors of the room changed instantly to bright pinks and whites and yellows and i saw myself. that was the part that surprised me. i was some kind of smooth, pink dog man. a bit like bubblegum, i looked like a stop motion creature of some kind. the vision looked more like a dog and i looked more like a man, but i still had a snout and dog paws instead of hands. we laughed and hugged because i wasnt afraid of him anymore, and then i went home. somehow during that shift my mom came back to the dream but she hadnt actually been my mom in the first place and i had never been myself. i had always been the transparent dog man and i had been captured while exploring with someone else, he looked kind of like a nice old clown. he escaped while i was captured, but i returned to a cute little house in a meadow he was waiting for me in. and then i woke up

the pokemon featured because at one point there was this rushing river going through a hallway separating me from my mom, and i was holding an umbreon plush i had found while looking around, and i thought to myself “umbreon could ice beam the water and save her. absol could ford the water and save her. darkrai could… darkrai could…” and that was when i stopped being human and started being something else. and my mother stopped being real

there was also a part where my necklace cracked and a part where i think i either stole something from the woman chasing me or was given something by her? it was unclear if she actually caught me and i escaped or what. but she had a glove that i ended up taking. it wasnt really relevant but it was a detail i remember. i took the glove, the plush, a bundle of cords and something else that’s escaping me. and then one of the other people in the facility burst a water pipe to flood a hallway and i stopped carrying them like a minute later. he had been next to me when he did it so now that im thinking about it he must have known what i was and known it would somehow remind me

as soon as i woke up i tried to draw what i looked like. i think i must have been thinking a bit about putty pygmalion but ive never actually been able to read it so im not sure where this came from

[cobaltswriting]

"...What happened to you, hero?" The farmer asked, raising an eyebrow and resting his hoe on his shoulder, adjusting his hat. "You defeated the demon king, and now you're going around telling us to pay tribute to you?"

The hero smirked, a nasty look in his eye. "Nothing happened, except I realized that I was due reward and gratitude for what I did so many years ago. I saved you all from the Demon King. I deserve to be paid for my efforts, don't you think? You wouldn't be standing here if not for me."

The farmer shook his head, frowning a little. "Seems like all you did right now is replace one tyrant with another. You won't be getting so much as a gold coin outta me, my friend. I can't hardly afford it, in any case."

The hero scowled, stomping over to the farmer, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, and pulling the farmer close.

"Listen to me, you ungrateful bastard. You wouldn't even have a farm if it weren't for me. This land would be razed. The water would be poison. And you would be forced to pay the Demon King far more than I am asking for." He gave the farmer a shove, forcing him to the ground. "You will pay me tribute, or you and your family will burn."

The farmer's eyes had widened when the hero grabbed him... but funnily enough, now he was on the ground, and his family was being threatened, he was smirking. He gave a soft chuckle as he got up, that had blossomed into a full fledged laugh.

"So, that's how you wanna play this, huh?" He said, after he had stopped laughing.

"And to think, I thought you would be better than this... When i surrendered to you, let you win, I thought it would be good for the realm. I had seen that I had gone too far... That's your big secret, isn't it? You made a deal with the Demon King. He would vanish after being 'defeated', and in return, you would spare his life." The farmer took step after step towards the hero, each step sounding heavier and heavier to the hero, starting to shake the ground.

The hero stepped back as the farmer got closer, his eyes widening.

"How... how could you know...?"

The farmer grinned, closing his eyes, and when he had opened them again, they were red, and the pupils were slits, and his form was changing, his body morphing from his eyes outward. The short, greying hair had turned into a long mane of silver hair. The muscles under his clothes swelled, tearing through his clothes, the ripped clothes being replaced by black, infernal armour. His teeth lengthening into lethal looking fangs, claws spouting from his fingers, two large swords bursting from flame sliding into scabbards that appeared on his back.

The Demon King towered above the hero.

"I know because I was there, foolish hero. You have made a grave mistake. While you have been growing fat and lazy in the lap of luxury, even before you started demanding tribute, I have been working the field. I kept working, keeping my muscles in shape, while you kept coasting through life on the accomplishment of 'beating the Demon King."

"And now you've made a second grave mistake. You threatened me, which I could simply ignore... but..." He growled, drawing his swords, both of them slamming into the ground as he drew them, sinking into the ground a little, cracking the ground around them. "Then you threatened my family. Which is too far."

The Demon King gave a snort, purple, cursed flame shooting from his nose.

"So, hero, shall we see if you can still 'beat' me? Back when we fought, it could have very easily gone either way. Now, I am still at my peak strength, while you have grown fat and lazy. More than that, I have something to fight for, while all you have to fight for is your pride and the hope of being able to extort more money from people in exchange for your 'heroism'."

"But after all you've done? No one shall miss you. No one shall mourn you. No one shall weep over your grave. I would say that it's time for you to learn what happens when you threaten the wrong person's family, but people do not often survive to learn from their last mistake. This time, someone will die, and it shall not be me."

The Demon King did not wait for the hero to draw his weapon. The hero did not deserve a fair fight, not any more. He didn't even deserve the quick death that the Demon King would give him.

A few days later, there was a new scarecrow in the farmer's field. Many people whispered about how it looked like the armour of the 'hero' who had gone missing, but no one questioned it. They had all been victims of the hero demanding tribute to some extent. And the farmer had been nothing but good to them. So they turned a blind eye to it. One of the blacksmiths in town even claimed that he had made the 'replica' of the armour when soldiers came to ask about the hero's whereabouts.

The hero was never seen again, and was not missed. Nor mourned. Nor did anyone weep over his unmarked grave, underneath the farmer's fields.

You were once the demon king. “Defeated” by the hero, you went into hiding to pursue a simpler life. Today the “hero” has appeared, threatening you family to pay tribute, not realizing who you actually are. Today you show them what happens when you have something worth fighting to protect.

[waveswallowed]

[ lie ] sender catches receiver in a lie

@worthyheir | PROMPT

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ WHEN HE WAS A LITTLE BOY, lucerys strongly disliked lying. it always felt wrong, like something he shouldn't be doing and for which the gods would surely reprimand him . . . but, perhaps because the memory of said childhood feels so distant now, so flimsy, barely there and most of it but retellings from his siblings’ lips he had internalised when they'd tried, futilely, to make him remember all of it, it comes much easier now, perhaps too easily. it still feels wrong in some instances, still brings forth a sensation of guilt whenever he lies to the people he should not be lying to, like his mother, but it is one he finds he can swallow, if with a bitter tang in his mouth, especially because, more oft than not, he convinces himself it is necessary. he's good at it, too, maybe too good — a convincing smile flitting over his lips at a memory shared by a member of his family here, a small lie there to convince the fussing maesters he is doing fine though he'd slept not a wink and struggled with his mind all night long, another small lie whenever he departs from the castle and seeks reprieve in the solitude he can only find on the grey sands of the shoreline . . . and everything else he does not wish, or finds himself unable, to answer he simply meets with silence.

with jace, however, it is different. though he had struggled to recognise him then, he could tell from the moment they'd seen one another again that there was a bond there unlike any other he'd known before. and, once he'd make progress, once he'd started improving, his brother always at his side, it had been all too easy to fall back into those old ways, come naturally, as though part of him remembered whilst another could not. almost as though they'd been blessed by a sixth sense on from the cradle, an invisible tether that bound them, they knew each other, could communicate and understand one another with few words and, at times, not even those were required, for their expressions spoke louder. he could tell when something was up with jace, just as jace could tell with him. thus lying to him didn't come nearly as easily, nor was it something he wanted to do, as if, deep down, he knew that jaecarys would recognise the lie in his words at once.

and so he'd chosen the all too familiar path of silence in the aftermath of what should have been an ambush had lucerys not been warned. his return, of course, had attracted attention, come not as a delightful surprise to all, and it truly had been but a matter of time until the vultures which had all too greedily descended from their perch in the trees and opened their hungry, violent beaks towards his corpse would strike. the seasnake had not been quick to change his choice of heir, not even when lucerys had been assumed dead had he jumped at the opportunity to name another his successor, but some kin had grown hopeful. ‘ the silent five ’, who once before had futilely wedged themselves between lucerys and his inheritance and lost their tongues for the foul accusations with which they'd tried to underline their claim, had come for him the eve before, or rather three of them had, but little had they known that lucerys was not physically weakened as some rumours circulating the realm suggested, nor that a raven would reach him with tidings of their intentions . . .

“ i did not draw blood. ” not first, at least, that much he could say for himself, but none of that changed anything about the fact that it clung to his hands, would forever cling to his hands in figurative stains that reminded of what had transpired, and, more perceivably, had clung to the fabric of the clothing he'd returned in the previous night as well, now but ashes in the grate of the fireplace within his chambers.

“ not until it was necessary. nor did i spill any. ” almost as though the gods themselves seek to punish lucerys for lying to his brother, the wound on his ribs decides then to remind him of its presence in form of a sharp, radiating pain — one he'd thought he'd grown accustomed to in the hours that had passed since acquiring the injury, but it quickly grows worse, hurting with an intensity it had not done before, and one he, try as he might, cannot conceal. features involuntarily contorting into a grimace, a hand subtly elevates and drifts to his side, pressing vaguely to it, the fabric of his tunic feeling wet beneath his palm as he takes a step forward, unoccupied hand seeking the table's edge as more pain shoots through him with the movement, bringing forth a nauseating sensation of lightheadedness, which nearly threatens to pull him down, to cause legs to buckle beneath him from the extent of it.

[enby-jellyfish]

Rebirth

Chapter 1 of Blood Upon the Snow

Adar X GN!Vampire!Reader (POC friendly)

Pronouns: You/Your

Summary: You come across a dying Uruk.

Warnings: Vampire turning.

Word Count: 658

A/N: Adar is my fav thing to come out of TROP.

You stare up into the dark night sky. It’s decorated with a full moon and countless bright stars, the only form of light aside from fire you are able to endure. A few clouds litter the scene, big flakes of snow flutter down to add to the thick, fluffy blanket covering the earth. Closing your eyes you bask in the serenity of it all. You inhale deeply through your nose, the cold air filling your nostrils.

Blood.

The scent is distinct and heavy, freshly shed. There must have been a battle nearby, judging by the smoke rising in the distance. You haven’t fed in a few days, you might be able to pick off a few scraps if you’re quick, save your energy.

Arriving at the battlefield you find it to be abandoned and littered with corpses, Men and Ork alike, some still warm. What a treat. After satiating yourself on some Men you hear a faint rattling gasp a few paces away.

The snow makes a satisfying crunching noise underneath your boots as you move to take a closer look. It’s an Ork, a dying Ork. His blood paints the white snow underneath him black, his grey skin is dull and paler than you think it’s supposed to be.

He looks up at you, you notice there are tears in his bloodshot eyes, and he claws weakly at your boot, his sharp nails digging in the leather. “Help… me…” His rattling voice struggles to beg. You look around, all signs point to an Ork victory, they must have missed him when retreating. And now he is going to die slowly, painfully, and alone.

Orks are known to be cruel, sadistic, and black of heart. Most people would celebrate the death of such a creature, and yet you feel bad for him. You see a part of yourself in his pathetic form, ages ago, when you laid dying as he is now, and your maker turned you into what you are now.

“Do you have a name?” You ask. “Bashag.” The Ork struggles to reply. You crouch down next to his dying form. “I could save you, Bashag.” The Ork tightens its grip on you. “It would hurt though.” You continue. “You’ll experience unspeakable agony, and you will die.” The Ork doesn’t attempt to speak but has a desperate look in his eye. “Then you will be reborn, like me.”

He takes a second to decide before nodding weakly. Mirroring your own turning, you shift him on his back, cradling him in your lap. You brush a whisp of greasy black hair away and pull down his battered armour slightly, exposing his neck.

You pierce his neck with your fangs start drinking. His blood tastes rancid, like a mix between tar and bile with only a slight hint of the familiar metallic life force. You grimace but continue draining him, holding him tightly in place to stop him from fighting back.

You stop when he’s long gone limp and is on the brink of death, fading in and out of consciousness. You wipe your mouth with your sleeve before pulling it back and biting your wrist, drawing blood. You quickly press your wrist against his mouth, not wasting a drop.

He doesn’t move for a moment, and you fear you’ve drained him too much before he starts sucking on your wrist. Gaining more energy with the second he starts properly drinking from you, his sharp teeth pricking at your skin.

Deciding he’s had enough you force your arm away and quickly stand up, the Ork panting as he falls back into the snow with a dazed look on his face, pupils blown wide. You watch as he calms down and his exhaustion returns.

He is going to need a safe place to complete his transformation. “Come, little one.” You kneel down again, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to hoist him up. Luckily your home isn’t far away.

Next part (TBC)

Masterlist

Thank you for reading <3