#harrison's triggered by water

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

A Khan By Any Other Name

a prequel to Star Trek: Into Darkness

mystery, suspense, danger ~ romance & NSFW material to follow

summary: Seraphina DiPietro is wise in the ways of the world; she has to be, as she travels the California coast as a torch singer in pubs, bars, and nightclubs. She knows how to take care of herself and stay out of trouble--most of the time. When trouble comes, it's usually because she lets her kind heart overrule her common sense. Stopping to check on a handsome stranger stranded roadside in the Mojave Desert, her curiousity is piqued as much by his classic, mint-looking Mustang, as by its driver--a tall, dark, mysterious drink of water, whom she quickly learns is so much more than he appears.

characters: Khan Noonien Singh (aka: John Harrison), Seraphina DiPietro (OC)

words: 1.9k

Chapter Two

“Drop it now,” he repeated, with the sure authority of a man accustomed to having his orders obeyed, “And I promise I will not hurt you.”

Despite his iron grip, Seraphina struggled to pull her arm away, hissing through teeth gritted against the pain, “Won’t hurt me?  You’re hurting me now.”

Harrison’s hold on her arm loosened some; she was still tightly caught, but the pressure of his grasp, the pain, had receded a fair bit—although she knew she’d find dark, finger-shaped bruises there in short order.  If she even lived that long. “Forgive me,” he told her, his voice low and even, “I’d forgotten how fragile your bones can be.”

What an odd thing to say, she thought, straining for release from his clutch and realizing it was all too impossible; she was no match for his strength, and even if she could manage to trigger the mace, she had no sure way to aim it properly.  She felt desperate, frightened tears well up in her eyes, but squeezed her eyes shut against them—for she would not give her assailant the satisfaction of her despair, nor would she beg for mercy.

He must’ve read that quiet resignation on her face, for he tugged her fist close and covered it with his free hand, urging her to see reason, “You cannot win this struggle, Seraphina.  Your resistance is futile; surely you understand this?”  Harrison’s voice was silk persuasion, rich and dark and seductive—at complete odds with the very real threat he presented.  “I could easily break your wrist and prize your little weapon from your fingers—but I honestly have no desire to hurt you. Just let it go.”  And then, to her great surprise, he added, “Please.”

Blinking through the tears that fell against her will, tears that betrayed weakness when she wanted to be strong, Seraphina met his eyes again.  His beautiful, deadly eyes—and saw in them an unexpected sincerity that matched his gentle “please”.  She bowed her head and opened her fist, leaving her key and the can of mace to fall onto the passenger seat.

“There—that wasn’t so difficult after all, was it?”  Why was his voice so soothing?  Fear of what he might do to her next coursed through her veins, yet Seraphina thought she could easily crumple to the ground, curl up into a fetal ball, and let his voice see her into untroubled darkness.  The heat, the fear, the adrenaline, the struggle—all of it had sapped her of the will to face whatever might come next.  She’d always believed it wasn’t in her nature to fall apart so quickly, but she felt that way now, all the same.

True to his word, Harrison released her arm, but Seraphina remained in place, braced against the passenger side door, shaking in the aftermath and considering her very limited options. She might try to make it to her hovercraft, but the stranger now held her key; and even if she had the strength to run and the speed to outpace him, to flee into the desert at her back would be equally as brutal as anything he might do to her. She'd have to make her stand right here, then--and though she was no match for his size and strength, she knew enough to leave him hurting before he took her down for good.

Taking stock of her condition--mentally preparing to fight him off as best she could--Seraphina flexed her left wrist carefully, wincing as she explored her tender forearm with cautious fingers. Nothing broken at least, though she felt a bone-deep ache; but it would not be enough to hamper any effort to defend herself.

Strangely, Harrison was ignoring her at the moment; having retrieved her keychain, he had torn the can of mace free with no effort, before hurtling it carelessly into the desert. Seraphina had a vivid image of her own broken, half-naked body flung just as easily and left upon the sand for carrion-eaters to feast upon. She shoved the idea down deep, knowing such fear would only cripple her--and was immediately dumbfounded when he held the key out to her.

"Did I not say I have no wish to harm you?" Harrison's eyes bored into her own, searching for calm and reasoned understanding. "In spite of how it appears, we are equally vulnerable in this place and situation. We must find a way to trust one another. " Sera only continued to regard him warily. "Take this," he insisted, "If I judge you correctly, simple concern for a traveler in need motivated you to stop. And in keeping with your nature, I believe that you will not deny me the help that I need."

Sera studied his face, looking for signs of deception, skittish to trust him but accepting his peace offering nevertheless. "You lied," she said, defiant yet holding her anger at bay, "This car isn't yours..."

Harrison nodded, his full lips pressed together against a small placid smile, "I never claimed that it was..."

"It's stolen," she fumed, irritated with herself for allowing him to so easily mislead her when her first instinct had been correct after all.

"An act of desperation, I assure you..."

"Just as this was," she exclaimed, extending her bruised forearm to him, "I have to wonder what happens to people who truly stand in your way, Mr. Harrison. "

Unruffled by her outburst, Harrison closed his eyes a moment and breathed deeply. When he looked to her again, he was the picture of patience. "I swear I have no desire to cause you--or anyone else--harm. But you must understand, I am in dire straits and as we linger here, my family is in imminent danger." He paused, weighing the effect of his words upon her. "Such a thing will make a man act beyond the measures of polite society."

Seraphina narrowed her eyes, skeptical of his revelation of a family, but suspending her disbelief for the moment, "How then? What sort of danger is your family in?"

"Their very lives hang in the balance, threatened by a powerful man who seeks to manipulate me into working for him." Embers of hate flashed in his eyes, and he gave a bitter huff as he added, "Forcing me to work toward the most nefarious of purposes."

Sera shook her head, clearing the double vision that had crept up on her; she cupped a trembling hand against her forehead, which came away slick with perspiration. It was the heat getting to her, obviously. She felt parched, although the thought of putting anything into her roiling stomach left her feeling even more nauseous, and her head was pounding in time with her racing pulse. She needed to get out of the goddamn heat before she collapsed from heat exhaustion--while the man before her looked completely unaffected by the desert climate. "And...and I suppose this mysterious man is so powerful that you can't seek help from the proper authorities?" Sera leaned all her weight against the car door, wondering if Harrison had noticed her current state of distress.

If he did, he gave no sign of it, a mix of pain and rancor coloring his strikingly handsome features. "So powerful that it would be in your best interest to remain ignorant as to his identity and position." Anticipating her next question, he warned her, "Do not ask--for I cannot reveal that information."

Though stymied by his vague replies--and sensing a much more complicated tale behind what he'd already admitted to--Sera read blunt honesty in his voice and body language. And the fact that he had willingly returned her key while asking for--rather than demanding--her help, seemed a testament to some underlying truth. She realized that she likely had only a few more minutes until she passed out, leaving her completely at Harrison's mercy. "Then how...how did you end up here, stranded in the Mojave," Sera asked, panting softly, "How does any of this help your family?"

He was watching her closely now, so that he had to aware that she was fading fast. "That is a rather long and complicated tale, Seraphina." His voice had again taken on a lulling pitch. "One which I believe would outlast your capacity to remain on your feet."

She held on to the window frame, white-knuckled but determined to remain upright long enough to learn his hidden agenda. "I'm fine...I...I'm just a little light-headed..."

"Step aside now, Seraphina." Again, that tone of a man whose orders were obeyed without question. "You have little time left before you lose consciousness." His hand was already on the door handle, and she stumbled back in time for him to swing the door open.

Then he was looming over her, a tall, cooling shadow, reaching out to brace her. His touch this time was firm, while surprisingly gentle. "We need to get you out of this heat." Unexpected concern in is stunning eyes, calming concern in his voice. The man was a beautiful enigma.

"No...please...tell me. If...if you want me to trust you..." Her world was darkening around the edges, narrowing so that only his face remained in her field of vision. "If you want me to help...I need...I need to know..." Seraphina felt herself going, and as her consciousness fled, so did her fear and curiousity; only one need remained. She sobbed against him as he scooped her up into his arms, "But you promised...you promised not to hurt me again..." Her eyes fluttered shut as she slipped away from awareness.

Harrison strode swiftly towards her hovercraft, cradling her as softly as he could, knowing that the cool, dark interior was the quickest remedy at hand for what ailed her. "Oh, pretty little Seraphina," he murmured, brushing his lips against her dampened hair, inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine and honey, relishing how light and easy she felt in his arms. "Hurting you is the least likely thing I have planned."

(to be continued)

If you enjoyed this, please reblog ~ it's the only way others can see this work.💟

tagging: @icytrickster17 @ironstrange1991 @strangelockd @groovy-lady @aphroditesdilemma @stewardofningishzida @battledress @mousedetective @dearmrsstephenstrange @lorelei-lee @mckiwi @shinebrightlikeafanbase @cumberbatchitis @doctorhelm @strangeflashholmes221 @prulock @stargirl-designs @hajile10 @dancingmushu @iloveavengersblog @fireonmybones @osugahunnyicedtea @brayleigh14

(There were a few more blogs that I tried to tag based on the response to chapter one, but tumblr's messed up url search function kept telling me 'no blog found'🤨)

[danwhobrowses]

Now that it's been a week since Ash's okay finale I'm just gonna say it's still a travesty that the anime will never get to pull the trigger on the following things

Main villain Giovanni and his defeat

Team Rocket departure and redemption

We'll never know what happened to Team Rocket's Domino, Pierce or Dr Zager

Butch and Cassidy never resolved their rift

Misty getting a water-type starter (no seriously the audacity of the anime to tease giving Misty Totodile, back out, and then give Brock a water-starter the first series she wasn't in!)

Confronting the debacle of how Misty would react to a Water/Bug type

Ash never gets to fight Nemona, even though the whole Paldea multi-path storyline is tailor made for him, Nemona, Penny and Arven to adventure through the 3 layers of Ash's core personality (love of battles, love of Pokémon, love of friendship)

Rematches with Tobias, Alain (properly, not that bullshit with Leon), and Harrison

May and Max meeting Clemont and Bonnie

Ash's Primeape never came home from the war of Pokémon pro wrestling, even though a fresh new evolution was waiting for him

Misty never reunited with Togetic

Brock never reunited with Vulpix

We never got a full episode of Ash reuniting with Butterfree, 147 episodes of Journeys including fillers of Ash and Go getting high on Slowbro/Slowking shells and having a curry fight but we couldn't fit room for Ash to reunite with his first capture

Ash meeting his dad

Ash meeting Ho-oh

As much as I'm content with how it ended, never forget what they took from us

[mywilliingheart]

GREETINGS!!

Rebooted blog. Multifandom multimuse. You may call me Pat or Lex. Muse bios to be rewritten. Blog is a WIP. Please have patience. Sideblog to patwrites. Rules, muses, & verses under the cut.

More than happy to continue threads from my old blog, just say the word.

Mun is 30. Must be 21+ to interact.

This blog is a sideblog. You are not required to follow my main back but please do not block it.

Super friendly! I love meeting new people. Pleased to meet you. Hope you enjoy your time here. I am not Mutuals-Only but please be, as I said above, be 21 or older to interact with this blog.

Please don’t say you’re OC-friendly if you aren’t.

This is a welcoming space for all. Any form of bigotry will not be tolerated.

I’ve been burnt out once before, so in order to be kind to myself going forward please be aware this blog will be slow… at least for the foreseeable future.

11 years of rp experience. Prefers small text but will adapt to your needs. Happy to do so. I don’t write with animated FCs.

I love memes and all the threads! Please send me all the memes! I am also a big fan of crossovers.

All muses are open to shipping.

Mostly OCs. Only a few canon muses.

Triggering subjects will be tagged appropriately.

Where ASOIAF muses fit!

Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter, Helmut Zemo, Boromir, Faramir, Sauron, Aragorn, Pallando, Wynne Hawkins, Jane Foster, Astrid, Louise Collins, Frankie Barnes, Jasper Delano, Leigh Caruso, Evelyn Mercer, Fiona Williams, Heather Conrad, Sloane Conrad, Hadley Sullivan, Morgan Matthews, Avery Jones, Cameron Wallace, Logan Campbell, Freya Greyson, Mallory Parsons, Jack Parsons, Maeve Catalan, Maxine Davis, Nina Watson, Austin Watson, Sam Dale, Charlotte Rogers, Kennedy Rogers, Jamie Barnes, Henry Matthews, Aurora Anderson, Avery Rogers, Kelly McCarthy, Paul Chapman, John Harrison, Carol Marcus, Justine Murray, Reheni Ochor, Julia Samson, Ruby York, Lerrika of Romulus, Daenerys Targaryen, Vysenna Targaryen, Vysera Targaryen, Vaesa Velaryon, Varys Celtigar, Jaehaera Targaryen, Olivar Hightower, Rosyn Hightower, Daena Hightower, Alyrie Waters, Alyra Storm, Visenya Targaryen, Carlys Rivers, Myle Waters, Kevan Hill, Stefon Snow, Duran Sand, Nysa Flowers, Olira Pike

Fandomless, Dune, Star Wars, Star Trek, The Boys, POTA, LOTR, GOT/HOTD, TWD (co-created w/ @cristinatheincredible), Various MCU verses, more tbd

[flock-talk]

Whats goop and why does newt like it so much?

The goop is Harrisons Recovery formula basically a nutrient dense powder that’s used for rearing baby birds and providing energy and nutrients for sick animals. It was purchased for Mia, couldn’t return the bag, didn’t want it to go to waste. The vet said it was okay to feed as a special treat so we tried it for Newt one day and he went bonkers for it! And it ended up saving the day when Newt needed medication since it could be mixed with the meds, his love for the goop knows no bounds.

It’s just a powder you mix with warm water to your desired consistency and that’s that. Wouldn’t feed it too often though since it will have a high caloric value with its intent to help sick animals and growing babies and feeding too much goop consistency food could trigger hormones.

Every now and then though the man gets to enjoy his goop

[walaw717]

How Leaky Gut, Gary Snyder, Jim Harrison, and Okakura Kazuko Helped Me Rediscover Coffee.

Or, My Dad was a Zen Master, and I Didn’t Notice.

Zen is not some fancy, unique art of living. Our teaching is to live, always in reality, in its exact sense.

Shunryu Suzuki

It began simple enough, well, not that simple. The Traditional Chinese Physician diagnosed my partner with leaky gut syndrome. That sounds terrible, and it was for her. She loved boxed prepared foods and was not fond of vegetables. Time and malnutrition brought on by General Mills, Conagra, and a variety of corporate food chemists had caught up to her, killing the terrarium in her gut so that everything she ate penetrated past the lichen-like lining of her intestines and digestive tract so acid ate at the inner skin like a chemical spill eating the epoxy resin on a high school science class table. This acid wash triggered various autoimmune disorders and led to arthritis, diarrhea, malaise, and general misery for her and those around her. She spent a lot of time in the bathroom, travel was curtailed, and there was general unhappiness all around because the irritation in her gut often seeped out of her vocal cords.

The Physician approached me in the waiting room. At the same time, my partner lay in a private room with needles, restoring her chi into its proper channels and outlining the changes needed in our lifestyle to cure this plague of misery. The doctor told me I also needed to join the new dietary regime to be supportive.

“Well, OK,” I said with outward unfelt enthusiasm.

So we went home and cleaned cabinets, throwing packaged foods away and feeling pangs of guilt — should we throw it away or give it to a shelter? I had visions of homeless people excitedly getting free food that passed as quality and eventually needing a traditional Chinese physician to tell them why they had started crapping so much and with such urgency. I took it to the dumpster, deciding that if they dove for it, it would at least not be the typical garbage they found to eat there that already messed up their guts and energy meridians, contributing to a miserable lifestyle. Their choice would not be my responsibility. I am, after all, an American and well-practiced at ignoring or at least rationalizing my guilt at ecological and cultural destruction. The dumpster became my version of a clear-cut in Oregon. Behind twenty-five yards of pristine natural beauty and unseen from the speeding motorists on the interstates is a desolated waste that can only support the lifestyle of the rich and infamous. To paraphrase an adage from pop psychology, “What we don’t think about, we pretend we don’t bring about.”

And then there was the Mr. Coffee. It sat on the kitchen counter, a yellowing plastic oddly shaped box protectively embracing a clear glass carafe that produced without much effort or thought a dark brown nectar that started our day. It was simple: you pulled out the black plastic cup, lined it with bleached paper, measured several small scoops of coffee, replaced the black plastic cup, filled the box with water, hit the button, and left the room, knowing the watery brown liquor would be ready after the morning shower and shave. Frankly, I was addicted to the tasteless brown water that came out, full of caffeine that gave me a lift but no longer a sweet aroma, depth of flavor or anything but a buzz. The Physician said that they had to go. The little lichen and animal-like bacteria in the gut didn’t like the acid. She equated it with Agent Orange. Being of a certain age, I was more familiar with Agent Orange than I wanted or should be, and I suspect she knew that just by looking at my grey hair. She was playing dirty there, but “Well, OK.”

So Mr. Coffee went somewhere. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to become like stomach acid and create more irritation. To ease the pain, I read an article by a Buddhist who said he quit coffee for six months and felt great but eventually had a cup of the dark roast at Starbucks. He didn’t get a buzz but got jazzed for two days. That didn’t help as I read his article while drinking weak green tea with ginger, waiting for caffeine-induced enlightenment.

As a caffeine junkie and failed Roshi, I needed some relief. Each morning, I scrolled Tumblr’s pictures while drinking my tea and tried to distract myself from the lack of coffee and junk food. Before I went to Tumblr and its processed version of the good life, I had returned to Zazen, you know, meditative sitting, but I was haunted by Buddhist demons carrying Starbucks cups. That was akin to the demons I had seen as a young college student Buddhist “wannabe” reading Alan Watts and D.T. Suzuki, practicing their version of sitting zazen. The forms Mara took in those sittings mostly looked like the red-headed girl I was dating. She would arise in my meditations dancing with her female roommate, both naked dakinis looking beguilingly at me, beckoning me. Needless to say, I never found a Bodhi tree as lovely as Keanu Reeves’ in Little Buddha. I usually went to the red-headed girl’s apartment, leaving my cat to fend for herself for several days. The cat was often irritated with me — the story of my life with females.

Giving up zazen for scrolling Tumblr didn’t help much. There were many beautiful images of landscapes, cityscapes, horses, wildlife, and old trucks and cars. It is a veritable Life magazine online, and being a trained art historian studying reproductions of pictures was right up my alley. There were many images of beguiling dakinis, but more provocatively undressed than those I showed freshmen when I taught art history. As an old man, experienced in the wiles of youthful Dakinis, they looked generally unbeguiling and un-tempting. Sometimes, they wore a plaid flannel shirt tied above the waist, standing next to a campfire, or sitting on the tailgate of a pickup, holding a tin cup of coffee; those got to me — I love plaid, and there was coffee. Even more painfully, there were camping pictures, not just any camping pictures but old percolators on campfires, some with steam coming out of their spouts, some with the cooked brown fluid being poured into cups. As I hit the little heart to acknowledge I liked those images, they appeared more and more frequently. I began to seriously think there were hells, Buddhists and otherwise, and real demons determined to steal my peace.

I was not always addicted to coffee. It all began next to the Seine at a little cafe on the Boulevard Saint-Germain, where I first tasted café au lait. I was a typical 18-year-old 1970s kid backpacking through Europe, and Paris was a first stop. I hated wine and was not too fond of beer, though I drank large quantities with friends at college my first term, and Perrier was breaking my travel budget. One day, I learned that café au lait was mostly milk, and being a farm boy still wedded to the idea that milk was good for me, I downed a cup of café au lait, then another and another. At the end of my first sitting, the waiter counted eight saucers and asked if “Monsieur was feeling okay.” “Sure,” I replied with composure I didn’t feel. I left the café, strolled down the Qui Voltaire, crossed the river on the Pont de la Concorde, hiked through the Tuileries and toured the entire Louvre in 45 minutes flat.

I continued my travels in Europe and tried every type of coffee I could find, settling on Turkish coffee in little cups with big cubes of sugar. In a pinch, I would accept espresso, but by the time I got to Italy, espresso seemed a weak way to live.

Then I returned to America, tried various diner coffees, and wondered why they served browned hot water. By then, Mr. Coffee had replaced percolators and any other form of making coffee all across America. Joe DiMaggio was happy and smiling on every new box containing a coffee maker and heading to an American home.

I tried to make Turkish coffee. Generally, I failed and finally settled on strong home-brewed Mr. Coffee with lots of heavy cream. I would occasionally daydream about camping with my parents and blue-speckled-ware coffee pots on the fire or the aroma of the coffee their electric percolator made as it rhythmically gurgled in the kitchen. It never occurred to me to get an electric percolator because they were, thanks to Mr. Coffee, passe and un-American. I also avoided percolator coffee because I associated it with the odor of my parent’s cigarettes. No matter how good the coffee smelled, I had an aversion to their cigarettes and my parents. Therapy helped me overcome my aversion to my parents but not cigarettes, and the association of stale, burned, chemical-treated tobacco and perked coffee remained.

I felt good after six months of a healthy life, eating right, losing weight, and spending less time on the toilet. I still, however, craved caffeine. I started looking at Mr. Coffee online and realized it was a version of pour-over coffee. So, I bought a plastic two-cup Merlita sit-on-the-cup pour-over device. It was an odd orange-pink affair, but It made a good single cup of coffee, and I discovered that the two-cup size worked just fine to make a single cup of coffee. I understood that a pour-over made better coffee than Mr. Coffee, even though the process was the same. The two-cup pour-over process did require me to pay attention to what I was doing.

This pour-over coffee period came while I re-read Gary Snyder and Jim Harrison, two old Buddhists who were even grouchier than me. They got me rethinking, too, about the practice of the wild and how aggravated I was with General Mills and Conagra and the whole mess of modern American consumerism I allowed myself to get sucked into. I realized I missed camping, hiking, and the smell of coffee perking on an open campfire. I truly missed robust campfire coffee with its flavor and aroma.

I bought an Italian Bialetti Moka pot to remain civilized about my need for aroma. ( I didn’t say I escaped consumerism, just I was aggravated with it.). As I entered the ritual each morning of making coffee in a Moka pot, so strong that I had to serve it in tiny espresso cups to keep the buzz low, I realized that making coffee was really about paying attention, like a Japanese tea ceremony. It took time and required focused measuring of the coffee, packing the funnel, preheating the water, a degree of zazen, listening for the gurgle of the pot and knowing when to take it off the heat so it did not get bitter. I liked the meditation of preparing it. I hated the tiny, over-caffeinated cups. ( My coffee fast had at least broken my addiction to triple-dose caffeine.)

Then we had a cold front, I mean a really cold front that made me wish I had remembered to close the windows the night before, and I had visions of camping, dakinis in plaid flannel shirts, me in plaid flannel shirts, lakes and campfires and a percolator on the fire. It was a memory of connection and loss rolled into one. I was young, and it was a time before Alan Watts and D.T. Suzuki when I knew how to sit, breathe, watch, observe, be present, and smell the coffee with childlike naturalness. So, back to the consumer websites. I scanned a couple dozen percolators. Being aware that I had to make sure I was not as irritating as stomach acid in my choice, I picked a shiny stainless steel eight-cup percolator over the twelve-cup spatterware blue of my encamped youth. Two days later, it arrived and posed gloriously on my stove. Even my partner admitted to its silvery beauty.

I then read internet manuals on how to make the perfect pot of percolator coffee. They all disagreed about the amount of coffee, timing, and type of coffee. Then I remembered my dad, carefully spooning a heaping tablespoon of coffee per 6-ounce cup of water and one for the pot. I remembered how, while he measured his coffee into the basket, the pot would sit on a rock on the fire’s edge and come to a boil. He would gently lower the full basket into the boiling water, place the lid on the pot and move the pot away from the heat, allowing it not to boil vigorously but return to a slow boil so the coffee would not become bitter. And then he would wait, light a cigarette when the water would start its gentle dance in the glass cap of the lid. While he waited, he watched the perking water in the glass knob at the top of the pot without fidgeting or seeming to allow his mind to race away with him. And at the end of his cigarette, after his short version of meditation, he would lift the pot from the fire, place it on another warm but not hot rock, wait again for the basket to finish draining into the pot and remove the basket so the coffee would not become bitter, pour his mug of coffee, and sit again. Still, this sitting involvedwatching the forest and just being. The memory reminded me of Okakura Kazuko’s “Book of Tea,” his extended essay about aesthetics, tea, and Japanese life. As I remembered my Dad by the campfire, I realized Mr. Coffee’s plastic convenience erased coffee’s aesthetic from American life.

I have discovered that Coffee is not just a daily punch line at Starbucks with crazy concoctions snatched by a string of crazier motorists, nor is it the caffeine jazz you get from a neglected Mr. Coffee after a shower and a shave. Making coffee is a meditation, an act of beauty, a reminder of history and a rare act of America behaving in a more civilized way. In the Book of Tea, Kazuko comments, “The Westerner regarded Japan as barbarous while she indulged in the gentle arts of peace and began to call her civilized only when she began to commit wholesale slaughter on the Manchurian battlefields.” I realized that Mr. Coffee not only made barbarous coffee (we won’t even discuss Keurig), but Mr. Coffee was part of our uncivilized behavior toward the entire world, eliminating a small act of spirituality from our racing over-wrought lives.

I now regard the loss of Mr. Coffee not as a loss. It is a spiritual gain. Each morning now, I conduct a ritual. I rinse all my utensils, fill the pot with eight six-ounce measures of clean water, eight heaping tablespoons of freshly ground coffee and one for the pot. I bring the water to a boil, carefully insert the coffee, and place the lid on the pot. I watch until the water rises into the glass knob and then sit, and breathe for eight minutes, the amount of time I think it would have taken Dad to smoke a cigarette. I remove the pot and sit long enough to allow the water to finish draining from the basket, remove the basket and pour coffee into a mug reserved just for coffee, the one with the horses standing in a stream, drinking clear water. And then slowly sip while I sit on my porch, looking at the mountains. When it is cool enough, I wear a plaid flannel shirt and remember a time in my youth watching my father, who had never heard of Alan Watts, D. T. Suzuki, or Zen, sit his version of Zazen drinking his coffee, smoking one of his ever-present cigarettes looking out over a campfire at the lake and being at peace and away from the “chaos of the rat race,” as he defined it.

Maybe being a Roshi is realizing that life itself is Zazen if you slow down and allow it to be. Today, I lifted my cup to a man who was my Roshi that I didn’t notice. I suspect we all have such untitled Zen teachers.

[elleplaysotome]

Ikemen Villains- William Rex Route Part 4 Summary

‼️I am using a screen translator app to play, so absolutely no guarantees that this is actually what happened. Also I'm doing this for fun and for myself to look back on when I inevitably forget things, so it isn't very fancy‼️

This summary is about 1k words!!

⚠️Trigger Warnings: food, disordered eating (mentions of someone not eating enough), mention of a past witnessed murder, mentions of being stuffed and kept in someone's room (do not hesitate to let me know if I need to add more!)⚠️

Ikevil Summary Masterlist

Part 3 Summary Part 3 Letter

It’s the next morning, and Kate is having breakfast in the dining room. Liam and Harrison are there eating as well, and Liam asks Kate how her “date with Will” was. The usage of the word ‘date’ has her remembering how the night had ended… 

William had asked about what she’s going to write in her report and she doesn’t think that she witnessed any crimes to report on. He tells her that he can commit a sin for her right now. He takes her hand and, as is done in greeting nobility, kisses it. He says that kissing without asking permission first is a fine sin, she can report about it to the Queen. Kate is flustered and manages to thank him (in half-sized font lmao). 

Liam brings her back out of her thoughts. Harrison comments that Liam doesn’t even need to ask how it went, she had “it was fun” written all over her face when she entered the room. Both Kate and Liam aren’t sure that’s true, and Harrison reaffirms that it is, adding that most of the people that go out with Will are like that. He says that Will loves others/ others love Will easily (I’m not sure which, my translator app was giving mixed results), but be careful not to get too addicted. She agrees to be careful.

Alphonse and Elbert enter the dining room, with Al giving a good morning to everyone. Liam comments on how rare it is that they come to the breakfast table. Al says that he would be troubled if El-sama passed away, so he decided to try and get some food in him. Harrison asks what's going on with Elbert's body, given he has many material desires but no appetite. Elbert doesn't know either.

Kate notices that Elbert isn't eating anything, and is only drinking his water with lemon. She wonders if he's not feeling well, and unintentionally stares at him while she's worrying. He looks at her and asks if something good has happened, she looks more beautiful than she did yesterday, which leaves Kate flushing with embarrassment at being called beautiful by the personification of beauty himself. 

Alphonse asks Elbert if he's going to make Kate a silent object in his room. If she's the one he's looking for, he says. This leaves Kate wondering in a slight panic if she will be stuffed and displayed. Liam winks at her, saying that El-sama has never put a human being away in his room. Kate says that she really doesn't think she's what he's looking for, and Alphonse agrees, which causes Elbert to subsequently do so as well. Kate is glad she won't be stuffed💀.

Kate decides that today is going to be the day that she truly starts her duties as fairytale master, recording her observations of William. In order to do that, she needs to find him, and so she excuses herself from breakfast. Liam asks if she's going to see Will, and comments that she's smiling, how cute! She denies it, and thinks that going to find William is her duty, and she isn't doing it for any other reason.

When she gets to Will's room she knocks to no answer. She wonders where he could be until she hears piano music playing. She recognizes the song as one from the play her and William had seen yesterday. When she follows it to the ballroom and sees him playing, she wonders if she should wait for a moment before going in. He sees her and stops playing, and she apologizes for disturbing him. He says she wasn't disturbing him at all, he was playing to lure her to him so his plan worked. 

He says good morning, and she says so in return. Kate is conscious of how her voice sounds due to being told she looks happy and more beautiful today. She asks William to tell her his schedule for the following day going forward so she knows where to find him in the morning. He teases her about looking for him, and she is very firm that it is her duty to work together with him. 

Kate compliments William's piano skills, and he says it to be an honor to have her do so. He tells her if she is interested, she can come sit next to him. She thinks about how on the night they met, she was lured to the room in which she witnessed the murder by his piano playing. She thinks that just because it's a mission, she doesn't have to accept every invitation he gives her. Nevertheless, she ends up sitting down on the bench next to him.

He shows her a simple melody to copy. Isn't it easy? Kate notices that the piano keys are heavy, but she is able to execute the melody no problem. She is told to keep repeating it, and Will then begins playing an accompaniment to the melody she's playing.

As they play, William asks Kate what her number one wish right now is. She loses concentration and messes up some notes, but when she does he picks them up in his accompaniment to make up for it. He continues with his question, saying even in her peaceful everyday life she had a wistful look on her face. She says that can't be, she's happy with her way of life. A worthwhile job and getting to go to the theater every once in a while makes her happy. She thinks to herself that of course, there were times where she thought that a whole new world would open up if she did something different, but she'd never found herself wanting for anything more. What she had was more than enough for her.

Kate asks why William thinks she looked so wistful when he doesn't know anything about her. Their piano playing stops. He wants to know more, he says, from the day that they had met. He asks why she's so obsessed with 'everyday' and working herself to death. She asks why he wants to know so much about her. Because he's interested in her, of course. 

Kate suddenly notices how close they are sitting on the bench. Her heart begins to pound loudly. "...Wow, I-..."

Part 5 Summary Summary Masterlist

[phanfictioncatalogue]

OCD Masterlist

Alone and Lonely; A Study In Human Emotion - phanwritings

Summary: The one where they decide to get married on a whim after just meeting each other.

An Obsession With Perfect (deviantart) - Gerards21guns

Summary: Dan has been at the mental hospital for 4 years now. He’s there for being Bipolar and having severe OCD, but he’s always had this obsession with perfection. However, Dan’s life changes forever when Dan meets the mysterious Phil Lester.

an overflowing cup of coffee (at eleven in the night) (ao3) - lvckyphan

Summary: “And Phil tries with crossed fingers only to keep both of their heads above the water because doing anything else is far too much work and he doesn’t wish for Dan to say thank you because he doesn’t wish for gratitude given fifty times over.

He doesn’t wish for the excuse that the first forty-nine times just didn’t feel right.”

Complusions (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Daniel Howell has dealt with OCD most of his life, he manages to control his intrusive/impulsive thought fairly well, his compulsions however are another story. Then Dan meets Phil Lester, the pretty boy in his first period English class, Phil seems to help his compulsions, he doesn't feel like he has to scrub his hands until they bleed after he's touched him, the thought of kissing him doesn't disgust him, and he finds himself fine sharing a bed with the boy. The thoughts that race through Dans head and make him scared and disgusted with himself however keep him from letting himself get close to Phil, despite how much he helps him Dan can't help but push him away.

Head Down Low (ao3) - Rhensis

Summary: Dan isn’t right. He’s not like most of the others, he’s not genetically pure. He has no destined path, he has nothing going for him in life. He’ll be lucky to get himself a job in a fast food kitchen, and everyone looks down on him like he’s a piece of dirt stuck at the bottom of their shoe. Except one person: Phil Lester.

His Smile Could Grow Symmetrical Flowers - daeguk

Summary: Phil Lester has OCD. He’s not a clean freak or overly clever or anything the films depict his illness to be, but he’s actually a mess, terrified of himself and of the way the thinks. Dan’s trying to help, but there’s only so much that he can do when his references are old books and shit, stereotypical films. Phil supposes it’s all a little fucked up. ((trigger warning for death))

Identity - botanistlester

Summary: Dan is definitely beyond nervous to start at the prestigious boarding school, Harrison Academy. He wants to get away from the past and start a new life, where he meets his dorm mate, Phil Lester. Phil is always happy, it seems, and wants the best for everyone, but as he continues to get to know Dan, he realizes that there's something wrong with this particular boy that maybe even Dan isn't aware of.

[I think] your inside is your best side (ao3) - eduardocullen

Summary: Dan stops replying.

it gets better (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Phil will happily take any amount of PDA from Dan. Granted, it’s not usually a lot when they’re out and about, but sometimes there’s a sneaky peck on the lips when there’s absolutely no one about, or the casual hand hold if they’re in a more remote place. More intimate things are reserved for the privacy of their own home. But when they’re stuck on a stupidly crowded tube carriage, standing in at least three different stranger’s personal bubbles at the same time, Phil’s holding onto the closest pole for his life, with Dan desperately clutching onto his arm like a newborn koala.

It gives him a warm fuzzy feeling. But it fades when he remembers how much Dan must be struggling in that moment.

Dan has obsessive compulsive disorder.

spirals (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: In ice skating, a spiral is when you lift one leg up as high as you can behind you and tip your upper body forward, trying to keep your head to the horizon as you balance on a single edge. Dan remembers doing spirals all the time, holding his breath as he worked to keep that balance, stretching his legs so he could lift them higher, higher, higher, higher, up and up and up and up towards the sky. Despite everything, the tension of his foot as he balanced, the aches in his leg when he pushed it too high, the jump in his heart when he reached the precarious tipping point between the height of his leg and how low his torso was, when Dan did spirals he felt like he was flying.

superimpose (ao3) - howellesterfics

Summary: Being in his early thirties, Phil thinks he should have more to show than a minimum wage job and the amateur photography skills that rarely earn him any pay. Suddenly he's given the opportunity to display his pieces in a gallery down the street. He ultimately leaves with more than just a new sense of pride in his work when he gets caught up with the snarky and neurotic gallery assistant, Dan.

The Torture of OCD - wishicouldunreadthat

Summary: Dan never seemed the type. He was never unusually frustrated, never showed questionable behaviours. Hell, Phil never suspected a thing. One day came when he actually turned to look, and from then on their world started crumbling.

Time Ignites A Spark (ao3) - glitterhowell

Summary: Series of little Dan one-shots for ficmas

Your ‘odd’ is not the same as mine - phanfanrks

Summary: Phil Lester thinks he is odd. Dan Howell knows he is odd. Their odds are definitely not the same.

[nancyxthompsons]

The Bonfire

Who: Nancy Thompson, @nicolepeterson​, @rickyxthompson​, @mattswheeler​, @harrison-j-lee​, @bradylevitt​

Location: Harrison’s place and later Nancy’s

Date: March 31st to April 2nd, 2023

Summary: Brady Levitt hosts a bonfire at the beach down from Harrison Lee’s place in honor of the tree that fell on his store, but Ricky’s recent relapse comes to a head.

Notes: This was written on Discord so we could have it ready to post. Italics was written by Jennie while normal is written by Kayla.

Triggers: Drug use, addiction, rehab mention, drinking, pregnancy

Ricky didn't take anything the day of the bonfire. The idea of being high around his mom or Nicole didn't set well with him because he knew they would both be disappointed in him. He didn't even really want to go but he couldn't think of a valid reason not to be. He didn't think that he would already be feeling withdrawals but things weren't good between him and Nicole and he wouldn't be surprised if they were done after this. Not to mention the last place he wanted to be was Harrison's house. He had Huey with him when he parked his car. He wasn't sure if everyone was going to be inside the house or already at the beach so he went to the front door and knocked. When Harrison answered he already felt tense. "Hey, Ricky." the man said and bent down to pet Huey when the pug ran to him. "Come on in. Everyone is at the lake. I just came to grab the portable barbecue." Harrison closed the door once Ricky stepped inside. "Listen, I wanted to tell you. This house is going to be your mom's, so that means it's yours too. You're always welcome here, Ricky." Ricky knew he was trying to be nice but he maintained his passive aggressive silence. "So, help yourself to whatever you need. Maybe you can help me carry some stuff." he said. Ricky moved to the man's mini bar when he disappeared into his shop and took a small bottle of liquor. "Don't mind if I do," he muttered. If he couldn't get high tonight, he was going to drink. "Is my mom here?" Ricky called to Harrison. "Yeah, she's down by the water. I think Matt and a few others are there too." he answered. Ricky walked out the back door opening the bottle he had taken and took a long drink before he walked down the hill towards the lake.

Nicole wasn't sure if this was a good idea as she parked her car and saw the smoke coming down from the water. She wanted to be here to support Matt and the burning of the tree that caused his injury and while Ricky had said he wanted her there, after the weird texts he sent on the night they were supposed to have a date and only vague words after, she wasn't sure if he still wanted her there. Plus, she wasn't sure if she could be there and keep in the fact she was pregnant. Neena was the only one who knew and she was going to tell Ricky the night of their date, but she hadn't had a chance. She took a deep breath as she turned off the car and headed down the path towards the beach; looking for her boyfriend the second she saw people. Was he even there? Maybe he was sick and was at home. The blonde put on a smile as she saw Matt coming towards her and hugged him back as he hugged her. "Hey! Glad you made it. I figured you and Ricky would've came together." Matt said and she just shrugged. "I was finishing up some editing and I told him I'd just meet him here." She lied to him, but she didn't know what else to say. She didn't want anyone knowing things weren't the best. "Is he here yet?" She asked and looked around for him and Matt shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't... Oh, there he is." He said and pointed to him walking down the path. Matt walked over to him ahead of her and she felt her stomach turn. Please not now, she thought to herself as she went up to her boyfriend, the father of her child and smiled. "Hey, man. You ready to have some fun?" Matt asked with a grin on his face while Nicole gave him a small wave. "Hey, Ricky."

Ricky had mixed emotions when he saw that his girlfriend was actually there. He was happy to see her as had been weeks, but surprised she had showed up at all and worried about how this night was going to go and whether or not he could keep it together. He was out of pills and he hadn't been buying any cocaine, but did a few lines with his drug dealer usually when he went to pick them up. He knew it was for the better. He needed to stop before it was too late but something told him he was going to regret not buying more tonight. He smiled and playfully embraced his girlfriend when he saw her. "Hey, you. You made it." he paused kissing her lips and addressed Matt. "Yeah, fun." He muttered taking another long gulp from his open bottle of liquor and then held it in front of Nicole. "Want a drink?" he asked.

"I told you I would." She said and kissed him back, tasting the liquor in his lips and she scrunched her nose for a moment after pulling back. The taste made her stomach flip again and she started begging in her head for it to calm down. "Are you feeling better?" She asked and looked him over while Matt gave him a confused look. "Were you sick?" He asked his friend, trying to think of when Ricky was sick on lately. The question made Nicole curious what was going on and she waited for Ricky to answer. As he held out the bottle, she smelled the alcohol and she scrunched her nose again. "No. I... I'm not..." She wasn't sure how to say she couldn't drink. There would be question and she didn't want that right now. "I'll wait a bit." She said and forced a smile while she shifted on her feet.

Ricky noticed her reaction to their kiss and was going to ask what was wrong when she asked him about when he was 'sick'. His heart jumped a little with panic. "Oh...yeah. I wasn't feeling good for a day or two. But I'm fine now." he answered. He watched her react strangely again when he offered her a drink. "Are you feeling okay?" he questioned knowing she had mentioned she was sick a while ago. "Well, how about we go sit by the fire?" he asked pulling her by her hand to one of the logs that Harrison used as a bench. There was a stack of wood in box near by. "I guess this is the tree?" he said grabbing a piece to throw on the fire. He still didn't want to think about that night, as this was what had seemed to be the start of his problems.

"Oh. Didn't know that." Matt said and it made Nicole curious. "I'm glad you're doing better, but I'll let you lovebirds talk." He said and walked away. Part of Nicole wished that he would stay, but her attention turned to Ricky. "I'm feeling a little nauseous, but nothing to worry about. I must've had something bad to eat earlier." She lied more before nodding. "Sounds good." She smiled and let him lead her to a log. She sat down and watched as he threw a piece of wood in the fire. "I think so." She said and watched him for a moment. "If it's too much for you, we can leave." She knew that night was hard on him too and she wanted to make sure he was okay. "We can go to my place and relax. Or yours." And maybe in private she could tell him he was going to be a father.

"Yeah. You don't remember?" Ricky looked at his friend pretending to be confused, but he was starting to feel anxious that Matt was going to say something that was going to force him to come out with the truth, which was partly why he wanted to go somewhere away from him. "Yeah. We'll catch up with you later, man." he told Matt. He threw the piece of wood into the fire and sat down on the log taking another drink. He looked at his girlfriend. It was becoming increasingly hard to act like he was fine with all of this. "Are you sure?" he questioned when she suggested it was some bad food. It had been a while that she was not feeling well now. "Maybe you should see a doctor or something." he suggested and shrugged. "We could, if you're not feeling well. But maybe we should stay for a bit at least, make our rounds, you know?" He knew that Brady had been excited about this, as had Matt.

"Probably slipped my mind. The pain meds." Matt said, but stared at Ricky for a moment. "Yeah. I'll see you later." He waved and walked away. Nicole took a deep breath and waited a moment before releasing the breath. She worried she wouldn't be able to hold it back for much longer, but maybe if she just talked and got her mind off it, it'd stop. "Yeah. My dad brought by something my brother made and it probably wasn't good." She let out a little laugh and hoped he believed her. "I have an appointment Wednesday as a check up so I'll mention it." Another lie. She had an OBGYN appointment and she wanted him there. But how was she supposed to ask? "Yeah. I'll be fine. I'll get some water from the cooler. It'll pass." She promised him. Her eyes looked around to see if anyone could hear them before she looked at him and played with her hands. "Actually, I..." Her sentence was cut off as Nancy appeared and smiled at them. "Hey, you two. Matt said you both were here. Did you get food? Something to drink? We have soda, water, some drinks. Harrison should be cooking soon, but there's chips and stuff to hold you over if you need something now."

Ricky shot Matt a cold look as he walked away wondering if he was bringing up the pain meds because of their argument about them the other day. He was starting to worry that Matt knew something he wasn't saying. Maybe everybody did, or maybe that was just the drugs messing with his head. The longer he stayed here the more he felt like he needed some, but he tried to just focus on Nicole instead and appreciate their time together. "Oh. Yeah, that'll do it." he smiled softly and nodded. "Okay. Hopefully its nothing." he told her. "I can get you some water." he told her and was going to stand when she started to say something, but Nancy had come over. Ricky had gone back to mostly ignoring his mother since their talk the other day. Only talking enough so that she wouldn't suspect something was going on. He let out a sigh and rolled her eyes when she interrupted them. "Mom." he said in a stern tone. "Can you give us a minute? We're talking."

It was moments like this that really had Nicole confused. She didn't understand how when they were together, he was the Ricky she knew. He was nice and took care of her and cared for her, but when they parted, he avoided her and avoided them getting together again. She felt crazy for wondering what was going on and unsure if she was just reading too much into things, but it wasn't like it was before. She swallowed as he said that what she had was hopefully nothing. Unfortunately, it was something. "Yeah. Hopefully." She repeated and nodded as he offered her water. Nicole watched how he talked to his mother and she raised an eyebrow in shock; looking at Nancy who looked at her and then her son. "It's fine, Ricky." She said and touched his hand. Nancy, however, shook her head and smiled at Nicole. "It's okay. I shouldn't have interrupted." The older woman didn't want to argue in front of the younger one, but she made a mental note to talk to her son later. "Just don't leave without talking to me." She said towards him and she walked away. Nicole looked at her boyfriend and her face was confused. "What was that? What's going on with your mom? You didn't tell me the other day."

Ricky watched their interaction as his mom apologized but sighed when she said she wanted to talk to him later. Or rather, lecture him, probably. This was why he had been avoiding her. He shook his head when Nicole asked what was going on. "It's nothing. I'm sorry for that." he squeezed her hand. He took another drink seeing his bottle was getting low already. "She's uh...she's moving. She's gonna live here, with Harrison." he explained. He was worried she would think it was stupid of him to be as upset about it as he was. He shrugged. "But it's fine. I'm... probably going to find my own place." He knew that asking to live with her was off the table probably. At least right now. Maybe if he could manage to salvage things. He put a hand on her knee. "I'll get you a drink, okay? Maybe a ginger ale. I'll be back."  When he stood, he felt the effects of the alcohol he had been drinking faster than he had realized. He finished off what was in his bottle and opened the cooler, taking a beer, forgetting for a moment about Nicole's drink. Brady suddenly came over placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Tanthor the Brave." the man grinned using Ricky's 'game name'. "You missed our campaign the other day. What happened?" Normally Ricky would be glad to see Brady, but he was just another person who he felt like he had to hide things from. He was his boss, after all. "Oh. I wasn't feeling good." he told the man. "How's your baby?" he asked, hoping to change the subject. "Well, he's with Maggie's brother and dad for a couple hours. We might have to bail early. We've never left him before." He tried to listen as Brady talked about the store reopening but his mind was all over the place. He excused himself and went down by the water to be alone for a bit, and have a cigarette somewhere where the smoke wouldn't bother anyone.

"It didn't seem like nothing." She countered and squeezed hi hands back. "Come on, talk to me." She said, and then he said that his mom was moving in with Harrison and she just watched him. "Is that a bad thing? They seem happy." She said and rubbed his hand before nodding. She wanted to suggest that he could live with her, but would he want to be with her once he found out about the baby? "What's she going to do with the house?" She asked curiously, but he touched her knee and got up to get her something to drink. She sat there for a moment and watched Brady talk with Ricky when Matt came back and sat by her. "So, how was your date?" Matt asked and she creased her eyebrows. "What do you mean? He was sick. He didn't show up." Nicole said and she watched Matt sit up a little. "Oh. That was that night." He said and swallowed. He didn't want to worry Nicole, but he was now curious what was going on with his best friend. "I didn't realize." His eyes moved to Ricky and he stood up. "I'm gonna go talk to him for a second." He said and walked away from Nicole before joining Ricky by the water. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

Ricky hadn't wanted to get into the stuff with his mom and Harrison with Nicole. That wasn't the only thing bothering him right now but just thinking about it made him think it was a bad idea for him to be here. He gulped down half of his beer just wanting something that would make him forget about everything. His mom. His problems with Nicole. The accident with the store and the one that still haunted him  five years later. He lit a cigarette and began to wonder if he could find an excuse to leave long enough to meet his dealer. He knew that was a bad idea but so was this. Matt's voice startled him and he jumped a little before facing him. "What?" he asked.

"Why did you lie to Nicole?" Matt said and looked at Ricky. "You weren't sick the night you guys had a date. You haven't been sick at all." He didn't want to accuse him of anything, but he knew something was going on. He was gone a lot and Matt didn't want to get into the missing pills from his bottle. Not yet. He just wanted to see if his best friend would talk to him. "You borrowed money to go out with her that night. Your mom told me. Where did you go?"

Ricky looked at Matt feeling a sense of panic rising in his chest. But he was also annoyed that he was doing this now. They had already talked about the pills and Ricky had gotten upset. "What? dude.. you really wanna do this now?" He stared at him before taking a drag of his cigarette. "I didn't lie to her. And its none of your business if I did, anyways." He told him growing more worried when he asked about the money. "What does it matter if I did? We didn't end up going, okay? I didn't spend the money." He shook his head. "What has gotten into you lately, man? Asking me all this shit like you're the god damn chief of police or something. What is it you think I'm doing exactly? You think I want to go back to jail?" Ricky questioned. He stepped past him giving him a bit of a shove as he did. "Just leave me alone, Matt. Worry about yourself."

He sighed and clenched his jaw for a moment while Ricky got upset at him. "I'm just curious. I didn't tell her, alright?" He said and nodded his head in disbelief as he talked. "You did lie to her. You weren't sick that night. You weren't even home." He argued back. "It matters because she looks worried, Ricky. She looks scared and you can't even see that." He said and rolled his eyes. "You didn't end up going because you lied to her." He repeated before sighing angrily. "I'm just concerned about you. I know you don't want to end up back in jail, but I also know how you were before and you're acting just like that guy." Matt said and as Ricky shoved him a little, he winced as it moved his body weird and irritated his scar. "Hey." Nancy said as she came over to them. "What's going on with you two? Matt, you okay?" She asked and he nodded. "I'm fine." He said and she looked at her son. "I don't know what's going on, but you need to stop this attitude of yours. I know you're upset about me moving, but you could talk to me about it and not act like we're all against you."

He stared hard at Matt trying his best to keep his cool but the more he talked the more he felt like he was going to explode. He needed to get out of here. It didn't help when Matt said that Nicole was scared. It just made him feel like shit. "I'm not acting like anything, Matt. I'm just pissed off that you and everybody else wont leave me alone. Why do you all do this to me? I'm not a fucking child. I'm just trying to live my life and it keeps getting fucked up." His voice was getting louder and he didn't care who heard him. "None of you fucking cared before, when I was in jail. Why are you suddenly so interested?" He let out a breath when his mom came over and shook his head. "Where's Huey? I'm leaving. I don't need this shit." He started walking away looking around for his dog. He finished his beer and didn't know if he was even in the state to drive right now. He spotted the dog near Harrison and called Huey as he approached. The anger pounding in his head suddenly focused on his moms boyfriend. "Its okay, you can have my dog." He said to him. "You already took my mom from me. You want my girlfriend too while you're at it? I heard you like younger women" Harrison just looked at him, too stunned to speak.

"We're concerned about you. You've been like this since my accident. You are blaming yourself and it wasn't your fault. I'm the one who told you to go. It was my fault, okay?" He said, trying to make his friend feel better in any way. "We did too. We've always cared. I've always cared." He knew he didn't reach out when he was in jail, but Nancy said it was for the best. He had believed her, but now he was unsure if it had done any good at all. "No. You're not going anywhere." Nancy said back and followed him as he went to look for his dog and she stopped as he got to Harrison and threw his anger at him. Nicole came up and mouth dropped a little before she turned and got sick into the garbage can nearby. Matt went to her to see if she was okay and Nancy took a deep breath. "That's enough!" She yelled and she grabbed her son's arm. "You are not going anywhere, do you hear me? You're too out of it and you're going to cause a wreck." She let go of him. "Go up to the house and lay down. There's plenty of rooms and you can find one to calm down in. Go. Now." She said forcefully before she moved to Matt and Nicole. "Are you feeling alright? You can go lay down too, if you need to. Don't feel like you have to go in the same room as him. He needs to calm down." Nancy hated the woman was mixed up in this and hoped it didn't ruin anything for her son by seeing him this way. "I-I'm okay. I just need water." She said and moved towards the coolers. "Mom, I think he's using again." Matt said softly to her and swallowed. "I've found some of my pain pills missing and he... He lied to Nicole about the date. I don't know what he spent the money you gave him on, but he's not..." Nancy smiled and touched his hand. "I know, Matt. I'll worry about it later, okay?"

Ricky turned to his mom as she started yelling and pulled free from her grasp on his arm. He didn't really notice Nicole throwing up with everything else going on but he became vaguely aware of the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the party after his outburst. He opened his mouth to argue when his mom told him to go inside but he knew she was right. He couldn't drive right now. The last thing he needed was to get into another accident or cause one. Without a word he stormed back up to the house. Brady approached Nancy, concerned about Ricky. "Nance, is everything alright?" he asked. He had wanted this to be a celebration to move on from that night. It had undoubtedly effected him, having to find Matt like that and his store in ruins. It had effected Matt too so he thought this was a positive thing for all of them, but obviously there was more going on with Ricky.

Nancy took a deep breath after everything and turned to Brady as he asked if everything was alright. She knew that he wanted it to be a good night and she hated that her son had acted this way. "It'll be okay. I'm sorry he's acting this way." She apologized to him. "We can continue this. He'll calm down up there and it'll be okay. He just needs some time away." She was unsure if she was saying it to him anymore or to herself. She was more than worried now, but wanted to keep a brave face on for those around her. She knew Matt was worried and she didn't want to worry Nicole more and the last thing she wanted to do was ruin this for Brady. She just wanted her son okay.

Brady was willing to end the party if he had to, if people weren't having a good time because of everything that was going on. He nodded when Nancy reassured him. "Yeah. He'll be fine." he agreed. As time went on things seemed to pick up again with everyone at the party. Meanwhile Ricky had gone into the house. He laid down to rest on the couch for a while trying to ignore his cravings for something stronger than alcohol but he was starting to feel more paranoid about what Matt had asked him and about how this was going to effect Nicole when things were already rocky between them.  He just didn't want to be there anymore. He felt like it was a bad idea for him to come in the first place. Maybe later he would call Nicole and apologize for all of this but he sat up and sent a text to his dealer instead. He had a little bit of money left and he knew once he had a hit this would all disappear for a while. He told them he had no car right now and asked them to pick him up on the road near Harrison's house. He watched the party from the back window while he waited. Nobody would notice he was gone, at least he hoped not. When he got another text saying they were close by he left the house to search for the car, and got in once they slowed down next to him.

Nicole had gotten a water bottle out of the cooler and rinsed her mouth before taking a few drinks. She sat down by the fire and took a deep breath to calm herself down. She felt better now that she had gotten sick, but she hated she had done it in front of everyone. She heard someone by her and looked up to see Matt. "You okay?" He asked and she nodded. "Yeah. I think it's just everything going on. I'll be okay." She smiled at him. Matt nodded and sat down. "Don't mind Ricky. He's not acting like himself." He tried telling her and she sighed. "What's going on with him?" The boy let out a sigh. "I'm not sure, but we'll worry about. It's okay." He assured her. Nancy was watching them talk from afar and she turned to Harrison. "Matt said he thinks Ricky's using again. He found his pills missing." She said and sighed. "I can't go through him like this again, Harrison. I thought he was doing better."

Harrison had felt uneasy since Ricky's outburst, as it had been directed towards him. Up until now he thought that things were fine between him and Ricky  but this made him worry. He didn't want for things to have to end between him and Nancy because her son was unhappy with them being together. He looked at his girlfriend when she spoke. "That would make sense. I didn't realize that he thought those things about me." he said. He put an arm around her trying to comfort her. "If he is, then he needs help. Probably more than you or anyone here can give him." he said. He knew that deep down Ricky was a good kid but he recognized the anger he seemed to have as he had once been in the same place. "Maybe someone should check on him." he looked up at his house. Ricky's car was still there and Huey hadn't left Harrison's side since he had went inside, but he had a strange feeling.

Nancy took a deep breath and looked at him. "Hey, he doesn't, okay? Don't believe him when he's like this. He says a lot of things." She assured him and leaned against him as he comforted her. "I know. I just don't think he's going to listen to me. He'll think I'm turning against him." She looked down and wished this whole thing was easier than it was. "Yeah. I can go up the house." She said as Matt and Nicole appeared. "We can check. I was going to show Nicole where the bathroom was anyways." Matt suggested and Nancy smiled. "If you both are sure. Nicole, how are you feeling?" She asked. "Better. I just want to wash my face." She said with a smile. The two walked up to the house and Matt called out for Ricky after showing Nicole where the bathroom was. However, he couldn't find him and the two searched all over, but he wasn't there. The two came back down and approached Nancy and Harrison. "He's not up there. We looked all over."

Harrison nodded, wanting to believe her.  "Maybe it really bothers him that you're going to be living here." he said. He had extended the invite to Ricky to move in as well, but he didn't know what more he could do to make him feel okay with it. He rubbed her back. "I know. It's wouldn't be easy but if he is, then we need to do something before its too late." Harrison knew what it was like to rely on substances to escape from emotions over certain things. It had been easy to do when he was younger. He nodded when Matt and Nicole offered to check on Ricky. He knew that he was probably the last person he wanted to see and he may not respond favorably to Nancy right now either.  He guided Nancy to sit down near the fire while they waited. When they returned a moment later and said he wasn't there he frowned. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I'll go check. Maybe he just went into the basement or something" He knew his house better than anyone so he went to it and checked every room. He grabbed a flash light and looked around outside in his yard and where everyone had parked thinking that he may have just went outside to smoke or something. He returned back to the beach and let out a sigh when he approached Nancy shaking his head. "He's not there. I checked outside and everything. But his car is still here, and so is Huey. He could have gone into the woods." he said but knew that would mean there was a possibility he could be hurt if he had fallen or something. "Has anyone tried calling him?" he asked. "If he doesn't answer, we might have to start spreading out and looking."

She took a deep breath. "I think it does, but that's just one of the many things going on." Nancy didn't want him to think it was the only thing happening. She knew her son had been upset for a while now and anything could've added to that. She sat at the fire while Nicole and Matt went to look, but the second they came back and said he wasn't there, she stood and looked at them. "What do you mean?" She said and Harrison was quick to go up and look himself. She hoped that he would find him, but she did try calling Ricky while Harrison was gone. By the time the man got back, she had called a few times with no luck and Matt started calling too. "He's not answered any of us. What if he's hurt and fell somewhere?" Nancy said as she started panicking.

He put his hand on Nancy's shoulder knowing she was going to worry. "We'll find him. Don't worry. The neighbors houses aren't that far from here, so he couldn't have gotten far." he tried to assure her but it seemed very odd from him to have left without telling anyone. He wanted to believe there was a logical explanation. Maybe he had just gone out for some fresh air and wasn't far from the house, but if that wasn't the case than this was concerning. "If we don't find him, I guess we'll have to call the police." Harrison said.

"He could get lost or fall into the lake." Nancy said, worried about what had happened to her nephew. Nicole started trying to call Ricky as well as she started getting nervous and Matt took a deep breath. "I can start looking in the woods or something." He suggested and Nicole sighed. "I couldn't get ahold of him." Matt rubbed her arm. "Let me try again." He said while Nancy started walking around, calling out her son's name. Matt dialed Ricky again and let it ring.

Ricky wasn't sure how long ago it was that he had left the party. He had somehow found himself at a "better" party, or what he would consider better at the time. At least nobody there was angry or worried about him. He was at one of the night clubs down town, where he and his former dealer use to hang out before Ricky went to jail. It was a good way for him to score the drugs he so desperately needed right now. He didn't really care where he had to go as long as he got them. He also knew that going home tonight was out of the question. He'd sooner sleep on a park bench than go home to face his family when he was like this. He was considerably out of it when his phone went off and could barely hear it from all the noise. He had stepped outside to smoke and saw the missed calls from Nicole, his mom, and Matt. All people he just wanted to avoid right now. He definitely wasn't going to talk to them on the phone in the state he was in. He sent a text to Matt after letting his call go to voicemail. "Tell my mom to stop freaking out I just need some time alone. I'm hanging out with my real friends. I'm fine."  after he hit send, he turned it on silent and went back inside.

Matt was just about to tell Nancy that Ricky didn't answer once again, but his phone dinged and he looked to see a text from him. He didn't even respond back, knowing this wasn't Ricky who was talking to him, and he went over to Nancy. "He's okay." He said and she turned to look at him with panic in her eyes. "You talked to him?" She asked and Matt shook his head. "He texted me. He said he's hanging out with some friends. He didn't tell me where or anything, but he's okay." Well, as okay as he was going to be right now. Relief went over Nancy and she sat down by the fire. "Thanks, Matt." She said and just put her head in her hands for a moment.

Harrison let out a sigh when Matt told then he got a text from Ricky. He knew what it probably meant when Matt said he was with "friends" and he was sure Nancy did too. He put her hand on her back. "At least we know he's okay. He'll come home I'm sure." he tried to assure her. "Why don't you go back to your place and wait for him? I'll come over once the party dies down." He said knowing it had been an emotional night and she would probably rather be home.

Nancy took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay." She said and stood up before looking at Matt. "You want to come with?" She asked him, but he shook his head. "I'll make sure Nicole gets home okay since she's not feeling well. Maybe talk to her about what's going on." He suggested and she smiled at him. "Alright. I can pick you up later if you need." Nancy offered before kissing Harrison goodbye and heading home to Maple Hills to wait for Ricky to come home.

** TIME JUMP **

It was starting to get light out when Ricky woke up on some musky smelling mattress, but he had no idea what time or even what day it was. His stomach felt sick. His head felt groggy and yet awake at the same time. When he sat up the dizziness overcame him and he had to run to the bathroom and throw up. It took him a few minutes to realize that he was in a hotel. One of the cheap ones that had a bad reputation down town. There was evidence that his friends had been here, but no one else was in the room. There were empty liquor bottles, pills and powder all over the table. He couldn't seem to get his heart to calm down but his body felt like it needed more sleep. He glanced at his phone trying to focus. He had so many missed calls and texts from his mom, his sister, and Matt. Evidently he had been here for a day and it was 6am but he wasn't sure if this was accurate. He knew he had no car, but he was going to have to make his way home. If he didn't they were going to call the cops and have him put in jail again. That was exactly what they wanted, he reasoned. To lock him up again. He had screwed up big time this time, he was too much for them to handle. He saw some money next to the drugs on the table and took some of it. Just enough to get home. He was going to have to go there to pack, then he was going to have to get out of town before they locked him up again. He managed to get an uber ride. When the car arrived, the driver made him feel nervous, although he didn't really talk at all. His head kept darting around looking out the windows as he fidgeted and muttered to himself until he finally started to recognize his neighborhood. He paid the driver and went to his front door. He didn't even consider what he as going to do if someone was home. His hand felt around in the darkness and turned on the light switch before he went into the kitchen.

Nancy thought she was doing feeling like this. She thought she was done worrying about where her son was and what he was doing out there. She thought they were done with the drugs and Ricky was starting a new, better path. And yet, here they were again. She had barely slept and didn't go to the bar. She stayed by the phone in case there was a call and stayed at her house. She knew Matt had gone out looking for her son, but there was no such luck. Even Renee called around, but there was no word. She knew her son would come home eventually, she just didn't know when or in what state. She had gotten up when the sun did and left Harrison sleeping in the bed. She walked down the stairs and started making a pot of coffee when the light came on and she turned to see Ricky standing there. "Ricky." She said softly as she crossed the kitchen, pulling him into a hug for a moment before she moved back and looked at him. "Where the hell have you been? We've been looking for you." She eyed him up and down. "You look like shit. Still high or did you sleep it off?"

Ricky was not prepared to face his mom right now. His heart jumped when she appeared but it didn't come down and felt like it was going to fly out of his chest. He stared at her as she came to him and hugged him. "I was....I.." he stammered when she asked where he was. "I just needed to be alone for a while." he wasn't angry like he was when he left the party. He was just scared and confused more than anything. He frowned at her question not really sure the answer himself. He did feel like he was coming off of whatever he had taken but it was going to be a long time before it wore off. He was surprised he was still alive with how much he did. "What are you talking about? I'm not...I didn't do anything. I'm just tired, Mom." his hands were shaking as he reached for the back of a chair to steady himself. He sat down and then stood up again quickly, feeling uncomfortable being here. He took a deep breath. "Mom, I'm...I think I'm going to have to go away for a while. Or for good, I don't know. Like maybe I'll find a place out of the city or something. My own place.'" he tried to explain though his thoughts weren't making much sense even to him.

"But you weren't alone, were you?" She said and looked at him, but could never meet his eyes. She knew her worrying was for something and here it was. He was lying to her again. He was clearly on something and he could barely speak or keep straight thoughts. "Don't you lie to me." She said quietly, but sternly. "You took Matt's pills, you spent money that was supposed to be a date for you and Nicole on whatever it is you bought, and look at you now. You can't even stand straight, Ricky." She swallowed before shaking her head. "You're right. You are going to have to go away for a while, but don't you think it's to some apartment in whatever city to get high again." She grabbed the brochure off the counter and pressed it hard against his chest. It was for the rehab clinic in town. "You're going here."

Ricky couldn't make eye contact with her right now. This was probably the worst thing that could be happening right now. He had been so scared in the beginning that he was going to get caught. He kept telling himself if he only took a little bit, it would be fine. Nobody would notice. Now he was beyond the point of being able to hide it. "I was." he responded and shook his head when she started on her accusations. "No. No. I did not take Matt's pills, Mom." his voice was angry but he was trembling with panic. "Matt miscounted them and he blamed it on me. He's trying to get me in trouble. You're all trying to get me in trouble.." he muttered.  He ran his hand through his hair nervously. "I'll give you the money back. I needed it, but not for what you think." he went on. He finally looked at her growing more confused when she said he was going away and shoved something at him. He couldn't comprehend what the brochure was for. He shook his head quickly and threw the brochure down. "No! You...you're just trying to get rid of me. You just wanna send me away again, is that it? You want me locked up." tears welled in his eyes and he took a breath letting out a sob. "You just wanna send me away." he repeated burying his head in his hands.

She sighed as he talked, but she stayed calm. Yelling was not the way to do this. He was going to get upset, she knew that, but she needed to be firm and gentle while getting him to understand this was what he needed to do. "Matt didn't miscount, honey. We both know that. No one is getting you into trouble. You're not in trouble." Nancy's voice was soft and she looked at him. "What did you need it for?" She asked, trying to see if her son would tell her that, but she knew exactly what it was for. She watched as he looked at the brochure and then threw it down. "Ricky, if I was trying to send you away, I'd let the cops know what you did and get you arrested again. But that's what's going to happen if you don't go. Or worse, you could die." She had tears in her own eyes now and she reached out to touch his arm. "This isn't far away and I'll visit you every day that I can. This isn't going to be like it was when you were in jail. You just need to do this, baby. You need to get help."

Ricky shrugged when she asked what the money was for. "I just did. I just needed it. I don't have any money right now." he told her. Maybe that had been his intention, to ask for money so that he could patch things up with Nicole but that was ruined now. He didn't expect her to want to be with him now. If she saw him in the state he was in she probably wouldn't want anything to do with him, and he couldn't blame her. He tried to listen as she assured him that he wasn't going to jail. He continued to sob and shake his head unable to look at her. "No...no, I don't want to go away." he said. Her final words registered somehow in the part of his mind that was coming down from the high. The sober version of himself that had become lost for a while now. He nodded slowly. "I do. I need help." he took a breath and looked up at her, tears still falling down his face. "I don't wanna be like this anymore. I'm sorry."

"Tell me what it was for." She asked softly. She knew what it was for. She knew more than well, but she wanted him to say it. She wanted him to admit what was going on because she knew that was going to be the first part of this. It broke her heart as he sobbed and she wanted to hold him. She just needed him to realize this was for the best. "You won't be. You'll be in East Haven, okay? You'll have us all there supporting you." She said and watched him before he nodded. Relief filled her as he finally said he needed help. She wrapped him into a hug and held him close to her. "It's okay, honey. It'll be okay." She said and kissed his head softly. "We'll get through this."

Ricky knew that she knew the truth. She may not have known everything, but the way he had acted at the party the other night made it obvious. He didn't want to have to say it to her. He rubbed his hair and his face nervously, unable to look at her. "I...I've been... taking Xynax." he said in small voice. "I thought I needed it because I was depressed. And it just led to other things. Adderall, and coke." he let out a shaky breath feeling the remorse fall over him as he buried his head and cried. He found it hard right now to believe that anyone; Matt, Renee, Nicole, would offer their support. He didn't deserve it after the way he had lied to them and treated them. Especially Nicole. He broke down when she put her arms around him, sobbing and shaking for a while. When he caught his breath he was able to speak. "When...when do I have to go?" he asked her. He hated this. He hated that it had come down to this. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked at his mom. "Will you tell Nicole that I'm sorry? If you see her again. I doubt that I will."

She felt weak as he told her what he was taken. She hated that he was feeling depressed and didn't talk to her. She hated hearing it all. It took all her strength to stay standing. She needed to be strong for him. She held him close as he sobbed into her and she was glad that he saw he needed help. She looked into his eyes and touched his cheek, wiping some of his tears away. "We can go later, if you want. Let you shower, I can fix some breakfast, you can pack, maybe sleep. But you have to stay here, okay? I'll drive you myself." She said before taking a deep breath. "I'll tell her, but honey, that girl loves you. She's asked every day if you were home yet. You're going to be seeing her again, okay? And you can make amends then." She said and rubbed his shoulders. "Why don't you give me your phone and your keys and you go shower. I'll get breakfast ready."

Ricky looked at her with worried eyes. "Today?" he wasn't expecting it to be so soon. But he knew that if they put it off he might not go. He was scared, and not just because of the drugs. Tomorrow he would wake up in a new place full of strangers. He was scared that even if he went through with this it wasn't going to fix him. Jail hadn't even fixed him. It put a lump in his throat when she said that Nicole loved him. He didn't know how she possibly could after what he had put her through. "Okay.. Tell Matt I'm sorry, too." He might see Matt before he left, but he wanted to tell her just in case. He reached for his mom's hand as tears filled his eyes again. "And I'm sorry to you, Mom. I really am." he let out a breath. "I really screwed up this time." he said and shook his head. "I'm not hungry right now. But I'll shower, and sleep for a while." It might be the last time he had the opportunity to do these things in the peace of his own home for a while. He handed her his keys and his phone.

She sighed and nodded. "I think the sooner, the better." She said and touched his cheek. Nancy knew it'd be better for him to go soon, but granted him some time to rest after everything he just went through. "I'll tell him too." She promised him. Her heart broke as he took her hand and said his apologies to her as he cried. Tears built up in her eyes and she started crying as well. "It's  okay. I know you've been through a lot." She said and wiped his tears. "You're going to get better. I promise." She kissed his cheek. "Okay. If you change your mind, let me know." She said and took his phone and keys. "I love you, Ricky."

[jishithasenthil]

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[davalichemdry]

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Carpets can be one of the most unhygienic things in your home. They are a breeding ground for many disease-causing pathogens and should be cleaned regularly to keep them healthy and looking fresh.

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Leather Cleaning

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Flood Damage Penrith

Floodwaters continue to rise across NSW and parts of Western Sydney. Bulk water supply authority Seqwater warned people to avoid waterways and floodplains and urged those in affected areas to prepare for evacuations. The Poona Dam has started spilling, and the Leslie Harrison Dam on the Sunshine Coast is expected to follow suit soon.

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A fierce storm has ripped through Penrith, causing damage and a number of power outages. A Dan Murphy's store at Emu Plains is flooded and a roof has collapsed at the Penrith Village Shopping Centre. A number of trees have fallen on power lines in the Leonay and Deloraine areas.

[faofinn]

No. 10 POOR UNFORTUNATE SOULS

@whumptober

@whumptober-archive

Taser | Whipping | Waterboarding

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

He stalked out, wiping the blood from his knuckles, and let this waiting men have their way with him. They didn’t hold back, teasing and mocking him as they had their fun, punches and hits landing across his ribs, his chest, his face. Something to wear him down, get him more inclined to talk to the boss. 

Eventually, they got bored of beating him up. The blood lost its excitement pretty quickly, and with Harrison battered and on the verge of unconsciousness, he’d lost his thrill. He barely even grunted now. They left him for a while, keen to let him regain some rational thought before they had another go. He couldn’t talk if he was dead, or unconscious. 

After some discussion with the boss, they decided to try a more unorthodox approach. Everyone knew the Daniels’ men were hard to break just through physical means. They needed to go more psychological. 

Harrison was tired. The assaults hadn't stopped in what felt like hours, but he assumed it was more. His head felt like it was exploding, each rib grated with every shallow breath. He'd thrown up more than once, too, much to the amusement of the others around him. By the end of their fun, he barely had the energy to raise his head. His smartarse comments were toned down and scaled back, too worried that he'd let something slip that he shouldn't. 

When they came back nearly a full 12 hours later, they were laughing. Even Henri was with them, though he hung back and let them do the work. He was just here to watch, he had no intention of letting his suit get dirty. 

Harrison kept his head low, watching the gang enter. He did his best to seem unbothered by it all, but there was more than a little excitement in their attitude - and that worried him. 

They laughed as they shoved the chair to the floor, his head smacking off the floor of the cell. His quiet groan only made their laughter louder, taunts flying. 

From his position on the floor, his view of what was coming next was almost nonexistent. As the cloth was placed over his face, though, he knew exactly what was coming next. 

He could take pretty much anything. He'd endured days of prolonged torture, sleep deprivation, and starvation. But this? He couldn’t do it, and he knew he'd made his bed when he started fighting against his restraints.

Henri chuckled, stepping closer. “I think he’s scared, boys. Have we hit a nerve?” He purred. 

His chest heaved. "You fucking wish."

“Mm, I think I’m right.”

"I don't think you've ever been right."

“I was right about that blonde whore you all protect.” He said, circling him. He knew he couldn’t see, but he’d hear the clack of his shoes over the concrete. “Go on, boys. Let’s see who’s right.” He said, snapping his fingers. One of the men approached, and poured the water over his face. 

Harrison started coughing almost immediately, his fear getting the better of him. He writhed under their grasp, trying to get away. 

They enjoyed the coughing and the struggle, Harrison making it blatantly obvious this wasn’t something he could tolerate like the punches. Henri let them go on for a little longer before he raised his hand, and they stopped. 

“Are you going to talk to us now?”

He couldn't breathe, there was no chance of him being able to talk. He managed to clear his throat enough to gasp for air, tears already falling.

“Oh, look at the state of him already.” One of the men said. “Fucking crying.”

“Looks like I was right, then.” Henri said. “Are you going to talk? Or are you going to sit there crying like a baby?”

"Fuck you." He spat, trying to act braver than he felt. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He teased. “Go on boys, again. We’ll break him.”

"Best fuck you'd get." He retorted, twisting out the way.

“Hold him down.” Henri ordered, and two men moved forwards to pin him before a third poured the water over him again. 

His sarky response was cut short, suddenly choking again. He did his best to stay calm, to remember that this was just his job and he'd be able to get out of it. He'd been through enough before that it would just be added to the list. Or, at least, that's what he tried to convince himself. They didn't give up, and he couldn’t hold his breath forever. He didn’t have a choice but to try, immediately being met with water and more laughter as he choked.

“You can’t hold your breath forever, Carlos.” Henri goaded. 

It was as though all the blood had been drained from him. His fight, too, was gone, one simple word breaking through the barriers he'd made. 

“Oh, was it the personal touch? That name was hard to find, I’ll admit. You’re clever, but I’m persistent, and I’ll get what I want in the end.” Henri purred. “You’ll talk to us now.” He raised a hand and the water stopped again. 

Harrison didn't bother to retaliate, though his chest heaved as he tried to breathe. He wouldn't talk. He couldn't.

“No more sarcasm now, hmm? I almost miss it.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched tight. He owed it to the Daniels to not say anything, as much as he claimed to not have alliances. Henri couldn’t find out, especially not from him.

“Come on now, don’t be shy.” Henri said, moving to take the cloth from Harrison’s face. “Talk to me.”

"Fuck you." He managed, his voice trembling. 

Laughing, Henri rung the cloth out, letting the water drip onto Harrison’s face.

Harrison couldn't help it, flinching away from the droplets. He kept his face turned away from Henri, pralying he'd get bored of him soon.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Henri said, crouching beside him and digging his fingers into his chin to turn his head. 

"Get off." He grunted, jerking his head back. 

That earned him a slap. “Now, now, there’s no need to be rude.”

"You should take your own advice."

“And where’s the fun in that?”

"I'd be having more fun."

“You’re not enjoying this? A shame.”

"Your hospitality has been a bit crap."

“That’s rude.”

"Pretty much just like you then." He knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn't let them think he was rattled. 

“We’ll let you go if you just tell us what you know.”

"I don't know anything."

“Don’t lie to me.”

"I'm not."

Henri dropped the cloth, and snapped his fingers. “That’s alright, we’ll jog your memory.”

"Please." Harrison's voice broke. 

Henri grinned. “Oh, we’ll stop eventually.”

"You might as well kill me." His attempts to get free were pointless. "I'm not going to tell you shit."

“I’ve invested far too much time in you to kill you.” He said, moving away as the water was poured over Harrison yet again. 

Harrison fought against the men holding him, against the restraints. He bucked and writhed, but to no use. Henri was wrong, he was going to kill him. 

They poured the water for a long time, with no opportunity for Harrison to catch his breath. Henri could tell that somehow they’d hit a trigger, and he was going to make the very most of it. They’d push Harrison right to the very edge. 

When they finally removed the cloth from his face, he didn’t fight. He struggled to breathe, his vision only growing darker. He didn't have the energy to keep this up, and he knew that Henri was all too aware of it. 

One of the men looked over at Henri, who was enjoying the way Harrison’s chest heaved and he struggled to cling onto consciousness. “Boss, he doesn’t look too good…”

He tutted. “Again.”

“Boss?”

“I. Said. Again.”

[ourpretender]

oliver stalks, quiet and obscured, a near ghostly thing sinking into shadowed walls, key now pocketed with it's grateful use. he's breathing, sharp senses catching the hitch in his own throat, but the gentle lap of water echoes more vividly here. it mixes into the tiles, almost rhythmic against the humming bones of their estate. as they gather into place, their ribs bend with each heaving gulp of air, and oliver steels himself with the briefest meeting of eyes. (this is for you, he thinks. this is for us.) and then he's surging forward from behind, one fist clenched into harrison's hair, and the other wrestling a wrist southbound. "left arm!" oliver hisses with the instruction before tearing his focus into a needling point, tensing muscles forcing harrison underwater. the glass cracks under the pressure, shattering into the lines of his restrained hand, and the sharp pain of it is enough to trigger a scrambling mouthful. gritting, oliver counts down the seconds in his head. the thrashing slows with time, the push and pull of each struggling limb disjointed in pattern. and it takes a minute: a long, crashing minute, before harrison ceases to be. and it is quiet again.

Zachary felt the world tilt around them as Oliver’s eyes widened in surprise, the weight of his confession hanging between them like an unbroken breath. The moment was taut with the kind of stillness that only exists in the heartbeat before a storm, and in that space, Zachary’s vulnerability laid bare before his partner felt almost dizzying.

He held Oliver's gaze, every ounce of his resolve pooling into that singular look, a quiet but fervent plea to understand the gravity of what he had just said. His heart pounded rhythmically, in sync with the adrenaline coursing through them, each beat resounding with the unspoken promise of whatever lay ahead. The softness in Oliver's face, the way his thumb brushed against Zachary's cheek, made warmth flood through him, momentarily chasing away the cold shadows of self-doubt.

At the whisper of the confession reciprocated, Zachary felt an aching swell of relief and joy disconnecting from the chaos waiting beyond the door. Oliver leaned in, the fraction of an inch between them electric, and Zachary instinctively leaned forward, meeting him halfway. Their lips brushed together softly, sealing the weight of their admissions even against the backdrop of impending danger. It was a gesture so simple yet imbued with a gravity that lingered long after their touch broke.

"Right," he replied, fumbling momentarily in his pocket. "Here," he said, placing the key in Oliver's palm, the warmth lingering as their fingers brushed together.

Beyond the thick oak door lay their target, ensconced in a luxurious clawfoot tub filled with steaming water, its surface shimmering like a mirror under the flickering candlelight that surrounded it, while the figure leisurely cradled a crystal glass, the liquid inside catching the light and casting playful glimmers across the bathroom walls.

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Unusual Muse Associations

Thanks so much to @tkwritesdumbassassins for having tagged me in this lovely game! (I absolutely love these games, they truly make one's brain work and set all the cogs in motions! it was truly fun to do).

Because I couldn't choose just one muse among my beloved babies, I decided to go with four of them: Dorothea, Antoine, Mathias and Colette (because I do not talk enough about my Unity Babies. I need to show them more love).

So, without further ado, LET'S GO! (and brace yourself, because this is going to be a long one).

DOROTHEA MARIANNE STARRICK

SEASONING: Star Anise. Warm and sweet with a small kick of spicy that perfectly embodies who she is.

WEATHER: A wintery night, with the snow falling softly around her and the only sound around her is the snow crunching under her shoes or that of a winter serene morning, where the pink and golds of dawn paint those beautiful colours on freshly fallen snow.

COLOR: Burgundy, White and Golden. Those are her signature colours.

SKY: The sky during a wintery night, completely ablaze with the Northern Lights.

MAGICAL POWER: Ice and water manipulation. In a fantasy setting, I can see her being able to manipulate water (and consequently ice) because it’s the element that’s more attuned to her personality: calm and peaceful on the exterior, but dangerous if someone dares to tread where they should not.

HOUSE PLANT: Her vases of Poinsettia, that she keeps in her room.

WEAPON: Bullwhip. That’s her signature weapon.

SUBJECT: Music Class. She is proficient in playing the violin and she is currently being trained to become a opera Singer. If not these, her other subject would most definitely be Literature, with particular emphasis on the Arthurian Legends and Courtly Love in general.

SOCIAL MEDIA: Probably Pinterest or Instagram.

MAKEUP PRODUCT: Lipgloss, because that’s the only product she uses.

CANDY: Godiva Pralines…she just LOVES to indulge in a box of them, when sitting on her couch and reading about Lancelot and Guineviere.

FEAR: Due to her PTSD, she is most triggered around guns and loud noises. She is terrified of guns, which is why, if she is to carry a weapon, she carries a cold weapon.

ICE CUBE SHAPE: She particularly loves the one shaped like a snowflake.

METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL: Most definitely her family’s carriage. As much as trains are fast, she enjoys the leisurely pace of traveling to her countryside home in her own private carriage. Modern days, she would probably embrace her Swedish side and cycle everywhere!

ART STYLE: Watercolours, and very Art Nouveau. She possesses the same ethereal beauty of the beautiful ladies portrayed by Alfonse Mucha.

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Not truly a mythological creature, but the closest supernatural creature I can see Dorothea being is a Fallen Angel (like in the wip I did here. I have a whole story for that, where she was a warrior up in the Heavens and basically fought on the wrong side of a war and whatnot. Just so you know that’s not because of the whole “pure candid imagery usually associated with angels).

PIECE OF STATIONERY: A leather bound journal with stars branded into it, heavy weight blank pages and all the time to write down her poems and her wishes.

THREE EMOJIS: 🌟 🌹 🎼

CELESTIAL BODY: Stars. The Stars are her Celestial Body, the one most vividly associated with her due to the moniker her own mentor, Byron Harrison, uses for her: she is The Morning Star.

MATHIAS SÉBASTIAN DE BEAUMONT

SEASONING: Nutmeg: with its distinctive pungent fragrance and a warm slightly sweet taste

WEATHER: The early morning in Summer, when the sky is clear and the air is a cool balm against the skin, before the scorching sun raise from the horizon.

COLOR: Dark Green, Tawny and Cream

SKY: The sky at nightfall, with its darker hues, forbearer of the peace that the evening brings.

MAGICAL POWER: Flight. He would love to be able to fly as free as a bird up in the sky, without any limits, without any fear, touching the clouds and catching the stars that reminds him so much of the woman he loves.

HOUSE PLANT: Orchids. He revels in their beauty and always softly speak to the flowers, so that they would grow beautiful.

WEAPON: His Flintlock. He is a much better long-distance fighter than hand-to-hand, so he prefers the pistols and the rifles, compared to the swords and the hidden blades.

SUBJECT: Literature and History class. The man has the romantic soul of a poet (if they didn’t belong to different realities, he and Gabriel would be besties).

SOCIAL MEDIA: Most likely he would be on Quora, answering questions about Literature and History.

MAKEUP PRODUCT: Doesn’t truly wear any, but he has always happily complied whenever Colette needed a “blank canvas” in order to train her make-up skills.

CANDY: He is not big on candies, but he happens to love Ferrero Rocher. They are SO GOOD.

FEAR: Fire. Due to what happened to him in the past, he is absolutely terrorized by fire. Even in wintertime, he’d rather sleep under a whole pile of heavy blankets than have the fire going in the fireplace.

ICE CUBE SHAPE: A simple cube would suffice for him.

METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL: Horse. He and his twin sister Antoine have been around their family’s horses ever since they were children, and he very much prefers to gallop away rather than travel by carriage.

ART STYLE: Mathias’ art style would definitely be inspired by the Impressionist movement, with particular reference to Monét’s works, especially his Water Lilies paintings.

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Gargoyle. He is a guy who has fundamentally a good heart and that strives to protect those who have a good soul.

PIECE OF STATIONERY: Mathias loves to collect correspondence sets, with coordinated envelopes and letters. He also has an impressive collection of sets of sealing wax stamps.

THREE EMOJIS: 💔 🪶 📖

CELESTIAL BODY: Neptune is most definitely the Celestial Body associated with him.

ANTOINE FRANÇOISE DE BEAUMONT

SEASONING: Black Pepper. With its strong woody and spicy aroma, it’s the perfect spice for Antoine: strong and unforgiving, just like her.

WEATHER: A Fiery stormy evening, with pouring rain and thundering clouds, with flashes that illuminates the whole sky and thunders that reverberates through her whole body.

COLOR: Olive green, black, red, and tawny

SKY: She loves it when a mid-afternoon sky is completely covered in dark, heavy clouds, that are carrying their promise of a fiery thunderstorm. She loves to be under the pouring water.

MAGICAL POWER: Manipulation of Magnetic fields. She would be able to create powerful shields to protect the one she loves the most, keeping at bay anything that might cause them harm.

HOUSE PLANT: She had a ficus once, gift of Mathias. It’s now long dried up.

WEAPON: Her small sword. She is an EXCELLENT sword master, and she is lethal with a sword in her hands.

SUBJECT: Military Strategy and tactics. Antoine is one hell of tactician and she has the spirit of a warrior. She has a particular interest in Medieval Warfare tactics. She also enjoys to attend Cooking Classes with Colette, BUT SHE WOULD NEVER ADMIT IT UNDER TORTURE, and if asked, she would say that she is attending them to make her baby sister happy (yeah, Antoine is my emotionally constipated poor meow meow of an oc).

SOCIAL MEDIA: She doesn’t like to be on any social media. If she had to choose one, it would be Quora, just to mess with Mathias and ask him impossible questions to be answered.

MAKEUP PRODUCT: She doesn’t wear any make-up, so she doesn’t have a favorite.

CANDY: 90% Dark Chocolate with chili. Dark and fiery just like her soul.

FEAR: To not be able to protect her brother Mathias and her baby sister Colette. The idea that both of them could, in any way, being hurt by something or someone makes her go in an absolute frenzy. They are the only family she has left, and she is terrified of losing them.

ICE CUBE SHAPE: No ice. She doesn’t like watered down drinks.

METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL: Horse. That’s the only way for her to travel long distances. A carriage is too slow, and by foot is something she would never consider. So, the only way for her to travel is by her trusted horse.

ART STYLE: The style that best represents Antoine is the Baroque, with its rich, dramatic, exaggerated motions and clear and easily interpretable details because, in a way, they reminded her of Versailles and her childhood home.

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: if she were to be a Mythological creature, she would be a fiery Dragon: imposing, fearsome, absolutely terrifying and extremely protective of what she considers hers, be it an object or a person. She would be an excellent guardian.

PIECE OF STATIONERY: A fancy fountain pen with her initials engraved to it. She usually is not one that goes for fancy objects, but pens are her weakness (especially the one that can become small blades. One can never have too many weapons).

THREE EMOJIS: ⚜️ 🗡 🐺

CELESTIAL BODY: Jupiter, the Planet of Storms and king of the whole Solar System.

COLETTE HÉLÈNE DE BEAUMONT

SEASONING: Cinnamon. Its warmth and slight spiciness truly embodies her.

WEATHER: The breezy, warm early summer evenings spent at the seaside, with the balmy winds caressing the skin.

COLOR: Deep Blue, Crimson Red and Pale Yellow.

SKY: The Beautiful serene sky of midmorning, with the sun shining bright and not a cloud in sight.

MAGICAL POWER: Healing. With her knowledge of the herbs and her natural disposition of taking care of the people around her, Colette would most definitely possess the power of healing any type of injury or malaise with the single touch of her hands.

HOUSE PLANT: Pots upon Pots of Fairy Primroses, because they remind her of her best friend Félicité.

WEAPON: A hidden stilettos she always carries with herself, concealed. It was a gift from her sister Antoine, so that she could always have something to defend herself with.

SUBJECT: Cooking Classes, because she adores cooking and she takes her works at Café Théâtre seriously. Also, Dance and Singing Classes, because she adores dancing, and she has been doing so ever since she was a young child, thanks to Mathias’s teachings. She also has a pleasant smoky voice when singing.

SOCIAL MEDIA: Youtube and Instagram.

MAKEUP PRODUCT: Her signature red lipstick and her eyeliner, that helps bring out her lovely cat-like eyes.

CANDY: Colette’s favourite candies are, in truth, the one called Calissons D’Aix, a type of sweet pastry typical of Provence. They are the one her maternal grandmother prepared for her and her siblings whenever they went in Provence, and they hold a special place in her heart. Plus, they are delicious and she could eat boxes upon boxes of them.

FEAR: Colette doesn’t have many fears, but one is fear of complete darkness. She is absolutely terrified to be alone in complete darkness, without even the faint glint of a candle to illuminate her surrounding. This fear was caused by something that happened to her when she was just a child of 13 years of age.

ICE CUBE SHAPE: She loves those heart-shaped ice cube in her drinks.

METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL: Walking. Sure, it takes so much longer to arrive to her destination, but she hates the idea of being closed in a carriage with someone she doesn’t know or trust, and she doesn’t like riding horses (the only exception would be if she was on the same horse with her eldest brother or sister.)

ART STYLE: Noe-Classical oil paintings are most definitely her artstyle. She looks just like one of those lovely shepherdess out of those bucolic paintings.

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: A Sphynx. Colette is an enigmatic creature, mysterious despite her solar personality, not easy to understand at first sight unless she is the one allowing you to grasp what she wants. It all adds to her natural charm and cryptic smile.

PIECE OF STATIONERY: She loves the inkpot and the quill that Arno has given her, in order for them to keep in contact and write to each other. She keeps the quill in perfect condition, hardly using it, instead borrowing her sister’s, so to not consume that sweet gift she got from the man she loves.

THREE EMOJIS: 🌻 🍝 💃🏽

CELESTIAL BODY: Colette’s celestial body would most definitely be the planet Venus.

--Nemo

So, here you have it!!

Now, lemme tag all my dear friends in this (I apologize if I forget someone. My brain is made of cheese with so many holes, it's made mostly of air).

@giuliettaluce @susann-noir @thatcrazycrowgirl @siofra3448 @straight-into-the-animus @mazikomo @fortunas-fool @miss--river @xxthefatherofunderstandingxx @benedorian @rumibelle @rumor-imbris @ellztrash @anemoii-a @pxiedustnblades @sassenach-on-the-rocks @hidden-blades-and-tomahawks @scuderia-auditore-ghibli and whoever has an oc/muse/characters they love and want to play this game! everyone is welcome!

[hareharrison]

hold me

pairing: george harrison x reader

summary: george is in the process of finishing abbey road, and has been repeatedly coming home frustrated. instead of talking to you about it, he distances himself completely, and only speaks to you in annoyance or anger, and lashes out on you. he doesn’t know how much it affects you and one day comes home to the effects firsthand.

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, angy geo, neurodivergent reader, invasive thoughts, mental breakdown/panic attack, but it works out in the end

a/n: hayyyy ok so i wrote this as a comfort fic for myself, and i decided to post it cause why not. i struggle with intense fear of abandonment cause of bpd haha fun 😐and wanted to make it from the POV of a neurodivergent reader?? so this is like a comfort fic for ND readers?? idk if i need to put any other potential trigger warnings for this but if i do please lmk and i will fix it

year: 1969

the flat was quiet without him. to be honest, it was quiet with or without him, lately. as much as you didn’t want to admit it, george had been distant. he was always a quiet person, but he has never dismissed you this much. you knew that his job could be tiring and you tried not to overthink it, but you couldn’t help but feel bad. a voice in your head was planting horrible ideas, saying things like, “you fucked up, he doesn’t like you anymore, you’re annoying.” but still, you pushed on and tried your best to ignore the noise in your brain.

you sigh heavily and slide back into the couch. you had the next two days off of work, and nothing to do. george of course had to work on your days off, which left you alone at home. with your thoughts. it was hard getting through today, your intrusive thoughts were particularly loud... but he would be home any minute now, which brought on a bit of hope; seeing him should rid you of your own jailhoused mind.

the tv played some sitcom in front of you, which you had no interest in. all you could think about was if you ruined things. what if he was thinking of leaving you? it would be your fault... and yet you couldn’t think of a single thing you’ve ever done that might have hurt him.

the door opened gently and let in a cool draft that brushed against your warm skin. you look toward the entrance, seeing your george sigh heavily with exhaustion as he took his shoes and coat off. he looked up to you, his boldly furrowed brows softening.

“hi, love,” he says, walking toward you. you stand and approach him to greet him with a quick kiss. he holds you for a little longer than usual, and you take the opportunity to melt into his arms and breathe in his smell, something you’d been deprived of recently. he rests his chin on top of your head, which laid comfortably on his rising chest. it was moments like this that made all your worries slip away, moments like this that you wished you could cling onto forever and ever.

“how was your day?” you ask, finally leaning back to look up at him. he lets go of you and runs a hand through his long hair.

“not good,” he says, a frown on his perfectly sculpted face. you return his expression at the sight of him being sad. quickly, you remember your dinner ideas. maybe that would cheer him up.

“hey, maybe we can go get something to eat? maybe get your mind off of things?” you suggest, looking up at his brown eyes. he looks down at you, eyes full of regret.

“i’m sorry love, but i’d rather just head to bed already,” he says remorsefully. you smile softly and reassure him that it’s okay and he should get some rest. but part of you breaks inside, knowing he doesn’t want to spend time with you.

he headed upstairs and you followed, the painful ideas returning at full speed.

“you’re so annoying, of course he doesn’t want to spend any time with you. you’re so annoying and clingy,” your brain says and you flinch at the harsh thoughts. through your entire bedtime routine, thoughts flooded your mind and filled your entire being up, and you felt like you were being drowned from the inside out. george stood next to you as you both brushed your teeth, not speaking a single word to you or giving you a single glance. you changed into one of george’s t-shirts and watched as he slid out of his clothes and into his pajamas in seconds. he muttered a monotone, “good night,” before turning on his side, his back facting you.

as much as you didn’t want to, you believed the mean voices and hung your head as you got into bed next to george.

you slept back to back that night.

————————————————————

the sun seeped into your room through your windows, and invaded your bed, waking you rather unpleasantly. you groan lightly as you reached over your bed for george, but only found empty space. his side of the bed was cold, indicating that he’d been up for a while now.

you sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes as the aromas of freshly brewed coffee and morning dew hit your senses. you hear the song of the early birds chirping as your feet hit the cool floor. as you head downstairs, you can hear george on the phone, and you soon see him muttering softly before taking a long drag from his cigarette. you don’t bother him, seeing that there was paperwork on the table and his call must be business related. naturally, you decide to head for the coffee, the smell luring you in like a fish.

you poured the hot, dark liquid into your favorite mug and add in your preferred amounts of cream and sugar. looking out the window, you see water drip gently from the leaves of a tree that george and you had planted a year ago. you sip your coffee and reminisce about the times you used to actually spend time with george. how nice it was, seeing him smile so often.

you suddenly hear george raise his voice at the phone, something unlike him entirely. you jump at the unpleasant sound before peeking through the hallway to see what on earth was happening.

“no, i don’t care! i want the bloody bastard fired, in fact, tell him not to bother showing up today,” he shouts into the phone before slamming it down, placing his head between his knees and groaning in frustration. seeing george this upset and acting out on it was truly a rare sighting, and you thought carefully about what to next.

after careful consideration, you tiptoe into the room and gently rest a hand on his shoulder, the sudden contact making him flinch.

“christ, (y/n) are you trying to give me a bloody heart attack?” he grumbles before lighting another cigarette.

“sorry,” you say softly, “would you like some tea?” you figure it could calm his anger and soothe some of his abnormal irritability.

“what? tea? there’s already coffee made,” he says rudely. you take a step back, saying nothing. you know that you didn’t do anything and that this behavior would pass. george was never like this. your eyes find the time and see that george should have left ten minutes ago.

“george, you’re gonna be late to work,” you say, thinking you could at least do something helpful. his head snaps back at you and his once soft face turned hard with anger.

“what are you implying? you want me gone?” he stands up and angrily grabs all of the papers scattered on the table, shoving them into a folder and the folder into his bag, “fine, i’ll leave. im out the door.”

you look at him in confusion, you’d barely woken up and were just trying to help, “what’s the matter with you?”

“what’s the matter with me,” he repeats, looking away and scoffing. he runs his hand through his hair in frustration, “im sick of this, (y/n)! im sick of life. i come home exhausted and you have half a mind to ask me if i want to talk about it!”

“you always want to go straight to bed,” you defend yourself, hurt that he would even suggest that you don’t care about him. his dark eyes glare into your own for a moment that feels like hours, trying to think of somethig clever to say in response, but he just wasn’t ever much of a fighter. he finally chooses to put his cigarette out on the table’s ashtray and grab his coat. if you wanted him out of the house, he was more than happy to comply.

“george-“ you start.

“no,” he cuts you off, “don’t say anything right now, i can’t even look at you.” and he doesn’t, he ignores your presence entirely as he picks up his bag and walks out the door.

you’re left in the cold house, alone, hurt, and dumbfounded. you couldn’t believe what had just happened. you couldn’t believe that george, your george, had taken his anger out on you, simply for trying to help his morning be less shitty. worse than that, he thought you wanted him gone, when all you wanted was to be with him. is this how it was going to be now? a bitter, loveless relationship? your eyes sting with fresh tears at the thought, and a huge lump in your throat grows painfully. you take a deep breath before heading upstairs. you wanted anything but to cry this early in the morning, and the only reason you got up somewhat early was to see george before he left to work. now that your morning was ruined, you figured heading back to bed was the next best thing.

you climb back into your shared bed, suppressing your emotions with the warmth of your fluffy blankets and soft pillows. the comfort of a bed felt almost like a hug, and you sighed, letting the pain drift away as you fell asleep.

————————————————————

when you opened your eyes, the realization hit you. you’d slept until the sun began to set, completely ignoring your emotions, stuffing them down inside of you like an overflowing trash can. being awake made them fling right back at you; sleeping didn’t change a thing, and was only a temporary pause in your pain.

all of your feelings came back to you at once, and it once again felt like you were drowning internally. only this time, the thoughts weren’t the invasive factor. your emotions were overwhelmingly intense on top of your brain practically screaming horrible things to you. your breathing quickens as you feel tears slide down your face. this time you werent able to swallow the thick lump in your throat, and you began to weep softly.

this was it, george was leaving you. he hates you, he wants nothing to do with you. there was nothing you could do but hug your knees and cry. you choked on a sob and started rocking back and forth in attempts to try to soothe yourself. but you couldn’t stop, it felt like your entire world was falling apart. you soon began to have shortness of breath and struggled with your breathing, feeling your heart beat at an intense rate that you couldn’t control.

your bedroom door opens, revealing george’s early arrival. he immediately rushes to your side, afraid to touch you but wanting so bad to comfort you.

“(y/n)? (y/n), breathe. breathe, baby,” he takes your hand and you look at him. you aren’t sure if him being here is making the situation better or worse. seeing him try to help you stirred all kinds of feelings in your mind. you felt like you weren’t good enough for him, like you didn’t deserve his help.

george begins breathing in through his nose and out of his mouth, gently guiding you and hoping you will try to do the same. he sits in front of you on the bed and holds your face in his gentle hands. you look up into his eyes, the chocolate features of his face soothing you as your breath began to steady.

“that’s it,” he encourages.

“do you hate me?” you cry softly.

“what? no, (y/n), i’d give my life for yours, do you know that? you’re so, very special to me,” he slides over to sit beside you on the bed and wraps his long arms around you.

“why are you so distant?” you look up at him, and tears continue to roll down your flushed cheeks, “you acted so mean to me this morning, i feel like you want nothing to do with me.”

george is hurt by your words. he truly didn’t mean to be distant, and he never wanted to hurt you.

“i’m sorry,” he says, “ive been so overwhelmed i haven’t stopped to think of how you must feel. im really sorry my love i never meant to hurt you like this.” he embraces you tightly and you give into his comforting touch, wrapping your arms around his torso and digging your face into his chest. 

you take a deep breath, “i understand,” you say before looking up to him to whisper, “i miss you. i miss us.”

“i miss you too darling,” he pauses for a moment, “how about i take tomorrow off? we can do whatever you’d like.”

you sniffle, “what about the album? the deadline?” 

“i can fake sick. nothing is more important to me than you,” he says, “i want nothing more than to be with you. i love you so much.”

you smile when he presses a soft kiss to your aching head, “now how about we go have something to eat? i’m starved.”

[theromandaniels]

"Body wash is the third thing, you nimwit." He could sound how much more British he was appearing to Toni, but couldn't quite help it. Roman never really had his own identity; his early years were spent mimicing every aspect of McCartney, and then on top of that making a conscious effort to be the complete opposite of the typical Chelsea rich kid.

When he moved to Blue Harbor for university, he honed in on the whole Britishness of it all, to stand out and be someone interesting. Whether it was to ultimately impress Harrison, well, that was a whole overtrain of thought he wasn't willing to ride.

"Oh they'd love that, the fucking townies here. Waiting to see me fuck up and destroy their precious little music shop." He stepped back from the counter as Toni leaned against it, needing the physical distance. Personal space was extremely important to Roman, after all. "Are there better ways?" Though frowned at how...existential it sounded. Perhaps the question was too heavy, too reliant on other hypotheticals that didn't revolve around insurance fraud.

Clearing his throat, Roman merely hummed noncommittally at the distasteful joke, though it didn't trigger alarm bells, or occured to him that maybe it should have. After all, it was something he would have — and had — said to Ophelia more times than he could count. He often figured, back in the day, he and Toni were cut from the same cloth, getting on fine and dandy in the privacy of their shared apartment. However, there was something about the other man who got on so easily with Harrison and Eli it always gave Roman pause to try and be too friendly in the group space. Or even out of their home. That their tentative friendship could only hold up within the four paper-thin walls of BHU student accomodation. Of course, things had changed so much since then...

"We're near a large body of water, if nothing ends up, uh, giving." He joked back, though it was a fleeting thought that passed through his mind more than once, and certainly not in a humorous way. "So, back to Blue Harbor, huh? I suppose I'm not one to talk, though I do have my annoying sister and a fugly McMansion she insisted we buy together to blame me for being here." After a beat, he managed a small smile. "It's good to see you, mate. Truly."

Fingers tapping the counter thoughtfully now, Antonio can’t help but shrug at his question about the fourth element of the shampoo. “Who the fuck knows? It’s not like we actually use it,” he grins crookedly. “Body wash?” There’s something about Roman’s reaction to his words that make Toni believe he may have triggered an unpleasant sort of sore spot — he figures it’s probably the mention of the band, in all his casual facade. He forgets, sometimes, Rome’s chosen way of grieving. Of moving on. It’s fair, of course, but also hard to navigate when most of their friendship, most of their adult lives, at that, revolved so heavily around that something Roman is trying so hard to ignore ever existed. It’s even more difficult, Toni theorizes, when he’s this drunk and this high.

It’s the only way to keep being who Kaya and Roman knew, once upon a time. Elijah, too, though Antonio tries not to spare him any thought. There’s only so much baggage he can keep stuffed and suffocated at once. Sober, he imagines this conversation wouldn’t have happened at all — his bed a much more enticing alternative to pretending.

Good thing he’s not, then. Sober, that is. Mostly ever.

“Oh, you’ve gotta have the fireworks,” he nods, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Outside, I would hope. Unless you’re trying to burn this place down for the insurance money,” he quips. “In which case, c’mon. There are better ways.” He leans back from the counter at Roman’s question, both hands now grasping the edge a little too tightly. The hum that emanates from his throat is less thoughtful and more hesitant, unsure how he can explain that he’s here to stay without sounding absolutely insane for it. He figures there’s really no way to avoid the stupidity of the move; it’s not like Rome, of all people, wouldn’t understand. Clearly. 

So he exhales a deep sigh and says, “‘Till something kills me or I kill myself, I guess.” His tone is laced with some humor, but the underlying sentiment is clear: he’s here to find an end to whatever fucked-up vortex he’s been cycling through for years now. No better way to find an end than to go back to where it all began. “Got a house,” he tilts his head. “I figure something’s gotta give here, right?” He doesn’t elaborate, but hopes Rome can understand what he’s trying to say. Something’s gotta give. Something’s gotta end. Something’s gotta fix him, surely. He’s fucked up and lonely and lost, he’s only ever experienced love in agony, he’s slept with more people than are registered voters, probably, and at the end of the day, when he comes down from the carefully manufactured person he’s made of himself through copious intoxication, there’s just — nothing. He’s just nothing.

[elfwoodfae]

Writing’s On The Wall

Harrison Eo Wells x Reader

Chapter 3- A View To A Kill

I made the moodboard, I edited and found the photos. I don’t mind if you use it as long as you tag me.

Rain drops fall through the sky, the subtle noise filling the silence consuming the house. Suspicion grows within him, when the door opens his eyes travel the expanse of the entrance, the moonlight coming through the skylight seem to be the main source of light as all the other ones are dimmed low, setting a soft ambience, reflecting that of romance. He wheels himself further inside, his eyebrows furrow in curiosity, he doesn’t see you anywhere around, making him wonder why you would be out this late at night.

The deaf silence is interrupted by the faint sound of water running, it’s almost imperceptible but he hears it over the rain. This is his chance to stretch his legs, to burn some of the speed cursing through his veins begging to be released. As he walks up to the decanter on the kitchen island with a drink in mind, his eyes catch the door at the end of the hallway, the one that leads to your room. The need to roll his eyes at himself feels to strong to resist, making him puff out a breath of frustration that seems to appear every time your presence grazes his mind. He walks up to the counter, grabbing the first glass he sees and serving the liquor into it, inhaling the scent before bringing the rim to his lips. His mind races against his will and suddenly the sound of the running water seems to loud and too important. He rolls his eyes, already knowing where this is going before the thought is born.

His eyes find the door again, trying to burn through it, taking an innocent peak inside. He knows himself, it wouldn’t be innocent and it wouldn’t be a peak. He clears his throat, trying to calm his suddenly raising pulse at the simple idea of what lays behind, the indecisive nature of curiosity burning him from the inside out, making him take a split second decision before he can change his mind. Mounting a stance his feet move at their own accord, he feels the crack of electricity as he speeds himself past the door. Once inside he looks around, he hasn’t been here since you started occupying it, not that he would visit it very often but somehow he noticed the details that weren’t there before, just as he notices the discarded clothes laying around, he hears movement coming from the other side of the bathroom door, his eyes snap against the wood as he walks in its direction, his hand grazing the end of the bed, his fingers tangling in a black garment, his eyes momentarily examine it before his hand brings it to his nose against all of his will, as if moving on their own as a way of punishing him, his nostrils filling with the scent of your perfume, one he wishes he could hate as much as he hates you, but instead it weakens him, catching himself a second before a moan can escape his mouth.

He throws the piece of clothing back to the bed before closing the distance to the door, his fingertips caressing the wood as he touches his forehead against it, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath before committing to the torment it will bring him, as if he was a dead man walking, ready to enter the execution chamber. He phases himself, slotting his body in perfect symmetry with the wall, hiding himself perfectly from your view. His eyes land on the fogged glass door hiding you from him, he can still make out the shape of your body, the contour of your curves and the color of your skin. His breath hitches involuntarily the moment your body faces him, he sees your hands, traveling up your leg, moving closer and closer to the inside of your thigh and he looks away before he can see it reach its destination, feeling as if he may never recover from something like that. Ire fills him once again as the air becomes tense around him, his hands fisting at his sides, fury consumes him at the realization that he doesn’t have any control over his body, he can’t control the reaction you bring out of him. Everything he is, everything he has, has been taken by you and the thought alone makes him see red.

He leaves the room before he looses all of the sanity he has left, speeding to the living room he grabs the armrest of his chair, speeding it with him inside of his room, where he can lock the door and breath for the first times since he entered the bathroom. He whips around, and in two long strides he is standing in front of his bed, his hand wraps around the back of his neck, as his eyes close and his breathing quickens. He can’t, he can’t do this for much longer, he will break or he will break you, the thought of which could happen first tearing him down a little more, he is terrified for the first time in a long time at how easily he is loosing control.

His fingers trail down his neck, the room suddenly feels too hot, his finger hooks on the edge of the collar before pulling it, allowing some air to travel down his chest, he can feel the heat rising, the warmth taking over and the temptation to calm himself down feels the same way water would feel if he had been deserted in the sun for years. Only two more days before he can rid himself of you, he reminds himself. He drops the collar of his sweater back down, the movement allowing the trapped poison of your perfume to invade his nostrils, intoxicating him, only adding kindle to the fire in his pants while the thought of how it would smell on your skin runs through his mind, how would his nose feel running up and down the curve your neck, inhaling you in, as his lips would follow close behind, feeling the warmth of it.

He snaps his eyes open, walking to the bathroom in a hurried step, opening the faucet and splashing some cold water onto his neck and face, he needs to calm down. He is a man, not a teenage boy with a crush who he pretends to hate to gain the affection of. He doesn’t have time for distractions such as lust. Taking in a deep breath to stabilize his nerves, he looks at the reflection in the mirror, a habit he seems to be acquiring, he need to remind himself who he is. After a couple of minutes he leaves his room, wheeling himself into the kitchen, hoping to settle into some resemblance of normality that he so desperately craves.

Your voice breaks the quietness of the place, echoing off the marble countertops, Harrison’s name sounds so foreign in your mouth as you greet him, uttering words he doesn’t care to listen to. He offers you some generic answer while his eyes scan the area surrounding you, a movement you seem to catch on.

“I thought I could make us both dinner, as a thank you for your kindness.” He can’t tell if you are being sarcastic or idiotic but he doesn’t care for either, he doesn’t want to have dinner with you, but he knows there’s a façade to maintain and he can’t blow it all simply because he hates you.

“There’s no need to bother,” he begins to say before you interrupt him, making him purse his lips in a tight line.

“No, no I insist is the least I could do.” You persist and at this point he prefers to humor you.

“Fine, thank you.” He says, gesturing with his hand while his lips offer you the resemblance of a smile.

He notices the way you look through the cabinets, how some things are out of your reach and worry fills him at the thought that you may wonder how he reaches them himself. The thought never crosses your mind, he sees you going about, too busy in your own head to notice the way his eyes linger on your form, on the curve of your back, the nape of your neck. The silence feels asphyxiating, the air is too thick to breathe. Clearing his throat he moves his eyes away from you, waiting to see if he can get your attention.

“Would you mind if I play on some music?” He asks nonchalant, trying to pretend to be pleased and content, which he is failing massively at, to care for your opinion.

“Not at all, go ahead.” Comes your easy reply, your eyes never connecting with his as your hands are too busy moving things around.

The melody begins to play through the house speakers as he taps the tablet attached to his chair, he notices the way your head snaps up and moves in his direction as the classical strings of a violin begin to play.

“I thought you hated classical music, I don’t remember ever seeing you listening to it.” You comment, the accusation innocent in nature, almost as a curious observation, but it only triggers a fight response in him, a wild animal injured and defensive.

“Well it seems you don’t know me at all.” Comes his response, a pretentious smile playing on his lips as the proudness of finally having send a blow your way fills him.

“Yeah… I guess it has been a long time.” Your quiet reply finds his ears and suddenly his short lived victory doesn’t feel as sweet as he expected it to.

A quiet silence falls over you both, the only sound that can be heard is the quiet hum of the food, the soft smell of ingredients lingering in the air. His eyes move about the room, trying to stop themselves from lingering in you too much as the images of your body flashes through his mind, he feels the shadow of excitement beginning to grow on him and he needs to take control of it before it drags him through the roads of hell.

The food is served, in any other circumstances he would have enjoyed it, probably even commented on the preparation, but the most he can muster is a thank you, followed by it looks delicious. He plays around with his fork before bringing some to his mouth, he sees the way your fingers awkwardly move over the table, flickering softly over the surface as you look anywhere but him. Finally some courage seems to fill you as the question that had been nagging you all day comes out to the light.

“I was wondering,” you begin, catching his attention which makes him look at you through the top of his glasses. His face remains calm, neutral, not giving away any detail as to how he may be feeling.

“I noticed there’s no pictures of you, or Tess anywhere.” You complete the sentence, spitting it out, resembling a scare deer about to be hit by a truck, with fear and uncertainty.

He needs to think of his answer for a moment, knowing he had never prepared one since there was no one who was supposed to ever see this far into the house.

“I,” he begins, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes in what may seem like pain at the memories but in reality is frustration and hate waiting to explode out and scream.

“I can’t bear to look at them, to look at her everyday,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, putting on that performance he knows you will buy, the act of the pained husband, suffering everyday for the loss of his life.

“I can’t look at her everyday and know I will never have her back.” He says, pretending to choke on his voice. Your eyes soften, sudden guilt penetrates you at your indiscretion. Of course he would miss her, he loved her, the words of Christina echos through your mind, how she mention she didn’t even see pain on his eyes in the funeral, but this, right here shows you how much he hurts, how pained he his just at the memory of her.

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” You hurriedly say, trying to soften the blow.

“No it’s okay.” He wipes his hands across his eyes, pretending to dry the imaginary tears threatening to escape. He will do anything to sell you his act.

“Which reminds me, I have something to show you.” You excitedly exclaim, getting up from the table without even acknowledging him or excusing yourself, how inconsiderate of you. Even though he knows he is being a brat himself.

He hears your footsteps approaching the dining room, hurried steps as you approach him, holding something in your hand.

“I found it at home while doing some cleaning.” He sees the way your eyes shine with emotion as you offer him the item, kneeling down next to him as your eyes look up at his face, waiting for his reaction; it seems to be some kind of tacky bracelet, it’s silver, with a four leaf clover. What kind of bracelet is this? He wonders, knowing he could never have such a bad taste to pick something so horrendous.

“It’s… nice,” he looks at it, pretending to be interested he grabs it from your hands, your fingers brushing momentarily and he has to hold back the flicker of speed he feels forming at the contact.

“You don’t remember this?” He hears the disappointment in your voice, he is walking on eggshells here.

“You gave it to me, you brought it back for me, from your honeymoon with Tess.” You explain, and he feels the shakiness that has taken over your voice.

“Yes, you are right, forgive me, my memory seems… to trick me.” He is trying to save the situation but he doubts you will be satisfied.

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” You tell him in a hurry, taking the bracelet out of his fingers.

“I will retire for the night.” You continue as you walk over to your plate, taking it and moving it to the kitchen, he notices the way your demeanor changes, how you seem almost saddened that he doesn’t remember it, and instead of bringing him joy, it only annoys him further and not for the reason he wishes it did.

“Good night.” He nods, as his eyes follow your form as you sprint to your room. He sights, removing his glasses for good and throwing them on the table, he is fucking up big time, he is loosing focus and he is two steps behind in this checkmate, he is aware he is the one that made the mistake second to last.

@twilightlover2007

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