#i don't care if it was telly in spots

[koolkat9]

I finally got to watch the Barbie Movie. And all I got to say is watch it. Is it perfect? No. But what is?

[silverb0wties]

Lemonade - Part 1

Lemonade || leah williamson x alessia russo x child!reader

Summary: When something bad happens to your Mummy and Daddy, you end up living with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah.  But is there room for you considering they have a new baby on the way?

Chapter Warnings: death, pregnancy, mentions of stillbirth, house fire, hospitals & doctors

a/n: In this universe Alessia has a fictional older sister

~ I originally posted this a while ago but took it down because I received a bunch of hate for it. A few very nice people have encouraged me to put it back up, so I will see how I go. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but if you don't like this, please just scroll by. 💜 ~

PART 1

--

You didn’t fully remember what had happened that night.

It had all started off very typical.  You’d had tea and a bath and watched a bit of telly before heading upstairs to your room for bed.  You were 7 now and a big girl, and certain you didn’t need tucking in anymore, so you gave your Mummy and Daddy kisses and cuddles before you went to brush your teeth and then snuggled under your bed covers to keep reading your current library book, Matilda. 

At some point you must have dozed off, because you woke up as your Daddy popped his head in through your door to check on you.

“You alright, Bunny?” he asked.  Your nickname had been Bunny for as long as you could remember.  You had been given a bunny stuffie named Arthur by your Nana on the day you were born, and he had been your trusty companion ever since.  Bunnies were also your favourite animal, however you weren’t allowed one as a pet because your Daddy was allergic.  Apparently that meant he came up in big bright red spots whenever he got near one.  Surely there was some kind of cream that though.

“Can I come sleep in your bed with you and Mummy?” You had made sure to use your biggest, pleading eyes to try and convince him.

“Ohh alright.  But you have to remember to be careful of Mummy’s leg, okay?”

Mummy had hurt her leg a couple of weeks before.  She had been playing netball when someone on the other team had crashed into her and she landed poorly.  You weren’t totally sure what was wrong, but you knew that it was apparently worse than whatever Aunty Leah had done to her leg.  But it was also not as bad because your Mummy wasn’t a professional at netball, she just played for fun, and you think maybe they also won some wine sometimes but you’re not 100% sure.  Anyways, she had to go to hospital and have an operation and now she was on crutches (which you weren’t allowed to play on) and you had to help around the house a bit more because it was tricky for Mummy to get around.  You didn’t mind though, you were happy to be her little helper.

As you reached your parents room (Arthur clutched tightly under your arm), you found your Mummy already in the bed, her leg propped up on a pillow under the blanket.  Before she had a chance to ask what you were doing there, you quickly rattled out “Daddy said I could come sleep with you, please please please!”

Your Mummy just laughed and patted the spot beside her on the bed.  A few moments later you and Arthur were snuggled under the covers between your Mummy and Daddy and drifting soundly back to sleep.

The next time you awoke it was to a screeching alarm, one you recognised from when Daddy had tried to bake Mummy a birthday cake but had burned it really, really badly.

“Bunny!  Sweetie, wake up!”

As you opened your eyes you realised you were surrounded by thick black smoke.  Your chest felt tight, and the smoke stung your eyes so badly you couldn’t keep them open.  Everything felt foggy and faint and you could feel yourself quickly falling back asleep.

“Just take her! Save her! Get her out!”

You heard your Mummy’s screams over the blaring of the alarm.  You would hear those screams in your nightmares for the rest of your life.

The next thing you remember was being outside your house and your neighbour Mrs Green was passing you to an ambulance man.  You had Arthur clutched in your hand by his ear as the man lay you down on a wheely bed and put a funny smelling mask over your nose and mouth.

Then you were at the hospital and there was lots of nurses and doctors scrambling around, poking and prodding you.  You had still had the mask on your face that was filling your mouth and nose with funny smelling air.  There was a big needle sticking into your arm connected to a bag on a pole that kind of hurt a bit.  But worst of all, at some point you had lost hold of Arthur, and you could see him lying sadly on a bench across the room.

“She’s awake.”

“Y/N.  Hi, my name is Doctor Smith.  We’re just looking over you to make sure you’re doing okay.  We’ll get you back to a room really soon and then you can see your family, okay?”

Your family was here!  Thank goodness.  Whatever had happened, your Mummy and Daddy were fine and you would see them real soon.

You breathed a small sigh of relief but still reached out instinctively for Arthur.  A nice nurse with dark hair and big, round glasses noticed and looked over at the bunny.

“Is he your special friend?”

You nodded frantically.

“He’s very dirty at the moment, so he’s going to need a bath before you get him back for cuddles, I think.”

You realised that his normally light purple fur was closer to a dark grey colour, but you couldn’t understand how he got so dirty.  Surely a bit of smoke doesn’t get a bunny that dirty. 

And then it hit you.

Smoke.

You’d only seen smoke come from a few things in real life before:

When your Daddy had burned that birthday cake

From the cigarettes the old ladies who sat outside the newsagents smoked

When there was lots of pretty fireworks and sparklers after Aunty Lessi and Leah won a big trophy

After you blew your birthday candles out

Smoke came from burning things.  Had Arthur been burned?

Before you could ask any questions, you were being wheeled into a room where your Nana and Aunty Lessi were.  You loved your Nana and your Aunty Lessi, you really did, but you wanted your Mummy and Daddy.  Where were your Mummy and Daddy?

“Oh Y/N, oh sweetie.  Oh, thank God you’re okay.”  Your Nana was crying as she reached for your hand and kissed your forehead.

You tuned out your Nana and the doctor’s conversation as out of the corner of your eye you spotted the nice nurse with the big, round glasses hand over Arthur, who had now been put in a plastic zippy bag, to your Aunty Lessi.  She whispered something to her you didn’t hear and Aunty Lessi nodded and put him carefully in a big sleepover bag she had with her.  You wondered why she had a sleepover bag with her here at the hospital.

“Does she know about…?” your Nana asked.

“No.  We thought it best that she heard it from family.”

You snapped back to the conversation going on over your head at these words, catching your Nana nodding as she wiped some more tears away from the corner of her eye.

“We’ll leave you be to have some privacy.  One of the nurses will be back in a while to check on her, but of course, don’t hesitate to press the buzzer if you need anything.”

As all the hospital staff left, your Aunty Lessi came around to the other side of the bed and gave you a hug as best as she could, trying not to bump your mask or the big needle in your arm.

“Nan-” you attempted to talk, but the smelly mask on your face was making your words sound all mumbly jumbly.  You also noticed that it hurt a bit in your chest and throat when you tried to speak, your hand automatically coming up to rest on your neck.

“It’s okay sweetheart, you don’t need to speak.  You just rest, okay?” your Nana told you.

You nodded, aware that there was something going on.  Something definitely wasn’t right.  Your eyes flicked between the two women, noticing that their eyes were red and puffy as though they’d been doing lots of crying. 

After a long, awkward silence that seemed to stretch on forever and ever, your Aunty Lessi finally started to speak. 

“Bunny, sweetie, there was a fire at your house.  We don’t know how or where it started, but there was a very bad fire, and it looks like it has destroyed the whole house.”

Your eyes widened as you began to put it all together – the smoke, the alarm, your Mummy screaming…

“Sweetheart, your Mummy and Daddy didn’t make it out.  We don’t know a whole lot yet, but we know that your Daddy ran out of the house with you and gave you to a neighbour.  You were very poorly and not breathing very well, and that’s why you’ve got to wear this mask to help you breathe.  He went back into the house, we can only assume to try and help your Mummy because she can’t… umm couldn’t move around too well because of her leg.  But they never made it out of the house.”

You didn’t really understand.  What did she mean they never made it out of the house?  Where did they go?  Where are they now?

“Bunny, do you understand what I’m saying?” your Aunty Lessi asked.

You shook your head furiously.  You just wanted to see your Mummy and Daddy.  Why weren’t they here?  Were they hurt?  Were they also lying in beds somewhere with masks on their faces and needles in their arms?

Your Nana stood up from her chair and sat down softly on the bed beside you.  She stroked her hand over your face a few times before cupping your cheek gently in her hands.

“I’m so sorry, Bun… Your Mummy and Daddy, they… oh Less, I can’t.  I can’t say it…”

Your Nana pulled away from you, burying her head in her hands as she stood up and turned away slightly.

“It’s okay, Mum.  I’ve… I’ve got it.”

Your Aunty Lessi swopped in and scooped your face gently into her hands, running her thumbs soothingly over your cheeks as you looked at her with confusion.

“Bunny sweetie, your Mummy and Daddy… d-died.”

You think your Aunty Lessi kept talking but her words just faded into background noise as you tuned out everything around you.  You were there, but not really.  Your body was, but your brain was just running over the words “Mummy and Daddy died” over and over and over and over until they lost all meaning.

Mummy died.

Daddy died.

Mummy and Daddy died.

You felt sad, but mostly you just felt kind of… nothing.  It felt almost like the sadness was a balloon that grew too big, too fast and it had popped and now all you were left with was nothing.

In the movies and in your books when people died, their family cried lots and lots.  Your Nana was crying, and it seemed like your Aunty had been crying.  But you didn’t feel like crying.  You did really, really feel like rubbing the soft fur of Arthurs ear across your cheek over and over and over though.

--

You had stayed in the hospital for a few nights before they let you go home. 

Well, not really home.

But your new home.

You were going to live with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah.  Your Aunty Lessi was your Mummy’s sister and Aunty Leah was her wife.  They both played football for their jobs and travelled a lot.  Before… well, before, you would go and visit them, or they would come visit and you would tell them all about the books you’d been reading and what you’d been learning in school and show them all the different breeds of rabbits there were in the big scrap book you’d been putting together.  That scrapbook was gone now though.  You weren’t sure if you would start making a new one.

Your Aunty Lessi had the most beautiful smile, and she always seemed to be able to make everyone laugh and be happy.  And your Aunty Leah was always a really good listener, and she gave the most excellent hugs.  Sometimes you would go and watch them play football, but you weren’t really interested in sports.  It was always too loud and there was way too many people there.  But it was always exciting when your Aunty Lessi would score a goal though, because if she knew you were in the crowd, she would point in your direction and make a heart with her hands.

You liked your Aunties. You loved them.  But you’d never spent the night at their house or had a sleepover with them.  You didn’t know any of the rules, and you didn’t have your Mummy to remind you of them before you went.  You wanted to be on your bestest behaviour, having read far too many stories and seen too many television shows about children whose parents died and then their new families treated them poorly.  You didn’t think you’d do very well in an orphanage or living on the streets.  You weren’t very tough like those kids were.

You’re not quite sure what to think of your new room at your Aunty Lessi and Leah’s house.  It’s very… adult.  A bit boring to be honest.  Just a big adult bed, a dresser and two bedside tables.  There is a big window however that overlooks the back garden that you quite like.  But you’re just grateful for somewhere to sleep really, thankful that your Aunties are letting you stay here at all.  You’d happily sleep on the loungeroom floor. 

“We will pretty it up and get you lots of new toys and decorate it however you want, Bun.”  Your Aunty Lessi was stroking your hair as you cuddled into her side.  “This is just temporary until your new bed and furniture arrives and we get you all settled in, okay?”

You nodded gently, not really knowing how else to respond.  You were a bit shocked that they’d ordered you a new bed and were going to get you new toys.

“We did get you a few things to start you off with, just until we can all get down to the shops together to pick out some stuff.  I hope they’re okay…” Your Aunty Leah gestured towards the corner where you could see a few boxes and some brightly coloured stuffies peeking out through the handles of some shopping bags.  You looked up at her and blinked, unsure as to whether you were meant to thank her or go and inspect the items or what.

“We can go through that stuff later if you like?” Aunty Lessi suggested, squeezing your shoulder.  “How about we grab something to eat for lunch?”

Just as you were turning to leave the room, a tuft of light purple fluff caught your eye among the bags.

"Is that Arthur?" you asked.

"Oh, your bunny? Yes, Aunty Leah gave him a really good bath and got him all clean again."

You dashed forward and grabbed him from the pile of other toys and clothing, bringing him up to your face to rub his soft ears over your cheeks.

You wanted to say thank you, but those words didn't seem big enough. Instead, you hoped that someday, somehow you would be able to somewhat show your Aunties how much you appreciated them.

With Arthur now tucked under your arm, the three of you made your way down the hall towards the stairs.

“Oh, and remember that is mine and Aunty Lessi’s room,” Aunty Leah gestured towards a door on the right of the hall, pushing it open with her foot.  “If you ever need anything during the night, please don’t hesitate to come and get us.  I’m up and down all throughout the night going to the loo anyways because of this one,” she smirked as she rubbed her growing belly.

“Does it hurt? Growing a baby?”

You don’t really know why you asked.  You were curious, sure.  Your own tummy hurt a bit when you ate too much food, so surely having a baby in there hurt lots.  But now definitely wasn’t the time to ask that kind of question.  

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.  

However your Aunty Leah just chuckled and nodded at you.  “It doesn’t exactly hurt, but it is rather uncomfortable at times, especially if the baby moves into an awkward position or kicks a weird spot.”

“The baby kicks you?” you asked.

“Oh yeah! ��They’re gonna be a striker just like your Aunty Less, I’m sure of it!”

Aunty Lessi nudged you and pointed at your hand.  “You might actually be able to feel the baby move some time, Bunny”

“Really? Could I?”

Your Aunty Leah’s smile was a big and bright as you’d ever seen it.  “They’re moving around now.  Do you want to try and feel?”

You nodded excitedly.  You had always wanted a baby brother or sister.  Your Mummy and Daddy had told you once that there was one on the way, but then a while later when they’d gone to the hospital, they came home really sad and said that baby brother was born sleeping. 

You had only just turned 4 when that happened, and you didn’t understand why they didn’t just wake him up.  But Daddy explained that that is what people sometimes say when the baby isn’t born alive.

Mummy had been sad for what seemed like years after that.  She spent a lot of time in bed, and she cried more than you’d ever seen her cry before in your life.  You’d tried to cheer her up by drawing her pictures and singing her songs and giving her your biggest, bestest cuddles.  But Daddy said the only thing that would make Mummy better was time. 

He was right.  She had slowly returned to her normal self.  You were very grateful, because you had missed the little things like the silly songs she would sing when she would wash your hair, and the smiley faces she would make out of blueberries in your pancakes.

As your Aunty Leah gently cradled your hand and brought it up to her swollen tummy, you felt a small whooshing movement under your little hand.

“Did you feel that?”

You nodded quickly, your gaze meeting your Aunty Leah’s as she smiled tenderly at you.  You couldn’t believe you could feel the baby moving in her tummy.  It all started to feel very real.

“They’re moving around quite a bit tonight.  I think they’re quite excited to have you here with us, Bun.”

“Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?” you asked.

“No, we decided to wait until the baby is born to find out and let it be a surprise.  We really don’t mind what their gender is, we’re just excited for them to be here and to meet them.  Oh, there they go again, did you feel that kick?”

You nodded again, pulling your hand away from your Aunty Leah’s tummy as a sinking feeling began settling in your own.

You knew you weren’t a part of your Aunties plan.  They were having a baby, and becoming Mums, which you were sure was something new and super exciting for them.  But now they also had you to look after as well, which they weren’t expecting and had probably changed so many things for them.  Surely, surely they would be much happier without you here ruining their perfect new little family? 

[mangomonk]

call me whenever

↳ summary: remus is a clingy lightweight ↳ content: fluff, mentions of alcohol, established relationship from i caught myself, rock band!muggle ↳ a/n: i love writing remus x winnie, i'll prob keep writing more oneshots of them out of order if y'all have any scenario requests!

"Merlin, why do Muggle contraptions always have so many bloody buttons—"

"Did you finish putting her number in? It's 34—"

"Hello?" Winnie asks uncertainly into the receiver.

A pause. And then an overly bright voice, shouting into the phone. "WINNIE! SWEETHEART, JUST THE PERSON I WAS LOOKING FOR!"

"Sirius, you don't have to shout, I can hear you perfectly fine," Winnie sighs, wincing away from the receiver.

"Oh, really?" Sirius sounds genuinely bemused.

Winnie hums. "Where are you calling me from? I don't recognize the number."

"One of those phone-telly boxes," Sirius says. Winnie has to bite her tongue to prevent herself from correcting him. "Anyways, we were— oof." His voice cuts off mid-sentence with a grunt. "I mean, I was wondering if you were home and free right now?"

Winnie hesitates warily. "I am both home and free."

"Brilliant," Sirius sighs. "Do you think you could come and pick up Remus? He's had one too many Firewhiskey's and he's always been such a lightweight—" His voice cuts out for a moment amidst a lot of shuffling. "—and I think he's one wrong look away from biting mine and James's head off— oof."

"Is he with you now? Can I talk to him?"

The shuffling stops abruptly. A pause, before Sirius speaks up again, his voice a little wheezy. "No, he's not out here. Or with me right now."

Winnie's brows shoot up. She bites back a small smile, now able to imagine the two of them squished in a little phone booth. "You guys are at the pub downtown, right?"

"That's the one."

"I'll be there in fifteen," Winnie says, already looking around for her keys.

"Brilliant, we'll— I'll see you then!"

Winnie is about to hang up when she can hear Sirius grumbling on the end of the line. Knowing him, Winnie bets that he left the payphone hanging. "I don't see why you couldn't just send her an owl."

Another voice, heart achingly familiar. "She's afraid of the owl's claws."

Sirius huffs. "You could've just called her yourself then."

"Didn't want to bother—" The line cuts out.

Winnie puts the phone down, smiling widely as she grabs her keys.

— — — — —

When Winnie enters the crowded pub, she spots him immediately. He's slouched on a barstool around a table, head resting in his hand and his long legs kicked out under him. Contrary to Sirius's description, he doesn't look like he's about to murder anyone. He's watching James waving his hands animatedly at Sirius, the corners of his lips twitching.

Winnie steps around the room, careful to hide from his view before she moves behind him. "Come here often?" She whispers into his ear, grinning already.

Remus straightens, his head whipping over to her with such speed that she's a little worried for his neck. Up close, Winnie can see that his cheeks are flushed a rosy pink so pretty that dimly, she wishes she was an artist so that she could capture this view of him. She thinks she could write a song about his pretty flush. "Winnie," he says, mouth curving into a smile, her favorite kind — white teeth flashing, dimples showing. Her heart is squeezing so painfully in her chest, but she's sure that Remus has no idea what he's doing. Remus has never been big on PDA, so Winnie's a little surprised when his big hands start reaching for her hands.

"Hi lover boy," she says, letting him pull her towards him.

"How was your rehearsal?" He's holding both of her hands now, his thumbs rubbing circles against her skin.

"It went well," she says, smiling. "Hi guys," Winnie says to the others.

"Hi darling," Sirius drawls, lips twitching behind the rim of his glass. "You came right on time — another minute and he would have had our heads." James snorts, nodding in agreement.

Remus ignores this, his brown eyes not leaving hers as his fingers reach the sleeve of her turtleneck. "Is this new? I like it," he says, smile turning dopey. "You look lovely, cariad."

Winnie's cheeks go pink, half because of how he's looking at her, pretty eyes soft with unabashed adoration and affection, half because she can see Sirius and James's mouths go slack.

"Merlin, you're in deep, Moony," Sirius exclaims.

Next to him, James makes a gagging sound. "Please spare us and take him home," he begs, but he's grinning. His grin falters when Remus turns to shoot him a withering glare.

"Right, I heard you were in need of a ride home," Winnie says, trying to keep a straight face when Remus turns back to look at her, his expression softened from his previous vitriol.

He's gone puppy-eyed, his eyes big and brown as they stare up at her hopefully. "Let's go home?"

Saying bye to the boys is quick work. Sirius is practically shoving them out of the pub with James making gagging sounds behind him.

As they walk to the parking lot, Remus's arm winds around her waist, his hands fiddling absentmindedly at the knitted material of her turtleneck. It feels as though ever since she's come, he hasn't stopped touching her — not that she minds, of course. When his fingers brush against her skin accidentally, it sends a shiver up her spine.

"Cold?" He asks, already stopping in his tracks to shrug off his jacket. Winnie doesn't bother saying no or pointing out that it's a warm night. Remus has always been endearingly bossy when he's sober — she can only imagine him now refusing to budge until she takes his jacket. Plus, she likes the smell of his jacket. And with the way he can never quite look away from her when she's wearing it or one of his lumpy jumpers, she reckons he gives them to her for his sake too. Remus drapes his jacket over her shoulders, his fingers tugging at the collar.

"Thank you," she says, smiling up at him fondly.

"Were you busy?" He's tugging her even closer now, his arms bracketing around her as he straightens the shoulders of his jacket.

"Never too busy for you," she says meaningfully, reaching up to fluff at his hair affectionately. Remus seems to melt into the action as she threads her fingers into his sun-kissed hair, his warm cheek settling against her palm. His eyes have gone sleepy and soft on her, his lip jutting out stubbornly. God. She wants to kiss him senseless. "You can call me whenever. Owl even, if it keeps its claws off my furniture."

Remus's brows knit together for a moment before his face falls. "You heard?" He asks, lips twitching into a deep frown.

Winnie laughs, squeezing at his cheek. "Sirius is not exactly subtle or good with Muggle technology."

"I didn't want to bother you," Remus admits, letting his head drop forward against her shoulder. He's really too tall for this, but somehow he manages to slouch enough so that he can rest his forehead against her shoulder. "But I wanted to see you."

His honesty makes her stomach do loops. "Yeah?" Winnie hums softly, impossibly endeared. She runs her thumb over his splay of freckles, faint now against the warm tan of his skin. "I always want to see you too, so call me whenever, okay?"

Remus's hands find their way to her waist. "Yeah, okay," he mumbles into her shoulder. He turns his head, his face pressing against her turtleneck. She can hear him inhale deeply. "I don't like this," he grumbles, one hand reaching up to tug gently at the high neck of her shirt.

Winnie blinks. "You just said you liked my shirt," she says accusingly, a little offended now.

"I did," he agrees solemnly, pulling back away from her just enough to look at her with big, sincere eyes. Saccharinely innocent. Then his eyes dart down to shoot her shirt a baleful look, his lips jutting out in the closest thing she's ever seen him get to a sulk. "But now it's in my way."

Winnie can feel her face flush, but she tries to hide it with an arched brow. It fails, clearly, because she can see the way Remus drinks in her flustered expression, his sulk disappearing immediately, lips hitching smugly. "Yeah? Well I guess you'll just have to deal with it because I like this shirt," She grumbles mulishly, pulling away in embarrassment but Remus gently grabs her hands again and sets them firmly on his shoulders. Winnie's stomach is doing flips now.

"I think I can find a way around it," Remus murmurs distractedly, nosing against her jaw and already hooking a finger into the neck of her turtleneck and tugging it down gently to reveal the nape of her neck.

Winnie can't help the happy sigh she breathes out when his lips ghost against her skin, his hair tickling her ear. He presses a firmer, open-mouthed kiss against her collarbone, his fingers still dipping into her shirt. His other hand rises to cradle the back of her head gently, his long fingers threading through her hair as he noses along the nape of her neck, lips soft and ticklish. "My heart," he mumbles against her skin fondly. Affection blooms in her so violently, all she can do is grasp at his shoulders. When she tilts her head back a little to give him more access, she can feel his lips curve into a smarmy smirk. The bastard. ""Shall we go home?"

— — — —

my masterlist!

[americas1suiteheart]

Sick Days

Lemon and Tangerine x GN! Reader (Platonic)

Summary; You've worked with the twins for years now, and whilst they are sharp and get things done rather well, they do have a tendancy to constantly get eachother, including you, sick.

Notes; Sorry I haven't been very active. I promise I'll get to those asks soon but this popped into my head and I just really needed to write a full fic.

Warnings; Some cursing and mentions of taking over the counter medicine.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅���

"Achoo!"

"Bloody fuckin'-hell mate, cover your fuckin' mouth when you sneeze," Tangerine scoffs.

The three of you have been sick since your last mission in Bolivia, you're assuming that one of the twins got coughed on or something, because as always--they were the first to get ill.

And just as always, you were the ones to take care of them at first until you finally got ill.

The first week was horrible.

Tangerine's constant bitching and moaning about how he wanted to be back on missions but still complaining about how he felt like shit, that his nose and body hurt, how his throat was sore, and how terrible of a headache he had. Then he would be upset that Lemon was sitting down bundled up on the couch watching Thomas and Friends and how he wouldn't let Tangerine watch his West Ham game on the television.

Lemon wasn't as bad as Tangerine when it came to getting sick though. Lemon only complained once or twice, every now and then but it wasn't constant. Lemon would only ask if you could bring him a pot of tea if you weren't too busy and maybe some blankets. He was content and hell, he'd even admit happy that he didn't have to go on missions for a few weeks.

And then you got sick.

So now its just been constant sneezing, coughing, sniffling, and groaning. The amount of tissues and tea the three of you have been going through is insane, and you're still the one doing medicine runs.

"Piss off mate, I'll do whatever the fuck I want," Lemon says after blowing his nose.

"If either one of you bicker and babble to eachother again I will personally shoot the both of you in the face," You groan.

You hear a grumble and mutter from Tangerine but don't bother with him because it'll only worsen your already terrible migraine.

You walk to the kitchen, grabbing your favourite mug along with some clove and ginger tea, popping the teabag in and pouring the hot water you had just boiled over it into the mug.

"You did it wrong," Tangerine says, a look of annoyance on his face.

"I'm really not in the mood for your bullshit Tan. If you want it done right then you make it yourself you prick," You bite back, proceeding to the living area.

You walk to the couch Lemon was sitting on, one of his legs taking up the whole couch.

Once he looks away from the television and sees you, he removes his leg and opens up the blankets he was under, inviting you to sit with him in his cozy spot, to which you gladly accept.

You sit comfortably next to Lemon, handing him your mug so he can set it down on the tissue covered side table. I'll have to clean that up later, you thought to yourself.

"Feeling any better, y/n?" Lemon asks.

"Sort of. I've still got a god awful headache and my nose is still runny, but its better than I was a couple days ago so the medicine is working at least. How about you?"

"I'm still stuffy but its beginning to slow down now, I'm glad this bloody thing is starting to bug off already," Lemon replies.

"It's my turn on the telly, let me watch th- Achoo! Fuckin' hell!" Tangerine says, a twinge of annoyance in his voice as he complains like a child.

You and Lemon look at eachother, sighing and deciding to let Tangerine watch his game so he stops whining.

"Fine, but only if you promise to stop bitching, okay?" You say, handing Tangerine the television remote and scooting closer to Lemon to make room for him to sit with you two.

"Hey Tan, who's playing West Ham?" Lemon asks, voice still slightly hoarse.

"Man City today, tomorrow its Brentford. Why?" Tangerine responds, eyes glued to the television as he switches it to the correct channel.

Lemon looks at you with a look on his face, then back at Tangerine.

"No reason in particular,"

Manchester City just so happened to be your favourite team. The last time Man City was against West Ham, Man City won. You also happened to be watching the game with the twins that day, and let's just say that Tangerine was not happy that his team had lost and you were happy over it.

It'd been a few years since that game, but you have a feeling that Tangerine would end up being worse than the last time if Man City won again.

Sure, you like it when your team wins, but as of right now you would much prefer it if West Ham won so that way Tangerine doesn't act like a complete bellend. He's easier to anger and agitate now that he's ill.

You all sat on the couch watching the game. Cheers erupted from Tangerine and Lemon whenever West Ham got the ball or made a goal, then a groan of annoyance from Tangerine whenever Man City got the ball or made a goal.

So far it was a 3 - 3 tie with just 3 minutes left of the game, and Tangerine was getting more and more agitated every time Man City took the ball from West Ham.

Once again, Man City taking the ball, then the referee calling over a player and showing them a red card, giving West Ham a free kick for the players offense.

West Ham has the ball now, a free kick. There are 2 minutes left in the game and if they make this shot then the chances of them winning the game are high.

"Bowen takes a free kick, OH MY WORD! A DIRECT FREE KICK GIVING WEST HAM 4 POINTS TOTAL! WHAT A GOAL!"

Cheers and a few coughs come from both Lemon and Tangerine, smiles on their faces. Regardless of their heights, facial hair, voices, jobs even, they still act like children sometimes in both good and bad ways and it makes you smile.

Those last few minutes pass and the game ends, a 4 - 3 score with West Ham beating Manchester City, more cheers erupt from the twins, dopey smiles plastered onto their faces.

Tangerine gets up from the couch to go do something for a minute, leaving you and Lemon sitting on the couch together.

"That was a good game eh? Man City is pretty good too, I'm surprised we even won," Lemon says to you, covering himself back up with the blanket he was sharing with you.

"Great game really! I'm a little bummed though I will admit, but honestly one loss is better than Tan being a prick the entire day," You roll your eyes.

You get up from your cozy spot on the couch and head to the kitchen island, which had a plethora of medicines, syrups, a humidifier, and assortments of teas.

Cough syrup, Tylenol tablets, throat soothing sleepytime tea, chamomile tea, lemon scented vapor rub, allergy syrup, and a new, unopened three pack of tissue boxes.

You groan at the thought of having to drink the terrible tasting allergy and cough syrup again.

"Lem! Tan! Have you guys taken your medicines yet?" You call out to the twins, seeing as Tangerine had just returned to the living area.

Groans emit from the both of them as you give a light chuckle.

The two walk to you, tangerine grabbing the three cups for the syrups, all of your names on one of them to designate which belonged to who.

You pour the cough syrup into your cup at the 120 ml line, holding your nose as you down it to try and get rid of some of the taste, then doing the same with allergy medicine. You open the bottle of Tylenol, grabbing two of the tablets and popping them into your mouth.

You take a gulp of water from your glass then wipe your mouth.

"I'm gonna go into my room and nap, take one of these tissue boxes with you," You say, opening the pack and grabbing a box of tissues for yourself to have.

You walk to your room, opening the door and placing the tissues onto your bedside table, taking one out and blowing your nose, then tossing it into your small trashcan.

You lay in your bed, covering yourself with your blankets and sinking into your mattress.

God I hope I feel better soon.

You fall into a slumber, happy to be resting after nothing but bickering and loud cheers all day.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Sorry this took a little longer, I wasn't really planning to post it two days ago but tumblr freaked out and did it anyway even though it still wasn't finished, but it is now! I'm trying to post these fics more often and hopefully be more consistent about it. Requests are still currently closed and I'll try to get to the ones that were sent months ago.

[evesaintyves]

989 words, for @remadoramicrofics prompt "haunted."

Read it below or on AO3 🎸

Tonks's old bedroom floor is a mess of rumpled t-shirts and her rattiest underpants. Five days since Remus took off his ring, knotted the strings on his traveling case, and told her he'd made a terrible error. All she's done is sleep. She dozed off on the macrame throw pillow and it left a crisscross red rash on her cheek, went downstairs before she noticed, and her Dad gasped, "Dora?" 

She just fled back upstairs without breakfast.

It's not even her throw pillow. Mum has snuck them in her old room sometime since she's been gone. Other things, too, an elegant white bowl to hold all the knuts and plastic hair clips and ticket stubs that were scattered across her chest of drawers. Mum's things, minimal and clean, make Tonks's stuff, the fairy lights and the thrashing band posters, seem like they're trying too hard. It's just like her last year at school, the stress-cracking of all the faultlines between who she is and who she is supposed to be. She was constantly reinventing herself back then—a new chin, a chelsea cut, a ring in her eyebrow. But she's not the only one in charge of her body anymore. It's making decisions without her.

And it's so shit to want Remus here to settle behind her on her squeaky old bed, tuck his bony knees into the parenthesis of her legs, stroke his skinny fingers up her arm and say, like he does, that he's sorry—but at the same time to want to scream at him so hard he vapourizes into a fine red mist.

In the afternoon, her mother does her two-tap no-time-to-pull-your-knickers-up knock and comes in with cups of tea.

"Your father tells me you've been looking ill."

"I'm not."

Andromeda sits on the side of the bed.

"You were a terrible pregnancy," she says. "I'd have sworn you were trying to fight me from the inside."

Tonks pulls her knees to her chest. "This one's a scrapper. I can tell already."

Andromeda smiles into her cup.

Tender moments have a way of making Tonks show her belly. Her mother doesn't say much, just sits and keeps her company, and before long Tonks is compelled to overshare. That she isn't even sure Remus ever really loved her, but maybe loved an idea of her that she led him on into believing while they were still just awkwardly clicking teeth in stolen moments at headquarters; an idea worn smooth and shiny by those months they were apart.

Almost as soon as she married him she was up the duff and puking, breaking out in spots faster than she could morph them away. Still having dreams that Sirius was just tilting on his heels—suspended in the moment he might have been saved—waking up choking. Remus seemed perturbed that she could spend hours staring at the telly, not watching, just trying to shush the noise in her head. It seems so stupid now, but she'd really thought that he, of all people, would understand.

"My mother used to tell me," Andromeda says, "that I'd better stop all my moping about, that men don't care for girls who brood. And that I'd never get married and out of her hair, acting that way."

"What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything. I made a plan and then I climbed out my window in the middle of the night. Your father picked me up in his old car and took me to his parents' flat—you know the story. Let me tell you, Nymphadora—" She pins Tonks with a look. "—how much brooding I did in his old bedroom. I was a wreck. The room smelt of some horrible potion he used on his model railway. The carpet crunched underfoot. And I was worried about what was going to happen to—to some of the people I left. I was crying every night. Waiting until your grandparents left for work in the morning to creep into the kitchen like a ghoul. I had..." She pulls her posture up straight. "Difficulty adjusting, at first."

Tonks's throat is getting tight, and tears are needling the rims of her eyes. It's not just that she's grabbed for that kind of love story and missed; it's also that her mother never talks to her like this—spilling the way Tonks sometimes does, talking fast, saying things she probably shouldn't. It makes the world feel all the more unfixably cracked.

"Dad—Was Dad...?" Tonks can't even finish, her voice is cracking and squeaking. She curls forward and hides her face in her mother's sleeve.

"He'd lie with me—and touch my hair. He used to tell me if I didn't eat I'd disappear and it was going to be very difficult to explain to the officiant why he had an invisible bride."

She says it gently, sadly, as if she knows what it'll do to Tonks, and she's right. It's full waterworks now, the type Tonks has always sworn she wasn't going to do over a bloke. It's coming out her eyes and nose, it's thick and salty in her mouth, it's getting all over her mum's silk blouse. She's going to hate that. Tonks flops back against her pillows, sniffling, wiping her face with her palms, automatically morphing the puffiness out of her eyelids.

Her mother turns to inspect the shiny web of snot Tonks has left on her sleeve. Her face gets that pinched, long-suffering look for just an instant. Then she takes Tonks's empty cup of tea and stacks it in her own, and tucks Tonks's feral bedhead back behind each ear with her cool fingers.

"Supper's at seven," she says. "Your father's trying out a lasagna."

She shuts the door behind her when she goes, and it's just Tonks and the frenzy of the rock bands on her walls: forever joyfully flailing, forever faithful to their own silent beat.

image: egon schiele, woman lying on her back

[hhawks]

I see ur professor nanami content and give u this: single dad! Nanami who hires u to babysit his kid and ur a professional who refuses to act on ur feelings but the sexual tension is too much and eventually it explodes 👀

I HAD this sitting in my drafts for two days because i couldn't decide on the ending but here.

tw: non con breeding

i wrote something similar to this in sweet vermouth But i also love the babysitter trope. love it because dilf nanami is just something so personal to me and i know that man is an amazing dad, and his daughters are absolute fuckin angels. i just know it. so when he hires you to take care of his kids, you're expecting the worst, bratty, spoilt little kids when you pull up to his gated house that's really out of the way. but when you meet them, they're so sweet, asking you if you want juice, if you wanna sit and watch telly with them.

and you grow to love them so much. you're fresh out of college, having kids is nowhere near the forefront of your mind, but these little girls are making you question everything you've ever come to know. they look at you like you hung the moon, like you polished the stars. you end up staying there way more than you are paid to, because anywhere is better than your shitty shared flat with your college friends, and plus, nanami gives you access to his kitchen whenever you want. so you spend almost all of your time there, knocked out on the couch when nanami comes home, both girls tucked in and asleep in their beds. he smiles gently, watching the way your chest rises and falls with your breathing. he's been watching you, watching the way you care for his kids and how much you love them like they're your own. he knows you're young, but you exude so much motherly love, and the girls regard you as such.

and it doesn't help that you're shy around him, meek and mesmerised by how big and powerful he is. you don't know exactly what he does, just know he's the big boss of some company and that's why he's got this big ass space his family of three barely make a dent in. he's so handsome, in his tan suits and his glasses, that when you're talking to him about your pay for the month you find yourself clenching your thighs. you don't think he catches it but he does, and adds it to the list of things to bring up with you one day.

so maybe one day he's running just a little behind. you've been up for a while with the kids, making breakfast when he comes down just a little disheveled. he runs a hand through his hair before murmuring a good morning to his kids, stealing a fresh muffin from the kitchen island before heading to the door. you spot something, and call out, "wait!" and he stops, turning back to look at you. "your tie's a mess, mr nanami," you mutter, taking the spotted fabric in your hands and redoing it yourself. he watches you with quiet eyes, silent adoration as you tighten it for him.

"thank you, angel," he says, and it only hits you then how tall he is when you have to crane your neck up to look back at him sheepishly. your face flushes when you realise how close you are to him, how domestic that must have looked, you tying his tie for him.

"have a good day, mr nanami," you offer weakly, and he smiles at you, a break in his stoic facade, before heading out the door.

and you curse yourself for doing that, reminding yourself, this is your job! that man pays you, you work for him, why would you do something like that? but when he returns from work, giving his kids each a kiss on the forehead, he comes round to the kitchen sink where you are and presses one to the crown of your head. you curl in on yourself, flesh heating up as you look at him with parted lips, wanting to say something but no sound coming out.

and it goes on for weeks. this unsaid, unspoken elephant in the room that grows just a little bigger when he looks at you from across the dinner table. when he stands at the door saying goodbye just a little too long when you insist you need to go back to your apartment for something. when you pad into his office one night to say your goodnights and you catch him, cock in hand, murmuring something that sounds just a little too close to your name. you don't say a word, just turn around and leave because fuck, fuck, you shouldn't be thinking about the man that pays your bills in that way.

but it becomes inescapable. the girls can tell too, going silent when their daddy comes home, playfully giggling behind his back, "daddy likes you, you know!" and you shush them harshly, but your heart beats just a little too fast. you like him too, you've come to admit. so when he calls you to his office to discuss your pay, you can't help thank god you're wearing your nice panties because he has you bent over his desk, drilling his cock into your tight cunt, stuffing his fingers in your mouth so you don't wake the kids up.

"fuck, i knew this pussy would be good," he murmurs in your ear. "been keeping it nice and tight for me, haven't you?" and you can't do anything but whimper, yes, yes, for you, only you. his cock is so heavenly inside you, hitting all the spots you've never been able to reach on your own.

"mr nanami--" you gasp when his tip brushes against your cervix. you're clutching the edge of his desk, desperate for leverage as he pounds into you ruthlessly from behind. "sl-slow down, i can't--"

"those college boys never fucked you any good, hm?" he's leaning over you, breath hot against the shell of your ear. "kento. say my name. kento."

"kento," you barely have time to catch your breath. "'s so good, never been- been fucked like this before. ah, ah!"

"don't think i don't see the way you act around my kids. so motherly, like you made them yourself. you wish you did, didn't you? you wish they were your own. wish daddy made you a mommy, don't you?" he's rambling and you're brainless, drooling on his desk. "i'll give you what you want. give you so many babies, look so good big and swollen, hm?"

"no!" you cry out, gasping for air. you're young, still have everything laid out in front of you. you love his kids, but you aren't ready for your own. "kento- can't-- i can't get pregnant, i have--"

"you're telling me no but this pussy is swallowing me, sweetheart." he takes your wrists, struggling feebly and pins them against the hard oak. "you want this, don't you? you're clenching around me just thinking about it."

"don-don't wanna get pregnant yet, pull out, please--!" you're crying, his cock hitting all the spots in you that have you seeing stars. you're mindlessly pushing yourself back against him, meeting his thrusts halfway, almost subconscious in your cockdrunk state. "kento, i'm not- not on the pill,"

"gonna cum in you," he grunts, hips stuttering and his grip on your wrists tightening. "gonna cum in you so much, and you're gonna take it, yeah? make you a little housewife, give me so many kids. gonna be a good little girl for daddy?"

and you don't have it in you to protest anymore, so you're nodding dumbly, whispering, yes, yes, yes as he cums in you, thick and hot and leaking out of you down the sides of his cock. he stays in you, murmuring something about gotta make sure you don't waste it, baby, wouldn't wanna do this again do you? before smoothing a big palm over your bare back. and you're lying there, stuffed full of nanami's cum and cock, thinking maybe, maybe you're okay with being nanami's little trophy wife.

[abedizm]

happy valentine's day. have this thing! based on this post by @aedan-mills :)

it's on ao3 :D

Out of everyone Richard has met, Charles Dalton has to be the most infuriating of them all. It's only a bit shocking, if he was going to be honest. Richard has met a lot of people, having been dragged by his parents to multiple gatherings (being the one to have the most hope out of all his siblings back at home to have a successful life) and the like, rich and poor. And Charlie grew up to be an only child in a rich family.

We all know how that goes most of the time.

Still, you have to give the guy some credit for being the biggest asshole Welton has.

It sucks that Richard seems to be his only target, though.

“Holy shit look!” Charlie exclaims the moment Richard walks in the room. The redhead sighs. “It's the virgin!”

Everyone in the room rolls their eyes, and Richard is glad that he's not the only one who's tired of his constant bullying. It's getting old, really, and everything's getting reused.

“You're a virgin, too, Charlie,” Richard mumbles, taking a seat beside Todd and opening his Trigonometry book. “We all are.”

“Wh–am not!” the brunet sputters, but Richard isn't listening anymore, already scribbling formulas on a piece of paper. “At least I attract women! Unlike you, you're more of a woman repeller.”

“Okay Charlie,” Richard says, “whatever you say.”

Todd snickers quietly beside him, and the redhead gives him a small smile. Todd smiles back.

Charlie fumes silently. Neil watches in amusement.

——

“You're a real stick in the mud, you know?” Charlie huffs, but it's not as hostile as Richard expected it to be. He blinks, slowly organising his desk. He'd decided to retire to bed a few minutes ago, when it was silent and he was sure that his roommate was sleeping.

“Yes,” he answers, despite knowing that it was a rhetorical question. “I do.”

“Huh,” Charlie mumbles, and Richard rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you, I don't fuckin' know, relaxed once in a while, you'd actually get some girls.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Charlie,” Richard groans, but he already expected it. The punchline of the fucking joke, whatever it is. “I don't even want to date girls right now.” And it's true, he doesn't. He's too busy to care, really. School's taking up most of his time, and the Dead Poets Society meetings are really one of his only escapes. He's grateful for it.

“Wait,” Charlie says, bolting upright from his spot. Richard thinks that the way the moonlight is shining on him is quite beautiful, but there's slight amusement in his tone, and he braces for whatever tease is going to be thrown at him. “Holy shit, Cameron, are you gay?”

“What?” Richard asks, monotone and blank. His brain had stopped working, and he doesn't know if it's because he's tired or if it's because he's kind of getting lost in Charlie's grin. “Wha–you know what? I'm too tired to deal with this. Goodnight, Dalton.” He takes the former with open arms.

“Holy shit, I'm rooming with a gay guy,” is what Richard hears before he decides to block out the world and focus on sleeping.

Despite Dalton's recent “discovery”, as he calls it, there are no rumours being murmured about Richard the next day. No side-eyes, no clear distaste on anyone's face. The brunet makes sure to stick to the regular programming, too. Just the usual “you get no bitches” comment, nothing else.

It's more than usual, but at least he's not getting called gay. Which he's not.

Richard's not gay. At all. Straight as a ruler, Richard Cameron. Yep.

“How's being unfuckable treating you, Dick?” Someone please end Richard's misery. All he wants to do is study with Todd and Neil, but Dalton’s not really helping. It’s nothing new, obviously, but a bit of silence can really do Richard wonders.

“Amazingly,” he retorts half-heartedly, “how’s not having anyone ask you out to prom treating you, Dalton?”

It’s not that Richard intended to boast. He didn’t even want to tell them about the stupid prom. It just… slipped. And it’s not like he’s telling the full truth either.

“What?” Dalton hisses, but there’s barely any venom in his tone. He’s surprised, that’s all. “You got what?”

“I got asked out,” Richard says, shrugging with a smirk, because if he’s going to lie—as horrible as it feels to him—, might as well let it last, right? “A girl asked me out, Charlie. Do they ask you out?”

Is he taking it a bit too far? Maybe. Does he care? Yes, but only a little bit. The look on Dalton’s face is enough to satisfy Richard and his odd desire to wipe the smirk off his face. Maybe it didn’t happen in the way he wanted to, but at least it’s not there to taunt him anymore.

“You—wha—I—!” Dalton stutters as Richard opens his textbook, cheek in hand.

“Close your mouth Charlie, you might catch flies.”

“Fuck you.”

“No thanks.”

——

The next few weeks are more unbearable than usual. It’s Charlie’s doing, of course. Because why wouldn’t it be? It’s like the guy has made it his personal mission to make every second of Richard’s life a living hell. It probably is, if Richard is going to be honest. The teasing still consisted of him not “having game” (which, apparently, means that he can’t attract women, of course. Typical), but this time there would be an off-handed comment or two about how his date was probably forced to ask Richard out. Pity, Charlie says.

Which is almost close to the truth, but Richard won’t say that out loud. Not near Charlie.

“Can’t believe that girl would ask out a queer like you,” Charlie scoffs, and Richard could almost hear the sound of his eyes rolling. The redhead huffs. “She could do way better.”

“Yep,” Richard responds for the sake of responding. Does it piss off Charlie? Oh absolutely. When this all started, Richard fought back, why wouldn’t he? He’s done nothing wrong to Charlie, he’s just defending himself! But then it just got old and repetitive, so it’s really better to half-heartedly agree. It’s like giving Charlie what he wants (attention) but not in the way he wants (a fight). It’s fun. “She could.”

There’s silence, then, only getting interrupted when Richard turns a page in his book. If he strains enough, he can hear the gritting of Charlie’s teeth. But he doesn’t want to, so he refrains, and relaxes in his bed.

It’s a rare sight. Shame that only Dalton can see it. Stupid, annoying, infuriating Dalton.

Richard glances to his side of the room, to see the brunet with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall and body facing him. There’s a glare settled nicely on his face; lips pulled down into a frown. His eyes are throwing daggers at Richard. The corner of the ginger’s lips twitch in amusement.

“What?” he hums, finger tapping the cover of the book.

“What?” Charlie repeats, harsher and more hostile. “You–whatever. Goodnight, queerio.”

“Wha…” Richard whispers, face contorting into confusion. “What does that even mean?”

“It means fuck you.”

“Um, okay.”

The smirk on Charlie’s face the moment Richard steps into the room is almost enough to make him walk backwards and out into the hall. But he can’t, because his coat is in their dorm room, and so is his blazer. And he needs those. Desperately.

“So,” Charlie starts, crossing his legs and arms. Richard raises an eyebrow. “Did your date dump you already?”

“What?” Richard asks, slightly startled. There’s a hint of an uncertain laugh in his voice. “Charlie, what?”

“Aren’t you late?” Charlie chuckles, leaning forward. “Does that mean your date dumped you?”

Richard laughs then, even when he didn’t mean to. It’s a quick outburst, one that stunned Charlie for a moment before he’s glaring again. The ginger tries to muffle his laughter with his hand as he leans on his desk for support, body trembling. “Charlie,” he manages to say, giggling still, “it’s only seven pm.”

“Yeah, and?” Charlie retorts with a sneer. “You said you’re supposed to go at six.”

“I didn’t though?”

“You did!” he exclaims. “It even says so on your calendar!” Charlie points an accusing finger at the object hung on Richard’s wall, numbers scribbled neatly by the corner.

“Charlie, it says “Six pm, get ready”, because I wanted to get ready at six,” Richard chuckles, walking over to the calendar and crossing out the date. “And I did. Jesus, what’s your damage?”

“I–,” Charlie stutters, and he visibly deflates in the corner of Richard’s eye.

He wants to, but doesn't dare question it.

Richard stands in front of the mirror, fixing his tie, brushing his hair with his hand. He glances at Charlie's reflection to see the boy sulking, of all things. Shouldn't he be celebrating for having the room all to himself for a few hours?

Then Charlie stands with intent, and Richard's heart races for no reason at all, and his throat closes up and he suddenly can't breathe anymore so he loosens his tie a little and returns his gaze back at his own reflection.

He looks ghastly. Does it matter? Only a little.

Charlie's behind him, then, and Richard can feel his body heat from how close he is. His breath hitches.

“Hey nerd,” he mumbles, outstretching his arms to reveal Richard's blazer in his hold. The ginger mimics him, and Charlie slowly puts it on him. “You look awful,” he says then, placing his hands on Richard's shoulders. Richard rolls his eyes.

Then Charlie messes his fucking hair up.

Richard groans, grabbing his brush and fixing it, glaring at Charlie in the mirror. The brunet is laughing, and Richard's glare becomes harsher.

“I hope your date goes horribly!”

“Fuck off.”

—

The date was… okay. The prom was mediocre at best (the music was horrible and everyone was horny and it was so crowded and the drinks and food were awful. Richard would not recommend it), so they ended up ditching it and went to eat at a little diner instead. That was a fun time.

Serena was fun. She was a nice girl.

Charlie is awake when he gets back, not really doing anything. Just staring at the ceiling. Richard doesn't say anything as he changes into his pyjamas and climbs into his bed.

He doesn't face the wall like he usually does. Instead, he lays on his back, arm behind his head, and stares at the ceiling.

A beat.

“So,” Charlie starts, “How'd it go?” Richard knows Charlie's not as sincere as he sounds, but he answers anyway.

“It was alright,” he says, playing with a loose thread on his blanket. “Serena was nice.” We talked about you.

“Was she now?” Charlie hums, and Richard could hear his grin. He braces. “Too nice to give you a little kiss?”

“No,” Richard answers, not lightning fast, but not quite slow either. “No, she kissed me.” It was on the cheek. I didn't want her to kiss me.

“Sure she did,” he laughs, and it ripples through the tranquil silence that fell upon them for a moment. It's almost music to Richard's ears. “I'm sure she did, Dick.”

Richard rolls his eyes.

“Jesus Christ Charlie, can't you just shut up‽'' Richard screams, head snapping to the side to glare at his roommate, the grip on his desk tight, almost deadly. “I'm trying to study, because some of us actually care for our grades!”

“Boooo,” Charlie groans, tilting his head back a little and throws a crumpled piece of paper at Richard's head. It hits its target, at which the brunet laughs. Richard sneers. “God, are you really that much of a virgin? Repressing your sexual desires with schoolwork?”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything‽”

“Oh, you know,” Charlie starts with an almost menacing grin, “How you're date probably didn't want to have sex with someone like you. Didn't even make out with you, did she?”

“Wha–?” Richard stutters, eyebrows furrowing in confusion before groaning. “Oh my god Charlie, can you just let it go? If you don't believe that she kissed me, then can you just shut up?”

“Say she did kiss you,” Charlie says, and Richard dies a bit inside, “bet it was just a peck though, wasn't it? Didn't even go to second base because you're a shit kisser.”

“I'm not a shit kisser, I'm a good kisser!” Richard retorts, more startled than anything. Charlie's smug now, arms crossed across his chest and the smirk on his face more demeaning than menacing. The ginger doesn't shrink.

“Are too,” is his simple response, and Richard can't help but feel like a child.

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

Charlie's close now, and Richard can't remember nor tell if he was the one to move or if it was the brunet. Either way, Richard can see the flecks of gold in his roommate's eyes with their proximity, and he gulps at the fact that he can feel Charlie's breath fanning on him.

“Are t—!” And if Charlie can't shut up himself, might as well help him, right?

So, there they were. Two men—boys, really—in their room, lips locked in a kiss. Richard's hand had found its place on Charlie's tie, eyes tightly shut.

His heart is racing, beating so loudly he fears Charlie can hear it. But Charlie doesn’t say anything, because Charlie’s moving, responding. His lips are dancing against Richard’s and it’s almost—it is heaven.

Richard feels whole. It’s a refreshing feeling, he thinks as he pulls Charlie closer.

But then Charlie pulls away, not alarmed, but definitely seeming as if he’s just remembered himself. Richard feels dizzy, then, letting the oxygen in his system once more before he opens his eyes, blinking a little too harshly.

“See?” he mumbles, lips brushing against Charlie’s, a smirk pulling on them. “Told you I’m a good kisser.” Richard takes a moment to appreciate Charlie’s stunned form before he makes a face and leaves the room.

Charlie raises a shaky hand and lightly touches his lips.

“Oh no,” Richard says as soon as he closes the bathroom door, voice shaky and all. “Oh… oh no no no. What the hell did I just do?”

He got what he wanted, didn’t he? He kissed Charlie, but… but it wasn’t a proclamation of his… attraction to the boy. It was some sort of–some sort of thing to assert his dominance.

Okay, maybe don’t call it that. It’s something, and it’s far from romantic.

But Charlie kissed him back, didn’t he? Yeah, Charlie… Charlie reciprocated, he did, yes. But that could mean anything. Charlie—

Charlie’s a dick. He’s an asshole who just happens to be charming and rich so he could get away with anything. He barely gets by with school and if Richard wasn’t there to help, he’d be failing. Richard should hate him. Richard did hate him.

But he doesn’t now, and maybe he never did, and now this whole thing is a mess and Richard is just questioning his existence now. He groans, holding his head in his hands.

“So, do you like anyone?” Serena had asked, dipping her fries in the milkshake before tossing them in her mouth. Richard’s face twisted.

“No,” he answered, perhaps a bit too quickly, “I don’t.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, “well, do you hate anyone?”

“Hate?” Richard repeated, raising an eyebrow. He picked up a fry and slightly dipped them in the milkshake before taking a small bite. “Of course. Don’t we all?”

“Who are they, then?”

“My roommate,” he answered, finger tapping rhythmically on the table. “I hate him with every fibre of my damn being. He’s just so annoying you know? All he does is talk and it’s infuriating, especially when I’m trying to study! Don’t get me started on his damn face of all things! He thinks he’s so attractive, attracting girls left and right, but he isn’t! Just because his smirk is kind of mesmerising to look at doesn’t mean he’s attractive. And he’s somehow charming? It’s how he gets away with so many things��why are you looking at me like that?”

Serena was smirking, amused, not teasing, so unlike how Charlie always is. Her eyebrows were raised and her eyes glinted with something that Richard can’t quite point. It’s similar to the glint in Charlie’s eyes, though, so that can’t be good, can it?

“Nothing,” she said, slowly, “it’s nothing. Just… are ya sure you hate him?”

“Of course I do,” he retorted, almost a second too fast. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, Cam,” she started, a slight laugh in her voice, “it’s just, I don’t think people who hate their roommate think they’re attractive.”

Richard furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t think he’s attractive.”

“You called his smirk mesmerising, Cam.”

“Because it is!”

“Cam.” There’s finality in her tone, and it makes the redhead clam up a tiny bit. “Cam, really, think about it. Do you actually hate him, or do you hate that you feel this way about him?”

“Oh,” was all he said.

It was an enlightening evening.

The walk back to their room was hell. Every second felt like an hour and every minute felt like a year or two. Richard’s hands were clammy, and cold sweat dripped down his back uncomfortably. The air felt tight, despite him being the only one in the hall, he couldn’t breathe properly.

He breathes out, grabbing the doorknob with shaking hands. Richard doesn’t really have a choice but go back to their room. He can’t be caught out and about this late, and he swears that he heard someone else down the hall.

Richard twists it, and opens the door. The creaking shouldn’t be as loud as it is, but it rings in his ears along with the rapid beating of his heart.

Charlie is awake and sitting on his bed, eyes downcast and fists gripping the covers. His head doesn’t snap up when Richard steps in and closes the door. Richard holds his breath.

The moment Richard sits on his bed is when Charlie looks up, slowly, his eyes travelling the redhead’s entire body before settling on his eyes. Richard flushes a little, lip slightly trembling.

“Richie…” he mumbles, and Richard’s eyes grow wide.

“Charlie?” he whispers.

“Did it mean anything?” Charlie’s voice is soft, quiet, almost, yet it pierces through the silence like a knife, and straight into Richard’s heart. “The–the kiss, I mean. Did it… did it mean anything?”

“It meant something,” Richard mutters, chewing on his lip. “It… it meant a lot, I guess.”

“It meant a lot to me.” It meant a lot to Charlie. It meant a lot to Charlie. “You’re right, you know?”

Richard hums, a silent question. His eyes don’t leave Charlie’s as he dares to stand and sit beside the brunet.

“You’re a really good kisser,” Charlie says, hand inching closer to Richard’s. “Too good that it’s suspicious.”

“Well, would you look at that,” Richard chuckles, placing his hand on top of Charlie’s, “Charles Dalton, agreeing with me? And admitting that he’s wrong?” He laughs, then, a weight being lifted from his chest as he entangles his fingers with his roommate’s and places his forehead on the brunet’s. “Is the world ending?”

“Shut up,” Charlie huffs, though not unkindly like before. He rolls his eyes. “You know what? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are a shit kisser and I’m just too sleepy to deal with this shit.”

“No no no, you can’t take it back,” Richard tuts. “You already said it, I already heard it. The truth’s out in the open.”

“Maybe you should kiss me again.” Charlie shrugs. Richard raises an eyebrow. “Change my mind again, because I’m still convinced that you’re a really shitty kisser and it’s just the—.”

“Christ almighty, shut up already,” Richard hisses half-heartedly, leaning down and capturing Charlie’s lips on his own.

“So, I like him.”

“You like him.”

“And it’s annoying.”

“It is?”

“It is.”

“You are more in denial than I thought.”

“What should I do?”

“I don’t know, confess?”

“I can’t just confess!”

“Well, why not?”

“He’ll… he’ll hate me.”

“Look, I say just take a leap of faith. What does your cooky English teacher say? Uh, carpe diem? Yeah, go and seize the day.”

“But what if—.”

“Look, Cam, if he actually hates you, then he’d do more than tease you. You know what they say to us girls?”

“Uh, no.”

“’If he bullies you, then he likes you.’”

“That’s fucked up.”

“You think I don’t know that? But you know, sometimes it’s true. Not all the time, but sometimes. So, you know, shoot your shot.”

“…okay. Thanks Serena.”

“Goodluck Cam.”

[aesopsbaby]

Jokes on you, hypnosis don't work on me

I'll give you some facts anyway tho <3

--

~ I have a new oc in the making, Thier name is Telly and they go by any pronouns. They're a ghost in a TV head machine built by dice to be a walking servant to help them do tasks around the volcano that the minions cannot. The story is that crimson has 2 exes, and she killed one of them. The ghost of her ex finally decided to get back at her and attempted to possess dice to murder her, but missed and ended up in the AI machine, and couldn't get out. Once that happened they got chased out of the volcano after attempting to hurt dice and needed somewhere to flee. After a while if running, they got into an accident that I'm still trying to peice together and it wiped Telly's memory, all they can remember is a blonde lady and a shotgun. They found the city, found a friend to stay with (Carmen) and now has a job as a news reporter

~ Crimson has murdered tons of people, some of them with her bare fists, but the weapons she works best with are shotguns, swords and plain old knives. Dice works well with snipers and pistols

~ Ben has an irrational fear of running late to things. That's why he wears two watches

~ Lady No-Name can see, everything is very desaturated and static-y for her though. Despite this, her vision is surprisingly sharp

~ Tank is really literal minded and will take lots of things literally. That's why they don't understand memes

~ Boba the clown rhymes when she's stressed. Not on purpose, it's kind of a subconscious thing

~ The mushroom family is the biggest family in my ocverse currently, consisting of two adults and 4 kids (2 of them being twins). They've lived for a long time, way before the city was actually built. Mushroonian aging is weird, but every 1 mushroonian year is 27 human years

~ Mango is from an underwater kingdom, the one that Tatiana is currently struggling to run

~ most of my ocs were born and raised in the city, and blaze knows most of their parents, after living for so long amongst the humans. She gets kinda depressed sometimes because a lot of her friends back in the day are dead now. Goddess problems

~ blaze has been redesigned, btw! She's actually likeable now, look at that

~ Dice used to work a 9-5 job before he got money through being hired to kill people. Blaze was mayor then and came in one day to make sure the building was up to code because of the developing city and that's how they met. They became pretty good friends, but they also fought a lot

~ Most mushroonians you'd expect to see if you lived in the city is...well, none actually, but you'll see mushroonians wearing red with yellow spots like red cap mushrooms since theres a village slightly close to the city full of mushroonians of that type. But there are a lot of mushroom types out there, and that applies to mushroonians too! Another fun fact is that red cap mushroonians have poisonous blood (only poisonous to humans)

~ a surprising amount of children OCS I have used to live on the streets. I have no idea why I did that (examples, Caitlin (who got adopted by blaze and Gordon), Alyssa (still on the streets), Ozzie (taken in by Luxlie), etc)

~ Phantom can't cook for the life of her. Or do laundry for the life of her. Or actually a lot of chores. But with working with Bill on the flower shop, watering the plants and caring for them gives her something to do that technically counts as a chore. She doesn't mind doing it if it makes bill happy

~ Melody's skin stopped decaying, surprisingly, after a small amount of time. But she still drowns herself in perfume to make sure she doesn't smell like she still is

~ Before I became wizard, my old persona was this ordinary nerdy girl named AJ. Since she was in no way able to protect the city, that was blaze's job. She lived amongst the humans as a protecter to them but lost her magical abilities over time from not using them. Once wizard took over she became mayor and is the new protecter to her OCS. "But if wizard is the goddess of creation and gave all these people these traumatic backstories and is the cause of all these innocent people's misfortune, What is she really protecting them from?" Grain, mostly. Do you WANT grain, the literal god of chaos to steal your soul or burn down your house??? Didn't think so

~ Dice doesn't do his evil sociopathic crimes purely because he wants blaze dead. He does it out of hatred for the world. He does it because he had a terrible life and can't recall a single good memory from childhood to age 20, and wants to feel alive. He has no idea that wizard is the reason he had such a horrible life, and who knows what might happen if he finds out

~ I have an AU which would make a really great video game. It's based on a dream I had where I was in a murder library thing (basically a library but the people there are all murderers). Grain irl hopped into the dream and I was tasked to help them get to the front desk and get them a "no kill pass" which basically was a little card that meant you couldn't be killed while you're there. In the AU, it's a video game. The players are teleported into a randomly generated maze of bookshelves (with SOME npc enemies) and it's essentially a battle royale kinda thing, only that you can respawn. The front desk is hidden somewhere in the huge maze and if you find it, you can't be killed for the rest of the round, but you CAN kill others. The players can unlock oc characters that each have their own stats, buffs and special defensive and offensive abilities (such as crimson can teleport past dead ends and summon minions). They also have their own rankings, like common, rare, epic, legendary, etc. It's literally just called the murder library au. It would make a good game wouldn't it? Also what the hell is up with my dreams

~ the free for all au is also based off of a dream I had, where my ocs randomly started trying to kill each other

~ Most of the lore for my ocs is actually thought up by grain. We work together on creating realistic and believable backstories and I can't thank them enough for it lmao

~ Erin has a part time job right now selling ice cream in the marketplace at the town square. During fall and winter though, he sells hot chocolate and brownies

--

That's all I can think of rn! I think I'm about to hit the text limit anyway lmao. I'll get you more later on ✌️

HOLY SHIT--

Okay this took some time to reply sorry </33 BUT BUT honestly these are all so interesting! Everything is so well thought out and I adore the small details :,)♡ IM ALREADY SO INVESTED IN TELLY

Also Boba rhyming when she's stressed is such a funny and well thought out concept LIKE ITS SO COOL and really fits her character (I thinks)!!

I love all of these tytyty <,3 btw will,,,will we know more about Tatiana and Milo? 👁👁

[lick-me-lennon22]

George caring for a sick Dhani 💜

(thank you to @pmak2002 for this request!! it was supposed to be just a blurb but I did a little research beforehand and it ended up pretty much becoming a whole fic 😅 oops... either way, I hope you enjoy this one! 💕)

When Dhani wakes up for school on Monday morning, he immediately knows something his wrong. His throat is sore, his nose is runny, and his muscles ache like nothing he's felt before. He painstakingly drags himself out of bed, clutching the sheet around him, and heads straight to his parents' bedroom where he finds his mum Olivia still in bed. Dhani notices that the bathroom door is cracked open and cautiously steps inside to find his father, George, brushing his teeth. "Dad..?" he says quietly, voice hoarse. George startles, turning around to see Dhani in his unfortunate state and spits his mouthful of toothpaste into the sink, letting the water wash it down the drain before turning the tap off. "What is it, my boy? You sound bloody awful..," he gently presses the back of his hand to Dhani's forehead to assess his temperature. "You seem to be running quite the fever, son- let's get you to the doctor, all right? Just let me finish up in here and I'll be right out to take ye" George says. Dhani nods weakly, coughing into his elbow, and shuffles out of the room. George jumps into action- he swishes and spits some mouthwash, changes out of his sleepwear into a button-up and jeans, and sprints to the car, his son following close behind him and hopping into the passenger's seat.

 

"This is ridiculous.." George mutters under his breath as he walks his son out of the clinic and gets into the driver's seat of his car. They had been able to see the doctor almost instantly upon arriving; he had taken some swabs, run a few tests, and determined that Dhani had contracted the flu: "He probably picked it up from school," the doc had said. When George had requested a prescription of some kind to alleviate his son's symptoms, the doctor simply shook his head: "I'm afraid there isn't much we can do for him. The flu's been going around at many schools, I've seen a lot of children this past week with the same complaints. As it stands, all I can tell you is to give him some over-the-counter medicine, bring him some saltwater to gargle for that sore throat, and be sure he gets plenty of fluids and bedrest." George tried to argue, stating that there must be something he can do to cure Dhani of his illness sooner- but as the doc's hands were tied and George didn't want to subject his son to more stress, he took Dhani by the hand and led him out of the office, through the lobby, and back to the car. "Alright, my boy," George sighs- "seeing that the doctor was no help whatsoever, we're headed straight to the drugstore for anything that'll help you feel better. Sound good?"

"Yeah Dad, sounds good" Dhani croaks out and smiles weakly, glad just to spend some time with his father. Being a famous musician and all, George isnt able to spend as much time with his son as he'd like to, a lot of it consumed by work and media-related endeavors. Dhani admired his Dad more than anyone else in his life and though they rarely got the chance to hang out nowadays, they were practically best friends and had formed a close bond throughout his childhood. George was always a fun parent, bringing his son along to festivals and such ("Don't tell yer mum," he'd say with a grin), and sticking up for Dhani to authority figures and even other kids at his school- he was fiercely protective of his boy. However, he was also a gentle parent who allowed Dhani the chance to explore and express himself, and had fostered a mutual respect between the two of them since his son was but a toddler.

"I'm pulling you from school for the whole week" "But what if I'm- *cough*- all better before then?" "Just in case, Dhani- it's not like you really need them and their indoctrination, anyway.." George grumbles, never having been a fan of traditional schools or their teachings. Dhani however has always cared about his grades and paid close attention to the lessons he's been taught, in spite of what his father thinks. "...Okay, Dad" he says meekly, wanting to protest but unwilling to sacrifice more quality time with his famous father. George pulls into the parking lot of the nearest drugstore and marches in, intent on gathering all the supplies his sick boy could need: tissues, lozenges, cough syrup, pain medication, ice packs, and even more tissues- 'just in case.' He makes his way to the checkout, queuing up, paying for the items and hauling his bags back to the car. He drives Dhani home as quickly as possible, carrying him to bed and tucking him in before calling and cancelling any studio time, interviews, or collaborations he'd previously planned. There's only one committment he can't cancel- dinner with Paul tonight for the first time in ages. George sets his son up with all of the remedies he'd bought and tells his wife Olivia everything about the situation, including the "unhelpful and useless" doctor they had gone to see. She of course agrees to care for Dhani, sending her husband on his way to dinner with one of his long-time best friends.

 

The following day George rises just before noon, having stayed up late to pal around with Macca. He runs the few errands on his agenda, including grabbing his family some lunch, and pulls into his driveway back home where he spots the vehicle of none other than Richard Starkey parked outside. He makes his way to his son's room to discover that Uncle Ringo had come to visit the sick young lad (having found out from Paul that Dhani had come down with a bad case of the flu), joking and cheering him up to distract him from his poor state. The two close friends chat for some time in the living room before Ritchie departs, Olivia checking up on Dhani in the meantime. George thanks his wife and dismisses her from her nurse duties, taking on the responsibility himself. He tiptoes to his son's bedroom cautiously and enterd to see that he's been tucked in, the ice pack George had picked up from the store the previous day resting on his forehead, half-lidded eyes trained onto the telly. "Dhani..?" "Oh- *cough*- hey, Dad"

George approaches the bed and sits down carefully, holding a paper bag out to Dhani. "I brought you a burrito- your favorite," he grins down at his son, who takes the bag: "Really? *cough*- Thanks Dad, you're the best!" he says, hands emerging from the blankets to tear into the treat. George stays sat on the bed, determined to spend time with his sick boy and make sure he knows how loved he is. Glancing around the room at the piano and guitars he's bought and played with Dhani, then back to the young man, Ringo's words from earlier echo in his mind: "He's growing up into such a wonderful lad. He's just like you, ye know- good looks and all."

Olivia had always said they were very alike, but he'd usually dismissed the observation... until now. George couldn't help but realize that they were right- though he was but eleven years old Dhani was already becoming a very talented and creative musician, having learned much about music from his dad. He'd certainly taken after his Beatle father in that regard, and they were in fact very similar- not to mention their near identical looks. Sharing his Dad with the world had been difficult and a bit isolating for Dhani despite his many school mates. He admired and looked up to George from a very young age, always striving to be just like him. As Dhani grew up before George's eyes, he became more and more like his father by the day and George was immensely proud.

His train of thought was broken suddenly when Dhani finished the burrito, crumpling the paper bag and tossing it into the bin. He landed the throw, earning a hearty laugh and a high five from his father. He closed his eyes and laid back, George stroking his hair gently, the two of them cherishing this moment of father-son love. "Are you gettin' sleepy, Dhani?" he asked tenderly- his son nodded in response, already drowsy despite the brightness of the late afternoon sun. "Tell you what- I'll play you a lullaby, that way you can rest easier and know that I'm here beside you." "Dad," Dhani chuckled, "aren't I a little too old for that?" he lied, secretly longing for the affectionate gesture. George grabbed his son's acoustic guitar from its stand and begin to tune it: "You're never too old for yer old man's love and attention, eh? Now you just relax, close your eyes, and rest." Dhani didn't protest any further, heeding his father's instructions with a soft smile on his face. With that, George began to play- he chose "Here Comes The Sun," fingers strumming the strings gently and with care, dedicating the sweet words to his beloved son. By the time he was finished Dhani was fast asleep- grin faltering as he drifted off, but still visible on his lips. George placed the guitar back on the stand gently, taking care not to wake the sleeping lad. He smiled to himself, tears welling in his eyes as he turned to admire his son's peaceful face. "I love you, my boy," he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on Dhani's forehead before tip-toeing out of the room and shutting the door cautiously. Back pressed against the wooden door, George let his eyelids fall shut and sighed: "Sweet dreams, Dhani." ♡

[skullang3l]

𝓦𝓱𝔂 𝓦𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓨𝓸𝓾

Why cut yourself

When you can talk to me

Don't you care enough

That I hear your condition from the telly

Why cut the connection

When I try to pair it together

With all my mighty

Then why scream your heart out

You say you're lonely

Oh boy,

If I did what I desired whenever you said it

You'd be dead by now

Why cut me off

Whilst I'm trying, with the strongest glue ever

To get us back together

To get us back to what we used to be

Why try to kill me

When I'm already dead inside

They hurt so much

When I hear them from you

You said you belonged to nowhere

Except my side

If I made you happy then

Why you think I can't now

If you cared enough

We wouldn't be here

Shoutin', yellin', screamin'

With teary eyes

Why can't we turn back

To what we used to be

I miss those times

When we'd cuddle up our hearts out

You're talkin' nonsense

You always have

But it was cute back then

Now it just awakes the fury in me

Don't you dare to blame me

'Cause I know

How much it hurts babe

But still it doesn't give you the rights

You knew that

When you went out of that damned door

You wouldn't get back here

In any time soon

But still you left

Was it my imagination

Or did your eyes let some tear-drops

Like my owns

Please Lord save me

Save me from this ordeal

Help me to take my liberty

Help me set myself and you free

I saw you when you came the next day

So, I thought you came for my mercy

And were ready to apologize

But before you knocked you've changed your mind

You called me

After a few weeks later

From our argument

We met at our special-spot

Just you and me

Fun and games

Together

All Alone

You were sorry

So was I

We shouldn't bottle up our feelings

We shouldn't hold them for too long

For too long

And too much

And deep them down

To the point where we both exploded

You said you loved me

So did I

Then why cut yourself

Why try and cut me off

And not try and rebuild our relationship

Reconstruct the strong-bond between us

[theangrypokemaniac]

Stop

XXIII. Tales From The Crypt

Oooh, precious blood.

I remember the days when Team Rocket walked about in the sunshine.

We didn't know when we were well off.

Ever since Alola prioritised licking pies and picking arse over fun, we're stuck in one boring bastard spot for the era.

Naturally we sink to the bowels of Vermilion like scaly, half-blind Mole People.

Careful now.

• No air?

• No light?

• No water?

• No warmth or comfort?

• No wallpaper or carpet?

• Bare brick and cold concrete?

• One bar stool and a wipe-clean settee?

• An overflow of scrap metal, cardboard and a variety of wooden boxes?

It's like the bloody IKEA catalogue.

I ain't seen this many crates since me Crash Bandicoot days.

Nothing says 'domestic bliss' like pulling splinters out yer face every morning...

...Turning on Knob Telly for that crystal-clear sewer signal quality...

...With Mini Fan keeping the sultry heat at bay.

What, several miles under the cold earth?

Yes. Much closer to Hell.

That kind of surly greeting is just what we're looking for at the Post Office.

I thought it was steps. I was wrong.

'Cause the table's running on a railway.

But only one side has the wheels, so don't go pushing it too far.

They're doing a lot of reading these days.

How, when the best illumination comes from Illegible Neon Signage?

Nothing says 'rebel' like poor quality vision.

Yeah! Squints are so kewl!

Sunken Bookcase? Ooooooooh, get you.

Jess 'n' Jim shun back support, each nursing a hump by bending over the barstool.

Another crate! So low and flat it counts as a bed in these parts.

Three things however puzzle me:

1. Who bought the photo of Midgar?

2. Who's tearing posters off the walls?

No plaster and yer fussy about pictures?

3. That glowing red thing, with the wheat sheaf carvings, is a...

• Sun bed?

• Jukebox?

• Fruit machine?

• Iron lung?

• Dæmon catcher?

Wobba's chilly, man!

Now I wouldn't be slumped on slabs freezing me fuzz off, just waiting for that railway table to slice me tail up if I could help it.

Calm down love. They ain't even got a toilet here.

Yer never thought of getting a few beds in then? An arm chair? Or a rug?

Bean bags, man! I'd settle for bean bags!

Nah. What's this nuclear bunker crying out for?

A SNOOKER TABLE!!!

SNOOKER LOOPY NUTS ARE WE!

WE'RE ALL SNOOKER LOOPY!

Feckin' genius.

Unsolved mysteries include:

1. How did it get through the door?

2. How did it fit in the 'phone box?

That's space well spent if ever I saw it!

A pimply, pube-headed nerd's fantasy of a 'badass' hideout is before us.

• Idiot Team Rocket suddenly carry a library, but can't see for 'atmospheric' lighting.

• Despite the hologram, we've an analogue telly that only shows Wobba's revenge porn.

• Entertainment consists of 'edgy' working class games they've never cared about.

Like a dartboard...

When Meowth's a midget.

And a snooker table...

When Wobbuffet's got flippers.

How's he holding on?!

[ageofevermore]

Wild Flower Lightning Storm

summary → in which Harry’s girl is afraid of thunderstorms and he goes to get flowers

word count → 790

add yourself to my taglist

She hated the rain. Ever since she was a little girl, the rain was her least favorite aspect of the fluctuating European weather. She didn't care for the violent strikes of lightning, rather settling for a few snowstorms or dry spells. Anything but the rain.

The flat was bare except for a bed and a few canvas shots of Harry on tour. They had moved in a few weeks back, taking advantage of the break in schedule and flying back to England last minute. It was unfortunate that lockdown was put into place just three days after they arrived, but America was becoming bleak anyways.

Harry had just gone out for some Nandos when the sky got dark with storm clouds. She had tried to keep a brave face as he left, she was twenty-three for fucks sake, but after half an hour the grey clouds had converted to strikes of thunder, and she regretted sending him off for some food.

English rainstorms were different then the few showers she had experienced in California. It was warmer their, like droplets of sunshine on her windowpanes. The sun always came out shortly after too, creating rainbows over palm trees and soaking the mostly artificial lawns. That's what she loved about LA, it hardly ever rained, and when it did, it was dainty like vegan culture.

Pulling Harry's black jumper over her head, she went about finding blanket. They had purchased a few thick blankets days ago when they discovered their heating system wasn't the best, and right now, she fancied a cozy spot on their bed. She found a fuzzy white throw in their hallway closet, and contently retreated to their bedroom when another bolt of lightning struck overhead.

The telly hadn't been connected to cable yet, and was being propped up by their two suitcases. They hadn't gotten around to mounting it, not ever spending much time in their flat truthfully. Harry had been on a exercise kick as of late, dragging her around on hikes and uphill bike rides.

She flinched when another clap of thunder echoed around their flat. Harry should have been home ten minute ago, but it wasn't uncommon for Nandos to be overwhelmingly crowded and backed up.  She wished he was here though, the bed was cold and her heart was racing.

-

Harry cursed himself out when the first crack of thunder shook his car, and a defined bolt of lightning struck overtop of London. He knew his girl didn't care for rain storms, becoming clingy and wanting nothing else then his cuddles and kissed to her face.  The bouquet of wild flowers in his passenger seat was perfect for his girl, sitting beside her takeout boxes.

When he pulled up to their flat, puddles had formed in his spot. Another strobe of lightning shot overhead, dangerously brightening the grey sky. It was only half seven, the sun should have still been out, but all traces of daylight had been eaten by storm clouds.

Harry took the steps two at a time, thankful for the grip on the bottom of his trainers. He got to the front door just as another crash of thunder sounded over the coast.

"Petal." He called softly, not wanting to startle her even more. The flat was quiet, and his girl was nowhere in sight.

He made his way towards the bedroom, hearing the soft hum of American voices. His hand braced the door, pushing it open softly. On the center of their hardly made bed was his girl, wrapped up in a thick blanket and sound asleep. She wiggled every few seconds trying to escape the blanket, but she looked peaceful.

Harry sighed, sitting the bouquet of flowers down on one of the boxes. He put the food down on another, kicking his trainers off and pulling his black t-shirt over his head. She was properly wrapped up in his jumper, her cheeks a flushed pink due to the heat.

He sighed guiltily. falling into bed beside her. He pulled her back into his chest, kissing at her cheeks and jawline quickly and softly. "You're home." She mumbled sleepily.

"Yeah, Petal, I'm home."

She hummed groggily, pushing out of the blanket and turning in his arms. Her lips brushed against the bare skin of his collarbone, thick eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks.

"Don't like being here alone, H." She revealed what he already knew.

Harry smoothed down wispy strands of baby hair, his cold rings brushing over her cheek, "I'm here now, Petal. Brought you flowers."

She just hummed, tracing the butterfly on his chest blindly. She peered up at him with heavy eyes, a tired smile sitting on her lips.

"I love you, H."

"Love you too, Petal."

[genesisarclite]

Since you were so kind to accept my challenge, I am now requesting you to take on Mr Tall, Dark, Handsome & Augmented himself! Since your analysis of Aria's personality made me love her even more to the point I am right now sewing myself a 'Aria's my waifu' t-shirt, I believe you will hit this one out of the park, too. And as always, reading anything written by you is a pleasure. P.S. I hope I don't sound like a creepy stalker. I am NOT standing in front of your window... ohhh, oops.

Mmm, yes, Adam Jensen. I really do love his character, for many reasons, and I would say his appearance, no matter how gorgeous he is, is actually ranked relatively far down. Looks fade, but the heart does not. So, here we go!

The traits I found within Adam are compassion, will, loyalty, thoughtful, humble, mild Martyr Complex, emotional, self-repressed, and shortsighted. The lattermost trait isn’t present as much after HR, as he seems to have calmed down a lot and bottles up his emotions far too much. He kind of rages through the entire game. Adam is a very emotional person, but because he doesn’t wear it on his sleeve, a lot of people think he’s stoic. He’s not, he just bottles it all up and lets it out sometimes. Case in point, meeting Megan again, confronting Taggart, a milder example in finding Eliza again, the death of Miller (my goodness, he just looked so distraught, it still hurts), the death of the woman at the start of MD, and so on.

As a result, he’s very self-repressed. He hides away in his apartment all the time, he doesn’t let people get close, he seems afraid of having friends (or a lover) anymore, he shields himself behind those glasses, he doesn’t trust easily (which can be good), and his demeanor can be extremely off-putting, probably on purpose. Considering how highly he’s spoken of in both Sarif Industries and the DPD, it’s highly unlikely he’s always been repressed. I do believe he’s always been a quiet person, but not as detached as he is now.

He puts others before himself to the possible detriment of himself. He could end up in a “no-win scenario” one day, where sacrificing himself would bring the worst outcome. I don’t count the “Stanek vs. Versalife” choice as sadistic enough for what I mean. I do see it as a bit of a flaw - you obviously put others before yourself, but Adam might be willing to destroy himself out of a Martyr or Savior Complex. He was probably suicidal before - who’s to say he wouldn’t be now?

(I mean, he’d broken up with Megan in 2024, and still obviously loved her almost six years later. LET IT GO, Adam)

But about his more positive traits, he’s very, very compassionate. Is he a proponent of the “tough love” approach? Yes. Yes he is. But look at how he acts with Irenka, Melina, Aria (”Don’t give up, Aria. Semper fi.” anyone?), Delara after her sob story, Miller when he’s dying, the Hyron drones (just stands there and sadly touches her, because he do literally nothing else), Eliza (in MD), Megan (ffs Adam stop it)… actually, Adam just has a soft spot for people in distress, and women. Probably because of his mother, but still. But he’s inherently a very kind and loving person, which you can never tell just by looking at him. Refusing to shoot a young teen? Taking care of his mother? Taking care of Michelle Walthers (and then using her name for his alias in TF29)? Comforting Edward Brod in Golem City, and to a slightly lesser extent, Irenka Bauer in the same?

And I would arguably place him in the Gentle Giant category, too. He’s big and tough, fast and hard-hitting, but he also seems like the kind of guy you can sleep on the shoulder of (like Delara) and he wouldn’t even be bothered.

He also has a very strong will, bordering on sheer stubbornness. Whether it’s the NSN thing (which was entirely his idea, and to which Alex more or less said “wtf” to), or Rifleman Bank Station, or six months of recovery after being nearly killed and heavily augmented, or getting through GARM, or whatnot, he’s kind of terrifying in how determined he is. It’s certainly best to keep him on your good side.

Loyal? Yes, definitely. Once he’s your friend, or teammate, or whatnot, you pretty much have him for life (unless you stab him in the back). He didn’t make SWAT commander because he was a douchebag, after all, and everyone at SI didn’t worry about him because he was distant before the attack. Mac doesn’t warm up to him by MD’s end because he showed himself to untrustworthy.

Thoughtful? Yes. He’s constantly thinking, though sometimes he forgets to think before talking, but he always has a lot to say. He’s snarky and talks like the blue collar boy he is (moreso in HR than MD, but that could easily be attributed to what he’s been through and a return to his more introverted roots), but he always has something to say that’s appropriate to the situation. Or he comes up with some creative way to BS his way through. Still, his thoughtful responses are usually the most interesting, and offer a lot of insight. “Captain of the Debate Team” indeed.

Humble… yes. Every time someone offers him praise, he deflects or downplays it. The first example that comes to mind is when Delara remarks that he is so good at gaining people’s trust (”Fade to Black”), and he says “yeah, well, point is…” He is just not used to compliments and probably never learned how to accept them graciously, not helped by a post-augmentation body he’s only in MD really getting used to. He probably still feels a bit vile, since he can hardly say he’s loved or accepted the way he is, so he might not ever be able to be sure how genuine any of them are.

Throw that all together, and you get Adam Jensen, who is this wonderfully complicated character, both superhero and normal guy, who can both take on a small army alone and sit in front of the telly with a bowl of Froot Loops, and both are completely believable. I love it.