#i got to borrow the lad....

[alun-ura]

[ POV: You are Alun and you just met Ruran ] Ruran of course belongs to @locke-rinannis!

[hum--hallelujah]

also it being a song from fricking Folie, essentially in a lot of ways a breakup album as they went into the hiatus with so much tension, being the song that shares a line with To You Unfinished, is absolutely insane

[trilobitepunch]

And then I accidentally made an AU...

I'm a sucker for Edo-period things so I got to thinking, well, what if...

The boys are some...Yōkai hybrid (I'm not going for accuracy here, everything is super-loose) and they basically get adopted by the Hamato Clan. Yeah, that's supposed to be Yoshi, I just borrowed off his teen haircut, haha!

I have this problem about wanting to nail down details before I do things (this is why I don't GM games, I get really carried away with trying to come up with well...everything- and the problem is trying to come with the everything XD;;)

As a fan of the series "Amatsuki" I was thinking the whole enmity between humans and yōkai thing would be interesting to go off.

I have been picking at ideas and nothing is completely solid except for me wanting to make them spikier, lol. I'm not outright making them kappa- let's be real, those things are weeeird. But the lads are more claw-ier and I gave the water boys webbing. And I just like making Donnie's shell spinier I guess. I did not put their usual markings because I was going to do something with kanji and tattoos for Reasons but I am very bad at kanji and I'm going for something more stylistic anyway so anyway gotta figure out stuff to stick on their arms.

I might ditch the hakama but I thought it was fun. My Bleach days are showing lol.

...I need to stop posting after midnight.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

1k / 39 / post-apocalypse au, part 3

...

By the time Soap eases himself off of Roach’s back and Ghost hauls him into what must be the infirmary cabin, you turn around to find the camp’s gates shut tight and fortified in preparation for nightfall. One way in, one way out, as with any smart semi-permanent settlement. You’re locked into the squad’s camp. Not on purpose, Price tells you. But you swear there’s amusement behind his eyes.

No good deed goes unpunished.

It’s more of an encampment than a settlement, with log buildings and structures everywhere. Looks like something they fixed up into someplace livable. Nicer than most hovels you’ve seen since society crunched under the boot heel of chemical warfare. You’re tempted to root around the place, get a better look around inside, too, but going inside somewhere enclosed makes you feel itchy now. You sit outside at the campfire instead, leaning back against the massive, furry flank of your snoozing dog.

Price looks at you over the fireside, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. His blue eyes seem to be analyzing you.

Roach sleeps next to you, one of his front paws flopped over your leg. It must be nice to be able to go to sleep that fast, no worrying about what the morning could bring.

You don't look at Price for a long time. But the more you concentrate on looking away, the more irritated you get. You pull at the grass. Finally, you glance back. He doesn’t politely avert his eyes. That irritates you even more.

"What?" you snap at him.

Price shrugs, not at all bothered. "Just checking you out." He takes a drag of his cigarette, leans back, and eyes you. "Smoke?"

"Where the hell are you getting cigarettes? You live in the middle of the woods."

He chuckles. "Trade with some of the settlements a way away. Cigarettes always make good bartering chips."

"Not if you smoke 'em all up."

"Gotta indulge where I can." He blows a stream of smoke away from you. "Here."

He's right, too. He hands you a cigarette.

A few minutes later, you're enjoying it, letting the nicotine soak in after a long day. That's still one favor you owe Soap and now one to Price.

"Your dog got a name?" Price asks as he lights his own next cigarette."

"Roach."

"What's his deal? Mutie hound?"

"He was my dog before he went all..." You square your hands. "Big. So he listens to me."

Price eyes the beast. "Sure he does. Must be conveneint, being able to tell him to sit there and keep your feet warm, huh?"

You take another drag, leaning forward a bit more toward the fire. "Sure is. Slobber everywhere, though. And the farts he rips..."

"Worse than the mutagen?"

"Exactly. Chemical warfare."

He chuckles. "Soap mentioned you once or twice. Never a dog, though."

"I thought I lost him to the forest." You glance at Price sideways. "What did Soap say?"

"Eh. He says too much."

"Right."

"Just said you're scrappy for a civvy. Pretty scrappy, period." He takes in another drag. "Seemed fond of it."

You scoff. Civvy. Is that what you are? But you don't pick a fight about it. The cigarette is good. You feel like you could lay down in front of this fire and sleep. Maybe you will.

Price doesn't say anything more. The silence is comfortable. You take in the atmosphere. It's peaceful, really: the fire warm and bright, the forest sounds and the smell of smoke mixing pleasantly with the cloud of nicotine in your lungs.

Price takes another drag. "Soap's a good lad, even if he can't quite stop shooting his mouth off."

"How many of those you got?"

"Cigarettes?"

"Mhm."

"How many you tryna borrow?"

"Another one."

"You'll get hooked if you're not careful."

"Indulging where I can, aren't I?"

"You are at that." Price hands you another with a smirk. "And a handful. You know, that dog of yours is a lot of muscle. We could use that."

"You're not the first one to think that, old man. He only listens to me, so don't get any nasty ideas about offing me and stealing him."

Price smirks. Sounds like you have experience dealing with other survivors. "Wouldn’t be a bad trade-off," he says, shifting into a lazier position as he stares into the fire. "Might anyways. Can't imagine keeping a dog that size just for a foot warmer. That beast's gotta be put to use. Turn him into a war hound or something." He takes another drag. "Can't imagine Soap'd be happy about you gettin' killed, though. Or the other lads, for that matter."

You smirk. You can tell he's got a dry sense of humor. You do, too. "Can't kill civvies, can you?"

"You're hardly a civvy," Price mutters under his breath. "Civvies're tame."

"Shame. Guess you're not getting my dog."

"Pity." Price taps his cigarette ash into the dirt. "Got a lot of cigarettes and nobody to smoke 'em."

"Thought you bartered them."

"Just getting a head start in case the trading starts to slow down. Keeps the supply low." Price takes in another drag. "But suit yourself. Best to leave before you get hooked."

He flicks the cigarette into the fire and walks away. You watch the flames and feel the warm lure of sleep pull you closer. It's like another favor for a favor, isn't it? Roach's aid and yours in exchange for a full night of rest and another day of cigarettes and food. Maybe two days. Just enough to recharge and get enough sleep. Enough for Roach to recover.

You curl into Roach's side, closing your eyes. Just another day or two. That's all. Then you'll vanish.

Roach nudges you as you nestle into his fur. You're exhausted, but you're also safe and more or less relaxed for the first time in days--weeks--and your mind finally starts to slow down.

The fire crackles gently in front of you. Roach snores quietly, content to keep you company through the long, quiet, dark night.

For the first time in a long time, you feel warm and safe. It's not much. But it's enough.

You let your eyes close and finally succumb to sleep.

...

part 1 / part 2 / [part 3]

more Price / more Soap / masterlist

[assortedseaglass]

Talk Refined - Chapter One

Michael Gavey x Reader

[Masterlist]

Summary: When Michael Gavey unwittingly insults a fellow Oxford student, they enter into a game of intellectual cat and mouse.

Content Warnings (this chapter in bold): Language, Smut, Saltburn Spoilers

Pool was never your forte. Truth be told, you were more of a darts girl. There was something though, in the soft click of the balls knocking together and the damp thunk of them landing in the pocket that scratched an itch on your over-worked mind.

Hilary term was coming to an end, and with it brought the dread that your extended essay title had been submitted. ‘“For the sake of some colour;” women as decoration, in response to Turner’s High Street, Oxford (1810)””. No going back now.

You’d escaped the January madness that had descended on your best friend, Esme. Like most other courses, she had exams at the start of the new year and spent her days in the library and nights in the pub. Much like now, come to think of it.

“You’re up,” you called to your friend as you missed potting a red. “Esme!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” she shimmied between the pool table and a few pub patrons, taking her cue in hand and leaning over the felt green. Click, thunk. A yellow sank into the corner pocket.

“Who were you talking to?” You indicated a man in his early twenties, eyeing up Esme’s backside as she leant over the table to reach another yellow.

“Bartender,” she missed the ball and passed the cue back over the table. You took it and swiftly potted a red. “Nice one. Just borrowing this,” she lit her cigarette with a metal lighter. When she was done, she tossed it back to the bartender and he winked.

The two of you’d met at a humanities and arts, inter-college social less than two weeks into your first term. Dress as your subject and be ready for a night of frivolity even Elagabalus couldn’t imagine. You’d found some of silk scarves in a charity shop, bought cheap pearls from Primark and gone as the Girl with a Pearl Earring. Outside the Blenheim was where you first spotted her. Dressed in a bedsheet draped as a peplos, she had climbed a lamppost and was swigging wine straight from the bottle. That is a girl I want to be friends with, you’d thought, and promptly beelined for her and begged for the bottle.

“You doing philosophy?” You asked after chugging the cheap merlot.

“Classics. And you, I’m guessing history-”

“History of art, yeah.”

The next morning, you’d woken in her dorm room at Brasenose, the autumn sunlight blinding and your breath smelling as if something had crawled inside you and died there. Esme didn’t mind. Her mouth was stained red from the wine and a hickey the size of Brazil adorned her neck. You’d been inseparable ever since.

“Bollocks,” you missed potting a red and, as Esme swept to grab to pool cue, the pub erupted in song.

“RUBY RUBY RUBY RUBY!”

“Ahah ahah ahaaaaaaaah!” Esme sang the refrain in your ear as she twirled you round, the cue discarded on the table.

“DO YA DO YA DO YA DO YA!?”

“Fuck’s sake,” It was hard not to smile despite your best efforts. You felt like a twat but no-one was looking at you. All were too busy singing to notice the two tipsy girls dancing by the pool table. In any case, the only person whose opinion mattered to you was the one spinning you in her arms. One wayward spin and bumped you into the pool table. Giggling, you opened your arms to be embraced once more-

“Oh shit,” Esme whispered hastily, suddenly standing straight and flattening her hair. “Got any lip gloss?”

“Erm,” you patted your pockets. “No sorry.”

“Damn,”

“Who’ve you seen?” you smirked, standing by your best friend’s shoulder and following her line of sight. Well, it could have been any number of students in the packed pub. There were some rugby lads, double polos with both collars popped. Pretty boy Felix Catton and his posse of poshos. It could have even been that girl Eleanor, now greeting a friend at the bar. Esme and Eleanor hooked up at the Brasenose Christmas party. Esme said it was “unexpected” and “not her usual flavour”, but you’d met her once after tutorial, and the way she looked at her tutor’s bottom as it wiggled down the corridor in her Peacock’s pencil skirt was not one of envy. “Well?” You asked impatiently. “Who is it?”

“There, blue check shirt, dark hair.” Esme pointed at the bar where such a man was standing. Two pints of lager in hand, he turned and seemed to look around the pub. “Cute, isn’t he? He’s at Brasenose too, doing English I think.”

“Oh right.” As a Wadham girl, you had never seen this boy before. You supposed he was quite good-looking, in a boy-next-door sort of way. You thought perhaps he would be bonny, were it not for the solemn expression on his face. He meandered through the crowd to a small table at which sat another boy.

The two were starkly different. Where Esme’s boy was dark haired, the other was fair. Esme’s boy was stocky, but even sat down the other was gangly, and while Esme’s boy clearly wasn’t an avid reader of Esquire, the blond boy looked like he’d rolled around Oxfam’s bargain bin in total darkness and worn whatever stuck; a pair of baggy cargo shorts pulled up far too high and cinched tightly with a black belt, a pair of Merrell trainers and a novelty tshirt. THIS IS HOW I ROLL. Below the wording was an anagram and equation.

If it weren’t for the middle-aged glasses and frankly atrocious haircut, he’d be quite good looking too. Two Oxford virgins; Trinny and Susannah’s wet dream.

“What’s his name then?”

“Oliver, I think.” Esme was licking her lips and fussing with her bangles.

“You look great,” you swatted at her hand. “And the other one?”

“No idea. They’re always hanging around together. Oliver,” she said his name with some uncertainty. “Oliver never says anything, the other one’s always talking a mile a minute but I haven’t really seen him about. Doesn’t go to any parties.”

“Him and the girl with-”

“Agoraphobia.” You said in unison. The characters of Esme’s college were more vivid to you now than those in a Dickens novel.

“I bet he does maths,”

“I told you, he does English.”

“No,” you tut. “The other one.”

“I reckon it’s physics.”

“Put a pint on it?”

“You’re on,” Esme smacked your hip. “Come on, there’s a table by the bar.”

Following the plume of her cigarette smoke, Esme led you to the sticky wooden table and ordered you a pint of Thatchers. She, a pint of Stella. At the table beside you both, Maybe Oliver and The Other One were talking quickly. Well, the maths-slash-physics boy was. Maybe Oliver was staring distractedly towards the other end of the pub. You looked over your shoulder. Felix Catton was settling down with another round of beers, his stupid eyebrow piercing gleaming in the low pub lights.

“Swap with me,” Esme whispered.

“What?”

“Swap with me so I can look at Oliver.”

You sighed and stood up, shuffling round the table to sit parallel to Oliver. Esme smiled at him as she sat down and he smiled back. When she giggled, you kicked her under the table. Now across from maths-slash-physics, you could see him clearly.

This close, you stood by your assessment that he could have been handsome. His light eyes were framed by not just those hideous glasses but thick, dark lashes. He had a jawline and cheekbones that would make Agyness Deyn jealous. His lips, though strangely curved were plump, and he had a distracting habit of frequently wetting them. But there was something so distinctly and undefinably creepy about him. He talked like a snake, quickly with hissed “s”s and “t”s. You noticed with unease that he barely blinked as he watched for any minutia in his friend’s reaction, and he moved with an almost jerky stiffness. All elbows and angles. This strange combination of beautiful and revolting made him impossible to ignore. Like catching yourself in the mirror after dying your hair. A strange feeling of the uncanny.  

He caught your eye, sensing you staring at him, and you quickly glanced at Esme. Shit. She’d been talking to you about something.

“-of course, it’s easy to compare the Iliad and the Aeneid, but really they’re very different.”

Aha. She was trying to impress, hoping Maybe Oliver would hear. “Oh yes?” You leant forward on your arm and wiggled your eyebrows at her. “Tell me more.”

Esme was clearly delighted that you’d cottoned on to her plan. Brushing her hair from her shoulders and leaning forward too, she continued. “Well, you have to start with the language. One is Greek and one is Latin. Now, we go through this in linguistics. Everyone has to get up to speed with their Greek and Latin so we’re all on the same level-”

You giggled and she kicked you under the table. Esme knew you already knew this and didn’t care. You knew that Esme was just showboating. When you kicked her back she got the giggles and glanced at Maybe Oliver. His eyes were still trained on the back of the pub, and she sighed, taking a gulp of beer. In perfect symmetry, you drank your cider and in the lull you admired the lengths your friend went to flirt with a seemingly average boy.

“-Jameson spends the whole time staring at her tits, completely ignoring the fact she can barely do her times tables.”

Esme choked a little on her drink and your eyebrows shot upwards with barely contained glee. This was far more interesting. You and Esme watched each other, communing telepathically about the intriguing conversation between the boys next to you.

“-times tables, Oliver!”

“Told you it was maths!” You whispered at Esme. Without a word, she got up with a smile to buy you another pint.

“-just fuck off and do history of art, love, save us all the trouble!”

You stilled in your seat, cider halfway to your lips. Did he just-? You ran the sentence over in your mind. “Fuck off and do history of art, love, save us all the trouble.” It wasn’t the first time you’d encountered snobbery about your selected study. Friends from school deemed it “hoity-toity,” and even your parents had worried about your career prospects.

“But what can you actually do with a history of art degree?”

You’d thought Oxford would be different. Surrounded by other young minds, eager for knowledge and an appreciation of the world around them, freshly opened up like your first bottle of champagne; long-awaited, exciting and with a little bit of bite. Just for the adults.

“Excuse me?” Your heart was pounding in your chest as you leant over a little and smiled at the pair of boys. You were proud of your subject but that eagerness to prove its, and your, worth was impossible to ignore. Oliver and Maths Boy looked at you.  “Do you,” you cleared your throat. “What’s wrong with history of art?”

The gangly boy scoffed and turned rigidly in his chair to face you. Like most other nerds, you’d expected him to shy away from anyone outside of his carefully selected circle. This boy, however, seemed to take up an enormous space in your mind. He was confident. Already taken aback by his vicious comment, that threw you even more.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s an easy option that’s become an elitist haven for the middle class.” He pushed his glasses up his long nose with a bony finger. “You ever met any of those ‘students’?” He put air quotes around that last word and you flinched, neck bristling with anger. You doubt he’d have noticed if you put your top over your head and did the Cupid Shuffle; he continued as if nothing happened.

“Load of public-school wankers spouting their useless opinions on aristocrats lounging about in gilded frames, just so they can justify getting a job in daddy’s gallery. It’s an irrelevant, niche subject for people who think their view of the world is superior to us mere plebs’.”

“Michael,” Oliver murmured. He turned to you, not quite looking you in the eye. “Sorry-”

“Here’s your pint,” Esme placed another Thatchers before you. Both you and “Michael” ignored your friends.

“You think it’s irrelevant?” You took a swig of cider without taking your eyes off him. Angry little prick, this fella. You knew the like; maths, physics, economics, law. The students were all the same. Thinking they were better than everyone else because they could swan off into the sunset with £40k job straight out of uni and reap the benefits that the arts provided them without any need to know better. The designer clothes and fast cars, the beautiful buildings they worked in, the nails on the woman ripping open the condom wrapper…

“What’s irrelevant?” Esme said brightly. She held out her hand for Oliver. “Esme, hi.”

“Oliver-”

“History of art, apparently.” You said haughtily.

“Ouch. Who said that?” Esme sat down beside you, still smiling at Oliver.

“Michael.”

“Who’s Michael?”

“Michael Gavey.” The man in question announced himself by extending a long arm in Esme’s direction. She shook his with slight shock and raised her eyebrows at Oliver. He lowered his head in shame.

“Our girl here’s a history of art student.” Esme patted your hand. If you, Esme and Oliver expected this to soften Michael, it didn’t work.

“Ah,” he smiled, mirth lighting his eyes. “That’s why you’re so tetchy. Which school was it then? Cheltenham? Roedean?”

“She went to state comp actually,” Ever your champion, Esme came to your defence.

“Scholarship student?” Michael sneered.

“No,” you rebuffed quickly.

“What’s wrong with that? Me and Oliver here are.”

“Nothing You were the one trying to get me to say it was.”

Michael smiled with satisfaction and an awkward silence fell between the four of you. The clink of glasses and drunken chatter continued around you. This wasn’t the first charged student encounter that had happened in this pub, nor would it be the last.

“I suppose you think maths is superior?” You folded your arms and raised an eyebrow. A challenge. Prove it then.

“Of course it is,”

It was your turn to scoff. “Why can’t there be room for both?”

“There is room for both. Mathematics is just more important.”

“Jesus,” Oliver rubbed his hands over his face.

“Mathematics is the foundation for everything. The modern world as we know it wouldn’t exist without it. Technology, healthcare, finance, governance, everything. It prevents chaos. Without mathematics, society would collapse.” He fidgeted in his chair to turn more vividly towards you, his hands excitedly grasping for something in front of him that didn’t exist. Maths, probably. “We create predictions and complex design systems so that life as we know it can exist, and continue to exist.”

He looked at you as though you should have been impressed. You supposed his excitement was quite sweet. In truth, you knew maths was important. History of art student though you were, you weren’t an idiot. You were at one of the world’s top universities for God’s sake.

“But what’s the point of existing if there’s nothing to enjoy? To live for?”

“Pardon?” What had he expected? For you to roll over and kiss his feet? Take him round the back of the pub for a quick knee tremble? “Oh yes, Michael, tell me more about Fermat’s conjecture! More! More!”

“Art is what makes life worth living for. Its history helps us understand politics, religions, societies and peoples of the past.”

“All that from staring at a Bruegels?” Michael looked at Oliver with a laugh, hoping for back up. Oliver was tearing up a beer mat.

“Yes!”

“Well, it’s never done anything for me.”

His arrogance and ignorance was astounding. This final comment was the drop that sent you overflowing with exasperation. “Yes it has,” you snapped. Michael glared at you. “Aside from what I literally just said, art has done everything for you. Take today for example.”

At this, Michael sat forward. He couldn’t resist a reasoned argument with concrete evidence.

“You woke up this morning at Brasenose, is it?” He nodded. “At Brasenose, in a dorm with Carol Vorderman posters on the walls, posters designed by graphic designers who studied art. Those posters line the walls of a building almost five hundred years old. From barely known architects to Powell and Moya, each added to its history with their extensive understanding of art and beauty. For some reason you then got up and decided to put on that God awful tshirt which, although many would believe otherwise, was designed to be aesthetically pleasing or visually arresting. The latter it certainly is. There you go. Art.” You were on a role.

“I’m assuming you had lectures or tutorial today? The book you read? The covers were made by, you guessed it, artists. You came here with Oliver and decided to get a craft beer because you’re a pretentious prick, and got the darker of the two because, and I agree with you here, the label is prettier. You’re gonna go home in an hour or two when you’ve had one too many pints and ogled that pretty girl at the bar,” you pointed at Eleanor. “Whose thong caught your eye above her low rises. Fashion? That’s art by the way and extremely influential on society ‘as we know it’.” You quoted him back and loved the way his lips quirked into a tight line.

“And thinking of her and her pretty thong, you’ll whack out ZOO mag and whack out a swift one over some big-titted page three girl in a pair of lace knickers that were designed by someone with a fashion degree. Art.”

Esme and Oliver stared at you. A manic, self-satisfied smile was plastered on your face, and when you downed your pint to cool down from the warmth that outpouring had exerted, Oliver actually smiled. Michael said nothing. Did nothing. He was entirely, utterly unreadable. You wanted to smack him.

He glanced from you to Esme, to Oliver and at last to his pint. Like you had done, he picked it up, finish it in three gulps and placed it back on the table. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” What the fuck was he talking about? He spoke to his friend as if you and Esme had ceased to exist. “Going for a slash. Get me another pint please, Oliver? Thanks.” He stood from his chair, unfurling like a stick insect, and made purposefully for the gents’.

Your mouth fell open. Esme chuckled nervously. “He’s a charmer,” she said to Oliver.

“Yeah, ‘scuse,” he muttered, shuffling awkwardly to the bar.

You both sat in your chairs, baffled silence befalling of you. “Well, no double dates for us then.” Esme said.

You laughed. “No date for you fullstop.”

“Yeah,” Esme glanced at the bar where Oliver was now waving at someone. You watched as he made his way over to Felix Catton and his friends. “Bit dull, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Oliver sat down as the rest of the posho’s table cheered. “Though if he’s friends with Felix Catton…?”

“Didn’t realise you were so shallow?” Esme teased.

“I’m not! But the parties, Esme, the parties!”

“I know, I know, I’ll remember that Christmas one forever. Oh God, here he comes,” Esme shrank in her seat. Michael was weaving through the crowd back towards the table.

“Why isn’t he going to sit with Felix and Oliver?” You whispered. “He better not be coming back here.”

You and Esme watched as his approached slowed, faltering when he noticed Oliver and his pint were missing. He glanced around, looking at his feet as if to find Oliver on the floor. It was painful. Watching the realisation dawn on his face. You and Esme knew it before he did.

A hand raised in the air; he had spotted Oliver at Felix’s table. You watched, with pity and embarrassment, as Michael waved and Oliver turned away.

“Shit,” Esme said.

Hand moving to push up his glasses, Michael, with head hung low, left.

“Shit,” Esme said again. “Bet you feel like a bitch for shouting at him now.”

And despite his pomp and arrogance, his cynicism and creepiness, you really did feel awful.

Notes: The amount of research I did for this was wholly unnecessary. Added some links because 2006/2007 was quite a place. The script hit me like a fucking train. It says, “Back with Michael: CRUSHED.”

Many thanks to @thecruel for their help with the transcript of the Saltburn pub scene, and to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for the Michael Gavey inspo, your headcanons are always spot on.

Tags: @lexwolfhale* @theoneeyedprince @lovebittenbyevans @fan-goddess @ellrond @very-straight-blog @arcielee @tsujifreya @liv-cole @myfandomprompts @annoyingkittydetective* @elizarbell @solisarium @thekinslayersswordhand @nightdiamond8663* @slowlysparklyninja* @kate-to-the-ki @bellaisasleep @xxxkat3xxx @lacebvnny @moonriseoverkyoto @ewanmitchellcrumbs @moonlightfoxx @pendragora @aemonds-holy-milk @st-eve-barnes @sapphire-writes @babyblue711 @targaryenrealnessdarling @slytherincursebreaker @bottlesandbarricades @valeskafics @anjelicawrites @exitpursuedbyavulcan @barbieaemond @chattylurker @itbmojojoejo @humanpurposes @cyeco13 @heimtathurs @in-a-mountain-pool

*could not tag

[hardwriterdeluxe]

Emergency Model (for Barber Exam)

This story is based on the themes from @joshslater story by the same name, linked here:

https://joshslater.tumblr.com/post/750324919700799488/emergency-model

Go show it love!!!

______________________________________________

Alex grew up in a wealthy family, surrounded by every comfort money could buy. His father, a successful businessman, had always emphasized the importance of self-reliance and hard work. Despite their riches, his father insisted Alex make his own way in the world, particularly when it came to paying for college. “Success,” his father often said, “is earned, not given.”

This principle led Alex to a relentless pursuit of part-time jobs to fund his education. Balancing his rigorous academic schedule with work, he found himself perpetually exhausted and constantly broke. His dorm room was neat and orderly, a reflection of his disciplined upbringing and his hope for a bright future.

One fateful afternoon, as Alex scoured job listings online, a peculiar ad caught his attention: “Quick Cash! Emergency Model Needed for Barber Exam.” The promise of easy money was too tempting to resist. Skeptical but desperate, Alex decided to take a chance.

Arriving at the barber school, Alex was greeted by a burly instructor named Mike, who explained the process. “We’ll be giving you a full treatment, mate. You up for it?” Feeling the pressure, Alex nodded.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, trying to sound confident.

“Great, let’s get you suited up so your clothes don’t get messy,” Mike said, handing Alex a jumpsuit typically worn by the barbers.

Once he had changed, the students began their work. The first cut was shorter than Alex was used to, but he remained hopeful. As the cuts grew bolder, his hair transformed into a chavy, sporty style. Before he could protest, a student named Dan approached with a piercing gun. “Hold still, mate. Just adding a couple of studs,” he said, not giving Alex a chance to object. Before he knew it, Alex’s ears were pierced, adorned with small silver studs.

When the final haircut was done, Alex looked in the mirror, barely recognizing himself. “All set, mate!” Dan announced with a grin. Alex went to change back into his clothes, only to find them missing. “Uh, where are my clothes?” he asked, panic rising.

“Oh, must’ve misplaced them. Don’t worry, we’ve got some spares you can borrow,” Dan said, handing him a bundle of clothes. The outfits were all chavy and sporty, much like the students wore. Reluctantly, Alex put on the new clothes, feeling awkward and out of place. He collected his phone and wallet, but the cash he was promised wasn’t there.

Alex left the barber shop, confused and upset about losing his clothes. He headed to the bus stop, only to realize he was short on cash for the fare. As he stood there, unsure of what to do, Dan and a couple of the lads from the barber shop appeared. “Need a hand, mate?” Dan asked, noticing Alex’s predicament.

“Yeah, I don’t have enough for the bus,” Alex admitted, embarrassed.

“No worries. We got you,” Dan said, covering the fare. They rode the bus together, the lads chatting animatedly. Alex, still in shock, barely registered the conversation. When they reached Alex’s stop, the lads walked him to his door. “See you around, mate,” Dan said, patting him on the back. Alex nodded, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and apprehension.

The next day, Alex was awoken by a knock on his door. Groggy and disoriented, he opened it to find Dan and a few of the lads standing there. “Morning, mate! Time to pay up for yesterday,” Dan said with a grin.

Alex’s heart sank. “I don’t have the cash right now. I didn’t get paid from the barber exam,” he explained, his voice wavering.

Dan’s grin widened. “No worries, we’ve got an alternative method. Come with us, and you can work it off.”

Alex had no choice but to agree. He followed the lads, his anxiety mounting. They led him to a local gym where they spent the day working out and playing sports. The lads encouraged Alex, pushing him to embrace their lifestyle more fully.

As the days turned into weeks, Dan began to subtly alter Alex's reality. Using an uncanny ability to manipulate time and space, Dan slowly rewrote Alex's past and present. Alex’s body began to change, growing taller and more muscular. His once lean frame filled out with bulk, his muscles becoming defined from the daily workouts. His bone structure shifted, his features becoming more rugged and less conventionally attractive. His face developed a rougher edge, his jawline more pronounced and his skin tougher.

Alex’s intelligence seemed to drain away, his thoughts slowing and his vocabulary shrinking. He began to speak in the slang and accent of the lads, his speech patterns changing to match theirs. His mind transformed, his memories and identity reshaping to fit his new life. The well-spoken, diligent student was gone, replaced by Alec, a school dropout with a rough, chavy demeanor.

Alec’s heritage seemed to change as well. His affluent background and disciplined upbringing were erased, replaced by a working-class origin. His DNA, once a reflection of his rich ancestry, now bore the marks of a lad who had grown up in a tougher environment. His once clean, well-mannered appearance was replaced by a more average, rugged look.

Alec found himself working at the barbershop for money, his old aspirations and dreams replaced by the immediate need to earn a living. His apartment, once neat and orderly, transformed into a messy, athletic-themed space. Weights and gym equipment cluttered the living room, and sports posters adorned the walls. Alec even found himself sharing the space with a new roommate, Jay, another lad who fit seamlessly into Alec’s new life.

The transformation was complete. Alec’s interests changed; he now enjoyed working out, hanging with the lads, and the rough, chavy lifestyle. His wardrobe, once filled with preppy, clean-cut clothes, now boasted track suits, hoodies, and trainers. His clean, academic demeanor was replaced by a confident, almost cocky swagger.

One day, Alec looked in the mirror and fully embraced the reflection staring back. His rich upbringing, his disciplined studies, his aspirations for a professional career—all were distant memories, replaced by his new life as a proper chavy lad. His brain had fully adapted to his new identity, erasing any lingering doubts or connections to his past life.

As Alec sat in his now cluttered living room, surrounded by his new friends, he felt a sense of belonging he had never experienced before. The job that was supposed to be a quick cash fix had given him a new purpose and a new family. Alec embraced it fully, ready for whatever adventures lay ahead with his newfound brothers. Thus, the wealthy student transformed into a proper chavy sporty lad, his old life replaced by a new, exciting reality.

[solomons-finest-rum]

Welcome back! I have been enjoying your writing but never sent you request before. Would you write maybe Alfie and a younger reader and he likes her. He wants to marry her but she is not ready so he tells her he would wait forever and it's really sweet and patient. something like that I don't know. you can decide if you like it. Thank you!

“Libretto” — (Alfie Solomons x fem!Reader)

SUMMARY — Age difference between you be damned, Alfie was quite happy to wait for you forever.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Thank you so much for the request! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ Feedback is always much appreciated.

WORD COUNT — 1,678

Masterlist

The first time you met Alfie Solomons was purely an accident. At least, you had to lie and swear to the police that it had all been an accident, if only in order to wriggle yourself out of getting arrested.

Now, had you known the man you nearly ran over with your brother’s car was the gangster boss of Camden Town, you could have been persuaded to drive a little more carefully. Especially since the car had been “borrowed” as well.

But, of course, how could you have known? Which was precisely the reason why the first words you uttered to the man were:

“Watch where you’re fucking going!” 

All due credit to Alfie Solomons, he couldn’t have been more shocked.

Now, you have to understand that a man like Alfie Solomons, a particularly dangerous man like Alfie Solomons, usually wasn’t shocked by much. It was not every day, however, that he met a girl with eyes so full of rage, driving a fancy Bentley so obviously outrageous and most likely stolen. It was more than enough to get his interest.

“Well?!” you shouted again as you got out of the car. 

It wasn’t until two police officers approached you, however, that you changed your tune. Immediately spotting your confusion, it was time for Alfie to enter the game.

“Alright, Mr. Solomons?” one of the policemen asked, feigning concern, though both of them were so obviously in Alfie’s pocket that they would have arrested you on the spot—had Alfie still not been so mesmerised by your outburst. And so, to your astonishment, they simply awaited his orders.

To Alfie’s absolute delight, you tried your best not to show how scared you were at that moment, so Alfie took his sweet fucking time before saying:

“Right, gentlemen, thank God you’re here, ‘cause there I was, mindin’ me own business, yeah, an’ there she comes, driving like the Devil’s on her tail, hair a mess—!”

“I beg your pardon, my hair is not a mess!”

“Right now it is, yeah.”

“No, it is not!”

“Are ya suggestin’ I should lie about what I saw, Miss?”

“So you… want us to arrest the lady, sir?” one of the policemen interrupted that exchange, incredulous at the interaction between you and Alfie. 

It served Alfie right, however, since his reputation had always been one to take care of the women in his community. As things were between him and the law, that charity probably remained the only thing between him and the noose.

“Nah, ‘course not,” Alfie waved his hand dismissively. “She’s clearly in a hurry, ain’t ya, luv?” Alfie asked you, with a smirk so devious you felt your cheeks going hot.

“Yes,” you said meekly, then saw Alfie make a face to encourage you to keep going. To spin the tale. 

“I… You see, it’s my grandmother,” you said smoothly and Alfie’s smirk only grew. “That’s my brother’s car, he let me borrow it to fetch the doctor. It’s consumption, you see. Overtakin’ her as we speak.”

As the cherry on top, you stifled a fake sniff.

“Now you see, gentlemen, it’s a case of utmost emergency!” Alfie shouted, waving his cane about and obviously taking great pleasure in participating in your lie. “Thank you for your service, lads, there ya go.” 

As the policemen gladly accepted a not-so-discreet bonus to their payment, you saw your chance and started to get back to the car.

But you thoroughly underestimated Alfie’s game.

“There now, I’ll drive ya, luv, you can never be too careful in these parts,” he said and quickly, quicker than you anticipated for the man, he made himself comfortable in the driver’s seat.

“Wouldn’t want any more accidents on the way, now would we, luv?” Alfie grumbled as he promptly handed you his cane and proceeded to fumble with the breaks and the accelerator as if he was trying to tame the car, not run it.

“There we go,” he announced as the engine sputtered and roared and you two sped along the street in a no less reckless manner than you had been driving before.

“Watch out!” you shrieked as Alfie almost drove straight into a flower cart on the corner.

“Don’t worry, luv, I know the way!” Alfie replied, then made a sharp turn towards London Bridge.

“You do?!”

“Right, not exactly, no, but it’s plain as day you’re not from Camden, luv.”

“What gave it away…” you sniped. 

“Now, don’t get cocky, right, ya still almost ran me over an’ I have to tell ya, luv, that takes balls, right! ‘Cause as things stand, the bounty for me is as high as they go.”

You paled at the notion and when Alfie glanced at your expression in between the turns, he roared with laughter.

“Naaah, luv, don’t be like that! Just pullin’ your leg.”

“Very funny.”

“I like to think so, yeah.”

Obviously too pleased with himself to notice, Alfie missed you paying close attention to the cane you were still holding. It was definitely heavy and so well-used that you had trouble distinguishing what used to be the shape of its head.

“Right, seein’ as you almost ended me on my own bloody street, luv, you might as well give me your name,” Alfie interrupted your musings, not too pleased about your close inspection of his personal belongings (even though the contradicting bastard gave it to you for self-keeping himself).

But you gave him your name regardless and he remarked he thought it pretty. When you also gave him your address, he drove you straight home and even got out first to open the door for you. You thanked him quickly for what you supposed was straight up hijacking the car, but seeing as you had done so first to your brother, you thought the deeds even. You only prayed no one would see you with Alfie through the window. You knew your sisters would never let you forget it had they seen you two together.

You couldn’t have known that wouldn’t be the last time you saw Alfie Solomons. Somehow throughout the following weeks you seemed to have more chance encounters together than the Fates could possibly allow.

He was always pleasant about it, though, and sometimes even brought you flowers. Then he started buying you lunches and somehow it turned into a little tradition just between you two. You ate lunch together every Thursday.

You weren’t stupid of course, you knew what Alfie was after, but truth be told… You wouldn’t exactly mind giving it to him.

He never outright proposed, but he hinted at marriage enough times that it became just one more piece of the regular fun little puzzle between you.

“An’ how’s my favourite girl this mornin’?” he would ask you when he met you for a stroll.

“Very well, thank you, Alfie,” you’d reply, your tone thoroughly overdone on the casual side. 

“Not too cold?”

“No.”

“Not too hungry?”

“Don’t think so.”

“So how ‘bout you marry me today, luv?”

“Oh, I can’t, Alfie!” you giggled as you looped your arm through his and let him lead you around the park. “I’m—”

“Right, let me guess,” he smirked. “Got my shirt inside out again?”

“No, the shirt is very clean today. That’s very unlike you.”

“Well, that’s a first.”

“Well, I told you not to fire your housekeeper, haven’t I?” 

“Yeah, no harm done, I offered that old bat her bloody job back,” he grumbled and you giggled again.

“You’ll thank me later, Alfie.”

“I’m sure I won’t, luv.”

“You’re one stubborn man, d’you know that?”

“Yeah, can’t say I’ve never been told that one before.”

“So why can’t I marry you today, Alfie? You promised to guess.”

“Right, how’s about you’re too cold?”

“No, the weather’s quite nice.”

“Too hot?”

“Not really.”

“Too old?”

“Close.”

“Too young?”

You paused and so did he, because he somehow sensed this time it wasn’t just a game between you two. This time it wasn’t just banter; it was real.

“Luv, if I’m makin’ you do anythin’ you wouldn’t want to—”

“No!” you interrupted that train of thought as quickly as possible and took his hand in yours. “No. It’s just that… I don’t think I’m ready to be a wife, yet.”

“Right, in what way?”

“In… In every way, I suppose. I have no idea about running a household or ironing shirts or…”

“Right, thankfully yours truly has already been told he’s a slob.”

“Alfie, this is serious!”

“Right.”

He looked at you expectantly. You still haven’t let go of his hand, which he thought was rather promising.

“I just think I’d make a lousy wife, Alfie.”

“Yeah, that’s that then, luv, right, ‘cause look at the pair of us, I’d be a real lousy husband.”

That got him another giggle out of you, which he thought might have boosted his chances a little.

“Luv, if your parents don’t approve—”

“My parents don’t give two shits, Alfie, I’m not a princess or an heiress,” you chuckled. “I have two younger sisters and two brothers, as far as my chances stand I’d be happy if I scored a baker or some sort.”

“Right, funny you should say that…”

“A front doesn’t count, you madman!”

Even though you knew you crossed a line there by the way he looked around you two, he never did anything to chastise you or show his disapproval at the revelation you just uttered at full volume. In a way, it already told you everything there was to know about the man, had his previous behaviour not been proof enough that he cared about you a great deal.

You already knew you wanted to marry him, age difference between you be damned. So what were you so afraid of exactly?

“Luv, you already know I’m happy to wait for you forever if—”

You shook your head and got on your tiptoes to kiss him mid-speech, since you already knew that a speech was coming. The answer was, with Alfie by your side, you wouldn’t be afraid of anything.

[the-offside-rule]

Declan Rice (Arsenal) - Triumph

Requested: yes (THIS WAS REQUESTED IN LIKE SEPTEMBER IM SO SORRY IM ONLY GETTING AROUND TO IT NOW)

Prompt: just cute girl-dad Declan

Warnings: none tbh

The sun was setting over the Emirates Stadium as the final whistle blew, sealing Arsenal's victory and clinching the Premier League title. Declan Rice, clad in the red and white of his beloved club, couldn't contain his joy. He hugged his teammates, exchanged high-fives, and then spotted his wife, Y/n, and their adorable daughter, Lily, waiting for him on the pitch. Lily made her way quickly to her father who in turn was running towards her with open arms. "Daddy!" She squealed as he neared her. "Oh my darling, how are you? Did you see that? We won!" Declan exclaimed as he scooped up his daughter, who was wearing a tiny Arsenal jersey with her name printed on the back.

Y/n smiled, her eyes sparkling with pride. "We saw, didn't we, sweetheart?" Declan looked up and pressed a gentle kiss onto his wife's lips. "Ah, I love you." Declan sighed as Y/n reached around his neck. "I love you too. I'm so proud of you." Lily tugged at her dad's jersey and pointed towards the shiny trophy the players had been going around with. "Do you want to go see it, darling?" Declan asked. Lily nodded enthusiastically as the trio made their way towards the other players.

As they approached, Kai and Martin had turned and hugged Y/n, talking with her briefly as Declan held onto Lily. All the while, Lily couldn't take her eyes off the trophy gleaming. It only took a minute or so for Declan to notice her and he chuckled. "We'll get a photo now, okay?" Lily gasped. "Yes!" She exclaimed, making the other players laugh alongside Y/n. "Sorry lads, I'll have to borrow her for a quick photo and you can have her back." Declan smiled as he turned towards the photographer.

Lily giggled and clapped her hands, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She reached out towards the gleaming Premier League trophy, her tiny fingers almost grazing its surface. "Not yet, Lily. Let's take some photos first." Y/n said, pulling out her phone to take a photo of Declan and Lily first before quickly running back to get a photo. Declan grinned and posed with his family, the trophy gleaming in the background. Lily squirmed in his arms, eager to explore the pitch. "Okay, okay, darling. Let's see what you've got." Declan chuckled, lowering Lily to the ground.

Lily toddled off towards a group of other players' children, her Arsenal ball bouncing happily beside her. Declan and Y/n followed closely behind, enjoying the celebratory atmosphere. "Y/n!" She turned to see Kai's girlfriend Sophia walking towards her with a smile upon her face. "Sophia! Did you grab a photo with the trophy yet?" As they mingled with other families, sharing hugs and congratulations, the crowd suddenly erupted into cheers. Declan and Y/n exchanged puzzled looks, then turned to see what had caused the commotion.

Their hearts swelled with pride as they watched Lily, determined and focused, waddle towards an empty goal with her miniature football. "She's going for it!" Declan grinned from ear to ear, his chest swelling with love for his fearless daughter. "Go on, Lily! Shoot!" With a determined kick, Lily sent the ball rolling into the net, her face lighting up with joy as the crowd cheered just as loudly as if her dad had scored the winning goal.

Y/n and Declan laughed as they watched Lily get closer to the fans with her arms held high just as her Dad would have done, followed by her falling to her knees in an attempt of a knee slide. "She's her father's daughter." Y/n joked, wrapping her arms around Declan's waist. Declan hugged her tightly, his heart overflowing with love for his family. "We need to get her into football properly." He murmured, pressing a kiss to Y/n's forehead. Y/n hummed in response. "Maybe she'll even put you into retirement." Declan rolled his eyes playfully. "I'll be long gone by then. I'll be in a rocking chair beside you watching her from the living room." Y/n rubbed his chest as the walked towards Lily on the far end of the pitch.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the stadium, Declan, Y/n, and Lily played together, basking in the warmth of their shared victory. For in that moment, they were not just celebrating Arsenal's triumph, but also the joy of being champions together.

[pacifymebby]

the peaky boys being jealous cuz the person they’re going after (not dating yet js courting) gets a lot of attention, gets letters written to her, people confessing to her, asking her to go to pubs yk yk

Tommy

🌿 Tommy would try to ignore the fact that the woman he wanted was receiving the attention of other men, for as long as he could.

🌿Actually he'd try very hard to pretend that he wasn't interested in you or what happens to you at all.

🌿 He'll be distant but you'll feel his eyes on you whenever you're in his vicinity. You'll feel that angry, resentful glare burning you whenever any of the other peaky boys are talking to you.

🌿 You'll be completely convinced he actually hates you. The way he ignores you completely whenever you speak in a group, the way he often straight up leaves when you walk in.

🌿 He gets really snappy amd abrupt with you, cutting you off midsentence when you are talking to John or Isaiah. He hates seeing you laughing at their jokes or enjoying the company of someone that isn't him

🌿Everyone else will know! His brothers will tease him about it, Polly will roll her eyes and call him a stupid boy, his sister will roll her eyes when you ask her why her brother hates you.

🌿He'll still try to hold it in though, he will never say anything cruel about you to your face but if one of his brothers mentions that you look pretty today, trying to rile Tommy into confessing something, Tommy will just shrug and say he hadn't noticed, that actually he thinks youre quite plain.

🌿 You overhearing that and stewing on it for days, refusing to speak to him, glaring at him from across the room, wounded because you knew he didn't like you but you hadn't expected him to be so horrid and dismissive.

🌿 So you make a point of accepting a date from a fella you know Tommy will really hate. You don't see much in this man but you know that when Tommy gets wind of your evenings plans he'll be fuming.

🌿And of course he rises to it, storms into the Garrison to find you giggling in the corner with this young lad.

🌿 He wants to grab this stupid prick by the collar, shove him up against the wall and slit his throat, or at least beat him half to death so that he never goes near you again. He also knows that if he does then you'd hate him for certain.

🌿Instead he'll stand over you, cough politely and then ask to borrow you. He would perhaps apologise to the young lad if he was feeling particularly charitable, but "borrow" isn't exactly the right word because he's got no intention if giving you back.

🌿 "Tommy what the hell are you playing at you can't just..." "Sorry love need you on somw important uh.. Business, yeah very important it is..."

🌿 Would take you completely by surprise pushing you up against the wall the second he gets you outside, kissing you, testing the water at first watching your expression carefully to see how you react, and when you stutter but don't pull away he knows you feel the same.

🌿"but you... You hate me!" "What you? I could never..."

Alfie

🐻 Is having the most murderous thoughts. He has to be very careful thinking about you this way, as if you're already his that is, because he might actually hurt someone over this.

🐻 You aren't his, he knows you aren't his, but he's always been so fond of you, always treated you as if you were his... Well almost... Hes never actually told you how he feels but... He's always seeking out your company, always got his hand on your waist when youre close to him... And he's always making sure you're close to him

🐻 And you can be sure he's threatened every man in his bakery not to go near you, not even to look at you... To treat you with the upmost respect.

🐻 Everyone else knows you're as good as his, except apparently you

🐻 Alfie is super possesive over you, if he catches a man admiring you he'll go and stand with you, shoot them a warning look.

🐻 If they persist he'll have a quiet word...

🐻 And then when one of them isn't deterred, when they actually ask you out... When you say yes...

🐻 He starts thinking the worst things... Murderous things. He really does think hes going insane, getting this emotional over a woman

🐻 He feels physically sick seeing his girl with another man, his temper is volatile and he gets so grumpy... His bad mood doesn't go unnoticed by you and when he snaps at you and hurts your feelings he feels awful!

🐻 He grumbles at you about your man, has the cheek to ask what you even see in him

🐻 But when you try to tease him "careful alfie you sound jealous" he just sneers at you and laughs you off,denies his jealousy until he's blue in the face.

🐻 He thinks he can be patient, wait it out, this little fling youre having won't last long and then you'll go back to being his girl, but after several months, when he can see things really getting serious between you and this lad he realises he can't wait.

🐻 Hes in agony, completely torn up, doesn't know what to do and, in a panic blurts it out one day. He doesnt mean to and he isn't remotely articulate...

🐻 "I don't understand it right, what are you doing with him? What you gonna marry him yeah? You're gonna settle yeah? With him of all fucking people..." "I dont see why it matters to you alfie!" "Well of course it fucking matters to me y/n, how dya think i feel yeah, watchin my girl fall in love with someone else right, when she was always supposed to be my girl..." "What?" you frown looking back at him in confusion.

🐻 "Yeah thats right, you were always supposed to be my girl..."

Arthur

🍂 Anger Issues TM

🍂 Arthur has always been terrible at managing his feelings. He gets awkward and shy whenever you're around, fumbles his words when he's talking to you... Can't say anything right. It makes him feel stupid and frustrated.

🍂 And then when he sees other men talking to you with such ease, such charm... When he sees how taken in by them you are, how you flirt back, how you smile and play with your hair...

🍂 He can't control the rush of jealousy and rage he feels, he feels bretrayed, he feels like an idiot, he is full of selfloathing and he just wants to break things.

🍂 He takes it out in the boxing ring, fighting, losing himself in the fights, going crazy. When he's beating the shit out of his opponents all he's thinking about is the sight of you laughing, twirling your hair as you smiled up at some younger, more charismatic young man.

🍂 He's so unbelievably grumpy, literally snarls at people who ask him how he is... And of someone asks him whats gotten into him lately he won't hold back

🍂 "Its that tosser y/n's been spending all her bloody time with lately. Hes a fuckin scumbag.." his brothers will laugh at him and tease him but not too much... They can tell this is sensitive, that if they push him too far he'll end up taking all his anger out on them.

🍂 But when they do question him "What exactly is it you don't like about him again?" he can't really answer, he gets speechless and stutters and then tells them "He just is, he's just a tosser, i hate him..." and won't elaborate... Because he can't, not without admitting how he feels about you

🍂 Definitely drinks away his sorrows, gets way too drunk, stumbling around the Garrison snapping at everyone, everyone knowing to stay out of his way, except you

🍂 Instead of being grumpy and mean to you though he just gets shy, slurs something about how you should go back to your lad, "you don't wanna be wasting your time on a drunk fool like me sweetheart..."

🍂 Might (definitely will) get into a fight with your man...

🍂 Might end up blurting it all out to you one day when he's drunk.

John

🌼 King of laughing through the pain.

🌼 Will try desperately hard to convince himself and everyone else that he isn't at all bothered by the fact that his childhood sweetheart seems to be the most adored young woman in small heath.

🌼 Obviously he isn't convincing anyone and to be honest, even you can probably tell he's jealous the way he goes on making jokes and laughing it off every time someone brings up all the attention you get

🌼 He definitely tries to tease and embarrass you about it, and thats partially how you can tell he's bothered by it.

🌼 When someone sends you flowers one day he makes a joke about how they aren't even the kind of flowers you like... You raise your brow at him, "and why do you care whether they sent my favourite flowers or not?" "I don't I'm just saying..." "Flowers are flowers John, they're still nice, maybe if you're so bothered you should send me some sometime..."

🌼 He'd go bright red, unable to hide his blush, he'd choke on his drink and stand up abruptly abandoning you with the gift from your secret admirer.

🌼But he'd dwell on what you had said, he'd torture himself wondering whether maybe he should do it. Whether you'd like them, whether you'd just laugh at him for even trying...

🌼 And even then, when he did decide to do it, he'd spend ages at the florists second guessing whether he was right about which were your favourite flowers.

🌼 Every week he buys you the same bouquet after much deliberation, he vows that this time hes going to actually give them to you but then he chickens out and the kitchen in watery lane slowly fills up with the flowers he's too scared to send.

🌼 His brothers start to lose their mind with him and Aunt Pol finally snaps at him "look john if youre not going to be a man and give the girl the bloody flowers dont fuckin buy them for her... The next bouquet you bring home youd better bloody well send or thats it..."

🌼 And at the end of the day his aunt pol is far scarier than the thought of getting rejected by the girl of his dreams... Somehow.

Bonnie

🍀Is absolutely miserable, completely besides himself. He just doesn't know what to do. Honestly, he's distraught, he feels like his hearts been torn from his chest and shredded to pieces...

🍀 What happened exactly? Oh, he saw you smiling at one of the older lads last night around the fire.

🍀 But thats enough for poor Bonnie, just that one sight is enough to convince him that you're in love with somebody else, that you don't notice him at all, that he's missed his chance with you...

🍀 So he'll withdraw from you completely and there's no way you won't notice the change in his behaviour towards you... Instead of being his usual cheeky self, he won't be able to smile at you anymore without his eyes getting all bruised and wounded looking...

🍀 And you'll miss him so much! If you didn't know how much you loved him before you'll really feel it now he's backing away from you. You will think its something you've done wrong, you won't understand why he's changed

🍀 You'll get so worried about it you'll end up asking one of his sisters and honestly, they'll be clueless too, they'll be really shocked because they know how fond of you bonnie is, they won't understand what he's playing at

🍀 But he'll carry on like it, watching you from afar with wounded eyes, beating himself up for not doing something sooner. Even his dad will be trying to perk him up and offer him some encouragement.

🍀 Eventually you'll get sick of missing your best friend and you'll catch him by surprise one day when he's coming back from his training. "Bonnie please talk to me... Tell me what i did wrong... I... I just, i really miss you..."

🍀 He'll be so confused and conflicted and he'll probably accidentally come out with something spiteful and harsh... "surely you haven't got time for missing me these days, not now you've got..."

🍀You'll frown, you'll be confused, you'll try to ask him what he means and when he blushes and becomes stuttery and shy, when he gets frustrated with himself for not being able to get the words out... Thats when you'll understand

🍀 "oh," you say softly, barely even a whisper, looking at him with a small shy smile which grows with every second that passes.

🍀 "What do you mean oh... Y/n..." he starts getting nervous, thinking he's made things even worse... But then you stand on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek and link your arm with his and say "I don't know why you think I'd rather spend my time with him than you Bonnie Gold..."

Isaiah

🐀He pretends he doesn't care and to be honest, he lowkey does not care... So what if other lads think you're pretty

🐀In fact of course other lads think you're pretty... Hes been in love with you since forever and he knows he has good taste... So its only natural that other men would be interested in you too

🐀Isaiah isn't worried though, he knows he can get to you without even trying... He has all the confidence in the world whether he should or not.

🐀When other men send you flowers or ask you out he just watches it all with a smirk. He isn't bothered one bit...

🐀But then perhaps his playing it too cool is the reason he sees you kiss another man, outside the Garrison one rainy tuesday night, it looks all too romantic and real for Isaiah's liking and he skulks past you straight to the bar where he intends to stew and sulk over a whiskey

🐀Of course he isn't sulking for very long... So what you kissed another man, its only because you don't know who else is on offer...

🐀So he strolls straight back outside to where you and this lad are having a cigarette and he comes straight out with it...

🐀"Whatre you doing love?" "M'havin a cigarette Isaiah..." you say trying to play dumb, "No love, i mean what are you doing outside kissing this stupid prick - no offence mate - when you could be inside with me..." it shouldn't work... It should piss you off

🐀But this is Isaiah and somehow he has the uncanny ability to charm his way out of any situation.

🐀So you leave with him, you don't know why but you do... And he gets his way, and he gets to flaunt you to all those men he knows are feeling jealous as they watch you sitting on his knee.

🐀And if that other lads got a problem with how things have turned out Isaiah won't think twice about fighting over you.

Michael

☘️ Fucking livid mate.

☘️ He's very possesive and definitely the jealous type so if he sees you getting attention from other men he will be angry and he'll definitely take it personally. Way too personally.

☘️ Everyone will be on the receiving end of his little sulk but you will definitely receive the bulk of his frustration. He'll be so snappy and short with you...

☘️ His foul mood will probably push you even further into the arms of his competition which will make him even more angry

☘️ You just know his mother will be giving him hell for being so childish and defeatist about it... "For fuck sake michael grow up, if you want the girl hurry up and make her yours... Show her what she's missing..."

☘️ So thats what he does... First he has to swallow his pride, say hes sorry for being such a beast to you recently... And you're a sweet girl so of course you'll accept his apology...

☘️ Then Michael will take it upon himself to outdo every other man who tries to attract your attention. If they send you flowers he sends you twice as many and turns up on your door with them. If they offer to walk you home Michael will drive you home, if they try to spoil you with little gifts michael will bring you a diamond necklace... He'll completely overwhelm you with gifts and affection trying to win you over this way

☘️ Until one day you burst and stop him midsentence, "Michael stop for christ sake stop whats gotten into you lately?"

☘️ "can't a man spoil his favourite girl these days love?" "But this... This is more than that its... Its... Well its insane michael! Look at all this stuff! I don't understand..." "Whats there to understand love just accept the gifts eh?" he'd get frustrated with you all over again, his temper flaring when you argue back...

☘️ "I just don't understand why you're giving them to me Michael!" "Just... Just because alright! I just bloody am... Cause..."

☘️ When it comes to actually telling you he gets tongue tied and so annoyed with himself and maybe he manages to spit it out in the end... And maybe he gets frustrated when you giggle and say "oh... Well why didn't you just tell me how you felt... Didn't have to buy me all these things..."

☘️ "Well am not taking them back..."

[goatcheesecak3]

Please write a "meet the parents" situation for rodrick officially meeting his partner's parents, I live for him actually trying so he could make a good impression >_<

#

Hello! Sorry this took a few days, but here it is!

Rodrick fished around in his drawer, desperately in search of his church clothes, the only things he had that weren't band shirts and skinny jeans. Tonight was a huge deal. He was finally going to meet y/n's parents. A formal dinner wasn't exactly in his comfort zone, but he was confident that he'd mage a good impression. He'd had a week to plan, he'd even swallowed his pride and asked his mother for help with conversational tips and how to impress parents. So, with a neatly pressed shirt on and a pair of smart looking shoes he'd borrowed from his father, he set out in his van to y/n's house. Although, he had one very important stop to make on the way. He made a small detour to a shop where he purchased some flowers and a bottle of wine - a nice bottle, a fairly pricey cabernet sauvignon - not the cheap stuff he usually got for himself. He knew middle aged people were always impressed when a young person turned up with a gift.

He parked just round the corner from y/n's house, unsure as to what her parents would make of the beat up white van with "löded diper" crudely spray painted on the side that he would often chauffeur their daughter around in. Walking up to the house he revised the tips his mother had given him. Be polite, smile, offer to help. Piece of cake.

He straightened himself up, and rang the bell. A woman in a neat blouse answered with a welcoming smile,

"You must be the famous Rodrick, come on in, I'm y/n's mother, (your mum's name)"

"Hi, it's lovely to finally meet you. I hope you like cab sauv and peonies," he smiled, handing y/n's mother the gifts.

"Well aren't you just a dear"

She escorted him to the dining room (before disappearing into the kitchen) where y/n greeted him with a smile.

"The wine was a nice touch" she winked at him, before giving him a brief kiss on the cheek.

"If I'm being completely honest, I'm absolutely terrified for tonight" he whispered, "I really hope they like me"

"You've got nothing to worry about baby, trust me, they'll love you"

At that moment, y/n's father emerged from the kitchen, he smiled reassuringly at Rodrick

"You certainly know the way to a middle aged woman's heart, lad" he chuckled, placing a firm hand on Rodrick's shoulder.

Rodrick was perplexed, which y/n picked up on

"He means you impressed mum" she giggled.

Rodrick breathed a sigh of relief

"Relax, boy! You don't need to be so nervous, we don't bite" y/n's dad said.

This certainly was going better than expected - almost too much better. Rodrick figured that y/n must have buttered up her parents real good, maybe even embellished some of his better qualities a bit, but that only added pressure. He was so sure that if they knew what he was really like they'd never approve of him, and how on earth could he live up to the perfect gentleman that her parents so clearly thought he was? He was left with only one option: to fake it. It was a foolproof plan, in front of y/n's parents he would no longer be Rodrick, drummer and founder of löded diper, he would be Rodrick, the academically talented, responsible young man.

"Do you need help setting the table?" He asked politely

"Haven't you got him well trained," y/n's dad joked to her, "it's alright son, just take your seat, me and the Mrs will sort that out"

The table was laid, the food placed neatly in front of the four, and Rodrick's wine had been poured into glasses for everyone. Rodrick made sure to compliment the food, and take small delicate bites, rather than scarfing it down like he did at home.

"So Rodrick, tell us how you and y/n met," y/n's mum enquired.

Rodrick's heart began to race. He couldn't possibly tell them that they met at a basement punk show where his band was performing, that wouldn't be very responsible-young-man of him. No problem, he had the perfect lie.

"We met in the... library, yeah that's right, the library. Can't get enough of that place with all it's uh.... books and... stuff"

Y/n shot him a confused look, but didn't say anything.

"Oh, well that's nice" y/n's mum said, but something was off. Did she not believe him? Was that not impressive enough? He had to step up his game.

"Yeah, it's really nice. You know, that's just the sort of thing me and y/n like to get up to together, studying, reading the classics and not staying out later than 8:30. Isn't that right y/n?" He said, stumbling over his words as he did.

Y/n's brow furrowed as she uttered a less than confident "Uhuh..."

"Right then," her dad said, feigning politeness.

It was no use. No matter what he did, Rodrick couldn't hide the fact that he was never going to be the type of guy parents like. He couldn't even fake it. He was more than embarrassed, he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Looking down, desperately trying to hide his red cheeks, he mumbled some excuse about needing to check if he'd locked his van, then he legged it out the door, leaving a very confused y/n and her parents. He just had to get out of there.

"Y/n, sweetheart," y/n's dad said, "what in the fresh hell just happened?"

"I'm wondering that too," she replied, standing up from the table and heading to the front door, "I'll be right back".

She jogged down the road, where she found Rodrick sat on the floor leaning on his van, his face firmly planted in his palm muttering "you idiot" to himself.

"Uhhhh.. Rodrick? You wanna tell me what that was back there?" She asked, startling him slightly.

"I'm sorry, y/n, I really tried. I'm just not the sort of guy you bring home to your parents. They saw right through me." His gaze directed strictly towards the ground, he was far too humiliated to look at her.

"Yeah, no shit they saw through it Rodrick, I've told them all about you. They know you're not some goody two shoes bookworm"

"They do?" He lifted his head up slightly

"Of course they do," y/n said, sitting down next to him and taking one of his hands.

"They know all about the band, the fact that you hate studying, they even know that you taught me how to shotgun a beer"

"Wh... what?!" Rodrick spluttered, genuinely surprised, "why the hell did they even let me in their house?"

Y/n threw her head back laughing.

"Babe, my dad was in a punk band when he was our age, that's how he and my mum met. They like the fact that I'm not so uptight since meeting you, they say we remind them of themselves when they were younger"

"Wait... really?"

"Really, doofus" y/n smiled, giving Rodrick a playful jab in the arm.

Rodrick smiled, and planted a small peck on her cheek.

"I guess we better go back in and try again huh?" Y/n said, helping Rodrick to his feet

"Lead the way babe".

Upon returning to the dining table, Rodrick composed himself, let out a deep breath and finally spoke.

"I'm sorry about before, I'm not a book guy, I'm the drummer in a punk band called löded diper, the last book I read the whole way through was a beano comic, and I feel naked without eyeliner. So, that's it. That's the truth,"

Y/n's parents were silent for a second, before erupting into laughter.

"Well why didn't you say so!" Y/ns dad said, "Come on son, sit. Tell me about this band of yours..."

The rest of the evening flew by, y/n's parents reminiscing on anecdotes from their youth, while indulging in y/n and Rodricks more recent stories. It would appear that Rodrick couldn't have been more wrong, he was exactly the type of guy a girl brings home to her parents.

A/n hope you enjoyed :^) requests for fics / hcs are still open (sfw only)

[forever-fixating]

RWRB Appreciation Month Bingo: Underrated Moment

For @rwrbsource and @rwrbmovie's RWRB Appreciation Month Bingo: Underrated Moment

Underrated Moment: Alex's immediate "no" when Zahra asked him if it would make any difference if he was asked to not see Henry again

Author's Note: The absolute lack of hesitation in Alex's voice when he answered that question has burrowed into my brain. It's one of my favorite moments. Sure, boys, you're sooooo great at doing casual! There's a little moment inspired by a comment convo I had with @onthewaytosomewhere who made an astute observation about the way Ellen and Zahra talk to Alex, a grown man. Enjoy this little bit of fluff.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind Zahra, Alex and Henry deflated like a couple of balloons. Alex, his mind starting to spiral, looked at his...nope, not ready for that either, Henry and snickered half-heartedly, "Well, now I have a new name to save you under in my phone."

"You're an idiot," Henry said, shaking his head.

They began moving about the room and picking up discarded pieces of clothing. Alex took off his pants to slip on his boxers, not interested in freeballing with a pissed-off Zahra while talking with the press. Fuck, he was going to have to tell his mom about Henry. His bisexuality felt secondary. Not that it wasn't important, but he knew his mom would be okay with that part. But him sleeping with, to borrow Zahra's words, "the heir to the British throne?" During an election year? That part might be a bit harder for her to swallow.

While they got dressed in silence, Alex kept glancing at Henry. His expression was neutral, but that little corner of his mouth told Alex that the blonde's mind was anything but that. Henry sat on the end of the bed, tying his dress shoes. Alex nudged him with his besocked foot and said, "Hey, it's gonna be okay. Don't sweat Zahra. She's all bark, no bite."

Henry smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Alex knelt in front of him and took his hands. Rubbing his thumbs over those smooth knuckles, he said, "Talk to me, baby."

Henry bit his lip, a flash of white sinking into that rosy flesh, before he mumbled, "Did you mean it?"

Alex frowned. "Mean what?"

"When you..." Henry made a noise, a choked little something that made Alex want to comfort him. His eyes were red when he said, "When Zahra asked if it would make a difference if she told you not to see me again...you said no. Did you mean it?"

Oh. Alex stood and sat down next to his transatlantic booty call? sometime lover?, their hands still linked. In that moment, the answer seemed so obvious. While he respected Zahra, he was a grown man now, not a teenager. This was his life and his relationship. If it went down in flames or turned into something more solid, it would be Alex's choice. His mother nor her chief of staff would not make that decision for him.

Alex cupped Henry's cheek and said, "I did."

Alex huffed a laugh when Henry pulled him into a desperate kiss. Henry's hands in his hair and on the small of his back, the little choked moan when Alex parted those plush lips with his tongue...whatever this was, Alex would do anything to keep it.

Unfortunately, even though Alex wanted nothing more than to strip himself and Henry naked for one last tumble in the sheets, he wouldn't put it past Zahra to have a timer set on her phone. He broke their kiss and rubbed his thumb over Henry's spit-slick lips.

"Call me when you get home?"

"I will."

A/N- It's been a hot second since I read the book, but I think at this point, the boys were still operating under the delusion that what they had was casual but mutually exclusive. Silly lads.

Check out this post and join the fun in celebrating the one-year anniversary of our little romcom that could being released!

[bestworstcase]

@cryptidblues tumblr ate this one too, maybe drop tumblr support a line to check if you’ve been erroneously shadowbanned 

Oscar is dying! He’s dying! We’re getting the full weight and crisis of the merge in volume 10 I NEED IT. The image of him collapsed on the sand as the sunrises with his back to the long memory OOUGH just like Ruby and crescent rose after she drank the tea, before the tree took her. The reversal on “I don’t want to be me anymore” / please let me stay myself. The lad is being eaten alive! From the inside out! By an unstoppable brain parasite that will kill him! And Replace Him! I Need the slow build up of horror from Oscar and everyone involved. “And Oscar…just isn’t himself” they’re place setting. Getting the table ready. Ooh yknow he’s hiding those merge episodes/attacks from his friends. I NEED the existential terror and dread! BUT I NEED THE CATHARSIS OF OSCAR BEING KNOWN, SEEN & SAVED TOO ;-;

NOT to make a post oscar about ozma instead but the thing that is really, really pulling the hinges off for me is the implication that this is happening because oz started actively fighting the merge. as long as oscar resisted and oz kept up the drumbeat of “this is inevitable, there is nothing either of us can do,” the curse kept on quietly eroding oscar as the boundary became thinner and thinner between them. it was, for lack of a better term, stable. 

the moment oz tries to resist, the curse starts trying to rip him forward. to force him to take over, inflicting what seems to be torturous amounts of pain on both of them. the subtle, silent, invisible violence that was inflicted on oscar before explodes outward to attack both of them. 

how many times have i said this curse is specifically designed to make it impossible for ozma to change? that the whole point is to prevent ozma from ever changing his mind or defying the god of light? never doubt me. the literal fucking instant ozma tries to break free, the curse becomes YOU DO NOT HAVE A CHOICE. 

the curse had a failsafe the whole time.

/ozma tangent

oscar though. this poor kid. like the greatest burden on his shoulders in the last four volumes has always been that no one wants to openly acknowledge what’s happening to him and the nature of the merge’s violence being so completely internal means that no one has to look at it except him. and he’s been so isolated in that existential dread but he’s also grown so accustomed to being treated like just. the next ozpin. that when the violence abruptly becomes externalized in reaction to oz’s resistance, oscar… hides it. keeps it to himself. somewhere deep down the idea that it doesn’t matter to anyone what happens to him got lodged in his brain so deeply that he keeps it hidden!!

and i’m obsessed with the emotional complexity the layers of what he’s feeling with regard to ruby, because it’s not as simple as that he misses her and aspires to her optimism; there’s also some underlying resentment there (“you were always so sure that everything would work out…right up until the moment it didn’t” <- paraphrasing) because she was wrong and he wishes he could borrow her certainty but she was wrong. she fell. she was wrong. 

BUT AT THE SAME TIME, everyone else believes that they’re gone forever. that they’re dead. oscar doesn’t. he’s thinking about it in terms of where they might have gone, what might have happened to them, he’s doing research because deep down, there’s a teeny tiny spark of hope that hasn’t been extinguished yet. so there’s this subtext of i wish i had your certainty. even though you were wrong. i’m still trying to find you. we’re still fighting this. you always saw me for who i really was. i don’t know who i am anymore.—there’s this tension throughout the monologue between bitterness and hope, and i don’t know if oscar is even capable of seeing that he is still hopeful or that he does have, if not ruby’s kind of certainty, something of his own that rhymes. he’s feeling this bleak about everything and still trying to figure out where they are because he doesn’t believe they’re dead. 

it was oscar’s idea to put the memorial where the portal had been. it’s taller than a person and shaped like a door. it’s a memorial but it’s also a symbol; the portal is gone, but they were inside it still, we should build our own door so they can find their way home. and then they do, according to the context given. the blacksmith gave them a doorway that went right through their memorial.  ETA: never mind, misremembered

ruby confronting and facing his mortality after running away from it for three volumes to galvanize her to really try to save him vs oscar doing whatever he can think of to somehow save her while roiling in all these complicated painful feelings about how no one cares to know how he’s suffering because it isn’t like there’s any real hope for him. tasty!

[random-thot-generator]

Thots go brrr so...

More medieval AU, this time with Good King John (Price).

Good King John who just wants his bratty Princess, dammit. A.K.A. - When a Good King Goes Bad

TW- MDNI 18+ Only- explicit sexual content, sexual situations and language, brief bloody violence, bit of bdsm- spanking, brat taming, mentions of bondage and impact play, my usual brand of fluffy smut

Notes - I know, I know... I've got two unfinished series and an embarrassing amount of WIPs in my drafts folder, but I can't help it. Soo... sorry, not sorry. No beta- embrace the imperfections.

warning banner by: @cafekitsune

-

Good King John, who went to a lot of trouble to earn your hand in marriage, only to have his best knight, Sir Simon - the Ghost, duped into delivering a chambermaid to him, instead. Oh, how you must have laughed, wicked little Princess that you are, thinking you had got one over on him. And you did, you tricksy little minx. Your trick worked, Princess, but playtime is over, now. It's time to come home and take your rightful place by his side as his queen.

Good King John, who makes the long journey to your kingdom to fetch you home himself, only to be thwarted again when your father, the conquered king, informs John that you snuck out of the castle under cover of darkness and escaped to parts unknown. John knows this is a lie, of course, but he can't fault your father for trying to protect his only child. Still, the wedding banns have been posted throughout the realm, so he will be taking his bride-to-be home with him, whether you or your father like it or not.

Good King John, who sends his spies out into your father's kingdom to discover what they can of your where-abouts. He knows well enough that it's the servants who are privy to everything that transpires within the walls of any castle, and so directs his spies to concentrate on them, specifically. It isn't long before their inquiries are soon rewarded.

Good King John, who is informed by one of his spies that you have disguised yourself as one of the servants at the castle. You've been masquerading as a male youth, a stable hand of all things, working and sleeping in the stables with the horses. His spies also report that you have also concocted a most devious scheme to lead John on a wild goose chase. You paid a sailor in silver coin to spread the rumor that he saw you boarding a ship bound for the Silk Coast, which is many weeks and leagues away. John can't help but be impressed by your adept little mind, wicked as it is. He has to reach down and adjust himself at the thought of soon having you all to himself.

Good King John, who decides to play along with your ruse, so orders his knights to commandeer a ship and begin the preparations for the long voyage to the Silk Coast. He must make it seem like he's fallen hook, line and sinker for your devious little plot. Later that evening, while dining with your father, the conquered king, and your stepmother, his trophy queen, John reveals to them his plans to follow in your wake and bring you home. He then requests to borrow one of your father's many servants for the journey. Thinking King John has fallen for your trick, your father happily acquiesces to his request. "You may take whichever servant suits your needs best," the conquered king offers magnanimously.

Good King John, who arrives at the stables before dawn, waking the stablemaster and telling him he is there to select a 'lad' from among the stable hands present. John spots you immediately, sleeping on a pile of hay. "That one will do," he says, pointing you out. The stablemaster, no wiser to the ruse than anyone else, kicks you awake and tells you to go with King John. Unable to refuse, what else can you do but go along with him or risk exposing yourself.

Good King John, who feels near giddy with excitement, knowing he now has his princess in hand. Sure, he could forfeit the gold he spent on chartering a ship and simply take you back to his castle, but then he'd have to lock you away and keep you under constant guard even after the two of you are wed. John knows he will have to win you over to tame your shrewish heart, and so decides to allow your ruse to continue.

Good King John, who boards the ship with you, having you lug his heavy saddlebags as you follow along behind him, instructing you to ready his cabin for him while he discusses the upcoming voyage with the captain. You nod and just barely catch yourself before you curtsy before him. Stable hands don't curtsy, you silly ninny! You give a quick bow and scurry away to do his bidding, thinking you'll sneak off the ship while he's distracted with the captain.

Good King John, who is no fool when it comes to your tricks, locks you inside the cabin then orders the captain to set sail immediately, trapping you aboard the ship with him. He returns later to find you glumly staring out of the porthole. "What's the matter, lad? Already feeling seasick?" he asks you, making a valiant effort to hide his smug smirk. He then has you join him on deck to watch your home recede into the distance as the sails billow and snap before catching the wind There's no escape for you now, but as soon as you put into the next port, you'll be gone.

Good King John, who orders you about like the servant you supposedly are, telling you to help swab the decks, then puts you to work in the galley. By the time he tells you to fetch his dinner and turn down his bed for the night, you're exhausted. Nothing pleases him more than to see your pinched expression when he sends you out yet again after dinner, this time to fetch him hot water so that he can wash. Even better is your look of dismay when you return only to be ordered to help him disrobe and bathe him.

Good King John, who revels in your awkward state as you help remove his clothing, stripping him down until he proudly stands before you in all his nude glory. You've never seen a grown man naked before and struggle to keep your eyes averted from his crown jewels as he patiently waits for you to wash every bare inch of his skin. Is this thing supposed to jut out like a jousting lance, you wonder as you take him in hand and drag your soapy fingers over his length.

Good King John, who is almost cross-eyed with the pleasure of your touch. Your soft hands have already lathered him from stem to stern, but to feel them now wrapped around his cock as you bathe him is almost his undoing. "Gods above! That's good enough, lad," he rasps out in a gravelly voice, clamping a hand around your wrists to stop your hands before he paints the front of your homespun tunic with his seed. You blink up at him with a fevered gaze, breaths softly panting.

Good King John, who listens to your exhausted little snores drift up from your pallet on the floor later that night, wanting nothing more than to pull you up on the narrow bed with him and test the strength of the ropes supporting his thin mattress. It is too soon for such things, unfortunately. Your curiosity has definitely been piqued, if your wide-eyed stare and firm grip on his cock were any indication, but he'll have to win over your heart and mind, if he's going to convince you to stay of your own accord. You're a willful creature, too smart and opinionated for your own good, but that's what first attracted him to you. He knows he's playing with fire, keeping you in his quarters, but he's certain he can control his desires long enough to win you over.

Good King John, who spends a week in close quarters with you aboard the ship. During this time, the duration of his sponge baths has lengthened considerably, taking much longer than the first time. John is more than happy to allow you to take your time as you become intimately familiar with his body, relishing your touch despite how torturous it is. He groans and his head falls back as your soapy hands cup his balls and lather his cock. Forcing himself to make you stop yet again finally breaks his iron will. Something has got to give, he decides. It's time to end this ruse of yours.

Good King John, who is at his wit's end, forms a most devious scheme of his own. After encouraging you to bathe and change in his cabin, he pretends to leave, saying he needs to speak with the captain. He waits outside the door and listens until he hears the splash of water, then enters the cabin again. There he finds you in all your naked splendor, a mortified expression on your face. "Well, well, what do we have here? I leave behind a young lad and return to find a comely wench in his stead." he says with a mock frown, not bothering to hide how his eyes rake over your nude form.

Good King John, who leans against the door, blocking your only exit as he glowers down at you. You grab the nearest bit of clothing, one of his shirts it turns out, and quickly don it to hide your nakedness from his hungry gaze, but it's too little too late. His blue eyes burn you with their avid intensity. A lie is already sitting on the tip of your tongue to explain your presence in his cabin, but then he takes the wind completely out of your sails when he reveals that he's known who you are the entire time. "Come now, Princess. No need to fret. I am your betrothed, after all. You don't need to hide from me. We'll treat the rest of this voyage as a pre-honeymoon, so we can get to... know each other better." All you can do is gape at him before the reality of your situation finally sinks in. "I will never marry you," you vow.

Good King John, who chuckles at your bluster, which only incenses you more. Unlike everyone else, however, he doesn't shrink away from your viperous temper, laughing at you when you begin to hurl whatever you can get your hands on at his head. He ducks a hairbrush, a cup and a bar of soap as he stalks forward to grip your arms, yanking you into his chest. "Rage all you want, Princess. It won't change your situation. Now calm yourself before I turn you over my knee." You sputter and spit, eyes narrowed in fury. "You wouldn't dare lay a hand on me!" you hiss at him.

Good King John, who takes your words as a challenge and is having none of your sass. Pulling you over to the bed, he sits down and has you draped over his knees so fast your head spins. Your bare bottom is exposed when he rucks his shirt up your back, holding your squirming form with ease as he brings his large hand down on the globes of your ass with a loud crack! You gasp in shock at the sound before fire needles into the skin of your bum. It's not a bruising strike, but the humiliation of being spanked lights a fire in your belly. Your efforts to escape double, but it's all for naught. He holds you in place like a misbehaving toddler and smacks your ass again. "Keep it up, you little brat," he says with a dark laugh. "You're long overdue for a proper punishment, anyway, you spoiled little thing."

Good King John, who spanks you until your cheeks glow red, your bratty behavior inciting his lust like nothing else. He's already hard as granite and having you squirming and moaning on his lap is only making it worse. His large hands knead and massage your plush bottom, watching the way your hips grind against his flexed thigh. He can see your 'punishment' has affected you in much the same way when he glimpses how swollen and wet your pretty cunny has become.

Good King John, who can't resist the temptation and slides his calloused fingers along the cleft of your bum, following its path between your legs, hissing at how wet he finds you. You go still at the contact, breath hitching in your throat as your back arches to his touch. No man has ever touched you down there before, and the feeling confuses you. Though you're loathe to admit it, you like how he's touching you, and Gods help you, you want him to keep doing it!

Good King John, who is hanging onto his control by a thread. Reining in his raging libido, he sits you up on his lap and brushes the last of your angry tears from your cheeks. "There now," he soothes, shushing you. "That wasn't so bad, was it? Just needed a firm hand to calm you down, aye?" He slides his hand between your legs again, the tips of his fingers grazing your wet folds. "Would you like me to make you feel better? Hmm?" What else can you do but nod vigorously, desperate to see what else he can do with those rough fingers of his.

Good King John, who brings you to the edge of bliss, sliding his fingers through your wetness, worrying the sensitive nub at the apex of your thighs. "Poor needy girl," he coos in your ear. "I'll make it all better. You'll see." And he does. Great gods above, he does. His hands work you like a piece of malleable clay, all your fury now spent, sending you to the heights of ecstasy as you wail and writhe on his lap, two of his fingers buried in your spasming cunt.

Good King John, who soon has you addicted to the things he can do with his hands and his tongue and his cock. You find yourself going out of your way to cause trouble, just so he will "punish" you again and again. The memory of his cock in your mouth makes you drool with want. The thought of his tongue slithering up your pulsing channel makes your thighs clench as you soak through your small clothes. Whether he's binding you to the bed to edge you until you're a dripping, crying mess or slapping your greedy quim for coming without permission, even when he's pounding into you from behind to "teach ya a lesson, Princess," you're more than willing to submit to his whims.

Good King John, who has no illusions about you, despite your eager participation in bed. Given the chance, he knows you'll still bolt like a scared rabbit at the first opportunity. Then the captain speaks the dreaded words. "We're coming into port, my lord." Though wary, John can see how excited you are at the prospect of being back on land again, so agrees to take you into the port city for a short walk, so long as you dress in your stableboy clothing to draw less attention.

Good King John, who warns you not to attempt an escape. "This is not your father's kingdom, Princess. There are pirates and cutthroats who wouldn't hesitate to have their way with you before slitting your throat. Do not leave my side, understood?" You eagerly agree, thinking he's simply trying to scare you. You're certain once you mention who your father is, these so-called pirates and cutthroats will be tripping over themselves to escort you home, especially when you tell them of the reward your father will pay out for your safe return.

Good King John, who allows you to lead him into a bazaar. You marvel at all the strange sights, all the exotic languages and unfamiliar smells. In truth, you lose yourself in the experience for a bit, catching yourself enjoying John's company. He is so well-traveled and knowledgeable, telling you about all the different places he has been, all the wonders he has seen. "Once we're wed, I'll set aside some time for us to travel. Would you like that?" he asks, and your current situation is once more at the fore of your mind. You can't fall weak to his charms. You must escape. He is your enemy, the man who conquered your father's kingdom and took you from your home.

Good King John, who pays no attention when you tug him into a busier section of the bazaar. There are throngs of people milling about, vendors hawking their wares, their loud cries and the bustling crowd serving as a distraction. Before he realizes what's happening, you let go of his hand and duck between two stalls, making a mad dash down a narrow alleyway. Your only thought is to evade and escape, knowing John and his men will be hot on your heels. Your path is winding and mindless, leading you further into the labyrinth of the city until you find yourself standing outside of a dingy looking tavern. Surely you can find someone inside who will be willing to help a poor damsel in distress.

Good King John, who is frantic with worry. He wasn't lying about the unsavory nature of this particular port city. Pirates and cutthroats do indeed frequent this port and would not hesitate to harm you or worse. Telling his men to fan out and find you, he takes his trusted knight Sir Kyle with him, questioning anyone who is willing to stop and listen. It's an old fishmonger who finally points him in your direction, saying a lad fitting your description nearly bowled him over.

Good King John, who slows in front of the same tavern you yourself found mere minutes before and sends Kyle in to search for you. No sooner does his knight enter the tavern when a startled cry sounds from an alleyway before being cut off. John feels his heart shoot straight up into his throat when he peers down the dark passage to see two men wrestling to subdue you. One of them snatches the cap from your head, your hair spilling out before the other one strikes you across the face. John sees red, bellowing like an enraged bull as he charges down the alley with sword unsheathed.

Good King John, who meets the blackguards head-on, his rage knowing no bounds as he hacks and stabs and slashes at the men who would dare to put their hands on you. By the time Sir Kyle finds him, John has hacked the men to death, blood flying from the tip of his sword as he draws back to strike again. "My lord!" he shouts, rushing to his king's side. "My lord, they are done for. Stop!"

Good King John, who is still seething with rage, turning a murderous eye on his own man. "My lord, 'tis I, Sir Kyle! Please, sire, we must be away. Grab the Princess and let us make haste back to the ship before you are discovered!" At the mention of his princess, John's fury evaporates as he turns his worried gaze to you. The devil who struck you has knocked you unconscious, your limp form collapsed against the wall. "My love," he whispers, gathering you into his arms before motioning for Kyle to lead the way back to the ship.

Good King John, who is beside himself with guilt and worry. He stares down at your still form, cursing himself for not keeping a closer eye on you. He knew the risks but was lulled by your sweet smiles and girlish charms, despite knowing your penchant for trickery. Now look what his failure has wrought. His beloved princess lying still as death in his bed. Even the ship's doctor cannot give him answers. "She seems hale and hearty, save for the goose egg on the back of her skull. I cannot say with any certainty when she will awaken, sire, or... even if she will awaken. I'm sorry, my lord. There is nothing more I can do."

Good King John, who sits by your bedside all through the night, rubbing warmth into your chilled fingers and stroking your brow. "Come back to me, my love, and I swear I'll return you to your home. I will leave you in peace and never plague you again if you will just open your eyes." Yet his pleas go unanswered, his bitter tears dampening the soft skin of your hand.

Good King John, who awakens to the feel of your fingers carding softly through his hair. Sitting bolt upright, he stares into your eyes, now open and alert. You frown, the prettiest pout he's ever seen on your lovely face. "My head hurts, John, and I've a powerful thirst. Is there wine in the carafe?"

Good King John, who calls the ship's doctor to his chambers to give you a thorough check-up. He pokes and prods, then calls you well and gives you a remedy for your pounding head and strict instructions to remain abed until the dizziness wears off. You lie in wait for John's return, certain you're due for a proper scolding, disappointed that it won't be one of his 'punishments' you receive, instead. However, John doesn't return. Servants do, with food and drink in hand. Hot water and soap are delivered as well, along with a lovely dressing gown and slippers. You sit on the edge of the bed and bathe, one eye on the door, expecting John to "surprise" you again, but still, he does not appear. You eventually fall asleep, head still turned towards the door in expectation.

Good King John, who honors his promise to you, even if you weren't awake to hear it at the time. His guilt knows no bounds, so he determines to deliver you safely back to your father. He tells the captain to turn the boat back towards the shores of your father's kingdom with a heavy heart. He knows he will surely pine for you the rest of his days, knowing no other woman will do now, that only you will ever hold his heart. He resigns himself to a lifetime of loneliness.

Good King John, who requests regular reports on your health and well-being, receives a request from you, delivered by the ship's doctor. "The Princess requests your presence in her chambers, sire. She's in a right fit of temper, if I do say so myself, my lord. She chucked a book at me for not answering her questions to her satisfaction." John can't help the wry smile on his face. His feisty princess doesn't put up with any guff. She's a warrior through and through, his lion-hearted minx.

Good King John, who enters his old quarters to find you pacing the worn floorboards. "Where have you been?" you demand, bottom lip jutting out as you cross your arms. "Is ignoring me my punishment for running away? If it is, it's not working. I don't care if I ever see you again!" A sad expression dims his ocean-blue eyes, but his smile is as kind and indulging as ever. "I understand your ire, my lo— ah, Princess, but fret no more. You will soon be relieved of the burden of my presence. We arrive at your kingdom on the morrow. I'm sure your father will be overjoyed to have you home again."

Good King John, who bids you a strained farewell and quickly removes himself from your cabin, leaving you to blink in shocked silence after him. He's returning you to your father? You slump on the bed, unable to process his sudden change of heart. Had your escape angered him enough that he's finally decided to wash his hands of you? Even at your worst, John withstood your tantrums and waspish words. He'd always been so kind and attentive and... loving. As realization sets in, a sadness like you've never known before settles in your breast.

Good King John, who sends his man Sir Kyle to collect you when the ship docks the next day. "Where's John?" you ask, as the knight hands you up into a waiting royal carriage. Sir Kyle avoids your sharp gaze, his mouth set in a grim line. "The king has gone ahead to meet with your father, my lady. I doubt you will see him again." Your heart constricts in your breast as the door slams shut and the carriage lurches into movement.

Good King John, who is in the throne room with your father when you arrive. The knights who guard the door deny you access, their pikes crossed to block your way. Oh, you throw a right strop until your ladies-in-waiting come to collect you, leading you down the corridor as you shriek like a harpy at the top of your lungs. They lock you in your chambers, leaving you to batter at the door with your fists until your strength is exhausted.

Good King John, who returns to his own kingdom a broken man. He spends his days staring out the windows and rubbing at the ache in his chest that has plagued him since he saw you last. He doesn't shirk his responsibilities, managing his kingdom and holdings with a firm and fair hand, but his heart is no longer in it. It has been cleaved in two and he fears it will never mend.

Good King John, who glowers down at a missive sent by your father, the conquered king. As he reads it over, a dozen carts laden with chests of gold and precious gems are delivered as well. His heart seizes in his chest as he reads the message your father has sent.

'May this find you well, Good King John. It shames me to say that since your departure, my castle has not known peace. You have surely bewitched my daughter, for nothing will soothe her anger except the promise of being reunited with you. I beg your mercy, good king. Please accept my daughter's dowry and know I fully endorse your marriage, if you are still inclined to take her as your bride. I wish you all the luck, good king, for you will surely need it.'

Good King John, who reads the missive several more times before a royal carriage with your father's crest comes clattering into the courtyard. He stares on in awe as a shrill voice erupts from the depths of the carriage. "Get this bloody door open! I want to see my husband! NOW!"

Good King John, whose smile could light up the night sky as he watches you step out of the carriage, sharp eyes searching the crowd until you spy him standing on the steps with his guards. Without a care for decorum, you snatch up your skirts and run to him, kitten heels pounding up the steps until you're standing before him, panting for breath, hair coming loose from its pins. Your eyes blaze with ire but are now tempered with an emotion much softer. "You're a fool if you think you're getting rid of me that easily, my husband."

Good King John, who roars with laughter as he catches you up in his arms and hugs you tightly to his chest. His heart is fit to burst when you cup his whiskered face in your hands and whisper, "Don't you ever leave me again, John."

Good King John, who kisses you soundly on the lips before whispering back, "Never again, my love. Never again."

-

Dark Knight! Ghost drabble (prequel)

[kurjakani]

Lads am having a tough time w money rn bc i got so few hours of work done for the past few months- smth that is not the case for the last one, i have a big paycheck coming but thats in 10 days and i have some shit i need 2 get 💀 food & losec bc my heartburns been awful.

So if anyone has interest. I could do these quick black & white sketches for HM 15 usd for full body? Really quick & doodly and no bgs, just smth I can do in abt an hour between school & regular work. Examples here.. payment via paypal.

In the worst case i can borrow some money from mom, so this is not an emergency but i like trying 2 do my own finances :')

[fishklok]

Random Charles law school headcanons because it's all I can think about right now

His best grades were in: civil procedure, contracts, constitutional law. Also maritime law, weirdly enough.

His worst grades were in: criminal law, family law, and trusts & estates. Basically if it involves too many human interests, he tended to not do as well.

He did decent in property law.

His stammer was much stronger when he was young, and it got even worse when he was cold-called. You would not believe he knew his shit if you only heard him getting called on in class.

Never had any study groups or study buddies. Law school was a solo mission.

After the first year, everyone wanted to borrow copies of his study outlines. He could have paid off all of his tuition if he charged for them.

Definitely took part in law review and moot court

Mad lad somehow found the time and willpower to brief all of his assigned cases.

He still has his Harvard sweater.

[writtenbylouis]

Louis Tomlinson about Time

Walls

Kill My Mind: From the last time

Kill My Mind: When you kissed me for the last time

Don't Let It Break Your Heart: Time takes time to heal it

We Made It: Now, we're saying goodbye, waving to the hard times

We Made It: Yeah, it's gonna be alright, like the first time

Habit: I took some time 'cause I've ran out of energy

Habit: You gave me the time and the space

Always You: I'm wastin' my time when it was always you, always you

Faith In The Future

The Greatest: Time had came and changed it all

Lucky Again: Before the time, it got away from us

Lucky Again: Look back on a time

Face The Music: Let's buy some time'

Chicago: They say, "Bitter ends turn sweet in time"

All This Time: It's not how you spend the time as if you waste it

All This Time: It's worth it all this time

All This Time: All this time

Out Of My System: Towards disaster every time

Headline: Maybe, if you'd taken more time

Saturdays: Not for the first time, not for the last time

Silver Tongues: You know it's times like these we're so much happier

Silver Tongues: You smile at me and say, "It's time to go"

She Is Beauty We Are World Class: Sit down, sit down in the space and time

Common People: All the late nights, good times

Angels Fly: There's a time for sayin' who did what

Angels Fly: I'm on my way with some time to borrow

Holding On To Heartache: And time can always heal you

That's The Way Love Goes: Pick up the phone 'cause now it's time you learned to say

That's The Way Love Goes: Remember when you told me I should give it time?

Change: Time of our lives, it's easy to see

Change: Now it's time to realize you don't get another life

Other Releases

Just Hold On: Wish that you could build a time machine

Miss You: Such a good time, I believe it this time

Miss You: They say "Lad, give it time, there's no need to worry"

Saved By A Stranger: By the time that I was coming 'round