#literally thrashing and screaming on the sofa

[jesterguy]

KUMO 99 NEW ALBUM IM GONNA BE SICK

[womanofwords]

Snuggle Buddies

Miles was not used to Spider-Society, so he was still being jump-scared at every possible opportunity. Spideys climbing up the walls and floor, different variants of villains, literally everyone being Spiderman, how the floor was an ocean of (mostly) blue and red. However, after a while, he got fairly used to it.

Until he saw Pavitr Prabhakar snuggled on a sofa, sniffling and holding a huge stuffed octopus. “Pav?” he said cautiously. Pavitr sat up hurriedly.

“Hi, Miles,” Pavitr said. “You do not need to check on me. I am completely fine.” His eyes were rimmed red and he had cheeks stained with tears. He was clearly lying.

Miles sighed. “Pavitr, you’re Spiderman. And part of being Spiderman means-”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Pavitr said. “I know.”

“That you’re terrible at lying,” Miles finished. Pavitr giggled and blushed with embarrassment. “Now, what is wrong?”

“I just feel a little touch-starved. Gayatri’s on a month-long family trip to America to meet relatives and go to Disneyworld, and I sort of hang out alone at school. I just started holding things whenever it gets really bad.” Pavitr gestured to the stuffed octopus in his arms. “This belongs to Mayday. She left it behind one day and I can’t stop snuggling it.”

“Why didn’t you just tell someone?” Miles asked, rubbing Pavitr’s back in small circles the way that his mother used to do. “You could have told me, or Gwen, or Hobie.”

“You guys are all busy. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You are not a bother. You never were. You’re like a little ray of sunshine.” Miles picked him up and put him over his shoulder. “Now, let’s go find Gwen and Hobie.”

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Gwen and Hobie were walking together and talking happily when Miles appeared with a sniffling Pav over his shoulder. “Hi, Miles,” Gwen said.

“What’s up with Pav? Is he hurt?” Hobie asked.

“He’s touch-starved and needs emergency snuggles,” Miles said. “Where can we get a room?” Hobie sniggered.

“You don’t need to ask them, I’ll be fine,” Pavitr sniffled.

“Oh, that’s it, man!” Hobie plucked Pavitr off Miles’ shoulders like he weighed nothing. “Come on.” Hobie walked away, forcing Gwen and Miles to jog to keep up. Eventually, they arrived to a room full of pillows and blankets. Hobie sat down with Pavitr, wrapping themselves up in a large blanket. “Now, you know you can talk to us, right? Literally whenever you need.”

“OK, Hobie,” Pavitr sleepily replied, snuggling closer. Hobie rubbed at Pavitr's head.

“You’re a sweet’eart, you know that?” Hobie whispered. “Trying to be considerate of us. I will drop anything for you.” Pavitr squirmed. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“It tickles!” he giggled. “Hobie, your-” He bit his tongue as the punk grinned and tickled his armpits witless, occasionally letting out the occasional snort.

“There we go,” Hobie cooed. “Let it all out. We love you, but we need to teach you a proper lesson.”

“Whahahat?” Pavitr giggled.

“Well, you need to learn to advocate for yourself,” Hobie explained, as Pavitr giggled. “Before it gets to this state. Now, are you an adorable little thing who’s going to tell us when he’s down?”

“I didn’t want to be any trouble!” Pavitr giggled, squealing as his ribs played with.

“Sorry, can’t hear ya. Playing with my wonderful new guitar,” Hobie taunted. Pavitr tried to escape, but the blanket had encased him with Hobie, who was grinning down at him.

“Do you think we should help?” Miles asked.

“Hobie or Pav?” Gwen asked. “Oh, I’m just kidding. They’re both fine.”

“Wise choice,” Hobie said, before disappearing underneath the blanket. The room echoed with Pavitr’s screams of laughter.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Pavitr screamed.

“What spot did he get to now?” Miles asked.

“Judging by the hopeless thrashing, all of them,” Gwen grinned.

[p0ssywhippedcream]

Could we possibly get L and reader going at it (wink wink) and then Light literally walks in on them? Whether he joins or not is up to you, i dont mind either way :)

this is the req i was done with and deleted and i’m kms it was so beautiful… here we go take two please work this time 😭🙏

Anyways thanks for participating, sweetlove! means the world <33

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

L was a man of strategy. He was intelligent and bold and he’d do just about anything to win, no matter how weird it was. Once, you witnessed him tackle somebody in a bear suit while selling crepes in order to get information on the U.S. government. So his strategies ranged from slightly unreasonable to grass-fed cows in the mayor’s house.

Today, it was grass-fed cows in your house. He came to you with the idea and somehow managed to make you think it was a good one. His logic was that since Light very clearly had a crush on L’s girlfriend and he couldn’t do anything to stop it, he may as well take advantage of it.

L would take you in front of Light, perhaps offer him to join to build trust and vulnerability. You agreed, but things got more complicated when he began taking you on every possible surface in the Taskforce, whenever he had time. It was hard not to cringe when Matsuda made a sandwich on the bare kitchen counter.

Today, L has you propped on a sofa in one of the many living rooms, stripped down to nothing as he sits on his knees. Your back arches and you whimper as he sucks your clit into his mouth teasingly.

"Fuck, L..." Your head flies back and rests off the edge of the couch.

His hands wrap around your waist to pull your cunt closer towards him, a smirk on his lips as he drags his tongue down to your drooling core. So lost in your pleasure and loud cries, you don't hear a door open behind you.

Light stands there dumbfounded, holding a stack of documents he'd been dragging around for the past half hour searching for L. He's at an angle where he can see the back of couch where your head thrashes and just barely the side, where he can see your thighs around L's distinctive hair.

His mouth goes dry as you let out a whine. His brain goes crazy between what would make him seem less like Kira and desire for you. For once, the human part of him wins and he takes a step further into the room, slowly closing the door.

He tentatively walks in farther, placing the papers on a table and forgetting about them as he gets closer. At this point he can see your breasts from how deeply your back is arched and L's face buried in your pussy, your legs shaking terribly on his shoulders.

Light stops where he is, a mere few feet away and watches as L pleasures you the way he's dreamed of. Then his breathing stops too, when L's eyes shoot from your face to his. Light waits for screaming commence, to get kicked out and locked in a cell for being a pervert.

But that doesn't happen. L's mouth curves into a amused grin on your clit and lets Light see his tongue flick your clit eagerly. Your whole body is covered in a blush blossoming from where L's fluffy, black hair is. Then you start to make this beautiful, ethereal sound.

Goosebumps appear on your legs and your hands reach between them to tug on L's hair. You sound needy, desperate, pathetic. Light itches to move, to take over. He wants to be the one making you sound like you've reached heaven.

But when he sees the way L is looking at him, he knows that if he wasn't already crossing boundaries, he surely would be then.

So he watches as your chest rises and doesn't fall. He watches he your thighs squeeze infinitely tight and your hands tug hard. He watches as everything tenses and then releases as your cunt gushes all over L with the prettiest sound ever falling from your lips.

There's a beat as you collapse and catch your breath, eyes closed as your shoulders slump in. L slowly pulls his head from you and kisses your thigh.

Then he turns to Light and says, "Would you like to give it a try?"

[chuuyrr]

could i request fluff w teenager!scarlet witch and mikey??? i find them so cute together :( maybe them cuddling or sumn and then gojo walks in and gets annoyed 😭 his reactions funny

gojo walks in to see scarlet witch! fushiguro! reader cuddling with mikey

jujutsu kaisen x reader x tokyo revengers

masterlist of the series

warning(s): possible spoilers for jujutsu kaisen and tokyo revengers

i love teenage! scarlet witch and mikey together too please omg thank you so so much for requesting dear anon hehe. enjoy this fluffy and comforting cuddle time with mikey with gojo walking in, and being a dramatic dad lmao <3

you were at home, particularly in the living room, all cuddled up in mikey's embrace. you had your head comfortably tucked underneath his chin as you relaxed in the warmth of his arms that were tenderly wrapped around you.

"i missed you." mikey muttered, looking down to stare at you with a loving gaze.

you smiled up at him, giggling softly. "i missed you too."

even so, cuddling with mikey has always been his and your favorite thing to do whenever you two are together.

because of your jujutsu-related missions, you haven't been able to spend much time with mikey. for some reason, there have been numerous special grade curse missions that required your powers, and apart from that, you have been busy with studies too. mikey couldn't bother you, knowing damn well what gojo's conditions were when you two revealed your relationship to him and the rest.

mikey would always be the big spoon. he either has you on his lap or sits with you in between his legs and just envelopes you in his arms from behind, and nuzzling into your shampoo-scented hair. this position allows him to peer down at you as you rest your head against his chest and kiss your forehead. you'd look so precious and adorable from his line of sight just like this too. mikey could stare at you with so much love and adoration all day long.

once again, you and mikey rarely get to cuddle like this in private. it's either you're busy or away on a jujutsu-related mission, or simply, because of a certain someone who's overly protective of you.

you know who exactly that person is.

everything was perfect and peaceful until the door opened and a certain snow-haired man entered the house, happily skipping inside to baby you when he saw you in someone else's arms.

"KIKUFUKU?!"

an exasperated gasp escaped gojo's breath as his aqua eyes peered down at the scene before him.

you were so busy snuggling with mikey on the sofa that you barely noticed his presence, hence the reason why you almost screamed when you saw and heard gojo.

"hello, gojo-san. welcome back." mikey simply acknowledged the limitless sorcerer in a casual and nonchalant manner that was accompanied by a smile, not even bothering to release you from his embrace.

"what do you think you're doing to my kikufuku, hmm?" before you could even protest, you were suddenly yanked away from mikey's warm embrace, now being dramatically carried in the arms of gojo instead. "i was only gone for two hours!"

"um, [name] and i were cuddling?" mikey answered, blinking at gojo, clearly not understanding why your father was getting all riled up in such a dramatic and comical way.

"dad! put me down!" you squirmed from his hold, thrashing to get your feet back on the ground. "i literally texted you that mikey was coming over!"

"you homewrecker! how dare you cuddle with my daughter?!" gojo was beyond dramatic.

"mikey's my boyfriend! not a homewrecker!" you retorted, resorting to your chaos magic to teleport away from gojo's hold.

there was suddenly an awkward silence in the atmosphere.

"boyfriend?"

oh, that's right. you are no longer five. you are now fifteen years old, but that doesn't mean you are no longer his baby. you weren't going to be lovey-dovey with some boy on gojo's watch.

"boyfriend or not, no cuddling in this household! that's final." gojo folded his arms across his chest, letting a small "hmph" afterwards.

you sweatdropped, "what?"

"eh? don't be like that, gojo-san. i can cuddle you too if you wanted some hugs—mikey began with opens arms only for the limitless sorcerer to decline.

"i do not want hugs from you!"

there it was again, gojo satoru being your one and only dramatic and childish dad. but really though, gojo's someone who's old enough to take care of you, yet young enough to be childish still.

"can i still kiss [name] though?"

"do you want me to infinite void your existence?"

"dad, we've been dating for months now!

gojo still hasn't gotten used to you and mikey dating, even if he has given you two permission. in the end, you convinced your dad to let you and mikey be, but as awkward as it was, gojo ended up being a third-wheel as he was sandwiched in between you on the sofa as you and mikey resumed your favorite movie.

he was most definitely annoyed, just sitting there in the middle with his arms folded with a pout on his face as mikey casually hugged him from the side while you snickered and laughed as you leaned your head against his shoulder.

on the bright side, at least you had gotten your dad and boyfriend closer in a way.

[jeonqquk]

permission to date | jjk

pairing | jungkook x reader genre | RICHHHH!JK , crack n then angst jskskdk idk it’s super weird , lame attempts at serious shit wc | 996 words summary | the one where jungkook seemingly forgets the fact that adults could make decisions for themselves notes | the irony of the fact that jk is a richboi in the fic but a prisoner in the header✨aNYways i just had to use this title lmao hope you enjoy btw tags weren’t woking, i’ll check it out tmrw morning first!

feedback is always welcome!

“We don’t need permission to date, Jungkook.”

You exasperatedly sigh, lolling your head back onto the couch and take in a deep breath. Beside you, Jungkook is not as relaxed and fidgets on the soft sofa, playing with his fingers which is a habit of his you’ve grown accustomed to. He did this a lot when he was stressed about something, would shift uncomfortably again and again until you asked him what was bothering him.

“Y/n, you don’t understand.” He turns to face you, eyebrows furrowed and you groan, “I don’t need to, Kook. You’re literally a 23-year-old CEO of your own company and don’t know if you’re allowed to date a girl?”

“It’s not that exactly..”

He nods, hesitantly and you can’t help but find his irrational fear funny. You try to stifle but let out a laugh, and watch as Jungkook widens his eyes, scandalised at the prospect of you finding his dilemma even the slightest bit laughable.

“Oh, this funny to you?” He sneers, although there is no malice present in his tone. You play along, teasingly nod and watch his facial features contort from distressed to cheeky. His lopsided grin and twinkling eyes only serve to prove you right further that he was thinking of something.

And that something could never be any good.

Jungkook moves closer to you on the couch, and you eye him suspiciously, unaware of what was going on in his brain.

“Let me give you something to laugh about.” He doesn't give you any time to digest his words before he’s tackling you to the floor, fingers digging into the flesh of your stomach and he straddles you, restricting your movement.

Jungkook tickles you like there’s no tomorrow, certainly giving you something to laugh about as he totally disregards your pleads to stop and keeps going. “Take that.” He’s unwavering as you try to move him away but the force of your laughter has you backing down, hands moving of their own accord to gt aay from his tactics.

You try to catch your breath between the loud laughs, “Jungkook! Stop i- Stop!” He ignores your words, or rather screams, of protest and continues tickling you with renewed vigour. You’re howling with laughter at this point, soft chuckles that were meant to keep your dignity forgotten, hands desperately trying to push Jungkook’s devilish ones away.

“O-Okay! I’m sorry!” You pant out in between the giggling and he pauses, “What’d you say, baby?” When you don’t respond, too busy catching your breath, he resumes ticking your stomach, laughing himself as you thrash around uselessly in his hold.

“I-I said I’m sorry!” You finally manage to get out, still trying to push him off and he finally relents, getting off you and moving to lie down beside you on the carpeted floor.

Jungkook’s white formal shirt is crumpled, both your hair a mess and you blame none other than the man in front of you for that.

“I hate you.” You turn to face him, breathing heavily and he moves a strand of hair away from your face. You shrug him off, resting sideways on your elbow and ask him, “Still don’t know if you can date me?”

Jungkook shuts his eyes, “It’s not that I don’t want to, Y/n, you know that.” You nod. Jungkook and you are practically already dating at this point, you do all the couple-y stuff but the only thing left is making it official to the public.

He’s made it pretty clear to you that he wants to be with you. But, you don’t get why he was so afraid of finally revealing it to the media. He’s had his reasons, you guess, but it had been too long and you wanted answers.

“I really want to tell everyone about us, Y/n, I really do. I just don’t know how the public will take it. You know what’s happened to partners’ of other celebrities because of fans and I don’t want that to happen to you as well.”

His words sink in, and you completely agree with his concerns. If you had been in Jungkook’s place, the same worries would have weighed you down. However, he doesn’t need to worry about others’ opinions affecting you. If there’s one thing he should’ve learn about you after being together for almost a year- it’s that you don’t give two flying shits about what others think of you. It’s safe o say that you’re as independent as a woman could be and you want him to know that you’ll be okay even those around you don’t approve of your relationship.

You want his happiness, only. What others thought didn’t matter in the least to you.

But, Jungkook was different.

He was always so self-conscious, always thinking about what others' would like and doing things the right way. He was raised that way, you couldn’t do anything about it. Jungkook had practically been born in gold, having all the luxuries one could dream of right from the day he saw the world.

He had always been in the spotlight, the media always around him looking for juicy stories. Every single thing he did was being kept track of, and that definitely played a part in his current personality.

It was extremely rare for him to talk about his feelings too, so seeing him like this- addressing his worries was a first.

“I know, Kook, but you gotta know that I don’t care about them. I only want you, only want you to be satisfied.” He looks straight at you, dark eyes holding so much emotion in them. “You sure?” He softly questions, hand coming to rest on yours.

“Are you sure, Jungkook? I know how hard this must be for you and-“ You’re cut off by his lips meeting yours, gently moving in sync. He pulls off with a sweet pop.

“I don’t want anything more than to show my girl off to everyone.”

© intokook | absolutely no reposts/modifications/translations of works tolerated.

[softestavengers]

Outnumbered (avengers cast x reader)

Hi!! First of all, I love your writing it’s AMAZING. I was hoping to request a fix where the reader finally gets to go to a reunion with the avengers cast (like evans, Tom Holland, Sebastian Stan, Lizzie, Scarlett,etc.) this would probably take place for whenever covid is no longer an issue. And with everyone together in one place a big tickle fight ensues with the reader being the main target 😊 not sure if you right for the actors or just the characters but just thought I’d send in this idea. Thank you so much!

I’m SO sorry this took literally forever!! I’m sorry if it doesn’t include every single cast member, I’m still learning how to write with multiple lers/lees! I hope you enjoy!

~

“So, what you’re saying is, you actually missed us?”

You could hear the teasing grin in RDJ’s voice from behind you as you stood at the kitchen counter, pouring yourself a small glass of red wine. You rolled your eyes playfully, spinning on your heel to face him. 

You were overjoyed to finally have this reunion with your best friends. With over a year of quarantine and a vaccine finally being distributed, the COVID-19 pandemic was finally finding its way to an end. And with it, isolation began coming to an end as well.

“I guess.” you hummed, taking a sip of your wine. You thought about your next remark before swallowing. “But I don’t miss Evans scaring me all the time, that’s for sure.”

From the living room, you heard Evans bark out a laugh. “You never get used to it!” he yelled back, folding one leg over the other as he lounged back on the couch.

You shook your head and strutted into the living room, eyeing the fully occupied sofa where Tom and Anthony sat next to Chris Evans. “Move over and let a gal rest her legs, will you boys?” you asked, pouting slightly.

“Only if you say you missed us.” Tom gave a cheeky smile, taking a large gulp of his wine.

“Holland, you’re supposed to sip it, you unholy swine!” you proclaimed, setting your glass down on the coffee table so you could cross your arms. Everyone began to snicker at your sass.

“Who gave him alcohol?” Anthony piped up. “Someone get this kid a juice box.”

“I’m 24!” Tom protested, glaring over at Mackie. “You’re an ass.”

“Whats a girl gotta do to find a seat around here?” you groaned, turning to the other couch where Scarlett and Elizabeth were perched. They both immediately scooted in opposite directions, leaving a space in the middle for you.

“See? The ladies always have my back.” you glared at the boys, sulking as you sat between the two girls. “Where’s Sebby?” you asked, suddenly noticing Sebastian’s absence.

“Probably on his phone on the toilet.” Tom giggled, pantomiming typing on a phone and pretending to be engrossed in it. Evans slapped his shoulder.

“If you guys aren’t busy talking shit, maybe I’ll join the party.” you heard Sebastian Stan himself proclaim as he appeared at the hallway entrance. “And y/n, you know I hate being called Sebby.”

“But I haven’t seen you in ages, Sebby!” you retorted, unable to hide your grin. “This quarantine had my memory a little rusty. Perhaps yours is even worse, considering you’re canonically 106 when you’re Bucky.”

“Watch it.” he warned, pointing at you. “I’ll still get you.” he took on a threatening tone.

You raised an eyebrow challengingly. “I’m not scared of you.” you sassed, folding your arms across your chest. You could practically feel the playful tension that began to fill the room. On your right, Scarlett barked out a laugh.

“Oh y/n, you must never learn.” she shook her head, wrapping an arm around your shoulders casually. She leaned close to your ear and whispered “Everybody in this room knows something that could end you.”

At her words, you felt your stomach drop and heat rise to your cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you mumbled, though you knew you were already defeated. Especially when you glanced up to see Sebastian stepping towards you with a menacing grin. 

You felt Lizzie wrap her arms around you from the other side. “You don’t, do you?” she feigned shock, resting her head against your shoulder. “I think she needs a reminder, don’t you guys?”

You could feel everybody’s eyes on you, your heart pounding in your chest, and the burning in your face. You knew exactly what was coming, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to protest. It had been such a long time since..

“You know what happens when you cross us, y/n.” Sebastian snapped you out of your thoughts, and you immediately began to squirm when he lifted his arms and began to wiggle his fingers threateningly. Elizabeth’s grip on you instantly tightened, and you found yourself stuck.

“W-Wait!” you gasped, letting out a squeal when Scarlett’s fingers began to ghost over the side of your neck. You shrugged up your shoulder, but she only responded by switching to the other side.

“Oh, now you want to protest?” RDJ suddenly spoke up from the other side of the room, his face remaining stone cold as he spectated. “It’s no secret that you practically beg for this every single time.”

“Exactly!” Seb exclaimed, his fingers gripping your sides and squeezing ruthlessly. “It must have been so hard for you, having to wait for this for so long!”

You shook your head, giggles bubbling through your gritted teeth. “Y-You’re all crahahazy!” you cried, still squirming in Elizabeth’s grip.

“Crazy?” Evans suddenly gasped from behind the couch, nearly making you jump out of your skin. He must have snuck back there whilst you were occupied with your other three assailants. “How rude of you!”

You shrieked when you felt his fingers dig into your shoulders, your hands immediately flying up to shove at them as you shrunk back against the couch, squeezing your eyes shut. “Stohop! I hate all of yohohou!”

“Poor baby y/n,” Elizabeth’s voice crooned in your ear. “I can’t imagine the torture it must have been, needing tickles for so long but having no way to get them.”

You swore you could feel your entire body heat up at her words, and you screamed when she suddenly began blowing into your ear, and Sebastian’s menacing fingers switched to your knees. You kicked your legs about in a fit of laughter.

“STOHOP! NOHOHO!” you choked out, now thrashing desperately. Four people tickling you at once was almost too much for you to handle. Almost.

“But you loooove it!” Evans exclaimed from behind you, his hands moving down to shake his fingers into your ribcage.

“TOHOM! HELP MEHEHE!” you reached out to someone, anyone. “ANTHONY!”

Both men glanced at each other, the same grin crossing their faces.

“No thanks.” Anthony folded his arms behind his head. “I’m having a good time with Holland over here.”

“Sorry y/n.” Tom shook his head. “I don’t want to fall victim to those creeps.”

“Keep that kind of talk up and you will.” Sebastian glared back at him, making Holland raise his hands in surrender and roll his eyes.

“GUHUYS!” you screamed. “I CAHANT BREATHE!”

Slowly, the tickles began to stop. You felt Elizabeth’s grip on you loosen, and you immediately jumped off of the couch, collapsing onto the floor and taking in huge gulps of air. You buried your red face into the carpet, unable to look at anyone.

“Now look what you guys did! You broke them!” RDJ exclaimed, gesturing to you. 

“I... I-I hate you guys.” you huffed, slowly sitting up. You dusted yourself off, regaining your composure. “Now, who’s first on my revenge list?” you glared at Scarlett, Elizabeth, Chris, and Sebastian. 

“Not it!” Chris exclaimed, raising his hands. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Thanks for volunteering.” you grinned, advancing towards him.

“WAIT! I’M INNOCENT!” Chris exclaimed as he took off across the house, with you hot on his heels.

You had definitely missed this. Though, you could never admit it.

[wizkiddx]

your song blurb

hello!! sorry ive been so inactive and I have got a number of req that I am trying to work through - I am sorry, please be as patient as you can with me. general life shit and all hasn't been ideal. I am aware I reaaallly need to update my master list and will get round to it when I can I promise ;)

also have lots of asks abt the t + z situation but all I have to say is im so very happy for them and hope people respect their privacy ;)

harryhollandxreader // friends --> lovers blurb

summary: harry never sings in front of you, until you need it

//////////////////////////

There were some things that Harry, even after being friends for years, kept close to his chest. The one that you always tried to catch him out on was his singing. For some unknown reason, he was super self conscious of it. Every time he was nonchalantly humming along to himself, all it took was for you to make a single sound, and he’d immediately lock his mouth shut. From those fleeting moments, you had thought he didn’t even sound half bad, hence where your frustrations drew.

Because whilst you, who sounded like a cat being tortured, would scream your lungs out - Harry, who wasn’t even that bad, refused to make a fool out of himself.

It was exactly what had happened this evening when you had let yourself into Tom’s house otherwise unannounced. It’d been years since you’d been given a spare key by Harry - when they were both away, you often ‘house-sat’ for Tom; plus, you spent most evenings there too because that was where your best mate was.

Tom had messaged on the group chat to say he would be out for the evening, and Haz was around his girlfriends tonight, meaning on arrival, you’d known it’d just be you and Harry. So once you heard the quiet tune of a song, that you couldn’t quite place yet, safe to say you were on stealth mode. Sliding your shoes off and wincing as the floorboards creaked a little, you slowly crept through the house to find your frizzy-haired friend.

Sure enough, as you made your way through the kitchen, you found him stood over the hob, stirring round a wooden spoon of a saucepan - presumably filled with pasta he’d promised to have ready for you. Pouting as you leaned on the doorframe and crossed your arms, marvelling at him. He was dressed just in grey joggers and his favourite pink hoodie, arms rolled up to his elbow as the poor boy slaved away at the stove.

You stayed silent, to what you now recognised as billy joel, only unable to stifle a giggle when he reached a particularly high note. Like a rabbit caught in headlights, he jumped around and yelled, eyes fiery and pointed at you.

“OH fuck off Y/n!!”

“Billy Joel, an old school choice.” You smirked, now walking into the room to greet him properly.

“How long have you been stalking on me?”

“It’s not stalking if the stalkee gave me the key.”

“I don’t think that’s admissible in court.” He deadpanned back, pouting for a couple more seconds before finally shooting you a wide grin. The boy held his arms out, welcoming you into a proper greeting hug. Happily reciprocating, you inhaled deeply with your face pressed into the crook of his shoulder.

“How was work?” He murmured, already guessing the answer correctly.

“Shit. Exhausting. Hell, you want any more adjectives?” Harry just snorted back as you leaned away from his warmth.

“Nah rule of three is quite enough. Did you never pay attention in GCSE english?”

“Fuck off you can’t even spell GCSE.”

That was always how your friendship had been; it had always been a piss-taking battle. You simply were one of the boys - or at least that’s what you thought. Said boys though (meaning Sam, Tom, Harrison, Tuwaine and even Paddy) disagreed. You didn’t know, or didn’t believe, that Harry did NOT treat you like one of the boys. He cared about you differently, too. Tom thought it didn’t stop there, that Harry did in fact love you.

And yes, you might’ve admitted to Harrison on one very, very drunken night that you had occasionally thought of Harry as something more than your sarky friend. He had been since sworn to silence, though Haz had in fact, told Tom - who only replied with an ‘i told you so’.

Even though everyone else saw your relationship as complicated, to you and Harry it was just simple. You were just the best of friends.

And that’s how the evening went. The two of you were just messing around as usual; after eating the tomatoey pasta creation Harry had tried, you both made a right mess of the washing up - water ending up coating the floor and maybe one of the walls too (Tom would never know). And just like usual, it ended with you sprawled out on one sofa, Harry mirroring you on the adjacent one.

It was love island season, which meant every night at 9 pm there was only one place on earth either of you would be. On your respective sofas, watching the most trashy tv in the world.

Tonight though, no matter how excited you were for the next instalment of who-likes-who, your day of work caught up with you. Not that you noticed, but you’d pretty much passed out as soon as the opening scenes started. There were only two minutes of silence before Harry registered something was up - typically, he was trying to make you shut up so he could actually hear the TV. To investigate, he jumped off the sofa and leaned over the couch, the sight making him pout.

He knew work had been super stressful recently; and he also knew that your insomnia had been coming back with a vengeance. So instead of treating you like ‘one of the boys’ and throwing things until you woke up - Harry used a different approach. He draped the blanket that hung off the side of the sofa over you, biting back a slight smile as you huffed in appreciation for the soft quilt. Then Harry left you alone, knowing you could do with every little bit of rest you could get.

That was all good until it reached the third set of adverts when Harry heard you huff and move about on the sofa. And then again and again. Then again with what sounded like a bit of whimper too.

Brows furrowed, he paused the TV and slowly got up, rounding the sofa to see you somewhat matching his expression. Your face was contorted in one of distress, and you kept thrashing your head from side to side of the pillow. It didn’t take a genius to work out; this was your nightmares rearing their ugly heads.

Harry just wanted to stop this for you. Although the two of you were never particularly ‘mushy’ or vulnerable with each other - he knew just how much you were suffering recently. So without much thought into it, Harry knelt down to sit on the floor, side leaning up against the sofa as he looked towards you. Trying to hush you, he ran his hand over your forehead and over the top of your hair, though it seemed to take little effect. And then, again entirely without hesitation, Harry started to softly sing.

It’s a little bit funny

This feeling inside

I’m not one of those who can easily hide

Why Elton John was the first that came to mind was a mystery to Harry - except maybe that the lyrics ran true a little.

And you can tell everybody

This is your song

It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done

I hope you don’t mind

I hope you don’t mind

That I put down in the words

How wonderful life is while you’re in the world

You’d always loved old 70s music, you were the one that had properly got you into all that stuff - the beatles, billy joel, elton, even a bit of springsteen. He owed half his music taste to your Spotify playlists, even if he’d never admit it to your face.

So excuse me forgetting

But these things I do

You see I’ve forgotten, if they’re green or they’re blue

Anyway the thing is, what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen

With a final huff, you finally settled down, Harry swore he could see all the discomfort literally melting away from your face. It took a minute but your breath evened out, mumbling something incomprehensible as you curled up toward him on the edge of the sofa.

This wasn't the first time he’d sang to you in your sleep - and he sort of hoped it wouldn't be the last either.

feedback is really appreciated <3

harry taglist : @euphorichxlland @lovehollandy12 @pandaxnienke @msmimimerton @crossyourpeter @hallecarey1

[spritewrites]

cult classic

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Characters: Ben & Klaus

Word Count: 972

“I can’t take it anymore,” Klaus groans, collapsing onto the sofa. “They’re so… ugh, needy. But not like, sexy needy, just like… gross needy.” His fingertips thread through his tangled beard, as if trying to get rid of some kind of disease or toxin in the hair.

“I have zero sympathy.” Ben’s in the doorframe, like always – half in, half out of Klaus’ life.

Klaus rolls his eyes. “I know, I know, I brought this on myself, I have a responsibility to them, blah blah blah. Your words of wisdom are getting repetitive, Benjamin.”

“I just don’t think you understand what you mean to them,” Ben says, but Klaus just buries his face in his hands.

“I kind of don’t care. You know what, asshole?”

“I have literally never been less invested in what you’re about to say.”

“I’m taking some me time.” Klaus rolls off the sofa and moved toward the big sliding glass doors, only to be greeted by a gaggle (is that the right term? A flock? A murder?) of his followers playing bocce out on the lawn. Ben’s pretty sure he hears his brother murmur “fuck” before he ducks back behind the coffee table.

“Quick, hide me.”

“I’m invisible, idiot.”

“Fuck. Right. Uh. Do you think they can see me from here?”

Ben rolls his eyes so far back into his head he thinks he can see the afterlife. “Jesus Christ, you’re an embarrassment.”

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Klaus is saying, and Ben turns to see a horde (yeah, horde sounds right) of people heading straight for the mansion. Excellent.

He turns back to see his brother wriggling his way under the couch, grunting and squirming, with the occasional yelp when he bumps his head. “The hell are you doing?”

“Hiding,” Klaus replies, tucking his beard under his chin and pulling his bony elbows in.

“Asshole,” Ben mutters, but then the sliding glass door opens, and Destiny’s Children come strolling in, chatting and laughing together. Ben’s eyes soften. He’s been jealous of the living before, of course – that kind of defines the past fifteen years of his un-life – but these people are different. They’re kind, and generous, and vulnerable. That kind of thing tugs something deep in his chest, something that he still remembers from being alive.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben sees an ankle disappear under the edge of the sofa. What a selfish asshole. All these good people out here and Klaus just… whatever. Fuck him. He’s made only bad decisions all his life, what’s one more?

But then Ben’s eyes meet Jill’s, sort of, the best they can, as she scans the room to see if her Prophet is here, and something curdles in Ben’s stomach. He knows that Klaus is selfish, Klaus has always been selfish, but there’s something about this time that he just can’t let sit.

And anyway, when has he been someone to let his brother off easy?

“Klaus, come out of there.”

“No,” Klaus hisses, just low enough that only Ben could hear.

“Get up, asshole.”

“Make me.”

Ben cracks his knuckles. “Oh, I will.”

He snatches one of Klaus’ ankles and, before his brother can say a word, scratches at his bare foot. Klaus tenses, squeaks, and starts shaking with silent laughter, tugging weakly at his leg.

“Come on, you prick, give up,” Ben teases, scribbling evil fingers under Klaus’ toes. Klaus claps a hand over his mouth, trying to kick his brother away, but his position under the sofa is leaving him with very few defense options. Ben sees him scrunch his nose, trying to keep down his bubbling giggles. So far, he’s succeeding. How is he so good at this?

Fuck. Ben had forgotten one crucial detail: Klaus likes getting tickled. Sure, staying quiet is tricky, even for him, but his brother could hold out a lot longer than most people. He’s got to play dirty.

His fingers still, and he hears the telltale sounds of Klaus gasping for breath. He scans the room again, eyes drifting to where Jill stands with her fellow followers. Ben can practically feel his blood boiling over when he thinks about Klaus, fucking Klaus, treating her the way he did all of his followers. His gaze slides back to his brother’s curled up act of cowardice. All right, asshole. I can play dirty.

Being a ghost has its advantages. Sure, it’s mostly a miserable hell-fest of watching your brother fuck up his entire life, but sometimes it’s useful. Like, for example, being able to phase your hands through the sofa.

It takes one pinch to his hip for Klaus’ eyes to grow bigger than Ben’s ever seen them, two for a hilarious squeak, three for a twitch and a silent shake of his head… and then Ben’s attacking, pokes and prods and squeezes to his hips that leave Klaus squirming, wheezing, and red in the face. He’s still trying to maintain some mask of quiet, keeping his giggles to a minimum and breathing hard through his nose, when Ben pulls the ace out of his ghost sleeve.

Placing one hand around each of Klaus’ hip bones, Ben gives him a sly grin and digs in hard. Klaus nearly screams, thrashing like a fish out of water, and completely gives up on trying to keep quiet. Ben gives a little cheer of victory as his horribly ticklish brother rolls out from under the sofa in an effort to escape. He generously releases his hold, giving Klaus a chance to catch his breath, just as all eyes in the room turn on him.

“Prophet!”

Klaus’ face is red, whether from the tickling or from embarrassment he doesn’t know, and he’s off like a shot, dashing through the mansion with a retreating cry of “Fuck you, Ben!”

Ben smiles. Serves him right.

[robertsheehanownsmyass]

The Mists of Culloden -- Part 2

AU!Robert Sheehan x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2099 Warnings: frightening images involving a fire

Welcome to my spooky little four-part story to coincide with my Sheehanoween event! I hope you stick around and check it out, and reblog if you enjoy! :)

Part One

Part Two

The next day, Rob was back at work and you spent a chunk of the afternoon reading a book on the sofa in the sitting room.  The sunshine streamed through the windows, and it was such a lovely autumn day that you couldn’t help but reflect for a moment on how relaxed you felt, and how lucky you were to be cozied up on the couch, just enjoying life. After a while your eyelids started to droop, and you set the book down and stretched, feeling all tension leave your limbs, yawning contentedly. In the light of day, the spooky events of the previous evening seemed distant, and when you reflected on them, they seemed almost silly.  You were still turning the thoughts over in your mind when you dozed off.

It was hot. Blazing hot.  The air was thick with billowing smoke.  The screams of dying men pierced your ears.  It was pitch black and you could see nothing; no source of the heat or smoke, nor the source of the screams. You were running away, but from what? You ran until you reached a stone wall and you felt for a door or a window.  Nothing. You followed the wall until you reached the end, and turned left to follow the perpendicular wall.    You coughed and retched, barely able to breathe.  You followed the wall until your feet bumped some stairs.  You slowly ascended, stumbling blindly, the heat and the smoke worsening as you climbed.  You reached a heavy wooden door that was not fully closed, and you pushed it open.  You gaped in horror at the scene before you. The house was fully engulfed in flames, and you were literally frozen with panic.  There was nowhere to go.  Suddenly, a hand clamped down on your arm from behind you.  You turned, and saw that a woman had grabbed you, and she was shrieking.  "Help me! Heeelp meeee…“  Her hair was on fire and her skin was bubbling in some places and blackening in others.  As you stared at her in terror, one of her eyeballs burst and oozed from a black socket.  You began to scream, and scream and scream….

"Babe! Wake up! Hey!” Rob was shaking you, yelling your name.  You snapped awake, and fell off the couch in a tumble of throw pillows and blankets. You stared up at him for a moment as reality slowly took the place of the terror from your dream.  You were shaking. Rob was kneeling beside you on the ground, alarm painting his beautiful face. He brushed the hair away from your face. “Darlin’, are you okay?”

“Oh god.  Robbie I-- I had the most horrible dream!”

“Jesus darlin’.” He breathed, and sat back on his heels, running a hand through his curls anxiously. “When I walked in you were sound asleep, but then you started thrashing about and-- babe, you started screaming.  It took me a minute to wake you. It scared the shit outta me.“

"It was horrible. I was in some sort of cellar, and it was dark and people were crying and shouting.  I made it upstairs and the whole house was in flames.  Then a woman grabbed me and she was on fire, and I had nowhere to go…and god, she was burning...” You broke off, trembling.

Rob gathered you into his arms. “Oh luv, that sounds awful. It’s over now. It was just a dream. It’s alright.”

“It seemed so real!” you cried, the remnants of the nightmare still at the forefront of your mind.

He peppered your face with kisses and smoothed your hair.  "I’m here now. Everything is okay..“

Rob’s calming effect on you was working, and you began to relax. "I can’t say for sure, but I’m pretty sure it was this house.”

“Oh darlin’, you had that scare last night, so your mind is probably just thinking nasty thoughts. It doesn’t look like there’s been a fire here.”

“I don’t know.” You stood up and scrubbed your face with your hands in an attempt to shake off the dream. “But I really want to find someone who can tell us a bit about this house.”

Rob nodded in agreement.  "We will. We’ll go find someone on my next day off.“

***********************

You spent the evening burying yourself under a protective cover of normalcy, but the dream stayed with you.  You couldn’t stop seeing the burning woman’s face, and you couldn’t keep those screams out of your head.  You sat at the dinner table and began to rub your temples.  Rob had finished clearing the supper dishes and came around to hug you. 

"You’re thinking so loudly I can almost hear you,” he said into your hair.  "You shouldn’t dwell on it too much.  Old houses have a way of getting under your skin.  Shit– Scotland can get under your skin.“

That surprised you.  "I thought you loved Scotland.”

“I do,” he said.  "But there is so much tragic history here, especially here at Culloden. Plus the weather can be moody and the landscape can seem pretty bleak.  It’s like there is a veil of melancholy that is barely perceptible, but it’s everywhere.“

You nodded, understanding.  You recalled your stop in Edinburgh before continuing north to the highlands, and your visit to Mary King’s Close; the underground passageway where plague victims were left to die like rats, and you shuddered at the memory.  But that was only one example; Scotland had been a place of persecution and sadness for over a millennia.

"When I was a kid,” Rob continued, “I would come to Scotland to visit some cousins from time to time. There were always ghost stories, and the subject wasn’t considered very taboo like it is in other places.  It was generally accepted.”

“Is Ireland very different, though?” you smiled.  You loved hearing Robbie reminisce, and when he spoke of his memories the present seemed to fall away as he reinhabited those old thoughts.

“Believe it or not, yes.  We all hear the stories about the bansidhe or banshees, or of faeries that would steal babies.  And yeah, Ireland has its sprawling manors and castles that have ghosts of their own.  But there’s something different about Scotland.”

“Yeah, I think I see what you mean now,” you said.

Rob studied you for a moment before commenting.  "I don’t like the idea of you being here alone so much.  Maybe tomorrow you should get out a bit.  Go to Inverness and do some shopping.  Have lunch on Loch Ness and look for the monster.“

You laughed.  "That’ll be great for my mental state.  Flee a haunted house to look for a legendary lake monster.”

Rob smirked.  "Hey, do what you have to do.  They’re both nearby.  You liked those Outlander novels so much, go look for standing stone circles.“

"Alright, alright,” you chuckled.  "I’ll try to get out tomorrow.“

*****************************

That night you slept rather uneasily.  Despite Rob’s efforts to wear you out (you joked to him afterward that you suspected he had fractured your pelvis), you tossed and turned.  You continued to torture yourself with horrifying images from your dream, and your mind seemed to be afraid of shutting down for fear of revisiting the gruesome past.  

Despite the fact that you were groggy and out of sorts the following day, you took Rob’s advice and hired a car to take you to Inverness.  You walked the cobblestone streets, poked into shops and bookstores, and enjoyed a delicious cafe lunch. It was a  lovely city.  On the way home, you asked the driver to detour south to Loch Ness.  You walked down to a section of the rocky shore and sat for a while.  While you didn’t see a monster, it was a beautiful place and the water calmed you.

On the way back, you stopped at Clava Cairn, a standing stone circle and cairn a bit southeast of Culloden, and probably served as the inspiration for the stone circle in the books you enjoyed.  The site was deserted, and you were free to stroll among the 4000 year-old stones, gently touching them, relishing in the connection between the present and the distant past.  Despite the fact that the central cairn was a burial site, you felt no sadness there, only peace.

You returned home feeling refreshed and rejuvenated.  Rob came home shortly afterward, and you told him all about your day.  He was thrilled that you had taken his advice and had such a nice time.  Your lightened mood lasted the rest of the evening, and that night you slept soundly.

The next two days passed without incident.  Rob promised to take you to Culloden moor on his next day off, and the two of you set off after breakfast.  The battlefield was a short 20 minute walk away, and you strolled hand-in-hand, enjoying the crisp air.  The battlefield itself was a sobering place, and when you first laid eyes on it you felt a pang of sadness.

"I know,” Rob said, reading your expression.  “This ground is seeped with loss and grief.”

He led you to the Visitor’s Centre, where a friendly middle-aged woman looked up over a pair of reading glasses as you entered.

“Hallo there,” she said and smiled kindly.

“Hello,” said Rob.  "We were hoping you could give us some information about a house we’re staying in, just up the road.“

"Ah, you’ll be here for the film then. I’m Peggy.”

"It’s lovely to meet you Peggy,” you said.  "We’re the Sheehans. We’re staying at the house just up the road; number 129.“

"Och aye, I know that place,” she said. “Quite a bit of history there.”

“Really? Is there anything you can tell us about it?” Rob asked.

Peggy nodded.  "I believe the current structure was built around 1780.“

"The current structure?” Rob replied. “There was a house there before?”

“Aye,” she said.  "There was an older house there before, but it burned.  The newer house was built upon the foundation of the previous dwelling.“

You blanched and Rob glanced at you, shocked.  Peggy smiled.

"I take it the old ghosts are acting up?” she asked.

“Ghosts?” you replied.

“Aye, everyone knows the place is haunted.  You wouldna be the first people to come round here asking about it.”

“What happened there?” asked Rob.

She shook her head sadly. “Terrible things.  After the battle here in 1746, the house was where a number of surviving Jacobite rebels sought refuge.  It didna take long for the English to hunt them down.  They actually promised the rebels safe-haven if they surrendered, only to line them up and shoot them after they exited the house.  Many were too badly wounded to exit on their own, and some just didna trust the soldiers, so they hid in the cellar.  The English barred the doors and set fire to the house, where everyone inside either burned alive or died from the smoke. The woman who owned the house and was aiding the rebels perished with the rest.”

You gasped, and Rob covered his mouth with his hands. “That’s horrifying,” you said.  "Those poor people.“

"Aye,” Peg said.  "Such was life for the Scots after the defeat. It continued for many years. The English punished them severely for the uprising, even people who had nothing to do wi’ it. The English werna interested in blame– they were making a point. They wanted to show all of Scotland what happened to people who dared challenge their authority.“ 

“I hope you don’t think I’m crazy,” you said. “But on our first night there, I saw a figure on the front lawn. It scared me half to death.”

“Aye, that must have been a shock,” she said sympathetically. “I canna say one way or another that you saw a spirit, but it doesna seem unlikely. Strange things have happened round here for as long as I can remember.”

You exchanged a look with your husband.  What were you supposed to do with that?

You thanked Peggy for the information with as much composure you could muster, and left the visitor center numb with shock. You grabbed Rob’s arm the moment you were out of earshot. “What the fuck?” you hissed. “My dream. All the weird shit. What is going on?”

“I dunno,” he said. “But I do know that I don’t want you staying there alone.” He hugged you close, and you could feel that his body was tense with worry. “We’re in this together; filming be damned. We’ll figure this out.”

(gif source) Part Three Tag list. Ask me to be added! @thisisarobertsheehanblog​ @joz-stankovich​ @robert-sheehan​

[29-pieces]

Whumptober day 19 - Good Omens

Day 19: Mourning Loved One Fandom/setting: Good Omens, ~1970s Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

It was just easier as a snake. Easier to avoid eye contact, easier to keep his face from revealing any "emotion" or other such nonsense. Easier to carefully wrap himself in knots around the angel and assure himself that the corporation beneath his coils was alive, whole, and safe.

"I think you could do with some rest," Aziraphale told him again, settling back on the couch with his book. "Why don't you sleep for a while? I've nowhere to be."

The snake currently wrapped around his arm and torso didn't reply, just stuck his snout down into another coil and closed his eyes.

If they both ended up snoozing in a nest of blankets and scales, well that was just fine.

:::earlier:::

Aziraphale was screaming. And bleeding. The demons only laughed and held the Hellfire closer to his skin until it blistered and split. Crowley was screaming too, voice raw with it by now. He knew the angel couldn't withstand the Hellfire much longer, and then the screams silenced and Aziraphale's eyes clouded over, leaving Crowley on his own.

:::earlier:::

Aziraphale reached a trembling hand towards Crowley, dragging himself over the ground and leaving streams of blood in his wake. The Hellhound pounced on his back with a vicious snarl, hackles raised and teeth exposed. Crowley shouted for him, but it seemed to be the signal the Hellhound was waiting for and it struck like a viper, fangs burying themselves in Aziraphale's neck so the angel choked and gurgled on a bloody cry before falling still.

:::earlier:::

Heaven had found out about their Arrangement, had learned that Aziraphale had given Crowley the precious holy water. The building housing Heaven and Hell was silent. Aziraphale's lifeless body hung suspended by hooks and chains on the ground floor, a grisly reminder for anyone who walked in the door what happened if the status quo wasn't maintained, a cold, stark reminder that Gabriel and Beelzebub came from the same stock.

:::earlier:::

Aziraphale was dead.

:::earlier:::

Crowley was the one who got Aziraphale killed.

:::eventually:::

Aziraphale gripped his sword tightly, wishing it was his flaming, angel sword, but any blade should do. He prowled through the dockyards, eyes and ears perked for any sign of his quarry. He would have liked to wait on Crowley for this, truth be told; after all, an echidna was half serpent, maybe a snake demon would have been naturally predisposed to be able to fight her better. But he'd been unreachable and this wasn't something Aziraphale could allow to continue until he got Crowley on the line.

The slithering of scales on rotten wood and desiccated leaves drew the angel's attention. He readjusted his grip on the sword and hurried in the direction of the sound. A derelict old office stood to one side, shuffling noises leading Aziraphale to the doorway. He took a breath, then raised his sword and dashed around the corner, only to stumble to a halt at the sight before him. He'd found his demon friend—strung up by his wrists to dangle over the dirty floor. Crowley's head was hanging limp, glasses gone and eyes closed. The monster he was hunting was sniffing his neck, her lower serpent half teasing its way around Crowley's leg.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale gasped, hardly the battle cry to strike fear into the heart of the echidna. The half-snake, half-woman turned to eye him with arrogance and irritation.

"Who are you?" she asked. "Never mind, pet, you'll jussst have to wait your turn."

"What have you done to him?" the angel demanded, pointing his sword at the creature. "Speak, I command you!"

The echidna sniffed. "I'm not under your command," she retorted. A long, forked tongue slipped past her lips and she licked the many puncture marks dotting Crowley's neck. "Mmm, thissss one is delicioussss. Watch thisss."

Before Aziraphale could stop her, the echidna's jaw unhinged, fangs protruding like something from a horror film, and she sank them deep into Crowley's throat yet again. A second later, the unconscious demon started to twitch and moan, swiftly building up through cries to full-blown howls. Tears streamed down his face but he showed no sign of true consciousness even once his yellow eyes opened.

"Stop!" the angel cried. "Leave him alone, foul beast!"

"Beassst?" the echidna hissed with a short laugh. "Everyone'sss got to eat, after all. Relax, thanksss to my venom, he hasss no idea what'sss happening." She giggled again and licked at the puncture wounds once more, much to Aziraphale's disgust.

His eyes flicked back to the demon, currently sobbing with pain or terror or both. Aziraphale had never seen Crowley in such a state, in all of their years together. Then, the demon whimpered, actually whimpered, and choked out,

"Please, Hastur, no..."

Aziraphale straightened, grip once again tightening as he demanded, "Hastur- he's hallucinating! That's what your venom does?"

"Mm," she agreed contentedly. "Ssshowssss them their mosssst terrible nightmaresss. You've no idea, the tasssste of adrenaline as hissss deepessst fearsss come true before hissss eyessss..."

Crowley's most terrible nightmares? Aziraphale felt the blood drain from his face at the mere thought; as a demon, Crowley would be all too familiar with the worst torments of Hell, and the idea of him reliving a single second he might have spent there or the constant fears of what they could do to him, no, it was simply too much to bear thinking of. With a furious shout, Aziraphale thrust his sword towards the echidna and attacked.

The battle was short-lived and ended with her slain on the floor and Aziraphale rushing to get Crowley down. The demon's hands were bloodless from having been bound so tight, ligature marks already standing out stark against his pale skin as Aziraphale wrested the ropes off of his hands.

"Crowley," he called, patting his friend's cheeks carefully. "Oh please wake up... my poor dear, you're not in Hell! Come back!" Even as he said it, though, Aziraphale knew there was most likely nothing to do but wait until the venom worked its way out of his system.

But not here, in the dirty, dilapidated building on his own. Trying to ignore the sobs and moans that he never wanted to hear coming from Crowley ever again, Aziraphale scooped the demon up in his arms and headed back out into the night.

Crowley had a flat somewhere, Aziraphale knew, but he'd never been to it and wasn't sure exactly how to get to it. In this state, he didn't want to simply leave the demon anywhere; best get him back to the bookshop, then. Hopefully none of the angels would pop down for a report on the affair. That would be a trifle difficult to explain, why a hallucinating demon was laid out on his sofa.

By the time they reached the safety of the bookshop, Crowley's condition was none better. Not sure what else to do, Aziraphale fetched a cool rag and contented himself to mop off the demon's brow. Crowley's eyes were open but faraway, trapped in whatever horrible nightmares of Hell his brain could concoct, and Aziraphale knew he had quite the imagination—a curse, in this instance.

Finally, after far too long, the demon slipped off into a fitful sleep. Even that seemed to be no mercy, as Crowley continued to thrash and cry out, sometimes even calling for Aziraphale—that was the worst, as the angel couldn't imagine what torments he was seeing and of course had no way to save him from it.

Finally, finally, Crowley's eyes peeled open once more, filled with trauma and pain.

"There you are, my dear," Aziraphale said softly, settling himself beside the demon on the couch. "Are you awake?"

For a moment, Crowley stared blankly at him, then gasped like he was taking his first breath and shot up on the couch.

"Angel-" He got no further, throwing his arms around a thoroughly shocked Aziraphale.

"Oh! Um... yes, it's me-"

"Aziraphale... you're alright... you- you're alive... you're alive!"

Well, that wasn't at all the reaction he'd been expecting. Aziraphale patted the demon's back, clearing his throat. "Erm, yes, I'm quite well. You were caught by that awful echidna, do you remember? She was poisoning you, I'm afraid, making you see your worst-"

"You were dead," Crowley blurted out, clinging all the tighter to Aziraphale, nearly wrapping himself completely around the angel. "You were dead, over and over and over, and I couldn't stop it, I- are you alright? Really and truly, you're alright? You're okay? Aziraphale?"

The angel was at a loss for words. But... that echidna... she'd distinctly said it would be Crowley's worst nightmare he'd be experiencing, but surely that had to be Hell? Torments untold? He'd even mentioned Hastur specifically...

"I'm alright," he said slowly. "Whatever you've been seeing, none of it was real. I assumed it would be Hell..."

"Hell, Heaven, everything in between," Crowley choked out. "They kept hurting you- killing you, I thought you were dead. I thought..." He coughed and pulled away, cheeks pink as he wrapped his arms around himself. "Er, anyway, no reason to make a scene. I'll just... I should go..."

"You're in no condition!" Aziraphale immediately protested, still trying to sort out in his mind how his own death could be Crowley's worst nightmare when the demon had literally lived in Hell. A mistake on the echidna's part, perhaps. An exaggeration, no doubt, about Crowley's "worst" nightmare rather than just any old uncomfortable one. Surely.

Either way, he couldn't bear the thought of Crowley being alone right now. "You've been kidnapped and poisoned and I won't hear of you going anywhere until you've had a proper sleep, not the sort she did to you. It's quite safe here. Why don't you curl up and have a little rest? Er, just until you- Crowley, I'm sorry but why are you looking at me like that?"

The demon didn't say a word, just continued to stare at him with fearful, watery eyes. Aziraphale coughed, then suggested,

"You're shivering. I'm going to fetch some more blankets. Make yourself comfortable, my dear, because I won't hear of you leaving until I'm convinced all the negative effects have worn off."

Nodding decisively, Aziraphale stood to go gather some more flannel throws and warm quilts, knowing how cold Crowley could get at times. When he got back to the couch, he was surprised to find a serpent coiled up on the cushions.

"Oh, Crowley..."

"Thought you were dead," the snake repeated, burying his head in his coils. "I- I thought..."

Shaking his head, Aziraphale sat down beside the snake and picked up a book that had been sitting on the table next to it. "Well, I'm still alive and kicking, as you see," he reassured the demon. "No need to fret. Now then, I think I'll just sit here for a while and read my book. Stay, won't you?"

Then he pointedly turned all his attention to the book at hand so as not to embarrass Crowley if the demon needed closer comfort. Sure enough, the snake slowly wound himself around his arm and chest as though just feeling Aziraphale there beneath his scales was the grounding proof he needed that the angel was still there, quite alive and whole. He'd expected Crowley wouldn't want any comments on the matter, so was surprised when a small voice hissed,

"You're not going anywhere...?"

Heavens, that venom must have done more damage than Aziraphale had thought. Crowley rarely made himself so vulnerable, so the angel kept his voice as light as possible. "Not in the slightest. I think you could do with some rest. Why don't you sleep for a while? I've nowhere to be."

Crowley nodded and closed his yellow eyes, burying his head again. It actually was quite comfortable there, laid out on the couch in the nest of blankets with the serpentine coils holding him carefully. Maybe a light snooze wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

Breathing deeply, Aziraphale settled in, feeling warm in body and heart.

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter four

[ao3]

is it technically tuesday? yes. are we going to talk about that? no. everybody lives in at least gmt-1 now suck it up 

@tirednotflirting yet again...i cannot sing your praises enough for reading this ENTIRE fucking thing!! although it looks a bit different here to how it looks on the google doc because its not in bold and theres no ‘finishh’ in sight nor my insane random words that i write down when i know exactly the words i want to say but i’m too lazy to write them. am i the worst writer known to man? possibly

we are getting to the juicy stuff now...its quarter to fucking malum o’clock...

also if you saw the title of this chapter before i went to check you didn’t see it. close your eyes 

By the time Calum wakes up the next afternoon, they’re already halfway back to Manchester, somewhere on the M40. Predictably, Liam's up, vibrating with that impatient energy he’s always got when he can’t snort or drink it away, and Calum’s the second one to rise, padding into the lounge area sleepily, yawning loudly and rubbing his eyes. His head’s fucking pounding, and his mouth is dry and disgusting, but Liam, because he sometimes is the angel his doe eyes and full lips make him out to be, has already put out a cup of water and two paracetamols for him. 

“How the fuck are you never hungover?” Calum grumbles, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Liam and nestling into his side as he downs the paracetamol. 

“Luck of the Irish,” Liam tells him, resting his cheek on Calum’s head. Calum makes a noise of discontent and turns to press his face into Liam’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut like it’s going to stop his head from hurting. 

“You deserve a hangover,” he mumbles. “You were off your fucking head last night.” 

“And you weren’t?” 

“Never said that.” Liam huffs out a soft laugh. 

“Nearly fainted in the fucking toilets, you did.” Calum scowls. 

“Fuck off,” he says, as his memory flashes back to last night - yeah, he did almost fucking faint in the toilets, but that was only because- and then his eyes fly open, because fuck. Jesus fucking Christ. 

Michael. 

“Our kid barely even made it back to the bus last night,” Liam says, and it’s just meant to be casual conversation, maybe a little contemptuous, but it makes Calum’s lungs collapse in on themselves with guilt. 

He’d spoken to Michael. He’d come to some sort of a fucking understanding with Michael, something he can’t quite remember and doesn’t quite understand. Fuck, he might have even called Michael pretty. Jesus Christ. He’s fairly certain any and all of that goes against his promise to Noel. 

“Oh?” he says, when he remembers to speak. Liam just hums, and Calum tries not to exhale too shakily as his mind races. 

It’s not his fault, he tells himself. Not really. He’d been there first, hadn’t he? Michael had been the one to walk up to him, and the one who hadn’t walked away. And sure, maybe Calum had been the one to strike up conversation, but it hadn’t exactly been friendly, had it? And Michael had been the one to ask questions, to change the topic, and to level the playing field when Calum had accidentally let something slip. Plus, Calum had been drunk and high, so he can’t really be held accountable for his actions, can he? 

Liam’s still talking, but Calum’s not listening, and it doesn’t even matter because Liam cuts himself off when Tony stumbles into the lounge area, bleary-eyed and yawning. There’s no paracetamol set out for him, and Liam makes no move to get any. 

“I’m looking forward to a fucking break,” Tony says a little hoarsely, and flops down on the sofa opposite Liam and Calum. 

“Fucking when?” Liam says. “We’ve got Top of the Pops in two days.” Tony groans, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“Fucking Top of the Pops,” he mumbles. “Why the fuck did we agree to that?” 

“For the money,” Liam says. 

“Don’t even get to play the fucking drums,” Tony says, muffled by his palms. 

“Thank fuck for that,” Liam mutters.

  -------

  Top of the Pops is exactly the bland, boring nightmare Calum expects it to be. 

They’re shepherded into some kind of studio for a rehearsal and informed that they’ll be recording a live track then and there which will be mixed together with the album version, and none of them will actually be playing live. Liam’s having absolutely fucking none of it, and for once neither is Noel, and Calum, Bonehead and Tony all decide to step back and enjoy the show that is both Gallaghers on the same team for once. 

After a lot of shouting, swearing and a few threats of violence, it’s decided that they’ll go ahead with recording the backing track but Liam will sing live. Noel’s absolutely fucking furious about not being allowed to play live, but it’s almost entirely forgotten when he sees the setup for the stage - Tony on drums in the front, Calum and Bonehead on a step behind him, and Liam and Noel on another step right at the back. The BBC aren’t budging on that, though, despite Calum, Bonehead, and Alan all weighing in to agree that it’s fucking stupid to have the stars of the band stood right at the back, and a nasty row breaks out between the Gallaghers and the production team, ending in Calum having to move at the speed of fucking light when he sees Liam tense into the all-too-familiar I’m going to fucking deck you stance. A lawsuit with the BBC is still well beyond their budget, no matter how well the singles have been doing. 

Calum manages to talk Liam down, and Liam manages to talk Noel down, and they’re only ten minutes behind schedule by the time that the brothers have reluctantly agreed to do the show, which is pretty good going for them. They trail to the stage to the sound of screaming and cheering, which makes Calum’s head spin a little bit as he picks up his unplugged bass. They’re really fucking making it now, he thinks in awe, as he looks out at the sea of excited faces and spots a few white Oasis shirts. They’re really fucking doing this. 

They get set up and pretend to play Shakermaker, and Liam sounds fucking gorgeous, like he’s making a point to the producers, and Noel slings his arm around Liam as they walk off, a protective, proud gesture that Liam grins at and leans into. They’re fucking unstoppable, Calum thinks, as he trails after them, Noel’s arm tight around Liam and Liam stumbling over his own feet as he tries to press as close to Noel as possible. The two of them on the same side is a fucking sight to behold.

They’re at a hotel that night, and Liam and Bonehead decide they want to go out but Tony and Noel want to stay in, and Calum decides he’s too tired to stay up for the length of time it’s going to take him to find someone willing to fuck him. 

(“What d’you think coke’s for?” Liam says to him, and Calum rolls his eyes.) 

Calum falls asleep almost as soon as his head touches the pillow, and he wakes up early to the sound of Liam stumbling into the room, high and drunk and probably something else, bruises blooming all over his throat and grinning giddily. 

“Good night?” Calum says. 

“The best,” Liam declares, and then passes out on his bed. 

They have to drive back to Manchester that day, though, because they’ve got a show in Leeds tomorrow, so Liam only gets about four hours of rest before Alan’s banging on the door and yelling at them to get the fuck up, lazy fuckers, didn’t I fucking tell you bus call’s at twelve? To his credit, though, he only complains about a hundred times, and stops when Noel rolls his eyes, holds his arms open and lets Liam snuggle into him and have a nap while Noel chats to Alan about the setlist for America. 

Calum tunes most of it out, because he’s not fussed about what’s on the setlist and he trusts Noel to pick the best of his own songs, and spends two hours getting absolutely thrashed at chess by Tony. By the time they’re back in Manchester, Calum’s lost a game of chess to literally everybody on the bus, including Liam, who's being taught the rules of chess by Noel and Bonehead as they play, and Calum decides he’s never fucking playing chess ever again. 

(“We’re fucking buying some new games,” he says moodily, when Liam flicks his king over nonchalantly. 

“No need to get so mardy,” Bonehead says, stretching out and grinning at Calum. 

“Fuck you,” Calum grumbles, sweeping all the pieces off the chess board. “We’re getting a game that I can fucking win.” 

“Alright,” Noel says, grinning. “How about Frustration?”)

Calum’s mum has dinner ready for him when he drags himself up the path and into the house, and she fusses over the state of his hair and his clothes and says really, Calum in a disapproving voice whenever Calum uses colourful language to describe exactly what he thinks about the production team of Top of the Pops. Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling when she tuts at him for fondly calling Liam a silly cunt for the fourth time that evening, because it’s nice. It makes him feel like a kid again, but in the best possible way; warm, protected, like someone’s still looking out for him. 

His dad gets back from work around seven, and they sit down to watch the Top of the Pops performance together. Calum’s heart swells with pride when it’s their turn to play, because they look fucking cool. The staging’s still shite, granted, but Liam looks every inch the rock ‘n’ roll star he claims to be, and the rest of them look lazily and effortlessly cool, helped enormously by the fact they’re half in the shadows, lights focused on the Gallaghers. 

Calum’s parents are polite about the song, and he can see they’re beaming with pride, but he can also tell they don’t really get it. It’s okay, he thinks, unable to help the smile that creeps onto his face as he watches his parents watch him on TV. They like jazz. It’s probably for the best that they don’t think it’s good music. 

Calum’s mum switches to some soap opera after Top of the Pops, and his dad grumbles not this again and pulls out his newspaper, but Calum can see his face popping over the top of the paper every two seconds. After three minutes he comments wasn’t Sheila dating Mark last week? She’s not having an affair with Bertie, is she? Calum snorts, and his dad glares at him, opening his mouth to make a defensive remark about how he doesn’t follow this show, it’s absolute rubbish, but then the phone rings. 

“I’ll get it,” Calum says, before anyone has the chance to say anything, mostly to avoid having to listen to his dad’s I’m not watching this, Calum, don’t be cheeky spiel, and his mum just nods absent-mindedly, waving a dismissive hand at him, eyes glued to the TV. Calum heads for the phone in the kitchen, just because it’s the closest, jogging to get there before it rings out. 

“Hello?” he says, when he picks up. There’s silence at the other end of the line, and he frowns. “Hello?” he tries again. 

“Hi.” Calum’s stomach drops. 

“ Michael? ” 

“Yeah.” 

“What the f- how the- what? What? ” Calum’s heart is beating out of his fucking chest, almost covering the embarrassment that’s flaring up as foggy memories of their last conversation drag themselves to the forefront of his mind. 

“Sorry,” Michael says, and he sighs, and Calum can just imagine him running his fingers through his hair, a small crease between his brows. “Fuck, I- sorry. I shouldn’t’ve-”

“No,” Calum says abruptly, clutching the receiver, dreading the fucking dial tone. “No, I just- how did you get this number?” There’s a moment of silence. 

“Only so many Joy Hoods in the book,” Michael says, and Calum exhales, hoping the crackling static of the phone line will hide how shaky it is. 

“Oh,” he says. Michael had sought him out. Michael wants to talk. Michael still remembers his mum’s name. 

“I saw you,” Michael says suddenly, into the uncomfortable silence that’s blossomed between them, neither of them knowing what to say next. “On Top of the Pops.” 

“Yeah?” Calum doesn’t trust himself to say any more, but the question on the tip of his tongue is evident in the eagerness in his tone, anyway. 

“Yeah.” There’s a pause. “Sounded good.” 

“That’s because it’s a backing track.” Michael huffs out a laugh, sounding a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting it to come out.

“I guess,” he allows. They lapse into silence again, loud and uncomfortable, before Michael sighs. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds a little regretful.  “I shouldn’t’ve called.” 

“No,” Calum blurts. “I’m glad you did.” The phone’s warm against his fingers, slippery from his hot, sweaty hands, and he’s clasping it so hard he thinks it might break. He tries to focus on that rather than on what he’s just said, on the knife-edge he feels like they’re poised on, each word a weight that could unbalance them. 

“Are you?” Michael sounds a little doubtful, and a little sceptical. 

“Yeah.” Michael hums, like he’s mulling something over. 

“Do your bandmates know?” Calum’s heart skips a beat. 

“Know what?” 

“That we talked.” At Glastonbury, while you were drunk and high and out of your fucking mind. You called me pretty, by the way. He doesn’t say any of that, but Calum’s mind tacks it on helpfully anyway. 

“Do yours?” Calum says, deflecting, because his stomach’s bottoming out with the sheer weight of the guilt, of the broken promise. Or was it broken? Calum barely remembers, just remembers the look on Michael’s face, the tiny microexpressions, the glassiness of his eyes. 

“No.” Calum inhales sharply, can’t fucking help himself - Michael’s talking to Calum, and the rest of Blur don’t know. That's got to mean something, even if Calum isn't entirely sure what.

“Oh.” 

“Do they know?” Michael asks again. Calum stares at the hob opposite him, weighing up his answer. 

If he says yes, he’ll be lying, and whatever the fuck him and Michael have going on right now is so fragile that one lie like that will send it all crumbling down, pulverise it so thoroughly that it’ll never be able to be built back up again. If he says no, though, he’ll be doing the same to Oasis, to his best mates, to his career.  There's no right answer.

“Not yet,” he settles on eventually, straddling the line between Oasis and Michael. It’s the truth - he hasn’t told them, but they might find out at some point. 

“Are you going to tell them?” Fucking hell. Trust Michael to pick at the loose thread.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” It’s true, and that’s the best Calum can offer him. 

There’s a moment of silence, neither of them really knowing what to say, and it’s fucking gut-wrenching because Calum’s never had that with Michael. He’d never even had to think about what to say with Michael - he’d just existed, just been, and that was always enough. 

“Luke and Ashton asked about you,” Michael says, and Calum’s breath hitches. 

“Oh?” he says. “How are they?”

“Good,” Michael says. “They’re good.” He pauses for a moment, and then adds: “Luke’s a pilot, now. Or training to be, I think. I don’t know. Ashton’s a teacher.” 

“Oh,” Calum says, voice small. Two of his best mates, in an earlier life; two spotty blonde teenage boys laughing on the beach at Calum splashing Michael in the water, shooting each other furtive glances across crowded rooms, getting high just for an excuse to shotgun. A fucking pilot and a teacher. 

“Yeah,” Michael says. 

“Did they ever get their shit together?” Calum asks. 

“What? Oh, yeah. Fuck, has it been that long?” Michael exhales heavily. “They’ve been together for years.” 

“Oh.” Calum doesn’t know what else to say to that. He’s trying to imagine it; a pilot and a teacher, fucking hell. Maybe Luke brings Ashton little gifts from his trips abroad. Maybe Ashton writes Luke postcards while his pupils work. Who does the cooking? Luke definitely doesn’t clean. Or maybe he does. If Michael’s changed this much, maybe Luke has, too. 

“What about you?” Michael asks. 

“What about me?” Calum’s not sure what Michael’s asking. Michael knows what he’s up to - he’s in Oasis, spending all his money on intoxicants, trying to exist alongside the supernova that’s the Gallagher brothers. 

“Y’know.” Calum doesn’t know. 

“I have no id-” 

“Are you seeing anyone?” Michael says it all in a rush, like it’s taken a lot of courage to say it. It probably has, Calum thinks. He wouldn’t have asked Michael. It’s sort of reassuring, actually, makes something a little warm blossom in his chest, because that’s still so Michael . Michael always blurted out questions, always demanded answers, always kept social etiquette and politeness as an afterthought.

“No,” Calum says. He swallows, and then adds: “Are you?” 

“No.” Good, Calum wants to say, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t have Michael like that anymore; he doesn’t have the right. 

“Why did you call?” he says instead. Michael hesitates. 

“I saw you on TV,” he says eventually. That’s not a reason. 

“Why did you call?” Calum presses. Michael inhales, and doesn’t exhale for a moment.  

“I don’t know,” he admits eventually, on a long, heavy  exhale. Calum doesn’t blame him. None of this really makes sense to him either; the fact he feels like this after five years of not seeing Michael, after four years of not speaking to him, after three years of not thinking about him. He’s not sure why he wants this, whatever this is, not sure why he wants more of Michael, not sure why his heart feels drawn to Michael like it’s north and Michael’s south. 

“Yeah,” Calum says, hoping it conveys I understand. 

“I almost reached out,” Michael says suddenly. “A few times. Over the past year, I mean.”

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Didn’t want to.” 

“Why didn’t you tell your band?” 

“Didn’t know how,” Michael says. Calum gets that too; he’d thought about it as well, entertained the idea, turned it over and over in his mind, but he’d never known what to say. I fucked the guitarist from Blur - I was in love with him actually - and I don’t know why I can’t get him off my mind would probably have sparked even worse reactions than the way it had come out did.

“They seem really protective of you,” Calum says. 

“They are,” Michael says, and there’s a small smile evident in his tone. “Not like yours, though. I don’t think all the money in the world could get Graham to start a fight on my behalf.” Calum can’t help the startled laugh that escapes him. 

“I don’t think all the money in the would could get Liam not to start a fight on my behalf,” Calum says, and Michael huffs out a soft laugh. 

"I'm glad you found such good friends," he says, and the smile is ripped off Calum's face at the jarring reminder that they don't know each other anymore. It sounds so distant, like Michael's content with this arm's-length distance between them, two people who used to know everything about each other and are now making polite small talk.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “I’m glad, too.” He can’t bring himself to say what he really means - I’m sorry it was good enough to take me from you. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to say it. 

“I should go,” Michael says after a minute. Calum wants to say no, don’t, stay, but he forces the words back down and nods, still staring blankly at the hob. 

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Me too.” 

“It was-”

“Don’t,” Calum says abruptly, as his stomach twists. It was nice talking to you. It was nice catching up. He doesn’t want to hear the finality of the words, the forced politeness, the jarring dissonance that is the boy he’d known and loved for so long and the man he is now.  

Michael doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then he sighs. 

“Look,” he says. “I- you don’t-” he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, and starts again. “D’you want my number?” 

“Do I- uh, yeah,” Calum says, a little stupidly, glancing around wildly for something to write on. 

“I’m on tour for the next few months,” Michael says, as Calum snatches up a recipe his mum had left lying out, and an incredibly unsharpened pencil. “But I’ll- y’know. When I’m home.” I’ll call you. He can’t bring himself to say it, and Calum doesn’t blame him. 

“Okay,” Calum says. 

“You got a pen?”

“Yeah.” Michael rattles off a number, some area code Calum doesn’t recognise, something starting 071. He writes it down hastily, hoping he’s heard it right because he doesn’t want to ask is that five like hive or nine like fine , and then rips the corner of the recipe off and tucks it into his pocket. 

“Got it,” Calum says, dropping the pencil onto the counter with a clatter. “071, where’s that?” 

“London.”

“Oh. Uh. Cool,” Calum says. 

“Well,” Michael says, a touch awkwardly. “See you around, then, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Calum echoes. There’s one more moment, the two of them listening to each other breathing, a second suspended in time, and then it’s broken by a click and a dial tone. 

Calum puts the phone down a little dazedly, just as his mum wanders into the kitchen. 

“Who was it?” she asks. Calum hesitates, and she raises an eyebrow, which means he’s lost the opportunity to say oh, just a cold call. 

“Michael,” he says, and her eyes widen. 

“Clifford?” she says. He nods. Who the fuck else is it going to be, Michael the sound engineer that had mixed two fucking tracks in Cornwall? “I didn’t know you two still spoke.” 

“We don’t.” Her face softens. 

“Oh, honey,” she says gently, and Calum swallows. He hasn’t told her yet, hasn’t told her about the awards ceremony and Glastonbury, and somehow, he doesn’t quite want to. She seems to sense it, though, because she just sighs and pulls him into a warm, tight hug. Calum wraps his arms around her, closes his eyes and buries his face in her shoulder. Even though he’s half a foot taller than her, even though she only comes up to his collarbone, it still feels like she’s the one protecting him, like he’s small and cocooned in her arms. 

She lets go after a minute, fussing over him messing up his hair, and he groans at her and ducks out of the way of her meddling fingers, but the warm feeling stays, and when she smiles at him and tells him she’s going to bake him his favourite biscuits tomorrow, he feels seventeen again. 

(Or maybe that’s just Michael.) 

  -------

 July and August pass in the blink of an eye.

After Leeds, they have three weeks off. Calum finally fixes the garden wall, and for the first few days, he finds himself jumping every time the phone rings. It’s never Michael though - most of the time it’s one of the brothers, asking whether Calum wants to go to the pub or get high or go out on the pull, and sometimes it’s Alan, reminding him that he’s got to be here on this day at this time and there on that day at that time and is he writing all this down because he’s going to be responsible for getting Liam there too since Noel’s going ahead this time. 

They go down to London for a few days, record a few new versions of songs and one demo of a new song that Noel’s written but isn’t sure about yet. As soon as he’s heard Liam’s vocals on it, though, his eyes light up, and Calum files the bassline away, because he knows it’s going to be on the next album now, no matter how much Noel’s pretending to hum and haw about it. He can’t fucking let Liam have anything, though, so when Liam comes out of the live room, bright-eyed and desperate for Noel’s affirmation, Noel curls his lip and tells him that sounded fucking shite, Christ, you’re almost as useless as Tony. It culminates in a huge fight that Calum and Bonehead manage to duck out of before it begins, only finding out about it when they get woken by a sombre-looking Alan in the middle of the night and informed they’re all being kicked out of the hotel because Liam’s trashed the bar and Noel’s chucked a TV out of the window of his room that landed on the hotel manager’s car.

They play their first show in America on the 21st - their first show outside of Europe - and it goes well. Noel’s not impressed by the country, having toured there with the Inspirals half a decade earlier, but the rest of them are in fucking awe, and Calum catches tiny, fond smiles playing on Noel’s lips when he sees Liam staring at the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building, lips parted and eyes wide. 

Noel’s finally managed to get his way on Live Forever too, it seems, because they’re shepherded into Central Park a few days later, half of them hungover and half of them still blind drunk, to film a video. The director seems to be even fucking higher than they are, because he comes up with ideas like Liam singing while sitting on a chair nailed to a wall, and the band take it upon themselves to start suggesting ever more ludicrous ideas, just to see what sticks. Liam throws in chucking a bucket of water over Bonehead, and Calum suggests burying the drum kit, and Noel goes why don’t we just bury the fucking drummer? The director thinks that’s a fucking brilliant idea, inspired, creative, and Noel shoots Calum a look and says wow, is that how easy this is? You just fucking randomly suggest nonsense and people just go and film it?  

(He doesn’t bother showing up for most of the second day of filming, and Calum can’t really blame him.) 

They fly back to the UK and play another festival on the 31st of July, and as Calum passes by one of the posters on the way to the stage he does a double take, because Blur are on there. Liam sees him looking, though, and taps the top of the poster wordlessly as he walks past - Sat 30th July. Calum can’t help the way his stomach sinks at that. Michael was here yesterday, and Calum’s here today. Maybe that’s a sign, he thinks. Maybe fate is trying to tell him something.

Live Forever comes out in early August, and people fucking love it. Calum’s getting stopped in the street in fucking Wolverhampton - Wolverhampton - and asked to sign autographs, which makes his head spin. They’re really fucking making it now, he thinks, when he calls his mum from a payphone and she tells him that they’ve had people turning up at the door asking for interviews. This is what the rise to the top feels like, powered by coke and booze and Noel's guitar. 

They play a festival in Sweden which sees Noel, Liam and Bonehead smashing up a hotel bar with the guys from Primal Scream, who they’d met at T in the Park, and Richard Ashcroft, who they’ve known for years, and once again Calum’s woken up in the middle of the night and informed that they’ve been asked to leave - not just the hotel this time, but the country. He’s driven to the police station where Bonehead, Liam and Noel are being held, and has to stand with the harsh lights hurting his eyes while Alan tries to hash things out with the Swedish police, and then the three fucking delinquents come stumbling out, grinning and reeking of alcohol. 

("Are you trying to get arrested in every single fucking country we visit?" Calum asks Liam, as they make their way to the car.

"No," Liam says, "but that's a fucking mega idea, that." 

Shit.)

They have to film another music video in August, but since it’s for Cigarettes & Alcohol Marcus at the record label lets them bargain the video down from a full on shoot to the filming of a live gig at the Borderline in London and hiring a few pretty faces to mingle with them backstage. It’s not bad, Calum thinks, as Liam hands him a beer and grins drunkenly for the cameras. Slap a fucking black and white filter on it and it’ll look almost intentionally dingy. 

A week after that, the album comes out. 

Calum hadn’t really realised what album releases would entail, but apparently, it’s a lot of fucking interviews. The first few are quite exciting - they’re still not that used to interviews; a few radio shows, a few TV shows, the odd magazine - but after days on end of answering the same questions hour after hour, Calum starts joining Liam for his hourly smoke breaks, just for something to liven the mood. 

They play a show in London the day the album comes out, and Calum finds himself scanning the screaming crowd for blonde hair, pale skin, sea-green eyes, a pretty smile, but Michael’s not there. Calum hadn’t really expected him to be - it’s a small venue, and apparently it’s been sold out for weeks - but it doesn’t stop him feeling disappointed all the same, having to turn to the back of the stage for a minute to collect himself. Tony shoots him a strange look over his hi-hat, but doesn’t say anything, and Calum sends up a quick prayer of thanks that it was Tony and not Noel that had noticed. 

The album goes gold in three days - the fastest-selling debut album in British history - but they barely even have time to celebrate because they’re heading to Sweden again the next day and Alan tells them with an unusually stern expression that he’s had to twist a lot of arms to get them back in and they’re absolutely fucking not allowed to get drunk or high or fight anybody until they’ve been in and out of Sweden. Liam moans and bitches about it but accepts reluctantly, spending the entire journey to Sweden yawning and rubbing his eyes and making sleepy conversation until he falls asleep on Noel’s shoulder. 

The show in Sweden goes off without a hitch, and they’re in Dublin the next day - their first Irish show - and the brothers go fucking mental. Calum joins in for a bit but can’t keep up; two Irish Mancunians in Dublin is far too much for his Australian stomach to handle. Belfast is no better, and the day after that they play the Haçienda in Manchester - one of the most famous clubs in their hometown - and after the three-day-binge even the Gallaghers are worn out and sleep for the majority of the two days they have off before heading to Europe and then to Japan. 

Japan is fucking insane. Fans are swarming around them the minute they step off the plane, drunk off the free little bottles of booze, and the crowd sings their songs back at them louder than any English fans ever have done. Calum’s glad he’s not singing, because he gets choked up when Liam steps away from the microphone for a second during Live Forever and the crowd scream did you ever feel the pain in the morning rain as it soaks you to the bone? He sees Liam’s eyes widen, sees the way he swallows before starting the chorus, sees the way his gaze flits to Noel and they hold each other’s gazes for a split second, something that only the two of them can read in it, and his heart swells with pride and love. God, he fucking loves his job, he loves the music, he loves his band, he loves the fans, he fucking loves it all. 

They’re riding off the high of Japan when they get to America again, due to play a whole host of shows throughout the rest of September until the end of October, when it all goes wrong. 

They’re not made for America, Calum thinks. They gets thrown out of a radio show for swearing live on-air; they get in a fight with the bouncers at some famous club in Hollywood; and one night in LA they even get a visit from the police, who arrive with their guns drawn, because Bonehead won’t stop playing Supersonic with his amp on full volume at six in the morning. Noel cackles when he sees them and tells them to fucking go ahead, shoot the cunt, and Maggie, their poor, overworked, underpaid tour manager, rushes out in her pyjamas and bargains with the police, tries to smooth things over. Calum thinks that’ll be it, that’ll be the big story of the tour, but it’s all overshadowed when they get to the Whisky a Go Go, some famous club that they’re told repeatedly it’s an honour to be playing. 

Oasis being Oasis, they’re looking for coke. Someone procures a bag of white powder at soundcheck, and Liam grabs it greedily and starts cutting it into lines as the rest of the band circle around it like vultures, and as it goes up Calum’s nose he thinks fucking hell, this feels a bit fucking different. He shrugs it off, though, and hands the rolled up dollar bill to Bonehead - maybe American coke’s just stronger.  

It hits him like a fucking train. He’s buzzing with the kind of energy that he’s never had from coke before, higher than he’s ever been before, more euphoric, feels fucking unstoppable, but there’s a dirty edge to it, something gritty and nasty that he just doesn’t like. It’s too late, though, because it’s gone down, and he thinks fucking hell - well, at least it’ll wear off in about half an hour.  

It doesn’t. 

He’s sweating, heart pounding in his chest, vision sharp and blurry at the same time when they get on stage. Everyone else seems to be in a similar situation - Bonehead’s eyes are wide and flitting left to right, right to left, and Liam’s jittery and bouncing on his heels. Noel’s somewhere else completely - he starts playing fucking Bring It On Down when the rest of them start up with Fade Away, and he plays the solo of Supersonic during Cigarettes & Alcohol. They have to play Roll With It one-and-a-half times, because Calum’s bass amp explodes a minute in, and Liam starts shouting at the audience after a crowdsurfer knocks his mic stand over, and then starts shouting at Noel for fucking God knows what, yelling at him to fuck off, until he launches his tambourine at Noel, hitting him on the shoulder, and storms offstage as the set ends. 

Calum heads off dazedly, trying to slow his pounding heart and thinking fucking hell, what the fuck was in that coke? The brothers are still yelling at each other backstage, pupils dilated and faces red, and don’t stop yelling as they’re herded into a car to get back to the hotel, are still screaming at each other as Maggie ushers them up the stairs and into their separate hotel rooms. They each shout a venomous fuck you, you fucking cunt at each other before slamming their doors, and Calum, who’s due to room with Liam that night, decides he’d rather sleep on Bonehead and Tony’s floor than brave that. 

He can’t fucking sleep, though. The high just doesn’t stop. He’s so wired, feels so fucking strung out and awful, barely cognisant of what’s going on around him but hyperaware at the same time and he just wants to fucking sleep, just wants to rest. He can’t, though, and neither can Bonehead or Tony, and they just pace around the room, vibrating with energy, muttering what the fuck do they do to the coke over here, eh? every few minutes. 

Time passes so fucking slowly, every minute inching by painfully, and by the time it’s morning Calum’s starting to finally, finally come down. He feels semi-human by the time the knock on their door for breakfast comes, and wrenches it open, still dressed in last night’s clothes, to find a serious-looking Maggie, a crease between her brows. 

“What?” he says, because he knows, he just knows something’s happened. 

“Noel’s left,” she says. Oh. Well. That’s hardly grounds for a face like that. 

“Will he be back for soundcheck?” Calum asks. 

“He’s gone, Calum.” 

“What d’you mean, he’s gone?” Calum’s not quite getting it.

“He asked for his passport and some money,” Maggie says. “And he’s gone.” Calum stares at her. Noel can’t be gone. He might have left, sure, but he can’t have gone.

“Wha’s tha’?” Bonehead calls groggily, from across the room. He’d come down a few hours ago, managed to force himself to sleep, and he sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

“Noel’s gone,” Maggie repeats, a little louder. Tony turns from where he’s sat in the corner of the room, twisting his fingers this way and that, eyes wide. 

“Gone where?” Bonehead asks.

“I don’t know,” Maggie says. 

“What d’you mean, you don’t know?” 

“He’s gone, Bonehead. Took his passport, took some money, and left.” There’s a moment of stunned silence. 

“Does Liam know?” Tony asks. Maggie bites her lip, and shakes her head. 

“I thought I’d tell you first.” 

“Shit,” Bonehead breathes. “He’s gone? ” Maggie nods. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Suitcase and all.” 

Fuck. 

Fuck.  

“Oh, fuck,” Calum mutters, and sits down on the bed. “He’ll come back, though, won’t he?” 

“I don’t know,” Maggie admits. “He sounded pretty certain about it.” 

“Why the fuck did you let him go?” Bonehead demands. 

“I can’t hold him hostage, can I?” Maggie says. “He’s fucking twenty-seven years old.” 

“Shit,” Tony says. “Oh, God. Shit. ” 

“I’m going to tell Liam,” Maggie says, sounding a little nervous about it. She probably should be, Calum thinks distantly, staring unblinkingly at the carpet. Noel’s gone.  

“I’ll come with you,” he finds himself saying, more for Liam’s sake than Maggie’s. He stands up robotically, completely on autopilot, and follows her out of the room, leaving Bonehead and Tony in shocked silence. 

Liam answers his door on the first knock, already awake and showered, and his face falls when he sees it’s not Noel. Oh, God. The kid’s going to be fucking beside himself. 

“Can we come in?” Maggie says, aiming for sweet. Liam’s eyes narrow. 

“What’s happened?” he says. Maggie hesitates. 

“Noel’s gone,” she says softly, after a moment. 

“Where to?” 

“He’s gone, Liam,” Calum says. The words feel strange on his lips. Noel can’t be gone, not now, not when they’re finally getting somewhere. Not without fucking saying anything to them. 

“Where?” 

“We don’t know,” Maggie says, still gentle, still kind, still trying to soften the blow. Liam looks about five years old, damp hair plastered to his face, eyes wide and shining with something that looks like fear, maybe, or loss, or rejection. Or maybe all of them with a sheen of anxiety. 

“Fuck,” he says, but he doesn’t sound angry. “Is he going to be okay? Is he alright? Did you speak to him?” 

“He just asked for his passport and some money,” Maggie says. 

“But he’s okay?” 

“I- he seemed okay, yeah, but-”

“Okay,” Liam says, like he’s trying to steady himself. “When’s he coming back?” 

“I-” Maggie cuts herself off, and takes a deep breath. “I think he’s gone for good, Liam.” 

Calum can see it, the moment it registers in Liam’s mind, sees it in the way his eyes widen and his lips part, in the panic that rises in his eyes. 

“He’s not,” Liam says, like he’s trying to convince himself. “He wouldn’t fucking do that.” 

“He’s gone,” Maggie says again, softer than before, and then reaches inside her coat pocket. “He left you a letter.” Liam stares down at the folded envelope in her hand, and then snatches it and shuts the door in both of their faces. 

They stand there for a moment, and then Maggie turns to Calum. 

“Well,” she says, like she’s bracing herself. “That could’ve gone worse.” 

“Yeah,” Calum says vaguely, still staring at the door. 

It couldn’t be worse, though. 

  -------

  Alan tells them not to worry, for the first few days. Noel’s disappeared before, and he’s quit before, and he always comes back. 

So they try not to worry. Bonehead starts drinking at eleven in the morning, and Calum tries not to worry. Tony and Maggie have hushed conversations under their breath, and Calum tries not to worry. Liam doesn’t leave his room, and Calum tries not to worry. 

They get a fucking bollocking about the gig from Alan, from Marcus, from fucking Maggie, even, but it feels hollow because they all know they’re not going to get the only bollocking that really matters - the one from Noel. They sit there silently while Alan rages about how embarrassing it was, while Marcus runs through numbers and statistics about sales and how they’re going to be affected, while Maggie gives them disappointed looks and says really, snorting meth hours before a concert, what were you thinking?  

Yeah. They’d snorted fucking meth. Some absolute fucking idiot - William John Paul Gallagher - had mistaken meth for coke. It’s why they were absolutely out of their fucking minds, why Calum hadn’t been able to sleep that night, and why Liam and Noel’s argument had been more ferocious than usual. It might also explain why all of this feels even more overwhelming than usual, why the comedown feels like it’s just not going away, why whenever Calum walks past Noel’s empty hotel room he feels like he’s suffocating. 

By the third day, even Calum’s at a loss. He’s been getting out of the hotel, going for long walks and getting lost and having to ask for directions to get back, standing by the sea and breathing in the salty air to try and clear his mind. He’s worried about Noel, more than anything - Noel doesn’t usually leave without saying anything, without getting the last word in, which is what makes this feel all the more real, like this is the time it’s going to stick. 

Although, Calum thinks, maybe Noel did get the last word. He’d written a letter to Liam, after all; maybe he’d said something in there about where he was going, what he was doing, something that makes this whole situation make any sort of sense. Maybe Liam knows something the rest of them don’t. 

He knocks on Liam’s door after he doesn’t show up for lunch again, and Liam answers, looking a little dishevelled, and a lot drunk. 

“What?” he says dully. 

“What did the letter say?” Calum asks. Liam stares at him for a minute, and then opens the door enough to let Calum walk in. 

The room’s a fucking tip. Liam’s clothes are strewn all over the floor - which, granted, isn’t exactly new - and Calum can see white powder residue on the coffee table, the desk, even the fucking bedside table. Next to the smudges of powder on the bedside table is the letter Noel had left, rolled up tightly, but creased all over. Liam’s been reading it, using it to snort drugs, smoothing it out and reading it again, rinse and repeat. 

Calum sighs, and sits down on the chair next to Liam’s bed, throwing him a doleful look. Noel’s Calum’s best friend, sure, and Calum’s not got a clue what to do without him, but he’s Liam’s brother. His flesh and blood, the boy who held Liam’s hand while he crossed the road, who nursed him through his first black eye, who writes songs with lyrics like please, brother, let it be, after a fight. Liam's never not had Noel looking out for him - through exasperation and curses and fists connecting with jaws, but there nonetheless.  Liam hasn’t got a chance without Noel.

Liam throws himself down on the bed and stares up at the ceiling, and Calum puts his hand on Liam’s shin, fingers resting lightly against rough denim. I’m here, he’s trying to say, but it feels hollow to the both of them, because he’s not Noel. 

“What did he say?” Calum asks again. Liam stares up at the ceiling, blinks once, and then opens his mouth. 

“He told me he loved me,” he says. Calum’s stomach twists. That’s not a good thing, not from Noel. He’d never say that, least of all to Liam, unless what he was trying to say was goodbye. 

“Oh,” Calum says, and tries not to let the panic seep into his voice. “Did he say where he was going?” Liam shakes his head. 

“Just a bunch of shite about how can we be brothers anymore, blah blah blah,” he says, voice rising mockingly on Noel’s words. Anger works for Liam, especially where Noel’s concerned. It’s the only way he knows how to feel about Noel. “Can’t do this anymore, it’s not me it’s you, all that breakup bullshit.” 

“What about your mum?” Calum says, even though he knows the answer to that, because Alan’s been calling Peggy pretty much every hour. Liam shakes his head. 

“She’s fucking beside herself,” he says, fury licking at the edges of his tone. “I get doing it to me, up and leaving like that, because that’s us, innit, but to mam? I’ll fucking kill the prick myself if I ever see him again.” He doesn’t mean it, but Calum lets him pretend that they both believe it. 

“You should eat,” Calum says, after a moment of silence.

“Probably,” Liam says, to the ceiling. He blinks up at it one more time, and then rolls onto his side. 

“He’s a fucking cunt,” he announces, but he doesn’t sound convinced, and his voice wavers a little. Calum sighs and reaches his hand out, and Liam extends his own to lace his fingers with Calum’s, blinking at him with glassy, tired eyes. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, and his voice is definitely wobbly now. “I didn’t mean to push him away. I love him.”

“I know,” Calum says, and squeezes Liam’s hand in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “He knows, too.”

“I wouldn’t’ve said it if I knew,” Liam says, swallowing hard. “I wouldn’t’ve been such a cunt.” 

“Yeah, you would’ve,” Calum says, but it’s not unkind. “That’s how you two are.” 

“Cain and Abel.” 

“Doesn’t Cain kill Abel?” 

“Isn’t Noel killing me?” Calum’s not really sure what to say to that. He supposes, in a way, Liam’s right. One of them’s got to fall off the tightrope at some point, and Liam’s never going to push Noel. And Liam would be all too happy to fall off, if it were for Noel.

“He needs you,” he says eventually. “He’s always needed you.” 

“Does he fuck,” Liam says flatly. 

“He’d never let anyone but you sing his songs,” Calum says. “That’s the highest praise you can get from Noel.” Liam’s silent for a moment, because he knows Calum’s right, and then he sighs again, loud and heavy.

“I’m hungry,” he says, and Calum closes his eyes in relief. "I want fish and chips."

“Order room service,” Calum suggests. Liam blinks at him. 

"Do they do fish and chips?"

"They will if you offer them enough money." Liam hums, like he's thinking about it.

“Will you stay?” he asks lowly. Calum hesitates, and then nods. 

“‘Course I will,” he says, and gives Liam’s hand another squeeze. Liam smiles at him, small but genuine. 

“Love you,” he says. Calum smiles back, soft and fond. 

“Love you too,” he says. 

“Enough to find me good fish and chips in LA?” Liam says hopefully, and Calum laughs. 

“Nowhere near enough for that,” he says, and Liam sighs dramatically, but he’s smiling too, which is the best Calum can hope for.

  -------

 A few hours later, while searching for a pack of cigarettes, Calum comes across the spare room key to Noel’s room that Noel had pressed in his hand wordlessly on their first night. Calum hadn’t really been sure what to make of it - was it an invitation for late-night songwriting, or the first acknowledgement of that night a few years ago either of them have ever made? - but it hadn’t even mattered, because Noel had left so soon anyway. 

He’s heading to the room before he’s even really thought about it, unlocking the door and taking in the too-empty, too-clean room. The bed’s been perfectly made by the staff, nothing like the slapdash job Noel usually does, and there’s no suitcase with clothes spilling out of it kicked in the corner of the room, no shoes strewn across the floor as Noel had kicked them off on his way to the bed. It’s almost overwhelming, to know that this room housed the decision that could end Calum’s career, and that this is the last connection he could ever have to Noel. It feels almost suffocating, like the walls are too big and too white for Calum, and he finds himself sitting down on the bed and reaching for the phone before he’s really thought through what he’s doing. 

He’d memorised the number, of course. He hadn’t really meant to; he’d just read the little scrap of paper so often that it had stuck. He barely even hesitates as he dials, chest so heavy with the crushing weight of the empty room, of the silence Noel's left in his wake. 

The phone rings four times and Calum doesn’t even realise his fist is clenched until there’s a click and a shuffling sound, and his fingers relax.

“Hello?” Michael sounds casual, relaxed, a little sleepy. Calum clutches the receiver to his ear. “Hello?” Michael repeats. 

“Michael.” He hears a sharp intake of breath. 

“Calum?” Michael says. “Aren’t you in America?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Fucking hell. You’d better make this quick, then.” He doesn’t hang up, though, which is something. Calum just listens to him breathing for a minute, not really sure what he actually wants to say, or if he wants to say anything at all. 

“Calum?” Michael says, jolting him back to reality. 

“Noel’s gone,” Calum says. 

“What d’you mean, he’s gone? Where?”

“Dunno.” There’s a pause.

“You lost your songwriter?” 

“He’s gone. Left.” Michael inhales deeply. 

“Where? Where’d he go?” 

“We don’t know.” Michael exhales. 

“Oh, Calum,” he says, and he sounds sorry and sad. Calum’s eyes flutter shut, trying to soak in the sound of his voice. 

“I-” Calum cuts himself off, because he doesn’t actually know what he’s trying to say. 

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, and he sounds like he means it. 

“Are you?” Calum can’t help but ask, a little bitterly. If Michael rang him and said Damon had left Blur, Calum would probably feel honour-bound to tell Noel. Or, he wouldn’t, now. Fuck. 

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Michael says, tone a little hard. Calum puts his head in his hands. 

“I don’t know,” he mumbles. 

“Why did you call me if you think that?” 

“I don’t know,” Calum says again, hearing the hopelessness in his own voice. “I just- I don’t know.” Michael sighs. 

“How’s Liam taking it?” he says. He’s trying, Calum can tell. He’s trying, for Calum’s sake. 

“Fucking terribly,” Calum admits. “Noel wrote him a letter.” 

“A letter?” 

“Yeah. A- a fucking, like, goodbye note, I don’t know. He’s a mess.” 

“Jesus.” Michael hesitates for a moment, and then adds: “What happened?” 

“Him and Liam had a fight,” Calum says. “And we played a fucking awful gig in LA.” 

“Don’t they fight all the time?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why this time, then?” Calum shrugs. 

“We did meth,” he says. 

“You- you did meth? ” Michael sounds horrified. “ Calum, fucking-” 

“We thought it was coke,” Calum says. 

“How the fuck- ” 

“I don’t fucking know, Liam’s a fucking idiot,” Calum says, even though he’d put the stuff up his nose too. 

“Fucking hell,” Michael breathes. “Alright. Jesus. And Noel just- just, what, took off?” 

“Yeah,” Calum says, gut twisting at the words. “Took his passport and some money and left.” 

“Passport?” Michael says. “Did he go home?” 

“No.” There’s a pause. 

“Fuck.” 

“Yeah,” Calum agrees, and it sounds listless, but he means it with every fibre of his fucking being. 

“I’m sorry, Calum,” Michael says softly. Calum blinks at the wall. 

“Yeah,” he says again. “Thanks.” Michael sighs. 

“What are you going to do now?” he says. 

“I have no fucking idea,” Calum says, the words acrid in his mouth. What the fuck are they going to do now? None of the rest of them can fucking write, can they? Not like Noel, at least. 

“Are you going to finish the tour?” 

“I don’t know, Michael,” Calum says. All the questions are making his head hurt. He hasn’t even thought that far ahead, hasn’t really considered anything beyond where the fuck is Noel, I hope Noel’s alright, I’m going to fucking kill Noel. He doesn’t even know if they’d be allowed to play Noel’s songs - there’s got to be some kind of legal bullshit about royalties involved, hasn’t there? God, Noel’s always handled that stuff. Calum’s never read a fucking contract in his life, just signed where Noel told him to sign. Noel had been the one to sort out their management, to negotiate the record deal, to get the contracts for the tours. Who the fuck are Oasis without him? 

“Hey,” Michael says gently. “It’ll be alright.” 

“Will it?” 

“Yeah.” Michael has nothing to back his words up, no events or facts he can point to and say see, it’ll be fine, but somehow, Calum believes him. Maybe because he wants to believe him, with every scrap of his soul, or maybe just because it’s Michael. 

“Thanks,” Calum says, and it comes out tired. Michael just hums in response, and they lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable, though, not like the last time Michael had been at the other end of a phone line. They’re existing in tandem, and it feels like something slotting into a place that Calum didn’t know was empty.

“I can’t believe you did meth ,” Michael says after a while, in disbelief, and Calum can’t help the way his lips hitch up in a faint smile. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he says. 

“Y’know, the tabloids aren’t wrong about you,” Michael says, and there’s a smile in his voice too. He’s teasing Calum. “Always calling you a bunch of hooligans. Taking meth because you think it’s coke, fucking hell.” 

Calum huffs out a laugh, fingers curling around the receiver as his heart flips in his chest. Michael reads about him in the papers. 

“That’s just Liam,” he says. 

“So you weren’t deported from Sweden?” 

“Well-”

“Exactly,” Michael says, and Calum can hear him grinning.

“That was because of Liam,” Calum says. He pauses, and then adds: “And Noel. And Bonehead.” Michael laughs, soft and melodic, and for one split, giddy second Calum thinks fuck, I want to spend the rest of my life hearing you laugh. He’s sure he doesn’t mean it, though. It’s probably the fucking days-long comedown, and the fact he’s feeling Noel’s absence like nothing else. It's the first time he's heard someone laugh since Noel left, after all.

“I can’t believe that’s what I’m up against,” Michael says, and it’s still soft and amused, but Calum can hear the slight tinge of sadness to it. 

“Yeah,” Calum says, smile fading. “That’s your competition.” Michael exhales heavily, and Calum thinks they might be thinking the same thing. How did we go from us to competition?

“Why did you call me?” Michael asks. Calum’s fingers twitch against the phone. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just- I don’t know.” He hesitates, and then adds: “Why did you call me? After Top of the Pops, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Michael says. He’d said the same thing two months ago. But, two months ago he hadn’t added what he does this time: “D’you really want to do this now?” 

“Do what?” Calum says. 

“Talk about this. Us. Now.” Calum swallows. 

“No,” he says. He never wants to talk about it. He wants to walk the edge of this precipice forever, doesn’t ever want Michael to say c’mon, let’s jump, because he doesn’t know what he’ll find at the bottom. He doesn’t know whether Michael’s just biding his time, waiting until they can have their big what happened to us? talk to say everything that he’s thought for the past five years, get it all off his chest, and then fuck off and leave. He’d be well within his rights to, Calum thinks, but that doesn’t stop the mere thought of it from making his heart ache. 

“Okay,” Michael says. “But we-” he’s interrupted by Calum and Liam’s door slamming open. Calum starts in surprise, phone slipping out of his fingers, and whips around to see Bonehead standing in the doorway.

“We’ve found him,” Bonehead says breathlessly. “He’s in San Diego.” 

“You’ve found him?” Calum repeats. “What? How?”

“Maggie got his phone bills and traced all the numbers,” Bonehead says. “Found one in San Diego. Remember that girl, whatsherface, Leah? Dunno, doesn’t matter, we’ve found him. ” 

“And?” Calum says, heart in his mouth. “Did you talk to him? Is he okay? Is he coming back?” 

“Yeah,” Bonehead says, grinning widely. “He’s coming back.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Calum mutters, stomach somersaulting. “Does Liam know?” Bonehead’s smile falters. 

“Yeah,” he says. Oh. Noel’s going to have fucking hell to pay. 

“Oh,” Calum says. Bonehead looks at him for a moment, both of them thinking the same thing - there’s going to be fucking fireworks - and then he grins again.

“Well,” he says, “at least we’ve got our fucking songwriter back, eh?” 

“Yeah,” Calum says, and laughs, a little lightheaded. Fucking hell. Noel’s coming back. 

“Bonehead!” he hears someone yell - Liam, he thinks - and Bonehead sticks his head back out of the door. 

“Aye?” 

“...go out...fish and chips...you ask Calum?” is all he can make out. Bonehead casts a glance over at Calum. 

“Fancy going out for tea?” he says. “Liam reckons he’s found a chippy.” Calum raises his eyebrows. Fucking hell. Might as well have one last supper before Noel gets back and all hell breaks loose. 

“Alright,” he says, and gets up to leave, making the phone clatter to the floor. He picks it up hastily, and Bonehead frowns at him. 

“Who’ve you been talking to?” he says. Calum clutches the receiver to his chest. 

“No one,” he says. “Was going to ring my mum.” Bonehead’s face doesn’t clear, and his eyes narrow, like he’s trying to work something out. Shit, it’s fucking three in the morning in England, isn’t it? Fuck. 

“Bonehead!” Calum hears Liam yell again, sounding more aggravated this time, and Bonehead sighs in exasperation and turns back around. 

“Fucking hell, who the fuck are you, my missus?” Bonehead yells back. “I”m fucking coming, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” 

“I’ll just-” Calum motions at the bed vaguely, hoping it’ll come across like he’s got some final organising to do - fucking make the already-pristine bed, or something, anything to make Bonehead leave so he can hang up on Michael - and Bonehead just nods, already halfway out of the door and on his way to Liam. 

Calum brings the receiver back up to his ear, ready to make some excuse to Michael, but all he hears is a dial tone. 

Michael’s already gone. 

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chapter five

[utopianvoices]

dating au | p.seonghwa

⤗ check my masterlist for other members!

how he acts around you

the “i’m rly smooth around you but dies when you’re not around” kind

the biggest flirt

will throw you pick up lines for every. single. situation

you trip over something?

“woah watch out... we don’t want you falling for anything else but me.”

you’re sharpening your pencil?

“life without you is like that pencil... pointless.”

basically anything you do, he’s got a pick up line for that

he does it so excessively that instead of showing you signs that he likes you, you just start to think that he does that with everyone else

and that you are no special

reader you aren’t the brightest crayon

the members definitely know what’s up tho

will threaten it out of him

“we’ll thrash the whole dorm if you don’t speak up right now.”

“the dorm already looks thrashed you’re not making a difference.”

but this isn’t about sassy seonghwa

this is about his crush on you

whenever you’re around, you’ll realise that they tease seonghwa and you every time he says something cheesy to you

you weren’t very good at reading people but you knew when someone was uncomfortable

no you don’t

and seonghwa looked uncomfortable when the members were teasing the both of you

but that’s just because he was scared you’d find out

so you took the liberty to clear the air

“guys stop that. seonghwa and i don’t like each other in that way.”

well ouch....... you just broke this big baby’s heart

how he confesses

after you broke his heart

he’ll be convinced that you had no feelings for him

and will stop with all the cheesy pick up lines

the whole atmosphere shifts 180 between the both of you

it gets really awkward when you both are in the same room that the members have literally gotten up and left because they couldn’t stand it

at first you thought that it was because he was stressed about something

but when it didn’t stop and just grew more and more awkward, you’d confront him about it

asking him if you did anything wrong for him to act so weird around you

and he spills the beans

literally

he was holding a can of beans to prepare for dinner and dropped the whole can when you asked him that question

rip beans

he just stares at the spilled beans and lets out a sigh, contemplating if he should tell you why he was acting so weird around you

you take a step closer to him, giving him the push he needed to say it

“i actually really like you. and after you said you didn’t have feelings for me i just thought that i should keep my distance.” 

let’s just pause right there

and rewind a little bit

he likes you? and your dumbass thought you were helping him by pretending you didn’t have feelings for him so that it wouldn’t get weird

so you tell him just that

“i-i like you too. i just thought the boys teasing us together was making you uncomfortable so i told them that to shut them up.”

he immediately whips his head up and you can see the smile slowly spreading on his face

it’s the cutest you’ve ever seen him tbh

probably just beams at you until someone shouts at him to clean up the beans because it was going to attract roaches and they didn’t want mingi to start screaming

first date

most probably a fancy dinner

at a fancy ass restaurant

my boy here is a whole ass gentleman

with top class manners

holds the door open for you when you enter the restaurant, pulls out your chair for you, helps you with your napkin

just marry him 

during dinner you’ll have such a great time together, talking about the posh people around you

at one point, you let out a loud laugh because of something seonghwa said, attracting rich glares from all the high-class snobs there, causing the both of you to laugh harder

after dinner, the both of you leave the restaurant and go to a nearby local shop for dessert, because he had just emptied his wallet for that meal and wasn’t going to spend another $10 on a tiny lava cake that wouldn’t be enough for even one of you

you both get ice cream and sit out in the open, carefree laughs filling the air as you exchange jokes and stories

once you’re done, he walks you home, shrugging the jacket off his shoulder to wrap it around you because it would be a sin to leave out that classic first date move

walks you all the way to the door and just stands outside with you, none of you wanting to leave each other

which leads me to my next long-awaited point

first kiss

definitely planned it

he even made a small chart of the whole date while he was still back in the dorm

so there you were, standing in front of him looking cute af, waiting for him to say something

and he does

“can i kiss you?”

will not do it if you’re not ready for it

but who wouldn’t be ready

so you shyly take a step forward, indicating your positive reply, and he takes it as his cue to do what he’s been wanting to do the whole night

wraps his arms around you and slowly leans in, giving you the softest and sweetest kiss ever

your hands softly grip the front of his shirt as one of his hands moves up to cup your cheeks, his touch as light as a feather

when you part, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is “wow”, causing you to giggle shyly

and boy oh boy did his heart do a thousand flips at that sound

gives you a small kiss on your forehead before sending you in, not leaving until he’s sure you’re safe inside

it was one of the best days he’s had and 10/10 would do it again

first fight

this was the most difficult to write

because fights can happen anytime and anywhere because of anything

but one of the first few fights you’d have is probably because of seonghwa’s tidiness 

you would have had a terrible day, and all you wanted to do was go home and sleep

but that wasn’t really possible because of seonghwa’s nagging, telling you to clean the place or do the dishes or wtv you were supposed to do

on normal days you’d just whine and get up and do it

but that day wasn’t a normal day

so you snapped, and it wasn’t pretty

you probably end up saying something hurtful 

and he’d definitely be shocked at first, not expecting you to snap

slowly, as he goes over your words, the hurt seeps in and he leaves the room without arguing back because he knows it’s only going to make things worse

you definitely regret what you said right after you say it, but you give yourself some time to collect yourself before you head out of the bedroom to find your boyfriend

you find him sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at the tv

and oh boy do you feel guilty

scared that you’d be overriding his space, you sit down a safe distance away from him, fumbling with your fingers as you think of what to say

finally you just decide to keep it simple and tell him what went wrong and why you were being so mean

all while reinstating the fact that none of it was his fault and that you were to blame completely

maybe you shed a few tears while talking

seeing this, he just sighs and pulls you towards him, wrapping his arms around you while whispering a soft “it’s okay baby”

and maybe you cried more hearing that

because your man had a heart made of gold

you’d probably have to do the chores for the rest of the week as punishment though

favourite things to do together

he’d love love LOVE to build figurines with you

his gundam figurines

to him, it’s the perfect way to bond

his favourite is the petty arguments you both have over which way is the correct way to assemble it

when there’s a whole instruction sheet lying right next to y’all screaming “read me crackheads”

but where’s the fun in following instructions

he’d probably give in to your way, just watching as you happily try to assemble the figurine, frowning once you realise the you were in the wrong the whole time and that seonghwa was right

you’d never admit it though

“actually maybe we should just do it your way, since i’m feeling a bit generous today.”

plays along with you and you both finally finish assembling it

what takes usually an hour, takes at least three hours when it’s you both assembling it together

because y’all are always distracted

petty arguments over who’s right

and many many many stolen kisses

general affection

wouldn’t usually initiate cuddles but will never reject them 

if u wanna cuddle then he was gonna cuddle the fuk out of you

you’d come back and just fall on him if he was laying on the sofa

or if he was in the kitchen, you’d just walk over and slump against his back, wrapping your arms around his waist

if you were already lying down, his arms will be around you, while your head rested on his chest, the both of you talking about your respective days

if you were to back hug him, he’d turn around in your arms and give you a soft forehead kiss that usually says “i’m busy right now but i’ll cuddle you later”

is honestly more of a kisser than hugger

keeps pda to a minimum—nothing more than a hand on your waist in public or in front of the members

but in private, damn

doesn’t know the meaning of the words ‘personal’ and ‘space’

will randomly kiss you

you could be walking past him and he’ll just pull you in and give you a quick kiss and pretend like nothing happened

i feel like he’ll be a very passionate kisser

other than pecks, when he’s really kissing you, definitely puts in as much emotion as he can

ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ

definitely the type to combat jealousy by making out

talking about jealousy

gets jealous very easily

not that he doesn’t trust you, but he just doesn’t like the idea of others thinking of you in ways that only he should be thinking 

other than the members, any other guy you talk to gets the stank face from him

unless they’ve earned a pass, which is pretty rare

but if he still ends up being jealous, you better prepare yourself to be attacked with kisses when you’re home

ᵐᶦᵍʰᵗ ˡᵉᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ʷᵉ'ˡˡ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵏⁿᵒʷ

[gladdygirl18]

Remember When We Were Little...

Based off the game {Shall We Date? Wizardess Heart+}

Summary: It's a day off at the academy and the Goldstein Brothers were reminiscing about all the fun times they had together when the were kids. Let's just say this conversation led to many good laughs.

Word Count: 1993

Elias, Klaus, and Alfonse. The three sons of the famous House of Goldstein. Brothers by blood. Elias and Alfonse are Day Class Prefects at the academy whereas Klaus is a Ministry employee. On occasions, Klaus will pop up to visit the academy out of his own free will or for business. Either way, for Elias and Alfonse, it is always a treat to see him. Klaus and Alfonse have a history together and didn’t get along all that well. After recent events, the two of them, mainly Klaus, learned to tolerate one another.

It was a day off at the academy and Klaus was visiting the academy out of his own free will. Going to the Prefect’s office, he saw his younger and older brother relaxing on the sofa and chair.

“Klaus? I didn’t know you were coming.” Elias said.

“That’s Klaus for you. Always full of surprises.” Alfonse said with a kind smile.

Klaus rolled his eyes and sat down in the chair parallel to Elias. The three of them sat in silence, enjoying each other’s company. The other Prefects, mainly Zeus, were enjoying themselves at the Night Cafe, so it was really quiet in the office. The brothers sat silence for what felt like an hour. Soon, Alfonse’s voice shattered the silence.

“Klaus, remember when we were little, we use to get into so much mischief.” Alfonse said.

“How can I forget? You were always the one who got us into trouble, and I had to get us out of it.” Klaus said.

“Really? I can’t imagine Alfonse getting you into trouble. Sigurd and Albert, yes, but never Alfonse.” Elias said, sitting up.

Klaus let of a scoff and leaned in on his legs.

“You have no idea. Once, he tried to swap one of Father’s inventions for one of his trick ones.” Klaus said.

“And I would’ve gotten away with it if you hadn’t stopped me.” Alfonse said.

Elias smiled and let a giggle escape his lips.

“It’s not funny. You know how Father gets when he’s mad.” Klaus said.

“I know. I’m laughing because I wish I could’ve seen Father’s face if the swap prank did happen.” Elias said.

Klaus placed a hand on his temple and breathed out.

“You are so much like Alfonse...” Klaus sighed.

Elias shrugged with a smile.

“What’d you expect? I’m your brother, after all.” Elias said.

Alfonse sat in silence for a while before a mischievous smile spread across his face.

“That reminds me... Klaus, do remember when Elias was about seven, we used a special trick to make him smile even though he was already smiling?” Alfonse asked.

Elias’s eyes widened and Klaus’s grin grew into a sly smile.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Why bring it up all of a sudden?” Klaus asked.

“No reason. I guess you can say I miss my little brother’s laugh.” Alfonse said, eyeing Elias.

Elias stared at his brothers with fear clear as crystal in his eyes. Alfonse quickly muttered a spell to make the room soundproof.

“So do I.” Klaus said.

A surprised and scared smile spread across the young Goldstein’s face.

“What has gotten into you two?” Elias asked as his two older brothers inched closer.

“Whatever do you mean, Elias? We’re just having fun. Aren’t you?” Klaus asked.

Never in a million years would Elias ever hear his stoic and strict brother say he was having fun. And he knew his brother better than anyone. If Klaus were feeling something, he would rarely show it or admit to it. This was a new one on him. Alfonse was no exception. He’s always in a good mood and shows it. He’s rarely ever seen sulking or moping.

“Come on guys, you don’t have to do this.” Elias said.

“This is long overdue, Elias. Of course, we have to do this.” Alfonse said.

Elias took a gamble and made a break for the door. Now, Elias is a smart young man. He’s a Prefect for crying out loud. But thinking he could outrun Klaus was on him. Klaus easily caught him before he could even reach the door. Klaus couldn’t help but smile at Elias’s struggling. It would take a miracle for Elias to escape Klaus’s strong and firm grip.

“Let go off me!” Elias cried.

“Yell all you want, Elias. With the soundproof spell up, no one will be coming to your rescue.” Alfonse said as he locked the office’s door.

Klaus placed his brother in his lap and forced his arms into a position where he couldn’t move them.

“Come on, let’s be reasonable here.” Elias said as Alfonse inched closer, still struggling in Klaus’s hold.

“We are. We get to tickle you senseless and you get to laugh. A win-win for the three of us.” Alfonse said.

Just hearing the dreaded T word made Elias cringe. When Alfonse’s fingers collided with Elias’s sides, pure, childish laughter spilled from the young Prefect’s mouth. Elias’s eyes were squeezed shut but his mouth was gaped open with melodic laughter coming out.

“Honestly, Elias, I thought you’d outgrow this by now.” Klaus said, pretending to sound disappointed.

“Shuhuhuhuhuhuhut up!” Elias laughed.

“Being rude, are we?” Alfonse asked, digging his fingers harder into Elias’s sides.

Elias threw his head back against Klaus’s shoulder and let out a new stream of laughter.

“Stohohohohohohohohop! Plehehehehehehease!” Elias cried, his voice full of desperation.

Elias has always been extremely ticklish. Just a simple poke in his ribs and he’s cracking up. His brothers always exploited his little “weakness” whenever he was sad, getting ahead of himself, or just to see him laugh. When Elias was young, he always wanted to get revenge on his brothers for torturing him, especially Klaus. Klaus is a ruthless and merciless tickler. Alfonse is the same, except for the merciless part. He never tries it because he knew the tables would have been turned on him in a split second.

“Klaus, you have access to our brother’s weak spot, you know.” Alfonse said.

“Thanks for reminding me. It almost slipped my mind.” Klaus whispered into Elias’s ear.

Elias scrunched his neck when he felt his brother’s breath brush against his neck and ears. Elias literally screamed with laughter when he felt Klaus scratch his fingers in his exposed armpits.

“KLAHAHAHAHAHAHAUS! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!” Elias said as he thrashed in his brother’s grip.

“Sorry little brother. No can do.” Klaus said casually.

Alfonse chuckled and started raking his fingers up and down the youngest Goldstein’s ribcage.

“NOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHA! NOT BOTH AT THE SAME TIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIME!” Elias cried.

Klaus and Alfonse couldn’t help but laugh along with their brother. To any other person, the scene would look almost unnatural and somewhat uncomfortable, but to the Goldstein Brothers, this was normal. Alfonse’s hands soon found their way under Elias’s uniform and tickled the bare skin underneath. Elias’s laughter became more hysterical and his thrashing became more frantic.

“I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMOHOHOHOHOHOHORE! PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!” Elias begged.

The two older Goldsteins nodded to each other and removed their hands from the poor boy’s body. Klaus released Elias and placed a comforting hand on his back while Elias took in air for his lungs.

“Are you okay?” Alfonse asked, crouching in front of his brother.

“Yeah... I’m good...” Elias panted.

Alfonse smiled and sat down next to his younger brothers. The three of them sat in peaceful silence, still wearing bright smiles on their face. Elias soon looked at Klaus who had his head leaned back against the sofa; his eyes shut. Letting a smile form, he turned to Alfonse who had the same smile. They were thinking the exact same thing.

“Hey Klaus. Can I ask you something?” Elias asked.

“What?” Klaus asked.

“Are you ticklish?”

Klaus’s eyes snapped open. The question caught him off guard. Klaus then put on his mature face and shook his head.

“No, I’m not.” Klaus said casually after a while.

“Then why did you hesitate?” Alfonse inquired.

“I didn’t.” Klaus said.

Alfonse and Elias nodded to one another with similar smiles. After a split second, the two of them pounced on their brother. Klaus pursed his lips together to keep himself from laughing. Klaus was equally ticklish to Elias, but not as bad. When it was just him and Alfonse, Alfonse tickled him all the time. It was a weakness he would always exploit.

“Come on, Klaus. We know you can’t hold out for long.” Alfonse said.

What the older Goldstein said appeared sound. Giggles slipping through every now and them, not to mention the wide grin on the normally stoic brother’s face. When Elias reached his lower back, Klaus’s resistance was history.

“Stohohohohohohop! Elias stohohohohohohop!” Klaus laughed.

“Wow. The Klaus Goldstein, The Emperor of Gedonelune Royal Magic Academy, a Ministry of Wizardry employee, is ticklish.” Elias commented.

Klaus tried to glare at his younger sibling, but his laughter made it difficult.

“Hey Alfonse. Does Klaus have a weak spot?” Elias asked.

“Nohohoho I dohohohohohohon’t!” Klaus cried.

Alfonse rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Yes, he does. He has two, as a matter of fact.” Alfonse said.

Proving his point, Alfonse kneaded Klaus’s thigh and massaged his hipbone. Klaus bucked at least a foot in the air before his laughter became louder and more hysterical.

“ALFOHOHOHOHOHOHOHONSE STAHAHAHAHAHAP!” Klaus cried.

Elias laughed at his older brother’s state, never seeing him like this since, well, ever. Elias joined in by massaging his thumbs in Klaus’s hip, making said man produce more hysterical laughter.

“Consider this as revenge for all the years you tortured me when I was younger.” Elias said.

Klaus couldn’t even form a word; he was laughing so much.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Klaus laughed.

Elias enjoyed tickling Klaus to shreds but decided it was Alfonse’s turn. Removing his hands off Klaus, he pounced on Alfonse and started kneading his sides. Alfonse let out a giggly gasp before producing them.

“Elias! Yohohohohohou’re supposed to behehehehe on my teheheheheheheam!” Alfonse said.

“Sorry, but I need revenge on you as well for all those years you tickled me half to death.” Elias said.

After catching his breath, Klaus joined his younger brother in tickling their older brother.

“Klahahahahahaus! Not you tohohohohohhohohoo!” Alfonse whined.

“I’m with Elias. I need some revenge for all the times you exploited my weakness,” Klaus said.

“Sohohohohohoho yohohohohohou admit youhohohohou have a weheheheheheaknehehehehehess!”

“What was that?”

Klaus then dug his fingers into his brother’s stomach, making Alfonse’s giggles turn into laughs.

“NOHOHOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHERE! NOHOHOHOHO!” Alfonse cried, his laughter reaching a new volume and octave.

Klaus and Elias laughed at their older brother’s state. Alfonse was in between Elias and Klaus when it comes to being ticklish. He was worse than Klaus but not as bad as Elias. Elias was by far the most ticklish out of the three of them. Must be because he was the youngest brother. Eyeing Klaus, Elias attacked his brother’s hips, making him let out a stream of deep laughter.

“ELIAS DOHOHOHOHOHOHON’T!” Klaus cried.

“This is exactly what you deserve.” Elias said.

Elias soon started producing laughter of his own when Alfonse started attacking his ribs.

“NOHOHOHOHO! THAHAHAHAHAHAHAT’S NOT FAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAIR!” Elias said.

“Yes, it is.” Alfonse said, catching his breath.

His break was short lived when Klaus started tickling his sides, another weak spot of his.

“KLAUS STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!” Alfonse pleaded.

The three of them went back and forth with one another. Their childish laughter bounced off the soundproof walls. After what felt like hours, the three of them sat in silence once more. The only thing that could be heard was heavy breathing and slight giggling.

“Well, at least we can say this day off wasn’t a total waste.” Elias said.

“You can say that again.” Klaus said.

“I agree.” Alfonse said.

Elias smiled and wrapped his arms around his older brothers.

“Love you guys...” Elias said.

The two older Goldsteins smiled and hugged their little brother back. The three of them soon fell asleep in each other’s arms, still wearing gentle smiles.

Hope you enjoyed! Stay Safe, Stay Blessed!

[an-annyeoing-writer]

Baekhyun x Reader: complications. [secret agent!AU]

Tagged: @baekonsforbreakfast thx for the inspiration bby LOL, @marimsun, @lisilki, @anolovo

Something weird happened in this fic. No idea what.

Never in your three years old experience of an agent, had you been put under as much stress as Byun Baekhyun was giving you. 

Not because he was trying to break free, because he clearly wasn’t. Not because he knew too much, nor because the situation was tense overall, because honestly, this mission was just too easy, all you had to do was to make sure he doesn’t get involved in the battle that was going on somewhere nearby, as he’d been considered too much of an advantage for the enemy, although still - for unknown reason - too worthy to just shoot down.

So you’ve been stuck with him for two hours now and for the love of God, the man just wouldn’t shut up.

He talked about literally everything. Starting from complaining that he was supposed to be somewhere and you were intruding in his business - completely disregarding the gun in your hand - and then talking about how stupid the whole war between your agencies was, and he’d feel personally better if there was a world peace, then whining about low salaries in this shitty job, and ending on how your hair looked really, really soft and if he wasn’t tied to this stupid chair he’d gladly take you out on a date so that he could touch it without shame.

At this point you were amazingly proud of yourself that you haven’t shot him down just yet, but it was - seriously - getting worse with every passing minute, and you cursed yourself for not preparing anything to successfully gag your hostage with. The room was fairly empty though, with nothing but his chair and your sofa to sit on, and you’ve been clearly instructed not to leave him out of your sight, to which you were ready to comply, knowing how tricky some personalities could be. You were ready to believe that the very moment you turned your back to him, he’d sneak up behind you and slice your throat with his own fingernails.

Speaking of which.

“I’ll snap your fingers if you don’t shut up” you suddenly announced, the first thing you spoke in the past hour (until now you really believed he’d go silent if you ignored him for long enough. You were wrong).

“Ah! She spoke! Such a beautiful voice!” he rambled, and you whimpered, burying face in your hands. “Shame she’s not as clever as pretty she is.”

You felt your heart thump in your chest, suddenly fully aware of the danger you’d been dismissing for such a long time. Your instincts screamed, albeit a tad too late for you to be able to stop the unstoppable.

You raised your gun at the same moment as the man stood up from his chair, but, without missing the beat, he grasped the chair, swinging it and knocking the gun out of your hand, hitting your fingers on its way, at which you whimpered in pain.

He was fast. Damn, way faster than what you remembered from when you caught him. Why did he let you catch him in the first place if he was better than you? And how the heck did he break free?

So many questions suddenly appeared in your head, but you knew better than to ask them now. Especially when the man pushed the chair forward, pinning your chest underneath it before you could actually defend yourself. 

With your chest immobile, you still had your legs to use, and you reached with them, trying to kick his crotch. He was too fast for you to manage, but he still had to move away to avoid the contact, which gave you the opportunity to push the chair off and throw yourself in the gun’s direction.

But yet again, he was too fast, and he had you fall face-first into the floor, straddling you and with a hand on the nape of your neck, pushing you downwards in case you tried to raise yourself. You had literally no leverage to use, his strength and weight were enough to trap you down there.

“...Fuck” you huffed.

“Watch your tongue, beautiful” Baekhyun spoke, his voice just as careless as before, except for now he didn’t sound like an overexcited puppy anymore, he was pretty calm and sly, so sly you wanted to punch the smirk off his own pretty face.

“Watch your back” you snapped back, and he automatically glanced over his shoulder. But your attempt to use his distraction to your advantage didn’t work, his reflex was enough to deem you unsuccessful. He laughed at your attempt, genuinely amused, as if you were a delightful source of entertainment.

“Okay then, I really mean you no harm, but I can’t let you go like this, either. Where are you keeping your walkie-talkie, hm?” His hands traveled down your back, ghosting over your sides in an unpleasantly intrusive way, only to take a small communicator out of your pocket and take a good look at it. You had no idea what he’s doing with it until the moment you heard familiar voice coming from the speakers, and you opened your mouth to speak, which earned you a warning blow in the back of your head, one that pushed your nose into the floor and made you groan lowly.

“Agent Sixteen?”

“Bernie! Long time no hear” your former hostage spoke casually, and from the speakers, you heard a long, annoyed groan, clearly a reaction to the man’s voice.

Oh, what a mood.

“What y’all up to lately? It’s the fourth time they send someone to keep me away. Are there some troubles in the HQ?”

You blinked, clearly taken aback by the words. What HQ? Wasn’t he an enemy?

“We’re doing you a favor. It’s a freaking mess there, we’re giving you an excuse not to engage.”

“It’s a very shitty favor. How will I explain that no one died in this little hostage scheme? And besides, how will I explain I’ve been taken hostage by some kid who’s like thrice weaker than me?”

You squinted your eyes, swinging your arm to hit him with your elbow, more annoyed than actually trying to break free at this point, but undoubtedly knowing that he just offended you.

“Jesus, we just didn’t have anyone else, don’t be so harsh on her” the man in the speaker requested in a dull voice. “Just knock her out or something.”

“On which side you are?!” you growled at the communicator, starting to thrash underneath the agent’s body. The movements weren’t enough to let you break free, but the sudden shaking “successfully” knocked the communicator out of his hands, and the device fell onto the floor, falling apart and losing the connection.

A short silence fell upon the two of you.

“...Congrats” he deadpanned. 

You let out a defeated sigh.

“What now?” you asked, already done with the whole situation.

“Now?” The man smiled widely at you. “Now you’re my hostage. And I’ll snap your fingers if you don’t finally let me take you out.”

[firebirdsdaughter]

Random Writing Preview…

… The parents are out! Write angst!

Ahem. I’m kidding.

But I did write angst.

So. That ep about a Minusaur attaching itself to Asuna’s heart reminded me of an idea I had. Long time ago.

So, anyone remember the scorpion arc from Hurricaneger? Something like that crossed w/ that ep of GoGoV where the team gets those flowers attached to them that will only come off if they die, but will release a deadly pollen if they bloom.

Basically, the premise of this idea is that Banba gets hits hit w/ something from a Minusaur that implants a weird parasite thing in his heart and respiratory system that attaches itself to him and is slowly and painfully killing him, and if it finishes growing it will release a lethal toxin that will kill everything within a certain radius. They try killing the Minusaur, but attacking it weirdly seems to make the thing grow faster.

The reason everyone is so at the end of their rope here is that they’ve literally been watching him suffer all day and maybe more, and the thing is getting close to releasing the toxin.

Also some other stuff happened, so there’s extra tension. But Tsk tsk, no spoilers now! XD

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Melto reentered the room completely silently, crossing the floor to touch Kou and Asuna’s elbows. Both wrenched their eyes away from where Banba had temporarily gone quiet on the sofa to look at Blue—and found his expression one of absolute misery. Taking a deep breath, he jerked his head toward the other room, then reached over to tap Kanaro’s shoulder to indicate the same before turning and trudging in that direction himself. The three of them hesitated for a moment, glancing anxiously down at Touwa, still kneeling and hunched over his brother’s side. Ui, beside him with a hand on his shoulder, glanced back up at them nodded slight. Finally, the other three turned and followed Melto, Kou hesitating for an extra moment before turning and trotting after.

Herding into the other room, they found Melto brooding in the corner, still looking like the world was ending. “… I have an idea.” He announced, in a dreadful tone.

“That… Feels like you should look happier about it.” Kanaro’s tone and expression were apprehensive, and he was carefully eyeing Blue like he could find some clue in the other Ryusoulger’s appearance.

It was hard not to agree. Melto’s expression and demeanour were not those of someone who had thought of a surefire way to save their teammate. Especially when his response to Gold’s observation was another dejected sigh. “… It’s not a good one.” He admitted.

“I can’t think of anything much worse than this.” Kou pointed out, glancing back over his shoulder at the others.

Asuna nodded, her expression equally somber. “Let’s hear it, Melto.”

Blue bit his lip, looking deliberately at the wall to their left rather than at them. “… The parasite is interwoven into his heart and respiratory system. It’s literally using his body to keep itself alive and growing, and it’s so fused at this point that trying to remove it would be fatal for him.” Another profoundly unhappy sigh. “But… That also means the reverse is true.”

Kou blinked at him. “What?” On Red’s other side, Kanaro was slowly going whiter than a sheet.

“It’s essentially become a part of him, now.” Melto said, more slowly, like he was trying to think out each word as he went. “So, that means…” He swallowed nervously, “… That means… If he dies… It dies.”

They stared at him. “… You want us to kill Banba?!” Asuna’s voice shot upward into a shriek, and the other three quickly shushed her, sending glances back to the other room, worried that Touwa might have heard.

“I don’t mean literally!” Melto hissed back quickly. “But the heart can be stopped for about six minutes before the brain starts to die.” He looked like he was ready to break down in tears, only just barely keeping his voice level. “If we stop his heart just long enough for the parasite to die, then restart it-”

“And what if it takes longer than six minutes to die?” Pink demanded, remembering to keep her voice hushed that time, though her hands were balled into fists at her sides. “What if we can’t restart it? There’s too many risks!”

“And what are our other options, then?” Melto snapped back, voice cracking. “Attacking the Minusaur makes it worse! And if that thing finishes growing, it won’t just kill him, but us and who knows how many other people when it releases that toxin!”

“So, what? You’d rather do the job ourselves? Are you really that heartless?!”

“Do not mistake my ability to reason for apathy!”

They were in each other’s faces at that point, and Kou rushed forward with the intention of parting them—until it was all interrupted by another horrible sound from the other room, making them all look. Banba was thrashing again, hands clawing at his chest like he was desperately trying to rip the thing out himself. Touwa threw himself over his brother’s torso to try and hold him still, grabbing Banba’s hands and pulling them away before he could hurt himself, as Black let out another choked half-scream—still trying to smother his suffering even in this state. It was like razors cutting through their chests as the fit continued, forcing Ui to grab his legs to help hold him still, and they could only watch in horror until Banba quieted again—though he continued twitching and whimpering faintly, and neither Ui nor Green risked letting go of him.

Melto stumbled a step toward the couch, reaching weakly for the door frame, clinging to it for support, like it alone was holding it up. He watched for another moment, tears finally brimming in his eyes, then turned quickly away. Swallowing again, he looked over at Asuna. “… It’s this, or just watch him suffer.” He whispered, the tears slowly spilling over. “I… I can’t take this anymore.” Asuna swallowed, looking down at her feet. Blue sagged against the door frame, taking deep, shuddering breaths. “At… At least, if we try this, we’ll know we did everything we could.” His hands curled into fists on the frame. “And… Even if it fails…” He looked back at their still-thrashing teammate. “… At least he won’t be in pain anymore.”

There was a long silence, save for Banba’s agony across the room, heightening the tension between them all. Neither Melto nor Asuna moved, and Kanaro was leaning heavily on the wall, white as a ghost and looking ready to vomit. Kou moved slowly to stand between Blue and Pink, looking sorrowfully at her, rubbing his arm nervously. “… Asuna…” He began softly, his voice shaking, “… I agree with Melto.” Asuna continued staring at her shoes for a bit, her hands still clutched into fists—until her breath hitched, and she sank to the floor, tears spilling down her face, as well. Kou fumbled for her shoulder, squeezing it as best he could, taking a deep, trembling breath. Swallowing, he made himself speak again. “But…” The other three raised their heads slightly to look at him. “… The final choice isn’t ours to make.”

Pulling his hand off Asuna’s shoulder, Red staggered sluggishly back to the door, grabbing one of the tables for support. “… Touwa?” His voice broke completely over the other Ryusoulger’s name. For a moment, he wasn’t sure Green had heard—but then Touwa stilled completely. Slowly, he released his brother’s hands—which thankfully did not start clawing at his chest again, and Black’s spasms had largely faded—getting to his feet, then turning to look at them. He looked like a small child trying to be strong, eyes full of tears, struggling to keep his composure. Sitting on the floor, Ui also moved back, looking between them all. Stabilising himself with the tables, Kou crossed the room to stand in front of Green. “… He’s your brother.” Behind him, Melto, Asuna, and Kanaro watched anxiously.

Touwa opened his mouth, then closed it. Swallowing, he glanced back at the anguished etched so deep into Banba’s features. Looking back up, he squared his little shoulders, meeting Kou’s gaze with all the conviction of a knight.

“… We do it.” He concluded hoarsely, lifting his chin, hands curling into fists around the hem of his over shirt. “But… I have to be the one who stops his heart.”

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I am also in the middle of writing Zero-One angst, but I took a break to give my mind a rest. I also fully intend to finish Fair Trade, aka my other ‘Banba literally dies’ fic before writing this.

And, believe it or not, I am still working on that fake Masters thing.

[remuslxpns]

remus/sirius + all of them

and here it is @siriusdisaster

how did they first kiss?

One night over a few drinks, they each slowly confessed their feelings-, Remus still not believing any of it. When they kissed, Remus swore his head was going to blow off. That’s how it was. 

2. who flirts more?

Sirius loves making Remus blush because oh does that boy blush. Sirius can wake up and say good morning beautiful and Remus would be a flustered mess.how did the relationship start?

3. how did they start living together? do they move? how do they choose the place?

It was a silent mutual decision after school, the marauders would live together. They had already lived together for seven years and it only made sense. Until, Peter and James decided to stay at home. For the first few weeks, Remus and Sirius did live together. It just felt right having his best friend only a room away. Even though it was only a room away Remus felt a pang of distance knowing during school they were in the same room. They found the muggle flat by chance and word of mouth. It was settled in London and very near Diagon Alley which was perfect for them. 

4. do they have roommates?

For a few weeks or a month, Remus and Sirius lived alone until James knocked on the door with bags.It was an immediate mutual decision for James to stay with them for however long necessary. The flat only had two rooms, but James had no problem staying on the couch. (al though there might be a hole in the wall very near Remus’ room now because his roommates got creative)

5. do they get married (or equivalent)?

After James and Lily died, Sirius was instantly arrested and Remus went into hiding, blocking anyone and everyone out for years.

6. do they have kids?

No

7. do they have pets?

Yes, Sirius’ dog.

8. do they act different in public and at home?

Remus is much more reserved in public, thinking sometimes hand holding is a lot. At home though he barely leaves Sirius’ side, wanting to be curled next to him for however long or until Sirius moves to get up.

9. big spoon/little spoon?

Sometimes Remus will wake up in the middle of other night with another nightmare. Depending if he begins to thrash or scream, Sirius will run into his room and hold up. Or Remus will push himself off the bed and go to Sirius’ room like a child who had a nightmare. They fall asleep, Sirius holding Remus. Remus loves being the big spoon in any other circumstance. In the kitchen when he comes up behind him in the morning, on the couch when they are just wanting to talk.

10. sleeping habits?

Remus will wake up in the middle of the night, wanting to be held (see above). Remus loves sleeping and will sleep until he’s late for something or someone wakes him up. He does not move and you should not wake him up. The only person allowed is Sirius who Remus will give a morning tired smile to. Sirius usually sprawls on the bed without a care and Remus will find himself a spot curled up next to him. 

11. favorite non-sexual activity?

Remus loves combing his fingers through Sirius’ hair and sometimes does it subconsciously. It centers him and grounds him and makes him calm. Remus will read regardless if Sirius falls asleep on his shoulder, he will keep reading. 

12. favorite sexual activity?

Remus worst habit is flushing all too much and Sirius loves watching Remus get flustered. It’s almost like a game to see how much he can push Remus by teasing him. His flustering gets quickly turned into neediness when he can’t resist Sirius anymore and needs him in every way. Sirius loves the little sounds Remus makes when he’s going down on him.

There will be times that Remus needs Sirius and will make the first move. His approach is teasing as well and it’s almost out of character that it drives Sirius insane. Remus will roll his hips against Sirius or sit in his lap if they’re on the couch.

13. how often do they have sex?

It starts with a kiss and then deepens. Remus always wants Sirius and the feeling is mutual. There will be days when he is just exhausted and needs Sirius when he comes home. 

14. what habits of the other drives them crazy?

Sometimes Remus will leave a mess in the kitchen from his early breakfast makings, coffee grounds or tea that missed the mug but found its way on the counter. Sirius will sometimes leave soot from the fireplace from flooing or the bike.

15. how often do they fight?

There fighting is mostly kept to a minimum because they know each other inside and out. When they do fight it’s because Remus drowns himself in self pity and doesn’t believe anything Sirius says. Either Sirius gets defensive depending on how the fight goes or comforts Remus in every single way. 

16. most trivial thing they fight over?

The War. Remus is terrified of everything shooting at them but mostly if Ministry will begin arresting unregistered werewolves. The fear trickles into him every day and manifests into his mind. Remus doesn’t want Sirius to be a liability for him, knowing his chances are getting smaller every day. 

17. who uses all the hot water?

Sirius. Remus doesn’t make anything about it and usually joins him in the shower. To save water.

18. who does most of the cleaning?

There will be days Remus would rather do nothing, but if he sees a mess on the table he’ll clean it up. Then it begins and he won’t stop cleaning. There will be so many household charms helping him clean, but he takes care of most of it.

19. what do they watch on tv and do they fight for the remote?

(modern au: Sirius has his shows and movies that he wants to watch. Usually they are very graphic and Remus will fight Sirius until they change the channel to something more family friendly.)

20. who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working?

Remus and ignores when the landlord sighs impatiently and says ‘again?’

21. who answers the phone?

Sirius will rush to the phone even if Remus gets up and says he will. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose when he greets them with ‘welcome to the wolf den what can we do for you today?’

22. who steals the blankets?

They are both guilty of this. Remus loves the feeling of being curled up in a blanket and will steal the blankets in the middle of the night. In the morning Sirius will find Remus surrounded in blankets. Some nights Remus will wake up freezing his ass off only to find there are zero blankets on him and look over to find Sirius completely laying all around them.

23. who remembers things?

Literally none of them. Do not trust either of them to remember anything.

24. who does the groceries?

Remus will make a grocery list and go with Sirius. They end up checking out with more things that weren’t on the list because Sirius throws them in. ‘we need this, Remus. Need it.”

25. who cooks normally?

Also do not trust them with cooking. The only cooking skills Remus can do is make tea and toast. And sometimes he burns both.

26. who leaves their stuff lying everywhere?

Both of them. Remus will leave books and sweaters on the couch and his tea mugs scattered around the flat like easter eggs. Sirius will leave almost everything from shirts to bathroom towels on the floor. 

27. what kind of stuff can be found around their place?

(i think this can go with the one above)28. what do their cupboards or shelves look like?

They have the basic kitchen utensils and pots and pans but they are not touched. Remus only uses the cupboards for his mugs and maybe seasonings if he’s feeling creative. In the living room there is a shelf for a community shared vinyl set, Remus having more classics like the Beach Boys and the Kinks and Sirius’ collection having more of the Doors and Rolling Stone.

29. what does their closet(s) look like?

Remus has a variety of sweaters hanging and stacked in his closet. His closet is actually organized, his shoes and boots neatly arranged down below. His dresser however, is a mess. Shelves wont’t be pushed in all the way because there’s too much or it’s not neatly folded. There’s also a lot of things on the floor. 

Sirius’ closet is about the same as Remus’ but some stuff is either sliding off the hangers or already made it to the ground. Most of his shoes are lined up outside by the door in the living room.

30. what do they do when they’re away from each other?

When they’re not together Remus will be hanging out with his other friends or literally hanging around the house, falling asleep on the couch or in his bed while he waits for Sirius to come home. 

31. do they have nicknames or pet names for each other?

answered

32. how do they refer to the other in public? how do other people refer to the other? (i.e. “my partner”, “ask your father”, “dad and papa”, “how’s your wife?“, etc)

Remus will casually say “This is Sirius Black, my boyfriend.” While Sirius goes for the dramatics, “this is the love of my life Remus fucking Lupin.”

33. who is more likely to pay for dinner?

Both of them. They each take turns or nose goes because they are indecisive. They don’t argue over not wanting pay they usually take a while to decide because they both want to. 

34. how often do they go on dates?

When they can manage. They are both okay with going to the bar for a drink or two or going to a restaurant. 

35. typical date night? out or at home?

Since neither of them can really cook they usually go out somewhere. Sirius likes to take Remus out to fancy places to treat him and also to see Remus all dressed up. Even though it’s an enjoyable time Remus likes to just stay at their place and have a drink and talk or do something. Usually cuddling on the sofa or just talking intimately. 

36. do they celebrate birthdays, valentine’s day, anniversaries?

You bet they do. Remus will wake up with Sirius on top of him for most of these occasions before the day begins.

37. what would they get each other for gifts?

They know each other so well that Remus will get something that Sirius probably said he would die if he didn’t have it. Sirius will get something he saw a few minutes before giving it to him and immediately thought of Remus.

38. how do they spend christmas and new year’s (or equivalent family gatherings)?

They will invite everyone they know to the flat and have at it. Since they live there they usually get the most drunk and always wanna play a game or a dance off. They both are really bad at that.

39. who cusses more?

You would think Sirius but Remus will curse at everything. When he’s talking to himself, if he drops something, if he forgets something, if Sirius is sucking him off. Everything. He doesn’t stop. 

40. what would they do if the other one was hurt?

Anything. 

41. what are little gestures they do for each other?

Sirius will take interest in anything Remus says and if he doesn’t understand something he learns about it and is over the moon talking about it the next day. Remus will make Sirius breakfast if he can or go out and get something before he wakes up. 

42. do they know how the other takes their coffee/tea?

Of course they do. Sirius will make Remus’ coffee which is just two sugars and one drop of milk. His tea is always Early Grey with one sugar. Remus knows Sirius because his is easy. No coffee. Only tea. Don’t dilute the flavors because that’s insanity. 

43. do they feel they see each other enough, or do they have activities that take too much of their time?

They don’t see each other as much as they used to in school. Work and the Order and other things have taken over part of their lives. If they weren’t living together Remus doesn’t know when he would see Sirius. 

44. do they friend/follow each other on facebook/tumblr/livejournal/skype/etc?

(modern au: yes, they would. Remus wouldn’t use it a lot but when he would he would either rave about something he just learned or post about his day and Sirius. 

45. (added) morning routine? 

Remus hates waking up. If he wakes up before Sirius he will go make tea and bring it to bed for them. If he’s leaving for work he’ll press small morning kisses to Sirius, who pretends to be asleep through it all, before taking a shower and having breakfast. 

46. how do they make up after a fight?

They just hold each other and whisper to each other they are sorry and how much they love each other.