#live laugh love britain

[totallynotsmoke]

Family photo

If some of yall Sonic.exe TD fans wondering who is that hotshot with the fleshly-looking arm that is outlaiks (The TD game creator) own sonic.exe OC that he made for another game that he no longer works on

I just wanted to draw them all together like a big happy murderous family 😔😔🙏

[loaklvr]

my heart does backflips whenever i see this goofy mf

[toiletphotoshoot]

I like the head canon that prof. Rowan is from Galar AKA pokemon Britain, because that would make his interpretation of Lysandre when Augustine introduces him even funnier.

Augustine: Rowan! This is my boyfriend, Lysandre! :D

Rowan, knowing that Augustine lives and researches in Kalos AKA pokemon France, that Lysandre is Kalosian and therefore French: MY ‘SON’ IS DATING A FRENCHIE?????

[nxtkit]

I saw my friend do this so I’ll do an about me ong:

Me fr

My name is Kiki, I’m 16 and I’m British with Bengali ethnicity 🇬🇧🇧🇩

I’m Bisexual, Transgender and go by She/They and LOVE cats, music, gaming and art

I don’t like tomatoes or mean people ong (they smell)

I know a bunch of instruments and I’d like to think I’m good at drawing, I’ve also performed at a few venues all over England!

I love all kinds of music but my all time fav artist is Boywithuke and I also love Laufey, Beabadoobee and other bands like Green day and Poor man’s poison

I love Assassin’s creed (hidden blade shing shing ong) and games like Minecraft (do know I love building)

Uuuh idk what else I’m meant to put but like I’ll post my art here and also just vibe fr <3

[parkersbliss]

I just read your story with American!reader and I loved it. It made me want to see the all the 141 boys maybe reacting to Reader saying “I wish British people were real” as a joke they saw on TikTok. I love your writing💗💗

you anons that request stuff are on something bc your ideas are so good??? thank you I love YOU

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x American!reader 

warnings: gaz and ghost is mildy suggestive, um price asking if you're dumb, that's it I think

a/n: life would be so much better if British people were real man

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for call of duty!

—

Ghost:

Simon was painfully British. That much was obvious to anyone who met and got a word out of him. His accent was thick, intertwined with every word that essentially screamed “I am British” in your face. You would be a liar if you said it wasn’t part of the initial attraction to him. The deep grave voice, mixed with a foreign accent. Yeah, you were easy like that. 

And Simon, despite his thick accent, wasn’t a patriotic man. Sure, he cheered for his sports team, measured in metrics, wore the flag patch during combat, etc. but he wasn’t in your face about his nationality. None of that “My country is better than yours” toxic patriotism. Still, that didn’t mean there weren’t things you poked fun at him for. The tea obsession, the way he said certain words, the lack of flavor in some of the food. 

You had your grievances against Britain. So when Simon was watching the news with you on the couch, the news reporter accent heavy across the room, you get an idea. 

With a sigh, you lean back. “Man, I wish British people were real.” 

Simon turns to face you, quirking a brow. “What?”

“I wish British people were real,” You repeated, pointing at the Newscaster. “It’s obviously a fake accent.” 

“What the bloody hell are you on about?” 

You suppress a laugh as you give him a blank stare. “They’re so funny, the accents. I wish they were real, that’s all.” 

Simon narrows his eyes at you, fingers brushing across your shoulder from the arm slung across the back of the couch. “I wish Americans were real.” 

“Me too,” You agree as Simon rolls his eyes. 

“You think you’re funny, hm?” 

“I think I’m hilarious,” You corrected him as he shifted you to sit in his lap. 

“‘M gonna start calling you an American bimbo if you keep spewing such bullshit.” 

You tap your chin in fake thought. “I bet you’d be into that.” 

Simon scoffs, hands moving to your hips. “Glorified idiocy? I think not.” 

You put on a valley girl accent, twirling your hair as you blink rapidly at him. “Oh, my god! You are so hot.” 

“Stop.” 

“Like totally bangable.” 

Simon’s face is turning red as you laugh manically. “You’re done,” he said, lips meeting yours to shut you up. 

“I knew you were into it.”

“Shut. Up.”

Gaz: 

You sat with your back to Kyle’s chest, his chin resting on your shoulder as his hands rested under your shirt. You’re idly scrolling on Tiktok, letting him watch because, really, he was a girl at heart too. Grocery hauls? Organizing my makeup? Day in my life? He was sat. He presses feather-light kisses to your neck occasionally as your thumb swipes across the screen. 

It’s another of many influences doing a grocery haul, and you both pause to watch it. Her accent is light, but still obviousas she pronounces words like blueberries, brekkie, and other British slang. 

You had gotten mostly familiar with it living with Kyle in London, but the accents here were much lighter compared to up north. 

You frown at the video. “I wish British people were real. They’re so funny.” 

“Excuse me?” Kyle asked, pulling his chin off your shoulder to look at you. 

“The accent? The slang? The Chinese food?” You list out. “It’s such a good running joke. Such a shame they’re not real.” 

Kyle’s lips pulled into their signature scowl. “What the fuck am I then?” 

“An ongoing joke?”

Kyle snorts at that. “What the hell, love? You’re taking the piss, right?” 

You shake your head. “See. I know your secret. I don’t get why you insist on still using such British phrases.” 

“I am British,” Kyle said slowly. 

“And I’m George Washington,” You counter. “No point in hiding it.” 

“Love,” he starts gently. That was the best thing about Kyle. He was always so kind and gentle with you. His hands move up and down your sides. “British people are real.”

“I don’t think so.” 

“So what was the American Revolution?” 

“Staged.” You’re testing his patience, wondering exactly when he would either give up or pull up the evidence that Britain was real. 

“Please tell me you’re kidding.” 

His tone of voice strained, and his brown eyes pleading with you. You feel a little bad, stressing him out, so you relent. “I am, baby.” 

He exhales in relief, head falling back to the crook of your neck. “Jesus Christ.”

“Do you think I’m that stupid?” You ask, leaning into him a bit more. 

“Well—” 

“If you wanna get laid tonight think about your answer.” 

“I think if you thought British people weren’t real, it’s a common misconception.” 

You giggle, turning to face him and kissing him gently as he pushes you to the bed. “Good answer.”  

Soap: 

Johnny was a passionate man. He is passionate about his work, his hair, his partner, and his country — as in Scotland.Great Britain was fine too, but he didn’t like being looped in with the British. He made an exception for work though, wearing the flag patch with pride. And occasionally tolerating his British brothers. However, back at home, your front porch has the Scotland flag hanging from it, and he had plenty of blankets of it and sports teams hanging around in the house. Yes, Johnny was a passionate man. And if you gave him the chance to poke some fun at the British, oh, he’d take it. 

“You know, it’s really cool you’re able to find someone who sells all this Scottish merch.” You’re pretending to look at the mug in your hand with some Scottish phrase on it that’s white and blue.

Johnny turns to face you, spatula in hand. “I got it from the coffee shop down the street.”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s really cool they sell this stuff.” 

His brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

You set the mug down on the table, crossing your arms on the counter. “Well, you know, because Scotland isn’t real, but they still—” 

“What did you just say?” 

“Scotland isn’t real?” 

He drops the spatula turning to you with crossed arms. “Yes, it is.” 

“But like the national animal is a unicorn, and unicorns aren’t real…” 

“The national animal is a unicorn because it represents how Scotland is unyielding and remains unconquered.” 

“But I didn’t learn about it in geography.”

“You’re American,” Your boyfriend deadpans. “You only learn the states and the other world powers.” 

You sigh, cupping your chin in your hands. “It would just be nice that Scottish people are real with their silly little accents.”

Johnny drags a hand down his face. “How are we having this conversation? The Kingdom of Scotland emerged in the 9th century, and in 1707 they joined to form Great Britain…” 

That’s how you ended up with a history lesson about Scotland as Soap continues cooking dinner for you both. And you weren’t complaining, after all, with how passionate he was about reciting the history of his home, cooked in a kiss-the-chef apron in your Scotland theme house, what was there to complain about? 

Especially when he sets the plate of food down in front of you, kisses you softly, and says he loves you. Oh yeah, you believed in Scotland. 

Price:

Your husband was a straightforward man, something you had always admired about him. If he didn’t like something (or did) he would tell you. It’s part of what makes him a great captain, that ability to give it you how it is.

Of course, when it came to you, he did turn it down just a bit. If the meat you cooked was a little burnt, that’s okay, he’lleat it. If you prank him by trying some soup with a secret spoonful of salt, his face will give it away despite the “mmm SO good” he attempted to utter. Yes, John tried very hard to not hurt your feelings. It was the next best quality you loved about him. But like anyone else, he has his limits. 

So when you’re both laying in bed, John reading a book as you watch your favorite cooking show, you get an idea. 

They were going over the best way to cook a beef Wellington, a British classic, but not one you particularly cared for. 

“Honey?” You ask. 

Your husband closes his book, moving his reading glasses up. “Yes?” 

“Do you ever wish British people were real?”

There’s a moment of silence before your husband sighs deeply, opening his book once more. 

“It was a genuine question,” You continue.

“Here’s a genuine answer: are you stupid?” He glances at you over the top of his book and sees the smile breaking across your face. 

You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips. “No.”

“Why do you find such joy in tormenting your husband? Gonna give me a heart attack one day.” 

“Stress is good for the body,” You reply. “I’m just making sure you’re healthy. Gotta keep you on your toes.” 

Your husband drops his book once more, gathering you in his arms. “You’re doing a wonderful job, dear.” 

You lean your head on his chest, hearing the deep rumble in his chest as his arm wraps around you. He’s warm as always, like a furnace radiating heat deep in the winter, just in the form of a personified grizzly bear. 

“Soap would like that joke,” Your husband muses. 

“Think I should try it on him?”

John brushes a piece of hair out of your face as you look up at him. “Without a doubt.” 

– END –

Read more, HERE. Never wanna miss a fic? Join HERE.

🏷 COD taglist: @looking1016 @Bitchyzombietaco @lilwinchester67 @crypticlxrsh @echo9821 @trxpslxt @the-kakawshi-bird @gaz-oline

[cheyisagirlkisser]

–FRENZY: SEVIKA.

“𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭—𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝.”

🗡 .ᐟ 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀 / 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑.

warnings: mild descriptions of gore below (vampires, town slaughters and mentions of bodies, etc). mentions of religion. set in 1880s since it is based off of older vampire/gothic media like dracula, carmilla, frankenstein, nosferatu, etc. if content like this makes you uncomfortable, do not read. this is a work in progress.

a/n: this is a PROLOGUE that doesn't mention sevika or reader, i know i know. it's simply to set the mood before i jump straight into the 'vampire hunter falls in love with vampire' trope.

OUT NOW!

PROLOGUE / TEASER.

London-born girls playfully roll their eyes at the mention of razor-sharp teeth impaling their necks, and the boys chase them around, laughing as they pretend to be such malevolent creatures. It is all what the populus deems as purely an ‘urban myth.’ Vampires, they say, are most likely not real. Ask anyone–stop them on the street and say, “do you believe in vampires?” The answers of those who wear bustling skirts and rib-binding corsets, the ones who place hats with funny-looking feathers sticking out of them onto their heads each morning, and whose husbands come from old money, extravagant suit and tie, will say that vampires are nothing but fantasy. They are simply illusory, you will hear them state in a posh, low voice.

If you ask the people who commute from villages in raggedy, stained clothes, the ones who haul sacks of wheat like wary farmers, or the ones who live in run-down rookeries will themselves through back-breaking labor in factories that mass produce both textile and the most toxic smog, will instead insist that vampires should be feared. They will grab onto your shoulders like beggars and insist for you to stay far away from the villages, the villages in which are most targeted, where bodies laid to rest with fangs pierced on the sides of their necks.

You need not ask the religious folk. They are the worst of all, claiming that vampires are possessed, dead souls that are only blood-thirsty. They hold meetings in which they utter shouts and distressed cries in the name of all is holy, stressing the cross that will keep all from eternal damnation; of course, the only other eternal damnation other than the rings of hell in which poor souls are banished is at the hands, or better yet, fangs of the demons that will leave you writhing with hunger. Such hunger is unnatural, every sin may be committed by the hands of a vampire. They seduce the men and drain their bodies dry, such an act of lust. They feed on amounts that should not be consumed by any vessel, a gluttonous performance. They take glory in their kills, may even leave poor humans physically unrecognizable: pride. Vampires only lounge in shelter when they’re not busy slaughtering innocent souls, such laziness known as sloth. Vampires’ emotions are such heightened things, anger possessing them to the brink of slaughtering entire towns of farmers and merchants, all purely the wretched sin of wrath. And vampires’ hatred for humans must stem from something that can only be envy, for their souls are bound by Satan himself. And lastly but most ridiculously, the church insists that vampires are greedy creatures that care not for the emotions of life, but instead for castles and dark, pricey dresses.

However, those London-born girls and boys who giggle as they prance around, the joyous chants to be heard down the streets of Britain’s busiest city, have yet to admit the chills that run through their lapis lazuli veins when they speak upon the word “vampire.” For in secret, the deep-seated terror infests itself in their souls and haunts their spirits like a nightmare that could come to life at any second. Oh, may God take pity on their churning stomachs and their frenzied prayers to his name. May their skin remain unpierced and their soul remain pure when they awake.

[swan-of-sunrise]

...Is Love, Sweet Love (Part II)

Summary: Eight months later, (Y/N) and her daughter Molly have settled in well at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, with (Y/N) teaching a Classical Literature class and six-year-old Molly taking courses while learning more about her telepathic skills. Charles, having fallen head over heels for the school's new professor, debates whether or not to act upon his feelings.

Pairing: Charles Xavier X F!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Yes, I know, it's slightly unhinged to write a Part II to a one-shot that I published over 2 years ago, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head and here's what I came up with! Again, "What The World Needs Now Is Love" by Jackie DeShannon partially inspired this fic, so you should totally give it a listen if you haven't heard it before :)

…Is Love, Sweet Love May 1980 Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, Westchester (Previous Chapter)

Despite living in his family’s mansion for the majority of his life and spending countless hours of his childhood eagerly exploring its sprawling grounds, Charles Xavier hadn’t truly grown to appreciate the tranquility that the estate provided until he’d re-started Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. The sight of young mutants happily playing on the playground and partaking in group sports without feeling the need to hide their differences away brought a smile to Charles’ face, and the cheerful laughter of his students paired with the beautiful spring sunshine inspired him to once again enjoy his lunch outside with a good book…although, it was difficult to deny that he spent far more time listening in on Professor (Y/L/N)’s nearby Classical Literature class than actually reading his novel.

“Can anyone tell me why the characters of King Lear worship the pagan gods and not any form of Christianity?” (Y/N), who was sitting cross-legged on the grass in front of her small class, arched a brow as she surveyed the silent group of teenagers before her. “C’mon, guys, you know this. We went over the background of the play during our last lecture, and I seem to remember some of you even taking notes…” After a moment, a timid hand went up from the red-headed girl in the front and (Y/N) smiled. “Yes, Jean?”

“The play is set in ancient Britain, long before the arrival of Christianity.”

“Very good, Jean!” Jean Grey’s shoulders relaxed and beside her, her friend Jubilee gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Now, why would Shakespeare choose to set this play in this specific time period? Think about the time period in which Shakespeare lived, and what the social and political climate in England was like.” A dark-haired boy towards the back of their group raised his hand. “Go ahead, Remy.”

Remy LeBeau lowered his hand and began fiddling with his deck of playing cards as he spoke in his distinct French-Creole accent. “Well, Professor, that was when there was a lil’ trouble brewin’ ‘tween the Catholics and Protestants over there, right? He prob’ly didn’t wanna ruffle any feathers by puttin’ a popular religion in his plays, so he had his characters worship the gods from ol’ Roman mythology; anybody who’d be offended would’ve been long dead, so Willy did what any guy’d do to keep his head on his shoulders.”

Charles smiled to himself as the class laughed and (Y/N)’s lips curved upwards into a reluctant grin. “A little unorthodoxly put, Remy, but you’re absolutely correct. In the play, Lear states that-” She was cut off when the familiar sound of the school bell rang out and her students started to pack their things away. “Remember, on Monday we’ll begin performing your assigned scenes so be sure to work on memorizing your lines with your groups over the weekend. Have a good rest of your day!”

While they laughed and talked amongst themselves, the students headed back towards the mansion for their next class and with a fond smile on her face, (Y/N) looked away from them and finished packing her binders and books into her messenger bag. The novel in Charles’ hand was all but forgotten in favor of admiring his colleague and friend, who’s effortless beauty almost always succeeded in making him stutter over his words and caused him to blush in a way that he hadn’t since he was a schoolboy; she was dressed casually in a striped button-down blouse tucked into a faded pair of high-waisted jeans and well-worn Birkenstocks, with her (Y/H/C) hair pulled away from her face by a blue headband and her reading glasses dangling around her neck by a colorful beaded chain. Charles took in all of her striking figure, but it was her content smile and the happy gleam in her (Y/E/C) eyes that made him release a lovelorn sigh and look down at his lap.

Charles was infatuated with Professor (Y/L/N). Well, it perhaps started out as a simple infatuation, back when she’d first arrived on his doorstep pleading for him to help her daughter; her kindness and caring nature in regards to Molly’s safety and well-being was touching, considering how many parents he’d met who were overly eager to pass their mutant children off to a complete stranger just to be rid of them. After hearing their story, he knew that she couldn’t bear to be separated from her five-year-old and so, he asked that she stay and teach at the school to ensure that they would remain together. That was eight months ago and since then, the infatuation had evolved into a full-blown romantic crush; Charles was captivated by (Y/N)’s capacity for compassion, enchanted by her quick wit and natural beauty, in awe of her progressive idealism in regards to mutant rights and more than appreciative of her boundless consideration in regards to his disability.

Yes, Charles was enamored by his school’s newest professor, but he was also plagued by insecurity. The last woman he was romantically involved with was Agent Moira MacTaggert of the CIA, all the way back in 1962 when he was a dashing young man who’d just earned his doctorate and possessed an egotistical streak wider than the English Channel; nowadays, his ego was tempered and his youthful good looks were beginning to give way to wrinkles and streaks of silver. While a ten-year age gap between two consenting adults was hardly an insurmountable obstacle to a happy relationship, a part of him couldn’t help but think that (Y/N) would be happier with someone younger than him. Both Alex and Hank thought that he was overthinking the situation, and perhaps they were right but whenever he started to consider asking her out, that little voice of doubt whispered on in the back of his mind.

“Hi Charles!”

Looking up, Charles’ face reflexively broke out into a grin when he saw (Y/N) approaching the bench he’d parked his wheelchair beside. “Hello, (Y/N)! Holding your classes outside today, I see?”

“It’s such a beautiful day, so you could hardly blame me for taking full advantage of it.” The professor adjusted the strap of her messenger bag and tilted her head as a teasing smile played across her cherry-red lips. “Enjoying your lunch outside today, I see?”

“Touché, Professor,” Charles chuckled, slipping his bookmark into his novel to mark his place and tucking it into his wheelchair’s saddle pack. “Hank seems to believe that my vitamin D levels are too low, so I decided that eating outside was the quickest way to get our resident worrywart off of my back. Not only did I soak up plenty of sun, I had the added pleasure of listening in on your fantastic lesson on Shakespeare’s King Lear; no offense to the Bard, but it’s refreshing to see an Classical Literature professor teach her students about one of his historical plays instead of one of his romances.”

(Y/N) shrugged nonchalantly, but the way she began to fiddle with her pendant revealed the bashfulness she was attempting to mask. “Well, I remember what it was like being fourteen; you’re around the same age as Romeo and Juliet, yes, but you don’t know a damn thing about love and it’s not easy to understand why they do the things they do.”

“As a former fourteen-year-old, I heartily concur. At that age, I could scarcely understand myself let alone an emotion as complex as love, no matter how beautifully Shakespeare described it,” Charles replied, looking out across the manicured grounds as he recited, “‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep-’”

“‘-The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite,’” (Y/N) finished and when their eyes met, Charles’ heart fluttered and he could feel his face beginning to warm; his brows rose in surprise when the professor hastily turned her head to try and hide her besotted smile, a flicker of hope igniting within him at the sight. “I, um, I-I should go and find Molly…”

“She’s at the playground with Alex’s second graders. Speaking of which, I need to speak with Alex about tomorrow’s scheduled book delivery…” Charles awkwardly cleared his throat before giving (Y/N) a tentative smile. “Would you allow me to escort you there?”

(Y/N)’s own smile widened at that. “Of course!”

While Charles wheeled himself along the stone pathway and (Y/N) kept in step with him, they eagerly discussed the school’s ongoing library expansion and all the new books they’d obtained for the students; any progress made at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters filled him with a sense of accomplishment, but expanding his ancestral home’s library was one of his greatest desires and he was thrilled that the children would soon have access to more knowledge than many of the country’s best private schools and universities. (Y/N) was just as excited about the expansion as he was, and he couldn’t help but admire the enthusiasm written across her beautiful features while he listened to her talk about all the lesson plans she’d brainstormed involving their new books.

They reached the playground sooner than Charles would’ve preferred, but his disappointment was set aside by the sight and sound of his school’s youngest students happily entertaining themselves on the elaborate structure; so many of them came from broken homes and were sent away without any second thoughts by families that couldn’t care less about them and while Charles couldn’t change their heartbreaking pasts, he did all in his power to give each and every one of his students a loving home and bright, promising futures. For the first time, I find myself truly understanding the blinding rage that fills Erik in regards to mutant rights, he thought with an inward grimace before glancing over at (Y/N) and smiling as the human woman affectionately watched her mutant daughter play, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve lost my faith in humanity’s innate goodness.

“Hi Mommy!” Molly exclaimed from the top of the structure, a toothy grin stretching across her face as she gave them both an enthusiastic wave. “Hi Professor ‘Zavier!”

“Hi Molly-Bear!” (Y/N) called back while a beaming Charles returned the little girl’s wave with one of his own. He’d always maintained that a good professor shouldn’t have favorites, but no one would blame him if he came out and admitted that Molly (Y/L/N) was – hands down – his favorite student; she was as exuberant and carefree as any human six year old, but her mutant abilities as a psychometric telepath meant that she was more insightful and tended to see the world around her with sage eyes. In truth, Molly reminded him so much of himself when he was a child and knowing first-hand how challenging having telepathic abilities at that age can be, he was grateful that he could help her by teaching her how to control and accept her gifts.

While Charles scanned the playground for Alex, he caught (Y/N) looking over at him and the tender expression on her face nearly took his breath away; she quickly looked away and pretended to adjust the fasteners of her messenger bag, but not before Charles noticed the glimmer of affection in her gorgeous (Y/E/C) eyes. A familiar whistle cut through his racing thoughts and when he glanced over, he spotted Alex leaning against a light pole that bordered the playground; a knowing smirk curved across the younger man’s face, widening as he brought a hand up to his temple and wiggled his fingers to signal for Charles to read his mind.

“I told you so.”

“Alex…”

“(Y/N)’s into you, Charles, and you’re clearly into her. So, what’re you gonna do about it?”

After taking a steadying breath and running an anxious hand through his hair, Charles cleared his suddenly dry throat and hesitantly spoke. “(Y/N)?” The professor looked over at him expectantly and his finger drifted upwards to loosen his shirt’s collar while he clumsily continued. “I, ah…well, I-I was wondering if I…(Y/N), would you and Molly care to join me for dinner sometime? There’s a wonderful Italian restaurant in Salem Center and a little movie theater just down the street from it that I think you’ll enjoy…”

(Y/N) blinked, looking dumbfounded but slightly hopeful as she took a moment to find her voice. “Charles, are you asking me out on a date?”

Charles nodded and offered her the barest of smiles. “Over the past few months, I’ve grown…immensely fond of you; I wake up every morning looking forward to our usual discussions over breakfast, I find myself spending far too much time styling my hair and picking out what to wear in the hopes that you’ll take note and every time you smile at me, my heart skips a beat.” The professor shyly smiled at that and he couldn’t help but lightly chuckle, the weight in his chest already feeling lighter with each confession he uttered. “Yes, just like that.”

“And you…you wouldn’t mind Molly coming along?”

The anxiety that filled (Y/N)’s eyes as she awaited his answer nearly shattered Charles’ heart; based on what little she’d disclosed to him about her past, he knew that she’s struggled with dating as a single mother and he could only imagine how disillusioned with romance she’d become as a result. “Of course not, (Y/N),” He softly replied and in a bold move, he reached forward and took her hand in his. “You two are a team, after all; Molly is your entire world, and I want you to know that I respect that more than anything. It’s also…well, let’s just say that it’s been quite a while since I’ve gone on a date, and I’d…”

“Like to go slow?” (Y/N) gently offered and when Charles wordlessly nodded, she gave him the smallest of smiles before looking over her shoulder and calling out, “Molly? Sweetheart, can you come here for a second, please?” After coming down the slide, Molly skipped over to them and the professor knelt down so that they were eye-level, her hand still holding onto his. “Professor Xavier wanted to know if he could take us out for dinner and a movie. Does that sound all right to you, Molly-Bear?”

The little girl’s head tilted to the side as her (Y/E/C) eyes studied Charles, and he was forced to mask his amused chuckle with a cough when she brought a mitten-clad hand up to her mother’s ear. “Like on a date?” Molly loudly whispered, and (Y/N) pursed her lips to keep from chuckling as she nodded; her daughter lowered her hand to reveal her excited smile and she gave her mother an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Sounds good to me!” Molly looked back at Charles with a conspiratorial giggle. “Mommy likes you, Professor ‘Zavier.”

Charles arched a playful brow as his eyes flicked between the embarrassed elder (Y/L/N) and the beaming younger (Y/L/N). “She does, does she?”

“Mm-hmm, she likes your eyes and your smile and your hair and your-”

“Okay, young lady, that’s enough out of you,” (Y/N) hastily interrupted, tickling her daughter’s neck with both hands and smiling when she shrieked with laughter and scurried back to the playground. Shaking her head in fond exasperation, she stood and glanced back at Charles, who was trying and failing to muffle his laughter. “Well, I guess that settles it. Does six o’clock this Friday work for you?”

He emphatically nodded. “Yes, of course, it’s perfect!” He felt himself begin to blush at his obvious enthusiasm, and it was (Y/N)’s turn to chuckle as he awkwardly cleared his throat and tried again. “…I-I mean, Friday at six o’clock works for me.”

“Good. I guess that Molly and I will see you then.” The professor turned to walk away but took Charles by surprise when she turned back around and bashfully smiled at him. “I’ve…I’ve grown immensely fond of you too, Charles.”

Before he could say or do anything, she’d bent down and pressed a feather-light kiss onto his cheek, an infatuated gleam in her (Y/E/C) eyes as she flashed him one last smile and left to meet her daughter on the playground. A broad grin slowly spread across Charles’ face and while he watched her walk away, he leaned an elbow onto his wheelchair’s armrest and rested the side of his head against his palm, releasing a love-struck sigh and barely taking note of the familiar figure that moved to stand beside him.

“See what happens when you actually take my advice?”

Charles straightened his posture and glanced over at Alex, who was wearing the smuggest of smiles on his faces as he stared back at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an impertinent ass, Alex Summers?”

Alex’s smirk widened. “Heard it all my life. So, when’s the big date?”

“This Friday at six o’clock. And since you and Hank have taken such a keen interest in my love life, I’ll be requiring your assistance on Friday.” The younger man quickly sobered and with a grin of his own, Charles chuckled and patted his arm. “There’s a good chap. Now, about tomorrow’s book delivery…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Although it was a far cry from the hazy evenings spent at Oxford’s many lively pubs and in the company of the college’s most flirtatious female students, Charles’ date with (Y/N) and Molly was undoubtedly the most enjoyable one he’d ever been on. He’d met the mother and daughter in the mansion’s foyer with two bouquets in his hands – daisies for Molly and vibrant pink roses for (Y/N) – and he happily watched them admire their flowers while simultaneously hiding the fact that he was studying (Y/N)’s figure; the professor was wearing a knee-length yellow dress with long billowing sleeves, a bright pink sash tied around her waist and matching high heels, and her carefully styled hair was pulled back by a pink headband. She was beautiful, far too beautiful to be going out with the likes of him, but his fears of inadequacy were quickly alleviated when she looked over at him and smiled.

Hank and Alex drove the three of them to Salem Center in Charles’ maroon 1959 Jaguar Mark IX, the pair of them opting to stay in town and catch a showing of the newly-released The Empire Strikes Back while they dined at La Mensa. Sensing Molly’s apprehension with being around so many non-mutant strangers, Charles distracted her by playing ‘tic-tac-toe’ and ‘hangman’ with her on her paper place-mat and (Y/N) threw him a grateful look as she asked her daughter about her schoolwork; while they enjoyed their food, (Y/N) entertained them with stories of her students’ antics and after some goading by Molly, she even balanced a spoon on the end of her nose much to her daughter and Charles’ delight. After dinner, they made their way down the street to the small movie theater and while many of its patrons were queued up to watch the latest Star Wars film, the three of them decided on watching the re-release of Disney’s Lady and the Tramp; Molly adored the classic cartoon and while Charles was impartial to the film, he thoroughly enjoyed exchanging enamored glances with (Y/N) over the little girl’s head.

Molly fell asleep on the drive home, cuddling against her mother’s side as she lovingly brushed her fingers through her daughter’s (Y/H/C) hair. In low whispers, (Y/N) assured Charles that Molly had a wonderful time and that she hadn’t seen the little girl so happy since before she’d come into her mutation; although aware that Hank and Alex were clearly eavesdropping from their front seats, Charles quietly asked her if she’d care for a quick nightcap in his study after putting Molly to bed, and he was thrilled when she readily accepted his invitation. When they arrived back at the mansion, (Y/N) carried the still-sleeping Molly inside, but not before giving Charles one last smile as he maneuvered into his outside wheelchair.

“So…” Hank arched a curious brow as he walked beside Charles’ wheelchair and steadied it when they reached the top of the ramp, where Alex was waiting with his motorized indoor wheelchair. “How was it?”

“Charming, but I could’ve done without the rather offensive Asian and Italian stereotypes-”

“Not the movie, Charles, the date,” Alex interrupted and when Charles chuckled in amusement at his friends, he leaned a shoulder against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. “C’mon, you finally ask out the woman you’ve been head over heels for and you’re not gonna give your two best friends the four-one-one?”

Shaking his head in faux exasperation, Charles shifted himself into his motorized wheelchair and arranged his legs as he airily answered, “(Y/N), Molly and I ate a truly magnificent meal at La Mensa that we followed up by watching a classic Disney film at the movie theater. What more is there to say?”

Alex heaved a sigh but moved to allow Charles to wheel himself into the mansion. “A little help here, Hank?”

“Oh, he’s having far too much fun messing with us to stop.” The scientist tucked his hands into his jacket pockets while a mischievous smirk played on his lips. “But speaking as the school’s resident genius, I couldn’t help but notice the good professor clearly checking (Y/N) out before we left and blushing when she smiled at him just now.”

A reluctant blush warmed Charles’ cheeks at that. “Don’t you two perverts have morning classes to prepare for?”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, lover boy,” Alex smugly countered, nudging Hank’s arm with his elbow as they walked beside Charles’ wheelchair down the vacant hall to his study. “Well, Beast, there’s no doubt about it: Charles here’s got it bad for our lovely Professor (Y/L/N).”

When they reached his study’s door, Charles nudged it open and wheeled himself inside, but not before giving both men a look of genuine sincerity. “Thank you, for your assistance tonight and for your encouragement; the pair of you can occasionally be a pain in the ass, but tonight couldn’t have happened without you.”

Hank’s smile softened. “You’re welcome, Charles. We’re just happy that we succeeded in making you do something selfish for once.”

“Yeah, you’ve helped us both out so much over the years and it was high-time we returned the favor,” Alex added as he clapped Charles on the shoulder, his earnest expression morphing into a knowing smirk while he continued. “Enjoy your nightcap with (Y/N), and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, lover boy.”

“Oh, and don’t forget protection!”

“Goodnight, gentlemen.”

Chuckling, Alex and Hank left the study and closed the door behind them; after pausing for a moment to take a calming breath, Charles wheeled himself over to the oak cabinet near his cluttered desk and unlocked it, pulling out a glass decanter of scotch and two glasses and setting them down on the coffee table. He bit his lip as his eyes surveyed the messy state of his study, cursing himself for not tidying up earlier, but a part of him knew that (Y/N) wasn’t the type to mind a little clutter; she liked to joke that the best professors had the messiest studies because they spent all their time teaching instead of worrying about how others perceive them. It was the good manners instilled in him from birth that saw him gathering stacks of loose papers, binders and leather-bound books and unceremoniously shoving them behind his desk before lifting himself out of his wheelchair to sit on the couch; with nothing else to distract himself from the anxious anticipation building up within him, Charles plucked the maple-colored queen off the chessboard and nimbly twirled it around his fingers as he waited for (Y/N).

Minutes later, there was a quiet knock on the door of his study and after scrambling to straighten up his chessboard, Charles called out, “Come in!” The door opened and (Y/N) stepped into the room, her gentle smile widening when she spotted him seated on the couch. “How’s Molly?”

“Out like a light.” (Y/N) crossed the room and sat on the couch beside him, her fingers playing with the flowing yellow material of her dress’ skirt as Charles poured their drinks. “She wanted me to tell you that she had a really fun time tonight, and she wanted me to thank you.”

“She’s been working so hard these past few months to complete her schoolwork and training, so if anyone deserves to have a little fun it’s undoubtedly her,” Charles replied, a surge of fondness for his youngest student and her kindheartedness bringing a smile to her face as he turned to (Y/N) and offered her a glass of the amber-colored liquid. “As do you, Professor.”

Accepting the glass, (Y/N) hummed thoughtfully before holding it up and angling it towards him. “In that case…to having fun.”

“To having fun,” Charles repeated, lightly clinking his glass of scotch against hers and taking a sip, his eyes appreciatively roaming along the professor’s figure while she took a sip of the strong liquor. “Do you like it? It’s top shelf scotch whiskey, all the way from Scotland.”

(Y/N) arched a playful brow as she crossed her leg over her knee and angled herself to face him. “Expensive, imported liquor? Are you trying to impress me, Professor?”

“Well, that all depends…” Following his instincts, Charles set his glass down and rested his elbow on the couch’s back cushion, his lips curving into a playful grin. “Is it working?”

Her (Y/E/C) eyes softened and after setting her own glass down, she rested one of her hands on his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Charles, I was impressed by you before the top shelf scotch, before the fancy Italian restaurant, and before I ever laid eyes on this beautiful mansion.” His brow furrowed in confusion but she merely smiled and rubbed small circles along his knuckles with her thumb. “Eight months ago, the letter that I sent you asking for help with Molly was my Hail Mary; I had nowhere to go and no way to protect my daughter from the people who hated her for who she was, so I decided to write to the one person I knew could help her. And when you sent me a letter back – that incredibly kind and empathetic letter – you gave me hope, hope that I hadn’t felt in so long. So, you see? You managed to impress me before we’d even met, Charles Xavier.”

Charles, touched by her sincerity and feeling a little emotional, reached forward with his free hand and carefully cradled her warm cheek in his palm. “Oh, my darling (Y/N)…you’re not the only one who’s had their hope restored; I gave up any hope for romance not long after I lost my legs, choosing to focus my attention on the school and my fellow mutants. Over these past several months, however, you helped me to see that there was still hope.” His thumb traced along her cheekbone as he smiled and slowly began to lean in. “And now, I would very much like to kiss you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

(Y/N)’s smile widened. “I’d like that very much as well, I just…” He could feel her cheek flush beneath his touch, and a look of embarrassment flashed across her face. “God, it’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this. Would it be silly to say that I’ve got butterflies in my stomach?”

“Not at all, darling. Truth be told, I’m a little nervous myself,” Charles murmured, his eyes flicking away from hers to stare at her enticing lips before glancing back up. “The last time I kissed a woman was in 1962, so you’ll have to forgive me if my technique has gotten slightly rusty over the past eighteen years.”

“Well, we won’t know unless we give it a go, will we?” (Y/N) breathed and her (Y/E/C) eyes burned with desire as they both inched closer. “Charles, dear…please kiss me.”

Wanting nothing more than to please the professor, Charles’ eyes fluttered closed as he tentatively brushed his lips against hers. (Y/N) wasted no time in returning the kiss, kissing him softly and sweetly as her hand left his to rest on the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair and eliciting a blissful groan from him; with one hand still cupping her cheek, he rested the other on her waist but soon found himself winding his arm around her in an effort to bring her closer. (Y/N)’s lips were soft and oh so addictive, slowly but firmly caressing against his as her fingers carded through his locks, and Charles surrendered himself over to the woman wrapped in his embrace.

Eventually, they were forced to separate for some much-needed air, the both of them out of breath and almost dizzy from their impromptu make-out session; Charles felt a surge of pride as he took in (Y/N)’s kiss-swollen lips, heaving chest and the dazed smile on her face, and he couldn’t resist leaning forward to lightly rub his nose against hers. When he pulled back, he huffed out a breathless chuckle at the incredulous look that she was giving him. “That’s a rusty technique?”

“Mm-hmm. Dreadful, wasn’t it?”

(Y/N) giggled at his joking question and pretended to consider it. “You know, I think I need another example before I can definitively say.” They both laughed but when Charles moved in for another kiss, a sharp twinge in his lower back caused him to recoil with a hiss of pain. “Charles, are you okay?!”

He mutely nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as he straightened his posture and leaned his back against the plush couch cushions. “I’m fine, it’s just a muscle spasm.”

“Is it…?” (Y/N) trailed off and when Charles finally opened his eyes as the pain began to fade, he could see the worry written across her face. “Is it because of your spinal cord injury?”

“That, and I’m afraid that I’m getting on in years; I’m not as young and spritely as I was in 1962.” Instead of stammering out a string of apologies and getting up to leave as Charles feared she would, the corner of (Y/N)’s lips curved upwards into a lopsided grin that left him slightly confused. “(Y/N)?”

The professor shifted closer to him. “Did you know that Molly’s father was fourteen years older than me?” Charles’ brow rose in surprise and he silently shook his head, watching as she reached over and brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “You could say that I’ve always had a thing for older men…” Before he could think of something witty to say, (Y/N) swung her leg over his to straddle his lap and rested her hands on either side of his face; Charles couldn’t help but grin and, inspired by her delectable boldness, he placed his hands on her waist to hold her securely to him, his grin widening as her breath hitched. “Go ahead and read my mind if you don’t believe me, but it’s true.”

Shaking his head, Charles rested his head on the back of the couch so that he was staring up at her, softly smiling as one of his hands traveled upwards to cradle her cheek. “I believe you, darling. Would it be too sappy to say that I don’t want this night to end?”

“Not at all, dear,” (Y/N) shook her head before closing the distance between them and captured his lips in another passionate kiss; when they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his and returned his blissful smile with one of her own. “We can make this work, can’t we? Balance the two of us with running the school and raising Molly?”

“I believe that you and I can do just about anything, so long as we’re together,” Charles replied, his thumb and forefinger moving to guide her chin forward and pouring all his emotions into another kiss; there was no place on Earth he’d rather be than in the arms of the lovely Classical Literature professor who’d captured his heart and judging by the way she kissed him back, it was clear that she was thinking something along the same lines.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I had so much fun dipping my toes back into the Fox X-Men Universe (I still have a massive thing for 80's Charles Xavier and his flowing brown hair lol) and I loved that I finally resolved Charles and (Y/N)'s mutual attraction with this cute Part II! I may or may not have a few ideas for a possible Part III, so let me know if you'd be interested in reading more! Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying!

Story Tag List: @mostlymarvelgirl @holb32 @f1uveryysblog Marvel Tag List: @brooke0297​​​​ @deadlymistletoe Permanent Tag List:​ @momc95​​​​ @crowleysqueenofhell​​​ @groovy-lady​ @yasmin12312

[pendragonsclotpole]

building on my idea that merlin takes on the name ambrose pendragon after arthur’s death, like imagine it’s 50 years later.

everyone from camelot is dead. the anglo-saxons have won, historical conquests of britain are continuing on as they did and here remains merlin, previously known as emrys, neither name really a surname and the latter always more of a title, but both representative of a world that no longer exists, a kingdom that has fallen apart, a servant with no master, a half without that which makes it whole.

so maybe merlin leaves. he explores. first he travels the isle and perhaps when people ask him who he is he defaults to an ancient practice. people, you see, have often been known by what they do or who they serve or where they come from. for a while, for the decades that pass wherein people remember the rule of the pendragons and the great kingdom of camelot and the failed prophecies of albion, he is not Merlin of Ealdor but Merlin of Camelot.

but people die. memories fade. time passes. merlin remains. and after a while, he cannot call himself Merlin of Camelot. not only do people forget his old kingdom, they forget his name, they bring along new languages and then around 300 years after arthur’s death, a collection of stories begin to be written, about magic, about merlin, about—

Arthur.

people you see, have often been defined by what they do or who they serve or where they come from. when the stories of arthur begin to be told anew, and remain with merlin through the tide of centuries, merlin resolves to forge a new name. he devises first the name in the style of a servant or of some of the common folk.

Merlin of Pendragon.

merlin toys with that idea, wears it for a few decades but something in those words rings false, sounds wrong, and unsettles his blood, as if he lays claim to a dynasty that shall never be his and will never rise again. when he uses it, people laugh and think him an uneducated fool playing at legend. it feels trite and awkward and wrong.

Merlin Pendragon sounds better, more forgivable if not entirely presentable. It makes merlin sound like he is a Pendragon, but only one sorcerer has ever laid claim to the Pendragon name and her name had not been merlin. (it makes merlin a Pendragon, and not even when Arthur lived had merlin considered such a fate a possibility, that Arthur could ever consider—)

merlin continues thinking, and by the time he settles on a replacement it is out of obligation and urgency. he cannot be nameless while he works as a healer and travels the world and serves other people as best as he can. he cannot be merlin Pendragon if the only man who could have conferred that name to him is dead.

instead he becomes Emrys Pendragon, and for a while, that name becomes a second skin. but like the serpent he has always been, merlin eventually sheds that skin. centuries have passed and those who once bore the name emrys, the last descendants of the druids and the people of Camelot, now only recognize that name in legend. the name once more marks him as stupid fool in love with the romantic notion of chivalry. besides, the languages have shifted and a name that once rolled off the tongue has become clotted and stuck in the mouths of people. no one can say it as it had once been said nor as it once belonged by arthur’s side, if only in secret.

merlin again returns to the drawing board, and luckily by that time he is aware of the translations of his many names. on a visit to rome, the grand imperial capital Arthur once dreamt of seeing as a young man, merlin thinks of a perfect substitute. His final name.

Ambrose.

Ambrose Pendragon.

it is emrys, but not quite.

it is merlin as he is forced to live without Arthur.

it is what Arthur could have been if he had lived at merlin’s side.

it is, written shorter, A. Pendragon.

it is a simple name. it is a stupid name. it is a name that breaks his heart and reminds him of his failings and keeps the faith alive within him.

years after adopting the name, merlin wakes up and walks to his desk and sees the name written on the outside of an envelope and he imagines it’s a letter from arthur.

a thousand years later, he sees it written on the sides of coffee cups and envelopes, monogrammed on his coats and cufflinks, inked on his essays, emblazoned on the side of his shop, and merlin imagines that when Arthur returns, he will return to a world already familiar with an A. Pendragon.

It shall be a welcoming world, as if across all these centuries, by some miracle, Arthur Pendragon had lived all along.

[totaly-obsessed]

Money, Money, Money

Alessia Russo x reader

-> Reader has a mental breakdown after discovering how expensive Alessia's outfit was

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

As every year the ‘Pride of Britain Awards’ were held in London – and just like last year the lionesses were invited to hand an award to one of the winners. The candidates were nominated by the public from all walks of life, of all ages, and from all over the country. Their achievements are awe-inspiring and a lesson to everyone. And just like last year, your girlfriend Alessia was one of the Lionesses that would be going.

You knew that she had been out shopping with Leah and Jen a couple of times, but you always excused yourself with having lessons to prepare or actually being in school teaching – in reality, you just wanted the blonde to have time with her new teammates.

Every time she came back smiling like a lunatic but upon asking her what she had bought, you always received a teasing kiss and a “You’ll see amore.”

And see you did. Alessia waited for you to say something – body jittering with anticipation of your opinion. She knew that you would like it, but seeing you stare at her with wide eyes and an open mouth was so much better than expected. “You’re drooling, love.”

While Lessi was usually the gullible one. It was you wiping away phantom drool – your girlfriend laughing at you. “Baby you look… Wow!”

Happy with her achievement the footballer pulled you up from your desk chair. “You are so tall Less!” While your girlfriend was already tall, her heels let her tower over you even more. “Mhmm, you like it, amore?” The cheeky girl knew exactly how much you liked the size difference between the two of you – so instead of answering her, you kissed the blonde with passion.

She truly looked incredible in her bright red dress (that was quite short really) with stunning heels – her face still bare. “Do you really need to go Less?” The Italian knew that you wanted her to go despite your whining. You had been freaking out when she had told you about it – but right now? There was nothing else you would rather do than let the blonde kiss you crazy as she was usually doing.

“I need to go baby.” With hunched shoulders she pressed another kiss to your lips, parting way too soon. Baffled you stood there in the middle of the shared living room, Alessia grabbing her purse before speed walking back to you like a damn model.

“One for the road.” Kissing you again, before walking out of the house to get to her Makeup artist.

And while you really liked to use your work as an excuse, tonight you really did have lessons to plan – much to your annoyance. Sure you were an adult, but that didn’t mean, that you wouldn’t scour the internet for anything about Less at the Award show – and the pictures were stunning.

Seeing her on stage, next to little Ravi Adelekan who won ‘Child of Courage’ for setting up an incredible charity in aid of The Brain Tumour Charity and braintrust after undergoing surgery for his tumor, made you quite emotional. Kids were always very dear to your heart, after all, you did become a school teacher.

Having long abandoned your actual plans, you kept on looking at pictures of the award show, reading about all of those memorable people there, when a picture popped up on your Instagram. It was a picture of your girlfriend, stunning as always, but next to her were pictures of her clothing, someone having found out how much it cost and where to find it, if anyone wanted to buy something.

A dress for 700 euros was bad enough, but heels for a little more than 1,000 euros? That was just excessive, the little red bag for 2,000 euros, didn’t make it better in the slightest.

You knew, that Alessia and you came from very different backgrounds, her dad had been in the police, earning good money – her mother and brothers also being well paid. The blonde started making a pretty buck at quite a young age. You, however, came from a low-income family.

Less maybe didn’t notice the difference, but you certainly did.

No food in the fridge? Instant panic! You couldn’t go hungry again, you just couldn’t. There always had to be some food at home.

Eating out? Scary enough for you, always choosing the least expensive option on the menu – but ordering a glass of expensive wine? Panic! What if you needed the money suddenly?

It was safe to say that seeing these prices for things your girlfriend would wear once and never again sent you into a spiral.

Alessia came home in the early hours of the morning, expecting to join you in bed. Instead, she found you at the dining table, bent over stacks of papers and calculations – immediately she knew that something was wrong.

You hated math.

You didn’t teach math.

So what was going on here?

As gently as she could she laid her hands on top of your shoulders, scaring you just enough to make you knock over your (thankfully closed) water bottle. “What’s all this amore?” Seeing your tear-stained face broke the footballer's heart, her mind set on making things better.

“You’re back Less!” It was adorable, your pretty little face lightening up upon seeing the stunning blonde in her pretty red dress that caused you so much trouble. But your red puffy eyes reminded her that something was up with you.

After laying a gentle kiss on your burning forehead, she pulled out the chair next to you. Warm, big hands enveloped your own, stopping you from tugging at your skin. “Baby?” And then it was like a damn broke, everything just spilling out of you.

“Okay, so I calculated everything! And if I take on a few more afternoon supervision classes, and take fewer breaks – with rent and food we might be able to cover everything in two or three months!”

The blonde was confused. What would you try to cover? But upon seeing her face, poor you thought that she was unhappy that it would take so long “Or, we could just use up all the food that we have here, that gives us a little extra and we could get done faster!”

You were in hysterics. Face all scrunched up, desperately looking for ideas, your entire body heated up. “Amore what are you talking abo-“

“Or! I could get a second job on top, so we could finish paying everything off this month. I saw that the bakery down the street is looking for new employees.”

Alessia let go of your hands, instead taking your water bottle and bringing it to your mouth – desperate to calm you down without making you panic. While this is a strange position to be in, it helped. Like a baby getting fed, you calmed down – but then came the tears.

“Amore, I can’t help you if I don’t understand what is wrong. What are you trying to pay off?” Her warm hands wiped away tear after tear, waiting for your desperate hiccups to end. So badly she wanted to pull you on her lap, into one of her famous hugs but she feared that you would fall asleep before figuring out the problem.

Now you felt like you had calmed down enough, giving the blonde a firm nod. “What are you trying to pay off baby?”

The footballer didn’t know what she was expecting but “Your dress, shoes and bag.” certainly wasn’t it. She pressed a gentle kiss onto the back of your hand “Why would you pay for them, baby?”

“Well they were expensive and we need to have the money ready when the bill comes for them.” Slowly but surely Alessia was understanding what was going on.

“Baby you don’t need to pay for them. They are already paid for.” If the situation hadn’t been so serious, she would have surely laughed at the way that your facial expression shifted. “What’d ya mean?”

“I mean that I have already paid for the dress, the shoes, and even the bag in store. Even if not, you would never need to pay them for me, amore.” It was like a heavy weight had fallen off your chest.

“So- so there will be no bill?” Alessia’s head shake nearly sends you into another breakdown, but the little shapes she drew on your wrist with her fingers certainly helped you calm down again.

“Why did you think that you needed to be the one paying baby?” Curious, big blue eyes practically burned into the side of your head.

You were ashamed.

Seeing the expensive price tags had thrown you back to your teenage years. “When I was younger my mum used to just buy things that we couldn’t afford. And when the bills came she made figure out how I could pay for it.” Alessia teared up.

She knew that you didn’t have the best life, but she never pressured you into telling her. “Why didn’t your mum work for it then?”

“She never worked, dad didn’t want her to. He was too proud to admit that he couldn’t carry the weight of the family.” Alessia now held your face in between her hands, gently caressing your cheeks.

“Listen to me amore.” The Italian, again, took note of how hot your face was. It appeared that you had worked yourself up to a point of sickness, breaking your girlfriend's heart even more. “What your mum made you do is horrible – and it will never happen again. Okay? Not with me. We have a stable income – you have a good job, and I can pay for the house and both cars, okay? You don’t even need to work in my eyes.”

She saw how you scrunched your nose in disagreement, wanting to do your share. “Don’t look at me like that anymore, you know it’s true.”

And you really did know it. You knew what Alessia earned, both of you being very open about finances – but something about the situation had thrown you back in time, into a toxic living environment.

“Let’s get you to bed baby, you’re staying home tomorrow.”

And stay home you did – the both of you not leaving the bed until later in the day, sharing stories about your very different families.

[aeolianblues]

I love that we have a generation of young bands who, right from the offset are so vocal about their political causes, through speaking up, fundraisers, working with charity organisations and all. And now these bands are getting big. Fontaines D.C. can’t ’lose fans’ because of their constant and vocal support for Palestine, you’d get laughed out of the venue. Who was surprised when Carlos called everyone else out at the Rolling Stone UK Awards and expressed his strong support for Palestinian independence? They’d have said you’re out of the loop.

Lambrini Girls made it a point early doors: Phoebe has talked about how they were playing a venue in Germany and said if you’re a zionist, leave, and it was half the crowd back then. They’re now one of the most anticipated releases of 2025. They’ve stuck to this principle throughout their rise: their songs are anti-misogynistic, anti-transphobia, anti discrimination. By the time Phoebe scaled the top of a Glastonbury tent to plant a Palestinian flag, there were only cheers.

Bands like Kneecap. They opened their show at Glastonbury, a televised slot shown on national television on the BBC, with a message about imperialism by Britain in Ireland and Palestine. They have gone around with their projectors and projected this fact on public buildings. They’ve talked on stage about how more people were killed in Gaza in 6 months than the entirety of the Troubles. And now, their film is going to the Oscars. They swept the British Independent Film Awards, they’ve been nominated for a BAFTA too. And at that late stage if you complain that Kneecap are being political? Hahaha mate, you’re having a laugh.

Fans of all these bands tend to also follow their beliefs. It’s what draws you into their music, right? When you hear the lyrics to Lambrini Girls’ TERFs Out, or God’s Country, or Bob Vylan’s He’s A Man or We Live Here. Kneecap’s CEARTA, Enola Gay’s PTS.DUP or Through Men’s Eyes. Amyl and the Sniffers’ Knifey or Comfort To Me. Unless you’re actively stuffing a finger in your ears going ‘la la la I can’t hear you’, you must know.

And so I love that I see Fontaines fan accounts, ones with pretty large followings and engagement with a description that basically says ‘Fontaines D.C. fan account. Free Palestine.’ (And it’s not just performative, they too have used their platform to organise fundraisers and work with charity organisations to make sure their action is as direct as can be.) Fandoms can sometimes be places where it’s almost taboo to break the veneer of pretending your time spent loving a band somehow doesn’t exist in the real world, and I see this a lot with older fandoms/older bands’ fandoms. ‘Just stick to the music’, ‘we’re all just here to love this band, let’s leave the politics out of it’ okay grandma. Your band themselves have spoken out but just because they do it less frequently doesn’t warrant the ‘no politics’ rule of your fanclub.

So I’m glad to see how actively involved our new bands are, they were vocal before they had a platform and a big chunk of their listeners are now either people that came up with them, supporting this, or those who even learned something along the way. And as we’ve seen from Taylor Swift fans, mobilised fandoms can do a LOT, that’s really where the power of music to make difference lies, so I’m glad to see how fandom in music by these young bands is not resistant to it!

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Fireworks of Love

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Fluff, Domesticated Life, Slice of Life, Fireworks and New Years

Authors Note: Hope you enjoy the New Year! Here’s to the start of something amazing!!

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The house was alive with warmth and laughter, the perfect setting for ringing in the New Year. You and the boys had decided to spend the evening at home, keeping it intimate but lively. The living room was decked out in a chaotic mix of streamers, balloons, and a slightly tilted *Happy New Year!* banner—courtesy of Johnny and Kyle’s earlier decorating spree.

Johnny, in particular, had been buzzing with energy all day, proudly boasting about the fireworks he’d picked out. You could still hear him from the kitchen, where you were helping John and Simon prepare snacks and drinks.

“I swear, these fireworks will knock yer socks off!” Johnny’s voice rang out from the living room.

Simon shook his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s just fireworks, Johnny. Not the bloody second coming.”

John chuckled, handing you a tray of appetizers. “Let him have his fun. It’s New Year’s Eve, after all.”

“Johnny always has fun,” Simon muttered, but there was no hiding the affection in his voice.

You carried the tray into the living room, where Kyle was sprawled on the couch, a sparkler in hand. “You look like you’re ready to cause trouble,” you teased, placing the tray on the coffee table.

“Always,” Kyle replied with a grin, pulling you down to sit beside him. He didn’t waste a second before lifting your legs onto his lap, his hands kneading your calves.

“Oi! You’re hoggin’ her already?” Johnny appeared beside you, plopping down on your other side and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “That’s no way to start the year, mate.”

“You’re one to talk,” Kyle shot back, rolling his eyes but smiling.

Johnny leaned in, pressing a dramatic kiss to your cheek before grinning at Kyle. “Jealous?”

Before Kyle could retort, Simon and John joined the group, taking their spots on the couch and armchair respectively. Simon handed you a glass of champagne, his fingers brushing yours. “Don’t let Johnny’s antics distract you,” he said, his voice low but teasing.

“Antics?” Johnny gasped, feigning offense. “You’ve no idea what yer missin’, Ghostie.”

Simon arched a brow. “We’re in Britain, not Scotland, you twat.”

Johnny didn’t miss a beat. “And yet somehow I’m still the most cultured one here. Fancy that!”

Laughter erupted around the room, and even Simon shook his head with a chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

The countdown to midnight drew closer, and Johnny’s energy reached new heights. “Alright, lads and lass, let’s get outside!” he declared, pulling you to your feet.

“You’re really excited about these fireworks,” you said as he led you out into the cold night, his arm snug around your waist.

“Excited? Nah,” Johnny replied with a cheeky grin. “I’m bloody ecstatic!”

The garden was the perfect backdrop for the fireworks, and Johnny had set up an impressive display. “Alright, everyone, prepare to be amazed!” he announced, lighting the first fuse.

The firework shot into the sky, bursting into a cascade of vibrant colors. Johnny let out a triumphant cheer, turning to you with a wide grin. “What’d I tell ya? A masterpiece!”

“It’s beautiful,” you said, leaning into him.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Johnny murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

Kyle was next, pulling you into his arms and spinning you around. His laugh was warm and infectious as he kissed your forehead. “Here’s to another year of putting up with Johnny’s nonsense,” he teased, earning a playful shove from the Scot.

John’s touch was steady and grounding as he cupped your face, his lips soft against yours. “Happy New Year, darling,” he whispered, his voice rich with affection.

Simon’s kiss was slow and lingering, his hands cradling your face as the next firework lit up the sky. “Happy New Year, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

But the love didn’t stop there. You watched as the boys exchanged hugs and playful kisses, their camaraderie on full display. Johnny clapped Simon on the back, grinning as he pulled him into a quick hug. John and Kyle shared a knowing look before leaning into each other for a brief but affectionate embrace.

The night was filled with warmth and laughter, the fireworks painting the sky in brilliant colors. As the final firework burst overhead, you found yourself wrapped in a group hug, Johnny’s arm around your shoulders, Kyle’s hand resting on your back, Simon’s steady grip on your waist, and John’s lips brushing your temple.

“To us,” John said, his voice steady and full of love.

“To us,” you all echoed, clinking your glasses together.

And as the new year began, you knew there was no better place to be than in the arms of the people you loved most.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[totallynotsmoke]

[SKETCH!]

.

.

The voices in my head wanted me to do another redrawing of a joke AU I made 1-2 years ago, or I wouldn't be able to sleep (IT'S 6 AM) so it's like any normal Sonic.exe, but this one is fancy-looking and obsessed with tea

And believe it or not, this little guy hosts the best tea parties known to the exe kind (I tried his tea it was so good guys trust)

[Extra: made this exe based on a friend of mine who is obsessed with British culture a little too much... what can I say I was inspired😔]

[loaklvr]

[calaisreno]

Nobody

663 Words / Prompt: Hero

No one ever calls John Watson amazing. As far as he can recall, no one has ever said he was extraordinary. 

His father laughed when he said he wanted to be a doctor. His mother said nothing. 

His sister came out when she was thirteen. John was ten that year, and learned from her experience that it’s better not to stand out. While Harry was being dramatic, having angry confrontations with their parents, making everyone love and hate her, John flew under the radar. 

At school, he stayed in the upper third. He worked hard, took part-time jobs to help with the bills, got regular haircuts, and never even considered a tattoo. 

Harry was a full-blown alcoholic by the time John started uni. He also drank, but kept his family history in mind and focused on what he was there for. 

His father was a gambler who always had a new plan; his mother poured her energy into charity and church. Harry seemed determined to fuck up in every way imaginable, as if she had a sacred destiny to be the black sheep. Blood was not destiny. John was the responsible one.

His army buddies gave him the nickname Three Continents. As a child, he’d spent a few years in Australia (one of his father’s schemes to get rich), but that didn’t really count. He’d grown up in Britain, travelled to the continent one summer. His luck with European women was nothing to write home about. When he left for Afghanistan, he didn’t have much hope for that continent, either, since most of the women there were Muslim. The nickname was ironic, not iconic.

In the army, he was commissioned as a captain. He took his office seriously, gave orders with confidence, not out of a sense of ego or pride, but because he was responsible. When you’re responsible for lives, you don’t let people down.

In essence, he was a humble man. 

When he returned home, he was a surgeon who could no longer do surgery, thanks to a shoulder wound that left him with nerve damage. He was a doctor with PTSD who couldn’t make it through the night without waking up in a sweat, hyperventilating. He had a limp. Women looked at him with pity, not interest.

And he began to suspect that dates with women weren’t what he wanted. His buddies might still call him Three Continents Watson, but there wasn’t any reputation to uphold. He often protested, I’m not gay, but his eyes tended to follow men rather than women.

That’s why, when he met Sherlock Holmes and agreed to share a flat with him, he felt fortunate to escape his tiny bedsit and move in with this odd man, who had somehow decided that John must accompany him at any hour of the day or night, usually to look at dead bodies. A man of eccentric habits, John seemed to have become one of them.  

It didn’t hurt that his flatmate was good-looking. Sherlock Holmes had high cheekbones, dark curly hair, and a lanky grace that was enhanced by the tailored trousers and jackets he wore. He spoke in a silky baritone. To John, at least, it didn’t matter that he was arrogant or even insulting. He was extraordinary. 

So when Sally Donovan frowned at John Watson and said, “Who are you?” he didn’t hesitate to say, “I’m nobody.”

But that same night, he carried his gun out into the night, chasing after a man, a murderer. He saw Sherlock about to accept the challenge, and his hand did not shake when he sent a bullet through two panes of glass, into the man’s chest.

John will never call himself a hero. They might exist, but he’s not one. 

He’s just an ordinary man who lost his limp when he began following Sherlock Holmes. 

And in that moment his only thought was that Sherlock Holmes had saved his life, and John wasn’t going to let him die. 

[nortism]

What the Ghosts have been watching on TV

Everyone

Channel 4 Home renovation shows: They're free with ads and there's an infinite amount of them so Alison puts them on for the whole gang when she and Mike have work to do in same way people put on YouTube videos for their dogs. This has backfired slightly as all the ghosts now have very strong and conflicting opinions on how Button House should be renovated.

The Great British Bake-off: A whole family event, they all get very invested. Kitty thinks Alison Hammond is the funniest person in the world. The Captain feels normal about Noel Fielding. As well as a watching it live, I'm sure they've also watched the whole back catalogue together.

Mama Mia: This where the Captain learnt his ABBA songs from. Pat and Julian enjoy the nostalgic music and I think the others are just bewitched by the story and music

Robin

Anything David Attenborough: For obvious reasons. I think he'd get a kick out of trying to do his voice. The others sometimes join in.

Cunk on Earth/ Britain: I think they've got a similar attitude towards history and I think he'd find serious historians trying to answer silly questions incredibly funny

Horrible Histories: He watches this with Kitty, they both find poop jokes funny.

Humphrey

Antiques Roadshow: I'm not sure why. I honestly think he's just glad to watch anything.

Mary

Gardener's World: I think she misses being able to look after plants and I think she'd be endlessly fascinated by how hosepipes work.

Mio Mao: She loves them fucking plasticine cats. She will not stop singing the theme song

Honestly think she'll watch anything with anyone and would get invested, she seems like the ideal person to watch telly with.

Kitty

Ru Paul's Drag Race: I think they all watch this every so often but Kitty is invested. There's bright colours, fun outfits and drama, it's definitely Alison's go to when she needs Kitty distracted.

90s and 2000s romcoms: I believe that every couple of weeks Alison and Kitty have a "girl's night" where they watch all the romcoms that Alison used to watch with her mum, mostly because I love watching romcoms with my mum and Kitty deserves that. Kitty is particularly fond of Twilight.

Thomas:

Any Jane Austen adaptations: He watches them with Fanny as they were both big fans when they were alive (its the only thing they agree on). Kitty also joins sometimes. His favourite is the 1995 Pride and Prejudice tv show.

Fanny:

Grey's Anatomy: I haven't seen it but my mum's a big fan and there's millions of seasons, I think she'd pretend she's not that into it but she definitely is.

Call the Midwife: Same as above.

The Captain:

M*A*S*H: I've seen about half an episode of this but it seems to be about fit young men in a war so it sounds like his thing. Probably Pat's recommendation.

Our Flag Means Death: I think Alison has been trying to sneakily show Cap gay media under the pretence of saying "it's just a fun show about pirates". I think the whole gang watched it together. The Captain definitely didn't cry at the end of season 1 why would think that?

Pat

Taskmaster: I think this is one they all watch together but it's definitely one of Pat's favourites. He probably attempted to set up his own version of the show with the ghost which ended horribly.

Doctor Who: I think he watched the original run when he was alive and was absolutely ecstatic to find out they made more. Julian makes fun of him for it.

Julian

Have I Got News For You: Has been airing since 1990 so he definitely watched it while he was alive. I think he likes to keep up with current politics but not in a very serious way so this is his middle ground.

Succession: I haven't seen this show but it seems to be about horrible men in suits being horrible to each other which seems right up his alley.

The Thick of It: Speaking of horrible men in suits being horrible. I think he watches this with Robin who has absolutely no idea what's going on but just laughs when Julian does and they have the best time. Julian is constantly pausing to add his own anecdotes

What We Do In The Shadows: Alison put this on as a 'let's show the Captain it's ok to be gay' show and the Captain was immediately horrified so Julian adopted it. He identifies with Lazlo.

[rockingrobin69]

Wildly

“I have this—dream,” Harry started, mouth so dry he had to stop, swallow a little helplessly. Draco’s grey eyes, expectant: “Never mind.”

“What? Come on, spit it out.”

“Nothing. It’s silly.”

A shove to his shoulder. “You’re silly. And it’s your turn, so, you have to tell me anyway.”

With a lopsided grin and his chest all fluttering, “You’ll laugh.”

“I never laugh. It’s one of the core Malfoy Values: no speaking while chewing, always pace instead of run, and under no circumstances, do not laugh.”

Harry rolled his eyes, feeling lightheaded with it. Draco’s feet tucked under his thigh, leaning against the arm of Harry’s sofa like he belongs there, like there’s no place else he could be. Happiness was a warm trickle running in his belly, this soft thing he was scared to move for fear of disturbing.

Still, breathed in, felt his chest go wide. Made himself open his mouth. “It’s—when we’re older. And we’ve been, erm, together, for a while. Your hair’s gone all white,” (“excuse you!”), “all silver, I mean, and we’re, y’know, old. And we have this garden.”

Braved a look up. Draco’s face was alight, something so tender it robbed Harry of words, of air. Taking his hand, overcome.

“A garden,” Draco said, not a whisper but something close. “That sounds lovely.”

“And we—let it grow wild. With trees and weeds and flowers. And every morning, if the weather’s nice, we go outside and have our tea there.”

Draco’s fingers squeezed his. “We could have a porch with a roof. So we’re not entirely weather-dependant.”

Not saying, there are charms to repel the rain, or, we live in Britain, for crying out loud. Serious, so seriously looking into Harry’s eyes, like he could see it too, like he wanted this.

“And—I don’t know. Maybe a bird feeder or a pond. And we sit very quietly in the mornings and wait for the animals, birds or frogs or squirrels or foxes. And we’re old, and, happy? That’s… it’s silly.”

“You’re silly,” Draco said again, shaking his head with his eyebrows arched and fond. “The silliest creature of all. Harry, this isn’t a dream. We’ll have all this.”

“How—” swallowing, swallowing, “how can you say that. We’ve only been… we’re so new at this. And life can, we know it can.”

Draco shook his head, brought Harry’s hand up for a kiss. “I know,” he said, “because I’ll do whatever it fucking takes, Potter, to give you exactly this. The garden and the birds and the foxes. The life you want, all of it, exactly it. Do you have any idea how rotten I’ll spoil you?”

“Stop—” shoulders up, trying to scramble away from his kisses, but the Draco-attack was relentless and dauntless and climbing all over him on the sofa, nibbling his cheek, the edge of his nose, his eyebrow, “Draco, ha, fuck, stop!”

“Never,” with a tone so certain and so deep Harry believed it immediately, started laughing, wiping his face. “Harry, I will never stop. Get that in your gorgeous little head right now: I will never, ever stop, and I’ll make sure that you’re happy, that you’re so happy, that you’re well and bloody delirious till the end of time, do you hear me?”

“Okay!” yelling, helpless, “okay, okay, I hear you. Now get off, you menace, you’re crushing me and it’s far too hot and.” Taking Draco’s face in his hands, steadying it through the blurriness. “You ridiculous creature,” with so much affection it was battering his insides, it was painful.

“I’m the ridiculous one,” Draco huffed. “You’re sitting here thinking I’ll let you go without a single dream you can name. Harry…”

“Okay,” laughing, still helpless. “I got it. You’ll take care of me.”

“Now he bloody gets it.”

His thumb traced Draco’s jawline, rested against his pink bottom lip. “You’ll give me my garden,” he said carefully.

“With the birdfeeder and the pond.”

“And the tea, and the porch.” And forever, Harry didn’t say.

And forever, Draco smiled. “All of it.”

“Fine. You… fine. I guess I’ll just have to take it and be happy.”

“Now, that sounds like a plan,” Draco smirked, leaning into his palm. “Can we kiss already, or are you still hell-bent on being a sap?”

“I’m the—you perfect, ridiculous creature,” crushing their faces together and shaking with it. “If I recall correctly, now it’s your turn, and I won’t let you try and skip it with slyness and trickery.”

“Trickery,” Draco’s eyes rolled, so close it was only the one grey blob.

Harry couldn’t breathe. “Shut up. Shut up and tell me. You think you’re the only one who… if you’ll make me happy I’ll make you bloody—ecstatic.”

“Always a competition with that man,” but he sighed, a soft thing, and leaned his forehead against Harry’s. “You want to know? You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Well.” Blinked, the movement a gentle tap on Harry’s cheeks. “I have this dream. When we’re older. And we have a garden, and we drink a lot of tea, and you’re so, so, so happy.”

“Come—here,” weakly, “with your fucking, ugh, just kiss me, please,” and Draco did, fire-wild, roasting hot and just as bright.

Harry didn’t know how to tell him he was, already. Happy. So he kissed him, and kissed him, and hoped it was enough.

(Flufftober day 7. Find the soft AO3 collection here).