#with the skin of my palm that hasn’t spread but ya a weird texture and I’m like mmm :/ it’s not going away like it did months ago damn

[r0semultiverse]

Let me start by saying hi I have physical nerve damage and couldn’t handle the recoil of any firearm probably and I literally don’t have a 3D printer or a license for firearms. I think more of these bastards should be scared of the potential consequences of their accumulated blood money. I’m crippled as fuck with nerve damage in my good arm and a bit in my neck just to be clear so legally and genuinely physically speaking I ain’t doing shit & I also have literally no firearm training, never paid for any training, and cannot get access to it as far as I know anywhere locally. I just like seeing rich people as scared as we are every god damn fucking day; it’s like a breath of fresh air in this capitalist Hell hole.

[chaossmagic]

ok ok a fluffy prompt for you! how about aaron pulling off some sort of surprise or big romantic gesture for robert (maybe for an anniversary or his birthday or just because??). after so many years of robert being the one making the grand gestures, aaron's super smug that he finally manages to do one himself 😊

fic: every day is another day i love you more

nb: happy valentine’s day everyone! xx

read on ao3

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Robert awoke to three distinct things; the warmth of the duvet wrapped around him, the rich smell of freshly-brewed coffee, and the heady scent of...roses?

Rubbing at his eyes, he slowly pulled himself upright and blinked a few times, stretching, just as Aaron padded into the room with a smile on his face that couldn’t be described as anything less than enamoured.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning over to press a kiss to Robert’s lips, still smelling of minty toothpaste and shampoo. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmured, and Robert sank into it, pushing himself closer to Aaron’s body while still remaining very much in bed and not yet quite fully awake. 

“I didn’t even realize,” Robert said apologetically, his hand coming to rest on Aaron’s thigh. His fingers tapped a nervous rhythm there. “My sense of time hasn’t quite come back yet, I suppose.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Aaron protested. “I wasn’t expectin’ anythin’, not really...” He bit his lip, blushed a deep pink that had nothing to do with the fact that he’d just got out of the shower. “I wanted to do somethin’. For you.” 

He leaned across him to the bedside table, seemingly reaching for something - and that’s when Robert noticed the steaming mug of coffee, in a brand-new bright blue mug he had never seen before. Next to it was a tall glass vase of water with a single, deep red rose, the bloom almost as big as his palm and the scent intoxicating, each petal the colour and texture of crimson velvet.

Robert forgot how to speak. Or even how to breathe.

Aaron plucked the flower from the vase and handed it to him, a gentle smile spreading across his pink-cheeked face. “Because I love ya.”

“Aaron,” Robert whispered, taking the rose with a shaking hand and inclining his head to smell it; it was wonderful, like nothing he’d ever smelled before, “I - I don’t know what to say, you shouldn’t have.” He inhaled deeply again. “The smell is amazing. I didn’t know roses could smell like this.”

Aaron shrugged, as if it was nothing. Robert looked up at him, sincerity and seriousness plain on his face. “Thank you.”

“That’s not all, actually,” Aaron said, getting up and smoothing down the fabric of his joggers over his thighs. He took Robert’s hand, practically pulling him out of bed, and something about the warmth of his skin and the tightness of his fingers in Robert’s made Robert’s heart skip several beats. “C’mon, there’s somethin’ else I wanna show ya downstairs.”

“There’s more?” Robert started to ask, but wasn’t given an answer as Aaron threw him an old hoodie of his that was lying across a chair from the night before. He pulled it on, relishing in the softness of it; he always liked wearing Aaron’s old clothes precisely for this reason, they were worn down with time and use and well-loved, which made him by extension feel well-loved. 

He grabbed the mug of coffee and pocketed the rose he was still holding as he was dragged out of the room and down the stairs, Aaron far too eager and too bright and too - un-Aaron-like.

He’d already done enough for him, didn’t he realize that? Just welcoming Robert back, bringing him back into his life and accepting him the way he was now, a bit damaged and rough around the edges, was enough. 

But it seemed Aaron was adamant, and Robert wasn’t going to complain. It felt nice, after so long without the real company of others or any kind of affection, and especially coming from the person he loved the most.

“Here,” Aaron said nervously, practically bouncing on his toes, sweeping an arm out to indicate their kitchen table. Robert followed his gaze, mug halfway to his mouth to take a sip of coffee - and then he stopped, arm hanging uselessly in the air as he stared.

And stared some more.

And then a little bit more.

On the table, in a vase much bigger than the one that had been left upstairs, was a bunch of huge red roses identical to the one he still had in his pocket, lighting up the room with their deep colour and sweet scent; he could smell them now, the perfume of them wafting over to him, bringing with it that same sensation of being - well, loved.

It was too much; he put his mug down on the table and flung himself across the small kitchen to where Aaron stood, beaming, his arms going round his neck as he pulled him into a tight embrace. He buried his face in Aaron’s shoulder, his bottom lip wobbling, and willed himself not to soak his pyjamas with tears that desperately wanted to spill. 

“You got me roses,” he mumbled, hugging him tighter, impossibly so. He felt Aaron’s arms go round his waist, solid and strong. He’d only gotten fitter and more defined with age, and he could feel his muscles flexing against his back. “You got me beautiful red roses.”

“Yeah, I did,” Aaron replied. “There’s - well, there’s actually a dozen, but if you look-” 

He gently pulled Robert away from him, pointing towards the flowers.

“If you count them, there’s eleven there, one for every year we’ve been together. It would have been less, but y’know, I added some extra ones for when - for when you weren’t here,” he said, his own voice trembling slightly at the reminder of their most recent separation, but his blue eyes remained fierce and serious, “to show you that I never forgot you, you were never far away from my mind even when I got on with stuff and it stopped hurtin’ as much. And then there’s this one,” he bent down to pluck it from Robert’s pocket, “and if I put it here,” he did so, inserting it back into the bunch, “that’s twelve. I would’ve stopped at eleven but the odd number just felt a bit weird, so.”

“An extra rose because I’m extra special?” Robert countered, his voice light but still coming out in barely a whisper. 

“Somethin’ like that, yeah,” Aaron murmured back, reaching up on his tiptoes to kiss him again; a soft press of the lips, sweet and chaste. “You’re worth the embarrassment I felt when I first walked into the flower shop. You’re always worth it, and I don’t tell ya that enough.”

Robert reached for him, scooping him into a hug that wasn’t quite a hug; he pressed him close, his hands on his waist, feeling the warmth of his skin through his clothes. “Aaron,” he said, and it felt like a prayer or a clarion call. “Aaron Dingle, you bought me a dozen red roses.”

Aaron leaned his forehead against Robert’s; they swayed together slightly, lost in their own little bubble. “Yeah. I did.”

“Going soft in your old age?” Robert asked, eyebrows raised, and Aaron gave him a barely-there slap on the chest. 

“Nah,” he said, burying his face in the hollow of Robert’s throat to breathe him in, sweat and coffee and cotton sheets and the lingering perfume of a dozen red roses. “I just love ya, for some reason.”

“I’m glad,” Robert said. 

“Me too, “ murmured Aaron.