the best part about this entire thing is that it took me seeing this and only this and it inspired 6k+ worth of smut, fluff, and drunk!harry being cute. so it’s really cute, then filthy, and then cute again, and then filthy one last time so it has BALANCE. also based on this blurb i posted yesterday! enjoy <3
“Think it’ll be the best night f’my life f’you go an’ catch that bouquet,” he says in answer to your earlier question, and your eyes go wide and you shake your head almost instantly. “Absolutely not – have you ever been part of a bouquet toss? Those women will claw me t’the death tryin’ t’get it,” you reason, and he pouts.
“Please, baby – promise I’ll kiss it better,” he says, and you almost give in because he’s properly pouting like a child right now, but you look over to where all the bachelorettes have gathered, and you scrunch your nose. “Y’can buy me a bouquet f’roses and throw ‘em at me, ‘f that’s really what you want t’see happenin’,” you offer, and Harry literally whines. “Baby–” he starts, and you cut him off, “No.”
It goes on like that until the final call for the girls to gather and Harry shrugs. “Fine then. I guess I’ll go,” he says, and you give him a look of confusion, your eyebrows knitted together, until you realize he means he’s joining the bouquet toss.
Harry and Y/N go to a wedding in Hawaii and he joins in on the bouquet toss when you refuse
I had every intention of spending my day cheerfully lounging around in a pumpkin patch and petting miniature horses. I was in fact so excited for the day ahead that I even made one of these outfit layout thingies. I made myself breakfast, took this picture by standing on my tiptoes on an upturned suitcase at the foot of my bed, and then promptly got called in to work. It was a sad, pumpkin-less day indeed.
Two months had gone by, half of their stay at the lighthouse. Although she missed doing small jobs for the quaint general store on Main Street, staying in the cove felt almost like a miniature vacation. Herself, Bill and their daughter got to spend everyday together, alone and untouched by other’s troubles.
Charlotte spent most of her time playing on the frozen beaches, when the snowfall wasn’t too heavy, and she discovered that she loved to go out with Bill when he chopped a few days worth of wood for their fireplace.
She would sometimes observe her husband and daughter from the window over the kitchen sink while she was washing dishes; Charlotte sitting cross-legged on a large tree stump eagerly watching her father as he hacked away at the wood pile with an axe.
At night they would lay on the couches in front of the crackling fireplace, herself and Bill reading while Charlotte sat on the floor and drew with her paper ad crayons on the oak coffee table. Sometimes their daughter would bring her cozy fur blanket down from her room and lay on Bill’s chest until she fell asleep, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and her father’s long arms. She couldn’t help but sneak glances at them, still in complete awe that she ended up so lucky, having a gorgeous, loving husband and their own beautiful little girl.
She would put Charlotte to sleep, she always had and she always would until the day came that her child was too old for such young habits. Kissing her daughter on the cheek, she pulled the covers up her small body, tucking her into their warmth.
“I love you,” her little girl would tell her.
A smile would form on her face when she looked down at Charlotte, almost hidden under a mountain of blankets and duvets.
“I love you too, Baby. Sleep tight,” she would say back, standing straight and leaving Charlotte to rest for the night.
She would go straight to her and Bill’s room. Some nights they would stay up and speak about the lighthouse, Charlotte and how amazing it was that they had actually decided to do this. They would lay on their sides in bed, facing each other, while he ran his impossibly long fingers down her cheek and she smiled into his touch. Other nights, he would have her on her back while he made love to her, their bodies draped in the warm furs and blankets. Occasionally, she would straddle his lap and playfully tease him, her eyes filled with a joyous gleam that made his heart beat wildly. When she least expected it, he would ease her onto his member, watching her eyes widen as he filled her up. She would repeatedly sink down onto him until she could bear it no more, her head falling into his shoulder and his hands moving to grab her hips, helping her ride him.
The passing months were so blissful; her beautiful daughter growing up, the sex, stark white snow coating the plains. It felt as most too good to be true, not that she was complaining though. Nothing else could be better than this.
She stood by the sink one morning, washing her plate, while Charlotte sat at the kitchen table with her father, finishing her cereal. Bill watched his daughter beside him with a small smile as she loudly munched on the flakes, sipping his morning coffee.
“Can I try some?” she asked her father, looking at the up in his hand.
He raised a brow at her. She seemed to reaching the experimental age; she wanted to try anything and everything, especially if her father liked it.
“If you want, Sweetie. It’s hot though, only take a small sip,” he told her, and she nodded fervently.
He set the mug down on the wooden table and pushed it in front of his daughter who looked at the dark liquid excitedly.
From the sink, she turned to peer at Charlotte, who took the mug by the handle and lifted it to her lips. The young girl took a tentative sip and when she swallowed, her face contorted in disgust.
“Ew! It’s so…” she was at loss for a word to describe the coffee, her vocabulary not yet large enough to elegantly describe things.
“Bitter?” her mother suggested.
“Gross,” was what she chose.
She placed the mug down on the table and pushed it back to her father, appearing relieved to get the “gross” drink away from her. Bill only laughed.
“Maybe you would like it more if Daddy didn’t take it black,” she said to her child, clearly teasing Bill. She gave her husband a mischievous smile when Charlotte nodded in agreement.
Bill’s full lips curled into a grin, “Well, she does like sugar.”
“No,” Charlotte interjected, “No more coffee.”
“Ever?” Bill asked dramatically, arching a brow while looking down at his daughter.
She nodded and he took a sip of his coffee, eyes still on hers.
Charlotte had finished her breakfast and Bill had downed his coffee.
She was washing out Charlotte’s bowl when he placed his mug on the counter beside the sink.
“You don’t have to, Babe. I got it,” he assured her.
She was just about to nod when a creak came from one of the upper floors. Instantly, her head shot up to find the possible source of the sound, eyes widening with shock.
“Are you alright?” he asked, tearing her attention away from the ceiling.
“Did you not…” she trailed off, looking back up and listening intently to hear another sound.
There was not another sound.
“Babe?” he pressed and she met his eyes again, they looked a bit concerned.
“There was a sound. Is… Could someone be upstairs?” she pondered, biting her lip.
He placed a hand on her upper back, running it down her spine.
“No, don’t worry. This place has been around forever; I’ve heard my own fair share of noises,” he joked good humoredly, attempting to lighten the mood. He knew that she was only frightened, of course there was no one else in the lighthouse.
She laughed lightly, leaning into his shoulder as his hand reached her lower back, “You’re right. I’m sorry, it was silly of me to think otherwise.”
He placed a kiss on her temple and wrapped his long arm around her waist.
“Don’t worry about it,” he assured her.
She leaned further against him, head falling in the crook of his neck. He took her hand in his and she shut her eyes momentarily.
Charlotte ran back into the kitchen.
“Can we go get more wood now?” she begged, already dressed in her coat and boots.
Bill looked at his wife, offer still on the table.
“Go ahead,” she told Bill, “I’ll finish up here.”
He nodded and Charlotte reached for his hand. She could barely lace her fingers with his as her hand so small in comparison to his large one. Nonetheless, she took a hold of his hand and pulled him forward, attempting to drag him towards the main door. He let her, and made sure to take small steps so he would be behind her.
A few moments and giggles from her daughter later, she heard the heavy door shut.
A week later and their mornings consisted of the exact same events, Charlotte munched happily, Bill drank his “gross” coffee and she ate her meal before washing the dishes. Then, every few days, Charlotte would run excitedly behind her father, trying to keep up with his long strides, and watched him chop up their wood. He would let her carry a few smaller logs as they walked back to the house together to put the wood on it’s spot beside the fireplace. The last few days however, he had been cutting more wood than usual, due to Charlotte’s pleas to watch him for longer. So, she had thought of another place to put the wood.
She was on her hands and knees straightening out a plaid blanket over the floor on the opposite side of the fireplace. She figured this would do until they used up enough of the wood from the shelf.
She could hear footsteps approaching her and stood, still checking her creation before saying, “Can you put the wood here, Babe? The shelf’s too full.”
He didn’t respond and it struck her as odd. Why wouldn’t he acknowledge her?
She turned around to face him, brows slightly furrowed, until she saw who was in front of her.
It was not Bill.
She gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming. A man, almost as tall as Bill, with dark ginger hair and beard, blue eyes and a thick, dark grey button-up shirt was standing in front of her. His expression was steely and strict, allowing the thin lines on his forehead to be displayed.
“Who… What…” She sputtered, unable to even formulate words. All she could think was: I knew it. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. Someone was - is - here. Her mind screamed.
Though he was about four inches shorter than Bill, his height intimidated her tremendously, something that not once happened with Bill, even when they fought. He was a dark and dominating presence, looking hard, strong and incredibly northern.
The biggest question was: why was he here? They had driven up just the three of them and the road back home had been blocked off for weeks. There was no way that he could have come recently, he had to have been there for much longer than she knew.
He started towards her, expression stern, and she backed up, looking at the advancing figure with fearful eyes. Her lips parted and her eyes went glassy.
“Get out,” she desperately pleaded, “Please leave. Please.”
He ignored her and continued to stalk towards her.
“What do you… God,” she took a deep breath, “Bill,” she whimpered his name, taking shaky steps backwards in an attempt to maintain her distance from the man.
Her back hit the cold, stone wall and her eyes averted to the window over the sink, she could see Bill walking and their daughter happily skipping behind him, a few logs in their arms.
“Not my baby. Don’t touch my baby!” her mind screamed. A maternal instinct washed over her and she was no longer worried about her own life, but of her husband’s and most importantly, her beautiful little girl’s.
Her words stopped. When she looked back to the man, she could only see the living room.
It was if he was never there.
“Mommy, look at all the wood we brought!” Charlotte cheered, running as fast as her little legs could carry her to the blanket that her mother had laid out.
She was glad that Charlotte only had interest in telling her this in passing, barely sparing a glance at her. She didn’t want her daughter to see her so distraught.
“Good job, Sweetie,” she praised, yet her voice wavered slightly and although her daughter did not pick up on it, her husband certainly did.
He took one look at her eyes, welled with tears and her body, rigid and stiff, and knew that she was deeply upset. Swiftly, he set down the logs he was holding onto the floor, to which Charlotte ran over and took them into her own arms, and moved his wife towards the kitchen. When she saw that he was leading her out of the room, she froze and put a hand on his chest, eyes wide. There was no way in hell she was leaving her daughter alone.
“There’s someone here, Bill,” she hissed quietly, meeting his uneasy eyes with her own terrified ones.
He sighed and ran his hands down both of her arms, attempting to calm her.
“There’s nobody here but us,” he guaranteed her.
She shook her head repeatedly and her whole body trembled under his touch.
“No, no, no. Bill, there’s a man here. I saw him for a moment in the living room,” she explained hysterically, struggling to keep her voice low enough to evade Charlotte’s ears.
He was shocked by her behaviour, not knowing how she could get herself so wound up. The love of his life was quaking in fear before him and he wanted nothing more than to stop her suffering. So he pulled her into his arms, allowed her to bury her in his chest, and held her close.
Her body continued to shake, until he began to whisper words of confidence into her ear.
“You’re just scared, Baby. You had a fright. You’ll be okay,” he cooed.
She turned her head to the side and he stroked her hair softly.
“You’re alright, Baby. There’s only the three of us here, I promise. It’s just me, you and Charlotte,” he soothed, “No one will ever touch you or our baby while I’m here, okay?”
She nodded slowly, a tear slipping out of the duct of her eye and running down her cheek. He removed one of his arms from his hold on her and placed a finger on the bottom of her chin, lightly tilting her head up so her eyes could meet his gaze.
He looked so sincere and loving, that she held her breath.
“Can you just… take a look around the lighthouse,” she asked, “It would make me feel better,” she added once she saw him look at her almost pointedly.
His hands slipped onto her cheeks and he bent down slightly, giving her a chaste kiss.
“Okay,” he agreed.
It had just begun to rain, turning the sky into a dull shade of grey.
She watched as water droplets spattered against the window above the kitchen sink from her position on the couch with Charlotte seated in between her spread legs.
Tap. Tap, the rain sounded on the glass.
She held her daughter closely underneath the blanket that Bill had draped over them before taking off to search the lighthouse per her request. Charlotte was completely oblivious to the whole situation as she happily played with her polar bear stuffed animal, more than content to spend time with her mother.
She had her hands clasped around her daughter’s tiny stomach, as if she had more protection over her that way, and continued to watch the rain.
Her expression was void of all emotion, she was too numb to even feel anymore. Yet she’d rather feel nothing than the world on her shoulders. All she planned on doing was keeping her daughter safe.
“Mommy!” Charlotte called, looking up at her mother while her hands still fondled with the polar bear.
“Yes?” she wondered, forcing a smile.
Charlotte’s cheerful face turned downcast instantly.
“What’s wrong, Mommy? You look sad,” she noted.
She pressed a light kiss to he daughter’s hair and squeezed her reassuringly, “Mommy’s just tired.”
“But it’s only noon,” Charlotte pointed out. She realized that her child was much smarter than she gave her credit for and that she’d have to work extra hard to sway her.
“But look,” she pointed to the window, “It’s all dark and gloomy outside. That kind of weather makes almost everyone a bit tired.”
Clearly her ploy worked as Charlotte’s small lips turned into a big smile.
“Well it never makes me tired!” she announced proudly.
Her mother hugged her tighter.
“That’s because you’re my special girl,” she praised, leaning down to press her head against hers. Charlotte erupted into a fit of giggled when her mother started to tickle her belly.
Charlotte’s high laughs relieved her of any negative emotion she was feeling, no one, not even Bill, could make her happy like her daughter was able to.
“Daddy!” she cried when Bill entered the room, reaching her arms out to him to “save her” from being tickled.
Her mother planted a last kiss on her temple and released her. Charlotte jumped to the ground and ran straight towards her father, who lifted her up and spun her around. More gigging ensued.
When he finally set her back down, he met his wife’s eyes.
“Everything is fine,” he promised her.
She chewed on her lip softly, “Are you sure?”
He nodded and took a seat down beside her. She leaned into his long body and he pushed her down onto the couch.
“Hey!” she interjected, looking up at him with lively eyes.
He only smiled.
Not wanting to be left out, Charlotte ran towards her parents and collapsed onto her mother’s body, wrapping her small arms around her mother’s waist.
Bill scooted down onto the plush cushions as well, drawing the blanket over their bodies as he went, enveloping them in the warmth.
They laid like that for about an hour, Bill’s back pressed against the sofa, her’s against his chest and Charlotte’s small body sprawled out over her mother’s abdominals and chest. They laughed and talked until their daughter fell asleep, due to the dreary weather.
After looking down at his dreaming daughter, her pressed his lips to his wife’s, still utterly in love.
It was an uneventful afternoon at Lighthouse Cove.
Misgivings of time align with an outer destiny a magnificent memory of sighs, in signs of ardor and the riff of daylight – My senescence drifts between dissimilitude of each thought as though a river altered the course of my life almost in miniature, this misgiving, as if such a fray and fury allows for my love the splendor of gratitude, so this imploring in its vulnerability reclines like the dawn of a millennia in lost magnitudes, like the diminishing flourish of your breath upon my brow in Autumn’s light
includes: a slight christmas theme (i know, it’s kinda late lmao) + joshua likes playing his electric guitar at the most inconvenient times + some heated stuff but not smut, so just be warned!
✎ okay but srsly imagine punk!jisoo who plays in a band and plays electric bass guitar nd he’s got some piercings and the tousled hair with dark eyeliner, i’m sweatin. have an amazing holiday guys!! stay warm if yall got some of that cold ass weather. also he’s such a fluff it’s so hard 2 find badass gifs of him,,
That was the
fourth time Joshua had strummed his electric guitar today, since the blanket of frost
sticking persistently to your window had grown more opaque, shimmering under
sunlight sprinkled from meringue peaks in the sky.
because you were counting, every chord that thundered through paper thin walls
warding your attentiveness from different tasks. The cacophony of harsh noises
first erupted during early morning, when you rose from the soft linen pools
swirling beneath you to greet the familiar frost, crisp against your window. It
was a startling bark that shot a tremor up your spine, almost quivering the
miniature hour glass on your bedside table. Your mind had been too cloudy to
warble, your limbs too lethargic to set you outside his door and spew indignant
Thirteen-year-old Sole has a habit of getting cocky. They’ve made it this far on their own. Clearly they are invincible! Young teenagers were bad enough Pre-War, but armed with a gun and a sense of immortality, this kiddo is a handful. In combat, or otherwise, Sole sometimes needs a little looking-after.
Cait: The Irish brawler isn’t in the habit of being protective. Sole can handle themselves, a fact they’ve proven time and time again. Though they can be an irritating turd at times. “Look, neither of us’re gonna get anywhere if you end up dead. And that’s too big for you.” Pursing her lips, Cait shoots the kid a scowl, smacking the over-sized shotgun from their grubby little hands and taking it for herself.
“Hey!” Sole bats at her grip, trying to tug the weapon back towards them.
“It’s bigger than you are, damn it,” Cait growls. “Look. You let me ‘ave this’un, and I’ll show you how to throw someone.”
Sole pauses, arches an eyebrow. “’Throw someone’?”
Cait grins. “Yeah. Y’hook ‘em up over your back, and slam ‘em right back down against the ground. Broken a few necks that way.”
Sole decides giving up the shotgun is worth the potential lesson.
Codsworth: “Oh, goodness, Sole, er, please-” The Mr. Handy sighs as Sole devours a plateful of meat and fruits. He’s managed to get them to eat off of plates, at least, but the silverware he’s so carefully laid out remains untouched.
Honestly. The baddies roaming the wasteland are one thing, but convincing a stubborn teenager to eat with a knife and fork? That’s the real battle of the ages. “Could you at least use a napkin, Mx. Sole?”
Sole narrows their eyes, giving him a sour look, lips smeared with a mix of mutfruit juice and meat grease. “Why? I have a sleeve.” Licking their lips, they wipe their mouth off on a matted sleeve, prompting a helpless groan to rattle from the Mr. Handy’s voicebox.
“Mx. Sole, you’ll be the death of me. I appreciate that you are more than capable of taking care of yourself, physically, but if you were ever to go out in anything resembling polite society-”
“Oh, not this again, Codsworth. For fuck’s sakes!”
Curie: She wipes a tissue over Sole’s dripping nose, making them flinch back and try and push her away. “Sole, my dear, you are not well! If you would let me-”
“Christ, Curie, it’s just a little snot. I won’t die.” Getting away from her insistent, motherly coos, Sole wipes off their face with the inside of their shirt, ignoring the stuffiness in their nose and their slight headache. Pssh. Like they’d get sick. What kind of loser gets a cold?
“But you may have a weakened immune system, or dulled senses! It is not good to go out when you are not yourself. It is dangerous!” Curie insists, pulling on their arm. “Let me give you a hot bath. A salt scrub may be just what you need!”
“A bath?” Sole recoils in horror. “No, no, Curie, don’t, you don’t need to- Someone help me!” They flail, shouting out into the crowded center of the marketplace. “This crazy lady is kidnapping me!”
Later, in the bathtub, Sole crossed their arms and glared at the wall as Curie washed them clean before swaddling them in a towel, placing them in bed and providing a warm bowl of soup.
Danse: Pinned down behind some meager cover, Danse stifled a growl as Sole refused to fall back. “I’ve got it,” they insisted, fumbling with their gun and hissing curses as a few precious bullets tumbled from their fingers and vanished into the grass. As Sole reached down to pick them up, a cry tore from their throat instead as Danse curled a hand into the back of their shirt and yanked them up off the ground.
Wrapping his arms around them, Danse used his own power-armored body as protection, dwarfing their smaller body with his torso and running from their attackers, grunting as laser fire welted his back and make the metal hiss and bubble. Rounding a corner, he dropped Sole to the ground, leaning back to catch his breath.
Surprised and unsteady, Sole brushed themselves off indignantly. “What the fuck was that?” they snapped. “I said I got it.”
Danse lifted his head, matching Sole’s eyes. His glare could be felt even through his helmet. “All due respect, Sole, you did not. And I did not plan on waiting to see you die.”
Refusing to see the truth in his words, Sole let out a stubborn huff of air, grabbing their gun and peering around the corner to resume the fight. Wry smirk curving his lips, Danse couldn’t resist patting their shoulder, if only to hear them complain and bitch about being treated like a child.
Deacon: “You gonna buy me a drink?” Sole questioned, slipping into the barstool beside him as Deacon ordered his first beer of the night.
Deacon laughed. “Uh, last time I checked, you weren’t old enough to drink.”
Sole rolled their eyes. “Last time I checked, they don’t card you if you have the caps. Come on. One beer.”
“Nope.” Waiting for the drink to be poured, Deacon pulled a carton of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, pulling one out and lighting it. He noticed Sole do the same in the corner of his eye, and quickly snatched the carton away, flicking the cigarette from Sole’s lips.
“Dude!” Sole exclaimed, looking offended. “The hell? We’re all adults here.”
“Smoking’ll kill you, you know.” Call him old-fashioned, but he does try to keep Sole on the straight and narrow. Kids shouldn’t be smoking and drinking, even if bartenders allow it. It’s not good for them, and Deacon does have a soft spot for the kid.
“Yeah, but we’re all going to die sometime.” Again, Sole rolled their eyes. “So. You won’t let me smoke or drink. I literally shot a guy in the face today. Why do I get to do that but not this?”
“Because I said so.” A grin split Deacon’s face, even as Sole let out a dramatic groan and laid their head on the bar counter. Deacon’s pint arrived, and he sipped it with a smug sigh.
Dogmeat: Trapped inside a hotel room, a cluster of strung-out raiders on the verge of kicking down the door, Sole set their jaw and pushed together some furniture to make a last-stand blockade, crouching behind it and wrapping their shaking hands around their weapon.
As the raiders broke down the door, Dogmeat lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the first attacker and growling, holding them still as Sole closed one eye and fired. Between the narrow channel of the doorway and Dogmeat distracting them, Sole picked them off one by one. But one broke through, brandishing a rusty machete and jumping at Sole, prompting a terrified scream.
Dogmeat changed tactics, barking and snarling, snapping his jaws and attacking the raider, wrestling him to the ground and tearing him to bits. When all went quiet, the canine walked to Sole, whimpering softly. Muzzle stained with blood, he snuffled for Sole’s hand, offering a paw and soft bark as near-human reassurance. Sole hugged the dog very tightly, each of them taking deep breaths.
“Thanks, Dogmeat,” Sole breathes, thin shoulders shaking.
Hancock: “Why don’t you ever let me look at the strippers?”
The ghoul nearly spits out his morning vodka. “Excuse me?”
“When you bring people to the Statehouse,” Sole replies, lazily stretched out over one of the couches in Hancock’s office. “You always kick me out before they come over. It’s not like I don’t know what people look like naked, man. Besides. I’m basically an adult. Why can’t I have a little fun too?”
“Uh, I don’t think-” Hancock downs the vodka, suddenly feeling he’s going to need it. “I don’t think thirteen counts as adult.”
Sole glowers, sitting up to look at the ghoul. “It pretty much does. Adult enough, anyway. Come on. Pleeeeeease? I won’t get in your way.”
Hancock laughs, and pops two pills between his lips, swallowing them with another gulp of vodka. “Having a kid at an orgy kind of dampers the mood, Sole. Get back to me when you’re sixteen and full-grown. I don’t want to have to kick any kid-touchers out of my parties.”
He’s joking, but the thought does bother him sometimes. Goodneighbor’s not the most family-friendly place, and Sole has a habit of getting in over their head. In future, he spreads word to make sure Sole doesn’t get into any clubs after dark, though this means he has to endure more than one temper tantrum from the young adult in question.
Nick Valentine: “I know you’re a good shot, kiddo, but try not to be offended when I say you could use a little practice.”
Taking the heavy pistol the synth offers, Sole scowls. “If I can shoot straight, what’s the point?”
“If you have to use all your strength to hold it up, and stop moving in order to shoot straight, you’ll get yourself killed pretty easy.” He gestures to the way Sole has to cradle the weapon in their hands, smaller fingers barely wrapped around the grip. “Just try not to shoot me. I might be made of nuts and bolts, but bullets still sting.”
Nick and Sole head out to the back of Diamond City, to some old piled up stones, where Nick sets out beer bottles and teaches Sole how to jump from cover to cover without being pinned down. Nick’s pistol in their hands, Sole almost looks like the miniature version of the detective. Even more so at sundown when the two head back to the office, and Nick takes off his fedora, placing it on Sole’s head with a faint smile.
MacCready: “I… don’t think that’s such a good idea, boss.”
“Why not?” Sole stops at the mouth of the cave, ominous blackness behind them with faint drips and whispers of wind coming from the dark. “Come on. I’ll turn on this Pipboy, we’ll go on in, it’ll be fine. That guy in the Third Rail told us there was a bunch of stuff stashed here. We’ll be rich!”
“Yeaaah…” MacCready’s brow furrows. “Somehow I don’t trust a card shark, though. Are you sure we can’t just go somewhere else?” A strange groan rumbles from the cave mouth, Sole jumping and taking a few unsteady steps from the cave entrance. “Yeah, no. We’re not going in there.”
“Mac, come on!” Sole whines, extending their hands. “Don’t do this to me! W-We can do this!”
MacCready crosses his arms. “Sole.”
“Don’t copy me.”
“Don’t copy me.”
“Oh my god, you just did it.”
“Oh my god, you ju-”
“Sole! … Wait, what are you- No! Let go of me!” Sole flailed and squirmed as MacCready stomped over, picking up the teen by the scruff of their neck and carting them up and away from the hill. “MacCready!”
Piper: Having grown up with a little sister, the older Wright girl didn’t get too upset over Sole’s antics, already knowing how to handle strong-willed teenagers. Sole wasn’t used to being ‘handled’, however, and chose to seek vengeance when they could.
“Sole! Give me that back!”
Sole proceeded to stuff the entire candy bar into their mouth, chocolate melting and staining around their lips. “Oo mean ‘is?”
Piper let out a despairing cry. “Sole, that was my last one! Not the gumdrops! Not the-!” She lunges forward, wrestling with Sole’s hands for control of the battered box of candy. Struggling to keep Sole from upturning the box and emptying it into their mouth, she lets out a desperate shout as the box tumbles from their hands, hitting the floor with the hard candies skidding across the ground. “What have you done!” she wails, falling to her knees.
Her dramatic gasps and sighs made Sole feel guilty enough to give up the box of Snack Cakes they’d also stolen.
Preston: It didn’t take much to make Preston protective. “No, Sole, don’t- Don’t touch that.”
And it didn’t take much to make Sole want to mess with him.
“Yeah. I just really want to touch this right now. Thanks, Preston.”
“No, please, Sole-” Preston forcefully pulled Sole’s hands away from the rack of rifles. “Okay. Just, stand still. I need to put this up.” Preston turned around to put a box on a nearby shelf, and turned around to find Sole disappeared. “Sole?” he asked, almost helplessly.
Someone screamed out in the castle yard. Preston sprinted out to find Sole, somehow in a set of Power Armor, holding up a chunk of wires accidentally torn out of the castle radio tower. Sole’s voice, robotic from the Power Armor helmet, wafted over to Preston’s ears across the yard. “Oops?”
Preston had never taken drugs in his life, but during the course of his relationship with Sole, he seriously considered it multiple times.
Strong: We’ve discussed this. No teen survivor is gonna be carting around a giant fuckin’ mutie. Just no. Besides the fact that Sole would definitely not fight their way through a skyscraper full of mutants fives times their size, there’s no way they’re traveling with something that could eat them without stopping to chew. Nope. Fuck that.
… ‘Course, if the two ever did end up together, it might be interesting if Sole rode on Strong’s shoulders. Real intimidating vision, there.
X6-88: It’s unlikely they’d ever work together. Sole would be more of a liability than a benefit to X6, and X6 is a little too intense and intimidating for a young, hot-headed teen to work with. But if X6 got assigned to be Sole’s protection, for whatever reason, it’d be more frustrating than helpful.
“Can you untie me now? Fucker.”
“You have proven you can’t be trusted to walk around alone. Until we reach the next place of rest, you will have to remain constrained.”
Sole let out a long, tortured groan, drawing it out as long as possible, in the hopes of irritating the Courser in front of them. “I have to pee.”
“No, you do not.”
“You don’t know that! How do you know? Maybe I’m on the verge of pissing myself!”
“It is a classic escape tactic to ask for a bathroom break. As your protector, I’m obligated to keep you safe.”
According to an East Asian
folklore, there is a red string of fate which connects those who are destined
to meet regardless of time, place or circumstance. They say this thread may
stretch or tangle, but the bond will never
break. The invisible twine is their winsome way of finding one another.
On the opposite end of the cord stands
your soul mate, who has been tied together with you at the pinky since birth. Every
time you meet each other, the link tugs at your little finger to act as a
gentle reminder of whom you are bound with.The surrounding world as you know it will
turn black and white, and it is then when the thread lovingly glows a garnet
hue upon gazing at the strand, highlighting the importance of this fateful
encounter. The vermilion color is traditionally symbolic for good luck and
happiness; emotions which create an indelible bond of the immaterial string
that secures the tie between you and your soul mate.
It was by far the most auspicious
fairy tale you’ve ever heard of. This myth had been around for many millennia,
since the dawn of time, yet you still couldn’t quite believe in its promising truth.
The red string of fate would be the realest thing you’d ever experience other
than death, your ancestors would whisper in the wind, the words warmly wrapping
around your adolescent heart. It satisfies the soul upon gazing at its subtle lithe,
filling the spirit with a sense of belonging and exuberance from a heaven-sent love.
summary: The one and only time Dan had ever looked up what was wrong with him, when he read the words ’anorexia nervosa’ he’d closed out of his browser window in less than a second, wiped his search history and left his computer off for two days. He didn’t have an eating disorder. He’s always been told that eating disorders are for skeletal runway models that puke up their lunches, and there’s no way that chubby, lazy Dan Howell could ever have an eating disorder.
Dan starts running earlier in the mornings and there’s a different barista at his favorite coffee shop who turns out to be exactly what he needs.
genre: angsty, hurt/comfort
words: 3,750 (that is so nice and even frick yea)
warnings: eating disorder (includes disordered thoughts/behaviors/ect, mentions calories and restricting/starving/bingeing), general self hating, self harm (scratching) mentioned a few times but not depicted in much detail, swearing??
So, because I actually have something of an interest in playing BATIM, I'm curious. Does BATIM have jumpscares? Because it looks like a cool game with a great concept and atmosphere, but I just DON'T do jumpscares. Anxiety and all that fun stuff.
It does! In fact, the first chapter relies almost entirely on miniature jumpscares to actually SCARE you. The atmosphere does some pretty decent work, though.
There are three jumpscares in the first chapter that I can think of, but while they’re jumpscares… they’re… really not that bad? This is coming from a total pansy, mind you; I’m terrible with horror myself. But it’s NOWHERE NEAR FNAF level jumpscares; the worst they do is surprise you. After they happen, all of the jumpscares actually wind up being kinda (unintentionally) cute, once you think about ‘em.
I could describe them to illustrate what I mean, but that would be spoilers… I do recommend watching somebody play the first chapter on YouTube to get a feel for what the game’s like!
Day 6: I’m going to try to keep up, really. Since I’m about a week away from going back home, here’s this song that kerimeaway, the bestest friend on Earth, showed me c: Can’t wait to go out and do things with you when I get home. Ah, and I must mention brittnaynayy because Brittany and Keri saw them in concert!
As a day of research comes to its end, I am fascinated accidentally finding this double portraiture, in the course of a single day; each works marked similarly for John Bertram, a character of the 18th century. The earliest, set in watercolour on ivory; a miniature, portraying his youth. Then, for the sitter’s later years, an oil on canvas, which may be late 18th, to early 19th century. A research through Philp Mould Historical Portraits, allows us to be assured that these two portraits are of the same man. Although little information can be found on the sitter, the inscription on the reverse of the miniature is almost certainly contemporary to its original eighteenth century miniature, and thus there is little reason to suggest it is erroneous. Same is true for the latter years, where marked on the back of the canvas, with an undeniable resemblance, shows us John Bertram’s completing a successful life path. Fascinating!
oh my!!! i love your writing so much!! i have your notifications on so i never miss out :) could you write a wolfstar where they're at a bookstore/library and one of them is just reading and the other stumbles into him :) i'm not sure if you've written anything like this please please
Remus liked to read books before he bought them. Not the whole book, just the first few chapters. A lot of books had amazing first chapters and then completely derailed around chapter three. Remus loved buying books but he hated buying books that he lost interest in because the characters became terrible.
He had to keep walking around because the clerk in the shop, Snape, liked to bother Remus, telling him he had to buy the book before he read it. It was a shame that this unruly man happened to work at Remus’ favorite books shop (favorite because of the selection and the atmosphere, not because of the staff. Although the man who owned the shop, Dumbledore, was perfectly pleasant.)
Remus was engrossed in the book and wasn’t watching where he was going. He tripped over something large in the middle of the aisle and went arse over teakettle, sprawling onto the floor and dropping his book.
“Holy shit, mate, are you okay?”
Remus rolled over onto his back and managed to sit up. “I think I’m fine,” he said, brushing himself off. “My apologies, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“Oh, don’t worry about,” the man said, waving him off. “I probably shouldn’t be sitting here like this.”
Remus cocked his head to the side and studied the stranger. He was a short man with long dark hair and a leather jacket. Good-looking in that effortless kind of way certain people had - like he just woke up in the morning looking gorgeous. Remus had no idea how he could have missed him in the first place. He was surrounded by books and wrapping paper. “What on Earth are you doing?”
The man chuckled. “Wrapping gifts, obviously.”
“Yes, obviously,” Remus said, blinking incredulously. “Any reason you’re doing it on the floor of a book shop?”
The man huffed. “It’s my Godson’s birthday and I forgot to get him something. Okay, not so much that I forgot that the thing I wanted to get him I was told wasn’t practical. So I was rebelling until today, when I realized I was going to show up to a five-year-olds birthday empty handed.”
Remus’ lips curled up into a smile. “What were you originally going to get him?”
The stranger ducked his head down. “An electric guitar.”
Remus burst out laughing. “Yes, I can see how that wouldn’t be the most sensible gift for a child.”
“You’ve got to learn young!” the stranger insisted. “Mozart was playing the piano when he was just four!”
Remus stood up and went to retrieve his book. “So instead you’re getting him some books?”
The man shrugged. “Everyone likes books, right? Books are great when you’re a kid.”
“I think so, yes,” Remus said, giving him a reassuring smile. “They certainly were important to me growing up.”
“Good,” the man said, using the scissors to get the extra ribbon to curl with a flourish.
“Well, good luck,” Remus said, finding his page in his book.
“Hey wait,” the stranger said, standing up. “I just realized I have way more parcels than I could ever carry on my own. Any way I could bribe you to come along with me and carry some of these? I’ll buy your book for you and when we get there I’ll give you a piece of the birthday cake. So what do you say?”
Remus took in a deep breath as he composed himself. “Are you serious?”
The stranger grinned. “Absolutely.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude on a little kid’s birthday party…” Remus said nervously. “After all, you don’t even know me.”
“You have an honest face,” the man said, picking up his gifts from the floor and handing a few of them over to Remus.
“Hold on a second, did you pay for the books before you wrapped them?” Remus asked, studying the gifts in his hands.
“Nope,” the man said, laughing, heading through the bookshelves towards the front door. “I hate the fucking clerk that works here. That guy is a twat.”
“That doesn’t mean you should steal from his workplace,” Remus hissed, following after him quickly.
“And now you’re an accomplice,” the stranger said, turning around the wink at Remus. “Run!”
The man took off towards the front door and Remus had no choice but to run after him. He didn’t feel right about the stealing but he also didn’t want to get caught. His heart was pounding as they crashed out the front door and sprinted down the sidewalk.
“You’re insane,” Remus said breathlessly, pressing his back against the wall of the alley they were hiding in, making sure Snape hadn’t followed them.
“Damn right I am,” the stranger said, walking over with his arms full of gifts and capturing Remus’ lips.
Remus was so startled that he nearly dropped the presents in his own hands. He could feel the surge of adrenaline rushing through his body as he kissed the stranger back. He wondered for a moment just what he was doing kissing a stranger in an alleyway after having just stolen some books.This was not Remus Lupin’s life.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” the stranger said, pulling back and smiling up at Remus. “And don’t worry, I know Dumbledore personally. I’ll send him some money in the mail. I just hate having to deal with Snape.”
Remus swallowed around the lump in his throat. “So was this some kind of test?”
“Nah,” the man said with a smirk. “It was pretty fun though.”
“Remus Lupin,” he said, shuffling the presents around so that he could stick his hand out.
“Sirius Black,” he responded, shaking Remus’ hand.
“I’m not sure if it’s nice to meet you,” Remus admitted.
Sirius chuckled. “I get that a lot,” he confessed, peeking out of the alley and deciding the coast was clear. They walked together for about five blocks and then turned into a residential neighborhood. “It’s just that one, there,” Sirius said, gesturing with his head towards a large white cottage with a stone wall around it. It looks homey and sweet with a front garden and little children running in and out, a lot of them red-haired and wild.
Remus walked behind Sirius, unsure of his place there. It seemed a bit off to be a twenty-five year old at the birthday party of a chid he didn’t know. Yet Sirius walked in so confidently that Remus couldn’t help keeping in step with him.
“Jamie!” Sirius called out, dumping his presents on the table with the others and hugging an attractive Desi man with wild hair and glasses. “This is Remus.”
Remus shuffled awkwardly under their twin gazes. Jamie was clearly looking Remus over, assessing him on behalf of his friend. Sirius was merely looking at him with a fond expression on his face. Remus remembered their kiss in the alleyway and felt himself blush.
“James Potter,” he said finally, holding out his hand. “Welcome to my son’s birthday party.”
“I’m so sorry to just show up like this,” Remus burst out before James had even finished speaking. “It’s just Sirius needed help carrying all the presents and he roped me into it and well he’s very difficult to say no to. He said he would give me a piece of cake but now that seems a bit inappropriate and I can get cake anywhere. I can leave if you want me to.”
James glanced over at Sirius. “I can see why you like him.”
“Oh, he fell for me right away,” Sirius joked, putting his arm around James’ shoulders. “Quite literally.”
James chuckled and shook his head. “Only you, Sirius,” he said in exasperation. “Come on then, Remus. If cake you were promised then cake you shall have.”
“Let them eat cake!” Sirius exclaimed, walking into the other room with James while Remus trailed behind them.
In the living room a small boy was seated on the sofa that looked almost exactly like a miniature version of James except his eyes were green instead of hazel and the frames of his glasses round instead of square. He was surrounded by other children his age of a bit older. They seemed to be playing telephone with each child whispering to the one beside them.
A red-haired woman came in with a tray of cheese and crackers, setting it on the coffee table in the center of the circle of children. Afterwards she walked out of the circle and came to stand beside James, Sirius and Remus.
“Oh, hello, who is this?” she asked, glancing over at Remus as if she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to recognize him or not.
“Remus. He’s my date,” Sirius said proudly.
“Your date,” she echoed slowly. “You brought a date to my son’s fifth birthday?”
Sirius shrugged. “Not intentionally.”
“This is my wife, Lily,” James spoke up quickly. “The love of my life who has promised not to kill my best friend.”
“It’s a real struggle sometimes,” Lily said, giving Sirius a hard stare of disapproval. “Anyways, you’re welcome here, Remus.”
“Thank you,” Remus said politely. He wondered if he should make an excuse to leave. He was intruding on a family moment with people he didn’t know. He didn’t even know Sirius, the person he had come in with. One kiss did not exactly make them acquainted.
Sirius slid over to Remus and laced their fingers together, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “See, you’re a hit already,” he said, beaming up at Remus.
“I don’t think resignation to your antics counts as acceptance,” Remus informed him softly. “I should probably go.”
“No, don’t go,” Sirius begged, holding onto his hand tightly. “I want you here.”
“Why?” Remus asked. “We just met.”
Sirius sighed and placed his head on Remus’ shoulder. “Do you really want to know?”
Sirius looked around and then led Remus outside to the backyard. There were two lawn chairs and they sat down side by side in them, their hands still connecting them.
“So, Lily, James and I all went to school together,” Sirius began, tilting his head up and looking at the sky wistfully. “They fell in love and got married pretty soon after school. I love them both and they’ve done everything they could to include me - made me best man at their wedding and Harry’s godfather. And I love it. I love everything they let me be a part of but it’s still not the same, you know? They’ve got their own family, they’re this little unit together. They’ve been married for six years now and I’m still on my own. Sometimes it’s hard coming here and watching them be a family when I’ve got no one of my own.”
Sirius tilted his head to the side to look at Remus. “Then today at the bookshop you crashed into me and it felt like sometime important was happening. I couldn’t just let you go on your way without seeing what this was - what it could be.”
Remus smiled. “You know you could have just asked for my number,” he teased, rubbing the inside of Sirius’ hand with his thumb.
“I know,” Sirius said quietly. “I just didn’t want to face another one of Harry’s birthdays alone. I honestly never thought I’d get you here.”
“You had me intrigued,” Remus admitted. “And chocolate cake is my weakness.”
Sirius chuckled. “Good to know.” He got up from his chair and walked over, sliding onto Remus’ lap. “Is there any chance you’re feeling even a fraction of what I am?”
Remus studied him for a moment. staring into those grey eyes as if transfixed. “I’d say so, yeah,” he said, his voice gone hoarse. He pulled his hand away from Sirius’ in favor of tangling it in Sirius’ hair and kissing him fiercely. Sirius smiled against his lips and then began to kiss him back.
“Oi, you two!” James called from the back door. “We’re about to sing happy birthday. Get off your arses and get in here!”
They broke the kiss and Remus found he couldn’t stop smiling as Sirius slid off his lap and held out his hand. “I promised you cake, didn’t I?” he asked with a smile of his own.
*Cropped the picture to only show the necessary portion. ^^
*Sorry Eva, I tried my best to make this sad. I don’t think it happened… >.<?
*This was supposed to be my additional entry for EreMika Week (Prompt: Birthday)… but my muse left me so this is almost three weeks too late. Sorry ;_;
He should be happy – jumping with joy, pure bliss in his heart, nothing but smiles on his face.
Eren picks up the small bundle of innocence in his arms and for a moment, as his finger tries to caress the baby’s cheek, his chest aches on why (goddammit why me?!) he had to go through such a painful experience-
His wife should be here – changing the diapers, nursing the baby, putting the child to sleep. She should be here to support him, to teach him on how to properly carry their babe, to berate him for his unneeded panics whenever a loud cry escapes the nursery as she says with a spatula in one hand, ‘Eren! Stop that. She’s only hungry you know?’ or ‘Daddy’s such a worrywart’.
She should be here so that he could show her how much he loves her, how much he cherishes her, how much he thanks her for giving him the most beautiful daughter in the world.
“Ne, little Eva, does mommy ever play with you while I’m sleeping?” he asks his child who replies with a melodious laugh.
“She does, right? Because she’s an angel… I wonder what she tells you. I bet it’s about how you should kick daddy’s ass if ever he screws up – big time.”
Eren lifts his baby and the child beams (with her excited emerald eyes) at her father. Little Eva is almost like a miniature Mikasa – minus the eyes and sunshine personality, that Eren couldn’t help but wonder if their daughter would take after his potty mouth once she grows up.
“There,” he says, placing his daughter on the crib. “I can’t believe you’re turning one in a few hours.”
The child stares at him as if trying to tell her father, ‘It’s all right Daddy, I’m sure Mommy’s happy as well.’
“I think your mother timed your birthday with hers so I can never forget the date.”
Little Eva reaches out her hands and Eren gently holds it.
“Like… how she timed her goodbye with her hello…”
His daughter laughs at him with her legs swinging in the air.
“Hm… How about I sing you a song?”
A hum immediately comes out of him, soft and solemn, like a mirror reflecting his heart.