rolling stones tee shirt

Cozy Harry.

request for @tayloralisonstyles13

word count: 605


Going to the gym was great way to start your day, so you thought. The gym is normally the one place you’re completely yourself and can release all tension and anger. However, today wasn’t that way for you. You got there and were supposed to be doing sumo squat pulses and managed to fall on your ass in front of your trainer and the person who will be taking her place in a few weeks. 

After you humiliated yourself at the gym, all you wanted to do was curl up and take a nap, so that was exactly what you did. After your nap you decided to shower and pull yourself together before your one class of the day. After your shower you pulled on a pair of Lulu Lemon leggings with Harry’s Rolling Stones tee shirt and one of his old TMH era flannels. You chucked on your favorite beat up pair of converse and set out to class. Just as class was about finished your professor handed out previous midterm exams. Expecting a low grade, maybe a 70%, you were surprised when you got a 32%. You let out a loud sigh, noticeably upset; your friend Karley gave you her bag of jelly beans in the hopes of cheering you up. Everything works temporarily and thats what those did for you. You hopped on the bus and headed home.

Once you made it home, you realized that there were chores to be done. Between laundry and dishes there was no time to take a break. You did the chores slowly, listening to music and waiting for your boyfriend of 9 months to get home! He wasn’t set to be home until around 6:30 due to the fact that he was at the studio working on his new album. Knowing Harry, he would want a home cooked meal when he returned from his busy day so you set out to the grocery store to pick up chicken breasts, quinoa, and kale to make a semi-healthy dinner. When you returned home it was about 6 meaning that it was time to start cooking. You grilled the chicken breasts in a balsamic reduction, cooked the quinoa and made a kale salad. As you were plating, Harry walks in the door whistling a tone you recognized as Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac. 

“Something smells lovely,” he says 

“Hope it is,” you reply

“I’m sure it’s wonderful!” 

You set both plates on the island and sit next to him. You talk about your days, he tells you how great his day at the studio was and you tell him how shitty yours was.

“I failed my midterm, H,” you mumble

“Something to work towards next time,” he says comforting you

“It’s been a god awful day, I just wanna cuddle.” you say meeting his gaze

“Let me do the dishes, then I’m all yours,” he says softly

You nod your head and decide to go put one of his sweaters on.

You settle on the purple sweater he wore in Australia a few years ago. (I know Gemma now possesses this but imagine!)

Harry finishes up the dishes around 15 minutes later and makes his way to the master bedroom. 

He plops down on the made bed and opens his arms for you. You crawl over to him and lay comfortably with your head on his chest and legs intertwined. 

“Thanks for holding me, H,” you say softly

He chuckles 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, petal. I love you loads” he replies

You doze off in his arms.

Originally posted by styleshoran

You hummed along to a song playing from your iPod as you kept your eyes trained on the eggs frying away in the pan, tapping your foot against the floor. A typical Sunday morning usually consisted of you getting up early to make a delicious breakfast, the smell wafting all the way upstairs to Harry, and that would trigger Harry to pad downstairs sleepily to see what you were making. 

On this particular morning, you hadn’t even taken notice that Harry was already sat at the counter (he had strolled into the kitchen quietly when you had just started to cook), staring at you fondly as you bopped around the kitchen. It was when the song reached your favourite part (it was a guitar solo, by the way) that you used your spatula and pretended to play along, bouncing up and down while singing alone. When you turned around, you nearly let out a shriek at the sight of Harry already sitting there. 

“Oh, please. Don’ stop because of me.” Harry snorted, his eyes crinkling at the sides as he let out a laugh at the look of shock on your face. 

“What are you doing here?” You gasped, turning the music down a little as your cheeks grew red. Sunday mornings were your alone times, and alone times meant singing and dancing as crazily as possible - Something that Harry had never seen before. “You’re not usually down here till I finish making breakfast!” 

“Came down a little earlier than usual, no biggie. I was jus’ watchin’ yeh, s’all. Real cute when you’re bouncin’ around the kitchen singin’ a song and wearin’ nothing but one of my shirts.” Harry raised a brow, gesturing to his Rolling Stones tee that was currently adorning your body. “No wonder all my shirts are beginning to disappear, you little thief.” 

“I’ll make it up to you by blending up a banana smoothie?” You offered sheepishly, reaching down to tug at the cotton material of the shirt. 

“A banana smoothie, and another guitar solo, if you will.”


gif isn’t mine!

is it just me or has tumblr been kinda dead lately???

Okay but a Barduil fic where Bard and Thranduil live in the same small town and are members of rival dad bands that do dad covers of dad rock, and the town fair is coming up and obviously both bands are guaranteed a slot because the whole point of town fairs is to give dad bands their time to shine, but who is getting the better spot

Bard does backup vocals and plays bass and wears plaid and drinks beer and owns a pickup truck that he sort of willingly uses to help people in the neighborhood move (“I fucking hate owning a truck,” he mutters to Sigrid as he helps lead guitarist Dave move yet again, and he realizes only in retrospect that this was the first time he cursed in front of his eldest daughter). He loves the Rolling Stones and the Stone Roses. He owns a lot of concert tee shirts bought from all the concerts and wears them under all that aforementioned plaid. He was full on grunge in the early 90s, except for that period when he discovered night clubs and the city and anyway there’s some pictures of him in a mesh shirt and leather pants that he’s got to make sure his children never find. He’s doing better these days. He bakes, if not well than at least earnestly. He’s active in the elementary school PTA, and he couches Sigrid’s softball team. Everyone’s forgotten that horrible year after his wife died, or at least they don’t mention it to his face, and the old women at the Humane Society keep clucking at him that he should start dating. He takes his kids fishing every other weekend, and lets Bain drink his first beer after they reel in this monster of a trout. Then Tilda reels in an even bigger one and insists on having a beer too. Bard lets her take a sip and then happily finishes off the rest of the can himself. The radio they brought plays “Sweet Home  Alabama.” When Bard mentions how much Thranduil would hate this song, his children all roll their eyes. 

Thranduil is lead vocalist. That’s it. He is a fair hand at the piano (someone’s got to tutor his son) but in the band, he just sings and that should be enough. He’s got classical training, after all: he was in several musicals in high school and college. He gets half the solos at church, and he knows he makes the Lord proud. (”I could get solos at church if I wanted,” Bard mutters, and Sigrid’s like, “Da, we’re Quakers.”) Thranduil’s band covers a lot of Bowie and Joy Division, because they are the edgy dad band. They also do Queen, because Thranduil knows in his heart of heart that he can sing as well if not better than Freddie Mercury. His son Legolas jokes that Thranduil should just start singing “Somebody to Love” every time he and Bard share a room, and Thranduil goes, “Good idea, that way he’ll know to fear my falsetto.” Thranduil has been the president of every PTA he’s been in since Legolas started preschool (”He is a tyrant,” hisses Linda once a year, which is not untrue but she’s just saying that because she’d prefer the tyrant be her), and he hosts a shocking amount of events at his home. A decent amount of Legolas’ class has had a birthday party at Thranduil’s home; after the incident with Tauriel’s family, she practically lives there. It’s fine, Thranduil always demurs when people worry that they are imposing, he loves playing host. If anyone thinks it’s because that house is too big for just the two of them, they don’t mention it to his face. Thranduil’s basement is full of records. As is the main floor, the second floor, and the attic. The only room that doesn’t have records is the wine room, which just has wine. Bard doesn’t like wine. Thranduil knows that because he offered him wine once, perhaps you could claim if you were cynical as a bribe so Bard would give up the prime town fair time slot he has. Bard turned him down in no uncertain terms. So Thranduil’s just saying, if it is to be war between the dad bands, it is entirely Bard’s fault. 

“Sorry that Da’s being so weird about this,” Bain tells Legolas as they walk home together after school. 

Legolas shrugs. “My father’s always weird about everything.” 

Behind them, Tilda scuttles to keep up with the teenagers’ lanky legs. She needs to get home for rehearsal. Da said she could be in the band because she’s getting so good at the tambourine. When Thranduil finds out about this, he will accuse Bard of exploiting his youngest’s cuteness to secure the main act time slot. 

“How dare you,” Bard exclaims, which is not the same as a denial. Thranduil glares fiercely over his agenda for the next PTA meeting. Both men are having more fun than they have had in years. They’ve never had a nemesis before.

i think i loved you
the day i met you
even though your tee shirt
smelled vaguely of cannabis
and your breath of alcohol 
and you slammed doors 
hoping i’d jump out of my shoes. 

i didn’t know then 
that you would spend the 
rest of our time together
unintentionally opening doors
that i never knew existed, 
scaring me much further 
than the boots that
 adorned my feet. 

i knew i loved you
 the day i nearly tripped
over a loose rock that
was supposed to be laid in the 
cobblestone around a fountain
in a park, but instead
of letting me fall 
your arms wrapped 
around my waist
and i inhaled
your scent. 

your tee shirt still
smelled vaguely of cannabis
but by then it was infused
with my perfume
and while i still tasted 
the alcohol when we kissed, 
i found it was a substance
that i could see myself
getting addicted to.

i still love you
even though i try
to convince myself that i don’t,
because i ran away
when i got too scared, 
but every song on the radio
sounds like your heartbeat
and every time i
slip on my boots my
heart still skips a beat. 

you always told me
that addictive substances
were no good for me
and maybe it was the drugs
on your tee shirt
or the vodka
on your tongue
but i don’t want to
let you go, even though
i’m the one who

i think i’ll always love you,
a part of me anyway,
the part that regrets never
saying goodbye but is too
afraid to apologize,
the part that keeps
your rolling stones tee shirt
in the back of her closet
but never wears it because
it could never fill the void
your arms often had. 

the smell of cannabis
has long since passed
due to multiple loads of laundry
and I no longer
have access to your
alcohol infused lips,
and maybe that’s
a good thing because
i’ve always been told that
i have an addictive personality,
and maybe the
intensity of our love
proved that theory true,
but i’d never be so stupid
to think that addictive substances
could substitute for you.

—  (e.w.)
Sympathy for the Devil

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I woke to the steady patter of the rain against my dorm window. Normally, the sound was soothing and lulled me to sleep, but tonight it was different. It held a more dissonant, ominous note, as if the night itself pressed against the glass. I admit that when I first moved in at the beginning of the year, I was ecstatic about having a room with a window overlooking the forest and the marsh beyond it; now, however, it seemed as though the very trees sought to cover the secrets that the darkness could not. The way they bent and bowed and the way the leaves fell softly in a pirouette towards the earth; it all had a dreamlike quality about it, though the dream they portrayed was not a pleasant one.

3:42 a.m. Damn. I hate waking up in the middle of the night like this, but every night, almost like clockwork, it happens. It was really starting to fuck with my grades. 

“Maybe I should look into sleeping pills,” I thought as I clicked the lock button on my phone plunging myself back into the abyss. I rolled over away from the window and let out a heavy sigh, attempting to force myself back into subconsciousness. Just as the comforting hands of sleep started to welcome me back into the dream world, I thought I heard something outside, beneath my window 3 stories down. A child. A girl specifically. From the sound of her voice, she couldn’t have been older than 7 or 8. It sounded as if she was singing a lullaby. Slowly, I sat up and peered down, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever was out there.

For the longest time I saw nothing but the sheets of rain and the ground occasionally illuminated by the stray bolt of lightning here and there. Just as I was about to lay back down, I saw what looked like the tail end of a child’s dress disappearing into the woods amidst the underbrush and fallen tree limbs. Without thinking, I jumped out of bed and quickly threw on my shoes and Rolling Stones tee shirt that was laying over the back of the chair. In almost record time, I was out of the door and running through the monsoon in search of the little girl. She couldn’t have gotten far, not in this; I ventured into the darkened forest where I had seen her enter.

It seemed like an eternity that I searched for her, but it couldn’t have been more than 15 minutes. It even seemed like I was going in circles, even though I knew that wasn’t possible… was it? I didn’t really know anymore, the storm made everything so disorienting, especially in the trees at night. Come to think of it, I had never actually been in the woods at all. At this point, I was convinced that I had been seeing things. I resigned myself to trudge back through the mud and rain to dry off and knock myself out if necessary just to get some damn sleep. I turned back in the direction of the dorm only for something white to catch my attention; a ripped piece of fabric. I told myself that it could be from anything and that I should just go back to my dorm and forget about it. But there was something clawing at me, something itching in the back of my mind on the edge of nothingness, refusing to be ignored.

Suddenly, every hair on my arms and neck stood straight up. Primal instincts kicked in, telling me to drop whatever I was doing and GTFO now. I wanted to run, to sprint through the trees and reach the safety of my dorm, but I seemed rooted in place. Out of apparently nowhere, a small girl came skipping out of the nearby brush humming a nursery rhyme as if nothing around her existed, as though there was no pelting rain or gale force winds. I thought I must be going mad. I assumed she would keep bounding into the forest from the way she carried herself, but to my shock, she came to a very unnatural halt about 20 feet away from me. 

“Leave!” my instincts screamed at me. “Get the fuck out!” I told myself with every fiber of my being. I couldn’t tear myself away from the spot, though; my eyes were locked on this seemingly innocent young child. Seemingly innocent. Lightning flashed and a loud clap of thunder overhead sent a new wave of fear down my spine, the likes of which I had never experienced or even knew existed; a fear to so primal and base, that the word fear did not even apply to it.

In the midst of all my fear, the little girl smiled at me. It started small and innocent, just like a child. But then it began to grow into something unnatural. Behind the smile, I could see a row of teeth as jagged and sharp as the lightning overhead. She began laughing, but it was not a little girl’s laughter; it wasn’t even human. It was a laughter that was deep and brutish, and almost duo-tone, as if two laughs and voices had been recorded and placed over each other. The sound of it sent more than a few chills through me. Her snow white dress began to drench from the shoulders down in a deep crimson shade of red, almost like a mixture of blood and hell fire. Her head began to tilt back, slowly. I could hear the bones and vertebrae start to pop and snap as the back of her head came to rest against her spine. I saw a vertical slit start to open in her throat and descend down her body as the flesh, muscle, and bones began to fall away. Slowly, another being emerged from the decaying carcass; first the class pushed through followed by arms that were too long to belong to any human. A head emerged with a look made solely of the most pure form of evil followed by a torso half decayed showing ribs and rotted innards. Next came the legs and feet, part human, part animal. I knew what this creature was; it was something I’d only heard about in a book. An old book. But taking one look at this supremely malevolent being, I knew it could only be the devil himself. I stared into his abysmal eyes unable to look away; that stare in itself could have killed and seared the soul away from its still breathing shell.

Finally, I ran. I ran as if the apocalypse itself nipped at my heels; for all I knew, it did. I ran for ages or so it felt like. At last, I emerged into the yard of my dorm building and into the safety of the street light nearby. I collapsed onto the ground, letting the rain wash over me, mixing with the sweat from so much exertion, letting my logical brain catch up with what I had just witnessed. Finally, I picked myself up off the ground and began to make my way up the three flights of stairs back to my room. I needed a shower and one hell of a cup of coffee.

As I entered my room, I threw off my wet clothes and hung them over the clothes rack for them to dry. Slowly, I walked to the bathroom feeling half dead and turned on the shower. As I waited for the water to get warm, I peered into the mirror, feeling a sense of relief that when the sun rose I could make sense of everything that had happened. Subtly, almost too subtle for me to catch it, I saw my eyes slowly start to change color, drifting through every shade and hue of every color. I could have sworn that they even started to swirl. I heard a voice then, not from the woods, not from my room, but from within my own head, my own mind. That monstrous sound; as deep, demented, and evil as it was. There was no mistaking that duo-tone voice, not after hearing it laugh so clearly only moments before. It could only have been the entity I experienced in the woods. Him. It could only be him. “Welcome home.”

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