(covering his ears) WHAT WAS THAT? SO YOU GUYS MEANT TO TELL ME THAT YOU *AREN'T* GETTING TOGETHER AND THAT YOU PROBABLY *WON'T* BE HOOKING UP UNTIL I FIND SOMEONE BEFORE YOU GUYS IS THAT RIGHT? YES? OKAY, GLAD WE HAD THIS TALK.
I'm sorry if I don't seem like I'm excited but it's hard to do over something I knew for a *very* long time...
You two totally deserve each other! And I don't mean that in the good way! Ha ha!
Does this mean I have to get a girlfriend too now?
(Melodramatically crying) I'm just *sniff* so happy that even *sniff* someone as hopeless as Ash *sniff* can find someone! *sniff* And it's all thanks to my hard work! *sniff* Miracles do happen. *sniff* And I'm the miracle worker.
(whispering) If she ever asks for us to go on a double date, please say no.
(Motioning to May) Will you guys please adopt me?
(After laughing for two minutes) I'm sorry, this is just, this is just, too much for me, I'm just... really happy Ash found some- (breaks into laughter again) Ow, my stomach is starting to hurt.
You're telling me this, why? No, this isn't rhetorical. Why are you telling me this? I demand an explanation.
Still doesn't prove anything. You're still a kid.
WATER AND LIGHTNING. THE TWO ANTIPODAL ELEMENTS OF NATURE THAT FREQUENTLY ARE AT ODDS WITH ONE ANOTHER, CONJOINED IN A PERFECT UNION WITH A TASTE SO VIOLENT AND TRANQUIL AND-
So you guys didn't say sil vous plait? Well I guess it's back to the drawing board...
Can you guys adopt Bonnie so she can stop doing this?
I'M SORRY FOR SCREAMING SO LOUD. YOU'RE ASKING ME WHY I SCREAMED? IT WAS A SCREAM OF... HAPPINESS. YES, HAPPINESS. AM I BEING LOUD STILL?
what about the s boys finding out their daughter lost her virginity
Shu - …Didn’t he warn you about this kind of thing… (at the behest of his lover, but still)? …Bring over the boy, now.
Reiji - Hahaha, not a smart move. Boyyyyyy, the punishments… He taught you to be more ladylike than this and not fall subject to such lewd desires.
Ayato - Wait? Which boy? Who? He is going to kill him, touching his little girl. Ore-sama is the only man supposed to be in her life dammit-
Laito - While he would feel protective over you, he isn’t really in the place to say anything to you… However, the boy might have a ‘chat’ with him.
Kanato - He has no interest in the subject as long as she was careful. He doesn’t want another rat in the house.
Subaru - Tch, who’s the guy? Do you love him, does he love you back, you wanted it right? He would be a bit of a protective, even a worried mess, but if you would assure him, he would ask to meet the guy (and perhaps make sure he will treat you perfect with a few threats).
Kino - Make lots and lots and looooooooots of minions, sil vous plait, por favor, please, jesus, he needs that army- Although, he might be… protective of who she did it with (he needs only the best minions after all and he still has some fatherly instinct damn it!).
imagine their junior team going up to montreal for their march break because hey, where is it easier for a group of dumb 17 yr olds to get alcohol poisoning and go clubbing than in montreal
jack is like ~whatever we’re doing this is guess. he doesnt like clubs but he figures if they get bottle service he can just sit in the booth all night helping himself to the overpriced vodka.
kent is fucked up by association and really not in a good place tm but he cant tell anyone, especially not jack, because hes the one whos supposed to keep it, keep them, keep jack, together. so hes drinking and taking whatever pills jack offers him. when the boys suggest clubbing, he says sure.
theyre walking down st laurant, on their way to club muzique (ofc they are) when jack asks kent “wanna get out of here?”
they head to the belle province (”a culinary institution,” jack says with the hint of a smile) they passed a little while ago. kent hates himself for being enamoured of the colloquial way jack orders (” ouais uh, 4
steamé all dressed, deux graisseuses pis uh, deux pepsi sil vous plait ) but then again, he accepted that a long time ago that he would always be a little in awe and a little in love with everything jack did.
when theyre done eating their hot dogs and fries, jack seems to be in a good mood and says “hey, ive got an idea, let’s go”
they walk down side streets until they reach a big grassy park on the side of a hill. jack starts heading for trees leading up the hill when kent asks where the hell he’s going.
“chill, there’s a trail. just- trust me” he puts his hand out for kent to take.
“ok,” kent says, and takes it.
“it’s three thirty in the goddamn morning and we’re climbing up the goddamn mount royal,” kent says a little while later, after tripping on a rock or tree root for the fourth time.
“stop whining kenny,” jack says, almost laughing
they reach the top just before dawn. they sit down on the closest bench to the edge in the observation area. jacks leans his head against kents shoulder. kent puts his arm around jack and entwines his fingers in his hair. from where they are, they can see the whole city.
“we’re at the top of the fucking world, zimms,”
they watch the sunrise and kent feels bad for wishing he could stay there forever.
if theres a heaven, this is it he thinks ,
i love you, he thinks.
“its like that stupid smiths song,” he says instead.
If you check out blameddimple’s latest tweet preference: ‘Not So Mysterious Tweet’ right HERE , this is the preference attached to it. She’s a cutie, so give her some love sil-vous-plait.
Your friends had been worried this would happen if you took up with Zayn. There was only a month until he had to go back on tour when he finally worked up the courage to take you out properly. You two had stretched the ‘We’re just friends’ line long ago and no one was buying it by the time he finally took you to a concert, his arms wrapped around your waist from behind almost the whole duration of the night. However, a month was the honeymoon phase. It was the time of sneaking out of bed before the other one woke up to brush your teeth and then quietly slide back underneath the blankets to pretend you woke up smelling minty fresh. The first month was when everything you did and said around each other could only be perceived as cute. If you had food in your teeth, it was adorable. If he made up a word that he swore was legit, it was the verbal equivalent of a bunny kissing another bunny while sitting in a teacup. A month was bliss and it was hard to leave one another after only a month because you didn’t have any fights yet. He hadn’t pissed you off with staying out til four in the morning yet and you hadn’t disgusted him with going an extra day without washing your hair. There were no moments of boredom between you. You didn’t know what it was like to want to be away from one another yet.
Please come out and join the real world.
Your best girlfriend texted you followed by a string of emojis that were so different that it made it impossible to know what she was trying to convey to you.
However, you weren’t hiding in your room. There were no tears and you were listening to Midnight Memories, nothing depressing to make you want to curl into the letter ‘s’ underneath the covers and feel sorry for yourself.
Standing at the other side of your room, resting your butt slightly on the window sill, you snapped a photo of a month’s worth of Polaroids from a camera that had once been your mother’s. It was ancient, but it worked and it saved you from buying a new overpriced one when they came back like you knew they would. Your favorite picture was right in the middle, Zayn sleeping with an open tube of barbecue pretzels over his chest. The photo of the sky turning from blue to purple to pink beside it and separating it from a selfie that he had taken of the two of you, all smiles as you waited in his car for the rain to stop so you could actually see while driving. At the bottom, closest your pillow, a picture of you and Zayn kissing sat, his arms around you while your hands were being devoured by the long sleeves of your coziest cream colored cardigan. While you didn’t know which friends of yours had taken it, you were incredibly grateful.
It might have just been a month, but you were grateful for all thirty one days where you had Zayn all to yourself. You didn’t have to share him with the world though people speculated that you two were more than just old friends to one another. Your Twitter following had gone from 100 people you knew and a random 17 all the way to about 4,023 strangers, most of them wanting to know if your intentions with Zayn were good.
Sighing, you glanced out your window over your shoulders. It was weird to not see Zayn’s car parked outside as he had practically lived at your house for the last month. You couldn’t keep your starry eyes off the photos for long though. You swiped the text messages off of your phone and opened up the camera, snapping a picture that seemed centered to you and posted it up on Twitter. It was complete coincidence that it popped up on his feed as soon as he landed, the first thing fresh on the top, bringing a goofy grin over his face.
“Is it [Y/N]?” Like a child living off of pixie sticks, Niall jumped up behind him, both hands on Zayn’s shoulders. He wanted to see the girl who had taken one of the moodiest people he knew and glued a grin to his face.
He was awake. You could hear his bear like clambering through the wall. While you were a little bit worried that he might find something embarrassing in your apartment like your roommate’s vibrator in the dishwasher or even your baby photo album tucked in the back of the linen closet at the end of the hall. Things with Louis were still fairly new. While you had been taking things slow since he spent half of your five months together in other countries, you had only began to sleep with one another with opened up a brand new opportunity for more firsts with one another. It was terrifying, but you were crossing your fingers that it would be worth it. Both of you knew heartbreak and were actively trying to avoid it while also not wishing to subject the other to another round.
Louis had told you from the start that he would never lie about you or hide you. There would be no separate cars to take you to and from dinners or alias to check into hotel rooms under. While you appreciated that he was proud to be with you, you were clinging to what was left of your anonymity. No media outlet had come right out and pegged you and Louis as a couple, but fans asked him outside of venues, shouting it as if they were about to be hit by semi trucks, and you saw the tweets that were suspicious that you were more than just some random friend of a friend to him.
Slowly, as you heard another cupboard slam somewhere in the house, you moved off of your stomach and turned around while pushing hair out of your face.
“I never pegged you for an early bird.” Yawning, you heard Louis coming back into the bedroom and told him. You had thought for sure that you would wake up with him snoring beside you, a small pond of drool collecting on your mattress under his jawline that was stronger than mankind at the moment.
“I’m not when I’m in my own bed.” Louis shrugged as he came into the room backwards, using his butt to open up your painted white door. He had a tray in his hands, but the smell entered first. You sat up immediately as your nose identified sugar and butter coming your way. Louis might have often been surrounded by models and wannabes, but he was a huge fan of your appetite and the fact that you satisfied it regularly.
He turned to you and, without meaning to, you knelt your head and waved your arms down as if you were a humble peasant in the same room as The King of Siam. The man had waffles with fresh berries on them which was a clear indication to you that he had ran out to the store down the street from your place because you knew that in all the time you had lived in that apartment, there had never been any dragon fruit present. There was dragon fruit. The man thought you were worthy of an exotic cactus species.
He put the tray down right in front of you on the bed, the presentation just as impressive as his effort and the smell of buttermilk waffles. He even made a smoothie.
“This is so sweet!” You gushed, jetting out your bottom lip and looking up at him with eyes that couldn’t believe what they were feasting on. As if you had found someone who did something so sweet for you unprompted. The nicest thing your former boyfriend ever did for you was put in a pair of your jeans in with his wash, but he had wound up shrinking them in the attempt. “There’s a smoothie!” Throwing your hands together at your chest, you nearly shouted. You kept looking up at his blue eyes, bashfully staring down at his meal, but you couldn’t keep your gaze off of the breakfast. It was so nice that you almost didn’t want to eat it. “And I know you’re not just doing this to bang me because we’ve already slept together.”
Louis finally laughed. He wanted you to be happy with breakfast, but he hadn’t been expecting this production of a response. Shaking his head, he leaned in and kissed you, patting your bedhead down while running his fingers through your hair as his lips left yours, the taste of his own smoothie on his tongue.
“I know, I look like I’ve been on a bender when I wake up. It’s like I start to erode when I fall asleep.” Laughing at yourself, you picked up the fork and cut into a corner of the fresh waffle. He was a musician, a sex czar, and a budding Gordon Ramsey. You weren’t sure how you weren’t going to do it, but you were going to keep Louis if it was the last thing you ever did.
“You’re beautiful.” As he was chuckling at you, watching you eat as his reward for slaving over the stove and cutting board, Louis said with only sincerity in his happy raspy voice. Your cheeks puffed out with your first bite and you slid the prongs of your silverware out slowly, eying him with round pupils. Was he even real at this point?
Louis reached over from the edge of the bed he was sitting at and helped himself to a piece of dragonfruit, popping it into his mouth and kissing you again as soon as the fork was away from your mouth.
You kept reading the tiny card between your fingers over and over again, his cursive messy at best.
It was as if you weren’t literally surrounded by twelve dozen bouquets of a dozen roses. 144 days. You had to scroll through your phone’s history to figure it out yourself, finding a picture of your best friend standing with her thumbs up and goofy face in front of a blue fridge with alphabet magnets scattered over it. That was the night you met Harry at your friend’s cousin’s friends party. You hadn’t even wanted to go, but since your best friend had just finished her last exam for the year, you felt like the least you could do was make an appearance. It turned out to be a damn good thing you showed up because sitting on a lawn chair, drinking a beer and making a spider dog (or trying to) was Harry and he was instantly enamored by the vision of you behind crackling flames over broken logs of wood.
It had been a 144 days ago, you couldn’t believe that it had been so long. Even more, you couldn’t believe Harry had kept count.
Snapping a picture you felt like you needed proof of how wonderful things felt especially if in the next 144 days you wanted to look back and remember fondly over the time your boyfriend had a truck load of roses delivered to you while he was on the other side of the world.
You called him, but it went straight to voice mail. So you texted him an all capitals ‘Thank you. I love you xx’ and waited until your friend came over to take a picture of yourself lying in the middle of the circle of roses, sending him the one that you two thought was the funniest before going on Twitter and posting one of just the flowers. Everyone knew you and Harry were a couple. You had been spotted backstage more times than you could count and your ship name had people arguing from over the oceans via the Internet, but you still didn’t come right out and say, ‘Oh, look at what Harry did’. You decided to be low profile about it, cryptic.
You were too happy to not share. What was the point of celebrating a 144 days if you couldn’t share with the world how joyous you felt?
Instantly, your phone was blowing up from notifications most of them made up of heart eyed emoticons and exclamation points, but your friend was quick to read out the gem, “I hope you prick your finger on all of them and die, bitch’, causing you to laugh. Nothing was going to bring you down today not when you were so clearly the luckiest girl on the planet.
“You got them? Great.” On the other end of the phone, Harry sighed. He checked his phone as soon as he wrapped the mic check in Chicago and smiled at the photograph you had sent to him. “You look so cozy. I wish I could have delivered them in person.”
“I was so surprised!” You gushed, reaching out to touch one of the yellow bulbs for what must have been the umpteenth time. “I don’t have enough surfaces for all of them, one is on the ledge of my bath tub.” You chuckled, glad he found it funny too. “They smell so good, but I have a question…”
“What?” Harry asked, wiping at his chin underneath his mop of crazy locks.
“How did you know we have been together for a 144 days?”
Harry didn’t say a word for a moment. You were waiting for a cute answer, but suddenly you worried that he was going to say something to rain on the day of sunshine he had created.
“Math…” He slowly answered.
“I just know, okay?” He was a little bit embarrassed that he knew it, but Harry’s life was highly organized at the hands of other people, so it wasn’t difficult for him to track back to any given date especially the ones that mattered the most to him.
“Okay.” Nodding, you let it go, sensing his flushed cheeks through the telephone. “I love you and I’ve loved every day with you.” You couldn’t resist matching his cheesiness. “Is that a smile I hear?”
“God, you’re cute.” He laughed instead of agreeing, the smile you sense growing into a mega watt grin.
When he was in town, Saturday was your breakfast day. You two would either meet somewhere where you could gorge on a greasy full English fry up, wake up together and slowly make your way to a fancy hotel restaurant for a buffet, or get together with friends at Trof and chow down amongst laughter and good music.
During his time off, you two had been spoiled by all the weekends together. There were morning meals at his Gran’s, on a plane to Madrid for a week, and even in bed cooked by yourself while he caught an extra hour of sleep. There was even a couple Saturdays where you had a quick hair of the dog together, curled up on the couch, nursing well-earned hangovers.
This was the first Saturday in months where you weren’t going to participate in your tradition. You woke up hungry, but without the excitement of a leisurely meal with your man. Niall’s off color jokes weren’t being made over the sound of the shower head pouring warm water down your back. His cologne didn’t waft through the room as you shuffled into the nearest pair of black leggings. He wasn’t singing Frank Sinatra animatedly as you made you put on a little makeup, just in case there were photographers or people looking for pictures since there usually were both. It just wasn’t the same.
You went to the kitchen lazily, barely moving your knees, the promise of cornflakes in your future. Only seconds awake from pouring milk into your bowl of dry cereal, the doorbell rang causing you to scrunch up your whole face the way you did right before letting out a sneeze from Hell.
For a moment, you convinced yourself that it would be Niall and ran to answer it. However, he would have just used his key to let himself in. You weren’t expecting any friends since your best friend was away with her family and the delivery men didn’t generally do any delivering on Saturdays. Surprising you even more, a man stood in a Julia & Joe’s Bakery blue apron and matching ball cap in front of you.
“Hello?” Holding open the door with your fingers curled around it, sizing him up. He was holding a large white box and, even though he clearly came from a bakery, you expected there might be a bomb inside of it.
“Special delivery.” He grinned, holding out both his hands for you to take the box, literally, off of his hands.
You were skeptical, but stepped forward just slightly in your fluffy slippers to do so. As the man skipped away, you shut the door and locked it behind you. There was no ticking sound, but you were sure there was such a thing as a silent bomb. On top of the box was a sealed envelope with your name on it, so you carefully bent down to read its contents. The writing was so clearly Niall’s, his chicken scratch a lot like Theo’s.
Enjoy Saturday brek without me … if ya can haha
The message was on thick, but plain One Direction letterhead, but it felt as sweet as any perfume sprayed love note. Feeling a little safer, you sat down on the welcome mat by the door and opened up the box, the best looking pastries of your life waiting for your mouth and stomach. When Niall Horan delivered, he delivered.
No one thought you and Liam would wind up together. You two could not have been more different. The expression ‘Toe-MATE-toe, Toe-MAT-toe’ actually summed you both up completely, but it worked somehow. Like vinegar and oil on a salad. His interests were so different from your own, but you always tried to take part in them even if they were going for long morning runs or partying until the sun was back up in the sky. In return, Liam was your biggest supporter. He tried to help you study for your finals even though he wasn’t sure what your textbooks were even written for. He watched your favorite show with you, even over Skype when he was away, despite the fact that his friends would give him shit about it. You were different, but you cared about one another and that was what kept you two a step above the rest.
Some people didn’t have love. They had routine and similarities, but they didn’t have that suffocating indescribable feeling that was inconvenient, but so wonderful that it should have been edible. So, you considered yourself a lucky one. Liam had even tattooed that on his chest with a horseshoe. It was your secret relationship name that you two had come up with while staying in bed past noon many Sundays ago.
Back and forth, you sent one another little letters while he was away. It was supposed to be a cute way to stay in touch. After hearing about how your own grandparents had done that when they were courting each other back in the day, you two began. This Monday was different though. You went to your small mailbox on the main floor and were greeted by a note telling you to go to the caretaker’s office for a package.
“I hope that’s not a euphuism.” Joking and not all at once, you told the girl beside you who was also clearing out her mailbox. You ignored the bills waiting in the slot and went straight for the caretaker’s office down the hall, poking your head into the door where a huge box was sitting on the desk. You laid your knuckles against the door’s frame, but the office was vacant so you walked right in to find your name sitting on the box.
Hugging it, you carried it up to your fourth floor apartment and ran down the hall to get back into your small place to open it up, taking scissors to the over taped box with Lite Brite eyes. As soon as you pushed all the white tissue you aside, you grinned at the pair of Timberlands waiting inside, fresh as the ones Liam loved to wear around. You teased him that he looked like a lumberjack in them, saying he was going to be shipped to Canada if he wore them around too much, but you did like them. They were very much him.
Before Liam, the idea of being matchy-matchy with your boyfriend made you gag. There was a girl in one of your classes who always wore a ‘he’s mine’ sweatshirt next to her boyfriend in a ‘she’s mine’ one and you actually felt a wave of second hand embarrassment for them. However, you finally understood it as you felt the soft fabric of the new shoes in your hand. You couldn’t wait to put them on and walk in sync with your boyfriend, his hand holding yours in the protective way it did, gripping over your fingers instead of curling them together.
Stretching your legs out on the bed, you put the shoes on your feet and took a picture for Liam along with a voice message that had just over ten ‘thank you’s’ in it.
Arthur was wrongly sent to an Asylum by his father. An Asylum with medieval treatments that looked more like torture than a proper medical treatments. But in the middle of a fight to keep his sanity, Arthur met Francis. Now he needed to escape with Francis from that hellhole.
Rating: Suitable for teens, 13 years and older
Warnings: Mild references to torture, TERRIBLLY WRONG treatments (that should never exist), Angsty and Major Character Death. And Engrishi is not my first language (I tried very hard, and I hope that I didn’t make too much mistakes ._.)