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daydreamgoddess14 · 9 months

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Red Card

MASTERLIST

Roy Kent x F!Reader

It's the first time in 135 years that the Premier League has allowed a female referee to official a match... Remaining neutral is absolutely key. Plenty of fluff and smut and flirting 😏

The anticipation was at a whole different level. For the first time in history, a woman would referee a Premier League football game. The FA had played a blinder from a marketing perspective - a local girl from Richmond itself - refereeing a Richmond vs. Man City match - the top two finishing teams of the previous season. Sky Sports, BT Sport, Match of the Day, ESPN… every single football broadcaster or news outlet was on site. It couldn’t get any more high profile. It had been all anyone had talked about for weeks on end. Roy was sick of hearing about it, talking about it, and reading about it.

“New Trent?”

“What do you think about a woma-”

“Reffing the next match? It’s about fucking time. Should have been done years ago. The league might be saying all the right things and making a big deal out of it, but it’s only disguising the fact that they haven’t bothered utilising female referees until now.”

“And what do you think of the referee chosen for the match?”

“Did I offer you a fucking follow up, New Trent? She’s a fantastic ref, and has a great eye. I’ve seen her run some lower league matches and it’s high time she had a role in the Prem.” He looked around for his next victim, “You with the… bald spot?”

“And will you be saying the same thing if she books one of the lads next week or a decision doesn’t go your way?”

“Course I fucking will. I don’t suddenly change my opinion of any of the other refs? We’ve all got jobs to do and roles to play. I don’t think we can ask for anything more than for any of the referees to be fair and equal. I don’t give a shit who we’re on about, that applies to all of them.” He looks around for any other burning questions, “Right, fuck off then you lot. I’m done for the day.” He rose from the desk and left the bustle of the press conference. In the office, Beard and Nate were looking over plans for the next week while the team milled around the gym and treatment rooms.

“Tough presser?” Beard asked.

“No more than fucking usual. All anyone is talking about is the new-”

“Female ref? The news is everywhere. As if the match wasn’t high profile enough as it is.” Nate filled in, a bundle of nervous energy.

“Yeah, well we’ll be fine. Just gotta make sure the boys keep their heads down. The new ref isn’t their problem, they don’t need to even be thinking about that.”

“But they will, because that’s all they’re hearing about. We haven’t had this much press coverage for ages, the match sold out months ago. They may not have to think about her, but the whole situation does impact their whole build up to the game.” Beard declared.

“Right, get ‘em in here.” Roy grimaced. Nate dashed off to assemble the team. “Alright lads?” There were a few murmurs and replies. “I know there’s a lot of noise around this one - some of it is to do with us and the City game, some of it is none of our business. I suggest you steer clear of the news for a few fucking days. There’s no need to watch it at all. No Twatter or whatever you fucking use. Just stay off that shit for the rest of the week, yeah? Any news you need, you hear from us. I want to keep the positivity we’ve got for the new ref, so if you’re asked about it by the paps on the car park, be fucking nice. Otherwise, you don’t watch or listen to all of the fucking fuss about the weekend, alright?”

“Coach.” Isaac nodded in agreement, the other players followed his lead.

~~~~~~~

The noise was deafening, the stadium packed to the rafters. You hovered at the side of the pitch with the other officials, warming up until it was time for the meet and greet of the team managers. The two managers were like fucking titans of football royalty. You were about to meet Pep Guardiola for god sake. And if you even think for one second about meeting Roy Kent, you might just pee your pants. Pep is great, wonderful - the boss! But you grew up not twenty minutes down the road, so Roy is firstly, the literal definition of local hero, and secondly, the big crush of your early 20s. You spent many Euro Championships and World Cups in the pub singing his chant and ogling his legs. Fortunately when the Premier League and media ask about your neutrality, they don’t ask whether you’ve experienced sexual fantasies about any of the players or managers. At least you’d only be admitting that about one person and not, like, a whole team. And you would never admit it publicly. The home crowd roars as the Richmond team is announced, you make your way to the space between the two dugouts ready to greet the players. They all shake your hand as they pass you, with a few nods of encouragement and words of support. The same applies to the Man City team, you’re determined not to be starstruck in front of Pep Guardiola so you shake his hand with a big smile and wish his team luck. You turn to Roy Kent and his large hang engulfs yours. You whack on your big smile and offer the same affirmation as you did to Pep. On the pitch, you speak momentarily with the two captains and blow your whistle for go time.

The trouble with Premier League football is just that, it's Premier League. Top flight. The best of the best. Keeping pace with these players was a job in itself, being in the action without impacting it or getting in the way was another, and being the all seeing, all knowing one was… yet another. Your mind (and body) are pulled from goalpost to goalpost, and it's really no surprise that the referee is often blamed for poor decisions. It's impossible to see every single thing that happens on the pitch. You're making good decisions so far, nothing out of the ordinary. Shortly before halftime, one of the Richmond defenders nearly dislocates his shoulder, going in hard on Haaland. It feels cruel to punish him, but it's part of the job, so you have to award Man City the free kick. From the other side of the pitch, you can hear Roy Kent over the sound of 60,000 people screaming the same thing. Haaland scores, of course. You hang back while the teams leave the pitch at halftime, but he's waiting for you in the tunnel.

"The fuck did you give a free kick for?!"

"You shouldn't be collaring me out here, but to answer your question, the tackle was too much."

"Bullshit, it was a fair tackle and McAdoo would have hurt himself more than Haaland."

"Bullshit. Haaland has got about 5 inches and half a stone on McAdoo."

"5 inches is fucking nothing." He smirks.

"Really?” You arch an eyebrow at him, “did you seriously choose today to make a dick joke?" Utter disbelief is written all over your face, you shake your head and leave him cursing himself in the tunnel. Halftime was supposed to be a moment to catch your breath, not waste it on fighting with Roy Kent. You knew better than to get into it with managers. They saw the action from the sidelines and only had so much impact and influence. They took their lack of control out on officials all the time, it was supposed to be your job to stay calm and walk away, not engage. You ignore him on your way back to the pitch, he's just inside the exit of the tunnel and he could be there to apologise but he could very much be there to shout at you some more. The second half is just as eventful, Richmond are pushing hard for at least an equaliser, and Man City are loath to let them get it. When Obisanya has a shot on goal, which goes wide, City are pleading for a goal kick, but it's not. You award the corner, and Rojas sweeps a beautiful pass into Tartt, who sends the ball straight into the corner of the net. City scores again shortly afterwards, and you have to keep your head to make sure no one is deliberately trying to cause injury to anyone else. When Tartt goes down just outside the area, you request VAR footage to aid your decision before calling for a free kick. He scores, but it's an immediate offside and Roy Kent looks like he might explode. When play resumes, Colin Hughes gets a goal straight away. The game ends in a 2-2 draw, but the fans and teams both seem appeased.

~~~~~

By the time the press conferences are over, Roy's had more than enough. He (respectfully) disagreed with your first free kick decision, but praised your other choices and overall declared you "No better or worse than the other pricks." The stadium is starting to clear, and the Man City bus has just left. Richmond players make plans to get food at Ola’s. When Roy sees two of the officials only just leaving, he sends the others ahead and makes his way down to the away team and visitors facilities.

“I hope you’re here to apologise.” She states dryly as he approaches.

“Yeah,” he looks bashful, “the dick joke was a dick move. Sorry.” She looks so serious, he’s not sure the apology is accepted until he spies a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Was pretty funny. In alternative circumstances.”

“Noted. Congratulations anyway, noise from the press has all been good so far.”

“Nice to know my performance will be scrutinised forever while every mediocre male referee gets a pass for another week.”

“I’m sure your performance will only improve.” He inwardly groaned. She was going to laugh in his face. A dick joke and then godawful flirting? It was only what he deserved.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll pass that direct quote on to The Sun.”

“They’ll have a fucking field day. Richmond manager does shit job at flirting with the only female ref in the league? They’ll probably go and interview the poor woman I called my girlfriend when we were in year 6.”

“Flirting?”

“No,” he scoffed, “no, course not. I didn’t mean that. Just a joke.” You cocked your head at him,

“Should we start again? Hi, you must be Roy Kent, I’m the first female referee in a Premier League game in 31 years. Well, actually it’s more like 135 years but the FA are trying to make themselves look marginally better.”

“Nice to meet you. Great job on the match, I respectfully, completely, disagree with that fucking free kick in the first half but other than that… no complaints.” He steps closer, you’re showered and changed but he can still smell the fresh grass mingling with the citrus and spice of the products you use. The combination is incredible - like summer and sunshine.

“I wouldn’t give a shit if you did have any complaints. Looking after your feelings isn’t in my job description.” You take in his height, broad shoulders and dark eyes and the long dormant crush rises to the surface immediately. You hadn’t taken much notice since you stopped having posters on your walls all those years ago, you’d only caught a few of his appearances as a pundit. He’s gorgeous, despite his surly appearance there’s an unmistakable twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Like he’s having fun with whatever this tension is that bubbles between you. And when he does smile at your commitment to fairness, it takes your breath away.

“Good to know the FA can rely on you staying neutral then.” He says quietly. Anticipation crackles in the air and fizzes in your stomach. You match his playfulness in your response, and step into his personal space,

“I don’t think there’s anything here that could sway me to any team in particular.” You smile, “not yet, anyway.” He waits until you’ve definitely left the room before he lets go of the breath he’s been holding.

~~~~~

You’re dragged out by your friends to celebrate that night, even though your legs ache like you’ve done a 10km run. It wasn’t so much the running, you specifically trained for that, it’s the constant change in direction and the intensity of having your attention focused on so many things at once. If the FA thought they could throw you under a bus by giving you such a high profile game, you’re pleased you proved them wrong. The bar is crowded and noisy and you’ve already spotted a couple of the Richmond players - it was bound to happen in a relatively small town if they couldn’t be bothered to go right into the city. You’re at the bar ordering when you feel a hand on your hip and someone standing very closely behind you, a hand raises above you holding a credit card, and gestures to the barman. You’re about to lose your shit when you hear his voice rumble behind you,

“I’ve got these, mate.” He steps to your side when the person next to you moves, but his hand lingers, “I hope buying you a drink doesn’t make you question your bias?”

“Not at all, I’m afraid you’d have to work much harder than that.” He looks even better than he did a few hours ago, desire coils inside you and you instinctively draw your thighs together. It doesn’t help when he noticeably looks at your mouth, red lipstick is your ‘go to’ for a night out.

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Your drink is put on the bar next to you and you lick your lips before taking a sip. Neither of you has broken eye contact. You hear your name from a few feet away at the edge of the dance floor.

“Excuse me,” you raise your glass to him, “thank you for the drink.”

“Bruv, is that the ref from today?” Isaac steps up beside him.

“Yeah, yeah that’s her.”

“She’s fit. You gonna ask her out?”

“Dunno Isaac, bit fucking old for that shit now.”

“Nah man, I just seen the way she looked at you-” he shakes Roy’s shoulder, “ooooh! Get it boy!” Roy rolls his eyes and smirks, watching you get dragged to the dance floor. He knows he must be old because he’s only been standing pitchside for the match and wouldn’t be caught dancing. You’ve run your legs off and then still managed to get them into that sequined mini skirt and up dancing. You can feel his eyes on you but you’d rather keep your back to him and try and carry on as casually as you can, if you turn around you know you won’t be able to stop staring. At least with your back to him, you can ignore him. Plus you know your arse looks great in this skirt, it was literally the sole reason for buying it in the first place. With all the running and training you do, you’re conscious of your strong thighs and hips but sometimes, just sometimes, they make you feel powerful. Eventually, you have to duck out of the dancing - mimicking a timeout to your friends. Roy is exactly where you left him at the bar and the alcohol makes you bold. You squeeze back in next to him and take a sip of his drink, yours is long finished.

“Help yourself.” He smirks, his hand moving to your hip again, hidden by the darkness of the bar. You put a hand on his thigh and lean in slightly, taking some of the pressure off your feet. You’re close enough that he can see your breath hitch as his thumb finds a patch of exposed skin at the waistband of your skirt.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask quickly, pushing your nerves down. He nods and finishes most of his drink, offering the last of it to you. Outside, word has gotten out that half a football team is at the bar and everyone is out for a glimpse of Jamie Tartt. You push past the photographers with Roy’s hand at the small of your back and into a nearby taxi.

~~~~~

“Please tell me there aren’t any fucking rules about this,” Roy mumbles somewhere in the valley between your breasts.

“I have no fucking clue, and I don’t really care right now.” You gasp, breathless as he leaves a mark on your soft skin.

“No? No danger of a red card?” You laugh and it’s musical and magical and neither of you have had this much fun in ages.

“No red cards for Roy Kent. Probably makes a fucking change.”

“Oi, cheeky. I never got that many.” He’s moved down again, unzipped your skirt and thrown it behind him somewhere.

“Fucking liar. They literally use you as an example of trouble players. Oh, fuck-” he bites your thigh.

“A good example or bad example?” His tongue sweeps over your clit and you nearly rocket off the bed until he hooks his arms over your thighs and pulls you back down to him.

“Oh god, bad example,” You feel him hum against you as he works you to your peak,

“Shame, I’m a changed man.”

“Uhuh, ok,” you whisper, unable to think or speak any more coherently.

“How's your neutrality holding up?” Your hands tangle in his hair,

“Fuckkk, sooo good.”

“I’ll have to fucking try harder then,” he chuckles. You’re about to beg for mercy when he pushes two fingers into you and curls them to just the right angle that has you seeing stars. When he comes back up to kiss you, you rock your hips against his and he helps roll you both over, sitting up so he can still kiss you. His kisses are rough and needy, making you grind down against him. When you nip his neck, he pulls gently at your loose hair, whimpering and god, you’d do anything, anything to have him make that sound again. It only makes you rock harder against him, desperate to feel him inside you. When he finally pushes into you, your body clenches. You rise and fall onto him over and over, grateful for those powerful thighs he can’t keep his hands off. When he brings a hand between you both and circles your clit, you drop your head into the crook of his neck and bite down to stifle your moan. You feel his hips stutter under you as you both come, making you drop your own rhythm. You collapse in a tangle of limbs and sheets against him.

“If you ask me again if you’ve swayed me yet, I’ll bite you.”

“You’ve already fucking done that,” he laughs. “Still need to try harder?”

“Hmm, there’s no harm in trying again. You might win me over.”

“And over and over?” He kisses you again, so slowly it’s intoxicating.

When you wake in the morning, it’s to the sound of his phone ringing. He tears himself away from where he’s curled behind you, the length of his legs against yours, his chest against your back and his arms around you.

“Yeah,” his voice is low and rough with sleep and it’s enough to have you roll over and press your body back into his. You can’t hear the other person, but he hangs up quickly and opens a link they’ve sent. It’s a picture on Twitter of the two of you leaving the bar together with his hand on your lower back with the headline “RED CARD FOR KENT?”

“Told you you were fucking trouble.” You laugh.

FIN

#roy kent #roy kent fluff #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #roy kent smut #roy kent imagine

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ramayantika · 4 months

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Bade farewell to the Hero

It’s the onset of dawn. The dark night sky transforms into a beautiful shade of cotton white, colored with various hues of purple, blue, and pink. The sun, as usual, is slowly rising on the banks of the dark Yamuna, but today, her ethereal black waters carry a silent grief of her own as well as of the town of Vrindavan.

As beautiful as the dark night sky, lotus eyes as deep as the Yamuna waters, there sleeps the young beloved lad of Vrindavan, Krishna on the lap of the moon-like beauty of the town of Vrinda, Shri Radha.

“Have you taken your flute, Kanha?” Her soft voice, no more than a whisper, causes the young boy’s eyes to open in sudden remembrance.

Radha sighs with a small smile on her lips. Her nimble fingers bring out the familiar bamboo flute decorated with a peacock feather and pearls from her waistband. Her fingers reverently touch the flute for one last time. Radha’s kohl-rimmed eyes flutter close, as her fingers close upon each of the seven holes of the flute. There is no music playing anywhere nearby, but only her heart hears the heart-wrenching tunes of separation.

Krishna’s fingers tremble while holding the flute as realization sets in. The moment the chariot wheels cross the boundaries of Vrindavan, his flute would eternally go to sleep. The city of Mathura has no loving gopikas, adorable cows, and young boys with him to play the flute all day.

“Being a simple cowherd is not your destiny, Krishna.” Radha tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. As she looks at the tear-laden eyes of her beloved, she steels her breaking heart, her sorrowful eyes now staring at him like a powerful queen going on a battle.

“Your existence is meant for great things. You are to live your life like a king.” She points at the crowd assembled at Chief Nanda’s house, a grand cottage that looks tiny from the heart of the forest where they are in. “You have saved us and this town countless times. The world needs you. You are to be a savior for the whole world. For the whole Yuga.”

Krishna gulps his tears down his throat, which now burns like the fire of separation burning his heart. As a lone tear skids down his cheek, Radha’s voice grows bolder, and for a moment he wonders, how much strength does she silently possess in her being.

“Choose the path that leads you to your destiny, towards your dharma.”

Radha stands up. The golden rays of the morning sun fall on her gentle face coating her fair skin with a powerful glow. Krishna stands in awe of the splendor that adorns her face. Goddess. That’s what she is. That’s what she has been.

“You are the rising sun of Dwapar.” She holds Krishna’s hand and entwines her fingers with his. Walking towards the narrow forest path, Krishna observes Radha’s gait. She always walked with a swan-like grace combined with a little shyness on her face each time she entered the forest to meet him. Today, she walks with her chin raised, her eyes fixated on the path ahead that shall lead them both away from their love-filled carefree times forever.

Within moments, they reach Akrura’s chariot. Radha knows that Krishna hasn’t spoken a single word to her. She knows that he won't be able to do so, nor does she have the capacity to hear his enchanting voice when he is on the verge of departure.

The whole crowd looks at their hero. Krishna looks at the tear-stricken face of his parents. He hears the loud sobs of his lovely gopikas who pampered him with butter and milk sweets. His eyes gaze over the grim faces of his childhood friends. The cows of Vrindavan stare at him, sadness clouding their eyes, but those poor creatures can’t speak a word.

Gulping the last of his tears that clog his burning throat, he steps onto the carriage. Radha smiles. Krishna’s eyes meet her once again and she keeps on smiling.

It will get easier to leave, Kanhaiya. Baby steps.

Radha takes four steps towards the chariot. Handing over Krishna’s flute to him, she slowly moves back, her eyes fixed to the ground. The crowd goes silent. The sobbing gopikas cease crying and keep looking at the scene ahead.

Radha folds her hands and bows her head to Krishna. His heart cracks open at the gesture. He bows down to her all humbled.

“You may leave now. We wish you well on the journey ahead. Make us all proud!”

Radha then takes her position beside Yashoda who is on the verge of losing her consciousness. Nanda holds her shoulders, in case she falls to the ground in grief, but only Radha sees how his fingers shakily rest on his wife’s shoulders.

All this while, not a word had escaped Krishna’s lips. The hero must always promise a return to his loved ones.

“My beloved Vrindavan people, fret not. This separation is only momentary. I shall come back soon to tell you all about Mathura. There’s no escape from my pranks. Go, rest for a while before your loved prankster comes back.”

Radha’s vision goes blurry. Her dark beloved appears to go far from her.

“Such a mischievous liar you are O Shyam…”

The sun is soon to rise for Dwapar, but for Vrindavan, the sun has gone to sleep forever.

***

I am sorry :(

This was a dance idea but I decided to write a fic on this and then choreograph the abhinaya. I have cried while practicing this out too. Let's share tears??

Oh, yes I do love showing Krishna in mortal shades with grief, confusion and dilemma clouding him sometimes too. :)

Tagging: @kaaga-re @ma-douce-souffrance (I AM SORRY SAANJH) @swayamev @krishna-priyatama @krishna-sangini @krishnaaradhika @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @arachneofthoughts @eugenephosgene @jessbeinme15 @stardustkrishnaverse @krsnaradhika @vijayasena @alhad-si-simran @pulihora @nyxie23 @houseofbreadpakoda @yourfavanxioussunshine @aesthetic-aryavartik @starlitskies0 @navaratna @flowerheadkiller @celestesinsight @kaal-naagin

Oh, and I have written for krishna after a loooong time

#samridhi writes #krishna #gopiblr #krishnablr #krishnafics

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cosmerelists · 9 months

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Cosmere Characters in IKEA

The title says it all, really.

1. Adolin & Shallan

Adolin: This place is such a maze!

Shallan: Yeah, it kinda reminds me of my time in the chasms with Kaladin.

Shallan: There could be a chasmfiend made entirely of hex keys around any corner.

Adolin: You’ve already mapped this place in your head, haven’t you?

Shallan: Well, duh.

2. Kaladin & Teft

Kaladin: Ha, look at the size of this bed! What kind of spoiled lighteyes needs a bed this big??

Teft: Kaladin, lad, that’s a bed for two people...

Kaladin: ...

Kaladin: I knew that.

3. Sebarial & Palona

Sebarial: Genius, really, setting up all of these fake rooms to make people imagine their homes looking like this.

Sebarial: Makes you want to buy way more than you came in for.

Sebarial: And it all seems cheap, but it sure adds up!

Palona: Mmm...and the pathing really forces you to see everything, no matter what you’re looking for.

Palona: Urithiru is mazelike already--think Dalinar would give you a floor to set up something like this?

Sebarial: Are you SURE you don’t want to marry me?

4. Dalinar & Stormfather

Dalinar: I think it’s good for people to build their own furniture.

Dalinar: I never felt as clear-headed as I did when I dug that latrine that one time.

Stormfather: Bah, this flimsy wood could never stand up to a storm.

Dalinar: Most people keep their furniture inside.

Stormfather: I’m listening and learning here.

Dalinar: What?

Stormfather: What?

5. Lopen & Rock

Lopen: Now, see, people say the REAL fun is the food!

Rock: Ha! These meatballs are not as good as chouta with fried cremling claws, but they’re still pretty good!

Lopen: Of course! Nothing beats chouta!

6. Wyndle & Lift

Wyndle: Oh, this is SO exciting!

Wyndle: Look at all of these WONDERFUL chairs!

Wyndle: I can’t wait to add some of these to my chair garden!

Lift (dragging her feet): Is this the LAST time I let you pick our activity.

7. Denth & Tonk Fah

Denth: You know what I hate about being a mercenary?

Denth: People think you have no sense of style.

Denth: And sure, interior decorating isn’t a big part of our life.

Denth: But just look at this pillow I chose and tell me it wouldn’t look great on any modern couch.

Tonk Fah: Hey, that old lady you stabbed to get that pillow seems to be coming around.

Denth: And people NEVER appreciate the lengths we got to to get a good deal!

8. Szeth & Nightblood

Szeth: I like this place.

Szeth: There is no profane stone anywhere, and the seemingly endless maze of empty rooms devoid of all life reminds me of the inside of my own head, only they took out the screams.

Szeth: And some of the plastic fruit is nice.

Nightblood: That’s great but can we get back to my thing now?

Szeth: That sofa wasn’t evil, sword-nimi.

Nightblood: Then why was its name looking at me with those beady eyes?!

Szeth: I think the umlaut is just part of the spelling, sword-nimi.

Nightblood: I think we should destroy it, just in case.

9. Siri & Syl

Siri: Look at this!! A tiny frying pan!

Syl: No, look at this!! It’s a blue stuffed shark!

Siri: Look at how colorful this rug is!

Syl: I don’t even smoke, but this ash tray is shaped like a COW!

Siri: I can’t believe Vivenna and Kal said we “couldn’t be trusted in the marketplace”

Syl: I know! We make such good decisions!

10. Jasnah & Navani & Elhokar

Jasnah: It is nice of them to include pictogram instructions, so that even men can assemble this furniture.

Navani: Engineering for men. Very progressive of them.

Elhokar: How am I supposed to screw in all these screws with just this hex key?! Also, these dowels definitely do NOT fit in this hole! And I am definitely missing some pieces!!

Elhokar (muttering): I bet Kaladin could build this bookcase.

Jasnah: Should we help him?

Navani: Give it five more minutes.

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Adolin #Shallan #Kaladin #Teft #Sebarial #Palona #Dalinar #Stormfather #Wyndle #Lift #Lopen #Rock #Szeth #Nightblood #Siri #Syl #Denth #Tonk Fah #Jasnah #Navani #Elhokar

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humanpurposes · 9 months

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Just for a Moment, part i

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Words: 3800

A/n: Me? Starting another series to avoid updating ongoing fics? No wayyyy. This is going to be a 4 part mini series and their song is When the Sun Hits by Slowdive, just so you know. Also available to read on AO3.

Tom Bennett had always had a talent for getting under people’s skin.

Kitty knew it when they were kids, when they’d run around the streets of Longsight and the alleyways behind Slade Grove. He would rile anyone up, regardless if they were older or bigger than him. He didn’t even do it for a reason, he just liked to get a raise out of people.

He used to tease her too, for all sorts of stupid reasons, because she was a year younger than him, because her mother used to dress her in shirts and shorts that used to belong to her older brothers, because when they’d buy bags of Yorkshire mix from the shop, she would only eat the red ones. Every Sunday after Church, they’d sit in the park or on the front step of the Bennetts’ house, and Tom would pick out every sweet he knew she liked, and keep the rest for himself.

When Tom was eleven he moved to the big school, where Kitty’s brothers all went, Eddie, Art and Stevie. Eddie was a prefect. He used to come home with all sorts of stories of Tom Bennett, ‘from over the road’. Tom talked back to his teachers, disrupted assemblies, picked fights with other kids, every offence Kitty’s mind could imagine.

It only got worse when his mam died.

Thursday 12th July, 1928

Kitty had never been to a funeral before. She had a new dress and a black overcoat for the occasion. It was cold in the church graveyard, overcast and windy. Mam had held her hand so tightly she wondered if she’d ever get it back.

The Bennetts stood together, on the other side of the grave. Lois’ hair was braided into a messy plait that stuck out on one side, the ribbon at the end tied into a knot rather than a bow. She was trying to hold her father’s shoulder as he cried, but she couldn’t quite reach. Tom stood a little further away from his father. His hair was messy, his knees scabbed and bruised, his shirt skewed and the buttons done in the wrong places.

Kitty kept her eyes on him, all through the service, the burial and the wake back at number 27. Tom didn’t cry once.

That night, when she should have been asleep, she lay awake in her bed, listening to her brothers whispering and in the next room as they always did. Sometimes she felt sad to be left out of their antics, but tonight she was glad to be on her own, in her little box room at the front of the house.

Until she heard a tapping on the window.

She froze between her sheets. Was it too late for it to have been a bird?

And then it came again, tap, tap, tap.

With a determined little huff, she rose from the bed, smoothed her hands down the front of her nightgown and drew back the curtains.

“Tom?” she whispered.

He grinned when he saw her, perched on the windowsill behind the glass.

Kitty raised the window and before she could invite him in he was crawling through it.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

Tom shrugged and went to sit on the edge of her bed. He glanced around the room, at the little shelf of books, dolls and small wooden animals, the black overcoat hung on the back of the door and the drawings stuck to the wardrobe. He’d been in the Wheelans’ kitchen before, but he’d never been allowed upstairs.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, far too loudly for Kitty’s liking.

She pressed a firm finger against his lips. She held her breath, waiting for one of the lads to notice, but they kept on chatting– whatever it was teenage boys chatted about.

“Keep your voice down,” she said.

Tom smiled against her finger and made a cross over his heart.

She sat beside him, swaying her legs while she tried to think of something to say.

Tom reached for a book on her bedside table and flicked through the pages. When he was bored of that, he grabbed her teddy. He tossed it about in his hands and ran his hands over the ancient and matted fur. It had been Eddie’s, back in the day. Every single one of her brothers had owned it before her.

“I don’t like seeing my dad cry,” Tom said.

Kitty frowned. “Why not?”

“I just don’t like it. He’s always been a bit…”

Dad had often mentioned the case of Douglas Bennett. They had fought in the same regiment in 1914. When Micheal Wheelan came back from war, he returned as a self-proclaimed hero. His boys loved to hear his stories and take turns wearing his medals. Douglas Bennett had returned to Manchester a far more troubled kind of man.

“And with mum he–” but he stopped himself with an irritated grunt. “Can I stay here?”

“What?”

“Not forever, I just… can I sit here, just for a moment?”

Kitty took the teddy from him and placed her hand firmly in his. “That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?”

From then on, Tom made quite a habit of appearing at the window and hiding in her room whenever he was in trouble.

Saturday 2nd September, 1939

Being up and out before the boys are awake is a strange feeling, it’s the only time the house is so quiet.

It’s just before dawn. The sky is a hazy shade of dark blue but an orange glow is starting to appear over the rooftops. Mr Gregory wants her in the shop early to help with a delivery.

Something draws her eyes from her black leather shoes on the pavement, up to the end of the street. A figure makes his way down Slade Grove. She recognises the sway of his shoulders and the end of a lit cigarette in his mouth.

“Alright, pretty Kitty?” Tom says when they’re in earshot of each other, taking the cigarette between his fingers. “What are you doing up so late?”

“It’s early,” she says. He’s in a jacket and slacks, and he has a dazed sort of look in his eyes. She can guess where he’s been but it doesn’t stop her from asking. “What have you been up to?”

“Don’t give me that look,” he says, taking another drag. He tilts his chin up and exhales the smoke above their heads through pouted lips. “Just been down the pub, nothing scandalous.”

A likely story. She’s seen the police knocking on their front door twice in four weeks.

“How’s your job in the shop going?” he asks.

It was supposed to be temporary, a little money to make ends meet after dad got laid off from the factory. Six months later and she’s still there.

“Grand,” she says.

“Can you do me mates rates on a packet of Marlboros?”

“Yeah, if you promise to actually buy them.”

He clutches his chest and his face lights up in an ironic expression. “Of course, what sort of man do you take me for?”

The sort who used to sell cigarettes in the schoolyard— God knows how he got his hands on them in the first place. At that age he could talk himself out of anything. That’s what makes Tom Bennett every parent’s worst nightmare, he’s a troublemaker with pretty blue eyes and an infectiously charming smile.

“I should get going,” she says, taking another step until Tom moves in front of her. Her eyes meet with the collar of his jacket and the hollow of his throat. She can smell the musk of the pub on him, the cigarette smoke and the faded scent of his aftershave.

She looks up to his face and his expression has changed, not quite smiling but amused, smug and somewhat severe.

“What?” she says impatiently.

“Nothing,” he says, unphased, “have a good shift.”

The morning drags on at a gruelling pace. Mr Gregory’s getting on a bit now so Kitty has to do a lot of the heavy lifting, piling boxes into the storage room round the back, going through the stock in the shop, filling the shelves, flattening the boxes and bringing them to the bins outside. It feels like hours of work, but when she looks at the clock it’s not even 9. Eight hours until closing. Mr and Mrs Gregory live above the shop, so at least she gets a steady supply of tea, toast and bits of carrot cake.

By the afternoon she feels her eyes start to close. The morning rush is over now and business will dwindle for the rest of the day. She tries to stay awake, fanning herself with her blouse and nibbling on little mouthfuls of cake.

The bell above the door rings. She straightens her spine and smooths down her apron, ready to put on her best customer service voice, only for Tom Bennett to swagger in through the door.

He’s changed his clothes and donned a blue jacket instead of the earthy green she had seen him in earlier.

“Did you get enough sleep?” Kitty asks at the heavy look under his eyes.

He grins it off. “Packet of Marlboros please, Miss Wheelan.”

She fetches them from the cabinet behind the counter and places the packet in front of him. His aftershave smells a little stronger now. “Anything else?”

He drums his fingers against the counter, looking around innocently at the array of chocolate bars and the jars of sweets behind her.

“I’ll have a bag of Yorkshire mix,” he says.

She takes the jar down from the shelf. She can hear him breathing steadily through his nose as she scoops the sweets into a paper bag. When she turns back around he’s watching her.

“Nine pence,” she says, swallowing down a nervous feeling in her throat.

Tom counts through some change from his pocket and drops the coins into her hands, a sixpence and a thruppence. His fingertips brush over her palms and his knuckles are scabbed over. She dreads to think why.

“Nice one,” he says once she puts the payment through the till. “What do you make of this stuff going on in Poland then?” he says, popping a pear drop into his mouth.

She’s only been reading the headlines of the papers when she stocks them in the shop every morning, or hearing snippets from dad’s radio.

“Since when did you start taking an interest in foreign affairs?” she asks.

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a raspberry. “Been reading the news, haven’t I?” he says, holding it out for her.

She hesitates for a moment before she takes it. She lets the sugar melt over her tongue. It tastes like summer afternoons after school and weekends in the park, tearing at the grass and watching the boys play football because they’d never let her join in.

“That’s where Harry is, isn’t it?” she says, “Lois must be worried.

Tom tuts and tucks the bag into his pocket. “Posh boys can talk their way out of anything,” he says. “Speaking of, I met Madge’s new man last night.”

“At the pub?”

“Yeah. Right ponce in’t he?”

She purses her lips in irritation. She hates it when he does this, poking fun at others until he feels better about himself. “He’s training to be a barrister.”

“Like I said.”

She shrugs. “I suppose there are worse jobs to have.”

“Is that what you’ll do then? Find some rich boy with a big house and stick up his arse?”

It’s not quite the future she has planned out for herself. Her friend Madge is a secretary in Manchester. There are all sorts of exams she had to pass, but it could be doable. Mam’s always tried to put her off it though. “Parents need their girls,” she says.

“I don't think I’m likely to find any of those in Longsight. Maybe I should ask Lois for advice?” she says, trying not to smile.

“Steady there, Kitty, I didn’t mean to get you all excited,” he says, leaning into the counter. His voice is lower all of a sudden, it sends an odd, jittery feeling though her chest and stomach.

He winks at her before he turns and leaves. The bell rings and the shop is quiet again.

Her feet feel heavy when she walks through the front door. Her bed calls her name but she’s unbearably thirsty. Saturdays are half days and the boys are already home from the factory. Mam’s started on dinner and the others are around the kitchen table.

Dad waves a blue leaflet at her. “One of Douglas Bennett’s pacifist… things,” he says.

“Do you really think there’ll be a war, dad?” Kitty says, shrugging off her coat.

“If there is, it won’t be long,” he says with a determined nod, “no one wants another war.”

Eddie and Art hum in agreement. The oldest of the four Wheelan siblings, they were born before dad went away to war. Their faces are older and more stern, like they can still remember a time when they didn’t have their father around. They still call Stevie and Kitty “the babies,” which she thinks must make them feel more important.

Stevie’s in good spirits though. “Ran into Lois and Connie on the bus, and Connie personally invited me to their gig tonight!” he says brightly.

“Come off it,” Art grumbles, “she was just being friendly.”

“Kitty!” Stevie sings, waltzing over to her. He takes her coat from her hands and twirls her around the kitchen, to mam’s despair. “Come to the Fiddler’s Bow with me tonight, please.”

“So you can ditch me for Connie once their set’s done?”

“There’ll be other people there,” Stevie says, turning her around to face their brothers, “or ask one of these grumpy bastards to join us.”

“Stephen Wheelan!” their mother chides.

Eddie and Art share a pointed look and shake their heads, already backing away towards the front room.

In the end she decides she’ll just have to brave it. After eating, she changes into a flowy, white blouse and an emerald green skirt, pinning her hair up so it won’t go everywhere as she moves. She hides a tube of lipstick inside her purse. Mam and dad would rather die than let her leave the house with makeup. She only owns a lipstick because Lois Bennett had given her one.

Stevie brushes up well, in a white shirt and freshly shined leather shoes, his hair slicked back with wax. They run into each other on the landing and race downstairs.

Mam gives them the usual instructions. Home by 11 o'clock and not a minute later. One drink each. No smoking. No noise when they get in.

Stevie’s already pulling a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket when they’re halfway through the front door.

And Kitty’s breath hitches when, for the third time that day, she sees Tom Bennett. He’s hovering in the doorway, putting empty milk bottles out. When he notices them, he smiles. “Off somewhere nice?” he says.

“Fiddler’s Bow,” Stevie calls back, “to see Lois and Connie play.”

“She’s down there already,” Tom says, his eyes flickering to Kitty for only a moment, “left half an hour ago.”

He’s in a white t-shirt now, that’s just a little too tight against his torso.

“Why don’t you join us?” Kitty says without thinking it through. “Stevie’s going for Connie, I’ll need a partner once he ditches me.”

Tom looks down at the pavement. His lips are thin and his hands fidget by his side. “I’ve um… got something else on tonight, ‘m sorry.”

Her heart sinks. Any lighthearted hope she had about enjoying the evening dissolves right in front of her. Right, of course, because why would he actually want to spend more than a few moments with her?

“Movin’ on,” Stevie says, steering Kitty down the road with a brief farewell to Tom. “He’s no good, you know that?” he whispers in her ear. “Eddie says he nicks scrap metal from the yard, sells it to all sorts dodgy fuckers.”

“Yeah, I know,” she breathes. Her chest feels tight and suddenly she feels like she wants to cry.

Stevie has a good time at the gig. Lois and Connie are first in the lineup and once their set is over, Stevie makes a point of cheering the loudest. The four of them spend the rest of the night dancing.

When Stevie and Connie disappear outside for a smoke, Kitty drags Lois to the bar, to catch their breath and down glasses of tonic water. Lois drones on about her Harry issue, but having three older brothers who presume every word they say is profound and worthy of note, Kitty knows where to hum and nod without really listening.

They walk Connie home first before the three of them make their way to Slade Grove. The houses are quiet now, save for a few lights in the windows, creeping through drawn curtains. Two policemen are standing outside number 27.

“Have you seen your brother?” one of them calls to Lois when she reaches the door.

“No,” Lois says, “but if you see him before I do, will you tell him he’s in trouble?”

Kitty meets Stevie’s eyes and he raises his brows.

“Piss off,” she grumbles.

Mam and dad have gone to bed, but Eddie and Art are playing cards in the front room— or they should be. Eddie is standing by the window, peering through the curtains.

“Who are they after?” Eddie asks.

“Who do you think?” Kitty mutters, but she doesn’t stay to hear another rant about ‘troublesome Tom Bennett’, and slips her shoes off before she makes her way upstairs.

It can’t be said Tom doesn’t make an impression on the people he meets. Mam and dad still have a soft spot for him, though less so since he’s started getting into trouble with the police, and the lads seem to outright despise him.

She’d be lying if she said he didn’t find him irritating, to a certain degree. Maybe it’s because he’s cocky, maybe it’s because he used to be surprisingly sweet, or maybe it’s because nothing seems to phase him, but something about Tom Bennett makes her restless.

She wipes off her lipstick, takes out the pins in her hair and changes into her nightgown. Her eyes feel heavy, but tomorrow is Sunday, which means the shop will be closed and she can have a whole day of ‘freedom’, so long as that includes helping with the laundry and the dinner.

Dad’s snores are evident and the boys are still distracted downstairs, they’ve even put the radio on by the sound of it.

She’s about to turn off the light when she hears three taps on the window.

He knows it’s unlocked. The window slides up and Tom squeezes through it, slipping his boots off so he doesn’t make too much noise when he plants his feet on the floor. He goes straight to the bed, making himself comfortable over the throw with his hands under his head.

“Lois says the police have been round,” he says quietly.

She looks down at her hands, nervously playing with the fabric of her nightgown. “I saw.”

He turns his head to where she stands. The lamp hits his face like sunlight, catching the sharp features of his face, the point of his nose and the curve of his lips.

She nudges him closer to the wall, making some space for herself beside him. Her body rests against his. He smells like smoke and fresh air.

“What did you do this time?” she asks.

He doesn’t give her an answer. In a way she thinks she’d rather not know.

His arm falls around her and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Nights with him are often like this, quiet, just two people existing in the same space.

He turns on his side to face her. “Can I stay the night?”

“Tom,” she whispers, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Please, or I’ll have to sleep on a couch in the pub.”

“Are you mad? can you imagine what Eddie’ll do if he sees you walking out my bedroom in the morning?”

“Kitty,” he hums. He brings his hand to her face, gently stroking his thumb over her cheek. His eyes are wide and pleading. “Please.”

It’s in moments like this when she hates Tom the most, when her heart thrums in her chest and she wants nothing more than to lose herself in the feeling of his skin against hers. When their heads are so close together, all she sees are two blue eyes.

Each time she thinks she wants to close the distance between them, something stops her.

Neither of them ever dare to move closer than this.

She reaches to turn off the light and turns back to Tom. Her head falls into his chest and her arm settles around his waist. She falls asleep to the pulse of his heartbeat, the sound of his breath and the warmth of his body.

And by the time the sun shines in through the window, he’s gone.

Sunday 3rd September, 1939

She appears in the kitchen just after 11 o’clock. Her body feels heavy and her eyes are still tired. She shouldn’t have gone back to sleep after she woke up the first time.

Dad’s fiddling with the radio, Art’s pouring tea into six cups, and Eddie and mam are listening to Steive’s retelling of the previous night. He seems incredibly proud of himself, despite the fact the closest he came to kissing Connie was lighting her cigarette.

She helps Art with the tea. They all like it the same way. Strong, with one sugar and a little dash of milk.

It might almost be a perfect morning, if dad were listening to something more uplifting than the news.

“How about some music?” she says as she hands him his cup, but he doesn’t take it. His eyes are fixed on the radio, and his hands are shaking.

“Dad…”

Art appears over her shoulder and turns up the volume. “Quiet,” he says, and the others fall silent.

A voice speaks through the crackles in the transmission, “consequently, this country is at war with Germany.”

Kitty looks at the faces around her, Eddie and Art glaring furiously, Stevie’s wide eyes and his lips fallen like a child’s, mam and dad’s haunted sorrow.

The transmission ends and she wishes it didn’t, it would save her from the grave silence in the house.

She decides to make herself busy. She washes out an empty milk bottle and goes to leave it by the door.

When she opens the door the two policemen are back, only now they’re walking out of the Bennetts’ house.

Her heart sinks. They have Tom in handcuffs.

His eyes meet hers across the road. He doesn’t make a fuss, or try to protest. He hangs his head as they walk him down the street.

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince (comment to be added)

Series taglist: (comment to be added)

#my fics #tom bennett #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #wof #world on fire bbc #world on fire season 2 #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #tom bennett smut

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jackie5656 · 1 year

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Sneaking Suspicions With; Tangerine (Bullet Train)

A/n: Are we proud? Two uploads in two days. This is how I procrastinate doing any homework. Could not get this idea out of my head so here we are. This is my first for Tangerine, but I just recently rewatched Bullet Train and couldn’t resist. Had to add Lemon too because it’s simply not complete without him. Also, the bit about Thomas is all true, I was obsessed with that show when I was young. Enjoy!

Summary: The one where your boyfriend attempts to build a kitchen table, and nearly slaughters your neighbor...

T/W: A LOT of cursing, some suggestive humor, mentions of violence...duh

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” You wince as tools clatter in the kitchen. Discarding your current task of rummaging through boxes with Tangerine’s scribbled writing marked ‘bathroom’.

You’ve finally moved in to the new place after months of preparation. Having been together for 8 months, it was about time you moved in together. Tan practically lived at your old place anyway, though taking this step was intimidating for both of you. His brother had egged you on for months, desperately wanting their shared apartment as his own.

Hence why Tangerine is sat on the floor, muttering curses as he attempts to assemble your dining table.

“Tan, why won’t you let me help you?”

“I told you, I’ve got it, love. Fucking bastards,” his shoulders tense with anger as he speaks. “Can’t even make a buildable fuckin’ table. I’ll show them ‘quick and easy’ right up their fuckin’-”

“Did you even look at the directions, baby?” He furrows his brows, turning to you like you’ve grown another head.

“Directions are for morons.”

“Or for people with zero table assembling experience.” You mutter, fighting a grin under his tense stare. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, only sporting a wife pleaser and trousers in the summer heat. You internally cringe at the reminder your stubborn boyfriend intends to install the air conditioner on his own as well.

“Maybe we could ask Brian across the hall, he said he does construction for his dad part time.”

“You chopping it up with that lad already? Right git, he is.”

“He’s nice, Tan.”

“He’s a flirt, and a shit one at that.” It forces a laugh from you, Tangerine frustrated that the sound still manages to ease the tension from his muscles.

“I’ll ring Lemon, then.”

“I swear to Christ, if you call my muppet of a brother-”

And that’s how Lemon ends up knocking at your door, takeout in hand and a bright smile on his face at the sight of you.

“Hello, lovely. Call for reinforcements already?”

There’s a distant “fuck off” from the kitchen, but you nod nonetheless, thanking him for the food and much needed company. Lemon’s rooted for your relationship even before his brother. Insisting he get your number that fateful night in that shitty club all those months ago.

***************

You’d been sharing drinks with a group of friends when a man bumped into you, nearly knocking you over with the size of him. He’d caught you by the shoulders before you could fall, sending the drunken, clumsy patron an icy glare before surveying you for any injury. He’d clasped both his hands around one of yours, profusely muttering overly-posh, accented apologies. You were ready to cuss out whoever had been so careless before you laid eyes on him, overwhelmed with the British charm and piercing eyes.

“Can I buy you and your friends a drink? I’ll be out of your hair after, promise.” His sincerity makes you want to request he sticks around the rest of the evening, though you shake your head. Polite commonalities ingrained in your nature.

“Not necessary, I appreciate it.” You assure with a kind smile, ignoring your friends gawking at the pin-stripe clad gentleman. He nods, not wanting to make you any more uncomfortable as he gives your elbow a gentle squeeze in one last apology. Heading back the way he came, sitting beside another well-dressed man at the bar. What looks like a round of chastising from the raven-haired man, and the handsome stranger is waving him off, glancing over at you and taking a generous sip of his drink.

“You did not seriously just turn Poseiden-incarnate down.” Your girlfriend finally manages to close her slacked jaw, frustrated with your shyness.

“He was just being polite, Brooke. I didn’t want to have him buy for the whole table in obliga-” A waitress approaches before you can finish, smiling brightly at the lot of you as she sets down a round of espresso martinis.

“The gentlemen across the bar insisted. On him, of course.” The older woman shoots you a wink, a chorus of cheers from your friends in salute to the man across the way. He sends a kind smile, tilting his own glass and looking like he hates the sudden attention. He meets your eyes for only a moment, starting up conversation with the man beside him in a silent obedience to his promise of leaving you be.

It’s hours before you see him again, headed outside for some fresh air after spending too much time on the dance floor. You’re sober enough to hold your own, comforted in the array of bouncers nearby if needed. You’re sat on a bench just in front of the club, craving some relief from your heels. There’s a flick of a lighter beside you, a curse when it doesn’t ignite any flame. You’re searching through your clutch instantly, offering up your own light without a second thought.

“Didn’t take you for a smoker.” You perk at the accent, trailing the extended arm to meet the man’s gaze for the third time that evening.

“Don’t. Not cigarettes, anyway.” He smiles through the now ignited stick, quirking his head in quiet contemplation. His eyes study you, and surprisingly, it’s almost endearing. There’s no suggestive indications to his observations, like most men you’d encounter. It’s contemplative, as if he’s trying to figure out.

“You always stare at strangers?” Your wit pleasantly surprises him, and his grin grows despite himself.

“Apologies, love. Just taking it all in. Mind if I sit?” You nod, thanking the cold for the constant flush of your cheeks that’ll hopefully conceal the blood that rushes to them at his words. “Never got your name.”

“Y/n, nice to meet you.” You take his extended hand for a shake, wincing at the formality of your words.

“Tangerine, pleasure’s all mine.” He awaits the usual ‘like the fruit’ with sudden irritation, but it never comes, so he relaxes.

“That a nickname?”

“Of sorts.” You don’t pry, not interested in scaring him off just yet. If he wanted to tell, you, he would. In his mind, Tangerine thanks you profusely. Pleased to have met someone uninterested in forcing information out of him.

“Whose your friend?” You mean the other good-looking guy beside him the entire night, who must still be inside.

“Brother,” he corrects, not unkind. “Hoping he won’t be trollied on the way home.” Your eyes narrow, unaccustomed to the slang. Tangerine exhales a stream of smoke away from you, wetting his lips with a twinge of amusement.

“Drunk, love. Or wasted, as you’d put it.” A laugh escapes you, thoroughly entertained with his dramatic mock of an American accent.

“That is not how we sound.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, defensive and patriotic for likely the first time in your life. “You guys are still salty we won.” He bellows a laugh this time, and the warm sound erupts butterflies in the stomach.

“Blokes chucked boxes of tea in the ocean in retaliation. The fuck kind of war crime is that?”

“One that proper fucked your economy.” You attempt your own dramatic accent, curious as to why he tries so hard to fight smiling. You assume he’s usually much more stoic without the aid of alcohol and new company.

“Bloody hell, that was awful.” He teases with no real ill-will, stubbing out his cigarette when his brother stumbles out of the building. You hear him mutter something about ‘shit timing’ as the taller man approaches, kind smile adorning his handsome features.

“You’ve found your Edwards!” He clasps his hands together, absolutely delighted before he sits himself in between the two of you. Tangerine looks absolutely pissed, astonished when you beam brightly at his intoxicated brother.

“Edwards?” You question despite Tangerine’s shaking head of warning.

“Edwards.” He assures, adjusting his suit jacket as he gets comfortable. “Wise, kind...We’ve only just met, I know. But, you see, I’m great at reading people.”

“Christ, here we fucking go again.”

“Everything I learned about people, I learned from Thomas the-”

“Tank engine!” You finish for him, the pair shocked at your enthusiasm. “That was my favorite show when I was little!”

“You don’t say?” The man beams, looking over at his brother with an undoubted stamp of approval.

“Swear it. Had the stuffy for years, an entire train table set too.”

“The one with the wooden tracks you could build yourself?”

“And the magnetic crane to lift up the figurines!” The two of you are absolutely enamored, enthralled in the conversation whilst Tangerine broods opposite you. Making a mental note to shoot his beloved brother in the foot the second he gets him alone.

“Bloody hell, I loved that set. What a coincidence!” He turns to his brother, shaking with anger.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable.” Is all he manages, messing with the rings on his fingers to calm himself from the outright cockblock. Fuckin’ muppet.

“Names’ Lemon. Pleasure to meet you doll, truly. A real Edward, you are.”

“You really think so?” The alcohol ends any fight to conceal your pleased expression, glancing over at Tangerine who forces a smile at your grant of attention.

“Know so. Brother over here’s a Gordon, don’t you think?”

“I could see that.” This time you’re the one to study said man, lip quirking when he shifts under your gaze.

“Alright, we should get you home.” Tan rises with a roll of his shoulders, ready to head back with his head hanging low in a failed feat. Lemon frowns, pushing away the strong arm that’s pulling at him so he can dig through the inner pocket of his expensive jacket. Pulling out a folded and well-worn sheet of paper.

“Here comes the fucking sticker book. Of course.”

“You know I bring it everywhere. Here, love.” Lemon peels the Edward sticker from the sheet. Sticking it onto your finger with a soft ‘boop’. You gasp, delighted.

“The lady’s real chuffed, Lemon. Let her get back to her friends for Christ’s sake.” He pulls the man to a standing position, waving down an approaching taxi with an ear-piercing whistle. “You got a friend getting you home safe, sweetheart?” You nod, pressing the new sticker to the back of your phone and pressing your case back on it. Aiming to keep it safe indefinitely. Tan suppresses a smile, finding it absolutely adorable. He buttons his jacket, straightening in self-discipline to push away the love-sick thoughts.

“Have a good night, you two. It was nice meeting you.” There’s a hint of sadness in your tone, the farewell and the unlikeliness of running into them again tugging at your heart strings. Weird, considering you just met the two men and you already want to get to know them more. Especially the handsome fuck with the unrelenting charm.

“Like-wise, love.” Tangerine ushers his brother into the backseat of the car, muttering something to the driver before turning on his heel to face you again. Brows taught in consideration. He battles with himself, weighing if he’s selfish enough to try and get to know someone as seemingly kind-hearted as you. You’d deserve better. He surveys you a final time, every nerve-ending in his body begging for more. You’re about to head back inside when he clears his throat, grabbing your attention.

“Any chance you’d be willing to give me your number, sweetheart? Just to make sure you get home safe?” He prays it doesn’t sound too hopeful, as desperate as he is for you to comply. You cock your head incredulously, and he swears his heart skips a beat.

“Just to make sure I get home?”

“And maybe to ask you to dinner. Or, you say no and I fuck off.” You chew on the inside of your cheek to suppress the excited grin. Hoping you appear nonchalant despite yourself. Taking a few steps forward, you extend your hand. Brows raising in expectation as he stares at you. He snaps out of it, digging into his pocket with a muttered ‘oh, right.’

“All right mate! Thought you’d never get the balls to ask her. Been going on and on about her since you nearly tackled ‘er”

“Fuck off, Lemon.” Tan seethes, eyes averting to you when you giggle through your rushed typing into his phone. “He’s drunk, pay no mind.”

“Trollied, right?” There’s teasing heavy on your tongue, and it takes everything in him not to pull you in for a kiss right there. On the curb of some mangy club whilst the impatient driver honks in warning.

“Right. Goodnight, love. Careful getting home, yeah?” You nod, mindlessly standing up on your tip-toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Night.”

And with that, you’re headed back inside. Feeling his eyes on you the entire time. Only looking back when the door closes behind you. Ensuring he can’t see you spying. He has his head down, biting a smirk from his lips before gaining composure, tossing himself into the cab beside his brother.

***********

“You’re not needed, I have this handled.”

“You don’t actually. I’ve seen corpses more capable of brain activity than this, mate.”

“Piss off.”

“I would, but I like your girlfriend more than you, and therefore don’t want to leave her with this,” he motions to the mess of tools and table parts, “all alone.”

The two of you sit opposite him, Lemon unfolds the discarded instruction sheet with a deep sigh.

“You’ve got the wrong bolt on that one.”

“No I don’t.”

“You do, mate. Considering I’m the one with the fucking instructions.”

“See, if I was a fuckin’ mug like you, I’d need the directions. But I’m not, so I don’t.”

“Well, you must be. Considering that’s the wrong fucking bolt.”

You rub your temples, fighting an oncoming migraine. Taking the drill from the floor and setting it counter-clockwise to remove the damned bolt. Tan takes it from you, setting his hand on your stomach to push your criss-crossed form backward.

“Hey!”

“What did I say? I didn’t want you doing this, Dove. You’ve just gotten those nails done. I-” He stops himself, taking a breath. “We got this covered.”

“This seems patronizing and sexist.”

“Quite the opposite. I respect you so much I’d rather not have you sit on the floor and do this.”

You huff, arms crossed as you glare at him. Too worn out to argue, and figuring there’s an array of boxes to be unpacked, you scramble to your feet.

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later, love. I’m quite busy at the moment.” The cheeky response gets a laugh out of even Lemon, who straightens as soon as your heated gaze snaps to him. You flip them both off, no real anger to it as you head back toward the bathroom.

**********

Another couple hours pass and you’ve finished both bathrooms and are working on the master bedroom. Airpods in to block out the onslaught of arguments. You hum to your music, unaware of the eyes on you.

Tangerine leans against the doorway, finding comfort in watching you in your shared home. It’s weird, new, to share just about everything now. Scary, no doubt. Tan had walls around him so high it took months for you to even shake them. But you’ve done it, somehow. A little minx, he regards you, because you’ve managed to get through to him sometimes without him even realizing. He’s eternally grateful whatever scraps of good karma he had left accumulated to bring you into his life. Terrified it might one day be ripped away. Every time the thought passes his mind, his throat tightens, and he gets the overwhelming urge to hold you and never let go.

Your startled gasp snaps him out of it, a hand clasping over your heart in shock. “Christ, Tan. Give a girl a warning.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He swallows, a beat before continuing. “I love you.” Your eyes narrow at his sweet tone, trying to uncover the mischief in his sultry voice.

“What’d you do?”

“Nothing, honest. I can’t say I love you?”

“You can.” You turn your head from him, suppressing a smirk as you busy yourself with folding clothes. “Just...Not in the hall, okay?”

“What? Why?”

“It’s just,” you’re holding in a laugh now, a death wish for sure. “I don’t want Brian to hear, that’s all.” He crosses his arms, hiding his clenching fists at your teasing.

“You think that’s funny? Taking the piss like that?” You muffle a laugh with your sleeve, morphing it into a cough. “Tread lightly, my love.”

“You know, I bet Brian builds loads of tables. Must be real fast at it, considering he works in construction and all. Lot’s of strong men in that field of work.”

“Y/n.” Your name is rare on his lips, singed with irritation. You’re clearly well-past having him worked up, You press on, keen on getting him back for his suggestive comment from before.

“I always wanted to get to know a blue-collar type. So hardworking, great with their hands-” You’re in the air and flopped onto the mattress yet to have a bed frame before you can even process it. He cages you in, an arm on either side of your head to support himself as his eyes bore daggers into yours. Curls unruly and dampened with sweat.

“Stop it. Or beloved Brian’s in a body bag by tomorrow morning, yeah?” You know he’s not entirely serious, but also entirely capable, so you nod. You press your lips together, thoroughly amused. He takes your jaw in his hand and uses his thumb to pull your lips free. Tugging you into a kiss, he’s only satisfied when you gasp after your bottom lip is bit. Not too hard, he’d never hurt you, but it’s enough warning to shut you up. He gets up, hands on his hips and breathing heavy as he watches you get to your feet. Wordlessly, he sweeps a leg under yours, chuckling when you’re collapsing back into the mattress with an umph.

“You really are a fucking Gordon, you know that?” There’s no time to scramble away from his lunging form as he tugs you by the ankle toward him. One hand grabbing your arm and the other on your leg as he hoists you over his shoulder, cheekily reminding you of the power imbalance as he carries your squirming form down the corridor and into the kitchen. Where Lemon lays sprawled out on the now standing table. The air conditioner hums across the room, and the faux argument is ripped from your mind as you survey the accomplished tasks.

“Nothing a little teamwork and drive can’t do,” Lemon boasts. “You know where I learned that, Tangerine?”

“If you mention the fucking trains, It’ll be the last thing you fuckin’ do.”

*************

“Tan, could you pass the lo mein?” Your boyfriend chews thoughtfully, considering it for a moment before extending it to you. Your eyes narrow when he pulls away as soon as you reach.

“Maybe you should ask Brian.”

“My god, we’re still on this?”

“Should have known better than to tease him with another man, love. Gordons are prone to jealousy.”

“Fuckin’ pipe it, Lems.”

“It was a joke, baby. Are you gonna hold this over my head forever?” You find it endearing, hard to believe Tangerine could think there’s even a hint of honesty to your teasing.

“Until I’m sure you’re proper guilty, yeah.” There’s a hint of play in his tone, and you know he only wants to hear you repeat your devotion.

“Tan, love, baby, sweetheart, love of my life, will you please pass the lo mein to your dutifully devoted girlfriend?”

“Sure thing, love. Could have just said so.” The playful banter is stuttered to a halt when Tan sets the box beside you, the legs of the newly built table creaking as they give out. With their instinctive reflexes, Lemon and Tangerine keep the entire thing from collapsing. You’re slack-jawed, in utter shock at the absurdity and slight victory of being right, as god damn usual.

“Dove,” your boyfriend’s voice strains under the exertion, meeting your eyes “be a doll and take everything off here?” You’re up in an instant, quickly snatching the array of food and plates off the surface. Lemon begins to laugh despite himself, and Tangerine seethes with frustration.

“Maybe we should-”

“Don’t. Don’t even think about saying that fuckin’ muppets name.” Tan stares daggers into his brothers eyes, paying no mind to your stifled giggles. When they finally set the table on the ground, you approach him. Tugging at his arms so you can wrap yours around his waist. You press your chin into his chest, running a hand through his unruly curls.

“Baby.” You’re soft, tone so sweet and eyes big and pleading.

“Lose the puppy eyes, doll. It’s a no.”

“I personally would like to finish dinner not on the floor. But that’s just me.” Lemon purses his lips, brows raised expectantly at his brother.

Tan releases a deep, shaky sigh, dark gaze softening when he meets yours. He tries to tug his head away when your hands hold it, but you’re insistent, making him face you again.

“I’m all yours, alright? I promise.” You kiss both his cheeks and then his neck, some tension leaving him. He tilts his head in faux irritation when you stick out your pinky to him, grinning when he finally gives in and wraps his much bigger one around yours.

**********

“It’s already so nicely decorated in here.” Brian surveys the room with a polite smile, turning to you. “All this is your eye, y/n?” You straighten, hoping the man won’t notice your boyfriend’s homicidal stare.

“Tan has more taste, admittedly.” You’re not just trying to take the attention off you, it’s the truth.

“Well that should be obvious, he got you.” Lemon coughs, setting a hand on his brother’s shoulder with tight, grounding grip. The slightly shorter man boils beside him, eyes boring into yours in an enraged ‘I told you so’.

Your neighbor places his work bag on the floor, cringing at the sight of the flattened table. He approaches the brothers, clueless, patting their arms with sympathy.

“Should have gotten me earlier, guys. You know you can call me over any time for some help. Handiwork isn’t for everyone, some things are just left for the professionals.

“No kidding.” Tan mutters, letting Lemon pry his fingers from the biggest kitchen knife you own when the man’s back is turned to them.

“We’ll have to grab brunch sometime, y/n.” He’s blissfully unaware as he talks between rounds of the drill. Unscrewing mistakes and penciling out where they should actually go. “I’ll fill you in on the rest of the neighbors. Some of the ones to avoid and all.” Lemon’s practically wrapped around his brother, praying to a god he doesn’t believe that the clueless fuck will shut up. You cross the room while he drills away, placing your hands on Tan’s chest and pressing into him. He can’t even see you, can’t even feel you as his blood burns his own skin. Considering the fasted method of kill and cleanup over and over again in a final stitch to calm himself.

“You’ll have meet Cody first, of course. I’ve already told him there’s finally another young couple in the building. Thank god.”

“S-Sorry, mate?” Lemon loosens his grip in realization, fighting a bellowing laugh.

“My bad, I tend to drill when I’m talking. Cody gets on me for that, too, This is what I mean, sweetheart. We need to escape the doting boyfriends for a little. Enough to drive anyone nuts.” He shoots you another smile, pleased to see you nodding profusely.

“Absolutely.” You turn to Tan, whose brows are taught in utter confusion. “They can be a real pain sometimes.”

“But, alas.” The drill whirs, he stops talking for a beat and then releases the trigger to finish. “We love them.”

“To bits and pieces.”

Tan collapses against the counter, right exhausted from the strain of keeping his composure. Pure relief washes over him, and you let him pull you into an embrace.

“Boys, would you mind helping me turn this right side up? i think I’m all finished here.” They comply, Tan reluctantly pulling away and kissing your temple in silent apology. Together, they set it upright and each give it a good shake to ensure it’s stability.

“Thanks, mate. I owe you.” Your boyfriend gives the now beloved neighbor a firm shake, a hint of guilt in his eyes.

“British and handsome, you two are truly a killer pair.” Brian gathers his things and checks a notification ding on his phone. Sighing fondly. “Speak of the devil.” He waves his phone to you with a lighthearted roll of his eyes. “See you all soon.” Giving you a quick hug, he exits as soon as he came.

“Most definitely not a diesel, that bloke.”

#tangerine #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x you #tangerine and lemon #lemon #bullet train #tangerine imagine #atj #atjohnsonedit #aaron taylor johnson #bullet train imagine #tangerine and ladybug #imagines #fanfic #aaron taylor johnson imagine #lemon x tangerine #lemon x reader #diesel #gordon

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gallusrostromegalus · 10 months

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If you are still taking questions, could I ask about Uryuu? Or Mizuiro, I have always loved him and wanted to see more of him.

The day after The Stabbing Incident in which Ichigo's Shinigami Powers were activated, Lunchtime:

"Rukia!" Ichigo called from the door. "We got a club meeting!"

"What? Oh, right!" She giggled, all bubbly persona, which immediately vanished in the hall "-You signed me up for a club? Ichigo, you know I don't have time for extracurriculars!"

"Calm down, this one doesn't assign homework. We just meet on the roof for lunch." He explained, marching resolutely against the stream of traffic in the hall.

"Oh? Up to something illicit are you?" Rukia teased, ducking behind him to avoid being swept away.

"Nah, we just meet on the roof so Kon can join us." Ichigo shrugged kicking open the door to the roof.

" 'SUP NERDS!" Ichigo bellowed affectionately at the gaggle of teenagers already assembled on the roof. "Okay Rukia, this is the "I Can See Ghosts And It fucking Sucks Club", guys, this is Rukia."

"Hi miss Rukia!" Waved a readheaded girt that puberty had hit like a truck.

"-Rukia is a shinigami like the freak that used to live in my dad's attic, and last night one of those bigass monster ghosts attacked my fuckin' house and Rukia kinda accidentally-on-purpose stabbed me and now I got fuckin' shinigami powers, which is mostly being able to ditch my body and summon a bigass sword to kill the monster ghosts with."

Those assembled stared at him in silence.

There was a rattle and Kon appeared at the top of the chain-link fence around the roof. "You know Ichigo, I think I know why your Literature class grades suck." the cat sighed. "Rukia got injured and used her magic sword to transfer her powers to Ichigo to fight off the hollow, and accidentally gave him too much and now she's stuck here until the Shinigami skills bleed back out of Ichigo."

"Ohhhhh..." the group nodded.

"-By stabbing me." Added Ichigo. "I feel like the stabbing part is being lowballed here."

"Welp. time to reset the counter." Sighed a lightly disheveled young man with brown hair, and the youthful looking lad with black hair beside him opened his laptop, typed for a few seconds and then turned the screen to show the group a digital counter that read

DAYS SINCE OUR LAST SUPERNATURAL NONSENSE AND/OR GRIEVOUS BODILY INJURY: 0

Previous streak: 17.324 Days.

"Thanks. Very helpful." Sighed Ichigo. "Tweedle Dee and tweedle Dumbass here are Mizurio and Keigo."

Ichigo pointed to the brunette. "Keigo here comes from a long-ass line of psychics and has been documenting every instance of supernatural activity in Karkura town going back to the middle ages since he was like. Ten? Don't let the fact that he's deliberately failing out of school fool you, he's probably the world's most brilliant moron."

"Iiiiiichigoooo, why you gotta make me sound like a loser in front of the actual-factual ghost girl?" Keigo whined.

"I'll stop making you sound like a loser when you stop being a loser." Ichigo huffed, and pointed to the black-haired youth beside him. "Babyface McGee here is Mizurio, he's our other technology geek, and he can cast Summon Gun."

"Pleasure to meet you Miss Rukia!" Mizurio said, extending his hand politely. "If you need some armament against the- what did you say they were called? Hollows? - I can provide you with something. First one's on the house, as my Uncle says."

"Oh!" Laughed Rukia. "By 'summon gun' you mean you have a way of purchasing weapons! I thought for a second you had the magical ability to spontaneously manifest guns or something ridiculous like that!"

The group collectively grimaced at her, except for the silent Giant, who was too busy snuggling Kon.

"Have you ever fired a weapon like a handgun Miss Rukia?" Mizurio asked holding his hand up beside his head, as though holding up an invisible object.

"Uh." Said Rukia, staring at his hand. ""...No."

"In that case I'm going to reccomend a Glock-17 lightweight pistol-" Mizurio nodded, and a small, bright blue light ignited in his palm, swirling and drawing Reishi into it, forming a physical object.

"-it's very reliable and easy to sight accurately, and doesn't have much of a kickback so I'm confident you'll only need a little practice to be able to handle it reliably!" He smiled cheerfully as the object finished manifesting in his hand, and he easily unloaded it with a practiced motion, set the saftey out of habit and offered it to Rukia to inspect.

"UH." Said Rukia, recoiling from the weapon with alarm.

"Oh don't worry!" Mizurio chirped. "Any gun that I make- And I make them, not summon them- has infinite ammo once the clip is loaded, and it's perfectly effective against hollows! You'll be perfectly fine using it!"

"I- You- I mean-" Rukia sputtered, staring wide-eyed at the gun. "-Did you. Learn? to do this?"

"Hm-..." Mizurio frowned at the gun. "Well, I've gotten better at it over time, but it's not like anyone taught me, if that's what you mean."

"Uh-huh." Rukia nodded, teeth bared in an attempt at a smile that completely failed. "You. Uh. You got any German ancestry?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know!" Mizurio laughed. "I don't actually know who my father is, and I strongly suspect he doesn't know his father either! Why?"

"...Mizurio, I think you're a Quincy."

---

Downstairs in the lunchtime meeting of the Karkura High School Crafts Club, Uryuu Ishida sneezed in the middle of a demonstration of different stitch types, and knocked over a large bottle of glitter, coating the entire room.

"...That's a bad omen if I ever saw one." Muttered one of the girls, sparkling.

---

"What's a Quincy?" Mizurio asked.

"It's a- Okay, before I start an explanation, is there anyone else here with weird supernatural powers?" Rukia asked.

There was a whirl of energy behind her and she turned to see the Silent Giant that had been cradling Kon had manifested a strange, sleek armor over his right arm. Kon was still cradled like a very spoiled infant in his left arm, purring.

"Hi. I'm Sado Yasutora, but I go by Chad." he spoke, voice barely above a mumble as he cautiously peeked up at Rukia through his bangs. "This is my punchin' arm."

"...Great." Whimpered Rukia.

#AEIWAM #an elephant is warm and mushy #Bleach #bleach fanfic #ishida uryuu #ichigo kurosaki #Mizurio Kojima #Keigo Asano #chad yasutora #Making Mizurio the most found-in-a-taco-bell-dumpster Quincy ever is so fun

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celticbotanart · 6 months

Text

ALRIGHT, since Halloween is just around the corner and this blog is ALSO about sharing and talking about my full-time hyperfixation (music), I want to make some recommendations of "unusual" or just unknown songs that very well fit the theme! I've mentioned before that I love making thematic playlists and that I have rules for them everything (it's serious shit!!), so I wanna share some of the songs featured in my "Ecclectic Halloween" playlist. The two basic rules I applied for that playlist are:

The song MUST include anything supernatural, spooky, bizarre, "murder/serial killer", classic creature and so on

The song can be of ANY genre; is it metal? Prog? Disco? Electronic? Soundtrack? COOL, ALL ARE WELCOME!

Let's get started!

1 - Rainbow - Tarot Woman

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As an unapologetic 70s dad rock advocate, I HAVE to start with one of my fave bands of the genre! The song begins with a DOPE synth/keyboard solo, and then iconic Dio (the one Dio from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure was named after) comes in with a bunch of cryptic imagery, like the predictions the tarot woman is telling him as she turns the cards side on:

Something in the air Tells me to beware - No, no, no! Her love is like a knife She'll carve away your life - So go, go, go! Beware of a place, a smile on a bright shiny face I'll never return, how do you know? Tarot woman! But I don't know, I don't know!

2 - Blackmore's Night - I Guess It Doesn't Matter Anymore

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From the same breed of the first song, cause Blackmore was the guitar player / composer for Rainbow - except that Blackmore's Night is a project he made way later (late 90s), with his wife Candice Night, who sings all the songs and composes with him. This song is about the CLASSIC tale of someone giving a lift to a mysterious woman they found wandering at the side of the road; when they get to the place she wanted to go and asks to leave, the driver turns around! And the lady, she's suddenly gone!!!!!

Standing in the rain, the cold and angry rain In a long white dress, a girl without a name She stood beneath the light, Glowing like a candle bright I guess it doesn't matter anymore (...) Finally she spoke, 'come pull off the road' Saying she was headin' home I turned and she was gone, I was all alone

3- Loreena McKennitt - The Bonny Swans

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You might be asking: "Oriel, what the fuck, why is soft spoken-christmas songs-traditional folk medieval instruments Loreena McKennitt in this playlist at all??? With a song named like THAT?? What is so scary about pretty glorified ducks anyway?" - And to that I'll say right off the bat this is the most metal song in the entire playlist, and I say this unironically. This song is inspired by an old ballad and it tells about a girl who was drowned by her own sister out of jealousy of her betrothed; the sister kills her so she can have the lad for herself. It already has murder, as you can tell - but it gets WORSE, as the body of the drowned girl floats down the river and is found by a miller's daughter; a passing-by bard then uses the dead girl's bones and golden hair to make a harp that plays on it's own, possessed by the dead girl's spirit???? She (as the harp) asks to be taken to the court, the bard takes her, and AS A CURSED HARP MADE OF BONES the dead girl outs her sister as her murderer, in front of the entire family and the court. Look. If this isn't METAL AF, I don't know what ELSE can be. The "bonny swans" from the title comes from the comparison Loreena makes of the pale girl's body floating in the water, to swans swimming along. kkkkkkkkkkk JESUS.

He made harp pins of her fingers fair With a hey ho and a bonny o He made harp strings of her golden hair The swans swim so bonny o He made a harp of her breast bone With a hey ho and a bonny o And straight it began to play alone The swans swim so bonny o He brought it to her father's hall With a hey ho and a bonny o And there was the court, assembled all The swans swim so bonny o He laid the harp upon a stone With a hey ho and a bonny o And straight it began to play lone The swans swim so bonny o

4- Sting - Moon Over Bourbon Street

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Probably one of the most fun songs in this, because it's a song written by Sting, inspired by Anne Rice's "Interview With the Vampire"! The song is under Louis' PoV, and he laments his current condition as a vampire and also as a man of god, as he wanders through New Orleans's streets. This Sting's live performance of this song (the live in Berlin, 2010) is my favorite by far - there's a whole ass epic orchestra and even a theremin! hehe

I pray everyday to be strong For I know what I do must be wrong Oh you'll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet While there's a moon over Bourbon Street It was many years ago that I became what I am I was trapped in this life like an innocent lamb Now I can never show my face at noon And you'll only see me walking by the light of the moon

5- AQUA - Halloween

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Yes, THAT AQUA - turns out they DO have more songs other than Barbie Girl, and they actually slap - I was there in the 90s, when the Deep Eurodance Magic was written. I LOVE this one because it has such a fun vibe, and obviously, inspired by the "Halloween" movie franchise - Lene plays as the girl alone at night who receives a call from René, playing as the psycho who's after her. They even act that scene at the begining of the song dsjfhjsdgf so cool!

The sound of shoes, a shadow that moves Something odd is tic tac ticking Someone's in here, I'm so full of fear The telephone is ringing!!

6- E Nomine - Das Tier In Mir

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ONE OF MY ALL-TIME FAVES IN THIS PLAYLIST. E Nomine was (?) a German electronic music project who DARED to mix in dark techno/trance beats AND CHANTS IN LATIN, as this deep-voiced dude sings/borderline-raps in German. ITS HARD TO EXPLAIN, BUT I PROMISE, ITS SO SO SO DOPE. They also sang about all sorts of religious / dark fantasy themes - they have an entire album based on the Bible, which I promise, they made it a LOT MORE RAD AND COOL than it sounds; and another album about the supernatural and all kinds of creatures, like vampires, ghosts, werewolves, demons. "Das Tier in Mir" or "The Animal In Me" is their "werewolf" song - it starts off with this kid singing in Latin about the forest, and the moonlight, and the song goes on with Deep Voice Dude singing under the werewolf's perspective; it even features a dramatic transformation sequence!!

[Latin]The forest is hidden, in the moonlight, My home is the forest In the starlight (...) Dark clouds and dark thoughts, The full-moon night smashes my barriers down. The animal desire that I massacre comes in me. I feel this bloodlust here and now. Deep in the night the twinkling stars, A sweet smell is drawing me into the distance. But careful if my passion gets aroused quite gently in the night And the hunter wakes up in me! (Translation from here - it's rather clunky, but that's the gist of it!)

7- E Nomine - Mitternacht

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Yep! Another one by E Nomine, BECAUSE THEY JUST SLAP TOO HARD. "Mitternacht", or "Midnight" is pretty much about the Witching Hour, all the spirits comes out when the bell strikes midnight!! This one is SUCH A FAVORITE of mine because it sounds EXACTLY what a DJ would play as vampires dressed in fancy, old outfits and masks waltz around in a haunted, opulent manor

When the gondolas are in mourning and the dead's lament resounds horror is breathing down your neck When the clock starts striking cold thick fog is touching you gently ...midnight! [Latin] midnight, dark night, cruelty of the soul the bell is ringing twelve times ...midnight! (Translation from here - same from previous song, kinda clunky but we get it)

8- Dead or Alive - Something In My House

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Another classic banger with the catchiest fucking tune ever, by You-Spin-Me-Right-Round-Baby-Right-Round Dead or Alive, sung by ICONIC genderfucker wizard Pete Burns (the Gender Envy of him in this video is real). I have to admit, this one is SLIGHTLY cheating on my rules, cause the "something in my house" in question is not anything supernatural - it's a metaphor for a gone-wrong relationship, lol. Ngl, I think this is kinda fucking brilliant. But like, the spooky, Halloween-y vibes are all there nonetheless: wolves are howling, Pete is singing in an old castle and looking 200% like a vampire. Even if I'm cheating a little, it still fits!

There is something in my house - my house, It's just a ghost of a long long dead affair, There is something in my house - my house, I just keep a hearing you runnin' on up my stairs, But you're not there

9- League of Legends - Fiddlesticks, The Harbinger of Doom

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Finally, some soundtracks! I don't play LoL, but I absolutely love some of the character's themes, and Fiddlestick's is one of them! For what I've got, Fiddlesticks is like this ancient, nightmare-ish Freddie Krugger-like entity, and BOY, does the song reflect exactly THAT. It SOUNDS like a horror movie, and I'm obsessed about it!!

When fields lie calm and wind stands still (Run home, run home) As the crows make night of the fading Sun (Hide now, hide now) When the trees do bow, as if they weep (Stay down, stay down) Though its light beckons forth, a melody calls out (Too late, too late)

10- The Alan Parson's Project - The Cask of Amontillado

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And!!! Last but not least!! Closing this playlist with THIS ULTIMATE DAD PROG ROCK BANGER, which as you can see, is inspired by Poe's tale "The Cask of Amontillado". In fact, the entire album where that song comes from, "Tales of Mystery and Imagination - Edgar Allan Poe", is inspired by his work. Yeah there are also songs on "The Raven" and "The Fall of the House of Usher" too for example! It's just so cool! But "The Cask of Amontillado" is by far my favorite, specially with the instrumental part at the end, ughhhh <3

By the last breath of the four winds that blow I'll have revenge upon Fortunato Smile in his face I'll say "come let us go I've a cask of Amontillado" (...) You who are rich and whose troubles are few May come around to see my point of view What price the Crown of a King on his throne When you're chained in the dark all alone

This is definitely a long ass post, and I really had to cut it even shorter bc of Tumblr's dumbass video limit, but that's alright. I might even put up a part II, hehe I hope you like the Halloween-y songs recs!!

#music posts #halloween #long posts

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