#oc - o'malley

[kabishkat19]

Meet; Colette💕 aka princess, O’Malley and Duchess’s newest little kitten. Sweet, kind and very adventurous, just like all her three siblings.

[corruptimles]

Happy Catboy Wednesday to Hanzo Overwatch, what!!!

[lilyoffandoms]

Flynn O’Malley for @choicesbookclub

[Grant] [Naomi] [Kate]

I played along, but I truly wish I could have interacted more with this book club because this is one of my top ten favorite choices stories. Anyway, have a Flynn from Cian’s pov on their houseboat.

[no background & morning fog background under cut]

VoS Drabble - Flynn x Cian

A/N & Warnings: I just always imagined Flynn was never a morning person but Cian, being a rise before the sun kinda guy, gets him to get out of bed (sometimes) and join him on the deck to watch the sun paint the sky. Flynn complains (good-naturedly), slips on last night’s shirt - or even better, Cian’s shirt - and joins him on deck with coffee (lots of it. I just need this for them okay?!

The sky is dark shades of purple, red, and orange as the first rays of light make their way over the horizon. It was these colors that make clear what Homer meant when referencing the wine dark sea.

He can hear Flynn moving around below and he laughs to himself when he hears Flynn trip in the dark room with a curse.

He’s told him countless times, he doesn’t have to join him this early but Flynn always does if he wasn’t called out by the station. Not that Cian is complaining. It’s one of his favorite times of the day together.

The telltale clink of coffee cups announces Flynn’s arrival up the stairs. His grunt of good morning announces his arrival on the top deck.

Cian turns and smiles at him. “Did you bring enough coffee?” he teases as Flynn hands him a cup and pours his own from the thermos.

“Not nearly enough for this ungodly hour,” Flynn shoots back with a quirk of his lips.

——————————

My Art Ish Thing Tag (Choices Edition): @storyofmychoices @aallotarenunelma @twinkleallnight @thosehallowedhalls @dutifullynuttywitch

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Gone. (Ghost x OC) - AU!!!

for @xxshadowbabexx 's angst competition using prompts 1, 2, 6 and 9.

pairing: F!OC! Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley bonus: Moot!OC (Meabh "Pirate" O'Malley) x Johnny "Soap MacTavish words: 3.7k~ summary: An AU where Ghost died with Soap, leaving behind Whiskey and Meabh who are grieving for them :) cw: death and dying, loss, grief, blood, vomiting, crying, ghosts

At first, it was cold. Dark. The feeling of the blood seeping down his skin and pooling on the floor behind him. 

The air was thin, he couldn’t breathe, his chest heaving, sounds of grunts and gunshots echoing around him.

His head lulled to the side, long enough to catch the sight of Soap. He was already unmoving. 

Then, his eyes slowly unfocused.

Not the first time he felt it.

But the last time, whatever powers that be decided to spare him.

Not this time.

Then came the feeling of nothing. No pain, no coldness, no… nothing. No air in his lungs, no saliva in his mouth, no weight on his joints. 

He opened his eyes and he was still here… and his body was, well… there. He looked down at it. A sorry sight, really, to see his body on the floor, the blood around his head, mingling with Soap’s next to him.

Soap was standing by his side. They could see each other, half-translucent, not quite there, but not quite gone. Neither of them seemed confused or lost… Only mildly resigned to the fact that This Is It. 

Gaz and Price succeeded in disarming the tunnel bomb and Ghost turned slowly, looking at them as they approached the two bodies, Price’s voice announcing: “All stations, this is Bravo in the blind. Threat neutralised, bomb is safe… Two K.I.A.”

…

Soap and Ghost stood over Price’s shoulder, eyes locked on his own front door. Gaz stood beside him, both men looking solemn, Price holding Ghost’s dog tags.

It was just past 3 A.M., he’d noticed, when Whiskey opened the door, wrapped in one of her silk-like robes, the hall light illuminating her from behind.

She locked eyes with Price before he could even speak and her jaw clenched tight, her eyebrows rising lightly. 

He knew that look. He knew it all to well. It was the same way she had looked when she told him about her father and brother.  He knew the others could tell too, of course, but what they couldn’t tell, were the subtleties of it. 

To him, she looked like she was about to cry, even if her tears were nowhere to be seen, and the swallowing of a lump stuck in her throat, which was, in reality, a scream she wanted to let out… And how, once they were gone, she’d cry herself until her throat was raw.

He wanted to hug her, fuck, he wanted nothing more than to hug her. To pull her tight into his chest, to murmur into the crown of her head that he’s here, that he’ll always be here. But he couldn’t. Not today. Not ever again.

“Don’t.” Whiskey said as she raised a hand to stop Price from speaking the same moment he opened his mouth. He knew better than to try to use the bullshit prepared speech they always give to grieving wives. She wasn’t just a grieving wife. She was a soldier.

“Give me the dog tags.” She demanded and presented her palm. He slowly set the round disks and chain in her hand. She, slowly, rubbed her thumb over them as she looked at them, Simon noticed how her skin traced his surname tenderly.

“I don’t want a big fuss. It’s not what he would have wanted.” She told Price and raised her eyes to meet his again. Had Simon been alive, he would’ve felt his heart swell in his chest, she really did know him so well… 

Price nodded at her in understanding. “I know.” He told her in earnest.

“Do whatever you need to do… I don’t want to attend a funeral. Just bring me back his ashes and his mask and gloves.” She demanded.

“Okay. Should take a few days.” Price assured her with another curt nod. 

“That’s fine.” Whiskey nodded at him and, slowly, she slipped her husband’s dog tags around her neck, the longer chain meaning they disappeared below the collar of her t-shirt. One of his, actually, full black, with the scraggly name of a metal rock band on the front.

“Soap?” She asked him as her beautiful hazel eyes returned to Price after fixing the chain. The man replied by shaking his head. “Give me a minute to get dressed and pack a bag. I’ll go with you.” She announced and turned around to disappear back inside their home.

-

Whiskey looked at him with a cocked brow as they laid tangled up, in her barrack’s bed.

“If something happens to me, I’d want you to get the widow’s pension.” Simon mused aloud as he stared at the ceiling.

“Yeah, same, it’d just make sense to-” Victoria began to say before she stopped herself and her head shot upwards, glaring into his eyes. “Are you proposing to me, Simon?” She asked him in shock.

That hadn’t been his intention. They had just been halfway through discussing what life would be like for the people around them, once they’re dead. But now that she mentioned it… “Yes.” He replied deadpan.

Victoria continued staring at him like he was insane, eyebrows scrunched, eyes narrowed… But then she simply answered an “Okay.”

“That doesn’t scare you, does it?” Simon asked her as he dipped his head to the side, looking at her through down his nose as her head rested on his chest again.

“No. Just caught me off-guard.” Victoria said with a shrug and a silent exhale of a laugh, shaking her head against his chest. Her ear was right on top of his left pec and she could hear his heartbeat, slow… steady.

Simon watched her lay against Meabh, staring at the ceiling, as Meabh slept against her, in the same position Simon and Victoria usually fit into, Meabh’s head on Victoria’s chest. Johnny sat on the edge of the bed next to Meabh, resting his ghostly hand on her head even though she couldn’t feel it. 

It had been a shit show, telling Meabh that Soap was gone… Messy. Messier than any of them had expected.

They had witnessed Meabh losing her mind, denying it over and over and over, shaking her head, not believing the words Price spoke, the way he tried to hand her his dog tags, the way the tears rolled down her face even with her smiling in disbelief. 

Victoria had risen up to take Meabh back to her room and let her cry it out, having shooed Price and Gaz away… then, in her room, Meabh screamed at God, pleaded for Soap’s return, bargained and begged, tried reasoning with God that He couldn’t take him, not before she had a chance to tell him she was pregnant…

Victoria struggled to wrangle her into bed, both falling to their knees, Whiskey clutching her tight to her chest, as Meabh screamed and cried, doubled over herself, making herself look so small for a woman that was usually so strong. Soap had cried with her, fallen to his knees beside her, and tried telling her he was right here… not that it made a difference.

Only the two of the women and their ghosts remained.

Meabh had another one, Simon had noticed. A curly-haired man lurked and loomed outside her window. Soap hadn’t noticed, too preoccupied with his woman’s grief and the recent discovery of the baby in her belly. He knew he was likely Meabh’s father. They looked alike. Same eyes, same hair, same facial structure… But he kept away for now.

Victoria was awake, eyes locked on the ceiling as she held Meabh close, the sun shining in, at 6 A.M., but Meabh had cried herself to sleep. Simon didn’t dare approach her, keeping to his namesake, and simply watching his wife from the sidelines, his lips pressed together.

He could see her clutching onto her emotions with an iron grip, her brows scrunched and her jaw clenched, teeth grinding loudly. She couldn’t let it go. Not now. Not when Meabh needed her most. 

-

The funeral had been beautiful. Mr and Mrs. MacTavish were too much of a wreck to plan anything, his sisters even more so… So it fell on Meabh. It would’ve either way, she was his wife, after all. 

It ended up being a beautiful celebration of Johnny and his life. Sharing stories of him, food and drink, and music… Full of fun and happiness and light, just how he deserved. It was an Irish tradition, Victoria came to find out. 

The American had only left Meabh’s house after a week by her side, having traded spots with one of Soap’s sisters. She went home for a day, just needing a break. Three days' worth of celebrations plus four extra ones dealing with a grieving Meabh and a large family such as Soap’s had taken a toll on her. Simon went with her.

She crossed the threshold into their home quietly, not even bothering to turn on any of the lights in her wake. Then, she tossed her duffel bag aside, kicked off her sneakers, and pressed herself into the wall right past the living room door, sinking down to the hardwood floor.

Even in the darkness, he could tell she was crying. The way her breath hitched and her silhouette trembled against the wall. She cried like that for a long, long while.

Then, the tears got harder, faster, her breath rose and rose in volume, desperate for gulps of air, like she was suffocating and unable to breathe and she started openly sobbing, letting out these primal sounds of grief from the back of her throat.

Simon’s eyes welled up with tears too as the screams coming from her throat scratched at his dead heart. He wanted so badly to hold her… He wanted to. He wanted to. She cried and cried and he couldn’t do much more than kneel beside her.

He watched as she curled herself onto her hands and knees and screamed raggedly in pure and absolute pain, like someone had ripped her heart out of her chest. He had. Her heart had been his, and he had taken it with him when he died.

Primal, painful shrieks came from her mouth, so deep and loud that her whole form shook… or maybe it was the hiccups from the lack of air and the lump in her throat. He couldn’t tell. She banged a fist on the floor in front of her, once and twice and three times, until her hand hurt, until the external pain countered the grief. It didn’t.

Victoria ran herself ragged while she cried over Simon, crying so much and screaming bloody murder until her throat was raw and red, until her voice went hoarse and her throat hurt and her stomach churned…

And then she vomited, hurling whatever food Mrs. MacTavish had made for dinner that day onto the hardwood floors, then cried some more, hiccuping and trembling as she looked at the mess of her vomit on the floor through tear-filled eyes.

Simon’s sat beside her as she pulled herself back against the wall, breathing desperate, greedy gulps of air, feet parted and planted on either side of the puke puddle, as she wiped her mouth clean with the back of her right hand and then hung her head down, resting her forearms limply on her knees.

“God damn you, Simon Michael Riley…” She spoke in a whine, her voice hoarse and shaky, too broken to speak properly. “You can’t save me and then leave me here to bleed… What am I supposed to do without you?”

Simon leaned against her, pressing his bare lips against her temple, hoping, praying to a God he doesn’t even believe in, that she can feel it, can feel him… That Victoria gets some sort of realization that he’s not gone, not really… That he’ll spend a lifetime by her side, waiting for her time to come.

-

Victoria spent the next couple of days at home, having texted Meabh some excuse about wanting to be home to receive Simon’s ashes from Price, who was going to deliver them soon.

Meanwhile, she simply went about cleaning their house. They had had plenty of fresh produce, fruit, and meat in the fridge, which had spoiled after a week away. He watched her, like always, make herself feel better by deep cleaning the entire home.

He hovered over her shoulder the whole time, wishing he could just reach out with a firm hand on her shoulder like he usually did, making her turn around, hugging her tight to his chest, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head… But he couldn’t. So, instead, he just hovered… watching her as she went about it all.

It was only after she was done cleaning, after she showered, after she took some melatonin gummies and passed out on the couch on day two, clutching his dog tags tight in her fist, along with her brother’s and father’s, that he heard it.

“She’ll be alright.” A manly southern-American-accented voice reverberated from behind him. 

Simon turned slowly, coming face to face with an older man with short black hair, greying stubble, and intense, stern blue eyes.

“Are you-” Simon began.

“Owen Callahan, son.” The man introduced himself with a light, lazy salute. Simon returned it without even thinking about it.

“Worst possible way I can think of to meet my father-in-law.” Simon muttered sarcastically.

Owen’s eyebrows raised and he smirked a bit. “Can’t kill you again, son, so don’t be scared.” He added.

“‘m not, sir.” Simon added and shook his head, watching his father-in-law’s ghost move about the room, coming to stand over Victoria, a hand caressing her head, much like he’d seen Johnny do to Meabh while she slept, and her dad, Seamus, as well… when John was too busy fussing about his mam and sisters at the funeral. He didn’t want to show himself to Johnny, Simon had noticed.

“Is her brother around? Nathan?” Simon asked and looked around himself, seeking out another ghost. 

“I’m here.” Nathan muttered as he fazed through the bedroom wall into the living room. He was a handsome young man. A crew cut worth of black hair, a shaggy stubble that extended down his jaw onto his neck, slender hazel eyes, and a notch cut into his left eyebrow.

“So… you two been here this whole time?” Simon asked as he looked at them, brows raised in confusion and surprise.

“Haunting her? Yeah.” Nathan replied as he came to stand by Simon’s side. He was a few inches shorter than him.

“So you’ve seen… everything?” Simon asked as he looked at them.

“If you mean you fuckin’ my daughter, no. We made sure to be far fuckin’ away from here when you two would get close to it.” Owen muttered crudely from next to Victoria.

“Ah-” Simon nodded a bit and scratched at the back of his neck, feeling, for once, a bit embarrassed. He could, strangely enough, feel at himself, just not others.

“Don’t get all coy now. Like I said, should be grateful I can’t kill ya again.” Owen added.

“I am, sir.” Simon nodded. 

“But, all things considered… she could’a married worse, dad.” Nathan muttered as he slid over to Victoria and sat at her feet, on the armrest of the couch.

“I know…” Owen grunted as he looked at her. Then, he looked at Simon. “You did her good. Ain’t seen her smile as much as I saw her with ya, since we passed.”

Simon nodded and looked away. He’d never been good at this. Taking praise and compliments. Socializing. “Thank you, sir.”

-

On day three, she was awoken by a knock on the door. She was still in the clothes she had changed into last night. Not pajamas, but rather a pair of black leggings and one of Simon’s t-shirts. 

Simon followed after her, like a lost puppy, constantly wanting to stay around her. Nathan and Owen remaining lounging about in the sitting room. They had more experience and no longer followed her so desperately… other than when she went into battle.

Price and Gaz stood on the other side of the door. Price held a non-descript matte black ceramic urn. Gaz, next to him, held Ghost’s balaclava and gloves, as well as a few of his throwing knives.

Victoria took the mask, gloves and knives first, looking at them closely and taking a deep breath before she set them in a shelf inside the coat closet. Then, she turned to Price and looked at the urn closely.

Her hands shook as she took the urn into her hands, feeling the weight of it. So much of Simon had been condensed into ashes inside a small pot that could be confused for a decorative jar if one wasn’t paying attention.

“Thank you.” She told them with a nod as she carefully wrapped a hand around the urn and clutched it to her chest protectively like it was a baby, and not just her husband’s ashes.

Price gave her a look and then looked down at the urn. She seemed to pick up on the sign he gave her, and returned the look with a barely-there nod.

“Do you need anything?” Gaz asked her softly, politely, caringly. “Food? Company?”

Price was still silent, however. He knew better than to offer. He might not have known Victoria as well as Simon and Meabh, but he knew enough.

“No, thanks,” Victoria said as she nodded at them. “I’m fine.” She lied and forced herself to smile a bit.

“Are you su-” Gaz was about to ask but got struck to silence by a sharp elbow to his side, from Price.

“We have things to do, Gaz. Gotta get back to base.” Price said, cutting him off.

“But si-” Gaz attempted again, instead, simply earning a glare from the man.

“We have things to do, Gaz.” Price repeated sharply. Then, he turned to look at Victoria again. “Will be expecting you to report to base on Monday.” Price told her, knowing she’d want to work through her grief. Just like Simon would.

“Copy that.” She nodded, then, the two men stepped back, and she closed the door in their faces, walking her urn back to the couch and carefully setting it atop the coffee table.

Simon was hot on her tail and sat beside her on the couch, peering over at her with a tentative glance. He could tell she was on the verge of breaking down again, now that she had Him home.

Nathan and Owen were gone. They tended to do that, sometimes. Disappearing.

She took a deep breath and popped open the lid, peering inside the urn. The ashes were inside a ziplock bag inside, as usual… But, atop of them, rested a small black velvet box. She pulled it out of the urn and onto her lap, then, slowly, opened it.

Inside, nestled in a foam pad, rested two rough-looking wedding bands. Made of gold but full of marks and scuffs… and with a dark grey piece of rough stone on the center, where one would expect to see a precious gem.

Simon wanted to hide away in shame when he saw them, groaning loudly, glad she couldn’t hear him. Of course Price would go and find his failed metal-work creations and give them to her.

Simon had spent the last year in a metal working class, trying to make them a proper set of wedding bands. They had gotten married without one, instead using their dog tags during the vow exchange, and then had never bothered buying some, because Victoria thought they were stupid, and it’s not like they could wear them out in the field…

But Simon wanted to give her something. He wanted her to surprise her! Wanted to make her all kinds of gold jewelry because he knew how much she loved to wear it when they were on leave… He just had to get good at it first! But he didn’t. 

These rings were the most recent pair he tried to make, gold and meteorite stone, which, one day, he’d hope to substitute with an actual precious gem, once he got good enough, once the rings were smooth and sleek.

He just wasn’t good at it no matter how many times he practiced. They were still rough and uneven and her wedding band was twisted and strange… He just wasn’t made for making beautiful things… But he was willing to try… for her.

And yet, as she looked at them now, clutched in her hand, tears streamed down her face… All Victoria could think was how beautiful the rings were. “Fuck…” She grunted through her teeth. She slowly grabbed her ring and rolled it between her fingers, feeling the rough texture of it with her fingertips… 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Simon…” She murmured as she looked up at the urn, almost like she was looking at him, unaware that his ghost was right there, beside her, wanting nothing more than to wipe her tears and hold her hand.

Simon slid away from the couch and sat across from her on the coffee table, parking himself over his ashes, wanting to feel like she was looking at him… even if she couldn’t see him. “How long did ya keep these a secret? I wish you would’ve told me you were making ‘em…”

“I’m just fuckin’ unlucky, ain’t I?” She muttered to herself as she kept gazing upon her ring. “You ain’t that lucky either, are ya?”  She asked, soft tears rolling down her cheeks, sniffling away the tears, batting her eyelashes to try and contain them. It was unsuccessful.

“You couldn’t tell me you were making these… I couldn’t tell you ‘I love you’...” She trailed off as she looked at him, smiling sadly as more tears ran down her face, her lips scrunching up to stop a hiccup and a sob.

“It just wasn’t in the cards for us, huh? Never is… for people like us, ain’t that right?” She asked him, looking right at him, but not seeing him. “It was never gonna end with us (retiring) together, was it?”

Simon reached out and placed a hand over her cheek, unable to do anything more than hold her like he had so many times before, muttering a reply that she wouldn’t hear: “I love you too, Victoria. You’ll see me again.”

the rings in question:

@crashtestbunny better see some tears bestie

[sphooney]

theyre both within the same friendgroup fighting for popularity with completely different approaches

they are passive aggressively and not so passive aggressively at each others throats all the time, but when a new student tried to snatch the crown, they are forced to band together.

because whats worse than your ‘worst enemy’ getting more popular than you? a random other person getting more popular. yup. makes sense for sure. no lesbian undertones AAT ALLLL…

and yes nellie was inspired by the american girl doll because i just think shes adorable

ask me abt them 😇

[justtuesdays]

just another holiday: the intro

A Villa Social Media AU

or one villa, two o’malleys, and plenty of drama.

Masterlist

Introduction:

[shrenvents]

Miracle Aligner

Alex Turner Series

Series Masterlist

Summary: Who knew Alex Turner, frontman to one of the greatest bands of this generation had the worst luck in love. As a romantic who's quite familiar with heartbreak, Turner's grown sick of looking for a spark that will eventually burn him. So, while visiting a local pub, how was he supposed to know that a drunken Tuesday night, would change his sombre tune forever?

Inspired by the album Everything You've Come To Expect. Mature content (sexual acts, language) Original character.

Chapter one:

Aviation

Toronto, November 15, 2015

5:57 pm

Alex's POV

"That's enough Turner!" Zach yells over the various clamouring instruments. "You've been working on these songs for weeks and this was the best you got mate?" Jaime continues with a snort. "Yeah?" I huff, rolling my eyes.

Jaime and Zach exchange a knowing look before Zach pipes up again. "You know what Al? Why don't you call it a night, maybe go out, meet a few girls, have fun." He then glances to my right. "Miles you stay and finish your set."

"What's this?" I jest, bewildered by my bandmates.

"Sorry Al, the songs you've been writing these days just aren't the Shadow Puppets brand," Jaime trails off, looking more empathetic than his counterpart. My brows crease further into my eyelids and I dully unclasp the guitar strap from my shoulder. "My songs don't fit the 'brand' of my band?" I glare at them in disbelief as the two share another look.

"Sorry Al, but your material has been all doom and gloom these days." Miles now exclaims while avoiding my troubled expression. He pauses before continuing. "Your greatest hits are love songs, passionate shite." Miles's eyes then connect with my own, and I finally understand what he's implying. "It's been a while mate." His last statement was the final blow.

That's right, I haven't been with anyone for months, romantically, physically, and everybody knows it. These days I just find romance to be tiresome. Even a shag doesn't seem to excite me much anymore. I've simply gone mad, that's what it is.

Though they seem to have me all figured out, I refuse to give in to their remarks. "You lot have lost it. I'll come back when you've come to your senses!" I bark out while snatching up my guitar and jacket. The boy's faint snickers fill the room as I take off towards the door. "Aw c'mon, Al!" Jaime carries out, stifling his laughter. I slam the door behind me with unnecessary force, utterly infuriated.

Instantly after leaving the studio, I feel the blistering Canadian winter encase my narrow frame. "Bugger," I snit before whipping out my phone, in hopes an Uber would usher me away from this frost. To my dismay, because of the excessive snowfall, transport was either delayed or unavailable, and I had no interest in sticking around roadside. So, I switched to searching for a local pub, racing out of the cold.

...

After a numbing 10-minute journey, I reached a pub called Les Cactus and ripped open its wooden entrance, embracing its heat. Whilst I take a seat on the nearest bar stool, a flash of red catches the corner of my eyes. A waitress with her back turned serves drinks to a group of men who gawk at her with an unreserved fancy. Momentarily, I admire her long, fiery hair that flows down her fit backside. Fortunately, the incoming bartender removes me from my fairly pervy thoughts. "What can I get for ya buddy?" The bartender ranks down my features, odd excitement filling his own. "You got any Bulleit?" He smirks.

"Sure thing." He spins away from me, before quickly rotating back and whispering for my ears only, "Big fan by the way." I smile politely with a nod as he disappears into the bar to prepare my drink. My gaze returns to the space where the redhead once stood, which is now vacant. "Here ya go. Let me know if you need anything else!" The bartender ponders shortly before speaking, "My name's Mickey by the way." He places my bourbon down with an oddly suggestive wink.

8:24 pm

"Maybe consider spacing out your next drink Alex. I get you're a millionaire and money ain't a thing," Mickey bobs his head, taking note of appearance, "but you're kinda overdoing it buddy," he finishes. I scoff at his smirk and slap a bill on the countertop. "Another." My face and tone drop in an attempt to be taken seriously, but my drunken command doesn't detour Mickey's delight.

"You're the boss."

"Uh-uh, that's at least his sixth drink this hour M." An unfamiliar feminine voice pitches in. It's husky and demanding, and so, I intend to listen. Curiously turning to look, my vision is consumed by that recognizable carrot-like head. If I was captivated before seeing her face, I was surely a goner now.

Mickey ceases his actions while she stares between us with scrutiny. I'm gobsmacked and she clearly takes my silence as a sort of confirmation. "Right, no more for him. Okay M?" Mickey nods sternly, face falling moderately as her tone leaves no room for opposition. "Alexander!" I practically cry out before Red gets the chance to leave. Smooth Turner.

"Excuse me?"

"I-uh, name's Alex..." Yeah, very smooth.

"Jennie." She states curtly, evidently bemused. She then moves swiftly on her heel towards the kitchen. Straight away I grimace, pulling a hand to my forehead, rubbing its lines harshly. "Not a word." Mickey chuckles quietly and goes back to his work.

9:41 pm

"Still here, Alexander?" My head shoots up, startled by Red. When did I even fall asleep-

"Yes?" She snorts at my jumbled reply.

"Want me to call you a cab? A shrink perhaps?"

"M' sorry?" I question clumsily.

"Oh? I just thought you may need one, after hearing what you told to Mickey." Her sultry voice echoes out her rather devious grin. "God." My eyes widen in horror which aids her impending elation. "What have I said?"

"Nothing really, just that..." She starts counting her digits absentmindedly. "You've got no luck writing your music, no love life. Oh, and you have no sex life!" She proclaims the last part with glee. Jesus, please end this nightmare.

"I did not."

"Did too."

"I've had too much drink."

"Drunken words are sober thoughts." Jennie carries on smiling at my trepidation. Maybe I'd find her charming if her jokes weren't at my expense. "That's it, I'm not tipping." I declare pathetically. Her devilish smirk doesn't falter. "Seriously? Things can't be that bad! Mickey tells me you're actually a successful musician."

"That you've obviously never heard of." I roll my eyes at the absurdity of our conversation. She laughs aloud at my response, which I admit, brought a genuine smile to my face. It really has been a while. Her face then goes blank. "Alexander."

"Alex."

"Alex. You're young." She pauses, her gaze sweeps my shaggy appearance. "Ish"

"Ouch." I flinch jokingly, earning myself another gorgeous laugh and playful swat.

"Hey! And you're good-looking."

"Ish." I interrupt again with a chuckle and her smile grows.

"No!" She more or less shouts, "You have a lot to work with, trust me." Her hands gesture nimbly. "The only thing standing in the way of you getting laid is yourself." A surprise roar of laughter leaves my lips shortly and I shake my head in disbelief.

"You're selling yourself short here Alexander," Red concludes. "Alex-"

"You're wasting your youth-ish," she interrupts me once again and a sliver of silence washes over us. It's as if we're the only ones in this packed pub, eyes locked on one another, communicating beyond words. Her deep hazel orbs focus on my brown ones. "What do you suggest I do then, Jennie?" Lightly raising a brow, my words dare her while her lovely name rolls off my tongue. I can't help but revel in how it sounds. Then something flashes in her fixated stare.

"Let's get out of here."

Chapter two

[au-yuukiemcee]

Savana Vitani: Five's a Crowd

~When Leona decides to ask Savana out on a date, he immediately gets friend zoned.

[gyo534]

Lucas/Paracelsus

Blair (oc)/A.B.A

I really love ABA and Paracelsus from guilty gear, so I wanted to draw my ship ocxcanon like them, I laughed a lot drawing Lucas... like a key 🗝💖🐳✨️

[bvannn]

Submission for the Newgrounds Ghost Collab that also doubles as my new banner! Featuring the cast of my upcoming comic!

[mwolf0epsilon]

O'Malley gets Chimpchecked

Attack for @corruptimles where their Among Us OC, O'Malley, gets subjected to a Random Chimp Event™. In space.

[buttercup-barf]

Did some OC teeth references... Idea and layout stolen from @/my-axe, hehe.

[corruptimles]

This week: ghost cat finds funny esper cat

bonus:

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Clockwork. - OC Story

pairing: COD OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley bonus: MootOC!Meabh "Pirate" O'Malley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish words: 1.4k~ (on the dot, bby!) cw: canon simon backstory. + none. just toothrotting fluff.

December and May are Simon's least favourite months of the year.

December because it's the constant reminder of his family passing.

May because it's the constant reminder that he was the cause of all his family's issues.

Simon was born within days of his own father's birthday; "a late birthday present" everyone called it...

Nevermind the fact the druggie was too high to even attend his own son's birth, and that his mum had to get herself to the hospital alone, with a young Tommy tucked under her arm.

Simon had a bad birth, having breached feet first, and having to get rotated in utero, and then having been born with the umbilical chord around his neck, which meant he needed extra care afterward.

Simon needed to get surgery at age 3 because of tonsilitis.

Simon needed glasses growing up, which is mum could barely afford.

Simon had trouble saying his Ss, so for a long time, he got mocked at school for calling himself "Shimon"... and ended in him having speech classes.

Simon's grades were horrendous, and he had a tendency to get into fights at school, which caused his mum to have to take hours off work to come see his teachers.

Simon.

Simon.

Simon.

Always him, at the root of every problem.

And yet Simon was the only one in the house to raise his voice (and later his fists) at the drunk that was his father, which earned him countless trips to A&E.

Simon was the one with the neglected birthday, not because his mum and Tommy didn't remember, but because being right after his own father's, the leech would blow all their money on a rager, and leave the family unable to eat, let alone buy the boy a cake.

So Simon learned to not care.

Going into the Army, people didn't really show that big of a deal about it like they would at a normal job. Hard to, when you spend all your time fearing a bomb will fall on you or a bullet will bury itself on your body.

But then he went home, and when he kicked that bag of bones out of the house, and got Tommy into rehab... It got different. Got... better. The birthdays got easier. There were phone calls, and cards, and he actually... sort of... looked forward to it.

Whenever he'd be scheduled for leave, he'd go home, and mum would've bought them a cake and they'd sing happy birthday, and mum would give him things he needed; clothes, boots, they'd watch films together, she'd kiss his forehead so often...

Then, Beth came along. And now he suddenly was being forced fed cake and handed gifts that he had no clue what to do with... So his barracks suddenly had color. There were new towels, and little trinkets, picture frames with photos from home...

Then Joseph came, the little boy that had been the apple of his eye, that learned to talk in May, at 10 months old, and Simon got an e-mail with a video from them, where little Joseph mumbled his way past a 'SiSi!' while pointing at a picture of him in Tommy's phone... One of, if not the, best gift he'd ever received.

And they they were gone.

It only got so much worse after that night.

He swore he'd never celebrate his birthday again.

All he had ever loved had been stripped from him.

He wondered if it was his fault.

If he was, somehow, destined to bring bad luck to all those around him.

If he was, somehow, the root of all evil.

If, because he spited some God, all that he loved, all that he touched, was destined to die in his hands.

He spent three years locked in a haze. Mission to mission, job to job, move move move, and never stop.

He spent three Mays buried in work so he couldn't think, and buried in alcohol so he couldn't feel.

And then, on the fourth...

“He tried to get the radiophone off me, so I broke a couple of his fingers… And his wrist. And kicked him in the balls.”

“It's a… Mexican-style MRE. Has beans and cheddar cheese or something. It's the only one I actually don't mind eating. The others are disgusting.”

“That feels like a dig at my social skills.”

“I've been swimming since I was a girl. Navy made sense too.”

“Took a napalm bath.”

For once since that bloody fucking day, he actually wanted something more than to simply forget, to drink himself into a coma and only waking up days later with his phone ringing and Price talking about a new mission.

God, Victoria made him laugh. She made him roll his eyes. She made him scoff. She made him talk. She made him listen.

Of course he couldn't let that go... let her go.

Of course he went looking for her once he was on leave.

Of course he held her close for those two nights.

Of course he held her close in that safehouse.

Of course he bore his face out for her when he got shot.

Of course, of course, of course.

He didn't isolate anymore, every May after that.

Simon'd wake up on his birthday and throw back the covers and sit on the edge of the bed and before the thoughts got to him, she'd already be wrapping her arms around his midsection, and pressing her cheek to his back.

And he'd put his hands over hers, and hear her breathing, and her heartbeat pressed against his back... And he'd close his eyes.

They didn't need to speak.

Victoria never wished him a 'Happy Birthday', but she'd always make sure to bake him a little sweet treat for dinner.

They share it the same way they shared their ''wedding cake'': sat across from each other in their kitchen, with a backdrop of trees beside them, a single knife to cut a slice, feeding each other pieces off the blade.

And when the thoughts got to be too much, on his birthday or all throughout the month, he'd simply turn and look at her, cup her face in his hand, and look her in the eye...

In those moments, he wanted to say it, he could feel it in the tip of his tongue...

That he cherished her.

That he appreciated all she did.

That she kept him sane.

That she was the best thing to have ever happened to him.

That she was like a lighthouse when he felt like a bloody gondola lost at open sea (wildly unprepared and definitely about to tip over and drown).

That he'd die for her.

That he'd kill (and had killed, and would kill again) for her.

That even if there was nothing else to go on for... he'd keep going for her.

That he loved her.

The words were always at the tip of his tongue.

Not just then, but every day. At all points of the day.

Whenever they touched, he'd want to say it.

Whenever they spoke, he'd want to say it.

Whenever they'd lock eyes, he'd want to say it.

Whenever he breathed, he'd want to say it.

His tongue would swirl with the taste of it, of the love he felt for her...

But the words never really made it out...

But he knew. And she knew.

Extra:

Then the news came, the baby, Meabh, it was always go go go, on the move, at home, never time to rest, just Meabh and the baby, and Victoria and him, and...

By the time Simon noticed, Fiadh was here, lying in his arms, little hands closed into fists, her small wrapped in a white blanket with anchors and fishes drawn on it...

And he looked up at his wife who stood beside Meabh, doting on her best friend and caressing her head, cooing at her that she did a good job, the girl a bit dozy from exhaustion from the recent breast feeding...

And then at the clock on the wall, marking 00:13 of the 19th...

And he felt his eyes begin to prickle, his jaw clenching under his surgical mask...

He looked back down at his niece again, little blind blue eyes, the same ones that used to belong to his best friend, staring up at him...

Maybe he didn't hate his birthday so much anymore.

for you @loveandplanet for making me sad ; and also @crashtestbunny sorry for this :)

[linawu]

Envy was so real for having a Revolutionary Girl Utena poster hanging above her desk. The other poster is Porco Rosso and something else I can't quite identify.

Comic panel is from Scott Pilgrim and the Infinite Sadness by Bryan Lee O'Malley (colours by Nathan Fairbairn).

[justtuesdays]

just another holiday

a villa social media au

day o’malley never spent a holiday at home. bali on easter, fiji on christmas—no matter what, she’d make sure she wasn’t in dublin. she never missed out on fun, yet somehow she always did. it was easy to blame her brother, but this time she had a plan. a plan that had worked once before. a holiday that her brothers couldn’t barge in on. love island needed ex-islanders…and she was more than happy to take the invitation.

intro • moodboard • darcie

parts: 001 • 002 • 003 • 004 • 005 • 006

007 • 008 • 009 • 010 • 011 • 012 • 013

014 • 015 • 016 • 017 • 018 • 019 • 020