Jan 1, 2016
Hartley, I made you an anger stool. When you get mad and want to get up in my face, you can use this. It also works for make out sessions. <3
@fiftyguilders
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Hartley, I made you an anger stool. When you get mad and want to get up in my face, you can use this. It also works for make out sessions. <3
@fiftyguilders
Source
Leftovers
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine You make me happy when skies are grey...
“That’s a sad song, James...”
Hartley’s sock clad feet were quiet against the tiled floor of the kitchen. He yawned and hovered by the coffee maker until the pot had filled enough for a cup. After pouring, he pushed the pot back into place and allowed the rest of the coffee to slowly trickle into it. Both hands cupped the brightly colored mug- James’ mug. After taking a sip, he set down the cup on the surface of the counter and moved to the cookie jar.
“We’re almost out of biscuits.” Hartley said, plucking three of the thin sugar cookies from the jar. He replaced the head of the pink monster jar and trailed his fingers across its goofy grin. Sitting at the stool pushed against the island in the center of the room, he sipped his coffee and ate the three cookies. James sat on the edge of the counter, swinging his legs, sipping at cocoa from a mug fashioned into the head of a cartoon fox. He was so close; Hartley didn’t allow himself to brush fingers against his acrobat’s thigh.
After breakfast, he brushed his teeth and showered before drifting back into the living room. A few rats scurried over the mound of blankets and pillows as he dropped down among them. He rested there a moment before turning his head and pressing his face into a bright pillow with polka dots. Eyes closing, he took in a deep breath of Old Spice. The scent was beginning to fade.
Sitting up, he turned on the television and pulled up Netflix. “What should we watch today?” James was beside him, feet propped up on the pillows, head on the blankets by Hartley’s feet, and his head turned away. It was difficult to keep from stroking back the sleep ruffled blonde and pink hair; Hartley busied himself with the remote. “Gordon Ramsay, I think. He’s your favorite.”
The morning was spent listening to an angry British man ranting and cursing. He might have remained there, watching but not watching, if James had not risen from the pillows and walked into the kitchen.
“The leftovers are almost gone...,” Hartley stared into the refrigerator before pulling out a small portion of spaghetti and meatballs. The shelves inside were nearly bare. He ate in silence while James stretched, extending his legs, arching his back forward, grasping his toes and ankles. “What am I going to do when they’re gone?” Hartley’s voice was quiet. James kept his head turned away and said nothing.
The afternoon passed into evening. Dinner came and went; Hartley didn’t eat the last portion of pasta. Instead, he crawled into bed. It seemed to take a lifetime, but at some point he must have slept because he awoke to slow kisses pressed against his chin, his jaw, the pulse point of his throat. He was somewhat ashamed of the small noise that escaped his lips. “James...” The warm, soft mouth caught his lower lip; teeth scraped the tender flesh. Their tongues twined together in a dance they both knew by heart.
The end of James’ nose brushed against Hartley’s. He gave a soft hum and murmured. “Hartley...”
Hartley...
Hartley stared at the ceiling, his hands trembling as they tightened into white knuckled fists against the cold bed sheets. He tilted his head and watched James step away. Just as James reached the door, he turned back and smiled through dried smears of blood. Look what they did to your face...
Hartley, don’t forget to change your batteries. I love you, babe.
MERRY CHRISTMAS, @fiftyguilders ! Some people have a recorded message that plays when they need to change the batteries on their hearing aids. So we had talked about WHAT IF JAMES RECORDED A MESSAGE ON HARTLEY’S HEARING AIDS AND THE MESSAGE PLAYED AFTER JAMES DIED? I was supposed to write a fluffy thing for Christmas. Oopsy.
[SPREADING LOVE]:: *boop* Re-boop some of your favorite blogs! ♥ ( It's been a year, you nerd. Randall, in many ways you've taught me patience, you're a joy to be around, and you have a kindness that isn't seen in many. Your writing has a strong foundation in the fundamentals and your sentence structure has been one of my favorites in any roleplayer I ever met. It's an honor to be your friend and I consider you irreplaceable? Can I say that? Is it too sappy? Cheers to another year, bruh. )
I'm crying. I can't believe... I just.... you are truly a wonder. I love you so much, bby. You are one of the best friends I have ever had. Your amazing and beautiful writing is what drew me to you and I thank God everyday that I have you as a friend. You're the best. Words can't express. You are irreplaceable, too. You've helped me grow so much with my writing. Thank you thank you thank you. Fifty times.
The train literally plays the track of this inventive music toy by designer Ricardo Seola. The track, which is designed with small bumps that pluck the metal keys on the front of the train, is divided into sections which children can rearrange to change the song.
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@fiftyguilders
🎄
The decorations were put up while Hartley was away.
There were delicate garlands made of brightly colored paper in varying shades of reds and greens, whites and golds, and the occasional band of shimmering silver that looked suspiciously like tin foil. Wreaths of paper were hung on the windows, a tiny pink tree sat in the middle of the mantelpiece and was half smothered with lights. Neatly sewn stockings bearing elaborately embroidered letters across their red fronts hung beneath the string of paper loops strung across the mantle; the one with an ‘H’ was bulging and wriggling in a most unnerving way.
James was sprawled among a collection of pillows and blankets that together formed a sort of nest in front of the little fireplace. His slow breaths disturbed the fuzz at the end of a crooked Santa hat; from beneath the brim tufts of blonde hair were sticking out in all directions. On the coffee table, a veritable feast had been laid out on seasonal paper plates: tiramisu, amaretto biscotti, zeppoles, Florentines, a small chocolate cake, and piles upon piles of sugar cookies in various stages of decoration.
The only thing that was not draped in lights or bits of paper or tinsel was a small, living tree resting in front of the full length windows that faced out onto the city. There was a commotion in the sleeping nest and James dashed over to Hartley, reaching out to take both of his hands. He gave a brief glance up toward a massive branch of mistletoe then leaned to press his lips to Hartley’s. “You’re just in time. I didn’t want to decorate the real tree without you. I made a bunch of ornaments out of old toys and bits of metal and things left over from bombs and inventions. I made dessert and, and, and, I cooked dinner.”
He gave him another kiss and tugged him further into the apartment. “I made coffee, too! Lots of coffee! And don’t worry, I stole everything and made the rest! So no big Santa corporations got any of our money. In fact they lost money! So…,” He pulled the hat off his head and delicately placed it atop the other’s head. “Will you celebrate Christmas with me?”
Carols!
Ten “Carols!” in my ask box the mun will post an audio track of themselves singing Christmas Carols
2/10
love you too boo
how dare u