#Adam Hann Preference

[adore-healy]

Talk!

Warnings: Brief mentions of body confidence (insecure reader); alcohol (mentions of vomit); drugs (mentions of rehab); very descriptive illegal drug use and overdose (injecting/needles, vomit, seizures, and mentions of death), sexual scenes and references; and bad language. Please read at your own risk!

Talk!

Swaying ever so slightly, thanks to the glass of wine you’d downed upon your arrival at the party for some liquid confidence, you cross your legs and pray that whoever is taking so long in the bathroom will speed things along because you’re not sure how much longer your bladder can hold out for. 

Leaning against the wall for support, you find yourself immersed in people watching as a form of distraction. It seems as though the landing area of the house was the most ideal make out spot for couples tonight — and you assume that the bedrooms are already taken; so you dare not risk using any of the en suites attached in fear of disturbing someone’s mid-fuck.

A group of lads are sat in a circle on the other side of the landing, engrossed in a card game which heavily involves alcohol as you hear them egg each other on with chants galore. One girl sits on the carpeted stairs, only two down from where you’re standing, and she drunkenly sobs into her phone, desperately apologising to whoever is on the other end — presumably an ex partner — as she begs them to take her back.

Your eyes wander observantly over to a group of girls huddled in a corner and despite your innocence in the drug scene at parties, you know that they are abusing a substance as they take turns to dramatically snort white powder off a car key. You’re instantly drawn to them; each of them dressed in clothing that accentuates their stunning figures, paired with high heels that you’d surely break an ankle in. 

Self-consciousness suddenly becomes your most prominent feeling as you look down at the loose-fitting floral playsuit you’d chosen to wear this evening, along with your white low top converse. Wrapping your arms protectively around yourself, you wait as patiently as you possibly can.

As though your silent prayers had been answered, the lock of the door clicks, indicating that somebody is finally exiting the bathroom — although you’re hardly surprised when a girl stumbles out of the doorway and balances herself against the doorframe, a slight giggle escaping her lips.

“Steady, love,” a voice sounds from behind her.

Even in your tipsy haze, you’d know that northern accent anywhere — and as his hand comes to rest on the girls’ hip to support her in her drunken state, there’s no mistaking the recognisable box tattoo inked on the inside of his forearm.

Tears pool in your eyes and cloud your vision as you drink in the girls demeanour. Despite having full awareness that it’s not her fault, you can’t help but feel incredibly bitter towards her.

She’s hot.

Her brunette hair frames her face and the luscious curls fall to halfway down her back; fake tan and make up seemed to have been applied in excess but she was able to pull it off with ease; her lips — clearly injected with filler — were ruby red (although the smeared lipstick across her face doesn’t go unnoticed by you); and her waist is adorned by a matching black leather co-ord, her knee high boots giving prominence to her stature. 

She’s really hot. Something that you’re not.

And …

… Matty.

The amount of times you’d spoken his name aloud; shouted it during an argument; whispered it in your sleep; whined it each time he would bring you close to the edge with his fingers, or tongue, or sometimes both, only to deny you of the orgasm you desperately craved; moaned it when he did finally let you come around him.

You wonder if his name would roll off your tongue so easily now.

He looks, dare you jinx it, healthy; adorned in a simplistic but dressy pair of black slacks paired with a plain white shirt (because he thinks it makes him appear ethereal — note: it does) and the outfit is completed with black patent shoes. He looks every inch the award winning successful pop star — and you liked it — until you remembered the girl he was keeping company with.

You hadn’t expected this situation to arise tonight; hadn’t prepared yourself for an awkward encounter with your ex-boyfriend; let alone seeing him clinging to a girl — a girl who isn’t you.

Upon handing out her birthday party invites this summer, Charli had confidently assured you that Matty wouldn’t be attending. You’re now realising it had perhaps been a ploy to get you here in the first place. Charli knew you wouldn’t miss her birthday, you’d promised her that yourself; but you would have preferred to have done something different between the two of you — or your group of shared girlfriends — to celebrate; a spa day; a bottomless brunch; a trip to the theatre; anything that didn’t require much social interaction (such as the disorderly house party currently taking place).

Dazed and slightly unsteady, you’re at a loss for words as you look up at Matty and the brunette — but your heart need not race with anxiety, your body need not shake with trepidation, your mind need not be perplexed — as the pair wade past you, not bothering to acknowledge your existence.

Narrowing your eyes, you watch the couple shuffle down the stairs and dodge past the sea of people loitering. Matty keeps the girl close to him, her back pressed against his chest, as his fingertips dance on her skin, his nails biting into her flesh as though he fears letting her go. 

The urge to vomit overwhelms you — and you don’t think it’s tonight’s consumption of alcohol. Stumbling into the bathroom, you’re sure to lock the door behind you, before grabbing the porcelain basin for stability. Steadying your breaths and grounding yourself with a few ‘you’re okay’s,’you’re able to calm yourself down enough to remember why you’re in here in the first place; your bladder is about to explode.

Seating yourself on the toilet, your body slightly swaying in your intoxicated state, you close your eyes to ground yourself, drifting off in a daydream where times were different.

You were never Matty’s type — not typically. Fans often reminded you of that across various social media platforms, although not all comments were nasty. Some simply stated that you were far too innocent to be dragged into Matty’s world of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll; whilst other opinions were cruel, leaving you to question your existence in Matty’s life altogether.

Their bitterness was laughable — until it wasn’t. Your rockstar boyfriend would often come home to you - a shell of your former self - locked away in the bathroom; tearfully obsessing over your looks (although not narcissistically); picking yourself apart; and somehow managing to find non-existent faults.

But ever the charming boyfriend, Matty loved on you every day of your relationship. You were continually reminded of his affection towards you with lavish bouquets of flowers, luxurious gifts, romantic picnics, candlelit dinners, and general expressive gestures — often intimate.

However, in spite of Matty’s adoration of you, it was his weakness that had come between you and ultimately resulted in the end of your relationship. 

Although grateful for Matty overcoming his heroin addiction, his reliance on drugs had acted as a permanent barrier to a potential future together. You wanted forever with Matty; yearned for him to get down on one knee during an idyllic getaway to pop the question; desired to raise a family with him and experience the highs and lows of parenthood; and eventually grow old together (the only argument being who would be the first to go, because neither of you could live without the other).

It was an unrealistic scenario; you were unable to bring a child; Matty’s child; into a world where his substance abuse was coming first again; and before you. You didn’t condone it but you had accepted his use of recreational drugs — your boyfriend was in a band, after all, and smoking marijuana, snorting lines and popping pills was normalised in his world where creativity was key.

But Matty getting high once a month had soon turned into once a week, and coming home from a writing session in the studio with red eyes which rolled into the back of his head soon became once a day; and spending your evenings alone in your shared apartment whilst you awaited his arrival was proving difficult as you succumbed to the loneliness. Along with the lack of intimacy and the diminished romance, it felt as though you were living separate lives, passing ships in the night.

Late nights, drug dependencies and an obvious lack of appreciation often resulted in slanging matches between the two of you; harsh words thrown around and reverberating off the walls, both viciously biting back and mocking insecurities just to one up each other and instantly regretting it but both too stubborn to apologise. Arguments between you would conclude with slamming doors and estranged sleeping arrangements. 

You’d remain in the apartment, clutching the teddy bear he’d won you at a Christmas fair one year — one that held a photo frame which housed a nostalgic photograph of the two of you together after the band had performed their self-titled album in full ten years after it’s release. You’d eventually sob yourself to sleep. 

Matty would be cursing to himself and running a frustrated hand through his hair as he’d roam the streets, angrily kicking the ground and scuffing his shoes all whilst contemplating who to call at ungodly hours — before ultimately heading off to find his next fix to alleviate the pain he was causing to himself and everyone around him. 

You were both hurting.

“Please y/n, let me come in,” a female voice begs.

You frown, adjusting your eyes as you rewire your drunken brain to return to Planet Earth. You wonder how long you had disassociated for; how long someone was calling your name from outside the bathroom before you finally noticed their presence.

It takes a minute to sort yourself out before you open the door to reveal Charli on the other side. She gives you a solemn but albeit reassuring smile before pulling you in for a hug.

“You said he wouldn’t be here,” you whisper into her neck as you rest your head on her shoulder.

Charli sighs sadly as she draws back from you to close the door behind her, locking it securely and leaving you both with some privacy. 

“I wasn’t lying when I told you that y/n, please believe me,” she urges. “George …” she trails off, before explaining how the misunderstanding had occurred. 

She doesn’t mean to throw her own boyfriend under the bus and shift the blame. It had been an accidental slip of the tongue during a recording session between the two band members, which resulted in Matty assuming he was already invited — and George didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

“’s fine, ’s not your fault,” you mumble in an attempt to reassure your friend. “Just wasn’t expecting to see him,” you add with a shrug as you sit yourself on the edge of bath.

Charli kneels in front of you, taking your hands in her own. It’s a silent comfort, a gesture to say that she’s here for you, one that you’re grateful for.

“Is he —” you begin, sighing heavily as your eyes find the ceiling, struggling to vocalise the words. Charli understands and gives you time to figure out what it is that you want to express. A tear rolls down your cheek and you finally whimper, “Is he clean?”

Charli sighs heavily, the pads of her thumbs gently rubbing reassuring circles on your knuckles.

“He’ll always have a problem with drugs, y/n,” integrity is laced in her voice. “But it’s mostly weed nowadays. He hasn’t touched heroin since rehab, you know that,” she reminds you. “He occasionally does coke, but it’s for creativity, and he’s never alone.”

You nod in understanding. You’re fully aware of the demands of his rockstar lifestyle and how the use of substances heavily influence his song writing and record producing; and using it in the company of the other band members wasn’t really the issue; it was when Matty used it alone and vowed to himself to keep it a secret that it became a problem, lying becoming a huge factor in the breakdown of your relationship. 

“He realised,” she pauses, taking an in-breath before revealing, “after losing you, he needed to get his act together. He knew he couldn’t build a life with someone if he was always off his face.”

“Looks like he’s building a life with someone else just fine,” you sigh sadly, your eyes averting towards the bathroom door. 

The thought of Matty’s arms around another girl especially in front of you makes you feel incredibly uneasy; your heart physically hurting as though somebody was continuously puncturing it and putting you through consistent pain; your stomach turning at the idea of their hands roaming each other’s bodies.

“Oh babe,” she whispers sadly.

“It’s ok,” you tell her with a small nod. Wiping the tears away from your face, you take a deep breath and compose yourself. “I’m ok,” you say, a little more convincingly paired with a smile. “I’ll be fine; it was just a bit of a shock, you know.”

Charli nods in understanding. “You were together for a long time, babe. You’re bound to be upset at seeing him move on with someone else … although,” her speech becomes slurred slightly due to her alcohol consumption and she’s suddenly whispering as though she’s about to reveal a sacred secret, “between you and me, I think he’s just looking for a quick shag.”

Her words, surprisingly, don’t cut deep, and you realise it’s perhaps because she’s drunk and she doesn’t really know she’s saying; or maybe it’s because you know it’s true. There had been no sign of another girl after you; no dating rumours maliciously spread online or in the media, no mention of a female name whenever you met with the rest of the band members and their other halves. Perhaps Matty was in need a good shag — and this girl was the first person willing to provide it for him.

“C’mon,” Charli gives you an encouraging nudge, breaking you out of your own drunken trance. “There’s more vodka and tequila and wine downstairs,” she lists the various alcohol options begging to be consumed. “Let’s get wrecked,” she finishes with a smirk.

*

It’s a mystery to you how both yourself and Charli have made it to the bottom of the stairs in one piece; not once stumbling or losing your balance despite your intoxicated state. Although, you weren’t complaining. Nobody needed to end up in hospital with a sprained ankle or broken leg, especially on Charli’s birthday.

“There’s my girl,” a male voice can barely be heard over the deafening beat of music that pulsates throughout the house. Emerging through the sea of people and heading towards you both is George, his arms outstretched as he makes a beeline for his girlfriend. 

“Baby!” Charli yells dramatically as she stumbles into his open arms, nuzzling into his broad chest. She takes a few moments to regain her composure, inhaling his scent; the strong cologne smothering his plain white t-shirt.

“Someone’s having fun!” George exclaims over the music that reverberates around the house. He glances down and presses a kiss to Charli’s head, running a hand comfortingly across her back as they look ever the disgustingly in love couple.

“We are!” she slurs, smirking up at her fiancé, before loudly declaring, “I’m going … that way!” She points theatrically towards the kitchen as she suddenly steps out from George’s embrace to meet his gaze.

“And why’s that, baby?” he asks, pressing his hands gently to her cheeks, cupping her face.

“Because … that’s where the vodka is, silly!” she giggles, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend, as she feels as though she’s stating the most obvious thing in the world before she starts swaying on the spot.

“Whoa,” George murmurs softly, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. “‘m not sure you need anymore vodka, babe,” he sniggers at his girlfriend’s drunkenness, although already dreading the raging hangover she’ll experience in the morning. “I best get this one some water,” he tells you, when Charli once again drunkenly collapses against his chest. “Will you be alright?” he asks, peering over her head to meet your gaze, genuine concern laced in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah … go on, you look after her. I’ll be fine,” you nod in reply, waving him off.

Taking a step down the corridor, Charli flings her arms around George’s neck, causing them both to stumble down the hallway and out of sight into the kitchen, leaving you alone. You watch them for a while, noting the interaction between them — physical touch clearly their love language as they can’t keep they hands off of each other — and despite your happiness for them in their relationship, you can’t help but feel immensely jealous of the love they have for each other.

Taking in your surroundings, you’re indecisiveness would normally kick in around now, unsure of where to go and who to spend your time with, but thanks to the many shots you’d manage to knock back this evening, your anxiety is currently kept at bay as you head into the lounge.

Drunken revellers are scattered all around the room — some making out with each other on the sofas, hips grinding against each other and moans of pleasure filling the air; others are in large gatherings and engaged in booming conversations about anything and everything; party goers sit on the floor playing drinking games; whilst a couple of guests are sprawled, uncomfortably looking, across the sofa clearly sleeping off the early hangover that’s already kicked in.

Panic threatens to rear it’s ugly head as you suddenly become hyperaware of the scenario you now find yourself in currently playing out — and you mentally scold yourself for ever thinking that the alcohol you'd consumed this evening could ever give you enough liquid confidence to mingle at such a social event.   

You’re in a room full of people; yet you’re alone. None of these people are your friends, and you’re not looking for a quick fuck, either. You don’t have anyone to talk to; anyone to interact with. Desperately seeking a solution, your eyes dart around the room, yet in only a matter of seconds they seem to find a problem in a darkened corner, and you’re forced to watch an intense interaction unfold.

How was it possible to feel everything and nothing at the same time? 

Your heart stops beating within your chest, whilst simultaneously shattering into a million pieces. Dizziness consumes your entire body as though you could collapse at any given moment, but your feet are planted firmly to the ground. Your palms start to sweat and your cheeks glow red, your body’s way of telling you you’re overheating, yet your blood runs cold within your veins. 

The scene in front of you burns into your eyes, as though it’s a movie that you must involuntarily watch repeatedly; experiencing the trauma over and over again; because you’re adamant that even when you close your eyes, the image will be etched in your brain, one that you’ll see in your nightmares every night from now on.

Matty’s hands are snaked around the brunette’s waist, his fingertips digging into the fleshiest part of her as his larger, overpowering frame keeps her in place against the magnolia wall. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned three from the top, his inked skin exposed as the woman’s palms rest atop his chest, her digits occasionally finding themselves dancing upon the artwork that adorns his body.

You can’t help your eyes wandering below as it becomes increasingly apparent that Matty’s erection is straining within his trousers, his well-endowed manhood threatening to break free of the material. As he becomes progressively turned on, he thrusts his hips towards her body, and one of his hands comes to rest on her inner thigh. 

Based on your previous experiences in make out sessions with Matty, you know his fingers will soon find their way up the leather skirt that clings to the girl’s body, before they seek out her sweet spot and have her coming all over them.

You watch his tongue battle against hers for dominance; and you’re surprised at how easily you play into your own imagination as you’re plagued with thoughts about his mouth; because you know you would have submitted by now, granting Matty permission to take full control of the situation. 

The affectionate act would be reassuring, your comfort absolutely paramount to him. With your arms around his neck and your bodies desperately pressing together as though intertwining, Matty would trail sloppy wet kisses along your jawline. One hand resting upon your hip and the other placed on the wall of the darkened corner behind you, you would be trapped, pleasantly, in his company.

As his head lowers towards your neck, he’d pull the strap of your playsuit down, exposing your clavicle. He would greedily eye up your collarbone, before allowing his lips to linger for longer than necessary as he gently sucked at your skin, surely leaving a bruise as a reminder. Expressing your pleasure through a small moan would have his lips crashing against yours instantly, the taste of cigarette smoke still on his breath, his lungs full of tar as you inhaled the tobacco second hand.

However, it wouldn’t be long before your insecurities during intimate acts would rear their ugly heads, getting the better of you, and a small whimper against Matty’s plump lips, as you desperately seek solace, has his hands cupping your face, his confidence blooming as he guides you throughout.

“Doin’ so well for me, love,” he would murmur against your lips. The conviction in his voice soothed you, the passionate kisses made you feel secure, and the tenderness of his touches made you feel safe; as though you have a place, with him, in this world.

“Matty,” is all you’d manage to whimper against him, your body quivering at the slightest touch, his words of praise turning you on.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he’d encourage more moans to escape you, desperate to hear how good he makes you feel. “Gonna let me touch you?” he always had the gentlemanly habit of asking for your consent, despite you both already knowing the answer. 

With his hot breath fanning over your blush cheeks, you’d nod against him, responding with a mumbled, “mmhmm,” and granting him permission to do so, unable to form a coherent response.

Wasting no time, his fingers would brush past you intimately, and he’d be so grateful that the playsuit you chose to wear tonight was loose fitting around your thighs, giving him the easiest access to the ever growing wet patch on your underwear.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, darling,” he would express his approval at the dampness between your legs. “Good girl,” came the praise as he’d edge you, his digits rubbing hard against you. 

You would flinch as his thumb circles your sensitivity in repetitive motions. His kisses become wetter and sloppier as you moan into his mouth, his lips smirking at the hushed moans leaving your lips. 

Bucking his hips towards you and pushing you further into the corner, ensuring to maintain your dignity and leaving no space between you, would have him breathless against your body. 

“Can you feel that, darling? That’s what you do to me.” He’d be hard; only for you.

His thumb and forefinger work in tandem against your bundle of nerves, and with the increased pressure to the circular motion he inflicts upon you, you would be so responsive for him, whimpering and quivering against him, desperate for release.

“Come on darling, you gonna come for me?” he’d ask, rhetorically, because he knows you will. “That’s it, love, give me a good one,” he talks you through it, and you don’t take much more coaxing before you come undone around him, soaking his fingers and coming over the cotton material.

He’d gaze intently, the sight of you post-orgasm incredibly mesmerising to him. He’d allow you a few moments to regain your composure; you regulate your breathing simultaneously with his whispers of encouragement, words of praise, and affectionate touches guaranteed to soothe you.

“That’s it, darlin’. Come back to me,” he would press a kiss to your cheek, bringing you down from your high and back to reality, his admiration for you soaring. Despite being surrounded by hundreds of people at the house party, Matty somehow had the ability to make you feel as though you were the only person in the room.

He anchored you.

But you drowned anyway.

“Come on, darling,” a soft voice from behind you whispers. 

A tentative pair of hands come to rest on your hips, fearful of startling you. Normally, despite your timid personality, you would react to unwanted male attention, uninvited hands touching your body, but it’s Ross, and you know you’re safe with him. 

“Come on,” he repeats. “You don’t need to see this.”

He manages to guide you out of the lounge and into the hallway; although you’re not quite sure how your brain and limbs are working in tandem. It’s as though your feet won’t move; stuck to the spot and unable to drag yourself away from the torment unfolding before your eyes; yet you can’t move quick enough, your body urging you to leave the horror behind.

Alcohol courses through your veins and you wish the depressant had acted as a sedative but instead it’s dramatically heightened your feelings. Your stomach is turning at the sight of Matty passionately making out with the brunette as though they were a couple of horny teenagers, desperate to get their end away. 

Music thumps around you, drum and bass bouncing off the walls and reverberating around the room and you’re pretty sure that your pounding heart is simultaneous with the fast breakbeats, both working in unison. 

Your knees begin to buckle beneath you, unable to support yourself as adrenaline pulses through your body. Desperately trying to swallow air into your lungs, your breath hitches around the tears that flow freely down your blush cheeks.

The oxymoron of your emotions is terrifying and there’s too much to contend with; it’s as though you’re in a dream like state — a nightmare — and a passing thought of, “Is this the equivalent to being high?” crosses your mind.

“Breathe, y/n,” Ross gently encourages as he steadies your body against his own. “Just breathe.”

You can feel people staring, eyes watching intently as they nosily observe your demeanour. They probably assume you're drunk or high; you don’t really care; you’re unable to concentrate on anything other than Matty at the moment.

“’s loud,” you whimper.

Cigarette smoke and marijuana fills the air, hustle and bustle continuing around you as Ross comes to stand in front of you, blocking your view of the party guests loitering in the hallway, as he attempts to protect you, maintaining your dignity in your vulnerable state.

“What was that, love?” he asks, lowering his ear to your mouth in an attempt to hear you around the electronic dance music that blares through the speakers.

“It’s loud!” you cry out again, shaking your head vigorously as though to rid the noise around you; the chatter amongst friends, the laughter between guests; the deafening music; your own thoughts. At the risk of looking as if having a breakdown, your place your hands over your ears, covering them. 

Your eyes dart towards two figures fast approaching and even through your tears you instantly recognise them to be Carly and Adam. 

“What’s happened?” Carly asks, obvious concern lacing her voice.

You squeeze your eyes shut and fiercely shake your head once more. “It’s too loud!” you sob this time because why does nobody understand?! Why is everybody talking so loud?

“Hey, it’s ok, I’ve got you,” Carly reassures you, gently placing a supportive hand on the small of your back.

You’re too in your own head to realise that the other two men in your presence exchange a glance, Ross pulling Adam aside to fill him in on Matty’s antics tonight.

Pulling you close, Carly attempts to protect you from the continuous stares of the other party goers, and upon overhearing the conversation taking place behind you between her husband and his friend, simultaneous with her reassuring words of, “It’s ok, darling, just breathe,” she makes an efficient decision to take you into the kitchen.

Carly understands, completely, and takes control of the situation. Leading you towards the corner counter, she encourages you to rest your swaying body against the unit for some sort of stability. The kitchen, filled with pop-stars, is almost like a safe haven for you — these people were important, and you weren’t, so they had no time to focus on you and your breakdown. They didn’t care.

“Here,” a voice murmurs softly, a glass of water offered to you in an outstretched hand. It takes you a few seconds for your blurry eyes to focus, your body swaying slightly, before you realise that it’s Adam.

You reach forward, tentatively taking the glass of liquid between both of your hands, attempting to steady your hold on the object which proves to be difficult with your shaking frame. You bring the water to your lips and start to sip it, before increasing the pace in which you drink and taking larger gulps.

“Slowly,” Carly whispers, placing her hand over yours on the glass and encouraging you to take your time. “That’s it, y/n. Nice and slowly,” she praises you as you take smaller sips once again.

You finally regain yourself, tears no longer freely flowing — but your cheeks are stained with track marks where you’d previously been crying. The reverberating music doesn’t seem quite as harsh against the walls in the kitchen; and it’s perhaps the most peaceful room in the house, despite there being plenty of celebrities surrounded by cigarette smoke and noisy chatter amongst friends. 

Placing the glass down on the kitchen counter, you turn to Carly and Adam. “He … there was …” you attempt to explain yourself but you’re unable to vocalise the horror that you had witnessed — Matty making out with another girl.

“’s ok,” Carly intervenes, recognising your struggle.

Your bottom lip trembles again and it shatters Carly’s heart that you feel this way, your emotions heightened and running away with you — upset; angry; distressed; inferior; betrayed. She gives Adam a knowing look, and he too is burning with rage.

“Just … wait here,” Carly tells you softly, her hands coming to brush your hair out of your face. “I’ll be right back, ok?” she assures you, softly cupping your face in her hands as she wipes away the remnants of salty tears.

You don’t really comprehend what she’s saying to you; everything is a surreal blur — but you nod anyway. As you stare into space, you hear Adam whisper hiss, “I’ll kill him,” under his breath, as he and Carly head off, presumably back to the lounge.

And just like that, you’re alone, again.

With alcohol increasing your sensitivity to everything, the lingering taste of tequila is still prominent on your lips and the smell of cigarette smoke — once a comforting scent when it came to Matty — and marijuana fills the air, making you feel lightheaded, and you know it will take at least three hair wash routines before you get the smell out.

Your eyes avert around the room as though you’re in a dream-like state. In body, you’re here, but your mind is elsewhere. You observe the other pop-stars who are loitering and talking, not giving a fuck about you — and you also note the amount of bottles that clutter the countertops; some beverages opened and half drank, the sides inundated with empty ones, and a few completely untouched. 

“You need to lighten up, sweetheart.”

In your dazed state, you’re not sure who is talking to who right now. You lazily turn your head in the direction of where the voice had come from, to see a young man sitting on the kitchen island opposite you. It takes you a few seconds to realise that he’d aimed his comment at you. 

He was alone, too.

He’s cute, you note. Dressed in a moth-bitten black knitted jumper and a pair of black skinny jeans, he mirrors Matty’s iconic grunge look and it’s enough to make you want to fuck him on the kitchen counter in front of everyone; and vomit at the sight of him; at exactly the same time.

His dangling legs are swinging beneath him as he fidgets atop of the counter to get comfortable, his fingers drumming against the granite surface.

Ignoring your initial liking to him looking every inch the boyfriend, you reach forward, opting for the bottle of wine sat next to the him, shrugging off his comment and not once acknowledging his existence. You didn’t have the time of day for any man right now. 

Taking a swig from the half-full bottle of Pinot Grigio in your hand, you close your eyes, still trying to rid yourself of the image of Matty embracing another girl.

“Seriously, babe,” he tries again, “You look upset … and wine definitely won’t help you,” he tries again.

You lower the bottle, although it’s still close enough to your lips that it’s practically dancing against them, as you get ready to down another mouthful of the alcohol once this conversation concludes.

“And what will?” you scoff, rolling your eyes at him.

“Something stronger … if you get my drift,” he raises an eyebrow.

You know what he’s implying, but you choose to ignore him. You raise the bottle back to your lips, but something stops you — the guy before you wraps his hand around your wrist, preventing you from drowning your sorrows further.

“Drugs?” you ask rhetorically, mirroring his raised eyebrow at his obviousness.

He shrugs at you although you can tell he becomes slightly shifty, his eyes wandering to make sure nobody had heard you. Delving into his pocket, he pulls out a small packet containing a white powdery substance and throws it down onto the island in front of you.

“’s your call,” he murmurs with a nod. “You can have this one on the house,” his eyes flit between the package and you.

Anxiousness is your forefront emotion as you gaze down at the illegal substance. You weren’t naive to the reality of drug-dealing. The first batch this guy had just offered to you for free was a ploy to get you hooked; to keep you coming back for more as a regular client. 

But in turn, it meant addiction; an illness. Being with Matty had shown you an ugly side of drugs that you could have only ever imagined. At the time of being your boyfriend, Matty had fallen into a world of lies and deceit, ultimately resulting in a failed relationship.

You shake your head, “No, thank you though.”

The man opposite you furrows his brows.

“Are you sure? I have plenty and … well, it’s just you seem pretty upset and it will make you feel better. I’m going to hazard a guess that it’s boy trouble?” he asks, almost knowingly. 

You don’t respond; you didn’t want this man — a complete stranger who you'd known less than five minutes — psychoanalysing you.

“You know, everyone here is doing drugs,” he informs you in a whisper, stating it matter of factly. “These people; they might seem like they’re put together and better than everyone else, but the truth is, they need to take their pain away, too. Trust me, I can help you.”

Registering his words, your eyes avert back to the package.

“What … what is it?” you ask him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Smack,” he answers without hesitation. “Looks like you need it to work pretty quick as well,” he adds, before taking another object out of his pocket and placing it on the counter beside the drug. “The quickest way to get your high is by cooking it, and then injecting it, preferably into a vein,” he tells you as you look down at the syringe now on the kitchen side.

It would be plain to anyone watching this interaction that you’re unknowledgeable; possessed by innocence in this life. Sure, you’d experimented with the socially accepted substances; alcohol (many of nights had ended with you retching into a toilet bowl and nursing a hangover into the next day), and smoking tobacco cigarettes; but otherwise, you’d lead a pretty sheltered life, for which you were grateful for.

“How?” you ask, before clarifying, “How do I cook it?”

The attractive guy smirks back at you. Perhaps he thought you were cute? Or maybe he was lonely and wanted the company? Then again, it could be because he was grooming a young, vulnerable girl into taking an illegal substance which would hopefully have her hooked and coming back for more.

You shake your head at the intrusive thoughts that begin to plague your mind, your anxiety levels peaking as you realise just how unsure you are of this; and how alone you are at the moment. 

Matty was too busy trying to get fucked by a pretty model; Ross, Adam and Carly had all left you to go God knows where; and knowing them, George and Charli were probably shagging in the flowerbed at the end of the garden. 

But ultimately, you were alone.

“’s easy,” he mumbles, jumping down from the side and walking over to the kitchen counter where you were stood, cornering you between the units. 

He’s confident, but not cocky or threatening, and right now you feel seen; heard; and maybe even safe in this man’s presence right now. He reaches towards the cutlery drawer next to you, pulling out a silver spoon. 

“Firstly, we need a cooker and a heat source,” he shows you the cutlery in his hand, although you already know it’s a slightly amateur move when he hasn’t provided his own equipment in his drug sharing ritual — but you’ll let him off since you’re no expert either.

With his back turned towards everyone else in the kitchen, he’s left to secretly pour the contents of the plastic bag onto the spoon. He steadies his hand, before delving into his pocket with the other and reaching for a lighter. Placing it underneath the spoon, he begins to melt the heroin, and you watch on, fascinated as the powder gradually turns into a liquid.

“Take it for me,” he gestures towards the spoon.

You do as he says, trying your best to steady your grip on the handle of the cutlery.

The man turns to discretely observe the other party goers in the kitchen and he’s satisfied when some of the guests had filtered out of the room — a few of them having decided to go into the garden — and those who were remaining were still just as uninterested in you both.

“We can put it in this now,” he tells you, and he draws the liquidated substance into the syringe, filling it with the drug. “I need your shoe lace,” he nods down to your fresh white converse.

“Why?” you ask.

He smirks — although you’re not sure if it’s his way of flirting or if he’s amused by your lack of knowledge and obvious inexperience. It’s probably the latter, you think.

“Because …” he begins, placing the needle on the kitchen counter top before kneeling down in front of you and continuing, “We need a tie off.” 

His words don’t make much sense to you as he makes light work of untying your shoe, removing the lace through the eyelets with ease. It seems almost affectionate; but then again, you were able to romanticise most things in your life. Perhaps it’s fate that you and the guy who’s teaching you to inject heroin had met this evening. Everything happens for a reason.

He stands up again, towering over your frame, the shoe lace held loose within his hand.

“I need to tie this around your arm,” he tells you, brushing the material across your skin. 

Tying the shoe lace tightly around your arm, he then uses his two forefingers to tap against your skin a few times, encouraging the blood flow to make a vein become more prominent.

“If you inject into a vein, you’ll feel the effects quicker,” he whispers to you, as he runs his fingers across a protruding blue blood vessel. “You’ll get high before you even realise it.” Taking the needle from the kitchen counter, he holds it towards you.

“Are you ready?” he asks gently, an eyebrow slightly raised as he observes your nervous features.

Were you ready? 

You think back to the series of events that had occurred throughout the course of the night. Seeing Matty with another girl — a hot brunette that was totally his type — had destroyed you. It made your heart physically ache; shattering into millions of tiny pieces; and he just didn’t seem to care. He hadn’t even noticed you all evening. 

Despite his friends rallying around you, you knew it was perhaps out of guilt and pity. Did they really love you, or did they see you as a weak and vulnerable ex-girlfriend who needs babysitting because she can’t control her emotions? 

Heroin had been a welcomed escape for Matty throughout his time of using — it distracted his brain from everything bad that was happening around him — the drug was there, begging for him to use it to ease his pain and make life more bearable. 

What had only ever meant to start off as experimenting, part and parcel of being a rockstar, soon turned into a severe dependence on the drug; an addiction; resulting in constantly lying to those he loved, relationship breakdowns, arguments between family and friends and ultimately, losing you.

But heroin relieved Matty of his emotional pain and torment, even if only temporary and perhaps you needed a distraction tonight, something to take away your pain — even if only temporary.

One time wouldn’t hurt you.

“I’m ready.”

*

Matty’s moans are soft and delicate as his back arches into the fabric sofa, the hot woman’s lips nipping at his neck as she straddles his thighs, clearly turning him on. She grinds her hips against him and he bucks himself towards her, cursing the clothing that gets in the way of his ever growing erection.  

“Fuck,” he groans softly. 

He doesn’t care who hears him, other drunken revellers finding themselves in similar positions around the house, and for those who aren’t looking for a quick fuck tonight are too drunk or high to get laid anyway. He seems to be the least important pop star in the room — and for once, he thinks he likes it.

“Fuck,” he moans again, when she sucks at his neck. “Fuck, yeah,” he bucks his hips towards her again as her tequila tasting lips no doubt leave a harsh love bite on his pale skin, a bruise already forming with the intensity of her actions.

“Can’t,” she suddenly groans against him.

Matty understands, immediately.

“Upstairs?” he questions. 

He’s sure — so certain — that she wants to take this further but can’t because they’re in the living room — able to be gawked at by others; which is odd, he thinks, because she hasn’t been shy about where their make out sessions have been taking place so far. She hasn’t cared who has been watching.

“Stop,” she whisper hisses, before making her voice more firm. “Stop, Matty. Need … need t’ … stop,” she tells him, before pulling herself away. She can barely look him in the eye as she runs a hand through her tangled hair.

“‘s wrong?” he asks.

She shrugs before removing herself from his lap. There’s not much dignity for Matty as his erection strains against the black tailored trousers he’d chosen for this evening — and there’s no cushion or throw to cover his embarrassing situation.

“You ok?” he asks, genuine concern laced in his voice.

“I … I need to get home … to … my …” she stutters, almost embarrassed as reality hits hard. 

“To your what?” he asks breathlessly, giving a deathly stare as his patience is beginning to wear thin and his nostrils flare because he has a horrible feeling where this conversation is heading.

“To my … partner,” she adds, finally allowing the words to leave her lips. She smooths the black leather skirt down her legs properly, the material having ridden up her thighs to expose her hips during the steamy session.

“You … you have … have a boyfriend?” Matty splutters, as they make eye contact with each other; the first time since the woman had pulled away from his embrace.

“Husband,” the younger girl corrects him, the disco lights suddenly reflecting off the wedding band that adorned her ring finger — a harsh reminder to him that he was being used. Biting her lip mischievously, she cruelly tells him, “Just because you’re a rockstar, doesn’t mean I was going to let you take me home. It was just a few kisses here and a few touches there. ’s no big deal. I … we had an argument and I did … things … this … in the heat of the moment.”

“No big deal?” he repeats her words, shaking his head and furrowing his brows in disbelief. 

“You’ll get over it,” she shrugs unapologetically, pulling her bra strap back over her shoulder before standing up from her position on the sofa and heading towards the doorway of the lounge. She doesn’t even turn back as she leaves and Matty emits a breathy laugh, almost shocked that he, Matty Healy, would be leaving the party tonight without a girl to fuck. 

It’s humiliating for him — and his dick is still relatively hard, the tip surely leaking with his salty pre-come. He sighs heavily, throwing an arm over his face as he tries to ignore the twitching in his pants. 

He takes a few deep breaths, composing himself, before reaching towards his jacket pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes and lighter. Taking a drag, he leans back against the sofa again, finally satisfied as his erection eventually begins to soften.

“No less than you deserve,” George suddenly mutters as he pushes himself away from the wall where he had watched the scene unfold. He draws in a deep breath from his own cigarette as he approaches Matty.

“Fuck sake,” Matty groans, embarrassed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair before taking another drag. It had been degrading enough for Matty to experience being mugged off by the younger girl, let alone one of his best friends having watched the interaction.

“Dick,” George murmurs under his breath, shaking his head, before flicking some ash from the cigarette still held loosely between his first and middle fingers.

Raising an eyebrow, Matty looks puzzled at his friend. 

“What did you call me?” he asks breathily, in disbelief. 

“I said,” George inhales, stepping closer, standing over his friend, and giving him a sarcastic smile, “You’re a dick.”

“Oh fuck off,” Matty quickly brushes it off as banter.

“’s a dick move,” George repeats once again with a shrug, although his tone is serious and filled with sincerity. He backs away slightly, standing upright once again as he drinks in Matty’s pathetic demeanour, shaking his head once again.

With the attitude and lack of humour, Matty realises that George is being serious. He’s upset about something, clearly pissed off — and now he’s worried.

“You knew she’d be here,” George tells him, pointing his forefinger towards Matty. “You fucking knew!” he grits his teeth, angrily, before turning around and running a hand over his face.

Matty stands up, prepared to square up to his best friend. Despite the fact that the boys never really argued much — and nothing was ever too serious between them — alcohol consumption and the fact that Matty’s really pissed off would be motive enough for them to have a few harsh words between each other.

“She saw you, Matty!” George yells, turning to face the other man again before grabbing at the collar of his white shirt. There’s no opportunity for Matty to react or defend himself as George shouts at him once again, pushing him against the wall and backing him into the corner. 

The feeble one sided brawl earns a few concerned looks from the other party-goers as some guests slyly watch the commotion between the two men unfold, whilst others are more obvious, eager in their observations as they gossip amongst each other.

“She fucking saw you with another girl and it’s breaking her heart! Everything she ever did for you … she stood by you when everyone else fucked off and left you!” George shouts into Matty’s face, harshly reminding him who was there for him during his time of need.

“Who?” Matty asks, aghast. “Who saw me?”

George shakes his head in disbelief, loosening the grip on the collar of Matty’s shirt. 

Inhaling another drag from his cigarette, George looks Matty up and down, regaining his composure.

“Who, George?” Matty repeats his question. “Who saw me?”

“She saw everything; y/n saw everything,” George closes his eyes as he speaks, almost pained on your behalf.

“She … she saw …” Matty stutters, releasing an in-breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The mere mention of your name has his heart pounding within his chest, his palms sweating from anxiousness, his knees almost buckling beneath him. 

So many questions were whizzing around his head right now.

He didn’t even know you’d be here; was none the wiser that you’d been invited.

Were you here alone or did you have company? 

Why hadn’t you made it clear to him that you were here?

He hadn’t already seen you — had he?

Matty knew you — he fucking knew you. A party like this — this wasn’t your scene. Or had he just lacked so much attention this evening that you were able to bypass him at any given opportunity? 

Because if he had have seen you, he would have made it his priority to have had you straddling his hips; your mouth suckling his prominent collarbones and leaving a permanent reminder, your cunt he’d be edging with his fingers, before your pretty lips would be begging to be wrapped around his cock.

Not the woman he can’t even remember the name of.

Guilt is his forefront emotion; a horrific feeling of shame overcoming him as he can only sympathise with how you must be feeling — you’d seen him in the company of another girl — a girl that wasn't you. Granted; it was a terrible context but it was still one that he could not excuse or condone — but the only reason he’d had a sleazy make out session was to distract himself from you. He had to find you and tell you.

Arriving at the party tonight, Matty had felt lonely — all of his friends were coupled up.

Ross and Chloe.

George and Charli.

Adam and Carly. 

Matty and … nobody.

“She … she’s … here?” Matty finally chokes out.

George nods slowly, finally having calmed himself down as he seeks out the ash tray that stands on the coffee table behind him.

“Where … where is she?” Matty asks urgently, mirroring George’s actions and following suit as he too, stubs out his own cigarette.

“I don’t think she’ll want to see you, mate,” George tells him regrettably. 

“I need to talk to her! I need to …” he shouts desperately, making a beeline for the door of the lounge, but George’s broad frame comes to stand in front of him and is able to stop him from going any further.

“You need to calm down first, yeah,” he begins, placing a hand on his chest, but Matty quickly interrupts.

“I am calm!” his tone contradicts him — although George knows his raised voice isn’t from a place of anger at you — but more so frustration towards himself.

“You’re angry,” George clarifies; it’s a statement, not a question.

Matty nods in agreement, knowing there’s no denying his emotions, before reassuring his friend, “Not at her, though.”

“I know,” George sighs, his eyes finding the ceiling as he contemplates allowing Matty to find you — but he’s really not sure that’s a good idea right now considering you had been having a breakdown no less than fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m not … don’t want t’ churn out any drama,” Matty runs his hand frustratedly through his hair, clearly at a loss. His eyes wander intensely around the room, unsure of how to approach the situation. “I just … want to make it right, ’s all,” he adds, desperation evident in his voice.

Matty knows — he fucking knows — he has to make this right. He doesn’t want to be finding a meaningless fuck at a party. It’s you — and only you — that he wants — and despite the breakdown of your relationship that was his fault, the history between you, the chemistry; it’s always you.

“Ok,” George sighs, defeated. He steps aside, allowing Matty the freedom he desires to find you, but he’s stopped instantly when Carly appears at the door frame, her cheeks blush and her features panicked as she catches her breath.

“Carly?” George questions, mirroring the concern etched on her face.

“What?” Matty’s husky voice asks. “What’s happened?” he repeats, urgency evident in his tone when he drinks in Carly’s solemn expression.

Time stands still for a few moments — George’s expression is full of confusion, his brows furrowed, and Matty’s stomach drops, his palms beginning to sweat and he’s worried — because he knows whatever she’s about to reveal isn’t good news.

Carly sighs heavily, her tongue running across her bottom lip before she finally utters the words, “It’s y/n.”

*

“Get out the fuckin’ way!” Matty’s voice can be heard as he forces his way through the sea of onlookers before he’s eventually pushed himself to stand at the forefront of the crowd, George and Carly hot on his heels as they both come to stand behind him. 

The sight that greets Matty is one that he never, ever, thought he would see; and he wishes, so desperately, that this is a nightmare and he’s about to wake up any second now; but not all things were possible. 

He’s certain, one hundred percent, that his heart stops beating once he claps eyes on you; fear and anxiety consuming his entire being as he suddenly feels nauseous, his mouth as dry as sandpaper and his legs wobbling like jelly. 

Your body is passed out on the kitchen floor; limp and lifeless.

“No,” a strangled cry leaves Matty’s lips, as George’s hand comes to firmly rest on his shoulder. 

It takes a moment before his brain can signal for his legs to move, shock taking over him as he looks down towards your unconscious body placed in the recovery position against the cold tiles.

“No, no, no, no,” he continues breathlessly as he lowers himself beside you. “She … is she …” he chokes on a sob, grabbing for your wrist. Placing two fingers on your pulse point, he sobs frantically once again, “I can’t … she hasn’t …”

“She has a pulse,” a voice sounds from the other side of your body. 

Ross. 

“She …” Matty stutters.

“It’s faint but that ambulance needs to hurry up,” Ross speaks more to himself — but it’s a hint to Adam as well — who Matty now realises is on the phone to a call handler. Adam rests a palm on the kitchen countertop, remaining calm as he passes on the crucial information to whoever is on the other end of his mobile, to ensure help arrives as soon as possible for you.

“What’s happened?” Matty cries out, not even attempting to compose himself in front of the onlookers as his eyes scan your features for any sign of visible injury. 

There’s nothing upon his initial inspection; his eyes wandering briefly over your body — no bruises or bleeding; nothing that would indicate any valid reason as to why you’re passed out on the kitchen floor and unresponsive to everything going on around you.

“She’s …” Ross begins, “She collapsed. She’s taken …” he gulps nervously, unable to continue.

“What? What has she …” Matty begins, but he’s unable to vocalise the rest of his question as his eyes avert around the room, looking for any clues as to what substance you had abused. 

Much to his horror, he notices the needle, spoon and empty packet that lays only a meter away from your unconscious body. The last straw for Matty is seeing the tie-off around your arm, and quickly recognising it as a shoe lace, he confirms his suspicions as his gaze wanders over your converse with the missing lace.

He shakes his head, attempting to rid himself of the thought of you injecting an illegal substance to numb the pain that he caused tonight. George was right; this was his fault. 

“Fuck,” he whimpers, running an agitated hand through his hair.

It’s Ross who takes the lead on trying to stir you as he gently rolls you onto your back and applies a harsh stimulus, rubbing his knuckles along your sternum. “Come on, y/n,” he encourages. Adrenaline coursing through his own veins, he increasingly adds more pressure, no doubt leaving bruises along your chest. 

“Come on, darling,” Matty whimpers, focusing his attention entirely on you as he instead runs a hand through your hair. It’s a reassuring gesture, one to let you know that you’re not alone, despite Matty knowing you’re completely unaware of your surroundings and the situation you’re currently in.

“Do you have any Naloxone?” Ross is confident he already knows the answer now that Matty himself is clean of heroin, but he clutches at straws anyway in any attempt to revive you, not once stopping applying the stimulus to your chest.

Matty shakes his head. 

“No,” he swallows, his hand still stroking your hair affectionately.

If only it had been that simple. For once, he curses himself for no longer possessing the cruel and life changing heroin addiction he’d once been a victim to; maybe then he could provide an antidote that would reverse the opioid overdose.

“Alright everyone, out!” a voice suddenly yells. 

Carly. 

Despite her smaller frame and her sobriety, she’s forceful in her words. 

“Come on, we don’t need an audience!” she speaks again, encouraging the guests to leave — although not giving them much of a choice as Charli and George come to her aid to create a barrier, ushering them away from the kitchen.

“We’ll keep them away and … entertained,” George murmurs, considering a choice of words, although he’s not sure either Matty or Ross are taking on board what he’s saying, understandably preoccupied with helping you. Together, the three of them ensure they maintain your dignity as much as possible.

There’s a few groans, some of the party goers wishing to be nosy at the scene unfolding. If Matty wasn’t so consumed by your unconscious state, terrified of your fate, he thinks he would have been physically violent towards some of these people, prepared to start a brawl with anyone who was revelling at your position and the drama unfolding.

“s ok, love,” Matty whispers softly, although he’s not sure if he’s attempting to reassure you or himself when there’s still no inkling of you coming round just yet. 

“Fuck sake,” Ross mutters, as he observes the equipment sprawled across the floor nearby. His eyes averting to the shoe lace around your arm, he shakes his head, before saying, “Someone’s helped her to do this. She wouldn’t know where to start.” He gestures towards the equipment before returning to rubbing your sternum once again.

Matty whimpers, knowingly. 

It was true; respectfully, you had no idea how to administer any form of illegal drug or how to even get hold of any such substance. Even when Matty himself was actively using, he made sure you were nowhere near heroin — or any other drug for that matter. The fact that the equipment littered around your unconscious body had indicated that you’d cooked a drug before injecting it made both Matty and Ross feel uneasy — another person had played a part in this.

“C’mon y/n,” Ross repeats.

It feels as though it takes a lifetime before any success comes of the stimulus Ross applies but a sudden choked splutter indicates your regain of consciousness.

However, there’s no time to waste as the two men kneeling at your frame quickly realise they need to roll you into the recovery position again. You emit a small whinge at the action, taking a dislike to being moved so suddenly before you vomit violently on the cold tiles beneath you.

“’s it darling, there we go,” Matty comforts you, reaching for your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

He shuffles himself as close to you as he can possibly be, as though his presence alone could make you better, and not once fazed by the sick that you eject.

“That’s it baby, let it all out,” he encourages, brushing your hair away from your face as Ross rests his hand gently atop of your back as you uncontrollably empty the contents of your stomach.

“Ambulance will be another twenty minutes or so,” Adam murmurs softly as he comes to kneel beside you as well. 

Keeping the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, he looks between Ross and Matty as they try to deal with the copious amount of vomit. Adam shakes his head, knowing just how touch and go this situation could be for you now, and swooping in with one hand full of kitchen roll, he wordlessly begins cleaning up around you.

Your bout of sickness seems never ending and it’s obvious that the alcohol you’d consumed in high volume has also played a huge part in why your reaction to the heroin you’d injected was so severe, your body rejecting the liquids you’d downed that night.

“That’s it, good girl,” Matty praises you softly, once you finally stop being sick, gently resting his palm on your face, skimming your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sweetheart, how much have you taken?” Ross speaks next, hoping for some sort of response from you, although as he’d expected; nothing.

Instead, you let out a whimper, softly beginning to cry.

“’s alright darlin’,” Matty assures you, continuing to stroke your hair. “I’m here, we’re all here.”

“Did you take all of it, y/n?” Ross tries a different approach, reaching out for the empty syringe that had previously contained the contents of the illegal drug. There was no knowing just how much you had taken but Ross realised he had to consider the worst case scenario — that the syringe had been full.

There’s no answer once again. Unbeknown to what is happening to you at the moment, all you can do is express your dislike at the situation you’re in through a cry and an agitated moan; but at least you’re conscious. You’re alive.

“Hey, ’s ok,” Ross attempts to calm you down. “We’re gonna help you.”

The relief that both the men had felt over you being awake — although not alert — is short lived, however, when your cold and pale body goes limp once more, your breathing shallow as you fade back into unconsciousness against the tiles.

“No,” Matty raises his voice slightly in an attempt to keep you awake. “No, no. Stay with me y/n,” he encourages, gently shaking your frame.

Adam stands from his kneeling position on the floor, talking to the call handler with urgency to make them aware you’d once again slipped into a state of unconsciousness, leaving only the other two men towering over you.

Your lifeless body suddenly goes stiff before your limbs starting jerking and your eyes begin rolling into the back of your head and it takes Matty a few seconds to realise you’re having a seizure. Understanding completely, both Matty and Ross allow your body to move freely, not once restricting your uncontrollable movements.

‘Hann!” Matty shouts.

With Adam acutely aware of the severity of the situation, he passes on the vital information to the call handler once more, explaining that you’re experiencing a seizure. Ross’s eyes flit between everyone in the room; panic being the forefront emotion as your body continues to shake; compassion for Matty as he watches this nightmare unfold; all whilst wishing he could intercept the phone call mid-air to hear what is being said.

“That’s it darling, ride it out,” Matty reassures you. “‘m here, sweetheart, ‘m right here.”

“Fuck,” Ross mutters underneath his breath. 

He removes the jacket he had been wearing throughout the course of the evening and places it carefully beneath your head, supporting you against the cold, hard tiles. 

“Where’s that bloody ambulance?!��� he shouts to Adam, as he checks his watch.

“ETA of ten minutes,” Adam responds without a beat.

“Ten minutes?” Ross questions rhetorically, shaking his head in disbelief, as he notes the time of your continuing seizure by tapping away aggressively on his phone.

“She needs them now!” Matty yells, a sob escaping his lips.

After three minutes, your body begins to regulate itself, your flailing limbs slowing as your previously tense body begins to relax, indicating your seizure had finally come to an end. 

“That’s it darling, good girl,” Matty encourages once again. He tentatively reaches out his hand to comb through your hair once again, soothing you as you shiver and whimper against the cold tiles. “‘m right here, darling, ‘m not going anywhere.”

It feels like a lifetime, but after another seven minutes and true to their word, the distant sound of sirens can be heard — but Matty still can’t bring himself to breathe a sigh of relief just yet.

*

Since arriving at the hospital, you’d been cruelly snatched away from Matty, wheeled to your own private room where you received the treatment needed for a heroin overdose, leaving Matty, Ross and Adam in the family waiting area, none of them able to seek solace amongst the lacklustre slate walls, or the strong smell of disinfectant in the air.

The scene continues to play in Matty’s mind, all too easy to remember. When the paramedics had arrived, they quickly tended to your lifeless body, as the other three men watched on. 

The hushed begs of, “Please help her,” and whispered prayers of, “Please please please,” had escaped Matty’s lips as the older female paramedic placed an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose to help your breathing. 

She was a seemingly maternal lady, no judgement passed despite it being quickly obvious that you’d taken an illegal substance tonight, and she kindly told Matty, “We’re going to do everything we can to help your girlfriend.” 

He didn’t correct her — although if it were different circumstances, he would have taken pride in people assuming you were a couple; as though it was obvious to the outside world that you both have an unbreakable connection to each other.

The younger male paramedic calmly asked questions — some unanswerable — as he began injecting your body with a substance — which Matty assumes is Naloxone; to reverse the effects of the opioid overdose. 

What was your name? Which drug had you taken? How much of the drug had you taken? How much alcohol had you had to drink over the course of the evening? Did you have any allergies? How long did your seizure last? How much had you vomited? 

Matty could barely think straight as he was being quizzed by the ambulance crew, although it almost felt as though it was an interrogation. The finger of suspicion would probably be pointed at him as to where you’d acquired an illegal drug, but he didn’t care about that right now; his priority was you.

When the paramedics were able to move you to the ambulance, they did, and Matty accompanied you all the way to the the nearest Accident and Emergency Department who would be more equipped to help you, whilst Adam drove himself and Ross to the hospital, following closely behind.

It had been agreed that Charli, George and Carly would stay at home on the understanding that they would be contacted if there was any change to your condition — and having ushered the guests away from the party, sending them elsewhere to continue their celebrations, the three of them were on hand if they were needed at short notice.

“Matty, just … just calm down, yeah?” Ross murmurs.

Matty emits a sarcastic, breathy laugh, continuing to pace aimlessly around the room, having done so since arriving. Running a hand through his curls, something that signals his distress, he repeats the words in a murmur. 

“Calm down?” he scoffs, scuffing his shoes against the light grey flooring. “Calm down?!” he raises his voice, turning on his heel to see the other two men sat on the blue cushioned chairs.

“She’s strong, mate,” Adam reassures him, his knee bouncing and indicating his own nervousness at the situation. “She’ll be ok,” he adds, although even he’s having difficulty at being optimistic at this given moment.

“She overdosed,” Matty’s voice cracks, the image of your unconscious body sprawled across the kitchen floor, vomit surrounding you, your body seizing, cruelly plaguing his mind. “She … I thought she was …” he can’t vocalise the word, unable to finish his sentence in fear of it ringing true. “Fuck!” he swears angrily, his bawled fist making contact with the wall.

“Come ‘ere!” Ross yells, using all of his strength to pull Matty away, preventing him from punching the wall a second time. Despite Matty’s pathetic attempt to fight against his friend, fists hammering into his chest, Ross’s large hands come to rest on his face, forcing eye contact between them. “Listen … listen to me!” he encourages in a raised tone. “You need to be strong for her, Matty, y’hear me?” Ross’s own voice is thick with emotion.

Ross embraces Matty as another sob escapes his lips, and not once does he attempt to hide the intense emotions he was battling tonight — fear, worry, and anxiety all at the forefront.

“I shouldn’t …” he breaks off. “She shouldn’t … shouldn’t even … be here,” he chokes out, his obvious distress preventing him from forming a coherent sentence. “’s my fault, ’s all my fault,” he cries into Ross’s shoulder. “All the times I’ve used and I’m still here and she …” but he’s stopped when Ross pulls away from him, resting his hands on Matty’s shoulders.

“Don’t!” he warns, unwilling to comprehend the turn in conversation. “Don’t you fucking dare! This is not your fault! She was … unlucky,” he sighs, closing his eyes briefly, trying to shake the thought. “She went to the wrong person … people …” he furrows his brows, realisation suddenly dawning on him that someone at Charli’s party had taken full advantage of you — your distressed state having seen Matty’s make out session; praying on you and your vulnerability, providing you with an illegal substance you’d never even seen before, let alone experimented with. 

It makes him — all of them — feel uneasy that someone had targeted you.

“s not your fault, Matty,” Adam softly pipes up with his reassurances. “Come on, mate. There’s no point in blaming yourself or getting angry, it’s not going to help anyone,” he speaks matter of factly, the voice of reason amongst them, as he anxiously drums his fingertips against his thigh.

“Come on,” Ross encourages him, nodding towards the cushioned chairs and coaxing him to take a seat. Matty does so before Ross offers, “Do you want a coffee?” as he sits beside him.

Matty shakes his head and whisper breathes a quiet, “No.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees before placing his head in his hands. His quiet sobs begin to subside as he finally regains his composure and regulates his breathing. “Fucking hate hospital coffee,” he murmurs in addition, and it’s the first lighthearted comment he’s made all evening.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Ross tells him again, placing a supportive arm around him.

“Thank you,” Matty breathes softly as he looks up and  averts his gaze towards Ross next to him, sincerity laced in his tone. “To both of you,” he clarifies, looking between both Ross and Adam.

“What for?” Ross frowns.

“You were there … already helping her,” Matty shrugs, placing his palms against his thighs. “What happened?” he dares to ask, against his better judgement. 

Licking his lips, Ross begins, “I’d gone to check on her. She’d been upset and … well, I know George told you,” he tells him, nervously shuffling in his chair. Ross knew better than anyone that Matty would be feeling incredibly guilty right now and to soften the blow, he’d decided to choose his words wisely.

“She saw me,” Matty confirms.

Ross nods his reply.

“She’d seen you in the lounge with … well, whoever it was,” he acknowledges the existence of the brunette woman. “I managed to get y/n out of there. Carly and Adam took her to the kitchen to calm her down. I caught up with George and Charli. The next thing I knew, I went to kitchen to find her again but she was alone.” 

Ross shakes his head, and runs an agitated hand over his face, a feeble attempt at ridding himself of the horrific memory that vividly replays in his mind.

“She was stumbling around, trying to steady her balance against the kitchen side. She was muttering away, talking to herself … she didn’t make any sense,” Ross takes an in-breath before continuing. “I asked her if she was alright. I thought maybe she’d been drinking more, you know? She kept saying your name, said she needed to find you. That’s when she collapsed,” he clarifies. “I couldn’t wake her. At first I thought it was the alcohol that had affected her; made her paralytic. Everyone was looking so I wanted to move her to somewhere more comfortable. That’s when you came in,” he nods towards Adam.

“I saw it straight away,” Adam sighs regrettably, before clarifying his statement and briefly describing the events that had occurred. “The needle was on the kitchen side, the bag was empty, and there was a spoon and lighter next to it. We realised then what she’d done, so I phoned the ambulance. They said it was safer to keep her on the ground where she was, put her in the recovery position and not to move her. We made her as comfortable as we could … and that’s when Carly came and got you.”

Matty’s eyes begin to pool with tears again, his vision clouded as he can only imagine all too easily how the scene had played out. He feels sick with worry over you; guilty and ashamed at his own actions which had acted as a catalyst; and intense rage at whoever dealt the drug to you tonight.

“If she’d injected, it meant she’d cooked it …” Adam speaks aloud.

“I’ve never shown her how …” Matty trails off as he defends himself. “I never had that stuff around her.” 

“We know, mate,” Ross reassures him. “You would never do anything to put her in harms way.”

“What if she gets addicted now?” Matty asks in a whisper, fear evident in his voice.

“She won’t,” Ross replies confidently.

“How can you be so sure?” he asks.

“You know her, mate. Just this once would have terrified her enough to never touch it again. She never used anything before and tonight would have been a one off. She probably met the wrong bastard tonight who took advantage. She probably thought that one time wouldn’t hurt her; that she’d be lucky,” he bases his assumption on how well he knows you. 

Leaning back in his chair and resting his head against the wall, Matty closes his eyes. Bouncing his knee nervously, he draws a deep in-breath before murmuring, “I don’t want her going through the same thing as me. All I ever wanted to do was protect her from it. It was … different for me, I guess. It’s like I fell down a rabbit hole — the first time I took it and could disassociate from life — it was like a release. And I know it put a lot of pressure on us as a band, but …”

“Mate, you had an addiction. You were ill,” Adam intervenes, comforting his friend as whole new can of worms is about to be exposed about one of the worst times they’d experienced in their career as a band; but first and foremost, within their friendship.

“Didn’t mean I had to push her away, though,” Matty whispers. “I was so lucky when I went to rehab. Some people in that place had nothing; they’d lost their family and friends, their homes, their jobs, their money. I had everything; my family, you guys, I had her. But I still left rehab and scored other drugs and fucked everything up anyway,” he sighs deeply, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, mate,” Ross pipes up, resting a hand on Matty’s knee.

“She was always there for me,” Matty continues. “I just couldn’t be the boyfriend she needed me to be, but if I could go back and do it all again, I would do things so differently,” he whispers. “I should never have let her go.”

“Sounds like we’re not the ones you should be saying this to,” Adam half smiles.

Matty bites his lip, his thoughts running away with him as a comfortable silence fills the room. 

He notes that his white dress shirt is still unbuttoned three from the top and the memory of the sordid make out session he had encountered earlier that night makes him feel queasy, a harsh reminder of the tragedy.

“How … how did you know what to do anyway?” Matty stutters as he clears his throat, breaking the quietness that had temporarily engulfed them.

Ross shrugs, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair before replying. 

“I guess … well … we all kind of wanted to learn how to respond in that … situation … incase it was ever … you,” he’s careful with his words. Whilst Matty’s addiction had never been an attempt on his own life, the idea of an accidental overdose had spurred the rest of the band on recognising the signs, as well as the basics in how to respond to any such situation.

Although honesty was a crucial part of their friendship, talking about Matty’s heroin addiction had always been a difficult subject to approach. The illness had taken a toll on his physical and mental health, had destructed his relationships, and had negatively impacted his song writing. Rehab helped him get back to the person he once was before the addiction.

“I fucking love you guys,” Matty manages to choke out around the lump that formed in his throat at the turn in conversation, and for the first time this evening, he smiles a genuine smile.

With the small distance between the two of them sitting opposite each other, Adam, with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, gently taps his foot against Matty’s — and it’s a minor physical touch that would usually result in a game of footsies between the pair — only this time, it’s a reassuring nudge that would normally be a wordless indication of their feelings; but Adam finds it within him to vocalise an emotional, “We love you too, mate.”

As quickly as the three men succumb to another comfortable silence, it’s broken once again, with Ross not wanting to give Matty the opportunity to get too into his head with the lack of conversation between them, understanding his friend well enough to know he’d be imagining all sorts of scenarios — none of which likely to be positive. 

“Do you need to go for a cig?” Ross asks.

“No,” Matty shakes his head — and it’s a shock to both the other men in the room. Someone who seemingly can’t go five minutes without a cigarette during a live performance actively turning down the vice he uses each day. “Don’t want t’ leave her,” he adds.

Almost as if on cue, a doctor donning a white coat and firmly gripping a clipboard with important documents attached in his large hands, enters the family room and introduces himself to all three men.

He shakes hands with Matty, who is the first to approach him.

Matty quickly fires questions at the medical professional, not once missing a beat as he barely catches his breath in between the queries about your health.

“How is she? Is she ok? Can I see her?”

Ross comes to stand behind him and rests a supportive hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, to remind him of his friends’ presence — and that he’s not alone.

The doctor gives a reassuring smile, the first giveaway that your outcome is a positive one.

“I am sorry to tell you that y/n did in fact overdose on heroin; we’re yet to determine if that was intentional or accidental. The paramedics on scene administered Naloxone to reverse the effect of the opioid but another dose was required since fentanyl was also present. That combined with the level of alcohol in her system caused the severe reaction tonight, making it much easier to overdose, which is why it took her longer to respond to treatment.”

Matty groans at the information. The thought of you having mixed three substances together, although likely unknowingly, has him feeling physically sick at your vulnerability; and someone else’s cruelty. 

“Fuck,” he shakily mutters under his breath, knowing just how severe this is. Shaking his head, he murmurs a quiet, “Sorry,” before allowing the doctor to continue with his medical findings.

“Since there’s no medical history of y/n experiencing seizures, it’s more than likely that it was brought on by the drug itself. Taking that into account, there doesn’t seem to be any reason as to why y/n won’t make a full recovery so overall I’d say she’s very lucky,” he pauses, before looking between the three men. “She’s awake, but is still a little drowsy, which is to be expected. I’d still like to keep her in for observation overnight, just as a precaution,” he says.

Whilst Matty understands the importance and necessity of this monologue, it seems to take forever for the doctor to spiel medical jargon, before he finally speaks aloud the words that Matty longs to hear.

“You can go and see her.”

*

It takes a few minutes for Matty to pluck up the courage to enter your hospital room to see you, his palms beginning to sweat out of anxiousness and his heart occasionally skipping a beat. He’d been desperate to remain by your side since arriving at the hospital, a strong desire to interfere with the doctors and nurses that had tended to your lifeless body, almost as though he could be the one to cure you.

Questions plague his mind as he runs through several scenarios.

Would you even want to see him after the events that had built up to your accidental overdose tonight? After all, if he hadn’t been so concerned with getting his end away with a random, then you wouldn’t have felt the need to find a vice to cope with your feelings. He was the reason you were here — and he’s probably the last person you want to see.

What would he say to you? No words in the English language could be vocalised to condone his behaviour this evening. Sadly, your latest memory of him was a sordid, dirty, not-so-secret make out session in the corner of a room — not very classy, and not in the least bit romantic. Sorry seemed false; even though he was undeniably apologetic, but no amount of regret could rewind the clock, no matter how much he wished for it.

Running a hand over his face, he rids himself of any negative thoughts, composing himself. He had to stop being selfish; to remove any egotistical notion of himself. This wasn't about him anymore. This was about you.

He takes a deep breath before placing his hand on the doorknob. He pushes it gently so that the door is fractionally ajar, so as not to startle you, and then, almost impatiently, he extends his arm, opening the door fully to reveal you to him.

His eyes find you immediately. Your fragile figure lays still in the hospital bed, looking almost helpless and it saddens Matty to see because he knows how much you would hate that. He avoids reacting to your demeanour, not wishing to alarm you.

Still, you were conscious.

“Hey,” he whisper breathes a sigh of relief, giving you a small smile. “You look better than when I last saw you,” Matty tells you softly, as he comes to stand at the end of your hospital bed, his patent shoes clicking against the tiles when he halts. 

Hands in his pockets, he looks rough; you note; as though he hasn’t slept in weeks. The stubble around his jawline denotes he hasn't shaved in the last couple of weeks at least, most likely due to tour commitments. His dishevelled hair is a solid indicator that he’s run his hand through it many times — or someone else has — and perhaps it's because you haven’t seen him in a while — or maybe it’s because he’s mid-thirties — but the grey strands are becoming more prominent atop of his head.

He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, anxiously, although attentively, observing your surroundings. Monitors bleep around you, screens recording your vitals — numbers that mean absolutely nothing to him — but the consistency that the machines offer indicates that you must be within healthy ranges. Bags of liquid are hanging on a drip stand and IV’s are inserted into your veins pumping unknown substances into your body.

Removing a hand from his pocket, he nervously clears his throat as he slowly makes his way around the bed and towards you, before finally stopping beside you. Tentatively, he lowers himself and perches on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight.

Even in your drowsy state, lethargy consuming your entire body, you roll your eyes at his comment and Matty’s never been happier to hear a breathy laugh escape your lips. Reaching for the oxygen mask, you attempt to remove it, but Matty’s hand is quickly placed over yours, stopping you from doing so.

“No, no, keep it on darling,” he whispers delicately.

Your lack of energy, consumed by tiredness, as well as the the throbbing pain across your forehead ensures you don’t fight him on this one, instantly giving up, your hand going slack underneath his. Satisfied that you won’t oppose his actions any further, he rests his hand against his thigh.

Matty’s eyes avert to your other hand which rests atop of the hospital blanket. He’s somewhat hesitant before deciding to reach towards you, his fingertips brushing against your skin, careful not to dislodge the drip inserted into a prominent vein. When you don’t flinch at the physical contact, he encloses your hand within his own.

Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, as though his admission will be more bearable to speak aloud if he can’t see your reaction.

“I was so scared,” he whispers. 

He opens his eyes again, drinking in your exhausted demeanour.

“I was so fucking scared,” he repeats, with equally as much conviction as the first time.

“Matty,” you whisper tearfully at his words, your tone apologetic.

“Never wan’ to see you like that ever again, you hear me? You … you don’t get to do that,” his words are a firm warning but he lacks any threat with a soft tone, an oxymoron of emotions engulfing him as his voice wavers, his thumb skimming the upside of your hand. “You don’t get to do that to me. Can’t lose you darling.”

He swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat. Metaphorically, he’d already lost you in the midst of a relationship breakdown — but the mere thought of you losing your life to the same substance he had battled an addiction with for several years would literally break him.

You reach for your oxygen mask once again, and when Matty attempts to prevent you from doing so a second time, you swat his hand away — albeit pathetically — removing it from your face.

“I didn’t mean to,” you desperately try to convince him. “It was an accident,” you tell him, tears pooling in your eyes.

One of the machines begins to beep harshly, the numbers displayed on the screen increasing rapidly, and Matty immediately realises that your heart rate has spiked.

Determined to soothe you, Matty reassuringly squeezes your hand.

“I know, darling. I know. Just calm down for me, yeah?” he encourages, leaning forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You offer a small nod in response although his words seem to have no positive effect as the bleeping continues with the same level of consistency, numbers incessantly and hastily increasing.

“Listen to me, y/n,” his tone is firmer this time, obvious desperation laced in his words. “I need you to calm down for me. Take a deep breath,” he models it himself, inhaling air deeply into his lungs through his nose and exhaling through his parted lips. 

You copy him, mirroring his actions a few times.

“If you need this again,” he gestures towards the oxygen mask but you shake your head as your breathing begins to regulate a little and the numbers on the heart rate monitor gradually decrease once more.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assure him.

He nods, understanding, but encourages you to continue, “Deep breaths, love.” 

You compose yourself relatively quickly, almost surprised at your own resilience as you inhale and exhale a few more times, steadying your breaths and repeating the action until you’re fully calm.

“That’s it,” he praises, stroking your hand with his own, whilst his other hand finds its fingers twirling through your hair, stroking loose strands out of your face. 

He takes a few moments, allowing you to succumb to the peace that surrounds you both — but he has questions and he yearns for answers.

“Do you think you can tell me what happened tonight?” he practically dares to ask.

You shift uncomfortably beneath the thin blanket that covers you, barely keeping you warm. Taking a deep breath, you nod, nervousness consuming you as you brace yourself, preparing to inform Matty about the events that had occurred earlier that evening.

“I saw you,” you state matter of factly, although it’s not news to him. “You were with someone … another girl,” you clarify.

Your gaze subconsciously averts away from Matty’s but out of the corner of your eye, you’re hyperaware that he also follows suit, unable to make eye contact with each other at the harsh admission. Your cheeks redden slightly in embarrassment, whilst his features are full of guilt.

“I saw you coming out of the bathroom together at first. I didn’t realise it was serious, not until … well, I came down to the lounge and you were … the two of you were …” you trail off, fiddling with the hospital admission band around your wrist that suddenly becomes interesting.

The pads of Matty’s thumbs gently massage your skin, encouraging you to continue. Raising his head and meeting your gaze, you’re able to find the strength to carry on.

“I was upset and didn’t want to feel anything. I’d had a lot to drink but that wasn’t numbing the pain. So when I was offered heroin,” you shrug. “It never affected you that way so I thought … I thought I’d be ok,” you whimper, your bottom lip trembling.

“Darling,” Matty whispers, his thumb gently soothing your skin as your hand remains enveloped in his. “It affects everyone differently. There’s so many factors that affect someone’s reaction to drugs — the amount you’ve taken, it’s purity, what it’s cut with, the method of using …” he begins to list.

“I know, I know,” you shake your head, cutting him off. 

You already felt foolish enough for ever trusting the guy you’d met tonight in the kitchen — felt embarrassed that many people had seen you unconscious against the cold tiles, vomiting and experiencing a seizure. Whilst you know it’s not Matty’s intention, the last thing you want — or need — is a lecture.

Instantly understanding, Matty drops the topic as quick as he'd raised it, and instead, decides to pass on the good news.

“The doctor says you’re lucky; reckons you’ll make a full recovery. You just need to rest,” he breathes a sigh of relief himself as his sentence rolls effortlessly off of his tongue.

Your ears prick up at his words and you give him a hopeful smile.

“Does that mean I can go home?” you ask, suddenly sitting yourself upright, ignoring the pounding in your head accompanied by the dizziness, in turn making you feel a little nauseous.

Home. 

Matty wonders where home is for you now.

In an ideal world, Matty would want you living with him again — reliving your favourite memories that you experienced as the couple you once were when you were unconditionally in love with each other, as well as making new ones together.

You’d be waking up in his bed each morning; sometimes to sex, always to coffee, with mundane household chores threatening to be completed as adulthood entailed cooking, cleaning, tag teaming washing the dishes, and starting petty arguments over whose turn it was to dispose of the rubbish on bin day (it was his turn every week).

He would give the world and more to have you telling him that you don’t mind what film you watched together — even though you did — only for you to fall asleep within minutes of putting it on. He would ensure that you have warm, fluffy towels for after your bubble bath, and you’d be welcomed into the kitchen with the inviting aromas of your favourite dishes that he’d cook for you.

Matty would keep you safe — always — keeping a watchful eye over you so as something like this could never occur again, giving not one single soul the opportunity to hurt his girl — and the realisation dawns on him that perhaps one of his downfalls was that no matter how hard he tried in this lifetime, he couldn’t protect you from everything.

“They want to keep you in overnight,” he breaks the bad news to you, regrettably.

“No,” you whine, emitting a groan as you roll your eyes to the ceiling. 

“‘m sorry, love,” his tone is apologetic, “But they want to monitor you.” 

“Please, Matty. I’m fine! Please see if they will discharge me tonight,” you beg, your doe-eyes pleading with him.

“Darling,” he murmurs softly, stroking your hand reassuringly once again. “You overdosed on heroin, which was cut with fentanyl, by the way,” he informs you, before continuing matter of factly, “Your alcohol levels were through the roof, you had a seizure and you were sick. You’re in the best place right now.”

There was truth behind Matty’s words and you know it. Admitting defeat, you know there’s no arguing against the doctor’s decision to monitor you overnight.

Instead, you ask, “Stay?” your tone nervous, as you softly plead with Matty. “Will you stay with me?”

Matty exhales a shaky breath, offering a small smile as relief washes over him that you want him; need him. 

“Of course I’ll stay, ‘m not going anywhere.”

There’s not much time to succumb to the silence that threatens to engulf the two of you as a hesitant knock, accompanied by a throat-clearing cough, can be heard against the grey door to your hospital room. Straining your neck and peering towards the entrance, you notice two figures lingering in the doorway, one of which is leaning against the doorframe. 

Matty whips his head around to see who the disruption is, before turning back to meet your gaze and announcing with a small smile, “I think someone want to say hello.”

As if on cue, Ross and Adam enter your hospital bay and approach you. Coming to stand beside you, Ross acknowledges you with a small kiss to your temple and Adam rests a hand atop of your hospital blanket, reassuringly squeezing your leg.

“How’re doing?” Adam is the first to ask, as they each take a seat in the grey plastic chairs beside your bed.

You give a small nod and shrug in tandem.

“I’m ok,” you tell them — although even you know that they know that you’re not being entirely truthful so you decide to elaborate on your answer further, providing them with some honesty at least. “I’m tired and have a headache, but other than that I’m alright.”

“You scared us back there,” Ross pipes up, worry evident in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” your eyes avert to your hand enveloped in Matty’s.

“Don’t be,” Ross softly murmurs, shaking his head and resting a hand atop of your arm. 

You shake your head in protest.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” you tell them apologetically, sincerely adding, “I’m sorry that you had to deal with me like that.” You shake your head slightly, closing your eyes for a brief second as embarrassment consumes you.

“’s not your fault,” Ross tells you. “We’re just glad you’re ok.” 

“Thank you,” your eyes flit between the three of them this time, acutely aware of the vital role they had all played tonight in getting you the help you needed from the emergency services. You can only imagine how terrifying and surreal the ordeal must have been for them as well.

“Don’t need to thank us,” Matty furrows his brows.

“If you hadn’t …” you begin. “I’d be dead,” you state it so matter of factly, that Matty feels physically ill.

“Don’t, y/n,” he gently warns, unable to fathom any other outcome.

Silence fills the room, further accentuating the bleeping sounds of the machines that whir around you. For the first time, it’s an awkward quietness, seemingly uncomfortable between the four of you once the discussion had taken a darker turn. 

However, there’s still one more topic of conversation dancing on the lips of the three men amongst you but nobody has seemed willing to take the lead in voicing their thoughts just yet — that is until Ross clears his throat, less confident than he actually appears as he delivers his question.

“Who gave it to you?” he asks, a strong desire to know who dealt you the drug.

“I don’t know,” you shrug.

“Please, y/n,” Matty begs breathlessly, his eyes finding the ceiling. “Please don’t protect anyone,” he pleads, the pad of his thumb continuously circling itself against your hand.

“I don’t know,” you repeat. “Honestly. It was a random guy who got talking to me. I didn’t even ask his name.” 

Your earnest tone is all that’s needed for them to know you’re telling the truth; you’d just been unfortunate enough for your vulnerable self to fall victim to the dealer this evening, him cruelly having taken full advantage of your distressed state.

"If I ever find out who it was," Matty begins, using his free hand to clench his fist out of anger.

“Don’t,” you practically beg, shaking your head. “Please don’t. It was my own fault. I should never have listened to him or trusted him in the first place. It was a bad idea and I knew it. I just went against my own judgement in the heat of the moment and acted on impulse.”

Whilst you knew how it appeared, you really weren’t defending the dealer who had provided you with the substance and tools that could have resulted in you ending your life tonight — but the last thing you wanted was violence. Neither Matty, Ross or Adam had fighting tendencies and that wasn’t about to change because of you and your one mistake.

Ross sniggers slightly, before raising an eyebrow as he looks between you and Matty.

“Impulse? You two really are perfect for each other,” he laughs.

You roll your eyes at the humour implied in his light hearted comment. It was public knowledge that Matty would often find himself in hot water due to acting on impulse, often through the portrayal of an online persona, or through expressing controversies during live performance and interviews.

You had often scolded him during your relationship, heavily reminded him of his role model status to many young and impressionable fans, because his words had consequences, often resulting in him being ‘cancelled.’

Before you can respond, another small knock at the door indicates an interruption for the second time — saddened when the nurse on call entered the room and informed you that only one person could be at your bedside for the remainder of the night.

Adam emits a groan, admitting defeat once the nurse bids you farewell for the night, although not before reminding both you and Matty that she’s on duty throughout the course of the early hours and until sunrise, so if you needed anything, she was your go-to.

“Suppose we best be off then,” Adam rolls his eyes.

“You take care,” Ross offers you a smile and presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “See you soon, mate,” he reaches forwards and offers Matty a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You look after her,” he finishes his goodbyes.

Once the hustle and bustle of them leaving your hospital room subsides, you and Matty are left only in each other's company, surrounded by a comfortable silence once more. 

Your eyes avert to the window of your hospital room as you observe the outside world, nothing but darkness consuming everything at this ungodly hour, with the exception of the few street lamps that light up the hospital car park that your room overlooks.

With your hand still enveloped within Matty’s, you can feel his eyes focussing on you — and you alone.

“I’m ok,” you whisper softly, turning to Matty, distracting him from his own thoughts.

“Hmm?” he hums, indicating that he had been out of touch with reality. Your statement had grounded him, bringing him mentally back into the room with you as he looks up to meet your gaze.

“I said I’m ok,” you repeat, and it’s your turn to massage the palm of his hand with your thumb, reassuring him you are physically well — and alive.

He nods in acknowledgement but it’s clear he has a lot plaguing his mind. You decide not to push him just yet, knowing him well enough that he’ll communicate his thoughts and feelings on his terms, although you're surprised when his response comes almost immediately.

“I thought …,” Matty exhales a shaky breath, tears pooling in his eyes, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, your bottom lip trembles, the heightened emotions you’re both feeling needing to be addressed with each other properly. There was still so much to say, so many things you had to discuss, questions that had to be asked, answers that needed clarifying.

Matty shakes his head vigorously, stopping you from continuing your apology.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” his tone is full of sincerity. “I just need you to know that … if I’d lost you … I don’t know what I’d do.” 

He chokes on a sob, the memory of your unconscious body sprawled across the kitchen floor still haunting him — and he fears that your lifeless frame will appear in his nightmares every time he closes his eyes. Bringing your hand up to his lips, he presses a soft and tender kiss against your skin.

“I love you,” he murmurs. 

“Matty,” you breathe, comprehending his words immediately.

“I love you so much, darling,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” you reply, barely missing a beat. 

He knew it were true; you didn’t say things you didn’t mean.

“I’m sorry if I ever … that I let you down,” he adds — and it’s not a comment out of guilt or pity for himself. It’s an apology to you — an earnest admission, honest and sincere, as he recalls the times when he hadn’t been the boyfriend he should have been for you.

“You haven’t,” you whimper, choking on a sob, emotion overcoming you at the sudden change in dynamic of the conversation. “Matty, you never let me down. You had an addiction! I know that you came off the heroin after rehab but you were still battling a drug addiction. You still needed something to get through life, a vice to help you cope. If anything, I’m sorry that I didn’t recognise the signs sooner and get you help.” 

“Darling,” Matty gently warns.

Whilst he understands the importance of this much needed conversation between the two of you, it’s a topic he doesn’t want to explore too deeply just yet — there’s plenty of time to discuss everything that had contributed to the breakdown of your relationship but right now, you needed to focus on your own recovery from tonight.

“Not now, eh?” it’s a rhetorical comment.

Before he can stop himself, he leans forward, resting his forehead gently against your own. It’s the closest he’s been all night and you can still smell the smoke that lingers on his clothes; the warmth of his breath fanning your cheeks each time he softly exhales. He feels like home. His eyes avert downwards towards his hand intertwined with your own in his lap — and it feels right.

“We have a lot to talk about,” you whisper, breaking the silence, your lips a hairs breadth from his. 

Nervously gulping, as though an in love, giddy teenager, Matty agrees. 

“Yeah, we do. But it can wait, darling. You need to rest.” 

You shake your head, a feeble attempt at protesting against his suggestion.

“Rest, sweetheart,” he reiterates. “We can talk about everything tomorrow, yeah?”

You both know you won’t. Matty will still want to give you time to recover, waiting on you hand and foot, treating you as though you’re made of glass for at least the next month — but you don’t actually think you’d mind.

“I’ll still be here. I’m not going anywhere,” he reaches forwards, resting his palm gently against your cheek.

Muscle memory, instinct, and habit amalgamate and you tilt your head towards his hand, leaning into his soft touch on your face. The welcomed familiarity makes your heart swell as he cradles your cheek. Inching forwards ever so slightly, Matty presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his soft, plush lips lingering against your skin for longer than necessary — but you weren't complaining.

“‘m not going anywhere,” he repeats quietly, emotion thick in his voice as he swallows the small lump that has formed in his throat, his brain in overdrive as he contemplates the magnitude of events that had occurred tonight.

“You promise?” you question, as you raise your hand to cover his own, your fingers intertwining with his against your blush cheeks.

“I promise.”

#the 1975 #the 1975 imagines #the 1975 imagine #the 1975 preference #the 1975 preferences #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 fanfiction #matty healy #matty healy imagine #matty healy imagines #matty healy preference #matty healy preferences #matty healy one shot #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 one shot #ross macdonald #ross macdonald fanfic #ross macdonald fanfiction #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald imagines #ross macdonald preference #ross macdonald preferences #adam hann #ross macdonald one shot #adam hann one shot #adam hann preference #adam hann preferences #adam hann imagine #adam hann imagines

[beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff]

happy anniversary to nothing i just wanted to say happy anniversary and then talk about Notes On A Conditional Form

#notes on a conditional form #the best album ever ever ever #i actually prefer iliwys but noacffffffff #same me noacf #noacf save me #blah blah! #the 1975 #matty healy #george daniel #ross macdonald #adam hann #noacf #ignoring swifties queuing day

[uramilf]

Day Eight - Eggnog and Mulled Wine

“Babe, are you ready?” Y/N called down the hall to Matty. “Coming now!” They were headed off to George and Charli’s place for one final get-together before Christmas. It was the first time they’d properly be hanging out with the group since Matty and Y/N got together, minus the night everyone found out about their relationship.

Matty came out of the bedroom with his tie hanging loosely around his neck, smiling in disbelief when he laid eyes on his girlfriend. “Fuck, baby. You look perfect.” She smiled back and turned round to show off the back of her sparkly red dress. “You like?” “I love,” he groaned. “I don’t think George would care if we were a bit late.” “Absolutely not, we’re not gonna see them until after Christmas! C’mere.” She pressed a quick kiss to his lips before tying his tie in a neat knot. “Fine, let’s go.” He took her hand and they left the house together. The car ride was full of laughter and bad singing to Christmas songs on the radio. Presents for their friends were laying in gift bags on the back seat, so many they weren’t sure they would get them into George’s house in one run.

They managed to get all the presents inside and started greeting their friends, everyone cooing over Adam and Carly’s son who had just started walking. Matty couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight of his girlfriend holding a baby. “I know it’s early days, but this is making me want kids,” he whispered to her with a smile. “Good, so I’m not the only one with baby fever.”

Charli seemed to appear out of nowhere behind them laughing. “Baby fever? Good. Do it.” “Em, we’ve been going out for less than a month. Do you wanna fuck off?” “Matty!” Y/N hissed, gesturing to the baby on her hip. “You know he’s starting to talk now, do you really want him to learn that word?” “Yes, absolutely. Hann would hate it.” “What would I hate?” Adam called from across the room. Y/N, Matty and Charli looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Nothing!”

—————

The group settled back into the living room after dinner. There wasn’t enough room of the sofas and chairs for everyone, so Carly sat in Adam’s lap whilst Charli played with their son on the carpeted floor. Matty was drinking a glass of eggnog (which he hated, but it was such a nice Christmas cliche and he wanted to feel included) while Y/N sipped on some mulled wine that Carly had made.

“So, Denise’s for Christmas?” George asked Y/N. “Yeah, I’m a bit nervous if I’m honest.” “Don’t be, she’s going to absolutely love you. Didn’t you see her on Loose Women last week saying she sometimes prefers her sons’ girlfriends to them?” “No chance you watch Loose Women,” Y/N giggled. “To see my second mother? Absolutely!” “It’s true,” Charli piped up from the floor. “He loves it.”

“We’d better head off,” Carly said, reaching down to pick up her son and giving Charli a kiss on the cheek. “This little man needs to go to bed!” “Yeah, I should go too. I’m heading to Mum’s for Christmas tomorrow, long drive ahead of me,” Ross yawned, playfully ruffling the baby’s hair. “Thanks for the lovely dinner, Char.”

George showed them all out after a few hugs and Merry Christmases. Charli stood up and stretched, before saying “Y/N? Can you come help me in the kitchen for a minute?” “Yeah, of course.” “I’ll come help with the dishes,” Matty offered, standing up, but Charli shot him a look and said “No, it’s fine. We need a girls chat anyway, it’s well overdue.” Matty raised his hands in surrender and leaned back in his chair as George re-entered.

“So. Meeting the parents?” Charli grinned. “Yeah. How long did it take for you to meet G’s parents?” “A few weeks, about the same as you. But I wasn’t staying there for the holidays. You must be scared shitless.” “Finally someone who gets it,” Y/N sighed. “Everyone’s saying his family’s lovely, and I’m sure it’s true, but all his girlfriends before me were pop stars or supermodels. I just hope their expectations aren’t too high.” “Look, just because you’re not a model doesn’t mean they won’t love you. They’re probably bored of having the same conversations every Christmas.” “Maybe you’re right. I love Matty and that’s all that really matters, right?”

Charli’s jaw dropped before she squealed in excitement. “You love him?!” “Shit.” Y/N’s hand flew to her mouth. “I just said that, didn’t I?” “Yes!” “Oh my god. I really do love him.”

—————

Meanwhile, back in the living room, Matty and George were having a similar conversation. “I’m so excited for her to meet my mum. They’re gonna love each other. She’s just so perfect, G.” “She’s great,” George agreed. “I’m really happy for you, man.” “I think I’m gonna tell her I love her tonight. Cause I do. I really do. I’ve loved her since long before the whole secret Santa incident.” “Yeah, I fuckin’ know mate! You forget I’m the one who had to listen to you talk about her every day for months.” Matty just smiled. He was gonna tell her. And he was gonna mean it, more than he had ever meant anything in his life.

—————

They lay tangled up in each others arms at the end of the night, opting to stay at Matty’s house so they could look after Mayhem, of course. Matty decided not to make a big deal out of it, because he was sure she already knew. He hadn’t exactly been hiding it.

“I love you, baby.” Y/N’s heart started beating faster, her breath caught in her throat. “I love you too,” she whispered.

#the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagines #christmas75

[asideblogofananimelover]

My Attack on Titan Live Action Dream Cast

Levi - Dane DeHaan

Erwin - Chris Evans

Hange - Anne Hathaway

Mike - Chris Hemsworth

Moblit - Andrew Garfield

Nanaba - Blake Lively

Pixis - Patrick Stewart

Shadis - Ben Kingsley

Petra - Holland Roden

Eld - Jake Manley

Oluo - Sean Depner

Gunther - Adam DiMarco

Farlan - Lucas Till

Isabel - Emma Stone

Kenny - Keanu Reeves

Uri - Daniel Craig

Frieda - Megan Fox

Rod - Michael Stulhbarg

Zeke - Charlie Hunnam

Yelena - Elizabeth Debicki

Onyankopon - Anthony Mackie

Kiyomi - Ming-Na Wen

Magath - Jean Reno

Willy - Lee Pace

There are some characters I don’t include such as Zackly, Hannes, Grisha, Eren Kruger, and Lara Tybur, because I have no idea who should play them. As for the 104th cadets and the Warriors, I prefer them to be played by entirely new actors and actresses.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #erwin smith #hange zoe #mike zacharias #moblit berner #nanaba (attack on titan) #dot pixis #keith shadis #petra ral #eld jinn #oluo bossard #gunther schultz #farlan church #isabel magnolia #kenny ackerman #uri reiss #frieda reiss #rod reiss #zeke jaeger #yelena (attack on titan) #onyankopon (attack on titan) #azumabito kiyomi #theo magath #willy tybur

[heyidkyay]

I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part One

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Warnings: arguing, alludes to bad relationship with a parent

A/N: Someone asked for a bit of George fluff seeing as there isn't much out there atm, sooo I figured I'd make a short series because idk when to stop I guess. Additional note: This series is far from fluffy, pls make sure to read chapter warnings!!

Just a note, George isn't actually in this part, this is sort of a lead up..

Masterlist

--

“Alright, fucking out with it.”

Matty actually had the nerve to look over at me all confused, craning his head back to scrunch up his face, only further accentuating his many sudden chins. I raised a brow, I wasn’t backing down. 

The two of us were currently sat in his living room, watching a film but not really. I’d invited myself over, having wanted the company of my best mate after he’d been away for so long, doing famous people shit, and Matty hadn’t complained. He’d grinned upon answering the front door and all but floored me in a hug, then proceeded to tell me all stories about the crap I’d missed out on at a hundred miles an hour whilst he’d lead me inside.

I’d been here for a while now, just over an hour or so, and we’d since made ourselves comfortable on his settee, my legs draped across his lap whilst he ordered in food. 

We hadn’t spoken about the elephant in the room as of yet, but I wasn’t too fussed. Actually, I much preferred it when Matty didn’t strain to involve himself in all of my personal problems, which had always been something of a hobby to him. But he had been acting a little strange since his previous excitement had died down a tad, constantly checking his phone and purposefully avoiding certain topics I brought up.

I narrowed my eyes at him and dug my foot into his side, causing him to yelp and swat it away. I huffed out a light laugh, always having had a love for annoying him, before I resettled. “Come on, Healy, spill.”

I watched as he worked his jaw, obviously struggling not to spill it all then and there- but I knew him far too well and we both knew that he wouldn’t last long.

“Matty…” I sighed, but as I opened my mouth to continue on, his phone rang.

He looked all too grateful for the distraction which only peaked my interest further. He was definitely hiding something, that was for certain. 

“Alright, Hann?” Matty answered by way of hello, fiddling with the cuff of my jeans as he replied to something Adam must have said in reply. I half paid attention to their conversation, eyes trained on the tele whilst they talked, but Matty didn’t give much away, just kept umming and ahing which was a little unlike him.

I had to tug my feet in towards me and tuck them under myself when Matty motioned to stand. I frowned slightly at the movement but it softened when he mouthed the question of ‘Brew?’ over at me, using his hand to gesture like the Queen as he held an imaginary teacup to his lips. 

I nodded and gifted him a thankful little smile in turn, already knowing that he’d make it perfect. 

One thing about Matty, he liked to remember all the small things. But we’d known each other for so long now that the way I took my tea was probably already engrained in his brain right there alongside his own. He puttered away and the film continued on. 

We’d stuck on the first thing Netflix had suggested to us whilst we’d gotten to talking more in depth about what had been happening in one another’s lives, but I found it to be dragging a little now that I had the opportunity to focus on it more. Instead of opting to change it though, I decided to have a scroll through my phone, picking up on the quiet muttering of Matty’s voice which wafted in from the kitchen as I did. 

He returned a short while later and gave me a grin, albeit a tired one, as he handed over my hot drink.

“You okay?” I questioned quietly, blowing at my steaming mug whilst he resettled, dragging my feet back onto his lap.

He heaved out a large breath, slumping into the cushions before he angled his head towards me, half of his face buried in a pillow. He groaned loudly in retort to my question and I couldn’t help the soft snort I made.

Carefully, I repositioned myself nearer to him so that I could ruffle his hair, then let my head come to a rest beside his. 

“What’s happened then? Why you all- stroppy?” I asked him, wrinkling my nose as I waved a hand over his pouting face. “Has it got something to do with why you’ve been acting all strange?”

“‘M not stroppy. And you’re the strange one.” Matty quipped with a frown, his words muffled by the cushion. But then he sighed again and so I waited for his actual reply, hoping it would soon follow. “Hann just thought it’d be best to bring up studio times again, incase I forgot.”

I felt my forehead pinch. “Alright… but you’re not the type to forget something important like that and plus, you’ve just gotten home. I know Ad’s a tad bit tetchy when it comes to scheduling and what not, but still, even he probably wants a short break, no?”

Matty didn’t reply, only buried his face further into the plush pillow. It was a nice one to be fair, expensive looking, but only further proved that he was actively avoiding the question. 

“Mattyyy.” I droned, shaking his shoulder. “Come on, why won’t you just tell me? Is it embarrassing? Did you piss yourself whilst bladdered and have a fan witness it? Or, ooh!-”

A hand shot up to cover my mouth before I could open it again and I quirked a brow over at Matty, who was mid eye-roll and chuckling faintly. “No more guessing.” He told me seriously, then shook his head as he exhaled. “It’s not embarrassing, and no, I did not fucking piss myself in front of any fans. Alright?”

His hand slipped away then, once he gotten the nod he’d wanted out of me, but as soon as he’d dropped his guard I was quick to snipe back, “So you did piss yourself then, just not in front of any fans?”

Matty grabbed at my ankles and started to tickle the bottoms of my socked feet, knowing it was my one downfall. I relented rather quickly, using all my strength to kick away from him whilst still clutching my tea. “Okay! Okay! I’ll leave it out, I swear! Uncle! Uncle!”

He hummed and reluctantly stopped the incessant torture, but I still swept my feet away from him just in case. 

With a deserving scowl, I placed down my mug on the console, grateful to have only spilt a drop or two. “Why do you always resort to violence?”

Matty grinned victoriously in turn, seemingly very smug about the whole ordeal as he sipped away at his coffee. “‘Cause it’s the easiest way to get you to piss off.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Fine. I’ll stop, but only if you tell me what’s been messing with your head.”

Matty’s gaze flitted to the ceiling then and the room suddenly felt a lot smaller, quieter almost. He sighed softly, “Your birthday-” He attempted but I immediately cut him off.

“Is a day you’ve learnt not to celebrate. Because you know how much I hate it. Which means that the same celebrations that happen each and every year will continue to occur. As in, you gift me the usual chocolates and a cuddle, then not mention it at all.”

I turned to face the tv screen, crossing my legs underneath me so that I could avoid the obvious stare I felt burning holes into the side of my head.

“You’re so fucking stubborn.” Matty muttered under his breath, I shot him a glare but that didn’t seem to derail him. “I get why you hate it, I do, but it’s been years- you don’t even speak to her no more! Why let it ruin the one day that celebrates just you?”

“If you understood why, you wouldn’t be asking, Matt.”

Matty shook his head at me, clearly disappointed. “She’s a twat. Just forget about her, leave it in the past now. We both know it’d do you the world of good.”

“Oh yeah, and how do you suppose I just forget the woman that birthed me, hey?” 

His lips pursed sourly whilst his gaze skirted towards the tele. I barrelled on though, never knowing when to give up, but now I was upset. I always got upset whenever she was mentioned. Triggered my fight or flight, I supposed.

“No, because I’d honestly love to hear it, Matty! How do I erase the one person who was meant to protect me from the world, huh? She couldn’t even protect me from herself!”

The silence that suddenly engulfed us was stilted and stuffy. I had to take a deep breath.

Matty and I had always been very alike when it came to the way we reacted to certain things. We snapped and bit back before we could think things over. We shared a lot of sore topics. But my biggest had always been my mum.

I released a heavy sigh and tugged a hand through my hair. I knew he was only trying to help. I really did. But, it was hard to realise that in the moment when all I really wanted to do was change the subject completely or just blow up at him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you.” I told him quietly.

He dragged his eyes over to where I was sat, sighing too as he let a hand come to rest on the cushion between us. I gave a half-hearted smile that I couldn’t really help, laying my palm flat against his. It was always something we’d done. Ever since we were kids. Our way of saying sorry, or, I’m still here.

“I didn’t mean to either.” Matty replied, squeezing my hand gently in his before shuffling closer so that he could pull both of them into his lap. “I just want you to enjoy it, you know? It's your birthday. No one should hide away at home, plagued by all those unhappy memories. You should be out getting pissed, or celebrating with us lot.”

Humming, I squeezed back. “I know. It’s just a lot to unpack, Matty. Not as easy as it seems.”

Matty pressed a chaste kiss to my knuckles, right where a faint white line started and stretched its way down the back of my hand. He shrugged.

“Carls and I just figured that you might be open to a dinner or something this year.” Matty told me gently, never looking away from our joined hands. “With your close mates, people who won’t sing happy birthday or get you a card. People who just want to celebrate you, yeah?”

I had to smile. I couldn’t not. It was dead sweet. And I thought it over, not saying anything for a few minutes.

“I think dinner would be okay.”

The grin Matty gave me in return, megawatt and beaming like the actual sun, was all it took to wash away those feelings of fear and resentment that I always held onto for a brief moment.

“Right.” He replied, still grinning away like the Cheshire Cat he was. Or maybe a man who’d just lucked out on the lotto. He burrowed his way into my side and I shook my head in amusement as I withdrew my hand to shove him off of me.

“Get off me, you oaf.” I chuckled.

“Oaf? Well, you can sod right off then!” Matty retorted, turning his nose up at me. “Had planned to have Ross make those molten cakes of his, but you can forget that now.”

I gasped in horror. “No! Not the chocolate ones!”

“Yeah, them." Matty taunted. "But it seems my efforts are under appreciated here so…”

“Matthew.” I admonished. “Please tell Ross to make them and- ooh! Get him to make those mini mousses of his, too? Please, please, pretty please?” I begged- and it was downright pathetic in hindsight yes, but if you’d had even a mouthful of this heavenly dessert then you’d understand. I’d willingly give up my firstborn if it meant that Ross would give me a lifetime supply. “Matty, I’m begging you here. I’ll love you for forever.”

He smirked but feigned a put-upon sigh as he slumped further into the settee cushions. The dramatic tart. “Look, I’ll rethink my decision if you help me out on this recent bridge I just started." He grew more serious all of a sudden, as he always did whenever music was mentioned. "Wanna see how a harmony would sound.”

“Fine, I’ll help. But I still want those chocolates you always get me, and a bottle of that fancy wine you like.”

Matty quirked a brow. “Thought you didn’t want any presents on your birthday?”

“They’re not presents. They’re bribes.”

He snorted. “Right. Sorry, got a bit confused there.”

I grinned, kicking my feet back into his lap once I'd shimmied my way back down the sofa. “Toss the remote, will you? This film’s so shit.”

“Glad you were the one to say it. Main character's a right wanker.” Matty commented, looking relieved as he threw the remote towards me. I tried to catch it midair but failed horribly, leaving the remote to hit the side of my wrist and nut me on the chin. Matty cackled merrily. “Only you, I swear.”

Rolling my eyes, I grumbled lowly back at him in retort.

It was just after we’d searched through the entirety Netflix and then Prime, that we finally settled on some shitty comedy to watch. One we faintly recalled watching years ago. The food had since been ordered and whilst we waited for it, I found myself remembering what had caused the start of our little tiff.

“You know, you never did tell me what was up.”

Matty frowned over at me. “Yeah, I did.”

I shook my head, sitting up slightly. “No, just mentioned my birthday and then we started arguing.”

He nodded slowly as it dawned on him. “Oh yeah, suppose not then.”

“So…” I prompted with a jut of my chin. “What was it?”

I watched closely as Matty dragged his front teeth over his bottom lip before his sights settled again on me, a little more confidently than I’d expected in truth. My forehead pinched.

“Well?”

“The dinner.” Matty begun, brown eyes flicking back and forth between my own.

“What about the dinner?” I quizzed, growing even more confused.

He clenched his jaw, looking at me as though he was trying to determine something. Something I couldn’t be quite sure of. He seemed to find what he looking for though, because a few long seconds later he just came right out with it. 

“The dinner. I invited George to the dinner.”

Part Two>

#the 1975 #the 1975 band #george daniel #matty healy #the 1975 imagines #fic #george daniel the 1975 #george daniel x reader #george daniel fic #adam hann #ross macdonald #1975 band #george 1975 #matty 1975 #ao3 #writer #x you #x reader #y/n #George Daniel x you #fluff #angst #series #previous relationship #best friend matty #humour #multi part fic #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 fic #exes to lovers

[sundrownsthehouse]

Take This Pain And Give It A Name, Part Two

Posted to AO3

Prologue

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Summary: George breaks his shoulder. Matty looks after him. It gets complicated.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content.

Words: 3.1k.

The tiny bathroom on the bus was not made to accommodate two people— that became glaringly obvious from the moment Matty shut the door behind them. George had to step into the single stall shower just to create a few inches of space between their bodies. How the fuck they were going to pull this off was beyond him. They rarely used the shower on the bus, preferring to wash up at hotels or venues, and standing there with his shoulders nearly touching the walls, he was reminded why.

Shrill giggles spilled from Matty’s lips, lush from red wine and weed. He was practically buzzing, brushing his dark curls back from his face as he took in the lack of space and George’s petulant expression.

“What?” George demanded, aiming for annoyance, but sounding fond.

Matty snorted. “I dunno how I’m even gonna reach your head, you giant.”

Despite himself, George cracked a smile: “Not my fault you’re vertically challenged.”

“Vertically challenged? Mate, you’re a fucking tree!” Matty cried indignantly.

George cackled. Matty’s resounding peel of laughter echoed off the tiled walls. The sound lifted a weight from George’s chest.

“Please recall that I was actually taller than you once,” Matty protested as he pulled off his shirt and dropped it haphazardly on the floor, swaying a little in the process.

George rolled his eyes; like he’d never heard that before.

“Sure, for like, a year when I was thirteen,” he replied dryly. Matty made quick work of his flannel, snickering. George shrugged the open shirt off and proceeded to pick at the velcro of his sling, craning his neck to have a look at how it all connected. His head snapped up in surprise when Matty slapped his hand away.

“You’re going to have to support your arm when it comes off,” he stated matter-of-factly. George blinked, not following. Matty tsked and guided George to turn around by his hips. “Some of us actually paid attention to the doctor,” he chided.

George felt Matty’s deft hands begin to undo the straps on his back, still nattering away. “You know, I actually hate that you lot can see the top of my head, like, all the time. What if I’ve got dandruff or something?” he complained.

Still facing the wall, George felt the sling go loose and finally fall away. In his eagerness to be rid of it, he let his right arm go slack, but only long enough for him to realize his mistake; the weight of gravity set his fractured shoulder on fire. Thankfully, he’d taken more pain medication as a precaution— otherwise, he was certain he would’ve been in agony. Biting the insides of his cheeks, he grasped his right arm with his left to take the weight off, grunting a little.

An unsettling realization dawned on him: with the sling off, both of his arms were effectively restricted. It left him completely vulnerable. A little of the creeping panic he’d felt when he first woke up that afternoon returned. He hated being so dependent, so weak, so—

Tentative fingertips grazed his back; goosebumps rose in their wake. With a feather-light touch, they traced the red marks and indents marring his skin. George’s mind went curiously blank. He shivered imperceptively.

“Does that hurt?” Matty breathed. “It looks like it hurts.”

Something in Matty’s hushed, timid voice gave George pause. He recalled what Adam told him earlier: that one's dead worried about you. He turned around awkwardly in the confined space to meet Matty’s guarded expression, still cradling his right arm carefully.

“I’m okay, you know,” he assured, holding Matty’s eye.

Matty dropped his gaze and gestured vaguely. “Just checking. Looks sore, is all.”

George could see it now; Hann was right (and really, when was he ever wrong?). He felt foolish for not recognizing it earlier, and for ever considering that Matty would resent him for getting injured. After a decade of friendship and years of living together, George had learned that Matty sometimes needed… careful handling. He didn’t respond well to change (unless it was his idea), and seemed to feel everything a little more intensely than other people did.

That was something he admired about Matty, actually. It made him an excellent songwriter; it was as if he could perfectly decode the emotion George put into a piece of music and articulate it through lyrics anyone could see themselves in. But George knew that the downside to having access to that deep well of emotion was that Matty was easily overwhelmed— and as a result, he was prone to mood swings, outbursts, and scarily low lows. George had witnessed it all because time and again, he was the one Matty turned to when it got to be too much. His heart swelled; he felt protective of that bond. There was an intimacy to his friendship with Matty that he’d never had with another person, and it meant everything to him.

If he really considered it, George himself was rarely the source of Matty's stress. Perhaps that’s why he’d never been the target of Matty’s volatility before, either. Put in context, Matty’s strange behaviour wasn’t so inexplicable.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he murmured, heartfelt.

Matty’s brows pinched together briefly, but he quickly covered it with an easy grin.

“You and your sorrys,” he teased. “The only thing that’s scaring me is the way you fucking smell. C'mon, get these off.”

Matty pulled George’s joggers down so he could step out of them, leaving him in his black Calvins. He hesitated, hands resting on the waistband: “Ehm… d'you want the rest off, too?”

“No,” George said quickly. He shuffled in place, embarrassed: “It’s fine. I’ll change after.”

It wasn’t being naked in front of Matty that bothered him. They’d grown up together and undressed in front of each other too many times to count. He just felt way too exposed already.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

“Alright.”

George faced the showerhead and listened to the gentle sound of metal clinking as Matty undid his belt and shucked his jeans. The heat from his body radiated onto George’s back when he stepped inside the tiny shower, closing the glass door behind them. Reaching past his waist to turn on the water, Matty steadied himself with a hand on George’s hip, their bodies nearly flush.

“Is that good?” Matty asked over the hiss of the water as he adjusted the temperature. His breath ghosted between George’s shoulder blades.

"S'good.”

“Not too hot or anything?”

George fought the urge to roll his eyes and smiled wryly, not that Matty could see it: “It’s fine, Matthew.”

“Don’t you ‘Matthew’ me, I swear down.”

Balancing on the tips of his toes, Matty began to shampoo George’s hair whilst chatting amiably about some ideas he had for a new song they’d been working on. A familiar peppermint scent filled the enclosed space. It was oddly comforting. George couldn’t understand why, until he realized with a start that it was Matty’s shampoo. For some reason, his stomach did a little flip at the thought. He inhaled the relaxing aroma, letting his eyes close as the hot water rushed over his body, soothing his aching muscles. He’d sorely needed this.

Matty’s fingers combed through George's hair and lightly scratched his scalp, sending pleasant little shivers down his spine. George couldn’t help it— it felt amazing. Distantly, he realized that another person hadn’t washed his hair like this since he was a child. As uncomfortable as he was with his own helplessness, being cared for like this was… kind of nice.

He didn’t notice that he’d been tuning Matty out completely until he felt a soapy hand rest on his arm, squeezing gently.

“G? Everything alright?”

George blinked awake, a little embarrassed: “Sorry— I am listening. Just knackered. I’ve taken a lot of pills today,” he admitted, shaking his head. Matty hummed in acknowledgment, still hesitating, as if unsure how to proceed.

"N'feels nice,” George mumbled shyly.

Matty snorted. “Don’t get used to it,” he teased, smiling. Reassured, he continued where he left off, hands returning to George’s head: “So, the arpeggio in the pre-chorus is on a piano, right? But I was wondering what it might sound like if instead we…”

Matty kept up a one-sided conversation that George quickly gave up listening to as his hair was rinsed and lathered up again with a minty conditioner that he decided definitely belonged to Matty. If Matty noticed him mentally checking out, he didn’t comment on it. George floated in a state of bliss, lulled by the streaming water, the narcotics, and Matty’s capable hands. If this was anyone else, he might not have leaned into it so fully, but he trusted Matty implicitly.

And Matty seemed to be lingering now, fingertips scraping and massaging sensitive points at the crown of his head, his temples, and the space behind his ears. The press of his thumbs on the back of George’s neck at the base of his skull just about short-circuited his brain. George’s mouth fell open a little, and he felt his head droop forward. It just felt so good to feel good after being in near-constant pain.

Pliant and spaced out, George slowly became aware of a warm, tingling sensation in his groin. When he focused on it, it grew, swirling in his lower abdomen, making his stomach clench.

His eyes flew open in shock as he realized that his cock was starting to swell. As in, he was stood there in a shower with his best mate, sporting a semi.

What the fuck. What the ACTUAL FUCK.

All sense of relaxation fled George’s body as his brain kicked into high alert. He risked a quick glance down at his groin; to his horror, the clingy, wet material of his boxer briefs left nothing to the imagination. Jesus fucking Christ.

Clearly, some base part of him had mistaken this situation for one that would get him laid. George scrambled to rationalize this to himself: It’s just because you’re feeling good for the first time in a while; it’s warm, the water is nice, and there’s a half naked body pressed up against yours. It has nothing to do with—

“You okay? You went all tense there,” Matty inquired, concern evident in his voice.

A thrill of fear ran through George’s body.

Say something. Anything. George tried to speak, but his tongue felt too big for his mouth. His lips parted, but couldn’t manage to make a sound.

Alarmed by his sudden silence, Matty squeezed himself around George’s left arm to look at him directly.

“Hey! What’s wro— oh…”

George felt his ears burn hot. He averted his eyes, acutely aware that Matty’s were still on him. Despite the humiliation of being discovered, he was fully hard.

“I— I’m sorry. It’s been a weird day,” he blurted nervously. He cringed at the way his voice wavered.

Matty quickly regained his composure, sliding out from where he was pressed up against George’s side to face his back once more: “No, no, it’s… it’s alright,” he insisted neutrally. “Just natural, I suppose.”

Kill me now, George thought bleakly.

“If it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me,” Matty finished.

“What?” Did he hear that right?

“It’s fine,” Matty insisted, gently guiding George’s head under the water to rinse the conditioner from his hair.

George swallowed around the lump in his throat and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in for his body to cooperate.

Matty got ahold of the shower gel and spread his hands across George’s back, careful not to put too much pressure on his right side. George jumped a little when Matty washed under his arms, snaking his hands around his chest. He focused on breathing evenly through his nose, and tried not to think about the way Matty’s careful touch made him throb.

Matty’s hands came to rest on George’s hips, squeezing slightly; his own breath was a little ragged. An intense, palpable energy that George could almost taste filled the air. He had never been so aware of the sliver of space separating their bodies, charged like a live wire. He felt lightheaded and dizzy, and much to his dismay, unbelievably turned on. Every other sensation dropped away as he narrowed in on the spot where Matty’s hand crept forward ever so slightly, fingertips just centimeters from his aching cock.

Impossibly soft lips grazed the space just below his ear, sending shivers through his whole body.

“Could help you with that, if you want,” Matty murmured lowly, stroking George’s hip with his thumb. “I mean, it’s… we don’t have to talk about it…”

George’s eyes were open, but he couldn’t see. He was wholly enraptured by the way Matty’s fingers trailed along his waistband, stroking the taut skin just beneath. His mind was completely, blissfully blank.

He felt himself nod slightly. Matty sighed shakily with relief.

Emboldened, his fingers brushed George’s length through the thin fabric of his boxers, sending electric shocks through his groin that made his knees weak. George stifled a groan, his mouth hanging open in awe; he was so fucking sensitive.

"S'this alright?” Matty whispered, tracing the shape of the tip so lightly it was driving George to madness. Without waiting for a response, he cupped George fully through his boxers, lips coming to rest gingerly against his injured shoulder. George gasped aloud, unable to stop himself.

“Wanna make you feel good,” Matty breathed. “Can I?” George nodded again, but Matty wasn’t satisfied: “Need you to tell me,” he urged. He sounded the way George felt— absolutely fucking wrecked. There was no bravado, no arrogance in the way he begged: “Please let me, fuck George, please…”

All reason and rational thought fled George’s mind. He was trembling all over, and he desperately hoped that his legs wouldn’t fail him as Matty’s hand slipped beneath the thin fabric. He struggled to find the right words as his mind caught up with his body, overwhelmed by one resounding thought; yes, finally…

A piercing knock fell on the bathroom door.

They both jumped. Matty ripped his hands away from George as though he’d been burned. George’s shoulder twinged painfully.

“You two almost done in there?” Ross called, his voice muffled by the door. “I have to piss.”

They froze as cold reality came crashing down around them.

“Guys?”

“Give me a minute, Ross, for Christ’s sake,” Matty squeaked, turning off the water and all but leaping out of the shower. He hurried to wrap a towel around his waist.

George stood there numb, not daring to speak. Evidently, the fear of being discovered by Ross was sufficient to kill his libido.

"C'mere,” Matty pressed, pulling him out of the shower and retrieving the sling. Within seconds, his arm was immobilized again. He just barely caught his clothes with his other hand as Matty tossed them at him frantically.

“You’re good from here, yeah?” Matty asked, eyes darting towards the door.

“Matty, I…”

Matty’s face blanched. Without another word, he hastily slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. George could hear him telling Ross to hold on a minute.

With shaking hands, George stripped off his wet briefs and replaced them with a clean pair. He didn’t bother with a shirt or pants; he was going straight to bed to sleep off whatever the fuck had gotten into him tonight. He brushed past Ross on his way out of the bathroom, muttering a half-formed apology, and made a bee-line for his bunk. He couldn’t help but notice that above him, the curtain to Matty’s was pulled tight. Shit.

Once he was settled in bed, the weight of what happened actually started to hit him. He worried his lower lip with his teeth. God help him, but he didn’t know how to process something like this. Matty was his best friend; George had never wanted anything like that from him. Besides, George liked girls— loved them, actually— and had never really looked twice at a man that way. This was all just an unfortunate accident. He had an involuntary reaction, and Matty had taken pity on him. There was nothing more to it than that. They’d probably laugh about this in the morning, and then never talk about it again. And yet, even as George told himself this, he could feel the lies unraveling.

He’d wanted it. Matty had, too.

Christ, he was so fucked. Lying in dark, he could still feel the ghost of Matty’s hands all over his body… in his hair… touching his cock… when he closed his eyes, his ears rang with the desperation in Matty’s voice: please let me, fuck George, please…

George groaned as he felt himself getting hard again. What the actual fuck is wrong with me?

He couldn't stop himself. He pressed the heel of his hand into his groin, going dizzy with the pleasure of it. Fuck it. As he took himself in hand, he thought about the moment Matty’s had grasped him— how all he could think was yes and finally. George shuddered, and began to stroke his length properly, up and down, thumbing the slit where he felt drops of pre-cum gathering.

He threw his head back against the pillow, letting his imagination take over. What if they hadn’t been interrupted? What if he kept going? Would Matty have really brought him off, right then and there?

Jesus. He sped up, jerking his hips desperately; he needed to come so fucking bad. Pressure mounted in his groin, the muscles quivering. He was breathing too loudly for a shared space, but he didn’t care.

It felt amazing, but he couldn’t seem to get enough momentum. Something was off. His arm— his left arm— was getting tired. Doubt crept into his mind as he looked down at himself. Could he even come with his left hand? Had he ever tried? His touch felt good, great even, but after a few more minutes, the answer was apparent. Dejected, George gave up, staring at the darkness as his cock softened pathetically against his thigh. Rolling towards the shelf at his side, he knocked back another two pills, grimacing at the bitter taste as he swallowed them dry. He didn’t want to be awake anymore.

It didn’t take long for George to fall into a deep sleep. Above him, Matty lay awake most of the night, frozen in fear, tears falling silently into his pillow.

#the 1975 #the 1975 fanfiction #the 1975 fic #matty healy #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #george daniel #george daniel fic #george daniel fanfiction #adam hann #ross macdonald #matty x george #gatty #take this pain and give it a name #holy shit guys I can't believe this is done #I'm not sure how I feel about it #It might be edited in the future when I have more brainpower #thanks for all your kind words #can't wait to get going on the next chapter!

[girlwsoftsound]

Baby It’s Cold Outside || Adam Hann Drabble

Word Count: 921 Summary: “Can i request a cute cuddly Adam where it’s winter and the heat is out so its super cold in the house. :)” Author’s Note: I took a little liberty with the plot here, but I think it comes out just as cute and cuddly as ever <3 Be sure to throw in a like or comment! I love seeing feedback from you all. Please feel free to read my other work here! Enjoy!

You loved the cold.

Cold weather, hot chocolate, fuzzy jackets, fire-lit nights - you loved everything about them. You loved their aesthetic, and the comfort they brought your life. There was nothing more relaxing than sitting beside a fire with hot chocolate in your hand and the love of your life sitting at your side. There was a caveat to all of this, though. You loved the cold, but only when you had somewhere warm to run to for freedom from it.

Secluded in a freezing cold house with no heating? Well, let’s just say that not even the warmest of hot chocolates could fix the discomfort brought there. You currently faced just that scenario. Bundled up in as many coats and blankets as possible, you sat on the couch watching your doting husband Adam trying his best to start a fire. This was meant to be a winter vacation in the mountains where, after spending the days on the slopes or in the powdery-white snow, you two could come back to the cabin you rented and find peace before a fire, all warmed up and happy. Mother nature had other plans.

“I think I just need to work this a bit more,” he grumbled as the sticks he worked together refused to spark. “Fuck, where is Matty or George with a lighter when you need them?”

“A-Adam,” you beseeched, wrapping your blankets even tighter around your shoulders, “can’t we go home? I know we wanted a vacation in the mountains, but this is simply impossible. I would much rather be home and not frozen alive.”

“You have to trust me.”

Of course, Adam hardly trusted himself. He felt like he was drowning above water, unable to provide the lovely vacation and resting place for you, the wife he desired to give the world at a word’s mention. He simply wanted the day to go well. Mother Nature was ensuring the exact opposite occurred, and that brought Adam nothing but anxiety and panic. Even though he knew his fire-starting venture was somewhat of a lost cause, he had to keep trying to make it work. He had to salvage what he could of the night.

“Babe, I t-trust you, but I also trust that this cold may render me unable to m-move s-soon.”

“Please, I can do this, just let me-”

Scaring you and him both, a loud gust of wind rattled the cabin. The windows creaked and the walls looked to groan under the force. Getting up off the couch, clutching your blankets, you put your foot down.

“I’m sorry babe, we need to go. Now. I am not getting snowed in with no heating in a barely stable cabin.”

Adam dropped his sticks in defeat. What you said, went. He was not going to force you there against your will. He was more than happy to bring you home like you wished. He simply was disappointed, in himself mostly. He had failed to give you the winter wonderland vacation he wanted. That failure haunted him, through packing, through checking out, and especially through the silent drive home.

By the time you were snuggled in your bed warming up, Adam was almost beside himself. He was sulking on his side of the bed, arms folded across his chest, his eyes just barely focused on the television opposite him. For a bit, you merely believed he was tired from the trip. As time passed however, Adam’s silence became troubling. You realized that he was upset. The sight broke your heart to take in.

So, you decided to do something about it. It started with you getting up and heading to the kitchen, pouring two glasses of milk and shoving them into the microwave. Chocolate and marshmallows finished the heated up drinks, turning them into the most delicious of hot chocolates. You carried them over to Adam, setting one on your side before handing him his on a little plate, a soft smile on his face. He paused and looked at it at first, but then dropped his reluctance to take it. The pleased look on his face said it all.

Next, you went to grab spare blankets from the closet. You pooled them around Adam, making him chuckle a bit given how his smaller figure seemed to drown beneath them all. You giggled, propping him up the best you could.

“Why are you doing this, dear?”

“Because,” you told him gently, pushing the blankets down a bit so that he could hold his hot chocolate comfortably, “you were looking down, and I wanted to give you the experience we missed out on. Sans the skiing. I’m afraid it would be a bit out of my range to be able to create a mountain made out of anything other than pillows, and even then I cannot promise that mountain would be skiable.”

“You’re trying to cheer me up, when the trip was meant for you?”

“Adam, you put so much love into planning that trip for the both of us. I know you are down about it, and rightfully so,” you replied, kissing at his nose before climbing into bed beside him and cuddling him close to you. “I just wanted to make you feel a bit better since it’s not your fault, you know?”

“What did I ever do to deserve someone as wonderful as you?”

You blushed. “I love you, Adam.”

“I love you too, {Y/N},” Adam replied, sweetly kissing you. “No matter how hot or cold it may be.”

#Adam Hann #Adam Hann fanfiction #Adam Hann imagine #Adam Hann Preference #The 1975 preference #adamxreader #adam hann x reader #adam x reader #The 1975 writing #Adam Hann drabble #drabble #the 1975 drabble #the 1975 fanfiction #The 1975 fic #The 1975 imagine #The 1975 #Adam Hann writing #Baby It's Cold Outside

[cottoncandyitalics]

Masterlist

updated: 10/07/20 (update 05/06/21 the Hyperlinks to this do not work I will try to fix it as soon as possible but I still have all my works up on my page if you follow the hashtags to the specific fanfictios e.g Ransom Drysdale hashtag for the Ransom imagines)

The 1975

Preferences:

How You Met

First Dates

Cuddles

Kisses

He Asks You To Move In

P.D.A

Arguments

What You Do When He Walks Out

What He Does When You Walk Out

Breaks Ups

Voicemails

I Love You

Hickeys

Proposals

Falling Asleep On Him

Nightmares

What Board Game You’d Play

Valentine’s Day

Touring

Imagines

George Daniel

How You Met

First Date

Moving In Together

Panic Attack

Break up

Make up

Anniversary

Day Before Tour

Birthday

Period Pains

Knives Out

Ransom Drysdale

Cooking With Ransom

Is That A Yes?

#Adam Hann #adam hann imagine #george daniel #george daniel preference #george daniel imagine #george daniel one shot #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel blurb #george daniel fanfic #matty healy #matty healy one shot #matty healy imagine #matty healy preferences #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #Ross Macdonald #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald oneshot #ross macdonald preferences #adam hann one shot #adam hann preferences #ross macdonald fanfic #ross macdonald fanfiction #adam hann fanfic #adam hann fanfiction #the 1975 #the 1975 imagines #the 1975 imagine #the 1975 preferences #the 1975 fanfic

[noweverybodysdead]

The birthday party x Jesus Christ 2005 God Bless America mashup

#the 1975 archives #the 1975 #matty healy #george daniel #noacf #abiior #adam hann #ross macdonald #amazing #even if I prefer the birthday party #it sounds amazing #Youtube

[macabremads]

Rekindle

Okay guys! Now that the band is picking up and being more active I'm getting really inspired to start working again. Soooo! Send in some requests for any of the members and keep an eye out for a couple surprises😛

#the 1975 #the 1975 imagines #the 1975 live #the 1975 x reader #the 1975 tour #matty healy imagine #matty healy one shot #matty 1975 #matty healy #adam hann x reader #adam #adam hann one shot #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald one shot #ross macdonald #the 1975 album #george daniel one shot #george daniel preference #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel

[thorraborinn]

So I was looking at my “Solstice” tree this year as I always do when it occurred to me; the Evergreen, or at least Coniferous tree, seems like a much more striking symbol of preserveering life than an Ask Tree, with more branches and more geometrically satisfying. Do we have any knowledge as to why the Nordic People’s picked the Ash over any Coniferous trees?

I agree with scholars like Anders Andrén (a lot of the following will come from his book Tracing Old Norse Cosmology) and others that we can’t actually take it for granted that the type of tree was always considered an ash. In fact, there is a strong argument to be made that evergreens (especially yew) may have played an equivalent role in some places and times. For example, Adam of Bremen’s description of the temple at Uppsala describes a tree that is semper viridis in hieme et aestate ‘always green, in winter and summer’ which is focal in the rituals that were performed there, and which many scholars believe was connected to the idea of the world tree. Völuspá 19 also seems to indicate that Yggdrasill is always green (but in the same stanza calls it an ash). At a ritual space that a church was built over in Frösö, Jämtland, this role may have been served by the birch whose roots the church’s altar was built on top of. We should also remember Donar’s Oak that is supposed to have been cut down by St. Boniface.

None of this necessitates an interpretation that these are stand-ins for the world tree, or that their functioning as a stand-in couldn’t coexist with the belief that the “real” world tree was an ash, or something like that, but it is worth considering whether some real trees of central importance to actual living people may have functioned as or in relation to the concept of the world tree, and whether there may have been some reciprocal identification whereby those people might be more likely to see the (mythological) world tree in a way that is impacted by the tree they personally interact with. Although, Andrén notes that of Iron Age and older Scandinavian place names named for trees, places named for ashes are the most common (e.g. the village Ask in Norway, which is of some significance in the sagas).

It’s also worth mentioning that the mythology also mentions the names Læraðr and Mímameiðr, and while the tendency has been to collapse these all into one (a tendency starting with Snorri himself), it’s possible that Yggdrasill, Læraðr, and Mímameiðr could refer to related but different customs that became homogenized later as mythological material was collated into a more cohesive whole. Mímameiðr apparently produces fruit or nuts (Fjölsvinnsmál).

But of course, even if the ash wasn’t universally considered to be the species of the world tree, it still remains to be explained why it was at least one in contention, not to mention the one with enough significance that it stands out in the end. I don’t have a clear lore-derived answer but I do have some suggestions for contributing factors.

“Satt hygg ek þetta,” segir hón, “en seg mér, hverr vildir þú helst viðr vera?” “Helst askr!” sagði hann. “Hví heldr sá viðr en annarr?” sagði hón. “Því,” segir hann, ”at askr er meirr hafðr til spjótskapta ok þikkir öruggri til þess en annarr viðr.”

“I think that’s true,” [the princess] says, “but tell me, which tree/wood would you most want to be?” “Most preferably ash!” [the knight] said. “Why that tree/wood rather than another?” she said. “Because,” he says, “ash is the most used for spearshafts and is considered the most reliable for that of all trees/woods.”

From a collection of fables in AM 657 a-b 4to from the mid-1300′s (the cook, knight, and prince all answer this and other questions, which reflect what they value; the cook says birch because it’s good for starting a cooking fire, the prince says ivy because he’s being a cheesy little shit building up to how he wants to embrace the princess).

Ash is an extremely useful wood for many purposes. It’s most known for its use for spearshafts, to the point that the word askr sometimes means ‘spears’ especially in poetry. This is the same for ships, which can also just be called askr. There’s a fun kenning by Þormóðr Kolbrúnarskáld, eskiaskr literally ‘ashen-ash’ = ‘[spear] ash’ = ‘warrior’ (the second component is a standard tree=person substitution). An askr is also a sort of wooden bowl with a lid, and a standard unit of measure for liquids; this reminds me of Yggdrasill (or, some other tree?) being called mjötviðr ‘measuring-tree’ in Völuspá.

And while this might just be compounding the question with some more, but personally I am interested in how the world tree is said to be the same type of tree as one of the first humans. Some people might want to see some kind of correspondence between the world tree and humans themselves (in skaldic language; people are often referred to as “[type of tree] of [human activity]” like hlynr spjóta ‘maple of spears’ = [warrior] or selja ǫls ‘willow of ale’ = [woman]. Some people (following Ursula Dronke) believe Heimdallr may have been some sort of hypostasis of the world tree, and furthermore that he is some kind of progenitor of life or humanity (allar helgar kindir, meiri ok minni, mǫgu Heimdallar).

And if we are holding in thought the possibility of comparisons or connections between trees and humans, I wonder if it actually would be seen as having more, rather than less significance, to emphasize a tree that goes through yearly cycles, especially if we want to speculate about yearly cycles relating allegorically with human life cycles (admittedly, Völuspá says that Yggdrasill is ever-green, but we can also speculate about the story as being pieced together from material that included myths of continual birth, death, and rebirth of the world). We might wonder whether a symbol of the perseverance of life is exactly what they didn’t want.

Anyway this is all not only speculative but at this point a rapidly fractalling assemblage of co-contingent speculations, but then again, that’s probably how most Old Norse people experienced much of their own lore rather than having complete answers to everything anyway.

#ask #anon #yggdrasill

[nriacc]

NRIACC ~ The Bands

Hey everyone, so we​ wrote this story as a way to bring our two favourite bands together. It's a whirlwind of a story but we both hope you all enjoy it. We realise that not every Arctic Monkeys or The 1975 fan will be aware of the other band, so we thought we would do a quick introduction page so you can put faces to names.

| Series Masterlist (Coming Soon) |

Our Protagonists

Alex Turner of Arctic Monkeys

Matty Healy of The 1975

Instead of one official ending to this story, there will be two different endings (one for Alex and one for Matty) so no one is left disappointed. We love these boys so much so it's been amazing to create this love triangle between them.

The rest of The 1975

George Daniel ~ Drummer

Adam Hann ~ Guitarist

Ross MacDonald ~ Bassist

The rest of Arctic Monkeys

Matt Helders ~ Drummer

Jamie Cook ~ Guitarist

Nick O'Malley ~ Bassist

Honourable Mention

Miles Kane 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Basic info on Arctic Monkeys

The band formed in 2002 when the lads were in high school and the band are from High Green in Sheffield. Originally the bassist was Andy Nicholson but he later left the band and Nick O'Malley took over for the second album onwards. The band is signed to Domino Records, as is Alex's supergroup The Last Shadow Puppets which is his collaboration project with Miles Kane.

EP:

- Who The Fuck Are Arctic Monkeys (Released in 2006, after their first album)

Albums:

1 - Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not (2006)

2 - Favourite Worst Nightmare (2007)

3 - Humbug (2009)

4 - Suck It And See (2011)

5 - AM (2013)

6 - Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino (2018)

The Last Shadow Puppets Albums:

1 - The Age of the Understatement (2008)

2 - Everything You've Come To Expect (2016)

Basic info on The 1975

The band formed in 2002 when the boys were around the age of 14 and they are from Wilmslow/ Cheshire, just outside of Manchester. They went through a series of band names, the most well known being Drive Like I Do, before they settled on The 1975. The band name originates from Matty finding a book dated '1st June, The 1975'. The band are signed to Dirty Hit, which Matty almost co-owns at this point with their manager Jamie Oborne, who found the band years before they released their first album. Matty and George now self-produce the bands albums.

EPs:

1 - Facedown (August 2012)

2 - Sex (November 2012)

3 - Music For Cars (January 2013)

4 - IV (January 2013)

Albums:

1 - The 1975 (2013)

2 - I Like It When You Sleep, For You Are So Beautiful Yet So Unaware Of It (2016)

3 - A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships (2018)

4 - Notes On A Conditional Form (2020)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Funfact: The 1975 (album) was released a week before AM (album), but both reached number 1 on the official UK charts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Watch out when we talk about Matty and Matt, obviously it may get a little confusing when they are in the same scenes, so we have tried to make it as distinguishable as possible.

Sidenote: Please don’t hate on either of the main boys in the story until things happen in the plot that give you reason to. We understand you may prefer one man to the other, but this story has been equally balanced (although it may not feel like it at times, we promise it has). It's going to be a thirty part drama, so if you're along for the journey, you're going to see multiple sides to both of them.

We hope you enjoy the rollercoaster x

#nriacc info #the bands

[h3adcarsbending]

pity party • matty healy x reader

Pity Party - M.H.

wc- 2856 or smth like that

The reader, in the midst of a particularly bad day, is dragged along to a party by her boyfriend Matty. But she really doesn’t want to be a burden or ruin his night.

It was a stressful day for poor Y/N, and being dragged along to a party by her boyfriend didn’t help much either. Not like she’d ever let Matty know what was up - she hated burdening him with her problems. She didn’t want to scare him off, now did she? Her curly haired rockstar was the best thing that had ever happened to her. If she lost Matty, who knows what she’d do.

But, anything for him. She would go to the party, pretend to have a good time, and hope for the best, because let’s be honest for a moment…  not much could go wrong. Or could it? Oh, shut up with the cliches, will you!

    “Love, are you almost ready?” called the boyfriend in question from the living room of their shared Manchester flat.

Y/N sighed apologetically, attempting to quickly gain at least some composure before having to face Matty. “Y-yeah. Just one second, babe…”

With that, she took a final glance in the mirror and confirmed she looked alright. She didn’t feel too hot today. But there wasn’t much she could do to tend to her overwhelming insecurities at this very moment. Turning the knob with shaky, but freshly manicured hands, she exited the bathroom - her favourite place to cry - and greeted the beautiful, curly haired man in front of her, a fake smile a stark contrast to his genuine one. She felt somewhat guilty, but she’d feel guiltier if she let him know what was wrong. Letting him have a lovely time at George’s carouse was all she wanted. She knew firsthand how hard Matty and the boys worked, and how little rest they got… frankly, it amazed her. How he could do everything he did seldom any breaks was perplexing to the Y/H/C girl.

Matty looked at her up and down, practically tearing off her beautiful sequined black dress with his gorgeous chocolate (ha) brown eyes alone. He snaked a pale, inked arm around her waist, planting a soft, heartfelt kiss on her cheek. “You look breathtaking, love!” he exclaimed, a look of pure and utter adoration on his lovely face. Oh, how lucky she was. She didn’t think she deserved him - but then again, he didn’t think he deserved her, either. Again with the guilt.

She averted her gaze to the floor at an alarming speed, biting back a flood of tears in an attempt to do two things; save both her dignity and the glittery smokey eye she’d spent an unreasonable amount of time on. “Thank you. You look quite fit yourself, Matty,” she squeaked, trying to hide the burning of oncoming tears at the back of her throat that often resulted in a rather telling voice crack which made her sound like a twelve year old boy. She did not succeed. “Sorry. Eyeshadow in my eye. That stuff hurts,” she chuckled, giving her all to play it off. She felt terrible lying to him but it was all she could do right then and there, hm?

Matty looked concerned. He suspected she was upset - but for both her and the night’s sake decided not to make a big deal of it, raising his thick eyebrows worriedly. “I’d imagine it does, love,” he replied, squeezing her hand affectionately. “You sure you’re alright? We can tell George we can’t come--”

“No! No, no, no, don’t do that!” she pleaded, cutting him off. “I’m okay. It’s fine, babe, it’s nothing. Promise!” 

“Alright,” he sighed, pulling her in for a hug. Y/N melted into the embrace, her head lying on his comfortable (albeit bony) chest. Listening to his heartbeat was quite therapeutic for her, and he knew that. “Let’s go.”

She nodded, and off they went.

To say the car ride was tense was a bit of an understatement. Y/N chewed at her glossy, made up lips, and Matty’s elegant free hand diverged from its usual spot at his girlfriend’s thigh and instead rested on the wheel of the car, bouncing up and down in coordination with his thigh. She didn’t dare gaze anywhere but outside the window, meanwhile he routinely checked up on her. For what reason, he wasn’t sure. It vaguely reminded them of the aftermath of their arguments -- but even then there was less… silence. It was deafening. Matty quickly turned on the radio (conveniently playing some sad, mainstream pop tune by the latest one-hit wonder) to elevate the mood and diminish the awkwardness. He wanted to talk, he just wasn’t sure how to go about doing so.

For the first time, Y/N looked away from the window and instead at her thighs. And her stomach. She cringed inwardly upon the sight, regretting giving in to the hearty lunch Matty had fixed for the two of them - it tasted surprisingly good, but she was quite bloated, even after a good five or so hours, which made her pretty anxious. Her soft, thick thighs, which he liked, weren’t to her liking. Not even close. Subconsciously, she tugged at her hair, threatening to rip it all out and scream, once again holding back a waterfall of tears. Then, back to staring at the cars passing by.

Eventually, they made it to George’s place. They could hear the music blaring from the opposite end of the block -- it was loud. Impossibly tumultuous. That by itself was already stressing Y/N out, to the point where she didn’t even realize Matty had stopped the car until he opened her door and helped her out. She thanked him, clinging onto his hand as if it was her last breath; his other hand rubbed her back in a soothing matter. They got to the door and were greeted by none other than Adam Hann after a brief sequence of knocks, his beautifully angled eyebrows sitting at an even higher angle once his eyes met with the pair’s own. “Y/N! Matty! A bit late, but come in! We’ve been waiting for ages,” he chirped, a slight slur to his words, especially when he emphasized ‘ages’. 

Matty gave his close friend a slight chuckle, you instinctively following suit. “Yeah, sorry about that, mate. My love-” he ruffled your curled hair with his free hand, pulling you in a bit closer to him and kissing your forehead “-here is just so distractingly beautiful!” A very, very, embarrassingly bright blush crept onto your cheeks, and you let out the first genuine giggle you had all day. It was those small, yet memorable moments of pure cuteness that really made you fall in love with him. You cherished those memories -- you remembered every single time he’d done something like that. It was a mix of hilarity and endearment that you felt every time Matty shed his bad boy, rock star demeanour and replaced his it with a soft, loving one. One that secretly preferred being the little spoon sometimes. One that was surprisingly vulnerable. It was a side of Matty most people didn’t get to experience - and boy, was she grateful she got to. 

“Not as pretty as you, Matthew,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck (which was covered in a mop of dark brown ringlets). He looked at you with a face that could only be described as an odd mix of amusement, adoration, and disgust.

“Don’t ever call me Matthew again, for the love of God.” Matty laughed, even harder as Adam faked a gag. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Hann! S’not like you and Carly are any different.”

“Not publicly. That’s gross.”

“Shut your trap,” he quipped as he jokingly shoved the blonde guitarist away so he could enter George’s not-so-humble abode (though he was quite humble about it nevertheless) with his girlfriend in tow.

    The lights were bright. They flashed a lot, too (they flashed even more than those God-awful ‘groupies’ at literally every show the boys played), and they were far from pleasant; Y/N felt slightly queasy but, not like she herself would throw up… rather like her mind would. It seemed to be a combination of stress, body image, and  an unexpectedly onset depressive episode. She felt herself stumble, almost as if she was as intoxicated as the vast majority of people attending this event, but she caught herself before Matty noticed. He was talking to some old friend he hadn’t seen since high school, which made her job easier as he assumed she was just being lovey-dovey when she gripped his arm - his obliviousness was a gift at times. This being one of them.

    The friend - Y/N gathered her name was Tiera - was stunning. Jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Model material. Her bone structure was immaculate, and her platinum blonde box braids contrasted beautifully with her glowing dark skin. Her body was just as, if not more perfect than her face. She was fit in every sense of the word, with curves that would be the death of any woman or man who laid eyes on them… and YN’s brain insisted that this mesmerizing lady was going to be the end of her Matty too, and taking in the sight of them innocently catching up was when she lost it.

    You see, she wasn’t normally a very jealous person; but the pure self loathing she had felt towards her own body that day, and then seeing how flawless Tiera’s was and how friendly her and Matty were especially compared to the distance they kept on the way to George’s, was just too much. She let go of Matty’s long, thin arm, pushing it away as hard as she could, and wriggled out of his grasp as if he was some sort of rat who was going to give her the Bubonic plague. Shocked, he looked back at her - his arrestingly ravishing girlfriend, the apple of his eye (dare I say - I do apologize for the cheesiness), her Y/H/C hair and black dress swaying in sync as she bolted towards his best friend’s restroom. What the fuck? He thought, his mouth agape just as it had been the first time he laid eyes on her. Except, rather than admiration, he stared in confusion. 

    Remember when I said that their bathroom was Y/N’s favourite place to cry? Well, I wasn’t lying. She found George’s to have the same pleasant, calming atmosphere that screamed “I AM HERE FOR YOU”, just as Matty wanted to earlier - unbeknownst to her.

    She locked the door behind her as fast as she could, finding the light to be already on. She paced towards the mirror, recoiling in shock - she didn’t remember being that hideous at home. Maybe that’s because she hadn’t yet seen Tiera or any of the beautiful faces and bodies that peppered the gathering.

    After inspecting her face and looking as hard as she could, she managed to scavenge every single little ‘flaw’ in existence. She rushed to smash the lightswitch back off with every ounce of rage in her body, hurting her delicate palms in the process, which made the tears she didn’t even realize were there spill out even harder. Great, now she hurt physically and mentally. 

She slumped in the corner beside the sink, but not before pulling a fluffy green bathmat underneath her for a little bit of cushioning. Last time she cried in George’s bathroom, she split her palm open and thus felt as though she had every right to bawl her eyes out, considering the depth of the cut and her shockingly low pain tolerance - her and Matty were on the cold marble tile, hugging in intervals before her bandage was soaked through and needed to be replaced again--

    Oh dear. Matty. Thinking of him again made her sobs grow in volume and frequency, and she could’ve sworn that by now she looked like some sort of raccoon. And although she trusted him with her heart and soul and deep down knew he would never, she couldn’t help but think that he was probably making out with some thotty little twerp. She put her head in her hands, numerous thoughts flooding her mind as she cried and cried. The room was spinning. Just like out in the main room. It was spinning, it was blurry, she was hyperventilating, and although she knew she would have to leave the bathroom and face Matty eventually, she continued to hide, sulking in solitude. 

    Suddenly, knocks boomed throughout the echoey room, and Y/N hoarsely got out a small confirmation that the room was in use.

    “Y/N, we know it’s in use,” a gentle yet profoundly low voice replied. The voice was familiar - because, well, it belonged to the owner of the bathroom. “Could you come out, please? We’re worried sick.”

    She cried harder. She hated being a burden - that’s why she came here - but she’d made it ten times worse. Like always. “W-who’s w-we?”

    “Matty and me. Adam and Ross would be too, but we don’t know what they’ve gotten into.”

    “I’m not coming out.”

    “Please?”

    Y/N dragged her quivering body to the door and unlocked it, guilt and shame apparent on her features as she faced the two men in front of her. Matty scooped her up, tears in his eyes, holding her as close as he possibly could. He thanked George for having him over and bid his goodbyes before making his way to their shared car and buckling her into the passenger’s seat. He’d had an amaretto or two and knew he probably shouldn’t have been driving, but whatever; he could pay for whatever fine they gave him. Y/N was worth a DUI and a ticket.

    “What happened out there, love?” Matty inquired, sad brown gaze trying to read into her Y/E/C one.

    She shook her head, face and hair still caked with the salty liquid that wouldn’t dare stop seeping out of her eyes.

    He pursed his soft lips, before moving his hand too caress her wet cheek. “You have to tell me so I can help you, babe. I love you. How about we talk about it in bed?” He didn’t mean it sexually, at least not right now.

    She nodded. That was really all he needed, leaning in to place a heartfelt kiss on her lips, grinning as he saw a small smile form. He offered his hand, and she took it, and they stayed like that for the rest of their journey home.

    As soon as they got back, Matty made sure to tend to her every need - he tied her hair back, removed her rodent-like mess of makeup, and helped her get into more comfortable attire (his shirt, which secretly made him swoon). He frowned upon her refusal of chicken noodle soup - her favourite, especially when he made it. He carried her to their bed and decided to take charge and be the big spoon this time. “Alright, love. What’s up?”

    She bit the inside of her cheek anxiously. She’d stopped crying, however she was still on the verge of tears. “I think I had a panic attack in George’s bathroom. But that’s not th-the point. This week has been terrible. I’ve been getting a ton of hate, you’ve had interviews, which is good and all, but… bad timing, I guess? Ah, I don’t know. And you know that… that lunch that you made for us? It was good, really good, but, I was pretty bloated after that which never fails to get me down! And then we had to go to that party, and I felt ugly and disgusting, and it just… wouldn’t stop. At the party, I felt even worse. Sick. And everyone there was gorgeous, especially… what’s her name? Tia? Tyra? Tiera. Yes. And I thought you liked her because I’m a mess. And…” she paused, a tear falling down her cheek. “I think that’s it?”

    It hurt Matty’s heart to hear her pour hers out to him in such a melancholy way. He’d known of her insecurities -- it’s why she was usually quite hesitant about any intimacy whatsoever, even a simple hug -- and every single one of his attempts to comfort her, restore her self esteem, assure her she was the most gorgeous girl he’d ever laid eyes on (hence why they were dating). He sighed, pulling her into a warm embrace. “You’re breathtaking. Don’t ever think otherwise. And by the way,” he began, pausing as she cocked her head to the side. “I’ve got worry about her more than you do. She told me you were quite fit before you ran off.” They shared warm laughs, before Y/N looked into his eyes once again.

    “I love you, rockstar.”

    “I love you too.”

    And with that, both my hands and the star-crossed lovers got some rest. Writing six pages is not easy on the wrist.

#the 1975 #adam hann #matty healy x reader #matty healy #george daniel #ross macdonald #abiior #iliwysfyasbysuoi #drive like i do #imagines #imagine #fanfic

[zakthefiend]

My Eldar Headcanons

(BEFORE YOU READ THIS, KNOW I’M RELATIVELY NEW TO THE HOBBY AND HAVE ONLY RECENTLY BEGUN READING THE BOOKS AND CODEX. These are just some silly thoughts I had on the enigmatic but prideful race of space elves in 40k. All five factions!)

Aeldari as a whole:

There’s no LGBT organization since there never was a need for one. Due to the extended lifespans and being practically the oldest continuing race(besides necrons and orkz), they pretty much don’t care about sexuality. Gay, straight, bi, pan, ace, doesn’t matter to them one bit!

This also includes genders identification. They live for over a millennia, they have the time to not care about something that really isn’t bothersome.

Martial arts and duels are the most popular past time for any Aeldari. The sight of weapons clashing and fists flying has been a favored past time for them.

Philosophy and deep thinking is an natural quality they all share. You will not find a race better at poetic thought than the Aeldari.

The pride they still cling too is not unfounded. They are still the only ones to have wraithbone technology, they are the most psychically powerful species, have mastered the art of war beyond Millennia, and had the entire galaxy in the palms of their hands. They also still hold influence for a majority of the webway.

Ynnari are both a blessing and a curse to the eyes of the elves. One hand, they could lead them to a new era of salvation. Other hand, doom their species to complete and utter destruction. It’s a gamble, and this species is very adamant of taking any anymore.

Asuryani(Craftworld Eldar):

Not one Craftworld is the same as the other. Sure the core idea of Asuryani are the same, but years drifting in the void has added much more different traditions and practices. Biel-Tan, the most militaristic of the Craftworlds, probably have a heavy support to the military and has the most willing fighters in the Craftworld. Saim-hann meanwhile, probably prefer to race and show off their speed however way they can.

There are still festivities and celebrations on the Craftworlds, their just not as big as grand as say a Drukhari party. To avoid Slaanesh, excess in anything is restrained as possible, and you can enjoy yourself as long as you don’t have TOO much fun. They try to find the balance between the two, but end up constricting it’s people to tightly.

Those who follow the path of a warrior are treated similarly to celebrities. This has caused many who want fame and recognition to go down the paths. You can imagine how much they change after actually going through with it. These same new bloods are given another chance to leave. They don’t allow those simply seeking fame and admiration instead of duty.

When Asuryani want to have sex, they have a special circlet that dampens the psychic presence they have to Tau levels of existence. It takes time to get used to, so it’s more common for insemination to be used instead. Still, the child cannot be brought in until the spirit stone has been prepared.

Minor Craftworlds(Craftworlds half the size of average Craftworlds) are much more likely to be raided, attacked, or pillaged. Those same ones are found going through the Webway more, escorted by Corsairs, or cutting deals with the Imperium than the usual ones. Don’t be fooled! They are still powerful vessels that would require some serious firepower to take out!

Asuryani are the most adamant on joining Yvrainne and her crusade. They’re goal is to survive, and joining the Ynnari is something they just risk. Only the exodites are more refusing.

Drukhari(Dark Eldar):

You know Victorian England? That’s the Drukhari. Except add metal music too. They believe in being the most upstanding individual in the most blatantly corrupt society. By being the absolute worst individuals imaginable.

Bondage resembling the movie hellraiser in public? Sure! Holding hands and showing affections? SCANDALOUS!

They are the true remnants of the Aeldari empire. Despite your opinion, they are the ones with the most technology from their empire, they were a legitimate faction in the empire, and they still follow customs from the empire. Since they are the ones that remember the customs(their cult customs) had done.

A kabal, coven, and cult will support each other just as much as they are willing to try and kill each other. They can’t outright since each faction has something that is incredibly precious to the Drukhari. Coven: Biological and Scientific manipulation, Cults: Entertainment and scout knowledge(A wych cult were the first to discover the Tyranids for the Drukhari), and Kabals: Military and order. 

Cults, Kabals, and Covens bring in slaves but never the same type. Wyches will take as many type of species as they can, Kabals LOVE to take high ranking individuals to play with, and Covens will find the strongest just to fuck with.

They still believe in their gods, but not as much as the others might. Khaine being popular with the wyches, but the others tend to do their own things instead of listening or wasting time on serving a dead god.

Nobles still exist, but their power and influence have diminished almost entirely. Very few even retain some aspects of their previous power.

Despite the daemonic incursions, infighting, chaos warbands, imperial might, and Tyranid invasions, the Drukhari are the most likely to outlast the other Eldars.

Corsairs(Pirate Eldar):

The most likely type of eldar to meet. As well as the most honest of their kin, since as long as you don’t cross them you’ll be fine. Human relationships are better... but only as much as you can expect from the xenophobic Imperium.

They have seen the most of the galaxy, and yet, they have barely found the entirety of the galaxy’s secrets. 

They were the first Eldars to discover the Tyranids that enter the galaxy, but it was only in hushed whispers and rumors. Originally just some species of space whales or a new kind of daemon than what the galaxy will soon learn.

They are by fat, the best fliers and maneuvers in the galaxy. No other species can match their speed and agility as they fly across the stars. You need to get to somewhere quickly and safely? Get a corsair!

They are the bulk of Yvraine’s fleet and soldiers. After all, everything is coming to the end... why not go out swinging?

Adventurers, pirates, mercenaries, their whatever they need to be when it comes to the job. Mon’keigh, Tau, Asuryani, even Drukhari, if there’s adventure and excitement(and a bit of coin never hurt anyone), they’ll be sure to do it!

Exodites(Tribal Eldar):

The only level of tech their willing to go to is basic black powder. No steampunk or western style eldar, Your more likely to find Neolithic to Medieval Exodites with them.

Everything is done with the bare minimum and done quietly to avoid the humans from discovering them. They’ve adapted to their own worlds, such as traveling silently by trees in dense forests or moving under the sands in dune worlds.

They do keep an advanced transmitter so to get help from a Craftworld or a passing by Corsair fleet if the world is too far gone to be habitable or they’ve been incredibly compromised. Look to what Vulkan did to the last Exodites on a planet for a better understanding...

Hit and run tactics, guerrilla warfare, scouting, and guides through death worlds, Exodites are widely used by other Aeldari in search through forgotten ruins or lost cities all decayed to almost dust. They avoid them as they were what brought their fall, and will allow the others to repeat the same lesson that they clearly haven’t learned.

Some have dinosaurs, others have large birds of prey, kraken sized squids, and pretty much any other beast of burden to aid them. Dinosaurs are just more well known because every species can agree that dinos are cool.

Harlequin(Clown Eldar):

When you see one running, probably best to run with that one. They’re never too far from showing a performance or from danger either! Expect a surprise no matter what the outcome!

The only eldar that are given passage anywhere due to how strange yet entrancing they are. Their arrival means a play will begin! However, what play that will be, entertainment or for bloodshed, is only found out too late. Be weary around them!

They speak in rhymes and poetry. This also includes anecdotes, haiku, hand gestures, charades(really good at those), or with tarot cards. The meaning being shrouded by mystery that only few have managed to figure out BEFORE it was executed...

If you haven’t guessed yet, they’re the most mysterious of the eldars. WHICH IS SAYING SOMETHING WITH ALL THIS SHROUDED MYSTERY FOR THEIR ENTIRE RACE! Sorry, got my gripe at how much more lore there is for Space Marines than... well anyone else really. To the topic! It is said they also reside in the webways like the Drukhari, but in more remote regions that not even they know!

The most flexible species in the galaxy. While much can be thanked by the gravity belt around their waist, they can still bend and flex in ways that could break your mind! Great for distractions, no denial there!

Their also the best dancers, play performers, artists, story tellers, and the most colorfully dressed Eldars as well! They could do an entire play of the Horus Heresy to PERFECT detail, but choose not to since humans wouldn’t like the thought of their god being a massive dick. They also purposely screw up a part in a play so not to give Slaanesh power from their performance. Only their god, Cegorach, may have their energy.

#eldar #Craftworld #dark eldar #drukhari #corsair #corsairs #exodite #harlequin #aeldari #space elves #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000

[petersen-jannik]

Interpersonal Relationships and the Emotion of Music

Jannik's personal connection to music has always been something that he has used to emote. Growing up as the youngest child with a mother who passed away fairly early on in his life due to complications from cervical cancer meant that Nik had to learn to balance his emotions fairly early on. His mother, Hanne, was always very adamant that her son learn an instrument and the piano was, in a way, an ode to her for the first decade or so of his life. As he grew from a boy into a young man, Jannik began to realize that the way he connected to music was, fundamentally, different than many of his peers. 

While they only learned the melody and how to shape it, Jannik learned to become it. The sound of a piece became his very emotions, switching from arch to arch with a fluidity that both baffled and excited his teachers. He could switch a melody while he formed it, was able to keep pitch and rhythm to nearly any song, tuned by ear, and can feel the changes in the music as he sees fit. It is because of this ability that he got into the career he did. While he enjoys the art of song, he cannot stand the spotlight, preferring instead to work out the links in the quiet of his own mind (or recording studio late at night) than a stage amidst a swell of screaming people. 

For Jannik, music is a way to connect to people. Their emotions, their grief, own feelings about them. Each important person in his life has a melody, a string of sounds that Nik has created to represent their soul. To him, each person has a musical frequency and it connects inherently into their relationship with him. 

For example, Jack Adler's melody is something soft and full of promise, a sweeping arch that descends from the highest peaks of hope into the gloomy notes of despair and desperation. Jack's time on Catalina has threaded pieces of hope back into his narrative but they are always shifting, always changing place in his melody, and Jannik often finds that Jack's song never reads the same twice. Just like the songwriter himself, Jannik recognizes potential in his melody, just as he recognizes the sadness of its construction. Carly Weiss has a melody, too, one that once sung to a twin. Her father also had a melody, one that was all high beats and swinging up notes but soon descended into a quiet, silence. Carly's melody has picked up where her father's ended, forging its own path through swathes of silence, grief, and the ever-present inevitably of change. Seeing her again on Catalina has given him hope that she will finish her story, forge it in a tune that could close her father's story for good and, hopefully, create a narrative all it's own. 

Paul Matthews, hopeful and bright, something deep and soulful in that song. There was always something that was uplifting about Paul, steadfast. As Paul became a father and a surgeon, the arch of his life grew brighter, higher, before crashing down into a descent so deep not even Jannik could hear it clearly. Luke's death and Paul's grief stains his melody like blood; it is the most sorrowful exchange Jannik has ever played. Yet, there is still that bright beating hope lingering there, even now. Something lingering that clings to the sound, something strong. Seeing Paul again, Jannik can sense the disquiet, the unease, but he can also sense the purpose again, and it has begun to reflect that in his song. Even Marion Stewart had a song, once, though now Jannik finds himself hard-pressed to play it. Like Jack's, it was once bright and shining, filled with naivety and new hope. Now, there is a bitterness that tinges it, shaping the crescendo and the downfall even as Nik meets her again, unsure where they will land. 

Jannik feels everything in his music, including a person's soul. It is one of the few ways he can express himself when he is alone and, often, when his thoughts turn to a person that has one and he is playing, their song will flow from his fingertips, shifting and changing just as they do. 

#catalina: task #character study: jannik #death tw #grief tw #//aka Sav got into her Feelings about Jannik and his personalization of people #//each person has a song to him and he can play it #//the one song that hasn't changed in all these years is his mom's

[abby-studies-psych]

Tata Surya

1. Teori Pembentukan Tata Surya

a.   Hipotesis Kabut/Nebula

Teori ini dikemukakan oleh seorang ahli filsafat Jerman, Immanuel Kant, dan seorang astronom Prancis, Pierre-Simon Laplace pada abad ke VIII. Mereka berhipotesis bahwa pada awalnya di jagat raya terdapat gumpalan kabut yang berputar perlahan-lahan. Bagian tengah kabut itu lama-kelamaan menjadi gumpalan gas yang kemudian menjadi Matahari. Bagian kabut di sekitarnya menjadi planet-planet dan satelit.

 b. Hipotesis Planetesimal

Pada tahun 1916 seorang ahli geologi dan ilmuwan dari Amerika, Thomas C. Chamberlin, dan seorang ahli astronomi, R. Moulton, menyampaikan teori yang dikenal sebagai teori planetesimal,  suatu benda padat kecil yang bergerak mengelilingi suatu inti yang bersifat gas, dalam penelitiannya, The Origin of The Earth (asal mula Bumi).

Menurut teori ini, Matahari telah ada sebagai salah satu dari bintang-bintang di alam semesta. Pada suatu masa, ada sebuah bintang berpapasan dengan Matahari pada jarak yang tidak terlalu jauh. Karena gaya tarik bintang yang mendekati Matahari ini terlalu besar,terjadilah peristiwa pasang naik pada permukaan Matahari maupun bintang tersebut. Sebagian dari massa Matahari tertarik ke arah bintang tersebut.

Pada waktu bintang itu menjauh, sebagian dari massa Matahari jatuh kembali ke permukaan Matahri dan sebagian lagi terhambur ke ruang angkasa di sekitar Matahari. Bagian dari massa Matahari tersebut yang dinamakan planetesimal, yang kemudian menjadi planet dan beredar pada orbitnya.

 c.  Hipotesis Pasang Surut

Pada tahun 1917, James Jeans dan Harold Jeffries mengemukakan teori tentang terjadinya planet-planet yang dikenal dengan nama hipotesis pasang surut Jeans-Jeffries.

Menurut hipotesis ini, pada suatu saat sebuah bintang yang hampir sama besarnya dengan Matahari melintas di dekat Matahari dan menyebabkan terjadinya pasang pada Matahari. Teori ini memang hampir sama dengan teori planetesimal. Hanya bedanya, pada teori pasang surut ini planet tidak terbentuk oleh planetesimal. Teori ini menyebutkan bahwa saat bintang berada sangat dekat dengan matahari, ada tarikan gravitasinya yang menyedot filament gas yang berbentuk cerutu panjang.

Bentuk cerutu yang sangat besar ini kemudian bergerak mengelilingi Matahari dan pecah menjadi sejumlah butir-butir tetesan kecil. Butir-butir tetesan yang terbesar dapat menarik butir-butir yang kecil sehingga akhirnya membentuk gumpalan-gumpalan yang menjadi planet-planet. Hal yang sama juga terjadi pada pembentukan satelit.

 d. Hipotesis Lyttleton atau Teori Kembar Bintang

Teori lyttleton atau yang juga sering disebut sebagai teori bintang kembar ini mengemukakan bahwa mulanya matahari merupakan bintang kembar yang mengelilingi sebuah medan gravitasi. Tapi, ada sebuah bintang yang menabrak salah satu bintang kembar tersebut dan mungkin menghancurkannya.

Bintang yang hancur tersebut lantas berubah menjadi massa gas yang berputar-putar. Karena terus berputar, maka massa gas itu berubah dingin dan membentuk planet – planet. Sementara satu bintang lain yang bertahan menjadi pusat tata surya yang kita kenal sebagai matahari.

Matahari mampu menahan planet yang terbentuk tersebut karena memiliki kekuatan gravitasi. Karenanya, planet -planet dapat beredar menurut lintasannya mengelilingi matahari. Karena anggapan pembentukan tata surya ini karena adanya suatu benturan, maka itu sebabnya teori ini juga dikenal sebagai teori ide benturan.

Teori Lyttleton ini dicetuskan oleh R.A. Lyttleton yang merupakan seorang astronom. Ia melakukan modifikasi terhadap teori benturan yang sebelumnya pernah ada. Namun, teori yang diungkapkan Lyttleton ini dianggap memiliki penjelasan yang lebih baik mengenai asal mula Tata Surya berdasarkan teori benturan.

 e.  Hipotesis Awan Debu

Von Weizsaecker (1945) dan G.P. Kuiper (1950) mengemukakan pendapat bahwa tata surya berasal dari awan yang sangat luas yang terdiri dari debu dan gas (hidrogen dan helium). Adanya ketidakteraturan dalam awan tersebut menyebabkan ter jadinya penyusutan karena gaya tarik menarik dan gerakan perputaran yang sangat cepat dan teratur sehingga ter bentuklah piringan seperti cakram. Inti cakram yang menggelembung kemudian menjadi matahari, sedangkan bagian pinggirnya berubah bentuk menjadi planet-planet.

Ahli astronomi lainnya yang mengemukakan teori awan debu antara lain F.L Whippel dari Amerika Serikat dan Hannes Alven dari Swedia. Menurutnya tata surya berawal dari matahari yang berputar dengan cepat dengan piringan gas di sekelilingnya yang kemudian membentuk planetplanet yang beredar mengelilingi matahari.

 2.  Opini Tentang Teori Pembentukan Tata Surya

Dari beberapa teori diatas, saya paling setuju dengan teori kabut/nebula. Karena banyak dari para pencetus teori menghipotesiskan teori tersebut.          

 3. Cincin Planet di Galaksi Bimasakti

      a. Cincin Jupiter

Cincin Jupiter mainly tersusun atas debu. Cincin utama Yupiter kemungkinan terdiri dari materi yang terlempar dari satelit Adrastea dan Metis. Materi yang biasanya akan jatuh kembali ke satelit-satelit tersebut tertarik ke arah Yupiter akibat gravitasinya yang kuat. Materi-materi tersebut pun mengorbit Yupiter dan terus dipertebal oleh materi hasil tubrukan lainnya. Dua bagian cincin lainnya kemungkinan terbentuk dari satelit Thebe dan Amalthea dengan cara yang sama. Telah ditemukan pula cincin berbatu di sepanjang orbit Amalthea yang mungkin terdiri dari materi yang berasal dari satelit tersebut.

 b. Cincin Saturnus

Cincin Saturnus dapat dilihat dengan menggunakan teleskop modern berkekuatan sederhana atau dengan teropong berkekuatan tinggi. Cincin ini menjulur 6.630 km hingga 120.700 km atas khatulistiwa Saturnus dan terdiri daripada bebatuan silikon dioksida, oksida besi dan partikel es dan batu.

 c.  Cincin Uranus

Uranus juga mempunyai lapisan cincin. Uranus mempunyai sistem cincin planet yang rumit, yang merupakan sistem demikian yang kedua yang ditemukan di Tata Surya setelah cincin Saturnus. Cincin-cincin tersebut tersusun dari partikel yang sangat gelap, yang beragam ukurannya dari mikrometer hingga sepersekian meter. Tiga belas cincin yang berbeda saat ini diketahui, yang paling terang adalah cincin ε (epsilon). Semua cincin Uranus (kecuali dua) sangat sempit—umumnya mereka lebarnya beberapa kilometer. Cincin tersebut mungkin cukup muda; pertimbangan dinamis menandakan bahwa mereka tidak terbentuk bersamaan dengan pembentukan Uranus. Materi di cincin-cincin itu mungkin dulu adalah bagian dari satu (atau beberapa) satelit yang terpecah oleh tubrukan berkecepatan tinggi. Dari banyak pecahan-pecahan yang terbentuk sebagai hasil dari tabrakan itu hanya beberapa partikel yang bertahan dalam jumlah terbatas zona stabil yang bersesuaian dengan cincin yang ada sekarang.

Pada April 2006, gambar cincin baru tersebut dengan Observatorium Keck menghasilkan warna cincin-cincin luar: yang terluar biru dan yang lainnya merah. Satu hipotesis mengenai warna biru cincin luar tersebut adalah bahwa ia terdiri atas partikel kecil air es dari permukaan Mab yang cukup kecil untuk menghamburkan cahaya biru.

 d. Cincin Neptunus

Neptunus memiliki sebuah sistem cincin planet, meski kurang kukuh daripada Saturnus. Cincin-cincin tersebut terdiri dari partikel es yang diselubungi bahan berdasar silikat atau karbon yang memberi warna merah pada cincin.  Tiga cincin utamanya adalah Cincin Adams yang sempit, 63000 km dari pusat Neptunus, Cincin Le Verrier pada ketinggian 53000 km, dan Cincin Galle yang luas dan lemah pada ketinggian 42000 km. Perpanjangan lemah ke luar hingga Cincin Le Verier diberi nama Lassell; perpanjangan ini dibatasi oleh Cincin Arago di pinggiran luarnya pada ketinggian 57.000 km.

 4. Dampak Perkembangan IPTEK Terhadap Anak-Anak

Menurut pengamatan saya terhadap anak yang berumur di bawah 12 tahun yang menggunakan gadget atau diberi gadget oleh orang tuanya, banyak anak-anak tersebut menjadi tidak peduli dengan lingkungan sekitar. Mereka lebih mementingkan gadgetnya daripada berinteraksi dengan lingkungan sekitar.

Contohnya, ketika kumpul keluarga besar, anak-anak banyak yang tidak mau berinteraksi dengan keluarganya sendiri, mereka lebih prefer untuk berinteraksi dengan gadgetnya masing-masing. Seperti yang banyak orang bilang, gadget itu mendekatkan yang jauh dan menjauhkan yang dekat. Sungguh miris sebenarnya.

    5. Daftar Pustaka

    Wardiyatmoko, K. (2013). Geografi untuk SMA/MA Kelas X. Jakarta: Penerbit Erlangga.

    https://portal-ilmu.com/teori-teori-pembentukan-tata-surya/

      http://www.konsepgeografi.net/2016/07/teori-pembentukan-tata-surya.html

      https://id.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yupiter

      https://id.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saturnus

 https://id.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uranus