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footprintsinthesxnd · 4 months

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The Lark’s Song

Summary: Florence Lark joined the ENSA to do her part for the war effort. On a daily basis she is surrounding by charming young men, so why would David Webster the any different. His blunt personality seems to draw her in but with the world at war, can they make it through? Warnings: not too many warnings for this chapter, some swearing

When Two Hearts Meet

Florence tapped her foot rhythmically against the wooden floorboards of the stage, as the music played out from the band around her. Some light chattering from the men in the front row distracted her, eyes hovering over the man at the end of the row, who seemed too engrossed in his novel to listen to her singing. As the instrumental section came to an end she took a deep breath, drifting across the stage as she began to sing again.

“We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when”

Florence preferred singing to the English troops, they always knew all the words and would sing along with her. It was in those moments that Florence felt that she was doing the most good to help boost their morale. The American troops, however, seemed disinterested. Too many of them were smoking, playing cards and talking, but the one dark-haired soldier at the front bothered her the most, his nose buried in a red, leather bond novel. A few of the officers at the back watched her intently, swaying along to the music, whether it was more out of respect for her or because they didn’t have any other plans for their Saturday evening. As the song came to an end, a pathetic round of applause followed and Florence found herself excusing herself, leaving the band playing Glenn Millers' ‘In The Mood’.

Florence lit the cigarette, bringing it to her red lips and inhaling the nicotine deeply, warmth filling her lungs until she exhaled, watching as the smoke wafted gently into the starry night sky. She wondered if her brother, Tom, was looking up at the same sky right now. Whether he was looking up at the same moon somewhere in Normandy. Her father probably was. He often sat in the small back garden of their terraced house, looking up at the sky for any planes. He had been in the Royal Flying Corps back in The Great War before it had become the RAF. He’d flown a Bristol Type 22 two-seater fighter plane with his best friend, Eddie. Eddie had sadly lost his life when their plane crashed which was the same accident where her father lost his right leg. He had been desperate to sign up again when war was declared in 1939, thinking that if he went to fight it would spare his son but being 41 and only having one leg meant he wouldn’t be accepted, so he’d signed up for the home guard instead. Florence often wondered whether having a uniform again gave her father a sense of purpose. After their mother died 8 years ago he’d been lost but had put all his effort into raising his two children and being the best father he could. This was probably why both Florence and Tom had such a good relationship with their father.

Florence took another long drag of her cigarette when she was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind her. She spun around quickly, expecting to see a half-cut paratrooper trying to make some kind of advance towards her. She’d had to fight off her fair share of unwanted attention from soldiers before and she wasn’t afraid to sock it to them. Instead, she was met by a rather handsome, kind-faced man. His lips pulled upwards into a friendly smile but as Florence’s eyes drifted over his frame she couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she saw the red leather-bound book held tightly in his right hand.

“Oh, it’s you. Sorry, I don’t do private shows, if you didn’t pay attention the first time that’s your loss.” She turned her back to him, allowing her eyes to settle once again across the rooftops of Aldbourne.

“It’s nothing personal,” he spoke up, moving to stand beside her. Florence could feel the hairs on her arms prickly in his presence and a light blush spread across her cheeks. “I just think once you hear one singer, you’ve heard them all. It’s always the same songs, the same dances. It just doesn’t hold my interest anymore.”

Florence snorted, turning to face the man who decided it was a good idea to insult her entire career.

“So what do you want, some strip tease or something? I’m sorry if the ENSA is too tame for you, Mr…?”

“David. I’m David Kenyon Webster,” he reached his large hand forward to greet her but she just brushed him off. “Well Mr Webster, I’m sorry if it’s too tame for you. Maybe you should try some of the London clubs if you’d rather have that sort of entertainment.”

David Webster looked rather shocked by her outburst but reached out towards her.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.” He looked at her sincerely. “I’m just not like the others I guess.”

“Well, at least you sat through the whole performance. Most of your comrades either left or started playing cards. I think your officers only stayed out of sympathy.”

David nodded slowly, contemplating what to say next. “If it’s any consolation it’s not your singing. Your voice is beautiful but most of us have sat through quite a few performances and since Normandy, I guess we’ve all lost something.”

Florence nodded understanding, “I understand what you mean. My brother Tom was at Dunkirk. The last time I saw him he was so different. He’s lost the spark from his eyes, the light.”

David placed a hand on Florence’s shoulder, looking down at her, his chocolate eyes glistening under the light of the moon, illuminating his pale features in contrast to his full head of brunette hair. His eyes were tired, dark purple shadows enveloped his eyes and his forehead was wrinkled with worry lines. He was handsome. Florence had rarely found any of the soldiers she sang for actually attractive, many of them thought they were good-looking and certainly acted in that way but David was different. He was the kind of man who didn’t realise how handsome he was.

“Thank you, David.”

He smiled brightly at her. “You’re welcome.”

“So, what book was taking up so much of your attention?” Florence asked, reaching out to grasp the small book, prising it from David’s fingers and fingering the pages carefully. David just watched in amusement as her eyes danced over the pages.

“Oh well, that’s not what I was expecting. I didn’t realise Paratroopers read classic,” she mused, enjoying the feel of his eyes watching her fondly.

“Well most of us don’t. I’m an exception,” he chided, allowing his shoulders to relax now that he no longer felt as though he was under interrogation. Florence handed the book back to him, “I approve. It’s good to know some of you read more things than Dick Tracey and Flash Gordon.”

Webster scoffed, “Yes. I feel that many of them lack the basic, functional skills to hold an adult conversation.”

“Well you’re right there,” Florence smiled up at Webster and he could feel his cheeks heating up under her gaze once more. “It was a pleasure talking to you Webster but I really must be getting back before the boys start to miss me.” She squeezed passed him and Webster chased himself for staring at her like a fool instead of moving aside.

“I look forward to hearing you sing again,” he called after her and to this she just laughed, not bothering to turn around and Webster watched as his hips swayed rhythmically in her red dress as she disappeared.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Lover Boy Webster. Who’d have thought the infamous Florence ‘I don’t take shit from anyone’ Lark would let the likes of Webster into her panties,” Leibgott’s dulcet tones called from behind him, followed by the sniggers from Luz and Toye.

“Oh give it a rest, Liebgott and Florence’s panties are none of your business,” Webster snapped, his glare harsh as he watched the three men appear from behind the tent.

“Who knew Webster could be so jealous,” Luz gave a low whistle but Webster wasn’t about to wait around to hear what else they had to say. He extinguished the cigarettes he’d just lit, stomping it out under his boot and following the music back into the tent. Florence's voice called to him, wafting like a soft lullaby and pulling him back inside. She was like some sort of mermaid, dragging him down to the deep but also like a songbird singing life into these dark days. Webster wasn’t sure when he’d become so poetic, especially about a woman but he found himself scribbling notes in the back of his notebook, her name flowing from his pen like he’d been writing it his whole life.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @lena-basilone @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt

#the larks song #david webster x oc #david webster x reader #band of brothers

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jt1674 · 6 months

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#easy money #larks tongues in aspic #king crimson #robert fripp #bill bruford #jamie muir #john wetton #david cross #steven wilson

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idontknowwhattocallthisanymore · 21 days

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Sage: What do we say when we feel like this?

Sun: F in the chat boys

Scarlet: Add to cart

Sky: My illness may be chronic but my tits are iconic

Cardin: RIP

Dove: More espresso less depresso

Neptune: That’s show biz baby

Russel: It be like that sometimes

Sage:

Sage: No

#rwby #team sssn #sun wukong #sage ayana #scarlet david #neptune vasilias #cardin winchester #russel thrush #sky lark #dove bronzewing #team crdl #rwby incorrect quotes #icarus #icarus rwby #rwby icarus #cardin x dove x neptune x russel x sage x scarlet x sky x sun

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slaughter-books · 10 months

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Day 25: JOMPBPC: Genre

The original 1978 pride flag made out of contemporary books, which is my favourite genre! 🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

Happy Pride! 🏳️‍🌈

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doomatnight · 8 months

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Your headcanons about the dick's sizes for the males

Aight

This is gonna be a long one

To get this out of the way right away, Jaune at 2 inches lmao

Ren at a solid 7

Cardin at 8

Russel at 6

Dove at 6

Sky at 6

Sun at 7

Sage at 8

Scarlet at 5

Neptune at 6

Qrow at 7

Tai at 7

Ironwood at 8

Clover at 7

Marrow at 7

Vine at 6

Jacques at 5

Whitley at 6

Adam at 7

Ghira at 9

Port at 6

Oobleck at 6

Ozpin at 7

Oscar at 6

And I think that’s all of them

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mayplantstarrwaters · 1 year

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So I made a shitty King Crimson (Wetton/Bruford era with a bit of their late 60s era) meme edit with my one of my most favorite vid of all times. Just gonna leave this here with no further elaboration, enjoy

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hellishunicorn · 2 years

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OFMD incorrect quotes, part 7

#ofmd #our flag means death #incorrect quotes #ofmd incorrect quotes #edward teach #lucious spriggs #stede bonnet #taika waititi #nathan foad #rhys darby #david jenkins #source: lark rise to candleford

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rastronomicals · 7 months

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8:49 PM EDT September 22, 2023:

King Crimson - "The Talking Drum" From the album Larks' Tongues in Aspic (March 23, 1973)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Always thought that this song and "The Sheltering Sky"--vaguely African-sounding instrumentals both--made good bookends

#King Crimson #Larks' Tongues in Aspic #The Talking Drum #Robert Fripp #Bill Bruford #David Cross #John Wetton #Jamie Muir

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aspeccharactersoftheday · 7 months

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David from The Larks Still Bravely Singing is demisexual!

#david #the larks still bravely singing #canon aspec #demisexual

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onlylonelylatino · 3 months

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The Defenders versus Zodiac. Art credited to David Aja, Michael Lark and Stefano Gaudiano

#defenders #valkyrie #hulk #nighthawk #hellcat #zodiac #david aja #michael lark #stefano gaudiano #marvel comics #modern age #ed brubaker

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footprintsinthesxnd · 3 months

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The Larks Song

Will You Be Mine

The weeks following their first encounter seemed to fly by. Training was harder, the days were longer and Webster got the sense that their impending doom would soon be upon them once more. He was happier with Easy Company and he’d even made a few friends, having lost his two closest friends from Fox Company on D-Day. His relationship with Florence grew too. He would see her most days and she sang for the troops nearly every night. Florence always called him chivalrous, a true gentleman but to him, she was the Apple of his eye. The only woman he’d ever wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Webster decided to ask her an important question one afternoon. If the war had taught him anything it was that life was fleeting and fragile and should the worst happen to him on his next jump then at least Florence would know how he felt. Webster had always imagined that he would ask a woman to marry him somewhere romantic, after dating for a year or two and having met her parents but the war didn’t allow for such luxuries. Instead on his leave to London, Webster went to a jewellery store and bought a ring. It was small, nothing too much. A simple silver band with a diamond nestled on top, but he knew Florence would love it.

The ring then stayed in his pocket for the next two weeks while he worked on his speech and worked up the courage to ask her.

“I wanted to ask you something but I want you to know it’s okay to say no,” Webster spoke up one afternoon as they lay in one of the grassy meadows that backed onto the house that the singers were billeted at.

Florence hummed in response, too distracted by the clouds that drifted above them as she absentmindedly ran her fingers up and down Webster’s chest.

“Well it’s kind of important,” Webster sat up, grasping Florence’s hands and pulling her up to face him. She looked at him worriedly, her eyes looking a little teary as she muttered, “Are you leaving me?”

Webster spluttered on his next sentence, taken aback by this sudden change, “W-what, no, no Florence my love. It’s quite the opposite actually.” He rubbed his neck nervously, the speech he had planned escaping him when he needed it most. To think he’d let George Luz practice the speech with him and now he couldn’t remember it.

“Well, I just wanted to ask…”

“Yes I do want to have sex with you,” Florence replied blatantly, looking dead serious as she smiled at him. Webster was a little taken aback for the second time that afternoon, his mouth suddenly dry as he processed what she’d said

“Well… yes that would … be nice umm but that’s not what I was asking. Although I do want to have sex with you too,” Webster babbled watching as Florence’s face fell and then the smile reappeared almost instantly.

“You know what. It’s okay. It’s not really that important,” Webster laid back down, beckoning Florence to join him.

“But what was it you wanted to ask me?” She mumbled again but Webster’s eyes had slid shut and in the soft, afternoon sun he’d fallen asleep.

As time rolled by, Florence had all but forgotten the awkward moment in the field that day. She’d berated herself for it for weeks afterwards, blurting out something so stupid.

Time seemed to fly and soon it was June and Florence’s last night with the 101st came around. Her heart broke to leave Aldbourne. Who knows when she would be able to see Webster again?

She was chatting to one of the band members when George Luz appeared next to her.

“Ah, Florence. A beautiful angel. A voice like a lark. How are you?”

Florence laughed, amused by George’s theatrical bow, “I’m good thank you, George. What can I do for you?”

George looked a little shocked, pressing his hand against his chest as he mocked a gasp, “Why would you think I’d want something.”

Florence raised her eyebrow, watching him out the side of her eye as she collected up the music sheets. George fumbled with his hands, pondering what to say before spitting it out.

“I need to ask you for a favour.” George shuffled his feet awkwardly, looking over his shoulder at his group of friends who were giving him a thumbs up from the doorway. Chuck nearly fell over laughing and Floyd had to support his friend to not draw too much attention to themselves. Florence looked unamused at the gaggle of paratroopers clearly trying to cause trouble.

“What’s the favour, George?”

“Well, you see… there’s a girl… and well I want to sing her a song. Could I maybe add a song to the end of your set? Please Flo Flo,” he clasped his hands together, pleading and battering his eyelashes dramatically at her.

Florence sighed, curious to see what song he was planning but unsure at the same time. What’s the worst that could happen? It was her last night in Aldbourne after all.

“Alright, fine. But no funny business, Luz. I want you on your best behaviour.”

George bowed again, “Of course Ma’am, only the best for you Flo. I shall be in your debt.” George chuckled, hurrying off towards his friends who were cheering with excitement. Whatever they had planned, Florence couldn’t determine but knowing George Luz it could quite possibly end in disaster.

As Florence sang the last note of ‘Pack up your troubles’ the crowd erupted, clapping and cheering. Despite the boy's reaction to her first performance, she had grown to love them all, even the officers who rarely spoke to her but still seemed to enjoy her singing. She could see Webster, standing and clapping enthusiastically. She blew him a kiss and he reached out to catch it, placing it against his chest. Florence waved at the crowd one last time before exiting the stage, bumping straight into George, Chuck, Floyd and Babe. They beamed at her and she just smiled. They were absolutely up to something. She moved through the crowd aiming for the seat that had been free beside Webster but noticing he was no longer there. She turned around, eyes scanning the crowd of paratroopers.

“He’ll be back in a bit, Florence. He’s gone to take a leak,” Liebgott gave her a toothy grin and Florence took her seat, residing in the fact that Webster would be back soon. She watched as the boys got themselves ready on the stage, handing sheet music to the band and leaving Florence wondering exactly what they had planned. She looked over her shoulder over the crowd, scanning to see which woman had stolen George’s heart but the few women there had men’s arms already around their shoulders, pulled close into their sides.

As the music sprung to life, Florence waited with baited breath to see what was about to unfold, when Webster strolled out onto the stage like he’d been doing it his whole life. He grasped the microphone and began belting out the lyrics to ‘You’re as pretty as a picture’ with the other boys backing him up. Florence’s heart leapt out of her chest as Webster sang, pointing towards her and causing her cheeks to flash. Liebgott leant over, a smug grin on his face, “he’s not as bad as I thought he’d be.”

Florence was a mixture of embarrassed, in awe and utterly in love with the man who sang his heart out for her. As the song came to an end the room erupted with cheers and clamping. Webster still grasping the microphone began to speak, “Flo I have a really important question for you,” before he lost his nerve he dug into his pocket, pulling out the ring and thrusting it towards her. “I know it’s not m-much, but I, well…”

Florence’s eyes stayed glued to the ring, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Webster.

“Are you asking what I think you are, Ken?” Webster nodded, smiling at the use of his family nickname. Florence had read one of the letters he’d sent home to his family and had adopted the use of his middle name. ‘David doesn’t suit you’ she had reasoned and so it had stuck.

“I certainly am,” Webster replied, leaving the stage and approaching her, his shaky hand coming to clutch hold of Florence’s. “But like I told you before you can say…”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” She leapt forward, jumping into Webster’s arms and causing him to stumble but his grip on her never faltered. “A thousand times yes.” She sealed the last sentence with a kiss and Webster wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

“I had a…” she kissed him again. “Speech planned and everything.” Webster tried to talk but got the message when Florence pressed her lips firmly to his once more.

“I don’t mind you didn’t do your speech. This was perfect.”

The room exploded with cheers, all the men patting Webster on the back and kissing Florence’s cheek. The room was alive and suddenly the mood didn’t seem so sombre because although it might be Florence’s last night in Aldbourne, she was no longer just a girl Webster would write to but his future wife.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @xxluckystrike @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt

#a larks song #band of brothers #david webster x reader #david webster #David Webster x oc

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jt1674 · 3 months

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#king crimson #lark's tongues in aspic #starless #brescia #1974 #john wetton #david cross #bill bruford #robert fripp

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archester-creations · 1 year

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In a universe where crdl goes to Vacuo after the Fall...

#rwby #rwby incorrect quotes #sun wukong #scarlet david #cardin winchester #russel thrush #dove bronzewing #sky lark #team crdl #act of grace rwby #rwby act of grace #act of grace #scarlet x cardin x russel x dove x sky #scarlet x crdl

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chushanye · 2 years

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"I'm gonna need you to be brave boys," immediately followed by Normal exhaling, "For Pete's sake"

While Lark and Sparrow are regressing back into children, Will is gonna regress back into Henry

#that was SO HENRY #henry JUMPED OUT #I think someone already made this post but I keep thinking David from camp camp and Henry would get along #on that note young Lark and Sparrow and Nikkie would also get along #normal oak garzia swallows #henry oak garzia #lark and sparrow #will campos

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friendandphoe · 1 year

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TWO DAYS LATE BUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ahbonjour I LOVE YOU HAVE SOME NEW MOVIE HOUSE BRAINROT

also @museumlad and @creativeskull95 you may also enjoy this have fun

David calls Donnie at 2:37 pm on a completely nondescript Tuesday with a brisk, "I have a proposition for you," in lieu of a hello.

"Shit, babe, let me grab the condoms and the lube, I can be at your place in fifteen." Donnie says, because his mouth moves faster than his brain and both of them hate him.

David's eye roll is practically audible over the phone, but so is his smile when he responds, "I'd literally rather fling myself into the fires of Mount Doom than get anywhere near your dick ever again. No, doofus, I've got a work thing. Interested?"

"God, yes." Donnie groans. Thank someone David Peterson is his best friend before his anything else and is used to the shit that comes out of Donnie's mouth. "I told you about my new set, right?"

"I thought you said you didn't have anything."

"Because I don't, Dave. The new set is a whole lot of nothing. I've been tearing my hair out for weeks trying to think of stuff, my brain is, like, fully fried at this point."

David snorts. "What, our breakup didn't give you any material to work with?"

Donnie blows a raspberry, flinging an arm over his eyes even though Lark's been gone for, like, a week doing some business bitch shit and isn't around to see his dramatics. "Do me a favor and be more of an asshole so I can actually pull something out of it. There's nothing funny about an amicable break up."

"Statistically, between the two of us, you're more likely to be the asshole about it." David points out. "Write a joke about how you jumped on the chance to fuck as soon as you heard my voice."

Donnie has. Many of them. None of them have lived to see the light of day. "You propositioned me, motherfucker. You literally said, 'I have a proposition for you' and expected me to not take that in a fucky direction?"

David snorts again. "Go get laid and then maybe we can progress past two sentences without you thinking I want to bone down."

All half-formed jokes about this conversation immediately fly out of his head. "David," Donnie begs. "I will literally pay you whatever you want to have you never say the words 'bone down' in reference to sex ever again."

"I am only ever going to call it boning down from now on." David says immediately, because he's an asshole. Not enough of one to use as material for a good comedy set, but to be honest, Donnie thinks he can live with that. He’ll gladly settle for missing out on comedy gold because of a peaceful breakup if it means he gets to keep his best friend. "I think you should bone down so that you stop thinking that I'm trying to bone down with you. I’m just an innocent business boy trying to do my job—"

Never fucking mind, this man is terrible and Donnie hates him. "Oh my god."

"—and here you are sullying my good-natured intentions with thoughts of boning down—"

"Stoooop."

"—when all I've ever tried to do is live by the eternal words of our lord and savior Britney Spears. I just want to work, bitch. All my long nights at the office, all my running around trying to find you, my dearest friend, a well-paying gig, because even though our amorous relations have since ended I still hold you near to my heart, and yet! You scorn my kindness with advances towards boning down.”

"I'm dying. Literally dying."

“Distasteful behavior, truly. Horrendous. You’re a rake and a rapscallion and I shan’t do business with you anymore if you’re only going to lust after me the whole time. ‘Tis a futile endeavor, Donaldo. Your feelings are simply unrequited. I daresay you have transformed into what is known in some circles as a simp. Do you know what a simp is, D? I learned that one like a week ago. You’re down bad tremendous, as the kids might say. Bone down tremendous, even."

"I'm gonna — I'm hanging up, Peterson."

"Alright, fuck you then, I don't have a job offer for you."

Donnie whines. "Nooo, Davey my Davey, I didn't mean it, let me pay rent this month."

“Are you going to listen to me talk about internet slang.” David says, punctuating each word with a clap.

“No, because it’s, like, basically all AAVE and I bet you literally anything that Lark and my mom have been saying that shit for years.”

David snorts. “I would pay good money to hear your mom use the word ‘simp’ in a sentence.”

Donnie laughs. “Pay up, then, that’s Black 90s shit."

"Goddammit, internet," David mutters, and Donnie's phone chimes.

"Goddammit, internet," he agrees, pulling away to check whatever notification just came in. Venmo: David Peterson paid you $30. — Reparations — Your Venmo balance is now $30. "Alright, you're forgiven."

"God bless and goodnight," David says dryly. "Can I give you this goddamn job offer now."

Donnie waves a hand airily. David will sense it through the phone. "See, if you'd started with that instead of 'I have a proposition'—"

"Donnie."

"Shutting up now. Blow me away, Peterson."

David clears his throat and puts on his Business Professional voice. "Donnie Frasier, on behalf of Love Productions USA, I would like to formally offer you a position as presenter on the reboot of The Great American Baking Show."

Donnie jolts up, eyes wide. "Shut up. You're joking."

"I am not."

"DAVID."

"Mhmm." David hums, smug as hell. "We're location scouting right now, but once we have that settled we'll fly you in so you can get acquainted with the crew while we're holding baker auditions. Once we've found our twelve and they're signed on, you'll stay on-location for an additional ten weeks while we're filming. You're looking at a period of about, uh, maybe fifteen to sixteen weeks total? Just the one season for now, but, y'know, contract is open to renewal depending on ratings and reception. Food and board are included, and we're probably working with your regular rate, but I'll have to double check our budget with Jay. Obviously you know Lark has already signed on as a judge, we just got George Fox of 'the Corporal Cooks' on as the other judge—"

"DAVID!"

"I'm producing, natch, James Matsuki is with me on that — him and Fox have someone in mind for, uh. Shit, either floor manager or director, I don't remember, but Lark and I wanted to recommend you for presenter. We're trying to get Mags Taylor to go on with you—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP."

"—provided you accept." David finishes, like it would ever cross Donnie’s mind to refuse. "You wanna hear who else we have for crew? I've actually worked with a lot of them on other projects, they're good people."

"Absolutely fucking not, I'm in, I'm in, I was already in as soon as you opened your beautiful perfect mouth! David!" Donnie hollers, scrambling up and out of bed and down the hall into his kitchen, flinging his laptop open with feral desperation. "Did you — I have to — does Susan know, I have to email Susan —"

David huffs. "Who do you think I am? I emailed Susan about it like three days ago, she said to go to you directly."

"THREE DAYS?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Donald."

"YOU HELD OUT ON ME FOR THREE DAYS, DAVARIAH?" Donnie bellows, whipping through his inbox. There's a handful of offers from venues to host him for shows, an update on the ongoing thread from his tour manager — there! The sacred [email protected], nestled right underneath what might be a fan that somehow got a hold of his professional email address.

"Tell Susan to respond to me faster, then." David says mildly, rustling something on his end of the call.

"Leave my poor sweet Susan alone, she's done nothing wrong ever in her life and it's not her fault you never loved me." Donnie fires back, scanning through Susan's summary of the offer — same shit David was telling him, minus any name dropping, thank you best friend/ex-boyfriend perks. He replies with a very enthusiastic ABSOLUTELY HELL YES, which will not surprise Susan in the slightest. "Not even Susan can warm the frozen tundras of your heart."

David sighs, long and heavy. "You're such a fucking drama queen. I'm going to write a guide for your next partner, so they know how to deal with you."

"That's — fair, honestly. Make a note on my fabulous ass and sparkling personality, though."

"What sparkling personality," David mutters, but clears his throat back into Business Professional. "So, Donnie Frasier, do you accept the offer?"

Donnie pauses. "Am I allowed to have 'fuck yeah' on the record?"

David hangs up on him.

~*~

They've only been separated for three weeks, but Lark's airport tackle makes Donnie feel like he's returning from World War 2.

"You're in!" Lark screams, ignoring the affronted looks they're getting from the other people meandering out of baggage claim.

Donnie squeezes hard around her waist and pulls her up, spinning her around twice for good measure. It never hits him just how much he misses his sister until they're reunited. "I'm in!" He yells back, and relishes the scandalized cough they get from the white lady brushing past them.

Somewhere off to their right, someone laughs. "Twinth, huh?"

"Twins," David agrees, and clears his throat. "Y'all ready to go?"

They're not, but Donnie knows how to compromise. He sets Lark back down in her feet and wraps an arm around her shoulders, grinning wildly at her as they set out. "Look at you!"

"Look at me!" Lark agrees, beaming back. She looks great — she's switched out her locs for twists and her blue sundress pops against her dark skin, and yeah, that's great, but underneath it all, she's glowing. She looks happy, she looks proud, she looks like a big fuckin' dead weight asshole has finally been kicked to the curb, thank God. There's a bounce in her that he hasn't seen in months, that he — and he would never say this out loud to anyone ever, not even their mom — worried she would never get back.

He loves her so much. He's going to vomit in all her shoes.

"Tell me everything," he demands, graciously letting her pull his suitcase out of his hands. "Did he cry? Tell me he cried."

David, whose relationship with Donnie overlapped the middle of The Brandon Saga, chooses this moment to start very loudly debating directions with the dark-haired guy he brought along. Donnie will give him the most platonic of high-fives for it later.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy." Lark says airily, which means not here, not now. "How's it feel to have a big boy job, though?"

Donnie is a mature, upstanding, tax-paying adult and refrains from sticking his tongue out at his beloved twin sister. "I actually turned down Netflix to come do this dinky lil baking show with you, Birdie, so you better be fuckin' grateful."

"I've been blessed by your presence," Lark says immediately, bumping their shoulders together. "You should be on Netflix, by the way, it's total bullshit you're not. Like, I'm so glad we're doing this together, but—"

"No, you know what?" Donnie cuts in, giving her a little squeeze. "I'm excited about it. I'm taking a comedy sabbatical and I'm gonna do nothing but eat cupcakes and make you miserable on set and it's gonna be great. Netflix can eat my entire ass, honestly."

Ahead of them, David's friend snorts, breaking off the direction debate to walk backwards through the revolving door. Donnie is thoroughly impressed. "From what I heard, Netflix is more of a 'no lube no aftercare' kind of lover. Executiveth, you know? They jutht wanna fuck you over and then roll over and go to thleep." The guy eyes Donnie up and down in a way that makes him roll his shoulders back and stand up straighter. Lark what the fuck taps him in the ribs and he shut the fuck up bumps her knee. Sue him, he’s a disaster bi and weak to authoritative gazes. She knows this already. “Your work’th incredible, though, I thaw one of your thows a couple yearth ago and I wath crying laughing. If Netflix doethn’t want you, that’th their loth.”

Donnie responds in the only reasonable fashion: he fans a hand in front of his face and swoons heavily against Lark, who cheerfully ducks out from beneath his arm and lets him stumble into a trashcan. “Keep talking like that and we’re going right to the bathroom, stranger.” He purrs, and they laugh, clear and pleasant. “Normally I make people buy me dinner before rawdogging me in public, but I can always make an exception.”

David suddenly whirls around from where he'd been leading the procession, brows furrowed tightly behind his glasses. “I fully forgot y’all don’t know each other.” He says, like it’s inconceivable to exist in a world where his friends don’t all run in the same social circles.

Donnie shrugs and holds out a hand. "I just assumed you kidnapped someone with a bigger car, T-B-H. Donnie Frasier, he/him. What's up?"

The stranger takes his hand and shakes, but keeps a severe facial expression. "I'm actually airport polithe, I'm here to inthpect your luggage for ilithit thubthtanthes," they say seriously, holding Donnie's gaze for two, three, four beats before cracking a grin. "Ethan Thtone, altho he/him, head of wardrobe and rethident big car boy."

"Fuckin' rub it in," David mutters, and lets Ethan swat him.

"I don't wanna hear anything from the man who dethided to thqueeze hith theven-foot ath into a clown car." Ethan says, cementing his place as Donnie's new favorite. “Go be useful and get Karen, I wanna thmooze. My car,” he answers as Donnie’s opening his mouth to ask the question.

“Why?”

“Because she’s old and white and complains the entire time!” David yells over his shoulder, disappearing into the parking lot with Ethan’s keyring.

Ethan makes an affronted noise. “He’th thuch a jerk,” he mutters, but there’s something fond tugging at the corners of his mouth as he says it.

“He’s single, you know,” Donnie blurts out, because his mouth continues to move faster than his brain and they both continue to hate him. He lets Lark smack him in the arm with a gleeful “Donnie!” because yeah, fair.

Ethan goes bright red, and he laughs nervously. “Oh, uh — yeah, I know. We, uh, actually worked together while, uh, y’all were thtill — a thing? Tho, uh. I know. I jutht think he’s cute, though, I’m not trying to, like, move in on anything—”

“God, please,” Donnie laughs, patting Ethan on the back. “He’s my best friend, but like. That ship done sailed, my dude. No hard feelings over here if you wanna, y’know.”

“Mount. Climb aboard. Cast off.” Lark supplies helpfully, grinning gleefully as Ethan turns redder and redder with every word. “Thank fuck you’re here now, Ducky, I felt like I was losing my mind watching them try to flirt.”

“We weren’t flirting.” Ethan protests weakly. Lark raises an eyebrow at him. “Honetht! I’m a terrible flirt.”

“So’s David,” the twins say in unison. Ethan groans and buries his face in his hands, muttering something under his breath that might be “abtholutely fuck me”.

Lark ignores him. “I’ve been telling him that Davey is available, too, he kept insisting he didn’t want to make things weird with you coming onto the project—”

Donnie emphatically waves his hands. “Fuck no! I mean, I for sure wanna get some popcorn and watch the show, but, like, from the point-five seconds I’ve known you—”

“Yeth, pleathe, let’th talk credentialth,” Ethan says desperately.

“What? No.” Donnie says, gesturing at Ethan’s everything with a raised eyebrow. “You’re cute, you dress well, you like my jokes, you don’t let David intimidate you even though you like him, I trust you already. You’ll be great, I’m excited to work with you, blah blah blah. Like, feel free to stop me if you’re legit uncomfortable, but—”

“Remember what I said before, E?” Lark interrupts, patting Ethan’s back. “About Donnie being a professional meddler?”

Donnie nods in satisfaction. “I am a professional meddler. Please let me meddle, we’ll bond and become best friends and ruin David’s life. It’ll be so good.”

Ethan looks up at the sky. Donnie doesn’t know why; if anyone’s up there, they know better than to mess with Donnie Frasier when he’s on a mission. “If I thay yeth,” he says uncertainly, and the twins immediately swivel like sharks smelling blood. “Can we at leatht be thubtle about it?”

Lark winces, looking at her brother. “Tall order, Ducky. Think you can handle it?”

Donnie flips her off with one hand and holds out the other for Ethan to hesitantly shake. “Ethan Stone,” he says solemnly. “This is going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Ethan still vaguely looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. “I mean it, though, I’m really a terrible flirt.”

Donnie looks at his sister. “Vibe check?”

“Drama club Peggy circa 2016.”

Donnie stares in horror. “Please tell me it’s not the same vibes.”

Lark claps three times. Donnie throws his head back and cackles. Ethan looks like he’s about two seconds away from climbing into the sewer and living his best ninja turtle life. “It’th not — I don’t even know what that meanth, I’m not, like — thtop — thtop laughing, I’m theriouth—” But he’s grinning despite himself, because Donnie’s never once been able to hold a mildly uncomfortable conversation with someone without making them laugh, and he’s not about to break his streak now with all these fancy new TV people to impress.

“Ethan,” Donnie sighs, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes and slinging an arm over his new best friend’s shoulders. “I’m going to hook you guys up so hard. I cannot wait.”

A white Toyota pulls up in front of them, hazards on, and David climbs out of the driver’s side, half-jogging over to grab Donnie’s bags and shove ‘em in the trunk. “Everything okay?” He asks, mostly to Ethan, who’s beginning to match the color of the beret David used to wear in college. Donnie wonders if Ethan knows about the beret. Donnie desperately needs Ethan to know about the beret.

“Fine,” he and Ethan say at the same time, in wildly different tones of voice.

David gives Donnie A Look. “What are you doing to my wardrobe head?”

“Irreversibly changing the course of your lives,” Donnie says cheerfully, rubbing Ethan’s shoulder.

“Fucking delightful.” David sighs, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, I wanna get back to the hotel by five and you’ve still got a shitload of people to meet. Do not let Donnie bully you into anything you don’t wanna do,” he says to Ethan, just loud enough that Donnie can reasonably make a comment about it.

And he will. “You’ll thank me for this one day, boyos.” He says haughtily, and Lark laughs loudly, shoving him into the backseat of the Toyota and climbing in after him. She squeezes his hand hard as they’re settling in: I missed you. He squeezes back and grins at her. Missed you more.

David buckles himself into the driver’s seat and meets his gaze in the rearview mirror. “As long as you keep whatever shenanigans you’re planning off Jay and Alexa’s radars, I’ll do whatever you want, dude, I don’t give a single shit.”

Lark pulls out her phone to text someone. “Kinky,” she comments, grinning as David sputters in the front seat. “In front of Ethan and the entire airport and God, too? Fuck it up, my guy.”

“I’m in hell.” David deadpans, and pulls out towards the airport exit.

#HAP BIRTH OTTO I LOVE YOU #this is. not the last of mh gbbo au there is More To Come #im also using this opportunity to fix everything wrong with gbbo I Can Run It Better #also the rundown is: lark and fox are judges. donnie and mags are hosts. david and jaimey are producers.#ethan is wardrobe. juno is hair/makeup. alexa is floor manager/director. toby is social media manager. brandon is in jail where he belongs #this is a brandon hate account first and foremost #i might toss in various other vague MH ocs as crew and/or bakers we'll see how it goes #also might toss in Us as crew and/or bakers we'll see how it goes #ANYWAY IM SORRY THIS WAS LATE I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANYWAY I GIVE YOU A GENTLE SMORCH AND ESCAPE INTO THE NIGHT #gonna go do my own baking bc i promised my mom mini hand held apple pies like 3 days ago and i failed to deliver. so.#movie house #gbbo au #all of them #shut up phoenix

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