#they’re an actual writing machine i swear

[padfootastic]

4,16, 23 & 26!

ash!!! hello <33

4. Link your 3 favorite fics right now.

: o

lemme go into my bookmarks real quick.

The onyx in radiance—look, look, i know. but give it a chance ok? it’s not age gap or predatory or whatever people have in mind about unconventional ships,,,it’s actually very very fluffy and fun and the way harry smacks riddle around is a thing of beauty. (if u do read it, make sure to read the oneshot before it too!)

Parents sitting—it’s this wip that for updated after like,,,half a decade when i’d almost given up hope but god, it’s wonderful. i love it. it’s basically deaged!hinny and the next gen kids scrambling to take care of their baby parents while finding out some rough truths about their childhoods.

Gems of great price—ok so i’m technically cheating bc this is a series of 3 fics but like. they’re short. and nice. and very very sweet. it’s harry/marcus and another lomonaaeren work (clearly i’m in a Mood these days) but i promise you’ll love it. the dynamic these two share is v v fun and i don’t think i’ve ever seen it before.

16. Do you research for your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you gone down by accident when researching?

oof yes, so so much. arguably one of my fav parts about the whole experience. since i mostly write slice-of-life one shots, there’s not a lot of opportunities for it but i do fall into rabbit holes ab british culture/geography/food quite a lot. i think the deepest possibly might be going right back to like,,,anglo-saxon history and the vikings and all the invasions bc i was trying to figure out some cultural quirk lol (those r my fav kind tho)

23. What’s your absolute favorite trope to write?

oh man oh man. this is—a tough one. i think outsider pov, definitely. also gen tropes usually come easier to me! found family, ‘x is a good parent’, hurt/comfort etc etc. one hyper specific trope would be ‘dominant older one submits to a younger one’ esp when the former is like,,,super accomplished & intimidating compared to the latter. subversion, my beloved <3

but like. if w’re talking nsfw,,,i’m absolutely in love with writing cockwarming and blowjobs in particular.

26. What’s your biggest distraction when writing?

myself, lmao. i have terrible executive dysfunction and the attention span of a goldfish so i find it v hard to concentrate on one thing. there’s also this whole concept of the internet at the fingertips that makes things v v hard bc i keep remembering little things i wanna do or look up and then bam, distracted. like,,.someone tell me why i need to look up the difference between medieval and victorian fashions or the balkanisation of the east while trying to write sirius and harry binding?????

From this ask game

#honestly that first fic rec sounds v out of left field on the surface #but give it a try u absolutely won’t regret it #i mean. if u can keep existing associations out of ur mind for a while #bc yah it sounds weird but it’s v well written #also harry is so badass and so powerful in it <3 #and i didn’t know i needed simp!orion in my life until i had it #also can we just talk real quick ab how fkn impressive lomonaaeren is????? #they’re an actual writing machine i swear #pen’s asks

[changisworld]

hey ml, could i request a lee know x 9th member reader? they’re secretly fucking and the boys don’t know until they accidentally walk in on them.. 🫶🏻 (i love your work btw!!)

Hi! first of all thank you so much for liking my work, that means so much to me! & second of all I'm so sorry I've taken so long to publish your request, thank you for being patient<3

LOOOVEE this concept so much so thank you for suggesting it!

I hope this is up to your standards since you've been waiting WEEKS for it! feel free to anon me your thoughts.

18+, MDNI SMUT WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT

Word count;2,839

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

Any reblogs & comments are deeply appreciated&l<3

main masterlist here

SMUT WARNINGS: Slight sub/dom dynamics, first time fucking, soft sex tbh, sloppy oral(m rec), praise, pet names, slightly public sex(in a shared dorm), manhandling if you squint a whole lot, unprotected sex, blueballs(SORRYY LEEKNOW MY BABY), getting caught, fluffffffff, 9th member reader, mention of past encounters with leeknow.

Saying you were nervous when JYP told you you would be debuting with a boy group instead of the trainees you had been with for the past few years was a serious understatement, but it is now the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You help out a lot when it comes to producing and writing so you spend a lot of time with 3racha which is no surprise, you love the three guys with your entire heart but you can get quite antsy after a while, seeing since there's not as much time being spent with the other members, specifically the main dancer of the group, lee-know.

Because leeknow is an introvert, just like you, it took you both a while to actually warm up to one another and it doesn't help much that you're never having the chance to speak to him one-on-one conversations with him, always having at least one or two other members with you both, until one specific night that would end up secretly making lee-know and you each others favourite members.

You and the group have been practicing new choreographies for your new comeback and the members start saying their goodnights one by one as they leave the room, until an hour later it's just you and leeknow left still practicing. It's not awkward between you and him by any means so you both keep practicing and talking, just messing around. Your shoulders start getting painful and you complain and leeknow offers you a massage which you gladly accept and that's where and when your crush on each other started.

Over the space of a few weeks, you both felt the connection and crush on one another grew, purposely leaving the areas you're both working at to meet at the water dispensers in the building or walking to vending machines just to seek a glance at each other. After a few weeks of doing this, you were helping and recording leeknows parts for a song and then you called him out of the booth once you were satisfied with it and let him listen. As he is doing this, he is standing behind you, leaning down and his hands on either side of the desk, caging you in, making you swallow in your chest. One compliment of his hands leads to him allowing you to touch them, leading to him complimenting you back, leading to you both saying this is wrong because you work together then somehow that leads to you both making out.

You are both in your dorm right now, the one you are sharing with Jeongin, Seungmin and Felix, with leeknow, currently making out with him, something you don't have a lot of chances to do due to your schedule & also trying to hide it.

He is nibbling on your bottom lip every once in a while as his veiny hand is resting on your cheek, thumb caressing it as you're beneath him, hands cupping the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Without realising it, your hips stutter slightly into his thigh, that is currently in between your legs. You feel your cheeks going hot instantly but you could swear you felt him smirk into your lips, so you repeat the action a few more times, trying to make it seem not so painfully obvious how desperate you secretly are. Leeknow pulls away his lips with a quiet pop noise but doesn't move away, just looking into your eyes instead. Your cheeks redden & you try to pull him back to your lip but he doesn't budge, making you shy away, slightly embarrassed. "be careful with what you're doing y/n" he hushes to you in a quiet, sweet voice, his ears red at the tips. "Yea, I'm sorry, was just, aah i don't know" you blush, turning your head to the side to try avoid his gaze but is quickly to paw at your face to get you to turn back. "you're horny? is that it?" he teases, already knowing the answer. "Don't speak like that! makes me shy" you let out a nervous giggle as you try to sit up, but leeknow is quick to stop that from happening, keeping you beneath him. "I wouldn't complain bunny, you can tell me, mkayyy? We just need to be.. careful, giving our situation." He strokes your hair, his face not giving much of what he is thinking away, making you a bit confused on what's going on. "Stooop, you're just confusing me." you play with his hair that is in front of his face, twirling it in your fingers, trying to not seem awkward.

He moves off of you but you're quickly being pulled by him so you're now straddling him which is a first for you both. Your heart is beating in your throat & your face gives it away instantly, which leeknow laughs at. "I'm saying, i'd be happy to help you, we both know how to keep secrets after all, don't we?" he questions, looking up at you as his hands find your waist and squeeze slightly, his face as if he is just talking about what he had for breakfast. You smile at his words, getting goose bumps from his hands on you but melting into them regardless. "I won't tell if you don't" you tease back, trying to sound bold and he smirks at you before pulling you in to kiss you again.

The kiss is quite soft but it only takes a few seconds before his tongue is poking at your lips and you gladly allow it inside, you now both tasting each other. He begins to move your hips against his and your breath stutters, liking the feeling but you begin feeling him growing beneath you as you're grinding against him even more. Your hand reaches down and begins palming the area of his hardening cock still covered by his sweatpants making him let out a small, low sigh which makes you pool in your panties.

Leeknow begins making his way down your jawline and then neck, giving it small kisses but making sure to not leave any marks, knowing it would be impossible to explain it to the other members and also the makeup artists who will need to cover it up. You let out small hums of approval as he is kissing the parts of your collarbone that he can reach while your shirt is still on, palming him a bit quicker and with a bit more pressure. "are you sure you wanna do this leeknow? I don't want this to mess anything up." you mumble out, trying to hold your moans back enough so your words don't splurge out. He lets go of your collarbone & look in your eyes, grinding ever so slightly into your hand. "It was messed up the second we kissed, jagi. We can stop if you want, no questions asked, but for some weird reason, i'm getting the feeling you want this too?" He says, sarcastically as one hand is still resting on your waist as the other is playing with the hem of your vest top. You take a deep breath in, smiling at his words before kissing him again with much more lust in the way your lips are moving together, already knowing the answer to what he said.

Your eyebrows furrow as he leans further back into the couch, your lips chasing him and in the process, your clothed cunt is now right on top of his clothed cock. Leeknow takes this chance to pull off your top, leaving you in a casual bra, not thinking this would happen so you didn't come more prepared. Your lips are interlocked again the second it comes off as your hands snake themselves under his shirt, making him hiss as your hands are a bit cold.

You break the kiss, both of your lips a darkened red colour now, swollen from the nibbles you have been given each other, looking glossy from the spit of your tongues tasting the other. He tries to keep you held against him but you move anyway and settle on your knees, untying his drawstrings, biting your bottom lip from the nerves, not looking at his face directly for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Y/n, should we go to your room? wouldn't want anyone to come back." He asks, putting his hand through your hair as he lifts his hips, helping you pull his sweatpants down, not actually caring about where you both are, just asking to make you feel more comfortable. "you gonna waddle to my room with your sweatpants at you knees? It's fine anyway, nobody's due to be back here for still quite a while, Felix made my room a bombsite earlier anyways." You joke, trying to calm your nerves as you see how big he is just underneath his underwear. He laughs a bit at your words and rests one hand on his stomach as he uses the other one to hold his hand over yours. "Mkay hunny, you just gonna stare at it or what, hmm?" He asks so casually, you would believe he wasn't affected at the situation if it wasn't for his bright red ears giving it away.

You let out a hum as you spit on his tip over his underwear, just to tease him and it works as he mewles under his breath, hips twitching. You pull down his boxers, just enough to let his cock spring free, hitting his stomach over his shirt which he quickly throws to the side after taking it off. You take it and you look at it, admiring how a guys dick can be pretty, also admiring how big he actually is. You begin kissing the tip softly, letting some drool land on his tip ever so often. "please, put it in jagi, pretty please." He groans out, trying to sound normal but it coming out more whiney than anything. You giggle before doing what he requested, licking the underside slowly, circling the sweet spot at the bottom of his tip which makes his hips stutter again, making you pull away. "Don't rush, keep your hips down." you innocently smile at him, looking like a sight for sore eyes in front of him. He just nods his head and swallows, not wanting to ruin it.

You put the tip in your mouth and swirl your tongue around, making him gasp, which is music to your ears. You begin sucking deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you start bobbing your head, using your hand to jerk off the part you can't yet reach in the same rhythm, humming around him, tasting a faint taste of precum. "F-fucck bunny, f--feels so good, holy shit, make sure there's plenty of spit, lo-love that." he groans, eyes trying their hardest to not roll into the back of his head as he is looking at you, head resting on his arm behind his head as the other is holding your hair in a ragged ponytail, holding it out of your face.

You let go of his cock with a loud pop before gurgling the spit that has formed while sucking and you spit it all back onto his dick, soaking it even more than it already is. You take it back in your mouth and within a few seconds of you jerking him at the base and hollowing your cheeks as much as you can along with the wet noises you're making, Leeknow is pulling you off him by the hair as gently as possible, his chest moving quickly and his face flushed, pretty much gasping.

"was g'na cum, w-wanted to put it inside, may-maybe? If not that's fine" he says, voice higher pitched and his tone of voice a lot more unsure sounding, sounding unsure. You lean in and kiss the tip of his nose and nod your head and a few seconds later, you're lying on the couch, on your back as he helps take off your bottoms and underwear with it, leaving you in just your bra and leeknow in between your legs, pushing them back so you can hold them. "You got a condom bunny?" he questions, eyes basically shining with adoration of what he is seeing, jerking slowly. "I'm on the pill and I'm clean, I'm assuming we both are, we are too busy to fuck anyone." you joke, feeling so comfortable in front of him despite being naked, your heart fluttering as he smiles. "Yeah, i'm clean. Ima push in now, you sure?" He asks in a loving voice, other hand caressing the back of your thigh.

You nod and that's as much confirmation he needs and he aligns himself up with you and begins pushing inside. You both gasp and shudder as he buries himself to the hilt and he reaches and takes your hand in his as he begins slowly thrusting. The dorm is filled with quiet moans, oo's and aah's from the both of you, looking into each others eyes. "f-feels so good, so b-good" you whine, words not making much sense as they vomit out of you. Leeknow blushes at your words and leans forward, not stopping his thrusts for a second. He reaches your lips and pecks your cheek, the sweat from his face now in his hair, sticking to his forehead. "You l-look so pretty like this, so pretty. So w-wet for me jagi, so good." You get butterflies in your stomach, feeling your heart getting warm.

Your arms wrap around the back of his neck and your lips connect again, whining into each other. You start to feel yourself bubbling up inside and Leeknows moans and shushed whimpers are just pushing you even further towards it. Your legs begin to feel like jelly as you are both meeting each other midway, thrusting into one another when the front door to the dorm opens.

You and Leeknow freeze as Felix and Seungmin walk inside, shrieking as they see what is happening on the shared couch. "I knew it Seungmin i fucking told you dance has been different because of them, the tension was right! This is our couch too what the fuck! do it in your damn room!" Felix yelps, swivelling around so his back is to you both, who are both still frozen in shock but luckily for you, they can only see your legs that are hanging against Leeknows waist and seeing his head, that is now poking up, looking at them both like a deer in headlights. "We are gonna pretend we didn't fucking see this, scrub the damn couch, we will ask questions later, get dressed!!" Seungmin says, jaw on the floor. Seungmin drags them both into Seungmin and Jeongins room and slams the door behind them.

You and Leeknow look at each other for a minute, not even saying anything. "I can't believe i just got blueballed by Seungmin and the one person who is gonna be a blabbermouth." Leeknow jokes before pulling out, way softer than he was. You giggle as you sit up next to him as he leans in and cuddles into you and you nuzzle your face in his neck. "what do we even say to them and no doubt the rest of the group?" you whisper, giving his neck a few pecks. "well we can either deny it and make them sound crazy and stop seeing each other or we could just.. fess up? We can.. do what ever one you prefer." He says sounding a bit defeated. You remove yourself from his neck and look at him, his face looking a bit bummed out, even though he's trying not to show it. You turn his head to look at you and you smile at him "I.. I would be lying if I said I wanted to stop, I would be lying if I said I haven't developed a mini crush on you, If you think it's easier to stop it all though, we totally can! no pressure!"

You begin looking at the floor, thinking you just ruined it and being embarrassed. The silence fills the room and you sigh before leaning down to gather your clothes but he gives you his shirt instead. "I thought the crush was one sided, thank god. I've been too nervous to fess up" he chuckles slightly, you both blushing as he hugs you again, kissing your head. "We can discuss this a whole lot more while we aren't naked, in your dorm livingroom as our members are down the hall though, mkay? We can mayybee go out on a date after we tell JYP and speak about it then, sound good?" He jokes again, smiling at you. "I guess that would be good" you say, joking back as you push his sweaty hair out of hi face. He begins reaching out for the clothes sprawled out on the floor, Him helping you get changed.

#skz smut #stray kids #lee know #leeknow x reader #skz #stray kids smut #kpop smut #leeknow smut #oneshot #anon ask #changbin #jeongin #seungmin #bang chan #han jisung #felix #hyunjin #kpop imagines #kpop #straykids

[popquizhot-shot]

Chapter One- Partnership Deed.

Summary: the very beginning. how he came to be in the same house as you.

Author's notes: it's a small chapter, i'm sorry but more to come!

Fic playlist

Chapter One|Chapter Two|Masterlist

No one tells you about how horrible this feeling is. This aloneness that consumes you. That empty that comes after everyone has left and you’re sitting there in the living room all alone. A hurried dinner you’re too tired to eat left on the table.

*Ring*

You’re jolted out of your depressive pity party at the sound of your phone ringing. Muting David Attenborough’s soothing voice and looking at your phone.

Unknown Number.

You pick it up and put it on speaker, sitting up straight, “Hello?”

The man who responds asks if you’re the one who put that advertisement for a roommate. You say yes, and he asks if he can come by to check the apartment out and you nod to no one, replying that yes, of course can, whenever he’s free.

“You mind if I come by now? I’m returning from the campus library actually.”

Because the only calls you’ve gotten till now were sleazy asshole who weren’t students, you’re surprised that guy is actually in your university.

“....Hello?”

“Yeah! Sorry!” you know you should say no, it’s nine in the night, you have work to do, a chapter to write, a business model to research, you should tell him to boot and that yes, you did mind if he came now, “Sure, you can stop by, I’ve got nothing to do. Can I get your name though, wouldn’t want a total stranger to enter my house, y’know.” you awkwardly chuckle and introduce yourself.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara.”

It’s a miracle you don’t drop the phone.

After what you can only describe as a painfully awkward goodbye, you rush to clean your apartment. Cursing the post-it’s scattered all around the house. They’re plot ideas, written in blue, purple, pink, all over the kitchen. The stray black ink used for definitions for costs and tendency curves and fuck if you remember what they mean and another fuck because this is Miguel O’Hara. The lead guitarist of that one band that always plays during uni fests. The tall fucking literal bull of a guy who captures everyone attention without meaning to. You both haven’t ever spoken to each other, never crossed paths because he’s a STEM student and though technically business is considered STEM for..whatever reason, it’s not the same and it’s in a different building. But you know who he is.  You’ve seen him from a distance, your friends teasing you for looking at someone like a blushing little girl, but you’re playing safe. 

You’ve just managed to make the place presentable when the intercom buzzes. In your haste to reach it, your toe catches on one of the dining chairs and you resist the urge to just say screw this and curl up in a ball and cry, instead hobbling over to the machine, cursing under your breath as you press the button, “Come on in!” you muster the cheeriest voice you can imagine. Granting him access into the building and immediately letting out a not so cheery expletive once your finger leaves the contraption. If this is all for naught you swear you’ll stay single till college is over, you can just live in fantasy, because god this guy is an idiot who thinks he can come up whenever he thinks he can. He’s probably one of those asshole dudes who thinks they’re better than everyone else.

But your dumbass is to blame. Your stupid constant to please people gee thanks for that mom

You rush to open the door as soon as you hear the knock, bracing yourself for an arrogant dude smirking at you-

Yes, that is Miguel O’Hara at your doorstep, but he’s shyly? Scratching the back of his neck, looking almost apologetic.

“I am so sorry for just barging in this late.” is the first thing he says,wincing as your eyebrows raise, “it’s just-

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. It’s alright.” you smile and open the door wider, inviting him in.

Jesus, what was in the water he drank as a child? He towers over you as he steps in. You look up to his face as he scans the living room, almost smiling at the organized chaos around the house.

“Uh, over here is the bedroom you’ll be taking, if you’re moving in that is.” you walk past him, sleeve brushing his, pointing to the open bedroom he walks into, nodding approvingly. It’s decent for the money he’d pay as rent, there’s actually no reason for him to refuse. He can stay here-

“It’s a beautiful place.” he finally looks down at you, “Yeah, I think, if there’s no one else at the moment, I’ll be happy to accomodate the room.”

And that’s the story of how Miguel O’Hara became your roommate.

You wish you could say you lived happily ever after.

“Miguel!” you bang on his door, “Wash the fucking dishes, today’s your turn!”

You get a hum in return, and you know the dishes will get done really late or he’ll probably fall asleep at his desk. You wish you could ignore it, you really do. But again, thank the instilled doctrine that if you’re lazy to do anything you’re pathetic and don’t deserve to breathe air. With a swear on your breath, you storm to the kitchen, making sure to bang the dinner dishes as loud as you can. It’s been a week since he moved in. A week.

He had helped with dinner. Vegetable Gravy with turmeric and chillies and roti’s. Guy liked trying different cuisines and your penchant for cooking came in handy. One thing your mother taught you that helped. And he said he’d wash, that you worked too hard and he didn’t like seeing you all stressed out like a little mouse.

“You’re like a little mouse, always moving here and there.” He chuckles, his fingers wiggling to mimic a scampering rodent and sticks it in front of your face. 

You slap it away, “Oye, watch the gravy.” you point at the curry with your rolling pin.

 He dips a finger and brings it to his mouth to taste, looking at you as he licks it.

“Hmm, muy delicioso .”

“Thanks.”

In a partnership, to specify the deals of the relationship, a partnership deed is drawn up for specifics. Percentage of profit, ratio of distribution, shit like that. Roles for each partner. That’s precisely what this asshole needs, a real live list for him to see. You wonder if he needs sock puppets and Cheerios as well.

It takes ten minutes to draw up a good contract, with clear rules laid out for the both of you, he’ll probably come out in a few minutes.

—----

You wake up in a start, the lights are off, and there’s a blanket on top of you. The tv that was switched on was now switched off. 

That ass had finally come out, and he’d covered your sleeping form and switched the TV off. The metal glint of a pen catches your attention. Blinking, you scramble for the deed, looking over it, and on the bottom, right where you’d written out his name was his signature. And a little drawing of a flower with a sad face saying sorry in bubble speech.

Idiot. You smile, clicking the pen and signing above your name. 

He better make breakfast tomorrow.

#miguel o' hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #atsv #atsv miguel

[heyidkyay]

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

Epilogue

A/n: The finale. Heyyy, hope you all enjoyed the last update, I’m beyond grateful for all the love it got alongside the rest of this series, it means more than you’d realise. But I just had to indulge myself and write the epilogue too, made sense tbh and I really do love the way it went, there’s lot going on here and I feel like it was necessary to post! It’s just nearing 20k though so hopefully it’s enjoyable, there are a few different cut scenes, where we time jump, and one point where George gives us a little insight to the ongoings in his life, but overall it just shows the years after the end of 28. I loved writing this a whole lot but I am most thankful to @procrastinatinglikeapro for letting me annoy her with the emotions this brought up as well as giving me a place to bounce ideas around, so thank you, you lovely human:) Hopefully I can put you out of your misery now, and that the rest of you enjoy this last part? Thank you sm for reading! X

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.

Masterlist

Epilogue -

Dealing with a shit hand in life, had both its downsides as well as its ups. 

With all the crap, the dirt, the anger and the grief, there also came perspective. 

As in, the more you’d been shafted with, the easier it was to deal with the more mundane things life had to throw at you. Like when the washing machine broke mid-cycle and flooded the kitchen floor in early December. Or missing the tube into work and being nearly twenty minutes late for an important client’s meeting. 

Even the times when all of your best mates, who were in a band, get suited and booted for a singular night, and then that said band goes on to win a Brit Award- only, you’ve gone and missed it all because you were stuck somewhere in a line to use the loo.

Yeah.

I swanned back over to our table in the mid-section just after, grateful that I’d had the foresight to check for loo-roll on the bottom of one of my heels as well as grab another champagne flute on my way over. 

Wasn’t one for the stuff, in truth. Literally anything else would’ve been better, but alcohol was alcohol and my anxiety always got the best of me at these kind of events. 

Even though I’d known the boys longer than the band had been formed, I hadn’t actually been to that many. This was my first one in quite a few years.

A small frown had etched itself onto my face by the time I made it over to our little section, the table was now half empty and not one of the boys were in sight- and I even ducked down slightly to see if they were pratting about beneath it too! But no such luck.

“Where’s everybody?” I asked Carly quietly, who’d been grinning like the cat that’d caught the cream before she turned to blink up at me. My forehead furrowed even further as I placed my glass down on the table top and took the seat beside her. “You alright? Is there something on my face or summat? You’re looking at me funny.”

She actually had the fucking nerve to laugh at me then, the cow.

“Oi, tell me!” I urged, swatting at her upper arm lightly after just having dragged my chair in.

“Only you, I swear.” Carly retorted, giggling freely now before she jutted her chin outwards, up towards the main stage. “You missed it, babe! They’re all up there!”

It was my turn to blink then, the alcohol slowing my ability to think functionally, before it finally hit me. My head snapped up towards the front of the room, where, low and behold, stood my four idiots.

Shit, I really needed to slow down.

But that was just a passing thought before I threw myself back up and out of my seat to whoop loudly for them, seemingly having lost all sense of decorum- or whatever it was that these toffpots loved to go on about- my anxiety having been well and truly chucked out the window.

The boys all appeared to glance over at me then, and I heard Carly snort behind an extravagant centrepiece just below me when the four of them laughed. Matty, the honest to God twat who was stood holding the award over by the mic, smirked though too, and it was so shit-eating that I could easily see it from across the floor. Instantly I knew what was coming. 

“Oh and would you look at that, the wonderful Birdie has returned!” Matty shouted out, eyes squinting with the extremity of his grin as he leant in closer over the podium, “Where you been then, B? Missed it, sweetheart! Ross reckoned you popped to the loo’s- pretty snazzy, ain’t they?”

“Felt like a queen!” I quipped right back, apparently unable to bite my tongue. 

The lot of them seemed to appreciate it though, as did some of the room.

“Our poor Georgie was a little lost on the way up, babe! But don’t worry, G, we’re all sorted now.” Matty teased, winking over at the drummer stood to his right. George rolled his eyes, but his mouth was curled to one side in a way that couldn’t be helped. “For everyone who doesn’t know the lovely Birdie! She has been with us sorry lot since the very start.”

“Before it.” Ross cut in from behind him, which sent Matty’s head nodding.

“Yeah! Before it even!” He corrected himself and then pointed the tip of their Brit award towards me, “Don’t think we could’ve made it this far without her, in truth. Probably would’ve had a big massive blow up and never have spoken to each other again, knowing us. But she’s the glue that binds us. Always.”

My heart swelled in my chest so much it almost hurt to breathe, and I couldn’t even bring myself to care for the hundreds of people sat in this room, never mind watching it all unfold on the tele, I’d just never felt so appreciated, especially upon seeing the rest of the boys all nod solemnly in agreement. I wiped haphazardly at my cheeks.

“But, as I was trying to say, long before we were all so rudely interrupted!” Matty went on, earning a round of chuckles throughout the arena. “We are beyond privileged to be here at all, and to have been nominated three times, too. Well, I ‘spose it just shows that we’re doing something right.”

I forced myself to sit back down at that and let the four of them carry on with their thanks. It was so beyond strange to sit through though, I don’t think it had ever really hit me just how much they’d grown and seeing them up there was all the proof I needed.

I thought back to the band practices, to the gigs in shitty dive bars and pubs, to touring and seeing them play for thousands of beaming faces. It reminded me of Carly and Adam’s wedding, and the birth of the band’s first baby. Made me think of Ross’s face when he’d come over to Matty’s after his first proper date, how buzzed he’d been, the look in his eyes. All of it had me wishing for the simpler times strung out by the pool and on the school’s playing fields. 

The years had seemed to pass us by so quickly.

I saw it in the wrinkled smile Hann gave Carly, the greying stands in Matty’s hair, and how G’s knees groaned whenever he sat down- though he’d never willingly admit it.

My family. They’d given me so much, filled many a hole in my war torn heart, but I don’t think they had any actual idea how deeply their presence was felt in me. And so as I stood once more to give another lungful of cheers alongside the rest of the audience, I vowed to make sure that they each knew just how loved they were and how proud they made me.

— 

“Yeah, yup. Of course! No, we do do peonies this time of year. Yes, no need to worry it’ll all be taken care of.” I pressed the phone against my shoulder and ear so that I could grab a nearby pen and paper to write a few details down, then hummed watching on as Delia came out the back of the shop. “Okay, and is that all? No, no, thank you! So it’ll be delivered on the Thursday, is that alright? Yeah. Okay, okay. You’re most welcome! Alright, have a good rest of your day.” Then I finished off the call with a classic British goodbye that always seemed to go on a little too long.

Delia was smiling at me now as she placed a couple of empty pots by the counter, hair plaited down the length of her back and with a pair of reading glasses tangled in its top. “Another order?” 

I hummed again with a happy smile at her ask, finishing off the address I’d just taken. “Yup! Big one too.”

“Oo, how lucky we are.” Delia retorted with a small chuckle and a pleased little smile of her own. It’d been a good week, lots of orders, which was promising after the past month we’d had. She glanced over to the clock on the far wall, then back to me, “You still skiving off early tonight?”

Skiving was hardly the term I’d use, but with a fond roll of my eyes, I nodded at her. “I am. That still okay?” Already knowing it was.

She tutted, waving me off. “You know it is. Just letting you know that he’ll be here any minute now.”

My eyes widened and I was quick to spin around to cast a glance at the time. “Shit.” I murmured to myself, listening to the faint laughter Delia gave as I undid my apron and hurried to tidy up what was left of my last bouquet.

“Leave it, love. I’ll be here another hour or so.”

I frowned, then shook my head, always one to clean up my own messes, but I was interrupted then by the shop door’s jingle. Both Delia and I looked up at the same time to find a familiar figure stepping through its archway, he wore his usual cheeky smile and had eyes that looked more alive than I’d seen in a long while. 

Well, I hadn’t really seen him in a long while, he’d been away on tour with the guys for months now and I’d only gotten small glimpses of him through texts and calls, as well as the odd sporadic visit between us both when we were really feeling the distance.

“George.” I breathed out, recognising the tension I’d been feeling for weeks now finally fall from off my shoulders. I couldn’t bring myself to move though, to race on over and throw myself into him like they did on the tele- mostly because that just wasn’t our style. But I did grin, couldn’t have stopped the beam of it in all honesty, and watched him walk the length of the flower shop only to pause about a foot away with his hands tucked neatly behind his back.

“Heya, Birdie. Fancy seeing you here, ey? And still not ready too. Ain’t already regretting having agreed to let me move in, are you?”

He was teasing. His favourite pastime had always been teasing me. But his words still resonated and as much as I wished to reassure him that that was most definitely not the case, I was still me and if he wanted to be a twat, then I could be an even bigger one. 

“Might be.” I sighed deliberately and slowly moved around behind the counter to hang my apron up on its original hook, before glancing over to where Delia still stood, wearing an amused smirk of her own. Far too used to our antics by now. “Just keep thinking about my lovely little flat being invaded by all your man-ness.”

“My man-ness?” George quizzed, withholding an obvious chuckle whilst he raised a questioning brow over the till at me. 

I hummed, tutting lightly before I glanced back at my boss. “You know what I mean, don’t you, Deils? The boxers and socks thrown about everywhere, wet towels left on the bathroom floor, having to clear up after not just yourself but them as well.”

“Like having a dog.” Delia immediately agreed with a dip of her head, “Eat whatever you feed them and don’t give you a minute alone.”

I snorted whilst George just shook his head at both of us.

“Well, most dogs don’t leave and come back baring gifts.”

“Eh, you’d be surprised.” Delia countered but by then I was already intrigued.

“Gifts, you say?” I questioned him, pressing my hip into the counter to rest my chin against my fist.

“Hm,” George hummed in low confirmation, those eyes of his dancing back and forth between my own, “But you know, could always just head on over to Ross’s, sure he’d be fine with housing me for a couple nights…”

I rolled my eyes at the very thought, “As if! He’s probably glad to see the back of you for a while. I’ve heard stories about tour, G. Remember that.”

It was his turn to snort then. “Most likely. Delia, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare bed going for a poor bloke who’s been fed empty promises and chucked out on his arse, would you?”

Delia sighed and shook her head, although she was still sporting a fond smile. “The pair of you. I swear.” She let go of a soft chuckle before checking my hip and shooing me off, “Get on out of here, would you? Driving me up the wall already.”

“You love us really.” I shot back easily, but was all too happy to oblige, rounding the till to grab my coat and bag before acknowledging that I was now standing a foot away from him once again. It’d been far too long. “Hey.” I said sheepishly.

George rolled his eyes at my awkwardness and made a grab for my hand, pulling me in close and pressing a kiss to my forehead before he slunk his arm around my waist. I let myself fall further into his embrace, taking in his familiar build, the aftershave he adored, the tightness of his hold.

“You ready to go?” He asked me gently and I dipped my head to hide the warmth of my smile, fingers finding a belt loop on his jeans.

“You sure you’re alright with me leaving early?” I said once more to Delia, hating having to leave her in the shop on her own.

“Yes! I’ve only told you about thirty times already, lovely. I’ll be more than fine.” The older woman immediately shot back, palms splayed on the countertop whilst she shook her head at me for umpteenth time today. “I think you forget I’ve been running this shop for well over a decade now, and I’ve been doing alright.”

My cheeks burned a tad at her words, but I just couldn’t seem to help it, once you were one of my people you were in for life. And I took care of the ones I held close. “Sorry, Deils. I know I’m being exhausting, I just-”

“Care.” Both her and George said simultaneously.

And I glared meekly at the pair then huffed, “Well.”

George chuckled beside me, the sound vibrating against the skin of my cheek, and could only seem to pull me impossibly closer, “Too much, sometimes.”

I threw my free hand up in the air with a light laugh, “Right. Sorry I’m overly considerate! But there are worst things you could be, you know. Like rude? Reckon the pair of you would know a thing or two about that.”

“Oh, gerroff it.” Delia laughed delightedly, tutting at me. George seemed content to just continue on grinning. “Go on, get out of here before I chuck you out.”

“You heard the lady, B. Don’t wanna overstay our welcome.” George added as he begun to usher us towards the door, but I saw the sweet smile he flashed the woman before the bell chimed once more. “Lovely seeing you again, Delia.”

“You too, be sure to pop back in before you head off on the road again.”

He laughed but assured her with a promising nod, “Will do.”

—

“That’ll be six fifty, sweetheart.”

I smiled and handed it over, pulling the cocktail I’d ordered across the bar whilst I scoped the place. 

It had been just a typical Tuesday night for me, I’d been in joggers, bra long gone, and curled up in front of the tele, but then George had phoned, spouting this and that about the album, telling me to meet the lot of them at a club down in Canning Town. 

I had no idea whether they’d started, finished, or just scrapped the whole thing, but it’d been doing everyone’s head in for months now, and for G to just call up and send a cab to fetch me out of the blue had me intrigued, so obviously I’d gone.

Only, they had yet to arrive. Fucking London. I swear as much as I loved it most days, you could hardly move an inch without it feeling like the entire city was shifting with you. Our flat was a lot further than the studio, but tonight the roads were crammed pack with traffic that had managed to work its way onto the A12, so I already knew that they’d be a little behind. I was merely thankful I’d had the foresight to skip the cab ride and just jump the tube.

A graze to my left arm then pulled me from my thoughts though and I glanced over to find a fella stood crowding the bar beside me, he was tall, blond, and although he appeared to be waiting on the bartender he was also a little too close for that to be his only intent. But me being me, I simply shuffled over a tad to give him some room and continued to sip at my drink, eyes still trained on the club’s entrance.

“Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to crowd you.” I heard the bloke say from beside me and his hand brushed my elbow as he took a polite step away.

“You’re alright.” I waved off, not really paying him much mind now that the bartender had worked his way back over to take this side’s order.

It was nearing almost eleven now and so I popped my phone out of my purse to see if G had sent me an update. He had, almost ten minutes ago in fact, but apparently I hadn’t heard it over the noise.

G: Stuck in traffic Won’t be long though x

I smiled and shot him a quick text back, saying I’d have a large talisker waiting for him.

It was only when I’d flicked it back off, not bothering with whatever else had popped up, that the guy caught my attention again. He’d already cheersed the bartender for his drink, coloured something ruddy, and then granted me a small smile when our sights crossed.

“I love the watch.” He said to me, dark eyes shooting downward to the antique that adorned my wrist.

Caught mostly by surprise, I found myself looking down at it too. It wasn’t much of a statement piece, dainty if anything and odd in its design due to the age, but it held a lot of sentimental value and was something I rarely ever parted with. Hardly anyone passed comment on it though. 

“Oh, thanks.” I replied, drink already back on the bar before I allowed my thumb to graze across it’s glass face briefly. “It was a gift.”

The man hummed around a swirl of his drink, “Looks rather old, got to be at least sixty now?”

I grinned and my surprise stuck with me, he was almost on the mark there. “Around about, it was given as a present to my grandparents on their wedding day. One of their friends gave them one each.”

That answer warranted a little shock of its own, I supposed. If you knew what to look for you’d see that the watch was a Hans Wilsdorf design from the mid forties and the one my grandad had worn completed a matching set. To say that they’d both been given as a gift, especially way back then, was amazing, but even more so seeing that both my grandparents had been working class.

“Can I?” He questioned and dipped his head down at it, asking for a closer look. 

He appeared to know a little about watches from what I’d grasped, or at least had a fondness for them, and seeing as it wasn’t the strangest thing to ever happen to me in a club, I held out my arm to let him. 

“It’s beautiful, well looked after.” He complimented sincerely with careful eye, “May I?” I frowned at his question, unsure on what he’d meant, but nodded once and was only slightly surprised when he took a gentle hold of my wrist to turn it over and glance at the clasp. “Even the engravings have kept.”

I smiled when he allowed me my hand back, glancing down at the watch again, the dim lights over the bar glinted across the metal. “It’s even got a small inscription on the back too.” I felt inclined to add, the chiseled words having stuck with me ever since I’d first seen them. 

The stranger smiled along with me, as though he understood the emotions my revelation held. “Do they have a story?” He wondered, before adding, “The friend behind the gift.”

It wasn’t a well kept secret, the background of my grandad, the friends he’d kept, the men he’d known. But it wasn’t one I’d heard very much of until the visits I’d taken to my Nana’s long after he had died and I’d left home.

“You could say that.” I chuckled and let my arm relax in my lap once more, “He was a… business man, of sorts. Had known my grandad since they were boys, grew up together.”

“A business man?” The man lifted an elegant brow, mouth following.

“Of sorts.” I reminded with a smirk.

“Oh, like that I see.” He smiled charmingly in retort, “Lots of business men mulling about in the fifties and sixties. Any big names I might know?”

I snorted softly, glad he’d caught on so quickly. “Probably. But I’m no snitch, so you’ll be hearing none.”

He narrowed a pair of dark eyes at me in a manner of teasing at that, and on any other girl they might’ve worked, might’ve even disarmed them. But, I was already happy, happier than I’d ever planned on being actually. “And here I was, thinking we were becoming fast friends.”

With a light laugh, I picked up my drink. “I have enough friends.”

“Oh, that hurts, darling.” The man instantly quipped back, raising a ring clad hand to cover his chest faintly. Yeah, he was definitely playing a game here, but just as I’d been about to affirm the fact that I wasn’t and also had a boyfriend, he spoke up again, “Go on, at least let me know the message engraved on the back.”

I peered over at him for a moment and he only quirked his brow in turn, I put my glass back down on the counter to unhook the first clasp on the watch, not enough for it to slip off (I wasn’t a fucking idiot) but so much so that I could flip the face on its front. And there, in a curved font, was written ‘Family has a way of being found amongst friends’.

“Wow.” The man murmured and I hummed softly in agreement, our heads bowed closely to read the inscription together in the dim lights. “Very wise words.”

I glanced up and smiled at him, ready to reply before a hand snaked its way around my waist. My head shot up at the touch and was greeted with the many faces of the band, but most importantly, George.

“You made it!” I beamed at them all, already shuffling over a bit to make room for the boys. Ross was already leaning against the bar though, ordering in a round, Hann seemed to follow his lead after gifting me an strained smile, which was confusing in itself, until I saw Matty’s shit-eating grin and felt George’s hand grow firmer on my hip.

“We did! Seems like you barely noticed though, love. Havin’ fun tonight, are we?” Matty baited, he was almost singing and his expression was nothing short of gleeful. He reached between me and the bloke I’d been speaking to to grab at my drink. “Cheers, B.” He added, raising the glass to his lips and downing what remained of it.

I rolled my eyes, albeit fondly. “You can buy me another now, Healy.”

Matty hissed theatrically through his teeth as though he was weighing on the thought, “Dunno about that one, sweetheart. Seems as though you’ve got bigger shit to worry about here.”

I pursed my lips in confusion just as the curly haired singer slid from view and then glanced up at George, who stood towering beside me. I poked at his side, “Not gonna even say hello? Been waiting ages for you lot.”

George glanced down at me at that and seemed to take a deep breath before he finally smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to my hair, “Hello, Birdie. Been behaving?”

My forehead pinched at his words, but when I looked up I saw the darkened haze his eyes held and felt my breath hitch. I wasn’t sure if it was down to the lighting in the club or something other, but whatever it was it had my emotions warring.

George turned away before I could mutter a single sound. “Sorry, mate. Don’t think I caught your name.”

It hit me then. 

G was jealous. And oh, how lovely that thought was. 

I was quick to dim the smirk that toyed with my lips upon the realisation and pulled a little bit away from his hold to offer the stranger I’d been sat with a truly apologetic smile, “Oh God, yeah, I didn’t either!”

The man’s stare darted between the pair of us before it landed back on me, he masked his confusion well and said, “Tom.” Then stuck a hand out to properly introduce himself, but before I could even think to take it, George beat me to it. 

I blinked.

“George. Not to be rude though, mate. But she’s already taken, so if you don’t mind?”

Startled by his harsh comment and the jerk of George’s head, I blanched and was hasty to reassure the man sat at the bar, “Don’t mind him.” Then turned to my suddenly temperamental boyfriend, “G, we were just talking about my watch. What’s up with you?”

He raised a single brow in retort but didn’t let up on the continuous stare he had on the stranger. Tom, who looked extremely fucking uncomfortable, merely held up a hand. “Didn’t mean to overstep.” He declared before he set his sights back on me, “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way. But it really was a pleasure meeting you, hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”

I fish-mouthed slightly but nodded, “Yeah, sorry. You too.”

The man granted the pair of us a tiny smile and then let himself get swept up in the club’s crowd. I immediately spun around to face George.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

He had the cheek to reel back from my hissed words, acting as though I was the one being outrageous here. “Me? I didn’t do anything!”

“You were so rude!” I countered and felt his hand slip a tad from its place on my hip, “We were just talking!”

“He was chatting you up!” He immediately argued, “Anyone could see that from a mile off!”

“He was interested in my watch! And even if he was trying to chat me up, don’t you trust me enough to know when to draw the line?” I sniped back, all the earlier amusement I’d felt drained from my body. 

The skin between his brows pinched as he blinked and the palm placed on the small of my back splayed a little further, his voice softened, “Of course I fucking do, Birdie. Doesn’t mean I like watching people like him fawn all over you.”

“G,” I sighed, “We really were just talking.”

He dragged a roughened hand across his face before it dropped completely to his side and saw the imploring look he then wore, “Do you know how it felt, to walk in and spot you and him knocking heads, so lost in the moment that you didn’t even hear me call out your name?”

No, I didn’t.

Slowly I raised both my arms up to tug on the lapels of the blazer he’d thrown on, glancing up at him with a sincere smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. I can see what it might’ve looked like from an outside perspective. But I’d never do that to you, George.”

The tension in his shoulders seemed to loosen at my words, they were no longer hunched up by the lobes of his ears and instead settled where they were supposed to be. 

“I know.” He whispered quietly, but even over all the club’s noise I heard him. The hand on my back pushed against me to bring me closer to his chest and I went, smiling at the gentle touch of the fingers that grasped my chin. “I know.” 

I appreciated the reassurance. 

“And I wasn’t lost in the moment with him, just so you know. More in the story behind the watch.” I added, releasing the hold on his jacket so that my hand could wrap around his wrist, feeling the beat of his pulse there. A familiar rhythm. 

George glanced down at the watch Nana had gifted me all those years ago and then towards the matching face sat on his own arm. A pair reunited.

He knew. He knew the stories, all the tales. He knew the love and the loss. He knew how much I missed her. How much I longed to see her one more time. And in return, I knew he felt very much the same. Nana had taken George in as one of her own before any of us had even realised, called him up more than me some weeks, and in the lead up to her death she’d wanted to see him, to gift him her husband’s watch. He’d sobbed when she’d died and had given quite the speech at her funeral. I knew he understood.

“I love you.” I told him simply, kissing the thumb that had come to rest on my bottom lip, his eyes trained on mine.

“And I love you. I’m sorry for being a dick.” He comforted me. I hummed with a foolishly fond smile. 

“Good, then you can bully Matty into getting me that drink.” And with that said, I let him go, watching as he rolled his eyes at the order before wandering a few feet away to where Matty was sprawling himself across the bar to get a better look at the champagne bottles they had to offer. I guess we were celebrating then. 

Too lost in watching George corral his best mate from off the counter, I jumped a tad when Ross sidled up beside me, a fruity cocktail in hand.

“What is it with you and handsome strangers then?” He asked me casually and I snorted out an unexpected laugh.

“Dunno really. Why, you jealous?”

Ross wiggled his brows at me, “Wouldn’t that put a spin on the evening.”

The two of us shared a conspiratorial grin and he finally told me why the hell I’d been dragged out of my flat tonight.

—

“Vegas, ba-by!”

“Whoo!”

“VEGAS! VEGAS! VEGAS!”

“Alright, you lot.” George laughed from the backseat of the limousine Matty had rented out for the night- a bit over the top in my opinion, but when in Las Vegas, right? “Calm it down, will you? Only just got here.”

“Oh piss off, George!”

“Should I take my top off?”

“Yeah, fuck off, grandad!”

“I feel like I should take my top off.”

“Shit, is that Elvis?”

“I’m gonna take my top off!”

“Oi!” George’s arms wrapped around my middle and pulled me back down from the sunroof before I could, and I landed in his lap with an oof sound. “None of that, please.”

Hann snorted in the lounger across from us, a bottle of Smirnoff clutched in his right hand as he poured another shot, but was caught off guard by the shirt that came sailing at his face. It was then that Matty’s head popped back into view. 

“No worries, B. Ross took his top off in your stead.”

George snorted, Hann sighed, and I jumped back up to join in on the fun. 

“G, hold this, would you?” I said, top already balled up in my hand and cleavage to the wind whilst I grinned widely at all the lights that Sin City had to offer me.

…

We all ended up on the strip soon enough, limo long gone and the five of us marvelling at all it had to offer. We only had a night to pack full to the brim with stupid choices and a shit ton of money, because tomorrow we were set to head back on the road, headed off to a festival not too far for the band’s next show.

“Where to first then?” Hann asked everyone. 

“Caesars Palace!” The boys all chorused, but me, I had my mind set on other things. “Magic Mike.”

Matty looked over at me for a short moment whilst the rest of the guys simply raised their brows. “Yeah, alright then.” He agreed all too easily enough and that was it. “Magic Mike here we come!” Matty declared loudly before setting off, “Ross, mate, don’t get hard and embarrass us, alright?”

Ross’s bewildered squark was lost in the crowd of people we got swept up in as well as our obnoxious laughter.

…

It seemed that Magic Mike had been an experience and a half, and not just for me either. Matty left the show with a Cheshire sized grin, both Hann and G looked pink in the cheeks, and Ross… Ross was flushed and sporting glassy eyes. I’d been pretty chuffed with their reactions all in all, especially when one of the dancers had tried to drag George of all people up onto the stage. He’d refused adamantly, mind, probably too fearful of the fan’s reactions, but the woman beside us- well into her sixties and sporting a cane- had been all too happy to offer herself up instead. 

We’d wandered off to the casinos after that, but instead of heading straight towards the first table we saw or scoping out the machines, we all seemingly decided on shoving as much alcohol as we could possibly procure down our throats. To say that the aim of the night wasn’t getting sloshed beyond repair would be an utter lie. But this was Vegas and I would not stand to have it any other way.

Saying that though, with all the alcohol a lot of the night seemed to blur, sort of merge into one, the strip lights started to look like rainbows, the cars that passed appeared more Pac-Man like than anything else, and bad ideas seemed like the smartest thing we could do. 

Which is how George and I managed to evade the rest of the band in one of the local bars and escape to where we were currently stood, outside of a tiny chapel a street away from an In-and-Out. Classy. But I’d take it.

“You sure about this?”

“Are you? It was your idea!”

“With you? Always.”

We both seemed to giggle at that.

“I could really go for a burger, you know.”

“B, aren’t you like a plant person?”

I snorted. “Vegetarian, you mean?”

“Hm, same thing, in’t it? Don’t think birds actually eat burgers though.”

Birds. “Well for one, I’m not an actual bird. And b, have you ever seen a seagull?”

“Shit, yeah. You’re right.” A thoughtful pause. “Think I want a burger too.”

“Alright, after this then?”

“Yeah, alright.” He grabbed my hand a little tighter at that and I looked over to find him grinning like a loon. “After this.”

…

I startled awake to loud incessant knocking and immediately groaned into my pillow at the pitiful pounding it kickstarted in my head. I’d never felt so worn and sluggish, and a hellish fury rose within me at the startle, but seeing as the knock-ee couldn’t see through walls, I supposed they still had no idea that they were currently the cause of World War III.

Somewhere to the right of me, George seemed to wake also, grunting at the onslaught of noise and huffing loudly, “Fuck off!”

I winced at the jarring sound of his voice, and it appeared he did too, but was grateful when the banging finally stopped. Only it wasn’t for long because as soon as it did, it started up again and was joined by Matty’s head-splittings shouts.

“Open! This! Fucking! Door!”

He was relentless and somewhere, in the very depths of my mind, I found it odd how he wasn’t in his or someone else’s hotel room nursing a violent hangover of his own.

“Now! Open this door right fucking now!”

It stopped again for a moment, catching me enough by surprise that I dug myself out from under a plethora of sheets. Then let my eyes slip close again in annoyance when a second voice sounded alongside Matty’s own.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to either calm down or leave.” Came the muffled order, “We’ve had multiple complaints in the last five minutes alone.”

“Calm down? Calm down! Mate, I don’t think you have any right to ask that of me right now! I’m freaking the fuck out here. I’m beyond fucking pissed! YOU HEAR ME?” He seemed to shout louder then, obviously aiming that last bit at us. George huffed beside me but thankfully made to move. “FUCKING FUMING! I MEAN, WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE- FRIENDS, EVEN! DO THAT TO A-”

The tyrant roaring cut off then and I peered across the room to watch as George ripped the hotel door open and tugged Matty into the suite by his elbow, all whilst wearing nothing but a thin sheet. 

“Will you shut up, you mouthy twat?” He muttered, levelling Matty with a glare nothing short of hellish, though was only met with a childish scowl in turn, before he looked back at the bellhop, a well groomed man with sleek black hair and a thin lipped smile. I groaned internally. “Look sorry, mate. He’s had a rough night, we’ll make sure to keep the noise down from now on.”

“Rough night?” Matty snarled with an undisguised snort- whatever had him this riled up was sure to have been big. But George gave him another look of disdain, apparently not all that pleased to have been so rudely awoken and forced to deal with his bullshit, and he relented to a scowl. I kept myself hidden beneath the covers.

“It won’t happen again.” George quietly assured the hotel worker and sighed heavily once the man had given him a curt nod and the door had shut. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” He immediately asked, rounding on the curly haired idiot now stood in our room, before taking a deep breath and stalking his way back across the floor, dragging the sheet with him. I attempted to sit up.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you! I can’t fuckin’ believe you two!”

With a frown that was more of a pained grimace, I grabbed a random shirt from off the floor beside the bed and tugged it on- it was George’s, but thankfully it’d been the one he’d chucked off before we’d headed out last night.

Thinking back to last night though, I rubbed at my bleary eyes and tried to recollect the events that had happened after the fishbowls we’d devoured at a themed bar I could not for the life of me remember the name of. But they just wouldn’t come.

“What’s wrong, Matty?” I questioned, my voice all gravelly, and I faintly recalled then having screamed quite a bit- in all sorts of situations. My cheeks flushed at the vague memories that swam towards the forefront of my mind.

“What do you mean, what’s wrong? B, how fucking could you!” Matty quipped straight back, looking just as grim as I felt, his hair in disarray, still in last nights clothes, and stinking up a storm.

“Matt. I need you to slow down, my head’s fucked enough as it is and you’re not helping.” I told him, scrunching my face up as a sudden wave of nausea rocked through me. 

“Exactly.” George grunted out and I looked over to see him forcing up a pair of boxers, beyond the point of caring if he had an audience or not.

Matty glared between the pair of us, but then George sighed and sat himself back down on the bed, and Matty’s narrowed eyes seemed to soften. “You honestly have no clue what I’m on about, do you?”

I rubbed at my temples, “No idea.”

“Hm.” George muttered in a huffed agreement and swiped a hand across his face before he stilled in his entirety.

“What?” I said, confused by the way he’d gone so stock-still, “If you’re gonna chuck up there’s a bin right there.” I added just in case, gesturing halfheartedly over towards the cluttered desk not too far from the bed.

George didn’t seem to hear me though, instead just turned very carefully and very slowly in his seat to look over at me.

“What?” I asked him again, this time a little more frenzied, throwing my hands down onto the duvet that covered my lower half in a huff. My patience had already been worn thin, and he really wasn’t making things much better. 

George’s gaze seemed to follow my hands though, before his head instantly snapped back up in Matty’s direction like a rubber band that’d been cut. 

“Oh shit.”

Matty rolled his eyes. “Yeah, oh shit.”

“What? What’s goin- Oh, shit.”

My eyes caught on the glinting stone stationed on my left hand and my breath caught, all thoughts fleeing as my lungs refused to function any further than that. Oh shit indeed. 

“I- What does that even mean?” My gaze darted from Matty’s bewildered face to George’s shellshocked expression and then to the man’s matching hand. “Christ. What did we do?”

I was really freaking the fuck out now and wondered briefly if this was all just an alcohol induced dream, if I’d had one too many shots, or stumbled too hard and ended up face first in a fountain.

But then the door to our hotel room shot open and in swanned Ross looking like Camilla on Coronation day, as well as Adam who was scrolling frantically through his phone. 

Ross seemed to have hardly been affected by any of last night’s antics, still looking as lovely as ever, and was unwelcomely singing a familiar Billy Idol tune as the two of them wandered in further. “Hey little sister, what have you done? Hey little sister, who's the only one?”

I chucked the nearest thing I had to me at his giant head, which ended up being a small red box, but he merely caught it in midair and grinned. “It's a nice day to start again. It's a nice day for a-” He carried on with his wind-up, peering down at the box passingly before his eyebrows shot up to a scary degree. He whistled lowly, cutting himself completely off, then let his wide eyes glance over to George and I. “White wedding.”

Those last two words had the entire room falling silent. The hotel even, hell, maybe the entire fucking planet! I could barely hear anything above the beating of my own heart that had started banging like a metal drum in my ears.

Belatedly, I forced myself to try and gauge George’s reaction to this whole thing but my boyfriend- oh God, my fiancé now? Husband?!- appeared to already be staring right back at me. His expression gave nothing away except for the apparent shock swimming in his eyes. I wondered if I mirrored it exactly.

Matty, who’d been silent ever since the revelation had hit the two of us, now seemed to jump start and cautiously he made his way over to my side of the bed, precariously taking perch in front of me before he then took my hand- the one without the life-altering reminder, thankfully. Small mercies. 

“B? You okay?”

My mouth was dropped open in utter shock but slowly I turned my head to stare up at my best friend, the boy who’d been with me through everything. Everything but this it seemed. 

“Hey, love. You’re alright. Just a big shock to the system, yeah? You’re alright.”

His quiet reassurances didn’t do much, but they helped ebb the fizzing thoughts my mind didn’t have the capability to process a bit. I forced myself to inhale, to take a breath, but it must’ve seemed rather abrupt to Matty who hastily drew himself closer to place a hand on the back of my neck.

“Just breathe. I’ve got you. Breathe. You’re alright.”

I started nodding, I think. Attempted to absorb the information whilst I breathed in and out, breathing like Matty told me to. Another set of hands found me soon enough. Mindlessly I acknowledged the dip in the bed beside me, as well as the careful fingers that threaded themselves through my hair, and then the loving thumb which trailed sweetly down the length of my forearm.

“You feeling any better?” Someone asked a little while later, and I nodded slowly, forcing my head back up and my eyes open once I no longer felt like the room was caving in on me. 

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, love. Nothing to be sorry for.” The voice assured me, it was George, I realised.

“Feel like a twat. For reacting like that I mean. I didn’t, I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t want to-” I could barely bring myself to say it, but George seemed to understand me nevertheless. 

We’d spoken about it before, of course. But not since we’d gotten back together and only ever when we’d been kids, way back before the band had taken off, before life had chewed us up and spat us back out. 

I’d never been gone on the idea, marriage was a big deal, scary in a sense. Seeing what it had done to my parents, to my mum after losing my dad, I never wanted to end up like that. Too terrified to be alone and too desperate to fill that void with anything and anyone. My skin itched even now at the very thought.

But I was also old enough to realise that whether George and I were… married or not, I’d still be just as destroyed if I lost him.

George had vaguely agreed with me back then, though I do remember one night, at Nana’s the summer after our first visit there, where he’d said something different. We’d been curled up on the guest bed, wine drunk and happy, he’d held me close, half naked with our arms and legs entangled, he’d whispered and I’d barely even heard him, slipping tiredly into sleep. But he’d said it and I’d remembered, even after all these years.

“If I ever did get married, it’d have to be to you. I mean, you’re an anomaly, Birdie. You’d make sure it worked out, that everything would be okay. Reckon then, it’d all be fine.”

I recalled myself smiling sleepily at his words but unable to truly believe them.

George loved me and I loved him. And that was all that mattered, right?

Nothing could change that. It hadn’t then, and it wouldn’t now. I knew that.

“Wait, how did you lot even find out?” I forced myself to ask the rest of the room, chest still aching from the panic I’d put my body through, thoughts starting to numb the headache of my hangover. I glanced between the rest of the boys, but my sights settled on Matty seeing as though he’d been the first one to barge in. “Well?” I prompted. 

Matty scratched at the back of his head and I watched his mouth quirk up into something that resembled a smile, only it was anxious and strained. Didn’t reach his cheeks, let alone his eyes.

“Twitter.” Hann answered for the three of them, already handing his phone over. 

George wrapped an arm around my hips and shuffled closer to view the screen, whilst I had the pleasure of scrolling aimlessly through a feed of fan reactions and news outlets. The panic that was still there came back in full force but I wouldn’t let it overwhelm me like I had before, instead opting to swallow it all down and continue on.

“How did they even find out?” George questioned with a strange pitch to his voice upon seeing multiple pictures of the two of us loving it up outside the chapel we’d obviously chosen, as well as us eating by a window at a nearby In-and-Out Burger it seemed. Fucking hell, was all I could think.

Ross tossed the box I’d thrown at him earlier towards George and we both glanced down at it. It hadn’t just been an ordinary box and I could see that now, what with the sleek embossed logo for a Las Vegas jewellers sat proudly on the top.

“Couple of people saw you inside the shop, called the paps. Things started to add up when they caught sight of you at that chapel, I ‘spose.” The bearded giant told us and I felt the lump in my throat start to grow. 

I’d been pictured with the band and George before, on tour mostly, but sometimes at events and such, but rarely ever papped in public. Not like this at least.

I let my head drop onto George’s shoulder and wielded my eyes tightly shut, I wanted to scream or cry, but I didn’t know whether it was in joy or utter fear.

Then I felt a soft pair of lips come to rest against my head and I moved slightly to wrap my arms around George’s middle, wincing when I realised I hadn’t even asked him how he was feeling.

“How are you taking all this? I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry.” I murmured into the curve of his arm, but he only seemed to press his face deeper into my hair.

“Look, we’d best give you some space, yeah?” I heard Adam start to say, voice echoing in the quiet room. “Let you get some clothes on and sort your heads out.”

“Yeah.” Matty breathed out in agreement and the bed shifted as he removed his weight from it, his hand squeezing my shoulder just the once.

“Maybe text us when you feel like talking, we can grab some food and bring it back up.” Ross suggested and I felt George nod above me, and together we sat there listening to footsteps pad their way out of the room. Leaving us alone again. 

—

So after that whole scandal, England’s very own Ross and Rachel eventually had to make their way back home. And yes, Ross and Rachel because let’s be honest here, if George and I were anyone amongst the Friends cast then we’d of course be those two. And I don’t know, Matty could probably play at being a good Phoebe, then Ross and Hann would end up as Joey and Chandler- work it out between yourselves on who’s who there. And I suppose that would leave the lovely Carly as our very own Monica. Only, this is all happening before season four, of course, and Carly is already back home waiting for her husband to touchdown. 

So maybe not. I don’t know! My mind was still in a right state after everything that had gone down in Vegas, and I’d hardly been able to process most of it due to tour and the festival, and the onslaught of fans and paps, as well as people back home. Denise had not been happy to find out the way she had, let’s just make that one thing known. 

And then there’d been George’s parents. 

Sighing quietly, I placed a hand over George’s own to still the nervous tapping that seemed constant nowadays and watched as he stilled for a moment, turning in his airplane seat to glance over at me. 

I allowed my body to mimic his movements, only pulling my leg up to press against the arm of the chair and resting my head to the side. I smiled softly at him, more than a little glad that we’d made the decision to take separate flights from the rest of the boys in attempt to throw off the media. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, letting him take my hand in his and not saying a word when he toyed with the silver band that had yet to leave my ring finger.

George shrugged a shoulder, gaze caught on the pretty stone. “I haven’t a clue what I’ll say, is all.”

I licked my lip in thought, still watching him closely. The plane back home probably wasn’t the best place to talk about this, but we’d hardly had a minute alone since Vegas, what with the tour and the guys and everybody else. And besides, if there were any privileges to take full use of when dating a musician you’d drunkenly married then it would most definitely be First Class seats. Everyone else around us was either dead to the world or wearing headphones. We were safe enough here.

“Did you answer yet? Or, are even you going to?”

He drew in a large enough breath before he answered me, but that seemed to be answer enough.

“I haven’t yet and I don’t know. I- They’ve called quite a bit, but mum left a voicemail the day after and later on dad sent a text.” He revealed and I tried to reign back my surprise, though it made sense now to how little he’d wanted his phone near him the past few days, even when he’d been casting it longing glances from across the length of the tour bus.

I swallowed. “Have you listened to it?”

He dipped his head in a nod but didn’t meet my eye, attention still so focused on the hand he held.

“Right… and have you read your dad’s message?” Another nod. This was so hard, I’d honest to God been dreading their reactions so I had no idea just how George was taking it all. I desperately wanted to just tug him in and never let him go again, hope that if he stayed wrapped up in a hug that the world would just leave him be. “Did,” I took a small breath to gather myself, “Did they react like you expected?” Badly, it could only mean badly.

I heard him let out a small and tired chuckle, “Mum did. Dad…”

Okay, so there was hope. There was still hope.

“I listened to the voicemail first, it was,” George inhaled sharply and I took note of the deep furrow between his brows, the way his touch softened on my hand, circling the ring. “It was a lot. I expected it though. The shame she felt I brought, getting married like that, looking the way we did, drunk and stupid. Her words, not mine. Said she wouldn’t be surprised if I was high out of my mind too, or if it was all just fake in an attempt to spurn her some more and get attention.”

Talk about being full of yourself. But I kept that thought to myself, I was angry yes, fuming even, but it was George’s call on how we handled this, because we would, together.

He sighed again, but finally looked back up at me. “She said a lot of other shit I can’t be arsed to think about anymore. But just know that I know that none of it’s true. Hurtful, yeah. Of course. But true?” He shook his head, “Nah.” He exhaled, “And I know we haven’t really,”

“Spoken about it?” I finished for him and he smiled, this tiny but fond thing that sent my heart stuttering.

“Yeah. But no matter what happens, this,” He tugged my palm up to his chest and held it between his hand and his heart, “This is the greatest thing I’ll ever accomplish.”

My eyes instantly prickled at that, just as my breath was knocked from deep within me. I had to fight to swallow and felt my hand clutch the cloth of his shirt.

“Me too.”

George grinned, a complete 180 to the tender smile he’d been wearing, but still so gut-wrenching. Only, in the very best way.

“Good.” He whispered to me, tens of thousands of feet up in the air, and lifted our joined hands to press a kiss to my skin. “Good.”

“So this is it? It’s sticking?” I asked him, hope already so high that I was sure it would shatter if he wasn’t there already holding his arms out towards me. 

He chuckled at my words and leant in close, fingers toying with my ring. “It’s sticking.”

My breath hitched and I found that I was grinning too, almost madly. Eyes trained on his whiskey brown, the very same I’d been staring into for well over a decade now. And still, they mesmerised me like no other.

“Good.” I whispered and finally closed the gap between us.

—

Life after getting hitched was, almost boring in a way? Things continued on as they always did, G in the studio and me at the flower shop. Our friends had gotten over the fact that we’d eloped on a whim- namely Matty, although he was still a little bitchy about it at times. And Denise had thrown us the loveliest party when we’d gotten back to the UK (not that anything could’ve stopped her, not even an apocalypse it would seem). 

The party had been a small affair with just the people we held nearest and dearest, and although it’d been to celebrate the two of us and our commitment to one another, it had also been a great excuse to see everyone we hadn’t seen in ages again, even if we did end up apologising to them every five minutes. George’s dad even ventured down to join in on the festivities, which was the biggest but best surprise yet. The two of them were now working hard on rekindling their relationship with the absence of his mother.

It was just the media that had yet to die down in truth, so we were forced to get used to seeing our ugly mugs plastered everywhere, online and on magazine shelves. Fans of the band were a little intrigued by the idea of George having someone permanent too, even if I had already been around for ages. But Matty had mentioned to me previously when I’d brought it up one evening, that only the older lot really knew of me, from gigs and old photos, hardly anyone knew that G and I had been together since we were kids, let alone having been in a relationship for a little over two years now. It was strange but I left it be.

It was summer again, finally, and everyone was currently taking up residence in Hann’s back garden. See, Carly had wanted to throw a bit of a get-together, have a barbecue now that the sun was back out and everyone was in London again, or at the very least England (cough, cough, Matty).

Hann had been unable to say no, typical for the two of them, and had started sending out invites via text as soon as. 

I was surprised I’d actually made it, in all honesty. Not that I’d had other plans or simply didn’t want to be there- there was no place on Earth I’d rather be than with this useless lot- but all week I’d been feeling like shit. But I’d been a bit under the weather for a short while now, on and off really, though I’d yet to go and see anyone about it. Ever since the crash and all that crap a couple years back, I’d really struggled with hospitals and doctors, hated the thought of them, even phoning up for G had me feeling queasy. 

This morning I’d felt beyond nauseous and more than a little crap when I’d woken up, but George had made breakfast after having popped out to the shops and had come back with a bouquet, as well as a hello from Delia, which had put me in much better spirits. So I’d gotten ready and forced myself into the car and had been quite thankful for doing so up until now.

We were all gathered out in the garden, the sun was shining bright, the grill was alight, drinks were being passed round, and me, I was absolutely fucking miserable. I was far too hot, even in my pretty sundress, feeling flustered beyond belief at the onslaught of emotions that kept on hitting me, and then to top it all off my stomach had been acting up since I’d sat down and caught a whiff of the onions on the grill.

I pressed a palm to the base of my neck as I struggled to keep my cool, breathing steadily whilst hardly paying attention to the chatter of the girls sat around me. It was the usual group of us, some of which I hadn’t seen for a good couple months, but I could not bring my body to simply just focus or stop irritating me in its entirety.

It was just as Matty swanned over, an arm flung round Waughy’s waist as the two of them talked, that I couldn’t stay sat there anymore. I was quick to flash the pair of them a welcoming grin but excused myself to make my way back inside.

“You okay?”

I glanced up at the voice, beyond grateful to have escaped the sun, and caught sight of Carly messing with some extra picky bits on the counter, salad and whatnot.

I forced another smile and nodded, “Yeah, just wanted to nip to the loo.”

Carly copied the sentiment, though gifted me a bottle of water that she had on hand before I could dash off, “Take that, you’re looking a little flushed, babe. Might help with the heat.”

My smile was more genuine this time around as I took her up on the offer, enjoying the crisp chill that lined the outside of the bottle. “Thanks. And yeah, reckon I’ll just sit in the shade for a bit.”

Carly went to say something else then but was thankfully pulled away by the toddler that came shuffling through the backdoor. I took the opportunity to hurry out of the kitchen and towards the downstairs bathroom, sliding in and shutting the door with a sigh.

I went straight on over to the sink and turned on the water just to wet my hands before taking up perch on the closed toilet lid, listening to the water trickle and flow, hoping it would calm me slightly. Then I took the chance to down half the bottle Carly had gifted me, a bit grim sure, but with the loo being my only escape I hardly had a choice here. The water was practically heaven sent and allowed me a second to take relief in the coolness the room had to offer, its chilly tiles and blinded window kept any and all sunbeams at bay.

But now that I had managed to evade the heat, I realised I’d been left with a rather prominent headache I hadn’t noticed earlier in my agitation. Knowing Hann though, he was always well prepared and probably kept a couple paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet.

I grinned when I got up and pulled open a door to find that I’d been right. I went to grab at the packet only to pause when I caught sight of something else sat on the shelf below it.

A box of pregnancy tests.

No, I thought. It wouldn’t make any sense. But it really seemed to hit me in that moment that maybe, just maybe everything I’d been feeling as of late could boil down to one single thing.

“No.” I repeated, this time out loud and accompanied by a disbelieving laugh. But still I found my hand reaching towards them.

I only reckoned that they were in there in the first place because Adam and Carly had given away the fact that they had wanted to start trying again a couple months prior. Around Easter time I think it had been.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, but they all seemed drawn to this singular idea, and although I already knew that it was stupid, almost incredibly so, to even think that I could be, well… I still allowed myself to grab at them and it was almost on autopilot that I pulled out a stick and shakily made my way back to the toilet.

I made quick work of it, all that water I’d been drinking seemed to help, and found myself leaning over the sink waiting for a stick to determine what I already knew would be false. It had to be. There was no other way.

But then. I guess there was.

My eyes widened and I reckoned I forgot how to breath let alone how to think when I caught sight of the exact opposite of what I’d been expecting. 

Oh and wasn’t that the worst word to use right then. Expecting.

A jolted knock at the door knocked me right back into reality and my wide eyes flew over towards it. I didn’t answer though, I didn’t have in me, but then the knock came again, followed by a, “B, you in there?”

Fuck, Matty. Of course it’d be Matty!

“Yeah?” I called back, voice as shaky as my legs seemed to be.

“You alright? Only, you looked a bit peaky out there, then Carls mentioned it too. Figured I’d come check.”

With trembling hands I pushed myself off of the sink and across the tiled bathroom floor, steeling myself before fiddling with the lock. “Fuck.” I muttered, shaking so severely now that I was surprised I was still standing.

“B?” Matty asked again, but I somehow managed to open the door a crack to find him stood on the other side, a pair of dark sunnies tucked into his effortless curls and his usual grin in place, although looking a tad bit wobbly. “You alright in there?”

I swallowed and before I could think better of it I said, “Get Ross.”

Matty’s expression crinkled in confusion and to be fair to him, it was a strange ask, I must’ve looked a right state, but I wasn’t asking for him or for George, I was asking after Ross.

“What? B, just let me in, will you. What’s goin’ on?”

I shook my head and held tightly onto the doorframe as though it was the only thing keeping me upright, it likely was. “I need Ross.”

The quizzical frown Matty wore only deepened but he backed up a bit, “Come on, stop being a prat. You’re acting weird, freaking me out a bit, in truth.” He chuckled faintly, obviously still conflicted, “Just let me in and we can talk, yeah?”

“Just fuck off, Matty! Call Ross, now.” I all but ordered and the surprise that fluttered through his features would’ve been surprising but I was too far gone to be paying attention to all of his many emotions when I could barely hold onto my own. “Please.”

His resolve seemed to crack at that and he looked at me for a long second before nodding swiftly, “Yeah, alright. Yeah, I’ll go get him.”

I swallowed down the choking sensation I suddenly felt crawling up my throat and nodded in reply, shutting the door before he even had the chance to run off.

“Fuck.” I hissed through my teeth, pressing my face against the bathroom door in an odd attempt to keep myself from sobbing outright.

Had I been too harsh? Matty had only wanted to help. I understood that. I did. But it was Matty, and as much as I fucking loved the daft idiot, this was not a scenario he was built for. Not at all. If I’d’ve let him in and he’d seen that test sat on the sink he’d have freaked out even worse than me. The whole house, no, the entire street would’ve known something was amiss the second he started having a mental breakdown. It was better this way.

And besides, I felt like I really needed my big brother for this one. This was real life shit, and as much as Ross and I bickered and fought, we had a relationship like no other. He was someone I’d always looked up to, someone who knew how to talk me down, to keep me grounded and centred. He had all the answers, and when he didn’t then he knew exactly what to say to sound as though he did. He’d know what to do, he’d sort it all out.

I jumped at the knock that came in that next moment, feeling the vibration buzz through my skull and only accentuating the headache I’d given myself, but still I moved towards the lock once more and was beyond grateful to just see Ross stood there, hunched a little to peek in through the gap at me with a smile.

“You called, your highness?” He remarked playfully and before I could even get the door open any further, the tears started flowing helplessly and I had to watch the way Ross entire expression went from playful to utter horror in a split second. “B, what happened?” He immediately asked, crowding against the door to shuffle in and I allowed him, watching him lock the door once more before I fell into his arms completely. 

“Shit. You’re alright, love. It’s okay.” He reassured me softly before carefully wrapping his arms around me, sheltering me from the rest of the world.

The two of us stayed like that for a while, I wasn’t sure how long in truth, enough to let the dull rock he’d started up calm me whilst listening to the faint murmuring of his voice. It was familiar and so very needed right then that I clung on tighter to the back of his shirt as I tried to muddle through my messy mind.

We pulled away soon after, though he still kept me at arms length whilst guiding us both over to the side of the small bath. Ross took a seat on its edge and I followed, thankful that he had the foresight to keep an arm wrapped around my shoulders to keep me close, otherwise I figured I might’ve slipped right into the tub.

“You wanna share with the class or am I gonna have to play a round of charades here?”

I chuckled wetly at his crap joke but it appeared to settle him a bit, being back on familiar ground.

I sniffed and smiled when a wad of tissue was shoved my way. “Ta. Sorry for um, all this. Just, I didn’t want to talk to anyone else.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, glad I could be some help.” Ross laughed, squeezing me a little tighter and assuring me that he meant it, “So, you gonna fill me in on what has you sobbing in Hann’s loo? There are burgers out there, mate, and hotdogs, fucking kebab skewers even! What’s there to moan about?”

I elbowed his side lightly, finding humour in his words just like he’d wanted. “I’m a fucking veggie, Ross.”

“Shit, yeah. Forgot about that detail.”

I rolled my eyes and then rubbed at my nose lightly, “Only known me since you were about ten, MacDonald.”

“And aren’t you grateful for it.” Ross quipped right back with a smirk, “Come on now, spill.”

I huffed and was forced to remember the terrifying detail I’d been trying to come to terms with, not that I really could. But before I could even utter a word I felt Ross go so utterly still beside me and instantly glanced back up to follow the direction of his gaze. He’d spotted it.

The world seemed to fall out from under me then, whether it was down to the realisation that he now knew too, or the fact that Ross had let go of me to grab at the stick on the sink, I didn’t know, but it was spinning and I only felt myself settle once more when Ross’s eyes finally locked on mine again.

“Ross?” I tried, attempting to gauge his reaction through a watery gaze.

He opened his mouth to speak but then quickly shut it again, glancing back down at the pregnancy test he held. Never had I ever in my life seen Ross speechless. But of course, I’d been the one to manage it.

“Ross, come on.” I gulped down a stutter, shifting on the edge of the bath as my entire body buzzed with nerves. “Say something. I need you to at least say something.”

He inhaled a large breath, big enough that it echoed off the tiles around us, before he finally looked back at me and said, “I’m not touching any of your piss right?”

I snorted in disbelief, because of course that’d be the first thing he’d say. “No, you twat, I put the lid back on.”

Ross sighed as though it was a huge relief- and I guess it was, I wouldn’t want to be touching his piss either- but I was relieved when he claimed his seat back beside me. “So, a baby huh?”

I blew out a breath and now that there was not much left to laugh about I felt a more sombre mood fall over us. “Maybe. Could be. I dunno.”

“Those are all the same answer, mate.”

Shooting him a look, Ross held up his hands and laughed lightly.

“I’m just saying, I mean, isn’t that how it works? You take a test and bish bash bosh, baby.”

With a snort I knocked into him lightly and rolled my eyes, “Sure, exactly like that.”

“You know what I mean.” He retorted, mimicking the movement before he glanced back down at the test he had yet to let go of. “Or you could take another? Just to be sure?”

I tongued at the inside of my cheek, thinking it over. I almost didn’t want to, one pregnancy test could be a fluke, but two? Even three? I’d have a fucking world class breakdown, move over Matty cause I’d definitely be taking the place as the groups most unhinged, or maybe I already was. Probably. We’d have to have a debate the next time I remembered. We liked those.

“Come on, Carls won’t mind and look,” Ross pushed, standing up and turning away from me, “I’ll even turn around so I don’t see.”

With a chuckle, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. Doing this once on my own had been hard enough, if I had to try again I don’t know what I’d do. “Alright.” I whispered and took another test from the box.

“You need me to hum or something?” Ross asked after a moment of shuffling from me. I turned the tap back on to try and cover up the sound, because I’d always been an awkward sort of pee-er. Was that even a word? But still struggled.

“Maybe. Or try the shower.”

“What like turning it on?” I could hear the frown in his voice.

“No, get in it, dickhead. Yes, I meant turn it on!”

“Fucking hell.” He muttered under his breath as he moved to do so, “Hope the baby doesn’t get your patience.”

I tossed the empty box at his back, “Don’t say that!”

The fucking prick laughed.

“Alright, alright! Go on. I can’t hear anything now.”

Thankfully, that big bottle Carly had given me as well as the one I’d been nursing in the car and then outside came into clutch then and I managed to go again.

I flushed and washed my hands, drying them off on the hand towel before telling Ross he could turn back around.

“How long do we wait then?” He questioned from over my shoulder, making me jump.

Stilling my racing heart, I let out a breath. “Two minutes or so.”

Ross hummed from behind me then moved to the side to wrap me up in his arms again, it was nice having someone there this time around, like finding shelter in a rainstorm. 

And so we waited. The seconds felt eternal and the minutes passed excruciatingly slow, but eventually, eventually, we had to look.

I bit my lip. “I can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Why the fuck not, he asks! I’m fucking terrified, Ross. I can’t be a mum! I hardly even a person, let alone an actual adult!” I stressed, breathing heavier now that even I noticed it, but Ross only pulled me closer and looked down at me.

“You’re incredible. You hear me? You’ve looked after us lot for years, so I know you’ll fucking ace this shit without even having to try. You’re brilliant, B. Everyone who’s ever met you can tell you as much. If you’re pregnant, then you’ll deal with it like you do everything. But you won’t be doing it alone. You’ve got us. You’ve got a family. And most of all, you’ve got G. He’d do anything for you. A baby will only solidify that. Do you really think he’d leave you high and dry?” He must’ve seen the look that crossed my face when he said that because he blinked, “You do, don’t you?”

“It’s not- I’m-” I stuttered, unable to really defend myself against that statement because a small part of me was scared of exactly that. “I love him, Ross. I do. I just-”

“You’re scared it’ll be like before.” He finished for me and all I could do was nod and he squeezed me a little tighter, “Well, I know that he won’t. Wouldn’t fucking survive it, the idiot. Last time was a fluke. And as much as he hurt you, you know it was his fault for not dealing with his shit, not yours. Never yours. Yeah?”

I nodded again against his chest.

“G won’t leave though, that I can promise you. But, and this is a BIG but, if he did, you’d have me, and you’d have Matty, and Hann and Carly. Denise and Delia and everyone else. You wouldn’t be alone. Never, ever will you be alone, B.”

My eyes were stinging again, “But what if I’m not good enough either? What if I leave? What if I’m exactly like her?”

Her.

And immediately Ross knew just who I was talking about.

“You’re nothing like your mum, love. No where near. Of that I can fucking assure you. You love with everything you’ve got. Like a light house in a stormy sea, you. Lure just about everyone in with your warmth and charm.” He pressed his chin to the top of my head, rocking us again. “What I would give to let you see yourself through my eyes. I swear. And that baby, or any future baby you have, will be the luckiest kid around to be able to call you their mum. Alright?”

Fucking Ross MacDonald. 

“Do you enjoy making me cry?” I asked him through a wet chuckle, squinting up at him now with tear stained cheeks. I gave a sigh when he reached up to wipe them away.

“Only happy tears, yeah? Fucking seeing you cry because of anything else makes me feel like I’ve just been hit by a bus.”

Scoffing out a laugh I couldn’t help, I shook my head at him. “Love you. I know we don’t say that much but I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”

He grinned down at me, “Probably sob in the bath, or maybe make an escape out through the window?”

“Maybe.” I smiled.

“You ready yet?”

I chewed on my lip for a hesitant moment then dipped my head, Ross released me and instead took my hand. We both seemed to simultaneously take a deep breath, glancing at one another and then the sink.

“Together?”

“Together.”

He reached for it and I had to keep myself from squeezing my eyes tightly shut, stomach tightening with the butterflies that crowded my insides.

We looked down at the same time before glancing back towards each other.

Ross broke the silence, “Dibs on being godfather.”

— GEORGE’S POV—

September brought the cold. It was more prominent this year though it seemed, barely out of August and already he was in a hat and coat. Still, he’d left knowing he’d be out for quite a while and didn’t want to catch something from freezing his arse off, especially with Birdie being in and out of hospital. She was more susceptible to infection at the minute, since having had her spleen removed after the accident it had been something she’d often struggled with. They’d had a meningitis scare not too long back, big enough to warrant a couple weeks off work but not life threatening. To her at least, George on the other hand had had his balls pulled out through his arse, or that’s what it’d felt like being so constantly on edge. Everything turned out okay in the end though, more than even. Because it was then that he’d learnt about the tiny Baby Daniel she’d been housing.

And what a fucking thought that was. A baby. An entire other person. Both his and hers to keep. Though he only hoped that they got more of her than him.

It had been quite the revelation, watching on as a swarm of nurses wheeled his wife off on a gurney after having just told him the baby was doing fine. Even now it had a way of rendering him utterly speechless.

It was all he’d been able to think about ever since. Will the baby like the colour blue? Will they be a boy, or a girl? Will they have his eyes or hers, her smile or his? He prayed to whatever God that was out there that they only got her nose. Birdie thought his suited him, but he’d keep on wishing any way.

There’d also been the questions that shone a bright sodding stage-light on all of his insecurities. Illuminated them like the Blackpool Tower for every fucker else to see. Matty’d been the first to clock on though, or the first to come and speak to him about it, it’d done him a world of wonder to get it off his chest and have that reassurance, but even now it continued to make him nervous, had him wondering whether or not he’d ever be good enough, if he deserved to have something so precious of his own. But then he’d always struggled with that, hadn’t he, and he was still learning. Adapting, in a sense. These things took time.

He continued to think about it though, about everything which surrounded the baby, as he wandered through a field of dew covered grass, being respectful enough of the aging stone graves that dotted the cemetery as he went. The one he was looking for was further in the back, settled in a plot next to a few others with the same surname.

George took the time to think and settle his nervous thoughts as he made his way on over, revising the map on his phone every few minutes. It was a rather large cemetery, with oversized oak trees and moss that clung to ancient tombs and mausoleums, so it took him a while to finally find it but when he did the nerves he’d been feeling and the anxiety he’d expected failed to hinder him. In fact, he hardly felt anything at all and moved towards the three graves without much thought.

They each bared the same headstone, only difference was that one was much newer than the remaining two. They all had their own inscriptions but it had been a little while since he’d last visited and so he took the time to allow his eyes to wander over the cursive.

‘No Man Is Indispensable But Some Are Irreplaceable.’

‘Too well loved to ever be forgotten, here lies a loving Father, a Husband and a Son.'

And finally, 

‘A woman made of strength and love lies here, today she dances with angels.’

“Heya, Nana.” George greeted in a low murmur, eyes already a little wet as he drew closer to the end plot, “It’s been a while but I’ve brought you your favourites, peonies from Birdie’s shop, blue just like your eyes. She wrapped them up real nice too, but when does she ever not?” George gave a light chuckle at that, placing down the backpack he held and moving around the grave to clear it of any fallen debris, replacing the old flowers with the new.

He rubbed at his nose and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets before taking a seat by her headstone, gaze lingering on the words Birdie had chosen alongside Dee all those years ago now. Dancing with angels, he grinned at the very thought, and dealing with the Devil, he added. Nana had always been one to try her luck, just as wonderfully wild as her granddaughter, and George reckoned she’d probably bested the hellish bastard by now, overthrown him and all.

“Lot’s changed, you know.” He told the woman, “Dee’s met some fella, handsome bloke mind, but they’ve taken her taxi and decided to travel across Europe in it. In Germany now, though I wouldn’t be surprised if they phoned us up tomorrow claiming to be in Egypt. But you know her, she’s a free spirit. Should be back by February though, that’s just before the baby’s due. Yeah, not hers though- could you imagine?” 

George couldn’t help the cackle that escaped him at that and was immensely grateful for the fact that no-one else seemed to be wandering around anywhere close. “Sorry, sorry, but yeah. No it’s Birdie. She’s nearing fourteen weeks now. Can you picture it? Us two with a little one. My dad can’t wait, neither can the lads. Reckon you’d be dancing about too if you were still here, telling everyone to quit their fussing then make B a brew just how she likes.”

He let a quiet settle, smiling softly as the morning breeze flittered past.

“I know she misses you. Kills her to not have you here to see it all. But,” He took a moment, “I understand why, never met anyone quite like you, doubt I ever will. You took me in without a care for the consequences. Let me stay with you each summer, listened to me moan on about the band and music, came to our first few London gigs.” He cracked a smile at the reminder, “Can still picture those shirts you and Dee made, reckon B has them stashed away somewhere. Have to ask. But as much as I’d love to stay and chat all day, I promised myself I’d say hi to Charlie over there and stop by to talk to her Dad for a bit.”

George was careful as he stood back up, laying a hand over Nana’s name before wiping off the damp grass which clung to his jeans and stepping away. 

He only had to walk a few short steps before he was grinning at the grave sat beside Nana’s, he made quick work of pulling out a bottle of Scotch from his bag as well as a shot glass, then placed them both down on the cold marble. Just as he did each time they visited, he poured the man a hearty glass and spoke to him about his favourite football team. “Hiya, Charlie. West Ham’s fourth on the league table at the minute, mate. Doing alright this year, but Cities still in first so, guess they’ll have to try just a bit harder.”

With a light laugh, George patted the man’s headstone before finally wandering over to the next, to where Birdie’s father lay, the man she idolised most.

He took a deep breath feeling a little fearful suddenly, but not of the situation, rather of disappointing the man. Of this whole thing going tits up. But this was something he’d wanted. Felt he needed to do. So he let go of the air inside his lungs and, just as he did by Nana, he took a seat by the man’s grave. 

“We’ve never spoken much, you and I.” He begun, voice quieter now than it had just been, “But I know B visits when she can. I brought you a bird actually, little statue thing with these stones embedded in its eyes, B reckons they’ll bring peace, but I think you’ve already found that now. Still, it reminds me of her, a Song Thrush, they’re pretty and sing like a poet.”

Leaning in closer, George took time placing the statue where he thought it would last the longest and smiled softly before going back to his bag to pull out a colourful wind spinner, he stuck in the damp soil near his leg before he spoke again. 

“Dee also likes to talk about you, says you had a thing for wind chimes and these things. Can see the appeal, they’re nice to watch, let you know which way the wind’ll blow. Said you also would’ve liked me too, and I can only hope she’s right.” He laughed quietly to himself, thumbing the ring on his left hand. “Be a bit messy if you didn’t though, ‘cause I love her more than anything. Do anything she asks, go anywhere she pleases. She’s like my own little wind spinner in a sense, can never tell which way I’m going with her but I know we’ll never stop spinning.

“I know I should’ve made this trip a long while ago. Maybe after we got back, maybe even before that. I have no excuse except for the fact that I’ve been a bit scared to ask this of you, because I know I’ll never really hear your honest answer. I can only pray that you’d be happy for her.”

It had been something he’s wanted to do since he was a teenager, ever since that first trip down to London, but after all these years of having clung to the man’s lighter he felt like he sort of knew him in a way. Knew that the dent in its side was from the way he used to knock his hip off of the radiator back in Nana’s house when climbing the stairs. Saw the way the striker wheel had been changed a long while back, different to the original but very very close. And how the hinge had been struck a few times to keep the lid from going floppy. He cared a great deal for the things he owned and it showed how much he loved the gifts he’d been given, seeing as though he had gotten it from his own father before Birdie had ever been born.

It was a strange concept, but it brought George a little peace.

“I don’t know if you heard, I know that Nana tends to gossip, but you’ll be a grandfather soon.” George told him with a wide smile as he pulled to his wallet to look down at the first Ultrasound picture they’d been given. “They’re a lot bigger now. This was when I first found out though. That daughter of yours had known for a week or two by that point. But I was over the moon and also terrified, so I can see how she kept it under wraps for so long. We’ve got a few names going in the raffle, our friends all want to have the honour of naming them, but B and I are waiting for the perfect one.”

George let his thumb brush over the picture before he sat it up and open on the grave, leaving it there until he had to go.

“I’ve known Birdie for so long now, she doesn’t know it but since the day I laid eyes on her she’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I would’ve taken anything she’d have given me. Whether that’d been a passing look or a chance at just being her mate. So when were younger and finally together, I thought I’d won the lottery. And I had. But then we got to speaking about marriage. What we wanted in the future, if kids would ever come into the picture, what house we’d buy. Just things you speak about with someone like that. Yeah, we’d been young but we’d both been through a lot. We knew more than most. Had experienced it.

“But anyway, when she’d said she never wanted any of that. Couldn’t see it for herself, and I understood. Broke my fucking heart a bit, but I’d’ve given her the stars if I could’ve. Even now. So it’s funny how it all changed. We’re married and there’s that baby on the way. Though, now that we’ve done it, now that we’ve acknowledged the fact that this thing we were both a little wary of is something we can have without the fear and terror, I want to do it properly, you know? So I thought it was only respectful to come and ask you first.”

And there was that nervousness finally, but it was out in the open now. Perhaps it was silly asking a man long since buried this question but it just felt right. 

“I don’t think we’ll have big ceremony or anything even if she does say yes, we’re not the type. But at least then we can say we did it right, and as much as I now love that little elopement of ours, I really want her to know how much I love her. That I will forever be hers. In both heart and mind. And that I’m proud to bare this ring.” 

George swallowed thickly at the onslaught of emotions this trip had pulled from him, then wiped under his nose. He picked up his wallet and folded it away then took his stand, running a hand through his hair as he tried to get ahold of himself, didn’t want to start sobbing his way back to the carpark now. Though it was a near thing. 

“Right, I’d best be off anyway. Said I’d pick B up some strawberries from the market, she’ll only eat them at the minute, pairs them with this horrid jam as well. It’s proper grim but I’d never say a bad thing about it. Spent ages consoling her the one time Matty did. But he’s a nightmare that never learns.” He scratched at the nape of his neck after having shouldered his bag, feeling the effects of this outing already. “I’ll make sure to visit soon, with Birdie and then the baby too hopefully.”

He glanced down at the wind spinner then and was surprised to see it had stopped spinning, he frowned slightly at the sight and double checked to see if he could still feel the breeze, he did, it was hard not to in truth. So slowly he made his way back over and just as he begun to crouch down the thing started spinning once more.

George blinked down at it, once then twice, and then simply laughed. Hoping that maybe it’d been some sort of sign.

“I’ll look after her.” He promised, sparing one last glance to the final grave before he made his way back to the car.

—

The moving van reached the house long before I did, but I was just thankful that George had been able to take the time off to get there earlier than me. I parked up in a bay and waddled down the pavement to peer into the back of it, smiling when I found that almost half of it had already been moved inside. Which was good for me, seeing as though I’d hardly be of any help, pregnant or not.

“B!” I heard someone shout out and turned to find Matty stood on the top step of the familiar terraced house, he waved me closer but jogged down the steps to greet me once I’d made it over, “Figured you get here a little later, G and I are just setting up the living room.” 

“Really?” I questioned in surprise, grateful when he took my arm to help me up the stairs and into the house. I grinned at the familiar feeling that washed over me upon walking in.

“Really.” Matty laughed, taking my coat and hanging it amongst the rest by the door. The little gentleman. If I’d only known that it’d just take me turning into a whale to get Matty to wait on me hand and foot I’d’ve done it sooner. Not even G was as bad as him. “Your Nana had good taste though, so I can see why you and George don’t wanna change much.”

I grinned, glad that he saw it too. We’d been gifted the house in Bethnal Green by Dee after the reading of Nana’s will, she wanted us to have a proper home for the little one and figured it would be the best place for us. And my God was it. It was everything I’d dreamed of and more. It filled me with so much happiness to know that my child would be growing up in the environment I loved most when I’d been little.

“Where is he, anyway?” I asked, leaning against the bannister to peer up the main stairs and at the landing, we’d had some builders in to change a few things since the house had been signed over and I hadn’t yet seen it all fully finished. 

“Who, G?” Matty said and at my nod he went on, “Left him in the living room, we were trying to put together a cabinet, probably still in there.”

We both chuckled and wandered in through the side door to find George sat on the living room floor just behind the sofa looking very close to fuming. “Fuck sake, Matty! When you said a minute, I thought you were joking! Whole fucking thing collapsed on me the second you left, you prick!”

“Oi, no swearing around the baby, please.” Matty scolded, though he looked all too pleased with himself, and I watched on as George angled his head further backwards to see me stood in the doorway. I waved. 

“Birdie! Thank fuck someone capable has arrived. Be a love and help me up, would you?”

I laughed and moved to do just that before Matty’s indignant squark stopped me in my tracks, “I don’t think so, mate. Get yourself up. I’ll take B into the kitchen, get you some tea, yeah? Were you at the shop long?”

I bit my lip to keep from cackling at the expression that overwhelmed G’s face then but was already being dragged away.

“I can still do shit you know.” I said to Matty before being steered onto a barstool, I let him get away with it though, observing how effortlessly he worked his way around the kitchen, switching on the kettle and pulling out the milk from the massive fridge George had insisted on buying. 

“Language.” Matty reminded me and I could only roll my eyes, “And I know, you just shouldn’t have to.”

“That so?” I hummed around a smile.

Matty nodded, pulling the few glasses we’d brought over for visits during construction onto the counter, “Look, the way I see it, the baby’s not here yet so if you want, I don’t mind offing G and telling everyone the kid’s mine. I mean, you saw him in there,” He shook his head all serious like, “It ain’t on, B. Got to cut your loses while you still can.”

“Sorry, what was that?” I sorted at George’s sudden arrival, wondering how this would all go down and decided to stir the pot a bit.

“Matty reckons I’d be better off making a run for it while I still can, already got a car ready and waiting for when I say the word.”

George shook his head in veiled amusement and stepped further into the kitchen to swipe a tea towel against Matty’s backside. “Keep talking like that and I’ll see to it that you never meet my baby, you dick.”

“Swearing!” Matty once again reminded the pair of us and I couldn’t help my incessant giggling now, eyes darting back and forth between the pair, “And I dare you to try, George Daniel. I have rights!”

“What rights!”

“Godfatherly rights!”

“Fuck off, Ross claimed that already.”

“Swearing! And I don’t care you can have more than one godfather!”

“No, we’ve discussed this already.”

“No we have not.”

“Yes, we have.”

“No, we have not.”

“Matty.”

“George!”

George groaned dramatically and decidedly tossed the tea towel he still had in hand at Matty’s head, the curly haired singer grunted before throwing it right back at him, then turning to me.

“B, tell him.” He was all but whining now. 

“George, Matty can be whatever he likes.”

Matty practically beamed upon hearing that whilst G just scowled, “Over my dead body.”

“That’s fine. I can make do.”

George rolled his eyes at the blatant threat, but threw himself into the chair beside me to press his forehead against the counter instead of replying. I ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s okay, babe. He’ll give up once he realises it’ll mostly just be shitty nappies and crying until they’re old enough to walk.” I reassured but Matty didn’t think much of it.

“I fucking won’t.”

George shot straight back up at that with a grin as big as Matty’s ego on his face and I already knew what he was going to say.

“Language, Matthew! And in front of your godchild too, shame.”

Although Matty looked shocked to have let the curse accident slip, his whole demeanour changed when he truly internalised George’s words. “Wait, actually?”

George laughed, glancing at me before slinging an arm around my waist, “We decided on it a while ago, mate. Baby Daniel will have the typical four godparents, only thing is you, Hann and Ross will have to decide between yourselves on who’s the second godmother.”

I rolled my eyes at that, but still found myself unable to stop grinning. The baby was set to have three godfathers at this point and then Carly, who we’d already asked, as a godmother. It was a lucky little thing and had yet to even be born.

“I don’t even care. I’ll throw on a pair of tits and a wig if it gets me an in.”

George barked a loud laugh at his best mate’s reply and I could only chuckle alongside him as Matty handed me over my tea, grateful to have them both, as well as the rest of my family. It wasn’t long now either before the baby would soon come along too, another thing I’d forever be grateful for.

And to think, I barely resembled the girl I’d once been, it was strange to see all that I’d been given.

I wouldn’t waste it.

#the 1975 #george daniel #george daniel the 1975 #george daniel fic #george 1975 #george daniel x reader #matty #matty healy #george daniel x you #1975 #best friend matty #the 1975 band #fic #adam hann #ross macdonald #carly holt #1975 band #matty 1975 #series #work #exes to lovers #y/n #reader #multi part fic #x you #x reader #angst #fluff #humour #drama

[certainlysyko]

i’m carlile! I’m 26, and currently reside in the midwest of the united states, though I would love to move to scotland someday. I’ve been married to the love of my life for five years, and we have one fur baby, roxanne. I’m a huge vinyl nerd, and i have a pretty nice sized collection.

I love: music (duh), cats (roxanne is a cat btw), reading, anime, concerts, writing, online window shopping, tattoos, (some) video games, PSYCH the TV show, the devils lettuce, dr. pepper, dark literature, autumn, halloween, scary movies, ghostface, minimal maximalist decor (it makes sense to me okay) skeletons & bones (I swear I’m not insane) & naps.

I don’t love: people who talk over me, when crayon is mispronounced (if you don’t enunciate the y I hate you), unnecessary rudeness, daytime tv, animal abusers, left lane campers, “um, actually..” people, pranks that are just flat out mean & Tesla drivers who really want you to know they’re Tesla drivers

my babies: harry styles, noah sebastian (oh my god!), satoru gojo, suguru geto, machine gun kelly, oliver sykes, osamu dazai (double suicide when?) & itachi uchiha

#about me! #certainlysyko speaks #navigation

[darsynia]

Ace challenge mode since you asked: Some interactions between Bruce Banner and Tony Stark? Science buddies! Maybe while they’re working on engineering projects together or on their downtime.

I had a lot of fun writing this, it's surprisingly heartfelt, and I hope I've come up with what you were looking for! Science Bros!

Summary: Tony's really excited to have a lab partner of Bruce Banner's intelligence and skill, but he definitely doesn't want to do anything to set him off. It… takes a while to calibrate.

Length | Rating: 3,635 | T (for language)

THIS IS MY VOTE FOR '5 + 1’ IN ROUND 1 OF TROPE MADNESS 2023 which is run by @thestanceyg! (note: also posted on AO3, same title!)

Tags: @deepbatched @djarinsbf, @starryeyes2000 @themaradaniels @ronearoundblindly @tiny-anne

5 Times Tony Almost Pushed Bruce Too Far, and 1 Time He Definitely Did

(1)

Bruce Banner was a morning person. Luckily, Tony knew this in advance, so he’d recorded a whole Welcome Message for JARVIS to play on the first morning Banner had access to the lab floor in the tower.

What Tony hadn’t realized (but should have) was that Banner lacked the patience to listen to Tony’s self-aggrandizing message when there was a bunch of expensive equipment to play with. So when Tony went to find Bruce at the crack of ten AM, his new friend was already arms-deep in one of the machines, figuring out how it worked. Out of sight. Where Tony wouldn’t know not to startle him.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Tony boomed, seconds after he’d walked through the door.

There was a dull thud and a very un-Bannerian swear word.

Things went downhill from there.

An hour later…

“Mind if I put on some music? How about…” Tony snapped his fingers, and Zeppelin started blaring. That was a surprise, because his Welcome Message had made clear that Bruce ought to pick a few songs for the two of them to share, and if he did not, then Tony would pick them. This was one of Tony’s choices.

No response.

“Okay, maybe this is more your speed?” A finger snap swapped the music instantly to Metallica, Suicide and Redemption, which Tony thought was a really clever touch. 

Across the room, Bruce looked at the ceiling but didn’t comment.

Tony tipped his head to the side. It was possible that someone with the side effect of turning into a green monster when he was angry might not go for heavy metal while working, but that was why he’d had JARVIS set up to ask Bruce to pick his own. Ahh, well. He’d planned for that, too.

This particular lab had one of the best speaker systems money could buy, and Tony had commissioned a buddy of his to record a version of Pachelbel’s Canon to take advantage of that.

He waited to pull the trigger on that till Bruce was doing something less important like scribbling into his notebook.

“Okay I get it. You’re not into that kind of music. I’ve got you covered, my friend,” Tony said, snapping his fingers one last time.

The loudness of the beginning notes made some of the glass beakers shiver against each other, and Bruce actually jumped in surprise, his pencil scratching a long line across the notebook page.

“Tony, what the hell are you trying to--” Bruce took off his watch, tucked away his glasses. “I thought you invited me here because you wanted to collaborate, and I am happy to see that you’re able to work in tandem silence. But I gotta say, it really seems like you want me to--” He stopped, hands at his fists turning distinctly non-flesh colored.

“Shit, Bruce, I’m sorry. I got excited,” Tony said, hating that his instinct was to make sure he had a readily-available suit of armor to don for future lab visits. If there were going to be any. Today’s was clearly over, because Bruce was already heading for the door.

“I didn’t make clear how important this was to me,” Banner said through gritted teeth as he walked past. His ears were actually green.

“So, no music then?” Tony said, in a desperate bid for levity.

“No music.”

The bleak, double-toned resonance behind those two words had Tony feeling like shit for the rest of the day, even though Bruce hadn’t even slammed the door.

(2)

It took some delicate e-mailing and three days for Bruce to come back to the lab, and two more days after that for Tony to join him.

He was prepared, this time. Tony wore a suit. He put those CSI booties over his shoes, wore sunglasses to obscure his expression, and he stuck a hand-sized whiteboard into a holster on his belt, for communication. Everything that Tony Stark could do to mitigate how being himself might set off his new science buddy, he’d do, because this was really important to him, too.

When he walked in on that fifth day and Bruce looked up, the way his confused expression turned into giggles told Tony he’d done something right.

“Okay, see, now that’s funny. Go take all that off and join me? I need three hands, and you’re one of them.”

(3)

Even when Tony was the most happy, there was always something at the very back of his mind that worried about what could go wrong. Here, the thing that could go the most wrong was Bruce feeling like he wasn’t safe to stay and be Tony’s very best science buddy ever. Bruce had made him promise to come up with some contingency plans for containing the Hulk, and they were in progress, but not all fully implemented yet.

That was why at two in the morning after a stretch of eight hours in the lab, Tony went for containment overkill when he heard a slicing noise followed by a sound of pain from Bruce.

“JARVIS, isolate the lab. Be ready to cut power if necessary. Bruce?”

“Tony, please tell me that doesn’t include the internet?” Banner sounded upset, but not upset upset, so that was a good sign.

“Whatever you need, you let me know, okay?”

“I need you to stop it with this hair trigger!” Bruce came around from behind some machines to hold up two pieces of a mechanical belt that had been sheared in half. “I promise you, I have a handle on myself.” He scratched his head, looking like a cross between a kindergarten teacher wearing a scientist’s costume and a student that just got in trouble. “It’s starting to feel like you don’t trust me with your stuff.”

“Shit. I didn’t think of it that way,” Tony winced. “I definitely trust you. You’re the Phthalo Green Giant, I swear.”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed, and Tony grinned, pulling out the whiteboard he still wore in its holster for shits and giggles. On it, he wrote: p h t HALO.

“You said you quit drinking alcohol?” Bruce asked.

Confused, Tony nodded.

“Maybe start that back up?” There was a hint of a smile in his voice.

(4)

Working with Bruce was like having a lab partner who didn’t actually hate you, who could keep up, and even better: had better ideas than you did sometimes. It was a dream come true.

All the more reason to learn how not to screw it up.

“So, do you have any guidelines on how I can avoid the Large of the Light Brigade?”

Bruce had been sipping his tea, apparently, and the sucked-in laugh at Tony’s awful pun caused him to cough violently.

“Shit,” Tony said, unsure of whether he should also laugh, or start running. He quickly grabbed a paper towel, small garbage can, and a broom, and approached cautiously with all three of them outstretched. “Pick one?”

“Am I supposed to hit you with the broom?” Banner’s voice was scratchy, but he didn’t sound upset.

“I figured, you know, either barf or get out the aggression before it becomes a problem.”

“Tony, I mean this in the nicest way, but you seem to be the only one out of the two of us with a problem. I’m not going to Hulk out if my tea goes down the wrong way.”

“In my defense, that’s why I was asking the smart-ass question in the first place!”

Bruce sighed and turned back toward his workspace, but the edge of his lab coat knocked down his tea cup, which shattered. Bruce was faced away, and he just dropped his head in silent defeat for a few seconds.

Tony set down the garbage can sideways, anchored it with one foot, and swept the broken pieces into it. The paper towel wasn’t quite enough to get all the tea, but it was close.

“There, all set. As penance, can I get you the mug I saw online the other day? It had the Hulk wrapped in the American flag and the words ‘Star Spangled Banner.’”

“Never change, Tony,” Bruce said in a strangled sort of voice.

“I mean, I will if I need to, that’s why I asked.”

Bruce turned around, a strangely tender expression on his face. “You don’t, but uh…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking as though he were at a loss for words. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

(4)

Bruce had clearly gotten a satirist from The Onion to write his list. It had stuff like ‘don’t fire a gun at me’ and ‘don’t wake me up with a bucket of cold water and an air horn.’ All things that would make Tony Hulk out if he had the capability.

They were working on a piece of Chitauri tech that he’d talked the government into letting him examine. When Tony walked into the lab, Bruce looked like he’d already been working for hours.

“I see you got the list,” he said with a shy smile, his face lit up by the purple glow of the device in his hand.

“Yeah, either that, or I got a kindergartener’s list of pranks! I thought you said you were always angry.”

Bruce was about to answer when Tony got an idea, holding up a finger and crossing the room to grab one of his early armored gauntlet prototypes. It still had actual wiring to connect to the power source, instead of the surface to surface transfer technology he’d come up with since then.

“You’re planning to… what? Jam those leads into this thing?” Bruce held up the glowing pod.

“Sure, why not?”

“I just gave you a list of why not!”

“So I’ll put on the suit, and you can go hide in my office instead of being a Guinea Big!”

Bruce took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. “How long have you been holding onto that one?”

“You don’t want to know,” Tony grinned.

(5)

The best way to fight back against the ridiculousness of Bruce’s List, in Tony’s opinion, was to print out an extra copy of it and pin the damned thing on the wall. As with any sort of sticky note or wall sign, though, it didn’t take long for the List to fade into the scenery for Tony, where he didn’t really notice it anymore. That was until he saw it was different, one morning.

There were three new lines.

Do not set your coffee cup down on my notes

Turn off all power to equipment you are not using, so you do not electrocute anyone

RELAX. You’re my friend

Tony almost got emotional.

Bruce could have gotten upset, could have told him about the first two, but he didn’t, probably because of the third. That was on Tony.

He resolved to do better.

(oops)

“Tony.”

Immediately, Tony knew there was a problem. There was a depth to Bruce’s tone that wasn’t usually there, a recognizable depth.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s too dangerous. I’ll just--”

“Damnit, it’s too late!”

Bruce was right; the current was overloading, and since Tony had just been trying something out, something that wasn’t meant to conduct that well, he’d skipped past some of the safety shit. Except instead of risking his eyesight by looking away without his safety goggles, he’d risked his whole life by without having a safe, grounded place to stand.

“JARVIS, kill the power!” As he spoke, Tony pulled the Fe-Hulk bracelets out of his pocket and clasped one to Bruce’s wrist, grabbing at the other with the desperation of someone who knew his plan would work. He’d built Bruce’s version of the protective suit in secret, because Bruce Banner was the kind of friend who would make you promise not to do something like that if he found out about it.

If he was protected by something other than his angry alter-ego, Bruce Banner shouldn’t feel unsafe enough to need to.

“Get down-- no, what are you--”

The rest of Bruce’s words were unintelligible, as large arcs of current started bowing out from the device. Tony was thrown sideways before he could get the other bracelet on. The last thing he saw before he passed out was an angry green blur.

Tony woke up in a hospital bed, which was just insulting. He was rich enough for someone to have called in all the medical people on site, wasn’t he? Was there footage of him being gurneyed somewhere while unconscious? How the hell had Pepper allowed this to--

“Tony?” It was Bruce, standing at the window.

“How bad is it?” Tony whispered.

“You have a concussion and a broken arm. Looks like about twenty thousand dollars of damage to the lab, but you’re alive, so--”

“No, the-- really?” Tony scowled and it hurt, which was new. “I mean, how much groveling do I need to do to keep you around! Do you have a suitcase hiding in the bathroom? Smart of you to run off while I’m damaged and incapable of following you, but you should remember I can fly.”

“You’re-- That’s what you’re worried about? Not the fact that I hurt you?”

“I don’t remember anything like that.” Bruce walked over, his brows furrowed, but Tony kept going. “In fact, I remember my best friend doing something he absolutely hates so he could crouch over me like a protective green lightning rod. Oh, wow, I really do have a concussion. That was terrible. I can do better, hold on.”

“Tony--”

“Hulk Norris!” He grinned up at Bruce, who was doing his level best to look cross, and completely failing. “That’s a thank you, by the way.”

“I gathered,” Bruce said. He looked down at the bed, hand fiddling with the adjustable side like he wasn’t sure he could stand to make eye contact. “Best friend?”

“You bet your big green ass,” Tony said, immediately frowning. “Shit, I’m off my game.”

“Keep that up and I’ll put nicknames on the List.”

Tony gasped, clutching his chest in actual horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I suppose that wouldn’t be Ferrous.”

“I thought you had healing factor! That pun is clearly the result of brain damage,” Tony declared, unable to look at Bruce for fear of giving away how pleased he was that his lab screw-up hadn’t driven him away. He raised his voice, calling toward the closed room door. “Nurse! Nurse, this man needs a check-up right now.”

It was a few days before Tony was cleared for lab work, and even then, it was more lab clean-up than anything else. In truth, the Hulk hadn’t actually created too much chaos. It was all in the center of the room, meaning that the equipment itself was damaged, but none of the structural elements. Tony used the suit to help him lift and deconstruct what was left, but once he’d gotten most of it, he walked over to the far wall, where the List usually was.

There, added right to the bottom of the ‘Things That Make Bruce Hulk Out’ was a new entry:

Not valuing your life as much as I do.

#bruce banner fanfiction #tony stark fanfiction #bruce banner and tony stark friendship #trope madness 2023 #tm2023 #science bros #tony stark and bruce banner friendship #fluff #friendship #genfic #bruce banner and tony stark #tony stark and bruce banner #5 + 1 #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

[fryingpan1234567]

I have a new favorite ship in Empires and it’s just because of ONE POST by @this-tumbleweed-surecan-fish (yeah it’s that easy to give me a new OTP just ONE POST)

so here have some ship and normal character headcanons in my Empires college au because there is one piece of writing about them out there and it was a short post. literally fuck me

Pix, Joel, Lizzie, and fWhip. that’s the ship. I can’t believe this.

Joel is the tallest out of them and fWhip is the shortest

fWhip and Lizzie are really good at talking and Pix and Joel are really good at listening

They all have ADHD

When they’re in public they usually pretend to be two separate couples because the public isn’t exactly used to polyamory, and none of them are really ‘BE LOUD AND MAKE A DIFFERENCE!!’ people

Lizzie, Pix, and fWhip are all like parents to Hermes (that kid has literally five parental units what)

Speaking of Hermes!! The rest of them know of and are perfectly fine with Sausage, and he and Joel adopt Hermes one day because they find him on the streets and they couldn’t just leave him there, so. ✨child✨

fWhip and Pix are cave bros and love dark/ tight spaces, but Lizzie and Joel hate them

Pix does photography!!

And Joel does bouldering and climbing

As per Fish‘s post, they call each other gf/ bf/ wife/ husband even tho they don’t actually get married lol

Hermes made friends with one of the dodos in the orchard one day when Pix was watching him and now they’re besties; it’s like Disney Hercules and Pegasus

With that plus Lizzie’s zoology; fWhip’s cave creatures, and Sanctuary’s whole deal, he grows up to be a huge animal person

Anyways moving away from Hermes lmao

All of them flirt so aggressively help

MAKING FUN OF JIMMY TOGETHER

If they’re out and someone asks Lizzie if she’s there with anyone, because the four of them are hanging out together, they’ll all just laugh until the guy gets freaked out and leaves

They all get their hair dyed at least a little bit- Lizzie (obviously) goes all pink, Joel has his green stripe, and then Pix gets a navy blue one and fWhip does full teal and green until the roots grow back in orange. The idea was started because Lizzie was getting hers redone and asked if they wanted to participate (her kitten eyes were like a fucking off switch on their strength of will)

Everyone thinks Pix is the responsible one. He’s not. He’s just as crazy as the other three

Lizzie has dubbed herself mayor of all the pets in their dorm building, Joel drinks sketchy protein shakes with all normal ingredients other than a splash of water from the fountain outside the Historical Mythology building, fWhip reads hanging off the couch upside down like a fucking bat. Pix seems normal enough on the surface, but my man single-handedly discovered a new species of fruit trees in 3 variants, a thought to be extinct species, and a machine that’s been around since the beginning of time, and he considers emerald ore to be worth more than his life. He’s pretty far from ‘normal’

Pix runs the campus news channel, and his partners find it adorable and also kind of worrying when they walk into the living room at two in the morning for water to see Pix sitting on the floor, surrounded by stacks of paper and two laptops, three cups of coffee and one of tea, and him in the middle wearing sweats and one of Joel’s shirts/ no top if he couldn’t find any, scrambling to get the next weekly episode out. Once he had to record the voiceover around Hermits, and they harassed him the whole time and threw pencils when he made a bad joke

Lizzie and Pix got American driver’s licenses, but Joel insisted that ‘he was loyally British and he liked being British and unless America changed their shtewpid driving habits, he’d have the rest of them drive him around the whole time’

Dishes never get done in their household I swear to god

Uno/ board games/ video games are a fucking nightmare because they’re all scarily competitive

They like sleeping in one bed, but sometimes it’s too hot for that so there is two beds

They actually do go on trips!! It’s like a thing for birthdays and stuff that they’re taken somewhere

For example, they took Lizzie to the San Diego zoo, fWhip to the Carlsbad Caverns, Pix to the Smithsonian, and Joel to the Parthenon

When one of them is sick, they have a whole lot of simping from the rest of them

fWhip and Lizzie have morning classes, Pix and Joel have late ones (that usually means the first two are making/ getting dinner while the other two are in class)

Anyways. Them <33

#Pixlriffs #ldshadowlady #smallishbeans #fWhip #ships #shipping #esmp #trafficshipping #college au #glass spouses

[ralfmaximus]

Weather Balloon

Dale’s hands were shaking so badly he could barely dial the phone.

“Whiteman Air Force base. How may I direct your call?”

Dale took a deep breath. He had to sound calm, credible.

“I just saw a UFO. I mean, I’d like to report a sighting—“

“One moment please,” came the reply. No judgment, no surprise, no laughter. Maybe they handled this sort of thing all the time. Dale listened to military recruitment ads while he waited, which was good because it allowed him to organize his thoughts.

“Sergeant Donnelly.”

The voice on the phone sounded weary.

“I’d like to report an unidentified flying object. A machine, actually, hovering over my property. It was circular, maybe 60 feet in diameter, and it emitted a blue glow—“

“Son, hold on a sec. You saw a what?”

Dale sighed. “A flying saucer. I swear, that’s what it was. Hovering in broad daylight, over—“

“Now, son,” he imagined Sergeant Donnelly as a grizzled old war vet, stuck answering phones, but still doing his duty, patiently dealing with the public. “I’ll be happy to take your report, but honestly? Most of these things turn out to be regular military aircraft, tricks of the light—“

“It was metal,” Dale interrupted. “And glowing blue. It hovered over my yard, then shot off at thousands of miles an hour. It was not a plane.”

“I see. One moment, please.”

The line clicked, and Dale caught the last few seconds of the recruitment ad before it looped. Donnelly returned quickly.

“Okay, now I’m recording. Tell me what you saw again.”

Dale repeated what he’d said, and included every detail he could think of. Eventually Donnelly thanked him for his report and made end-of-call sounds.

“That’s it?” Dale asked. “That’s all? What happens next?”

“Well, son, frankly… nothing. We file a copy with the FAA and keep it here for 90 days before it gets tossed. Unless you got photographic evidence?”

Dale bit his lip. “No. I didn’t have my phone.”

“So. No photos, no evidence, just… a citizen saw something weird. Not much to go on, you understand.”

“But what do you think it was? You’re the expert. You know what I saw. Surely you know something.”

Donnelly was silent for many seconds before answering.

“You saw a weather balloon. That’s what I’d go with. A weather balloon.”

Dale’s frustration and rage boiled over. “That was no balloon! I told you—“

“Yep. Definitely a weather balloon. I’m even writing it down here. Resolved: Weather Balloon. You have a nice day, hear?”

The line clicked and Dale nearly threw the phone. He paced his living room, peered out between the drapes at the sky, went outside, came back in. He dug his camera out of the closet and replaced the batteries before slipping it into a front pocket.

Weather balloon! He ground his teeth in fury.

But then a thought occurred. Ten seconds of Googling gave him the phone number he wanted.

“KSHB ActionNews, your Kansas City source for news! How may I direct your call?”

“Weather desk. I’d like to speak with a meteorologist, please.”

The music-on-hold was soft and jazzy, and after ten minutes Dale was about to hang up. What was he hoping to accomplish? It was a silly notion after all, not bound to resolve anything… but just as he’d decided to hang up a new voice greeted him.

“Parker, meteorology.”

Dale decided to be careful. Raving about UFOs was a bad idea.

“Um… what do you know about weather balloons?”

Long pause. “You mean in general? Like, you’re doing a school science project?”

Dale laughed. “No, no… I mean, what do they look like?”

“Ah. Thought you sounded a little old for school. Weather balloons… well, big, round, and usually silver. Close to the ground they’re kind of torpedo shaped, like a really long jellyfish. See one at altitude and it’s round, more traditionally balloon-like. Why?”

“Well,” Dale took a breath. “What’s the chance I’d see one floating around? Kind of… hovering… over my neighborhood?”

Another long pause as if Meteorologist Parker was adjusting the phone, maybe sitting down. “Whereabouts you live?”

Dale told him. This earned another long pause.

“Mister Parker? You still there?”

“Oh, hmm," Parker eventually replied. "Just trying to decide… oh hell, why not? The truth? Your chances of seeing a weather balloon out there are zero. Zilch. None.”

Dale blinked, stood up straighter. “Tell me why.”

“Well, it’s very simple. Weather forecasters haven’t used ‘em for close to 40 years! Last balloon I remember working with was… 1978? Yeah. Something like that. Even then it was kind of cute. I mean, we’ve had Doppler radar, satellites, remote wireless reporting stations… for years. Hell, even I get most of my weather from Google! So you seeing a weather balloon in this day and age is kinda impossible.”

“I see,” Dale whispered. The saucer was back. He could see it hovering over treetops, between the gap in the living room curtains.

“So tell me why you called… no, lemme guess. You saw a UFO. Right?”

“Um,” Dale watched the saucer approach low over the trees, branches waving gently below. It emitted a blue glow, pale but visible in broad daylight. There was a hissing noise, like static.

“Hello? What?” Parker sounded agitated. “Oh crap, I have another call, one sec.”

Parker put Dale on hold as the saucer descended in front of the trees. Dale held the phone to his ear listening to smooth jazz, watching the saucer come in for a landing.

The phone clicked, buzzed, and a familiar voice returned to the line.

“I changed my mind,” he heard Sergeant Donnelly say. “Not a weather balloon. Swamp gas. Repeat that back to me, son.”

The saucer had set down, the blue glow fading. A seam appeared in the side, like a doorway. The seam expanded into a black gap.

Dale tried to say something, anything, but all he could manage was a hoarse whisper.

“Close enough. Yep. Definitely swamp gas. And leave the nice weather people alone, you hear me? We’ll be in touch.”

The phone clicked dead in his hand. A slab of saucer-metal had separated from the hull and lowered to the ground, like a ramp. A pair of F-16s roared overhead and the sound of helicopters came to him from the distance, growing closer.

“Swamp gas,” Dale whispered into the dead phone.

#me #writing #ufo

[madithehuman]

alright, here’s my first attempt at a little cute blurb with stevie boy. i’m sorry if it’s boring or sucky i just thought this was cute so i though i’d share(:

im v new to tumblr, had it a long time ago, recently got back into it and got the urge to write again!

let me know your thoughts? does it suck? any advice? anything? 🫶🏻

also, the prompts for the crossword are actual prompts from my crossword book i just got. honestly i suck at them but they’re weirdly fun. just something i feel like stevie boy is good at hehe.

ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ

*Slow Morning With a Coffee and a Tea Drinker*

Soft!steve x Fem!reader

summary: After the events of Season 4, everyone with their trauma and everyone with their ways of healing. Yours and steve’s relationship is settling back to somewhat normal. He has lots of migraines, you have lots of nightmares. You both take care of each other. Hopper and Joyce were able to get themselves a nicer home on the outskirts of town, Will and El live at home, Jonathan and Nancy have gone off to college. Steve lives in a suite above Hoppers detached shop. Hopper didn’t like the idea of Steve living alone. Steve’s parents left Hawkins after the disaster. Even though the town is healing and rebuilding, it was too much for them. Steve didn’t want to leave. Hawkins was home, even after everything. It’s where he met you, his friends, his new family. You almost always stay with Steve, your parents love him and are more then happy for you both. You both share quiet mornings on the little patio that overlooks the small pond and wide open field and forest. Slow mornings with Steve, what more could you ask for.

(i feel like this summary itself is a while fic jeeze)

disclaimers: mild swearing, potentially very boring (lol)

ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ ᕯ

The shower flicks off, there’s a crow cawing in the distance, and you can hear the coffee machine pouring the dark brown liquid into the pot. The window is slightly cracked to let fresh air in through the night, and there’s a faint yellow glow falling upon the duvet.

Your arms stretch more under the pillow and you smoosh the side of your face more into it. Then slowly sliding over onto Steve’s pillow, as it smells like his fresh lavender shampoo, whatever cologne he wears and slightly sweaty. just simply him. You take a deep inhale and curl yourself more into the bed. You know it’s early. Steve usually goes on his run around 6:00am. Runs for around 45 minutes then comes home and has his shower. He says running in the morning clears his mind for the day, instead of racing thoughts as soon as he wakes up. Some mornings you’ll join him. This was not one of those mornings.

You can hear him sneaking about the bedroom not knowing if you’re awake yet. Your eyes peek open and he’s headed to the dresser with his towel hung low on his waste and he’s bending is figure back slightly to stretch out his back, the muscles flexing as he does so. You close your eyes again and feel your cheeks turn pink, even though you’ve seen the view countless times before.

You listen to his movements as he digs through his drawers looking for a fresh pair of clothes. You hear him slide on his sweater on last then he shuffles over to the side of the bed. He dips down and his soft hand brushes the hair from the side of your face, and a soft kiss is placed on your cheekbone. The tips of his damp hair tickling your face as he does so. As he rises you smile into the pillow and you hear him grab his glasses from the nightstand. He softly walks out into the small living and kitchen area.

The suite he lives in was not big by any means. but it is very cozy. It’s all open with a small kitchen that transitions into a living room, one bathroom attached to the end of the living area that also connects to the bedroom. Then a door leading into a small bedroom which holds his bed, a dresser, a plant in the corner that he never waters but you always do, and a nightstand. On top is a book (he’ll sometime read to you in the middle of the night if you wake from a nightmare, to help distract your brain so you can fall back asleep), his migraine pills, his water glass from the night before and a family photo. The photo is of him with a big teethy smile, you at his side on your arms up around his neck, on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek and his arm around your waist, while his other arm is holding Dustin, who is on Steve’s back mid laugh. Max and Lucas in the front with big goofy smiles. Mike and Will are beside Steve with smaller, but still happy, smiles and El is sat down in front of them with her soft smile and red heart sunglasses. Erica is also seated with El, she things El is really cool, badass as she puts it. Robin is on the other side of you laughing with her arms almost fully around you and Steve in a big side hug. Nancy and Jonathan are sat on the grass in front of you with their hands above their eyes to shield the sun, you can just faintly see their smiles. Hopper and Joyce aren’t pictured but you know they’re there because Joyce was taking the photo. Hopper made some stupid joke behind her to get your guys’ attention to make you smile. It was taken in the front yard of their new home.

You relax in bed for a few more minutes then finally open your eyes. You had heard him pour his mug of coffee and grab the newspaper off the counter, he picks it up on his run from the newspaper holder at the gas station down the road. he runs by it every day, greeting the old man who runs the place with a small wave.

You sit up and stretch out your limbs the best you can. You slide your slippers on that are beside your bed, and shiver slightly at the loss of warmth from your bed. You grab the teddy bear brown cardigan that’s hung on the back of the door on the handle and slide it on over your sleep shirt and shorts. Believe it or not, it’s Steve’s. It’s his favourite. Dustin’s mom made it for him. But it’s also your favourite. So you share it.

You head out into the kitchen and you look out the big sliding door that goes out to the small patio. It over looks a partial forest and a field, the sun is just coming over the horizon. Steve has already sat at his spot at his patio set with two chairs and a small table. He’s facing out to the view with his coffee in one hand, and the paper in the other. You look down at the counter and see your mug with hot water, and three different kinds of tea in their packages beside. Huffing out a small laugh through your nose, he knows how indecisive you are on what kind of tea you want in the morning. You put two back and settle on earl grey this morning. You set the tea bag in and pour a small amount of cream into the tea.

You rub your eyes as you walk over to the screen door and slide it open. Steve’s head perks up as he looks back at you, bending his neck as to almost look at you upside down.

“Good morning pretty girl” he softly speaks with a smile on his lips. You just give him a sleepy smile and lean down and place a kiss on his lips. He kisses back to you and hums softly. You pull away and take your spot on the other side of the small round table and pull your legs up to you. “How was your rest, I’m sorry if I woke you”

“You didn’t wake me” you look at him, voice a little coarse still from waking up. “Thank you for the tea”

“I merely just gave you hot water” he chuckles “good pick though, i love the smell of earl grey. reminds me of you” he says as he flicks to the other side of the paper and pulls out a page. He folds it and passes it to you. Eagerly, you set your mug down and take it from him. You scrunch your nose at him as a thank you and grab your pen from the table. It stays there usually as this is pretty much your every day routine with him. You lay the page down on the table and click the end of the pen.

“As always” he takes a sip of coffee “Ask me if you need any help”

“Not today Stevie, I’ve gotten pretty good at these” you grin up at him as he snorts, flipping the page of his paper.

“You said that last time babe” not taking his eyes off the paper “and i think you asked me for help on at least half of the prompts”

Steve always gives you the crosswords out of the daily paper. You love doing them. Though you’re not very good at them, you still love them. You find reading the paper boring so it’s a way for you and Steve to relax into the day doing something together. Sometimes he’ll read you an article he knows you’ll find interesting.

“Yeah yeah I know but this time. This time I got it. M’kay? Might ask for help on a few, but not many” You click the pen and take a look at the first one.

Down: 1. “Fencing Sword”. You furrow your brow, not knowing. moving to the next. 2. Mythical creature seen in some gardens. You think on it for a second “Oh!” you scribble your answer. Gnome. Steve chuckles, you always make it known when you get one without help. 3. school located near Windsor Castle. you shake your head how the hell would someone just know that. You read through a few more, out of all of them, which is around fifty. You’ve gotten three. You sigh and Steve peeks over.

“Need help there sweetheart?” He peeks over his paper.

“No. Just thinking. That’s all” You cover the paper slightly with your arms and he grins. He knows you. Stubborn. Steve folds the paper in half and grabs his mug and stands, stretches quick and kisses the top of your head and slides the door open and steps inside. You keep reading through the prompts trying to figure some out. You’re so focused you don’t really notice Steve come back out with another mug of coffee. He looks over your shoulder and pushes his glasses up his nose and reads.

“Epee” he says, it makes you slightly jump.

“I’m sorry?” you look up at him. He points at the down 1. spot.

“Epee. it’s what a fencing sword is called” he stands back up tall and takes a sip of coffee.

“How do you just know that?” you half laugh in disbelief, and look back and write it down. Sure enough it fits. He laughs a breathy laugh.

“Dunno babe, just do” he shrugs and sits back in his spot. He re opens his paper and reads a bit more. “Oh hey they think the movie theatre will re-open within the month. We haven’t done that in a wh-“

“What the actual hell is an ‘instrument similar to a lute’?! First of all. What even is a lute? How am I supposed to know?” you weren’t angry. Your brain just can’t comprehend how people just know this information. You set the paper down quiet aggressively and sigh harshly. Steve closes his eyes and huffs out a laugh.

“Babe” Steve stands and moves his chair right beside yours. “Crosswords are supposed to be a relaxing activity” he kisses your temple and plops himself beside you. “Let’s see love, what letters do you already have” he moves the paper more towards him and adjusts his glasses. You both spend the next hour figuring it out together. This is how it usually always goes. you get frustrated, and Steve comes and sits with you and helps you through it. Small kisses stolen here and there, especially when you get one on your own.

“there you go.” he presses a kiss on your cheek, “smart girl” another kiss just below your ear, then your neck. You giggle and turn to face him. “Easy-peasy” he winks.

“Well says you. You’re the one with just random useless information floating around in all that hair. Yet you can’t remember to pick Dustin up from the arcade after he reminded you all day, and wrote it on your hand” you start to laugh as he huffs and takes his glasses off and sets them on the table.

“One time. I forgot one time. God you both hold that over my head. He brought it up yesterday when he dropped off his movie rentals at the store” he shakes his head but he’s also grinning. Knowing you’re right. “Alright. we have 3 more words to get, then we’re done” he slides his glasses back on and grabs the pen. You rest your chin on your hand and sit and admire him as he reads the next prompt to you. His brows furrow. “‘34 across, 1957 treaty of Rome org.’ Okay. Now who the actual fuck is supposed to just know that” Steve looks over at you, equally as annoyed as you were.

“Right?!” you throw your hands up and laugh, as Steve laughs as well and shakes his head. He pulls you closer by your waist and you two spend the rest of the morning trying to figure out the last 3 words.

You could spend all your mornings like this. And you do. You always will.

#steve harrington #steve harrington blurb #stranger things #love #steve harrington fanfiction #fanfic #steve harrington one shot #one shot

[timberva]

Enjoy my entry for July’s @sherlockchallenge , “Lamp.” I did not sleep at all last night. Whoooop! I’ve actually spent like 2 weeks on this and still didn’t make it in time for the end of the month which made me want to cry but I didn’t because I’m too emotionally repressed for no reason whatsoever. Will be on AO3 as soon as I get my 8 hours and have enough anxiety to jumpstart my system again. Yeah it’s a very…serious fic *does finger guns*

I’m just playing this is pure humor + fluff.

—

In the simplest terms, Sherlock and John shared custody of a lamp. Today it was missing, and John is murderous.

There was no need for custody when they’d lived together; the lamp adorned a lovely little table in the corner where John would read and Sherlock would criticize scientific journals with the passion of a thousand suns on a mission to dehydrate the universe.

Upon Sherlock’s return, a deal had been struck, and the lamp was passed between them each week. Really, they both suspected, it was just a reason for them to see each other.

In any case, today it was gone.

“How could you bloody lose it? It’s a lamp! People don’t usually lug them around with their Oyster cards.”

“Er…” He fidgets timidly with the edge of a stained sleeve.

“Oh HELL, Sherlock!”

For four years since its acquisition, it has never seen the outside of Baker Street and then John’s little flat, except when it would travel between the two places.

Of course John had kept it when Sherlock was away. It was the only object they actually shared— sure, the microwave was up for grabs, but since John had discovered a bowl of human intestines in there rather than his orange chicken, he’d given up the territory. And orange chicken. Since then no food (that was meant to be eaten by living human beings) has ever touched the machine.

It’s just a lamp. It’s just a lamp— is what he told himself the entire drive to 221B yet he is giving away just how emotionally invested he is in a piece of furniture. He has showed his cards, and they all support a diagnosis of unhealthy attachment and codependency, but John swears he’s going to get that lamp back or die trying.

“I told you, I needed it for the investigation!”

Or kill Sherlock trying.

“There is a reason torches exist! You couldn’t have found a more portable light source?!”

“What is this fixation with you and furniture? A month ago, you’d flipped out because of the brown stain on your chair. YOU DON’T EVEN LIVE HERE ANYMORE!”

“It doesn’t matter! The point is, it’s my week, I have a case to write up, and my bloody desk doesn’t have a lamp! And if it’s just a piece of furniture, why did you bother asking for it back? You could have just let me keep it instead of initiating this insane arrangement like the thing is our damn child!”

“For God’s sake— just buy another one! They’re half off at Kensington’s this week!”

“IT WAS ONE-OF-A-KIND!”

They’d gone to nearly 14 different furniture stores that day because Sherlock insisted that the corner table was missing something. Probably related to the robbery a month ago— a client had taken off with some ancient vase that looked like it would sell for a million dollars to some rare collector. Either that or when Mr. Jensen touched it, it finally crumbled into dust. John had suggested moving some of the floor mess onto the table. Sherlock was not amused (I have a system, John!).

“Why are we doing this?”

“We need a lamp.”

“Yeah, but really, why? Is there a case you're not telling me about? This is the 15th place we’ve gone to and we’ve disagreed on literally every product in the store. Listen, I know you’re bored since Lestrade has been out sick, but if those store associates glare at us any harder they’ll be developing telekinesis just to catapult us out the window. I’m starting to think that this isn’t really about lamps.

“Wrong, it is. Now pick something!”

“I have been!” He gestures indignantly. “This entire time! But no-o it’s too rustic or rounded or minimalist—I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!”

“No—you’ve been pointing at random objects so we could leave! At some point you suggested getting a menorah! NEITHER OF US ARE EVEN JEWISH. If you actually liked something, you would fight for it! You were an army doctor, Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers—use some of that initiative and CHOOSE SOMETHING!”

John sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Why is this important?”

“You really want to revisit that topic—“

“No, no—no! Fine, er…ooh! That one- I…like the little tassels.”

“…what the hell John that thing is absolutely hideous—it would destroy the entire aesthetic of our living space, are you sure we’re looking at the same thing?”

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE SHERLOCK WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

Needless to say the sky was as dark as John’s mood by the time they started heading back to Baker Street, lampless and refusing to make eye contact. Things were said that caused pain on both ends.

John sighs, and settles onto the arm of the chair facing Sherlock. His chair. The feeling of nostalgia is instantaneous, his position as natural as it had been two years ago, when this was home. It’s easy to pretend— the floor is still a mess, the kitchen table is still a hazard rather than a place to eat, and they’re still bickering. The only difference is the bare corner table.

“Where’d you see it last?” he manages much, much more calmly.

“I investigate things for a living, John. Don’t you think I would have checked the crime scene?”

“No, I think you had an epiphany, ran off, and forgot all about it.”

“Touché.” He is still standing, arms crossed against his chest. Even admitting defeat, the sass coming from this fucker is unacceptable since it’s his fault that they even have to have this discussion.

“Answer the question,” John grits through his teeth.

Sherlock looks away and says something in French.

“Say again?”

“Molly’s muffin tin.”

“What?”

“Lestrade’s rubbish bin.”

“Lestrade’s rubbish bin!”

“I told you I needed it for a case!”

“Where? Anderson’s cubby?”

“I went back for it, but it was gone! Someone must have cleared it out while I went after the suspect!” His eyes go glassy in a way that’s dangerous when trying to get him to stay on topic. A lax smile spreads across his face as he recounts “Oh, it was brilliant, John! It was the shoelaces that clued me in! You see—“

“I don’t care how you solved the case!”

They both sit in silence for a moment. And darkness, since the object in question was the only thing they usually used to light the living room. Neither of them point out that it’s literally John’s job to care about Sherlock’s cases.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock mumbles.

John is taken aback by the sincerity of his ap-

“I’m sorry that you’re so emotionally attached to a piece of furniture! Really, John, I can steal you another one if you’d like! Why are you so angry about this?”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!”

Mycroft had called them in the next day to help with a “personal problem—“ which is code for super-secret government investigation. Normally, Sherlock would decline the invitation out of spite, but the case withdrawal was beginning to drive him mad. So there they were, on a Wednesday morning, walking into Mycroft’s house instead of a precinct.

The furnishings looked like they’d been stolen from the 1800s— the ancient vase would have fit perfectly among the brushed bronze and porcelain statues guarding the furniture. The carpet was red, with a velvety sheen, and John wonders if it was a strategic choice in order to ensure that all footsteps could be tracked should the need arise.

They meandered into the sitting and lo and behold, it was like a gift from God— the only decisive choice presented to them alighted by the rays of the sun like a divine being was pointing at it with a finger saying “this. This is the one.”

It was a smallish lamp with a cream-colored mushroom shade, held aloft by a polished wooden base carved vaguely into the shape of a gargoyle mid-roar. No further embellishments coated its structure— just ebony and the deft craftsmanship of a wizard (probably). It was the perfect combination of tacky and majestic.

He made eye contact with Sherlock, who had also stopped dead a few paces from the door, and knew immediately he felt the same. For the first time in two days, they were in complete agreement. It was ugly, posh, and absolutely perfect for their flat.

Not that John would ever suggest they buy anything that Mycroft owned unless either of them were willing to lose a kidney for a piece of furniture.

“Mycroft bought that from a flea market three weeks ago,” Sherlock whispered in his ear.

Speak of the devil, John thought as the man strode in, umbrella absent but still clad in a flashy suit, demeanor commanding the same level of esteem from everyone he interacted with.

Esteem, of which Sherlock gave none, promptly insulting his weight and blowing raspberries.

There was a thief among their ranks, selling equipment or information to foreign parties. Or weapons or…something. Honestly, John was too preoccupied with trying not to burst into laughter as Sherlock fidgeted with everything in the room, occasionally interjecting witty remarks that had nothing to do with the case, so that John’s memory of Mycroft’s report was distorted by the hilarity of their bickering. (Oh shit is this what it was like for their clients?)

After he was finished explaining the task, Sherlock simply said “no,” and then shot at his brother with a crossbow. Luckily his aim was true and it hit the candlestick on the mantle rather than the embodiment of the British government. He placed it back onto its glass display case and then hurried across the room to a side table, opening and closing a drawer while Mycroft’s back was turned. He slipped something into his pocket and began sprinting towards the door. John took the wild look in his companion’s eyes as a signal to run like hell, so they did, and got into a cab for Baker Street.

The entire ride is spent in breathless giggles and then silence after a short conversation about whether or not they had a new case (“It’s the prime minister’s secretary,” Sherlock says.

“Oh. Well, aren't you going to tell him?”

“Yes. When we’re safe at home, and he can’t throttle me for stealing his loyalty card to Belle Époque Patisserie.” He holds up the slip of paper he’d nicked from the drawer earlier, smirks, then clutches his side as if in pain.

“You alright?”

He casts a suspicious glance to the front of the cab. “Ran into a table corner on my way out.”

“Ouch.”)

Then in the safety of their flat, when the door had shut because Sherlock insists that Mycroft could have bugged the staircase, he turns toward John and pulls something out of his Belstaff with a flourish.

“For you, my dear Watson.”

It was the bloody lamp, presented to him like a bouquet of flowers. It really shouldn’t have stirred the butterflies in his stomach but Christ. He feels a rush of fondness for the madman in front of him, as quickly and painfully fervent as the blush creeping across his face, like he’d dropped all of his inhibitions in the middle of a street and tripped over them while trying to be smooth.

John had known for a long time that he was doomed to loving his best friend in silence, but it was things like these that ensured his destruction. It was incredibly thoughtful, in its own Sherlockian way, that committing larceny was worth making John laugh. For a second, he could believe that perhaps his love wasn’t unrequited.

But he could never be sure unless one of them made a move that risked showing their cards. Friendships and romances tend to be one-way roads that never lead back to each other.

So he put the lamp on a table instead of a vase, and they went about their day pretending they were completely happy with the way things were.

The silence after John’s outburst is deafening, but then Sherlock pipes up with “Oh. Oh, we’ve wasted so much time.”

And John is so angry because this fucker was in love with him too and didn’t say anything—so angry he could kiss him, so he closes the short distance between them, pulls him down by the collar of his shirt and kisses him into oblivion (because he’s allowed to do that now). The romance of the gesture bursts like a firework between them— bright, flashy, beautiful, but short-lived as John’s brain conveniently decides to have an epiphany at that moment.

“IT’S AT MYCROFT’S HOUSE, ISN’T IT,” he exclaims, pulling away mid-kiss.

Sherlock falls back into his chair with a groan, digging the palms of his hands into his eye sockets. “John, you were thinking about my brother while we were kissing?!”

“I- no! Sorry—it’s just that um. I made a deduction! Two, actually!” He chuckles euphorically, and for a moment he just stands, gazing transfixed at the imaginary jigsaw puzzle he’d put together like it was the holy grail of puzzles. He finally understands the root of Sherlock’s arrogance— if he always saw the world like this, it definitely would also go to his head.

“Well?” Sherlock croons, leaning forward. “Go on then.”

John grins and sits down in his chair, steepling his fingers in mockery of the gorgeous man sitting in front of him.

“The stain on your sleeve.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes, green today and sparkling with mischief, trying to see where John is going with this.

“You don’t stumble over your words— you literally corrected a man on the conjugation of his execution—- you are obsessed with grammar. You’re well-spoken, and you’re not drunk, so there’s no reason for you to screw up. But you told me to ‘buy another one.’ I know you care about that lamp, I know you’re lying to me about something because you hate being wrong. You know it’s irreplaceable— you nicked it yourself! There’s no way I could have gotten it from a furniture shop because Mycroft bought it from a flea market. You wouldn’t have said that unless you were trying to cover something up.

“After figuring that out, I realized the stain on your sleeve is from a sandwich in Lestrade’s rubbish bin— it’s Thursday so they’ve got a buy-one-get-one-free deal and he never passes up on that. You must have fished it out! And yet it’s not here, so someone must have seen you. Can’t have been anyone other than Lestrade. Everyone else is immune to your bullshit but Lestrade has been dating your brother for 4 years now — that’s my second deduction by the way. Mycroft would never go to a flea market on his own, so it must have been a date— that’s why Lestrade recognized it and confiscated it from you!”

Sherlock, apparently, was blind to the details of his brother’s love life. His complexion had paled to ivory as John spoke. His eyes had grown comically wide in horror of the many things he’d remained blissfully ignorant of in the last four years. John clears his throat and Sherlock’s eyes refocus like the dial of a telescope. He quirks his lip upwards apologetically, and gestures for John to continue.

“Then you said ‘I’ll steal you another one.’ You have a tell, Sherlock, sorry to break it to you. Whenever you lie to me, you only get away with it because it holds some sort of merit or is half-true—- you’re able to say you’ll steal another one because there’s one to steal! And the only reason you’ve been covering it up and arguing with me about it is because you know where it is and it must be somewhere utterly deplorable for you to step foot in but somewhere Lestrade has access to— ergo, your brother’s house.”

John leans back in his chair and sighs.

“That was unbelievably hot,” Sherlock says, staring at him.

John flushes. “Believe me, I know. You do it every day.”

Sherlock’s eyes sparkle with pride. A lot of his emotions are filtered through them—it was the best way to see what was going on in his brain. Which is exactly why John has had absolutely no clue as to what this man’s thought processes were for four years because open stares were often a cause of concern between two people who aren’t romantically affiliated. But after ages of relying on peripheral or body language cues, his eyes are as eloquent and boisterous as Shakespeare on his third bottle of wine. John only wonders if Sherlock’s ever looked at him like this when he wasn’t looking.

Like everything in the world just faded out to him; like he was the single bright thing in an endless dark void. A conductor of light.

Oh good lord, he was the fucking lamp.

Sherlock leans forward, tearing him away from his revelation. He tilts John’s chin upward—they are both literally sitting on the edge of their seats for this to be possible—and kisses him soundly, the brush of his lips and the warmth of his breath like the first rush of the heater when you walk in from the cold, warm and inviting. John slips a hand around the back of his neck, deepening the kiss.

The phrase “kissing each other senseless” would be inaccurate; for once, John is in full possession of all his mental capacity to think about how he could name all of the neck muscles he could feel stretched out beneath his fingers. He could list every known chemical reaction that was occurring in the body, every hormone that was being released at that moment. But he doesn’t. Instead he marvels at how lucky he had been to get so sexually frustrated over a lamp that it was the difference between stalling their relationship for another four years. And then that his self-proclaimed sociopath, the man who goes about every day of his life scorning the sentimental, pretending not to have feelings, pulls away and tells him earnestly,

“I love you, John Watson.”

John smiles and feels his tear ducts betray him. As warm tears flow freely down his face, he holds Sherlock’s face between his hands, gazing at him seriously and fully setting him up to expect an I love you too.

“…that means you’ll get the lamp back right?” he says tearfully.

John was expecting his expression to fall, or his face to go blank like in the rare times he’s confused about what’s happening, but instead tears also begin rolling down his face, and he says just as brokenly,

“Yeah I’ve got it all planned out. Free tomorrow?”

“Oh God yes.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“And I love you too.”

*more crying*

—

Taglist: @topsyturvy-turtely @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @ladylindaaa

Lmk if you wanna be added or removed!

#I WROTE FIC #timbervawrites #maniacal laughter #johnlock #johnlock fic #sherlock challenge

[vtforpedro]

medical update

I've been trying to find the energy to write an update and you'd think being stuck on a reclining chair for the entire day that I'd be able to find some but NO! My body has simply said 'no energy' this month.

I've actually had so many appointments this month it's been criminal. I haven't had to move around this much in a long time and it hasn't been so great pain-wise. So, I think I was at 16 weeks when I made a brief update about seeing my neuro in person??

21 weeks this week. Y'all it's been five months of this lmao I'm going to try to summarize so I don't get lost in rambling immediately

-saw my neuro in person on august 18th -order for another fucking lumbar spine MRI -pain specialist and pain psychologist referral -ER visit on august 26th for neuro-unrelated shit finally lmao -pain specialist at 18 weeks -pain specialist ordered a compounded cream at an APOTHECARY just for meeeee, a tens machine, a prescription nsaid, steroid injections for my sacral area, aquatic therapy, a medical grade back brace, and a chiropractor but insurance doesn't cover that -EMG procedure as ordered 1.5-2 months ago -saw my OB for what I went to the ER for -got my back brace -follow up with my neuro's PA because we wasted 1 hr and 45 minutes yesterday trying to get my telehealth appt with my neuro to work but it didn't. their fault, but they said I couldn't see him until OCTOBER 25TH THEN huahguahghguah

So that leads to today lmao

Most of that has been this month u_u Tuesday was the last in-person appointment for the month and I could die happy. Soooo much pain.

Alright, so now let's go through what happened with all of this.

1. My neurologist is a discriminatory egotistical asshole who is one year out of residency. He will not give me the diagnosis he and I talked about me having 99% for sure but we needed to 'clinch it' (per their notes) with a lumbar puncture. Which we did. But then they destroyed me lmao. He heard I'm in the middle of applying for disability and walked back my diagnosis super quick and announced he was 'not an advocate for long-term disability' and that he's a 'positive person' while not asking what my goals for recovery were whatsoever.

Sorry that making $300,000 a year has clouded your judgment that a measly $850ish monthly payment can be life-changing for a little guy like me while I go through intense physical therapy and mental health therapy to deal with what Y O U R hospital did to me.

He also marked my chiari malformation as 'resolved' after that conversation. I had mentioned my neurosurgeon didn't think I had a "real" one and my neurologist disagreed. Let me stress this: HE DISAGREED. But then he marked it as resolved. The only way to resolve a chiari malformation is neurosurgery you absolute buffoon of a man. So now it's marked as resolved and not an ongoing issue for my disability judge to see. :)

Anyway. I could probably prove malpractice fifty times over with this place lol I'm going to talk to the office manager about switching to a different doctor but they're a 'teaching' hospital so not sure if I'll be able to. We'll see. I truly hate this man. The stuff he has pulled would take up days of my time explaining. Legit hatred is what I feel for this man lmao he is doing everything he can to be combative after what happened to me when instead he should have offered me the best care possible after their fuck up.

Lots of trauma to work through hoo boy! And it just gets worse every goddamn week, I swear.

Okay, the EMG. It was ordered because I am having nerve pain and have been since oh I don't know the first day. So this was my second EMG and it was a hellish experience, but guess what?

I have fucking nerve damage from the lumbar puncture. Specifically, the nerve that affects the lower lumbar back, down the butt, back of the leg, and into the calf. Sometimes into the foot, but not always.

Guess who has been telling them about the tingles I have every single day of my life on the backside from my lower back to my butt to my thigh to my calves. They've brushed me off continuously because it wasn't in my feet. Turns out it doesn't HAVE TO BE.

N e ways. Guess what this specific nerve damage also causes?

'Excruciating pain with prolonged sitting.'

I've been asking since my headache went away (the severity of it dropped off at 10 days post LP) WHY I CAN'T SIT UP. I asked every single medical professional I talked to at this place for months. Why. Can't. I. Sit. Up. Without. Excruciating. Pain.

My neuro's PA is a much nicer and way less combative military man :P and he said 'this is really fantastic to have because it supports everything you've been telling us and we can move forward'

Super glad it only took 4-5 months for you guys to take me seriously.

I now have to do physical therapy to recover from being bedbound for 5 months but also to help with the nerve damage. I JUST got a back brace on Tuesday.

On Tuesday, for the first time since April 29th, I was able to sit up and stand on my own. Tears. Literal tears. How fucked is that? But I can't even be happy. I'm so fucking angry that a medical grade back brace might've been helping from the beginning but it took seeing my neuro face to face with my mom at 16 weeks for him to believe us that this has ruined our lives.

It's ruining my rock-solid relationship with my mom.

She can barely work. She is our sole income.

I'm in excruciating pain so bad I have asked my mother to kill me, leave my apartment so I can kill myself, and to please be happy for me because I'll be out of pain.

This man's face as I cried and said those words was very 'oh shit she really meant everything she said the last 4 months.'

Infuriating. No other words. It's just infuriating.

2. My pain specialist rocks. I wanted to scream with relief when she listed everything she wanted to do. We can't do steroid injections because, less importantly, I have extreme trauma about needles in my back haha wonder where that came from, and, more importantly, I'm a leukemia patient and they lower the immune system.

I had labs done and my hematologist's appointment too. She's not happy with my labs because they jumped quite high, I'm not happy with them, and despite zero detectable leukemia cells……. she wants me to do a repeat bone marrow biopsy once my spine is recovered.

:)

If I have cancer floating around in there, I can't even treat it. At this point it would be watching it closely, making sure I don't get covid (the measures we take going to, during, and after appointments contribute heavily to my pain and exhaustion, but it's been 2 yrs of my life already), and honestly, hoping for the best.

More needles in my back yay.

Hopefully this is like… months down the line, so I'm trying not to worry too much about it right now.

3. I had to go to the ER because I thought I had appendicitis. I'm back on my med for the high pressure (my neuro says it's only possibly there yet would not give me this medication if he were not sure because it'd be dangerous but I digress) and it's a diuretic so I pee a lot. I can't get up on my own yet, so having a full bladder was pressing on the appendix area and idk it felt like someone stuck a hot poker/brand in my insides and it was. Unpleasant.

My WBC jumped, and the pain tests were all there, but everything came back clear. So. YAY FOR ME AGAIN. But the ER PA did say it could be scarring they can't see, so I wondered about endo. Looked it up and it spoke to me in the worst ways lmao so I saw my OB and we're gonna try a few conservative things while I go through everything else.

So, a mystery right now.

So goddamn tired y'all. There's more but I'll save it for later. It hasn't been gucci but my MH is not as horrid as it was before.

Love you all.

#medical #personal #vtforpedro personal #tw medical #doctors being doctors oh boy #man idk what tumblr did to my complete lack of formatting by adding it but no thank u

[estherdedlock]

I want to amend the mini-review I posted of The Atlas Six a couple of weeks ago, because it actually turned out not to be that bad. It was better than I was expecting for a “BookTok sensation.”

Mild spoilers ahead:

The Good Olivie Blake’s writing style is mature compared to most recent YA, although she still uses some AO3 neologisms like “his mouth quirked up into a smile” (tell me you read fanfic without telling me you read fanfic). Her take on magic is intriguingly based on science rather than mysticism or arcane spellwork, so that’s refreshing. And there is a big twist at the end that is a genuine surprise.

The Dark Academic I didn’t really get the dark academic feels, though I can see why people would. To me, this feels more like...dark capitalism? The Alexandria Society is less of a school than a secretive corporation that holds (and does business in) the human race’s entire storehouse of magical knowledge. Now that I think about it, “Dark Capitalism” could totally be an internet aesthetic.

The Not-So-Good The sciencey approach leads to long conversations about things like...the molecular structure of time travel and the physical impact of telepathy. These really slow the book down. I swear, things didn’t start to pick up until around page 250. In a 373-page book.

The characters...hmmm. I want to say they’re not likable, but that’s not really the issue. I don’t need characters to be likable, but I do want them to be enjoyable, which is not the same thing. Personally, I didn’t really enjoy these characters. Two of them (Nico and Reina) could have disappeared from the book and you wouldn’t have noticed. Blake must have liked Parisa best, because she gave her the most attention. But Parisa’s bottomless superiority complex quickly became irritating, and there’s a sex scene between her and two other characters that felt uncomfortably non-consensual to me (Parisa’s a telepath who can not just read minds but alter people’s thoughts, and she takes credit for getting these two characters to have sex---though whether she’s serious, or it’s just her usual self-importance is hard to tell).

The end of the book reveals an apocalyptic conspiracy that will involve all of “the Atlas six” initiates, but bizarrely, one of the major characters (Dalton Ellery) disappears from the story at that point. It’s as if Blake had forgotten about him, or hadn’t yet figured out what role he would play in these machinations. And that’s a real shame because of all the characters, I liked Dalton best.

There’s way too much sly teasing about what’s really going on, and who’s using who. This makes for frustrating reading. It’s clear that Blake wrote this book as the first in a series, so the whole novel is full of hints and suggestions and questions that are just left to dangle until, presumably, a future installment.

The Editing, BookTok, Publishing etc. Overall, this book would have benefited from some serious, dedicated editing, but that’s an issue I have with so many books published within the last few years. I don’t think anyone is editing books the way they used to be edited.

Even with Donna Tartt’s genius, I doubt that The Secret History would be as impeccable as it is without the guidance of a skilled editor. I think this is a role that is becoming obsolete or at least, has changed a lot from what it used to be. A book like The Atlas Six was a success before Tor Books even picked it up...so why bother editing something that was already a proven bestseller? And if the book goes to press with glaring, goofy mistakes in it (like a broken “lamp” that becomes a broken “vase” on the next page, and then is a “lamp” again three paragraphs later)...well, who cares? That didn’t stop the book from going viral on BookTok, did it?

I actually looked up the editor of TA6 and found out that she, Molly McGhee,  made some news of her own recently. She quit her job at Tor Books after the book was released and posted a bitter resignation letter on Twitter.

I have mixed feelings about this. People who work in publishing are woefully underpaid at almost all levels except the very highest, and the process for moving up in the ranks is rigid and outdated. Undoubtedly, this is because publishing is “women’s work,” and has been for probably the last 40 years or so. No joke, if you walk into a publishing company in New York City, you’ll think you’re in a sorority house. You’ll have to go up to the executive floor to find a man behind a desk. So kudos to McGhee for calling publishers out on the shabby treatment of their workforce.

However, while McGhee never calls out sexism specifically (a strange omission, IMO), she does complain at length about assistant editors like herself having to do administrative work. While I’m sure that assistant editors are burdened with too many of these duties, I think McGhee’s complaint that the executives in her company were “technologically illiterate” is just her taking a spiteful jab at her former bosses. The truth is, those executives think they’re above tasks like organizing inboxes or managing databases...and that’s nothing new. Before the digital era, high-ranking people didn’t do their own filing, and it wasn’t because they didn’t know the alphabet. This insistence that anyone born before 1985 has incurable digital dementia is snotty, ageist, and false. McGhee weakens her argument by choosing to focus on this. If she ever becomes an executive anything, I’m sure she’ll gladly leave administrative tasks to an assistant as well.

But the real issue I take with McGhee’s showy resignation is that The Atlas Six was her first acquisition...and because it’s a hit, she thought she deserved a promotion for it. But how much credit can she really take for The Atlas Six? It was a hit before McGhee ever touched it. It was a sensation two whole years ago. And, from reviews I’ve read on Goodreads, there was little difference between Blake’s self-published, unedited version and the Tor version that McGhee edited.

I wonder what effect this kind of performative quitting has. Do you think publishers will start paying assistant editors better, giving them fewer administrative tasks, and promoting them more quickly? Or will publishers decide they don’t really need assistant editors anyway? After all, the way publishing is now, they can just recruit a bunch of freelancers to monitor BookTok, and maybe Wattpad, find out what’s going viral, then buy it, print it, done.

It used to take time and labor to get a book from manuscript to hardcover, to hone it into a story that was at least a damn good read, and possibly even a masterpiece. Editors worked painstakingly alongside authors to do this. But I don’t think that happens anymore, and maybe that’s why so much fiction now feels so...unfinished. Unfocused, unsatisfying and sometimes, just peppered with mistakes. As in, actual typos. The publisher’s goal with something like The Atlas Six was not to polish it into a gem, but to get it out the door while it still had its BookTok buzz. And it obviously doesn’t matter because these books are making money, probably more money than some of the most brilliant authors ever earned. So Molly McGhee might have a point to make about the unrewarded value that editors bring to the book business, but there’s a good chance she’s already too late. In a landscape of BookTok and self-published viral sensations, the book business may be realizing it doesn’t need editors at all.

#the atlas six #olivie blake #dark academia #booktok #the secret history #donna tartt #book publishing #molly mcghee #tor books

[perexcri]

This is So Much more painful than I thought it was going to be!! Like lovely wonderful writing ofc ofc !! As always your writing strums my heartstrings like a lute—but aaaaaAaaa poor Babies! Miscommunication trope breaking their sweet dates:((((

(Hello Fannon here🥰)

orz the Merthur parallels are gonna kill me dead poor Mike poor Will (poor El? Is it El?)

(My thankfully untrue theory from last chaps was Mike was gonna full on betray Will and like bring knights to arrest him or some shit. Why does this Personal betrayal hurt more than that would have😭😭😭😭😭?)

But also !!! I Knew he was a prince!! This version of him just had such a princely air about him I knew it. Prince Mike!!!

The king has How Many sons 😃??? Ted???? Or is the King not Ted kadbjejdejfjeh (Henry? Brenner?)?

(If when Mike and Will got married Will would be prince consort 🤔 sorry merthur & bagginshield brainrot)

I legit teared up when they fought. And Mike still doesn’t know!!! Aaaaa they’re gonna be so sad and pining for each other 😭

You continue to amaze with your writing, even if it Hurts me 😭 like a rose with lots of thorns, gonna bleed but at least it’s beautiful !

I hope you are having a wonderful week!!

ahhh hello fannon!! apologies for the tears - that miscommunication trope is out here kicking ass and taking names :(

oooh your original guess is actually pretty good!! that would have been so interesting and painful to explore T_T we got personal betrayal instead though and yeah :') when i was first coming up with this and that idea popped into my head i couldn't help but go for it heheheh

but you were spot on with the prince thing!! literally every time you brought it up i would sit there nervously like ",,,has fannon been looking through my google drive or is it just that obvious" lol. props to you for guessing correctly!!

i will clarify: Mike and Will are the only characters in here that are from st!! i maybe should add that to the beginning author's note or something. yeah i was mainly focused on their dynamic for this since the song it's based on is so intimate/personal that i was having a hard time trying to fit anybody else in (also i swear it was supposed to be like 3 chapters and now it's a whole Thing), so i decided to put these dorks in the washing machine for another spin cycle but if i said i have another multi-chapter apocalypse fic more focused on all the characters sitting outlined in my google drive how would that make you feel

thank you for still enjoying my writing, even if it does cause you pain T_T hopefully the rest of the story can remedy that, but we've still got a ways to go 😬

thank you once again for stopping by with your kind words!! they always mean the world to me :D i hope you're having a great week as well and feeling better!! :] 💜

and as a prize for guessing the prince thing correctly, i offer you a handmade meme, just for you:

#ask #fannon

[hardestgrove]

AN INDEXING OF SHIT.

AN FAQ MOST FOUL:

DO YOU TAKE WRITING REQUESTS? Yes I do. but ONLY for MUNGROVE (Billy/Eddie) and CUNNINGROVE (Billy/Chrissy)

WHY? Because they’re the only ships I care about next question--

DO YOU ACCEPT REQUESTS FOR SEXY SHIT? Yeah sure why not.

OKAY NOW THE INDEX----

the runaway maxathon : my liveblogging of my reading of runaway max. includes passages of the book that might be interesting to yall

Emily King had always known she wasn’t normal even before they moved to Hawkins when she was 12. It was something that had only become more true as she grew up. For years she lived inside a terrible engine, a machine she made to keep herself moving forward and safe from the horrors in her home and the horrors she feared watched from somewhere she couldn’t see. The day Will Byers went missing marked the death of the terrible engine. The fire is free. Features: a nonbinary main character (Emily), an entire family ocs, psychic nonsense, Billy Hargrove being our little bastard (affectionate), actually addressing trauma unlike in canon (assuming I’m any good at writing), polyamory in later installments, the stock 80s goth the show has been missing (Emily), and an unholy amount of talk about Elric of Melniboné Series tags: BP content, BP shitposting, BP update Last Season On —     rating: T/PG-13 warnings: canon appropriate violence, swearing, mentions of child abuse/endangerment word count: 9,573 one shot recap of Season 1 but with the Kings included. Just a quick rundown of events so there’s context for the later events. Edited from the original version hosted here. And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"    rating: G/PG warnings: none word count: 2,059 Originally on here as “In Betweener” and heavily edited. a Brief one-shot from Steve’s pov one night at the King house. Helps to flesh things out a bit. In The Flat Field rating: T/PG-13 but might climb warnings: mentions of child abuse, canon appropriate violence, gross terminology, more added as we go Starts in S2. Things in Hawkins had quieted down over the last year since the string of mysterious tragedies that happened last November for everyone except Emily King at least who had instead added more to her plate. For the few like her who knew the reason for that string of tragedies their upcoming anniversary was a thing of dread. New faces blow into town and complicate a barely working situation even further. If the signs are anything to go by the other shoe they'd been waiting for is about to drop. Swimming Lessons rating: G warnings: none Just a small thing where Billy plays with Alison.

The Kings: Character Bios  tags: Adam King / Christina King / Emily King / David King / Jackson King / Stacy King / Alison King / the king kids as a whole

OTHER USEFUL TAGS:

Train.png (my art/edits) Writing.doc (my writing) Meta Reference Cunningrove Mungrove

OCs / Hawkins Extended Universe Brandon Mayfield Jodi Pierce Shannon Harrington / Harrington sibs

(this is a side. my main is @namorian)

#train.txt

[the-college-of-whispers]

Interviews With the College of Whispers Scholars

Scholar Viviri Corvius

“Oh, hello there! You must be the interviewer! I’m Viviri Corvius, I study biology and physiology here at the College of Whispers. I recently published a paper on harpies, would you like to see? Oh! More about me? I’m from the Reach. My mother was a Reachman and my father was an Imperial. It was a...very interesting marriage if you think about it. Breton? No, we’re not Bretons, and they wouldn’t like being called Reachmen either. My magic specialization is Restoration magic, since that’s most connected to my field of research. Oh crap, gotta go, Master God-Fang is trying to summon a Fire Atronach in the building again!”

Pronouns: she/her Race: Breton Reachman with an Imperial father Notable Skills: Restoration

Scholar Emera Patale

An interview was not possible to obtain from Scholar Emera Patale. She left a note on the door to her study explaining that she had gone back home to Leyawiin to research magic artifacts that were connected to the city and its chapels. It’s also been mentioned to us by other scholars in the college that Emera’s field of study is in the magical items and their history.

Pronouns: she/her Race: Imperial Notable Skills: Enchanting, Smithing

Scholar Venhel

“An interview? Um, certainly! I am Venhel, I’m from southeastern Cyrodiil, and I study modern magical theories here. I spend most of my time going through the library – Have you spoken to Page? They’re such a sweetheart! – and I’ve been working with Viviri to learn more about Reach magic.”

Pronouns: they/them Race: Ayleid just a pale Altmer we swear, don’t tell Newha and Rallo Notable Skills: Alteration

Scholar Fasti Silver-Tongue

“Who am I? I’m Fasti Silver-Tongue, I hail from Markarth. And no, I’m not related to the Silver-Bloods, we aren’t lucky enough to be in that sort of money. Yeah, I’m from the land of ‘all mages are under suspicion’ that’s known as Skyrim. I’m not quite interested in magic so much as I’m interested in the social reactions to and understandings of various types of magic. Generally, it...doesn’t look very good. But there are exceptions! I’m currently writing a paper on the social reactions to Restoration magic specifically. I also happen to be a social worker. I help folks out as much as I can.”

Pronouns: she/her Race: Nord Notable Skills: Illusion, Speech

Scholar Wynnis Larinius

Going to interview Scholar Wynnis Larinius, we found him working in a forge on some sort of strange, artificial soul gem. Due to concerns about personal safety, our interviewers opted out of interrupting him.

Pronouns: he/him Race: Breton Notable Skills: Conjuration, Smithing

Scholar Newha the Fleet

“Don’t listen to Rallo, he’s full of shit. The Dwemer are a thousand times more fascinating to research than those stuffy Ayleids! Who cares about some murderous, torturing plains elves when you can dive deep into underground cities full of incredible machines and powerful, forgotten magics? Huh? Me? I’m Newha, I’m from Windhelm. Plenty of Dwemer ruins around there. My old man used to dive into them for money so that me and my brothers could get food in our bellies after our mum died. I’m the strongest of my brothers, both magically and physically, so I helped him a lot. We struck it rich during one, which let me move down here to attend this college. So if it weren’t for the Dwemer – and more importantly, their mysterious disappearances that left a bunch of their stuff behind – then we’d still be on the streets. That is why researching the Dwemer is better than looking up the Ayleids. I’m actually getting ready to head back home and dive into another recently-discovered Dwemer ruin, I just need to finish getting ready.”

Pronouns: she/her Race: Nord Notable Skills: Conjuration

Scholar Rallo Lalanus

“Oh Divines, did Newha rant to you about the Dwemer? You have my sympathy, she’s a deeply difficult scholar to get along with. She keeps saying the Dwemer are better, but at least the Ayleids didn’t wipe themselves out of reality. Rumor has it that small groups of them are still alive, which would be a fantastic feather in my cap to prove that Ayleids are more interesting to research than Dwemer once and for all – and why wouldn’t it, you can’t exactly interview a Dwemer nowadays, they’re all gone! Huh? Oh, more about me? I’m from Anvil. The area is littered in Ayleid ruins. My mom was a scholar of the ruins, so she’d put me in a little bundle against her chest while she went in. Not exactly safe, but it was incredible to see. What was she gonna do otherwise, leave me with my alcoholic father? He’d have lost me. Her adventuring party – J’keetra the Khajiit thief and City-Runner the Argonian battlemage – were better fathers to me. City-Runner actually taught me my first Alteration spells, which is the magic I study here between ruin dives. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to preparing for the next trip. There’s always more trips on the horizon for me!”

Pronouns: he/him Race: Imperial Notable Skills: Alteration

#jasper post #the elder scrolls #from the college of whispers library #scholar viviri corvius #scholar emera patale #scholar venhel #scholar fasti silver tongue #scholar wynnis larinius #scholar newha the fleet #scholar rallo lalanus

[hannahhbic]

2, 3, 9? If you like!

2} favorite tense (past/present/future)

Present tense because it makes my adhd brain happy lol. Like it feels more real and that helps me write better, if that makes sense?

3} favorite POV (first/second/third/etc)

Definitely third person, both singular and omniscient. I like reading in second person if it’s done really well, though! (See: the Broken Earth trilogy by N.K. Jemisin)

9} a passage from a WIP

Buckle up lol. This one’s from my (daiya) Chuck E. Cheese AU, where they’re in university and nebulously could or could not take place in my camboys AU as well. Hit the readmore. It’s long.

Asada, Yui (boy), Seto, Masashi, and Okumura huddle in the back of the arcade, somehow cramming themselves between large, unlabeled trash cans and abandoned, broken pinball machines. Seto tries not to notice the sticky, rough carpet beneath his left hand and refocuses on Asada’s words instead. The seven-foot-tall emotional support ginger barely fits in this improvised meeting place, head and shoulders sticking out all the way. He doesn’t seem to notice in his haste to deliver forbidden knowledge, however.

“Apparently, the Bumper Cars Incident-“ Asada begins but is interrupted by Seto’s salty voice. “You mean the reason we aren’t allowed on the bumper cars at all, get on with it.”

Picking up where he left off, Asada continues in a hushed tone, “I heard Sawamura whispering with Haruichi the other night. Haruichi said it was when Miyuki-senpai and Mei-san finally broke up for real. And Mei-san broke his nose-“

“Well now, I wouldn’t wanna break up this gathering of shitty first years,” Miyuki drawls in a tone that very much suggests the opposite. All five first years flinch in surprise, eyes widening. Kuramochi lurks behind Miyuki, feral grin barely contained by his lips.

Miyuki continues wolfishly, “but if you wanna keep those pretty teeth where they belong, shut the actual fuck up.” His eyes glint behind his glasses, promising something extra beyond the threat in his words.

The shitty first years in question squeak and take off running. Kuramochi laughs and calls after them, “Y’all get a 30 second head start! You’ll need it! Kyahaha!”

(Nabe has a full written report of the Bumper Cars Incident that’s locked in Kataoka’s filing cabinet somewhere. Everyone who sees it has either graduated or been sworn by “blood oath”, whatever that means).

The Bumper Cars Incident: prepared by Watanabe Hisashi

Eyewitnesses swear that it was a normal, if more violent than usual game of bumper cars. And then the screaming started (in the same tone as “and then the fire nation attacked”). Narumiya Mei and our own Miyuki Kazuya, whose breakup had been coming for several months, finally got into it. I will not be repeating the dialogue, as it was very personal (read: profane), but believe me when I say it was …impassioned. Miyuki was crueler than usual and Narumiya became upset enough to sock him good, right in the nose. Both Seido and Inashiro’s teams were banned for life in lieu of the proprietor calling the police. Miyuki was driven to the emergency room by Tanba and Masa got the Inashiro guys out of there immediately. Multiple gift baskets were sent to try to reverse the ban. They were all refused. Miyuki was fine; just had a bruised ego and lashed out for weeks if anybody brought up the incident in his presence. Oh, the nose was definitely broken, too, but that’s not important right now. Rei picked everyone else up in The Team Van and was extremely displeased to have been dragged out early.

#writing ask game #ask game #Hannah’s on her bullshit again #thanks for the ask! #my writing #my WIPs