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abiiors · 6 months

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red lines - pt. 1 ║// matty healy x reader

a/n: i want you to read this very very carefully: i am pro-choice and i will always be pro-choice. and this is a work of fiction. also feel the need to add that this is more a collection of small vignettes??? ugh idk, hope you enjoy regardless cw: *deep breath* angst, pregnancy, mentions of abortion, mentions of vomit, (and other pregnancy symptoms), crying (so much of it my god) and arguments, mentions of smoking, illness, hospitals, panic attacks, reader has a good relationship with her mother so i guess that's a cw too, (most definitely inaccurate) descriptions of birth. wc: 4.6k

two red lines is all it takes to ruin a perfect life.

two red lines repeated twice on two different tests that stare back at you from the counter—innocent and white and damning. the bathroom is utterly still, save for the tap dripping one drop every seven seconds. you would know, you counted it, used those seven seconds to ground you and stop you from spiraling into another panic attack for the three minutes it took to get those two red lines.

pregnant.

with two more weeks left on tour by matty’s side.

gingerly you wrap them in toilet paper, make sure they’re safe and secure and nothing’s peeking out. you throw it in the bin, looking at it with a deadness on your face that you feel deep inside. then you call the reception and ask them to take out the trash.

matty isn’t here. he’s on stage, serenading thousands of people who hang on to every single word he says, looking at him with all the love and adoration in the world. matty, your matty, who belongs as much to you as he does to the people, the fans. you should have been there too but there was the migraine and the nausea that wouldn’t go away. so you told him you would just sleep it off tonight.

have an amazing night, babe. break a leg. and then a sweet kiss and a promise to see him tomorrow.

and then the two red lines.

every time you blink you see them flash in front of you—like a promise or a warning. or maybe even a sentence.

pregnant.

a baby.

a cause for happiness and celebration.

and the conversation from a week ago that lingers in your mind, echoes inside your skull as if those words are the only ones you remember.

i’m just not ready love, he says, not now. maybe not for another year or two. i don’t know, babies are a lot of work. and i am a lot of work.

i love you, he says, kissing you deeply and tasting his own cum on your lips. i love you but a baby right now is a hard no.

nothing in particular spurred this conversation really—just the two of you, naked, and tangled up in the sheets, his hand caressing your lower stomach and you letting yourself daydream. who knew the daydream was indeed reality? and now here you are, head in your hands—partly from the migraine, partly from the anxiety—waiting for him to be back.

he will change his mind, you know it. matty loves you, and this baby is half you, half him. he will come around and you will be there to soothe his worries. you know he will hear the baby’s heartbeat and fall in love.

you know he will treat them like the most precious thing in the whole world.

the thought makes you smile and the door creaks open.

“pregnant,” he looks at you warily, “what do you mean pregnant?”

the small smile on your face fades away. “pregnant with a baby, matty. what other kind of pregnant is there?”

you wonder if you meant to joke, if he will break character and laugh and everything will be okay again. maybe you just caught him by surprise, this is just a blip. in two more minutes, he will smile and drop down to his knees and kiss your still-flat stomach. he’ll say hello to them. tell them he loves them and then tell you how much he loves you, kissing you gently and pulling you into him.

you can already feel his feather-light touch on your skin. his mouth lingering on your lower stomach on his way down.

matty stills in place.

“no…”

one word, it’s small and broken and so unlike him that you almost do a double-take.

“what do you mean no?”

“i can’t okay?” his voice rises, “i told you i can’t!”

you can sense the agitation he feels, his hammering heartbeat and the shallowness of his breaths. his hands runs through his hair, spilling the curls everywhere.

“you’re on the pill.”

“i think…” you hedge, tears gathering in your eyes, “i think i missed a day.”

he snaps his head up to look at you. when matty first came back to the room, he looked happy and giddy—cheeks pink and hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat. now he looks grey and listless. like all the colour’s been zapped out of him.

“you missed a day,” he repeats.

“matty, please…”

but matty is already turning around and storming off to the balcony. through the glass you watch him light a cigarette with shaky hands, taking a deep drag before he tips his head back and blows it out. another drag, another blow. eyes closed. breathing that slowly goes from rapid to normal once again.

five minutes later, only the stub remains and matty is back in the room.

“i can’t,” he says firmly. “i told you i wasn’t ready.”

it sounds final. like a death knell. instictively your hand covers your stomach.

“i won’t,” you shake your head and the tears fall rapidly, first down your cheeks then your chin and onto your chest. “i won’t get rid of it.”

matty stares at you quietly, you stare back. it seems you’re at an impasse.

twenty minutes later, you pack your bags.

london is greyer than it has ever been, especially from your new flat so far away from the hustle and bustle of the city. not that you’ve had much time to get acquainted with the new area after being bent over the toilet for days on end, retching and heaving until there’s nothing left inside you. a hollowness so deep that no amount of food or water will fill it.

so you eat strictly for the baby. pre-natal vitamins and supplements and a nutritious breakfast that you throw right back up. but you try. all for the sake of the tiny clump of cells dependent on you. the image of the two red lines has long been replaced with a grainy black and white rectangle. every time you close your eyes, you see the screen lit up with an image of your little bean, moving around. in some far back corner of your mind, you think they look happy.

at night you curl up on your cold bed, phone in hand, the baby’s heartbeat playing on repeat. it used to be his, your brain reminds you painfully. back when you slept all cuddled up with him. head on his chest, his soothing heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

you mother is worried about you. she calls at least thrice a day to make sure you ate every meal and took every pill. she comes every sunday to stock you fridge full of vegetables and fruits and make sure you have enough ginger and peppermint tea. sundays, begrudgingly, become your favourite. your mother, once again, becomes your best friend.

but you can’t let her move in. can’t let her be a constant presence and drive you crazy and unearth him every chance she gets. so like clockwork, at 6 pm, you usher her out the door, tell her you need privacy and quiet and solitude. like every single time, she promises she’ll be back next sunday.

and every single time she keeps her word.

one day you wake up to a change—a small one, really, but a change regardless. barely even noticeable at first. it’s your top that doesn’t reach all the way down. maybe it shrunk in the wash, you think. then the full length mirror reminds you of the reality. and the tiny little bump that’s seemingly grown overnight.

your little bean. suddenly so real. so tangible. so present.

“hello, little one,” you coo at your stomach, feeling a little silly at first. there’s no reply, of course, just the sounds of morning traffic coming in from the open window. but your eyes stay trained on the bump. “you weren’t so noticeable last night.”

nothing happens. no movement (of course, not. they’re too small for that.), no one appreciating the change with you. matty who should have been here to witness this…

matty who isn’t here to witness this.

emotions swirl in your head so fast that it’s dizzying. this time there’s no tears falling one by one. there’s the sobs that come all of a sudden and the floodgates that open in the blink of an eye but he is not here to hold you or pull you into his chest when you gasp and gasp for a breath that never comes.

in a panic you dial the first number you can find in your contacts, gasping and yelling out broken sentences and panicking at whoever’s picked up. it’s 8 am on a wednesday, whoever you called must be utterly bewildered. yet when you can focus enough, you realise it’s a man’s voice replying. a familiar voice. shocked and equally panicked and asking you if you’re okay again and again.

you pull the phone away from your ear and look at the screen. at adam’s name flashing on it.

the first contact on your list. one starting with an a.

“fuck,” you mumble. “sorry, i’m okay. i’m fine.” and then you hang up, and rock yourself back and forth on the ground until your breaths resemble something normal.

fifteen minutes later, there’s pounding at your front door and the bell rings incessantly. in your gut you know it’s adam. and it’s confirmed when his voice floats through the door.

“open the door,” he urges. “i need to know you’re okay.”

and so you pull yourself back up, harshly wipe away the tears and unlock the front door.

it’s only been a month since you last saw adam but he looks different. his hair’s grown out, his dark circles are gone and in spite of the worried look on his face, he looks happier somehow. healthier.

being back home with the love of your life and your baby will do that to you.

“you look well,” you croak out and then clear your throat. adam doesn’t take the bait.

“do you need me to take you to the hospital? call your gp?” straight to the point as always. you smile at him fondly.

“no, no i don’t. i’m okay, i promise.”

“you didn’t sound okay.”

“i meant to call my mum, adam. sorry i dialed the wrong number.”

“regardless,” he holds up a hand. “can you please talk to me. or talk to mat—”

“don’t.” the voice that comes out of you is stern. “he doesn’t want me or the baby. i will not let him talk me into an abortion.”

adam winces and rubs a hand over his face. perhaps that was harsh, you think, he’s not some evil villain. but none of it changes the outcome. in every single universe, you end up here—fresh off a panic attack in your living room, talking to your ex-boyfriend’s best friend.

“how did you know where i live?”

at that he looks a bit sheepish. “i asked you mum. not today!” he reassures hastily when your eyes widen. “don’t worry. i asked her a few days ago. i wanted to… i’ve been meaning to check up on you.”

“and you couldn’t call?” you smile at him wryly.

“no. i wanted to see you in person.”

“so you can report back to him?”

adam clicks his tongue and warmth fills your chest. he’s always been good to you, always been kind, and loved you like a little sister. you shouldn’t have cut him off like this.

“no,” he says. “so i could make sure you were okay.”

it’s a small mercy that the morning sickness eases a few days after that as your bump continues to grow. more often than not, you find yourself with a hand on your stomach, drawing small circles on it and humming to it. lately, you’ve also noticed the little flutters that linger long after you stop humming. your baby responding to you. showing you they’re there.

it’s not far before you approach the twenty week mark. the most important scan you’ll have throughout. you’ll find out the gender, you’ll find out if they’re healthy or not.

and each time you think about it, it’s like the weight of the entire world is on your shoulders.

the night before you contemplate calling your mum, nervous and panicked once again but it’s almost 11 pm. she would be deep asleep by now—she would be excited too. no need to put a damper on her mood.

then you wonder if calling adam is a good idea. but you quickly scrap it.

for the first time in months your finger hovers over the familiar name in your contacts. over the little heart that’s still next to his name that you never bothered to change.

what will he say if you called him now? will he even pick up?

are you ready enough to brave it?

the truth still remains. you want this baby, he doesn’t. the same impasse you were at months ago. if any of that had changed, he would have called you. he would have reached out… right?

so instead you do the second stupidest thing. you type up his name in google.

your stomach churns with nausea or anxiety or just impending doom while the webpage loads—slow, too slow for your liking. or maybe time has simply slowed down and you’re too much of a coward to really face the consequences of your own action.

the webpage loads. the frown on your face deepens.

nothing. rather, the last article written about him specifically is from two days after the tour ended. everything after that is either recycled news, or some silly quiz about the band. nothing about him. no pap photos, no social media activity. absolutely nothing to indicate he’s even left his house in the last few months.

you mind buzzes with all kinds of thoughts, swirls with wicked possibilities. you almost even text adam about it before the turning your phone off abruptly and chucking it to the other side of the bed.

no more temptation.

sleep is like a fickle friend—has been since the day you left the hotel room in tears. but you close your eyes and imagine your baby’s heart beating inside you in sync with yours. tomorrow, there will be a new recording to replace the older one. hopefully one that’s stronger. calmer.

when sleep drags you under around three in the morning, you dream of his hands—fingers gingerly touching your stomach, resting on all the spots that flutter with movement. gentle hands that massage your sore feet and work out the kinks in your back.

hands that you might never feel on your skin ever again.

the doctor smiles coyly and slides an envelope to your mother. it’s a little hush-hush secret, one she insisted on and begged till you relented. the gender reveal isn’t huge or flashy but you know there’s a cake waiting for you at home along with a few friends and family. and for the first time in months, you let the excitement of it wash over you.

the scan was perfect! and now you feel a bit bad for clutching your mum’s hand hard enough till she’d winced (even though she hid it quickly and smiled at you in encouragement). so now here you are, thanking the doctor and practically skipping out the room with your mum laughing in tow.

she looks lighter too, you realise, much more carefree as she gushes about her precious grandbaby and how excited she is to meet them.

“we have to buy onesies!” she squeals getting behind the wheel and you laugh.

“we will, mum, but they’re going to grow out of it in weeks so you can’t go crazy, okay?”

she dismisses this with a wave and a pfft and you can already imagine the mountain of clothes she’s going to buy over the next twenty weeks.

you nod off to the sound of your mum excitedly making plans for an elaborate baby shower, one that you’ll have to beg her to tone down, but her voice fades away soon. instead, you dream of him. your subconscious wonders what he would have been like today—maybe he’d cry out of excitement or being overwhelmed, maybe he would smile so wide his cheeks hurt. in some parallel universe the two of you would be in the baby aisle—hand in hand and cooing over tiny onesies.

in this universe, you jerk out of the daydream just as your mum parks in the driveway.

your friends and family don’t yell “surprise”, much to your relief. there are many hugs and congratulations. tears of happiness and jokes and then a delicious vanilla cake brought in front of you.

everyone waits eagerly. no one brings him up. not even you, as you sink the knife into it and cut a slice.

it’s pink. a gorgeous, pale pink. it’s a girl.

everyone cheers. your mum hugs you and you sniffle into her shoulder while laughing giddiy. a girl, your baby girl.

right then you know what you’re going to call her—you don’t need baby name lists on google or a hundred suggestions from your mother. you already know her name.

mia.

mine and mine alone.

blink and twenty weeks go down to fifteen and ten and then five. each day it seems like you only get bigger and bigger, impossibly so. your life is filled to the brim with baby stuff, inside and out. everywhere you look there’s either a pram or a crib or pregnancy books. every time you get one spare minute you’re reminded of the back aches and sore feet. the constant hunger that just does not seem to go away no matter how much you eat.

your mothers visits increase from only sundays to whole weekends to three days a week.

at first you protest—fuelled by hunger and hormones and mood swings. fuelled by the rage of a thousand burning stars as you stomp into the living room where she’s folding yet another batch of baby socks and blankets.

“you’re suffocating me!” you snap, already on the brink of tears while she looks at you like you’ve grown two heads.

“baby—”

“no! mum,” a deep breath and a few stray tears, “i’m not a baby. i’m having a baby for fucks sake.”

“language!” she scolds.

“stop it, just, please!” there’s not much you can do but stomp your foot like a petulant child. proving her point most likely. “stop acting like i need to be coddled and protected. just. stop!”

your mum looks speechless, too stunned to speak but the ball is rolling and now you cannot stop.

“i don’t need you here. i don’t need you acting like i would crumble and wither away without you. i don’t need you and i certainly don’t need him—fuck!” you gasp for a breath, choking mid-sentence.

the second those words spill out of you, you want to take them back but it’s too late. her eyes are already red-rimmed and glossy. one tear rolls down her cheek and that’s all it takes for you to break down completely.

“fuck!” you repeat. “i’m sorry, mum. i’m so sorry.” that’s the only thing you can chant until she chucks the clothes aside and wraps her arms around you, shushing you the best she can through her own tears.

for the first time in eight months you wonder about what if. and for the first time in eight months, you think about his words from that night.

maybe not for another year or two.

you’re closer now to the one year mark that you’re to that night. mia kicks your insides again—her own version of support or maybe it’s her doling out punishment for never introducing her to her dad. either way, it’s not helping. all it does is spread pain throughout your lower body as you hold onto your mum, rocking back and forth.

“it’s alright, sweetheart,” you mum whispers gently, kissing the crown of your head and cradling you like she used to when you were a kid. it makes your emotions worse. increases the ache tenfold.

“i miss him, mum,” you admit finally, in a voice so small that you might as well not have spoken. but she hears it anyway. she hears it but doesn’t interrupt. she lets you speak.

“every single day i wonder if he even gives a shit. or if he regrets leaving me, leaving us. i speak to adam and carly and i wonder if they ever tell him about me. i wonder if he even cares…”

you gulp down air, wiping your nose on the sleeve of your jumper and cuddling into her further.

“and after everything. i miss him more than anything in this world.”

there it is. the truth, finally out there, finally spilled after months of pretending to be cold and callous. you wait for her to speak, to say something that will dull the pain and release you from this torment but she never gets the chance.

because that is the moment your daughter decides to make her grand entrance.

it’s pain like you’ve never felt before.

pain and panic and unadulterated fear. she’s not supposed to be here yet. you’re only 35 weeks pregnant—nowhere near full term. what if this affects her negatively. you blame and blame—first yourself; you must have done something wrong, right? ate something wrong or not taken the right vitamins or slept the wrong fucking way. then you blame matty. if he was here, you would have never been this stressed and unhappy in the first place. everything would have been smooth-sailing.

and yet a small part of you yearns for him to be here. to brush your sweaty hair away from your forehead instead of your mother as the doctor yells at you to push.

it’s all too much, all too soon. this is not how it’s supposed to be. this is not how any of this is supposed to be.

the machines around you beep in a rhythm that’s all worng—it’s too loud and erratic and out of sync with the rest of the world. surely, that’s not how fast your heart’s beating. maybe the beeping is something else you’re unaware of. and yet your body feels hot and cold at the same time. too weak to move but pushing and contracting and tearing you apart from the inside. you’re vaguely aware of the screams that tear out of you, of gripping your mum’s hand so tightly that you worry, you’ve bruised it.

but she’s strong, stronger than you’ll ever be. she endures and passes along some of that strength to you.

“one more big push,” the doctor encourages. she’s a kind, middle-aged woman. probably someone who’s brought many babies into this world. she knows what she’s doing. but your body won’t cooperate.

all you feel is a bone deep exhaustion that tries to drag you under as your mother taps your cheek.

“a big push, baby,” she repeats. “one big push and her shoulders will be out.”

and that would almost be the end of it, right? so you nod with whatever’s left in you and breathe the way they taught you in birthing classes.

and that’s how it goes. inhale. hold. exhale. gather strength. push. all of it done to a constant stream of rather futile encouragements. until you feel like you’re bursting at the seams and coming undone. about to unravel any moment.

but then a tiny cry echoes around the room and the world comes to a standstill.

mia’s arrival changes everything in the blink of an eye.

you have no time left for self-pity; every waking moment is occupied with feedings and nappy changes and laundry. you sleep when she sleeps, you hold her close every chance you get. you sing her and cradle her and shower her with enough affection for two people. she has you and your mum. she doesn’t need anyone else.

slowly you let other friends and family visit—extremely selective and protective about who gets the priviledge but one afternoon when adam messages you know you can’t deny that to him. even when you’ve tried to keep him, and all of them by entension, at bay.

in another universe, she would have been his goddaughter. you’re sure of it.

so you let him and carly and their son visit, let them hold her and gush over her. carly instantly falls in love with her, cradling her close and trying to make her smile even though she’s just woken up. mia babbles at her and grabs her shiny necklace.

you watch them transfixed, giggling at carly’s squeals and coos until adam asks if he could speak to you alone.

“i don’t want to step over a boundary,” he starts and you know what’s coming but you let him continue. “have you thought about letting him know? that she’s already here…”

“i…” in all honesty, you had wondered if you should call him and let him know. but what if he still doesn’t care. “i didn’t. i couldn’t.”

adam’s face softens. “he’s back in london, you know? you could. you could try.”

that piques your interest. you hadn’t knows he’d left in the first place. “he’s back?”

adam takes a deep breath, eyes darting slightly and lingering on his wife as if he’s trying to steel himself. as if he has some news he’d rather not share. in the end however, maybe he chooses not to.

“yes, he’s back,” he says, trying and failing not to sound cagey. “he wasn’t until now. but if you would talk to him… just, i think you should talk to him.”

for the rest of their visit, his words linger in your mind. they stay even after the hanns leaving, promising another visit whenever you’re free next and you tell them they’re welcome any time. this time, you even mean it from the bottom of your heart.

but adam’s words come back to haunt you day after day as mia continues to grow. day after day you watch her learn about new things and figure out new stuff around her.

matty should be here. if not for him then for her. and once again you wonder about calling him.

one last chance. if he ignores this then he loses the right to his daughter forever.

so one tuesday morning, you gather the courage. you strap your baby to your chest and go downstairs to make some pancakes.

“after breakfast, darling,” you tell her, even though those words aren’t meant for her. “after breakfast we’ll call him again. maybe he will pick up. maybe he won’t.”

mia babbles when you kiss her head and flip a pancake, ignoring the worry that settles in the pit of your stomach. you’re so focused on the task at hand (rather, at ignoring the thoughts of impending doom) that you almost miss the doorbell that rings once and then again.

so focused that you have to scramble to wash your hands and rush to the door. maybe it’s your mum again, even though she wasn’t supposed to come today. it won’t be her first surprise visit, though. she misses her granddaughter far too much for that.

in a hurry you open the door, without even thinking about it twice. without even bothering to unstrap your daughter from your chest.

matty’s familiar face comes into view and for the second time in three months, the world comes to a standstill.

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855@beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy@sierraeslaprincesa@harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet@thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername@celestcies@sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars

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#the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy imagine #matty healy angst #the 1975 fic #angst #minors do not interact #read the cws pls!!!#ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann #it's very unlikely i will ever write anything like this again #so oh well here we go #matty x you #matty x reader

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fromtheseventhhell · 3 months

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It's crazy that people still uphold show!Sansa as a well-written character and pretend that liking her is the pinnacle of feminism when it would be infinitely more impactful to acknowledge her terrible and misogynistic writing. This is the same character who, while written by two men, was thankful for the abuse she suffered because it allowed her to grow. The same character who we had to be told was smart because the writers were too lazy to develop or show her intelligence. The same character who had to rely heavily on the men surrounding her and ended up accomplishing nothing on her own merit ( and no, thinking that she deserved to be Queen doesn't mean that she earned it). She is not well-written, she is not complex, and she is not a feminist character. Which is fine! If you enjoy her then good on you, but please stop pretending that she's something she isn't just because you feel the need to justify liking her character

#anti got #anti d&d #anti show sansa #anti sansa stans #like literally one of the worst written characters on that show because they tried so hard to make her the most important #while being entirely incompetent and their only method of doing so was to steal from other characters which ruined the plot #the only arguable achievement was defeating LF but even then it's written in the script that she had to go to Bran to explain things #/she rallied the Vale army!/ no she didn't 😭 she wrote a letter to LF and he did everything. instead of showing her arc in the Vale and #her learning about politics to rally them herself they took the quickest route to give her a /badass/ savior scene #which only ended up making her look selfish + power-hungry for putting her brothers' lives at risk for not telling anybody about said lette #and idiotic in the aftermath after relying once again on LF even though he was very obviously manipulating her #/pawn to player/ sounds catchy on paper but without seeing that growth/development it doesn't work #Arya was terribly written but at least we /saw/ her training in a way we never did with Sansa #and people try to apply this same logic to the books and think she's gonna suddenly spring forth as a political mastermind #when that's not how George writes...we see characters develop and make mistakes on page and get actual earned growth #feminism isn't defending the writing of two men who gave her a rape plot not in the books because they thought it was /interesting/#when the only aspect of that plot they adapted was a woman suffering abuse :/#and as per usual with stansas their only /evidence/ of her being well-written is accusing you of being misogynistic if you don't like her

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bisexuallsokka · 11 months

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Hi I’m not looking to fuck right now, but my bathroom sink is currently flooding my bathroom I know it’s random, but can I borrow a flathead screwdriver? I don’t know my neighbors and you’re the closest person to me on Grindr. Zuko cringes as soon as he sends the last message. What is he thinking? His bathroom is getting worse by the minute, maybe he should suck it up and— Yeah why not

written for day one of @zukkaweek for the modern au prompt! inspired by this post <3

#zukka #zukka week 2023 #my writing #atla fanfiction #zukkaweek2023 #i write sokka pov so much but i had SO much fun with zukos pov here #okay some lore for this story:#i had a question about grindr so i straight up searched 'how does grindr work' and found a youtube video of a guy talking about it #and i watched it and then realized i was still logged in my moms youtube account from last week LMAO #and also as you will see in the beginning notes #i tried to do research. got emotional over curious george. gave up #i tried to base it off a story from my friend but i couldnt remember the details too well so.

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 2 months

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lockwood/george/lucy is just ten/jack/martha in another skin. try to convince me otherwise

#jack and martha are both george and lucy coded #ten is lockwood hands-down #this is a weird crosssection of fandoms & I'm not sure this will go anywhere but i'm rewatching lockwood&co & it hit me why i love the cot3 #cot3 #george karim #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #martha jones #tenth doctor #jack harkness #captain jack harkness #ot3 #ten x martha x jack #doctor who #the guy who is competent and in love with the emo main boy who feels abandoned #the new extremely competent main girl who keeps being underestimated/not believed #emo main boy with two much trauma and a death wish who is in love with the other two but won't admit it #yet somehow lockwood is more emotionally aware than ten #which i didn't think you could possibly find someone lockwood was more well-adjusted then but here we go #i'm so tempted to write fic for the cot3 you have no idea

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mushiewrites · 11 months

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Summer Afternoons

the final day of lee!George week....I can't believe this is over already omg. I just wanna thank everyone who participated or encouraged those of us who did, it honestly means so much to me ): ur all adorable and this was so much fun to do ): Anyway, today was a free day, and I chose to do a concept from the lovely @wishitweresummer (found here!) - it was originally lee!dream but Im insane and throw george in any situation so, yeah. This has been in my head every single day since the day summer posted it so.....I hope you enjoy! (also, remember to use the # "mushies lee!George week" if you participate! thank u!)

I also wanna mention - even though this is the last day of lee!George week, feel free to come back and do these prompts whenever you'd like! (and still use the hashtag so I can see as well!)

day 7 - free day! / prompts found here!

(lee!George / ler!Dream / ler!Sapnap : 2.5K words)

“George? Dream?”

There was a soft knocking sound coming from outside of the room, followed by the twist of a doorknob and the creek of the door slowly being pushed open. George stretched his arms out, moving to bring them up to rub at his eyes but finding he only had movement in his right arm. He opened his eyes sleepily to see Dream curled up beside him, his left arm under the blonde’s head acting as a pillow as he continued to nap peacefully. He turned his attention to the sound of the door shutting, seeing Sapnap walking towards the bed, moving quietly and being careful to not wake Dream.

“Hm?” The older boy mumbled, stretching his free arm above his head with a soft groan as he arched his back towards the ceiling until his body was shaking slightly. He let himself drop back down against the bed, moving a little closer to Dream to cuddle into him tighter. George turned his attention back to the younger boy standing at the side of his bed, watching his knees hit the side of the mattress every few seconds as he swayed back and forth on his feet.

“I didn’t know where you guys went. I checked your room, and when you weren’t there I just figured I’d look here. What are you doing?” Sapnap spoke in a whisper, not wanting to disrupt the comfortable softness surrounding them. George rolled his shoulders back a few times and leaned his head to the side, wincing as it popped loudly before doing the same to the opposite side. He yawned and grabbed at Sapnap’s left hand, pulling lightly and giving him a gentle smile.

“Napping. Cuddling. Come here, please?”

Sapnap giggled at the request, rolling his eyes with a fake sigh before climbing up onto Dream’s bed with the older two. He settled himself into George’s right side, laying his head over the brunette’s arm to mirror Dream. The younger boy threw his arm over George’s torso, letting the tips of his fingers land over Dream’s forearm. He ran his fingers up and down the skin a few times, biting his lip with a smile when the blonde let out a small squeak and the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. Sapnap withdrew his hand so he didn’t accidentally wake him with his movements, not wanting to interrupt any rest Dream was able to squeeze into his busy schedule.

“How long have you guys been napping?” Sapnap asked, closing his eyes with a smile as George knocked the hat off of his head and began carding his hand through the curls beneath it. The younger boy nuzzled himself into George’s neck, smiling against it when he felt George start to squirm slightly, feeling the elder’s cheek press against his forehead as his smile grew wider with an attempt to hold in the giggles that threatened to spill out at any second.

“Whahat time is it?” George replied with a giggle as he squirmed slightly further towards Dream, trying to subtly escape Sapnap’s beard from scraping against the curve where his shoulder and neck connected.

“Uh, it’s….not even one yet.” The younger boy fished his phone from out of his pocket, checking the time and then locking it before setting it on the bedside table to his right. George hummed in acknowledgement, furrowing his brows together as he thought about when they had first gone to Dream’s room to lay down.

“I’m not sure, I don’t even think it’s been an hour.” It was Sapnap’s turn to hum in response to George’s answer, nodding and pulling back slightly to lean part of his head on the soft pillows beneath them.

“Well, we have all the time in the world to nap now.” Sapnap felt the rougher part of a tiny feather sticking out from one of the pillows graze his ear, shaking his head and moving it back slightly to get away from the light tickly feeling.

“A Sap-nap. Get it?” George couldn’t stop himself from bursting into chirpy giggles, trying to stay as quiet as possible, turning to bury his face into Sapnap’s shoulder to help him muffle the noises he was trying to keep down. His attempt was ruined when Sapnap aimed a knuckle at his most sensitive rib, rubbing in a few times and giggling to himself when George squealed into his shoulder.

“Yeheah, I get it, you little idiot,” Sapnap whispered closer to George’s ear, grunting when he felt the feather tickle over his ear again. He sat up onto his elbow, running his hand over the pillowcase to try and find the fuzzy culprit. “Hold on. There’s a stupid little fucking feather or something poking out, it keeps tickling me.” He continued to rub against the pillow with the palm of his hand, gasping when after a few seconds he was able to locate the annoying object. He held it up for George to see, grimacing at the little white feather in between his fingers.

“That’s the thing that was bothering you? It’s like, not even two inches!” The elder rolled his eyes at Sapnap’s dramatics, chuckling at the pathetic looking thing in his hand. He watched as the younger boy twisted his lips up into a smirk, already sensing where this was going.

“You’d know two inches pretty well, wouldn’t you, Georgie.”

“Hey! What the fuck is that supposed to-”

“Nnnnh….shut up.”

The boy’s immediately pressed their lips into thin lines, turning their attention to the very sleepy looking blonde boy who was angrily looking back at them. He rolled his eyes with a huff, moving to stretch in a similar manner that George had just minutes before.

“Oh Dream, I’m so sorry, George woke you up!” Sapnap spoke softly even as he threw the older boy under the bus, making George gasp in offense and whip his head towards the younger boy with his jaw dropped.

“I did not! You’re just as guilty! If it wasn’t for you and your stupid feather, this wouldn’t have- AHAHAHA HEY! STOHOHOP!”

It seemed Dream wasn’t interested in anything George had to say, having taken Sapnap’s side and using the hand he wasn’t lying on to squeeze along the left side of George’s rib cage. The brunette squealed and launched himself into louder cackles as Sapnap joined in, rubbing his knuckle into his worst rib once again and making Dream follow suit on the opposite side.

“WHY! S-STOHOHOP! PLEHEHEASE, G-GEHEHET OFF!” George twisted his body the best he could, pulling at his arms but whining when both boys sat up slightly, leaning an elbow over each of George’s forearms to make sure he stayed down against the blankets. “THIHIS IS- NAHAHA IT’S SOHOHO MEAN!”

“You woke me up, George. If you ask me, I’d say that’s mean!” Dream countered his complaint, giggling when George’s laughter jumped an octave as Sapnap swiped the white feather over the smaller boy’s tricep. Dream stopped his tickling, his attention now on the tiny object in Sapnap’s hand. “Where on earth did you find that?”

“From your stupid feather pillows! It kept poking me in my ear so I just….pulled it out.” Sapnap explained sheepishly, giggling when Dream broke out into bright giggles himself.

“Let me see.” Dream motioned for Sapnap to pass him the feather, his smile growing as George began to screech when Dream dangled it over his open underarm.

“What’s wrong, it’s like, ‘not even two inches!’” Sapnap mocked the elders previous comment, feigning a horrible British accent to add injury to insult. George squirmed as Dream grabbed his shirt sleeve between his pointer and middle fingers, stretching it down and inching the feather closer to the opening.

“Nonono! No, plehehease, I didn’t dohoho anything!”

“You woke him up, darlin’!” Sapnap noted happily, a hint of his southern drawl shining through and giggling when Dream reached over and poked at his cheek in response to the accent.

“Darlin’.” Dream repeated, mostly to himself, making the other two laugh. The blonde watched as George threw his head back into the pillows with his eyes shut, recognizing this as his chance to pounce. He quickly shot his hand forward, wiggling the soft point of the feather directly into the center of George’s armpit, eyes widening with amusement when George jerked his body towards Sapnap with a cackle.

“NAHAHAHA no! Nohohoho NOHO! D-Dreheheheam!” George kicked his feet against the bed as he continued his cackles, feeling Dream dragging the feather in circles under his left arm, making a huge spiral and drawing it tighter as he would reach closer to the center again.

“Wait, there’s no way it’s that bad. Let me try!” George opened his eyes just in time to see the two pass the feather between them, this time jolting towards Dream when Sapnap ran the feather quickly up the side of his neck to make him squeal.

“Dohohon’t! Stohohop!” The elder cried out as Sapnap traced the feather directly under George’s ear on the side of his neck, grinning as Dream used the hand he wasn’t leaning on to softly grip George’s jaw to hold him in place.

“Don’t stop? Well, if you insist, baby!”

Dream let out a tiny wheeze when George shrieked at his statement, trying and failing to shake his head out of his grasp. Sapnap knew how sensitive the spot under George’s ear was and took pity on him, quickly following Dream’s lead and shoving the feather up George’s sleeve and into the hollow of his right armpit. He was much less precise with his movements, wiggling it around over any spot he could to find the best reaction. Sapnap stopped and observed his movements when George screeched, noticing where the feather was tickling. Dream let go of his jaw, allowing the older boy to thrash his head from side to side as he lost himself in his own laughter.

“Oh, this is a good spot, huh, Georgie?” Dream leaned over as Sapnap spoke to watch the feather saw back and forth over the inner side of his underarm, where the muscle was pulled taunt and put on display with the way Sapnap was holding his arm down.

“Nohoho no! Plehehease not- nohOHHOT THEHERE!” The oldest boy was in near-hysterics at this point, kicking harder against the blankets and making them curl into a messy pile beneath him.

“Not there? Okay, what about….here?”

George began howling suddenly when Sapnap turned the feather in his hand and started poking into the skin at the center of his armpit softly with the rougher part of it. Dream placed his hand on George’s chest and gently pressed down, keeping him stuck to the bed rather than keep trying to fling himself forward and side to side to get away from the feather.

“Wait, I want another try!” Dream whined after a few minutes of watching George laugh himself silly. Sapnap sighed in fake annoyance, handing Dream the feather once more and smirking as he replaced Dream’s hand on George’s chest with his own.

“Oh my gosh, you’re such a little squirmy thing today, aren’t you?” Sapnap commented with a smirk, pleased with the way George’s blush seemed to deepen at the remark. He turned to bury his head into Sapnap’s shoulder again, groaning and breaking into cackles as Dream slid the feather into his sleeve and traced the rougher stem of the feather in little circles under his arm.

“Just so giggly, Georgie.” Dream commented quietly, continuing his torment.

“N-Nohoho more, plehehease! Plehehease, softer!” George pouted through his laughter, revealing himself from his hiding place in Sapnap’s shoulder and flashing Dream his teary eyes to show him just how tickled out he was. The blonde immediately complied, caving instantly and switching the feather to the soft part to continue tracing tiny circles along the sides of his armpit.

“Dream, I think our kitten is a little tired out, don’t you think?” George was surprised to hear the statement from Sapnap but was thankful he did, taking in a much needed breath of air when Dream reluctantly pulled the feather back out of his sleeve and turned to his left to place it on the bed sheets beside him.

“What happened to you, tough guy? Giving up so soon on torturing our little Gogs, hm?” Dream seemed equally as surprised as George, giggling through his accusation as Sapnap shook his head with a slight blush rising to his cheeks. George continued to laugh his little heart out, turning back towards Sapnap and burying his face into the curly haired boy’s neck to hide and muffle his lingering giggles.

“Come on, Dream, look at him! He’s being so soft and shy, how can you torture him when he’s like this?” Sapnap questioned back, moving his palm from the center of George’s chest and instead wrapping it around the smaller boy’s torso and pulling him closer.

“Okay, I guess you do have a point there.” Dream lifted up to lean on the palm of his hand, allowing George to move his arm from under him and loop it completely around Sapnap instead.

The two younger boys laughed at the way George immediately clung to Sapnap, unable to wrap their heads around the fact that George was allowing himself to be so soft with them. Dream wasn’t about to ruin it by commenting on it though and instead slotted himself behind George, wrapping his left arm around the tiny waist in front of him and allowing Sap to adjust his arm to hang over Dream’s shoulder, successfully encasing George in the tightest, most comfiest cuddle hug they could make.

Within seconds the two heard George’s breathing even out, letting them know he had finally fallen asleep. The two whispered back and forth for a minute before deciding to nap as well, both closing their eyes and cuddling in close together. There was a comfortable silence blanketing the room, only to be broken seconds later by Dream.

“Hey Sap?” He whispered, lifting his head up slightly and opening one eye. He watched the youngest boy scrunch his nose at the disturbance, a slight smile forming anyway before he answered.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t think I won’t remember that the feather tickled your ears.” He watched as Sapnap dipped his head down to bury his face in George’s hair, catching a glimpse of the reddening cheeks before he was completely hidden from Dream’s view.

“Try me and I’ll tape it inside your belly button.”

Dream whined quietly at that, feeling his own face heat up as his attempt to tease Sapnap majorly backfired on him.

“Whatever!” Dream spat back, closing his eyes and settling back down against the smaller boy in his arms. He pressed his forehead to the nape of George’s neck, smiling through his blush as he fell asleep to the sounds of Sapnap’s raspy giggles, and the thoughts of exactly what he was just threatened with playing out in his mind.

#lee!george #ler!dream #ler!sapnap #do u guys like the title?#get it??? cause...summers concept??? :D #anyway #this concept seriously has been on my brain since summer wrote it #asked her for her permission to write it forever ago but i finally did and im so happy with how it turned out #might even do this concept for the other two as well......we'll see :3 #i hope you enjoy this #and i hope you enjoyed lee!george week #it was so much fun to do and i truly appreciate all of u sm #i will cry if i dont shut up so.......yeah <3 #mushies lee!george week #mushie fics #mcyt tickle #my stuff

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demonstars · 7 days

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someone needs to start a dnf secret wedding conspiracy

Please. Like surely someoen can use the dnf timeline to post an insane thread saying that dnf got married like last november or something with fake data

#so dream cna debunk it like well we have discussed getting married and in florida you technically can do that BUT we havent Yet.#Technically!!!!!! So this isnt real. And me and george (giggles) me and george wouldnt just Get married. i mean. i guess-- i dont know. But #this isnt true #i love writing dream dialogue mm maybe i should go back to writing #star anons

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chiropteracupola · 10 months

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sometimes you start to wonder what the historical record for the guys you made up looks like in the fictional world where they existed. and then you make some fake documents about it.

[moth and compass is a collaboration with @natdrinkstea!!!]

#em draws stuff #oc time again hehe #moth and compass #the lieutenant: chadwick goodfellow #the cannon spike: matthew worley #Get Wikipedia-ed! [my writing style is not very good but you'd best believe that my typefaces and colors are as accurate as can be]#do not really like the way that semi-realistic older matthew turned out but I was tired of looking at him. So.#genuinely very proud of Poorly Scanned PDF Goodfellow though. fiddled around with textured eraser settings for Hours and it was Worth It.#anyway now it's FUNFACTS time! since this is of course not the only lore that there is on these guys #but just what one might find if you tried to research them now in m&c-verse #as we are in the timeline where these are just guys from mine and nat's heads there is More That Can Be Said #such as that the drawing of goodfellow in that article is copied from the second portrait of him #and if you've been paying attention to previous goodfellow drawings you may have seen it!#I've also previously drawn the midshipman miniature and it's around somewhere as well #also matthew + faith + george were all in a relationship while george was alive #but too few of their letters survive for wikipedia editors to confirm that :/#I feel. Weird about posting this for some reason. but it may just be on account of that it is fully 1am when I'm writing this. ah well.#also the places mentioned in here are Made Up also #there Was in fact a historical hms ophelia but she was over a hundred years later so Shhhh

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fictionadventurer · 4 months

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😅

#i'm getting a little bit afraid of how well i can identify writing styles on pbs kids shows #the niece was watching curious george #and i could tell it was one of the later episodes because of the animation #but i was like 'you know what? this one isn't so bad'#they were actually doing things instead of just being told about them #there were some genuinely amusing lines and moments #and lo and behold the credits come up #and peter hirsch is listed as head writer #but you know who else is listed?#ken scarborough #the other best arthur writer #and the one who came back in some later arthur seasons #and left me shocked at how good some episodes suddenly were #so apparently the wgbh formula is to let joe and ken start a show #let pete ruin it #and then bring back ken to have some level of quality again #in terms of useless skills to have #'identification of skilled children's show writers' is pretty darn useless #so i'm a little baffled by how well-developed this sense is

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moregraceful · 8 months

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I have posted 64 hrpf works...I should do something when I hit 69 lmao. Like how the y/n girlies do little celebrations when they hit follower counts? A kasper moregraceful celebration of an arbitrary milestone

#the celebration is i leave hrpf fandom lol #and finally know peace in my life #JK WE LIVE DELICIOUSLY #the celebration is i look how i have spent my one wild and precious life #and write some weird fic #who am i kidding yo i am gonna forget and it's going to be like fic abt the oldest man on the planet and a cuda rookie #the celebration is i finish the fic i promised people last year #[staring at the jani/roope fic in the eye so as not to show fear] i am not afraid to keep on living...#i'm posting a lot but today my tasks are a) clean the living room and dining room and b) come up with prompts for 4th line grind fest #and c) do a bunch of work for a fellowship cohort i am facilitating this fall #i don't want to clean and i don't feel creative and i forget why i didn't want to do the other one but it's probably bc i had an anxiety #dream abt it #dude i had an insane dream abt george springer recently and it was like...ok kasper is this is a symptom of something #are you well? like are we good here or-#i mean really what can i say about george springer. he's so [foghorn]#fresno oiler.txt #i feel like there was a point to this post but idk what it was....sorry

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llycaons · 2 months

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my distaste for rpf doesn't actually extend to the beatles because half of them are dead and idrc about the other two. like I definitely judge people for it and think its cringe to be obsessed w them but I generally dont object to rpf abt older historical or most political figures but that's a really case by case basis

#and ppl get extremely creepy about young celebrities on here so Ibjust say dni to cover my bases #like I still think it's weird but im not gonna block someone for writing about like frederick of prussia meeting angela merkel. or somethin #idk what historical rpf writers do #and obviously even if they're dead there are people who it is absolutely disrespectful to fandomize esp young people #esp people who died from violence #but if someone were to write like. idk george bush/margaret thatcher #well I'd probably block them for being a conservative ig but that writing isn't going to ruin anyone's life #so who cares. also idk why I picked bush I hope he suffers in every way possible #you know. it depends. USUALLY it's creepy as shit on here and has literally ended ppls friendships #so I don't support it but depending on the situation it can be funny #cor.txt

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arty-tardigrade · 2 years

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Here, have some Hogwarts Files things I made a while ago and never got around to posting. Whoops.

#murdoch mysteries #william murdoch #george crabtree #julia ogden #thomas brackenreid #fanart #Murdoch Mysteries: Hogwarts Files #hooray for one point perspective #those bookshelves are not to scale #or well they are but they are absolutely massive #fun fact about that library one: before I started merging layers the file was over 1 GB #the forest was actually one of the first things I painted when I got my tablet lmao #idk why it's taken me so long to post it but welp #but now that I've started writing again I thought about these and figured I ought to post them #idk when the fic will be updated but here I made you some content

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awkwardtickleetoo · 2 years

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The Importance of Eye Contact

inspired by this post from @fluffallamaful as well as me and @twordishfics talking in the reblogs/replies lol

lee!george, ler!karl, 2k words

enjoy <3

"We really need to take better care of these mushrooms around here," Karl said as he climbed up the last step of his and George's mushroom-shaped home. George smiled, chuckling from where he was laying on his back on the roof, looking up at the clouds through his dark, tinted goggles.

"Yeah," he agreed with a sigh as Karl laid down next to him. He mirrored George's position, their arms touching, and George couldn't help but smile at the contact. "You'd think we would be better at it by now, right? But I still have absolutely no idea what to do with them." Karl hummed in agreement.

"I mean, it would probably help if someone ever tried to help Tina with the gardening," Karl teased, reaching over to poke at George's side just above his hip bone. He smiled slightly when he saw George flinch and giggle slightly at the action, curious to learn more about it. "Maybe you'd learn a thing or two about caring for the crops." He poked the same spot again, twice more this time, and George giggled again and crossed his arm over his torso to cover the area with his palm.

"Whatever," George rolled his eyes playfully, letting out a small laugh when Karl giggled at him. "I've helped Tina plenty of times, I'll have you know. And Foolish! I don't remember seeing you or Sapnap help them out either."

"Excuse me, I have a library to run, and Sapnap helps Foolish out all the time. Tina told him to stop helping because he overwaters the crops, but he still sits with her for moral support."

"Mhm, I'm sure," George responds sarcastically, closing his eyes behind his glasses as Karl continued.

"And your idea of helping is ridiculous! All you do is sometimes hand Foolish building supplies and sometimes bring Tina food and water," Karl teased more, nudging George's side with his knuckles to emphasize his point.

"Thahat- that is helping!" George giggled through his words, shifting away from Karl's boney knuckles and reaching down to push at him again. "Stop." He said firmly, a smile still plastered to his face as he finally tilted his head to look at Karl.

"What's that?" Karl asked curiously, smirking at the bewilderment that painted the other man's face.

"What's what?"

Karl leaned up, propping himself up on one elbow and reaching over to poke at George's side again. George broke eye contact immediately, looking down at the offending hand instead.

"This?" He clarified, pulling his hand out of George's grasp and poking sporadically at his tummy when George tried to grapple at his hands. "That, what is that?"

"It's not– Karl! It's– it's nothing– stop!"

"Are you ticklish?"

"No!"

"Oh my god you're ticklish, how did I not know?"

"No I'm not!" George moved to sit up, an attempt to remove himself from the situation entirely, but Karl moved quicker than him. He rolled over as quickly as he could manage, swinging his leg over George and straddling his waist. "No! Get off me, Karl! Get off!" George yelled in protest as he squirmed around, trying to sit up, kick his legs, push at Karl's knees, and roll himself over all at the same time. Karl giged at his protests, pushing George down with one hand on his chest and letting him struggle for a few moments.

Predictably, he got tired pretty fast.

"Ugh," George groaned as he finally admitted defeat, going limp after a minute of his pointless squirming and Karl staring down at him with raised eyebrows and a knowing smirk. "Kaaarl," he whined as he caught a single glimpse of the man's smug face. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, his burning hot cheek pressing against the smooth, cool surface of the mushroom below him.

"Geoorrge," Karl mimicked his tone and put on a fake accent, making him whine again and press his lips together. George wasn't entirely sure what to do with his hands, evident as he covered his mouth, then wrapped them around his torso, then landed them on Karl's knees and pushed in a last ditch effort, before settling on keeping them wrapped around his body. "Ooooh, someone's antsy, huh?" Karl teased, poking at George's chest and collarbones as he scrambled to blindly shove his hands away.

"Karl, don’t!" George tried to be stern, but his voice was already shaky and strained from nerves.

"All you gotta do is admit that you're ticklish, and I'll leave you alone! That's it, really, all you have to do is say, 'Karl, I am super ticklish,' and everything will go back to normal," Karl explained, putting on his best-worst British accent when quoting George, which he couldn't help but giggle at… or maybe that was because Karl hadn't stopped poking at him.

"But I'm not!" George insisted, pushing at Karl's knees again, keeping his arms still crossed over his stomach to protect himself.

"You're not?"

"No!"

"You're not ticklish?" Karl pressed on, smiling when George became noticeably agitated at his antics.

"I said no!"

"Not at all, not even one bit? Not even a liiiiiittle bit ticklish?" Karl asked, and George couldn't hold in the tiny, giggly laugh he let out. His eyes were still squeezed shut, head still turned to the side, as his shoulders had no choice but to relax as he let out the beginnings of fluttery giggles.

"I aham not ticklihish."

"Alright," Karl gave in, but before George could think he had the upper hand, he reached forward, cupping George's face with one hand and turning his head to look straight up at Karl. George complained as he felt his head being moved, trying to shake off Karl's hand, but it wouldn't budge. He kept his eyes pressed shut so tightly he knew he'd be seeing spots when he opened them, giggling to himself and clamping his mouth shut when he felt Karl lean forward. "Look me in the eyes and tell me, then."

George let out a squeaky, surprised laugh at the request, trying to turn his head to the other side to evade Karl's hand, but his other hand just came up to join. Suddenly, he felt his goggles being slid up to the top of his head, and he gasped and tried to pull his head away from Karl's hold. His hands jumped to life as he tried to reach up to pull the dark glasses back down to hide his eyes, but Karl just removed them from his head entirely and placed them on the ground next to his leg, out of George's reach from his current position. His hands then returned to gently cupping George's face. George pressed his mouth into a thin line, holding in his nervous giggles as much as possible, holding onto Karl's wrists because he couldn't think of anything else to do. His legs shifted around behind Karl, his body and mind still needing to squirm or else they might explode.

"Come on, what's got you all shy all of a sudden? You won't let me see those gorgeous brown eyes of yours?" George couldn't help but giggle at that, his nose scrunching up as he did. "Hey," Karl's tone was soft as he continued, voice quiet and slow, speaking right next to George's ear and making him gasp and squeal. "If you can't open your eyes and tell me you're not ticklish, I'll tickle you until you admit that you are."

George positively whined at Karl's threatening words, his tone sending chills right down his spine. George took a few seconds to think everything through, deciding he would just have to open his eyes at that point.

He finally blinked his eyes open, squinting and letting out anxious giggles at how close Karl's face was to his, squinting as his face scrunched up in laughter.

"There you are! I've missed you, I can finally see you again!" Karl exaggerated, squeezing George's cheeks a little as George laughed at his playfulness. "Do you have something you'd like to say?"

"Okahay! Okay, okahahay… I'm– hahaha– Ihi'm…" George hesitated, cutting himself off with more giggles. He closed his eyes again on instinct, opening them quickly after remembering the consequences. "I'm not ticklish. Promise," he finished, and Karl smiled down at him, sitting up straight again but not moving from where he was sitting George's hips just yet.

"Okay, awesome, so you don't mind if I do this?" Karl asked, barely giving George time to process his question before letting go of his face and digging his fingers into his sides. George squealed, slapping one hand over his mouth and using his other hand to bat at Karl's. Karl giggled loudly at his reaction, making George shake his head in embarrassment as he struggled to muffle his giggles. "Oh, that's so cute, you're so ticklish."

"Mm-mm!" George mumbled into his palm, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut even tighter than before. His free hand had managed to find one of Karl's hands, holding onto it for dear life so he couldn't use it to tickle, thinking he had won somehow.

Until Karl took that hand and pinned it under his knee.

And then reached up to do the same to the hand that was covering his mouth.

"No! Noho, nonono, no! Lehet mehehe GO!" George yelled out as he kicked his legs and shook his head rapidly. He pulled on his wrists, trying to pull them free, but Karl was putting as much weight as he could on them without it being painful, and the constant tickling made him grow weaker and weaker. "No, Kahaharl, Karl, dohon't, that's not fair, that's not fahahair, please!"

"All's fair in love and tickles, baby boy!" Karl teased further, moving his fingers up to dig into George's ribs. He squeezed at the bones there, giggling along as George's laughter got louder and louder and his back arched slightly. Karl took that opportunity, using his arched back to slip his hands under the now loose material of his t-shirt.

"NAHAHA!" George laughed, feeling Karl's nails scratch in between each bone of his ribcage. "KAHAHARL plehehehease!"

"You know what you have to do!"

"I can't– NONONO DOHOHON'T! Nahahaha!" George whined through his giggles when Karl moved to scratch so, so unbearably lightly at his tummy. A frustrated groan came from his throat when he tried and failed to pull his arms free once again. "Ka- hahaha, Kahaharl plehease, I– I cahan't, I–" George pleaded, letting his head drop back onto the mushroom roof underneath him.

Karl took pity on him, stopping the tickling and resting his hands on George's sides, swirling his thumbs in soothing circles on the sides of his tummy with enough pressure to make sure it didn't tickle. He also moved his knees, letting George pull his hands out and immediately use them to cover his face.

"Hey, don't do that," Karl gently reprimanded, pressing his thumbs in further to keep George's attention. "You still owe me a confession."

George groaned almost instantly, rubbing his eyes and turning his entire upper body to the side slightly. He sighed, turning back onto his back and looking up at Karl.

"Fine," He grumbled, fidgeting with his fingers bashfully. "It… it may– may be possible that I'm, like… a little bit ticklish."

"Oh, only a little bit?"

"Ye-yeah, just a little…"

"Just a little?" Karl scratched at George's sides, his middle and ring fingers reaching his bottom ribs. George gasped and grabbed Karl's hands, pulling them out from under his shirt and holding them up in the air.

"OKAY, FINE, FINE! I'm ticklish, I'm super ticklish, just don't start again."

Karl laughed out loud that time, George giggling along as he dropped Karl's hands. Karl finally pushed himself off George, laying down next to him and resting his head on George's stomach. He giggled to himself at the way George flinched and let out a strained, shaky noise, but he didn't mention it further, instead letting a comfortable silence wash over them.

"You can't just lay there forever," George spoke after a few moments, but despite his words he let his hand fall to Karl's head, fingers running through soft, wavy brown hair.

"I think I can, actually. Goodnight, I'm never leaving."

If George wasn't so tired, he might've questioned if Karl had meant that, to which the answer would have been yes. But, at that moment, he found he didn't really mind.

#lee!george #ler!karl #i didnt proofread this before i posted it lmao #well i did in my google doc but i usually do it twice once there and once on tumblr #but i only did it once #so if there are typos no there arent <3 you simply do not see <3 hope this helps <3 #cals writing

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