#FUMBLE HALL OF FAME

[littlewhispersmokesigns]

Alex Chilton + Lesa Aldridge

[hereticallyeverafter]

I know there's a whole meme about not having relationhip decay and how that's super common with NDs, something something emotional object permanence, etc.

It's cute if your friends are in on it and know to expect a phone call once a month.

It's not cute when you see an ex-friend and your heart skips a beat even though things ended badly, they claim not to even remember you (possibly valid for private reasons but idfk), they're a million miles away, and they feel absolutely less than than nothing about you. While you feel everything like it was yesterday.

You, a pleb: How bad could i- 10 YEARS AGO 💀

Also, don't worry, I am aware that ruminating isn't healthy, issa symptom luv. I'm not gonna, like, do or say anything weird, just venting. I know people need disclaimers these days 🤟

[sorceressofthesky]

"Fumbled a gay situationship so hard the bottom became a dictator" hall of fame

[kathaelipwse]

Styled For Love || K.Soonyoung {Hoshi}

Pairing: Idol!Hoshi x Stylist!Reader

Warnings: Angst | Miscommunication | Insecurity | Swearing | Fluff | Teasing | Drunken Confession | Public Relationship Reveal | NO PROOF READING WAS DONE

Trope: Second Chance Romance | Slow Burn | Ex-Crush to Lovers

Word count: 9649 words ; Reading time: 35 mins-ish

Synopsis: Back in university, you loved Hoshi—even when he pushed you away. Seven years later, fate throws you back into his life as SEVENTEEN’s personal stylist. Awkward stares, silent tension, and unsaid words define your new dynamic. But when old feelings resurface and a drunken confession changes everything, will you finally get the love you once fought for?

Author’s Note: This is peak second-chance romance with angst, teasing, and Hoshi being an awkward mess. If you love group chat chaos, flirty banter, and a soft but possessive Hoshi, this SMAU is for you. Let’s watch him fumble his way back into love. Enjoy the ride! - Opinions are also appreciated!!

Request's are open!!

The scent of old paper and the soft, almost ghostly hum of the university library always brought a strange sense of nostalgia, a bittersweet ache that settled deep in your chest, a phantom limb of a life left behind. You traced your fingers along the worn spine of a textbook, its pages filled with notes you’d taken, not for yourself, but for him. Outside, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom, a vibrant, almost mocking contrast to the gray sky that mirrored the dull ache in your heart.

Seven years. Seven years since you'd last walked these halls, since you'd last seen Kwon Soonyoung, now Hoshi, the boy whose laughter used to fill the class rooms, whose eyes crinkled into crescents when he smiled, the boy you loved with a quiet intensity that had never been reciprocated. The intensity of your feelings was a secret you kept locked away, a treasure and a burden all at once.

You remembered the way he'd always been surrounded by friends, his energy infectious, his passion for dance burning like a flame, drawing everyone into its warmth. You remembered the late nights in the practice room, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his sweat-soaked shirt clung to his lean frame, emphasizing the dedication he poured into every movement. You remembered the way his laughter would echo through the empty halls, a sound you cherished, even from a distance.

And you remembered the way you'd always been on the periphery, a silent observer, a distant admirer. You'd left vitamin drinks in his locker, slipped him meticulously detailed notes when he missed lectures, brought him extra snacks during late rehearsals, knowing he’d often forget to eat. You'd cared for him from afar, a silent guardian, your heart aching with unspoken words, with the weight of a confession you never dared to make.

The weight of those unspoken words grew heavier with each passing day. You knew he was burdened with the pressure of idol training, the relentless schedule, the expectations that seemed to crush him under their weight. You wanted to ease his burden, to be a source of comfort, but you were trapped in the silent role you’d created for yourself.

But your quiet devotion hadn't gone unnoticed. The whispers started, sharp and cruel, like shards of glass, each word cutting deeper than any physical wound. "Clingy," they'd called you, the word laced with disdain. "Chasing after a future idol," they’d sneered, as if your affection was a calculated move, a desperate attempt to ride his coattails to fame. The rumors spread like wildfire, painting you as a pathetic, lovesick girl, a stalker in their eyes.

You remember the way you’d flinched when you passed groups of students, their eyes following you, their whispers a constant, stinging reminder of your perceived transgression. You remember the way you’d avoided the cafeteria, the library, any place where you might encounter him, or worse, his friends, who now regarded you with a mixture of pity and contempt.

The rumors became a monster, twisting your quiet affection into something ugly and obsessive. They painted you as a leech, a parasite clinging to his rising star, draining his energy, his focus. They whispered about your “desperate attempts” to get his attention, your “pathetic displays” of affection. You heard them call you a distraction, a burden, a stain on his reputation.

You remember the way your hands trembled when you tried to write, the way your voice caught in your throat when you tried to speak. You remember the way you’d retreated into yourself, becoming a ghost in the very place you’d once felt a sense of belonging. The library, once a sanctuary, became a place of torment, the silence amplifying the whispers in your head.

And then, the day he'd finally noticed you, it wasn't the way you'd imagined in your countless daydreams. It was a cold, harsh dismissal, his eyes devoid of the warmth you'd always seen, replaced by a cold, distant look that chilled you to the bone.

"Stop following me around," he'd said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, each word a precise, calculated blow. "I don't need you to take care of me."

The words had shattered you, each syllable a blow to your already fragile heart. It was the final, brutal confirmation of everything the rumors had whispered. You’d refused to cry, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your pain, of validating their cruel narratives. Instead, you'd turned and walked away, your steps echoing in the empty hallway, your heart a heavy, leaden weight, a stone sinking to the bottom of a dark, cold sea.

--

After graduation, you'd vanished from his life, leaving behind the university, the memories, and the boy who had broken you. You'd thrown yourself into your work, channeling your pain into ambition, carving a name for yourself in the cutthroat world of fashion and styling, building a wall of professionalism around your wounded heart. You vowed to never be that vulnerable, that exposed, that broken again. You built a new you, one that wouldn’t let anyone see the scars. You built a you that would never let anyone hurt you like that again.

--

The backstage area of the music show, usually a vibrant hive of activity, seemed to hold its breath as you stepped into SEVENTEEN's dressing room. The air crackled with a tension that was almost tangible, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken history that permeated the space. The usual cacophony of hairspray, chatter, and music faded into a dull hum, replaced by the sharp, almost painful awareness of your presence.

"SEVENTEEN's new stylist? You're kidding me," Mingyu's voice cut through the silence, a mix of disbelief and intrigue. He leaned against a rack of clothing, his eyes wide as he watched you move with a practiced grace, adjusting the drape of a silk scarf on a mannequin. "Wait, it's really you?"

You didn't break your concentration, your fingers meticulously straightening the fabric. "It's just another job," you repeated, your voice cool and measured, a carefully constructed barrier against the storm raging within you. "Professionalism is key."

But the lie hung heavy in the air, a fragile shield against the memories that threatened to overwhelm you. It wasn't just another job. It was a confrontation with the past, a forced encounter with the man who had shattered your heart, the ghost you'd tried so desperately to bury.

The door swung open, and he stood there, Kwon Soonyoung, now Hoshi, the idol whose name echoed through stadiums, whose face graced magazine covers. His eyes, once filled with warmth and laughter, now held a flicker of shock, a moment of disbelief that quickly morphed into a searching intensity.

"You…?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, a stark contrast to the powerful vocals he commanded on stage. The single word hung in the air, laden with unspoken questions, with the weight of years of unresolved emotions.

"Mingyu-hyung, you guys know each other?" Seungkwan piped up, his eyes darting between you and Hoshi, his curiosity piqued. "From where? University? That’s wild."

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, the air thrumming with unspoken words. The members exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and intrigue. They sensed the undercurrent of tension, the unspoken history that lingered beneath the surface, a silent narrative that played out between you and Hoshi.

You broke the silence, your voice cool and professional, a shield against the rising tide of memories. "We went to university together," you stated, your voice devoid of any emotion.

"Ah," Mingyu said, his eyes filled with curiosity, a hint of understanding dawning on him. "That's… interesting." He looked at Hoshi, then back at you, his eyes searching for answers, for the missing pieces of a puzzle he couldn't quite comprehend.

Hoshi stared at you, his eyes searching yours, trying to find a flicker of recognition, a hint of the girl he'd known. But you were different now, a polished professional, a far cry from the shy, lovesick girl he'd pushed away. You were a fortress, your emotions locked away behind a wall of carefully constructed professionalism.

You moved through the room, your movements precise and efficient, your focus solely on the task at hand. You laughed at DK's jokes, your laughter light and genuine, a stark contrast to the coldness you showed Hoshi. You teased Seungkwan about his vocal range, praising his talent while playfully mocking his dramatic flair. You complimented Jeonghan's ethereal beauty, your words sincere and appreciative. But when Hoshi spoke, you treated him with the same detached professionalism you showed any other client, your eyes cool, your voice measured.

"The concept for your stage today is a mix of urban chic and edgy rebellion," you explained, your voice devoid of any personal inflection. "The ripped jeans, the leather jacket, it's all about conveying a sense of youthful defiance, a raw energy."

Hoshi watched you, his eyes searching yours, trying to find a flicker of the girl he’d known, a hint of the warmth that had once filled your eyes. But you gave him nothing, your expression a mask of professional detachment, your eyes distant.

He wanted to talk, to bridge the gap, to understand the coldness in your eyes. He wanted to apologize, to explain, to make amends for the pain he'd caused. But you gave him no opening, your focus solely on the task at hand. You were a ghost, a professional ghost, and he couldn't reach you.

"Is the jacket too tight?" you asked, your voice sharp, pulling him back to the present, back to the cold reality of your professional interaction.

"No, it's fine," he replied, his voice flat, his eyes still searching yours, searching for a connection that seemed to have vanished.

"Good," you said, your voice dismissive. "Then let's move on to the accessories. The chains, the rings, they're all about adding an edge, a rebellious touch."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. The members watched you both, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern. They sensed the tension, the unspoken history, the pain that lingered beneath the surface, a silent testament to a past that refused to stay buried.

"This is going to be… interesting," Seungkwan whispered to Mingyu, his eyes wide with intrigue.

Mingyu nodded, his expression serious. "Yeah. I think we're in for a wild ride. And I have a feeling it’s going to be a bumpy one." He looked at Hoshi, then back at you, a silent question hanging in the air. How were they going to get through this?

The styling sessions, once a collaborative effort, had devolved into a tense battleground. You wielded your artistic vision like a weapon, pushing Hoshi beyond his comfort zone with every daring fabric, every unconventional silhouette. The result was visually arresting, a testament to your talent, but it was also a calculated assault, a means of unsettling him, of forcing him to confront the ghosts of his past.

He found himself trapped in a suffocating vortex of self-doubt, obsessively scrutinizing every reflection, every perceived flaw. The pressure of maintaining his idol persona, the constant scrutiny, the relentless pursuit of perfection, had always been a heavy burden. But now, with you back in his life, the weight was crushing, suffocating, threatening to shatter him.

A staff member’s casual, almost dismissive comment about his proportions, a throwaway remark about his “less-than-ideal” physique, became a catalyst, igniting a firestorm of insecurity within him. It was a fleeting, insignificant comment, easily dismissed under normal circumstances. But in his current state of emotional vulnerability, it felt like a brutal indictment, a confirmation of his deepest fears, a validation of the lies he told himself.

He’d always prided himself on his stage presence, his charisma, his ability to command attention. But now, doubt whispered insidious lies, painting him as inadequate, as undeserving of your attention, of your affection. He found himself staring at his reflection, his eyes tracing the lines of his body, searching for imperfections, for the flaws that seemed to confirm his worst fears, the ones that whispered he wasn’t good enough.

"If you don't appreciate his stage presence, maybe you should find another job," your voice cut through the tension, sharp and unwavering, like a blade slicing through silk. It was a fierce defense, an instinctive reaction to the staff member’s callous remark, a protective shield against the cruelty of the world.

Hoshi stared at you, his heart pounding in his chest, a chaotic mix of surprise and confusion warring within him. He was caught off guard by the raw intensity in your eyes, by the unwavering conviction in your voice. He wanted to thank you, to acknowledge the unexpected kindness, but the words caught in his throat, choked by a surge of conflicting emotions, a battle within himself.

He was overwhelmed by a sense of guilt, of regret, of the realization that he didn’t deserve your defense, your kindness. He was haunted by the memory of his past cruelty, the cold, harsh words that had shattered your heart, the pain he had inflicted, the wounds he’d never tried to heal.

And then, a wave of anger washed over him, a desperate, almost primal need to push you away, to protect himself from the vulnerability of your proximity. He couldn’t bear the thought of your compassion, of your caring, when he knew he didn’t deserve it, when he was still haunted by the ghosts of his mistakes.

"You don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore," he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness, with a desperate attempt to mask his vulnerability. "You’ve done your job. Now leave me alone. I don’t need your pity, or your misplaced kindness."

"Pity?" You echoed, your voice dangerously low, your eyes flashing with anger. "Don’t flatter yourself, Kwon Soonyoung. I don’t waste my pity on those who don’t deserve it. You’re not worth my pity, you’re simply a job."

"Then what is this?" He demanded, his voice rising, his eyes blazing. "Why are you defending me? Why are you even here? Why defend me if I'm simply a job?"

"I’m here because I’m a professional," you retorted, your voice sharp, your eyes cold. "And I defend my clients, regardless of their… personal failings. And I'm here, because I'm good at my job. And you, are a client."

"Personal failings?" He repeated, his voice laced with sarcasm, with a bitter edge. "Is that what I am to you? A personal failing? A job? Nothing more?"

"You made your choice," you stated, your voice flat, devoid of emotion, your eyes hard. "You decided to push me away. You decided to inflict pain. Don’t expect me to welcome you back with open arms, or any semblance of forgiveness."

"I was trying to protect you!" He yelled. "From the rumors, from the gossip, from the pressure!"

"Protect me?" You laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "You protected your image, your career. You protected yourself. You didn't protect me."

He stormed off, his steps heavy with regret, his heart aching with a pain he couldn’t comprehend. He left you standing there, your expression unreadable, your eyes filled with a mixture of anger and hurt, a silent testament to the damage he’d inflicted.

The members exchanged worried glances, their expressions filled with apologies, with silent pleas for understanding. They knew the demons that haunted Hoshi, the internal conflict that raged within him.

"Hyung can be a bit… difficult," Mingyu said, his voice apologetic, his eyes filled with concern. "He's just… going through a lot right now. He's a mess."

"He doesn't mean it," joshua added, his voice soft, his eyes filled with sympathy. "He's just… scared. He's afraid of losing you again, or more accurately, admitting he never had you at all."

"He already lost me," you stated, your voice cold, your eyes hard. "And he has no one to blame but himself. He made his choice, and now, he has to live with the consequences."

You retreated into your work, focusing on the details of the styling, the colors, the textures, the shapes. You moved with a mechanical precision, your movements devoid of any emotion, your mind a blank slate.

But the silence in the dressing room was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. The members watched you, their eyes filled with concern, their silence a testament to the tension that permeated the space. They knew that the fragile peace had been shattered, that the delicate balance between you and Hoshi had been irrevocably disrupted. They knew that the road ahead would be fraught with pain, with conflict, with the daunting task of mending broken hearts, if such a thing was even possible. And they knew, that the next move, would determine if there was any hope left.

The soundproofed walls of Woozi's studio, typically a haven of creative expression, now held the weight of Hoshi's raw vulnerability, his voice a broken melody of regret and longing. The air was thick with the unspoken emotions that had festered for years, a silent testament to the pain and longing that had consumed him. Woozi, usually a master of understated expressions, had transformed into a stern confidant, his eyes a piercing gaze that demanded absolute honesty, his silence a heavy presence.

"What the hell was that, Soonyoung?" Woozi's voice, typically a soft, melodic hum, now resonated with a low, dangerous rumble, each word a precise, cutting edge that sliced through the suffocating tension. He leaned against the mixing console, arms crossed, his posture rigid, his gaze unwavering, a silent accusation that demanded a confession. "You’re making a spectacular, catastrophic mess of everything, including yourself. You’re unraveling at the seams, a tangled mess of regret and fear."

Hoshi slumped into a worn-out studio chair, his head buried in his hands, his body language a testament to his utter defeat, his posture a reflection of the emotional wreckage within him, a broken puppet with severed strings. "I don’t know, Jihoon. I just… I messed up. Again. And this time, I don't know how to fix it. I'm afraid I've irrevocably shattered any chance I had, any hope of redemption, any possibility of forgiveness."

"Messed up?" Woozi scoffed, a hint of exasperation lacing his voice, his eyes filled with a mixture of disappointment and concern, a silent lament. "You’re acting like a petulant child, throwing a tantrum when you should be trying to salvage what’s left. You’re pushing her away when you should be pulling her close, begging her to stay, to understand, to forgive."

"It's not that simple," Hoshi mumbled, his voice muffled by his hands, his words a desperate attempt to justify his actions, a plea for understanding. "You don't understand the pressure, the fear… the sheer, crippling terror of messing up again, of causing her more pain, of shattering her again."

"Then make me understand," Woozi retorted, his patience wearing thin, his voice laced with a sharp edge, his eyes demanding clarity, a silent challenge. "You liked her, didn't you? Back then? Or, dare I say… loved? Because there's a world of difference between the two, a chasm of regret and unspoken words."

Hoshi hesitated, his throat tight with unspoken emotions, with the weight of years of regret and the burden of unrequited love. He finally nodded, his voice barely a whisper, a confession he’d kept locked away for too long, a secret that had festered in the shadows of his heart. "I did. I liked her a lot. More than a lot. I loved her, Jihoon. I still do. I always have. And I never stopped."

"Loved?" Woozi raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical, his eyes searching Hoshi's for the truth, for the raw vulnerability he rarely displayed, for the genuine emotion that lay beneath the layers of regret and fear. "Then why, Soonyoung, why did you push her away? Why did you break her heart into a million pieces?"

Hoshi's face flushed crimson, a wave of shame washing over him, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and a raw vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see, a silent testament to his internal battle. He looked away, his gaze fixed on the worn carpet, his voice barely audible, a confession whispered in the darkness. "I… I don't know. It doesn't matter now. I ruined everything. I was so scared. So incredibly, pathetically scared. I was a coward."

"It matters to her," Woozi said, his voice softer now, but no less intense, each word a carefully placed stone in a bridge he was trying to build, a silent plea for understanding. "It matters to you. And it matters to me, because you're my friend, and you’re slowly destroying yourself with your self-inflicted guilt. Tell me, Soonyoung, why her? What made her so special, so unforgettable?"

Hoshi took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly, his eyes filled with a distant longing, a bittersweet nostalgia, a silent journey into the past. "It was… everything. Her kindness, her quiet strength, the way she cared for everyone around her without expecting anything in return. Even when people whispered, even when they were cruel, she never changed. She was always… pure. And she was so talented, so driven. Even then, she was a force, a beacon of light in the darkness. And she saw me, Jihoon. She saw the real me, the insecure kid beneath the stage persona. She understood me, even when I didn’t understand myself. And she was beautiful, inside and out. The way she smiled, the way she laughed… it was like sunshine, chasing away the shadows of my doubts."

He paused, his eyes filled with a distant longing, his voice thick with emotion, a silent lament for a love lost. "And even when I was an idiot, even when I pushed her away, she never stopped caring. I knew she wouldn’t. And that… that just made it worse. I felt like I didn’t deserve her. I felt like I was tarnishing her light, dragging her into my darkness."

"I wanted to be with her," Hoshi confessed, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes filled with a desperate plea for understanding, a silent cry for forgiveness. "But I couldn't. The pressure, the rumors, the constant scrutiny… I didn't want to ruin her life. I was scared of what it would do to her. I was scared of ruining her, of dragging her into my chaotic world, of extinguishing her light."

"And instead, you broke her heart into pieces," Woozi finished, his voice filled with a quiet understanding, a hint of disappointment, a silent lament for a love lost. "You thought you were protecting her, but you only caused her more pain. You made a choice, and it was the wrong one. A cowardly one, driven by fear, fueled by regret."

Hoshi nodded, his eyes filled with a deep, consuming regret, a self-loathing that gnawed at his soul, a silent admission of his failure, a heavy burden of guilt. "The worst part?" he said, his voice thick with self-loathing, his words a confession of his deepest shame, a desperate plea for absolution. "I knew she'd never stop caring. I knew she'd always be there for me, no matter what. And I still pushed her away. I still hurt her, even when I knew she didn't deserve it. I was a fool, a coward, a monster."

"You still have a chance, idiot," Woozi said, his eyes filled with a rare intensity, a flicker of hope igniting within him, a silent promise of support, a quiet command. "Just tell her the truth. Tell her how you feel. Tell her why you did what you did. Carats will support you. We will support you. And she… she might too, if you give her a reason to. If you show her you’ve changed, if you show her you’re worthy."

Hoshi shook his head, his voice filled with despair, his eyes filled with the ghosts of his past mistakes, a silent acknowledgment of his unworthiness, a broken plea for a chance. "It's too late. I ruined everything. I don't deserve her forgiveness. I'm a mess. A coward. A broken mess, beyond repair."

"It's never too late to try," Woozi countered, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument, his eyes filled with a quiet determination, a silent command, a resolute belief. "But you have to be honest. You have to be vulnerable. You have to admit your mistakes, and you have to mean it. You have to show her that you are worthy of her love, that you are worthy of a second chance, that you are not the same man you were then."

"I don't know how," Hoshi confessed, his voice filled with a raw vulnerability that Woozi rarely saw, a desperate plea for guidance, a broken cry for help, a silent acknowledgment of his fear. "I'm afraid of hurting her again. I'm afraid she'll never forgive me. I'm afraid I'll just make things worse, that I’ll only push her further away."

"Then show her you've changed," Woozi said, his voice soft but firm, his eyes filled with a quiet determination, a silent promise of support, a resolute command. "Show her you’re not the same person who pushed her away. Actions speak louder than words, and you have a lot to make up for. You loved her, Soonyoung. Now fight for her. Fight for your second chance. Fight for the love you threw away."

A long silence stretched between them, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the air. Hoshi stared at his hands, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, a battleground of regret and fear, a silent war within himself. He wanted to reach out to you, to mend the broken pieces of their past, but he was paralyzed by fear, by the fear of rejection, by the fear of causing you more pain.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered, his voice filled with a desperate plea for guidance, a broken cry for a chance at redemption, a silent plea for a miracle.

"You need to talk to her," Woozi said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument, his eyes filled with a quiet resolve, a silent command, a determined belief. "You need to tell her the truth. And you need to apologize. Properly. Not some half-hearted attempt, but a genuine, heartfelt apology, a confession from the depths of your soul. And you have to tell her why you love her, Soonyoung. You need to let her know she was never just a rumor, never just a burden. You need to tell her she was everything, that you were the blind one, that she was the light you extinguished."

Meanwhile, in the adjacent room, SEVENTEEN were engaged in a chaotic planning session, their voices a mix of mischievous excitement and nervous anticipation, their expressions a blend of playful determination and genuine concern. They had witnessed the tension, the hurt, and decided that drastic measures were required, that they needed to intervene, to orchestrate a moment of truth.

"We need to lock them in a room," Mingyu declared, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint, his voice filled with a conspiratorial whisper, his expression a picture of determined chaos, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Are you crazy?" vernon exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief, his voice rising in alarm, his expression a mix of horror and amusement, a dramatic gasp. "That’s a terrible idea! What if they kill each other? Or worse, us? What if they unleash their wrath upon us?"

"It's a terrible idea that just might work," Jeonghan countered, a sly smile playing on his lips, his eyes filled with a mischievous glint, his voice laced with a playful edge, a knowing smirk.

"They need to talk, and we need to ensure they do. A little forced intimacy never hurt anyone. Besides, we’re doing them a favor, a service to true love." cheol added seeing han's smirk.

"But what if it makes things worse?" seokmin asked, his voice filled with concern, his eyes wide with anxiety, his expression a picture of pure worry, a silent plea for reason. "What if they hate us? What if they never speak to us again? What if they hold us responsible for their misery?"

"Then we'll deal with it," shua said, his voice firm, his eyes filled with a quiet resolve, his expression a picture of unwavering determination, a silent promise to shoulder the consequences. "But we have to try. They deserve a second chance, and we’re going to make sure they get it, whether they like it or not. We’re SEVENTEEN, and we fix our family, even if it means causing a little chaos along the way."

And so, the plan was set. They would lure you and Hoshi into the dressing room, lock the door, and force them to confront their past. It was a risky move, a gamble that could either mend broken hearts or shatter them completely. But they were willing to take that risk, for the sake of their friend, for the sake of a love that deserved a second chance, for the hope that maybe, just maybe, they could fix what was broken, and bring them back together, like pieces of a shattered mirror, reflecting a love that refused to die.

The dressing room, typically a chaotic haven of creativity and bustling activity, now stood as a silent stage, the air thick with unspoken emotions and the weight of years of regret. You stepped inside, your brow furrowed in confusion, your eyes scanning the room for the supposed "meeting" Mingyu had arranged, a meeting that felt more like an ambush. Hoshi stood near the far wall, his posture rigid, his eyes filled with a nervous intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, a silent plea for understanding, a desperate hope for forgiveness.

"Mingyu said there was a meeting?" you asked, your voice sharp, cutting through the tense silence like a finely honed blade. "Something about a new concept?"

Before Hoshi could respond, the door slammed shut with a resounding thud, the lock clicking into place with an ominous finality. You turned, your eyes widening in disbelief as you realized you were trapped, a pawn in SEVENTEEN's elaborate, and arguably insane, game.

"Mingyu. Mingyu, OPEN THIS DOOR," Hoshi yelled, his voice laced with a desperate urgency, his hands rattling the doorknob with a frantic energy, a silent cry for release. "This isn't funny! You guys are going to regret this! Seriously, open the door!"

"What the hell is this?" you demanded, your voice rising in anger, your eyes flashing with a mixture of confusion and frustration, a silent accusation. "What are you two playing at? Is this some kind of twisted joke? Because if it is, it's not funny."

Hoshi turned to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of apology and desperation, a silent plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to explain. "They locked us in. I don't know why. I swear I had nothing to do with this. I was as surprised as you are."

You crossed your arms, your expression hardening, your eyes narrowed with suspicion, a silent challenge. "They better have a damn good reason. Or I'm going to make them regret they were ever born. I'm going to make sure they learn the meaning of 'prank gone wrong'."

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, a silent battleground of regret and longing. You avoided Hoshi's gaze, your eyes fixed on the locked door, your mind racing with a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, a tempest of emotions. You were trapped, forced into a confrontation you weren't ready for, a forced reckoning with the past, a painful reminder of shattered dreams.

Hoshi shifted uncomfortably, his eyes searching yours, his expression filled with a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache, a silent plea for understanding, a desperate hope for forgiveness. He looked a mess, his hair disheveled, his sweatshirt oversized, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a nervous vulnerability, a broken mask. He looked like the boy you'd known in university, the boy you had loved, the boy who had broken your heart into a million pieces.

"I… I need to talk to you," he said, his voice barely a whisper, a plea for understanding, a silent confession of his deepest regrets.

"Talk?" you scoffed, your voice laced with sarcasm, your eyes filled with a cold anger, a silent accusation. "Now you want to talk? After seven years of silence? After you shattered me into a million pieces and left me to pick them up myself?"

"I know I messed up," he said, his voice thick with regret, his eyes filled with a desperate plea for forgiveness, a silent cry for absolution. "I know I hurt you. And I'm so sorry. More than you can ever know. More than I can ever express."

"Sorry?" you repeated, your voice laced with bitterness, your eyes filled with a cold anger, a silent accusation of his cruelty. "Sorry doesn't fix anything, Soonyoung. It doesn't erase the pain, the years of emptiness, the nights I spent crying myself to sleep."

"I know," he said, his voice barely audible, his eyes filled with a deep, consuming regret, a silent acknowledgment of his failure, a desperate plea for understanding. "But I need you to understand. I need you to know why I did what I did, why I was such a coward, why I made such a terrible mistake."

He took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly, his eyes filled with a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache, a silent confession of his deepest fears. "I was scared," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper, a broken plea for understanding. "I was scared of ruining your life. I was scared of the rumors, of the gossip, of the pressure. I was scared of what it would do to you, of what it would turn you into. I was terrified of dragging you into my chaotic world."

"So you decided to break me instead?" you retorted, your voice sharp, your eyes filled with a cold anger, a silent accusation of his cruelty. "That was your way of protecting me? By destroying me, by erasing me from your life?"

"No," he said, his voice thick with regret, his eyes filled with a desperate plea for understanding, a silent confession of his cowardice. "That was my way of being a coward. I was selfish. I was weak. I was afraid. I was a fool, a complete and utter fool."

He paused, his eyes searching yours, his expression filled with a raw vulnerability, a silent plea for forgiveness, a desperate hope for redemption. "I loved you," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper, a secret he had kept locked away for years, a confession whispered in the darkness, a desperate plea for understanding. "I loved you then, and I love you now. And that's why I pushed you away. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you, but I was just protecting myself, my own selfish desires my own selfish needs and dreams."

"Protecting me?" you scoffed, your voice laced with disbelief, your eyes filled with a cold anger, a silent accusation of his betrayal. "You broke me, Hoshi. You shattered me into a million pieces. And now, after seven years, you expect me to believe you? That you loved me? That you still do?"

"I don't expect you to believe me," he said, his voice barely audible, his eyes filled with a deep, consuming regret, a silent acknowledgment of his guilt, a desperate plea for understanding. "I just need you to know the truth. I need you to know that I never stopped caring. I never stopped loving you. You were always in my heart, a constant reminder of my mistakes."

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, a silent battleground of regret and longing. You stared at him, your eyes searching his, trying to decipher the truth in his words, trying to reconcile the past with the present. You wanted to believe him, to forgive him, but the pain of the past was a heavy weight, a constant reminder of his betrayal.

"You're so awkward," you said, your voice barely a whisper, a mix of anger and vulnerability, a silent acknowledgment of the lingering affection, a desperate attempt to break the tension. "How are you an idol? How do you command a stage with such… clumsiness?"

Hoshi's face flushed crimson, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes, a silent confession of his vulnerability, a desperate attempt to hold onto his composure. "What?"

"You're blushing," you teased, a small smile playing on your lips, a hint of the playful banter that had once defined your relationship, a silent test of his sincerity. "Oh my god. You're a mess. A beautiful, awkward mess."

Hoshi's face flushed even deeper, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and amusement, a silent acknowledgment of your playful jab, a desperate attempt to regain his footing. "Stop it," he mumbled, his voice laced with a playful annoyance, a silent plea for seriousness, a desperate attempt to hide his vulnerability.

"…….Make me," you retorted, a playful glint in your eyes, a flicker of the old you, a silent challenge, a desperate attempt to find a way back to the past.

The tension in the room shifted, the heavy silence replaced by a fragile lightness, a hint of the connection you had once shared, a silent acknowledgment of the lingering spark. You were teasing him, challenging him, testing the waters, trying to gauge the sincerity of his words, trying to find a way back to the past, to a time before the pain.

Hoshi stepped closer, his eyes searching yours, his expression filled with a raw vulnerability, a silent plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap. "I'm serious," he said, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes filled with a desperate plea. "I love you. I always have. And I always will. And I'm so sorry."

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest, your emotions a whirlwind of conflicting feelings, a silent battle between hope and fear, a desperate attempt to find clarity. You wanted to believe him, to forgive him, to fall back into the comfort of his arms. But the pain of the past was a heavy weight, a constant reminder of his betrayal.

"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, your eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear, a silent confession of your confusion, a desperate attempt to find the right words.

"You don't have to say anything," he said, his voice soft, his eyes filled with a gentle tenderness, a silent promise, a desperate hope for understanding. "Just listen. Let me explain. Let me show you."

He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch sending a shiver down your spine, a silent acknowledgment of the lingering connection, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness," he said, his voice barely audible, his eyes filled with a deep, consuming regret, a silent confession of his guilt, a desperate plea for redemption. "But I'm begging you, please give me a second chance. Please let me show you that I've changed. Please let me love you again, the way I always should have, the way you deserve."

You closed your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest, your emotions a chaotic mix of hope and fear, a silent battle between forgiveness and pain, a desperate attempt to find a way forward. You wanted to believe him, to forgive him, to fall back into the comfort of his arms. But the pain of the past was a heavy weight, a constant reminder of his betrayal.

"I… I love you too," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a confession you had kept locked away for years, a silent acknowledgment of your enduring love, a desperate hope for a future.

A soft smile spread across Hoshi's face, his eyes filled with a gentle tenderness, a flicker of hope igniting within him, a silent promise of redemption, a desperate attempt to hold onto the fragile hope. "Then please," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes filled with a desperate plea. "Please give me a second chance. Let me prove I’m worthy of you. Let me show you that I’m not the same man I was then."

You opened your eyes, your gaze meeting his, your heart filled with a mixture of hope and fear, a silent acknowledgment of the risk, a desperate attempt to find the courage to believe. You took a deep breath, your voice trembling slightly. "I… I don't know," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a silent confession of your vulnerability, a desperate plea for reassurance. "I'm scared. I'm still so scared of getting hurt again."

"I know," he said, his voice soft, his eyes filled with a gentle understanding, a silent promise of patience, a desperate attempt to soothe your fears. "But I promise, I won't hurt you again. I'll spend every day proving that I’m worthy of your love. I’ll cherish you. I’ll protect you. I’ll be the man you deserve."

You went on your tiptoes, your lips brushing against his forehead, a soft, gentle kiss that sealed your fate, a silent promise of a second chance, a desperate hope for a new beginning. "I love you more," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a confession of your enduring love, a silent hope for a future where the pain is replaced with healing.

The dressing room, once a space of tension and conflict, now held the fragile promise of a second chance, a testament to the enduring power of love, a silent hope for a new beginning. Outside, SEVENTEEN waited anxiously, their ears pressed against the door, their hearts pounding in anticipation, a silent prayer for a happy ending. They had taken a risk, a gamble that could have shattered everything. But they had also given their friend a chance, a chance to mend broken hearts, to rewrite the past, and to find love again, a chance to rewrite their story, to create a future where love triumphs over pain.

--

The past two years had been a masterclass in clandestine romance, a carefully choreographed dance of secrecy and affection, a delicate tightrope walk between their public personas and their private passions. They navigated the treacherous currents of fame and privacy with the stealth of seasoned spies, their love a precious, hidden treasure, known only to the trusted inner sanctum of SEVENTEEN and the ever-discreet staff, who often found themselves acting as unwitting accomplices in their romantic escapades. Every stolen glance across a crowded room, every whispered confession in a dimly lit corner, every clandestine date in the hushed stillness of the night felt like a thrilling act of rebellion against the omnipresent gaze of the world, a delicious defiance of the spotlight.

Dorm life, already a vibrant, chaotic symphony of laughter, mischief, and controlled pandemonium, became the stage for their secret romance, a playground for their intimate moments. Late-night cuddles under the comforting shroud of darkness, stolen kisses in empty practice rooms, the air thick with the lingering scent of sweat and unspoken desires, and whispered confessions amidst the cacophony of SEVENTEEN's antics became their cherished rituals, the secret language of their love, a silent dialogue spoken in stolen moments. You wore his oversized hoodies, the fabric imbued with his familiar scent, a comforting reminder of his presence, a tangible piece of his affection, a silent declaration of ownership. You "borrowed" his snacks, leaving playful, teasing notes in their place, a silent conversation of love and playful challenge, a battle of wits fought with chocolate and chips. He, in turn, left small, carefully chosen gifts on your desk, tokens of his unwavering devotion, a testament to his growing obsession, each gift a silent poem of his affection.

SEVENTEEN, the self-proclaimed guardians of their love, the mischievous Cupids, the chaotic architects of their romance, never missed an opportunity to tease Hoshi, their group chat a constant stream of hilarious commentary, ridiculous scenarios, and thinly veiled innuendos, a digital theater of their affection. Mingyu, the resident mischief-maker, the master of orchestrated chaos, orchestrated elaborate, hilariously awkward "accidental" encounters, while Seungkwan, the drama king of SEVENTEEN, the theatrical commentator of their love, provided a running commentary, complete with exaggerated sighs, melodramatic pronouncements, and theatrical gasps, a live-action soap opera. Jeonghan, the master of subtle manipulation, the puppet master of their romance, subtly nudged you and Hoshi together, his eyes always twinkling with amusement, his lips curved in a knowing smile, a silent conductor of their love story.

"Hyung, you're blushing harder than a tomato that just won a beauty contest and realized it forgot its acceptance speech," Mingyu would text, accompanied by a close-up picture of Hoshi's flushed face, his eyes wide with barely concealed affection, his cheeks burning crimson.

"When's the wedding? I'm free on Tuesday. I'll bring the rice cakes, the doves, and the emotional support," Seungkwan would add, followed by a string of laughing emojis, his words dripping with playful sarcasm, his tone a theatrical pronouncement.

"Just admit it, Soonyoung-ah, you're whipped. Utterly, completely, and irrevocably whipped. And we love to see it," Jeonghan would chime in, his words laced with playful affection, his eyes sparkling with amusement, his tone a gentle ribbing. "It’s your aesthetic now."

Hoshi, despite his valiant attempts to maintain a facade of composure, a mask of idol cool, couldn't hide his adoration, his growing worship of you, his every action a testament to his devotion. His eyes would soften, his gaze lingering whenever you were near, his laughter would become a gentle melody, a soft symphony of love, and his touch would linger a moment too long, a silent plea for more, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between their private and public lives. He was a man utterly consumed by love, a fact that both amused and delighted his bandmates, a testament to the power of your love, a love that burned brighter than any stage light.

Then came the infamous drunken live broadcast, a chaotic, hilarious event that would forever be etched in SEVENTEEN's lore, a legendary night of drunken confessions and unbridled chaos, a moment of pure, unfiltered Hoshi. Celebrating a hard-won award, the members, fueled by celebratory drinks and high spirits, decided to go live, their laughter echoing through the dorm, their energy infectious, their inhibitions lowered.

"I wanna get married in my 30s," Hoshi slurred, his eyes glazed with alcohol and adoration, his words a drunken confession, a testament to his deepest desires, a public declaration of his love. "I already found the love of my life. She's my best choice. My absolute best. The most amazing woman in the world. A goddess among women. A queen among mortals."

The chat exploded, a digital firestorm of shocked and excited comments, a tsunami of disbelief, curiosity, and playful teasing, a chaotic symphony of online reactions.

[50,000+ viewers] "WAIT WHAT?"

"WHO IS SHE?! SPILL THE TEA!"

"OH MY GOD HE EXPOSED HIMSELF. GET THE RING READY. AND THE DIVORCE PAPERS, JUST IN CASE."

"Hoshi-hyung, are you okay? Need some water? Or maybe a reality check? Or a therapist?" Mingyu asked, his eyes wide with mock concern, a mischievous glint in their depths, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm, his tone a theatrical performance.

"Never been better," Hoshi declared, his voice slurred but filled with drunken confidence, his eyes filled with a drunken adoration, his words a testament to his unwavering love. "She's perfect. Absolutely perfect. A goddess among women. I don't deserve her. I worship the ground she walks on. She's my universe."

The members exchanged amused glances, their expressions a mix of amusement, disbelief, and a touch of genuine affection, a silent acknowledgment of his unwavering devotion. They knew Hoshi's affection for you ran deep, a love that burned brighter than any stage light, but they hadn't expected him to reveal it to the world in such a spectacular, hilariously chaotic fashion, a drunken masterpiece of confession.

The next morning, Hoshi woke up with a pounding headache, a dry mouth, and a sinking feeling in his stomach, a potent cocktail of regret and embarrassment, a hangover of epic proportions. He vaguely remembered the live broadcast, the laughter, the drinks, but the details were hazy, shrouded in a fog of alcohol-induced amnesia, a blurry montage of drunken declarations.

"Hyung… you kinda… announced your relationship. To the entire world. And called her a goddess. And a queen. And your universe," Mingyu said, his voice laced with amusement, his eyes twinkling with mischief, his grin wide and devilish, his tone a playful accusation.

Hoshi's eyes widened in horror, his face draining of all color, his skin turning a shade of pale that rivaled the moon. "What? No, I didn't. I wouldn't… I'm a professional, I know better. I have self control."

"Oh, but you did," Seungkwan chimed in, holding up his phone, the screen displaying a clip of Hoshi's drunken, yet surprisingly eloquent, confession, a digital testament to his love. "And it's glorious. The stuff of legends. You even serenaded her with a half-remembered ballad, hyung. It was… something."

You walked into the room, a mischievous glint in your eyes, a playful smile playing on your lips, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm, your tone a theatrical challenge. "So when's the wedding? I want kids by the way. And I'm free this weekend. My schedule is wide open for a honeymoon. Preferably somewhere with a beach. Or an island. Or both."

Hoshi's face flushed crimson, a wave of panic washing over him, a desperate attempt to regain his composure. He stammered, his words a jumbled mess of apologies, denials, and desperate pleas for forgiveness, a chaotic symphony of incoherent sounds. "I… I didn't mean to… I was drunk… I'm sorry. Please don't hate me."

He pinned you down on the couch, his voice a low, husky murmur in your ear, a mix of playful threats, whispered apologies, and a hint of possessiveness, a desperate attempt to regain control. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? You're going to pay for this. I'm going to make you regret every single teasing word. I'm going to worship you until you forget your own name."

Then, as quickly as the storm had arrived, he transformed into a cuddly tiger cub, burying his face in your neck, his voice a soft murmur, a desperate plea for reassurance, a silent cry for forgiveness. "Just… don't leave me. Please. I was just being honest. Drunk, but honest. And really, really in love."

"??? HOW DID WE GET HERE," you thought, laughing, a mixture of amusement and affection swirling within you, a chaotic blend of love and exasperation, a silent acknowledgment of his adorable madness. "He's such a mess. But he's my mess. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

The aftermath of Hoshi's drunken confession was a whirlwind of chaos and amusement, a digital circus of reactions, a chaotic symphony of online chatter. The hashtag #HoshiDatingScandal trended on Twitter, a chaotic mix of shocked reactions, supportive messages, hilarious memes, and even a few marriage proposals, a digital testament to his popularity. The members, true to their chaotic nature, fueled the fire, posting cryptic tweets, teasing Hoshi relentlessly, and generally reveling in the glorious mess, a digital celebration of their friendship.

"He's in love, and he doesn't care who knows it. The fool. The beautiful, utterly smitten fool," Jeonghan tweeted, accompanied by a winking emoji, his words dripping with amusement, his tone a gentle ribbing.

"Someone get this man a ring, and a good lawyer. And maybe a muzzle," Mingyu added, followed by a string of laughing emojis, his words laced with playful sarcasm, his tone a theatrical pronouncement.

"I'm officiating the wedding. I've already picked out my outfit. It's a black sequined jumpsuit, with wings. And a tiara. And I'm bringing backup dancers," Seungkwan declared, his words laced with dramatic flair, his expression a picture of theatrical grandeur, his tone a performance.

Hoshi, despite his initial panic, his red face, and his stammering apologies, couldn't help but smile. He had accidentally revealed his deepest secret, the love that consumed him, but he didn't regret it. He loved you, and he wanted the world to know, even if it meant enduring a tidal wave of teasing and chaos, a digital tsunami of reactions. The chaos was a small price to pay for the happiness he had found with you, for the love that made his life complete, a love that was as chaotic and beautiful as SEVENTEEN themselves.

The digital world erupted in a frenzy of speculation and excitement. #HoshiDatingScandal dominated trending topics worldwide, a chaotic mix of supportive messages, angry outbursts, and wild rumors swirling across social media platforms. Fans dissected every word of Hoshi's drunken declaration, scrutinizing old interviews, searching for clues, and creating elaborate theories about your identity.

Some fans, the staunch defenders of Hoshi's privacy, expressed outrage at the invasion of his personal life, demanding respect and understanding. Others, the more possessive and obsessive ones, launched a vitriolic attack, their words laced with jealousy and anger, their targets aimed squarely at you.

"Who does she think she is?"

"She's just using him for fame."

"Hoshi deserves better."

The comments, sharp and cruel, pierced through the carefully constructed walls you had built around yourself. They echoed the whispers of the past, the rumors that had haunted your university days, the pain you had tried so hard to bury.

SEVENTEEN's company, usually quick to issue statements and control the narrative, remained uncharacteristically silent. The members, aware of the delicate situation and Hoshi's genuine affection for you, urged the company to handle the situation with care. They were prepared to defend Hoshi, to support his decision, to stand by his side, no matter the consequences.

The silence from the company fueled the online frenzy, adding fuel to the fire of speculation and rumors. The media, ever hungry for a sensational story, hounded you and Hoshi, their intrusive questions and flashing cameras a constant reminder of the public's intense scrutiny.

Amidst the chaos, you found yourself receiving support from the most unexpected places. Fellow stylists, designers, and industry professionals, many of whom had witnessed your talent and professionalism firsthand, spoke out in your defense, praising your work ethic and integrity.

"She's one of the most talented and dedicated stylists I've ever worked with," one designer tweeted. "These rumors are baseless and unfair."

"I've worked with her on several projects," a photographer added. "She's always been professional and respectful. This backlash is disgusting."

Even some fans, the more rational and open-minded ones, started to rally behind you, their supportive messages a beacon of hope amidst the negativity.

"If Hoshi is happy, we should be happy for him."

"Let's not spread hate. It's not what SEVENTEEN would want."

Hoshi, despite the pressure and the scrutiny, remained steadfast in his support for you. He publicly acknowledged his relationship, his words filled with sincerity and affection, his voice unwavering.

"I love her," he declared in a live broadcast, his eyes filled with a fierce determination. "And I will not apologize for that. She is a wonderful person, and she deserves all the love and support in the world."

His words, honest and heartfelt, silenced some of the negativity, but the tension remained. The aftermath of his drunken confession had thrown your lives into a whirlwind, a chaotic storm of public scrutiny and conflicting opinions.

You and Hoshi leaned on each other, finding strength and comfort in your shared love. You navigated the storm together, hand in hand, determined to protect your relationship from the prying eyes of the world.

The members of SEVENTEEN, your loyal and chaotic support system, were there every step of the way, offering unwavering support, playful teasing, and much-needed laughter. They were your family, your friends, your confidants, and they would do anything to protect you both.

"We got your back, hyung," Mingyu said, his voice firm, his eyes filled with a fierce loyalty.

"Don't let the haters get you down," Seungkwan added, his words laced with dramatic flair, his expression a picture of theatrical support.

"Just focus on each other," Jeonghan advised, his voice soft, his eyes filled with a gentle wisdom.

The journey ahead would be challenging, but you and Hoshi were ready to face it together. Your love, born in secrecy and nurtured in chaos, was strong enough to withstand any storm.

-- The End

[eodred]

Day 4: Teen Years, Captain of Gondor, Friend of Rohan

Prompt filled for: @boromir-week

Title:  Cheers, my lord!

Word count: ~1.8k

Summary:

A feast in Meduseld. A shot of strong “Gondorian” tincture. A forgotten barrel. One marshal with questionable balance, and one stubbornly noble Boromir, convinced that his… fragrant condition is unfit for the marital bed. A story about how love, blushes, and mild disgrace are easier to bear — when there’s a Rohirrim wife by your side.

Note:

I chose “Friend of Rohan” — of that, I had not the slightest doubt. But what to write… oh, that was where the real struggle began.

At first, I wanted to tell the story of how the Rohirrim try to find the perfect birthday gift for Boromir — bringing strange and wonderful things in their eagerness to please… I even partially drafted that scene, but somehow, it didn’t quite land. Then I suddenly got the urge to write something spicy (oops), but the thought of translating PWP into English? Yeah, that enthusiasm didn’t last long.

Next, I started compiling headcanons about Boromir married to a Rohirric woman — even dragged my husband into it to get the male perspective (what? Let the prototype contribute!).

And then… while walking through my hometown — the city where I grew up, and where, once the summer heat sets in, the more colorful and chaotic local characters come out in full force — it hit me: I knew exactly what scene I needed to write. Especially because something like this actually did happen — how exactly? You’ll find out after the chapter.

I can’t not tag @emmathefanficgal — the ultimate Minas-Marseille fan! After all, that’s exactly where it all really happened 😏

AO3

Rohan had always been famed for its ale — strong, thick, and bitter, a far cry from the lighter, refined drinks of Gondor. The wines and tinctures served in the valleys of the Anduin were gentler by comparison, flowing sweetly like mead and masking their strength with deceptive smoothness. And only later — far too late — did they hit, sharp and sudden, even a seasoned warrior unaccustomed to their treacherous charm.

Boromir never returned from his homeland empty-handed. Of course, the caravans brought wine to Rohan, but he insisted on choosing each bottle himself — only then could he be sure of its quality. After all, who would dare offer the Steward’s son anything less than worthy?

He was a constant presence at the great feasts of Edoras. There, beneath the vaulted beams of Meduseld, amidst clinking cups and roaring voices, he was no outsider. He was kin — a trusted friend and now a son of Rohan by marriage. His wife, as if standing between two worlds, never left his side, her hand gently looped through his arm. In every touch, every glance, there was quiet pride: This is my Gondorian, who came to love Rohan — and especially the Rohan he sees in me.

That memorable evening, the hall pulsed with life — the Golden Hall shook with songs, laughter, and overflowing mugs of mead and ale. Near one of the carved pillars, Éomer sat slumped against the cool stone, clearly past the point of saving face.

“H-hey, Éo…” he muttered, waving a hand vaguely and missing a passing girl by a good stretch. His tongue was thick, his limbs loose — it was obvious to everyone in the hall that the young lord of the feast had met his match in the cup.

The girl, seeing his state, settled beside him with a motherly sigh. She brushed a damp strand of golden hair from his flushed brow — the same one he’d been fumbling with for several minutes.

“You’re quite the mess tonight,” she said with a fond shake of her head.

“Y-yeah…” Éomer hiccuped, exhaled heavily, and tried to pull himself together. “I just don’t get it. We drank the same amount — your husband and I — and yet I’m here like a sack of hay, and he’s still on his feet like nothing happened!”

Sure enough, Boromir was still standing where she’d left him, engaged in animated conversation with the other warriors. He laughed, spoke clearly, and somehow still held his composure — despite everything they’d consumed.

“Well,” she smirked, “consider this your lesson: never try to match a Gondorian in drinking his own tinctures.”

“But they’re weaker than our ale!” Éomer protested, attempting to sit up straight and nearly collapsing into her shoulder. “It’s that cursed trick of theirs… drinking in one gulp…”

“That’s the trick indeed,” came Boromir’s voice from behind, all too pleased with himself.

Getting Éomer off the floor was only the beginning — keeping him there was far harder. Every time she turned her back, the drunken marshal wandered off on some mysterious mission. Thankfully, he was easy to find: just follow the singing. Éomer, in his cups, had launched into a rousing (and entirely improvised) rendition of a dwarvish ballad Gimli had once taught him. The lyrics bore little resemblance to anything spoken in Khuzdul, and the melody was… unique. Not that anyone sober could sing Khuzdul properly, let alone in such a state.

As for Boromir — by then, he too had tipped into true intoxication. He looked steady — an ingrained habit of Gondor’s heir — but closer inspection betrayed him: the world tilted like a boat on waves, and his steps, once firm, now wavered.

On the way home, a sudden, undeniable pressure in his belly made him stop in his tracks. There was no dignified way to delay what was coming. Flushed and mortified, he turned to his wife and muttered:

“Wait for me, please,” before darting into the nearest patch of bushes.

“Everyone does it,” he mumbled, as if apologizing — though by now, she knew that well enough.

“Makes sense,” she smirked. “We’re in the plains, not the White City; chamber pots only exist in royal quarters.”

To him, though, the idea still felt terribly undignified. The wine blurred his thoughts, and pride kept nudging him to explain. Luckily, no one seemed to notice his oh-so-“unworthy” maneuver. And really, he wouldn’t have cared what others thought — if not for her opinion, which remained the one that mattered most.

She, of course, was used to scenes like this. In Rohan, they celebrated victories and mourned losses with equal fervor. But what always struck her heart was the sight of this stately Gondorian — his noble Númenórean heritage betrayed by the smooth, untouched skin of his cheeks, where any Rohirrim his age would have long since sprouted stubble. And so, the wine-born flush across that pale face stood out all the more.

Yet below the jaw and along his neck, a thick, dark beard grew — dense like a horse-grooming brush — and his mustache framed that bashful smile with a touch of something less ancient in his blood.

“Sorry…” he whispered, touching her elbow. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” she replied gently.

Everything about him in that moment warmed her — the way he turned his head away, insisting he smelled of wine and didn’t want to burden her; the way, moments later, he leaned into her arm anyway, like an oversized, trusting cat. He did his best to walk straight, but with each step, he tilted just a little more toward her shoulder — not out of need, but from that soft helplessness that made him all the dearer.

But what moved her most was what came later, when they finally reached their chambers after winding their way through the stone corridors of the keep. As usual on such nights, she began the slow task of untying the many ribbons of her gown — a meditative process she preferred to do alone, without the help of a maid.

The room was quiet. She barely heard a thing from Boromir — just the faint rustle of clothes and the soft murmur of someone speaking to himself. From the sounds of it, he was trying to settle in, wrestling with both his garments and the bed. Given his condition, she had no expectations — even removing boots and tunic must have felt like scaling a mountain.

When she finally turned around, the sight that met her was both surprising and deeply endearing. Boromir, swaying slightly, was carefully folding his undershirt — smoothing each crease with a diligence that defied his drunken state. His tunic lay beside it, just as neatly arranged. Even now, he clung to his innate precision, that quiet attention to detail.

But what truly caught her breath was the bed: only one pillow lay on the wide mattress. The second had been gently placed on the floor, a little to the side, as if someone had thoughtfully prepared a space to sleep — away from her.

“Why did you…?” she asked, brow furrowing.

“I smell,” Boromir muttered, already lying down, tucking the pillow under his head.

She couldn’t help but smile and shake her head. Truth be told, she didn’t smell any alcohol on him — not now, not ever. Why that was, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps she’d built up an immunity over the years: in her world, warriors and farmers celebrated fiercely and mourned even harder. Her nose had long since stopped noticing.

“Come here, you fool,” she said, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Believe me — you don’t smell any worse than any Rohirrim after a feast.”

Boromir lifted his head and looked at her with that peculiar seriousness reserved for the very drunk — the kind who are trying, with all their might, to appear sober.

“I don’t want to…” he began, but she was already leaning toward him, hand outstretched.

“Either you come to bed,” she said calmly, “or I lie down here on the cold floor with you — and we’ll both wake up sore in the morning.”

At last, he relented, letting her guide him up and over to the bed. He still tried to keep some distance, but she pulled him close without another word, ignoring his half-hearted protests. It didn’t take long before he melted against her, nuzzled into her shoulder, murmured something incomprehensible — possibly yet another apology — and drifted into deep sleep.

The idyll, of course, did not last.

By midnight, the storm truly hit. The full wrath of the evening’s wine came back with a vengeance. Come morning, he would remember none of it — not how, unlike many husbands who would shamelessly collapse on the hall’s stone floor without a care for propriety (and some, in their fervor, even attempted to ravish their wives right there before passing out), he always disappeared behind a screen with a stubborn dignity, unwilling to let Eodred witness what he considered his “unworthy weakness.” Every time he stumbled back out on unsteady legs, he’d mutter apologies, as if it were shameful to be humanly vulnerable to strong drink.

By the predawn hours, the worst had passed — the nausea no longer twisted him in knots, though his head still throbbed mercilessly and his stomach churned with resentment. He lay there, cheek burning against a cool pillow, slipping in and out of shallow, uneasy sleep — shuddering now and then, letting out the occasional ragged sigh. Eodred sat by his side, gently stroking his arm from shoulder to elbow in slow, soothing motions, watching the way his tired muscles twitched beneath her hand.

She knew it was just the inevitable aftermath of revelry — but still, she continued her quiet ritual, hoping her touch might ease his suffering, even a little.

When a servant stepped silently into the chamber, Boromir barely found the strength to lift his head. One might expect him to ask for water, for herbal remedies — but not him. Even with a hoarse voice and evident misery, his first concern was:

“How’s Éomer?”

The servant suppressed a smile and gave a respectful nod.

“He’s well, my lord. Still sleeping. Took some effort to get him settled last night,” he added, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Lost his bracers — kept trying to go back for them.”

Eodred chuckled under her breath. Éomer, who had received a gift bearing the White Tree of Gondor, had put it on in his chambers and promptly forgotten about it in conversation with Boromir. Thus, one man left the tower wearing the crest of another kingdom — while the other left behind an entire cask of precious tincture, brought all the way from Minas Tirith.

Just as they reached the great hall’s doors, both men realized their mistake. But turning back through the entire keep felt unseemly — the guests were waiting, the horns were sounding, and each step of delay would echo across Edoras.

“I know what to do,” Éomer had said cheerfully, nudging him with an elbow and adjusting his borrowed bracers. “We’ll fetch something similar from our cellars — and save the real one for later.”

And so the “Gondorian” liquor became the hastily chosen brew from the depths of Meduseld, crafted by Rohirric hands. In flavor and strength, it was nearly identical. But in consequence…

Well — no one could speak to that better than Boromir himself. Assuming he regained full consciousness before noon.

Note 2:

It all happened in Marseille, at a loud, chaotic party hosted by some Brazilians. I was stone-cold sober and remember everything perfectly.

My husband and his friend Juan (who, of course, is Catalan, not Spanish — don’t mix that up) got completely absorbed in trying on a ushanka and rehearsing a dramatic entrance to Kalinka-Malinka. In the process, they completely forgot about the actual Russian vodka — and had to settle for French. Tragic.

My husband did want to go back and get the “real” bottle, but Juan declared no one would notice the difference — after all, most of the guests could barely stand.

By the second glass, Juan had turned into a full-on “sack of potatoes,” lamenting how my husband was still somehow upright (both of them are huge guys, mind you). Lifting Juan became an epic quest. Watching him was even harder: if you so much as blinked, he’d vanish — usually off somewhere singing something that vaguely resembled Kalinka-Malinka. The ushanka went missing during one of those disappearances. We never saw it again.

The trip home? A journey in itself. My husband, barely holding it together, kept giving me a half-coherent lecture on French customs (presumably to justify his escape into the bushes) and apologized constantly.

When we finally got home, convinced he reeked of booze, he carefully folded his clothes and laid himself out — on the floor.

We didn’t sleep half the night: either he was running to the bathroom or whispering apologies. At one point I genuinely got scared — I didn’t yet know he has those little earthquake-like twitches during short phases of sleep.

In the morning, the first thing he did was call Juan. No answer — but the neighbor reported he’d spent the whole night trying to stop Juan from going out to look for the ushanka.

They haven’t touched French vodka since. And that bottle of real Russian vodka? Still unopened.

[tinyozlion]

--The Gundam Wing Drinking Game! (*you don’t actually have to drink)--

Happy Eve War Armistice Day, everyone! As we all gather around the warmth of a flickering screen with friends, family, or discord buddies to celebrate the beginning of True Peace between Earth and the Space Colonies-- WHICH WILL SURELY LAST FOREVER-- why not play a little festive anime parlor game? This can be played with beverages, snacks, points, or the penalty/reward system of your choice!

THE CLASSICS— take ONE any time:

1) Someone shouts: "IT’S A GUNDAM!" or "THAT’S A GUNDAM!" 2) Magical Gundam Transformation Sequence 3) The BFG: the buster rifle beam canon does what it does best. 4) Relena Yells At The Clouds 5) "Omae o korosu!": Heero threatens to kill someone and then doesn’t. 6) THAT'S SO FETCH: Duo calls himself the God of Death or says one of his catchphrases. 7) BOOBY TRAPPED: Heavyarms fires its chest missiles. 8) SAFETY FIRST: Quatre wears his goggles. 9) GO-GO-GADGET: Wufei uses the dragon claw extendo-arm.

THE SPECIALS— take TWO whenever the following occurs: 1) A fruit or vegetable is given meaningful screen time. 2) Episode title is the opposite of what occurs in the episode. 3) VA Hall of Shame: a voice actor fumbles a line or really chews the scenery. 4) This Is Big Nose: An impossibly silly military call sign is used. 5) Someone with Special Eyebrows conveys normal information in a straightforward way. 6) FOUND FAMILY: The Maganac Corps shows up to save the day. 7) Bee-bee-bee-bee-bee-bee-bee!

SING ALONG AT HOME— you MUST CHANT whenever:

1) KAIJU SHOT! KAIJU SHOT! a mobile suit looms into view of a window and horrified onlookers. 2) CRAB! CRAB! CRAB! CRAB! any time you see a MS Cancer or its aquatic friend group. 3) CLOWN! CLOWN! CLOWN! CLOWN! any time you see a clown. 4) HEEEEEEROOOOOO: you know what to do. *Stackable with article 1 section 4. 5) PUSH THE BUTTON FRANK: an ominous button is pressed to devastating effect.

POUR ONE OUT— take TWO and go "Oooooo, YIKES!" whenever one of the following occurs:

1) Someone REALLY should have locked their mobile suit hatch. 2) One Day From Retirement: a hapless schmuck gets got immediately after giving the all clear. 3) A gross failure to correctly estimate the impact tolerance of gundanium alloy despite all documented evidence. 4) Heero takes it on the dome or otherwise hits the ground at speed. 5) Duo gets used as a punching bag. 6) The Bright Noah Special: someone gets slapped or hit in the face. 7) Brutality: A mobile suit makes direct lethal contact with a human target. 8) Red Card: a fencing move does damage to a person or their equipment. 9) The Can Opener: Something gets split in half by a beam or heat weapon. 10) Fuck This Thing In Particular: A mobile suit (or other vessel) self detonates-- *stackable with article 3 section 5. 11) Up-Skirt Shot: A mobile suit or its pilot gets an unflattering camera angle.

HALL OF FAME— FIRST ONE TO SPOT one of these gets a freebie:

1) BRAND NAME: shout the Improbable Brand Name™ featured on background signage or product. 2) QUICK CHANGE: A character somehow gets into or out of a space suit off screen with no indication how. 3) GOOD BOY ALERT: There's an animal on screen (end credits don't count). 4) THE FUTURE IS NOW: State of the Art 90's Tech in use. 5) IMPORTANT PERSON SITTING AT A DESK ON THE LEFT SIDE OF A ROOM WITH A LARGE WINDOW BEHIND THEM: An important person sits at a desk on the left side of an empty room with a large window behind them.

EXTRA CREDIT: SLAP THE TABLE and call "DID YOU KNOW" to win a chance to make the FRIEND OF YOUR CHOICE take a penalty-- IF:

1) You can correctly identify one of the main voice actors in a bit role. 2) You spot an easter egg or reference to something from Universal Century. 3) Space Physics Don't Work That Way: you can explain why physics don’t work that way in space. 4) Actually Physics DO Work That Way: you can explain the science or theories behind an element of space tech, tactics, or engineering. 5) You can name a real-world location used on a map or background shot.

Happy holidays, enjoy responsibly, and have fun! -Wesley, and to a lesser extent, Tinylion

[cassandraclown]

Tony Khan simultaneously fumbling the Golden Lovers reunion, the signing of Kota Ibushi in general, and the pushing of both face and heel Takeshita needs to be studied. Hall of Fame level bag fumbling. Potential Top 10 Fraud of all time

[trapny]

Wrote a short story

Ah, Corwinne magical wizarding school.

A famed place of spells and sorcery. 

All of the greatest wizards and witches were graduates of this academy. Fludorn the great, Oxfin the good, Schomer the pretty alright, all walked these halls.

If the walls could speak, oh the stories they’d tell.

And if the walls could cry, they probably would. Because each one of those wizards died young. And that's the problem. 

That’s also where I come in.

I’m a new hire this year. They hired me as a teacher for a brand new, mandatory course that teaches no magic whatsoever.

“Welcome to the non-magic course.” I tell a full classroom of wizards and witches. “This is your ticket to survival.”

Most students are confused. The rest are far too pompous to even consider being confused.

“Sir, why do we have to participate in this course?” a young witch asks, his hand raised.

“So you brats don’t die like idiots. Next question.” I tell him.

“What will this course be teaching?” another student raises her hand.

“Basic self defense, and swordplay.” I answer.

“This is beneath me.” a particularly egotistical student mutters.

“That is exactly what Melsephone the Mage said before she was stabbed to death.” I say to him, before turning back to the rest of the class. “So. If you think this course is somehow ‘beneath you’, then you are exactly who it’s for.” I lean closer to the young boy who spoke out. “And if you choose not to give this course your all, you will not make it past 30.”

In response, the boy just mumbles something about his family’s status. I don’t particularly care for the whole wizard family hierarchy. 

“Any other questions?” I ask. The response is a sea of silence. “Excellent. Who wants to go first?” I ask, pulling a sword out of my scabbard.

Nobody raises their hand, except for one student with black hair and an expensive looking robe on. He looks like he thinks he’s important. 

“Well, come on up.” I tell him. “And bring that wand.”

He walks to the front of the class, an expensive looking wand in hand. We stand on opposite sides of the room, as though we are engaging in a magic duel. Although I have no wand.

“Now. I want you to use your magic and try to stop me.” I tell him. “3. 2. 1. Go.”

With long strides I casually walk towards him.

He casts fireball after fireball, directly at me. I deflect each one with my sword, sending them crashing into the wooden walls and floors. The other students scream and duck for cover as flaming orbs sail over their heads, exploding on the very flammable surroundings.

Craters burn around me and screams fill the air, I walk closer and closer to the increasingly desperate student. He keeps casting fireball like it’s all he knows. He starts fumbling with the pronunciation, sending flames everywhere.

With one swift motion, I slice his wand in half and press the sword against his neck, stopping the fireball casting.

“You have failed, and I have beheaded you.” I tell him, putting the sword back in the scabbard.

“You… you f-…y-you dolt! That wand was worth more than your entire salary!” the student spits.

“Oh calm down.” I pick up half of his wand from the floor and chant a simple spell. “crescere e ritornare.”

The tangled wood of the wand grows and latches onto the other half of it, pulling it out of the student’s hand. The wand pulls itself back together.

“See? Plant magic.” I tell him as I hand him the wand. “Good as new.”

“But… but…” the student stammers “it’s not in mint condition anymore, and-”

“Don’t care.” I interrupt him. “Besides. Fireball degrades the wand faster than any other spell. You should know that.”

I send the student, who’s still cradling his wand, back to his seat and repair the room with more plant magic.

“Now. Can anyone tell me why exactly he failed?” I ask the class as the craters close with thick, crawling branches of wood. Everyone's a little shell shocked. But one student raises her hand. I point at her.

“Is… is it because iron deflects most forms of magic?” she asks, her voice quiet and shy.

“Yes it is.” I nod. “Can anyone tell me what he should’ve done?”

Nobody raises their hands. They’re all a bit shaken up by the fireball rains. The same girl raises her hand again. I sigh and point at her.

“He… he should’ve… ran?” she speaks in an unsure tone.

“In most cases, yes. He should’ve ran.” I say, looking over the classroom. “However, this is an enclosed space. He didn’t have anywhere to run to.” I pace around the front of the room. “So… what should he have done instead?”

No hands are raised.

“I’m not moving on until I get an answer.” I say, looking around the room. 

The same girl from before raises her hand.

“You.” I point at her. “What’s your name?”

“Nuvera.” she answers.

“Nuvera, what do you think he should’ve done?” I ask her.

“... Plant magic?”

“Wrong. Anyone else?”

Someone else raises their hand. “Curses.” 

“Wrong.”

“Metallokinesis?”

“The blade is enchanted, and you’re all far too inexperienced to warp metal anyways.” I quickly respond. “Good guess though.”

“Well I guess I should’ve just died then.” the boy with the expensive robe and the now less expensive wand says.

“Correct.” I say. “You had zero course of action. You would have died. Just like Goric the wise.” 

Several students gasp at the mention of Goric, who was a well known and revered wizard. Speaking about his death in such a brazen way is considered highly disrespectful.

You may have gathered this already, but I don't really care.

“Goric died like an idiot. He was skewered and unceremoniously bled out.” I say, blatantly and purposefully drawing out the shock to hammer my point in. “For someone so ‘wise’ he notably didn't put much thought into basic defense. One anti-mana potion and he was completely defenseless. One stab, and he was dead. Like an idiot.”

I pause a moment letting the words sink in. The story of Goric is often told as a tragic and unfair tale. I doubt these students have ever heard it framed in such an… unflattering way.

“You, my students, will not die like idiots.” I say, breaking the silence. “That is what this class is. Understood?”

I watch several students nod.

“Excellent.” I sigh and turn to the chalkboard. “Lesson one: proper stance.”

And class began.

[muirneach]

fumble hall of fame. thats what the gold medal is for. worlds best fumbler

[lboogie1906]

Melvin Cornell Blount (April 10, 1948) is a former football player who was a cornerback for the Pittsburgh Steelers for fourteen seasons. A five-time Pro Bowler, he was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

He is considered one of the best cornerbacks to have ever played in the NFL. He founded the Mel Blount Youth Home.

He was born in Toombs County, Georgia. He was a star in baseball, football, basketball, and track at Lyons High School. He was offered a scholarship to Southern University. While there he was a Pro-Scouts All-American pick as both safety and cornerback.

He was named the NFL’s Defensive MVP by the Associated Press and earned All-Pro acclaim. He was a four-time All-AFC selection and played in five Pro Bowls. His fumble recovery in the 1979 AFC Championship Game led to the Steelers’ winning touchdown in a victory over the Houston Oilers. His interception began a Pittsburgh drive which resulted in a go-ahead touchdown in a victory over the Dallas Cowboys.

He became Director of Player Relations for the NFL. He became active in charity work. He founded the Mel Blount Youth Home, a shelter and Christian mission for victims of child abuse and neglect in Toombs County, Georgia in 1983. In 1989, he opened a second youth home in Claysville, Pennsylvania.

He was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame and the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame. He was inducted into the Georgia Sports Hall of Fame and the Black College Football Hall of Fame. He was named to the NFL’s 75th anniversary All-Time team. He was ranked #36 on The Sporting News’ list of the 100 Greatest Football Players.

He has two daughters and five sons. His son Akil played college football at Florida A&M and was signed as an undrafted free agent by the Miami Dolphins. Jibri played college basketball at Cleveland State before transferring to play for North Carolina Central University. His youngest son, Khalid Blount, is a football player who was ranked as a two-star recruit by Rivals before attending Duquesne University. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[noelledeltarune]

in fairness most of em i know because the melodies are just identical but i can play:

-beginning, -school, -the legend, -empty town, -lantern, -scarlet forest, -rouxls kaard, -the world revolving, -friendship, -a town called hometown, -you can always come home, -don’t forget, -before the story, -my castle town, -queen, -berdly, -smart race, -faint courage (game over), -cool mixtape, -spamton, -bluebird of misfortune, -keygen, -it’s pronounced "rouxls", -lost girl, -a real boy!, -dialtone, -sans., -mike, the board, please!, -query?, -board clear!, -raft ride, -hall of fame

and then i can play rude buster and the shop themes PRETTY well like i can fumble through them but wouldn’t be able to perform them in front of people yknow

[ichigopuddingmuslima]

Personality Hire

Warnings: minor workplace bullying

Mood: comedy, comfort

Word Count: 5.3k

Pairings: None

Summary: Kitty Coleman ends up working for the Avengers as their new lab assistant one problem... she's a former bridal consultant! Will she rise to the occasion or fumble the opportunity of a lifetime?

Heavily inspired by TikToks from @theslapabblejerk @viennaayla

Kitty Coleman was unsure how she landed in this current predicament but decided to make the best of it. After all, an interview with the Avengers was an extremely rare opportunity, especially as a civilian. No military background, specialized training, government connections, or powers/abilities/enhancements. She was just charismatic and lucky. Very lucky. She wore a beige midi skirt, a light blue button-down shirt, and black flats with a black bag. Her hip-length, goddess twists were styled and pulled back from her face with a hot pink silk scarf, and her makeup was applied skillfully. As she walked into the Avengers Tower, she forced herself to breathe. She made her way to the receptionist and exchanged pleasantries with her before being escorted to the upper level by Happy Hogan. 

“Hi, Happy!”, Kitty greeted him with a smile as they entered the elevator. 

“Hey, kid.”, Happy responded. “Don’t worry, you’ll do well. Just be yourself.”

“Thanks! Sooo how did your date go?”

“It was great. She liked the lasagna. Thanks for the recipe.”

“I’m happy to hear it. Did you get another date?”

“Yeah. It’s in a few days.”

“Ooo! I’m sure it will go well.”

The elevator opened and they exited. Happy led Kitty down the hall and to a room with a closed door. He gave three sharp knocks, waited a moment, and then opened the door. Kitty stepped inside.

“Good luck.”, Happy said quietly to her and then closed the door behind her. Inside the room was a large conference room with Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Natasha Romanov sitting at the table facing her. Behind them was a window with a nice view of the City. The sun shone brightly through the window. Her heart beat in her chest in excitement at seeing the Avengers but she forced herself to play it cool. She could gush over them later. Right now, she had a job to secure. 

“Hiiii I’m Kitty Coleman!”, Kitty announced as she walked over to the table and shook their hands. Steve gave her a polite nod, Tony gave her a bored look, and Natasha smiled softly. It was hard to tell what Natasha thought but Steve and Tony were clearly unimpressed. Kitty gave them a bright smile as she sat across from them. The sun shone directly in her eyes, she put her hand up to shield her eyes.

“I’ll lower the blinds.”, Tony said.

“Don’t worry about it. I got these!”, Kitty pulled out her sunglasses and put them on. “Much better.”

“Quite frankly, I’m not sure how you made it this far. You work at a bridal shop as a uh, consultant. You graduated top of your class, I’ll give you that but you majored in fashion design. Unless you’re going to design me a new suit for my next red carpet, I don’t see how this is relevant to our needs.”, Tony stated. Steve shot Tony a “be nice” look. 

“What exactly are your needs?” Kitty asked, unphased by Tony’s dismissal. She was used to people underestimating her. 

“If you don’t know what my needs are by now, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m only asking to gain clarification. I like to hear directly from the source. What are your needs?”

“I need someone who won’t fangirl over the Avengers, someone who is professional and understands the term “confidentiality”. I need someone competent and can follow directions. I don’t need someone looking for fifteen minutes of fame.”

Kitty nodded. “Those are all reasonable requests. Why do you think I can’t meet them?”

Natasha and Steve exchanged a look. Natasha assumed this interview would be quick and easy as two other candidates had better resumes and interviewed well. Steve was a little more hopeful than her but he too figured this interview wouldn’t be long. They both quickly realized how wrong they were. This was already more interesting than the other interviews. 

“Do you even have any abilities? Powers? Enhancements?”, Tony asked. He pivoted tactics.

“You’re funny. I applied to be an intern, not an Avenger.”, Kitty answered with a laugh. 

“How does working in a bridal shop prepare you for this role?”, Steve jumped in hoping to steer the interview back on track.

“I can fix anything. I’m good under pressure and can solve any crisis. I’m also really good with people.”

“What crisis have you solved? I’m sure anything you’ve done makes us look cheap in comparison.”, Tony butted in.

“You’re so funny, Tony”, Kitty laughed. “I deal with all sorts of crises every day. Brides who can’t fit into their dresses, brides who have a limited budget, brides whose dresses won't arrive on time, Bridezillas, etc etc. I know they may seem silly in comparison to the global threats you deal with but, I treat it just as seriously as if the world is ending.”

“What do you do when you’ve tried everything and it isn’t enough? What do you do when you fail?”, Natasha asked.

“I always manage the expectations of the bride whenever a problem occurs. I immediately let them know of their options and we go down the list from most to least ideal. I always, always do my best to make the bride smile even if it seems like her world is ending. Regardless of what the solution or outcome is, they always leave with a smile. That’s what is important. I’m not SuperWoman, I can’t do everything but as long as the bride is smiling that's what matters to me. So when I look at it that way, I don’t fail at all!”

Natasha nodded. She was satisfied with this answer. Tony on the other hand was not and responded, “There's no room for failure here. If we fail then lives are lost.”

“Would I be going into battle with you?”

“Of course not! You stay in the office where it's safe, where you can't screw anything up, and hold down the fort until we get back from saving the world.”

“As an intern, the stakes are different for me. Getting your coffee wrong won't start the apocalypse while one wrong move on your end will. I think it's important to remember our roles are vastly different so the responsibility on our shoulders differ as well. But of course, I'll make sure the coffee is perfect! It would be foolish of me to not ensure the people protecting the world don't have everything they need.”

“If you were to be offered the position, you would be working with Dr. Bruce Banner. As you know, there is a chance he could turn into the Hulk. This is very unlikely as he has control over himself but the possibility is there. How do you feel about that?”, Steve asked. 

“I would love to work with Dr. Banner! I've done my research, looked at his interviews, and read some of his work. He seems like such a sweet man. It's very clear that he is very gentle and compassionate despite what the media makes him out to be.” 

“Bruce is a great guy. No doubt about it.”, Natasha said. 

“What do you know about working in a lab?”, Tony inquired. 

“I know that you should follow all safety protocols!”, Kitty replied. 

“Anything else?”

“No, not really. I'll have to be taught the other specifics.”

“I don't know why I bothered to ask. I think I've gotten all I can from this interview. Thank you for your time. Someone will call you soon.” Tony said as he stood up. 

Steve and Natasha exchanged a look. Steve almost couldn't believe Tony's behavior. Sure, Kitty didn't have relevant experience and her background was… unique for the role but the conversation with her was pleasant. She would bring much-needed positivity to the Avengers compound. Natasha was not at all surprised about Tony's dismissal of Kitty. She knew that Tony didn't want to be bothered training anyone and just wanted someone who could pick up everything that was thrown at them. While Natasha could understand Tony's apprehension, there was no need to be so rude to the poor girl. She liked Kitty. Kitty could hold her own, remain calm, and was not easily intimidated. Someone like that was beneficial to the team. The lab skills could be taught, but personality could not. 

Kitty was more than a little offended. She did not like how Tony was treating her. Left with no choice, she had to show him who she was. “Anthony Edward Stark, sit down.”, Kitty demanded in a firm but soft voice as she looked him dead in the eye. “This interview is not over.”

Not expecting the full name and tone, Tony immediately sat down in his chair and straightened his posture. He felt like a child being scolded. Beside him, Natasha smirked and held in a laugh. Steve forced a neutral expression as his eyes widened in shock. In that moment, Steve was reminded of something about himself that he often ignored, he loved when a woman took charge. 

Kitty gave Tony a soft glare before giving him a kind smile, “I understand you have concerns about me being an intern and I know that I am an unconventional candidate, but I do not appreciate the way you have been treating me.”

“Let’s do a three-day trial. If you impress me, you’re hired. This is your only shot so make the best of it. Happy will call you with the details”, Tony declared. It was his form of an apology. 

“I accept. I’m looking forward to working with you. As long as there is mutual respect between us, this will be a successful trial. I can’t wait to meet Dr. Banner!”

“I’m sure you’ll do well.”, Steve chimed in.

“I look forward to working with you.”, Natasha stated. Kitty bid them goodbye and left the room. Happy was waiting for her nearby. 

“How’d it go?”, Happy asked as they walked to the elevator. 

“It went well! I got a three-day trial.”, Kitty exclaimed.

“Tony must like you. None of the other candidates got that offer.”

“Actually, I think he hated me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been three months since Kitty became an intern. While she was told that she would initially be working under Dr. Banner, this turned out not to be the case as he went to Asgard with Thor shortly after she started, thus Tony was her new boss. It was a rocky start with Tony that she managed to turn around. At first, Tony was hypercritical of her performance. Any actual or perceived mistake was thrown out of proportion. He would make a sarcastic comment or a rude remark and then ignore her for a while. He wouldn’t allow her the opportunity to fix or learn from them as he insisted on correcting the error himself. This made it difficult for Kitty to grow in her role. This resulted in her technical abilities (otherwise known as hard skills) for the role being practically non-existent. Anything beyond general office skills was foreign to her. She wanted to end her internship many times but ultimately decided against it. Working for the Avengers was an amazing opportunity that would be completely foolish to throw away.

Kitty did the one thing that she was good at, make the best out of a bad situation. She learned Tony’s “tell” of frustration (he would run his hand through his hair, cross his arms, and then stare at the issue (usually a screen or projection) while he played with his goatee. If she tried to talk to him or drew attention to herself while this happened, she would be met with a dismissive and often belittling comment. The temptation to tell Tony off was there but she refrained from doing so. It would only serve to make their relationship worse and wasn’t worth the potential consequences. Instead, she decided to ensure her job security in the best way she knew how, she made friends with everyone. 

The first thing Kitty did was learn everyone’s (Avengers, SHIELD agents, support staff, etc) coffee order and schedule. Then using her company credit card (that had unlimited funds), she would buy coffee for whoever was on base. Meanwhile, she made sure to engage in conversations with everyone and get to know them. This was easy to do as long as Tony had his coffee, he was happier when she was out of the lab than in it. Secondly, she made certain to know important dates for everyone's birthdays, work anniversaries, etc, and their interests. With this information, she would get little gifts or cards for them to celebrate their achievements and milestones. Thirdly and crucially, she (unintentionally) gained the attention of Nick Fury. Kitty and Fury had formed an unconventional bond and had a standing lunch date on Wednesdays at noon. Unfortunately, due to Fury’s role in SHIELD, he often had to miss them but they usually caught up later. Her relationship with Fury sealed her fate with the Avengers. 

When Kitty made a trivial mistake (she accidentally double-booked Tony’s meeting), Tony had enough of her. Despite the mistake immediately being corrected and a sincere apology, he fired Kitty. She did everything she could to convince him otherwise but no use. He wanted her gone. With what was left of her dignity, she began to pack up her desk and say her goodbyes.

“Hey, Kitty. Are you moving desks?”, Steve asked as he watched her take down the posters she hung up on the wall. She turned to him with a teary expression.

She wiped her tears and gave him a sad smile. “Steve, today’s my last day. Tony said “My services were no longer needed”. It was nice working with you.”

“What? You can’t be serious. Why would he say that?”

“I accidentally booked two meetings of his at the same time. He said it was the last straw for him and he was tired of my incompetence.”

“I’m going to talk to him.”

“No! Don’t bother. I don’t want to upset him more than he already is.”

Steve nodded. He would respect her request… for now. He had every intention of talking to Tony later. Instead, Steve began to help her pack. While they packed, he asked her what her next plans were. He wasn’t surprised to hear that she didn’t have any and offered her his support going forward. She gladly accepted them. Once packed, he drove her home, it was the least he could do since she was having such a bad day.

“I’m really going to miss you guys.”, Kitty said as they started the hour-long drive back to New York City. She wiped the tears from her eyes. Steve glanced at her and seeing her usual smile gone and replaced by a frown saddened him. He hated seeing her upset. These past few months, she brightened up his day with her positive demeanor and (nearly) daily discussions. He couldn’t help but feel guilty. He had talked to Tony numerous times about treating Kitty better but it fell on deaf ears. She didn’t seem phased by Tony’s behaviour so Steve left it alone. Now, Steve regretted not defending her and taking her strength for granted. His grip on the steering wheel got tighter. By the end of the day, Steve would make this right. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Steve returned to the Avengers compound a few hours later, word got around that Kitty had been fired. Day-to-day operations were still running but the sentiment in the air was havoc. The best way to describe it was… organized chaos. This alarmed Steve. Something was going on. Approaching a random SHIELD agent in passing, he stopped them.

“What’s going on?”, Steve asked. 

“Kitty got fired.”

Steve nodded and continued walking back to the Avengers side of the compound. This explained why everyone’s nerves were on edge. On the way there, he overheard snippets of conversation.

“I can’t believe he fired her. She was so nice.”

“Tony fucked up big time. He should have never let her go. And all for what? His ego?”

“Fury’s going to be pissed.”

Steve couldn’t help but agree with that last comment wholeheartedly. Fury was not going to be happy. At all. He had seen how close Fury and Kitty had gotten over the last few months. There would be a softness in Fury only reserved for her that Steve had witnessed develop. It was something that caught Steve by surprise at first but pretty soon made perfect sense. It was no secret that Fury had a heart. Steve was now hoping that he could find Tony before Fury did. Maybe if he could convince Tony to rescind his termination, all hell won’t break loose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Fury casually made his way inside the Avenger’s compound. It was Wednesday and he was looking forward to having lunch with Kitty. In his hands was a box of macarons that he brought back with him from France the day before. They were a special gift for her. As soon as he stepped foot inside the building, he knew something was wrong. The whole aura felt off. Was there some sort of worldwide catastrophe that had occurred in the forty-five seconds it took from him to get from his car to inside the compound? He pulled out his phone and saw no new notifications. 

Walking up to Maria Hill, Fury greeted, “What the hell is going on?”

“Tony fired Kitty.”, Maria responded as they walked down the hall to Fury’s office.

“He did what? Now why in the hell would he do that?”

“She accidentally double-booked him for a meeting.”

“That’s it? She didn’t delete Jarvis or spill coffee on his laptop? She made a scheduling error.”

“Yup. A scheduling error.”

Fury handed the macarons to Maria. “Do me a favor, put these on my desk and get Kitty back here by noon. We have lunch plans.”

“Yes, sir.”

Inside a storm was swirling in Fury. He tried to remain as calm as possible as he marched his way to Tony’s lab. The audacity of Tony to fire Kitty over a simple mistake pissed him off. Tony and done worse… much worse and he still kept the title of Iron Man and its perks. Who the hell was he to act as if he was beyond error? His ledger was red and that was before he ever donned that red suit. This time he had gone too far. Fury scolded himself for not humbling Tony sooner. He was going to correct that error. Now.

Fury entered Tony’s lab and you can practically see the steam coming from Fury’s ears. Tony and Steve were engaged in a heated discussion with Natasha off to the side watching the exchange. Upon noticing Fury, Steve and Tony shot each other fierce glares. Fury approached them and asked in a deceptively calm voice, “Where’s Kitty?”

Natasha stood a little straighter. She knew that this was about to get interesting. Steve suppressed a smirk until he made eye contact with Natasha as he made his way to her. There was a glint of mischief in both of their eyes. Tony was about to get what was coming to him.

Tony began to tinker with his programming as he nonchalantly replied, “She’s not here.”

“Why not? It’s Wednesday and she’s had perfect attendance up until this point.”

“I cut her loose.”

“Why?”

“She’s not fit for the job. Couldn’t keep up in the lab.”

“What training did you provide for her?”

Tony paused. “None. She couldn’t even handle filing the Stark Tech programs correctly, how can I train her on anything else? She can’t even do the basics.”

“Did you show her how you wanted the files sorted or did you just tell her to do it?”

“The fact is she couldn’t handle the job. It was too much for her. Honestly, I should have done it sooner when Bruce went off with Thor.” 

“This is a personal failure on your part. You should have trained her.”

“You’re right. This is my mistake. I should have never hired her to begin with. Kitty is incompetent and spends all her time gossiping, going on coffee runs, and running up the company credit card! She’s a damn personality hire.”

Fury sat down in Tony’s computer chair. “Here’s the deal- Kitty is on her way here and you’re going to personally apologize to her. You will offer her a permanent, full-time position as a lab assistant with a generous salary and full benefits. If by chance, she does not accept your apology and declines the position, you will do everything in your power to change her mind. Kitty is an asset to SHIELD and the Avengers. I will not let your ego waste an employee with so much potential.”

Tony turned his full attention to Fury. He raked a hand through his hair, crossed his arms, and played with his goatee, “No. It’s my lab and I don’t want her here. She’s useless to me.”

Natasha and Steve exchanged a look. Steve intervened, “Have you ever actually sat down and talked to her, Tony? She’s a nice girl.”

“Nice doesn’t get the job done.”

“Sure it does, she doesn’t need to be a genius or a super soldier to make a difference. She doesn’t need a suit to make an impact. I’ve seen how morale has changed around here and how she brightens up a room. There are many times she’s recognized and stopped an issue without you ever knowing about it.”

“We need her. Kitty has a social awareness about her that honestly, we all lack at times. When we had that mission in China a few weeks ago and she told us about the Golden Eagle Awards, at the time, I thought nothing of it and listened to be polite. It ended up being critical information. It was crucial to the mission’s success, it saved not only our lives but hundreds of civilians. Sure, we could have done it without her but there’s no denying how smoothly the mission went because of her. It’s not just a one-time thing either. There’s plenty of times she’s helped with missions without ever going out into the field and without her knowing.”, Natasha chimed in. Steve nodded in agreement. 

“I’m not hiring her back. She’s made too many mistakes.”, Tony shot back.

Fury stood up. “I don’t need to remind you of the mistakes you’ve made. Her clerical error is nothing compared to the things you’ve done. Everyone in this room has made a severe lapse in judgment at some point and yet here we are. Her little error is minuscule in impact compared to some of the things you’ve personally done, Stark. Need I remind you about Ultron?”

“From Ultron we got Vision! It all worked out in the end. What’s your point?”

“My point is, you will be apologizing to her and hiring her back effective immediately. You will treat her with respect going forward. You will train her on how to be a lab assistant. Kitty is a bright girl who is more than capable of being in a lab. She’ll be back after lunch.” Tony thought about arguing but it was no use. His time was better spent savoring his last few Kitty-free hours. Fury left the lab with an air of finality. The discussion was over. Natasha and Steve exchanged a discrete gleeful look. Kitty was back!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a month later and Kitty was excited. Today was the day she was finally going to meet Thor. Bruce and he had returned late last night and Bruce was set to return to the lab today. This meant Kitty’s assistance was needed in the lab for once. Tony’s behavior had changed for the better. He refused to train Kitty in the lab and she was practically banned from it but he was much nicer to her. As long as she avoided the lab, they got along. This made things a little awkward for Kitty as her title was “lab assistant”. To fill her time, she began to assist the other Avengers such as helping Clint with his arrows, cleaning Steve’s shield, and Peter with a homework schedule. It was little things that they could have done on their own, but it helped to ease a burden for them. Tony asked very little from her but she tried to justify her pay by making sure he had his morning, afternoon, and evening coffee. 

Another new change was that she had a bedroom in the Avenger’s compound. Her time was split between her Bushwick apartment and the compound. Typically she spent weekends in the City and the other days at work. It was nice not having to make the hour-and-a-half commute each day. Plus her cost of living expenses decreased. Significantly less in groceries and almost nothing in utilities. Her only major expense was rent and she made more than enough to cover that. 

Kitty got to the lab and peeked her head inside. She expected to see Tony but it was surprisingly empty. In about fifteen minutes, Bruce would be entering. She cleared the various papers that Tony had piled up on his desk and then wiped it clean. She then took the homemade “Welcome Back, Bruce!” sign, taped it to his monitor, and placed his cup of coffee on the desk. Then she spent the remaining time, straightening up the mess Tony made. 

“Hey, Kitty.”, a quiet voice behind her said. She turned around and saw Bruce walking up to her with a small smile. “How have you been, kid?”

“Bruce!”, Kitty squealed as she gave him a warm hug. “I’ve missed you. What was it like on Asgard? You’ve got to tell me everything.”

Spotting his desk, Bruce couldn’t help but smile. “It was great spending time with Thor. We got into some trouble. I’ll have to tell you about it later. I have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Sure, sure. Do you need anything from me?”

“Yeah. If you could pull up the Gamma project and work on analyzing the formula from the BG129 sample that would be great.”

“Um… okay. Jarvis!”

“Yes, Kitty.”, Jarvis replied. 

“Can you do the sample for me?”

“My apologies, Kitty. There are numerous foreign components that I am unable to identify. I can list the ones I am familiar with but I won’t be able to assist beyond that.”

“Tony never trained you, did he Kitty?”, Bruce asked. 

“No, I’m sorry. I can hold a light for you or get you a screwdriver but I don’t have much experience in the lab. Tony doesn’t like it when I’m in here.”, Kitty answered. She looked down at the floor awkwardly. This was beyond embarrassing. 

“That’s alright. I need to catch up on my research so I won’t be able to teach you anything right now. Don’t worry, I’ll set aside some time for you soon and get you caught up. You can do whatever it is that you normally do around here.”

“If you need me, Bruce, just give me a ring.” Kitty left the lab and went on the search for Thor. She just had to meet the god of Thunder and Lightning. She walked through the halls (on the Avenger’s side of the compound) and went into the kitchen. Steve was making a simple breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. Judging by his freshly showered hair, he must have gotten back from a run.

“Hi, Steve. Have you seen Thor?”, Kitty greeted him. 

“Hey. I think he’s in the gym?”, Steve replied. Without responding, Kitty sped off to the gym. She practically ran down the halls and once outside the gym doors, she took a moment to catch her breath and compose herself. She thought about how to start a conversation with Thor. After all, this would be their first time meeting and she certainly didn’t want him to think she was some sort of fangirl. They were colleagues after all. She opened the door and looked around. Sure enough, Thor was using the bench press to lift weights. Closing the door behind her, she confidently walked over to him. 

“Hi, I’m Kitty!”, Kitty greeted him with a smile. Thor put the barbell in its holder and sat up. He looked her up and down. She shifted shyly under his gaze. Even though he was seated, she could tell he was much taller than her. 

“I’m Thor. Son of Odin. God of Thunder and Lightning.”, Thor replied. “I’ve heard about you. Bruce told me you’re a wonderful lab assistant.”

“Bruce is too kind. I’m only good for holding a light steady.”

“Don’t speak down about yourself. I’m sure you’re good for other things.”

“You flatter me. How was your time with Bruce? Tell me everything!”. Kitty sat on a nearby bench press and listened with intent interest. Thor proudly told her tales of his conquests on the battlefield. Her excitement at his words only spurred him on. He loved being the center of attention. Pretty soon it was lunchtime. Kitty bid Thor goodbye and made her way to the kitchen. The kitchen was empty and she made herself a simple lunch of grilled cheese. As she ate, she texted Peter a reminder about an upcoming assignment due date. She couldn’t help but laugh to herself. Her job title should change from “Lab Assistant” to “Avenger’s Assistant”. Or better yet- “Peter’s Assistant” or maybe “Natasha’s Assistant”? Being an assistant to all the Avengers would be a bit much. Perhaps she’ll talk to Fury about this…

“Hey, Kitty. Can I talk to you about something?”, Steve asked as he walked into the kitchen and sat across from her. 

“What’s up, Steve?”, Kitty responded. 

“It’s a personal matter that I would appreciate if you kept between us.”

“I can do that. I won’t tell a soul.”

“I have a friend named Bucky, and he’s like me. A super soldier who’s been displaced from time. We grew up together. He’s been recovering in Wakanda and he’s ready to come back and adjust to modern society. I was hoping you could help me keep an eye on him. He’s got a lot of trauma and healing to do still, and I need someone to watch out for him when I’m away on Avengers business.” 

“Is Bucky the same person who’s the Winter Soldier?”

“Yeah, the very same. He was brainwashed by HYDRA. He had no control of his actions.”

“I know what happened, Steve. I know that whatever he did wasn’t his fault. We wouldn’t blame someone who had a gun pointed at his head for any crimes that they committed. It’s the same with Bucky. He’s innocent.”

“I knew you would understand. I just wish others did as well.”

“They will, with time. When is he coming? Is there a room picked out for him?”

“I’m leaving for Wakanda tomorrow to get him. I hope this isn’t too short notice for you but would you like to come with me?”

Kitty gasped. “You want to take me to Wakanda!?”

Steve chuckled. “Absolutely. I remember a few weeks ago you told me that you had never been to Africa before. Well, here’s your chance.”

Kitty stood up and went around the island and hugged Steve. “Of course, I’m going. How long are we staying for? I got to go tell Bruce!”

“Two, no more than three days. The king of Wakanda, T’Challa, is a personal friend of mine. He’ll be hosting us in his palace. We’re leaving tomorrow at 5 am. Be ready.”

Kitty squealed in excitement and then thought to herself, What kind of lab assistant helps take care of an Avenger’s best friend? She couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. 

I really hope you enjoy this and leave feedback. I'm thinking of making a part 2...

[listedbuilding]

does anyone have that fumble hall of fame post with joan baez judy collins and joni mitchell? thinking of it rn picturing it so beautifully in my mind

[tweeterwilbury]

The '76 stills-young tour should be on the fumble hall of fame

[rustedpipe]

and when you guys talk about the fumble hall of fame can you include me in that as well. bob dylan, graham nash, stephen stills and cynth. if it's not too much trouble thanks guys

[justjarminsports]

Josh Allen and Bills beat the 49ers in Snowy conditions, clinching fifth straight AFC East title.

Photo Credit: AP; Adrain Kraus.

By BenJarmin Munguia

Date: December 2nd 2024.

It was a winter wonderland for the Buffalo Bills and Bills fans everywhere.

Buffalo Bills once again dominated a football game, this time in lake-effect snowy conditions. The snow was too much for the San Francisco 49ers, who lost 35-10 and stayed in last place in the NFC West. 

The 49ers struck first on their opening drive with a 33-yard field goal from Jake Moody, but that was it, as the Bills answered back with running back Ray Davis scored on a 5-yard touchdown, giving the Bills their first lead of the night 7-3.

In the second quarter, the Bills took advantage of Moody's missed field attempt and answered on the next play. James Cook scored on a 65-yard touchdown run, giving the Bills a 14-3 lead. Josh Allen found Mack Hollins in the endzone just before the half, giving Buffalo a 21-3 lead at halftime.

Josh Allen was on the record books for tonight. In the third quarter, he completed a pass to Amari Cooper, who then lateraled back to Allen to score on a 7-yard touchdown reception. He would then run one in the fourth quarter, becoming the third player in 2005 to run, throw, and catch a touchdown pass all in one game. 

Allen also passed Hall of Fame and legendary quarterback Jim Kelly for most touchdowns in franchise history with 245, 

Allen completed 13 of 17 passes for 148 yards and two passes touchdowns, carrying the ball 3 times for 18 yards and a touchdown, and finally, catching his pass (from Amari Cooper) for a touchdown. 

Jame Cook ran 14 times for 107 yards and a critical 65-yard touchdown.

The 49ers were absolutely brutal tonight. They fumbled their way through the night.  Kyle Juszczyk fumbled at the Bills' one-yard line, which the Bills recovered. Deebo Samuels coughed up the ball while returning a kickoff, and Brock Purdy fumbled early in the fourth quarter. 

Brock Purdy completed 11 of 18 passes for 94 yards, but he was sacked twice for 8 yards. The total passing yards were 86, the lowest since the 2023 NFC Championship game vs. the Philadelphia Eagles when the team finished with 84 passing yards.

Jordan Mason filled the void for McCaffery, rushing for 78 yards on 13 carries, 

Christian McCaffrey suffered a knee injury in the second quarter. According to NFL insider Ian Rapoport, 49ers head coach  Kyle Shanahan said it was a PCL injury that could end his season.

The Bills clinched their fifth straight AFC East title with five weeks left in the season, a feat not accomplished since the 2009 Indianapolis Colts.

The Bills move to 10-2 and look for more wins as they fly across the country to play the Los Angeles Rams, where there will be no snow. Meanwhile, the banged-up 49ers, who dropped to 5-7, look to snap their three-game losing skid as they play the Chicago Bears, who are also on a long losing skid.