#LIFE JUST BEEN BUSY INNIT

[perriwinklesblog]

SINCE WE’RE TALKING ABOUT IT AGAIN.

THOUGHT ID REBLOG

What is your ficccccc I wanna know

Okay so. It is the only fanfiction I’ve written.

And contrary to what my blog may suggest, it is not even minecraft fic.

It’s a continuation of The Society which I had started before it got cancelled.

It’s unfinished, there are grammatical and spelling errors throughout, no beta we die like Cassandra

But I love it. I like reading it. And whilst I deviate slightly from the series, I hope it’s still satisfying. I do also plan to finish it eventually. I know how it ends and I know what I want to do with each character. It’s just life can get so freaking busy.

If you do want to read it, it’s After by Ilikewrite

[phagodyke]

ah shit only just realised its september now.... lets hope the rest of this month isn't like this.....

[swxxtsxcchxrine]

Hi idk if you're taking asks but if you are can you please write Miguel with a pregnant wife?

Thank you in advance!!

i'm so sorry i'm replying to your asks so late, ive been soooo busy bro like im so fucked cuz i might be in legal trouble but like life happens innit.

anywaysssss, this ask is soooo cute omdss

after the birth of your daughter, Miguel has been obsessed with the idea of you being pregnant. him finding out that you were pregnant with another child had him jumping for joy. the man wouldn't let you lift a finger even if it was to change the TV channel. "princesa, make sure you take care of mommy for me, ok?" he says, giving his daughter a fat kiss across the cheek. your due date was soon approaching and the house was bare of groceries. "daddy, where do babies come from?" the 5 year old ask curiously. "ok, that's enough, daddy needs to go shopping," you said, picking up your child and telling Miguel to pick his jaw up off the floor. "come on bubba, lets go bake an apple pie," you waddled to the kitchen.

2 hours of chasing your daughter around with flour flew by, and before you knew it, your husband was home with several bags full of shopping. hearing the persistent screams of terror and her squeals of joy had Miguel standing on edge. he opened the door to the kitchen to find a horror scene. flour, milk eggs and butter was splayed all across the kitchen. the pie dough had just been made and was sitting haphazardly in the pie pot in the middle of the island. both you and your daughter froze, both exchanging looks of concern.

"i left you too alone, for 2 hours. and i come home to this mess you created. how could you do this to me. how could you have this much fun without me?" Miguel feigned hurt. "i can't believe-" he was cut off by a big fat splat on his face and the tale tell sounds of a high pitched giggle. a mixture of eggs and flour was dripping down his stern face. "oh, you are so getting it now," he sneers as his daughter squeals and runs around the kitchen. the sounds of her small feet slapping against the tiled floors.

his daughter cowed against a wall. realising she had nowhere so go, her shrieks increased in pitch. "now i've got you were i want," Miguel chuckles lowly. "now i've got you where i want," you exclaim raising your hands to dump half a bag of flour on his big head. you can't help it as you let out a loud laugh. Miguel sighed in defeat, smiling as he watched his two girls in pure joy. your bulbous belly had you waddling up the stairs with your daughter to go and wash her up before bed as it was getting late and there were eggs in her hair. Miguel had agreed to clean the kitchen and after some argument - since you were the one to mess it up - Miguel briefly shut you up and told you wash up and get ready for bed because tomorrow you guys had to go shopping for the baby and see if Miles was available to babysit your daughter when you went in labour.

your daughter was sound asleep and you'd just finish your skincare routine by the time Miguel came out of the shower. his towel hung low, just below his v-line. his abs glistening in your low bedroom light. his hair dripped down his neck. "you ready for bed, baby?" he asked, coming up behind you to put your butt-length braids into your bright pink bonnet matching with your pjs. he walked over to your shared bed, as you followed soon after. "she most definitely takes after you," you chuckle, facing your husband. "don't even. you and i know damn well she takes after you," he snaps. "well either way, she's honestly the best thing to have happened to us. and now we have another thing coming," you sigh rubbing your belly. "i wonder who he'll take over," Miguel says.

[invisibleicewands]

‘I wanted to be seen as the greatest actor of all time. Then I realised that was nonsense’: Michael Sheen on pride, parenting and paying it forward

He’s the feted star who cracked Hollywood, but it was only when he swapped LA for his home town in Wales that he was able to do his most meaningful work yet

By Simon Hattenstone

Michael Sheen has been fabulous in so many TV dramas and movies, it’s hard to know where to start. But perhaps his most memorable appearance came earlier this year in a TV show that didn’t require him to do any acting at all. The Assembly was a Q&A session in which he took questions from a group of young neurodiverse people. Sheen didn’t have a clue what would be asked, and no subject was off limits. It made for life-affirming telly. The 55-year-old Welsh actor was so natural, warm and encouraging as he answered a series of nosy, surprising and inspired questions. I watched it thinking what a brilliant community worker Sheen would be. And, in a way, that’s what he has become in recent years.

“The Assembly’s had more response than anything else I’ve ever done,” Sheen tells me. “Almost every day someone will come up to me and mention it, particularly people who have children with autism. They say it was just so lovely to see something where the interviewers were empowered. I had a fantastic time.” He replays some of his favourite moments: the young man Leo who took an age to start talking, and then delivered the most beautifully phrased question about the influence of Dylan Thomas on Sheen’s life; the woman who asked what it was like to be married to a woman only five years older than his daughter; and the question that came at the end: “What’s your name, again?” He smiles: “And Harry with the trilby on. Just the nicest man ever.” You came across as an incredibly nice man, too, I say. “Aw well, it’s hard not to be when you’re among all those amazing people, innit.”

Today we meet in London, ostensibly to talk about A Very Royal Scandal, a gripping mini-series about Prince Andrew’s infamous Newsnight interview with Emily Maitlis – the disastrous attempt to defend his honour that sealed his fall from grace. But we don’t get to the show till it’s almost going home time. Sheen’s too busy discussing all the other stuff that matters to him, away from business.

Six years ago, he swapped life in Los Angeles for Port Talbot, the steel town where he grew up. These days he calls himself a not-for-profit actor – a term he happily admits he’s invented. “It means that I try to use as much of the money I earn as I can to go towards developing projects and supporting various things. Having had some experiences of not-for-profit organisations and social enterprises, I realised that’s what I want to do with my business. And my business is me.” He grins. There was a suggestion that he might stop acting in order to do good works, but he says that never made sense; only by getting decent gigs can he earn money to put back into the community.

It has to be said he’s got the air of a not-for-profit actor today – scruffy black top, sloppy black pants, black trainers. With a bird’s-nest beard and a thicket of greying curls, he looks nicely crumpled. But give him a shave and a trim, allow him a flash of that electric smile, and he could still pass as a thirtysomething superstar.

Sheen is best known for transforming into household names – Brian Clough in The Damned United; Chris Tarrant in Quiz; David Frost in Frost/Nixon; a trio of films as Tony Blair (The Deal, The Queen, and The Special Relationship); Kenneth Williams in Fantabulosa. His Prince Andrew is compelling; by turns petulant, pathetic, monstrous and poignant. He has a gift for inhabiting famous people – voice, body, soul, the works. He’s equally adept as a regular character actor – the dapper angel Aziraphale in Good Omens, pale and pinched as spurned suitor William Boldwood in the 2015 film of Far From the Madding Crowd, the tortured father of a daughter with muscular dystrophy in last year’s BBC drama Best Interests. He even plays a winning version of himself alongside David Tennant (and their respective partners Anna Lundberg and Georgia Tennant) in the lockdown hit TV series Staged.

But the work that changed his life was his 2011 epic three-day reimagining of The Passion on the streets of Port Talbot, involving more than 1,000 people from the local community. It was years in the making, and during that time he decided he would leave Los Angeles to come home. Initially, home just meant Britain, probably London. But the longer he spent with his people, the more it became apparent to him that home could only mean one thing – returning to Port Talbot, and helping the disadvantaged town in whatever way he could.

He admits that for many years he didn’t have a clue about the reality of life in Port Talbot. He had always lived in one bubble or another. His parents were hardly flush, but they had decent jobs – his mother was a secretary, his father a personnel manager at British Steel, and both were active in amateur dramatics. Sheen was academically gifted (he considered studying English at Oxford University before winning a place at Rada), a talented footballer (he had trials with Cardiff and Swansea) and an exceptional young actor. Then came the bubble of Rada and London, followed by the bubble of LA.

It was only when he started to work on The Passion that he began to understand his home town. One day he was rehearsing with a group in a community hall when he was approached by a woman. “She told me she was the mother of this boy who’d been in my class at school called Nigel. When I was 11, he fell off a cliff in an accident and died. It was the first time I’d known someone to die. She said, ‘I’ve started up a grief counselling group here. I have a little bit of money from the council because there is no grief counselling in this area.’” She’d had no counselling when Nigel died, nor in the 31 years since. “And all these years later, she’d set up a little grief counselling thing with a bit of money, so that was extraordinary to hear.” Next time he returned he discovered that the group no longer existed because of council cuts.

Every time he went back he discovered something new. He met a group that supported young carers. Sheen doesn’t try to disguise how ignorant he was. “I said, ‘All right, what are young carers?’ And they said, ‘They’re children who are supporting a family member.’ And I’m like, ‘OK, this is a profession, they get paid, right?’ And I was told, ‘No, they don’t get paid and our little organisation gives them a bit of respite – once a week we take them bowling or to the cinema.’ I went bowling with them one night and there were eight-year-old kids looking after their mother and bringing up the younger kids. This one organisation was trying to take these kids bowling one night a week, and then that went. No funding for that, either. That kind of stuff was shocking.”

As a child, SHEEN says he was oblivious to struggle because he was so driven by his own dreams. First, it was football. By his mid-teens it was acting. West Glamorgan Youth Theatre, which he calls “one of the best youth theatres in the world”, was on his doorstep. “The miners’ strike was on when I was 15 in Port Talbot and I wasn’t really aware of it at the time. That’s how blinkered I was, because I was so obsessed by acting at that point.” Acting wasn’t regarded as a lofty fantasy in Port Talbot as it may have been in many working-class communities. After all, the town had produced Richard Burton and Anthony Hopkins.

In his late teens, heading off for Rada, Sheen feared he would be surrounded by giant talents who would dwarf his. When he discovered that wasn’t the case, he suffered delusions of grandeur. “I wanted to be recognised as the greatest actor in the world,” he says bluntly. In the second year, the students did their first public production: Oedipus Rex. “I thought, well obviously I’ll be cast as Oedipus, then we’ll perform Oedipus to the public and when the world sees me for the first time I’ll be carried shoulder-high through the streets of London and hailed as the greatest actor of all time.” I look for an ironic wink or nod, but none is forthcoming.

Sure enough, he was cast in the lead role. “We did our first public production and I thought I was brilliant.” But nothing changed. It didn’t bring him instant acclaim. By the third night, he could barely get through the performance.

Were you a bit of a cock back then, I ask. He shakes his head. “No, I was having a breakdown. I was crying most of the time. I just fell apart. I spoke to the principal of Rada and I said, ‘I can’t continue at drama school, I have to leave.’ And he said just take some time off, which I did, and two or three weeks later I slowly came back and then completely changed the way I acted.”

Until then he believed acting was just about what he did. “I thought you just worked out how to say the lines as cleverly as you could; it had nothing to do with responding to other people or being in the moment. It was showing off, essentially. And there’s a ceiling to where you can get with that. That breakdown I had was because I’d reached the ceiling and didn’t know how to go any further. That’s why I fell apart.”

He gradually put himself and his technique back together. Was he left with the same ambition? “No. The idea of being considered the best actor of all time becomes nonsense.” In 1991, Sheen left Rada early, because he’d been offered a job he couldn’t turn down. He made his professional debut opposite Vanessa Redgrave in a West End production of Martin Sherman’s When She Danced. Theatre was Sheen’s first love, and his rise was meteoric. From the off, he was cast as the lead in the classics (Romeo and Juliet, Peer Gynt, Henry V, The Seagull) and the 20th-century masterpieces (Norman in The Dresser, Salieri and Mozart in Amadeus, Jimmy Porter in Look Back In Anger).

Sheen was doing exceptionally well when he and his then partner Kate Beckinsale moved to LA for her work in the early 2000s. She was four years younger than him, and already a movie star. Their daughter Lily, now an actor, was a toddler. He assumed that his transition to stardom in LA would be as seamless as it had been in Britain. But it wasn’t. His theatrical acclaim counted for nothing. In 2003, he and Beckinsale split up, but he stayed in LA to be close to Lily.

The first few years, he says, were so lonely and dispiriting. “I found myself living in Los Angeles, there to be with my daughter but just seeing her once a week. I had no career there – it was essentially like starting again. I had no friends and spent a lot of time on my own. It was tough. Slowly I realised how it was affecting me.” In what way? “I remember coming out of an audition for Alien vs Predator, to play a tech geek computer guy with five lines and really caring about it, and then thinking: ‘I can be playing fucking Hamlet at home, what am I doing, what’s this all about?’” He says he’d been so lucky – always working, never having to audition, getting the prize jobs. And suddenly in LA he was an outsider; a nobody.

He and Beckinsale are often cited as role models for joint parenting by ex-couples. In 2016, Beckinsale, Lily and Sheen staged a hilarious photo for James Corden’s The Late, Late Show, recreating the moment of giving birth 17 years earlier. Beckinsale reclines on a kitchen table with Lily sitting between her legs, as an alarmed-looking Sheen stands to the side. Have they always got on well since splitting up? “We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’re very important in each other’s lives. It would be really sad if we weren’t – like cutting off a whole part of your life. I’m not saying it doesn’t have its challenges, and I’m sure it’s been harder for her than for me.” Why? “Because … ” He pauses and smiles. “Because I’m more of a twat!” In what way? Another smile. “I’m not going to tell you that, am I?”

Sheen’s break in America came when he was spotted by a casting director who told him he would be perfect for a new project. Ironically, it was to play former British prime minister Tony Blair in a British TV drama called The Deal, directed by British film-maker Stephen Frears and shot in Britain. The Deal led to Frears’s The Queen, about Elizabeth II’s frigid response to the death of Diana, Princess of Wales leading to a crisis for the monarchy. Again he played Blair, this time riding to the rescue of the royals. The movie was nominated for six Oscars (Helen Mirren won best actress) and he never struggled in America again.

The longer he lived in LA, however, the more rooted he felt to Port Talbot. And the further he travelled, around the world or just in Britain, the better he understood how disadvantaged it was. “If you’re in Port Talbot one day and then the next you’re in a little town in Oxfordshire where David Cameron is the MP, it’s fairly obvious there are very different setups there. And that was connected to a political awakening.” He started to read up on Welsh history. In 2017, he returned his OBE because he thought it would be hypocritical to hold on to an honour celebrating empire when he was giving a Raymond Williams lecture on the “tortured history” of the relationship between Wales and the British state.

He began to reassess his past. “I became more aware of the opportunity I’d had in an area where there wasn’t much opportunity. At a certain point you go, Oh, people are having to volunteer to make that youth theatre happen that I’m a product of.” You’d taken it for granted? “Completely. I was happy to think everything I was doing was because of my own talent and I was making my own opportunities, and as I got older I thought maybe that’s not the whole story.”

In 2016, the long-running American TV series Masters of Sex, in which Sheen starred as the pioneering sex researcher William Masters, came to an end. Lily was now 17 and preparing for college. “I suddenly thought, Oh, I can go home now.” And six years ago he finally did – to Baglan, a village adjoining Port Talbot. Since then he has been involved in loads of community projects.

He mentions a few in passing, but he doesn’t tell me he sold his two homes (one in America, the other in Wales) to ensure the 2019 Homeless World Cup went ahead as planned in Cardiff. Nor does he mention that a couple of years ago he started Mab Gwalia (translating to “Son of Wales”), which proudly labels itself a “resistance movement”. On its website, it states: “Mab Gwalia believes that opportunity should not only be available to those who can afford it. The ambition is to build a movement that makes change.” Its projects have supported homeless people, veterans, preschool children on the autism spectrum, kids in care, victims of high-cost credit, and local journalism, which is a particular passion. “In the early 1970s in Port Talbot, there was something like 12 different newspapers. There are none now. None. Communities don’t feel represented, don’t feel their voice is heard and don’t know if the information they’re getting about what’s going on in the community is correct or not. Those are terrifying things, and without local journalism that’s what happens.”

Perhaps surprisingly, he’s even found time for the day job. Earlier this year, he played Nye Bevan in Tim Pryce’s new play about the founding father of the NHS. He also made his directing debut with The Way, a dystopian, and prophetic, three-part TV drama about the closure of the Port Talbot steelworks that results in local riots spreading across the country. How does he feel about the rioting that has scarred the country in recent weeks? “I feel the same way I think most people do. It was awful and terrifying. I worry about how much a hard-right agenda that has been growing for a long time has moved further and further into the mainstream and has clearly got more connected. It’s frightening.” Does he think the new Labour government can deliver the positive change it promises? “Pppfft.”He exhales heavily. “More optimistic than the Conservatives being in power.” Who did he vote for? “That’s my God-given right to remain a secret, isn’t it? It wasn’t the Tories!”

I ask if he’s in favour of Welsh independence. “I don’t know how I feel about it one way or the other, but I would like there to be an open discussion about everything that entails. The problem is when it gets shut down and you don’t get to talk about it.”

Would he ever go into politics? He looks appalled at the idea. “Oh God, no. No! I’d beawful.”Why?“Because I don’t want to say what other people are telling me to say if I don’t agree with it. Look at all those people who voted against the two-child benefit cap and had the whip taken away from them. That’s bollocks. People say I should go into politics because I’m passionate about things and I speak my mind. But then you get into politics and you’re not allowed to do that any more. I’ve got far more of a platform as myself. I can say what I want to say.”

Fair enough. I’ve got another idea. A couple of years ago he gave an inspired motivational speech for the Wales football team before the 2022 men’s World Cup, on the TV show A League of Their Own. Would he take the job as Wales manager if offered it? He looks just as horrified as the idea of a life in politics. “No!” Why not? “Because it’s a completely different profession. You need to know about football. I played football when I was younger, but I wouldn’t have a clue. Wouldn’t. Have. A. Clue. Just because you can make a speech doesn’t mean you’d be any good at that sort of stuff.” He says he was embarrassed about the speech initially, but now feels proud of it. “Schools get in touch and say, ‘We’ve been studying it with the class.’ I put hidden things in. There are rabbit holes you can go down.” He quotes the line, “You sons of Speed” and tells me that’s a reference to the idolised former manager and player Gary Speed who took his life in 2011. You can hear the emotion in his voice.

I’ve been waiting for Sheen to mention the new TV drama about Prince Andrew. Most actors direct you to the project they’re promoting as soon as you sit down with them. Let’s talk about the new show, I  eventually say.

This is already the second drama about the Andrew interview. Did he know that Scoop, which came out earlier this year, was already in the works? “Yes, I knew before I agreed to do this.” Was it a race to see which would get out first? “There was no race, no. We always knew ours would come out after.” What would he say to people who think it’s pointless watching another film on the same subject? “Ours is a three-part story, so it’s able to breathe a lot more. There’s a lot more to it. In our story, Andrew and Emily are the main characters whereas they were very much the supporting ones in the other one.”

Did it change his opinion of Andrew? “No. It showed the dangers of being in a bubble, having talked about being in a bubble myself! The dangers of privilege.” He talks with sensitivity about Andrew’s downfall. “The thing that really struck me was when Andrew came back from the Falklands there was no one more revered, in a way. I didn’t realise his job was to fly helicopters to draw enemy fire away from the ships. I couldn’t believe they would put a royal in that position, so he was genuinely courageous. He was good-looking, a prince, and had everything going for him. Since then everything has just gone down and down and down.” He’s had so little control over his life, Sheen says. Take his relationships. “He was told he couldn’t be with [American actor] Koo Stark any more because of the controversy. He was essentially told he had to divorce Sarah Ferguson because the royal family, particularly Philip allegedly, was concerned that she would bring the family into disrepute.”

Did he end up feeling more empathetic towards him? “No!” he says sharply. Then he softens slightly. “Well, empathy? I felt I understood a bit more – because that’s my job – about what was going on. But he’s incredibly privileged and has exploited that. It seems like he has a lot taken away from him but probably rightfully so.”

A Very Royal Scandal is like The Crown in that it’s great drama but you’re never sure what’s real. Are Andrew’s lines simply made up? “It’s a combination of research and stories out there, and little snippets and invention.” While Emily Maitlis is an executive producer, Andrew most certainly is not. “Well, that’s the real difficulty for our story,” Sheen says. “On the one hand, you’ve got Emily as an exec, so you know everything to do with her is coming from the horse’s mouth. But everything to do with Andrew, not only is it really difficult to get the actual stuff, also we don’t know what he did.” He pauses. “Or didn’t do.” He’s talking about Virginia Giuffre’s allegation that Andrew raped her, which he denied. In the end, Giuffre’s civil case was dropped after an out-of-court settlement was reached on no admission of liability by Prince Andrew, with Giuffre reportedly paid around £12m.

I had assumed Sheen would be a staunch republican, but he doesn’t feel strongly either way. “There are lots of positives about royals, and lots of negatives.” His bugbear is that the heir to the throne gets to be Prince of Wales. “Personally, I would want the title of Prince of Wales to be given back to Wales to decide what to do with it, and I definitely think there’s a lot of wealth that could be used better.”

The biggest change for Sheen since returning to Wales is his family life. In 2019, he revealed that he had a new partner, the Swedish actor Anna Lundberg, that she was 25 years younger than him, and that she was pregnant. They now have two daughters – Lyra who is coming up to five, and two-year-old Mabli. As well as Staged, the couple have also appeared together on Gogglebox. They look so happy, nestling into each other, laughing at the same funnies, tearing up over the same heartbreakers. She also seems naturally funny. Given that two of his former partners (Sarah Silverman and Aisling Bea) are comedians, have all his exes had a good sense of humour? He thinks about it. “Yes. Yeah, you’ve got to have a laugh, haven’t you?” And he’s always got on well with them after splitting up? “Yeah, pretty much.”

When asked about the age difference between Lundberg and him on The Assembly, he acknowledged that they were surprised when they got together. “We were both aware it would be difficult and challenging. Ultimately, we felt it was worth it because of how we felt about each other, and now we have two beautiful children together.” He also said that being an older father worried him at times. “It makes me sad, thinking about the time I won’t have with them.”

Does being a dad of such tiny kids make him feel young or old? “Both,” he says. “My body feels very old. But everything else feels much younger. I’m 55 and it’s knackering running around after little kids. Just physically, it’s very demanding. And I’m at a point in my life where I’m aware of my physical limitations now. But in other ways it’s completely liberating, and I’m able to appreciate it more now.”

Has he learned about fatherhood from the first time round? “Yeah, I think so. I’m around more now. That’s a big part of it. When Lily was young, I was in my early 30s and doing films for the first time, so Kate would stay in Los Angeles with Lily and I would go off and do whatever.” Did Beckinsale resent that? “I don’t know that she resented it. Kate was doing better than me in terms of profile at the time, so it was different. Given that we then split up and I saw Lily even less, I very much regretted being away as much. So this time I wanted to make sure that wasn’t the case. That’s partly why I’ve set up a Welsh production company. I don’t want to work away from them as much.”

Talking of which, he says, what’s the time? “I’ve got to get back to my kids.”

On his way out, I ask what advice he would give his younger self. He says he was asked that recently and gave a glib answer. “I said buy stock in Apple.” What should he have said? He thinks about it, and finally says he’d have no advice for his younger self. He’d rather reverse the question, and think what his younger self would say to him if he tried to advise him.

“I saw an amazing clip of Stephen Colbert saying your life is an accumulation of every bad choice you’ve made and every good choice you’ve made, and the great challenge of life is to say yes to it. To say, ‘I love living, I embrace living.’ And in order to do that you have to embrace all the pain, all the grief, all the sadness, all the fucking mistakes because without that you don’t have all the other stuff.” He’s on a roll now, louder and more passionate by the word. “And I’d hate it if someone came and went, ‘Don’t do this, no do that.’ Then you just sail through your life. It would be death, wouldn’t it? So I’d tell my older self to go fuck himself.”

[diejager]

I HAVE A (kinda) stepdad!König+DBF!Horangi

so it was a while ago but I reealllyyyy liked the one u did where reader’s sort of hooking up w/ soap and ghost on the side?? If u remember that

I was wondering if you could do a story where they’re sort of just hooking up occasionally (as often as reader can get away) but clearly both the boy like them and want to further it but she’s worried about König and Horangi finding out.

pretty much they notice her exhibiting really weird behaviors in and out of bed towards them?? She’ll freak out if they approach her a specific way (not knowing König and Horangi take advantage of her that way) or sort of doesn’t rly care about her own pleasure cuz she’s sacrificing it for theirs…just sort of stuff that makes Soap and Ghost go “uhhh 🧍🧍‍♂️that’s kinda weird innit” (they’re presenting traits of being groomed/manipulated/raped/etc)

anyways somehow Soap and Ghost find out ab what’s going on at home and….yeah they’re not happy 😬😬

Thank you for your consideration!!!

— 🌘 !

Cw: DARKFIC, STEPCEST, DUB-CON/NON-CON, implied smut, abuse, implied kidnapping, possessive behaviour, implied one night stand, implied crush, kinda poly, tell if I missed any.

They weren’t saints. If anything, they were the farthest thing possible from good-natured men, with kind hearts and sound morals. Ghost and Soap were sick men, soaked in bloodshed and tragedy, gunpowder and tears, they weren’t good men, they were simply men doing another’s dirty work to keep the world safer. They’d seen their fair share of filth on this earth, the most depraved and savage monsters that found pleasure in plundering and killing, covert crimes done under the nose of most civilians, and hushed exchanges for prizes. They, themselves, have committed unforgettable and unforgivable acts, torture, murders, arson, and so, so much regrettable things that would forever scar their victims.

But this- your situation was gut-wrenching, in a way that twisted their guts and made their throats tight, deathly silent in the brewing rage. From Simon, who had an abusive up-bringing and torturous life, morals and ethics twisted beyond normalcy and comprehension; to Johnny, who’s busybody life turned darker and darker with every life he’s taken, bodies piling over bodies, a permanent reminder that he wasn’t the same bright-eyed and goodwilling saint he was when he first enlisted. 

They were mad: Simon enraptured in wrath, burning hotter than hell’s fire, whose rage rivaled one of God; and Johnny bubbled with rage, running through his veins like rivers of magma, scorching everything on his path to ash and rock. They were enraged to see the way you were used and forced into a new purpose by older men —much, much older men that they knew. Whereas Simon seethed silently, Johnny screeched loudly, words stumbling in a crazed frenzy.

It just- it simply wasn’t a good-natured frenzy. Ghost and Soap were not good men. It stemmed from jealousy and emotional possession. The many dates that you’d suddenly canceled, calling in a rain check that they had listened, were because you’d been fucked numb, legs too weak to walk or support you, tied to your bed or filled with another man’s cum. How rarely they met you outside of simple bar nights with your girlfriends before you’d hookup with them for the night until you had to leave. Or your reoccurring bruises, hidden under the clear lie of being clumsy, a white lie, truly, but a lie nonetheless and they hated liars. 

And the worse thing, the one that hits the most, was that you were being fucked, and abused, and taken advantage of by men they constantly butted heads with. Once enemies, always enemies. They didn’t forgive or forget in their business, and their rivalry would continue until one or the other had died. Ghost would plan, scheme your taking and Soap would take care of you, a man much softer than his rough hide. Soap would gently introduce you into your new life, and if it does work, then Ghost would have to step in, eyes dark and heart frozen over. 

You’d eventually like living with them. At least you liked them.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[hikarry]

I imagine Crowley, in his long existence, has never ever even attempted to cook or bake something. After all, eating has always been an excuse to take Aziraphale out and hang out. And it's not even like he eats a lot. He clearly prefers drinking.

And yet, when they move to the South Downs, it's a bit different, innit? The South Downs is no London where in every corner there's a restaurant or a bakery and there's always a new spot to discover. If they want to eat out they have to drive for a while and it's not like they have a lot of options. All in all, it's just not very efficient. But Aziraphale likes food. And Crowley loves to watch him eat.

I have no doubt Crowley becomes the cook of the household, all for the love of the angel. And he also ends up liking it cause he likes to follow recipes and keeps his mind busy. Aziraphale's smile is just a bonus, really.

Alas, it takes a while for him to get good at it and the first time he tries can be described as one of the most frustrating ventures of his life.

At first he decides to wing it. Something simple, out of the stuff they have in the refrigerator and the pantry. How hard can it be? Humans have been doing it since de beginning of time! It turns out it can, indeed, be quite difficult. He burns everything, makes a mess of the kitchen. Somehow there's flour in the counter tops and he hasn't even touched the flour! Or was it sugar? Regardless, he didn't use sugar either!

He ends up caving in and pulling his phone, searching for EASY and BEGINNER FRIENDLY recipes. The angel doesn't need to know about it.

Welp, even following the recipe he ends up with his sleeves soaked with water, an egg on the floor, somehow the flour is back even tho he miracled it away 10 minutes ago and a burned hand, that he heals not before screaming bloody murder. Luckily Aziraphale wasn't at home.

Eventually, in between all his failed attempts, he starts running out of supplies and starts miracling them as he needs them.

After 3 hours, and 10 minutes before Aziraphale is due to arrive home, he is finally successful and extremely exhausted because of all the miracles.

When Aziraphale arrives, Crowley presents him with a somewhat fancy grilled cheese sandwich (yes. He started with proper meals and ended up in sandwiches).

"Oh dear, you made this?"

"Yup."

"I didn't know you could cook!"

"It's a sandwich, angel. Can't really be considered cooking."

They walk to the living room, when Crowley remembers you can see the kitchen from said living room, and it still looks like a war zone.

"It looks scrumptious, nonetheless!"

"Yeah, thanks." He snaps his fingers behind his back to tidy up the kitchen and close the window he had opened because of the smoke and the smell of burned food before they actually arrive in the living room. "Do you want some tea with that?"

"That would be lovely."

Okay, tea he could do in front of Aziraphale. Tea is easy. Just some warm water and leaves. He has done it a million times before for the angel. He can't fuck it up, right? After the most humiliating 3 hours of his life, he isn't so sure.

[lovingmayday]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

warnings : fluff, cursing, innacurate-ish depictions of hobie's speech

notes : hobie is about 16-17 here (and so is the pov). halfway writing this, im overwhelmed by how much of an extrovert hobie actually is 😭 btw, i know nothing of classical music concerts so beware! all of this just because i wanted to write hobie sneaking in your window but i didnt even get to fit it in 😭😭

Two words that you've used as an excuse and an apology when you couldn't join your friends at house parties, when a classmate asks you out, or when your phone notifications go crazy because you still weren't home at 5 PM — it was a tiring cycle.

You know they were simply looking out for you but you can't help but feel overwhelmed and exhausted for always being monitored and left out. You couldn't possibly ask your peers to adjust to your parents' standards, you thought it shameless because they already had a hard time with your folks reaching out and interrogating them about your school and social life.

With so much of your life being tracked by them, you deserve at least one thing in your control, right?

Hobie Brown, the school troublemaker. Skips class, vandalizes school property, and actively participates in movements against authority. Frankly, he just does whatever he wants. And he had your respect (+ jealousy). It must've been nice to be so free.

You and Hobie were never given the chance to befriend each other before — you had some classes together but he rarely ever showed up to any of them. You had no reason to approach him and vice versa.

Until, Wednesday — your cello performance. God, you don't know why you insisted to your parents you could handle commuting to the concert venue on your own with the heavy as fuck cello slung around your torso. You had your book bag with you as well because you had just finished school. The bus stop was a few more blocks away but you were tired.

You weren't paying much attention to your surroundings, busy focusing on your aching shoulder. So once you saw the pedestrian lane green signal, you didn't think twice before walking, failing to notice the bicycle riding full speed to your direction. Your eyes widen when a strong force pulled you back, making you stumble a bit and see the bike dart just in front of you.

"Aye, watch it!" you hear the cyclist exclaim.

You back was leaning against the tall figure, looking up to see a familiar face. You regain your balance and face him — Hobie Brown, the boy that just saved your life. "I-It was green– green meant it was safe to walk... I should've looked first, 'm sorry," you say quietly.

"Nah yeah, it's straight. He was the arse," he replies, hands in his pockets. "Dunno where he got the audacity to tell you off when he was in the wrong. Don't worry abou' it." He gives you a reassuring smile, noticing your still dazed expression.

"Thank you, Hobie," you say, a small polite smile on your lips.

He smiles back and nods, "'Twas nothin'." His eyes hover on the unignorable instrument case you were carrying. "Ya headed somewhere?"

"Uhh, yeah," you say, watching the pedestrian stop light turn red again and pouting a bit. You probably won't be late to the performance but you'd miss most of final rehearsal. "Nueva Hall. I have a cello performance in a bit."

"Nueva Hall.. That fuckin' massive, fancy lookin' museum along 5th Ave?" he asks, his eyebrows rising a bit from amazement. "Didn't know you were a big shot musician. Let me get for ya, then." He swings the case from your torso and starts walking across the street before you could protest.

"Hey!" you exclaim, running after him, dodging the other pedestrians walking past you.

"It's a bit distant from here, innit? Let me take you there, I got time. Wouldn't want you to croak before the big show," he jests, turning around and walking backwards. "If it's fine with you, [Name], of course."

You weren't too keen on traveling alone; you only did so so that your parents would think you were independent enough. You consider it for a few moments. "Are you sure I wouldn't be bothering you with this?"

"'Course not. 'Was the one who suggested, wasn't I?" He smirks before turning back around to walk properly and you catch up to his side. "What're you playin'?"

"Tchaikovsky, Rococo Variation. It's a cello and orchestra performance and I got to play cello," you say excitedly. "You're in a band, right? It's like a lead singer but cello!"

He smiles softly at your energy, feeling his cheeks warm up a bit. "How'd you know I was in a band?" he asks almost teasingly.

"I walked by one of your public concerts with my family. I would've stayed if my parents let me," you answer with a small laugh. "You were amazing, by the way."

"Thanks, mate. You're probably not too bad yourself," he says, chuckling as you playfully hit his shoulder.

It was safe to say you hit it off well, which was surprising since you didn't think you would. You thought your personalities would clash, you being at the quieter side while Hobie, you could hear his ruckus from another dimension (and there was a tiny part of you that was intimidated at him, at first).

You arrived at the venue earlier than expected — still late to rehearsals but not by much. "Hey, thanks again. I really appreciate it," you say to him just outside the concert hall doors.

He handed you your cello and waved off your thank you. "It was a pleasure," he teases and you roll your eyes. "Break a leg, [Name]." You thank him once again before he turns around to leave.

Seeing him walk away gave you an unfamiliar ache in your chest. After a much needed self-courage-boost, you let out a soft but loud enough "Wait." for him to hear. He turns around with a small smile and raises an eyebrow, silently asking you to go on. You wet your lips before taking a deep breathe. "Do you want to stay for the show?"

His smile widens, a handsome grin reaching ear to ear. "Finally. 've been waitin' the entire trip for that offer." He laughs and jogs back to you.

He sits at the back row. When he entered the room, he got a few stares and hushed whispers from the other audiences but he couldn't care less, his attention was unwaveringly stuck on you. It was just rehearsals but it overwhelmed Hobie to think about how you'd do in the real thing. He was entranced by you the entire time. The movement of your bow and the emotions you protrayed. It was magnetic.

Once practice was over, the musicians left the stage for a bit as audiences started to pour in. With guests on the older side with more formal attires, it was so obvious that he was out of place.

Meanwhile, you were panicking a bit because after you got changed out of your school uniform, you neared the stage's curtains to check up on Hobie. Your mouth gapes when you see him sat at the back row, almost directly behind your parents. Your parents! You forgot about your parents!! How did you forget about your parents??! They'd go crazy once they knew that you had invited this boy to your performance — you never invite your friends, let alone anybody, to watch your performances.

The second it was time for the musicians to come on stage, Hobie's head rises from his phone and looks for your figure immediately, smiling once he notices your wardrobe change. It was a simple long-sleeve black dress but it was pretty on you. Hobie thought so.

Your take deep breathes to calm your nerves before situating the cello between your thighs. You wait for the violins, the flutes, and the organ to start playing the intro before propping up the cello's bow. With your head held high, you play the first few notes — the position of your hands finding its own way around the fingerboard like muscle memory.

The music closes to an end, claps and praises erupt the venue. You smile and stand to find Hobie. He was already making his way to you. You leave the cello leaning safely on your chair as you scurry to the stairs of the sides of the stage.

"Hobie!" you greet as you reached him. "How did I do? Was I rushing? What'd you think of it?" you ask, rambling almost. If Spiderpunk gets his adrenaline from his fights, you get it from instances that make your heart feel like its about to burst into a million burnt pieces of flesh in your chest.

He smiles back at you, amused. He's never seen this side of you before. He's never seen anything of you other than your surface-level calmness and pliance. "'ts not usually my thing but I know to appreciate talent. Credit when credit is due and all tha' and, luv, you absolutely smashed it!" he exclaims as quietly as exclaiming can allow, placing both hands on you shoulders and shaking them.

"Thanks," you giggle out, placing your hands on his arm. From the corner of your peripheral vision, you notice your parents on their way to you, confused looks on their faces. Your smile falters as you gently loosen Hobie's hold on you, the adrenaline slowly dying down.

"[Name], amazing as always," your mother says, holding your hand in hers' and caressing your cheek with the other. "Who's your friend?" she quickly asks. Her judgmental eyes scan his appearance from head to toe, attempting to hide her expression with a faux smile.

Hobie was about to introduce himself when you cut him off. "–He's a classmate, Hobie Brown." You look into his eyes apologizing and almost pleading to him to go along with whatever you were about to say. "He came here by pure coincidence, could you believe that?!"

"Yeah, a friend gave me an invitation," he follows up seamlessly, a polite smile on his lips. "'Didn't know your daugh'er was performin'."

"Well, it's a nice surprise, isn't it?" you mother says, pulling you to her side.

Your father had yet to contribute to the conversation so you checked up on hi.. He was glaring at Hobie so harshly you could see burn marks starting to appear on his forehead. "Did you enjoy the show?" he finally asks, tone almost threatening.

Your cheeks start to flush in embarrassment. It wasn't uncommon for your parents to ask about the boys you talk to but it never felt any less humiliating every time it happens. You see each and every one of them get uncomfortable and you couldn't do anything to stop them because they'd think you were hiding something.

"Yeah, I enjoyed [Name]'s performance a lot. You must be very proud of her, Mr. [Last Name]," Hobie answers. You've talked to him long enough to notice the slight teasing in his voice. He smirks at you which makes your father's hands turn into fists.

"Honey," you mother calls, "We'll be late for our dinner reservation. It was really nice to meet you, Hobie, but we have to go." Her smile was still plastered across her face, you wonder why her cheeks hasn't hurt yet. She tells you to collect your stuff and you do so quickly. You bid Hobie an apologetic goodbye before you leave.

On the car to the restaurant, you were given the 'no boyfriends' talk again. You tried to respond with 'mhmm's and 'uh-huh's here and there but you weren't listening to a thing — having heard them repeat the same points many times before. You wondered how to approach Hobie the next day, thinking of stuff to say, how to bring it up, and how to act once he says he doesn't want to get involved with you anymore. It was a shame since you really enjoyed his company.

You wished that Hobie went to school the next day and he did, surprisingly. After classes, you catch up to him leaving the building to speak to him.

You were supposed to explain to him the situation but it seemed he was already up to pace and accepting. "The things is," you pause for a bit, "I really liked hanging out with you.." you confess.

"Hey, wait up!" you yell, running to reach him before he got too far. He paused in his tracks, hands in his vest pockets as he watches you catch your breath. "About yesterday..–"

"Nah, I get it," he interrupts you. "Strict parents and shit. It's cool if your folks don't want you hanging out with me anymore. It sucks but I get it." He was disappointed but chill about the entire thing which made your heart sink. You really didn't want to stop seeing him again. You wondered if he felt the same.

A small gentle smile stretches his lips. "I really liked hanging out with you, too. A lot. Best time I've had in a while, honestly."

You contemplate on what to say next — whether to let them out or not. You mouth gapes open, waiting on your next words. You were about to give him an apology but seeing his eyes, hearing that he liked your company maybe as much as you did, it made the decision so much more difficult. ..Fuck it. "I'd like to continue spending time with you.. even if it meant disobeying my parents. If it's alright with you, of course." You feel your ears heat up as you look down, scared of what the other's reaction might be.

It was rather obvious that Hobie didn't expect it, his eyes widening by a fraction. A big smirk appears on his face as he leans down to catch your eyes. "'Must've left quite the impression on you, huh?" he teases. He watches your eyes roll as you playfully shove his shoulder. "Well, I do love a good rebellion."

"It's not a rebellion."

"It's painfully close then, isn't it?"

[elliethefroggy]

Roy Kent: Minder Extraordinaire

(for those of you who prefer reading fanfics on tumblr instead of ao3)

Ch2

Summary:

What if Jamie had actually done as Roy had asked all the way back in season 1 when Roy told him to get Colin and Isaac to stop messing with Nate? Or Roy Kent accidentally becomes Jamie Tartt's minder and regrets every step of the process until he doesn't.

Chapter 1: Roy Kent Has Regrets

The first reluctant step in their respective redemption arcs.

When Roy goes up to Jamie to ask him to get Isaac and Colin to leave Nate the fuck alone, he doesn’t have much hope that the little prick will listen to him.

When said little prick laughs in his face, Roy considers glaring at him into submission or knocking his teeth out.

Instead, Roy finds some relic of self-control within himself, a pool of patience so shallow it might as well be called a puddle.

“Look,” Roy says, “I get that you don’t give two shits about Richmond—”

“And you do?” The prick interrupts him. That puddle gets a lot smaller. “The way I see it, you give about as much a shit about Richmond as I do. I’ve been here for months, and what? Now you’ve decided to act like the fucking captain? Finally remembered that there’s actual shit that comes with that fancy title? That Alzheimer's really kicking your arse, innit?”

“Just fucking do it,” Roy says. Pauses. Very reluctantly adds, “Please.”

Jamie looks at him, eyebrows raised, a fucking bewildered expression on his dumb fucking face. And yes, okay, Roy doesn’t say please much, he’ll admit to that, but the twat’s been here for a while now; Roy has definitely used that word in front of him. Right?

“Yeah, alright,” Jamie says, looking at Roy like he’s got something contagious, “If it means that fucking much to you. I’ll take care of it; Nate’s a good lad.”

And because the magic fucking word was so effective, Roy decides to use another one, see what that can get him.

“Thanks,” he says, and walks away, leaving Jamie to his weights. He catches Jamie’s face as he steps out of the gym. Definitely one of the funnier expressions he’s seen on that prick. All scrunched up and confused.

The things is though, in some dark little corner of his mind, Roy knows he’s being a shit captain (not that he’ll ever say that out loud because fuck if he’ll admit that Tartt is right). He’s too stuck in his own head to give a shit about Richmond, too worried about how bleak his fucking future’s looking. Retirement striding closer and closer every time he steps onto the pitch with his bum knee.

The great Roy Kent, too busy raging over the end of his fucking career to actually do his fucking job properly.

And some not insignificant part of him thinks why bother putting in the effort now. Why not just finish up his career coasting at Richmond like he’s been doing, and then fuck off to become irrelevant like so many footballers before him. It’s practically a right of passage in this life.

However, now that Ted Lasso has come to darken the club’s doorstep, that plan is looking less and less feasible as the days go by.

(He decides to ignore that somewhat less insignificant part of him that’s relieved by that.)

Later, Roy rounds a corner to the locker room and sees the prick talking to Isaac and Colin. Roy backs away before they can see him and peaks his head around the corner.

“You’ve had your fun. It was a good laugh. But maybe ease up on Nate a bit, yeah?” Jamie says, doing that stupid thing he always does with his shirt, hands tucked underneath it, stretching out the fabric, “Don’t want the gaffer to think we’re a bunch of animals, right?”

Colin and Isaac look almost as confused as Jamie did in the weight room, but they nod solemnly and say ‘yeah, no problem’, before walking away, Tweedle-dumb and Tweedle-fucking-dumber.

Roy steps back into view, “Now, was that so fucking?” he asks and takes great satisfaction when Tartt jumps out of skin like the little baby he is.

“Fukin’ hell!” Jamie clutches at his heart, the dramatic idiot, “The fuck you doing sneaking around like some senile old ninja?”

“Making sure you keep your word.”

“Keep your fucking tartan socks on, grandad. I did what you fucking asked.”

“And I’m sure it must have been very painful for you. Are you alright? Did you pull something? Do you need to have a sit down?” Roy asks because he’s mature like that.

“Fuck off,” Jamie says, and storms away, further proof that he’s a fucking baby.

Roy thinks that that’s that; Nate can rest easy, Roy can congratulate himself on his good dead for the year, and he can go back to ignoring Jamie ‘The Prick’ Tartt. Except, of course, fucking Lasso has to go and put his moustachioed fucking nose where it isn’t wanted.

Sitting at the same table as Jamie fucking Tartt, about to be sold off like fucking cattle all in the name of the children was not Roy’s idea of a good time. Fuck Ted Lasso. And fuck his fucking moustache. Roy would pay the fucking charity triple whatever he was sold for if it meant he could go home and leave this fucking farce behind. Unfortunately, that wasn’t allowed; he’d checked.

Though admittedly, messing with Tartt, telling him he would have to fuck that old lady was fun enough, until Tartt stormed off again, Keeley chasing after him. The little prick has been doing that a lot lately.

But then Roy starts thinking about what Jamie said. About Roy being a shit captain. And watching Jamie walk further and further away is no longer fun. And no amount of beer seems to make it fun again.

After a while, Roy sighs and, against his better judgement, decides to be a decent fucking person tonight.

He regrets getting up as soon as he’s on his feet. Regrets every step that takes him closer to the prick.

He finds Jamie at the bar, peeling off the label from a beer bottle and ripping the paper to tiny, little shreds, Keeley nowhere in sight. Roy stands next to him and regrets it. Jamie doesn’t look up, his eyes fixated on the beer label, the bits of paper getting smaller and smaller. And Roy realises something (he regrets that realisation).

“This auction really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Roy watches as Jamie tenses, just enough to be unnoticeable had Roy not being properly paying attention.

“Fuck off.” Roy watches as Jamie’s hands let go of the shreds of paper and try to worm their way underneath a shirt that isn’t there. Jamie’s hands drop when they don’t find the fabric.

More than anything, Roy regrets that he’s starting to get concerned about Jamie Fucking Tartt. The world really is going to shit.

“You don’t actually have to sleep with them, you know,” Roy says.

“Yeah, I’m not fucking stupid.” But Jamie had believed them, hadn’t he? When Roy and Keeley had ganged up on him. He’d believed them, and he’d looked panicked.

And Roy is feeling shittier and shittier the longer this conversation goes on.

“Anyway, it’s just sex, innit,” Jamie says, “Not like it’s a big fucking deal.”

Except this was starting to look like a big fucking deal, because Jamie was still so tense, and if Roy looked hard enough, he could just about see Jamie’s hands, fisted at his side, shacking slightly.

“You don’t have to fuck anyone you don’t want to,” and Roy doesn't know why he says that, doesn’t know why he’s reminding a fucking grown adult about fucking consent. Only with the way Jamie’s acting, it’s starting to feel fucking necessary.

Silence, and then, “Yeah,” Jamie says. And Jamie took too long to answer, and now Roy's really starting to get concerned, and being concerned about Jamie Tartt feels fucking awful.

But before Roy can get into whatever the fuck that’s about, the auction’s about to start, and they get called back to their table.

Roy has many, many regrets.

Roy doesn’t even think when he does it. He’s starring at Jamie up on that stage looking as uncomfortable as Roy’s ever seen him, their conversation and the fucking awful implications behind it playing a constant loop in Roy’s head.

Then that perverted Shetland pony matriarch bids five thousand quid. Jamie starts looking desperate. Roy feels himself lift his arm up.

“Six thousand.” Those words come out of his mouth before his brain can even kick in and decide that no, that’s a fucking stupid thing to do.

He sees Keeley look at him as she places her unused paddle back on the table, bemused as fuck. Because of fucking course Keeley was going to bid on her own boyfriend; she’s the nicest person he’s ever met even if her taste in men leans towards those who are pretty and shit in equal measures.

And he knows that Jamie’s digging holes into his head with those fucking eyes of his much like Cheryl fucking Barnaby is doing, only he refuses to look at Jamie, because what the fuck is Roy even doing.

“Well, well, well,” Fucking Rupert Mannion opens his mouth, and why is he even here? “It seems the Richmond Captain wants a bit of one on one training with the gorgeous young man to my left.” And why the fuck did he say it like that?

Cheryl Barnaby bids seven thousand, probably wondering what Jamie looks like on a fucking Shetland pony. And because Roy’s already started this, he’s fucking finishing it.

He bids ten thousand and decides then and there that he’s disappearing off the face of the earth and moving to some fucking remote village in South America where nobody’s ever heard of him.

Cheryl keeps her mouth shut and doesn’t lift her paddle again.

Roy’s won.

Fuck.

Roy goes back to the bar and finds Jamie where he left him last time. Roy leans against the bar, his shoulder jostling Jamie’s. Neither talk for a moment.

“The fuck was that about?” Jamie asks after the silence becomes awkward enough.

“I was being fucking nice; it happens sometimes,” Roy says. You looked uncomfortable, Roy doesn’t say. “Unless of course, you want to spend a night with Cheryl Barnaby, Shetland pony breeder extraordinaire.”

“Fuck no,” Jamie says immediately. He takes a drink, so does Roy. Then Jamie asks “Was I, like, meant to return the favour?”

“Fuck no,” Roy repeats Jamie’s words, “This is weird enough as is.”

“I’m not going to fuck you no matter how much you paid for me.”

“Did you not hear that whole conversation we had about consent?”

“Just saying.” And then more quietly, “Thank-you” so quietly Roy barely hears him.

And Roy doesn’t want to thing about the vulnerability leaking into Jamie’s voice, so instead he changes the subject because Jamie is looking small and uncertain, two things that Roy refuses to associate with Jamie under any circumstance.

He brings up his old dickhead teammate, Doug Stashwick, and thankfully Jamie follows the change in conversation.

By the end of it, they’re both smiling and laughing together which is fucking weird but at least Jamie doesn’t look so small anymore.

Though, knowing that the prick had a poster of Roy on his wall when he was a kid makes the whole Jamie situation just a little bit shittier.

Ch2

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

What happens in the Apothecary... doesn’t stay in the Apothecary.

When the Core 4 return on the Isle, Harry is just finishing his shopping in Maddy’s Apothecary. It is only natural he decides to steal their bikes and run. It is... probably less natural that Maddy decides to join him and Gil on the ride.

I borrowed Malvina from @tiredflowercrown cos I’ve got plans for this and I think Audrey and Chad would have absolutely marvelous time babysitting Malvina Mim.

Harry stalks through the hovering shelves of Maddy’s Apothecary, idly pushing the odd item just slightly out of its proper place, and only raising the corners of his mouth in a parody of smile when darling Maddy hisses at him. 

Gil sighs as Maddy’s hisses slip into ancient curses – probably – and Harry doesn’t know what’s the fuss about, really.

He’s gonna pay.

Eventually.

Probably. Maybe.

But even so: Uma is not there to see. Uma is not there, and so Harry hardly finds it in himself to care.

He blinks away the memory of her and sweeps away a little package of poisonously coloured candy; it lands with a dull thud. (It doesn’t break and shatter, scatter all around. He isn’t suicidal enough for that, is he?)

„Oops,“ he says with approximately no regret in his voice as he grins at Maddy.

Fine, so maybe he was lying earlier, but can you blame him? There’s no one to hold him accountable for his lies. No Captain to answer to.

For that thought, another package joins the first one on the floor, and a phial disappears into his pocket. He doesn’t bother reading the label.

Gil says something that must be an apology to Maddy, who in turn points to the rules scrawled violently vivid over the grim wall.

We do not give first aid.

We do not give refunds.

Do not ask about correct doses, do not ask about opening hours.

Keep your relationship problems outside. 

Harry giggles: As if Maddy would actually throw him out, what with all the profit he’s been making her lately.  She’s a bitch, alright, but she does have a mind for business, that she does.

She screeches something that sounds suspiciously like „Go have your existential crisis somewhere else and stop sulking about your non-existing love-life in my shop,“ and Harry slips another vial into his pocket.

And he won’t be paying – that’s just what she gets for the love life comment.

Cold-hearted bitch.

Harry gives it a moment of consideration and sneaks another – different – package into his pocket. Maybe if he mixes all this stuff together, it’ll be worth a damn. Worst case scenario, it kills him, and considering his current predicament, Harry figures there are worse things.

He figures not to push his rotten luck any more and disappear the english way before Maddy notices the disappeared proviant; he turns to Gil to tell him so.

„We’re–“ he says before he notices unusual movement outside. It’s barely recognisable through the cloudy, scratched window, but Harry knows a traitor when he sees him. Not that he could mistake the red-black-white of the youngest deVil anyway, no one’s clothes shine like that on the Isle.

Disgusting, if he can say so.

He twists his features into a smirk as he finishes a different sentence than he started: „– going on a field trip!“

A heartbeat of silence, and then: „Maddy, darling, you should join us.“

„And why the fuck would I do that?“

„Also, where are we going?“ adds Gil.

Well, Harry is only too happy to explain: „Oh, why. The traitors are back. They just run by on bikes – we’re gonna nick them and we’re gonna be out in a nick of time, we’re gonna find Uma!“

„Amazing,“ deadpans Maddy, insultingly unimpressed, „Go do that and get the fuck out of my shop.“

Harry blinks as the possible scenarios shift through his mind and no, no, he can’t just jump out there and expect his Captain to do all the work. He ought to figure out some means to find her; he zeroes on Maddy. 

She’s magical, innit, she could find Uma–

She could find Uma, and therefore she must go. He tuts in response to her crude comment and raises on hand: „Oh, sunshine. We can get out. Out is Mal. And magic,“ he raises both of his hands, as if weighting the words, „Mal. Magic. Perfect revenge.“

„…I’m listening,“ allows Maddy reluctantly.

„Amazing,“ Harry states with such amount of poison it rivals some of Maddy’s substances, „Now lets hitch a ride and get the fuck out of there.“

He stalks to the exit, Gil half-a-step behind, but Maddy’s voice stops him.

„Wait.“

Great, what the fuck does that harpy want now?

„Malvina!“ she screams at the top of her lungs, „Move your bones and get up there this instant.“

A scrawny figure scurries just barely into sight and Maddy pulls her into a ray of light. The child blinks in confusion as Maddy says „We’re going out,“ with a decidedly nasty smirk.

Ah, that’s terrific. That little bloodsucker is coming along for the ride – Harry glares at the Mims and mutters curses in a language he thinks the kid doesn’t understand yet though Maddy does, and he makes sure she hears, too. 

She only smirks more as she says: „And if you complain, Hook, I’ll curse your mouth shut so bad not even your beloved Uma will be able to fix it.“

Harry sneers at her. He‘s sure Uma could fix it. She might just decide to wait for that a little bit.

And either way: „Let’s go, there’s no time to loose.“

„No time to die like today.“

„Cheers.“

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

"What are you going to do?"

Remus felt guilty that because of him Grant was in this predicament. Even if he insisted it wasn't his fault.

"Don' worry, luv"

"Of course I worry, this is my fault..."

"Nah, it's not..."

Grant was smiling. How could he be smiling if Remus had tears in his eyes? Grant was not only bruised but he had lost Fen, the boys who were his family, everything. And if Remus hadn't gone to Hogwarts after Sirius, his childhood crush, like a stupid fool, Grant wouldn't have had to lie. And Fen wouldn't have been pissed. And the boys wouldn't have gotten it even on Grant.

"I would 'ave pissed Fen anyway" Grant added, reading Remus's mind "I wan'ed out a long time ago. I wan'ed be'er than stealing and selling drugs"

That didn't make Remus feel better. He felt even worse. Grant had been so good with him. Remus had been caught up in teenage drama, pranks, parties and pining over Sirius. He didn't think constantly on how Grant and the others were doing. Maybe Fen was right. He had been busy playing to be a posh boy.

"You should come with me to Hogwarts" Remus begged "You can stay in my dorm..." he thought about what the other boys would say... They were friendly anyway "We can get you a job at Hogsmeade... We are friends of the owner of one of the bars, Madam Rosemerta. She's nice. You can work with her. Or in the Library, anywhere you want... There is a cool candy store, from where I buy the finest chocolate...."

Grant smirking amused.

"That sounds great, luv" he said making Remus plan everything in his head "But I can't..." he added, popping Remus's bubble of dreams. "That's yer place and yer world... Not mine..."

Remus was taken aback.

"But..."

"I wan'yeh to finish yer last year in peace. Without distractions or taking care of me" Grant said "You're the smart boy, remember? I want'ta see yeh in a good Uni"

Remus blushed because Grant always made him feel special. Like he was destined to great things. When it was not actually the case. He was average. He did well at school but there were people that killed to be better. Like James and Lily for example.

"Where are you going to go then?"

That didn't mean that Remus wanted Grant to go. Remus was able to stand all the superficial comments of everyone at school and all the questions of teachers to keep Grant safe.

"Brighton" Grant smirked "That's where I'm from supposedly, innit?"

Remus blinked in surprise. Brighton? Remus didn't want him to leave London.

"Are you looking for your parents?"

Grant snorted "I don' think those bastards would care for me. No"

"But how are you going to get there? You don't have any money left"

Grant didn't have anything left. All his life was with the boys. But right now, Remus wanted to do was spike Grant's guns, so he would stay.

Grant shrugged "I'll figure it out, darlin'"

"I can give you the money for the bus ticket"

Remus had forgotten that Sirius was there. He had been so quiet and peaceful. Not common in Sirius. Just letting the two long time friends have a conversation.

Now both of them, turned to look at him, acknowledging his presence.

Remus was furious. They had been talking about Grant's poor conditions. How they had all shared Fen's tiny flat and they didn't have more opportunities than stealing and selling drugs. Now Sirius was giving his money away. Like the stupid brat posh he was.

"Nah, it's alright!" Grant waved off nervously, eyeing at Remus's penetrating eyes on Sirius.

"It's okay" Sirius ignored him "I reckon my Uncle left some money around this flat"

"Sirius..." Remus grunted.

"He has a safe box somewhere, maybe we can crack it open..."

Only Grant would smile in a situation like this. He was pure sunshine.

"Grant, would you give us a second?" Remus said, eyes still on Sirius.

Grant looked between the two. Then rised to his feet.

"Alright... I'll have a fag in the balcony..." he extended his hand "Luv..." Remus gave him the pack "Cheers" he sniffed before walking away, whistling happily on his way.

There was a brief silence after that. Remus wished Sirius didn't look so adorable, so beautiful, like a lost puppy without knowing what he did wrong.

Remus swallowed his desire to kiss him.

"What the fuck was that, Sirius?"

"I was just trying to help, Moony"

"By giving away your money!!"

"It's not my money, technically it's my Uncle's..."

Remus groaned. He didn't know if he loved or hated Sirius more.

"The point is that you don't get to go around offering money to people. It's offensive, you stupid posh boy!"

Sirius kept looking at him with that same innocent expression.

"He needs the money, I don't. So I don't see why I can't just give it to him" Sirius shrugged.

"You are such a twat that doesn't understand anything"

"He's your friend and I am simply trying to help him"

Remus shook his head in fury.

"It's that simple. He can leave if he wishes" Sirius carried on "But maybe you're just pissed because you want him to stay"

Remus would have loved how jealous Sirius sounded if he wasn't so pissed. Now he showed interest. When he had competition.

"He clearly wants to leave"

"And you would want him to go, wouldn't you?" Remus snapped "So you won't have competition? Let's talk about how Grant's presence makes you feel insecure, Sirius!"

When Remus got angry, he bit until he tasted blood. And now the calmed expression that Sirius had until now, was gone.

"Stop being an idiot, Remus!" Sirius spat back "It is not about that..."

"Oh really?"

"I just want to help"

"Why?"

"Because I love you and he is important to you!!" Sirius yelled.

Remus was taken aback by the use of the words 'I love you'. Sirius hadn't said them upfrontly. He had kissed him with desire. He had said he was sexy. Remus knew he cared about him as friends. There was no doubt of that. But love him? Never.

"And yes, fuck it, I am really jealous"

When Sirius pulled him for a kiss, Remus knew he was just doing all of this to mark his territory. Because Sirius didn't love him like that. He just wanted to prove that nobody would have him except for him.

And Remus kissed him back. Because he was an addict that knew his drug was bad but couldn't stop.

'Have some dignity, Remus!' A voice said in his mind. It sounded suspiciously close to Lily's for some reason.

Then he pushed Sirius away.

"You wanted to kiss me so he would see, ha?"

He gestured towards Grant who was indeed looking from the balcony amused. But when he was caught, he looked away into the street, waving awkwardly to the people passing down.

"Moony..."

Remus got up furiously before Sirius could say anything else. What a wanker! What a wanker! What a wanker!

Remus ignored Sirius as he called him again, and walked towards the terrace. Grant raised an eyebrow to him. He didn't look offended or anything. He was enjoying this too much. Remus felt pathetic.

"So... Do you really want to leave?" Remus asked. 'To leave me?' he thought.

Grant smiled with cigarette between his lips and all.

"You haff foun' where yeh belong, darlin'" Grant said flickering his eyes towards Sirius, and Remus didn't like how that sounded "I need ter find my way, don't I?"

Remus's eyes filled with tears. They used to belong together. But not anymore. It was true. Remus couldn't fit him with the rest of his Hogwarts friends. Grant would probably become friends of all of them. But there were many things they didn't share. It had been a shock for Remus. And he hadn't lived the life Grant had.

"I might let Sirius pay your ticket..." Remus said as he crossed his arms "He owes me a lot anyway..." he heard Sirius snorting in the back "But only with the condition that you'll call me all the time... And let me come and visit you"

Grant's smirk became wider. Remus wasn't surprised when he pulled him in for a tight hug.

"Of course, darlin!" Grant laughed like a little kid on Remus's ear "You'll never get rid of meh, yeah hear me?"

Remus was silently crying at this point. Because he would definitely miss this boy. So he buried his teary face on his shoulder.

He knew Sirius was looking. He didn't want to think about it.

When the two boys broke apart, Sirius was standing next to them. He didn't look jealous or possessive. Just careful. And God, why was he so freaking beautiful? And why did Remus love him so much?

"It's settled then" Remus said to break the ice, wiping his tears away "Let's break Alphard's safe box... But first, I am going to the loo"

He didn't look at Sirius, just smiled at Grant as he stepped inside.

But he stopped...

"And now that you're offering money, Sirius. Why don't you invite us breakfast? I'm bloody starving"

Remus was still acting pissed. Although Sirius was smiling. What a prick!

Remus was walking to the loo, when he heard Grant laughing. So he stopped to listen more.

"Little Rem is really pissed at yeh, ain't he?"

"I know" Sirius sounded so formal next to Grant. "He's been like that lately"

"But he's properly in luv wiff yeh, yeah? He's always been" Grant sniffed, but Remus could hear the smile on his voice.

Sirius took a bit longer to answer.

"I love him as well" he said "Of course I do"

Remus wished he would explain in which way.

"Now I'll have to tell yeh that if you'll ever hurt my little Rem, I'll have to find you and punch yer pretty face, mate!"

Remus smiled because he knew Sirius was blushing.

"I won't. I promise"

Grant tutted "Good!" he said "And thanks for the money, by the way"

"My Uncle Alphard would have loved to give his money to a queer boy. He did that on life anyway"

Remus rolled his eyes. Sirius thought he was so clever, didn't he?

Probably Sirius didn't expect Grant to laugh like he did.

"Yer funny, not jus' a pretty posh boy"

Oh Jesus, was Grant low key flirting with Sirius? He would've paid to see Sirius’s face now.

"And you're cool, not just a street junkie"

Grant laughed even louder. Remus even heard Sirius giggling, so he smiled. He figured he could leave them alone for a bit.

[jamiesfootball]

Augusnippets Day 14

Prompt: gifts

cw: implied/referenced child abuse

Summary:

Sometimes gift-giving ain't all it's cracked up to be, and sometimes it is. - A series of moments from Jamie's life.

Here on AO3

Age 4

Gasp! “Is this for me? Did you make this? Oh, Jamie, it’s beautiful, I love it. Come on, now, give mummy hugs.”

Age 7

“Oh, thanks baby. That looks wonderful. No, I do, I do like it! I do! Mummy’s just really tired today, I promise. Soon as the holidays are over, I’ll go back to working my normal shifts.”

Age 9

“Did you make me breakfast in bed? That’s so sweet! Thank you so much, love. …Was this by any chance the last tin of beans in the cupboard?”

Age 11

“What the hell is this? Did your mum put you up to this? Bit cheap, innit?”

Age 12

“No, of course I’d love to come to your match, Jamie. But you know with this new job I started, it’s not a good look if I ask for time off so soon.”

Age 13

“Did you think that I wouldn’t already have the new kit? Huh? You think I’m broke? Is that the kind of garbage your mother’s been filling your head with? Teaching you how to disrespect your old man?”

Age 14

“Look, junior. I know things got a bit heated between us last time I came around. Just the way it is with us men sometimes, am I right? I’m sure you said some things you regret too. But your mom and I, we’ve been talking, and I think I’ve got a shot there. Make us a proper family again. Now, what do you say you and me, we celebrate the occasion by taking ourselves a little father/son bonding trip? Ever been to Amsterdam?”

Age 15

“We can make a day of it. Get lunch, maybe go to the cinema? Oh. Oh, no, that’s all right, love. I didn’t know that you’d made plans with your friends already. Right. Right. Well, if you think you’ll be home in time for dinner-“

Age 16

“-right. Uh huh. No, I know you’re busy, love, but I was thinking. I know how stressed you’ve been lately and how hard you’ve been working. Maybe later this year, you and I can take a trip, hm? Around New Year’s? Just the two of us. Get away for a little bit before you skyrocket into superstardom.

“No, you don’t have to help pay for it any of it, Jamie-”

Age 17

“-No, I know you’ve got a match, Jamie. It doesn’t have to be this weekend. I told you, whenever you’re free-“

Age 18

“Now that you’re making money, I think it’s only fair you treat your old man to a drink.”

Age 19

“New fancy contract, and you’re telling me you can’t afford to do something nice? For your own dad? C’mon, son, I’m not asking for a Porsche here-“

Age 20

“I’m not saying you have to like him, Jamie! But Simon’s important to me, and I’d like you to actually meet him before-“

Age 21

“-lazy, uninspired, waste of fucking space on the pitch! Is it any fucking wonder that Pep’s got you warming the bench for the real players when you’re out there bottling penalties? Hey. Hey! You fucking look at me when I’m talking to you-!“

Age 22

“I know you’re still screening my calls, but I just called to thank you for the flowers. I’d ask about your birthday, but I’m sure you already have plans.”

Age 22

SMACK.

Age 23

“Oh, babes, I wish you’d told me. I already promised my mum I’d go ‘round hers for the holiday. Only she’s just moved down here, and she hasn’t been able to meet anyone yet- no, you do not want to meet her, trust me. But hey, you have fun in Spain- wait you didn’t already buy the tickets, did you?”

Age 24

“Would you look at that? City wins on my son’s birthday, and he ain’t even here to see it. All because he let some stupid yank make him soft, and now he’s too much of a pussy to stick it out when things get tough. What’s wrong, junior? Did Roy Kent calling you little bitch on TV hurt your widdle feelings? Huh? You gonna cry? You gonna cry about it?-”

[“Dad”]: Don’t you fucking hang up on me

[“Dad”]: Jesus Christ, no need to be so sensitive

[“Dad”]: Did you sort my tickets for the next match?

Age 24

“Yeah, but, you know, some folks might also consider that buying affection, you know.”

Age 24

“Jamie? Oh… we didn’t expect you to call. No, it’s fine, we aren’t going anywhere; Simon’s tinkering around in the kitchen… You tried them? Really. That’s- ahem, of course. Of course I’ll let him know.

“SIMON! Jamie tried your gluten free lemon pound cake! He said it was ‘fucking tasty’! His words!

“Jam, Simon would like to know what your nutrition guidelines say about – love, is this a list?”

Age 24

[Isaac]: Alright, everyone. Jamie’s birthday is coming up, so it’s time to start making plans.

[Sam]: Did you remember to remove Jamie from the group chat before you sent the text?

[Isaac]: Shit

Age 25

“...and this is going to sound so weird, but I promise I am not a stalker. I’m Roy’s sister. Yes, that Roy. Uh, you may be aware that he has a niece – Phoebe, yes – and she has something important she would like to ask you.”

“Hi Jamie! It’s Phoebe! Would you like to come celebrate Uncle’s Day with us?”

Age 25

“I love it.”

[somuchbetterthanthat]

A little Gwen&Alice with heaavy alice/sam, because I needed to write something after that last ep and tumblr ficlets are less intimidating than full fics.

In hindsight, hiding in the loo is dumb. Sam's making her dumb, which is aggravating and bothersome and does not horribly ache like it used to, before, in those last few weeks they'd stayed together in the same flat while Sam prepared his trip abroad. Alice's a Cool Girl. Cool girls don't hide in bathrooms because their best friend who just so happen to be their ex arrived to the office at the arm of another woman with the sparkly bubbly smile that screams I had such a good time this weekend Celia is awesome at sex.

Then again, Alice's pretty sure her Cool Girl's crown's been stolen the moment Celia walked in with those stupid donuts for the first time (and it is painful, in a way, that Celia is cool to hang around with; pretty and fun and chill and blessed with the same ability Sam has to be friendly with everyone she meets immediately).

Whatever; Alice's excellent at building new narratives and looking away to survive. She'll withstand having Sam back in her life and then feeling like she's loosing him all over again like a fucking champ -- but she has to admit, hiding in the loo was just not a good move, 'cause now she's got to not only deny her sad moody depressing feelings, but also the fact that Gwendolyn Bouchard is clearly weeping on the stall next to hers.

"Hey," she whispers, after three long minutes of wondering whether she wants to deal with this, then deciding it's the sort of night where she'd definitely rather think of someone else's problems than her own.

There's mouvement on her left, then a sharp exhale. "What?" hisses Gwen.

"Want to tell me what this is all about?" Alice asks, staring at the door.

"No," Gwen snaps. Then: "We're in a bathroom, Alice, for god's sake, do you have any sort of decorum--"

"Exactly!" Alice cuts her off. "We're in a bathroom. That's basically being in a confessional for us ladies, innit? Sure we're not drunk out of our heads at the club or whatever, but I think this qualifies all the same. Everything you'll say is sacred in here my dear. Any sin is between you, me, and those awful scratchy paper roll that we're always out of. Hope you've got an handkerchief ready, by the way."

It must strike a nerve, because Gwen stays silent for a good thirty seconds before she mutters: "Anyone could come in."

"Oh, please," Alice snorts. "We both know Lena's not human enough to have to use the loo and Celia's too busy getting lost into Sam's eyes, we're fine."

"Why do you say that?" Gwen asks, her tone suddenly more alert.

"...'Cause Celia is getting lost in Sam's eyes? I mean, I know you have your whole thing going on and you're wayy better than us now that you got that shiny promotion you wanted so much, but they've literally been building this whole sickening little office romance just in front of our noses for like, two months, surely you haven't missed that. Kinda surprised you haven't actually told them this was against regulations or whatever."

"No not Celia, I don't care about her, or whatever's going on with Sam (Lucky you, Alice thinks meanly, and has to bite her tongue very hard). I mean about Lena. Do you think she's --" Gwen stops, exhales shakily. "Now, that'd be ridiculous. Obviously. She's nothing like --"

Oh, Alice thinks. Oh, Gwendolyn. She wishes people would listen to her, when she says to look away. Sam and Gwen are similar that way, she notes. All too ready to dig themselves into messes that are much too big for them to take on.

"I was making a joke," she tells Gwen. "I do that, sometimes. Oh, not very often of course, you know me, all too serious for this sort of nonsense, but I have heard before that it can lighten the mood here and there--"

"God, you are unsufferable."

"Is that how you talk to your priest, Gwendolyn? Shame on you."

"I'm leaving now. This is all pointless, and we've got work to do anyway."

"Do we ever," Alice sighs.

"You've been here for like, twenty five minutes, by the way," Gwen adds. "If you want to keep pretending you're not the one mooning over Sam, you might want to come out soon."

[asherloki]

helloooo :)

i was wondering if u could write somthing about anderson disrespecting reader when they join cases with sherlock, but always behind their backs

but then sherlock hears and he starts (trying) to beat him up, and anderson puts up a good fight, however sherlock still wins

he goes home to 221B and reader is shocked asking who hurt him and what he did, but he doesn’t give away anything, and simply tell them not to worry about it. whilst reader is patching up his wounds, john comes back and starts saying how cool, dangerous and reckless beating up anderson for reader was and they’re just flustered and shocked, saying thank you to sherlock (maybe a first kiss scene?)

reader also gives anderson a piece of their mind - not because he disrespected them, because he beat up sherlock :)

tysm and ur work is amazing!!!!

Detective's doll

Bbc Sherlock x reader

Word count:- 840

A/n:- listen guys, just one or two fic will come this month, once October is here I'll be doing Halloween fics! I've shared some prompts do check! Fandoms you know, otherwise check my masterlist.

"you think I can help you with this case?" I enquired to Sherlock not believing he asked my help suddenly for a case. I've been fond of him since I moved in. He can seem cold, unfriendly, some people may describe him as arrogant as well. I was no exception, however living with him taught he's actually pretty lonely. Especially since john watson was married. Sometimes when he's working or sitting with his microscope he looks as pure as a child who just needs a hug. I do want to hug him tight sometimes but he's not very fond of touches innit? So I never dared.

"that's why I asked you, look this case includes information about victorian literature and by seeing your side of the bookshelf " he said pointing to our bookshelf, his side was filled with books about chemistry, science, anatomy and mine was filled with victorian classic novels, mostly, "I think you can help us with this".

"okay then" I must admit I was over the moon. A real life adventure was calling me, how could I not be thrilled.

In evening we went to Scotland yard, I felt excited about being able to help these men. Especially Sherlock, he introduced me to lestrade and informed him that I'll be joining their quest. His agreement confirmed my involvement before I went with him to his office to get some information about the case, I thought Sherlock was following me however I turned around to find out he was going to a different direction, he was walking towards Andersen. Perhaps he had business with him, but one question still lingered, he doesn't quite like Andersen that much.

When I came back with a folder in my hand which contained some information put inside, not in an organised way, I looked around for Sherlock, it seemed like he was gone, and for some reason people or I must say other officers there stared at me. I wondered why, maybe because I don't usually visit their office. Though their furrowed brows told some different story.

After I got to Baker Street I found the flat's door already open,

"Sherlock?" I called, to make sure it was him who opened the door, and not some break in, "is it you in there?" I walked in showing some bravery, trying to make least noise possible to find Sherlock struggling with the first aid box.

"gosh" I went closer to him and I gasped as I found out he had a cut along his cheek bone, and some more wounds accompanying "what the... what happened?"

"nothing" replied the detective, still trying to get the box open. I noticed his knuckles were hurt too as they were all red, it was the reason for his struggle with the first aid box. They were hurting him as he tried to open it.

"fine don't tell me" the only thing I couldn't bring myself to like about him was his habit of keeping things hidden, "do me a favour and sit" I wonder if my eyes reflected all the concern I felt for him. It may have, for he stared at me for a few seconds then obeyed without any objection. I took some medicine in cotton to apply over his cut.

"ow" he pulled away as the medicine on the wound felt like burn.

"I know it might hurt but please.." as I said and he nodded in agreement, it appeared to how much I fancied this moment, me taking care of him, even though he was hurt, and that was the part I disliked. I continued to do my job until John Watson came bursting in,

"oh gosh you're here, you did amazing" he seemed overjoyed and I bet I could see all his 32 teeth the way he smiled.

"let's not talk about it" said Sherlock softly. My confusion rose at this point, does john know what happened?

"no wait" I forbid him to interfere, "what happened john?"

"wait you don't know?" he asked in a way as if I'm the one who should be knowing this before others, although he was well aware how secretive his friend can be.

"how's mary? Is pregnancy bothering her?" Sherlock interrupted again, with his terrible skill of small talk.

"shhh" I hushed him "speak up John".

"Sherlock beat up Andersen" He spoke finally.

"he did what?"

"yes, because..."

"you said enough" Sherlock forbid him again.

"no he hasn't" I said, "because?" I turned to John.

"because Andersen said shit about you" John's words left his mouth and hit me, one because Andersen said something bad about me? but I never were mean to him even for once, why would he do that? and two, Sherlock beat him for that? For me?

"it wasn't just.." Sherlock started to say something, he was lacking excuses so he stuttered until I spoke,

"really?"

"yes, Andersen is beaten up terribly by him" replied john, "and you shouldn't bother about what he said".

That only meant it was very mean, "I'd still like to know"

"dumb doll of the detective" said Sherlock, "that's what he told you, you're dumb, a doll who's is controlled by me"

I gasped at this not knowing what to say.

"an opportunist" followed by a few seconds of quietness, "he said more but..."

It felt terrible, no wonder other words were far more worse that Sherlock couldn't bring himself to speak.

"anyway" John said breaking the silence. "I better go home, Mary might need me."

Waving us he went and left us wondering about the situation. I turned to Sherlock as I was yet to understand all those cuts and wounds he endured, were all to protect my image? To protect me from words? He knew then how sensitive I am under the cover of a strong person, "you fought him for me?"

He nodded in response, followed by the heavy exhale.

"and why?"

"because you don't deserve disrespect, and obviously not from someone like Andersen." he replied.

I don't know why but that moment I didn't care if he likes being touched or not instead I wrapped my arms around his neck and placed my chin on his head, sniffing his hair and realising his shampoo has a decent smell, no wonder his curls were like a soft pillow. It forced me to lean my cheek too with a smile that appeared on my lips, "you didn't have to, but thanks"

"no problem" he said taking my hand, and caressing it, as if it was an assurance, a promise that my palm was safe in his hand.

Next day Sherlock, john and I went to Scotland yard where I found the sight of beaten up Andersen, oh how... terrible honestly. I felt bad how wounded he was but atleast he'll think twice before disrespecting me, or anyone. Sherlock made sure of that.

"you guys go inside, I'll be with you in a minute" I said walking to Andersen, although Sherlock pulled me a little by my wrist to say,

"listen" Sherlock said, "don't put up a fight I did it already"

"I won't" we exchanged smiles and I went to catch Andersen,

"Andersen!" I called.

He looked horrified yet fuming at me he said, "you? what do you want?"

With some strength in my voice I stated, as politely as possible yet stern, "next time if want to say something, make sure it's on my face, but if you dare again, my detective will kill you, I'm his doll afterall, he won't let you play with me like that" then I went a little closer and replied in a hushed voice, "I'm his to love, his to keep, his to adore." This may haven't scared him but infuriated him even more, so I stepped backwards with a smile, now that my threat did it's job and walked away, just one more time I turned around to wave him, a mocking wave to be more clear, "see ya".

[cars-on-the-moon]

Carlando hurt/a bit of comfort just below!

Enjoy!

(everything stems from author’s imagination)

“Cabron!” Lando shouted, holding his suit in order to jog quicker.

The Spaniard slightly turned his gaze at him but returned to Rupert, carrying on their conversation.

Rupert nodded and smiled when Lando clasped his shoulder.

“Alright?” he asked the trainer. “Hot innit?” he grinned.

“And you’re going to have to race.” Rupert remarked, giving him a kind pat and stepping a bit back to reach Gino.

Lando’s eyes returned to Carlos, who hadn’t interact with him yet.

“What is it?” he asked him.

“What? Nothing.” Lando shrugged. “I’m a bit jittery.” he revealed.

“Calm down. Everything’s good.” Carlos replied him, almost dismissively, a tone the other man never possessed for him.

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion but quickly disregarded it.

“Are we training this week?” he asked him.

“I will be very busy.” Carlos replied, typing something on his phone and quickly burying it in his pocket. Finally, his eyes found Lando, but the Brit only saw emptiness.

“Carlos, are you okay?” he finally asked by micro-analysing all the wrong signs.

“I’ll see you later.” Carlos said and just like that, he walked away.

Lando stood there, watching him as he increased the distance between them. He watched as Carlos finally disappeared around Alpine’s motorhome, leaving him alone and extremely confused.

The great mystery of detached Carlos carried on for the extent of the week and when he never received a reply to his golf invitation, Lando gave up to focus on his race.

“Who from the grid was born in 1994?” Will asked then and instantly Lando pressed the little buzzer button.

“Carlos Sainz.” he replied.

“Ah! There you go! A point for you!” Will excitedly said.

“That’s 7-1.” Oscar reminded them the score.

“Well,” Lando grimaced. “I’ve had better days.” he playfully said to the camera and thusly, the silly YouTube game for the official channel, ended.

Will waved them a polite goodbye as Lando shuffled further into the sofa.

“Mate, you’re miserable.”

“Yeah, thanks Oscar.” he rolled his eyes before shutting them both.

“Oh, you’re in that mood.” he heard the Australian remarking and he hated him a little. The other Australian who was making his life hard once again in his own team. Sharp tongued and funny in a whole different way.

“Piss off, mate.” he mumbled and tried to sound as playful as possible.

He heard the faint sound of Oscar’s giggle as he was leaving the room and finally he found a good time for solitude and peacefulness.

He missed the podium for a tenth of a second and climbed out of his car with a granule of disappointment.

“Are we on for tomorrow?” Caco asked him, finding him outside hospitality.

Lando finished signing a picture of him and turned to the Spaniard.

“Yeah, Max told me you booked it.” he said. “Is Carlos coming?” he asked him.

Caco raised his eyebrows then but quickly schooled his expression to return to normal.

“I don’t know. This triple-header has been hard on him. We’ll see. It’s either going to be Rupert or him.” he replied.

Lando squinted.

“See you at eight.” Caco said, tapping his back.

When Lando arrived at the padel place hopeful, he got disappointed again. The other three players were already in the court but Carlos was nowhere to be seen.

“Are we doing Britain versus Europe?” Rupert grinned at him.

“Sure.” Lando shrugged taking his place in the field.

Max bumped his racket on Caco’s and walked in order to execute the first little serve.

“Carlos coming?” Lando asked Rupert.

“Um, no.” the Brit replied, dipping lower, focused forward.

If Lando got disappointed again, he never showed it.

‘Cabron? Is everything alright?’ Lando had to try again because the though if Carlos being that cold was so unsettling, he couldn’t relax when he was thinking about it.

He was tired enough to not having realised that the next day he was in Mexico City. It took him around ten minutes to remember his plane ride and a few more to actually decide to get up.

He trained intensely and ate his wrap with such eagerness, as if he was a starved man.

Still nothing.

Sunday’s driver’s parade came in a blink of an eye and Lando searched for Carlos before he was waved by Oscar to join him in their car.

“Were you looking for something?” Oscar asked him when the car started moving.

“You.” Lando replied, smiling towards the crowd.

Oscar hummed a bit unconvincingly but nevertheless, let it go. Sometimes Lando thought that the young Australian knew more than he revealed. Behind that quiet stance he had going on, he was observant and intelligent. Lando hated that. ‘Hate’ perhaps was a strong word.

“Carlos!” he finally found the man, as he was taking with Max.

Both men turned to find the source of the voice and one of them smiled widely. It was Max. Only Max smiled.

“I was just telling him how team Europe obliterated team Britain last Monday.” Max teased him immediately.

“I was out of form.” Lando sniffed, playing it cool. “Where have you been mate? You miss both padel and golf practice.” he placed his hand on Carlos’s upper arm, forgetting the cameras around them for only a moment. He let go of him then, staring, wanting to hear a word from him.

“I have been experiencing a few back pains.” Carlos replied him. Coldly; absolutely coldly.

“You? You have never been in pain since I’ve known you.” he said.

“Well, perhaps because I’m getting old.” Carlos spat out and yeah, something was definitely wrong.

“You’re not even thirty yet, mate.” Max added to the conversation when Lando’s silence filled the space.

“Anyway, I’ll see you later.” Carlos chose to ignore Max’s utterance and Lando’s concerned gaze, walking away immediately a second after.

‘How’s your back? How are we going to golf in November?’ He wrote before placing a laughing emoji. He stared at the screen and contemplated on whether to send it or not.

He had tried again to talk to him on Thursday evening, when he saw him outside Ferrari, getting Senior’s attention first.

“Lando Norris!” Senior hugged him. “How are you son?” he asked.

“I’m well and you?” he replied him politely.

“You are having a fantastic season. Congratulations!” he said to him.

Lando nodded affirmatively and finally turned to Carlos.

“I have been texting you. How is your back?” he asked him.

Carlos finally looked at him, brushing his fingers through his hair.

“It’s fine.” he replied him.

Lando inhaled deeply, biting down his tongue in order to stop himself from really barking at Carlos that he had been awful and cold and distant and unfamiliar.

“Are you? Fine?” he pushed just a bit more.

“I’m busy. Pa, let’s go?” he asked him turning around and climbing the little red steps.

Lando furrowed his eyebrows, watching him once again disappearing.

“He has been strange. He is angry.” Senior said to Lando. “He is bad with respect. He takes things very seriously, especially from you.”

Lando turned to the older man quickly.

“What? What do you mean? What did I do?”

Lando jogged to his motorhome and texted both Jon and Max.

“Havent you seen the video I’ve sent you a week ago?” Max asked him through the line.

“No, I must have forgotten.” Lando replied him. “What is it? How did you know what I’m talking about?” Lando furtively asked.

“Because you did him dirty man! It’s a complication of the same interview and it was all over Twitter.”

“What the fuck?” Lando whispered and quickly ended the call.

He remembers the interview; it was with some American podcast and he remembered having a miserable time but trying still to be funny and relaxed.

“I’ve had this question ninety three times,” he giggled. “There are not many friends around…I consider Max and Lewis the only two strong drivers…Carlos made a lot of mistakes in that, yeah…Friends is a very big word…He didn’t help me, he did it for himself, of course…Except from me I would like Oscar to win the Championship…Haha, no, Oscar, not Carlos…I wish I could climb to fourth and pass Charles…What? Carlos is? Carlos is above Charles? I didn’t expect that!”

Lando cringed to the last line and locked his phone, placing it on the massage bed next to him.

“Why the fuck would someone make a fucking compilation of that?” he asked the room through his teeth. “And fucking tag-” he didn’t finish his utterance in order to take a deep breath in.

“Lando, what is it?” Jon asked him.

“Have you seen this?” he showed him the video.

“Ah, yes. It was all over Twitter-”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded through a foul squeal.

“Because we have a job to do-”

“I don’t need the tough love, Jon. Why did the PR-you know what? I’m leaving.” he jumped off the bed and went looking for his backpack.

“I can talk to PR.” Jon offered.

“No, leave it. The point was to-fuck.” he couldn’t bear to explain either.

He returned to his hotel room and after a warm shower he fell on the bed very keen on sleeping.

It was sudden and overwhelming. He was used to pushing down and down everything that had to with Carlos; everything that wasn’t the friendship they had built. He had locked away the desire that had slowly grown within him. Memories, moments risked back from every time he had though a bit more than he should have. When Carlos had looked at him a certain way, the way he had smiled, the way he had touched him.

Each word echoed in his mind, the dam of restraint broke. Tears welled up in his eyes and the anguish of unspoken love and pain washed over him. He was vulnerable and exposed to himself like never before. He wasn’t as daft as he presented himself and he had realised his feelings long ago and because of that again, he had buried them deep inside, where even intrusive thoughts could not win.

“I didn’t mean anything bad. I was trying to be cool or whatever. Carlos, you know me.” he sent. Perhaps it was too simple or perhaps it was too much, but Lando needed to do something, to say something and opted for that. If he was to overthink it, he would have never sent it.

The long awaited reply didn’t come, even on FP Friday and he felt an emptiness in his stomach, still his words about Charles echoing in his mind.

“Good job! Let’s do the same on quali, yeah?” Will smiled at him.

“Of course.” Lando agreed and pulled out his headphones.

He was miserable. He was miserable at training, at dinner and even in his hotel room when he was in the confines of his own space.

He stared at the unanswered text, and the one above it and the one right above the other.

That son of a bitch. He hated him. He absolutely despised him.

“That’s a pole position!” Will said in his ears. “*Good job! Need lineup?”

“Hey-yo! Yes!” Lando pressed the radio button, slowing down. “Yes! Gimme!”

“P2 Sainz, P3 Leclerc, P4 Verstappen, P5 Hamilton.” Will announced him.

“Well shit.” Lando mumbled after making sure he had his thumb off the radio button.

Charles approached him and told him something about turn seven while Lando was absolutely stuck on Carlos. The driver mode was off and he was back to a new kind of pinning; after so long he had reached this part. Distant unrequited pinning without even realising.

“Good job.” Carlos patted his shoulder when he approached him to get photographed.

“Oh, he speaks.” Lando said through his teeth, smiling to the cameras.

Charles must have heard him because he turned his head to look at him, but did not remark.

And just like this, the Spaniard walked away.

Lando felt his heart dropping and tried really hard to school his expression to a neutral one when he returned to the garage and was congratulated by everyone.

“Carlos, this is getting ridiculous.”

“My tyres are gone, man.” he said to the radio line.

“Push as long as you can. Two laps to go.�� Will said to him and really Lando knew the answer. They hadn’t expected that kind of degradation and there was no room for a pit stop, he wasn’t far enough from the Ferrari behind him. He was rather sure that on the next DRS zone, he was going to get overtaken. There was no point making his tyres pop.

It was Carlos’s Ferrari that made a move on turn four of all the turns and Lando tried to defend but it was useless.

“Lando, don’t fight with him, we need to finish.”

“Wasn’t gonna.” Lando replied Will a bit annoyed. He looked on his mirror and saw Lewis behind.

“One corner, Lando.” he heard and inhaled deeply. “That’s it! Well done! P2!”

“Thanks guys, I’m sorry about the tyres, I’m not sure what went wrong.” he addressed the whole garage and factory and let go of the button.

He watched as Carlos stood on his Ferrari and raised his arms up. His eyes caught his father and walked quickly to him, keeping his visor down. His eyes were destroyed by the sweet and the tears that had started forming the moment he had got out his car. Every emotion he carried burst out of him completely. Out of the blue.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find Carlos waiting for him.

“Sorry.” he said to him the moment he embraced him.

“My fault.” Lando replied him.

Carlos pulled back and reached for his visor, raising it up to find his eyes. Oh, the Twitter people were going to have a field trip.

“Lando?” a question in his voice.

Thankfully, the director had to take Carlos away for his interview with DC and Lando managed to weight himself, calm down and take his balaclava off in order to wet his whole face with water. Good enough.

“What happened?” Lewis asked him in the cool down room.

“My tyres were destroyed. There was a massive increase on the asphalt heat.” he replied him.

Carlos walked into the room two and went straight for his water. He looked at the screen and his gaze stayed there for the whole minute they remained in the room.

The cameras cut and Carlos turned to him.

“Okay?” he asked him.

“Yeah.” Lando shrugged and followed Lewis.

He was drenched in champagne by the both men on the podium and smiled for the picture.

“Oi! Look here!” Rupert met them in the hallway, pointing his phone at them.

He opened his instagram and found no post; not like the last time. There was no use of the word “carlando”. There was nothing.

“Carlos…”

He threw his phone to his side and placed his arms over his eyes, trying really hard to not release what he actually felt.

“Jon, can you do me a huge favour?” he asked the drowsy man on the other side of the line.

He walked and decided he, under no circumstance, would ever say to anyone that he walked alone at that time of the night around São Paolo until he reached Carlos’s hotel.

“Carlos, it’s me.” he said as lowly as possible when he heard shuffling from the other side of the door.

The door opened and Carlos appeared, semi-naked and very sleepy.

“Lando- what the-”

“I’m sorry.” Lando stopped him, shutting the door behind him. “I hadn’t realised-I didn’t mean all that, it sounded awful.” he said.

Carlos pulled over his head a t-shirt and fixed his hair by fluffing them even more than before.

“I was being sarcastic and a bit annoyed with the hosts. I don’t remember anything.”

“Lando, okay,” Carlos rubbed his face with his palm and took a step forward. “It’s okay if you feel that way-”

“But I don’t! I think you are a very intelligent and strong driver and of course you can win the Championship and of course you are my friend and of course you are above Charles. I was just-just teasing-I don’t know!” he said all in one breath, feeling his eyes stinging. He wouldn’t cry. No.

“It’s not about-you-I cannot do this.”

“No, you will.” Lando took a step forward too. “You have been awful and you never told me why. I had to find out from your dad?”

Carlos exhaled lengthily. He was tired, he looked it certainly.

“You are welcomed to have those opinions. I just always think that friends should support each other and it’s all I have done since the first time I saw you. I met you.” Carlos tried to translate his thoughts into English, poor man. “I know it’s just press but sometimes words hurt especially from your friend. But well, you said there are no friends around.”

Lando blinked at him. His hand hovered above his neck by its own accord and he felt his breathing quickening.

“You are my friend. It was stupid and I didn’t think about it too much.”

“All I am saying is that support and respect are everything for me. I think that I have been both since we have met. But still, your opinion is your opinion Lando. Now I know that you feel-”

“No,” Lando said moving towards him and grabbing his face between his palms. He needed for Carlos to look at him right in the eye. To make sure he was looking. “I think you are incredible, Carlos. I-I think you are everything.” he whispered, his eyes falling on the Spaniard’s plump lips.

Carlos slightly raised his eyebrows in surprise but didn’t push him away, he didn’t falter.

“Lando…”

“I’m sorry. I was trying to be cool or whatever. My mind is a mess sometimes.” he said.

Carlos slightly nodded, afraid of disturbing Lando’s hold.

“Cabron,” the slightly taller man whispered. “I’m sorry. You can explain everything, I can too.”

A goddamn tear escaped him and he went to wipe it but Carlos beat him to it and caught it with his thumb.

“Don’t. Lando,” he breathed. “Kiss me.” he uttered.

“What?” Lando stuttered.

“Will you? I want to show you that I believe you and that I’m sorry too.” he explained.

And again, Lando wasn’t as daft as he portrayed himself. He would be pretty dense if he didn’t just do it. So he did.

Carlos tried to show him and he succeeded, making him a moaning mess. Who would have thought? Well, Lando had thought.

“Carlos…” he whispered when they finally paused.

“Cariño.” Carlos run his fingers through Lando’s curls. “That was bound to happen from the very start, no?” he smiled lopsidedly.

Lando mirrored him but his grin became wider, wilder.

“Yeah, yes it was.” he giggled.

“Let me post the Carlando picture now, eh?” he playfully said, leaning in again.

[gaasuba]

First Kiss

A prequel to Disapproval

Link to AO3 1,108 words

Tags: fluff, idiots in love, they/them Hobie

"Excited for the extra time with you guys! Well.... I guess just 'you' today...." Miles wants to scream. 'Just you????' Come on, Miles, get it together! "I mean! Not 'just you' as in 'I don't want to hang out with you!' You know, I mean it like 'it's just us'," oh no that sounds too right! "Aaaagh! Look! What I mean is...." Miles takes a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself. It barely works.

Hobie is staring at him; amused, confused, and expectant.

Pav's and Gwen's portals close behind them, leaving earlier than usual, and now Miles is left alone with Hobie. It doesn't happen very often, but that was why Miles had planned this with them both earlier. He tries to hide his nerves as he takes off his mask and attempts to play dumb.

"They sure seemed in a rush. Wonder what's up with that," not that dumb!

"It happens," Hobie says with a shrug then pulling off their mask, "What about you? Usually busy with school work, innit?"

"All caught up, actually!" Pav had helped him get caught up two weeks ahead in case it took a while for a moment like this to come up. "Excited for the extra time with you guys! Well.... I guess just 'you' today...." Miles wants to scream. 'Just you????' Come on, Miles, get it together! "I mean! Not 'just you' as in 'I don't want to hang out with you!' You know, I mean it like 'it's just us'," oh no that sounds too right! "Aaaagh! Look! What I mean is...." Miles takes a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself. It barely works and he decides to commit to the truth.

He's already forgotten the number of this reality, too distracted by planning what to say in this moment, but its sunset is beautiful, so he feels it's a good enough place. Anyway, he's not sure he could handle coming up with more excuses for going somewhere else, and Hobie is staring at him; amused, confused, and expectant.

"Actually.... I asked them to leave early," Miles admits, "because I want to ask you something, but I'm not really sure how to ask it..." Hobie's expression softens and their eyes widen. They almost seem nervous as they shove their hands in their pockets.

"Oh yeah?" but their voice seems chill as ever, so maybe he's imagining things. "Well give it a go then." Miles bounces on his heels and closes his eyes as he focuses on his first words.

"When we first met, I thought you were the biggest jerk in the multiverse, but looking back at everything...." Miles' heart is pounding against his chest so hard that it's distracting. "You've been.... amazing ever since I first met you. Been rooting for me. Been looking out for me." Somehow the words bring a bit of relief. He manages to turn his bounce into a sway and to open his eyes, tho he can't bring his wandering gaze back to Hobie and he picks at the legs of his suit. "And I honestly can't imagine my life without you in it. So.... Look I know you don't like labels and this is for sure probably the wrong one but....!" He slams his eyes shut tight again, "Will you be my boyfriend!?" He's immediately embarrassed by how loudly he asked, but still, he opens his eyes again and finally forces himself to look at who he's been rambling at.

Miles has never seen Hobie this color before; pink and covered in scribbled hearts. That's good, right?

"Sunflower," the nickname makes Miles forget how to breathe for a moment. How long have they been thinking about calling him that?? "I'll take whatever labels you want to give us, so long as there's an 'us'." Miles is still stunned and processing their answer when they ask,

"Can I kiss you?" Miles considers his words for a second longer than he wishes he had, then quickly settles on a panicked,

"Of course!"

Still totally not smooth.... but Hobie doesn't seem to notice. They step closer, taking one hand out from a pocket to pull Miles' away from picking at his suit. He hadn't even noticed he was still doing it.

Distracted by attention being drawn to his picking, it takes him a moment to realize Hobie is holding his hand.

Distracted by Hobie holding his hand, it takes him a moment to realize they haven't moved again.

And he notices how their hand holding his is shaking.

So they are just as nervous as he is. So nervous they asked to kiss him and now are waiting to be kissed. Miles can barely handle how cute that is.

He uses his free hand to grab the back of Hobie's neck and pull them closer, taking in their awed expression before closing his eyes and letting his lips meet theirs. He feels Hobie's other hand rest on his waist, then gently pull him close....

Then shove him away with a shout!

"AH! Bleedin-!" They've turned pink and yellow.

"AHH!" Miles copies, jumping back before he realizes what happened.

He shocked them! And aren't those the colors they turn when they're angry?? Shit! He's already messed things up!

"I'm sorry!" he shouts, turning invisible. "I swear it was an accident! I'll focus better next time!" If there is a next time.... Please let there be a next time!

Hobie starts laughing. Miles just ruined their first kiss by shocking them and they're laughing!

"It's nothin, love," they say through the laughs.

Recovering from their amusement, they step forward and easily find Miles with one hand to pull him close again. The touch triggers them to turn back pink with the hearts. Their eyes are closed since they don't know where to look for him, but Miles can't stop staring at their smile. "You're amazing. I don't care if you shock me every time. I won't stop kissin you unless you ask me to."

Then why aren't they kissing him now?

Miles leans in again and kisses the heart scribbled across Hobie's lips. They tense for a moment, surprised, but relax into it quickly. While Miles focuses on not shocking them again, he also wills himself to turn back visible so they won't look like a weirdo kissing air.

He wraps his arms around Hobie's neck.

They wrap their arms around his waist.

They straighten their posture and it pulls Miles onto his toes but he doesn't mind.

He feels like he could stay here forever....

but he eventually notices the light though his eyelids fading as the sun sets, and supposes Hobie must have been serious when they said they'd never stop kissing him until he asked. He decides to make himself break the kiss.

The way Hobie is staring at him, gaze soft, lips slightly parted, illegible writing beginning to join the pink hearts, a barely readable cursive "sunflower" across their lips where the heart had been.... it makes Miles want to kiss them again so badly.

"I love you," Hobie says quietly.

"I love you too," Miles replies, then gives in and kisses them again.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Eleven.

Huge thanks as always to my little devoted audience! This chapter brings us into part two of the story, aptly entitled Siege. You'll soon see why.

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,564

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

After such an idyllic start to married life, absconded to the privacy of their upstate home, reality had to hit eventually. When it did, it took them both by surprise, just how invested the media had become in the details of their whirlwind romance and marriage.  

They’d thought they might’ve gotten away with it, but in the age of every single cell phone across the world now coming equipped with a camera, privacy was no longer guaranteed. Theirs had been sold to a major publication from a passerby who’d witnessed them leaving city hall hand in hand, very obviously having just gotten married. 

It wasn’t the way they’d wanted their families to find out, but sadly, it had been. While they’d been busy enjoying their first day together as husband and wife, ignoring their phones, the news had blown up all over the internet. 

Their missed calls lists were extensive.  

“I guess it had to catch up with us eventually, baby,” Jade spoke, wrapping her arm around his waist as she towel dried her hair, all bath fresh. Bath fresh and blissed out, after being treated to sub-aqua orgasms in the huge tub courtesy of her husband.  

He nodded, placing a kiss atop her head. “Family first, then publicists. I’m advising no comment, because it isn’t anybody’s business but ours. I’ll talk about my marriage in my own time or not at all.” 

While he wandered outside, Jade took a seat on the couch in the vast kitchen, the only place downstairs that was inhabitable enough to do so, ready to call her parents. As soon as she heard her mother, it had stung her heart, Gemma very upset not to have been notified that her eldest was to be married, having to pass Jade over to her father while she had a little cry. 

“You’ve driven mommy in the direction of the wine,” he chimed, Jade closing her eyes and groaning. 

“I guessed as much,” she winced, sighing. “I’m so sorry, dad. The last thing I wanted was for you guys to be upset.” God, how he knew that. At her core, his daughter was nothing but kind, hating to think she was the cause of somebody else’s pain. 

“To be brutally honest, kid, I can’t say I blame you,” he began while taking a seat in his favourite armchair, tired beyond words after a performing a lengthy coronary bypass procedure earlier that day. “If it had been foreplaned, something along the chain of all the preparation that goes into a wedding likely would have been leaked, you’d have ended up being hounded by paparazzi, and it would have spoiled your day. Remember back when Madonna married Sean Penn? Those poor kids had choppers flying overhead during the ceremony, trying to get pictures. Absolute circus.”  

She’d have been lying if she’d said it hadn’t entered her head, that their decision to marry at a moment’s notice didn’t come with the added advantage of extreme privacy, with nobody but themselves and the lovely city hall staff knowing. Not that it had lasted too long, though.  

“Yeah, it had that advantage. I hate that mum is upset now though. We ran that risk, not telling anyone, but if we had of told people then it would have snowballed, telling the parents, and then I’d have wanted to have told Jen, Adrien his buddy Lewis, too. Kind of better keeping it simple, innit?” 

“I hear you, monkey. I do.” Monkey. He’d called her that ever since she’d learned to walk, and subsequently climb. She’d spent a good sixty percent of her childhood scaling the trees in their local park back in London. “Don’t worry about mommy, I’ll talk her down. Listen, it isn’t like you can’t do something in the future too, have a little ceremony for the families and all your friends.” 

“Yes, we said we wanted to do that eventually, when our schedules calm down.” 

Steven hummed a soft laugh. “So, I can expect an invitation in around twenty thirteen, then?”  

While Jade had chatted with her dad a little longer, Adrien had a much more successful reaction from his mother, thankfully. Lois had been nothing but thrilled, telling him it was beautiful and insane, but that she was very happy for them. Patrick had a few of his own thoughts, too.  

“Now, who are you, and what have you done with my sensible, level-headed son, hmm?” he asked, sounded mildly entertained. “Running off with rockstars and getting hitched. Are you a super groupie now, son? Is this where we’re at? Pamela Des Barres will be interviewing you for her next book, I feel.” 

“Fuck you.” 

Patrick threw his head back, booming a laugh. “Oh, now, now. There will be less of that hostility, my boy.” Taking a seat in his lounge (they had two, one his and one Lois’s) he reached for his gin, resting his feet up on the coffee table. “Was there a specific reason to the speed of this? Inquiring minds wish to know.”  

“When you know, you know,” he shrugged, his bare feet hitting the grass as he walked from the patio steps out onto the lawn. “It just felt right.” 

His father smiled, adjusting his glasses. “I trust your intuition, son. I must say, in lieu of actually meeting the woman for myself, I have endeavoured to become acquainted with her. She is a truly fascinating juxtapose, from what I have garnered while watching her on stage and being interviewed. Jade is both the storm and the eye, a truly unique individual.” 

It never failed to impress him, just how perceptive his father was, with how astute he’d always been at reading people. “She is, yeah. You’re right. I can’t wait for you to meet her.” 

“I too look forward to this, very much so. If you two are free this weekend, perhaps your mother and I could venture up?” he suggested, picking at the label on the side of a new book he’d purchased earlier that day.  

“Can’t, I’m afraid,” he lamented, “I’ve got to head to London for publicity, so we’re getting that done and then spending a few days at Jade’s house over there, then we have an event in Paris, then we’re home for about three days before she’s heading to Montreal to film for a month and a half.” 

“The rigours of the job,” he chuckled, “well, let’s hope you can pencil us in at some point soonish.” 

It was easier said than done, truly. “I’ll check my schedule and hers, and we’ll see what we can come up with.” 

“Appreciated. I’m very happy for you, by the way, Adrien. You sound content.” 

“I am,” he smiled, looking back at the house, seeing Jade still talking on the phone. “She makes me a happy man.” 

"Happy is the man who finds a true friend, and far happier is he who finds that true friend in his wife,” his father spoke warmly, Adrien pulling out his cigarettes and lighting one up. 

“Is that a Patrick Brody original musing?” 

“Franz Schubert. I thought it to be quite fitting.”  

It was.  

After finishing his cigarette, he headed back inside, sitting with Jade while looking at their schedules in the calendar apps on their phones.  

“So, for the next twelve months, we have a grand total accumulated time of eleven weeks with one another.” It wasn’t even full weeks either, save three over the Christmas period, and ten days in late summer. The rest were pinpointed days where they both would be home at the same time, Jade sighing as she leaned against him. “Twenty eleven looks good for you, though. You have one project to film, but I’ll be locked in the fucking studio out on the west coast for the first eight weeks while we record.”  

“There’s nothing stopping me coming out there with you when you do?” Leaning back on the couch, he put his phone down, pulling her against his chest. “It’ll be hard, but we’ll make it work.” They had no choice but to, the album, and then seven months of touring scheduled for twenty eleven, and two further months to get them around Europe in the first months of twenty twelve.  

With the success of their last album and demand for ticket sales, the girls would be switching up a gear, the demand to see them live so great that they’d already been informed by their management team that the next tour would be shorter, playing at arenas.  

The idea both delighted and terrified Jade.  

She had just over a year to panic about that, though, her first priority being more focused on her private life and enjoying her time with her brand-new husband all she could. It wasn’t without its issues, though. All of them external.  

“You have got to be fucking joking me,” Jade spoke, her body stiffening as they approached the main doors at Gatwick airport, the entrance rammed full of photographers. 

Adrien felt her muscles all tighten, his hand sliding to grasp hers. “It’s okay, baby love. There’re worse things than having your picture taken, even though it’s annoying when there’s that damned many of them.” 

She’d been hoping it would be different, the press intrusion usually way less ferocious in England than it was back in America, but she realised that wasn’t the case as the flickering of many flashes almost blinded her on exit of the airport, their driver holding the door of the waiting Range Rover open for them to jump straight in, ignoring all questions thrown at them on their way.  

“Thank fuck for window tints,” she muttered, clipping her seatbelt in, resting her head to his shoulder.  

He placed a kiss on her head, hand clutching hers again. “It’ll die down. Promise. You feeling okay with it, though? I know all of this is somewhat new for you, at least to this degree.” 

It was so on brand for him, to check in with how she felt, ever conscious over her wellbeing. “I’m still baffled that so many people are invested in our life, but I’m okay. Ish. I just don’t like intrusion to this magnitude, but you’re right. It’ll die down once us being married becomes old news. Come on, Britney. Do something scandalous and take the attention away from us.” 

He laughed softly at her comment, both then looking to their phones and catching up with missed messages during the flight. While she was there supporting him through his small publicity venture, she had some engagements of her own to fulfil, arranging with her management to be interviewed by a well-known rock radio station there in London.  

After checking it at the hotel and kissing Adrien within an inch of his life, she headed straight back out to the waiting car, being ferried across the city to the radio station headquarters, being greeted warmly by everyone she encountered once she’d reached the third floor.  

Her interview was being conducted by Sam Riley, a radio DJ and rock journalist she had a very good rapport with, the lady herself coming to give her a big hug prior to going live, also presenting her with a massive, gorgeous bouquet of flowers. 

“I have way too much respect to say anything while we’re on the air, but I just wanted to give you these with my warmest congratulations,” Sam spoke, handing her the flowers. “I hope you’ll both be very happy together. 

“Oh, Sam,” she cooed softly, leaning around the blooms to kiss her cheek. “Thank you so much, my darling.” If there was one set of people in the rock and metal world who respected her without question, it was the other women in it with her. As for Adrien, he was asked point blank at the end of his first interview, but in a way that didn’t prickle him, so gave a respectful answer to the respectfully delivered question. 

“While I’m not content to speak of my private life in any great detail, I will confirm that yes, we got married. We’re very happy, and out of respect for my wife and our privacy, that’s all I have to say.” 

He made a note to his publicist to forward on to any other journalists that he wasn’t willing to be further quizzed on his private life at that time, only prepared to speak about it on his own terms. The two days they spent in London flew by, and before they knew it, Jade was driving them up the M25, Buckinghamshire bound.  

The property itself was set upon many acres of land, a huge, dark wood gate bridging the gap between the high surrounding wall, ensuring them all the privacy they could want. Keying in the code on the pad, Jade shifted the car back into gear as the gates slowly opened, revealing a tree lined driveway. 

“Woah, this place is gorgeous!” he exclaimed as the house aptly named Lakeside came into view, turning to see Jade looked very happy to be home.  

“Isn’t it nice?” she smiled, turning her white Range Rover into the space outside of the double garage, feeling thankful it wasn’t a rental she had to worry about returning, her assistant having it driven down to London for her the day before. “I really wanted something much older, but I’m glad I went with a newer build. My friend Pamela who I told you about, she bought the other house I was looking at over on the other side of village and she’s had untold issues with it, being pretty much all original from when it was built in sixteen twenty.” 

It never ceased to blow his mind, just how old the buildings were in England, stunned when Jade had told him that the local village pub dated back to the fourteen hundreds. “And how old is this place?” 

“Built in nineteen eleven.” Nearly a hundred years old, and she still referred to it as a newer build. Insane. Inside, he fell in love with it, noting how they both had very similar tastes over architecture and interiors, Jade’s taste a little darker in the colours she preferred, the brilliant white welcome hall peeling off to a dark blue lounge, a deep, olive-green library and a claret red games room. The kitchen was down a level, the house built on a hillside, the back doors opening out into a sprawling garden, the stable block accessible from a side path.  

After they’d put their stuff down and furnished themselves with coffee, the horses were her first port of call.  

“There’s my boy!” she called with joy, watching the head of a huge grey horse shoot up, making soft whickering noises from his velvety muzzle. “Be careful, he’s a little man aggressive.” 

“Oh, that’s Dante, huh?” He’d been informed before about the horse who had an issue with men he didn’t know, only still mildly tolerating Bob, her estate manager who looked after him and the other steeds.  

“He is, yeah. Just keep back a few steps, because he lunges sometimes if he feels threatened.” 

He kept a distance, Jade unbolting the stable door and throwing her arms around his neck, patting his big shoulders and scratching his mane.  

“How are you, big fella? Awww, look at this beautiful face. I missed you; shall we go for a nice, long gallop in the morning, hmm?”  

Seeing her around animals was witnessing Jade in her natural habitat, Adrien well used to it at that point. If there was ever a cat on the street back in Manhattan, she had to stop and pet it, or if she saw a cute dog, the same approach was taken.  

The giant of a horse then noticed him, taking a few steps forward, reaching his long neck over the stable door to sniff. Adrien remained still, slowly bringing his hand up to scratch the side of his face, Dante accepting it completely.  

“I think your person has overplayed your evil, Dante,” he spoke, the horse then attempting to get into his coffee. “No, you can’t have this. It’s hot, you’ll burn yourself.” Looking away from the horse who was leaning into the scratch beneath his forelock, Adrien snorted a soft laugh. “What’s with that face, Moo?” 

“He doesn’t do this!” she exclaimed, standing there stunned, her mouth dropped open. “He hates men, all men. Seriously! It took Bob three weeks to even be able to go into his stable without being bitten to death!” 

“What’s his beef with guys?” he asked, holding the cup away again when Dante persisted. “Nope, still hot.” 

“He was abused in his last home by a man, neglected, too.” 

“What asshole did that to you, huh, pal?” he asked, laughing softly as the horse sniffed and nibbled his hair. “I’ll get ‘em.” As it turned out, all her other horses had been saved in some form or another. The next in the row of stables was Beckie, a little chestnut mare who had used to race, retired at four and with no use for breeding because of a small flaw with her legs, faced the slaughter yard. After her was Eddie, an ex-eventing horse who had been bought for two teenage boys and ridden into the ground over a season, the family not wise in horse husbandry, meaning he had been rail thin and exhausted by the time he made it to Lakeside.  

The fourth was being exercised in the large arena behind the stable block, being jumped over a set of eye wateringly large fences by a tall, greying man who Adrien presumed to be Bob. 

“Alright, chief,” he spoke warmly, riding over to the fence line, leaning to drop a kiss on her cheek upon his arrival. “Adrien, nice to meet you, mate. I’m Bob, also known as that mouthy bastard as your new missus likes to call me,” he added, winking at his boss.  

He laughed, reaching to shake his hand. “Sounds like something she’d say.”   

“Well, he bloody is, innit!” Jade exclaimed, poking her tongue out at Bob. As well as an employee, Bob was also one of her closest friends, as she’d previously told Adrien. After wishing to move from her previous British residence, it had been Bob who’d found the house for her, living locally himself in the village of Fulmer and noticing it for sale when he used to have to travel forty minutes each way to reach Jade’s former abode just outside of Oxford. “How’s my lovely Dolly Dagger?” 

Of course, Jade would have named her gigantic, dark bay mare after a Jimi Hendrix song. “A bloody dream, as always. She’s been a lot better for the heart bar shoes, too.” 

“I knew she would, having something to help spread her weight more evenly,” she nodded, patting Dolly’s sweaty neck. “My little frog with her flat feet.”  

Adrien stood with it all sailing over his head, the horse speak he didn’t have a clue over. All he knew was that it was probably expensive.  

“How much do horseshoes cost, then?” he asked as they were walking away again, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. 

“About eighty for a set of four, but Dolly’s are specialist, so those set me back a hundred and ten quid,” she revealed. 

“And what, they need those a couple of times a year?” 

Oh, bless him. “No, baby. Every four weeks. Each time the farrier comes it costs me five hundred and fifty to have four of them shod and their hooves trimmed.”  

“Ouch,” he spoke. It was a good job her careers were lucrative, having that kind of outlay, and just for the shoes. He shuddered to imagine what the four of them cost to feed. “Mind you, there are much worse things to spend your money on than animals.”  

“I’m glad you agree,” she chirped, beaming widely. 

He knew where this was going. “It doesn’t mean you get to fill our New York house with many and varied creatures, Jade.” 

“Yes, it does!”  

Oh, god. He loved animals, but truly, he knew with the excuse of them having land, his wife was likely to take that to the extreme. 

“I’m definitely getting horses, I need something to ride in the place I’ll be living most often,” she commented, Adrien immediately smirking. 

“You have me for that,” he winked, giving her a little shove with his shoulder.  

Spinning around to block his way, she draped her arms around his neck, her eyes full of suggestive promise. “I could really go in for some of that right now, you know.”  

She’d never been thrown over somebody’s shoulder so rapidly, Adrien carrying her back to the house and following her guidance in finding his way to the bedroom. It was a completely different vibe to her New York abode, the room painted a bluish grey with white furniture and dark grey furnishings, including the soft bed linen he dropped her down upon. 

“Do you have any plans for today?” he asked, fingers creeping beneath the little black vest top she wore, pushing it up to begin placing kisses upon her stomach. 

“Other than not leaving this bedroom, nope,” she confirmed, pulling her top off as he flicked her bra undone. 

“Good.”  

A whole lot of Adrien and nothing else. She could definitely get on board with that.