#been intending to get back to it since i stopped having a bike back then and. ough

[inkmaze]

have had a bike again (since like half my life ago) for 24hr now and. actually yknow what this rules 🚴‍♀️

[imbored1201]

hiii!

could you write something where teen r lives w ona and is always attatched to her but then lucy moves in with her and now r is upset bc she has to actually use her own bed and ona ends up buying a new bed or something.

:)

Ona’s Follower

Lucy x Ona x Teen Reader

Word Count: 2k

Yours and Ona's bond ran deep; the two of you had played in Manchester together. You were just 15 when you started playing with her; it was your first season coming from the academy, and she convinced you to move to Barcelona with her.

She always took care of you, and you practically followed her everywhere. She enjoyed the company though, teaching you everything, like how to cook her favorite Spanish dishes and even trying to teach you Spanish.

You feel the moment you really got attached to Ona was when she comforted you because of your frequent nightmares.

The two of you ended up being roommates when staying at a hotel with the United girls. 

You had hoped you wouldn't get a nightmare. That didn't go your way, considering you had one. 

You were woken up by Ona, who held you that night, and the next night, you had another one. 

Back at the apartment, you continued to sleep in Ona's bed. You realized sleeping with Ona helped you a lot since you stopped having nightmares, and it turns out Ona hated being alone in a bed to the point she had a lot of stuffed animals on her bed while she slept so she didn't feel alone. 

It was a huge win for both of you. 

————

You noticed something was going on between Ona and Lucy. Lucy was coming over every day now. You would always find them cuddling on the couch, and she would even pick you guys up to take you to training and games. 

You liked Lucy; she was funny and always brought you candy, and you always destroyed her in FIFA, so it was fun. 

————

Then the next step happened. Lucy moved in. You were panicking, to you, that meant you and Ona couldn't sleep in the same bed anymore. That made you disappointed, even sadder, watching Lucy unpack all her things. The good thing about it was that you were able to see Nala every day now. 

"Want to help me build this?" She was referring to a new dresser she had gotten. "Sorry, Luce, I need to go riding around." Lucy grinned, happy you were actually using the bike she had given you.

Ona was always complaining that you spent too much time in your room, so Lucy got you a bike, hoping it would motivate you to get out and go around the city.

That bike ride took a little bit longer than you intended. You did get caught up in your own head because, by the time you knew it, it was nighttime. Way past your cerfew. 

————

"Ona, calm down; she's fine; she probably just got caught up." Ona's eyes widened. "What if she got caught up doing something she isn't supposed to?" Lucy sighed, regretting her word choice. 

"Ona, she's a good kid; she knows not to do anything bad. She'll be back soon; you're tired; come on." Lucy led her to bed. Ona continued to stare down at her phone, waiting for any little text from you. 

She spent a couple of minutes lying down in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. "She has a key, Ona. Come on, you have to let the kid do her own thing at times. She'll be back soon; if it makes you feel better, I'll stay up and wait for her." Ona sighed and nodded. 

By the time you got home, Lucy had already fallen asleep. She did wait an hour though; she was worried too, but once she finally received a 'I'm okay' text from you, that worry went away, and she fell asleep spooning Ona.

Once you finished your routine, you went to Ona's room. It was just a habit of yours at that point, and when you saw her and Lucy sleeping cuddled up in bed, something burned up inside you. Jealously and sadness. Tears started to build up in your eyes

You know it was probably childish, but it was just something you were used to. Ona had been your anchor; every time something went wrong, you went running to her. With Lucy there now, you felt like you couldn't do that anymore. 

You gently closed the door and walked to your room. It was weird sleeping in your own bed for once. You hadn't done that in forever; you grabbed one of Ona's hoodies that you stole and laid down, using it as a pillow. You hoped you wouldn't have a nightmare and fell asleep. 

————

Lucy was the first to wake that morning; she hated to admit it, but she completely forgot she didn't see you come the front door; she got lost in admiring Ona's beauty to remember. 

When Ona stirred, the first thing that came to her mind was you. She thought about last night and quickly sat up, not needing any time to fully wake up. 

Lucy noticed Ona's panicked expression when she looked at her. "What?" She asked, getting up. "Where's Y/N?!" She was panicky, walking out of the room to search for you.

Lucy quickly got up and followed her as Ona checked the living room and kitchen. Lucy checked your room, and there you were. Using Ona's sweater as a pillow and holding onto a stuffed teddy bear, Lucy won you at the fair. She even won Ona one, then bragged about being too good at everything. 

"Ona, she's in here," she quietly said, gently closing your door. Ona was about to barge into your room, but Lucy gently grabbed her. "She's sleeping." Ona sighed in relief and went back to the kitchen to make apology pancakes for you. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Lucy put her hand on Ona's hips. "Fuck Lucy, we shouldn't have slept in the same bed. I'm sorry. Y/N, she always sleeps with me; the poor girl gets these bad nightmares, and they stopped when she started sleeping with me" 

Lucy looked understanding and thought for a little bit. "You know, we need to get a bigger bed anyway; it would be beneficial for everyone and maybe even encourage a little more action," she smirked. Ona raised her eyebrows. "Lucy, we are not talking about sex while there is a child in the bedroom."

"Of course not; that's why we send her to Mapi and Ingrid's. What I'm trying to say is, let's get a bigger bed so she can sleep with us."

Ona's face lit up, and she immediately grabbed her car keys. "I'm going to look at bigger beds," she told Lucy, and left. Lucy quickly took over, smirking to herself for being a genius. 

————

That whole day, you only came out to eat the pancakes and for dinner. Lucy took control and barged into your room. You ended up crushing her in FIFA again.

It was now 10 p.m., and you were thirsty, your eyes hurt from playing video games all day, and you had done nothing productive all day. Mostly trying to get used to the fact that your room was actually going to be your room for once. 

————

"What's wrong?" Ona asked noticing your frown, you jumped, almost dropping your water. You weren't expecting Ona and Lucy to still be up at this time watching their romantic movies. "Nothing, just thirsty."

"Come watch the movie with us." Lucy made room between her and Ona. You shook your head, "I'm going to bed." Lucy didn't give up, though; she got up and threw you over her shoulders. 

"Luce," you whined. She threw you on the couch, and Ona was quick to hug you, so you couldn't get up. You sighed, paying attention to the movie. 

You were exhausted by the end of the movie, the comfort of Ona being next to you made it harder to keep your eyes open. You let your head fall against Lucy's shoulder. 

"How about you two snuggle in tonight? I'll take the couch. Then we'll go get the thing tomorrow." Lucy winked at Ona at the last part. You were confused but too tired to argue. The bed was being delivered tomorrow morning; it was just up to Lucy to bring it in on her own and build it. 

Ona led you to her room, where you collapsed on her bed. “Did you have any nightmares last night?” She asked as she got in beside you. You shook your head, rolling into her body and cuddling into her chest. She wanted to apologize for making you sleep in your own bed that night, but you had already fallen asleep. 

————

Once again, you woke up to no Ona. You huffed and got up, stealing a sweater that you were pretty sure was Lucy’s. “Ona?” You called out. 

You heard the front door opening and someone grunting. Nala started barking at whatever it was, so you made your way to the noise, thinking it was Ona. You let out a sad sigh when you saw it was Lucy. You loved her, but all the woman made was eggs in the morning, and you wanted Ona’s special pancakes again.

"Where's Ona?" You asked Lucy, who was struggling to bring in a mattress. "Store," she spoke out of breath. 

"What are you doing?" You asked. It was pretty obvious, but your brain was way too confused right now, and you had to ask questions. She let out some deep breaths before speaking. "Putting in the new mattress"

"Can I help?" She shrugged. "Sure, pull it," you grunted as you did what you were told. Ona wasn’t actually sure if the mattress would fit through the door; she just hoped it would. "Finally,” Lucy said, when the mattress finally got past the door. 

You were Lucy’s helper, playing with the tools, giving her whatever she needed, completely forgetting about your hunger. She proudly patted your back when everything was finished. 

"This calls for ice cream." She put a hand on your shoulder and led you out. You looked at her confused, but just went along with it. "I haven’t had breakfast," she shrugged. "It's fine.”

————

"Kid, you know I'm not going to take Ona from you, right?" You paused from where you were eating your ice cream and nodded, but you weren't actually sure how you felt. 

"Ona adores you; trust me, in a house fire, she would save you over me." You smiled at that. “But it’s fair; I would save Nala before the both of you."

"You promise you'll take care of her?" She nodded before adding, "I'm going to take care of both of you, I promise." She put out her pinky finger, which you took with yours. 

"That's why we bought the new mattress; it's bigger so all three of us could fit on that bed," you had a confused look on your face again, "Won't you be uncomfortable?" Lucy shook her head and let out a little laugh.

“Of course not; at this point, you’re my stepkid, you’re my favorite stepkid, and Nala is my favorite kid." She smiled proudly at that, and you appreciated it in a way. "Thanks, Lucy; I guess I understand why Ona fell for you now." “I’m just charming, ain’t I?” "Nevermind"

————

You still didn’t believe Lucy was actually comfortable with you being there, which is why you got ready to sleep in your own bed again. Lucy broke into your room once again, a rare stern look on her face. 

“What are you doing?” Lucy asked, her arms crossed. “I don’t want to disturb.” Lucy once again threw you over her shoulder and carried you to the bed. 

She set you down close to Ona who smiled at you. 

“Sleep bebita,” Ona spoke, spooning you. Lucy got into bed, leaving you squished in between them. Lucy got closer to you, making you push her away. “You have all that space over there."

“Shut up and let me cuddle you." You rolled your eyes and squirmed away from her, but she felt you relaxing after a couple of seconds. Your eyes were closing, and in a couple of seconds, you were out.

“Thank you for making an effort with her, Lucia.” Lucy nodded as she stroked your hair. 

“I’m just the stepdad that stepped up, ain’t I?” Lucy grinned, Ona rolled her eyes, holding you tighter. “Buenas noches Bronze”

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Six: Would I Lie to You, Baby?

special thank you to @myosotisa and @loveshotzz for the beta read and also @myosotisa for helping me with a special scene that takes place in this chapter!!

warnings: minor injury; mentions of alcohol; unwanted advances/flirting/touching - R receiving end; and a whole lot of fluffy modern day!rich!fake-husband!steve x afab!reader. (9.3k words)

masterlist

——

——

 What’s that saying? 

Woman down. 

Abort mission. 

Houston, we have a problem. And boy do you have one. 

The day starts like any other, only because of the rainy weather that has plagued the city since September bled into October, you’ve been forced to take your morning walk indoors. And it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve used the personal gym in your home either. In fact, by now you’ve used it countless times. 

No. Instead, it’s the image that greets you upon entering that is a definitive ‘first time’ for you. Because there’s no forgetting the sight of your husband, bare chested, catching his breath as he rests on a bench. His hair is hidden beneath a baseball cap, a water bottle between his plush lips that manages to spill onto his chest with the intensity he’s chugging it. 

Oh, and his face? He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and Steve Harrington with a growing mustache and beard should be illegal. 

Jail time and a permanent sentence if you have any say in the matter. 

The reason why? 

Riling up his fake wife into a tizzy.  

The optic is…not helping your present situation. The dawning realization that seems intent on reminding you every single day that you’re attracted to your husband. Emotionally, physically—the whole of it. It’s infuriating, daunting and downright terrifying. But he can’t know that—can never know that, because of the deal. 

The deal. The arrangement. The rules. 

But lately, you want to throw them all out and burn that ridiculous contract he had you sign seemingly so long ago now. 

Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the fact you’re staring, watching as his brows draw high on his forehead. With a swallow, you turn your head away, hating how your damn cheeks start to warm under his scrutiny. 

He’s probably loving it, too. Loving the way you shift on the spot, unsure of what to do beneath his stare, hugging yourself tight. 

Basing it on the smug grin that curls his lips alone, you know he has to be. 

“Figured I’d get in a workout because Charlie is napping,” you explain, stepping further into the room, stopping in front of the endless rows of dumbbells your husband keeps on a rack against the far wall of the room with wall to wall mirrors reflecting your nervous image back at you. “And also because it’s raining, I couldn’t go outside.”

“Uh huh.” He takes a final gulp of his water and places it down onto the floor beside him, about to start more bicep curls when he catches your image in the mirror. “Looking for something?” 

Maybe it’s your inability to figure out what weight dumbbells you should start with. Maybe it’s because you’re already forgetting the layout of the TikTok workout you watched earlier that evening you intended to try. Maybe it’s the fact you know you want to start lifting weights, if only to help with your running and dog walking business (some of those bigger dogs get a little rowdy). Maybe it’s the fact you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing. As a result of all of that, your teeth pinch against your bottom lip, skin taut between, meeting his stare in the mirror.  

“I’ll probably just hop on the treadmill. Go for a walk,” you decide, cowering away from his curious stare to rush to the farther corner of the room where the cardio equipment is. 

The present set up has a treadmill, elliptical, stairmaster, and spin bike. More than you’ll ever need, but you’ll never complain because one of the perks now in being married to Steve is that you were able to cancel your own membership and save a little extra cash every month. Hopping on, you tap on the large screen panel to set your leisurely walking pace, pop a pair of headphones in your ears, and drown out the sounds in the room. 

The plan works. 

For all of five minutes. 

Because you’re minding your own business, bobbing along to “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. as you strut across your runway slash treadmill belt, when Steve decides to lift his weights once more. Uses his knees to help prop them up, going right into a set of overhead dumbbell presses. 

And damn it, if the sight of him when you walked in hadn’t sent you into orbit, this certainly does. 

From where you’re standing you can see his back. The constellation of moles you never really paid much attention to, but now want to mark the path of with your fingers. Want to trace them like the stars in the night sky. With every overhead arch, his sinewy back ripples, muscles in his arms straining, veins sparking to life beneath his skin. You can see the lines of his abdomen, the sweat pooling across ridges, clinging to those perfectly sculpted divots. Can see the way his chest jumps with each movement, making your thighs clench. 

Only—one's thighs shouldn’t clench on the treadmill. 

Except yours do. 

And promptly send you crashing onto the belt, skin ripping from your kneecap in one rapid swipe. 

A giant, gaping black hole in the floor would be a good escape right now. That or a meteor falling from the sky, with its target directed at your head. Anything to rid yourself of the mortification of your current dose of reality. 

Steve’s already dropping the dumbbells by the time you fall onto your rear, nearly crashing into the glass window in the process, your trembling hands clutching your scraped up knee. 

It burns. A white hot heat that has your eyes prickling, embarrassment burning like a heated iron in your chest. And to make matters worse, Steve utters out a soft “baby” as he drops down in front of you, and that might as well signify the end of all life function. Because not only have you fallen off a treadmill ogling your increasingly “not-so-fake-husband,” but now he is calling you “baby” on top of it all.  

“Baby, let me see,” you realize he’s saying as you come crashing back to reality, the hazel of his eyes growing darker as he crawls closer on the floor, trying to inspect your knee. With a reluctant sigh, your hands fall away, revealing the freshly torn skin. “That’s a mean looking burn. Come on, let's put something on that.”

“I’m fine right here,” you argue, back pressing against the mirrored wall.

“Why?” 

His brows lift high on his forehead, left hand curling over the unbroken skin of your left knee. You can see he’s wearing a black silicone wedding band today, not his usual wedding ring, and yet you don’t miss that simple gesture. Always wearing that symbol of your union, while your own are presently sitting high enough in a ring holder so Charlie won’t be able to mistake them for very expensive doggy chew toys.  

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.” 

“It’s a little burn, and then you’ll feel better,” he promises, giving your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll be so gentle.” 

“Steve.”

“Honey.”

“Well when you say it like that,” you say, snorting. 

He takes it as joking. Head shaking as you curl your hand around his and allow him to help lift you off the floor, body nearly careening into his at the force of it. But there’s a sincerity behind the joke; the way your heart thumps a little faster every time he utters his affections like that; every time he graces you with a token of his appreciation, or the lingering sweetness of a fond title when no one is around to hear it. Those little moments that are completely yours for the taking, hidden away from those who would watch your marriage under a microscope—those you continue to act in front of to keep up your facade.  

There’s an expectation, though you’re uncertain where it derives from, that he’ll take you to your bathroom, connected to your bedroom. It’s closest to the gym, as it is. But when you pass your doorway and end up in front of his bedroom, drawing the excited gaze of your puppy lazing on Steve’s bed, you find yourself freezing. Pausing in the entryway as you take in his room. Like your living room when you first moved in, it’s minimalistic. Huge, with a california king bed in the middle. But it’s limited in decor. White walls, black furniture and bedding, with a few pictures strewn about his walls. 

This is where he sleeps every night. Where he slips away to when you bid one another goodbye. Briefly, you wonder if he sleeps on his side, or maybe his back. Wonder if he slings a forearm over his eyes or tucks the back of his hand beneath his cheek to draw comfort. Or if he sleeps with the comforter pulled all the way up over his shoulders, or if he prefers them slung low around his hips. All things you shouldn’t be thinking about; especially not now, not as he tugs you along behind him into the adjoining master bathroom, telling Charlie to ‘sit’ in the doorway. 

The puppy drops down onto his haunches, and then lower still, onto his little elbows as Steve gestures for you to hop up onto the sink counter. Palms curl around the edge as he starts to rummage about in his medicine cabinet, finding the topical ointment he’d been looking for. He hadn’t been lying about being gentle. He’s all gentle brushes of a clean warm washcloth damp with water. He then lets the wound air dry as he stands in the cradle of your thighs, looking down at your face.   

“What were you doing for this to happen?” he asks, opening a large band aid to cover the surface of your knee and gliding a small helping of the antibacterial cream there. 

“Just…tripped.” 

“Just a little spill?” 

At your rapid nod, he presses the edge of the band aid down and glides the rest over the surface area of the burn. There’s a bit of a sting, but it settles into a dull ache. His touch lingers. A slow, delicate sweep over the top of your thigh that draws your gaze to his point of contact. It has you wishing nothing more than to lock your ankles around his narrow waist, tug him near, and drag his mouth down against yours. 

Only you don’t. 

Because they’re all fantasies. All fantasies struck up by close proximity to the man. A normal reaction after living with a man like Steve and playing house for four months now. 

Right…?

“You didn’t happen to be distracted or anything?” your husband queries, giving you another one of those swipes of his thumb over your bare thigh. 

Dangerous. 

He’s verging on dangerous territory. 

“My music was pretty loud.” 

He barks out a laugh. “Was it?” 

“Uh huh.” Another swipe. Is it getting hot in this damn bathroom? Must be an October heat wave. “What’s the damage, Dr. Harrington? Will I make it?”

“Might lose the knee,” he says gravely, bowing his head in faux sympathy.

A little gasp spills from your lips, hand curling over your heart dramatically. “The knee?” 

Charlie jumps to attention at that, rushing over to bump Steve’s thigh with the tip of his nose. You lean down a bit to pet him, and holy mother of god he’s still half naked, you remind yourself as your face comes a little too close to Steve’s hip, eyes stuttering on those moles that litter his abdomen. 

And then he’s flexing. 

Fucking flexing, because you’ve been caught. He knows it, too. Lips curling upward slowly in that self-satisfied grin of his that makes your stomach swoop low. 

Woman down. 

Dead on arrival. 

The jig is up. 

I can fix this, you think, clearing your throat. “Actually, if you must know…I wanted to learn how to lift weights. I figured it would come in handy with the dogs. Charlie, too. He’s a little reckless on our walks still.”

Steve listens, patting Charlie on the head for emphasis as you lean back against the bathroom mirror, your knees still on either side of your husband’s hips. 

“And you,” you explain, waving a hand in the air, very noncommittal, and hopefully lackadaisical because you’re still trying to play it cool and all of that, “seem to have a wonderful form.”

“You mean wonderful form.” 

Record scratch. Steve’s finger’s pause in their dastardly trail, your eyes darting up to his. Dark. They’re so damn dark, and you swallow the thickness forming like a knot in your throat. 

Mortification rising, cheeks burning, you amend, “That’s what I said.”

“It's not,” he muses, “but if you say so.” 

Another swipe along your injured knee, while Charlie rests his snout on your other. Both your guys, all together in one room. It would make for a cute family moment were it not for the way your husband’s mouth twitches higher, enjoying your turmoil a little too much for your liking. 

“Remember we’re married. We live in the same home. I can still kill you in your sleep.” It’s a deadpan. But your facade breaks a moment later, a giggle rising up despite your threat.  

He leans in closer, and you briefly wonder if this is the first time you’ve noticed those little green flecks he has in his eyes thanks to broad daylight filtering in through the window. When you’re out to dinner for social functions, it’s usually in those dark, dimly lit rooms where you pretend to be absolutely smitten with the man. 

But after that kiss on your cheek after getting Charlie, there’s been a shift. Additional touches, sitting closer on the couch—under the guise of sharing the puppy, naturally—a brush of shoulders as you pass in the hall. The whisper of a kiss against your temple when you fall asleep on the couch watching your shows (or at least when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep). 

Changing. 

Things are changing with the seasons and each day a new layer is added into the reasons why remaining married to Steve Harrington for the next nearly two and a half years might be the most difficult challenge you’ve faced yet. 

Because the only casualty at the end of this…is your heart. 

You’ve never forgotten that, no matter how blurry the lines seem as of late. 

He whispers, “Remember the wife is always the first suspect.” 

His hand finally moves away, and you loathe that you miss it as soon as he does. Charlie scampers into the doorway as Steve helps you down off the counter, gritting your teeth against the flare of pain in your burnt kneecap. You walk down the hall together, saying nothing, basking in the comfortable silence as you enter the kitchen, pulling bottles of water free for both Steve and yourself. He accepts it gratefully, chugging half before leaning his elbows onto the kitchen island. 

“I could show you,” he says, smiling softly at your arching brows. “How to train. I could teach you.”

“Like…workout together?”

His head dips, fingers coming up to remove the hat from his head. And maybe your heart does a somersault when he shakes his hair out, now grown out quite a bit. 

“If you want to,” he says, rubbing his left palm over his stubbly cheek. 

And you do. So you agree to his suggestion and find yourself standing at a squat rack the next morning, thanks to yet another rainy day in the city. 

Steve’s foregone his shirt again. 

A fact you find equal parts exhilarating and infuriating. 

Him with his low hung gym shorts, highlighting the lines of his abdomen, the line of hair your eyes hitch on dipping below the waistband. 

Charlie sits in the distance, a happily distracted bystander to his parents trying to figure out what the hell they’ve gotten themselves into, thanks to the doggy bone Steve brought home for him the prior evening. 

“We’ll start with just the bar.” At the hesitance in which you approach, eyeing it precariously, he adds, “It's not that I don’t think you can handle more. You wrangle animals every day. But your form is important so you don’t injure yourself. Can’t have you ruining the other knee.”

“Couldn't have that,” you laugh, running your finger along the barbell. “Okay, now what?”

“You’re going to stand in front of the bar, legs shoulder width apart.” He does exactly as he says while he’s explaining, thighs separating just enough as he needs to. “You’re going to wrap your hands around the bar, thumbs around the bar. I’m going to get under and rest it just below the base of my neck.” 

He slips under with ease in a maneuver you’ve seen often enough from the numerous TikTok videos you watched in preparation. His biceps shift with the movement, fingers loosening and tightening as he gets into comfortable positioning. He unracks the bar with ease, spreading his legs a little wider, eyes on his reflection across from him. 

“You’re going to take a deep breath and brace your core before squatting.” 

He demonstrates, the bar clearly too light for him, because there’s no struggle on the descent. His thighs don’t even quiver, they merely tighten, highlighting the definition honed from years of time well spent in the gym. 

“You’re going to want your thighs to be parallel to the ground.” 

He lowers until he’s in the proper position. 

Pauses. 

“And then you’ll drive up through the heel.” 

He rises, hips drawing forward, racks the bar, and turns to you. Growing warm at the sudden attention on your figure, you push down the lip of the hat he wears, rushing in front of him to stand warily in front of the squat rack. 

Suddenly, you’re aware of the set of eyes staring at your form in the mirror that belong to Steve. The way he walks up behind you and curls his palms over your shoulder, kneading the muscle there. Suddenly, you’re overly aware of the fact that here's your ridiculously fit husband, and in front of him…you. 

You’re wearing a pair of running shoes you bought a few years ago, a ratty old tee shirt from your early years of college, oversized basketball shorts, and mismatched socks. 

“You know I can always tell when you’re overthinking, right?” Steve asks, rubbing particularly hard on a spot that has you about ready to melt into his arms and call it a wrap on your workout. 

I’m beat, looks like we’re all done here! Great workout, honey. Let’s hit the showers, you want to say, before folding into his embrace. 

“You won’t judge me? For being nervous?” 

“Why the nerves?” He turns you around to face him, peering down at your eyes. “It’s me. Me…who you’ve seen every day for four months now.”

You shrug, because there really isn’t a reason for it. With a heavy sigh of resignation, you turn back around and face your reflection in the mirror, trying to follow Steve’s instructions closely. Feet, shoulder width apart. Fingers around the bar, thumbs curled, palms facing forward. Duck, slide under the bar and rest it at the base of your neck. 

And here’s the part that has you nervous, the lifting up onto your feet, driving the bar up and out of the rack, wobbling a little bit at the unsteadiness of the suddenness of the weight on your shoulders. 

Before you can even start to panic, Steve’s fingers are hovering underneath the spaces beside your fingers, letting you start to adjust a bit and find your balance.  

“I’ve got you,” he says, chest barely brushing your back as you take a couple steps backward on unsteady feet closer to him. “I’ve always got you. I promise.”

I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. I promise. 

You’re brought back to your wedding day. Dancing in the middle of a room full of strangers, arms around your new husband’s neck, swaying to a song you both liked enough to be the one to “define” your day as a couple for your first dance. Recall those words he spoke then. You’re the Harringtons. You’re not alone. It’s the two of you now. Different, and yet the same. Providing you with the strength you need to steel yourself, righting the bar, and training your gaze on the girl in the mirror. 

And you trust him. Wholeheartedly, you trust him, as you drop down into your first squat. Then the second, and the third. The fourth and the fifth come with a little resistance. Six feels like your thighs are burning. Seven has Steve coming up a little closer behind you, his arms extending out into the air on either side of your waist, hovering beneath the bar. 

“Do you have one more?” he asks, and you try…you really do. 

The descent is fine, despite the quivering of your thighs from exertion. But as you try and push back up through the heel your breath rushes out in a puff, head shaking. Steve hurries forward and pushes the bar up and onto the rack, just as you slide out from beneath it and smack backward into a chest. A firm, yet soft, and sweaty chest. That chest comes equipped with arms that curl around your form to keep you upright, and then linger for a moment as you collect your bearings. 

Like this, you can feel every inch of him. The contours of his body, the fullness of his biceps, the hair on his chest. Can feel the cradle of his hips…pressed precariously flush against your backside. And as you glance up at your forms in the mirror, it’s almost like you’re hugging. 

It’s not even an almost, because you are hugging. 

His arms around your waist. His ringed finger resting comfortably against your bicep. His chin over your shoulder, your cheek flush with his. Spine to chest, ass to hip, his breath fanning against your skin, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his weight. 

It’s a perfect moment, and neither of you want to disrupt it. There’s only his breath at your back, his arms around your waist, your hands across his forearms. Peace. Safety. Rest. That is, until Charlie Harrington decides he’s not about to let his parents hug without getting a hug of his own, running over to thump his paws against Steve’s hip, demanding his own cuddles. And you both oblige him, dropping down onto the gym floor to give him all the belly rubs he could ever want, pink tongue rolling out of his mouth, paws in the air. 

Laughter. There’s laughter and Charlie’s little yips of happiness. Laughter and Steve’s eyes on your profile. Laughter and your eyes darting to meet him. Laughter…and this unspoken thing left to linger in the air between the two of you. Laughter and maybe something tentative. Something more? A little breathlessness, the rush of air falling from your lungs as he reaches over and tells you how well you did. The gentle squeeze of his hand around your uninjured knee, a sweep of thumb across your skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. 

Eventually, Charlie gets his fill and scampers off. You return to your training session with your husband. There are gentle touches throughout, his arms there to correct your form, to guide you through the program for the day. There aren’t any more lingering hugs, but that ‘something’ burgeoning remains. 

It’s in his easy smiles. In his encouragement. In the brushes of his hands at your arms, your sides, your hips with your consent as he shows you how to move this way and that way. It’s in his praises and his promises. And later, it’s in his maneuvering in the kitchen as he prepares you a smoothie, as he looks at your knee again in his bathroom. 

And you…well, you want to explore it. 

Heart be damned. 

 ——

 Breathtaking. The material of your silk evening gown exudes elegance and sophistication. Eye catching, meticulously crafted, and designed for your exact measurements. 

It’s a timeless silhouette that only enhances your figure. Delicate sweetheart neckline that hugs your chest and shoulders, draping sumptuously at the middle of your bicep. Every movement of your body has it shimmering where it hugs the curves of your body, like an inky night sky. 

However, it’s the back of the dress that’s your favorite part. The captivating open design, leading to the fabric that drapes at the smallest point of your lower back. The way the dress falls down to the floor, swaying and shifting as you smooth your hands over the fronts of your thighs one last time. Exhaling deeply, you reach over to grab your rings from their holder. 

For the first time ever, you feel like Mrs. Harrington. Truly. 

“Well, what do you think, Charlie?” The Bernedoodle lifts his head from your bed where he’s been trying to get the squeaker out of his penguin toy. “Do you think your dad will like it?”

The puppy in question rests his head back down on his paws, nuzzling his face into the blankets you have pushed to the edge of the bed. It’s as good a response as you’ll get, and with one last glimpse at yourself in the mirror, you slide your rings up onto your finger and step out into the hall where Steve’s already dressed in a black tuxedo. And…the sight is just as wonderful, if not better, than on your wedding day. 

Hair freshly blown out and coiffed to perfection, facial hair trimmed, the tux tailored to perfection. He’s foregone his glasses tonight, instead opting for contacts, and you rush over when you notice he’s fiddling with his watch, reaching out to help him settle it into place. 

It’s better than locking eyes with him. Better than pretending you miss the way his eyes roam your form, round and full of reverence—for you. As the watch locks into place he catches your fingers within his own, holding them lightly as he takes a step back and gazes at you. 

“You look…” He pauses. Swallows thickly. You wonder if he can feel the sweat of your palms, can hear the beat of your heart slamming against your sternum. “Wow. You’re—well, you’re always beautiful. But…just…you’re stunning.”

“T-thank you.” 

You stutter your reply, parting enough to take him in. Hair curling around his ears, now in need of a trim. The hair along his jawline and upper lip, the dark tuxedo hugging his form. He’s handsome. Handsome in a way that has you feeling a little breathless, a little nervous as he laces your fingers between his own. 

“Should we…?” The words you speak are left to linger in the air, because Steve moves forward and cups the bottom of your chin. Tips your head up just in the slightest and presses a kiss to your forehead. Warm. He’s so damn warm and you’re pretty sure you’ve now lost all feeling in your toes. “What was that for, Steve?”

“I’m just…I’m really happy you're here with me tonight.”

“Part of the agreement, right?” 

It’s meant to be a joke. But Steve’s face drops, mouth drawing into a firm line. He coughs into his elbow, head turning away from you, and in that you know you’ve messed up. And not wanting to start the night off on a bad foot, you curl your arm around his bicep and drag him forward, forehead against his jaw, left to nuzzle there for a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, feeling his hand tighten around yours. “I say things sometimes and I don’t think about how they might be perceived. I think you might actually be my best friend, Steve.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling back enough to stare down into your eyes. “Best friends, huh? I’ll take it.”

“Four months of marriage definitely gets us best friend status,” you tell him, winking. “I’m excited to spend this night with you. I’m a little scared about being around all these people…but I’ll be the perfect Mrs. Harrington, don’t you even worry.” 

“Just be yourself,” he says softly, and you feel your heart jackhammer in your chest. “They’ll love you.”

After that, the two of you make your way down to the main floor as a couple. The doormen whistle and holler as the two of you walk by, dressed to the nines, and apparently looking a little extra loved up, because Hopper gives the two of you a look you’ve never seen before as you approach. Brows high on his forehead, shit eating grin in place, and smug as all hell. 

“Mrs. Harrington,” he says as he opens the door for you and Steve helps you in with an extended hand. “You look wonderful.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Steve muses as you settle down. 

And fuck, you hate what that does to the butterflies in your belly. They’re not even just fluttering anymore. It’s like they all picked up fireworks and set them into motion. There’s not much time to linger on it, however, as Steve rushes around the other side and clambers in beside you, your left hand sliding over onto his lap. You tell yourself it’s because you’re nervous, because you’re about to be around socialites, celebrities, dignitaries and businesspeople alike. 

But when you don’t let go—well, there’s no one to blame but yourself.

The drive is spent in nervous silence. Your fingers around Steve’s and his around yours, playing with your rings as always. The gala is being held at one of your husband’s hotels, and yet nothing prepares you for the grandeur of the Harrington Hotel looming before you. It’s massive. Reaches high up into the city sky, bracketed by workers prepared to take care of the guests’ cars, weaving in and out seamlessly as evening gown after evening gown pours out of classic cars, luxury cars, limousines, and the like. 

“Hey,” Steve says as Hopper opens the door for you and you both step out onto the busy city streets. You whirl around, facing him. Your chests brush lightly. His hand comes to rest in yours, pulling it up to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss to the skin there. “Eyes on me. It’s the two of us, remember?”

 ——

Harrington Hotel’s ballroom is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. High, vaulted ceilings that go on endlessly. White walls with ornate carvings in their tasteful pillars situated on the outside edges of the room. Drapery that likely costs a small fortune hangs from the walls in sweeping arcs, a projection of your new last initial displayed against the far wall, with the charity information beneath.

The room itself is dim, cast in a pretty blue light, with a large chandelier twinkling from up above. Set on each table are beautiful centerpieces with gorgeous flower arrangements. Various deep shades for the approaching fall season, with candles lit on the table below, flickering atop the tablecloth, gold embellished chairs awaiting their many guests for the evening.

Steve helps you get situated upon arriving at your table, tugging your chair out despite your protests that you don’t need him to. And before you can even utter a request, you’re being handed a glass of champagne from one of the many workers on staff for the evening, and finding yourself tugged into a hug by Eddie, who Steve purposefully placed at your table so you’d have someone by your side at all times throughout the night.

A fact you become increasingly thankful for as time ticks by and Steve’s immediately pulled this way and that way into various conversations you can’t seem to keep up with, before he’s ultimately tugged away from you with a promise to be back soon, your request for another glass of champagne when he gets back met with a glowing smile as he rushes off with another businessman, leaving you alone with Eddie.

 “Nope.” Eddie shakes his head, ringed fingers waving in the air. “Nope. No! I know how this goes.”

“How what goes?”

“You’re eye fucking your husband,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your fake husband, need I remind you. This whole charade has an expiration date. You two decided this. You made your bed, and now you both get to lay in it.”

“I am not.” You exhale deeply, watching your husband raise his hand to the bartender, capturing their gaze so he can order you another champagne. “I just…have been spending a lot of time with him lately. And would it really be the worst thing if I was…interested in the man I’m already legally married to?”

Eddie seems to consider this, twirling around his glass tumbler on the tabletop, silver rings glinting in the chandelier light above. “Look. That would be the best case scenario. I’d love for you two to fall in love, be disgustingly gross together forever looking at him the way you are now. But need I remind you of high school? Early college?”

“Eddie…”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. For a while there it was just you and me against the world.” 

You know this. Eddie’s been there for it all. For that first boyfriend in freshman year you dated for all of one week, and yet felt like they’d ripped the rug from beneath your whole world. 

To that asshole senior you dated while you were in your junior year, thinking that because he was an ‘older man’ that must mean he’s more mature. That must have meant he knew loyalty wasn’t making out with another girl while you went to grab him another beer at a party. 

And then there was freshman year of college. The pre-med student who promised you the world, only to decide two years later he liked the pretty nurse in L&D and broke things off through a text message.  

He’d been there for those major milestones and all the silly relationships in between. The fleeting things, and yet there all the same. Watching your heart crumble over people who never had any right to it in the first place, with his arms tight around your frame in a hug, a glass of wine at the ready, or your favorite tub of ice cream already purchased and thrown into your lap as soon as you let him know you were coming over. 

The stress remains on his face now. The downward drag of his lips, the furrow of his brows, the way his chocolate brown eyes regard you carefully, like you might shatter right in front of him now. 

But Steve…Steve is different, isn’t he? Steve, who stands right now with his elbow on the bar, tuxedo sculpted flush around his bicep, mid-conversation with a man with salt and pepper hair and thick black glasses. They laugh, and you can hear it from where you're sitting, your thumb running idly on the underside of your wedding rings. 

Eddie catches the movement and slides a palm over your own, stilling you in your movements. “Steve is a good guy. I wouldn’t have let you carry on with this crazy situation if he wasn’t—”

“Wouldn’t let me? When have I ever let anyone tell me what I can and cannot do?” 

Narrowing your eyes at him playfully, he amends with, “I would have strongly advised against it. Maybe stood up when the officiant asked if anyone opposed the marriage.” He swallows, giving your hand a squeeze. “He’s my best friend. But you’re family. And if he fucks it all up, I just want you to know my couch is always open. Don’t know if I’ll be around because of tours and all of that, but you know it’s yours. My snack pantry, too.”

You clap a hand over your mouth in a dramatic gasp. “The snack pantry?”

“The snack pantry.” He nods. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though,” you tell him, rubbing your hand along your forearm. “Pretty sure it’s one sided.” 

At that, Eddie breaks out into barking laughter, drawing the curious gazes of multiple tables around him. Someone even hisses for him to be quiet, and he reaches to grab a piece of caviar, poised at the ready to throw it right back at them. Luckily, you manage to whip your arm out and stop him before he can get himself kicked out of the gala. 

“What was that for?” Your voice is a whisper, but you’re shrieking it at him all the same. 

“One-sided?” Eddie laughs again, head shaking. “I’ve seen Harrington flirt with women. I’ve seen him fail time and time again, and because of that…I’ve seen him give up on the whole thing. He said when it happens, it’ll happen. I always thought that was just a thing people said. Today when you two walked in, he looked so damn happy to have you at his side. This room is full of people, but he’s only got eyes for one.”

Nose wrinkling at his words, you snort. “You’re going soft in your old age.”

“It’s called having you as a best friend since we were in middle school, and knowing if I say the wrong thing you could justifiably stab me and I’d have earned it.” His head turns to where Steve is gripping the stem of a champagne flute in one hand, and a glass of whiskey in another. “I just want you to be happy. I trust him. I do. But at the same time, I care about you enough to also know I don’t want to see you cry over another guy ever again. So I’m telling you again, no matter what…my couch always has space for you.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” you breathe out, sniffling on a shaky inhale. 

The backs of your hands dab beneath your lash line, making sure you don’t actually cry in front of the man, and smile fondly up at Steve when he walks over and leans down to press a kiss to your temple, handing you your glass. 

Eddie dips his head at Steve, extending his fingers around the glass he holds in greeting. He lifts the glass to his lips and downs the rest of his drink in one go, before standing to his feet. “Now if you don’t mind me, I am going to try and talk to Chrissy Cunningham. Wish me luck.”

“You’ve been trying to talk to her for m—” At Steve’s pleading gaze, you pause. 

Eddie’s been crushing on the actress for months now. Met her at some party you'd been invited to, where Steve introduced the two of them. She had shyly waved at Eddie, and he’d waved back. 

Annnnd then they never said another word to one another for the rest of that evening, their nervousness too grand. 

Today she looks gorgeous in a powdery blue shimmering gown that matches the hue of her eyes, blonde hair curled to perfection, falling down from the high, slicked back pony tail on her head. From where you’re sitting you can see her laughing at something her friend has said, a bright smile glimmering in the dim light of the ballroom. 

“Ask her about her favorite song. Or—oh, her favorite cheese!” You suggest, bouncing on your chair, clasping Steve’s hand excitedly. 

“Could also ask her if she’d prefer an extra toe or an extra nipple—”

“Surprisingly enough, I actually don’t want to know what kind of stuff you two are into,” Eddie interjects, pinching the bridge of his nose. He levels his gaze with Steve. “Just…take care of her, okay?”

There's silence. Steve’s mouth twitches, his head nodding once. And then, “You know me.” 

Eddie only smiles. You don’t know what the hell that means, nor do you have time to investigate their odd exchange, because Eddie’s off to find Chrissy. 

 —— 

 The gala passes in a blur. 

Evening becomes night, and the ballroom is suddenly illuminated in a lavender glow. Your husband stands on the stage in the far corner of the space, thanking those for joining, and reminds everyone of the purpose of the evening: raising money for charity. 

All of this, this evening, is nothing to him if he’s not giving back. It’s one of the many things you admire about him. The acknowledgement that though he was fortunate to grow up with a life where he never needed to worry, not all experience the same. And the drive to want to do something about it. 

The room erupts into clapping and people disperse to grab drinks, interact with friends and family members, make new acquaintances, and give their donations. 

Your feet have never hurt more in your life in these way too expensive heels, you’re still itching for a dance with your husband once they announce for those wishing to to walk onto the dance floor, and your champagne glass is empty. 

Caught up in a conversation with a business partner, you offer to refill yours and Steve’s glasses, trying to no avail to call over the bartender. 

All around you you're made aware of the decadence in which these people live their lives. 

Women and men alike seemingly drape over the bar, garbed in fancy suits and flowing dresses. Hair perfectly done, makeup to perfection, men showing off with the most expensive watches, shoes that likely cost a small fortune, cufflinks with family initials on them, encrusted with diamond embellishments. 

Tonight, they behave like you’re one of them. A member of their seemingly secret society. They pass you smiles as you go, veneers glowing in the dim light, those who weren’t present at your wedding congratulating you on your marriage. And for a moment, however brief, you allow yourself to enjoy it. To enjoy the affection from strangers. To enjoy being Steve’s wife. Being perceived as the woman who gets the joy of spending forever with a man so well loved by many. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you at these social functions before. I would definitely have remembered you,” a voice from beside you practically purrs. You stand up on your tippy toes once more, waving at a bartender who seems to completely miss you as they rush on by, trying to keep afloat in a sea of bodies. The man waves a hand in the air, and a bartender finally notices. “Jason Carver. Quarterback for the—”

“My husband watches your team.” 

Simple. 

Curt. 

He’s shock of blonde hair and a handsome face, a multi millionaire, ridiculously popular for being one of the best at what he does, but you can already feel the asshole aura radiating off of him—made only more so noticeable when you catch the flash of his smirk directed at you, the trail of his gaze on your bare shoulders, and then the flash of his ring on his left ring finger.

Briefly, you recall meeting his wife, Tina, earlier that evening. A smiling face with a hand never straying far from her presently rounded belly. A little girl due in early January, she’d told you fondly, muttering how she hopes the baby gets her husband's eyes. Those same eyes that look at you now with increasingly questionable intent. 

With that knowledge, you train your stare ahead, rambling off your husband’s order and yours. Jason shifts closer, the heat from his body making your skin crawl, back ramrod straight. 

“And your name?”

You tell him in a rush, watching the bartender start on your husband’s drink behind the bar. There’s a touch along your tricep that has your throat closing, the feeling of his breath nearing your ear as he leans down closer into your personal space making your stomach curl. 

“Can I just say,” he whispers, and your eyes dart up to reluctantly meet him, “you are absolutely beautiful.” 

The backs of those fingertips trail your flesh. Unwarranted and unwanted, chest heaving with the flurry of your choked breaths. The room starts to swirl around the edges, Jason’s voice a revolting caress down your spine, colors melding into a kaleidoscope around you.

Harnessing the shiver of disgust into power, you shift out of his grasp, barely brushing against the person standing on the other side of you. “And you, Jason Carver, are making a fool of yourself.”

And then you hear him. The familiar sound of Steve’s voice in your ears, and then feel his hand at the small of your back, the warmth of his palm and the slight tingle of his wedding ring against your spine tethering you back to reality. Grounding you once more.  

Jason stills beside you as the bartender slides your drinks over into your waiting palms. Steve takes his from your extended hand and sips, leaning down to tug you closer and press a kiss to your temple. All still unfamiliar, all still sending new waves of electricity along your skin. 

“I see you’ve met my wife,” Steve says calmly, and you glide your hand over your husband’s chest for emphasis. 

“I have,” he says thickly, dipping his head. 

“Sweetheart,” you begin, “we were just talking about how lovely and beautiful Jason’s wife, Tina, is. He’s so lucky to have someone like her in his life and definitely shouldn’t ever forget that. We were also talking about how exciting it is that they’ll be having a little girl in just a few months. He was just getting back to her, wasn’t he?”

Jason wastes no time in making himself scarce, leaving you to stand near the bar, still pressing against Steve’s side. Neither of you moves for a bit, and you simply relish in the nearness—shocked by the comfort that barrels into your bloodstream over simply having him there. 

“For the record—”

“You didn’t need me to do that,” he finishes, and your brows shoot up because how the hell did he know what you were thinking. “I know you can take care of yourself. It’s one of the things I…honestly admire about you. But I also want to remind you that you’re never alone. You have me. You know that, right? Isn’t that what a…best friend would do?” 

You snort at the title. “I know. I-I do know that, Steve.” 

But you’d been taking care of yourself for so long you don’t know any differently. So instead you glance over to where Jason and Tina are sitting at their table, his hand over her rounded midsection, overly affectionate for someone who had just moments ago been flirting with another woman.

Another married woman, on top of it. With her husband only a few feet away. 

“He’s an asshole,” you tell Steve. 

“I know. I saw him touching you. I watched you tense up.” His fingers trace the path Jason’s had trailed, covering the tracks he left with his own. “I’m serious. You look for me in a crowd, and I’ll always be there.” 

There’s such a sincerity there. A plea behind those hazel eyes that has you swallowing the remnants of your drink and placing it down on the bar, gripping Steve’s hand tightly within yours. Without another word, you pull him along behind you, Steve managing to drop his drink down onto your table before you tug him over to the dance floor where other couples are now slow dancing, far away in their own little worlds. 

“What are you—”

“I want you to dance with me,” you tell Steve simply, stopping in front of him. Your heels to his leather shoes. “I really really want you to dance with me. I feel like a damn princess in a silly dress, at a ridiculously fancy party with my husband, and I want him to dance with me. Because I hate that I’m enjoying this. I hate that my last name is plastered on everything here, and that I’m in this dress, with these shoes on, and I feel like a pumpkin carriage is going to pull up at any moment and take me home. And if I’m enjoying it, and if at twelve I’m going to be whisked away from here, then I at least want the full experience.”

Steve’s not judgemental. He’s never been. Has never questioned your past, wondered where and what you came from. He’s only ever been open to knowing who you are at present. The everyday. The chaotic and crazy moments. The monotonous ones. The time spent watching your shows, cooking to music in your kitchen together, playing with Charlie in the living room as a movie plays in the background. 

But standing before him now. Him in his tuxedo, staring at you the way he is now, his hands moving to curl around your waist and draw you close—it’s the first time you really feel like someone could take a needle to your current reality and pop it. Like all of this would disappear at any given moment, like it’s all a dream conjured up in your mind. You hate it. Hate it so much that your eyes start to burn with it. 

Sensing your inner turmoil, or seemingly just wanting to hold you, Steve folds you into his chest. Rests one forearm low against your back, and curls his hand around yours, swaying you back and forth on the dance floor as “The Way You Look Tonight” by Frank Sinatra starts playing in the distance. Your dress shifts and moves across the floor, your cheek to his chest, head tucked beneath his chin. He’s warm and solid and you can hear the frantic flutter of his heart, and can feel the slickness of his palm against your back. He’s not wholly unaffected by all of this, either. There’s a sense of comfort in it. This unfamiliarity of feeling—and the uncertainty of what? 

“Can I be honest?” he asks at the top of your head. 

“Always.”

“I hate all of this, too.” 

“Steve, it’s horrifying. Our name is on literally everything.”

“I know,” he laughs, the rumble rattling your skull. You nestle in closer, and his arm drags you in tighter. “Does it make you feel less bad if you strip away all of the—” He waves his hand around at the grandeur of the room. “stuff and just focus on the fact you’re allowed a night out where you dress up. Away from school, away from stress, with the people who care about you? Because take all of this away, and that’s all this is.”

It’s not. And even so, you know he’s right. Because take away all the gorgeous scenery, the fancy clothing, the endless drinks, the designer cars, and the end result is the same: Eddie and Steve are here. 

You’re not sure when Steve became one of those constants, yet it’s the truth all the same. 

“If I’m being honest, parties like this usually end up feeling lonely,” he says heavily, and you tip your head back enough to get a good look at him. “I grew up going to these things. My parents were always leaving to talk to friends, leaving me to sit back at the table. And I mean, people talk to me now, but only because they need something. Never because they want to. Not really.”

And that laugh that…wrinkles your nose…

“I want to,” you tell him softly. 

It touches my foolish heart…

“I know. And that means more to me than you’ll ever know,” he mutters back, a little choked, a little breathless against your skin as he lowers his face into the space beside your ear, cheek to cheek now. 

Lovely…don’t you ever change…

There’s a whisper of a kiss against your shoulder, meant for those looking to see, nothing unusual there. And then he adds, “The parties aren’t so lonely anymore either.”

Keep that breathless charm…won’t you please arrange it?

He holds you closer, if possible. Hides his face in your shoulder—trembling against you as though the words he’s spoken terrify him. They terrify you too. The implication of them. The meaning. The lines in the sand that become blurrier by the day. His head leans back, eyes locking with yours, dancing to your lips, then moving back up again. 

His fingers curl around the side of your cheek, and he leans down. Presses his lips to yours in a way that’s familiar. You’ve done this before countless times at dinner. A short peck. The smallest of brushes. Yet you sigh against him all the same, palm resting over his sternum, his hand along your back. Against your skin that burns hot—hotter now. 

“No one is watching,” you murmur against his mouth and open your eyes to find the room swirling around you. 

They’re not. You’re surrounded by a sea of couples on the dance floor. Even Theobald and Cami, who you would try to go above and beyond to sell your marriage to, are tucked away in their own little world. Forehead to forehead, hand to hand, heart to heart. 

Cause I love you…just the way you look…tonight…

But he doesn’t speak. 

Doesn’t say a word as you sway to the song, chest to chest in what feels like a slow motion love potion, his other hand joining the first on your opposite cheek. His eyes roam your face, a frantic slide across your features, before he’s leaning down and kissing you anew.

I’ll be gentle, echoes in your mind, his soothing words like balm across the sudden skip of your heart. He is nothing but gentle as his lips slot with yours, your lower lip between the plush curves of his mouth. Warmth, warmth, warmth abounds as your eyes flutter closed and you lose yourself in it. 

You’re not his fake-wife right now. You’re not under contract, you’re not putting on a performance for investors or chairmen or Theo, you’re not practicing to make sure it all looks real. This is real—the press of his nose against your cheek, how he uses the touch on your jaw to adjust your head to press in at a better angle, the gentle glide of his soft lips around yours as he kisses you like you’re something delicate. Something precious. Something real.

Time stands still and time rushes forward all at once, the moment exploding through all those ‘what if’s and ‘what are we doing’s and ‘should we’s. None of that exists here as your swaying comes to a stop in the middle of the dancefloor, your fingers tucking into the lapels of his tuxedo in a show of please don’t go.

His steady hand skates down, sliding along the side of your throat to press the tips of his fingers into the nape of your neck, thumb beside your ear in a show of I’m right here.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until your lungs absolutely burn in your chest, pulling just a sparse inch away to gasp in air like you’ve just surfaced from water. Steve is similarly affected, shoulders in a heaving rise and fall as he presses his forehead to yours. Neither of you say a word as you catch your breath—your eyes lost in the mossy green woven into the golden brown of his hazel eyes, his flicking back and forth between your gaze and the shine of your lip gloss like he can’t think about anything else.

A gentle clear of his throat, a harsh swallow of nerves before his lips, the ones that just kissed you, tilt in a bashful smile. “I didn’t mean to take your breath away,” he murmurs in a tease, hot air puffing against your lower face as he gently laughs.

Unable to find the part of you that wants to tease back, to make it a joke, to keep it safe, you’re pouring out honesty when you tell him, “You don’t have to try very hard to.”

He remains there, you both do, bodies swaying, foreheads pressing close. There are no more stolen kisses, no whispers of breath between the two of you, only the quiet of togetherness that drowns out the rest of the room. There are no decisions for the ‘what next?’ nor the ‘what does this all mean?’ Instead you relish in the moment, hands still around his lapels, his own covering yours, keeping you near to him. 

And that’s more than enough. 

 ——

——

if there was ever a chapter i would love to hear your thoughts on—it’s this one! please consider reblogging, liking, leaving a comment. you all mean the world to me. haha seeing everyone get excited over this fic has made my week. xo luna. 🤍

[starrydixon]

Happily Ever After

*Requested from this ask :)*

Era: Alexandria (Post-Negan) Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: none! just pure fluff!!

Summary: Dedicating a day out behind the walls of Alexandria, Daryl takes you for a ride on his bike as he leads you towards a special place in the woods. There, he intends to ask you a very important question.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt like this; happy, giddy, and relaxed. You supposed it was during the time spent in the prison back in Georgia, but those feelings of content were fleeting due to the fear that the Governor could seek vengeance at any moment. Now, after months on the road, countless losses of people you saw as family, fighting in brutal wars, and not knowing if you’d make it to see another day, you finally felt peace.

Sure, you owed it to Alexandria’s protective walls and supportive community, but Daryl also had a huge contribution as well. The two of you have been dating for a little over a year now, but have known each other since the beginning of the apocalypse back at the Georgia quarry. Unknown to you, at the time, your romantic connection with the archer began to kindle during the weeks spent on the Greene’s family farm. After the farm fell and the harsh winter began, you then began to recognize that the feelings you felt for the archer exceeded past platonic. It was scary at first, having romantic feelings for someone as stoic and unreadable as Daryl, but you grew comfortable with your revelations the closer you two became. A week before the prison was found, you two had finally stopped dancing around those harboring feelings and kissed for the first time. Ever since then, you and Daryl have been in a loving relationship that you cherished so deeply. 

Now, you were sat on the back of Daryl’s bike with your arms wrapped tightly around his torso. Wispy strands of baby hair blew around your face as gusts of winds whipped past you. With your chin resting on Daryl’s shoulder, the ends of Daryl’s hair occasionally got in your face, tickling your skin so much, you often found yourself  you found yourself nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck in an effort to conceal the school-girl-like giggles from escaping past your lips.

You hadn’t been able to stop beaming since the moment Daryl informed you the previous night that he would be taking you outside of the walls for the day. It had been a while since you and Daryl went on an excursion together, since your individual duties around the growing community had been keeping you both busy. Just the idea of being able to spend some quality time with Daryl had sent you over the moon. The moment you awoke that morning, you’ve been bustling around your shared home; searching for supplies to pack for the journey and for the picnic that the two of you would enjoy later that day. Picnics were always a staple activity whenever you and Daryl went on a date. Although the archer never explicitly called the excursions you’d share together dates, you always got the unspoken message.

Unbeknownst to you, Daryl’s plans for today exceeded far beyond the typical date. If his courage didn’t defy him, he planned on finally giving you the diamond ring that has been burning a hole in the pocket of his vest for the past few months. 

“Are we almost there yet!?” You shouted over the rumbling engine of the motorcycle while peering over Daryl’s shoulder in order to get a proper glimpse of his face. You had no idea where the archer was taking you, so the excitement coursing through your veins was making it hard to remain patient.

“Thought I told ya to quit askin’ every five minutes?” Daryl stated from over his shoulder. Although he tried to suppress it, you could see a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth.

“I waited six minutes this time!” You grinned proudly as you tightened your arms around the archer’s frame. With a slight shake of his head, a lighthearted scoff escaped past his lips. Daryl had a hard time not finding your eagerness endearing. 

Tightening his hands around the handlebars of the bike, Daryl picked up speed. An uncontrollable squeal fell from your lips as your body jolted forwards, colliding into Daryl’s strong back. Although your hearing was deafened due to the loud engine that powered the bike, you could feel Daryl’s back vibrate with goading laughter. The scenery around you became even more blurry and dizzying as you sped down the deserted road; you had to squeeze your eyes shut to avoid getting a headache. Instinctively, your hold around Daryl’s strong frame tightened.

Less than ten minutes later, Daryl had pulled up to a small opening that led into the forest. With your help, the two of you covered the bike with leaves and loose shrubbery in order to hide it from any potential onlookers. After a little bit of bickering, you allowed Daryl to take the wicker basket that was packed full of all the essential picnic necessities you would need in order to have a successful picnic. Lacing your fingers with Daryl’s you two began to follow along a dirt trail. 

“Did you make this trail yourself?” You asked once you noticed how new the upturned dirt seemed. Daryl hummed in confirmation and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“It’s the clearest section of woods around…figured I’d put a trail here for huntin’ and stuff.” The archer shrugged his shoulders dismissively.

“Oh, so it’s not for taking your girlfriend on romantic strolls?” You teased lightheartedly as you wrapped your arm around Daryl so you were hugging his arm. Daryl just scoffed and gently shook you with the arm you were holding.

“Keep that up, and I’ll take ya to the swamps instead.” 

Your face scrunched up at the thought of eating your sandwich with mosquitoes swarming around your face and biting into your skin every ten seconds. It wouldn’t be the first time the archer purposely led you to a swamp as a means of being mischievous with you during one of your outings. You supposed that was his unique way of being playful with you. Preferring to be safe than sorry, you didn’t tease the archer any further. You knew Daryl was extremely capable and willing to act out on his taunt. 

With your head resting comfortably on the side of his shoulder, you and Daryl continued to follow the trail that led to whatever destination Daryl had in mind. As a child, you enjoyed exploring through the woods that sat in your backyard; pretending to be in mystical worlds or an explorer who was on the verge of finding her next discovery. Once you hit your teenage years, those days spent in the woods and finding solace in the natural beauty the forest provided was gone. Once you met Daryl and began accompanying him on his hunting trips, it reignited the love you once had with nature.

As you enjoyed listening and watching the way nature moved around you, vibrant colors caught the corner of your eye. Intrigued, you stopped in your tracks and turned to get a better look at what had grabbed your attention.

“Oh!” You couldn’t help but gasp in delight as you viewed a patch of assorted wildflowers that was diverted from the dirt path only a few feet away. 

At first, Daryl thought you had spotted a walker, or maybe some people due to the unidentifiable surprise in your voice. Instinctively, he grabbed the strap of his crossbow, ready to protect you from the potential threat. With a deep sigh and a curse spouting from under his breath, the archer relaxed as he watched you practically leap towards the patch of flowers. Your clasped hands were held against your chest and your smile only seemed to widen as you observed the flowers. Carefully, you knelt down and picked a few different wildflowers from the patch. Satisfied with your small collection, you hid the bouquet behind your back and skipped back over to Daryl, who had his free hand resting on his hip as he waited for you.

“We’re burnin’ daylight y’know.”

With a smile so bright and charming that never failed to make Daryl’s knees go weak and heart skip a few beats, you removed your hands from behind your back and presented the flowers to him. One of the archer’s eyebrows quirked upwards towards his hairline as he stared down at the floral arrangement. Bringing his gaze back up towards you, his head tilted to the side slightly.

“Are these for…me?”

All you could do was nod your head excitedly while bouncing on the balls of your feet. You always enjoyed doing sweet and, as Daryl called it, rather corny romantic gestures for the archer. Daryl gave you happiness every single day; just being able to wake up beside him was enough to give you joy. Daryl deserved so much love and appreciation, and you thought he could never get enough of it. It was little things, like picking his favorite fruit from the garden, finding cheesy cards about love from souvenir shops whenever you went on runs, or setting up romantic dinner dates with candles and low music playing in the background. It always surprised him, without fail, whenever you did something sweet for him. This time was no different.

Dropping the picnic basket from his hand in shock, you watched as the tips of Daryl’s ears and the apples of his cheeks began to tint pink. In an attempt to conceal his flustering, Daryl covered his face with his hands. Your laugh was light and filled with joy as you reacted to Daryl’s heartwarming reaction that never got tiresome to witness. 

“Ya didn’t…ya didn’t have to do this.” Daryl spoke bashfully as he removed his hands from his face and shook his head a little in disbelief, which caused his bangs to curtain over his eyes. 

“I know, but I wanted to.”

Gently, Daryl took the flowers from your grasp and held them a bit awkwardly in his hands; unsure what to do with them now that they were in his possession. “Uh-I ain’t too sure what to do with ‘em…never been given flower ‘fore.”

You laughed again and shrugged your shoulders loosely. “You can do whatever you want. They’re yours now.”

For a moment, the archer couldn’t help but admire you. The placement of the sun caused an angelic glow to frame your figure, and your eyes were shining like stars. He always saw you as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but this moment just proved him right. Picking a pale pink flower from the bouquet that was gripped tightly in his hand, Daryl cleared his throat and shuffled closer to you before tentatively placing the flower behind your ear. 

Heat rushed to your face, and it was your turn to become a flustering mess.

Wordlessly, you expressed your gratitude for the sweet gesture by placing a kiss on Daryl’s cheek. A boyish smile spread across his lips as you placed your arms around Daryl’s again. Content with the feeling of warmth spreading across your chest and up your neck to your face, you and Daryl continued down the dirt trail. 

It didn’t take long for you to arrive at your destination. Shooting a shy glance your way, Daryl nudged his chin towards the shrubbery that concealed whatever place Daryl wanted to show you. Although you trusted Daryl with your life, you were still a bit nervous about what was about to greet you on the other side. Tentatively, you pushed back the lush and overgrown foliage and stepped through the branches.

You felt like you had stepped into a fairytale, much like the ones you often imagined as a child whenever you played in the bleak woods of your backyard. The clearing you were met with seemed enchanted, like the specific spot had been put under a spell to preserve its natural beauty. Visible sun rays shone through the trees making the entire space radiate. Fallen tree trunks that looked strong and non-decomposed laid in the dense and rich greenery that covered the forest terrain. Birds could be heard singing and communicating with one another from the tops of the trees. Even the buzzing sounds of the insects that lived on the plants and flew in the air sounded hypnotizing. As you spun around to take in your surroundings, you even noticed a few mossy vines hanging off of a few tree branches. 

“Daryl…” You trailed off in awe, unable to hide the gawk that took over your face. Daryl couldn’t decipher your reaction, so the growing unease began to make his palms sweaty and his blood pressure rise. If he misjudged his choice of scenery, then the rest of his plans for the day would be up in flames.

“Listen…if ya don’t like this spot, I can find another one. It-uh-ain’t a problem.”

Hearing the nerves and uncertainty in his voice made you instantly shake your head as you struggled to find the right words to express how truly awestruck you were. With the type of relationship and connection that you had with Daryl, there was never a sense of having to explicitly state how you felt about things. Most of the time, you could share a look or read between the lines in order to understand what the other was trying to convey. As words failed you, you decided to tell Daryl how much you enjoyed this spot by throwing your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of his neck.

The archer had nearly toppled over by the unexpected reaction. It was welcomed though, and he found himself snaking his arms around your waist and letting his chin rest on your shoulder. When you pulled away just enough to get a proper glimpse of his handsome face, tears had welled up in your eyes, and your nose was on the verge of dripping. Instinctively, Daryl cupped each side of your face and let both his thumbs rest on your cheeks. His eyes flitted between yours, searching for any sign of disdain. When all he found was genuinely lighting up your eyes, he allowed himself to relax.

Your eyes fluttered shut as Daryl placed a gentle, but meaningful kiss on your lips. For a moment, it brought you back to that spring morning when you and Daryl shared your first ever kiss. When your eyes opened again, they were met with the sight of Daryl’s lopsided smile and unique shade of blue eyes that were so bright, they lightened up his entire face. 

“C’mon…I’m gettin’ hungry.”

After gathering a few stones from off the green terrain, you placed the rocks on each corner of the laid out, homemade quilt an older resident of Alexandria had given you as a way of thanking you for helping them with some mundane chores around their home. You decided to place your soon to be picnic under a large oak tree that provided shade from the bright sun that shone in the sky. With a grunt, the archer plopped down on the quilt and stretched his legs out in front of him as he watched you diligently take out the variety of foods you had packed that morning and lay them out between the two of you. 

Conversations flew comfortably between you two; catching up on the things you each had done over the last few days, reminiscing on almost forgotten memories, and flirting with one another by using witty retorts and teasing jests. When you weren’t conversing and instead eating from the array of food that was laid out in front of you, comfortable silence filled the space.

“How exactly did you come across this place?” You asked the archer once your stomach was aching and full. Your back was pressed against Daryl’s chest as you sat between his legs. One of his arms had draped loosely around your waist, and the pad of his thumb slipped under the hem of your shirt to caress your hip bone.

“When I was findin’ places to make trails, guess I got lucky when I stumbled upon here.” Daryl shrugged his shoulders dismissively. Glancing down at you, heat flushed his chest when he realized you were already looking at him, staring up at him with a sense of deep attention and light in your eyes. Your eyes were magnetic, and he had a hard time looking away from you.

“I’m glad you found this place. It’s so beautiful and peaceful here…it’s like this is the one place on earth that hasn’t been touched by walkers.” A smile graced your lips as you settled comfortably against Daryl’s broad frame. The archer hummed in response and tightened his arm around your waist before letting his chin rest on the top of your head.

As another comfortable silence fell over you both, the archer was trying not to get in his head. So far, everything was going well. You seemed to be enjoying the date so far, as a wide smile hadn’t left your face since the second you drove out of Alexandria. However, there was still one remaining thing Daryl had to do; and he was growing increasingly worried that it would mess up the entire day. The archer figured he’d just have to bite the bullet already. If he allowed himself to think any harder about the potential proposal, he was sure he would back out. 

Not wanting to disturb you, Daryl carefully plunged his hand into the pocket that was inside his vest. His fingers felt for the pouch that held the precious piece of jewelry and concealed it in his palm as he fished it out. The nerves in his stomach began to flare, which caused the feeling of constricting knots to form and bring him discomfort. His hands began to clam up, and sweat began to form at his hairline and down his back. If you hadn’t been so lost in the feeling of solace the forest gave you, you would have thought the archer had suddenly gotten sick. 

Glancing down at you again, Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat as he took in the image of your peaceful face. You seemed to be soaking in the warm sun rays that shone down on your face, eyes gently shut while your eyelashes sat delicately on top of your skin. There wasn’t a single worry line creasing your face; which was further proof of just how relaxed you felt. It had been a while since Daryl saw you this tranquil, and he was worried he was about to ruin it. His fingers anxiously twiddled with the string of twine that kept the opening of the small black pouch sealed. 

Not knowing how to approach the situation, Daryl simply tossed the pouch into your lap and hoped for the best. Although he preferred actions over words in order to express his love for you, performing romantic gestures were still rather awkward and foreign to him.

When you felt something fall onto your lap, your first instinct was to look up at the oak tree, thinking that a small cluster of acorns had fallen from one of the branches. When you turned your gaze down to your lap, you were surprised to see the pouch in your possession. Shooting a questioning look towards Daryl, you noticed the light tint of red flushing the tips of his ears, the apples of his cheeks, down his neck, and across the expanse of his chest. Whatever he had just given you, it was making him uncharacteristically nervous.

When Daryl made no effort to stop you from inspecting the item he had given you, you tentatively began to untie the piece of twine. When a few of your fingers slipped into the bag and brushed over something small and smooth, your heart began to race. You had no idea what you were expecting as you carefully shook the item out of the bag, but a diamond ring falling into the palm of your hand definitely wasn’t it. A light gasp escaped past your lips as you eyed the glistening jewel.

“Daryl…?” 

After the years of knowing Daryl, you had become fluent in, as you called it, “Darylism”. You understood what each different grunt meant, what look or glare said that words didn’t, and what underlying meanings meant without having to explicitly say it. However, you had no clue what was going on now, or what this gesture meant. The lines were blurred and written in an ancient text that not even the best decipherment experts could decode. This puzzlement caused you to become stunned into silence.

Daryl interpreted your silence as rejection, and quickly tried to backpedal his initial intentions. “You don’t gotta wear it or nothin’ if you don’t wanna…” The archer trailed off, his eyes darting everywhere but your face and his fingers pulling a frayed piece of thread hanging from the hem of his black button up shirt. 

“Is this…is this a proposal?” You never deemed Daryl as the marriage type, so you couldn’t help but sound a bit tentative when you asked. Tearing your gaze away from the ring that sat in the center of your palm, you looked over at Daryl. 

“It can mean whatever ya want it to.” Daryl shrugged his shoulders loosely while rubbing at the back of his neck. He was still unable to look you in the eyes, but his body had angled back towards you instead of away.

Fluttering butterflies erupted in your stomach, and the sensation rose up your body until the apples of your cheeks had heat to them. The more you thought about it, the giddier you felt. The bright smile that practically hadn’t left your face all day returned, accompanied with tingling sinuses and stinging eyes full of tears that had yet to be seen. Ever since the apocalypse began, you quickly dismissed the idea of ever getting married; it just didn’t seem plausible anymore. Even after you met Daryl and fell in love with him, that ideology didn’t change much due to the fact that the archer had made zero indication, up until this point, that he wanted that with you as well. It never bothered you much, or at least you convinced yourself that it didn’t. 

Now, as you had a presumed engagement ring sitting in the palm of your hand, you realized just how badly you’ve wanted that extended bond with Daryl. 

“I-uh-never believed in that sorta love crap ‘fore you, and ya mean a lot to me. I guess I just want us to be closer, ya know? So that ring can mean somethin’ or nothin’ at all. Just whatever you want.” Daryl clarified in his resumed anxious ramble as your silence was beginning to become too unbearable for him to stand any longer.

His choppy efforts of trying to explicitly bare his heart out to you was endearing, and you felt your heart swell two sizes too big for your chest to hold. 

“You have to say it.” You stated with a slight quiver of emotion in your voice. Tears had finally begun to well up in your eyes, and you found yourself having a hard time sitting still as you waited with anticipation. 

“Huh?” The archer quickly shot his gaze towards yours, and was taken aback by the genuinely in your brightened face. 

“You have to ask…the question.” You reiterated as the corners of your eyes crinkled with delight. 

“I ain’t gettin’ down on one knee…I won’t be able to get back up.” Daryl grumbled as he anxiously wiped his sweaty palms over his pants. 

You couldn’t help but laugh joyously at your soon to be husband’s concerns. With a slight shake of your head, you grabbed one of Daryl’s hands and placed the diamond ring in his possession with a slip of your hand. “You don’t have to…you just have to say it.”

Glancing down at the ring that now sat in his hand, Daryl’s worries were slightly relieved by your reassurances. Clearing his throat, Daryl held the ring up to you and stared deeply into your awaiting eyes. 

“Will you-uh-marry me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh out of glee and throw your arms around Daryl’s neck, falling into him as your face became buried in his shoulder. The archer practically fell over as he caught your embrace. A smile danced around the corner of his lips while he allowed himself to relish in warmth he felt rushing his body. Instinctively, his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you against him.

“Yes! Yes! A million times, yes!” You were glowing with glee as you spoke the cheesy romance line.

Did you really need Daryl to ask you to marry him? No. Did you only request it just so you could see his reaction to the corny response you gave? Yes.

“Alright, ‘m takin’ that ring back now.” Daryl snickered as you pulled away from him slightly, a look of freight contorting your face that previously held a rather smug grin. A rare, teeth baring smile graced Daryl’s face as he felt your arms tighten around his shoulders. 

“Absolutely not.” That seemed like enough of a statement to retract Daryl from his playful taunt. Holding your left hand out, you wiggled in excitement as he slipped the glistening diamond ring on your ring finger. 

With hushed voices and tear filled eyes, you both exchanged your individual vows to each other. You didn’t need a white dress, an officiant, or guests observing the most vulnerable proclamations of love to ever be spoken in order to solidify your marriage to Daryl. Being alone with the love of your life, and surrounded by forestry that seemed unearthly and enchanted, was more beautiful and held more sincerity than any wedding party could ever hold. 

As far as you and Daryl are concerned, he was your husband, and you his wife. Together, you would live happily ever after.

-

-

A/N: This was so cute to write! I’m sorry this took awhile for me to finish, I’ve just been so busy with irl stuff and it’s just exhausted me. Thank you to the anon who requested this, I hope it’s what you were looking for! Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!! <3

[remindingpersephone]

Curveballs

When life gives you . . . stitches? So I had to have a cyst removed from my back and it was a big boy, so it took 13 stitches to close that hole up (there are so many jokes here). The doc said no lifting, no stretching, because stitches on the back (it's actually closer to shoulder) can rip easily. Since I can't get into the pool - healing wound = no soaking - and it's 9,823 degrees outside so no walking, my living room workouts are the only option. But when I do those it's a lot of arm flailing and improvising because I cannot follow choreography to save my life.

Now, there was a time when I would have used these restrictions as an excuse to completely abandon my fitness goals. I would stop all cardio, sit on the couch, eat way too many brownies, and totally derail my fitness progress.

But this time was different. I've kept up with all lower body strength workouts, and for cardio I bought an under-the-desk, mini-bike-peddle machine. Now, no one is going to mistake this for a real bike. But let me tell you I have gotten my heart rate way the hell up on that little thing. And I can keep my upper body stabile so as not to rip those stitches.

I've also been trying out intermittent fasting, although it didn't really start out with that as the goal. I wanted to see if I was eating because I was hungry, or just out of habit/schedule/when I thought I should eat. Also, my 6:30am breakfasts were starting to feel like habit instead of hunger. So I stopped eating until I was actually hungry. Turns out I'm not really hungry until about 11:30 AM. I also stopped eating after 8PM at night. I had always been a late dinner and even later dessert/snacker. Not only has eating mostly between the hours of 11:30am and 7:30pm helped my digestion, it's lowered my overall calorie intake. It's also making me stop and really think if I'm actually hungry before I eat. Do I need that snack or am I just bored? Do I need that treat or am I just emotional? I know the word "intuitive" is over-used these days, but that's pretty much what I did.

Now, I know tomorrow or next week this could all change. I am a person who not only embraces change, but seeks it out. I am always changing things up in small and large ways. Sometimes routines work for me and sometimes they don't. I'm getting better at not trying to force myself to do things just because the generally accepted wisdom says I should. Or the current trends are encouraging this thing or that thing.

Since we're talking about health, I will tell you I've cut way back on my social media consumption. It just got to a point where I was internalizing a lot of what I was reading and watching, and as we all know, a lot of what's on social media is negative. That negativity was having a bigger effect on me than I realized. Until that over-exposure was gone, I couldn't make the connection on some unexpected effects it was having. Sorry, I'm not intentionally trying to be vague. I just can't really explain it other than to say reducing my exposure to the ugliness and fear that perpetuates even Tumblr and Instagram has had a positive effect on my state of mind. This is a long and rambly way of me saying I'm sorry if I haven't been hearting and commenting on my mutuals posts like I once had. I try to pop in when I can, and I really do read what I heart. I just can't consume it at the rate I once did. But please know that I am always here for DMs and you can email me at anindependentguinevere {at} g mail dot com anytime you want to chat or need support. I am here for that always.

Wow, that was way longer than I intended. Hugs and kisses to those you who made it all the way through. Now let's go get some ice cream!

[clotpolesonly]

First Ditch Effort

had to write something, for Adam's birthday, OBVIOUSLY!!! Pynch | Gen | 1.2k | Established Relationship | Fluff | (also on AO3)

“What do you mean, you don’t know how to ride a bike?”

Ronan huffed and threw another crumpled up ball of paper—a page torn out of his old trigonometry textbook, just to spite it—in Adam’s direction. “I mean, I don’t fucking know how to ride a goddamn bike! So what?”

Adam, whose own trigonometry textbook had been turned back over to the school upon graduation, appropriated Ronan’s projectile and tossed it back at him. “Who doesn’t know how to ride a bike?” he asked in genuine bafflement.

“Why would I need to?”

“To get places, obviously.”

“That’s what a car is for, dumbass.”

Adam rolled his eyes so hard it set the desk chair he was inhabiting to spinning. He stopped it halfway around with a foot on Ronan’s desk—more Adam’s desk by now, truthfully, since Ronan never used it for anything—and said, “Well, what’d you do before you were old enough to drive?”

Ronan, lounging on his bed, made a face. “Bitched at Declan until he gave me rides.”

“Uh huh. And one year before that, when he wasn’t old enough to drive either?”

“Some of us actually had parents who liked us enough to drive us places.”

Adam beaned him in the forehead with a highlighter. Ronan accepted this without complaint or retaliation, because he deserved it, but he did haul himself upright with another aggrieved noise.

“Where would I even have biked to?” he demanded. “It takes twenty fucking minutes to get into town by car, and it would’ve taken way longer on a fucking bike. There’s nothing in Henrietta that’s worth that much time and effort.”

“Singer’s Falls is five minutes down the road the other way,” Adam pointed out.

Ronan gave him a gloriously disdainful look. “There’s nothing in Singer’s Falls that’s worth any time and effort.”

Adam just shook his head. “You seriously never learned to ride a bike?”

“Look out the window, Parrish.” Ronan gestured expansively, as if to encompass the entire, admittedly large and beautiful, property they inhabited. “I never needed to go anywhere else. I had acres and acres of land here to play on, and if I did need to get somewhere, I walked there with my own two feet like God intended. Fuck bikes. Who needs ‘em? Not me. Bikes are for peasants and losers.”

He said all this with the utmost confidence, like he said most things, but after nine months of dating him, Adam knew him too well not to recognize the bluster as defensiveness. There was a hint of pink across his pale cheeks. 

Adam began to smile. Ronan’s eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion. They stayed that way as Adam abandoned his chair in favor of inviting himself into Ronan’s lap, knees digging into the plush mattress on either side of Ronan’s thighs, though his hands immediately came up to encircle Adam’s waist.

“This peasant loser has a birthday tomorrow,” Adam said lightly.

Ronan’s eyes narrowed further. “I’m aware.”

“You’ve been bugging me for weeks about a present.”

“That’s ‘cause you won’t fucking let me buy you anything, you stubborn bastard.”

Adam hummed, neither confirming nor denying the allegation. He slid a hand up from Ronan’s shoulder to the back of his neck, thumb petting idly at the soft dusting of hair at his nape. “I thought of something you can give me.”

It was not easy for Ronan to keep up his desired level of accusatory skepticism in the face of Adam’s gentle touch, but he gave it his best effort. “Yeah?” he asked, just a tad breathless. “And what’s that?”

His eyes, already warming against his will, dropped to Adam’s mouth. Adam obliged him, leaning in just close enough for their lips to brush. He wondered, sometimes, if such a simple thing would stop sending shivers through his whole body someday, if they did it enough. He hoped it wouldn’t.

But kissing Ronan wasn’t the point right now, no matter how much the baser part of him insisted that kissing Ronan was always the point. Adam allowed himself ten seconds to indulge. Then, he tightened his grip on the back of Ronan’s neck—this earned him a noise that was nearly enough to distract him from his goal entirely, but Adam had years of practice in self-denial and he would come back to that later—and pulled back enough to look him in the eye.

“What I want for my birthday,” he said into the warm, hushed, charged space between them, with Ronan’s eyes sharp and intense on him, so sweetly eager to give him anything and everything he wanted as soon as Adam would allow him to, “is to teach you how to ride a bike.”

Ronan dumped him off on the floor.

Adam hit the ground already laughing. Ronan was swearing up a storm and there was a clattering noise that made Adam think he’d knocked something off his bedside table too, but he couldn’t bring himself to care if anything got broken. He just wiped at his streaming eyes and pushed himself up onto his knees.

“Come on, Lynch!” he reined in his mirth enough to say. “One little lesson! For my birthday!”

“Fuck your birthday,” Ronan declared with gusto. His whole face was red now, lips screwed up into a true pout. “I’m not riding a goddamn bike.”

Adam shuffled forward until he could put his hands on Ronan’s knees. He tried to look smugly challenging—that look was a specialty of his and it had goaded Ronan into all kinds of shenanigans in the past—but he thought the smile he couldn’t shake probably ruined it. “What, you don’t think you could do it?”

“Of course I could,” Ronan shot back, pride appropriately stung. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna. You just want to see me fall in a fucking ditch.”

“Absolutely,” Adam said, immediately and without shame. “Happy birthday to me.”

“Fuck you, Parrish.”

“I was saving that for your birthday.”

Ronan swore again. He slapped at Adam’s hand when it crept teasingly up the inseam of his jeans, but he didn’t object when Adam hauled himself back up onto the bed to kiss the curse words out of his mouth.

“Come on, Ronan,” Adam repeated, when they were both breathless with it. “Just give it a try. It’ll be fun. For me?”

“Yeah, it will be fun for you,” Ronan grumbled. “It’ll be humiliating for me. And don’t say that’s the fun part!”

Adam closed his mouth obediently. He let Ronan stew for a minute, filling the time by placing soft kisses along the column of his throat. By the time he reached Ronan’s jaw, Ronan was groaning with overblown exasperation and Adam knew he had won.

“This is gonna suck,” Ronan whined. “Bikes are fucking stupid and I hate them.”

“Bikes are useful and wonderful and very, very easy once you figure out how to balance,” Adam corrected him.

“I’m gonna end up in a ditch and you’re gonna laugh!”

“Yes,” Adam said, much to Ronan’s annoyance. “And then I’m gonna pull you out of the ditch, and I’m gonna kiss it all better, and then you’ll get back on the bike and you’ll try again and you’ll do better than the last time, and by the end of tomorrow, you’ll be able to say honestly that you know how to ride a bike. Won’t that be nice? Really, I’m doing you a favor here.”

The look Ronan gave him would have turned a lesser man to stone. “You’re so fucking lucky I love you.”

Adam kissed the thundercloud off his face. “Yeah, I know.”

[my-mt-heart]

Thoughts on TBOC 205

Aside from the premiere, this was the easiest episode for me to watch, but at the same time, the tone and the characterization feel...off. As usual, my thoughts are based on a one-time pirated watch. Also as usual, Melissa McBride crushes her performance. If only she had been given stronger material...

I mentioned in my 204 "review" that Daryl's and Carol's dynamic felt like that of a divorced couple and I'm still feeling that here. Daryl is clearly offended by the hypothetical idea of Carol telling Ash that he was her brother and insists that he be with Carol when she talks to him. Carol is clearly uncomfortable when a dancer gets too close to Daryl at the nightclub (side note: Carol's reaction to the nightclub has a lot of storytelling potential that Zabel instead uses to draw the male gaze. Unsurprising, but still disheartening). What does Caryl's "divorced" energy mean exactly? Nothing if Zabel doesn't pay it off and unfortunately I don't think he ever intends to. We need a new showrunner for that.

Daryl's surprised reaction to Sophia is just ridiculous to me. He's always been incredibly in tune with Carol's feelings—that's what makes them soulmates—and he just saw her struggling in front of a barn in the last episode. He really can't put the pieces together? And why is Daryl acting so far removed? As if Sophia isn't his trauma too? I'll talk about this more for 206, but I strongly dislike how Zabel tries build up to Daryl finally comforting her the way he should have immediately, and would have if he was in character. It's completely unnecessary and it robs the characters/audience of true emotional growth.

Carol notices a man on a bike that reminds her of the Daryl she watched ride away from the CW, like she's still searching for that Daryl, and it breaks my heart. She starts seeing Sophia too, but again, Daryl can't be there for her because he's preoccupied with thoughts of a child he's known for two months. Naturally Carol tries to be there for him, and at first he tells her he doesn't want to talk about it. Since when does Daryl not feel safe being vulnerable with Carol? Why is he so closed off? I can't wrap my head around it.

In typical Zabel fashion, Laurent is used as a mouthpiece to shove Isabelle's "love" for Daryl down the audience's throats despite the fact that Clemence never played it that way once. I really need the stooges and the supporting characters to stop projecting onto Daryl. They are all just wrong.

Carol listens to Daryl’s recording he made in S1 and I’m not sure what the point of it is since he already told her last episode that he was trying to get back to her. You know what would’ve been more interesting? If the recording revealed something new that the audience hasn’t heard yet and surprised Carol as well, like Daryl addressing her specifically, telling her how much he loved her.

When shots of the car scene cropped up in teasers, it was heavily speculated that Ash would die. I'm glad the scene subverted my expectations and actually tapped into some humor, but the whole thing also highlights Zabel's sloppy writing. How did this man survive the ZA this long if he can't even shut a door without hurting himself? And why, once he's fully conscious again, does he not comment on Daryl's and Carol's relationship? If Carol was willing to manipulate him just to find this other guy, what does that say about who Daryl is to Carol? Is Ash not suspicious or at the very least curious? It's another example of how TPTP try so hard to pull attention away from Caryl to the point where it's extremely frustrating and inorganic.

Another way tptb resist the undeniable chemistry between Caryl is by separating them. Daryl gets to do the cool action sequence while Carol is left behind to get yelled at by a man. Seeing the toxic dude bros rip Carol apart for lying to Ash has been difficult, and to be honest, it's the main reason why I could've done without that storyline. But I don't blame Carol for that. Zabel is the one who thinks manipulation is every woman's trademark, and as if that's not misogynistic enough, he takes every opportunity to punish Carol for it.

If there are any comparisons to be made between this season and S11 of the flagship show, they're in the penultimate and the finale episodes. Just like in S11, Carol is kept away from the main mission to essentially do busy work. I'm all for highlighting an emotional arc over mindless action, but not when it creates a power imbalance between two characters and two actors who are supposed to be leading this show together. It solidifies for me that Norman, Zabel, Nicotero, and Gimple are insecure about the show’s positioning. They need it to be Daryl's show while Carol is just a sidekick. They're all marking their territory for their own reasons. Melissa deserves so much better from Norman and so much better than the other three.

One more episode to go and thank fuck for that.

[gwiyeounsonyeon]

Growing Pains End (MWC 13, 14!)

Pairing: RE2 Leon Kennedy x Male(Intended) Reader Summary: College AU! Leon takes you out. Words: 2,282/200 Warnings: I think the reader was referred to as a guy but I might have deleted it, I'm throwing this in here just in case Notes: I really wanted this to go on longer, originally I had it planned out for a few more chapters, at least five extra but I didn't want to overwhelm myself. Maybe if I get better at writing longer-form stories without getting exhausted I'll write five more chapters with Leon and Reader after college.

Navigation | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

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The beginning of the movie was pretty decent but very quickly you were snoozing for the rest of it and only came to when the end credits rolled. Thankfully Leon didn’t seem to notice you’d fallen asleep and as you walked out of the theater side by side you listened intently to the retelling of his favorite parts, unable to stop yourself from thinking he was really cute with the way he was so animated as talked. The way he waved his hands around to emphasize what he was saying, the big smile on his face as he talked, and if you looked close enough at him you could see little dimples in his right cheek. Your stomach exploded uncomfortably in butterflies and your heartbeat quickened, you avert your eyes from his face and dump the empty bag of popcorn in the trash, and fidget with your, now empty hands. You both stop so he can grab his bike from the rack and once he’s got it, he starts walking while talking about what you assume to be the end of the movie, leaving you no choice but to follow after him. 

Throughout the conversation you zone out, the softness in his voice making you sleepy again but soon he stops to rack his bike once more, “I just wish they gave the guy a better ending…” He pouts and you zone back into the conversation just now realizing you were standing in front of some diner, “Hm?” Your brows raise as he leads you inside, greeting the hostess who seats you at his usual table. “You come here a lot?” You follow the hostess to a booth by the front window and sit down opposite to Leon, “Sometimes, yeah–and since exams are starting soon this is a great place to study.” You nod and look around, the waitress hadn’t come by yet and the hostess had disappeared somewhere into the kitchen. “You nervous about exams?” You fidget with your menu, not really hungry enough to get anything. Leon shrugs and nods “A little, I mean… I think I'm more nervous about becoming a sophomore.” You nod in turn feeling a little sympathy for him, “It's not too bad, do you know what you wanna major in?” You push your packaged straw around the table starting to feel a little nervous, this all seemed too much like a date. Leon perks up immediately and nods “I came here ‘cause of the STARS criminal justice courses.” You furrow your brows feeling a little confused, “I thought STARS only donated the football team.” Leon smiles and shakes his head, “The football stuff was only done this year, STARS was originally the first big donator for classes and stuff, they help fund the whole left wing.” You nod, not having a good idea of what he's talking about but you’ve been in the left wing once or twice, it's full of a bunch of law stuff that you’re not interested in at all. 

“So, you’re gonna be a cop.” He nods enthusiastically “I’ve known my whole life that I wanted to be a police officer, it's always been my dream to save people.” You watch his hands as he plays with his napkin, you can't help feeling really small next to him. He's got all these great plans and here you were studying for a major you had no idea if you wanted to keep or not. “What about you? What are you majoring in?” You open your mouth to say something but the waitress comes out first, “Sorry about that.” She smiles and sets two glasses of water on your table, “What can I get for the two of you today?” She pulls out a little notepad and pauses, waiting for either of you two to speak up first. Thankfully Leon takes the lead “Can I have my regular?” He turns to you with a big excited look on his face, “You have to try that one, it's just a burger but it's so good.” He points to the menu and you nod, “Uh… Yeah, sure. I’ll have that.” You don't really feel hungry, your stomach feels fluttery and nervous, the waitress smiles and takes your menus. Before she leaves she winks at Leon, “He’s cute, kid.” 

You don't get it but Leon goes bright red and sputters awkwardly, “What’s that mean?” His face goes a darker red and he hides behind his hands, now you’re even more confused. You go to speak but he beats you to it, mumbling from behind his hands, “I… um…” He drops his hands so he can take a long sip of his water, “You have to promise you won't laugh, okay?” He looks at you, the flush had died down a little but his cheeks were still bright pink. You nod and he takes a deep breath, “For… I dunno, like, a few weeks… maybe a month um…” He clears his throat, you put your hands in your lap and fidget under the table, your heart rate picking up slightly. “I uh… i've really liked you––a- and um… i've wanted to ask you out but…” It feels like your heart is going to beat out of your chest, your hands feel a little sweaty and there's a lump forming in your throat. “I- I’ve talked to her about how to ask you f- um forever a- and when I did, she was right. Uh- it wasn't as hard as I thought.” When he finishes he looks relieved but you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack. 

“Wha- um.” You stop to clear your throat and gather your thoughts, you have no idea what to think, all of this feels like it's happening so suddenly. You see Leon lose a little confidence and your stomach does this weird flop, you have no idea what to say, you don't even know what to feel. Does he want to be your boyfriend? Does he just want sex? Is this all an elaborate prank? Is this even real, are you dreaming? You have to be dreaming, you pinch yourself under the table but you dont wake up in your bed. “W- s- so… uh… it’s just- j- just a date?” You stutter lamely, starting to feel very conscious about how weird you're acting “-I mean… you’re not… like, asking to be my boyfriend, are you?” He looks a little upset and your palms grow sweatier, you lean back against the plush booth and rub the sweat from your palms. You feel like you might have a heart attack, your heart beating wildly against your ribcage, you press your hand to your chest hoping to quell the feeling.

Leon’s eyes follow your hand and his expression falls into an off sort of look like he’s deep in thought; “I want to, uh––e- eventually, I mean..” He finishes anxiously, looking back up at you to see your expression. He must've seen something in the way your looking at him because he relaxes a fraction and moves his hands from his lap to the table as your hand drops from your chest. “B- but we obviously don't have to do anything like that, if you don't want to I mean, it was just. I just didn't want to wait any longer to tell you and I had no idea how to tell you-” He’s rushing things out like he's starting to get anxious, fidgeting with his glass of water, but you stop him with a sigh. “I- Leon….” Your hand moves up to rub at your forehead, the ache from earlier coming back full force as you try to figure out how to navigate this situation. He seems to take your actions as rejection, wilting in his seat like a forgotten flower. 

“It's fine just…” You let out a wry chuckle, “Why me? Like, of all people?” He perks up a little, sitting up straighter when you ask the question. “Why?” You nod, he doesn't give your heart any time to rest as his expression is taken over by something bashful and sweet, your heart skips as a shy smile works onto his lips. “Why not?” He asks shakily, trying to work up his confidence, “I- I… You’re so…” He fumbles nervously. “I’m not sure how to…” He huffs, starting to get frustrated with his lack of eloquence. “I just do, okay? Y- you’re like, really hot a- and you're funny…” He takes a deep breath as the words tumble out, “And I can't stop thinking about you, like––when you laugh i- it makes my heart beat really fast a- and when you smile a- at me–and just when you smile in general, it makes my stomach feel fuzzy” His cheeks go pink as he talks, gesturing wildly with his hands. 

You feel like you might cry out in shock or awe, or like you might have a heart attack for real this time because your heart rate would put anyone else up into a hospital, But you don't keel over and die. Because Leon is right in front of you, and he's confessing to you that he thinks you're hot and these things that you worry over constantly gives him butterflies. Your fingers feel a little chill from the adrenalin that zips through your nervous system, your hands shake slightly as you look around the diner, no one seems very interested in your conversation but you can't help feeling a little paranoid. Your brain screams at you that this is a bad idea, that you shouldn't be doing this but you can't help yourself. You stand from the booth, for a split second Leon looks dejected but that shifts to confusion as you make your way around the table to sit directly next to him. 

“... I… This…” You make an aborted gesture between the two of you, unable to get your thoughts straight, and not really sure why you came to sit next to him. You take a deep breath and look around the diner again, all of these faces, so many more important things happening, some probably happening before your eyes, and here you are getting all choked up over a little crush. With that in mind you sober up slightly, you will your heart rate to slow and your hands to stop shaking while you straighten your back, “Im not… good at this kind of stuff.” You start, your anxiety leaves a chill within your chest and makes the hairs on your arms stand on end but you push through, not wanting to feel like a scared baby anymore. “But that… I dont think that means I dont want to try…” Leon perks up a little from beside you, and you feel like you might cry from relief. You had no idea how good it feels to get these things off your chest, “I…” You take a deep breath and clear your throat. “I like you, obviously-” You see Leon shift beside you but you keep your gaze firmly on the table in front of you both. 

“But it doesn't mean that e-…” You take a sip of your water, your throat feeling a little dry, “I have a lot of flaws and a lot of insecurities a- and I dont…” You pause as Leon’s hand envelops yours, “I dont care.” He says stopping to chew on his lip anxiously. “I- I mean, me too obviously. Everyone has to be like that, I think…” He's trying to comfort you and it works, your chest feels warmer and you feel a sting behind your eyes that could be tears or joy that someone is finally saying this to you, too many awful exes, too many nights alone. You swallow down the lump in your throat and turn to him, finally looking at his face; The look he has is so painfully sincere, his eyes are raw and open and pleading, like he's begging you to read his mind, to feel what he's feeling. “But I don’t uh… I- I don’t think you should keep worrying about that stuff…” He trails off. 

A spike of warmth floods your face as his eyes glance down at your lips, you lick your lips self-consciously and his eyes follow the movement. “‘Cause–” His voice comes out scratchy and he cuts himself off to clear his throat, “Because, I’m still going to like you anyway.” You forget about the diner, the other people in the building, everyone else in the world, it all gets pushed to the back of your head. Your breath catches in your throat, the world seems a little fuzzy and you feel like you’re on a merry-go-round, spinning as fast as you can and watching the world pass by you in a blur. You dont know who leans in first, but it doesn't matter. Leon kisses you like he looks at you; soft and hesitant but determined, it makes you feel dizzy, and when you pull back you aren't sure how to catch your breath.

“Okay…” You whisper shakily, your thoughts feel skewed. You hear the bell to the diner ring and Claire and Luis enter grinning like kids getting candy, they sit in front of you and Luis chuckles, “I didn’t think it would take you this long.” Your face goes red and you hide in your hands, suddenly very embarrassed. Claire laughs loudly, drawing the attention of other customers. “God, you guys are something else, you know that?” She says grinning, you feel her kick your shin lightly under the table, glad to see you come so far from the hell you were in almost a year ago now.

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A/N - I really enjoyed this chapter and writing more long-form stuff, it made me feel so good seeing it finished. The only thing I wish I'd done was plan it out more and go about it differently, when do this again I probably won't do it for a writing challenge, or do it all in a few days consecutively

[stevetonyisendgame]

It’s the fifth day of work reveals for A Second Chance: A Steve/Tony Endgame Mini-Exchange and we have 12 fics and 1 artwork today!

Thank you to all participants - we’re so excited to share all these beautiful gifts with you! Enjoy and remember to leave kudos/comments for our hardworking creators to show your appreciation!! ❤️

A reminder to our dear creators that you can change the publication date of your works now that they have been revealed, so that they appear on the first page of the tags.

Let’s Stay a While for geekymoviemom | ART - M

Some one had to return the stones just with a little company this time around and hopefully a little less chaos. They’d dealt with a life time supply of crazy already as it was if you asked Steve.

2. Sound the Reveille for AirlocksandAviaries | FIC - 2.1k, T

Steve wasn't in denial about his feelings toward Tony but they weren't something he expected to confront on the battlefield, either. Then Tony put the gauntlet on and snapped his fingers, and Steve thought he wouldn't get another chance.

3. don't fear our futures and dreams for captainstars | FIC - 8.9k, T

“Do you accept this chance, Steve Rogers?” There is no trace of laughter in the Keeper’s voice now, only grave formality. “I do.” For the first time since Tony had looked at him in that long-ago-2012 and asked you trust me? and Steve had replied without hesitation, Steve feels completely sure in the choice he’s making. During his journey to return the Infinity Stones, Steve discovers to his horror that Tony is in fact, not dead, but trapped inside the Soul Stone. The Keeper grants Steve one chance to save Tony. He takes it.

4. ever be afraid to say for captainstars | FIC - 1.4k, T

Steve sees it happening a moment just before it does, Tony snapping on the Gauntlet and facing Thanos head-on, eyes bright and ever-defiant. And Steve—Steve’s heart falls to his feet. No.

5. Once More for the First Time for Neverever | FIC - 4.1k, G

It was like clockwork. Get together, do a mission, part ways. Steve wondered what would happen if he asked Tony to stay.

6. Zero to One for lomku | FIC - 2.8k, T

Steve returns the Stones, comes back to 2023, names Sam the successor to Captain America, and sets off on his bike. Life is transient, and grief is all-encompassing, until Steve starts dreaming of Tony every night.

7. you are all I was hoping for for Areiton | FIC - 4k, T

His life had been so much emptier without Tony in it, and he missed him. He missed him so much that he felt better being in his company for even a little while.

8. way to a father's heart for robertdowneyjjr | FIC - 6.8k, G

Steve loves kids, and kids like him. He’s never met one who hadn’t immediately taken a liking to him. He’s good with kids. At least, he thinks he is. But these are Tony's children, and that fact alone makes all the difference in the world. He needs to make sure that he gets along with them. Otherwise, he can kiss his chance to be with Tony goodbye.

9. Right Where I Belong for This_Is_Captain_Handsome | FIC - 1.8k, G

After Endgame, Steve struggles with Tony's injuries. Will he ever recover?

10. Here To Stay for wingheads | FIC - 5k, M

Steve visits Tony (not unscathed but alive) in his cabin, post-endgame, and stays there longer than intended, because they have so much to do and because Tony never tells him to leave.

11. A New Vision of the Future for Thahire | FIC - 3.8k, G

Natasha watches Steve and figures out he's watching Tony - a lot. She watches it all become a mess and watches as Steve never stops pining.

12. Momentum for Thahire | FIC - 6.9k, M

He had said “resentment is corrosive.” He had shaken Steve’s hand, had nearly said more. He wanted to say more, but what was left to say? “Resentment is corrosive and I hate it, but I still feel it, and also I feel a lot of things about you and I don’t know how to untangle them all?”

13. Darling, let’s run for IronChantress3000 | FIC - 1.7k, G

Now, if I were a supersoldier, where would I go? Tony quickly scanned the doors with his glasses for Steve. He spotted his figure behind the door labeled Margaret Carter, Director. Of course. Where else would he be? Tony thought wryly.

Creator reveals will take place tomorrow on June 21st! Get excited to see who created these awesome works!

[crushedsweets]

neeed to hear the context behind ur most recent art. please enlighten us

you guys dont even know how excited i get when someone asks smth like this abt my art or headcanons or au.

i actually wrote liek a fucking essay oh my god im so sorry anon ill have the actual drawing context after the big bolded caps

TW for typical creepypasta story type stuff

anyway ok UNNECESSARY BACKSTORY: liu spent a long time trying to just psychologically recover from everything. he hated jeff and he hated the memory of everything. jeff signature murders would occur every now and again, each time liu would fall into a deep depression. the murders stopped for a while, and everyone believed jeff 'retired' or died. liu was conflicted about it. until Jeff committed his final full-blown 'jeff fashion' murder (janes family) in tuscaloosa alabama. liu had another breakdown and ended up moving to tuscaloosa because he was completely convinced he needed to find jeff again because he could fix it (or die trying and he'd be fine with that too)

nina was always one of those girls obsessed with 'true crime' but like.... the murderers instead of the cases. she was 12 when jeff's first rampage happened and she just fell head over heels in love with this freak. she began to act out, miss school for days, sneaking out to meet older people, etc etc. eventually she did the classic jeff smile cut into her face(she pussied out on making it like jeffs, so she has cleaner, less noticeable scars) . she started getting severely bullied (for being creepy and worshipping a literal murderer) and her parents sent her to live with her grandparents in mississpi. she started stalking liu through social media and whitepages when jeff was presumed dead. but eventually, jeff's final murder happened in alabama(a state away from her) and after turning 18, she ran away to go find jeff convinced he would 'save her' from the life she created for herself. nina got wrapped up in slenderman business because of her constant Tom Foolery. she met her idol

JEFF IS A BAD PERSON IN EVERY SENSE OF THE WORD. he did a beautiful job in using his #1 fangirl and enjoying the worship. she scrambled for pennies to afford an apartment, she'd sleep on the couch if he wanted to use her bed, she's ride her bike hours to go get weed or something from rando drug dealers that give better deals to pretty girls, make him food, do his damn laundry, literally anything and everything bc THATS HER MAAANNNNN (no he isnt.)

jeff DOES NOT GIVE A FUUUCK about everything nina does for him . one day he finds her trying to creepily get into contact with liu (and liu actually responded) and he loses his shit and stabs her and goes on and on about how 'you ruined your own useless fucking life your family is never going to take you back you did this to yourself' etc. he didn't intend to kill her only cuz he knew she'd forgive him and he liked all the shit she gave him

NOW ABOUT THE DRAWING ITSELF:::::

afterwards nina gets patched up from jeff stabbing her, she has some weird 'liu will save me' spiral (not romantically just in a very literal 'he can fix this' way). liu's been on his own spiral since finding out jeffs alive which is the only reason he even gave nina the time of day. eventually she ends up at his house to 'talk about jeff' bc she sent him creepy pics proving she knew jeff yadayadayada.

im not sure the exact conversation i imagined for the drawing, BUT liu eventually says something that sets nina off and she tears at her stitches and breaks down and drips blood all over his kitchen talking about 'I CAN MAKE HIM LOVE ME AGAIN I JUST NEED YOUR HELP PLEAAASEEEE' or something.

liu's a good man, much to his own detriment, and can't help but comfort this kid who's bleeding and crying in his kitchen at the fault of his own brother. he's all too familiar with wanting to repair his relationship with jeff, despite the amount of rage, betrayal, misery, etc he felt at jeffs hands. he doesn't ACTUALLY want to reconnect with jeff, but it's a very deep internal longing for the baby brother he once had that VERY RARELY overshadows his hatred

i want to reaffirm that liu does not feel positively about jeff at all, does not want to see him, and only moved to alabama b/c of a long ass mental health crises and is now too wrapped up in new financial commitments(plus jane) to move again. and now he feels obligated to help nina

he just misses being a big brother :( not so much the jeff part

also none of this at all is shipping at all i am terrified at the idea of people taking anything romantically . even if nina is in 'love' with jeff its purely for the story/horror . ITS ALL REALLY BAD

[heavyknitter]

2 - Do you even knit bro

So here I am, with my little test piece and wool my aunt brought me from the store and new knitting needles and a bunch of wool I acquired myself on day 3 of my knitting journey.

So.. we hit September 29th - the day I just went for it.

I figured I had done plenty of practice for just doing something as basic as a scarf, I mean, basically I already made a little animal sized scarf already right so how hard can it be to do this on a larger scale?

Well. Lets start with the fact that while I knew the basic movement of knitting I had not yet learned how to cast on wool to start something new. Because remember, my aunt did that with the test piece and did the first two rows - so over to the auntie we go and we run back into the same issue as before - she can't explain and I can't follow. Hand manipulation became funky business because neither of us realized that when I tried to copy I held the threads wrong and tried to cast on loops with the thread connected to the wool not the other one. It was a bit of a funny back and forth because she looked over my hand movements, saw me pick up the thread and of course it did not work as intended and neither of us cottoned in on what was going wrong here. It might seem silly, but I was very pleased with myself once she retried on her own hand to figure out what I am doing wrong (remember we are both kinaesthetic creatures, she needed to replicate my movements to find out what is wrong but as opposed to me she held the threads - both of them - correctly for this step so she did not realize what went wrong on my end) that it dawned on me that I had thrice looped the threads wrong around my fingers and of course it could not work that way. So I took the thing back from her, wound the threads around my hand again and this time it worked. My first correctly cast on loop. Fuck yeah. The upside of fucking around so much on this basic step and then realizing what went wrong would ensure that this is now second nature ain't no way I am doing this wrong again ever. Good thing too because my aunt was starting to get mildly frustrated because this is easy basic stuff but somehow it is complicated and I get why it frustrated her a bit how clumsy my humble beginnings are but I reminded her gently, that she did this for years, she does not have to think or plan anything for her it is all muscle memory, just like riding a bike. But I have not learned how to ride this particular bike - would she expect me to know how to hold my balance without having it ever done before? Of course not. And any new task that involves your body and movement needs to be hardwired in your brain to make you perform it with the same ease she does it. The older we get, the more we forget how tricky it can be to pick up something new you have never done before and many people get frustrated and stop learning something because they wrongly assume being an adult means you should learn shit in a snap. Nah. Everything we learn kickstarts new neural pathways in our brain, those want to be engaged and nurtured by repetition you can't just go into something new and come out a pro in the same day. 's not how it works. But my aunt is in her late 50s so it's been a while since she got into any new craft. But she understood when I explained and reminded.

So here I am, happily casting on loop after loop and I have no concept on how much to get a good broad scarf so my aunt estimated for me to make like 40 (I am working on another scarf right now and she was absolutely right - 40 is the perfect amount for this particular bulky wool) and I said "I want it huge, really really big you feel me? So she said "make it 45 then". By the time I started counting how many I already had on there I was at 55 but instead of stopping there I figured, ehh extra bulky - and made it 70.

And let me tell you, with absolute no shadow of a doubt, this was both a mistake and overshooting the goal widely and also the best thing ever.

It is soft, it is bulky, it is wide enough that if I get it to the length I wish to achieve I could very likely roll myself up in it. And I mean completely. Like.. drape and wrap it nicely, use some safety pins and bäm. Could make it some sort of eccentric statement piece in the next ballroom. So yeah, Friday the 29th was go-time and I was knitting until like.. what.. 2am happy as a clam. Next morning, Saturday I woke up, grabbed the thing to knit a bit before getting up, count the loops and.. I lost one. No idea were it went, no idea when it went and no idea how to spot were it is. The good thing for me was, that on this very Saturday my mother would drop in to help me with something and if my auntie is an expert in knitting, then my Mother is the master. There was so much crafted stuff in my childhood home and my fondest memories of my mother are her crocheting, knitting, or crafting something. Mostly fancy Easter eggs with fabrics pearls and feathers and stuff. Really fancy shizzle. So of course when she dropped in I was like "Mama! I started to knit! Also I lost a loop and I do not know where it is or how to spot it in this bulky thing help meeeee!" And she gave me a look. You know the one. The one only an exasperated Mom can give you. But eh, she found it. Six or Seven rows below and so she unraveled all those rows, threw everything back on the needle, counted, and then redid the rows with speed I could not comprehend. She also muttered something about this wool being bad, it's too dark too bulky can't see shit with that why would you use that as starting project yadda yadda yadda. (I think she was pleased tho, she tried back then to get both of her children into crafting but my brother was more for gaming and bionicles and I was more art, writing and gaming the spark was not quite there yet)

She gave me a second look when I showed her the wool I had acquired already for future projects because she lowkey thinks I might not stick with it - well, let it be known I am in deep. I might eventually balance it out again with all my other hobbies but for now I just wanna progress and create stuff and I like to have a lil stash on hand. She promised me to show me how to knit with 5 needles to make some legwarmers I am very exited and down the line of talking she told me not to try a blanket because she wanted to do that and was discouraged because its expensive and takes too long. But she also told me that the bulky wool I have going for the scarf she would do away with in 1 hour so I'm like... damn woman if you're so fast and money is no longer an issue you could probably pull this off in record time.

It also gave me a lil kick because this bulky thing? 1 hour??

Now that it a goal to work up to >d

This is the state of the scarf currently by the way, pulled over both of the knitting needles so I can show you just how broad this thing is. The lighter is a normal sized lighter that fits in the palm of your hand. Like I said, 70 loops was both the worst and best decision I made with this. I already had to start a second roll of wool for this. It will take a bit to finish. In fact I already finished something else in the meantime while working on this because just one WIP is not a thing I can do (I have now 5 things I work on truth be told)

But yeahhhh it huge I love this thing I can wear this as fullbody piece eventually I am very pleased. And it is soft. It is so soft. I love it so much.

[scarletsaphire]

Hey folks! This is my fic for the @valentines-core-exchange, going to @ghostypeppers! I did Johnny/Kitty, before they died. I hope you like it!

Johnny wasn’t one for reflection, or introspection, or really any of the -tions. At least none that he could think of, which was admittedly just those two. It just wasn’t in his nature to think back on things, or think things through, or think about what he really wanted, or think at all. It took too long, and he was never good at it anyway.

He always tried for Kitty, though.

He didn’t do it well, and he certainly didn’t do it as often as he should have, but he tried. It was why he stayed in their hometown so long, couch surfing with whatever pitiful mother would let him stay for a few nights before kicking him back on the street like his own pops had done. Johnny wasn’t about to leave her, and he wasn’t going to make her drop out just to stay with him. She deserved a chance at a good life, even if he’d given up on his.

It didn’t stop either of them from burning rubber the moment she had her diploma in hand, tearing across the country with nothing but the few bags they could fit on his bike and her arms wrapped around his torso. It had been their dream, ever since they started dating, to leave that shit hole of a city behind them, to never look back, even for a moment.

Johnny thought that would’ve been easy. There was nothing fond to look back on, not for her and certainly not for him. As far as he was concerned, the only good thing to ever come out of that place sat in his lap, with the scent of just-bleached hair clinging to her skin.

On nights like this one, it was harder said than done.

It was raining. It had been for the better part of their day, and both they and their stuff were soaked completely through. Maybe if they had a place to stay for the night, it wouldn’t have mattered as much. Sure, they didn’t need an excuse to sleep naked with each other, and they’d certainly done more than just “sleep” in the past, but having one didn’t hurt any.

But they didn’t have a place to stay. Every motel, hotel, and hostel had been either booked full or charged more money than either of them had seen in weeks, so instead they were stuck outside. Johnny’d tied the tarp he covered their bike with up against a lamp post and a stop sign off in the corner of the parking lot, giving them the illusion of cover if nothing else. There was hardly enough space for the two of them, even with Kitty in his lap, and the ground was wet and cold and hard beneath him. To say the experience was miserable would be an understatement.

Even he couldn't resist looking back on life when things went like this.

He didn't regret leaving. Johnny couldn't imagine ever regretting that. It was the closest thing to a life goal he'd ever had, and he'd take a thousand nights on the pavement over another week in the house he'd been raised in, because at least in the morning he knew he'd be able to get off the pavement. What he regretted was dragging Kitty down with him.

He wouldn't take credit for how things turned out for her. Mostly because she'd slap him if he tried. She always said that she worked hard to fail this spectacularly, but he wasn't an idiot, no matter what everyone already told him. He knew that if he hadn't shown up in her life, she might be at home safe, or at least making dumb decisions at three in the morning with a home to go back to.

He first met her under the bleachers during 3rd period. He intended on taking a smoke break, probably until lunch, when he could slip back into the building to grab whatever slop they were serving up. He'd figure out if he'd stick around for the rest of the day after that. He hadn't expected for someone to already be hiding out down there.

At the time, Kitty's hair was long and blonde, pulled back into a high ponytail. She had nice clothes, and neat makeup, and beautiful brown eyes that hardened into a glare the moment he walked into sight. He remembered just standing there, the cigarette he'd already gotten out nearly falling out of his hands. She was gorgeous. Breathtaking. The hottest chick he'd ever seen. Or at least, the hottest one he'd seen today.

Her attractiveness was only magnified by the venom that seemed to drip out of her voice. "Oh, you are turning your ass right around, do not even think about trying me."

It took Johnny a minute for his ears to catch up with his brain, and then another minute where his mouth did nothing but flop open and closed like a fish. When he finally figured out how to work his mouth again, it twisted into a smirk. "Well, I'd much prefer it if you turned your ass around, but if you insist I put on the show..."

She sputtered. "What did you just say to me?"

"I'm saying that if you want a look at my ass that bad, you only need to ask, kitty."

"Oh, so you're going to pull that card huh?" She took a step towards him. "Well, if you want to play like that, you should know that this kitty," she spat the pet name out, "has claws. And I'm not afraid to use them."

Johnny let out a low whistle, and held up his hands. "I can recognize a no when I see one. I'll find somewhere else to smoke."

He turned around, lifting his leg to climb out of the bleachers, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Wait," she said, and Johnny turned back around with one eyebrow raised. "Do you have another?"

"Maybe," Johnny said slowly, lowering his leg back to the ground. "If you pay the right price."

She removed her hand from his shoulder and held it out to him expectantly. "What I'm willing to do is let you stay here instead of having to wander across the football field in plain sight of the teacher's lounge."

Johnny weighed his options. He was normally after actual money when he sold cigarettes to students. "You know what?" he said finally. "You got yourself a deal, doll." He passed the cigarette he was still holding into her waiting fingers, before pulling out another for himself.

"I do have a name you know," she said, lowering herself to the ground. Johnny followed suit.

"Not one I know of," he said. "So until then, I get to call you whatever I want, sugar."

She opened her mouth to answer with what he assumed would be her name, before closing it slowly. "You know what? Call me Kitty all you like. It ain't like you're going to need to know my name anyway." She held her cigarette out for a light, and Johnny obliged before lighting his own.

"And here I was hoping I'd be able to see you again. Maybe tonight? The place on 8th street?"

Kitty snorted. "In your dreams. You're lucky you're getting to see me now."

She brought the cigarette to her lips, and Johnny watched how her lips pursed around it as she inhaled, parting a moment later to let the smoke billow so gently from her mouth. "Damn right I am," he said, lifting his own cigarette. Before it reached his face, his arm was knocked off track. "Hey!" Johnny exclaimed. “You punched me!”

"Yeah, and I'll do it again if you aren't careful."

Johnny swallowed hard. "Understood." This time, he was able to smoke unimpeded. Neither of them said another word, not until the faint echo of the bell marking the end of the period came from the school, and Kitty stood up.

"You heading out already?" Johnny asked without moving from the ground. "And after everything you did to make sure that this spot stayed yours."

"Yeah, well I'm done with it. If you want my sloppy seconds that bad, you can have them." Kitty didn't bother looking behind her, just waved him off as she climbed through the bleachers.

"See you around, Kitty," Johnny called just as she was about to disappear from view.

"In your dreams, dickhead," she called back, and then she was gone.

The cigarette Johnny held now was not the brand he liked, and it left a foul layer of something coating his tongue and teeth. But unlike the rest of their things, it was dry and warm and best of all, they'd gotten it for free, a pity gift from the clerk at the last hostel they tried.

"You two look like you need it more than I do," he'd said. He'd been right.

It took a few tries to get his lighter to work. He lit Kitty's first, just like he always did, and then lit his right after. The soft, orange glow that lit up their faces was a nice reprieve from the torrential rain.

"You're thinking," Kitty said.

"That doesn't sound like me," Johnny replied.

"Yeah, that's why I know you're doing it. I can hear the rust in your brain."

Johnny laughed. "Damn. Shows what I get for forgetting I had one."

"Yep," Kitty said. "So, are you gonna tell me what you're thinking 'bout, or will I need to pull it out of you?"

"Well, that entirely depends on how you're doing this pulling." Johnny couldn't see her face, not with how she was positioned in his lap. He didn't need to; he could envision the way she raised her eyebrow, the quirk of her lips in a smirk, the slight roll of her eyes. He could see her hair clinging to the side of her face, the green streaks of hair dye the rain had washed out covering her cheeks and forehead. 

She grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked in one smooth, practiced motion. "Like that."

"Fine, fine!" Johnny called out. She let go, and he moved his hand off of her hip to rub at his scalp. "You know, I'm normally a fan of hair pulling."

"I think you're a fan of the things that happen alongside hair pulling," Kitty corrected. "Now, spill."

He held his free hand up in the air in surrender, before letting it settle back into her lap. "Fine, fine." He took a deep drag of his cigarette, coating his mouth in the flavor and smoke. He held it in a beat longer than he normally would, before letting the smoke curl past his lips. "Do you... ever miss the life you were supposed to have?"

Kitty snorted. "What, churning out babies for some bastard like my sister’s doing? Not a chance."

"Yeah, you're right."

"Like always," Kitty added immediately. For a few moments, there was only the sound of their breathing and the pounding of rain against the tarp above them. "You're still worried about something."

"Who, me?" Johnny asked.

"Yes, you. Fess up."

He took a deep breath, this one not carrying any nicotine with it, before answering. "I wish things weren't like... well," He gestured with his cigarette at the parking lot they were in. "...this."

He felt rather than saw Kitty nod her head. "You know, my parents always warned me about guys like you," she said. "Always said that someone like you would come into my life, seduce me, and then leave me high and dry on the side of the road with nothing to my name, and when that happened, they wouldn't let me come crawling back to them. They were right. You're a mess. You have no money, no prospects, no job, and even if we were in any town long enough for you to get one, we both know you wouldn't be able to hold it down longer than a week."

Johnny waited as she puffed her own cigarette. She wasn't finished. At least, he hoped she wasn't finished. "It'd be easier to count the number of waitresses you haven't flirted with while we traveled than the ones you have," she continued. "We fight all the time about anything and everything. And then I leave. But you know what?"

She ground the cigarette butt into the ground next to her, casting it to the side without a thought. "You've never once been the one to leave me. Even when I yell that we're done and run off into whatever city we've found ourselves in, you always hang around until I've come back around, even though staying in one town too long makes your teeth itch. And every time we're anywhere new, you insist on bringing me to a pet shop to 'meet the natives,' and last week when we arrived in Scottsboro you had me pick up Chinese for us because that calico decided you were the perfect nap spot for like, three hours. I have to admit, she has good taste. "

Kitty spun around in his lap so that she was facing him now, wrapping her legs around his waist. "My parents were right. Running away with you means we're never going to be anything important. If I had stayed at home, maybe I'd be married to a doctor or a lawyer or an accountant or any kind of respectable job, and maybe I wouldn't be freezing my ass off out here. Maybe you did ruin the life I was supposed to live. I would've hated it anyway. At least this way, I get the chance to actually live , not just slog through the life someone else picked for me."

She leaned closer to him, lifting her face so he could smell the smoke on her breath. She looked exactly as he knew she would. "We're never going to amount to anything, but if we were to die tomorrow, the only thing I’d regret is not running away with you sooner."

Johnny smiled, extinguishing his own cigarette without breaking Kitty's gaze. "Careful, kitten. It almost sounds like you love me."

"Well, maybe I do," she said. "You just need to shut your brain back off and realize it."

"That is something I can do," he replied, just barely above a whisper, before leaning in and capturing her lips against his own.

She was right. They were never going to amount to much of anything. They were never going to be good people. They were never going to have a normal life.

That was fine by them. Normal never suited them anyway.

[aceouttatime]

15 questions for 15 friends

tagged by @korblez! thanks dearie <3

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?: My deadname was my mother's favorite name. My chosen name, Alex, is very similar--I kind of just flip-flopped the gender of it. I also chose my middle name when I was getting it legally changed, and I decided on my father's name.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?: Probably about ten months ago. I can't remember, but it's been way more difficult since starting testosterone ~2 years ago.

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?: No. Observe: A. I'm as gay as a room of monkeys on nitrous oxide, B. I'm a trans man who does NOT intend on using the uterus he was given, and C. I'm 20. We ain't ready.

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?: Was a cheerleader against my will for 12 years and a gymnast for 10. Those are. Uh. Very uncomfortable activities for a closeted trans man. Also messed up my body (abdominal issues, back issues, joints that crack like bubble wrap), but hey, I have a few cool party tricks to pull out now! I also played basketball for a few years and peewee soccer when I was real little.

DO YOU USE SARCASM?: No. (I am a liar.)

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?: How they hold themselves, i.e., body language like tense shoulders, a puffed-out chest, downcast eyes.

WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOUR?: Green! Olive green with a few dots of brown.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?: Depends on my mood. Do I want a think piece? Psychological horror, all the way. Am I sad and need Comfort Content? Happy endings please or I will cry inside.

ANY TALENTS?: I can fall asleep anywhere, anytime, given five minutes. I can do a great worm and also flips. I can draw pretty pictures sometimes that usually have gay people or aliens (or both) in them.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?: the USA BAYBEE RAHHHH 🦅🦅🦅 Ohio, specifically. It's mostly corn, highways, and the occasional building here (if you spot any signs of civilization, please let authorities know, as it is a rarity and must be documented for research purposes).

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?: Drawing, reading, writing, skiing, rollerblading, hiking, biking, embroidery, bracelet-making, video gaming, window shopping (poor college student with Spending Anxiety), taking care of my plant children, stopping my roommate's cat from eating plants (she has no survival instinct but is Very Cute), and many more that I can't think of at the moment.

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?: One dorm cat (my roommate's, she's a ragdoll mix) named Eda, and two dachshunds (my parents') named Dunkin and Bailey. Dunkin is barely out of his puppy years, and Bailey is Strange and Brick-Shaped.

HOW TALL ARE YOU?: 5'7. 5'8 if my spine is not Fucked-Up that day.

FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?: Science, history, and English. Psychology, if that counts (it's what I study in college)!

DREAM JOB?: Clinical psychologist for NASA (basically I'd help research, implement programs for, and monitor the mental wellbeing of personnel). Pipe dream? Yes. More reasonable career path? Clinical psychologist working private practice somewhere nice (and warm and maybe not in the States). -----TLDR; Astronaut therapist.

I'll go ahead and tag (with care, no pressure!): @straypurplebread, @who-is-riley, @swaps55, @daisywalletchains, @sparatus, @thetrashbagswasteland, @whiskynorocks, @notjumpinglamps, @threewhiskeylunch, @westernlarch, @maxiepenguin,

[piggyprincesspheobe]

a little flashback for you guys.

I'd really let myself go since moving out to live with my girlfriend. I'd been 240 pounds just 4 years ago, I was then around 463lbs although I hadn't weighed myself in months. It was depressing to see the numbers going up and up and just made me want to eat more. My double chin had attracted the concern of my friends and family who were always bugging me to go back to the gym and eat healthily, which ironically only made me stuff my face. I'd changed my whole wardrobe 4 times now, and still had most of my old stuff in the hope that I'd fit into some of it again.

I knew I was getting far too fat but I was in an odd state of mind. I was stressed with work and decided that I was eating what I wanted. However rather than accepting when I was full I was just ordering what I wanted to eat and making myself finish. It seemed like I was having fast food every day and I hadn't cooked anything healthy since I realised it was too late and I was already obese. It was around this time that I also decided not to stop pigging out on junk food.

I was on my lunch break and 2 big mac meals was the first part of my lunch, I had intended to grab myself some chocolate and crisps too but I was pretty bloated and wasn't sure if I'd hold it down.

I looked down at my belly, stretching my shirt accross itself, making the buttons look ready to pop off. I needed a new shirt, I thought to myself. No! Damnit! I need to loose weight! I corrected as I left the cubicle and washed my hands.

I was running late and started to head back to work, when I smelt the wonderful smell of the bakery. I looked longingly in the window. That is, for about a tenth of a second before I headed in there.

'No!' my brain cried 'What are you doing you fat bastard?! You're going on a diet' - 'Stop, seriously, I'm too full' my stomach chimed in. But my mouth was doing the ordering and ordered a danish swirl, a blueberry muffin and a brownie.

I arrived late to start back at work, my stomach now in quite a lot of pain. I sat down at my desk and took a snickers bar from my draw. I was seriously out of control but I didn't care, behaving myself for 5 minutes before I gave up altogether and ate 5 days worth of food in one go seemed pointless.

I decided mid afternoon to join a gym, so phoned up and signed up with my credit card number. I was going in after work for a quick workout, although it'd been 4 years on getting fat since I'd last done any kind of excercise

''If I were you I'd start with something easier,'' said the personal trainer who'd watched me waddle myself close to death on the treadmill, ''like the bike?''

I was panting and sweating and so far I'd run a depressing 150 meters at a pathetic average of 8 miles per hour. My gym clothes, tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt, hugged my new fat like spandex, which only showed even more that I was sweating profusely.

''Thanks, sounds like a plan.'' I took a swig from my water bottle.

He wasn't my personal trainer, I wasn't ready for Ms Karufmann to drive me to the brink of falling apart, but she seemed to have nothing else to do but help me get the bike on an easy setting. She was a nice person but made me feel like I was twice the weight I was. It didn't really help that the size of my waist kept popping open the stud that held the jogging bottoms up.

After almost 30 long hard minutes of sampling everything the gym had to offer and deeming it beyond my capabilities, I headed to the cafeteria for a milkshake.

On my way out there was a scale. I hadn't stood on one in quite a while so headed over to it. Some teenage girls were playing around next to it, when I stood on the panel I heard it creak and they rushed to see the reading.

17 stone 4 pounds. 463lbs?! Ok, I was holding my gym bag and a milkshake but come on!

''Haha! Fat bitch!'' Said one girls

I sighed, couldn't think of anything I could say in return that wouldn't land me on some sort of register, and headed back to my car. On the way home I stopped for a burger king, forgetting my girlfriend had probably cooked something, and wondered whether I even had the willpower to lose weight.

I got home to find my girlfriend had made spaghetti. I sat straight down at the dinner table and ate 3 helpings before I had to give up and undo my belt and trouser button. As my soft round belly spilled into it's new breathing space I put a hand either side and groaned.

''I went to the gym today.''

''Yeah you said. Any good?''

''Umm, nice gym, but I'm kinda out of shape.''

''Aww you're not out of shape,'' She said as she placed a hand on mine, ''round is a shape.'' She laughed.

''Would you say I'm too fat?''

She patted my bulging tummy and gave it a rub. ''You're fine. Anyway finish this up because I shopped today and there's no room in the fridge.''

''I will in a minute.''

I got up and looked in the fridge, junk food wall to wall. I wondered for a moment if perhaps she was the reason I was getting fat. I'd put on over a two hundred pounds now since moving in with her 4 years ago. Then I thought, naah, and took a can of pepsi from the fridge and sat down to finish another couple of helpings of spaghetti.

I was laid on the sofa, she was stuffing endless slices of chocolate cake into my mouth. Every time I felt too full she'd just get some ice cream and make me eat that instead.

It was January 5th, I was supposed to be back at work but my doctor had given me a note to say I was unfit for work, and as I felt lazy and ill I didn't want to argue. My doctor's case was simply that I was suffering from stress related IBS caused by my job. It was really just food related IBS caused by all the food at Christmas. I'd gotten huge anyway, none of my work suits fitted me anymore. All that did fit me was some previously baggy t-shirts and a couple of pairs of underwear (although they weren't very comfortable so I was only wearing a t-shirt, which as you probably can guess was covered in chocolate). I didn't know how big exactly, I'd not weighed myself in 4 months.

As I'd expanded and filled more of the bed, crushed my girlfriend more during sex and generally become lazier and less energetic, I asked her why she continued to feed me so much. After all, at the rate we were going I'd soon be too big for sex altogether. She told me that she loved making me fatter, she loved every pound she added to my growing body, she loved my hanging belly and boobs, she loved my soft ass and thick thighs and she loved to keep my stomach packed full of the nicest things she could give me.

I'd come to eat more and more each day as the weeks and months past and for the past 2 weeks eating had become a non-stop thing throughout most of the day. However I was far too full to keep eating so I asked her to stop feeding me for a few minutes. As I was resting there was a knock on the door. She went to answer it and came back smiling with a package. She ripped off the packaging and I saw from the box that it was a set of scales. She'd ordered it online before Christmas and was a little dissapointed that she wouldn't know how much weight she'd made me gain over the holiday, but was at least pleased that she'd know what she'd put on me for the year coming.

She set them out on the floor and helped me up, my aching, huge, flabby belly, my butter thighs, and my ham arms making it hard for me to stand. "I-I'm going to fall! h-help!" As I got on I realised I couldn't see my feet, let alone the read out.

"36 stone!" She said gleefully and jumped into the air before walking behind my huge ass and smacked it.

"Look what else I ordered." She said as she came back with another package, this time taking it into the kitchen.

She opened it up and it turned out to be weight gain powder.

I had to ask myself as she mixed up a litre of milk with it, whether I liked where this was going. She'd made me massive, litterally massive. I was easily in the top 10% of obese people, my doctor had already had a go at me over my weight and she still wanted me fatter. Sex was becoming more difficult, walking was harder, even driving and I didn't think that was possible! My hand shaking, I took another bite of the muffin. This muffin wasn't the problem; the problem was the 15 muffins I'd already eaten after a day's feeding. I had become dependant on her over the last month or so. We had gotten married back in May while I was still able to walk around easily enough (well, not so easily but you know what I mean), and it was possible to find a tux that fit. I was about 37 stone at the time my family were there, some who hadn't seen me since I was half the size. I saw her side of the family, none of the men were slim, all of them either on their way to or over 30 stone. The women weren't slim either but it seemed to me, given my experience with my wife, that they had some natural urge to feed their loved ones. Even the kids were huge. Anyway, for the honeymoon we had to buy 3 seats, one for her, 2 for me, even though I only got one seat. But to hell with it, her grandmother had given her almost £2,200,000 as a wedding gift, which was set aside for all her grandkids for the day they married. Her great grandfather founded a car factory or something along those lines. The plane landed in California where we got a cruise liner which was going to Hawaii and back over 4 weeks. As soon as we were in our room she excitedly unpacked a heavy duty digital scale, the readout of which handily came attached on a cable just in case you couldn't see over your belly. "Get on!" She demanded, a big smile on her face. I dumped my bag and obliged. "539lbs! Yay!" She jumped for joy. My heart raced as I searched my fold for my phone to use the calculator . . . "38 stone. D-Damn!" "Honey, look . . . I don't want to get any fatter. Aren't I big enough for you now?" She frowned and hugged me, rubbing my fat stomach through my t-shirt. "Aww baby, please, just let me fatten you over this holiday and after that I'll let you eat how you want." I agreed. Though I'd married her for a reason after all, I loved her and it was an amazing time with her even if I had to spend almost all day eating to fulfil her desires. In all our photos my belly hangs low, my fat poking and spilling out of all the clothes I outgrew while we were away. My boobs were so large I contemplated wearing a bra but decided not to as I was hot enough as it was. We arrived back home after hours and hours of travelling in which I was made to eat countless bags of sweets and, just as excitedly as before she unpacked the scale. I wasn't too worried, this was it, I could stop gaining weight now, and how much could I possibly gain in 48 days? "Oh my god!" She shouted with glee. She jumped on the bed and began stripping. I bent down to pick up the readout which she'd dropped, and felt my jeans tear at the side. I straightened up and held still as the numbers settled. 580lbs. A 41 pound gain, over a pound a day, putting me at over 41 stone.

My 3 chins wobbled as I gasped. "Come here now!" She ordered and I got onto the bed, making it creak and groan. I broke the bed that night, so she got a steel one. That's what I'm laid on 4 months later in September. I'd stopped working long before our wedding and we were living on her fortune. I gave up arguing with her for 4 main reasons. 1, I was already hugely obese and would never be thin again. 2, my stomach was huge and I needed a lot of food to stay full. 3, the sex was fantastic and 4, it made her truly, truly happy. She had kept a diary of my measurements and weight since just before Christmas and it was a hell of a read. She also noted what she liked best about seeing my body swell. I was in a daze, I lived to eat. I watched TV and played videogames, sometimes surfed the net on our laptop. Whenever I needed to use my hands she would hand feed me. If I was too full she would massage my stomach for a while then give me plenty to drink (often weight gain shakes though that didn't help the bloated feeling), usually coke or something sugary. The game we were playing at the moment was her favorite. I was too full and fat to masturbate and she'd given me Viagra to keep me horny. When she was finally satisfied that I could get no more in I'd get my reward, but I certainly wouldn't get it if I didn't finish the batch of 16 muffins she'd made especially for me. It was very hard work, my stomach was in severe pain but even after the last muffin she brought a fudge cake and told me I had to eat it. It was huge . . . but I was so horny . . . My shaking hand spooned the last mouthful into my mouth and I swallowed. She held the plate to my face and made me lick it clean, then she gave me the best blowjob of my life. The next morning I was on the toilet for so long that she brought my breakfast in to me and gave me a milkshake to enjoy while I showered. When I was done she made me step on the scales. I got another big hug and she jotted into her diary. 614 pounds. 43 stone. It was too much weight on my bones. I could barely walk and breathe but I was beyond caring. I didn't leave the house, she just continued to shop and cook and clean and feed. I had nothing to worry about, I didn't even miss the outside world. She would occasionally take photos of me for a website which she frequented, where women like her (and a few men but I'm not homophobic) would say "wow he's so sexy" and "you've done such a good job of feeding him". I looked her up and down, she'd definitely gained a few pounds herself, which I enjoyed for some reason. I sat on the couch and awaited my second breakfast.

Later that day I was sat on the couch eating my 2nd 15 inch pizza. My wife was out shopping. We usually got food delivered but today she'd taken the car to get fast food and cakes, pastries, stuff like that. Last time she'd spent over £100 and made me eat the whole lot. It had been a struggle but she'd loved every minute of it and she ***ed my brains out that night.

I got a bit bored and, despite my orders, left half the pizza on the sofa, and hauled myself up and waddled to the pc. The chair was now very small for me and I was worried I'd break it so I tried to ease myself onto it. A large box of assorted donuts was on the desk next to the screen, she'd told me that if I wanted to use the computer I'd have to eat them, and since she'd know I'd been on it I decided to start eating them. I looked around her sites. One photo she'd uploaded was a comparison shot of me at 10 stone and again at 36 stone, it was very popular. There were other shots of me eating and I even found a video of her fingering my belly after I'd passed out from a huge force feeding.

I went into the forums and looked at things she'd posted on. I saw lots of stuff that I didn't understand, but plenty more that caught my attention. In one post she was telling how much I'd gained but that I still had a 'long way to go'. It had only been posted 3 days before so I delved deeper. I found a blog she'd been writing and this was the last entry.

"Oh my god, she's a dream come true. I never expected him to come around so easily to this but he's almost unable to walk and still agrees to eat and even lets me force feed him! Every day she gets closer to my goal. As soon as I make her immobile, which can only be a matter of weeks away, 3 or 4 months at worst, she'll be put onto the second phase of the regime. The part only my aunt and my friends, futon114 and casey5jane have managed to get their girlfriends to. I get so turned on watching her eat, and even more so (strangely) to shop for him, knowing that whatever I buy she will diligently and obediently consume. I love to see her stretch mark covered belly swelling and expanding, her four chins wobbling, her back fat jiggling, her nech being invisible, her meaty legs and arms expanding with my love and my home cooking which she loves more than anything. I love to see him get out of breath as she tries to walk, then give up and eat whatever I give to him.

It went on but I searched on the previous site for the names she had mentioned. They'd both uploaded photos of women twice my size, unable to get off the bed they were confined to. They had tubes leading into and out of orifices to help them breathe and defecate and a tired expression on their faces and piles of food around them. My heart raced. I needed to get out of there.

I looked in the wardrobe but no clothes fit, absolutely nothing would go over my fat belly. I got a white dressing gown on and headed for the car, but remembered she'd taken it out to shop. I couldn't call the police, what would they say?! At best I could hope to be a laughing stock. I wanted to go to a friend's place and hide out for a while, but there would be no time to get her to pick me up, so I sat back down and panted exhaustedly trying to get my breath back as I ate more pizza.

When she arrived home she brought in 4 bags, then made 2 more trips back to the car to get 9 more bags. What worried me was that it was all for today. I might be immobile by the end of the day. By midnight I'd been made to eat a family sized kfc bucket, 4 whoppers with fries, 2 weight gain milkshakes, 3 of the most fattening 800g cheesecakes you've ever seen, probably about 40-50 pastries and cream cakes of various kinds, fudgecakes and donuts and chocolate and pepsi and even more that I couldn't remember.

I laid on the bed unable to move a muscle as she ran her hand delicately over my swollen stomach, which was starting to spill over the side of the bed. I groaned, then asked her what my goal was.

"Your goal?" She asked, unaware that I'd been on her website.

"What is my goal? Why are you feeding me like this?"

"Well, if you want to know, you're going to weigh over 2000 pounds, which is about 140 stone." My heart raced and she soothed me, running her hand over mine. "Really I want to make you 2150 pounds because then I'll have added 2000 pounds to you all by myself."

"I don't want to be that big! I love going out places."

"When did we last go out?" She asked.

I thought hard, but couldn't think of anything since our honeymoon so remained silent.

"I won't do it. I won't let you keep feeding me if all you want is for me to be a fat blob on this bed."

"For starters, I wasn't expecting you to stay on this bed. I've set up a room especially for you in our new house. You have glass walls so you can see outside, a comfy bed, a crane to lift you out of it, I'll be there to wash and feed you, and I'll find a way to keep your winky entertained." She said, grabbing it under my folds of flesh. Her tone changed and she looked me in my panic stricken eyes. "And you will eat, and you will get fatter. There's something I never told you before we got married, I couldn't because I'd have scared you out of marrying me."

She got up, slapped my belly and pulled a pair of handcuffs from under the bed, attaching my ankle to the bedpost with them. "Myself and my 4 sisters were brought up and taught how to cook, feed and look after a huge man. Our 3 brothers were force fed daily, the reason they weren't at the wedding was that they are now simply too fat to walk. The reason for this is my mother; she tried to fatten her husband to over 2000 pounds because my whole family fortune goes to the first woman in our family to fatten up her husband to such a weight. My father died when I was young, of a heart attack at about 1400 pounds. She taught all of us to feed so that we'd be prepared for our partners. It has to be the first partner though, and I have a lot of competition from my cousins, but my sisters are behind me and I'm behind them, we have a pact to share the fortune. The fortune itself was left to our great grandmother because she fattened her husband to death, she was a feeder as well as a homicidal bitch. In her will she stipulated the rules and I want the money. But don't take this the wrong way, I love you and I love your body." She paused. "Come on, you've got to drink your weight gain shake before sleeping."

[spaceaudyssey]

It's time for me to talk about my experience on my birthday and at the Fontaines DC Concert on 10/18 in Washington DC

This is gonna be extreeeemely long because I have so much to say and I want to write it down to remember. The concert part of the story I will make very obvious.

I found out in May that they were going to be in Washington DC on my Birthday. I live 3 and a half hours away from there. I don't know if I would have been fully set on going if it wasn't on my Birthday, but since it was I HAD to go. I had only just become a fan of theirs last winter, but I was already so invested in this band for some reason. They had everything that I had been searching for in a band. So I asked my husband, if he could buy the tickets for me as a birthday present.

And it was all I thought about for months, because I was that excited for it

So on the day of, we drove to the DC area in the morning. Check in, to our hotel, wasn't until 3:00 so we killed time at Tysons Corner Mall. I didn't see anything there worth buying, but time did fly by. We went and got a late lunch At Kura sushi in Tysons. It's a rotating sushi place. That was a lot of fun. I've never been to one of those before. I got a pop socket for my phone from the little prize thing you get when you take an x number of plates or whatever. So cool

Then we stopped at the hotel to check in and take a nap because we are in our 30s. I probably could have stayed up the whole time but hubby was worried about it so we napped. The concert wasn't until 10pm.

Got up around 6 and got ready for the concert. I had made a shirt for the concert. It's in another post on my page somewhere. Then we made the walk down to the venue. We were going to drive initially but since the hotel has valet parking, we couldn't really get the car back until we check out. The walk wasn't too bad.

So, here's the thing (that was intended) I was expecting it to be how it was last time I went to a concert at the 9:30 club, where people stood in line and it was generally quiet everywhere else. I was wrong. Howard University had their homecoming weekend the same weekend as the concert. I thought it was just an event at a building somewhere when I first heard about it, but no, it was exactly what it was, students coming back to school and going out on the town. So a good number of food places and such were packed, and there were people everywhere. Which is totally fine, college students have every right to be out and have fun, it was just unfortunate that the concert was that weekend. BUT the food place right next door to the venue looked like it had some space there to eat so we went there. We shared a bowl though, because we were not that hungry, but we knew we needed to eat something. I got a beer because I needed to calm my nerves down. I was wondering if I would casually spot the band somewhere, as they tend to go to pubs and such before a show, but on this busy night, I doubt it.

After we were done, we could see people lining up for the concert so we got out and stood in line. While we were waiting, a car on the street ran into a guy on a bike. We heard a loud crash sound(?, hard to explain, it was like a thud, but a car thud?) and ambulances came. People stood around the guy but we couldn't see him because the car was in the way. From what I heard I think he was okay, alive at least. There were some people in front of us that were talking, and then we hear, "wait, this isn't the line for the so-n- so concert (can't remember the guys name now) ? I guess the two girls in front of us thought this was the line for the concert for the previous show, and didn't realize it was the line for fontaines. So they left the line, and we stood behind this other couple in line. They looked like they had left from work to come here, but not in a bad way, they dressed professionally almost, with nice coats and all. But I also think that's general DC vibes, as most work government jobs. The dude had an English accent. They both were very nice. I had a headband in my hand that said "it's my birthday" in it. It was silver. A woman walking down the street walks by and sees it in my hand and asks if it was my birthday, and I say yeah, and she says "happy birthday!!! ". It caught me off guard, because I wasn't wearing it and forgot it was in my hand. The couple I front heard and wished me happy birthday as well.

The English guy said that it was nice that I got to see them on my birthday, and that they were a great band. And I was like "yeah! I just discovered them last year on tik Tok, and I thought they were really good!!!". The Woman said "oh okay, yeah, Grian (she pronounced it like "Bryan" 😂) Chatten has something weird going on that just does it for me (not sure if those were the exact words but you get the point) I'm into whatever it is". I go "yeah!" Because I get what shes saying about weird, but like a good weird, hard to explain (especially his movements on stage, but it works). And her boyfriend goes "she wants to have s*x with him". I can't remember if he said something like he was okay with that but he said it jokingly. I laugh pretty loud, because, what a thing to say to people you don't know!!! Haha. But it was funny.

All the while I'm trying not to think about peeing, because I had to pee really bad. The beer hit me in the bladder too soon, and we had some time left before the doors opened.

Doors finally open and the line moves and we see people huddled around with their phones at some guy, who ended up being the guy that played before our concert, as the woman in front of me let me know.

The concert

I ran to the bathroom inside, had a long good pee, and went to see if the front row was taken and it of course was (curse my bladder!) but I did get pretty close so that was nice. Hubby went to get me the shirt and patches I wanted and a beer. I ended up standing near a guy that was behind us. He looked to be in his late 40s at least. I was wearing my headband this time, and we had a short conversation about how lucky it was I got to see them on my birthday. I replied with the thing I said at the very beginning of this post about how I HAD to go. He said he never gets to go to a concert on his b day because his was Jan 2nd or something. And that's the time of year where basically nothing happens because it's after the holidays. I told him at least he can get some sales on stuff, to be positive.

Hubby comes back with the goods, and as we are nearing close to the first band starting, a girl in front of me waves her boyfriend to come up, and it's this really tall dude. He stands right in front of me, so I can't get a great view of the stage. So I'm moving my head around while the first band plays. Ben Stellar was good, but I think I have to listen to their songs on streaming first, before I can make a clear decision. I think it helps to sometimes listen to the studio version first to fully understand the live version, as I couldn't fully hear some of the lyrics. They get off the stage and then tech people get up to move stuff and check things. I finally found a spot to see the band better. I'm getting excited. Some other girl wishes me happy birthday and it was her brother's birthday as well, so I wished him happy birthday because he was there too.

Curly, Tom and Deego get on first and start playing the beginning of Romance. Then Carlos gets on. Based on a video I have of him, on that night, he had sunglasses on and sat in his chair to mess with the machine (whatever it's called), and he looked like he could be tired, but I think we may have mistook that for him just trying to look coooooool. At some point Grian starts singing and everything is going as usual for their typical concert. Energy is flowing. By the second song people start shoving each other around but it wasn't a full on mosh. I wasn't sure if anything like that was going to happen or not but I decided to take my chances with it instead of going up to the balcony. I did see the couple from before up there though.

At first it was jarring, since I've never been to a concert where they did that, but afterwards it felt oddly....idk... comforting??? I don't think that's the word. But as I was staring at Grian while he sang, I felt like I was being swallowed in a living breathing crowd. My hand was out trying to reach for something or someone that probably wasn't going to reach back, but we were all moving in unison back a fourth, right and left, being squished and being bumped, all to the same song, and we probably all had the same feelings when listening to the greatness of this music. It felt both dangerous and safe at the same time. Very strange

I think next time, I'll go to the balcony 😜

Then the third song comes on (or maybe the second is where this happens) and they stop in the middle of it because of "technical difficulties", and they had to leave the stage to get it fixed. I personally thought it all sounded fine so I didn't know what they were on about. It probably lasted around 10 ish minutes. A woman in front of me sees my headband and asks if it's my birthday and I say yes, then asks for my name and I tell her. She then proceeded to tell her friends and other people around her that it was my birthday and that she wanted them to help her sing happy birthday. She goes "okay everyone, ready, one two three!" And they all start singing happy birthday. Everyone else who didn't get the memo turned to stare at them and me, maybe some of them also joined in(?). But I was shocked that someone would go out of their way to actually tell people it's my birthday, and sing it, just to make my day a little extra special. They were sooo sweet for doing that. All I could do was just awkwardly stand there with a grin on my face. I told them thank you and I asked what the woman's name was. It was like Era or Erin or something, it was really hard to hear over other people talking. But we had a short conversation about crowds at concerts and her experience at a dropkick Murphys concert.

Not long after that, Curly came back on stage to announce that Carlos was not feeling well and wouldn't perform for the night. But they would try to play as many songs as they could for us. I was bummed, but also didn't know what they could or couldn't play without him. Also when they said it was technical difficulties, it was because Carlos had walked off stage, during the song, which I didn't see happen because my view of the sides were blocked by 2 gentlemen. Anyway, they called up a guy named Griffin ( who is actually a Richmond VA local) to help them play Boys in the Better Land. He did a good job. I always like it when they give young guitarists a chance to play that song for them. So far I think it's happened at least 3 times. He's pretty lucky. I know they played Life Ain't Always Empty, I Love You, Televised Mind Bug, Big Shot? And Big maybe??. But no Starburster or much else off of their new album which is fine. I prefer Skinty Fia more anyway. But it all ended up being a 40ish minute set.

At some point in all of that, they did announce that it was Tom Coll's (the dummer) Birthday! I was like waaaaat?? That's so cool I share a Birthday with the drummer! Being my hyper self, I tried to yell out It's my birthday too! But hubby was like "shh don't, it's fine, they don't need to know" . So we all sang happy birthday to him.

There was no encore. After the last song they said cheers and left. And so did we. I did hear some people screaming back in the venue as we were leaving though, and I'm not sure what that was. We just chucked it off to people just being dramatic. There also was an ambulance outside. Some said it was for Carlos, but others have said that somebody got punched during a song, and so it was for that.

We walked back to the hotel, and found out that we lost the patches in the crowd somewhere because it was missing. And I lost a gibbit stud on my silver Mary Jane stomper Crocs. Oh well. Still got my shirt though.

Coming back from it all, I can't say I feel overly disappointed with the concert that night. The band had to do what they had to do. I think Carlos really wasn't feeling well, as he ended up being able to play for the next show the following night. If anybody went to the 10/19 one, y'all are lucky mfers. I do think that speculating that he was being a diva or that he was on drugs is not helpful and very divisive. I like to hear about drama like any other person, but we gotta learn to stop spreading rumors. I hope that Carlos is at least getting some time for him to breathe and y'know be mindful and whatnot. Constantly being on Tour can take a toll on your body and mind.

But I do think what made my night, and helped make light of the situation, was all of the nice people I briefly met at the concert. The amount of love that was given to me by complete strangers was astounding. Thanks to all who were there and wished my happy birthday in some way. What a way to turn 33!

And I REALLY hope to see Fontaines DC again. They better come back around. Hopefully somewhere closer to me than DC. Sorry this was so long, but if you read all of this, then you're a real one!

[codenamehazard]

.:Smack-Talk Smackdown:.

Chapter 22: Smack-Talk Smackdown

Hey guys!

I've been having this floating around in my head since the beginning of No Man's Land thanks to @rogueshadeaux and I talking about the crazy nonsense. So shoutout to her for handling my late night ramblefests!

Go read her story, InFAMOUS: Erosion! She's worked so hard on it and it's starting to get crazy!

Without further ado, let's jump in!

-------------

“Where the hell are you going?!”

My ringing ears pick up the pigeon’s shouting as I storm out of his trailer, god I already knew Dove was a pain in the ass but now I learn that this birdbrain not only has shit taste in music, he can’t carry a fucking tune!! Jesus Christ, for once I’m thankful for my god-damn tinnitus as I would much rather listen to the high pitched whining than Dove’s bubble gum hyperactive ear-murder!

“Out!” I growl. “I ain’t going to subjugate myself to your shitty ass bubble-candy bullshit or your god-awful singing a second more!” I can see Dove’s about to say something, but I quickly shut the door as hard as I can before walking off. Thank God the HEMTT has stopped for a pit-stop, I was about ready to knock the beansprout out.

I can see Pangolin prairie dogging out of the building that the Convoy stopped at to see what the commotion is, but he shrugs before going back to whatever he’s doing. I’m guessing games of musical trailers ain’t uncommon. Whatever. I walk to the trailer of someone I know for a fact has a much more palatable taste in music than the tone-deaf pigeon. Kestrel.

I don’t care if she’s going to throw a fit about me barging in, I’d rather deal with that dumbass bird’s smart mouth than birdbrain number 2’s god-awful music, both in choice and singing prowess… At least her music taste could sooth my throbbing eardrums.

I grab hold of the door and slide it open, prompting a loud and sharp yelp from inside. I’m greeted by a face of shock that quickly changes to one of annoyance. Kestrel’s eyes glows hot as she glares at me

“What in the actual fuck, Cole?!” I hear the bird squawk out as she stands up from whatever she was doing to walk towards me, intending on barring my entry, but I jump in and shut the door before she could stop me. “I thought you were bunking with Dove!”

“Well that was before I knew how much of a walking tinnitus agitator he was” I growl and I rub my ears to try and soothe the throbbing. “At least you have good taste in music, so the choice is obvious.” I can hear her groan in irritation, but I can tell by her face, she can’t really argue.

“Grrrr… Fine! You can stay!” She shouts as she spins a crank wrench. “Next time you decide to be a prick, knock… And if you plan on keeping your hands, DON’T. Touch. My shit!” Her voice snarls as I feel her eyes bore into the back of my head.

“Oh yes, of course your royal bitchiness.” I scoff and Kes rolls her eyes before throwing her hands up in the air, akin to how I’ve seen Nix do those years before. She walks back over to… Whatever she was working on.

“I mean it, MacGrath. I don’t care that you’re the Beast or how strong you are, you touch my shit and I will cut your hands off!” She warns before crouching down by what looks like a mangled mess of metal and scrap, but on closer inspection, I see what it is.

It was her bike, or rather what was left of it.

Well… That explains her foul mood.

I lean back on a wall that faces her and the door and I look around the place. It’s… An interesting set up. On one side of the trailer, she has a mini-forge set up with the kit and kaboodle needed to make weapons on the go… Hell, I can see what looks like containers full of scrap and ingots. Then there’s the other side set up more like a bedroom, except instead of a bed, she has a hammock. Huh… Not a bad idea. I look at the shelves and see various things… Legos, rocks, a gameboy… A… Jar of feathers? Hm…

I turn my attention back to the bird as I feel the HEMTT shift, must be back on the move again. I watch her work and notice that… She doesn’t have her tendrils out. Odd, but okay. None of my business. She’s elbows deep in the scrap and working away. Curiosity starts getting the better of me as I never really got a chance to see the bike in its full glory before she wrecked it.

“So, what’s it based on?” I question.

“The base bike was a Kawasaki KX.” She grunts simply as I watch her switch out the wrench for her hands, using her power as both welder and cutter. I continue to ask questions about the bike, but she starts getting short with me.

“Would you just shut the fuck up?” She snaps. “I’m trying to focus on fixing this and you’re not helping.” Oooooh, she’s still sore about the bike. I grin to myself as I see an opportunity to stir up trouble.

“It’s a shame you had to go and wreck it.” I sneer, earning me a heated glare.

“Excuse me? You wrecked it, not me.”

“I wasn’t the one driving it, little birdie.” I snicker. “You were the one who crashed it.”

"Yeah because there was a murderous electric spider monkey trying to cook my brain meat while we were going 80, what the hell else was I supposed to do?" She pulls back, bumping her head and swearing before turning around to glare at me, hands on her hips.

“Not crash it.”

“And let you kill me? Hard pass! I’m still holding you responsible!”  Sure… Whatever helps you sleep at night. “I oughta make you fix my bike since you’re the one who broke it!” The bird snarls as I smirk at her. She was the one who wiped out the bike, not me, but whatever. I look at the partially rebuilt menace of a machine before looking at Kestrel.

“Aight.” I chuckle. “Just don’t get pissy when I go and cut the break lines.” My grin grows as I watch the Gunsmith turned mechanic roll her eyes so hard, they would have rolled out of her head.

“Uh, did you forget who’s fixing the Amp, sparkplug?” She sneers as she twirls a crank wrench in her hand. Her body posture taking on a serious dose of attitude. “I kiiiiiinda can’t hold up my end of the bargain if I’m roadkill.”

“You survived that crash, I’m sure you’ll be fine with a brake failure.” I taunt with a smirk.

“Are you planning on juicing me up with some of that Beast power when that happens, hm? Because last time I checked, I’m re-enforced, not invincible!”

“Maybe if you beg.” 

“Fat fucking chance!!” She scoffs. Her little snip kicks off a competition of wit and will. Insults and snarks fly back and forth and without anyone to interfere, the smacktalk can escalate freely and without interruption

I can feel something inside stir as we put each-other through our verbal paces, something I wouldn’t dare say to her or anyone. There’s… A feeling of… Excitement? I hate to admit it but that’s what it feels like. I’m… Starting to really enjoy this little game that our rage has turned into and I can see it in her eyes and how her mouth struggles not to twist into a grin that she’s sharing the same sentiments.

I have to give it to her, the girl can fight and her audacity is still as astounding as it was when we first clashed. Not backing down, not even to The Beast. Not even taking that title or the power it has into consideration of how I could fuck her up in several different ways.

It’s… Almost humanizing. Definitely refreshing.

The arguing and shouting continues to escalate, it becomes a blur with how second nature it feels to me, the only thing that snaps me out of it was a sudden grapple at my shirt and a pull. Soon we’re embroiled in a grapple match as we try to knock the other over. Me trying to use my strength while she uses her agility to throw her metal enforced body around and make me fall. The thing that stopped us is the sound of a crackling loudspeaker and a voice.

“WILL YOU TWO PINING IDIOTS KEEP IT DOWN?!?!” Mako’s voice roars over the speaker as we stop and stare at it, still grappling one another. “IF I CAN HEAR YOUR FOREPLAY OVER THE HEMTT AND INUYASHA TURNED UP AT FULL BLAST, YOU’RE TOO FUCKING LOUD!!”

What the hell?! What in the name of God makes her think that we were?? We were fighting!!

“If you two don’t either knock it off or keep it down, I will come over there and I will kick BOTH OF YOUR ASSES!!!” The speaker turns off with a click and the two of us stare at each-other before pushing each-other away. Kes dusts herself off before glaring at me. I can see it in her eyes she wants to keep going, but with Mako’s threats sucking the wind from the sails we just settle at glaring at each-other before exchanging one last insult.

“Bitch.”

“Dick.”

We walk back to our respective sides of the trailer, her to her bike and me to the wall. When I see that Kes has her eyes focused on her project, a small smile slips onto my face. I hate to admit it to myself, but that was… Fun.

I’ll have to mess with her again soon.