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theasstour · 4 years ago

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𝐔𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟕.𝟕𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐚

Tuesday, 13 December 2017

Tooley Street was always busy, whether there were a horde of people walking to and from the riverside and underground, or cars driving by at a ridiculous speed. London Bridge station on the other side of the road to where Y/N and the gang sat at Caffé Nero, looked like a small insect in comparison to The Shard that reached like a pillar above the partly cloudy winter sky. The blue painted brick building beside it, The Shipwright Arms pub, was a lively addition to an otherwise very bleak street.

The winter wind by the riverside was horrendous, but Y/N had offered to come with Annalise on her cigarette break, so she had only herself to blame for exposing herself to more of the biting cold than completely necessary. From where the two were sitting, they could just make out Tower Bridge behind them, bare trees rising up along the streets that indicated summer was long gone and winter had arrived.

Y/N had spent a lot of time just sitting outside the last few days. Whether it was on a bench by Regent’s Canal, in the grass at Shoreditch Park, or at a table outside a café with a coffee in hand. She had just been sitting there, staring out at nothing. Thinking. All she had been doing since finding that watch was think.

She had tried to find some kind of logical explanation as to why that watch had the coordinates for her family’s Newport cabin, but there was none. What kind of connection did George have to Newport? To that cabin? Had he just fucked her and left it there because he knew who Y/N’s sister was? And where was George now? She had not seen him since that night in October, was he still around? Or had Y/N just missed him when he had been, and this had all just been a huge coincidence. But Y/N somehow knew, deep down, that this was far from a coincidence and she should not treat it as one.

“You have to come to Monnickendam,” Annalise said, blowing out a puff of white smoke.

Y/N looked away from a man across the street who was arguing passionately with someone on his phone. Shoving the thoughts of the watch that was laid on her desk in her room, out of her head. She had not told anyone about it, this was not something she wanted everyone to know about because she had no idea what it meant. The only person that knew was Harry, and she would like to keep it that way.

“I’ve never been to the Netherlands,” Y/N said.

“Even more of a reason to come.”

Y/N smiled. “Buzzing. I haven’t travelled much in Europe, mostly been to Brazil with my family.”

“When you come to Monnickendam, we have to take the train to, like, Germany or France. Andorra is also so beautiful, I think you’re gonna love it.”

“Make a roadtrip out of it.”

“Exactly.”

Y/N’s smile grew. “Had you been to London before you came here for school?”

Annalise brought the cigarette up to her mouth. “Loads of times.”

“Really?”

“Yes, we went here around Easter in 2012 the first time, and I fell in love. Went here four more times, then to an Open Day last year.”

Y/N nodded. “Was Helmond your first choice then? Did you like it the best?”

“No, Battersea was, but I’m happy I ended up at Helmond.” Annalise breathed out white vapour. “Helmond’s prettier.”

Y/N laughed. “The aesthetic is more important than the uni itself, innit? If you can’t take decent Instagram pictures there, what’s the point of spending the next three years at that place?”

Annalise laughed along with Y/N, taking a last drag. “I rarely use Instagram.”

“I used to. I loved to like document my life, to let all my friends and family know what I was doing at all times. But then I found Snapchat, and it’s just better.”

“You know that if you, like, save a picture or video in the Snapchat app, Snapchat owns it?”

Y/N blinked.

“At least what someone at home told me once.”

“Doesn’t Instagram do the same?” Y/N asked.

“Think so,” Annalise said, walking over to the litter and stumping her cigarette out in the ash tray on top of it. “Ground rule: don’t save anything onto social media. Anyone can save and see your pictures.”

“Basically,” Y/N mumbled, looking over at the man she had watched earlier. He was still arguing with someone over the phone.

“Ready to head back inside?” Annalise asked.

“Yeah.” Y/N got up and the two strolled back over to the Caffé Nero their three other mates were sat in. Thian, Hayden, and Chloe were all sat with their laptops in front of them and books in the centre of the table behind their screens. Chloe was talking animatedly as Y/N and Annalise approached, Hayden busy with something on the laptop in front of them while Thian sat with a book in his hands, looking at Chloe as she spoke. Y/N took off her puffer jacket, hanging it off the back of her chair as she sat down, adjusting her black V-neck jumper and loose denim jeans.

“…the problem isn’t that. The problem is the fact that they never clean up after themselves. That’s the problem,” Chloe said, groaning loudly. “And when I ask in the flat groupchat if anyone wanna be social, no one answers. I swear, all of them hate me.”

“Maybe they’re just busy,” Thian suggested.

“They always say that, but I know two of the boys are in Dave’s room playing something on that PlayStation.” Chloe crossed her arms over her chest. “Should I learn how to play FIFA?”

“You don’t have to impress them,” Y/N said, turning her laptop back on to finish the essay for Critical Reading that was due that Friday.

“No, I know. But if I want to hang out with anyone in my flat, I gotta do something. What games do you play in the PlayStation, Thian?”

Thian stared at Chloe for a second, mouth working before he mumbled, “I didn’t bring one to uni.”

“Alright, then what did you play at home?”

“Call of Duty.”

Chloe scrunched up her nose. “Isn’t that a war game?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah, I’m not into that.” Chloe grimaced, looking at something further away. “I’ve never really played PlayStation. One of the blokes I dated in college gamed a lot, but I couldn’t be asked to sit around and just watch.”

“The three in my flat play GTA,” Y/N said. “At least that’s what Nathan wants to play, Harry and Mason just go along.”

Chloe’s face instantly lit up. “Oh, my word, Y/N. You have to make Harry teach me how to play something on the PlayStation.”

There was a slight pang in Y/N’s chest at the sound of his name leaving Chloe��s lips in that way. Y/N opened, then closed her mouth, then opened it again. “I don’t really hang out with them when they play it. I’ve had so much to do these past months.”

“That’s fine, Nathan can keep us company,” Chloe said, leaning back in her seat. “Make Mason come, too. God-“ She grinned, letting her head fall between her shoulder blades. “-Your flatmates are fit.”

“Harry’s fitter than Mason,” Hayden chimed in.

“No, definitely Mason,” Annalise said.

“I can’t choose. Depends on my mood,” Chloe mused.

Thian kept quiet, staring pointedly at his laptop.

“Can you do it? Make them teach me?” Chloe begged, sticking her bottom lip out at Y/N.

Y/N took a deep breath. “I’ll try.”

Chloe grinned.

“They might be busy, too. Might not get to it till after Christmas break.”

Chloe waved her hand. “That’s fine. I just want to hang out with someone from my flat eventually.”

Y/N glanced down at her laptop again, trying to forget the conversation she had just had with the other three. Chloe continued chattering on about something of no significance, Y/N did not care to listen as she wanted to finish her essay before she had to leave for home coming Saturday. Though her coffee was cold now as she took a sip of it, Y/N still appreciated the taste of caffeine. It woke her up, made her more alert and focused.

Ever since she was seven years old, her papai had made her coffee to drink. He always said “coffee is as vital to a Brazilian’s existence as tea is to a Brit’s” and she had drunk it ever since. She loved the taste of it much more than tea, but seeing as tea was much easier to make, she had come to resort to it here in London. Home in Nottingham, there was always a brew in the making or one ready for whoever felt like having a cup, made with a proper coffee machine that Davi had invested proper money in. He had bought it back in 2001, and it worked just as well as it did back then. Y/N, like her papai, loved the coffee from that old coffee maker more than anything else. She could not wait until she was home with her parents so she could drink proper coffee all the time without going to the nearest coffee shop to do so. The instant coffee Nathan often made smelled and tasted rank, Y/N would have no other coffee than her papai’s and a cup made at a coffee shop.

“I’m gonna go buy a muff,” Hayden said, getting up from their chair. “This essay is doing my head in, I need something to sooth the pain.”

“Oh, could you buy me a scone?” Thian asked, putting his hands together as if he was begging on his knees. “I’ll pay with five stellar knock knock jokes.”

“Make it six.”

“Deal.”

The two shook hands and Hayden grinned as they looked at the other three. “Anything from the trolley, dears?”

Y/N and Annalise chuckled. “No thanks,” Y/N said, Annalise saying the same thing.

“No, I’ll just add to this,” Chloe said, patting at her stomach.

“Add to what?” Hayden asked.

“A belly.” Chloe gripped the little that was protruding from her tight denim jeans. “I’m trying to start working out for bikini season, to remove that extra uni weight, you know?”

Hayden looked absolutely lost, so did Thian, and Annalise looked to not be paying any attention at all. Y/N, however, felt a familiar pang in her chest. It was a small explosion she had felt before, one that would taint the rest of her day. Instinctively, she put her scarf around her chest, letting it fall over her stomach.

Hayden did not comment, instead they just walked up to the till, ready to tell the lady working there their order. The table fell silent, but not for the reason Y/N wanted it to. No, they were all just busy with their essays. Y/N knew that it would be impossible for her to concentrate on the assignment now that the only thing she would be thinking about for the rest of the day was Chloe’s comment. Chancing a look over at her friend, she saw her flicking through a book in her lap, completely unbothered, Annalise was cocking her head to the side as she wrote something on her Mac, while Thian was watching Hayden pay for their food. None of them had batted an eyelash. Which was nothing new, Y/N was used to no one picking up on covered up fatphobic comments.

She knew that Chloe had not said those things with her in mind, that the statement had been about her own body only. But Y/N could not help but feel the comment in her very soul. She could remember her mates from school in Nottingham making comments similar to that one, so hearing it wasn’t alien, but it stung as much as hearing it that first time.

“Here we go,” Hayden said, putting the scone down on Thian’s keyboard.

“Scones are so bloody good,” Thian moaned, taking a huge bite out of his. “If we had to fuck a food, I’d fuck scones.”

The table went quiet, all looking at Thian. He just continued on eating, humming some Alesso and Conor Maynard song that was always playing on the radio.

“Why did you just say that?” Hayden asked.

“Felt like sharing my thoughts with the class.”

Hayden raised their eyebrows before looking at the laptop in front of them. “The class did not need to know.”

Thian shrugged his shoulders and Annalise laughed, Chloe joining in after a little while. Y/N smiled at them, but her thoughts still drifted back to Chloe’s comments just a minute earlier. She spread her scarf out over her stomach, wishing she had worn something that wasn’t so tight fitted.

Friday, 15 December 2017

“Sorry we’re late,” Mason said as him and the rest of the rugby team streamed into the seminar room. Hayden, Y/N, Thian, Chloe, Annalise, Nathan, and Annalise’s two friends were all sat around one table, already having started a round of Uno.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Hayden smiled. “I’ve put Uno decks on the other tables.”

“Cheers.”

Mason and the rest of the team sat down, all chatting amongst themselves and letting go of heavy sighs as they took their seats. It was clear that the last training session for the team this year had not only been cold, but also immensely tiring. They all looked very ready to travel home for Christmas break, and it looked like a few already had.

Y/N felt their struggle with the cold. She herself was wearing a mini linen skater dress in black. The skirt was loose, making it comfortable to hide her belly in – she had not stopped thinking about Chloe’s comment all week, but it would not stop her from looking really fucking good – and the waist was open, baring some of her skin and rib tattoo to everyone. Her skin protruded around the straps that were wrapped around her waist, connecting her skirt from her top, but there was nothing she could do about it, so she just tried to stay out of Chloe’s vision. The plunge neck revealed a very deep cleavage and skin, making it so Y/N had put on two silver necklaces to top of the outfit. The rest of the top had long sleeves and a nice collar, which was why Y/N had bought the dress. It was slutty, but in a modest way.

The rest of the gang around the table had also dressed up, ready to go out after this. They all had their last lecture of the semester today, meaning that their Christmas break had just started, and they wanted to celebrate before everyone travelled to their separate locations the next day. Chloe to Oxford, Thian to Bristol, Hayden to Sheffield, Annalise to Monnickendam, and Y/N back home to Nottingham. It would be weird not to meet up with them, to not go to lectures and stress about assignments for the next month. Then again, Annalise had made a Snapchat and Messenger group to ensure that the gang would talk every single day. And knowing her mates, Y/N was sure they would.

During a break between rounds, Y/N got up from their table after making sure that her polyamide shorts underneath her dress didn’t roll down her stomach. She wore them to prevent chafing, knowing that if she did not wear them underneath her skirt, it would be hard for her to wear anything the next day. She did the zip of her chunky sock boots before making her way over to Mason’s table.

“Alright, Y/N?” Mason said as she came closer, giving her a small smile.

“How’re you lot finding the society?” she asked, looking around the table, meeting Kai’s eyes.

Kai beamed. “Good, it’s nice to spend some time with the whole team off the rugby pitch.”

“You’re dressed up,” Mason pointed out. “What’s the occasion?”

“Uno Society.”

Mason smiled. “Trying to pull some rugby players, are ya?”

“No. No, rugby players.”

Mason only raised his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe her, smile widening.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re just as unbearable as Harry sometimes.”

“Nah, Harry’s worse than me.”

“Right.” Y/N took a big breath. “Chloe over there, the blonde,” Y/N said, motioning behind her with a nod of her head. Mason’s gaze immediately fell on Chloe. “She’s wondering if you and Harry can teach her how to play the PlayStation.”

Mason blinked, looking over at Kai as the bigger man clapped his hands together before laughing.

“Is that funny?” Y/N asked.

“No, it’s not. I just knew Kai would react like that,” Mason said. “But I’ll do it. After Christmas at some point.”

“Nice, I’ll tell her that, then.”

“Why does she need someone to teach her how to play PlayStation?” Kai asked, and though there was laughter in his voice, Y/N could tell his question was sincere.

“Some blokes in her flat never want to be social, they just stay in this one room playing PlayStation, and she’s kinda left out ‘cause she doesn’t really know how to play.”

“That might not work out,” Kai said, smiling still.

“Worth a shot, either way.”

“Maybe she just wanna spend time with this hunk,” Kai grinned, putting a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “Or the other hunk that’s not here.”

“Speaking of him,” Y/N said, putting a hand on her hip. “Not that I care, but where is he?”

Kai grinned, sitting back in his chair. “You don’t care? Not at all?”

“No, Y/N doesn’t like Harry much,” Mason explained, completely unbothered. “He’s working. The team’s popping by The Stag’s Head later to check on him since it’s his last shift and all that.”

Y/N nodded, suddenly remembering how Harry had told her that a few weeks ago.

“What’s the bellend done to you?” Kai asked.

“Another time, Kai. We’re in the middle of a round,” Mason said. “I’ll find a day that’s good for Chloe to come over.”

“Wicked,” Y/N smiled. “See ya.”

“Later, mate.”

Y/N walked back to her table, sitting down in her seat again. “Sorry,” she said when Hayden gave her a look. “Chloe, Mason said he could teach you how to play PlayStation sometime after Christmas break.”

Chloe squealed. “Really?!”

“Yeah, he’ll text me saying when.”

“Ahh! Buzzing!”

Y/N gave her a smile before the gang went back to playing.

Though she was physically present over the next hour or so, Y/N’s mind travelled back to the flat and the watch on her desk. Besides assignments, Christmas, and what Chloe said on Tuesday, that was all Y/N had spent her time thinking about. She would be in bed, about to go to sleep, then just get out of her bed and look at the watch, study it carefully. Maybe there was another message of sorts on it, maybe she was supposed to do something with it. But other days she did not want to touch that watch. There was something about it, something about how it had just been left in her possession so casually, something about the fact that she had not seen George since that night, that did not sit right with Y/N at all.

Throughout the rest of the night, after the Uno Society, while the gang was sat at a pub, and then dancing at a club later, Y/N could not bring herself to enjoy herself thoroughly. All her energy went back to that watch. She wanted to understand what it meant, why George had it, and what she was supposed to do with the information. Was she even supposed to do anything at all? It only made her want to travel down to Newport even more. She had to now. Her parents might think about getting rid of that cabin, but Y/N had to revisit it one last time before that happened.

Y/N did not drink that night; she was afraid of the conspiracy theories she would form if she did. She had one cocktail at the pub they went to, but could not do more than that, and her mates did not ask questions as to why she was not drinking, something she really appreciated. It was late when she announced she would be going home, and so she called Nathan and made him stay on the line with her as she took the tube back to Haggerston Station. Once she reached Orsman Road, she could hear his snores on the other end, and hung up halfway down the road to the flat. However, in the distance, she saw a stag’s head sign hanging out on a metal pole, protruding from the building opposite her flat building. She suddenly remembered what Mason said, and crossed the road, making her way over to the pub.

A small group of lads made their way out of the pub as Y/N reached it, the last one holding the door for her. She smiled and thanked him before walking inside. Now that she wasn’t affected by alcohol, Y/N was finally able to take in the pub properly without having the slight haze of alcohol taint it. The lights were comfortably dimmed, not too much so you could not read the menu, but just enough so that a person’s facial features would be a tad blurry. The red that ran along the wall behind the dark bar counter was subtle, giving the bar a sense of holding onto the secrets of each person who walked through the front doors, like a Victorian murder mystery. Y/N could see Sweeney Todd’s barber shop trapped in the same colours.

“Excuse me, miss,” a man walking out from behind the counter said, grey hair and broad shoulders. “We’re closed.”

“Oh,” she said, looking around the dark pub. “I… I thought I might find Harry here.”

The man narrowed his eyes a little. “He’s got a new girlfriend? So soon after the other ones?”

Y/N felt herself narrow her eyes back at the man. Girlfriend? Harry’s had girlfriends – plural – since he started working in The Stag’s Head? There was a very strange combination of a lot of different feelings that swarmed around Y/N’s body, suddenly making her feel seasick. She was about to abort her mission, to say she would just catch Harry at home, when there came a voice from the door leading out into the smoking area.

“Y/N,” Harry said, turning the lights off outside and closing the door. It looked as if he could not quite believe his eyes as he saw her standing there, like he had not thought she would ever show up to his work like this. Without seemingly able to help himself, his green eyes fell down to her green dress and her exposed legs. He quickly looked to his other co-worker, clearing his throat as he walked behind the pub counter. Y/N could swear she saw a slight pink hue to his cheekbones.

“I’ll leave if you’re busy.”

“No,” Harry said, the word coming out a little too quickly as if desperation got the better of him. “No. Not busy.”

The grey-haired man raised his eyebrows at Harry. He must have seen something in Harry’s demeanour, because he said, “You’ll be alright to close up on your own?”

Harry smiled. “It’ll be a nice way to end my time at Stag’s Head.”

“Nice,” the man Y/N now suspected was Harry’s boss, said. “Pop by with the keys tomorrow, will ya?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man gave both Harry and Y/N a smile each before he started on his walk up to his office. The pub was suddenly very quiet, not a single sound came from inside, just the distant siren outside and the low buzz of the city. A place that was usually bustling with noise, energy, and anticipation, was now left with the latter. Y/N looked around the place, unsure of what to do with herself now that it was only her and Harry there. Harry watched her, picking up the Cif spray from where it stood under the counter. She felt his gaze on her as she walked along the booths, touching the red velvet cushions, a rush of goosebumps travelling up her spine at the knowledge that she had his full attention.

She turned around, leaning her bum against a table as she took in the liquor behind Harry. He was washing the counter, looking over at Y/N again, eyes falling to her mid-area that was expanded slightly at the pressure the surface behind her was providing. He quickly looked away again, biting his lips together as he focused on the counter in front of him. Y/N could not help a small smile.

“What made you show up to my work, then?” he asked.

“Can’t a friend show up to another friend’s work?”

Harry let out a strangled chuckle. “Alright. That’s very nice of you, but I don’t buy that for a single second.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “You don’t?”

“There’s gotta have been another reason as to why.”

“Okay…? What’s that?”

Harry shrugged his shoulder, spraying more Cif onto the counter. “You were bored. You didn’t want to be around your other mates any longer. You wanted to see a delicious man with an irresistible Northern accent clean up a pub since it’s his last shift ever here tonight.”

Y/N let out a laugh, placing her hands on either side of the table beside her. “None of the above.”

“Alright,” Harry said, coming out from behind the pub. “What didn’t I cover?”

“You weren’t at the Uno Society meeting.”

The answer came so effortlessly, as if her subconscious had been holding onto the answer for Y/N until she was strong enough to know the real reason. Her hands instantly gripped the table harder, feeling embarrassed for admitting vulnerability so easily. She blamed how easy it was to talk to him, how he just seemed to throw a lasso around her deepest secrets, her most private desires, and drag them out of her.

Harry looked over at her from where he was cleaning the tables a bit further away in the pub. “Had work. Would’ve been there if I didn’t have to be here.”

She nodded, looking down at her black boots. For some reason, his words warmed something inside her. Hearing someone care about something she cared about made her feel special. Then again, someone she just met on the street could tell her they hated Marmite, something Y/N also did, and she would feel equally as fuzzy inside. Finding small bonds, small preferences, small somethings that connected you to other people, made you feel like you weren’t alone, but it also made you feel special, made you feel seen and understood. It was as if someone opened a door into their soul, and giving you a warm handshake, welcoming you into them and their life.

“The lads had a blast,” Harry said, now closer to Y/N as she had zoned out for a minute and some.

“They did?”

“Yeah, it’s nice to just sit down and relax like that. We don’t really get to do that.”

Y/N watched as Harry hovered by a table, leaning over it to clean it. His black tee shirt stretched over his broad back, his shoulder blades visibly working as he ran the cloth over the table in front of him. The outline of his muscles, the way they were so hard against the soft fabric of the tee shirt, made Y/N’s body feel very hot all of a sudden. He worked so carefully, sliding his hand holding the cloth so slowly over the table, paying it his undivided attention. She adjusted her position against her table, looking away from Harry as he stood back up, his black trousers that had been tight around his buttocks, slacking at the lack of pressure on the material. Get a fucking grip, Y/N screamed at herself in her head, focusing on the wall in front of her. She saw Harry look at her over his shoulder, gaze lingering on her for a few seconds. Y/N suddenly found it very hard to draw a proper breath.

“You’re mad I didn’t show up?” Harry asked.

Y/N was silent, her brain completely blank. “Didn’t show up…?”

She could see his smug smile in her peripheral vision. “Yeah.”

“To what?”

His smile widened and he focused on a table closer to her. “The Uno Society.”

She closed her eyes. Her checking out Harry while he had his back to her had not just made her forget the whole reason why she had showed up to The Stag’s Head in the first place. His body looking the way it did, him caring about the society, him teasing her to get a reaction out of her… Why the fuck did he have that effect on her?

“No,” Y/N said, refusing to look at him still. “I’m not mad.”

“Then why won’t you look at me right now?”

Y/N could feel her hands instinctively grabbing harder onto the table behind her. “No reason.”

“You know,” Harry started, she could hear the smirk in his voice. “You can try all you want, but I still know you.”

She huffed. “You wish.”

“I don’t gotta,” he said, chuckling a little. “Don’t gotta wish when I already do know you. Wish I knew you better, wish you’d just open up to me like you did so easily before, but that’s for a later time.”

That made her look over at Harry, her eyebrows drawn together as she just watched him clean yet another table. He… Did he really think she would one day open up to him again and they would go back to being friends like they used to? Was he really that optimistic? Had he thought about it? About them and their friendship? And what a future with her alongside him at uni would look like? Her eyes landed on his bicep as it flexed, holding his body weight as he leaned against the table again. Her gaze following his arm all the way down to his hand, long slender fingers wrapped around the edge of the table, and the thick veins over the dorsal part of his hand made something in Y/N’s brain short circuit. That along with the casual way he was leaning his hips against the table, staring down at it with his head cocked.

What the fuck, Y/N said to herself again, looking away from him. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?! How was she supposed to stay neutral, to not find him attractive, to not want to sink right back into old habits when she allowed herself to study him and look at him like that. She had to stop. This was getting out of hand.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet tonight,” Harry said, working slowly as he cleaned up the table in the booth beside the one she was stood leaning against.

“No, I’ve just got things on my mind.”

“What things?”

Your broad shoulders. Your hands. The way you stick your tongue out of your mouth when you are concentrating. But Y/N said none of those things, as doing so would sentence her to a lifetime of humiliation.

“Insignificant things.”

“When they’re taking up a lot of space in your head and preventing you from being present, they’re not insignificant,” Harry said, sounding a little serious all of a sudden. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, there’s nothing inherently bad on my mind, just… I’ve got a lot of… thoughts,” Y/N said, not knowing how else to explain it without giving something away.

“What thoughts?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “Thought you did Architectural Studies, didn’t know you also had a degree in being Nosy.”

Harry let out a laugh, coming to stand in front of her with the spray and the cloth in his hands. “I’m very nosy.”

“Glad to hear you’re self-aware.”

“But right now I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Bloody hell, Y/N thought, could he just fucking stop being so nice? So fucking adorable? And fit? It made hating him so much harder than it already was.

“I’m okay.”

He took a step closer. “What’s been on your mind then?”

“Just… life.”

“Has uni exhausted you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not what I’m thinking about.”

Harry took another step closer. Y/N’s palms were suddenly very clammy.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked again, a small smile on his lips as if he was challenging her.

“Maybe you just have to face the fact that I won’t tell you and you can’t figure it out on your own.”

“Nah,” Harry said. “I’ll figure you out.”

Y/N watched as Harry took another step closer, her heart suddenly beating very fast inside her chest.

“I just gotta…” He trailed off, now standing directly in front of her. Tip of his shoes against the tip of hers. Without a warning of sorts, he leaned closer, bending over her until his head hovered beside her own. Chest wavering above hers, touching as she drew in a precipitous breath and he did the same. Their bodies did not brush against one another again, an invisible, burning shield was built to keep them apart the second their upper bodies made contact. As if the universe was telling them that by touching like that, the world would go up in total flames around them.

Harry’s sudden closeness made her breathe in a little too harshly, she was sure he must have heard it but she simply did not care. The reaction her body was having to him being so close was electric, it made all the hairs on her body stand on end. She didn’t know what he was doing that close to her, thinking at first that he must have wanted to whisper something in her ear, to say something to her that would undoubtedly make her glad she was leaning against something solid for support.

But she heard the familiar sound of the Cif spray, and a second later, Harry reached his cloth behind Y/N’s back, cleaning the table. She felt his breath against her neck, triggering something radioactive inside her. The oud aroma of his cologne, with notes of cedar, patchouli, and spicy saffron filled Y/N’s nostrils. In those seconds when Harry hovered above her like that, his warm body inches from hers, breath fanning against her skin, his aroma, and aura mere inches from hers, Y/N was conflicted as to if she wanted time to speed up or slow down some more. She knew that if she stayed like that, with Harry so close to her, for much longer she would go absolutely mad and have an impossible time resisting him if he were to try something like he had done in the living room the week before.

No sooner had she thought that, he pushed off, face lingering just centimetres from hers. “I just need to take a look,” he said, speaking as if he did not mind if the whole world was watching them. He raised his hand, about to touch her chin. For what reason, Y/N did not know, but she didn’t ask any questions. However, he stopped, as if touching her was something he could not do. Y/N was glad he hadn’t, because God knows how her body would have reacted had he tenderly touched her jawline like it looked like he wanted to.

“Take a look?” Y/N mumbled.

“At you.”

A small breath left her lips.

“Maybe the answer to what’s been on your mind is somewhere in your eyes,” he said, eyes suddenly falling to her lips. “Or your lips.” He glanced at her forehead. “Or in the slight lines that appear between your eyebrows when you’re deep in thought.” He looked down at her hands on the table edge. “Or the way you’re gripping the table so tight right now.”

Jesus Christ, she was about to explode. Y/N let go of it immediately, standing up and forcing Harry to take two steps back. His intense glance lingered on her, falling to her lips as she opened her mouth to take a breath.

“It’s getting late,” she said, fingering the hem of her leather jacket as her heart continued to hammer away inside her chest.

“Wait for me, yeah?” Harry walked over to the next table to clean it, doing it way faster than all the other ones. Biting his lip and moving his hand with the cloth over the table as if to make up for time spent on something else, cleaning very slowly and standing too close to her.

“No, I can walk home by myself.”

“I know you’re capable of walking, but I don’t like you being out in the streets all alone late at night.”

Y/N looked over at Harry as he cleaned the last booth, seeing the determination to finish as quickly as possible.

“It’s just across the road,” she said.

“Please just let me walk you across the road, then.” Harry walked behind the bar counter, putting the cleaning supplies away.

“You make me sound like an old lady.”

“Just-“ He appeared from behind the counter. “-Wait.” He then disappeared into the backroom where he only stayed for a few seconds. Y/N would have thought that since he enjoyed working at The Stag’s Head, he would have at least lingered for a few moments to take in the last time he would ever be back there. But instead, he emerged wearing his coat, locking the door behind him, mere seconds later. He turned the lights off, and, walking over to where Y/N was standing, placed a gentle hand to her lower back, guiding her in the direction of the door that she could only barely make out in the dark. Goosebumps instantly ran up Y/N’s back and she inhaled at the pressure of Harry’s hand on her body. He held the door open for her and Y/N stepped outside, watching as Harry locked the front doors to The Stag’s Head for the very last time.

He looked around them after locking the door, checking up and down the three streets that came to a crossroad just outside the pub. Once his eyes finally met Y/N’s again he gave her the smallest smile, then motioned for her to lead the way back to their flat. She wanted to roll her eyes, but she could not find it in herself to do just that in that moment. Though it was just across the road, she very much appreciated Harry’s company back to their flat. Distance was nothing when the roads were dark and the faces of the figures walking past were left blurred by the dim streetlamps.

Harry held the door for Y/N once again, letting her be the first to enter the building. She strolled upstairs, unlocking their front door and watching as Harry gestured for her to walk on inside. The flat was dark, except for the warm yellow lights Nathan had twined around the railing of their terrace and the changing colours of the luminous Christmas tree in the living room. The kitchen was usually left in darkness, as was the rest of the flat, but since their eyes were used to night outside, it wasn’t hard to navigate their way to the stairs. They took their jackets off, and without her leather jacket on, Y/N was very aware of how much of her skin was exposed to Harry. Her dress showed off her legs, arms, and parts of her back to him, and she knew that, if he walked behind her up the stairs, he would get a good look at her bum.

She took her boots off and started up the stairs with her purse in her hand, hearing Harry make his way up them as well. If any man were to walk behind her up the stairs, Harry was one she trusted not to take the mick, to not look up her skirt and make her feel uncomfortable. But… after everything… she still didn’t want him to see her knickers. However, facing her door, she heard Harry walking up the stairs. Taking a deep breath, she turned around to face him once he reached the first floor. What happened next happened so suddenly that Y/N barely managed to wrap her head around it before the moment was gone.

She had just turned around to face Harry when he walked up over to her. Taking a step back at the sudden closeness, she felt herself breathe in sharply as Harry’s face lingered only centimetres from her own again. Though the person standing in front of her was a man, a completely different person, something inside her brain took her back to that night when they were 16. He hadn’t been this close to her since then, had not touched her or looked at her like this since then. His eyes flicked down to her lips, and then to meet hers, wet lips parting as if the anticipation was killing him.

And Y/N had to painfully admit, it was killing her, too. As much as she had tried to fight it, it was impossible to now. She wanted Harry to kiss her. Not tenderly kiss her like you would peck a person you were in love with, or to gently rub his thumb over her cheek as a show of affection, or to hug her tight when they met up for lunch. No, she wanted him to fucking kiss her. She wanted him to grab her face and kiss her hard; desperately, needily. She wanted them to fumble to take each other’s clothes off, and for him to make up for how bad that first time together was. There was absolutely no denying it, Y/N wanted Harry. She really wanted him. All these months, all those moments spent trying to push the thought away, she simply could not anymore. There was a hunger inside her for him, but only in the sexual sense. She could never fall in love with this man, she just wanted to fuck him. And she wanted to fuck him bad.

Her own lips parted, and she looked into his eyes with an expression she hoped he could read, because she needed him to understand. Once again, Harry raised his hand, hovering between them as if he were unsure what to do with it. Fingers twitching, she could see he was conflicted, whether he should touch her cheek as it looked like he wanted to, or if he should stop himself. Y/N let her eyes fall to his hand, to tell him she wanted him to touch her. She wanted to feel him somewhere, anywhere on her. Just looking at him, she could see he wanted the same as her. He wanted to feel her body, to explore it in a completely different way to last time.

Harry’s hand fell out of view, and just as Y/N thought he was going to let it hang limply, uselessly, at his side, she felt something on her waist. A warm pressure, snaking around the black linen of her dress. She waited for him to pull her closer to him, for their torsos to connect, but it never happened.

“Y/N,” Harry whispered, eyes falling to her lips again.

She did not answer, instead just tilted her head so it would be easier for him to kiss her. With her eyelids hanging low over her eyes, her body language not showing any sign of protesting, and with her lips parted, Y/N hoped the message was coming across clearly. Harry leaned in closer, his nose almost touching hers. Her heart was beating so fast and hard it hurt. Her hands were clammy. All her attention focused on Harry and the electricity they created on that spot where his hand rested. He leaned down, lips hovering just over the crook of her neck, making her close her eyes. Breath against the hair of her shoulder, lightning shooting up Y/N’s back. He slowly leaned back out again, nose hovering beside hers. The anticipation was absolutely killing her.

“I…” But he drifted off, eyes falling to her lips again. She could feel his breath on her mouth, could smell his cologne. The tension was making her dizzy, she just wanted him to bloody kiss her already.

She was just about to do it herself when she felt his warm hand drop off her waist. She blinked, and the next second, Harry took a step back. He only looked at her, mouth working as if he was trying to find the right words to say, but there were none. So, as if blinking himself awake from a sort of dream, he took another step back. Suddenly, he opened the door into his room. He stopped in the doorway, looking back at Y/N. Again, he tried to say something that must have died on the tip of his tongue, because again, he did not utter a word. It looked like he physically could not say them out loud. Instead, he closed the door, leaving Y/N standing alone out in the dark hallway.

Y/N’s eyes rested on the door to the bathroom, trying to go over in her head where it had just happened. Had… Had Harry just walked away just now? Had he teased her in the pub, then done almost the same just now, only to walk away? What had gone wrong? Why had he not kissed her? What had made him step away? What had made him stop? Y/N could not answer a single one of the questions, and she doubted Harry would give her any. She closed her eyes, resting her head against her door behind her. This was exactly why she had not wanted to live with Harry, this was why she had not given in to his charms and flirts before. Now, because of what had just happened, because of how awkward that had just been, they were back to square one. Just living under the same roof as him infuriated her. She could not fucking stand Harry Styles.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 4th April, 9PM GMT!

Huge thanks to my AMAZING beta readers! 🏛️ @aileenacoustic 🏛️ @devil-in-bw-the-sheets 🏛️ @sunflowerstache 🏛️ @fromyourstrulyh 🏛️

FIC PAGE | COME TALK !!!

READ TWO CHAPTERS AHEAD ON PATREON | CHECK OUT THE OTHER FIVE EXCLUSIVE PATREON STORIES HERE!

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #1dff #:DDDDDDDD PLS COME CHAT ILY ILY ILY :DDDDDDDDD

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phanfictioncatalogue · 2 years ago

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Pet Store/Animal Shelter Masterlist

a forever home starts with a corgi (ao3) - auroraphilealis (peachrosepetals)

Summary: it’s one of those things where dan’s been meaning to do it for ages. if he’s being honest with himself, he’s surprised phil hasn’t done it first, hasn’t beaten him to it the way he beat dan to everything else (saying i love you first, asking dan to be his officially, taking them out on their first date and paying for it all without ever even telling dan what it was meant to be), but he’s glad as well when he walks past the pet shop six blocks away from their new apartment and see’s…them.

a new friend, alright (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Maybe if Louise hadn't sent him that ad from Battersea dog shelter, he wouldn't be sat here getting emotional on the tube, alone. But it'll all be worth it to see Phil's face.

antisocialites watch a wilting flower (ao3) - det395

Summary: Phil's an emotionally attached and loving vet and Dan's the drained receptionist with no dreams at the animal shelter who reconnect over the poor, hurt puppy dropped off. Dan's boyfriend is their boss.

Better than kittens (ao3) - LiterallyAmazingPhan

Summary: Dan works at an animal shelter and Phil comes in everyday just to play with the kittens and Dan thinks Phil is super cute but can't work up the courage to talk to him but eventually he does and you go from there. Phan, drabble, fluff.

bring me home (ao3) - whiskers (robertmontauk)

Summary:

"Hello," she says, tilting her head with a friendly smile. "Are you looking for something?" Dan can't speak. "Yes, actually," says Phil, thank fuck. "We're looking to adopt a dog."

(or: the story with the dogs.)

Dan the Dog Lover (ao3) - threecheersfrnk

Summary: Dan hasn't stopped talking about dogs around Phil. Phil had enough and snuck out to the pet shop to find get his boyfriend a fluffy companion

Daniel's Spaniels (ao3) - bathildabagshott

Summary: Dan owns a dog rescue. Phil volunteers to help.

*ft. doggos, cute boys, and coffee*

december 5th: puppy eyes (ao3) - watergator

Summary: prompt: hamsters

dan and phil take their daughter to the pet store

fish me up (ao3) - megiaolf

Summary: Dan has a crush on the pet store clerk

I’m Waiting For the Day (ao3) - japhanforever

Summary: Dan has been working in the Lester’s pet store for two years now, but he has been pining after their youngest son, Phil, since possibly the beginning of time. Phil is somewhat of an enigma to everyone, and Dan wants nothing more than to get to know Phil a little better, but since Phil has never given Dan a second look, it seems impossible. That is until Phil asks Dan to accompany him to a pet expo to help expand their business. Then, a whole lot of things seem more possible.

In Deep Water (ao3) - analester

Summary: “My friend is out of town and I’m supposed to be taking care of his pet fish but it died and you work at the pet store help me find one that looks the same so he won’t notice" ?

just this once (ao3) - happy_endings15

Summary: Phil can be very convincing when he wants to be. Even when they're at the pet store.

Little Shop of Phan (ao3) - theoreticalgrey

Summary: “Look at all the little Susans and Jonathans in here, Dan!”

“Phil, I think they’re just called fish these days”

mini (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: dan's lonely while away at university and goes to a pet store to fill the void.

Our New Chapter - oakleysfthoying

Summary: After they’ve finished their book tour, Dan and Phil decide that they want to adopt a dog. So they go to their local animal shelter and meet Moon.

regret (ao3) - lionkid

Summary: One fateful day, Phil Lester walks into a pet shop to look at some bunnies. He leaves with a dog.

Sniffles (ao3) - mollieblack

Summary: How could Phil say no to the adorable man frantically running down the street begging for his help to catch the puppy racing away from him?

Who Was This Man Called Phil? (ao3) - developerdaniel

Summary: After four weeks of watching a raven-haired stranger come into the shelter to play with the puppies, Dan finally got the courage to talk to this man called Phil, sparking a new friendship like one he'd never had in his life before. Sure, it was all centred around playing with puppies, but sometimes, seeing a man for two hours a week was all it took to build a friendship stronger than one Dan had ever had before.

You Come and Go (ao3) - Fictropes

Summary: “Oh! Hi.” The man sticks his head around the corner, gives a smile brighter than the entire fucking store. “There you are.”

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #petstore #petstore masterlist #work #au #pets #fluff #animal shelter masterlist #animal shelter

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leupagus · 3 years ago

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Honey, It's the Mileage pt 4: it's actually "aft gang agley"

(I should subtitle this nonsense Continuing Adventures In Nightwinkgale.)

Robinade asked for a scene in which Nightingale confessed he actually does know what a twink is, which is good, because the definition is basically him.

Given Tommy’s slightly horrible introduction, or re-introduction, to my granddad, I probably should’ve expected that meeting his crew would go similarly pear-shaped for me. But as Tommy says, the best laid plans of mice and men often… do something in Scottish. Go pear-shaped, is what it means.

I had the best of intentions, for the record — ever since Tommy’d had that very dignified screaming match with my granddad in the carpark a few weeks before, he’d been broody. If he wasn’t so thoroughly Tommy, I’d just advise him to go get laid.

Actually I did advise it, come to think of it. We were at a pub a bit off our patch, down in Battersea, helping the local boys with an interestingly horrible murder scene that I won’t get into but did involve entrails. Note the ’s,’ multiple. When we finally clocked out, we came to one of those mind-meld unspoken agreements and ducked into the nearest pub to wash down the grossness with some nice lager and maybe a sandwich.

Which was probably our first mistake. Tommy’s safe in your average copper’s local, but set him loose in the wild and things get something in Scottish.

We were still in our uniforms, but like I’ve said, that doesn’t tend to slow people down as much as maybe Tommy wishes it did. We’d been there for about a quarter of a pint when a good-looking guy with a dashing little goatee and more rings on his fingers than seemed practical slid onto the stool next to Tommy’s. He had a hopefully lustful expression.

'Six o’clock,' I said, taking a drink. Tommy, who was probably a lot more familiar with this problem as I was, sighed and pinched his nose. But because he’s secretly from the 19th century or something, he assumed a polite if distant expression and turned to get rid of his new suitor.

Or at least that’s what I’d assumed he’d do — instead I got abandoned for a good five minutes while Tommy managed to pull, not more than a half-hour after we’d had to clean someone else’s vomit off of our shoes. (Not all PCs have as sturdy stomachs as we do, and it got very unpleasant for a while back there.) Now, I do all right for myself — being able to bench press a girl tends to impress her no matter what your gender is — but this was starting to get ridiculous.

At least it didn’t take long; the guy gave Tommy his number and slinked off, now with a lustfully hopeful expression. 'He wasn’t even that good-looking,' I complained as Tommy went back to his drink, casual as you please, like nothing had just happened.

'Beauty is hardly the best foundation to build any meaningful relationship with another person,' said Tommy piously. 'Besides, you can’t assume everyone who strikes up a conversation is looking for sexual gratification.'

'If that guy wasn’t twink-shopping, I’ll eat my helmet,' I said. Off his look of confused disgust, I added, 'See, Tommy, a twink is a young—'

'Yes, thank you, I’m aware of the terminology,' he said, still making that hilarious old-man-sucking-lemon face.

I was sceptical. 'Oh yeah? Where’d you learn it, at Eton or wherever?'

'I didn’t go to Eton,' he said. I took another drink and waited, and he sighed. 'I happened to be in San Francisco last year in June, and fell in with some very… knowledgable people who—'

'Did you get gang-banged by some leather daddies during Pride?' I asked, clasping my hands to my cheeks. ’Tommy, here I’ve thought I had so much to teach you and you were the master, all along.'

He glared at me. 'I’ve no intention of calling the gentleman who just left, if that makes you feel any better. Not that it concerns you,' he grumped.

I considered it. 'Might not be a bad idea,' I offered. 'You could do with some shagging.'

Tommy almost inhaled his drink. 'I beg your pardon.'

'I’m just making an observation!' I said. 'It’s a tried and true method of blowing off some… things. That might need to get blown.' I was gifted with the return of the disgusted face, and you’d think that that would be the moment that Detective Chief Superintendent Peter Grant would’ve shown up to allow me to make the worst possible first impression, but no.

No, that didn’t happen until the following Sunday, when I tried setting Tommy up with my friend Dwayne, which resulted in Tommy accidentally setting the restaurant’s tablecloth on fire. Which wasn’t my fault, and you’d think having the presence of mind to find a fire extinguisher would count for something, but the first time I actually met DCI Grant, I had the distinct impression that he was doing the calculations in his head of how soon he could boot me out of Tommy’s life.

(Later on, after everything with the witches happened, Tommy said that Grant actually quite likes me, and that that’s just his resting face.)

#rivers of london #fuck me I can do magic #ficcage of interest #honestly I could take 1000 prompts for this story #it's just SO FUN to write #poor kay #it's the mileage

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dreamy625 · 2 years ago

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This rockstar life - 3.4 Therapy couch? Blanket?

Words: 2735

Content: Some discussion of mental health issues but no heavy angst. The occasional swearword.

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

Steve hears the front door slam and Alice comes pelting down the stairs.

“Look look look! We’re in ‘Hello!’. Brian’s party.”

“Hmm, is that going in or coming out? Because we look pretty messed up.”

“We look like… dissolute artists! I think it’s going in? You were up all night trying to write that… thing, remember, and then we couldn’t get a cab, and it rained. Karla helped me fix my make-up in the loo. Okay, it’s not the best picture ever, but I’m still gonna frame it!”

Still peering intently at the page, she wanders into the kitchen. Ten seconds later, she is back again. “Oh god! This means people are going to know about us!”

“People already know about us?”

“People we know, know, but PEOPLE… in the world.”

“Only people who read ‘Hello!’.”

“Which is EVERYBODY!”

“Well, look, it doesn’t say your name, it just says ‘and companion’. And you’re sort of blurry. You could be anyone. It’s fine. No one will care. I don’t think I’m the kind of famous where paparazzi hide in my bins.”

“Are your fans going to hate me?”

“No! What for?”

“For stealing their man.”

“Seriously?”

“I’ve seen some of your fans, they’re terrifying. Their nails alone…”

He pulls her into a hug “Don’t be silly. No one’s going to hate you. And if anyone says anything, you can just say you’re my assistant or something.”

“I could be your bodyguard!”

“What are you gonna do, half-pint, bite their ankles?!”

She swats at him, “I’ll… stab them with my eyeliner.”

“Scary.”

—----------------------------------------

Although I was fairly horrified the first few times we were papped, it’s actually more surprising to me now that it doesn’t happen all that often. I was worried, at the start, that I was signing up for a life of camera flashes and being mobbed by fans and not being able to go to Sainsburys* without ending up in the Daily Mail*. But it turns out that, unless you’re Brian May or someone like that, the British media in general isn’t so interested in guitarists. The music press is, but they don’t have the money to follow you around just on the off chance that you’ll do something scandalous. And as for crazed fans, that seems to be a context thing - at an event, especially if the whole band’s together, there’ll be crowds wanting pictures and autographs - but just Steve hanging out doing ordinary-people things in London rarely gets recognised. He’s also got some sort of Clark Kent thing going on where in jeans and trainers and hair in a ponytail he’s essentially invisible, but fluff out the hair, put on a leather jacket, boots, and shades, and there’s a rockstar! You can literally see him assume the persona, grow a couple of inches taller, and suddenly everyone notices him. And thank gods he is able to turn it on and off like that, because otherwise I think he’d go crazy, he’s so shy. And it allows us to have little pockets of normal life away from the Def Leppard circus, without which I think I’d go crazy.

It is in pursuit of one of those pockets of normality that today, when the sun came out and you could almost believe it was summer, I proposed a trip to the park. Steve spends so much time shuttling back and forth to Dublin and Holland, and when he is here he mostly sleeps or lurks down in the music room playing what sounds to me like the same eight bars over and over again, that I feel we’ve barely seen each other in daylight for weeks. He doesn’t, I’ve checked, actually burst into flames when exposed to sunlight, but you wouldn’t know it from the amount of grumbling when I drag him from the stygian gloom of the basement and make him get dressed and brush his hair. The prospect of a picnic perks him up though and, once we’ve filled a bag with a random assortment of goodies from the fridge (all hail the amazing Debbie who saves us from literally starving to death), he becomes positively cheerful as we cross the bridge to Battersea Park, swinging our clasped hands and swivelling his head to take in the sky, the river, the cars, the people, as if he’d forgotten they existed.

Battersea is basically your standard London park - bandstand, sports pitches, boating lake for careless tourists to fall in, eight million pigeons (conservative estimate). It’s always busy but we locals know that once you get off the designated paths you can find less-populated corners where you can even imagine you’re in actual countryside. After wriggling through a few hedges we found ourselves a sheltered spot to sit with a view of the lake in the distance, just us, an industrious squirrel, and the occasional dog-walker and their hound.

“I told my counsellor about us today. Should have done it ages ago really, but now photos of us are turning up in magazines I really had to. And apart from anything else, she needed to know where to send the bills to!”

“So how did it go?”

“Okay really. She was less cross than I expected.”

“Why would she be cross? Are you not allowed to have a boyfriend?”

“Well, not telling her before, and that you’re… um… maybe not the stable good influence she might have hoped for.”

Steve looks slightly sheepish. “What did you tell her about me?”

“Pretty much everything. There’s no point lying to her, she always finds out. She started to look a bit sceptical when I said who you were, but I showed her a photo so she does believe you’re real now. Though she had no idea who Def Leppard are!”

He pouts and pretends to be offended.

“She promised to buy a record though, so you might get a new fan. Or not. She looks more like the Duran Duran type to me.” I realise I’ve dissected the sandwich I was holding so I drop the bits back into the box and wipe my hands on a serviette. “Anyway, she was worried that I’d got myself involved with someone so ‘troubled’...” I do air quotes and Steve grimaces, “but I said I didn’t think I’d get on with someone normal. And then we had to have a discussion about why I don’t see myself as normal…”

“Because you’re weird?” interjects Steve, and I poke my tongue out at him.

“Then she segued back into being concerned that the relationship would be too much of an emotional drain on me and would derail my recovery.”

“Oh,” he looks sad, “it’s not is it?”

I think for a second. “I don’t think so? I mean, I’m better than I was in the hospital, aren’t I? What does ‘recovery’ even mean anyway? And I don’t think I’ve picked up any of your bad habits.”

“Mmm, I think you smoke more?”

“Maybe? More than in the hospital certainly, because I was a good girl and didn’t break the rules, unlike some people!”

Steve smirks, but then his face turns serious again, “You will tell me though? If… being with me is making you unhappy, or making your stuff worse?”

“I would, but it’s not. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He’s dipped his head down bashfully, but I reach out and tilt his chin back up so I can give him a little kiss.

“So, have you told yours, good old Eddie?”

Steve swallows the last mouthful of his beer and turns around to lie on the blanket with his head on my crossed legs. “Yeah… mostly… I left a few things out.”

“Like what?”

He lights a cigarette, inhales, and then passes it up to me. “Like that we met at the hospital. As that’s not allowed. And as he’s from there, I didn’t know if he’d be able to go and look at your records or something, and that would be weird.”

“Hopefully not, they’re supposed to be confidential. But he works there, so I guess maybe he could? I don’t really know what the rules are.” I pass the cigarette back. “So how did it go?”

“Dunno. He said ‘hmm’ a lot and wrote a million notes. He never gives an opinion on anything, just says ‘and how did that make you feel?’ over and over.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Annoyed.” He blows out a big cloud of smoke. “And… emotionally stunted. I can only ever manage ‘happy’, ‘sad’, or… ‘scared’.”

“Well that covers pretty much all the bases. I can give you some synonyms if you like? Make some use of that English degree. How about ecstatic? Melancholy? Petrified?”

Steve smiles and takes a last drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out in the grass. “Useful for crosswords I guess.” He settles back and closes his eyes.

I reach down and brush a wayward tendril of hair off his face. “And… how do you feel? About… us?”

“Um… all of the above.”

“Melancholy? Petrified?”

“Petrified that I’ll screw it up like I do everything else.”

“Aww, no, you couldn’t.”

“Heh, you would be amazed at how good I am at fucking up.”

“I think I could forgive you almost anything. Is that bad? Are we codependent?”

“Probably. I’ll ask Eddie.”

“But that’s not carte blanche to go off and… kick puppies or whatever!”

“I could never.” There’s a pause while he swats away some buzzing creature that keeps hovering around his ear. “Actually…”

“Oh no!”

“No puppies. I swear!” He’s twisting the ring on his little finger round and round, a sure sign that he’s grappling with something that makes him anxious. “Just, he, Eddie, wants you to come to my next appointment. He wants to know what your,” he puts on some vaguely European accent that I assume is an impersonation of his therapist, “expectations of my recovery are.”

“Am I supposed to have some?”

“Apparently. He thinks I’ve stalled, and wants to know what you, as my,” he grimaces, “life partner, feel about that.”

“I feel… like it’s up to you, but I support you whatever. Will that do?”

“Aww.” Briefly he looks up at me with a tender expression before flicking his gaze back to the distant skyline. “He’ll still want to talk to you though.”

“Also, ‘life partner’?”

“I know, sorry. He just talks like that. So will you come?”

“Am I going to get in trouble for not making you go to AA meetings?”

“Course not. Responsibility for self and all that. He talks like a textbook, but I think he’s an okay guy underneath all that.”

“Then yeah, I’ll come, if it helps.”

“Thank you.” He reaches his hand up and squeezes my knee, closing his eyes once again.

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Anything you like.”

“Mwah ha ha!”

“True stuff! You can’t make things up.”

“Spoilsport.”

Steve just grins lazily.

Gazing down at that sweet face, he looks so peaceful. Today is a good day. But although it’s true what I said, he is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I am, by my standards, quite astonishingly happy, I do worry quite a lot. About him mostly, but also about us as a couple. I’m not expecting him to come back one day from therapy magically fixed. I want him to be safe, and of course to be happy, and if stopping drinking would do that I would be all for it, and do whatever I could to help him. But I suspect that’s not the answer, definitely not the whole answer anyway. So if he can’t, well, that doesn’t change how I feel about him and I’m never going to give him a ’stop or I’ll leave’ ultimatum. I know he’s not the way he is on purpose. He didn’t choose it. None of us choose to be miserable and fucked up. So I just work on the basis that he’s doing the best he can - even if he’s a total mess, that’s the best he can do in that moment. But I am scared, about how bad it could get, and whether I could cope. I guess we’ll find out when, if, it happens. It’s not like I can unlove him afterall.

“Think you’re stuck with me.”

I realise I’ve said that part out loud but, although his eyelids flutter, there’s no response. He’s asleep, still with one arm wrapped round my leg, like a little kid hugging a teddy bear.

—----------------------------------------

The session with Dr Eddie, when we manage to fit it in around Steve’s band commitments, my work hours, and the psychotherapist’s appointments with more demanding patients, is stressful, awkward, and ultimately disheartening. I have to talk about how Steve’s behaviour affects me, but as if he’s not right there in the room, chewing through a whole handful of fingernails because he’s not allowed to smoke. It’s horrible. I’m doing it to help him, and trying to be honest because I know they can’t help you if you lie to them, but I have to say things that I know must be painful to hear, and I feel like I’m betraying the person I love most in the world. Kind of like that therapy they do in rehab where they get your nearest and dearest to tell you over and over what a terrible human being you are and how you’re ruining everyone else’s lives. I’m not sure how anyone even imagines that is going to work on people who already think they’re worthless failures. It’s been threatening rain all afternoon and the room has darkened to an appropriate gloom by the time I finish answering his questions.

And then I’m not sure what it’s all been for, because the therapist’s conclusion is that Steve has probably come as far as he’s going to with this approach and would now benefit from seeing someone with a different specialism (he says ‘mood disorders’, but I’m not really sure what that covers). And also that we should consider couples’ counselling, sorry, not couples’ counselling, ‘counselling as a couple’ (apparently there’s a distinction, but either sounds horrifying tbh). Steve tries to keep his face neutral but I can tell he feels let down, betrayed even. The doctor tries to frame it as a positive outcome, one step completed on the road to… it’s not really clear what the ultimate destination is. Maybe that’s the problem. We both shake his hand as we leave, good old British social etiquette even in times of emotional upheaval.

“Remember I’m always here if you need me.”

Steve just nods. I feel numb, as if my brain has been wrung out leaving just a slow-blinking empty sign. Neither of us speaks on the way out, before falling into a tight, wordless hug on the steps outside.

“Do you think he’s watching?”

“Probably. Scribbling away in his little book.”

We peel apart and both simultaneously reach into our pockets for cigarettes.

“Pub?” asks Steve, and, noticing my raised eyebrow, “Yeah, ironic.”

Without further discussion, we head for the nearest hostelry, only breaking our grip on one another’s hands so Steve can light a second cigarette from the stub of the first.

“You alright?”

Steve replies with a smoky sigh, “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry… about… all that. I wasn’t… I hope I didn’t… I hated doing that.”

He squeezes my hand. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing I didn’t know already. It was sweet of you to come.”

“But… did I do it wrong? Was it because of what I said…?

“No. That’s all me.” He gives a hollow laugh, “This is not the first time I’ve been fired by my therapist. I’m incurable… a… lost cause.”

“But no you’re not. You heard him, he thinks you’ve made real progress. You just need a different kind of help now. Someone with different expertise.”

“But he’s the only one I’ve had who isn’t a total arsehole.”

“Yeah. Not-an-arsehole seems to be quite a rare quality in a therapist. You’d think they’d put it in their adverts!” My attempt at humour raises just a polite twitch of Steve’s lips. “He can’t be the ONLY one though, right?”

“Right.” replies Steve flatly, chaining a third cigarette.

Just then the clouds finally release fat, splatty raindrops onto the streets and we make a run for the bright doorway of The Three Tuns.

(May 1990)

—----------------------------------------

*Sainsburys - UK supermarket chain

*Daily Mail - trashy tabloid ‘newspaper’

#Steve Clark #steve clark fanfic #steve clark fanfiction #def leppard fanfic #def leppard fanfiction #This rockstar life fic

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rachelsteapot · 4 years ago

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Rescued: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader Part 3

This is it! This is the last part of Rescued! I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. Diclaimer, I had a moment while writing this and managed to switch tense without noticing so if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I’ll change them as soon as I can.

Part 1 / Part 2

Warnings: None

Tags: @bat-luna-cat , @nothingleftthaticando

That night, Tommy reluctantly dropped Y/N back at her Battersea apartment, having practically begged her to return to his city centre townhouse. The more time Tommy spent with this woman, the more and more he wanted her in his every day. This attraction wasn’t sexual like his previous women. It was more akin to what he had felt for Grace...

No.

Tommy was not going to let her face back into his mind. Grace was gone, a ghost that tormented him in his darkest moments. Y/N was alive, living, breathing. She had hopes and dreams that could still be fulfilled. Hopes and dreams that Tommy wanted a part in. And Tommy always got what he wanted.

Y/N’s mind was also churning. In less than twenty four hours, she had become a person of interest to one of the largest criminal gangs in the midlands, if not the whole country, simply because she had caught the leader’s eye. And what striking eyes they were too. Slipping into her nightclothes, Y/N placed her kettle onto the fire that she had started moments earlier, before settling into her armchair. Slowly, Y/N drifted in and out of thought, her pensive eyes glazed over as she stared into the flames. She was faced with one of the biggest decisions of her life: Tommy Shelby or Battersea cats and dogs home.

The next day, Y/N arrived at the shelter, and was met by an odd sight. A large poster was placed on the door and read, from what Y/N could decipher, ‘Under New Management’. So, doing what every good employee would, she opened the door and stepped into the foyer. It was quiet. Too quiet for an animal shelter. Quietly, Y/N approached the door of Mr. Smith’s office, and knocked.

“Come,” came a reply.

Y/N opened the door, once again releasing a haze of smoke, and stepped inside.

“Mr. Smith,” she began, but stopped. Sat in Mr. Smith’s chair, behind Mr. Smith’s desk, was Tommy Shelby. Y/N’s words caught in her throat, and she stood, stunned, until Bruce pressed his head into her knees.

“Mr. Shelby, what are you doing here?” she queried, bending down to stroke the dog.

“Y/N, I own it.” Swinging his legs off of the desk, Tommy stood and took the gently smoking cigarette from his lips. “I thought it would make your decision easier if I bought the place.”

A look of sheer confusion engulfed Y/N’s face. She knew Tommy was rich from his nice suit and ability to pay for almost everything, but she didn’t think he was ‘buy-a-dog-shelter-because-you-want-one-of-the-workers-to-go-home-with-you’ rich.

“I’ll stay for a few days.” In that moment, Y/N saw a flicker of a smile cross Tommy’s face, and she knew he had won.

The drive back to Small Heath was dull. But, at least, Y/N had Bruce for company. Tommy had been silent since they had left London, and Y/N assumed it was because he was concentrating on the road. In reality, however, it was something entirely different that was consuming Tommy’s attention.

Tommy’s mild swirled with thoughts: some about business, some not. Every now and then, the car rocked, causing the crime boss to catch scent of his passenger’s perfume, making his head spin even more. Out of the corner of his eye he could just see her stroking Bruce and god did she look cute.

Slowly, Tommy’s hand moved from the gear stick onto Y/N’s thigh. He heard her breath hitch slightly, and waited.

Y/n turned to face him, meeting his steely blue gaze, and nodded slightly. She was okay with this. Part of her brain had been begging for Tommy to make a move, and finally, he was. She felt her stomach twist slightly as his fingers pressed into her thigh slightly, having received permission mere seconds earlier.

Tommy was one of a kind, Y/N had decided, and if his family were half as intriguing as he was, she would be in for one hell of a trip.

After what felt like forever, Y/N and her guide pulled up in Small heath. Tommy marched from the car, pushing the front door open, and striding inside, followed dutifully by Y/N and Bruce.

“Tom. You’re back early.” A thick liverpool accent wafted through the smoke, and Y/N froze.

“Yes Pol, I made the deal so there was no reason to hang around.” A chair scraped against the floor and a figure stepped towards them. Sharp, hawk like eyes glared at the two as the woman pulled a cigarette from her lips.

“And who may this be?” Tommy’s hand found the small of Y/N’s back, willing her to answer for herself.

“My name is Y/N L/N, I worked- I work at a dog shelter in London,” she squirmed slightly under Pol’s gaze, waiting for a response.

“I was talking about the dog, but nice to meet you dear.” she muttered with an exasperated sigh. “Polly Grey. I call the shots around here, despite what Tommy may have told you.”

The woman released a long stream of smoke and reached down to stroke Bruce. Y/N’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“This is Bruce.” Tommy grunted, striding between the part-demolished walls, causing his companion to look to Polly for directions.

“Well go on then!” she cried, watching the new girl scuttle after her nephew.

The betting shop, as Y/N discovered, was noisy, smokey and down right boisterous. Finally, she spied Tommy leaning over a desk, and upon noticing her discomfort, Tommy beckoned her over, sliding his hand around her waist as she arrived.

“Y/N I want you to meet my little brother, John,” the young woman nodded shyly in the direction of a man holding a thick leather bound accounting book as he winked. “Be careful of him, he's a womaniser.”

“Ah! Says you Tom!” John interjected, holding a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “Don’t listen to him, love, he's boring and old. Come for a drink down The Garrison tonight, yeah? You can meet the rest of us.”

Seeing Y/N’s confused face, Tommy sighed in frustration and shot John a glare.

“I have three brothers and a sister, You’ve met John and, if you want, you can meet Arthur, Ada and Finn tonight.” taking a last drag of his cigarette, Tommy stubbed it out and stalked away, leaving Y/N in silence with John, who was watching the happenings intently.

“He bought the dog shelter that I work at so I would come to Birmingham with him,” Y/N explained, hoping that he wouldn’t ask questions that she didn’t know the answer to.

“Ah,” John nodded, as if this was a common occurrence. “You look tired, there’s a sitting room just through there. If Tom asks, I’ll tell him where you are.”

Y/N thanked the Shelby brother and wandered in the direction that John had indicated, the sounds and smells of the betting shop making her head spin. Finally, having located the sitting room and, finding nobody else inside, she settled onto the soft armchair and closed her eyes, drifting into a dreamless sleep.

When Y/N awoke, the sky had turned the telltale inky blue of night. Stretching gently, she sat up to find that she was not alone. Someone was sitting on the sofa adjacent to the armchair that she occupied, smoking a cigarette with Bruce at their feet. Upon noticing that she had awoken, Bruce stood and waddled over, plonking his head into her lap.

“Heya Brucie,” Y/N croaked, scratching his ears before stretching out her stiff limbs more thoroughly. She squinted into the gloom and slowly was able to distinguish the identity of your companion. In the half light, his features seemed elegant, his high cheekbones turning into mountains and his cheeks became the deep valleys below. If he wasn’t so attractive, he would have looked gaunt, almost skeletal, like the death he caused every day. But to Y/N, the features of his face were angelic.

Tommy Shelby sat on the sofa, gently smoking his cigarette while the young woman awoke. He noticed her studying his features and turned his head, locking his eyes onto hers.

“You’re staring,” he croaked, standing abruptly and rousing Y/N from her thoughts. She tilted her head to watch as he shifted his weight, as if testing the floor. “They’re all at The Garrison waiting for us.”

It was not a long walk from Tommy’s house to the pub, but in a dark unfamiliar place, it felt like miles. Hooked onto Tommy’s arm, Y/N shivered slightly as the evening breeze cut through her clothes making her wish that she had a thicker coat. As she approached The Garrison, however, her muscles relaxed, sensing the warmth and welcoming environment radiating from the glowing windows.

Tommy pushed the doors open, striding into the pub dramatically.

“At ease,” he sighed, nodding to the barman as you stepped into the pub behind him. Without so much as checking on his companion, he turned sharply to the right and stepped into a private booth, the noise inside the pub rising like a tsunami.

Y/N slid inside the booth after Tommy like an obedient puppy as a hush fell over the occupants.Looking around hopefully, Y/N searched for a familiar face and found Polly, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips.

“Y/N!” her head snapped around to find the source of the voice, finding John picking his way to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

“Everyone, this is Y/N, she’s Tommy’s new flame, so keep your hands off!” His jest caused Y/Ns cheeks to flame up and she looked at the ground, attempting to avoid the eyes of the booth’s inhabitants. One by one, she was introduced to the Shelby clan by Tommy and John, and eventually found herself gravitating towards Polly and Ada, who, between them, also happened to possess most of the Shelby brain cells.

“So how did you and Tommy meet?” the younger Shelby woman sighed, sipping at her Gin.

Y/N looked up, meeting her gaze and chuckled gently, “He wanted to adopt a dog from the shelter that I worked- that I work at, so I showed him Bruce, and he decided then and there that he wanted him.” Ada nodded as she paused, and Polly let out what seemed to be a chuckle masked as a cough. Y/N furrowed her brow, clearly confused, until Ada interjected.

“Let me guess, he then bought the shelter so you’d come back here? It's very predictable Tommy behaviour is all.” her clarification caused Y/n’s heart to sink. If this was so predictable, then there was no reason to feel as special as she did.

Sensing her dejection, Ada sighed. “Don’t worry sweet, If he did it, it means he’s serious about you. Tommy likes to seem all big and hard, but really, he’s just as much of a softie as Bruce is.” As if to prove her point, Ada reached down and scratched the top of Bruce’s head. Y/N smiled softly, nodding to show her understanding.

“Men, am I right?” she giggled, causing the two other shelby women to smile.

“I’ll drink to that, my dear,” Polly smiled, raising her glass.

The next few days in Small heath were relatively uneventful. Despite having been invited to Birmingham by Tommy, Y/N had barely seen the man, except for ten minutes here and five minutes there. Largely, she had spent her time with Polly and Ada, becoming acquainted with the bustling city. The more time Y/N spent in town, or helping Lizzie with some accounting, the more at home she felt.

Birmingham, Y/N had decided, was largely like London.

Yet something was bugging her. She wanted to know exactly what was going on with Tommy. His hot and cold nature was intriguing to begin with, but now the novelty had worn off and she was stuck in an unfamiliar world without the one who had invited her there.

After a morning of shopping with Ada and mathematics with Lizzie, Y/N found herself draped across one of the armchairs in Tommy’s office while he worked on some contracts at his desk.

“Tommmmm,” she whined, causing the man to raise his eyebrows and hum in response. “Why am I here if all you’re going to do is ignore me?”

Tommy’s head snapped up, Y/N’s question had caught him like a wild right hook.

Finally, she had Tommy cornered.

Tommy gulped, fighting the urge to blurt out the whole reason, that he, Tommy Shelby, was infatuated with this girl from London who worked with dogs and rendered him speechless.

“I- I um thought you would like to see Birmingham,” Y/N raised an eyebrow as the crime boss stumbled over his words.

“We both know that’s not it, Tom. Be honest.”

Tommy glared at the woman in his armchair. She knew why, she was just taunting him. Tommy didn’t like to be taunted. Slowly, he stood from his chair and made his way towards his guest, who looked up at him from under her eyelashes. Then, coming to a stop directly in front of Y/N, he took her chin in his hand and pressed his lips to hers.

“Is that enough of an answer for you?” he muttered against her lips. As they broke away, Tommy thought he heard Y/N mutter something under her breath.

“What was that?” he asked, raising one eyebrow as his icy blue eyes bore into hers.

“I love you, Mr. Shelby.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinders #fanfiction #shelby company limited #shelby brothers #john shelby #bbc peaky blinders

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ninacarstairss · 4 years ago

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1 am thoughts: Alastair's and Cordelia's rooms on the Carstairs townhouse are close. Clearly, if she had James's over as she claimed, Alastair would've seen him or at least heard something (Sona and Risa as well but that's not the convo). That being said, it's either he knows Cordelia would never do such thing or the fact James clearly was not in their house that means Alastair knows Cordelia doesn't tell him the full story. (He doesn't push it, possibly waiting for her to tell him on her own will? I'm off again)

The other option, that explains a lot of why he doesn't doubt it, is that he wasn't at the townhouse but out in the night. And I wonder what for if it's true.

Anyway, knowing his sister,he must have suspected something at least, haven't he? , or just thought she was desperate and ready to ruin herself for James because he knows she was head over heels when it came to the golden eyed boy. IDK.

Thoughts?

Hello anoni!! Thank you so much for this ask, and good point anoni, very good point! I had never thought of the fact that if it were true, alastair should have probably known already. I have a few thoughts on this though.

First, I think it is assumed, in general, that people mind their own business. What I mean is: remember that scene after the battle at battersea bridge, when alastair is talking to cordelia and suddenly they hear knocks on the door? Well there we kinda get the sense that it’s not the first time charles visits alastair at night at his house. They have a sort of precise knock and they meet when everyone else is alseep. Cordelia heard them this time because she was just talking to alastair, but it is implied that the other times this might have happened neither she nor sona or risa heard the two boys. I found this too to be quite odd when I read it, because surely it wouldn’t have been too hard to discover them, to hear their voices at least once, if one payed attention, would it?

This is why I think it is generally assumed that everyone minds their own business and they don’t really suspect anything, hence they probably don’t pay too much attention. That night cordelia noticed because she was worried alastair might have told charles of the battle and betray her friends, otherwise she would have probably just gone to bed and forgot about whoever was at the door.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying the carstairs don’t care about each other, I’m saying that they probably respect each other’s privacy, especially when it comes to alastair since he’s the man of the family.

This being said, alastair could have simply not been home. It is very much possible in my opinion. I don’t remember if it’s stated, or hinted, somewhere of his whereabouts that particular night, but I don’t think it was. He might just have been out, he’s a man so he’s free to do as he please and sona or anyone else would not question it much. In the last chapter of chog, at the ball, when alastair confronts charles and breaks up with him charles does say he’s been by his house but didn’t find him, so I’d say it would be pretty much safe to assume he could have been out that night too.

For what, I don’t know. I don’t think he was with charles because I assume he had already made his decision to break up with him at this point, but maybe he was out for a drink, or to write that letter he mentions at the engagement party, or maybe he was just out for a walk. Or maybe he was out with thomas. Let me dream of happy thomastair for once.

Despite all of this I think he did wonder. I think he suspected the story wasn’t true, that cordelia didn’t really ruin herself, even though he knew she loved james. Alastair knows his sister, I think he would find the story hard to believe. Still I think he had suspicions but decided to keep them to himself, because cordelia seemed happy. Later, the night of the engagement, alastair asked her whether she was happy or not, he knew it’s what she wanted, and he also said he hated james but he stood up and asked for her hand in marriage, so he accepted this because it is a meaningful gesture and it makes cordelia happy, supposedly.

I think that after this the doubts he might have had over that engagement faded: all he cares about is for cordelia to be happy and he knows jamie will treat her right. So whatever he might have thought I don’t think he’s gonna investigate much further. If he feels there is a piece of the story she’s not telling him then yes, he decides not to push her, probably because alastair thinks it’s right that if she will want to tell him she should do so on her own terms

I’m not entirely sure this makes sense but it’s how I see it, hope it’s clear enough!

#asks #asks answered #thanks for asking 🤍#tlh #the last hours #tsc #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles #cordelia carstairs #alastair carstairs #carstairs siblings #chain of gold #chog #chain of iron #choi

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abundanceofsoph · 4 years ago

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SkyFire 3: Chapter 7

Harry at the BBC, Flicker Sessions & the other side of marriage: August/September 2017

Word count: 3.4k

SkyFire 3 MASTERLIST

I’m finally back! December really kicked my ass: I moved house, and I’m a manager in retail so christmas is always a nightmare but covid definitely made it worse. Anyway I’m back with another chapter and I’ve got the next few blocked out so hopefully I can get back to semi-regular updates :) Please help this story find new readers by reblogging and commenting.

As summer neared its end, Harry and Aurora travelled north to Manchester where they met up with the rest of the band as well as Jeff and Nick Grimshaw. It was hard for both of them to be back in town for the first time since the funeral, and even harder to be staying in Anne’s house which now felt far too empty without Robin’s infectious laugh and booming voice. They had arrive in town two days before the taping and both Aurora and Harry found themselves immensely grateful for the extensive soundchecks and filming obligations that kept them in town most of the time, only returning to the house in the evenings and turning in for bed relatively early to avoid the uncomfortable atmosphere in the home. On the day of the performance, after all Harry and Nicks segments were filmed and the band was ready to go, the doors were opened, and the small crowd was welcomed into the venue and prepared for the procedures of the taping.

The show was a huge success, with the crowd absolutely loving the entire thing. Aurora found herself unable to hold back her laughter several times while Nick interviewed Harry and she was often grinning as he danced around the stage, revelling in the infectious atmosphere of the crowd. Following the last song, well after the crowd had left and the only ones left inside were the band, Nick Grimshaw and their families, the crew worked on breaking down the set and everyone milled around with drinks in hand. They laughed together, sharing stories and eagerly discussing the upcoming tour. Aurora was tucked up against Harry’s side, his arm thrown comfortably around her shoulders as she lent her head against one of the swallows hidden beneath his shirt. She caught Anne’s eyes across the small group and the two women shared a soft smile as Harry’s booming laughter filled the air. In that moment she felt that despite the pain still felt in Robin’s absence, at the end of the day Anne was going to be ok. Both Harry and Rori had worried about heading off on a world tour and leaving her at home, but now Rori was confident that while her mother-in-law still had plenty of healing to go, she would be just fine while they were away from her. It was with clear consciences that the young couple were able to pack up their car and return to London the following day.

xXx

A few days after returning home from Manchester, Aurora took the opportunity to do something she had done quite often back in New York before she and Harry got married and made a permanent home for themselves in London. Life had been so busy since Jays passing the previous year that she hadn’t had a chance to start back up again in London and with the tour only weeks away she knew this was her final spare moment.

It took the better part of an hour for her to arrive after first taking a bus north to Knightsbridge from which she caught the Piccadilly line over to Russell square. She paused for a moment in the small patch of trees of Queen Square Gardens to collect herself before heading up the front steps and through the entry to the Great Ormond Street Hospital. An administrator was waiting in the lobby for her and after a quick greeting and handshake, Aurora was led upstairs and onto one of the kids' wards.

No matter how many times she made these visits, the first moment was always confronting. It was always upsetting to see so many tiny kids so sick and the exhausted, shattered expressions on their parents faces. No matter how often she did this there was always the briefest moment when her eyes threatened to tear up and she had to bite the inside of her cheek before plastering a bright smile on her face.

She spent most of the day there with the kids, admiring their drawings, singing songs for them, and playing with their toys. She spoke with the parents too, trying as best she could to brighten their day even if just a little bit. By the time she left she could feel the tears threatening to fall and instead of subjecting herself to crying on the tube, she ordered an Uber to get her home to where Harry was waiting with open arms and hot cup of tea.

She fell into those arms the moment she stepped into their living room, her entire body shaking with the great heaving sobs breaking through her chest. He didn’t say anything, knowing exactly how painful these visits were, having made enough of his own over the years. Whenever it had been his turn, his wife had been the safe harbour for him to return home to and now it was just his turn to help her weather the storm. He pulled a blanket over them as they settled into the sofa and he hummed softly, rubbing her back until her breathing finally slowed and she drifted to sleep, laying on his chest.

xXx

They hadn’t seen much of the boys since the wedding, so with Niall’s album launch fast approaching, Aurora was immensely excited to join him on stage to perform their duet Seeing Blind at his second stop on his Flicker Sessions tour. Following the first show in Dublin on the Tuesday evening, Niall flew into London early the following morning and Aurora met him at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire to rehearse ahead of the show the following evening. After a full day of rehearsals, Niall joined Aurora on her drive home, hugging Harry tightly as they arrived back at the Battersea Flat.

“Alright, alright,” Harry chuckled as he finally let go of the Irishman. “Get in here before dinner gets cold.”

They all sat down around the dining table, digging into the pasta dish Harry had made, catching each other up on the summers between bites.

“Can’t believe we’re both off on solo tours,” Niall said as Aurora cleared the table. “Seems mental to not all be cramming ourselves into the bus together.”

“I know,” Harry agreed sadly. “Feels weird to be making all the decisions on my own. Exciting though.”

“Agreed,” Niall chuckled. “Can’t bloody wait. Last night was absolutely buzzing and tomorrow’s gonna be so bloody great with Rors.”

“Gonna be so much fun Ni,” Rori echoed. “Been looking forward to this for weeks.”

“Speaking of,” Harry said. “Gem said she should get back into town about an hour before the doors open so I’ll probably wait for her and we can head over together. That work for you two?”

“Sounds good mate,” Niall nodded.

“Works for me baby,” Rori agreed, kissing Harry on the cheek. “I’m planning to arrive a few hours before doors open so I have time to get dressed and get hair and makeup done.”

xXx

The following evening Aurora waited backstage as Niall stepped out into the spotlight and began the show with The Tide. The crowd sounded electric and Aurora found herself far more excited than nervous to soon been joining him. The minutes flew by and Niall was quickly welcoming her out into the spotlight to a round of applause. He was smiling brightly as he started playing and sang the opening lines of the song, before Aurora joined him, a matching smile lighting up her own face. As they reached the chorus, Rori found herself dancing across the stage, the hem of her dress flaring out above her knees as she twirled. The song was over far too soon for her liking and she found herself more eager than ever for Harry’s own tour to kick off.

xXx

As September began, the stress had been building between the Styles’ for days. With the tour only weeks away Harry was already overworked and exhausted. He was so full of anxiety, waking in the middle of the night to call Jeff to check on some tiny detail he’d just thought of and it had just kept piling up. Aurora had wanted to help him, wanted to calm him, and tell him that it would be ok, but she was consumed by her own fears. Despite how much she had enjoyed singing with Niall and how well their TV performances had gone over the past few months, she hadn’t lied to Liam all those months ago when she’d shared her fears with him that her disability would make her a liability to the tour. She couldn't use her prosthetic every waking hour of the day; it wasn’t healthy, both on a physical and mental level. Physically the prosthetic was never entirely comfortable, leaving her constantly aware that something foreign was attached to her body and mentally, while the transmitter was a technological marvel, using it for longer than a few hours left her exhausted and if she kept it on too long she was assaulted by the worst migraines imaginable. The fear of being unable to perform, of failing Harry, of not being what he needed was drowning her. She knew he loved her of course, but they had barely been married 5 months and she was terrified of being a burden, or worse still, of disappointing him and hurting his career.

All of this was building up between the two of them, the stress feeling like a thick fog filling their flat and weighing down everything in it. A week after Aurora performed with Niall in Shepherds Bush, and two weeks before they were set to fly out to San Francisco, it all came to a head, boiling over in a fit of anger and frustration; both of them saying things they didn’t mean just to win a point against the other. She wasn’t even sure what had ignited the flame but as soon as it sparked, neither could hold back until Rori knew she needed to leave before either of them said something they couldn’t recover from. Somehow, she managed to hold back the tears until the door closed behind her and she crossed the hall to the elevator, leaving her husband in their apartment, angry and alone. She let the tears fall as she rode the lift down the underground garage, thankful that it didn’t stop to pick up anyone else along the way. She was gasping for breath, sobbing hideously by the time she climbed into her car and started the engine. She wasn’t even sure where to go but she knew that she needed to go somewhere.

She was furious and she was hurt. They'd bickered over the years, they wouldn’t be human if they hadn’t, but he’d never raised his voice at her the way he did tonight and she’d crossed the line too, said things she didn’t mean and things he didn’t deserve. She wasn’t paying attention to where she was going but didn’t find herself all that surprised when she pulled up out the front of the Golden Stag. She parked the car in the side alley to avoid getting a ticket the following morning and made her way inside, attempting to wipe her tear stained cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater with her right hand, her prosthetic long forgotten back at the apartment.

It was nearing midnight and the place was mostly empty, only a few stragglers left in a booth by the fireplace. Helen was behind the bar, not looking up as she heard the door open. “We’re closing up,” she called out.

“Sorry,” Rori mumbled, causing Helen’s head to snap up, her face pinching in worry as she took in the young woman’s expression. She rushed out from behind the bar, pulling Rori against her chest and tucking her under her chin.

“What happened sweetheart?”

“Harry and I had a fight and I just had to get out of the house,” Rori admitted. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

“Of course baby,” Helen soothed. “How about we get you settled in your old room upstairs?”

Aurora nodded and allowed herself to be led towards the staircase and up to the small apartment where she’d grown up. She toed off her shoes and climbed under the duvet, while Helen sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hand over Rori’s hair.

“Do I need to go knock some sense into that boy of yours?” she asked.

Aurora shook her head. “He didn’t say anything worse than what I said to him.”

“Do you want to talk to me about it?”

“No.”

“Ok sweetheart. Try to get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.” Helen stood up and headed for the door. Just as she was about to step through, Aurora's voice gave her pause.

“Thank you, Gran,” she mumbled.

“Get some sleep baby,” she repeated, closing the door softly behind her.

When she woke the next morning, she crept downstairs, noting the missed calls from Harry when she checked her phone. The pub wasn’t open yet, so it was deserted but for Helen and Greg cleaning up and preparing for the day ahead.

“Good morning sweetheart,” Helen greeted as Aurora perched herself on one of the many bar stools. “You hungry?” Aurora shook her head. “How about a coffee?”

“Yes please,” she mumbled, smiling softly.

“Helen said you didn’t want us giving Harry a piece of our minds,” Greg added while his wife turned to the coffee machine, “but if you change your mind you just let me know. If he hurt you...”

“He didn’t,” Aurora cut him off. “At least not how you mean.”

She was interrupted from explaining further as her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket, glad that it wasn’t Harry’s face on her screen. She answered the call with a soft “Hello?”

“Rori, where are you? Are you safe?” Louis asked, worry clear in his voice.

“I’m fine Lou,” Rori promised. “I’m at the pub.”

“Thank god,” she heard him sigh. “H called this morning to see if you crashed at mine, said he’d already checked with El. He’s worried about you.”

“Well he can worry a bit longer, I’m not ready to talk to him.”

“He feels terrible for what he said,” Louis said.

“Don’t,” Rori sighed. “Please don’t get in the middle of this.”

“I won’t, sorry,” Louis replied. “Just promise you’ll text him and let him know you’re safe and that you’re not ready to talk. You and I both know he’ll spiral if he doesn’t hear from you soon.”

“I will,” she promised. “I gotta go.”

“Ok, love you.”

“Love you too Lou.”

Once she hung up, she did as she’d promised and texted Harry to let him know where she was and that she needed some time alone before she was ready to see him.

After finishing her coffee, Aurora left the pub and drove back home to Battersea after promising to call Helen later to let her know that everything was ok. She parked the car in its usual spot but instead of heading to the elevator and up to where she knew her husband would be waiting for her, she instead headed out to the street level and wandered along the banks of the Thames until she reached the Peace Pagoda. The sun was shining but there was a chill breeze blowing in off the water, not uncommon for autumn in London and Aurora pulled her thin cardigan tighter around her, lamenting not having a jacket while she walked. After staring at the familiar pagoda for a while, she turned left and headed into the park, passing the bandstand until she reached her favourite section of the park, the subtropical garden. She found a seat on a nearly dry bench and sat, watching people as they roamed between flower beds and posed for photos. The previous night’s argument played through her head. It was far from the first argument she and Harry had ever had. They’d been together for almost 4 years and it was only natural to bicker and disagree, but they’d never really had a smack down, drag out fight like this one before. He’d never yelled at her the way he had, standing across from each other in the kitchen, and she’d never stormed out the way she had. This was uncharted territory for them both and while she regretted what she’d said, she worried that Harry would not be so quick to forgive. He wore his heart on his sleeve and she had witnessed over the years how unwilling he could be to forgive when he felt that he had been betrayed. For much of the year, Louis had been trying to convince him to mend things with Zayn and while Harry was happy that the two men were reconnecting, he had no intention of forgiving his ex-bandmate after all these years.

It was all of this that was running through Auroras head as she sat in the park, trying to figure out how to apologize for the terrible things she had yelled. She already forgave Harry for his own hurtful barbs, but she was feeling so unprepared and out of her depth when it came to repairing the damage rendered to her marriage. Not only did the thought of Harry hating her or resenting her cut at her like a knife, but the start of tour was only 2 weeks away and she knew that they needed to address what had happened and try to fix it, or the tour would be doomed before it even began.

Eventually Aurora accepted that she had stalled long enough and headed for home, finding the apartment worryingly silent when she finally stepped inside. She padded along the hall, peering into each room as she passed, eventually finding Harry at the piano in their studio, his shoulders slumped and his hunched back to the door. She leaned against the doorframe as she watched him run his hands along the keys, only moving forward when she noticed the way his shoulders shook with every shaky breath. He stirred when he heard her footsteps, immediately lurching to his feet and she felt her heart break a lit bit more at the look on his face. The moment he turned to face her it was clear that he had barely slept since she left the night before. His eyes were red and puffy and filled with so much sadness that Aurora felt her own eyes grow warm with tears seeing the man she loved more than anything in so much pain.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, quickly closing the distance between them, and throwing her arms around him.

Harry held onto her just as tightly, whispering his own apologies in her ear as they both cried. They simply held each other for long minutes before finally pulling apart and looking into each other’s eyes.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Harry said. “God I’m so sorry I love. I never meant to say any of that.”

“I know H,” Rori replied softly. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said any of what I did either. We were both stressed, and I know it doesn’t excuse what we did but I know that you didn’t intend to hurt me, and I hope you know I’d never want to hurt you either.”

“Of course, I know that,” Harry gasped. “Never doubted it for a second.”

“So, what do we do now?” she asked. “How do we fix this?”

“We can’t pretend it didn’t happen,” Harry admitted. “Think we need to sit down and talk about what we said. Figure out why, so we never get there again.”

“Ok,” Rori agreed. “Think maybe we could just snuggle up on the sofa for a bit first?”

“God yes,” Harry sighed. “Maybe a little nap too. Couldn’t sleep at all without you and I’m bloody exhausted.”

“A nap sounds pretty great,” she agreed with a small smile, intertwining their fingers as they headed down the hall together. They both knew the conversation awaiting them wouldn’t be easy, but they both knew that they belonged together and they would get through this speedbump just as they had overcome ever other obstacle that had faced together over the years.

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

#skyfire fic #Husband Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #dad!tony #ptsd #domestic fluff #angst #iron dad #step dad steve rogers #aurora stark #Harry Styles #tony stark

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psychopersonified · 4 years ago

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Can your AI do this?

Post Are we ever going to talk about this? and Where was the wooing? (AO3)

Highly recommended to read the series first to get emotionally invested in their story arc. This short piece will feel a lot more satisfying once you know their backstory. But you can still read this as a stand alone.

Q-Branch gets a pet (for science! purposes). Bond tests a new vehicle, and Q gets thoroughly... well you know 😉.

Tags: *Ahem* Fun-times content (be responsible), newly established relationship, humour, fluff with feeling, banter.

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

SIS Building - Q-Branch

The little bug eyed bright yellow creature stares up at him from inside its glass terrarium. From that angle, it looks like its smiling up at them.

Q closes the cover after replacing the water dish, “We’re studying its movements and ability to adhere to surfaces. With all the sensitives around drone use and anti-drone capabilities these days, we’re thinking a robot that is a little more discrete would be more effective. Something small, quiet, that won’t trigger existing alarm systems and a much longer battery life. Potentially it might not even need to enter the premises, it could make its way up the side walls and observe from outside.“

“You’re just using that as an excuse to keep something cute.“ The creature raises itself on all fours, head head high, staring at Bond curiously.

“Well I’m not denying it’s good for morale as well.” Q waves his fingers at the creature and it responds by licking an eye with a pink tongue.

“Not mine. I’ve seen your little machine learning side project. You’re working on replacing me with an AI, and a robot gecko. So much for job security.”

“Oh don’t worry. Not until we can fit a miniaturised poison dart gun to the robot, we’ll still need you around.”

“Thanks,” Bond huffs, mildly put out. “So is there anything I can do for you at the moment? Or have you called me here just to insult me?”

Q isn’t fooled, he knew Bond was looking for any excuse to cut short his meeting with M and 009. Agent 007 has a low tolerance threshold for bureaucratic meetings; once past the hour mark, his attention span wanes significantly and he becomes disruptive.

Q smiles at him, “Believe it or not, I’ve actually called you here for legitimate reasons. This way please 007.”

——

London River Thames

They’re standing on the dock under the SIS building. Bobbing in the water attached to a boat is what can only be described as a watercraft bearing an uncanny resemblance to a dolphin.

“It’s a modified Seabreacher; we’ve enhanced its submersible capabilities up to 15 ft and of course added a light weapons system. We’ve also given it an electric motor for low speed stealth mode.”

Bond turns him, expression hopeful. Q has to quickly clarify, “Before you get excited, it’s not assigned to you. But I do need a test pilot today.”

Bond exhales; a put upon sigh. As if he wasn’t internally itching to get into the machine. Q waits for him to change into something more comfortable. When Bond returns, he is in a black turtleneck that showcases the muscles of his upper body to great effect. His holster worn over it and he has driving gloves on. He looks every bit the rouge he’s accused of being.

Q nearly looses his tablet stylus to the Thames when it drops out of his distracted hand and rolls perilously close to a gap between the planks of the dock. He saves it by stepping on it quickly.

They tow the Seabreacher a short distance upriver, somewhere between Battersea Bridge and Chelsea Bridge where river traffic is a little less busy. Bond has an excellent time testing out the craft, quickly getting the hang of barrel rolls, executing spin stops and 90 degree surface breaches and finally, porpoising through the water mimicking the movements of real dolphins. The stealth submersible mode works excellent too, but the Thames has disappointingly poor visibility so there’s not much to see. However it gives them a chance to try the newly installed underwater sonar navigation system. Pity they didn’t get to test the weapons system - the London City Council and the London Port Authority wasn’t too keen on allowing that.

All this acrobatic splashing about draws a crowd among the park visitors on both sides of the river and from the few boathouses docked on the northside of the bank. When the test ends, Bond pulls the craft up along side the waiting boat. He exits the cockpit to a smattering of appreciative applause from a passing tour boat - Americans on holiday likely. Native Londoners are unlikely to be this emotive. Bond smirks and gives them a curt wave.

He’s in such a good mood that once he’s jumped on board the tow boat, he stalks over to Q who had just finished tethering the craft, cups one side of his face with a gloved hand and pecks him quickly on the corner of the mouth in front of everyone.

“Can your AI do that?”

“You’re impossible,” Q lightly shoves him away. Mindful that they are still on the clock.

“And you love challenges.”

“Not impossible ones.”

“Says the man who is trying to replace me with a gecko.”

“You know what, I probably could program an autonomous mode into the thing. For starters, it’ll be far less infuriating.”

“I wasn’t talking about the craft...,” Bond reaches for Q again, this time swiping a thumb over the corner of his mouth where the agent just kissed.

“Get a room!… Sirs.” Nish yells at them from the helm of the tow boat. He’s still peeved that he lost money on the bet about them getting together.

——

Quartermaster’s Residence - Sexy times

Bond’s good mood extends all the way to the evening when they get home. Dinner was abysmally quick because a randy agent wouldn’t let Q sit down to eat; pressed up against him from behind, groping and palming him between the legs as he rushed through his food standing at the kitchen counter.

A quick shower later and they‘ve exiled the cats and seconded themselves in the bedroom.

“Talk to me about the Seabreacher again,” Bond instructs as he lowers a well prepared Q into his lap. The entry is tight but smooth. The heat of Q’s waiting body intoxicating.

Q savours the breach, the feeling of invading fullness as Bond pushes in. “Hmm... turns you on does it?“ Q wraps his arms around Bond’s neck and kisses him playfully before sucking on his bottom lip and nipping up the line of Bond’s jaw to give the agent’s earlobe a playful bite.

“How many horsepowers?” Bond rumbles, squeezing a fleshy cheek in retaliation and to prompt him along.

“300 from the twin supercharged intercooled ICE alone…,” Q breathes into his ear, “…another 50 from the electric motor... Ah!” Q grinds down to meet his upward thrust.

-Fuck YESSss-. He didn’t think it possible, but Bond feels himself stiffen further. He snakes a hand from behind, into Q’s hair and tugs his head back. “Weapons?” He mouths against the delicate column of Q’s pale exposed neck, latching on and sucking with every intention to bruise.

“Ngghhh!… Dorsal mounted assault rifle. Ah!... Two rounds of compact mini underwater torpedos.. Ooh... with blast force that could sink a yacht—“ the next thrust sends Q wailing “—Jaaaames!” Feeding right into his ego.

Bond kisses Q deeply. -God how he loves this man-, “Manoeuvrerbility?”

“Jet nozzle trust vectoring— *gasp*…full tail articulation… *gasp* …giving the pilot complete control to execute high speed 360 degree barrel rolls—“ Bond changes angle suddenly, “Fuck! James!” Q’s grip around the agent’s shoulders tightens to brace himself against it. The things this man does to him! The sudden intensity of sensation as Bond hits the right spot brings tears to his eyes.

“Mmm… What else can it do?” Bond demands, pulling Q downwards even as his hips snap up - growling with the force it.

It takes a few seconds for Q to recollect his thoughts, gritting his teeth, eyes squeezing shut. “High speed, 90 degree underwater to surface breaches… Oh God!… Submarine mode up to 15ft dept …*gasp* …electric powered stealth mode up to five…*gasp* …five nautical miles—,” Q buries his face in the crook of Bond’s neck moaning, “… Bullet proof cabin pod.”

Q is panting hard now, fingernails biting into the muscles of Bond’s back, riding through the staccato rhythm the best he can. “James, please. I can’t think anymore…” he begs.

Bond tips them over onto the bed so he’s on top and continues their practiced rhythm. Alternating between deep and shallow thrusts. With most of Q’s weight now supported by the bed, Bond can put all of his strength into his hip movements.

The intensity has Q gasping his name at every inward shove, which just fuels Bond’s possessive fire. It turns into a blaze - spurring him on; harder, deeper. Q’s previously restrained cries turn into outright wails and Bond has to muffle them with deep consuming kisses lest they scare the cats or the neighbours call the police on them.

Soon, the friction between their bodies along with the sweet repetitive drag of Bond’s unyielding girth and length inside him, angled just right, has Q whimpering for release; for mercy. His entire body is shaking -Too much!- “Please James!… Please… I need…. I need…,” Bond swallows every word of his plea with greedy possessive kisses, all the while not missing a stroke.

When Bond finally responds, his voice is low, gravelly and teasing, “Yes love, what do you need?” The gentleness of his tone a direct contrast to the unrelenting strength of his thrusts. The bastard knows exactly what he needs!

Frustrated, Q bites down on a thickly muscled shoulder, but that serves only to stoke Bond’s cruelty. His pumping slows, turning into deep powerful grinds. The pleasure is agonisingly drawn out, the sustained feeling of fullness, arguably more torturous.

“Oh God! Jaa—mees please!… I can’t… Ah!…” Q sobs in desperation, his body strung so tight, clawing for release, wanting, needing.

“Sshhh…” Bond soothes, strong hands caressing the length of Q’s body but his hips do not relent. Then comes more deep claiming kisses - stealing the very breath from him before Bond finally reaches down between them, grabs a firm but gentle hold of him and starts stroking, from root to tip, milking him exactly as he likes it.

Q moans brokenly. Body shuddering. One more deep angled thrust and a slow swipe of a calloused thumb over his leaking tip and Q arches his back in absolute unconditional surrender.

Pleasure rips trough his body, muscles tightening and spasming with his release - clamping down hard around the fullness still inside him for long seconds before slowly going lax. His brain shuts down into safe mode.

When he first comes to, he’s vaguely aware that James is still thrusting into him, face buried in his neck. With a final stuttering push he too tips over the edge, rooting deeply and coming in long spurts. The loud rapturous moan that escapes him is one of unreserved release. Never has Q heard him this vocal on missions, the sounds of pleasure usually only coming from his marks - 007 is himself usually silent, a few grunts and he’s done.

James collapses on top of him, their chest rising and falling in synchronised rhythm. Once they’ve finally caught their breaths, they’re kissing again, slow languid kisses of pure affection. James is still on top, propped up on his elbows, Q’s head cradled in his hands, his heavy warm weight a secure blanket. Q has never felt this completely possessed yet this utterly worshipped at the same time than when he is with James.

With a final noisy kiss, Bond reaches for the towel he’d set aside the bed earlier. Q’s brain finishes rebooting while Bond gently disengages and cleans up the mess between them.

The first coherent thought that comes to Q’s mind is, “You know, I think there might still be space to fit an auxiliary air supply unit to extend the submersible range.”

Bond pauses his clean up ministrations to kiss him again, “Careful love, keep saying those things and you just might instigate a second round.”

Q grins cheekily up at him, “Oh you like that do you? Wait till I tell you about the car we’re planning for you... Ah! James!!”

The next day Q has to wear a hideous brown and grey stripped turtleneck to work and explain to Ops why MI6 received a notification that a police patrol unit was dispatched to his residence at 12:30am that morning.

——FIN——

If anyone would like to name the gecko, I’m open to suggestions.

Notes: If you liked this story, there’s more on the blog or AO3. Please like, reblog, comment etc. Enjoy!

#00Q #00q fanfiction #00q fic #q #quartermaster

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tomhollandnet · 5 years ago

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Like all Marvel films, for the diehard fans, Spider-Man Far From Home is more of an event and a landmark than just another movie. Whole generations of kids can punctuate their childhood with Marvel films and Tom being cast as Spider-Man has allowed The Brothers Trust to flourish– and all down to the support that you have shown to him, his brothers and The Brothers Trust.

Our most recent campaign raised over $500,000 – all of which will be granted to great causes and reported on this site – but as well as this financial aid, it is being able to create indelible memories for some very special children which we are delighted to be able to share with you in this post.

Last Sunday in Battersea, South West London, Arch Light Cinemas very kindly donated their 3 screens at their beautiful boutique theatre for special screenings of Spider-Man Far From Home. The date was inked in Tom’s diary and his ‘people’ were told that it was sacrosanct.

Nikki and her team got busy with who to invite to meet with Tom, watch the film and have a photograph with him. An onerous task because we could have filled the place 10 times over, particularly since we decided to invite deserving children and their families also. The charities that we have supported already, Debra and Momentum quickly allocated their quota. So too, Make a Wish who invited children being treated for life limiting illnesses and some who are in remission.

And bright and early, everyone arrived on time. Some from many miles away, as far as Edinburgh, Scotland and Middlesbrough, Teesside and not even the unexpected downpour could do anything to dampen spirits. Tom, his brothers and the Brothers Trust team were on-hand to welcome everyone and usher them to their seats where posters and goodie bags were waiting for them.

When writing about such an occasion it is difficult not to resort to clichés but to say that the atmosphere was unique and all down to the excitement and the spirit of the children present, many of whom endure unimaginable hardships; heart rending and affirming in equal measure.

Tom has many pressures on his young shoulders. Much is required of him and many people depend on him, including scary studio bosses with their box office expectations from their leading young man. And to borrow a line from Stan Lee himself, Tom has a great responsibility also which was amply demonstrated on Sunday by the joy that he was able to create both on and off screen.

But there are great benefits too of course in being Spider-Man…

And of all the upsides, being able to make a kid suffering with EB to forget their constant pain surely ranks high on the list.

We founded The Brothers Trust for many reasons, including to help Tom remain grounded and normal. Sunday was a great morning then for a small band of children dealt a poor hand in life. And it was a great morning for us also. Hosting our guests was a privilege for Tom and for us all and because it is your support that allows our charity to thrive, this morning is for all of you also.

Thank you.

#tom holland #the brothers trust #2019: brothers trust ffh screening #long post

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niall-is-my-dream · 5 years ago

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Lost Without You - Part Two

3070 words

You were sat in the library on Tuesday afternoon with Hannah and Jess. All three of you silent as you took notes from various text books. Pausing to take a sip of your coffee, you took your phone from your pocket and saw Niall had text. A massive smile appeared on your face at the sight of his name.

He had text you not long after he left your dorm room on Sunday evening, a short text telling you how great it had been bumping into you, literally. Since then you had been non stop messaging back and forth.

Replying to his message, you placed your phone on the table and carried on note taking. The library was quiet except for the occasional turn of a page and the scribbling of a pen. Your phone vibrated causing Hannah and Jess to look up, smiling again at Niall's message, which didn't go unnoticed by your friends.

"Care to share?" Hannah whispered smiling.

"No." You whispered back grinning.

"Oh come on, what's got you smiling like that? Clearly a guy!" Jess whispered back.

You didn't want to answer so just shook your head and ignored the question.

"Come on, I've had enough." Hannah said. "We've been here for like 3 hours."

"Yeah, this library coffee sucks, let's go to The Cosy Coffee Corner, no one makes coffee like Audrey." You replied.

Packing up your stuff your threw your crappy library coffee in the bin before following the girls down the stairs. Niall had text again so you replied again, pausing on the steps.

"Right, you are telling us who's got you smiling like that!" Jess demanded as they stopped on the steps below you.

You let out a big sigh before telling them you'd explain everything when you got to the coffee shop.

Audrey had left for the day by the time you had got there, but Margaret her sister in law, was there and sorted the three of you out with a coffee and pastry each.

As soon as your bum hit the seat Hannah had said the words "spill".

"Ok, so there is a guy." You began to explain.

"I knew it!" Hannah yelped.

"Ssshhhh!" You said.

"So who is he? Is it that guy from your design class, Mark or Matt or something?" Jess questioned.

"No, neither of them."

"Is it the guy who sent you the flowers? She wouldn't let me read the card when I was at hers the other day." Hannah said, looking at Jess.

"Yes, but it's complicated."

"Why is he married?! Is it your lecturer?!" Jess replied, her voice getting higher as she spoke.

"No..... God you're not going to believe me any way but it's Niall Horan." You said, making sure to whisper his name.

Both Hannah and Jess just stared at you.

"Niall Horan, as in Irish hottie Niall Horan?! You're joking right?!" Hannah said.

"No, he was at the bar a few weeks ago and some girl was harassing him by the loos. I got rid of her for him and he sent me the flowers as a thank you. Then he turned up here, at the cafe, when I was working Saturday. And then I bumped into him outside Tesco on Sunday. Any way, he came in to mine for a coffee and then we exchanged numbers, we've been texting ever since and we are going to see Lewis Capaldi tomorrow."

You had barely taken a breath, choosing just to blurt it all out to their shocked faces.

"Holy shit." Hannah mumbled. "Are you being serious?"

"Why would I lie about that?" You replied.

"Good point." She mumbled again.

Jess was silent, you could see her brain ticking over in other head.

"And you have a date with him tomorrow?" Hannah asked.

"Well, I'm not sure if it's a date. He said his friends and cousins will be going to the gig to, so I'm not sure."

"Do you reckon he could set me up with Liam? I mean he's single now!" Jess suddenly said.

You just stared at her before you and Hannah started laughing at her.

"For fucks sake Jess." You said shaking your head.

You spent the next 30 minutes talking about Niall. Jess started googling him, checking out the girls he had dated and began showing you Google images of incredibly beautiful models he'd been rumoured to have hooked up with.

"Jess, love." Hannah said. "If you're going to Google him, why don't you do shirtless or dick pics or something?! Googling girls he's been linked to isn't helping." She said, nodding towards you.

It shouldn't bother you who he had dated and been linked to, but it did. They were all stunning and were either models, actresses or pop stars. Which led you to be completely baffled as in to why he would ask you on a date.

"You know, I don't think it's a date." You suddenly said. "I really don't think I'm his type."

"Yeah you are, you're hot!" Hannah replied.

"Yeah and the messages he's been sending are super flirty." Jess added.

"I'm not so sure, I think I'm reading into it a bit too much. Maybe he wants to set me up with one of his friends or something?"

The discussion continued until you were interrupted with a message from Niall.

"Is it ok to pick you up at 6 tomorrow night? Maybe a drink in the pub before we go to the gig?"

"See he wants to pick you up." Hannah said, looking over your shoulder.

You quickly fired back a text saying you could meet him there if it was easier. But he soon replied that it was no trouble and that he would be at your dorm for 6 and that you'd catch the tube to Brixton and meet his cousins and friends there.

"See it is a date." Jess reassured you.

The following afternoon Jess and Hannah had insisted on coming over to yours to help you pick out an outfit. Which was ridiculous really considering you were just going to wear jeans and a top.

"Jess, we are going to a gig not a fucking night club!" You declared when you saw the skimpy little black dress she had brought over to make you wear.

"Oh come on! You'll look hot!" She replied.

"She will look ridiculous." Hannah said as she rummaged through your small wardrobe. "You should totally wear your vintage Fleetwood Mac t-shirt. I read that he likes them. Would be a conversation starter."

That was a better suggestion than what Jess had come up with.

You managed to get rid of them both by 4:30pm which gave you an hour and a half to eat some pasta salad you had in the fridge and get ready. Not that it mattered but you shaved your legs, used a body scrub and washed your hair thoroughly before getting out.

Sitting in front of the mirror you blow dried your hair, running the straighteners along it to finish it off. You weren't one for much make up but you used some concealer, a light powder, some eye shadow and mascara. Hannah had chosen your favourite dark blue skinny jeans which you tucked your vintage Fleetwood Mac t-shirt into. You would finish the look with the black leather jacket your parents had got you for Christmas and your white converse.

Even though the window to your room was wide open, you were beginning to get warm, the nerves kicking in. You stood in front of your mirror, making sure you looked ok and silently giving yourself a pep talk. You were definitely confused as in to whether it was a date or not. As the girls had said, his texts were kind of flirty and he was coming to pick you up alone. Maybe he had a spare ticket for the gig and had asked you on impulse on Sunday, as he had wanted to see you again.

It didn't matter though, Niall was great company and you were looking forward to seeing Lewis Capaldi perform. His friends that he had been at the pub with when you had first met him had been cool, so you hoped they would be at the gig tonight too.

Your phone beeped from your desk, a message from Niall saying he was outside your building. Grabbing your jacket and bag you headed out your door excited to see him.

And wow. He looked good.

His usual dark jeans, a white t shirt and a beige light weight jacket on. His smile lit up his face and you couldn't help but match his expression.

"Hi." He said as he leaned in to kiss your cheek and give you a hug.

Oh and boy did he smell good too, you thought, inhaling his scent as you embraced.

"How are you?" You asked him as you reluctantly pulled away.

"Good thanks."

You walked down the steps on your building, heading for the tube station. It wasn't far and you fell into easy conversation with Niall on the walk there. The streets were pretty busy and you wondered how Niall dealt with being so out in the open, he is quite a recognisable figure. But then again around here in Battersea people were used to seeing celebs and you'd spotted a few on the tube before.

Your conversation didn't falter as you made you way into the tube station, both of you swiping your oyster cards. The tube was busy, but no one looked up at you both. You were thoroughly enjoying standing on the tube for once, holding onto the railing in the middle to steady yourself. Niall's hand was right above yours, his fingers touching yours. His other hand which was casually by his side the entire ride, reached across to you when the tube stopped. Landing on your waist, he held you so you didn't topple when the train reached its destination.

You liked it and you looked up at him and smiled, the blush creeping up your cheeks.

When you got to the pub, his friends had found a booth in the corner. You were quickly introduced to his cousins Willie and Deo, who you'd met before. Plus his PA Tara and a couple of friends, Conor and Gilly. Everyone was really nice and chatty, getting you a beer and asking you about yourself and where you were from.

When you told them you were from a town just outside of Nottingham there was an oooohhh sound bouncing around the table.

"Hey, what's wrong with Nottingham?!" You asked.

"It's a great city, just don't like the football team." Niall replied.

"Me either. Derby fan here." You said.

"Really?" Niall questioned.

"Yeah, my family has a season ticket. I went about a month ago with my Dad. I normally miss out though, as I'm usually working."

Everyone was looking at you and you suddenly felt really nervous.

When Niall explained that he was a Derby fan to, the strange looks all made sense. It wasn't until you started showing them pictures of yourself and your Dad at various Derby games that everyone seemed to warm to you again. They clearly had thought you had said that you were a Derby fan because Niall was, which was pretty lame.

You sat next to Niall drinking your beer and getting to know everyone. Your thighs were right next to each other and every so often he'd knock it against yours. You'd catch his eye and he'd smile sweetly at you. There was definitely an attraction there from you, and you hoped he felt something for you too. But to be honest you weren't even sure if this was a date.

Tara was quizzing you about what you were studying at University and started saying about how she'd moved into this great flat nearby with loads of original features. Although you were listening to Tara as she spoke, you couldn't help but hear Niall's friend whisper that they all liked you. You felt your heart flutter at that moment.

When you were walking to the venue an hour later, you were chatting with Conor and were shocked to discover that he was in the band that Jess was crazy about. She even had tickets for you, her and Hannah to go in a few weeks time.

"My friend Jess has a huge crush on you! I can't believe I didn't realise it was you. We are coming to see your band in like two weeks."

"Really is Jess single?!" Conor asked you.

"She is!" You laughed, pulling up a picture of you and Jess on your phone.

He asked you to swap numbers and promised to get you three some back stage passes. You knew Jess would be screaming about it when you told her.

"I have to tell you though mate, she did ask me to find out if I could get Liam Paynes phone number!" You replied giggling.

Niall and a couple of the lads went to get drinks at the bar while you and Tara found a good viewing spot. She was a really lovely and sweet person and you had hit it off with her straight away. You had noticed that she got along really well with Nialls cousin Willie and were about to quiz her about it when she asked you about meeting Niall. She knew the story having been told by Niall about the girl harassing him by the loos at the pub.

"I feel bad that shit like that happens to him." You said.

"He deals with it well and it's not all bad, he met you." She replied smiling.

You could feel the blush rise in your cheeks.

"Don't think he'd normally bring us all on a first date but I know he wanted to see you before he went to L.A. on Sunday."

So it was a date and it would seem that having his friends approval about people was a big deal. It did make your heart sink at the thought of him going to L.A. you had no idea how long he would be gone for and you didn't quiz Tara for any details of his trip. It really wasn't any of your business and if he wanted to see you again then you would just have to wait until he returned.

When the lads got back with the drinks everyone chatted amongst themselves before the gig started and you felt Niall's hand on the small of your back.

"Are you ok?" He asked you, his breath warm against your ear.

You turned to face him and he had a nervous look on his face.

"I'm good, I'm looking forward to seeing Lewis perform." You said, leaning in close to him.

"Yeah me too. I'm sorry it's not a conventional first date, being here with all my friends and cousins and stuff but I wanted to spend time with you before I go away on Sunday."

"Well, I didn't even realised it was a date." You smiled.

"You didn't?"

You shook your head.

"Oh um....." He mumbled and moved his hand away.

"Put your hand back." You whispered in his ear, tucking your hand under his t-shirt slightly.

It looked like any two people in a busy noisy room trying to have a conversation with each other but in reality something changed between you in that moment. His hand went back around your waist as you squeezed his hip discreetly under his t-shirt.

When the music started and Lewis came out, your group cheered the loudest as they all knew him personally. Niall stood behind you, his hand moving around your waist. You felt warm and safe in his arms as you watched Lewis sing, a soft kiss from Niall on the top of your head made you relax further back in his arms.

When the music ended, Niall moved away from you and the warmth was gone. You had been enjoying the way he had held you, and if sensing that, he moved his hand to yours and entwined your fingers together.

After a quick chat with Lewis backstage, in which you completely fan girled over him, you all headed out of the venue. Everyone had work the next day so were going home to their respective flats. With the promise from Conor that he would text you the details for his gig and after swapping numbers with Tara you and Niall got into a black cab.

Niall reached over and entwined your fingers together again as you chatted about the gig and his trip. Seems he was going to be gone three weeks and you hid your disappointment that you wouldn't get to see him for ages. He was going to finalise details of his album, finish up recording and do some interviews. It all sounded so exciting and you could tell he was really proud of it.

"Can you leave the cab running while I make sure she gets in safe please?" Niall asked the driver as you pulled up outside your dorm.

You thought it was cute that he wanted to see you into your building and were also pleased that he didn't expect to be invited in. It wasn't your sort of thing sleeping with someone on the first date and you definitely didn't get the impression Niall was like that to.

He was nervous as you made your way to your door, you could see him run his hands down his jeans and look around cautiously. It was good to know that even a multimillionaire singer could get nervous when walking a girl home after a date.

"So.....thanks for inviting me. I had a really great time." You said trying to break the awkwardness.

"Me too. And my friends didn't embarrass me too much!" He replied smiling.

"They're great fun, I enjoyed their company."

You were standing so close to each other, the tension unbearable. Just when you thought he was going to chicken out and not kiss you, he reached his hand up to cup your face.

His lips were soft and his breath minty, you smiled into the kiss realising that he had chewed gum earlier to make sure he was prepared. You finally got to run your fingers through his hair, something you had wanted to do since the moment you met him.

Part Three

https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/186790083513/lost-without-you-part-three

#Niall #Niall Horan #Niall fan fic #Niall fan fiction #Niall Horan fan fic #Niall Horan fan fiction #solo Niall #Niall smut #Niall fluff #Emily writes

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inevitably-johnlocked · 6 years ago

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hey steph. i’m going through a really tough time right now and i’m wondering if you have any fics that deal with grief? preferably none that are too long. thank you

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: hello! love your blog a bunch, and read a lot of your fic recs! i have to ask, do you have any sherlock fics on sherlock grieving, and john helping him out?? thanks so much and have a lovely day! H

Hi Nonnies!

First of all, BIG HUGS to you both, and especially to Nonny One, I’m sorry you’re having a rough go

GRIEF AND / OR MOURNING

Please see these lists for some additional Grief and Mourning:

Reverse Reichenbach

Reunion Fics and Other Post TRF Fics

The Empty Hearse-Related Fics

Letters from Sherlock After the Fall

John During the Hiatus

A Quiet Reunion by ShipAddict (K, 851 w. || Reunion, Angst, Sentiment) – Two years after Sherlock’s faked death, he enters 221B Baker St. to see the man who grieved for him.

Dismantle the Sun by Mount_Seleya (T, 965 w. || John Whump, 3G, Angst, Grief) – After a gunshot leaves John in critical condition, Sherlock holds vigil beside his hospital bed, slowly unravelling as the night progresses.

Yet What I Can, I Give Him by a_big_apple (G, 1,391 w || Fluff, Kisses) – This Christmas is much improved over the last–mostly because Sherlock isn’t dead–but it isn’t so simple for John to recover from his grief, and he finds comfort in likely and unlikely places.

Yorkshire Gold by Tammany Tiger (K, 1,467 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Open Ending, Grief) – Mycroft may not mourn Sherlock’s death-but even if he knows his brother lives, he’s not without his own grief. It ain’t easy being The British Government. But at least he’s got good help. Set between the Fall and the Return.

Spectrum of Mourning at the Funeral of a Solitary Man by TheBookshelfDweller (T, 1,956 w. || Angst, Grief, Friendship, First Person POV, Introspection) – Because each kind of love produces its own kind of grief, a long-ignored voice tells the story of five mourners of Sherlock Holmes, a man who in the end, was all but solitary.

Thief by KendylGirl (M, 2,430 w. || Rev. Reich., Heavy Angst, Regret, Grief / Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Implied Drug Use, Self-Flagellation) – John has been gone for four months, and Sherlock is not dealing well with it. When he finds a personal item of John’s, the situation reaches a crisis. Part 3 of When to Let Go

The Battersea Bridge by pininglock (M, 2,585 w. || MCD, Angst, Grief, Unhappy Ending) – A life without John Watson isn’t a life worth living.

You Paid Me Well In Memories by Ballykissangel - (K+, 3,149 w. || Heavy Angst, Hurt, Comfort, Grief) – It’s Sherlock’s birthday and John is not doing well. No matter how hard he’s tried to keep on living, he knows he is going to give up soon and he isn’t going to make it. Today is his last and only chance to visit Sherlock’s grave to talk and give him his gifts: His dog tags, a book full of notes and memories and the meaning of love as Sherlock watches on in grief.

Nothing Quite So Spectacular by Kerkerian-Horizon (K+, 5,762 w. || Drama, Hurt / Comfort, Post-TRF) – How John Watson grieves after Sherlock Holmes’ alleged suicide, and what happens when the detective returns home. Set post-Reichenbach, two parts.

The Tip Over Into The Inevitable by ivyblossom (T, 6,894 w. || Grief, Cuddles, Insomnia, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers) - When his father dies, Sherlock avoids sleeping. Then discovers he can’t sleep at all. John finds a way to help.

Survival Instinct by shirleyholmes (T, 7,162 w. || Post-TRF, First Kiss, Schmoop, Nightmares, Fluff & Angst, Grief, Idiots in Love) – After Sherlock’s “comeback” John starts obsessing with constantly making sure he’s alive (checking his heartbeat etc.)

Checkmate to a Castled King by LaSuen (T, 18,290 w. || Friendship, Hurt / Comfort, Sick Sherlock) - John dies. Or at least everyone thinks he does. (REVERSE-TRF, FAVE)

The Homecoming Series by sussexbound (M, 51,744 w. across 12 stories, WIP || Domestics, PTSD, Love Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling, Jealousy, Family Issues, Cuddling) – Sometimes home is all you need. After three years of horror, betrayals, and crushing loss, John and Sherlock find their way back home to one another, and together find new footing in a world that has changed forever.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.” Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

The Quiet Man by ivyblossom (E, 157,369 w. || Post-TRF, John First POV, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Present Tense, Imaginary Sherlock) – “Do you just carry on talking when I’m away?”

Unkissed Series by 221b_hound (T to E, 184,168 w. across 46 works || Established Relationship, Ace Sherlock) – Sherlock returned from the dead a year ago. John returned to Baker Street six months ago. They’ve been in a couple since then. or at least, not NOT a couple. For two smart men, they sure can be dumb. Luckily, an art thief tries to drown Sherlock, Sherlock has a fever dream and things are about to change.

MARKED FOR LATER

A Home for Us by sussexbound (NR, 3,440 w. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,505 w. || Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes & Funerals, Angst, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression and Insecurity, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,822 w. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

The Men Who Talked Between the Words by Odamaki (E, 463,024 w. || Parentlock, UST/URT, Pining Sherlock, Grieving John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Slow Burn/Build, Case Fic, First Kiss / Time, Implied/Referenced Suicide & Drug Use, Slow Burn, Sherlock Whump, Panic Attacks) – John expected to be a father some day; he expected to have the house, and the wife and the nice suburban job. Sherlock never expected to have children, in part because he never expected to make it past 30. As it turns out, you don’t get a choice. Crammed into Baker Street with a baby, John struggles with single-parenthood and his own fears, while Sherlock treads the fine line between doing too little and saying too much.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #grief fics #my fic recs #Anonymous

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mrmrswales · 6 years ago

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Thank you, Rageh and thank you, Aidan.

Your Excellencies, Ministers, Ladies and Gentlemen – welcome to London.

It is heartening to see so many of you here today, united by a common desire to end the illegal wildlife trade.

I have just returned from a visit to Namibia, Tanzania and Kenya. I saw some tremendous work being done to intercept the trade and keep animals as safe as possible in their natural habitat. I also learnt about the absolute importance of community-led conservation so that people value wildlife as an economic resource.

Some of the rhinos I saw are under such threat that they have more bodyguards than I do!

Wouldn't it be better though if the demand for rhino horn dropped to the extent that they didn't need anyone to protect them at all?

The work of conservation and environmental protection is not about quick wins. And it is work that will never be complete.

The atmosphere will never be protected forever. Our water will never be permanently safe from pollution. And our iconic and endangered species can never be declared completely safe.

That's what we are here to talk about today.

This is the stuff of decades of hard work. It requires small incremental steps, the occasional big leap forward, and resilience in the face of setbacks.

We must celebrate our successes and take confidence from our ability to tackle these complex challenges.

Since we first gathered here in London four years ago we have achieved a great deal.

Governments around the world, particularly China, the US and UK, have taken unprecedented steps to legislate against the ivory trade.

The price of ivory has fallen by a staggering 75%.

19 African Range States now stand united through the Elephant Protection Initiative to protect their elephant populations and put ivory beyond economic use.

Over 100 representatives of the transport sector have signed the Buckingham Palace Declaration, committing to disrupt the flow of illegal wildlife products passing through their trucks, their ships and their planes.

More illegally trafficked wildlife products are being seized in Asia;

Communities are being given greater control and benefits from their wildlife, improving their incentives to keep endangered species safe;

And committed, brave people all around the world continue to put their lives on the line to protect wildlife and bring criminals to justice.

So thank you to everyone in this room.

Whether you are a ranger risking your life on a daily basis to protect elephants in a National Park;

A campaigner trying to correct falsehoods about the healing power and value of rhino horn;

A business leader ensuring that your company plays its part in frustrating the trade;

Or a law enforcement official working to bring trafficking gangs to justice.

You are the experts, and you know what works. You rarely get the recognition that you deserve.

We must listen to you and we must amplify your voices.

But despite the progress we have made over recent years, we know that this is no time for complacency:

Over a thousand rangers have been killed in the line of duty in the last decade;

Poaching levels may well be decreasing in some areas, but overall they remain too high;

As the ivory market is closing down in some countries, it is being displaced elsewhere;

Pangolin scales, rhino horns and body parts of big cats are still easy to find in street stalls all around the world;

We are not yet seeing enough criminal convictions for wildlife offences, and all too often punishments are too lenient;

And all this means that thousands of local communities are being deprived of their most valuable natural resources and a route out of poverty;

It is heart-breaking to think that by the time my children George, Charlotte and Louis are in their twenties, elephants, rhinos and tigers might well be extinct in the wild.

I for one am not willing to look my children in the eye and say that we were the generation that let this happen on our watch.

It is time to treat the illegal wildlife trade as the serious organised crime that it is.

It is carried out by ruthless cross-border criminal networks.

It is fuelled by corruption.

It damages economic growth and sustainable development.

It undermines governance and the rule of law.

It robs communities today of their future sources of income.

And it exploits the poorest people in some of the most vulnerable countries on earth.

Organised criminal networks are adding to their profits through involvement in wildlife crime.

They see it as a lucrative and relatively low-risk activity. They are the very same groups who move drugs, people and weapons.

These networks are sophisticated, coordinated, adaptable and professional.

They innovate faster than we can and they exploit weaknesses in our systems.

Let me be clear;

I am not asking anyone in this room to prioritise efforts to fight the illegal wildlife trade above drug trafficking or money laundering.

I know very well that law enforcement resources and judicial systems are stretched.

But I am asking you to see the connections. To acknowledge that the steps you take to tackle illegal wildlife crime could make it easier to halt the shipments of guns and drugs passing through your borders.

And to recognise that this is a transnational crime that you cannot leave to your passionate, but thinly stretched, wildlife crime officers to tackle alone.

You might find it easier to arrest a king-pin or a middle man for trafficking illegal wildlife products than to catch him red-handed smuggling heroin.

Remember – Al Capone was convicted of tax evasion, not murder.

In discussions today and tomorrow, we must remember how crucial it is to work together across Government agencies, with the private sector and civil society, and across borders and continents. Too often good work is done in a silo, rather than in a partnership.

Only a fully integrated approach, where we work together, will work at all.

I'm delighted that our efforts to work with the transport sector have borne fruit.

And I was very pleased to convene 21 financial institutions as they signed the United for Wildlife Financial Taskforce Declaration at Mansion House yesterday afternoon.

Most of the world's major banks have now committed to improve how they identify, track and report suspicious financial activity related to the illegal wildlife trade. These financial institutions must now take action to treat this as a serious financial crime, and to follow the money.

It is encouraging that existing anti-money laundering systems are already being used to implement these new commitments. This does not involve re-inventing the wheel. It just means using it better.

For the first time, the existing Joint Money Laundering Taskforce has this week sent out an alert to banks with specific intelligence related to the illegal wildlife trade.

This provides information about suspected criminals; likely transactions that might be suspect; and risk profiles in source, transit and destination countries.

But this evidence will all be for nothing if we do not bring criminals to justice.

Investigators must act when suspicious activity is identified. And lawmakers and judges must ensure that the penalties are higher than the rewards.

So before I close, I want to take a moment to remind you all about why this matters.

Caring about the environment – our air, water, land and animals – is motivated by something that is simple and universal.

A desire to protect this planet for those who will come after us.

I firmly believe that the natural world is our biggest and most important asset, and the key to our future prosperity. We must ensure that humans and wildlife live together in balance, without conflict.

My plea to protect this delicate balance between growing human populations and diminishing endangered wildlife is not purely emotional.

It makes economic sense.

Poaching threatens not just animals, but the livelihoods of generations to come. This is an economic crime against ordinary people and their future.

We must inspire the next generation of young leaders to care about nature, value it as an economic asset and help us live better, together, side by side.

I feel it is my duty, and our collective responsibility, to leave our planet in a stronger position for our children.

Thank you.

#prince william #iwtc18

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galfridus1 · 6 years ago

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Happy Birthday Arthur!

It’s 17 August here and it’s Arthur’s birthday!! Many happy returns!

Here’s a fic, inspired by prompt from @thestarrynightgazer and with thanks to @maybeishouldwait for comments. This is part one of three/four depending on whether you count reblogs.

***

“It’s his birthday? Today?”

Zeldris looked at Gelda with absolute incredulity, his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he griped as he shot out of bed, quickly rummaging in the wardrobe for something to wear. “Now I’ve got less than eight hours to find him a present.”

Gelda looked up at him, her face calm and serene as she propped herself up with a number of pillows. “I would have thought you’d remember,” she chastised, a slight smile curving the left side of her mouth. “How long have we been living together now? Time enough for you to know when Arthur’s birthday is. And besides it’s on the calendar…”

“Yes, yes alright!” Zeldris grumbled as he pulled on some clothes. “What’s happening anyway?”

Gelda looked at him, her violet eyes gleaming and Zeldris felt the breath catch in his throat. It was the one feature they shared, their eyes so like one another’s, their beauty causing him pause even after all these years. “You have no need to worry,” she chuckled, “I’ve sorted everything out. The party will be here. Arthur knows nothing about it but everyone else does, and I booked catering. The cake is a masterpiece.”

“How are you always so organised?” Zeldris muttered as he checked his reflection in the full-length mirror, running a hand through his hair to make sure the spikes were arranged in their proper place.

“It’s easy really,” Gelda replied, “You just have to pay attention and get stuff done. Which is what you should do now. I have suggestions for gifts if you’d like?”

Zeldris paused, his lips pressed together as he battled temptation. “No. I do this every year. I’m going to get him something myself this time.”

Gelda laughed, the tinkling sound reverberating through the air. “Well, good luck. Text me if you draw a blank.”

***

Four hours later Zeldris sincerely regretted telling his girlfriend that he did not need her help. He had scoured what felt like the whole of Oxford Street, trying and failing to find something Arthur might feasibly want as a gift. But it was all to no avail. The problem was Arthur had everything any twenty-five year old could possibly want, and if he got him alcohol again Gelda would no doubt raise her eyebrows, the expression saying ‘I told you so’ more clearly than any words could convey.

Still, a bottle of some random liquor was better than nothing. Turning abruptly, adroitly dodging the crowds swarming past in the opposite direction, Zeldris made his way back to the department store he had listlessly explored earlier that morning. The day was hot, the relentless August sun beating down on the shoppers who dragged their feet limply down the tarmaced street but Zeldris trudged on, wrinkling his nose in disgust as the odd smell of grease from the stalls dotting the sides of the road caused him to gag slightly. He just wanted the whole sorry experience to be over. Thank goodness Gelda’s birthday was not until April next year.

He was nearing the pretentious facade of Selfridges when a conversation caught his attention, the words somehow penetrating his consciousness above the hubbub of chatter. His eyes strayed to a small girl walking alongside her mother, clutching at a lead for dear life as an enthusiastic puppy pulled her forcefully along. The animal looked delighted, oblivious to the weather, and Zeldris was surprised to feel a twinge of longing piercing his chest. It looked so much fun, and of course Arthur had always wanted a dog.

Zeldris stood stock still, causing several passersby to bump into him forcefully. And why not? True, a dog was not ideal - they shed hair like nobody’s business and made their surroundings smell like mouldy old socks when wet - but the three of them were older now, and well off. They could easily afford to look after a pet, and it could always live outside in the garden. And as a gift it was at least original; Gelda could hardly complain that he had wimped out this time.

***

About half an hour later, Zeldris was standing in the reception of Battersea Dogs and Cats home, the only place he could think of in central London where one might find a canine at short notice. The walls were covered in pictures and leaflets showcasing the charity’s many success stories, sorry-looking mongrels, skeletal and with mangy fur, transformed into sleek, happy and well-beloved pets. He was just congratulating himself on his brilliant idea when the voice of the receptionist pulled him back to reality.

“You need to book an appointment for an interview about adopting a dog,” she gently explained as she tapped on her computer keyboard. “We have slots next week, but nothing available until then, I’m afraid.”

Zeldris felt his heart sink slightly. “Is there nothing sooner?” he asked cautiously. “I was really hoping to get one today.”

“Well that’s out for a start,” the woman said sharply, her eyes drilling into him as she turned away from her screen. “We are very careful here. We don’t let just anyone adopt a dog. There’s an initial interview, a home visit to check suitability, and then an observation when a suitable pet has been found. The whole process takes about a month.”

“A month?” Zeldris asked incredulously. “But… I mean…”

“If you’re after a specific dog, don’t worry, there’s always plenty, and sometimes the cute ones aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” the lady continued, her expression softening slightly. “We have dozens of Staffies and they’re great companions. People look down on them, but they’re wonderful. I have three myself.”

“It’s not that,” Zeldris said quickly, feeling an unwelcome heat flooding his cheeks. “It’s… well this is embarrassing. It’s my boyfriend’s birthday today and he’s always wanted a dog. I really wanted to surprise him.”

“Awww!” The noise that issued from the woman’s mouth was somewhere between a sigh and a swoon. “That’s so, so… romantic,” she gushed, and Zeldris felt the blush he was trying to manage spiral out of control. “But it doesn’t change things,” she added more gently, a sad smile on her face. “There’s no way you can adopt a dog as a surprise. Our team will need to talk to your boyfriend too.”

Zeldris was on the point of making a hasty exit when he caught a calculating look in the receptionist’s eyes. “But…” she began, her lips pursed in thought.

“Go on,” he encouraged, with some effort forcing his face to return to its normal countenance. “You have something in mind?”

“As it happens, yes,” the woman continued, the words accompanied by a vigorous nod. “You see, the team raided a kitten farm a few days ago. The poor things were being kept in such awful conditions and… well the upshot is we have far more cats than we know how to deal with. And a slot for an interview just opened up. If we have a cat that’s a match for your family then you can take it home with you today.”

“A cat?” Zeldris mulled over the idea and the more he thought about it the more pleased he became. They were by far superior animals in every way. They cleaned themselves, did not require walks, and had the added benefit that they would keep any pests at bay. Zeldris pictured himself sitting on the sofa, a dainty feline jumping up to him and laying its head in his lap. And Arthur did like cats. Maybe not as much as dogs but he did like them. Only last month he had been encouraging a stray to visit the garden, that is until the sorry-looking animal had given him fleas.

“Thank you, why not,” he finally said, returning the receptionist’s eager smile as the lady started tapping away at her computer once more.

***

No long after, Zeldris found himself being led up the stairs towards a room that smelled strongly of biscuits and bleach. The walls were lined on all sides with cages, perspex doors with holes in giving a glimpse into the almost identical habitats within. Each cat had bowls of food and water, a litter tray and a box to hide in, as well as a few toys scattered about on the white laminate surfaces. The occupants however could not have been more varied: the cats came in every colour imaginable; some ran up towards their doors, rubbing their heads against the plastic in greeting while others shied away, turning their backs.

The interview had been an informal affair consisting of a few questions about the household amenities and some quiz-like queries about the cost of vet care and insurance. Zeldris was glad he had read the blurb on the organisation’s website as he’d waited for his meeting with one of the Home’s volunteers to begin; the answers he’d needed were still fresh in his mind.

“Now let’s see…” the volunteer murmured as he leafed through the notes of interview, the papers rustling slightly in his fingers. “Three adults, all of you working long hours, and no children. I think we have just the cat for you.

“I have to warn you he’s lazy, which is good because he will basically do nothing to the house while you’re at work. But don’t expect him to be a good mouser,” the young man added as he led Zeldris to a cage in the corner of the room. Inside sat one of the fattest creatures Zeldris had ever seen; the white and ginger cat was at least as wide as it was long, if not wider, and sat at its empty food bowl with a mournful expression. It looked like a circle more than anything, or perhaps a stuffed cushion, though the colouring reminded him strongly of Arthur.

“His name is Cath, don’t ask me why,” the volunteer said as he gave the cat an affectionate look. “And as you can see he likes his food. We’ve put him on a diet since he’s arrived and he’s not been too happy about it. But I think some proper fuss will help him settle.”

Zeldris, regarding Cath with something approaching disgust, was on the point of asking if any other unwanted felines were possibly available when the volunteer opened the cage. Before Zeldris knew what was happening the cat had launched itself into his arms and started purring loudly, the vibrations reverberating through him as Cath fell asleep.

“He’s… not done that with anyone before,” the volunteer said incredulously. “He must really like you!”

“Probably just hungry,” Zeldris muttered under his breath but deep down he was secretly pleased. It was nice to be holding the cat, who was even heavier than he looked, in the knowledge that the feline was at least a bit choosy.

The young man retrieved a wad of papers stuck in a plastic folder next to the cage, his eyes flicking from side to side as they traced the words on the pages. “Cath has a clean bill of health, and he’s been fully vaccinated. He’s ready to go,” he said cheerfully as he gave Zeldris a wide smile. “He’s a well adjusted cat too. Nothing untoward in his past; his previous owners just couldn’t afford to feed him I think.”

Prising Cath out of his arms proved more difficult than expected but eventually, between them, two volunteers managed to wrestle the animal into a travel box. So it was that, loaded down with food, a litter tray and, of course, the enormous cat in a cage, Zeldris set off in a taxi heading for home. He imagined how pleased Arthur and Gelda would be even as the weight of the cat pressed into his lap.

It was only as he approached the terraced house the three of them shared that he noticed his phone, the lock screen flashing to show he had several missed calls and a veritable flurry of unread messages, most of them containing the words ‘where are you’ in capital letters. It was much later than he had thought, and the party would likely be starting soon, that is if it was not already underway.

In a rush, Zeldris paid the taxi driver and made his way as quickly as possible to the door of the house, hampered in his efforts by the amount of cargo he carried. He was met on the threshold by a furious Gelda. “Where have you been?” she hissed, her eyes smouldering into his own before she caught sight of the amount of stuff he was carrying, “And what is all this?”

“I got him a cat,” Zeldris said lamely, his voice sounding unsure even in his own ears. Gelda stared him with undisguised astonishment, before her face morphed into an enormous grin. In a second she was kneeling before the travel cage, cooing like an imbecile at the still-purring feline.

“That’s an amazing idea! You are completely forgiven,” Gelda said in rapture as she opened the cage, the huge cat launching into her arms in an instant. “Let’s go give it to him now. We’ve already done the reveal. He was surprised,” she added with a little reproach in her voice as she settled the cat more securely in her arms. “Where did you get it from?”

Zeldris felt slightly aggrieved as Gelda led the way towards the dining room, the cat still purring contentedly in her arms as she sashayed down the hall. “I got him from Battersea,” he grumbled as he followed behind, having deposited the various bags at the door. “And for your information it was a bit of a mission. I think I should be the one to give him to Arthur…”

“Surprise!” Gelda shouted as she flung open the door, revealing a large group of people all holding glasses. The mahogany dining table was groaning with food, an absolutely enormous cake standing proudly in the centre. It was shaped like a castle, iced walls and turrets rising up proud to form three tiers of confection topped with red and green flags. “It’s Castle Camelot,” Gelda whispered into his ear as Zeldris stared at it in amazement. “You know, because he’s Arthur Pendragon. Cost me a small fortune to commission but I think it’s worth it.”

The guests were just beginning to make suitable noises in response to the cat’s appearance when, without warning, it launched itself from Gelda’s arms. Zeldris watched in horror as Cath leapt onto the table and, without hesitation, nose-dived straight into the castle cake, knocking it into pieces in an instant.

The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion. The tall turrets fell to the table, crumbling on impact, covering the pristine white tablecloth in icing and jam. The guests looked on with horror-stricken faces, mouths open in shock and eyes wide as saucers. The previously cheerful room was now silent as the grave save for the mewls of the cat, who was devouring the cake as if he had not eaten in weeks, small globules scattering from his whiskers into the mass of golden crumbs. Zeldris felt Gelda stiffen noticeably at his side, the soft sound of her breathing betraying her perturbation; it took a lot to upset her but once she was she cried easily. He dared not turn to look into her face, sure that she would be on the point of tears.

Amidst all the commotion, his eyes caught Arthur’s and he felt terrible on seeing his boyfriend’s face was a picture of desolation. Then, suddenly, Arthur began to laugh. First, his lip twisted, a faint chuckle bubbling up before the sound built and grew into an almighty guffaw. Arthur threw his head back, tears of mirth beading the corners of his eyes as he stared at the mess which had once been the most elaborate cake ever to be constructed. Arthur was of course quick to smile, but it had been a while since he had looked quite this happy.

With some relief, Zeldris felt the change in atmosphere trickle through the room as their friends caught the mood, smiles and laughter returning as they passed bottles of wine and spirits round to replenish their drinks. Glasses clinked and jokes passed as the guests quickly retrieved their phones to capture the sight of the ruined cake. It would no doubt be the star of social media before the hour was out, along with the feline who had caused the destruction.

With some trepidation, Zeldris slipped an arm around Gelda, unsurprised to feel her tremble in his grasp. He was relieved to find that she leant into his touch. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her as he held her close, both arms encircling her waist as Gelda pressed her face into his shoulder. “They did say he was on a diet but I never thought…”

“That. Was. Hilarious!” Arthur said heartily, moving round the table to join them. He had managed to scoop up the cream-covered cat before it moved on to the rest of the food, depositing dairy smears and crumbs all over his jacket in the process. With a slightly apologetic look, Arthur kissed Gelda tenderly, stroking her hair with his free hand and Zeldris felt her relax against him. It was nice, comforting, the effect only slightly marred as Arthur added with unbridled enthusiasm, “I love him! What’s his name?”

“Cath,” Zeldris confirmed as the now-stuffed animal rubbed its face into Arthur’s chest, continuing to purr as if it was some sort of drilling machine. “His name is Cath. And starting now he is not allowed in the dining room.”

#nnt #zelthurweekend #zeldris #gelda #arthur #cath #zelthur #zelthurda #fanfiction #happy birthday arthur!#domestic au

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