#this is what happens at 4:30am when i can’t sleep

[honestlydarkprincess]

[Image ID: picture of Evan Buckley and Eddie Diaz and a tweet that says ship dynamic: two best friends raise a kid together. End ID.]

[joeyalohadream]

(Just posted this as a comment on Ao3)

Heads up for anyone who hasn't read chapter 4 yet - Spoilers ahead!

Chapter 4 was so so good and 100% worth staying up to 2:30am to finish reading it! I was grinning at my phone like a loon throughout the entire chapter, it made me so happy! I have re-read this fic so many times at this point, it is truly a comfort fic that I will re-read when I am happy or sad and even when I can’t sleep! So thank you a million for writing such a wholesome story. This Gale and John are one of my OTPs now (and are on my relationship role model list – completely loving, can communicate and completely safe in every single way – I want (need) a John in my life!)

Here is a (very non-comprehensive) list of some of my favourite bits!

Absolutely loved that John noticed that alcohol might be an issue for Gale just from being observant and then decided to change his own behaviour patterns for the better so he can be as safe as possible for Gale.

I loved the foreshadowing – little did John know that in less than 24 hours he would be carrying Gale up and Gale would not only allow it but feel safe enough to continue sleep in his arms – this breaks my heart in the best way possible. “[10:57pm]Buck🎄: Not always very good at climbing stairs. John snorts, grinning at his phone, feeling young. [10:57pm] John: I’ll carry you up next time He knows the other man wouldn’t let him, at least not yet “And when Gale rouses enough to squint at John in the dark, to see that he’s safe, only to tuck his face into John’s shoulder while he carries him up the stairs”

Related but this: “He feels safe with John. And he can’t remember ever really feeling safe before. Not completely. Always a memory of what happened waiting in his mind or a feeling of dread that it could happen again. Fear and anxiety that one day a familiar face would walk through those gates or up his front steps. But the tightness in his chest he’s lived with since he was a boy seems to fade away when John’s around.” Gale deserves the world, I love, love, love that John is such a safe person for him in every single way!

I loved that both John and Gale were fretting about seeing each other again in the morning, but as soon as they saw each, their worries disappeared

“Go easy on me, John.” – no words just heart eyes

““If anyone’s ‘googly eyed,’ it’s me, fellas,” John says, voice warm. “Stop trying to embarrass him. I’m the only one allowed to make him blush now.”” John is the best – all I can say without swooning

Your descriptions of Gale quietly lusting over/wanting John – just perfect, every single it is completely in character and builds up to the spice so so well! “Looking at the span of his legs, the bulk of his thighs makes Gale’s mouth water.”

Have I mentioned how much I love John perceptiveness especially around Gale – he just gets him so perfectly. “Why do I get the feeling you’re freaking out a little?”

“Let me take care of things while you go get off your feet.” Let me take care of you. He sees the words in John’s eyes. Soft lips press to his own, once then again. “Please, Gale?” And how can he say no? Especially when, after so long of never having anyone here to help, to take care of things, to take care of him, he really doesn’t want to.” Sob! All of this – perfect! Love John’s need and want to care, love Gale’s want to accept it (and how he is realising that John is safe enough to accept care from him) – heart breaking in the best way!

“Gale’s comfortable. John is comfortable, he thinks, nuzzling a little more firmly into him.” You write Gale so so well, it feels like I’m inside of his brain – feeling the emotions in real time. I love how soft Gale allows himself to be around John

The smut, the run up, absolutely everything about it – completely and utterly perfect! You shouldn’t have worried – as one of your Anons on Tumblr said – you balanced the tenderness and softness perfectly with the spice and heat!

John cleaning Gale up – as another of your Anons said – died and gone to heaven – it was so so soft and caring and just everything! And the “Seeing him bare like this for the first time, soft and calm and vulnerable, instead of hard and panting and wanting, feels right. He feels closer to him.” – died again – again heart break in the best way. John is the one of the two best and sweetest man to ever exist – other place goes to Gale!

The scar scene – honestly if I can find the right words to describe how I felt and feel when I read that scene again I’ll send another message – but for now, just heart warming perfection that is makes me blush and kick my feet with joy! “John breathes out and leans in, presses his lip to the scar and lets them linger. Tries to will it inside and down to where it aches.”

The description of Gale curled up next to John now lives rent free in my head! There so many other bits I loved and wanted to wrap my arms around but after 900 words this comment is long enough – but in all honestly, this fic, this chapter is perfect and genuinely one of my all-time favourite fics ever! Thank you for writing this masterpiece!

@escaping-to-fiction

When I tell you, I could WEEP at this comment 😭

Might be my favorite one I’ve ever received.

It’s hard to explain how much the feedback from you and all of the lovely people that comment and message and send asks, means to me.

Making time for fandom in my life again after so many years has been such a joy to me, and while I do it for myself, knowing that people out there not only enjoy what I write, but also seem to genuinely care about my stories and my versions of the guys… it’s just so wonderful.

This story has really been a joy to write and I’m so happy people care about it enough to tell me 😭

I’ll gush out a reply to your (and everyone else’s) comment on AO3 later, but I just wanted to say a heartfelt thank you to you on here too.

You really made my day with this one. I’m so glad that so much of what I put into this chapter came across how I intended and that you enjoyed it.

THANK YOU 🙏 💕❤️💕🥹

[sturn1olo-ffics]

- HIDDEN (a series) -

pt. 1 | pt. 2

- Matt Sturniolo x Fem Reader (she/her pronouns used)

- Warnings: angst, Matt and reader high key hate each other, making out, use of y/n, profanity, alcohol use, I think that’s it??; NOT PROOFREAD

- About: Y/n and Matt aren’t very fond of each other on the outside, but on the inside, what really are they?

- Note: orange text=Chris, purple text=Nick, blue text=Matt, pink text=you

—————————————————————————————

(Y/N’s POV):

I look down at my phone to a text from Chris.

“Hey did you happen to see Matt earlier?”

“Yeah, he stopped by to get something. Why what’s up?”

“Oh don’t worry about it, I was just wondering fr.”

“Okay…”

Chris had always been suspicious about Matt and I. He had always been confused why we hated each other so much even though it seems like we’d get along so well.

I ignored Chris’ text and continued on talking to my friends at the party.

I soon grew tired but I couldn’t drive home because I had a few drinks, so I called Larray to Uber over because I trusted him to drive my car home for me.

Upon arriving to my house, I thanked Larray and walked in.

Then, I started to feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

“Hello?”

It was Nick calling me.

“Hey girl I was just on the phone with Larray when you called and wanted to make sure you got home alright.”

“Yeah! I did. Thank you for checking on me. How was filming the car video? Any fights between you and Chris this time?”

“What? Oh no we didn’t have a video planned to film tonight, we did it last night. But I can’t spoil it, you’ll have to wait to watch.”

“Oh- well Imma go. I need sleep really bad.”

“Alright, good night y/n”

“Night!”

Why would Matt lie and tell me they were filming a video? I mean it’s not like it was even that big of a deal, he could have just said he didn’t want to go with me.

I turned my playlist on and hopped in the shower, still intoxicated. I managed to take a quick shower, take off my makeup, and brush my teeth before clocking out in my bed for the night.

3:30am.

Four knocks on my window.

I knew it was Matt. Only Matt knocked 4 times in that pattern.

I opened my curtain to reveal his tired expression and signaled for him to come in.

If I were sober and in my right mind right then, I would not have let him in, but I wasn’t.

“Hi” he said, opening the window.

Almost immediately I pressed my lips to his, forming an unspoken language between us.

His hands roamed my body as he kicked his shoes off, allowing them to fall on the floor.

The cool, fall breeze filled the air as the window was left at a crack, leaving chill bumps across my skin.

Not a word was said between us, but the deepened kiss was all that was needed.

“Matt-” I mustered out.

“Shh baby.” He whispered, closing the gap between our lips once more.

His cologne filled my nose as he placed soft and rough kisses to my neck.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said between kisses.

A soft smile spread across my lips before meeting his again.

5:45am

I must have blacked out or fallen asleep because next thing I know, I was woken up next to Matt in his bed at their house.

“Matt” I said, lightly tapping his shoulder.

“Hm?” He questioned softly.

“What happened?” I sat up, feeling sick.

“When I went down stairs to get you some medicine, you blacked out from the amount of alcohol you drank, so I brought you here to take care of you.” He turned his body toward me.

“Take care of me?” I looked down and giggled.

“I know, I know.” He giggled back.

“You could have done that at my house though-” I continued laughing.

“Shhh I wasn’t thinking.” He whispered with a smile.

“I should actually really get home before Nick and Chris realize I’m here.” I stood up, immediately falling back down onto the bed.

“No no baby, they won’t even know, I’ll get you home without them seeing. Just lay back down.” He whined and pulled me into him.

I fell back asleep to Matt rubbing my back with one hand and brushing my hair with the other.

I could stay like that forever. That is, until Chris unexpectedly walked in the room at 7:00 in the morning.

—————————————————————————————

A/N: I kinda hate this part but whatever, it’s really just filler. Love you guys 😭

Tag list:

@cupidsturniolo

(Comment if you wanna be added lmao)

[maccreadysbaby]

House of Wolves

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

you guuuuuyyyyyyyssssss they’re all so grown up :,)

part six

❝ BIGGEST FAN ❞

FRIDAY — APRIL 21 — 4:28AM

THREE DAYS AFTER THEY GOT HOME FROM L.A, VERA AND HER BAND WAS FLYING OUT TO DALLAS. 

The sun wasn’t even up yet on Friday morning, and already Bentley had pulled an all nighter and driven two and a half hours to meet Vera at JFK airport (at 3:30am — he left the manor at 1:00am) to see her off. He wouldn’t see her for two months — until they had concerts in New York — and then not for another six while she was overseas. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t going to suck.

But, it was her literal dream come true, so through the whole thing, he was going to be her number one fan. He’d already decided that much.

Currently, they were waiting at her gate in the airport. Bentley was sitting in one of the uncomfortable airport chairs, and Vera was splayed across his lap, sound asleep with both of his hands clasped tightly in hers like a kid with their favorite stuffed animal. She had big pink headphones over her ears and had been asleep for almost the entire hour they’d been sitting at the gate. 

Her bandmates were sitting in the surrounding chairs, all of them either sleeping or buried in their phones. Bentley hadn’t spoken to many of them — they weren’t exactly the most pleasant bunch at four in the morning. He was just quiet, trailing his hands through Vera’s hair and watching the people around them hustle and bustle.

At four thirty, they started boarding for the flight that left for Dallas at five. Everyone around them seemed to move in tandem, gathering their things and preparing themselves.

With a quiet sigh, Bentley gently wiggled his hand out of hers and lifted Vera’s headphone off of the ear closest to him. “V, your flights boarding.”

She stirred immediately — something that didn’t usually happen unless she wasn’t totally asleep to begin with. Her brown eyes fluttered open, and they bounced around the gate before landing on his face. She smiled softly and muttered: “Oh, hey.”

Bentley snorted at her. “Get up, dork.”

With a feigned groan, Vera pulled herself up off of his lap. Her bandmates were already getting their stuff together, most of the people in the area now risen from their seats and gathering at the door to the plane.

Vera took her headphones off and slid a little white backpack onto her back that had been sitting on the floor next to the chair. She was wearing a purple hoodie and massive matching sweatpants that Bentley had bought for her two Christmases ago.

Bentley stood from the chair and stretched, watching her as she did the same. Her black and purple hair was in a messy knot on top of her head that was lulling to one side.

She eyed him coldly. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Bentley questioned.

“Like I’m going off to war,” She replied. She took a few steps forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, looking up at him with big brown eyes. “You know I won’t be able to do anything without calling you.”

Bentley snickered. “You already can’t do anything without calling me.”

“You’re going to mock me when I’m about to go away for eight months?” Vera chuckled. “Ruthless.”

“Just a parting gift,” He shrugged, giving her an easy smile.

“Vera!” Chase called over his shoulder, heading toward the gate with the rest of the members. “C’mon, we gotta get in line!”

Vera turned to look back at Bentley, smiling faintly and ruffling his hair. “Hope you can survive without me.”

“I don’t think I’m the one to worry about. Summer might die if you can’t see her every single day,” Bentley smiled down at her, snickering lightly. “Call me when you land, okay?”

“I will,”

Vera pushed up on to her tiptoes and kissed him, then she turned and made for the plane. Bentley watched her go until she disappeared into the hallway and couldn’t be seen anymore.

With a sigh, he buried his hands in his pockets.

Time for a two and a half hour drive back to Gotham.

—

Bentley forced himself back into Wayne Manor like a zombie who was really close to dying for the second time.

It was getting close to seven thirty in the morning, and he had only just arrived home from the JFK airport. The only thing that kept him from falling asleep in the car was stopping for energy drinks and blasting music so loud he physically couldn’t sleep through it.

The Manor was quiet and peaceful when he stepped inside. The sunrise was shining directly into the foyer windows, painting the huge entryway and staircase a blinding gold, and splatters of rainbow colors exploded on the walls from the small crystal light fixture that hung there. He couldn’t see anyone, and if he listened, he couldn’t really hear anyone, either. It was just a quiet, peaceful April morning.

Bentley took one minuscule look at the giant mass of wood that was the winding staircase and promptly decided he wouldn’t be going up it. Instead, he closed the front door softly behind him and made for the nearest hall, seeking out the quietest, darkest, calmest room he could find.

The library.

He was hoping to find it vacant — no one who currently lived in the Manor really took the time to go down and read besides Damian and Bruce, sometimes Rockie — but there were two figures inside when he opened the french glass doors anyhow. One on the left couch with a book balanced in their hand, and one on the right couch, sprawled under a huge white blanket. The lights were off, but a few lamps were on in the corners.

With a muted groan, Bentley approached the couch where the figure was sitting and flopped down face-first next to them with a poof.

He heard them snicker. “Good morning to you, too.”

It was Jason.

Bentley was fairly sure Jason hadn’t been in the Manor the night before, but he didn’t mind. Dick, Jason, Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph all lived on their own now, so it was nice when they came by. Bentley thought it was funny that they’d all moved out and his friends all moved in, like an entire new generation of Wayne’s.

“I drove to New York City at one in the morning,” Bentley replied blankly. “Just got back.”

Bentley felt Jason jerk a blanket off the back of the couch that landed haphazardly on his legs. “To meet Vera?”

“Mhm,” He hummed, his face pressed firmly into the couch cushions. 

“How cute,”

That voice wasn’t Jason’s. Bentley turned his head the to the side, glancing at the identical sofa across from him.

Bellamy was lying sprawled across it, chestnut hair disheveled and brown eyes dull like he’d just woken up. He had his phone in his hand and wasn’t really looking over at them, tipping and tapping on the screen at speeds Bentley wasn’t even sure he could perform in his current state.

Bellamy was fifteen now. He was a few inches taller than Bentley, and most of the time, people in public assumed Bellamy was older. He, out of the five former Redwood Academy students who lived in the Manor, was the only one who’d ever gone back to school. He’d homeschooled up until his eighth grade year and then started going to Rydell Arts Academy — a prestigious fine arts school in New York that Asten would have, quote on quote, literally murdered someone to go to when he was in high school.

Fifteen-year-old Bellamy was a far cry from the terrified eleven year old they had met at Redwood Academy. The farthest cry. So far it was almost nonexistent. In fact, it wouldn’t be unbelievable to say that, if Bentley hadn’t been living with him for the last three years, he wouldn’t even recognize him if they passed in public.

His core personality was still the same — his loyalty went nearly unmatched, he was careful and attentive to everyone’s problems and pasts and needs, and he was maybe the most gentle, caring person Bentley had ever met, even rivaling Dick Grayson for his crown. 

At the same time, however, Bellamy had grown into the very last type of teenager anyone would’ve never guessed he would; The complete opposite of how he used to be, and the complete opposite of Bentley.

Bentley wasn’t sure how, but Bellamy, the same little Bellamy that used to jump if they moved too fast and took days at a time to get comfortable enough to speak, had grown into one of the most outgoing people under the Wayne roof. He was completely self assured and confident; way more so than Bentley. He liked to tiptoe into mischief, like partying and hanging out with crowds that he might not need to. The friend group he’d chosen at his school were the troublemaker types — go figure.

Somehow, he’d skyrocketed into popularity at the Rydell Arts Academy almost immediately. He was very popular, perhaps the most popular, constantly oozing playboy charm and growing into more of a flawless Dick Grayson charisma every day. He liked girls (a lot), and girls liked him (a lot), and he went out of his way to make his presence known everywhere he went and charmed everybody in the process. He was so different than before that Bentley was pretty sure eleven year old Bellamy would have a stroke if he saw him now.

Bentley made an unintelligible sound, turning his face back into the couch cushions. His words came muffled through them. “Leave me alone. I didn’t sleep.”

Bellamy snorted from across the room. “Well, you still won’t. You said you’d go with me and Damian to the opening of the Whitehouse art gallery, remember? It starts in thirty minutes.”

Bentley said absolutely nothing. 

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Bellamy asked. Bentley opened his mouth against the fabric to speak, but the younger boy continued: “Don’t say sorry, I know you’ve been caught up with your rockstar girlfriend.“

A moment of quiet passed, and Bentley heard Bellamy move.

“You’re still going, though. And we have to leave in, like, fifteen minutes,”

Bentley groaned.

It was going to be a long day.

—

Bentley’s car squealed into the parallel parking ahead of the art gallery in exactly the nick of time.

Bellamy had a friend there — a girl named Amaya — who had won some competition at school and had gotten an exhibit in the new gallery. Walking around and staring at canvases with big splatters of colors on them wasn’t exactly Bentley’s favorite thing ever, but he was enjoying just hanging out with Bellamy and Damian.

Damian was eighteen now. He was perhaps the most similar to when he was fourteen of them all — though he’d loosened over the years. When Bentley had first met him, he had a strict schedule and regimented routine that he performed every single day. Not a thing went undone, and not a thing lasted a minute longer than he intended. Now, he went more with the flow. His need for perfection had dwindled, and he was more of a normal eighteen year old boy than anything. He was still Robin, and he still patrolled, but now it was like he had… new life in him. A new sort of adventurous and spontaneous spirit about him.

After they spent about an hour staring at abstract paintings that Bentley was really struggling to find the meaning behind, and Bellamy had talked in hushed tones to his friend, they left the gallery and went to a little restaurant on one of Gotham’s corners.

It was almost empty with only a couple or two inside the building, and they got to pick their table. Naturally, they chose the one at the front of the outdoor patio where they could see and hear down both adjacent streets. One of the things Bellamy and Bentley had in common, was a love for people watching.

As soon as they got situated in their chairs, Bentley’s phone started to ring.

He dug it out of his pocket and smiled faintly at the caller ID — Vera.

He picked it up and held it to his ear as Damian and Bellamy spoke quietly with one another on the other side of the table.

“Hello?” He answered.

“Heyyyy,” Vera chimed, sounding happy and bubbly. “Guess who’s in Dallas?” 

Bentley snickered lightly. “Is it as magical as you hoped?”

He heard Vera shuffling on the other end. “Well, if the rest of the state is as magical as the conveyor-belt I’m staring at waiting to get my suitcase, then we might have to move here,” She sassed.

Bentley snorted at her, ignoring how his heart sort of jumped when she said we. “I don’t think I’m much of a Texan. Can you imagine me in a cowboy hat?”

“Yes! And the boots and jeans and big belt buckle — you’d be cute!”

“I’d look like a lumberjack,” He deadpanned.

“A hot lumberjack,”

Bentley rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I would be hot, if we lived in Texas where it’s a million degrees.”

“It’s actually not much hotter here than where you are,” Vera explained. He heard her shuffle around more. “Jesus, this conveyor belt is trying to kill me. Hold on.”

Bentley waited for her voice to come back, listening to amusing banging and rolling sounds.

“Okay,” She continued, sounding out of breath. “Anyway. Luke and Alex fell asleep all over each other on the plane. It was hilarious — I’ll send you a picture.” 

Bentley snickered. “Okay.”

There was a moment of quiet, and his phone dinged with a message from her. He glanced at the picture and chuckled lightly at the sight of both guys folded over on top of each other.

“Well. I was just calling to let you know my plane didn’t go down into the ocean. I’ll probably call you again in three minutes when something only slightly amusing happens,” Vera chimed, and then she continued, with a fake country accent: “See ya, partner!”

Bentley shook his head at her. “Bye.”

The call ended.

A cool summer breeze blew across the patio of the restaurant they were at. Bentley laid his phone screen-down on the laminate wood table and looked out at the blindingly sunny street, watching cars flash by in the Gotham sunlight. A waitress came by and took their drinks — she was young, probably younger than them, and Bellamy winked at her when she was walking away and Bentley swore he thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head with how wide they went.

Bentley shook his head at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

Bellamy’s brown eyes bounced between Bentley and Damian, and he shrugged across the table. “I think she goes to my school.”

“You know someone everywhere we go,” Damian stated simply. His black hair was standing up on his head just like it always had, greenish blue eyes bright in the sun. He and Bellamy were dressed in jeans and black button ups, because apparently people were supposed to dress up for art galleries. Bentley was in jeans and a white t-shirt.

Bellamy shrugged again. “Having connections comes in handy.”

“Connections with every teenage girl in a hundred mile radius?” Bentley snorted. “What are those connections handy for?”

Bellamy shrugged. “The world may never know.”

Bentley snickered when he saw Damian roll his eyes in his peripheral.

The conversation lulled when the waitress came back and gave them their drinks. 

Once she’d left, Damian’s phone dinged, and he pulled it out, glancing at the screen. And he said, blankly: “I was accepted into NYU.”

Both Bentley and Bellamy turned to him.

“What?” Bentley questioned, shocked at the haphazard, blasé way he’d said it. “That’s awesome! Bruce is going to die!”

“I’m not going to go,” He replied. “I applied there as a backup school.”

“That’s still a big deal!” Bellamy replied, reaching over and shaking Damian’s shoulder vigorously. “You’re all grown up!”

“Have you gotten anything back from where you applied?” Damian suddenly questioned (maybe trying to get the spotlight off of himself?), his eyes boring into Bentley’s soul.

Bentley tapped on the side of his phone case. “Uh… no. Nothing.” 

He wanted to add that he hadn’t checked much, but every time he opened his phone he seemed to glance in his email and the various university apps he had downloaded, and he didn’t quite feel like lying right then. So he didn’t say anything else.

He had applied to eight different colleges — just to be safe. NYU (where Asten and Valor went), UCLA (where Koa went), Gotham University (where Dick, Steph, and Duke had gone), Princeton (just for fun), Stanford (because Damian was too chicken to apply by himself), Harvard (Tim convinced him he should just to, quote, get his name in their minds), Penn State (it had the best reviews from students in his major), and Ohio State. None of them had replied, but he was pretty much only counting on NYU or Penn State. All the others were too far, or too prestigious, or too… much. He was planning on going for crime scene investigation — Forensic science and criminology. Penn State was his first pick.

He hadn’t heard back from any of them.

“I’m sure you’ll hear something soon,” Bellamy said with a shrug, sipping on his water. “You applied to like, fifty schools. You’ll get in somewhere.”

“Yeah. But depending on where that is, I might be vanish when school rolls around,” Bentley shrugged. “At least Asten and Valor can drive back on weekends.”

“If you get into UCLA, you’ll get to live in Bruce’s beach house all by yourself,” Bellamy snickered. “Do you know how many sick college parties you could throw in that thing?”

Bentley nodded with a light snicker. “Sick college parties sure do sound like me, don’t they?”

“Hey, you’re basically famous, and you’re only going to get more famous the more famous Vera gets. Both of your social media pages are ninety-nine percent the two of you, and with her on world tour, she’s gonna be internet stalked to death. So are you,” Bellamy suggested, a grin pulling up on his mouth. “The sickest parties in an LA beach-house are yours to have, my friend.”

Bentley snorted. “If I get into UCLA.”

“Or if you just want to fly me out there one weekend,” He continued.

“College parties are a phenomenal waste of time and money,” Damian cut in. “No supervision and an entire houseful of intoxicated young people is a recipe for disaster.”

Bentley pointed at him in agreement, and Bellamy rolled his eyes with a muted groan. “How are you both so boring?”

“I think my life has been exciting enough, between all the attempted murder and near death experiences,” Bentley snickered. “I don’t really need to add to my track record of bad choices leading directly to actual life-threatening disasters.”

“Maybe not,” Bellamy shrugged. “But that shouldn’t mean you don’t want to.”

Bentley chuckled, shaking his head at him. “You are something else.”

“It’s hard to believe he is the same person who speaks to me about the technicalities of various brushstrokes,” Damian replied, and Bentley laughed again.

Bellamy leaned back in his wooden chair, the front legs coming off the ground, tossing his hands out to the side. “What can I say? I’m versatile!”

“That’s what she said,”

As soon as Bentley muttered it, all three of them (yes, even Damian.) erupted into laughter. 

Bellamy choked on his own chuckles. “Is that what Vera says when you-“

Bentley kicked out with his foot as soon as he heard her name leave Bellamy’s mouth, and it collided with the front of his chair. Since it was already sitting up on the back legs, the entire chair tipped back and fell over with a bam! and Bellamy hardly had time to make an alarmed sound before he was sprawled on the patio tile.

After registering that he wasn’t hurt (or maybe slightly before…), Bentley laughed at him, and Damian shook his head with a smile at the pair of idiots he’d chosen to go into public with.

“Bentley!” Bellamy gaped at him from the ground. All he replied with was a shrug.

Suddenly, Damian’s phone made a sound. It was chimey, almost music-like, and grabbed Bentley’s attention simply for sounding so strange.

Damian grabbed it and tapped on the screen. Suddenly, his green eyes widened, and he looked like he might faint.

“What’s wrong?” Bentley asked on impulse, his amusement dying instantly. Bellamy sat his chair back up and, grumbling under his breath the whole time, sat back in it and brushed himself off, watching Damian curiously.

“I…” Damian swallowed thickly. “I just got into Stanford.”

—

tag list that KINDA works

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy @bookwarm0-0

@custommadeazula

[wolfjessedragon]

Prompt: Two mornings in Sunguel’s apartment

(Note: this takes place in the time gap between parts 2 and 3)

Warning: Lots of domestic fluff and a couple being adorable

On a weekday

6:00am

Sunny: *Wakes as sunlight peaks through the windows, looks up and smiles at seeing her Miguel sound asleep, gently plants a kiss on his lips and carefully finesses her way out of his embrace without waking him.*

6:30am

Miguel: *Wakes to the smell of something good and heads to the kitchen. He sees his Soleada and the stove, and grins mischievously.*

Sunny: *Humming “Bacon Pancakes” while finishing making turkey bacon pancakes, her spider sense goes off.* I’m kinda handling hot grease right now Carino, do you really want to sneak up on me?

Miguel: *Rushes at Sunny and wraps his arms around her.*

Sunny: *Laughs as Miguel suddenly embraces and kisses her face frantically.*

Miguel: Worth it, Buenos días Soleada, *kisses her once more before lifting her onto the counter and kissing her abdomen* Buenos días bebé.

Sunny: *giggles* Morning Miguel, hungry? *offers him some turkey bacon pancakes*

7:00am

Sunny: Hey Miguel, which sweater do you think for today? The violet or the indigo?

Miguel: Hmm, go for the indigo, cause indigo is the way to go.

Sunny: Thanks *puts sweater over suit*

Miguel: Hey, do you think I need to shave?

Sunny: Nah you’ll be good for a few more days.

7:15am

Miguel: Ready?

Sunny: *coming out of bathroom* Yep

*They both smiled once more at one another before walking out the door.*

On a weekend

9:00am

Sunny: *Giggles as Miguel holds her to him in bed while kissing her face and neck.*

Miguel: Y’know what I like most about weekends?

Sunny: Other than sleeping in?

Miguel: I get you all to myself

Sunny: *laughs* You say that now but wait till I’m at eight or nine months then you might change your mind.

Miguel: Oh absolutely not mi Soleada, if anything when that happens I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.

Sunny: Seriously? Big belly, stretch marks, spider veins and everything else?

Miguel: Dead serious *He kisses down her chest to her abdomen* hear that baby? I’m always gonna want your momma and you.

Sunny: *laughs kisses Miguel back passionately*

(Note, Still working on part 4 but my ADHD and Autism having ass can’t focus on finishing just one thing and when I get inspired. FYI my grad school semester is gonna be starting soon so if there’s gaps in time, that’s why. I hope you guys are enjoying these prompts, lore bits, and all, and that it’ll keep y’all satisfied till part 4 comes out.)

[intriguingpeoplebyangelafloyd]

CRAIG FOLBIGG

CRAIG FOLBIGG

4 March 2024

Craig Folbigg has sadly died at the age of 55 after suffering a heart attack. Folbigg was the ex-husband of Kathleen Folbigg and the father of the four children, Caleb, Patrick, Sarah and Laura who all died between 1989 and 1999.

            Kathleen spent 20 years behind bars after being found guilty of killing her children. She was released in 2023 due to doubt about how their children died. It was suggested that the children may have died from natural causes due to a rare genetic factor.

            Craig always believed that his wife had killed their children; this was due to what she wrote in her diary, which were disturbing (which I’ve posted here last year) and many other factors.

            On the night Sarah died, Craig woke up and looked at the time; it was 1:10 am. He noticed his wife and daughter were no longer in the room. He drifted back to sleep and woke up when Kathleen returned to bed. Twenty minutes later she got out of bed, and alerted Craig to tell him that Sarah wasn’t breathing. Kathleen wrote on the calendar ‘Sarah left us at 1am’.

            Kathleen suffered from depression and stress, and became incredibly frustrated with her four children. On the Monday morning that Laura died, Kathleen was frustrated with her and screamed at Laura so forcefully that Craig ran to see what was going on. Kathleen was trying to force-feed Laura her breakfast and Craig suggest not to feed her if she doesn’t want it right now and Kathleen told him to ‘fuck off’. Kathleen grabbed Laura and put her on the ground, Laura started darting around and Craig said that Kathleen roared and screamed, ‘I can’t handle her when she’s like this!’ Laura was afraid of Kathleen and Craig was trying to comfort her, Kathleen stormed into the room and told him to give her the baby and for him to go to work.  

            At 8:30am Kathleen called him at work and told him that he was ‘too soft on her’ [Laura]. Craig suggested that the two come in to visit him at work, which they did. Not long after they left, Laura would be dead.

            After Laura’s death, Craig asked Kathleen what happened. He noticed various holes in her story and things weren’t adding up. Doubt formed.

#craigfolbigg #kathleenfolbigg           

[dunkzillla]

A Place to Call Home (2/4)

Honestly I can’t tell you what happened here. I had this whole thing planned out and then I just kinda word vommed onto the document and this ended up being this long. I am completely rotted in my brain about these two, so strap in!

Title: A Place to Call Home

Pairings: Nigel McGuinness/Bryan Danielson, mentioned and implied — Bryan Danielson/William Regal, Bryan Danielson/Jon Moxley/Claudio Castagnoli/Wheeler Yuta

Ratings: Mature — Language, Mentions of Sex.

Word Count: 10,027

Summary: It’s been a decade and a half of nothing, of burying what could have been, and now suddenly Bryan’s here again, his heart deciding it’s had enough, bringing him back to what could have been to give it one last shot. Losing to MJF was the switch, the igniter of an old flame. He went to bed that night broken-hearted and he woke up knowing who could fix it.

Parts: ONE

AO3

Feels like we buried alive something that never died. — The Exit, Conan Gray

X

Bryan wakes up way earlier than he normally likes to, thanks to jet lag and his out of whack body clock. The sun isn’t even up, and the house is silent, so Bryan knows that Nigel isn’t up yet.

He checks the time. 4:30am. An ungodly hour, even for him, but his eyes are wide open and sleep feels like the last thing he wants to do. He creeps to the bathroom to pee, not wanting to wake Nigel up before he needs to be for work. Then, in just his sleep pants, Bryan makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen. He makes himself a coffee, staring out of the kitchen window into the backyard. It’s dark so Bryan can’t see everything, but it looks decently sized, with a nice patch of grass that looks like it’s well maintained, and there’s a bench against the side fence. One look at the back door tells Bryan that he doesn’t need a key to unlock it, it’s one of those latches where you pull the handle up and twist the little knob. So he unlocks it and steps out onto the cold, damp concrete slabs. His feet are bare and the cold seeps into his skin, but it’s nice.

It’s that type of cold that Bryan likes, a crisp, clean cold, the air getting right deep down into your lungs every time you take a breath. He makes sure to shut the back door behind him so that he doesn’t make the kitchen cold, and cradles the coffee mug in his hands. Steam rises from the mug, warming the tip of his nose as he holds it close to his face.

Birds chirp, and Bryan swears he sees a fox stick it’s head through a hole in the fence before ducking away upon seeing Bryan. He’s always liked the UK, he’s enjoyed every time he’s ever come over here, it’s just, it’s not home.

The sky starts to lighten, just slightly, and Bryan’s almost finished his coffee when the back door swings open.

“Are you bloody mental? You’ll catch your death sitting out there like that.” Nigel quiet-shouts to him. He’s — Nigel’s got on a dressing robe on, one like Regal always likes to wear because no one needs to see all my lumps and bumps in a morning, darling, and a pair of slippers. His hair is a mess on top of his head and he looks, he looks tired. Bryan can see the age lines in his face from the warm glow of the kitchen light behind him. He looks so much older now, but Bryan knows he does too, and it only highlights the length of time they’ve been apart.

“Come inside, if I have to come out there and get you I won’t be happy.” He grumbles, before turning back inside.

Bryan has almost finished the coffee, and it is cold, and he doesn’t want to make Nigel mad by being stubborn, even though Nigel’s the most stubborn man he knows, so he stands up from the bench and heads inside, feeling the warmth instantly hit him as he steps back into the kitchen.

The kettles boiling again, and there’s bread on the counter, ready to be put in the toaster.

Nigel’s hand touches his shoulder and he makes a disgruntled noise. “You’re bloody freezing, god you’re just as annoying as you were before.” He says, and he slips the robe off of his shoulders — his bare shoulders — and puts it around Bryan.

“I’m fine—“

“You’re not going back to Tony Khan with pneumonia and blaming me for it, Dragon,” He says, voice still a little thick with sleep. “You want toast?”

“Thanks.” Bryan says, both to the robe around his shoulders that smells of Nigel and is soft like a cloud and to the offer of the toast. He sits down on one of the bistro chairs and watches Nigel.

He puts four slices of bread in the big toaster he’s got, and starts to walk around the kitchen, collecting butter and jam for the toast, milk for his tea. Now that he’s ditched the robe and given it to Bryan, he’s wearing nothing but a pair of well worn shorts, and they’re sitting low on his hips, showing the dips and lines down to his groin, and the expanse of his shoulders and back. Bryan feels a little bit like a deer in headlights, like he did the first time Yuta had a sleepwalking episode and ended up in Bryan’s room stark naked before they’d become a thing. He was all long limbs and soft skin — it was mouth watering. And right now, it’s the same. All of Nigel is on show to him, and Bryan’s barely resisting reaching out to touch him.

The bulk Nigel’s lost is significant, though it’s not bad, it’s just different. The way Nigel carries himself is different, before he was always high shoulders, puffed out chest. Now he’s relaxed. There’s no puffing of the chest, no dangerous smirk on his face. He’s just, Nigel, with the volume turned all the way down to zero.

Bryan wonders whether that disappeared all at once or whether it was slow. Did he start out in the dealership as the Nigel he knew? Did he walk around with that arrogant step to his walk, that hard sneer at the people below him? Or did he just turn it off as soon as he retired? Bryan wants to know, he wishes he had a tape he could play of everything that Nigel’s done since retiring. He wants to dissect it, he wants to see how Nigel turned into the Nigel he is today.

Bryan wraps the robe tighter around him, taking in the scent and letting it rub across his beard. If Bryan didn’t know any better, if he was looking through that back kitchen window at the two of them, he’d think that they were a couple, enjoying breakfast together before the day starts.

Lately Bryan’s been alone when having breakfast, because Regal’s been busy and he hasn’t been with Mox, Claudio and Yuta overnight for… a long time. And he misses it, Bryan is lonely, he likes to have people around even if they’re not talking. He likes how Yuta will shuffle into the kitchen still half asleep, slump into the chair next to Bryan making little grumbling noises about being tired and needing coffee, and how that coffee will materialise in front of him thanks to Claudio and Yuta’s favourite pastry set down in front of him by Mox. He likes how Claudio puts the little stereo that they’ve got on and tunes it to a station that plays nothing but slow, smooth music.

And right now, he likes the quiet. He likes that all he can hear is Nigel’s slow breathing, the clinking of plates and spoons and the murmur of the kettle and toaster.

Nigel comes over, impressively carrying two mugs and two plates of toast, and sits in the chair opposite him.

“So,” Nigel says, voice still a little gravelly, “What’s next? You done wrestling, or?”

Bryan shrugs. “Not done, there’s still so much for me to do. But I need to… switch gears. So what happens next, well, it all depends.”

Nigel spreads far too much butter onto a slice of toast and looks at him with a raised brow, “On?”

On you, and whether you come home with me. But Bryan doesn’t say that yet. He hasn’t — they’re nowhere near that. Bryan can’t ask yet.

“On what the others say,” Bryan says instead. “We might be a family but they’re doing pretty good with what they’ve got right now, so maybe they’ll just want to keep on doing what they’re doing. We’ll see.”

Nigel takes a bite of the now soggy toast. “I still don’t get why you’re here instead of there. If I had three guys who looked like that at home, especially that little Wheeler Yuta, I wouldn’t be thousands of miles away in sodding Liverpool with a washed up retired wrestler who I don’t even like.”

Bryan stops spreading marmalade on his own toast to look at Nigel for any hint of a joke, or sarcastic self depreciation. He’s serious, mouth chewing and fixing Bryan with a questioning.

“Firstly, don’t hit on my young boy when I’m right in front of you,”

“Why does—“

“Secondly,” Bryan interrupts a little harshly, “Is that what you really think? That you’re washed up and I don’t like you?”

Nigel looks away, and he chews almost angrily, like he thinks he’s said too much already, like he’s opened a can of worms and now they won’t stop crawling out. But Bryan’s glad. Whatever idea Nigel’s got inside of him that they’re not, something, anything, to each other, just because knocking seven bells out of each other was their favourite thing to do, he wants it gone. If Nigel really has thought for all these years that Bryan didn’t even like him, then what did the years they had together even mean? We’re they even real? They clearly didn’t live the same years.

“I am washed up,” Nigel says, picking up his tea. “And you don’t like me, you can’t, not after everything you’ve done to me over the years.”

“You — you know I hate using this word but stop being a fucking mark for one second, and use the brain I know you have to think about what you’re saying.”

“I am not a mark!”

“You're acting like one! You’re saying because we got into it in the ring and didn’t always agree on everything that we just don’t like each other? Colt kicked you in the nuts a dozen times, Aries split your fucking head open by being a dangerous prick, you called Joe fat so many times that I think anymore and he was going to murder you, you’ve ripped muscles off bones and popped shoulders out and spilled enough blood to fill a fucking pool, and you think no one can like you because of that? Do you not like any of them, because of that?”

Nigel looks down at the mug in his hand, and he mumbles something that’s most likely a smart retort.

“You’ve been watching haven't you? All these years? Seen Mox doing your rebound lariat as a tribute to you? Seen everyone who’s come after you taking little pieces of you and making them their own because not only do they miss you but because you’re one of the best pure professional wrestlers there’s ever been?”

Nigel shifts in his seat, but he still doesn’t say anything.

“And how, after everything between us, you could think that I don’t like you.” Bryan says. There’s too much of the everything to get out. Too much to say. But Bryan knows Nigel knows deep down, that they’re not just acquaintances, not just friends, that they’ve always been something more.

“You should know… you’ve seen the battles I’ve had with Mox, even most recently, I’ll beat him until he’s unconscious but I still love him. He’s still everything to me. I’d do the same to Claudio, and to Yuta. I put Yuta through hell when we’re training, and I’d put him through hell in the ring. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love him. You think just because we make great enemies that I don’t—“

“I have to get ready for work.” Nigel says suddenly, cutting off Bryan before he can finish. And Bryan was going to say it, he was, he was going to say that he loves Nigel. That he always has.

Nigel walks past him, leaving his half eaten breakfast and barely finished tea on the table as he heads upstairs. Bryan sighs, setting down his own barely eaten breakfast and running a hand through his hair that’s wild from sleeping. Bryan knew this wasn’t going to be easy because of how stubborn Nigel is, how set in his ways he can be. He just didn’t think the first hurdle he’d encounter would be Nigel not even thinking that they’re even friends. How is he going to convince Nigel to come back to wrestling if he doesn’t even think they’re friends?

Bryan clears up from breakfast, hearing Nigel walking around upstairs, and he tries to pretend like that went well, that Nigel’s just Nigel getting ready for work, and not that the Nigel that got up and left before Bryan could tell him he loves him. That he knew it was coming and avoided it.

He rinses the plates and cups and watches out the kitchen window as the sun starts peeking up over the fence line, the garden bathed in that early dawn light that he finds so beautiful.

He’s still staring out into the backyard by the time he hears Nigel stepping back into the kitchen, and when he turns he sees a much more put together man than the one that left the kitchen. He’s back in a suit, navy blue with a white shirt and blue tie, the zip up jacket is over the top and again, there’s a laptop bag hooked over his shoulder. His hair’s been styled and he looks awake now.

“Here, spare key. If you leave and don’t plan on coming back, post it through the letterbox.”

“I’ll be here when you get back.” Bryan says.

Nigel raises his eyebrows, like he’s not sure whether to believe him, like he doesn’t know what to say to that. “Alright, guess I’ll see you later, then. Try not to get lost if you do go out.”

“That was one time.”

“And it was a day of my life I’ll never get back, Bryan. Don’t get lost.”

“Asshole.”

“Bye honey!” Nigel sings as he leaves the kitchen and heads out of the front door to work. Bryan’s left standing in the kitchen holding the spare key, wrapped up in Nigel’s dressing robe, feeling like the stay at home wife waiting for her husband to come home.

He turns the key over in his palm, and lets his mind wander back to what Nigel was referring to, that time they got lost on the way to a show. It was his fault, though he didn’t want to admit it for a long time. He was reading the map and he told Nigel the wrong exit, which meant they ended in some town buttfuck nowhere that didn’t appear on the map, that didn’t have phone reception or seemingly even a gas station to ask for directions, or anyone even around to help them. It had taken Nigel’s sense of direction and a good few hours to get them back on to a main highway that Bryan could find on the map. Nigel’s never let him live it down.

Bryan remembers it, because even though Nigel had been effing and blinding at him for managing to get them lost, they’d come up with a whole new life together. Every single town they passed through as they tried to find their way onto the highway again they picked out a house they’d move into if they never found their way out. They picked out their dog and its name, he got Nigel to agree to let him keep chickens and ducks and they’d argued about carpet or hardwood floors in the bedroom.

Bryan remembers it all so clearly, he remembers how much he’d been grinning as Nigel vehemently argued that hardwood floor in the bedroom was an abomination and carpet was the only right answer, because when Nigel was worked up about something so trivial it was the most beautiful thing to see. His accent came out so much stronger, his hands waving around him as he gesticulated his points. Nigel was the single most argumentative person Bryan had ever met but it made him want to kiss him just as much as it made him want to punch him.

Which is why Bryan can’t understand how Nigel can think they weren’t friends, that because he��d retired they were no longer friends, that they weren’t anything to each other. It was all a silly joke, a way to pass the time, but Bryan wouldn’t have minded all that much if they’d have never made it out of that town they got lost in. He would have missed wrestling, and the modern world, but living with Nigel, a dog and some chickens and ducks wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world — far from it. And maybe he’s not expecting Nigel to feel the same, to want to run away with him and the hoard of animals they’d made up, but to not even believe that anything they ever shared with each other was real, all became when it came to wrestling they preferred to tear each other limb from limb. He just can’t believe that. Nigel isn’t stupid. Nigel’s never mixed the ring with outside relationships, so why with Bryan? What’s different with them?

Bryan sets the key on the table and heads upstairs to shower and change. He needs to get out for a bit, he can’t sit in Nigel’s house for hours until the man gets back.

The sun is fully up by the time Bryan leaves, and it’s cold and raining again but Bryan leaves the car where it is and uses the maps on his phone to direct him to the nearest shops. He doesn’t get lost, thankfully, and the place isn’t too far from Nigel’s house, so he doesn’t get too wet walking there.

He picks up some sweats and t-shirts and some pullovers, boxers and some jeans to see him through, and some oat milk and some dinner ingredients because the grocery store is right next door.

It’s late in the afternoon when Bryan finally makes it back to Nigel’s place, and he takes a bit of time to put what he’d brought into the chest drawers that are in the room he’s staying in. He puts the groceries away, and then after half an hour of sitting and staring at the wall wondering what to do, he goes out for a run. He puts the tracker on his phone so he knows which way to come back, because he’s not going to give Nigel the satisfaction of getting lost and having to call him.

It’s pouring with rain by the time Bryan finishes his run and finds his way back to Nigel’s, and he tries to shake off most of the water from himself before he lets himself back into the house.

It’s a little bit of a selfish, indulgent thing, when he gets out of the shower and puts on the robe that Nigel had given him this morning. It smells like him, and he likes the way it feels against his skin, and for a moment he’s transported back to the times when he’d steal a shirt from Nigel’s bag and hope that he wouldn’t notice.

It’s funny, Bryan thinks, that the minute he’s back around Nigel he starts acting like he’s twenty four again, young and dumb and in love. Acting like a kid with a crush that isn’t reciprocated but is desperately trying to make the other person see. He hasn’t been like this since then. With Regal it’s easy, they’ve always just been and they’ve never done this dance. With Mox it’s easy too, they’ve always just fallen in and out of each other, friends to lovers to friends and enemies and back to lovers. He and Claudio might not have had that type of relationship before, but it was just as easy to fall into it with him as it was breathing. And Yuta, well Yuta took him by surprise. He was never looking to be involved with a young man, but Yuta had the ability to get inside his heart, make himself a place there.

But with Nigel, it’s never been easy with Nigel. Nigel who’s held him at arms length while simultaneously holding him tight against him. It’s like he’s always been trying, trying to get Nigel to see how he feels without ruining what they have, and Nigel’s been purposely looking the other way so as not to see any of it.

It’s been a decade and a half of nothing, of burying what could have been, and now suddenly Bryan’s here again, his heart deciding it’s had enough, bringing him back to what could have been to give it one last shot. Losing to MJF was the switch, the igniter of an old flame. He went to bed that night broken-hearted and he woke up knowing who could fix it.

“Dragon! You still here? I don’t see a key on my floor!” Bryan hadn’t noticed the front door opening, and he sticks his head out of the bedroom door to see Nigel sliding off his shoes and hanging up his jacket.

“I told you I would be.” He says, stepping out of the room. Nigel looks up the stairs at him, fingers going to his tie to loosen it and undo the top couple of buttons on his shirt.

“Yeah, well, forgive me for not believing you— wait, have you even left the house today?”

Bryan glares at him. “Yes, I went—“

“Then why are you wearing what I left you in?”

Bryan looks down. He’s still wearing the robe, and he’s naked save for his boxers underneath. That’s not embarrassing at all.

“I went exploring and then for a run and it rained so I had to change.” Bryan says, like it explains why he’s wearing the robe and not his own clothes. He really is twenty four again.

“Un-be-bloody-lievable. You’ve always been a thief.”

“I have not! I have never stolen in my life.”

“So where is my Oasis shirt from the gig I went to in 2005 that I wore about three times before it disappeared? Where is my black McGuinness shirt? Why do I not have a full selection of shirts that I remember making?” Nigel says, and Bryan feels himself freeze. He didn’t think that Nigel noticed that any of those had gone missing all those years ago.

“Why didn’t you ask for them back if you knew where they were?”

Nigel scoffs at him and dumps the laptop bag at the bottom of the stairs. “Because they always looked better on you, Dragon.” He says, voice trailing away as he disappears into the front room.

Oh. Well that’s, that’s not what Bryan was expecting Nigel to say. He wasn’t expecting to be called out for stealing his shirts and he wasn’t expecting to find out that the reason he never asked for them back was because he thought Bryan looked good in his clothes.

Was that why he gave him the robe this morning? Was it truly because he was worried about Bryan being cold or was it because he wanted to see it on him? Either way, both of those options directly counter his whole idea that they’re not friends. Either Nigel cares about him enough to stop him from being cold, or he likes him enough to want him to see him in his clothes.

A little flustered, Bryan ducks back into the guest bedroom and changes into some actual clothes, and pulls his still damp hair back into a bun. He leaves the robe on his bed, because if Nigel wants it back, well he’s going to have to come and get it.

When he gets downstairs Nigel’s in the kitchen, boiling the kettle and putting a tea bag into his mug. He’d forgotten just how much tea Nigel actually drinks. The stash of tea bags that Nigel always had on him was a running joke in the Ring of Honor locker room, when he’d produce them out of the stupid little Union Jack tin he kept in his bag, everyone would laugh and say that one day he was going to be stopped by the TSA.

“How was work?”

Nigel looks at him, like he can’t believe that Bryan’s asking him that question, before he shrugs. “Alright. Sold a few cars, chased a few late payments. Nothing special.”

“I don’t know, not every day you get a call from Nigel McGuinness because you haven’t paid for your car.”

“Some of these people I do have to call every day. My useless coworkers are not checking credit properly before signing people up for finance.”

Nigel gets a mug out for Bryan, holding up the coffee in a silent you want one? To him. Bryan gives a nod, and leans against the kitchen counter watching him.

“Sounds boring.”

“It’s no championship win but, pays the bills.”

He hands Bryan the coffee before stepping over to the fridge and opening it.

“Did you go shopping?”

“Mhm. I’m gonna make us dinner.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. I noticed your fridge is full of meals you heat up in the microwave. You know how bad for you those are? They’re full of chemicals.”

“You really haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

“Nope. Still your Dragon.”

Something passes over Nigel’s face, but it’s gone in an instant.

“Well, as long as I’m not eating fermented tofu or some shit, go ahead, cook your little heart out.”

“I’m allergic to soy.”

Nigel looks at him blank.

“Never mind. Go change, I’ll get started.”

Nigel shuts the fridge and makes a little humming noise before striding past him to go and do what he said, squeezing Bryan’s shoulder as he does. It leaves a warm tingle down Bryan’s arm, but he tries to shake himself into focusing on what he’s doing.

He takes the ingredients he’d bought at the grocery store earlier out and lines them all up on the counter, and starts opening cupboards and looking for what he needs. It’s not the most stocked kitchen in the world, there’s only a couple of pots and pans and the knives are blunt and useless, but Bryan makes do. He can tell Nigel doesn’t cook much, and there’s something about being able to hear Nigel upstairs, taking off the layers of his work day while Bryan cooks for him downstairs. Claudio likes to do this for all of them, always turning down Bryan’s offers to help, not letting Yuta clean up afterwards. He likes to take care of them at least one night a week, and Bryan can see why.

“Smells good,” Nigel’s voice comes from the doorway, and Bryan looks over to see that he’s changed into a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. “What is it?”

“Stir fry, Yuta’s family recipe.”

“Swapping family recipes so soon? My my it must be serious.” Nigel says, and he slumps himself down into the chair, and rests his head against the wall, getting comfortable enough to watch him.

“It’s not really a secret, how to make a good stir fry. It’s not like he’s broken a family code by giving it to me.”

Nigel smirks, “Good, young lad like him shouldn’t be giving any secrets to you, you can’t be trusted.”

“Hey,” Bryan says as he plates up. “I’m cooking you dinner and you’re being rude.”

“It’s the truth, though. Never trust a dragon.”

“Because you’re so trustworthy.” Bryan jabs back, setting a plate down in front of Nigel and sitting opposite him.

“Never said I was.” And Nigel grins, like all of a sudden he’s having the best time in the world picking fun at Bryan. He tucks into the food despite the fact that it’s steaming in his face, and makes an appreciative noise while chewing.

“That’s good.” He says around a mouthful.

“You still have no manners.”

Nigel sticks a finger up at him and shovels another forkful of the food into his mouth. It’s disgusting but it’s Nigel and it makes Bryan so insanely happy and nostalgic that he has to hide his own smile behind a fork of buckwheat noodles and veggies.

“How’s your sister? And the sprog?” Nigel suddenly asks, thankfully having swallowed the mouthful of food he was chewing.

“She’s great, actually, and so is my nephew. He’s fourteen and taller than me.”

“Well that’s not hard.”

“Fuck you, Nigel.” Bryan says as a shit eating grin spreads it’s way across Nigel’s face, the same one that always did when Nigel was ribbing and making fun of him.

“Is he really fourteen?” Nigel asks then.

Bryan nods. It is hard to believe, really. He was born in 2009, the last year he and Nigel were in the same company. They’d all visited her one night that year when they were passing through his hometown, and she was heavily pregnant, but still insisting on cooking them all a huge dinner. His nephew had been born not long after, he and Nigel being together the moment he got the text from her that just said IM IN LABOR. Nigel had offered to drive him home to be there but it was something he didn’t need to see, so they took a detour on their way to the next town a day later to see him.

And that was really one of the last things they did together, other than being each other's last match in Ring of Honor. Nigel went to TNA and Bryan went to WWE, then back to the independent circuit before going back to WWE. There was no more travelling together, no more rooming together. They both got caught up in what life was giving them that what they had together just got buried underneath it all. Bryan did text him when he found out through the grapevine that Nigel had gotten Hep B, asked how he was doing and offered help if he needed it. Nigel had never gotten back to him, and then he’d returned to the ring, and Bryan thought that seeing as he was wrestling again, he was okay. He should have been more stubborn.

“Yeah. Fourteen. I thought he’d get a kick out of telling all his friends who his uncle is but he prefers football and thinks I’m lame.”

“You are.”

“I walked into that one.”

Nigel grins again and keeps eating. It’s comfortable between them as they do so, Bryan doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence, doesn’t need to do anything but enjoy his food and watch Nigel enjoy it.

“I usually go to the pub on Wednesdays, meet up with some friends. You wanna tag along?”

Bryan looks up in surprise. He wasn’t expecting to be invited out with Nigel and his friends.

“Yeah, sure.” Bryan says, because he might not be all that into going out to bars, or pubs or whatever they’re called, and he doesn’t drink, but he’s not going to sit here while Nigel goes out, he’s not going to pass up the opportunity to go out with him.

“It’s low key, so you don’t have to worry about getting recognised. And none of my friends even know that I was a wrestler.”

“Why not?”

“Well it’s weird, innit? Introducing yourself as a retired pro wrestler. It’s not like I made it to the top of the mountain. None of them knew who I was when we met, why tell them?”

“Because you were the longest Pure champion in Ring of Honor history? You were World champion for over a year? You’ve wrestled all over the world?”

“And what does that mean to any of them? Absolutely fucking nothing, Bryan. In my old world, yeah, that meant something, but in this world, the outside world, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I just don’t know why you’d hide that part of you from people you call friends. What about when they come over and they see that bookcase?”

Nigel huffs, “I forgot you were a snooper,” He says, setting his knife and fork down. Bryan had hoped Nigel had at least a couple of pairs of chopsticks, but he barely even had a full set of cutlery, so knives and forks it was. “They don’t really come over. And anyone who does come over, well they don't look closely at that kind of stuff.”

“So you’ve really just… thrown everything you did in the ring for twelve years away?”

“No, it still exists, I just don’t tell anyone about it. Life’s easier that way. I never wanted to be that guy that clung on to what he used to be. I retired because I just knew that it wasn’t ever going to happen for me the way I wanted it to. My arms, the Hep B, the concussions. All of it just — I wasn’t ever going to be you, Dragon. Not all of us can make come back after come back and be the poster child for every company he works for.”

“No, but you could.”

Nigel scoffs. “Fuck off Bryan, no one wants to see me anywhere near a ring.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not joking. And even if I was, even if people did want me back, I’m forty seven years old. I had my time, it passed, here we are. Sometimes you just have to let sleeping dogs lie, Dragon.” Nigel stands up and collects both of their plates, throwing away the scraps left on the plate and starting to swill them in the sink.

“Sting is sixty four!”

“Yeah, and he’s fucking Sting, Bryan. I’m not Sting.”

“No, you’re Nigel McGuinness, one of the most stubborn men I’ve ever met. So I don’t understand why you just gave up, why you didn’t lie like we all did?”

“Because I thought it would be better, alright? I thought they’d fucking help me fix my arms because they wanted to sign me. I didn’t expect them to pull it unless I got surgery.” Nigel raises his voice, the plates clattering together as he washes them. Bryan doesn’t flinch. This is when they’re at their most honest with each other, when they’re screaming and angry. When he pushes Nigel he gets the best Nigel. The real Nigel.

“Why didn’t you ever—“

“Try again? The door was closed, Bryan. They didn’t want me anymore. After the hepatitis and everything, they never offered me anything else. I was thirty five and falling to pieces, why would they?”

Because you’re Nigel McGuinness, Bryan wants to say, but he doesn’t, because he’s said it so many times already and Nigel seems to have lost that self assured cocky attitude that he always had. He doesn’t want to hear what Bryan’s got to say about the man he was, because he doesn’t believe he’s that man anymore.

Bryan stands up and nudges Nigel out of the way, taking a towel to the dishes that he’s already washed.

“Why are you here, Bryan?”

Bryan doesn’t answer, he just looks at Nigel as he dries the plate with the towel, because Nigel’s not ready to hear what he has to say, yet.

Nigel looks down at him with an expectant look on his face, waiting for Bryan to answer. And there was a time when Nigel would get in his face, press their foreheads together and drop his voice low, repeating what he’d said, and Bryan would stare right on back refusing to answer, and they’d be locked in that exchange until Nigel would laugh in his face and saunter away, muttering about how Bryan was an annoying little brat. And Bryan would squeeze his thighs together and try and pretend like he wasn’t screaming inside of his head for Nigel to kiss him or punch him.

But Nigel’s not doing that now, Nigel’s got his hip resting against the counter and his arms crossed over his chest, looking like a school teacher telling off a naughty child. Because Nigel’s not home, Nigel isn’t Nigel here.

In the end, Nigel breaks first, letting out a sigh before saying, “Gonna leave soon, be ready to go in half an hour.” He says, and then he’s gone, out of the kitchen and his feet thumping up the stairs.

Bryan puts the dried up dishes away and follows Nigel up the stairs, ducking into his bedroom to grab his wash bag before going for the bathroom.

Nigel’s door is open just slightly, and Bryan’s eyes can’t help but look through the gap, where he can see Nigel sitting on his bed.

In his hands is the Pure championship, the retired belt that Bryan gave to him when they had their two out of three falls match the night it was being retired. That night is hazy, Nigel knocked him out just as the bell rang to signal time on the match, and he doesn’t remember much from it at all, other than feeling like he wanted to puke his guts up right onto the mat, Nigel cradling him and telling him to just be sick, and the hours they spent in the emergency room afterwards because Nigel refused to let Bryan leave until they got the all clear. But he does remember picking the Pure title back up, and a microphone, and telling the room that the title should stay with the man who made it. Remembers handing it over to Nigel, and his own arm being raised. Nigel spoke and it made no sense because Bryan’s head was swimming and he could barely remember what day it was, what city he was in.

And now Nigel’s holding that very title again. Bryan watches through the gap in the door, and he swears he sees Nigel transform in front of his eyes. Swears he sees bright blonde spikes sprout from the top of his head, Union Jack knee pads curling over his knees. Holding the Pure title in his hands turns whatever Nigel this is, car salesman Nigel, into the Nigel that he’s always known. Nigel McGuinness, greatest enemy, soulmate, and one of the best wrestlers he’s ever known. The real Nigel. Nigel’s at home with the Pure title in his hands.

So as not to get caught, Bryan steps into the bathroom and closes the door. He doesn’t need Nigel knowing that he was watching him, that he’s seen him starting to remember what it was like. He’s just happy to know that he’s thinking about it, remembering what it was like to be Nigel McGuinness.

He brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face, and hears Nigel moving around the bedroom again, putting the Pure title back wherever it sits. He wonders how Nigel’s sat and watched wrestling, the creation of AEW, and not gotten that feeling in his gut, that desperate itch inside of you to get back into the ring. Every single time Bryan’s been sidelined, or put in retirement he’s gone stir crazy. How Nigel could walk away and then torture himself watching the product baffles him, really. Because as much as he’d loved his time in WWE, watching some of his best friends having the time of their life in a new company, it got that itch going inside of him. He was wrestling but he felt it, the burning itch to go and do something different. To go back to being the man he was when he was having the most fun. When he was the happiest. And that was being the real Bryan Danielson.

Nigel’s back downstairs when Bryan gets out of the bathroom and he quickly throws his wash bag in his room and makes his way down to him. He’s putting on a leather jacket that’s actually not too dissimilar to the one Mox loves to wear, except Nigel’s is in much better condition.

“Ready?” Nigel asks, and it’s like their conversation not ten minutes ago didn’t happen, like he wasn’t just sat up stairs on his bed staring at the old Pure title belt.

“Ready.” Bryan agrees, picking his own coat off the coat rack.

Nigel leads him out of the door and lets Bryan pass him as he locks up, stuffing his hands in his pockets. They walk past both of their cars, so Bryan guesses it’s not far away, and falls into an easy pace next to Nigel.

“So, are these friends from work, or people you’ve met since living here?”

“People I met through living here. Wouldn’t want to drink with the people I work with, bunch of snobby pricks.”

“You don’t like them? Your coworkers?”

“Like them? I’d sooner have Aries knock me clean out three times on that guard rail than be friends with those tossers. I work with them, that’s enough.”

Bryan’s eyebrows raise a little at that. He won’t claim to like every single person he’s ever worked with, but he’s never had that kind of disdain for such a large group of people. To have to go to work every day with people that you’d rather get knocked out than be around is… sad and depressing.

Instead of commenting on the relationships with his coworkers Bryan says, “I still remember watching it happen in the back. Watching your head bounce off that guardrail. And then when you came behind the curtain, and you looked at me like you didn’t know who I was or where you were. It was horrible at the time but finding out it broke your nose on top of the concussion that you continued wrestling with for like, twenty minutes?”

“Yeah well, I’m a tough old bastard, aren't I?”

“Tough and stupid.”

“You can hardly talk, you smacked your head off a table and knocked yourself out cold and you carried on against Aries.”

Guilty as charged. Bryan did that. He’s done it so many times he can’t even count them all.

“And, if we’re gonna’ talk about stupid, wrestling with more concussions than I’ve got fingers and giving yourself seizures and a fucking lesion to the brain, that’s stupid.”

Bryan shudders at the reminder of where he was when he had to retire. The numbness in his arm, the seizures, not knowing if he’d ever wrestle again.

“I didn’t know I’d had that many concussions,” Bryan says weakly, because he didn’t, not really. He’d never counted them, they all kind of blur into one after a while. “And anyway, if you know all that you know that I fought and fought and fought to get better and I did and I’ve been clear of that since I returned. By literally every doctor and neurologist I could find. I’m more careful now, that’s why I didn’t wrestle Zack at Forbidden Door.”

Nigel looks at him like he wants to argue, but doesn’t, because he knows Bryan’s right. Because he’s been keeping up with the product and has watched it all and taken an interest in Bryan’s health, Nigel who drove him to the hospital and stayed with him for hours after knocking him out in the ring, taking care of him the following days because Bryan was seeing double for a week. But they’re not even friends. Never were, according to Nigel.

Nigel’s shoulder bumps into his as they turn the corner, and he looks back at him as they get onto a street that’s lined with shops and takeaways. Sometimes, back when they were wrestling together, Bryan would forget just how handsome Nigel was, and then it would hit him all at once, and it would only take one look, taking the air out of his lungs as he looked at him. It’s happening now, as Nigel steers him up some steps and through the door of the pub, his hand grazing the small of his back as he follows behind him. He’s realising just how handsome he is, the stubble gracing his jaw is something Nigel only ever used to grow when he couldn’t be bothered to shave, and the style of his hair, shaved at the sides and longer on top, similar to before but without the dodgy blonde or spikes. It suits him. He looks good. He looks so good it keeps making Bryan’s belly flip.

A warm rush of air hits Bryan in the face, and the thick smell of beer soaked wood seeps into his nose. Bryan hates the smell of beer, of alcohol, too many bad childhood memories associated with the it, but Nigel’s steering him towards a group of people surrounding a table.

“Nigel! You brought a friend!”

“Yeah, this is Bryan, he’s my—“ and then Nigel pauses for a brief moment, looking at him and Bryan wonders what he’s going to say before he smiles, “An old family friend from America. He’s over to visit for a bit. Bryan, this is George, Robbie, Tom and Jenny.”

Nigel introduces him to his friends, and each of them shaking his head, Jenny, the only woman in the group, engulfs him in a hug, her hands squeezing at his arms. “Trust Nigel to hide his handsome friend from me for all this time.” She says, not letting him go and tugging him down to sit next to her on the bench seat.

“Down Jen, he’s got someone at home.” Nigel says, and he’s hovering instead of sitting down. And then he’s disappearing off to the bar, leaving Bryan alone with four people he’s never met that are looking at him like he’s a piece of meat, especially Jenny, who’s so close to him she may as well just sit in his lap, for all the subtlety she’s showing.

“So Bryan,” She says, “What brings you over here?”

“I haven’t been over to the UK in a while so I thought I’d make the trip, dropped in on Nigel on my way through.” Only half a lie, really. He hasn’t been to the UK in quite a few years, and he did just drop in on Nigel unannounced.

“What do you do?”

It takes Bryan a split second to decide what he’s doing, “I’m a personal trainer.” He lies. He’s not about to out himself as a wrestler, or bring anything on Nigel as his friends ask how he knows him, so he lies, because Nigel is right, annoyingly. It’s easier.

“That explains these, then.” Jenny says, and her delicate hand squeezes his thigh. Bryan laughs awkwardly, about to politely decline her advances when Nigel comes back, two drinks in hand.

“Jesus Christ Jen, he’s spoken for, take your hands off him, he’s too nice to tell you to fuck off.”

Jenny all but pouts, removing her hand from Bryan’s thigh. “You’re such an arsehole Nigel.”

“Not news to you, is it sweetheart?” He says, placing a drink down in front of Bryan. Nigel hadn’t bothered to ask him what he wanted, but the soda water with lime, ice and a straw because of his sensitive teeth shows him that Nigel still knows him as good as he did back then.

“Thanks.” Bryan says as Nigel sits opposite him in a chair. He’s got his own drink in front of him, a pint of some ale if Bryan’s guessing correctly, and he’s slipping the leather jacket off and hanging it on the back of the chair, leaning back and stretching himself out.

After a few more probing questions from Nigel’s friends, the conversation turns to soccer, and though Bryan doesn’t know anything about soccer, he listens along, hums and laughs in all the right places, knocking his foot into Nigel’s for something to do every so often.

Eventually, after more drinks have been brought, someone produces a pack of cards, and they end up playing a few rounds of poker, which thankfully Bryan knows how to play.

Bryan wins a round, then George, and then Nigel wins two consecutive games and Jenny slams her card down in a huff when he wins the third.

“He’s cheating, I just know he’s cheating.”

“How? How am I cheating Jen?”

“You and your stupid magic tricks!”

“Oh come off it, you’re just a sore loser darlin’.”

“Whatever, I’m going to the loo.” She says, and Bryan has exactly two seconds to sit backwards as she climbs over him, her ass nearly brushing his face as she slides past him. She’s a beautiful woman, and she’s clearly very sweet, but she’s not very good at picking up on cues of when to stop flirting with a man that isn’t interested in her.

“Show Bryan your magic tricks, Nigel.” Tom says, scooping up all the cards from the table and handing them to him. They’re a little damp from beer that’s spilled on the table, and the middles are bent from how they’ve been held.

“He’s already—“

“Show me. It’s been a while.” Bryan says when Nigel starts to protest. He hasn’t seen Nigel perform a magic trick in years. Not since around 2009 when they both had their last matches with Ring of Honor. Nigel used to practise for hours in their downtime, making Bryan and anyone who was around pick cards out of his hand, working at the trick until he got it right. If he couldn’t sleep he’d be reading a book he’d picked up about different tricks, highlighting the important bits with a crappy hotel pen he’d found in the drawer. He loved watching the smile spread across Nigel’s face when he realised he’d mastered something, and he loved pretending that the trick had failed to watch Nigel stutter and grab his card only to realise Bryan was lying, grabbing him in a headlock and wrestling him around until Bryan begged him to stop.

Nigel fans the deck out a little bit and holds them out to Bryan, motioning for him to take a card. Bryan takes one, pulls it close to his chest and looks at it. It’s an ace of spades, and nods at Nigel, letting him know what it is.

He lets Nigel walk him through the trick, moving the cards and listening to him talk, and he watches Nigel’s face. He can see the scar above his eyebrow, the one that came from hitting his face on the guard rail, and the slope of his nose where it’s been broken a couple of times.

“This your card?” Nigel says, holding up the ace of spades, and when Bryan nods, the others whoop and cheer like it’s the best thing in the world.

Bryan can’t help but smile along with them. There’s something about Nigel McGuinness, something about him that means that no matter what they do to each other, what happens to either of them, that makes him the only person that Bryan truly feels himself around.

“Doing your silly little tricks again, Nigel?” Jenny says as she comes back from the bathroom, and Bryan’s more ready this time, shifting himself fully to the side to let her squeeze past him, so that he doesn’t get a face full of ass as she goes to her seat.

“You’re just jealous you don’t know how to do it.” Robbie says to her, and she sticks her finger up at him as she sucks down the rest of her drink through her straw.

Nigel gets up and gets her another one, bringing back himself and Bryan one too, and that makes her happy, apparently, so Bryan adds a cherry on top by showing her a way to beat Nigel at poker. They play another game, and she puts his teachings to the test, and when she finally wins a game she flings her arms around him.

“You should come over here more often, I’ve spent far too long being bullied by these four. I need you to look after me.”

“Oh good grief.” Nigel mutters, and Bryan smiles politely at her, trying to untangle himself from her arms.

“I’ll keep that in mind, but I think you’re doing alright by yourself, Jen.” Bryan says, and she shakes her head, launching into a story about how one time they left her stranded at a soccer stadium because she was taking too long in the toilet, and George jumps in to add that that’s not how the story goes, telling Bryan the real story of how they’d all separately texted her where they were going and to meet them there, that they were only a few doors down, in line for food, and it wasn’t their fault that she didn’t check her phone to see if they’d text her.

The story prompts Jenny to find another instance of where they’ve bullied her, only to have George, Robbie and Tom set the record straight that they have in fact, not bullied her. Nigel stays quiet, sipping on his drink and laughing at all the right moments. Bryan wonders if he’s thinking what Bryan’s thinking.

That Bryan can’t tell a single one of his stories about the times that Nigel had indeed bullied him, because how would they explain Nigel locking him in a closet at a ROH taping and telling everyone that no, he hadn’t seen Bryan, are you sure he turned up? And not letting him out until Colt started threatening to report Bryan missing. How would they explain Nigel writing Bryan’s phone number on a gas station bathroom stall wall with the message ‘call for a sexy wrestler blowjob’ underneath, and Bryan was getting calls and texts for months until he finally bothered to change his number. They can’t explain their stories because none of these people know who they are, who they really are, and the life they’ve had together.

Jenny talks the others into buying her another drink to say sorry for everything they’ve put her through, and that seems to get her to stop bringing up any little thing they’ve done that she doesn’t like, and the guys go back to talking about soccer.

It’s pretty late when George and the others decide to call it a night, even though Jenny — who’s started slurring her words — doesn’t want to.

“Come on you lightweight, let's get you home.” Nigel says, and he helps her put her jacket on before he puts his own on.

The guys offer their help, but Nigel waves them off, and recruits Bryan to help him steer Jenny out of the door and onto the street. She’s not super drunk, just heavily tipsy, but she decides that she needs to hold onto both of them as they walk her home. She’s the only one that talks the whole way there, Nigel humming along and Bryan doing he’s best just to understand her accent now that she’s slurring.

Her house isn’t far from the pub, and isn’t that far from Nigel’s either, so it doesn’t take that long to get there, and they stand next to her, making sure that she doesn’t topple over as she searches for her keys in her bag.

“Coming in for a night cap?” Jenny says when she finally gets the keys out of her bag and the door open.

“No, Jen. Go to bed.” Nigel says, but Jenny doesn’t take no for an answer, wrapping her arms around Nigel’s neck and clinging onto him.

“Come on Nigel, just one! It’s a special occasion, Bryan’s here and everything, please?”

Nigel pries himself out of her grasp and steps away from her, getting a hand in the back of Bryan’s jacket and pulling him with him. “Go to bed, Jen, or you’re gonna’ regret this in the morning.”

Bryan follows Nigel easily, stepping back onto the sidewalk away from the house. Jenny doesn’t take too kindly to the rejection, and she steps into the house and slams the door shut behind her.

“She seems… mature.” Bryan says as they start walking away.

Nigel huffs out a laugh, “She’s harmless, really. A handful but harmless.”

“Does she always get like that?”

“By that do you mean drunk, or trying to get men she’s just met to sleep with her?”

“Both?”

Nigel shakes his head, “Yeah. She’s a lightweight and she’s been trying to get me to sleep with her since we met.”

Bryan’s eyes shoot up as they round the corner, walking past the pub they’ve just come out of and back towards Nigel’s house.

“And you haven’t?” Because Bryan’s not blind, or stupid, Jenny is a beautiful woman, and from what he can remember about the couple hook ups Nigel used to have when they were on the road, she seems like his type.

“God no.”

Bryan’s not sure what makes him say “Why not?” Because he’s not really sure he wants to know about why Nigel hasn’t slept with her.

“Because I don’t like women.”

They get to the steps of Nigel’s house, and Bryan stops dead in his tracks at the information that has just tumbled out of Nigel’s mouth like he was asking him what he wanted for breakfast.

“But you… we, even, we slept—“

“I did that because you were nervous and if I hadn’t stepped in you weren’t going to pull.” Nigel says, unlocking the door. He’s smirking, and Bryan feels himself get irritated and confused all in one second, as he rushes up the steps to follow him into the house.

“I was not nervous! I was just talking to her until you came and inserted yourself into our conversation. I wasn’t even planning on sleeping with her!”

He follows Nigel through to the kitchen, where he fills himself a glass with water. He can remember the night they both slept with the same woman much, much clearer than he can remember any of their other memories. He remembers Nigel coming over to him and the girl that had been talking to him all night, using that British charm to get her to swoon. It had gone from the three of them stood in a bar to suddenly being back at their hotel, in Nigel’s room, Nigel getting head from her while Bryan fucked her from behind. He’d been looking at Nigel the whole time, the way his face contorted in pleasure, how his fingers curled in her hair and controlled the pace. Bryan doesn’t really have much of a preference, and he doesn’t put any labels on his sexuality, but he knows that on that night, the only reason he came was because Nigel did, cursing in that deep, accented growl of his. The woman thankfully didn’t try and overstay her welcome, and when she’d cleaned up she left the room to go and rejoin her friends at the bar, and Bryan had laid in bed next to Nigel who had fallen asleep, and wished that he could pluck up the courage to say how much he wanted to suck Nigel’s dick just like she did.

“Then why did you? Hm? Why did you sleep with her if you weren’t trying to before I came along?”

Bryan steps closer to Nigel, who stays backed up against the kitchen sink, sipping his water.

“It wasn’t her I wanted to sleep with.”

“No?”

“Why did you sleep with her, if you didn’t like women? You seemed to have a nice time.”

“Heads head, Dragon.” He says, but his voice seems to waver as Bryan steps closer to him again, their chests almost touching. He can smell Nigel’s cologne, and the faint hint of alcohol on his breath.

“Nigel.” Bryan says, because he can tell, he can tell that Nigel’s not telling him something about that night, about why he stepped in, and it’s not because he was trying to help Bryan sleep with a girl.

“You know,” Nigel says as he swallows a mouthful of water, “I can’t believe you grew a beard like this. It covers up your cute little chin.” He says, and then he sets the half full glass of water down on the counter, and he runs his fingers through Bryan’s beard, a quick little tug before his fingers vanish, and he steps past him.

“Night, Bryan.”

“Nigel, you can’t just—“ But Nigel isn’t listening, he’s just walking up the stairs, ignoring every attempt of Bryan trying to get him to stop and talk to him. The conversation is completely over when Nigel shuts his bedroom door in Bryan’s face.

That — that is the Nigel Bryan knows. Evasive. Annoying. Beautiful. Infuriating.

That is Bryan Danielson’s Nigel McGuinness.

[ninkanoskovic]

FAILURE - YET AGAIN or how I deserve the anger, you know what I mean?

so I was coming up with m glow up plan, right

was so into it that stayed up planning it until 2:30am.. maybe bit longer.

so already at that point the anger was growing in me. what the heck that is so counterproductive.

anyways, was so into it i jus HAD TO FINISH. I was thinking there is no point if crying over spilled milk now, is there?

i already knew in my head that I will be angry at myself because I wont be able to wake up at a reasonable hour.

I had had booked a seminar for 1pm. Eaaaasy.

Uhm, unless the sound travels ariund the house. and all the other parts/souls of the household were living their life from reasonable hour. 6:30-7ish am.

then again at 10am. i was so grumpy. so fricking upset i couldn’t sleep, my mind had already started functioning- imagining, thinking, planning…

i put on an eye mask, you know the sleep mask, so it had gotten dark again and woke up when?! 1PM!!!!

I was like, ok, I love myself, because that is what you’re supposed to do. (why am I making it so hard for myself is beyond me though).

I still can have a lovely and productive day, especially now, that my body doesn’t hurt as it did around 10am. I can go and be proud active citizen, attend an anti government gathering bc they(govnmt) are tying us to Russia, go to work to get things (move from one location to other) as I planned to do prior to the quiet protest.

Then finally post a first blog. Something. Anything.

the gf I was supposed to go with cancelled on me, and I found out only because I texted her around 3pm

At least I did some stretching and mobility. The one positive thing. And cleaned kitchen. Then all of a sudden it’s 4. I’d need to get the 4:12pm bus to get to the capital.

I stayed at home. Done nothing scrolling. I thought that maybe I didn’t go, but at least I’ll do some work. Exercise on the stationary bike, mask on the face, cold shower. But all of a sudden it was almost 6, I haven’t moved for the past hour, it was basically dark out and at this point it’s pointless to exercise, have a cold shower and eat because it would only awaken me more.

this is the trouble with how much we know, we know so much, we can predict consequences out of every breath we take.

Oh no, this will affect my sleep, then it affect my mood, that will affect the day, the productivity. This I can’t do because …and there goes list in my head.

I’m basically tired of knowing. I’m tired of trying. The more I try the more I am upset because I fuck up. Why I cant rely on myself.

I go to sleep and I am tired, but during falling asleep there is arose of energy from somewhere within me and all of a sudden its 2 am again. I cant break through circle.

So I went out, to take the walk I had planned on do at 3pm/4pm ish… and yesterday I watched the video of this girl: 

 https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=KtX10eOs6T4&list=WL&index=1&pp=gAQBiAQB

and the thoughts are great I believe in it but in this moment, of being filled with anger and regret I knew that I was supposed ti go sleep earlier, I knew what I should have done and then there is the knowledge. And the fact that breathe in and out, past is in the past you can’t change that. But the anger with myself oh I wanna be angry, I deserve the anger, you know what I mean?

When you as a kid were behaving badly yiu were punished or did not do what you were meant to do.

I was walking and I wanted to kick things and cry and scream, WHY AM I LIKE THIS

why i cant follow up on plans

“everything is happening for ny higher good and reason”

well fuck that!

in this society and current age I wanna be perfect! and now! I saw this videos, millions of them actually, and I know what I should or shouldn’t be doing to be successful and I planned it, so where’s the EXECUTION??!?!?!

I’m already scared of how Im going to be dissatisfied with myself tomorrow again.

How i wont be able to follow up on all my plans.

I need help😭

[suckitsurveys]

Will you be single over winter? Nope.

Are you mad at anyone right now? Everyone and everything.

Do you add random questions into surveys when you take them? No. I’ll sometimes delete ones if I can’t figure out to reply to them though lol.

Where do you wanna live when you grow up? I am “grown up” and living in Chicago is fine.

Are you wearing jeans, shorts, sweatpants, or pajama pants? I’m wearing jeans.

Would you get married if you could right now? I am married.

Do you consider yourself spoiled? Yes, but not in a bratty way. I am spoiled with love and being able to afford nice things or having help getting nice things.

Do you get annoyed when you see someone you don’t like? Yes I do.

Could you see yourself dropping out of high school? I've been done with high school for a while.

Is there anyone you want to see right now? Not at this very moment. I’d like to be home though.

What were you doing 12 a.m. last night? I was asleep.

Would you go out in public looking like you do now? Yes, I already left the house.

Do you think you will be in a relationship 3 months from now? Yes.

How was your weekend? It was okay! Saturday Mark and I went to his mom’s house and Sunday was very chill; just did errands and a couple chores and Mark and I went to get his hair done and grabbed lunch.

Are you a mean person? No. I can be, but not overall.

What woke you up today? My alarms.

What is something you disliked about your day? It’s only 9:30am, not a lot has happened.

Have you kissed anyone whose name started with a T? Nope.

Did you date anyone last summer? I’m married.

Where will you be twelve hours from now? At home. I don’t have to work tomorrow so I’m going to stay up a lil later than usual.

Do you remember the first time you kissed the last person you kissed? Yes.

Have you ever slept on a couch with that person? Yes, several times.

Have you written a letter to a soldier? Nope.

Ever been in a perfect relationship? The one I am in now is pretty perfect.

Is the last person you kissed mad at you? He’s a lil disappointed I spent so much money on Sabrina Carpenter tickets, but I don’t think he’s mad at me lol.

How do you feel about the person who texted you last? I love him more than life itself.

What are you looking forward to? This weekend! I took off tomorrow and we’re going to the apple orchard and then Saturday is SNL!!!!!!!!!!! and then Sunday is Mark’s birthday and we’re going camping into Monday, which I also took off. Happy 4 day weekend to me!!! I’m also looking forward to Novemeber; I’m seeing Sabrina Carpenter AND Billie Eilish within two weeks of each other. One in SLC, the other in Chicago. Both with my best friend!!!!!!!!

Do you think you are an argumentative person? Nope.

How did you feel when you woke up today? Tired and in pain. My back hurts.

Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex? Yeah.

What time did you go to sleep last night? Around 11:00pm.

Where did you buy the shirt you’re wearing now? Torrid.

What color are your eyes? Green.

The last song you listened to? I don’t remember.

Do you believe change is always good? I mean, change is constant and we are all adaptable.

Where are the majority of your clothes from? Places that sell clothes.

[cartasparadani]

Monday, August 21, 2023 @ 11:29am in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

Oi amor

I am sitting now in the airport in Jeddah waiting to board my flight to Riyadh, the capital city of Saudi Arabia. Last night I told you, but I went to a shisha lounge with my tour manager and we smoked for a while, talked, and had a good time; he dropped me off to the hotel ~1:30am and I spent the rest of the night packing my things before going to bed ~3am.

I woke up this morning, got breakfast at 7:30am, and went back to sleep before being slightly late for my ride to the airport at 8:30am (I arrived with my roommate ~8:43am; we both fell asleep haha)

Thank you for continuing to commit to working on our relationship. I told you it hurts to think you truly give up on us, so I am happy to see you continue putting in effort, I think all our efforts will be worth it as time goes on.

I am half way through my tour in the Middle East: I completed the tours in Oman and Jeddah, now I just have Riyadh (10 days) and Abu Dhabi (4 days) to go before I am back home and I have you in my arms once again. When I am back, let’s spend time up in New Hampshire again for the Monday night to Wednesday morning stretch again. If the water in New Hampshire is still nice I would like to spend time relaxing by the beach with you, taking it easy, and enjoying ourselves; let’s save the hikes and exercise activities for another time.

While in the mall in Jeddah I bought you this nice piece of clothing I thought would look great on you. I can’t wait to see you wearing my gift for me, I know you’ll look lovely.

My computer is at 3% and my flight boards soon, so I will be ending this letter shortly, but I’ll write until that comes.

I love you.

I want to learn how your mind works. I want to help you feel comfortable and safe. I know I bring up things that cause you anxiety and stress, and I never intend for these reactions to happen, I am sorry, and thank you for enduring the pain I unintentionally cause you.

All I want is a happy life together. I want a happy life where we are a team and work together to address the issues and concerns that arise in one another. We will never have conflict with each other, it will never be us against one another. Always and forever we will be a team and it will be us against the concerns and problems we have.

I appreciate that you’ve made the “cartasparasean” Tumblr page. I appreciate this page because I am able to understand your mind better. I also appreciate this page because we will have this thread of thoughts and letters for a lifetime to come and maybe one day we can show our children.

Let this letter be the first in a long line of letters to come of my own, written only for you, men amor, my love, minha mulher, minha bebe.

I love you

I love you today I love you tomorrow I love you for every day to come

Thank you for loving me. Thank you for putting energy and attention into me and into our relationship.

Let us set goals together, explore the world, and live life to all extents, until we are long gone, and even then, let us stay together for what comes next. I love this.

I love you I love you I love you

Forever and always these word will be true, but just in case, I’ll remind you for as long as I can speak, and even if I cannot speak another word, I will write it out. If I can no longer write, I will wink at you, and know that this means that I love you. I love you. I love you. If I can no longer wink at you, I will look at you. Know that when my eyes rest on your lovely figure, I love you. With every second I see you I love you more. With every shifting of my gaze I am seeing you anew and falling in love with you all over again, and again, and again, for eternity.

The image of my grandfather and my grandmother comes to mind as I write this. I can see him now in his last days, ill and weak, leaning into my grandmother, closing his eyes, and loving her more and more even then. Seeing how much he cared, seeing how much love, appreciation, and care he had for her, I only hope we can recreate something similar. That was love. That was a life spent building together. That was a love and a life that will never die. Let that be us

I love you amor 
I love you

I love you

I love you all the more

Thank you for loving me.

If I’m not asking too much, please love me forever. I want this. I want you. Para sempre. I love you

[tasteleeknow-remade]

— addicted to you: one week

pairing: minho x fem!reader genre: smut, angst, established relationship. content: 18+ minors dni. warnings below cut. word count: 1.2k

summary: minho has been on tour for weeks, he can't sleep, so you send him an audio message to help him relax aka minho humps a pillow.

profanity. afab!reader. frottage. obsessiveness. hints of possessiveness. pet names. dirty talk. grinding. dry humping. breeding kink. size kink. mutual masturbation.

Minho had never been away from you for this long. Three weeks so far, another week to go. He called you each night before he went to sleep but often it was the middle of the work day for you and you couldn’t talk. He missed you more than he ever knew he could. You’d cried the morning he left and he’d promised it would go faster than you thought; he’d be home before you knew it. He’d been the comforting, calm one and now he felt like you were coping fine and he was the one on the brink of a meltdown. He’d considered many times missing a concert and coming home to see you, but he knew he’d be letting a lot of people down. If he was honest the main reason he’d held back was because when he’d mentioned the idea to you, you’d insisted he stayed. Made him promise he would. 

He was attempting to sleep now, tossing back and forth in the bed that was far too big and empty. He was used to wrapping himself around you, smelling your hair, cupping one of your tits with his hand as he spooned you. The body pillow he brought with him couldn’t compare. The clock on the nightstand flashed 3:30am, you should be off work. He reached over to grab his phone. 

    2 new messages 

    im guessing you are probably sleeping now but just letting you know i love you and i miss you

    can’t wait to see you

He quickly typed a reply. 

    can i call you

After what felt like 20 minutes of staring at the ceiling, phone grasped in his hand, it started vibrating. 

“Baby??”

“Why are you still awake? Isn’t it really late over there? I didn’t wake you did I?” The sounds of traffic in the background sounded so foreign after lying in silence for so many hours. 

“I couldn’t sleep, I miss you.” 

“I miss you too but you have to get some sleep; you’re so busy everyday.” You sounded slightly out of breath. 

“I can’t do this again.” 

“Do what? The tour? Aren’t you having fun? You were so excited- Sorry can I just get past you..” You were talking to someone else now. He assumed you were rushing for your train. 

“Being away from you.” 

“What happened to time would pass fast, huh? It’s only a week now, I'll see you soon.” 

“I- I know… one week… I'll see you soon…” 

“I love you, very much. Get some sleep.”

“Me, too. Yeah, yeah I will. Don’t worry.”

“Goodnight, love.”

“Night.”

Minho threw his phone over the side of the bed. He couldn’t do this. He felt like he could cry. 

Just as he was getting ready to submit to the tears his phone buzzed from the floor. He crawled the edge and leaned over, reaching to grab it and then pushing himself back up onto the bed, nearly falling off in the process. 

    4 new messages

    (audio) 

    i recorded this the other night when i was missing you very much

    i was too embarrassed to send it at the time but i think maybe you might need it now

    love u

He hit play right away and within a few seconds it was clear what you’d sent him. Your quiet whimpers filled the hotel room. Oh god, you were perfect. “Minho…. baby… I need you.” Your breathy voice reminded him of the way you’d sounded in the call; winded from rushing for your train. Fuck. “Miss you so much….” He could hear you shifting in your bed. “Been touching myself every night to the thought of you… wish you were here… so bad..” 

Minho rolled over and grabbed the body pillow, throwing one leg over it and putting the phone on one of the other pillows so he could listen to your pretty sounds. He often slept naked but tonight he was wearing his boxers. Most nights he would stroke himself to the thought of you, picturing your thighs wrapped around him, holding you up against the wall as he fucked you full.  

“I miss feeling you inside me,” you sounded so needy. “filling me up.” Minho’s hips started rolling against the pillow, holding it against him tightly. He loved having you against him like this. Sometimes in the middle of the night he’d wake up pressed up against you, your ass pressed into his crotch. When he’d grab you and pull you even tighter against his chest sometimes you’d wake up and sleepily murmer his name. How the fuck was he supposed to sleep in an empty hotel bed when he’d gotten used to that. 

“Feel so empty without you.” Fuck he wished you were under him instead of the pillow. You’d be so warm… soft. He rolled completely on top of it. Palms on the bed, giving himself enough leverage to fuck himself into the pillow like it was you, begging him to keep you nice and full. You always felt so small under him. He loved holding himself up on his forearms, each one on either side of your head, caging you in under his body. He was obsessed with you, he knew it wasn’t healthy. The way he wanted to keep you with him all the time. But fuck he loved it; feeling you under him like that, all his. Made him feel like you were all for him. His sweet little angel. 

He was muttering to himself now, “Need you too, baby…so soft for me….pretty baby… yeah….”. Your moans were getting louder and he could hear the sound of your wet pussy as you touched yourself. God he was gonna keep you locked up for days when he got back. Just keep you sitting on his cock, feeling that wet little pussy around him for hours. How the fuck had he gone without you for so long. He couldn’t do this again, he wouldn’t. He needed you. He groaned into the pillow. Precum was probably leaking through his boxers, he was making a mess. Just like you. He needed to slow down, make it last. He could only hear this audio for the first time once. By the end of the week he’d memorise it, each word you whimper, every pretty sound. 

You were chanting his name. “Minho… baby…. please…. Minho…” He started rutting faster into the pillow, panting as he struggled to hold himself back. You’d come any second, then he could follow you. You were so good for him, touching yourself while he was gone. Needy little thing. So sweet. He couldn’t stop himself, his cock throbbing as his thrusts became erratic. “Oh.. fuck,” He groaned as he felt the first pulse of cum wet his boxers. He heard you make the prettiest sound, finishing along with him. Grinding himself into the pillow as he rode out his orgasm he imagined your pretty face as you came. One week and he’d be seeing it again. He listened to your small giggle as he caught his breath, “I hope-I hope you liked it, baby. Miss you.” The audio ended. Minho rolled onto his back. He needed a shower. 

One week. 

please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!

↳ masterlist

[izzielizzie93]

High School Sweethearts Part 3-J Burrow

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Part 3! Thank you everyone that has liked, shared, and commented! Part 4 is going to be the last :)

Wordcount: 1.2K

College!JoeBurrow x College!Reader

Happy Reading :)

----

Waking up the next morning, I kept my eyes closed for as long as possible hoping sleep would find me again. When I realized that wasn’t going to happen, I opened my eyes and froze at the sight before me. Star Wars memorabilia was scattered on the shelves and men’s clothing was strewn about on a chair and the floor. 

Breathing deeply to try to calm myself down, I lifted the blanket to confirm that I was naked. Panicking, I didn’t dare move a muscle as my eyes searched the bedside table for my phone. Once I spotted it, I slowly reached out and brought it to me. I looked back through texts from the night before from Kasey and Sarah. 

11:00PM

~Where are you?~ 

~Hellooo, you went out for air and disappeared??~

11:30PM

~Joe isn’t here anymore!~

~Stop hiding and get out here!~

11:45PM

~Image: Bonfire~

12:30AM

~OMG Trent said you left with Joe?!~

~Girl you’d better stop playing & text us back!~

I then spotted a reply I don’t remember making… 

1:30AM

~Image: Joe sleeping with his back facing me~

~Holy shit! YESSSSS~

~You fucking didn’t omg~

~Details tomorrow!~

“Morning,” I froze and turned my screen off as Joe rolled over and wrapped his arms around me. “Uh, morning.” I mumbled. “Do you need water or Tylenol?” He asked, pressing a kiss to my neck. “Uh, water would be good.” I whispered, not trusting my voice. 

Joe rolled over and shuffled around, coming into my view a moment later in a pair of sweats. He turned back and gave me a wink before exiting his bedroom. I took the time to hastily pull on my jeans and top and throw my hair up into a bun. 

“Leaving already?” Joe pouted when he came back in. I just stared at him, not knowing what to say. “Joe!” We both turned toward the door at the sound of Robin’s voice. Did they see me come home with him? Do they know I’m still up here? “Relax, they were out late. Passed out when we got here.” He said, handing me the water and pill bottle before exiting. 

Not waiting for him to come back, I grabbed my phone and ran across the hallway to the bathroom. With trembling fingers, I called my older sister. “Lindsey!” I breathed a sigh of relief when she answered. “What’s up?” She asked. “I am like 100% sure I slept with Joe last night after we went to a party.” I slid down onto the floor. “Y/N!” She scolded. “I know, I know.” I dropped my head, “I’m also still here and I don’t know how to escape without his parents seeing me. I cannot believe this is happening.” 

She let out a bemused sound; but then someone knocked at the door. “Y/N, are you in there?” Joe called. “Fuck, I have to go.” I whispered. “Good luck dumbass.” My sister laughed and hung up. “Be right out!” I called back. I rifled around and found makeup wipes to clean up my face. I redid my hair to make it more presentable and I opened the door. 

Joe was back in his room, still in the sweatpants and sitting on the bed. “Do they know I’m here?” I asked and he shook his head. “How the hell am I supposed to get out of here without being caught?” I crossed my arms and remained standing. “You can just say you stopped by this morning. It’s already noon so…” He shrugged. “This is not an outfit I would wear to stop by and I can’t even find my bra.” I huffed. 

He laughed and leaned over to the side of his bed and pulled out my bra. Tossing it over, he continued to watch me until I told him to turn around. After putting the bra on, I sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“You remember last night, right? I didn’t take advantage of you did I?” Joe asked nervously. Once I had fully woken up, the memories all came back to me. “No, I remember.” I said quietly.

“Do you regret it?” He asked, and I could feel his eyes locked on me. “I don’t know.” I sighed, focusing on the floor. 

“I don’t,” It was so quiet I almost missed it. My heart began to race and I felt my cheeks burn. “So now what, do we ignore each other and then sleep together when we come home for the holidays?” The words came out without me even thinking. “I don’t want that.” Joe shuffled down to the end of the bed and sat next to me. 

“Then what the hell do you want?” I spat. “I’ve fucking missed you so much.” He admitted. “Well, you made the decision to break up and swore up and down it would never work, so…” I trailed off. 

“Have you dated anyone at LSU?” He asked and I shook my head. “I haven’t dated anyone either.” He added. “Ok, and?” I asked, keeping the anger right at the forefront of my emotions. “I don’t want to date anyone else and I don’t want you to either.” He reached over and took one of my hands in his. I almost pulled away but the butterflies in my stomach surprised me. 

“Joe, you can’t just expect this to all get better because we slept together last night.” I began, “I can’t stand the idea of going back to school and worrying that I’ll get a text saying ‘sorry I changed my mind’, I literally fucking just went through all of those feelings and I’m finally feeling normal again.” It felt good to get all of these feelings off of my chest as I sat there in a bedroom I used to feel so comfortable in. 

“I fucked up Y/N, I know I did. I’m sorry for everything, I almost called and texted you so many times when you left and I chickened out.” Joe explained evenly. It made me feel worse knowing I was trying so hard to fight back tears and Joe was so composed. 

“I want to show you that I’m all in. I don’t care that we’re not at the same school. I promise to call and text you every single day.” Joe continued, “I’ll stand here and beg you if I have to. Please.” Joe’s calm demeanor cracked, his voice faltering at the last word, please. 

“I need time to think, Joe. Right now, I really just need to go home and sleep off this hangover.” Joe gingerly placed my hand back in my lap and I had to fight the urge not to take hold of his again. I had too many feelings swirling around and I needed to leave before I made a decision I might regret.

Once I’d safely gotten home, I ran up to my room and threw myself onto my bed. 

“I’m so fucked.” 

—-------------------------------

Ok so I never expected to drag this out, I’m having too much fun with it… (Also the GIF is exactly the face I pictured Joe making when the reader is leaving & he didn't get what he wanted)

Thank you everyone that has stuck around for my overindulgent writing.

Please comment, feedback is appreciated. Anything from awesome to this is the worst thing you've ever read...

[wa-royal-tea]

Previous | Beginning | Next

(Transcript & Translations under the cut & here - Click Pics for HQ Version!)

@thebrixtons​​​

Symphony Manor, Holan (8:30am)

*alarm rings*

Alfie: Good morning, cutie.

Catalina: Mhm, morning.

Alfie: Go back to sleep, it’s still early.

Catalina: Nuh-uh. I’ve been sleeping a lot lately.

*light switch clicks*

Alfie: You should be resting a lot, Lina. You’re still recovering from your injuries.

Catalina: I’m fine. You’re overreacting.

Alfie: Am I though?

Catalina: Yes, you are. It’s been two weeks. I feel better now. I can walk too.

Catalina: And I can do more than walk. If you know what I mean.

Alfie: Tempting, but, I don’t want to take the risk of hurting you. So, I’ll keep my hands to myself until I’m sure you’re fine.

Catalina: Urgh, you suck.

Alfie: *chuckles* Stay in bed. I’ll bring breakfast to you.

Catalina: You’re treating me like a child again.

Alfie: This time, for a good reason. I don’t want you to tire yourself out. And the doctors said that it’s going to take a while before you can make a full recovery.

Alfie: Please listen to me, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt again.

Catalina: *groans* Fine.

Alfie: Good girl.

*door opens and closes*

Tweet 1: an INTRUDER AT THE PALACE ?? fr ?? they got into a whole fight with alfie and #trashlina

Reply to tweet 1: they prob tried to put her in her place💀the bitch deserves it

Reply to tweet 1′s reply: stfu stop being a hater

Tweet 2: I feel sorry for the guests that already arrived. Ppl are dying around the world and they wasted their money on a wedding only for it to be postponed.

Tweet 3: LMAOOO THEY CANCELED THEIR WEDDING !!!! move over #trashlina, its marie’s time to shine ✨

Tweet 4: wait? they postponed their wedding? why?

Reply to tweet 4: the palace hasnt said anything … pelik (weird)

Tweet 5: atp i’m anti-monarchy, because what the hell is even going on?

Tweet 6: idc what everyone else says, i’m standing by alfie and lina 😔 nobody deserves what they’re going through

Tweet 7: how much do u guys wanna bet that they’re lying about the intruder? 👁👁

Reply to tweet 7: i saw a tweet from a former staff and they said nothing even happened … let’s put our tin foil hats on 😬

Reply to tweet 7′s reply: korg ckp ni boleh pakai otak tak? (ppl, can we pls think with our heads for 2 seconds?) stop jumping to conclusions you guys annoy the hell out of me.

Tweet 8: The hate she’s getting rn is unfair. Why’d you guys assume the worse of her?

Reply to tweet 8: Are you fcking fr? Did you forget what she did the other day?

Tweet 8′s OP replies: The apology thingy? You’re mad at her for that? I didn’t realize the marie stans are brain dead when it comes to Lina. She was doing the right thing by apologizing for something she didn’t even do. I bet if it was your fav who did this, you’d be praising her to the skies. Be serious.

*door opens and closes*

Alfie: What are you doing?

Catalina: N-nothing.

Alfie: Are you reading tweets on twister again? Stop reading those. It’s full of shit.

Catalina: I can’t help it. Last week was supposed to be our wedding day but it got postponed because of me.

Alfie: You didn’t ask for this to happen. And those people don’t know what actually happened. They’re just talking out of their asses right now.

Catalina: *sighs* Whatever. It already happened. Did your mum said anything about the wedding date?

Alfie: She said the wedding has been postponed to next month. The latest it would be is in two.

Catalina: But what are we gonna do until then? Don’t tell me you expect me to be in bed everyday?

Alfie: Mum said she’ll give us a new schedule to make up for the tour. She wants us to do joint engagements to build your reputation again. Right now the people are divided in half when it comes to you.

Catalina: Not surprised.

Alfie: Don’t think too much about it. You have me and the others to support you. And this time, if you did mess up, I will tell you. No sugarcoating. But, I won’t be an asshole about it.

Catalina: I’m a bit scared to hear what you’re going to say but thanks for listening to me.

Alfie: It’s no big deal.

Catalina: Oh, I forgot to ask. Did your mum said anything about my assistant? Since, y’know, Rowena’s not really in the picture anymore?

Alfie: She’s considering Anna to be your permanent assistant. The accusations against her has been dropped because Rowena confessed that she lied.

Catalina: Thank god. I liked Anna. I knew she won’t do it.

Alfie: Yeah. I’m just glad Anna still want to work with us. I heard mum said that she was a student Auntie Athy sponsored back in Cordelia. So she’s trusted.

Catalina: Is she a spellcaster like Lucy too?

Alfie: Nope. She’s a normal human. Like us.

Catalina: Oh, that’s cool. But what happens to Rowena now?

Alfie: She’s still under investigation. Your mama thinks it’s impossible for her to work alone. There must be someone helping her out and they’re trying to pry the answers out from her.

Catalina: Hmm...

*phone rings*

Alfie (to the phone): Hello, mum? Yeah, I’m at home.

Alfie: What? Are you serious?

Alfie: I...I see. Okay, I’ll tell her later. Keep me updated. Bye. Take care too.

Catalina: What was it? Did something happen?

Alfie: It’s Rowena.

Catalina: What’s wrong with her?

Alfie: She’s...she’s dead.

[numinous-queer]

so uh

it feels super weird not to speak about the big thing that’s been happening in my life because it’s absolutely dominating my time and energy, so whenever I keep posting as though things are the same it feels disingenuous! So, uh. As of Sept 12, my wife and I have been parenting a toddler with us through our state foster system. S--- is a a wonderful child who just turned 3 last month, and is preoccupied with the important things in life like Finding Nemo, Halloween, and hugging our big labrador. We don’t know whether she will be with us forever, because it’s early days in her court case, but we hope that we will be a positive force in her life for as long as she is with us.

Our biggest wish right now is for everyone to settle into a new, peaceful equilibrium at home together, and there has been a LOT of progress towards that goal! Bathtime has been transformed from a screaming match to only a handful of tears during the critical moment of washing off shampoo then followed by happy playing and splashing, and she has felt safe enough to begin pushing her boundaries and accepting redirection well (most of the time). Oh, and we have almost 100% mastered going #1 on the potty, which is a huge win in the buying-fewer-diapers arena. The biggest struggle has been navigating bedtime  and wakeup routines, so if anyone knows how to get a toddler to sleep past 4am CALL ME IMMEDIATELY SO I CAN GIVE YOU ALL MY MONEY. Kiddo doesn’t want to go to bed at night, and really lets her feelings be known about it, which I think overtires her and makes her sleep worse, leading to early mornings. (The last few days have been between 4:20-4:30am and I want to set myself on fire, burn into embers, and let the wind carry the ashes away. Anyone awake in the 4-5am hour in the PST time zone - know I am there with you, wishing for death.)

bellyaching about my lack of sleep aside, this really has been a tremendously joyful experience. Since the 12th, I’ve been experiencing every human emotion simultaneously and unlocked a new one - fearjoypain, which gets dialed up to 11 and can’t be turned off. Kiddo has started running to us and shrieking with giggles whenever she reunites with either me or my wife, and there is nothing like the feeling of a little hand holding yours. She is so excited about the world and it’s amazing to see her world (and vocabulary) exploding. She loves anything spooky-pumpkin-skeleton, space, the ocean, and naming every vegetable that exists. Every single day she learns something new, or shows us how much she is observing and remembering. S--- has survived a lot of early trauma, and we are aiming for nothing less than to help her feel safe again. This has already been the most difficult thing that we’ve ever undertaken and it may get harder before it gets easier, but she’s worth it, and we’re going to keep choosing her again and again.

(even when, like right now, I wish I could replace my blood with espresso)

If anyone has sleep training tips for toddlers, resources for parenting children with early trauma/ACEs, queer parenting ideas, or good wishes, please share them! It can be easy to feel alone and afraid when we don’t know what’s going to happen, and we could use whatever pep talks you’ve got. Plus I really do believe it takes a village, so I’m going to crowd-source all the knowledge I possibly can.

[ronnieiswriting]

Sweet Dreams- Boxer!Paz x Baker!Freader

Inspired by the events of Foul (following straight after) and the Boxer Din AU created and written by the wonderful, amazing, brilliantly talented @djarinsbeskar! WC: 1,641 Tags: 18+, mentions of smut, its a smutty AU ya'll know the drill, sickeningly sweet fluff I have been driven to write this to deal with all my Paz thots- it will become very clear that I make up for the fact that I can't write hot smut by writing the softest shit. Excuse the lack of editing, also, its quite the mess x

After Din had stormed off with his “not-girlfriend” at Avika, Paz was more than ready to go home right then and there, thoroughly unwanting to deal with the feral frenzy that Din had stirred up in and out the ring. But there was no doubt that there would be more calls for blood. And even if that weren’t the case- even if Din wasn’t on the lists tonight- Paz had to stay.

It was his job after all. And one he enjoyed more often than not.

But when he thought about you, Paz’s priorities became trivial- like dust in the wind.

He hadn’t been dating you for long but he already knew that he was in deep. To Paz, you were the one that hung the stars in the sky; you, a hardworking baker with a smile that made his heart ache and hips that made his cock twitch. It was love, the realest he’d ever found, and every day he swore his gratitude to whatever force had sent him to you.

It was almost a taunt to watch Din leave Avika with his “not-girlfriend” tucked into his side- he’d been disqualified from any more fights that night but he couldn’t look any less content about it- when Paz had to stay behind with nothing but the thoughts of you waiting for him back at his place to keep him company.

To pass a bit of time between the words that were being exchanged between Boba and Din’s opponent’s trainer, Paz checked his phone- his mood instantly brightened when he saw a notification from you.

From: Sugar Cookie💖

Hey babe, I just got home. Did you feed Kitty yet? He’s begging me for food rn but I know he’s probs got a full belly and is just being a little gobble guts lol. sent 4:13am

I gave him a tinyyy bit of kibble to hold him over in case you didn’t. Kitty knows I can’t resist him. Sorry for messaging you at work btw. I know you’re busy xx Love you xx sent 4:19am

Paz checked the current time. 5:30am. Shit. He must’ve missed the buzz of the notification amidst the chaos. Usually, your shifts at the bakery ended closer to midnight but he knew you to be a hard worker, proud of the bakery you ran by yourself, and always likely to get caught up in a task until it was done to a high standard. It was just another thing for Paz to love about you.

His thumbs hovered over the reply box; you had probably already gone to bed, exhausted from your own long day of work. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb you but he pushed past that doubt a second later, typing out a response, softened when he reread your messages about his kitten.

“Vizsla!” Boba’s voice pulled him back into reality. “Are you listening at all? This does concern you.”

Paz managed an easy half-lie, fingers tapping away as he switched contacts and began typing another message, “I’m sending Din a text- trying to figure out what started all this.”

…

When Paz finally did get home it was pushing 8am. Expecting to find you curled up in his bed, comfortably asleep, he was shocked to see you as soon as he opened the door to his apartment. You were propped up against a wall of cushions on his couch with a book resting in your lap and his kitten snoozing on your chest. Head thrown back and peacefully still, he could tell you were fast asleep.

Just the sight of you, the shape of your body outlined by the drape of the blanket that was thrown over you, your features illuminated by the warm light of the lamp, the splay of your hair over the pillows- just looking at you relieved him of so much of the stress he had carried home. His eyes traced over your form, picking out the dip and curve of your hips, and he was struck again with the amount of love he had for you. He still couldn’t believe how quickly he had developed such deep feelings for you but that fact made them no less sincere. The softness and simple intimacy (whether that be primarily sexual or emotional) that your company alone promised never ceased to amaze him.

Trying to be as quiet as he could manage, Paz shut the door behind him, put his backpack down by the door, and crossed the room to kneel down at your side. He considered leaving you there for the rest of the night- if he did he could go take a nap and then come back and wake you up by eating you out before making you breakfast- but ultimately he wanted to, needed to sleep next to you… and he couldn’t manage that on the couch.

He got the best sleep when you stayed the night, your chest made a far better pillow and your arms though relatively small provided him with so much warmth that he would be more than content to sleep without any covers (which happened sometimes when you hoarded the blankets).

Paz let out a silent sigh and reached out to stroke the hair away from your face. You stirred in response and he leaned in to press a kiss to your nose, “Hey, baby, it’s just me.”

You let out a soft moan, eyes scrunching up before blinking open, looking up at him blearily, “Paz~”

His heart could have burst at the sound of your gentle voice laden with sleep. Carefully so as not to disturb your place, Paz eased the book from your fingers. The exhaustion was palpable on your face, the weight of many hours of work pulling at the edges of your eyes. “I thought you’d be in bed by now.”

You eased yourself up on the cushions, one hand bracing the kitten against your chest. “I wanted to stay up for you. I didn’t mean to doze off.” Fuck. Paz was slipping his arms under you faster than you could process and when he stood you were tucked against his chest, kitten, blanket and all. You didn’t even seem bothered by the shift, curling your fingers into the neckline of his shirt. The simple touch drove him wild- the burn of your warm skin against his throat like a blowtorch- and the fact that you seemed oblivious to that only made him ache for you more.

When he had gotten you halfway to the bedroom you spoke again in that voice that threatened sleep, “I would've been able to stay up for you if I didn’t have to spend three hours on a last minute order for a wedding cake.”

Paz opened the door with his hip. “You don’t have to say yes to every job you know.”

“I know- but the couple was so sweet, I couldn’t say no. Plus they paid me double and half on top because of the short notice.”

He laid you out on the bed and replaced the throw blanket with his thick quilt, kitten moving to curl up beside your head on the pillow. The comfortable setting was luring you quickly to sleep again but you were still determined to see him next to you before you shut your eyes again fully. When he didn’t immediately join you, you frowned.

Paz eased the crease in your brow with a kiss there, “Don’t pout, sweetheart. I just gotta take a shower.” He could have skipped one for now, knowing you wouldn’t protest his sweaty skin, but he wanted to be rid of the flecks of blood that had stuck to him, everything that had stuck to him from that ring, before he touched you. You started to protest but Paz silenced you with a searing kiss to your lips, “I won’t be long, I promise.”

If he had thought you would be back asleep by the time he finished he was fooling himself. You scooched backwards on the mattress and petted the space you made in front, “come here.”

Paz went willingly, instantly. He eased back the covers and shuffled in next to you, clad only in a pair of boxers, hands instantly finding your skin to greedily palm the warmth that radiated from you. You cozied up to him just as naturally, arms wrapping around his neck so that he could tuck his face against the crook of your neck. With the covers pulled over the both of you, Paz felt surrounded by your presence and it calmed any remaining stress he had.

Although he had reprimanded Din for taking a violent approach to defending a woman’s honor, Paz couldn’t deny the fact that he’d be just as likely to take a similar action if anyone spoke about you like that- just thinking about those vile, entitled words directed at you made his jaw clench subconsciously. And yet just as soon as that anger stirred up in him, it dissipated again, soothed by the thump of your heart against his chest and the delicate fan of air you puffed over his damp skin.

He was reminded of the first time he told you he loved you; not long ago, in the middle of a good hard fuck when he had you by the hip, lost in the emotion of your eyes to the point where his confession had come out as a babble that became a mantra that he punctuated with each thrust of his hips. You had been on the verge of tears then, overstimulated and shaking, when you returned the words to him from your own lips: I love you too.

“I love you.” Paz whispered.

You snuggled against him tighter, a sleepy sigh escaping you when his hands ran up and down your sides. “I love you too.”

[imashoe69420]

Those Eyes: Rise! Leo x OC

Chapter 4

^^ A quick sketch of Lala and her “cabbage” hoodie lmfao

Warning ⚠️: mild language, parental manipulation

Recap:

He sighs, annoyed. “Fine. I will give you a reward if you complete this mission.” The man points at my neck where the metal ring around it glistens in the moonlight.

“If you complete this mission, I will take that thing off. For good.”

• • •

I try to remain stoic, but I can’t help but bug my eyes out.

Taking this thing off… for good? I’m not even sure what it does or why it’s there in the first place. Do I even want to know what happens? What if nothing happens at all?

“Wait, seriously?” I furrow my eyebrows.

The Lieutenant nods. “When you bug them, our mission will be nearly complete. We will have all the armor pieces and we will need you at your fullest potential.”

“What even is my ‘fullest potential’? I’ve had this thing on since I was little and no one has ever told me why it’s there.” I stare up at him, hoping to receive the answers I’ve been wanting for years.

Once again, I don’t get them.

“It’s the reason why you’re my best asset. You will know when you complete your mission. Will you do it?”

“I…” Is this really worth it…? Am I willing to be let down again? But maybe the Lieutenant is right and I do have some sort of power.

I hope he’s telling me the truth.

* * *

6:30AM

The next morning, I can barely keep my eyes open to turn off my alarm. I returned to my apartment at about 3AM with school being five (5) hours later.

I’m an idiot for that, but I don’t have anything big going on today anyways.

Crawling out of my bed, I take a step onto the floor and instantly recoil in pain. “God fuckin’…”

I look down at the floor and see the one thing I didn’t want to see first thing in the morning:

The Bug.

It must’ve fallen out of my jacket pocket when I threw it on the floor last night.

I pick it up and place it on my night stand before throwing off my sheets and getting ready for eight (8) hours of hell.

* * *

First and second period are blurs. I tried to brush it off this morning, but I can’t stop thinking about the Bug.

And Leo.

Everything about this feels so wrong. Like, I feel grimy like I haven’t showered in weeks. Why is this eating at me the way it is? Leo—and the other turtles—are supposed to be our enemies. But when I think of enemies, I think of my 5th grade class: pathetic people who can’t own their shit in fear of taking responsibility for their actions. Not Leo.

At least in our exchange last night, he was pleasant. When I punched him on accident, he wasn’t angry at me.

“God, you have a hellva right hook.”

Not even a groan or swearing. He was sarcastic, funny. Almost everything I said, he had a quip or joke or light tease for. I’ve never met anybody like that.

But I don’t know him. That was our only interaction, so why do I feel like I’ve known him forever? Like I’m betraying him?

“Lala,” my science teacher whom I haven’t bothered to remember the name of taps my shoulder, “class is dismissed.”

I look around to see an empty classroom and a few students trickle in for their third period class. I scoop up my backpack and speed-walk out of the classroom, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Third and fourth period fly by like I had wished they would. Now I can go to the library and finally focus on something other than Foot Clan bullshit. I’ve been reading a series about space lesbians. I wouldn’t characterize myself as such, but they are interesting to read about.

Soon, I feel myself begin to drift in and out of the middle place between being awake and sleep, barely able to keep my place. I cross my arms on the desk and rest my head against them prepared to just rest my eyes for a bit.

~~~~~

I walked down the street on my way home texting the Lieutenant of my location. My phone dings loudly, causing my ears to ring. I fumble the phone until it lands face down on the ground.

When I turn it over, it’s shattered, but somehow I already knew it was.

What shocked me was the caller ID had changed.

It was Leo.

I try to answer his call, but I have no bars.

“A mountain…” I said slowly before looking around and spotting a hill. I climbed on top of it and held my phone into the air.

Suddenly, the Leo’s caller ID popped up again.

I answered it. “Leo! I’ve been trying to call you but you—”

“Lala, don’t turn around.” A voice said, but it wasn’t Leo’s voice. “Don’t turn around!” He said this over and over again before the call dropped.

Despite his warning, I turned around and saw a future, but I didn’t know which.

It was me.

But it wasn’t… me.

I was in a Foot uniform with Foot soldiers by my side. I had a wide smirk on my face, and point towards the present me.

My heart began pounding as we stared at each other before the floor beneath me opened and I fell through into a dark pit of nothingness.

~~~~~~

I shoot awake, my heart still pounding.

What the hell was that…?

It’s been a while since I’ve had a dream like that in years, but it was different. The “future” me was lit by blue fire and my eyes radiated a light blue as well. I don’t remember what happened after that, but I wasn’t afraid of her like I was with the Foot one.

And why would Leo call me? I don’t even have his number or any sort of communication with him. Why is he even in my dreams?

I shake my head as the lunch bell rings and I head to the cafeteria.

* * *

Thank-fuckin’-god this day is over! I couldn’t stand those preppy kids their mocks toward me for being a freshman for much longer.

At my apartment, I enter my bedroom and crash onto my bed, sleep quickly overcoming me. I wake up about five (5) hours later and notice The Lieutenant had pinged me an hour or so ago, then thirty (30) minutes ago, and then fifteen (15) minutes.

He’s probably gonna make me patrol the city to look for the turtles as he had said he would last night, but for some reason, I feel hesitant about going for the first time in a while.

*Third Person POV*

Leo sat up and yawned loudly as he awoke from his twelve (12) hour slumber. He was hungry, so he sluggishly made his way to the kitchen.

As he was walking, he heard commotion going on in his destination and decided to ear-hustle.

“I mean, who would he even see? We don’t know anybody else besides April.” He heard his oldest brother, Raph, say.

“Yeah, but what if he knows someone we don’t? I mean, none of us have gone out alone for that long. What else could he be doing?” Mikey snitched Leo out.

“Mikey, I think you’re overthinking this.” Raph denied him. “If Leo was talking to someone else besides us or April, he would let his brothers know… right?”

Donnie sighed, exasperated by the conversation. “Why are we even talking about this? Whatever Leo is doing shouldn’t concern us. Besides, we should be worrying about this thing.” The purple clad turtle opened his hand to reveal the armor piece they’d stolen from The Foot two (2) days before. “It’s energy levels are impeccable; I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Leo retreated back to his bedroom after his brothers stopped talking about him. At least he knew that Raph and Donnie didn’t believe Mikey. The last thing he wanted was all his brothers interrogating him. What would he even say? “Hey, guys, you remember that girl I saved oh-so bravely two (2) days ago? Yeah, I went all over the city looking for her and talked to her for all of ten (10) seconds before she ran off.” Of course not, he’d look like a stalker. Or an idiot. Or an idiot-stalker. All of those he didn’t want to be.

“Leo!” Raph seemed to always yell for him at an unreasonably long distance. “We’re on the move. Come to the Turtle Tank.”

The blue clad turtle quickly made his way over to his brothers to go on another mission.

• • •

L͟a͟l͟a͟’̲s͟ P͟.̲O͟.̲V͟.̲

As I had originally thought, the Lieutenant wants me to patrol. Not for the turtles, though. He wants me to scout a building to make sure it’s closed and everybody has left. Is it for the armor or paper again? I have no clue. I didn’t have the energy to fight for an answer from him today.

I stay posted on a rooftop a couple buildings away after I had cleared the building in question. The street lights cast onto the empty street below, but the alleys stay as pitch black as the night. They remind me of my dream earlier today, and I swear I see the “future” me staring up at me in the corner of my eye. I focus onto the alley, but there’s no one there.

The dream has left me in my head all day. That and the Bug. I had looked up what my dream meant while coming over here. Apparently my communication is stunted and I haven’t been listening to myself. In my opinion, there isn’t any room for that.

I don’t remember my life before The Foot. As I’ve said before, I only remember the fifth (5th) grade incident. The Lieutenant had told me I’d been with them since I was a toddler, but nothing more than that. I often fantasized about what my parents would’ve been like. What if I had siblings? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins? I get the feeling that I will never know.

I say this to day that I’ve been under someone’s control for my whole life. I am only a child in the Lieutenant’s eyes, therefore I must listen to him and never trust my adolescent mind. The more I think about it, the more I realize just how much I sound like him sometimes. I’ve never seen the Lieutenant as my father or any sort of father figure, but he’s been the constant in my life. He taught me how to fight, steal, and manipulate others into getting what I wanted. I had briefly admired him… maybe I still kinda do…? But more than anything, he’s been scaring me lately.

I feel like I owe him my loyalty. If what he says is true, he could’ve left me to starve. Bad things could’ve happened to me if he and The Foot hadn’t taken me in. Not only that, but he constantly reminds me of it; constantly accusing me of trying to betray him. If I was bold enough I would, but where would I go? The Foot pays for my apartment, my schooling, they train me, they know everything I know and more. Where would I run and who would I run to?

These thoughts diminish when I hear a loud engine revving. I look towards the building and see a large round vehicle turn off it’s headlights as individuals hidden by the shadows exit through a hole in the top of it and sprint towards the building.

I leap from my post to the back entrance and quietly push the door open.

• • •

Another Lala centered chapter, but I swear this is the last one for a while! Stay safe!

-ℍ𝕒𝕟𝟟𝕒