#this post is giving me anxiety but it feels more than necessary to do

[maxbegone]

i just want to say that i am so beyond grateful of how politically and socially informed younger generations are (millennials, z). this shit is overwhelming. we are not wired to receive such an influx of information at once and process it. i'll be the first to say i don't always do the best research — sometimes reading deeper into things is so emotionally taxing, which leads to a spiral, and then i have to step away. but there are people out there doing the work, compiling information together in to simpler, more understandable terms and giving the hard truth, which is that we need to band together and act on injustices.

vote. vote early. show up for communities. be informed. don't back down from fighting for what's right. get involved when and where you can.

reputable resources:

register to vote polling place locator daily clicks for palestine national network of abortion funds the trevor project human rights campaign aclu

[tentacle-stylograph]

REMINDER

BIG

BIG

REMINDER FOR MYSELF FOR THIS SEMESTER:

FEEL LIKE AN IDIOT. FEEL HELPLESS. DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR CONFUSION.

ASK QUESTIONS.

DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE ANNOYING YOUR PROFESSOR. ASK QUESTIONS. BE A PAIN.

[imjustreadinglmao]

BLUE PART II

Paring: Azriel x reader, Lucien x platonic!reader

Series summary: After Azriel and Elain‘s courtship is revealed, their mates, Lucien and Y/N, are left to deal with the consequences. While fighting against Koschei and for Prythian‘s freedom, Y/N has to navigate her emotions and learn how to live with the heartbreak of a one sided mating bond. But what happens when secrets are revealed and everything turns out differently than they thought?

Warnings: unrequited love, death, detailed descriptions of fights and blood, angst, characters being idiots

A/N: my last azrielxreader post won’t appear in the tags so reblogs are very much appreciated.

Word count: 3.3k

It’s a beautiful, crisp spring morning. The sun is shining, birds are singing, and the wind carries the lovely scent of freshly baked pies. I sigh at the prospect of leaving this peaceful place and trading it for the Autumn Court.

As I push the heavy oak doors of the River House open, I can feel anxiety coursing through my veins. After fleeing Autumn seventy-three years ago, I didn’t expect to return there so soon, even if only temporarily. It was difficult for me to leave. I couldn’t risk telling anyone about my plans, so I never had the chance to say goodbye.

Knowing my father, he had probably been more concerned about how me leaving would affect his standing with the High Lord and the other noble families. But my mother and sister… I would give a lot to see them again.

All those years, I have missed the familiarity of my home court, the traditions, and the celebrations I cherished so much as a child.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I step into the foyer. Rhysand, Amren, Azriel, and Lucien are already there, waiting for me.

Except for Lucien and me, who are wearing traditional Autumn Court attire, everyone else is dressed in midnight black.

Lucien looks up as I enter, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You look… convincing,” he says.

I let out a breathy laugh at that. The last time he saw me in Autumn colors was at a ball my family hosted, which ended with me puking my guts out, most of it landing on Lucien’s shoes.

Judging by the face he is making, he hasn’t forgotten either.

Azriel, standing beside him, nods in agreement. “It suits you,” he says quietly, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary.

His shadows peek over his shoulder as if they want to take a look too.

I try to ignore the flutter of emotions his words stir within me. Instead, I focus on the mission ahead, on the role I must play. The safety of Prythian depends on our success, and I can’t afford to let myself get distracted.

Rhysand steps forward, a mischievous smile on his face. “I have to say, you both pull off Autumn Court fashion far better than I expected. Maybe we should visit the Autumn Court more often.”

Amren, her eyes assessing our disguises, retorts, “If you spent as much time on strategy as you do on fashion critiques, we’d have won the war by now.”

I have to cover my mouth to not laugh out loud and accidentally anger the century-old creature that’s lurking beneath that Fae body.

Rhys just rolls his eyes, clearly undeterred by her sharp tone. “I’ll have you know that looking good is part of the strategy.”

With one last look at me, he stretches out his hand and asks, “Ready?”

I nod, take his hand, and let him winnow me away.

———————————————————

Arriving at the southern border of the Autumn Court, I am immediately struck by the beauty of the landscape. The trees here are taller than I remember, their leaves a riot of red, orange, and gold, perpetually caught in the peak of autumn. The air carries the earthy scent of fallen leaves and the smoke of distant fires burning in hearths.

As we step onto the moss-covered ground, bittersweet memories flood my mind. I find myself thinking of the simpler days of my youth, the carefree ones.

I feel dark talons gently scraping at the shields in my mind and lwt Rhys in. So lost in the beautiful nature, I barely realize him wishing us good luck and winnowing back to Velaris.

Right after Rhys leaves, Azriel begins to scout the area for any magical traps or shields set by Koschei, leaving us to wait for his return. As the minutes stretch into an hour, my anxiety starts to build.

I pace restlessly, my mind conjuring all sorts of terrible scenarios.

Lucien tries to reassure me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“He’ll be fine,” Lucien says softly. “Azriel knows what he’s doing.”

But his words do little to calm me.

“How can you be so sure? He could be injured… or worse. We don’t know what Koschei is capable of!” I snap.

I begin to ramble, listing every possible way Azriel could have gotten hurt. “What if he’s caught in a trap? What if there’s a magical barrier he can’t break?”

Just thinking about him being in trouble makes me want to vomit. “That’s it. He’s taken long enough. I’m going to find him and—”

Amren steps in, her voice cutting through my panic. “Enough. Get your shit together. We don’t have time for this.”

Her bluntness shocks me into silence, and I sulk, feeling chastised.

But Amren isn’t finished. “Oh, quit acting like a child. Maybe if you told him about your feelings and the mating bond, you wouldn’t be so anxious, girl.”

My mouth drops open and I look to Lucien, his face also morphed into shock. When I look back to Amren, she just lifts an eyebrow.

“How do you know about the bond?”

Amren lets out a long sigh. “Only someone stupid wouldn’t have picked up on that. And Azriel being the stupidest of all.”

She rolls her eyes and starts picking at her nails. “We all suspected it. For a while we thought it snapped for Azriel too. The way he followed you around like a love sick fool, we were sure of it. But I guess it didn’t.”

I don’t say anything else after that, my mind not coming up with a response.

——————————————————

Another hour passes, and my worry only deepens. I can’t stop imagining Azriel injured or trapped, his shadows unable to find a way back to us. Every rustle of the leaves makes me jump, hoping it’s him returning.

Lucien tries to keep me distracted, but my thoughts are a whirl of dread. He tells me stories of his own missions, but I can’t focus on his words. My mind is entirely on Azriel.

Finally, just as the sun reaches its peak, Azriel returns. He looks slightly worse for wear, his clothes torn in some places and his face smeared with dirt, but otherwise unharmed. He notices the tension immediately, his eyes narrowing in concern.

“What happened?” Azriel asks, looking between us.

I step toward him, my relief overwhelming. “Are you okay? What took you so long?”

Azriel nods, his expression serious. “There were more traps than I anticipated. It took a while to disable them all, but the path should be clear now.”

Amren crosses her arms. “Good. We don’t have time for any more delays.”

Lucien places a hand on my shoulder again, this time with a reassuring squeeze. “See? I told you he’d be fine.”

I manage a weak smile, still shaken by the fear that gripped me. Azriel’s eyes soften as he looks at me.

“We should move quickly,” Azriel says, breaking the moment. “It won’t be long till they notice that their shields and traps were destroyed. Amren and I will accompany you to the Forrest House, then we’ll separate and follow the original plan. It’s too dangerous otherwise. We can’t risk you.”

Lucien nods and gestures for me to go first. “Let’s get moving then. The sooner we’re done here, the better.”

We begin to move deeper into the forest, leading to Beron’s residence. The beauty of the surroundings contrasts sharply with the danger I know lurks nearby.

As we walk, I steal glances at Azriel, wondering how he can be so calm and collected all the time.

Gods, I nearly lost my mind over him doing his job. I am a hypocrite for snapping at him the other day. Yes, I am mad at him for courting Elain, but I also can’t expect him to be loyal to me when he doesn’t even know that we’re mates.

How different things would be if it had just snapped for him the second it did for me...

It happened three years ago. Unbeknownst to us, we were just celebrating the last winter solstice without Rhys when it snapped into place.

One moment I was admiring him from afar, the next I was connected to him for the rest of my immortal life.

He had still been in love with Mor back then, so I chose not to say anything. A huge mistake, because soon after, Elain came into the picture.

Truthfully, I never thought they were anything more than friends until I overheard Rhysand ordering Azriel to stay away from her. It wasn’t until then that I realized I had lost him forever. He wasn’t going to stay away from her, so I accepted my fate and kept silent.

———————————————————

After five hours of hiking through bushes, stepping in rabbit holes, and nearly getting killed by a boar, I can feel the exhaustion creeping into my bones.

“Can we please take a break? My legs are going to fall off,” I ask.

Amren smirks, not breaking her stride. “And here I thought you were tougher than this.”

Only Rhysand’s plea to behave and work together holds me back from strangling her. Gods, she really is a cranky hag.

Lucien chuckles softly and turns to me. “We’re only a few minutes away. Hang in there.”

I groan but press on. As we finally crest a hill, the sight of Beron’s castle comes into view, exactly as I remembered it. The imposing structure looms against the deep orange sky, its dark stone walls lined with creeping ivy. Tall, narrow windows glint in the dawning light.

“It’s just like I remember,” I whisper, a mixture of awe and dread washing over me.

Lucien glances at me, his expression unreadable. “Let’s get ready. We need to find a way to get in there.” He points to the entrance of the castle, where nobles are lined up to enter the masquerade ball hosted by the High Lord himself.

We slip through the dense forest that surrounds the castle, our movements silent and precise. Azriel scouts ahead, his shadows cloaking him in near invisibility. After what feels like an eternity, we find a secluded spot to prepare for our infiltration.

“Here,” Amren hands both Lucien and me a stack of clothes. “These are your disguises. You will pose as Lord and Lady Hawthorn. The late Lord Hawthorn died three months ago. You are recently married with no offspring or heir yet. This is your first outing as Lord and Lady. Some might recognize your name, though they should not look twice your way. Be discreet and don’t draw attention.”

“What about the real Lord and Lady Hawthorn? What if they decide to turn up and out us as imposters?” I ask.

Azriel shifts on his feet and answers a bit sheepishly, “Don’t worry, they have already been dealt with.”

My brows furrow in confusion. “What do you—” realization dawns over me. “Oh… oh, okay. I guess that makes this a lot easier.”

I grab the clothes Amren gave me and head for the nearest bush to change. When I look back, Azriel has his head tilted sideways and smiles at me.

The dress I change into is a deep burgundy, adorned with delicate golden embroidery.

The fabric is soft and luxurious and fits me like a second skin. The mask is made of similar fabric, with intricate golden lace around the edge of it.

As I step out from behind the bush, my eyes find Azriel’s immediately.

His eyes, usually so guarded, widen slightly as they take in my appearance, his gaze lingering on the details of my dress and the way it clings to my form.

“You look… stunning,” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere.

I feel a blush rise to my cheeks and look away, focusing on Lucien. Lucien is similarly attired, his outfit complementing mine with its dark tones and subtle elegance.

He grins at me. “Shall we, Lady Hawthorn?”

I bark out a laugh. “We shall, Lord Hawthorn.”

———————————————————

Getting inside the Forrest House was easier than expected. We just walked right up to the entrance, stated our names, handed them our fake invites, and were ushered in.

As we step into the grand ballroom, the sheer opulence of the scene takes my breath away.

Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a warm glow over the sea of elegantly dressed nobles. Musicians play softly in one corner, their melodies mingling with the murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses.

At the far end of the room, atop a raised dais, sits Beron, his cold gaze sweeping over the crowd. To his right stands Eris. Our eyes meet briefly, and I give a subtle nod, which he returns.

Lucien and I mingle with the guests, keeping our eyes and ears open, waiting for Eris to give us our signal.

As Beron rises from his throne, a hush falls over the grand ballroom. The guests turn their attention to him. He begins to address the crowd, his voice echoing through the vast space.

“Welcome, esteemed guests, to this celebration of our enduring legacy and power,” Beron proclaims, his tone laced with self-satisfaction.

Just as he is about to continue, the heavy doors of the ballroom burst open. A squadron of Eris’s soldiers rushes in, their armor clanking loudly. The crowd parts like a tide, murmurs of confusion and fear rippling through the room.

Beron’s confident façade falters, replaced by one of anger and panic. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, his voice rising in pitch as he glares at the soldiers.

Eris steps forward, his demeanor calm and resolute. “Father,” he begins, his voice carrying a chilling edge, “it is time. Your reign has been marked by tyranny and cruelty, and I will no longer stand by and watch my people suffer under your rule.”

Beron’s eyes narrow, a sneer curling his lips. “You think you can overthrow me, Eris? It takes more than a few soldiers to claim this throne.”

Eris begins to smile. “Oh, I know. A noble to swear me in and an heir to secure the lineage, right? Well, here they are.” He gestures to Lucien and me.

My eyes widen as I whisper-shout in Lucien’s ear, “He cannot be serious? THIS is his plan?!”

Lucien replies, equally as quiet. “I have learned a long time ago not to question my brother’s way of handling things.”

“You are truly deluded, Eris.” Beron laughs, a harsh, mocking sound. “They won’t accept a random noble as your heir.”

Eris stands his ground, his gaze unwavering. “But they will. Take off your masks,” he says to Lucien and me.

And so we do. Nobles everywhere are gawking at us. Some eyes fixed on me, most on Lucien.

Beron steps down from the dais. “What a surprise. The lost son finally returns home.” He turns his gaze to me. “And you, you’re Lord Yarrow’s daughter, no?”

I don’t answer. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could. I’m rooted in place, not taking my eyes off Beron.

Beron turns to Eris again. “Well, it seems you really are full of surprises. But you’re forgetting one important thing. You would have to kilI me to claim the throne. And you’ve always been weak, Eris. You’re not strong enough, but you shall try.”

In that moment, I realize what Eris was doing. He was provoking his father into accepting his challenge, and Beron just did exactly that.

“I’ve had a long time to prepare.”

And with that, all hell breaks loose.

———————————————————

Chaos erupts as Beron and Eris clash, their swords flashing in the bright light of the ballroom. Beron's strikes are powerful, but Eris is swift and precise, his fire magic flaring up with every swing.

Lucien and I are quickly surrounded by Beron's soldiers. The nobles' screams fill the air as they flee the room in terror. I manage to grab a blade as the first soldier aims right for my neck.

My heart races as I parry another soldier's blow, my muscles straining with each clash of steel. Lucien fights beside me, his own fire magic scorching the air around us, incinerating our enemies with fiery blasts.

The ballroom is a whirlwind of chaos.

As we cut through the soldiers, our eyes are locked on the fight between Eris and Beron. We try to reach them, but more and more of Beron’s soldiers are streaming in.

Eris and his father fight with brutal intensity, their swords ringing out as they meet. Eris dodges and strikes with a precision that keeps Beron on his toes, but his experience gives him the upper hand, forcing Eris back step by step.

Just as Lucien and I are within seconds of reaching Eris and Beron, the ballroom doors burst open again. Five of Koschei's soldiers, dark magic radiating from them, storm in. They immediately begin slaughtering nobles, women, and children alike. Their dark magic tears through Eris's soldiers as if they were paper.

Lucien and I have no choice but to turn away from Eris and Beron and face Koschei’s magic wielders.

I take several hits to the gut, and a sword slices across my cheek, but I fight on, managing to take down one of the dark soldiers. Lucien, with his fire magic, kills two more, but before the third soldier is turned into ash, he drives a sword straight through Lucien’s chest.

Lucien collapses to his knees, blood pouring from the wound. I rush to his side, my heart pounding in my chest. Lucien's eyes flutter, and he tries to speak, but I stop him. "Save your energy," I beg.

He begins to close his eyes, the loss of blood making him weaker and weaker. "Lucien, stay with me!" I cry, trying to stem the flow of blood with my hands.

I have to get him to a healer fast; otherwise, he will bleed out. So I do the only thing I can think of.

Desperate, I tug on the bond with Azriel, praying that he will sense my distress.

A moment later, Azriel bursts into the room, Amren in tow. Azriel’s eyes widen with panic as he spots me and Lucien. He rushes to us, dropping to his knees beside Lucien.

"Azriel, you have to winnow him back to Velaris," I plead. "Find Madja , now!"

Azriel looks torn. "I can't leave you," he says, his voice tight with fear. “I— not like this. Not with you being my—”

"Amren is here, I’ll be fine," I insist, glancing at Amren, who is finishing off the last two of Koschei’s soldiers. "Please, Azriel! I can’t watch him die. I am begging you, just go, please!"

Azriel nods reluctantly, wrapping his arms around Lucien. With a final, desperate look at me, he winnows away, leaving me behind in the chaos.

With Azriel and Lucien gone, I feel a pang of anxiety, but I have no time to dwell on it. I turn back to the fight, watching as Eris and the High Lord continue their deadly duel.

Around me, the battle rages on. I join Amren, who is ruthlessly dispatching the remaining dark soldiers with a ferocity that belies her small stature.

Together, we fight our way through the chaos, our movements synchronized from years of fighting side by side.

We are fighting for what feels like hours. My arms ache from dealing blow after blow, and my eyes are getting blurry from the lack of sleep.

I steal a glance at Eris and Beron, watching as they exchange hits. Eris manages to land a few blows, but Beron shrugs them off.

The two of them are evenly matched, but the High Lord’s power coursing through Beron's veins gives him a slight edge.

Suddenly, Beron lunges forward, his sword aimed at Eris's heart. Eris barely manages to block the strike, their blades locking together. Fire erupts between them, and for a moment, it looks like Eris might be overpowered.

But Eris digs deep, summoning a burst of strength. He pushes Beron back, their swords disengaging with a loud clang. Eris's flames burn brighter, and he steps forward, pressing the attack.

The next moment, everything is quiet. No swords clashing, no screaming, just utter quiet.

As the flames subside, there, in the middle of the ballroom, not moving, is Beron.

The High Lord of the Autumn Court is dead.

[accio-victuuri]

one day i will write a proper per episode post about yibo’s show, but right now, just sharing some really heart felt reactions from people who watched the documentary. 🫶🏼

yibo is so easy to love if you just give him the chance!

(P1) "exploring the unknown" is a must-see for every postgraduate candidate preparing for the exam. I originally watched it with the mentality of watching a documentary about wilderness science, but after watching it, I realized that I was narrow-minded. This is not just a documentary about survival in the wilderness. In the journey of exploring the unknown, we are often driven by a desire to conquer, eager to challenge the limits and prove our strength. However, there is such a documentary that subverts the traditional concept of exploration. It is not about how to conquer nature, but about how to coexist harmoniously with nature and how to love every inch of land on this planet. The protagonist of this documentary is none other than Wang Yibo. He was not challenging the authority of nature, but challenging his own limits. I really like what he said: "I never believed that I couldn't complete it, it was just a matter of time." This sentence really gave me a lot of thoughts. Looking back at the time when I was taking the postgraduate entrance examination, if I had seen such a documentary, I would really have less anxiety. In the process of the examination, everyone is challenging their own limits. Because I took the postgraduate entrance examination relatively late at that time, I didn't have much time left. At that time, I was anxious and uneasy. Fortunately, I met a group of very good people at that time, which allowed me to quickly get out of anxiety. The postgraduate entrance examination is a long and challenging process, which requires you to have a firm will and good qualities.

(P2) In order to get to know my daughter's idol better, I watched it again..."Exploring the Unknown" made us feel a different Wang Yibo.

In the past, we felt more about him in film and television works, and documentaries are different from film and television works, because the characters in film and television works are more about the plot settings, while the characters in documentaries are closer to the characters themselves. But the documentary is different from ordinary documentaries. It is not just about recording scenes and processes, but about challenging and experiencing the extreme geographical environment.

First of all, you must have the courage to challenge, and dare to challenge, especially when facing an unknown and uncontrollable environment, people will involuntarily produce fear, which really tests the courage and courage of the participants, and in "Exploring the Unknown", Wang Yibo showed it vividly, allowing us to feel the power from him. Just like what Wang Yibo said in the film, "I used to think that every time I did something new, the first time in my life would become less, but after trying, I found that there would be infinite first times. Secondly, you need to have super physical fitness. The complex natural environment of Ba Wang Ling, what you will encounter and what will happen in the process of chasing gibbons are all unpredictable and uncontrollable, and the necessary condition to face it calmly is that your physical fitness must be absolutely super. Long-distance hiking and swimming, Wang Yibo's super physical fitness is fully displayed. Super physical fitness is not trained overnight, nor is it obtained by persistence for one or two years. It is the result of more than ten years of accumulation, perseverance and self-discipline. It also shows the superhuman perseverance.

(P3) I have a new understanding of the stars my daughter likes. Last night, I watched the documentary "Exploring the Unknown" created by Wang Yibo. This is the first time I have watched a star program carefully from beginning to end. Although Wang Yibo's name has worn calluses on my ears, why do I say that? Because my daughter is his die-hard fan. After watching the program last night, I really got to know him and it really touched me. In the Hainan Bawangling Nature Reserve with a temperature of up to 35 degrees, we all know that the temperature is 35 degrees, but people may feel nearly 45 degrees. At the same time, they are also tested by various animals. In such an environment, in order to throw a rope to the opposite tree, he threw it for a whole hour, doing repeated actions again and again, and thinking about the skills and strength of the actions again and again. In the middle, the explorer said to take a break and come back, but he did not stop and still insisted on throwing it down. Seeing this makes me admire him, and it makes me understand why he can succeed. His tenacity, perseverance, his determination to achieve his goal, his fearlessness of hardships, and his courage in the face of adversity are destined to make him successful. He is the spiritual representative of the younger generation. I remember his donations and on-site disaster relief during the 21st flood in Henan. He is a public figure with a sense of responsibility and mission. So my daughter likes him, which makes me feel relieved. Because I believe that she can definitely draw more positive energy from Wang Yibo, because she likes him, she will definitely make herself better.

[miukki960]

I'm gonna make this post before I go in the tag and see ANY God or Diew slander, because for me the conflict this episode not only made sense, but was necessary for their relationship to move forward.

The seed was planted long ago when God first found the picture of Diew and Dr. Asshole, and at first God handled it rationally (as expected of our Green Flag King). But the longer the situation went unresolved, the more doubt and insecurity began to creep in until it all came to a head in this episode, because all God needed was honesty and openness from Diew, but Diew has learned from past conditioning to lock those parts of himself away and only show a surface level of his personality and self.

I found that God's argument with Diew, while definitely escalated by emotion and insecurity, was justified at its core. We've learned throughout this story that God's main love language is Quality Time, and that most often is fulfilled by God genuinely enjoying doing anything and everything with the people he loves, so long as they are having a good time. But his conversation with Dr. Asshole put the idea in his mind that Diew has simply been going with the flow and doing whatever God suggested in order to make him feel good, that he hasn't actually enjoyed their time together. And while we as an audience know that's false, the idea is one of God's worst fears and most devastating nightmares.

But he loves Diew and doesn't want to believe it's true, so he gives him multiple chances to prove him wrong. And when Diew continues to reply with lies and deflection, it unfortunately proves him right. Because while the context is a bit off and there is definitely a misunderstanding at play, at the end of the day Diew isn't being honest and isn't trusting God enough to open up and show him the deeper, more emotional parts of himself. So God comes to the only conclusion he can see, that even if Diew is no longer in love with Dr. Asshole, their love was deeper and more meaningful than what he has with God now.

But don't get me wrong! Even though Diew was choosing the wrong dialog options during his argument with God, he was also justified in choosing to keep his secrets and emotions hidden. What God doesn't know is that Diew HAS opened up before, bared his heart and soul to someone he thought he loved and trusted, and what was he rewarded with? Disinterest, deflection, shame. As someone with major anxieties related to human interaction, you only have to burn him once to teach him to never play with fire again. And Dr. Asshole burned him deeply on multiple occasions.

No amount of kindness and sweetness and love from God was gonna convince him to play with fire again. In fact, it was reaffirming. Much like what we have been seeing with Wan towards Beer, I'm sure Diew sees how good and wonderful God is and is absolutely terrified to fuck it up. But just like Wan, his defense became his biggest downfall.

At the end of the day, rather than focusing on what happened, we should instead focus on why it happened and how the characters are going to grow from it. And we can see that how through the characters actions during the last few minutes of the episode. We see Diew, who's defense is to isolate, actively reaching out to God multiple times in multiple ways, ready to explain and open up and heal. And we see God going through the more nasty, volatile parts of his emotions alone, so he doesn't hurt Diew while he's in the wrong headspace, but also doesn't bottle the bad things to explode later.

I think what gets me the most is that in their very last conversation before the end of the episode, Diew was asking for togetherness and God was asking for space, and they were both upset on many levels, but they were still speaking to each other with love in their tone and words.

[somniumfaults]

“If that time comes, I'll kill you. I promise… I'll kill you. I love you. I'm the one who’ll make your wishes come true. It has to be me.”

a warmup that I got really inspired for! I saw this quote on twitter and was immediately reminded of this fanart of Rui! I've been obsessed with this art since it was posted, and I couldn't not take the opportunity to write smth based on it!

pairing: rui mizuki/reader

rating: teen

prompt: “If that time comes, I'll kill you. I promise… I'll kill you. I love you. I'm the one who’ll make your wishes come true. It has to be me.”

tags: implied major character death

As a curse-bearer, Rui should understand your plight more than anyone else in Darkwick did. The anger, the resignation, the fear and alienation of your own body. The clawing desperation and willingness to do anything—everything—necessary to try and get back some sense of control and a semblance of how things used to be. Becoming something other than human… it was too much for one person to take, no matter what Ed waved his hand dismissively at.

The ghouls didn’t understand, because how could they? Empathy could only go so far when the foundation of one’s experiences differed fundamentally. Their transformation, for better or worse, had been a product of their own wishes, regardless of how individual ghouls felt regarding the matter. How could you or Rui relate to that in the slightest? Who had offered the two of you a choice in becoming Other?

As it was, even he could only understand you to a point. At least he had the option to live. At least he could pick himself back up one piece at a time and learn how to pretend everything was fine. At least, at least, at least… At least he could offer you reprieve.

He couldn’t understand what it was like for you, so how could he fault you for curling in on yourself and breaking down in front of him, sobbing at the unfairness of it all? It was unfair. You didn’t deserve to simmer in the anxiety of knowing each passing day was another closer to becoming something that was no longer you. You didn’t deserve to live in fear, knowing that all the bonds you were making at Darkwick would end in mutual violence when that timer ran out. Unlike him, you were something pure. You deserved to stay that way.

Was it really so unreasonable for you to confess that you didn’t want to deal with your burden anymore? 

… If there was anything about being cursed that he understood, it was that.

It was why, despite the acid that crept up his throat and threatened to leave his voice hoarse, he made a promise to you—a promise so soft that you almost missed it.

“When the day comes,” he said with a vulnerability you had never heard of him before, as if bearing his soul to you, “that you feel you really can’t take this anymore… you can rely on me. I’ll give you a hug to make everything better, okay? You won’t have to worry anymore. You’ll be loved.”

He smiled mournfully.

“Until death do we part, right?”

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

Lil general update about me:

I've been so so happy and grateful for the people who like the gravity falls stuff I've been posting. Being totally honest, and I'm not exaggerating at all, thinking about gravity falls and playing it in the background while I work has been my lifeline this past week. And it's almost overwhelming, because I'm so excited about everything, and I have so many drawing ideas, but I don't have the time to actually follow through with them. It makes me a little sad, and it's a silly thing to get anxiety over. I mean, it would be really nice to make all these drawings when the fandom is booming and a lot of people are going to see them, right?? I wanna strike when the irons hot. It's fun. But I can't really do that right now. Instead, I have all these feelings and emotions and ideas, and in my head, I'm like, you need to CREATE to get all this out of you!! But I can't. It honestly makes me a little melancholy. I feel like this:

Commissions aside, one of my cats is having health problems and I've been frantically calling around to find someone who can help her asap. I'm feeling very hopeful about things now, as I write this, because I got an earlier surgery scheduled for her, AND I actually saw her eat tonight. Which is crazy. And on top of that, I'm leaving town this weekend for a convention I'll be tabling at. So it doesn't leave much time for drawing the fun gravity falls stuff that exists in my brain :(

I feel its necessary to say this, because I've received a LOT of asks, WAY more than I'm used to, and everyone is really kind and receptive to the stuff I've shared so far!! And I don't want them to think that I'm actively ignoring them. I'm not. I'm just going through a lot atm, and my everyday todo list has been very long lately. I want to give those asks proper answers!! And weirdly, I compensate for my lack of time to do this stuff by like, thinking about answering the asks, and what I'll say. it's silly. I wanna make stuff to share with you guys, but I can't dish out the five hundred page webcomic that I'd like to make. At least not right now. I hope this GF resurgence lasts a while, because I'd really like to make a whole lot of stuff.

Maybe I'll respond to a couple real quick before bed.

[awkwardtickleetoo]

Speaking Tongues

hello everyone!!

if you didn’t hear, yesterday was @mushiewrites BIRTHDAY WOOOO 🎉🎉🎉 everyone go wish them a happy birthday and give good vibes :DD

this is the fic i wrote for the momentous occasion, and originally i wasn’t gonna post it but someone encouraged me to anyway so here it is <3 it is different than anything i’ve ever written, but it was pretty fun to do, so i hope everyone likes it as much as mush did >:)

WARNING: this fic does include mouth tickles on george’s belly button, i know that is Not a lot of people’s cup of tea, so if that makes you uncomfortable, read at your own risk/skip this one!! no hard feelings, keep yourselves safe <3

lee!george, ler!dream, feat. sapnap, 1.6k words

enjoy!

--

“This is so stupid,” George grumbled, clenching his teeth as he yanked at the restraints that held his wrists captive above his head. He felt the cold metal dig into his wrists uncomfortably, a harsh reminder of his captivity, yet the only anxiety he felt was that of the anticipation– really, he was more endeared than anything. “Is that really necessary?”

“For you? Yes. You’ve never tickled you before, you wouldn’t know,” Sapnap explained from his spot, cross-legged next to George’s bound arms at the head of the bed. George scoffed, already squirming through his nerves, twisting his wrists and trying to find a comfortable position for them to be stuck in for the next… however long it would be.

“Whatever,” He groaned again, earning a chuckle from Dream.

“You better watch that attitude, Georgie. If I was in your position I’d be careful,” He explained, settling himself to straddle George’s thighs, an action that made George’s heart kick up and his toes curl as he shifted nervously again.

He knew, realistically, that Dream was right, and that he should shut up, but for some reason that even he didn’t fully understand, his mouth was literally incapable of listening to that logic. So, he dug his grave even further.

“If you were in my position, you wouldn’t have even made it far enough to have an attitude, so…” George said, unable to stop himself, his brain spiraling as he cursed his lips for moving.

The room went silent. George felt like he had just stepped on a twig in the woods in a horror movie, alerting the killer of his exact location. He had no idea what was going to happen next, but every option his brain supplied was worse than the last.

“…Oh?” Dream replied, voice dangerously low, rumbling through his chest and into the deep center of George’s soul, and eyebrows dangerously high, wide pupils staring daggers into George’s eyes. George swallowed, already breathing heavier at the single syllable.

“No– no, I-I didn’t mean–“ George said, immediately trying to backtrack, voice shaky as he twisted and pulled lightly at his wrists. Dream sucked in a breath through his teeth, letting it out as a wistful sigh, as if he was pushed to make a decision he was reluctant to make– and his next actions were decided for him, and he was simply going along with suggestions that were given to him nonchalantly.

“Well, if that’s what you want…” He finished, shrugging his shoulders, before launching his attack, and suddenly the tips of his rough fingers were digging into the center of George’s rib cage, his thumbs digging into the front of his ribs as well.

“NO, NONONO, I’M SORR– AHAHAHA, FUHUHUCK–!” George protested, screaming as soon as Dream’s hands touched down, latched onto the horrifically sensitive area, unmoving even as George thrashed and squirmed and tried his hardest to throw him off. “DREHEHEHEAM, PLEHEHEHEASE!”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Dream soothed, giggling as he watched George’s reactions only grow stronger. He shook his head wildly before throwing it back against the pillow below him, switching between pulling at his arms and forcing them to straighten out when the bite of the handcuffs became too much to handle, his eyes squeezed shut as tears formed at the corners. “I bet you’re sorry now, huh, baby?”

“WH– AHAHAHA– YEHEHEHES! DREHEHEAM, COHOME OHOHOHON!” George pleaded, attempting to reason with him, well aware that both he and Sapnap knew how much everything about the situation was driving him completely insane. He heard Sapnap chuckle next to him and he turned to hide his face in his arm as much as he could, the sudden reminder that he was still being watched hitting him like a truck and making him dizzy.

Well, that was probably the lack of oxygen, but he wasn’t exactly thinking straight, was he?

“Alright, fine, take a breather,” Dream said, pulling his hands back and rubbing the ghost tickles away with his palms, letting George catch his breath for a few moments. George took the opportunity graciously, gulping down the air like water in a drought, his body relaxing against the calming touch of Dream’s hands, almost forgetting what those same hands were just doing to him.

Almost.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Dream decided, slipping his hands under George’s loose t-shirt and pushing it up to reveal his torso, his whole tummy on display as he giggled nervously at the attention.

“Oh– Dreheheheam…” He whined, practically putty in Dream’s hands, but he tensed up again when Dream’s fingers began to scratch at his sides and the dip of his waist. He broke into high pitched giggles, squirming harder than ever before at the light touches, knowing they could sometimes drive him even more crazy than the cruel tickles– and he worried that might have been one of those times. He was able to handle it, though, until a few seconds later when he felt a soft gust of air flow over his tummy, and he whipped his head down to see none other than Dream’s smiling face hovering barely a few inches above his torso and blowing softly on his skin that was already riddled with goosebumps. “Nohohoho, nononono, whahat are yohohou doihihing–“

“Shhh,” Dream soothed again, only spiking George’s anxiety more.

Then, just as George thought he’d seen it all, he felt something he had never, ever felt before, touching his skin.

Dream’s tongue. In his belly button.

“OH– NO, OH MYHY GOHOHOHOD!?” George blurted out, voice turning squeaky and stuttery from the sheer shock of the feeling, and he dared to venture a look down to see if he was imagining it or if Dream really did have his fucking tongue inside his belly button, and he was horrified to find out that it was, in fact, the second one. “WHAHAT– oh myhy– whahat’s wrohohong wihith yohou–“ George yelled, breathing shallow and panicked, squirming like his life depended on it– which, in that moment, it kind of felt like it did.

“Sapnap,” Dream said sternly, not missing a beat, and Sapnap seemed to know exactly what he wanted from that.

Sapnap leaned over, gently curling his arm around George’s head, and placed one hand softly over his mouth, using his pinkie under his jaw to keep his lips pressed tightly together. The other hand quickly found its way to George’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft curls there, helping to both keep George in place and to help him relax into the feeling. George continued protesting, whining and trying to shake Sapnap’s hands away, but nothing seemed to help, and his whiny giggled and attempts at complaining were muffled into Sapnap’s palm against his will.

“There we go, that’s better, isn’t it?” Sapnap commented, voice low, close enough to George that he didn’t need to speak very loud. George groaned behind his hand, glaring up at him with a fire in his eyes that Sapnap couldn’t wait to watch Dream extinguish. He looked back down to watch Dream lower his head, and like magic, his mouth was on George’s belly button and George was thrashing once again.

“MMMH–!” He yelped, sucking in his stomach and tensing his entire body, his toes curling and biceps straining, puffing his chest up in favor of driving his hips back into the mattress, hoping to pull back far enough that Dream would stop. He didn’t, of course, and it only gave him better leverage to hold George’s hips down and let his tongue dip into the hyper-sensitive button. George gasped, a strangled sound getting caught in his throat as his entire body convulsed, and his broken screams and whimpers returned. “MM– MMHPH, MH!”

“This is cute,” Dream mused, placing a few tiny kisses to George’s tummy before nibbling lightly at the edges of his belly button. George squirmed and jumped at each nip, squeaky laughter taking over, his face bright red from complete and utter embarrassment, shock, and disbelief at what the hell Dream was doing. “Love when you get all squeaky, pretty boy.”

“MM-MM!” George denied, trying to shake his head as much as he could, curling his arms in to hide the rest of his face that was still visible. He was still squirming, but both Sapnap and Dream could tell that it was completely involuntary– he wasn’t trying to squirm away, it just kind of happened. Sapnap’s hand in his hair continued to scratch softly, helping him relax and fall into the trance even further, and Sapnap giggled at how sweet the scene was.

He could tell George wanted to be vehemently against everything that was happening to him, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t essentially floating towards the moon with how spacey he was because of it.

They stayed like that for a while, Dream’s mouth playing with the sensitive dip of George’s tummy, George’s whining and spasmic squirming, Sapnap’s hands staying firmly in their places, until George’s muffled voice grew raspy and the other two decided he’d probably had enough.

Dream pulled back, dazed for a moment as he came back to reality and stared at the red marks on George’s abdomen made by his fingers and mouth, but George couldn’t have seemed more content if he tried.

They quickly uncuffed him, Dream taking a moment to press soft kisses to the harsh red lines on his wrists from pulling at the restraints, holding George’s hands and playing with his fingers as he, too, came back into his own body. Sapnap immediately laid down on the bed, tugging the covers over himself and George and motioning for Dream to do the same on the other side, before clinging to George like a koala. He wrapped his arms tightly around his torso, making George laugh and jokingly try to shove him away, but that only made him squeeze George impossibly tighter, making him fall into another fit of giggles as they all settled into each other’s arms.

[sotogalmo]

3:00 am (4 days ago) — 12:34

“Come, my prince, kiss me in that forest...”

@alien-til-i-stage / @starry-skiez (small but lots of mentions of Ciaran) :

@solei-eclipse / @junebluues / @chokkito / @4listr / @aakaneeee / @rockwgooglyeyes / @teapotuser + @bluemoonscape

Before it all— continuing from my other post, which is the aftermath.

"now, let's get some rest. Tomorrow is a very special day, is it not?" Yume has said, a lot of the times after seeing the 'Sun' set while being in the garden.

It's something that he's cherished, but not outrightly stated that it's something he liked doing. It's more like a gift- that's what Yume has thought and called it

Sleep is a gift; and those who are able to sleep are given such a gift because it's necessary for them (not for me, they wanted to see if they can push me to the end)

And such a gift, is good for them.

And it's something he wanted to learn about; it's not that weird that he watches others, isn't it?

He's learning about it, and it's better to do it up close and personal- a hands-on type of experiment. So it's not weird of him to stare.

It's actually quite normal for him to stare at others.

Seeing others sleep, whether they sleep within seconds or take longer- it's all interesting to him.

They are also in weird and funny positions to sleep in... But it's nice that they trust him when they fall asleep next to him.

He, Yume Nagai -"the sleep potentate"- finds it's very nice of them to trust him with such dreams and how close he is to them (physically, he doesn't really know what happens in their dreams, but he hopes it's nothing but what they want)

But it seems whenever they sleep close to him, they have happy dreams!

That makes him.. feel... Nice about himself. And it gives him purpose.

To which, he couldn't help but let his mind wander thru his past as he stared at some of them sleeping.

His past before he met the ones in his class; before he met his class.

His past where he would indulge in his own choosing of hanging out with Ald, for as long as he can. That has him asking questions, and never getting a full straight answer— but the fact that he can hang out and hear his voice?

Ah, it's so wonderful that it just drives him wild.

Even if Ald later down the line forgot about him and then got a new pet, oh what was his name? Sebstian? Sebastion? No one cares.

Yume had loved him since they had their first meeting; when they first looked at each other and then a spark happened.

And he was helpful too! Since he could bring Ald to greatness and provide wealth for him; he was technically the son of a doctor.

And he didn't mind! He actually accepted it, outright. And if it means that the silly childhood promise they both made when they met, could be kept in like a secret; a place where he will compromise for Ald's forgetfulness—

Because as long as he has him, surely everything will be alright. Even if he forgets- as long as they are together physically; he can be safe and sweet.

...

To which, it connects to what he's been seeing and what he's seeing right now. Someone is having trouble sleeping- someone not close to him, so they're fine.

But some of them seem to be in a nightmare; granted, Sebastian always has nightmares or just plain black dreams. so it's not surprising when it comes to him—

But for the others. It's a bit of a surprise. But then again, this places does bring them so much anxiety- fear and relentless horror. Even if they don't know it.

At least the subtle-ness of such a place gets to them subconsciously. It always was like that for him, so most likely it's for the others too. It would make sense

And in a way, he has just the right thing for them that can soothe them and bring much happier dreams than the ones that they're having. Well- not really, and he doesn't feel up to it.

In a way, he's jealous because they can have this gift of being human and having a rest. It's a gift that many of them have shared with others since the very start of their birth.

But, also- he's helpful to them because he can lure them to sleep— he was helpful for Ald!

He thinks he's helpful for the others because of how he can help them with their sleeping habits. And it makes him happy that he can help them; which has turned into a thing he does for the sake of their health and overall happiness.

Everyone has worries that weigh them down from day to day, he knows that with perfect -unchained, unscorecard, and unrestrained- knowledge because he's always seen worry.

"mama" he would first think, and then- "or papa... I don't know which is more fitting for them, but mama gives me... makes me a tiny bit of.. happiness..."

But then he'll just continue this train of thought: "mama and every other person I was able to see.. I could see their worries plain as day. Even with their sleeplessness, it wasn't hard to find it. It's under their eyelids, they are called "eye bags" I've been told by ama." — "and that was why some of them have been so surprised when I went up to them, whenever I could. I think."

"But! Now! With this medicine I plan on making, with the tiny leaves I've gathered when I was out playing with Ciaran (ah, ciaran..), and the.. cuts I gave myself. Leaves and liquid are important for making a cure, right?"

Yume hums a small tone, nothing significant. Just something that he regularly hums whenever he's too deep into his mind— "repeated tasks in uninspiring daily life, deepest longings.. ah, you know. Only inside a dream, you can leave it all behind-"

He's thought of that, too many times.

To close his eyes, cast away anything - anyone - everyone and everything he's tired of because if-

Ah. You already know that though. I bet you do, it's the main reason why he was made!

Such irony.

That he, now also does the same for the same reason; to lose himseld in his mind inside of his realities, where it's all true! (oh, who needs reality when you can dream? It's very simple!)

.

. .

. . .

. . . .

. . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . .

. . . .

. . .

. .

.

.... . / .-- .- .-.. -.- . -.. / - --- / - .... . -- .-.-.- / --. .. ...- .. -. --. / - .... . -- / .- / --. .. ..-. - .-.-.- / .- / --. .. ..-. - / ..-. --- .-. / - .... . -- / - --- / -... . / ..-. .-. . . / ..-. .-. --- -- / - .... . / .-.. .. ..-. . / - .... .- - / .. ... / .- -. .- -.- - / --. .- .-. -.. . -. .-.-.- / .- / --. .. ..-. - --..-- / .- / -... .-.. ..- . / ...- .. .- .-.. .-.-.- / .- / ...- .. .- .-.. / .. -. / .... .. ... / .... .- -. -.. / - .... .- - / .. ... / -.. .- -- .- --. . -.. / -... . -.-- --- -. -.. / .-. . - ..- .-. -. --..-- / .- -. -.. / - .... .- - / -... .-.. ..- . / ...- .. .- .-.. / .-.. --- --- -.- ... / .-.. .. -.- . / .-- .- - . .-. .-.-.- / ... ..- .-. . .-.. -.-- / - .... .. ... / --. .. ..-. - / .. ... / -. --- / .--. --- .. ... --- -. -.-.-- / -... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / .-- .... -.-- / .-- --- ..- .-.. -.. / .. - / -... . ..--.. / .-- .... -.-- / .-- --- ..- .-.. -.. / .... . / --. .. ...- . / - .... . -- / ... ..- -.-. .... / .- / - .... .. -. --. ..--.. / .... . / -.-. .- .-. . ... / ..-. --- .-. / - .... . -- .-.-.- / - .... . ... . / .-.. --- .-- .-.. -.-- / .--. . - ... / --- -. .-.. -.-- / .-- .- -. - .. -. --. / .- -. -.. / .-- .- .. - .. -. --. / ..-. --- .-. / - .... . / --. .-. .. -- .-.-.- / - .... . / -- ..- .-. -.- -.-- / .-- .- - . .-. --..-- / - --- --- / -.. .- .-. -.- / -.-- . - / .. - .----. ... / ... - .. .-.. .-.. / .-..-. .-- .- - . .-. .-..-. .-.-.- / .- / --. .. ..-. - / - --- / .- .-.. .-.. / --- ..-. / - .... . -- .-.-.- / -. --- .-- / --- ..-. ..-. / .. -. - --- / .... .- .--. .--. -.-- / -.. .-. . .- -- ... --..-- / .- .-.. .-.. / - .... . / -.-. .... .. .-.. -.. .-. . -. / ... .... .- .-.. .-.. / -.. .-. .. ..-. - / - --- / - .... . .. .-. / ... .- ..-. . / .... .- ...- . -. .-.-.-

But now,

I can—

Be free.....

Yume hums a small tone, nothing significant. Just something that he regularly hums whenever he's too deep into his mind— He thinks he's helpful for the others because of how he can help them with their sleeping habits; he's shown that! His vial, his medicine- his "gift". And it makes him happy that he can help them; which has turned into a thing he does for the sake of their health and overall happiness.

For the sake of his—

CRASH. (Wink)

Oh?

Ah.

That rat— vermin, again.

Isn't it?

Roaming the halls, seems like he's not actually a heavy sleeper; but that's to be expected. He's always on the worry side of everything.

That's what Ald has been telling him, when he was first adopted he would make these small mistakes just like a new-born fawn! Ald found it funny, and so does Yume.

Hah, how can a faun- a deer survive in these conditions?

Ah.

But if he finds out; oh. He might tell the others— he seems to be that type of person, either way.

A scaredy cat that makes too many mistakes that it's funny, a mouse that tells on others, a rat that hears and whines, a vermin who's nothing but pest— nothing but oblivious to the idea that Yume has; that will set them both and many others free from this place.

So, yes. He has “"broken in"”. Not his fault that the aliens didn't trust him enough to watch the others...

.

. .

. . .

. . . .

. . . . .

. . . . . .

They met.

Face to face—

Once again. But this time with no "axe" behind Yume as to "disregard" his 'clone' (ahahah, ahahaha! funny- because he's the one and only Yume Nagai. Why would there be clones of him?)

They were standing near- so damn near- the entrance of the garden.

The ever-shifting colored box; the top of it open. They could see the stars- the other planets— everything.

. .

. . .

But that doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter to him; Yume. It doesn't matter.

It shouldn't, and it doesn't matter.

Why is Sebastian so resistant? Why does he hesitate (Drink up the vial. Take a breath; Suck out the poison, let it touch you) ? Why does he second guess, everything given to him?

This gift, why does he wake so easily from it?

This gift, why does he always worry it would never work?

This gift, why does he call it "nightmare"?

... Yume walks away; oh, he doesn't want to spend a MINUTE longer with this ginger!

He always makes him confused, questioning himself; but of course! What he thinks about Sebastian is nothing but rivalry!

Why should he feel connected, and feel just the same when he was with Ald (with Ciaran)?

Sebastian is the total opposite of them, and that doesn't feel nice.

Yume is now back in his room. Not alone, but he's back in his room. In all honesty, that's better than being in the halls where the others could see them.

This is better, because he can now- revisit the way he did his cure. (Feelin' feelin' feelin' feelin' f e a r)

And maybe have someone taste it (Drink up the vial. Take a breath; Suck out the poison, let it touch you) out! To see if it's perfect for the others.. even if he already gave those said others (those nobodies) their peace!

Yume sits back down, close to the area where he was making his cure; his gift to them all. Before he heard Sebastian's voice;

Of course it wobbled, but only a slight bit before he 'yelled' (more like he whispered this out loud in a very hushed but loud voice)— "Stop this already!"

To which? Of course, Yume responded, in the same tone and everything. You don't want the others to catch you, right?

"Stop what?"

Sebastian's hands waved around in the air (With a slight fever,) as he tried to remember what Yume called that glass bottle- "this- that thing that you're creating!—

You can't keep making it-!" Such a ""hero"" (but he is here with a weapon.. no, it can't be.)

"Why not!? Why not!? What's so bad about finally having rest!?" (wink.) "I'm here to save you all!"

"To start the end of the beginning."

"......"

"So I can finally meet him again... I have to do this."

"How are you so sure that this will make you meet him?"

"you... you just want to die!"

"AND!?"

"if I DIE, then they'll surely ask you about me. And he- he'll ask you about me! He'll finally talk about me!"

"Also...." Yume stopped for a bit, lowering his hoarse voice.

"Are how you so sure, I'll die? I know I will, but I'll not stay dead for long. I know it for sure." Saying it with such childishly sweet reassurance.

Sebastian gripped his scissors. Wondering if that tone should've been comforting, or something. It sounds— wrong. Like it's not supposed, to be that childish. That sweet- that unbothered.

Yume held onto his box cutters, the ones he found and hid away from the aliens- so very well.

"Besides. You know what Ald eats."

Sebastian shudders at the memories of seeing.. three? Or possibly more, human bodies that sometimes look like him; with the same clothes and everything-! The same rat hats, same rat tail belts, and everything. (Even the same things that the other pets would hunt- everything was prey. He was prey. But he lived; why? What's so interesting about him? Why did Ald keep him alive?)

"I only hope to be helpful to him. To be his resource, to be his~."

Sebastian looked away as he slightly drew blood from his own hand holding onto his scissors too tightly. "I should've known it would be like this, for that reason.. because you are weird, and a freak... ..... but why.. just why Yume..."

"it's only natural, that I'll finally be useful to him. And that they'll never let me go... I'm too important to them."

"Why.."

"Isn't painful? Suffocating?

Do you just want to escape it all?"

He's being... He's being vulnerable.

"Too tired of it all?" (A woman is eavesdropping on them; she lightly shakes and then looks down while having her robe on. She understands what he's saying.....)

"But."

What do you mean "but"? (Drink up the vial

Take a breath

Wink

Suck out the poison

Let it touch you)

"That's alright. It's fine; it's just how- and the way humans are."

You're saying that like you're.. you, yourself aren't human.... (Save this game, Mr. A)

Yume brings his box cutters to a spot on his wrist, like he's an expert at such harm (he is, just look at how he needed a glove to hide his marks!)— he didn't even have to look at his arm; his hand.

He knew just the spot, and he knew how to finish his cure; his gift— the heaven's blessing.

Love's love.

.

. .

. . .

His own blood.

If he can't give it to Ald (not Ald, not Ald. It's Ciaran), then he can at least "accidentally" give it to him.

The leaves, his blood, the poppy lookalike flowers (they are called ANAKT flowers, but he doesn't buy it. Fake? Of course, but it's the best he can do)- along with one silvervine.

Sebastian looks around, continuing to draw blood from his sweaty palm that is holding onto his weapon (Still covering my right eye

I check the tears). ..... He's thinking of doing what he should do- as a way to stop this craziness (yes, he knows that Yume has already been crazy from the start since they met, but this— ....)

A cut; and the drip-drip-drip of fresh blood. The metal smell overwhelms Sebastian, as he dashes forwards to pull Yume away; getting some of it (the blood, the blood coming from Yume's already too far gone wrist) way from the small bottle that Yume has been working on for who knows how long..

To which?

Yume attacks.

How DARE he stop this!

He would've dragged him down with him later or earlier, but now it seems like he should drag him down with him; NOW.

If Sebastian is acting like this, then he must surely want to be dead with him right now— but he can't.. he doesn't have the strength for it. (The woman outside of their door, starts to leave. They don't pay attention- but surely the guards might've- should've heard of her steps. It seems to be close to morning? The time where they would put the place in "day mode"; pink hair in cat-ear like buns sways, leaving with a younger girl who has ear-length ginger brown hair)

So it was easy for Sebastian, the one who can hold an alien back by one hand, to hold him in place and to at least try and help— keyword; try.

He tries.

He doesn't succeeds.

Yume scratches at his arm's bicep.

Not necessarily with his nails, but also with his box cutter. It's easy to do that (he had to, switch? the placement of his box cutters onto the other hand because his hand is bleeding out. Slowly, but still).

He was giving something back; he was giving that pain back. Not to the actual one who caused it, but the one who caused confusion for him.

He lightly smirked again, a last time type of smirk; the same smirk he had when they first met (God, Sebastian thinks, this makes me sound cheesy as hell. As if I liked him- no, not that. As if I "loved" him.....)

But his smirk was hiding something. Sebastian just knows it; how can he smile like this? And use so much force to crave words into his biceps....

He's—

you had used me, and abused me, made me feel small. You had cast aside my feelings, treated me like a doll. Even long before the gift, you'd broken my heart.

It was all I could do to tear the damn place apart! (I'll scream until I rot away)

They are face to face again.

Sebastian is holding in his tears (he doesn't want to be seen as weak, or pathetic. He doesn't like tears because of that. He only wants to be helpful)

Yume is ever smiling back at him.

. . . This feels so weird...

it's a medicine, it brings sleep make no mistake. And the sleep's eternal, so you never shall wake.

With what he can do for now, he reaches over to the glass bottle. Sebastian doesn't move, as he only tighten his grip onto him- trying so much.

"This is okay. This is okay." Yume said, what is he trying to achieve with saying that?

My Insomnia is transformed to a thing of the past.

Yume pushes them both away from each other. Sebastian brings his scissors to Yume's shoulder; close to his neck and collarbone (he wanted to stop this, in one way to another. Even if blood is made. He has to chase his heart) — to that, Yume somewhat whined. Only for a little bit

No longer the sleep princess, instead the sleeping beauty~—

.

. .

. . .

. . . .

. . . . .

. . . . .

. . . .

. . .

. .

.

The same pink haired woman is lightly seen. She's with— no.

It can't be.

It must be a clone, at least!

[mxltifxnd0m]

IM BACK BITCHES !

⟡ so as you can tell from this post, im officially back from my hiatus!

i honestly could have come back sooner but i just wanted to ride out the month of october so i didn't feel overwhelmed if i came back when i thought i felt better and not at 100%.

but yes a month long break was necessary for me and my mental health since i had been on tumblr consistently for a good 3 years at this point without one, so it was a long time coming.

but now im feeling a lot better and ive been slowly just easing myself into using the site again and exposing myself to my activity tab (r.e my hiatus announcement) and now i don't feel any kind of anxiety when seeing it so its progress! (i have yet check it thought but as soon as this is posted, i will be sorting through it)

with not being on the app/site, ive had some spare time open up for me and i've been utilizing it and i got back into journaling which was something i had been trying to do for the longest time but i treated this place as my digital one but clearly it didn't work out the way I wanted.

anyways moving on, I also was able to write quite a bit while on my break and i feel good about them because i didn't have the pressure of posting them right away.

but since i did write some fics! im so excited to share them with you guys so i made schedule of what/when im posting them and that'll be posted later today!

speaking of fics i made a poll before i went on hiatus about making a tag list for my fics and the majority of votes wanted me to make a tag list so i made a separate post for the tag list and how you can be added! [taglist has been posted]

with the housekeeping out of the way. yayy im back!! life has been great this past october and as sad as i was that i couldn't give you guys live updates, ill post them some of them here :P

i've made some more friends in my classes and I went to my first concert ever! it was a conan gray concert and ill make a separate post about my fit and the experience since it was so fun! other than that it was a relaxing month and my brother was in town and visited for a week and a half so having to share my room with my sister wasn't the best time but nonetheless we survived nonetheless LOL

anyways enough rambling! i have to say that i can't wait to binge everyone's kinktober and just the fics i've missed on here in general! im so happy to be back and im just so excited to share the things i have planned with you guys! (i'm so back guys ahhh!)

ive missed you all so much and i hope that everyone was doing well when i was gone <3

+++

tagging some of my moots to let them know im back: @sammyluvr / @ohsc / @s4wdvator / @sylvia-plaths-fig-pie / @arjwrites /

@heliads / @percyluvr

[mishasminion360]

How Do You Do It?

Jack Daniels x fem!reader

Warnings: Mild language; words said in anger; stress-induced anxiety; mild angst; self-doubt; but lots of fluff, I swear.

Summary: Being a new mother and a homemaker are two difficult jobs to juggle at the same time, and even more of a challenge when your husband is constantly away. When Jack returns from his latest assignment to find you overtaxed and irritable, he decides to make it up to you by spending a day in your shoes.

A/N: What a busy summer/early fall. So much has changed in such a short time. Change is weird sometimes and brings a lot of stress. Had my first-ever panic attack. Zero stars; do not recommend. But even the stressful, scary parts of our lives can be inspiring. This fic is proof of that 😝

P.S. As you can see I began this fic in the fall of 2023 and look how late I’m posting it! I’m sorry for the long hiatus, folks, but believe me when I say it was necessary.

How is it that your husband is the secret agent, but the weight of the world always feels like it’s been thrust upon your shoulders?

The day you found out you were expecting was one of the happiest of your life. You and Jack had been over the moon and spent the entire adventure of pregnancy fantasizing about all the joys of parenthood that would arrive along with your bundle of joy. You weren’t kidding yourselves; you knew that a baby brought big changes and more than a few challenges. You just weren’t aware of just how high those hurdles would be until you were thrown into the race.

The roles of wife, homemaker, and now mother all seem to merge into one monstrous, never-ending task; and your duties seemed all the more daunting when you were left to fulfill them alone.

Jack is nothing short of attentive and dedicated when he’s at home. The problem is that “home” is usually the last place one will find him. As of late, his job with the Statesmen pulls and pushes him this way and that into parts unknown where he’s embroiled in espionage for some indeterminate period, leaving you with a house to maintain, meals to prepare, clothes to launder, and a colicky infant to soothe.

You’re trapped inside a pressure cooker and the temperature is nearing critical.

***

“Baby Shark” is on its 25th iteration, every “doo doo doo” is like a bat to the back of your head. You dance topless in the living room with your wailing son clutched to your naked chest. You’d tossed your t-shirt into the wash twenty minutes ago, covered—like the two before it—in your baby boy’s milky vomit.

Your sanity is a mere thread, frayed, delicate, and seconds away from completely unraveling. Your head is pounding and back aching, and you’re trying to convince yourself that the flush of heat you feel just beneath your skin is not a fever. You can’t afford to be sick now. Not when you are all your son has; when you are all you have.

“Daddy’s home, darlin’!”

The sound of his voice, the familiar clip-clop of his boots on the hardwood floor, should fill you with after hardly having heard it for a solid week. Instead, it has your already tepid body simmering with frustration.

“Hey there, Mama Mare.” The affectionate term oozes from between his grinning lips with all the smooth, sweet ease of honey. “Give this ol’ cowboy some sugar. He missed you.”

His lips are on yours and then detaching themselves before your mouth can even register it’d just been in contact with another; far quicker and more careless than the long overdue reunion kiss you’d been anticipating. The brief little smooch held about as much passion as a handshake.

“There’s my little cowpoke!”

Jack lifts his squalling son from your arms and little John’s cries instantly cease. Of course they do. Of freaking course.

“Well, now, you didn’t have to get all dressed up on my account, honeybee.”

You snap to attention after possibly having fallen asleep on your feet for a split second to see that Jack’s devilish gaze has zeroed in on your bared tits.

“You certainly know how to welcome a fella home.”

While he’s busy ogling your non-seductive nudity, your own eyes have locked onto the trail of muddy prints stretching from the front door, each filthy footfall a perfect imprint of the sole of Jack’s boots. Yet another mess you’ll have to clean up; another chore added to the already heavy burden you’re shouldering.

“How’s about after dinner we mosey on upstairs, put this little buckaroo to bed, then I show you just how much I missed you?”

You don’t even know how to respond to him right now, so you don’t. You simply turn your back and walk away, seething in a silent rage as you stomp your way upstairs to put on the thickest, ugliest sweatshirt you can find that leaves everything up to the imagination.

John starts to wail once again, but that’s Jack’s problem now. You have about a million other tasks to accomplish—make that a million and one, thanks to his filthy freaking boots.

You slip into the master bath and toss back a couple of Advil for your pounding headache and by the time you re-emerge, Jack is pacing around your bed, hands on his hips and a pensive scowl on his face.

You take a deep breath through your nose and the words tumble from your lips in a sigh. “I haven’t started dinner yet. Give me just a few minutes and I can—“

“Did I say somethin’ wrong?” he blurts. “‘Cause you gave me a look back there that reminded me of an angry steer about to trample a rodeo clown.”

“Just forget it,” you mutter, brushing past him toward the door. His hand wraps around your wrist before you can cross the threshold.

“I ain’t forgettin’ nothin’,” he drawls as he turns you to face him. “Sugar, what’s wrong? No use lyin’ because I can tell somethin’s stuck in your craw.”

Oh, it’s stuck alright. Like a bug in a windshield.

“Jesus, Jack,” you sigh. “Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve had a total of five non-consecutive hours of sleep this week. Or it could be the fact that the house is a mess or that I’m down to my last pair of clean underwear. All the chores have been put on hold so I could tend to our son while you’ve been off playing ‘secret agent man’ in God only knows where.”

His mustache twitches and his jaw ticks.

“Honeybee, why didn’t you tell me you’ve been strugglin’? I would have—“

“Because I shouldn’t have to tell you!” you snap. “You should know me well enough by now to tell when I’m not okay! You should already have some inkling of how hard it is to raise a child and that the process usually goes much smoother when both parents are involved. But I guess I’m just a fool for assuming. Getting shot at is far less hazardous to your health than changing a dirty diaper after all.”

When the red finally clears from your vision you see that Jack’s has become clouded with a look you’d only bore witness to once and concluded that you never wanted to see again. His mirthful brown eyes dulled by a deeply rooted pain planted long ago by a cruel twist of fate. He’d been robbed of his first chance to be a husband and father and you’d just accused him of squandering his second.

“Sugar, I’m….I’m sorry.”

Shit. It’s not fair. You have been miserable for an entire week and you can’t stand to see him miserable for even a millisecond.

“No, I’m sorry,” you insist, voice and legs quivering. You lower yourself to the bed before exhaustion and gravity get the better of you. “I’m just so tired. Tired and frustrated.”

He drops to the bed beside you and pulls you into one of his signature hugs you’ve missed so much. The tightest of embraces that only he can give.

“I know you’re working hard to provide for our family,” you sob. “I know that but still I….I feel so alone, Jack.”

Before even a single southern-drenched syllable can leave his mouth, a sharp wail blasts from the baby monitor and your body reacts instinctively and urgently. You shoot up and out of Jack’s arms like a rocket.

“Let me check on him and then I’ll start dinner,” you say with a sniffle.

“I’ll get him, darlin’,” Jack insists, gently grasping you by the wrist and halting your minimal progress toward the door.

“But he probably needs—“

“I will get him.”

His hands are on your shoulders now—firm yet gentle—and grounding, comforting.

“Please, let me take care of my boy so you can take care of you, honeybee. And then, later, I’d like to take care of you, too. If you’ll let me.”

You can only muster a nod before he’s striding out of the room. Taking advantage of the first minute you’ve had to yourself in a week, you slip into the shower and let the warm spray unclench every muscle coiled tight with stress.

By the time you emerge, John is sleeping peacefully and a pizza’s been ordered. Jack dotes on you the entire evening, giving your aching feet a rub down with his skillful hands and cuddling you close as you both zone out to some ridiculous reality TV. His mere presence is a balm to your weary soul.

Whenever the baby cries in the middle of the night and your body moves on instinct Jack stills you, urges you back to the mattress, and takes on the challenge himself. It’s the best night’s sleep you’ve had in you can’t remember how long.

***

And surprisingly enough, you don’t manage to sleep any later than 9 a.m. The smell of extra greasy bacon lures you from bed, a siren’s call to your stomach.

John bounces in his high chair, babbling around a mouthful of mashed banana, most of which appears to have ended up on his face, shirt, and chubby little fists. Jack is an even more astonishing sight than your messy son, strutting about the kitchen in your frilly apron topping his off-white Henley and faded Wranglers.

“Well, good mornin’, sugar,” he cries, grabbing your hips to tug you in for a kiss. “Though I wasn’t expectin’ to see you up so soon.”

“How did you expect me to stay asleep when something smells incredible?”

“That would be my famous chocolate chip, peanut butter, and banana flapjacks.”

In true Southern gentlemanly fashion, he pulls out a chair and eases you into it before setting a towering stack of syrup-soaked pancakes before you, coffee and bacon following suit.

“Better eat quick now, darlin’,” Jack urges as he takes a seat with his plate. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”

As if you could forget. That laundry is begging for attention, the house hasn’t had a good dusting in you can’t recall how long, and Johnny already needs a bath—

“I made you an appointment for noon.”

Your train of thought instantly stalls on the tracks.

“Appointment?”

Jack grins over the brim of his steaming mug.

“Honey, you need a break. Figured you might enjoy yourself a little spa day.”

You can hardly believe your ears.

“Spa day?”

“Yes, ma’am. Massage, mud baths, whatever the heck they do with seaweed, the whole nine yards,” he explains proudly. “I even called up your buddy from work and asked if she’d like to join you. And it’s all on me.”

“But Jack, what about John? And the house, the laundry, the cooking?”

“Gimme some credit, sugar,” he chuckles. “I think I can keep the homestead standin’ and our baby boy breathin’ for a day. Besides, it’s high time I start puttin’ in my fair share of help around here, isn’t it?”

You’re not sure if you want to thank him or burst into tears. Maybe both.

“You do so much, honeybee,” he says warmly, voice as smooth, rich, and sweet as the syrup sluiced atop your pancakes. “You move mountains every day to make this house a home. How’s about lettin’ someone do somethin’ for you for a change?”

You scarf down the rest of your pancakes before kissing him with sticky lips and racing up the stairs to get ready for your big day out.

***

You feel rejuvenated and refreshed. Brand fucking new. A far cry from the husk of a woman who’d left the house this morning. Wrapped in seaweed and slathered with mud you’d been returned to the earth and reborn at full strength, like a phoenix risen from the ash.

You'd been reunited with an inner strength and power you'd all but forgotten. And thank God for that, because you're going to need every bit of it to face the chaos you come walking back into upon your return home.

You can hear John’s piercing wails before you’ve cut the engine and opened the driver’s side door. You can smell the smoke before you've even reached the front steps.

Inside all hell has broken loose. Gray tendrils of smoke slither through the air, teasing the detector into screaming its warning. Your baby boy is giving it some stiff competition with his own cries as Jack struggles to bounce him on one arm while he tries to fan away the smoke with the other. Both gestures prove futile.

“It’s okay, buckeroo. You’re okay. Don’t cry. Please, please don’t cry.”

Jack looks so frazzled. The situation is far from funny so the last thing you should do is laugh at his expense. But dammit if you don’t anyway.

“Do you need some help there, cowboy?”

His frantic eyes find you through the haze and pierce you with a desperate, wordless plea. You take the inconsolable infant from your husband’s arm and soothe him into silence as Jack does the same to the smoke alarm.

“There now, Johnny. See? Everything’s okay. Daddy made the bad sound stop.”

“He just stopped cryin’ for you. Just like that.”

Something in his eyes burns. Something in his voice cracks.

“I couldn't bring him any kind of comfort. He didn't….want nothin’ to do with me.”

Your weary cowpoke sags into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and buries his face in his hands with an exasperated sigh.

“You were right, darlin’. I'm useless.”

You settle John into his high chair with a teething ring to distract him before turning your attention to your distressed husband.

“To be fair, I never said you were useless.”

“You may as well have,” he sighs. “And if you weren’t thinkin’ it before you’ll be thinkin’ it now.”

You smirk. “Rough day?”

“Oh darlin’, you don’t even know the half of it.”

He begins to recount the day’s challenges, his voice raising in pitch as goes from describing one hurdle to the next. He almost seems on the verge of tears.

“And I got so distracted while tryin’ to get our fussy boy to eat his dinner that I failed to hear the timer and let ours burn. Hence the fiasco you came home to. And when John started bellowing for his supper I was in the middle of the laundry and I forgot to separate the colorful items from the rest, so my new red jockeys turned our bathroom towels pink and….and I just failed so miserably today, sugar. I’m so sorry.”

You laugh, unable to help it. It’s all you can do at this point. “Welcome to my world, sweetheart.”

“How on Earth do you do it, sugar?”

If you’re being honest, you ask yourself that question at least once a day, and not always with the same emotional connotation behind it.

“There’s just something inside of me that encourages me to power through the difficulties. A force, a reminder.”

“An iron will for damn sure,” he scoffs.

“No, that’s not it,” you chuckle. “It’s love, Jack. For you and our boy. That’s what keeps me going.”

He looks at your have cradling his own, a gesture of both dominance and comfort. In this moment he believes that he is made of inferiority.

“I love you both to the moon and back, yet I can’t even do a load of laundry.”

“Jack you do enough. I have not, do not, and never will doubt your love for me and John,” you reassure him. “Acts of service just happen to be my particular love language, not yours.”

“Then what is mine?”

You lift his hands and kiss both sets of his knuckles. “Words of affirmation.”

His acts of service are for the world, but his words are just for you.

“But ain’t actions supposed to speak louder?”

“For others, maybe,” you shrug. “But that’s only because no one else speaks as loudly as you.”

@grimeylady @rav3n-pascal22 @mamacitapascal @insomniamama1 @pedrosbisch @emmaispunk @lv7867 @reonlouw @hawaiianmelodies @heythere-mel @healingstardust @delorena @pedropasxal @caesaryoulater @fangirling-alert @fromthedeskoftheraven @axshadows @dragon-scales88 @spacepastel-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @hauntedmama @mswarriorbabe80 @horton-hears-a-honk @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @a-trial-run-on-paper @oonajaeadira @dhadiirah @felicisimor @practicalghost @luz-introvertida @amneris21 @hb8301 @tanzthompson @littlemisspascal @dobbyjen @supernaturalgirl20 @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @trickstersp8 @neganwifey25-blog @twistedboxy @emiemiemiii @energeticspookyshark @thevoiceinyourheadx @pedr0swh0r3 @anamiad00msday @secretwriterpp @wannab-urs @pedrostories

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

His avoidance

I read this quote a few days ago and it reminded me of these two:

Source: Marriage.com YES! MARRIAGE DOT COM LOLOLOL!

So since I already went over her avoidant behavior 🔗 that might have as well cost us SYDCARMY this season:

Now I am gonna be fair because Carmy is avoidant too but differently. They are like "50 shades of I DON'T WANNA DEAL WITH MY FEELINGS, I RATHER COOK".

And in the bonus track, I will focus on the only great part of being a master avoidant.

So, Carmy... His avoidant behavior is a different shade of avoidance because while also being a defense mechanism, it is rooted in his C-PTSD, which he described in the AA meeting S1 monologue pretty well. He grew up in a totally different environment than Syd 🔗 but he also felt lonely and that scared him emotionally.

Avoidance resulted from that emotional scaring process that affects him even to this day. C-PTSD and PTSD are not the same, so it's important not to misdiagnose the two. Also, C-PTSD can cause autobiographical memory gaps but it only affects functional memory.

That being said, Carmy is extremely self-aware because he is an introvert. My theory also includes his AUADHD type, but I will not dive into that neurodivergency in this post, I will focus on his introverted type and avoidant behavior. That self-awareness is what differentiates him the most from Sydney who is an ambivert (extra-introvert). She defaults to denial, and he defaults to sublimation.

I went over his sublimation several times:

Here 🔗

Here 🔗

And here 🔗

Yeah... I gave it some thought ok?

Carmy doesn't avoid feeling, he avoids acknowledging, but he's not in full-on denial, he just dances around an idea, a concept he's fully aware of, and then decides to disregard it thinking that by doing so it will disappear. It doesn't and then it becomes ART.

It becomes ANGER.

It becomes INSOMNIA.

Just like in Syd's case, it becomes PANIC/ANXIETY.

It becomes ADDICTION.

It becomes silence that feels like something crashing his chest and not letting him say the words he wants to say OR cry. It becomes PARALISYS.

And he runs away from it by cooking or sketching, smoking, etc. Instead of facing it even if it hurts, elaborating on it and letting it out verbally, crying his heart out if necessary, and eventually healing.

I am positive that ended in 03x10 when he was strong enough to confront his nemesis and then have a good cry, finally!!! I was sooo happy for him, it broke my heart, but I was happy. He's finally on the mend.

Carmy will continue avoiding feelings he doesn't feel ready to cope with, deflecting and diverting to other stuff to fool himself, sure!

But this will not traumatize him anymore.

He will go about it differently now that he can let out certain things that were stuck in him for far too long. This will also enable other "un-stuck" processes, such as finally leaving C behind after having an adult conversation / giving that relationship the closure it deserves, which he has been avoiding since last season.

But for that, he will have to quit avoiding the reason why he stalled it in the first place, which I explained → here 🔗

I am sure S4 will be all about that because that's exactly where he ended last season, so it's the logical progression:

I bet everything on his success.

Avoidants are masters of the unspoken communication

Bonus track: Both Carmy and Syd are masters of unspoken communication, that's also why they end up overdoing it, they end up abusing that skill they have and it turns counterproductive. But it is a skill nonetheless. THOSE LOOKS, THOSE SILENCES, THAT UNSPOKEN LOVE, THEY CAN SAY IT ALL WITHOUT PRONOUNCING A SINGLE WORD OR BETWEEN THE LINES OF THE FEW WORDS THEY SAY. THEIR TRADE MARK. THEY MASTER SILENCES AND INFLECTIONS LIKE NO OTHERS. THEY CAN SAY IT ALL "DIFFERENTLY".

They got this. Let's give them more time. S4 is gonna be all about them learning to use their words "properly" after they stop avoiding the conversation they owe each other.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[yanderecrazysie]

i just read confine for like the fiftieth time anyways reques: pt. two of confine (take as long as you need it’ll end up great in the end and it doesn’t have to be long or anything it could be a drabble but yk do what you want it’ll be amazing💌)

Fun fact: Confine is my most popular story (and post in general) on Tumblr! I’ve always been surprised by that, since I have ones I personally like a lot more and because Betray gets a lot more interaction! But I do have a soft spot in my heart for Confine!

And thank you for being so sweet and not rushing me or anything!

Part 1 is here

Title: Confine (Part 2)

Pairings: Ushijima x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, misogyny

Summary: Ushijima would like to extend your trip to the countryside from a couple months to forever. He’d also like you by his side. Unfortunately, your preferences aren’t necessary.

confine

/verb/

restrain or forbid someone from leaving (a place).

 The frilly pink apron you wear feels suffocating.

Had you been given a choice, you would never put something like that on your body. Too bad your opinion was irrelevant in this place.

While Ushijima was gone, you were finally allowed to breathe a little. But not by much, for you were never sure when he’d return, demanding your attention and making sure you’d behaved yourself the way he wanted you to.

If he were to walk in around dinnertime and dinner wasn’t on the table, you hate to think how he’d react. If he were to see you cooking without your apron and oven mitts, well, that’d be even worse.

He somehow managed to baby you while still expecting you to do all the housework. It was clear he expected you to play the role of a traditional housewife, but he also panicked if you came close to being hurt while doing so. He still hadn’t forgived himself for the one time you’d spilled a little hot soup on your wrist, leading to the getup you were forced to wear whenever touching anything above “warm”.

Cooking options were limited enough as they were, since you weren’t allowed anything sharper than a butter knife to cut ingredients. It didn’t matter how much or how little you’d known about cooking before being forced through the cabin door- the man had mountains of flashcards with handwritten recipes on them. His mothers’, apparently.

“You have to know how to cook, for your husband and for our children.”

You’d learned long ago to give up on trying to correct him about your relationship status. The delusional man truly believed you two had gotten married, as though his kidnapping of you was the just two of you returning from your honeymoon.

But the phrase “for our children” is what truly haunted you. You didn’t want anything to do with this psychopath, much less have his child. He had never forced unwanted advances on you, but it scared you that he was so sure of this future he had planned for you both.

It was like living in a dollhouse. Wearing a painted-on smile as you greeted him whenever he got home and as you pretended everything was okay. Making sure the house looked absolutely perfect. Never arguing or fighting back.

Ushijima and you would probably look like the perfect couple to any outsider when, in reality, your relationship was built on fear and entrapment. You were stuck with him as long as the chain on your ankle and the locks on the doors remained.

You pulled the meal out of the oven and pulled off the oven mitts while dinner cooled down, wiping your sweaty hands on your apron. You could barely feel relaxed with the anxiety of knowing he’ll return (and what would happen to you if he didn’t?). But whenever he was gone, you felt… free.

You could finally forget about being ripped away from your amazing parents. You could pretend like this house of cards was your own. You could remind yourself that you weren’t Ushijima’s perfect little Barbie doll.

Whenever he decided to come home, you’d have to be at his side in an instant, asking how his day was, but never where he’d gone or what he’d been up to. You’d have to take his coat from him and hang it up, just like a good wife should.

You were sure he’d be home any moment for dinner (you had it at the same time every day, like clockwork), but there was no telling exactly when. The walls were soundproof and there were no windows, so you’d always be kept on your toes, jumping out of your skin when the door swung open.

You wished you could just take a nap.

Softly, and with fear of interruption, you sang to yourself. It was a habit you’d grown used to, and you desperately hoped Ushijima never heard. You didn’t want him to forbid you from it or, worse, demand you sing for him.

He terrified you. You were positive he could rip off your head with just one strong pull from those big hands of his.

You hoped police would swoop in one day and cart him off while freeing you from your prison, but you doubted they had any leads to where you’d gone. You’d simply disappeared while walking home from work, in their eyes.

Did they even care? You knew your parents would worry and know that you didn’t just run away, but the police wouldn’t have that kind of insight. 

You wished you could confide with someone about how frightened you were. Of him, of possible future children, of living this way forever, of dying here. You didn’t want to keep this all to yourself until it bubbled over into something that got you in trouble.

You just wanted-

SLAM

Oh.

Your heart dropped in your chest.

He’s home.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kinkslump Linkdump

This is my dozenth linkdump! The world comes at you fast, and even though I'm writing 4-5 essays a week for this newsletter, many's the week that ends with more stray links than will fit in that format. Here's the previous ones:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

I managed to turn out five posts last week, despite being on tour with my latest novel, The Lost Cause, a hopeful solarpunk novel endorsed by Rebecca Solnit, Bill McKibben and Kim Stanley Robinson. The tour went great – the book's now a national bestseller on the USA Today list! Here's an essay I wrote explaining the structure of the feeling that the book is meant to convey:

https://www.torforgeblog.com/2023/11/14/cory-doctorow-the-swerve/

This is a climate emergency novel full of rising seas, terrible storms, wildfires and zoonotic plagues, and yet – it is a hopeful novel. What makes it hopeful? It depicts a future in which we are treating these phenomena with the gravitas and urgency they warrant, with our whole society's focus shifting to moving coastal cities inland, weatherizing and solarizing our housing, and creating permanent housing for internal refugees.

While it would be infinitely preferable to live in a world where none of that is necessary, that's not the world we have. This is an sf novel, not a fantasy novel, so all the climate harms we've locked in through decades of expensively procured inaction are present. But the difference between disaster and catastrophe is how and whether we address those harms. Sure, this is a world where superstorms wipe away whole cities and Miami is a drowned mangrove swamp, but it's also a world in which oil executives do not chair UN climate summits or complain that oil companies are being "unjustly vilified":

https://www.cnbc.com/2023/11/27/opec-says-oil-industry-unjustly-vilified-ahead-of-climate-talks-.html

I write a lot, and it's not just this newsletter. Writing transports me from my anxieties and aches. That's how I came to write nine books during lockdown ("when life gives you SARS, make sarsaparilla"). Lost Cause was one of three books I published in 2023.

I'm going to greet 2024 with another novel, The Bezzle, a sequel to 2023's Red Team Blues, about the hard-charging, high-tech forensic accountant Marty Hench:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

The Bezzle is a story about the shitty technology adoption curve – the way that the worst technologies we have are first rolled out on the people least able to complain about them. After these bad technologies have their sharp edges sanded down on the bodies of prisoners, refugees and kids, they move up to blue collar workers and discount store shoppers, and so on, until we're all living under their thumb.

In The Bezzle, a dear friend of Marty finds himself serving a long sentence in a privatized California prison that flips from one private equity fund to the next, each with even worse, more extractive ways to use technology to bleed prisoners and their families dry. You can read the opening scenes in a just-published excerpt on Tor Books's site:

https://www.torforgeblog.com/2023/11/20/excerpt-reveal-the-bezzle-by-cory-doctorow/

The period immediately before a book's publication is always a tense one, as the first reviews trickle in. Library Journal's Marlene Harris is the first out of the gate, with a spectacular review:

https://www.libraryjournal.com/review/the-bezzle-1802415

Marty’s reminiscences range from obscure financial machinations to heaping helpings of social commentary but always move the underlying thriller story forward in a backwards heist tale that delivers a righteously satisfying ending to the surprise of both the reader and the villain. This novel, like his previous outing, rides on Marty’s voice. He has a jaundiced view of everything, but he tells it with such style and verve that readers are caught up and ride along on the surface until the shark beneath the water jumps out and bites the villain where it hurts.

I'm headed into Skyboat Media's studios on Monday with @wilwheaton to record the audiobook for this one, directed as ever by the amazing Gabrielle de Cuir. Keep your eyes peeled for a presale crowdfunder in January!

I am often asked how I decide when to present an idea through fiction and when to do so with nonfiction. The answer is a complicated one, and I got into it in some detail on Nature's Working Scientist podcast, in discussion with Paul Shrivastava:

https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-023-03394-8

When it comes to politics, fiction and nonfiction are intensely complementary. Nonfiction can convey the data about a social phenomenon, but fiction can convey the meaning of the data. It's one thing to see a chart about inequality, and another to inhabit it through fiction. Marty Hench's narrative adventures are a way into the feeling of living in a corrupt oligarchy.

There are other ways into that feeling, of course. Take Barry Bowen's "Lifestyles of the Blessed & Famous: Preacher Homes Sold in 2023" for The Roys Report:

https://julieroys.com/lifestyles-blessed-famous-preacher-homes-sold-2023/?mc_cid=9678383b64

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then carefully staged realtor drone shots ganked from the Redfin listing for a "pastor"'s $3.5m mansion in Newport Beach is a full-on sermon about the corruption of the Hillsong megachurch:

https://www.redfin.com/CA/Newport-Beach/503-30th-St-92663/home/12363926

Narratives and photos are all well and good, but there's always room for some data. The USA's weird breed of federalism and devolved power makes for some very interesting data. Writing for The American Prospect, Paul Starr rounds up several studies evaluating the "natural experiments" created by enacting very different policies in otherwise similar states:

https://prospect.org/health/2023-12-08-life-death-cost-conservative-power/

The data is in: conservativism kills. Living in a red state shortens your life expectancy. The redder the state, the worse it is. The bluer the state, the longer you're likely to live:

https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/1468-0009.12469

The exemplars here are Connecticut and Oklahoma, whose life expectancies were at par until they began to diverge in policies. Oklahoma got more conservative, Connecticut got more liberal. Today, the average Oklahoman will pop their clogs at 75.8, while a Connecticutensian can expect 80.7 years.

Different scholars have parsed out different policy outcomes. Giving Medicaid to children, for example, shows benefits for the next 50 years:

https://www.aeaweb.org/articles?id=10.1257/aer.20171671

The big one, of course, is gun control. Here's the topline: "restrictive state gun policies reduce overall gun deaths." Water also wet:

https://journals.lww.com/epidem/fulltext/2023/11000/the_era_of_progress_on_gun_mortality__state_gun.3.aspx

Fact-free spiritual beliefs like "an armed society is a polite society" are key to conservative policymaking. Pesky progressives who confuse the issue with relevant facts are playing dirty, pointing out reality's unfair leftist bias.

But after 40 years of neoliberal deference to corporate power, the worm is turning. Somehow, a world on fire, filled with megapastors in megamansions who brief for lethal policies, has finally inspired a global vibe-shift (and not a moment too soon!). One of the most tangible expressions of that shift is the revival of antitrust, which has been in a coma since the Reagan administration.

All over the world – the EU, the UK, Ireland, Australia, and the USA – there are new competition enforcers challenging corporate power in ways that were unthinkable just a few years ago. If I'd written an enforcer like FTC chair Lina Khan in 2010, critics would have slammed me for wish-fulfillment too unrealistic for science fiction.

But today, Khan is taking big swings at corporate power, fighting against a calcified edifice of decades of bad, pro-monopoly precedent. The pro-monopoly press hate her, which is why the WSJ keeps publishing sweaty op-eds insisting that she is wasting her time and that monopolies are good, actually:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/14/making-good-trouble/#the-peoples-champion

But she is still out there, fighting for all of us. After a pro-monopoly judge stymied the FTC's bid to block the rotten Microsoft/Activision merger, Khan re-filed, appealing the decision:

https://www.reuters.com/markets/deals/us-ftc-tries-again-stop-microsofts-already-closed-deal-activision-2023-12-06/

Critics insist that she's on a foolish errand, but Khan is tackling the most promising face of a sheer cliff, and the plainly anticompetitive merger between one of the world's largest console makers (a convicted monopolist!) with one of the world's largest games publishers is the right place to start. If she can get her piton into one of the hairline cracks in that face, her arduous climb gains a solid anchor for the next stage of her assent.

Of course, Khan's highest-profile action is her case against Amazon, the omnipresent, dystopian poster-child for enshittification, a platform we can't avoid, but which is so haphazardly policed that the bestselling bitter lemon energy drink you order might be bottled piss harvested from its immiserated drivers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/20/release-energy/#the-bitterest-lemon

In a world of murderous, community-destroying monopolies, Amazon stands out for the sheer number of ways it makes the world worse. Amazon maims its warehouse workers and kills its drivers with impossible quotas. It poisons Black and brown neighborhoods with truck exhaust from its giant depots. It destroys small businesses that sell on its platform. It was part of the studio cabal scheming to destroy actors and writers' livelihoods with unfair contracts and AI. Its audiobook monopoly stole at least $100m from independent authors. It makes goods and services more expensive at every retailer (not just Amazon), and price-gouges on its own storefront:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

Keeping that scam going requires a lot of skullduggery. A new set of leaked internal Amazon documents shed some light on how that inedible sausage gets made:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/wxjbm9/amazon-brags-it-cultivated-california-mayor-with-donations-in-leaked-policy-document

Amazon's "Community Engagement Plan 2024" brags about buying off small-town mayors and astroturf groups in its bid to resist regulations that would limit warehouse delivery van emissions in communities of color (Amazon calls this "philanthropic work"). Coincidentally, that "philanthropy" targeted Perris, a town where residents voted for a warehouse tax to repair the roads that had been trashed by fleets of Amazon vans.

But the real focus of Amazon's "Community Engagement" is California's AB1000, a bill that will limit the construction of supersized, 100k+ sqft warehouses near daycare centers, schools or rec centers. Secondarily, Amazon is hoping to get California to make it easier to advertise alcohol around kids, to "unlock" California's liquor market.

This kind of shameless, mustache-twirling villainry can only go on so long before it meets resistance. One of the longest-running, hardest fought struggles against corporate malfeasance is the farmers' right ro repair fight against John Deere. Deere boobytraps its tractors so that after a farmer repairs a Deere tractor, they have to wait for days, and pay hundreds of dollars, for a Deere technician to come out to the farm and type an unlock code into the tractor's console:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

Despite multiple state right-to-repair initiatives and a pending rulemaking from the FTC, Deere is still fucking around. Now, they've found out. US District Court Judge Iain Johnson just handed Deere a scathing, 89-page memo rejecting the company's bid to kill a class action suit brought by its customers:

https://www.reuters.com/legal/litigation/deere-must-face-us-farmers-right-to-repair-lawsuits-judge-rules-2023-11-27/?ref=404media.co

The memo hearkens back to company founder John Deere, "an innovative farmer and blacksmith who—with his own hands—fundamentally changed the agricultural industry":

https://www.404media.co/a-massive-repair-lawsuit-against-john-deere-clears-a-major-hurdle/

Judge Johnson tells Deere's lawyers that the real John Deere "would be deeply disappointed in his namesake corporation," and calls out their lying. You love to see it.

This kind of thing is happening all over the world as policymakers, regulators and lawmakers take aim at corporate power. The Australian government just announced that it would force Apple to open up iOS to alternative browser engines:

https://open-web-advocacy.org/blog/new-digital-competition-laws-for-australia/

This is obscure and technical, but that's why it's so exciting: rather than mumbling broad platitudes about competition and user choice, the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission's regulation targets a critical leverage point where a small change will deliver huge benefits:

https://www.accc.gov.au/media-release/consumers-and-small-businesses-to-benefit-from-proposed-new-regulation-of-digital-platforms

While there are many browsers in Apple's App Store, they're all just reskinned versions of Safari, all running on the same core engine, Webkit. Webkit is ancient, undermaintained and feature-poor. Crucially, Webkit does not implement the parts of the HTML5 standard needed for WebApps, which would allow app developers a safe channel to offer apps that don't go through Apple's App Store monopoly chokepoint:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/13/kitbashed/#app-store-tax

Now, there's a big jump between announcing this kind of regulation and enacting it. As Mark Nottingham points out, Australia's had an "in principle" commitment to enact a privacy regulation for two successive governments, with no actual regulation in sight:

https://techpolicy.social/@mnot/111546662237364754

So we can't take these announcements as a sign to declare victory and stand down. The policymakers who announce these proposals deserve our accolades for the announcement and they require our constant vigilance until they make good on their promises.

That's the case in Ireland, where the Coimisiún na Meán has just published a fantastic regulatory proposal for recommendation systems, requiring recommenders to be turned off by default and that recommendations based on "political views, sexuality, religion, ethnicity or health" have to be switched off by default:

https://www.cnam.ie/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/Draft_Online_Safety_Code_Consultation_Document_Final.pdf

It's especially significant that this is coming out of Ireland, a corporate crime haven that has successfully lured the world's tech giants into flying its flag of convenience, with the guarantee of tax evasion and lax regulation:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

This rule won't enforce itself. It'll require constant vigilance and pressure. There's plenty of ways to do that on a part-time, voluntary basis, but if this kind of thing enflames you enough to make a career out of it, here's a tenure-track job for an infosec professor at Citizen Lab, fearless slayers of high-tech corporate ogres:

https://jobs.utoronto.ca/job/Toronto-Assistant-Professor-Information-Security-ON/576463017/

That's all for this week's linkdump. It's time for me to go hole up in my office and wrap presents. When I do, I'll be tuning into the latest Merry Mixmas MP3 of Christmas mashups from DJ Riko:

http://www.djriko.com/dls/DJ%20Riko%20-%20Merry%20Mixmas%202023.mp3

Riko's Christmas mashups have been part of my holidays for more than two decades now. He's been making them for 22 years! That's a lot of great holiday mashups:

https://www.djriko.com/mixmases.htm

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/09/gallimaufry/#marty-hench-rides-again

[bicayaya]

as of now, i’m on a semi-hiatus.

under the cut i’ll talk a little about this decision. it’ll probably be a long post and it’s basically a vent, so pls don’t feel pressured to read it.

maybe all i say here will sound confusing, specially because lately expressing myself in english is being very hard. but i’ll try to make some sense.

well, there’s two main reasons why i’m deciding to do this. first of all, ever since i went on a semi-hiatus during may/june, i feel that i’m unable to be 100% back on this account, like i lost my place here. i always felt anxious and nervous about interacting, but somehow it became even worse after being some time away from tumblr. this is no one’s fault (probably just my own), but i can’t help but feel disconnected from the rest of the fandom. which makes me sad, because there’s a lot of people here who i really like and who i miss interacting with more. but in the past few weeks, every time i thought of interacting, something kept blocking me, i felt like i had nothing to add to the conversation and that no one would even care about anything i could possibly say (again, i’m aware that this is mostly my anxiety talking and no one’s to blame for me feeling like this other than myself). this feeling of rejection made me even avoid opening the app some days, because seeing others interacting made me feel even worse about my current lack of social skills.

the second reason is the fact that creating is not bringing me any joy right now. again, a fact that makes me really sad, because i love drawing, i love my ocs and i still have a lot of ideas i would like to share. but the process of creating them isn’t being as fun as it was a few months ago. i had a conversation about this with my psychologist recently, and she made me realize that instead of using my free time doing something i was in the mood to or resting, i was forcing myself to do the things i thought i had to do. i still love art, and i don’t plan on giving up on it, but maybe i should try focusing and trying different hobbies for now. because lately all i felt while trying to create was frustration, and i don’t want to ruin something i love by associating it with bad feelings. and honestly, if i can’t create, i feel like there’s nothing for me to even post here.

these two reasons are also connected to the fact that i’m not on a good mental state right now. i won’t elaborate much, because these are personal matters that i don’t feel comfortable sharing here, but i’ve been feeling down and anxious most of the time. this makes me feel like an awful person, which makes me avoid talking with others because i fear being bad with them (and consequently makes me avoid any kind of interaction, like i said before), and not keeping touch makes me feel even worse and i just keep constantly finding myself in this cicle. my routine is not the healthiest right now either, which i think might be making everything worse.

i’m not happy making this decision, but i think it’s necessary because i’m not happy with how things are right now either. there’s still a lot i would like to share, specially involving my ocs, but i just can’t do anything right now.

even with all of this, i don’t want to lose contact with the friends i’ve made here. you’re all very precious to me and always showed me a lot of kindness and support. if anyone wants to reach out to me for any reason, i’ll still have my tumblr notifications turned on, so you can dm me or send me messages on discord (same username as here). the only posts i’ll be checking out are the ones i’m tagged, so if you want me to see something that you think i might like, feel free to tag me! i’m sure i’ll be happy to see it.

you can also still send asks for me or for my ocs (in this or in their blog). i don’t know if i’ll be able to answer them quickly, as i still have a few old unanswered asks, but i’ll try, specially if it’s something important.

and, something important: i still plan on doing the requests i received on my birthday event. i think it’s unfair to everyone who joined to ignore it and i want to keep my word. but i can’t promise when i’ll post them, because i’ll probably take longer than usual to finish any drawing.

i guess that’s all. please take care everyone, if you need me for anything (or just want to reach out) you know where to find me! hopefully this decision won’t last long.

my intro/masterpost

[heyidkyay]

I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |

Epilogue

A/n: The finale. Heyyy, hope you all enjoyed the last update, I’m beyond grateful for all the love it got alongside the rest of this series, it means more than you’d realise. But I just had to indulge myself and write the epilogue too, made sense tbh and I really do love the way it went, there’s lot going on here and I feel like it was necessary to post! It’s just nearing 20k though so hopefully it’s enjoyable, there are a few different cut scenes, where we time jump, and one point where George gives us a little insight to the ongoings in his life, but overall it just shows the years after the end of 28. I loved writing this a whole lot but I am most thankful to @procrastinatinglikeapro for letting me annoy her with the emotions this brought up as well as giving me a place to bounce ideas around, so thank you, you lovely human:) Hopefully I can put you out of your misery now, and that the rest of you enjoy this last part? Thank you sm for reading! X

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Masterlist

Epilogue -

Dealing with a shit hand in life, had both its downsides as well as its ups. 

With all the crap, the dirt, the anger and the grief, there also came perspective. 

As in, the more you’d been shafted with, the easier it was to deal with the more mundane things life had to throw at you. Like when the washing machine broke mid-cycle and flooded the kitchen floor in early December. Or missing the tube into work and being nearly twenty minutes late for an important client’s meeting. 

Even the times when all of your best mates, who were in a band, get suited and booted for a singular night, and then that said band goes on to win a Brit Award- only, you’ve gone and missed it all because you were stuck somewhere in a line to use the loo.

Yeah.

I swanned back over to our table in the mid-section just after, grateful that I’d had the foresight to check for loo-roll on the bottom of one of my heels as well as grab another champagne flute on my way over. 

Wasn’t one for the stuff, in truth. Literally anything else would’ve been better, but alcohol was alcohol and my anxiety always got the best of me at these kind of events. 

Even though I’d known the boys longer than the band had been formed, I hadn’t actually been to that many. This was my first one in quite a few years.

A small frown had etched itself onto my face by the time I made it over to our little section, the table was now half empty and not one of the boys were in sight- and I even ducked down slightly to see if they were pratting about beneath it too! But no such luck.

“Where’s everybody?” I asked Carly quietly, who’d been grinning like the cat that’d caught the cream before she turned to blink up at me. My forehead furrowed even further as I placed my glass down on the table top and took the seat beside her. “You alright? Is there something on my face or summat? You’re looking at me funny.”

She actually had the fucking nerve to laugh at me then, the cow.

“Oi, tell me!” I urged, swatting at her upper arm lightly after just having dragged my chair in.

“Only you, I swear.” Carly retorted, giggling freely now before she jutted her chin outwards, up towards the main stage. “You missed it, babe! They’re all up there!”

It was my turn to blink then, the alcohol slowing my ability to think functionally, before it finally hit me. My head snapped up towards the front of the room, where, low and behold, stood my four idiots.

Shit, I really needed to slow down.

But that was just a passing thought before I threw myself back up and out of my seat to whoop loudly for them, seemingly having lost all sense of decorum- or whatever it was that these toffpots loved to go on about- my anxiety having been well and truly chucked out the window.

The boys all appeared to glance over at me then, and I heard Carly snort behind an extravagant centrepiece just below me when the four of them laughed. Matty, the honest to God twat who was stood holding the award over by the mic, smirked though too, and it was so shit-eating that I could easily see it from across the floor. Instantly I knew what was coming. 

“Oh and would you look at that, the wonderful Birdie has returned!” Matty shouted out, eyes squinting with the extremity of his grin as he leant in closer over the podium, “Where you been then, B? Missed it, sweetheart! Ross reckoned you popped to the loo’s- pretty snazzy, ain’t they?”

“Felt like a queen!” I quipped right back, apparently unable to bite my tongue. 

The lot of them seemed to appreciate it though, as did some of the room.

“Our poor Georgie was a little lost on the way up, babe! But don’t worry, G, we’re all sorted now.” Matty teased, winking over at the drummer stood to his right. George rolled his eyes, but his mouth was curled to one side in a way that couldn’t be helped. “For everyone who doesn’t know the lovely Birdie! She has been with us sorry lot since the very start.”

“Before it.” Ross cut in from behind him, which sent Matty’s head nodding.

“Yeah! Before it even!” He corrected himself and then pointed the tip of their Brit award towards me, “Don’t think we could’ve made it this far without her, in truth. Probably would’ve had a big massive blow up and never have spoken to each other again, knowing us. But she’s the glue that binds us. Always.”

My heart swelled in my chest so much it almost hurt to breathe, and I couldn’t even bring myself to care for the hundreds of people sat in this room, never mind watching it all unfold on the tele, I’d just never felt so appreciated, especially upon seeing the rest of the boys all nod solemnly in agreement. I wiped haphazardly at my cheeks.

“But, as I was trying to say, long before we were all so rudely interrupted!” Matty went on, earning a round of chuckles throughout the arena. “We are beyond privileged to be here at all, and to have been nominated three times, too. Well, I ‘spose it just shows that we’re doing something right.”

I forced myself to sit back down at that and let the four of them carry on with their thanks. It was so beyond strange to sit through though, I don’t think it had ever really hit me just how much they’d grown and seeing them up there was all the proof I needed.

I thought back to the band practices, to the gigs in shitty dive bars and pubs, to touring and seeing them play for thousands of beaming faces. It reminded me of Carly and Adam’s wedding, and the birth of the band’s first baby. Made me think of Ross’s face when he’d come over to Matty’s after his first proper date, how buzzed he’d been, the look in his eyes. All of it had me wishing for the simpler times strung out by the pool and on the school’s playing fields. 

The years had seemed to pass us by so quickly.

I saw it in the wrinkled smile Hann gave Carly, the greying stands in Matty’s hair, and how G’s knees groaned whenever he sat down- though he’d never willingly admit it.

My family. They’d given me so much, filled many a hole in my war torn heart, but I don’t think they had any actual idea how deeply their presence was felt in me. And so as I stood once more to give another lungful of cheers alongside the rest of the audience, I vowed to make sure that they each knew just how loved they were and how proud they made me.

— 

“Yeah, yup. Of course! No, we do do peonies this time of year. Yes, no need to worry it’ll all be taken care of.” I pressed the phone against my shoulder and ear so that I could grab a nearby pen and paper to write a few details down, then hummed watching on as Delia came out the back of the shop. “Okay, and is that all? No, no, thank you! So it’ll be delivered on the Thursday, is that alright? Yeah. Okay, okay. You’re most welcome! Alright, have a good rest of your day.” Then I finished off the call with a classic British goodbye that always seemed to go on a little too long.

Delia was smiling at me now as she placed a couple of empty pots by the counter, hair plaited down the length of her back and with a pair of reading glasses tangled in its top. “Another order?” 

I hummed again with a happy smile at her ask, finishing off the address I’d just taken. “Yup! Big one too.”

“Oo, how lucky we are.” Delia retorted with a small chuckle and a pleased little smile of her own. It’d been a good week, lots of orders, which was promising after the past month we’d had. She glanced over to the clock on the far wall, then back to me, “You still skiving off early tonight?”

Skiving was hardly the term I’d use, but with a fond roll of my eyes, I nodded at her. “I am. That still okay?” Already knowing it was.

She tutted, waving me off. “You know it is. Just letting you know that he’ll be here any minute now.”

My eyes widened and I was quick to spin around to cast a glance at the time. “Shit.” I murmured to myself, listening to the faint laughter Delia gave as I undid my apron and hurried to tidy up what was left of my last bouquet.

“Leave it, love. I’ll be here another hour or so.”

I frowned, then shook my head, always one to clean up my own messes, but I was interrupted then by the shop door’s jingle. Both Delia and I looked up at the same time to find a familiar figure stepping through its archway, he wore his usual cheeky smile and had eyes that looked more alive than I’d seen in a long while. 

Well, I hadn’t really seen him in a long while, he’d been away on tour with the guys for months now and I’d only gotten small glimpses of him through texts and calls, as well as the odd sporadic visit between us both when we were really feeling the distance.

“George.” I breathed out, recognising the tension I’d been feeling for weeks now finally fall from off my shoulders. I couldn’t bring myself to move though, to race on over and throw myself into him like they did on the tele- mostly because that just wasn’t our style. But I did grin, couldn’t have stopped the beam of it in all honesty, and watched him walk the length of the flower shop only to pause about a foot away with his hands tucked neatly behind his back.

“Heya, Birdie. Fancy seeing you here, ey? And still not ready too. Ain’t already regretting having agreed to let me move in, are you?”

He was teasing. His favourite pastime had always been teasing me. But his words still resonated and as much as I wished to reassure him that that was most definitely not the case, I was still me and if he wanted to be a twat, then I could be an even bigger one. 

“Might be.” I sighed deliberately and slowly moved around behind the counter to hang my apron up on its original hook, before glancing over to where Delia still stood, wearing an amused smirk of her own. Far too used to our antics by now. “Just keep thinking about my lovely little flat being invaded by all your man-ness.”

“My man-ness?” George quizzed, withholding an obvious chuckle whilst he raised a questioning brow over the till at me. 

I hummed, tutting lightly before I glanced back at my boss. “You know what I mean, don’t you, Deils? The boxers and socks thrown about everywhere, wet towels left on the bathroom floor, having to clear up after not just yourself but them as well.”

“Like having a dog.” Delia immediately agreed with a dip of her head, “Eat whatever you feed them and don’t give you a minute alone.”

I snorted whilst George just shook his head at both of us.

“Well, most dogs don’t leave and come back baring gifts.”

“Eh, you’d be surprised.” Delia countered but by then I was already intrigued.

“Gifts, you say?” I questioned him, pressing my hip into the counter to rest my chin against my fist.

“Hm,” George hummed in low confirmation, those eyes of his dancing back and forth between my own, “But you know, could always just head on over to Ross’s, sure he’d be fine with housing me for a couple nights…”

I rolled my eyes at the very thought, “As if! He’s probably glad to see the back of you for a while. I’ve heard stories about tour, G. Remember that.”

It was his turn to snort then. “Most likely. Delia, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare bed going for a poor bloke who’s been fed empty promises and chucked out on his arse, would you?”

Delia sighed and shook her head, although she was still sporting a fond smile. “The pair of you. I swear.” She let go of a soft chuckle before checking my hip and shooing me off, “Get on out of here, would you? Driving me up the wall already.”

“You love us really.” I shot back easily, but was all too happy to oblige, rounding the till to grab my coat and bag before acknowledging that I was now standing a foot away from him once again. It’d been far too long. “Hey.” I said sheepishly.

George rolled his eyes at my awkwardness and made a grab for my hand, pulling me in close and pressing a kiss to my forehead before he slunk his arm around my waist. I let myself fall further into his embrace, taking in his familiar build, the aftershave he adored, the tightness of his hold.

“You ready to go?” He asked me gently and I dipped my head to hide the warmth of my smile, fingers finding a belt loop on his jeans.

“You sure you’re alright with me leaving early?” I said once more to Delia, hating having to leave her in the shop on her own.

“Yes! I’ve only told you about thirty times already, lovely. I’ll be more than fine.” The older woman immediately shot back, palms splayed on the countertop whilst she shook her head at me for umpteenth time today. “I think you forget I’ve been running this shop for well over a decade now, and I’ve been doing alright.”

My cheeks burned a tad at her words, but I just couldn’t seem to help it, once you were one of my people you were in for life. And I took care of the ones I held close. “Sorry, Deils. I know I’m being exhausting, I just-”

“Care.” Both her and George said simultaneously.

And I glared meekly at the pair then huffed, “Well.”

George chuckled beside me, the sound vibrating against the skin of my cheek, and could only seem to pull me impossibly closer, “Too much, sometimes.”

I threw my free hand up in the air with a light laugh, “Right. Sorry I’m overly considerate! But there are worst things you could be, you know. Like rude? Reckon the pair of you would know a thing or two about that.”

“Oh, gerroff it.” Delia laughed delightedly, tutting at me. George seemed content to just continue on grinning. “Go on, get out of here before I chuck you out.”

“You heard the lady, B. Don’t wanna overstay our welcome.” George added as he begun to usher us towards the door, but I saw the sweet smile he flashed the woman before the bell chimed once more. “Lovely seeing you again, Delia.”

“You too, be sure to pop back in before you head off on the road again.”

He laughed but assured her with a promising nod, “Will do.”

—

“That’ll be six fifty, sweetheart.”

I smiled and handed it over, pulling the cocktail I’d ordered across the bar whilst I scoped the place. 

It had been just a typical Tuesday night for me, I’d been in joggers, bra long gone, and curled up in front of the tele, but then George had phoned, spouting this and that about the album, telling me to meet the lot of them at a club down in Canning Town. 

I had no idea whether they’d started, finished, or just scrapped the whole thing, but it’d been doing everyone’s head in for months now, and for G to just call up and send a cab to fetch me out of the blue had me intrigued, so obviously I’d gone.

Only, they had yet to arrive. Fucking London. I swear as much as I loved it most days, you could hardly move an inch without it feeling like the entire city was shifting with you. Our flat was a lot further than the studio, but tonight the roads were crammed pack with traffic that had managed to work its way onto the A12, so I already knew that they’d be a little behind. I was merely thankful I’d had the foresight to skip the cab ride and just jump the tube.

A graze to my left arm then pulled me from my thoughts though and I glanced over to find a fella stood crowding the bar beside me, he was tall, blond, and although he appeared to be waiting on the bartender he was also a little too close for that to be his only intent. But me being me, I simply shuffled over a tad to give him some room and continued to sip at my drink, eyes still trained on the club’s entrance.

“Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to crowd you.” I heard the bloke say from beside me and his hand brushed my elbow as he took a polite step away.

“You’re alright.” I waved off, not really paying him much mind now that the bartender had worked his way back over to take this side’s order.

It was nearing almost eleven now and so I popped my phone out of my purse to see if G had sent me an update. He had, almost ten minutes ago in fact, but apparently I hadn’t heard it over the noise.

G: Stuck in traffic Won’t be long though x

I smiled and shot him a quick text back, saying I’d have a large talisker waiting for him.

It was only when I’d flicked it back off, not bothering with whatever else had popped up, that the guy caught my attention again. He’d already cheersed the bartender for his drink, coloured something ruddy, and then granted me a small smile when our sights crossed.

“I love the watch.” He said to me, dark eyes shooting downward to the antique that adorned my wrist.

Caught mostly by surprise, I found myself looking down at it too. It wasn’t much of a statement piece, dainty if anything and odd in its design due to the age, but it held a lot of sentimental value and was something I rarely ever parted with. Hardly anyone passed comment on it though. 

“Oh, thanks.” I replied, drink already back on the bar before I allowed my thumb to graze across it’s glass face briefly. “It was a gift.”

The man hummed around a swirl of his drink, “Looks rather old, got to be at least sixty now?”

I grinned and my surprise stuck with me, he was almost on the mark there. “Around about, it was given as a present to my grandparents on their wedding day. One of their friends gave them one each.”

That answer warranted a little shock of its own, I supposed. If you knew what to look for you’d see that the watch was a Hans Wilsdorf design from the mid forties and the one my grandad had worn completed a matching set. To say that they’d both been given as a gift, especially way back then, was amazing, but even more so seeing that both my grandparents had been working class.

“Can I?” He questioned and dipped his head down at it, asking for a closer look. 

He appeared to know a little about watches from what I’d grasped, or at least had a fondness for them, and seeing as it wasn’t the strangest thing to ever happen to me in a club, I held out my arm to let him. 

“It’s beautiful, well looked after.” He complimented sincerely with careful eye, “May I?” I frowned at his question, unsure on what he’d meant, but nodded once and was only slightly surprised when he took a gentle hold of my wrist to turn it over and glance at the clasp. “Even the engravings have kept.”

I smiled when he allowed me my hand back, glancing down at the watch again, the dim lights over the bar glinted across the metal. “It’s even got a small inscription on the back too.” I felt inclined to add, the chiseled words having stuck with me ever since I’d first seen them. 

The stranger smiled along with me, as though he understood the emotions my revelation held. “Do they have a story?” He wondered, before adding, “The friend behind the gift.”

It wasn’t a well kept secret, the background of my grandad, the friends he’d kept, the men he’d known. But it wasn’t one I’d heard very much of until the visits I’d taken to my Nana’s long after he had died and I’d left home.

“You could say that.” I chuckled and let my arm relax in my lap once more, “He was a… business man, of sorts. Had known my grandad since they were boys, grew up together.”

“A business man?” The man lifted an elegant brow, mouth following.

“Of sorts.” I reminded with a smirk.

“Oh, like that I see.” He smiled charmingly in retort, “Lots of business men mulling about in the fifties and sixties. Any big names I might know?”

I snorted softly, glad he’d caught on so quickly. “Probably. But I’m no snitch, so you’ll be hearing none.”

He narrowed a pair of dark eyes at me in a manner of teasing at that, and on any other girl they might’ve worked, might’ve even disarmed them. But, I was already happy, happier than I’d ever planned on being actually. “And here I was, thinking we were becoming fast friends.”

With a light laugh, I picked up my drink. “I have enough friends.”

“Oh, that hurts, darling.” The man instantly quipped back, raising a ring clad hand to cover his chest faintly. Yeah, he was definitely playing a game here, but just as I’d been about to affirm the fact that I wasn’t and also had a boyfriend, he spoke up again, “Go on, at least let me know the message engraved on the back.”

I peered over at him for a moment and he only quirked his brow in turn, I put my glass back down on the counter to unhook the first clasp on the watch, not enough for it to slip off (I wasn’t a fucking idiot) but so much so that I could flip the face on its front. And there, in a curved font, was written ‘Family has a way of being found amongst friends’.

“Wow.” The man murmured and I hummed softly in agreement, our heads bowed closely to read the inscription together in the dim lights. “Very wise words.”

I glanced up and smiled at him, ready to reply before a hand snaked its way around my waist. My head shot up at the touch and was greeted with the many faces of the band, but most importantly, George.

“You made it!” I beamed at them all, already shuffling over a bit to make room for the boys. Ross was already leaning against the bar though, ordering in a round, Hann seemed to follow his lead after gifting me an strained smile, which was confusing in itself, until I saw Matty’s shit-eating grin and felt George’s hand grow firmer on my hip.

“We did! Seems like you barely noticed though, love. Havin’ fun tonight, are we?” Matty baited, he was almost singing and his expression was nothing short of gleeful. He reached between me and the bloke I’d been speaking to to grab at my drink. “Cheers, B.” He added, raising the glass to his lips and downing what remained of it.

I rolled my eyes, albeit fondly. “You can buy me another now, Healy.”

Matty hissed theatrically through his teeth as though he was weighing on the thought, “Dunno about that one, sweetheart. Seems as though you’ve got bigger shit to worry about here.”

I pursed my lips in confusion just as the curly haired singer slid from view and then glanced up at George, who stood towering beside me. I poked at his side, “Not gonna even say hello? Been waiting ages for you lot.”

George glanced down at me at that and seemed to take a deep breath before he finally smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to my hair, “Hello, Birdie. Been behaving?”

My forehead pinched at his words, but when I looked up I saw the darkened haze his eyes held and felt my breath hitch. I wasn’t sure if it was down to the lighting in the club or something other, but whatever it was it had my emotions warring.

George turned away before I could mutter a single sound. “Sorry, mate. Don’t think I caught your name.”

It hit me then. 

G was jealous. And oh, how lovely that thought was. 

I was quick to dim the smirk that toyed with my lips upon the realisation and pulled a little bit away from his hold to offer the stranger I’d been sat with a truly apologetic smile, “Oh God, yeah, I didn’t either!”

The man’s stare darted between the pair of us before it landed back on me, he masked his confusion well and said, “Tom.” Then stuck a hand out to properly introduce himself, but before I could even think to take it, George beat me to it. 

I blinked.

“George. Not to be rude though, mate. But she’s already taken, so if you don’t mind?”

Startled by his harsh comment and the jerk of George’s head, I blanched and was hasty to reassure the man sat at the bar, “Don’t mind him.” Then turned to my suddenly temperamental boyfriend, “G, we were just talking about my watch. What’s up with you?”

He raised a single brow in retort but didn’t let up on the continuous stare he had on the stranger. Tom, who looked extremely fucking uncomfortable, merely held up a hand. “Didn’t mean to overstep.” He declared before he set his sights back on me, “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way. But it really was a pleasure meeting you, hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”

I fish-mouthed slightly but nodded, “Yeah, sorry. You too.”

The man granted the pair of us a tiny smile and then let himself get swept up in the club’s crowd. I immediately spun around to face George.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

He had the cheek to reel back from my hissed words, acting as though I was the one being outrageous here. “Me? I didn’t do anything!”

“You were so rude!” I countered and felt his hand slip a tad from its place on my hip, “We were just talking!”

“He was chatting you up!” He immediately argued, “Anyone could see that from a mile off!”

“He was interested in my watch! And even if he was trying to chat me up, don’t you trust me enough to know when to draw the line?” I sniped back, all the earlier amusement I’d felt drained from my body. 

The skin between his brows pinched as he blinked and the palm placed on the small of my back splayed a little further, his voice softened, “Of course I fucking do, Birdie. Doesn’t mean I like watching people like him fawn all over you.”

“G,” I sighed, “We really were just talking.”

He dragged a roughened hand across his face before it dropped completely to his side and saw the imploring look he then wore, “Do you know how it felt, to walk in and spot you and him knocking heads, so lost in the moment that you didn’t even hear me call out your name?”

No, I didn’t.

Slowly I raised both my arms up to tug on the lapels of the blazer he’d thrown on, glancing up at him with a sincere smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. I can see what it might’ve looked like from an outside perspective. But I’d never do that to you, George.”

The tension in his shoulders seemed to loosen at my words, they were no longer hunched up by the lobes of his ears and instead settled where they were supposed to be. 

“I know.” He whispered quietly, but even over all the club’s noise I heard him. The hand on my back pushed against me to bring me closer to his chest and I went, smiling at the gentle touch of the fingers that grasped my chin. “I know.” 

I appreciated the reassurance. 

“And I wasn’t lost in the moment with him, just so you know. More in the story behind the watch.” I added, releasing the hold on his jacket so that my hand could wrap around his wrist, feeling the beat of his pulse there. A familiar rhythm. 

George glanced down at the watch Nana had gifted me all those years ago and then towards the matching face sat on his own arm. A pair reunited.

He knew. He knew the stories, all the tales. He knew the love and the loss. He knew how much I missed her. How much I longed to see her one more time. And in return, I knew he felt very much the same. Nana had taken George in as one of her own before any of us had even realised, called him up more than me some weeks, and in the lead up to her death she’d wanted to see him, to gift him her husband’s watch. He’d sobbed when she’d died and had given quite the speech at her funeral. I knew he understood.

“I love you.” I told him simply, kissing the thumb that had come to rest on my bottom lip, his eyes trained on mine.

“And I love you. I’m sorry for being a dick.” He comforted me. I hummed with a foolishly fond smile. 

“Good, then you can bully Matty into getting me that drink.” And with that said, I let him go, watching as he rolled his eyes at the order before wandering a few feet away to where Matty was sprawling himself across the bar to get a better look at the champagne bottles they had to offer. I guess we were celebrating then. 

Too lost in watching George corral his best mate from off the counter, I jumped a tad when Ross sidled up beside me, a fruity cocktail in hand.

“What is it with you and handsome strangers then?” He asked me casually and I snorted out an unexpected laugh.

“Dunno really. Why, you jealous?”

Ross wiggled his brows at me, “Wouldn’t that put a spin on the evening.”

The two of us shared a conspiratorial grin and he finally told me why the hell I’d been dragged out of my flat tonight.

—

“Vegas, ba-by!”

“Whoo!”

“VEGAS! VEGAS! VEGAS!”

“Alright, you lot.” George laughed from the backseat of the limousine Matty had rented out for the night- a bit over the top in my opinion, but when in Las Vegas, right? “Calm it down, will you? Only just got here.”

“Oh piss off, George!”

“Should I take my top off?”

“Yeah, fuck off, grandad!”

“I feel like I should take my top off.”

“Shit, is that Elvis?”

“I’m gonna take my top off!”

“Oi!” George’s arms wrapped around my middle and pulled me back down from the sunroof before I could, and I landed in his lap with an oof sound. “None of that, please.”

Hann snorted in the lounger across from us, a bottle of Smirnoff clutched in his right hand as he poured another shot, but was caught off guard by the shirt that came sailing at his face. It was then that Matty’s head popped back into view. 

“No worries, B. Ross took his top off in your stead.”

George snorted, Hann sighed, and I jumped back up to join in on the fun. 

“G, hold this, would you?” I said, top already balled up in my hand and cleavage to the wind whilst I grinned widely at all the lights that Sin City had to offer me.

…

We all ended up on the strip soon enough, limo long gone and the five of us marvelling at all it had to offer. We only had a night to pack full to the brim with stupid choices and a shit ton of money, because tomorrow we were set to head back on the road, headed off to a festival not too far for the band’s next show.

“Where to first then?” Hann asked everyone. 

“Caesars Palace!” The boys all chorused, but me, I had my mind set on other things. “Magic Mike.”

Matty looked over at me for a short moment whilst the rest of the guys simply raised their brows. “Yeah, alright then.” He agreed all too easily enough and that was it. “Magic Mike here we come!” Matty declared loudly before setting off, “Ross, mate, don’t get hard and embarrass us, alright?”

Ross’s bewildered squark was lost in the crowd of people we got swept up in as well as our obnoxious laughter.

…

It seemed that Magic Mike had been an experience and a half, and not just for me either. Matty left the show with a Cheshire sized grin, both Hann and G looked pink in the cheeks, and Ross… Ross was flushed and sporting glassy eyes. I’d been pretty chuffed with their reactions all in all, especially when one of the dancers had tried to drag George of all people up onto the stage. He’d refused adamantly, mind, probably too fearful of the fan’s reactions, but the woman beside us- well into her sixties and sporting a cane- had been all too happy to offer herself up instead. 

We’d wandered off to the casinos after that, but instead of heading straight towards the first table we saw or scoping out the machines, we all seemingly decided on shoving as much alcohol as we could possibly procure down our throats. To say that the aim of the night wasn’t getting sloshed beyond repair would be an utter lie. But this was Vegas and I would not stand to have it any other way.

Saying that though, with all the alcohol a lot of the night seemed to blur, sort of merge into one, the strip lights started to look like rainbows, the cars that passed appeared more Pac-Man like than anything else, and bad ideas seemed like the smartest thing we could do. 

Which is how George and I managed to evade the rest of the band in one of the local bars and escape to where we were currently stood, outside of a tiny chapel a street away from an In-and-Out. Classy. But I’d take it.

“You sure about this?”

“Are you? It was your idea!”

“With you? Always.”

We both seemed to giggle at that.

“I could really go for a burger, you know.”

“B, aren’t you like a plant person?”

I snorted. “Vegetarian, you mean?”

“Hm, same thing, in’t it? Don’t think birds actually eat burgers though.”

Birds. “Well for one, I’m not an actual bird. And b, have you ever seen a seagull?”

“Shit, yeah. You’re right.” A thoughtful pause. “Think I want a burger too.”

“Alright, after this then?”

“Yeah, alright.” He grabbed my hand a little tighter at that and I looked over to find him grinning like a loon. “After this.”

…

I startled awake to loud incessant knocking and immediately groaned into my pillow at the pitiful pounding it kickstarted in my head. I’d never felt so worn and sluggish, and a hellish fury rose within me at the startle, but seeing as the knock-ee couldn’t see through walls, I supposed they still had no idea that they were currently the cause of World War III.

Somewhere to the right of me, George seemed to wake also, grunting at the onslaught of noise and huffing loudly, “Fuck off!”

I winced at the jarring sound of his voice, and it appeared he did too, but was grateful when the banging finally stopped. Only it wasn’t for long because as soon as it did, it started up again and was joined by Matty’s head-splittings shouts.

“Open! This! Fucking! Door!”

He was relentless and somewhere, in the very depths of my mind, I found it odd how he wasn’t in his or someone else’s hotel room nursing a violent hangover of his own.

“Now! Open this door right fucking now!”

It stopped again for a moment, catching me enough by surprise that I dug myself out from under a plethora of sheets. Then let my eyes slip close again in annoyance when a second voice sounded alongside Matty’s own.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to either calm down or leave.” Came the muffled order, “We’ve had multiple complaints in the last five minutes alone.”

“Calm down? Calm down! Mate, I don’t think you have any right to ask that of me right now! I’m freaking the fuck out here. I’m beyond fucking pissed! YOU HEAR ME?” He seemed to shout louder then, obviously aiming that last bit at us. George huffed beside me but thankfully made to move. “FUCKING FUMING! I MEAN, WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE- FRIENDS, EVEN! DO THAT TO A-”

The tyrant roaring cut off then and I peered across the room to watch as George ripped the hotel door open and tugged Matty into the suite by his elbow, all whilst wearing nothing but a thin sheet. 

“Will you shut up, you mouthy twat?” He muttered, levelling Matty with a glare nothing short of hellish, though was only met with a childish scowl in turn, before he looked back at the bellhop, a well groomed man with sleek black hair and a thin lipped smile. I groaned internally. “Look sorry, mate. He’s had a rough night, we’ll make sure to keep the noise down from now on.”

“Rough night?” Matty snarled with an undisguised snort- whatever had him this riled up was sure to have been big. But George gave him another look of disdain, apparently not all that pleased to have been so rudely awoken and forced to deal with his bullshit, and he relented to a scowl. I kept myself hidden beneath the covers.

“It won’t happen again.” George quietly assured the hotel worker and sighed heavily once the man had given him a curt nod and the door had shut. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” He immediately asked, rounding on the curly haired idiot now stood in our room, before taking a deep breath and stalking his way back across the floor, dragging the sheet with him. I attempted to sit up.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you! I can’t fuckin’ believe you two!”

With a frown that was more of a pained grimace, I grabbed a random shirt from off the floor beside the bed and tugged it on- it was George’s, but thankfully it’d been the one he’d chucked off before we’d headed out last night.

Thinking back to last night though, I rubbed at my bleary eyes and tried to recollect the events that had happened after the fishbowls we’d devoured at a themed bar I could not for the life of me remember the name of. But they just wouldn’t come.

“What’s wrong, Matty?” I questioned, my voice all gravelly, and I faintly recalled then having screamed quite a bit- in all sorts of situations. My cheeks flushed at the vague memories that swam towards the forefront of my mind.

“What do you mean, what’s wrong? B, how fucking could you!” Matty quipped straight back, looking just as grim as I felt, his hair in disarray, still in last nights clothes, and stinking up a storm.

“Matt. I need you to slow down, my head’s fucked enough as it is and you’re not helping.” I told him, scrunching my face up as a sudden wave of nausea rocked through me. 

“Exactly.” George grunted out and I looked over to see him forcing up a pair of boxers, beyond the point of caring if he had an audience or not.

Matty glared between the pair of us, but then George sighed and sat himself back down on the bed, and Matty’s narrowed eyes seemed to soften. “You honestly have no clue what I’m on about, do you?”

I rubbed at my temples, “No idea.”

“Hm.” George muttered in a huffed agreement and swiped a hand across his face before he stilled in his entirety.

“What?” I said, confused by the way he’d gone so stock-still, “If you’re gonna chuck up there’s a bin right there.” I added just in case, gesturing halfheartedly over towards the cluttered desk not too far from the bed.

George didn’t seem to hear me though, instead just turned very carefully and very slowly in his seat to look over at me.

“What?” I asked him again, this time a little more frenzied, throwing my hands down onto the duvet that covered my lower half in a huff. My patience had already been worn thin, and he really wasn’t making things much better. 

George’s gaze seemed to follow my hands though, before his head instantly snapped back up in Matty’s direction like a rubber band that’d been cut. 

“Oh shit.”

Matty rolled his eyes. “Yeah, oh shit.”

“What? What’s goin- Oh, shit.”

My eyes caught on the glinting stone stationed on my left hand and my breath caught, all thoughts fleeing as my lungs refused to function any further than that. Oh shit indeed. 

“I- What does that even mean?” My gaze darted from Matty’s bewildered face to George’s shellshocked expression and then to the man’s matching hand. “Christ. What did we do?”

I was really freaking the fuck out now and wondered briefly if this was all just an alcohol induced dream, if I’d had one too many shots, or stumbled too hard and ended up face first in a fountain.

But then the door to our hotel room shot open and in swanned Ross looking like Camilla on Coronation day, as well as Adam who was scrolling frantically through his phone. 

Ross seemed to have hardly been affected by any of last night’s antics, still looking as lovely as ever, and was unwelcomely singing a familiar Billy Idol tune as the two of them wandered in further. “Hey little sister, what have you done? Hey little sister, who's the only one?”

I chucked the nearest thing I had to me at his giant head, which ended up being a small red box, but he merely caught it in midair and grinned. “It's a nice day to start again. It's a nice day for a-” He carried on with his wind-up, peering down at the box passingly before his eyebrows shot up to a scary degree. He whistled lowly, cutting himself completely off, then let his wide eyes glance over to George and I. “White wedding.”

Those last two words had the entire room falling silent. The hotel even, hell, maybe the entire fucking planet! I could barely hear anything above the beating of my own heart that had started banging like a metal drum in my ears.

Belatedly, I forced myself to try and gauge George’s reaction to this whole thing but my boyfriend- oh God, my fiancé now? Husband?!- appeared to already be staring right back at me. His expression gave nothing away except for the apparent shock swimming in his eyes. I wondered if I mirrored it exactly.

Matty, who’d been silent ever since the revelation had hit the two of us, now seemed to jump start and cautiously he made his way over to my side of the bed, precariously taking perch in front of me before he then took my hand- the one without the life-altering reminder, thankfully. Small mercies. 

“B? You okay?”

My mouth was dropped open in utter shock but slowly I turned my head to stare up at my best friend, the boy who’d been with me through everything. Everything but this it seemed. 

“Hey, love. You’re alright. Just a big shock to the system, yeah? You’re alright.”

His quiet reassurances didn’t do much, but they helped ebb the fizzing thoughts my mind didn’t have the capability to process a bit. I forced myself to inhale, to take a breath, but it must’ve seemed rather abrupt to Matty who hastily drew himself closer to place a hand on the back of my neck.

“Just breathe. I’ve got you. Breathe. You’re alright.”

I started nodding, I think. Attempted to absorb the information whilst I breathed in and out, breathing like Matty told me to. Another set of hands found me soon enough. Mindlessly I acknowledged the dip in the bed beside me, as well as the careful fingers that threaded themselves through my hair, and then the loving thumb which trailed sweetly down the length of my forearm.

“You feeling any better?” Someone asked a little while later, and I nodded slowly, forcing my head back up and my eyes open once I no longer felt like the room was caving in on me. 

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, love. Nothing to be sorry for.” The voice assured me, it was George, I realised.

“Feel like a twat. For reacting like that I mean. I didn’t, I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t want to-” I could barely bring myself to say it, but George seemed to understand me nevertheless. 

We’d spoken about it before, of course. But not since we’d gotten back together and only ever when we’d been kids, way back before the band had taken off, before life had chewed us up and spat us back out. 

I’d never been gone on the idea, marriage was a big deal, scary in a sense. Seeing what it had done to my parents, to my mum after losing my dad, I never wanted to end up like that. Too terrified to be alone and too desperate to fill that void with anything and anyone. My skin itched even now at the very thought.

But I was also old enough to realise that whether George and I were… married or not, I’d still be just as destroyed if I lost him.

George had vaguely agreed with me back then, though I do remember one night, at Nana’s the summer after our first visit there, where he’d said something different. We’d been curled up on the guest bed, wine drunk and happy, he’d held me close, half naked with our arms and legs entangled, he’d whispered and I’d barely even heard him, slipping tiredly into sleep. But he’d said it and I’d remembered, even after all these years.

“If I ever did get married, it’d have to be to you. I mean, you’re an anomaly, Birdie. You’d make sure it worked out, that everything would be okay. Reckon then, it’d all be fine.”

I recalled myself smiling sleepily at his words but unable to truly believe them.

George loved me and I loved him. And that was all that mattered, right?

Nothing could change that. It hadn’t then, and it wouldn’t now. I knew that.

“Wait, how did you lot even find out?” I forced myself to ask the rest of the room, chest still aching from the panic I’d put my body through, thoughts starting to numb the headache of my hangover. I glanced between the rest of the boys, but my sights settled on Matty seeing as though he’d been the first one to barge in. “Well?” I prompted. 

Matty scratched at the back of his head and I watched his mouth quirk up into something that resembled a smile, only it was anxious and strained. Didn’t reach his cheeks, let alone his eyes.

“Twitter.” Hann answered for the three of them, already handing his phone over. 

George wrapped an arm around my hips and shuffled closer to view the screen, whilst I had the pleasure of scrolling aimlessly through a feed of fan reactions and news outlets. The panic that was still there came back in full force but I wouldn’t let it overwhelm me like I had before, instead opting to swallow it all down and continue on.

“How did they even find out?” George questioned with a strange pitch to his voice upon seeing multiple pictures of the two of us loving it up outside the chapel we’d obviously chosen, as well as us eating by a window at a nearby In-and-Out Burger it seemed. Fucking hell, was all I could think.

Ross tossed the box I’d thrown at him earlier towards George and we both glanced down at it. It hadn’t just been an ordinary box and I could see that now, what with the sleek embossed logo for a Las Vegas jewellers sat proudly on the top.

“Couple of people saw you inside the shop, called the paps. Things started to add up when they caught sight of you at that chapel, I ‘spose.” The bearded giant told us and I felt the lump in my throat start to grow. 

I’d been pictured with the band and George before, on tour mostly, but sometimes at events and such, but rarely ever papped in public. Not like this at least.

I let my head drop onto George’s shoulder and wielded my eyes tightly shut, I wanted to scream or cry, but I didn’t know whether it was in joy or utter fear.

Then I felt a soft pair of lips come to rest against my head and I moved slightly to wrap my arms around George’s middle, wincing when I realised I hadn’t even asked him how he was feeling.

“How are you taking all this? I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry.” I murmured into the curve of his arm, but he only seemed to press his face deeper into my hair.

“Look, we’d best give you some space, yeah?” I heard Adam start to say, voice echoing in the quiet room. “Let you get some clothes on and sort your heads out.”

“Yeah.” Matty breathed out in agreement and the bed shifted as he removed his weight from it, his hand squeezing my shoulder just the once.

“Maybe text us when you feel like talking, we can grab some food and bring it back up.” Ross suggested and I felt George nod above me, and together we sat there listening to footsteps pad their way out of the room. Leaving us alone again. 

—

So after that whole scandal, England’s very own Ross and Rachel eventually had to make their way back home. And yes, Ross and Rachel because let’s be honest here, if George and I were anyone amongst the Friends cast then we’d of course be those two. And I don’t know, Matty could probably play at being a good Phoebe, then Ross and Hann would end up as Joey and Chandler- work it out between yourselves on who’s who there. And I suppose that would leave the lovely Carly as our very own Monica. Only, this is all happening before season four, of course, and Carly is already back home waiting for her husband to touchdown. 

So maybe not. I don’t know! My mind was still in a right state after everything that had gone down in Vegas, and I’d hardly been able to process most of it due to tour and the festival, and the onslaught of fans and paps, as well as people back home. Denise had not been happy to find out the way she had, let’s just make that one thing known. 

And then there’d been George’s parents. 

Sighing quietly, I placed a hand over George’s own to still the nervous tapping that seemed constant nowadays and watched as he stilled for a moment, turning in his airplane seat to glance over at me. 

I allowed my body to mimic his movements, only pulling my leg up to press against the arm of the chair and resting my head to the side. I smiled softly at him, more than a little glad that we’d made the decision to take separate flights from the rest of the boys in attempt to throw off the media. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, letting him take my hand in his and not saying a word when he toyed with the silver band that had yet to leave my ring finger.

George shrugged a shoulder, gaze caught on the pretty stone. “I haven’t a clue what I’ll say, is all.”

I licked my lip in thought, still watching him closely. The plane back home probably wasn’t the best place to talk about this, but we’d hardly had a minute alone since Vegas, what with the tour and the guys and everybody else. And besides, if there were any privileges to take full use of when dating a musician you’d drunkenly married then it would most definitely be First Class seats. Everyone else around us was either dead to the world or wearing headphones. We were safe enough here.

“Did you answer yet? Or, are even you going to?”

He drew in a large enough breath before he answered me, but that seemed to be answer enough.

“I haven’t yet and I don’t know. I- They’ve called quite a bit, but mum left a voicemail the day after and later on dad sent a text.” He revealed and I tried to reign back my surprise, though it made sense now to how little he’d wanted his phone near him the past few days, even when he’d been casting it longing glances from across the length of the tour bus.

I swallowed. “Have you listened to it?”

He dipped his head in a nod but didn’t meet my eye, attention still so focused on the hand he held.

“Right… and have you read your dad’s message?” Another nod. This was so hard, I’d honest to God been dreading their reactions so I had no idea just how George was taking it all. I desperately wanted to just tug him in and never let him go again, hope that if he stayed wrapped up in a hug that the world would just leave him be. “Did,” I took a small breath to gather myself, “Did they react like you expected?” Badly, it could only mean badly.

I heard him let out a small and tired chuckle, “Mum did. Dad…”

Okay, so there was hope. There was still hope.

“I listened to the voicemail first, it was,” George inhaled sharply and I took note of the deep furrow between his brows, the way his touch softened on my hand, circling the ring. “It was a lot. I expected it though. The shame she felt I brought, getting married like that, looking the way we did, drunk and stupid. Her words, not mine. Said she wouldn’t be surprised if I was high out of my mind too, or if it was all just fake in an attempt to spurn her some more and get attention.”

Talk about being full of yourself. But I kept that thought to myself, I was angry yes, fuming even, but it was George’s call on how we handled this, because we would, together.

He sighed again, but finally looked back up at me. “She said a lot of other shit I can’t be arsed to think about anymore. But just know that I know that none of it’s true. Hurtful, yeah. Of course. But true?” He shook his head, “Nah.” He exhaled, “And I know we haven’t really,”

“Spoken about it?” I finished for him and he smiled, this tiny but fond thing that sent my heart stuttering.

“Yeah. But no matter what happens, this,” He tugged my palm up to his chest and held it between his hand and his heart, “This is the greatest thing I’ll ever accomplish.”

My eyes instantly prickled at that, just as my breath was knocked from deep within me. I had to fight to swallow and felt my hand clutch the cloth of his shirt.

“Me too.”

George grinned, a complete 180 to the tender smile he’d been wearing, but still so gut-wrenching. Only, in the very best way.

“Good.” He whispered to me, tens of thousands of feet up in the air, and lifted our joined hands to press a kiss to my skin. “Good.”

“So this is it? It’s sticking?” I asked him, hope already so high that I was sure it would shatter if he wasn’t there already holding his arms out towards me. 

He chuckled at my words and leant in close, fingers toying with my ring. “It’s sticking.”

My breath hitched and I found that I was grinning too, almost madly. Eyes trained on his whiskey brown, the very same I’d been staring into for well over a decade now. And still, they mesmerised me like no other.

“Good.” I whispered and finally closed the gap between us.

—

Life after getting hitched was, almost boring in a way? Things continued on as they always did, G in the studio and me at the flower shop. Our friends had gotten over the fact that we’d eloped on a whim- namely Matty, although he was still a little bitchy about it at times. And Denise had thrown us the loveliest party when we’d gotten back to the UK (not that anything could’ve stopped her, not even an apocalypse it would seem). 

The party had been a small affair with just the people we held nearest and dearest, and although it’d been to celebrate the two of us and our commitment to one another, it had also been a great excuse to see everyone we hadn’t seen in ages again, even if we did end up apologising to them every five minutes. George’s dad even ventured down to join in on the festivities, which was the biggest but best surprise yet. The two of them were now working hard on rekindling their relationship with the absence of his mother.

It was just the media that had yet to die down in truth, so we were forced to get used to seeing our ugly mugs plastered everywhere, online and on magazine shelves. Fans of the band were a little intrigued by the idea of George having someone permanent too, even if I had already been around for ages. But Matty had mentioned to me previously when I’d brought it up one evening, that only the older lot really knew of me, from gigs and old photos, hardly anyone knew that G and I had been together since we were kids, let alone having been in a relationship for a little over two years now. It was strange but I left it be.

It was summer again, finally, and everyone was currently taking up residence in Hann’s back garden. See, Carly had wanted to throw a bit of a get-together, have a barbecue now that the sun was back out and everyone was in London again, or at the very least England (cough, cough, Matty).

Hann had been unable to say no, typical for the two of them, and had started sending out invites via text as soon as. 

I was surprised I’d actually made it, in all honesty. Not that I’d had other plans or simply didn’t want to be there- there was no place on Earth I’d rather be than with this useless lot- but all week I’d been feeling like shit. But I’d been a bit under the weather for a short while now, on and off really, though I’d yet to go and see anyone about it. Ever since the crash and all that crap a couple years back, I’d really struggled with hospitals and doctors, hated the thought of them, even phoning up for G had me feeling queasy. 

This morning I’d felt beyond nauseous and more than a little crap when I’d woken up, but George had made breakfast after having popped out to the shops and had come back with a bouquet, as well as a hello from Delia, which had put me in much better spirits. So I’d gotten ready and forced myself into the car and had been quite thankful for doing so up until now.

We were all gathered out in the garden, the sun was shining bright, the grill was alight, drinks were being passed round, and me, I was absolutely fucking miserable. I was far too hot, even in my pretty sundress, feeling flustered beyond belief at the onslaught of emotions that kept on hitting me, and then to top it all off my stomach had been acting up since I’d sat down and caught a whiff of the onions on the grill.

I pressed a palm to the base of my neck as I struggled to keep my cool, breathing steadily whilst hardly paying attention to the chatter of the girls sat around me. It was the usual group of us, some of which I hadn’t seen for a good couple months, but I could not bring my body to simply just focus or stop irritating me in its entirety.

It was just as Matty swanned over, an arm flung round Waughy’s waist as the two of them talked, that I couldn’t stay sat there anymore. I was quick to flash the pair of them a welcoming grin but excused myself to make my way back inside.

“You okay?”

I glanced up at the voice, beyond grateful to have escaped the sun, and caught sight of Carly messing with some extra picky bits on the counter, salad and whatnot.

I forced another smile and nodded, “Yeah, just wanted to nip to the loo.”

Carly copied the sentiment, though gifted me a bottle of water that she had on hand before I could dash off, “Take that, you’re looking a little flushed, babe. Might help with the heat.”

My smile was more genuine this time around as I took her up on the offer, enjoying the crisp chill that lined the outside of the bottle. “Thanks. And yeah, reckon I’ll just sit in the shade for a bit.”

Carly went to say something else then but was thankfully pulled away by the toddler that came shuffling through the backdoor. I took the opportunity to hurry out of the kitchen and towards the downstairs bathroom, sliding in and shutting the door with a sigh.

I went straight on over to the sink and turned on the water just to wet my hands before taking up perch on the closed toilet lid, listening to the water trickle and flow, hoping it would calm me slightly. Then I took the chance to down half the bottle Carly had gifted me, a bit grim sure, but with the loo being my only escape I hardly had a choice here. The water was practically heaven sent and allowed me a second to take relief in the coolness the room had to offer, its chilly tiles and blinded window kept any and all sunbeams at bay.

But now that I had managed to evade the heat, I realised I’d been left with a rather prominent headache I hadn’t noticed earlier in my agitation. Knowing Hann though, he was always well prepared and probably kept a couple paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet.

I grinned when I got up and pulled open a door to find that I’d been right. I went to grab at the packet only to pause when I caught sight of something else sat on the shelf below it.

A box of pregnancy tests.

No, I thought. It wouldn’t make any sense. But it really seemed to hit me in that moment that maybe, just maybe everything I’d been feeling as of late could boil down to one single thing.

“No.” I repeated, this time out loud and accompanied by a disbelieving laugh. But still I found my hand reaching towards them.

I only reckoned that they were in there in the first place because Adam and Carly had given away the fact that they had wanted to start trying again a couple months prior. Around Easter time I think it had been.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, but they all seemed drawn to this singular idea, and although I already knew that it was stupid, almost incredibly so, to even think that I could be, well… I still allowed myself to grab at them and it was almost on autopilot that I pulled out a stick and shakily made my way back to the toilet.

I made quick work of it, all that water I’d been drinking seemed to help, and found myself leaning over the sink waiting for a stick to determine what I already knew would be false. It had to be. There was no other way.

But then. I guess there was.

My eyes widened and I reckoned I forgot how to breath let alone how to think when I caught sight of the exact opposite of what I’d been expecting. 

Oh and wasn’t that the worst word to use right then. Expecting.

A jolted knock at the door knocked me right back into reality and my wide eyes flew over towards it. I didn’t answer though, I didn’t have in me, but then the knock came again, followed by a, “B, you in there?”

Fuck, Matty. Of course it’d be Matty!

“Yeah?” I called back, voice as shaky as my legs seemed to be.

“You alright? Only, you looked a bit peaky out there, then Carls mentioned it too. Figured I’d come check.”

With trembling hands I pushed myself off of the sink and across the tiled bathroom floor, steeling myself before fiddling with the lock. “Fuck.” I muttered, shaking so severely now that I was surprised I was still standing.

“B?” Matty asked again, but I somehow managed to open the door a crack to find him stood on the other side, a pair of dark sunnies tucked into his effortless curls and his usual grin in place, although looking a tad bit wobbly. “You alright in there?”

I swallowed and before I could think better of it I said, “Get Ross.”

Matty’s expression crinkled in confusion and to be fair to him, it was a strange ask, I must’ve looked a right state, but I wasn’t asking for him or for George, I was asking after Ross.

“What? B, just let me in, will you. What’s goin’ on?”

I shook my head and held tightly onto the doorframe as though it was the only thing keeping me upright, it likely was. “I need Ross.”

The quizzical frown Matty wore only deepened but he backed up a bit, “Come on, stop being a prat. You’re acting weird, freaking me out a bit, in truth.” He chuckled faintly, obviously still conflicted, “Just let me in and we can talk, yeah?”

“Just fuck off, Matty! Call Ross, now.” I all but ordered and the surprise that fluttered through his features would’ve been surprising but I was too far gone to be paying attention to all of his many emotions when I could barely hold onto my own. “Please.”

His resolve seemed to crack at that and he looked at me for a long second before nodding swiftly, “Yeah, alright. Yeah, I’ll go get him.”

I swallowed down the choking sensation I suddenly felt crawling up my throat and nodded in reply, shutting the door before he even had the chance to run off.

“Fuck.” I hissed through my teeth, pressing my face against the bathroom door in an odd attempt to keep myself from sobbing outright.

Had I been too harsh? Matty had only wanted to help. I understood that. I did. But it was Matty, and as much as I fucking loved the daft idiot, this was not a scenario he was built for. Not at all. If I’d’ve let him in and he’d seen that test sat on the sink he’d have freaked out even worse than me. The whole house, no, the entire street would’ve known something was amiss the second he started having a mental breakdown. It was better this way.

And besides, I felt like I really needed my big brother for this one. This was real life shit, and as much as Ross and I bickered and fought, we had a relationship like no other. He was someone I’d always looked up to, someone who knew how to talk me down, to keep me grounded and centred. He had all the answers, and when he didn’t then he knew exactly what to say to sound as though he did. He’d know what to do, he’d sort it all out.

I jumped at the knock that came in that next moment, feeling the vibration buzz through my skull and only accentuating the headache I’d given myself, but still I moved towards the lock once more and was beyond grateful to just see Ross stood there, hunched a little to peek in through the gap at me with a smile.

“You called, your highness?” He remarked playfully and before I could even get the door open any further, the tears started flowing helplessly and I had to watch the way Ross entire expression went from playful to utter horror in a split second. “B, what happened?” He immediately asked, crowding against the door to shuffle in and I allowed him, watching him lock the door once more before I fell into his arms completely. 

“Shit. You’re alright, love. It’s okay.” He reassured me softly before carefully wrapping his arms around me, sheltering me from the rest of the world.

The two of us stayed like that for a while, I wasn’t sure how long in truth, enough to let the dull rock he’d started up calm me whilst listening to the faint murmuring of his voice. It was familiar and so very needed right then that I clung on tighter to the back of his shirt as I tried to muddle through my messy mind.

We pulled away soon after, though he still kept me at arms length whilst guiding us both over to the side of the small bath. Ross took a seat on its edge and I followed, thankful that he had the foresight to keep an arm wrapped around my shoulders to keep me close, otherwise I figured I might’ve slipped right into the tub.

“You wanna share with the class or am I gonna have to play a round of charades here?”

I chuckled wetly at his crap joke but it appeared to settle him a bit, being back on familiar ground.

I sniffed and smiled when a wad of tissue was shoved my way. “Ta. Sorry for um, all this. Just, I didn’t want to talk to anyone else.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, glad I could be some help.” Ross laughed, squeezing me a little tighter and assuring me that he meant it, “So, you gonna fill me in on what has you sobbing in Hann’s loo? There are burgers out there, mate, and hotdogs, fucking kebab skewers even! What’s there to moan about?”

I elbowed his side lightly, finding humour in his words just like he’d wanted. “I’m a fucking veggie, Ross.”

“Shit, yeah. Forgot about that detail.”

I rolled my eyes and then rubbed at my nose lightly, “Only known me since you were about ten, MacDonald.”

“And aren’t you grateful for it.” Ross quipped right back with a smirk, “Come on now, spill.”

I huffed and was forced to remember the terrifying detail I’d been trying to come to terms with, not that I really could. But before I could even utter a word I felt Ross go so utterly still beside me and instantly glanced back up to follow the direction of his gaze. He’d spotted it.

The world seemed to fall out from under me then, whether it was down to the realisation that he now knew too, or the fact that Ross had let go of me to grab at the stick on the sink, I didn’t know, but it was spinning and I only felt myself settle once more when Ross’s eyes finally locked on mine again.

“Ross?” I tried, attempting to gauge his reaction through a watery gaze.

He opened his mouth to speak but then quickly shut it again, glancing back down at the pregnancy test he held. Never had I ever in my life seen Ross speechless. But of course, I’d been the one to manage it.

“Ross, come on.” I gulped down a stutter, shifting on the edge of the bath as my entire body buzzed with nerves. “Say something. I need you to at least say something.”

He inhaled a large breath, big enough that it echoed off the tiles around us, before he finally looked back at me and said, “I’m not touching any of your piss right?”

I snorted in disbelief, because of course that’d be the first thing he’d say. “No, you twat, I put the lid back on.”

Ross sighed as though it was a huge relief- and I guess it was, I wouldn’t want to be touching his piss either- but I was relieved when he claimed his seat back beside me. “So, a baby huh?”

I blew out a breath and now that there was not much left to laugh about I felt a more sombre mood fall over us. “Maybe. Could be. I dunno.”

“Those are all the same answer, mate.”

Shooting him a look, Ross held up his hands and laughed lightly.

“I’m just saying, I mean, isn’t that how it works? You take a test and bish bash bosh, baby.”

With a snort I knocked into him lightly and rolled my eyes, “Sure, exactly like that.”

“You know what I mean.” He retorted, mimicking the movement before he glanced back down at the test he had yet to let go of. “Or you could take another? Just to be sure?”

I tongued at the inside of my cheek, thinking it over. I almost didn’t want to, one pregnancy test could be a fluke, but two? Even three? I’d have a fucking world class breakdown, move over Matty cause I’d definitely be taking the place as the groups most unhinged, or maybe I already was. Probably. We’d have to have a debate the next time I remembered. We liked those.

“Come on, Carls won’t mind and look,” Ross pushed, standing up and turning away from me, “I’ll even turn around so I don’t see.”

With a chuckle, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. Doing this once on my own had been hard enough, if I had to try again I don’t know what I’d do. “Alright.” I whispered and took another test from the box.

“You need me to hum or something?” Ross asked after a moment of shuffling from me. I turned the tap back on to try and cover up the sound, because I’d always been an awkward sort of pee-er. Was that even a word? But still struggled.

“Maybe. Or try the shower.”

“What like turning it on?” I could hear the frown in his voice.

“No, get in it, dickhead. Yes, I meant turn it on!”

“Fucking hell.” He muttered under his breath as he moved to do so, “Hope the baby doesn’t get your patience.”

I tossed the empty box at his back, “Don’t say that!”

The fucking prick laughed.

“Alright, alright! Go on. I can’t hear anything now.”

Thankfully, that big bottle Carly had given me as well as the one I’d been nursing in the car and then outside came into clutch then and I managed to go again.

I flushed and washed my hands, drying them off on the hand towel before telling Ross he could turn back around.

“How long do we wait then?” He questioned from over my shoulder, making me jump.

Stilling my racing heart, I let out a breath. “Two minutes or so.”

Ross hummed from behind me then moved to the side to wrap me up in his arms again, it was nice having someone there this time around, like finding shelter in a rainstorm. 

And so we waited. The seconds felt eternal and the minutes passed excruciatingly slow, but eventually, eventually, we had to look.

I bit my lip. “I can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Why the fuck not, he asks! I’m fucking terrified, Ross. I can’t be a mum! I hardly even a person, let alone an actual adult!” I stressed, breathing heavier now that even I noticed it, but Ross only pulled me closer and looked down at me.

“You’re incredible. You hear me? You’ve looked after us lot for years, so I know you’ll fucking ace this shit without even having to try. You’re brilliant, B. Everyone who’s ever met you can tell you as much. If you’re pregnant, then you’ll deal with it like you do everything. But you won’t be doing it alone. You’ve got us. You’ve got a family. And most of all, you’ve got G. He’d do anything for you. A baby will only solidify that. Do you really think he’d leave you high and dry?” He must’ve seen the look that crossed my face when he said that because he blinked, “You do, don’t you?”

“It’s not- I’m-” I stuttered, unable to really defend myself against that statement because a small part of me was scared of exactly that. “I love him, Ross. I do. I just-”

“You’re scared it’ll be like before.” He finished for me and all I could do was nod and he squeezed me a little tighter, “Well, I know that he won’t. Wouldn’t fucking survive it, the idiot. Last time was a fluke. And as much as he hurt you, you know it was his fault for not dealing with his shit, not yours. Never yours. Yeah?”

I nodded again against his chest.

“G won’t leave though, that I can promise you. But, and this is a BIG but, if he did, you’d have me, and you’d have Matty, and Hann and Carly. Denise and Delia and everyone else. You wouldn’t be alone. Never, ever will you be alone, B.”

My eyes were stinging again, “But what if I’m not good enough either? What if I leave? What if I’m exactly like her?”

Her.

And immediately Ross knew just who I was talking about.

“You’re nothing like your mum, love. No where near. Of that I can fucking assure you. You love with everything you’ve got. Like a light house in a stormy sea, you. Lure just about everyone in with your warmth and charm.” He pressed his chin to the top of my head, rocking us again. “What I would give to let you see yourself through my eyes. I swear. And that baby, or any future baby you have, will be the luckiest kid around to be able to call you their mum. Alright?”

Fucking Ross MacDonald. 

“Do you enjoy making me cry?” I asked him through a wet chuckle, squinting up at him now with tear stained cheeks. I gave a sigh when he reached up to wipe them away.

“Only happy tears, yeah? Fucking seeing you cry because of anything else makes me feel like I’ve just been hit by a bus.”

Scoffing out a laugh I couldn’t help, I shook my head at him. “Love you. I know we don’t say that much but I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”

He grinned down at me, “Probably sob in the bath, or maybe make an escape out through the window?”

“Maybe.” I smiled.

“You ready yet?”

I chewed on my lip for a hesitant moment then dipped my head, Ross released me and instead took my hand. We both seemed to simultaneously take a deep breath, glancing at one another and then the sink.

“Together?”

“Together.”

He reached for it and I had to keep myself from squeezing my eyes tightly shut, stomach tightening with the butterflies that crowded my insides.

We looked down at the same time before glancing back towards each other.

Ross broke the silence, “Dibs on being godfather.”

— GEORGE’S POV—

September brought the cold. It was more prominent this year though it seemed, barely out of August and already he was in a hat and coat. Still, he’d left knowing he’d be out for quite a while and didn’t want to catch something from freezing his arse off, especially with Birdie being in and out of hospital. She was more susceptible to infection at the minute, since having had her spleen removed after the accident it had been something she’d often struggled with. They’d had a meningitis scare not too long back, big enough to warrant a couple weeks off work but not life threatening. To her at least, George on the other hand had had his balls pulled out through his arse, or that’s what it’d felt like being so constantly on edge. Everything turned out okay in the end though, more than even. Because it was then that he’d learnt about the tiny Baby Daniel she’d been housing.

And what a fucking thought that was. A baby. An entire other person. Both his and hers to keep. Though he only hoped that they got more of her than him.

It had been quite the revelation, watching on as a swarm of nurses wheeled his wife off on a gurney after having just told him the baby was doing fine. Even now it had a way of rendering him utterly speechless.

It was all he’d been able to think about ever since. Will the baby like the colour blue? Will they be a boy, or a girl? Will they have his eyes or hers, her smile or his? He prayed to whatever God that was out there that they only got her nose. Birdie thought his suited him, but he’d keep on wishing any way.

There’d also been the questions that shone a bright sodding stage-light on all of his insecurities. Illuminated them like the Blackpool Tower for every fucker else to see. Matty’d been the first to clock on though, or the first to come and speak to him about it, it’d done him a world of wonder to get it off his chest and have that reassurance, but even now it continued to make him nervous, had him wondering whether or not he’d ever be good enough, if he deserved to have something so precious of his own. But then he’d always struggled with that, hadn’t he, and he was still learning. Adapting, in a sense. These things took time.

He continued to think about it though, about everything which surrounded the baby, as he wandered through a field of dew covered grass, being respectful enough of the aging stone graves that dotted the cemetery as he went. The one he was looking for was further in the back, settled in a plot next to a few others with the same surname.

George took the time to think and settle his nervous thoughts as he made his way on over, revising the map on his phone every few minutes. It was a rather large cemetery, with oversized oak trees and moss that clung to ancient tombs and mausoleums, so it took him a while to finally find it but when he did the nerves he’d been feeling and the anxiety he’d expected failed to hinder him. In fact, he hardly felt anything at all and moved towards the three graves without much thought.

They each bared the same headstone, only difference was that one was much newer than the remaining two. They all had their own inscriptions but it had been a little while since he’d last visited and so he took the time to allow his eyes to wander over the cursive.

‘No Man Is Indispensable But Some Are Irreplaceable.’

‘Too well loved to ever be forgotten, here lies a loving Father, a Husband and a Son.'

And finally, 

‘A woman made of strength and love lies here, today she dances with angels.’

“Heya, Nana.” George greeted in a low murmur, eyes already a little wet as he drew closer to the end plot, “It’s been a while but I’ve brought you your favourites, peonies from Birdie’s shop, blue just like your eyes. She wrapped them up real nice too, but when does she ever not?” George gave a light chuckle at that, placing down the backpack he held and moving around the grave to clear it of any fallen debris, replacing the old flowers with the new.

He rubbed at his nose and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets before taking a seat by her headstone, gaze lingering on the words Birdie had chosen alongside Dee all those years ago now. Dancing with angels, he grinned at the very thought, and dealing with the Devil, he added. Nana had always been one to try her luck, just as wonderfully wild as her granddaughter, and George reckoned she’d probably bested the hellish bastard by now, overthrown him and all.

“Lot’s changed, you know.” He told the woman, “Dee’s met some fella, handsome bloke mind, but they’ve taken her taxi and decided to travel across Europe in it. In Germany now, though I wouldn’t be surprised if they phoned us up tomorrow claiming to be in Egypt. But you know her, she’s a free spirit. Should be back by February though, that’s just before the baby’s due. Yeah, not hers though- could you imagine?” 

George couldn’t help the cackle that escaped him at that and was immensely grateful for the fact that no-one else seemed to be wandering around anywhere close. “Sorry, sorry, but yeah. No it’s Birdie. She’s nearing fourteen weeks now. Can you picture it? Us two with a little one. My dad can’t wait, neither can the lads. Reckon you’d be dancing about too if you were still here, telling everyone to quit their fussing then make B a brew just how she likes.”

He let a quiet settle, smiling softly as the morning breeze flittered past.

“I know she misses you. Kills her to not have you here to see it all. But,” He took a moment, “I understand why, never met anyone quite like you, doubt I ever will. You took me in without a care for the consequences. Let me stay with you each summer, listened to me moan on about the band and music, came to our first few London gigs.” He cracked a smile at the reminder, “Can still picture those shirts you and Dee made, reckon B has them stashed away somewhere. Have to ask. But as much as I’d love to stay and chat all day, I promised myself I’d say hi to Charlie over there and stop by to talk to her Dad for a bit.”

George was careful as he stood back up, laying a hand over Nana’s name before wiping off the damp grass which clung to his jeans and stepping away. 

He only had to walk a few short steps before he was grinning at the grave sat beside Nana’s, he made quick work of pulling out a bottle of Scotch from his bag as well as a shot glass, then placed them both down on the cold marble. Just as he did each time they visited, he poured the man a hearty glass and spoke to him about his favourite football team. “Hiya, Charlie. West Ham’s fourth on the league table at the minute, mate. Doing alright this year, but Cities still in first so, guess they’ll have to try just a bit harder.”

With a light laugh, George patted the man’s headstone before finally wandering over to the next, to where Birdie’s father lay, the man she idolised most.

He took a deep breath feeling a little fearful suddenly, but not of the situation, rather of disappointing the man. Of this whole thing going tits up. But this was something he’d wanted. Felt he needed to do. So he let go of the air inside his lungs and, just as he did by Nana, he took a seat by the man’s grave. 

“We’ve never spoken much, you and I.” He begun, voice quieter now than it had just been, “But I know B visits when she can. I brought you a bird actually, little statue thing with these stones embedded in its eyes, B reckons they’ll bring peace, but I think you’ve already found that now. Still, it reminds me of her, a Song Thrush, they’re pretty and sing like a poet.”

Leaning in closer, George took time placing the statue where he thought it would last the longest and smiled softly before going back to his bag to pull out a colourful wind spinner, he stuck in the damp soil near his leg before he spoke again. 

“Dee also likes to talk about you, says you had a thing for wind chimes and these things. Can see the appeal, they’re nice to watch, let you know which way the wind’ll blow. Said you also would’ve liked me too, and I can only hope she’s right.” He laughed quietly to himself, thumbing the ring on his left hand. “Be a bit messy if you didn’t though, ‘cause I love her more than anything. Do anything she asks, go anywhere she pleases. She’s like my own little wind spinner in a sense, can never tell which way I’m going with her but I know we’ll never stop spinning.

“I know I should’ve made this trip a long while ago. Maybe after we got back, maybe even before that. I have no excuse except for the fact that I’ve been a bit scared to ask this of you, because I know I’ll never really hear your honest answer. I can only pray that you’d be happy for her.”

It had been something he’s wanted to do since he was a teenager, ever since that first trip down to London, but after all these years of having clung to the man’s lighter he felt like he sort of knew him in a way. Knew that the dent in its side was from the way he used to knock his hip off of the radiator back in Nana’s house when climbing the stairs. Saw the way the striker wheel had been changed a long while back, different to the original but very very close. And how the hinge had been struck a few times to keep the lid from going floppy. He cared a great deal for the things he owned and it showed how much he loved the gifts he’d been given, seeing as though he had gotten it from his own father before Birdie had ever been born.

It was a strange concept, but it brought George a little peace.

“I don’t know if you heard, I know that Nana tends to gossip, but you’ll be a grandfather soon.” George told him with a wide smile as he pulled to his wallet to look down at the first Ultrasound picture they’d been given. “They’re a lot bigger now. This was when I first found out though. That daughter of yours had known for a week or two by that point. But I was over the moon and also terrified, so I can see how she kept it under wraps for so long. We’ve got a few names going in the raffle, our friends all want to have the honour of naming them, but B and I are waiting for the perfect one.”

George let his thumb brush over the picture before he sat it up and open on the grave, leaving it there until he had to go.

“I’ve known Birdie for so long now, she doesn’t know it but since the day I laid eyes on her she’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I would’ve taken anything she’d have given me. Whether that’d been a passing look or a chance at just being her mate. So when were younger and finally together, I thought I’d won the lottery. And I had. But then we got to speaking about marriage. What we wanted in the future, if kids would ever come into the picture, what house we’d buy. Just things you speak about with someone like that. Yeah, we’d been young but we’d both been through a lot. We knew more than most. Had experienced it.

“But anyway, when she’d said she never wanted any of that. Couldn’t see it for herself, and I understood. Broke my fucking heart a bit, but I’d’ve given her the stars if I could’ve. Even now. So it’s funny how it all changed. We’re married and there’s that baby on the way. Though, now that we’ve done it, now that we’ve acknowledged the fact that this thing we were both a little wary of is something we can have without the fear and terror, I want to do it properly, you know? So I thought it was only respectful to come and ask you first.”

And there was that nervousness finally, but it was out in the open now. Perhaps it was silly asking a man long since buried this question but it just felt right. 

“I don’t think we’ll have big ceremony or anything even if she does say yes, we’re not the type. But at least then we can say we did it right, and as much as I now love that little elopement of ours, I really want her to know how much I love her. That I will forever be hers. In both heart and mind. And that I’m proud to bare this ring.” 

George swallowed thickly at the onslaught of emotions this trip had pulled from him, then wiped under his nose. He picked up his wallet and folded it away then took his stand, running a hand through his hair as he tried to get ahold of himself, didn’t want to start sobbing his way back to the carpark now. Though it was a near thing. 

“Right, I’d best be off anyway. Said I’d pick B up some strawberries from the market, she’ll only eat them at the minute, pairs them with this horrid jam as well. It’s proper grim but I’d never say a bad thing about it. Spent ages consoling her the one time Matty did. But he’s a nightmare that never learns.” He scratched at the nape of his neck after having shouldered his bag, feeling the effects of this outing already. “I’ll make sure to visit soon, with Birdie and then the baby too hopefully.”

He glanced down at the wind spinner then and was surprised to see it had stopped spinning, he frowned slightly at the sight and double checked to see if he could still feel the breeze, he did, it was hard not to in truth. So slowly he made his way back over and just as he begun to crouch down the thing started spinning once more.

George blinked down at it, once then twice, and then simply laughed. Hoping that maybe it’d been some sort of sign.

“I’ll look after her.” He promised, sparing one last glance to the final grave before he made his way back to the car.

—

The moving van reached the house long before I did, but I was just thankful that George had been able to take the time off to get there earlier than me. I parked up in a bay and waddled down the pavement to peer into the back of it, smiling when I found that almost half of it had already been moved inside. Which was good for me, seeing as though I’d hardly be of any help, pregnant or not.

“B!” I heard someone shout out and turned to find Matty stood on the top step of the familiar terraced house, he waved me closer but jogged down the steps to greet me once I’d made it over, “Figured you get here a little later, G and I are just setting up the living room.” 

“Really?” I questioned in surprise, grateful when he took my arm to help me up the stairs and into the house. I grinned at the familiar feeling that washed over me upon walking in.

“Really.” Matty laughed, taking my coat and hanging it amongst the rest by the door. The little gentleman. If I’d only known that it’d just take me turning into a whale to get Matty to wait on me hand and foot I’d’ve done it sooner. Not even G was as bad as him. “Your Nana had good taste though, so I can see why you and George don’t wanna change much.”

I grinned, glad that he saw it too. We’d been gifted the house in Bethnal Green by Dee after the reading of Nana’s will, she wanted us to have a proper home for the little one and figured it would be the best place for us. And my God was it. It was everything I’d dreamed of and more. It filled me with so much happiness to know that my child would be growing up in the environment I loved most when I’d been little.

“Where is he, anyway?” I asked, leaning against the bannister to peer up the main stairs and at the landing, we’d had some builders in to change a few things since the house had been signed over and I hadn’t yet seen it all fully finished. 

“Who, G?” Matty said and at my nod he went on, “Left him in the living room, we were trying to put together a cabinet, probably still in there.”

We both chuckled and wandered in through the side door to find George sat on the living room floor just behind the sofa looking very close to fuming. “Fuck sake, Matty! When you said a minute, I thought you were joking! Whole fucking thing collapsed on me the second you left, you prick!”

“Oi, no swearing around the baby, please.” Matty scolded, though he looked all too pleased with himself, and I watched on as George angled his head further backwards to see me stood in the doorway. I waved. 

“Birdie! Thank fuck someone capable has arrived. Be a love and help me up, would you?”

I laughed and moved to do just that before Matty’s indignant squark stopped me in my tracks, “I don’t think so, mate. Get yourself up. I’ll take B into the kitchen, get you some tea, yeah? Were you at the shop long?”

I bit my lip to keep from cackling at the expression that overwhelmed G’s face then but was already being dragged away.

“I can still do shit you know.” I said to Matty before being steered onto a barstool, I let him get away with it though, observing how effortlessly he worked his way around the kitchen, switching on the kettle and pulling out the milk from the massive fridge George had insisted on buying. 

“Language.” Matty reminded me and I could only roll my eyes, “And I know, you just shouldn’t have to.”

“That so?” I hummed around a smile.

Matty nodded, pulling the few glasses we’d brought over for visits during construction onto the counter, “Look, the way I see it, the baby’s not here yet so if you want, I don’t mind offing G and telling everyone the kid’s mine. I mean, you saw him in there,” He shook his head all serious like, “It ain’t on, B. Got to cut your loses while you still can.”

“Sorry, what was that?” I sorted at George’s sudden arrival, wondering how this would all go down and decided to stir the pot a bit.

“Matty reckons I’d be better off making a run for it while I still can, already got a car ready and waiting for when I say the word.”

George shook his head in veiled amusement and stepped further into the kitchen to swipe a tea towel against Matty’s backside. “Keep talking like that and I’ll see to it that you never meet my baby, you dick.”

“Swearing!” Matty once again reminded the pair of us and I couldn’t help my incessant giggling now, eyes darting back and forth between the pair, “And I dare you to try, George Daniel. I have rights!”

“What rights!”

“Godfatherly rights!”

“Fuck off, Ross claimed that already.”

“Swearing! And I don’t care you can have more than one godfather!”

“No, we’ve discussed this already.”

“No we have not.”

“Yes, we have.”

“No, we have not.”

“Matty.”

“George!”

George groaned dramatically and decidedly tossed the tea towel he still had in hand at Matty’s head, the curly haired singer grunted before throwing it right back at him, then turning to me.

“B, tell him.” He was all but whining now. 

“George, Matty can be whatever he likes.”

Matty practically beamed upon hearing that whilst G just scowled, “Over my dead body.”

“That’s fine. I can make do.”

George rolled his eyes at the blatant threat, but threw himself into the chair beside me to press his forehead against the counter instead of replying. I ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s okay, babe. He’ll give up once he realises it’ll mostly just be shitty nappies and crying until they’re old enough to walk.” I reassured but Matty didn’t think much of it.

“I fucking won’t.”

George shot straight back up at that with a grin as big as Matty’s ego on his face and I already knew what he was going to say.

“Language, Matthew! And in front of your godchild too, shame.”

Although Matty looked shocked to have let the curse accident slip, his whole demeanour changed when he truly internalised George’s words. “Wait, actually?”

George laughed, glancing at me before slinging an arm around my waist, “We decided on it a while ago, mate. Baby Daniel will have the typical four godparents, only thing is you, Hann and Ross will have to decide between yourselves on who’s the second godmother.”

I rolled my eyes at that, but still found myself unable to stop grinning. The baby was set to have three godfathers at this point and then Carly, who we’d already asked, as a godmother. It was a lucky little thing and had yet to even be born.

“I don’t even care. I’ll throw on a pair of tits and a wig if it gets me an in.”

George barked a loud laugh at his best mate’s reply and I could only chuckle alongside him as Matty handed me over my tea, grateful to have them both, as well as the rest of my family. It wasn’t long now either before the baby would soon come along too, another thing I’d forever be grateful for.

And to think, I barely resembled the girl I’d once been, it was strange to see all that I’d been given.

I wouldn’t waste it.