#it being one pint of cider…. girl

[kidrat]

Lol my mum couldn’t buy me a drink at the pub bc I didn’t have id. Girl who cares

[shoshiwrites]

hospital bed + Jo/Egan >:))))

Continuing my BoB OC Jo's MotA wanderings! From this prompt list. Bucky Egan/WarCo OC. Warnings for non-graphic medical references & non-graphic abuse.

She studies him, the glint of the low light and the drink in his hand, tapping her fingers along the tall glass of cider in hers. “I was…eleven. Got my appendix out.” 

He winces a little, but he’s still smiling. “Sounds like a swell time.”

“Just about.” 

She’s still thinking of the triage section this morning, the light through the thin curtains, the sound of squeaking wheels across the floor. The overwhelming smell of antiseptic underlaid by vomit. 

Silent, watching the doctor move from bed to bed, the stretchers being carried in by boys still in flight gear. The nurses tolerated her as long as she didn’t get in the way, and she didn’t, or tried not to. The last boy she’d seen before she walked back outside was a frostbite injury, so bad that they had to move him to a hospital. It’s warm and humid here, on the ground. Her blouse feels tacky between her shoulders, and at her sides.

And this is something he just does. Major Egan. All of them. Leave in the dark of the morning, and then you’re back here in a pub by late afternoon. Go up so high that if the Germans don’t kill you, taking off a pair of gloves or an oxygen mask will. 

“And how was that?”

She blinks at him. “Getting my appendix out?” 

“Yeah! Still got mine.”

He’d only been telling a story about a high school sports injury, after she’d tried not to look too hard at the new bruise blooming on the apple of his cheek. Someone had gotten mouthy, she wasn’t sure who. He looked like he didn’t want her to ask. 

“All I remember, really, is that it hurt a lot less after, you know? Than it did before.” 

He nods.

“My mother came, and she sat with me, and brought me little sweets, cookies, probably. Leftover spice cookies, from Christmas. I wasn’t in too long.”

“What’s your father do, again?”

“Uh, steelworker,” she says. “Was. In Pittsburgh. He came by, too, right after—”

She doesn’t mean to say that part, to tell a real thing about him. It seems like she’s remembering it wrong, hearing her father tell her she was brave. But she tells John that, like it’s easy to say, by a little light in the corner booth of a pub on the coast of a windswept country. 

And she tells him too about the day she went home, the memory that was more like her father. He’d showed up smelling like plum brandy and berated the nurse, and then her mother. 

He quirks his mouth a little, for a moment, like he wishes he could throw a few more punches. If anyone could fight a spirit, she’d say it was John Egan. 

“And now you’re here,” he says. Like it’s something that makes sense, from a little girl in a hospital bed to a correspondent sitting here, across from him, writing about a blinding freezing blue she’s never seen. Like a kid playing touch football in the mud, going to school with his arm in a sling he hates, to this. Up there, the indescribable sky.

She nods. “And now I’m here.”

A pint glass slides onto the table, and Biddick sidles up, his voice warmed by the beer. “Hey, Major.” He nods at Jo. “Miss Brandt.” The honorific sounds like zz's, in his accent. 

“Hey, now,” Bucky says, smiling. “This lady here’s a captain.”

Jo tries not to make a face. “In name only.” 

“Hey, they oughta know that, right?” Curt says. He jerks his chin towards his friend’s face. “That’ll teach ‘em, right, Buck? To say things about—”

The look Bucky shoots him tells Jo exactly what the fight was about. If they’re calling it that. Something to remind her she shouldn’t be sitting here alone. 

“What? I’m just saying—”

“Can it, Curt. That’s an order.” He doesn’t quite sound like he means it.

“Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. But I think I ought to make this one an early night.”

“Let me walk you out.” 

The sky is still streaked with faded red and peach, still time to get back to her rented room before worrying about the dark. His fingers brush her arm, on the way to the door, but he doesn’t say anything more.

[ughgoaway]

midnight, no headlights // George Daniel- pt 1

content warnings: no smut (yet) but still some kissing so minors go away, drinking, swearing, smoking, awkward flirting and writing because I am not great at either! word count- 2500-ish

a/n: hiii so the vote came out that you didn't mind this fic being split up so, this is the first part! 2014 George has had me in a chokehold recently (thanks to @abiiors) so I had to write something for him!! this is part one of two and I have absolutely no idea when the other part will come out!! I actually kind of hate this but can't cope with it sitting in my google docs any longer. I've been in a massive writing slump lately and I'm really rusty, so if it's awful... be nice about telling me lol. anyway ill stop chatting shit now, here it is

Another espresso martini, great. It seemed like all you had to do for this shift was make them for groups of obnoxious girls. To be honest, you were jealous they were able to go out and have fun on a Saturday night, you were stuck doing a shift at this shitty club for some band's afterparty. The shift started fine, a few pints here, a few ciders there but it had soon devolved into a sticky bar and overly complex cocktails with too many ingredients.

A tattooed hand stuck out from the crowd and soon the tall man attached to it wormed his way through and took a seat on the green barstool in the corner, from just his hand you had assumed you'd be getting another shitty beer but he defied all your expectations when you caught a glimpse of the rest of him.

A pile of badly blonde dyed hair sat on top of his head, either side was shaved. He had a sly look in his eyes but a gentle smile on his face, his features seemed hard individually but when you put them together you were left with a very soft look. His arms were exposed due to the white vest he was wearing, colourful and seemingly random tattoos snaked up them. You couldn't see his bottom half anymore but you caught a glimpse of his black ripped jeans, the outfit was nothing remarkable. In fact, it was kind of boring but for some inexplicable reason, he just looked fucking good.

His eyes had an alluring quality to them, pulling you in slowly. They were so alluring in fact, that whilst you were staring into them and walking over to him you tripped. Luckily, before you could fall on your ass in front of the only hot customer you've seen in ages, you caught yourself on the edge of the bar. His hand caught yours as you fell in an attempt to steady you, “Woah you alright darling? Thought you were meant to be sober on shift” he cheekily remarked.

His deep vocals sent a shiver through you, normally in a club like this you had to practically scream to hear each other but for some reason, it seemed like his voice was the only thing you heard. It sat at a different frequency that went right into your bones. You scolded yourself internally for fawning over a man who had said one sentence to you.

“Haha very funny, I’ll have you know I'm stone-cold sober. But I'm assuming that you're coming up here to no longer be that, so what can I get you?” you retort back smiling politely and leaning slightly into the puzzling man.

“I'll just have a vodka soda please sweetheart” he began but he soon looked around at the hoards of people surrounding him and quickly added, “Actually make that a double.” his correction caused you to giggle slightly. You briefly wonder what about the rowdy people made him change his order but decide not to ask and just begin making the drink.

The small cup of drink umbrellas teased you as you worked. Every time an especially manly-looking man ordered a drink you added a little umbrella, just to see their reaction. Sometimes they say nothing and just look confused but every once in a while, you get an especially good reaction. The best reactions are usually from self-described “gym bros” who are on a date, they scoff and act as if a small umbrella completely negates their manhood. It might seem juvenile, but you'll do anything to spice up a boring shift. You decide this mystery man with the “fuck me” eyes would like one so, you grab a teal cocktail umbrella and stick it in his double vodka soda.

“Here you are! A vodka soda,” you begin to hand the drink over, he reaches out but you quickly pull it away and correct yourself, “Sorry, double vodka soda” A smirk sneaks onto your face as you hand over the drink to the man. His face mirrors yours, a teasing smile overtaking his features.

"thank you, love," he smiles gratefully, going to take a sip but quickly recoiling at the sight of the umbrella in his drink. You think he'll scoff, throw it on the floor and call you a dickhead but no. he smiles, takes the small umbrella out and places it behind his ear, he finishes off the action with a wink and click of his tongue towards you.

A light laugh falls out of you at his action, not expecting him to be so cheeky about your little joke. He holds eye contact as he downs the rest of his drink, the action isn't inherently flirty but still, you feel a pulse thrum through you at the sight.

“Not such a good night then?” you remark. Despite having about 30 people you should be serving right now you remain enamoured by the man with the tiny umbrella behind his left ear.

“What gave me away huh? Chugging the drink or coming to hide in the corner?” he smiles, you can't help but feel slightly sorry for him, out to a cool afterparty on a Saturday night and he's choosing to sit in the corner and chat with the bartender.

It's then you make the decision you're gonna make this guy's night, in any way he’ll let you.

“Any reason you're hiding away? From a particular person maybe?” you ask leaning on the bar and staring at the man in front of you, “ooh are the band assholes? Wouldnt shock me if they were considering this afterparty, they're usually the overly cocky and handsy type when they party this hard” you add. The man across from you raises his eyebrows at you and his smirk grows marginally larger, you have no idea who you're talking to. And he loves that.

Soon the small amount of eye contact you're sharing becomes too much, you grab a rag and begin to wipe the bar in front of you. You figure you should at least pretend to work whilst talking to the curious stranger, still with the teal umbrella behind his ear.

“Oh no, not hiding from anyone specifically just everyone really. I was dragged here by a couple of mates but I'm hoping to make an escape soon.” he chuckled out whilst swirling the ice in his cup. Wordlessly you grab it from him and begin to make another drink.

“I won't give you an umbrella in this one handsome, not lucky enough to get two in one night” you wink at the man in front of you. The nickname slipped out thoughtlessly, you were used to flirting for tips so it felt like second nature to use them whenever you spoke. A light blush flushed your cheeks at your realisation, it didn't go unnoticed by the tattooed man.

“Handsome huh? Wow, do all your patrons get such good service?” he says looking at you whilst taking a small sip of the drink you handed him. A smile breaks over his lips as he realises it's another double, he briefly thinks of making a quip accusing you of getting him drunk but your bashful smile distracts his mind.

Your heart flutters slightly at his comment, hoping he would just ignore your slip-up. Quickly you rectify the situation not wanting him to have any more power over you than he already does, “Well when I don't know their names, yes.”

“Ahh, well nice to meet you..” he pauses briefly, indicating you to fill in the blank.

“I don't know about giving my name to a random customer… what if you're an axe murderer? I think I’ll keep that to myself” you smile, trying your best to mimic the teasing look in his eyes. The tall man opens his mouth to reply but before he can a voice comes across the bar.

“y/n! Will you stop flirting with that douche with the man bun and help? Im stuck making 25 pornstar martinis on my own!” your coworker chastises you.

You turn back to the noise of a cackle coming from the so-called “douche with the man bun” his laugh makes a mortified smile come across your features as you sigh and throw the rag you were holding to the bar in front of you.

“Calm down Tony! I'm coming you dick” you shout back in the direction of your coworker, only receiving an unimpressed glare back.

“Okay then, I'm going to work now and hopefully never see you again or I will die of embarrassment, bye douche with a man bun” you sigh jokingly at your conversation partner.

“Bye y/n” he replies with a teasing wave, you begin to walk away with your head hanging in shame but soon a loud voice from behind you catches your attention “It's George by the way, only my mum calls me douche with a man bun” he smiles cheekily, obviously proud of his comment.

In your hopeful final words to the now not-so-mystery man, you say, “Well it was nice to meet you George, may our paths never cross again” With a flourish you turn around and start grabbing ingredients to help Tony deal with the hoards of people.

Your paths did cross again, about 2 hours later in the smoker's area behind the bar. The cool air was just beginning to soothe your running mind when you heard an unmistakable voice ring out behind you.

“You got a lighter sweetheart?” he asks, the handsome man you now know as George comes to stand in front of you, with the same alluring eyes and smile but now with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. This was your first chance to look at him in full but you couldn't pull your focus away from the cocktail umbrella that still sat behind his ear.

‘Shit’, you thought, he asked a question and here you are just staring at him like a deer in headlights. Why is it that whenever an attractive man was within 5 feet of you, you suddenly stop acting like a human fucking being?

You cough lightly clearing your mind and your throat before silently passing over your lighter, he twisted it in his hand and admired the engraving on the silver case.

“All my love, A xx” he read out loud, “from a boyfriend maybe?” he cheekily asked before flicking it open, lighting his cigarette and taking a deep drag. You watched as his cheeks hollowed around the end of it, the deep contours of his face only becoming deeper as he breathed in the smoke. You weren't sure what it was but despite the fact you had met him not even 3 hours ago, you were comfortable.

That felt dangerous considering you weren't exactly known for thinking decisions through, especially after a few drinks.

As soon as Tony said you could clock out, you did. And then promptly had 3 shots of tequila minus the lime and salt. No time for that when you're trying to get drunk quickly. The mix of the alcohol running through your bloodstream and the enticing combination of cigarette smoke and whatever cologne he was wearing gave you the confidence to do what you did next.

“Nope, no boyfriend, you trying to sus out my relationship status Georgie?'' Once again the nickname slipped out easily, feeling like old friends already. He placed his arm on the brick wall behind you and leaned in slightly closer as if he knew what you were thinking.

“Georgie already huh? And what if I was darling, is that such an issue?” he drawled out, smirking slightly as he places the lighter back into your hands, holding them slightly longer than necessary. You were shocked at how warm he was considering it was 3 am outside a club.

“No, no, absolutely no issue,” you begin, leaning up into his face, eyes flicking down to his lips and back up to meet his unwavering gaze. His eyes soon followed suit, mirroring your actions back at you, staring at your lips longingly.

The closer you got the more sure he was, even placing his other hand behind your neck, but soon you swerve left and pluck the umbrella from behind his ear and lean back to place it behind your own.

A groan comes from the man in front of you as he places both hands on the brick wall behind your head, effectively caging you in, but you didn't mind. He looks down at you and can't help but smile at the overjoyed look on your face. The small umbrella sat behind your ear just like he had done earlier in the night.

“What a tease” he complains cheekily, leaning ever so slightly closer whilst protesting, almost as if he wasn't feeling that rejected after all. You used this opportunity to study his face closely. A very light stubble dusted his jaw. A small freckle sat under his left eye on his cheek, both of which were a rosy red from standing in the cold air with you. His hair sat crazily on top of his head but not in a messy way, in an effortless “I'm so cool and I don't even try way”. God, if he wasn't so attractive and nice, you would have to hate him.

All your staring wasn't lost on George, his ear tips going slightly red from the embarrassment of being analysed. Before he could look too bashful your drunk mind said the only thing it could think in that moment.

“God you are so beautiful,” you whisper, feeling as if you spoke too loud the air between you both would be disturbed. Just as George opened his mouth to no doubt correct you, you shoved your mouth onto his without a care in the world.

Despite you all but jumping on George, he adjusted quickly. The groan you let out at his lips on yours was hastily replaced by a shocked moan as he licked into your mouth. Despite his possibly rough looking exterior, his lips were soft and gentle as they moved over your own. It wasn't long before his hands were grasping your ass and you threw your own around his neck.

George pulled away and you whined at the loss, he breathlessly giggled at your response and asked, “You live round here?” you quickly nodded, desperate to keep kissing you but just as quickly as you leaned in you shot back and threw your head back against the wall and groaned frustratedly.

He threw a questioning look at you and you swiftly told him your issue, “My place is only about 10 minutes from here,” he began to look hopeful but you shot him down, “But my roommate has her boyfriend round tonight and I've been given very clear instructions to come home and go straight to bed. Absolutely no disturbances allowed. And I'm pretty sure a 6ft man called George is a pretty big disturbance” You patted his chest dejectedly as you finished.

“Firstly,” George spoke holding one finger up, “I'm 6ft 4 thank you very much.” you giggled lightly at his insistence to get his height correct. “Secondly, we can go back to my place it's a bit… strange. But it's got a bed so?” he asked with a questioning lilt to his deep voice.

He waited with bated breath for your answer, hoping you wouldn't as too many questions he can't answer but all you said was, “Call the Uber” before attacking his lips once again.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Two (Part 2)

We sit in the beer garden of a lively pub near Smithfield square, and the sky is blue and perfect and birds are chirping high in the trees whose branches overhang the muraled walls. Izzy wants to get drinks for everyone, and when she asks me what I want I shrug. “Oh, I don’t really feel like drinking.” I say, not adding in the part about how I’ve been avoiding drinking alcohol at all in front of people I don’t know very well lately. 

“That’s fine.” She says immediately. “I’ll fetch you a club orange or something?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” She goes away then and I’m a bit startled. I was expecting her to force me to have something alcoholic, but she didn’t. She didn’t even ask me why I’m abstaining, and I didn’t have to make up some excuse about antibiotics. Nobody else seems to care about it either, and when she brings our drinks to the table on a little round tray, nobody makes any designated driver jokes, they just take their ciders and their beers and have them without even batting an eye at my fizzy drink. 

“So do you like NCAD?” Simon asks me, drawing me out of my own head. I nod. “Yeah, it’s alright. I preferred it in second year where we got to specialise into something more specific. The general nature of first year didn’t do it for me so much.”

“I was the same when I was there, you get lumped in with all the weirdos too.” He laughs, and so does Izzy, and I realise that NCAD being full of oddballs probably is a universal experience, rather than something specific to my year. 

“Was there someone in your year who made their final project using their own period blood?” Izzy wants to know, and I’m taken aback by her question. I wonder where she heard about Marnie’s menstrual cup sculpture.

“Yeah, there was.” 

“Yeah there’s at least one of them every year. They always love doing that.”

“In my year some lad made a film of him wanking himself off and put the stills from it on the walls.” Simon comments. 

“Oh my God.” Says Gabriel with disgust. “What is wrong with this college?”

“It’s just all these fine arts people in one big room together, it’s bound to get weird.” Izzy says. “When I specialised in print it was way more civilised.”

“My girlfriend did ceramics though.” Says Simon. “And there was a girl in hear class who made a cast of-”

“Enough!” Cries Gabriel. “I can’t hear about these depraved people. It was not like this for me, I hate it.”

Petra arrives then and gets herself a pint of cider, she’s carrying a little Mezzotint bag, and Gabriel wants to know what’s in it. 

“One of those ceramic bud vases that came in this morning.” She says. “Evie and I were admiring them.”

“Yeah Simon’s girlfriend did them.” Says Izzy. “A very nepotistic addition to the Mezzotint shop, in my opinion.” Then she punches his arm. “I’m joking, she’s brill.”

We go back to chatting, and I try not to think about how cool and intimidating every one of them is. I felt the same way on my first day in the studio two weeks ago, and it hasn’t faded much as I’ve gotten to know them. Izzy is talking about a gig that’s coming up in a couple of weeks that she’s rehearsing for. She sings with a band sometimes called Earthworm and makes us all promise to come and watch them play. I realise that in the two years I’ve lived in Dublin I’ve never gone to a gig. It feels like a very strange thing, considering how many opportunities there were, but Marnie or Dean were never interested in music, and so I wasn’t either. 

She’s talking about the songs they’re thinking about doing when Simon is distracted by the arrival of his girlfriend. “Oh, here she is.” He says with a grin, and we all look around to see a petite, dark haired girl come into the beer garden with a big pint of blackcurrant in her hand. I do a double take. That’s Michelle Tengu. That’s Jude’s ex. She comes over and settles into the seat next to Simon and he hooks his arm around her neck and pulls her into him to kiss her hair. 

“Hi guys.” She says in droll, northside cadence. “How are ye getting on?” I wait anxiously for her to notice me. Or not notice me, as there is every chance I left so little of an impression on her both times that we met, but she frowns at me with recognition. “Oh, hi.”

“That’s Evie, our intern.” Simon tells her.

“No, I actually know you.” She says. “You’re Jen’s friend, right? We met you a good while ago in a cocktail bar.”

“You did, yeah.” I say, and then hesitate. “How is Jen?”

“Yeah she’s… well, you know, the usual.”

“Oh right.” I don’t ask what she’s up to, because once I start talking about her, I’ll have to think about her, and thinking about Jen will always lead to thinking about Jude, and thinking too much about either her or Jude makes me feel completely sick with guilt. I haven’t spoken to either of them in over a year, and even though once, last year, I saw Jen in the deli queue in Supervalu, but I didn’t go over to say hello to her. I just paced through the aisles of the supermarket pretending to be looking for something until I saw her checking out and leaving. 

“Aw, Jen is the best.” Says Izzy. “We love her, what a sweetheart! I can’t believe you know her. This really is a small town.”

“Yeah it is…” I say, frowning into my Club Orange. For some reason I feel uneasy. Like it’s all about to start getting even smaller. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[jackmercerenthuiast]

Putting On The Brits - Damon Albarn x !FemReader

(Damon is literally so shagable)

☆ content warning - Swearing, alcohol

- 1995 - 

‘For fuck’s sake Maddie! Where has your skanky ass put my hair rollers!?’ 

You yelled to your best mate as you frantically searched across your room for your favourite pair of heated rollers. 

‘If you could actually go a day with remembering the shit I tell you, you’d know that I asked you for them!’

She yelled from her room, suddenly you’re able to recollect the memory of her asking for them only mere hours ago. 

Shit, was the only thing you could think to yourself, having planned almost every aspect of your outfit except from your hair, you only really had time to put them in rollers. Then, Maddie walks into your room, plants the rollers onto your desk and sticks the V up to you on the way out. 

‘Cheers! Love youu!!’ I said to her on her way out, she had enough of my memory (lack of) for today, but that was besides the point, today was one of the biggest events of my life. The Brit Awards were being held tonight and me, being a highly paid model, was somehow invited. 

I knew I had to impress. Not only to show I deserved to be there, but to catch the eye of all the fit lads there ;).  Especially, the singer of my favourite britpop band, Mr Damon Albarn, because my god was he the most yummiest man I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I wanted him baaad and from recent articles in the news, it appeared that he wanted me too.

- Time skip bc I’m lazy x -

As me and Maddie left my car, all I could see were the plethora of cameras flashing at me and my beautiful black, strapless dress that complemented my figure perfectly, along with my black, red-bottomed heels, matched with a Vivienne Westwood clutch purse. I looked fucking fit. 

Me and Madison sat a few seats away from Blur’s table, much to Maddie’s dismay. 

‘No piss off y/n, you absolute pillock, I wanna sit near Oasis.’

‘Fuck off you old mare, we’re sitting next to Blur, not those grubby Man City supporters.’

‘Fair enough, they’re choice for footy teams is a sack of shite.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But be honest, is Chelsea any better?’

‘Yes, it’s not City?’

‘True, Blur it is, but don’t expect me to stay there.’

‘Alright babe.’

  As me and Mads finally agreed on where to sit, my eyes immediately found Damon in the many tables of people in the building, ‘kin hell he  is gorg, I thought to myself, it was true, he was really pretty, weird way to describe a bloke but I wasn’t wrong was I?. 

‘Y/N love, be a dear and get us a cider.’

‘Cider? I see my Herefordian influence has gotten to you’ 

(Big up the cow town ☆)

‘Indeed it has, as much as I hate to admit it, it has. Now gowan get us a drink, I ain’t gonna be able to go up to LG any other way.’

‘Alright alright, alcoholic much?’

I made my way up to the in-building bar, asked for a cider for Maddie, and a pint for myself, and sat on the surprisingly nice barstool as I waited for the drinks.

‘Didn’t expect to see you here.’

I turned to my left to see Damon. Fucking. Albarn.

‘Trust me I didn’t see myself being here.’ 

I said in reply, he let out a small laugh at my pessimism. Oh my god, oh my god, I made Damon laugh.

‘Not one for socialising?’

‘Not a chance if there ain’t a bar near by, especially if it means I have to talk to fancy private school pretty-boys like yourself’

As I said that to Dames, my drinks came, so I placed them on the bar and took a swig of my beer. 

‘Right, does that mean you didn’t go to anywhere fancy?’

‘Not a fucking chance mate, you think a Hereford girl like me could go to anywhere like Cambridge?’

‘Where’s that?’ he laughed, a palm hit my head,

‘My point, just some cow town in the West Midlands, pretty shitty council estates, but I must admit, banging cider.’ 

‘Oh well fair enough then, but back to your point about pretty-boys like myself, you reckon I’m pretty do you?’

Damon asked as he leant in a bit closer to my face, god the tension was highh, luckily my saviour Chris Evans was about the announce the Best British Album award, thank fuck.

- Another time skip lols -  

After a while, Blur had earned 4 awards at the end of the night, and fair enough, their music was really fucking good. A big group of us decided to celebrate with a couple of bands at a nearby pub, and when I had brought what was meant to be mine and Maddie’s drinks back from the bar, she wasn’t at our table, instead she was with the Manchester lads, clearly having fun so I didn’t want to be a cockblocker. I just ordered more drinks and sat by myself as a few familiar faces came and sat at my table.

‘Funny seeing you lot at my table.’

‘Yeah we saw you sat alone and a certain someone had the great idea of joining you.’ Alex mentioned as he nudged Damon with his elbow.

‘Piss off Alex, anyways, impressed to see your favourite band win not two but four Brits?’ Damon asked proudly, winking at me. I already felt my face go hot at the sight of him oh my days. 

‘Contrary to popular belief, you guys aren’t my faves, favourite britpop band? Yes. Favourite band? Not a chance my love.’

Don’t know where I got the confidence to call him ‘my love’ but it seemed to have an effect on him considering he went red in the face before taking a sip of his drink.

‘Really now? Who is then?’ Dave asked me, clearly invested in my answer.

‘Drum roll please Alex and Gray.’

... 🥁🥁 ....

‘My favourite band is actually between Metallica and Black Sabbath to be honest with youse.’ (Change it if you want babes x)

‘Metal bands? Wouldn’t expect that from a lady like yourself.’

‘Well Damon, I’m a woman of many mysteries.’

‘Really now? I’d like to find out some other secrets of yours.’

‘Right you two seem to be in your own little world there so we’ll take our leave, well in Dame.’ Alex said to us as the rest of the band walked off. Leaving me and Damon alone for the rest of the night...bad decision ultimately.

- Time skip to the Next Day - 

‘Oh my God, my head actually kills.’ I said to myself, well, to what I assumed was myself.

‘Well that makes two of us.’ to my surprise, a shirtless Damon was in the middle my room.

‘Come again? Now I admit I drank a fair bit but what the fuck?’

‘Trust me, I remember just as little as you do love.’

‘Well, when I put two and two together, I kind of regret not being able to remember.’

‘Really? Anything that can jog your memory?’

☆*: .｡..｡.:*☆

The End LOL I’ll probably do a part two if a gal can be bothered x

Part 2 (Coming soon)

[calendarcrawl]

October 2019

The Old Inn, Mullion

So it’s Halloween and you didn’t get your Brexit. However, if there’s one thing that the Brexit deadline can deliver before midnight - it’s the October Calendar Crawl report.

For the record, this months’ Calendar extravaganza actually took place on the 4th October. So it’d be fair to say that the write up is slightly overdue. But at least you can rest safely in the knowledge that the scariest thing you’ll encounter this Halloween is my slothfulness.

This month we were shat forth down the M5 to certain inebriation in Cornwall. The pub we were tasked with visiting was the Old Inn at Mullion - a stone’s throw from mainland Britain’s most southerly point, the Lizard.

Being as the pub was so far in the middle of beautiful nowhere, we decided to combine it with a night in nearby Falmouth where there was a big beer festival on. Knowing full well that we’d hit the kegs hard later that evening, we kept the visit to the Old Inn civilised.

It was a lovely village pub, it had a dart board and three St Austell ales. But as ever, once we’ve snapped the picture and drank our pint, it’s really time to be moving on. As we were in the neighbourhood, we stopped off at Lizard Point - scenery so stunning and windy that it nearly blew us away.

From there it was on to the beer festival, which truly was a delightful experience. For those that have ever been to a CAMRA festival in the Midlands, you’ll know the demographic; pot bellied, middle aged men with grey hair and strong opinions on beer and/or politics. Basically a nightmarish vision of our future selves.

But in Falmouth, the festival was the heart of the town and there was a cross section of every demographic in the community. Young, old, black, white, crusty, clean. All drinking beer and inhaling each other’s beer farts in perfect harmony. It was like a depraved Benneton’s advert.

We broke the sesh up with dinner at a pizza and cider house called The Stables. A place I’d thoroughly recommend if you’re in the area.

This Calendar Crawl was a milestone for us for two reasons. Firstly, it’s the furthest south we’ve travelled on one of these things. Secondly though, we welcomed on board the first female on a Crawl - Annie Homer, a girl with a fearsome reputation for knowing her way round a Fruit de Mer (as well as being Jon’s fiancée).

Because we were hosting a guest, and because the journey was so fucking long. We decided to break up the journey home with an overnight stop in Exmouth, where the town was celebrating Oktoberfest. While we there, Annie introduced to the restaurant Rockfish, where we ate oysters and a whole fucking fish with a head and everything. I think it was a Gurnard - either way it was delicious.

And that, more or less, is that.

Over the course of the weekend, we clocked up 11 and a half hours of driving and covered 609 miles. A new personal best. However, it’s likely to be a short lived record given our plans for November and December.

So watch this space.

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 49

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N: David Willows and Amelia Booth belong to @that-scouse-wizard, Katriona Cassiopeia to @kc-and-co, and Talia Crane to @whatwouldvalerydo

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Language, drinking, allusion to drug abuse (weed), allusion to NSFW topics

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell @thatravenpuffwitch @anthamariemayfair @whatwouldvalerydo

Every whisper, of every waking hour

I’m choosing my confessions

Trying to keep an eye on you

Like a hurt, lost and blinded fool, fool

~ R.E.M - Losing My Religion ~

The Common, a big, jungle-themed area in the south-eastern corner of Glastonbury, was buzzing with people swaying to the sounds of music coming from all directions.

Lizzie made her way past the infamous Rum Shack and the glittering waterfall hiding the entrance to the Cave bar, headed for one of the smaller bar tents, Charlie, Artemis and Merula close behind. They showed their passes to the bouncer who checked them off the guest list and dived into a replica of the South American jungle. There were lush green palm trees and deceptively real looking torches set up around the perimeter of the tent and by the bar in the centre. The walls and seating areas at the sides were decorated with wooden totems and masks.

The tent was already packed and it took Lizzie a moment to spot the rest of their friends sitting around a low table to the right of the entrance. Next to David sat a short girl with dark hair, dressed in black denim shorts and an old Ramones-shirt she’d cut off at her waist. A broad smile spread on Lizzie’s face as she recognised her as Amelia Booth, David Willow’s step sister.

Next to them, Merula sat slouched back into her chair next and was stirring her cocktail with a sullen expression. She wasn’t talking to anyone, only glancing in Amelia’s and David’s direction every now and again. Lizzie watched her for a while lost in thought; when Merula noticed, her scowl got so dark that Lizzie quickly took a sip of her cherry mojito and looked away.

It wasn’t long before they began to split into small groups, which were slowly but surely moving away from each other. Ethan had found some of his old friends who had made the jump from the stage into management as well; Murphy and KC had vanished a while ago and Lizzie didn’t need too much imagination to come up with an idea where they had gone, or what for.

Erika had left the table as well. She had spotted Talbott Winger a little deeper into the tent, an up and coming singer-songwriter. He was working with the same label as Equinox and was accompanied by a slender woman with long, fiery red hair she wore in an undercut. According to Erika she was called Talia Crane and Talbott Winger’s head of security as well as an old acquaintance of hers. Erika had excused herself to go over and say hello, and Skye had promptly followed suit.

Meanwhile, Charlie was clearly enjoying being back at Glastonbury even more than anybody else. He was at least two drinks ahead of the rest of them, not counting the Gin and Tonics and the cider he’d had earlier while watching the Wurzels.

“No way you can down a pint,” he almost shouted and looked Artemis up and down sceptically. He held up his hand, squinted at her and brought his thumb and index finger close together so that they were almost touching. “You’re like this. Teeny tiny.”

“I thought size doesn’t matter.”

“It does when you can’t even look over the countertop.”

“Fine, Weasley, pint race, you and me,” Artemis snorted. “Loser has to dance on the table, winner picks the song. And has to get the other a flower crown.”

“I’ll give you an hour and you’ll do that anyway, Coyote Ugly.”

“Then you better show me how, you’re the expert on all things Coyote Ugly after all.”

Charlie laughed a deep, rumbly laugh and turned his attention to Lizzie. “How about you, rockstar? You in?”

Lizzie tilted her head to the side. “What, drinking or dancing?”

“Both.”

“Then no to both.”

“Come on, mate,” Charlie laughed, his Westcountry accent stronger than usual. “They sell tequila here. Do you want me to buy you tequila?.”

Lizzie paled at the thought; it had been almost two weeks since that ill-fated night in Dublin and she still couldn’t stomach the smell of it.

“Absolutely not,” she said vehemently. “And besides, you still owe me my chicken nuggets. It doesn’t count if only Artemis got some.”

“You drink with us, I’ll get you nuggets.”

Lizzie raised her glass. “I’ll stick to this, cheers.”

Before crashing in that nightclub with Artemis, Lizzie wouldn’t have put her money on the small pyro tech in a pint race; but after seeing Artemis’ drinking speed first hand, the only surprise in this challenge was that she and Charlie finished their first pints at the same time. Much to Charlie’s dismay, Artemis won the second round with a good lead and the smuggest grin Lizzie had ever seen.

When it was Lizzie’s turn to get a new round, she made her way over to the bar. She kept recounting the respective orders in her mind, stumbling on Andre’s one each and every time.

“Darling, it’s easy,” he sighed when she asked him for the third time, “I want an Appletini - a swig of Calvados, organic apple juice, shaken, not stirred. Oh, and tell the barkeeper to add some glitter.”

“Glitter? You want to get drugged on Appletinis?”

“No, real glitter, honey. It’s edible and makes your drinks look more gorgeous than Murphy’s cheekbones.”

Lizzie finally found an opening between two groups of people and pushed through it, only to find herself face to face with Orion and a distinctly familiar looking girl with a high, brunette ponytail.

On the sight of Lizzie, Emily Tyler’s heavily painted eyes narrowed and her lips twisted into a sickly sweet smile directed at Orion. Her skin shimmered and sparkled as she leaned in to him. Her long fingers brushed over his arm, and Lizzie forced herself to think about Andre’s Appletini. Emily Tyler stood on her tiptoes and said something into Orion’s ear before vanishing into the thick of the crowd, not without giving Lizzie a triumphant look.

Swallowing her annoyance, Lizzie took the place Emily Tyler had just left and motioned to the barkeeper that she wanted to order.

“Got some prospects for tonight?” she asked Orion casually, but it sounded forced, even to her own ears.

“People are like plants, they come in variations and all sorts of colours,” Orion mused. ”There are those which serve to soothe our souls and brighten our days. If we embrace them, they help us grow. And then there’s the other kind.”

Lizzie thought about Emily Tyler’s short skirt; it had to be uncomfortable looking as cheaply as she acted. “The one you want to rip out and burn to ashes in the hopes it never rises from the ground again?”

Orion dipped his head back and laughed. “Not the way I would have put it, but you got my meaning. Is that one of mine?” he added after a moment and nodded at the chequered shirt tied around Lizzie’s waist. “I’ve been missing one just like this.”

“Leave my shirt alone. As if you’d ever own a shirt as pretty as this.”

“There’s an astounding amount of pieces missing from my wardrobe for them not being pretty. I wonder where they went. I particularly miss a black sweater of mine.”

Lizzie had forgotten how much she had always enjoyed talking to Orion like this. She didn’t know whether it was the faint, omnipresent smell of weed, or the combination of high temperatures, live music and alcohol, but for the first time in forever, the mood between them didn’t feel strained.

Orion was leaning casually against the countertop. The colourful lights illuminating the bar were swallowed by his black hair and his eyes were sparkling as he laughed. All of a sudden, Lizzie was very aware of how close she and Orion were standing together.

Her heartbeat increased as an abrupt burst of nervousness got hold of her and made her whole body tingle. Her smile faltered and she averted her eyes from Orion; as they wandered over the people waiting for their drinks, she straightened up inadvertently when she saw Ethan standing a little further down the bar. He was scowling at them and Lizzie immediately took as big a step back from Orion as the people in her back allowed.

Noticing her sudden change of mood, Orion looked at her with a frown. “Have I said anything wrong?”

Lizzie shook her head. She waited until Ethan had turned his back on them and then nodded in his direction. “Our watchdog’s on duty.”

Orion looked over his shoulder to see Ethan disappear in the crowd. Accepting his new drinks from the barkeeper, he gave Lizzie a small smile but it wasn’t carefree anymore.

“We’d better not give him any reason to bite then,” he said, inclined his head and returned to their table.

Before Lizzie even had a chance to blink, KC appeared out of nowhere and took the spot Orion had left.

“Am I high, drunk, or dreaming? Orion and you, talking again?” KC said and flashed one of the barkeepers an enticing smile that had him take her order so quickly it made Lizzie speechless.

“We’ve been talking for a while now,” Lizzie said evasively. She was still waiting for her drinks and wished the barkeeper would hurry up.

“But not like that. It looked cosy. Flirty even. Don’t tell me you’re finally making up again.”

“We’re not. Not like you think. That’s over, done and dusted. Time to move on.”

“Is that what you told him? His mood changed pretty quickly.”

“Ethan was watching,” Lizzie explained. “He was very clear after that Rolling Stone disaster. One more blunder and we’re out. So it’s play nice, put on a happy face and stay as far away from Orion as possible.”

KC rolled her eyes and flicked her red curls over her shoulder; they seemed a lot messier than in the beginning of the evening.

“Screw Ethan, he is a right pain in the arse,” she snorted. “He has forgotten how to have fun. Soon he’ll be deciding what you have for breakfast.”

“He’ll have to fight Andre for that job.”

KC stirred her espresso martini before taking a big sip. “Being so meek doesn’t suit you, Liz. Don’t let that Scottish dickhead take charge of everything - he’s not the boss of you.”

“Technically, he is.”

“He’s your manager, but he doesn’t own you. Don’t let him fuck up your life like this.” Her gaze softened as it caught Murphy’s, who was waiting for her at their table. Lizzie wasn’t sure KC realised that she was smiling. “There are perks in working with someone you love, you know?”

Watching her two friends looking at each other felt like intruding on something intimate, so Lizzie concentrated on her fingertips. They were tapping against the countertop to the rhythm of the music; she had never noticed this habit until Orion had pointed it out to her.

“I never said that I loved him,” she said quietly, but KC heard her regardless.

“We’ve never talked bullshit with each other, it’s what I love about our friendship. Don’t go and start it now.”

She gave Lizzie a meaningful look, picked up her drinks and went to join her husband again. When she reached him, she bent down to kiss Murphy as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And it was for them, Lizzie thought, not without a hint of envy.

No one cared if Murphy wrapped his arm around her shoulder; no one cared if KC ran her hand through Murphy’s perfectly styled hair, besides maybe Murphy himself; and no one cared when Murphy took her hand in his and kissed the back of it, smiling all the while.

Lizzie didn’t want to stare at her friends, but she couldn’t look away either. Murphy’s and KC’s love could flare up to passionate flames from one moment to the other - they were infamous for it, in fact - but right now, it wasn’t an all consuming, raging fire like the one Lizzie had grown used to; this love’s fire was warm and comforting, like a glow shining from the inside, even if KC would roll her eyes if someone said something along these lines to her.

Lizzie was happy for her friends, more happy than she could put into words, but looking at them made herself feel cold and alone. All of a sudden, she found it hard to breathe.

She tried not to think about how Orion’s hand would feel on her waist; or how the corners of his mouth would twitch when she said something only meant for his ears; how he would try not to let his smile break through, although he could never keep that spark out of his eyes. And she tried not to think about a walk through a sleepy part of Manchester with his arm around her shoulder and everything feeling like a dream, just too good to be true.

“Sorry you had to wait. The first night is always crazy.”

Lizzie almost jumped when the barkeeper placed a tray with drinks in front of her. His apologetic smile vanished when he looked her in the face.

“Are you okay? You look pale. Do you want me to get a medic for you?”

“No, I’m alright, thanks. Just haven’t eaten much.”

The barkeeper nodded sympathetically. “There’s a food stand outside. Some fresh air will do you good.”

Lizzie mumbled something indiscernible and went back to her friends. When she saw the state Charlie was in, she thought it had been good that their drinks had taken so long; it was obvious he could do with a break. He was slouching over the table and engaged in a heated discussion with Andre; funnily enough, it seemed to revolve around ‘The Devil Wears Prada’. She placed the tray in the middle of the table, grabbed her and David’s drinks and walked over to where David was sitting on his own.

“Sorry, they didn’t have a Brandy Alexander,” she said and handed him the glass full of crushed ice and lime. “I got you a Caipirinha instead.”

David accepted the drink without so much as looking at it and mumbled his thanks.

Lizzie turned her head to see what he was looking at and found it to be Merula. She and Orion were standing a little bit further into the tent, almost on the edge of the dance floor. Lizzie’s eyes flicked between David and her; she knew the expression on his face all too well.

“It’s shit, isn’t it?” she said quietly.

Her unexpected words drew David’s attention. “Sorry?”

“Wanting something you can’t have.”

“It’s just a drink, mate,” David shrugged, looking confused. “No need to beat yourself up over it. A Caipirinha is fine.”

This time, it was Lizzie who didn’t respond; now it was her looking in the direction of Merula and Orion. She pushed the crushed ice of her cocktail down with her straw, fighting the urge to go over to them.

“What’s goin’ on between you and him anyway?” David asked, his eyes wandering between Lizzie and Orion. “You’re all pretty uptight about the whole story.”

“There is no story. It’s nothing and it brought us enough trouble as it is.”

David hummed in response and tilted his head. “If something is givin’ you a hard time, you can tell me. We’re friends, remember?”

“That’s exactly why I’m not telling you.”

Orion laughed at something Merula had said and the sight made Lizzie’s heart skip a beat; she made a conscious effort to look away from him.

“I’ve made a lot of bad decisions lately,” she said and David raised his eyebrows. “Some of them I thought were good, but turned out they weren’t. I don’t need you thinking badly of me on top.”

“As if I could ever.”

“It wouldn’t be comparable to you and Merula anyway. Oh, come on,” she said with a pointed look when David faked surprise. “I may have an impressive record of stupid decisions, but not even I’m that stupid.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“It is to me. But it’s alright, no harm in it,” she added quickly when David’s face turned a bright red colour. “You’re signed until the end of the tour, that’s in three days. After that, you’re free to do whatever you want with whoever you want.”

All of a sudden, David looked uncertain.

“Ethan talked to me earlier. He thinks I’m doin’ a great job with you guys.”

“You are.”

“Cheers. He asked me if I could imagine stayin’ with you guys. Long term.”

Lizzie looked at him wide eyed, not sure whether to congratulate or pity him. “What did you say?”

“That I need to think about it. I like performin’ with you, and it’s an incredible opportunity for me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve become a fantastic artist in your own right. We’re lucky you agreed to fill in.”

She saw Merula walking towards the exit leading to the smoke area and knew David was watching after her, too.

“Just a piece of advice from me,” she said and looked at the spot where Merula had vanished. “Not all that glitters is gold, and especially not with us. If I were you, I’d think about your decision carefully.”

[penwieldingdreamer]

Falling for you

The second installment of my drabble series. Let me know what you think about it. A big thank you again to @fortheloveoffanfic for being my beta 💗 Happy reading everyone

Also here are the songs played at the pub:

Bean Pháidín , Tell me Ma-Gaelic Storm , Galway Girl - Fiddler's Green

Summary: A few weeks later finds the reader in all kinds of embarrassing situations - mostly tripping over stuff or falling over people - right in front of Lee

Warnings: none, besides fluff, clumsiness and a little tinge of jealousy

Words: 2231

Another day on the set of the second installment of the Hobbit series and already you felt like the clumsiest of all people on set. Either you’d slip, trip or let stuff fall to the ground. But it wasn’t random, it only happened whenever you were around Lee or in his close proximity.

James and Martin had made fun of the fact that it would only happen with the tall actor, but you waved them off and of course Benedict chimed into the scheme.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re falling for the King, luv.” he said one time while the four of you had been granted a break from filming. “You make a fool out of yourself because there’s that one person that makes your heart skip a beat.”

Angrily shuffling your food around the plate, you glared at the British actor. “Well thank you for the vote of confidence. If you hadn’t said it I wouldn’t have known I was such a joke on set.”

“What Ben means to say, dear,” James started, putting his hand on your arm. “is, that when you feel something for another person you get clumsy, do crazy things or fall all over yourself because you can’t concentrate around them. All three of us went through that when we met the women we knew would one day be our wives. It has nothing to do with you being bad at your work, the opposite, actually.”

Reluctantly you nodded your head, feeling like you just made a fool out of yourself again in front of those that were your friends. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve never been like that before and I fear if this happens more Pete will get tired of me messing up. I don’t want to lose this job.”

“You won’t,” Martin said with so much conviction, you couldn’t help but give him a small, teary smile. “Peter isn’t like that. He values your work as part of the crew and how you bring up new ideas or possible changes. Now if you were to set the whole place on fire that would be another case.”

Ben and James laughed softly and you couldn’t help the giggle escaping your lips when you listened to him. You were very lucky to have friends like them or you’d probably would have resigned after the first incident. “Thank you, you have no idea how much I needed this.” you said sending them a grateful smile. "But now I got to head back to work. The king on his throne is waiting for me."

All three laughed before Martin called after you. "Be careful up there and if you fall, fall in his lap, that's a lot more comfortable than the ground." he joked when you had turned back to the three actors but waved him off with your own middle finger. You knew he had a knack for putting his fingers up for the camera when he shouldn't and you were sure there were some scenes he snuck his middle finger in, just like he always did.

A chorus of laughter followed as you righted your work bag and made your way back to the set with Thranduil's throne.

Orlando stood underneath it, grinning up at Lee dressed up as the Elvenking and waited his turn. "Looking good, dad." he called with a chuckle and you could see the tall actor grin.

"Thank you, son. I feel very good up here." he answered leaning back on the chair, trying to fix his robes and wig as best as he could while a few strands were hanging in the branches of his crown.

Peter saw you emerging from the mass and called you over. "Ah, Y/N, good that you're here. Lee's just had a bit of a stumble up the stairs but we'll be doing a few headshots of him and well, you see the mess."

"Sure, I'll get right on it." you told him, taking a deep breath and steeling yourself so you'd be as relaxed as possible while working on fixing the actor. When he saw you approaching, Lee stood up and made to walk down, but you halted him with a motion of your hand. "Stay, I'm coming up so there's no repeat of that."

He stayed standing, watching you make your way up the stairs. Thank God there were handrails just in case. "If you insist

I could have come down, didn't want you to fall to your doom, dear mortal."

"Charms get you everywhere, huh?" you asked him with a grin as you ascended to the Weta built throne, pointing to the seat so he would sit back down again, keeping his long legs tugged to chair so you could start your work on his hair.

"So far it worked out rather well, I think." He told you, smiling as you gently pulled a strand away from the branch of his crown.

You couldn't help the small smile forming on your face as you listened to his jokes while you freed the last of his hair and righted his crown. A final touch of powder over his nose and you were finished. "Now, you're all done and you're looking regal again." You packed up your bag and turned to descend the stairs when you lost your footing and if it hadn't been for Lee's swift reaction, you would have tumbled down.

Short puffs of breath were leaving your mouth when you held on tightly to his shoulders, his arms circling your waist as you had fallen into his lap with that move. "Hello there." he whispered, watching your shocked face, eyes blown wide with fear. "You okay?"

Biting your lip, you couldn't help but enjoy the feel of his hands on your hip, the warmth spreading through your clothes. "I-I'm sorry, I, the stairs…I guess…missed steps." you brokenly mumbled, apparently having forgotten how to talk when you looked into his blue eyes. The contact lenses only intensified his gaze.

"Yeah, they're dangerous." Lee agreed, his head leaning closer, the rest of the world around you forgotten.

Yet before he could close the gap, Peter interrupted you with a loud whistle. "If you two turtledoves are ready, we'd like to continue." he called out to you with a chuckle. Of course everyone had seen that and you already felt the heat of your blush rising all over your body.

Carefully, yet hastily you scrambled off of Lee's lap and made your way down the stairs and to the back of the set. You would have loved for the ground to swallow you up when Benedict had come over and grinned at you.

"So, I don’t think you will tell me what that up there was.” he said matter of fact, knowing you wouldn’t even be able to describe it.

“Nope,” you said, eyeing the actor and PJ going over the next scenes with a dummy. “I’d rather leave it like it is. This is just too embarrassing."

He put his arm around your shoulders pulling you close. Martin was just walking around the corner having seen the whole thing and he instantly knew you'd be shutting down, only doing your work and nothing more, keeping your distance from Lee. The Brit found the eyes of his friend and co-Sherlock-actor, nodding once, then twice. They were your friends and could see that the sparks between their fellow actor and you were there, now they only needed to kindle the fire.

"Oh, this is wonderful." you gushed, looking around the Irish pub everyone decided to visit at the eve of their day off. "It's been too long since I had so much fun besides being on set."

Already the ciders and beers and whisky were flowing and everyone was laughing and singing with the band that played that night. James had decided to take a row of tables next to the musicians so the cast and crew that wanted to go there would fit into the seats.

"You all deserve a time off after the amazing work you did." Peter said, raising his pint of Guinness for a toast. You all followed suit, calling out a shout of "Hear, hear."

Laughing and listening to all the stories everyone was telling about their time on set, you enjoyed the feeling of warmth that spread through you. Not because of the alcohol but because of your family away from home.

"Are you enjoying the music?" James asked after a short while, himself listening to the tunes and words from his home country.

Nodding your head, you clapped your hands to the rhythm and smiled as a few people started to dance to the songs you couldn't understand the lyrics to. “What is she singing about?” you asked him, leaning in so he could understand the words with the louder music.

"It’s a really old Irish song, dating back hundreds of years in Ireland. This is one of the funny old Irish songs that is sung by a woman, and she sings about another woman." the Irish actor tried to explain over the loud music. "Back in the day women would get together and sing this song about the woman in town that was married to the man that they all wanted to be married to. ‘It’s a pity that I’m not Phaidin’s wife,’ and this woman who’s married to him, they hate her, and as the verses go on, they talk about what they’d like to do to her, like they want to break her legs and get rid of her and do anything to be this man’s wife. It’s a fun song. Irish music is like that. When you translate the words, sometimes it’s like gruesome and dark, but they’re meant in a lighthearted way."

You were always blown away by the way such a story could be shown in a nice tune. "The music is so lively, you'd never guess it's such a sad and dark story behind it."

"That's just the way the Irish are." James grinned at you before another song was starting.

"For our next song we'd love for you guys to get up, dance some more and just have fun." the female singer announced and waved to all patrons in the pub. The violin, banjo and drum began to play the first chords before the singer joined in. "Tell me ma when I go home, the boys won't leave the girls alone."

Benedict and James smiled at you, holding their hand out and pulled you from your seat and onto the provided dance floor where others had already started twirling around. "Let's dance and have some fun." the Brit said, giving you a twirl.

You couldn't help the smile that found its way on your lips as you danced around with the two actors, unbeknownst of the dark blue eyes following your moves. The dance was exhilarating and both James and Ben led you through the steps, jumping and twirling with other patrons until you were out of breath and another song was over.

When you came back to get something to drink you saw one of the seats being vacant. Lee was missing from the group of merry friends and you leaned over to Orlando, who had been sitting besides him. "Where did your dad disappear to?" you asked him, mirth coloring your words as you took a large sip of your drink.

He turned to you and smiled, patting the seat next to him, so you didn't have to stand. You were grateful for that with your feet aching from all the dancing you did with his fellow actors. "He said he needed to get back to the hotel, his flight back to the States is taking off early." Orlando said and your face must have shown your confusion as you didn't know Lee was needed back in America. "Shooting for Guardians of the Galaxy is starting in a few days and he wanted to get back earlier so he arranged it in the last few days. Peter knew about it, I'm surprised he didn't tell you."

"Oh, no, I really didn't know and Lee hadn't mentioned anything before." the disappointment colored your words and you sank back down in your seat. You couldn't help the feeling that it was something that recently happened and especially something you did or he would have been open enough to talk to you.

The British actor patted your leg and grinned. "Don't worry, he'll be back before you know it. Once he's done with that movie Lee's going to annoy us again with his dad jokes."

Nodding your head, you tried to feel confident, but still you didn't know why he didn't at least wait until you were back at the table to say his goodbyes. No he just left without so much as a word. Of course you were only there doing his make - up and hair but you had hoped that in the time you worked together you at least had become friends. Giving the dark haired actor a small smile you made your way back to your corner seat, staring off into space and trying not to get too drunk on your cider while thinking about why not even Peter had bothered to tell you his Elvenking was leaving the set sooner than planned.

Taglist:

@fortheloveoffanfic @toomanystoriessolittletime @omgkatinka @fuck-yeah-hope @wholelottatiffy @axshadows ​@a-really-bi-girl @madbaddic7ed @maggiemoo1892 @pinkzsugar @agniavateira @mary-ann84 and everyone else who wants to read this.

[erazonpo3]

Lance Strongbow Appreciation Week Day 6 - “The Original Strikers”

Lance hasn’t seen Stalyan since Vardaros, and he knows Rapunzel had run into her in Pincosta— but it’s been years since they’d actually had a conversation. What with the whole being used as an unwilling hostage by her father and poisoned within an inch of his life, they hadn’t really had a lot of time to catch up. They’d been friends, once upon a time, and even to this day those memories linger every time he rolls up to a jewellery stand and immediately picks out which rings she’d have liked best, or when he eats a macaron and thinks about how she used to only ever eat the pink ones.

So when Stalyan rolls up in Corona one day, Lance decides to pay her a visit.

Eugene and Rapunzel don’t know she’s here, and he’s sure she’d like to keep it that way, but Lance still keeps his ear to the ground enough to learn where she’s staying. The Dragon’s Roost is a tavern on the outskirts of the city with a finer reputation than The Snuggly Duckling, although it’s usually host to the sorts of high end criminals that have fingers in all sorts of dirty pies, but enough smarts to have alibis for the guards. He’s pretty certain the tavern itself is a laundering front.

And sure enough, there Stalyan is; safe in the knowledge that Rapunzel and Eugene would never betray the pub thugs by venturing into an enemy bar. He makes no attempt to sneak up on her— even if she hadn’t positioned herself so as to keep an eye on the entrance, he’s not exactly the sneaking type. So she simply raises an eyebrow at him as he walks in, and makes no comment when he sits himself down next to her at the bar.

“Stalyan.”

“Lance.”  

“What brings you to town?” he asks, signalling the bartender for the house beer.

“I gotta take the heat off for a little while. Dad’s enemies are my enemies, but they won’t show their faces in Corona,” she answers cooly, taking a sip from her own half-pint of cider.

“You gonna drop in to see your dad?”

“Ugh, fuck no,” Stalyan sneers at him. “Why would I do that?”

“When in Corona,” Lance shrugs, and slides the bartender a crown in exchange for his own drink. It brings an odd thought to mind.

“You know, the last time we really hung out together we were stealing booze from your dad’s cabinet, and now look at us- buying it straight from the tap like grown ups,” he chuckles.

“Right. Before you and Rider ditched,” she says, leaving the ‘on my wedding day’ part unsaid. They’d been so young— way too young to get married— but Lance had also been too young to think very hard about what it would mean to leave Stalyan behind.

“I’m sorry, Stalyan. Really,” he sighs.  

“Well, Dad did almost kill you, so consider us even,” she shrugs. They both take a silent swig of their drinks, washing away the bitter taste of old memories.

“I’m a father now, you know,” Lance says to break the silence.  

“I heard.”

“Two girls, Kiera and Catalina,” he continues, and Stalyan is kind enough not to interrupt his spiel about Kiera’s new girlfriend and Catalina’s latest venture into playing hockey, even though he can tell she’s mostly tuning him out. She only lifts her head when he trails off, and realises he’s stopped talking just to look at her.

“You know, I look at those girls and there’s this tiny part of me that wants to put them in a little glass jar so that they’ll stop growing, and put them on a shelf where I can always see them. But then I think of you,” he admits, and Stalyan frowns.

“Why?”

“Because the Baron is what you get when you see your children as your things and not as their own people. And I try to remember that every time whenever they get upset with me, and I get scared that they’ll escape into the night. I just have to trust them, no matter how scary it is, because the last thing I want to be is like your dad,” he says.

Stalyan’s lip curls and she tilts her head to stare at the wall instead of his earnest expression.

“Well, it’s not exactly a high standard.”

“I’m sorry, Stalyan. And I’m not just saying that to clear the slate- it’s funny how fatherhood gives you a different perspective on things.”

Something in the perfect mask of her face cracks, but it’s been too long since he’s known her to be able to tell what it means.

“As lovely as this reunion has been, I gotta bounce. I’m taking the night cruise to Neserdnia,” she says, and hoists herself to her feet. Lance leans back in his seat and watches as she gathers her satchel and heads for the exit, catching her eye when she stops at the door and finally glances back at him.

“Take care of yourself, Stalyan,” he says.

“You too, Strongbow.”

[gyujeongfmd]

aesthetic, headcanon & playlist — a gyujeong character study

summary — a general layout for the “vibe” that gyujeong has in his little mannerisms. they’re like little crumbs you can see his personality in through each picture, the good the bad the ugly. not necessarily shown towards other, it’s the small little “quirks” (i hate this word) that makes gyu, gyu. playlist summary — most times people want to refer to gyujeong as grumpy. however, in most of his interactions, he’s rarely ever blatantly harmful to the other person. instead, most times there’s an underlying softness? if you can call it that, where he basically tucks his tail away and says something kind-ish that gets swept under the rug of superficial conversations. as a result, most times people would relate his essence to a travis scott / asap rocky vibe, but in reality — he’s more of a drake rapper where there’s a tinge more of sentimentality with what he carries. these aren’t the songs that best describe him, per se, but more so the songs that “feel” most like him. if you take a listen, there’s bits of gyu to all the songs. wc — 418

1. 박소은 — 일기 / park soeun — diary 2. keshi — 2 soon 3. loote — tomorrow tonight 4. anne-marie — to be young (ft. doja cat) 5. 박재범 — 가나다라 ft. 아이유 / jay park — GANADARA ft. iu 6. 비투비 — 그리워하다 / BTOB — missing you 7. 레드벨벳 — 퀸덤 / red velvet — queendom  8. 오마이걸 — 살짝 설렜어 / oh my girl — nonstop 9. drake — come thru (nothing was the same) 10. mac miller — love lost

—

these things aren’t necessarily things that require an explanation, just the general gist / feel for what “aesthetic” gyujeong is. it’s meant to read it, and then have an understanding of “ah ha that is gyu” type of vibe

scraping off the burnt part of toast to salvage eating it

lopsided cuts off the crust leftovers from pizza

sweet potato pizza with corn 

a full ass pizza with one leaf of spinach

a dirty mop with a chanel logo pasted on it, causing the price to hike up to 3k for a used mop

grape juice poised as wine on a set of a tv show

north dakota / south dakota being considered one state

ignoring chungcheong-do as a province

jeju-do during jangma season

double stamps on your passport visas to make a 3D effect

puffy stickers

wearing a brown bag over your face, only to realize it starts a new trend

the unused 1kg weights at the gym

taking april fools jokes seriously

cry-laughing at “is ur refrigerator running? better go catch it” joke

background noise of my 600 lbs life on background

trot music at an old hof

fingers touching the first snowflakes of winter

sniffling during sad movies and calling it “allergies”

otter memes

stepping into a confessional to have conversations

ignoring international fans

underdressing for winter 

christmas lights in may

the singe of apple cider vinegar’s smell

😹🤙👍🌹

🌝 this emoji used non-ironically

~_~ 

half-dried out roses

drinking half the drink with one gulp of a straw and calling it a “sip”

throwing away clothes after seeing some insta influencer wearing it

getting idioms wrong by 1 word

building an interior on the sims before putting it in real life

“pummeled by cupid” moodlet

scooping out all the cookie dough in the chocolate chip cookie ice cream pint

forgetting to eat

bob pancakes on the sims

that melody that plays before your subway comes thru

the maze that is jongno / myeongdong underground pathway

pretending to be on the phone in front of people only for your phone to ring

baby lotion

the speedwalking event in the olympics

wearing hokas for fashion

tik tok trends that already passed 4 months ago

bottles of expensive wine as decor

soft yellows

silk sheets (for health benefits not aesthetic)

specialized soaps / array of laundry accessories

bb cream guised as sunscreen

death note

kyo soma’s duality

the baby chickens you’d get from school 

faking a “headache” during gym class

crong from pororo

reusable tumblers

[itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto]

Amsterdam with Matthew.

A/N: Hi everyone, another Matthew fic for you all! This came about when I was talking to @hercleverboy​ and @gubetube​ a while ago, and just had to fic it! 

My requests for both Matthew and Spencer Reid are open!

Trigger warnings:  Smoking (weed), drinking (alcohol), swearing, sex references/dirty talk.

“Gube, we need a holiday.” You say to your boyfriend one evening, as you cook dinner. Last night Matthew made you lasagne, using the recipe Joe gave him and tonight you are cooking a chicken curry. “I love spending time with you, but I just need a week with my favourite human where I’m not drowning in my University work.”

Matthew smiled at you as he set the table in his apartment and went over to wrap his arms around your waist pulling you into a cuddle. “Where do you fancy peach?” He asked as you leant up to kiss him which he gladly accepted.

“Hmm. I’d like to go to Amsterdam, do some touristy stuff, but also get stoned.” You giggle.

“We’ve already got stoned before muffin, how will this be different?” Matthew asked as you stir the saucepan.

“Because it’s legal there.” You say wiggling your eyebrows

“Amsterdam it is.” Matthew smiled, “How long for dinner?”

“10 minutes.” You smile

“Perfect, gives me time to start looking at places to stay and book flights.” Matthew says grabbing his computer.

“How did I get so lucky?” You thought to yourself and put the rice on to cook.

“Thanks for dinner boo.” Matthew smiled putting his bowl down. “You’re the best chef.”

You smile, “You’re welcome Gube.” And get up putting everything in the dishwasher. “Do you fancy a drink?” You ask

“Can I have a glass of red wine please?” He asks as you nod pouring him one and getting yourself a cider out of the fridge. “You want cuddles?”

“Of course, what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t want cuddles from you?” You chuckle and walk to the sofa.

“You didn’t want any last week when we were at your flat.” Matthew pouts as he makes grabby hands for the wine and for you to cuddle into.

“I had cramps and wanted to be a burrito of sadness.” You say handing him his drink.

Matthew nodded, “But cuddles help.” He says sipping his drink

“My mood swings don’t.” You say. “I hate them, one minute everything is rainbows and unicorns, one minute everything is hell on earth.”

“Aww, my poor little burrito.” Matthew pouted as you snuggled into his arms and started kissing your forehead gently.

“I’m okay now Gube. I just don’t like objectifying my hatred of the world on anyone.” You smile up at him.

“Babe, I have a mother and a sister. I’ve seen it all.” Matthew assured you.

You nod sipping your drink as Matthew put his laptop on your lap and you started to book your holiday.

Two weeks later, you and Matthew arrive into Amsterdam.

“Thanks for letting me stop to chat to my fans, or should I say our fans? They love you!” Matthew smiled, carrying your suitcase and you carried the rucksacks.

“They’re just being polite.” You say, looking down.

“Nuh-uh sunshine. They chatted to you for ages about us.” Matthew smiled, “And you chatted to them whilst I had some stuff to sign.”

You smile, Matthew’s fans totally adore you two, even though you’re not famous, his fans love that you’re just a normal person like them, and you are happy with that. “I guess they do love me, but I know someone who loves me more.”

Matthew gasps dramatically, “Who?”

You giggle going on your tiptoes and kiss his lips softly, “You idiot.”

You arrive into your AirBnB for the week and slump on the sofa, tired from the flight.

“I’m going to take a shower love bug.” Matthew says getting his toiletries out.

“Okay. I’m going to try to stay awake and find us something for dinner. What do you fancy to eat?” You ask looking at your boyfriend lovingly.

“You.” Matthew winked

“Gube!” You say nudging his arm and blushing.

“You didn’t complain last night.” Matthew shrugged. “But I’ll eat whatever.” He said kissing your cheek and went to have a shower.

“Fucking horny bastard.” You mumble to yourself and get out your phone, giggling at how Matthew got horny watching you eat a banana yesterday and then you two had sex straight after.

“Hey babe…” You hear Matthew call from the shower.

“Yeah honey?” You call back

“I forgot my shampoo, be the best girlfriend ever and bring it to me?” He asks

You roll your eyes and go to get it. “Moron.” You say handing it to him.

“Can you wash my hair? It relaxes me when you do it.” Matthew says with puppy eyes.

“I can’t refuse those eyes, of course I’ll wash your hair.” You smile, knowing Matthew would do the same for you. “Close your eyes pretty boy.”

“Thanks pumpkin.” Matthew smiles once you have done the last rinse.

“You always give me such cute nicknames.” You smile kissing his hand.

“Of course angel.” Matthew smiled, “You going to stay there whilst I wash the rest of my body?”

“Mhmm.” You say checking him out.

Matthew smirks, “Okay pretty eyes, my face is up here, not my dick.”

“Whatever.” You shrug as Matthew finishes his shower and wraps himself in the towel.

You giggle and have a shower yourself. “Want me to wash your hair?” Matthew offers

“I’m okay thanks, maybe later in the week?” You suggest

Matthew nods, kissing your shoulder and goes to get ready.

Later in the evening, you and Matthew settled on Tapas.

“Can we get some space cakes to eat back at the apartment?” You ask Matthew with a grin

“Of course. I was just thinking the same.” Matthew smiled as you hold hands

“My hands are so tiny compared to yours.” You pout

“That’s okay, they fit perfectly into mine.” Matthew said kissing your hand and bringing you in for a kiss, even though you had to be on your tip toes.

You smile, even during your bad days or moments, Matthew is always there to make it better.

You go into a shop and buy some space cakes, whilst Matthew buys a few joints for you both.

“Do we need a lighter angel?” Matthew asked you

You shrug, “Can always get another.”

Matthew nods agreeing with you and buys one.

“Can we ride bikes tomorrow Gube?” You ask with puppy eyes knowing it makes Matthew melt

“Of course princess.” Matthew smiled holding his hand out for you as you walked back to the AirBnB

“Okay, so we got alcohol, an ash tray, a lighter, all the weed, and my dream girl.” Matthew said checking you had everything now you were back at the AirBnB.

“Yep.” You smile, putting two glasses of water on the table as Matthew flops on the sofa, opening his arms for you.

“Come here baby girl.” Matthew smiles as you gladly snuggle into his arms and start eating a space cake, which Matthew takes a few bites from.

“You want to light up?” You ask Matthew, smiling at him like a goof.

“Sure.” Matthew said kissing your cheek first and then lit the joint. “I love getting stoned with you.” He said after taking a drag.

“I love you.” You say smooshing his cheeks, then kiss them both and take the joint off him.

“I love you too.” Matthew smiles.

“Joints are definitely stronger here. Not complaining though.” You say as you exhale.

“Mmm.” Matthew says burring his face in your chest.

After a few joints, you and Matthew are definitely feeling the buzz and are slow dancing to ‘Dancing in the moonlight’.

“You know if we ever have kids, I’m going to be so cross if they wear matching socks.” Matthew said as he took the joint from you.

You exhale, “I can just imagine you going ‘sweetie, your Mummy and Daddy love you very much but in the Gubler household we wear mis-matched socks, now please go back upstairs and change.’” You say in a strict Mum voice.

“Remember when my Mum caught us having sex at New Year?” Matthew laughs

You blush, “I was so embarrassed because you said you locked the door!”

“You told me you were sober.” Matthew giggled.

“Never trust an Irish girl when she says she’s sober after 10 pints.” You giggle as Matthew pulls you in for a kiss. “Are my eyes red?” You ask

“Yeah. Are mine?” Matthew asks as you nod.

“As red as the devils horns.” You say trying to keep a straight face.

“Do you want to have sex?” Matthew asked, even when he’s stoned or drunk, he’d never do anything you didn’t want to do.

“Yeah.” You smile like an idiot.

Matthew scooped you in his arms and you snuggled into them as he carried you to bed.

The following day

You wake up first, and put a top and leggings on, and go to the bathroom careful not to wake your pretty boyfriend and then go to make him a coffee, and a herbal tea for yourself.

Meanwhile Matthew wakes up, sad you’re not there, he’s been trying to get you to move in for a while, but as you don’t study where he lives, you’d have to commute two hours every day so you both agreed, once you graduate, you’d move in together.

Matthew smiles seeing you poor him a coffee. “Hi pretty lady.” He says in a raspy voice.

“Morning love muffin.” You smile handing him the mug.

“Thank you. Did you sleep okay?” He asks

You nod, “Yeah. I was fully knocked out after our fun.” You say sipping your tea. “Oh, I booked for us to do some stuff this week. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Stuff?” Matthew asks

“Well, bike riding and a few museums.” You shrug

“Sounds good cupcake.” Matthew smiled, “What’s for breakfast?”

“I got a delivery of waffles coming.” You smile, “Should be here in 15 minutes.”

“You’re the best.” Matthew said kissing your hand

Later on in the afternoon, you and Matthew are cycling around Amsterdam having the best time. “Babe, can we get lunch? I’m hungry.” You ask

“Of course.” Matthew smiled, “What do you fancy?”

“Maybe a picnic, we could get some stuff and sit by the canal?” You suggest

“Aww, I love that.” Matthew said and you cycled to the nearest shop to get some food.

“Thanks for the holiday Gube.” You say sipping your lemonade by the canal.

Matthew snaps a few cute selfies of you both, before putting them on Instagram. “Amsterdam with the best girlfriend who’s also my best friend.” Was the caption

“Aww.” You smile looking through the photos

“When did you take this one?” Matthew asked going on your Instagram, seeing the one of him on his phone wearing a white t-shirt.

“When we got stoned in my flat last time.” You say, “You were so giggly and I just had to take the picture. If you don’t like it, I’ll take it down.”

“No, it’s fine.” Matthew assured you. “We must’ve been really out of it.”

You laugh. “We were.”

Matthew smiles as you put your head on his shoulder and kisses your forehead gently. “Thank you for the holiday darling.”

“You paid for the flights.” You shrug

“You paid for the AirBnB.” Matthew smiled, even though Matthew could afford the whole thing, you still wanted to pay some of it. Matthew knows you never take advantage of him or his money, and it is one of the things he loves about you.

“Gube?” You ask

“Yes my love?” Matthew smiled

“Can we just stay here for a bit? I’m quite comfy.” You say

“Of course angel.” Matthew said draping a blanket over you two and you stayed there for a while just enjoying each-others company.

Taglist: @pumpkin-goob​ , @jpegjade​ , @andiebeaword​ , @hopebaker​ , @hotchsbabygirl​ , @hercleverboy​ , @cupcake525​ , @gubetube​ , @aperrywilliams​ , @cosmic-psychickitty​ , @marleyhotchner​ , @gubler-me-up​ , @trina2323​ , @goldentournesol

[boxoftheskyking]

Pick Up Every Piece, Part Five

In which we have a scene at the bar

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

--

Early November 2000

When Jiang Cheng comes to the bar on his own, he lets Wei Ying watch his back. Which is to say, he sits at the bar and doesn’t spend the whole time half-turned to keep an eye on the door. When Jin Zixuan joins them, he hangs by the corner of the bar by the weird old poker machine that hasn’t worked in years, and he mostly avoids eye contact.

“Hey Zixuan,” Wei Ying says, grinning. “How’s your cousin?”

“Hm?” He’s so polite, always, in a snobby kind of way. Like he knows he’s better than you, but he’s far too well-bred to admit it. Wei Ying sometimes wonders if he got that from his mother. Wei Ying has never really spoken to Mrs. Jin outside of an awkward few minutes at the wedding, but what he knows of the rest of the family is far more in the “knows they’re better than you and will tell you to your face” camp.

“Your cousin, you know.” He winks at Jiang Cheng. “It’s the liiiiiife of the Jin!”

Jiang Cheng joins in, “What’s going down in Lanling—”

“Cut it out!” Zixuan reaches out like he’s going to cover Jiang Cheng’s mouth, but he doesn’t. 

“It’s catchy!” Jiang Cheng giggles. It’s a gratifying sight.

“That show should be outlawed,” Zixuan says darkly.

“It’s genius,” Wei Ying argues, drinking in the two of them there, together. “Nie Huaisang is a visionary.”

“I’m going to have him imprisoned. He’s a curse.”

“He’s a genius. It’s a totally new art form.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Art form. It’s boring. I like seeing Jin Zixun humiliated as much as anyone, but it’s just rich people sitting around being stupid and rich.”

“It’s reality, but also pure escapism. It’s brilliant.”

“It’s a threat to national security,” Zixuan says. Wei Ying cackles.

Jiang Cheng makes a face. “There’s no story! There’s no, like, script.”

“There is a story! It’s all how Huaisang edits it.” Wei Ying hasn’t actually talked to Nie Huaisang in years, so he’s not that personally invested, but he can’t resist the chance to disagree with both Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan at the same time.

Zixuan slides his glass over for a refill. “Zixun is never going to get a real job. He has no skills, he can’t do anything useful, so he sits around and has cameras follow him? It’s a disgrace.”

“It’s the most watched show in the country. I watch it every week.”

Jiang Cheng intercepts Zixuan’s glass to steal a sip. “That’s because you also don’t have a real job.”

“Serve yourself then, asshole.”

“We don’t watch reality TV, we work. We’re civil servants.”

“I’ve written six columns on The Life of Jin, I’ll have you know. So it is my job. And I’m more of a civil servant than you, I barely make any money.” It earns him a pair of eyerolls, but they won’t insult the paper to his face. Not anymore. “I can’t believe they made you both work today.” It’s the wrong thing to say, and Wei Ying covers his wince to fill a row of pints.

“Yeah, well.” Zixuan scratches the back of his neck. He keeps his hair a bit long, like Jiang Cheng does, but on him it feels like a memorial. “Five years. I guess I can’t keep getting time off forever.”

Jiang Cheng is drumming his fingers on the bar, looking away.

“Five years to the day, though,” Wei Ying offers. He leans in, almost wanting to touch . . . something, then twirls away to ring someone up. He feels like a bird, a swallow, dipping and soaring and coming in close for a moment before getting scared back up to a tree top.

When he comes back the tension has receded.

“Dad wants me to move over to the business side of things,” Zixuan is saying.

“Leave intelligence?” Jiang Cheng’s brow furrows, clearly already imagining following his brother-in-law over to the corporate hellhole of Jin Industries.

“Yeah. He keeps talking about the CEO gig, as if I’m qualified.”

“No offense,” Wei Ying says, “but your dad has never been big on qualified.”

“What about Guangyao?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“He’s not the face Dad wants for the company. I don’t know, it’s like during the war, he’s staying back in his lab and his back office, tinkering with stuff. Dad wants a stupid— A face. You know, dynasty bullshit.”

“Like those propaganda posters.” Wei Ying grins at him. “That noble profile. I had one on my bedroom wall.”

“Don’t be creepy.” Jiang Cheng goes to smack him, but he ducks away. “You did not.”

“It wasn’t propaganda.” Zixuan sighs, having lost this argument before.

“It was good propaganda,” Jiang Cheng argues.

Wei Ying keeps his thoughts to himself, for once. He doesn’t comment on Jin Guangyao, either, though he could. A drunk girl yells at him from the other side of the bar, which helps.

“But like—” Zixuan takes a long gulp, spinning his fingers in frustration, looking for the words. “This is what I trained for. I joined the army at eighteen. I was in the army when it was just prison security and diplomatic escorts. My degree is decoration, and he knows that. It’s an art piece on the office wall, it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just become this business guy. It’s like— He doesn’t actually know me, who I am, what I’m good at. He just expects me to work wherever he plugs me in, to just be the best at whatever he thinks I should be the best at. I’m already the best at something. Right? I’m too old to be the best at something else.”

Wei Ying shrugs in sympathy. “Welcome to your thirties, eh?”

Jiang Cheng drains his glass, his third already. “He wants you to be a liquid.”

“What?”

“He thinks you’re a liquid. Your dad. Fit the shape of your container.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m not a fucking liquid.”

Jiang Cheng points at him. “That’s right. You’re not a fucking liquid.”

“I’m a solid.”

“You’re solid as shit, man.” Jiang Cheng pounds on Zixuan’s chest, and he winces slightly.

It’s nine o’clock, so Wei Ying decides he gets to pour himself a whiskey. He puts an orange slice in it, for vitamins.

Jin Zixuan looks into his own glass, thoughtfully. “Although, I mean. What’s a liquid without a container? Just a puddle, right?”

“Or a river,” Jiang Cheng says. They pause to contemplate rivers.

“What kind of liquid would you be?” Wei Ying asks, watching the gold of his liquor swirl around the melting ice cubes and the orange peel.

Zixuan huffs a laugh. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Vegetable soup,” Wei Ying says, then winces again.

“Soup,” Jiang Cheng agrees, quietly.

“Yeah,” Zixuan says. “Soup.”

They stare down into their glasses, drink.

“That reminds me,” Zixuan says, rallying after a long moment and pulling his fancy silver business card holder out of his breast pocket. “I got a new number.”

He hands Wei Ying a classy white card. It’s not his government one, just his phone number and his new email. Of course Jin Zixuan would have a personal business card, printed up by a printing company somewhere.

“Did you get rid of the old phone?” Wei Ying asks, carefully. Jiang Cheng looks between them, also careful, saying nothing.

“No, I just had to— I moved it to the basement. I can’t keep . . . The answering machine is still hooked up to the old one. I’ll still wipe the tape, so you can call—”

“Thanks.” We don’t talk about it. Let’s keep not talking about it. Wei Ying rinses a glass that’s already clean.

“If you want. It’s not a problem. I just can’t keep—”

“Yeah.” He wipes the glass, too quickly, the damp microfiber squeaks a little.

“A-Ling gets confused. He hears you say her name, you say ‘Jiejie,’ and he—”

“Yeah, I get it, no problem.” Wei Ying rinses the glass again.

“You can call me, though.” Jin Zixuan is looking at him, which he rarely actually does right in the face, horribly earnest. “You know that. You can call the new number and talk to him, or to me.”

“I know. I will.” He probably won’t. He looks over at Jiang Cheng, who’s chewing on his lip. Yanli would scold him for that, say that’s why it keeps chapping, worse now that it’s getting colder. He doesn’t leave her messages, Wei Ying doesn’t think. He doesn’t need crutches like that, he straps the anger onto himself like steel braces and gets on with things, limping.

Wei Ying would like to be angry, especially today on the five year anniversary. Five full years without her. That would be a comfort, such a relief, to be angry. But he doesn’t get to be angry when Jiang Cheng is around.

Jiang Cheng clears his throat. “I can’t believe your dad allows Zixun to do that show.”

Zixuan draws himself up, sucking in a breath like he’s coming out of water. “He must get something from it. Like some kind of PR or something.”

Wei Ying goes into the back and carries out a case of wine and a case of cider, loads them into the cooler. It takes a while, he has to pull things out so the warm bottles go in the back. He can vaguely hear his brothers insulting Jin Zixun and the state of modern television, keeping it light. He stares at the label on a bottle of cider—it’s an apple with a face, one of those unnerving cartoon faces where all the teeth are the same size and shape. No one’s teeth look like that.

He shuts the cooler and returns.

“If Zixun looks like a fool,” Wei Ying says thoughtfully, interrupting them like he’s supposed to, “then he’s mostly harmless. He’s a goofball. It must be useful for the great and powerful Jin to have a goofball side. It makes you look less, I don’t know . . .” He could say a lot of things. He could say things like tyrannical or despotic or calculating or morally questionable. He doesn’t say any of it, just waves his hands around.

Zixuan looks like he hears the words anyway, and as usual, he stares out across the bar. “He’s a sacrifice, I suppose. Zixun. He’s always been the spare.”

“Do you think he knows he’s being played?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Would he keep doing it if he knew?”

“My dad,” Zixuan says slowly. “Doesn’t play Go. Metaphorically speaking. Not like A-Yao does. But he does play poker. Zixun—” he spins the glass between his hands. “Zixun plays hopscotch. Badly.”

Wei Ying snorts, and it feels nice.

“I guess I don’t like the show so much anymore,” he says, pouting.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng reaches out and flicks his ear. Wei Ying lets him.

“Why does everything have to be nefarious?” Wei Ying whines, meaning reality TV but also Jiang Cheng and his mean fingers “Can’t we have something that’s just dumb? Aren’t we there, as a country, where we can just have stupid shit that’s stupid and doesn’t mean anything?”

“You mean besides you, and also your face?” Jiang Cheng asks. Zixuan sighs at them in a judgmental way.

Wei Ying taps his chin. “Although, there’s a column there. The insidious political machinations of so-called reality.” He hits the button to roll out some receipt paper and makes a few notes.

“I just don’t get why he does it,” Jiang Cheng muses. “He has to know he looks bad. Right? Like, he has to.” As if everyone is as pathologically obsessed with their public appearance as you are, which is something Wei Ying does not say. “It’s not like he needs the money.”

As always, that’s its own flavor of uncomfortable. Zixuan makes more money than Jiang Cheng, and has a trust fund on top of it. He keeps trying to make it up by buying expensive presents and starting a tab wherever they go, but Jiang Cheng won’t take it. He used to, back when Zixuan was just their shitty rich brother-in-law, or Yanli’s shitty rich boyfriend. He used to call it “Yanli’s dowry” when he’d leave his birthday dinner with a new stereo or a nice watch. Now that they’re friends, though, he gets pissed off. He’ll get mad if Zixuan buys him a hardcover instead of a paperback, now that they’re friends. He’s a complicated man. So is Zixuan, in his way.

That’s probably why they get along so well, and why Wei Ying is always a half a step off of their weird masculine choreography. Wei Ying fancies himself a complicated man, but it’s different. He’s in control in a way they don’t seem to be, not of his life but of his face and his voice and his sentence structure. It makes him a good reporter.

They, on the other hand, have always been good soldiers.

Wei Ying had cried when Jiang Cheng enlisted, mid-’93. 

“You watch too many war movies,” he’d said, looking down at this lap, twisting his hands together, face hot and heart racing. “It won’t be like that, A-Cheng, there’s not any glory in it, it’ll just be horrible—”

“It’s the right thing to do.” Jiang Cheng had been stubborn as always, chin jutting out. “Wen Chao’s last attack—I can’t just sit here.”

Yanli hadn’t cried at all, she’d just looked between them, silent.

“Why don’t you come too?”Jian Cheng had asked him, eyes like a six-year-old. “You’d be good at it. We could do it together.”

“No, I gotta— Someone’s gotta report on all your heroics, right?” Wei Ying had been sweating, panicked, chills running down his arms, blowing his nose again and again. “Maybe I’ll get an assignment so I can follow you around and sing about your adventures. Like something out of those ancient poems, right?”

He’d been wrong about his role in the war, but more right than he’d be able to guess about ancient poetry. Because cultivation was real. Magic was real, and his brother was somehow mixed up in it.

He got drunk with Yanli the week after the first cultivator battle. The first battle with the new cultivator corps. Zixuan, Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan, Mianmian, and the others.

“You husband is a wizard,” Wei Ying had said, slurring.

“Your brother is a wizard.” Yanli had flicked a sunflower seed into his lap. 

That was her secret: when Yanli got drunk she could go through two bags of sunflower seeds by herself. She got the cheap ones from the gas station on the corner and split them with her teeth, scattering shells everywhere like a little disaster zone. She’d clean up all the evidence in the morning, before anyone woke up. She was almost never hungover. 

Wei Ying loved that about her, the evidence she left, her secret messiness. He’d catch a stray shell in the corner, behind a potted plant or caught in the fringe of an area rug, and he’d get so rocked with love—violent, breathless love for her—that his vision would go spotty. 

Or maybe that’s just how he remembers it, now that she’s gone.

“Actually, he’s your brother too,” Wei Ying had said at the time, poking her nose. “Your husband and your brother are both wizards. So what does that make you?”

“Well, there’s Lan Zhan. You’re blushing, see, you’re blushing. And Mianmian. They’re your—”

“Friends.”

“Yeah, but you kissed both of them.”

Wei Ying had stuck out his tongue at her, or done something equally childish.

She’d cracked a sunflower seed and popped it into her mouth. “We could be wizards if we wanted to.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely”

“We just aren’t.”

“We’re busy.”

“We are busy people.”

Wei Ying is shaken out of the memory by a pint glass slamming down on the bar, just missing Jiang Cheng’s elbow. It’s Li Wangcheng, youngest son of his usual source, Li Riseung.

“Fill ‘er up, asshole,” Li Wangcheng says, listing into his buddies on either side. Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are both looking at him with equally disdainful nose wrinkles. “Chop chop.”

Wei Ying sighs. “Sorry, Wangcheng, you’re cut off. I already over-served you, and I promised your dad and your brother I wouldn’t.”

“Fuck you.”

“Your liver can’t take it. Here, have some water and go sit down.”

“Fuck you, Wei Ying. Fuck you.” He’s pushing off his friends, leaning over the bar with his tobacco-stained teeth and his mix-of-alcohol breath.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Ying moves away, wiping down the counter, and Wangcheng follows.

“I’ll fucking kill you. You watch your back, bitch, I’ll fucking find you, and I’ll kill you.”

Wei Ying puts up his hands. “Okay, man, take it easy.”

“I know where you live. I know where you park your bike. Your stupid little fucking— Your stupid bike.”

His two biggest friends start pulling at his elbow, pulling him away. He shakes them off.

“Don’t think I won’t. Don’t think I won’t find you, motherfucker.”

Jiang Cheng is off his stool, now, and Zixuan is moving around behind him, coming in to engage. Wei Ying waves them off, desperately. Wen Ning is leaving his spot by the door.

“When you leave tonight, you better—”

“The fuck did you say?” Jiang Cheng is up in his face, now, and Wei Ying has to come out from behind the bar. He hates leaving the bar, it’s his comfortable place to be.

“Leave it. A-Cheng, A-Xuan, leave it, leave it.” He gets himself between them all, holding his brother back. Wen Ning has a good hold on Wangcheng’s shoulders.

“Fuck you.” That sprays a bit in his face, the plosive. “Everything was fine before you came here. Yiling was fine before you came here, and then everything went to shit.”

“That’s not—” Jiang Cheng tries to butt in, but Wei Ying sticks an elbow in his gut.

“I said, leave it.”

“Fucking worthless,” Wangcheng spits at him, and Wen Ning and his friends haul him back towards the door. “Fucking demon. You’re a fucking demon, Wei Ying! Fucking cursed!”

Wen Ning throws them out, and the silence following is awkward, no one looking at each other. Wei Ying wipes his face, straightens Jiang Cheng’s shirt collar, and goes back to work. There’s a short woman standing there, frozen, holding out her empty glass. He gets her another gin and cranberry, pleased that he remembered, and she gives him a pitying kind of smile. He hides his hands down by his sides, but he knows she’s seen them. Everyone can see them; he doesn’t cover them.

“Holy shit,” Jiang Cheng says, still staring back at the door.

“Yeah. Never mind.” Wei Ying readjusts his t-shirt.

“Never mind? That was a death threat. For what, cutting him off?”

“Forget about it.”

“For cutting him off? What the fuck?”

“A-Cheng, forget it.”

“I’m not gonna forget it, that guy knows where you live.”

“It’s fine, it happens. Leave it. Please? Leave it.”

Jiang Cheng sits down. Zixuan says nothing, looking between Jaing Cheng and the door.

“Does it happen a lot?” Jiang Cheng is interrogating, intelligence-mode.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Wei Ying, does it happen a lot?”

“I mean, a bit. Okay?”

“For cutting—?”

“It’s not about cutting him off. It’s not about that. It’s not about me. Calm down.”

“Sure sounded like it’s about you. ‘Demon,’ really—”

“If it wasn’t me it would be someone else. Wen Ning. His friends. His dad.” Wei Ying chops more limes than he needs to, calmed by the sharpness of the knife. “He’s dying. Actually dying, everyone knows it. His liver is shot. He’s been laid off for months, and he can’t pay for any more treatment. His dad’s broke, mom died in the war. He’s lashing out.”

“But that’s not your—”

“You can’t swing at the clouds forever. Right? He’s not the only one. People feel good here, they feel comfortable here, and so they can hit someone here if they need to. You get beaten down and beaten down for year after year, eventually you have to fight back. Right? Otherwise what are you?” What am I? he doesn’t ask.

Zixuan clears his throat, still not looking at him. “What’s the use of fighting you? You’re not—”

Wei Ying laughs at him, mean. “What’s he gonna do, fight your dad? The whole fucking government? Who can he hit? After a while, you have to hit something or you’ll go mad. You have to make contact. Right?” He chops another lime. “You have to have an effect on something. You have to hit someone and see the bruise, or yell at someone and see them flinch. Otherwise it’s like you don’t exist at all. You’re already dead.”

“Wei Ying,” Zixuan says it, which is a surprise. He almost never says his name.

“Somewhere like this, somewhere like Yiling, all you can reach is the guy next to you. Once they put the crabs in the bucket, they put the lid on.”

The chatter in the bar is back, which is nice since there’s an awkward silence between the three of them. Wei Ying puts the chopped limes into the cooler and washes the cutting board, washes the knife. He replaces a drink at the other end of the bar earlier than he normally would—the guy is only halfway through, but he nods a thanks.

“What about—” Zixuan starts, hesitant. “Wei Ying, what about police?”

“Ha!” Wei Ying snaps it at him, not a laugh, not at all. “Don’t you— You don’t come here, into my bar, talking about police.”

“I didn’t come in talking about police, I’m just saying—”

“No cops in Yiling.” He shuts a cooler with his heel, a satisfying slam. “Cops are military, and the military hates Yiling.”

Zixuan bristles. “No, we don’t.”

He always does this. It’s one of the things Wei Ying can’t process about him, and one of the reasons they’ve never been close and probably never will be. It’s always “we.” The Jins, the government, the military. Wei Ying can like him if he doesn’t see Jin Guangshan, if he doesn’t see Jin Guangyao, if he doesn’t see the war when he looks at him. But then he comes in with the “we.”

It’s probably sad, actually, how long he’s been a soldier. How much of him is wrapped up in being his dad’s perfect soldier.

Wei Ying bites his tongue, takes a breath. “Of course you do. Everyone in charge hates Yiling.”

“I don’t hate Yiling.” Zixuan is getting stubborn. He looks like A-Ling, almost a pout. “It’s where you live, and you’re my family.”

Wei Ying blinks at him. “I don’t know how to talk to you when you get like this.”

“Like what?”

“Sincere. All, you know—” he waves an empty bottle around in Zixuan’s face. “Sincere.”

The pout becomes more of a pout. “I’m always sincere.

“Yeah, that’s why we don’t talk.”

Jiang Cheng leans across the bar and snags the rail whiskey bottle to top off his own glass.

“I can beat you up later, if you like,” Zixuan offers.

“Yeah.” Wei Ying doesn’t want to smile, but he does anyway. “Maybe.”

The silence isn’t awkward this time. Wei Ying takes the whiskey bottle back from Jiang Cheng and makes a show of wiping it off with the bleach rag. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

After a while, Jiang Cheng asks, “Is there something happening here this month? For the five years? Like a memorial or something?” He’s looking away, all careful again.

“Is Lanling doing something?” They look at Zixuan, only slightly accusing on Wei Ying’s part.

“No. I mean December 3 there will be a whole . . . Armistice anniversary.”

“But nothing for Sunshot. Nothing for the massacre I mean,” Wei Ying says.

“I mean, not specifically.” Zixuan licks his lips. “I’m sure it’ll be mentioned.”

“Nothing here, though?” Jiang Cheng asks again.

“Trust me, people around here aren’t the ones that need reminding what you’re— what Lanling is capable of.” 

“That’s not fair,” Zixuan says.

Wei Ying looks down at his hands, the mottled brown of them. Flies, flies and dirt and flies and chemicals and flies. “Don’t talk about fair. Not about this.”

Zixuan opens his mouth, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head, violently.

“A-Cheng, it’s not—”

“Stop it.” Jiang Cheng is glaring at him now, the kind of look Wei Ying gets all the time, but Zixuan doesn’t see so much. It makes him stop.

Wei Ying goes to the back and grabs the broom. Jiang Cheng reaches over for the gin bottle and tops off Zixuan’s glass. Wei Ying pretends he doesn’t see it and starts at the far end of the bar. It’s getting slower, people heading out for the night to more exciting places.

A song comes on, something from his college days. He remembers recording it onto a cassette tape from the radio, keeping it in his backpack. Lan Zhan didn’t really like it, but he let Wei Ying play it all the time on his cheap little dorm room stereo.

Wei Ying sings along under his breath as he sweeps. “And if I lied, would you forgive me. Whoa-oh-oh. Fit to be tied, but you still live with me. Oh, whoa-oh-oh.”

“This song,” Zixuan says, smiling a little. “We used to— We used to fight a lot. A-Li and I. Stupid stuff. I was late for dinner. My mom would get so overbearing and we’d fight about that. Her mom would— Well, you know. We’d fight about that. Baby stuff. We didn’t know what to do about baby stuff, so she bought out the whole section of the book store and said we’d divide and conquer. But every book was different, so we’d argue. Dr. Po says this. Well, Dr. Wen says that. She could be so— You’re all so stubborn. Stupid stuff. And we’d be so pissed off we stopped speaking to each other. But I bought her this CD once, not for a birthday or anything, just because. She loved them from way back. And she’d put it on, and we’d dance, and we wouldn’t be mad anymore.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said, clearing his throat. “She liked that sappy shit.”

“Do you play it for A-Ling?” Wei Ying asks.

Zixuan shakes his head. “It makes me sad to hear it. I spend most of my time trying not to be sad around A-Ling.”

Jiang Cheng moves like he’s going to touch him, his arm, his shoulder. He aborts the move and grabs his glass instead, slides it over to tap against Zixuan’s. 

“You’re doing good,” he says.

Zixuan looks down, blinking seriously.

“You are,” Wei Ying agrees. “You’re doing good. And you know it pains me to say it.”

Zixuan gives him an echo of a laugh.

“A-Ling is lucky.”

“He’d be luckier if his uncles would visit. Both of them.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying say in unison.

“You want me to change the song?” Wei Ying asks.

“No, leave it. It’s good. It’s a nice song.”

An old woman leans on the bar—she’s familiar but Wei Ying can’t remember her name. “Hey, hey, Wei Ying!”

“Yeah, auntie?” he smiles charmingly at her.

“You know my daughter’s coming home soon. December 21.”

“Cheers to that!” he gives her a half-salute.

“I’ll set you up, once she’s home. Just you wait, she’s the prettiest, even now.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“She makes that jumpsuit look like runway fashion. Still has her figure, even with the prison food.”

“Can’t wait,” Wei Ying says politely.

“December 21,” the old woman waves her finger at him and heads for the door. 

“Invite me to the wedding,” Jiang Cheng teases.

“December 21,” Wei Ying rolls it around in his mouth. “The Wens are coming home.”

Zixuan straightens up. “Really?”

“That’s what we’re celebrating. We don’t celebrate the Massacre, but innocent people coming home? That’s worth it.”

“Innocent is—”

“Zixuan, think about where you are.”

Zixuan nods.

All of the Wens who’d been scooped up post-Sunshot, post-war, those related to rebels or in the wrong place at the wrong time, they’d all been sentenced to five years in prison. “Just to be safe.” The majority came from Yiling, Dafan, other small towns in the West. People who couldn’t afford to run to Lanling, to Gusu, somewhere safe during the worst of the fighting. People who wouldn’t turn their backs on brothers and aunts and cousins in Nightless City. 

But five years have almost passed, and the Wens are coming home.

“It’ll be weird, won’t it?” Jiang Cheng asks, diplomatic in his insensitivity.

“A hundred and forty-three people,” Wei Ying says. “At least, that’s how many went in. I’m sure a couple fucked up inside, got their sentences extended.”

“But still.”

“But still,” he agrees.

“Are you going to do something for it? In December?” Jiang Cheng asks him.

“Dunno. I should stock up though, shouldn’t I? I’ll make a note.”

Later, after Jiang Cheng and Zixuan leave for Jiang Cheng’s Yiling sublet—a two bedroom so Zixuan doesn’t have to get his own place in town—Wei Ying sweeps up while Wen Ning flips chairs up on the tables.  

“Have you ever gotten over something?” Wei Ying asks him.

“Like what?” Wen Ning stops working and looks at him. He always does that—Wei Ying has always wondered if he had hearing loss as a kid. If he’s talking to you, he always has to stop whatever he’s doing and look at you right in the face.

“I don’t know. But have you ever stood there a second and realized you were over something? Or through something. You know, on the other side?”

Wen Ning thinks for a while, and Wei Ying sweeps around his feet. “School, I guess.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“What about you?”

Wei Ying leans down with the dust pan. “I don’t think I’ve ever come out the other side of anything. I think maybe if you stay in something long enough you adapt. Grow gills or whatever, so you can breathe. So you can survive when the world turns unlivable around you. And maybe you aren’t living at all, maybe you’re a stone, or you’re a dead fish with rotten eyes, washed up on the bank of a river that dried up years and years ago.” 

Wen Ning still looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn’t ask Wei Ying to make sense. It’s what Wei Ying appreciates the most about him. 

“So maybe you’re dead, or maybe you’re evolving. Like, maybe that’s just what the world is now, and what you would have previously defined as dead, what you’d look at ten years ago and say that’s a dead thing, maybe that’s just what life looks like now. Evolution.” 

Wen Ning nods and picks up a chair. “I think . . . I might be remembering wrong, but I think evolution takes a long time. Like many generations. So maybe you should look at the kids.”

“The kids?” 

“Yeah, see if the kids have gills. Or whatever. Whatever you said.”

Wei Ying leans his chin on his broom and watches Wen Ning go table by table, strong and methodical. He sets the chairs so gently on the tabletops that it doesn’t make any noise. He flips them with complete control and lines up the seats.

“Maybe,” Wei Ying says. He goes back behind the bar and turns up the music. There’s work to do before heading home

[confused-android]

Day 16, Dirk - Dance

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

Dirk leans up against the bar, a pint in one hand, and looks around the room with wide eyes. It's already a week into the semester, but students are out in full force, and they are --

Well, they are something, that's for sure.

It's not his first time consuming alcohol -- Steve had already taken care of that their first week together -- but it's his first time in a bar, and it is fascinating. It's loud and there is music playing, and the booths and high tops are full, and the seats in front of the bar are full, and there are even people shoved up between the seats at the bar, all trying to get the bartender's attention. Steve had gotten Dirk's beer for him, and Dirk is drinking it slowly. It's not the most enjoyable flavor, but he likes the lingering bitterness on his tongue, and the heady feeling that being halfway through the pint is giving him. Steve is in the long line for the toilets, and so Dirk is watching the students exist in the manner that students in a bar exist.

He's twenty-one, probably, so he's a few years older than most of the people around him. They're all eighteen and nineteen and desperate to be drunk. (Most of the third and fourth year students have finished desperately drinking alcohol at the beginning of the term, and are saving it for the end of the term when they need it most.) It's strange, being a few years older than all of his classmates. They know far more than he does about the world, and about being a student, and how to be -- be -- be people. But he knows more about how things can go poorly, and what it's like not having somewhere warm to sleep, or food to eat, or someone to trust.

Not that he knows every single student's backstory. Some of them might know similar things to him. But none of them are looking over their shoulders, or watching the doors, or jumping when someone comes up behind him. 

"Cjelli," says a voice, and a hands claps his shoulder. Dirk jumps.

"Oh!" he shouts, and drops his pint glass, and whips around. It's Steve, and he's grinning broadly, madly, and Dirk sucks in a gasp and tries to force his shoulders to relax. "Oh," he says again, a little more quietly, and stoops to pick up his empty glass. There's a puddle of Guinness by his feet and he frowns down at it, slightly bereft at its loss, and guilty at the mess.

"Fuck," Steve says, and crowds closer to Dirk. "I'm sorry, I forgot you don't like that shit. Can I get you another?"

Dirk wants to protest, knows that the second round is, by tradition, his to buy, but he's low on pocket money for the week. He needs to take some time to wander Cambridge and find a few lost cats to return for reward money, but he's swamped in his classes, and doesn't really have the time to randomly stroll about and wait for a cat to come running up to him, either demanding affection or scratching the shit out of him. "Yes," he says to Steve, pathetically grateful. "I would like another. I think I liked this one."

"Good, that's good," Steve enthuses. "When you didn't like the cider, I worried that you weren't a beer man, but you're a Guinness lad, and that's excellent."

He shoulders his way up to the bar and flags down the bartender easily, orders two pints and two shots of whiskey. "Both for you?" Dirk asks, curious.

"Nah," Steve says. "Time for you to taste whiskey, too." He slides Dirk's pint and his shot over, and they clink rims. Steve downs his shot in one swallow, then moves to his pint. Dirk takes a cautious sip of the whiskey and shoots a wounded look at Steve.

"Burns!" he squawks, and Steve bursts out laughing, almost spits his beer on Dirk's jacket.

That's the thing about Steve. Or, about Steve with Dirk. He's incredibly kind to Dirk, buys him drinks and shows him around the city and explains social mores to him, and how to get a hold of his advisor. In return, it seems, Steve has a front row seat to The Dirk Show. Every time Dirk trips over his own feet, or has to climb into their dorm room through the window, or accidentally insults an entire gaggle of instructors, Steve is right there, laughing along with Dirk. Or, sometimes, at Dirk. Dirk thinks maybe Steve thinks that Dirk can't tell when he's being laughed at, but he can. It's more that he doesn't really mind. And Steve is his roommate, and hasn't let him sleep in the street or get too lost, so it seems very worth it to provide the entertainment that he knows is being had, largely at his expense.

"You have to swallow it all in one go," Steve says, when he's managed to stop laughing. "There's whiskey that tastes good to sip, but this is shit. You're just meant to drink it quickly, get it over with."

"Why?" Dirk wonders, but he answers his own question in unison with Steve. "That's just how you do it." Steve says that a lot, when he's teaching Dirk things. Dirk wonders, vaguely, how often Steve is lying, but doesn't bother dwelling on it. As it stands now, Steve is the closest thing he has to a friend, so he'll believe him until he has a reason not to.

Dirk takes a deep breath to steel himself and throws the rest of the shot back. It burns his mouth again, but this time he swallows quickly and follows it up with a hurried gulp of the beer, feels it etch a pathway down his throat. He coughs a few times and glares up at Steve, but looks slightly less betrayed this time. "Ugh," he says finally. "I'm not doing that again." He shakes his head firmly and turns back to the beer.

By the time he's halfway through this pint, though, the beer and the whiskey have done their jobs, and Dirk is well on his way to inebriated. Not quite hand in hand with drunk, perhaps, but he's met tipsy and buzzed and already passed them by. Soused is walking near to him and looks to be making a daring approach.

He's not the only one, either. The bar full of students are excited to have found Friday night, and are doing their best to keep the bartender busy. The volume of music is rising with the energy, and the room is packed. Dirk feels lucky to have a stool by the bar to perch on, even if Steve is crammed up in front of him and other patrons keep shoving right up behind him to order drinks. At some point, one of Steve's friends comes by and orders chips, and Dirk snags a few of them. They soak up the beer and the whiskey and the nerves, all of them mixing in the bottom of his stomach, and he feels rather good. At one point though, he looks over Steve's shoulder and must make some kind of face because Steve looks behind himself, then back to Dirk, and says, "alright there?"

"Hm?" says Dirk. "Oh yes, I'm very well, thank you. I'm just wondering what's going on back there."

Steve turns to look again, and then to Dirk. "What's going on where?"

Dirk gestures vaguely, his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. "You know, the weird moving thing that's going on. With the – the – the girls in pink and green and brown. With their arms and their legs and their bums."

Steve asks, "the ones dancing?"

Dirk says, "no, they're not dancing. They're just moving in time to the music."

"…that's dancing, Dirk."

"You're joking."

Steve looks at Dirk like Dirk is the one joking. Only, Dirk knows what dancing is. He used to do it with his mother, when he was very young. When they lived together, and when she was still alive, and when he was still happy. This is not that. He tells Steve, "dancing is when you hug someone and you sway. This isn't that."

"That's a kind of dancing," Steve says near to patiently. "But any way you move your body to any kind of music, that's dancing."

Dirk lifts one hand off the bar and waves it back and forth. "Is this dancing then?"

"Don't be a twat," Steve says, but he looks genuinely uncertain as to whether Dirk is being a twat, or actually doesn't know what dancing is. "It's a little more than that. With your, I dunno. Your body."

Dirk wiggles his body on the stool where he's sitting and looks up at Steve with quizzical eyebrows. Steve shrugs and nods halfway. Dirk wiggles a little more and slides off the bar stool, and Steve laughs at him again, only Dirk laughs also this time, because it is pretty funny that he slid off the bar stool, right? He lets Steve take his place, so the seat isn't lost to someone they don't know, and Dirk peers over the crowd to the bunch of girls who are dancing, again. He tries to do what they're doing, which is mostly just shifting their bodies with the beat of some boppy Europop song that Dirk is about to become obsessed with, and swooshing their arms through the air. It works, sort of, in that Dirk feels a little silly, but also a lot happy. He thinks that if dancing is just about moving with music, it's probably also about being happy.

"Am I doing it?" he asks Steve. "Am I dancing?"

"Yeah, you're dancing, mate," Steve says. He has kind of a funny look on his face, but it doesn't seem like he's setting Dirk up for some kind of punch line, so Dirk just lets himself move and sway and swoosh to the music. It's fun. It's really fun, actually! The alcohol in his system is making him feel free and light and a little unsteady, and the music is making him feel energetic and engaged, and everything is kind of incredible! He's at university! He has a bed of his own, and a room with one other person, but the door is never locked from the outside! He gets food every single evening, and he's allowed to keep snacks under his bed, as long as they're in a plastic tub (as the Porter came around and told him that). He can even choose to not go to classes! Not that he should do that very often, or ever. But he can choose to, if he wants! And he can be silly or absurd, like he's being right now! He's – he's dancing!

It won't be his last time dancing, that's for sure. And somehow, that thought is as comforting as it is exciting. He can dance whenever he wants!

“Steve!” he says. “Dance with me!”

“No way,” Steve says, finishing off the rest of Dirk’s pint. Dirk would be indignant, but he’s pretty sure that he’s had enough alcohol for tonight, and Steve seems to need more than he does. 

“But it’s really fun,” Dirk informs him, quite earnestly. “I’m just moving my body, and it’s lovely!”

“Yeah, Dirk,” Steve says. “I’ve done it before. Everyone’s done it before. Except you, because you’re from some extremely weird shit.”

“I am!” Dirk says. “I am from some extremely weird shit, You have no idea how weird my shit is from. So dance with me!”

Steve looks like that connection makes no sense to him, and he shakes his head, but he looks marginally less sure this time. Dirk grabs Steve’s hand, large and a little too warm, and tugs him forward. Steve resists for a moment longer, then grabs his jacket and throws it on the stool, looks hopefully at it, as if it will save the seat from being taken by some wobbly undergraduate. And then he’s standing in front of Dirk, and Dirk is beaming madly. “Yes!” he says. “Yes! This is amazing! Dance with me!”

Steve rolls his eyes tolerantly, but he moves, just a little bit. He sways from side to side, hemmed in by crowds of people looking to drink and socialize, and he dances with Dirk. Dirk crows in victory, and then he’s dancing with Steve. He wonders, deep inside his chest, where his hope lives, if this might be what having a friend is like. He hopes Steve will become his friend and that they will dance together every Friday night. 

He likes this a lot.

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

Link to: day one, Farah - Youth day two, Farah - Dance day three, Farah - Gore day four, Farah - GNC fashion day five, Farah - AU day six, Farah - Family (to be written) day seven, Farah - Pride (to be written) day eight, Todd - Youth (to be written) day nine, Todd - Dance (to be written) day ten, Todd - Gore day eleven, Todd - GNC Fashion day twelve, Todd - AU day thirteen, Todd - Family day fourteen, Todd - Pride (to be written) day fifteen, Dirk - Youth

prompt list

[ficklepicklefandoms]

in dublin’s fair city ~ t.h

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Requested: no

Word count: 2,537 (my longest one ever!)

Warnings: Binge drinking, swearing, Irish slang and pure Dublin shenanigans.

Hi guys! I’ve had this in my drafts since July which is highly criminal if you ask me! There’s a lot of things that I love about my fair city of Dublin (nickname comes from the song Molly Malone. Listen to this classic!) and I am so excited to be able to share lots of them with you through this one shot! Here comes the bad news... I have final exams in June and need to study hard to get the points I need for my university course. I’m hoping to get some things out to you guys before then but it may be Easter break before anything comes your way. Thank you for your constant support and love with my writing. Please make sure to request things in my ask box for the future! Love and hugs as always xx

My friends and I sat around a small table in The Temple Bar Pub nursing our third or fourth pint of the night. It was nearing 8 and I’d lost count of how many drinks I’d had. The Irish trad music lilting through the air and the harmonious laughter of my friends reminded me my pint was slowly emptying. It would fill up soon without a doubt on earth.

“Ah here now, would you fill your glass before you embarrass us!” My friend Faye called out to me with a large smile adorning her face.

“Well, my drink is nearly gone too so if you’re going you better fill mine too,” Jess called out to me. The rest of our large group agreed and knocked back their drinks.

“Only if you’re buying.” I hit back wittily, knocking back the remainder of the liquid and feeling the tiniest burn on my throat. I held out my hand and she placed a fifty euro note in my hand. I laughed knowing she was being scaldy and reached into my pocket to pull out another fifty euro note.

“Pints again there Y/N, you’ll need at least another two before you get a fella.” Emma laughed loudly and I rolled my blurry eyes. I scooted past Max and Sammy in our booth, collecting the empty glasses before Alannah followed me to help me carry the pints.

“John, we’re gonna need another round,” I called out to the barman. He sauntered over and took the money out of my hands. I placed the empty glasses on the bar and Alannah stood against it

“I assume yous all want the same again. Orchard Thieves or Heineken?” He asked with a chuckle, his accent thick and warm.

“What do you take us for, fecking eejits? Orchard Thieves, ya bollocks.” Alannah laughed and John moved to pull the pints. 

Our group was quite large. We all kept in contact after school ended and it was rare that we were all together like old times. 

John had pulled the first two pints and Alannah took them over to the table. I waited for the next two and did the same. Alannah collected her last two and I waited for my pint to be pulled. John handed me back far too much money for what we got but I accepted it, knowing it’d be a lost war.

I picked up my glass and began to head back to the table until my journey was disrupted by a body colliding into me.

“Ah swinging Jaysus watch where you’re heading!” I exclaimed as my pint went all over the floor. I silently cursed more in my mind as I was known in this pub for constantly spilling drinks. John never minded pouring me another on the house but I always felt guilty.

“I barely understood that but I sincerely apologise and I’ll buy you another pint.” A British accent spoke apologetically. I sipped what was left in the glass before meeting the eyes of the English man in front of me.

“Holy Mother of Mary I’m bloody locked if I think I’m seeing Tom Holland.” I choked as my drink got caught in my throat. Tom’s hand came in contact with my back gently as I coughed. 

“You’re seeing Tom Holland love, don’t worry about being locked or whatever you called it. What’s your name?” Tom said with a slight chuckle in his voice. His hand left my back and I felt the remaining warmth

Just then, Faye came running over. She was drunk and probably thought I’d left in her state.

“Y/N, sweetheart you need to be more careful with your pi- OH MY GOOD JESUS IS THAT THE SPIDERMAN FELLA?” She shouted. Tom looked alarmed and he seemed to be looking for someone. I hit Faye a smack on the arm and she rubbed it gingerly.

“Faye head back to the table I’m getting a pint with Tom. I’ll be back in a minute.” I ushered her quickly towards the group and she began gossiping as soon as she sat down. The boys at the table bounced excitedly in their seats, wanted to meet the movie star.

“So, that pint?” Tom laughed as we walked to the bar beside each other. “What’re you drinking Y/N?”

“Thieves,” I said waving my hand to John. “It went on the floor John, you’re gonna need a mop.”

“Ah, it’s grand love don’t be worrying. The same for your fella as well?” He smirked.

“Um yeah, can we get three pints?” He asked politely as he shifted from one foot to the other. I looked at him sightly funny as he ordered the three. “Harrison should be here somewhere, MATE!” He shouted as he spotted him. Harrison walked through the crowded pub and greeted his friend. I could feel the alcohol taking effect and I could hardly believe that Tom Holland was buying me a pint.

“Who’s the girl Tom?” Harrison asked as our pints came and Tom paid.

“Y/N, Tom spilt my pint and he owes me one,” I said with a wave as I began to gulp down the cider. “My mates are at that table over there, do yous want to join us?” I asked feeling a bit confident. My mind was buzzing Tom Holland had just bought me a pint and I wasn’t going to lie to myself and say I wasn’t attracted to him. And I also quietly thought of Max and Sammy, the Marvel geeks who’d kill to chat to the web-slinging hero. 

“Drinking with the prettiest girl in the pub? How could I say no?” Tom said as Harrison patted his back. I let out an embarrassed giggle and led them to the booth where my friends sat staring at us.

“Hey Y/N, the pretty girl with the short blonde hair, what’s her name?” Harrison asked as we made our way through the crowd carefully.

“Her name’s Alannah. She’s studying human nutrition in Queen’s up in Belfast. Slide in on her I doubt she’d mind,” I whispered quickly. I saw Alannah glance our way and Harrison waved softly.

“Tom and Harrison are drinking with us tonight, no objections. Tom and Harrison, the gang. Gang, Tom and Harrison. Play nice you wallys,” I said plopping down beside Tom after Harrison took a place beside Alannah, introducing himself quickly.

The group began chatting, Sammy and Max asking Tom about Spiderman and the sort. Alannah and Harrison seemed to be hitting it off quite well. Soon enough Tom and I started having a chat of our own. We talked about life, my law course at uni and his acting career. We had scooched closer together after the second pint, the cosy pub creating a homely atmosphere.

“So Y/N, where is one place I have to visit while I’m here? I know about the Guinness Storehouse and all that jazz but what’s your favourite place?” Tom asked me quietly as the group chatted around us. Without hesitation, I answered.

“The Iveagh Gardens without question. It’s so beautiful. We’re heading to a concert there tonight if you and Harrison want to tag along, Emma will get you tickets in minutes.” I said with a wave to Emma. She nodded her head and began texting on her phone. “She’s owed a favour by the lads at Aiken.” Tom smiled widely and placed his arm around my shoulders. I felt my body stiffen at his touch but I rapidly moulded into his body, enjoying the heat it provided. 

“I’m sure it’s beautiful but I doubt anything I see will ever be as beautiful as you.” He whispered into my ear. My cheeks were already quite red from the pints I’d been drinking but I swear at that moment I was officially a tomato.

“Y/N, polish off your drink there it’s nearly 10. Gates are opening in fifteen minutes. It's not too far a walk but you know what we’re like.” Max spoke to me across the table. He completed his pint as the table began to finish up their drinks and grab their coats.

My pint remained virtually untouched, Tom’s stunning eyes distracting me from it. Me being myself, I couldn’t let a good and full pint go to waste so, I did what any good Irish girl would. I decided to neck it.

“Hey Y/N watch it!” Tom laughs as he watches me intently.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s done it more than once.” Jess laughed. The girls started playing a drumroll on the table as I continued to knock back my pint. Tom’s eyes glinted with something I couldn’t quite place but he clapped loudly with the others as I slammed my glass onto the mahogany table.

“Right darlings, let us head to the gardens of Iveagh to hear the kings play,” I announced as I tugged on my leather jacket and grabbed my bag.

“The Kings? Are they some cool Irish band or something?” Tom asked as our group began to leave the pub.

“No silly, I just call them that. It’s a benefit concert for the homeless and there are tons of great Irish artists playing the gig. Walking On Cars, Keywest, Inhaler, Kodaline and the greatest band to come out of Dublin City, Aslan.” I waved goodbye to the barmen and John as the warm July air greeted me.

Tom looked visibly confused as we followed the group out onto the cobbled streets of Temple Bar.

“I’ve never heard of them before. Are they any good?” He asked curiously as we began our walk to the park at the back of the group. I could see Harrison and Alannah chatted animatedly and smiled to myself. I was hoping things would go well with the pair.

“Well you see, they were huge in the eighties. My ma was a huge fan of them and ended up becoming mates with them. She and her friends used to get all-access passes to the gigs in The Towers in Ballymun and they’d have a mental time.” I finished quickly with a sigh. My cheeks burned as Tom’s gaze held mine as we trudged up Grafton Street, the sound of buskers and their music made my heart warm.

“If they’re any good I might become of groupie myself.” Tom laughed as we passed by the gates of St Stephen’s Green.

“Luas! Quick leg it!” I shouted as the tram began to move along the tracks. MY group of friends yelled loudly as they rushed to get the other side of the tracks in one piece. Seeing that Tom had no idea what I was on about, I grabbed his hand and pulled him across the tracks with me, the two of us laughing loudly as we broke our hands apart to have a spontaneous race to the top of Harcourt Street.

We finished our race out of breath with Tom winning by the skin of his teeth. I want to emphasis that strongly. Skin. Of. His. Teeth.

“Not bad at all. But please tell me we’re almost there, I could use a drink.” Tom laughed as his body heaved, begging for air to enter his lungs.

“It’s a two-minute walk but we’ll need to wait for Emma. She has the tickets and I’ll have to name drop so we can get barrier.” I breathed, placing my hands on my knees as I gasped for air with a smile.

“You are one of a kind aren’t you Y/N.” Tom grinned as I looked up at him from my defeated position.

“Mr Holland, what  in the world do you mean by that?” I let out a schoolgirl’s giggle and silently kicked myself in the arse. I’d known this handsome man for no less than three hours and was slightly tipsy but that was beside the point. As I stared into his eyes, my heart began to burn with a feeling I hadn’t ever felt before.

“What I mean is, you don’t meet a girl like you ever Millenium. You’re unique and funny and seem to have the coolest life. I don’t want this night to end. Ever.” He replied. My cheeks flushed with an unknown feeling. My heart was fit to burst and I finally had the strength to straighten myself into an upright position.

“I’ll have you know that the night hasn’t even started yet. Our little group is on our tail so we’ll be in the gates where our night will begin in a matter of minutes.” I smiled. He stared back at me with a mixture of relief and happiness. “And this is completely off record, but when the night officially starts, I don’t think I’m going to want it to end either.”

He let out a breathy chuckle and took my hand in his as the group caught up to us. Alannah and Harrison were snuggled closely together thanks to Harrison’s arm perched around her shoulder. She sent a giddy smile my way and my heart exploded with pride. She had truly grown up now.

Our group seemed to be louder than the whole queue combined and it was no different when Emma flashed the tickets to gain us entry into the beautiful park. I had to become a storyteller to try and convince the lovely security man, Declan, to let us in to get barrier, but it turns out I didn’t have to.

“L/N? As in your mother is Y/M/N? Christy has you all sorted don’t worry. Take it as the babysitting money.” Declan smiled at me. I let out a laugh and thanked him graciously before he led us into the park for prime standing room.

“Whatever you need, just ask. Drinks are free. Christy’s orders. I’ll grab yous all some pints and I’ll be back in a few.” Declan smiled. We all shouted our thanks and stood to wait for the band to come on.

The 10 minutes came and went. Soon enough Aslan’s set began and I truly had an out of body experience. Tom kept his arm gripped around my waist as the set went on. I felt warmth and safety with his arm around me. 

“Oh my god, this is my favourite song!” I let out a loud yell as the chords of their song Crazy World were heard out of the speakers. Tom laughed as I wiggled out of his grasp to down my pint and start dancing. Everyone in the park could feel the cosmic energy that the band emitted as they played their most famous song.

Tom joined me in my dance, spinning me around and acting the eejit as I screamed the lyrics at the top of my lungs. When we locked eyes through our hazy, adrenaline-induced vision I felt like home could be anywhere as long as I saw his eyes.

“What would you do if I kissed you right here, right now?” Tom shouted over the noise as my breath caught in my throat. My mind went completely blank as I let my ‘fuck it’ mentality kick in. I did what any good Irish girl would do. I kissed him. Pure. Bliss.

In that very minute, Dublin became even fairer. And I had never felt more alive.

[shenevertricks1831]

GET OUT part 2

*Author Note- Alright I did a part 2 to Get Out. These have been the first times my works have been shared and like on Tumblr and I can't thank you all enough for the likes and reblogs. If you like this part as well please like it and reblog and please, please, PLEASE send me some requests for short Imagines, Blurbs, or headcanons so I can get some inspo so I can keep on trying my hand at this. I love you all, thank you again!!

"Y/N, please. Please just talk to him. Meet with him once, that's all I'm asking." You had been on the phone with Annette for nearly 30 minutes listening Duncan's 'mother' beg for you to acknowledge him. "He's been a mess for 3 weeks now. He rarely eats, he refuses to leave the house, he works all day but will only work from home. I'm not even sure how much he's sleeping, I lay in bed at night and all I can hear is him crying down the hall."

As much as it pained you to admit, hearing that Duncan was crying over you brought you both a sense of satisfaction and almost broke your heart at the same time. After ignoring every attempt he had made for the last 3 weeks were you really considering giving him a chance? He hurt you in a way no one had before, but you did miss him. Hell you love him, loved him? Love him? You weren't sure exactly. But whether you still loved him or not he was the father of your unborn child, and sooner then later you would have to discuss everything with him.

"Fine Annette," you swallowed your pride, "tell Duncan to meet me at the penthouse for dinner at 6 o'clock, any later and I won't answer the door." Once you spoke you promptly hung up before Annette even had a chance to respond; the last thing you needed was her protesting or trying to set her own arrangements. The next thing you knew your phone chimes with an incoming text.

Duncan: "Thank you."

You set your phone on the coffee table and when to begin dinner.

The doorbell rang and you checked the clock, he was early. Duncan Shepherd, the man who was always 'fashionably late' was almost 15 minutes early. Maybe this was important to him. You pulled open the door and were honest shocked by what greeted you. There stood Duncan looking the most timid you'd even seen him, and holding an arm full of gifts.

"H-hi Y/N," he sounded like a nervous teenager going on their first date, "I uhm, I brought you some stuff." You silently nodded and welcomed him inside. Duncan went to the kitchen table to unload his arms. He blushed slightly when he saw his favorite meal sitting on the table waiting. He cheated on you, and then you make his favorite dinner when you finally agree to meet. You were to good for him, he thought, he did not deserve you; that or you were going to attempt to poison him. "I uhm brought you flowers," he thrust a bouquet of *your favorite flowers* toward you, "I know these are your favorite. And then I brought some sparkling cider since you can't drink; and theres two pints of raspberry sorbet since I know how much you've been craving that." Duncan folded his hands and looked down ashamed, maybe he'd never be able to look her in the eye again.

"Thank you Duncan, and thank you for coming. Now please lets eat before the dinner gets cold." You sat in your seat began to open the cider, pouring yourself a glass before you began eating. "We can discuss everything after dinner." Duncan nodded then took his seat across from her. He looked at her slowly eating before he began to eat as well. He regretted everything.

You both sat on the couch, each on separate ends, Duncan waiting for you to speak. He was trying to prepare himself for the worst while hoping for the best.

"I'm sorry!" Duncan blurted out before he could stop himself. Y/N looked at him, the tears in his eyes that threatened to spill at any moment matched her own. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she had a chance Duncan blurted more words knowing he would regret it forever if he didn't get a chance to say what he needed to. "I was a fool. I was an absolute fucking idiot. Out of every mistake I've made in my life, every regret I've ever had, that..that absolute fuck up will haunt me until the day I die. At a time when you needed me most I let my own fears and insecurities drive me away from you in the most inexcusable way possible. I ruined a wonderful life with a perfect girl all for a chance to get my rocks off. I can never apologize enough to you or our baby for all the pain I have caused this family." When Duncan finally paused for a moment he realized both of you had begun crying during his speech. "Please don't cry more," he got on his knees infront of you and cupped your cheek, "please I can't stand to keep making you cry like this. I don't care how bad I hurt, just please tell me what you want or need me to do so you won't hurt. Anything, please. If you want me to leave and never see you again or our child, just send you a check every month so they never go without, I'll do that if it's what you want. Please Y/N, I know I fucked up and I will do anything now to take your pain away." Duncan was bawling. He removed his hand from your face and slumped onto your lap in tears. You took your own hand and placed it to his cheek, lifting his head to look at you.

"Who was she?" You asked quietly, tears slowly streaming down your own face.

"She, I-I don't know," he looked down ashamed of himself, "one of the guys at the office uses an escort site, I overheard about it. She was just an escort. Just an escort."

"Was it just her? No others?" You asked wearily. He nodded. "How long has it been going on?" You couldn't help but wonder if his infidelity had taken place your whole pregnancy.

"Just about two weeks. Two weeks, then you saw the messages, and I never contacted her again."

"How many times?"

"Wha-?" Duncan looked up at you confused by the question. You bit your lip, not wanting to elaborate.

"You many times did you fuck her?" A harss sting accented your words.

"I-I didn't." Duncan cried as he admitted more. "I just texted her. Sexted a bit. There was a dick pic, but I couldn't bring myself to actually meet her. I was supposed to a couple of times but I couldn't ever get myself to leave the car. I'd just sit in the car outside whatever hotel she told me, cry for an hour or two, and then I'd come home." Duncan stood up and walked away from you. He wiped the tears from his face. He was full of shame. Not only was he unfaithful to the only girl he'd ever truly loved, but he couldn't even actually bring himself to sleep with another woman. He hurt the one he loved in the worst was possible all without even touching another being.

Slowly you got up and followed Duncan, pressing your swollen baby bump against his back, you hugged him from behind. You spoke quietly into his ear with a quiver in his voice. "If you swear on our child that you never did more than text her I will believe you and I will forgive you." Duncan turned around to hold you.

"I swear, on this child," he placed his hand on your stomach, "and any future ones that may come."

"Duncan," you looked down to afraid to look him in the eye now, all future fear and anxiety hitting you at once, "this is your one chance. If this ever happens again, even just texts like that. I will leave and I will never forgive you." He nodded looking at you with tear clouded eye full of love and adoration solely held for the woman in front of him. He moved his lips to yours in a light, gentle, loving kiss. When your lips separated he placed his forehead to yours. He closed his eye, breathing you in before he spoke.

"Understood. Nothing bad will ever again happen to this family, especially from my own hand, you have my word."

Gonna tag a few who might like this.. @sojournmichael @langdxn @leatherduncan @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @fckinsupreme

[vagabondfandoms]

Made You Blush

Rating: Teen

Warning: Underage drinking on Ging’s part and him being a precocious brat to win a competition.

Summary: Ging and Copper attend the Blushing Apple Festival held in McIntosh Hill, a region in the Yorbian Continent. People dress up in traditional clothing and celebrate the apple harvest. Apple themed food, drinks, clothing, and crafts are in abundance. 

There are two main traditions for the Blushing Apple Festival.

1) The adults get drunk off apple ciders and wines. Hence, making their face appear to be blushing.

2) The kids 17 years and younger compete in an Apple Blushing Competition where they are given a basket of apples, and the goal is to make another person blush. Usually, this is done by giving another person nice compliments, teasing, romantic gestures, or embarrassing them. If you make another person blush red, you give them an apple. The person who has the least amount of apples wins the competition and gets crowned Apple God/Goddess for the season. A high honor that many people believe will bless the winner with many riches.

---

“Ging has no shame,” Copper thinks as she sees the boy running towards her, hands filled with two large pints of apple cider, splashing merrily out of the glass.

“Ging” Copper hissed as she fiddles around with her dress. She’s still not comfortable wearing the traditional clothes for this apple festival. The green skirt showed off too much skin for her taste, even though the hemline landed below her knees. “The first time was an accident, but I can’t believe you are still taking that spiked cider.”

The boy stops short of running into his taller companion and thrusts the pint into the girl’s hands. “You worry too much, Copper.” Ging laughs as he takes a swig of his cider. “It's not even that strong.”

“That’s not the problem,” Copper fumes, clutching the drink and tempted to pour it over Ging’s head. “You are way too young to be drinking liquor…” An apple gets shoved into her red face. Smushing the little fat, she has there down and silencing her.

“Made you blush,” Ging smiles cheekily at her, “Making somebody angry counts for this competition if their face gets red.”

The apple gets silently added to Copper’s already overflowing basket as she glares at the dark-haired boy. 

This stupid competition has made Ging almost unbearable to be around. He’s been teasing and making her angry all day so he could unload his apples onto her. She needs to get back at him, but how? One of Ging’s strategies he picked up from the adults in this festival is to have enough alcohol in his system to have a red face already. So whatever plan Copper thinks of needs to be over the top to make the boy’s blush stand out.

---

The afternoon light slowly sinks into the dark as the red and yellow festival lights cast their warm glow over the festival-goers. Ging has been busy in the past few hours and gave away all but one of his apples to the unlucky kids who he was able to make blush. 

Copper sits off to the side with two overflowing baskets of apples watching as the dancers whirl by happily. She wished she was asked to dance, but she saw how some boys looked at her with her marred skin. She sighed and reminded herself that her entertainment would happen soon. The winner of the Kid’s Blushing Competition will be announced after the dance, and she plans to add a few more apples to Ging’s basket before then.

Watching Ging standing on the other side of the dance area, Copper spots her plan heading towards her friend. 

Five pretty girls all around Ging’s age come up to the dark-haired boy and start talking to him. They gently tug at his arm, and soon the small group was on the dancefloor. Copper watches Ging for any sign of blushing, but even with the pretty girls dancing around and with him, Ging just smiles with no hint of embarrassment insight. One girl with blonde hair even dared to kiss Ging on the cheek, but he just laughed and shrugged off the romantic gesture.

Copper silently curses all the extra apples she took on by asking those girls to make her friend blush since Ging seems to be unfazed by the extra attention.

After the song ends, Ging politely dislodges himself from the middle of the girls before more upbeat music starts to play, causing them to giggle with happiness before breaking out into a wild dance.

The music was a signal for the end of the festival, and it caused even the wallflowers to get up and move. The dance area quickly becomes crowded, and Copper loses sight of Ging. But the boy reappears from behind and jabs her side to scare her.

 “Your plan didn’t work,” Ging smirks as he moves to stand in front of his friend, blocking her view so she could only look at him.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Copper pouts and refuses to look at the boy. Knowing he’s trying to get rid of his last apple before this song ends.

“Did you really think I’ll get embarrassed by receiving attention from a bunch of girls I don’t know?”

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Copper huffs but quickly gets startled as Ging grabs her wrist and jerks her next to him. 

He quickly places his hands on Copper’s waist and twirls her into the dancing circle. Copper can smell small traces of alcohol on Ging and can feel the heat of his hands on the fabric of her waist and tries not to blush by the sudden contact, knowing this was Ging’s plan so he could win the competition.

“I have to tell you; it’s way more embarrassing to dance with a friend like this,” Ging learns in close so he could whisper the last words, “Then with somebody you don’t know.”

Ging quickly dodges an elbow as Copper squirms in his arms.

“Your shameless Ging!” Copper breathes out, covering her face with her hands. “I’m not going to let you win like this.” She hisses behind her fingers as Ging laughs and moves them faster in the circle, holding tight so his friend wouldn’t get away.                                                                                

“Come on Copper, blush for me~” Ging sings out as they continue to move with the crowd. They both know the song is quickly coming to an end and the competition with it.

“No!” Copper blindly jerks out of Ging’s grip and collides with another person as the music stops, and people are happily cheering around them.

Copper blushes deeply, finding her face in the overflowing bosom of another girl her age as the music stops, and people are happily talking and laughing around them.

“Ohh, honey.” The dark-haired girl giggles as she sees Copper’s flushed face, “I made you blush.” 

The dark-haired beauty hands the stunned and beet red Copper an apple from her now empty basket. She saunters off for the end of the festival announcements, thrilled that she was able to get rid of her last apple.

Ging stares blankly in disbelief that his victory was taken from him at the end. 

Copper thinks his face looks little green from all the dancing and was soon proven right as Ging rushes to a bush and throws up the alcohol in his system. 

Copper sighs and goes to his side. “I hope you learned your lesson about drinking, Ging.”