#fic: birdy
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Felt like sharing this rough draft from Birdy. This was a very different take on Red's "rescue" along with the injuries Birdy sustained.
Warnings: body horror, broken bones, violence, references to unwanted advances
Red was trying hard to keep his grin easy and smooth while he talked to the walking dead man. He was here to distract the guy while the other Fells took over the perimeter. He hadn't expected to see the little birdy again, having dissapeared about a week ago, so he was taken by surprise when he noticed the Creature back in its small room.
Except for it looked awful.
Feathers lost, mouth tightly bound by those head straps so that their mandible was immobile. Their purple eyes were hazy and grey and the Creature didn't even look at him as he entered. It had just shuffled further behind the tree and bushes that it tried to use as some sort of hide. It didn't work. The room was set up that way.
Breeding gone wrong.
Fought back.
Red had never thought too much about Creatures but it pissed him off. He'd liked seeing the strange gorgeous creature when he'd come for their little meetings. It was always so proud and curious about him, and he couldn't help but grin at it and watch as it tried to intimidate him back. Now it was...
Did this guy say he fought back from breeding?
Red found out that teeth did not sparkle like glitter when smashed under heel. The blood got in the way.
"RED GOD DAMN IT NOT YET," ah well they were close enough. Red shrugged while he made his way around the room to the glass wall. He could find the door but...
"you got the perimeter, boss?"
"YES YOU NINCOMPOOP-" SMASH, "RED YOU FUCK-"
Red grunted, surprised at the exertion needed to break the glass. It was thicker than he'd realized. Still nothing magic and bone can't take care of. He expected humidity to hit him after the glass broke but found the "forest room" surprisingly dry.
The mangled Creature was standing. Shivering and shaking but trying its best to look big. Broken feathers fluffed and sticking up, making himself look bigger. His arms weren't raised as high as usual, closer to the body. More defensive. The Creatures head kept twitching this way and that, shocked and trying to process exactly what was happening and problem escape. Red sidestepped into its line of sight evertime it tried to see around him.
"hey there, beautiful," he purred, and those dull violet eyes shot to his face. "yer gonna be comin' with me," he grinned.
It was fast.
Red was stunned when the Creature was in front of his face before his grin could even fall, and he barely had time enough to shortcut away before it had flapped and then tried to snatch his chest with both of its taloned feet. It landed smoothly and, though it already seemed winded, it was obviously ready to put up a fight as it took up stance again once it found him. He'd only gone a few yards away, his sockets wide.
"whoa there," he shortcut just out of range of another swipe of the talons. "little aggressive, aren'tcha?"
Away again and then farther away once more when he noticed their stance change. They panted, legs farther apart, and swiveled their head around to watch him. Their body was shaking even harder now. He rose a brow while they studied him.
“do ya wanna stay here?” Silence though he noticed their head twitch just a little. They watched him then their head twitched while they looked around the room. Their eyes found the dead man and with a quick look back at Red, the bird walked over the man’s corpse.
Red watched, not moving from his spot. He was curious. He was more impressed than disgusted when the Creature rose their leg and then lightning fast smashed it into the man’s skull. It caved in like a melon before those brutal talons flexed inwards and popped it.
Red found those violet eyes staring hard at him while the talons shook off some of the gore. Ah. A threat? He grinned and held out his hand.
“ive been nice birdy,” interesting that they paused. Their eyes went from his face to his outstretched hand. They cautiously stride forward. “but yer still planning to be a rude lil shit ain’t cha?”
He recognized the stance this time and he flicked his fist right as they moved. He still only caught them midair and midway to him.
Fucking fast.
But he gripped onto that growing component inside of the Creature. It was odd at first to not pull their soul free until he remembered that their soul was very real and physical to them.
That’s what the trophy husks had been.
Creature Souls, dried and drained of their life force. The only thing left when a Creature died.
He guessed that since it was such a physical part that would explain the absolute blind panic he’d triggered in this Creature. They flailed and clawed and made muffled noises through their forced shut jaw. One of their hands gripped over the glow in their chest. A literal physical organ that held their essence.
Red was curious about what he could do with it but now wasn’t the time. He heard commotion in the halls and he didn’t have time to play around. So he fisted his hand, making the Creature go rigid, before he slammed them back into the wall.
Their head snapped back with a crack and then their body slid limply down. Perfect.
!-!-!-!-!
Your body ached. Your head ached. Everything ached and you didn’t want to wake up. You didn’t want to see your drab plumage or feel the way you couldn’t open your beak.
You didn’t want to feel the ache in your mouth and the fear that came with it.
You most certainly didn’t want to open your eyes and see unfamiliar surroundings.
You were in a room that was similar to your non-forest room. Where you went when you’d caused problems. Clinical. You recognized the style of cot you were on however the way your legs were tied down was horrifying.
You could still fight. They hadn’t tied down your wings. Though when you scrambled with the bindings at your ankles you found them locked.
“pretty bird,” that wasn’t the human. Your back shivered and your head shot in the direction of the voice. That impossibly large moving carcass of cleaned bones was in the doorway. Teeth pulled in that viscous grin and red lights pinned on you.
“glad ya woke up, thought i hit ya too hard at first,” you stared at him unblinking. You gave no indication you understood.
You did. But you stared at him silently.
You had no intention of speaking. Of giving any information to this monster. You found his presence less of an affront than the humans but monsters were no more trustworthy as far as you were concerned. They were just an unknown instead of an immediate threat.
“ya got fucked up pretty bad,” the other had it worse. Perhaps. They’d at least been granted eternal rest. “didn’t wanna show tail and just take it?”
The grin was so knowing and you had so much trouble not reacting. You watched him and let out a shuddering steadying breath.
He watched you steadily then too a pointed step forward. You didn’t appreciate the way those lights trailed down your body.
“…ya couldn’t do much in yer current state though could ya?” The threat hit home and your chest ached with how tight it squeezed. You reacted before you could help it, one leg steadying while the other struck out for freedom.
The metal bars that connected the strong leather whined as they bent. That skeleton was over you before you could break it however. Their hand extended and then your body felt wrong again.
The organ in your chest was that deep dark blue, glowing under your skin, and you felt so heavy. Your legs slid back and your soul ponded away in terror. You didn’t want this!
“hey hey, cmon, cmere it’s okay,” it wasn’t it wasn’t! You couldn’t move and you ached and you didn’t understand and you didn’t want it. There was a presence over you and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t get enough power in your legs to fight.
You parted your mouth in the only defense you had left. You still had that harness on. You couldn’t open your jaw. You couldn’t project correctly.
Instead of a commanding melody of demands and power, all that came out was a horse broken whispered tragedy compared to how your voice used to be. It sang an easily ignored request, not even a demand, a request to just…leave you alone.
You were scared. You were ashamed. You felt humiliated in the melody that escaped your lips. You felt hurt by how unfamiliar your own voice sounded.
“‘m not gonna hurt you,” you didn’t believe him. “wanted ta see how well ya understand,” you knew that. You’d known that. You fell for it too…
You flinched when you felt hands on your face, your eyes refocusing it’s stare at the far too close skeleton. He was cupping your face and your eyes went wide. You couldn’t look away from him as your soul pounded.
You struggled and tried to pull your head away, your arms scrambling at his hands while you tried to bat him away with your wings. He actually grunted and huffed, but he didn’t let go. You only stopped when he jerked your head harshly by the bridle.
“Quit it,” he snarled, those sharp teeth inches from your face. Your bodies reaction was instant. You froze. Not even a breath, and stared at those far too sharp fangs.
The golden one was pretty.
He kept his teeth bared at you, not the grins he did before, but an actual threat of that sharked maw. It kept you still and staring while he fumbled with your head.
You couldn’t stop the gasp when the bridle fell away, the pressure in your face lifted. The sigh of relief that followed was also unbidden.
You most certainly weren’t expecting this monster to be so brazen as to grab your face again. But you couldn’t deny how nice it felt when his thumbs firmly rubbed around where your beak and muscles had been compressed.
You cooed. It was so embarrassing but you were also so tired. It felt so nice and you ended up leaning into the cupping hands that eased the tension from your muscles.
Your beak finally relaxed from where it’d been shoved and stressed further than it naturally rested. You didn’t extend it.
You were afraid what would happen.
You clicked it dazedly behind your malleable lips. You were still hazy headed when you heard the looming chuckle and you knew you shouldn’t look up.
But you did.
And instantly remembered the threat of the brick house skeleton looming over you with his hands on your face. You tensed and he snorted.
“yer cute when ya relax y’know,” you were so out of it that your feathers fluffed unbidden to the compliment. You tugged your head free to avert your eyes and the rising heat in your face.
“c’n ya speak?” You resolutely did not look at the skeleton. Your lips drew back to expose some of your beak when he gently grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him.
You glared and he lidded those odd sockets. He leaned in close and you more aggressively bared your beak. You could still bite with it unextended.
“gorgeous little birdy ain’t ya,” he huskily breathed along your face, hot air infiltrating your feathers. You were so shocked and taken aback by the heat of the others words and body that you had were helpless to how your feathers fluffed and the skin on your face grew hot.
The humans had called you that too. But it had been different…usually. You didn’t know how you felt about monsters so you were surprised and flustered by your bodies reactions.
“if ya didn’t understand,” he rasped and you tried so hard to pull away and back into the bed while that skull got closer. He put his odd semi firm cheek against your own. His hands were grasping your face firmly, keeping you from biting or escaping while he nuzzled up close.
“ya wouldn’t respond like that,” he whispered right along your auricular feathers.
It got him exactly what he wanted. Your entire body shivered from the ticklish feeling and your skin felt impossibly hot. You had very few interactions with Monsters. Were they all so intense?
He pulled back but kept his hands on your face. It felt so controlling. He brokered no room for your snapping beak. Not that you tried.
You were terrified. Pinned and trapped and found.
“Gonna ask ya again, lil birdy, can ya speak?” he purred down at you. You stared back, eyes blown while you tried to get your mind working. Monsters were not your kind…
You shouldn’t speak. Even if found out. Your reactions weren’t too telling with his actions. He wasn’t your kind so you should be silent-
His hands moved and then he was gripping your lower jaw tightly. Keeping it shut wile his other hand moved and stretched your lips wider and wider. Showing your beak and the muscles behind your elastic lips.
It honestly terrified you and you didn’t realize too were shaking. You tried to keep your beak shut tighter while you stared at those focused red lights. He wasn’t looking at you though. He was staring at your beak.
You felt pressure. It wasn’t a lot but it caused you to snap. He’d pushed his thumb along the muscle of the hinge on your jaw. Trying to encourage you to open… or he’d force it.
You shoved at him and your beak snapped out. He backed up just enough so the deadly hook of your beak was mere inches from his face. But it hurt.
It did hurt.
Tears ran down your face and you swallowed down the pained noises that tried to escape while you glared at the skeleton. You felt blood in your mouth… and your beak felt too weak. The upper kinesthetics of your beak not locking like it should.
It hurt and it felt wrong and that made you hurt in all sort of other ways. You knew it had to look wrong too. It didn’t move the way it should and it hurt it hurt it hurt to know you were wrong.
That they’d broken something so important.
You hadn’t realized when your attention slipped from the monster. He’d retreated enough that the pain in your chest overwhelmed your aggression and fear.
Your hands were trembling when you carefully came up to cradle your beak. It hurt to touch and you couldn’t stop the soft noises now. It hurt like this and it was so… it was so humiliating. To yourself to your pride… that you had to gently push your beak back.
You couldn’t retract it yourself.
It made you want to vomit.
And your hands couldn’t stop shaking and it was making it worse and your tears were making everything wet and it hurt it hurt while you tried to fit your face back the way it should while you sobs shuddered your body so you missed and your beak hurt more and you could feel and hear the bones scraping in your own skull
Warm heavy hands covered your trembling ones. Steadied you. Followed your fumbled movements and help slowly, carefully, gently slide your beak back into its hidden resting position.
The sharp pains of your broken (missing missing was it missing?) bone abated without the direct pressure irritating it. Toning down into an ache that only the adrenaline of your tears and pain currently soothed.
You didn’t pull away from the careful hold this time. The encompassing presence that terrified you. The soothing sensation of those hands gently massaging your face and the aches in your muscles there was intoxicating after your terror and pain.
“…didn’t realize it was that bad,” muttered above you. He let go do your face and you opened blurry eyes to see him pull a cloth out of his breast pocket.
Those red lights found yours, before moving onto your hands. He grasped one and put the cloth in before he guided your hand to your own mouth.
Your mouth that was still drooling blood.
You swallowed some of it thickly. It made you feel sick. But you understood and you gently started to dab at your mouth. You tipped your head away, averting your eyes.
You don’t know why but he started massaging your face again. You didn’t fight it. It felt good… amazing now with the ache that he couldn’t reach.
“was tryin to play with ya,” he murmured over you, “gonna see if they took yer tongue. y’know, so you couldn’t speak,” you did know. You’d seen the human cut the tongues of other humans before.
He’d threatened yours.
The fact that this monster wanted to check just terrified you. You already felt so queasy from the pain, so shaken. Would he take it if you talked? Would he take it if you didn’t?
You wanted your legs free.
“hey,” he snapped his fingers in front of your face a few times and you warily turned your head to him. His face was set serious, no mirth in his eyes, the thin emotive lips around the skeletal grin pulled flat.
“…’m not gonna hurt ya,” he stared right into your eyes. “i dunno shit about your kind, an if ya c’n speak that’ll make this whole thing a lot easier.”
You glared and he laughed and hooked his claw under your jaw. He paused however and then gently cupped your cheek instead. You couldn’t pull away when he leaned in close again.
“yer cute when yer angry too, pretty birdy,” he breathed, “but ya suck at playin’ dumb.”
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End Notes:
I really liked this injury and how awful it was, and had kind of forgotten when I posted Birdy up. I could probably bring it into the story later, but I can't really see it happening.
Sanctuary Birdy, a different AU that stars Classic instead, will probably have the injury in their backstory instead.
PS - The break/locking mechanism was designed because most animals with strong bite force don't have kinetic skulls. So to give Birdy's more OOMPH I thought of there being a moveable bone that locks their beak in place to give it more force. Birdy's is shattered due to their opponent forcing Birdy's beak back into his face.
Without assistance the injury would leave them extremely handicapped.
Lmao last note: you may notice Birdy has purple eyes here instead of red. I thought itd be cute if their eyes matched Red's and the other Fells. Sanctuary Birdy has the purps instead.
#fic: birdy#rough draft#shared draft#skelekins fic#avian siren fic#placeholder tag#placeholder tag 2#cause this dont need to be in the#undertale fic#tag lmao
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you awake?
some art for a boat boys au im working on… its hard to describe what exactly it is, but its based on the show ‘WAYNE’ if any of you have seen it.
Joel lost count of the days once they passed D.C. He should’ve kept a book or something—hell, he could’ve found a sharpie and scrawled some tallies on his palm— but it was hard track of time when all you really wanted was to outrun it. But as the sun set, slivers of a dreary dusk streaming in the windows, Joel was trapped in it. But this time, he didn’t mind so much.
Etho’s head was a dead weight on his shoulder. The rumble of the car engine kept lulling the both of them to sleep, but Joel fought. Just in case. Just to count the breaths against his collarbone. Those, he could count. Passing days didn’t matter anymore— this did. Here and now, the road ahead of them, did.
#birdie draws#birdie writes#this is not an actual snippet from the fic i haven’t written this scene yet#but I imagine it going something like this#not intended to be shipping#but you can interpret it however you want it’s ambiguous for a reason#boat boys#boat boys fanart#boat boys fic#double life fic#smalletho#smalletho fic#joel smallishbeans#ethoslab
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can i request family skate w jack hughes for the celebration pls!!
“family skate”
jack hughes x f!reader
birdie’s 300 celly
ik i already made a post about jack and his gf but i think the family skate hard launch is the sweetest thing ever so here’s this for y’all!
When Jack asked you to come to family skate, you nearly melted into a puddle on the floor. You’d been dating him for about four months now, and he had made it clear how he felt about you, but the invitation warmed your heart nonetheless.
He’d kept you out of the public eye since the start of your relationship, and while you liked keeping things private, you also loved the fact that he wanted everyone to know you were his.
You knew the media had always been present when it came to Jack, especially the many fans who had a crush on him (who you admit you were a little scared of at times), so the world finding out about you was inevitable. Jack wanted to do it his way.
“Is everybody looking at me?” you whispered nervously to Jack as you skated beside him, your hand in his. Thank god he taught you how to skate on one of your first dates, because this would feel much more embarrassing if he didn’t.
“Of course they are, you’re a knockout,” Jack said, nudging you with his shoulder and grinning down at you.
You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t fight the smile that made its way across your face. “You know what I mean.”
“All I’m gonna say is, don’t be surprised if you see yourself in a TikTok later,” Jack said, nodding toward the social media person skating around the rink.
“I’m anticipating a few. I think your fans might be a bit disappointed when they find out about me,” you admitted, half joking, half serious.
Jack shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what they think, because none of them compare to you,” he said earnestly, giving your hand a squeeze.
You craned your neck to see a tiny smile form on his face, and you weren’t sure if the red in his cheeks was a blush or just from the cold. “You’re too sweet to me,” you professed.
“I don’t know,” he pondered. “I think I could be sweeter.”
“I’m not so sure, but I think you should keep trying,” you proposed.
He abruptly stopped skating, making you almost lose your balance. He was quick to press his free hand to your arm to steady you. He then leaned down to kiss you softly on the mouth.
“How’s that?” he asked, pulling away.
You smiled so wide that it hurt your cheeks. “Perfect.”
#birdiewriteslit#birdie’s 300 celly#birdiewritesfics#nhl blurb#nhl x reader#nhl imagine#nhl fic#nhl#hockey imagine#jack hughes#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes blurb#jack hughes imagine#jack hughes one shot#jh86#jack hughes fic#hockey#nj devils
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devoted husband joel miller save me devoted husband joel miller
#having joel birdie thoughts#he booted all the kids off to dina and ellie’s and tommy and maria’s and turned birdie into a pretzel for v day#isn’t he just the nicest best husband ever?#FoG fic
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“are all lucemond’s kids pale hairs?”
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deeply respect people who write fix-it fanfics because my instinctual reaction is always the complete opposite. I will look at something I love to my very bones and think "hmmm...this could be more fucked up, how about I make everything worse, that seems fun". like some kind of mad unethical evil scientist experimenting on the people I love the most.
#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#house of the dragon#death note#eventually#once i finish the one i started#ao3#writing#fanfic#love to read comfort fics#but i literally cannot write them myself#really wish i could but alas#birdy chirps
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This time of year is prime time for bonfires in the south!! Just had one the other night and tried to scare some of my friends with some spooky stories and can’t stop thinking about trying (and failing) to do this to cowboy ghost hahahaha
Bonfires are my favorite! My family is full of pyromaniacs and our bonfires have gotten the fire department called numerous times. Once someone thought a house was on fire, very fun. Let's do more drunk cowboy fun, pre-"I want you to have my babies".
Birdie swings you around in front of the bonfire, the tiny tinny speaker playing some swinging murder ballad you think would really be more appropriate without your boyfriends around. You giggle as she holds her arm up to spin you before pulling you in close again.
“Wait, wait,” You laugh as you stumble, “Bird, I’m in deep I can’t-” You laugh more feeling her let you go to wiggle her shoulders at you. She turns to hold her hands out to Gaz.
“Come on quiet boy, you don’t got the spins, do ya?” She wiggles her fingers, pulling Gaz up out of his folding chair to dance. You take the opportunity to join Simon over by the folding table turned makeshift bar.
“Made that happen once,” Simon is telling Moon, he holds his thumbs out and turns them with a pop noise, “blind, easy as you like.”
“Gross,” Moon says, without a hint of disgust. You reach between them to pour two shots of crystal moonshine, and slide one to Simon. You position yourself so Moon can’t see him tug his mask down and take the shot with you. The burn of it makes your throat itch something fierce, you can’t imagine it’s any better for him.
“You know you don’t have to keep up with me,” You tell him. Simon reaches for the canned peaches and spears one with the provided fork.
“You think I can’t?” He asks, popping the golden fruit in his mouth as a chaser before pulling his mask back into position.
“Didn’t say that.” Truth be told, the only reason you’re drinking so much is because he’s following you. Because every time you pour a shot you get to see his face again. Simon’s hands grip your thighs, pulling you between his legs. The heat of the bonfire on your back doesn’t have anything on the heat from Simon’s eyes as he looks up at you from his seat. “You having fun, Cowboy?” You ask, cupping his cheek.
“I’m having fun,” He hums.
“You gonna throw up?” Simon snorts, batting your hand away.
“I haven’t thrown up since I was 19, Moon’s shite liquor isn’t about to change that.”
“You don’t have to drink it,” Moon gripes from the other side of the table, “Ungrateful bastard.”
Simon rolls his eyes, you smile a little to yourself. It’s nice seeing him out of his shell. The fire flares loudly behind you. The rush of heat making Simon lean to peak around you at the blaze.
“Where the fuck did he get that?”
You turn to look and- You think maybe you shouldn't have told Soap to "go wild" with the bonfire. He's got a super soaker full of something, smells like lighter fluid, that he’s spraying on the fire to coax it bigger. As if he hadn’t loaded the thing with enough pallets and kindling to melt glass. All in all, very impressive, you think. You wonder how long it'll be 'til someone reports it.
“Get that away from him before he sets himself on fire.” You tell Simon, who’s already standing up to do just that.
You steal his seat, watching with Moon as your two professional killers wrestle for the rainbow water gun. Soap’s indignant shouts are almost as funny as watching Gaz jump on his back to try and give Simon the upperhand. They fight like kids, you hope it’s the alcohol that’s making them uncoordinated. You're not sure Gaz even knows what they're supposed to be fighting over, rolling in the grass and trying to grapple Soap as Simon looks for an angle to grab the soaker. Birdie cheers excitedly from the sidelines as Simon finally yanks the gun from Soap’s hands and is almost immediately tackled by both sergeants.
"Bunch of idiots," Moon mumbles, but you can see her smile.
"Your idiot started it," You tell her, watching Simon push at Soap's grinning face as Gaz tries to put him in a headlock.
"You think Birdie's gonna jump in?" You both watch her bouncing too close to the struggle, too excited to be just cheering it on.
"Probably."
#oc: Goose#oc: Moon#oc: Birdie#cowboy!Ghost#cowboy!Soap#cowboy!Gaz#x reader#god I love bonfires#Soap's bonfire and super soaker are directly taken from lived experiences#the sort of bonfire you gotta stand 6 ft away from#toasting marshmallows on just the heat it's putting off#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#johnny soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#cod fic#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader
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Blue skies smiling at me
Nothing but blue skies, all I see...
—
Although it does not depict a scene from the fic, this piece was greatly inspired by @fushiglow's glorious work Over the Threshold (is anyone surprised by it anymore, lol?). The part of Glo's story that sees Suguru rising to prominence and stardom even before Satoru's first ventures in the music industry isn't (yet? 👀) covered in the fic, but my mind tapped into it and ran with it — and this came to me as a result!
Hope y'all will enjoy this as much as I did drawing it!! Literally had the time of my life with Satoru's jacket and Suguru's hair, teehee!
#as per usual#please click for better quality!#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanart#geto suguru#gojo satoru#satosugu#threshold fic#fushiglow#my art#even though you've already seen this earlier please think of this as my birthday present to you glo <3#i love you very much glo!!! you and your beautiful mind are such a gift to all of us#oh and!#the caption is the lyrics from blue skies by birdy#please go ahead and listen to it if you want!#its wistful melancholic sound with a blissfully expansive feeling of longing seeping into it goes incredibly well with the tone of this art#me thinks
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currently writing for mizu from blue eye samurai <3 i have a busy ass schedule lately but the show is SO GOOD and i’m crushing hard on her rn… blushing and giggling and kicking my feet when she does anything… staring at pictures of her on my phone and twirling my hair… listening to her talk and trying not to moan a lil bit… umm anyway yeah if you’re in the market for mizu fics please be aware that i’m in the process of working on one!! the people will be fed!!!
#dove chirps#mizu#blue eye samurai#mizu x reader#as a nonbinary lesbian i just think they were kind of made for me IDKKK#and before anyone asks:#the fic WILL be a bit smutty#still in the works but my writing demons took over and when i came to i had 1.2k written#and i’m NOT CLOSE TO DONE#so yeah. eat up birdies
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Oh my naff!! I had a curious thought, how would orca eclipse react to y/n(photographer) being jealous if there was another female siren?
I would be jelly and anxious if that siren were try to court my beloved eclipse 🌚😭
He would be delighted to see you jealous and, to that extent, possessive of him. Though he would soothe you with promises in lullabies that he only has eyes for you and all the songs he sings are with you in his heart.
#he's resting his elbows on the ice with his face in his hands with the energy of a school girl kicking her feet (flipping his flukes)#“oh you're jealous of this one siren and worried she'll take me away from you birdie? please tell me more about how you feel”#apex polarity#not that he wouldn't interact with another orca siren but he's very attached to you at this point in the fic
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I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name | Before we grew up
A/N: Hey! Back with another addition to the George and Birdie universe since it was so well loved!! Honestly, the whole thing still surprises me and the fact that some of you wanted more of them actually made my heart hurt!! But I've missed them and writing this brought me a whole lot of joy, so I hope you enjoy! If this does well or it’s wanted I might write a few more like this sooo let me know x
Flashback moments | 'Before we grew up'.
“Okay, so when you’re ready just let go of the brake.”
I blinked, holding the steering wheel with an undeniable grip. “Right.” I murmured but didn’t make a move to follow the words.
George, whose brilliant idea this had all been, sat in the passenger seat of his dad’s Volkswagen, buckled in and attempting to exude an air of calm I really didn’t feel.
“You gonna let go?” He asked me after a long minute passed.
I swallowed thickly and removed my stare from where it’d been burning a hole in the windscreen so that I could look over at him. “How do I know when I’m ready?” I asked him and really didn’t appreciate the laugh he gave in return. I scowled. “What’s so funny about this? It’s a valid question!”
George just shook his head and exhaled breathily, obviously trying his best to dim the amused smile he now wore, “Honestly B, you’re just overthinking this and besides, you have it easy. It’s an automatic, barely have to do a thing.”
My scowl deepened. “Barely ‘ave to do a fing.” I mimicked in an accent similar to his deep drawl, it was his turn to frown then. I merely smiled sweetly.
“I’mma ignore that for now, ‘cause you’re a twat.” George retorted, “But also ‘cause I need to get the car back before dad notices it’s gone. So, can we get a move on?”
I inhaled deeply and fought off a whine that wanted to escape me- who the fuck said driving was easy?
“G, I’m being dead serious right now.”
He simply snorted, humoured by my anxieties, “I know, babe, and you’re doing so well.” I raised a brow at that and he smiled, “What? You are! You’ve turned the thing on, ain’t you?”
I took a hand off the wheel just to swat him, “Hilarious.” Before I was gripping it again once more, “Come on, just give me a count down or summat.”
G shook his head and looked towards the sky, as though anyone up there cared for the likes of us, then he sighed, “Fine, on three yeah? Then you let go of the brake and go.”
“On three.” I agreed with a nod, though it sounded breathy even to my own ears.
George reached out a hand to squeeze my thigh, probably in hopes to spur some proper motivation into me but all it did was make me think back to the previous evening when he’d had a free house. I shook my head, along with the thoughts of his hands and his lips, and settled into my seat with a newfound determination as I looked out onto the road.
It wasn’t as though it was anything too terrifying, I didn’t even have to bare left or right, just keep going straight. But still, I had the horrible feeling that this would be the thing that would seal my fate- imminently, or when George’s dad finally got home to find that his car had a barge pole sticking out of its front.
I released a shaky breath.
“Okay- one, two…”
And on three I finally let my foot slip away from the pedal, screaming a little to myself as the car began to roll.
“Yes, Birdie!” George grinned over at me, bouncing in his seat as he moved, “Now the accelerator.”
I laughed stiltedly, eyes wide as I pressed down on the other pedal, feeling the car bob at the sudden pressure.
“Easy.” George corrected but he was still smiling away, hand tapping at my leg. “Good girl. See? You’re doing it!”
And I was. I really was.
“Oh shit- break, break!” He then shouted out and I slammed on the brake pedal hard enough to have us both jerking forward in our seats, though the cat that was crossing the road continued in its languid stroll, barely even sparing us a glance.
It was after that I let go of the jittery excitement I felt, heart beating a mile a minute and my grin kilowatt. “Fuck.” I giggled, then glanced over to my left. G seemed to follow the former motion, chuckling to himself whilst we sat in the middle of a side road full of dimmed townhouses. “I wanna go again.” I told him.
He snorted, shaking his head and grinning. “Thought you were shitting yourself a second ago?”
I shrugged, not caring in the slightest how much truth his statement held. “Can we?”
G huffed another chuckle but ultimately dipped his head, “Go on then, when we get to the garages I’ll walk you through parking.”
“Alright, but only if I can do a doughnut or somethin’ first.” I countered, like I had any authority here. But George just laughed and said nothing more whilst I went to pull away from a stop once more.
–
Christmas was always a hectic time of year. No one could deny me that. But since my dad’s passing, it had become a holiday that always came too quickly and dragged on for too long. This year though, this year was gonna be different.
See, I’d been living at Matty’s since the summer after the ‘incident’ as I liked to call it- everyone else seemed to roll their eyes at the name though. And whilst staying with them I'd come to realise a few things about myself.
Firstly, I loved all kinds of food.
Sure a strange thing to find out at my age, but I had an excuse! Alright? Staying with mum I’d pretty much had to feed myself and with money so scarce we’d only ever really had enough for the basics, or at least I did. Most of mum’s boyfriends had practically kept the food they liked under lock and key, even though nine times out of ten they hadn't been the ones to buy it. And so, this meant that I hadn’t had much opportunity to branch out, to get a feel for anything that wasn't canned, bagged, or frozen.
Secondly, I had a tad bit of childhood trauma lagging behind me. Most of which I’ll spare you the intimate details from, but that had an impact on the things I did even when I felt safe. Like, I hated not knowing if there was someone new stopping at the house, made me feel all itchy in truth. And the way I went out of my way to make sure I’d locked everything was a bit much; windows, my bedroom door, the backdoor, the front door, the bathroom door, the side gate. At one point I’d been stressing over the front entrance late at night but had felt too stupid to go and make a check to see if it was in fact closed, which had resulted in me waking Matty up to help me deal with a panic attack.
And thirdly, I had no idea how normal people spent Christmas.
This came to light when I’d all but baulked at the many traditions not just Matty and his family had, but also the rest of the lads.
Ross and his lot often ate their Christmas roast at lunch time then went out for a chinese later on that night. How they had the room for it, I have no idea. Hann, on the other hand, was dragged back and forth between all of his family members on the twenty-sixth instead of the fifth, due to extended family coming to visit from all other parts of the country.
Denise had a list of things she loved to do this time of year.
She’d set up a nativity outside, alongside the rest of the lights and usual decorations for the neighbours to come see. She ordered a real fur tree and then sent the boys out to go collect it with their dad once the day came. It was humongous and dropped needles everywhere, but was oh so beautiful. They always decorated it as a family, taking turns to put the topper on and finding the best branches to place sentimental ornaments. Stockings were hung by the fireplace with initials hand stitched on. And chefs typically came to cater Christmas day.
Gifts were also a big thing.
A very BIG thing.
As in, they were all so lovely and thoughtful to the point that Matty and his younger brother would have an actual meeting over what to get their mum and dad- which had melted my fucking heart, because what?
This year, I’d been forced upon them. But instead of making me feel like an intruder, they did what they always did and made me feel like one of their own.
“Love, will you get that for us?” Denise called out to me just as the doorbell went, “It’ll only be the postman.”
I smiled and nodded, happy to be of some help whilst she sent herself into a tizzy over tinsel. There’d been many deliveries as of late, so I was pretty much used to adding to the post-pile that was going on in the downstairs office.
Wandering out of the kitchen I padded over to the front door, opening it only to find that the postman wasn't there at all.
I blinked stupidly at the sight I was met with, a bright pink cab had taken over the majority of Denise’s driveway and getting out of the backseat was only my Nana.
The door handle fell from my grasp as I stepped forward on instinct, unsure of what the hell was even happening. “Nana?”
The older woman smiled over at me, eyes twinkling with mirth. Then a voice shouted out and I spotted a head of bright red curls fly out from behind the car’s boot to greet me, “Aunt Del too, Dove!”
“What?” I muttered, still so bewildered, but then I caught sight of another familiar face, a face that I didn’t think I'd be seeing until tomorrow. “Did you do this?”
George just chuckled softly, stepping closer to help my Nana over the gravel walkway, but he wasn’t the one who replied to my question. “Came down to fetch us, din’t he?” Nana replied in his stead, stretching a hand out once she got close enough, I blinked again and hurried to take it.
“He did?” I heard myself murmur, still so in shock. Practically rocking with the explosion of it.
Nana gave a sweet laugh, wrapping me up in a much needed hug and pressing a gentle kiss to my head before she pulled away, “Phoned us up a bit ago, wanted to surprise ya, darlin’.”
“Well, God. I’m surprised, that’s for sure.”
They all laughed, probably at the expression cast over my mug, but I couldn’t find it in me to even rebuke them. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”
“Best believe it, doll.” Aunt Del replied, smiling over at me whilst she and George trailed the bags they’d seemingly brought with them up onto the front step. “Our Georgie here went an’ planned it all, picked him up from the train station this morning.”
I let Del tackle me into another tight hug, allowing her to pepper me with a barrel full of kisses. All the while it seemed that Denise and Matty had come out to see what all the fuss was about, only- they didn’t look shocked at all.
“Surprise?” Denise sang out when she caught my gawping, waving a hand out from where she stood in the doorway.
“Did you all know?” I asked, my mind racing to catch up with the situation at hand. “How- I- This is so mad.”
Matty snorted at my crappy attempt at a sentence but I watched as he made his way on over, his mum just behind, so that they could introduce themselves. “All G’s idea, mate. Knew you were missing them and so, yeah we made this happen.”
“I can’t- just, wow.” Then I glanced over to where the one person that currently meant so much to me stood on the outskirts simply watching on. He glanced back.
“Merry Christmas, B.” George said, grinning slightly over at me, obviously pleased with my stuttering reaction.
I released the heavy breath I hadn’t even realised I'd been holding and strode over towards him, he caught me in his arms and held me with a prominent strength I didn’t know he had.
“Thank you.” I whispered once I felt as though I could, tears threatening to fall at the sincerity of it all. Never had I ever been so surprised. “Thank you.” I repeated and pressed a light kiss to the skin of his neck that was hiding behind the collar of his shirt and other many layers.
George squeezed me a little closer, then rocked us back and forth. When I finally pulled away I peered up at him with wet eyes and the brightest smile.
“I can’t believe you got away with all this.”
He laughed, but not his typical kind, no, this one was loud and carefree. Honest.
“Is that all you really care about?” He asked me, teasing, hands now at my hips.
I grinned upwards, “‘Course, can’t believe you did all this under my nose!”
Turning back towards the crowd that had gathered by the door, George’s arm fell to a loose hold on my waist and we made our way back over. Denise was already chatting away with Aunt Del and Nana had somehow roped Matty into an explanation about the band and the few stories she’d heard through G and I during our catchup calls.
At that moment, my heart had never felt so full. In fact, I don’t know how any other Christmas could top it.
–
It had been a lovely day. The most amazing time, actually.
It still felt so unreal to look over and spot Denise in her wedding gown, all happy and glowing. In Portugal of all places, too! Matty was currently off trying to get with one of the many girls attending his mum’s reception, whilst his younger brother, Lou, tested his charm on a couple of the older folk in an attempt to make a bit of money, everyone else seemed fine to just putter about from table to table.
It had started to spit a little while ago, summer rain they’d said, and so I was the only one still standing out in the garden now, the rest of the party somewhere inside the villa or over at the gazebo. My bridesmaid dress was speckled with tiny water droplets that shimmered in the late setting sun but nothing too heavy. The rain here was almost a total contrast to that back home.
“There you are.” I heard someone say just as a pair of hands came to wind themselves around my waist, I leant back in their hold, smiling at the familiarity. “Thought you’d done a runner.”
“Nah, just enjoying the last of the sun.” I hummed, intertwining my fingers with his atop my stomach.
“As well as the rain.” George added with a light chuckle, but he didn’t seem to mind it much either. I nodded lightly, then felt him tuck my head under his chin. “Ross is sloshed.” He told me.
“Already?” I asked around a soft laugh, he hummed. “Lightweight.”
The noise from the party seemed to trickle out to greet us, but no one else seemed to want to step out into the rain. Content with the warmth inside.
“You havin’ a good time?”
I smiled at the question as well as the thumb that soothed the back of my hand. “The best.” I told him honestly, “It’s all been so lovely. Reckon I’d want something like this, you know.”
George was quiet for a long second before he spoke again, “Thought you didn’t want to be tied down. As free as a bird and all that.”
Chuckling, I shrugged a single shoulder. “Dunno. Seems cool, plus you get all that cake.”
An ugly snort escaped George at that, “Only in it for the cake then, I ‘spose.”
With a grin I tilted my head back so that he could see me, “Always!”
He narrowed his eyes down at me, eyelashes fanning the skin beneath them, then tugged me in a bit tighter, “You’re a right menace, you know that?” He murmured against the jut of my collar. I squirmed slightly in his hold, his breath tickling my neck.
“I guess it’d be nice to have a big party too.” I tacked on, if only to tease him further. And it appeared to work too, because he spun me around in his arms and I laughed at the unexpectedness of it.
The rain started to come down a little harder then, but I could hardly feel it with the weight of his gaze on me and the beam of the sun. An old Billy Idol song echoed out into the courtyard from the main room and George grinned at the sound, a favourite. “Fancy a dance?”
“What, back in there?” I wondered, not really all that up for being back amongst everyone else just yet.
George just shook his head though, as if reading my mind, and then dragged me further out onto the grass where the dampness which clung to the clipped stems soaked my feet.
He started to sway then, in time to the beat of Eyes Without A Face.
“Didn’t think you even could dance.” I murmured to him, then giggled as he spun me out, raindrops flicking up the backs of my legs before roping me back in.
“Full of surprises, me.” He quipped before dipping me into an exaggerated bend.
I gasped, unable to help myself, then shook my head, hair falling with it. “Warn me next time.”
George just grinned, eyes squinting with the power of it, then pulled me in closer, chest to chest now. His hands on my back, mine wrapped behind his neck. “Would make things boring, wouldn’t it?”
“What’s so bad about boring?” I shot back.
He huffed, the force of it fluttering my dampening hair and catching on the shell of my ear. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He assured me and I heard more than saw his smile.
Pleased, I hummed, loosening my hold on him so that I could rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. The rain continued to fall on and around us, neither George nor I caring for the way it clung to every available inch of our skin.
“I love you.” I heard him mutter above me, so softly I hardly even felt it resonate in his chest.
I turned to glance up at him again at that, eyes trailing across every inch of his face, taking in every detail he had to offer. “How do you know? For sure?” I questioned him in a faint whisper even though there wasn't another soul about to hear. I was still smiling away, only it was ever so soft, so warm.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “I know I love you because even on my worst days you’re all that gets through. There’s no pretending with us, you know every inch of me, the good, the bad, and still, you choose to stay. So I’ll love you today, and then tomorrow. I’ll love you til the day I die, and if there’s life after that, I'll love you then too.”
My eyes watered at the hit of his words, having expected something stupid like ‘you give good head’, or something as simple as ‘I just do’.
“You always manage to surprise me, you know that?” I chuckled quietly, fingers threading through the length of his hair.
George lifted his brows in turn and so I just smiled, humming as I coaxed him closer so that I could finally lean in for a kiss.
“I love you.” I repeated his earlier words once we parted, laughing loudly when he swept me up off my feet and around in a circle.
“You’d better.” He quipped straight back, laughing now too before he slipped on the damp grass beneath us and sent us both sailing to the ground.
“George!”
But he continued to just chuckle away, eyes bright and beaming. God, I thought, I was so, so gone.
#the 1975#george daniel#fic#i guess i’ll take this pain fic#the 1975 band#matty healy#fluff#x reader#ross macdonald#adam hann#birdie#birdie and G#heyidkyay#george daniel x reader#george daniel the 1975#george daniel fic
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“when I say you are killing me” (desert duo one-shot, 2.6k)
Every inch of his climb is agony. White-hot and endless, it ricochets through Scar’s body as if it bought an expressway pass through his veins like a highway. Would it have killed Grian to get an apartment on the first floor? Hell, Scar would even take something on the third or fourth-floor if he had to. Anything would be better than dragging himself, slowly and painfully, up twelve flights of rickety metal stairs. In the snow. In the middle of the night. Bleeding.
Scar’s having a bad night.
Blood dribbles between the gaps of his fingers. It’s slower than it had been, but each heave up another flight of stairs blinds him with pain and sends a few more fresh droplets of blood sliding down his middle. His shirt (whatever tatters remain of it anyway) and pants are wet and tacky, sticking to his skin like a perpetually wet bathing suit as he tries to climb the rest of the way up to Grian’s apartment.
The fire escape is an old decrepit fixture of rusting metal mounted to the brick siding with nothing more than a few loose bolts and a dream. It groans beneath his weight, the barest shake of wind causing the metal to ripple and shudder. The metal saps the warmth from his already cold, pale fingertips. He’d had gloves, but had to get rid of them as they were soaked in blood and not all-that conducive for climbing-under-the-influence (of blood loss). Scar’s not afraid of much, least of all heights, but he chooses each step up the fire escape carefully, muscle memory a crutch as he drags himself past open windows with the lights still on. Last thing he needs is another broadcast claiming HotGuy is nothing but a petty creep with a penchant for B&Es.
By the time he reaches the twelfth floor he’s shaking from head-to-to. Each breath sears through him, rivaling the sharp-edged pain of lightning, setting him alight. It burns through him, the aftershocks never ending as he pulls himself upright and grasps onto the edges of Grian’s windowsill. A pained whine catches between his teeth; he refuses to let it out.
Curled up at Grian’s windowsill as he peeks through the drawn curtains at the warm lamplight cascading through the glass, Scar finds the painful climb was well worth each and every second of agony. No better minded than a moth drawn to a flame Scar leans in to rest his forehead against the glass, the warm, golden glow from within Grian’s apartment beckoning him forward. Inside, Grian’s sitting at his desk around a cluster of books and papers strewn around as if a bomb had gone off. His hair is fuzzy and curled at the tips, as it always is whenever Grian lets it air dry after a shower. His shoulders are hunched and the sides of his face are illuminated by the blue glow of his laptop screen. Even through the glass Scar can hear the incessant clacking of his keys as he furiously types away at whatever assignment he’s working on.
It takes Scar more than one try to build up the courage to disturb him. He looks peaceful (or about as peaceful as someone working on a lab report can be), and Scar knows that peace will shatter the second he knocks, the second he barges in, yet again, on Grian’s evening and sweeps him up in his vigilante shenanigans.
Scar’s bloodied hands grasp onto the windowsill, red streaks staining the chipping white paint like a crime scene out of some gruesome horror movie Grian would have him watch. He winces at the sight; it’ll be a nightmare to scrub out. He’ll have to remember to buy Grian dinner one of these days to make it up to him and hope that Grian will have the heart, eventually, to forgive him.
“Grian,” he mumbles, startled to find his voice nothing more than a gravelly rasp. He reaches to knock, but his arms are as stiff as uncooked spaghetti noodles and don’t listen to a word he has to say. With a huff of frustration, Scar pitches his weight forward and thumps his head twice against the glass. The dull ache through his forehead is nothing compared to the feverish burning tearing through his chest and stomach.
Inside, a shadow bolts across the floor. Grian’s cat, Maui. In his chair Grian twists around at the sound. He’s wearing his glasses— Scar’s heart drops low in his stomach at the sight— and squints through the darkness to see Scar sheepishly waving at him through the glass, his breath fogging it up just enough to be seen.
He unfurls himself from his chair and comes to pry the window open. Scar comes face-to-face with his heart-patterned pajama pants, two sizes too big and pooling around his ankles. Wait, are those Scar’s?
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Grian is asking before Scar manages to start dragging himself in through the open window. It’s only for the briefest millisecond, in Grian’s ignorance, that Scar can be grateful for the starless, moonless night. The dark shields him not only from the prying eyes of neighbors, but from Grian’s scrutiny. In this dark he can’t see the blood, can’t see the tears in his shirt. In the dark, he might just look a little ruffled, no worse for wear than he usually is after a busy night patrolling. In the dark, he and Grian can pretend, albeit for only a second, that everything is normal.
But as the pain and dark corners throbbing in his periphery are keen on reminding him, everything is very much not normal.
“I seemed to have lost my watch,” Scar says as he pulls himself in through the open window. Every movement is measured, half-withheld, ginger— everything that Scar isn’t, and he’d be a fool to think Grian wouldn’t notice. He does immediately, because he’s Grian, and he’s never been truly ignorant when it comes to Scar, despite Scar’s best intentions.
Grian steps back with wide eyes. The color drains from his face as Scar holds his weight against the wall with one blood-slicked hand and struggles to stand at his full height. Every inch he tries to stand taller, the more the swelling edges of the wound start to pull and ache.
“Scar?” Grian’s face, usually so warm and vivid, especially under the light of his desk lamp, pales to a near lifeless color. He staggers toward him, hands held out in front of him as if to catch Scar. “Scar, what happened? Are you okay?”
“Right as rain, G,” Scar says, managing a wry smile. “Honest.”
“Don’t give me that.” Grian rushes forward, grabbing Scar around the shoulders and steering him towards the futon in the middle of the room. The second Grian touches him some of Scar’s pain fades, if not just because he has somewhere else to pitch his weight, to take some of the strain off his bloodied, torn middle.
The pair of them hobble to the futon, Grian whispering mumbled nothings as he lowers Scar onto the edge and forces him to sit back with firm hands on his shoulders. Scar allows himself the smallest mercy of relaxing into the cushions, his arms and legs limp at his sides as his head lulls back to rest against the back of the futon. It’s as if every string tying his marionette up, stringing him along, has been cut all at once. It’s somehow blissful and terrifying all at the same time. He’s not sure he’s ever been this roughed up, this exhausted.
And in front of Grian of all people?
Grian, whose face is drawn tight, whose shoulders and jaw are rigid as if he’s been made out of wood. Grian, who anxiously flutters at Scar’s side for a second before disappearing in a flurry toward the kitchen. Scar’s head is too heavy for him to lift, but he hears Grian rummaging and cursing under his breath before he returns just as quickly as he left. In his arms he balances a handful of small dishtowels, a first-aid kit, and a box of blue rubber gloves.
“I can’t believe this,” he says, to himself more than to Scar, as he sits on his knees on the cushion beside Scar and leans over to assess the wounds.
Gingerly he pulls the tattered shreds of his black shirt away from the wound-bed (as much as he can with some of the fabric stuck to his body with blood like glue) and winces at the gory sight. Scar’s skin is torn in jagged ridges, three gouge marks clawed from just under his ribs and down across his right abdomen. Thankfully, the worst of the bleeding seems to have stopped, dark, thick globules of blood already starting to stitch together like wads of hot glue around the wound, crusting on the skin.
Grian examines it all with a crease between his brow that Scar, after all this time, has come to know means he’s irritated. He’s always looked especially cute when he’s angry (part of the reason it’s just too easy for Scar to give into the temptation to push his buttons whenever possible), but the downturn of his lips, the whites of his eyes, reveals something far more serious. Worry. Grian’s worried about him, and maybe it’s the blood loss starting to get to Scar in earnest, but Scar finds he far prefers this sight. He can’t help but smile back at him, even though he knows it’ll likely earn him a punch when he’s no longer bleeding out on Grian’s couch.
“Scar.” Grian says his name as if he’s been saying it for a while, but Scar’s only just now hearing it. “This is bad. Like, really bad.”
Scar blinks down his nose at him, brow furrowed. “You should see the other guy,” he says with a weak huff of laughter. “Stuck him so full of arrows you could call him a porcupine.”
“Scar, this is serious,” Grian admonishes, snapping on a pair of gloves and brushing his hair from his eyes.
“But you’re gonna fix me right up, ain’t you, Doc?” Sar teases, lifting his head just enough to catch Grian’s scowl as he flicks open the first-aid kit and fishes out a small brown bottle.
“I need you to tell me what happened,” Grian says, and there he goes again— detached, analytical, dawning his ‘I’m calm and collected’ persona. He pulls a pair of scissors out of the first-aid kit and tests the snap of them. “This doesn’t look like it was from some kind of a knife—”
“Ravager,” Scar says, gritting his teeth in anticipation. “Jerk got too close.”
Grian raises an eyebrow. “Sounds more like you got too cocky.”
Again, Scar finds himself fighting (and failing) to conceal a smug little smile. “You’re worried about me, just say it.”
“I’m pissed off is what I am,” Grian snaps. He peels up one edge of Scar’s shirt and begins cutting away as much of the fabric as he can without disturbing the edges of Scar’s wounds. He winces only when the shirt tugs too sharply on the red, puffy edges of the wound. And Grian, to Scar’s surprise, nearly flinches every time he does.
“Sorry, sorry,” Grian whispers each time, sounding so unlike himself. His face is pale, and if Scar isn’t mistaken there’s the faintest tremble to his hand.
“It’s okay,” Scar says, just as hushed, as if the slightest movement or raise in his voice will spook Grian. “Do what you gotta do. I’m tough, I’m strong. I can take it.”
Grian scoffs and peels a foil lid from the bottle’s cap, dumping a bit of it onto a folded dishrag. “Yeah, okay. We’ll see how tough and strong you are once I start cleaning this.”
“Give me your worst, Doc.” Scar lets his head loll back to stare at the ceiling, taking as deep a breath as his tense, wounded chest will allow. The twinge of pain reminds him to stay awake, has his fingers curling into the fabric of the futon beneath him.
Grian doesn’t give Scar a warning, which he appreciates. The anticipation is the worst part. He grits his teeth and bares it as Grian firmly, but not violently, uses the alcohol-soaked rag to wash away the blood from his torn skin. Scar scrunches his eyes shut and breathes through it, the pain an unrelenting impulse racing through his veins like faulty circuitry gone haywire.
And as soon as it starts, it’s over. Grian sits back on his heels and tosses the now blood-soaked rag to the floor. He wipes at the sweat blistering across his forehead with his arm, taking a shaky breath in as he examines his handiwork.
“It’s not too deep,” he says, sounding the slightest bit relieved. He twists to reach for the first-aid kit again. “You’re lucky I swiped this stuff from the lab. Though I won’t begin to guess why you came here instead of a hospital. This needs stitches, probably.”
“Eh, I’m not worried about another scar,” Scar dismisses, ignoring the small beads of sweat starting to gather on his own brow. He can’t handle Grian thinking he’s caused him any more pain; the only thing worse than suffering as he is now is to watch Grian torture himself over things he can’t control. Like Scar. “Besides, I can’t exactly keep up the whole secret identity thing if I go to a hospital half in costume, now can I?”
“Secret identity,” Grian parrots mockingly, unraveling a bundle of bandages and starting to tack them down around Scar’s middle. “You nearly got gutted, and that’s what you’re worried about. Of course.”
He’s angry. Scar would be an idiot to not be able to see it, and maybe it shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does. But it’s not the anger that catches Scar off guard. It’s what lingers beneath it: Grian’s gloved, trembling hands, the way he can’t look Scar in the eye more than a second before having to look away, burying himself in sorting through the first-aid kit for the fourth time as if looking for something to help and, just like every other time, coming up empty-handed.
Grian’s scared.
Scar’s known Grian for years now, and over that time he’s been a lot of things. Angry, judgmental, infectiously funny, bright. But afraid has never been a word Scar has used to describe him.
“Grian…”
“Of course I’m worried,” Grian says, catching Scar off guard. His voice is so quiet, so hushed that Scar wonders if he imagined it. Because something so vulnerable and soft sounding couldn’t come from someone as headstrong and impervious as Grian. It simply isn’t possible. “How could I not be? Have you looked at yourself?”
“Hey.” Scar can’t dream of sitting up, but he manages to leverage himself up just enough to reach for Grian’s wrist. He’ll feel bad about staining Grian’s sleeves with blood later. For now he needs to grab hold of him, pull him in close. To reassure him. “I’m fine. I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m in good hands, yeah?”
“Scar,” Grian says, sounding like he’s about to start crying. He curls his fingers into a weak fist, as if to pull from Scar’s grasp, but he doesn’t try it. He only holds it there, waiting. “I’m not exactly qualified. I’m a bio student, not a—”
“You’re doing fine,” Scar insists, caressing the inner aspect of Grian’s wrist with his thumb. There, he can feel the furious pace Grian’s heart takes on at the touch, like his pulse is ready to leap out from beneath the thin layer of skin. He flashes a smile, just to prove it to Grian. “I’ve bounced back from a lot worse than this. I’m just glad I don’t have to do it alone this time.”
#desert duo#desert duo fic#scarian#<- just in case#hermitcraft#hermitcraft fic#goodtimeswithscar#grian#birdie writes#sometimes I forget I am a writer and forget to post the things I’ve been writing like a madman#blame fishbloc for making me post this one
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🪩 send this with a fluffy scenario for a blurb
LUKEEEE HUGHES!!!! seeing each other after a few weeks of long distance
“missed you”
luke hughes x f!reader
birdie’s 300 celly
lukey my babe❤️❤️YES THIS IS SAPPY AS HELL DONT MAKE FUN IF ME
It had been a few weeks since you left New Jersey for a work trip. Usually, Luke was the one traveling for hockey, so being left alone at home was new to him.
He really hated it. He always hated being away from you, but with nothing to keep him occupied, he hated it even more.
After so many days of only texting and facetiming, he was ready to have you back in his arms. So, when he heard your key turn in the door, he was on his feet in an instant.
You pushed the door open with your shoulder, arms full holding your bags. You jumped when you saw Luke directly on the other side, not expecting him to be right there.
“Jesus, Luke,” you laughed breathily. “You scared me.”
You weren’t even in the apartment before his arms engulfed you, squeezing you wordlessly.
You tried to return the gesture, but the bags that were smooshed against your chest made it hard. “Luke, give me five seconds to get inside.”
Luke reluctantly let go, taking a few of your bags from you before stepping back into the apartment to allow you to enter.
Once you set all your belongings down and shrugged off your coat, he was on you again.
One arm circled your waist and drew you in tight as his other arm snaked up your back and his hand burrowed itself in your hair. He dropped his head into the crook of your neck and inhaled deeply.
You wrapped your arms around his waist and toyed with the hem of his t-shirt as you closed your eyes in contentment, relishing the first moment alone with him in weeks.
“Missed you,” he mumbled into your neck, moving his head to kiss your hairline.
“I missed you too,” you said, pulling back slightly to cup his face with your hands. He looked back at you with so much adoration in his eyes, his pupils dilated.
“I love you,” he uttered softly before pulling you closer again, his thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. “Never leave me here again.”
“I won’t, moose.”
#birdiewriteslit#birdie’s 300 celly#birdiewritesfics#nhl fic#nhl#nhl imagine#luke hughes fic#luke hughes#luke hughes x reader#lh43#nhl blurb#hockey#hockey imagine#luke hughes blurb#luke hughes oneshot#nhl x reader
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Little Birdie Part 2
Summary: You always thought you hated Tom more. But after a wild night that has now led into a confusing situationship you start to question who you should be hating more: your nightmare brother Andy, or his best friend Tom?
w/c: 8.8k
TW: just brothers being horrible
A/N: Wow wow wow okay here it is. Please be kind as I am still easing myself back into this. And I know compared to the first one, it's barely anything, but writing 8k was actually a REAL struggle for me. There's probs mistakes and horrible writing but hey! i did it. And also DO NOT WORRY THERE WILL BE A PART 3. I DON'T INTEND TO LEAVE THIS STORY AS IS BUT I THOUGHT YOU GUYS SHOULD AT LEAST HAVE SOMETHING. okay okay okay all forgiven? Enjoy :)
LITTLE BIRDIE PART 1 // MASTERLIST
There was a book you once read years ago exploring the relationship between humans and dreaming, and it captivated your mind from the instant your fingers turned the first page. You were thrilled by its language, its storytelling, its theories and explanations to the point where you were absolutely obsessed by the enigma that is dreaming. The leading theory intertwined with its words was that dreaming was a human’s way of analysing their memories, learning from situations with hindsight and acting as a rehearsal for future challenges.
It was a book you rarely forgot and a book you rarely shut up about. You remembered the moment you finished it and the profound imprint it left on your mindset. Your hands didn’t want to let go of it. From then on, it prompted you to question every dream you ever had since then.
The dream you had last night certainly fulfilled that theory. Images of your own troubled memory involving your own troubled brother flashed before you. Aside from the unstable, hostile relationship, there was actually another reason why you tended to stay away from Andy. And for some reason, your mind decided to remind you just last night in the form of a dream.
Ten years ago, when you were eleven, you had just finished reading Matilda for the first time, one of the few books that occupied a home on your shelf as one of your all-time favourites. The storyline was almost an uncanny retelling of your life and because of that you immediately fell in love with it. You found so much of yourself in Matilda; a lonely girl with a love of books living with a family that didn’t quite understand her. Admittedly, your parents were much kinder to you than Harry and Zinnia Wormwood, but you couldn’t say the same about your brother. Andy resembled Matilda’s menacing brother, Michael Wormwood, in every way.
Prior to reading the book, you had had an awful week dealing with your brother who was in the early stages of his teenage years and you had yet to find a way of escaping his torment when your parents weren’t around. That was until you read Matilda, sitting on your front in a pillow fortress, swinging feet and unblinking eyes with the book perched so close to your face. One of your favourite moments was when Matilda had cleverly pieced together a very daring prank involving bleach hair dye, originally intended for her father but you took inspiration from it in any way you could and decided to replicate something similar for your brother. With the confidence given to you by Matilda, you found your mother’s bleach and concocted a mixture that was poured directly into your brother’s shampoo, cackling as you had finally gained a way to get back at your brother. At the time, you thought it was enough to keep him off your back, that with enough time he would realise the error in his mistakes for ever having mistreated you like Matilda’s brother Michael did.
It was the biggest regret of your life.
Things didn’t go your way. In the end, it was Andy that made sure you realised your mistake and a day later, you had suffered more than you ever had before.
Enraged, Andy had stormed into your room, hair blazing with a tinge of orange that originally had you in fits of giggles, but when you realised the true extent of his anger, you weren’t laughing for long. He had fought to grab you by your ankles and vigorously drag you from your bed whilst insults and slurs passed through his lips. You had kicked and squealed but your parents were out for dinner with business partners. You were left by yourself, left to suffer the carpet burns up the length of your spine as he pulled you out of your bedroom, to defend yourself when he had pulled you to the edge of the half flight of stairs and sent you tumbling down the steps. Being a carpeted staircase with fewer than 10 steps, you got away with what could’ve been worse but it didn’t mean that the injuries you sustained you didn’t ache from. So blinded by anger, unprecedented for a fourteen-year-old, Andy couldn’t explain to your parents how you ended up with a split head that needed stitches. He couldn’t explain how you had ended up with carpet burn blisters on your back. He couldn’t explain why he did what he did simply because your parents didn’t need an explanation. They knew what had prevailed.
It was a night you realised just how far Andy was willing to go to show how much he hated you and you vowed to never risk provoking him again. It was also a night Andy vowed to never risk hurting you again after the trouble he got himself when your parents arrived back home.
Well, at least not physically. Little birdie would already have scuttled away before it escalated to that point.
The dream had fizzled out into a dark void as the memory turned blank. As you arose from your slumber, you wondered why, of all nights, would your conscience decide to resurrect such a memory. Again, you reminded yourself that no one really knows exactly why people dream and what messages they carry, but if you were to guess; perhaps knowing what transpired last night between you and Tom, it was your deeper conscience telling you to consolidate an old opinion of yours; that Andy was the truer evil you should be hating more. Not Tom. Not after how Tom looked at you with a soft glazing of affection in his eyes just before you fell asleep, tenderly caressing the skin of your thigh with a grounding squeeze, the very feeling that made your heart jump with giddiness.
Longing stare, gentle touch, soft whispers.
Maybe it could be a feeling you could get used to. You were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt just to feel more of it.
The soft cotton of your black suite caressed your skin as you tossed and turned. The early morning sun streamed in through the small square window in the corner, illuminating the entirety of the shed. You had never slept on the couch before; it felt so out of routine. You were much more used to the bed upstairs hidden behind the blackout curtain, so you weren’t accustomed to waking in the bright morning light. It was somewhat uplifting. Albeit, the cramp in your neck was less so.
You basked in daylight’s glow for just a minute before acknowledging how bare you were sandwiched between a blanket and the couch. Despite it being a foreign feeling, it was hardly startling compared to the savagery your body endured last night. Your ass stung, your pelvis throbbed and your head pounded. But nothing hurt more than the tightness in your chest, a pressure so suffocating that your heart was almost murmuring to be free. The pain of solitude was a bitter one.
You, along with the black cinders of a dead flame, a raggedy towel and bottle of half-empty whisky lying by the side of the couch, and a broken promise were the result of what happened when Tom Holland got his way.
He didn’t stay.
You wanted him to stay and he knew that, but he didn’t stay.
Your pain tolerance had been worn down to its last thread and you wanted nothing more than to be cocooned in comfort and warmth. You sought recovery under the thin blanket, grasping it in fists and pulling it tightly over your shoulder as you turned on your side while a sigh deflated from your lips.
It was too good to be true. Tom was never going to change and now, neither will you. You should just keep hating him like you did before.
~~~~
Andy also seemed to be a no-show when you eventually entered through the back patio doors into the living room. Although the air was still and calm, there was still a feeling of unease crawling up your spine when you walked past the mess left behind by Andy’s friends. Without thought, your eyes subconsciously landed on the settee where Tom had placed himself last night before he came to you, where he had sat with fire in his eyes as you bravely threatened to expose his misdemeanours. You remembered feeling like you had achieved something, like you were the victor of a battle that seemed impossible to overcome. Little did you know it was a threat he was going to face head on, and suddenly last night’s…punishment instantly flashed in your mind.
Upon the thought, a sudden flash of realisation coloured your mind and your hand whipped to clamp over your neck. You almost forgot. The bruise on your neck. Shit, was it bad?
You shifted nervously in front of the sheen of the oven door, seeing not one but multiple red splotches staining the skin of your neck in its reflection. Fuck, fuck, fuck! How could you walk around here so brazenly with that on your neck? Trust Tom to be an issue even when he wasn’t here. Bastard.
“You got nerve comin’ back in here after your little stunt last night.” Andy’s groggy voice along with shuffling bare feet entered the kitchen. Fuck, you were hoping for a little reprieve to wash, change and lather your neck in makeup before Andy even had the chance to leave his bedroom. Between the dream you had last night and the bruise to your neck, Andy suddenly being here caused your heart to thump a little harder in your chest, but it was his tone that made your blood run cold.
He sounded…pissed. Well, that was nothing new. But aside from his usual abhorrence towards you, there was something about his expression that resounded a little deeper. Grumpier. His eyes also looked at you a little differently, like he knew something about you that he hadn’t before, something contemptible and there were no second guesses as to what it was. He can’t know. How could he know? Tom--he wouldn’t…would he?
Your hand stayed resting against your neck out of pure guilt while Andy roamed the kitchen, searching fridges, cupboards, drawers.
“What?”
He froze in his tread and turned to look at you expectantly with a deep scowl. “Uh, the whole Tom thing? How can you not remember what you did? Are you that fucking stupid?”
You swallowed thickly, quickly preparing words. “It…it wasn’t my fault! I didn’t know what he was going to do!”
“Well, what did you expect? You were pretty much asking for it!”
You took a hefty breath, body shaking with anger. “Fuck you, Andy. Just fuck you. Why can’t you just be on my side for once? That’s what brothers are supposed to do!”
Andy scoffed and turned back to the measly bowl of cereal he poured himself. “Well if you had just given me a slice of pizza like I asked then none of it would've happened! That’s what sisters are supposed to do, right? Do you know how pissed he was after you blackmailed him? He was blaming me for it, saying that I told you everything and how I betrayed him and how he can’t trust me anymore. I mean, how the fuck did you even know all of that?”
Oh. He’s talking about that.
Your hand remained casually resting against your neck, under the shield of your hair as a sigh blew past your lips. With quieter subdued words, you mumbled, “you guys aren’t exactly the quietest when you’re drunk and high.”
“Well mind your own business and put some headphones on next time!”
“Whatever.”
“Why are you holding your neck like that?”
“I slept on my couch last night. Got cramp in my neck.” Ready to leave with your secret still undisclosed, you turned to make your exit from the kitchen, heading towards the bathroom.
“Weirdo.”
The shower was a degree or three colder than you would usually have it. Something about the freezing cold water inflicted a feeling of clarity upon your skin, like a breath of fresh air, cleansing the stains of the debauchery of last night’s secret. Even as you stepped out, you exited with a new mentality and left the promiscuous past to drain away with the water. However, in its place frustration took over. Typical that whatever relief was to be had from the refreshing shower was only to last mere minutes, because now the heat of loathing had consumed you. Of course, your inner-consciousness blamed it on Tom, but there was a small minority that was self-loathing too for even letting it happen. You should’ve known better.
You stopped, frozen to the spot. The thing was…you did know better. You passed him off as a womaniser, the ‘selfish player’ who strives for nothing but his own satisfaction and only chases girls that share the same intent. You read him like one of your books, exposed everything you knew about him directly to his face and he confirmed it all without hesitation. So was there really anything surprising about what he did? No, of course not. You knew how sharp the blade was before you let yourself get cut by it.
So why were you still bothered by it?
The thought still followed you as you mindlessly dabbed concealer over your neck. You watched yourself in the mirror and for just a moment tried to avoid looking at yourself as just a reflection and rather how others would see you.
It was obvious you had never been adventurous with your appearance, your virgin locks hung around your usually make-up free face, adorning wise but inexperienced eyes. What you saw was what you got. Nothing you wore represented your family’s wealth; plain, basic clothing and lacking the expensive accessories that your brother might choose to wear, but it showed that you didn’t need money to be content and preferred a simple life. The more deductions you pointed out about yourself, the more you regretted ever reading Sherlock Holmes, because fuck, you were so readable. So transparent to the eye that you assumed it was why Andy knew how to push your buttons, that your parents knew exactly what books to get you for your birthday, and possibly how Tom was able to win one over on you.
The epiphany hit you hard and fast. Perhaps knowing Tom wasn’t the issue. After all, it certainly didn’t cause any vulnerability on his part. Perhaps the issue resided with never considering what others saw in you. Tom knew you would grow curious despite how adamant you were of opposing the idea. He knew that even though he was everything you hated about your brother and more, you would still fall into his trap. He knew how he made you feel when he was near, dissecting every sign until they were raw and unfiltered. He just knew. He even fucking told you!
“You’d be surprised at what I know about you.” Because you were so fucking readable.
Your head sunk deep into the caverns of your hands, quietly swearing an oath to yourself to stay away from Tom Holland until you figured out how not to be so transparent.
“Hey, dude. I’m sorry about last night. You up for comin’ round again tonight? I’ll get dinner and beers. My treat. Cool, dude. See you at about 7.”
As the words of an invitation echoed through the hall, you realised it was going to be much harder than you anticipated.
~~~~~
You spent most of the afternoon fretting over how you could avoid Tom’s inevitable return to the house. Your eyes gazed out of your bedroom window to see your shed exactly the way you left it. You couldn’t face going back there tonight. Tinted with Tom’s presence, it now served as a constant reminder of last night so it wasn’t exactly the best place to be if you wanted to avoid him. Being in the house was too risky which meant the only option you had left was to simply leave.
As 6:45pm ticked by, you tied your shoelaces, grabbed everything you needed and descended down the stairs, ready for your walk. You weren’t exactly sure where you were going to go, maybe you would find a Starbucks somewhere and read, but right now, your priority was to leave the house first and foremost.
“Where you goin’?” Andy had asked, his lips already sealing around a bottle of beer. You were surprised he even cared enough to ask.
“Out.”
“Good. Can finally give me some peace.”
Never mind. “Whatever.”
“Scuttle away, little birdie,” he chimed, seconds before you slammed the front door.
The pebbles clicked loudly underneath your feet as you marched your way down the private driveway. The sun had already begun to set beyond the horizon leaving behind orange remnants to colour the sky. Despite the day creeping into night, it was still warm and you praised yourself for leaving behind the jacket you considered wearing and indulged the feeling of having a warm breeze gloss over your arms. It was the first time you had seen outside of your house in a while and with that came the realisation that there was as much beauty in the real world than there was in your books. You should’ve done it sooner.
No, really. You should’ve. Because Tom’s Lamborghini was slowly rolling up your driveway towards your house. You checked your watch; 6:49pm. Fuck. He was early. Why was he early? Why couldn’t he have turned up when he was supposed to? Why must you have to go through this again?
Heartbeat accelerating, you looked back towards your front door calculating whether you had enough time to run back, but it had seemed you had walked too far and he had driven too quickly. There was no turning back. You had to face him head on.
Sweaty palms sunk deep into your pockets as you continued your stroll towards the gates, head down and ignorant of everything around you. Naively, you hoped for him to simply drive past you and pay you no mind, but of course, it was Tom Holland. Any opportunity to be a pain in your arse he was going to take it. You just wanted to be invisible, and despite the tinted windows and the pounding music coming from within, there was no way he wouldn’t see you and there was no way you were going to be able to avoid him.
You expected a slow stop, a rolled-down window and a witty comment to leave his mouth before making the rest of the journey towards your house. And in all honesty, you would’ve preferred it that way. In fact, you would’ve preferred anything over what actually happened.
The bubbling rumble of the engine stilled just a few yards ahead of you. The door opened and slammed shut again seconds later where a hearty silence followed. Quietly desperate to know what he was doing, you couldn’t resist the urge to lift your head to see him casually resting against the side of his car, waiting for your approach with his hands deep into pockets. Dark eyes latched themselves onto you as you neared and they instantly ignited a flame inside you, one that you hadn’t learned to tame yet.
In the split second you had before anything was said, you reflected back upon your earlier epiphany about how readable you were to him. Although you hadn’t found a solution to it as of yet, you decided to play into it, letting your brows sink into a scowl, writing the words ‘fuck off’ across your features with as much ambition as you had.
His head cocked to the side, purposely exposing the blemish you had regrettably left on him last night. You seethed at the sight. “Hey, little birdie. Where are you headed?”
Fuck him and his patronising, mocking tone. “Out.”
“At this time?”
“Maybe I would've liked it to have been at least thirty seconds earlier, or if you were ten minutes later. Either way.” You had intended it to be a clear insult to him, but yet you couldn’t fathom why he was chuckling with that stupid grin on his face. He took a step closer and folded his arms, his eyes examining you head to toe. Even in a different light, his eyes still contained the same lascivious quality as they honed in you. You really wanted to shiver but you also didn’t want him seeing what those eyes did to you, not when you were supposed to be pissed at him.
Longing stare…
Wordlessly and without warning, his hand reached out towards you allowing his fingertips to glaze over your jawline, purposely tilting your head to expose the part of your neck you doused in makeup. Your body burned at his touch, a violent act of betrayal of your own conscience as it pleaded with you to hate him rather than quietly yearn for him.
Gentle touch…
He watched the hidden bruise carefully, twitching under the bob of your throat from swallowing nervously and perhaps with a twinge of guilt for having concealed it. Why you felt guilt, you weren’t quite sure. It had been estranged from your emotions all day, and if anything, you felt empowered by concealing what he left behind. But under the scrutiny of his disapproving glare, you were far from the feeling.
The click of his tongue spiked in your ears. “Andy doesn’t know, does he?”
“No. But I guess that doesn’t matter, does it? I suppose you’re just going to go and tell him anyway-”
“He won’t believe me. Not unless he sees what you’ve covered up.”
“It’s better that way.”
“And why’s that? I thought we agreed that little birdie’s free to do what she wants--”
“And I thought you agreed to stay.” The words had fallen out in a trice before you had a chance to stop them. Tom wasn’t a fool to miss the anger behind them, and had he been a straight-up idiot, he would’ve missed the sadness in your eyes too.
His hand retracted the moment you continued. “That’s why Andy doesn’t know; because I got played by your game even though I know what you’re like, and it’s fucking embarrassing. I didn’t want Andy to find out that I was that stupid and naive to think that maybe for once, you wouldn’t be an asshole. It’s like it’s all some sort of prank for you, isn’t it? Because after all, you’re the one that comes out on top and I’m the one being humiliated. It’s always been that way, I should’ve been fucking smarter to know it was never going to change.”
Tom swallowed every word and embraced the silence for a moment before muttering your name in a voice quieter than normal.
Soft whispers…
“Just…do me a favour and leave me alone. Shouldn’t be too hard for you. God forbid Tom Holland spends more than one night with the same girl.”
Not sparing a second look, you turned towards the gate and quickly walked further from Tom who was left with nothing else to say. Although you were already fully convinced, you had secretly given Tom one last chance to explain himself. Just one chance to stop you and explain why he didn’t stay like he said he would, and still as you walked away and exited through the gates, he didn’t take it.
Each step you took was harder and quicker than the last. You drove your heel into the ground as that same frustration pumped through your veins, constantly abasing you for being so caught in the humiliation of it all.
“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself when you noticed your hands shaking. For a while, you spiralled into your own subconscious questioning why his absence this morning hurt you in a way you didn’t expect it to. No matter how profound your own self-analysis of what you were feeling was and why you were feeling it, you couldn’t find a remedy for it.
And like with every other problem in your life, instead of confronting it, you ran away from it.
~~~~
“Hi mum. How’s the holiday?” Your tone was chirper than usual as you spoke into your phone. It didn’t at all reflect how you were feeling inside, but you couldn’t let your mum worry about you. It would ruin her holiday.
“Hi honey, it’s nice hearing from you. It’s amazing; weather’s sunny and warm, the food’s great and all is relatively stress-free, well, except from when your dad dropped his passport at the airport and nearly lost it--”
“Jesus!”
“I know! I told him! The moron. Anyway, how are things with you and Andy? You sound like you’re outside. Oh God. Is the house still standing? It hasn’t burnt down has it?”
An airy chuckle fed through the line. If only she knew that Andy was just half of your problems. “Yes, it’s still standing so no need to panic. And I’m out for a walk. Decided I needed to leave the house for a bit to get some peace and fresh air. Andy has…been his usual self. Don’t get mad but he had a party the first night.”
“Ugh! I knew it! Truthfully, I always knew he was going to throw a party but I didn’t think it was going to be as early as the first night! Great. Now I owe your father a grand. It wasn’t too disastrous, was it? You must’ve spent the night in your shed. Did you get pizza delivered?”
You opened your mouth but no words came out. You never told her you were going to be staying in your shed, nor did you ever tell her about ordering pizza, regardless of the fact they happened on separate nights. She was still, in some aspect, right.
“Y-yeah, I did.” A long sigh broke the pause in between your words. “Hey, can I ask you something? And be honest with me.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Am I predictable?”
Your mother somewhat spluttered through the phone as she tried to find her words, obvious enough that if she had just said the first thing that came to her head you would’ve already had your answer.
Yes.
But of course, she was your mother, and in her sweet, maternal manner, she decided to answer delicately. “Well, you were always set in your ways, even from a young age. Very much a creature of habit. Routines and tendencies, you know?”
“So…I shouldn’t have a routine?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Everyone has a routine. For example, your dad and I get up at 7 every morning, we’re at work by 8, we come home at 5, we make dinner, we watch TV. Every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, I go to the gym. Yes, I have a routine but that doesn’t mean you’re going to know whether I’m in the mood for tea, coffee or vodka and it’s the same with you. I know you spend your evenings reading, but that doesn’t mean I know whether you’re going to read romance, mystery or horror. My point is; just because you have a routine, doesn’t mean your personality is predictable too, just the likelihood of your next steps. I’m just making it apparent that yours hasn’t changed since you were young. What’s got you asking?”
The truth sat on your tongue.
Andy’s best friend, Tom, whom I’ve hated most of my life, said he was going to fuck me even though I didn’t want to fuck him, but I still let him fuck me, and now I’m angry that I let him fuck me because it proved that he knew I was going to let him fuck me.
Obviously, that wasn’t what you really said. “Lately I’ve been feeling like everyone seems to know what I’m going to do before I even know what I’m going to do.”
“Well, change up your routine. Read in the afternoon and take a walk in the evening. Spend time in the living room instead of the shed.”
You hummed quietly, deliberating her advice. You remained quiet for just a second too long for her liking.
“Honey?”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t help but wonder if this has something to do with Andy. He hasn’t said or…done anything hurtful to you, has he? You know it would break me if he was to repeat what he did ten years-”
“No, no, it’s okay. He hasn’t done anything in particular, at least nothing I can’t handle myself. Now go and enjoy the rest of your holiday. I’ll text you soon, love you.”
She sighed, unconvinced, but replied back with the same familial passion she had always shown you.
As the hours drifted late into the night, you made it to your local Starbucks and sat with your hot chocolate encased in your hands. While your book lay unused beside you, your old habits drove you to blankly stare out of the window, casually watching other people as they continued on with their life while you reflected on your own. The conversation you had with your mother still ran circles around your mind, and as ever the insightful person she was, you thought it best to heed her words carefully. Change your routine, she said.
What was your routine? What was a guarantee in your life? Well, for one, you had to look no further than your own memory of Tom’s words not too long ago. ‘It's hard enough that the sight of Andy makes you scuttle away so easily…’. As much as it pained you to admit, he was right. It was the only cause-and-effect Andy and his friends could rely upon. The longer you thought about it, the more and more of your little tendencies surfaced in your head.
So you decided to change them all.
When your mother said to change your routine, when translated into your mind it read along the lines of ‘when Andy comes along, don’t scuttle away. When his friends are invited over, stay in the house. Throw them off, don’t let them know your next steps.’ Although it was going against your human nature, you were going to put your mind to it. Do not let anyone have a higher power over you. Do not let anyone know what you might do next. It was going to be a real test of your mental and emotional stability.
~~~~~
As it had appeared, that test arrived sooner than you anticipated. Not two days after your mother had bestowed you with her advice, Andy had organised yet another party at your house. There wasn’t exactly a strategy in place per say, but you had already pre-emptively taken everything from your shed because you didn’t want to dangle the temptation of retreating to your sanctuary in front of you. You wanted to remain strong in your ambitions no matter how you were going to do it or how difficult it was going to be.
As night fell, you watched from the upstairs office’s tall windows as people started to flood into the house, just to get an idea of what to wear. You wanted to look the part, wanted to look like you belonged there and not just a lost ghost floating around the house like you had been before. Most girls you saw were pretty casual, thankfully swapping the short dresses and skirts to jeans and a nice top, choosing comfort over style, nevertheless still maintaining that expensive price tag. That shouldn’t be an issue; you pondered over the choice of Balenciaga shoes you had in your wardrobe.
Once the party had started, you gave yourself a generous 45 minutes to psych yourself up for the night ahead, throwing back a few drinks you had brought in from the shed, fixing up your hair and makeup with a little more detail, and spending many, many minutes staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes fell to your neck, the deep purple of the bruise had simmered to just a faint wash of pink that it wasn’t completely obvious to the eye, almost invisible in the dark. The foundation brush in your hand hovered a few inches above it, wavering between covering it up and leaving it be.
No. Leave it. Who cares who sees it? Not you. Not anymore.
The brush rattled against your vanity desk as you dropped it, turning towards your bedroom door and walking downstairs before a second thought could cross your mind.
With each step you took, you counted the number of things that were a guarantee for tonight: drink, drugs, games, chaos, debauchery, gambling, a mess. You had always seen the result of those things when you stepped onto the scene the next morning, but tonight, you were going to see them happen in action. A little daunting if anything, but if you were trying to look on the brighter side, you were fulfilling an unsuspecting part of your curiosity that had always wanted to see what exactly Andy got up to during these parties of his.
The crowd was once again split between the open living room, the kitchen and the veranda. There was no doubt that in time other rooms would eventually be used for other things, but the night was still young, sober and relatively innocent. You wanted to grow with it.
You couldn’t help but notice how you caught a few eyes with your entrance; a group of girls in the corner whispering between each other, a few of Andy’s friends turning their heads to catch a glance; shock, confusion and curiosity evident in their pregnant stares. It was attention you weren’t used to receiving, but that was the whole point of tonight. Change your routine. Be unpredictable. Be unreadable. Take control.
There was a pair of eyes you had yet to see, though.
Longing stare, gentle touch, soft whispers.
Stop it.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” It was Andy, lips pursed, teeth gritted. It was obvious your sudden appearance was startling to him, and it was no surprise to you that he wasn’t taking it well. His control was slipping…
“Here? As in my own house? What could I possibly be doing here?” The sarcasm dripped from every word as you yanked back your own arm from Andy’s fist.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
You smirked. “Says who?”
He opened his mouth again, at a loss, but was interrupted by louder, higher-pitched voices as they swarmed in from behind him. “Oh my God, Andy, is this your little sister?” It was Morgan, the girl Andy had brought back to your parents’ bed on the first night. She seemed to be engrossed with you, introducing herself animatedly and already inviting you to get drinks with her from the kitchen, much to Andy’s dismay. Despite being a little dumbfounded by Morgan’s sudden interest in you, you decided to not question it with the sheer satisfaction of knowing that you were stealing his attention.
“She was just leaving.”
“What? No, come on, let her join. You said tonight was going to be chill. ‘The more the merrier’, you said. Remember?”
Morgan whisked you away by the curl of her arm wrapped around your shoulder, bearing nothing but her pearly whites as she escorted you to the colourful array of expensive vodka bottles, mixed amongst the fat, golden champagne bottles on the kitchen counter, every second one uncorked. Morgan helped herself to the champagne glasses stacked up in the tall cupboard like she had done it so many times before, grabbing one for herself and one for you. God, it was like this wasn’t even your house and she was the hostess.
“It’s so nice to finally talk to you. You know you’re like a myth to us.”
Your laughter was loud and abrupt. “What?”
“No, seriously. We all knew Andy had a little sister but, like, we never see you.”
She handed you a glass of bubbling champagne and you took it delicately between your fingers, twirling as you reflected upon her words. “Well, I’ve decided to change that.”
“Good for you. I’m sure there’s plenty of people who want to meet you--oh! Talia! Over here! It’s Andy’s little sister!”
A slender body circled around yours and facing you was Talia, the girl you once fantasised over replacing. She greeted you with a smile on her face against the backdrop of her long, blonde hair as a red hue crossed yours. It was a smile that seemed genuinely welcoming and a sly thought spawned in your mind; maybe she doesn’t know about you spying on her that first night…
You couldn’t imagine her being so welcoming if she did.
“Oh hey! I can’t believe you’re here. It’s so strange seeing you outside your shed.” It was so strange to see her not latching onto Tom. Speaking of, where was he? “By the way, thanks for letting me use your toilet that first night, I don’t think I would’ve made it if you hadn’t. I was just so drunk and I literally couldn’t hold it.”
“Sure, it was no problem.”
“Really? I kept thinking that I had pissed you off.”
Well…“Don’t worry, it wasn’t you. It was…um, Tom. Didn’t want him in, honestly.”
A look of disgust contorted her features at the mention of his name. It didn’t make sense in your head albeit it was something you could resonate with. Perhaps you weren’t the only one to be foolish enough to lose at his game. Her eyes rolled widely and the click of her tongue conveyed a message that didn’t need words. She apparently despised him. Both a sucker for gossip, Morgan filled you in on the details with Talia giving extra snippets of insight every ten seconds or so, and after an unnecessarily long and dramatic build up, you found out that Talia and Tom used to have a little friends-with-benefits-no-strings-attached situation going on over a number of months. Talia had been using Tom in the same way he was using her; to alleviate boredom. It wasn’t news, honestly. In fact, it was hardly discreet. But the shock came from what Talia told you after.
“He texted me like three nights ago saying he wanted to end it.”
He would’ve been with you when he texted her. You must’ve been asleep by the time he did. A nervous glance to your left gave away your paranoia, regardless you probed for more. “Why?”
“Something about maturing or growing up or whatever.” She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder with a short, unbothered sigh, her phone now perched in front of her face. “Oh well. I mean it wasn’t like we were exclusive. I can get my fun elsewhere.”
Stuck in thought, your eyes mindlessly gazed over Talia’s shoulder where your focus pulled your attention to the living room, full of bodies sitting, standing, conversing, drinking, all blurring into one amalgamation of movement. But there in the centre of the room was one motionless figure, a solid rock amongst the waves and it caught your attention immediately.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
Adrenaline was fed through your veins at the sight of Tom, just like it had done before. His stature was strong and confident as he faced you, clutching a beer in hand while the other burrowed into his pocket. He had you in his sights and with a glare so firm from eyes so dark, you found yourself being ensnared by them. You couldn’t put a name to the expression on his face and it left you wondering what his intentions were. Several ideas coursed through your mind but none had any semblance of plausibility.
With slow and careful movements, Tom tilted his head in a smooth motion to crack his neck. Only then, did you figure out what was going through his head.
With a breath caught in your lungs, you stayed vigilant as he subtly raised his beer just inches into the air with the neck of the bottle tilted slightly in your direction, dedicating a small, personal toast with the gentle nod of his head. What the hell did that mean?
You swallowed, cautious. You turned your attention back to Talia. “So…um, you haven’t heard from him since?”
Her eyes looked at you from the phone. “No. Knowing him, he’s probably moved onto someone else. Lucky bitch whoever it is. Tom was kinda my favourite to fuck around with. He knew what he was doing if you know what I mean.”
“No.” You deadpanned. “I don’t.”
Oh yes you do…
Having that very enlightening conversation with Morgan and Talia was just the first of many. Every second you spent around the house, the more people began to realise that you were here to stay and took the opportunity to find out all about Andy’s mysterious little sister. As introverted as you thought you were, you were actually enjoying the conversations, realising that not every one of Andy’s friends were as conceited as he was. At first it was the girls, watched by many begrudging boys as you single-handedly stole their attention, a problem that could only be resolved by joining them, chatting to you, finding out more about you and lure out the embarrassing stories of Andy they knew you had stored away somewhere. You were more than happy to oblige as it passed that point in the night when people had estranged themselves from sobriety, opening up with every drop they drank, including you. Although, you told yourself you didn’t want to take things too far, not on your first night of liberation from Andy’s silent clutches of which he was struggling to retain.
You had chatted to all but two. Two boys who had cowered to the far ends of the room for the majority of the night, watching, observing, refusing to follow the crowd. There was no attempt to patronise you, manipulate you, mock you in any way because, like your mother had suggested, you were completely out of routine. So out of character that the boys didn’t know what to do and unlike what you were dreading earlier, the party had developed into something you were happily embracing. It had actually pained you to take a break from the party when your phone had completely drained of its battery, so overused from adding multiple people on socials, adding numbers, taking photos that it had actually died.
Quietly excusing yourself, you made your way up to your bedroom believing you hadn’t been followed. It wasn’t until you tried to close your door behind you that a foot had stopped it from sealing you in. You barely made it to your charger when the intruder grabbed your arms and violently spun you around.
“What are you doing, get the fuck out my room!” Alcohol fuelled your anger as you spat words at your brother who was far from pleased.
“You little shit. You told all my friends about Mexico?!”
Mexico was your biggest weapon against Andy. It was a time where you and your family went on a summer holiday to Cancun a couple of years ago; an amazing time for you, but for Andy, it was his most embarrassing memory. Just days after arriving, Andy had an unfortunate incident involving the sea, lost swimming trunks, and a very awkward interaction with a lifeguard. Andy was absolutely mortified and the rest of the family giggled uncontrollably as they vowed to him to never tell a soul. It didn’t stop them from talking about it when the family got together, and while they kept their promise to never tell another soul, you had been embarrassed one too many times by Andy to solemnly keep that vow.
“Serves you right for embarrassing me in front of your friends all those other times-”
“That’s not the fucking same!”
“In fact, you’re right. Mexico doesn’t even begin to cover the amount of times you’ve embarrassed me. Now get off me before I start telling all your friends about everything else.”
His grip tightened, containing your struggle. “You’re not going back downstairs,” he ordered.
“Face it, Andy. You’re just too scared to admit that all your friends actually prefer me over you. That’s why you never ever let me near when you have them round.” You knew all too well that you were provoking him, something that you promised yourself never to do again, but you’ve lived so many years cowering from him. Just for once, you wanted to give him what he deserved.
“Shut up!” Enraged, Andy shoved you, and you landed just short of your bed, your spine landing onto the wooden bedframe with a clatter. With the door being closed and the music blasting downstairs, no one could hear the fight ensuing in your room. Once again, you were left to fend for yourself. But you were older and stronger than what you were ten years ago, surely you could stand a better chance against him.
In a tanlge of limbs, punches and kicks were thrown where and when possible, the two of you caught up in a careless fight with no clear winner. It lasted several pain-inducing minutes until the final, winning blow was taken by Andy who had managed to get you pinned to the ground. You weren’t sure what to expect from him as he forced you to the ground. Of course damage had already been done, but what else could Andy do to ensure you would stay here like he wanted you to? He knew as well as you did that at the first chance of escape, you would take it, so with every second that passed, the worry and fear in you increased. He was stuck for options, having nothing to keep you pinned.
There was an intense moment of anticipation. Your eyes remained locked in place with his as you internally battled it out with each other, waiting for either to have the chance to do something.
You clocked the moment his eyes wandered to your neck and heat rushed to your cheeks because you knew exactly what caught his attention.
“What’s that?”
“None of your business,” you spat. “Let go--”
“Is that…is that a hickey?” His voice was incredulous as he brushed a harsh finger over it, expecting it to be make-up but when it didn’t disappear, his eyes locked back onto you and his hand remained around your neck. “Who?” He demanded. The fire inside him roared ferociously. For a moment, the thought that he could potentially suffocate you crossed your mind. “Who?!”
To both of your surprise, the door swung open. “Dude, what the fuck are you doing? Get off of her!”
Andy’s weight was alleviated from you very swiftly, and your eyes caught on to the soft brown curls of Tom as he hauled him away from you, giving you just enough time to catch your breath and find your feet. By the time you came to stand, Tom had Andy shoved against your bedroom wall, a look of confusion riddling his face. He still didn’t know why his best friend had sided with you, and it made him all the more angry to think about what you had said earlier. He wasn’t ready to admit anything.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Tom yelled, face reddening by the second. “She’s your sister?!”
Andy glared at him through furrowed brows. Defending you was so uncharacteristic of him so it felt like a stab in the back for Andy. “Why are you taking her side in this, man?”
“How could I possibly take your side when you just attacked her?”
The two boys continued to argue in front of you while you stood silently behind them. The novelty of having Tom openly defend you against Andy had yet to wear off, so you were curious to see how far he would go and how it would play out.
“Dude, she told everyone about Mexico!”
“So? You’ve embarrassed her in front of all of us before.” Damn, right he has. “You told us all she was a virgin--”
“Was?” There was a brief silence in the argument, the gears winding in Andy’s head. His eyes twitched, stealing a glance of you behind Tom’s shoulder but contempt drove them back to Tom. “You know, don’t you? Who did it? Huh? Who left that thing on her neck?”
“Probably someone who can do a better job of looking after her than you can--”
You decided to finally cut in. You mustered the confidence and spoke firmly. “Tell him.”
Tom turned to you, a little surprised, almost as if he wanted confirmation of what you just asked him to do. With his eyes gazing over your features like they had done so many times before, he was able to clearly see the resolution written in your eyes and the confidence he saw as you stood your ground, unblinking. A small smirk tugged at his lips. He could read you so well.
Little birdie’s free to do what she wants.
“It was me.”
“You…no, you’re lying. I don’t believe you.”
“He’s telling the truth.” You came to a stand in front of Andy. “The night you had all your friends round for sports night. Tom left early, didn’t he?”
“How do you know that, you were in your shed…”
“Because he didn’t go home. Did you not think it was weird that he came back the next day with a hickey on his neck? That it’s just as faded as mine is now?”
An epiphany soon glossed over Andy’s eyes. “You were holding your neck…but you-you said you had neck cramp.”
“Or I was covering something up.”
Andy looked to you, to Tom and then back to you, betrayal and anger riddling his features. Between you and Tom, neither of you could quite tell who he was going to lash out at first and as a precaution, Tom took a step in front of you, curling his arm around your front. You initially thought it strange that Tom felt the need to protect you given what your brother had just found out, especially since you knew that you were considered ‘off-limits’ to your brother’s friends. Then again, it wasn’t out of brotherly-protection, it was out of greed and possession, and knowing Andy and his lack of familial compassion, you realised that you were just as much in the firing line as Tom was. His next words attested to that.
“You…whore.”
Now Andy had called you a lot of things, but a whore was never one of them. It had your blood boiling, your skin crawling with absolute disgust, and your molars grinding together. What did you do to deserve a brother as rancid as him?
The moment he uttered that word, you pounced for him in a blinding rage. What stopped you from actually hitting him was Tom, making a very mature decision to collect all of your flailing, swinging limbs and calmly escort you out of the room. Andy attempted to retaliate but with a swift and threatening ‘do not fucking touch her’ from Tom, he retreated and sulked his way to his room. Regardless, you refused to relent until you were safely out of his sight, out into the front garden and trailing towards the front gate with the music of the party dulling behind you.
Once you reached the gates, Tom turned to you once to ask you if you were okay and in your alcohol-adrenaline-induced state, you simply nodded. That was good enough for him.
Wordlessly you followed Tom, having little to no idea what he was doing or where he was taking you. All you knew was that he had your hand in his and you were walking out of your driveway. You shook your hand lethargically to test whether or not he would let go but his grip only tightened, apparently adamant on his decision to take you away from here.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going back to my house.”
“Why?”
“So that this time, you’ll know I’ll stay.”
All things considered, you should’ve said no. You should’ve reminded yourself exactly why you were trying to avoid Tom. You should’ve stopped him and given him a ‘what-for’ for all the hurt he had caused you like you did with Andy. But you didn’t because you couldn’t stop reminding yourself of why you wanted to say yes.
Rough hands, dark eyes, desperate moans. Longing stare, gentle touch, soft whispers.
You were tired of the reasoning, tired of the tension, tired of constantly battling, and tired of trying to decipher what every little minute detail meant. You just wanted to say yes and get on with it.
So you did.
Part 3 coming soon
#why am i nervous to post this???#i rlly hope you guys like it#i know its just a filler#this shit will have a part 3#tom holland#tom holland smut#tom holland fic#tom holland x reader#smut#dom!tom holland#rich!tom holland#tom holland imagine#enemies to lovers#big brothers best friend#little birdie#tom holland x you#peter parker fic
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completed portraits of my lucemond kids!
learn more about them on my blog and ao3 :)
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Personal opinion but I don't think Nana Morri gets enough heat for magically stretching Fearne's time in the Feywild.
The hag turned 6 years of Fearne's life into a century and sure, her cold feelings towards Birdie and Ollie leaving are valid but WHO TURNED DOWN THE FUCKING THERMOSTAT???
#i know “hags gonna hag” but what morri did was fucked up and i wish it would get said more#critical role#cr3#bells hells#nana morri#fearne calloway#birdie calloway#ollie calloway#that being said i still find their bond kinda sweet and i DID write a fic giving morri a more 'selfless' reason for doing what she did
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