pre meet

  • My friends: I think it'd be cool to meet a celebrity at a meet and greet or somethi-
The Woman In The Purple Coat

The old woman comes every day at the same time and throws a handful of coins into his open violin case.

Then she gives him a wide, honest smile and listens to him play. With her head slightly crooked and her eyes closed. Devoutly.

She isn’t happy. He can see it. In the way she walks. Slightly bent down, as if she were carrying a heavy load. Powerless.
But she is there every day. Every day at the same time. And somehow, Sherlock gets used to her. Waits for her. Looks for her reddish hair and her purple coat in the crowd.

When the winter comes and his fingers tremble and burn in the freezing cold, she brings him a thermos full of hot tea and some homemade biscuits.
This is the first time she talks to him.
“It’s way too cold to stand out on the street, young man,” she says, frowning as she fills the cap of the thermo with tea and passes it to him.
“Thank you, Miss,” Sherlock says hoarsely, and the warmth of the tea is almost a shock after the hours of rattling cold. “I’m fine.”
She raises her eyebrows doubtfully, and lets her gaze wander over his figure.
He knows what she sees. The shadows on his pale face, the bloodshot eyes. The worn out jacket, which is too big for him. The shoes, which have more holes in them than the Swiss cheese in the window of the French Delicacies shop behind him.
He lowers his eyes and drinks the tea. He doesn’t want to see her pity.
“Where do you go when you’re done playing?” She suddenly asks gently. “Do you have a place to sleep?”
Sherlock hesitates with the answer. In the last few days he has had a very well sheltered place under a bridge. It’s not warm, nowhere is warm, but it is dry, and there are not as many rats as in his last shelter. He sleeps with his head on his violin case, full of fear that it could be stolen. His only source of income. All that remained to him. He could not bear to lose it.
“I’ll get along,” he says indeterminately to the woman, taking the biscuit she is offering him. “Thank you.”
She looks at him firmly and he has the unpleasant feeling that she could look right through him. As if she was looking beyond the wall, he had meticulously and painstakingly around himself. He avoids her gaze.
“You look like him,” she suddenly says in a strangely stifled tone.
He looks up, frightened, and sees that her friendly eyes are full of tears. He swallows. The situation makes him nervous. He wants to run away. Escape. But he is frozen in place.
The woman shakes her head and then she turns around, walking away quickly, a hand firmly pressed to her mouth.
Sherlock looks after her, the biscuit still in his hand, and does not quite know what to think of it.
So he eats the biscuit mechanically, it tastes of lemon and vanilla. Then he takes up his violin again.

Sherlock plays and plays until the darkness comes and takes away the colors of the world.
When the woman comes the next day and watches him play, her eyes are red and a bruise is decorating her right cheek.
He stumbles in his playing at the sight.
She stops before him, and gives him a timid smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes.
Sherlock plays the song to its end and doesn’t take his eyes from the conspicuous mark on her face. It registers all color nuances. The spotted red at the edges. The light blue in the middle, traversed by violet shimmers.
His fingers tighten around the bow as he feels the first touch of involuntary rage rising in him.
What bastard beats such a friendly, attentive woman? He asks himself grimly and bewildered.
Despite the winter cold, he gets boiling hot.
And yet he has no idea why he feels this way …

When he’s done, he drops the violin and watches her rummaging in her pocket for her purse.
The thoughts are racing through his head.
He should not ask her about it … it should not bother him … he can not help her. He can not even help himself. It’s not his problem. It is not his problem.
And yet he asks the question.
He just doesn’t know exactly why.

“Who did that?”

Her head goes up. Her eyes widen in surprise.
Her mouth opens and closes again.
She obviously didn’t expect the question.
“Who did that?” He asks again, and this time the woman involuntarily touches the bruise on her cheek gently with her fingertips.
“Oh, that … I’ve stumbled against something while I was cleaning the flat,” she says half-heartedly, and Sherlock doesn’t believe her. “I am very clumsy, you know,” she continues.
He snorts.
“A friend of my mother said the same for a long time. Until her lover broke her arm and beat her bloody,” he says dryly, and she shakes her head hastily.
“It’s not like that,” she mutters. Then she finds her purse and rummages through it. She hastily throws all the coins she has into his case, and then she goes away without another word.
Slightly bent down, as always. As if she wants to make herself smaller than she really is …

Sherlock frowns.
When the woman comes the next day, he doesn’t play.
He sits on the ground and holds his right arm. It’s broken. Certainly.
Blood drips from his nose to his lip, slowly and steadily.
He stares at his violin case with empty eyes. The case is useless now.
Because the violin is gone. And without a violin, there is no money in the case.
It’s the first time Sherlock seriously thinks about the golden shot.
He would have enough cocaine left for it.
Simply dissolving into the atmosphere would now be a relief.
Simply disappear …
People hurry past him and their shadows fall on his huddled figure.
At some point it begins to rain.
Sherlock hardly feels the slight drops. He also barely feels the pain in his arm. There seems to be no place in his body that doesn’t hurt. And so everything has become a muffled fog.
Suddenly, a shadow doesn’t pass, but remains standing in front of him.
And talks.
“Oh, no, my dear boy, what happened?”
She kneels in front of him and lifts his chin, and he looks into worried, bright eyes.
It’s the woman who listens to him every day.
The woman with the bruise on her face.
She takes a handkerchief from somewhere and holds it to his bleeding nose. He lets her do it. He is too stunned to do anything.
“What happened?” She asks again.
Yes, what happened?
Blurred shadows in his head … people. Screaming. Aggressive. There were…
“Too many,” he muttered dizzyly. The blow he had gotten to his head was probably harder than he had initially assumed. “They have … my violin … Going to sell it somewhere probably.”
A sharp pain strikes him at these words …
His violin … The last thing that had reminded him of better times.
He lost it.
It is gone.
All has gone so fast.
He can feel tears in his eyes. He blinks them away.
“Oh no,” the woman murmurs in front of him, still resolutely holding the handkerchief to his nose. “No, no, no … these terrible people.”
Her gaze falls on his shapeless right arm. She breathes sharply through her nose.
“The arm must be treated,” she says to herself, shaking her head. The handkerchief is soaked with blood.
The rain gets stronger. The people walk faster, throwing only glances of astonishment at the two figures on the ground.
The woman looks up at the gray sky, then at Sherlock, and shakes her head.
“You can’t stay here. You’ll catch your death.”
Sherlock laughs bitterly.
"Catch my death …” he gasps. “That would be preferable, yes.”
“Don’t be silly, my boy,” she says sternly, taking the handkerchief away. “Life doesn’t only consist of bright moments. There are always some rain clouds. But they will drift away again. Sometime. And now come with me. We must get you out of this rain and to a doctor. I know someone who can help us without making too much trouble …”
He’s too weak to protest in any way.
Too dazed and exhausted to get rid of her as she pulls him to a stand at his healthy arm.
He stumbles up and follows her through the rain keeping his head down.
“Martha Hudson, by the way,” she says to him at some point.
“Sherlock,” he murmurs dizzyly. “Sherlock Holmes.”
In the next few days, Sherlock learns a lot about Mrs. Hudson.
He learns about her son, who looked a lot like him. Who died in a car crash a long time ago.
He learns about her abusive husband, who isn’t in London most of the time. He finds out a lot about this husband. Things, that eventually results in the husband’s arrest and execution in the US. After that, Mrs. Hudson never walks bent down again. 
He learns about her own problems with drugs in the past.
He moves into the empty flat in her building.
Sometimes, he still plays the violin for her.
Sometimes, they sit together and talk about the good and bad sides of life.
Sometimes, they play music on the old radio in her flat and dance to it. She giggles and he smiles.
They become family.

The violinist and the woman in the purple coat.

My version of their first meeting.
I noticed that I never wrote a first meeting of Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson before! So now, here it is. I hope you like it.

Corrected by my wonderful beta @bakerstreet-irregular <3

Tags are under the cut. Did I forget you, or do you want to be tagged in future works? Tell me :)

Keep reading

Pre meeting Taylor - arriving at the meeting point AND SEEING YOUR WONDERFUL FRIENDS THAT YOU DIDNT KNOW WERE GOING TOO WAS THE HAPPIEST, we all met bc of Taylor and now we all met her together. 😭❤️


Uwaaaah~ Its still Sheith to my dirty little fangirl mind… hahahaha. So I guess the scenario here is kind of just a snippet but the asks already explains what happens so I think its pretty understandable. Also, I did not expect that I could draw such a handsome Shiro, lol whut.

This is for @therebelcaptainnetwork’s Fanfiction Friday prompt,  “it’s a bet” for the fake dating/married monthly theme, because how I do love fake married/dating in all its permutations and for any reason at all.

Full of Surprises

Cassian strode across the bar and slid into the seat next to the pretty brunette human with the sharp eyes. “Sorry I’m late, love,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders.

She gave him an inscrutable look. “I don’t know who you are, but you need to take your hands off me or I will break them off.”

He lowered his voice, leaning into her ear as if he were whispering loving words. “You see that Rodian over there?”

Her eyes flicked over his shoulder. “What about him?”

“He thinks you’re my girlfriend.”


Because he’s looking for a man alone, and I just told the barman I was meeting you here. Because I’m pretty sure my contact double-crossed me and sent him to pick up the bounty on my head. Because I’m not sure how well my disguise will work if they’ve got a holo and a decent facial recognition prog. Because the last thing I want to is to start a fight in this bar and get picked up for disorderly conduct by the Empire.

He smiled easily. “It’s a bet.”

Keep reading

Valentine Woes

A/N: I would like to thank @alrightpetal for consistently reassuring and validating my ideas, @stylessemantics for talking me off the ledge when I was frustrated, and @aqua-harry for saving this one shot by helping me replace the phrase “suctioned to his face”.  This is a follow up to Birthday Bows

“A Valen-tini,” the bartender said, setting the hot pink drink on a cocktail napkin in front of you at the bar. You smiled in thanks and reached for the drink. You had wanted to wait until Harry arrived and get drinks together, but he’d sent a text forty minutes ago saying traffic was bad leaving the airport and he wasn’t sure when he’d make it to the hotel.

What a great Valentine’s Day.

Your workload had been rough on you lately, and it was always hard getting back into the swing of things when Harry first left for tour. The only thing you had been looking forward to all week was being with him once more, and now you were being made to wait longer.

The last two weeks had been a whirlwind. It’d gone from being with Harry—in many different places and positions—every day to suddenly being on your own. The stark juxtaposition of the days before Harry left and the last few days alone had you—and your body—reeling.

You had never had more sex than in the week following Harry’s birthday. Gifting Harry with the collar and lead had reinvigorated something rendering the both of you unable to keep your hands off each other. It was reminiscent of the first few months of your relationship, except there was no awkward learning of bodies or hasty hands fumbling caresses; no, you knew just how to touch each other. You knew that if you suckled Harry’s bottom lip and let the edges of your teeth barely nibble he’d growl and grip whatever part of your body occupied his hands at the moment tighter to pull you closer to him. He knew that if he caressed your breasts, traced the soft curve of them with his fingertips, kneaded and cupped the supple tissue, but was careful to avoid your nipples, you’d inevitably grow so impatient you’d grab him by the wrists and force him to pinch and roll them between his fingers.

This was much more dangerous than being lustful strangers; you were both equipped with the knowledge to drive the other wild and were determined to test limits.

Keep reading

lead my life astray

Title: lead my life astray
Author: strangetowns
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Warnings: None Apply
Completed: Yes
Word count: 3797
Summary: Mr. Zimmermann raises his eyebrows. “Are you implying, then, that I expect too much?”
“Not as such,” Eric replies. “I am simply asking you to keep an open mind.”
A Pride and Prejudice AU.

Most memorable line: “I am not very, very sad,” Eric protests. “I am, at most, simply sad. This is a gross exaggeration of my character, and I will not stand for it.”

Taylor Swift's Lawyer Tells All


Forgive the tabloid headline. Venable partner J. Douglas Baldridge is actually quite discreet when discussing his famous client. But he spent last week litigating under a blinding media spotlight, with everyone from People Magazine and Inside Edition to The New York Times covering Taylor Swift’s six-day federal trial in Denver.

“Man, what a ride,” Baldridge said. “After 30 years, you kind of know how to try a case. But here, there was so much going on outside the courtroom, it added a whole new dimension. We were on trial every waking moment. It was a brand-new experience to walk out of court every day and have an extraordinary number of reporters and cameras in your face.”

He kept his cool—and declined comment—throughout the trial. “I didn’t say a word until we had the win,” he said. “What I had to do was try it and win it inside the courtroom. That’s what I do. I’m not an outside-the-courtroom guy.”

The pop superstar was completely vindicated in her clash with disc jockey David Mueller, who Swift testified “grabbed my bare ass” at a pre-concert meet-and-greet in 2013.

Mueller was fired two days after the alleged groping, and blamed Swift, her mother Andrea Swift and radio promotions director Frank Bell for getting him canned. (Baldridge represented all three). The DJ demanded $3 million for interference with contractual obligations and tortious interference with business relations.

Swift counter-sued for assault and battery, and asked for $1 in damages.

“It was not about trying to bankrupt the man or take his money,” Baldridge said. “To her, it was about making a statement. It wasn’t her fault, she didn’t do it.”

Or as he put it in court, “Grabbing a woman’s rear end is an assault, and it’s always wrong. Any woman—rich, poor, famous, or not—is entitled to have that not happen.”

Based out of Venable’s D.C. office, Baldridge was not an obvious pick to represent Swift, who according to Billboard was the highest-paid artist of 2016.

In legal circles, he’s made a name successfully litigating pay-for-delay pharmaceutical cases—wildly complex, billion-dollar battles at the intersection of antitrust and intellectual property, with regulatory overlay from the FDA and FTC to boot.

But his practice is eclectic. Or as he put it, “I’m a garbage man. I do a little bit of everything.” And he likes to be in court. “I’m not a paper litigator,” he said.

In addition to some shareholder, real estate and First Amendment disputes, he’s also represented a few celebrities starting with Tiger Woods in 2006. (They have a mutual friend, he said, which is how he got the chance to pitch for the initial business, a dispute involving unauthorized use of a photo of the golfer.)

He first represented Swift when she was sued in 2014 by clothing company Blue Sphere for infringing its “Lucky 13” trademark. The case settled on confidential terms in 2015. Along the way, he got to know the 27-year-old’s close-knit family, striking up a friendship with her father, Scott.

He has nothing but praise for the singer, who he described as one of the most genuine people he has ever met. “She’s a principled person, and I’m not just saying that because she’s my client,” he said. “She has an incredibly low ego for someone so famous. She listens, she’s a very quick study … She contributed to the defense.”

The trial team also included Venable partner Danielle Foley and associate Katie Wright

Juror selection began on August 7—the first time in his three decades as a litigator that not one juror tried to get out of being selected, Baldridge said, laughing. He described the panel of six women and two men as “dispassionate,” and said they gave few outward signs of their feelings.

They never got to decide Mueller’s claims against Swift. On August 11, U.S. District Judge William Martinez tossed the suit against Swift on a Rule 50 motion, though he kept alive the claims against her mother and Bell, as well as Swift’s counter-claims.

After four hours of deliberation, the jury on August 14 sided with team Swift across the board.

The case was remarkable in part for the blunt, powerful testimony Swift delivered on the stand when she testified on August 10.

One key piece of evidence was a photo snapped at the meet-and-greet where Mueller’s hand, while not actually visible, appears to be suspiciously low on Swift’s backside.

Mueller’s attorney, Gabe McFarland, conceded the photo was “awkward” but said there was nothing visibly inappropriate happening.

Addressing him by first name, Swift on the stand responded, “Gabe, this is a photo of him with his hand up my skirt—with his hand on my ass. You can ask me a million questions—I’m never going to say anything different. I never have said anything different.”

McFarland pressed on, noting that her dress in the photo is not visibly ruffled.

“Because my ass is located in the back of my body,” Swift said.

If Swift was so upset about the incident, Mueller said she could have taken a break from meeting other fans. “Your client could have taken a normal photo with me,” she responded.

He also pointed out that she was closer to Mueller’s girlfriend in the photo.  “Yes, she did not have her hand on my ass.”

McFarland wanted to know why no one else saw the grab. “The only person who would have a direct eye line is someone laying underneath my skirt, and we didn’t have anyone positioned there,” Swift said.

When he suggested that Swift’s bodyguard could have intervened if there was inappropriate contact, and asked whether she was critical of him, she responded, “I’m critical of your client sticking his hand under my skirt and grabbing my ass.”

And Swift refused to let McFarland make her feel guilty about Mueller losing his job. “I’m not going to let you or your client make me feel in any way that this is my fault. Here we are years later, and I’m being blamed for the unfortunate events of his life that are the product of his decisions—not mine.”

Was there a risk in a star witness giving such unflinching, even antagonistic testimony? Baldridge said it came down to the Swift being herself and being honest.

The starting point, he said, was to ask “What are you honestly feeling?”

The answer was anger and disappointment—and that was what came through, to brutally brilliant effect.

“It was important to her to be who she is,” Baldridge said.

nattywoohoo  asked:

Where are all "The Cutting Edge" mashups for Check Please? Am I wrong, or are we sorely lacking?

A/N: I really love this prompt! I loved The Cutting Edge as a kid and when it came in, I had to nab it. It’s definitely an AU that needed to happen, and I hope I can do it justice! 

This prompt will have a few responses since I could not shorten it into just one. Hope you enjoy @nattywoohoo!

Bitty was lacing up his skates for practice and doing his best not to think about the fact that he was getting a hockey player as his partner. Lardo had promised the guy had talent, but Bitty was finding it difficult to believe. He trusted Lardo, but hockey and figure skating were two completely different sports. And, if this guy couldn’t hack it in the NHL, what hope did they have of actually making it in the Olympics?

Turning his attention back to his skates, Bitty forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He knew he wasn’t exactly a prize of a partner himself. After his injury during the last Olympics, he’d been out of commission for almost a full year. Add in the months he’d spent healing and doing physical therapy, and Bitty had lost his top spot amongst single skaters. He had worked hard to try and get back in shape, but by the time he was ready to be back on the ice, the figure skating world had moved on.

When Lardo and his team had suggested switching to pair skating, Bitty had wanted to say no. There were too many issues and not enough time. He’d never skated with a partner before and how was he supposed to just automatically trust someone he’d never met? His size was also a problem. Bitty was muscular and strong, but he was also petite, which meant he either needed someone much smaller than him, or someone much bigger who could lift him.

He’d just stepped out onto the ice when he heard the door to the rink open and shut. “Lardo? Is that you? I made that pie you love!” Bitty let himself glide around the rink, eyes closed, just getting a feel for the ice. “When is the big brawny hockey player getting here? I want to make sure I’m prepared for whatever that behemoth thinks figure skating is.”

“I don’t know who Lardo is, but this behemoth knows the basics of figure skating.”

The low timber of the stranger’s voice was definitely not Lardo and made Bitty trip and fall on his ass. Bitty gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand and skate to where the hockey player was sitting and staring at a pair of fresh skates.

“Lardo is my coach. I’m guessing you’re Zimmermann?”

Bitty’s new partner continued to focus on getting his skates on. “I am.”

Bitty studied the hockey player as he fumbled with what were obviously brand new skates. “Have you worn those at all before this?”

Blue eyes narrowed at Bitty’s tone. “Yes.” Zimmermann’s voice was curt and as he finished lacing up his skates, he stared at Bitty. When he spoke next, his voice was softer and not as sharp. “Since none of our people are here yet, do you want to just skate a little and try and get used to each other?”

“That’s probably a good idea.” Bitty could tell Zimmermann was trying and since bitty had been the one to start this all off by insulting him, he tried to be friendlier. “I’m sorry about before. I’m still a little frustrated that my coaches want me with a partner.”

Bitty stared at his new partner as he came to join Bitty on the ice. He had to admit Lardo had picked well. With Zimmermann’s dark hair and broad shoulders skating alongside Bitty’s blond hair and shorter stature, they’d be sure to have all eyes on them.

Zimmermann just nodded and took a few shaky steps onto the ice. “It’s okay. I’m just as frustrated that I’m not playing hockey. You can call me Jack, by the way.”

Bitty smiled and watched Jack start to glide smoothly along the outside curve. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. You can call me Eric or Bitty.”

Jack didn’t respond so Bitty shrugged and watched him move. He also tilted his head a bit to admire Jack’s form, but this was the man he’d have to trust to lift him, a little admiration was more than okay. His eyes trailed down those deliciously wonderful shoulders to a narrow waist and an ass, Bitty knew he’d be dreaming about later. He started to skate forward to catch up when Jack suddenly wiped out.

“Oh my god! Are you alright, Jack?” Bitty slid to a graceful stop next to Jack and tried to hide his grin. He held out his hand to help Jack up, determined not to laugh. Once Jack was back on his feet, Bitty kept a hand on his elbow and asked, “how many times have you worn those skates?”

Jack’s mouth shifted into a grimace and he tried to shake Bitty off. “Once or twice. I don’t like how flimsy they are. Hockey skates have more support.”

Bitty let go of Jack and backed off. “These skates are not flimsy. They’re plenty supportive. I’ve worn hockey skates and they’re bulky and heavy. Figure skates are made so we can do the tricks we do. If we tried any jumps or spins in hockey skates we’d all end up flat on our backs.”

Bitty skated away from Jack, making sure to pick up speed as he did. He wanted Jack to see what could be accomplished wearing these so-called “flimsy” skates. Once he had enough speed he leaped, and spun. He kept it simple and did a double salchow jump. Bitty landed it easily and skated back over to where Jack was watching.

“Couldn’t have done that in hockey skates.” Bitty paused and thought a moment before smiling at Jack. “Well, I could have, but most others couldn’t. Ready to skate?”

Jack’s eyes were wide after watching Bitty execute such a smooth jump. “Ye-yeah. I’m ready. Can we take it a little slow?”

Bitty’s smile was back. “Sure, Jack. We’re just getting to know one another right now, anyway.”

As they started on their first lap, Bitty kept an easy pace and watched Jack out of the corner of his eye for any problems. Jack kept up easily and as they started on their second lap, he asked the question that had been on his mind since they’d begun. “When did you play hockey?”

Bitty slowed down a bit and turned and started skating backward so he could see Jack’s face. “College. I couldn’t afford school without a scholarship and Samwell offered me a good one if I played hockey for them. It’s where I met Lardo, actually and my teammates were great. As it got closer to graduation, I started transitioning back to figure skating and competing again.”

They completed a few more laps, exchanging small talk as they did and Bitty helped Jack figure out how to smoothly move to skate backward in his new skates. They were on their final lap when Bitty finally got the courage to blurt out, “why don’t you play hockey anymore?”

Jack was silent and broke away from Bitty to move in the direction of their belongings. Bitty followed him, confused. He hadn’t meant to be rude, he was just curious. “Jack? Are you okay?”

Still silent and very clearly angry, Jack marched over to his things and started wrestling the skates off. “I’m fine, Bittle.”

“We’re not done yet, though. We still have to practice.”

Before he could say more, Lardo and Jack’s coach came in, chatting pleasantly until they saw both Jack and Bitty staring awkwardly at each other. Lardo looked at Bitty and then over at Jack. “Bitty, what’s going on?”

“We’re done for today. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jack shouldered his bag and hurried to the exit. He was reaching for the door when he looked over his shoulder at Bitty. “And Bittle, you need to eat more protein.”

Bitty just gaped as Jack pushed through the door without another word. Jack’s coach chased after him, and Bitty turned his attention to Lardo. “I have no idea what happened, we were getting along and skating well together, I just asked why he didn’t play hockey anymore.” Lardo opened her mouth to give an answer, but Bitty kept talking. “And what is this about more protein? My diet is fine.”

Lardo tried to suppress her smile, but the corners of her mouth still twitched up. “I think he wants you to be a little stronger. And regarding the whole hockey thing, it’s not my place to tell.” Reaching into her pocket, Lardo pulled out a scrap of paper. “Zimmermann’s coach gave me this earlier. It’s his address. You should go talk to him. See if maybe you two can bond a little.

Bitty pouted, but took the paper and started taking off his skates. “Alright, but if this blows up in my face, I hope you have another partner in mind.”

To be continued…

anonymous asked:

What happens if the Losers were brought into our world and meet the cast of the movie of their lives and Stephen King

uHh im gonna do hcs for this,, like rn bc this idea would need to be a chapter fic,,,

also basing this off the film:

-so i saw a hc where richie would love jack bc its like eddie with richies personality but i feel like he wouldn’t love jack bc like,,, he loves eddie the way he is

-ben and jeremy,, best friends,, pure boys™ love them,,,, theyre amazing and all love and support their friends

-mike and chosen??? YES ok ufjdnwnnfj they’d probably bond over music and likeaaaaaaa i lov

-beverly and sophia seem quite different but like still bad ass queens,, like beverly is smooth and like v confident and in interviews, sophia talks abt how shes super socially awkward so if eel like bev would help with that

-bill and jaeden,,, they too would be best friends,,, im cryign,,, since jaeden literally played him he understands bills stutter Perfectly™ ,,, i also think jaeden was the one who actually read the whole book so hed feel kinda bad for him bc bev but he still supports him

-jaeden would tell ben he and bev end up together and ben is the happiest angel im cnrjfkakfjjw (i think jaeden read the whole book)

-everyone aVoids telling them abt the unspeakable scene but like,,, finn or jack accidentally bring it up

-beverly would fEel horrible for that but everyone isnt mad bc it technically didnt happen

-uH wyatt and stan,,, would be roasting buddies,,, richie and finn can’t deal with it


-“wow eds, people seem to think we should get married”

-im,,,, when eddie and stan find out that they die and how they die,, bill and richie immediately try to fight stephen king

-stephen king will finally confirm eddie is gay bc like,,, adrian mellon comparisons????

-the man will also confirm richie is bisexual,,, the guy was in love with eddie but he also had relationships with women

-i just,,, jack and richie would be good friends tho,, and like jack laughs at everything finn says so like richie, finn and jack,,, ultimate best friends

-i want bev to meet the actors who play the bullies,,, she needs to know the actors are angels its only the characters who are assholes


-theyd be friends,,,, uHh the bestest of friends

-jackson would explain what happened to georgie and hes like lol,,, ur funny and like everyone confirms it

-hes not even sad,, if anything hes glad he has people who love him and would do anything for him (hes a lil sad that eddie and stan had to get hurt bc of it bc “i thought richie and eddie were getting married, and i also thought billy and stan would get married too!!”)

-an angel ,,, i love them all

-stephen king,,,, please tell me what was eddie going to say before he died ????? pls

anonymous asked:

so is there a Story for how Tucker and wash meet in the werewolf au? 👀

*suddenly busts out of the coffin and climbs out of the graveyard dirt, 84 years later* I!!! HAVE!!! AN ANSWER!!!

Here we go!

Once upon a time, one Lavernius Tucker accidentally ran over his next door apartment neighbor with Grif’s truck.

… to his credit at the time, he didn’t know it was his next door apartment neighbor, he just thought he had accidentally run over a big ass dog. A real behemoth of a dog, the sheer size of which would actually put to shame the service mastiff his other apartment neighbor caboose owns, in fact.

But to backtrack a bit by a month or so, Tucker one day found the empty lot across the stairwell from him occupied by a man who looked like a grumpy alley cat that got picked off the street, put in some kids dollhouse playroom, and told to behave like an obedient dancing monkey, with all the personality to fit. (Also biceps that could kill. Tucker’s totally not looking, he got this from a very viable source named Donut….. but also cuz he’s looking, but he’s keeping that on the hush, because he’s only recently begun to be comfortable with himself about that) anyway, he didn’t have much conversation with his new neighbor, just on occasional hello, and that despite being six feet of grumpy muscles and scars and FRECKLES HOLY SHIT THE FRECKLES ON THIS DUDE his neighbor didn’t seem to intimidate Junior so that must be a good thing.

Well fast forward to either the morning after or two days after Tucker runs over a giant beast of a dog, he goes out the apartment to fetch his and Junior’s mail, and finds his beefy neighbor making a noble attempt at opening the door. Tucker (after asking of course) helps him through to his apartment, and now that he’s getting a good look at him (a good look and, y’know, a good look) dude looks like he just upped and walked away from a hit and run. And he says as much, to which his neighbor replies, “funny, I heard you made roadkill last night.”

And Tucker knows he’s making a joke out of something but he’s not sure what, but also, WHAT. HOW DID HE KNOW. WAIT. OH GOD DID HE HIT HIS HOT NEIGHBORS DOG????



To which his neighbor attempts to wrap his head around, while Tucker breaks their brief mental conversation and helps this dude around the house, and welp, you know now that I’ve got a bit of telepathic abilities, we’re past the point of no return now sooooooo Hi, I’m Tucker, the Resident Hot Dad, Love Doctor Extroardinaire, and Psychic. And his neighbor at that point relents, “… I’m Washington. Call me Wash. I’m apparently the resident werewolf roadkill.”


And there you have it, anon friend! :D