❝ my chemical romance, panic! at the disco, fall out boy and twentyonepilots imagines. ❞
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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐖𝐍, 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒
𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄.
𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃:...
Note: I'm back 😪😊. Thank you all for being so patient. And as promised, there will be 8 updates over the next 24 hours ✨.
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~Wednesday, 02:00, 80 hours until the wedding~
The scratching of pen on paper echoed throughout the otherwise silent hotel room. 12 hours had gone by since Meagan dumped the task of hand-writing everything on you, during which you'd only managed to get just more than three quarters of the place cards done, let alone the menus and seating chart. Surrounded by empty vodka bottles, random bits of paper here and there, numerous jars of ink and clutching onto the calligraphy pen as if it were the only thing preventing you from descending into madness, you must've looked completely pathetic, and on the brink of insanity.
Your tired eyes began to droop, begging you to give in to the sweet temptation of sleep. Ignoring your exhausted body's cries of agony, you forced your hand to continue its movements, blinking rapidly whenever your pupils strayed out of focus.
Brendon's place card was the last thing you saw before you passed out.
~Wednesday, 14:00, 68 hours until the wedding~
"Y/N!"
You woke up with a start, knocking one of the previous night's vodka bottles to the floor in the process. Dazed and confused, you rubbed your eyes before forcing them open, the blurry silhouettes of Patrick and (Y/B/F) coming into focus. Bringing one hand up to your forehead, you tilted your head back and let out a groan.
"How much did I have to drink?" you spoke slowly and carefully, massaging your aching scalp. You had a pounding headache and felt as if your head might split open.
"Meh, only, like, 4 bottles," Patrick answered nonchalantly, handing you a couple of aspirins and a glass of water.
"And how long was I asleep for?" you questioned hesitantly, graciously accepting the pills.
"Oh, only 12 hours," (Y/B/F) shrugged.
You nearly choked on the water.
"What the fu-... 12 HOURS?! And neither of you thought it would be a good idea to wake me up?!" you spoke in a panic, standing up so quickly that you stumbled a bit before you could find your footing.
The two shared a look of mild amusement.
"I'm glad you two find this so funny," you glared at them.
"Relax, (Y/N/N)," said Patrick, "We still have 3 hours before the rehearsal starts."
"Yeah, and I'm nowhere near done with these fucking cards!" You kicked at a pillow in frustration. "Meagan is gonna have a bitch-fit."
