#Charles rogers is exclusively just very pretty

[chansondefortunio]

A really cute silent film

Get Your Man (1927)

what are three things i love? Old things, cute guys and iconic women. This one has two iconic women - not only do we get Clara Bow, (<3) but this movie is directed by one of Hollywood's first female directors (who also invented the boom mic btw) Dorothy Arzner. Ugh! im obsessed. Here's a link to the movie,

[nitrateglow]

Favorite films discovered in 2020

Well, this year sucked. I did see some good movies though. Some even made after I was born!

Perfect Blue (dir. Satoshi Kon, 1997)

I watch a lot of thrillers and horror movies, but precious few actually unsettle me in any lasting way. This cannot be said of Perfect Blue, which gave me one of the most visceral cinematic experiences of my life. Beyond the brief flashes of bloodletting (you will never look at a screwdriver the same way again), the scariest thing about Perfect Blue might be how the protagonist has both her life and her sense of self threatened by the villains. The movie’s prescience regarding public persona is also incredibly eerie, especially in our age of social media. While anime is seen as a very niche interest (albeit one that has become more mainstream in recent years), I would highly recommend this movie to thriller fans, whether they typically watch anime or not. It’s right up there with the best of Hitchcock or De Palma.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (dir. Sergio Leone, 1966)

Nothing is better than when an iconic movie lives up to the hype. Clint Eastwood, Eli Wallach, and Lee Van Cleef play off of one another perfectly. I was impressed by Wallach as Tuco in particular: his character initially seems like a one-dimensional greedy criminal, but the performance is packed with wonderful moments of humanity. Do I really need to say anything about the direction? Or about the wonderful storyline, which takes on an almost mythic feel in its grandeur? Or that soundtrack?

Die Niebelungen (both movies) (dir. Fritz Lang, 1924)

I did NOT expect to love these movies as much as I did. That they would be dazzlingly gorgeous I never doubted: the medieval world of the story is brought to vivid life through the geometrical mise en scene and detailed costuming. However, the plot itself is so, so riveting, never losing steam over the course of the four hours it takes to watch both movies. The first half is heroic fantasy; the second half involves a revenge plot of almost Shakespearean proportions. This might actually be my favorite silent Fritz Lang movie now.

Muppet Treasure Island (dir. Brian Henson, 1996)

I understand that people have different tastes and all, but how does this movie have such a mixed reception? It’s absolutely hilarious. How could anybody get through the scene with “THA BLACK SPOT AGGHHHHHHH” and not declare this a masterpiece of comedy? And I risk being excommunicated from the Muppet fandom for saying it, but I like this one more than The Great Muppet Caper. It’s probably now my second favorite Muppet movie.

Belle de Jour (dir. Luis Bunuel, 1967)

I confess I’m not terribly fond of “but was it real???” movies. They tend to feel gimmicky more often than not. Belle de Jour is an exception. This is about more than a repressed housewife getting her kicks working as a daytime prostitute. The film delves into victim blaming, trauma, class, and identity-- sure, this sounds academic and dry when I put it that way, but what I’m trying to say is that these are very complicated characters and the blurring of fantasy and reality becomes thought-provoking rather than trite due to that complexity.

Secondhand Lions (dir. Tim McCanlies, 2003)

The term “family movie” is often used as a synonym for “children’s movie.” However, there is an important distinction: children’s movies only appeal to kids, while family movies retain their appeal as one grows up. Secondhand Lions is perhaps a perfect family movie, with a great deal more nuance than one might expect regarding the need for storytelling and its purpose in creating meaning for one’s life. It’s also amazingly cast: Haley Joel Osment is excellent as the juvenile lead, and Michael Caine and Robert Duvall steal the show as Osment’s eccentric uncles.

The Pawnbroker (dir. Sidney Lumet, 1964)

Controversial in its day for depicting frontal nudity, The Pawnbroker shocks today for different reasons. As the top review of the film on IMDB says, we’re used to victims of great atrocities being presented as sympathetic, good people in fiction. Here, Rod Steiger’s Sol Nazerman subverts such a trope: his suffering at the hands of the Nazis has made him a hard, closed-off person, dismissive of his second wife (herself also a survivor of the Holocaust), cold to his friendly assistant, and bitter towards himself. The movie follows Nazerman’s postwar life, vividly presenting his inner pain in a way that is almost too much to bear. Gotta say, Steiger gives one of the best performances I have ever seen in a movie here: he’s so three-dimensional and complex. The emotions on his face are registered with Falconetti-level brilliance.

The Apartment (dir. Billy Wilder, 1960)

While not the most depressing Christmas movie ever, The Apartment certainly puts a good injection of cynicism into the season. I have rarely seen a movie so adept at blending comedy, romance, and satire without feeling tone-deaf. There are a lot of things to praise about The Apartment, but I want to give a special shoutout to the dialogue. “Witty” dialogue that sounds natural is hard to come by-- so often, it just feels smart-assy and strained. Not here.

Anatomy of a Murder (dir. Otto Preminger, 1959)

I’m not big into courtroom dramas, but Anatomy of a Murder is a big exception. Its morally ambiguous characters elevate it from being a mere “whodunit” (or I guess in the case of this movie, “whydunit”), because if there’s something you’re not going to get with this movie, it’s a clear answer as to what happened on the night of the crime. Jimmy Stewart gives one of his least characteristic performances as the cynical lawyer, and is absolutely brilliant. 

Oldboy (dir. Park Chan-Wook, 2003)

Oldboy reminded me a great deal of John Webster’s 17th century tragedy The Duchess of Malfi. Both are gruesome, frightening, and heartbreaking works of art, straddling the line between sensationalism and intelligence, proving the two are not mutually exclusive. It’s both entertaining and difficult to watch. The thought of revisiting it terrifies me but I feel there is so much more to appreciate about the sheer craft on display.

Family Plot (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1976)

Family Plot is an enjoyable comedy; you guys are just mean. I know in an ideal world, Hitchcock’s swan song would be a great thriller masterpiece in the vein of Vertigo or Psycho. Family Plot is instead a silly send-up of Hitchcock’s favorite tropes, lampooning everything from the dangerous blonde archetype (with not one but two characters) to complicated MacGuffin plots. You’ll probably demand my film buff card be revoked for my opinion, but to hell with it-- this is my favorite of Hitchcock’s post-Psycho movies.

My Best Girl (dir. Sam Taylor, 1927)

Mary Pickford’s farewell to silent film also happens to be among her best movies. It’s a simple, charming romantic comedy starring her future husband, Charles “Buddy” Rogers. Pickford also gets to play an adult character here, rather than the little girl parts her public demanded she essay even well into her thirties. She and Rogers are sweet together without being diabetes-inducing, and the comedy is often laugh out loud funny. It even mocks a few tropes that anyone who watches enough old movies will recognize and probably dislike-- such as “break his heart to save him!!” (my personal most loathed 1920s/1930s trope).

Parasite (dir. Bong Joon-ho, 2019)

This feels like such a zeitgeist movie. It’s about the gap between the rich and the poor, it’s ironic,  it’s depressing, it’s unpredictable as hell. I don’t like terms like “modern classic,” because by its very definition, a classic can only be deemed as such after a long passage of time, but I have a good feeling Parasite will be considered one of the definitive films of the 2010s in the years to come.

Indiscreet (dir. Stanley Donen, 1958)

Indiscreet often gets criticized for not being Notorious more or less, which is a shame. It’s not SUPPOSED to be-- it’s cinematic souffle and both Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant elevate that light material with their perfect chemistry and comedic timing. It’s also refreshing to see a rom-com with characters over 40 as the leads-- and the movie does not try to make them seem younger or less mature, making the zany moments all the more hilarious. It’s worth seeing for Cary Grant’s jig (picture above) alone.

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (dir. Joseph Sargent, 1974)

This movie embodies so much of what I love about 70s cinema: it’s gritty, irreverent, and hard-hitting. It’s both hilarious and suspenseful-- I was tense all throughout the run time. I heard there was a remake and it just seems... so, so pointless when you already have this gem perfect as it is.

They All Laughed (dir. Peter Bogdonavich, 1981)

Bogdonavich’s lesser known homage to 1930s screwball comedy is also a weirdly autumnal movie. Among the last gasps of the New Hollywood movement, it is also marks the final time Audrey Hepburn would star in a theatrical release. The gentle comedy, excellent ensemble cast (John Ritter is the standout), and the mature but short-lived romance between Hepburn and Ben Gazarra’s characters make this a memorably bittersweet gem.

The Palm Beach Story (dir. Preston Sturges, 1942)

Absolutely hilarious. I was watching this with my parents in the room. My mom tends to like old movies while my dad doesn’t, but both of them were laughing aloud at this one. Not much else to say about it, other than I love Joel McCrea the more movies I see him in-- though it’s weird seeing him in comedies since I’m so used to him as a back-breaking man on the edge in The Most Dangerous Game!

Nothing Sacred (dir. William Wellman, 1937)

I tend to associate William Wellman with the pre-code era, so I’ve tried delving more into his post-code work. Nothing Sacred is easily my favorite of those films thus far, mainly for Carole Lombard but also because the story still feels pretty fresh due to the jabs it takes at celebrity worship and moral hypocrisy. For a satire, it’s still very warm towards its characters, even when they’re misbehaving or deluding themselves, so it’s oddly a feel-good film too.

Applause (dir. Rouben Mamoulian, 1929)

I love watching early sound movies, but my inner history nerd tends to enjoy them more than the part of me that, well, craves good, well-made movies. Most early sound films are pure awkward, but there’s always an exception and Applause is one of them. While the plot’s backstage melodrama is nothing special, the way the story is told is super sophisticated and expressive for this period of cinema history, and Helen Morgan makes the figure of the discarded burlesque queen seem truly human and tragic rather than merely sentimental.

Topaz (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1969)

Another late Hitchcock everyone but me seems to hate. After suffering through Torn Curtain, I expected Hitchcock’s other cold war thriller was going to be dull as dishwater, but instead I found an understated espionage movie standing in stark contrast to the more popular spy movies of the period. It’ll never be top Hitchcock, of course-- still it was stylish and enjoyable, with some truly haunting moments. I think it deserves more appreciation than it’s been given.

What were your favorite cinematic discoveries in 2020?

[themusicsweetly]

An Exclusive First Look at Brianna and Roger’s Huge Outlander Wedding

(Warning: Contains mild spoilers for Outlander, episode 1, season 5)

TV loves a wedding, and after almost a year of a what-felt-like-forever Droughtlander, Starz’s hit series Outlander is back with a bang on February 16, and the entire Fraser family is celebrating Brianna and Roger’s nuptials in a big way at their newly built homestead on Fraser’s Ridge. Fear not, Outlander faithful—the first episode of season 5 delivers everything the fandom has been anticipating, complete with Jamie playing the touching role of father of the bride and Claire getting sentimental before watching her daughter walk down the aisle.

“The wedding is such a beautiful episode,” Caitriona Balfe, who plays the show’s lead Claire Randall Fraser, told Vogue on set outside of Glasgow while shooting season 5. “First of all, I think Claire goes through a very emotional process because, having left Brianna back in the 20th century, this is something she thought she’d never get to experience. She felt like she had sacrificed all of these moments to spend her time with Jamie. She loves Roger and thinks she and Brianna are a great match. Jamie [on the other hand] is still on the Roger-fence. But it’s a really special moment [for Claire] to see Brianna happy—especially after what happened to her last season—to see her and Roger reconcile and be ready to start this new life together.”

In the event you’re not one of the converted, or if you’re in need of a quick refresher, the epic Outlander saga, based on the book series by Diana Gabaldon, begins with combat nurse Claire visiting Inverness, Scotland, with her husband Frank Randall (Tobias Menzies, a.k.a. the new Prince Philip on The Crown), hoping to reignite their romance after a long separation courtesy of World War II. While in Scotland, Claire is transported back in time to 1743, where she meets James “Jamie” Fraser (Sam Heughan).

Upon first glance, this strapping Scottish man seems like nothing more than a lad with a kilt and a killer bod, but she quickly realizes he’s more than just a pretty face. Thanks to the tides of history, Claire is caught up in the Jacobite risings—the attempt by the Charles Edward Stuart (a.k.a. Bonnie Prince Charlie) to regain the British throne—and along the way falls truly, madly, deeply in love with Jamie, a match-up which, for Outlander’s many fans, constitutes the hottest couple on television.

Five seasons in, the Frasers have been to hell and back, but they’ve still got it. The list of atrocities they’ve endured runs long, and their multi-decade, Gone with the Wind-esque family saga has taken them from 18th-century Scotland to Paris to Jamaica, and now to 1770s North Carolina. It’s there where, at the end of season 4, Jamie and Claire have made a deal with the devil by accepting a land grant from redcoat leader Governor Tryon and settling Fraser’s Ridge in the back-country.

Their daughter Brianna (Sophie Skelton), has joined them, having traveled back in time from the ’60s to warn them about their untimely deaths. Her significant other, historian Roger (Richard Rankin), follows after her, and is embroiled in the the doings of pirate Stephen Bonnet, the series’ latest supervillain—who, after terrorizing the Frasers, sexually assaulted Brianna. In a Shakespearean-level mixup, Jamie believes Roger was the one who had attacked Brianna, and sells him to the Mohawk; only after a major search-and-rescue operation is everyone able to return to Fraser’s Ridge and reunite with Brianna and her new baby (whose paternity is unclear). Just as it seems like the Carolina dust has finally settled, Governor Tryon orders Jamie to squelch the fervor of a group of liberty-seeking insurgents who call themselves the Regulators, and are led by his godfather, Murtagh Fitzgibbons.

Season 4, while packed with action and soap opera–esque twists, wasn’t exactly full of the tender Jamie-and-Claire moments that had originally enchanted so many viewers. Fans wanted more intimate J&C screen time—and also for this family to finally catch a break. Shortly after the finale, Heughan and Balfe were named producers, and they, along with executive producer Maril Davis, assured the Outlander clan in various interviews that there would be more of what they were hoping for in season 5.

Episode 1 delivers on that promise. On the big day, Claire helps Brianna into a cream wedding dress embroidered with orange blossoms, a subtle nod to the bohemian-ness of the ’60s and ’70s. “We make a point of showing that this is one of Jocasta’s dresses that has been reconfigured for the wedding,” Skelton notes. “It’s a hand-me-down, which is quite sweet. We tried to get a little bit of the ’60s and ’70s vibe in there, too. It’s not your conventional wedding dress. There’s the fichu [collar], which we often wear when we have a corset on in the past. And then later for the dancing and party time, that comes off, and it feels a little bit more free.”

Costume designer Trisha Biggar (who is new this season and oversees all of the handwork and sourcing for the fashion and jewelry on set) is the woman behind the wedding dress. “It’s a cotton and silk gauze over a very fine silk taffeta. I used a variety of different photos for inspiration,” she explains. “[The bride also wears] the family pearls—they’ve come from Scotland and been passed down. Unfortunately, we don’t have a 1960s wedding [this season], but it is great to have the two periods to explore and to see characters in both times and try and give them a similar feel, albeit a very different look.”

The series’ 1700s/1960s mashup is apparent on the wedding night, when Roger serenades Brianna with Nat King Cole’s “L-O-V-E.” As for those intimate moments fans have been craving, a montage of each couple’s bedroom antics that evening ensues. “The wedding was a very anticipated moment both in the books and for us,” Rankin observes. “Obviously, Sophie and I have been playing the relationship for a while, and Brianna and Roger have gone on quite a journey through time and through a lot of trials they’ve been separated. They’ve had a lot of drama and conflict. So to see them have this day [and night] is really nice—them finally coming together properly in that union is something I think the audience will really enjoy. It’s also a platform for their relationship and a catalyst for us now because they’re very, very together.”

It’s not unusual for movies and TV shows to end with a wedding as a way to neatly tie up a season. Outlander fans know all too well, though, that in this show a wedding is often just the beginning of the drama. Season 1’s episode “The Wedding” set the stage for Jamie and Claire’s entire relationship, while simultaneously defying typical portrayals of sex on TV and kicking off all of the action. Episode 1 of season 5 flashes back to that first wedding and continues in this tradition, showing raw, real intimacy, but also serving as a jumping-off point for everything that is to come—after the marriage is consummated, there’s a gathering right there on the Ridge that essentially sets the stage for the American Revolution.

This season, we see Jamie and Claire grow even more—they’re now grandparents, in-laws, and the leaders of Fraser’s Ridge. But we also get back to basics when it comes to their connection. “Jamie and Claire’s love story is what drew us to the story [in the first place],” Heughan says, standing, fully costumed, in the center of the show’s Wilmington set. “It’s the rock of everything else that goes around them. They have this extended family now, but always at the heart of it, Jamie and Claire are deeply in love. There’s finally no more wondering, When will they be together? They’ve aged gracefully together, and they still have a great love for each other, and I don’t think that’s ever going to end.” With this unforgettable occasion, Brianna and Roger MacKenzie further the family tree, but things come full circle for Mr. and Mrs. James Malcom Alexander MacKenzie Fraser too—and isn’t that what we’ve been waiting for?

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 5 - In Which Jack Attempts to Become a Semi-Respectable Member of Polite Society and Charles Succeeds in Becoming a Completely Disreputable Trophy Boyfriend

Max and Mr. Scott – probably mostly Mr. Scott, who still has his finger on the pulse of London real estate in a way that's almost frighteningly omniscient - somehow land Jack and company a lovely house that's been subjected to a series of absolutely atrocious renovations and sat empty since the late nineties. So Charles and Anne spend the first few weeks of laying low pulling out all of the hideous carpeting and knocking down the terrible wood paneling – and in one case, an entire (non load-bearing) wall, which they attack with sledge hammers and far, far too much glee. And Mary, bless her, spends the week sweeping and scrubbing and peeling wall paper. Until the house sits an empty shell, stripped down to the stately bones that lay beneath the shag carpeting and twee plasterwork.

Jack spends his weeks learning to play tennis.

He hadn't had much chance to learn growing up, being an impoverished guttersnipe and all, so he's got a lot of ground to catch up. Because, see, the counselor – the one who'd sided with the Spanish over Lord Hamilton, allowing for his final downfall, the one who controls all of London's planning permission, the one Max needs an in with. He absolutely adores tennis.

He adores it with all the fervor of a middle class man who'd seen it as the gentleman's game growing up. And now that he's a gentleman – by wealth and importance, if not by birth, which still stings him, bitterly, and is the reason for his overcompensation – then by God, he's going to play tennis.

And since Jack's first job from Max is to get the counselor on side, he's got to learn to play tennis too. Well enough that whatever skill level the counselor actually has, Jack can play to it, keep the games close. Just barely beat the counselor or just barely lose, but keep it close enough that he keeps coming back for more. Which takes considerably more skill than simply learning the game and playing to the best of his ability.

So Jack practices and practices and practices, all with the help of a draconian ex-professional instructor Max found for him at a mid-level club nowhere near where the counselor plays for the entire month his house is torn down around his ears.

Meanwhile, in the real world, Eleanor and Woodes Rogers's world is coming down around their ears as well. Anne pays Max enough visits that she's always flush with the latest gossip – the sort of thing that goes beyond the polite, antiseptic description that has been in the papers. And the long and short of it is that Woodes Rogers is ruined. Fired from his job, disowned from his family, and, most importantly, the rich person version of penniless.

So he just doesn't have any resources to come after them, if he even suspected anything. And he'll be lucky if he doesn't end up in jail because apparently Eleanor's creative approach to accounting has been helping him evade taxes for a good long while as well. And now that he's too poor to be protected – and his reputation too tarnished – he's looking at the possibility of a five stretch.

Eleanor will probably avoid seeing the inside of a cell, mores the pity. She's too cunning to be taken down with her husband. But her social capital is destroyed, along with a good portion of her money, used to bail out Woodes Rogers with the various criminal elements he was indebted to. And with this new revelation of her less than legal exploits, it means that she's been let go from her position as well – not because she'd done anything they hadn't asked her to do for them, of course. But because they can't bear to have even a whiff of scandal or people might stop trusting in the sanctity of the British financial system. And we can't be having that.

At any rate, all of this means that Jack is able to move in the open again, which is good because he needs to start establishing himself as a quasi-legitimate member of polite society sooner rather than later. So that second month, in addition to playing tennis, Jack starts an Instagram account detailing the renovations on his house.

There's pictures of Jack choosing furniture and wallpaper and fabric swatches and rugs. There's pictures of the interior of the house, featuring Anne as Jack's PA, scowling and holding a clipboard menacingly. And Charles appears frequently as Jack's muse/boytoy, posed artfully shirtless and oiled up and muscular.

Mary, as his new social media manager, has had a lot of good ideas about how to sell Jack as a flirty and flighty and nearly terminally stupid fashion designer and she and Jack and Max have worked hard to make him appear harmless. Someone with money and influence but who was too wrapped up in pretty clothes and pretty boys to ever use it. Someone who could approach the counselor – and offer him valuable access into the upper echelons of society – without appearing threatening to him like Lord Hamilton had been.

And the bitch of it is is that it works.

Jack applies for and gets a membership to the councilor's exclusive health club – and the approval committee explicitly comments on the settee he'd had reupholstered in yellow silk for the upstairs sitting room in his induction hearing, so at least someone's looking at his Instagram. And he begins playing tennis there, familiarizing himself with the layout and the staff and the other patrons. So he can just ever so coincidentally grab the court opposite Councilor Featherstone during his weekly Saturday morning game.

They don't talk much during the game itself, but afterwards. Afterwards...

There's the usual handshakes and good games and shows of good sportsmanship from both sides. Jack had just narrowly, ever so narrowly, eked out a victory. But the councilor had more than made him work for it.

So Jack gets invited to a rematch next week – a rematch he'll make sure the councilor wins, just as narrowly. Because you've got to leave them wanting. You've got to leave them hungry for it. And they won't be if they win the first time. But they'll give up if they don't win the second and third. So you've got to walk that fine line of wins and losses until the whole thing's a habit and they couldn't walk away even if they wanted to.

That's what made Jack such a success as a pusher – not his product, but his approach. His way of knowing people. And the councilor is so very eager to be known.

Certainly he starts off with polite inquiries into how Jack's settling into London. Questions about the house and the neighborhood and the progress of the renovation.

But Jack is quick to talk about how difficult he's finding London to navigate, compared to the Bahamas, where they've decided he'll be from. How stand-offish people can be. How it feels like they snub him every time they hear him speak, or they find out that he doesn't know so-and-so from such-and-such school.

Oh, he doesn't come out and complain about it or anything. Just hints at it. Plants little seeds for Counselor Featherstone's own complaints to blossom forth.

And he has complaints aplenty. How it's such an Old School Chums crowd. How many incompetent idiots run various departments based on legacy rather than any actual ability. How put upon Featherstone is by all of them. How they all ask him for favors and expect to give nothing in return – because he should be overjoyed they're even deigning to talk to him and why wouldn't he want to do things for them, everyone wants to do things for them.

And Jack makes the appropriate noises of understanding and commiseration without actually volunteering very much about himself. Because that's the other half of the sell. Make the mark think that you're their friend. That they know you as well as they know themselves so they'll spill all the dark – or in Featherstone's case, mildly frustrated – parts of their soul. Make yourself their confidant, the one they can always turn to, because you think just alike on all the important points. So if you ever disagree, well, it must be my dear friend Jack in the right, he would never steer me wrong.

Of course, you can't do it all at once. It has to be done slowly and carefully, so that the mark never cottons on. But, as born out by Jack shaking Councilor Featherstone's sweaty hand and promising same time next week, he's certainly made a start on it. So that ought to make Max happy.

Jack wipes the sweat from his brow with an obscenely high threadcount towel provided by the club and goes off to assess Charles's progress on the other half of Max's request. Because while Jack has been honing his tennis game and scoping out the club, Charles has been there as well, spending mornings in the gym and afternoons sunbathing by the pool in the smallest bathing suit they'll allow him to wear. Which is quite small indeed. And it's therefore no surprise that Charles has accrued rather a crowd of rich bored socialites around his little flotilla of deck chairs, drawn like moths to a sexy, sexy flame.

Charles just dangerous enough to be interesting. But safe, because he's taken and (presumably) gay. Just a sexy backdrop to their boring, catty lives. Able to blend right into the scenery.

Meanwhile, Charles listens to - and dutifully recounts to Max – all the idle gossip he becomes privy to due to his position as living ornament. Because, to Max, information is worth its weight in gold. And you wouldn't believe what kind of things you can overhear simply by being ignorable.

Plus, Jack thinks as he sets his bag down next to Charles's deck chair and he looks up at Jack from behind his knock-off Coach sunglasses, Charles is having far, far too much fun playing Jack's boyfriend.

As evidenced by him sprawling his thighs even more obscenely open and practically purring, “Hello, darling.”

An obscene mockery of Jack's own favored greeting. And a slight that will not stand.

Jack kneels between Charles's spread legs. “Hello yourself, Chaz.” Jack tilts his chin up for a brief peck on the lips. “Have a good day, dear?”

Charles further escalates things by pulling Jack down onto his lap and nuzzling against his ear. “Better now that you're here, darling.”

And Jack's going to have to do something drastic if Charles keeps this shit up.

But before Jack can retaliate, escalate, they're interrupted by tittering laughter.

“Aren't they just the cutest?” one of the rich ladies coos.

There's general agreement amongst the ladies. “And so fashionable,” one of them says, giving Jack's tennis outfit a once-over.

“Perks of the job darling,” Jack says lightly.

And then one of them – the leader, if the obscene amount of designer and diamonds she's wearing – says, “You both simply must come to my bachelorette party.” She studies her nails faux casually. “It's going to be a real rager.”

This is exactly the kind of thing Charles has been waiting for since Max assigned him this stupid job. And getting on Max's good side is infinitely preferable to even her neutral regard. So Charles'll be damned if he lets it slip through his fingers  – even if he has to play some boring bitch's gay best friend for a whole night.

He tips his fruity umbrella drink in her direction and looks at her over the salted rim. “Sounds like my kind of party.”

Jack resigns himself to a night of drunken socialites vomiting in the back of a limo. “We'll be there, darling. Never fear.”

It'll be an opportunity to move some blow, if nothing else.

[freddiesaysalright]

I Don’t Like You or Your Band

John Deacon x Reader

Summary: Reader is a music journalist, and a very popular one at that. She knew Deaky when they were teenagers. She’s written a pretty harsh piece about Queen.

Word Count: 10K

Tag List:  @someone-get-a-medic @deakysgurl, @polarcrystall, @queer-heart-attack, @dewdarkdemon, @qweenly, @smittyjaws, @caborhapch, @amelialio, @flyawayhay, @hannahfuckingsucks, @hotspacedeaky, @julessbrown, @reavenedges-lies, @simmisblog, @anna-1946, @ziggymay, @retromusicsalad, @catch-a-deak, @winterssoldierrs, @casafrass, @cranberribread, @strawberry-lemonade0, @ilovetacos1267

A/N: This gets very smutty at the end, but that was the whole point! Also, this fic was inspired by the song, “I Don’t Like You or Your Band” by Kate Rhudy. Go check her out on Spotify, her whole album is awesome :)

Your cigarettes, your leather shoes You, your friends, and your middle class white boy blues You’ve become something I can’t stand Don’t even miss holdin’ your hand And I don’t like you or your band

Monday I was in love with a good, good man 

He was kissing you. Shy and sloppy, reflecting the innocence of the moment. You reached for the buttons of his shirt, hands shaking. He went to do the same, his fingers tracing the hem of your sweater. It was soft and pink, as virginal as you were. 

Your eyes snapped open. A tear leaked out and slid down your cheek. Why were you dreaming this now? Then you remembered. The Queen article was going out today. It was scathing. The thought made you nervous. Would the band see it? Would he see it? Did you care if he did?

You wiped your face and got up. You put on a simple dress and heels, pushing all thoughts of your past to the back of your mind. You didn’t want to think about him now. You didn’t want to think about him at all, really. 

As you walked into you office, you said hello to the receptionist as you made your way to your empty desk. You usually had a copy of the week’s issue waiting for you, before they hit the shelves. Your brow furrowed.

“Y/N,” said your editor, Charles, as he sauntered over to you. “You ready for today’s issue?”

He waved the magazine in front of you before letting it fall onto your desk with a slap. Queen was spread across the front page. You looked away.

You nodded at Charles, resolving yourself to your pride in your work. Your history with John Deacon was irrelevant. In fact, you had not even disclosed it to Charles - or anyone - because you felt that it mattered that little. 

“Hey, you’re from the same town as the bass player, right?” Charles asked.

A nervous twinge went through you. “Um, yeah.”

“Did you know him?” 

“No,” you lied. “No, not really.”

***

“This is shit!” Roger cried, throwing down the magazine as he entered the studio. “Have you all read this review?”

“Oh, God, what is it now?” Freddie wondered, rolling his eyes. 

“Listen,” Roger said irritably. “‘Queen is a band with talent that could best be described as above average. Their most redeeming quality is their frontman, Freddie Mercury, but even his eccentric style and quality vocals can’t make up for the fact that they’re just another wannabe Zeppelin. Only they don’t have half the lyrical depth or musical skill.’ What the fuck?!”

“Who’s the author?” Brian wondered.

“She’s a really well-known reporter,” Roger said. “She did that whole profile on Elton John last year that everyone loved. Y/N Y/L/N.”

John choked on the sip of water he was taking, and the other three turned eyes on him.

“Do you know her?” Freddie asked.

John coughed for a moment and had to catch his breath. “Yes.”

They all still stared at him. He cleared his throat. “What?”

“How do you know her?” Roger asked.

“We sort of went out when we were in school,” John explained. “I guess you could say she was my first real girlfriend.”

“Well - Christ, Deaks, what’d you do to her?” Roger wondered.

“Nothing!” John insisted. “I mean - I suppose we - well, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Could you speak in complete sentences?” Brian asked cheekily. “So the rest of us might keep up?”

John ran a hand down his face and groaned. He mumbled something that the others couldn’t hear.

“Deaky, just tell us!” Roger cried.

“We were each other’s first times!” he finally came out with. “We were seventeen and it was weird and then I fucked off to London shortly after.”

Freddie burst into giggles. Roger sighed and Brian rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you just ring her and apologize?” Roger suggested. “Maybe she’ll take back what she said.”

“Oh, come on,” John returned. “That article couldn’t possibly be a reaction to something that happened years ago. It’s probably just her honest opinion.”

“There’s no way that’s her opinion because the album isn’t shit and we’re not Zeppelin wannabes,” Roger insisted. “If anything, we also have an influence from Yes.”

“Which she also mentions,” Brian interjected, looking at the article again. “She really knows her stuff. Even if she is wrong about us.”

“If she really knew her stuff, she wouldn’t be wrong about us,” Roger said stubbornly. 

“That gives me an idea,” Freddie said.

They all looked curiously at him.

“What is it?” Brian asked.

“Let’s invite her here,” Freddie said. “Let her see how our work comes together and how original we are. That is, if it isn’t too uncomfortable for you, Deaky, dear.”

“Look, it wasn’t like I left without saying anything,” John further explained. “We had a normal breakup, I thought.”

“Great!” Freddie said with an excited clap. “It’s decided! She’ll join us for the week!”

“Hold on, nothing is decided!” Roger argued, but Freddie was already gone to use the phone. “Well, I’m not going to be nice to her.”

“She wasn’t very nice to us first,” Brian said as if that settled the matter.

***

You were going through some papers on your desk as preliminary work for your next article. Your phone rang and you picked it up lazily.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you answered.

“Ah, Miss Y/L/N,” said a strangely familiar voice on the other end. “This is Freddie Mercury.”

A chill ran down your spine and your heart nearly stopped. “What?”

“We’ve read your piece on our music, and I must say, darling, we believe you’re mistaken,” he said. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Look, Mr. Mercury,” you said, finding your voice again. “I was just doing my job. If you don’t like what I say, that’s your problem. At this point, Queen should be used to bad press.”

It was a low blow, but you didn’t care. Freddie only snickered.

“I like you, darling,” he said. “You’re feisty. But I’m about to make you an exclusive offer.”

“I’m listening.”

He arranged to meet you at a cafe between your office and their studio. You told Charles about the call.

“Y/N, are you serious?” he gasped.

“Do you want me to cancel?” you asked, concerned by his tone.

“Hello no!” he cried. “Take the meeting, and whatever exclusive they’re offering you. Find out everything you can about them. Dig up the dirt. Find me something we can use to take them down.”

“Take them down?” you wondered. “I don’t want to make shit up about them.”

“You won’t have to,” he said. “But get me something.”

“I’ll do my best,” you said warily.

“That’s a good girl.”

You clenched your teeth as you left the office. You hated when men talked to you like that. You were a grown woman, out on her own. You were not a little girl who needed the approval of anyone, especially not a man. 

You went to the cafe where Freddie asked to meet. You spotted the band right away. Brian’s fluffy curls gave them away, but you first noticed John. He looked quite different with his long hair and fancy clothes. But he was still John. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen. You loved the John you knew dearly. But he also hurt you. 

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N,” Freddie said, getting to his feet and shaking your hand. The others offered you no such courtesy. 

“I am,” you said. “Obviously, I know who all of your are.”

“Obviously,” Freddie said slowly, with a mischievous grin. “We wanted to talk to you about your article and offer an opportunity to...correct it.”

You frowned. “It doesn’t need correcting. The appeal of music is entirely subjective. Not everyone is going to think you’re the greatest band to walk the earth.”

“There’s no need to get defensive,” he said. “Especially since you haven’t heard our offer.”

“Well, make it then,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“She’s right to business,” he remarked. “I like it.”

“You wanna make an arrangement or do you wanna fuck around?”

He laughed. It was charming in its own way. You tried not to let it infect you, but you felt the corners of your mouth nearly twitch. It didn’t help that you were ignoring John’s intense gaze. 

“Spend the week in the studio with us,” he said. “See what we do. How we put our unique sound together. I guarantee you’ll change your mind.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him and then gestured to the rest of the band. “And you’re all on board with this?”

You scanned them. Roger glowered at the ground and didn’t answer. Brian nodded stiffly. Finally, you met John’s eyes. It took him a moment to respond, but when he opened his mouth, Freddie spoke. 

“Deaky told us you’re old friends,” he said. 

You weren’t looking at him, but you could feel his smirk. You continued to look at John and your gaze hardened. 

“Oh?” you said coldly. “I don’t recall.”

You cut away from his stare, but you saw his mouth drop a little before he quickly closed it again. Your eyes found Freddie’s, and laughter danced behind them. 

“What do you say?” he asked, ignoring his clear urge to take a dig at his friend. “One full week behind the scenes with Queen. And you’ll write a new story.”

“What if my opinion stays the same?” you challenged. 

“You write it exactly how you see it,” he said. “If you don’t change your mind - although I’m sure you will, darling - you can write even more about how terrible we are.”

“You’re awfully confident,” you replied. 

He shrugged. “Take it or leave it, love.”

“I’ll take it,” you said. “But just so you know, everything is on the record.”

“We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With the deal in place, you went with them to the studio. You walked there right from the cafe since you had your notepad in your bag. You followed behind them, but John dropped back to walk beside you. You resisted rolling your eyes. 

“Y/N,” he said. “It’s - uh - good to see you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” you returned, not looking at him. 

He grabbed your arm and yanked you to a stop. You glared at him and wrenched yourself free. 

“What’s up with you?” he demanded quietly so the other guys wouldn’t hear. “I thought our relationship was meaningful...that we still cared about each other.”

“You did?” you spat. “Well, imagine my surprise.”

He blinked. “What did I do?”

“It’s what you didn’t do,” you said. “Everything you fucking forgot when you left home, including me.”

“I never forgot you,” he insisted. 

“You could have fooled me,” you bit back. 

He looked away, clearly stung. You didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. 

“Is that why you wrote those things about Queen?” he asked. 

You laughed humorlessly. “Oh, please. You’re not important enough to be my reason to write anything.”

With that, you jogged ahead, away from him. You made a silent vow to yourself that you would not go there again with him. That from here on out, you would keep everything professional. There was no need to face what had happened. That was behind you. And you weren’t going that way. 

The first day with the band went smoothly. You didn’t interact very much with them, just quietly observing them from the booth. You had to admit they worked hard, overcame small disputes, and were experimental. 

You noticed your eyes lingering on John throughout rehearsal. His face looked the same as it used to when he was concentrating on learning a new line for a song. He looked natural behind the bass, and for a moment, you forgot you were angry at him. It was like the old days, when he was with The Opposition, and you were just a young girl with doe eyes, and he was the rock star of your heart. 

You shook your head to clear it. No. It would never be that way again. You knew only too well how that story ended. 

Tuesday You left me unamused and unimpressed 

The next day, you skipped going to your office entirely. You had called Charles from the studio and explained what they had offered, and you were pretty sure you heard him cry on the other end of the line. He again reminded you to find something “juicy” while you insisted you would still only report the truth. You could picture the way he rolled his eyes when he sighed at you. 

“Must you be so annoyingly ethical?” he wondered.

“I’m a journalist, Charles, not a gossip columnist,” you returned, and hung up the phone.

So on Tuesday morning, you came straight into the studio. You heard voices in the booth. Knowing them to be the band’s, you stopped and listened. Since they didn’t know you were there, this was obviously off the record, but you were just curious.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you ever saw in her,” Roger said.

“She didn’t used to be…” John trailed off.

“Such a bitch?” Roger finished.

“I guess so,” John agreed. “When I knew her she was honestly the sweetest person I’d ever met. A really lovely girl.”

“Are sure it’s the same Y/N Y/L/N?” Brian joked.

They all snickered. 

“Well, she mostly looks the same,” John said.

“I will give you that she’s a looker,” Roger said. “But it’s hard to believe that woman was ever a ‘really lovely girl.’” 

“She was,” John insisted. “Really, she was. Her nickname in school was Judy because she reminded everyone of Judy Garland.”

Just hearing that endearment again - especially from John’s lips - drove a knife through your heart and twisted it.

“Judy Garland?” Roger returned, incredulous. “Are you joking?”

You decided to walk in now, lest this conversation go further into John’s memory of a girl that no longer existed. 

“Morning, gents,” you said coolly. 

Roger groaned, departed to the studio, and started fiddling with his drum set. He left the door open, but the rest of the band did not follow him just yet. Freddie looked at you.

“Sorry about him,” he said.

You shrugged. “I don’t care that he doesn’t like me. I don’t need anyone’s approval. Especially not some Cornish pixie drummer boy.”

Roger froze, dropping a drumstick, and scowled at you. Freddie cackled. John clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Even Brian let out a small chuckle. You just stared Roger down, cocking a challenging eyebrow at him. He said nothing, but he did flip you off through the window. You rolled your eyes and took a seat on the couch.

Brian joined Roger in the studio, picking up his guitar and slinging it across his body as he began tuning it. You watched how careful he was. Roger was too. They were meticulous about sounding exactly right. You observed this the previous day as well but thought they were just doing that because you were there. Clearly, this was their normal routine. You were just barely impressed. 

They started playing through a song, but quickly began bickering about tempo. Roger accused Brian of going too slow, whereas Brian thought that was appropriate for the song. Voices were raised, insults were tossed, glares were exchanged. Freddie was giggling as he watched from the booth. John kept glancing at you, but you resolutely ignored him. 

“Darlings, darlings,” Freddie said to Roger and Brian. “Please. We can settle this. Deaky, what do you think? Roger’s tempo or Brian’s?”

“Roger,” John said. 

“Of course you side with him,” Brian snapped, rolling his eyes. 

“Christ, Brian, it’s not personal,” John argued. 

“Yeah, it’s because I’m right,” Roger added.

“I happen to side with you, Brian, dear,” Freddie interjected before it could escalate again. “So it’s a tie.”

“We don’t have a tie breaker,” John said. 

Freddie smirked. “Sure we do. Y/N.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “What?”

“What do you think, darling?” he asked. “Brian or Roger?”

“I have no opinion,” you said flatly. 

“We all know that’s not true,” he returned. 

“This is all very democratic of you,” you said with a sigh. “But if I participated in the making of the music I’m supposed to be evaluating, wouldn’t that create a conflict of interest?” 

“Don’t be difficult, Y/N, just tell us what you think,” John said shortly. 

You shot him a glare. “No.”

“Why should she decide?” Roger chimed in. “She doesn’t even like our music.”

“All the more reason to believe she’s being honest,” Freddie pointed out. 

“Or just petty,” Roger muttered. 

“Did you even hear what she just said?” Freddie said. “She’s got principles.”

“I have been described as annoyingly ethical,” you said. 

“Principles be damned, I don’t give a shit what she thinks,” Roger said. 

You shrugged.

Freddie turned to you. “Just for fun. Off the record. Who do you think is right?”

“Off the record,” you repeated firmly. “Roger is right.” 

Roger threw you a surprised look before a smug smile claimed his face. He looked triumphantly at Brian. 

“What happened to not giving a shit what she thinks?” Brian spat. 

“My opinion doesn’t count,” you reminded them. “It’s still a tie.”

Roger frowned. “Who was it that described you as annoyingly ethical?”

“My boss.”

“Smart man.”

“Look, let’s just count Y/N’s vote so we can move on,” John suggested. 

“No,” you said. “You can’t.”

“Don’t worry, it was off the record,” Freddie said. “No one will know.” 

“We’ll know,” you argued. 

“And we shall all take it to the grave with us,” John said sarcastically. “Lest you be known as a music reviewer with a bloody opinion.”

“Oh, fuck y-” you began, but Freddie cut you off. 

“Roger wins the popular vote,” he said. “Deaky, get in there and help them out.”

Your eyes bored hatred into John’s back as he entered the studio. You slumped back onto the couch, feeling a bit like a pouting child as you continued to observe them. John’s mouth was drawn downward as he grabbed his bass roughly. He licked his fingers before plucking at the strings. A motion that almost made you gasp. It was...sexy. You shook your head and crossed your legs with a huff. 

You spent the rest of the day scratching your notes down harshly, lips pressed together with irritation. As they finished up, you started to put away your pen and paper. You slung your purse onto your shoulder and started to head out when your pocket knife slipped out of your bag and onto the floor. You reached down to pick it up, but John beat you to it. You snatched it out of his hand without even thanking him and stuffed it into your bag. 

“Why are you carrying that?” he asked. 

“Experience taught me I had to,” you replied. 

“Experience?”

“I got fucking robbed, John, what do you want from me?”

“When?!” he wondered, eyes going wide. 

“My first day in London,” you told him, unsure where this honesty was coming from. 

You didn’t tell him that they man who did it made you strip, taking everything you had on you including your address book and money, so you shivered naked in an alley until a kind restaurant owner came out, saw the pathetic state you were in, and took you inside. She gave you a spare uniform and then offered you a job and a place at her flat until you could pay her back. Which you did in full. You also didn’t tell him you had only come to London looking for him.

His eyes searched yours. He found a hurt there that was bone deep. You were like a wounded dog, whimpering for a helping hand but prepared to bite the first one that touched you. Your glare was like bared fangs. Still, a part of him ached to reach out and risk you sinking your teeth in. 

“That’s terrible,” he said, knowing exactly how lame it sounded. 

You held his gaze. “I’ve been through worse.”

With that, you left the studio. John sighed and looked at the floor.

“She’s awfully cryptic, isn’t she?” Brian remarked.

“She’s so angry,” John said, half to himself. 

“Forget about her,” Roger said, clapping John’s shoulder. “Let’s get a drink, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

Meanwhile, you walked to the pub you usually patronized in the evenings after work. It was actually the place you had worked after that first horrific night. The owner was still there and tended the bar on weeknights, so you went to see her. She always offered you a drink for free, but you never took it. She had already done too much for you.

“Y/N!” she called as you came through the door.

You beamed at her. “Cora!” You came around the bar to embrace her. “How are you?”

“I’m just fine for an old lady,” she replied. “How are you, my dear?”

You sighed, unsure how to answer her.

“I know that face,” she said. “You’re in need of a drink and conversation.”

“The drink I could use,” you replied. “The conversation, I’m not so sure about.”

She poured you your favorite, gin and tonic. You took a sip and thanked her.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’, just gotta pop in the back and get some wine glasses,” she said.

You stood up. “I’ll get them, Cora.”

“You don’t work here anymore, love,” she said with a grateful laugh.

“I’ll always take care of you,” you returned. “Besides, the doctor said you shouldn’t strain your back.”

You set your drink on the bar and then headed into the dish pit. 

While you were in the back, Freddie, Brian, Roger, and John walked in. They took seats at the bar, leaving a few chairs between themselves and where your bag and drink sat. John thought it was yours, but wasn’t quite sure. Cora walked over to them and took their drink orders. You emerged again, carrying the rack of glasses and groaned when you spotted the band. Still, you brought the dishes behind the bar.

“Oh, Y/N,” said Freddie. “Do you work here too?”

“What, writing rubbish about music not paying the bills?” Roger jabbed.

“Piss of, Roger,” you snapped. “I don’t work here, but I used to.”

“Are these friends of yours, Y/N?” Cora wondered, eyes flickering between you and the band.

“Cora, this is Queen,” you said gently. “I’m re-evaluating them.”

She released a delighted giggle and clapped her hands. “Oh, my! Well, it’s not every day we have real rock stars in our little pub! Welcome, lads!”

“Thank you, darling,” said Freddie.

Cora just grinned widely at him. A warm smile danced across your lips as you took in her excitement. John’s eyes landed on you and he saw, for a fleeting moment, the girl he knew. But at that moment, a man approached you and asked you to join him at his table. You agreed, wiggling your fingers at Cora as she watched you cross the room. 

“You two seem very close,” Brian said casually. “How long did she work here?”

“Just over a year, actually,” Cora said. “But she lived with me too.”

“How did that happen?” John wondered.

“Well, I found her right outside this building,” she explained. She told them all how she found you, to their shock. Even Roger felt pretty sorry for you.

“I couldn’t just leave her out there, shivering and alone,” she continued. “My Christian heart wouldn’t let me. So I took her in. But she took care of herself really once she started to make some money. I know she did some...unsavory things to earn the extra. I offered to help her, but she refused to take even one penny from me.” 

“Why didn’t she just go home?” Roger asked.

Cora shrugged. “She said - and I’ll never forget the words she used - ‘I came to London looking for someone. He’s lost, so I’ll find myself instead.’ Seemed quite poetic to me. I knew from there she’d be a writer.”

“Did she ever tell you who it was she was looking for?” Freddie asked, glancing at John.

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “She refused to speak of him. Some chap from her hometown, though, that’s all I knew.”

At that moment, you came back over to tell Cora goodbye, since you were leaving with the man from before. You kissed her cheek before turning to the band.

“See you lot in the morning, I suppose,” you said.

They gave you odd looks, but you pushed your confusion away. You left with David, heading back to your flat, which wasn’t far from the bar. But as you took David up the stairs to your front door, the look in John’s eyes haunted you. Something like pity swam behind them. Pity mixed with guilt. It infuriated you.

Then David’s chapped lips were on yours, cracked and unpleasant. He shoved his talentless tongue into your mouth as he pushed you gently onto your bed. You bunched your skirt up to your hips so he could tug your panties off, but he stopped.

“Would you suck me off first?” he asked.

You smirked. “You wanna keep your cock?”

“W-what?”

“If you wanna keep your cock, keep it the fuck out of my face,” you warned.

“Shit, alright,” he gasped.

“Now take my knickers off and fuck me.”

He obeyed, pulling his pants down to his ankles. You weren’t quite wet enough so it stung a little when he pushed into you, but you bit your lip through it. Only, his fucking was as awkward as his kissing. His thrusts were sloppy, and he failed to even graze your g-spot. Your clit, he completely ignored. He clearly thought he was doing great from the noises coming out of his mouth. Gasps and groans, and some semblance of dirty talk that you didn’t even hear. You sighed, exasperated, and pushed him off of you.

“You’re shit,” you said. “Get out.”

“What the fuck?!” he cried breathlessly.

“Get your pants on and get out of my house,” you ordered. 

“I’m still hard,” he complained.

“That’s not my problem,” you returned. 

He narrowed his eyes at you and scrambled off the bed. He tucked himself into his trousers and glared at you as he put his shoes back on.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

You grimaced at him. “So I’ve heard. Bye now.”

He muttered under his breath some more as he left, slamming the door behind him. You got up and followed, locking the door just in case. Then you returned to your bed. Flopping onto your back, your mind showed you John’s eyes again. You remembered kissing John all those years ago. The ways his eyes looked the first time you’d kissed him. 

You pictured John now. Different, but much the same. More talented, less awkward. You remembered him licking those fingers of his before playing his bass. His mouth in a slight pout as he focused. Your skin felt hot. Your lower stomach churned with desire. You dipped your finger between your thighs and pressed onto your clit.

“John…” you sighed.

Wednesday What a shame it is that the rock I thought you were turned out to be sand

You arrived to the studio early the next morning. It was raining heavily as thunder rolled in the distance. Cosmically, John was the only other person there. You didn’t let the fact that you’d gotten off to the thought of him throw you. You just took your seat on the couch, ringing out your hair, and waited in silence with him. You pulled out the book you were reading and dove in. The only sound was the patter of the rain on the roof.

“Why didn’t you tell me what happened to you when you came to London?” he asked suddenly.

You snapped the book shut and looked at him icily. “I didn’t realize that was any of your business.”

“I know you’re not this person,” he said. “When you looked at Cora yesterday, you were yourself again.”

“You don’t know anything about who I am, John Deacon,” you said. “A lot has changed since we left Oadby.” 

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“You’re assuming you have a right to an answer.”

“I think I do have a right,” he said hotly. “A lot of this anger you’ve got is clearly directed at me. Maybe if you stopped biting everyone’s head off and talked about it, you wouldn’t be so pissed off.”

There was that look again. The pity guilt combination that made your stomach roil. 

“Fine,” you snipped. “You wanna know what happened to me? Yes, I got robbed and left naked behind a building. I took a job as a waitress to scrape by and pay back a fraction of debt I owed Cora. And there were a few regulars at the bar who I fucked for money. Anything else?”

“How’d you get a writing position?” he asked levelly.

“One of the regulars introduced me to an editor friend of his,” you said. “I submitted my first article to him, and he took me on. I got better and was eventually offered the job I’ve got now.”

“Okay, how is any of this my fault?” 

“Is that what you think?” you laughed. “I don’t blame you for any of that shit. You weren’t even in my life anymore.”

“Then why are you so angry at me?!” he demanded, getting to his feet.

You jumped up too. “I’m angry at you because you lied to me!”

“What?!”

“You did!” you cried. “You broke up with me, and it broke my heart. But it was okay because we were supposed to be friends. And yet I was the only one who made any effort. Then suddenly you were off to London and then I never heard a thing from you! And I wrote you every day! Every day until I came here looking for you! And you promised you’d write to me, John!” You choked on his name as your throat got thick with the old wound. 

“You promised,” you repeated with childish stubbornness. 

“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. 

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want from me, John? My forgiveness?”

“Well, it was only letters,” he said.

“Only letters?” you repeated quietly. “John, it’s not about the letters. It’s the fact that you didn’t give enough of a shit about me to pick up a goddamn pen. Our relationship meant that little to you. I meant that little to you.”

You had scarcely gotten the words out when Roger and Brian walked in, both rain soaked, and flicking water off their coats. They were already quarrelling about something regarding the song again. You and John turned eyes on them.

“Y/N, what do you think, off the record -” Roger began, but you cut him off.

“Oh, no,” you said. “I’m not falling for that again.”

“Damn, I don’t know how else I’m gonna win this one,” he muttered.

You giggled. All eyes fell on you as you clapped a hand over your mouth.

“Y/N, did you just laugh?” Roger asked, a smile on his face.

“No,” you insisted, but the corners of your mouth were still turned slightly up. 

���I think she did,” Brian added. 

“Could it be that there’s a real, human heart in that chest?” Roger continued. “I thought it was just a hunk of ice.”

“Shut up,” you said through another laugh, but they let you have that one. 

“Is Fred here yet?” Brian asked John.

John shook his head. “Late, as usual.”

You and John locked eyes briefly before you started getting out your pen and paper again. Freddie arrived within a few minutes, and they got right to work. You did actually admire their focus and professionalism. They took their craft seriously. More seriously than most musicians you had met. And you had met a great deal of them.

Today they had fewer arguments. It seemed that the rain was making everyone too tired to fight. That was more than okay with you. You couldn’t stand the bickering, especially between Brian and Roger. You wondered how they were the founders of the band since they rarely seemed to agree on a concept for a song. It was maddening to listen to.

John was stuck somewhere between staring intensely at you or avoiding you like the plague. The conversation from before was not a comfortable one, and it was so clearly unfinished. Unsaid words hung between you like clothes on a line. When your eyes did meet, it was like stepping onto a balance beam. You were unsteady and wobbly, but clinging to the very thing that put you there.

By the afternoon, you heard a rough run through of a new song. You would never, ever tell them this, but you liked it.

When the day was over, you packed up your things and for the first time, the band said goodbye to you. Roger only offered a wave, while Brian and Freddie said the words. John actually asked if he could walk you out.

“I can get to the door myself, thanks,” you said.

You weren’t sure where you two stood after the morning’s conversation. You feared another emotional line of questioning. 

“Please,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Alright, then.”

You walked down the hall together, but he was behaving strangely. He kept glancing into every doorway you passed, and would sigh when there were people inside. When you reached the end of the corridor, he pulled open the door to what appeared to be a closet. He took another quick look around before pushing you inside.

“John, what the hell?!” you demanded as he shut the door.

“I want to speak in private,” he said.

He reached up and pulled the string to turn the light on. It was a tight space. Your bodies were pressed together, chest to chest. It made heat rise in your cheeks to be so close to him. You looked up to meet his eyes. When had he gotten so tall?

John swallowed as he looked down at you. The feeling of your breasts against him was enough to drive him crazy.

“I still feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” he said, focusing on your face.

He was so close you could feel his breath on your face.

“I don’t have to tell you everything,” you returned.

“Y/N, please,” he groaned. “We were going so well this morning.”

“Well?” you questioned. 

“Yes, you were opening up,” he said. “You’d softened to the point where you laughed.”

You sighed. “That was a fluke.”

“Come on, Y/N,” he said. “Tell me one thing.”

“What do you want to know?”

“After you had some money, why didn’t you go back home?” he wondered. “Why put yourself through all of this? You could have been back with you mum -”

“She left, John,” you said. “She left me in the middle of the night.”

John knew already that your father was not in your life. You and your mother were on your own back in Oadby. She had made quite a life for herself and seemed devoted to you. This revelation clearly shocked John, as he would have stumbled backward had there been space to do so.

“She left you?” 

You nodded. “Yes. She left a note that said she couldn’t do ‘this’ anymore and she was leaving, but she knew I would be okay. I started to write you, but you hadn’t been answering my letters, so I took the money she left me and came looking for you. Because I needed my friend. I needed you, John.”

Emotion threatened to overwhelm you again. This was something you had never told anyone. Not even Cora. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I left you in the dark...I’m so, so sorry.”

“Just tell me why,” you breathed back.

“Because I missed you so much,” he told you. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “If you missed me, why would you ignore me?”

“I couldn’t ask you to be with me again,” he said. “It wasn’t fair.”

“Elaborate on that.”

“I wasn’t sure that I was going to be successful,” he said. “I didn’t know if I wanted to have a career in electronics, and music was still something so unsteady. All I wanted was to be with you again, but I didn’t want you to give up home and security. I didn’t think I was worth it.”

“So you thought the solution was to just shut me out?” you said. “Without even telling me why?”

A tear slid down your cheek, catching you by surprise. Gently, John brought his thumb to your face and wiped it away. The feeling of his touch made goosebumps erupt over your skin and sent a shiver down your spine. And yet, anger sat on your stomach. 

“That is a piss poor excuse, John,” you spat.

“I was a kid,” he argued.

“We’re the same age, and I knew better,” you said. 

“I said I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

You held his gaze for a moment. You didn’t know what else he could do either. Your feelings weren’t clear to yourself. You weren’t sure you were at a place where you could forgive him. As you looked into his eyes, you wanted to. You desperately wanted to. His eyes flicked down to your lips. Slowly, he began to lean forward. Your heart hammered against your chest and cheeks warmed as he inched closer. You were suddenly absurdly aware of his hand on your face. His eyes began to close and you pressed your hand to his chest.

“John, wait,” you said, sounding even less sure than you felt. 

He opened his eyes and looked at you questioningly.

“I can’t do this,” you told him. “I don’t know how I feel about you.”

His hand trailed down to your neck, his fingers grazing your sensitive skin. You sucked in a breath. He noticed, but he let you off the hook.

“I know how I feel about you,” he said. “I don’t like the ice queen we met earlier this week. But the woman you are beneath that is someone I’d like to know again.”

He pressed his lips to your cheek and you closed your eyes at the contact. When you opened them again, he was pushed the door to the closet open. He offered his hand so he could help you out. You accepted, needing the balance to step over all the items on the floor. As you headed to the front of the building, you said nothing else to each other. When you reached the door, you faced him again.

“Have a good evening, John,” you said.

“You too, Y/N,” he replied.

He gave you hand a small squeeze and then left. You took a deep breath and went out the door. The sun shone. The sky had cleared.

Thursday Maybe you should get your shit together

You sat in the studio taking notes, your eyes flicking between your notebook and John. He occasionally looked back at you, in which case you would look sharply away. You had to bite your lip to keep from smirking. You couldn’t tell if he noticed or not. 

You were a little embarrassed at how quickly the band hand begun to sway your opinion. You usually considered your opinion resolute. Perhaps it was growth that you could change your mind. About Queen, and the desires of your own heart.

Suddenly, Charles walked in. He was carrying your notepads from the last three days and looking livid. He waved them in your face. You shot him a confused and offended look. 

“What?” you snapped. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re damn right there’s a problem!” he cried. “Is this really all you’ve got from the last three days?”

“That’s three notepads full,” you replied. “You really think I’m keeping stuff from you?”

“Do not sass me, girl!” he shouted. 

Quietly, the band came into the room, though neither you nor Charles noticed, too caught up in the argument to see. 

“Don’t call me girl!” you retorted, getting to your feet. 

“Look, I didn’t give you this assignment so you could give me this choir boy version of the band!” he continued. 

“Roger literally does coke on the second day, but yeah, I got choir boys,” you spat. “I’m writing the truth -”

“LISTEN!” he bellowed. “I told you I needed an exposure! Something to fill the headlines! A take down piece! So unless you wanna put some heels on and fuck me for an hour, you better stop acting like a little bitch!”

It was like all the air was sucked out of the room. The words had hardly left his mouth when John tackled him to the ground. He drilled his fist into Charles’s face repeatedly. You watched through teary eyes as John defended you. Blood burst from Charles’s nose as John’s fist made hard contact, over and over again. Charles was resisting weakly, blindsided by this attack. 

“John!” you cried, reaching for him. “Stop! Stop it!”

Brian grabbed your arm to keep you out of it. Freddie and Roger stepped in to drag John off, but he struggled against them. You stared at him, amazed and horrified. Charles got slowly to his feet, shaking as he peeled himself off the floor. He glowered at John, breathing heavily. Then he wiped his bloody face with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“You will be hearing from my lawyer,” he growled. He rounded on you. “And you, little groupie whore, are fired.”

You blinked, letting a tear fall down your cheek, and bit your lip to hold back the sob threatening to escape from your throat. Charles spat on the floor before limping out of the room. Roger flipped him off as he held John back. Freddie just sighed. Brian turned eyes on you.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you choked out. Then you looked at John. “Let him go, guys. I need to speak to him.”

Freddie and Roger released John’s arms. He shrugged them off and followed you out of the booth and down the hall to an unoccupied office. John looked expectantly at you as you turned to face him.

“Close the door, please,” you requested. 

He did. As soon as it clicked shut, you flared up.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you demanded. “We’ve spent all week despising each other and now you’re fighting some guy because he insulted me?! Who are you?! I don’t know where your head is at at any given time! How can you -”

He cut you off with a searing kiss. Your eyes fell shut as his lips moved against yours and you plunged your hands into his hair. It was frenzied and needy, all teeth and tongue. His hands slid over your shoulders before he grabbed your breasts and squeezed. You moaned into his mouth, feeling like you might faint.

He pulled back from your lips to pepper kisses down your neck. He nipped at your soft skin before swirling his tongue around the same spot to soothe it. High, breathy moans fell from your lips as he went. You pressed yourself closer to him and you could feel his hardening cock against your stomach. It sent a powerful jolt of arousal to your core. Your panties dampened.

“Mmm, John,” you sighed.

When you said his name, it fanned the fire in him. He grabbed you roughly, turned you around, and pushed you against the desk. You let out a small squeak of surprise as he bent you over. He yanked your skirt up around your waist, revealing your legs and thong to him. You shivered as the air hit your warm skin. John ran a hand up the back of your thigh, making you tremble with anticipation. He moved his hand away only to bring it back down sharply on your ass. The sound cracked like a whip in the empty room and a guttural moan tore from your throat. It only made you that much wetter. 

“So damn strong willed, Y/N,” John growled into your ear, rubbing your stinging skin. “But this is what you really want, isn’t it? Someone to take care of you?”

You judged yourself a little for the pathetic whine that came out of your mouth. He wrapped his arm around you and dipped his hand into your underwear. Quickly, he ran his fingers up and down your slit, coating them in your wetness. 

“Oh, God,” you moaned as his pointer finger found your clit. 

You took hold of his arm, gripping it tight as the pleasure built. He made light circles on your clit, picking up speed with each rotation. 

“F-fuck, John!” you cried. “Feels so good!”

“I see the way you watch me play,” he teased. “How badly you want these fingers inside you, princess, huh?

“Please, please, please,” you begged. 

His middle finger nudged your entrance. “Fuck, you’re so sexy begging for me.”

Finally, he sank it into you. You groaned and your head slumped forward, lost in the feeling of it. He pumped in and out of you, slowly at first as he curled his finger into your g-spot. The heel of his hand put pressure on your clit and you saw stars. 

“So bloody proud,” he said, kissing your shoulder softly. “But so needy.”

You couldn’t answer him. Your brain couldn’t even form words. His hand was working you right up to your orgasm. When he added a second finger you nearly screamed. 

“M’close,” you mewled. “So close, John - fuck!”

You were clenching around his fingers, hurtling toward the edge. He sped up. You were grateful for the desk beneath you because your legs completely gave out. 

“Go on then,” he encouraged. “Cum for me, princess.”

His permission was all you needed. You came completely undone with a choked cry of his name, riding out your high on his hand. As you came down, your whole body shook. He kept his hand at your center, lazily stroking your folds. 

“Ready for my cock?” he asked, grazing your clit again and making your hips twitch. 

You nodded. 

“Need to hear you say it,” he urged. 

“Yes, please, John,” you whined. “Want you to fuck me…”

You caught your breath as he unzipped his trousers and pulled your thong down to your ankles. You moaned when he pressed his tip against your entrance. All your senses were heightened by the pleasure coursing through you. The head of his cock right at your core, the silky feeling of his shirt against your back, the tickle of the ends of his hair on your cheek. All of it was just John. 

He pushed slowly into you. He was quite big, but you were so wet, he met little resistance. You groaned as he entered. He filled you up, bottoming out inside you and he stopped so you could adjust. 

“You’re so tight,” he hissed. “Fuck.”

“Move, please,” you told him. 

He didn’t need to be told twice. He started at an easy pace, but quickly picked up. He must have been needier than you realized because his cock twitched inside you. So he was close. His finger found your clit again, circling it to the rhythm of his hips. His free hand gripped one of yours, interlocking your fingers. He pounded into you, his tip hitting your g-spot and making you whimper with every thrust. 

“Can I - hng, fuck - can I cum inside you?” he asked breathlessly. 

Just the thought of it made you squeeze around him and he let out the filthiest groan. 

“Yes - oh, God - yes,” you practically sobbed. 

One, two, three more thrusts, and you finished together, his hot cum coating your pulsing walls as he collapsed above you. You were shivering from the intensity of two such rapid orgasms, so his weight warmed and stilled you. He pressed his lips to your shoulders and neck, easing you down before he pulled out. You whimpered at the empty feeling. Then he pulled your underwear back up and readjusted your skirt. There was something touching about him redressing you before tucking himself back into his pants. 

You just barely managed to push yourself off the desk. “John...that was…”

“Sorry I just pounced on you,” he said, looking at the floor. 

“No, don’t apologize,” you said. “You were...you were incredible.”

“I just had to have you,” he replied bashfully. 

You smiled. “John, I’ve never…”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“I’ve never orgasmed from a partner before,” you admitted. 

“What?!” he gasped. “Never?!”

“That’s what I said,” you replied. 

“Even when we - y’know - before?”

You laughed. “John, we were teenagers. No, I didn’t fucking cum. But you certainly made up for it now.”

It was his turn to smile. Then, he took your hand and pulled you close to kiss him. He was softer now. All anger and frustration gone. He rubbed your sides before wrapping his arms around you and just holding you close. 

“Next time, we’ll make love properly,” he said into your hair. 

“There’s going to be a next time?” you questioned. 

“If you’ll let me,” he returned with a smirk. “You proud little thing.”

“I’m not so proud,” you said. “I did just let you bend me over a desk and fuck me.”

He chuckled. You returned to a comfortable silence and holding each other. You dug your fingers into his shirt as he embraced you. You buried your face in his chest. The girl you were - one who was hopeful, sweet, and romantic - was clawing her way out to meet the stronger woman you became. John’s return to your life showed you that they could exist together. His arms around you reminded you that she was a part of you and though you had changed - you both had - she was a remarkable and formative part of your story. 

“I’m sorry again,” he said, pulling away to look in your eyes. “For letting you feel like I didn’t care about you. I thought about you all the time. And when your letters stopped, I hoped that you had found something that made you happy. I have only ever wanted that for you.”

You cupped his face in your hand. “I know that, John. I forgive you.”

“I like this woman, Y/N,” he said. “Who you are. Can we get reacquainted some more over dinner?”

“I would like that very much,” you said with a smile. “And I suppose it’s not a conflict of interest anymore since I’ve been fired.”

“Oh, shit.”

You shrugged. “It’s alright. I’m a good enough writer that I’ll get another job. Plus, I was going to have to eat my words and I really didn’t want to.”

“You were?!”

You nodded. “So thank you, John. You spared me that.”

He only laughed. You kissed him again. 

“Actually, I think I will write the story,” you said. “We had an agreement. I’ll sell the story to another magazine. When the public eats it up, Charles will be sorry.”

He grinned, kissing your forehead. Then you left to go to your dinner date.

Friday I look pretty, I’m lookin’ pretty in my dress

The next morning, you woke up next to John. Your dinner date went well, and you brought him back to your apartment for more of what you called “making up for lost time.” You gazed at his sleeping face and wondered at your own heart. How quickly this man had softened you. You couldn’t help pressing your lips to his chest. But when you got close to him, you noticed that he was hard. You stifled a giggle and then gently nudged his chest. 

“John,” you said. “John, wake up.”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “What is it, love?”

“Can I touch you?” you asked sweetly. 

“Fuck, yeah, of course,” he said. 

You sat up, straddling him across his legs. You brought your hand to his cock and just stroked it with your finger, looking up at him through heavily lidded eyes. You kissed his chest again. Softly, you nipped at his collar bone before trailing down to his tummy. Your tongue flicked out at the places that made him moan. When you reached his hips, you wrapped your hand around his shaft and he arched up with a soft gasp. 

You never understood what men loved so much about fucking a woman’s mouth. You understood even less why women willingly gave men head. It brought them no pleasure. For the first time in your life, you willingly took a man’s tip past your lips. The beautiful little whine that came out of John’s mouth made it make sense. The knowledge that you made him feel this good was incredibly hot. You rubbed your thighs together for some friction. 

You lowered your mouth onto him, taking him all the way down until his tip hit the back of your throat. You hummed around him and he whined, holding himself back from bucking up. He had no idea how grateful you were for his allowing you control in this situation. You bobbed up and down, taking his cock as deep as possible with every stroke. 

“Fucking Christ, Y/N,” he sighed. “Your mouth is incredible.”

You didn’t answer, but kept going. You couldn’t believe what giving him this kind of pleasure was also doing to you. The sounds me made, the way he looked with his head thrown back and mouth hanging open...it was sexy as hell. 

You reached up to massage his balls and he couldn’t stop his hips from jumping at the contact. He apologized, but you waved him down. You continued. He finally pulled you off him because he was so close. 

“S’okay,” you said. “I want to finish you off with my mouth.”

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned. 

You smirked before taking him down again. You went a little faster now, eager to get him there. His chest became as flushed as his cheeks. 

“Ah - Y/N - I’m -” 

He didn’t need to finish his sentence, as he released inside you. You swallowed as you worked his cock through his high. He panted beneath you. You came up with a soft pop and showed him your empty mouth. 

“Oh, God,” he shuddered. “You’re so sexy.”

“That was fun,” you said with a smile. “You got so worked up.”

“It felt good,” he returned simply. 

“I never understood before why blowjobs were fun,” you told him.

He just looked quizzically up at you. 

“Never mind,” you said, shaking your head. 

He didn’t press you, which you appreciated. You didn’t want to talk about that now anyway. Without warning, he gripped you by the hips and flipped you over. You yelped with surprise. 

“What are you doing?” you wondered. 

“Returning the favor,” he said. 

He kissed your lower tummy, exploring your skin and making you giggle. Then he turned his attention to your thighs. You rocked your hips up toward him impatiently. 

“Relax,” he said. 

“I didn’t tease you like that,” you reminded him. 

“Never said I was playing far,” he shot back. 

Even so, he finally licked a stripe up your slit, making your hand jump to his hair. He swirled his tongue around your clit and you sucked in a breath. Your heels dug into the mattress as he built up speed. Then he lined up his fingers with your entrance. 

“So wet already,” he said. “You enjoyed sucking me off that much?”

“Shut up,” you groaned. 

He chuckled and returned his mouth to your throbbing clit. He pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them perfectly. It was almost overwhelming how good he made you feel. No one had ever gotten you this aroused before. You couldn’t even get this hot on your own. John brought out something primal in you that made you just melt to his touch. He knew what the fuck he was doing and did it well. Your toes curled as heat spread through you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. 

You looked down and met his gaze. His pupils were blown wide with lust, but adoration lingered behind it. He kissed your clit as he maintained eye contact and you nearly finished from that.

“John, please,” you whined. 

“Don’t hold back for me, Y/N,” he said. “Fucking cum if you need to.”

“Faster,” you instructed. 

He obeyed. He devoured you like a starved man as his fingers pumped in and out at an almost brutal pace. Your mouth fell open and you began writhing beneath him. 

“John - John - oh - fuck!” you cried. 

“Like I said, cum when you’re ready,” he told you again. 

“Close,” you sobbed. 

Your orgasm washed over you, your body jerking as is wracked through your muscles. John let you ride it out on his face. When you stilled, he crawled back over you, kissing you deeply. You tasted yourself on him. 

“You want to keep going?” he asked. “I could get it up again if you want.”

You shook your head. “After yesterday, last night, and now I can’t take anymore.”

“Alright, love,” he said, settling beside you and pulling you under his arm to spoon. 

“Don’t you have to be at the studio?” you wondered. 

“We can lay here a while longer,” he assured you. “I don’t…” he trailed off.

You turned your head to look at him. “What?”

“I don’t want you to ever again feel like I’m abandoning you,” he said sheepishly. “Even for the small stuff.”

“Oh, John,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

When you did go to the studio, you arrived together, hand in hand. Roger, Brian, and Freddie looked at your hands, then your faces, and back again. 

“What’s this?” Freddie asked. 

“We got reacquainted,” John said. 

You beamed. 

“Who is this?” Roger questioned, looking at you. “A smile? Who are you and what have you done with the real Y/N Y/L/N?” 

“The real Y/N Y/L/N is whoever I want her to be,” you said. “I’ll still call you a pixie, Taylor. I’ll just smile while I do it.”

“That sounds more like it,” he returned with a smirk. 

“Well, Y/N, what are you doing here?” Brian asked. “I mean, you were fired.”

You explained to them what you told John. You were going to write the article as a freelance writer. You were certain another magazine would be interested. 

“And what is this article going to say?” Freddie wondered. 

“You’ll have to wait and find out,” you said. “It’s not ethical to let your subjects read the piece before it’s published.”

“It’s also not ethical to fuck your sources,” Roger pointed out, grinning. 

You and John exchanged shocked looks. 

“You weren’t exactly quiet,” Brian said. 

Your face went bright red as Freddie laughed. Before long, you were all laughing with him. It was rather funny. 

As they prepared for their day, you took out your paper and pen again. You weren’t sure exactly what you were going to say about Queen after seeing what they did. You weren’t sure how you could convey their style and friendship. You weren’t sure you could get it all in one article. But you knew you would somehow. There had to be words to describe Queen. 

That night, Freddie hosted a party at his house and invited you to attend. You told John you would meet him there, since you weren’t sure who else was going to be there and you still had to pitch the article. 

As you got ready in your room, throwing on a beautiful red dress with some strappy heels, you became a bit nervous. You wondered if Charles had told others in the industry about what happened. But you didn’t know how you came out of it looking like the bad guy if he told the truth. That was the hang up. Had he told the truth?

You decided firmly to forget about that and just have a good time tonight. What would come, would come. You had faced much worse and stayed strong. You could do so now.

When you arrived at Freddie’s, he answered the door. He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek before leading you inside to meet some of his other friends. It was crowded, which made you nervous, but you kept your eyes peeled for John. When you entered the living room, you spotted him. His smile faltered as he saw you in your dress. You couldn’t help but smirk.

He walked over, a hungry look in his eye. “You look incredible.”

“Thank you,” you said with a grin.

He kissed your cheek. Your skin lit up at his touch.

“The dress looks great, but I really can’t wait to take it off you,” he whispered in your ear.

You shivered as you took his hand. Roger approached, so John just slipped an arm around your waist and faced his friend.

“Wow, Y/N,” Roger said. “You clean up nice.”

“You too, Rog,” you returned. 

You chatted and mingled for the night. The whole time, John was at your side, with a hand on you. Whether it was your waist, your back, your arm - it didn’t matter. You felt him there with you. Reassuring and safe.

You went back to your place afterward, unable to keep your hands off of each other. By the time you were through the door, your dress was halfway off and John’s shirt was undone. Your mouths crashed together as your hands roamed each other’s bodies. Then he pulled away.

“Y/N, hold on,” he said. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked at him. “What is it?”

“What do you want from this?” he asked.

“What?”

“I love what we’re doing,” he said. “I’m just wondering if it’s...more than it is.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Are we in a relationship?” he asked outright.

He was suddenly the John from home. Unsure, but hopeful. You vividly recalled the day he first asked you to be his girlfriend. He was so shy and a bit awkward. You were so endeared by him. You felt that again as he looked at you now. Overwhelmingly, you wanted to be his again. 

“I know I hurt you before,” he said. “So I understand if you’re hesitant, but -”

You cut him off with a sweet kiss. 

“John, if I didn’t want to be with you, I wouldn’t,” you said. “As it is, I do. So, if a relationship is what you want, then that’s what I want too.”

His smile was like sunshine. You could have melted into a puddle right there. Then, of course, he absolutely ravished you.

Two Weeks Later

“Have you all seen this?” Roger wondered as he entered the studio, carrying a fresh magazine.

“Y/N’s article came out?” Brian asked.

Roger nodded.

“How’d she do?” Freddie questioned.

“Listen,” Roger began. “‘Queen is a unique band made up of unique individuals. Their differences work together to create some of the most cohesive work in rock music. No matter the year or the style, Queen sounds like Queen. And not just because of frontman Freddie Mercury’s unmistakable and outstanding voice. The work of guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon are vital parts a body of work that is more than signature. It’s a fingerprint. All of this is made possible by the professionalism and hard work of one of the greatest rock bands I have had the pleasure of seeing in action.’ She goes on, of course.”

Brian took the article and scanned it. “She really is a great writer.”

“I’m just glad she’s on our side now,” Freddie said. “What do you think, Deaky?”

John shrugged. “What can I say, I’m proud of her. That’s my girl.”

[malekshardy]

groupie love – hardy!roger taylor x reader (part three)

summary: everything comes full circle when betty surprises you with tickets to queen’s last show at madison square garden. 

a/n: this is it!!! the last part!!! and it’s three times as long as either of the first two, oops. obviously i think it must be at least kind of good, otherwise i wouldn’t have written over 6k words of it. definitely listen to the playlist while you read – i wrote most of this listening to empty space and close to me, but for the end i listened to my love, my life by abba EXCLUSIVELY and then somebody to love for a little bit at the very end. this has been so much fun to write, and i hope you like it!!

word count: 6,677 (!!!!)

part one | part two

Betty is waiting for you when you finally get home, just as you knew she would be. The whole subway ride home, you had thought about how to confront her about the phone number – although, logically, you know that you hadn’t seen her since you both got home from the party the night before.

On principle, though, you’re still mad.

Betty is laying on the couch, half asleep, when you slam the door open and enter the apartment. She snaps awake and sits straight up.

“Where have you been?! I thought you were dead in a back alley somewhere!” She exclaims.

You sigh. “Work.”

“Oh,” she seems disappointed for just a second, then her expression changes back to a more relaxed one. “Did Arthur keep you this whole time? Three extra hours?”

“Yeah.” You sit down next to her. “He paid double for the overtime though, so at least there’s that.”

“That’s good. But, like… why?”

“Queen came in around midnight.” You say shortly. You know you have no right to be annoyed, but it’s almost three in the morning and you knew your best friend and drunk Betty getting a rockstar’s number should definitely have been a topic of conversation on the taxi ride home last night. “John says hello.”

“Oh,” Betty blushes.

“I guess you don’t have to pray you run into him sometime in the next three days so you can say hi back, considering he has your phone number.”

“Y/N –“

“I’m not really mad,” you say, mostly to yourself. “Because we haven’t seen each other all day, but how did you not tell me last night on the way home? That’s exciting!”

“You didn’t tell me about you and Roger,” she says.

Oh. Right.

“And who told you about that? John?”

“We saw you, Y/N. You were literally in the middle of the party making out with the world’s most notorious playboy.” She laughs. “But yes, John mentioned it when he called me earlier. Do you want something to eat?”

“What did he say?!” You nearly shout. “Because Roger was being weird at the restaurant when I ran into him, but I just assumed that’s because he’s a rockstar who’s used to having to deal with groupies and all that.”

“I had mac and cheese for dinner,” Betty says, standing up and walking towards your kitchen. “I’ll reheat it for you.”

“Betty!” More than anything, you want to hear what John had to say. Even though you know it was probably mentioned in passing – oh, just Roger being Roger, attracting yet another groupie to his side for the night – you can’t keep yourself from hoping it’s something more.

The oven beeps. “C’mon Y/N, eat something and I’ll tell you.” You scramble to your feet and head into the kitchen. Betty takes the leftover mac and cheese and sets in on the table as if she’s your mother.

“Okay, go.”

“Well, our conversation started off a little bit awkward, since I think both of us got a lot of our confidence from being intoxicated, so I brought up you and Roger just because it was something about people that we both knew, and –“

“– Wait, what time was this?” You interrupt.

“Around three, maybe? I’m not sure, I had just gotten back from work. But don’t interrupt, I thought you wanted to hear what he had to say about you.”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“Basically, we talked a little about you guys and the party last night, and then he said something about us leaving really early and Roger being apparently pretty torn up about it – John said that he was pretty grumpy and irritable right after we left and this morning when they all got together for lunch, which is how he knew he was disappointed – and he said that Roger thinks that you left because you didn’t like him or something, which I didn’t think was true, but I also know about your wild side and you didn’t seem too upset to be leaving, so I just told him I wasn’t sure –“

“Betty, it was your fault that we left!” You exclaim.

“I know, I told him that.” Betty glares at you. “Keep eating. I know you haven’t eaten anything since five.”

“Fine. But I didn’t want to leave, just making sure you know that.”

“I know. But I’m not done with the story, so shh. Basically, John was saying that Roger didn’t want to talk about the party or you, which was weird to everybody because Roger always wants to brag about his groupies the next day, so John said they decided that Roger likes you and wishes you would have stuck around the other night.”

You can’t help it; your face heats up and your heart begins to pound furiously in your chest. Betty is watching you with a smile on her face. “That’s… good.”

“And one more thing. John and I were scheming a little bit over the phone, I’ll just tell you now since I know you’re thinking it, and he just happened to find four extra tickets and backstage passes for tomorrow – well, I guess tonight – at Madison Square Garden.”

You hadn’t really been thinking about Betty and John scheming, although you probably should have, considering Betty had been trying to set you up with a guy forever, even after you started going backstage at rock concerts and hooking up with rockstars. What you had been thinking about was being in another small enclosed space with Roger, his hands gripping your hips, your arms wrapped around his neck, his mouth on yours, just like the afterparty.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” You snap back to the present. Betty is staring back at you. “I’m going to bed. I, unlike some people, have work tomorrow.”

“Okay. What time do you get off? I mean, since we have a concert to get to.”

Betty smiles knowingly. “I have the ten o’clock tomorrow, so I’ll be out by four. I think I want to bring Sandra with us to the concert, do you have anyone you could bring?”

“Liz,” you say immediately. “We bonded yesterday over our mutual love of the band, right before they came in.” Betty suddenly giggles. “What?”

“I forgot to tell you, I may have mentioned to John that you were working tonight and… I maybe told him which restaurant it was.”

“So you got me stuck at work until three,” you laugh. “You should have known where I was if you told him where I work!”

“I didn’t think they would actually end up there! And especially not for that long! Wait, so that means you saw Roger, right?” Betty asks. You nod. “How did that go? Wait, don’t tell me. I need to go to bed. You can tell me later.”

“Okay,” you say as she heads down the hallway to her bedroom. “Good night!”

As she disappears into her room, you stand and rinse out your bowl of mac and cheese and set it in the dishwasher. As you do, you can’t help but think about what it’ll be like to stand in front of Roger Taylor again, having him all to yourself again, and being able to explain to him why you had left and why you hadn’t wanted to.

And hopefully he would forgive you. And maybe he would kiss you again.

***

The next morning when you wake up, Betty is gone again. Between the two of you working and going to classes, you were rarely home at the same time – even less so if a particularly good band was in town. It was nice, though, to have time apart from each other to relax or do homework. You had lived with Betty for the last three years of your undergraduate careers, and when the time came for graduate school, you and Betty had never even considered living with anyone else. The two of you could understand each other’s crazy schedules and hectic lives, and you supported each other in everything you did – with one notable exception.

You started going to rock concerts your freshman year of college, before you had even met Betty. Rock music had been part of your life since you were born, with your parents constantly playing Elvis, Ray Charles, and Bill Haley. Your first solo venture into the musical scene, like so many other girls your age, had been the Beatles. Then came Pink Floyd, David Bowie, and Led Zeppelin. Then, of course, there was Queen.

So it was safe to say you were a big rock music fan.

The first time you had slept with a musician, he hadn’t been a bona fide rockstar. However, the pure adrenaline you got from catching the eye of one of the men on stage was addicting, and you went to more and more shows, and the eyes that you caught became bigger and bigger stars. Betty, who, while also a rock music fan, tended to stay on the sidelines, was not a huge fan of your little hobby. It all led up to one massive fight at the end of your junior year, where she had called you a few choice names and moved back in with her parents for the summer. You reconciled, obviously, after finding out she was only worried for your health and safety, but she stayed far removed from your whole scene until she just couldn’t bear it anymore, and then you started bringing her to shows in the front row and going backstage. However, you usually kept her away from the afterparties – they were overwhelming and sometimes not entirely safe.

Until Queen came to New York and Betty begged you to bring her along with you to their afterparty. Which is how John Deacon ended up with her phone number.

You spend your morning doing mostly homework for your classes that week, and before you know it, it’s nearly three and you realize you still haven’t called Liz. You know she’s not working tonight, you just hope she doesn’t have other plans.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end is unfamiliar.

“Hi, this is Y/N Y/L/N, one of Liz’s coworkers? Is she there?”

“Yeah, let me go get her for you.” There’s a brief pause, and then Liz gets on the line. “Hello?”

“Hey Liz.”

“Y/N? What’s up?”

“I know this is pretty last minute, but I managed to get tickets for the Queen concert tonight and last night you mentioned wanting to see them while they’re here, so I was just wondering if you wanted to come with me?”

“Oh my God, of course! Thank you so much! How did you even get these tickets so late? I thought the whole show was sold out!”

Yeah, how did you get these tickets? “Would you believe me if I told you my roommate knows the bassist?” Technically, that was true.

Liz laughs. “No, but I appreciate you inviting me so much that I don’t even care. What time should I be ready?”

“The show starts at 7, so we want to be there by probably 6. You can meet us at my apartment at 5 and we’ll head over right after, it’ll probably take a little while to get there with rush hour traffic. You have my address?”

“Yeah! Sounds good. See you soon!” As soon as you hang up, Betty walks through the door, clearly exhausted and frazzled from her day at work.

“How was your day?” You ask.

“Not great! People are assholes.”

“Tell me about it.”

She groans loudly and flops onto the couch. “I just hate my job. I can’t wait until I graduate and can finally get a job in like, the field my degrees are in.”

“Oh, I so agree. But at least we get to go to the concert tonight?”

Betty smiles, her eyes fluttering closed. “Yeah. And we have backstage passes. So you can make up with Roger. Or at least have a conversation you can remember.”

“Haha,” you say sarcastically. “I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Y/N, if you had been making out with just a random guy at a random party instead of Roger Taylor, you wouldn’t even remember his name.”

You laugh. “I mean… you’re probably right. What time is Sandra coming over? Liz is coming at 5.”

“I told her 5 as well. We should probably start getting ready then, right?”

“Definitely.”

***

You’re in the middle of doing your eye makeup when you hear a knock at the door. You quickly finish up with your eyeliner and head to the door to find both Sandra and Liz right on your doorstep, looking perfectly dressed for the show.

“Hey guys!” You say brightly. “Excited for the show?”

“So excited,” Liz exclaims. Sandra nods.

“Yay! Me too.” More than you know.

“I was just telling Sandra while we were outside that the band came into the restaurant yesterday, so we got to see them up close and personal,” Liz says.

Yep. You smile. “Yeah, it was such a cool experience.”

“It sounds like it! What are they like in person?” Sandra asks excitedly.

“I got cut before I could talk to them, I just got to see them come in. Y/N, you stayed till closing, did you get to talk to them?”

“What?” You barely catch the end of Liz’s sentence. “Oh, yeah. Just for a second.” You don’t tell them what Freddie said about you being Roger’s Cinderella, or anything Betty had told you about her phone conversation with John. Obviously. Because that would require a lot of backstory you didn’t want to tell your coworker. Betty is the only person in your life who knows about your little hobby (and your interaction with Roger), and you intend to keep it that way.

“And?” Liz says. She and Sandra are staring at you expectantly.

“Um – they all seem nice. Nicer than most rockstars. Probably.” Too bad all you can remember from your actual conversation with Roger is his wide eyes looking at you softly, you’re something, that’s for sure playing on a loop in your head. “I ran straight into Freddie Mercury when I went to put the silverware in the front and he was perfectly polite about it. He even made a joke or two.”

“Did you talk to Roger at all yesterday?” It’s Betty’s voice, and a shock runs down your spine at the sound of his name.

“Unfortunately, no.” You say, your teeth gritted. She only smiles at you.

“Maybe you will tonight,” she says, then turns to the others. “Ladies, we have backstage passes, so you can finally have those conversations you’ve been dying to have.”

“Oh wow,” Sandra says, shocked.

“You know, maybe now I do believe that you know the band,” Liz says to Betty, a grin spreading over her face.

“Oh honey,” Betty responds. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

You roll your eyes. “Can we go now? It’s a quarter past five in New York and one of the biggest bands in the world is playing at the Garden. It’s going to be a nightmare.”

“Okay, okay,” Betty teases. “I understand.”

The four of you shuffle out the door, you in the front, hurrying towards the street. Thankfully, miraculously, a taxi stops for you almost as soon as you step onto the curb and hold your hand up.

“Evening, ladies,” the driver says. “Where to?”

“Madison Square Garden,” you respond.

“You girls going to the Queen concert?” He asks, his eyes raking over your body, and for a moment you feel utterly exposed. Then you give a sigh of annoyance.

“Yes, and we’re trying to get there before it starts.” You snap.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “C’mon in then, it might take a while.”

“I’m aware,” you mutter, climbing into the backseat of the cab. The four of you squish together in the backseat – no one wants to sit in the front, right next to the slightly creepy cab driver – and Sandra slams the door behind her.

God must be looking out for you, because you only hit traffic once, when you reach 27th Street, and at that point it’s only 5:30 and you’re six blocks from the Garden, so you can relax a little. The car is nearly silent as you sit in standstill traffic, which is odd because you’ve never known your friends to be so quiet. The only thing puncturing the silence is the occasional honk from one of the cars around you – and by occasional you mean every fifteen seconds or so – and yet you’re still grateful to live in what you consider the best city in the world.

You sit in traffic on 27th for about twenty minutes, and then things finally start moving again and you can see Madison Square Garden’s magnificent shape start to appear on your right. Excitement pools in your stomach and a wide smile spreads across your face. You love Madison Square Garden and you love rock and roll and you love your friends and you love Queen.

And you have backstage passes, which means no having to persuade the crew to let you backstage to talk to the band. For once, the band knows you and they want you backstage. At least you think they do.

***

Roger has a girl under his arm, because of course he does. It’s half past five, and his friends are relaxing in the dressing room backstage, talking loudly amongst themselves and laughing, but Roger is stuck in his own head. The girl – he can’t remember her name – has her hand on his thigh, and every so often she inches it slightly further up, but he doesn’t care the same way he usually would. He doesn’t know this girl’s name and he doesn’t care that she’s hoping he’ll live up to his reputation in the half hour or so before they go onstage. What he does care about is his run-in with another girl last night – a girl he can’t seem to forget.

“Roger,” the girl whimpers. “Can’t we have a little fun? We’ve just been sitting here doing nothing all evening!”

She doesn’t speak too loudly, but the rest of the band can hear her. “Yeah Rog, why’re you so upset?” Brian laughs.

“You’re all bloody annoying,” Roger snaps. It’s not meant to be funny, but of course the others burst into laughter.

“Really? How absolutely unusual,” Freddie chuckles. “But wait, Roger, would you still be annoyed if Deaky told you he invited his little girlfriend and some of her friends to the show tonight?”

Roger jolts forward, letting the other girl fall out from under his arm, and the moment he does it he wishes he hadn’t; he wishes he could look as disinterested as possible. But of course he can’t – he’s been wishing for another chance to talk with Y/N since the moment she left him alone at his party two nights ago.

“Oh, look at him,” Freddie whispers. “There must be a fairy godmother in here somewhere.” The others laugh.

Roger clears his throat. “I don’t care. She doesn’t want to talk to me, and I know that, so I’m done.”

“Do you, though?” Deaky smirks. “I had a very interesting conversation with her lovely roommate, who happened to tell me that when they had to leave that night, it was all because she had to work early the next morning.”

“So it wasn’t Cinderella’s fault, then,” Freddie says. “Hmm. Interesting.” Roger’s heart free-falls into his stomach. She hadn’t left him on purpose.

“Also,” Deaky continues. “I got them backstage passes for after the concert. Although I’m sure Cinderella doesn’t need them, considering how you met her in the first place.”

“Who’s Cinderella?” It’s the other girl. Roger had all but forgotten about her, he was too invested in Deaky’s words.

“A princess,” Roger says. “From a fairytale.”

“Now that was cheesy,” Brian laughs. “You’re better than that, Rog.”

“C’mon, boys.” Freddie stands up from his seat on the couch. “We’ve only got twenty minutes before showtime, we’d better get going.”

***

The seats John had given Betty were better than you could have ever dreamed. You had been third row or closer at many concerts, but none this big. None at Madison Square Garden. You could see everything.

And every time Roger looked up from his perch behind the drum set, you knew what he was thinking about. You knew because you were thinking the same thing.

The concert goes by in the blink of an eye. You certainly didn’t pay as much attention as the first time around, but a lot of things were different the first time around. Soon enough, though, it’s over, and Liz is tugging you excitedly towards the backstage entrance, where plenty of girls were already crowded. You recognize a few of them from other concerts, other parties, and for a moment a bolt of jealousy runs through you. Then one of the crew members starts speaking.

“Okay ladies, do any of you actually have backstage passes?”

“We do!” You exclaim, pushing through the sea of girls until the four of you are at the front, standing right before the crew member.

“You were just here two nights ago,” he starts. “And you didn’t have backstage passes then.”

“And yet somehow I still made it inside,” you smirk, forgetting for a moment that one of your coworkers is right behind you, watching you work your magic. “It doesn’t matter, though, because this time I actually do have backstage passes. All four of us do, actually.”

“Uh huh,” the man replies. “I’ll go ask the band then. What’s your name? Your real name. I know you groupies don’t always use your real names.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You say with a smile. He grumbles, but heads backstage anyway.

Liz looks at you as if she’s never seen you before. “You went backstage at the last concert?”

“Um… yeah,” you answer.

“So last night at work wasn’t the first time you’d met them?”

“Not exactly,” you say hesitantly.

“And that guy – that crew guy – he called you a groupie?!”

You smile uncomfortably, making eye contact with Betty over the top of Liz’s head. Betty opens her mouth to speak, but before she can say anything the man comes back.

“Congratulations, Ms. Y/L/N, Mr. Mercury himself says you and your friends are on the list, so I guess I’ve gotta let you in this time.”

“Thank you!” You say cheerfully, stepping past him and heading backstage. Betty slides up next to you, letting Sandra and Liz talk between themselves.

“Are you good with Liz knowing about all this?” She asks, her voice quiet.

“I didn’t confirm I was a groupie,” you answer.

“Yeah, but it seemed pretty obvious with the way you were talking to that guy. About making it backstage last time.”

“It’s okay,” you sigh. “I’ll figure something out.”

The two of you are quiet for another minute before Betty speaks again. “So are you excited? About seeing Roger again?”

You can’t keep the smile from spreading across your face. “Yeah. Especially with what you said about what the band said about me.”

The four of you turn the corner into the open dressing room and there they are, in all their glory. Freddie, Brian, John, Roger – and a girl, nestled into Roger’s chest, next to him on the couch.

Your stomach drops as you watch Roger look at the girl. You were right, then, and John had been wrong. Roger had replaced you, and you know you don’t have the right to be so hurt, but you’re hurt all the same.

Betty is looking at you with a shocked expression on her face, you can see it out of the corner of your eye, but you can’t focus on her. You can’t focus on the band, who are all looking at you with the same dispirited look as Betty. All you can focus on is Roger. His shirt is open again, chest still glistening with sweat, his long hair messy.

“Roger,” John mutters.

Roger sighs. “What?”

John gestures so slightly that you wouldn’t have caught it if you hadn’t been watching every second of this interaction. Roger follows his friend’s gaze – and lands on you. And then he scrambles to his feet, leaving the girl alone on the couch. You can hear Liz and Betty and Sandra talking with wonder about the situation, but all of that fades out as you make eye contact with Roger. You had always heard people say that the eyes are windows to the soul, but you had never believed them until now. You had never been so happy to be wrong.

“What am I supposed to do now?” The girl screeches from behind you.

“We’re going to leave now, I think,” Brian says. “If you ladies would like to join us. I get the feeling that Roger and his Cinderella probably want some alone time.”

Everyone shuffles out of the room, with John and Betty bringing up the rear, closing the door behind them. Everything is so still and so silent, and all of the sudden you get nervous again. Part of you wishes that you had a little alcohol in you, so that everything would be easier to say, but a much bigger part of you wants to remember every detail of this conversation.

“Hi,” Roger says, breaking the silence.

“Hi,” you respond. “I’m sorry about the other night. I would never have left if I didn’t have to. And I didn’t even have to, Betty had to, and if I was a worse friend, and I was really feeling like it at that moment, I would have let her go home by herself, but we live on the other side of town and it was really late and I would rather die than have something terrible happen to her, and – are you listening to me?”

He’s not. His eyes are fixated on your lips. “Hmm? Yeah. I know, Deaky told me. I don’t blame you. I’m sorry – can I kiss you?”

You hadn’t expected things to be moving this fast, but the afterparty seems like it was so long ago and you’ve been dying for this moment for what feels like years, so you nod, lifting your eyes to meet his, and one of his hands reaches up to gently cradle your cheek while the other settles on your waist. He leans down, torturously slowly – he’s so much taller than you – and finally his lips find yours.

Again, like the first time, it’s soft and sweet. He moves so that both of his hands are on your waist and pulls you closer to him, which hardly seems possible at this point, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

He pulls away for a second. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I know I came off like a dick last night at the restaurant, but I just thought you didn’t want to see me.”

You laugh softly. “It’s okay, it’s not like I said anything either.”

This time, he kisses you more roughly, leading you to the couch. This all feels so startlingly similar to the first time it happened, you can hardly breathe. This time, though, you’re fully aware that you’re on his lap, and when his hands find their way under your shirt, you let him take it off. You’re fully alone in this dressing room, the door is closed, and you’re with one of the band members. Nothing bad can happen.

He takes your shirt off and tosses it to the side, wasting no time in attaching his lips to your neck, trailing sloppy kisses down your neck and onto your collarbone. You let your head fall back, giving him more access. He leaves a trail of hickeys behind – your eyes are closed, but you can tell – and you let out a breathy moan as a knot begins to form in your lower stomach. His hands find the clasp of your bra, and just as he starts to unclasp it –

“Oh, fuck. Sorry mate.” It’s Brian. You sigh, sliding off Roger’s lap and covering yourself as best you can. “Didn’t think it’d be dangerous to come back in so quickly, but I should have known better.”

You know you must look like a mess, because Roger certainly does. His hair is all over the place, his pupils are blown wide, his lips are swollen and tinted darker red than normal from your lipstick. And obviously Brian walked in on you almost completely topless, dark hickeys spotting your neck and upper chest.

“Okay thanks,” Roger says politely. “Now piss off.”

Brian holds his hands up in surrender, stepping out of the room and slamming the door closed behind him. Roger turns to you then, his hands reaching for your hips, and you giggle.

“What?”

“Sorry, you just –“ You reach up to fix one piece of hair that had fallen (been pulled) out of place. He takes your wrist and pulls you close to him. You kiss him again, gently, and then pull back. “I’m sorry. I just can’t remember our first conversation and I really want to. Can you remind me?”

“What makes you think I can?” He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“I don’t know, I just thought maybe you could handle your liquor better than me.”

“Mhm, probably,” he hums. You can feel the vibrations from his voice reverberating in your chest.

“I’m serious,” you laugh. He looks up at you, his eyes sparkling.

“Well,” he says, leaning back against the couch. “You said that you were halfway through your second year of graduate school for… I don’t remember exactly?”

“Public health,” you say.

“Public health,” he repeats. “I remember thinking that was pretty cool, that you wanted to help people like that.”

You beam. “Yeah, I’ve always been interested in it.”

“That was pretty much the most coherent thing you said all night, which was cute. You obviously really care about it. You talked about your family, and how much you love Betty and New York and rock music.”

“Oh, God, of course.” You groan, blushing.

“Don’t worry!” He exclaims. “It was cute. You’re cute.”

Everything is soft and silent for a moment, besides the pounding of two hearts. You had been in this situation before, in the dressing room of a rockstar, just the two of you. But you as you sit with your head on his shoulder, you feel an unmistakeable wave of peace crash over you.

And that had never happened before.

“‘m tired,” Roger says suddenly. “D’ya wanna take a nap?”

You’re on cloud nine and there’s still so much adrenaline running through you that you can’t imagine falling asleep, but he looks so cute and soft that you can’t say no. He smiles and shifts so he’s laying down with you on top of him, his arms wrapped around your waist and your cheek resting against his heart. You don’t think you’ll fall asleep, but Roger’s breathing slows and his heart beats rhythmically in your ear, and before you know it you’re fast asleep.

***

Roger wakes up first. He wakes up to find you resting peacefully on his chest, your face completely free of any stress that may have lingered there earlier in the day. There’s a pang in his heart, and it takes a second to recognize it, and when he does he’s terrified. He’s only felt it one or two other times in his life – it’s the feeling you get when you’re on the precipice of something big, your stomach dropping in a good way when a rollercoaster hits its first big drop. His heart beats furiously, threatening to break out of his ribcage.

It’s the feeling he gets when he knows he could fall in love.

You wake up, your eyes fluttering open, and he’s suddenly embarrassed by the intensity of his heartbeat. You are so beautiful and interesting and smart, and he’s never met anyone like you before.

You’re something. That’s for sure.

“Hi,” you say softly. He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Hi.”

“Do you know what time it is?” You ask, not really wanting to know the answer. You want to stay here, laying with Roger, forever.

He sighs. “No, but I don’t want to know.”

“Me neither,” you smile. For a few brief, beautiful moments, it’s just you and him, laying intertwined on the couch in the dressing room of Madison Square Garden.

And then someone knocks on the door. And you remember that other people exist and the world isn’t just this dressing room.

And you’re still not wearing a shirt.

Roger groans. “Just a minute.”

You scramble off of him, looking for your shirt and throwing it on once you find it crumpled in a ball in the corner of the room. You turn back to look at him, but he’s already looking, a dazed expression on his face, his cheeks pink. You can hardly contain the smile on your face, and for the first time, you hear it. That little voice in your head. You could fall in love with him.

You bite your lip, opening the door, and Betty stands behind it. Roger sighs from behind you. “Are you gonna take my girl from me again?”

Betty’s eyes widen. “Uh – it’s just getting late. We haven’t seen you in a while and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“She’s better than okay!” Roger yells.

“Roger,” it’s John this time. “We’ve gotta go to the hotel soon. We’re leaving tomorrow morning, y’know.”

Right. They were still on tour. They had thousands more fans to see, hundreds more tour dates in all different cities all across the world.

Roger doesn’t belong to you.

“Yeah, I know,” Roger says tersely. “Just give us a minute.” They look at the two of you, then each other, and leave again, closing the door behind them.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, and sit down next to Roger. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and you rest your head against his shoulder. It all feels so incredibly natural, you can’t imagine what it’ll feel like to go back to your apartment, knowing you’ll never see him again. Knowing it’ll never be this way again.

“Come on tour with me,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. You sit up in shock, turning to look at him. It’s clear on his face that he means it, that he wants you there, and for a moment you feel warm all over. You’ve never been on tour with a band before, and his offer is so incredibly tempting. But –

“I can’t.” Your voice is so quiet, he has to strain to hear it. “I have a job, and I have classes – I’m halfway through getting my degree, Roger. And then I can finally have the job that I want, one where I can make a difference and help people. I would love nothing more than to go with you and watch you perform every night and see the whole world, but… I can’t.”

“You can,” he urges. “You can take a few weeks off of work and school and come with us. And we can get to know each other better.”

You know what he’s saying. You would get to know each other better and you would fall in love with him, and then he would break your heart. You would be silly not to think of who was asking you this, and how he had met you, and how he’d been with another girl when you had first arrived.

“I can’t.” Your voice cracks, and the look on his face is so heartbroken that you can’t help it. Tears begin to fill your eyes. “I’m sorry. I want to, I really do. I just… my whole life is here. I can’t just leave like this. I wish I could.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. Some vague, disconnected part of your mind that isn’t experiencing excruciating pain wonders if this is the first time he’s ever been in a position like this one. “I understand.” He says. His voice is small – the complete opposite of the proud, cocky drummer you met at the afterparty of one of his shows just two short days ago. It feels like it’s been a lifetime.

“Call me if you’re ever in New York again,” you say. You know he will be. “You have my number now, you know.”

He chuckles softly. “I will.”

You know he won’t. By the time Queen comes back to New York, your face will have faded from his memory and blended with hundreds of other girls, and he will have forgotten everything about you that made him feel light as air. He’ll forget you, you know. And you have to make your peace with it. It’ll be hard – because these last few days are engraved in your memory forever. He’s Roger Taylor.

And you’re you.

You leave him sitting on the couch, as close to a broken heart as you could both possibly be, and go to find Betty. And when you do, you can’t help the tears from spilling over, and Betty and Liz and Sandra scoop you up into a big hug and you leave Madison Square Garden, a little piece of your heart still in that dressing room.

•••

It took time. It hurt for months afterwards to see magazines with his face on them and to hear his songs. During those months you threw yourself into your groupie lifestyle more than ever before, causing more than a few blowout fights with Betty. You argued that nothing was wrong – you were passing all your classes with flying colors and doing extraordinarily well at your job. But obviously something was wrong, and it wasn’t something anything but time could fix.

But as the months went by, it began to hurt less and less until all you were left with were the beautiful memories of two perfect nights with Roger Taylor. You thought about him often, especially when you were at a rock concert and you happened to make eye contact with one of the men on stage. After a while, the thrill of sneaking backstage and hooking up with rockstars wasn’t good enough to fill that hole in your heart. You threw yourself back into your studies and prepared to graduate in May of 1979 with your master’s degree in public health. Things went well for a long time. You felt almost fully healed all the way through the summer of 1978, when Queen announced their Jazz tour. And that ripped the wound open all over again.

New York City, November 16, 1978

It’s a chilly, cloudy day in New York – a typical November day for New York City – and you’re in the process of finishing up some homework when it happens.You’re actually so deeply invested in your work that you barely hear it at first. It takes Betty yelling from the next room over for you to notice.

“Y/N, the phone is ringing!”

“I got it!” You shout back, standing up.

“I sure hope so, considering I’m leaving for work in thirty seconds!”

Sighing, you hurry into the kitchen to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi.” Your heart drops to your knees and you get so lightheaded you nearly faint and have to sit down at the kitchen table. It’s him. It’s Roger, and you haven’t heard from him since that fateful night at Madison Square Garden. “I’m back in New York for a few days and managed to find you a few extra tickets to the show tonight. I wanted to let you know that my offer still stands. I never forgot.”

It only takes you a second to consider what he’s asking. “Yes,” you say breathlessly. “I’m graduating in May and then I’ll follow you anywhere.”

[aliteraryprincess]

Princess of Glass by Jessica Day George

Warning: May contain spoilers

Welcome back to Fairy Tale Friday!  Princess of Glass is another book I originally read in high school and have reread a few times since.  And I loved the story of “Cinderella” as a kid, so taking another look at this book was lots of fun.  This is the second book in The Princesses of Westfalin trilogy.  You can find my post on the first book here. 

On a side note, how funny is it that the dress on the cover matches the dress Cinderella is wearing in my childhood fairy tale collection?

As a Retelling:

In Princess of Glass, George draws almost exclusively from the French version of “Cinderella” by Charles Perrault.  However, it is much less of a straight retelling of the tale than Princess of the Midnight Ball is of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses.”  This is necessary since “Cinderella” is probably the most well-known fairy tale and has been retold countless times.  If an author is going to differentiate their version, they need to put a twist on it.  Most of the major elements are still included; we have a girl of noble birth reduced to working as a maid, a magical godmother, three balls, and glass slippers.  However, the main protagonist is not the Cinderella character, Ellen/Eleanora.  Instead it is Princess Poppy, whose role is equivalent to one of the stepsisters in the original story. 

Let’s start with the major difference: the villain of the story.  In most versions of the tale Cinderella’s stepmother and stepsisters are the villains, though in some variants it is her blood relatives.  They mistreat Cinderella, mock her, and will not allow her to attend the ball with them.  But this obviously doesn’t work if the main protagonist is in the role of the stepsister.  Instead of a stepfamily, George has Lord Richard and Lady Margaret Seadown, their daughter Marianne, and Princess Poppy, who is their cousin and guest.  Ellen is of noble birth, but her family lost their fortune, forcing her to work as a maid after her parents’ deaths.  She is employed by the Seadowns after she is dismissed from several other positions due to her inability to do the work.  Lord Richard and Lady Margaret are kind to Ellen, even offering her a dress to attend the balls.  Poppy and Marianne aren’t unkind, just increasingly frustrated with her bad attitude and horrible work. 

This leaves an opening for the villain role, and George chooses to fill it with the fairy godmother, who she calls the Corley.  The fairy godmother is actually a creation of Perrault’s; versions of the tale prior to this more often utilize the spirit of Cinderella’s dead mother or an animal helper.  Using the godmother as the villain, in my opinion, is a stroke of creative genius that brings up some questions regarding Perrault’s tale.  In other variants, Cinderella has a relationship with her helper that is built up through the story.  In Perrault’s, the godmother doesn’t appear until Cinderella is crying about not attending the ball.  Where on earth did she come from?  And if she’s really so nice, why hasn’t she stepped in sooner to save this child from abuse?  The Corley, like the villain of the first book in the series, is a formerly human sorceress who makes bargains with people to fulfill her own aims.  Ellen’s whole situation, from the ruin of her father to her incapability at housework, is orchestrated by the Corley.

As in Princess of the Midnight Ball, George provides explanations for things in the original tale that otherwise don’t hold up.  In this case it is everyone’s inability to recognize Cinderella when she is at the balls and the prince’s immediate infatuation with her.  This occurs in every version of the tale; in many of them, the stepsisters even interact with Cinderella without recognizing her!  In Princess of Glass, the Corley casts a glamour over Ellen so no one will recognize her.  It also causes all the men to fall immediately in love with her and all the women to instantly hate her.  Poppy and Roger Thwaite, a childhood friend of Ellen’s and the brother of Marianne’s sweetheart, are unaffected because they are wearing protective charms.  They start investigating what Ellen is up to and try to find ways to free their friends from the spell.    

If we’re going to talk about “Cinderella,” we of course have to mention the shoes.  The famous glass slippers are also a Perrault original; several prior versions, including the German and Chinese tales, involve golden slippers, some are just described as beautiful, and an Irish variant has multicolored shoes.  George uses Perrault’s glass slippers and makes them as horrifying as can be imagined.  The Corley pours molten glass on Ellen’s feet to form the shoes, and they cause her a lot of pain.  Even worse, after wearing them, her feet start turning into glass!  It’s the perfect contrast to the pretty and delicate shoes given by the good fairy godmother in the original.

George also puts a twist on the shoe fitting, another aspect of the original story that seems ridiculous outside of a fairy tale.  The only way the prince can recognize Cinderella is by her putting on the slipper despite the fact that they have spent three nights dancing and presumably talking together.  Apparently he can’t recognize her face!  Some retellings get around this by using a masked ball.  The final ball in George’s book is a masquerade, but the real challenge is caused by the Corley.  After the second ball, Ellen is unable to walk and realizes what a monster her supposed godmother is.  Poppy and the others come to her aid and come up with a plan for Poppy to impersonate her at the third ball.  After this, the Corley traps her and Ellen in the glass realm, and Prince Christian and the rest of their group go to save them.  Upon entering, everyone’s memories are confused; Christian can only remember that the slipper he has belongs to his true love.  The Corley presents him with Poppy and Ellen, dressed identically, and says the shoe will fit his true love.  But he doesn’t find out by trying the shoe on.  When he looks into Poppy’s eyes, he realizes it’s her, puts the shoe on her, and has his memories restored.

This brings me to the last big difference I want to discuss: Cinderella does not marry the prince in this book.  Ellen does set her sights on Prince Christian because the Corley wants her to marry him and she wants to get away from her life as a maid.  However, Christian is actually Poppy’s love interest and Ellen’s is Roger Thwaite.  This avoids the insta-love of the original story.  While Christian becomes infatuated with Ellen, it is only because of a spell; he doesn’t really know her at all.  His relationship with Poppy, on the other hand, builds through the whole book while they are visiting in Breton.  They start as friends and slowly fall in love.  And Ellen has a long-standing relationship with Roger due to growing up together.  The two couples become engaged at the end, as do Marianne and her sweetheart, Dickon.  This is an interesting variation of Perrault’s tale; his story ends with Cinderella marrying the prince and the forgiven stepsisters marrying great lords.  George’s ends with a stepsister character marrying the prince and Cinderella and the other stepsister marrying other noblemen.

My Thoughts:

I’m just as fond of this book as I am of the first in the series.  I love the twists George puts on the original story.  In some ways, she does a bit of deconstructing the fairy tale, such as when she points out how sketchy the godmother is.  Despite bringing attention to these problems, the story still ends with a happily ever after, which is really what I want most of all from a fairy tale retelling.    

George continues with her record of creating likable protagonists.  Poppy is plucky and not quite proper; she swears, plays cards, and absolutely refuses to dance.  Yet she is kind and extremely brave.  Prince Christian is another actually nice male protagonist, and most of the humor comes from his chapters in the book.  I couldn’t help but laugh at his bewilderment over the king of Breton trying to marry him off “to the highest bidder,” as he puts it in his letter to his parents.  I also like the relationship between the two and that they save each other.  Poppy frees Christian from the love spell and Christian forces his way into the Corley’s realm to rescue Poppy.  It’s a very equal relationship, which I appreciate.

George also continues to show the effects of the first book on both a personal and political scale.  Poppy suffers from nightmares about the King Under Stone’s realm, and she refuses to dance due to her time spent there.  We are also reminded of the deaths caused by the mystery of the worn out shoes.  At one ball, a noblewoman asks Poppy why she isn’t dancing.  When Poppy replies that she just doesn’t like dancing, the woman becomes offended since her godson was one of the suitors who died.  On the larger scale, the entire reason Poppy and Christian are in Breton is the strained relationships between all the countries of Ionia.  The rulers come up with a plan to send their children off to other countries to foster international relationships.  Most are hoping to form marriage alliances as well.  We find out that there are still rumors of witchcraft surrounding the Westfalin princesses, and several characters, including the king of Breton and Christian’s father, are wary of them because of it.

The one problem I have with Princess of Glass is the climax.  It is extremely rushed, and I’m not even entirely sure how they defeated the Corley.  She attacks the group by throwing molten glass to the floor, which begins to melt.  Poppy then smashes her way through several glass walls until they are back in the Seadowns’ manor, where Rose and Galen have arrived to help.  Somehow all the bargains made with the Corley are void, and Ellen’s feet are healed.  Galen has a line about consulting with Bretoner mages to seal the Corley in her realm, and then it’s happily ever after.  The whole thing only takes a few pages.  I wish it had been drawn out longer and more detailed so I knew exactly what happened.  It would have made for a more satisfying conclusion to an otherwise excellent book.  

My rating: 4 stars        

Other Reading Recommendations:

The starred titles are ones I have read myself.  The others are ones I want to read and may end up being future Fairy Tale Friday books.  To keep the list from getting too long, I’m limiting it to four that I’ve read and four that I haven’t.

Other Retellings of “Cinderella”:

Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine*

Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister by Gregory Maguire*

Bound by Donna Jo Napoli*

Cinder by Marissa Meyer*

Ash by Malinda Lo

Phoenix and Ashes by Mercedes Lackey

Slipper by Hester Velmans

Before Midnight by Cameron Dokey

More Retellings by Jessica Day George:

Princess of the Midnight Ball*

Princess of the Silver Woods

Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow*

About the Fairy Tale:

Cinderella: A Casebook by Alan Dundes

Cinderella Tales from Around the World by Heidi Anne Heiner 

Have a recommendation for me to read or a suggestion to make Fairy Tale Friday better?  Feel free to send me an ask!

[aion-rsa]

How Roger Corman Finally Restored His Uncensored Vision for The Masque of the Red Death

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The Masque of the Red Death, Roger Corman’s masterful 1964 adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story, has been fully restored and can now be seen in all its diabolical splendor. The seventh of eight “Poe Cycle” films Corman made in the 1960s, Masque is arguably the best. Before its release, Poe had already delivered Corman from the low budget black and white films he shot in 10 days in the 1950s to the relative luxury of three-week shoots and psychedelic underworlds. 

The new DVD/Blu-Ray is the first fully uncut, extended version of the film to be available. Besides restoring cinematographer Nicolas Roeg’s sumptuous camerawork, we get extra scenes which were cut by censors. The package also includes a 20-page booklet with a new essay from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ film preservationist Tessa Idlewine.

The original “The Masque of the Red Death” short story was published in 1842, and it is only 15 paragraphs long, shorter than a Cracked article. To fill out the horror feature, screenwriters Charles Beaumont, who wrote episodes of The Twilight Zone as well as The Seven Faces of Dr. Lao, and science fiction author R. Wright Campbell incorporated Poe’s short story “Hop Frog” as a subplot, and added elements of the short story “Torture by Hope” by Auguste Villiers de l’Isle-Adam.

While Corman’s The Masque of the Red Death has discovered new life as a comforting modern parable during the COVID-19 pandemic, when it was released in 1964, many took the film to be a comment on the nuclear nightmares of the Cold War era. It did open the same year as Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove. And atomic bomb fallout resulted in its own “Red Death,” leading to an entire generation to be assured the living would envy the dead. The film was filmed during the Profumo Scandal of 1963, and British tabloids were filled with stories of “Man In The Mask Parties” in Hyde Park Gate.

“I have Tasted the Beauties of Terror”

As an Anglo-American horror movie, The Masque of the Red Death continues European genre progressions set by the Italian Gothic film, Beatrice Cenci, directed by Riccardo Freda in 1956, and Mario Bava’s 1963 film La frusta e il corpo (The Whip and the Body). Corman’s influences went beyond genre, however, incorporating the post-apocalyptic imagery of Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal. In Masque, Death’s messengers report survival rates to their Master, who calculates only “a dwarf jester and five other people remain alive in the world.”

In an interview about the film’s restoration with Den of Geek, Corman admits he “should watch more genre films to keep up with it. But I’m more inclined towards somewhat more serious films, and particularly foreign films.”

The Masque of the Red Death also appears to owe a great debt to American experimental independent filmmaker Kenneth Anger’s Inauguration of The Pleasure Dome (1954), and recalls Michael Curtiz’s 1933 horror film, Mystery of the Wax Museum, which was shot in the pink-and-green two-color Technicolor process.

After years of black and white exploitation pictures for American International Pictures (AIP), Corman’s Poe cycle began his move to color, and the exciting new challenges of shooting beyond monochrome. The adaptation of The Masque of the Red Death set a new level of excellence in Corman’s use of set dressing, lighting, and costume design. They are given a fuller palette.

Says Corman, “I always thought that Poe represented the unconscious mind, and I shot according to that. It was one of my themes.”

In Poe’s story, the pride of Prince Prospero’s palace is seven rooms. Each is decorated and illuminated in a specific color: blue, purple, green, orange, white, and violet. The last room is black and bathed in light which shines a deep color of blood. All of the furniture is black, including a clock, which chimes each hour. At the chime of the clock, the revelers at the masquerade freeze. The musicians stop playing. The dancers strike a pose, and all conversations stop. Revelry resumes when the chiming stops. The rooms represent the human mind, the blood and time infuses corporeality. Corman’s direction manages to let that seep into every frame. The tone is both mischievous and chilling.  

The Masque of the Red Death is atmospheric. The dialogue is more important than the action, but the settings and framing are paramount. “I felt the unconscious mind doesn’t really see the world,” Corman explains. “The conscious mind sees the world with eyes, ears, and so forth, and simply transmits information. So, I made a point on all of the Poe films of never going outside unless I absolutely had to. I wanted to have full control, to shoot within the studio. Whether it came through to the audience, I don’t know. But at least in my own mind, I was able to deal with special effects with a number of things, with the concept of the unconscious mind.”

The cinematography was done by Nicholas Roeg. While Corman hadn’t yet become acquainted with Mario Bava, Roeg’s camera allows the Italian horror director’s psychedelic influence to surge through the camera. The Masque of the Red Death “was the first I had done in England,” Corman tells us. “And they showed me a work of a number of English cameramen, and I thought Nic was the best of the group. And the collaboration went very well. I thought he did really, a brilliant job [with the] camera work.”

Roeg would go on to direct classic independent cinema with films like Don’t Look Now, Performance starring Mick Jagger, and the David Bowie cinematic encapsulation, The Man Who Fell to Earth. “I never knew, did I inspire him to be a director, or did he feel ‘if Roger can do it, anybody can do it?’” Corman wonders.

While Corman had a bigger budget and more time to make the film, cost- and labor-cutting alternatives occasionally provided fortunate outcomes. “Danny Heller, my art director, and I, always went to what was called a scene dock in studios where we’re going to work,” Corman says. “The scene dock contained flats from previous pictures, just individual flats. When we did Masque of the Red Death, we found these magnificent flats from Becket.”

The Price of Evil

Vincent Price has the most delicious delivery in this film. His devil worshipping Prince Prospero is the cruel sovereign of a village plagued with an all-consuming Red Death, and Price’s inflections are infectious. His voice is seductive, and his cruelty brims with good humor.

“He had the character pretty much set in mind when he came into it,” Corman remembers. “Vincent always did a great deal of preparation. We would discuss the characters, just Vincent and me, before the rehearsals. He and I were in agreement on the character, and then he would bring that character to the rehearsals. We did not do a great deal of rehearsing because of the Screen Actors Guild rules. They charge you as if you are shooting when you rehearse.”

Price played Roderick Usher in Corman’s first Poe adaptation, The Fall of the House of Usher. For The Masque of The Red Death, the director only gave one note. “As I remember, I said, ‘The really key to Prospero’s character is that he believes God is dead,’” Corman says. “And everything stems from that belief. That with the absence of God, he was free to do anything he wanted.” 

Ultimate power breeds ultimate corruption. The film is set in a country decimated by an epidemic. While the prince of this unnamed land offers refuge for his courtiers, he derives perverse satisfaction in condemning his subjects to death by their exclusion. While Prospero is making his annual deign-to-see-the-peasants day, one of the townspeople dies of Red Death. 

The prince intended to offer peasants some crumbs in appreciation of their labor, but young Gino (David Weston) mocks him. To make matters worse, the ungrateful worker’s lover Francesca (Jane Asher) defends the man, prompting Prospero to label both of them insurrectionists. He burns the village to the ground, throws Gino and Francesca’s father into one of the most foreboding castle dungeons in horror history, and puts Francesca up at his palace. Tempted by the idealism and faith of the village’s “resistance,” Prospero corrupts and sacrifices for sheer joy.  

Read more

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Meanwhile the prince promises his aristocratic guests that they will be immune to the scourge, unless they displease him. He throws a masked ball and forbids anyone to wear red, as it would be in bad taste. He is actually preparing a mass sacrifice in exchange for Satan’s favor. Asher’s Francesca is an incorruptible innocent who seems to have perfect faith. The Satanic prince will not tolerate any Christian worship on his estate, so he delights in tempting the faithful into the “velvet darkness” of evil. Prospero hopes to turn her into a Satanist or drive her mad.

For the Uninvited, There is Much to Fear

The film was hit with heavy censorship. In the U.S, the Catholic Legion of Decency sent a list of changes, and in the UK, the British Board of Film Censors required a separate set of cuts. The Legion of Decency bemoaned the “Satanism and erotic costuming” on the screen, according to the booklet which comes with the DVD/Blu-Ray package. Father Sal Miraliotta, a separate reviewer from the Legion of Decency, first approved the film and then changed his grade to a B, which meant morally objectionable. He ultimately downgraded it to a full Condemned rating, blasting the Satanic worship and its malignancy of the soul, and mocking the screenwriters’ “strung-together gibberish” and “mumbo-jumbo Latin.”

Hazel Court’s Juliana is captivating and as conniving as Prince Prospero. She’s also more subtly insidious. Juliana dedicates herself to the service of Satan and receives the ultimate payoff. While most of Juliana’s satanic invocation was left in, censors wanted the word “Alleluia” removed. The U.S. version also censored the film’s climax. When the Man in Red is talking with Prince Prospero, the dialogue was changed from “Each man creates his own God for himself. His own Heaven – his own Hell” to “Each man creates his own Heaven – his own Hell.” This takes out the idea that God could be created by man, something Ian Anderson would explore on Jethro Tull’s classic 1971 album, Aqualung.  

When asked whether all this divine intervention made Corman think he just might be going to hell, he says, “No, that never occurred to me. I’m sort of a lapsed Catholic, and I don’t believe there is a hell.”

Some of the cuts had nothing to do with blasphemous ideology. The tiny dancer Esmeralda is played on camera by young actor Verina Greenlaw, but her dialogue was dubbed over by an adult woman. Skip Martin’s clever Hop Toad character plots vengeance over her royal mistreatment at the hands of Alfredo, campily played by veteran actor Patrick Magee. One unsettling scene was removed from the U.S. version because it seemed Esmerelda’s relationship with Hop Toad was more than friendship.

Corman also cut nine frames from the scene where Francesca is stripped down and thrown into a bathtub because it gave the illusion of nudity. The removed frames ensured Asher’s breasts would not appear on screen.

“I’ve Already Had That Doubtful Pleasure“

The irony, upon seeing the restored scenes, is how they actually feed into the surprisingly righteous conclusion of the film. The Masque of the Red Death is rife with blasted, unholy incantations, but the prince’s callous sacrifices and lifelong debauchery mean nothing to a master who answers to no one. Talk about moral relativity! The hero of The Masque of Red Death is Death, and Death worships no gods and no devils. The depths of Prospero’s belief turn out to be mere demonic delusions.

Corman shot the low-budget Poe pictures through bulky Mitchell cameras on 35mm film and the restoration breathes a new life to each underfunded frame. Composer David Lee’s soundtrack of tambourines, fifes, and brass evokes the medieval period, as do the elegant costumes by Laura Nightingale. The restoration highlights the lushness of both, as they mix to underscore the “velvet darkness” with subliminal subtext of renewal and hope. At the same time, the restored cut actually makes the darkness darker.

The Masque of Red Death ends with the words “Sic transit gloria mundi,” Latin for “thus goes the glory of the world.” Corman’s take on Poe’s apocalyptic parable is a truly inglorious achievement. The film is proof that no budgetary restrictions hold back artistic vision when lunatics get the run of the asylum. They can create and destroy a whole crazy world.

The Masque of the Red Death is available on Blu-Ray, DVD, and Digital now.

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The post How Roger Corman Finally Restored His Uncensored Vision for The Masque of the Red Death appeared first on Den of Geek.

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New Post has been published on Titos London

#Blog New Post has been published on http://www.titoslondon.co.uk/what-to-expect-from-the-autumnwinter-2018-shows-at-paris-fashion-week/

What to expect from the autumn/winter 2018 shows at Paris Fashion Week

Last September, the fashion world was all aflutter in anticipation of a slew of debut collections by designers for the grandes maisons of Paris. Exciting for some, and nerve-wracking for others, spring/summer 2018 signalled a changing of the guard—one that has now settled in (presumably) to their new positions in the upper echelons of the industry, alongside a crop of talents who have decamped from New York to try their luck in the City of Light. Though some think of fashion like a house of cards, the reality is a little more stable—and at this end of fashion month, labels are keenly investing for long-term gain—pouring new foundations, renovating, upscaling and toying with a ‘sea change’ in the fashion real estate game.

New foundations

French wunderkind Simon Porte Jacquemus kicks off the show season in Paris with his Monday night slot, the only show on a day when buyers, editors and the rest of the fashion pack are still transiting from Milan. On Wednesday, he unveiled via Instagram that his autumn/winter 2018 show ‘Le Souk’ (no prizes to whoever guesses that inspiration) will take place at the Petit Palais which, like last season’s Musée Picasso affair, is a serious step-up from his early show locations, which included a local swimming pool and games arcade. His hash-tagging of #newjob has fashion folk gossiping as to what he’ll unveil the day of the show, but with rumours of the Céline position clearly misplaced, the jury’s out on this one. Could he have been chosen to revive a slumbering fashion house, perhaps?

With Hedi Slimane’s appointment at Céline, Phoebe Philo’s coveted Sunday afternoon spot on the PFW calendar was up for grabs, as the house reshuffles for Slimane’s first show in October. Instead, Belgian entrepreneur Anne Chapelle (business partner to both Ann Demeulemeester and Haider Ackermann) seized the time slot for Poiret—the century-old French maison she has revived (thanks to financial backing from Samsung heiress Chung Yoo-Kyung) with Chinese couturier, Yiqing Yin at the creative helm.

Another newcomer on the schedule is the 2017 LVMH Prize winner Marine Serre. Since quitting her day job at Balenciaga to go solo, her printed body stockings and flouncy, voluminous gowns have been snapped up by the likes of Dover Street Market and Opening Ceremony. Serre will open the first full day of shows on Tuesday morning before big-ticket blockbusters: Dior by Maria Grazia Chiuri in the gardens of the Musée Rodin and—just hours later—Anthony Vaccarello for Saint Laurent.

Restoration and renovations

Autumn/winter 2018 is the season of the sophomore, as a trio of designers will each present their second collection at a Parisian house. First up is Natacha Ramsay-Levi at Chloé, who will be moving her second show to an as-of-yet undisclosed location after last season’s exclusive outing (60 per cent less seats!) inside the new, contemporary art-filled Maison Chloé. Later that day, Dior alumni Serge Ruffieux’s pretty, bohemian new vision for Carven will play out at a middle school in the 15th arrondissement, whilst Clare Waight Keller’s Givenchy show returns to the Palais de Justice on Sunday morning. After mixed reports of her first women’s and men’s ready-to-wear collections last September, Waight Keller made a splash at her first-ever haute couture show in January, leaving the ball in her court for a strong follow-up for the house that Hubert built.

The transatlantic ‘seachange’

Not only have designers been switching houses, but labels have been exploring the geographic limitations of when and where they show their collections. Despite their studios remaining in New York City, a handful of designers have decamped to join the Paris schedule, just as others (like Bottega Veneta and Esteban Cortazar) have been trying their luck with one-time-only fashion shows in the Big Apple. Following buzzy debuts in Paris last October, Thom Browne and Joseph Altuzarra will show once again on the official calendar this week. Also of note, Demna Gvasalia will show both menswear and womenswear at his Sunday show for the very first time.

Off-schedule mini breaks

Runway shows aside, Paris Fashion Week will play host to hundreds of presentations, cocktails, dinners and after-parties that cater to a broad cross-section of the fashion community. Highlights will include the semi-finals of the fifth 2018 LVMH Prize, a competition presided over by a prestigious jury including Nicolas Ghesquière, Marc Jacobs, Clare Waight Keller, Haider Ackermann, Karl Lagerfeld, Maria Grazia Chiuri and Jonathan Anderson. The 21 finalists (which this year include Eckhaus Latta, GmbH, Matthew Adams Dolan and Charles Jeffrey) will be whittled down to eight, with the winner announced in June. Finally, and for those seeking the veritable holy grail of fashion inspiration, the exhibition “Margiela Galliera” opens at the Palais Galliera museum on March 3, its last show before closing mid-July for renovations and the establishment of a permanent collection. The Margiela exhibition—curated by Alexandre Samson and instigated by outgoing director Olivier Saillard—includes more than 130 silhouettes by the seminal Belgian designer, and word has it his personal implication in the project has been considerable.

1/10 Jacquemus, spring/summer 2018

Image: Getty

Chloé, spring/summer 2018

Image: Getty

Givenchy, spring/summer 2018

Image: Getty

Carven, spring/summer 2018

Image: Getty

Thom Browne, spring/summer 2018

Image: Getty

Altuzarra, spring/summer 2018

Image: Getty

Beautiful People, spring/summer 2018

Image: Shoji Fujii

Marine Serre, spring/summer 2018

Image: Tanguy Poujol

The wife of the Parisian fashion designer Paul Poiret wearing a dress designed by her husband for 1919

Image: Getty

Martin Margiela, wigs and hairpieces jacket, autumn/winter 2009

Image: Stéphane Piera / Galliera / Roger-Viollet

The post What to expect from the autumn/winter 2018 shows at Paris Fashion Week appeared first on VOGUE India.

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Search Party Season 3 and The Trial of the Millennial

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The following contains spoilers for every season of Search Party.

On December 17, 2017, the second season of TBS’s mystery comedy Search Party concluded with a full steam of momentum. Dory Sief (Alia Shawkat) had just committed a murder to cover up an accidental murder from season 1, and then is promptly arrested (for the first murder that is). As Dory is ushered into the back of a squad car while still wearing a shapely red dress from the night’s festivities, the future looks pretty bleak for her. For the show, however, the future couldn’t have looked brighter.

Then that future of Search Party never arrived. At least not immediately.

Search Party was created by Sarah-Violet Bliss, Charles Rogers, and Michael Showalter. The show premiered on TBS in 2016 with a thrilling first season that depicted a quarter of Brooklyn millennials who decide to investigate the disappearance of one of their old acquaintances, Chantal Witherbottom. After the quest for Chantal ends in an unfortunate bit of murder, the gang spends season 2 dealing with tremendous guilt and paranoia. TBS renewed the show for season 3 in 2018 but then the creators confronted an issue more insidious than any millennial murder mystery: corporate decision-making. 

TBS, a WarnerMedia company, found itself subjected to the whims of its parent organization’s ongoing corporate consolidation. The arrival of streaming service HBO Max meant that TBS and other Warner properties like DC Universe had series with built-in fanbases that could help launch the new streamer…whenever it might arrive. Ultimately Search Party season 3 and an already-ordered season 4 were put into a holding pattern.

“I think that season three was wrapped in November, 2018. I don’t know, it’s crazy,” Rogers says.

Finally, three years later, Search Party has made its exclusive home at the newly-released HBO Max. The first two seasons of the show were available to stream there at launch and season 3 just arrived on June 25. Search Party season 3 finds Dory and Drew on trial for their crimes, while Elliot (John Early) and Portia (Meredith Hagner) deal with the fallout. We spoke with Bliss and Rogers about crafting the “courtroom drama” season of Search Party, the move to HBO Max, and what’s in store for the already-filmed fourth season. 

DEN OF GEEK: When you guys first sat down to write season one of Search Party, was this season in your minds at all? Or is it something that just developed naturally over the course of writing for three seasons?

SARAH-VIOLET BLISS: We definitely didn’t have the full idea from day one. It evolved as we were writing. We always paint ourselves into a corner and then are like, “We’ll figure that out later.” As we were writing we knew that eventually we would have a trials phase, and we thought that would be like season four. But then we realized it had naturally become season three. So it’s just got to be season three. We don’t have a master plan. It comes as it comes. And the show is what it wants to be, as they often say.

When you realized that you were going to be going the trial and courtroom route, how did you go about tackling that? Did you research similar, media-saturated real life cases? Did you go to pop culture for any inspiration? 

SVB: Yes. We did all of those things that you just mentioned. We had a lot of inspiration from real life. Dateline and American Crime Story were huge inspirations for us. Amanda Knox, Bling Ring, and My Cousin Vinny too. We watched My Cousin Vinny in the writer’s room. We had a lawyer on hand that we talked to to make sure that everything that we were doing was something that could happen, which apparently a lot happened. We talked about The Staircase a lot. All of that good stuff.

A fascinating part of the season is that it seems like the obvious route would be for them to just claim self-defense. But for some reason that’s not enough for Dory. What went into the characterization of Dory this year? Because it feels like the show reveals a side of her that had only been bubbling below the surface before.

CHARLES ROGERS: We had kind of like loose grip on how we wanted to chart Dory’s journey since the beginning. In the first season she starts off a lot more sweet and innocent. Then what we found with the ending of the first season is that… the mystery at the helm of the first season wasn’t there. There was no mystery in this mystery. So then when we were writing the second season, it was like, “Well, what does it mean for someone to have such a vivid inner life that they need to make that outlet for them?” And we felt like denial was at the crux of Dory’s character.

When we decided that it became a little bit easier to figure out how to pivot her for all of these different situations, because we always want to make sure that we’re saying something interesting about the way that people navigate avoidance and denial. Dory is this figure that we explore that with. In the third season it was like, “Okay. Well, this is a person who won’t own any of the past. How do you take a stand on that, and make it an act of choice for a main character?” She becomes more and more unrecognizable as the Dory that you knew in the third season, but in doing so we wanted to add some layers that hopefully feel implicit in previous seasons and also strangely inevitable that she would end up becoming this person. 

For fans of the show it’s been quite a long wait for season three. I have to imagine that you guys have felt the intensity of this wait as well. When was season three wrapped? 

CR: I think that season three was wrapped in November, 2018. I don’t know, it’s crazy. It’s really crazy. 

What was it like to go through that? Was it a question of all this corporate consolidation with HBO Max coming out? How was it explained to you?

SVB:  Yeah. We didn’t know what HBO Max was going to be. So they were like, “Well, we’re going to have a really cool streaming service, but we’re not telling you what it is, just as we’re not telling what the rest of the world is. But it’s going to be great. And We’re going to give you a season four. So that’s exciting.” And so we’re like, “Okay, great!” 

What’s been the weirdest part of it is going back and knowing that people haven’t seen season three, and then doing season four and forgetting what is a spoiler for season three and what is a spoiler for season four. There’s so much to catch people up on when I’m trying to emotionally grapple with the stuff that I’m going through in season four on set or whatever. And then the world has changed so much, so that’s a lot to cope with.

Have you finished filming season four as well?

SVB: We have.

CR: Yeah. We finished right before COVID struck. Well, COVID had struck, right before the quarantine. We’re editing it right now. We’re doing press for season three and editing season four. It’s kind of hard to keep track of in our minds.

It’s funny, you mention the ways in which the world has changed since season two. And there’s obviously the extreme  ways that we’re going through now. But I think one of the underrated aspects is the change in how society views millennials. Speaking as a millennial myself, it seems like in the span of, what – three, four years we’ve gone from the kid generation, to somehow being elder statesmen to Gen Z now. Is that something that you feel as well in writing the show?

CR: Yeah, yeah. There’s a moment in the third season where Michaela Watkins’s character, who’s the prosecutor, wants to make a sticking point about them being privileged millennials. And her assistant is like, “Well, no one’s really talking about millennials anymore just so you know.”  I think that we cringe at trying to make Search Party be this overtly millennial thing, because I feel like that conversation is becoming more and more of the past. Time goes on. At this point now I only hear Sprint and Pinkberry talk about millennials. It’s interesting because I agree with you, we became adults really fast. And I think that the conversation about millennials overstayed its welcome so long that it’s jarring how old we are. Because we were talking as though we were young for so long. 

I think to us, we always treated all of the character traits that were a big part of the satire as narcissism, entitlement, and privilege. The things that we feel are very much at the forefront of American society today, and the stuff that is deserving of being slandered. But that’s just always been to us the hallmarks of a type of person. I think that other people put on millennial to do a little bit more marketing with it, which is totally understandable. That’s the way people understand things is through these generational hooks. 

At the same time the nature of the show has changed. As the seasons go, it’s just becoming more reflected in our world. Especially within (season) three – like lying, and unreliable authority figures in a corrupt justice system. The bigger, larger satire this season feels relevant to what’s happening now. The millennial vibes that happen feel like they’re just a part of the larger world at this point because we’re all adults now.

This being “the courtroom season”, it feels like it presented a lot of interesting casting opportunities. Everyone in the legal realm from Michaela Watkins, to Louie Anderson, to Shalita Grant works out really well. What was it like to gather together that cast of the legal world?

SVB: It was great. Luckily Michaela and Louie were already fans of the show. So reaching out to them was easy, other than figuring out schedules. Then finding Shalita was a real challenge. We auditioned a million people. Because it was so fun to write that role we thought it was going to be easy to cast and it turned out it wasn’t easy to cast. When we did find Shalita we were like, (EDITOR’S NOTE: Sarah-Violet adopts an angelic, rapturous tone) “There she is!” She really blew us away and was so wonderful to work with. 

It’s so great when all of them made their characters so much better than they were already written. They were so fun. Iit was also so fun filming them because the way that we did it, we had all these extras in those seats and so it was like filming a play because all the extras would watch. And after they had these huge monologues they would clap. It gave a great energy into the performances because they were putting on a play.

When did you know that you wanted to have a rift in the group this season? Poor Portia is outcast, Elliot is getting married, and Dory and Drew are fighting for their lives. 

CR: We thought about a few different ways that the trial could go, and who would be testifying. In the early days of breaking the season, it was really about trying to figure out what would be the most dynamic thing to do for the audience. We worried that if all of them were in court all the time, you would get fatigued by the lack of outside freedom in storylines. Also Elliot’s wedding was set up at the beginning of last season with the proposal. There were just things in motion that were like, “Well, we know that Elliot and Portia are the icing on the cake of the show.” It made sense for them to be like out and about. 

We also didn’t want it to be unrealistic in that there would be no problems between them. We really wanted it to feel like what would happen if a group of friends were all completely at odds? It was important to have little like touchstone moments where they would come back together as a group, or have to be in the same place as a group like at the wedding. And with what happens at the wedding, they’re all put on the same team again against danger. 

Speaking of danger, at what point in development did the stalker character come into play? And how does he affect the show going forward?

CR: Yeah. It greatly affects the show. (laughs) It greatly affects the show. Every season we’ll chart out the big picture arc for the season. And some of those things change and some end up staying all the way through to the end of making it. The stalker was something that we thought of in the very beginning. Immediately it was like, “And then there’s your season four.” We knew how it set it up. We also knew that the ending could be this interesting “win and lose” at the same time. We gave ourselves an instant structure for the season. In a lot of ways, I think, season three was our easiest writing experience we’ve had on Search Party because we had a beginning, middle, and end to begin with, and then everything else was just pieces that we needed to move around. Then season four, I’ve been saying this, but it’s the darkest, funniest, and most extreme season. And there’s some very exciting castings in it.

The post Search Party Season 3 and The Trial of the Millennial appeared first on Den of Geek.

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Red Skull Declares Psychic Warfare on Duggan’s Uncanny Avengers

In the first issue of “Uncanny Avengers’” debut volume in 2012, the terrorist super villain known as the Red Skull united Steve Rogers and his fledgling Unity Squad of X-Men and Avengers with the heinous act of stealing the brain and psychic powers of deceased X-Men founder, Charles Xavier. Since then, there have been a number of different iterations of the Avengers Unity Squad, and they’ve tackled a variety of crises, but the team never lost sight of their goal of capturing the Skull and making him pay for the desecration of Professor X’s body and legacy.

RELATED: Cable Uses A New Ability, A Hero Returns In Uncanny Avengers #19

Unfortunately, the Skull never lost sight of his vendetta with the Unity Squad, either, and in the most recent arc of “Uncanny Avengers,” he’s gone on the offensive against the team. Issue #19, by writer Gerry Duggan and artist Pepe Larraz, saw the Skull score a major victory by psychically felling or bending most of the team to his sadistic will.

What members of the Unity Squad remain at this point, and will they be forced to stand alone against the Skull, or will they have allies? And how does the Unity Squad’s battle against the Skull connect to the larger story about their founder having his history altered to become a life-long Hydra agent that’s currently unfolding in “Captain America: Steve Rogers?” For the answers to those questions and more, CBR spoke with Duggan, himself.

CBR: The psychic abilities the Red Skull acquired by stealing Charles Xavier’s brain makes him one of the Marvel Universe’s most dangerous villains. What’s it like writing the Skull in this position of power? What’s your sense of his ultimate goals?

EXCLUSIVE: Pepe Larazz’s art from “Uncanny Avengers” #20

Gerry Duggan: I think it always was to destroy the Avengers. Obviously, things have changed for him, but now that he has Charles’ brain, he can look forward to and enjoy destroying them. That’s where a lot of his sadistic tendencies come in. He’s sort of pulling the wings off of them.

Original “Uncanny Avengers” writer Rick Remender introduced the thread of the Skull stealing Xavier’s brain back in 2012. That in mind, it feels like this story is a payout on the series’ longest running plot thread.

That’s right. That was a great bit of story that I inherited from him, and the characters more or less guide you in the right direction. This felt like something they were ready to die to succeed at. I’m going to make them really try not to.

[Laughs] You mentioned the Red Skull is having fun with his assault on the Unity Squad, and it could just be the way Pepe Larraz drew him in “Uncanny Avengers” #19, but I did get an almost “Seven” style horror/serial killer vibe from the character.

That is true. Since we started this new volume, “Uncanny Avengers” really has been a stealth horror book. When we came out of the gate we wanted to catch people by surprise, and we look to our villains for inspiration.

We talked about what the Skull would do with his telepathic powers; I think at one point we have him sitting on a throne made of enthralled humans. He’s also been doing some weird and pretty messed up things to the Avengers.

The Red Skull controls Hydra, and Unity Squad founder Steve Rogers recently had his history altered by a living Cosmic Cube fragment, a change that has resulted in him having been a lifelong agent of Hydra. In Nick Spencer’s “Captain America: Steve Rogers” book, we’ve seen that Steve is no friend to the Skull and is hoping to wrest control of Hydra from him. He hasn’t appeared in this book for a while, but the Unity Squad battling the Red Skull begs the question of how big a presence Steve will have in your book moving forward.

I think it’s fair to assume you have not seen the last of Steve Rogers in this story, or in the pages of “Uncanny.”

Is Hydra something that might come into play in this current story? Or is it more about the Avengers’ vendetta against the Skull?

With the real estate available to you in a team book, I think it’s better to keep the fight personal. Thanks to his powers, the Skull knows everyone’s deepest, darkest fears and he intends to pray on them.

It feels like “Uncanny Avengers” and Jim Zub’s “Thunderbolts” are almost sort of sister books in that they provide complete stories on their own, but they’re also big chapters in the larger Steve Rogers story that Nick Spencer is telling. Is that a fair description of what you’re doing in “Uncanny Avengers?”

Yeah, I think so. I always wanted to work in the larger scheme of things. We work far enough out where these things can line up. Nick has been very accommodating. He’s been writing for the trade and for people who will read these stories several years later on things like Marvel Unlimited. These stories have to make sense on their own and they’re better when they’re stories for your characters that are in the shadows of other stories.

I think that the way Nick has written Cap and how everything is being executed has been great. I love that he’s weaving himself into the background of the big events of the Marvel Universe.

In “Uncanny Avengers” #19, most of the team appeared to fall to the Red Skull’s psychic onslaught, but all hope is not lost. The final pages of the issue saw Deadpool join forces with Spider-Man and Doctor Strange’s friend and associate Wong. What made you want to bring those characters into the book for this story?

EXCLUSIVE: Pepe Larazz’s art from “Uncanny Avengers” #20

Spider-Man started with the Unity Squad, so it felt appropriate that he pop back in now — Deadpool has him on his speed dial. Then we reached for Doctor Strange, but we weren’t able to get him. I like writing Wong, though. I think he’s a fun character, and is especially fun when he steps out of the shadow of Doctor Strange’s cloak. And who knows who might turn up later?

Deadpool having Spider-Man on speed dial is due to the growing friendship between the two characters over in Joe Kelly’s “Spider-Man/Deadpool” comic. Will we see some of the new dynamic between Peter and Wade in “Uncanny Avengers?”

I’ll always think of Joe when I think of these two characters together. I hope fans of all these characters enjoy the way they’re going to bounce off of each other.

What can you offer up about the remaining chapters of this arc with the Red Skull? It looks like there are at least two issues left in the arc.

Yes. This has been an ongoing story for years, so when it’s done, it will change some of these characters forever. It’s exciting. I hope people enjoy the landing.

Pepe is a wonderful artist. To collaborate with him, Ryan Stegman and the other really talented artists we’ve had on the book has been great. It’s on their coattails that I’m riding around.

With the Skull, we just said that this should be a scary figure. We’ve seen a lot of iterations of the Skull. This one gave us the DNA to add some horror stuff, and the way Pepe is drawing him in this story makes it almost feels like noir at times. We love that. The book doesn’t look like anything else out there right now. I give all the credit to these artists.

Kevin Libranda, who worked on issue #18, will be stepping in for a couple more issues. He and Pepe are knocking these stories out of the park. It’s been a treat to collaborate on.

Finally, can you leave us with any teases about what comes after the Unity Squad’s battle with the Red Skull? What does spring hold for the “Uncanny Avengers?”

I can’t talk too much about what happens after, but it definitely feels like this story marks a big change in the lives of several of these Avengers. So there’s a new status quo for a number of our characters. I think long time readers who care about the Avengers or the X-Men will definitely want to check this story out.

The post Red Skull Declares Psychic Warfare on Duggan’s Uncanny Avengers appeared first on CBR.com.

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