#I am begging y'all to reblog this because it literally took me all day I literally woke up with this idea and now it's 7:30

[7-wonders]

Wishful Drinking

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x GN!Reader

Summary: After Morpheus cruelly dismisses you, you decide that you'll get back at him by staying out of the Dreaming one night for as long as you can. What you don't anticipate is letting your feelings get the best of you and getting very drunk instead.

Or, drunk shenanigans galore!

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: I don't know what this is, y'all. I haven't written anything in more than a month, and it was so tough to even write this, but I wanted to write SOMETHING. As always, hope you enjoyed, let me know your thoughts, and likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

ALSO! Dream logic applies here, in that you're still drunk when you reach the Dreaming.

Listen.

You know that certain coping mechanisms, like, say, going out clubbing with your friends and getting crazy drunk for the first time in a long time, aren’t exactly healthy. But things have been difficult for you lately! You’ve been struggling a lot, in both your professional and personal life. These hardships are only compounded by the fact that the one person (or person-shaped being) in your life that you thought you could count on, your Morpheus, has been too busy to have time for you.

Literally. He said those exact words to you a mere three days ago, when you had found him in his personal study (a study that he almost never used) after what felt like a day spent chasing him around the Dreaming. You meant for it to come out as teasing when you took note of the fact that you hardly saw him around lately and that it felt like he was purposefully avoiding you, but he had sighed and glared at you before saying, “I have much to do, and I am far too busy to entertain you right now.”

You glowered, but, as he said, he was too busy to see it. Fine, you thought as you turned around and stalked out of his study. Leave him to his business. 

Cut to today. When your friends asked if you wanted to go out with them, you almost said no, having gotten accustomed in the past couple of months to the routine of going to bed by nine o’clock in order to maximize time spent in your lover’s realm. But then, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you didn’t want to just continue sitting around in the Dreaming and hoping that Morphues would come out of whatever funk he was in. After all, why should you make an effort when he won’t? You’re not about to beg for his attention.

With that in mind, you texted back that you very much wanted to go out with them and proceeded to get ready for a fun night out.

The plan was to have a couple of drinks, dance for a bit, and stay out of the Dreaming just long enough to make Morpheus sweat a bit.

But then shots had been ordered.

And your friend bought you a drink because they knew you had had a tough week.

And you bought yourself two drinks.

And a group of guys bought you another round of shots, and though you all laughed at the fact that they were not getting anything out of this, you still took them because you weren’t about to turn down free alcohol.

This leads to you and your friends stumbling out of a bar at two in the morning, holding each other up as you do. Definitely not the plan, but what’s that one quote about plans and mice and men?

“What about a mouse?” your friend asks from beside you, making you realize that you said that out loud.

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” you say.

Somehow, you make it into a Lyft (thank the gods for friends who don’t get carried away), and somehow, you make it into your home. Not without its difficulties–you dropped your keys multiple times on the walk to your front door, and there might be a you-shaped indent in the entryway wall from where you fell into it when trying to kick your shoes off. 

When you reach your bedroom, you decide that actually, the floor looks comfier than your bed does. You’re so drunk that the room feels like it’s spinning when you lay down, and you close your eyes to enjoy the ride.

“Fuck, I’m so drunk right now,” you say out loud, laughing at the sound of your slurred words.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, really. You know that you need to crawl to the bathroom to wash your face and find enough dexterity to change clothes before hopefully sobering up just enough that you can make it to the kitchen to grab painkillers and water for the inevitable killer hangover you’re going to have tomorrow. The floor is just so soft, though, and you work yourself into a trance-like state by staring up at the ceiling fan and watching it go around and around and around. On one blink, you’re staring at your ceiling.

And on the next, you’re staring at another ceiling, one that’s not really a ceiling at all, but an entire galaxy above your head.

It’s easy to get lost in the magnificent colors swirling above you (especially in your current state), and you do, until you hear someone calling your name. When you look away from the universe, you see the love of your life looking at you, though at present, he is not reciprocating the heart eyes that you are always looking at him with.

“Where have you been?” Morpheus demands.

“Morpheus, my love!” You throw your arms out and grin. “I’ve missed you.”

“Do you have any idea how worried I have been? I sent Matthew to find you hours ago when first you were late, only for him to report that he could not find you at your home.” You’re a little surprised that Matthew hadn’t managed to track you down; your little raven friend was almost scarily good at finding people/places/things.

“Aw, you’ve missed me?” It makes sense, of course; after all, you’ve missed him, so it’s only natural that he would miss you in return. Still, the sentiment makes you feel all warm and melty on the inside.

 It’s obvious to anybody who actually takes the time to know Morpheus—a tiny list of people and beings, two of whom are in the room with him right now���that he’s fighting a war between wanting to scold you and wanting to hold you and check you up and down for wounds. Morpheus crosses the room towards you, and you ready yourself for the inevitable lecture you’re about to get, about how you’re just a fragile little human and he worries every moment that you’re away from him (y’know, now that you have the clarity of a drunk person, you’re actually annoyed that this is constantly coming from the being that’s meant to be your lover).

But that’s not what happens.

Instead, you find his arms wrapped tightly around you and his face buried in your neck. He’s hugging you, not the other way around. He’s never done such a thing before, and you don’t know how to react. What you do know is that any of the residual anger you had been feeling drains out of you like water from an unstoppered bathtub. You really didn’t think that being away for—the math isn’t mathing for you currently, and you don’t actually know how long it’s been—a couple of hours would affect him this much.

“You are the one most dear to my heart,” he mutters into your ear, cognizant of the fact that you are not alone in this throne room. “Of course, I missed you.”

“Oh. When you said you were ‘too busy to entertain’ me, I just kinda assumed you wouldn’t notice I was gone.” Though you don’t mean to weaponize your words, the poison darts make contact with their target anyway, and Morpheus stiffens in your hold.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead, choosing to wait until a later time to have this particular conversation.

“Aw, dream boy” you coo, snaking a hand up to clumsily run it through his hair. “I’m okay baby, swear it! Like, absolutely, one hundred percent fine.”

Morpheus pulls away from you so that he can look you up and down to confirm that you really are okay. “You smell like a pub,” he notes. 

“How can you tell that in the Dreaming?”

He ignores your question when a realization seems to hit him. “Are you inebriated?”

“No, I’m drunk,” you correct very matter-of-factly.

“That is–” he stops, choosing instead to just shake his head.

“Oh, dear,” Lucienne mutters from behind Morpheus, reminding you of her presence in the first place.

“Lucienne! Hi! How have you been!” 

You crane around Morpheus to be able to see your favorite librarian, but you almost fall over in the process. Before you can tip too far over, Morpheus is there to right you again. When he does, he looks down at you with quite the serious expression on his perfect face.

“Who did this to you?” he asks, ready to punish whoever put you in such a state.

“Vodka. Rum, maybe?” You think back on your drinks for the evening, though it’s hard to think back that far. “Yeah, the second round of shots was definitely rum.”

“You put yourself in this state?”

“Yes?” Has Morpheus never heard of the concept of going out and getting shitfaced with your pals? “To be fair, I didn’t think that my drunkenness would…” You search for the word that you want to use, but it’s just not coming to you! “Uh, carry over?”

“Please tell me you managed to make it home safely?”

You nod. “Sure did! Pretty sure I fell asleep on the floor, though.”

Lucienne slowly begins to back up towards the door, and Morpheus stares at you for a long moment before sighing heavily.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask nervously, starting to get upset the longer the silence drags on. Did you say something that you shouldn’t have? Is there a rule you don’t know about against sleeping on floors?

Instead of answering you, Morpheus waves a hand in the air and says, “This dream is over.” 

You’re awake and once again staring up at your ceiling fan, only this time, Morpheus is also in your line of sight. It’s impossible to stop yourself from touching him when you’re sober, so it’s not at all surprising that your hands go up to caress his face now when you’re drunk.

“Hi cutie,” you greet, laughing in delight when he flushes just the slightest amount.

He grabs your hands and kisses the back of both before setting them against your chest. “Why are you sleeping on your floor?”

“Because,” is your simple, childish reply.

“That is not a good answer.”

“It’s the one you get because it’s the one I have.” You throw in a peace sign to be extra spicy, but Morpheus, unfortunately, doesn’t comprehend your 21st-century humor, and instead just segues into the next order of business.

“Might I help you up, so that we can get you properly ready for bed?”

“But I’m comfy,” you groan. Morpheus is not buying what you’re selling, unfortunately, so you sigh. “Fine.”

Morpheus holds his hands out for you to take and helps you to your feet. Too fast, apparently, because the room begins to spin and your stomach tilts dangerously, making you clap a hand over your mouth.

“Oh no. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy,” you chant, squeezing your eyes shut and laying your head against Morpheus’s shoulder while you try to breathe through sudden nausea. You will not throw up on your super hot eldritch nightmare king boyfriend, you command yourself. Not tonight, and not ever.

“What is wrong?” Morpheus sounds panicked, and you want to reassure him, but you hold up a finger in the meantime.

When the nausea finally passes, you take a deep breath and slowly look up. “Okay, I think I’m good now.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Sometimes drinking too much combined with moving too fast makes people feel sick. It’s my fault, but I’ll be okay.”

“Are you well enough to move?”

“Yes, I promise.” 

To prove your point, you let go of his hand and start walking heel to toe as the police require during field sobriety tests (honestly, you’re a little surprised that you can actually do this right now). You can practically feel your lover's amusement behind you, but it proves to him that you are capable. Morpheus lets you walk to the bathroom on your own power, and you think the only reason he doesn’t sweep you off your feet is because he’s worried you’ll throw up if he does. He watches you intently the entire time, though. 

You sit on the lip of the bathtub, watching Morpheus move about your bathroom as though he knows where everything is; he probably does, you realize, whether it be from that endless wealth of knowledge about everyone and everything that he possesses, or just his familiarity with your home. After rummaging around for a few moments, he comes back with a washcloth and your favorite pajamas. The sight of the familiar material makes you tear up, and you sniffle loudly.

Morpheus looks up in alarm. “Are you okay?”

“You remembered my favorite pajamas,” you say, trying to not start crying. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s come directly to see you off to his realm, and you’ve probably worn those pajamas twice. Yet he remembered the one-off comment you had made about how they were your favorite because of course he did.

His face softens. “Of course I did.”

You clear your throat and wipe your eyes. “Sorry. I’m okay! Just drunk.”

Morpheus hands you said pajamas before turning the faucet on and letting the water run. He seems to realize something after a moment and looks at you helplessly. “I do not feel temperature as you do. Is the water alright?” 

You grin and stick your hand under the faucet, moving the tap just a smidge hotter before nodding at him. “It’s good now. Thank you for asking.”

He begins to run the damp washcloth gently over your face, a barely-there smile appearing on his own when you wrinkle your nose at the cool sensations. Where this situation would be awkward with anybody else, it feels entirely natural with Morpheus. You’ll take these little moments of domesticity with him whenever you can get them, even when you’re still half drunk.

Even if you wanted to, you can’t hold yourself back from saying, “You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Seriously, you’re the prettiest man-slash-anthropomorphic-personification I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” The words are heavy on your tongue, but you’re pretty proud of the way you only barely stumble through ‘anthropomorphic’.

“You are still under the influence,” he notes.

“So? Drunk words equal sober thoughts, right?”

“‘A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.’ Jean-Jacques Rosseau,” he supplies.

“Sure, that. I’d tell you how pretty you are even if I was sober, and you know that.”

“Perhaps.” He says it in that infuriatingly sexy way of his, the one that makes you want to tear his clothes off.

Instead, you’re the one taking your own clothes off, though not for any fun reason. Getting changed is not as difficult a task as it would have been when you first arrived home, with the benefit of time naturally sobering one up on your side. Morpheus still keeps a hand held out, just in case you lose your balance and need something to grab onto, but after you’ve finished changing, that hand slips under your shirt and caresses your side.

“Thought you were supposed to be helping me keep my clothes on,” you say with a shiver, grabbing his wrist and pulling the offending extremity out from under your shirt.

“Apologies.” His tone implies that he’s not sorry at all, not that you would want him to be. “I simply couldn’t resist.”

He looks down at you with so much love in those blue eyes of his that you feel like you don’t think your mortal mind could ever truly comprehend it. Nobody has ever loved you the way that Morpheus has—all-consuming and passionate. He told you once that many of his relationships had ended because he had been seen as too intense, too obsessive in his love. Bring it on, you had told him when he expected you to back down. To date, you haven’t regretted that.

You don’t think you ever will.

Now that you can see the end of your night in sight, tiredness begins to seep into your bones. Though your bed is just right through the bathroom door, it feels miles away. With that in mind, you ask,  “Will you carry me?” 

“Were you not worried that you would feel sick?”

“Yeah, but I’m tired.” You pout (on purpose because you know what it does to him), and you can practically see his resolve break. “Just be careful?”

“Always,” he promises.

And careful he is, slowly picking you up and waiting until you nod to carry you to your bed. He sets you down gently, You’re thrilled to see a glass of water already waiting for you on your bedside table, Morpheus anticipating your needs before you’ve even realized you have them in the first place.

Crawling under the covers after finishing your water, you motion for Morpheus to sit next to you on the bed. He does as you ask, and you move your pillows so that you can sit up and lean on him. When you’re comfortable, you say, “Thank you for everything tonight. I know taking care of me wasn’t what you had planned.”

“You need not thank me. I enjoy caring for you, no matter the situation.” 

Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his hand carding through your hair, and you start to feel yourself inching closer to the Dreaming. Something keeps you from truly falling asleep, though, and when Morpheus shifts next to you, you realize what it is: the conversation’s not over. Morpheus is trying to figure out how to say what it is he wants to say.

Finally, he figures it out. “Might I ask you something?”

You open your eyes to give him your full attention and nod.

“Earlier, when you seemed surprised that I had noticed your absence. Did you do this,” ‘this’ being getting very drunk, “because of what I said?”

“No. I mean, I went out because I was mad at you, and I figured that me being a couple of hours late would make you learn your lesson, but I got drunk because I wanted to have fun with my friends and let loose.”

“And did you?”

“Maybe a little too much,” you admit cheekily.

“I apologize for my harsh words the other day. I have been…feeling burdened under the weight of my realm, and I took it out on you for no reason.”

“It’s okay, Morpheus. You’re busy running an entire realm and overseeing the collective unconscious. I shouldn’t be so needy.”

He shakes his head. “It is not okay. I should never talk to you in such a way, and you should never feel as though I do not want you around. I do want you around, always.”

“People say things that they don’t mean. That doesn’t mean they’re not worthy of forgiveness. But you gotta talk to me, okay? When you’re feeling stressed, or when things get to be too much. I’m here for you, and I want to support you however I can.”

“I love you,” he says. The fact that he’s being so open with his emotions is a pleasant surprise; it took him so long to be the first to say it, and even longer to be comfortable with it. You smile up at him.

“I love you, too. Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

Morpheus turns your bedroom light off without you needing to ask (seriously, you love him so much), and you close your eyes. Then, a thought hits you.

“Hey,” you say, staring up at him in the dark and waiting until he looks at you to continue. “Can you get drunk?”

“No.”

“Why not? I mean, isn’t there special alcohol for preternatural beings? You’d think gods and goddesses would’ve figured out a way to get turnt by now.”

Though he doesn’t want to give in to your rambling when you’re meant to be trying to fall asleep, he can’t help but indulge you. “Gods and goddesses can. We, the Endless, cannot.”

“What? That’s so fucking lame. No. That’s–that’s an injustice! I’m so sorry.

“I promise, it is okay. Now, please go to sleep.”

You nod, but close your eyes for maybe thirty seconds before they snap open again with a realization. “Wait.”

“What?”

“You mentioned other gods and goddesses. How many are there? Are they all real? Is actual God real? I mean, I know the devil is real, you kicked their ass for your helm, but for some reason that’s more believable than–”

“Go. To. Sleep,” Morpheus commands.

“Ugh, you’re no fun!”

“I am not afraid to use my sand if need be.”

“You wouldn’t.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and he raises one right back. After a brief stalemate, you’re the first to give in. “You have to understand how world-altering this information is to a regular human like me, I mean–”

You’re asleep before your head hits the pillow.

[unfried-mouth-wheat]

What do you mean this didn't happen in Portia's Upright Ending?

[Image ID: Two twitter screen shots. The first one reads "Ah, yes. Me. My Girlfriend. And the dead resurrected count we are keeping a secret from our friends." Below is a drawing of Juniper, Portia, and Lucio. Juniper is a black woman with a buzz cut and a floral tattoo around her left eye. Portia is a short woman with curly long red hair. Lucio is a pale man missing his right arm. Juniper is staring up in bed while Portia has her back turned to her, hugging Lucio.

The second screenshot reads "Sometimes a family can just be a girl, her girlfriend, and their zombie goat." The image shows Portia smiling at the camera, Juniper behind her holding on to Lucio while they sleep. End ID]

[whorderofthepheonix]

Sacredly Scarred: Chapter 20 || Erik Killmonger

A/N: *sighs* may or may not be the last chapter. idk. depends on y'all. Enjoy tho. 200+ if you want the next part (and if it takes forever, Imma take forever to post ch.21 lmfaoooo) PLEASE REBLOG INSTEAD OF COMMENT xx

Words: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, Mild Violence, Vomit Warning, Lil Itty Bitty Angst, Cliff Hanger af

Erik’s POV

I pounded on the apartment door, eager for someone to answer.

“Erik, relax,” Yenai gasped. “You seem... Impatient.”

“Sorry, I just... Really want tea,” I mumbled. The door swung open and I was ready to pounce.

“Yenai! Erik!” 1 greeted. She looked fine... Like no sign of any injury or anything. Just an oversized yellow sweater and some leggings. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“Sorry to just barge in like this but Erik really wanted to join us for tea,” Yenai apologized, “and he insisted we come now.”

“Well tea’s not till 4,” she looked down at her watch. “But by all means, come in and join us for brunch! We’re out on the balcony.”

“Glady,” I pushed past them and onto the balcony. The other twin was out there, nibbling  lightly on a piece of toast. She wore an identical outfit to her sister, but with a blue sweater.

“Hi Erik!” She greeted. Yenai and 1 came in soon after. “Yenai too? Are you guys joining us for brunch?”

“Yup,” I said sitting across from her.

“Splendid!” 2 clapped. “Dorota! We need 2 more plates out here please!”

“So, Yenai, I’m sorry I couldn’t talk yesterday,” 1 frowned. “We were at the Marc Jacobs fashion show. They usually confiscate phones but I snuck mine in.”

“Well, it was a good thing you were dealing with fashion because I’m working with Vogue!” Yenai squealed. The twins gasped.

“No!” 2 gasped.

“OMG how?” 1 asked.

“Remember that dress I made with the tribal prints?” They nodded. “Well they saw it and loved it and now they want to add it to the Fall collection!” The 3 of them screamed and held hands.

“Congratulations!” 2 grinned.

“Yeah, we’re totes happy for you!” 1 added.

“Thanks guys!” Yenai laughed as the maid placed plates of bagels and lox in front of us. The moment Yenai saw it, she gulped. “Um... Is this raw?”

“Smoked,” 2 declared. “But very, very lightly. I hate when it’s not chewy.” Yenai started heaving.

“You good baby?” I whispered.

“Um, yeah... It’s just the smell,” she gagged. “And the look... and... I’m just gonna use the restro-” She covered her mouth and ran back into the house.

“Is she okay?” 2 asked.

“Yeah, she just has really bad food poisoning,” I said folding my arms. “So Marc Jacobs, huh? What was that like?”

“Like all the rest,” 1 rolled her eyes. “Been to one, been to them all.” I looked behind me to make sure Yenai wasn’t in ear shot.

“Does Yenai know?” I asked. They looked at each other confused.

“Know what...? About the fashion show? We just told her,” 2 raised an eyebrow.

“Cut the shit!” I hissed. “You know damn well you weren’t at no fuckin’ fashion show last night!” 1 took out her phone and opened her snapchat.

“Look from 7:30 PM until 11:29 PM we were at the fashion show then we went to the after party,” she said. “Am I missing something?”

“Now, I’m confused...” 2 frowned. “Where did you think we were?” Maybe I got it wrong... Maybe it was just a coincidence... But I was sure it was them... I sat back in my chair and look a bite of my bagel.

“Forget it,” I sighed.

“Hey, I LOVE your watch!” 1 gasped. “Rolex Chronograph right? Our dad has the exact same one!”

“Yeah, he’s been collecting since before we were born!” 2 added. “Come, we’ll show you!” They both got up and I followed them through their bedroom and into one of the closest. A giant wall full of watches was right above a smaller case with more watches.

“There are 320,” 1 spoke. “We only take them out to wear as good luck or on Sundays to have Dorota clean them.”

“It is Sunday,” I pointed out.

“Oh fuck! It is!” 2 groaned. “I’ll get Dorota.”

“I’ll go check on Yenai,” 1 said. Then they both left the closet. I looked carefully at each watch. Ther were all accounted for. Well there goes that theory... I looked around the closer which was filled top to bottom with expensive jewelry and clothes. Just as I was about leave, one of the watches in the case caught my eye. I opened the case and picked it up. It looked almost identical to mine, it just had lower case letters instead of uppercase, like most Rolex’s do... I heard footsteps so I scurried to put back the watch, causing me to fumble and drop it on the floor. I bent down to pick it up from under the case, accidentally grabbing something else instead. A brown paper bag. I slowly opened it pulling out a bloodstained shirt and a clown mask. That’s when I heard a clicking sound from behind me and someone clearing their throat. I sighed and raised my hands in surrender, getting up and facing the door. 1 had a rifle pointed to me while 2 had her arms folded across her chest.

“Pardon me sir,” 1 smirked. “You have something that belongs to us. I’d like it back.”

“I fucking knew it,” I laughed. “So you two are the little fuckers who’ve been fucking with my assignments.”

“We haven’t been messing with anything,” 2 pointed out. “We get calls and we go. The same as you.”

“So I’m just supposed to believe that you two, fucking pris and perfect, are assassins?” I laughed.

“You’re damn right!” 1 snapped. “Now give me the fucking watch!” “Fuck no! You gave this to me and I didn’t kill ya ass!”

“You shot my sister!” 1 yelled.

“Twice!” 2 growled. “In the same spot!” “Well, I was letting you go and you threw a knife at me,” I shrugged.

“Enough fucking talking!” 1 hissed. “Hand over the watch. It was my dad’s favorite.”

“Hmm... No. Fuck you,” I dropped my hands.

“I mean it!” She shouted. “Or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” I walked over to her. “Aside from killin’ niggas I also deal in weapons. You don’t think I know a paintball gun over an actual rifle?” She sucked her teeth and dropped it.

“Fine, whatever. I had to leave our weapons at the warehouse last night to get Ayana to the hospital,” she rolled her eyes. “Just... Please give me back the watch,” she begged. “Despite all the watches on the wall, that was the only one that belong to our dad...”

“Aight, I’ll give you back the watch, under one condition,” I smirked.

“Nigga, we are not having sex with you,” 2 crossed her arms.

“If it means getting the watch back, yes the fuck we are!” 1 glared at her.

“What the fuck? No! That’s not- Never mind,” I groaned. “I’ll give you back the watch if you agree to cut off whatever nigga you workin’ wit and work for me.”

“What?” They asked together.

“You serious?” 1 asked.

“Fuck yeah, I’m serious,” I nodded. “Y’all can fight. Plus we can use y’all for baiting niggas out.”

“He’s actually serious,” 2 gasped.

“How much money you make in a week?”

“I don’t know... 200 maybe 300 grand on a good week,” 1 shrugged.

“I once made 2 mil in one night,” I told them.

“Holy fuck!” 2 exclaimed. “2 million fucking dollars? Alyssa, do we even have to pretend to think about this?”

“Hell no!” 1 laughed extended he hand. “It’s a fucking deal!” I shook her hand and took the watch off my wrist giving it to her.

“We’re in business then,” I smirked. Then Yenai walked in, looking confused and scared.

“Um... What’s going on here?” She asked, warily.

“Nothing,” the three of us said in unison.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll pretend to believe that,” she rolled her eyes. “Girls I’m sorry, but I have really bad food poisoning and I can’t keep anything down. Erik can we go back upstairs?”

“Sure thing, baby girl,” I walked over and kiss her head. “Let’s go.”

***

I’ve had a weird feeling about Yenai since the day we had brunch with the twins. And it wasn’t just from her being sick. Like now, it was day 3 and she was STILL throwing up! She had to call in sick from work, which her boss eagerly gave her. Yenai guessed that she was still embarrassed from dinner the other night. That was the last real conversation me and Yenai had... THREE DAYS AGO! Everything else was all responses and simple questions. And when they weren’t responses or questions, they were bitchy remarks or constant nagging. I came from meeting with the Twins, whose names are apparently Ayana and Alyssa, and walked into the house.

“Baby, you home?” I called out. She walked out of the bathroom.

“Where else would I be, Erik?” She rolled her eyes. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from replying rudely.

“The twins made you soup,” I offered putting the bowl on the counter. “They said it helps nausea.”

“You were down there again?” She scoffed. “You’ve literally been down to see them everyday since brunch!”

“Is that a problem?” I asked, folding my arms.

“If you previously hadn’t tried to fuck them then no, it wouldn’t be,” she snapped, taking the bowl of soup and throwing it in the trash.

“Yo, the FUCK is ya problem, Yenai?” I shouted as she retreated to the bedroom. I followed her and closed the door.

“My problem Erik, is that instead of staying here and making sure that I’M okay, you’re off galavanting with MY friends!” She shouted back.

“Well maybe I’d want to be around her more if you weren’t being such a bitch to me all the fuckin’ time!”

“Oh word?! I’m a bitch now? Riiiigggghhhhttttt! Copy!” She stormed into the closet and started grabbing her clothes off the hangers. I took a deep breath and leaned against the closet door.

“What are you doing?” I groaned.

“Since I’m such a fuckin’ bitch, there’s no use in me staying, right?” She shrugged, opening a duffle bag and stuffing the clothes in.

“So first of all, ya ass don’t got a place to go, so let’s cut that shit out aight?” I took the duffle from her. “Secondly, you gon just pack a bag and leave every time we get into an argument? You gon be doin’ a lot of packin’ and unpackin’ ma, I’ll tell you that.”

“Fuck you,” she spat pushing past me, going back into the bedroom. I grabbed her wrist. “Get the fuck off me.”

“Nah, you not goin’ nowhere till we deal with this shit, Yenai. I’m not bouta keep quiet everytime you snap at me or yell wit ya stank ass attitude. We gon sit down and talk like fuckin’ adults.”

“I have nothing to say-”

“The fuck you don’t!” I snorted. “You got allat mouth when I try to help you and now you got nothin’ to say. Nah.” I wrapped my arms around her. “Tell me what’s on ya mind, baby girl.”

“Get off me,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“No. Talk to me,” I insisted. She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “DId I do something wrong?”

“No,” she sniffled, letting tears fall. “You didn’t... I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch...”

“It’s aight... I’m not bouta force you to tell me what’s wrong, but we can’t keep goin’ like this, Yenai...” I sighed. “When you ready, you gon tell me right?” She shut her eyes and shook her head.

“I can’t! I can’t tell you!” She cried. “I’m scared...”

“Why can’t you tell me? What’s scaring you?” I asked cautiously. She kept shaking her head, sobbing.

“I can’t...”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!”

“Yenai-”

“No, Erik! Just stop! Please!”

“Baby, please talk to me-”

“Erik!’ “Why are you so scared?!”

“BECAUSE I THINK I’M PREGNANT, OKAY?!” She screamed. I heart stopped and my blood turned cold. “...I think I’m pregnant and I’m scared...” She whispered. “I’m so fucking scared...”

~~~

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[rambleonwithrosie]

150 Followers. Feel free to take this and use it yourself.

Okay so if you've been following me you know that at every milestone of 50 I go and answer 50 questions. So this time they're all gonna be Queen/Classic Rock specific and y'all are all welcome to take these and make asks out of them or reblog/copy with your own answers.

Favorite Queen member's solo album? Strange Frontier by Roger Taylor

Who of the band would you call to help you fix a flat tire? John, he's a dad and a diy guy, as much as I wanna say Rog I just don't want to deal with a drama queen when I'm having my own drama but I've seen him under the hood of a car so I've no doubt he probably knows how

What do you think Brian May smells like on am average day? Very woodsy, like pine needles and some light but expensive cologne

How would you kiss Freddie? On the cheek like a good friend I just can't get into his looks enough to think about kissing him any other way

How would you kiss John? Well if we're talking long haired fluffy John I'd probably psst at him to come around the corner and then give him a kiss and see what he does

How would you kiss Brian? Very carefully otherwise @squeezemylemon is gonna kill me so probably the sweet quick chaste type kiss

How would you kiss Roger? (My moment has come) I would walk up to him and grab ahold of one of the necklaces he wears and just pull his lips down to mine and crash mine onto his wrapping my arms around his neck kissing him for all I'm worth or less dramatically if we were just sitting on a couch or something I'd just lean my head up off his shoulder and press a gentler sort of kiss to his lips and see where he takes it after that

If you were going to date one of their kids who would it be? Felix, I'm partial to brunettes usually (Roger and Luke Skywalker are my exceptions) and he seems pretty cool and has done a lot of different things which would be interesting to talk about

Favorite gif of your least favorite band member?

10. Most recent Queen photo on your phone

11. Favorite piece of fanart?

I can't pick just one. I also don't remember where I found these and if you know the artist I'll happily tag them in the most. The artbis most definitely NOT mine

This is mine

12. Queen song that makes you want to cry? Love of My Life

13. Which band member would you pick to keep an eye on you at a party so you don't get too crazy and make it home safe? Brian probably, I would say John but I feel if he's drinking he'd be less than no help

14. Who's flat would you ask to crash at? I have reasons to want to say Roger's but banging aside I'd probably pick Freddie he was generous and funny and would probably do his beat to cheer me up from whatever circumstance had made me not have a place of my own to stay

15. Who would you want to teach you to play an instrument they play? Well I genuinely feel I'm best suited for drums so I'm not just saying Roger because he's my dude. Plus he could teach me the most instruments anyways considering as he knows drums, bass, electric, and keyboard.

16. If you could spend a day with Freddie what would you do? I'd just want to sit and have tea and talk and maybe go shopping later hear his advice and crack some jokes

17. Favorite solo song by a Queen band member? As far as written by goes, it's probably Let's Get Crazy or Happiness by Rog bit overall it's gotta be Rog's version of Racing in the Street *chills*

18. Favorite live performance?

19. Whose singing voice do you like best? Roger Taylor (nothing against Fresh he's amazing)

20. Whose speaking voice do you like best? Again Roger Meddows Taylor for the win

21. Write a snippet where you're holding hands with your least favorite band member.

Freddie had never been to an amusement park before, hadn't wanted to go really, but John had begged him to come along and then left him with Aston to babysit while he dealt with his actual children. It wasn't that she had anything against Fred it's just him tagging along on her elbow was keeping her away from the drummer whose attention she wanted. They got onto one of the rides and she saw how pale Freddie was looking and felt sorry for him. It wasn't his fault that he was being a third wheel or that the drummer was off on one of the more dangerous rides that Freddie was not about to get on.

"You can hold my hand if you want" Aston joked looking over at Fred.

"Really?" He asked a little relieved. The two of them chuckled and to Aston's surprise Freddie's black nail polished fingertips interlaced through hers and he looked a little more at ease for the comfort of human contact.

"It'll be fine" she grinned and then the ride took off and the black fingernails damn near dug into her hand in panic.

22. Write a snippet where you're fighting with your favorite band member.

They had been living together for just over two months and despite not knowing how to boil an egg Roger somehow found a way to get into the kitchen and put things in the wrong spot. He came home from the stall.

"Where is the paprika?" She leveled at him before he had scarcely shut the door.

"The what?"

"Paprika, Rog, the spice that I was going to use for the supper I was cooking us, but I can't ever find anything in this kitchen" Aston said muttering as an afterthought "thanks to you."

"What was that?" Rog said coming over to her and looking darkly with his blue eyes.

"Just tell me where you put the paprika and we'll be fine" she sighed.

"I didn't fucking touch anything in your stupid kitchen" he glowered going to the liquor cabinet.

"Well I still can't find it" she huffed.

"Not my problem" he said swigging straight from the bottle.

"Well if you want dinner it kind of is" she retorted.

"I'll get something out" Rog said dispassionately.

"Fuck you" she muttered and went back to banging through the cabinets in search of the missing spice. She was on her knees with half her body in a lower shelf looking in the back and growing hotter for Roger showing no signs of caring or helping. She smelt the dish starting to burn on the stove and tried to crawl out, raising her head up and whacking it on the shelf above. She let out a round of oaths.

She went over to the stove and moved it off the heat halfway between tears and screaming.

"I'll order something" Roger said standing up.

"I can fucking cook!" She shouted "if only I could find the things I need when I need them."

"Well don't yell at me about it" Roger said and brushed past and out the door.

Aston collapsed onto the floor sitting with her back to the cabinets and started crying. She sobbed into the kitchen towel. So much for her cosy dinner at home with Rog. She was so distraught that she didn't hear the door open and close. She felt her fingers clutching the towel pried open and looked to see a bottle of paprika put into them. She turned her teary red eyes up to Roger's face. He pulled her to her feet and held her in his arms. Softly stroking her hair and planting a gentle kiss to her cheeks.

"Come on, I got us reservations, you can cook your thing tomorrow if you still want to" he looked down at her smiling and put a kiss to her nose and grinned at her in his arms.

23. Favorite picture of Brian

24. Favorite picture Roger

(Well it's one of many favs)

25. Favorite picture of Freddie

26. Favorite picture of John

27. Best song to slow dance to? One Year of Love

28. Best song to make out to? I'm In Love with My Car

29. Best song to drive to? Breakthru or Don't Stop Me Now

30. Best song to strip to? Tear It Up

31. What era of the band would you like to hang out with most? I wanna say mid to late 70s. I'd rather not have to hang out with them during Hot Space 😂

32. Favorite song on your favorite album? Rock It (Prime Jive)

33. Least liked song on your favorite album? Probably Play the Game

34. Who would you want to take care of you if you were sick? I feel Brian would be the most knowledgeable but I'd probably prefer Fred just cutting up and maybe grabbing the aspirins and whatever else was needed. I just don't feel Brian would be funny enough to cheer me up. And Rog I just don't know how good he'd be at taking care of someone

35. Who would you want to go driving with? Roger. Duh! So many reasons!

36. Who would you pick to spend a lazy (non-sexual) afternoon with? Well not that I'm just into Rog for the sex, he'd still be my first pick because laughs. But second would be Brian.

37. Rate how thirsty you are for each band member? Freddie 0/10. John variable between 0/10-6/10. Brian 2/10-4/10(red special is factored into Brian). Roger 1000/10 (cars aren't factored into Rog otherwise I'd break my phone adding zeros to that 1000)

38. Least favorite Roger song? Sheer Heart Attack

39. Favorite Brian song? Sail Away Sweet Sister or Dragon Attack

40. Least favorite Freddie song? Body Language and Get Down Make Love

41. Favorite John song? One Year of Love or If You Can't Beat Them

42. Are you excited for the Bohemian Rhapsody movie? Yes. Not insanely. But moderately excited yes

43. Is Queen your favorite band of all time? No. They're in my top 3 but The Moody Blues were my childhood and are so unique and very special to me

44. If you married your crush from the band where would you go on your honeymoon? The beach. Hopefully the Pacific Ocean. Probably some nice private beach just to have space with each other and I love water and he loves boating and stuff.

45. Who has the nicest butt? While I prefer Rog's ass I must admit John possesses the superior booty

46. Who has the best smile? Roger. Hands down and not just because he's my main man all around it's literally made of sunshine

47. Who would you go to if you were scared? Roger. I don't get scared so if I did I'd want someone around to make me laugh my fears away

48. If you were going to be in a crime fighting/super hero duo with one of the band, who would it be? John. He's sound and sensible and so long as he can handle my forceful personality and not write any DISpatches raking my bad behavior and rash decisions we'll get along

49. Do you listen to Queen daily, or at least multiple times a week? Yes especially if you include their solo works

50. Have you written any Queen fanfiction or made any fanart? Yes. Fanfiction galore. Some has yet to be posted but when I do it will be on @drummerinthecupboard