#Something something that time I said “if Brian gets anywhere even close to rude you know you really pissed him off”

[not-the-coffee-machine4]

Brian responding to Instagram comments remains glorious

[herding-octokittens]

Six Notable Attempts at Baking the Best Cookies Ever

Three updates in three days???? 

@mechanismszine I’m only like nine days late for this one! And more are coming!

AO3

(I totally restructured my entire ao3 organization because of an adhd/caffeine fueled breakdown, so please be patient with me)

The Toy Soldier had a mission.

It was a mission of it’s own choosing. There were no orders associated with this mission, no strings attached or people to please. In all of it’s maybe-existence, this was the first time the Toy Soldier could recall having a mission like that.

It liked the feeling, it thought.

The mission was simple enough in theory, but it had been years now and the Toy Soldier had yet to succeed. It was determined, with all of it’s wooden heart, to make the best damn cookies, ever.

The criteria for what made a cookie the best possible cookie were quite simple. If all of the Mechanisms liked the cookie, it had no option but to be the best. The Toy Soldier’s friends had such differing tastes that if it could make a cookie all of them liked, it had to be good. No, not good. Perfect.

~~~

Re-sequenced spinach cookies had been the first attempt.

According to Nastya, the octokittens liked the re-sequenced spinach. The octokittens were known to eat anything and everything they were fed, but the Toy Soldier decided that would be as good a place as any to start. It found an old recipe book in a back corner of Ivy’s library, and found a sugar cookie recipe that seemed simple enough. To make sure there was enough re-sequenced spinach to be noticeable, the Toy Soldier decided to replace all the sugar in the recipe with powdered re-sequenced spinach.

The cookies glowed when they were done, but so did half of them food on the Aurora on any given day, so the Toy Soldier figured they were fine. When it finally found the rest of the Mechanisms and offered the batch to them, only Raphaella agreed to try one. She seemed rather pleased with the result even if it wasn’t as sweet as she was expecting, but she also died seven seconds after declaring so.

As far as the Toy Soldier knew, that was not normal for cookies.

~~~

Gunpowder cookies had been the second attempt.

Gunpowder was most definitely not fit for human consumption, but neither were gasoline and ethanol and Ashes drank both of those on a semi-regular basis. And the Toy Soldier knew that Gunpowder Tim very much liked gunpowder and other explosives. It extrapolated that he would probably enjoy a cookie that tasted like one of his bombs.

The sugar cookie recipe still seemed like a good starting point, and given what little feedback Raphaella had provided, it decided to leave the sugar in as directed. Instead, it replaced the flour with the gunpowder. There were so many white powders required for cookies, removing one seemed like it would be fine.

Tim had taken one look at the cookies, and walked away without a word. The Toy Soldier thought that was probably very rude, but given that half of the cookies had exploded in the oven and the other half made rather interesting clunking noises when dropped, perhaps not.

~~~

Chocolate chip cookies had been the third attempt.

The Toy Soldier had entered the kitchen on the fourth day in a row (the third day had resulted in a failure that need not be discussed) to find Marius already waiting for it. He was sitting on the counter, flipping through it’s recipe book, humming thoughtfully.

“Hello Marius, Old Chap!”

“Oh, Toy, you’re here, good.”

“You Have My Recipe Book!”

“I do, yeah. I thought I might make a request.”

“Do You Have A Favorite Type Of Cookie? I Can Make It For You!”

“Yes! Well, no, but I might!” Marius hopped off the counter and set the book down, open to a page near the back.

“I Don’t Understand!” the Toy Soldier said, walking over to look at the book over Marius’s shoulder.

“I’ve never actually tried a chocolate chip cookie, but I’ve wanted one for a long time.”

“Oh! That Sounds Like A Very Good Idea Indeed!” The Toy Soldier declared, immediately moving to collect the ingredients. “Do You Have A Specific Flavor You Wanted? Raphaella Says That Re-Sequenced Spinach Cookies Tasted Very Good, And I Imagine Chocolate Would Just Make It Better!”

“Um, just chocolate. You don’t need to add anything else,” Marius said. The Toy Soldier thought he seemed very unsure of himself. “Sometimes, simple flavors work best.”

“Well That Is A Lovely Idea! I Will Make You Plain Chocolate Chip Cookies!”

The cookies had actually turned out very well, it thought. None of them glowed. None of them exploded. None of them melted in it’s hands.

By the time the Toy Soldier had found the rest of the crew and gathered them in the kitchen to try it’s latest attempt, the octokittens had eaten all the cookies that Marius hadn’t. Surprisingly, none of the Mechanisms were disappointed.

~~~

Snickerdoodles had been the fourth attempt.

This attempt was shortly curtailed when the Toy Soldier discovered that there was absolutely no cinnamon anywhere on the Aurora, and there were no planets within eighty five light years that grew cinnamon trees.

According to Ashes, the cinnamon-free cookie dough was still rather tasty, but this only came to light a week after the Toy Soldier had scrapped that attempt and obliterated the dough with obscene amounts of fire. It wasn’t sure what cookie dough Ashes was referring to, but it was somewhat hesitant to ask.

~~~

Peanut butter cookies had been the fifth attempt.

The Toy Soldier was quick to learn that Jonny was quite allergic to peanuts, a fact none of the crew had ever before had reason to discover.

For once, the Toy Soldier thought Jonny had a legitimate reason to attempt to throw it out of the airlock. The problem with Jonny’s revenge attempts was that Jonny couldn’t get within ten meters of the kitchen or the Toy Soldier without going into anaphylactic shock and choking to death.

After a week of distanced rage and declarations of murderous violence, Jonny and the Toy Soldier came to a hesitant truce that involved a very purposeful lack of both airlocks and peanut butter.

~~~

The Toy Soldier was on the verge of giving up.

This was a mission it had given itself. There had never been any orders for it to obey, so it could choose to stop at any time. It knew this. It wanted to stop, but it was this far in. It couldn’t stop now. It was so close! It just needed to try one more recipe, and then everyone would love the cookies and it would have made the perfect cookies and made everyone happy.

Hoisting itself to it’s feet, it spun towards the mixing bowls and came face to face with Ivy, Marius, Raphaella, and Ashes.

“Oh, Hello Friends,” it said, moving around them to get to the counter and begin spreading out the ingredients. “How Are You All Doing?”

“We’re good, Toy Soldier. How are you?” It was Marius who responded, voice hesitant.

“Oh Jolly Good, Jolly Good.” There was a brief, whispered discussion from behind it, before Marius stepped forward into it’s peripheral vision.

“Really? Because it kinda sounds like you’re, you know, not so good.”

“No, I’m Perfectly Fine, Marius.”

“Toy,” Marius spoke gently, bringing his hand up to it’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

It paused for a moment, thinking. Something was most definitely wrong, it now realized. It just didn’t know how to explain.

“What Type Of Cookies Do You Like?”

“Toy, that’s really not what we’re talking about,” Raphaella said, stepping up to it’s other side.

“I Know, Raphaella. But I Want To Make You All The Perfect Cookies. I’m So Close To Figuring It Out, I Just Need To Make The One More Batch!” It tried to put on a smile, but despite the permanent one painted on it’s face, it could tell the attempt fell flat.

“Why don’t we help you?” This time it was Ivy who spoke. “I don’t have much baking experience myself, but I know every recipe from every planet we’ve ever visited.”

“I’m really good with an oven,” Ashes added. “I even know how to not blow them up!”

“And I’m pretty good with chemistry. That’s all baking is, when it comes down to it,” Raphaella said with a smile.

“It’s really not, Raph, but that’s what I can be here for,” Marius laughed. “So what do you say, Toy? May we join you?”

This time, the Toy Soldier’s smile was much more genuine, and it nodded.

At some point, Jonny and Nastya entered the kitchen, and ended up making a batch of frosting based on an old Cyberian recipe. Brian wandered in just as the first batch was ready, and ended up being the only one who wanted to take them out of the oven. The Toy Soldier was intrigued by the fact that cookies needed to be removed right at the timer. Waiting until the oven cooled down was evidently not right, and explained many of it’s previously burned batches. It resolved to buy oven mitts the next time they touched down. Tim claimed he could smell them from across the ship, and showed up just in time to get involved in a rather vicious frosting war. 

At long last, the cookies were ready.

The Toy Soldier could say with absolute certainty that they were the best damn cookies. Ever.

[fanaticfangirl001]

The Singer And the Actor  Ch 2 : The Stage

Joe Mazzello x plus sized reader 

Author’s note: This might be a little AUish but after seeing Bohemian Rhapsody I wondered what music would be like if Freddie hadn’t passed away. 

Ps: The song y/n sings is a song from Starkid musical called Not Alone, it’s in one of their harry potter musicals but it just fit. 

“Thanks Jim, by the way.” Y/n pats Jim’s shoulder as she begins to break away from him. 

“Where are you going?” Jim asks. 

“I need some air and to think about stuff.” Y/n shrugs. 

“Don’t think too hard, it’s almost lunch time.” Jim says before dropping her arm from his. 

“I promise I won’t.” Y/n walks off away from where the band and actors are. 

Jim slightly shakes his head as he rejoins the boys. There’s something special about her. 

“Where have you been?” Freddie asks his husband before kissing him. 

“There was a kitten petting emergency.” 

“Understandable.” Freddie nods. 

“Wasn’t Y/n with you? Rami saw her petting cats.” Joe asks. 

“She was, she needed some air and to think about stuff about the band.” Jim answers. 

“She told you about everything.” Joe sighs. He knows how much the band means to her. 

“Yeah, she didn’t want to,in her words, info-dump on me. But I’m nosy so..” Jim trails off. 

A few minutes of talking with the actors, Freddie wanders off until he finds the person he’s been wanting to talk to since he heard she was coming. 

Y/n chews her nails while writing down a few lyrics she’s been thinking of. A sweet smelling man settles himself on the ground beside her. 

“Hello, Mr. Mercury.” Y/n says without looking up. 

“How did you know it was me?” Freddie asks situating his legs so they don’t get cramped. 

“You’re the only man I can picture wearing Coco Mademoiselle perfume.” Y/n looks up and closes the notebook. 

“Am I interrupting your song writing process, darling?” 

“Uh, kind of, but it’s okay. I wasn’t getting anywhere. Besides Peter hates everything I write so..” 

“Is Peter in the band?” 

“No.” 

“Than his opinion is irrelevant.” 

“He’s our manager.” 

“You say that like it means something.”

“And the guys like him,and his opinions. I think it’s because he’s older than us, and has experience with bands.” 

Freddie hesitates then asks “ Are you the eldest in the band?” 

“Yes, what about me told you that?” 

“You give off a worried mum vibe about the lyrics” 

“Is that bad?” 

“No, darling, it’s not.” A small smile grows on Freddie’s face,” I was the same way.” 

“So what do I do?” Y/n asks. 

“That depends, what exactly does Peter say about you, darling?” 

Y/n recounts the various rude things Peter has said about her in the past two years. By the end of her telling him, Freddie’s jaw clenches. 

“Yeah it’s not good.” Y/n comments once realizing that Freddie seems pissed off. 

“You’ve put up with that shit for two years!” 

“Albums take time, Mr.Mercury.” Y/n shrugs. 

“Once it is finished, fire him, or kick him in the dick, or both.” 

“If we finish, at this rate, with the arguments.” 

“Let me guess, he riles you up, then makes the guys think you’re sensitive, and can’t take criticism.”  Freddie guesses. 

“Yeah, that’s actually not the worst thing he’s done, he tried to dissolve a diet pill in my drink. I saw him do that, so I poured it into a plant. Poor plant.” Y/n shakes her head at the memories of Peter and the band on their first small tour playing bars. 

“Just fire him now. Don’t wait.” Freddie suggests. 

“Maybe I should call the boys to see how it’s going.” Y/n says digging through her purse.

Her phone starts ringing. 

“They had the same idea.” Freddie smiles as Y/n takes the phone call. 

There’s screaming in the background of the call. 

“Hey Y/n, how’s London?” Brandon says quickly. “ Uh we have a problem.” 

“It’s great, what’s the problem?” Y/n asks. 

“Uh you know how Jake is like your younger brother. Well he’s a little protective.” Brandon says.

“What happened?” Y/n asks sighing.

“He snapped.” Brandon answers simply.

“What did Peter say?” Y/n assumes.

“How do you know Peter said anything? Did Jake call you?” Brandon says surprised that she knew.

“No, I just know Peter.” Y/n tries not to get into a fight with him. 

“He’s not as bad as you say he is.” Brandon defends him. 

“Brandon, stop, just tell me what Peter said.” Y/n says not wanting to get into it. 

“He said that your songs shouldn’t be on the album because you took off in the middle of recording, and then Jake just sprang out of his chair, and started punching Peter, we tried to grab and then he just started punching anyone he could.” Brandon explains what happened. 

“Do you agree with him?” Y/n asks raising an eyebrow, even if he isn’t here.

“No, but I understand his reasoning.” Brandon sighs. 

“Brandon, I love you like a brother, but right now I don’t like you or Russ.” Y/n says trying not to get mad. 

“Y/n, come on. You don’t mean that. Think about the band.” 

“ I do mean it and everything I think about is the band. You know how hard it was for me to leave. I’ve only been gone for a day, and you guys are punching the daylights out of each other.” Y/n spits venom. 

“Jake is the one punching our manager. Do you know how that makes us look?” Brandon asks. 

“Jake is the calmest one of the bunch, how does that make Peter look?” Y/n snaps back. “ I have to go.” 

Y/n hangs up and looks at Freddie, who heard everything. 

“So that’s Brandon, he’s our guitarist, and we sometimes clash.” She explains. 

“I heard, darling.” Freddie reminds. 

“Well then now you know why my writing session here, wasn’t interrupted.” Y/n throws her phone back in the bag. 

“Well darling, you said you were trying to work through some lyrics, so why don’t you try them with a piano.” Freddie points to the Live Aid set.

 As it’s lunch time, no one is near it, The piano is still there with a microphone. 

“I don’t think I can just sit up there and play it. Like it’s a movie set. They could like kick me out.” Y/n shakes her head.

“Than darling, I’ll go with you.” Freddie offers. 

“Then we both get kicked out.” Y/n says standing up. 

“I don’t think they can kick me out.” Freddie laughs standing up and walking with Y/n over to the set. 

“Up you go.” He helps Y/n onto the stage and disappears behind it. 

Freddie flips a few of the speakers on and connects the cable to the microphone so everyone can hear her sing. 

“Uh Mr. Mercury.” Y/n calls out sitting on the piano bench. 

“Right here darling.” Freddie walks out from behind a curtain and sets up a microphone at the piano. 

“Remember it’s still in it’s rough stage, and I was on a plane so my voice might not be.” Y/n starts to ramble.

“Y/n just sing the words you have on the page.” Freddie says sitting on the edge of the stage. 

“Okay, but if I get kicked off the set it’s your fault.” Y/n starts playing the melody. 

Freddie watches and pulls out his phone sending a mass group text : Come to the live aid stage, but be quiet. 

“Am I the first to hear this?” He asks. 

“No, Joe heard a little of it. It’s uh about relationships, Mine with Joe, and well mine with my friends. It’s kind of funny to play this after we argued.” Y/n muses. 

“Play on.” Freddie says with a hand flourish. 

“I’ve been alone. Surrounded by darkness. And I’ve seen how heartless the world can be. “ Y/n sings. 

Freddie could hear a few of Y/n’s influences most notably Aretha Franklin. In his mind the girl can sing. Anyone would be out of their mind to think anything else. He looks over and sees Jim,Joe, Rami, Brian and Roger walking over and sit in the front row of the audience. Y/n is too lost in the song to realize that the microphone is on and the speakers are amplifying her song to the whole production. 

As the music begins to picks up to a faster pace, Joe smiles he recognizes this part of the song. 

“Cause baby you’re not alone! Cause you’re here with me, And nothing’s ever gonna bring us down. Cause nothin can keep me from lovin you, and you know it’s true.” Y/n belts.  

Y/n smiles while she’s singing and gestures to Freddie. 

“Oh.” Freddie says running over to help her with the duet portion. 

“Now I know it ain’t easy.”(No it ain’t easy) but it ain’t hard trying. (It’s so hard trying) Y/n sings with Freddie as her backup. 

They finish the last verse together, in Y/n mind this verse is supposed to be with all of her band singing. 

“Baby you’re not alone! Cause you’re here with me, and nothing’s ever gonna take us down. Cause nothing can keep me from loving you, and you know it’s true, it don’t matter what’ll come to be. Our love is all we need to make it through.” Y/n and Freddie finish together. 

The clapping is what brings Y/n back to earth as she realized that more people than just Freddie were watching. 

[draftingtides]

I’ll Find the Words

AO3

Words: 1343 Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood Relationships: JonMartin Warnings: Brief mentions of Martin’s mum being transphobic and generally unpleasant, Jons afraid Martin’s going to react badly to his asexuality but theres no actual aphobia Other Tags: Cottage Fic, Curtain Fic, Coming Out, Trans Martin Blackwood, Nonbinary Jonathan Sims, Canon Asexual Character, Getting Together, Canon Atypical Discussions of Emotions, Domestic Fluff, Post MAG159 Pre MAG160 Summary:  Somehow maybe now I'll find the words to say Never thought I'd see the day —Brian David Gilbert, "See The Day" In a cottage in Scotland, they finally get to talk.

Jon wakes slowly, the dredges of some re-lived statement slipping out of his mind. His face is half-smushed in his pillow, but through his free eye he can see Martin across the bed, still asleep. Sunlight filters in through the lacey curtains and draws patterns across the quilt and their hands, which rest only inches away from each other.

Following the slow rise and fall of Martin’s chest almost lulls Jon back to sleep. For the first time in too long, he takes a moment to just lay there and… breathe; to feel his lungs contracting and expanding, his body pressing into the mattress. He closes his eyes and his eyelashes brush against the pillow. He doesn’t have anywhere to be. He doesn’t have anything to do. He can just exist.

A shift of the fabric makes him open his eyes again. Martin is awake now, watching him. Jon watches back. Neither of them says a word.

I really loved you, you know? Loved, past tense—but everything is past tense in the Lonely. It was once-there-was-someone-or-something-but-now-it-is-gone-and-I-am-on-my-own. It still lingers, still hovers on the edge of Martin’s being. His hair is shock-white where the Lonely leeched all the colour from it.

Jon’s limbs are heavy from sleep, so his movements are clumsy when he reaches out and puts one hand in Martin’s hair. Martin sucks in a breath, but his expression doesn’t change, nor does he ask Jon to stop, so Jon doesn’t move. Martin’s hair is soft as candyfloss, soft as a cloud.

“I love you,” Jon says, pleasantly surprised when his voice doesn’t tremble.

Martin’s eyes go wide like saucers. In a voice as steady as Jon’s and soft as his hair, he says, “I love you, too, Jon.” He puts his own hand on top of Jon’s and tugs it down to press a kiss to his open palm. “I love you,” he whispers again, so quietly this time that Jon’s not even sure he was meant to hear it.

Jon twists his hand in Martin’s so he can twine their fingers together. “Would you like breakfast? We can make pancakes.”

Martin squeezes his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, breakfast sounds great.”

~~~~~

Daisy doesn’t have any syrup, so they make do with butter and honey on their pancakes instead. 

Martin fixes them both tea. If he notices Jon watching him while he does so, he doesn’t say anything about it. Jon accepts his cup with a murmured thanks.

The table is a tiny thing, and it’s no difficulty at all for Martin to link his left hand with Jon’s across it.

When he finishes eating, Jon pushes his plate away. “I… I’ve been thinking. About something Peter Lukas said.”

Martin’s expression tightens, but he nods for Jon to continue.

“He said we don’t know each other very well. And I… it’s true, I think. At least for me.” He focuses on a point just to the left of Martin’s face. “But I would like to know you. I want to know everything about you—not because of the Eye, just—just for me. And for you.”

Martin’s breath hitches. “I want to know everything about you, too.”

They leave the dishes in the sink and curl up on the couch, facing each other, never unclasping their hands.

“What do you want to know?”

Jon considers. “Is there anything you want me to know first?”

Martin bites his lip and looks to the side. “I’m trans.”

Without thinking, Jon says, “Oh, I know.”

Martin turns sharply back to look at him. “What? How?”

“Um. When I caught you in your pants when you were staying at the Archives? You didn’t have a shirt on and you were wearing your binder.”

Martin exhales and runs and a hand through his hair. “I thought you thought it was a tank top.”

“I did, at first. But it had the trans flag colours on it, and I recognised them. I didn’t want to do anything rude or—or transphobic, so I did a little research after that, and that’s when I figured out it was a binder.” Jon resists the urge to stick his hand in his mouth and chew on his nails. “I, ah, I’m trans too? Um, genderqueer.”

“Oh! What are your pronouns?”

“He/him, I think.”

Martin sighs, relieved. “That’s good. I hate to think I’d been misgendering you. He/him for me, as well.”

“When did… when did you start figuring it out?”

“Around fifteen or sixteen? I couldn’t really start transitioning until I was an adult. Mum was… not supportive.” He looks away. “I think I must have looked too much like my dad.”

Jon rubs his thumb over the back of Martin’s hand. 

“I got top surgery last year, after she died. I… I was scared I wouldn’t like how it would look, after—after I realised how much it would make me look like him? I didn’t want to have that association every time I looked in the mirror. But I decided to go through with it, and I don’t think it makes me look like him. It just makes me look like me.”

“You look lovely, Martin,” Jon tells him sincerely, and Martin flushes to the tips of his ears.

“What about you? When did you figure it out?”

Jon recognises the attempt to divert his attention for what it is, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Just a couple years ago, actually. I came across the term while I was researching after I caught you in your binder, but I didn’t really… connect it to the way I felt until later. I also found another word?” This time, he does bring his thumb up to his mouth to chew on his nail. “Asexual.”

Martin nods and squeezes his hand.

“It means… not having sexual attraction. Which isn’t the same as romantic attraction, um, they’re separate things. So someone could be asexual and biromantic, which is like bisexual except romantic instead of sexual. It’s—um—” Jon gives up on the nail and just bites down on his whole thumb. “It’s—some aces—that’s shorthand for asexual—some of them like sex? But some—they just—it’s not—”

“Jon.”

Jon shuts up.

“Are you asexual?”

He nods slowly.

“And you don’t like sex?”

He nods again without meeting Martin’s eyes. “I don’t even like kissing on the mouth.”

Martin tugs Jon’s hand away from his mouth and holds it with his own, so they’re holding hands on both sides. “Hey. If you don’t want to have sex, or kiss me, I’m not going to make you. I didn’t fall in love with you because I thought the sex would be good.”

“But you like sex.”

“I—well, yeah. Probably. But—”

Jon looks up. “Probably?”

“I’ve never actually… done it? I never exactly had a lot of time, between working and caring for my mum. I’ve never even had a boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

“My point is, I’ve gone my entire life without having sex. I can go the rest of it, too. Especially if it means I get to be with you.”

“Oh.” His eyes start to sting. “Um.” He pulls one of his hands free of Martin’s to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks.

“Do you want a hug?” Martin asks gently, opening his arms a bit.

Jon nods and falls into them without a second thought. He’s not a loud crier, but he muffles the little sounds he does make in Martin’s neck. Martin rubs Jon’s back and rocks them a little, making quiet, comforting shushing sounds.

The strong wave of emotion peters out eventually, but Jon doesn’t move from Martin’s hold. 

“You okay?” Martin murmurs.

Jon nods. “Thank you.”

Martin giggles a bit. “We really just started out with the the heaviest stuff, didn’t we?”

Jon laughs and holds Martin tighter. “Should I have asked for your favourite colour instead?”

“It’s brown. Like your eyes.”

Jon splutters and retaliates with, “Mine’s pink. Like you used to dye your hair,” and grins when Martin’s cheeks colour to match.

[route22ny]

I grew up in the Bay Area at the height of AIDS panic, and all of that era’s sex paranoia remains burned into my brain, repurposed for Covid-19 and the act of commingling wet breath. A few weeks into this crisis, I found myself having a ten-foot-distant conversation with my neighbor Patty, both of us incredulous at people who still tried to talk to us in-tight face-to-face, like we weren't all suddenly barebacking reality with everyone they'd chit-chatted with that day and everyone in their lives, etc. Patty allowed that she should be able to strike people she considered a threat. I mentioned Florida's attitude toward this legal principle and firearms. I suggested she become militant. I tell that to a lot of people, but I attenuate the humor of it for the audience. I tell every teacher I know to strike.

There are more sirens now. It's hard to tell, because unlike New York, everything isn't quiet. Cars are out on the road—fewer, but enough that hearing a siren can still be vehicular idiocy and not a more sinister house call. But I still hear more of them.

I don’t know why Luke asked me to write about Coronavirus in Florida. I mostly stopped writing last year when a good friend dropped dead in front of his family. (Subscribe to my Substack—we don't update regularly!) Before that, I felt increasingly overborne by events. Things ground to a halt in 2019, but the machine began to break down long before. I ended the 2016 campaign periodically sitting under my desk, high, feeling secure because I wasn't writing anything stupid and feeling good because I was appropriately afraid of everything, but people thought I was exaggerating when I mentioned it.  

I wish I could say my seriousness about the novel coronavirus stems solely from believing in science and peer review and that I would take it seriously regardless, but my spouse is immunocompromised, and my father, who lives out in the Bay Area, had Covid-19, back in March or early April. He didn't tell us kids until he was out of the woods, but for days he had fevers over 103º. My stepmom, a former emergency room nurse, couldn't get him admitted anywhere, because he wasn't having respiratory problems. He woke up the same every day: It felt like someone had parked a Volkswagen on him.

We're supposed to say he's out of the woods. I'll believe that when he dies of old age, or something more reasonable that kills men in my family, like colon cancer or car accidents. Sometimes I think about him dropping dead like my friend, only from whatever post-Covid-19 effect triggers the brain’s forgetting to tell the lungs to breathe—or from the one that leads to storms of strokes, like a brain's blood vessels recreating the burning energies depicted on a CRISS ANGEL MINDFREAK poster. Then I wonder how I would die, or my wife, or my friend in Atlanta, or my brother. I think about drowning in open air, alone in a hissing world, and being incapable of saying the overdue apologies I ran out of time for.

After a while I realized that basically all Luke wanted was to hear from a coward living in the mismanaged kleptocracy of Florida, and the thing is, I can do that! I’m frightened right now!

I considered opening with, Every day I wake up frightened, to throw a fucking jolt into a piece about facing down a pandemic in a place where they have a paradise just for the cheeseburgers. But the joke is, I'm not wastin' away here in Coronaville. Sometimes I wake up and just have to pee, on the rare days when I don't wake up from the sensation of my son elbow-dropping my head because—how rude of me—it's 6:45 already.

In this respect, I am serene: My son and I exercise outside to burn off his energy, so I'm out in the sun for hours a day. I'm tanner, I've lost weight, and my phlegm feels looser. I grew a lushly indifferent goatee. My haircut looks like something that belongs on the gatefold cover of a concept album about a form of locomotion by a band named after geography. While the term "Lebowski Phase" has been applied to my appearance and to the fact that my leg injury and medical-marijuana prescription have collided with the reality of never having to drive anywhere again, I must insist that in many respects I have come to look like Jesus Christ. I am pro life and take no pleasure in reporting this.

As I have said, I am frequently awakened by my son, whose full name is My Beautiful Five-Year-Old Son Maitland. He is a treasure who spends quarantine within earshot of 24-hour news, regurgitating West Wing Democrat observations of mine with five-year-old precocity to harvest follows for Instagram. Maitland is an influencer already on record as supporting L’Oréal, opposing Medicare For All, and, when I first read him the shaggy start to this piece, he said, "Not a good look." He's a natural.

Waking up is violent but easy. The problem is everything after that. By the time I close my eyes, I'm not sure what I felt most on any given day—anger, sadness, impotence, a resentful churning need for vengeance, despair. Any one can seem like a day's dominant emotional dysfunction and then suddenly be overwhelmed by the dread that suffuses prolonged thought about the world outside.

I am one of the people who is Taking It Seriously. Seriously Taking It Seriously, though—not the people who say they're taking it seriously and then tell you about:

• Going to a recent indoor birthday party.

• Having a multi-course dinner at a fancy restaurant, "But it was okay because it was [extremely not-worth-a-life celebration]!"

• A full-contact playdate their kid had recently with two other children.

I abhor these people. I have an existential loathing of these people, and a granular scientific indictment. I enjoy reading new articles to learn new ways in which they are a danger to me. My apprehension is rich and exquisite. May their friends shun them, and may they be abandoned by their gods.

Sooner or later, every day, I think of the threats arrayed against me and my family. Each day, I see the most recent thing said by my governor, Ronald Fuckface DeSantis, in which he explicitly endorses and declares his intent to pursue actions that all available data say will kill Floridians by the thousands. Each day, I think about how, if I do so much as suggest fostering a free exchange of ideas about the proportional value of using every means to stop him, I will be arrested.

Every day, I bounce the "Evil or Moronic?" debate around my brain. I check in with an alumna buddy in Atlanta to see whose governor has shown more recent determination to murder his citizens. I gotta give Brian Kemp credit, because he's really holding his own. Naturally, this leads to wondering if either of them have a natural or acculturated advantage in terms of idiocy and malevolence. DeSantis' enrollment at Yale and Harvard and service in the military problematizes the idiocy narrative only for as long as it takes to remember all the people you've met who've gone to any of them and were dumber than dogshit. It would seem like fate to be murdered by an oaf, but I don't know that it's not merciful to at least be murdered purposefully rather than contemptuously and indolently.

Eventually, this leads to spending some time thinking about DeSantis as a kind of lethal bro angel. It's hard not to see his shitchyeah, brah, people are dyin', it's classic! expression and recognize that the state's chief executive resembles a lout you don't want to run into walking alone at FSU after a home loss. I prefer my jokes about the governor, but my friend David Roth nailed it when he said that DeSantis seemed like a person who would describe himself as “kind of a DUI guy.”

I know there's supposedly a culture war out there. There's a truck in my neighborhood with a Q sticker, and another with a Three-Percenter sticker, and there are more than a few neighbors of the "easily victimized white dude who owns a $50,000 truck he rarely takes off the pavement and who becomes physically belligerent when you correct him" variety, but there's a reason why you really only see “war” shit on YouTube. Few Americans are hostile to general safety protocols, and even fewer act out against them. I live where hate groups and old fashioned unaffiliated redneck trash drive in from the county to make a show of rebel flags, rolling coal and honking to intimidate protests, but people line up six feet apart at Home Depot, wear masks at Publix and get takeout at the pizza place outside without insisting on barging in. Most wars don’t need one side of them to be this manufactured.

Most of my friends and colleagues from this gig live in New York, so I've already sat through weeks of descriptions of streets silent except for ambulances, and I’ve already woken for weeks to the half-twilight of nightmares where friends died in a spare white hallway. There aren't a lot of surprises in store for Florida, and no images I can describe that would make you want to turn back now. It's like we're waiting for the rolling premiere of a franchise blockbuster. The dead won't really start packing them in for a few more weeks, but all the scariest shit hit YouTube when it opened in New York a thousand years ago. The coronavirus as an image, what it functionally is, as a horror, feels as familiar as the Scream mask, and the context that makes that scary as hell already feels dangerously been-and-gone, like an apprehension that Florida had for too long before the actual scare came.

There's a hope that all this will come to little again. Despite Governor DeSantis' refusal to take the initiative on shutting down the state until the last dollar was wrung from the last snowbird, the original shellacking never came. The Tampa Bay Times sampled smartphone data and concluded that Floridians overwhelmingly took the initiative to stay home, and they were aided in their quarantine process by the fact that Florida is car-dependent and atomized.

The heartbreaking realization, as you gradually run across more people who are Not Taking It Seriously or are Expressing Moronic Skepticism, is that for a month there about 80 percent of America was on board with doing the right thing. We, a people who suck at doing the right thing even for the wrong reasons, stood on the side of doing the harder thing if it helped people who weren't even us.

I really can't tell if I feel more anger than sadness at the fact that those who were meant to encourage us in safety, to serve us by offering difficult guidance, wasted our sacrifice and our trust. They squandered the patience given by a beggared and exhausted people. All they had to do was the right thing, and if they weren't sure what that was, they could have erred on the side of saving people’s lives and hoping it counted, and they failed.  

Instead, more people will die, and we'll be shut down again, and we will realize we are fundamentally unequipped for life with Covid-19. Florida is built on enclosed air-conditioned spaces: It's dependent on divorcing yourself from Florida as a climate and place. Asking Floridians to generate a public life under the unshielded rage of God’s angriest sun and baked from beneath by a sprawling pave-ocalypse requires asking them to rebel against everything their infrastructure has taught them for as long as they can remember. It is a car culture to the flesh and bone, and a restaurant relocating indoor tables to a road patio would park its diners inches away from eternity.

A picnic day like that is months off, again. It's time to go back inside and resume Inside Time. Inside Time melts away. I saw a headline around the Fourth of July, from the New York Times, that read, "In the Covid-19 Economy, You Can Have a Kid or a Job. You Can’t Have Both," and I remember seeing colleagues tweet, mmmm, so true, and, gets at something crucial we aren't talking about, and shit like that, and I was like, "Buddy, let's get in the DeLorean and visit March." I have nowhere to go, anyway, and all life is timeless.

We have no family in the area and have had no break. It's the three of us, like No Exit, but if most of the dialogue was the word "no" and a lot of stuff about poop and butts and farts, good guys and bad guys, and what Lego Star Wars would do, but with a lot of excruciated pleading for silence because Mom and Dad Are Working Right Now and We Love You Very Much but Jesus Christ Please Stop for the Love of God I Will Give You a Dollar If You Go in Your Room and Be Quiet and Play That Kindle App That Teaches You to Read That You Pay Attention to More Than Us Even Though I Would Read You a Fucking Novel If You'd Just Shut Up and Sit Still.

I'm resigned to staying in here until 2022. I’m screaming, but I will do it. I'm lucky in that I have access to a community pool and a neighborhood where my son and I can roam around on bikes and romp and look at water and birds and turtles. When we're lazy, we have a porch where we can feel nature without feeling exposed. We have a dependable (ok!!! haha!!!) income, and I can do irregularly scheduled work that allows me to be Parent rather than Employee. Exercise, meals and stories take up enough hours that I might as well lean into it.

But we’re lucky. We have a house and prescription mood-altering drugs and one thousand years of undersleep, but we are in less immediate danger than most. The state, almost reflexively, reaches out to open more doors even as Covid-19 blows past reopening benchmark after reopening benchmark.

The inexorable march for commerce doesn’t even come from malice in many cases; people in charge just don’t know how to do anything else but extort and scold people into working under any conditions, so long as it devours most of their time. All the exploitive principles are expected to work the same even if the world they built is fraudulent. We feed meat and the virus into the machines, irrespective of what the data says, and pray for rain. Watching Florida government on the state and local level is like watching two parents bring an alcoholic home after he got kicked out of rehab and deciding that the best course of action is leaving him with $5,000 in an apartment up the street from a dive bar and then going to Cancun for the week. It was on the calendar already, there wasn’t any choice, he looked very healthy at the time!

We have friends who are teachers, and we are scared for their spouses and kids. I don't know what Florida's plan for its teachers is other than to murder them. Again, I don't know if DeSantis is an idiot for flirting with giving enormous bipartisan sympathy to arguably the most effective labor group in the state, or a genius for flirting with finally eliminating a lobbying obstacle to conservative governance by simply liquidating its members as a class.

I worry if I start listing all the things I'm scared of, they'll never stop, but every day I see my son reach for something he should be able to reach for, and I either have a low-grade panic response and stifle it, or I have the panic response and yelp at him to get his attention and tell him to stop, startle him, and add another layer of gun-shy haunting to his day. I'm afraid he'll eventually become an animal in a Skinner Box in which all the buttons and levers are electrocuted, and there are no prizes.

I'm afraid that my son will always be emotionally arrested at two years behind the development of people the same age who had siblings in their house, or who, like many kids in my neighborhood, had parents who thought kids were invincible to Covid-19 and let them play with whomever they wanted. I worry that he may pay a price year after year even into adulthood because other kids got to practice socializing as we rode past. They got to hang out with people their own age and run around and do vitally stupid shit and say "butts" a lot, and he got look at me heartbroken and knowing empirically and epidemiologically that he couldn't play with his friends anymore but still needing to know why, and knowing that I couldn't tell him anything more sophisticated and anything less terrifying than, "So we don't get sick."

The other day he started crying and then screaming, "I hate the sickness! I hate the sickness!" repeating it in a higher and higher register, until he was up even past that piercing birdlike screech that prepubescent boys make whenever trying to sound like lasers or dinosaurs or squealing brakes. Every day I worry that I see another little bit of his capacity for happiness is dying—that the same awkward process of terror that took me from happy little kid to profoundly unhappy teen to scarred adult is even more rapidly at work, and each day another sparkling and joyous little light of childhood winks out in him, replaced by fear as a necessity of life.

I know that there is no plan for us. Conservatives don't want to be taxed or have their businesses lose money, so people are being kicked off unemployment and sent back to work with no test and trace protocols, irregular access to PPE, overwhelmed hospitals and often limited access to any care. We're doing all this as Florida blooms scarlet like paint being spilled into a mold shaped like the state. We're sending the men in the gasoline suits right at the heart of the fire.

It's a cruelly lazy little culling genocide of the working class, a Wall Street gamble that the blow to the labor force won't be more than a blip on the Dow and, a little recession aside, the One Percent will come out ten years later owning an even greater percentage of the United States. To the extent that there is a plan, that's the plan, and whether you land on the dead or the living part of any of those exchanges is more of a Your Problem than a Their Problem.

For now, it's enough to be hermits and hope the rest of Florida goes on strike by going inside and staying there and writing letters to representatives threatening to never come out. Cooking the same things, getting the same exercise in the same places, having the same awkward conversations on VOIP delay, and living every moment outside like we're three drinks in so we’re ready to get belligerent with anyone who is getting too close. Living every moment with some low-level neurasthenia that grows spine-deep and for the rest of our lives sends shuddering disequilibrium at the thought of air that never seems to move, hallways that lengthen without exits, and objects that seem both unavoidable and unclean. It’s fine. We’re all fine, here, now. How are you?

I feel a sudden Git Offa Mah Land thing about my son, a resolute commitment to homeschooling for the foreseeable future and to keeping the gummymint away. It sucks so much. I was so happy to send him to the public school just a few blocks away, instead of the shitty little charter schools nearby, but now that it’s Plague or Parents, he’s got his parents. Between us, he'll have access to 1.5 first-class educations. I still have my grandpa's service weapons from WWII, the last time America was in a war with fascism, when we took the opposing side. I'll empty a couple magazines into anyone who comes onto my property and tries to stop me from teaching my son critical race theory, Howard Zinn, and Leonard Levy's Jefferson and Civil Liberties: The Darker Side. I refuse to turn my back on the heritage of my youth, of watching thousands of hours of MASH, by refusing to wear a mask outside or in fact any time I am doing anything other than drinking gin that I made in a tent.

Outside, records fall and progress rolls on. A governor whose go-to pejorative for opponents of all ages and sexes is very likely still “queef” watches as even the president concedes that a Republican National Convention here would be too lethal, as the state repeatedly sets records for daily deaths, beats out all of Europe in terms of new daily cases, leads the nation in cases per day, then tries to set them again. And then, every day, our governor makes his ahegao-but-for-ethnic-cleansing face and psychotically clangs a bell indicating that Florida just became the 15,000 customer at Leadshoe Larry’s Kicked-in-the-Dick, and it’s time for all us lucky winners to line up and drop our pants.

Florida’s lethality is so tacky that it’s almost camp, but there is no satisfaction in being right about how wrong everything is. Nobody gets a prize for correctly guessing the surplus death toll. All you have to do is look someone else in the eye working in life under Covid.

I’m old now, so I have Humiliating Injury Syndrome (HIS), and somehow in the month between the Super Bowl and the pandemic, I tore a rotator cuff, a labrum, or both, by throwing a (mini!!!) football with friends. After four months, I broke down and went to get an MRI. I skulked down corridors and lurked in a corner of a waiting room, like playing spies with an opponent who was the air. Even the clean and modern fixtures felt miasmic and corrupted, like they were a parking garage in an Alan Pakula film.

Eventually a nurse emerged from an office, crinkled her brown eyes, waved and surprised me by asking after my family by name. She lives three blocks away from me and had hosted me at a party once. Later that day, as my car coasted down the approach to my house, I saw a garage door open and my neighbor’s son walk out on his way to his shift at the same grocery store that I treat emotionally like a Superfund site.

I thought about how much I unconsciously held my breath where they work, and how I unconsciously associate those places with poor choices. The danger of the world outside is so massive that I reflexively need to cordon off the threat into areas of blame and blamelessness. In a moment of crisis, years of conservative rhetorical conditioning in the discourse have taught me to reflexively pathologize those in harm’s way. There is less chaos if someone is at least responsible for something. There is less risk to me, if it turns out someone else’s epidemic is someone else’s fault.

But it is someone else’s fault. And it’s not some poor fucker doomed to sit in a box somewhere and accept paper money and hand metal money back and point at where toilets are, because that’s how he keeps the lights on. It’s not the person consigned to some life-sucking task that, on the best of days, is too humiliating and cruelly impoverished of purpose to ever be a reason why someone should die. It’s not the person around whom you hold your breath because you don’t know where they’ve been. It’s the person and people who put us all in position to suddenly feel like we’re suffocating together.

I hate that I sometimes unconsciously hold my breath around strangers, and I hate that they have heard it. I think of my neighbors, and of the workers on whom we’re dependent, and the permanent uncertain shortness of breath I feel, and I want every moment of their anxiety and mine gathered up and then rained on those who shepherded it into being, those who nurtured it and feasted on it, those who profited from it and were indifferent toward it. Those who consider themselves DUI guys and those who pay to elect them and give them sinecures and who are simply too rich to be arrested for boating under the influence anymore.

I think of how I hold my breath near good people and near vulnerable people in places I am wary of and that we all need to share, and I wonder if we will simply hold our breath for the rest of the year, and if we’ve bargained for standing near each other and holding it for all of the next. And I wish so eagerly that all our suspended futures and the air between us might catch at the throats of those who put us here. That justice for a man like Ron DeSantis might be a permanent and sucking terror: stuck always in an involuntary startled gasp at the sight of responsibility, afraid at the approach of every stranger, incapable of drawing a full and restful breath, and never knowing peace again.

Jeb Lund used to write about politics for Rolling Stone, The Guardian and Gawker, and a bunch of other places, and was the Spectacle of Trump Editor at 50 States of Blue. He and David Roth have a podcast about Hallmark original movies that is mostly funny and exasperated and not unkind, and it's not ultimately about the movies anyway. It's fine and people enjoy it. Don't make it weird. He also has a podcast where he watches every Dennis Quaid movie in a row. That is also completely normal.

Ok here’s me again with a couple more things.

You’ll want to read this in the New York Times today about a forthcoming documentary on ICE. After it was completed the filmmakers were apparently threatened with legal action by the agency over the inclusion of parts that made ICE look even worse than they already look doing literally everything else they do.

Some of the contentious scenes include ICE officers lying to immigrants to gain access to their homes and mocking them after taking them into custody. One shows an officer illegally picking the lock to an apartment building during a raid.

At town hall meetings captured on camera, agency spokesmen reassured the public that the organization’s focus was on arresting and deporting immigrants who had committed serious crimes. But the filmmakers observed numerous occasions in which officers expressed satisfaction after being told by supervisors to arrest as many people as possible, even those without criminal records.

“Start taking collaterals, man,” a supervisor in New York said over a speakerphone to an officer who was making street arrests as the filmmakers listened in. “I don’t care what you do, but bring at least two people,” he said.

Here’s one disgusting detail among many.

They followed Border Patrol tactical agents who took pride in rescuing migrants from deadly dehydration even as the agents acknowledged that their tactics were pushing the migrants further into harm’s way. They showed how the government had at times evaluated the success of its border policies based not only on the number of migrants apprehended, but on the number who died while crossing.

***

source:

https://luke.substack.com/p/all-they-had-to-do-was-the-right?utm_source=Brooklyn+Today&utm_campaign=dd6f63665c-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2020_07_28_01_15&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_1ba554d7d5-dd6f63665c-125128182

[izzy-b-hands]

Rock/Queentober 2020, Oct. 16th: Ashes

Assigned band member for this day: Brian

Synopsis: Brian/ Trans M Reader. Set just before the beginning of the 1976 A Night At The Opera USA tour. Your father has recently passed, and it’s a hell of a time, as to be expected. But Brian is there to help you through it, at least. 

TW for death of a parent, though it isn’t described in detail. Also casual transphobia, and descriptions of reader having a shitty relationship with their father. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“Thank you for coming with,” you say softly. 

The lights in the crematorium buzz, and you and Brian shift uncomfortably under their too-bright, clinical glow. 

But then, since your father had first taken ill, it had been uncomfortable. Awkward. 

He approved of Brian, in a general sense. But he had never liked Brian as a person. 

For that matter, your father hadn’t liked you much either. He loved you as parental obligation, but it was not a true love, and he didn’t show it often. When he did, it came in the form of trying to buy your love, offering you expensive things you didn’t want or to pay your rent for a month or two out of nowhere. But always with the catch that you would then do whatever he asked of you, after the money was given. 

You had never taken it. You had a job, and your own paycheck, and love to be found elsewhere with other people. So you had let your father keep all his money, and all the love that supposedly would have come with it on the condition of your obedience. 

The last day you’d visited him in hospice, he’d made all of that very clear, in a long, meandering, often hurtful lecture. 

“As a daughter...you were disappointing, but fine enough, for a girl,” he had coughed. “But as a son...” 

He had rolled his eyes, and asked the nurse checking his IV what she thought it would take for you to get the hint and finally leave him to die in peace. 

That was when you had left. No good-bye, even as the nurse had called after you, letting you know he wasn’t likely to last the night. 

You hadn’t cared then, and you didn’t care now as the crematorium employee handed over the medium-sized white box that held the urn which contained your father’s ashes. 

If he had cared at all, after you left, there was no way to know. And what did it matter? Out of all his children, you were the only one to show up when he first got sick. You brought him to England on your dime so he could receive care and not drown his family (wife and family number four) in medical debt. You offered to fly out your half-siblings, all of them, from wives 2-4, even offering your mum the chance to fly out if she desired, even if only to slap him once soundly. 

None of them had taken you up on it. Most of them hadn’t even replied, by phone or letter. But you had made up excuses for them all, when he got sad, asking where they were. 

You had done all that, and he hadn’t cared one whit. You weren’t the way he wanted you to be, so none of it had counted. 

“He didn’t have any requests, or anything in his will about it?” Brian asks, gesturing to the box as you walk together back to his car. 

You shake your head. “I wish he had. I don’t know what the fuck to do with them.” 

“Rude of him,” Brian says as he helps you into the car, careful not to jostle the box. “Just one last fuck you, it seems like...” 

“It really does,” you sigh, opening the box as you wait for Brian to get into the driver’s seat. The urn is bronze, and a little ugly, if you’re honest. But your father had picked it out himself, and he always did get most of what he wanted, didn’t he? No matter the end result or consequences. 

“Sorry,” Brian mutters as he slips into the seat, quickly starting the car and getting it pulled out into the mid-day London traffic. “Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” 

“If he didn’t want anyone speaking ill of him when he was dead, then he shouldn’t have been a fucking shithead in life,” you found yourself sobbing suddenly, the tears an unexpected and unwelcome surprise as they fell. 

“It’s okay,” Brian says gently. 

“It isn’t!” you protest, wiping harshly at the tears. “I want to throw this damned thing out the window!” 

Brian pulls into the nearest open spot on the side of the street. “Y/N-” 

“I hate this,” you whimper. “I said years ago: no more tears over him, or because of him. Not even one more! And yet here I am...” 

Brian undoes his seatbelt and leans close to hug you. “You can’t be upset with yourself for this. Anyone would cry; he may have been terrible and your relationship with him might have been shit, but-” 

You could see him choosing his words carefully. 

“You still knew him. For better or worse, he was in your life, and that means something. Not all good, not all bad, but a mix. And that means having a reaction to this moment, to him being gone.” 

“I don’t want him in our house,” you say as you close the box’s lid. 

“Okay,” Brian nods. “Is there anywhere in particular you want to put him? I mean, his ashes, I should say.” 

“No,” you sigh shakily. “I just want him away from us.” 

Brian’s wearing the look that comes up whenever he’s being clever, but feels unsure about it. “I might have an idea. You still want to come out on a few tour dates with us, yeah?”

“If you guys will have me,” you reply. “And so long as I won’t be in the way.” 

“Never,” Brian smiles, and kisses your forehead. “So then, if you aren’t sure of just one place for him, maybe you could bring him with, and...” 

After a moment, it clicks. “That’s brilliant. What would I do without that brain of yours?” 

“Be perfectly fine, because there are a great many days where you’re much more clever than I am,” Brian chuckles. “And more put together, too.” 

“That’s debatable,” you manage a smile. 

He shakes his head, then looks down. “Keys?” 

“Still in the ignition, love.” 

He blushes, utterly adorable, and nods. “Right. Where they would be, of course. Sorry; I swear I’m fit to drive.” 

For now, the urn has to come into the house with you, though you let Brian put it up on a high shelf in the hall closet. It’s difficult to do, but Brian makes it so much easier. 

And a few weeks later, as the tour begins, you lighten as the urn does. 

Part of him in Boston. A bit left in New York. Some in Chicago. And finally, the rest of him in San Diego. 

You bury the ashes deep in the dirt, under the watchful eye of the public park warden who has given you permission to spread the ashes there. 

She leaves as soon as you’re done, leaving you and Brian alone, staring at the miniscule mound of disturbed dirt. 

He wraps an arm around you. “Feeling better?” 

You nod. “A little. At least he’s truly gone now. I wonder what he’d think of all this anyway, us doing this with his remains. If he’d find it neat, or hate it utterly.” 

“That’s the beauty of this,” Brian says. “He’s gone. He can’t weigh you down with his thoughts or feelings or insults or complaints anymore. All that ugly shit he used to say to you is as dead as he is.” 

“It is,” you sigh happily.

“And you’re here, and alive, and beautiful,” Brian continues. “What say we take that urn back to the hotel and leave it there, then have a walk round here before I have to get to the venue?” 

You nod and follow him out of the park, but stop at the sight of an open dumpster near the park entrance. 

He shakes his head as you toss the urn into it. “I thought you might, as soon as I saw it.” 

“He wouldn’t care anyway,” you say, as you pull him back into the park. “And even if he did, who cares? He isn’t here to yell at me about it, and I wouldn’t care for what he had to say regardless.” 

You know better than to kiss right there, the looks you’ll get. But Brian pulls you down a path with only one woman on it, and as soon as she passes, he kisses you deeply, but sweetly. 

“My father had no idea of how good you are,” you can’t help but whisper as you continue down the path with him. “But I do. And I’m so glad I have you.” 

“He had no idea how good you are either,” Brian replies. “No idea who he missed out on getting to know, to care for. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be someone who has gotten to do what he didn’t, albeit in a different way.” 

For the rest of the quiet path, before you reach other people again, you take his hand. 

You won’t say now, because who knows exactly what the future might be. But you know that when you go, you hope Brian will keep your ashes at home. On a mantel, or a side table. Somewhere near him, whenever he’s home. 

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 2 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Okay so, to be honest, we really thought that we were doing this for ourselves and that maybe a few people would read it. The fact that so many of you guys have been SO kind and supportive is just lovely and we are infinitely grateful for you all!! Here is Chapter 1. Here’s a link to AO3 if you’d prefer to read there. 💫

Last Chapter: Violet received the thrilling news that Fame intends to promote her to design as soon as she finds and trains a new assistant.

This Chapter: We meet the other department heads.

***

Violet looked out on the conference table one final time, consulting the list in her notebook to make sure that nothing was forgotten. It was Wednesday morning, the 9am monthly creative meeting starting in less than 15 minutes.

The table was set with a light breakfast spread, no one but Trixie and Alyssa ever actually eating at these things, but she had made sure there was a selection of fruits, and that everyone had their favorite beverages besides the ginormous coffee order. Keeping track of the department heads and their various likes and dislikes was almost a job in itself, but Violet had gotten it down to a science.

There were frosted Pellegrinos for Fame, Raja preferring grapefruit juice. Alyssa liked Redbull, Alaska preferred diet Doctor Pepper, Trixie was a regular coke kind of guy while Pearl was a wildcard, but Violet had a good feeling about the chocolate milkshake, since she had heard the rumor that Pearl had been out partying.

Violet had spent most of last night writing the job description for the new assistant, falling asleep with her notebook in hand, only to wake up in a panic at 3 am to realize that the electricity was out yet again. She had slept restlessly for the rest of the night, then missed her first alarm, barely making it to her gym for a shower before coming in to work at 7.30 sharp, and while Violet knew she looked flawless, it felt fundamentally wrong to take a stop at her gym without working out.

The only bright spot so far had been how HR had accepted her initial proposal right away, giddiness bubbling in her chest at the thought that the process of finding her replacement was actually happening.

“- and don’t forget to bring the swatches.”

Raja Amrull was standing by the window, her phone to her ear, a cup of coffee already at her lips as she spoke to her assistant.

Raja Amrull was the chief creative officer, co-founder of Galactica and one of Fame’s very best friends. Violet took a moment to watch her as she gave order after order, her voice filled with a natural authority that always made Violet’s stomach do a flip.

Raja was wearing a mustard fitted pantsuit, the black hair that almost reached her waist put in intricate braids, and Violet knew it was the work of her girlfriend. Raja’s tan skin was practically glowing in the morning sun, the dark brown tattoos on her left hand standing out.

Even though she was in her 40s, 41 if Violet remembered correctly, she still looked every bit the supermodel she had been in the 00’s.

Raja wasn’t a naturally sweet person, but in Violet’s opinion that didn’t matter. She was competent and got her business done, which was something Violet admired in a leader.

“Violet?”

Violet blushed, the sound Raja’s voice cutting through her daydream. She had been so caught up in watching her that she hadn’t actually paid attention, but Raja had never been known for her patience, so she simply snapped, pointing at the room's thermostat, and Violet quickly made her way over, turning it down four degrees to the temperature she knew Raja preferred.

She felt like an idiot for forgetting, and she promised herself that it wouldn’t happen again.

Alaska, head of makeup and fragrances, was the first to arrive. The blonde wasn’t particularly talkative before her third cup of coffee, her every word drawn out in long lazy vowels. Alyssa came second, Violet counting her blessings that the marketing director had shown up on time. Alyssa always got the job done, but getting her anywhere on schedule was always an experience, the woman forever off in her very own world where she was the star of everything.

Fame was third, her first words as she stepped through the door, “Why is no one ready?” and Violet felt her stomach clench.

The meeting wasn’t scheduled to start for another 10 minutes, but that was one of the most terrifying things about Fame. She was never early, she was never late, everyone else was simply supposed to be there the exact moment she wanted them.

Violet was just about to open her mouth to apologize for Pearl, when the woman in question came in through the door.

“Morning everyone.” Pearl smiled, her voice a slow drawl. She was wearing a black turtleneck crop top, a black miniskirt and Violet was pretty sure she could see pieces of golden glitter in her unwashed blonde locks.

Alaska waved, but Fame gave her one single slow judgemental once-over, the kind that Violet had witnessed cause several interns to burst into tears.

“What are you wearing?” Fame’s voice was icy cold, but Pearl only smirked.

“You don’t like it?”

“Did you sleep in your makeup?” Fame reached out, touching Pearl’s chin with a single finger and tilting her head up, turning her face from side to side. “You know how I feel about this mistreatment of your skin.”

Fame dropped her hand, and Violet immediately handed her a tissue. Fame wiped her fingers, giving the now crumpled paperback to Violet, the whole exchange taking less than 10 seconds.

“You smell like an illegal teen party.”

“It’s because I’ve been to one.” Pearl smiled brightly, Fame’s disapproval and rudeness clearly not touching her at all. “Wait until you see the photos. Half the partygoers were wearing our newest print. Trixie was absolutely right-”

Just as Fame said those words, Trixie pushed through the door, the senior creative team of Galactica now all present, to Violet’s relief.

“You rang?” he said with a cheeky grin, earning a fist bump from Pearl.

It had taken Violet months to realize how much of a genius Trixie actually was--his close-shaven brown hair, obvious bald spot, a fondness for colorful t-shirts and love handles all doing everything they could to hide that he was one of the main forces behind Galactica’s success. But Trixie (who’s real name was Brian, though Violet had never heard anyone call him that) was wildly creative, known for his effective management style and outside the box thinking.

While Raja handled the broad creative direction and was the face of the company to customers and consumers, Trixie was in charge of the day to day operations of the design departments. He ruled the design atelier and the tailoring department with a gentle touch, though no one dared cross him, Trixie just as willing as anyone else in the boardroom to do what it took to get the job done.

“I’m sorry I’m late-” Trixie yawned, barely hiding it behind his hand.

“I take it the collection is going well?” Raja smirked, her knife cutting through an apple.

“Don’t even ask.” Trixie groaned, sitting down in a chair, grabbing the coffee - two-pump caramel, whole fat milk - Violet delivered to his hand and drinking it down greedily. “My machine broke and ate most of my prototype.”

“So it’s not here?” Fame raised a brow, but Trixie shook his head, reaching into the paper bag he had brought along.

“I’ve been remaking it all night on Katya’s shitty theater machine.”

“Oh, my poor darling.” Fame leaned against the edge of the table, gently running a hand through Trixie’s buzzed hair. “We’ll get you a new one.” “Thank you.” Trixie smiled, and Violet grabbed her notebook, knowing that Fame without a doubt expected her to find the exact same machine Trixie had broken and get it delivered to his apartment before the workday was over.

***

A knock caught Violet’s attention. She was back in the office, writing out her to-do list from the meeting, her nails clacking away on the keyboard.

“Violet?” Max Malaphany was standing in the door, a smile on his lips. “Is she in?”

Max was an impossibly tall British man, his soft short hair grey, his eyes blue.

“Sorry,” Violet quickly pressed save, turning her chair. “Fame is in a meeting, but I can pencil you in for later?”

Max was Galactica’s main photographer, and one of Fame’s treasured darlings. He had a studio on the top floor, his sure hands and endless patience capturing all in house media, Galactica producing every single shot for their website themself, and while Violet wouldn’t have believed it made that much of a difference, their online portfolio had thousands and thousands of visitors every single day.  

“I’ll just wait here.” Max was carrying a portable light table under his arm, and Violet could only guess what would be in his backpack. “I’ll only be a moment.”

If it had been anyone else, she would have protested, ushered them out of her little front office one way or the other, but Max was different. He was one of the few calming presences at Galactica, he never probed, rarely gossiped, and Violet truly enjoyed that about him.

“Do you want some water?” Violet had a mini-fridge under her desk stocked with the most important supplies, since she never knew when Fame’s cravings or the mood of her guests would strike.

“I’d love that.”

She quickly grabbed him a water, and Max settled down in one of the plush armchairs normally reserved for visitors. He didn’t start talking, wasn’t trying to make chit chat that would inevitably turn awkward, which was why Violet had allowed him to stay.

She went back to her memo, working for a little while but her eyes were stinging, and she only barely managed to hide a yawn behind her hand.

“Are you feeling alright, Violet?” Max asked gently.

“What?” In spite of her exhaustion, Violet was in a fairly good mood, and while she didn’t have the sunniest disposition, she wasn’t actively annoyed at the moment. She quickly checked her face in the glass door to the office, smoothing down her hair.

“You look lovely as always, Violet.” Max smiled. “I was only asking because, well, I’ve never seen you slouch before. Are you feeling unwell?”

“Oh…” Violet straightened her back, her fingers in her thick black locks. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Okay.” Max nodded. His expression was so understanding, his manner so patient, that Violet did something she rarely ever did. She offered more information.

“I’m just tired, I-” Violet swallowed down a nervous chuckle, her tongue feeling like it was growing in size in her mouth. “I don’t sleep well these days. The electricity in my building, isn’t, it isn’t very stable, and I keep having these nightmares where my phone runs out of charge so I miss an important call and-”

“Oh dear.”

Violet realized how stupid she had to sound, but she had woken up covered in sweat thinking she had missed calls from Fame, any rest she got broken up by the worry that she wasn’t doing her job.

“I’m sorry. It’s nothing to worry about really,” Violet assured him. “The landlord said they’ll rewire the building-” Max didn’t need to know that her landlord had been promising that exact thing the entire time Violet had been living there, but she didn’t really have any other options, her student debt way too much for her to even consider spending another penny on rent. “I’m sure it’ll work itself out.”

“Well, I wish you the best of luck with that,” he said sincerely. Just then, the door opened and Jaida, the company's CFO, came out.

“Max!” Fame appeared in the doorway, a delighted smile on her face.

Violet’s stomach turned to ice, everything in her begging that Fame hadn’t heard her complain.

“Hello Miss. I know you’re terribly busy, but I wondered if you could spare a few minutes to discuss the test shoot for the new brochures yesterday?”

“Of course, anything for you!” Fame said. She truly was a different person in Max’s presence, Violet noted. Softer and calmer--as most people were.

“Wonderful.”

***

“Oh I don’t know about this light for orange, it’s so ghastly-” Fame was chewing her lip, a lens in her hand as she went over the pictures Max had brought in for her.

“Fame?”

“Yes dearest?” Fame looked up. She loved Max. When Pearl had told her of a British wildlife photographer she had met in LA and bullied into taking her picture, Fame hadn’t been interested. As always, Pearl had proven to have an eye for talent that few could compete with, her social media director not only able to sniff out trends like a bloodhound, no, she knew people, and she knew them instantly.

Max had a rare talent for capturing the natural beauty of an unnatural world, so much of fashion made up of things that didn’t matter, but when he shot, when he turned his lens on someone, he captured all the best they could offer each and every time.

“I heard Ivy moved in with her boyfriend.”

“Mmh?” It was indeed true. Raja’s assistant, Ivy, had been living in the building Fame and Patrick owned for a few years. Fame and Raja had almost gotten in a fight, something that never happened, when Ivy’s house in Queens had been torn down, but in the end Raja had gotten her will, Ivy moving into the studio apartment on the top floor. “She left two weeks ago.”

Fame had meant to find someone else to take the apartment, but that building was special. It wasn’t just an apartment complex, it was a place where she kept her chosen ones, a safe haven she offered to talent that she trusted.

“You know, Violet doesn’t have reliable electricity. In her building. I mean.”

“Oh Max.” Fame smiled, touching Max’s knee. “You have always had such a tender heart.”

[viva-la-fangirl]

Yesterday Part 3

I’M ALIVE

Yesterday Part 1 and Part 2

*tumblr has flagged Part 2 for ‘adult content’ but I’ve appealed it so hopefully it works

Not that many care- last semester of school was hell and I’m trying to write my own shit so this fell back on the list. I’m finally motivated to write the third part to this.

words: 1.1k

Warnings: mention of assault, prolly bad grammar and spelling

Your stomach turned on the way to Queen’s practice. You couldn’t eat. Sleeping was nearly nonexistant and every time you thought your mind had wondered off into another topic- your ex would spring back in your mind.

He’s out. He can find you. He can hurt you.

It had taken Roger nearly an hour of begging to get out to tell the other guys. The guilt weighed on you like a horse on your back. But why did you feel so guilty? Your ex hurt you. It should be him that felt guilty. Was it because of everything he put Freddie, Bri, Deaky and Roger through before you ended the relationship? Was it because you made excuse after excuse to make his actions seem understandable.

Looking out of the car window all of those questions filled your head. You barely registered walking up to the studio and through the door.

“(Y/N) how lovely to see-- you look like trash darling,” Freddie greeted you first. His signature down-to-earthiness made you smile a little but it didn’t get rid of the waves of guilt, pain, and embarrassment that continuously washed over you.

“Is everything all right?” Deaky spoke up first. He had always been your silent supporter and you loved him for it. After becoming quick friends with Freddie through uni, Deaky was the first one you grew close with. His soft personality was something you really clicked with. Now, it hurt even more just the thought of your ex insulting him to his face and even worse behind his back.

“Yeah... yeah everythings-” You look at Roger. His stern and clenched jaw gave away the true nature of the conversation at hand. “No actually. Roger and I got a call this morning. A courtesy call,”

“A courtesy call for what?” Brian made his way closer to Roger, sensing his unease and frustration.

“Um... well my ex is...”

“He’s out,” Roger finished for you and stormed away. “He’s bloody out of jail. Beats her within an inch of her life and they sentence him to 15 years and he serves what? A little over 3? It’s absolute rubbish and those cock-suckers are going to pay for letting him out,” Roger looked around like he was going to throw something. Brian, being the most experienced with Roger’s mood laid a peaceful hand and Roger knew what that meant. Calm down. Shit sucks but this is not the time or the place. 

Roger’s eyes were angry but his face softened a little.

“Is that true?” Brian looked at you confused. Hoping that what Roger said was wrong.

“Yes,” you breathed out. Your throat hot and tight.

Another wave of reality hit you and nearly caused you to fall. Freddie ran over to make sure you didn’t slam headfirst into the doorframe. He placed you on a cloud-like sofa.

“Oh love,” he mumbled. “I’m so sorry. I just... can’t believe... I’ll sue them for everything they have if he lays a hand on you” Freddie whispered gently into your ear.

“Thanks Fred,” you mumbled back.

The room was silent for a second. Everyone took in what that meant for them. What it meant for you.

“He shouldn’t be able to find you,” Bri- always the logical one started to try and calm your fried nerves. “You and Roger don’t have your address or phone number listed anywhere and your house is gated.”

“I’m a public figure now,” your voice was horse and dry. “He’ll easily be able to figure out where Queen is playing, and where to go if he wants to find me,” you felt hot tears spring in your eyes. Your body shook. “I’m so scared,”

Flashback

You thought you heard sirens. At first, they were far away, so far you questioned you heard them. You allowed yourself to close your eyes. Why did you eyes hurt that bad? Why did your face feel wet? When you allowed yourself to open them again the sirens were so loud they pierced your eardrums.

Everything hurt. Your eyes, your ears, your chest, arms, legs, face. You could feel your blood pulsing in your brain.

Why was someone shining a light in your eye? It was annoying and very rude.

“MIss? Miss? Can you hear me?” a calm but urgent woman’s voice called through water. It was thick and muffled.

Of course I can hear you. You wanted to say but as soon as you took a breath it felt like needles scrapping down your throat. You instantly coughed and heaved. Why did it hurt to breathe? Your body started to shake. What was happening? Why couldn’t you move? Why did the air smell like pennies?

“Help,” was all you managed to get out before your eyes forced themselves closed.

It wasn’t until hours afterward that you were told what happened. Well, you had to be told because you barely remembered it.

You remember you and your ex at dinner. He brought a ring out. His greasy smile flashed asking you to marry him. You remembered your gut dropping as you realized this would mean a lifetime of abuse and division between your marriage and friends.

You remembered you said no. That was it.

Considering you didn’t have any family in the country you listed your best friend Freddie Mercury as your emergency contact. You knew you could always count on him. What you didn’t count on was him bringing along Brian, Deaky, and Roger to the hospital.

They saw everything. Brian and Deaky sat silently. You knew they were crying but they didn’t show it. Freddie started yelling at the cops to do their job and find your ex who did this to you. Roger threw chairs, he punched a wall that left a good-sized hole and cussed out everyone.

It was the first time you felt safe in 2 years.

Present

“Don’t worry love,” Roger came over and bent down to your level. “We’ll double security and have his picture at every entrance. No one will let him near you,”

“You can’t promise that,” you weakly stated. It was true and they all knew it. No one could watch you 24 hours a day. The boys kept making promises and personal statements about how they would come over if Roger wasn’t able to be there. Someone would always be with you.

No matter how good the intentions, the crushing pressure of your ex being out didn’t go away.

Eventually, the boys started rehearsing but always glanced in your directions as you sat peacefully on the couch.

During a break Roger came over and laid his head beside yours.

“How we doing love?”

“I want it to be yesterday,”

[like-the-wings-of-butterflies]

Playing Nurse (Platonic!Queen x Reader)

Summary: Somehow you end up nursing not one, but four of Britain’s finest musicians

Warnings: AWFULLY WRITTEN FIC & Smoking?? (Does smoking need a warning?)

Word Count: 1,122

A/N: Something about this one feels a really wrong and I know it’s absolutely not my best work not even in the slightest, but I had a lot of fun writing it and I can only hope you enjoy reading it. Feedback is always appreciated! ♡

How you wound up nursing four of Britain’s finest musicians was beyond you. You didn’t even bother questioning how they all got sick in unison, Freddie’s desperate plea for you to come over on the other side of the phone line was enough for you to drop everything and make your way over to the London house as quickly as you could.

When you arrived, Freddie greeted you with a bright smile despite the very noticeable shadows under his eyes, pale face and flushed cheeks.

“Thank you so much darling, if you couldn’t make it I was going to kill them.”

You grinned, “We both know you don’t mean that.”

“Well of course not, who would I perform with?” He said, pulling you into a tight hug.

Feeling the heat radiate from his body you gasped, “God Fred you’re burning up!”

“That’s why I asked you to come over,” He confessed, “We’re all sick and can’t seem to get any better. We thought maybe you’d have a couple ideas?” He asked, his voice slightly warped from his stuffy nose but still hopeful nonetheless.

You hesitated on the though until a smile smile met your lips.

“Nurse (Y/N) reporting for duty.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

From your very limited medical experience, you deduced they all had the flu. The best you could do was make sure they rested, ate, and always had a supply of tissues and painkillers. It wasn’t all that bad though, it was exhausting but they seemed thankful enough.

Brian you found to be the most difficult. Not because he was bratty or rude, Brain vowed to never be that way around you, but simply because he didn’t want to accept that he was sick. Anytime you turned your back you found he was getting out of bed again, hoping to give you a hand in taking care of the others. Much like teaching a small child to sleep in a bed without their parents, it took a number of reoccurring attempts to get him to stay still and rest. It wasn’t until you threatened him that he decided to give in.

“Next time your feet hit the ground, I’ll kick them out from under you.” You deadpanned.

“Point made.” He settled, knowing it wasn’t an empty threat.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Roger, cigarettes aren’t going to make you feel any better.” You placed down a bowl of soup and a glass of water you had prepared for each of them, noticing the smell the moment you walked in the door. With a lazy smile, the blonde took a long drag and blew a plume of grey smoke into the air before offering the thin paper cylinder to you. After looking at him for a moment, you snatched it out of his hand and extinguished it in the ash tray situated on the coffee table.

“Hey!”

“They’re only going to make you feel worse.” Grumbling, you fished through his coat which laid lazily over the lounge and stuffed the small packet of cigarettes in your pocket, “You get these back when you’re no longer disease-ridden.”

“(Y/N) please. Freddie was smoking earlier! Why don’t you tell him off?” Roger pleaded.

“I did, and unlike you Roger; Freddie listened.” You countered.

He only threw his head back against the pillow in reply, wrapping the blanket around himself and turning himself away from you. “Brat.”

“Jerk.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You found John and Freddie were the easiest to take care of. Freddie crashed almost as soon as you arrived, you only had to wake him for meals and for the remainder of the time he seemed quite content just reading or watching television. Unlike Roger and Brian, John acknowledged that he was in fact sick, and did what he could to recover as quickly as possible. After the others had gone to bed, you found yourself on the floor beside the sofa he was laying on, talking with him for a large majority of the night.

“Sorry to bother you with this (Y/N). We tried taking care of each other for a few days but it seems we only made each other more sick. You were our only hope.”

You smiled and pulled the blanket to cover John’s chest. “It’s alright, you haven’t been all that bad. Roger’s only sulking because I took his cigarettes earlier, he would’ve forgotten by morning.”

As 4 am approached unforgivingly, you leaned over him and clicked the switch to the lamp that was lighting the room, submerging it in a thick darkness.

“As much as I’d enjoy talking more, it’s time for you to get some rest. Goodnight John.”

“Goodnight (Y/N).”

You stood and quietly padded out to the kitchen and pulled the living room door closed behind you. You sighed heavily, and slid down against the door, glad that all the boys were now asleep. You closed your eyes for a moment before opening them again, finding that they immediately focused on the large pile of dishes that decorated the counter. You almost passed out from what you though was exhaustion when you peeled yourself off of the floor, but alas, you knew that if the kitchen wasn’t cleaned now, it’d still have to be done in the morning.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Not too long after daybreak Freddie, Brian, John and Roger awoke, feeling noticeably better then they did the previous day. When they didn’t find you anywhere in the house, Freddie finally peeked into the kitchen with the others following suit.

Just next to the sink, you laid sprawled across the floor with nothing but your jacket draped over your frame. Eyes closed in contempt, your mouth hung open slightly, just enough for your breath to flicker at the few strands of hair that tickled your face.

With four pairs of eyes looking intently down at you, Freddie squatted down beside you placed a gentle hand upon your forehead. Unconsciously, you whimpered and leaned into the cool sensations against your skin. He frowned as he felt the heat under his hand and moved to sweep the hair out of your face.

“(Y/N)’s running a fever.”

John was the first to sigh, immediately feeling guilty for keeping you up so late, “God damn it.”

Silence hung in the air before Brian spoke, “Come on then, there’s no good in us complaining.” He decided, “It’s our turn to play caretaker.”

Roger carefully kneeled beside your sleeping frame before gently placing his arms under your knees and back. He lifted you, pulled you against his chest and stood again, silently praying he hadn’t woke you. He felt you snuggle closer into him and smiled down at your sleeping form, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“I think its time we let you rest huh?”

[jawnjendes]

what i can’t have | shawn mendes

chapter 5/?, university au, shawn x goth oc

AN: a continuation from i’ve been polite. ANYWAYS uuuhh don’t drink and drive kiddos. also there’s smut in this, specifically dom!shawn, daddy kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, proceed if you wish.

***let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist

masterlist | playlist coming soon

It was probably better that everyone piled into Shawn’s Jeep after dinner, despite the fact that no one was sober. Annalise was just a little too antsy, and if they were alone, she would have talked him into taking her back to his place. Hell, they might not have even left the restaurant parking lot with how much they were teasing each other. The sexting continued even after they left the bathroom, sharing steamy messages under the table.

Annalise was quiet as the others talked and laughed amongst themselves, sans Stella and Camila, who had taken their own separate Lyft to the bar on Camila’s insisting. She had been blushing deeply since the señorita comment, and no one, not even Stella, seemed to know why. Technically, Annalise should have been weary now that the two girls left Alessia by herself when they were supposed to keep her at bay, but it was a night for getting laid. Two rum and Cokes in, and Annalise decided that everyone should get laid tonight, and she was rooting for her wife.

For once, Annalise wasn't in a brooding silence where she seethed at everyone else having a good time. She felt content and warm and relaxed, actually wanting to hold Shawn's hand as he drove. She just had to touch him somewhere, anywhere at this point.

She reached out to him, but instead of locking their fingers, he placed his hand on her thigh. He kept his eyes on the road, but it was clear he hadn't forgotten the minor event in the bathroom. His white button up had stayed untucked and covered his crotch, making Annalise feel weirdly smug. She hardly ever got to rile him up like this, or feel like she was holding all the cards. It was new and exciting and such a fucking turn on.

They pulled into the parking lot after a while, only to find that it was quite full, and people were lining up out the door. Annalise spotted Stella and Camila already at the end of the line, standing awfully close to one another. She was honestly surprised they didn't ditch the shindig altogether by now.

"I'll drop you guys off at the entrance," Shawn offered, his fingers curling around his girlfriend's thigh, "and me and Ann will find a place to park."

"Sure thing, rockstar," Alessia replied from the backseat.

Annalise glanced back at her once. There's that nickname again.

Shawn pulled up to the front of the hole in the wall, and everyone piled out of the backseat. Technically, it would have made sense for Annalise to be among that group, given her massive fucking boots, but she really didn't care at this point. She and Shawn were now in a place where they could just flee and move things to his place.

However, Shawn silently found a parking space in the furthest corner of the lot. As soon as the car was still, he took off his seatbelt and looked at the girl next to him, moving his hand to the shoulder of the passenger seat.

"Gotta say, I like this role you've taken on tonight," he began.

Annalise quirked an eyebrow. "What role?"

"The one where you take control and render me powerless. I'll be honest, it's really fucking hot." His eyes trailed down her body, and then he was reaching over to untie the middle of her cardigan and letting it fall open, revealing the little black dress underneath. "And you've got your perfect tits out on display too. It's like you knew just how to get me going."

Heat was rising between the two of them, but Annalise felt it all over her body. “You say that like we haven’t been dating for ten months. Of course I know how to get you all hot and bothered.”

She took Shawn's hand while it was still within her grasp, and she moved as close as she could to his side of the vehicle. Shawn moved in closer as well, letting his nose brush the side of her face.

"Am I still not allowed to kiss your pretty mouth?" he asked softly, his voice full of docility.

Her lips were still rocking that blue color, given that she reapplied after dinner. Fuck, she really wanted him to kiss her. But she liked this passive side of Shawn too much, so she gently shook her head, leaving him to want more.

"What about here?" he whispered before pressing his lips on her cheek. "Or here?" He did it again, on the side of her jaw. "Here?" The side of her neck.

Annalise was too distracted to realize his hand was snaking underneath her dress. That is, until she felt his fingers touch her through her panties. She let out a shaky sigh, her hand moving up his arm. She didn't even have to ask him to touch her, he already knew her body talk so damn well.

Shawn kissed down her neck, suckling just light enough to make her body lean towards him. Then, he moved his hand away from her crotch and up to her boobs, not even hesitating to pull down the front of her dress. Thank god it was stretchy cotton. It was a bit of awkward maneuvering, but Shawn managed to reach under Annalise's pink bra (fucking pink!) and stroke her nipple with the tip of his finger. Just that little movement had her panting and whining, and he decided he could live off of those cute little sounds.

Her head fell onto his shoulder, and that's when Shawn knew he had her. He smirked as he heard her little needy whispers. Then he moved back down to her crotch, feeling her through the soft fabric once again.

"Please," Annalise breathed out. It was all she could say when she was this needy, and Shawn always knew what she wanted, but still had to hear her say it.

"Please what, honey?" he mumbled against the shell of her ear.

"Touch me more. Please, please…"

There was nothing like watching her assertive and smug persona crumble before him, and if this was any normal circumstance, Shawn would have taken this to the backseat, party be damned. But he had to teach his girl a little lesson first.

He pulled his hand back and moved away from Annalise entirely, unable to keep the grin off his face. He wanted to kiss away the cute little pout on her dark blue mouth, but this wasn't a normal circumstance.

"Honey, need I remind you it's your friend's birthday," he said gently, but that cockiness was still visible. "It would be rude to ditch her now."

Annalise went from pouty to furious in a split second, her eyes filling with their usual angry fire. She raised a finger to say something, but Shawn quickly exited the vehicle, feeling very stupidly proud of himself. Now he was in the lead of this game, as he should be.

He was still polite enough to wait for her to get out of the car, but he was smiling from ear to ear as she walked around to his side. She had taken off her long cardigan, leaving her only in the sleeveless black dress and exposing her sexy, sexy legs in those boots. The length of her dress didn't even touch her knees, Shawn noticed. Maybe he could get her to bend over for him later.

"Okay, I see you using my own tactics against me," Annalise spoke firmly, "and I raise you…"

She finished that statement but reaching under her dress and pulling a daring pair of pink panties down her legs. She didn't even bend her knees as she pushed them past her boots, showing Shawn the flexibility that was not utilized enough between the two of them. Finally, Annalise stood up straight again with a triumphant smirk on her face and approached Shawn so her boobs were pressing against his arm.

"Hold onto these for me, will ya rockstar?" She stuffed the skimpy panties into the pocket of his jeans, barely brushing against the boner that had come out to play again.

Shawn's jaw clenched, and the heat in his lower abdomen only intensified as Annalise walked away. He so badly wanted to grab her arm and pull her back into the car for the duration of the night, but she was already too far away. He reached into his pocket and curled his fingers around the pink lace, his heart racing at the fact that she had been wearing a cute, almost innocent color under her dark outfit. She only wore pink for Shawn, as it seems, meaning she knew something like this was going to go down. Tonight of all nights, when he hasn't seen her in two weeks.

"Oh," Shawn said to himself, wanting to smack himself on the forehead. The last time something like this happened was on a check in day. So was discreetly teasing each other in public the check in itself? Or would there be time to talk later?

That was the second time Annalise walked away from a very flustered and aroused Shawn, except now she was on the same level as him. If she had just given into him like he wanted, they could have been on their way back to his place. Annalise was just a little too determined to reign champion of this stupid little game.

"Where's your rockstar?" asked Alessia, looking around for the tall figure.

"He'll be here," Annalise simply replied, following the small line outside the bar's doors.

And he was. Shawn caught up to the group in a short jog, smiling at his friends.

"Let me guess," Brian said, folding his arms, "another case of the shits?"

"Mind your business," Annalise told him.

Stella piped up and changed the subject. "It's karaoke night! Who's gonna serenade me, the birthday girl?"

"Uh, me!" Camila said, raising her hand. "Who else?"

"Sí, ya sé señorita," Stella told her, affectionately cupping her chin. "Anyone else? Anna-banana?"

She started to shake her head, but Shawn put his arm around her. "That's a great idea! You should totally do it, Ann. It's your wife's birthday after all."

Annalise looked up at him and then the group. "True. Wouldn't wanna leave her hanging. I'll sing as many songs as you want, Stella. We'll be here all night if we have to."

Only Shawn was mildly put off by that sentence, and only Annalise knew why. She'll drag this thing out as much as she can for what it's worth. She knew the outcome of this night would end with her back getting blown out, and the more she made him wait, the better it would be.

"Fine, but I sing first!" Camila said before showing her ID to the bouncer.

The rest of the group followed inside the bar. This was far less fancy than the restaurant they were just at, but it was also perfect for getting absolutely plastered the way Stella had wanted. Camila went straight to the karaoke sign ups and confidently wrote her name and song, followed by Stella and Annalise picking their go-to jam. Then, Annalise ordered yet another rum and Coke, because she wasn't in the right mindset to just sing in front of a bunch of strangers.

Soon enough, Camila was belting out Demi's "Cool for the Summer" in honor of the birthday girl. Even while intoxicated, she sang perfectly and practically showed up anyone else who came before her. Stella and Annalise had to follow up that performance, and they chose Little Mix's "Joan of Arc."

Shawn watched from his seat at the bar, grinning as he nursed his whiskey. He watched Ann move her hips and sing to her heart's content, although the lyrics spoke a lot about "not needing a man." It was also narcissistic and sassy, just the right song for her. Shawn had never seen her have so much fun before. He needed to take her out drinking more often.

He also needed to fuck her into oblivion, especially when she and Stella squatted down during the bridge ("drop it so low that your thighs get sore.") Ann was standing behind her roommate as she went down, so she didn't accidentally expose herself as her legs opened wide. It still made Shawn shove his hand into his pocket again, feeling up the sexy lace. Then he set down his whiskey, knowing that if he was going to take Ann home, he had to be less intoxicated than he was getting.

"They just had to be that hot, didn't they?" asked Camila over the loud tune. She had been standing next to him, drink in hand. She was a little bit more inebriated, having had three rounds of vodka shots after her little performance.

It seemed like only she and Shawn were the last two standing members of the group. Alessia disappeared with Patrick on the dance floor upon seeing their friends put on a show, while Brian and Connor left to follow some pretty girls around. All that was left was two lovesick suckers and their clueless, stubborn dates.

"Aren't we lucky?" Shawn told her.

Camila hummed. "At least you know your girl is in fact, your girl."

He wasn't so sure. Yes, Shawn and Ann had been on each other all night, but what about tomorrow? Or the day after? Was she going to leave him a second time?

Then he actually processed what his friend said. He looked at her, eyes wide. He would have asked her to elaborate, but the current song ended and distracted both of them.

Only a few people applauded after Ann and Stella finished their song. Shawn and Camila whooped and clapped as hard as they could as they watched their girls come off the stage. Shawn smiled and held his hand out to Ann when she approached, pulling her into his side.

"Didn't know you could move like that," he said in her ear.

She placed her hand on the exposed bit of his chest, a tipsy grin on her face. Then she beckoned for him to bend down to her level so she could speak in his ear. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

Doesn't he fucking know it!

"Where's the rest of our squad?" asked Stella over the blaring music.

"Doesn't matter! Let's go dance!" Camila suggested, bouncing on her feet.

"I'm not drunk enough for that," Ann told her.

"Me either," Shawn agreed.

Camila pouted. "You guys are no fun!"

"Hey, but that means you get the birthday girl to yourself!" Ann said, nodding towards Stella.

That was all they needed to throw themselves into the large group of people dancing to the current karaoke song. It was all Shawn needed to pop the question to Ann after all this time.

"Wanna get out of here?"

~

Annalise felt warm and giddy after hearing Shawn's little anecdote about the first time he saw her. There was still an insatiable thirst deep in her soul that needed to be quenched, though, and excitement was pooling in her chest as they got closer to Shawn's apartment. The teasing and the build up was fun, but now neither of them could wait anymore.

Not to mention, Annalise's feet were aching terribly from her boots. The next best thing to getting laid was getting the chance to take off these huge blocks. She started to untie the laces when Shawn pulled into his parking space at the complex, but he placed his hand on her arm to stop her.

"Leave them on."

Annalise whined. "But my feet hurt."

"I'll carry you up to the apartment. Just don't take them off," he told her.

She was just tipsy enough to not think about the humility of getting physically moved out of the car in public. Although, she half expected to be carried out bridal style and not thrown over Shawn's shoulder. Annalise still giggled as she held onto his back, but her sounds only made Shawn whack her on the ass.

"Shush, there's people sleeping," he scolded as he shut the car door with his hip.

He didn't see her smile and bite her lip.

Once they were in the privacy of the apartment, Shawn set her down on her feet in the hallway. Annalise was way too smiley, her face flushed pink.

"You think you're so cute, don't you?" Shawn said to her, immediately backing her into the wall and towering over her.

She was still grinning. "You and I both know I'm adorable."

"Mmm." Shawn cupped her chin, his thumb stroking over her bottom lip. The dark blue lipstick she was so concerned about keeping intact all night was very faded now. "You think it's funny, what you've been doing to me all night? Teasing me with those legs and that underwear?"

"Oh, don't act like-" Annalise was cut off by her cheeks being squished together rather harshly.

Shawn was very close to her now, his nose touching hers. Her protruded lips were lightly touching his, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction so easily. Not after everything she put him through. All he did was gently take her bottom lip between his teeth, not biting nor sucking. Just teasing.

"Get your ass to the room," he ordered in a low voice.

The only reason why Annalise stumbled was because her feet were still in a lot of pain. Her heart pounded in her ears as she went into the bedroom, hearing Shawn's footsteps behind her. She turned to face him as she sat on the bed, and she slowly opened her legs to him. He was a total sucker for her in this position, especially since her panties were still in his pocket, but Annalise was surprised to see that he didn't drop to his knees right away.

"I didn't ask you to do that," he told her, his voice steady and clear. His chin was up and his chest was out, making his authority more clear.

"Maybe I don't wanna listen to you," she said back.

Shawn approached her, bringing his hand up. He cupped the side of her neck, his thumb gently moving across her throat, making her gasp lightly. "What was that?"

Adrenaline shot through her veins as she looked into his eyes. He wasn't playing games anymore. Annalise opened her mouth to talk back again, but the feeling of Shawn's hand tightening just the slightest bit made her stay quiet.

"That's what I thought," he said, a certain glint in his eyes. "Now get on your knees for me."

He let go of her so she could oblige, but she only bowed her head and spoke softly. "Can I take off my shoes?"

"Hmm, no. You look way too sexy to get rid of them now."

Annalise silently got down on the floor, sitting on her legs. She now knew how this was going to go, and it was making every part of her body tingle. She pursed her lips as she ran her hands up Shawn's muscular thighs, reaching for his belt buckle. She wondered in the back of her mind if the belt would be left on the floor the whole night, or if Shawn would decide to use it for anything else. Finally, she was pulling his jeans down the way she did at the restaurant and she ran her fingers over the kiss mark left on his underwear.

"What are you smiling at?" Shawn asked, moving his hands into her hair. "Come on, put your sassy little mouth to work."

"Or what?" Annalise looked up at him, feeling a little daring and, like he said, sassy. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Shawn narrowed his eyes, the corner of his mouth turning upwards. "There's no way to shut you up, is there?"

"Nope!" She grinned and then continued by pulling down the front of his Calvins. His hard, pink cock sprung out, and she took hold of it at the base, pumping slowly. She then carefully wrapped her soft lips around the tip, and that was when Shawn pushed on the back of her head and made her gag.

Annalise pulled off with a heavy cough. She didn't dare look up at Shawn, knowing he was probably already enjoying this. She slowed her breathing as she pumped his shaft some more.

"Oh, look," Shawn told her, moving his hips forward towards her lips again, "a way to shut you up."

She closed her eyes as she sank down on him again. This time, she went a little slower, suckling at the tip and pumping whatever she couldn't fit in her mouth. Shawn held her hair up and let out a soft breath, watching as his cock disappeared behind her pretty lips as he let her go at her own pace. But it didn't stay that way for long. He began to move his hips in rhythm with her head, making her take even more and really pushing her limits. He let out a deep breath as he touched the back of her throat, loving that his girl was being so compliant.

The tiniest little whines came from the back of Annalise's throat, sending even smaller vibrations on his cock. Shawn grit his teeth and tightened his grip on her hair, and he began to control the movements of her bobbing head. She whined even more, her eyes watering as hollowed her cheeks and let her mouth be used. Her fingers dug into his thighs, trying not to gag on the size of his cock.

Shawn had never been this rough with her before, but she loved it. She needed more of it. She needed more than to just be facefucked like she was some sex doll.

"Fuck yeah," he whispered, watching as he controlled his girl's movements, loving the feeling of her warm mouth engulfing his cock completely. Finally, he held her still, her nose touching his pelvis. He could hear the short, faced paced breaths coming out her nose, and it was only a bigger turn on.

Annalise had mascara under her eyes when she was finally pulled off. Saliva covered her chin, and blue lipstick was smudged down her bottom lip. Shawn noticed a dark blue circle around the base of his cock and he chuckled. He's never had a girl quite like this one.

"Catch your breath and get on the bed," he told her, gently gripping her arms as he helped her stand up. "On all fours."

She couldn't really look at him when he was like this. She felt as though she would melt into the palm of his hand, as if she wasn't already dripping. Just as she turned to get on the bed, Shawn placed his hands on her waist. He bunched up her dress and slowly lifted it over her head. Then, he undid the clasp of her bra and took it off her as well.

"That's better," he mumbled, snaking his arms around to her front, getting a handful of her breasts. He fondled for a moment before letting her get on the mattress. Then, he took off his blazer and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

Annalise timidly looked back, biting her lip as she watched him strip down. Without further instruction, she slid back on the bed and raised her ass in the air, wiggling just a little bit.

"That's my girl," Shawn praised as he slapped one cheek. "Already knowing how I'm gonna take you."

She buried her face in her arms as she let out a squeak. Insitictivelt, she tried to wiggle her toes to cope with the sting but… boots. Her heart nearly beat out of her chest as she felt the mattress dip behind her and she peered over her shoulder again, watching Shawn line himself up behind her.

In the same moment, he reached over and pushed her head back down on the mattress. "Stay down."

His hands moved down the curve of her ass, admiring the little red marks his rings left behind. He decided he should wear them more often if he was going to teach his girl a lesson. Then, he ran his hands down her long, beautiful legs, gently holding her ankles. Her flesh was smooth and warm and so, so perfect. Seeing her in nothing but those platform boots did something inexplicable to Shawn. He would have taken his time exploring every inch of her body if he wasn't so desperate to fuck her and show her who's boss.

Shawn moved his hand in between Annalise's legs, and she easily spread them open, already at his disposal. He sucked in a breath as he got a look at her wet pussy, bringing a single finger to feel the warm wetness. He felt her pulse right on the cunt, knowing she was ready for him to take her. She leaned into the light touch, panting softly, needy and desperate.

"You want it, baby?" he asked, slowly moving down the slit and back up, the tip of his finger soaked.

Annalise nodded wildly. "Yes…"

"Hmm, I don't think you do, honey."

"Please," she whined, elongating the vowel as she wiggled her ass some more. "Please, I need it!"

Shawn was grinning, almost amused by her little movements. His finger barely dipped between her folds, and he kept his free hand firmly on her hip to keep her from backing into it; He wouldn't let her have it that easy. Then, he lined himself up again and replaced his finger with the tip of his cock, waiting to hear more sweet little sounds, and he wasn't disappointed.

"Please… Daddy, please… please fuck me, Daddy..."

It came out in a whisper, but it still hit Shawn with even more heat. So much, he actually had to insert himself just a little bit. He let out a deep breath upon feeling the warm tightness of her pussy, his fingers digging into her ass cheeks, and then he kept talking.

"Say that again, honey." He slapped the cheek once again when he didn't get a response right away. "Say it!"

It sounded like it came straight from a cheap porno, but he was an absolute sucker for it anyway. "Fuck me, Daddy!"

"That's right," Shawn growled as filled her to the brim. "Oh, that's my girl…"

They both moaned out at the feeling, finally getting some relief after building each other up all night. Shawn was still for a few moments, letting Annalise adjust, but then she started to fuck herself on his cock, her ass moving smoothly and swiftly in a quick rhythm. He couldn't help but spank her again, his silver rings making it sting even more.

Annalise was a fucking mess, her face contorted with pleasure and sweet relief as she finally got what she wanted all night. Her ass felt hot and painful from where she was hit, and it was only fuel to the fire. Pain never felt so good, and she wanted more. She asked for things she typically never asked for: hard slaps, hair pulling, a well timed bite on the neck. Shawn gave it all to her, grumbling dirty words in the process. He loved taking her this way, leaving her ass red with all the spanks he delivered.

"Here, lie flat," he told her, tapping her hips so she could move.

With a small mewl, she did what she was told, evidently sliding his cock out of her. Shawn hovered over naked body, moving her hair away from her back. Rough and ruthless as he was, he couldn't stop himself from planting kisses on her lower back, caressing her waist in an affectionate manner. He dragged his lower lip up her spine, leaving one last kiss between her shoulder blades and smiling against the skin as she felt her back arch. Then, he held the base of his cock and swiftly slid it back into her cunt, falling back into a rhythm again. He scooped up her hair into his fist and tugged just enough to make her tilt her head back.

"Oh, Daddy," she moaned, holding herself up on her elbows.

Shawn couldn't deny how much he loved that nickname. Annalise had only let it slip one time before this, and it was rather difficult to find a time for him to ask her to say it every time they were in bed. Now, he didn't even have to ask her, she just had to be so deep into this state of mind that she'll let out anything she's thinking. Shawn tugged at her a little more, growling deep in his chest as he felt his end approaching fast.

"Fuck baby," he groaned, thrusting so hard their skin was slapping together. "Fuck, this pussy's mine now. So fucking good for me, baby, you're so good."

The two of them let their moans fill in the room, unable to form words now. The bed creaked with every erratic movement, and neither of them cared when they hear a loud snap from under the mattress. Then, Annalise cried out, her legs lifting up and causing her thick heels to dig into Shawn's ass. Next thing he knew, he felt the tiniest stream of liquid around his cock. For a moment, he was confused and went still for a second, but hearing her continued moans and feeling her clenching pussy around him made him piece it together. Shawn had to pull out as soon as he realized because holy fuck he never experienced something like that before and it was way hotter than he imagined. His mouth fell open as ribbons of cum spurted out onto her ass, making a beautiful mess all over the flesh. He could have dragged it out longer, but it was way too sexy and he really needed to see Annalise do that again.

"Come on, baby, ass up," he told her as soon as he was done, grabbing her by the hips.

"Yes, Daddy," she replied, assuming the position.

If Shawn hadn't finished, he would have been hard all over again. He pushed two fingers vigorously into her entrance, the wet smacking sounds filling the room. He curled his fingers in her spongy wetness, desperate to find the spot that made that cute little noise come out of her. He tried to coax it out of her, "Do it again for Daddy, come on…" He reached around with his free hand and rubbed her clit the way she liked, getting more gorgeous sounds out of her.

Finally, her voice went up an octave, and then more liquid spurted out, leaking down the palm of Shawn's hand. She was clenching repeatedly around his fingers, her hips twitching slightly. Shawn really couldn't believe his eyes, and he chuckled in disbelief. He made his girl feel this good.

Annalise rolled onto her side as soon as she was spent, so Shawn quickly reached down to grab his shirt off the floor. He shifted her slightly just to wipe the cum off her cheek, and then he went to untie the laces from her boots. He carefully pulled them off and set them on the floor. Finally, he carried Annalise to the pillows and draped the comforter over her. He crawled into bed with her, and she quickly nestled herself into his side. Shawn wrapped his arms around her like it was second nature, letting her legs tangle with his, and he sank into the afterglow.

Her eyes were shut, her body was fully melted into the mattress, but she still spoke clear as day. "You should handle me like that more often."

Shawn smiled and kissed the top of her head. "Anything you want, honey."

It was only a few short minutes of cuddling before Annalise heard her phone buzz from wherever it was in the room. She sighed and picked her head up, but Shawn didn't dare let her go just yet. He watched her sleepy face search for the source of the noise, and then he gently moved her head with his free hand back to his shoulder. She complied yet again, her arm going around his waist.

"I need to go soon," she mumbled into his neck.

"No you don't," Shawn replied, giving her a light squeeze. "It's late, really late. Just spend the night."

Annalise hummed. "I need to take off my makeup. And I don't even have extra clothes here."

He had a feeling she would make that excuse at some point. He made sure to be prepared ahead of time. "There's makeup wipes here for you. And you still have a drawer full of your clothes here."

Once again, she picked her head up and looked down at him. "You really want me to stay?"

"Of course I do, why would you even ask?"

"Because we were only supposed to check in."

"Well we clearly got busy with dinner and the bar. And like I said, it's so late and I don't want you going out there by yourself in a Lyft. Just stay with me, please."

Wordlessly, Annalise climbed out of bed and picked her bra up off the floor. Her brows scrunched a little bit as she put it on, like she was in pain. She grumbled something in Spanish as she stumbled into the bathroom.

Shawn rolled onto his side and watched the door close. He was tired and content a minute ago, but now that the chance that Ann might just ditch him during the night was keeping him up. Once was bad enough. He just wanted her here so he could make her breakfast and help nurse the hangover that was bound to happen. Not only that, she could also meet-

"Did I leave these here?" She had opened the door again, peering her head out as she held up the white packet of wipes.

"No, I had them here in case you ever wanted to sleepover," Shawn told her. "I know you like your skincare."

She smiled and then shut the door again. Then, Shawn heaved himself off the mattress and went to put his underwear back on. After that, he approached the door to the bedroom, which had been left open just a crack. He peered out into the living room finding no sound and no interruptions. He decided he'll save the introductions for the morning… or whenever he and Ann wake up.

_______

taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @ilsolee @mendesromano @1-800-khalid-mendussy @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @poppyshawn @shawnvvmendes @shawmndes @shawnsunflower @calyumthomas @wronglanemendes @havethetimeeofyourlifee @yourdeflightfullyleft

[killer-benhardy]

Say It - Part 7

Ben!Roger Taylor x Reader

A/N: I really suck at writing sad sappy stuff. so get ready to cringe your heads off ;) but i’m so sorry that i like died for a while. but writing this actually broke my heart into pieces. hope you enjoy this x 

“Say it?” Roger questioned. It was the first time that Roger didn’t know what ‘say it’ meant. For the time since you’ve been dating him, he was unsure of what he had to say. And it made you feel even worse.

“Why aren’t you saying it?” You cried out. It brought the attention of others around you. Of course, since it was just outside the pub. You weren’t usually one to make a scene in public.

“I think you just need to relax for a bit Y/N. You need to breathe the fresh air,” he held your hand.

His touch meant everything to you. Until you saw him lay hand on another woman, probably not even thinking of you.

You wanted it to always be like this. Roger would be by your side, you’d watch him as Queen’s success would grow, you’d marry each other, you’d grow old together, see your children grow up.

To live in a house that would have enough rooms for the two of you, and for the parties that Freddie would throw. Maybe have a garden full of the most beautiful roses and a water fountain that you’d dance around with Roger till midnight. That was what you’d always dream of. But that’s all it was.

A dream.

“You know that I love you so much, right?” Roger smiled weakly. It’s what you wanted to believe. But you know that is wasn’t the truth. All you could think about was him with another woman backstage.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, Roger.” You pulled your hands away from him.

All you wanted to do was hold in your embrace forever. You wanted to remember all the times you’d spend dancing around in the living room while having a drink or two, listening to Queen’s records.

Those memories had now become blurry. You kept imagining all the times he’d go on tour and how many girls he’d hook up with. You don’t know how many that would be, but you know that it would be at least half a dozen.

“How was your time away from me? Did you have fun performing not in London?” Your eyes could stop getting watery.

“Why would you ever think of that, babe?” He kept trying to reach out to you. You wanted to, but you couldn’t.

“Just say it, Roger!”

“I can’t say it to you Y/N! It’ll make me feel worse.”

“I know. That you’re fucking another woman while your girlfriend is in the same building,” you said surprisingly very calm.

But he knew that meant that you were more than angry. It was something that Roger had learn after being in a relationship with you since you weren’t one to get angry often.

“I-I- it isn’t what it looks like baby, believe me.”

“What. Was it just a one-off thing?” You questioned, trying to figure out if it really was or not.

He kept silent for a while. For a bit too long. “N-n-not exactly, but-” Roger was close to admitting it.

“But what? You just accidentally go into a bathroom and shove your dick in her?” Every word you said broke your heart. Why did you have to say these things to him?

“Okay, but I haven’t seen or spoken to Amy for weeks and-”

“Just weeks? How long have you been seeing her? Weeks? Months?”

“I can’t answer that Y/N. I feel so guilty and I’m sorry,” he shoved his hands into the back pockets of his pants. He was clearly uncomfortable and genuinely sorry.

‘I’m sorry.’ The words you deeply didn’t want to hear. But he finally said it to you. You didn’t realise how much it would hurt you.

More tears. And it felt like your breath began to shorten more and more. It was like you were drowning in the sea or as if you’ve been spinning for hours and hours.

“Do you remember when you were a child and always wanted to hold onto a balloon?” You put on a weak smile.

“Yes,” he croaked. He was confused.

“And you’d let go. And watch it float up, up, up, up into the air. You’d hope it would come back down. But it never did. It kept going.”

“What do you mean, Y/N?”

“That’s what I’ve been feeling inside ever since you’ve been acting like I’m just one of your fucking groupies! And it’s cause you’ve been cheating on me!” You’ve never seen Roger look so vulnerable, with tears forming in his eyes.

You hadn’t noticed it, but he had a small black jewellery box in his pocket. “I-I was going to pro-” He held it and tried to reach for your hands.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Roger Meddows Taylor,” you broke down even more. The thought of Roger proposing to you was something you didn’t want to imagine anymore. He was going to propose to you with the secret of him cheating on you.

“Don’t you fucking dare try to call me.”

“Don’t speak to me.”

“Don’t even look at me,” you choked on every word. You didn’t expect yourself to ever say that to the person you love.

Once loved.

“Y/N, where are you going?” He knew that trying to follow you would make things worse, so he just stood where he was.

“Anywhere but here,” you stated while walking away from Roger. As you tried to wipe away the tears, all you could think of was Roger chasing after you.

But for the first time, he didn’t. And this saddened you even more. You didn’t expect yourself to experience something so heartbreaking.

You’ve been in other relationships and had other breakups, but for some reason this breakup really hit you.

Maybe it was the fact you gave everything to him. All your love, devotion and time. All the time you gave to him which now seems like has gone to waste.

“That jerk,” you sniffled.

“Um, where’s Y/N and Roger?” Brian asked a very drunk Freddie and John. Everyone was completely shitfaced, so there was really no point of trying to ask them questions.

“Why are you wondering darling? They’re a couple so they’re probably shagging somewhere,” Freddie slurred with a glass of champagne.

And that’s when a familiar blonde came towards the three boys. “Fancy seeing you here, how have you boys been?”

Amy. Her hair was at waist length, had the same colour as Roger’s and her blue eyes were like the ocean. Along with her perfect body proportions, and symmetrical face, she was obviously a model.

“Oh my dear, Amy! It’s been only a few weeks since we’ve seen you!” Freddie spoke raising his glass towards her.

“What brings you to London?” John asked with a drunken smile. Brian wasn’t trying to acknowledge her being there, but that would just be just plain rude if he were to do so.

She was wearing a plain black dress that just cut off around her thigh, and it was quite short with some simplistic makeup.

She sat down in the seat where you were sitting before you left, and that bothered Brian. “Uh, sorry Amy, but that’s Y/N’s seat.”

A smirk came upon her face, “Who’s this Y/N? Oh, Roger’s Y/N? I’ve heard lots of things about her.”

“You have? Y/N is the best, she’s the sweetest to all of us,” John smiled slouching into his seat.

“Where is our darling Y/N?” Freddie asked, moving his head around the place to try and find you. But none of the boys knew that you already left.

“Well I bumped into Roger when I came in, he looked a bit off. Maybe you should check on him, Brian?” Amy stated, fluttering her eyelashes with a huge grin. So he walked around the pub again and walked into the bathroom, to find Roger curled up on the floor.

“Roger, what are you doing mate?” He was crying, something that none of the boys has seen before.

The only time that they’ve seen Roger cry was when his drumkit broke, but those were tears of frustration and not sadness. But this was the first time Brian has seen Roger so heartbroken.

“It’s Y/N. I fucked up Bri. Fucked up real bad.” He sniffed on nearly every word. He was breaking. And the ring he was going to give you was now on the floor along with the box that looked like it was thrown around the place.

“Maybe we should call it a night. Go home and Y/N will be there,” Brian recommended but he knew that you wouldn’t do that. You were hurting.

“Yeah that sounds good,” Roger stood up and headed towards the bathroom door. He wasn’t walking the way he usually would, instead of walking with his shoulders back and high, he wasn’t caring about his posture.

“No, I need another drink, Bri.” And Roger decided to stay in the pub, drinking his sorrows away.

Walking around past midnight wasn’t the best idea, especially since there weren’t many people around. And you didn’t know where else to go since you couldn’t really go back to yours and Roger’s apartment.

You couldn’t bear to see his face after you shouted at him how much you didn’t want to see him. Even though you really did.

You didn’t know where to go until you found a phone box and called the only number you knew that would pick up at this time. “Let’s hope you pick up the phone.” You slot in a few coins and dial in the number and wait.

“Hey, can you please pick me up? I have no idea where I am. I’ve been walking for ages and I just don’t know where to go. I just got too angry and I regret everything that I said. I just don’t know what to do. It’s cold and I want to go home but I know that it wouldn’t be the best thing to do. I’m sorry to bother you for this,” you spoke while you were shivering from the cold.

Your feet were aching and it would be best to think that you’ve caught a cold from walking for so long.

“There’s a few shops around, lots of streetlights and a pub-”

“Y/N, are you outside the pub we were at?”

“Yes…”

“I’m coming.”

Not even fifteen minutes passed by and Queen’s band van came by. And all you could think about was the first time you met Roger. But that memory went away when you saw John open the door.

“John? I-”

“Don’t worry, he answered the phone while he was in the bath. His place isn’t far away so don’t worry.” John explained while you sat down. And he wasn’t kidding, you were outside the apartment in ten minutes.

You knocked on the door, just twice, very lightly. A few seconds later, it opened.

“Y/N.”

“Brian.”

--

Taglist: @roger-taylor-stole-my-heart @ilyjules @cosmiclunas @lilliekrs @mrsmazzello @mercurys-bike@jemcairrstairs @wolverinesbeer@anamcg317@wingardiumlevidonewithlife @a3lizale @lelifesaver @jennycidesstuff @killerqueenbucky @benhardyjones @bookish-oreo@obsessedwithrogertaylor @cloveofmylife @yourealegendroger @florenceivy @marvellouspengwing

[megalony]

The affair- Part 3

Another part of my new Roger Taylor series, thank you to everyone for the lovely feedback it means a lot.

Permanent taglist: @marshmallowmae @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly

Series taglist: @bohemiansweede @killerqueenbucky @borhapqueen92

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roger's eyes burned wilder than the sun as he dared not shift his gaze away from the hand that was clasped in his own. His spine was burning with the desire to move but the drummer would not budge. His body was half stooped over like he was leaning over a paper he was writing. The lights in the room were making his headache worse and the morphine was now burnt out of his system but none of that mattered.

Roger was waiting like a ticking time bomb for the inevitable to happen. Just over an hour he had been sat here but what he was expecting to happen had not yet happened which was a good thing and yet Roger couldn't seem to be grateful about it.

The moment the nurse had told them that (Y/n) was out of surgery, Roger had demanded that she take out his Iv drips and untangle him from the machines, less she should want him to scramble away and tangle them up. He had no intentions of lying there like a sitting duck waiting to be shot again when (Y/n) was lying unconscious in another room. Brian and the nurse had held most of Roger's weight to let his weak form go down the corridor into (Y/n)'s room. They had sat him down in the uncomfortable leather chair beside her bed and left him to his own devices for a while. John had stayed up until about ten minutes ago when he went to ring his parents and update them. Freddie had said he needed to retire for the night but would be back first thing in the morning. And Brian had also had to go to his family who were distraught after hearing the news.

It was splashed all over the headlines. Queen concert cancelled, fans escorted off the premises and advised to go straight home. Security everywhere as an individual with a gun gets backstage and shoots Roger Taylor and (Y/n) Deacon. Brian had rung his family to inform them that he was fine but needed to stay at the hospital and now he had to go home and comfort them.

John had called Veronica but he wasn't going home yet, he couldn't leave his sister when her condition was far from stable. The bassist was also waiting for Andrew, her fiance- or rather ex-fiance- to turn up so he could be informed of the situation, he was a few hours away so he should be arriving by now. John was dreading that conversation because there was no possible way it could go anywhere but downhill. How was John meant to inform the man he didn't know all too well that his girlfriend had been shot, she had decided to end her engagement to him and that she was pregnant with someone else's child. Less he forget to inform Andrew that (Y/n) had cheated on him for quite some time too.

Over the hour that John had sat in his sister's room with one of his best friends, he calmed down immensely. John couldn't deny the way Roger was so tentative around her, he looked like he wanted to ask permission to hold her hand even though she was unconscious. He kissed the back of her hand so gently as if he could break her. He said nothing yet he seemed to be saying something with his eyes.

Roger had tried to protect her and John was going to be forever grateful for that because although she had gotten hurt, Roger had clearly saved her from worse damage. The drummer was John's best friend and he could see that his sister meant more to Roger than anyone he had ever seen the drummer with. How could he be angry at the drummer or his sister when there was clearly something between them?

All the commotion left Roger sitting alone in (Y/n)'s room, his good hand entwined with her limp one as his other hand was immobile whilst in the sling.

Roger's foot began to tap against the tiled floor from the adrenaline coursing through him, trying to take away the pain in his shoulder since the morphine was no longer there to do that for him. He also needed an outlet for the sudden burst of energy that he had required. Waiting was never something Roger found he was good at and he didn't want to be here like this. The only time Roger wanted to be at the hospital holding (Y/n)'s hand was for their child being born and somehow he knew that was not happening.

The nurse's words rattled around in his head on a loop that he could not break no matter how hard he tried. The bullet had been removed, the internal and external bleeding in (Y/n)'s system had been stopped and she had been given blood for her blood loss.

She hadn't lost the baby- yet.

Roger did biology, he didn't need the nurse to tell him what he already knew. He had seen the blood loss with his own eyes and had tried to stop it with his own hands. (Y/n) had been shot, her system damaged and her blood leaving her system. It was simply a matter of time before her body realised it couldn't cope with trying to create a new life that hadn't even started yet. There had been no reason for the doctor's to perform an abortion during the surgery because the baby wasn't threatening her life like it could have been. But Roger had been told (Y/n)'s injuries were serious enough for her body to miscarry because it wouldn't be able to handle trying to sustain their baby when she was in shock and damaged like this.

It would be common for (Y/n)'s body to miscarry now whilst she was rather unstable. Her heartbeat was fluctuating and not able to even out, her blood pressure was rather low and she was dosed up on painkillers. As well as another medication to try and help her stomach since part of it had been taken out with the bullet before being stitched up.

Turning his head tiredly to the left to look at the door, Roger heard raised voices that he didn't recognise. He could vaguely see the bodyguards at the door moving so it showed they must be talking to someone. Maybe it was a reporter, maybe a fan or a friend. Roger had been rather rude to the men standing at the door, telling them not to let anyone but the band in the room 'if they could manage that' since they had let him and (Y/n) get shot.

Looking back to (Y/n), Roger knew she wouldn't be waking up anytime soon due to the anaesthetic and the morphine she was on. He tiredly stood to his feet, his legs finally having more use and control as Roger leaned over to press his lips to (Y/n)'s temple as delicately as butterfly wings grazing her skin. Mumbling that he wouldn't be long which would mainly be because he didn't have the will or energy to stand for much longer as he was lacking sleep. Stumbling over to the door, Roger tiredly opened it with his right hand, pushing himself out and closing the door behind him as his eyes widened.

Andrew.

Obviously, he was not a member of the band and therefore had been told he was not allowed in the room, no matter who he was.

Roger's eyes wildly ran around the corridor, trying desperately to find John so he could help him even though he didn't deserve any help. Roger had been the cause of this situation, he was the reason Andrew was going to find out that (Y/n) had cheated on him and wanted to call off their engagement. He deserved to tell Andrew and come clean.

"Roger, right?" Andrew questioned, a certain look in his eyes as he was pleading for help Roger was not going to give. The man in front of him was undoubtedly going to be pissed when he was told what had happened and Roger didn't want him going in to see (Y/n) if he was angry or mad with her. "I'm Andy, (Y/n)'s boyfriend... these guys won't let me in. I'm not a bloody threat I want to see her." The drummer rubbed at the back of his head as he nodded to the men beside him to take a walk a little way down the corridor to give them some space.

"No one but the band are allowed in."

"What? Oh come on! Where's John, I'm not a threat for fuck's sake. What happened, I heard so much shit on the way down... d-did she really get shot?" His voice went from full of anger and annoyance to breaking with worry in such a jump Roger had to think if he had imagined it or not.

Of course, the media had decided to play it up a bit. Some of them were saying even Brian, John and Freddie had got shot, some were saying no one got shot. Roger had heard that one of the tabloids and the paparazzi were saying that he himself had died from his wound which was utter bullshit. They made up anything and everything to create a moral panic but they didn't think what that would do for the victims family. Clearly, Andrew was worried about what had happened because he didn't know who to believe and that was worse for (Y/n)'s parents. They had both John and (Y/n) to think about and John couldn't call them until two hours or so after the incident so they would have heard all sorts until he rang to calm them down.

"Y-yeah... she got shot in the stomach, they did surgery a few hours ago but she isn't stable yet. Listen, this is the worst timing I know believe me... but (Y/n) was going to give you this when she next saw you." Dumping his hand into his back pocket, Roger held onto the slippery silver engagement ring that John had thrown back at him earlier. Roger wasn't going to lead Andrew on and let him sit by (Y/n)'s side thinking that she still loved him or that things were going to be fine between them. He wasn't sure if that was him being selfish, especially with the timing, but Roger couldn't care less.

Right now (Y/n) was still in danger and he wasn't sitting with Andrew at her bedside, he would be fine with the boys but not him. That was probably selfish but Roger had so much guilt and love rattling through him that he would explode in a bad way if Andrew was inside with him.

A frown pulled at Andrew's lips when he took the ring from Roger. He recognised it immediately as the one he had picked out, not even knowing that it was just a tad too large to stay on (Y/n)'s finger properly. The band would swirl around her finger in the wrong kind of way and she had to be careful not to lose it. It got to a point that when she wasn't around Andrew or when she was with Roger, the band would pop into her handbag and be forgotten for a few hours.

"Why was she giving me this? And why the hell do you have it, it's her engagement ring." The worry was gone from his tone and the anger was bubbling to the surface as he demanded an answer from the blond stood in front of him. He didn't know that he was going to get a lot more than he bargained for here.

"She didn't want to be with you anymore... I think you can probably guess why I have it, doesn't take much working out really."

Roger's head turned to the left when he noticed John out the corner of his eye. The bassist frowning as he picked up the pace to reach the two men stood in front of him outside his sister's room. It didn't take much mental power here to work out that Roger meant more to (Y/n) than she had let on. Clearly, he wouldn't have the ring if he didn't mean a lot to her for her to tell him first before Andrew that she was leaving him. The realisation dawned on his face just as John reached them.

"Tell me it isn't true." His tone was low as his eyes seemed to darken ten shades as he looked to John for confirmation. John was known for telling the truth or saying things how they were, he would never lie about something like this especially not since it was involving his little sister.

His little sister who he felt he didn't know as well anymore. John couldn't fathom how she never told him that she was secretly seeing Roger or that she loved him. He couldn't understand how both of them had not told him. The fact that (Y/n) had not broken off her engagement before now sent John's head spinning and the knowledge that she didn't tell him she was pregnant made him feel faint. This was not how things were meant to turn out and he didn't like the way everything was mushing together and casting a thick fog over them all. He wanted to have his vision restored again, he wanted things to go back to normal but their version of normal was now going to be changed.

"I... I'm sorry... she didn't tell me how long..." John pointed to Roger, indicating that he didn't know how long Andrew had been strung along. "I only just found out about the baby-" The bassist cut himself short when he realised he had said more than Andrew had been informed about.

Roger's eyes widened as he tipped his head back. Clearly, Andrew hadn't known about that because he would have hit the roof and then Roger if he did know which now he did. Locking eyes with one of the security guards, Roger tipped his head to signal for them to come back before he slipped into the room. Roger didn't have the time nor the energy to be the one to explain that Andrew was not going to be a father like he would clearly think at first. Being a father was not in their of their futures and Roger knew that from the moment the bullet hit (Y/n). He was waiting for the news to tell him that his child had been lost but the longer he waited the worse he felt rather than feeling better.

The drummer tried very hard to block out the sudden raised voices that sent shivers up his spine. He felt awful. First, he had told John in the worst way possible about his sister's cheating, then about her pregnancy all in the same day that she had been shot. Now he had left John to fight his own battle and defend him because he couldn't be bothered with it all.

Their voices didn't last too long as Roger guessed Andrew was begin escorted away.

Reaching out his good hand, Roger very lightly placed his palm to (Y/n)'s stomach, his eyes snapping closed at the memory of how she had done the same hours earlier in his arms. He could see the blood dripping from her fingernails and marking her shirt that had done nothing to protect her stomach or their child. He could feel the way his fingertips had grazed along her hand as if trying to feel for a connection to their baby before he tried to stop the blood loss which had been his main priority.

"I... I'm sorry." His eyes glanced up to (Y/n)'s sleeping form as he felt the tears falling. "I'm so sorry sweetheart." He wanted nothing more than to reverse time so he could take that second bullet. He would let it pierce his heart instead of his stomach if it would have saved the two lives he was so frightened to lose.

Roger had pushed her behind him with the intent to stop her from getting hurt but it did nothing. If he could only have kept her safe behind him, if he could have made them go the other way or stay in the dressing room for that minute longer they wouldn't be here now.

The drummer said nothing when John reentered the room a few minutes later, he left his hand resting on her stomach as John tried to overlook the endearing action for fear of breaking down in sobs. Roger let his thumb graze across her stomach over the rather itchy fabric of the sheet draped over her. Trying his best to feel for the ever so slight bump like a bump in the road. He knew it was there, he had noticed it a few days ago and hadn't been able to stop the smile that had taken over his features. Now the thought only brought tears to his eyes that he couldn't swallow down.

A strangled sound left Roger's lips as his hand bolted back to his side when the heart rate monitor scared the flesh from his bones. His eyes darting to look at it, seeing that (Y/n)'s heartbeat was dropping below sixty as her breathing seemed to stutter through the tube that was feeding her oxygen.

John had never seen such an expression that Roger wore the exact moment his eyes noticed the small patch of blood seeping onto the pearl white material of the sheets. His jaw seemed to push upwards to the point it should have broken through his skull. His eyes popping out from their sockets but they seemed distant like he was staring at something out of a daydream that he didn't like or didn't recognise anymore.

"I knew it." The words were venom on Roger's tongue that quietly yet forcefully pushed through his lips.

The drummer had told John. He had told him that this was going to happen no matter how many times John told him to try and be positive, to think that since (Y/n) hadn't lost the baby yet maybe she wouldn't now. But Roger wasn't one to have false hope nor did he encourage it. He felt it in his heart that he was not going to be a dad, he knew his child wasn't going to be brought into this world and none of them had believed him. They thought he was either high or traumatised and therefore was speaking nothing of truth but Roger had been right.

The waiting game had stopped now because he was seeing what he had been waiting for. He was seeing (Y/n) state get worse as her body knew it needed to sacrifice their child for her recovery. She wasn't well enough to cope with a baby and Roger had done this because he hadn't protected them both.

"I've lost them."

[ethanplaysfavorites]

Scared to Be Lonely – part 4 (Ethan Ramsey X MC)

Note: part 1, part 2, part 3 and part 3.b ||Taylor Westbrook is my MC so I’ll use her this time. || Why am I doing this to us? || Length: 2856 words

Ethan could hardly believe he was actually doing this, but there he was in California, determined to stay until Taylor finally came to her senses and returned to Boston with him. On the way to the hotel he gave a quick call to Brian to find out when her shift ended that day so he could talk to her as soon as possible. It was a smaller miracle they’d let him leave this suddenly. He had patients to take care of. He had to make sure Naveen was okay. He had to keep an eye on the interns. He had serious responsibilities.

Normally he would’ve said he was in a hurry to get back but… not this time. He hadn’t been sleeping well since Taylor left because she was the only person he could think about all day. That night, when he almost kissed her, had been haunting him ever since. A part of him wished he had done it. He wished he knew what her lips tasted like. And this suffocating need to see her again was the only reason he wanted to get the talk over with that night.

Suddenly he let out an irritated groan and threw his head back against the leather seat of the rented car. Reggie had been right; he didn’t care about her this much because she was a very promising intern. No, he cared because he really liked her as a person. And maybe he wanted to be more than just a mentor or a friend. Alright, there was no maybe. He wanted more. A lot more.

But, at the same time, he knew he couldn’t do that. He was–in case she decided to return, that is–her boss and starting a relationship with her would have been completely unethical. So, for now, being a mentor was all he could get from her. Maybe with time they would become friends. And after that? Well, he wanted to focus on one step at the time.

He left the car in the parking lot of the hospital and walked to the main entrance with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Just stay calm and patient,” he reminded himself while he waited.

Finally, Taylor walked out the door and the moment his eyes fell on her he felt a wide smile crawl on his face. It had been a while since he last felt like this but it was surprisingly nice. Well, it was until he noticed a young man catching up with her. His jaw clenched as he watched them, walking side by side, deep in conversation.

“–hate about first weeks, I mean, I still have no idea who’s who,” he heard Taylor say with a warm smile on her dark pink lips.

“You’re doing great, don’t worry.” Ethan couldn’t help but roll his eyes at this. He had no idea what she saw in this guy, but he was clearly doing his best–which was still a pathetic attempt–to impress her. Finally, he stepped in front of the pair and the young man almost bumped into him. When he looked up, his mouth fell open from surprise. Good, at least he knew who he was dealing with. “Oh my God, you’re–”

“Dr. Ramsey?” Taylor asked, interrupting him. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

Letting out a sigh, she shook her head in response. “I’m sorry, but I already have plans and we’re kinda late so–”

“Hey, Taylor,” her boyfriend began kindly, putting a hand on her shoulder, “we can reschedule if you want to talk to him.”

“No, we agreed to hang out and this is what we’re going to do,” she assured him, even flashing an apologetic smile at the young man.

Ethan let out an exasperated sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. “So he’s the personal reason why you came here,” he noted quietly, barely managing to keep his voice neutral. This question alone proved this woman was driving him crazy, after all no adult man would say something like that. What the hell was he doing? They weren’t in high school anymore, there was no need to be this petty.

Her mouth fell open and she was clearly struggling to figure out how to react. In the end she just rolled her eyes and said, “No, he’s not. But even if he was, why would that matter to you?”

“Rookie, please, we need to talk.”

“Okay, it sounds important so go and talk to him,” the young man told her. “We can skip the movie."

"Mike–"

"I know, but it's only one conversation. And unlike him, we're not going anywhere," he added, flashing a wide smile at her.

Taylor let out a sigh of defeat and put up her hands. "Alright, give us a few minutes, okay?"

"We'll need more than that," Ethan told her while also giving a meaningful look to this Mike kid.

"Take it or leave it, Dr. Ramsey."

His eyes fell on her and it immediately became clear she wasn’t kidding. He knew she didn’t mean to be rude, she just didn’t want to cancel her plans. But despite knowing this, he still felt his blood pressure rise. "Fine." They watched as the other man walked away and got out of earshot then he turned back to her with his head tilted to the side. "You don't waste your time."

She raised an eyebrow in question. "Excuse me?"

"It's only your first week here and you already have a boyfriend."

Taylor laughed as she ran a hand through her hair. "Not like it was any of your business, but I know Mike from med school,” she began to explain calmly. “We used to date but we're only friends now."

"Trust me, he wants to be more than that."

He earned a disapproving look for this comment and he couldn’t blame her for this reaction. He was an adult man, not some stupid, hormone-driven teenager who could act like such an idiot. Why the hell was he even doing this? And more importantly, why couldn’t he keep his emotions under control? It was annoying to say the least.

"Why are you here?"

"I need you back in Edenbrook," he said without thinking.

"I won't go back."

"Taylor, you're about to throw away your career before it has even begun."

But she only shrugged in response. "Maybe, but it's better this way,” she added.

"I should have known it wouldn't be easy." When Taylor gave him a questioning look once again, he cleared his throat and quickly thought about what to do. Then he came up with a plan. "Are you working tomorrow?"

"No, why?"

Ethan couldn’t help but smile. "Good. I'll pick you up at 9.30 in the morning. Wear something nice."

"In the morning?" she asked with a frown.

"Yes, in the morning. Something semi-formal will do," he added.

"Why? Where are we going?"

Oh, no, there was no way he would tell her. He wanted this to be a surprise. He wanted her to feel… special. Well, at the moment he could only hope it would work out just fine in the end. “You’ll see,” he replied. “Oh, and don’t have breakfast.” She looked more confused than before but he only flashed a secretive smile at her. “Have fun, Taylor. See you tomorrow.”

“Right… I mean, good night,” she said, watching him walk away.

When he got into his car, he finally let out the breath he’d been holding for a while now. Then he closed his eyes and began to focus on breathing properly, in and out, over and over again. Just seeing her with another man had made his blood boil, and knowing the two of them were spending the evening together only made things worse. As he began to calm down, Ethan thought about his reaction to this situation. He couldn’t recall ever feeling such intense jealousy.

Because this is what it was, there was no reason to deny it.

That night he couldn’t sleep, except this time it wasn’t the paralyzing fear of losing her that kept him awake, but the anticipation before their one-on-one meeting the next morning. This was his chance to change her mind and convince her to go back with him. Everything had to be perfect and he couldn’t let himself lose control again. He was her mentor and he needed his best intern to return. That’s it, that’s the official story. And as much as he hated it, she had to believe it too.

So he planned ahead, and by the time he got into the car and drove to her home to pick her up, he already knew what role he would have to play that morning. Keeping things professional was the key element of his plan because he didn’t want to scare her away. If needed, he could be friendly, of course, but that wasn’t the main goal. He needed an intern, not a friend or a girlfriend.

When he stopped at a red light, Ethan rested his forehead against the steering wheel and let out an almost desperate laugh. Who the hell was he kidding? The night before he had gone to the hospital with everything planned out, promising himself he would stay calm, but he failed. There was no way things would be better this time around. Only being near her was enough to push him over the edge, and he had no idea how this happened in such a short amount of time.

Things got even worse when he arrived and saw Taylor waiting for him on the sidewalk. She wore a gorgeous dark green dress, her red hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Once she occupied the passenger’s seat next to him, Ethan cleared his throat and looked back at the road as he began to drive again. Beside saying “good morning” to each other, none of them spoke on the way, but he was honestly grateful for that.

“So what are we doing here?” Taylor asked when he parked in front of a fancy restaurant.

Before answering, Ethan quickly got out of the car and walked over to the other side to help her out. “We came for a brunch,” he replied casually as they walked inside. He reached out to put a hand on the small of her back, but luckily, he could stop himself in the last second.

“You know you can’t bribe me with food, right?”

Even though she flashed a sweet smile at him, his body still tensed up. Why did she have to make it so difficult? "Alright, I’ll need a drink for this conversation," he noted quietly.

“Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

“It’s a brunch,” he stated with a shrug as they waited for someone to take them to their table. “No one will think I’m an alcoholic if I drink a few cocktails here. Especially dressed like that.”

“Is that… Is that a sense of humor?” Taylor asked with a cheeky grin, pointing a finger at him. “That’s new. But I like it.”

“I’m glad you do,” he told her, and it wasn’t even a lie. He loved to see her smile. If his usually hidden sense of humor could make her smile, he was more than happy to show her this side of him.

They finally sat down across from each other and exchanged a few sentences about how he found this place so soon and if he had brunch often. Ethan answered every question she asked with a smile, but under the surface he was getting impatient. He was sitting here with such an intelligent, talented and beautiful woman, yet he couldn’t tell her how he truly felt. It was beginning to feel like torture, but he knew he was the one who’d brought it on himself.

“Look, this is nice and all, but before you even begin, let me say that I won’t go back. You can’t change my mind,” she suddenly said, her voice as calm and kind as usual.

He nodded as he tapped his fingertips on the side of his glass. “Then why don’t we start with you telling me why you left in the first place?”

“I’ve already told you: for personal reasons.”

“Personal reasons like what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Taylor, I need to know,” he said quietly, his blue eyes locked on her.  

But she looked utterly confused. “Why? Why is it so important to you?”

Ethan didn’t reply right away because he needed some time to figure out how to answer her question. He clearly couldn’t say he was crazy for her. If he did, she would be out the door before he could count even to three. No, he had to be clever about this and he had to stick to the plan. He was his mentor and she was an intern. His answer had to be something that could be connected to their jobs.

“Was it something I said or did?” he asked eventually. It wasn’t even a fake question, sometimes–usually in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep–he truly believed he was the reason why she’d left.

“Dr. Ramsey, I’ve–”

“Oh, God, don’t call me that,” he quickly interrupted her, “we’re not in the hospital.”

Taylor nodded with an awkward smile then went on, “I’ve already told you back in Boston that it has nothing to do with you.”

“Then why?”

"Because… I don't want to end up like you."

It didn’t make any sense. As far as he knew she had come to Edenbrook because of him, because he was some sort of a medical hero for her. "What does that supposed to mean?" he asked eventually.

"Don't get me wrong, you're a brilliant doctor, but you said it yourself, you don't have many friends. Call me crazy, but I don't want to lose my friends because of this stupid competition. I've had enough of all the snarky little comments, and I can't even remember when was the last time I could talk to Jackie without feeling like she... I don't know, like she hated me."

Letting out a sigh, he moved to the seat next to her. "Then don't rejoin the competition. All I want is you coming back to Boston," he told her softly, trying hard to stop himself from reaching out to touch her.

"Why?" Her green eyes were set on him, eager to hear his answer, but there was nothing he could say. "See? You can't even give me a good reason, something other than ‘you’re wasting your talent.’"

"I could get over that,” he admitted after a short break.

"Then why exactly should I go back?"

This was the moment when he had to decide what he really wanted. Keeping their relationship strictly professional and probably leaving her behind as a result, or giving in to his needs and hoping she wouldn’t push him away? It was a tough choice but he knew he had to decide right here and right now. It was now or never.

So Ethan acted on impulse when he put a hand on the side of her face and pulled her closer so he could finally kiss her. At least he got an answer to his earlier question: her lips tasted like raspberry. Slowly he felt her relax, and after what felt like an eternity, she returned the kiss and even put her hand on his. A part of him expected to be slapped but this was better. Much better.

After he pulled away a little, he smiled at her. "Because I need you. I can't go back to that madhouse without you," he told her.

“We can’t do this,” Taylor whispered, her eyes closed as he kissed the tip of her nose.

“We can. We’ll make it work, okay?”

She let out a sigh and shook her head. “But you’re my boss.”

“I will be if you come back, yes.”

“I thought you weren’t the kind of man who would do this.”

“You’re an exception.” Taylor leaned back and gave him a skeptical look. “Listen, I won’t go back without you so I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” he began to explain, his thumb drawing circles on the skin on her face. “I’ll even help you pack your things, no matter how long it takes.”

Despite what he’d just told her, she was still hesitating. “Don’t get me wrong, I really like you, but… I don’t know.”

Ethan let out a long sigh then leaned closer to kiss her again. She liked it, she was yearning for his touch, he could feel it, so she only doubted his plan because her rational side was still in control. He, on the other hand, had certainly left that part of him in the car before they came in. “Taylor, I promise we’ll figure it out,” he whispered, keeping his lips only an inch or two from hers. “Please, just say you’ll come back.”

PS: Sorry for typos and/or other errors. I guess it really showed this time that I’m not a native English speaker. Whoops. 

Taglist: @perriewinklenerdie @tannisismybea @valiantlychaoticbarbarian @sappynurse @loudlewdlyricalmiracle @universallypizzataco @naturalplatinumbktn @ifyouseekheart @boujeechoices @baroness-alison @zeniamiii @hopelessromantic1352 @baroness-alison @radlovedreamer @valiantlychaoticbarbarian @princess-geek @hatlley @fangirlingmum @elainew13 @usuallyamazinglyaverage @andromedasinclaire @drakewalkerfantasy @rhymesmenagerie @confessionsofabrokegirl @claudevonstruke @paisleylovergirl @topsyturvy-dream @cordoniaqueensworld @lilyofchoices @galaxiia-quean @drakesensworld

[just-another-killer-queen]

Chocolate Cake

Pairing: Brian May x plus-size!reader

Words: 2121

Warnings: implied smut, reader is shamed for being plus-size by a rude man (but later comforted by Bri!)

Summary: You and Brian are best friends and he’s been secretly crushing on you for years but didn’t say anything. When, after a terrible date, you tell him you feel unlovable because of your weight, he comforts you.

You first met Brian when you were college students. You stumbled into your first Introduction to Astronomy class and Brian was there, too. You immediately noticed him, his bird nest of a hair was impossible to miss.

In the first few weeks, you didn’t pay much attention to him apart from noticing how handsome he was, and occasionally glancing at him when you were bored. Sometimes you caught him staring at you, too, but he would always look away when you noticed it.

One day, however, he sat down right next to you.

“Hello, my name’s Brian,” he introduced himself with a nervous smile.

“I’m (Y/N),” you told him.

That was how you started talking. You soon discovered that you had a lot in common. You both loved astronomy, you were both passionate about animals, and you had the exact same taste in music.

You started hanging out more and more until you were practically inseparable. You spent so much time together that you both knew everything about the other and there was an almost telepathic connection between you. It escalated to the point that you couldn’t go anywhere without people assuming you were a couple. It was awkward at first but you learned to laugh it off.

You didn’t know it but Brian’s heart always broke a little when you told someone you weren’t together. He had the biggest crush on you ever since he saw you in class, but since he was so certain you only see him as a friend, he didn’t want to ruin your friendship and break his own heart by confessing his feelings.

Sometimes, it got unbearably hard. Since you had no idea how he felt, you had no problem hugging him, cuddling up to him, and holding his hand whenever you had the opportunity. You’ve always been the hugging type, especially with people you loved so much as him.

What Brian didn’t know was that you thought about being with him as well. The only reason you didn’t tell him was that you were sure he wouldn’t find you attractive because you weren’t as slim as his previous girlfriends and the girls hitting on him in bars. Whenever he went home with a random girl after a gig, you cried yourself to sleep and it only got worse as Queen got more and more famous and countless girls would try to sleep with him every night.

 Luckily, it got better after a few years. You still wished he would be into you, but you started dating other guys. Sometimes it went well, sometimes it didn’t. Unfortunately, tonight was one of the worst dates you’ve ever been on.

At first, it went quite well. The guy who asked you out was one of your coworkers, who seemed really nice. He was charming and funny. Things started to get weird, however, when it was time to order dessert.

“I think I’m gonna order a slice of chocolate cake,” you told him. “I love it.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, letting out a laugh. “Are you sure you want to order dessert?”

“Excuse me?”

Did he really just imply that you were fat? Was he really that rude?

“Well, I mean, go ahead if you want to, but shouldn’t you… you know, cut off your calories or something?”

You stared at him blankly for a moment. Without another word, you stood up and left, trying your hardest to choke back the tears that were filling your eyes, at least until you were out of the restaurant.

By the time you got home you were a mess. You didn’t even bother to take off your shoes or get changed, you just threw yourself on your bed and curled up with your favorite pillow in your arms, crying like a baby.

You probably would have stayed in that same position for hours if your phone didn’t start ringing. When you fished it out of your bag, you saw it was Brian.

“Hello, Bri,” you picked up.

“Hello, (Y/N),” he said. “Is there something wrong? Did your date not go well?”

Of course he noticed that your voice was different than usual.

“This was the worst date of my life and I feel horrible,” you told him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled. “Could you come over?”

“Yes, of course.”

 Brian arrived ten minutes later. He lived close to you and he had a key to your apartment, so you didn’t even have to get up from the bed to let him in.

“(Y/N)?” he called out when he entered but didn’t see you anywhere.

“Bedroom,” you shouted. You heard his footsteps get closer to you. When he reached your door, he knocked. “Come in,” you said.

“Oh my god, what happened?” he panicked when he saw that your eyes were swollen and red from crying. He sat down next to you, stroking your back.

“My date was a disaster,” you explained, sitting up. “He told me I shouldn’t order chocolate cake because I shouldn’t eat so many calories.”

“What a jerk,” Brian mumbled. “But you didn’t believe him, right?” he asked.

“Well…”

“Hey, listen to me,” he told you, scooting closer to you and facing you. “You are beautiful, okay? That dick didn’t know what he was talking about.”

“But, Bri, he was right. I should lose weight.”

“No, you shouldn’t, you are gorgeous the way you are.”

Your eyes went wide. Did Brian really just say you were gorgeous?

Seeing your reaction, he started to apologize immediately.

“I’m so sorry, I was just trying to comfort you, I… I didn’t want to overstep your boundaries, god, I acted like a creep, haven’t I?” he rambled.

“No,” you whispered. “Thank you, Bri.”

You snaked an arm around his waist, pulling him close, and burying your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you in response, and you sat like that for a few minutes without a word. He would occasionally stroke your back, and you finally started to calm down.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered. “How could you ever think you’re not?”

“Do you really mean that?” you said, lifting your head so you could look in his eyes. He hesitated for a few moments before answering.

“Yes, I do. You’re dazzling, especially in this dress that you’re wearing. I don’t know how that douchebag didn’t see it. You deserve all the chocolate cake you want.”

There it was again. He just called you dazzling. You couldn’t believe it.

“I never thought you’d find me beautiful,” you mumbled.

“I do,” he answered.

For a moment you were looking into each other’s eyes, both of you trying to figure out what to do with this newfound tension between you. You had no idea how much strength it took for Brian not to kiss you. Your face was so close to him, if he leaned forward just a little bit…

Unfortunately, you interrupted his train of thought before he could make up his mind.

“You know what? We should bake a cake. Now. And we should make it the most delicious chocolate cake we’ve ever had.”

For the first time since he arrived, you were smiling. How could he say no to you?

“Let’s do it,” he agreed.

“Okay, but I’m gonna get changed first.”

You got up from the bed and took your dress off without a second thought. It wasn’t unusual for Brian to see you in your underwear but for some reason he felt like he should look away this time. He kept his eyes on the ceiling and prayed you wouldn’t notice how flustered he got.

 This wasn’t the first time you and Brian were baking together, but it felt different this time. Every time you accidentally touched each other, you both got flustered. Whenever you bent down and Brian got a good view of your cleavage, he blushed hard, and whenever he ran his hands through his hair or stood close to you, you suddenly forgot to breathe. It got painfully obvious after a while but you both pretended to ignore it.

“Oh my god, this is delicious,” you declared after the first bite of your cake. You were sitting on the kitchen counter next to the cake, and Brian was standing right in front of you.

“Mm, you’re right,” he nodded, taking a bite of his slice.

“But what are we gonna do with the rest?” you laughed. “We should’ve made a smaller cake.”

“Bring it to the studio tomorrow and it will be gone in five minutes,” he suggested, smiling.

“So you want me to go to the studio with you tomorrow?” you questioned.

“Of course I want you to come,” he said in disbelief. “You are always welcome there, we all love your company.”

“Okay, I’ll go,” you replied, putting a hand on his shoulder, and trying your best to ignore the butterflies you felt in your stomach at his words. “Thank you for coming over and cheering me up.”

“Any time, (Y/N),” he smiled at you. He expected you to let go of him, but you didn’t, you ran your hand down his chest, seemingly oblivious of the effect it had on him.

You rested your hand on Brian’s hip and that was the moment something in him snapped. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He put his plate on the counter next to you, then took yours from your hands and put it down as well.

“Hey, I was still eating that, what are you…”

You couldn’t finish your sentence because Brian pulled you flush to his body and kissed you passionately. It took you off guard but you didn’t hesitate to kiss him back.

“I will make sure you never feel unattractive again,” he panted after pulling away, taking your face in his hands. You kissed him in response, with so much intensity that he got painfully hard.

You wrapped both your arms and legs around him, getting lost in the feeling of his lips against yours and his arms around your body. You tangled one of your hands in his perfect curly hair and tugged at it gently. He let out a moan.

“Bedroom. Now,” you growled between kisses, grinding against his hardness.

He picked you up from the counter, carrying you in his arms. He shut your bedroom door with his foot after you were inside. Needless to say, neither of you came out of your room anymore that night.

 You woke up in the morning with a huge grin on your face. Brian was already up, you heard him move around in the kitchen.

You put some clothes on, then walked out and watched him as he made breakfast for the two of you.

“Good morning,” he smiled when he noticed you. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than ever,” you answered, walking up to him and giving him a peck on the lips.

“Last night was amazing,” he said. “I always suspected you were good in bed, but wow… You are even better than I imagined.”

“So, you imagined sleeping with me, eh?” you teased. He blushed a little.

“Is it okay to say yes?” he asked anxiously.

“Of course,” you answered. “But can I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

“When did you start liking me? Romantically, I mean.”

“The day I met you,” he confessed.

“What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I always thought you were way out of my league. You are beautiful, funny, and smart. I was scared.”

“Are you serious? Bri, you are way smarter than me. You studied astrophysics for god’s sake! I could barely pass Introduction to Astronomy!”

“Yeah, I remember that,” he chuckled.

“You know, I always assumed you wouldn’t find me attractive unless I lost weight or something.”

“God, you have no idea just how attractive I find you,” he assured you. “You are exactly my type. Both your looks and your personality.”

You stepped close to him, pulling him down into a kiss. You felt him get hard as you deepened the kiss and pushed him against the kitchen counter.

“What do you say we take this to my bedroom?” you suggested with a smirk after pulling away.

“Okay, but we should get breakfast first,” he said. “I’ve been working on this really hard, I don’t want it to get cold.”

“Fine,” you sighed. “But you’ll have to work really hard on me afterwards,” you added.

He laughed at your comment.

You kept glancing at each other throughout your meal. Neither of you were able to take your eyes or hands off of each other, which was unsurprising after that many years of pining and unresolved sexual tension.

[explcsivcs]

––––– ( jacob elordi, cismale, he/him ) i just saw CASEY O'NEILL walking down the street’s of provincetown the other day playing WATCH ME by JADEN out loud. rumor has it that the TWENTY-TWO year old is +CHARISMATIC, but can also be -RECKLESS — overall they’re a CRIMSON. they remind me of THE SOUND OF A REVVING CAR ENGINE, BOTTLE ROCKETS AT MIDNIGHT, NEUTRAL COLOR SCHEMES, and EMPTY MOVIE THEATERS.  –– it’s your local idiot, here with a new child! he’s a mess, but aren’t they all ?? like this or whatevaaaa and i’ll come to u for PLOTS !

BACKGROUND.

casey boiiii was born in london to a couple’a rich folk. dad, sean, is the ceo of a massive pharmaceutical company, and mom, emma, is from old money but spends most of her time bein’ a lil socialite and doing heavy charity work. they were good for a long long time. like casey grew up wanting for nothing, attending elite private schools and just all around living The Dream™

his dad is stern and driven by logic and money. if it were up to him, he woulda been working 24/7 and leaving his son in the hands of a nanny until he was old enough to inherit the company lmao. his mama is the one who really ... held the family together. she stayed home with case, she made sure sean regularly spent time with the family. queen of holidays and sunday dinners. casey was absolutely a mama’s boy

all was well! until casey turned 12 and his mom fell terminally ill. she passed away within like six months of her diagnosis and yessir this is.. when shit hit the fan. sean became absolutely miserable and threw himself into work, thus throwing casey into the hands of house staff. he was rarely ever home and really... kind of just stopped dad duties and wallowed in his own grief.

casey tried desperately to get his dad’s attention back. he was making stellar grades, perfect grades even. he was in sports year around, and he was fucking good at them esp lacrosse. he ... fuckin learned to cook in hopes of taking after his mom and being able to keep sunday dinners going. he joined student council and even faked an interest in business. lil dude grew the fuck up at such a young age. and it! didn’t! work!

when he ... got into high school ... he got frustrated with his situation and started leaning into his unresolved anger because let me tell you he was ... pissed. about all of it. this is when he fell into the wrong crowd. he made friends who were rowdy and rude and violent, and he found that the most fervent things he felt was when he was doing something wrong. he ,.... dabbled in vandalism but also really started to get in trouble for fighting akdjfh

and it worked. his dad was halfway paying attention, being called into school after school as casey was suspended and occasionally even expelled for.. fighting. .. he was woken up in the middle of the night when casey was escorted home for being too drunk at a party or for getting caught street racing. every time they saw each other, his dad was screaming at him, but at least he was seeing him ya know??

casey really got into a lot of trouble when he got his license and began street racing. the adrenaline from racing kinda.... solved all of his problems?? like it dulled the anger and numbed the pain while also ... bringing him all the excitement and joy ya know. 

when he was sixteen he uhhh got kicked outta the last private school in london that would take him for shitty attendance and fighting. the same week, he completely totaled his car, damn near killing himself in the process, by racing in a new housing development and uhhhh literally taking out an unfinished house (it’s ok all that was standing was like the wooden support beams aight) BUT it was either... spendin time in a juvenile detention center...... or being shipped off to stay with someone else and hopefully start over

so that’s what happened! good old sean o’neill said “nope” and sent his son to live with his brother in a tiny town in a tiny state in america. that’s right bois... when he was seventeen, case moved from london to provincetown. casey kinda saw this as... his dad giving up on him and got... angrier. but it’s better than prison so!

he was kind of... a brat when he got to provincetown. didn’t want to be there. didn’t want to be anywhere really. just broody and mad all the time. participated in sports solely to get some of the angry energy out but didn’t do much else. he’s really only a part of snackpack because his cousin (hiiiii bronny) is.... and he loves her tons so he was obligated to at least be civil to her friends

he ,... got his grades on track, for the most part... and stopped fighting, for the most part. but this dumb bitch can’t stop doing reckless shit. like i’m surprised he still has a license bc the number of speeding tickets is borderline not livable.

he never really felt like he... fit... in provincetown. he still doesn’t really know where he fits in the grand scheme of life. his grades and his dad’s bank account were the only reason he got into a decent college. he went for business, bc that’s all his dad would pay for, and his heart just wasn’t fuckin’ in it at all. he graduated in may but has no fuckin idea what he wants to do. at this rate though, if he keeps fucking around, he’s going to end up being :) a nothing :) just like good old dad expects :)

PERSONALITY.

very dude bro. like you look at him and you’re like ‘idk if i wanna fuck with that’ bc he is large and stupid confident ... sometimes arrogant. definitely one of those cocky smirk lookin, backwards hat wearin, lemme take u out types of assholes idk like he’s not broody ya know. 

he doesn’t really initiate conversation. like he’s not one for small talk, kinda thinks its a lil bit of a waste of time. he’s not unapproachable.. he just values good, interesting conversation

think ... jess mariano from gilmore girls, ronan lynch from trc, and a lil sprinkle of brian o’conner from fast and furious kAJSDAHFA

his moral compass is outta whack ok! like life is not black and white in his mind. everything is grey

very clever boy. consciously makes bad decisions, but he’s clever as fuck. quick witted. he doesn’t look it but... ya boy is smart. just doesn’t fuckin’ apply himself

charming! but like ... into the woods charming, not cinderella charming. charming with an ulterior motive. charming to get what he wants. very rarely charming just for the hell of makin someone feel nice. selfish lil shit

fearless as hell, always down for adventure and a good time

a lot nicer to his close friends than he is to everyone else like akdfhas sorry @ everyone who isn’t in the snack pack ur automatically a lil bit worse in his mind

a massive flaw of his is that he truly doesn’t know how to handle his own emotions,. he’s become a pro at repressing them. even when they’re good . feelings, he has a hard time showing it?? that’s why he... acts out dude. he’s pissed

would die for his lil cuzzo y’all should know this now to prepare urself

fiercely loyal to his people

still luvs to fsu when he has the chance,,... loves a good adrenaline rush

surprisingly good at cheering people up. not great at comforting them! he’s workin’ on that... but he is good turning that frown upside down!

literally just needs someone to kick his ass. 

PLOTS IDEAS.

a best friend... obvi. someone he clicked with as soon as he moved to ptown

frenemies bro... like they rag on each other all the time, they’re always competitive as hell, but in the end... they’ve got each other’s back type of frenemies

i have a plot in mind based on billie eilish’s ‘i love you’ that could be interesting aksdjfh specifically the ‘say you were tyrna make me laugh, and nothing has to change today you didn’t mean to say i love you’ line lol angsty

a mom friend! someone to kinda... keep an eye on him

partners in crime bro the kinda person that just..... when they’re together it’s next level . and borderline dangerous because they just continue to hype each other up and play off of each other

a bit of a hookup .. situation like kajsdf basically the type of shit you see in friends with benefits and no strings attached before they catch feelings. smth like a fling idk

college roommatesr

flirtationships or just generally flirty frienships those are s ofun 

exes and unrequited loves and slowburns y’all know i’m a slut for that shit 

ok that’s all!! this is so shitty lmao aksjfh ok like this and i’ll come to u for plotzzzzzz 

[let-roger-go-to-lunch-now-blog]

Thank God it's Christmas

Sunday, December 1st, 74’

Christmas: a time for wolfing down delectable treats, fiercely competitive snowball fighting, graceful (but more likely uncoordinated) ice-skating and gulping mug after mug of piping hot chocolate. Instead of that festive fairy-tale however, I was sitting cross-legged on grubby carpet, untangling mountains of raggedy tinsel, barricaded in with boxes of ancient decorations. Whilst the latter didn’t make for such a pretty picture, I was very much convinced that this year would be my best Christmas yet. After all, this would be my first Christmas spent in London; furthermore, I’d be spending it with Roger and the boys. Regrettably, the next time I’d see my parents would be in the new year, but I’d decided it was high time I left the nest and spread my wings a little.

Sifting through the abundance of chipped, faded baubles and other pointless bric-a-brac, made it clear why my parents had ‘kindly’ donated them. When I’d complained of having nothing to adorn our tree - which the band were fetching – they’d probably jumped at the opportunity to rid their attic of clutter. Some of the stuff looked suspiciously similar to what Grandma Bessie used to use to decorate her bungalow. I snatched up a rather tatty pair of fabric turtle doves and stuck them underneath my nose like a sniffer dog. Yes, that was her scent; stale cigarette smoke and a sickly-sweet aroma of lavender permeated my nostrils. Although I’d always found the odour of her and her home somewhat ghastly, I was grateful that it’d clung to the doves after all these years. The smell of them evoked so many fond memories: pouring a glass of sherry for Santa, finally getting that bicycle I’d pined for so long. Even reminiscing the mildly traumatic time the tablecloth caught fire when we lit the Christmas pudding made me smile. I only wished that we’d create some new memories this year...

As I held onto the charming notion, various voices crescendoed from outside, distracting me from my thoughts. Puzzled at the sudden noise, I clambered quickly to my feet to see what all the commotion was about. I’d barely got there when the front door burst open and a hearty voice announced

“We’re ho-ho-home darling!” Freddie had arrived (I’d recognise those posh tones from anywhere) and Roger, Brian and John were straggling behind, lugging the most ginormous Christmas tree I’d ever seen indoors.

“The tree’s fabulous, don’t you think?” Freddie beamed proudly, having dropped his Father Christmas impression. “It’s humungous! How on earth are we going to fit it?” I exclaimed, words failing to describe my shock. “We told him that, but he wouldn’t listen,” Deacy groaned exasperatedly, “and he didn’t even help carry it.” “Oh, stop your whining,” Freddie snapped half joking, half serious, “Besides, the bigger the better,” he added with a wink.

Though I couldn’t fathom why Freddie had picked out such a ridiculously large tree, the truth is I was ecstatic to see them all. I’d met them only last year, but I felt like I’d known them my whole life. Especially Roger, who I’d been going steady with for a while now. Despite the length of time I’d been in a relationship with Rog, I was still awestruck in his presence. A year ago, had you told me I, a small-town girl, was to be the girlfriend of a hot drummer, I would have laughed. But here I was; he was my Roger, and I was his Lizzie.

After a good 15 minutes of toil – not that I helped much – we’d managed to fit the tree in the corner of the lounge by the skin of our teeth.

“It does look grand, I think I chose well,” Freddie said with a toss of his lustrous ebony hair. “Well, we haven’t decorated it yet,” Roger muttered.

“Can’t we leave it how it is?” Brian murmured, exhausted by the hard work. “Don’t be a Scrooge!” I teased Bri, “We’ll put on a record and get to work. Deacy?” “On it, Liz,” John replied keenly and true to his word, he was positioning the needle above the edge of the vinyl. The needle lowered and on contact with the LP, the familiar tune of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” filled the room. Immediately, everyone’s spirits lifted, and we were racing to fill up the tree with the baubles I thought looked best.

We chatted as we went but I got the most enjoyment out of watching Roger – he could be a bit humbug about Christmas, but he’d really taken to decorating the tree. He was without a doubt, the most rapid at putting on the baubles and in turn, Freddie was by far the slowest. Freddie meant well but he clearly found the task tedious; by the end of it, he was deeply engrossed in his fingernails. As John put on the last one, he took a step back in line with the rest of us to admire it. It turned out Freddie had judged well; the lush, emerald green of the bushy tree complemented the nicer of the red and gold baubles perfectly. Something was missing however, and I couldn’t put my finger on it.

After gawping at the tree for a fair amount of time, Brian finally had a lightbulb moment: “The star!” “Oh yes, don’t worry dears, I’ll do it,” Freddie seized the star from its spot on the table. “Hey, you barely did anything,” Brian retorted. “Lizzie?” Roger piped up before a childish argument broke out, “Would you be as kind as to do the honours?” Freddie ceased his immature pleading, and thankfully no one else seemed to mind. “Gladly.”

I took the star and stretched up to place it atop the tree. Although I was average height, I was having some trouble reaching due to the tree’s thickness. Due to Roger intervening however, my struggles lasted less than a second; he instinctively ducked down and motioned for me to get on his shoulders. Giggling like a nervous schoolgirl, I hopped on and even though I could have reached on tiptoes, I wasn’t going to refuse an opportunity to be close to Rog. After I’d positioned it just right, he lowered me down and I got off (reluctantly).

“It looks brilliant, babe,” Rog flashed a gorgeous smile in my direction, his drowsy sapphire eyes meeting with mine. “Yes, it looks wonderful,” Freddie interrupted, “Wine anyone?” Deacy and Bri nodded and the three sauntered out to the kitchen. At first, I felt Freddie’s abruptness was rude but on reflection, I think he realised that me and Roger needed alone time.

“God, it feels like we’ve hardly spoke today, and I’ve been with you the last hour!” I grinned. “I’m sorry Lizzie,” his face shifted to a more downhearted expression, “It’s just with the others-” “Don’t apologise, please, anyway we have each other now” He held his soft hands to my face and pressed his warm lips against mine. As we kissed, I shut my eyes and let the tingling feeling grow and spread throughout my body.

“Elizabeth Lois Green, what did I do to deserve you?” “I could ask you that exact same question, Roger Meddows Taylor...”

By ANightAtTheRaces

Author’s note: My first ever fanfic! I know it's short and it isn't Christmas currently but it felt easier to write. Please, please, please give me feedback (praise and criticism!) as I would love to know what you think! Thanks, Cat x