#Waterloo Road fic

[allangstnocomfort]

NEW FIC

After The Fall, Comes The Fight

Chapter 1

[peterjakes]

Waterloo Road - 'see I spent my teens enraged spiralin' in silence'

Danny Lewis was back at school, he was at Waterloo Road and things were actually going his way for once. They were for a while, until he ruined it all again.

never did I think I would write a waterloo road fic ngl! but I watched the new series and poor danny bless him:( he was deffo my fave character in the new show and I really hope he gets justice!!

this song really reminded me of danny and I wasn't entirely sure where I was going with this but I think I like it!

thanks for reading :)

also posted on ao3; https://archiveofourown.org/works/44157850

Danny was fifteen when he stopped going to school. It wasn’t like he cared at the time, not really. He hated school, or at least he thought he did. The only good thing about it was he didn’t have to spend time at home. That was the one place he hated more than school. It was a constant struggle, constant fight between Danny and Vinny. Danny knew exactly the type of person Vinny was. He knew as soon as he met him, knew when his mum first introduced him. She didn’t want to at first, and Danny could see why. He was a bully, he was an arsehole, he took and took. Even though Danny hated school, he seemed to spend a lot of time there. He’d get into fights, meaning a week’s detention. That wasted at least an hour after school. Sometimes he’d go to the park for a bit, or the off license. That could waste maybe an hour or so. When it was winter it got dark pretty quickly, and Danny didn’t fancy spending too much time in the dark and cold, so he knew he’d have to go home eventually. Not that anyone would have cared. When it was just him and his mum, she’d make his tea and leave it for him, especially if she was working nights. But after Vinny, she didn’t seem to worry about that. Danny wasn’t stupid or naïve, he wasn’t going to pretend his mum was ever good to him, everything was just worse with Vinny around.

When it was warmer, Danny could stay away from home for longer. Sometimes he didn’t want to just hang about, so he’d go for a walk. It felt like he’d be walking for hours until he realised, he needed to go home. He liked it though, spending time by himself was nice. Danny knew he wasn’t the most popular person in school, but he didn’t need to be. Kai was a good friend, or he was when he was around. But sometimes everything became too much, and Danny just wanted to be alone.

Danny thought it pretty funny, ironic even that he got exactly what he wanted. When the first lockdown happened, everyone was pretty happy. No school for a few weeks? That’s what everyone thought. Danny didn’t care about that, it didn’t matter, not really.

It wasn’t that Danny hated school, not really. He said he did, made out like it was worst thing in the world but that wasn’t the case. There were things Danny liked about school, and it wasn’t just that he got away from being at home. There were some teachers who were alright. He had some friends. He liked some lessons. But sometimes things just seemed too hard. There were things he didn’t always understand, and being the type of kid he was, it seemed like no one wanted to listen.

It was the staying home during those first few weeks that were hard. It wasn’t just that he wasn’t going to school, he couldn’t go out either. He was trapped inside with the worst person possible. Vinny seemed to despise Danny, which was fine, because Danny didn’t like Vinny either. But it was as if he’d done something wrong to Vinny, every little thing Danny did seem to irritate Vinny. There were snide comments, things that were easy for Danny to ignore, even with his mum siding with Vinny every single time. But it was the other things, the things that were harder to ignore. Those were the things that drove it over the edge, the things that made Danny realise he had to go. Danny knew taking the money wasn’t going to be a good idea, but he didn’t have a choice. What else was he going to do? He couldn’t stay there, not anymore.

The school wasn’t the first place Danny stayed. There were street corners, parks, toilets. These weren’t so bad when it was warmer but as soon as it started to get cold, Danny knew he couldn’t stay there long. Some days were better than others, but the money soon ran out. £1000 wasn’t a lot, that’s what Danny realised. Most of it was spent on food, and when he couldn’t buy the food, he had to steal it. Danny didn’t like stealing food, he knew it was wrong, but he had to eat, he had to live.

Danny didn’t come back after that summer; he’d already left home and stopped doing the work teachers would send months before that September came around. He’d wondered what his mum had said when the school rang, whether Mr Casey came round to the house, asking for him. He also wondered when they decided to go to Birmingham; when they left him. Finding that out made Danny finally realise; his mum didn’t care, she never did. He was stupid to think he’d see her again, stupid to think that she’d want to know where he was and how he was doing. He knew that still, even when she sent him that message. He knew she didn’t care, not really, but there was still that small part of him that didn’t want to believe that. There was a part of him that wanted to see her, tell her what had happened, hug her, be a son again.

None of that really mattered though because that part of Danny was wrong. Seeing her again, it made Danny feel strange, like he didn’t really know who she was. She didn’t want to see him for any good reasons, only the stupid money. She could have reached out before; she could have tried to find him. If she had really cared, if she had been a good mum, she would have done that. Danny knew she didn’t care about his exams, who he was living with, his friends, any of that. She never had done and never would. It hurt, it hurt a lot. It wasn’t fair, even though Danny knew he was better off without her. Other people had a mum, other people had a family. Sometimes it seemed like Danny didn’t have anyone, especially before.

Angel had appeared a few months before Danny decided the school boiler room would be his next stop. He was staying in a park a few streets away from the local chippy. It was getting dark one spring evening, so Danny knew he’d have to leave eventually. He didn’t want to; Danny wasn’t exactly sure where he could go. It was times like these he sometimes wished he’d just sucked it up, he just stayed at home. He could have locked himself in his room, played some music and drowned Vinny out. But then he remembered. He remembered all the bad things, all the things that had happened. The things that he couldn’t bring himself to say. That made he stay away, stay outside, stay anywhere that wasn’t home. Not that it was really a home. Danny understood that. He didn’t have a home.

That night, he made his way to leave, climbing over the barrier guarding the swings and slide from the outside world. Just as he began to pull his bag over, a small but vivid noise came from nearby bush and there she was. She was cold, Danny could see her legs shivering. He understood that feeling only too well. Danny had always wanted a dog, ever since he was little. He’d begged and begged him mum when he was eight, telling her it was the most important thing in the world. She’d said no, of course, said they couldn’t afford it and told him to stop asking for such stupid things. Danny had never mentioned it again, he wasn’t stupid enough to try. But he still liked the idea of a dog. Even now, not knowing where he was going to sleep or get his next meal from, the idea of a dog, a little companion, that sounded nice. They could protect each other, keep each other safe. That would be nice. And well, that was that. The two stayed together until that day at the school. He missed her, even knowing she was in good hands. And her being one of the last things he saw before they took him away, that was important.

Danny knew he was lucky; knew he should be grateful. A few months ago, he hadn’t even imagined things would go this way. Danny didn’t think of the future much, not in the long-term. Just the next day, if he’d made it, then that was good. But now? Things were better, much better. It just seemed like everything was too good. Danny would have been alright at the hostel before things started to go bad. It wasn’t Kai’s fault, he knew that, but he could have got by. He hadn’t expected Val to take him in, treat him like she had. It wasn’t like she was trying to be a mum, but sometimes he wished she’d tell him what to do a bit more, stop giving him so much freedom. But then again, he couldn’t complain. It wasn’t just the new things Val had got him, it wasn’t just the guitar lessons or the checking up on him. She cared, actually cared and she wasn’t the only one.

Danny hadn’t seen Kai in two years. He never expected to see him again, which is silly really considering he was sleeping in the school. But still, why would he? Danny’s life was going on a completely different path from Kai’s. Sometimes, Danny would wonder what Kai would be doing. It didn’t matter, though. Because whatever Kai was doing or was going to do, it wasn’t going to involve Danny. But Kai had come to the hostel to spend time with Danny, maybe some of it was him being selfish, but not all. And deep-down Danny knew he needed that, wanted it even. It was nice to have someone like that back in his life again and he’d missed Kai, a lot.

There were other things he’d missed, things he never thought he would. English and Maths always seemed harder before, but maybe Danny wasn’t listening properly or maybe he didn’t really want it. This time around the stakes were higher, Miss Campbell took a chance and was relying on Danny to actually work. He had to; he knew that. But it was different now. Danny was given a chance, a real one. He had to make this work and he was going to. It was hard, Danny knew it was going to be. But there were people who wanted him to do well, who actually believed in him. Mr King had given Danny another chance, he actually wanted Danny to do it. And Danny could actually admit he didn’t mind going to school. It wasn’t just a place to escape anymore. There were things to learn, interesting things. There were people to see. He spent time learning the guitar, playing basketball. He actually cared about stuff now. People were looking out for him. He was going to be in the end-of-year show. It was all going so well.

The real problem was that Danny was stupid, he forgot. He forgot how he wound up back at school. For a while, he forgot what Vinny was like. The knife he’d kept was just in case; just in case something happened. He wanted to believe he wouldn’t need it, not now. But he guessed he secretly knew it was always going to happen, it was inevitable. Things were never going to go right for him. It was like he said, this was who he was, this was what his life was and was going to be. He should have been more cautious, more careful. He should have realised as soon as his mum had texted him, it wasn’t going to be for anything good. He should have never let his guard down. And at the party; he should have known that wouldn’t be the end. He should have known Vinny would come for him eventually. Kai took the knife, but he wasn’t going to tell anyone because what was the point? What could anyone do? No one could protect Danny. This was always going to happen, and Danny knew it.

Danny didn’t want to use the knife, that wasn’t something he wanted to do. It wasn’t as if Danny even knew how to properly use it. He had it with him but only because he was scared. He was scared he’d mess it up and end up how it was before. He was afraid that everyone would realise he wasn’t good enough and there was no point. But Vinny wasn’t going to stop, and Danny knew that. There was nothing else Danny could do. All he could do when Val saw him, when she walked up the stairs, spoke his name was what he’d always done. He ran away. He knew it wouldn’t help; he knew he couldn’t run forever but he had to get away. He couldn’t bear to see her face, see her falter, and realise what a mistake Danny was, what he had done. What he had ruined. But running wouldn’t solve it, he’d have to face it eventually, just like he had to face Vinny. They were going to come for him, they were going to take him away and that would be it. Danny wasn’t going to get away from that, that was where he was always going to end up. No one could stop that, not Danny, not Val, not Kai, not Samia, not even Miss Campbell. He had let them all down, but no more than he done to himself.

[mlmxreader]

Bootnecks | Alex Keller x m!reader

anonymous asked: seal anon. loved the price and male reader fic you did (side note, i do reblog your fics on my actual account)

can i request alex (call of duty) with male reader. where alex is being clingy when the reader has to leave to go on a mission

summary: Alex really, really doesn't want you to go even though he knows you have to.

tws: swearing, hickeys, biting

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

It was the nature of time that you and Alex would be pulled apart, it was the nature of time that you were destined to leave him at some point, and although he didn't want you to leave him, he knew that you had to; that was his own fault for falling for an officer that belonged to the Royal Marines.

It was a lazy day, the rain and wind outside was harsh as Alex watched you pack your bags, silent and resigned as he sat at the edge of the bed and chewed at the inside of his lip; he would steal glances at his prosthetic in the corner just so that he didn't have to look at you in the eyes, knowing that he would cry the very second he did. Every time he missed you, every time that he went without you, Alex missed you more and more.

'Too Bad' by Nickelback was playing on the speakers. It would be the last time Alex listened to any of your music until you got back, as he could never bring himself to hear it when you weren't there with him, when you weren't at his side and when he couldn't hear you singing along. He wished to remind the clock, just for a few days more.

That's all that Alex wanted, just a few days more with the man he adored; just a few more days. Just one more chance to make you laugh when you caught him singing 'Before He Cheats' by Carrie Underwood in the shower, his voice raised and off key every time the chorus came on, nearly screaming.

Just one more chance to press his chest to your back in the morning as he wrapped his arms around you and leaned against you. Just one more chance to hear you singing 'Father' by Sabaton as you fixed up the old Triumph bike one of Farah's men had found. Just one more chance to lie in bed with you and get you to translate slang as you watched Waterloo Road together. Just one more chance to hold you close as he slept. Just one more chance.

That's all Alex wanted, just one more chance. Just a few more days. Anything would do, even a couple of hours. Just something, anything, to put off you leaving him, abandoning him once again; but he knew this would happen. Loving a Royal Marine was never going to be easy, was never going to be stable, and he knew you would eventually abandon him.

Sure, Alex had met plenty of US Marines in his day, but they were nothing like the Royal Marines; the Royals made the US Marines look like toddlers. Weak, unstable, stupid, and although it wasn't really difficult to do so, cowardly. The chances of you returning to him were slimmer, given your work, than any US Marine; you saw real action, you actually fought. You weren't spoiled with fancy helicopters and planes and guns and launchers. You had whatever you could get your hands on, and that was it. Alex knew, all too well, that if you didn't return in a fucking casket, then a miracle had occurred.

Alex didn't want you to leave, and when he noticed that you were about to reach for the picture of you with him that you always took, he couldn't stop himself, and got up; he pressed his face to the back of your shoulder as he held on tightly, daring to shake his head. 'Different People' by Biffy Clyro was playing.

"Don't go, Sir."

"I have to," you murmured, staring at the photograph. "You know that, baby."

"I don't want you to go, bootneck."

"Alex," you sighed. "I have to go."

"No," he shook his head, holding onto you even tighter. Insistent and determined to keep you there, to not allow you to abandon him. "Stay... please, Sir, stay."

You knew he would cling on as you moved backwards towards the bed, only daring to take a swipe at his ankle when you knew he would fall back onto it; the soft thud made you laugh softly as you turned around, taking his momentary surprise to straddle his waist, pinning his hands above his head with one hand around his wrists, the other at the side of his neck as you frowned and swallowed thickly.

"Alex... baby. C'mon, you know I have to get going."

"No," he begged, trying to wrench his wrists from your hand so that he could at least hold you, blue eyes pleading. "Please... don't abandon me again, (y/n)."

You sighed, leaning down so that you could press a soft kiss to his forehead, daring to start a trail down his neck before you bit down; sucking the skin into your mouth for a moment before you pulled away and looked at the hickey that started to form, daring to run your tongue over it softly. "I'm not abandoning you, sweetheart."

Alex didn't seem convinced, wrapping his leg around your waist as if it would convince you to stay. As if it would prevent you from ever leaving him again, ever abandoning him. "I don't want you to go."

"You keep saying that, but if I don't go, who's gonna keep you safe?" You hummed. "Who's gonna make sure that those fuckers out there, with their fucking state of the art drones and their fucking expensive guns, those spoiled cunts, don't shoot you?"

"I will," he whimpered. "Just stay here. With me. I'll keep us both safe."

You couldn't bring yourself to speak, to try and convince him that you needed to leave him, so you settled for marking up his neck; littering his skin with dozens of bite marks and bruises, hickeys just to make him weak as you smiled against his skin every time he whimpered your name and tried to hold you a little bit tighter, a little bit closer. Tugging his wrists to try and hold onto you, to try and feel you against his fingertips, even just one last time. But when you started to move the trail downwards, starting to pluck at the buttons of his shirt, his breath hitched, and he swallowed thickly.

"Please don't leave me."

"I'm not gonna leave you forever," you murmured between kissed and bites. "Why'd you think I'm giving you all these reminders that I'll be back?"

Alex sighed, so close to weeping, not wanting to be reminded that you were going to leave him, even if he did know that it was the nature of time; he wished for the nights where he could sing 'Come Fly With Me' by Frank Sinatra at you while you sat back and smoked a cigarette, trying not to laugh. He didn't want you to go.

But then you pulled away, and you dared to smile as you looked at him. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Will you?" He asked, a spark of hope in his eyes.

You nodded. "O' course... I'm a Royal Marine, baby, I'll be just fine."

if you enjoyed this fic, REBLOG IT; if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM level of support. do not interact if you won't reblog.

[chiropteracupola]

well, @baronetcoins has tagged me once again in that good old game of:

post the names of the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title of what most intrigued them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it. if you want, tag as many people as you have wips.

here we go again. due to the various wretchednesses, I am only going to list the ones upon which I've actually worked in the last months... also if I wrote out all of them, we'd be here all day for sure.

flight of the heron:

lake trip

wormsfic

french vacation / a season in exile

winter birds

first snowfall at ardroy

sharpe:

wolf run free / werewolf au

ladyhawke au 2

babygirl you're coolawesome / the one with the dress

seville oranges

waterloo 2 / causeway

kissing the homies goodnight & kissing the homies 2: bro hookup

hard luck for you

kidnapped:

wood-god / shapeshifter alan / a bonny moor-hen

the low road

henriad:

werewolf montjoy

temeraire au

double-cast au

all the other fic:

pirates of the caribbean - two magicians / shapeshifter swann

the body snatcher - fun for boys (with scalpel!)

eagle of the ninth - a fire-breather of hispania

original stories:

oak savanna vampire

blood of the ash-tree

...there are still so many of them and I don't feel concerned about that, why would you ask me that. for today I shall simply say If You Want To Share, Consider Yourself Tagged.

[lis4ux]

Heya

Is there any way possible you could write me a fanfiction that is from a fandom that u don't know- I just wanna cheer my friend up and she is obsessed. The tv show is Waterloo Road and She is obsessed with the character Preston Walters but doesn't want any romance in her fanfiction. she was ranting to me about her ideal fic and i was like ooh i should make it but then remembered i cant write if my life depended on it. I would appreciate this so much if you would accpet my request and if you do i will go further to explain what exactly she would like thank thank thank you

I cannot express how honored I am that you would think of me to write something for your friend. Unfortunately, I have never watched so much as a trailer of Waterloo Road. I'm from the united states and don't get to the BBC network often. I am also stretched pretty thin with the works I am currently doing and planning another fic, so because of those reasons, I must decline.

Thank you so much for thinking of me though!

And never be afraid to write! Give it a go, you may be better at it then you think and I'm sure your friend would love it all the same��️

[shortcrust]

Hello! I just want to say that I've long admired your writing style and am always so thrilled to see something new you post no matter the fandom! I was curious what your thoughts are on the expanded universe of your keep with me forward fic - do Eddie and Steve ever move back and closer to Robin and the kids? What does their life end up looking like!

Hello! First I would like to say that I cannot thank you enough for such a kind, thoughtful and generous compliment; I am so, so touched! Genuinely, I've been beaming for hours. I really enjoyed writing keep with me forward and I have a little festive surprise coming later this week, because I like to think it's a warm verse that suits this time of year, maybe. So hopefully you enjoy that!

As for where they end up! I think that in a couple of years the government eventually says, hey, you’re out the woods and not our problem any more, and Eddie says, great, thanks, I’m taking the house in the divorce. Maybe they stick around Waterloo for a bit longer; they like it, and they have friends there, and they’ve finally fixed the hot water. Eddie’s made manager and the pub stays the same only there’s music every weekend, just local kids with their angry new bands or aging dads with their old guitars from their old angry teenage bands. He only plays himself when they can’t get anyone else on the tiny stage, because he has someone else to sing to now. They learn to talk to each other, too. In the wintertime Steve learns how to put snow tyres on a school bus. 

I imagine that eventually they move. It’s sad to leave the pink house. (It’s still pink, even though they’ve repainted it several times, each a different shade - peach, watermelon, taffy and flamingo.) They’ve got good memories there. But the memories are friends sat on the floor, or evenings in the low light together, or burning food onto the kitchen equipment, and all of those can travel. The whole point of Waterloo wasn’t that Waterloo was unique, or special, but that unique and special things can grow wherever if you love them. 

So yes - maybe the next house is blue, and it’s down the road from where Robin’s sticking around UChicago to do a graduate thesis on 18th Century wind instruments. Maybe it’s yellow, right where DC meets Maryland, and they’re only renting there because Nancy’s doing a whole piece on the election and she can’t afford it on her own. I particularly like the one where it’s whitewash, a careful distance from Cambridge, MA, and sure Steve only collects a drunk Suzie from outside a nightclub at 2am the one (memorable) time, but in his eyes that’s more than enough for the whole place to be worth it. But maybe it’s just brick and has an awning and a downstairs bedroom for Wayne and it’s back in Hawkins, where they always seem to end up anyway so why not cut out the middle man. I think that wherever they go, afterwards, they know that you can make a home anywhere, with the right person, and also with - and within - yourself. 

[baby-jackass]

My Official Masterlist!

This is my official masterlist with all of my headcannons, drabbles and fics and whatnot. My works are going to be put down in alphabetical order, to make it easier upon the eyes. I can not promise that my work is amazing, but hopefully you enjoy my silly little stories. Every new writing I publish I will update onto the masters list. But for now, I introduce you to my mind.

Some codes for the fics:

* Male reader,

° Gender neutral reader,

® Female reader.

• No reader

JACKASS:

- Chris Pontius protecting you *

- Cuddling and falling asleep with the Guys °

- Cuddling with Ryan Dunn °

- Dating Johnny Knoxville *

- Getting high with Johnny Knoxville °

- Guys with their little brothers •

- The guys coming to your prom °

TONY HAWK TOURS:

- Babysitting Bam Margera - Tony Hawks Secret Skatepark Tour °

9-1-1:

- Unnamed drabble •

- when the storm rocks •

Waterloo Road:

- I found freedom, losing all hope was freedom - narrator •

- When the storm rocks •

I will write for Tony Hawk tours, Jackass, CKY, HIM and Viva la Bam as well as 9-1-1 and Waterloo road. I love requests, the more detail the better. It may take some time for me to complete them but I wil try my best. Currently I am SFW, but I am open to attempting NSFW.

[sapphicscholar]

Fic First Sentence Meme

Thanks for the tag @lilolilyr! 

rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published AO3 stories. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics

see me in hindsight (Hacks) - The first time Deborah dreams about Ava is the night after the night of the party for her special. 

Adrift (Hacks) - “Shove off then!”

Two corpses. Everything��s Fine. (Hacks) - “He’s dead!” a voice rings out over the din of the party chatter.

one meal at a time (Abbott Elementary, Melissa/Janine) - Spunky.

(Not) Home for the Holidays (Supercat) - It’s only 5am, and Cat’s already having a nightmare of a day.

Waterloo (Hacks) - “What do you mean economy?” Deborah practically growls into the phone.

A Walk in the Park (and the end of the world, again) (Swan Queen) - “Get the fuck outta the road, lady!”

Pete Wentz Made Them Do It (Hacks, Ava/Weed) - Ava doesn’t know where they are anymore.

Chosen (Julia, Blanche/Judith) - Julia smiles out at the audience.

“Not Fond of Men”: The Deborah Vance Story (Hacks) - Deborah’s first dog is a mutt with matted hair she finds stealing trash on the beach during one of the long walks she started taking after she and Kathy moved in with Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Gene. 

---

I’d never done this before, so it was interesting to see the real mix of fandoms that wound up in my 10 most recent fics (5 fandoms and 6 different ships!). Similarly, a mix of dialogue-based, character-centric, and scene-setting first lines of different lengths (gotta love the single word Abbott one haha). 

I’d be curious about last lines, too...I often find myself most meh about the last couple lines of the fic as I try to tie things up enough without overdoing the neatness.

Tagging a few people in case you’d like to participate as well, but no pressure either way! @nakedmonkey, @jennamacaroni, @dkc2017, @jbthegift, @catelyngrant and anyone else who wants to jump in (I never know who’s already been tagged and whatnot)

[justamonkeyonautopilot]

Getting to dance early tonight so have a few hours spare may start writing some drafts for fics or drabbles now as I’m back on my iPhone and can actually type 🙈😂

Anyone have any fic prompts they’d like to send me to have a go at please go ahead my ask box is open 😊

[killerqueenlux]

Thanks to my dear @nico-cab for tagging me 🤍🤍 sorry it took me ages to do

MUSIC

fav genre? I couldn't choose just one, I listen a lot pop-rock, pop-punk, rock and folk-rock

fav artist? Well favorite bands are The Killers, 1D, The Lumineers and Mumford & Sons. Solo artists, I obviously love Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles and Regina Spektor

fav song? Hear me out hahha I have a fav song of all times (Carry on my wayward son by Kansas), fav song of the moment (Hey Angel by 1D) and fav song in spanish ( Contigo by Joaquín Sabina)

most listened song recently? according to Spotify, Little black dress by 1D

song currently stuck in your head? AHHAHAHAHHAHAHA Lovebug by Jonas brothers

5 fav lyrics? uuufff this will be a bit long

"The good old days, the honest man, the restless heart, the Promised Land, a subtle kiss that no one sees. A broken wrist and a big trapeze. Oh well, I don't mind if you don't mind 'Cause I don't shine if you don't shine. Before you go... Can you read my mind?" — Read my mind by The killers

"For evey question "why" you were my "because " — Walls by LT

"We don't know where we're going but we know where we belong" — Sweet Creature by HS

"Hold on to me as we go, as we roll down this unfamiliar road, and although this wave is stringing us along, just know you're not alone... 'Cause I'm going to make this place your home" — Home by Phillip Phillips

"You're my Waterloo, I'll be your Stanley Park, well I'm so glad we know just what to do, and one's left, stumbling around, fumbling around in the dark" — You're my waterloo by the libertines

Radio or your own playlist | solo artists or bands | pop or indie | loud or silent volume I slow or fast songs | music video or lyrics video | speakers or headset | riding a bus in silence or while listening to music | driving in silence or with radio on

BOOKS

fav book genre? magical realism, fantasy and maybe poetry, does fanfiction count?? Hahaha and obviously I prefer queer literature

fav writer? Gabriel García Márquez, Juan José Arreola and Gabriela Mistral the three of them are Latin American writers, in English I love E.E Cummings, Neil Gaiman and my king Tolkien

fav book series? Lord of the Rings and Percy Jackson 🤍🤍🤍🤍

comfort book? The Hobbit (and my comfort fic is unbelievers haha I think I read it more often than the Hobbit)

perfect book to read on a rainy day? any Larry fics or The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, quite entertaining for an afternoon

fav characters? ANNABETH CHASE AND LUKE CASTELLAN from Percy Jackson and the olympians (obviously i love percy but they are my babies) I'm also going to add Harry from Unbelievers because I had never identified as much with someone as I do with him

5 quotes from your fav books that you know by heart?

This one is in Spanish so I'll do my best to translate. "El hecho de que alguien no te ame como tú quieras, no significa que no te ame con todo su ser"/ The fact that someone doesn't love you the way you want, doesn't mean that they don't love you with all their heart" —El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Gabriel García Márquez

"Evean the smallest person can change the course of the future" — The lord of the rings, J.R.R Tolkien

"There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and all sorts of fun wherever you go" — The Hobbit, J.R.R Tolkien

"I am here because when all else fails, when all the other mighty gods have gone off to war, I am all that's left. Home. Heart. I am the Last Olympian" — Percy Jackson and the Last Olympian, Rick Riordan

"Time is fluid here, said the Demon" —Fragile things, Neil Gaiman

hardcover or paperback | buy or rent | standalone novels or book series | ebook or physical copy | reading at night or during the day | reading at home or in nature | listening to music while reading or reading in silence | reading in order or reading the ending first | reliable or unreliable narrator | realism or fantasy | one or multiple POVS | judging by the covers or by the summary | rereading or reading just once

TV AND MOVIES

fav tv/movie genre? Fiction, fantasy romance and true crime

fav movie? HAHAHAHAHHA just loveeeee Titanic so much, Fight Club, Inglourious Basterds, Across the Universe, Stardust and The imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus

comfort movie? Spiderman into the spider verse, Love Actually and any of the lord of the rings or harry potter movies

movie you watch every year? I always watch Lord of the Rings: The return of the King on Christmas and Titanic on New Years and of course V for Vendetta on November 5

fav tv show? Doctor Who, Sense 8, Pushing Daisies, Supernatural and bbc Merlín

comfort tv show? The Good Place and Teen Wolf

most rewatched tv show? Oh boy, my guilty pleasure is Grey's Anatomy I have rewatched all the seasons thousands of times

ultimate otp? Merlin/Arthur and Aragorn/Legolas

5 fav characters? Rose Tyler (Doctor Who), Jack Dawson (Titanic) and Samwise Gamgee (Lord of the rings)

tv shows or movies | short seasons (8-13 episodes) or full seasons (22 episodes or more) | one episode a week or binging | one season or multiple seasons | one part or saga | half hour or one hour long episodes | subtitles on or off | rewatching or watching just once | downloads or watches online

i'd like to tag @chispitalovesruby @moonelust @touchoflouis @holyshit @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk @celestial0ne @booksmusicandsodapancakes

[agustdiv1ne]

thank you + milestone!!

damn, never thought we'd get here, did we?

in all honesty, it's been a pretty shit year. march 'til now has felt like the same month on repeat with tiny tweaks to make it all so much worse. but i'm not here to complain about the worst parts of this year, i'm here to celebrate the best ones.

this was the year that i finally started writing, that i was finally spurred to open a google doc and just type away until a tiny work of fiction stared back at me. my first one was 1k words, a rant to get all of my emotions off of my chest with an idol as my muse. it felt...great, though it also felt a bit odd writing after being an avid reader for years. i always did prefer essays to creative writing, but this year definitely changed that perspective.

i wrote that first blurb along with another fic in late july, and in early august, i asked my friends if i should post them. om august 3rd, i changed this blog from a fic rec to a fic writing blog just like that. i regret none of it.

it's been nearly five months since i revamped this blog and i couldn't be more grateful for the support i have gotten from all of you, whether it be a kind comment, a like, a reblog, all of it. i never thought anyone would like my content, but i've been proven severely wrong by this community. from my irls that are on here, to my lovely mutuals and followers, to those i've talked to a lil bit on this hellsite, to the writers whose fics i absolutely adore, to those who have left a like or a comment on one of my fics, i want to say thank you from the very bottom of my heart ♡

have a happy and healthy new year! i love and appreciate every single one of you!!

though i'm painfully bad at writing letters and getting all sappy, i wanted to write them anyways hahaha let's goooo

to @hwaddict:

my irl best friend!! my partner in crime!!!! i love you sm carly, and there are not enough words in this world for me to describe the extent of my love. you have been there for me during my lowest moments, you've seen me cry, and i don't cry in front of many ppl. i trust you with my life and i'm so glad that we became friends back in middle school bc you are one reasons that spur me to keep going. i can't wait to see where life takes us and know that while i might not always be able to be there physically (especially with college right around the corner), i will always be there for you in any way i can be. again i love you and i can't wait to conquer next year with you ♡♡

to @hopejanaee:

hope!! hobi!!! one of my irls! though we just became friends earlier this year, it feels like we've been friends for ages. it's crazy how close we grew so quickly but i am so grateful to have you in my life. you never fail to make me laugh whenever we're together and you're so chaotic but in such a good way hahaha. you were the one who got me into writing with your own wonderful fics so thank yoi for that. i'm so happy that we became friends because you're so kind and caring and ahhhhhh i love u sm ♡

to @oikawasmilkbread:

we talked for like 0.2 seconds but you are so kind and hella cool!! it was nice having random conversations with you and i'm so glad you randomly dmed me bc i am shy and i have 0 idea how to start conversations with anyone lmao. i always smile when i see you in my notifs! i hope you have a happy new year!!! ♡

to @luthenia:

i know you're on hiatus but seeing you in my notifs always excites me hahaha. we never talk but you are so supportive of everyone in this community and i just wanted to shout you out for that! your memes are top tier LMAO and i can't wait for when you come back, happy new year ♡

to @starsforten:

we also talked for approximately 1 second but it was so fun talking to you about astrology stuff (virgo sun libra rising gang hahahaha) and those teuta matoshi dresses! you are so nice and easy to talk to and i hope your new year is happy and fruitful! ♡

i recommend every single one of these blogs for their amazing content!! i added some of my favorite fics as i'm a whore for great writing hahaaaa

@kinktae

waterloo — a masterpiece! taehyung is so bitter at the beginning and it's adorable seeing how y/n breaks his tough shell. loved this from beginning to the end ♡

hot rod — the 50s slang, the dynamic between hoseok and y/n...*chef's kiss*

@untaemedqueen

welcome to seoul land — werewolf!namjoon really got me going, 100/10 would recommend

graceful gods — this is one of my all-time favorites, greek god!jungkook has my brain going brrrr

@shadowsremedy + @therealmintedmango

support system — adorable!! this is a hybrid!yoongi fic i really enjoy, and the series isn't over yet! check it out~

@bratkook

tear you apart — demon!taehyung...holy shit. i was speechless

@tatertotthethot

the doms next door — THIS SERIES OMG, i've read each part at least five times already. taekook got me acting UP

scream (posted to @yandere-society) — a really cool take on the movie scream with jungkook, yandere fics don't always appeal to me but this one absolutely did

@ateezmakemeweep

broken — the immense ache i felt in my chest while reading this, but i loved both parts with a burning passion. san is so sweet in this :')

@atinybrew

dirty free for all — the ULTIMATE demon!san fic. the writing is absolutely immaculate and this is the first fic that had me blushing down my mf ARMS

rice milk lattes and bryophytes roads — another san fic admittedly because i'm whipped for san lol. anyways, this was cute and hot at the same time and best friend!yunho made my double biasing ass that much happier

@seacottons

pan — an adorable peter pan!hongjoong fic, it had my heart going achhfhsjfjsjf

sir kiss me — circus au with san holy hell i loved every twist and turn of this

@actuallythatwaspromise

bad romance — one of my favorite yunho fics ever, punk rock!yunho x nerd!reader has my entire heart

aurora garden center and desire ink — florist!mingi had me uwuing for the entire fic, this was adorable and i loved it sm

@yeonjuncore

every single fic on this blog is an absolute masterpiece, i swear

the devil's little angel — THIS IS ONE OF MY ULTIMATE FAVORITES, demon!yeonjun had me screaming and it was just so fun to read and i loved every single second of it so much that i've read it nearly ten times now. so go read it, you won't regret it!

the boy with the horns — another of my ultimate favorites (i told you, their writing is just that amazing), woodland fey!soobin just had me going so soft :(( i literally sobbed at one point, that's how invested i was

bleeding heart — the tension between vampire!yeonjun and vampire slayer!reader had me screeching

curtain call — i have a sad crush vampire!soobin

i love you, always — this felt so..bittersweet? taehyun loves y/n so much, i lowkey cried while reading this

@angelfic

the art of (mis)communication — i am a whore for both reconciliation and yeonjun, 100000/10 pls read this i beg of you

@angelictaehyun

growing pains — ahhh once again a yeonjun fic, my chest hurt a lil bit at some points but it was so sweet!!

@neovisioned

bed of spiderwebs — spiderman!mark has my heart screeching, i loved every second of it ♡

eddie ate dynamite — johnny suh coming for my throat yet again

cupid victorious — cupid!jaehyun :'))) definitely one of my favorites!!

@domjaehyun

quarantine chronicles — ok if you haven't read this or the part two yet then you're missing out big time!! the tension, the buildup, every single part of this fic was just *chef's kiss* but multiply thay by a million

all these years — every single moment of this felt so nostalgic and the ending was so sweet :')

@caiuscassiuss

muse — i keep going back to this one constantly, the angst in this phenomenal and i love artist!taeyong sm here

@neoct-zen

loverboy — HOT, AMAZING, I SCREAMED. the blurbs that accompany this are also top-tier i recommend reading each and every one!!

@moondustis

pink + white — i'm so soft for mark i stg, this was the cutest thing ever

@loviejaehyun

can't avoid this feeling — hockey player!mark is the best thing ever

all tied up — i just- screamed as i read this bc professor!jaehyun is too hot goodbye

@hopejanaee

incapable — this is one of the best yoongi fics i've ever read ngl, it's not completed quite yet but the parts that have been posted are top tier!!

breathless — THIS. I LOVED THIS. yuta is just so hfjshhfhshfnsn and i love this sm

@hwaddict

melting point — big boy mingiiii, 100/10 would recommend

@okayau

house next to mine — frat boy!yeonjun rly got me going, cute and hot at the same time ahhhhbfnsnnf

youth — ADORABLE, yeonjun's confession is peak i love it here

run away — how many yeonjun fics can i fit in this post? (answer: a lot) definitely one of my favorite harry potter aus!! it was awesome seeing how their relationship changed throughout the years and perhaps i teared up a little at the end :'))

@starrychannies

baby steps — ONE OF ALL-TIME MY FAVORITE FICS ON THIS SITE, every single part is so well-written and ahhhhhfhdhhf chan makes me feel some type of way

my stupid — another yeonjun fic! angsty but v cute at the end :')

@baekhvuns

this youth of craziness — 40k words of pure gold, this fic is absolutely one of my favorite san fics ever!!

replacement — prince!ten makes my brain go brrrr, i love how the y/n just speaks her mind here

@masterninjacow

untitled project — i saw soulmate au with mark and i knew would already love it, and i did! pizza boy!mark at that, amazing and i adored it

more amazing blogs!!: @galaxteez, @poutybinz, @lustjoong, @bloominghigh

these are just a few of the fics and blogs i found this year, find more on my fic rec blog @agustdiv1ne-recs!! (my thumbs are starting to hurt i'm so sorry bfjshfhsh)

wrapping up each month since august since that's when i actually started posting LMAO

☆ august

03: good enough — chan

03: bloodsucker — seonghwa

04: cutie — san

09: veloxrotaphobia — mingi

19: want — changbin

21: numb — yunho

100 follower special — i reached 100 followers towards the end of august, my first ever milestone :') also my first ever time taking requests, 'twas very fun ♡

☆ september

03: on camera — jungkook

☆ october

27: oh, worm? — namjoon

31: demon days — san

☆ november

10: a letter to my love — xiaojun

23: bad for u — jaehyun

27: home sweet home — yeonjun

☆ december

christmas bash 2020 — my brain went hey what if you did this- and i listened so here's 17 holiday fics hahahaa (not all of them are out yet but i'm working on it!!)

things i plan to release in 2021!!

☆ sunflower — jimin

☆ cross — yeonjun

☆ landslide — seonghwa

☆ nice save — san

☆ red — hyunjin

☆ a secret series (that will be revealed once i plan everything) — ateez

☆ 4 unrelated secret fics oOoOoo — will i reveal them? you'll just have to wait and see ;)

there will definitely be more posted! these are the ones that are going to be my priority at first, but my imagination is always churning so expect a lot more :)) check out all of non-secret wips here!

i hit 500 followers a couple days ago! i nearly screamed when i saw that LMAO. thank you so much for liking my content because i work hella hard on it :') sometimes i feel like i don't deserve y'all really, but @hwaddict will yell at me if i say that so ig i take it back hfhshhdhg

a post for celebrating this milestone will come as soon as i finish up the rest of my christmas fics!! sorry that i'm so slow :( (hint: my requests will be open, so look out for it!)

so yeah!! that's it, sorry for the painfully long post (i'm sorry to my thumbs for typing this whole thing out </3). thank you to everyone who read this far!! i hope everyone has a happy and healthy new year, and in the words of txt's cover, fuck 2020. may 2021 be a much better year for all of us!!!

much love,

ashlee ♡

[keepcalmandbrewtea]

The Lovers

AO3

Note: This started as a piece that no one was supposed to read. An experiment where I gave myself a few ground rules to follow and a few objectives to reach, while trying to stretch my wobbly "Writer's Legs" and, uh, one thing led to another and then, well, here it is.

My eternal gratitude to @from-aldebaran, @flora-gray and @drreallyreallystrange reading, editing and support. And while you're at it, you should totally do yourselves a favour and check Aldebaran's and Flora's fics on AO3 and Snow's art here on Tumblr.

-

They come home after a night at the Opera.

For once they chose to be spectators and not active participants. He’s in his usual black suit, black long coat, the only concession to gaiety is the dark cobalt blue cravat that matches the colour of her dress. He didn’t compliment her on her attire when they left for the theatre. There was no need. His scorching stare was enough to let her know that he appreciated the sinewy lines of her body, the half-bare shoulders, the long, narrow neck, and her, far beyond acceptable decorum.

The house welcomes them with blessed silence and darkness, the red embers in the fireplace providing the only source of warmth. The lonely figure of Miss Fleck, comfortably ensconced in one of the black leather armchairs, greets them with a nod. Her job as guardian of their offspring ended for the night, she leaves without a word, locking the door behind.

Shedding her cloak on the couch, a quick glance in his direction to telegraph her intentions, she proceeds to leave the sitting room, when his right hand catches her at her elbow and slides down till he reaches her fingers and pulls her to him with the irresistible force of a magnet. Her arms twine around his neck, hands caressing and entangling in his hair, while his head leans on her left shoulder so that he can smell her skin in a long reverse slope up to her earlobe, his skin smooth on his maskless side. His cheek’s passage brings goosebumps to life on her skin, everywhere.

They sway in the middle of the room for a while, cheek to cheek, their hands travelling each other’s body refreshing the memory of well known shapes and contours, moving together to a piece of silent music beating to the rhythm of their hearts.

By common agreement, the dance ends and this time when she moves away she’s met with no resistance. She drags him to the bedroom like one would a child, but he’s far too amenable to not comply willingly.

The room is slightly cold. They left the curtains open and the moonlight is pouring in, alternating shafts of light and darkness, painting a bewitching atmosphere. It is the same contrast she finds in the eyes that are observing her, gauging her intentions and waiting for her directions.

She reads want there and hunger and need to possess. His body is a coil of tension ready to burst and his mind is exercising the highest degree of restraint. He always defers to her in matters of the heart and of the flesh, still uncertain of his ability to control himself and scared to unleash the darkness he is convinced he holds inside.

Her hands land on his shoulders and caress them, then follow a path down the lapels of his long coat and splay on his chest infiltrating underneath the garment. They climb the tortuous road back up to lift their intended target, his coat, off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Next is the tailcoat, which falls victim to the same murderous plot, until she extends the stroke from shoulders to wrists, smoothing the length of his shirt’s sleeves in search of the next objective.  

The buttons of the waistcoat are easy prey: they fall one after the other like Napoleon’s soldiers on the fields of Waterloo. And soon the cravat follows, released by blind hands: her eyes are trained on his and pull him in deeper and deeper until he does not care about whatever she will do next.

He dispatches the shirt by himself, raising it over his head - he doesn’t bother with buttons or cufflinks - this nuisance needs to be dealt with in the quickest way possible because his self-control is wearing thin and he can’t be held responsible for his reactions any longer.

He attacks her clothes like a starved man attacks a meal at a tavern - he’s become proficient enough in undressing her that he doesn’t need directions to perform this particular task. Nevertheless, despite the urgency, his touch is precise and his movements spare. The ever-growing pile of clothing on the floor soon reaches an alarming height and they both feel the need to move away from it, first to the side of the bed and then on top of it.

His hunger is tempered by a shyness she recognizes as self-doubt. No matter how many times they do this, there’s a lingering doubt of not being worthy enough, not being the right one for her. It has diminished over time, but it’s always there, lurking in the shadows. She is the one with the magic touch, the one that can dispel any qualm.

They lie looking at each other, enjoying these moments of mutual discovery, the calm before the storm when rational consciousness will be overwhelmed and washed away by passion and paroxysm of the senses.

She removes his mask and he removes his wig. The final barrier, the last surrender. Nothing to hide from here on. Nothing but the bare truth for two souls that destiny has entwined together.

She is very careful with him to the point of obsessiveness. Her touch is deliberate, soft and attentive but always, always measured. His body is so full of scars and welts that she hates the idea of causing even more damage. Her nails are manicured short and blunt for that purpose alone. A row of light bruises from clutching fingertips is perfectly acceptable as long as they fade within a day or two. She can’t stand the idea of hurting him - in body or spirit - ever again.

He lets her lead at first, lets her disclose her most hidden desires. He will turn each and every one of them to reality when the time comes, but he needs to be tethered first, like a ship that has finally reached a safe harbour before the oncoming storm.

He closes his eyes and breathes deep.

Once.

Twice.

He can still smell a hint of the rose water skin tonic she used in the morning after washing her face. Her hand on his chest continues its up-and-down movement while the other is driving him crazy with enticing caresses on his neck. He hears the way her legs shift one against the other on the bedsheets. He wants to taste her.

He shivers and leans towards her.

The kiss is rapturous. A full-blown symphony that overwhelms all senses and sets everything in motion, like an avalanche in wintertime: hands stroking, grasping and searching, limbs tangling, holding and pressing until two bodies become one and there is no way to tell one apart from the other. The bed is a battlefield where both armies give and take until exhaustion sets in, and a truce is declared with admissions of love whispered lips against lips.

The mantel clock strikes the hour but neither one moves from the embrace they are locked in. Propriety would demand that they put on nightclothes, but they never were ones to follow the rules. He feels her shiver, a light trace of goosebumps visible on her back even under the moonlight. When he raises up to fetch the duvet, his hand traces her shoulder with the knowing touch of a sculptor feeling a marble statue to seek out imperfections.

He finds none.

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 10

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 10 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 9 / Part 11

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: swearing

Historical Inaccuracies:

Crystal did not join Queen until November of 1975

There is no attic bedroom at Ridge Farm

Word Count: 6.6k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Before you knew it, it was June, and you were packing your suitcase with the last of the things you were taking home for the summer holidays.

You were absolutely ecstatic to have this year’s exams finished, especially because you’d made very high marks on Carmichael’s final assessment. Brian had done well too, turning around excitedly in his chair when he was handed back his test, waving the paper in your direction with a brilliant smile as he pointed to the percentage marked in red. You’d made a clapping motion in his direction, and he’d mouthed thank you. The gratitude shone in his eyes, and happiness bubbled up inside you at what an improvement you’d helped him to make.

Today, however,  frazzled nerves replaced elation, your insides tumbling and your hands unable to stay steady for very long at a time. Today was the day that you would go with Freddie, Roger, Deacy, and Brian to your home at Ridge Farm. Today was the day that you would join two halves of your life, and having never imagined that they would coincide, you were anxious about how it would go.

The day after the expedition to Zandra Rhodes’ flat, you had called your parents to discuss the notion of Queen coming to stay and to use the studio. Your dad had been thrilled, overjoyed that a real band was coming to use his studio, a studio he’d worked so hard to design and to build and to maintain. Your mum was pleased too— it was a long time since you’d had friends over, and she was happy to finally be meeting the people you now spent the majority of your time with, to put faces to names. Your brother would be home too, but, your mum said, “As he’s not yet got up and it’s two in the afternoon, he gets no say in the matter.” And so it was decided that Queen would be spending the summer of ‘75 at Ridge Farm.

Heather, Veronica, and the often-elsewhere Mary Austin would also be joining the party, and plus two roadies, your number totalled to ten. Roger, as the only one with a car, was taking himself, Heather, Freddie, Mary, and his roadie Chris— though everyone called him Crystal— up to the farm. You, Brian, Deacs, Veronica, and John Harris— another of Queen’s roadies— were to take the train.

It was a quarter past one in the afternoon when you shut your suitcase, tossed on a pair of sunglasses, and bid your other housemates goodbye for the summer. Heather, who was to play the role of navigator for Roger, had gone on ahead to his flat because it would take a little longer to reach Surrey by car than by train. You were headed to the Waterloo Station to meet the others in time for the train’s departure at 13:39 for an estimated arrival at Epsom, Surrey, at 14:23.

When you opened your front door, you were surprised to find none other than Zandra Rhodes with her hand raised to knock.

“Oh, hello!” she said brightly. “I was just coming to find you.”

“Me?” you laughed. “How do you even know where I live?”

She shrugged. “Freddie.”

“Ah.”

“Quite.”

You hesitated. “I’d say come in and have a cup of tea, but I’m actually on my way to the train station,” you winced apologetically.

Zandra waved her hand. “It’s fine. I’m busy myself. And I assume today is the day that the band goes off to the countryside? Freddie mentioned,” she explained.

“Yep, off to write an album!”

“Must be so exciting, all that musician stuff,” Zandra mused, shaking her head. “Anyhow, I’m here to give you this.” She handed you a soft parcel wrapped in plain brown paper and tied up with white string. “Go on, open it. You may want to take it with you.”

You looked at her questioningly before setting down your bag so as to free your hands. You pulled at the string and it fell free of the package, which in turn fell open. Inside lay a swath of sparkly black fabric.

Lifting it up from the wrapping paper, you admired what Zandra had turned into a blouse. With a deep v-neck slit, little buttons down the abdomen, a cinched-tie waist and long, cinched sleeves, the blouse was the picture of elegance. It reminded you of the night sky.

“Zandra, it’s beautiful,” you smiled at her. “Thank you. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” she said. “But, you owe it to yourself to try to impress a certain someone, wearing that top.”

“I haven’t got anyone to—”

“Oh, sure you do!” she exclaimed, such great spirit that it did not cross your mind to contradict her again. “Let me know how it goes when you get back to London, yeah?”

You pressed your lips together. Nothing was going to happen. Nothing ever did.

“Will do,” you said. “And thanks again. Truly, it’s lovely.”

“I know. Have fun!” she waggled her fingers in a wave and looked both ways before striding across the road.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

From Camden you made for Waterloo, and shortly after you arrived, you spotted Brian.

At the familiar sight of gangly limbs paired with a slim figure and a mass of curly hair, standing on the platform with his head bowed over whatever it was he held in his hands, relief spread through you like a warm cup of tea on a cold day. Everything would be okay. This was Deacy and Ronnie and Roadie-John you were bringing to your home. This was Bri— this was your friend you were bringing to your home, not a stranger.

Strangers did not make you feel like this.

Approaching, you found the others close by, chatting and laughing and sharing bags of crisps. Deacy and Ronnie waved at you and John Harris grinned.

Brian looked up when you neared him, and he flashed you a bright little smile, which you couldn’t help but return— his cheeks were rosy and his eyes crinkled, and you would have died for that smile.

Then he raised his Polaroid camera in your direction and clicked the button.

“Brian!” you exclaimed, knowing that there was no way that photo could have turned out well. “Why’d you do that?”

He pulled the photograph from where the camera was spitting it out, shaking it lightly and letting the camera strap hold the camera for him as he shielded his face from the sun with his other hand.

“Candid,” he said happily. “First of many.”

“Not on my watch,” you narrowed your eyes. “Let me see.” You snatched for the photo, but tall and long-limbed as he was, Brian simply extended his arm above his head and held the Polaroid out of your grasp.

His smile was amused when you glared at him for his betrayal, but you weren’t about to give up. You jumped and reached, but he stepped sidelong and shook his head.

“No. You’ll never let me keep it,” he said, sticking out his bottom lip in a rather petulant pout.

At the idea of him keeping a photograph of you— why? did he think of you?— a tingle ran down your sides, but you quelled all straying thoughts when you remembered that you probably looked terrible in said photograph.

“Bri,” you crossed your arms obstinately, “it’s mine. Give it to me, please.”

He continued to pout, but then sighed. “Fine.” he said, lowering his hand and holding the photograph out to you. You took it slowly, cautious not to let your fingers brush his. “But really, don’t throw it away. You look lovely.”

Before you could hide the blush that rose to your cheeks at his remark, he winked, and turning away, he called out for the other three to smile!, taking the picture before anyone could react.

You pushed your sunglasses up onto your head and squinted at the Polaroid picture in the sunshine.

Your gaze had been directed upwards, toward Brian, your chin was lifted in a manner that looked almost proud, or in the very least confident. Your sunglasses had briefly slipped down your nose at the moment the picture had been taken, and so your eyes could be seen, bright and animated in the warm light of the sunny afternoon, and the hair was blown away from your face— sunlight emphasised the dips and planes of your features. You’d worn a sundress because the weather was for once for it, and it had rustled in the wind, sweeping around your legs; you were painted in elegance.

Brian was right.

You looked lovely.

But perhaps the craftsmanship of the photo played a part as well. Despite being a hastily-snapped candid, the photo was framed perfectly, and the light that illuminated your figure was well-contrasted. It was art, in yet another form; Brian seemed inherently capable of creating art in any and every moment. And he certainly knew how to pick his moments. In photography, at least.

��Y/N!” John called to you, and all the others turned to you expectantly. “Train’s here.”

Sure enough, the clock hanging above the platform matched the departure time printed on your ticket. You hurried over with your bags, which was quite a feat, given you had your messenger bag, your guitar in its case— Brian had encouraged you to bring it— and your suitcase. The others were equally badly off— Deacy carrying his bass, Brian with not one but two guitars, Roadie-John with packed-up amplifiers and cords, and everyone carrying suitcases. Deacy in particular looked strained, having insisted upon carrying some of his wife’s things so that her load would be lessened, but subsequently, his own was significantly worsened. You made quite the group.

You caught up with the others and with a few quick hello’s the five of you shuffled alongside the rest of the crowd toward the train carriages.

Brian was at your side and nudged your elbow. “Guitar looks heavy,” he said.

“Mmm…” you murmured. “Some idiot suggested I bring it along.”

He chuckled warmly, and despite the sunny weather, you longed to move closer to his warmth. “I’d offer to carry it for you, but I’m rather decked out myself.”

You sniffed. “I suppose it’s the thought that counts.”

Just then, a man in a time-worn jacket jostled you, and you stumbled.

“Excuse me,” you muttered. But the man continued to try to push past you, past anyone who stood in his way.

You glanced over at Brian to roll your eyes at the man’s behaviour, but Brian’s face had taken on a peculiarly pinched look. He looked angry.

“Oi, mate,” Brian raised his voice slightly. The man didn’t react. “Hey,” Brian said when you got shoved for the third time. He stepped forward. “Hey, watch it!”

The man whirled around with an equally angry expression, but Brian was taller, and he made that fact quite obvious, leaning down and glowering at the other man. Shoulders stiff and eyes dark, though he had no hands free with which to defend himself should the situation take a violent turn, Brian glared with such scorn at the man who’d run into you that anyone would’ve rightly wilted beneath his gaze.

“Bri,” you said, hoisting your guitar onto your back, “let it go.” Brian didn’t move, though the other man bared his teeth. He stared past you like you didn’t exist. Then the rugged man spat on Brian’s clogs, and Brian lurched forward in fury, his bag and cases landing on the ground.

You were quick to step between the two men, placing your palm firmly against Brian’s chest. That caught his attention— his heartbeat quickened beneath your splayed fingers.

“Let it go,” you repeated.

Brian’s eyes flickered, then met yours. You stared down his intensity, unwilling to back down, though your lungs and their rapid intake of breath were inclined to disagree.

His eyes were melted toffee, and beneath them, you could have melted as well. But then Brian inhaled carefully, and with a gentle touch, pried your fingers off of his chest.

He nodded to you in promise to not antagonise the other man any further, then let go of your hand.

You would have intertwined your fingers with his and held them there, if the crowd hadn’t begun moving again.

And if you’d had the courage.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The train sprinted along the tracks from Waterloo to Epsom, and the journey passed quickly. Your arrival in Surrey was perfectly on time, and this day, the weather in your home county was no less pretty than that of London.

From Epsom Station to Ridge Farm was another half-hour or so, but luckily, your dad owned a minibus and was waiting at the station to pick you and the others up.

“Y/N!” your dad called when he saw you.

“Dad!” you rushed forward and dropped your bags, flinging your arms around him. You hadn’t seen him for months, and had spoken to him only every few weeks; you weren’t going to be embarrassed for being happy to see your dad.

“Missed you, love,” he squeezed you tightly.

“Missed you too.”

Then you stepped back so as to introduce the others.

“So we’ve got exactly half of the band here, and the other half I think we’ll intercept on the way home,” you said. “This is John Deacon, bassist and vocalist—”

John laughed. “No no, I can’t sing, Y/N. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Andrews,” he shook hands with your dad. “This is my beautiful wife Veronica,” he beamed upon introducing her. The two of them were so in love, it was ridiculous.

“Hi!” Ronnie said, hardly taking her big eyes off of Deacy.

“Hello there,” your dad greeted them.

“And this is our second John, who crews and just generally is a great help,” you said as Roadie-John strode forward.

“John Harris. But everyone just calls me Roadie-John, to sorta prevent confusion with Deacy over there,” he jabbed his thumb in Deacy’s direction, and your dad laughed amicably.

“So they call you Deacy, then?” he asked John, John Deacon.

“Yeah, or Deacs, or something like that. Seems to have stuck.”

Your dad laughed again, and you smiled, pleased. It seemed he and Deacy would get along well.

Then Brian caught your eye timidly. He looked a bit lost, like meeting new people wasn’t his strong suit. It probably wasn’t— Brian very much conformed to the initially-shy-and-awkward stereotype of an astrophysicist.

“Oh dear, sorry Bri,” you apologised. “Dad, this is Brian.”

“Hello,” Brian said, extending his hand. Your dad shook it.

“So what do you play, Brian…”

“Brian May, Mr. Andrews.”

“Brian May. What do you play then, Brian May?”

“Oh, I play guitar.”

“Any good?” your dad inquired.

“I—”

“Very good,” you interrupted. “He’s actually been helping me to learn to play,” you said, pride in your voice.

“Has he really?” your dad muttered in an odd tone. “My Y/N’s been having quite the trouble learning.”

“Dad…”

“Really? She’s a natural!” Brian smiled disarmingly, but your dad’s expression was set.

“We’ll see,” your dad responded, and you thought he looked rather standoffish. Brian’s shoulders seemed to droop.

You frowned.

“Uh, sha’ we get going, then?” Roadie-John stepped in.

“Yep, yeah, sounds good!” you patted your dad’s shoulder and he made a noise of agreement. He took your bag for you, and took one from Ronnie as well.

“Thank you. Those things are heavy,” she said.

“I’m not actually a rotten husband,” Deacy added, “I’ve just already got my hands full.”

“No one thinks you’re a rotten husband,” Ronnie pulled her arm around Deacy’s waist and leaned her head on his shoulder as you all followed your dad toward parking.

“Well thank goodness for that,” Deacy responded, and Veronica brushed his hair away from his face.

You were so distracted by how Deacy and Ronnie looked at each other, with such unyielding affection and warmth, that you didn’t notice Brian until he was next to you, the sleeve of his cream-coloured jacket brushing your hand.

“Hey,” he murmured, and you slowed your pace, guessing correctly that he wanted to talk apart from the others.

“Hey,” you said back. “What’s up?”

“Um… I don’t… I don’t think…” He stopped, then tried again. “What did I say wrong?” His eyes were soft and pitiful, and he looked so genuinely crushed that you almost threw your arms around him. “To your dad,” he continued. “I think I said something wrong.”

“Brian, what could you possibly have said wrong?”

His curls bobbed as he shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure, but I don’t think your dad’s pleased with me, all the same.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” you said. “He gets like that sometimes, when I introduce my friends. He’s a bit protective of me, I think.”

Brian bit his lip and made no response.

“Cheer up, Bri,” you nudged his side. “You can’t possibly look so sad when you get to spend an entire summer with me.”

“Half. Half a summer,” he corrected you. “D’you think I’ll last that long?”

His grin was brazen and his tongue poked out between his teeth.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re on thin ice, Brian May.”

He only went on smiling.

And you’ll surely melt the rest with that sunny smile of yours.

But no, you had it wrong. He would not melt the ice. He would melt you.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The car ride from the station to your home was mostly uneventful, but as you’d predicted, Deacy and your dad got on like a house on fire. Your dad had studied electrical engineering, which John was studying now, and he played many instruments, including bass guitar. The two were currently occupied discussing electric pianos, and the one that your dad owned, which Deacy now wanted to learn to play.

Veronica and Roadie-John spent the journey playing weird road trip games, half of which you’d never even heard of. You resolved they’d made a few of them up on the spot.

You’d stared out the window, watching the landmarks of your childhood pass you by, pointing out a few of them to Brian who sat beside you. He appeared very interested in it all, to understand where it was you’d grown up, and he asked a multitude of questions concerning your school, an ice cream parlour you’d frequented ever since you were little, and finally, about the lush woods that surrounded the wealth of land that was Ridge Farm. You were happy to answer his questions, and to ask your own of him. He told many stories, and he told them well, upon one occasion eliciting so much laughter from you that your dad raised his eyebrows at you in the rearview mirror.

When the minibus finally rolled up the drive to the main house, your mum stood waving, and your family’s dog, Selkie, bounded back and forth with his tail wagging madly.

Then, Roger’s shiny red Alfa Romeo pulled up beside the minibus, just as you were getting out. Music was blaring, and everyone’s hair was thoroughly windblown.

“Did you even remember sunscreen?” Brian called to the passengers, pulling his guitars from the boot of the minibus.

“Nice to see you too, Bri,” Roger responded, giving Heather a hand out of the car.

“No,” said Mary, trying in vain to comb her hair into some semblance of a ponytail, “we definitely forgot sunscreen.” Gingerly, she touched a finger to the tip of her nose, which was looking rather pink, and winced. “Definitely forgot,” she muttered.

“You’re all pasty-pale,” Freddie laughed, fixing his hair.

“Well,” Crystal returned, “aren’t you lucky, Fred?”

“To be honest,” Heather was swaying slightly on the spot, “I’m not feeling too great. You drive too fast for me, I think, Roger.”

He kissed her cheek. “‘Course I don’t! Have a glass of water and you’ll be perfectly lovely again.”

Heather whacked his arm. “Cheeky.”

Your mum approached the scene, smiling with amusement at the various interactions going on around her.

“Mum!” you said, hugging her tightly. “You’re not at the pub?” Your mum ran the local pub— The Plough— and could thus be found there quite often.

“Hello my darling,” she kissed your cheek. “No, I got your brother to cover for me. It’s good to see you.” She pulled back from the embrace and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “You don’t call nearly often enough.”

“Sorry,” you winced, crouching down to scratch Selkie behind his big, floppy ears as the golden retriever panted happily, having run to you upon seeing you.

“You’re here now, so no need to be sorry!” She smiled her bright smile, the one that never failed to cheer you up, to comfort you, and you knew that she meant what she said. Your mum always meant what she said. It was both a blessing and a curse.

A whirlwind of introductions followed, and apologies too, because your mum worried she’d forget the names of nine new people as quickly as she’d been told them. Of course, no one minded; there would be plenty of time for everyone to get to know each other. Six weeks, to be exact.

Then there was the matter of accommodation. Your parents had yielded the main house to you all, preferring themselves to retreat to the smaller building farther up on the farm. Frank had his granny flat down the path from the main drive, so that left you, the band, their partners, and the roadies divided amongst six bedrooms.

You had your childhood bedroom, Freddie and Mary took a room, Roger and Heather took another, Deacy and Veronica a third. Meanwhile, Brian, Roadie-John, and Crystal drew straws to see who would be sharing and who would get their own room. In the end, Roadie-John and Crystal drew the shorter two straws and ended up in the bunk-beds of the room that your two brothers Frank and Billy had once shared. Brian had looked much relieved by this turn-out, because, as he told you— “My legs wouldn’t have fit on that bed!”

“Well, good you got the room to yourself,” you’d responded. “Though, you could easily have guilted me into giving up my bed to you.”

Brian had laughed, rather nervously. A blush rose to your face when you’d realised how your remark must have sounded. Deacy had then made the incident twenty times worse by turning to you and saying “Y/N, was that an innuendo? I’m proud of you!”

This had resulted in further blushing on your part, and in Brian stuttering out some weak-reasoned excuse about going to unpack.

“What’s his problem?” Crystal had asked, and Freddie had snorted.

“Think for a second, Chris,” Roadie-John had cuffed the back of his mate’s neck.

“Yeah thanks John, that’s going to help me think, you idiot.”

“You don’t need to think, Crystal,” Roger had shaken his head. “It’s pretty bloody obvious.”

“If it’s so bloody obvious, Rog,” you’d interrupted, crossing your arms, “then would you mind pointing it out to me?”

“Oh, darling,” Mary had said to you, almost pityingly, while Roger had laughed.

“No, Y/N, Roger sha’n’t tell you, and nor shall anybody else,” Freddie had put it plainly. “You’ll be blind a while yet.”

And with that cryptic comment, he had wrapped an arm around Mary’s shoulders and dragged the others with him to explore the house and grounds.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

When the sky turned orange and all the land below it golden, your dad had tea ready. He loved to cook and had thus created a masterpiece of salads, grilled vegetables, barbecue, homemade bread, and a variety of dips.

Summer was finally setting in, and so, even in the glow of the six o’clock evening, the sun would not set for at least another three hours.

You and the others had spent the afternoon unpacking, and setting up instruments in the studio. You’d managed to keep everyone’s attention for long enough to show them around said studio, but then Freddie had insisted on more “exploring”, and the others had followed excitedly. You’d offered to give them a tour, but Freddie argued that exploring was more fun, and everyone had agreed wholeheartedly. Except Brian. He’d been lost in his thoughts, sitting in a corner, tuning his guitar as though he intended to begin a songwriting session then and there.

Heather had then tried, and failed, to convince you to join in the exploration. Failed on account that you needed an hour or two to yourself— hanging around nine people, plus your family, was really quite draining. And when you’d looked about the sunlit studio fondly before leaving it for your own room, Brian was nowhere to be found.

When teatime rolled around, you had not seen him for several hours, and he remained elusive even as your mum, your dad, the others, and even your brother Frank who’d slept the day away, gathered in the dining room.

“Oh, this looks delicious,” said Roger enthusiastically, eyeing the food piled up on the table.

Murmurs of agreement echoed all around, but your dad frowned. “Where’s that Brian May got to?”

“Sebastian,” your mum chided. “It’s been less than two minutes since you called us all in. He’s probably just upstairs or something.” Your mum turned to you. “Y/N, would you go look? I’ve just got to let Selkie out.”

“Yep, sure.”

You left the kitchen and bounded up the stairs, smilingly taking two at a time, now that your legs were long enough. You’d always tried to take them two at a time when you’d been little, but you’d never managed more than one set at a time before falling over your own feet.

It was quickly obvious that there was no one upstairs.

Poking your head into the kitchen, you announced, “He’s not upstairs, but I’ll just check outside. You might as well start.” Your dad looked to your mum for approval, and she shrugged.

“Bon appetit, then,” he said.

You slipped on some canvas shoes and jogged down the main path and to the end of the drive, where you stopped.

“Where’ve you gone, Bri?”

Your eyes fell to the green by the path, where tufts of grass had been pressed down in the memory of footprints. Beyond the grass, there was mud, and there too were footprints. And they really were footprints— the person who had made them did not seem to have been wearing any shoes. You set off following the trail.

Down the hill, skirting a meadow, and through the sand by the bank of the river, you stepped with your shoes into the footsteps that had been left.

Finally, you caught sight of the owner of the footprints.

He stood knee-deep in the river, his back to you and his face turned to the canopy of the trees about him.

Birds streaked across the sky above, merely silhouettes against the bright colours of the sky, and the air glittered as ordinary dust turned to stardust in the golden light of the sun.

The river babbled in an almost talkative manner, greeting you— hellohello slosh rush hellohello— and the creatures in the wood had realised your presence, pausing in their activities no matter how careful you made your footing upon the ground. Brian had not realised anything.

A thrush knocked a seedpod against the base of a tree, and other birds twittered merrily in the branches above. The trees whispered their secrets, rustling and passing their leaves along one another’s boughs like notes, and the grass shone in glory green, dotted white flowers conjuring an aura of magic.

You crept along the edge of the clearing by the river, careful not to let Brian notice you. You wanted to notice him first.

His face was expressive— his parted lips, the soft line of his chin in contrast to the sharpness of his wide hazel eyes. His hands hovered by his sides, slim fingers and wrists, the already lightly-tanned skin of his arms showing where he had pushed up his sleeves. His curls were tossed by the breeze and he stared up to the sky with reckless abandon, as though his entire existence hung upon the breath of starlight that would steal across the sky this night and every night after, as though he would give up anything, everything, to be a star as well.

And you understood that he would, because you would too. Without thought, without a single hesitation. Oh, to be a star.

Brian spun around, the water protesting with splashes about his calves, his shoulders tensed and his eyes now wider than ever.

Oh, you’d said that out loud.

“Y/N,” he said, relaxing almost instantly as he recognised you through the rays of sun that streaked across the clearing. “Yes, I’d like to be a star. What a vantage point that would be. I wonder what I might see differently from up there.”

“Everything,” you said. “You’d see everything differently.” You stared up at the sky, the waning crescent of the moon faintly visible in the glow of evening. But Brian was still looking at you; you could feel it. Your skin prickled.

“Would you come with me?” he asked. When you returned your gaze to him, his smile was gentle.

“Oh, but you wouldn’t need me out there, Spaceman. You know it so well.”

“Maybe,” he said, “but it’s lonely out in space.”

You shook your head. “You’d be a star. You wouldn’t think of loneliness. You wouldn’t think at all.”

“Well, while I still have my thoughts, I think that would be preferable to have someone there with me.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. In an instant you realised that you had been wrong; you didn’t want to be a star, you wanted to feel how starlight looked— ethereal and inspiring, yet powerful. And the closest you’d ever been to feeling how starlight looked was when Brian looked at you.

“You’d give it all up?” you said, and still he gazed at you.“Really you would?”

He hesitated, then said, “Some days, yes. Others, no.”

“Today?” you asked.

There was that gentle smile again. “No,” he exhaled softly, as though he had been holding his breath. “Not today.”

You smiled. “Then hurry up and come back inside. Tea’s waiting, and my dad’s an excellent cook. If you want to get on his good side, then compliment his food.”

“Do you think it’s still possible for me to get on his good side?” Brian began to wade back to the riverbank. “He seemed rather to have made up his mind, this afternoon.”

You held out your hand to Brian as he approached, planting your feet firmly in the sand. “Careful. The rocks are slippery,” you told him. “And no, I think there’s still hope. He’s not as bad as he seems.”

“Oh, he’s not bad, it’s just—” Brian had not heeded your warning and pitched forward. You grasped his hand just before he fell, and he smiled at you gratefully. His fingers were warm where they curled around your own. “It’s just me. I don’t think he likes me.”

“Brian,” you guided him around a particularly mossy rock, “why on Earth does this bother you so much? I’ve never heard you talk like this,” you said honestly.

He finally made it to the riverbank, and the sand dusted his toes, his cuffed trousers dripping water, soaked through because he hadn’t folded them up far enough. “Clearly, you haven’t spent enough time with me. Not to worry, though. Soon to be remedied.”

“Brian.”

He huffed. “Because it’s you, Y/N,” he said, and your heart rose to your throat. “I don’t usually care who doesn’t like me, but they’re your family and you’re my friend.”

Your heart sank.

Once, your insides had warmed when he’d called you his friend, but now things were different. You wanted more from him than just that, and you could admit as much to yourself, even if you couldn’t admit it to anybody else.

But his hand still rested in yours.

Take what you can get. It’s all you’ll ever have.

Your hand curled more tightly around his long, dainty fingers.

He glanced at you, and you realised that you had not said anything for a while. You’d been walking through the wood for minutes and you had not spoken a word, only held his hand, as though you had a right to. You didn’t though, did you?

You pulled your hand from his, and it felt like a severance when he let go.

“Shoes,” you murmured.

“Sorry?”

“You’re not wearing any shoes,” you laughed at the silliness of it.

He looked down at his bare feet and laughed too. “No, I’m not.”

“Why on Earth not?”

“Why on Earth should I?”

“Why not on Earth should you not?”

“Why not on Earth should I not not wear shoes?”

You stopped walking. “You’re absurd.”

He grinned. “And you’re an angel.”

“Oh, so I’m that far gone, am I?”

“Not as far as me.”

“It’s lonely out in space,” you repeated his words from earlier.

“You know,” Brian began as the two of you crested the final hill that led up to the house. “Think I’ll stay around.”

The breeze rustled his curls, and his eyes were bright, his profile illuminated by the sun. A small smile rested on the curve of his lips, and you couldn’t believe that he was real.

You were breathless; he took your breath away.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Tea was not the awkward affair you had expected, with your dad and Brian skirting around each other. It was instead talkative and homely, like the nine extra people at your table had always been a part of your family. It was a shame your brother Billy had decided to stay abroad with his mates this summer; he would have loved all this.

The table itself was taking the meal quite well— it held up, despite the great amount of food and plates and cutlery and glasses and bowls and napkins and trays piled atop its oakwood surface.

It was quite an arrangement, thirteen people around the same dining table, and chairs had been fetched from all over the house, from stools to desk chairs. Perhaps the feeling of closeness amongst you all had been achieved through literal closeness, seeing as the dining table was not meant for more than eight people, and certainly not for thirteen. Knees and elbows knocked, and you had the fortune to be seated next to Bri, whose hand or thigh bumped yours quite often as he reached for something or picked up his knife and fork. He apologised frequently, and every time he apologised and you assured him that it was fine, your stares grew longer and his eyes grew softer.

You could have gazed at him forever. And spoken to him forever, too.

The occupants of the table both roared with laughter and listened attentively as stories both utterly silly and quite serious were shared. There were tales from childhood; tales of Queen from before your time, when they were known as Smile; tales you already knew; tales you had experienced as they had happened, including the recent story of how Roger had plotted and executed his master plan of locking you and Brian in the kitchen. You laughed harder than anyone at that story, because in hindsight, it just seemed so silly, so ridiculous, how angry you and Brian had both been, not at each other, but at being locked into the kitchen with one another. Brian had been sure to describe— in detail— the look on your face when you’d realised that Roger, John, and Freddie had left you in the kitchen, to your own devices.

Your face ached from smiling, and your stomach hurt from laughing, and it was the best pain in the entire world. You wanted to feel like this forever, both young and old at once, young in spirit but wisened by nostalgia and an already great wealth of memories.

And with every glance you stole at Brian, to gauge his reaction to a particular story, or indeed, to nothing in particular at all, you were closer to reaching over and taking his hand in yours again, sliding your hand over the smooth skin of his wrist and palm, and along his slim fingers.

But you didn’t do it. His hands were not yours to hold.

When tea was finished, yawns began to make appearances between words, because it was good and well eleven o’clock at night. You all helped to clear the table and stow leftovers into the fridge, the chatter never ceasing as you communed between the dining room and kitchen. Your dad even broke into song at one point— he’d probably had a little too much to drink— and Roger joined in without hesitation, which led to Heather’s participation, and Ronnie’s, and Deacy’s, and yours, until the entire house was filled with the melodic tune of thirteen people singing ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining’. Your dad swung your mum around the kitchen and she laughed as they danced, and you couldn’t remember the last time your parents had been so carefree. Something about the dynamic of the people around you was extraordinary, and irreplaceable.

It was midnight when you had bid your parents, Frank, and the members of your entourage that had the downstairs bedrooms— Freddie and Mary, Roger and Heather, Ronnie and Deacy— a good night.

Upstairs you trudged alongside Roadie-John, Crystal, and Brian, the former two of whom were arguing about who was to sleep in the top bunk, and who was to sleep in the lower bunk.

At the top of the stairs, Crystal and Roadie-John departed to the left.

“Night,” they chorused, and you and Brian responded in kind.

You made for the last set of stairs that led to your attic bedroom, which you’d always favoured because of its view to the open sky, but you stopped on the first step. You had remembered the polaroid Brian had taken of you, and it burned through your pocket.

You turned back.

“Brian—”

“Yes?”

He had turned back too. Eurydice and Orpheus. If they had both been obligated not to turn back. And had turned back all the same.

The words left your lips in a breathless rush, “Your photograph.”

“My photograph?” he wondered aloud.

You descended the step you’d climbed and walked toward him. His eyes trailed you, and your skin felt warm beneath his gaze.

You held the polaroid out to him, and it felt as though you were handing him your soul. “Have it.”

He blinked at you. “But I thought—”

“You thought I hated it? Yeah, I thought so too. But it’s art. Just like everything else you do. And it belongs to you.”

His lips parted and the world was suspended in that moment.

He took the photograph from your hand, but he barely looked at it. He was looking at you— like he was going to do something.

But of course he wouldn’t. You and your overactive imagination.

“Good night, Bri,” you whispered, and swept up the stairs.

There was no reply.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: the sheer amount of love i have received on this fic is just mind-boggling, not to mention incredibly touching. thank you <3

taglist: @melting-obelisks​​ @stardust-killer-queen​​ @hgmercury39​​ @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz​ @perriwiinkle​​ @brianmays-hair​​

Masterpost / Part 9 / Part 11

[fremedon]

Brickclub Retrobricking: 1.7.3, “A Tempest in a Skull” and 1.7.4, “Forms That Suffering Takes in Sleep”

Between con planning and fic writing, I fell way off the brickclub wagon. Hoping to get back on it day-to-day with Waterloo, starting next week; meanwhile, this is the start of an extremely scattershot writeup of my margin notes from the last 70-odd pages, organized more thematically than anything else.

(All quotes from Donougher, except for a bunch of the chapter titles because the FMA ones are just engraved in my brain. Also, can I say how excited I am to look ahead and see just how many notes Donougher has for Waterloo? SO MANY NOTES. SO EXCITE. Also excited for CONVENT NOTES.)

Firstly—the entire sequence of the Tempest in a Skull, the trip to Arras, and the trial is just so *good*. Every time through I forget just how good, but it’s some of the most suspenseful writing I’ve ever read, even knowing what’s going to happen next—almost by heart at this point.

Ecce Homo: The chapter starts out by finally telling us, “The reader has no doubt guessed that Monsieur Madeleine is none other than Jean Valjean.” And then, having given him that name, it doesn’t use it for him again until he uses it himself, in the courtroom. For the next 50 pages, he’s just going to be called “the man.” (Or occasionally “the traveller,” which comes to the same thing.) And partly this is a nice piece of identity porn, withholding a name from the protagonist until he decides who he is going to be. But it’s also underscoring from the start the decision he’s going to make—to be *The* Man, Behold The Man, Voila Jean.

He’ll finally shed his name on his tombstone, in another parallel to Napoleon, whose monument has no name because of a protocol disagreement over whether to use his last name. Valjean tries to shed it here—to just be *a* man—and he can’t; he can still be Madeleine, but the moment he drops that specific alias, anonymity just makes him Voila Jean again.

It feels appropriate to that—as well as very believable as a character note—that he keeps making his preparations to go to Arras, to drop his life as Madeleine, automatically, in a sort of fugue state. When he does stop and think, we get the recurring insistence to himself that Champmathieu was probably guilty, that he probably deserved to go to the galleys for something. It’s awful, though believable.

—In the opening paragraphs, there are two Dante references which mostly don’t seem to be followed up on, but which do make me look twice at his remembering, in the courtroom, that his previous trial was 27 years ago. Valjean is 54; his first descent into hell came exactly in the middle of his life to that point, which does call back to Dante’s *media vita.*

—We also get an aside about how noble it would have been had Valjean not hesitated in walking “toward that yawning precipice at the bottom of which lay heaven.” Hugo really, really likes that inverted abyss image; it keeps coming up over and over.

And wow Hugo’s just stopped being subtle at all about the Christ thing. (Okay, the brief mention of his burning the credit notes for money owed to him by small shopkeepers—literally forgiving his debtors—is a little subtle.) But early on, we get the explicit comparison to “another condemned man 2000 years ago,” on the off chance that we hadn’t picked it up yet, and the chapter ends with a longer and quite lovely Gethsemane comparison that also picks up on that inverted abyss image:

“Thus did this poor soul struggle in its anguish. Eighteen hundred years before this ill-fated man, the mysterious being in whom are concentrated all the saintliness and all the sufferings of humanity had also refused for a long time the terrible chalice, streaming with darkness and brimming with shadows, that appeared to him in the star-filled depths, while the olive trees shook in the fierce blast of the infinite.”

Petit-Gervais: The shade of Petit-Gervais is all over these chapters—reasonably so, since that is the second offense that has been on Valjean’s record all this time, and that would still send him to the galleys or the guillotine without even needing to consider, say, all the fraud he’s been doing as a matter of course to maintain his identity as Madeleine. (Including the passport he used TO VOTE IN THE ELECTIONS. Because Madeleine is that wealthy.)

And that made me stop and think about how weird it seems, honestly, that an itinerant child chimney sweep would have reported the theft—would have trusted authorities enough not just to think it was worth reporting, but to trust that he wouldn’t draw any hostility, or risk arrest for vagrancy or be accused of any local petty crimes.

And then I wondered whether he reported it because he knew you could trust the authorities in Digne to take it seriously, because the bishop would hear about it. And then I had a sad.

The Dream: The beginning of the dream in 1.7.4 recalls the Petit-Gervais incident, of course, with its empty dust-colored plain and lone rider. But I was also reminded of it by the brief waking dream in 1.7.3: “He felt as if he had just woken from some sort of dream and had found himself sliding down a slope in the middle of the night, standing, shivering, backing away in vain, on the very brink of an abyss. He distinctly perceived in the gloom a man he did not know, a stranger that destiny mistook for him and was pushing into the chasm in his place.” It feels like the missing piece that ties all those abysses and inverted abysses into the P-G scene, with its terrible open space under the sky.

The brother has them take a sunken road, where nothing grows and everything is the color of earth. It’s clearly the grave, and now we know to be afraid when we first read about the sunken road in Waterloo.

Beyond that—I just always love how realistically weird this dream is. It feels like an actual dream—in some places transparent, in some just random (“Why Romainville?”), but mostly very clearly significant in ways that don’t obviously map onto any single reading. Why does Valjean keep walking into empty houses, rooms, streets, and only finding a man in the second one he enters? I would say it’s because the first place is Madeleine, where he is now, and he doesn’t have a self there, but honestly hell if I know. It’s a dream.

Fursona Watch: Valjean himself thinks of Javert as a hunting-dog, possibly for the first time. (Also, I really want to come back to the voice, of God or conscience, that tells Valjean to burn the candlesticks when we get to Derailed; their diction is so similar.)

[celstese]

Man from uncle rec list

Videos

It's the Most Wonderful Time

Man from Uncle - On the Road Again - Willie Nelson

Man from Uncle - Rock Me Gently - Andy Kim

The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (1.15-1.29) - They Can't Take That Away

The Man from U.N.C.L.E: The YouTube Affair

I Wish I Were in Love Again

Man From U.N.C.L.E. Tribute

Still Into You (Napoleon/Illya)

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. - Those Were The Days

 Malchik gey

MFU Mardy Bum

Oops, Illya Did It Again (Man From U.N.C.L.E.)

Music to watch girls by

The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2.01-2.10) - Can't Stop Feeling

MFU - My Brown Eyed Boy 

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. - The Genghis Khan Affair

The Man From U.N.C.L.E. - Jealousy

Man from Uncle - Sister Golden Hair - America

Run With Us- (Napoleon/Illya)

Devil In Disguise - Man From UNCLE FanVid

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. - Illya Kuryakin: Thank God I'm Pretty

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. - Poor Napoleon

The Man from U N C L E Napoleon/Satine - Dancing In The Dark

Waterloo

The Pride Affair

The Big Spender Affair

Whatever (Man From U.N.C.L.E.)

I Can't Speak French - Man From UNCLE Fanvid

MFU Steve McQueen

The U.N.C.L.E. Knights Affair

Man from UNCLE - nuclear war (on the dance floor)

MFU The Two Princes "Affair" - NSFW

Man from UNCLE: The Communicator and an Open Mind Affair

Man from UNCLE - a protest song for drug dealers 

MFU: The Masochism Tango Affair

Something's Gotta Give

Man from UNCLE - The Chick Habit Affair

Bedroom Toys

Secret Agent Man- (Napoleon/Illya)

MFU: Napoleon/Illya - Grow old with you

The Man From U.N.C.L.E. - Resistance

That's My Baby 

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. crack

fics

The Boys from Berlin Affair - aka spoilers for the gurinus affair

Time and Time Again-crossover fic

Time Enough-nsfw crossover

Like His Father

To Play, To Dream

An Actor Prepares

The Well-Worn Cliche Affair

Words, Words, Words pre series drabbles

Doing... Whatever He Has To smooching

Naked

The Great Cake Massacre Affair

Act Like You Mean It.

Making Perfect

Epilog:The Gurnius Affair

All You Need is Love (and Chocolate Cake)

It Might Be You

fanart

Napoleon Gets a Clue