#and my schedule keeps getting fucked up because of huge life events so of COURSE I’m having autism issues

[paranoidkid]

I am trying so so hard to think and do things but it’s become increasingly difficult for some reason! (I know the reason)

it just feels really really bad to not have a car. if I didn’t have an emotional attachment to my car I dont think I’d feel this awful, but it feels like I just Lost A Family Member (again) and it’s really making things hard to comprehend.

for reference. my car that I drove was my grandmother’s car first, she bought it and owned it. Recently (a couple years ago) I borrowed it to start driving places without using my parents car, and my grandpa just told me to keep the car (my grandma had really severe dementia and couldn’t drive much less leave the house). cut to November of 2024 and my grandmother dies. it’s very sad. on top of her passing, it feels like we’d been mourning her for years, because she was barely able to remember any of us and could not function on her own. [deaths 1 and 2]

The car was an extension of my grandma, to me, on some level. it was Her Car. so when we got the title transferred to me, that was already one step away from it no longer being Her Car. and I’ve been working so so hard to keep that car going for as long as possible; it had a lot of shit wrong with it but I was just glad that It Drove and Had Air Conditioning. bonus points to the speakers, I loved my car speakers. [death 3]

Cut to today, someone blows through a red light in front of me, trying to pass through an intersection, and totals my car. everything about the situation is cut and dry, I am not at fault and nobody is seriously injured. but my car is gone. [death 4]

I’ve spent the entire day having arguments with my manager and a very long panic attack and being at the ER because I panicked so bad I thought I had a concussion (I didn’t hit my head and I was just extremely disoriented). I’ve forgotten how easy it is for me to have a severe response to something that wasn’t “that bad” all things considered. my life has not changed significantly, I am not injured, I got all of my things, my car is totaled, my grandma is dead. I’m really having rough time today.

[boy-above]

well we had a long talk and we basically cemented what's happening. my mom is moving out but we're keeping her name on the house, so in the event that my dad would die before my mom her name would still be on the house. the idea of being the only one alive who has their name on the house was scary to me since i'm so *gestures towards my ineptitude as an adult* so like just in case somebody from my dads family would try to somehow fuck me out of the house (since he refuses to make a will) i won't have to deal with that alone. they let me rip up the documents that were supposed to take my mom's name off the house.

how it's gonna work is that we basically have to schedule mama's visits to the house if she wants to see me ahead of time so he can make himself scarce, because he's That opposed to even looking at her anymore. of course i can go visit her at my sisters house it's not like im not allowed to see her anymore or something lol.

my dad seemed very honest when he said he'd never kick me out, and i don't have to worry about any cats leaving. the dog does have to go, so he'll have to stay at my grandma's until my mom can get her own place. she'll be living at my sister's but everyone knows they won't be able to stand living in the same house very long because they're always fighting lmao. she gets 18000 dollars because apparently that's half of what's in their bank account (providing my dad ain't hiding any money anywhere lol) to start her new life

so in the coming weeks they're gonna start dividing things up. my mom doesn't want very much of this stuff, she said he can keep almost all the appliances and most of what she's taking is the junk she hoards. theyve gotta sort out things like getting her her own checking account and splitting up the phone bills and everything so it's not like she's gonna leave immediately or anything.

i feel a lot better after this conversation, esp knowing my mom will get half the money. obviously i'm upset about not being able to see my mom every day, like she's my Mom i've never been separated from her like that. but im trying to look at it as like, she's at work all day anyway so it's not Extremely different i guess?? it'll be really sad actually at night though knowing the living room is empty, it'll be lonely. i guess me and my dad will have to figure out how grocery shopping and cleaning works as well.

i'm scared for my mom but she's not As fucked over as we thought, it's still really sad obviously since she thought she would die in this house, and theyve been together for 32 years that's kind of a huge thing to just be ending like this. her entire life is going to different and more difficult and i feel bad that i can't go with her but like, it's for the best for my mental health that i stay in this house. my biggest thing honestly was the possibility of him bringing strange women around but he Promised he wouldn't so hopefully he keeps that promise

[barbatos-sama]

well we had a long talk and we basically cemented what's happening. my mom is moving out but we're keeping her name on the house, so in the event that my dad would die before my mom her name would still be on the house. the idea of being the only one alive who has their name on the house was scary to me since i'm so *gestures towards my ineptitude as an adult* so like just in case somebody from my dads family would try to somehow fuck me out of the house (since he refuses to make a will) i won't have to deal with that alone. they let me rip up the documents that were supposed to take my mom's name off the house.

how it's gonna work is that we basically have to schedule mama's visits to the house if she wants to see me ahead of time so he can make himself scarce, because he's That opposed to even looking at her anymore. of course i can go visit her at leanne's house it's not like im not allowed to see her anymore or something lol.

my dad seemed very honest when he said he'd never kick me out, and i don't have to worry about any cats leaving. the dog does have to go, so he'll have to stay at my grandma's until my mom can get her own place. she'll be living at my sister's but everyone knows they won't be able to stand living in the same house very long because they're always fighting lmao. she gets 18000 dollars because apparently that's half of what's in their bank account (providing my dad ain't hiding any money anywhere lol) to start her new life.

so in the coming weeks they're gonna start dividing things up. my mom doesn't want very much of this stuff, she said he can keep almost all the appliances and most of what she's taking is the junk she hoards. theyve gotta sort out things like getting her her own checking account and splitting up the phone bills and everything so it's not like she's gonna leave immediately or anything.

i feel a lot better after this conversation, esp knowing my mom will get half the money. obviously i'm upset about not being able to see my mom every day, like she's my Mom i've never been separated from her like that. but im trying to look at it as like, she's at work all day anyway so it's not Extremely different i guess?? it'll be really sad actually at night though knowing the living room is empty, it'll be lonely. i guess me and my dad will have to figure out how grocery shopping and cleaning works as well.

i'm scared for my mom but she's not As fucked over as we thought, it's still really sad obviously since she thought she would die in this house, and theyve been together for 32 years that's kind of a huge thing to just be ending like this. her entire life is going to different and more difficult and i feel bad that i can't go with her but like, it's for the best for my mental health that i stay in this house. my biggest thing honestly was the possibility of him bringing strange women around but he Promised he wouldn't so hopefully he keeps that promise

[ptergwen]

from one kid to another

w/c: 6.0k

warnings: mentions of drinking, lots of swearing, implied smut, and angst at times

summary: it was a mistake, a beautiful one that you didn’t make on your own

a/n: this genuinely is my favorite thing i’ve ever written :,) i say that a lot but this time i mean it, it’s really special i think and i so so so hope y’all do too <3 enjoy my loves

-

there’s only one thing in life that testing positive for is actually positive.

depending on the situation, obviously. yours isn’t ideal, or planned or a blessing or whatever people say. it’s a gigantic mistake that you didn’t realize you made until a minute ago.

you’d noticed something was wrong when your time of the month came and all you experienced was the symptoms. cramps, cravings, everything except your actual period. as everyone is pretty much taught to do, you ran to the closest drug store for a pregnancy test. what the hell else could it be? you messed around a few weeks ago, so there’s a possibility.

your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest the whole time you waited for the results. you’d thought of calling tom over for support, but there are a couple of reasons why you couldn’t do that. you realized you made the right decision when your timer for the test went off.

two red lines. you’re pregnant. you’re pregnant, and your best fucking friend is the father.

where do you go from here?

the test falls from your hand and hits the floor with a mocking clank. you slide down until your back is against the bathtub. well, you’re fucked. what an ironic word choice.

the fact that you aren’t ready in the slightest to be a parent when you’re still growing up yourself is one thing. it’s another that this could ruin the most important relationship you’ve ever had.

no, tom won’t be mad. he’s never once fought with or even raised his voice at you. in your times of need, he’s been the one to uplift you and kiss your puffy cheeks dry. no matter how he takes this, you know it won’t be out on you. he is half responsible.

but, with how you left things the last time you spoke, you’re not sure you’ll be able to get past it.

tom is alarmingly good at hiding how he truly feels. you always tease him that it’s because he’s a gemini. he’ll come back with shut up, i’m an actor and stick his nose in the air to give you the full image. in all seriousness, it does take a toll on how well he can communicate.

you’ve seen it in small ways, like when he brings you along for press days and uses unenthusiastic smiles to cover up his yawns. how he’ll be polite in a conversation with people he’d rather not speak to, then mumble about it once you’re home. he tries to put forward the “appealing” parts of himself even though he’s more than them.

tom’s biggest communication issue is that he’s been in love with you since year nine and hasn’t said a word about it. you’ve yet to figure that one out.

you two became friends while tom was starring in billy elliot. his schedule was so scattered between shows and school, so he struggled to balance both. he often had to stay late for extra help on the lessons. you’d also been there a few times. you worked better in the classroom, and he was grateful he didn’t have to be alone with the teacher.

most kids made fun of tom for his interest in theater, to his face and behind his back. not you. you thought it was just incredible that someone in your own classes worked at the west end. you’d told him on your way home one night.

he’d heard you before he saw you. “you’re tom, right?” you asked from behind him, the two of you making your way through the hall. the question sounded friendly, and it wasn’t every day kids were nice to him. tom stopped walking so you could catch up. “yes, and you are?” you gave him a small smile, books clutched to your chest. he instantly returned it.

“y/n. i heard you’re in billy elliot?” you laughed at your understatement, then corrected yourself. “that you are billy elliot, i mean. that’s so cool.” “oh, i am. thank you,” he chuckled back, a full grin taking over his face. you were both walking again, you by tom’s side. “i was hoping to come see you soon.” your voice got quieter as you told him, like you were nervous.

tom never had much luck with girls, not at this point in his life. this was an opportunity to change that. at the very least, to make a new friend. he offered something you said yes to without a beat of hesitation. “what if i got you the tickets?”

from then on, you began talking during class and not only when it ended. tom really knew how to keep the conversation going, telling story after story that left you laughing so much your teacher would shush you. you’d eventually moved to hangouts at either of your houses. harrison came into the mix at some point, the three of you forming your own group.

the difference between tom and harrison was that while harrison linked with other girls, tom was only interested in you. he’d gotten a crush on you pretty fast, if he was being honest. it might have been your shared sense of humor or the way you said his name.

thomas, when he was being cheeky. tommy, which took the place of a pet name. even regular tom. that might have been his favorite. he loved how it rolled off your tongue. he loved, and still loves, you.

you’d gone to all of tom’s performances you possibly could, the ones for school theater included. you also gave him the push to take his talents to hollywood. tom was afraid he wasn’t cut out for the big screen, that he needed more practice and experience first. you told him that if this was what he wanted to do, he had to start somewhere. why wait?

tom then landed his first movie role in the impossible at the age of fifteen. he’d received tons of praise and almost gotten nominated for an academy award, all because you convinced him to audition. you played a huge part in keeping him grounded when he was between films, and caught him up on whatever schoolwork he’d missed.

you practically zoomed to tom’s house when he was announced as the next spider-man. you’d been constantly refreshing every social media platform marvel was on since tom became a finalist for the part. that process was probably the most difficult experience he’s ever gone through. you’d know, having heard all about it from tom.

the two of you celebrated along with the rest of tom’s family that night. you kept giving him little proud of you squeezes on his shoulder or knee. tom is eternally indebted to you for being the most supportive of everything he does.

he of course sends the support right back. although he went down the movie star path, acting wasn’t for you. you’d gone off to university and studied hard as hell and aced all your shit. tom quizzed you on material whenever you needed. he wanted to help you somehow, and this was all you’d let him do.

he’d offered to pay off your loans and any other expenses necessary because he had the money to do that now. you refused every single time, not trying to become dependent on him. he admired your drive, yet hated it at the same time. everything you’d done for him, it was his turn to be the caretaker. it should’ve been.

whenever tom wrapped filming for the holidays and came back home, you were always preparing for final exams. he kept you company, content with simply being in your presence. you typed away on your keyboard and read over notes until your eyes burned. tom occasionally brought you snacks, tea, asked how you were and what he could do.

sometimes, he would have to cut your study time short. he’d say it wasn’t healthy or you were overdoing it and to come relax with him for a bit. other times, tom let you be. he didn’t want to get in the way of your already stressful assignments. those were the nights you’d fall asleep in front of your laptop. drool on your chin, hunched over at your desk.

tom made sure to tuck you in, press a light kiss to whatever part of your face wasn’t covered in spit, then let himself out. he knew where your spare key was, so he used that. you’d wake up to a “Fell asleep studying again. Rest today x” text the next morning.

when it came time for you to graduate, tom was on the first flight there. it was during another round of reshoots for chaos walking. he respectfully told doug that he’d have to work around his schedule or replace him, which couldn’t be done so late into filming. tom didn’t care that it made him seem like a prick. he was getting to you no matter what he had to do.

he’d earned plenty of stares and whispers from people as he took his seat in the crowd. he was a proper celebrity now, so he expected it. his solution was to ignore everything and chat with your family about how proud they were of you, tom the most. he saw you go from a kid attempting algebra equations to an adult at her uni graduation. you’ve really grown up together.

it was why he teared up hearing them call your name, seeing you beam as you walked across the stage. your mom grabbed his hand and nodded at him, like she could tell exactly what was going through his head.

you ran right up to tom after the ceremony was over, leaping into his arms. he let out a couple of chuckles as he spun you around. “i didn’t think you’d make it,” you’d admitted, happy yet sad tears in your eyes. tom put you down so he could pull you in for a real hug. “i’ll always be wherever you are, y/n,” he said into your ear, rocking you while you gripped at his suit collar.

flash forward to a year later, your career is finally taking off, tom’s is flourishing like it has been for years, and you’re pregnant with his child. you’re trying to recall the series of events that led you to this moment.

you were both drunk, blackout drunk because the only reason you remember sleeping together is that you woke up naked in the same bed. harrison’s bed.

he threw a housewarming party for himself, having recently moved out of tom’s and the other boys’ place. the three of them, sam, and you were all in attendance, along with a lot of others you hadn’t met.

neither you nor tom could figure out where he knew all those people from. he’d clinged to you two for the most part, more so you now with tom usually away. they could have been from work. harrison is breaking into the business himself, small roles here and there. tom actually met him in your school’s theater program, then he introduced him to you, ten years ago already.

sam entertained himself by making concoctions with the snacks harrison set out. harry got together a playlist for the party. harrison and tuwaine struck up a conversation with some of harrison’s actor friends. that left you and tom alone, out of stuff to do, and with one way to fix it.

“drink?” tom had asked you, a smirk playing on his lips. “love one,” you hummed back and set off for the kitchen. the two of you raided harrison’s liquor cabinet, grabbing his biggest bottle of wine. he’d dumbly pointed it out during the house tour he gave you before the other guests arrived.

you were about to search for glasses, but tom’s fingers threaded through yours. he gently tugged you away and nodded behind him. “let’s bring this upstairs. seems much more fun there,” he’d murmured over the music, a grin breaking across your face.

tom is big on clubbing and socializing, however, you aren’t. he comes up with ways to get you out of these events, just in case.

“we can break in harrison’s bed for him,” you said as a completely harmless joke, no intentions of that becoming your reality later on. spoiler alert: it did. “and how are we gonna do that?” tom quirked a suggestive eyebrow and breathed out a laugh as you dragged him towards the stairs. despite yourself, you’d giggled at his words.

not one drink in either of you yet, and you were stumbling and cracking up as you ran upstairs. you’d pulled tom by your still attached hands into what you remembered as harrison’s room. tom shut the door, locked it, saying under his breath that would be a “convenient investment” for him to make as well.

he took out a bottle opener that he must have put in his pocket at some point and got to work on your wine, you getting comfortable on the new mattress. the two of you passed it to the other after every sip, tom licking the taste of your lip gloss off his own lips every so often.

the equivalent of three drinks in, you were making out. both of you were just tipsy at this point, tom holding you by your hips as you lied down, your legs around his waist. god, he could’ve done this sober. he’d dreamed about kissing you, really kissing you since he was fourteen. you’d always felt like you two had something more. ah, there it was.

halfway through the bottle got you past the next two bases, and you were ready for the fourth and ultimate one by the time you shook the last few drops onto the tip of your tongue. tom groaned at the sight of that, drawing your half naked body in closer to his.

you two had forgotten to use protection in each of your drunken states. without a doubt, you both would’ve agreed to a condom had your minds not been everywhere but where they should have.

you’d woken up first the morning after, panic immediately coursing through your veins thicker than blood. a fully nude and sleeping tom had you in his embrace, arms secured around your middle, facing you. you gasped when you made the connection, loudly enough to wake tom up. his long eyelashes tickled your face, a confused pout on his lips. uh... um...

“did we fucking...” you trailed off, no words to describe whatever unfolded. “fuck?” tom finished for you. a very blunt explanation, but true nevertheless. “looks like it,” he rasped, pout changing into a smile. your face fell at the vague memories of how you spent your night.

you definitely wanted to do it. just, he’s your best friend, who’s seen you at your least sexy moments over the years. when you were sick, had breakdowns from stress, you name literally anything, tom was there. it took one bottle of cheap wine for him to forget that?

the real answer was no. tom is entirely in love with you, for a decade at that. you were beginning to discover you feel the same, only you had no idea he already loves you. you’d assumed this was meant to be merely a hookup. from the frown your face held, he’d thought you were regretting it. oh, were you both so wrong.

“um... we don’t have to talk about it,” tom told you halfheartedly, under the impression that’s what you preferred. you physically felt yourself get weaker in tom’s strong arms. he’s not interested. “yeah, that’s probably for the best. i...” you were lying. his heart shrunk, shriveled up inside his chest. she doesn’t love me like that.

“you have to go. aren’t you behind on some emails?” tom hoped you didn’t hear his voice strain from the tears pushing at his eyes. “right. almost forgot, thanks.” you’d plastered on a smile, slipping out of his grasp. a tear rolled down his cheek, so he wiped it away before you noticed. you’d already gotten out of the bed and begun picking your clothes up off the floor.

“i’ll drive you home, then.” he rolled on to his other side, you thought so he could give you privacy to change. it was that, and also because he was crying. he couldn’t hold it in. tom is naturally an emotional person. imagine finding out the love you’ve had almost half your life is unreciprocated. it’s soul crushing.

you two found harrison snoring and on top of tuwaine as you left the house. no silly remarks or shared glances for the first time in ten years. tom couldn’t muster anything up, and you felt numb.

the drive was painful. you’d said your goodbyes after tom pulled up to the curb, which held an odd weight to them. once you were out of the car, a sob wracked through him, banging on the steering wheel and not giving a shit about the loud horn going off. you collapsed face first onto your bed. hours passed by while you stared at nothing and contemplated everything.

since it happened, you haven’t spoken much. small talk over text every few days or so, both of you pretending things are normal for the other’s sake. about a month later, today, is when you found out you’re pregnant.

there’s no use wallowing in any of this. you need to figure out your next move, one that should probably involve tom. first, you want to talk to someone else. you want other opinions and a voice in your head that isn’t your own. harrison gets a text from you saying to come over now, the now in all caps. he does.

you let him in after the second knock, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. however torn you are, you must look it. shirt balled in your fists, lip quivering. he keeps his eyes on yours as he steps inside, pushing the door shut behind him. this is all becoming too real. “y/n, are you okay?”

you’re about to cry in three, two...

“haz, i fucked up,” you choke out, tears unable to stay at bay. he takes you into his arms for a hug. half your face is hidden in his shoulder, hands clutching at his back. he lets you cry it out, holding you until your heavy breathing steadies. “what’s happened?” harrison asks quietly, both of you leaving the hug.

“if- if i tell you, you can’t freak out. you can’t tell anyone else, either,” you instruct, searching his eyes for certainty that he won’t under any circumstances. “i won’t, y/n/n,” he assures you and puts an encouraging hand on your arm. your heart pounding abnormally fast, you spit it out. your first time saying it aloud. “i’m pregnant.”

harrison flinches and doesn’t even try to conceal it. he takes his hand off of you, worry swimming across his features. he blinks at you, unsure of what to say. you’d react the same way, maybe worse, so you don’t blame him. a discussion you, him, and tom had a couple years back replays in his mind.

the three of you were talking about your futures, seeing as you were close to living them. when tom asked you two where you stood on having your own families, you didn’t hesitate to answer. “nope, the factory is closed for a long ass time.” until you were in your thirties, you aimed to focus on yourself. harrison distinctly remembered because of how you phrased it.

“you’re... you... wow,” is all he replies with. you head over to the couch, more tears welling up in your eyes. do the pregnancy hormones act up this early? harrison follows you over and sits down next to you with an awkward clearing of his throat. “do you want to be pregnant?” he has to ask because he’s not sure if he should congratulate you or what.

“i don’t know,” you answer honestly, voice airy. your eyes are fixed on the wall in front of you. you haven’t given yourself time to think about it. there are so many reasons you don’t, and a single one you do. “do you, um, know who the dad is?” harrison glances over at you. “yeah.” your voice cracks. you’re both afraid for him to ask what he does next.

he shifts so he’s sitting up. “can i know?” a sniffle passing through you, you finally look at him. “it’s tom,” you say it before you lose the nerve to. harrison’s face doesn’t change this time. he isn’t surprised you and tom went there. he’d seen your friendship growing into more the older you all got. what he can’t believe is where it took you.

his best friend pregnant, and his other best friend responsible for it.

“when did you...” “at your party,” you explain, bringing your legs up so they’re criss cross on the couch. “i thought you were gone a little too long.” he says that to try cheering you up. you appreciate the effort, but it doesn’t work. you’re not in a joking mood. he’ll stick to the main issue. “so, have you told him?”

“clearly not,” you scoff, not at him but at what you two have gotten yourselves into. “y/n... i think you should tell him,” harrison sighs out, then adds, “whether you keep it or not.” “why? that would ruin everything, it already has.” you’re getting angry now, which plunges you into angry crying, voice unsteady as you go on.

“the last time i saw tom was that night, and i guess it meant more to me than it did to him because we haven’t talked about it at all. he didn’t want to.” you swipe the back of your hand across your eyes, gaze stern compared to harrison’s soft one.

he drapes an arm around your shoulders, you curling into him with another sniffle. he doesn’t say anything for a minute, then he tries again. “i know you, y/n, and i know tom. you’ll kill yourselves not talking about this.” he’s right, no shit he is. avoiding telling tom how you feel, and your pregnancy on top of that, it’s eating you up inside. it’s swallowing you whole.

“what if he doesn’t want to be a dad? or- or i’m a shit mum?” you croak out, your doubts getting the best of you. “i can barely take care of myself. what am i supposed to do with a baby?” you’re leaning forward with your hands pressing into your temples. harrison’s hand moves to your upper back. “i- i don’t think i should have them. i... we can’t,” you conclude.

“tom loves kids,” he gives you a gentle reminder. “why would his own be the exception?” another good point, yet you still have rebuttles. “right, he’s a godfather and he’s really good with them and all that, but i’m not the right person, and it’s a terrible time,” you tell him all at once, in a rush to get your words out before harrison’s sway you.

“he’s never around, i’m doing my own stuff. we’re not meant for this.” you lift your head out of your hands and sit back on the couch. harrison returns his hands to his lap. he’s frowning at you, which you see from the corner of your eye. “i’m not going to force you to have the baby. just saying you have options.”

yeah, really shitty ones.

“either way, talk to tom.” harrison says this more like a demand so you’ll take his advice into actual consideration. “at least about the hookup.” your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes watering for the nth time already.

you have no choice because he’s right again. you’ll never move on from what happened unless you and tom address it.

the next morning, you do what harrison told you to and invite tom over. he replied saying he was on his way maybe a minute later. he’s nervous to see you because yeah, but more so looking forward since it’s been so long. you’re so nauseous you barely have room for nerves. it’s morning sickness with a hint anxiety.

it feels almost normal when he first gets here, no how’ve you been and what are you up to these days? being as close as you and tom are, you’re not capable of such a dry conversation. personally, you still feel uneasy while he recounts a golfing incident him and harry got into the other day. you know something he doesn’t.

“when i tell you we flew, we flew,” tom makes a pushing forward motion with both hands. “right into the tree. i think harry, like, dented part of his face.” he lets out a breathy laugh, you forcing out one of your own. you’d be more interested without the fact that you’re expecting a child, his child, at the back of your mind.

tom exhales, shifting to face you on your couch. it’s funny how different things were when you and harrison sat in these same spots yesterday. so much has and is about to change.

“they had to send another golf cart to come get us. it was wild.” “it sounds wild,” you hollowly agree. he can tell you’re not too invested in hearing about harry’s terrible driving skills, so he changes the subject. “anyway, harrison told me he came over last night?” your stomach drops, heat coming over your whole body.

“did... did he say why?” you murmur with a look of urgency in your eyes. tom shrugs a shoulder, and casually. there’s no way he knows. “no, was he supposed to?” his tone stays playful, which you can thankfully tell. that puts you more at ease. “no. no, never mind. i would’ve asked you to come, but...” you’re searching through your catalog of excuses.

thank god tom says something else because you can’t find a good one. “it’s alright. i actually, um, had a work call.” a small smile spreads across his face, a proud one. intrigued, you raise both eyebrows. “what’d you talk about?” tom twiddles with his fingers in his lap. “i’ve been offered an audition for this really amazing film. everything works out, it’ll be huge for me.”

you’re smiling back this time, putting a hand over one of his. “woah, that’s incredible. i’m so happy for you, tom.” you lock your fingers with his from the back of his hand. he looks down at them, humbly shaking his head. “when is it?” “a few weeks from today. it films in brazil...”

oh. you can’t tell him now. it’s not worth him missing out on a milestone in his career for a baby you’re not sure you should have. that would be so unfair of you to ask. what are you going to do, not support his dreams for the first time in a literal decade? and, you’d call yourself his best friend through it all?

you guess this also means the way you feel about tom is one sided. he’s okay with leaving you after the most intimate moment you two have ever shared. you’ll dance around it the rest of your lives. better yet, act like the night never even happened. that’s not so easy to do when you’ve got a permanent reminder of it.

the thought makes you sick to your stomach. so sick, you could...

while tom is talking more about what the audition entails, you suddenly bolt up from the couch. you run for the bathroom, a hand cupped over your mouth. his face twists up in confusion from your disappearance. tom calls, “y/n/n?” out to you, but you can’t respond because your head is in the toilet. he rushes in when he hears you retching.

he gets onto the floor with you. you’re bent over, puking your guts out, back in another place where your life changed forever less than twenty four hours ago. tom pulls your hair out of your face and into a makeshift ponytail with one hand, his other on your back. that’s all you have in you. you stay over the toilet just to be sure.

saliva drips from your mouth, making you cough roughly, the sound echoing. tom moves so he’s next to you, keeping his hand in your hair and not caring one bit about the smell because he loves you and he’s utterly concerned about what he witnessed.

“love, are you sick?” he coos, searching for your eyes. they water from the intensity of everything. “morning sickness,” you answer without thinking first. shit. shit, shit, shit. it came out of you like more vomit, word vomit. there’s no going back now.

tom lets go of your hair with his eyes still on yours. his hand on your back then leaves you, fingers trailing down your body as they go. “morning sickness,” he repeats, putting it together. “you’re pregnant?” guilt taking over your features, you sit across from tom. you’re once again leaning against the bathtub, him against the counter.

“this isn’t how i wanted you to find out,” you admit and bring your knees up to your chest. “i took a test yesterday. it was positive.” your arms wrap around your legs, you now tearing up because tom figured it out. a shaky breath passes his lips. “i haven’t gone to my doctor or anything yet, but i-“

“are you keeping the baby?” tom cuts in. not to judge you for your choice, to find out what the fuck is going on before he travels across the world. you tighten your arms around yourself, grabbing your wrist. “i haven’t decided.” he gives you an understanding nod and reaches out for you. you dodge him. he might not want to do that after what you say next.

“tom, i... there’s more,” you whimper out. “yeah. i’m... i’m listening,” tom croaks, unable to hold in his infinite amount of emotions for a multitude of reasons. he’s losing you a second time. more tears spill from your eyes as you break the news, the news that will destroy what he’s been working towards his entire life.

“the baby is yours.” his face relaxes, looking almost relieved when you confess it. “when we slept together, uh,” you’re sure it’s obvious enough that you don’t have to go over the details. he’s tearing up himself. you reluctantly continue. “if you still want to audition, i get it. we don’t have to do this.”

“fuck the audition. fuck the whole movie. all of my movies, really,” tom surprises you by blurting out. he moves in until your legs are touching. “i’m staying. even if you don’t have the baby, i have to be here.” you watch in disbelief as he wipes away what are actually happy tears. “really? i was scared you’d resent me for it, or hate me even,” you mumble to him.

“y/n, what? why would i ever do that?” tom places a hand on your cheek, touch gentle and filled with love. you part your legs so he can be closer to you. he takes the space between them, thumb brushing over your skin. “i didn’t think you’d want to deal with all of this. i thought that night was only a hookup for you.” your voice wobbles under his gaze.

“no, are you kidding? i thought that’s what you thought.” he’s smiling now, eyes twinkling along with it. what he’s been meaning to tell you since you were only kids finally comes out. “i’ve loved you as long as i’ve known you, y/n. i always imagined myself doing this with you.” his words draw a quiet laugh from you, a happy one. “i know we were drunk, but i meant it all.”

the sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his eyes, they make you cry all over again. you’re getting used to it.

“i love you, tom,” you lean into him with a sniffle and a grin, his forehead now resting on yours, using his thumb to catch one of your tears. “i really do.” “i love you forever. i always have,” tom speaks lowly, breath fanning across your face. your hands grab at his shoulders. “so, you’ll stay? you’ll do this with me?” he reminds you of what he said before, this time a promise.

“forever.”

-

you ended up having the baby, and tom held your hand through the entire labor. nikki was holding his other hand, your mom holding your other hand. harrison had originally been in the room as well. when you started to push, he got freaked out and had to leave. your support system remained strong either way.

despite his repulsion of your daughter’s birth, you and tom decided to make harrison her godfather. he eventually became the godfather of your other two children also, which you had a few years later.

tom took a paternity leave from the industry so he could be with you and jamie. he’d also used his time off to propose to you, something else he fantasized about since year eleven in school. it wasn’t anything too grand because the whole world was already buzzing about you two, and a big gesture felt too impersonal with everything you’d been through together.

he did it in the form of passing a note, something you often did in class to avoid being scolded by your teacher for talking. the note came with a pencil to check off either the yes or no box, “will you marry me?” written above them. anyone else would have found it so unromantic, but you giggled as you checked off yes before your lips crashed into his smiling ones.

you were married shortly after the proposal, jamie as your flower girl and all your friends and family in attendance.

to do what he loved and stay with the people he loved, tom created his own version of hollywood in london. he took it upon himself to assemble a team and make a production company. harry behind the camera, harrison and tuwaine in the films, and tom either starring alongside them or directing. they give so many young actors tons of opportunities.

you eventually went back to work, too. it was like you’d never left, coworkers offering endless hugs and going over what you missed, not that you struggled getting into it. tom was there to celebrate every promotion, every compliment from your boss, every part of your life. jamie was also there, then liam and lucy.

all three of them are running around the house right now, putting on shoes and collecting their supplies for school. you take a sip of the orange juice liam didn’t finish with a lighthearted eye roll. tom chuckles as he passes you in the kitchen, getting the kids’ lunchboxes for them to minimize the chaos.

“you have that pitch meeting today, right?” he slips his hands through the lunchbox handles and walks over to you. “mhm,” you hum, mouth full with juice. his lips press to your temple, giving your waist a one handed squeeze. “you’ll smash it. always do.” “thanks, tommy.” putting down the cup, you reach up to button whatever parts of his shirt he didn’t have time to.

“aren’t you doing a casting? for the new script they sent?” you wonder aloud and smooth down the cotton material. “me and harry. should be interesting,” he remarks, you giving him a quick kiss back on his chin. they tend to have their artistic differences. “good luck with that. you do drop off, i’ll do pick up?” you pat one of the lunchboxes around his arms.

“deal.” tom goes in for a kiss on your lips, then a chorus of dad, we have to go led by jamie rings through the house. with a knowing smile, you push at his chest. “see you later. love you.” “love you, holland,” he bites back a grin of his own. his last name, now yours, suits you perfectly.

[hualianff]

ASMR/Streamer AU

Thinking about an AU with video-game streamer HC and ASMRist XL. Both have huge followings on Youtube and other social media; both never show their faces.

On his channel, MantouASMR, XL uses audio from everyday things like cutting fruit or typing at his computer. Other times, he plans out a general script to help his viewers sleep or motivate them for the day. XL writes and reads his own poetry, as well as sings on his channel too.

XL strives to be the most attentive and considerate content creator. He is constantly reading his viewers’ comments and taking up their suggestions for future videos. Anything to help his viewers get through their day or lift their mood.

(One time, XL read a comment from the parent of a child who was MantouASMR’s superfan. XL’s voice apparently helped their son sleep when he’s scared of the monster under his bed. In his next “Time to Sleep” video, XL iterated a short thank you message for the son and his parent for listening and watching his videos, and he hoped he could continue helping in the future.)

(Another time, XL read a comment from a student who said his voice helped her concentrate on her maths homework—though she mentioned she still doesn’t understand integrals and derivatives. The following day, XL uploaded an ASMR math lesson.)

XL’s voice is known to be very soothing, his whispers as airy and delicate as a spring breeze. His lower register is smooth like honey, and anyone who happens to hear his melodious laughs on a live stream instantly falls in love with his character.

On the other hand, HC’s voice is enticingly deep but has a deadly edge to it. He has no shortage of vulgar language, especially when it comes to playing with other streamers. When HC posts an occasional video that’s not video-game-related such as a rare Q&A, he’s somewhat more pleasant.

Of course, HC is incredibly grateful for his followers’ support. He just finds himself involved in too much internet bullshit even when he respectfully minds his own business. HC supposes that it comes with being China’s number one video game streamer—Crimson Rain Ghost King—watched by millions all around the globe. However, this doesn’t stop HC from being vocal about his opinions and expressing himself without giving a fuck what others thought.

Naturally, HC and XL are in completely separate circles on the Youtube platform. As far as their fans are concerned, a mellow ASMRist and a brash gamer don’t interact with each other...

Here’s the catch: Hualian are secretly married.

XL and HC have been together for over ten years now—married for just under three years. They felt no need to disclose their full relationship when HC began gaining popularity as a streamer, nor when XL’s channel tripled in size a few years later.

In his lives, XL often mentions his mysterious husband a lot. For the third anniversary of his channel, XL retells his wedding day. The picture for the video is of HC’s and his intertwined hands with a red string attaching their middle fingers.

HC was the first one to subscribe to XL’s channel (from a side account). He never fails to remind XL that “Gege has many gifts to share with the world.”

Out of nowhere, a trashy review journal bashes XL’s videos, calling them unoriginal and lowkey creepy because XL is “...a full-grown man whispering random shit that people love for some reason.” HC tries to keep XL from reading the article, but he’s too late. What’s worse is that other media sites speculate XL’s identity after, trying to expose him.

XL has experienced media backlash in the past. This event has him revisiting trauma where he nearly lost everyone in his life. He also went through severe depression and has developed major anxiety since then. One of the main reasons XL started his Youtube channel was because he wanted to be the person of comfort he wished he had had during those dark times.

Witnessing how affected XL is by the article and online hate, HC’s already-thin patience is close to snapping. That specific journal does nothing but writes drama-seeking shit about creators with a notable platform–HC included. Not that he gives a fuck about it.

Except they made XL their next target, and that is unacceptable. HC promptly makes a video grilling the hell out of the journal and the writer who published the article, making it very clear that, “Whoever reads and supports this bullshit are the scum of the Earth.”

HC uploads the video, then proceeds to make a XL-care-burrito. He feeds his husband, keeps him warm, and cuddles him all day. After dinner, XL feels renewed with energy, thoroughly enjoying his Saturday with his biggest, most devoted fan. XL decisively unwraps himself from the burrito and goes to make that sewing tutorial ASMR video he planned for the weekend.

HC’s viewers are once again curious as to if he has connections to XL. They begin digging up evidence but after the short investigation, it seems not to be the case.

Of the two instances XL couldn’t edit out him saying his husband’s name on live, no one seemed to agree on what the two muffled syllables were. XL never shows above his chest (he wears a facemask in case of a slip-up) or goes into too much detail with his stories. Both XL and HC’s other social media accounts are squeaky clean. Plus, you can count on one hand how many times HC has mentioned anything about his personal life.

Their fans stop their analysis, for the most part; XL’s viewers adamant about protecting his privacy and HC’s viewers not wanting to piss their idol off.

With Youtube being an important and time-consuming side of their life, XL and HC make sure to balance their personal, professional, and romantic lives as best as they can, or re-evaluate priorities when things begin to go downhill.

In addition to streaming, HC works as an animator for a respectable company. He has flexible work conditions and schedules.

HC during his stream debuting a new popular game: “I helped make this game, of course I know what I’m doing.” XL watches from the side wearing an adoring and proud smile.

XL is an open and free-spirited soul, so he switches side jobs often such as a barista, salesman, model, etc.

HC’s other hobbies include photography, music, traditional art, and bowling. (He has impeccable aim for obvious reasons.) XL enjoys seeing his friends (SQX, MUA; MQ, lawyer; FX, lawyer), cooking, reading, and skateboarding.

Extras:

-HC often streams with XL in his lap.

-Hualian create NSFW ASMR for themselves.

-(HC in their bed, listening to one of XL’s ASMR videos...

XL, smiling like a minx and slipping into bed shirtless: “Why watch my video when you have the real thing right here?”)

-Someone edits a comedic video with XL and HC’s voices, comparing their styles and approaches to speech. It garners lots of attention for their respective channels, the hashtag #mantouxcrimson ??? trending for a few days.

Video title: You’re friends with both Mantou Gege and Crimson Rain

(In the video)

Situation 1: You haven’t started your homework and it’s already midnight.

XL’s voice: “Whatever you do, don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You can’t do things well if your mind is unwell. Try to finish the things that need to be done, but be kind to yourself~~”

HC’s voice: “You little fucker, what have you been doing this whole time!? If you don’t do your job in the next five seconds, I’ll make sure to bury your worthless dead body where no one can find you-“

(Brainchild with @no-one-says-hi)

[axwalker]

Bad Timing: Kismet

Book: The Royal Romance (AU)

Pairing: Drake Walker x Alexis O’Brien (MC) 

Synopsis: Alexis O’Brien is escaping a terrible past. After months of running  she settles  in Cordonia where she meets Drake at the bar where she works and they spend a passionate night together. 

What happens when a one-night-stand turns into unexpected parenthood? 

This chapter

MASTERLIST 

WORDS: 3,890 🙊

POV: Dual 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: None for this chapter. In the future, mentions of domestic violence, and explicit sex scenes. 

ALL MY FICS ARE +18 

A/N: I apologize for any grammatical errors. 

I switch between Drake’s and Alexis’ POV several time in this chapter. I hope it’ll be clear enough!

PRESENT TIME Alexis

 After a one-hour bus ride and a 20-minutes walk, I finally find the correct address. When I reach the massive iron gates, I punch in the code Mr. Beaumont’s assistant gave me on the phone and gape as the extensive estate comes into view when I walk through. Acres and acres of super green grass littered with pines surround the massive house in the distance. The closer I get, the more I feel like a foreigner. This might have been my world once, but my new reality couldn’t be further apart from all this luxury. I have fifty dollars left in my wallet, an eviction notice back in my 200 square foot studio, and to top it all, the worst freaking headache I’ve had in my life. Talk about a bad streak. Ironically, I’m happier than I’ve been in years. My life belongs to me; I don’t have to live in constant fear and –most importantly, I’m free. Unattached. I want to do a lot of things with my life, and no one will stop me. That’s worth the worst headache in the world or a few money problems. 

I ring the bell, and a gorgeous woman opens the door. Her deep blue eyes scowl at me when I smile at her. 

“Who are you looking for?” She doesn’t ask as much as she barks the question. 

“Eh,” I haven’t been called shy a single day of my life, but her attitude it’s messing with the positive vibes I had coming up here. “I’m looking for Mr. Bertrand Beaumont from Beaumont Caterings.”

 “This door is for house guests only. The help,” she says the word as if it tastes bad in her mouth, “must go around the house and ring the bell back there.” She’s about to close the door right in my face when two hot guys come to the door. Seriously, what do people eat in this country? 

“Penelope, what are you doing answering the door like a simple maid? Where is Jessa?” 

Penelope rolls her eyes. “She had to leave early. She said she asked you for the afternoon off.”

The older man nods as, the younger one grins at me. “We can discuss Jessa’s schedule later, Bertie. Please, come in, Ms.?” He asks me, still smiling. 

“Ortiz. Alexis Ortiz.” I grin back, instantly liking the man with the kind blue eyes. “I’m here for the catering job.” 

“I’m Maxwell Beaumont. This is my brother Bertrand—the owner and Penelope Brim, one of our party planners.”

I follow them to a huge office and give Bertrand the resumé I printed at the internet place next to my building.  

“Is this all true?” He asks after a quick read.

I nod my head.

“Are you sure, Ms. Ortiz? It says here that you were working as a bartender, a barista, and a waitress in a very exclusive French restaurant, all at the same time.”

Penelope gives me a dismissive glare. “She’s obviously lying. That isn’t even possible. Unless she’s iniquitous.” 

I know better than to interrupt a potential employer, even worse if it’s to correct them, but this woman is grating on my nerves. Plus, I had a lifetime of keeping my head down with Matt, and I just don’t have the patience for this kind of crap anymore. And she called me a liar. Hell no.

“No, Ms. Brim, I’m not ubiquitous.” Maxwell snorts, and I swear the other guy, Bertrand, smiles behind my CV. I refrain from telling her what iniquitous actually means because I do need this job. “I worked as a barista in a Starbucks from 5 to 11 am. Then as a waitress at “Clair de Lune” from 12 to 6 pm. Finally, as a bartender in an Irish pub from 7 to midnight or 2 am, depending on the day. You can call any of those places and see I’m not lying.” Just please, God, don’t ask for my papers.

Maxwell reads the resumé when Bertrand gives it to him. “Do you speak French and Spanish as well?”

I shrug. “I love languages, and I grew up in a house where my mom and grandmother only spoke Spanish. I learned French in school. I had an amazing teacher.” 

Maxwell and Bertrand look at each other. The older brother, a younger, sterner version of Hugh Jackman, clears his throat. “I’ll be honest with you, Ms. Ortiz. Two of our waiters are absent, and tomorrow we’ll be catering to one of the most important events of the year. If everything in your resume is true, you can start training today --paid of course, and start working tomorrow.”

Paid training? Despite my throbbing head, I want to scream with happiness. “Everything is true.”

“That’s settled then. Penelope, please, darling, show Ms. Ortiz the kitchens and the ballroom. You can ask Naomi to train her for tonight. You know Regina, and she’ll want everything to go as smooth as possible.” 

“Right.” Penelope turned at me with an uptight smile. “Come with me.” 

I turn and beam at Maxwell, who’s giving me a thumbs up. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.” 

Bertrand shakes his head. “Don’t thank me yet, Ms. Ortiz. Just do an impeccable job.” He glances at my Vans. “And for the love of God, only heels tomorrow.” 

I nod and follow Penelope down the hallway. 

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

DRAKE

 “This is why you ditch your friends who get hitched to a relationship,” I grumble, sitting in my chair. 

“He’s five minutes late,” Liam says. 

Leo shakes his head. “Well, I want a goddamn drink. How come I can’t order one until he gets here?” 

Liam pinches the bridge of his nose. “You two are acting like children. You can wait five minutes.” 

“Maybe, but I need something, and fast.” 

“Ah, there they are,” Max exclaims, hands clasped together, staring at us. “My boys.” Jesus Christ. Liam is scooped into a hug and then set back in his chair. 

From over Liam’s head, Max points at me and shakes his finger. “Come here; you handsome Walker bastard.” 

I hold up my hand. “I’m good.”

 “Nope.” He shakes his head. “You don’t get to pass up Max’s snuggles.” Before I can move, he swoops to his knees, pulls me into a hug. . . and nuzzles. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Beaumont?” I ask, my voice strong as I try to push him away. 

“You smell like heaven,” he says, chuckling. No one likes to fuck with me as much as Maxwell Beaumont does. Unfortunately for me, he’s one of my best friends, and the bastard is well aware of it. 

“Get out of here.” I palm his face and push him away. 

Leo laughs. “Come on, man, you know Walker is a sour bastard.” 

With another laugh, Maxwell retreats to his seat, unbuttons his jacket, and sits down. Hands-on the table, he looks between us and declares, “I’m in love.” 

Christ. “We know,” Liam and I say at the same time, irritation heavy in our voices. Leo just rolls his eyes as he looks for a waiter. 

Maxwell has only been dating Rashad for a few weeks, so it’s no surprise he’s like this—a hopeful idiot with a relentless smile. Hell, he’s been in love with the man for years. It took him a really, really long time to finally make a move. He adjusts his tie as he says, “You don’t have to be rude about it. I’m just sharing. Isn’t that what this is all about? Sharing?” 

“Sharing? I thought this was about drinking as much as possible and hooking up with a hot waitress,” Leo says, flagging down our waiter. 

When he arrives, I talk above the guys and quickly say, “Macallan, neat.” 

“Dalmore, on the rocks, please,” Liam says, and Leo orders the same. 

When the waiter turns to Max, he rubs his stomach and says, “You know, a hot cocoa would be perfect right now.”

 What the actual fuck? “No.” I step in. “He’ll have an Old Fashion. Thanks.” A little confused and probably slightly disturbed, he takes off as Max complains. 

“Hey, I really wanted a hot cocoa.” 

“Not happening. First, because they don’t serve hot cocoas here and second because we’re supposed to be out drinking, Beaumont. And you fucking love Old Fashions. You order one every damn time. Stop complaining.” 

“Sheesh.” Maxwell unfolds his napkin and sets it on his lap. “What’s up your ass?” 

“Nothing.” I push my hand through my hair. 

“It’s a girl.” Leo smirks, causing Liam and Max to practically jump out of their seats.

“A girl?” Liam cocks his eyebrow. “Surely not Drake --permanent bachelor, Walker. My fucking heart can’t take it.” 

Fucking Leo. “It’s not what Leo is making it out to be.” 

“He met her two months ago, and he’s been thinking about her ever since. Magical pussy right there.”

“I swear, Leo; I don’t care for how long we’ve been friends, next time you talk about her like that, I’ll personally break that shit-eat grin off your face”

The clown raises his arms. “I rest my case.”

 “What?” Max’s eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. “Drake Walker doesn’t get attached, and he doesn’t duel his friends for a girl.” 

Jesus. Thankfully the waiter brings our drinks at that moment, so I have a second to compose myself. 

“You slept with her?” Liam asks after a swig of Dalmore. He’s been in a stable relationship with Hanna Lee for a year now. Once the most popular guy on school, he now spends his Friday nights curled up with her watching Netflix. I can’t even remember the last time he went out with us. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. The only reason this fuckhead is bringing it up it’s because I went looking for her, and he saw it.” There I said it. Better me than Leo fucking Rys. 

Max and Liam exchange a look, but Max seems too stunned to talk, so Liam asks. “You did what?”

I chug my whiskey and ask for another one. “I don’t know why. I just …” Tired of this fucking conversation, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “We had a great time. That’s all.”

 “How come Leo knows about this girl, and I don’t?” Liam complains. 

Max complains too. “Dude, you know I’m the romantic one. Leo over here has a brick for a heart, and Li is too busy. You need to discuss these things with me.” 

“I don’t have a brick for a heart,” Leo says, surprisingly offended. 

“No, you’re just still hung up on Maddie,” I say with a smirk. He shifts in his chair but doesn’t say anything. What does it feel, Rys? 

“So . . . who is the girl?” Maxwell asks. 

For fuck’s sake. I might as well get it over with. “I’m going to say one last time that I’m not interested in her anymore, so before your little hearts starts beating wildly for playing cupid, it’s not going to happen.” 

In a snarky tone, Leo replies, “Well, of course, it’s not. She left the country. Are you that bad, Walker? Because I can give you a tip or two.” He’s so fucking annoying. 

“Oh.” Max sighs, disappointed.  

Leo elbows his brother and says, “He hasn’t slept with anyone since.” 

And there it is. The real reason why Leo is worried about this. He lost his wingman. “I’m not an animal, Leo. It’s not the first time in my life that I go two months without fucking. I’m not you. Anyway, all this is pointless. She’s gone.” 

My friends grew up with me, so they know when it’s time to stop pushing. Max interrupts the silence that follows because nothing makes little Beaumont more uncomfortable than a gap in the conversation. “Everything is ready for the party tomorrow night. The thirtieth anniversary of Rys Corporation will be a success.” 

Liam nods. “Regina talked with Hana this morning. It’s the first anniversary since I took over as CEO. I need everything to be perfect.” 

“What about the staff, Max?” Leo asks, smiling. Having sex at every anniversary party is a personal challenge of his. 

“We actually hired someone today. She’s gorgeous.” He turns his head at Leo. “But she’s off-limits.” Leo smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. “I mean it, dude. Bertrand said he’s tired of looking for new waitresses. Two quit yesterday morning when they found out that the event was for Rys corporation.”  

“Hey, I never lie. It’s not my fault if they think I’ll call them anyway.” 

“Whatever, just don’t mess with her. Plus, I got to talk to her after her training today. She’s super nice. She’s Am--. Wait.” He says when his phone chimes up. “Sorry, boys. It was a text from Penelope. Apparently, the Chablis hasn’t been delivered yet. I have to call Joelle before I lose my big brother over a wine crisis. See you all tomorrow.” He finishes his cocktail and stands up. 

Liam stands up too. “I should go home too. Han arrived today from Hong Kong.” 

Leo checks his phone. “Wait, Li. I’ll go with you. I have a date with this girl I met last night at Kismet. Do you want to come, man?” He asks me. “I’m sure she has a friend she can introduce you.”

I shake my head. “I’ll finish my whiskey and head home. See you all tomorrow.”

It was only one fucking night. Why can’t I get her out of my head? 

It’s maddening. Or maybe it is a blessing. If I’m still thinking about her after one night, imagine how bad I’d have it after several. It’s best that she stays far the fuck away from me. I’m not interested in long-term attachments of any kind.  I don’t want to think about Lexie Ortiz, but she’s infected my brain. The sound of her teasing laugh haunts me.

And I can’t deny it; it was one hell of a night.

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

ALEXIS 

 “This is a single girl’s paradise.” 

“No,” I grimace, trying to clean the spilled tomato sauce from my shirt. “Paradise would be a tropical beach with a hot cabana boy giving us free massages... and an endless supply of piñas Coladas.” Naomi laughs, the sound almost lost in the chaos of the kitchen. Chefs shouting orders, Penelope and Bertrand panicking, plates being dropped—the world of catering is a noisy business. 

“Cabana boys may have hot smoking bodies and virility, Lex, but they lack two essential qualities: prestige and money.” 

“So, what you’re saying is that you’d prefer an old limp dick over a young hard one? Interesting,” I answer, teasing her. 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, smart ass. I’m saying I’d take a solid bank account over a solid dick. Think about it—with all that money, he could never fuck me at all, and I couldn’t care less. And I’d be treated properly. Rich guys know how to treat a lady.” 

“Trust me on this, Naomi. Money has absolutely nothing to do with how a man treats a woman.” I should know. “In any case,” I retort, grabbing another tray of drinks, “if you’re looking for old rich guys, there are tons of opportunities out there.” I laugh at the dreamy look on her face, partly because it’s hilarious and partly because I know she’s kidding. After my training last night, she invited me to her house, where I met Theo, her little boy. He’s eight years old and the absolute love of her life. 

“Speaking of fucking,” she says, her eyes sparkling, “did you see the Rys brothers? One of them is taken, but the other two are single and oh so yummy. Especially the tall and brooding one. I’ll kill for those smoldering brown eyes looking right at my soul” 

I snort. “You really should stop reading romance novels, Nao. And yes. I served one of them and his girlfriend champagne earlier, but he was blond and didn’t have smoldering, brooding eyes. I thought they were only two brothers, though.”

“Well, technically, yes. But Constantine Rys --the super-rich owner of Rys Corporation-- adopted two other kids. A boy and a girl. They all grew up together.” She uncorks several champagne bottles as she speaks.

Now that my uniform is clean, I grab one of the Veuve Clicquot bottles and help her pouring the cold liquid into the glasses on our trays. “How do you know all of that?”

“I’m Cordonian, girl. The Rys siblings are almost royalty in this country. The one that is not an actual Rys is the one with the smoldering eyes. He doesn’t work for the company, though. He’s a … a vet, I think.”  

A veterinarian like Drake. My stupid heart flutters when I think about him. 

“Do we pay you to work or to gossip, ladies?” Penelope screams from the kitchen door. 

Naomi and I roll our eyes and grab our refilled trays. 

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

DRAKE

“This is a huge night for Liam,” Regina says behind her champagne glass. Constantine has been telling everyone, especially her, that he’s ready and happy to retire, but she knows him better than anyone. Leaving Rys Corporation and pass the torch to Liam is much more difficult for Constantine than he cares to admit.  

“It’ll be all right, Regina. Don’t worry. Liam is more than ready to handle the responsibility.”

She throws a glance at Liam, who’s standing a few feet behind me next to his dad. “I just hope he doesn’t forget that his personal life is equally important. He and Hana work too hard.” 

I’m about to answer when one of the waitresses distracts me. Her back is turned to me, so I can’t see her face, but there is something incredibly familiar about the way she moves. She’s passing drinks amongst Regina’s friends. I want to go and see who she is, but Liam catches my eyes across the room.  We exchange a look, one that we’ve exchanged several times over our lives. It was Liam and me when we were younger, walking into his father’s office after getting into a fight at school. It was the two of us when we came home late, and his parents were waiting in the living room as we walked in, drunk. It was the two of us when we wrecked Leo’s new Porsche when we were sixteen, and right now, I know he needs me. Constantine is a great father, but he has too many expectations for his younger son. Liam needs a break. 

Regina sees the exchange and smiles. “Liam’s very lucky to have you, Drake.” She is not our biological mother, but she loves all of us as if she was. And she’s more my mother than Bianca Walker will never be.  

A couple of men look at me, and I try to remember if I should know them from somewhere. I think they’re both on the board of directors at RC. As much as I love the Rys, I will never get used to this shit. Socializing and pretending to like a bunch of people that annoy the fuck out of me. Ignoring them, I make my way to my best friend. Liam is standing with his hands in his pockets, looking serious and put together like the CEO of the largest company in Cordonia should. 

“I think it’s going well,” he says as I approach. “Father was driving me crazy with all his advice.” 

“It’s not only the anniversary of the company, Li. It’s also his first one as the former CEO. It’s normal he feels out of place.” 

Liam nods. “I know. I just wish he’ll trust me more.”

“He does, Liam. He’s just nervous.”

 I’m cut short by Liam’s grin. His gaze slides right behind me and lights up. 

“Would either of you like a glass of champagne?” a female, very familiar voice nearly whispers behind me. 

“I’m good,” Liam answers, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “How about you, Drake?”

 I turn around, and my heart skips a beat. Soft curves, tanned skin, and a few freckles across the bridge of her nose. The brightest, most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen. Alexis Ortiz tucks a strand of her rich brown hair behind her ear and takes a deep breath. Her eyes widen, and I see she recognizes me but doesn’t mention it. Instead, a faint smile ghosts her luscious lips, and she lifts her chin like she has a secret she won’t tell. A secret we share. Her gaze remains on Liam, almost like she’s afraid to look my way. Finally, she turns to me, and when she does, an adorable blush color her cheeks. 

“Would you, uh, sir?” she asks, taking half a step backward. 

“Would I what?” I press, enjoying too much the way her cheeks turn even pinker. 

“Would you like a drink?” The words leave her lips fast like she wants to pronounce them and run away. I take a step towards her, remembering the night she spent in my arms and how damn perfect she felt. I know I make her nervous because I see little goosebumps erupting on her soft skin.  I smirk at her. “That depends on what you’re offering.”

 I shouldn’t be toying with her, but I can’t help it. I want to keep her talking, to watch her reactions, to see that sweet smile again.  

“I don’t have much to offer,” she says, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Unless you like champagne, sir.” She emphasizes the last word.

“I like all sorts of things.” I keep my gaze heavy against hers, not allowing her to look away. She fidgets with her tray and swallows hard but never takes her eyes off mine, too rebellious to look away. The longer our eyes match, the hotter my body becomes. She bits her delicious bottom lip slowly, her dark gaze boring into mine. 

“Is that so?” Liam laughs beside me, and I watch her jump like she forgot he was there. Alexis clears her throat and glances around the room. She turns back to us again, this time a practiced smile on her face. The easy grin and soft laugh are both gone. She wants to get away from me, I can feel it, and I understand. She’s working; it wouldn’t be professional. This is not the time or the place to reconnect. Unfortunately for her, I have other plans.

“Gentlemen ...” With a nod, Alexis walks away as fast as possible. She doesn’t look back, but I watch her until she’s out of sight. 

“What was that?” Liam snickers, loosening his gray silk tie. “I thought you were going to jump on her.” 

I rub my thumb over my lip, still surprised as hell.

“That was Alexis, the girl I met a couple of months ago. Now, if you excuse me, Li, I need to go talk to Bertrand.”  

@mskaneko @burnsoslow @gkittylove99 @kat-tia801 @no-one-u-know @thegreentwin @twinkle-320 @forallthatitsworth @kingliam2019 @marshmallowsandfire @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @princessleac1 @twinkleallnight @tinkie1973 @drakexwillow @moneyfordiamonds 

@yukinagato2012​ @alyssalauren​

[fruitpunchninja101]

Flowers For You

After a small spat at the merchants assembly, Levi was determined to avoid Hange and her flower shop at all costs. Unfortunately, The funny thing about trying to avoid someone is that you have to have a rough approximation of their daily routine. And so, his quest began.

Written for LeviHan Eggschange 2021 @levihanweek​

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Hello my dear giftee! I’m sorry if your gift took a while! I hope you'd enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed making it. Keep safe!♥

“Every plant can do this fundamental process, and we call this Photosynthesis.”

Cheery voices of kids boomed in celebration as soon as they finished singing.

Ever since summer break started, the flower shop in front of his store started a “Horticulture Camp” for little kids. At first, He didn’t really pay much attention to the cacophony of loud cheers and noises but as days passed, customers would leave little comments like “Sure does sound like a daycare in there.” or “Your neighbor sounds like they're having a lot of fun in there huh?”

The thought about confronting the owner of the flower shop did cross his mind, but there's a little problem, they had a little bit of a spat at the shop keeps assembly last month.

Okay, he'll admit it, maybe It's not just a spat, It's more like a full blown passive aggressive squabble. His memory of the event was a little hazy but he recalled raising his concern about the dried leaves that keeps blowing over his store. Something about her nonchalance about his concern and something about his word choice led to a disastrous mistranslation of what he really wanted to say which somehow escalated to a kerfuffle. "You and Hange will be the hot topic of the whole merchants block for a good while." Erwin warned him after the assembly. Tch! He certainly didn't need that kind of attention.

Since then, Levi kept his distance from that damn flower shop and focused on minding his own business. He is determined to avoid this Hange at all costs! Unfortunately, The funny thing about trying to avoid someone is that you have to have a rough approximation of their daily routine. And so, his quest began.

#

Hange's schedule was never consistent.

Sometimes she'd open her shop so late that her students would start rough housing by the sidewalk waiting for her arrival. Their parents would wait by her store too and they were seemingly too charmed by her to get annoyed about her tardiness. By the time she gets there the kids would immediately run towards her climbing on her limbs but she never seemed to mind. Those kids eyes would shine so bright at her , he’s pretty sure he’d go blind if he kept on staring at them.

She never seemed to eat lunch for some reason. Sometimes, the son of the deli owner at the corner of their street, Moblit , would come by to bring her food. There was a time when he thought the guy was courting her but he can tell by that sad longing stare he gives at her when he leaves her shop that Hange had no fucking clue about his intentions.

She never brings an umbrella even when it rains. She just runs across the street donning a hoodie. Which she would continue to wear all throughout the day. She’d definitely get sick if she doesn't dry herself up properly. If the rain is still pouring by the time she closes up her store, Hange would spend a good minute to stare at the night sky marveling at the little droplets like its the first time she ever saw one in her life. Nights like that , he would close up a little late to make sure she's gone before he leaves.

Observing her became a routine at this point.

During warm sunny days, she would wear a brightly colored shirt underneath her overalls. Unfortunately, the shirt seemed to be the only thing she changes regularly. He can tell it's the same overalls because it still has all the stains in the same place as the day before. Her best record was 5 days without washing the damned thing and he can't tell if that's impressive or disgusting.

When the kids aren't around, Hange would dote on her plants until late hours of the day. He'd watch her methodically arrange flowers and pour all her love and care to every bouquet she makes. All the while ignoring the fact that she haven't had food at all. ( He knows because Moblit recently got a girlfriend and since then , he only drops by the flower shop to pick up orders for his new love interest.) All he ever see her consume are cups of coffee and not even the good stuff. Just the regular instant kind from the grocery. Days like that , he hopes that she would at least stop by a convenience store to pick up something to eat.

It didn't take too long for him to consider that maybe Hange isn't an asshole at all.She's just one of those people who gets easily preoccupied with things that pique her interest is all. To hell with her health, appearance or even basic cleanliness. Its frustrating but at the same time its a relief to know that underneath all that nuttiness is a seemingly good person.

He was just closing up shop one night when he noticed her still sitting in her store as she practiced playing the Photosynthesis song on her guitar.She was surrounded by an array of beautiful flowers and in that dim light, he could've sworn she looked like a scruffy forest diety.

And it was at that point when he realized that a smile is creeping up his lip. What the fuck was that about?

As if hearing his thoughts, Hange's head perked up from her guitar and turned towards him. He froze as soon as their eyes met. She gave him a tight lipped smile and at that, Panic shot through him. He immediately turned away from her and rushed to turn off the lights and closed his store.

#

Days after that encounter, Levi had to resist the urge to spare even a peek over her shop. he didn't like that sometimes his mind would wander to images of her that night. He probably overdid his little investigation is all! He had to stop watching her schedule anyway , he had all the information he needs at this point.

However, her presence never seemed to leave him. He'd still overhear the rhythm of her guitar and the rambunctious laughter from her little campers. Even Eld and Gunther are starting to warm up to it. "There's something about the sound of children having fun that puts me at ease." He heard Eld reason out to Gunther the other day. Even Oluo who once mentioned his irritation with the constant singing is starting to absentmindedly hum the damn song.

He's ready to let the whole thing go but when a loud crashing sound (which is probably another pot broken by a child.) caused Petra to make a small uneven line on her work , he knew he had to do something. Even if these type of mistakes are easily fixed, precision is utterly important in his business and he can't have random nuisances ruining his reputation. He'll do it tomorrow. NO! He'll do it tonight! There's no use to delay the inevitable.

Odd enough, he did wonder if she even knew his name.

Tch.

#

Levi was just closing up his shop that night when he heard someone open the door. Accepting late night jobs Isnt new to him but he did commit to speaking with Hange about his concerns so he let out an absent minded “We're closed” warning before realizing who entered his shop.

It’s her.

She wore an oversized green overalls paired with battered up chucks that he bet was once white. Her brown mop of hair was tied messily up on her head. He didn’t miss the huge ass bouquet tucked in her arm as she struggled to get through his door.

“A little help?” She said, as if they didn’t had a spat that literally had them screaming at each other infront of other people. Levi paused cleaning his tattoo gun and hurried to help her. ”What are you doing here at this hour?” He asked genuinely out of curiosity than irritation.

”I just wanna give you these.” She beamed as she let go of the huge bunch for him to carry inside. “The kids got a little carried away with their flower arrangements today and I’d feel awful if I have to throw it out.” She continued.

“You think dumping this monstrosity to me is the solution?” He asked, immediately regretting his word choice.

“Monstrosity?!”Hange placed her hand on her chest playfully feigning mortification and shock.

He rolled his eyes at her and was a bit surprised that Hange chuckled at him and leisurely walked past him to take a seat at one of the stools by his register and started innocently looking around his shop seemingly waiting on him for a conversation. "Neat place you got here." She said.

"Thanks?" He said genuinely confused what she's doing here. Although, He did wonder if it has something to do with that awkward encounter they had the other night. He really hoped she already forgot about that. “What are these for?” He asked as he opened the cupboards hopelessly trying to look for a vase somewhere in his shop.

“I was gonna ask you for a favor.” She replied.

He scoffed. “what makes you think I’d help you.”

“It’s for a good cause! Plus,I was thinking it’s your opportunity to make up with that whole assembly incident we had.”

He paused and glared daggers at her. She still have that goofy smile on her face. “That dumb assembly incident was not something I want to make up with.” He said stubbornly.

Hange rolled her eyes at him. “Oh please you were angry over a few dried pieces of leaves in front of my store it’s hardly even your business.”

“Your leaves are blowing over my store front so yes it was my business.”

“You know I run a flower shop right? These things happen. I cant just wait outside my store and catch all the falling leaves for your convenience.” Her voice slightly raised as if she’s explaining something so obvious to him. Of course he knows these things happen, he’s not an idiot. All he wants is for her to take responsibility and not be so nonchalant over it.

“You don’t even...” He closed his mouth. She's starting to get a rise from him and it made him queasy. It's not even worth it. He closed his eyes to calm himself.

“Look, the favor isn’t even for me.” She started. Her tone of aggressiveness gone. ”Just hear me out please?” Her voice sounded gentle and warm this time. She’s so hot and cold it’s starting to drive him insane.

He opened his eyes and was met with her brown orbs that shone bright behind her dirty glasses. “Go ahead.” He said defeatedly avoiding her pleading eyes and proceeded to turn back to his cupboard. He should just let her say her piece and move on.

“It’s for one of my campers actually.”

“Hn.Which one? the brunette kid that shouts a lot?”

“Oh you know Eren?”

“He always sticks his snotty face up on my window how can I forget.”

“Yeah, That kid adores you you know , he asked about you and what you guys do here a couple of times before. He even threw fits because he wanted to get a tattoo from you.”

He scoffed. ”How is that my problem?”

”You see, his little friend Armin loved the camp but is a little too shy for his own good. He won’t attend sessions without Eren who sort of refused to attend til you tattoo something on him.”

“So you want me to tattoo a child? ”He turned from his fruitless quest for a vase on his cupboard to raise a brow at her.

“Not a real one, just one of those temporary tattoo stickers.”

He scratched the back of his head and let out a sigh. It would be easier to complain to her about the noise of she owed him some sort of favor. Right? "Alright." He said.

She surged out of her seat and gave out a small yelp startling him. "You'd do it? Really?" Her eyes seemed brighter now.

“Yeah sure." He said as he marveled at how expressive her eyes were. He willed himself to tear his eyes from her damn face. "Is there anything else?” He asked.

“Yes.” She replied enthusiastically.

“You are really pushing your luck here four eyes.”

She chuckled at that and pushed her glasses a bit higher up her nose. ”Don't worry, this one isn't a favor. More like a friendly advice."

He raised a brow at her. "What?"

"Put those in cold water. They'd last longer that way.” She said pointing at the bright colored bouquet at the table which certainly looked out of place against the black and gray interior of his shop.

After exchanging details about their little activity tomorrow, Hange gave him a final enthusiastic wave before taking off his shop leaving him in awe.

Ah. He forgot to mention his noise complaint.

#

The next day, nine little children were lined up orderly marching up infront of his store led by Hange. She carried a red flag to remind everyone where she is at all times. They all wore a silk screen printed shirt that says plants rule in front and some sort of a plant pun at the back.

Hange's shirt says. 'Someone has been adding soil to my garden. The plot thickens.'

Ah. That was pretty good...and also pretty dumb.

“Are you sure about this boss?” Oluo asked as he worked on a cover up on a customers shoulder.

"No." He answered earing a chuckle from Eld, Gunther and Petra at the back.

"Good Morning Underground Ink!" Hange enthusiastically cheered as she opened the door.

"Keep your voice down four eyes!"

“Oh! Sorry!" She mouthed at him before turning back to her campers. "Kids say good morning to Mr.Ackerman!” She beamed.

“Goodmorning Mister Ackerman!” The kids said in unison in a sing song tune. He gave them a small nod of acknowledgement then proceeded to cut out the temporary tattoo sheet into small pieces. The kids immediately scattered around the store to take a look at the reference books laid on his lounge. He glowered at Hange. "You said they'd behave."

"They would I promise! They're just a bit excited with our little expedition."

"If they break anything, I swear you're gonna pay ten times the price."

"Oh don't be such a grump!" She said slapping his arm. "Ouch! You didn't tell me you work out."

"Tch." He clenched his jaw and focused his eyes on the tattoo sheets he's cutting up. Damn four eyes and her mouth.

"Hey Kids! Gather over here Mr.Ackerman will show you how to put on a tattoo."

“Is this gonna hurt?” Eren innocently asked.

“Not if you’re brave.” He answered. The kid involuntarily recoiled at that. He can tell that Eren's starting to have second thoughts and struggled to put on a brave face. Eren immediately sought out Hange seemingly asking for help and at that, she immediately stepped up and ruffled the kids hair. ”I’ll get my tattoo done first.” Hange hopped on a chair and presented her wrist to Levi.

Levi held her hand to keep her arm steady. His eyes darted at her as if asking her if the touch was permitted and he was met with a sweet smile. He immediately avoided her eyes pushing down the thought of her playing her guitar surrounded by flowers...a scruffy forest diety. he recalled the exact words that formed on his mind that night.

He bit the inside of his cheek to ground himself to reality. Levi held the damp towel against her wrist and she let out a little yelp. He immediately pulled away hoping he didn't press too hard while his mind wandered to silly memories of her the other night. "Gotcha!" Hange teased chuckling at him. "Ass!" he said playfully throwing his towel at her face gaining another laugh from the brunette. The kids huddled around them giggled at them.

"Ms.Hange, What's an ass?" A little girl munching potato chips asked.

"It's another term for a donkey." A small timid blonde kid answered.

"Thats right Armin!Very good!" Hange said. The blonde kid blushed at her praise and glued his eyes on the floor.

"What's a donkey?" Potato chip girl asked again.

"It's like a little horse" Armin answered.

"Why are you calling Ms.Hange a donkey Mr.Ackerman? She doesn't even look like a horse" A kid with shaved head asked.

"...unlike Jean over here." Eren added and a kid with elvish features (which he assumed is Jean) stepped up and hit Eren by the arm. Eren was ready to retaliate when Hange spoke.

"Kids, we promised Mr.Ackerman no rough housing inside the store." Hange reminded them calmly and the kids immediately pulled away from one another.

There was a brief moment of silence and wondering gasps from children around them as he worked on Hange's tattoo.“So does anyone have a question to Mister Ackerman.” He immediately frowned. He said yes to tattooing kids not chatting them up. Nothing would have prepared him for the set of questions that came rushing in after Hange's open invite.

#

Eren is the last one to get his tattoo. He disinfected his arm with alcohol and his eyes drifted to Hange who was blushing at the sight of a kid adorably putting on a brave face.

Levi had to look away.

At the end of the session,all kids merrily walked back to her shop comparing all their little tattoos. Hange then thanked him for playing along with her little activity.

#

His whole afternoon was a blur. Between those kids who won't stop asking him and Hange's constant teasing smirks he was out of it. He scrubbed the side of his tattoo gun a little harder.

“I see you put my flowers in a bucket.”

Levi almost dropped his tattoo gun as Hange's merry voice boomed around the shop.

“Its the closest thing I have to a vase.” He said wondering if she’s offended that he chucked her precious flowers on a bucket, but that endearing smile she had on her face says otherwise.

“I had just the thing!” She rushed out of his shop and came back with a huge crystal vase.

“What's that?”

“Its a vase I inherited from my gram-gram.”

“I can see its a vase.”

“Well with the horticulture camp and all I'm scared this would get knocked over and you seem like an organized responsible sort of guy. Maybe you can take care of this for me for a while.”

She’s certainly getting a little too comfortable with favors now. ”What makes you think I wouldn’t knock it over to get back on you for that assembly mess.”

“Because you’re nicer than your letting on.” she says as she procured a small rose from her back pocket and gently tucked its stem behind his ear. He compelled his hand to swat her arm way but his body didn't cooperate. He stood there frozen wondering if she truly was some sort of a scruffy forest deity and she's punishing him from his insolence at that assembly.

Okay, that sounded dumb...What the hell is wrong with him?

"Did the kids asked you to give me this?" He forced himself to reply.

"Nah, That one is from me." She said. Her eyes were bright and her face were slightly flushed. He wondered if he'd never seen anyone look this gallant and handsome before.

"You don't like it?" She asked cocking her head to the side.

"No! I-ah...I'm just..." He stuttered trying to find the right words without sounding pathetic. His hand raised to touch the flower on his ear. He never got flowers before. He felt a smile coming up so he forced a frown.

“Why are you frowning? Don't tell me you're still upset about that assembly thing? I thought were past that?”

“Tch! No were not!” Levi recoiled at how loud his reply was.

”You see, I would be threatened but I just watched you spend your afternoon tattooing a bunch of kids even though you are not paid for it so...Yeah...I guess water under the bridge right?”

“Who says I'm not charging you? I thought you came here to pay up.” He smirked finding calm at her retort.

At that, Hanji laughed. She fucking laughed! The woman even clutched her arms around her stomach and doubled over. She practically radiated with warmth and a familiar sense of home. “Alright you got me, I don’t want to owe you anything so how about a cup of coffee sometime? Although, you seemed to prefer tea”

He scrunched his face. "How do you know I prefer tea?"

"You see, the funny thing about a huge glass storefront window is that, if you can see me, that means I can see you too."

”Wh-What are you on about? I don't...” Fuck! She knows. He internally panicked and wondered what would the appropriate response be.

"Oh calm down! Don't worry, I don't mind you ogling at me." She smirked evidently teasing him.

"Tch. Fuck you four eyes!"

"I wouldn't mind that too." He froze and It didn't take her too long to realize what she said. Her face immediately flushed in a very flattering shade of red. "I'm sorry I got carried away." Hange slightly turned away and tucked a little piece of her hair behind her ear.

He wanted to say something...flirty maybe? But chances are he's gonna run his mouth and say something about him thinking that she was a scruffy forest deity or how he hates that she never opens her store on time or how he knows her best record for not changing jumpsuits is 5 days. So he kept his mouth shut and let silence engulf them.

“Well, I’m next door just in case you wanna take me up for tea. I’ll see you around I guess.”

"Wait!" He called out.

Hange whipped her head to turn to him and he rushed behind the register to grab one of his spare umbrellas he keeps for emergencies. "Take this."

"What for?" She asked scratching the back of her head.

"You'd get sick running around in rain." he said plainly, hoping she didn't find him too creepy.

Levi didn't know it was possible but he swore her eyes shone a little brighter, a small smile is now etched on her face. "See you later Levi." She took one last glance at him lifting an arm to wave as she ran back to her store.

“Later, four eyes.” He whispered beneath his breath and although he felt pleasantly sunny inside, he sensed that he forgot about something...

Ah, he forgot to talk to her about his noise complaint.

[hermannsthumb]

I know you don't usually write PRU stuff, but if you ever feel inclined, here's a ficlet idea! so: Newt is trying to fight off the Precursors by constantly reminding himself that He Is Human. but whenever newt thinks about what makes him Feel Human, the answer is always hermann. so newt starts conjuring up vivid mental images of hermann (doing mundane, hermann-y things) to ward off the Precursors. bonus point if, like, newt fondly remembering smth innocuous (like the scent of Hermann's chalk dust?) is enough to actually sever the alien mind control.

Anonymous asked: Maria!!! Would you ever write an angsty post uprising prompt? Or even a pre uprising? Anything with Newt fucking around with Kaiju and being sad i am HERE FOR 👏

in honor of the sequel’s 3 year anniversary, let’s try something a little different 👀 THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME RE: LENGTH....I'll leave it up to interpretation whether or not the bonus is wholly fulfilled.... also on proofing this I realized it might need content warnings? so vague refs to disordered eating and alcohol drinking (ie, newt’s body is inhabited by aliens who forget how human stuff works)

-----------

Honestly, Newt’s life has been kind of a shitshow lately. He’s too, like, high strung. Too many responsibilities. Not enough hours in the day to get that shit done. He’s even higher strung than he was during the war, which is nuts, because certain doom was lurking around every corner. Maybe that’s why it’s not that nuts, though. The war was chaotic—and Newt’s fueled (or, used to be fueled?) by chaos. The kaiju were unpredictable. The kaiju didn’t run on a 9-5 schedule. The kaiju didn’t expect Newt to have three new jaeger prototypes on their desk by noon on a fucking Saturday, which is usually the day Newt spends two hours in his expensive bath tub and drinks a nice bottle of wine, and definitely not a day he wants to spend giving himself a stress migraine and shouting at underlings to make themselves useful. On top of that, his usual cafe got his coffee order wrong—when Newt had to run in to get it, himself, on a Saturday morning—and it only had half the espresso shots he really needs for the day. No wonder he’s going grey at forty. Fucking nightmare. Stable employment is exactly the kind of chaos that’s bad for Newt—give him the kaiju any day, thanks.

“Dr. Geiszler?”

Newt pushes his sunglasses up, and scowls at whichever one of his employees has dared to interrupt his catnap. The fluorescent overheads are brutal on his poor eyes right now. The lab needs more natural lighting. Maybe if he complains, they’ll knock out some walls in put in a few more windows. “Did you find any Aspirin?” he says.

Wordlessly, Newt’s assistant passes him a bottle. Newt pops the cap off and takes at least four. The coffee he washes it down with is cold. “How are the last simulations coming along?” he says, flicking his sunglasses back down. He seems to have so many migraines these days. It’s the contact lenses, he thinks—making the switch over from frames so late in the game. Screwing with his perceptions. Newt went thirty years with frames, after all. “We only have two hours before—”

“We’re almost done,” his assistant cuts in. “We’re working as fast as we can, Dr. Geiszler.”

“But are we gonna make the deadline?” Newt says.

She fidgets, and moves her clipboard to her other arm. “Well—we’ve had some—issues.”

Newt stands up with a long sigh. Double overtime, probably. Sunday lost to this shit too. That new bottle of wine waiting for him on his kitchen counter bought for nothing. “Gotta do everything myself, huh? Unbelievable.”

He follows his assistant over to the main lab down the hall, where his team of j-techs are hurrying around. Hardly anyone in proper lab attire—no labcoats—someone in sweatpants—Newt wasn’t the only one who had his Saturday ruined, probably. No one else is going grey, though. “What’s this shit?” he says, stopping in his tracks with one foot through the doorway. The high-tech holo-smartboards have been pushed aside, and instead, someone’s wheeled in a huge…chalkboard.

“Technical issues,” his assistant says. “The other floors are having the same problem—something in the new interface update that downloaded last night, we think. They’re all out of commission. Technology is working on it, but for now, we had to pull that out of deep storage.”

Two of his scientists are scrawling across the board quickly—one with white chalk, the other with pink. They’re debating something in hushed tones. Newt hasn’t seen a chalkboard in years. It doesn’t fit with Shao Industry’s whole chic, sleek, futuristic aesthetic. So—bulky. And messy. “Of course it would happen today of all days,” Newt sighs. The sight of it makes him feel odd, and he can’t seem to drag himself any further into the lab and any closer towards it.

His assistant says something. Newt doesn’t hear—he’s listening, instead, to the squeaking of chalk across the blackboard. So noisy and obnoxious. It reminds him of years and years ago, of working in a grimy little basement, of…

“—look it over. Dr. Geiszler?”

“Hm?” Newt says. It was like a layer of fog had begun to lift from his thoughts, but the interruption sends it rolling right back in.

“I said we’re ready for you to look it over. Only if you want too, of course,” she adds, nervously.

“Uh-huh,” Newt says.

Newt’s never had anyone fear him before, not like his employees seem to fear him—he’s not sure he likes it. His scientists shut up the second he looms over (well—under, Newt’s never loomed over anyone in his life) their shoulders to inspect their work so far. The squeaking stops. One of them lowers their piece of chalk. “Wait,” Newt says, too-loudly, surprising them and himself. They both look at him with the same nervousness as his assistant, like he’s about to start shouting or something. “Keep doing that.”

“Keep…?”

“Writing,” Newt says. “On the chalkboard.”

The scientist frowns at him. “Um, okay,” she says. “What am I supposed to write?”

“Anything,” Newt says. “Seriously. Anything.”

She hesitates.

“Anything,” Newt repeats.

She picks up the white chalk, and writes out her name, then doodles a few random pictures—a DNA helix, a flower, a cat face, a star. Newt shuts his eyes, and breathes in deeply. That smell. He snags the forgotten piece of pink chalk from the ledge. “Can I have this?” he says. He doesn’t wait for them to respond—though they both nod yes frantically, and bewilderedly—before writing out his own name on the board. Dr. Geiszler. It looks wrong, so he writes Newt beneath it. He shuts his eyes, and writes Newt again. Why does he feel like he’s done this sort of thing before? This thing is ancient—before his time at Shao—he wouldn’t have used it before they carted off to the basement. Newt, Newt, Newt Was Here,he writes, Newt +, and then he stops.

He opens his eyes. “Who’s Hermann?” his assistant says.

Newt + Hermann. Newt didn’t realize he wrote it. “Someone I knew,” he says, faintly. “Years ago. He was my—” He swallows. He feels strange. “My colleague?”

Strange. Dizzy. The Aspirin isn’t working. Definitely the contact lenses. He could afford laser eye surgery now, if he wanted, maybe he should look into it. He grips the ledge of the chalkboard, swaying, and grits his teeth; his two scientists back away from him slowly, no doubt worried he’s about to hurl all over their shoes. He might, to be honest. Newt + Hermann. Hermann was his colleague. Hermann was his— “Are you feeling okay, Dr. Geiszler?” his assistant asks. “You look…”

“Tell Shao I’m taking the rest of the day off,” Newt says.

“What?”

“You guys got this shit handled without me,” Newt says. He pockets the chalk. “I’m not—I’m not feeling myself. I think I need to go home and lie down. Seriously, you’ve got it under control—all these numbers look, uh, good, I trust you. If you guys don’t get it finished you can just tell Shao it’s my fault, okay?”

She gapes at him. “Uh,” she says. “Okay?”

Newt doesn’t go home. He goes to the nearest shop he can find instead, and makes a beeline for the art supplies aisle. Only a few boxes of chalk in stock. Four multicolored, two all-white, one yellow. He drops them all into his basket but the yellow, which he rips opens and immediately smells. Newt + Hermann. Hermann always smelled like chalk dust—he always had a fine layer of it on his clothing, patches of it on his blazer, his sweatervest, even on his undershirt. Newt used to tease him for that. He closes his eyes, and breathes in again. Funny—all those baths, all those bottles of wine, and this stupid little box of chalk is what’s finally making him feel calm for once. Quieting down his brain. He didn’t realize how loud it’d gotten in there. When Hermann would kiss Newt, he would sometimes stain Newt’s clothing with chalk, too, and Newt would pretend to be annoyed, but he never really was.

Someone is speaking to him. An employee. They’re staring at him, a cautious distance away, and Newt’s not sure what they’re saying.

His vision’s gone blurry—he didn’t realize he’d started crying, either. He wipes his eyes on the cuff of his blazer and sniffles. “Sorry,” he says. The box of yellow chalk is wet. “Um. Do you have any more of these in the back?”

He takes the bus home for the first time in years, one hand stuffed in his little brown shopping bag the whole time, wrapped around a box of chalk. When he gets back to his apartment (his big, lonely, apartment), he pulls out the only food in his fridge—some leftovers from a Shao Industries event three nights ago—and settles down on his big, lonely couch. He can’t stop thinking about Hermann. Five or so years, maybe more, not thinking about Hermann, and now suddenly—it’s like the floodgates have opened. He thinks about Hermann’s haircut. (Bad.) He thinks about Hermann’s smile. (Silly, and sweet.) He thinks about Hermann’s dumb accent, and the clack of Hermann’s cane on the floor, and Hermann’s chalk squeaking over his chalkboard, and how it felt when Hermann would wrap him in his arms and kiss him and whisper things to him. Hermann’s sweaters always smelled like mothballs and stale cigarette smoke. Terrible combination.

Newt’s stomach growls. He’s finished the small bit of leftovers without realizing, and is apparently still hungry. He would kill for some sushi takeout right now. Or pizza, God. Yeah, it’d be screwing with his new diet and fitness plan—he casts a guilty glance over at his brand new exercise bike, which is gathering dust in the corner by his TV—but he’s tired of doing stupid kale and juice cleanses or whatever, just to please—well. He’s only human.

He is?

He walks up the stairs to his bathroom, and stares at himself in the mirror. Stupid vest. Stupid tie. Neat hair, clean-shaven cheeks, contact lenses. Newt’s only human. “I’m human,” he tells his reflection. Is he human? He felt human standing by that old chalkboard back in the lab, and holding that box of yellow chalk in the aisle of that little shop. He felt human when he was remembering things. Because of—Newt blinks at himself. Because of whom?

“Hermann,” he says, and smiles at the way the name makes him feel. He should text him, maybe.

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

“I must say,” Hermann says, “I was quite surprised when I received your dinner invitation. You’ve done a rather fine job of ignoring my calls as of late. I’d thought— Ah, thank you,” he adds, as Newt holds the door open for him. He steps into Newt’s apartment and cranes his neck around, squinting curiously, and then shoves a bottle of red wine at Newt’s chest. Hermann is much more personable than Newt remembers—what little Newt remembers—and he wonders if it’s age or something else. “I’ve been holding onto this one for a while. It’s the one you gave me as a part of a gift for my thirty-seventh birthday—you remember? Oh, but isn’t it so terrifically, er, modern in here.”

“Is it?” Newt says. He’s never given much thought to his apartment before, but he stares around at it now in mild interest. It is very chic, isn’t it? Monochrome. Impersonal. Not something Newt would’ve picked for himself. “Yeah, I had some interior decorators come in and do it for me.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “How…”

“Modern,” Newt offers. He puts the bottle of wine on his marble kitchen island. “Thanks for this, by the way, but I’ve actually been trying to cut back on the—” He bites back drinking. No need to alarm Hermann. “—Calories, so if it’s cool with you I’d rather not open it. I’m doing a, um, a new fitness program.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. “I suppose that explains that, then, doesn’t it?” He points at the dusty exercise bike. Newt watches his gaze move from that, to the barren leather couch, to the short staircase which leads to Newt’s shut bedroom door. Newt can practically see the gears working in his head. “Will—ah, what was their name, that little flight of fancy of yours—a dalliance, one might say—will they be, ah, joining the two of us?” He looks at Newt out of the corner of his eye. “Alice, was it?”

“Who?” Newt says, blankly.

Hermann breaks out in a broad grin, which he quickly tries, very badly, to turn into a sympathetic frown. He pats Newt’s arm. “There’s the spirit, then, Newton! All in the past, I presume? Hardly any use in dwelling on a broken heart. Then again—it’s not as if you were together long enough to warrant those sorts of dramatics, were you?” he says, cheerily. “What I mean is—certainly it wasn’t as if you had any sort of deep or emotional connection with—?—oh, I’ve forgotten the name again.”

“Uh,” Newt says. He’s not really sure who Hermann’s talking about, but just based on that fact alone, he would assume Hermann is right. “I guess not?”

“Precisely as I expected,” Hermann says, with a satisfied nod. “Rotten grounds for a relati—for a fling. You deserve far better, Newton.” Hermann touches Newt’s arm again, and this time, he doesn’t move his hand. It makes Newt’s skin prickle pleasantly. “You look well these days, though I admit it’s a bit of a shock to see you without your glasses,” Hermann continues, flicking his eyes up and down Newt twice. He lingers on Newt’s left hand, over the bare spot where—until this morning, when he suddenly realized how stupid it looked and yanked it off—he was wearing that Elvis ring. “Ending things must be treating you kindly. I don’t suppose I could dash to your loo?”

“Loo?” Newt says. “Oh, right. Yeah, it’s that door there, right off the living room.” He drops down onto the leather couch. “Knock yourself out. I’ll be right here.”

Hermann disappears into Newt’s bathroom, and comes back out three minutes later with combed hair, a straightened collar, and the vague smell of cologne. He’s tucking a small bottle into his top pocket. “I found a box of hair dye in your medicine cabinet,” he declares, smugly. “I knew there was no bloody way that was natural. Though I’m not surprised it fooled Alice.” He rests his cane against the glass coffee table and sits down next to Newt. Right next to Newt. The whole sofa to pick from, and he’d rather their thighs touch. Newt doesn’t mind—actually, the contact is strangely grounding, like Hermann’s hand on his arm had been earlier. He’s here, in his living room, with Hermann, his friend Hermann, his colleague Hermann, his—well, question mark—Hermann.

“Hermann, can I ask you something?” he says. “Something important?”

“By all means,” Hermann says, leaning in and fluttering his eyelashes. Even over the cologne, Newt can still make out that mothball-chalk-smoke smell.

“Do you take your coffee with sugar?” he says.

Hermann laughs. “Do I—what?”

Newt repeats the question. The smile slips off Hermann’s face, and he draws away, furrowing his eyebrows. “Well,” he says, “yes, usually, only I’m not sure what—”

“Sugar, and some milk,” Newt says. “It was the same with your tea. And you had a mug that you would use—you wouldn’t use any other. It was blue, and it said—” He exhales through his nose. “It said TU Berlin. That’s where you got your PhD.”

After Newt sent Hermann a text about dinner last night, he sat down with a pen and pad of paper and made a list of everything he could remember about Hermann. He started with what Hermann looks like, and who Hermann is, and then moved into the harder stuff like what Hermann likes and the sort of things Hermann used to do. He stayed up all night doing it, until his hand cramped and his head hurt even more than it had that morning, and then recited it over and over to himself in a whisper as he fell asleep. Hermann has brown eyes. Hermann likes blackberry jam on his toast. Hermann wears little glasses on a chain. Hermann uses a cane with a tiny little nick in the brass of the handle. The list is in his pocket now; it makes Newt feel calm, and even calmer when he reaches into his pocket and touches it. He exhales again, hard, and then inhales. “We were together,” he says. “When we closed the Breach, you told me you loved me.”

“I did,” Hermann says, quietly.

“I said it back,” Newt says.

Hermann nods.

Slowly, Newt reaches out and puts his hand over Hermann’s. Hermann makes a strange noise in the back of his throat—like a sigh, or maybe a groan. His pulse twitches erratically under Newt’s fingertips. “I bought chalk,” Newt says.

“You—” Hermann echoes, his voice choked. “You bought chalk?”

“It reminded me of you,” Newt says.

He’s not surprised when Hermann kisses him, but he is surprised at his knee-jerk reaction: to pull away, or push Hermann away, and to order him to get out of his apartment. He’s surprised, because those aren’t his thoughts. He doesn’t want Hermann to leave—he wants Hermann to stay longer, and kiss him more, and help him remember more. “Oh, Newton,” Hermann says. “Newton, Newton—” He moves his mouth to Newt’s neck, kissing, breathing, and whispering his name, and Newt shuts his eyes and forces himself to remember his list.

“Tell me things about you,” Newt begs. “I want to remember you.”

Hermann’s laughter, hesitant and confused, comes out in a puff of hot air against his skin. “Remember me?” he says. “I’m not sure— Are we not a bit—?”

“Hermann,” Newt says.

He grips the back of Hermann’s sweater, digging his nails in Hermann’s skin through the layers of fabric. Hermann must hear the urgency in his voice, because he shakes his head with another laugh, kisses Newt’s jaw, and says, “Well, alright. What am I even meant to tell you?”

“Your favorite color,” Newt says. Hermann kisses his chin. “Your favorite song. No, wait—” He nudges Hermann away from him, just enough so that Hermann can see him smile. “Tell me what you like about me.”

“Feeling rather egotistical tonight, aren’t we?” Hermann teases. He reaches out and brushes his fingers through the side of Newt’s hair. One of the spots Newt dyed—it was too grey. He catches Hermann’s hand by the wrist and pulls it away gently, but only to press himself up against Hermann’s chest instead. He can feel Hermann’s heartbeat. “I like—hm,” Hermann says. “I like your stubbornness. I like your passion. I like…”

His voice vibrates in his throat—Newt can feel that, too. He listens.

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

I Wonder What It’s Like (2/3) - fic

Characters: Damian Wayne, Jon Kent, Kathy Brandon Pairing: jondami Summary: Damian is a mess. A big, sappy, romantic mess. A/N: This hot *~garbage~*. Sorry.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

~~

He was just walking down the hallway in their team’s shared apartment. A loft that overlooked the city of Chicago, the ridiculous rent paid for by his father, no questions asked.

The little kitten he’d found on patrol the night before was pattering excitedly after him as he walked, Titus protectively on the little thing’s tail while she meowed loudly. Damian was laughing as he walked, and had just felt her jump at his ankle and stumble, so turned to make sure she was righting herself.

But then he froze.

In his attempt to glance down at the kitten, his gaze caught movement nearby, in the bedroom he was passing.

Jon’s bedroom.

The door was open and Jon stood there in front of a mirror, fiddling with the collar of a white dress shirt he was already practically busting out of. Not that Damian noticed the shirt too much. No, he was too busy staring at the perfectly form-fitting black slacks that hugged Jon’s ass and thighs – and that in the mirror he could clearly see they were not buttoned yet.

“Jon…”

He felt the name come out of his mouth without consent, and instantly snapped his lips closed, practically sucked them between his teeth.

Kept staring, though.

Refocused back on the shirt, on the sliver of chest he could still see, and the muscles rippling as Jon shifted. Stared at those long fingers fumbling against each other. Felt his breath catch in his throat, as Jon slowly glanced over his shoulder at him.

Jon blinked and his face brightened, and Damian – motherfucking Damian goddamn Wayne – felt his knees go weak as Jon smiled at him. As his violet eyes shone, and absolute joy radiated from his being.

“Hey, D.” He said. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I…” Damian cleared his throat, thanking his lucky stars. Jon had heard him, but he hadn’t heard his…tone. Good, that was good. As he exhaled his relief, he glanced down and saw the kitten, Titus still tight on her heels, stomping forward into Jon’s room. “Theadora!”

The kitten mewed grumpily as Damian stepped into the room and swooped her up into his hands. She wiggled even as he held her to his chest, and tried to bite at his fingers.

“We do not enter rooms uninvited.” He scolded, touching his finger to her nose. He looked back up at Jon. “My apologies.”

Jon snorted. “You know you and your animals are welcome any time. I don’t mind.” He turned back to the mirror. “In fact, I enjoy it. Always a nice break.”

Damian hummed, biting the words on his tongue. A nice break from what, doing nothing? No, that would be rude. He was working on not being rude, on saving the sarcasm for when it was warranted, not every word out of his mouth. He was better than that. He should be better than that.

(Especially to Jon.)

“…What’s the occasion?” Damian nodded towards him. “I don’t recall you being much into suits.”

“I’m not. It’s some shindig at the Planet. Mom’s getting an award. Again.” Jon chuckled as he rolled his eyes. “She said since I’m barely home any more the least I could do is come tonight.”

Damian couldn’t stop his eyes from darting downwards again. “I doubt it’s an…ahem…open-trouser affair…”

Internally, Damian winced at himself. It wasn’t sarcasm, but it was still rude. Jon wasn’t an idiot. Obviously he wasn’t done getting dressed. There was no need to tease. There was no need to open his stupid mouth.

But Jon laughed anyway. “I’m getting there, I’m getting there.” He stuck his tongue out thoughtfully, returning to his task at his collar. “I’m going to tuck my shirt in, but I can’t get these stupid buttons up top, here.” He tried for another second, then spun back to Damian. “A little help?”

Damian felt himself smiling, almost instinctively stepping forward. “Sure.”

Jon cooed as he grabbed Theadora from Damian’s hands, petting her as Damian took over button duty, gently folding the little round plastic through the fabric of the shirt. He ignored how close he was to Jon’s skin, how easily it would be to reach out and just touch him.

(Just caress his jaw, just lean forward and kiss him, just–)

The buttons were finished, and he quickly stepped back. Jon twisted his torso back towards the mirror. “Perfect.”

But then he turned back to Damian with a sheepish grin. “Help with one more thing?”

Damian shrugged.

And he watched, almost bewildered, as Jon didn’t give his kitten back (much to Titus’s disappointment in the doorway) but instead placed her on top of his head, right in the center of his nest of curls. Then he turned towards his bed, hastily shoving the shirt tails into those unbuttoned pants before grabbing a red ribbon that was lying across his comforter.

“I know you’re going to think it’s cheesy, but it’s kind of an inside thing between me and my dad.” He spun around, balancing Theadora perfectly, and held the ribbon out. “But I never learned how to properly tie one.”

Damian glanced between Jon’s kitten crown, and the ribbon in his hand. “A…bowtie?”

“It’s a thing, I promise. Inside joke.” He walked closer. “Please?”

Damian sighed, annoyed that his default exhale made him sound put off, when in reality, he really wasn’t. Not at all. He was happy to help.

He was always happy to help Jon.

But he took the ribbon and looped it carefully around Jon’s neck. Ignored the urge to pull the other forward with it, ignored those thoughts already popping back into his brain, and began to knot it.

“…I’m really only going to make my mom happy.” Jon let out his own sigh as he finally buttoned the stupid pants. Damian was happy to have a task, anything to stop him from looking down again. “These things are so boring.”

Damian snorted. “Welcome to my life.”

“Hey, I bet your dad will be there. And Diana. Apparently this is like. A huge award. Wouldn’t be surprised if Bruce Wayne showed up for some reason. You know, beyond my dad inviting him and Diana as a friends or something.”

“Unfortunately I do not know my father’s schedule.” Damian hummed. “I can call and ask if he or any of the family are going. While my siblings are complete Neanderthals, they might ease some of your boredom.”

“Or better yet…” Jon grinned. “Why don’t you just come with me? I’m sure no one will mind if I bring a plus-one. Besides, it’s been a while since you’ve been home too, right? Might be nice to see your dad.”

Damian laughed before he thought about it. “Absolutely not.”

And he wanted to absolutely stab himself, immediately, at the disappointment that flashed through Jon’s eyes, the way his smile faltered just a little. All because Damian laughed.

At him. In his face.

God, he was the worst.

“I mean,” Damian coughed. He slowly pulled Jon’s bowtie through its last loop, and then carefully tugged Theadora from Jon’s hair. “I’m on monitor duty tonight. And the girls are already out for their own night off.”

Jon’s grin, though it never disappeared, softened now. “D, when was the last time you took a night off?” Damian opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out because he didn’t have one. “The world would survive if all four of us were out acting like normal people for one night.”

“That’s how all apocalypse stories start, isn’t it?” Damian mumbled, keeping his gaze lowered. “Besides, if it’s like you said, half of the Justice League will be at this event. Someone needs to be out there watching.”

“No one said it had to be you.”

Damian glanced up, felt his cheeks warm as he realized Jon had stepped closer. Was staring gently down at him, that simple smile still on his face.

But Damian was a coward.

Emotions were a weakness. Wanting was selfish, and selfishness was unbecoming. Rejection was a useless pain and so easily avoidable.

He would not mess this up. He would not mess up one of the only friendships he had. He would not mess up Jon.

So he stepped back, an apologetic smile on his face. “Enjoy your party, Jonathan.”

He scurried from the room with his pets before he could see Jon frown.

~~

“Damian?!” Jon practically screamed, even over Maya’s attempts at soothing him. He smacked his hand against the door again. “D, please, just open the door!”

Damian, instead, turned away from it, rubbing his fist angrily against the tears pouring from his eyes.

“He just wants to help.” Kathy whispered from the desk. “You know him.”

“And he knows me.” Damian spat. “He knows better than to do this.”

“You just heard your mother might be dead, what else did you think he was going to do? Shrug it off and go play video games?” Kathy snapped back. “You’re his best friend, of course he’s going to want to comfort you. Take care of you.”

“I don’t need it. I don’t need comforted. I don’t need…” His face twisted in disgust. “Taken care of.” He shook his head. “I don’t even need you here.”

“Well, sucks I was there when Batman called and can move faster than you, huh?” Kathy smirked. “Jon may respect your boundaries, but that doesn’t mean I have to.” She let her smile drop. “Besides, I know what it’s like. Losing…questionable family. Not knowing how to feel about it. I…I get it.”

“…I know.” Damian sighed. Sniffed and ran his hand across his nose. “I know you do, Kathy. And I…despite everything, I do appreciate it.”

“Damian, please!” Jon whined.

“I can’t.” Damian whispered, twisting purposefully away from the door. “I…I can’t look at him right now.”

“Why, because he’s trying too hard? Or because he wouldn’t get it?”

“Both, maybe.” Damian shrugged, reaching for the tissue box on his nightstand. “And because…it’s embarrassing.”

“What is?”

“I’m mourning the not-yet-confirmed-death of a mass murderer, and here the son of fucking Superman wants to make sure I’m okay.” He shook his head. “This is not worth his time. I’m not worth his time. When’s he going to see that? Why does he think I am?”

“He’s your…best friend.” Kathy reiterated, but she seemed to struggle with the words. Like best friend wasn’t supposed to mean that. “He just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay. I’m always okay.” He dabbed the tissue at his eyes. “I have to always be okay.”

“Why, because you’re the son of Batman and anything less than okay is a weakness?” Kathy mocked. “I thought you were over that line of thinking. Years ago.”

“It’s…I am, it’s not just that, it’s…” Damian sighed, dropped to sit on the edge of his bed. He pulled the photo of him and his mother back into his hands, the one he’d had in his desk drawer up until his father had called. “If I’m okay, people think I’m good. That I’m a good person.” He gently touched Talia’s face. The smile was warm in this photo. It wasn’t always. “If I’m not okay. I’ll…then I’ll go back to being bad. I’ll lose control. I’ll…be that monster again. The one I used to be.”

Kathy blinked. “And?”

Damian waited a beat. Listened as Jon continued to bang on the door, desperately call his name.

“Jon deserves better than a monster as a best friend.” Damian whispered.

“Wha…that’s it? You have to be okay for his benefit?” Kathy drawled. “That is the most convoluted bullshit I’ve ever heard. Especially because Jon loves you no matter how messed up you are. Jon loves all of us, no matter how messed up we all are.”

Damian remained silent. Listened as Jon pleaded with him still to open the door.

“Meanwhile he’s crumbling at the mere idea that something’s wrong with you and he can’t personally fix it.” Kathy grumbled, standing from the chair. She paused there, for a moment, looking between Damian and the door. “…You know?”

Damian glanced up at her.

“If you asked me, it almost sounds like you’re more upset about upsetting Jon than your mother potentially being dead.”

Damian didn’t answer the accusation, just shrunk deeper into himself, into his own brain. Let guilt swirl in his gut, both for Jon and Talia.

He closed his eyes. He truly was a monster, wasn’t he? In more ways than one.

After another second, Kathy sighed, and Damian opened his eyes to see her moving. “…You two, I swear.”

Damian watched as she walked over to the door, throwing it open.

“Jon!” She yelled. Jon jerked back at her tone. “Give it a rest, okay?!” Gentler, as he lowered his hand. “He’s fine. He just needs a little time to himself.”

Jon, the epitome of a kicked puppy, glanced over Kathy’s shoulder. “D?”

Damian sniffed, wiped at his eye. “It’s fine, Jon. I’ll…be out later.”

“You shouldn’t be alone right now, D.” Jon rattled off immediately. “I can-”

“You can leave him alone.” Maya cut off, pulling Jon back. “Now you saw him, okay? With your own eyes. He is alive and he’s in his room.”

“Damian…”

“Don’t worry on my account, Jon. Please.” Damian tried, offering a weak smile. It just made Jon frown deeper. “I’m fine. In fact, feel free to take Kathy with you.” Kathy glanced back at him. “I give you full permission to give him all the details of my father’s phone call, and everything we’ve talked about, if you believe it will help.”

Kathy looked at him for a moment, then rolled her eyes.

“You need therapy.” She sighed. Then she turned to Jon. “Both of you.”

Jon blinked dumbly as she took his other arm and began to pull him down the hall. Maya leaned into the room to grab his doorknob and gave him a wink.

“Preferably some couples therapy.” She hummed. “And, like, soon. Or Kathy and I are gonna lose our minds.”

She pulled the door shut. Damian just sighed, rubbed at his tears, and stared at the picture of his maybe-dead mother.

~~

Damian Wayne didn’t dream.

He had nightmares. He had flashbacks, absolutely. He woke up in cold sweats, screaming, crying, whatever. You name it.

But he didn’t dream. He had nightmares, or nothing at all.

So…this didn’t make sense. This didn’t make any sense. He was lucid, he knew this wasn’t real. He recognized it as a dream.

Because he didn’t own an antique shop.

But here he was, behind the counter of one, refurbishing an old cabinet, carefully painting along its edges, listening contently as a pair of customers were rung up.

By…by Jon.

“Thanks for stopping by K.W. and Sons. Have a great day!” He called as the old couple waved and walked out the front door, bell above the door chiming. As soon as the door slammed shut, Jon gave a happy sigh. Damian, still facing the cabinet, sensed more than heard Jon turn around. “…I still can’t believe you did it.”

“Hm?” Was all the response Damian had.

“I cannot believe you found the book Mr. Hamada used to propose to his wife.” Suddenly there was a weight on Damian’s back, arms wrapping around his waist. “Like…how do you find that? How do you even know where to start looking? They didn’t even realize they’d accidentally given it away until three years after the fact!”

“Well, for starters,” Damian laughed as Jon kissed his cheek. “It’s nice to know a private detective or two. Then it’s just a simple retracing of steps.” Damian placed his paintbrush along the edge of his paint tray. “Also – the internet is a great tool. There’s only so many books with the phrase ‘will you marry me?’ written in English and Japanese in the front cover. That kind of thing goes viral all the time.”

Jon hummed, leaning his chin into Damian’s shoulder. “Mrs. Hamada cried when I brought it out. It was sweet.”

“Such a shame I missed it.” Damian drawled cheekily. Jon squeezed his sides.

“Don’t be rude.”

Damian turned his head, keeping his smirk. “You love it when I’m rude.”

Jon hummed again, glancing downwards. Damian was so distracted by the lashes splaying across his rosy cheeks that he didn’t notice Jon dipping his finger into the pastel teal paint until he was dabbing it against his nose.

“I don’t know if I said love.”

“I don’t know.” Damian said thoughtfully, leaning over until his nose brushed Jon’s, smearing the paint against his skin as well. “I think you did.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Nuh-uh, times a thousand.” Jon countered, dragging his nose along Damian’s jaw to make a bigger mess. At the same time, he squeezed Damian’s torso again in an attempted tickle. “No take-backsies.”

And despite the childishness, Damian laughed, leaned into Jon’s embrace. Accepted paint-filled butterfly kisses and real ones too. Gently twisted in Jon’s arms to face him completely, and take a tender hold of Jon’s face.

He had a beard here. A small one. And it was graying. How old were they? Do you age in dreams? Damian found himself not caring.

He let his laugh drop into a sigh, stroking a thumb across Jon’s face as he stared into his eyes. After a moment, he smiled. “I love you.”

Jon beamed. Like it was the first time he’d ever heard it. Like it was the only thing he ever wanted to hear in his whole life. He pressed his forehead to Damian’s and closed his eyes. “I-”

“I love you too.”

Damian jerked, his head shooting up.

Wha…what?

He blinked rapidly, wiping at his lip instinctively. There was drool there. Since when did he drool while he slept?

Since when was he sleeping?

He blinked a few more times, the room becoming clearer. It was still a dark space, but he recognized it. Their apartment living room. The girls were in the loveseat nearby, also asleep. There was light coming from the TV across the room.

Oh yeah. It was their monthly team movie night.

“You okay?” Came a whisper to his right. He flinched again, spinning around to see Jon staring down at him with an amused look. Damian let his eyes dart around, and the situation became clear.

He’d fallen asleep during the movie. On Jon’s shoulder.

And dear god, he was drooling.

“Uh…y-yeah.” Damian stuttered, throat dry. “Is the movie over?”

“Just about. Guess I’m the only one who made it.” Jon laughed softly. “I don’t blame you though. It’s pretty boring.”

Damian nodded silently, trying to look at anything but Jon. Glanced over to their teammates. No modesty there, Maya had Kathy’s head pressed to her breasts, her own legs contorted around Kathy’s waist. He frowned – there was no way that was comfortable for either of them. Freaks.

“You can…uh…go back to sleep, if you want.” Jon murmured. Damian turned back to him as he yawned. “I was about to fall asleep myself, actually. And…honestly, I don’t feel like getting up to go back to my own bed.” Even in the dark, Damian noticed Jon’s cheeks brighten. “And, uh…you’re warm.”

Damian smirked. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Jon snorted, fiddling with a nearby blanket, and throwing it over the both of them as Damian resituated himself closer. Without a word, Jon slouched, throwing his arm across the back of the sofa, forcing Damian closer into his side.

“Team slumber party.” Jon said absently. “Been a while since the four of us did one of these.”

“Indeed.” Damian breathed. His heart was pounding as dared to lay his head back on Jon’s shoulder. Waited for the other shoe to drop, waited for Jon to say something. To tell him off.

Instead, Jon just…leaned his head against Damian’s in return. Whispered: “Goodnight, Damian.”

Damian – giddy, frozen, and oh-so pleased – just closed his eyes once more.

“…Goodnight, Jon.”

[piraticalarchive]

okay so for everyone who hates big corporations and management who takes advantage of their employees.. this one’s for you. it’s long but .... i find it completely hilarious.

so a brief recap: amy got fired back in march from a huge international retailer, yes? when things first started like they were going south, i worked on really re establishing a relationship with my brother who is like one level below C-suite (cfo, ceo, etc etc) of that same company because i had an idea in mind. March rolls around, amy gets fired .. and I’m like .. okay. time to put this in motion. but stress and depression obviously took the motivation away from me, but i continued to keep that line of communication up with my brother. we started talking weekly, sometimes twice a week via an actual call. well, i’m finally feeling better .. so this week i finally put my plan in motion. here’s how it went

stage 1: i sent a text to my brother asking if i applied to the store in my area if i could use him as a reference. he said, of course but every store is hiring so i’d look at any store besides that one. (which is already fucking hilarious but i digress) ... so i call the store and one of the managers who sat in on amy’s firing answers when i ask to speak to someone involved in hiring (oh lucky day). I start off with “hi! I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been looking for a job thats a bit of a change of scenery and my brother is the *insert position name* and works in *insert headquarters location* and he recommended i give the company a try despite that I had a less than stellar experience last time”. And this manager FALLS OVER telling me they are hiring for so many positions blah blah blah and then at the end when i’m like “thanks for the information! I’m definitely going to apply!” she’s like “of course! I’ll give our hiring manager your information so she can pull it immediately. Whats your name?” and i give my name and suddenly its just dead fucking silent... because they know who I am and they know that I’m in a relationship with amy and that i know what they did. But she recovers and is like ‘can’t wait to see your application!’ .. so.. okay. stage 1 was a success. but then, enter...

unexpected event: the store manager himself calls me. Starts off with some small talk, finally gets around to saying ‘so I hear you’d like to come back and work for us? I was looking at your previous application and I didn’t see any mention of the relation you talked about when you called”. And I’m like “oh, yeah... I don’t like using stuff like that because I’d prefer to get in on my own merit  and skills and not by a family member’s position. Plus its like that show undercover boss, you know? I get to see what the place is like before they know. BUT given with what happened to amy, I was unsure if I’d even be considered without a reference like that” and he laughs nervously and is like “i totally get it. So did anyone know that you had a brother in that position?” and I’m like “oh i mentioned it once in passing to [amy’s manger] but I just said my brother was in corporate and there are a lot of levels so i think he just left it at that” and the store manager is like ‘haha yeah different levels but thats like ... its own level...” and we talk a little bit and he’s like “what made you want to come back?” and I’m like “like i mentioned before, the amy thing really threw me off. I was angry and the good thing about siblings is you don’t have to sugarcoat stuff. So I went to my brother and was like this is how you treat people?? are you kidding?? what about job security?? and i sent him the picture amy had snapped of her discharge papers where it listed the reason and he told me that, and everything else I yelled at him about,  wasn’t the company’s way and that the store had seriously violated something. So for one, I now know that isn’t actually something that should have happened and  two, i inadvertently brought this store to corporate’s attention and there are a lot of good people who work here, and they don’t deserve the consequences of that, so I want to help make it right” and he’s fucking sweating yall, I can hear it over the phone. and he’s like “fill out your application and put whatever you want down and we’ll call you and talk about positions and we can find a way to give you what you want” and I’m like “oh, don’t tell me that nick because your chair is looking awfully good right now” and he did a nervous laugh. SO, unexpected event made my plan even better. Then we get to:

Stage 2: I apply. I check literally every management position, including the one they fired amy from and also some hourly positions and put down ridiculous hours. I pass the manager test with flying colors and when it asks why i said i want to be a team trainer i wrote down ‘thanks to knowing the home office, i know how things should work and I want to help this store raise its position in the district and I know what policies aren’t being followed to help make that raise smoother.” I submitted the application, called the first manager I had spoken to and told her I had done so and she was like “I’m sure we’ll give you a call tomorrow!” ‘Tomorrow’ came and by 7 that night, they hadn’t contacted me. So I went to the ‘we’re hiring’ image they had posted on their facebook page like an hour previously and tagged my brother and was like ‘dude this is one of the positions at my store i was telling you about. think i could pull it off?” AND BAM ! they sent me a request for a phone interview at 8am the next morning. I scheduled my interview for later that afternoon at 2:45 and we enter Stage 3.

Stage 3: Amy and I go to the store to pick up a few things. It’s suddenly fucking spotless. There are no gaps in the shelves, the floor has been cleaned since the last time we were there (monday night and i called them tuesday and it is now white and shiny as hell) and they have the lights turned up all the way so you can actually see. EVERY FUCKING AISLE is perfect. Cat food? perfect. Funko pops? stacked and lined up perfectly. Video games? Filled. Clearance aisle? Perfect order. Like its super obvious they did a mad dash and tried to get the store in shape. So amy and I walk down every single aisle and point things out and kind of put our heads together and talk and I take out my phone and act like i’m texting etc .. basically we’re just fucking with people’s heads because the managers are nearby and they can see what we’re doing. 

Stage 4: So later we’re home and 2:45 comes and goes with NO word. No phone call, no email, no hey can we reschedule. they FORGOT about the interview. I’m dying because they’re making it even better and even easier to fuck with them. So I text my brother (who KNOWS my mental health has been in the trash) and I’m like “I filled out an application just to see and they set up an interview and blew me off. You were right .. not a great help when it comes to the blues” and he was like “yep...i’d look at literally any other store” and talked to me a bit more about it. He was irritated that they’d do that and kept saying they were on thin ice.  Finally at 5 they text me and they’re like “hey, this is the [insert store] and we’re sorry we missed your interview. I wanna apologize. Can we reschedule?” And I wait like an hour and a half (i was napping, i’ll admit it) but I respond with “I apologize for the late response, I had a prior commitment I had to take care of. Unfortunately, I reached out to someone [they know who it is. they know]  in the off chance I had misunderstood the process since I hadn’t heard from you guys and I was encouraged to pursue opportunities at other branches in the area. Thank you for the original consideration and I hope you have a great day!” and they waited until 11am the next day to reply back which I’m assuming is because they were waiting for the higher up management to return to the store.

Come to find out the managers are still basically pissing themselves and freaking out because not only did they a) fire someone against company policy and now know the people at the top know and b) drop the ball and forget to interview a family member of said people at the top ... I got to add salt in the wound one more time by mentioning that my brother dropped in a lot (he doesn’t) and that I’d love to show off the store since it’s such a huge part of the community and it was looking better than I’d ever seen it look. And that it would be nice because he’d get the real experience since it wasn’t a formal, announced visit .... but, of course, that he’s salary .. so the policy is that he’s always ‘at work’ and obligated to take note of things.

so basically, i feel justified. Six and a half months of careful planning and maneuvering was totally justified. 10/10, I’d do it again. Let this be a lesson that patience in planning vengeance is completely worth having and I hope I helped make the store better for employees who aren’t management by putting the fear of god into them with the idea that my brother or anyone else from his office can just drop the fuck in whenever they want with a totally casual visit that could still fuck the management over completely. This is a good week, mates .. a very good week. Am I petty? yes. Do i hate their guts and feel like it was an entertainment that was totally worth it given what they did to the love of my life? also yes.

[callmeblake]

Kerrang Issue #1103 (Sources 1, 2)

Photo Credit: Jeremy Harris

Magazine Release Date: 2006

Issue Label: April 15th, 2006

Transcription below the cut  (translated by google from Spanish):

You're not in this alone

April 15, 2006

Kerrang April 15th, 2006

Lostprophets & My Chemical Romance 

When it comes to million dollar studios / mansions, Los Angeles, where My Chemical Romance is currently doing pre-production for their new - and as yet untitled - album, is very impressive. Built in 1920 for a silent film star, it is covered in such a way as to simulate an Asian palace, with panoramic views of the city, an outdoor swimming pool, acres of gardens, and - according to vocalist Gerard Way - a ghost that opens and closes doors and even takes baths. Gerard crawled out of bed at noon as his old friend, Ian Watkins is coming soon. He and the Lostprophets frontman will meet to discuss their future performances on 'Give It A Name' - a festival that will see them perform to 30,000 people in two days.

When Ian appears the two greet each other genuinely affectionate, talking about many things; from Gerard's art to Bono's sunglasses and, of course, the ghost guest Gerard admits to fear. The two singers are pleasant company, laughing, joking and obviously relaxed, interrupting and finishing each other's sentences as close friends usually do.

When did you meet?

Gerard: It was at the Slims, in San Francisco and Lostprophets was running a show with Head Automatica. I didn't know them, so I got on his bus and he was the coolest singer I've ever met.

Haven't you met singers before, back then?

Gerard:I had met a few, but singers are usually weird guys. They often have a 'lead singer vibe' and he didn't have one, he was so kind, respectful and personable.

Ian: We knew his manager because he had toured with bands that we had toured with. Even before the first My Chemical Romance album came out, he was already talking all day about them. He sent me the record when it came out and I used to listen to it all the time, it was fucking awesome. Did they get along immediately? Gerard: Yeah. I think everyone in both bands hit it off right away. They were down to earth guys. We hadn't met anyone as great as them, so it was a huge impression on our band that they had that attitude. Ian:

And after that, we keep crashing at events, anywhere, like in Japan….

Gerard: That is a very funny story! You have to fly everywhere when you play (at the Japanese festival) Summer Sonic; you can't drive because Japan is made of a lot of big islands. This was when he still used to get screwed. It was one of the last times that I was drunk or high, actually… Ian was in front of me on the plane and he was turning around to try to have a conversation with me, but he couldn't.

Ian: I hadn't realized it at first. I was talking about the songs on the album I was thinking about…

Gerard:… And at one point I just thought 'I can't deal with this man'. I felt really bad about that I had already thrown up more than I had ever seen in my damn life while trying to get my pills; we were sharing a bus on the way to the plane. I must have looked like the most broke asshole. I was ashamed all the way.

How often do you get together?

Gerard: I would say once every five months, maybe more often. We always collide.

Ian: Yes, when you go on tours you always bump into someone. The strangest thing was when I was in New York, having a snack ...

Gerard:Oh yeah! And we just meet! We were on our way to a place called 'Toy Tokyo', which is one of our favorite stores. We passed a restaurant and Ian was sitting there hanging out.

Ian: They came by and I was like 'Oh shit!' because it was so unexpected.

Gerard: And then we did a full US tour together and it was fun, but Lostprophets was still on the UK schedule, so they would fall asleep on the bus at odd hours and stay up all night.

Ian: That was before the My Chemical Romance record took off, so it was before they became rock stars! But it was cool because we did our own shows on off days.

Gerard:Yes, it was fun doing our shows together, because there was always the same vibe.

Do you keep in touch when you are not on tour?

Gerard: Yes, Sidekick! (controlled email senders)

Ian: You're never in yours! He used to be online all day, but now he's very cool for it.

Gerard: I think I changed my username, but I didn't tell anyone, I just hoped they would notice! So no one talks to me now!

They grew up in places as remote as New Jersey and Wales, what common areas do they share?

Ian: I think we are both working class.

Gerard:When you come from a working class place, you have to leave soon or you will be stuck there forever. Jersey is definitely that kind of place. It's very different if you live somewhere in Los Angeles…

Ian: You don't need to try here, you can go to clubs and gigs every day in LA. It is very easy to believe that you are someone in LA until you realize that there is a whole world outside. It's like the same as London and New York.

Gerard: Yes, but to come from the places that we come from; Where you have shitty jobs, you realize that you are nobody.

Ian: And if you want to do something, make a difference or at least enjoy life, you really have to work your ass off.

Gerard:What's the most shitty job you had in Wales?

Ian: I worked in Iceland. A frozen food store.

Gerard: Oh wow that's weird because my first shitty job was at a frozen food stand at a supermarket. They're both sober now, but Gerard wasn't when they first met: Did his using drugs and alcohol affect their friendship? Gerard: No Ian: I just didn't realize I had a problem! Gerard: Yes, apart from that plane trip. But even though he had a problem, I think the press made him look worse than he already was. When we did that tour together, I was already clean.

The two are working on new albums. Has either listened to each other's new songs?

Gerard: No. We haven't played anything for anyone.

People are predicting that they will both transcend the rock scene and come back with a more pop album this time. Is there any truth to that?

Gerard: I think that's what they expect us to do! On the other hand, some people may believe that our album will be more aggressive to compensate for that.

Ian: A lot of bands do that and screw themselves up. They succeed and say 'we have to prove that we are real' and confuse being real with being shit.

Gerard:That is completely true. So people might expect a more aggressive record from us, or maybe one that makes a lot less sense. But I wouldn't say it's more pop, although it's prettier.

Did you see a lot of bands growing up?

Gerard: Yes, because our only escape was to go and find the local show. There were two places that I would go, ' The Pipeline ' and ' Studio One '. The latter was completely hardcore, bands like Downset, Madball, Dog eat dog…

Ian: Dog Eat Dog! Dammit!

Gerard:The most taboo thing there was as a teenager was Slayer. The [Anti-obscenity lobby] PMRC was so big in the US that they made it almost impossible to get their records. They thought Slayer was satanic. You couldn't get WASP or Venom records, but Slayer was a sure door to evil! I remember when I got 'South of Heaven'; it made a big impression on me. Have you been in front of any other band performance? Gerard: Not in the mosh zone, but I was on the floor for Slim's once. Most of the time, I watch from the side of the stage. Ian:

Everything is ground at Slim's! That was a great show, because we met there. As I said; We got to know each other before these guys took off, and that's nice because I think meeting them after that would have been kind of weird.

So is it weird to meet bands that are already big?

Ian: Yes, because they don't care. As Gerard was saying, singers sometimes have attitudes and it is strange to meet a successful band that is still humble. I don't think My Chemical Romance would have been like that but bands get very reluctant when meeting people. They think 'you only want to be my friend because you want something.' It was great meeting Gerard before they grew up, because I know our friendship is honest.

Do things change when you get to the same level as other bands?

Ian: If we played in the US now, My Chemical Romance would top the list, whereas last time we were on them, but that's okay.

Gerard: Yes, when you go out with a band that you love, there is respect and it shows on stage. But if you play with a band that you don't respect, then you go out and destroy them.

Ian: And it's not like we release two albums at the same time. We left and their time came.

So what if both albums were out at the same time? Would they be aware of the other's sales position?

Gerard: Well we're both rock bands, but we offer something very different to people, so I don't feel in competition with these guys.

Ian:If they were assholes it would be horrible to see them get so successful, because it sucks to see idiots doing well. The only thing they do is add to your stupidity! But when you like band music it's always great to see that they do well.

Gerard: Yes, you will always be supporting your friends even if they are kicking your ass!

Ian: And if they're kicking your butt, it just makes you work harder- It's not a sour rivalry, it's a great thing -a friendship and respect.

My Favorite My Chemical Romance Song (by Ian Watkins)

I love 'You know what they do to guys like us in prison'. The first time I listened to their second album, that song grabbed me as soon as it started playing. It had some really cool changes; the way it starts off with a piano staccato, and the lyrics are fantastic. It conjured up a lot of images and I liked the fact that the verse is on the piano.

My Favorite Lostprophets Song (by Gerard Way)

It's easily 'Last Train Home'! When we were working on Three Cheers for sweet revenge, that damn video came out every five minutes and no one could help but sing it. We were saying 'Man, this is great!' I think the chorus is really beautiful. They weren't trying to capitalize on some kind of junk-young culture, the song really meant something, especially when they were playing it live. If someone is really honest with a song, it will always become a favorite song, and that one really stood out.

Translation: Liz

[thefreshchannel]

What’re ur Courtney head canons

Oh boi are u ready for this: everyone can feel free to disagree but this is my courtney vision acting up starting with PRE TD and then going to POST TD

Long post

Courtney is definitely straight A student with advanced placement courses and part of many extracurricular activities. 

Courtney’s an only child and turned prodigy by her parents. Top of the class always no position under the first one.

Courtney’s parents took failure of any sort VERY BADLY which made courtney perceive any sort of mistake or flaw or failure as unacceptable.

Courtney (this was confirmed by dramarama) will never be absent to school she could be dying but she would not miss a day in school.

Courtney has two notebooks for each class. One for quick notes she takes in class and the second one to pass her notes over to make them look like

Courtney can play many instruments besides violin (guitar/oboe/flute/trumpet/clarinet/french horn/harp) courtney always gets the solos in choir as well.

Speaking of choir, Courtney isnt religious but as in every latino household her mom is and she would take her to church to be in the church choir. Courtney’s done her first communion but never really got into religion. I dont wanna say shes a heavy atheist altho she does kinda seem like the person who would be like “you believe in a non existent deity to solve your life problems instead of working to fix them yourself? Couldnt be me”

Courtney was a girl scout doing anything in her power to collect EVERY BADGE was a headcanon i’ve always had and was also confirmed by dramarama so idk how much this counts as a hc anymore lol

Courtney has worked as a TA and a tutor. Definitely lost the tutoring job due to short patience and blaming the kids for being idiots. Also she was mean and scary.

Courtney’s had many jobs that didn’t last long based on her attitude and the way she felt above everyone.

Courtney loves musicals. I can also see courtney being in her school’s drama club and always trying out for the lead of musicals. She obviously always got them but quit when she was given the role of someone’s understudy.

Courtney knows and studies many languages. She is fluent in spanish because her parents refused to have a yo no sabo kid, but she’s also fluent in french and portuguese. She studies italian and german.

Courtney feels like she’s mentally stronger than she actually is and feels she doesn’t need any sort of therapy because she can handle anything herself and her mental state is strong as fuck. She’s very mentally weak and worse after TD.

Has a heavy need to be validated by others but ofc she’ll never tell you about it because she is way too good to care about what others think but please tell her she’s doing a wonderful amazing job.

Courtney sent TWO audition tapes to total drama. She eventually did a redo of her audition tape and had tom fix it up for her and burn it in a CD, however gave courtney the wrong one in which she had mixed the two speeches up. Having noticed she sent the wrong one in she tried sending in her redo as well. The TD producers probably found the first one hilarious and probably found it even funnier that she had sent a correction one in.

Courtney has never had a close friend/deep relationship before total drama. Everyone had just been a rival or classmate or an acquaintance. Gwen became her very first best friend in world tour.

Courtney considers total drama one of her biggest failures because she knew she had every skill to win had she not been robbed. Absolutely believed she would win and reach the finale in tdi. Despite many firings in her job life regarding her attitude she kinda sees those as “well something better and more deserving of me awaits” so she doesnt really consider those failures. Total drama was a huge blow for her because everyone watched her fail and everyone saw her get several chances and fail again and everyone saw her relationships fail. Despite the fact she pretends it doesn’t bother her the thoughts are always sneaking in her head constantly.

Courtney managed to get herself in a really prestigious university for amazing grades and an even more amazing entry essay. She works in student life organizing events for the campus.

I feel courtney becomes a workaholic to try to keep herself busy from ever having bad thoughts or feeling vulnerable and guilty by past td stuff.

Courtney doesnt drink often unless she’s out in special occasions. She doesnt smoke at all. However because of how rarely she drinks when she does drink at a college party she is a mess after a second drink. Crying drunk. Talks about total drama constantly.

One of the things she thinks about a lot is gwen. On reunions and talkshows she always refused to admit how wrong she was for how she lost her in tdas. But it constantly eats her alive.

Courtney is a neat freak. Her room/dorm is always clean, her backpack is always organized. It probably got even worse after total drama. She is always cleaning and expecting her roommate to follow her cleaning schedule. Courtney’s roommate’s afraid of her.

Courtney’s often stopped by paparazzi and td fans asking questions about duncan but she always ignores them and avoids them.

Courtney’s very much over duncan so constantly being asked about him angers her. She hates the fact that she’s unfortunately always linked to him and would like to be seen more as her own person without duncan.

She’s not very active in social media. She tried it but it seemed like she couldnt escape being linked to total drama and constantly asked about other contestants or berated about her behavior on the show.

She’s done with chasing for fame or acknowledging fame and stays hidden. She was contacted many times about appearing in ridonculous race but she decided she was completely done with anything total drama.

The only person from total drama courtney keeps in touch with is bridgette. She lost contact with a lot of the cast, sometimes would keep in touch with heather but eventually lost communication with her.

[everybodyscupoftea]

the beginning

frat!jj x reader

words: 1228

warnings: drinking, cursing, nothing out of the ordinary

synopsis: a lesson in balancing your relationship; just a serious amount of fluff, very soft jj

a/n: lots of people liked frat!jj a lot and i have some ideas so i thought i’d start something of a series; not connected to my other frat!jj post

You and JJ met freshman year at orientation. Neither of you were into the excessive school spirit that everyone else in your group seemed to buy into, so the two of you kind of stuck together through the whole thing and picked fun at them all a little bit.

You thought he was really cute and secretly he thought you were too, so when you asked for his number to keep in touch, he was so excited. He gave it to you of course, and you promised to text him before school started to plan something for the first week.

The two of you had majorly opposite schedules, your classes were mostly morning and he had mostly afternoon. But that meant you both had about an hour for lunch every day. On the first day, the two of you met at the Chick-Fil-A on campus which made you feel a lot less like a loser.

Thus, started standing weekly lunch plans on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Your crush only grew as you kept meeting for lunch. His did too and it was pretty obvious, even to you, so you decided to ask him out.

“Hey do you maybe want to get dinner sometime?”

And he looked slightly hopeful but kept his expression guarded. “Dinner like...” he trailed off and it sounded like a question.

“Like I’m asking you out,” you told him.

And he was so down, nodding enthusiastically with the widest smile you’d ever seen.

The two of you went for burgers at a gourmet burger place downtown. Both of you were dressed up a little, JJ wasn’t even wearing a hat for the first time ever. There was zero awkwardness like there usually is on first dates. It was hands down the best date you’d ever been on.

Then you walked around downtown hand in hand. When you got cold, he handed over his sweatshirt like a cliché in a movie, but you really enjoyed that shit and took it happily. From then on, the two of you were pretty much inseparable.

And then JJ decided to rush. He wasn’t sure what you were going to think about it, he knew you weren’t really interested in being part of Greek life, and he was almost scared to bring it up. But you didn’t really give a fuck, you just didn’t want to pay sorority fees and be forced to attend events that maybe weren’t your thing. JJ could make that choice for himself if he really wanted to.

So, he did it, confident that you wouldn’t break up with him over it. In the end, he pledged Sigma Chi. You didn’t really know much about frats or their reputations, so you just shrugged and told him to have fun. You didn’t see him for the whole weekend, he texted you something about initiation and a party.

When he showed up at your dorm, he looked worse for wear. JJ collapsed on your bed and passed the fuck out for ten hours. You got him some food from the dining hall and filled up your water bottle for him when he woke up.

JJ chugged the water, and between bites told you about the insane party they threw for the pledges. Some of the stuff he had to do was sketchy and bordered hazing, so you were glad it was over. Afterward he cuddled with you, discussing some of the events he had to go to and some tasks assigned him, which was nice. It helped you feel in the loop.

Frat stuff took up a lot of JJ’s life, and school was a huge adjustment, so you were worried your time together was going to be cut significantly. JJ always made time for you though, he liked sitting on your bed together doing homework because your desk was always cluttered with textbooks, spare clothes, and snacks. It was a nice time away from thinking about the rest of the shit he was required to do.

You liked bouncing your essay ideas off of him as well as reading him your notes over and over to help you study the information. The two of you also kept up date nights weekly. The night differed every week, but there was always at least one where the two of you went somewhere different to eat and then did something fun.

One of the most memorable was a picnic at a drive-in movie. They were showing Ferris Bueller’s Day Off which he remembered you saying was one of your favorite movies. You did miss a good chunk of the middle of the movie because JJ kissed you, and the boy was practically irresistible.

The frat threw a lot of parties, and you went as JJ’s date to a lot of them, but you didn’t attend every one of them. He sat you down at first and promised he wouldn’t ever get totally drunk without you there and that he’d never cheat on you. You weren’t worried, he’d never so much as looked at another girl since the two of you had become official.

One night you had gone to bed fairly early, having work the next morning. JJ snapchatted you a few times after you went to bed without you knowing, and when you didn’t answer, asked one of his brothers, Pope, to drop him off at your dorm.

You woke up to him knocking ceaselessly at your door. Arms crossed, you glared at him slightly discombobulated from the sudden intrusion of light. He smiled at you dopily and held his arms open, “I missed you,” he slurred.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered, dragging him into your room so you could go back to sleep. That wasn’t the last time he’d do something like that, and deep down you liked that he thought of you even when drunk. His brothers always joked about how whipped he was because they consistently had to drop him off at your dorm. Or, if you happened to attend, he always had his arm wrapped around you.

He called you his forever date because he never had to worry about going to an event without one. You attended a kickboxing class together, pumpkin carving, and even a fancy barbecue. The last one was your favorite; it was entertaining watching everyone attempt to stay clean while eating barbecue, and JJ looked amazing in a suit.

When midterms rolled around, you got into a few arguments. JJ felt overwhelmed with all the frat expected out of him as a new member, plus school, plus spending time with you. At one point he told you that if you weren’t so insistent on spending time with him, he’d be much less overwhelmed. You told him that if spending time with you was that much of a burden then he didn’t have to come around anymore and kicked him out of your room.

The silent treatment lasted two days before JJ showed up outside one of your classes, visibly upset, and apologized profusely while telling you that you were more important than some stupid frat. You believed him and let him know that if he needed time away from you to just say so rather than lash out. He promised.

Your relationship wasn’t perfect by far, but JJ was committed to making it the best he could and so were you.

[sugoi-writes]

Hawks Ramblings!!!

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.

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You're invited to a photoshoot for a magazine spread (you're an up and coming hero, let's say top 50 or 60), but you have a HUGE fanbase. You'd be featured with other heros who have been doing well in popularity polls and OOPS... there's Hawks, as SOON as you get there, wrapping up his session.

Turns out, he's heard about you! And he jogs up to you, shaking your hand in earnest. He says he's a huge fan of your work (WHAT?!?) and how your quirk is really fascinating. It's not quite a "I Look Up to You" but more or less like a peer! You guys oogle on about how cool or amazing the other was, and you cant help but find his genuine, soft nature to be startling and refreshing!

Keigo stays behind, and he waits around while you do your shoot, chatting with other heros. But you're nervous and hella stiff. So he just comes up behind you, and he taps you on the shoulder.

" 'Mind if a Pro could help you out?"

Hawks walks you through a few pointers. Chin up, keep your core flexed/engaged, and he helps you relax your shoulders. He gets you to scrunch as tight as you can, roll your shoulders back theeeen.... relax. His hands are guiding your movements, and there are a LOT of behind the scene shots of you two (no clue what they could be used for in the future).

Though you're still really awkward and flustered, his help nails you some rad photos for the magazine/article.

You wanna thank him, but he's already dashed off. But someone (probably one of Hawk's secretaries) swings by and hands you a note.

When you open it, it's an invitation. A fashion show. Luxury designers and celebs from EVERYWHERE would be invited. And with the invite, you see a red feather. It must be your voucher to get in. You couldn't believe it, and yet... you would be the first to be there.

.

But when you get there, OH BOI... You kicked yourself in the leg. You were not part of the elites that usually flock here. But you bring another Pro! Hero with you for company and helps you blend in. When the show is rolling strong, there's a music change. Something jazzier, something incredibly smooth and tantalizing. (Think "Feeling Good" by Michael Buble).

Who is it??? Hawks, obviously. Shirt unbuttoned halfway down his torso, his natural face markings intensified, and dressed to the 9s. When he makes it to the end, his wings flash outward, and he strikes a very, VERY cocky pose (you are VERY close to front row). After a lick of the lips, he flicks his eyes over to you and winks, before sauntering away.

The whole things has you in awe, and you would 100% be more into fashion and photography because of Hawks now.

After the show, at the afterparty, Hawks of course finds you, dressed in a modern tux. He has his arm around your waist, holding you close while he mingles with everyone with you. You weren't sure how this was happening. Are you dreaming??? Is this real life??? Is this... more than a casual invite???

And at one point, he apologizes, stepping to the side while patting your shoulders," Sorry for bein' rude there, but this right here is my little chickadee, Y/N."

And it is through all of this that you realize: Hawks considered this A DATE. And you're so fucking shook. The night goes well, and the two of you roll out together now, in the same rental that took you to the event. You confront him and ask him what all of this was about.

And just as always, he's coy and cocky," What? Had to make our first date together memorable. And, I can always use the company while at a gig, on the road... busy on patrol..." He gives your thigh a pat, as the car pulls to your apartment. When Hawks opens the door for you, he takes your wrist, haulting you for a moment.

"...meet me at that little cafe on 4th street. I got plans for us tomorrow too."

You were mind boggled. Of course you consented, of course this was WAY more than perfect and fine, but: Hawks had already carved you into his crazy life and schedule. And it absolutely shakes you. You had NO idea that he had any inkling of an interest in you. But now that you know he does... you're not gonna back down.

And let's just say, the next few dates are a competition. Who can be the most spontaneous? The most unpredictable? And most importantly... what boundaries are you willing to cross with your idol turned lover?

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(I know from what I've read that Hawks has gotten gigs modeling and in fashion in general, so this dabble is stuck in my head!!! And the song that I mentioned too dhhsjsjs)

[shuahoonie]

you [tom holland] - seven.

PAIRING: tom holland x female!celebrity!reader

SUMMARY: ah, to be young and in love. it sounds great if only you and tom were actually dating out of pure love and not for the sheer reputation of your careers. it also should be great if you two actually got along, but life isn’t that easy.

WARNINGS: mostly swearing! alcohol consumption! a whole lotta fluff on this one yall. it’s haters to lovers / fake dating au so take that information as you wish! also, their relationship is improving yall 🤧

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

SONG INSPO: harry styles - to be so lonely 

A/N: hiya babes, again, its day n of quarantine. i feel awful that i’ve gone this long without an update. would totally understand that you had to reread this whole series to find out what the hell is going on lmao. also, quarantine life really ruined my general schedule like now, i start my days at 3 pm and it ends at 7 am. obviously, i’m not doing well. 

also, everytime i try to write it’s always like 4 am so there’s prob a lot of errors on this. i also had the initial plan to cut this chapter in two parts but figured you guys deserve this bc i’ve been gone for way too long.  [it was way past 6 am when i finished this]

hope you guys are safe. spam my inbox, tell me what you’ve been up to this quarantine! stay at home and wash those hands!!!!! sending all my love ♡

UPDATES EVERY SATURDAY 11 PM CST WHENEVER I CAN  [I MEAN WE’RE IN LOCKDOWN. PLS PESTER ME TO UPDATE SO I CAN BE PRODUCTIVE]

gif credits: @tomhollandcouk

vanessa’s masterlist | preview | one | two | three | four | five | six | eight | eight.5 [interview excerpt] 

You took a look at the girls and sure enough, they were watching the two of you and were whispering amongst themselves. You didn’t know who they were so you were assuming they were on Josh’s guests.

You weren’t one to start fights however, you were extremely petty though. It’s a habit you’re trying to get rid of. “Hey, Tom?”

He hummed in response. “Do you want to finally get them off your back?” You asked him. He stared at you for a moment before nodding.

“I’m going to do something but promise me you’ll forget it as soon as it’s done.” You disclosed, not even knowing why you’re actually going to do it.

“Okay...” You knew he was getting curious. “What-”

You grabbed the side of his face and kissed the corner of his lips. To say that both of you were surprised was an understatement.

Your lips lingered on the corner of his. As soon as you saw the girls with their backs turned against you two, you pulled away.

You could easily see Tom’s ears turn red. You weren’t sure why, but you were too distracted by the fact that you actually did that.

You also felt yourself getting hot. You were sure that your face is burning, however, you were unsure of the fact that maybe it’s burning because of the stunt you just pulled or because of the alcohol in your system.

“It’s definitely the alcohol,” you murmured.

“Sorry, you were saying something?”

Seemingly lost for words and embarrassed, you told Tom “I need another drink.”

If anyone asked you what just happened, you probably won’t have an answer as you were confused as well. That’s why you were practically running to the open bar, leaving Tom on the dance floor, with the look of bewilderment painted on his face.

“Tom!”

He turned his head around, looking for who could have possibly called his name. Upon seeing who it was, he greeted her with a huge smile on his face. “Liv, congratulations! It was a wonderful ceremony.” He said genuinely.

“Aw,” Olivia cooed in delight. “Thanks, Tom! We’re happy you could make it.” She beamed.

“Would’ve never missed it,” Tom smiled.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but have you seen Y/N?” Olivia asked, looking around.

He felt himself turn red, which Olivia noticed but chose not to point it out. “She told me she was getting herself a drink...”

“That bitch never learns,” Olivia murmured to herself. “Tom, can you do me a favour? Can you please keep an eye out for her? She tends to drink a lot at weddings and-”

All of Veronica’s words came flooding back to Tom, knowing that he was supposed to stop Y/N from grabbing another glass. “Right, of course.”

“She doesn’t have a problem!” Olivia quickly disclosed. “It’s just- She tends to do a lot of weird shit while drunk.” She chuckled. “I mean look at where you two are now. None of this would’ a happened if- Oh, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay, Liv. I know.” Tom shook his head, politely dismissing Olivia. “Uh, Liv, if you don’t mind, I’m going to look for-”

“Oh, no, you’re all good.” Olivia smiled. “I have to meet with Josh in just a few minutes anyway.”

Tom congratulated Olivia again for the beautiful ceremony before he left. As Tom was looking for Y/N, he found you leaned against the bar with a drink in one hand and a phone on her other.

“Y/N.” Tom called, putting his hand on your shoulder.

“Holy fuck-” You almost spat your drink. “Jesus Christ, Tom, you fucking scared me.”

Tom chuckled. “’m sorry, darling.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to pick you up,” Tom said as he saw the drink on your hand and grabbed it “and to stop you from drinking.”

You furrowed your brows at him, “Why?”

For a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw Tom shift his eyes over at your lips. That’s when you realized that you were pouting and quickly pressed your lips together.

“’cause you’ve had enough drinks for tonight,” Tom simply stated. “Why don’t I take you back to your hotel?” He offered.

“I’m good, Tom.” You said “People aren’t looking, you can quit acting like you care now.”

Tom chose to ignore the last part and pulled out his phone. “I’m texting Veronica that we’re leaving.”

“Seriously, Tom, just let me be.”

“Y/N, I’m just looking out for you. You’ve had a couple of drinks already and apparently, Zoë needs you to be up and well tomorrow morning.” Tom said, the frustration was getting through him.

“Tom-”

“I’m serious, Y/N. I will carry you to my car if I have to.”

All you could do was glare at him.

“You’ve been frowning for 10 minutes now, your face is going to get tired, darling.” Tom commented as he stole a quick look at you, only to find you with the look of annoyance plastered all over your face and your arms crossed.

“I can’t believe you actually carried me! It was so embarrassing, you dickhead.” You grumbled, feeling shy since quite a few people did see his stunt and found it absolutely adorable.

“I did say that I was serious,” He pointed out as he did a shoulder-check before making a turn.

“Don’t even know why you’re driving me back to the hotel. I could’ve called someone, ‘ya know?” You were coming up with ways as to how you can avoid spending time with Tom, which was undeniably impossible since he is your boyfriend after all.

“Nonsense,” Tom pulled over at the front of the hotel, stepped out of the vehicle to give his keys to the valet and opened your door. “I would rather drive you back and know that you’re safe.” He said as he offered his hand for you to take.

You were reluctant at first, however, you still took his hand. He was being nice and you had to respect that.

Actually, you did notice that Tom was being nice within the past few weeks that you’ve started to date. Him becoming genuinely nice was starting to become a problem, especially when you’re involved with a lot of fake dating stunts.

It pulled your heartstrings in all kinds of different directions and you know it’s wrong, which is why you’re trying your best to put those feelings aside.

“Thanks Tom, I think I can handle myself from here.” You said as you carefully pulled your hand from Tom’s.

He frowned, “I have to take you up to your room, darling. Don’t you know that there are endless possibilities of what can happen to you just from the walk from the lobby to your room? Especially the lifts.”

You stared at him for a moment. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m that paranoid but knowing you would never budge, then I guess you can walk me up to my room.” You said, not really going to fight him off. You already fought that battle earlier and you were left embarrassingly defeated.

The walk to the room was quiet, which was exactly what you needed. You were exhausted from today’s events, not to mention that you also had to wake up extremely early to get ready for your hair and makeup.

God, I can’t wait to take all of these off, You thought to yourself.

After what seemed like forever of looking for your keycard, you finally got to open your door. You turned to Tom who was leaning against the doorframe. He had the sleeves of his white button-ups rolled up to his elbows and he had a small smile plastered on his face, even though his eyes were nearly hooded from what seemed to be an exhausting day as well for him.

“Thanks again, Tommy,” you said softly. “Today must’ve been extremely exhausting for you.” You were starting to feel guilty as you felt like you made him jump through hoops just to take care of you when he had no obligation to do so.

“S’alright, darling.” He said before letting out a yawn. “Well, I best be off then. Good night, my darling.”

Tom had a couple of steps in before you shouted for his name, causing him to halt in the middle of the hallway. He turned to look at you, wondering why you called him.

“Do you wanna stay for a while? You must be exhausted and I don’t think I can live with myself if I let you drive whilst so.” You asked shyly. You weren’t heartless. You knew how to appreciate people’s efforts and right now, you had to swallow that pride of yours to show that you were thankful for Tom and his efforts.

Tom had to make sure that he heard you correctly. After all, you were the same girl who was reluctant to spend time with him for most of the time.

He had a loopy grin painted on his face. You weren’t sure whether it was meant to tease you or it’s because he’s getting sleepy, either way, it was enough to make you roll your eyes at him.

“Why are you smiling like that? Just-” You pinched the bridge of your nose, not knowing that it was possible to feel both annoyed and embarrassed at the same time. “Just stay with me for a bit so you can rest.” You mumbled the last part.

“Are you sure?” He asked for clarification. “Think I can drive for at least 30 minutes more-”

“Tom, just get in here with me.” You said as you took a hold of his hand and pulled him inside your hotel room. “If you think I’ll let you drive for half an hour when you’re nearly about to pass out then you’re dead wrong.” You pointed out as you closed the door.

“Are you getting soft on me now, Y/N?” He teased with a playful smirk on his face.

“No,” You denied, drawling out the ‘o’ as you kicked off your heels and pushed them to a side. “It’s called showing gratitude for being there for me.” You said, trying to sound casual as possible.

“Well,” Tom propped off his shoes and made his way to the bed “I like this side of you, darling.” He grinned.

You gave him a sarcastic smile before you turned your back and grabbed some change of clothes from your suitcase.

As you were in the bathroom to get yourself changed and try to get out of the bridesmaid dress, you’ve come across a tiny problem.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You hissed at yourself as you tried to unzip the back of your dress, failing miserably. “I have already prepped myself for the idea that I would be in the comfort of my sweatshirt.” You said to the mirror, not knowing where to pour the frustration running through you.

You opened the door slightly and found Tom who was sitting on the bed comfortably, his feet propped over the tower of pillows and his back rested on the bed frame.

“Tom?” He looked up from his phone to find where you called him from and when he saw you peering from the bathroom, he had his eyebrow raised. “Can you help me unzip my dress please?” You asked in a quiet voice.

“Sorry, what was that darling?” He asked and when you tried to repeat it again, not changing the volume of your voice. “Y/N, you have to speak up. Can’t hear you from here, darling.”

You sighed and opened the door wider, “Tom, can you unzip my dress?” You practically yelled. “-please.” you added awkwardly.

Tom blinked a couple of times before scrambling his way to the bathroom, muttering soft “yeah”s along the way.

As soon as he reached the bathroom frame, you quickly turned around so you could get this thing over with. Tom moved your hair to the side before finding the zipper of your dress. As he carefully unzipped your dress, you could feel the slightest touch of his fingertips grazing on your skin.

The trails of his touch sent you into shivers. God, am I that touch-starved? You thought. For you, the process was excruciatingly long. In reality? It probably only took like 30 seconds or less.

Shaking it all off, you quickly said your thanks and practically slammed the door on his face.

God, if you’re listening, I know I’m a handful but dying from embarrassment isn’t how I saw myself passing, You practically yelled to your thoughts.

After giving yourself a couple of minutes to change into your oversized sweatshirt and some sleeping shorts and also giving yourself to calm down, you grabbed your makeup wipes and made your way to the bed.

You tried your best to keep your cool and act as if nothing had happened. Act like you didn’t want the ground to swallow you whole.

You and Tom were sitting in silence: him scrolling on his phone and you trying to remove your makeup. The keyword was trying as you barely had any energy left to do anything and removing your makeup and fixing your hair felt like absolute chores.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” You asked, turning to Tom as you continued wiping your makeup off.

“Sure, whatcha got in mind?” He asked, putting his phone down and passing you the remote.

You hummed, waiting for the TV to finish loading the selections that they have on demand. “Ooh, they have Hereditary. I’ve been wanting to see the film for a while and I heard good things about the film.”

“Isn’t that a horror film?” He asked and you nodded. You could see that he was trying his hardest to assess whether he agrees with the film or not.

Of course, being the annoying person that you are, you teased Tom. “Aw, are you scared Tommy?” You cooed.

He rolled his eyes and denied your accusation. “’m not scared.”

“It’s settled then,” You grinned. “We’re watching Hereditary.”

As you were at least twenty minutes into the film, you took a quick look at Tom who was evidently engrossed with the film. You scooted a bit closer to him which he failed to notice, bringing a devilish smirk on your face. You slowly leaned in, just enough for your breath to hit his skin, and whispered “Tom” in an attempt to scare the poor guy.

Your tiny prank worked considering he practically jumped, almost making him fall off the bed. You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop laughing. “That was not funny, Y/N.” He said as he returned back to his spot, only this time, he had his head resting on the bed frame while his back was supported with the pillows.

“I beg to differ,” You said teasingly “Do you want to get room service? I’m kind of hungry.”

He just shrugged, saying that it doesn’t matter whether you want to or not. However, you were hungry and you’re not about to carry on watching the film with an empty stomach.

You quietly ordered room service as Tom was busy watching the film. He looked adorable, if you were being honest. He was hugging one of the pillows and used the same pillow to rest his chin on.

You were debating whether to wait for the food to arrive or fix your hair. Your hair was styled in a half-up braid, tiny flowers delicately placed within the braid, while the ends of your hair were curled. The hairstylist took a significantly huge amount of time to style everyone’s hair which is why you had to wake up at the crack of dawn. No wonder you were exhausted.

You chose to wait for the food instead and settled next to Tom. You two were clearly immersed with the film and you both flinched at the sound of the knock on the door as the scene of Charlie’s head rolls and turns into a ball pops up on the screen.

“Jesus christ,” You swore under your breath as you left the bed to go answer the door.

“Aw, are you scared, Y/N?” He mocked, which you rolled your eyes in response.

“Shut up, Holland. I’m not the only one who’s scared here.” You retorted.

You opened the door and thanked the staff that brought your room service, not forgetting to hand them a tip.

“I ordered strawberry and banana pancakes,” You told Tom with a childish smile.

“It’s midnight and you ordered pancakes?” He asked with an amused smile.

“I was craving pancakes,” You pouted. “We can share, you know? You didn’t tell me what you wanted so I just ordered food for myself.”

“S’alright, darling.” He answered “Don’t worry about it.”

“We can totally share, Tommy. I didn’t expect they’d give me this much so I won’t be able to finish this by myself.” You said as you showed him the huge stack of pancakes.

He just laughed and nodded, giving in because you weren’t going to let him just watch while you ate.

“Oooh, I also ordered tea because I remember that you like tea.”

He hummed as he approached you by the table. You were setting up the pancakes and tea that you ordered. “You remember, huh,” Tom mumbled softly as he watched you carefully set the teapot down.

“’course, I do.” You answered without hesitation. “You practically shunned me for drinking coffee that one time when you visited me on set.”

“Darling, you were on your third cup.”

“So? I needed caffeine.”

“If you needed caffeine, you could’ve easily had tea instead of your third cup.” Tom pointed out as he poured tea on his cup.

“Tea is for the weak,” You mumbled which earned a dramatic gasp from Tom.

“Take it back,” He said in disbelief.

“Tea is for the weak,” You repeated firmly just so you could annoy him even more, a smirk plastered on your face.

Tom pulled you in closer to him and started to tickle your waist, “I won’t stop till you take back what you said, Y/N”

You were squirming away from him, “Tom, stop,” you yelled in between giggles. “I might drop my pancakes, please.” You were trying your best not to tilt the plate and drop your food.

“Not hearing the magic words, Y/N” Tom teased in a sing-song voice.

“Okay, fine!” You gave in, laughing. “I take it back. Tea is great.”

“It is, innit?” He sighed in agreement, making you shake your head in amusement. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll make you a great cup of tea.”

You started taking a few bites of your pancake before you sat on the edge of the bed, bringing your plate with you and had your complete focus on the screen. You and Tom were still watching Hereditary and you intend to finish the  film, even if the film is starting to creep up on you.

Tom sat beside you, “How can you eat and watch this?” He asked.

You just shrugged. “I’m hungry, nothing can stop that.” You took another bite before you offered Tom the pancakes. “Do you want some?”

“Give me a bite,” He opened his mouth in response, leaning closer to you.

“Do it yourself, you big baby.” You laughed, almost handing him the plate before you realized, “Oh, I don’t think they gave us spare utensils though.”

“I can use yours, I don’t mind.”

You offered him your plate but Tom, instead of grabbing the plate, insisted on opening his mouth, insistently asking you to feed him. “Tommy, why are you acting like an actual child?!” You were joking of course, however, you can’t deny that this whole new dynamic that you two were having was refreshing to the eyes.

“C’mon, darling. Just give it” He replied and had his mouth open once again. “I’ll take the flowers and pins off your hair while you eat-”

“Alright, fair enough.” You agreed since you were getting the higher end of the deal. With the amount of hair pins on your hair? You were hitting the jackpot.

“I’ll do it if you also feed me.” Tom added.

“Eh, whatever,” You shrugged and took another bite of your pancake.

Tom stood on top of the bed so he could sit behind you, definitely on board with helping you with your hair. He sat behind you with his legs crossed, setting a comfortable position for him.

You felt the slight touch of his fingers graze on your neck, as he brought all of the hair to your back. As he ran his fingers softly through the ends of your hair, it was enough to make you yawn. You love it when someone plays with your hair, which perfectly explains why you like going to the hairdressers.

Trying to fight off the drowsiness that was slowly taking over you, you figured you’d cut a piece off of your pancake and feed it to Tom. You sliced a piece off with your fork and hovered it over your shoulder.

Soon enough, Tom generously took the bite and carried on with removing the pins and flowers that were carefully placed on your hair.

The process was going on for a couple of minutes now: you watching and feeding Tom with your shared pancakes, and Tom willingly taking out the pins out of your hair.

It also wasn’t long when another jumpscare appeared on screen, making you jump subtly. Maybe it wasn’t subtle as you thought, since Tom was snickering behind you.

“What are you laughing at? Maybe you insisted on helping me with my hair so you can hide behind me because you’re scared too.” You pointed out, being petty and all.

“Am not,” He grumbled, slightly offended. “Maybe I do wanna help.” He then outstretched his legs, saying that he can feel his leg getting numb.

You started to feel bad, since he didn’t have any obligation to do any of it. “Tommy, it’s okay. You can stop now.” You said, twisting your body so you can take a look at him.

“What? No, you’re fine, my darling.” He said turning your body upright, making you face the television again. “S’alright, you’re alright.” He muttered softly and went back to your hair.

You mumbled a soft ‘okay,’ too shy to say something else. You kept taking turns with feeding Tom the pancakes and taking a few bites yourself. You weren’t gonna lie and tell people that this, this, time with Tom was suffocating because it’s not.

This was the first time you ever felt truly comfortable with him. It truly felt like you were spending time with someone you loved. However, that idea itself terrifies you. The idea made you feel like you were walking on thin ice and you know you’re bound to sink anytime soon.

“Tom, here, take the last bite.”

Tom gratefully took the last bite and said, “Thanks, darling. Now put that plate on the table so we can prop ourselves properly on the bed.”

You obliged and as you did, you heard Tom dusting off the bed. Walking back, you saw him look so restricted with his slacks and button ups made you feel bad. He also looked so exhausted which, obviously, made you feel even more bad.  “Tom, why don’t you just spend the night here?”

“I beg your pardon,” Tom cleared his throat. “Did you just suggest that I should spend the night here?”

“Y-yeah, I mean...” You trailed off. “You look exhausted and it would probably make me worry less if you did stay.”

“If it’s alright with you, then I wouldn’t mind.” He said softly, smiling.

You felt your cheeks burning and you really had to act fast. You remembered you wore your sweatpants earlier, as you were getting your hair and makeup done, and figured maybe Tom could fit in it.

“I’ve already worn this earlier but only while I was getting my makeup and hair done.” You pulled your black sweats out of your suitcase and offered it to Tom. “I’m not sure if it fits but it’s better than sleeping with slacks on right?”

“Are you trying to see me naked?” Tom smirked.

“W-what? No, you shithead.” You stammered. “I’m trying to make you feel comfortable. Also, if you are wearing nothing underneath then maybe keep the pants on and reevaluate why you went to a wedding without underwear?!” You popped off.

“Relax, Y/N, I was kidding.” He laughed, visibly amused at the look of distress on your face. “I’ll try it on. Thank you.”

Tom stood up and began unbuckling his belt. He was about to take his pants off when he gave you a teasing smile, in which you realized that you were staring. You turned around, absolutely embarrassed, and head soft chuckles from Tom.

“Okay, I’m decent.” Tom yelled, which you took as a proper signal and turned around, only to find your sweatpants fit snugly on Tom. “It’s a bit snug, but I think I’ll manage.” He commented as he also began unbuttoning his shirt.

You weren’t going to lie and tell people that you think that Tom isn’t fit. Because he is. He is very fit. His fans know that, you know that, everyone knows that. So, would they blame you if you stared at his fit body, absolutely flustered? Of course not, because they know.

However, what they don’t know is how hard you’re trying your hardest not to stare because, you of all people, know how you don’t like when people stare at your body.

“So, whaddaya think?” He turned around and lifted his bum, asking jokingly: “Too much?”

“Eh, it could be better.” You said, playing along.

“Oh c’mon,” He groaned in exaggeration, “People think I have a great arse.” Tom pouted while he returned to his position. This time he climbed up the bed, resting his back against the headboard, and had his legs spread.

“You know what? They’re right,” You said as you climbed up the bed as well and sat between his legs again. “You do have a fabulous ass.”

“Now, you’re just saying that to flatter me so I can continue removing pins from your hair.” He mumbled softly, feeling the return of his fingers back on your hair.

“Yeah,” you sighed in content. “I’m not letting you go until every hairpin is gone, babe.” You replied, not even thinking about what you were saying. Your eyes widened. Babe? You called him babe? Bitch, you’re losing it.

You heard Tom chuckle, “Oh, so I’m “babe” now, huh?” He teased.

“That wasn’t me, that was the exhaustion talking.” You mumbled shyly, a poor attempt to mask up an excuse.

“Right,” He drawled, obviously aware that you were just making up an excuse for this dubious slip up. “S’okay though, I liked it.” He whispered on your right ear, making you squirm as you found it ticklish.

“Why-” You whipped your head back to face him, “Why would you do that, I’m ticklish, Tom”

“’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Tom laughed, “Can you please call me “babe” again?”

“No.” You replied and just heard him let out an exaggerated sigh.

You two were busy bickering and being distracted by each other, that you didn’t know that the scene you two were watching was the last scene of the film.

“Huh,” You huffed. “Wasn’t expecting that ending.”

“What’s with all the butts?” He pondered out loud.

“I don’t know but I want that image out of my head. Do you have any movie suggestions because I know you don’t like horror.” You asked Tom as you scrolled through the movie selections once again.

Tom peered from behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder, “Oh, have you seen Coco?” He asked in suggestion, seeing the movie from the list.

“The Pixar movie?” You asked and he nodded. “Nope, I haven’t yet.”

“We should watch it then,” Tom said “It’s a great movie. I was in bits when I saw it and I was on the plane then.”

“Is it that sad?” You gasped as you clicked on the movie, waiting for the screen to finish loading.

“Oh, I was full on sobbing, darling.” He confessed, his chin still resting on your shoulder.

As soon as the screen finished loading, you hit ‘play’ and said, “Well, I’m about to let a movie ruin me then.”

You were right. The movie already ruined you and you two were only half-way through. Tom had finished removing all the pins and flowers from your hair five minutes after the movie started, so he had the chance to watch the film properly.

Tom is now lying down comfortably, though he was elevated enough to watch the movie properly. You, on the other hand, are cuddling Tom. You had your head rested on his chest while he had his arm around you, his chin merely touching the top of your head.

How he managed to trick you into this you ask?

“Darling, I think you should cuddle me.” Tom requested as he ran his fingers through your hair one last time. He just finished removing all of the hairpins that managed to cause you pain and suffering all day.

“Why?” You asked appalled, not meaning to ask it with such tone.

“Because I’m shirtless and I’m cold.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have removed your shirt?”

“But it’s uncomfortable.”

“I don’t care”

“Okay, then I’ll just drive back to my hotel then, even though I’m pretty exhausted. I’m sure nothing bad will happen.” Tom sighed dramatically.

“God, you really are an actor, huh.” You snorted. “Fine, I’ll do it. I used to cuddle my friends anyway.”

“Are you friend zoning me?” He gasped, as he laid down.

“You are despicable, Holland.”

As you were half-way through the film, you can’t even remember how much you’ve cried already. You could hear the soft sniffles from the two of you as the movie progressed.

Your sniffles turned into full-on sobs when Héctor’s scene came on screen. He was singing to Chicharrón as a final ode before he passed on with no one from his family that were able to remember him.

“What the fuck is this film,” You commented in between sobs. “Why are they trying to ruin me like this?”

Tom rubbed your arm back and forth on, trying to comfort you. You were going through your packets of kleenex at rapid speed, as did Tom. You weren’t expecting to cry this much but here you are.

Tom wasn’t kidding when he said he was in bits when he saw this film.

“Tom, do you think they’ll room service us some Kleenex if we asked?” You asked him honestly, tears still spilling from your eyes. You knew your nose was red too because it started to hurt as you were continuously wiping it.

Tom laughed softly, crying too “’m not sure, darling.”

You lifted your head to take a good look at Tom, finding his eyes bloodshot red from crying and tear marks still visible from his face.

You used your thumb to wipe the tears from his face, making him laugh. “Why are you crying this much? I thought you’ve already seen the film?”

He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, “’m not too sure. I didn’t expect I’d cry this much too.” He managed to chuckle.

“We really need to call room service for some Kleenex, Tommy.” You sniffled.

quick side note: i actually saw coco for the first time [as i wanted to stay true to what i was writing] and i was a mess. i wasn’t lying when i wrote whatever the reader went thru bc same. 

TAGLIST: 

@thomasthetankson @autty0314 @marvelous-tswiftfan @averyfosterthoughts @theolwebshooter​ @jackiehollanderr​ @sltwins​ @herondalescecilys​ @notjustpenandpaper​ @ihopethatwemeetinanotherlife​ @gothicwidowsworld​ @heartofholland​ @stxfxniexreads @peruvian-bae​ @hollands-osterfield​ @thenoddingbunny-blog​ @galacticstxrdust​ @sweartomendes​ @itsjstz​ @muade-mua-de​ @runway-to-my-aid​ @snowxbarryxendgame​ @cxlpxrnia​ @notasofti​

CAN’T TAG:

@sectusempried

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 12: The Mirror]

A/N: Hi y’all!! Please enjoy, this is a long one. We’re getting into the exciting stuff now, so I’ll be putting all my creative energy into BYCNL and will hopefully finish up the series within the next month. Thank you so much for your love and support! Each and every reblog/message/comment makes me smile and means the absolute world to me! 💜

Chapter summary: John gets a rap sheet, Roger gets defensive, Y/N gets suspicious, News Of The World gets a headline.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, drugs, babies, drama, angst.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

You’re not late. You’re never late.

And at first that’s okay, it’s more than okay, it’s a relief; because it was too soon to have a baby anyway, less than a year into a supposedly meaningless marriage, a marriage you and Roger never even speak of, a marriage that might have never happened at all—might only exist as a particularly vivid and pleasant dream—if it wasn’t for your freshly-minted British citizenship. At first you greeted each dark, fruitless stain of blood with a casual ruefulness—oh well, one more month of freedom, you would think, smiling a little, worrying not very much at all—content to let that milestone trophy of womanhood, of life, lay undusted and unclaimed in the cluttered pit of your mental oak trunk with a tarnished gold latch shaped like a lion’s jaw.

After four months, you start to notice things. You notice the way Chrissie’s twins have small willow-green eyes that turn down in the corners, just like Brian does; you notice how John’s children have his downy hair and that innate sort of reticence that some people mistake for banality; you notice all those pretty, anonymous young women pushing strollers through the blossoming summer foliage of Hyde Park. You notice the way Roger grins and waves at babies when you see them in airports or hotel lobbies, dazzles them like he dazzles very nearly everybody, like he still dazzles you. You notice a longing buried in your bones that you hadn’t known existed.

After six months, you are no longer casually rueful. You start ignoring the calendar, as if not noticing you’re due could stop the bleeding from coming at all, like how you’re not supposed to stare at the clock if you want time to pass faster. You start watching what you’re eating, trying to get more sleep, opening all the windows when Roger smokes as he flips through fashion and music magazines with crafty little snickers, flashing those pointy canine teeth you once assumed your children would have.

And now, after nine months—as the world hurtles towards the conclusion of the brisk October of 1977—you have begun to worry; because maybe this thing, this thing that everyone accepts as a guaranteed feature of the all-inclusive package of the human experience, isn’t something you get to have at all. Roger doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask you about it. He is as he always is: sunlight and joy and heat and raw kinetic energy. But sometimes Roger’s huge blue eyes—those eyes you fell in love with, those eyes that convinced you to follow Queen to London, to stardom, to thunderous stadiums all over the world—go vacant as he gazes out into the horizon, as the sun sets over the garden of the Surrey house, as his face is lit up in gold and amber and celestial fury like the wildfire his soul is made of.

And you’ve begun to worry about him, too.

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings from the nightstand. The shrill clanging, like hail on glass, makes you wince beneath the tangle of blankets. Your hand fumbles out into cool night air, which pours in from the open bedroom window.

Where’s Roger?

Then you remember his hushed voice, his bleached hair tickling your cheek, his lips pressed to your temple: Hey baby. I gotta go jam with some people. Grab a drink or two. You sleep, I’ll be back by morning.

Sure, okay, fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. One of those infinite casualties of fame.

You haul the phone to your ear. “Hello...?”

“Hello darling, are you busy?”

“Well, it’s 2:39 a.m., Fred. So not very.”

“Perfect. I need you to go post bail for John.”

You wrench yourself upright, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. “What?!”

“He was drunk driving and backed into a cop car, pure genius. I’m rather indisposed myself at the moment, and of course Veronica can’t know. And you’re so good with him, dear.”

Your feet have already swung off the bed and onto the plush white carpet. You wonder what Freddie is ‘indisposed’ with; there are so many possibilities these days. “And you know about this...because...?”

“He used his phone call on me, darling. I don’t think he wanted to bother you. I suspect he’s a bit mortified.”

“Yeah, well, he should be.” You sigh and start pawing through the safe in the bedroom closet, the spiraled phone cord pulled taunt. Hundred-pound notes shuffle weightlessly between your fingers. You remember when Queen had no money at all, when you and Roger shared a pitiful—dodgy, you amend—one-bedroom flat, when you had to assemble each bouquet and tie each ribbon for John’s wedding by hand; and you’re shocked by the nostalgia that hits you in the gut like brass knuckles. “Sure, I’ll go get him. Just tell me where he is and how much he’ll owe me.”

John is slumped on the floor of the jail cell, alone and sweated and miserable. His hair is in complete disarray. He peers up at you through the iron bars with red, swollen, unfocused eyes.

“Hey,” you say quietly, smiling although you know you shouldn’t be.

He covers his face with both hands and moans. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Too late. Freddie asked me to come get you, he was drunk or high or in the middle of an orgy or something. You are the worst drunk driver in the world, just so you’re aware. You are obviously not cut out for a life of crime.”

“So I’ve gathered.” He swipes at the strands of hair stuck to his forehead with the back of his hand, bites his lower lip, shakes his head with that thousand-yard stare that says: How the fuck did I get here?

You drop down to your knees to meet him at his level. The concrete floor is filthy, spotted with grime and dust and crushed insects and smears of what might be blood. “What’s going on, John?” you ask gently.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he murmurs. “It’s okay when we’re on tour. When we’re on tour I’m preoccupied and exhausted and too high on the rush to think about it too much. I’m numb. Mostly. But then I come home and it’s...” He glowers, balls his hands into fists, beats them clumsily against his thighs. “It’s this relentless fucking cycle of feeling dissatisfied and guilty and inadequate. A disappointment of a husband. A failure of a father. And it’s inescapable.”

“Well, the constant pregnancy situation probably doesn’t help.” Veronica is expecting their third child in February.

He waves a hand dismissively, rolls his eyes. “It’s part of the thing. The ‘being a good husband’ thing. I can’t fix that. Birth control is a sin or whatever. Jesus is too busy pissing himself over that to care about starving kids in the Soviet Union, I guess.”

“That’s a cheerful prospect.”

“Sorry.”

“No, please, by all means. Throw off all your baggage, I can take it.”

Now he smirks, just faintly. “That’s what we’ve always done for each other, right?”

“We’ll be back on tour in a few weeks, John.” And that was true; the News Of The World Tour was scheduled to begin on November 11th in Portland, Maine. The band would spend the 12th in Boston and join your parents for dinner at the Queen Anne-style house at the intersection of Apple and Arcadia that you grew up in.

He whispers forlornly: “I can’t run from this forever.”

“You might have to. I’d love to know what Slavic Jesus has to say about divorce.”

John coughs out a surprised laugh. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Come on. I posted your bail. I won’t tell Roger if you won’t. You can put the extra five thousand pounds in your ‘fake my own death and go live on a tropical island’ fund instead of paying us back.” You’re not serious, and John knows that; he would never abandon his children, even if they weren’t old enough to really remember him yet. But it has the desired effect, which of course is lifting the mood, making John divulge that rare and beautiful smile.

“I’m a wreck. I can’t go home like this. It’d be worse than not coming home at all.”

“I’m happy to offer you one of our five superfluous bedrooms.”

“Okay,” John sighs, clutching the bars of his jail cell and dragging himself to his feet. “I’m so sorry. I owe you for this, I really do.”

“No,” you reply, grinning. “Just find a way to send me the coordinates so I can visit you on your secret tropical island once in a while.”

You drive John home to the Surrey house, get him set up in the spare bedroom with the blue-grey wallpaper and blankets patterned with seahorses, give him a stack of Roger’s clean clothes, lay out fresh towels and a tray of water and cookies—biscuits, you reprimand yourself—for him. He’s mostly sober now, which makes you feel somewhat better; still, you are aware that you hate the thought of leaving him alone, even if he’s only a few walls away.

“Thank you,” he says as you stand in the doorway, his face meditative, his hands in the pockets of his leather coat.

“Of course.”

“You’re a good friend. The best, actually.”

“You’re a good man. You don’t always know it, but you are.”

John just stares at you with an expression you can’t read. Like the ocean: always mysterious, always profound. “Goodnight,” he says after a while.

“Goodnight, John.”

As you pull the bedroom door shut, you hear erratic thumps coming up the staircase. Roger stumbles into the upstairs hallway, singing under his breath and drumming the air with invisible drumsticks, and holds out his arms when he sees you. He’s wearing his dark green suit, an unraveling tie, one sparkling pink Converse, his prescription sunglasses tangled in his hair and forgotten. His eyes are effervescent, flighty, almost manic.

“Hey, love of my life!” he cries, comically loud. “What are you doing up?!”

“Shhhhh! Your bassist partied a little too hard and needed a place to crash that wasn’t overrun with kids. He’s in the blue room.”

“Deaks? Deaks is sleeping over?!” Roger exclaims, beaming. “All my favorite people are here!”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t bother him. He’s pretty messed up, he needs the rest. I’ll make everyone pancakes in the morning or something. Come over here, let’s get you—” But the words die in your throat as you try to tug off Roger’s suit jacket. Fine white powder sheds off the emerald velvet fabric and onto your palm. You blink at it, at the residue like crushed aspirin, like the salt they scatter on Boston roads the night before a snowfall. “What is this?”

He rips his sleeve away, conjures up a smile to throw you off the trail. To dazzle his way out of this. “Nothing.” But he knows. And he knows you know too.

“You were...snorting coke...?”

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that...” He tries to embrace you; you shove him back.

“Roger, no, this is...this is...” You shake your head, shrugging off the shock, searching for the words. You’re confused, you’re exhausted, your mind is whirling. “We’re home, Roger,” you plead, like it means something.

Has he done this before? When? How often? With who?

You should know the answers. It’s not a good sign that you don’t.

“So?” Now he’s indignant.

“So it’s not like being on tour, you’re supposed to take it easy at home, you’re supposed to be, I don’t know, relaxed and recovering and, and, and content...”

You’re not supposed to have an excuse to do all those things that destroy people.

He laughs bitterly. “What, ‘happy at home’?! When has that ever been me?”

“Rog, please, I’m not saying you can’t work all the time or drink or smoke, I’m not even saying you can’t get wasted, I’m just drawing the line at cocaine and I don’t think that’s a terribly despotic place to draw a line.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I must have missed it, when did you become too moralistic for drugs?”

“Acid is different than coke and you know it. Acid doesn’t kill people.”

He glares at you, savage, almost hateful. “You don’t get to put me in a cage.”

“I’m not being controlling or self-righteous, I’m being concerned—”

“You’re being a fucking cop, that’s what you’re being,” Roger snaps.

“What do you want me to say?! I’m a registered nurse, Roger, I’m a medical professional, it’s literally my job to keep you alive—”

“No, it’s your job to make sure we can record and tour and I need it, I can’t play without it, don’t you get that?! I fucking need it!”

Instantly, John is between you, still fully dressed and sweating Manhattans out of his pores and seething. He’s taller than Roger; surely you must have noticed that before. But if you had, you’ve since forgotten. “Roger,” he threatens in a low, unyielding voice. “Go to bed.”

Roger recoils, disoriented, then opens his mouth to protest.

“Go!” John roars, pointing towards the main bedroom. He wants to say more, you can tell, he has rage burning in him like dragonfire; and if it had been Brian or even Freddie, John would have said it. But this is Roger. And you can’t remember a time John has ever raised his voice to Roger before now.

Roger can’t wrap his brain around it either, particularly in his present condition. His eyelids flutter a few times, then he scoffs—a dismissive, derisive sound, a sound that says I don’t know what to do with this information—and staggers away. He slams the bedroom door behind him as he disappears inside.

You collapse against the nearest wall and hiss in ragged breaths through your teeth, your eyes wet and stinging, your hands trembling as you press your knuckles to your lips.

“I-I-I’m so sorry about that,” you whisper, avoiding John’s eyes.

He’s going to say something, something harsh and terrible but true. He’s finally going to tell me how stupid I was for ever thinking this could work, just like Chrissie and Freddie and Brian. He’s going to tell me I deserve it.

Instead, John offers only this, his words flat and hollow: “Yeah. I’m sorry everyone is disappointing you tonight.”

And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning—early afternoon, really—Roger doesn’t remember; or at least he feigns convincingly that he doesn’t. He props his feet up on the kitchen table and shovels down six pancakes and theatrically relays to you all the scandalous celebrity gossip in the News Of The World magazine with his prescription sunglasses perched bookishly on his nose. He asks you three times if you’re alright, trying to read the hesitance in your eyes, to unearth all those questions that are taking up a permanent residence there. You smile and nod, sip your tea, watch the sharp autumn sunshine as it streams in through the windows and bathes Roger in luminescence that seems so benignly interminable in the light of day. And when you peer into the bedroom with seahorse-patterned blankets and walls the color of cold rain, John has vanished; but the air is heavy with the scent of a litany of cigarettes and there’s a handwritten note left on one pillow.

Thanks for everything. Hang tough, as the Yanks say. An island getaway awaits you.

~ World’s Worst Drunk Driver

At 3 p.m., John calls and asks if the Taylors would be interested in an outing to the park while he gives Veronica a few hours alone to catch up on housework without the kids. His tone is light, casual, harmless; but you suspect he’s checking in on you.

“Of course we’re interested!” Roger says, snatching his ostentatious fur coat off the back of his chair. “Baby, love of my life, go get some cash from the safe so we can buy the kids ice cream.”

Incidentally, there’s not much cash left in the safe; but you find a ten-pound note in your wallet for the ice cream man and make a mental note to run to the bank on Monday.

Hyde Park in October isn’t so different than Boston. The leaves above are a kaleidoscope of sunstone and rubies and jasper and jade, crisping and curling around their serrated edges, drifting listlessly onto pavement paths to be crushed beneath rushing feet; the roots of the trees are centuries deep. Chrissie is walking laps around the pond as she pushes the twins’ stroller; Evelyn is a fairly good sleeper, but Theodore—Teddy to his closest confidants, of which you are one—is an anxious baby and prone to whining. He’s definitely Brian’s son, you often find yourself thinking with an affectionate smirk. John’s ten-month-old daughter Anna is nestled in your arms in a semi-conscious state, having thoroughly exhausted herself by painting her face with chocolate ice cream and thereafter enduring an impromptu bath and wardrobe change in a public restroom.

Laszlo, two years old and with a mop of auburn curls, trots by the edge of the pond as Roger grips his tiny hand, periodically crouches down beside him, grins hugely and points out swans and fish darting through the dark rippling water. Laszlo shrieks with laughter and tries to steal Roger’s sunglasses, which glint in the sunlight like black mirrors.

“So your kid’s a convict too,” you say to John.

“Gotta train them when they’re still small and good for shimmying through dog doors and such.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Extremely hungover, but I’m trying not to show it.”

“You’re doing a good job, I wouldn’t have known.”

“Excellent. I don’t think Veronica noticed. She was very curious about how I ended up in a pair of Roger’s skintight leopard-print pants, though.”

You chuckle, glimpsing down at Anna, rocking her a little as her eyes flitter open and then close again. You and John are on opposite ends of a wooden park bench, your ankles crossed and resting in his lap, your hair rustling in the breeze. John peers over at you periodically, studies you like an ancient statue of Aphrodite or Perseus under a spotlight in an echoing museum, then resumes his sketching. Your smile dies as you watch Roger giggle with Laszlo, lift him high into the cool autumn air, trumpet mock airplane noises in that high, raspy voice.

“Come on,” John prompts, nudging your boots. “I’ll take the baggage if you’ll let me.”

No, I think I’ll keep this one to myself. But you don’t. “It’s my fault,” you say softly. It’s my fault we can’t have children.

John lifts his pencil from the page, his greyish eyes gentle. “You don’t know that.”

“Statistically, it is most likely my fault.”

“It hasn’t been that long, has it? Definitely less than a year. Sometimes these things take time.”

“They didn’t for you and Veronica.”

“Yes, well...” John frowns uneasily. “That’s not always such a blessing.”

“How helpful. You should write newspaper columns for depressed housewives. ‘Don’t worry about that infertility dear, you could have it worse, you could have a life sentence with someone you can’t fucking stand.’”

That was unkind, you think, immediately regretting it. That might have been too far.

But John doesn’t seem offended. His pencil flies over the paper as he glances over at you again. “Is that all? Please continue. I’m riveted to learn more about my alternative career path.”

“No, I think I’m done.”

“Okay. What’s your favorite flower?”

You consider that. “Roger always gets me carnations or roses...and I like them, don’t get me wrong...but I don’t know if I’d call either of those my favorite.”

“It’s not that deep a question, Miss Nightingale.”

“I’ll defer to the artist’s expertise. Surprise me.”

“I’m no artist,” John warns, but he returns to his sketching nonetheless. “I’m really sorry about last night, by the way. I was being stupid and dramatic and immature and self-pitying. ‘Midway on our life's journey, I found myself in dark woods, the right road lost,’ etcetera etcetera.”

You’re no great connoisseur of Italian literature, but you recognize those famous opening lines of the Inferno. “Can I ask you something?”

“Please do.”

“What is this fascination you have with Dante?”

“Truly?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles pensively with his eyes cast out over the pond. “I like that his story has a happy ending. That someone can start in hell and sweat out all their sins in purgatory and end up among the stars.”

You raise your eyebrows, taken back, impressed. “That’s awfully poetic.”

“It’s strange, probably,” John says, scrutinizing his drawing.

“No, really. I love it.”

“Yeah?” He’s doubtful, but he’ll allow himself to believe you if you insist.

“Yeah. And no more drunk driving or other acts of self-destruction, okay? Queen would crumble without you, John. And so would I.”

In reply, he rips the page out of his notebook and hands it over. The image is of you: so infinitely more lovely and at peace than you feel, eyes wise and contented and reflecting halos of sunlight, John’s daughter dozing in your arms.

Tucked behind your ear, etched in graphite shadows, is a calla lily.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Darling, what do I look like?” Freddie bats his eyelashes flirtatiously.

“A raccoon.”

His face screws into a grimace. “I’m supposed to be a cat.”

“Yes, I’m cognizant of that. But you look like a raccoon. Which is why people keep assuming you’re a raccoon, which is why you’re asking me now if you look like one.”

“Bloody hell,” he groans, puffs on a cigarette, fluffs his hair irritably, slurps a drink that is fizzy and sapphire blue.

“The problem is that you went with black and white. You should have dressed as a calico or something. Or a grey cat, oh, I love the chubby grey ones!”

“I’m a musician, darling, not a fucking zoologist.” He exhales a ring of smoke and meanders away.

Queen, the band’s associates, and various music industry figures are all milling around the night-draped mansion. It’s half a Halloween celebration and half a launch party for News Of The World, an album named for the tabloid that Roger both loathes and yet refuses to stop having delivered to the Surrey house. He can’t stand the thought of not being clued into the latest gossip, trends, fashion, awards, of missing any piece of what stardom has to offer. In the spirit of Halloween, Roger is dressed as a tiger, his sleeveless sequined shirt striped with orange and black. You are a veterinarian (not so far a cry from a nurse that you can’t repurpose your old uniform), John a shark (he’s taped a cardboard triangle to his back like a fin), Veronica a sea turtle in a teal dress and with a shell painted over her sizable baby bump, Brian and Chrissie both bright green aliens with antennae bobbing from their headbands. Mary is here as well—outfitted (quite appropriately) like an Enlightenment-era queen—but so is Freddie’s new boyfriend, a shy man named Anthony who is young and handsome and compliant and dressed as a mouse. Mary beams dutifully whenever Freddie is speaking to her, but her expression clouds over when he turns away. She no longer has a gold ring gleaming on her wedding finger, although she did gain an athletic blond date whom she seems largely indifferent to.

As Roger wanders through the crowd shaking hands and howling at jokes, you sip champagne by the snack table and devour an obscene amount of crab puffs. John and Veronica are chatting—unenthusiastically, from what you can tell—nearby with lamb kabobs in their grasps. John passes you a smirk every once in a while, an I’m so over this party and I know you are too smirk of commiseration, and nurses a Manhattan. Chrissie nibbles on disks of cucumber and baby carrots and not much else, which is very unlike her.

“You alright?” you ask worriedly. “You aren’t sick, are you? These crab puff things are incredible, I can’t stop eating them. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve had three dinners so far tonight, I’ve become a monster.”

Chrissie’s lips are a tight, humorless line. “I’m perfectly healthy, I’m just a cow.”

“Chris, honey, don’t!” You pat her shoulder reassuringly with one hand, pop another crab puff into your mouth with the other. “You’re gorgeous, and most women’s bodies change once they have babies, it’s natural!”

“Yeah, well most women aren’t married to men with infinite opportunities to upgrade.”

“Chrissie, no,” you murmur, pained; but you aren’t sure what else to say. She’s not wrong. I wish she was, but she isn’t. And she already knows that.

Dreams by Fleetwood Mac is playing from the reverberating stereo, Stevie Nicks’ sensuous, nasally voice climbing through air choked with strangers and cigarette smoke.

“Now here you go again

You say you want your freedom

Well, who am I to keep you down?”

Brian bids farewell to some record company executive he was talking to across the room and slips out onto the back porch of the house, and after a moment Chrissie follows him. You resist the temptation to eavesdrop until you can clearly hear their voices, raised and combative, through the sliding glass door. You glance to John, apprehensive.

You better go out there, he mouths, and so you do.

“Thunder only happens when it's rainin'

Players only love you when they're playin'

Say women, they will come and they will go

When the rain washes you clean, you'll know...”

Under cold October stars, Chrissie has trapped her horrified-looking husband, backed him into a fountain of a dolphin spewing an endless stream of water from its snout. “Did you think I wouldn’t listen to your own fucking album, Brian?!” She shrieks. “Who is she, huh? Who the fuck is she?!”

You grip her arm and try to lead her away. “Chrissie, babe, not here—”

“It’s Late, Brian? Yeah, it’s real fucking late in your life to still be chasing whores over in America while I’m building your family here, isn’t it?!”

“Love, please, it’s not true,” Brian attempts anemically, reaching for her.

“It is!” Chrissie rages. “It is and it always has been and I was too busy being some blind stupid idiot who loved you to see it!”

She breaks down in tears and you shove Brian away, shoo him back inside. You pitch him a fierce glare as he leaves, retreating like a kicked dog. There’s nothing you can do to fix this, you coward. Because everything she’s saying is true. Chrissie clings to you like a life raft, sobbing into your shoulder, asking what she did wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her, over and over again; because that’s all there is to say.

Eventually Chrissie quiets, goes still and resigned and numb, and you help her fix her makeup and lead her back inside. You stand with her beside the snack table and swear not to leave her side until the party’s over, until the men are done celebrating yet another triumph that will take them further and further from home. Brian is nowhere to be found.

“That goddamn broodmare,” Chrissie hisses, gulping straight vodka, staring venomously at Veronica.

“Why do you hate her so much? I mean she can be dull, yeah. She’s sanctimonious and naïve and dresses like a freaking Mennonite. But she’s not horrible or anything.” And her life isn’t so perfect either.

“It’s not obvious?” Chrissie asks, her voice like a blade.

“No...?”

Chrissie’s eyes are scorching, although you’re not the person she’s furious with. You just happen to be standing in the path of the storm. “Because she’s the only one of us who’s never going to have to find out what this feels like.”

Oh, I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all.

You try to spot Roger in the teeming room. He’s over by a crackling fireplace, telling stories with dramatic sweeps of his hands, bleeding charisma like sweat, and none of that is unusual at all. One of the people he’s talking to is Dominique Beyrand, and that’s not so unusual either; Richard Branson ends up at a lot of industry events, and Dom trails him around like a shadow, nodding politely and contributing little chirps of conversation in that posh French accent.

But here’s the strange part; here’s the part you’ve never seen before.

When Roger flashes that dazzling smile of his, Dominique smiles back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, you’re steeping in a sweltering bubble bath as the phone rings downstairs. You ignore it at first, because the hot water is unraveling all the tension in your muscles and the lurking shadows in your mind, and also because the calendar is hanging right beside the phone in the kitchen and you’re quite committed to ignoring it this morning. But the phone rings again, and again, and you’re aware that it could be something serious; Roger is working on some non-Queen collaboration at a studio in downtown London, and something could have happened to him.

Especially considering his recreational preferences lately.

You scramble out of the tub, pull on a robe that sticks uncomfortably to your dripping skin, leave a path of bathwater footprints down the hallway and steps—slipping twice and clinging to the banister for dear life—before finally careening into the kitchen to snatch the phone off the wall.

“Hello?” you gasp, winded.

It’s not Roger, nor someone calling to inform you that Roger has overdosed or disappeared or vaulted down a staircase or been hit by a bus. It’s Chrissie.

“Have you seen the News Of The World yet?” she demands.

“Ummm, the album...?” Of course I’ve listened to the album. About a million times. You have a particular affinity for Spread Your Wings.

“No, not the album,” she snaps impatiently, although she kindly leaves out the you idiot addition that her tone implicates. “The magazine. Have you seen it today?”

“I was mid-bubble bath and almost broke my neck sprinting for the phone. So no.”

“Good. Don’t read a word. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m coming over. I’m gonna grab John and come right over.”

“Chris, what—?”

“Do not touch that fucking magazine!” she screams, and hangs up.

Naturally, you don’t listen.

You go to the main door of the Surrey mansion and open it. Sure enough, the new issue of News Of The World is waiting on the porch for you. You pluck it up with damp hands; the whirlpools of your fingerprints stick to the parchment.

On the front page is a photo of Roger, but he’s not alone. He’s scowling at the paparazzo snapping the picture, his face lit up by the flash, painfully and unmistakably stunning. He’s in some sort of alley or side entrance to a restaurant or club. He’s somewhere he’s trying not to be seen, which anyone could tell you is remarkable for Roger Taylor. Beside him is a woman you recognize; and although she’s looking down and trying to hide behind her shock of lustrous black hair, you can see her lips are smiling.

The headline reads: “Queen Drummer Spends Royally on London Love Nest for French Mistress.”