#and my very shaky and sweaty era is done

[natinutuu]

I’m doing a good job this time 🥹

[kellanine]

Three years of work and 200,000 words later and I have ONE chapter left to write of my Wolfstar Hogwarts-era fic Only Ever You. I haven't put a word on A03 yet. I wanted it to be finished! The time is coming!

So much angst. So much longing. So much of Remus's life falling apart, and grief and anxiety and hurt/comfort galore ...

A snippet from Chapter 1 for all you lovely people:

It was the second day after the full moon, and as much as he’d insisted to his friends that he was ready to rejoin the land of the living, Remus Lupin had second thoughts after James Potter closed the bathroom door behind him and he bent over to remove his pajamas. A wave of dizziness swept over him and pain erupted in his shoulders and hips. Biting back a cry, he lowered himself gingerly to sit on the small bench beside the sink and remained very still, waiting for the walls to stop spinning. In an effort to help them along, he concentrated on taking slow, deliberate breaths.

He had hoped this month would be better, but maybe it was time to start making peace with the facts. Over the past several months, it had begun to sink in that a day in the hospital wing, followed by a night in his own soft bed in Gryffindor Tower, were no longer enough for him to fully recover from the full moon. Back in second or third year, he would have been up on the second day, a bit stiff and moving slowly, but ready to return to classes with his friends by breakfast time. But now, his body was tired. It had been through so much. Somewhere in a distant part of his mind, he had always known that as the years crept on, his body would begin to slowly break down. But he had thought he had at least a decade or two before he needed to think about that. He was only sixteen.

After a minute, the dizziness passed, and Remus stood back up, slowly, and reached to turn on the shower.

For some reason, he could not bring himself to voice any of these thoughts to James, or Sirius, or Peter. They worried enough, and they already did so much. And, really, it could have been a lot worse. Prongs and Padfoot generally managed to prevent the wolf from hurting himself too badly, so there was usually less blood and fewer new scars than there used to be. As for the rest of it—the pain in his bones, the exhaustion, the aching muscles, the dizzy spells—there was nothing to be done, so what good would it do to dwell? He just needed to push through it as best he could, and get to the other side. For most days out of the month, he was just fine.

Remus let the water get as hot as he could stand while he managed to step out of his pajamas, and then let out a long exhale when he moved under the spray, letting it soothe his muscles and bones. He decided he was being dramatic. This was all he needed, really. He never felt entirely human again until he’d had a real shower. But Godric, he was tired. His legs felt shaky, so he washed quickly, wiping away some flecks of dried blood on his side that Pomfrey’s spells had missed, and scraping the dirt of their midnight wanderings from underneath his fingernails. He bent his head down and let soap and water run over his hair and the back of his neck, washing away the sweaty grime that had dried there during his fitful rest.

For a moment, it felt wonderful. Then he raised his head and realized at once that the bending forward had been a mistake. The dizziness returned, and this time it was joined by a feeling as if his head had floated loose from his body. It didn’t pass. His stomach roiled with nausea. His vision became spotty. He blinked slowly. A quiet ringing began in his ears, and grew louder.

Uh oh…

He had no choice. He tried to call out for his friends. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged. He tried again. “Help?” he managed weakly. Desperate to steady himself, he pressed one hand to the shower’s cool stone wall, fisted the other in the shower curtain, and told himself to breathe. It was fine. He was fine.

*********

A thick, heavy silence hung in the air of the sixth year boys’ dormitory in Gryffindor tower, broken only by the gentle pattering of late winter sleet on the rattling windowpane.

Peter darted wide, worried eyes from James to Sirius and back again, and Sirius tried not to feel a flare of annoyance. Peter always expected them to have a plan, to produce all the ideas, however wild, that might solve their latest problem. Most of the time, Sirius didn’t mind. It was what came naturally to them, and Merlin knew Sirius didn’t want anyone telling him what to do, unless it was James with a brilliant, hare-brained scheme. But today was different.

Sirius was at a loss.

He leaned heavily against the closed bathroom door, twisting his wand between his fingers and feeling completely, uselessly defeated.

“He’s not okay,” he said at last, his voice piercing the tension in the room like the tip of a knife.

“Definitely not,” Peter agreed.

James let out a sigh from where he had reclined on his unmade bed, and flipped closed the latest issue of Quidditch Today. There was a female keeper on the cover, her team robes stretched tightly across her abundant chest as she laid herself out on her broom, blocking a quaffle over and over again with her outstretched toes.

“He always feels better after a shower,” James said, sounding weary. “He’ll be fine.”

Sirius scoffed. Of the three of them, James was usually the best attuned to Remus’s physical condition at any given time, so Sirius didn’t understand whether James just hadn’t been paying attention, or if he was testing out some new type of wishful thinking. But surely he’d noticed Remus looking even paler than usual as they’d helped him to the bathroom, James holding him by one arm and Sirius by the other, while Peter had looked on, frowning.

“We’re not doing enough,” said Sirius. “We need to take out more books. In the restricted section. We’ve missed something, I know it—”

“Padfoot,” James cut him off, sitting up and setting the magazine aside, along with his glasses. He rubbed at his eyes. “We’ve been over this. We’ve read everything. We’re doing everything we can. And he’s told us himself, it’s better than it used to be, before we became Animagi, right?”

“Better?” said Sirius. “It’s not better! Yeah, maybe he’s not as lonely anymore, and the wolf has his fun running around with us, but the wolf isn’t Remus. Did you notice the way he was breathing after he changed back this time? Or that he can barely swallow because he screamed his throat raw?”

“Of course I noticed.”

“Let’s do more research, then. We can’t have read everything—”

“But the books all say the same things, mate,” James countered. “You know that.”

“The restricted section—”

“Been there.”

“Madam Pomfrey—”

“You know we can’t.”

Sirius threw a scowl at James, but fell silent. Peter watched their exchange but said nothing. Instead, he stood and took the water pitcher and glass from Remus’s bedside, wiped the glass with a clean cloth, and refilled the pitcher from the end of his wand, casting a cooling charm and holding it until the sides of the pitcher frosted. James replaced his glasses, and then waved his own wand at Remus’s bed, muttering an incantation that made the sheets and blankets lift up, snap straight, and lay themselves gently down, as the pillows shook themselves and landed neatly on top of the made bed.

Sirius pouted.

“Sorry, Pads,” said James gently. “You know if there was anything else, I’d be first in line—”

First in line for what, however, he never said. His words were cut short by the sound of a sudden, enormous crash from inside the bathroom.

A single beat passed, and then James leapt from his bed. Sirius, however, was closer, and burst into the bathroom first, a cloud of steam engulfing him, to find the shower curtain and the metal rod that held it in a messy pile at the bottom of the shower. Water was flying everywhere, and Remus was a crumpled heap in the middle of it all.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Tattoo Shop AU - a quick, practical guide for writers

Guest Post by lebanon-hangover

lebanon-hangover said: this is based on my personal experience with the industry only, so depending on the era and country you are portraying, it may not be 100% accurate for your setting.

Hygiene

It may not be obvious at first glance, but most tattooists are clean freaks. We work with human blood every day, and we get clients from all ages, ethnic and social economic backgrounds, with all sorts of medical conditions.

We usually mop frequently, bleach the sinks, wipe down everything, and use cling film or bags to wrap everything. I mean fucking everything. We also scrub in, and sanitise the area on the person we work on.

Needles are collected in a sharps bin, and handled very carefully. Medical waste goes in yellow bags, and both are collected by a professional service.

Used ink caps may look full, but the ink gets diluted by blood. Like you dip the inky needle into the person, but you also dip the person’s blood into your ink. These are medical waste too.

Cleaning up must be done promptly after the session. Bin everything disposable, put things through the ultrasonic and the autoclave, and sanitise the area. We may take machines apart, but more for maintenance than cleaning, sometimes we swap parts in them too.

We have two sinks, one for hand washing, one for cleaning.

All inks and needles have use by dates.

The internal dynamics of a studio

Depending on the country, some tattoo shops tend to have ties to biker gangs, and some of those internal dynamics and unwritten rules are often present.

There’s a pecking order and it’s dead serious. Basically the longer you’ve been in a shop, the higher ‘rank’ you are, you get the better positioned stations, first pick of walk-ins, etc (Unless the client is asking for someone by name). Regardless of your actual experience in the industry, like if you move into your old apprentice’s shop, they are still senior to you. If the owner or their partner is an artist, obviously they are on top of the chain by default.

We are self employed, but we have a boss. You are only making money if you are working, but you still have set work hours.

We get paid by the clients, and we pay the studio a cut. In return, there are some items provided by them, and some we buy for ourselves. Usually the chairs, tattoo beds, gloves, cleaning products, clip cord covers, masks, aprons, ink caps, vaseline, green soap, and some basic ink is provided by the shop. We buy our own machines, arm rests, stations, pedals, power supplies, clipcords, tips and grips, needles, special colours, stencil fluid…these are a personal preference, and often depend on the artists’ style.

We totally ask to try out each other’s equipment sometimes, or ask for a certain type of needle if we ran out.

The receptionist is usually just one of us, maybe a piercer, but it also can be a hired person in top studios.

The apprentice in the traditional system is often mistreated, and they have to pay for their education, have to be there multiple days a week and don’t make any money. It’s kind of like a tear them down, build them back up again thing to see if they are really serious about the job. Times are slowly changing, but 99% of them will always need a second job. Most of them are working as bar staff.

When you open a new studio, you must visit all the existing local ones and introduce yourself, otherwise you may get a brick through the window. Otherwise there’s not much beef among individual artists, they are often friends, go to conventions together and party after, etc.

The Artists

Tattooing is a fairly physical job, stretching skin is very important. We have to also keep our clients safely still, so we often use positions to pin them down a bit. Sometimes you hit a reflex point on the foot or under a knee, and you don’t want to get kicked. Sometimes you have to pull away super fast, cos they are sneezing, yawning or giggling.

Most tattooists drink a lot of coffee, tea or energy drinks.

Some people are all rounders, some have specific styles, but we recognise each other’s art styles. Sometimes we delegate work to each other, if we think our coworkers style fits the concept better. For example if there’s a person who does script well, we give them those projects.

We don’t like when people come in with designs from other artists. Art theft is frowned upon, and we work best with our own drawings.

Most apprentices practice on their own legs, and sometimes we tattoo each other when it’s quiet. Most people have cover ups, or bad pieces from their early days. The artists’ own tattoos sometimes are in a different style than what they do, but we like to collect ink from friends or colleagues we admire.

In the first 1-2 years one is an apprentice, then junior artist. At 5-8 years of tattooing, you have earned your stripes and are considered an experienced artist.

Conventions are really fun, but can be stressful. You can make good money working at one, and sometimes get awarded for it too. We can also spend a lot at a convention.

Sometimes we poke our fingers by accident, and it’s a scary thing. Good case scenario is just some random dots on your fingers. Let’s not go into the bad case scenario.

We do guest spots sometimes, just to meet new clients, and change it up a bit.

We spend a lot of time drawing up things, and designs are meant to fall on specific muscles, stretch with the skin a certain way, so they are tailored to the body proportions of the client. A good tattoo is also an optical illusion, complimenting the body shape.

Social media presence is like a second job, you need good photos, and you need to market yourself.

Tattoo ink does not wash out, so some stains are inevitable when pouring it out. Those ink bottles get stuck so easily, and we wrestle them a lot. We try to avoid it, but wearing all dark colours is a thing for a reason.

The Clients

Tattooists need to have a good ‘bedside manners’ too. We get nervous or self conscious people, and we are told personal things during long sessions. For example scar coverups and memorial pieces can be very emotional.

We have pretty good poker faces and first aid trainings. People can faint, get shaky, throw up, some have seizures, have b.o., get sweaty, etc the same way as at a blood donation event? It’s no big deal really. We sit them down, give them some water and some sugar, and re-book them if necessary. Most artists keep some wet wipes, mouth wash, deodorant, sweets, maybe even some clean clothes at work, just in case.

If someone comes in with a wild idea for a jobstopper, we would sit down and have a long talk. If they haven’t got many tattoos, we usually try to stir them towards more safe choices, offering them creative ideas. It’s like those jedi mind tricks sometimes.

If someone is undecided, we show them our own hand drawn flash sheets. Once its gone, its gone tho, we don’t use the designs twice.

Pinterest is full of photoshopped fake tattoos, some that won’t even work as real ink. Many people also touch up their work digitally on photos, so some clients have really unrealistic expectations.

We can totally tell if someone is intoxicated or hangover. It thins the blood, and they bleed out the ink, and it’s super annoying. if it’s bad, they will be sent home and rebooked.

Some folks are self conscious about body hair, their size, stretch marks and scars. Chances are, we have seen similar, and we aren’t bothered by it, because it’s work. Surgery scars, scars from accidents, self harm scars, burns, we see it all the time. We shave some really hairy dudes all the time girl, your legs are fine. Seriously. If something makes tattooing you dangerous we will tell you.

Fit, muscular people are harder to tattoo because they are really firm. Its a workout for us.

Everyone gets midnight messages about the aftercare from nervous clients, and drunken booty calls about getting inked right at this second. We have copy paste replies…

We get creeps sometimes. Stalking, weird conversations, tmi info dumps etc.

Other things to include (for fun, or for plot reasons)

We sometimes have those “oh fuck” moments. We all do, but mistakes can be fixed, and we play it cool.

Tattooing takes time. Usually 30 minutes to multiple sessions though years and years.

Healing tattoos takes about 2-4ish weeks, and your characters shouldn’t go roll around in dirt, sunbathe, swim, pick at the scabs. Nasty infections, and messed up tattoos would be the results.

If you have a strong immune system, and you get a lot of work done in one sitting, you may get a brief bit of a temperature. It’s normal, and will go away.

Its a lot easier to get seriously drunk after getting a tattoo. Be careful.

We sometimes draw on each other for practice with our marker pens.

Tattoos are inside the skin, not on top of it. Imagine a low opacity, skin toned layer over the ink, adding to the healed tattoos’ colour. Please stop making your characters skin fully transparent.

Heavy blackwork and palms are done in multiple sessions.

You can’t cover up moles, because if they develop skin cancer, the dermatologist can’t see the signs.

There’s a stereotype about piercers having blacked out sleeves.

Stencil fluid looks just like cum.

You get that annoying itch on your face when you scrubbed in, put on gloves and finally ready to go.

Some artists have a strong preference for coil or rotary machines, and they bicker about it a lot. Coils are louder, more punchy, and more traditional, perfect for lineart. They can be customised, and they last forever. They are also called glorified doorbells by people who prefer rotaries. Rotary machines are smoother, lighter, and often use needles that are pulled back into the cartridges for safety. They are better for shading and delicate line work. Older tattooists often say they are dildo or butt plug shaped, overly delicate and are for “soft millennials” only.

Every artist owns like 5 to 20 machines, and they have specific machine builders they are loyal to.

The “which cable is broken and cutting out” guessing game. Clip cords and pedal cables get worn out easily, and that results in your machine running really jerky.

Walk-in always show up 10 minutes before closing.

We often look quite silly at work. Sleeves rolled up, folks use all sorts of plastic ppe, headlamps, and we tie up our hair. Add couple of purple smears from carbon paper, and we aren’t scary at all.

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

Whisky and Cheap Wine | Edmund Pevensie x Reader Smut

Warnings: Smut, Oral, Losing Virginity, Mentions of Drinking, Curse words? 

Time/Era: Modern AU, Both characters are of age

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Y/N and Edmund were high school sweethearts that broke up before going to university. When they run into each other at a mutual friends’ New Year’s Eve party, unfinished business and old feelings are brought to life.

Request: Please do a first-time fluffy smut where he’s super nervous but also very reassuring and sweet. Edmund would try to be so confident and snarky while secretly being a nervous mess.

A/N: Happy New Years! Ending the year with some smut hehe. Enjoy!

masterlist | read on ao3 | edmund playlist | narnia playlist

“So, erm, university going well?” Edmund spoke into his glass of whisky, scanning the room to avoid eye contact. His long, slender fingers grasped the fake crystal in such a way that it made the glass appear tiny. 

“Great,” Y/N responded, painfully aware of how her short skirt was hugging her ass. Edmund’s eyes followed the curve of her breasts down the slope of her hips against his better judgment. “Finished the semester with high marks. You?” 

Edmund choked, “Yeah, same. Just in visiting family for the holidays. You know how they are.” He peeled his eyes from the shortly hemmed material in favor of Y/N’s eyes. 

“How’s Lucy? I miss her a lot. Sometimes I felt like I had a closer relationship with her than I did you.” 

The pair shared a laugh. 

“She’s great. Torn that you didn’t come to Christmas this year.” 

Y/N took a sip of the cheap wine in her glass. “I’ll have to text her I suppose.” 

A tension-filled silence overtook the pair as they gaped at each other. Edmund had matured in the short months he was away; his jaw sharpened, his hair now fell in loose curls across his forehead and his muscles had tightened. Even the way he dressed changed. Where a beat up, old flannel once laid held a dark brown leather jacket that hit right above his hips. His beat up converse were exchanged for a pair of lace-up dress boots and his jeans no longer hanging off his body in favor of black skinny jeans. But, the smirk that plastered over Edmund’s features was the same sexy smile Y/N remembered. His eyes had the same mischievous glint to them, too. Oh, the hours she imagined looking down in between her legs and seeing those eyes looking at her. 

“Have you found anyone else?” Edmund casually asked, his hand now resting in his pocket. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how strong they looked. He brought his glass to his puffy pink lips and drank, caramel-colored liquid flowing down his chin. Edmund’s hand broke free from his pocket and ran his palm across his lips, a chunky ring brushing his soft skin. “Is that a weird thing to ask?” 

“No, it’s not.” Y/N tore her gaze from Edmund’s lips and cleared her throat. “I kissed a boy named Alex at a party, but other than that, not really. He was nice and cute and all, but he didn’t exactly do anything for me.” 

“No?” Edmund’s tone rose from casual conversation to somewhere between surprised and cocky. “Alex couldn’t compare?” 

“I guess you could say that. What about you?” 

“Not much time, pre-law is a bit harder than I anticipated.” He twisted the ring with his thumb and brought his glass back to his lips. “Couldn’t get my mind off of a certain girl back home, I suppose.” 

“I miss talking to you. The number of times I had to stop myself from clicking your contact-” 

“- I would have answered, Y/N.” 

“Yeah?” 

Edmund smiled, “Yeah.” His eyes scanned the room before grabbing Y/N’s elbow lightly. “It’s a bit loud in here, let’s go somewhere quieter to talk.” 

Edmund’s rough hand guided her across the busy living room and towards the stairs that led to the bedrooms. 

“Here we are,” Edmund turned on the light of one of the bedrooms. “Caspian won’t mind us high jacking his room for a while.” 

Y/N took a gentle seat on the bed and looked around the room. It was simple and clean; much like how Caspian appeared in most situations. 

“Let’s hope not,” Y/N watched Edmund nervously wipe his sweaty hands on the front of his jeans. 

She paused for a moment, placing her wineglass on Caspian’s bedside table. Edmund threw his jacket onto the desk chair. “You look good, Ed. Never thought I’d see you in anything but straight leg.” Y/N gestured lazily to Edmund’s jeans. They hugged his toned legs perfectly and left very little to the imagination. 

“Eh, yeah, I figured it was time for a change. New school, new me?” Edmund’s pearly teeth shined bright as they came forward to bite his bottom lip. “You look as stunning as ever. Dare I say even more beautiful than I remember.” 

Y/N blushed and looked down. “Always such a charmer, Ed. I’m glad some things never change.” 

Ed took a seat next to Y/N and placed his whisky next to her wine on the table. 

“Why did we break up?” Edmund asks, his voice slightly strained as he spoke. “Neither of us wanted to.” 

“You said that it would save us heartbreak in the future. That we would drift apart anyway and that you wanted to set me free.” Y/N turned her head and watched Ed’s facial features change. His tight jaw clenched, his brows furrowed and his lips fell into a pierced line. 

“I was stupid. God, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He shook his head and made eye contact with the girl sitting next to him. “Being away from you only made me yearn for your presence more. Made me fall in love with you even more.” 

“I never stopped loving you, you idiot.” Y/N’s fingers brushed away a curl from his forehead to reveal a look of pure love and admiration. “You look so fucking good tonight, Ed. Like, Jesus fucking Christ.” 

He scoffed, “Says you! When you walked in the room it took everything in me to not tackle you to the ground.” 

“Tackle me to the ground?” 

“Shut up and stop raising your eyebrow at me! You knew what I meant!” 

“Make me.” 

Edmund’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced at the door before kissing Y/N’s lips for the first time in months. Y/N sighed happily at the feeling; after craving Edmund for so long, the sensation of his soft, warm lips were enough to make her body give out. She gripped his jaw in one palm and grabbed his silky black hair with the other, successfully deepening the kiss. Y/N could feel herself getting drunk off of the taste of coffee and whisky that was left on her lover’s tongue. 

Edmund’s fingers padded against the fabric of Y/N’s dress to distract himself from the ever-growing tent in his jeans. They had never gone as far as sex during their relationship, and since they were newly reunited, he didn’t want to test his luck. But, he had to admit, the feeling of Y/N pressed against his body and the sensation of her nimble fingers tugging at his hair was better than all of his fantasies combined. Edmund groaned into her mouth before he could stop it. 

Y/N giggled and moved so she was straddling his lap, both arms laid lazily across his shoulders. 

“This is new,” Edmund choked, shyly bringing his hands to rest on either side of her waist. 

“New year, new me,” Y/N responded, dipping down to press kisses along his neck. 

“Certainly- shit - certainly is new,” Edmund’s hips bucked to meet Y/N’s involuntarily, causing both to whimper. Y/N took this as a green light to start grinding against his now fully hard tent while she sucked Edmund’s hot skin into her mouth. On instinct, Edmund’s large hands moved to her ass, squeezing handfuls of her dress-covered skin into his palms. 

“Y/N,” He groaned, “Sweetheart- we’ve never -” He gasped and leaned his neck out further so Y/N could lap at his pulse point. “We’ve never done this before. Are you sure?” 

“What? I’ve never grinded on you before?” Y/N grinned into the skin and bit down lightly. “Cause unless my memory fails me -” 

“- No, you know that’s not what I meant. I meant have sex, love. I know we’ve gotten close but I don’t want to pressure you into it.” 

Y/N pulled away and looked at the deep purple bruises on his neck before regaining eye contact. 

“Edmund, I want this. Do you want this?” 

He smiled a lopsided grin, “Fuck yes. I’ve been fantasizing about this for years.” 

“And yet you’ve never told me of them? Rude.” 

Edmund grinned giddily and flipped the pair over so he was towering above her. 

“Well, I’ll be able to show you if you ever shut up, darling.” He grinned and grabbed the back collar of his shirt, pulling it off with one hand. 

His chest was mesmerizing; a few dark freckles littered his sunkissed skin beautifully and his strong shoulders flexed as he moved. He must’ve been working out during his time at university because a few veins protruded from his hand up through his forearm. Under Y/N’s hot gaze, Edmund shuttered but quickly recovered. 

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” He purrs in her ear and kisses her temple, his body now hovering over hers. 

“Since when did you get so… that.” Y/N ran her fingers across his collarbone and up around his neck to his locks.  

“I could say the same for you. What gives you the right to wear such a dress?” Edmund groans, “And to pull my hair?” 

“The hope of seeing you and the reaction I get from it.” She tugs harshly, prompting another deep moan to fall from Edmund’s lips. 

With one swift moment, he pushes Y/N’s dress up above her waist with a shaky hand. 

“Even planned the underwear, cheeky girl.” Ed’s mischievous eyes caught hers. 

Y/N grins bashfully and looks away. “I had to go to war with proper armor.” 

“That you did, baby,” He slinks down her body and rests his head in between her legs. “Now, these fantasies… I spoke of.” 

Y/N hums, enjoying Edmund’s mouth on the inside of her thigh. “Mmmm, yes, seems like we share a few.” 

Inch by inch, he licks and kisses his way up her inner thigh to her desperate pussy, growing more eager to devour her as each second passes. He can see how wet she is through her soaked underwear, making his mouth water at the thought. 

“Please,” Y/N moans, hands gripping in his hair once more. He looks up from in between her legs and grins, eyes hooded and smirk lopsided. Whether he was stalling or teasing, Y/N didn’t know. 

In one fluid moment, Edmund licks a stripe across her clothed heat. Y/N’s body arches up at the sensation and she tugs at his hair. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, Y/L/N,” Edmund groans into the material. His first two fingers hook under the fabric and he pulls it down. “There she is.” 

“Edmund, I swear to god.” 

He ‘tsks’ and shakes his head, eyes teasing and lustful. “Patience, darling. I’ve waited years for this. I’m going to take my time.” 

Edmund continues to bite and suck on Y/N’s inner thighs as he watches her get wetter and wetter, and hears her get breathier and breathier. His hands shake as he ponders how to go about giving head. 

“Fucking hell, just do it!” 

“Your wish is my command, Princess.” 

Edmund begins with slow, sweeping motions across Y/N’s clit. He laps up all of her wetness, humming contently as he tastes her on his tongue. Soon, his tongue circles her sensitive nerve barely brushing against it, making her back arch sinfully. Edmund devours her as if she were his last meal; his huge hands wrapped around her hips to keep her in place. 

Inserting his middle finger inside of her, he curls his finger upward into the rigged flesh of her gspot. His honey-colored eyes watch as Y/N mewls in place; one hand in his hair directing his head in circles, the other gripping the headboard, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open. He releases a deep, sultry moan seeing the pleasure he was giving his love. 

“Feel good?” He asks, unsure if what he was doing was satisfactory. She nods quickly, shoving his face back down. 

“Another finger, Ed,” Y/N gasps, grinding her hips to meet Edmund’s warm tongue. “Please.” 

Edmund pulls out of her completely, only to add his index finger next to the middle. 

“Good girl,” Edmund’s voice was raspy and full of sexual desire. “You gonna cum for me?” 

“Close, don’t stop, please. Y- Yes! Just like that. Don’t stop.” 

Edmund closed his eyes and bobbed his head against her, soiling his nose, cheeks, and eyelids with Y/N’s arousal. His fingers curled inside of her at a quick pace and his tongue swirled against her clit. 

Edmund had never seen Y/N - or anyone - cum right before him. So, when she did, it was the most magical experience of his life. The dirty sound of her screams, the feeling of her clenching around his fingers, the way his name fell so sinfully from her tongue made his dick twitch in his boxers. He could only imagine what her tight pussy would feel like around his needy cock. 

Ed moved from between Y/N’s legs and kissed her on the mouth, hard. His lips were exactly what she needed and the taste of herself on his tongue made her pussy clench all over again. Her shaky hands found the zipper of his jeans and hastily pulled them and his boxers down. 

Y/N brought Edmund’s hard cock into her hand without breaking the kiss. Edmund moaned and bucked into her hand as she pumped and ran her thumb against the swollen, red tip. 

“I need your cock inside of me, Edmund. I need to feel you. Please.” Y/N whimpered, hand jerking faster. 

“Fuck, okay,” Edmund groaned, leaning back and pushing a hand into the back pocket of his jeans. 

“Seems as though I wasn’t the only one who came prepared,” Y/N giggled, taking the condom and ripping open the package. 

“I had to go into war with the proper armor.” Edmund bucked into Y/N’s hand as she rolled the condom on. 

Edmund lined up with Y/N’s entrance and pushed halfway in, resisting the urge to push further. 

“Fuck, more, Ed,” Y/N moaned, throwing her leg over Edmund’s shoulder. He shut his eyes and bottomed out, before pulling out and thrusting in again. 

“Y- Y/N, you feel so good. B- Better than I could have imagined- fuck.” He gasped, finding a comfortable speed. Y/N’s core tightened, building from her first orgasm. Her eyes rolled back and she swore she started to see stars. 

Edmund’s fingers found Y/N’s clit a few strokes in, instantly increasing Y/N’s pleasure. 

“I won’t last,” Edmund grasped, harshly rubbing Y/N and keeping his thrusts even. 

“Good, go faster, please.” Y/N puled Edmund’s lips to hers. 

Y/N’s orgasm was better than the last. Her core tightened against Edmund’s cock delightfully and her teeth ground into Edmund’s bottom lip. At the same time, Edmund was riding out his own orgasm, basking in Y/N’s cunt tightening around his cock. 

“Holy shit,” Edmund murmured as he pulled out and sat up on his knees. 

“Yeah, holy shit.” Y/N laid limp, giggling at Edmund’s messy hair and flushed face. “Let’s never break up again, yeah?” 

Edmund sent one of his famous smiles Y/N’s way. 

“Never again.” 

[theimpossiblehologramtree]

Making Queen members flower crowns would include

Pairing: Queen members x reader

Word count: (altogether) 1800+

Warnings: some sickening fluff, oh and swearing but that’s a standard, some slightly suggestive themes in john’s (implied sex) but nothing accually happens except a kiss

A/N: Hello you beautiful people! I’m back (don’t get used to that tho lol) I thought of this two years ago when i first saw Bohemian Rhapsody (SO 2 FUCKING YEARS AGO). Freddie’s is gender neutral. I tried to add a “keep reading” button but I’m not sure it works tbh because this hell of a side never cooperates.

Please keep in mind that English is not my first language.

🐝masterlist🐝

REQUEST IF YOU WANT MORE

☕buy me a Ko-fi!☕

Gifs aren’t mine. Credits to the owners.

Brian May

You were laying on Brian's lap, the sun hitting your face pleasantly. This week the weather was nice and warm, which was something extremely unusual in England, so the two of you decided to head out to the country and have a little picnic.

After what felt like hours spent in the car ("Brian, for Christ's sake, would you open the bloody window, I can't breathe!" and "Bri, I love you, but if we don't get there in five minutes, I'm going to murder you, I swear") you finally found a nice clearing, where you could relax and forget about the stresses of city life.

Brian put down a blanket on the grass, near a small stream that flew through the forest. He brought the bag with food and drinks (you didn't have a basket, so you had to improvise). 

You quickly put some sunscreen on your face and laid down, keeping your head propped on Brian's lap. He put a hat over his face and fell asleep, his chest rising steadily. 

After some time (that fucking wasp didn't let you sit in one place), you stood up and noticed many beautiful flowers, growing on a nearby bush. You got lost in picking up the most beautiful ones, admiring each one carefully. When you got enough, you sat back down and started tying the stems together.

Suddenly you got an idea. Careful not to wake him up, you began sticking the flowers in Brian's dark curls. 

Your now decorated boyfriend woke up and stretched, not noticing the colourful addition to his hair. This made you chuckle softly, but you decided to see how long it would take him to realize.

+"What is it, babe? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, Bri, I just remembered a funny joke, that's all."

"Oh tell me, then."

"What’s the difference between a lawnmower and an electric guitar?"

"Hm?"

"You can tune a lawnmower!"

You both enjoyed the rest of the day swimming in the stream, sunbathing and eating the snack you brought. And Brian somehow still didn't notice.

Until it was time for you to get home.

You got in the car ("Open the window now, it's like in the oven in here!") and Brian looked into the rear-view mirror.

+"Hey, (Y/N), what the fuck is that? I love it."

Roger Taylor

So honestly it would probably happen during one of his concerts.

You were backstage watching the show, enjoying every second of it. Freddie was in the middle of shouting some (very inappropriate) compliments to Brian's ass, slapping his buttcheeks. The crowd immediately went wild hundreds of fans screamed in unison. You chuckled under your breath, flashing a white smile at your beloved boyfriend Roger and his bandmates. You felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. Surprised, you turned around, your eyes meeting Mary's.

+"What's up, kiddo?" she smirked and patted your back.

"Oh, nothing much. Just Freddie being Freddie," you replied, making both of you erupt with laughter.

Suddenly you felt a familiar feeling form in the pit of your stomach. Out of nowhere, your hands became shaky, your breath shallow and quick. Feeling like you need some fresh air, you excused yourself.

+"Are you sure you're okay, (Y/N)?" Mary watched you carefully, her hand supporting you in case you fainted.

"Yes, Mary, I just need some fresh air. I'm extremely tired, and I haven't eaten anything since this morning" you reassured your friend. "I'm just gonna sit outside for a while."

"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked, still not convinced about your well-being.

"Yes, I wouldn't want to spoil the gig for you. I'll be back before you know it" you squeezed her hand and, after promising her to be careful, you headed outside.

You took a walk alongside the small patch of lawn beside the exit. After taking a couple of deep breaths, you noticed some daisies grow in the green grass. Without thinking much, you sat down and started picking them up and tying their stems together.

Your fingers worked quickly, making a beautiful flower crown, mindlessly.

Meanwhile, on stage, the boys were singing She makes me - a song that reminded Roger of you. He quickly glanced to his right, expecting to see your beautiful figure standing with Mary. But, much to his surprise, he couldn't see you anywhere. It was no secret that his eyesight was shit but, bloody hell, it wasn't that bad. His blue eyes were searching for you, frantically.

When the song ended, he quickly motioned to Freddie to take a quick break, while he went to check up on you. He practically sprinted to Mary, almost knocking down his drumkit and John.

+"You dumb fuck, watch where you're going, Rog!"

Usually, Roger would reply with some snarky comment, but at that moment he really didn't care. When he reached Mary, he didn't even need to ask her about you. 

+"She's outside. Needed some fresh air" the girl shooked her head towards the exit. 

Roger quickly walked outside, knowing that he couldn't stall the audience for too long. But at the same time, he must have made sure you were all right.  

He got out of the building and searched for you. He spotted to sitting on a small patch of grass, holding a pretty flower crown in your hands. His heart ached at this sight. 

+"Hello, love" he whispered, kneeling next to you. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I am, Rog" you kissed his cheek. "I just felt a bit off, that's all." 

You felt your boyfriend press a kiss to your hair. You smiled at the feeling, leaning into his touch. 

You finally placed the finished flower crown on his head, brushing away loose strands of sweaty hair from his face, your hand gently brushing his temple. He took your tiny hands in his and kissed your fingers.

+"Do you wanna go back in there, sweetheart?" he asked sweetly, looking deeply into your eyes.

You nodded and pecked his lips, "Of course, Rog, I wouldn't want to miss any more of your show."

He smiled and lead you inside, placing his hand on the small of your back. You returned to Mary and wished your boyfriend good luck. 

Roger kept the flowers on his head throughout the whole gig, sending you a dashing smile and winking at you every now and again.

I just think Roger would look sososo pretty in a flower crown.

John Deacon

It was a lovely afternoon in London. You and your fiancé John decided to take a walk after the whole day in the studio, recording songs.

Taking a walk in a nearby park was a great way to destress and release the tension accumulated during the day. It was something John realized pretty early on in your relationship and took full advantage of it. He loved wandering along the pebbled pathways that swirled around beautiful trees and bushes full of colourful flowers. Being in the presence of nature made him feel at ease and helped him relax.

But the real reason why he enjoyed your walks so much was you. He adored seeing your face light up with joy when you saw a squirrel run up a branch of an old oak or when you spotted a particularly beautiful fish in the small pond. He could watch you pick up fallen leaves for ages and hear you talk to little kids in a playground, showing them the shiny rocks you collected along the way.

To be honest, he always dreamt about starting a family with you and seeing you get along with kids so well only increased that desire.

Often after a walk, he was in the mood™, which, considering his shy nature, always took you by surprise.

Oh man, he just loved taking a walk in the park.

And today was no different.

You were walking hand in hand, admiring the blossoming flowers. Occasionally, you would stop and pick them up, making a small bouquet in the process. White daisies, pink clovers and blue forget-me-nots accumulated with every step you took.

John was telling you about the new idea he had for a song, kissing your cheek every now and again.

Listening to him, you started to fiddle with the flowers, tying them in knots. After a while ("And then, I think, we could include a gong, you know?") you were done with your creation.

You put the flowers on John's head and kissed his temple.

+"What's that, darling?" he asked you, surprised.

"Nothing, but I think you look sensational, my love" you replied, smiling innocently.

You felt John's hand bring you closer to him. He kissed you, entangling his long and incredibly skilled fingers in your hair. The kiss soon turned into more heated one.

+"I'll show you how sensational I really am, pretty girl."

Freddie Mercury

So with Freddie, it was probably at one of his parties.

He invited you along to have a drink with him and his bandmates.

You usually weren't the one for big and loud parties, but he kept asking you and you gave in.

+"Oh okay, Fred, I'll do it," you said after the twentieth time he had asked you.

"Fantastic, (Y/N)!" he exclaimed, loudly clapping his hands. "Just remember to wear a costume."

But you didn't really want to dress up in fancy dresses or costumes from different eras. Calling Mary, you asked her for advice and she told you to just wear some accessories.

So before the party, you went to a small flower shop and bought a small bouquet of purple lilacs. At home, you made a flower crown, hoping that dressing up as a nymph would be enough.

When you got to Freddie's house, you were greeted by a crowd of people in colourful skirts and suits with fashionable patterns. That's when you found Freddie, Roger, Brian and John, chilling on a couch with their dates.

+"Oh, (Y/N), you look marvellous, darling!" exclaimed Freddie dressed as a king, while he stood up to embrace you in a warm hug.

"Thank you, Fred, I made it myself" you smiled shyly.

You got some champagne and joined the conversation.

Suddenly, you felt a pat on your shoulder, and, when you turned around, you saw Freddie holding out a hand to you, asking you to dance with him. You gladly accepted and got up. 

+"I really meant it, darling. You do look marvellous tonight" he whispered in your ear.

"Thank you, Freddie, you can have it if you'd like" you sent him a warm smile.

You took off his golden crown and set it aside. Gently taking off the flower crown from your head, you placed it on top of Fred's. He beamed at you and put his own crown on top of your head.

+"Now you rule here, darling."

taglist

[robinrunsfiction]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a Dallon Weekes x fem reader smut with a choking kink? I'm thinking panic! era dallon where the reader is also a member of the band, and they've had chemistry for a while, and one night after a concert they do the deed in a dressing room? If you aren't comfortable with any of this I'm really sorry aha, I hope you have an awesome day! <33

Choke

Pairing: Dallon Weekes x Female Reader

Rating: Mature (smut, choking kink)

Requested By: Anon

Word Count: ~2,170

Author’s Note: Porn with plot! My first Dallon smut! Woo! I’m pleased (?!) with this one, and I hope you all like it too!

You were feeling out of place waiting to be called in for your audition with Panic! At the Disco, as you were the only woman in the room. The music industry, especially rock, was so male dominated, but you were not going to let that deter you. It made you nervous as hell, but not deterred. 

Other guitarists and bassists were called in as you waited your turn, picking at your nails anxiously, thinking about what you would be playing. Eventually a very tall bass player walked in, sat down next to you and made the mistake of saying hi. This was enough to get you talking, and you were totally unable to stop nervously babbling at him. 

"I'm sorry, I'm just really nervous. I'm (YN)," you laughed after talking his ear off for a few minutes.

"Dallon, Dallon Weekes," he smiled, which did nothing for your nerves. “And don’t worry about it.”

"(YFN) (YLN)?" A voice called from the audition room.

"I'm up," you sighed, picking up your guitar case.

"Knock 'em dead," Dallon nodded.

After the audition you waved to Dallon as you left and hoped somewhere down the road you'd run into him again. 

~

A few years later, you and Dallon had become incredibly close being in Panic together, but it would have been impossible not to, given the role you'd both been relegated to within the band. Brendon and Spencer were the face of the band, they had history together and they always shared hotel rooms and dressing rooms.

You and Dallon were “just” touring members, trotted out for performances like a couple of show ponies. Your input wasn’t needed, that much was clear, but a paycheck was a paycheck, and you were making a name for yourself. Plus you’d never give up the weeks on the road with Dallon, experiencing new cities and countries you’d only dreamed of visiting and getting to perform night after night, but this particular tour was getting especially long and you were starting to get frustrated. In more ways than one.

It was another show like any other and Brendon was up to his usual antics. He would come over and stage-flirt with you before making his way back over to Dallon. Sure you both got into it for the sake of the performance, but the only person you ever really wanted to flirt with was Dallon and tonight he was driving you absolutely wild.

You loved watching the way his large hands moved across the neck of his bass, the way he threw his head back while playing was practically obscene, and it was incredibly distracting when he’d look over at you between songs, run his hands through his hair and shoot you a wink. You wanted to run your hands through his hair, you wanted his large, strong hands on your body, you wanted to be the one that made him throw his head back like that. You wondered what it would sound like for him to moan your name. You shook your head to snap yourself out of it, trying to keep your mind on the song you were playing.

That night as the bus rolled you to the next stop, it was suggested that everyone should play a drinking game. You settled in on one end of the couch, Dallon on the other, looking relaxed and comfy, and you had to fight the urge to go curl up with him.

“Never have I ever!” Brendon declared as he handed out bottles of beer to everyone. “(YN), ladies first.”

"Fine. Umm, never have I ever flirted to get out of a speeding ticket," you said and no one drank.

"Never have I ever had a fake ID," Dallon said and both Brendon and Spencer drank.

"Never have I ever kissed a bandmate," Spencer said with a smirk and everyone laughed as Brendon took a drink.

"Knew it," you muttered under your breath.

"Never have I ever been peed on during sex!" Brendon announced happily as the rest of you looked at him slightly dumbfounded.

"Well that went from zero to 100 real quick," you said shaking your head. "Fine, never have I ever hooked up with a fan backstage."

Again, Spencer and Brendon drank. The game continued, each of you taking drinks, some even going for more bottles of beer to keep the game going, but you were almost done with yours and ready to go to bed.

"Never have I ever enjoyed getting choked during sex," Brendon laughed and you felt releaved as you were done with the game as you lifted the bottle to your lips, finishing the beer. That's when you noticed three sets of eyes on you.

"What? It's fun," you shrugged. From the corner of your eye you noticed Dallon moving the pillow he had been leaning against on top of his lap. "Anyway, I'm done with my beer and I'm not opening another, goodnight."

As you climbed into your bunk and popped in your headphones, you couldn't help but wonder what Dallon was thinking.

~

The next day, the tour bus rolled into Chicago and since the following show was in Milwaukee, there was time for a hotel stay. A hotel stay with Dallon in the other bed you reminded yourself. You couldn’t help but notice Dallon was acting strangely as he moved throughout your shared dressing room. It was as if he wanted to say, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. 

You were pretty much ready for the night’s performance, and you were just applying some lipstick in the mirror when Dallon walked up behind you.

"That lipstick looks good on you," Dallon complemented as he straightened his tie.

You turned to face him, surprised at how close he was standing. You decided you were sick of the tension, everything that was unspoken between you. "I wonder what it'd look like on you," you murmured, as you reached up and ran your fingers over his tie.

Dallon smirked a little before he started leaning in and you held your breath, heart pounding in your chest. It felt like you’d waited forever, spent so many nights wondering what it would feel like if Dallon kissed you and where it would lead, consequences be damned.

Just as his lips were so close to yours, there was a knock on the door, causing you both to jump. "Need you on stage in 5 minutes!"

"Thank you!" You replied before letting out a shaky sigh. Dallon was running his hand through his hair as you shook your head and turned to walk out the door. 

Suddenly Dallon grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him. His lips were crashing into yours as you practically melted into him as your arms wrapped around him. When you pulled back for air, Dallon rested his forehead against yours, as you both tried to catch your breath.

“We gotta, we gotta get on stage,” you breathed, a little stunned still.

“Yea,” Dallon nodded. “But after… after I want more. I’ve waited so long for this.”

“I cannot wait," you grinned back.

You and Dallon barely made it on stage on time after cleaning up the smeared lipstick and ruffled hair. You did your best to focus on the music you were supposed to be playing but it seemed like every time you glanced over at Dallon, he was looking your way or shedding another article of clothing. 

First it was his jacket, but he always took that off during the show, then his sleeves were rolled up, making your knees weak. A short time later his tie hung undone around his neck, followed by the top buttons of his shirt being undone. This slow motion striptease was doing nothing for your concentration, or the feeling taking over your body. Hell you’d jump him right then and there if you didn’t think Brendon would fire you both for taking the attention off him for a moment.

The show seemed to take forever, but finally you were taking your final bows and walking off stage. The tension between you and Dallon was palpable and you wondered if anyone else noticed. 

"The van to the hotel will leave in an hour. If you aren't on it, hope you like walking!" The tour manager called as everyone dispersed to their dressing rooms. You glanced at your watch, noting the time and thinking about what could happen in the next 60 minutes.

When the dressing room door was shut behind you, Dallon was on you again. Hands on your waist, pulling your body against his as you ran your hands through his sweaty hair. Your lips kissed his hungrily, urgently. 

"We have an hour before we have to leave," you murmured into his lips. “Better make this quick and dirty.”

"But after that we have all night," he replied, his tone dripping in seduction.

"Oh god," you gasped. He took the opportunity to kiss down your neck. You shoved his shirt off his toned shoulders before fumbling for the hem of your dress to pull it off, breaking the kiss.

"(YN)," murmured in awe, taking you in wearing nothing but your undergarments. 

"You want me?" You asked, looking straight in his eye. "You can handle this?"

Dallon smirked. "You know I can."

Your eyebrows went up in surprise at the cocky statement of your usually slightly reserved friend. "Good."

You closed the distance between you again, lips crashing together, hands roaming all over each other, as you both blindly made your way across the room, bumping into furniture until you were at the crappy old couch that took up far too much space in the small room. You dropped back, breathlessly as Dallon loomed over you. You didn't think it was possible to get any more turned on than you already were, but it was happening. 

It didn’t take long for you both to shed the rest of your clothes, and you wanted to revel in Dallon's toned body, but there was no time for that now. You were making out furiously again, hands all over each other until he suddenly broke the kiss.

"Shit (YN), I don't have a -"

"I'm on the pill," you answered. He nodded and took his hand, pulling him over you as you lay back on the couch,

He propped himself up on the arm of the couch behind you, as his free hand caressed over your chest and you started making out again. His hips were resting against yours and while the friction was good, it was not enough.

"Please Dal," you murmured against his lips.

"Please what?" He teased. You could feel him smirking.

"Please fuck me, choke me, have your way with me, whatever you want, just please do something!"

Dallon smirked again before glancing down to line himself up and pressed into you tantalizingly slow. You let out a soft moan at the feeling of fullness and

"You feel so good," Dallon whispered reverently before pulling back, just to press back harder and faster than before. 

"That feels so good," you moaned, looking in his blue eyes. That’s when you noticed he was glancing down. “You can do it if you want.”

He looked back up at your face for confirmation, before placing his hand around your throat and squeezed gently, eliciting another filthy moan from you. He seemed pleased with your reaction as he pounded into you harder.

“So good,” you squeaked out, unable to come up with anything more coherent as you were in a state of absolute euphoria.

“God, (YN),” Dallon moaned, and you could tell he was close.

“Please, harder,” you gasped.

Dallon thrust harder into you, losing rhythm before you felt him cum, the feeling of which caused you to cum around him with one last gasping moan. He released his grip on your throat as his sweaty forehead fell onto your shoulder as you both panted for air.

“Damn,” you muttered. “Dallon, I’m not joking, that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Dallon laughed lightly, his cheeks flushing further. “I hope I can live up to expectations in the future.”

“I’m sure you will,” you smiled back.

“I guess we should get dressed and pack up before we miss the van to the hotel,” Dallon said, getting up, and offering you a hand to help you to your feet.

When you were both re-dressed and ready to leave the venue, Dallon took your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. “Before we go, I just want you to know, I really do like you (YN). If you wanna just hook up, that’s fine, but if you want more, I’m ready.” 

You smiled up at him, this was the sweet Dallon that you’d fallen for so long before. “I do want more. I mean, more than just more hookups. I want the whole thing for us.”

Dallon nodded, a smile tugging at his lips as well. He leaned in and kissed you hard. “Good. Now let’s get to that hotel.”

[itsadamcole]

all i want (for christmas)

fem!reader x roderick strong

it’s been four months since reader and roderick strong broke up. It’s been four months since they last talked, until they’re both invited to the same Christmas Eve party ... “all i want for christmas is for you and me to fix this”

word count: 3k+

warnings: angst, a little fluff, sad!reader, cheating accusations, mentions of cheating

— this is kinda based on liam payne’s “all i want (for christmas”. i love this christmas song so much —

masterlist || part 2 || request an imagine here

***

"Yeah, of course," you say, forcing a smile as you talk to Adam Cole. "I'll be there. I'm not going to let what happened get in the way of holiday celebrations."

Adam smiles, happy. "Yay," he says. "I'm sure the guys wouldn't mind see you there. It's been a very long time. Britt's even been saying how she misses hanging out with you and seeing you."

You give a little laugh and say, "Maybe I'll just steal her away from you for the night."

His smile fades and he jokes, "Don't you dare. I'd like to see my girlfriend at some point during the party."

"I'll think about it," you say. "See you in a few hours then."

Adam nods and walks off. The smile you've been managing to force drops immediately after he turns his back to you.

You would rather do anything else then attend a Christmas party that you know your ex-boyfriend will be attending. It's the Undisputed Era's annual Christmas party. They wear their green Undisputed Era sweaters and rent out a rental hall for the night from about seven until midnight the day before Christmas.

It's about three in the afternoon and there are four hours until the Christmas Eve party. You leave the Performance Center gym at four after you're done working out your anxiety about the party.

You head back to the house that you bought with said ex-boyfriend. You never found a place to move to after the breakup so you've been living here for the last four months.

After showering and blowdrying your Y/H/C colored hair, you curl your long locks and do your makeup. You do a dark red eye shadow with matching lipstick.

Once your hair and makeup are done, you walk to your closet. You look for anything that you could wear to a Christmas party. You find a dark red sequin dress.

The dress is short. ending about halfway down your thighs, with three-quarter sleeves. The sleeves cut off about halfway down your forearm, not quite reaching your wrists. The neck cuts right across your collarbone area, not showing a hint of cleavage. Usually, you'd wear something that shows off your chest but you decide against it tonight.

To complete the look, you put on a pair of dangly red diamond earrings and a silver bracelet. You wear a pair of dark red heels to match the sparkly dress.

As you finish getting ready, your phone begins to ring. You walk over to see that Kyle O'Reilly is calling. You sigh and answer the phone, saying, "Yes, Kyle. Relax. I'm about to leave to go to the party."

"Adam made me call," he says. "I told him to relax and that if you said that you would be there then you would. You're not one to back out on promises."

You close your eyes and sigh. Adam didn't make him call. You one-hundred percent knew that it was Roderick who made him call. You also knew that it was Roddy who made Adam ask you if you would come to the party.

"Tell Roderick that I'll be there," you say. "And don't tell me that it was actually Adam that made you call. I know it was Roddy."

Kyle stammers, "It definitely wasn't, uh, Roddy. He's, um, busy?"

You roll your eyes and say, "Sure. See you in a few, Kyle."

You hang up the phone and make sure you have everything you'll need. You take your car keys and leave the house.

The drive to the rental hall isn't that long. Well, it's close to forty five minutes that's not long enough to calm the anxiety you're feeling and the butterflies in your stomach.

It's been four months since you and Roddy broke up. You see each other at work all the time but something about an unprofessional atmosphere that is sending you into an anxiety attack as you drive.

Your hands are sweaty and your breathing is a little labored as your mind races. You have no idea what could happen tonight. You're terrified.

After you pull into a parking spot, you sit in the car watching several other wrestlers walk into the large building. It's close to seven before you get it together.

You form an objective as you click into the building. Find Britt Baker and don't leave her side.

Britt is your friend outside of WWE. You met her through Adam. You have several other friends that wrestle in AEW because of Britt introducing you since she wrestles for the brand. You hope that they're here too.

Christmas music blares from almost every direction of the room. You spot several pieces of mistletoe hanging on the ceiling as you look around at the decorations.

The boys definitely go all out but it's mostly Britt that makes them go all out. If it were up to the boys then there's be one tree and a few lights. But the room is full of decorations. A few trees are stationed throughout the room with bright bright lights. Gold garland is draped throughout the ceiling, almost hiding the green mistletoe.

The tables have red and green covers on them and each table has a little winter or Christmas themed figure in the middle.

"Ahh, Y/N!" you hear someone shout. You look to the left and see Britt Baker walking toward you with her arms out. She hugs you. "It's been too long, Y/N."

You smile and hug her back before you say, "It definitely has."

Britt pulls back and asks, "You holding up okay? I know how hard it must be to be here."

You nod and say, "I'm okay, I think. I'm just going to hope that I get through the night with no tears."

She smiles and says, "Well, you can stay by me. I was just hanging out over there with Reba and Brandi until I saw your cute ass walk through the door. That dress looks fabulous on you."

"Thank you," you say. "That dress looks good on you too."

Britt's wearing a strapless form-fitting red dress with a black belt around her waist. The top of the dress and the hem of the skirt is trimmed with white fluff. She's definitely dress as a more modern version of Mrs. Claus.

Your best friend smiles and says, "Thank you. Okay, lets go back to Reba and Brandi. We'll make sure you have fun tonight. No tears shall be shed while you're with us."

You laugh and walk over with Britt to Reba and Brandi Rhodes. Both Reba and Brandi both compliment your outfit. "It was a very last minute decision," you'd say when they compliment you, making both of them laugh.

As you're drinking and laughing with the girls, Adam walks over. He hugs his girlfriend from behind and kisses her cheek. "I hope that Y/N will let you come see me eventually," Adam says. "I'd like to spend some time with you."

Britt laughs and says, "Now now, Adam. She's having fun and that's our goal for tonight."

Adam nods and says, "It is." He looks at you as you take a sip of your egg nog. "He wants to see you at some point tonight, Y/N. He's sulking and staying away from you though. Please just go say hi to him and say thank you to him for inviting you."

You give a shaky sigh and glance around the room for your ex-boyfriend. You find him in a corner of the room as he talks to Kyle, Bobby, and one of the new girls that have started training at the Performance Center.

He's laughing at something the girl said and your heart wretches in your chest. "I think he's fine," you state. "And I think I'm gonna call it a night."

All the fun you were having for the past hour or so has washed away and now all you want to do is curl up on the couch with hot chocolate and watch Christmas movies on Netflix until you fall asleep. You don't want to be here anymore. No, you can't be here anymore.

As you start to get up, Adam says, "Y/N, I didn't mean to upset you."

You look at the leader of the Undisputed Era and say, "No, it's okay. I just promised myself no crying and if I stay then that's what's going to happen if I stay so I have to go."

Britt looks at you and says, "I'll come outside with you. Maybe I can convince you to stay."

The walls begin to close in on you and you shake your head. "No, that's okay," you say. "Enjoy the party."

You take once last glance at Roddy to see that he's looking at you before you start to walk toward door.

Your throat has closed up on you as you hold back tears. You walk to your car as you remember the laughter coming from Roddy as the girl said something.

"Y/N!" someone calls behind you as you reach the door.

The voice makes you almost lose it right then and there. You turn to see Roderick Strong walking behind you with a concerned look on his face. You shake your head and walk out onto the balcony area. On either side of this area are stairs that lead to the parking lot so technically you're just outside. The cool breeze whips through your hair and hits your face as you walk outside.

Roddy follows you. "Y/N, wait," he says. You sigh and look at your ex-boyfriend.

"What?" you ask, voice cracking. "Are you here just to walk out of my life again?"

Things didn't end very nicely between you and Roddy.

***

"Baby?" Roderick asks behind you.

You stand in your shared bedroom, holding his phone in your hands. Tears falling down your face as you look at the text notifications from his ex-wife on the lit up screen.

Roderick says, "Y/N? What's wrong?"

You sigh softly and read, "Roddy, love, when are you coming over? We want to see you tonight. Please text me when you get these." When you're finished reading, you look at your boyfriend. "What the fuck, Roddy? You told me it was over with her."

Roddy says, "It has been, Y/N. For two years."

"'Love'?" you say. "It's over but she still calls you 'love'. Okay, Roderick."

He walks over to you and he says, "It's not what it looks like, Y/N."

You cry, "I don't believe you, Roddy. I don't. I've seen you around her. You're happier when you're around her then you are with me. You constantly flirt with her and you disappear for days on end right after you talk to her."

Roderick says, "That's to see my son. You know that, Y/N. Do you really think that I'd cheat on you?"

"I don't know," you say. "You never let your son come over here and you just go over to her house. I've never even met your son after close to two years of dating. What's your lie for that?"

He looks slightly hurt as he says, "Because he's only three-years-old and he doesn't understand that his parents aren't together anymore. Adding you in there will only confuse him more. I've been waiting for the right time to introduce you to him, Y/N."

Things start to come together in your mind. That's a perfectly valid excuse. Troy is only three. He would be confused if you suddenly appeared in his life. He wouldn't understand why his parents aren't together. Roddy and his wife split shortly after Troy's first birthday and they've been co-parenting for years.

"I can't believe that you'd actually think I'd cheat on you," Roddy scoffs. "After two years, I thought you knew me better than that."

You immediately jump into defense mode as you say, "I'm sorry. I just never thought about how me being in Troy's life would confuse him. You're just gone for days on end and I-"

"Apparently don't trust me," Roderick says. He walks to the closet and grabs a suitcase. He puts clothes in it. "You don't trust me when all I do is go see my son, who I rarely get to see in the first place."

You say, "Roddy, please, I'm sorry. Please stay, let's just talk it out." You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his waist, not wanting to let go.

Roderick looks at you and says, "You don't trust me so why would I stay?" You look up at him and stay quiet. "Exactly." He takes his phone from you and walks toward the door.

You stand in the middle of the room, tears falling down your face. He stops, with his back turned to you and for a moment, you think he'll stay.

Your hopes are diminished as he walks down the hallway and down the stairs. Once the front door opens and closes, you start to cry. He left. He's gone.

***

You and Roderick stand face-to-face, alone for the first time in months.

"I never left," Roderick says. "You didn't trust me when all I did was leave to see my son."

Guilt hits you instantly and you say, "You could have stayed and we could have talked. I could have explained why I thought that you were cheating."

Roddy crosses his arms and he says, "So explain."

You say, "It's been four months, Roddy. What's the point?"

"I want to know if there was a reason behind why you thought that I was cheating on you," he says. "So explain."

You lean against the railing and you sigh. "It's because it wouldn't be the first time," you say. "When I first started in NXT, I met this guy and he would leave for a few days every few weeks. He would tell me he was visiting family. I received a DM from a girl who told me that she just found out that he was dating me and told me that him and her were dating each other. She had no idea about me. That's why I freaked out like I did because all I could think about was that message. I'll admit, I freaked out more than I should have but I was scared that it was happening again."

Roderick's expression and posture has softened as you explain your reasoning behind your freak out a few months ago.

Your words hang in the air for a few moments and you avoid looking at Roderick as soon as you're done talking.

Roderick finally breaks the silence when he says, "Kyle told me that you knew it was me that put him up to calling you earlier and that it was me that sent Adam to ask you to come. I wanted you here tonight, Y/N."

You finally look over at Roddy and ask, "Why? I thought you wouldn't want me around anymore after what happened."

"Because all I want this Christmas is for you and me to fix this," he says, reaching out and taking your hand. You look up at him with tear filled eyes. "I've missed you, Y/N. These past four months have been hell for me. I haven't gone a day without thinking about you and what would happen if we fixed things."

The tears start to fall down your cheeks as you listen to Roddy talk. You wait until he's done talking before you ask, "Why did it take you so long to try and fix this? Why did it take you four months?"

A car door closes and Roderick looks at the car. I look to see Roddy's ex-wife holding her son's hand. Her and Roddy's son. Troy.

Roderick says, "I've spent the past four months talking to Troy with Marina. We've been trying to get him to understand that his parents aren't together but that we're still his parents. Marina was talking to him about you, Y/N. She's been trying to get him to understand that she's his mother but that I'm with someone else."

Marina and Troy walk up the stairs and you look at Roddy. He looks at you before walking over to Marina and Troy. You stand in the same spot as Troy is picked up by Roddy. You see Roderick say something to Marina as she hands him a bag that was on her shoulder. She walks away and Roddy walks over to you with Troy.

Troy is looking at you and Roderick says, "So, Y/N. This is Troy. My son. This is the reason I left for a few days every few weeks."

You look at Roddy and ask, "After everything, you still want me to meet your son?"

Roderick nods and says, "I'm hoping that we'll fix things and that the past four months wouldn't have been a huge waste."

Troy says, "Y/N."

You raise your eyebrows and look at Troy. He smiles and holds his arms out to you. Roderick hands the toddler to you and you look at Roddy as you hold Troy in your arms.

Roderick smiles at the sight in front of him. "So what do you say?" he asks. "Give me a chance to fix things with us?"

You glance at Troy before looking at Roderick, saying, "Yes."

[jj-ktae]

Papers, I

Title : Papers Pairing : Park Jinyoung x Fem!Reader Genre : Victorian Era, Romance, Fluff, Angst, smut-ish,  Words : 3076 Summary : In the merciless 1850′s, Park Jinyoung finds solace in tiny pieces of paper and their owner.

Will be updated every Wednesday at 9 p.m CEST.

Prologue  ➳  II, III,

I,

Jinyoung wouldn’t call himself lucky. He doesn’t believe in such subjective things and his mind only sees things from a direct perspective. He knows a writer should be less down-on-earth, but he finds it hard to be laid back when everything is so harsh around him. 

He doesn’t even know why he assumes he has to think like a writer.

It’s probably because it is the only future he can foresee.

He receives an answer to each notes he leaves behind him. The conversation is casual but Jinyoung finds it more stimulating than any other mundanities. He is tired of having to avoid the other students and being ignored. It might be what the etiquette is about, but neither him nor his friends will ever understand the difference between two similar human beings.

They all blame it on the lack of education at the orphanage. It’s true that things were hard and revolved around beating up kids more than functional education but Jinyoung doesn’t get how it makes him unworthy of picking up a classmate’s handkerchief to give it back to him.

Jackson hates every minute of these moments. He hates how he has to stare at the ground or keep quiet when he hears the others talk about them like they carry the plague. Jaebeom ignores the whole situation, his introvert side taking the upper hand now while he would end up in nasty fights back then at the orphanage. 

This is exactly why he enjoys the candid answers he gets. He starts wondering who the person is, what they do, where they live. He doesn’t say much about himself; he knows enough to shut his mouth on the part where he is an orphan. Maybe the other one will stop answering, maybe he will have to deal yet again with that social difference. 

So cowardly he calls himself a literature student, a writer wannabe who lives in the rich part of the city. He writes no name after his notes, and he gets none in return. While he interacts with The art student, he begins his own narrative. It builds up slowly, with steady steps about the encounter of two people and lost pieces of paper. He starts again and again, never satisfied until he gets a note that offers more answers to his own interrogations. Jinyoung ends up imagining so many scenarios that it almost turns him crazy but for the very first time in his damned life he feels alive, eaten by something that isn’t hatred.

He even forgets about his surroundings and it feels like heaven. 

“Did they tell you about themselves?” Jaebeom barely questions him about it. He understood one thing about Jinyoung, and it doesn’t involve explicit talk. “You seem to be….vivid, these days.” 

Jinyoung looks up from his old notebook, his brow furrowed as the sun blinds his vision. They never stop outside, they barely let themselves feel vulnerable outside of their home. Society is about showing the bright things and they aren’t part of the jewels of the country. “I didn’t ask,” he says, closing the book with careful hands. “If I try, I will have to do the same.”

“Fair enough,” his friend answers, yawning so wide he receives curious glances from the other students. “You don’t want them to know who you are, but don’t you want to know who you’re talking to?” 

“I do,” Jinyoung chuckles, “but it doesn’t matter. I get answers, so it is enough for me.” 

Jaebeom leans against the wall, smiling when he sees two young students greet each other with stupid bows and fake smiles. “How do you think we would be living if our parents were still alive?”

It makes Jinyoung sigh way too loudly. “I don’t think about such things. It’s not like we can change anything.”

Jackson’s loud voice startles the whole tiny garden, putting it to silence as everyone stares at the sweaty boy. “Am I late?” He pants. 

Jinyoung looks around, doing his best to ignore the soft yet sharp comments ringing into his head.

“Let’s go.” Is all he says before getting up and escaping as fast as he can toward the classroom. 

He finds the anticipation of a new note way too stimulating. 

--

A  woman. 

It’s a young woman. 

Jinyoung didn’t expect the person to be a young lady. He barely comes across any at this tiny school. It’s a small academy of literature and arts, it has nothing to do with the big and horribly expensive schools of the city. It has its standards though and it’s filled with young people, fancy and fitting perfectly.

It changes everything. There are a thousand things you can’t say and do around a lady, so there must be the same rules for writing. Jinyoung takes his own piece of paper and coughs, not sure why his handwriting becomes so neat.

“A girl ?” Jackson’s voice startles him as his ideas vanish yet again. His friend observes the piece of paper, lips pursed. “aren’t they...not supposed to do such things?”

Jinyoung nods, surprise still visible on his usually neutral features. “These hold no face, it is only paper and ink. She must think of me as one of notables’ son and it gave her courage.”

His friend scoffs, “Does this even help you?” he whispers, letting the paper fall softly on the table.

Jinyoung doesn’t answer. 

It does.

He thinks for a minute before picking the note. It’s nothing but small talk, nothing important but he reads it over and over again.

I am an only child and I have no plans for the future. I just end up coming here and on a not so hectic day I found your note. I have to say it is not common for a young lady to do such tricks…

Tricks. Is this how they call it, in the mundane world ? Maybe it’s a distraction for you, something you do because you’re not allowed to. It’s probably the only thrill you get on a boring day and Jinyoung understood you fully.

He starts writing when his brain summons him to stop overthinking things again.

I understand.  I am an only child too, but my comrades are like brothers to me. Never did I think that I would get an answer initially and judging from the way you present yourself, I would have put my guess on a fellow gentleman. I suppose boredom makes us do the unthinkable.Tell me more about your week next time and as insignificant as it will likely be, I will let you know about mine. 

Jinyoung doesn’t need to ask as Jackson offers his chewing-gum silently with a wink. He puts it tight against the wood before crossing his arms.

--

A gentleman. 

He is a man. 

You pick up the note with shaky hands, not believing what you just read. You thought it was a lady, someone who was bored and needed distraction. It is not behaviour for a gentleman, as bored as he can be. You are not supposed to interact with them and considering the situation, you are not to interact with anyone.

Answering would mean not following proper etiquette, and you’ve transgressed a few rules already.

Still, he seems to be puzzled, as if eager to know more about a lady who would be daring enough to do such things. There is no harm in continuing and he has no clue about who you are exactly. The lack of interactions between you and the rest of the people assures a certain hideout.

He will never know. He must never know. 

You look around, the silence evident and deafening. Each answer is a risk you’re not sure you’re willing to take. 

As you pick up a forgotten piece of paper and rip a corner, you pray for tranquillity. 

You will probably be disappointed as I’m afraid nothing exciting happened so far. It is repetitive, filled with night and day. I come and I go in silence, avoiding society. I don’t loath my surroundings but I fear the dexterity of social gatherings. I might not be cut for such a delicate exercise. I stay away, running when I can and watching when I have to -

Maybe it’s too personal. He shouldn’t guess anything, especially not your hatred toward your own self.

“Y/N! If anyone sees you we will be in trouble!” The high-pitched voice makes you nod, your eyes meeting the worried features of your friend’s face.

“I’m almost done!”

- I act like i am complaining but be assured that I enjoy life as far it can take me. I had a busy day filled with nothing worth sharing. I will probably let you know if anything exciting occurred in my next note, if you are still inclined to keep the exchange. Do not forget to let me know about your week as you promised. 

You use the same gum to hide the note  - and you hope he doesn’t notice it, before getting up and leaving. 

“You will be the end of me, Y/N.” Your friend whispers angrily as you leave the classroom. She is fidgeting with worry as her eyes wander the corridor.

“Nothing will happen to us. No one is here at such a time. I made sure no one finds the note, Vivi.” You try to appease her fear by throwing an arm around her shoulder but she hushes you, an upset smile appearing when you start laughing.

“If someone were to see the way we behave…” She shakes her head before stopping in front of the door. “As soon as we get there, I want to see the note!”

Vivienne is a good person. She is the neighbour’s daughter and your lives have always been as entwined as they could be. Her smile is contagious but she takes things too seriously.

Well, you’re probably the one not caring enough.

You open the building’s door and hook and arm around hers before rushing back home. You don’t let go of the tiny piece of paper.

Vivienne takes the notes from your hand as soon as you enter your room. She follows you like she always do every week. Today is the day you always come back late so she stays with you. 

She reads it with dreamy eyes before letting it fall on your bed. Her position change as she can finally be herself.

“A Gentleman ? Y/N, does he know ? I thought you were entertaining another stupid young mistress. I cannot believe such a thing is happening. He should never-

“Never know who I am. I know.” You finish with a sigh before jumping on your bed. “He doesn’t say who he is either, so nothing will happen. He seems so bored and serious.” You laugh when Vivienne unties her tight dress. 

“He is a rich literature student living in the city, what good is it to do such unholy things, especially with a lady?” She wonders, taking a deep breath when the air finally enters her constricted lungs. “It has always been a game, to them.”

“Drop it, Vivi. We know enough about etiquette to understand it is not made for us. It must be entertaining for him to know that a young lady of good education can interact with a gentleman with no worry. I don’t find it shocking in any other circumstances; we both know it isn’t a crime to talk with a gentleman but they don’t. I’m more worried about the gossip and what i will lose if anyone discovers what I have been doing.”

It is true. You talk with the kids in your neighbourhood every day. The young boys here are friendly, if not more caring than any other boys. You are not used to follow etiquette as it isn’t needed; you know it only because it is necessary to survive and remain. Speaking loudly, laugh, sing, fight, eat messily, hug, all of this is normal life and you can’t imagine it being forbidden. 

“Boring. They must be so boring.” Vivienne concludes, her voice dying and another one shaking you both.

“Time for dinner!”

--

Jinyoung finds it unusual. He never anticipates a class. Creative Writing is interesting when it doesn’t involve endless talking. He hates it when he has to lock his brain into his head and listen to whatever happens and it often happens. 

But today he is eager to enter the class and hopefully discover an answer. He ignores Jackson and Jaebeom’s witty remarks about how a Lady has taken an interest in him and merely answers. She must be too bored and in need of something thrilling. It is the way they live.

He pulls the paper from under the table as soon as he takes a seat. He doesn’t even try to hide anything.

“You should be careful. You will be in trouble if they start meddling in your business.” Jaebeom taps his pen on the table rapidly before glancing toward the professor. “She will be, too.”

What trouble could she get? Money is enough to make your way out of trouble. Trouble is for people like us, Jinyoung wants to answer. 

Instead he nods before opening the note.

It sounds different this time. He was expecting lines of useless tea gatherings and uninteresting chatting but he finds more depth than he thought he would have. She seems lost and far from the acts of the Upper class. Jinyoung doesn’t quite understand why would anyone not enjoy living among the rich in such hard times so he gets puzzled as to what he could answer.

He wants to say he hates the rich, he wants to yell at whoever deemed it good to let people behind to they own misery. He cannot speak though, his tongue is tied and his soul gone with the promise of a disturbed future. 

A wave a melancholy hit him and against better judgment, he keeps the answer neutral, like nothing is triggering him.

On this we do agree. I am myself not fond of such games. I stay evasive when needed and watch my surroundings. This is why writing heals more than it is supposed to - it is not surprising for a literature student, you may think. I am afraid my days aren’t exciting either. I am working on a piece that I will have to submit to my teacher so it takes most of my time. Considering the amount of stimulation I receive, I can say it is not going smoothly. 

Jinyoung stops when he thinks about how ridiculous it is to act like someone he isn’t. What the hell should he feel ashamed of what he is?

So his last sentence hits the papers way faster than intended. He hopes to find excitement, he believes it is to get a better view for his works but in fact he wants to disturb. He wants to pique, if not face to face, then on papers it will be. 

ps : If I may ask, what do you think about the rich? Please do not fear of my reaction and do not answer if such questions disturb your tranquillity.

He snorts at himself before sticking the paper again. Why would he even care about disturbing the empty life of the powerful?

When class ends he leaves, furious at no one and nothing but filled with a rage to change the balance. He will not end like this. 

--

“What I think about the rich?” You ask yourself, crouched behind the table.

It is ridiculous, why would anyone ask such a question? You start to panic when you imagine the probability of being discovered. Speaking badly of them would be ill-mannered, but no one would ever be able to tell it is you who wrote those words.

You are not even supposed to know how to write. 

Vivienne is busy next to you, her dirty dress swiping the floor with every step.

You grab a piece of paper you had previously taken with you and try to find an answer.

Before you can think you start writing messily, like someone is watching from behind.

If you don’t mind, you can share the subject of your writing with me. I see we both fancy peacefulness- 

You stop, not in the mood to act like you want to know more. 

About your question, I don’t know what it is that you mean but I would say that they are the essence of our society. Their intelligence is building the country and our wealth is nothing to be ashamed of. If you mean to put it in confrontation with the poor, I would say they do nothing but maintain an order which every peaceful monarchy should have. The rich have the knowledge and power and it is what it is. It is natural for humanity to place its bets on the survival of the fittest.

You feel nauseous as you finish the paper. It is probably what he wants to read so you wrote whatever would please a rich person. It is disgusting and untrue but there is only so little you can do without rising doubt in the mind of this young gentleman.

If he wants someone to flatter his pride, then so be it.

It has always been that way. 

--

The notes get shorter after that. You are not sure whether you did something wrong or not, but the answers get colder and colder. There are still here though, every weeks and with the same beautifully written letters.

You answer, even though it is nothing but wind in an empty shell. 

Jinyoung doesn’t know what he was expecting. He knew from the start who he would be corresponding with and it is no surprise. 

It is after one class that the story gets blurred. 

He is about to leave when the professor interrupts them. 

“Starting next week we will gather in the main amphitheatre. This room is only used for creative writing and in spite of how inspiring I think it is, it will no longer be used in this way.”

Jinyoung freezes, his notebook almost falling. 

While Jaebeom and Jackson are leaving, he speaks, startling them.

“Sir, no other lessons are being held here?” He looks vivid.

The teacher is as disturbed as the rest of the class. “No, it hasn’t been used by anyone else in the past five years.”

-

[oh-theres-a-woman]

War Melodies on the Gramophone; Part 2

A/N: Here’s the requested part two!! Thank you so much to the lovely anon and other loving followers that expressed their want for a part two. The conclusion to this story! Really hope that its the ending you desired! A fitting end to the reunited pair, wouldn’t you say? 

Taglist: @zodiyack , @itsfrancisneptun , @shelbys-we-get-the-job-done, @amy-booxx​ & @fandom-fucking-shit

Pairing: Thomas “Tommy” Shelby X Female Reader 

Word Count: 1519

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It was quaint and quiet the Shelby townhouse was at this hour. The loud crowd of the household all down at the Garrison which you’d departed shortly after. Tommy carried himself like he was the cock of the wall. The alpha among his pack. Yet, he held the damaged air of a dangerous lone wolf on the prowl.  He wasn’t at all the boy you once met, however, during the war you had borne witness to that transformation as well your own. 

Sitting down in the living area on a comfortable but worn out loveseat. You observed the family setting the room gave. Apart from that, it warmed your soul to know that he had a family to come back to. The epidemic that you had come home to without rest to throw yourself into a great risk environment of sickness and death after the gore-ish war. You had taken ill for a time and thought it’d be finally your end. Fate had something much crueller in mind for you. Your mammy and pappy as you called them took ill. It carried them away to the heavenly gates before you were able to see them again. 

So, the homely scene was almost comforting to you. As you straighten your posture, gazing at some of the things that made it uniquely home. Only to be caught off guard by Tommy’s outstretched hand offering you a glass of whiskey. Awkwardly you smiled up at him. Accepting the drink, even if you’d had a few at the Garrison it felt like you needed a bit of a boost of your confidence. Time surely had passed on the era where you were certain to know that man before you. But, life was so different now. 

Once you would have been able to speak your dreams, but now it seemed foolish to speak to a stranger. Whiskey was the answer for each discouraging thought that told you to run. Those thoughts dampened the best of moods, they wouldn’t win now. Fencing off those insecurities you clung to the hopes that made things seem a little more realistic. “You have a lovely home Tommy, it’s so homely. It's nice. Simple.” You complimented smiling at the rim of your glass. The home was something you have been looking for since you had returned from the war. After everything, the places you stayed were only beds to sleep in. The area where you paid way too much rent for the upkeep on a cheap and run-down flat. Shouldering the debts of family gambling… Your brother’s issues. Yet, that little shit ran away with his tail between his legs when he heard the world of your return. 

You guessed that’s what came of the younger generation that didn’t go to war. It was all about larking about, making a fool of oneself. “Thank you, my Aunt Pol is very particular with things. She likes things one way. Her way and no other way.” Thomas didn’t change with one point that was likeable. Things were always straight to the point and it never took long for him to answer. He was smart, quick with his wit. Maybe there were actually a lot of points you honestly liked about it. Truly, if you were a grand author or poet you’d be able to write it all out. If time would allow you and you had the knowledge of all the fancy words under the sun. 

No, you were, in fact, a little simple. Smart, but your wit came with the job and doing things with your hands. It helped things come across clearer; feelings, desires and needs. 

“You’re somewhere else, [y/n],” Thomas said in a matter-of-fact, seating himself beside you. Nursing his own drink of Irish Whiskey. “Where are you lost?” He asked you quietly. Blue observing eyes turned quickly to you drinking your lovely features in. The distance in your handsome gaze. 

“I don’t know, sometimes I just drift. A lot of days are like that.” You admitted hesitantly, it almost felt like dumping a burden on Thomas after so all. Sadly, the certainties of old familiarities seemed and felt long forgotten at that moment.  

“I understand that, somedays it feels better to just be somewhere else, doesn’t it?” Tommy commented rather understandingly. Offering you a cigarette from his smart-looking case in the front pocket of his well-tailored coat. Gratefully accepting the stick of pure calmative and nicotine. Placing the glass down on the coffee table, you took it between your slightly chapped lips. Inhaling at Tommy lit the end, sparking the ember to life and filling your lungs with that heavy relief you couldn’t describe. 

“Exactly, the work helps. It’s always helped. When I slow down the demons come rushing back, night horrors.” You admitted between a neutralizing inhale of the nicotine. It levelled out the insecurities. Beat them out like a flat iron. Before letting out a shaky laugh looking down at your lap feeling awfully silly about the suppression of emotions. Flicking the ask into the provided tray before you. “So, what have you been doing with your life? It seems to be going well for you, appearance-wise. But, I always picture you to be quite the smartly dressed fellow in any case.” There, finally, set in the creeping ease in your manner and comfort. Tensions releasing from you like a heavyweight rolling free off your shoulder and down a large hill. 

“Bookkeeping and other sorts of jobs pay well enough, I won’t lie about that.” Tommy exhaled a cloud of smoke as he spoke, filling the dimly lit room with a greyish cloud that held a little bit of mystery to it. “By it sounds and the girl you were with at the Garrison, is it safe to assume you’re still a nurse?” He asked with a focus dedicated only to you. 

“Yes, but I’m studying in the field to become a doctor. Bold, I know. The men at work are more than happy to point out how unwomanly and unbecoming it is to become a doctor. But, I don’t mind at all. It’d give me a purpose and something to look forward to. After all the hard work is done.” You smiled absentmindedly at the man at your side, feeling that comfort between each other once more. Like it had never left in the first place. Just stagnant time held, needing the flow of conversation once more to remove the frigid awkwardness.

Tommy chuckled at your remark of the men at work, their thoughts seemed invalid to him. “You’ve always had the most delicate hands, that do the job right the first time. Don’t take any notice of them.” There was a wit in his remark. Soul-warming. It lit an old spark for you. That had been so suppressed for so very long. It made you want to ask a question--something that would bug you later if you didn’t. No matter how rude it’d seem. 

“Are you married, or involved with anyone, Tommy?” You needed to ask. Eyes appearing glassy when asking such a question. Almost like you’d cry if you heard someone stole his heart. Foolish and bitter as it seemed, the little light that was alive between you and the Brummy had kept hell from your door for a time. Pitiful it just seemed to lose all that now. Even when you didn’t know Shelby pulled through there was a hope there that he was always out there. Healthy, alive, surrounded by the people that mattered--even, bitterly, a lover if he had one. 

Tom’s gaze became distant and wandering now. Taken to a place elsewhere. Locked on memories of the past. “No, there’s no one. The occasional whore, nothing emotional.” He suffocated the embers of his cigarette finishing that statement. Sparks jumping up and licking across his fingertips. Before glancing at you with that dangerously handsome gaze that made you feel like those days were the war stopped for a moment. Where you found yourself in his embrace. 

“I lost my heart and was broken by a nurse in the war, for the longest time I didn’t know she was alive… That was until tonight when I saw you in the Garrison. All dolled up and looking every part the goddess of Gyspy dream.” Thomas said in a perfectly heartbreaking voice, before drawing you to his lips. Right hand on your cheek, smoothing over the soft flesh. Left-arm a smooth snake around your waist, stealing your breath away as you gave yourself away into the passion of a shared kiss. That searing reunion that seemed to call for both you. 

“I lost mine to a Brummy Boy turned man, the bookkeeper, a crowned prince of the Peaky Blinders. My Thomas Shelby.” You announced against his rough lips once more. Before stealing a rough kiss once more. Easing back into the love seat letting things take their natural course. Only the smell of sweat and cigarette clung into the air after a time. Sweaty bodies tangled together. Still high from the memory of each other’s embrace. 

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

CSUAPR prt 15

Babies... Keith's head was filled with everything baby. His legs as shaky as a new born fawn as he stumbled along beside his mother's side. She hadn't held back. On any of it. Keith wasn't sure if he was relieved that his dick was semi-normal by Galra standards. Sure. Not all of them did what his did, so it wasn't common in recent era's, but it wasn't completely uncommon either. Though it usually happened when they considered their partners their other half after years of trust... Not when the relationship was new and fresh, and not so much between same sexed couples. So his dick had a mind of its own in that aspect. Or that was the general gist of what he got. There was something about cross species and Altean's and he didn't need to know that Kolivan had never swelled up in his mother, and yet, he'd been cursed with that information against his will. No amount of mental soap and steel wool would ever expunge that from existence. They hadn't even touched the topic of Lance other than the very top layer of him not being alright, his interest in Galra pregnancy failed to stay a background interest. Once his mother started she didn't shut up. No matter how many times he'd groaned, dry wretched or covered his ears. And Kolivan... Kolivan was loud. Keith nearly threw up on that fact alone. He didn't need to know his father was a "grunter" while Kolivan was "loud". No amount of therapy would help him. Why did he need to know any of this?! Why was he being punished!? He wanted his husband. Lance wouldn't subject him to the "ins and outs" of his parents sex life. Even phrasing it like that led to his soul draining away a fraction more. Kolivan wasn't loud... Loud Kolivan... How was he supposed to face Kolivan again? Still in a daze, Keith could see Shiro and Curtis approaching, both men happily holding hands as they took in the fun of their festival. He envied them. There they were, oblivious to Kolivan in bed, while he was haunted. Pushing his boyfriend towards them, Keith kept walking until he smacked into Shiro's wide chest. Krolia sighing at him, while Curtis hung back behind Shiro "Keith? You ok there, bud?" "Kolivan's loud in bed" Blurting out the most tormenting thought of all, Krolia snickered at him. Shiro awkwardly patting his back, as if that would magically make him feel better "Uh... Good for him?" Keith shook his head, looking up to meet Shiro's eyes with a silent desperation in his to be saved. Covering her mouth as she continued to laugh, his mother was horrible "I gave the birds, the bees, and the babies, talk. He's been like this for the last varga" Shiro's face morphed into second hand embarrassment as he sympathised "Oh, man. I'm sorry to hear that" Dropping his gaze back to Shiro's chest, Keith mumbled "It's in my head" "Did you learn anything useful?" "Kolivan's loud in bed" "I don't think that counts as useful. Where's Lance? I thought he'd be with you?" "He's lucky. He escaped. He's sleeping... Shiro..." "I know. I heard you. Are you sure he's alright on his own? Maybe I should go check on him" "He's got Kosmo. If you want to be helpful, you can take mum" Snorting at him, Shiro's robotic arm patted his head "Sorry, little bro. I've got an arm wrestling match to win" "Take me with you? Please... I can't take any more" "Keith, you're being over dramatic. You're part Galra, and though you and Lance aren't ready for children yet, you should know about your heritage, whether you choose to adopt or use an egg donor" Keith whined at Shiro. He definitely was not ready to be a father. Not after what his mother said. Babies now took the top list of terrifying things. Projecting out both ends. Endless nights of screaming. Crying with no idea why. Mood swings. Leaking boobs. Constant need to pee... Puking. Poop all the way up and out the nappy. Sudden infant death. Defects. Potential haemorrhaging during birth. Strokes. His knees just about gave out. His mother was supposed to make him feel better. Not scare the ever living quiznak out of him. How was Lance even functional. He had to know about all these things "I think you've broken, Krolia. Would you like to join us? Curtis has a tendency to really get into these kind of things. He's nearly as entertaining as the match itself" Curtis grumbled about his boyfriend, but Keith could hear the love. It only served to make him miss the grounding presence of his husband. He never should have climbed out of bed. All he'd done since climbing out of bed was be hassled by spiralling thoughts, and nearly upset Shay. A whole lot of "nothing accomplished". "How could I say no to you, Shiro? It's a much better invitation than walking around with Keith like this" Shiro laughed, his brother was traitor. His brother had also been painfully right. He had no idea what he'd gotten himself into... or gotten he and Lance into. He needed his husband. Lance would know what to say... hopefully... Mumbling Lance's name, Shiro patted him on the head again "Curtis, do you want to go check on Lance real quick for us? I would send Keith, but he's defaulted to factory settings" "I don't mind... but do we have the time?" "We have a little over 40 doboshes before the first match starts. That should be enough time for you to check on Lance and to get back in time to start checking out the competition" Turning Keith, Shiro placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed him forward "Come on, you. Hot sweaty arm wrestlers are just the thing to brighten your mood" "Not as hot as Lance" Leaning in, Shiro proceeded to prove he was able to fuck with him just as bad as Krolia did "Trust me. Curtis goes crazy for this, in more ways than one. He barely keeps it in his pants. Maybe you should enter? I bet Lance would go all weak-kneed" Keith bit down a silent groan. His family were a bunch of mean weirdos. As he felt himself walking forward, he could only ponder as to why he even let them into his life to begin with. * Woken by Kosmo barking, Lance hadn't had enough sleep. His head throbbed, and his throat felt as if someone had held his mouth open then poured gravel down his throat. Confused by what was going on, he made to climb off the bed, only for Kosmo to growl at him. The wolf seemed to have grown in size as he paced between the bed and the door. It wasn't until he heard a "thud" against the door that his heart started racing. Someone was out there. Someone was out there and they were doing something. If it'd been Keith, or one of their friends, then Kosmo wouldn't be going crazy. Scrambling off the bed, Lance grabbed his blades from his boots, Kosmo growling at him again, then grabbing him by the hand when Lance went to move towards the door. Pulling his hand from Kosmo's mouth, Lance sidestepped silently to the wall, following along to the door. His senses narrowed and focus on the shuffling sound on the other side of the door, waiting for them to make their move. Each tick a dozen beats of his heart... but nothing was happening. Looking at Kosmo and giving him the slightest nod, the wolf teleported from the bedroom. A clear yelp coming from the otherside. Not wanting Kosmo to kill someone, and not completely sure it wasn't a case of the wrong room because all the passages looked exactly the same, he whistled softly, Kosmo reappearing as the sounds of heavy footsteps running gradually faded away. All at once, he deflated against Kosmo as the wolf trotted to him. Wrapping his arms around him, Lance buried his face in Kosmo's thick fur as he tried to calm down "Thanks, boy. I'm ok... I'm ok" Whining at him, Kosmo gave a yip and wriggled out his hold, before head butting softly at Lance's stomach with a kind of" questioning yip". Lance would have laughed if his heart wasn't still going a zillion miles an hour. With shaky arms, he wrapped them back around Kosmo who teleported them over to the bed. Kosmo was trying to make him rest, but it honestly felt like he'd left his stomach back over near the door. He'd always know Kosmo was so much smarter than he played. He obviously knew Lance was pregnant... Kosmo probably smelt it on him. He knew such things were possible. He been a "pregnant whore" before. Feeling his fears turning to tears, Lance remained semi-kneeling as he started to cry softly. Keith had barely been gone a few vargas. He remembered telling his husband to go, and now he was having a meltdown because Keith wasn't there to hold his hand. He had no idea what he would have done if they had entered his room. He'd sent Kosmo out there when they could have hurt him. He hadn't thought. He hadn't acted rationally. He'd grabbed his blades in preparation to attack. If he hadn't recognised the person... he could have... he probably would have... He... It wouldn't have been the first time that he'd murdered someone. There they were... He and Keith playing happily like he didn't have a past. Like he deserved to be happy. To start a family. How many people had he taken away from their family? Whining softly, Kosmo wriggled to get his head up, nosing at his tears. He didn't want to upset Kosmo. He didn't want to upset Keith. Keith was so excited about their twins. He'd thought he be happier about it all. He thought he and Keith would choose when it was time, when their marriage was actually functioning. He had to be fine by the time Keith came back. His husband was trying to hard to make him feel loved and safe "I'm ok, Kosmo. Thank you. I think I want to get some more sleep, but I can't do it when you're sitting on the blankets. Hop off for me, then you can have all the pats and cuddles you want" Jumping down off the bed, Kosmo trotted over to the door where he sniffed loudly at the bottom seam line, before starting to scratch at it. His fur son sending his heart racing all over again at the thought that someone could still be standing there. Someone waiting for him... His lungs already felt tight, as if verging on a panic attack. Knowing that it wouldn't leave until he knew for sure that no one was there. Lance moved much more carefully and slowly as he climbed off the bed again. His steps were just as light as he moved to the door, slamming his hand down on the door button. Darting forward, Kosmo grabbed something off the floor. Lance kicking into overdrive with the panic the action brought. What was he thinking!? Did his son really not have as many brain cells as he thought he did? Grabbing Kosmo by his collar, Lance wrestled him back into the bedroom, hitting the door button blindly as he moved to stand over Kosmo, feet planted both sides of the menace. As the door silently slid closed, Lance grabbed the object from Kosmo's, Kosmo having the nerve to look proud of himself "Go get on the bed. You're a shit. You don't do that. You cannot, I repeated, you cannot go around putting whatever you want in your mouth. Don't scare me like that again" Kosmo's tail kept thumping. Lance's words going right over his head as he tuned him out "Bed. Now!" Huffing, Kosmo teleported away, the wolf scratching back the top blankets to climb underneath with his arse hanging out. Tail still wagging. His son was an idiot. The object in Kosmo's mouth turned out to be an envelope. Sliding the tongue out, no mysterious powered poofed out. Holding the envelope with his left hand, he carefully pulled out what seemed to be a series of photos with his right. Frowning at the top photo, it was of his date the previous day. With the envelope behind the photos for support, his hands grew shakier. The first 9 photos were of his date with Keith. All of them taken from a distance. All of them of him, zoomed in so his face took up the majority of the frame... He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. Why would anyone take photos of him? He was on a date with his husband. He hadn't hurt anyone... Hitting the last two last photos, his eyes widened as he thumbed them on angle so both were visible. Vomit shooting up his throat, as the room swayed. One photo was his face scratched out. The second the stylised "y" he still hadn't recovered from. The stupid "y" that he found himself searching for on each customer that visited his bar, which was followed by the moment of fear when he couldn't see their arms. He loved his job. He lived for his job. That didn't mean he didn't have those fears. That didn't mean that some days he wanted to hide because of those at his outpost. Shaking so hard he fumbled the photos, Lance let out a squeak as the photos went up in flames, gone in a couple of ticks, as if the envelope had never been real. No ash or scorch marks on the floor. No scent of burning paper. Nothing... just... This had to be a dream. It'd been phoebs... Phoebs... He hadn't pissed anyone off lately, or anyone that he thought had a connection to those people... Sensing Lance's spiral, Kosmo teleported off the bed. The sudden touch of his long wet tongue against Lance skin made him shudder. Ghosting fingers sliding across his throat. The sensation of a hot breath against his ear. His breathing catching in his throat as his mind went blank. * Arm wrestling wasn't Keith's thing. Shiro and Krolia were locked in a heated debate over the competition line up. Shiro had the advantage with his robotic arm, but some of the competitors... you couldn't tell where the muscles ended and their heads started. They were so jacked that Keith wasn't sure they had any kind of life outside of the gym. Maybe it was just him, but liked men like Lance and himself. Neither of them looked particularly strong on the outside, but completely dominate a fight if needed. Long and lean, he loved his husband's strong arms, and even stronger legs. The soft warm hands that felt full of love, yet had and could kill if pushed so far. These guys reminded him of cheap plastic figures stuck in place, whereas Lance was flexible as hell. To an overly impressive degree... More than Keith was... which was frustrating. Lance got into enough trouble without being able to squeeze into even more trouble. Left to ponder what his husband would think of all of this, he wondered if it would be better to just slip away back to their room. Only, he didn't have the words he needed yet. He was in love with his twins, yet fucking terrified thanks to his mother. He loved Lance more than them, so why was it that when he tried to reassure himself that if something happened Lance being safe and well was his priority, that he couldn't get the thought of their hands and faces out his mind. Did that mean they meant more to him than his husband? Would there be a time when they meant more to Lance than he did? He felt like he'd missed the bottom stair and was stuck in the horrible long moment of limbo. When Curtis finally joined them, the first match had begun. Holding his left forearm, Curtis sidled up to him, confusing him with his meek manner. He'd only gone to check on Lance, what possibly could have gone wrong "Curtis, everything alright?" "Have I done something wrong?" Keith blinked half a dozen times "No? Did something happen? Did Lance say something? If he's having a panic attack or a meltdown he sometimes acts without control" "I didn't even get to check on Lance. Kosmo bit me" Rolling up his sleeve, the marks were bloody where his wolf had latched on. Keith's eyes went wide at the sight. Kosmo knew Curtis. He'd solicited pats from him more than once before "What did you?!" Yelled at to "shut up", Curtis didn't make his mistake of yelling. Instead he dropped to a more of an angry hiss "Me? I was pacing out there trying to figure out if I should knock, or let myself in case Lance was sleeping. I didn't want to disturb his rest if he wasn't feeling well still. Then when I hit the door button, I mustn't have hit it properly because I walked straight into the door. Then Kosmo teleported out and bit me!" Keith groaned, burying his face in his hands. Why the quiznak was Kosmo such an idiot!? Curtis was a friend. He knew Curtis was a friend... yet... Lance was also pregnant. Kosmo hadn't seen him since before he fell pregnant... His wolf was only trying to protect Lance in his vulnerable state... but that didn't make him any less of an idiot. It was Curtis! Curtis had the patience of a Saint! "I think I know what happened. Kosmo wasn't trying to hurt you. He was trying to protect Lance. He's nearly telepathic with Lance's moods. I am so sorry. Lance was most likely asleep, maybe even having a nightmare, and Kosmo saw anyone who wasn't me as a threat. We should get that cleaned up..." Curtis slumped back in his seat "I feel stupid for not knocking now. It felt wrong to just walk in on him..." Keith's appreciation of Curtis only rose further. Curtis genuinely cared for Lance, and wanted to respect his boundaries. Having been through so much with Shiro, Curtis most likely understood how triggering an unknown presence could be "Lance wouldn't want you bitten. Maybe next time try knocking, then letting yourself in? I don't know what to say. He's never acted like that before. Does it hurt? It looks like it should hurt" "Honestly, the moment he latched on I... I think I screamed before I ran" The confession was low, Curtis's pride damaged by Kosmo of all things. Screaming because of Kosmo... That was usually Lance as he was tackled down and licked to death "If it makes you feel better, Kosmo's tackled Lance and made him scream before" "It doesn't. He's a menace" Sounding huffy, Curtis only made it funnier by sounding exactly like Lance. The laughter he gave not appreciated as Curtis covered his bitten arm, before crossing both arms and glaring down at the arm wrestling ring "Sorry, Curtis. Lance frequently calls Kosmo a menace" "Lance is right. See if he gets extra treats next time he's on the Atlas. He's gone and done his dash" No wonder Lance and Curtis had found common ground so easily. They were way too alike... Having listened in on their conversation, Krolia leaned right over Keith. Showering his lap with the pastry crumbs of the weird thing she was munching on "You never got to check on Lance, did you?" His mother was right. Kosmo had chased Curtis away before he'd had the chance "No... If Kosmo is with him, and that aggressive, then he should be fine, shouldn't he? You did say he was sleeping when you left him, didn't you, Keith?" Keith nodded. Still, a sense of dread had started to rise from the pit of his stomach. Lance could have been having a panic attack on the other side of the door. He could have had a nightmare. He could have been throwing up again... What if he'd stressed himself into another seizure? "Yeah. Had a late night, maybe I should go?" Krolia sighed at him, spilling more crumbs as she nearly crushed the pastry while waving off his comment "If he's sleeping, you should let him sleep. Both of you are so stubborn about resting when you need to. Still, it's strange for Kosmo to bite..." Shooting up, Keith clenched his fists. Ignoring the fact he'd basically hit his mother by accident in his haste, Keith didn't feel reassured by either "adult" he'd been seated between. His life felt like a kaleidoscope of chaos, and he needed more "adult" adult "That's it. I'm going to check on him" "Keith" Calling his name, Keith ignored his mother. She'd filled his head with a hundred and one things to think of. He literally didn't think his brain able to absorb anything more.

[sammyspreadyourwings]

Maylor - 11 - “I’m just glad you’re safe. I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you.” (And I hope you are feeling good today! ♥)

11) “I’m just glad you’re safe. I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you.”

I’m feeling fine, just picking my way through prompts and classes!

CW: Very Minor mention of Medical Procedures

Circa Modern Era (1973!Queen)

Brian has always prided himself on being level-headed, it’s kept his apartment intact more than once from the combine hurricane force that is Roger and Freddie. Once John gets more comfortable with them, he’s sure he’ll have an ally, but for now, Brian takes Freddie’s joke of Band Mom as a compliment. That isn’t to say he isn’t prone to anxiety (and as Roger points out depression), but he has more of talent of out logicing his emotion.

When the proctor of his exam calls him up to the front of the room, he wonders if it’s a case of the proctor thinking that he cheated when he cracked his neck a few minutes ago. The anxiety simmers, but he reminds himself that he’s done nothing wrong and therefore can’t be punished.

“You’re Roger Taylor’s emergency contact, right?” The proctor asks with the air of someone who thinks this is beneath her.

Although the words don’t inspire any confidence, “yes, ma’am.”

She eyes him and the stretches her hand out, “hand me your test, you’ll be able to reschedule more time with your professor. It appears that Mr. Taylor has gotten into a car accident.”

Brian’s heart stops, “which?”

“University College,” the proctor’s hand is still outstretched.

Brian hands her the papers and is allowed to retrieve his phone. He quickly grabs his bags and hurries towards the bus stop. He wonders if he should call John but shakes his head John would be in his own exam or just about to be and the proctor is likely to be even less friendly than his own. Either way, it’s a five-minute wait and a fifteen-minute ride.

It doesn’t stop his mind from spiraling into the worst-case scenarios. Brian feels sick, and he can’t out reason it. He wishes that the proctor had been able to tell him more, at least then he had parameters to stop his panic. Roger could be anything from bruised and shaken to-

He can’t even put the two in a sentence together.

When the bus comes to a stop, Brian stumbles out and places his arm against the wall to brace himself. He manages to keep himself from getting sick, but his hands are still visibly trembling. His breathing is getting shallower and he’s very near to a panic attack. Brian wishes that either Freddie or John were with him, or better yet, Roger was soothing him.

This is all a bad dream, right?

Eventually, he works up the courage to step into the A&E he’s immediately assaulted by the sound of a crying baby. He winces and moves up to the desk. The tech looks a little overwhelmed, and Brian doesn’t blame her considering the number of people in the waiting room.

“May I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m Roger Taylor’s emergency contact? They told me that he’d be here?”

The tech types something, and then slides a visitor tag over to him, “he’s in room 7.”

That probably means he hasn’t been in surgery and Brian lets out a sigh of relief. It may still be bad, but Roger isn’t in danger. More weight lifts from his shoulders. He signs his name on the tag and follows the tech’s directions to the entrance way of the exam rooms. Brian has always hated emergency rooms. They carry an aura of anxiety that makes his own worse.

He tries to not look too lost while he looks for the proper room. A few minutes later he’s sliding through the curtain and holding his breath. What he wasn’t expecting was to see Roger’s eyes flick up to his, apparently coherent.

Roger is holding a patch of gauze next to his eyebrow, but other than a red mark on his forearm he looks okay.

“Brian? What are you doing here?”

“They got in touch with the college and called me here,” Brian moves closer, “but never mind that, are you okay?”

“If they told you that it was an accident then they misinformed you, it was just a bit of a fender bender,” Roger pouts.

Brian takes the hand not holding the gauze and holds it to his still racing heart.

Roger flattens the hand on his chest, “Jeez, Bri, I’m okay. Really. They probably didn’t want me getting home by myself with my face numbed for when they put stitches in.”

That makes sense. Brian lets out another shaky breath.

“You should be in an exam right now, right?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Brian assures.

“Brian May saying an exam doesn’t matter? Are you sure you don’t have a head injury?”

“I might be suffering from oxygen deprivation,” Brian jokes with a heavy tone, “might have given myself a panic attack.”

“I’m fine, just a small cut,” Roger curls his fingers slightly, “sorry about stressing you out.”

Brian shakes his head, “I’m just glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

It’s very near to the word they haven’t said to each other. Not for any lack of feeling it, they both knew how the other felt, but just because they wanted this relationship to feel semi-normal.

“You won’t have to find out for a while yet,” Roger smiles, “I don’t plan on leaving.”

Brian opens his mouth the counter that, but Roger’s hand darts up to place a single finger against his lips.

“Hush.”

He closes it and then purses his lips into a semblance of kissing the digit.

“Kiss me better?”

Brian leans in when the curtain is tugged loudly to the side. A slightly bemused older gentleman enters with a clipboard.

“Well, Mr. Taylor, considering you’ve seduced three of my nurses and have this one wrapped around your finger, I’d say you’re good to go.”

Roger preens and Brian at least has the decency to look ashamed. The doctor chuckles and hands the clipboard to Roger who starts filling things out. Brian watches with interest as the doctor pulls off the gauze to reveal three neat stitches.

“Keep these dry, covered when you think they’re going to get dirty or overly sweaty, and your GP can take them out in about ten days.”

“Thank you.”

“If there are any more symptoms please don’t hesitate to come back in, some brain injuries take a few days to manifest.”

Brian nods while Roger rolls his eyes. The doctor takes the clipboard back and glances at it.

“Looks good, you’re free to go!”

Roger hops down from the bed and Brian immediately tugs him to his side. Roger simply wraps around him and grins up in him.

“Does this mean you’re going to nurse me back to health?”

“I’m going to wrap you in blankets and then not let you move for the rest of the weekend.”

“Eh, as long as you’re with me, I think I can manage.”

[hhemeraa-a]

          Rumors had spread about their house, about the things that were done there because one servant too many escaped to tell the tale. One was simply crazy, a foolish girl from a poor family, who would bother to believe her over the powerful house of Black? But two whose stories were far too similar and years, if not decades, apart to blame on a simple collaboration -- ah, that does perk up some suspicion, doesn’t it. One prying eye too many, rumors built on nothing but feverous imaginations and who was to say otherwise when the pair never left? 

         Prejudice. Ignorant. Blind despite their eyes, humans were distracted by the simple illusion of a pretty face. Torches and pitchforks wouldn’t dare pierce soft rich skin or golden hair -- entranced, under a spell -- Myles was bewitched and they were here to save him. The harder he fought, the more proof it was that the man simply didn’t know better, that the collective must snatch the glowing man away from his bewitcher to bring him back to royal house of Knight after being lost for so many years. Bound, gagged, dragged off into the night without a trace and nothing but fear -- humans praised their intelligence, their misplaced sense of cunning that they have saved Myles Knight from his captor! A drug here or there to help him sleep, holy water and sage to purge the demons, the binds to ensure he would not fall back into the hands of the devil. 

         Anger faded into desperation. Desperation faded back into anger, but as the days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months did man hatch a plan within the darkness of his cage. An act to win the hearts of dumb animals that smelled like rotting meat in the sun. With every tear, with every praise to monolithic god and cries of unbridled happiness that he’s been saved did Myles plot their death. Every inch closer to freeing his binds did he imagine the taste of their sweaty filth ridden flesh between his teeth. I’m cured he’d plead, Praise be for your faith he’d sob through tears under the illusion that he’d finally broken free from the spell he’d been under for years. 

         "I’m ready to be let out now.”

         Pristine white church was splashed in a beautiful crimson as immortality brought powers he never knew he possessed. Fingers turned sharp, carving perfect lines through stone and bone as he tore through man and woman that dared keep him there. Golden eyes bloodshot and wet from months of frustration that he’d been gone for so long away from his love; how Vincent must be suffering, how far away he must be, how hungry, how desperate-- thoughts buzzed through his head in a single minded focus while bittersweet red mixed with the salt of tears that fell in thick drops until they couldn’t anymore and it wasn’t until stomach was so full that he vomited at the base of foreign alter what little bits of human he couldn’t keep down that he stopped and realized he’d never seen such a place. Pews upon pews, tall ceilings, statues depicting deities he’s never seen with a smoke he couldn’t place. Was this place supposed to be pure? Was this place supposed to be holy? 

         Where was he that such filthy things would lock him away in the name of his soul? 

         Large doors opened up to rolling hills and vast sky with unfamiliar stars littered the sky, but this building was alone save for the few sparkling lights of a town barely seen over the horizon. What books he could find were written in a language he didn’t understand, church an outlier in architecture of the area -- this was not home. This may have not been the same continent for all he knew. He was lost. 

         Lead after failed lead, rumor after failed rumor, blond scoured the Earth on the hunt for lost partner. Months too late, their home left abandoned, but tell tale marks on the walls, on the ceilings, on the floors told a story Myles didn’t want to read. How long had it been? How long had it taken him to get so close he could almost taste it? Myles could tell the men down to the last second from the moment he left his peaceful isolated estate to this very moment how long he’d been away. Every second was one too much and it pained him in a way that he couldn’t describe. The physical he could handle, memories of first realizing what he was, the emptiness in his stomach and the aches in his bones and flesh withered away; it was nothing compared to anguish he felt inside. 

         Selfish nights were filled with the wishes of the damned, that maybe they’d both die and see each other in hell -- if not to finally be together, but to end this suffering he knew lost love was feeling. Ah he couldn’t even imagine the monster the man would have become after so long. Would he recognize him? Would he know it was him? Perhaps the taste of his own flesh would keep these thoughts at bay, punishment for such pitiful notions. 

         But today held promise as full cart of hunters with misplaced confidence and egos rattled over bumpy dirt roads into a deathly quiet town. Eyes watched as they all chattered away, comparing notes and tales of beasts fought long ago to see which of them was the strongest, which of them had the better strategy to face what was soon to come, who would be in charge, boosting their egos while attempting to put down another’s -- Fools. All of them. Disgusting fools. 

         “Bait.” Is all blond said, motioning towards hair before staring back into the thickening darkness of the woods. The rest of the men nodded in blind agreement, talking in circles until they believed it was their own idea to let him draw out the beast. Myles could smell it and it made his skin prickle and crawl, this might be it, he could be this close. Hip pouches were filled with an assortment of trophies -- the teeth of werewolves, broken haunted baubles, bits of silver and holy water, crushed diamonds and rubies, all remnants of beasts hunted and felled in the hopes of finding The One, but these things were nothing but garbage compared to the single ring that was nestled deep within. Considered an antique in this era, worth more than the two haunted souls he kept in a jar on his back, he slipped it on while continuing to ignore the human chatter behind him that seemed to be bickering about the split of reward money. They sounded like cattle prattling on before walking into slaughter. 

         It made him laugh.

         “What a haughty disposition you have Mr.Black, do you think you’re better off than the rest of us?”          Myles continued to smile, chuckle bubbling as he watched them all prepare unnecessary weapons for a battle that wouldn’t happen before turning to the stout man with far too many scars, “...if you survive the night, you can have my share, how about that.”          Money always seemed to silence the one’s with a cocky air.          He’d be the first to die.

         Myles carried no torch -- he had no need. He held no weapon, it was pointless. Face quietly determined, but palms shook with anticipation that he tried to control. He wanted to be used to disappointment, but every time the hope burned in his chest to the point where he wanted to scream. Everyone’s eyes were panicked and searching, the darkness of the forest settling in such an unnatural manner that they wildly glanced about in hopes of spotting anything, but immortal thing knew he only needed to go forward. Even with the shuffle of leaves and the first crunch of bones in the dark, even as sounds in the pitch blackness seemed to have no source picking off walking food with predatory stealth, did man attempt to keep composure, but he knew. He hoped. Hood slipped off, ignoring the panicked chattering behind him and firm voice called into the night: “Vincent.” 

         Then silence. The kind of silence that made his heart stop with hope, skin prickling to an excited flush with the knowledge that he was understood when trees parted and beast emerged that struck him with such a familiarity that it nearly broke him. The change in Myles had been subtle over the years; appearance the exact same from the last day they’d seen each other save for the eyes that told of years and years of heartache and desperation, the effects of their distance taking far less of a toll physically than it had on the other, but even now he could see it in their eyes-

         Shaky palm raised itself towards the object of his affections that he’s been kept from for so long, desperate hope that he’d too remember who he was with the ring on his finger that he had butchered thousands to keep in his possession and gladly do it again. The only keepsake he’d managed to find amongst the bloodied bodies of the men who’d taken him away. Beast--- Vincent lowered his head into his palm and the only thing man felt was the beating of his heart despite the thick dripping of blood and human remains that began to dye his skin. Other hand pressed against  Vincent’s cheek and deep breath brought with it years upon years of broken emotions finally becoming hole as he’s embraced with thick tears staining flushed red face. The sound of his name making him bury himself deeper into wild fur that smelled of sweat, blood and earth, all he can do is repeat name over and over again while nails dig desperately to embrace that while he never wants to let go of. Boy only breaks away once, face beaming up with an undying affection that radiated from every pore in his body. 

         “Let’s go eat.” 

@corpusdxlicti from here

[thestruggleiswonderful]

RIP Feelings

I’ve made a decision.

It is 8:41 PM on a Friday night on September the second and I have made a decision.

Actually, I’ve made a couple decisions.

I have decided I’m going to stop internally whining and sighing over Meghan and I am going to get over her. No more pussyfooting around the issue, no more claiming to be on the road to a cure while privately and shamelessly fuelling hope with more hope, like adding fire to an explosion only the burns aren’t leaving scars you can see and it’s more of a slow melting than a sear.

I acknowledge without reservation or pride that this was an incredible experience. The things I felt and understood I will forever be thankful for, and I could never have dreamed of a better person to have been the object of all this obsession. She was kind and thoughtful and genuine and, though at times this made it all worse for reasons I don’t think I need to explain, she spared me as much pain as could have been spared. Of course, the pain was beautiful and I am so grateful to have been so privileged as to have felt those flashes of incredible hurt in my chest, like the feeling of dehydration one receives as they suck slowly on chocolate.

I’ll go so far as to say there were moments the pain of seeing her felt like salvation.

I’ve lost my train of thought.

Sometimes I think I’ve fallen for Meghan, and then I remember how silly that is. Falling for people is silly and certainly takes more time and who am I, a lowly 16-year-old, to think I know anything about love? How can you fall when you never stood up in the first place?

Either way, there is no use combing, cuddling, and caring for a dead horse. It is exhausting and deprives me of both power and control. Two things I feel much more comfortable with in my possession.

I owe it to myself to take back my power and my control and my life. This is not me in any way bashing Meghan, whom I consider to be a good friend. This is me realizing that something is unhealthy and enough is enough. This is in no way Meghan’s fault. There were times that her hand found its way onto my leg and there were times she said or did things that made me so sure, at least for a second. But, who knows? Maybe she was confused, maybe she was friendly. Maybe she was interested to see where it went, but not enough to see it through. If that’s the case, I harbor no bitterness. Lord knows I’ve been in those situations before, and felt that temptation and that power. Lord knows being on one side is harder than being on the other.

Anyway, that’s not important. Though those actions made it more difficult for me to believe that there was nothing between us, and still do, I have made a decision to accept it. Even now, when I have a spare moment to think, all I can do is imagine her coming home from college in the Winter and realizing how much she missed me. But I have made a decision to let that go, and stop putting so much weight on the future’s shoulders. It’s not fair for me to moan about Noah not taking my “No” as an answer and clinging onto me as I rushed from his life, and then do the same thing to Meghan. It’s not fair and it’s not healthy and I have more important things to do.

I am her friend, and she is mine, and there was a time that I believed that to be the most mind-blowing gift that could ever have been given to me. I still love talking to her and I still think she is a funny, lovely, intelligent girl who is far more caring than she lets on. But the goddess-like glow is finally starting to diminish and as I sit here I am keenly aware of my chest’s slow deflation which has been going on for days.

If I am making this sound like a natural ending, it’s not. I could pine for months more and hold on to hope and live vicariously through the married sims I made of Meghan and I. Although, now that I think of it, maybe this is the natural end, or the beginning of it, anyway. Maybe this was a build-up, or a break-down, and maybe I’ve snapped or broken. I’m tired and frustrated and hazy and there are days where I feel like crap. Even when she was here and we would hang out, I would go back into my house with a feeling in my chest like something was unfinished and unsatisfactory and sad, like a trail of smoke that smells like nothing. We could never be enough for each other, the way we are.

I’ve never had butterflies in my stomach. I’ve had hot molasses and fizzy water but never butterflies. Pure and pretty and sweet. I’ve never had shaky knees or sweaty palms or a heart that beats abnormally fast or agonizingly slow. That is, I never had those things until Michelle. Receiving a high five from her in the hallway was a shot of adrenaline. Passing by her at the end of a school day left my legs literally weak like jelly and seeing her expressive face made everything seem clearer, but slowed down. Once I spoke with her and then left the room, proceeding to collapse against a wall and sigh. Once she patted my back in a gesture of friendship and inclusion that I will never forget and I skipped down a hall, pausing to jump in the air, sucking my happiness in through my teeth. My mom told me my face changes when I mention her name.

I didn’t think I was capable of, or at least prone to, any of these things.

I spent so many hours lost in confusion, wondering why I didn’t feel things the way other people felt them. I am even more confused now, and so is everyone who knows me, but at least I know I have the ability to get shaky knees. That is such an incredible gift to me, I can’t begin to tell you. You will never know how truly joyous I have been. I understand now.

I have made the decision to accept that these feelings happened. I will not marginalize them and I will not deny them as I have done so often in the past and they will always be very fond, if not sacred, memories to me.

And, so here we are, at the beginning of the end of an era which spanned a little under a year. It’s been wild but it’s starting to feel less like I’m walking on clouds and more like I’m walking on pins and needles, or through quicksand that dully stings. I’m tired and I’m ready to wake up. I’ve made a decision to thank Meghan and what she has given me. I’ve made a decision to stop torturing myself with the guilty pleasure and painful treat of hope. I’ve made a decision to stop avoiding the truth and I’ve made the decision to come back to myself. These are the decisions I’ve made- of myself, by myself, for myself.

It’s 9:40 PM and my mind is made up and I feel surprisingly good.

After all, it shouldn’t be a big deal. I told her she was the greatest thing since Gatsby, but I’ve got other stories to write.