#frosty happens to like the cooling pads yes

[yelenasdog]

𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐖𝐈  𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: wherever they go, it seems they can’t escape each other

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6.09k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smoking, drinking, kissing, getting ~steamy~, but nothing explicit.

𝐚/𝐧: this kinda feels melodramatic at times, but over all i think this is an alright fic that took me forever LOL! i hope you enjoy it! btw,

this can be read as ben!rog or just rog, i just was thinking of ben!rog when i wrote it

also if u wanna listen to kiwi while listening, the vibes would be immaculate and i reccomend it :D kk enjoy

✺🎬✺

Her footsteps were mute as she padded forward on the concrete, searching furiously through her crochet bag. The box in her hands stayed tightly gripped though, Roger noted. He waited a bit until he was certain she had no chance of finding what he thought she was looking for, and that he would be her last resort.

“Need a light?”

He watched with careful eyes as the girl next to him fumbled about to pick out a cigarette from the nearly emptied box, probably just some cheap ones from the gas station near the dorms.

“Yes, thanks.”

The brunet nodded, bringing his forward to her’s and inhaling, a few loose embers falling to the ground in a sparkling orange flurry.

Roger observed the way her chipped nails on ring adorned fingers shakily held the cigarette as she brought it to her lips, taking a very long drag.

It was windy out that night (which was the reason he was telling himself he decided not to bother with his Zippo), her silky black dress doing barely a thing to keep her covered from the chilly temperatures. He noticed the blue tint to her formerly painted lips, only a pale stain of color left behind. He also happened to notice the goosebumps that graced her exposed arms and legs, and her slight shiver that came with it.

The girl nervously adjusted the twisted strap to her purse, sending a glance in Rog’s direction every once in a while, but mostly she kept her gaze fixed on the stars above. She seemed to be mesmerized by the way they twinkled so brightly, even in the polluted sky. The bottles of liquor in her purse clinked together, and she cringed visibly at the sound, a shiver being sent through her bones.

He smiled at her behavior, oddly endeared by it, perhaps even enchanted.

“What’s your name?”

She turned, taking the stick from between her lips. Roger kept his eyes glued to the plump flesh momentarily despite the movement away from the area.

“That’s none of your business, Roger.” She smiled, a playful look set ablaze in her eyes.

He looked down, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“How do you know my name, then?” He questioned curiously, slanting his eyes and quirking a brow.

“Your band.” Her voice seemed softer, almost a fond tone set within it.

“You’ve seen us play?”

“Yeah, you guys are good.”

“You’re a fan then?”

She chuckled, looking to her feet.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

He laughed, nodding yet again.

They stayed together for some time, silently and mutually agreeing that enough had been said. They finished off their smokes, and with that, she turned to go.

“Bye, Roger.”

He bit his lip, feeling the sting shoot through him. He was conflicted on if to make a move, not wanting to diminish his confident and cool reputation he believed he had built for himself. He settled for shouting something along the lines of “will I see you around?” (which upon thinking back over it, maybe it wasn’t that cool), to which she only shrugged and kept walking.

He could hear the bottles loudly clanking together as she sauntered off, lord knows where to. He watched her go until she turned the corner, tossing one final look in his direction before continuing on, leaving him in deep thought.

-

“I’m telling you, mate, she was drop dead gorgeous. And I have no idea who she is, no name or anything!”

Brian rolled his eyes, tossing his notebook across the room onto the yellow sofa Roger was resting on, turning his full attention to his distraught friend.

“Well, did you ask her for her name?”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes in a similar manner to Bri. “Yes, I did. She said it was ‘none of my business’.” He scoffed, twirling a single drumstick between his fingers while tapping his foot repeatedly, annoying Brian to no end (per usual). The curly headed man only barked out a laugh, finding the entire situation quite humorous, if he was being honest.

“But she knew the band! Said that she thought we were good. S’ like she couldn’t make up her damn mind.” He grumbled, slumping forward.

“Wait, she knows the band?”

The drummer looked at him like he had two heads nodding slowly.

“Yeah, what about it?”

Brian stood up and sighed, grabbing his guitar and headed to the edge of the bar’s stage, resting behind the curtain briefly.

“You really are thick, Roger.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” He joined him by the curtain, noticing Tim had come up behind the pair.

“What’s all this about, then?”

“Nothing.” Brian and Roger replied in unison. Tim huffed, making his way onto the stage where the growing crowd was waiting. Cheers could be heard for the frontman as he introduced himself, saying something about how the rest of the band would be out in a second, and that they were just having some “sound issues”.

“Rog, if she’s a fan, she’s probably here tonight, yes?”

His eyes widened, and he suddenly began to feel quite dumb, not that he would admit it.

“Yeah, I suppose so…but she said she wasn’t a fan?” He trailed off, confused.

“She probably was just saying that for some reason. I don’t know, women are odd, they like to play hard to get.” Brian commented, oddly flippant for how conflicting his statement was.

Roger stood in place for a moment, still greatly confused what Brian was trying to get at. He shook his head and furrowed his brows, trying to put together the puzzle of this mess in his mind.

“Roger, for God's sake, don’t think about it, just go.”

Following his advice, Roger did his best to disregard any previous thoughts of confusion, a switch flipping in his mind. He stood taller, saying, “You know what Bri, maybe you’re right.”

“Great, go on then.” He watched as Roger bounded out with a newfound adrenaline and a smile plastered on his face, rolling his eyes for what wouldn’t be the final time that night at his bandmate’s antics.

As soon as he had made it behind his kit, he was scanning the crowded room, trying to locate the girl from last night. He watched the door throughout the performance, trying to see if she might have just come in a bit late. He held the hope she would somehow show up with him in his mind, but all to no avail.

The entire night, he couldn’t shake the thought of her lips from his mind, or the way the skin of her neck was so open and exposed, practically begging for him to attack it with his own lips. And with the way things were going thus far, he was sure that pretty face of her’s would be the death of him, he was certain, in fact.

“Find her?” Bri had questioned almost as soon as they had ended for the night, the lot of them now working on cleaning up.

“Nah. She never showed up.”

“I’m sorry, Rog. Maybe you’ll see her again soon, the campus isn’t that huge, you know.” Roger’s mouth formed a thin line as he raised his eyebrows, not convinced in the slightest that the situation proposed would occur.

“At this point I’m wondering if she’s even a bloody student here.” Roger grumbled, obviously no longer feeling the initial electric adrenaline of the night's performance.

Brian frowned, placing a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder and patting it once or twice before standing to go finish packing up.

It was later now, and the boys were finally leaving the bar, bidding their goodbyes to those around them. Roger walked out the front (in what Tim and Brian joked was a ‘moping manner’), hearing the bell jangle above his head, ringing annoyingly in his ear. The cold air hit him like an arctic breeze (or a ton of bricks, he wasn’t sure which description was more fitting). He shook his head and blinked a few times, as if that would rid his body of the frigid feeling. He sighed dramatically and pulled his corduroy jacket tighter around himself, watching as his breath made a small cloud in front of him.

“Roger?”

He turned, recognizing the voice immediately.

“Having a pity party, are you?” She giggled out, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“It’s only me, so no. Not a party.”

She “ahh”-d in understanding, her mouth forming into a sly grin. Her lips were a pale pink color that night, her eyes a bright blue shade. And similarly to the night previous, she was graced with only a brown fringed dress, her matching boots in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other.

“Then what would it be if I joined you?”

He stood in thought, tilting his head. “I think then, yeah, it would be a party.”

“Do you not get cold, ever?” He added after a beat of silence, observing her ill outfit choice for the frosty climate. She rolled her eyes, muttering out a brief “ha, ha.”

Roger couldn’t help but bite his lip, holding back a laugh.

“I do on occasion get a little bit chilly. But I like the feeling.”

He tilted his head, walking over to where she was leaning against the brick wall of the dive bar. He turned to face her, not that she noticed, putting his weight on the rough surface behind him.

“It makes me feel,” she hesitated, struggling to find the right word, although she felt it was right on the tip of her tongue.

“Alive?”

She finally met his eyes after what seemed like forever, softly nodding. To him, she looked like an angel in that moment, the street light so beautifully illuminating her locks like a halo around her. He reached a cautious hand forward, dragging it against her cheek, down to her bottom lip.

Her mind was screaming at her to leave while she still could, to somehow not fall in the mix of the infamous campus player that was Roger Taylor.

But her heart? Well, as cliche as it sounds, her heart was telling her to disregard any reasonable thoughts and just kiss the bastard, for God’s sake.

And if anyone knew Y/n Y/l/n, they knew that most times, she would listen to the latter mentioned, rather than the former. And so after several moments of unbearable silence, she decided she would. Catching on relatively fast, Roger took her flush against him, Y/n able to feel his breath fanning over her face.

She leaned forward with a small smile, placing her hands on either side of his face. Her eyes wandered to his plump and rosy lips, adrenaline pumping through her veins. But before she could make the final leap, so to say, Brian, of all people, called out her name in a confused nature, squinting, believing that it might have been his eyes deceiving him. The girl from his 9 a.m. lecture could not possibly be about to snog his bandmate.

Impossible.

Her eyes widened, head turning immediately when hearing her name fall from his lips.

“Brian, hey!”

“Wait, you two know each other?”

Ignoring Roger’s (panicked) question, Brian walked over, a look of amazement still prevalent in his features. She moved from Roger’s side over to Brian, giving him a side hug, Bri’s arm resting on her shoulders.

“I see you’ve met Y/n. She’s in my astronomy class.”

She smiled brightly as the neon signs lining the downtown district of bars and restaurants alike, meeting Brians gaze.

“Yup, got to love Dr. Martin’s lectures.” She chuckled, the tall man next to her doing the same.

Picking up on Roger’s absolutely bewildered appearance, still taking in the situation unfolding in front of him, Brian took the liberty of initiating another conversation.

“So, Y/n, did you see the show tonight?”

She frowned, crossing her arms.

“Wanted to, but no, got caught up in the library. I have my final for statistics on Thursday, or else I would have been there.” She locked eyes with Roger, giving him a soft smile. Suddenly changing her demeanor, she reached into her bag she always seemed to have with her, pulling out those cheap cigarettes and her Zippo. She lit one of the sticks, inhaling.

“In fact, I heard your drummer was incredible, so I thought I would try to see him in action tonight.” Her gaze never left Rogers as she conversed, her mouth pressed in a line, the rest of her face completely neutral.

“But you’ve seen us before Y/n, he’s been with the band for quite some time.”

“I mean, I wanted to see him with a fresh pair of eyes, a different perspective, I guess.”

Still mildly confused, Brain shook his head and muttered something like “Right, okay” to which Y/n softly smiled at before dropping the cigarette from her hand. Barefoot, she couldn’t reach down to step on it, have the sparks die out under her toes.

“Could one of you get that, please?”

Roger nodded immediately, his boot finding its way quickly, the toe of it making a circular motion. His eyes stayed on Y/n, as had hers before. And despite the bustling city around them, Hell, even despite Brian’s perplexed stare, it felt oddly intimate, as if they were locked onto each other’s view (not that they were complaining).

But they weren’t, as she proved mere seconds later, abruptly bidding them goodbye and heading the opposite direction.

The pair of boys watched her as she went, heads tilted and jaws dropped to where if their mothers were present, they would be scolded to “close their mouths before they catch flies in there!”.

“That’s her, you know.” Roger commented bluntly, slightly shaking his head and then popping his lip.

Brian took a moment, turning toward his friend, stuttering.

“As in, her, her? Y/n is mystery girl?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, well, good luck with that, Rog.”

“Why would I need that, Brian?” He challenged, putting his hands on his hips, lifting his chin. Brain kept his assumed position, moving his hand to scratch at his neck.

‘Well, I’m sure if you hang out around her enough, you’ll find out.”

Rather than shouting out at him, asking him what the Hell he meant, as he really wanted to, Roger paid Bri no attention, not even giving him a second look before under his breath saying “I’ll see you later”, and in what Brian considered to be a quite shocking turn of events, bolting off in the direction Y/n had gone.

He ignored the shouts from Brian, ignored the judgmental stares and loud whispers of those who recognized him from the band. He no longer cared about keeping his ‘cool reputation’, not when she was so close.

“Is that Roger Taylor?”, “Oi, isn’t that the drummer from the band at the pub?”, “Hey, why’s he buggin’ out?” all flooded his ears, usually followed by what seemed to be snickering, making a desperate attempt to cloud his mind from his self-assigned mission. But it was no use, as he was set on catching up to her. In fact, she was so close he swore he could smell the mixed scent that was uniquely her, smoke and her perfume.

He hollered her name, God, he yelled it till his throat was hoarse, just ‘cause he could. He loved the way it rolled off his tongue, he loved the fact he even had learned it to begin with, and that alone was probably why he adored it so much.

She heard his cries, turning where she stood and tilting her head.

“Roger? What on Earth are you doing?”

He finally met her, bent over on his hands and knees, breath lost in totality. She placed a concerned hand on his sweaty head, combing through his chocolate locks. He would have shivered at the feeling, if he had the energy. Rather, he looked up with the goofiest smile she’d ever seen, resembling a golden retriever, or german shepherd perhaps, in human form.

‘D’you wanna go somewhere with me? Hang out a bit?”

She nodded, holding out a hand.

“Lead the way.”

-

“Mom and Dad want me to be some kind of a scientist, study the stars.”

“Yeah? And what do you think about that.”

She tilted her head, shifting her position.

“I’m not quite sure. I wouldn’t be against it, that I know. The stars are beautiful, but they aren’t where my heart lies, I guess.”

He turned to face her, their noses almost touching. She could feel his breath fanning over her face, and the proximity sent butterflies through her stomach.

“I want to be an actress.” She all but whispered, turning her attention back to the full night sky and the wonders that hung in it.

“An actress, huh?”

She only hummed a confirmation, moving her left hand to pick at the cool grass under her palms.

“I could see that. You, I mean, on the big screens.”

She turned, and Roger swore he had never seen anyone smile so big before in his life.

“Really?”

His own smile grew, and she nodded vigorously, the two of them beginning to laugh. He pulled her closer by her shoulders, unaware of where the conversation would lead.

“I’ll go to New York. You’ll see me on billboards in Times Square.”

“Well, that’s nice to know. I’ll just be a lone dentist somewhere, while you forget all about me, having lavish parties and such. Whatever it is that famous people do.” His voice was obviously joking, melodramatic was written all over him, yet Y/n couldn’t help but still feel a sliver of guilt.

She hit his arm, rolling back over to face him. She still had a smile glued onto her lips, both of their eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“Oh, shut up, will you? Smile will make it big, and we’ll meet again, when you’re on tour. Or perhaps if I’m filming where you’re performing! We’ll have those nights to ourselves, It’ll be a secret rendezvous.”

She turned to her back again, finding his hand on the damp green, her heart beating a million miles a second as she reached for it, slowly entangling her fingers in his.

“The papers will write about us, Rog, when they find out. ‘Famous actress Y/n Y/l/n seen leaving a hotel with renowned drummer Roger Taylor’ is what the headlines will say. God, what a scene we’ll cause.” Her eyes were full of  excitement as she spoke, her heart feeling like it was so filled with glee that it could soar out of her chest.

“Well, I wanna know the specifics.” Roger sat up, pulling her up with him, she giggled, and the brunette wrapped a hand around her waist. She sat beside him, the streetlight by the backroad she had led them on illuminating her like a silhouette. She bit her lip and grinned, tilting her head up to better exam Rogers angelic features.

“Are you gonna have some bloke waiting for you at home, hmm? Waiting for you while you conquer the world, only for you to break his poor heart?”

“Nah.” Her answer was immediate, her eyes honest as she spoke. “Only a cactus. He’ll be my only friend. I hear it’s lonely in Hollywood, Roger.” He raised his eyebrows briefly at this, choosing his next words.

“You’ll have me?”

His head turned to look at her, admiring the way the pale moonlight illuminated her, the artificial light from the streetlamps not doing her neverending beauty and justice, in his opinion. Their eyes seemed sporadic, searching each other's faces for signs of what they were doing, possibly being wrong, but they found nothing, as expected.

The yearning had become all too much for the inspired pair, and it felt like at last, all they could do, the only thing they could do, was kiss.

So they did. Roger took her face in his hands, closing his beautiful eyes, his eyelashes barely brushing against hers. He leaned forward, joining them together, finding that they immediately moved in a perfect synchronization. They were like two sides of the same coin, and that seemed to be particularly evident in that moment. By the contrast of their lips, or perhaps the aspirations of their careers becoming somehow just a little bit clearer.

But it didn’t matter, none of it did. Not in the long run. So they pulled apart, chests heaving and faces painted with childish grins.

It was quiet then, only the crickets and the howling wind could be heard. But she liked it that way, preferred it, actually. So quiet, in fact, that Roger was able to fall fast asleep, Y/n lying comfortably in his arms. She stared at the stars, then back to his sleeping figure, her mind unable to come to a consensus on what on God's green Earth she was to do. 

She settled for placing a kiss on his jaw, closing her eyes. His eyes only fluttered, never waking completely. She muttered something like “See you, rockstar.” against it, before standing up and walking away, only turning back once to see his sleeping form one more time.

That was the last time for 6 years that he would see Y/n Y/l/n. See her in person, at least.

When he woke up the next morning, he was confused to say the least, wondering why Y/n didn’t wake him, mostly wondering where she had even gone. He looked around himself, patting the green grass beneath him, as if she somehow was invisible and he had missed her upon initial glance. He had shouted for her, his throat still hurting from when he did the same thing only 12 hours previous. 

He had felt out of control, like the one he had been chasing had just slipped through his fingers (which it had). He had remembered asking Bri, day after day, if he had seen her in class, even just seen her around in general. Everytime the answer was the same.

“No Roger”, “I’m sorry, Roger”, “Not today, Roger”. It was a horrible, predictable pattern, that he had enough of. He was supposed to recover from it quickly, bounce back from her almost immediately, as there was basically nothing to bounce back from.

But he couldn’t, and due to such reasons, he supposed he finally understood what Brian had said, or warned, that night before he had gone chasing after her. He got it, in his own sad way.

And over the years, she slowly faded to the back of the drummer's mind, behind groupies, and songs, and shows, and such, just for her to resurface again any time he saw her on a billboard, just as she had promised. But he never let it show, outwardly at least.

He had made Brian swear not to tell the others, never to breathe a word of it to Deaky or Fred. He was embarrassed by it, for some reason, and that’s why he guessed he forbade him from speaking of it. But how long can you keep a silly college secret from your nosy bandmates? Apparently 6 years, tops, for Roger Taylor.

“Alright, everyone. Gather ‘round, I’ve got a surprise.” Freddie had said, his grumbling bunch of friends tired from their day’s work. Though, they usually had grown to appreciate and look forward to Fred’s “surprises”, today everyone was just a tad bit too grumpy to try (a certain Roger Taylor in particular, let’s call it foreshadowing).

“Oh, stop your moaning and whining, please, I promise this will be good!” the eccentric frontman had said, something hidden behind his back in his left hand.

Rog ran a hand through his, now, blond hair, exhaling in such a way that made Freddie slant his eyes, before giving in and rolling them at his flippant behavior.

“What’s going on, Fred?” Brian had been the brave soul to ask, stepping forward and then looking away momentarily to place his guitar onto a stand waiting not so far away.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He replied, jumping down from his place on the risers, removing his hand from his back and holding out what seemed to be 4 tickets to something. He walked down the loosely formed line of men, putting one in each of their extended palms. Roger, at the end of their formation of sorts, became concerned when Brian had burst out laughing, looking to his right, being met with Roger’s face of confusion.

Freddie, possibly more confused than Roger, pressing the piece of thick paper into his hand, his gaze falling onto Brian, who now had tears in his eyes.

“Bri, what’s so… funny. Shit.” He had looked down to the slip, the only words he needed to read to know he was absolutely screwed, being “Jaws” and “Premiere”.

Now, anybody who knew anything, knew that Y/n Y/l/n was going to be in the film that was said to become the blockbuster of the summer, playing the role of Ellen Brody (though a few had said she was far too young for the job). She had been an overnight success in the film industry, gaining popularity from the 1973 film, ‘The Sting’, playing Billie.

And Roger had watched ‘The Sting’, and you can imagine his surprise when Y/n had sauntered onto screen, red lipped and fresh faced. (He had to admit, she looked great in a suit.)

After that, the assault on Roger’s fragile heart was never ending.

Billboards began to pop up even more frequently as she was to star in more films, and it seemed no matter where he was touring, he couldn’t escape her. Whether it was posters, her face printed on newspapers, adverts in about every place business was done for one of her films, he felt like he was being followed. He had even seen an article about her in a magazine, and when he had flipped the page he was greeted with Queen’s smiling faces.

He had stopped watching them after ‘American Graffiti’.

So, he figured that this one wouldn’t be any different, and he simply planned on ignoring said film until he caved, doing his best to avoid her on the silver screen and anywhere else, which hadn’t been too difficult until this point (not).

But this? This was a whole new level of being royally fucked.

“Brian, Rog, something you want to share with the rest of the class?” John had asked, cocking his head and propping his legs up on the coffee table in front of him. Brian began to speak, wrapping an arm around Roger’s shoulders, the shorter man looking up at him with angry fire burning in his eyes.

“Well, I’m honestly quite excited. The film industry has always seemed very intriguing, actually, and I’m looking forward to meeting new people. Rog?”

“No.”

“No?” John repeated, “No, what?” He waved a hand around, trying to understand what Roger’s problem was.

“I just- I don’t- I knew-”

“Roger had a fling with Y/n Y/l/n and she broke his heart.” Brain blurted out, Roger turning and immediately smacking him upside his curly head of hair. He regarded an “Ouch!” before him and the rest of the boys burst out laughing, the drummer not included in that demographic, fuming.

“Rog, darling, when was this? How did we not know?” Freddie managed to breathe out, sitting down next to Deaky on the studio sofa. He crossed his hands and ankles, his full attention turned towards Roger who really, really didn’t wanna have to do this, and who really, really was gonna get Brian back for this later. Would he untune all his guitars? Unplug his amp during rehearsals, perhaps put hair remover in his shampoo? But, that would have to wait until after he was forced to spill his 6 year secret.

“It was in 69-”

“69?!” Freddie had cried out. “It’s been 6 bloody years? And you didn’t think to tell us?”

“Well I didn’t really see a reason it would be necessary to tell you all! In fact, I probably wouldn’t have told you ever if this bloke didn’t have such a big mouth!”

“Hey, watch it.” Brian weighed in, crossing his arms and fluttering his eyes.

“Look, Roger I really don’t see the issue here. We go to the premiere, you just keep a low profile and ignore Y/n, problem solved.” John cut in, trying to be helpful.

Keyword: trying.

“And how exactly will I do that?”

“We will behave, I promise.” Freddie added, though Roger seemed to be having a difficult time believing him or his claim for the others. So Roger only scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.”

-

Cameras were flashing brightly, reporters and such were shouting loudly, and Y/n was already exhausted.

Her red lips were painted like DeAngelo had done it himself, and her hair was styled just the way she liked. The heels she was wearing per request of her stylist, though, were horrible. They looked lovely, yes, but they were digging into her poor ankles, and she still had to wear them for who knew how long. She didn’t complain, though, she wouldn’t dream of it.

She would just continue her slow walk down the carpet, a sultry smile on her face. The black fabric of the gown she was wearing fit her beautifully, snug in all the right places.

She sure hoped it was, at least. Especially because she knew that he would be there.

Roger Taylor, the blessed drummer that managed to make a home in the backburner of her mind, his success coming as no surprise to the actress. She had loved every one of their records, and rather than running from his work like Roger had, she opted for going straight to the record shop, purchasing any and every Queen album in her sight. When she had checked out, the very shocked cashier had made some remark, asking something about “you a fan?”

She had thought about it for a moment, thinking back to all those years ago when Roger had asked the same thing. She smiled, shrugging.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

So when she had worked up the courage to invite the entire band to the premiere (on behalf of Spielberg, of course) she was a nervous wreck to find out they had accepted. Really, ask anyone who had any contact with her in the time from then to the premiere, they could testify that her moodiness had risen like a hot air balloon.

Now, though, she was kind of regretting that she had invited them, looking over to the sharp looking bunch, all dressed to the nines. She scanned her eyes over them, catching a wave from Brian, which she gladly returned with an enthusiastic smile. Bri then tapped Roger on the shoulder to alert him of Y/n’s acknowledgment, which resulted in Y/n’s eyes widening to the size of moons.

She turned her head, and worked to finish up her walk of the carpet just a tad bit faster. It all seemed to be for nothing, though, as in the dark of the theater for the premiere itself, she saw the seat next to her be filled, a presence filling her senses.

“Miss me?”

-

Their hands were all over each other, not truly caring if the tabloids caught a glimpse, just needing to make up for lost time.

They had stumbled into the golden hotel both her and Queen were staying in, the swinging doors of the New York establishment blowing a cool gust of wind in their direction.

They merely laughed at the minor interruption, their teeth clashing as they both smiled momentarily. It was soon forgotten, though, both of them having much more pressing matters in their minds.

They only came to a cease in the elevator, some old couple who most definitely did not care about whatever pressing issue the two of them felt they had, standing off to the side. (Y/n could swear she saw the older woman smirk and wink at her, to which she cocked her head and smiled.)

Once back into the safe confines of Y/n’s suite, they resumed like they had never even stopped, hands gravitating towards the others form as if they were opposite magnets, unable to be separated for too long.

“You’ve driven me crazy, you know that, right? “

She giggled and bit her lip, looking up into his eyes, their foreheads pressed together.

“Mmm? I’d hope so.”

He pulled away, shaking his head, blond locks following suit.

“Really, you have no idea. I haven’t been able to shake you from my head. You’re everywhere.”

Her excitement could barely be contained at his confession of sorts, chest heaving, trying to stay calm.

“Yeah, that was the plan.”

Roger shook his head with a dry chuckle, looking to his feet and back to her when she had tilted his head up, her finger resting on his jaw.

“Well, are you into it?” She questioned, grabbing his hand and pulling their clasped fingers in between their chests, her eyes hazy with hope.

“Yeah.” He titled his head, feigning a pondering look. “You could say I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut it!”

“Make me.”

She rolled her eyes at his stupidly provocative suggestion, and he only laughed, the two of them falling onto the plush comfort of the bed in a meshed flurry for the remainder of the night.

And if you couldn’t guess what could have possibly happened next, the black dress ended up in a pooled up pile next to the bed that night, right next to the heels that finally she had the pleasure of discarding.

The next morning, it was unlike the one 6 years ago, as when Roger woke up, he was overjoyed to find a sleeping Y/n, laying on his chest with hair splayed around her. And he had to say, he usually wasn’t much of a cuddler, but for some reason he felt so incredibly endeared, that anything else wouldn’t have sufficed.

He ran small circles on the exposed skin of her bare shoulder, the comforter concealing the rest of her limbs that were tangled up with Roger’s.

When she stirred, Roger sat up, fondly watching as her eyes fluttered open and her tongue ran across her dried lips, still carrying a hint of last night's red pigment. She looked next to her, her eyeline matching up with the covered skin of Roger’s lap.

She sighed, shifting her head to rest on his thighs as her feet dangled off of the bed. One of Roger’s hands came up to softly massage the top of her head, the other against the headboard, behind his neck. She stared at the ceiling, an unreadable expression creeping its way to her features.

“We were jacked up last night.” Roger’s voice cut through the silence they shared, deeper in the late morning than she had heard before.

“Correction, you were jacked up.”

“Whatever.”

They laughed, silence soon taking over once again. Roger sighed, closing his ever tired eyes.

“Are we gonna pay for this?”

She scoffed, inhaling deeply before reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing her carton of cigarettes. He noticed they were the same brand from college, a small smile making its way to his face at the thought.

She first lit hers, then lighting a second one for the man occupying her king sized bed (though she wasn’t even slightly upset by this, quite the opposite). She handed it to him, sticking her own between her lips and sitting up, straddling where her head had been minutes before.

She leaned forward, so close their noses were to the point where they were nearly touching. She took the cigarette from her lips, blowing the smoke to the left of Rog in the direction of the large balcony overlooking Times Square. She turned her attention back to him, though it had never really left, tilting her head.

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” The answer came immediately, no careful consideration or pondering needed.

“Right.” She removed herself from him, standing and taking the sheet with her, letting it cover her like a renaissance dress. She walked over to the balcony, leaning against the frame of the double doors. She took another drag, an adoring smile spreading across her face.

“Then there’s your answer.”

She paused, Roger tilted his head, his brows lifting.

“Of course we will.”

✺🎬✺

if u liked that hot mess pls like and rb!! mwah ily go eat protein and drink water if ur able. xx hj

[monstersandmaw]

Embers - Dragon Shifter Romance story, Part Four (sfw)

It’s Friday, so here's Chapter Four! Again, it's longer than I'd intended, but that's ok, right?

Last week we got to see a bit more of our prickly new horned friend and he mentioned that he might have a job for us... 

One, Two, Three

“A job?” you asked, tilting your head with interest. His quick, golden eyes tracked the movement and the harsh line of his pale mouth softened a little more.

“Yes. My department at the University is holding…” he broke off and sighed. He took off his round glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m almost embarrassed to admit to you what the event is. It’s so… cliché…”

As your own mouth twisted into an amused grin at his obvious awkwardness, Mikaeïl looked up at you and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t even know what your department is,” you said. “I don’t know what you do at the University; you could be manager of the stationary supplies for all I know…”

He bristled visibly at that, and then caught himself before he could allow his pride to get the better of him. “I am a research professor in the Department of Criminology. I specialise in forensic anthropology, especially in cases which involve magic and, or, necromancy.”

Your eyes went wide. “Holy crap,” you breathed. “I barely even know what those even words mean…” You cleared your throat and ventured, “So… like… you study dead people and what happened to them?”

He shrugged and left the conservatory to go and rescue your brewing tea before it stewed and went bitter. Over his shoulder as he walked away, red hair swinging down his back, he said, “In a nutshell. I can tell you more about it if you’re really interested.”

“I’m always interested in stuff I know nothing about,” you admitted somewhat eagerly. “I’m the cat whose curiosity will get the better of me one day, I’m sure…”

In response, you heard a low, warm, rumbling chuckle from the other side of the kitchen. There was something about it that spoke of an altogether bigger creature than Mikaeïl was, and though you had your suspicions about him, you weren’t entirely sure what he was precisely. He hadn’t been exactly forthcoming when you’d had a go at guessing earlier, shutting your ‘tiefling’ line of questioning down immediately.

A few minutes later, he returned with a china mug of tea and gracefully set it on the table beside the sofa in the conservatory, but he didn’t take a seat beside you. He remained standing with his arms hugged defensively across his slim chest, hands cupping his sharp elbows. The white shirt and black waistcoat and trousers made him look harsh and almost unfriendly, but his eyes were gentle enough.

“Well,” he said, “The department is hosting a charity event in a few months, and we’re looking for someone to design some posters for it.”

“What’s the event?” you asked. “You’re going to have to tell me eventually if you want me to work up some sketches for you…”

“It’s a murder mystery evening,” he said flatly.

“People actually do those?” you asked. “And what’s wrong with -”

“It’s the criminology department,” he said slowly, somewhat patronisingly. “It’s…” he shuddered.

Instead of elaborating, he rolled his eyes again and crossed to the glass door of the conservatory, keeping his back to you as he stared out at the lawns of the gardens beyond.

“They do a charity event - usually for rich benefactors it has to be said - every year. This year they decided to host a murder mystery event set in a 1920s jazz club…” When you didn’t immediately respond, he glanced over his shoulder at you and your amused and intrigued expression must have caught him off guard because he added, “You actually think that sounds like fun, don’t you?”

You shrugged, a bit embarrassed for being enthusiastic about it when he clearly thought it was ridiculous. “You want me to come up with some sketches? I don’t have all that long before Celia finishes her lesson, but I could rough out at least a few ideas now, if you wanted.”

“What would you charge?” he asked. “I shouldn’t ask you to go ahead before I’ve cleared it with the administrative staff of the department…”

You waved your hand. “I’ll doodle a few ideas now anyway,” you said. “I’d like to.”

He fixed you with an odd look that might have hidden a good amount of bafflement at your offer, but he nodded. “If you’d like to, then I’d be most grateful.”

You grinned and sipped your tea. “Oh, that’s delicious,” you murmured, eyeing the steaming cup for a moment.

“I’m glad.”

So, while he fell still, gazing silently out at the gardens with a thousand-mile stare on his sharply-beautiful face, you roughed out a few ideas that involved variations on a knocked over martini glass and a few splotches of blood.

It was only when the patter of small boots across the kitchen floor, closely followed by the clop of hooves, drew your attention off the page that you realised how lost you’d become in the sketches. The only thing which had halfway drawn your attention away from the soft strokes of pencil on paper had been the delicious tea.

Celia flapped her dusky brown wings in excitement and you saw that she had her flute in one hand and a sheet of music in the other. “Look!” she half-screeched, wings flapping. Her whirlwind entry of excitement and enthusiasm made Mikaeïl jump which, in turn, made Frankie chuckle. “Listen! I learned a tune!”

“Already?” you asked, abandoning the sketch pad on the sofa beside you and turning your attention completely onto her. “You going to play it for me?”

She nodded and thrust the page at you so you could hold it up for her. Frankie gave you a thumbs up over her shoulder and she brought the flute to her lips and began to play. It was… pretty ropey, but then again she’d only been learning for an hour in total. She played ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ in a breathy, squeaky, faltering melody, and when she was done, she grinned at you in triumph.

“That’s amazing!” you said, and you meant it. “You’ve learned to read those notes and play them in that short time?”

She nodded. “It’s actually not that hard,” she said a little pompously.

“Well then, I take it you like your new teacher? You can tell your papa too when we get home.”

Her nod this time was vehement. “Frankie’s so cool,” she said and you grinned up at Frankie, whose cheeks had flushed an attractive pink.

The ovine satyr ran a hand through his woolly white blond curls and grinned. “She’s a natural, I’ve got to say,” he smiled.

“Looks like we’ll be coming back,” you said, turning to look at Mikaeïl. Your words died when you saw that he had stooped to pick up your sketch book and was holding it in his slender fingers as if it were some kind of holy relic, staring at your drawings. “Something wrong?” you asked.

He didn’t respond, and Frankie trotted over to him and dug him in the ribs. Mikaeïl’s lips peeled back into a tiny snarl, but Frankie just ignored him and looked at the page of the sketchbook and whistled. “Bloody -” he broke off, remembering that there was a child present, and finished with, “I mean… Holy smokes! You’re one talented artist!”

You kept your eyes on Mikaeïl and asked, “You like it?”

He swallowed thickly, his throat working visibly. When he met your eyes, his own were glassy and almost teary, which struck you as odd. “Yes,” he croaked, his voice rough and raw. “Very much. I’d like to hire you for this, if you want to do it.”

There was something going on beneath the surface here, you were sure of it, but you nodded slowly and agreed. “Talk to your department and let me know what the budget is. I’m not normally that expensive when I do freelance stuff anyway. Assuming the University will handle the printing costs…”

“I’d cover the difference myself anyway,” he murmured.

You shot another look at Frankie and he shrugged mutely, as nonplussed about the depth of Mikaeïl’s reaction as you were. Celia stood there, seeming a bit deflated now that the attention had moved away from her after her debut performance, so you cleared your throat and stood, finishing the last mouthful of tea and taking it over to the sink in the kitchen.

When you returned, Mikaeïl seemed to have recovered, and his usual frosty exterior had returned. “Your art style is perfect for this,” he said, handing you back your sketchbook. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Right,” you said, feeling distinctly off-balance from his strange reaction.

At a reprimanding glare from Frankie, Mikaeïl’s shoulders dropped a little and he chuckled. “May I assume you’ll be coming back next week with Celia?”

“Please?” Celia interrupted, her attention drawn by the mention of her name. “Can we?”

“You’ll have to tell your papa what you learned,” you smiled, “But I think he’ll be happy enough to let you continue your lessons with Frankie if you’re enjoying them.”

“Yes!” she hissed, pumping her fist and spreading her wings broad for a moment before tucking them in.

You had to smile, and it even drew a smirk from Mikaeïl. “Well,” you said, “I look forward to hearing from you then,” you said. “You’ve got my number after all…”

“That I have,” he said, and to your surprise, he walked past you and pulled a ragged paper napkin out of a kitchen drawer.

He held it between his finger and thumb with surprising gentleness, as though it were a lady’s favour and he a knight at a tournament, worried about smudging it. The thought immediately seemed preposterous to you and you snorted with laughter, hoping a second later that he didn’t take it the wrong way.

“Until next week,” he said, his baritone clipped and stiff, showing you out of the kitchen and escorting you to the front doors of his grand mansion.

As you and Celia headed back to your battered old car, you heard Mikaeïl give a soft ‘oof’ and a second later caught Frankie’s hissed, “You’re a fucking idiot, Kae, you know that?”

“Yes,” he said wearily. “I have been told as much once or twice in my lifetime,” came his rather melancholic response before you had closed the door and were concentrating on making sure Celia’s seatbelt was done up.

When you looked up to wave goodbye, you found that the front door had been closed and the house had fallen silent once again.

Part Five

—

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[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 18

Read along on AO3 Here

<< Previous Chapter <<     >> Next Chapter >>

This time: Vah’nya teaches Ezra something new. Thrawn miscalculates.

Next time: Ezra tries to navigate the fallout.

-/

Vah'nya sat entirely motionless in Ivant's office located just off the main bridge. Her eyes were not closed but barely open, their muted red glow creating a soft purple gradient against her cheeks. In her lap, her hands were folded as if serene. Every so often, they would twitch or jerk, but the rest of the time they remained still and unmoving.

When the door to the hallway opened, she did not stir. Ivant moved slowly. He did not raise the lights, nor did he comment on the Navigator sitting behind his desk. Methodically, he retrieved two mugs from a cabinet that by all accounts would have held liquor if it were a more traditional Chiss officer in command, filled the equally out of place kettle, and programmed the warming pad.

Once the water reached optimal temperature, Ivant pulled two sachets of tea from the back of a drawer. The smell was grounding - frosty wintermint with the subtlest hint of Csillan evergreen. He dipped one sachet in each mug, set one before the Navigator sitting at his desk and sat down as if he were the visitor. He picked up the datapad he’d left on the chair when he’d arrived, muted the brightness as not to be blinding, and tasked himself with requisitions and reports while he waited.

After a few moments, she shuddered and came back to herself.

“Still too hot to drink,” Ivant said mildly, not yet looking at her. She wrapped long, slender fingers around it anyway. It was a familiar motion. An anchor.

“How long?”

“I’ve been here for about fifteen minutes.”

Vah’nya nodded. “Then I have been here for about an hour,” She commented. Then, delicately, she added, “Something is coming.” She watched him turn off his datapad and set it aside. The Navigator scrubbed at her face. “The Jedi’s meditation helps,” She told him. “Things are clearer than if I were only to see.”

“Have you any control over it?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly. But I feel as though I can recall more detail. I see-” She closed her eyes and exhaled, focusing. “I was on a Grysk vessel. You were there. I did not see you, but I felt... But it was not like before,” She was quick to correct. Her grip on the teacup was the only thing that kept her fingers from shaking. “We were not alone.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure. Other Chiss,” She said. “I remember,” She trailed off, looking up at him. “They had the Jedi.”

Ivant sighed, rising from his seat and rounding the desk to tap the consoles that faced where Vah’nya was sitting. “I have to tell her.”

“Yes,” She agreed slowly. “I-” She flinched. “Even now, after,” She emphasized, “I can feel the malaise, Eli. It’s close. It’s not just they Grysk. There’s something-”

“I know,” Eli said softly. He keyed the required combination that would ping the Admiral directly but discreetly. While they waited, he stepped to the side of her, reaching across the desk for his own mug, taking a sip of the soothing tea while his free hand squeezed her shoulder, encouragingly. “It’ll be alright,” He told her.

“I hope so,” Vah’nya murmured, looking up to him in concern while the Admiral’s face appeared on the holo projector, face tense, but not quite surprised. Vah’nya was certain they were all tired of relying on the vagueness of hope.

-/

“I wish to teach you how we,” The Navigator smiled, “For a lack of a better term, how we navigate,” Vah’nya explained, approaching Ezra when he and Thrawn arrived at their station three days after Commander Esmadi’s outburst. “It is a valuable skill, should you never need to do so without warning and you do not have someone like Commander Thrawn to guide you through it.”

Ezra had not seen or heard from Vah’nya since they’d returned to the Compass following their time in Copero City. There was a sort of severe quality about her now. He got the sense that she hadn’t been sleeping, though the glow of her eyes and her deeply blue complexion hid any traces of bags or dark shadows.

He also had the feeling Thrawn was seeing the same thing that he was, considering the way the Chiss Commander scrutinized her. Instead of her hair being in a free-fall or the braids other navigators had adopted, Vah’nya’s hair was pulled back in a very sharp knot at the apex of her crown, her long mane cascading like a pin-straight waterfall from the bottom of it.

Beyond the glow of her eyes, Ezra recognized a grim sort of determination in her gaze. Wary, yes, but he knew without a doubt that he needed to listen to her. Whatever her reason was to teach him now, it was important. He looked to Thrawn, but found his attention being held by that of Ivant, standing alone on the command walk. Ivant wasn’t looking at him, even, his back was to them. But there was something about it, about how he was standing alone, looking out at the stars and the Steadfast in the distance.

Ivant turned toward them. His face was blank as he gave the order to his second.

“Clear the bridge,” Commander Slasha’s lips curved, as if he’d already anticipated the order. There was a good chance he had already been informed of the maneuver about to take place, Ezra realized. In total, it took no more than a minute for the bridge to be cleared, the Commander inclining his head to Ivant before striding off to the secondary control room where the bridge staff would be able to monitor the situation without being physically present.

Without preamble, Admiral Ar’alani’s voice echoed across the bridge speakers. “You are ready to begin, Captain?”

“Yes, Admiral. Just getting underway now,” Ivant informed her.

“Excellent. We will rig for stealth and await your return.”

Vah'nya led Ezra to the navigation console, the two seats located at the bow of the ship, with a perfect view of the stars. She explained how each lever and knob worked, then how she utilized her Sight to navigate to and from a destination. She explained how sometimes it was as simple as following a heading or emissions, and other times, it was from memory. The latter was what he would need to learn. Navigating with the assistance of coordinates was a much easier affair. Navigating to a place in the abyss of space without it was something else entirely.

When they were ready, Vah'nya nodded to Ivant, and Thrawn was motioned over to the Captain's side, instead of lingering just behind and to the left of his seat at the controls.

"We will compare," Vah'nya said. "The secondary controls are not actively capable of steering the ship. However, you will treat this as a simulation. We will see how your choices match up with mine. If you score highly enough, you will be responsible for bringing us back, while I man the secondary controls. Understand?"

Ezra did. They both looked back up to the command walkway. Ivant and Thrawn stood side by side, talking quietly. It seemed Ivant was explaining what would be happening to Thrawn. Vah'nya nudged his shoulder, gracing him with a sly smile. "It is obvious now, hmm?"

The Jedi huffed, covering his laugh. Now that Thrawn had told him just about every detail of his and Ivant’s together, it was easy to see. Sure, Thrawn had the underlying desire to learn about Ivant's secret project, but he was acting carefully within the limits he'd been given, much to the surprise of everyone, it seemed. Thrawn's body language, still rigid and militaristic, and his eyes gave him away. There was pride, but it wasn't in himself. Trust, as if Eli could lead him blindly and he'd welcome the loss of control. Yeah, it was obvious, all right. "About as obvious as an Imperial Star Destroyer," Ezra said.

Vah’nya hummed. “Glaringly so,” She agreed.

“I guess my question is whether or not he cares about him - like that,” Ezra was quick to specify, “back.”

The Navigator straightened. “There are a great many things you do not know about our Captain,” She said. “You, and Mitth’raw’nuruodo both.”

“That’s what I mean,” Ezra said. “I just-” He sighed. “He doesn’t express feelings like that. I don’t think he ever has, at least. Not recently. And I don’t want-”

Vah’nya squeezed his shoulder, seeing through to the heart of what he was trying to say. “You are a good friend, Ezra’Bridger. He is lucky to have you.” She smiled softly. “Eli wants what is best for him. I promise you.”

“This all feels sudden, is all,” Ezra said. “All of a sudden-”

“He is still being kept at arm’s length,” Vah’nya said. “Eli has simply made the line known. The only difference is in perspective. But,” She admitted, “It will not be forever.”

“I hope not,” Ezra said. “Thrawn and I came back to help. Not to sit around and wait.”

She smirked. “Eli.”

Captain Ivant turned to them expectantly, breaking off from his quiet conversation with Thrawn. Thrawn looked surprised, but Vah’nya didn’t waver from lack of protocol.

“Vah’nya,” He said back, and there was respect there. Respect of equals. Partners. Thrawn looked between them in a way that Ezra couldn’t miss. No doubt he was considering their shared history, and not for the first time. “At your leisure.”

“Let us begin,” She replied, nodding to him before returning her attention to Ezra. “If the bridge crew were here, he would give the order and we would begin the route. Because they are not, we may go at our own speed. Our Sight is much like the senses you use during battle. We will use them to keep the ship clear of any dangers, like other ships and anomalies like solar flares, asteroids, and sunspots.” Vah’nya keyed the comm system. “Bridge control, this is Senior Navigator Vah’nya. Standby for jump.”

The comms hissed. “Acknowledged.”

“I like to give them a heads up,” She said, nodding to indicate the lever that would propel the ship to lightspeed. “We will trigger it together.”

Ezra looked back at Thrawn. The Chiss nodded. Beside him, Ivant’s eyes were cool and contemplative, jaw set. “Okay,” The human said. He positioned his right hand on the edge of the hyperdrive lever and Vah’nya matched him like a mirror, her left hand on the left edge. “Ready when you are.”

The Navigator dipped her head, beginning to push. “Now.”

-/

The stars blurred, and Ivant immediately queued up three separate holo screens. He sat back in the command chair, Thrawn watching him carefully but not approaching.

“I know you want to know what I’m doing,” Vanto mused after a cursory glance to assure all the information he was looking for to be present. “It’s not a secret. This is a test.”

Thrawn joined him, lingering on his right side, so close that his tunic brushed the arm of the command chair. “Comparing him with Vah’nya in real time?”

“That, and the rest of the Navigators aboard.” He motioned to the lower portion of the middle screen. “All five navigators, Vah’nya, and Ezra. This run is relatively straightforward. The Admiral wanted me to compare them all to each other. And, as this is a much smaller group than the one we had before, I have the facilities aboard to test them all at once. Simulations are no good. In the younger navigators, it tends to overstimulate them, since their brains are looking for physical stimuli but they’re trying to outsmart a computer program.”

“Their Sight can work like that,” Thrawn mused, “But it does seem as though it would cause more harm than good.”

“Right.” Something blipped on the screen in front of them, automatically outside of parameters and thus blocked immediately in yellow. “It appears Navigator Un’hee is ahead of the curve.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ivant said. “The rest are clustered in the same half second. They’re not as well versed with this region, but it’s on the edge of the Hegemony. Un’hee is familiar with this sector.”

“You would have them trial through Grysk space?”

“Technically,” Ivant said with a wry look, “It’s our space.” He inclined his head to Thrawn, even more amused, “They just haven’t gotten the memo.”

“They’ve encroached significantly on our space,” Thrawn said. “We have been pushed back by entire systems in some areas.”

Eli nodded. “Yes, that’s true. All unoccupied systems, ones we don’t particularly need, unless you’re house Chaf and you’re very concerned about where your imported liquor was coming from.” He smirked. “I saw your friend over it.”

“My friend?”

“Ah,” The smirk sharpened a little, revealing a peek of white teeth. “Maybe not the right word. Your gift to the Admiral.”

“Admiral Ar’alani gave Ronan to house Chaf?”

“As a ‘Liason,’” Ivant revealed, then nudged him with his shoulder. Thrawn almost commented on it, but remembered that he was not the superior. This wasn’t particularly against protocol, considering Admiral Ar’alani had the tendency to latch tightly to her subordinate’s arms, occasionally to the point of bruising when she insisted upon retaining one’s attention. “They deserve each other, if you ask me. Apparently after they got over their mutual disdain of each others’ species, they gave him the ability to wear a cape again. Only difference is that it’s neon yellow.” He smirked, “She tried to give him to Thrass first, but your brother refused him within five seconds of meeting him.”

Thrawn smirked at that. “He’s not a complete imbecile. That man is… exhausting.”

“Thrass suggested giving him to House Inrokini, but Sarvchi’s at least somewhat friendly to non-Chiss. Wasn’t like we were trying to kill him. He still calls me a traitor, though,” Eli mentioned. “He was Chaf’s representative sent to see me on my deathbed. Made sure to tell me I was a turncoat, but at least I did something with my life. Only mentioned Krennic twice that I could remember, but I was pretty out of it.” At Thrawn’s pensive frown, he added, “I think I started recovering as he said the words out of spite.”

“That is hardly possible,” Thrawn said. His gaze bordered on intense as he shifted to a more serious topic. “Still, I regret that I was not able to come to you sooner. I would have-”

Vanto turned in the chair, his knees brushing Thrawn’s thigh. The Chiss looked down at the point of contact, but didn’t move away. “We can’t change the past, Thrawn.”

“I know, Eli.” He looked down into Vanto’s eyes. At his sides, his fingers twitched microscopically with the urge to reach up and touch his captain’s face, to affirm eye contact between them with a physical aid. This was wholly inappropriate, some part of him knew. And yet, he couldn’t stop now. This territory was new, begging to be explored. “But the future…”

“Thrawn,” Eli murmured in warning.

Around them, the starlines stuttered and stopped. Vah’nya and Ezra’s heads came up. The Navigator recovered first and immediately turned to the Jedi. He seemed shaken, but Vah’nya instructed him very easily through the post-procedures, including comming the bridge crew on standby.

The Chiss jerked backwards with the slightest twitch. Vanto’s hands, which had come up to prevent Thrawn’s from reaching their intended destination, braced his forearms. He blinked. “Forgive me, Captain,” He said, stepping back. “I don’t know what came over me.”

There was no facial heat, no indication Vanto was particularly moved by the moment they’d just shared. To Thrawn, it seemed that Eli didn’t perceive anything having happened between them at all. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Then, Ivant dismissed him. It struck like a blow. “You should join your charge. No doubt he could use your expertise.”

“Of course, sir.” Thrawn dipped his head respectfully, resisting the urge to move faster, to put distance between them and whatever this had almost been. His voice sounded like it’d been dragged through gravel and shards of jagged transparisteel. “Excuse me.”

The Captain watched him go. As Thrawn descended the two steps down to the Navigators’ station Ezra met his eyes over the Commander’s shoulder. It lasted only a three-count before Thrawn was upon him and he turned away. Eli leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs, steepling his fingers over his mouth. He allowed himself one lengthy, covert sigh before turning his eyes to the status board and comparing the numbers.

[eurodrone]

Careful, rambling ahead:

I really hesitate to call this shit bad writing, but holy fucking shit what the actual fuck is happening?! I'm now 6:23 into episode 13 and I had to fucking stop and write something down. What fucking show is this? Who wrote this? The eps last week were better than average SUF, presentation was stellar, looked and sounded great, cool premise, but the actual fucking writing was so off. Less in Peridot’s, but Bismuth Casual, like every 30 seconds happened that was so bafflingly written. Steven has problems connecting with Connie’s friends? Cool! Steven telling them about almost getting killed by WD? NO! Why? How? What?! This wouldn’t happen! Why doesn't Connie step in? She was a fucking cardboard cutout until they fused. Oh god! But that shit was all lost due to my PC breaking down while I wrote about it, I don't want to do this again.

So I had zero information about these two episodes. And the FUCKING PLOT OF THIS ONE IS THAT STEVEN FUCKING UNIVERSE PROPOSES TO CONNIE?! What the actual fuck? What alternate timeline is this? Ruby AND Sapphire scream at him to fucking propose? When they aren't even dating? We know that they're into each other, but come the fuck on, you can't possibly do this. Steven ISN’T A GEM THAT DOESN’T KNOW ABOUT HUMAN STUFF? WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE THINK THAT WAS OK? Steven isn't a fucking character anymore, he just a a vehicle to drive the plot. He's just like whatever story they want to tell with him, there is no consistency anymore. Connie's moving away?! What the fuck does that change, he isn't seeing her much anyway. And he can still fucking get to her so fast. THEY HAVE SPACE SHIPS. HE HAS LION. LION TELEPORTED TO THE FUCKING MOOOOOOON! There are warp pads. +++++ What? Why? How? I don't understand anything?

Oh god, finished it. This is so fucking embarassing. How did anyone in the Crew say yes to this? God! What is this? There are what, 5 episodes left and that was it? Weren't they very clear in S5 at the worst written arc in the show that they're just friends? Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with the two of them being together and marrying etc. But "there are no timelines where you didn't propose"? WHAT?! This shows relationship to time is so fucking weird. Like he decided to do that that day during a study break. And he wanted her to go back to studying after that? Connie’s reaction - mildly confused but then... I mean they literally act like shy teenagers around each other, THEY ARE NOT EVEN TOGETHER YET and Steven F. Universe, whose powers are also empathy and talking to people decides to propose WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE?! I hope we find out that he is possessed or something, this so so fucking sad. Like last episode, Bismuth told him that she's into Pearl. You know, the person closest to Steven (with others). Bismuth who is also incredibly near to his heart. And his reaction was a mild "oh nice, go get her". He should've fucking flipped out, regardless the circumstances. This is so ridiculous.  (Also ... I honestly didn't get it, did he want to be a permafusion like Garnet? Because if yes, this makes this at least twice as fucked up. I'm afraid to find out so I'm not going to)

Well, onto the next one

Oh no, wait! What the fuck is the deal with every homeschool gem not uttering  single sound. What is that? You have two! gems there, you couldn't give each one maybe ONE SINGLE LINE? Fucking Frosty whatshername seems to be screaming but it looks like a fucking puppet because they are not allowed to make sounds.

[neurotymous]

A Match Made in Transit

Grant had been feeling down lately, and this was another Friday night work drinks that he slipped away from hoping no one would notice. This always happens when he’s feeling like this. He starts out thinking this time will be different, but it always turns out the same. He gets shy and anxious and clams up and regrets having said yes to the night out with his workmates, but then the night quickly turns into hell and he just wants to escape, which he almost always manages to do. This was one of those nights. Only it wasn't. This night would change his life forever. Grant bumped into Sarah, a cute regular at the bookshop he worked in, on a late night bus from the city. She got on the bus a few stops after him and had to stand, while he managed to get a seat up the back. He saw her getting on but was too shy to get her attention. He watched her standing there with headphones on and gently grooving to whatever cool music she was listening too. She was wearing one of those light and breezy dresses that he liked so much, imagining that they allowed for easy access. She had maroon Doc Martins on, and a canvas bag slung across her, probably filled with books. Her hair would have been slightly above collar length except it was tightly curled, and as usual she had done nothing about her prematurely greying hair, which Grant appreciated. It wasn’t so much that he was into grey hair, or even natural hair for that matter, he just appreciated women with unusual hair – redheads, brunettes, dyed an unusual colour, and greying naturally. And he loved her John Lennon like glasses. He did have a thing for the bespectacled. She was his central focus, and he felt like a stalker, careful not to be noticed staring. She was in her own world and wasn't letting the outside in. A few stops later she opened her eyes and looked in his direction. He guiltily averted his eyes but she noticed him, and out of his peripheral vision he could see that she was walking towards him, and imagined she was smiling. He was right. He looked up from his book just as she was approaching and taking her headphones off. She asked jokingly if the seat next to him was taken, and he said of course not, not quite getting the joke in time. She sat down next to him and when their skin touched momentarily he thought he was going to melt. Not sure whether to keep reading or talk to her, he fumbled and juggled his book in his hands. Luckily she broke the ice and struck up a conversation relating to what he was reading and what she was listening to. Although he was awkward at first the conversation soon became natural, as if they had known each other for years. Later he would describe it as the best conversation he ever had, although he was so “present” at the time he barely noticed. As they went along the bus got emptier and emptier. He was so in the moment that he missed his stop and didn’t even notice. Eventually they were the only ones left on the bus and he could tell that she was starting to swoon – it must have been contagious – and he leaned in to kiss her. It was the best kiss he’d ever have, the type once you've had it you know that you'll be chasing that feeling for the rest of your life. The kiss started gently and naturally, but before long it got hotter and heavier. She pulled away and looked at him with longing, a look he hadn’t seen for some time, or maybe ever. She pulled back in again and they became locked at the lips, but it was so soft and gentle it took him by surprise when he felt her hand on his thigh. He followed suit, and soon they seemed to be daring each other to mirror one another's movements, until before he knew it they where on each other's third base. He momentarily dropped out of what was happening and shot a passing glance at the driver, who either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and then dropped back in, which for him was no easy task. He slipped into self assessing mode but for the most part let go of that part of his mind. As he was fumbling around in her underpants, he noticed how wet she was and figuratively gave himself a pat on the back for being such a turn on. Deciding to up the anti he whispered into her ear how wet she was. She moaned as if his words were turning her on, and after a few more rubs got up from him, which he thought could have been a bad sign. Her smile told him otherwise. She extended her hand towards him and gently led him to the exit door and pressed the buzzer, never taking her gaze from him, until the bus came to a stop and the doors opened for them to alight. Nuzzling her head into his shoulder they walked across the dimly lit and near empty street to a petrol station convenience store. Inside she suggested he get something to drink while she looked in another section. She headed towards the counter, brushing passed him and kissing him on the neck on her way. He couldn’t see what she was buying but stayed where he was, staring at the frosty soft drinks in front of him, not really acknowledging their presence. Returning with her purchase, which she waived slightly in his direction, she continued to the ladies with the shop toilet key. The realisation of what she had bought and what it meant dawned on him. They were a packet of sanitary pads. The wetness he had alerted her to was actually her period. He looked down at his hand and his fingers and saw that they had blood on them. There was a small red patch on his crotch, but he wouldn't noticed that until much later. He decided that he didn’t care and wouldn’t make a big deal of it, and while waiting for her he went to the mens to wash his hands. She came out not long after he did and they went out hand in now unbloody hand into the night. She asked him where he lived and he told her that it was further back along the bus route and that he stayed on to be with her. She thought that was hilarious and suggested they walk to her place, which was not too far up the road. They held hands and walked and talked and she occasionally snuggled up to him or put her hand on his arm which he found endearing. They got to her house and he stood outside not knowing what to do, and, noticing his hesitation, she told him to come inside. He did, and they kept talking and cuddling throughout the night. She fell asleep on the lounge with him lying behind her, not wanting to sleep so that he could savour the moment. He couldn’t believe his luck and had never been connected to anyone as he felt in that moment, a moment he hoped would last forever. His critical self couldn’t stop him from acknowledging that this moment could not in fact last, and would soon be a distant yet fond memory. He drifted off to sleep despite not being able to lie in his natural position. The next morning he woke up to the feeling of his erection being rubbed by her bum pressed against him. They were still in the spoon position and he had obviously woken her up with his early morning intrusion. He apologised, and she said it was ok in a sleepy voice, and then reached around, unzipped him and started playing with his penis. He told her that she didn’t have to but she carried on regardless. He went limp after a while however and she asked if he was Ok. He apologised again, saying that it wasn’t her, and that he had this problem with women in this way before. She let him go and said that she had a similar problem with men. She explained that she had no problem on her own, and very rarely it worked orally, but she had trouble climaxing with someone else, and never through penetration. In fact she didn’t particularly like penetration. He said he didn’t either, and that it felt awkward and stressful. They bonded over this and vowed never to pressure each other when it came to sex. They went on to talk about the intimate details of their lives, focusing on their sexual habits, and she admitted to sometimes getting herself off in public toilets and public transport under her jacket or with her bag on her lap, and it was a big turn on. She started it one day in the showers at her local swimming pool. She was aroused at the thought of being naked and exposed with only a thin door separating her from the people outside. She would imagine them watching her and it really turned her on. He said that he had thought of doing it sometimes but the closest he came was jerking off on an empty train once and that the thrill of getting caught and finishing before the next station made him feel excited. She suggested that they should do that together one day at her local swimming pool. They agreed to do it one day but would wait until she had finished her period. They went out for breakfast and then walked around looking at record stores and book shops, sitting in the park and having lunch before returning back to her place where they enjoyed a mid-afternoon spoon and a nap. He stayed the night again, this time in her bed, but had to leave early the next day as he had to work. They exchanged phone numbers and it was the start of their relationship

[ingmarbukowski-blog]

A Match Made in Transit

Grant had been feeling down lately, and this was another Friday night work drinks that he slipped away from hoping no one would notice. This always happens when he’s feeling like this. He starts out thinking this time will be different, but it always turns out the same. He gets shy and anxious and clams up and regrets having said yes to the night out with his workmates, but then the night quickly turns into hell and he just wants to escape, which he almost always manages to do. This was one of those nights. Only it wasn't. This night would change his life forever. Grant bumped into Sarah, a cute regular at the bookshop he worked in, on a late night bus from the city. She got on the bus a few stops after him and had to stand, while he managed to get a seat up the back. He saw her getting on but was too shy to get her attention. He watched her standing there with headphones on and gently grooving to whatever cool music she was listening too. She was wearing one of those light and breezy dresses that he liked so much, imagining that they allowed for easy access. She had maroon Doc Martins on, and a canvas bag slung across her, probably filled with books. Her hair would have been slightly above collar length except it was tightly curled, and as usual she had done nothing about her prematurely greying hair, which Grant appreciated. It wasn’t so much that he was into grey hair, or even natural hair for that matter, he just appreciated women with unusual hair – redheads, brunettes, dyed an unusual colour, and greying naturally. And he loved her John Lennon like glasses. He did have a thing for the bespectacled. She was his central focus, and he felt like a stalker, careful not to be noticed staring. She was in her own world and wasn't letting the outside in. A few stops later she opened her eyes and looked in his direction. He guiltily averted his eyes but she noticed him, and out of his peripheral vision he could see that she was walking towards him, and imagined she was smiling. He was right. He looked up from his book just as she was approaching and taking her headphones off. She asked jokingly if the seat next to him was taken, and he said of course not, not quite getting the joke in time. She sat down next to him and when their skin touched momentarily he thought he was going to melt. Not sure whether to keep reading or talk to her, he fumbled and juggled his book in his hands. Luckily she broke the ice and struck up a conversation relating to what he was reading and what she was listening to. Although he was awkward at first the conversation soon became natural, as if they had known each other for years. Later he would describe it as the best conversation he ever had, although he was so “present” at the time he barely noticed. As they went along the bus got emptier and emptier. He was so in the moment that he missed his stop and didn’t even notice. Eventually they were the only ones left on the bus and he could tell that she was starting to swoon – it must have been contagious – and he leaned in to kiss her. It was the best kiss he’d ever have, the type once you've had it you know that you'll be chasing that feeling for the rest of your life. The kiss started gently and naturally, but before long it got hotter and heavier. She pulled away and looked at him with longing, a look he hadn’t seen for some time, or maybe ever. She pulled back in again and they became locked at the lips, but it was so soft and gentle it took him by surprise when he felt her hand on his thigh. He followed suit, and soon they seemed to be daring each other to mirror one another's movements, until before he knew it they where on each other's third base. He momentarily dropped out of what was happening and shot a passing glance at the driver, who either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and then dropped back in, which for him was no easy task. He slipped into self assessing mode but for the most part let go of that part of his mind. As he was fumbling around in her underpants, he noticed how wet she was and figuratively gave himself a pat on the back for being such a turn on. Deciding to up the anti he whispered into her ear how wet she was. She moaned as if his words were turning her on, and after a few more rubs got up from him, which he thought could have been a bad sign. Her smile told him otherwise. She extended her hand towards him and gently led him to the exit door and pressed the buzzer, never taking her gaze from him, until the bus came to a stop and the doors opened for them to alight. Nuzzling her head into his shoulder they walked across the dimly lit and near empty street to a petrol station convenience store. Inside she suggested he get something to drink while she looked in another section. She headed towards the counter, brushing passed him and kissing him on the neck on her way. He couldn’t see what she was buying but stayed where he was, staring at the frosty soft drinks in front of him, not really acknowledging their presence. Returning with her purchase, which she waived slightly in his direction, she continued to the ladies with the shop toilet key. The realisation of what she had bought and what it meant dawned on him. They were a packet of sanitary pads. The wetness he had alerted her to was actually her period. He looked down at his hand and his fingers and saw that they had blood on them. There was a small red patch on his crotch, but he wouldn't noticed that until much later. He decided that he didn’t care and wouldn’t make a big deal of it, and while waiting for her he went to the mens to wash his hands. She came out not long after he did and they went out hand in now unbloody hand into the night. She asked him where he lived and he told her that it was further back along the bus route and that he stayed on to be with her. She thought that was hilarious and suggested they walk to her place, which was not too far up the road. They held hands and walked and talked and she occasionally snuggled up to him or put her hand on his arm which he found endearing. They got to her house and he stood outside not knowing what to do, and, noticing his hesitation, she told him to come inside. He did, and they kept talking and cuddling throughout the night. She fell asleep on the lounge with him lying behind her, not wanting to sleep so that he could savour the moment. He couldn’t believe his luck and had never been connected to anyone as he felt in that moment, a moment he hoped would last forever. His critical self couldn’t stop him from acknowledging that this moment could not in fact last, and would soon be a distant yet fond memory. He drifted off to sleep despite not being able to lie in his natural position. The next morning he woke up to the feeling of his erection being rubbed by her bum pressed against him. They were still in the spoon position and he had obviously woken her up with his early morning intrusion. He apologised, and she said it was ok in a sleepy voice, and then reached around, unzipped him and started playing with his penis. He told her that she didn’t have to but she carried on regardless. He went limp after a while however and she asked if he was Ok. He apologised again, saying that it wasn’t her, and that he had this problem with women in this way before. She let him go and said that she had a similar problem with men. She explained that she had no problem on her own, and very rarely it worked orally, but she had trouble climaxing with someone else, and never through penetration. In fact she didn’t particularly like penetration. He said he didn’t either, and that it felt awkward and stressful. They bonded over this and vowed never to pressure each other when it came to sex. They went on to talk about the intimate details of their lives, focusing on their sexual habits, and she admitted to sometimes getting herself off in public toilets and public transport under her jacket or with her bag on her lap, and it was a big turn on. She started it one day in the showers at her local swimming pool. She was aroused at the thought of being naked and exposed with only a thin door separating her from the people outside. She would imagine them watching her and it really turned her on. He said that he had thought of doing it sometimes but the closest he came was jerking off on an empty train once and that the thrill of getting caught and finishing before the next station made him feel excited. She suggested that they should do that together one day at her local swimming pool. They agreed to do it one day but would wait until she had finished her period. They went out for breakfast and then walked around looking at record stores and book shops, sitting in the park and having lunch before returning back to her place where they enjoyed a mid-afternoon spoon and a nap. He stayed the night again, this time in her bed, but had to leave early the next day as he had to work. They exchanged phone numbers and it was the start of their relationship.

[frostedmochi-archive-blog]

"You have seen new cooling pad Furosoti-chan, yes? It is silly.. Already cold."

A delicate paw stretched out towards the stronger kitty, just to boop him on the nose.

“.. You’re silly.”