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likesomekindofcheese · 5 years ago

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We are all fools in love (Queen One-shot for LOC event)

Pairing: Roger Taylor x fem! Reader

Word Count: 2115

Summary: Roger Taylor’s your best friend...but looks like the band may need to give you a little push and you both need to admit the truth. Some good ol’ Friends to Lovers.

A/N: Hello @39-ers! Here I am- your Secret Santa revealed!!Here is my gift to you for @dtfrogertaylor Level of Concern Event! It was fun to write and it was wonderful to get to know you- I hope you enjoy it!!! Also shout out to my beta @spicyspideyme! for your quick eye and generous input!!

cw: swearing, smoking, bits and hints about sex (but no actual smut), and mentions of fictional violence. Freddie being the matchmaker like he always is in my fics. Matchmake me plz Freddie

“We’re gonna hold hands, but we aren’t together together!” Roger insisted as you walked through the park.

“How come?” you asked.

The autumn breeze chilled you a bit. A couple leaves fell right before your feet. Stepping on them, there was a satisfying crunch that made you smile. A few park workers were taking away the pumpkins for Halloween festivities and replacing them with banners promoting bonfires for November.

“Because I just don’t want you to get lost! This is a bloody huge city! And the crowds are big!” Roger explained, he waved his arms around the place.

The band and you had hit the dry hours. Other than a few workers, you barely saw a soul.

“I think you forgot…I live in this city. Same as you!” you retorted.

Roger shrugged, scratching the back of his head.

“I just want you to be safe!” he cried.

“Well if it makes you feel like I will be safe, I’ll do it” you said.

Pouting slightly, you accepted his large, smooth hand and continued your walk.

Though the other three just keep laughing in the back at you two making little fusses just like that, eyeing each other at the odd comment and mouths tight shut to keep themselves from laughing.

“It’s like they’re married already,” Brian observed, tightening his red scarf.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but…something has got to got to happen…” John commented.

Freddie waited until you and Roger were far enough away and then turned to the others.

“I’m sick of it! And they are sick of it too! You see it- of all of the sweet glances when the other one isn’t looking! And I’m so fucking sick of hearing Roger keep talking until the cows come home about “how bloody lovely y/n is,” or “y/n did this and it’s amazing! No one’s as smart as y/n!’” he added, lifting his voice up a few pitches to mimic Roger’s.

“Are you lost or what!?” you called behind, looking at the three.

Without another word, Fred led the way quietly for the rest of the walk. But his mind was restless.

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Roger insisted on visiting the vintage shop with you by his side the next day. Not that much had changed in a day, you said. He refused to hear of it.

Opening the door, you were greeted by a retail worker who pointed you to the rack of sale items. There was the smell of old leather and furs already deep in your nose as you noticed a coat from at least the forties.

This is Perfect.

You perused prices, ranging from the extreme to the frugal.

But Fred, knowing you both visited regularly, came in. He stayed away, half hiding behind some blue dresses at least a decade old.

“Doing anything Sunday, Rog?” you asked.

“I’ve got nothing on Sunday, Sundays are always boring!” he complained.

He stared in shocked awe at a garish orange blouse with ruffles on it before moving to the next item.

“Rog, I think Sundays are nice! They’re quiet, peaceful…”

“Ha! You think! It’s too bloody quiet and only the church is open,” he interjected.

Turning your head, you folded your arms crossly.

“Sunday’s are nice, Rog!”

One certain outfit caught your eye when you noticed the mannequin, but checking the price tag you shook your head and let out a small sigh.

“Wanna bet!?” Roger said, offering a hand to you with a smile.

Fred stifled a laughter following the ridiculous little bout. He even bent his legs to hide deeper behind the fifties dresses with starched, crinoline skirts.

“No, no need to bet. There are horror movies that come on Sunday night, I’ll show you! You know how much I love horror movies!” you begged.

Roger’s eyes lit up and he blinked. Then his smile returned rather than his immature pout.

“Really, what channel?”

“Rog, you really have to know. Do you really just go to bars and clubs on Sundays? Just get drunk?”

‘Well, at least they aren’t boring, Y/N!” he argued.

Rolling your eyes, you walked over to where there were pants for women. But you couldn’t help but smile. Roger was an intelligent man. He was just an intelligent man with the instincts of a child sometimes. Secretly it always charmed you.

“Whatever just come over. And don’t get drunk. Not yet,” you said.

Freddie had a deep smile on his lips. He stayed hiding in the shop until you both left. He looked right at the outfit you were eyeing.

This is perfect he thought.

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On Sunday afternoon, there is a red blouse and the nicest pair of pants you had ever seen on your bed, laid out, fresh from the vintage shop.

Your jaw dropped and you held back a small scream at the sight. The shirt you found was a blouse: smooth as silk. The pants fitted you perfectly: lighter colored with a subtle pattern.Walking in front of the mirror, you looked nicer than you ever had before.

Next to where your clothes had been was on a small piece of paper with typewriting on it:

“Thought you’d like it! Please wear tonight! MY gift! XXXX- Rog”

“Well…it’s not too girly and it’s not racy at all…but I better put on a jacket to make it safe.”

Biting your lip, you looked at it in the mirror, examining every inch.

But no. Roger could not have meant it. Not for you at least. You knew there had to be some girl. He would buying lingerie for her. There were always crowds of women after him at parties. He was always calling women up and talking to them.

“There’s just some chick he’s crazy about and he isn’t telling me because he doesn’t want to make it weird…or maybe he’s really into Fred or John or something.”

The thought always made you sad.

“Still, wouldn’t hurt to doll up though, especially if he asked for it…” you thought, feeling that brief glimmer of hope in your belly.

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As Roger sat in his home, reading while smoking his cigarette like a meditation, there was a sudden knock on the door.

“I’m back already!” Fred announced, slightly muffled from the door blocking the way.

When he walked over, Roger could barely breathe a hello when Fred leaned over closely, taking in a large whiff.

“Oh! You’re smoking! I’m dying for one myself- let’s go out!” he announced, his ringer hand grabbing Roger’s arm.

“It’s fine in here, why?”

Freddie flashed his full smile and waved away the apartment entrance. Though at the force Roger was being pulled out it was as if he didn’t have a choice

“Well, darling, you don’t need the landlord on your neck for any reason: and it’s lovely tonight! Moon and stars and all that!” he declared.

They wandered out, talking about everything in between blowing out grey smoke. Though Freddie was changing subjects fast and talking a mile a minute, even for Roger’s standards. But he kept up.

Until he heard her. Y/N’s footsteps and their certain rhythm.

You saw your friends on the side of the block, right outside the flat complex. Finally, you walked up in a light coat, a little odd from the feeling of the outfit.

Oh God, I’ve known both of them for years…why am I suddenly feeling so odd? I look…I must look like a groupie to them, not myself.

“Oh, Y/N! How are you, dear?” Freddie greeted, waving his arms up.

Waving back, you gave him a small hug. Right as you greeted Roger, you heard Freddie ring out from behind you.

“Have to head out! I’ve got to meet someone for a drink- a sudden date, you would say! Farewell, loves! I’ll return later, Rog!”

He was practically waltzing away from the two of you. There was a pause. The breeze picked up and you held your coat tighter for warmth.

“S’bloody cold, Y/N, let’s go in,” Roger offered.

He walked into the complex to where his door was. As he took out his key to the door, you began to talk, albeit shyer than usual.

“By the way, thank you for the gift.”

Roger turned to you, head tilted and squinting.

“Huh? What gift?” he asked.

As his key went in, he noticed it was already unlocked. Barely shrugging it off, he opened the door.

It was filled with candles and roses.

You both gasped, a little shocked and smiling. Though your insides felt like butter. There was distant patter of footsteps a few feet away, like a small stampede of horses. But when you glanced out to the other doors there was no one.

“Roger, it…it looks beautiful!” you praised.

“Why it…it does, but Y/N…I didn’t do it,” he confessed.

He looked down and scratched his head. His cheeks were the color of the rose petals.

“What, really?” you asked.

As you took off your jacket casually to hang it up in the coat closet, Roger kept staring at your outfit. Now his whole face matched the roses.

“That’s…pretty weird. But…nice of them. The boys, I mean.”

“I just got this outfit with a card saying it was from you,” you recalled.

Roger huffed and scuttled over to the chairs and turned the knob on his tv set. He continually checked his watch to be safe for the time.

“Anyway, uh, films on, let’s…let’s watch it!” he blubbered.

And the mysterious gifts and their origin were left ignored.

Roger folded his arms and tried his best to stare at the movie best he could, biting back almost a laugh or even a smile.

But as the killer in the movie was revealed, stabbing his screaming victims, you felt Roger’s eyes continually wander to you. First in flutters. Then in glances. Then in staring. You knew because everything you looked up briefly at him, his yellow head turned away.

Both of you sat still. Neither one asked the other for a drink or a snack or anything as the movie went on.

“You do look, really…really nice Y/N,” he complimented.

Your head flipped over. The breath in you stopped and you felt it suddenly flush back in, going a little dizzy.

“I mean, you’ve always looked nice and I swear, I never really…you just look especially nice tonight!” he clarified.

Smiling, you mumbled a thank you, while looking down at your lap.

As the movie went on, you both relaxed a little more. Your shoulders dipped down. A natural grin let up your face. You saw one on Roger as well.

Roger’s hand moved closer. Inch by inch. Then you felt it over yours.

Sweating, you accepted it. Although now the sudden threat of a masked serial killer that lurked in the night was nothing compared to your reality.

You scooted closer to Roger. He scooted closer in kind.He looked into your eyes. You looked in his.

“Roger…I…just…I just…” you blubbered, words running out before you could stop them.

“What is it?” he asked.

Now they dashed out as quick as the breaking of a dam.

“I’ve always liked you but…liked liked you- oh god, I must sound like a kid.”

“You don’t, you…you actually make perfect sense!” Roger answered, he began to chew his lower lip.

“What d’you mean?”

“I…I’ve loved you! It sounds ridiculous coming out of me- I am not a sap! I swear! I hate sappy things! But, but-but I’ve always wanted to just scream it from the top of some hill- I love you!” he confessed.

He put a hand against your face, gently caressing it. You leaned in closer to it, almost shivering from the sensation. Softly, Roger leaned forward too.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” he cursed right before tilting his head and kissed you.

It was wet and you could taste the chicken he ate and the strong tobacco from the smoking. He was so close, and so warm, with the smell of sweat and shampoo. You felt your hands go over his arm, pulling him closer.

You pulled away, and then you went in for another kiss, to make sure it was all real. His hands went to your back and pressed you against him closer. You were one mind and flesh for only a few seconds. Both of you pulled away briefly. There were a few soft chuckles released with a puff of released breath. He then pressed a forehead to yours. Your eyes closed for a second, feeling it, taking it all in. The two of you were breathing in unison, feeling that space between you that was desperate to be filled back again, to finally disappear.

Meanwhile outside, Freddie only leaned against a stoplight, barely looking at the window of the place. Brian and John stood by him, with their hands in their pockets. Seeing the light go out in Roger’s place, they all knew their job was done and they left to celebrate.

Taglist: @queenlover05 @stardust-killer-queen

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romancatholicreflections · 6 years ago

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22nd December >> Daily Reflection/Commentary on Today’s First Reading for Roman Catholics on 22nd December (1 Samuel 1:24-28).

The reading comes from the beginning of the First Book of Samuel. In our Bible, there are two books but originally they were only one in the Hebrew. They speak about three principal characters – Samuel, Saul (Israel’s first king), and his successor David. The accounts of Samuel and Saul are found in the first book while half of the first and the whole of the second deal with David. Like many of the more significant characters in the Old Testament, Samuel was born of a woman who was barren and had lost hope of having children. We mentioned already the cases of Sara (Gen 17:16-19), Rebekah (Gen 25:21-26), Rachel (Gen 29:31; 30:22-24) and the mother of John the Baptist (Luke 1:5-17).

As we saw in the case of Samson (Dec 19), a woman giving birth late in life indicated that God played a special part in the birth of the child, who was destined for some outstanding service to God and his people. And so it is, too, with Samuel.

It all starts with an ordinary couple living a familiar drama in a hill town. A woman, afflicted with sterility, complains to Yahweh – she is not resigned to a seemingly useless life. Yahweh listens to the afflicted and his answer always exceeds what they ask for. He not only gives Hannah a son, he also gives his people a prophet.

God likes to choose his servants precisely from those families who have no hope of having children. It is God who gives life to the dead and hope to those who have none. The same happens with the birth of Isaac and John the Baptist (Lk 1:5). In the book of Isaiah is a poem which starts with these words: “Shout out for joy, oh you who were barren!” (Is 54:1). (Christian Community Bible, loc. cit)

Hannah is gifted with a son but, as we saw earlier with Samson, he does not belong totally to her. The language suggests that he is ‘lent’ by God to her because she will give him back to devote his whole life in the service of Yahweh. She dedicates the child, even before his birth, to be a minister in the sanctuary. And, like Samson, his hair remains uncut as a sign of total dedication to God’s service. And she confirms this in the final words of the reading: “For this child I prayed; and the Lord has granted me the petition that I made to him. Therefore I have lent him to the Lord; as long as he lives, he is given to the Lord.” (Many a mother must have prayed like this when she saw her son leave home to become a priest or Brother or her daughter leave to become a Sister.)

Following immediately on the reading is the Responsorial Psalm. It is not from one of the Psalms but represents the hymn of praise and thanksgiving Hannah makes for the birth of her son. “My heart exults in the Lord…” It is an ancient poem, originally thought to have nothing to do with Samuel’s birth but it fits perfectly into the context. In language and context, it bears many similarities to the Magnificat, the prayer of praise and thanksgiving that are put on the lips of Mary on the occasion of her Visitation to Elizabeth and which is the Gospel for today. The Magnificat, however, is more personal in tone.

Hannah and Samuel, then, are seen as prototypes of Elizabeth and John the Baptist but also, though in a different way, of Mary and Jesus.

For us, it is an opportune time to see how God has called us to his service and to what extent we are following that call. Every one of us has a ‘vocation’ – we are all, through our Baptism, called to love and service of brothers and sisters and to working together to build God’s Kingdom on earth. We might also at this time give thanks to our parents who brought us into this world and set us on the road to Life.

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ayearofpike · 7 years ago

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Road to Nowhere

Pocket Books, 1993 212 pages, 14 chapters + epilogue ISBN 0-671-74508-5 LOC: CPB Box no. 700 vol. 15 OCLC: 27485847 Released February 1, 1993 (per B&N)

Scorned by her parents, spurned by her boyfriend, shoved aside by her best friend, Teresa Chafey is on the run. She hops in her car and heads into the night with only the vaguest of destinations: north. Before she gets too far, she picks up a pair of hitchhikers, and they exchange stories of life’s unfair endings as they drive. But as Teresa drives, she gets sicker, and she learns more about the two strangers in her car and how they got there, and she begins to realize that there’s one big ending awaiting her unless she can forgive and move on.

I didn’t remember much about this story from my early reads, but I do remember liking it. It’s interesting that I never came back to this one very much, because it does seem to be right up my alley: minimal characters, single point of view, realistic settings, just a hair of the supernatural. I also greatly appreciate on re-read how the whole thing takes place in Teresa’s dream state. Yeah, this is a cliche, but the structure holds up. Some of these “it was all a dream” type books don’t have enough weight in the narrative to get by without a lot of explanation either before or after, but Road to Nowhere gives us what we need in the middle. And a big part of that is the storytelling mechanic employed by the characters.

It would be easy to have a story about telling stories feel a little dry and inorganic (and as I recall, we’ll get there soon enough), but because these stories are autobiographical (yes, it’s obvious that the hitchers are talking about themselves, even though they’ve assumed names) it feels important and natural. A contributing factor might be the in media res beginning, with Teresa storming out to her car and taking off before we even actually know what’s upsetting her. She picks up her hitchers, Freedom Jack and Poppy Corn (seriously), just before the freeway on-ramp, and each spins a story of lost love and life lessons.

Rather than break this down chapter by chapter, I’m going to summarize each character’s stories. Lucky for you, reader, this format doesn’t lend to as long a post as I often subject you to.

I’ll start with Teresa, since it’s her fault we’re in this car in the first place. She’s also the only one to talk openly about herself. She describes meeting her boyfriend at the mall while Christmas shopping, and how he gets her talking about herself like she’s never really done with anyone else. In fact, he gets her to play guitar and sing for him when she is afraid to perform anything for anybody. We’re led to understand that this comes from her mom not thinking anything she does is ever good enough, and so she hides things from her parents, including this talent. But her boyfriend thinks she’s so good that he gets her in as a performer at a nightclub, and her best friend wants to come and see her too. Of course, while Teresa is up on stage she can’t supervise the budding relationship between her two companions, and they fall for each other. The last thing Teresa remembers before getting in the car and driving off was going to her boyfriend’s house with a knife and seeing the two in each other’s arms.

Free goes next. He describes a gifted yet hot-headed young man named John, who falls in love with a girl named Candy and helps her cheat her way through school. Unfortunately, he gets caught helping her, and rather than take his lumps and move on, he beats up the teacher and goes to juvenile hall. When he gets out, his college options have been wiped away, and so he takes a job in a bakery, where he comes up with efficient solutions to economize production. Unfortunately, his manager is a dick. Not only does he take credit for John’s optimization, but he also alters the machines so that when John is demonstrating a change he gets his hand caught and loses two fingers. There’s no way to prove it, but John is hell-bent on trying, and is too proud to take a settlement. But when the defense brings up his assault of the high school teacher, John flips out, to the point where there’s no way a decision will go his way. He’s stuck with a throbbing injury, a dependence on painkillers, and no real option for relief. Except robbery. He starts with pay phones and vending machines, but has to escalate to convenience stores. But of course the first job goes wrong when John sees Candy walk in. He’s shot and killed, but as he’s lying on the ground there’s another gunshot and Candy falls onto him, dying as well.

Poppy tells Candy’s side of the story. Like, this is the only place where the structure of this story falls apart — are we actually expected to believe that the stories Free and Poppy are telling are in any way not about themselves? It’s just so obvious. We could argue that it’s because I already know the story, but I’m not sure if that’s true. It’s been twenty years, at least, after all.

But so Candy’s story is about what happens after John leaves her life. She gets up to college and realizes she can’t hang, but she falls for a teacher and gets enough help to muddle through, at least for a little while. Of course, shit happens, the teacher gets her pregnant, and she decides to go away and have the baby, who she loves more than anything ever. It’s the kick in the ass Candy needs to figure out how to take care of herself. She does the crazy single mom thing of working and going to school both full-time while taking care of a baby, nails down a nursing degree, and moves back home so her parents can have a grandson while she works. But of course she’s got this nasty smoking habit that she can’t kick, and it’s while she’s stopping to pick up a carton of cigarettes that she finds John, the only man she’s ever loved, robbing the store.

The whole time, Teresa is feeling sicker and sicker. Her wrist hurts, her hands are clammy, she’s got a headache, and her throat is dry. Also, the road isn’t really taking them through the region she expected, and none of the towns are where she thinks they should be. They do stop a few times, at her passengers’ insistence: once at the house of a mystic fortune teller (who Free calls his mother) who tells Teresa she’s afraid of love and just wants attention (which is maybe why she gives up the booty to Free in a back room) and once at a church where a priest (Poppy’s father) is trying to help Teresa remember the blank space between her boyfriend’s house and her car. They also hit several convenience stores for snacks and beer — but the last time, Free pulls a gun and starts robbing the place. A young nurse walks in, and he tells Teresa to hold her at bay with the knife in her back pocket. The knife Teresa didn’t remember. The knife she didn’t feel until that very moment. The knife that slips and cuts the nurse’s throat when Free shoots the clerk in the face.

As if this wasn’t disconcerting enough, the next stop is a familiar-looking apartment complex; specifically, a familiar-looking apartment where the bathroom door is closed and the water is running. Free pulls a video tape out of thin air and sticks it in the VCR, and it shows Teresa climbing into her car and driving away. And then he rewinds it, to Teresa in the bathtub, cutting her wrist open with the knife she found in her back pocket.

So we finally start to see what’s going on. Teresa is dying, and Free and Poppy are the dead souls of John and Candy, one devil and one angel, fighting over her soul. Only Poppy has an ulterior motive. She’s come along on this journey to show John that he wasn’t so bad, and that he doesn’t deserve his torment. See, he’s struggled with the understanding that in his last moments of life, he flexed his fingers and fired the bullet that killed Candy. But he didn’t. She tells him that it was the police officer, trying to take him down but misfiring and hitting her. In fact, this has been her message the whole night: tell the truth, act with love, and forgive the past. If she can get Teresa to do that, she can still be saved.

Like, literally: all of a sudden Teresa’s spirit skips to the fire in her boyfriend’s house, and she sees the philandering pair on the rug in front of it, and she’s ready to forgive them. And as the anger flies away, a log in the coals pops and shoots a spark onto her boyfriend’s arm, waking him up. He looks around, bewildered, and sees Teresa’s key in the door, where she left it in her rage. And before he can even puzzle things out, he knows she’s in trouble and takes off to help her.

Our epilogue (which Pike seems to have figured out the workings of, suddenly) finds Teresa waking up in the hospital, watched over by a young pre-med student. He tells her that her boyfriend found her and brought her in, and that there are four people waiting to see her. She talks about her anger and her sadness, and they commiserate together, and all of a sudden she realizes that he is Candy’s young son, left behind when she died in a robbery. And that’s it.

I find it interesting to think about how Pike’s juggling interests in different religions and traditions while he writes these vaguely mystical works. There’s some very clear Catholic background in a lot of these works, but he’s also working in his interest in Buddhism and Hinduism and other Eastern traditions. It’s not a solution that works for everyone, but the idea of giving up the things that make your blood boil and forgiving people who wrong you to take the next step toward enlightenment does have a lot of basis in religion. As long as we acknowledge this baseline, Road to Nowhere works as a story. It’s not a book we should base our belief system on or anything, but it hangs together for Teresa.

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romancatholicreflections · 7 years ago

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22nd December >> Daily Reflection/Commentary on Today’s First Reading for Roman Catholics on the 22nd December (1 Samuel 1:24-28).

Hannah and Samuel, then, are seen as prototypes of Elizabeth and John the Baptist but also, though in a different way, of Mary and Jesus.

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