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yellowpsyduck · 10 months ago

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𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤

𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬.

Thomas Shelby x Carleton!Reader Warnings: Smut, slight size kink, Tommy attracting posh girls as always

“Are you fucking my sister-in-law?” were the very first words that came out of the young socialite’s mouth. They were directed to the man dressed in the grey suit with the flat cap, as he caressed the grey filly in front of him.

“Such crude words from such a lovely young lass, eh?” the man looked rather amused at her choice of words, much less, her more than direct approach of interrogating him.

The words she’d spoken weren’t quite what he had expected from a girl of her caliber, she seemed far too proper to opt for such language.

But she held her ground that girl, with her fashionably short bob and her velvet dress that would probably fetch enough pounds to feed a small family for a week in Small Heath. She didn’t waver under his icy stare, nor did she retreat her questioning glare. In fact, to his surprise, she arched her carefully sculpted eyebrow, as though prompting him to explain himself.

She must be a London girl, he noted, such brazenness could only mean that she must've lived a sheltered life, never having to put her guards up in fear of gangsters and certainly never having to do anything with filthy old Birmingham.

No, all she had to do was look pretty and polite and pop open bottles of champagne, dancing the night away to the Foxtrot and Charleston. She didn’t have a clue who he was, didn’t have a clue what he did and certainly didn’t have a clue as to why he always kept a Webley MK VI in his gun strap.

Tommy found it quite refreshing. He couldn’t remember the last time someone talked to him so incredibly audaciously, if it wasn’t to barrage him with threats to his life.

“I believed I asked you first, Mister” came the reply from her tinted red lips, looking rather displeased that her question was met with another.

“Well, a lady like you shouldn’t worry about adult matters.” he replied as he fished his pockets for the metal cigarette case. “Anyways, she's your sister-in-law you say?” he offered her a cigarette, a habit of his which he’d developed from constantly being surrounded by chain smokers.

“She is, or she was.” she took him up on his offer, as he lit it up for her, “Ian was my brother. His passing was hard on all of us; for her more than anyone else. So, I come up here any chance I get to keep her company, but now I see that’s no longer needed of me.” she said as she eyed him from head to toe, sizing him up almost.

“Don’t let me be a bone of contention now.” he replied, his couldn’t possibly add another trouble to his list, the Epsom and Major Campbell were already a handful, to say the very least.

“Actually, it’s quite the opposite.” A hint of surprise glazed over his eyes as he looked at her delicate features. “I’m quite relieved she isn’t shutting herself up." she trailed off, "And you’re certainly not the worst pick for a suitor.”

“Now don’t go sizing me up for a wedding suit, Miss.” he said taking another drag of his cigarette “May and I are just.... acquaintances. She’s training my horse for the Derby, this beauty over here, you see.” he motioned to the grey horse behind him.

“Oh.” She looked at him with an abashed humour in her eyes. “Then you must pardon my poor choice of words. I’m sure you won’t take the silly musings of a girl to heart.”

She flicked the cigarette bud to the ground, stomping it lightly with the heel of her dainty Mary Janes.

“I’m Y/N. Y/N Vera Carleton.” she extended her hand to him, her lips adorned with the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen in his entire existence. He took her hands in his, their sizes differing starkly. “I’m Thomas. Thomas Shelby.”

“Well then Mr. Shelby, now that the previous fiasco is behind us, I must be off. My friends will be waiting for me, I’m afraid. There's a new club in the city called the Babylon, you might’ve heard of it, they’ve invited this jazz band from the Colonies. My friends say it’s all the rage these days.” she explained to him.

Thomas knew she was one of those girls. The ones that never had to worry about a thing in their lives, except for what they’d wear to a social dinner or what diamonds to pair with what dress and he knew that a part of him wished he could be as carefree as them. But life had other plans for him, a runaway father, a suicidal mother and a fucking war to top it all off.

But now with the Shelby Company Ltd. and his copious side ventures, he hoped that one day, his children, if he ever found a woman that is, would have a life that mirrored that of the captivating girl in front of him.

“All right then, Miss Carleton, you have a good night now.” he bid the girl farewell as he watched her leave the stables. Her dress swaying with every step she took, she looked very frail, he noted, but not the kind that you’d see in the streets of Watery Lane, more so the kind of frail that was in vogue amongst the ladies of London.

As the night progressed, it became abundantly clear that May Fitz Carleton and Thomas Shelby weren’t just acquaintances, although, that should’ve been clear from the moment he accepted her proposal to stay the night in the manor, more like a fucking castle, he thought.

As night fell, Thomas found himself striding to the doors of his gracious host's, she’d left it unlocked, of course. Neither were novice adolescents; they knew what they wanted, and they certainly weren’t abashed about it. Their business was completed rather quickly though, she seemed unable to fully open her heart out to the deed and he had a myriad of thoughts occupying his mind.

Breakfast was a rather lovely affair. May chose not to bring up their late night discretions, for which he was rather thankful for. In fact, she seemed content with it being a passing liaison, finally someone that’s on the same page as him, he mused.

The lavish spread of food in front of him was overwhelming and he resigned himself to an Earl Grey and a toast. It seemed it was just May that occupied the house, seeing as though they were the only two to grace the table. Their conversations were pleasant, ranging from their shared love for horses to the ones they would be up against at the Derby, when lo and behold, the doors to the room sprung open to reveal a particularly chirpy Y/N, what she would be so cheery for, this early in the morning, he didn’t know.

“Morning, my dearest. Hope you had a lovely night.” The older of the two woman remarked as she kissed her cheeks. “I’ve told Louisa to prepare those Vienna rolls you so love. She should bring it out any minute.” she stated as the maids served the new occupant with a steaming cup of tea.

“That would be lovely, God knows I’m terribly famished.” she strutted into the room, smelling of daisies as she walked past him and kissed her sister-in-law. “Morning to you, my dearest Mayflower.”

She took the seat opposite to his, paying him no mind and absentmindedly blowing into her tea. “Y/N darling, this is Mr. Thomas Shelby, he’s my guest. I'm training his horse for Epsom. " She motioned to the gentleman. "Tommy, this is Y/N, she’s Ian’s sister and the youngest of the Carleton bunch.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shelby.” quipped the younger girl, pretending as though they were truly meeting for the first time.

“The pleasure’s all mine.” Tommy went along with her play, opting not to reveal their meeting the previous day.

“Madam, there’s a telephone for you. It's from Sir Ascot.” May was quickly ushered out of the room to attend to her business, leaving the unusual pair together.

“So, are you going to keep staring or will you tell me what’s on your mind?” Y/N remarked as she forfeited the staring game they’d had going on.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” the girl in front of him was intriguing for sure, and she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Tommy didn’t know other women besides Ada and Polly that would speak so nonchalantly with him, and he found himself quite enjoying this refreshing exchange.

“Well, you’ve basically been undressing me with your eyes, since yesterday. So, shall we do it in my room or yours?”

This. Tommy wasn’t expecting.

He'd expected a whole lot of other things but not this.

The girl didn’t bat an eye as she said those words, simply sipping on her tea, as though they’d only exchanged pleasantries with each other. Tommy was about to respond when a maid brought a plate of Vienna rolls to the table and diligently served her young Miss.

As soon as her departing figure left the room, Y/N’s eyes darted back up to his, sucking slowly on the gold cutlery as she did. She seemed to be waiting for his reply and Tommy wondered how she’d react if he told her 'No'. Surely, such a girl as lovely as her wouldn’t be used to hearing those words of refusal. All she’d have to do was bat her pretty lashes, pout her soft lips and no one would dare refuse such a divine creature.

And Tommy was by no means a saint. A posh girl like her asking him to fuck her wasn’t something that happened on the daily. And again, Tommy might be a man with great restraint, but he was a man after all.

He'd be lying if he said his pants hadn’t gotten the slightest bit tighter at the sight of her sucking and licking on the spoon, that when he was balls deep inside May the previous night, all he thought about was the girl in front of him. Even now, as she sat in front of him, in her lace dress, he could see the slightest imprint of her breasts against the fabric of the dress.

Tommy took in a deep breath, setting the teacup back on the porcelain saucer, when finally, he muttered “You don’t know who I am, do you, little girl?” For if she did, she wouldn’t have uttered those words, much less, even sip her tea so peacefully in his presence.

“Should I care?” she asked in mock concern, “All I know is that you’re a well dressed gentleman that’s got a nice deep voice.” Truly, that was all she looked for. If a man had a deep enough pocket and an ever deeper voice, she’d go weak in the knees, and she knew May wouldn’t associate herself with a man that didn’t have the former.

“Y/N Carleton, you’re truly a work of art, eh?” he chuckled, genuinely in awe of her intrepidity.

“Well, that amongst other things.” came her quick reply, flashing him a cheeky smile.

“Do you think she’ll notice? If were both absent from the table, that is.” he asked in reference to May, she sure as hell wouldn’t appreciate his advances towards her sister-in-law.

“Don’t you worry, Sir Ascot is a hard fellow to deal with, he’ll talk her ear off for hours.” she stated unconcerned as she took strode out of the room, glancing back at him.

“In fact, forget about the bedroom, there's a storeroom over there that’s unfrequented. God knows your staring is making me wild as it is.” She turned and left the room, the gentle sway of her hips beckoning him to follow her. And follow he did.

Thomas fucking Shelby following after a girl, his brothers would’ve had a field day had they learnt of it.

But he didn’t care. All he knew was that he wanted her.

He wanted to fuck her till she screamed his name.

He wanted to fuck her till she couldn’t walk.

He wanted to fuck her till she was a crying mess.

The storeroom was quite spacious, like most of the rooms of this manor. But he wasn’t here to admire this. No. He came here for her. As soon as the latch to the door was shut closed, their lips crashed together.

Oh! He could have had her then and there, her lips were so incredibly soft and moulded with his so fucking perfectly. Her hands found themselves in his hair and she tugged lightly, making him crazy at her touch, while his hands kneaded her supple buttocks. She might’ve been slim, but she was certainly well endowed in just the right areas.

She soon broke the kiss and quickly worked to unbutton her dress, looking at him as he did, and that smile. That fucking smile of hers. Thomas didn’t know anyone more lovely than her.

She stripped down to her chemise, her garter bands visible underneath. He couldn’t control himself at the sight of her lovely frame. His hands soon brought the straps of her flimsy cover down, exposing her delicate brassiere which was also discarded on the floor.

She looked glorious standing in front of him, in just her garter bands and stockings. He would fuck her with those on he decided. The sight of her thighs in those were making the tent in his pants so painfully obvious.

She undid his suspenders, kneeling down as she pulled his trousers down, freeing his throbbing red cock from it’s tight restraints. She blushed a little at the obscene sight, sure she’d seen her fair share of cocks, but none as majestic as his. Tommy Shelby had drawn him to her because of his deep voice, but his huge cock, now that was a brilliant surprise. The London chaps she’d been with just couldn’t compare.

She licked the precum that was dripping from his tip, making him shudder in anticipation and little by little she licked the length of his entire shaft, making sure to drag her tongue along every crevice. She held her cock in both hands, it’s sheer size making her marvel. As Tommy looked down, the sight below him was eliciting a dark reaction inside of him, her little dainty fingers wrapped around his manhood. God! She looked so very small.

She sucked his cock, trying her best to take in as much as she could. She was diligent, for sure, doing her best to make him happy, taking small breaths, accommodating her throat for his dick and working her hands constantly along his shaft or his balls.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” he breathed out raspily. She was an angel.

An angel sent just to fuck him. He didn’t know any woman or whore that was doing the things she was. But here she was, a little thing like her milking his cock like a good girl.

He grabbed her hair, lightly bucking his hips inside of her mouth. She seemed to be suffocating almost, his big dick choking her. Almost.

“Just like that baby, just like that.”

Fuck! She was such a good girl, holding her cries till he released his load inside of her mouth. “Swallow.” he commanded. She was a glorious mess, doing as he commanded her.

Her eyes were watery, and her mouth was thoroughly abused, but she still looked at him with devotion laced in her beautiful eyes.

He lifted her off the ground and laid her on the table like surface. He spread her legs wide open with his hands and marveled at the sight. Her throbbing cunt, glistening in arousal looked so warm, so inviting. He kissed her on the lips once more and dove in to eat her out, but a small hand covered the entrance.

“She might be done soon, so, please just fuck me.” she cried, so obviously starved for him.

He wasted no time and rubbed her clit, making sure her entrance was slick enough, and she was, so incredibly wet for him. He lined his dick to the entrance of her pussy and thrusted lightly. Just the tip he moaned. Just the tip and she was already on the verge of tears.

“Just breathe, love. Just breathe for me, eh?” he cooed in her ear as his hips thrusted in small motions to enter her tight cave, rubbing her clit as he did. And then with a final thrust he entered her pussy.

God! She felt so good. Her tight walls caved around his cock, stimulating him in ways he didn’t think possible. His motions became faster as her cries became louder.

“Tommy!” she moaned over and over again, seemingly unable to formulate any coherent sentences, her brain clogged with the intense pleasure of his cock ramming into her.

“You fit me so well, Y/N. I’m never letting go of you or your tight fucking pussy after this.” he moaned in her ear.

The constant slapping of skin and unbridled moans didn’t leave much to the imagination of the maids and butlers that might’ve overheard, but they didn’t care. All they knew was that they were nearing their release and it just felt so fucking good.

“Tommy, I’m close.” she managed to stumble out the words.

“Wait for me, love. You’re gonna cum when I tell you to.” he groaned as he fastened his pace, evidently nearing his release.

And with a final thrust, he whispered in her ear and they let go. They were quite the pair to look at. Him, with his trousers on the floor, his hands gripping onto her waists and his eyes never leaving hers and she, with her damn naked body, her tear streaked cheeks and her smudged lipstick.

Tommy gave her a sweet kiss to her forehead and wrapped his arms around her naked body as they remained in the warm embrace. Their heartbeats were gradually returning to usual, and their panted breathing became steadier.

He retrieved a handkerchief from his pockets and delicately cleaned her sore entrance. The evidence of their lovemaking spilled lewdly on the floor; it was to be someone else’s problem, not theirs. He slipped the stained handkerchief into his pockets and helped her dress. She seemed incredibly satiated as she stared at him with sheer fondness in her eyes.

Tommy knew that he couldn’t let go of her now. Not after this.

She was his, even if she didn’t know it yet.

“We best get going now, love.” he told her as he waited for her to gather herself together.

“Wait, silly, you’ve got lipstick on your nose.” she giggled as she rubbed the scarlet red lipstick off for him, standing on the tip of her toes.

She moved to open the door, but her steps felt awkward. He chuckled at her attempt to walk and offered his hand so she may lean on him. The walk back to the table was interesting, with her uncharacteristic gait and lipstick that seemed to have been smudged clean, and his hair that had been slightly disheveled and lips that held the faintest smile.

Both looked nothing like they had a few moments prior. If the maids noticed the obvious change, they didn’t comment on it as they dutifully carried out their tasks, making the most possible effort to not offend the pair as they walked through the halls.

May arrived a few minutes later rambling about how much she would’ve loved to cut the call halfway, had Sir Ascot not been an influential member of the Board. She had been so engrossed in her rant that perhaps, she didn’t notice the obvious change in the mood.

She also didn’t notice the fact that Thomas Shelby’s eyes never once left her sister-in-law who insouciantly continued drinking her tea that was far too cold by now.

“Well, May, my stay here has been lovely, but I best get going now.” he uttered at last, the business back at home didn’t wait for no one, especially not for him to fuck posh girls.

“Indeed, I assume you must have your work cut out for you and oh! I forgot to tell you this morning that I’ve had your car stocked up with engine oil, so, it’ll be a smooth ride home.”

“Thank you for that, May.” he put on his coat and thanked her for her gracious hosting.

“Tommy.” she called out as he stepped into his vehicle. “Will I see you again?”

“I’m sure we’ll cross paths again, Miss Carleton.”

Miss not Mrs. because his eyes, as he spoke those words weren’t on the woman in front of him, but rather they were on the girl that stood at the doorway, a mischievous smile dancing on her lips.

Ah! That smile.

The drive home was brisk, his mind occupied with the image of her and that darn smile. He may have been back in Birmingham, but he knew that apart of his mind had been left behind with a particularly charming girl in the Carleton Estate.

#tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x y/n #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders imagine #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction

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scotianostra · 24 days ago

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Happy Birthday Kenneth Campbell "Ken" Stott, born on October 19th 1954 in Edinburgh.

One of my favourite actors, as hard-drinking Detective hero of Ian Rankin's popular book he was Inspector John Rebus to me. Ken's Father was Scottish and a teacher, his mum a Sicilian, he went to the famous George Herriots school before going onto to Mountview Theatre School, where the distinguished actor Sir John Mills was president. Fellow Scot Douglas Henshall was also a student of the school. Before leaving Edinburgh Stott had been in a band called Keyhole some of the members of the group would later join the Bay City Rollers.

Ken went on to work with the Royal Shakespeare Company but the pay was poor and he subsidised his earnings by selling double glazing. His first TV role was in Secret Army for the BBC, parts in TV shows throughout his career have included, Taggart (of course) The Singing Detective, London's Burning, Your Cheatin' Heart and Silent Witness. He was insome good films too, The Debt Collector (with Billy Connolly) , Shallow Grave, (with Ewen MacGregor) and Plunkett & Macleane (with Robert Carlyle).

My favourite shows of Ken's have been the brilliant BBC Scotland series, Takin' Over the Asylum in which starred as Double Glazing salesman, but aspiring disc jockey

with David Tennant and Angus Macfadyen,The ITV series The Vice was also a cracking series where he played DI Pat Chappel and The BBC show Messiah, where again he played a cop, DCI Red Metcalfe where he learned sign language for scenes with his screen wife,and Rebus of course, when the show was resurrected in 2006, Stott was a first choice for many as D.I John Rebus, John Hannah had the role in the first incarnation, mainly due to it being made by his own production company.

On film Ken is probably best known for his role as the Dwarf, Balin in The Hobbit trilogy. He is a popular choice for voice work, as narrator for series such as Trawlermen, a documentary following North Sea trawlers, and Send in the Dogs, following the work of Police Officers and their canine partners.

One of my favourite stories about Ken Stott echoes the no nonsense approach of Rebus, on stage during Arthur Miller's A View From The Bridge, he halted the play when a group of teenage schoolkids were misbehaving and disturbing the show, switching from his stage American to his native Scots accent he told the teacher responsible for the children to remove them, or the play would not go on.

The house lights were switched on and there was then a 15-minute stand-off as discussions took place with the offending youngsters.

The audience took the side of Stott and even resorted to chanting 'out, out, out' in extraordinary scenes. Eventually the three culprits and an embarrassed teacher was forced to creep away before the play resumed at the Duke of York's Theatre.

Of his recent stuff check out The Dig,, it a decent film and based on a true story of an archaeologist embarks on the historically important excavation of Sutton Hoo in 1938.

I can't see anything happening on Ken's IMDb page, but there is a third series of the Irvine Welsh show Crime in development, so I expect he will reappear in that.

#scotland #scottish #history #edinburgh #actor #happy birthday

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mybeingthere · 10 months ago

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Ceramic buttons by Lucie Rie

Celebrated as one of the most important studio potters of the 20th century, Dame Lucie Rie is famous for her distinctive modernist tableware and vessels. However, it is through Rie’s lesser-known, early work making buttons in the 1940s that we discover the fascinating story of her arrival in London as an Austrian Jewish émigré, the establishment of her career, and how she came to develop her innovative array of glaze textures and colours. These small, wearable objects reveal a story of survival and collaboration at a poignant moment of international conflict.

Born in Vienna, Rie studied pottery at the Vienna Kunstgewerbeschule under decorative artist and sculptor Michael Powolny. In 1925 Rie set up her first studio in Vienna, and, over the next twelve years, established her place in the artistic community, winning a silver medal at the Paris International Exhibition of 1937. In 1938 she, like other artists such as Frank Auerbach, Naum Gabo and fellow ceramicist Hans Coper, fled Nazi-occupied Austria to begin a new life in London.

Upon arrival in London, Rie continued to work and volunteered for Home Defence duties. However, whilst establishing her studio in London and a new market for her work, Rie needed to make a living. Fellow Venician, Fritz Lampl, was re-establishing his glass manufacturers in London, successfully producing a range of modern decorative glass tableware and figurines for the luxury market. Lampl also began producing press-moulded and blown glass buttons and offered Rie and others work at his company, Bimini, to supplying glass buttons to fashion houses and department stores such as Harrods and Liberty’s.

Rie began to produce her own stoneware buttons in her studio at her house near Hyde Park. She made buttons on the wheel and by hand, producing up to two hundred buttons a week. In 1942 Rie hired Rudolf Neufeld, a fellow refugee, as an assistant. Together they developed a series of plaster moulds, which rapidly sped up the production of the simpler button shapes. The moulds remained on the shelves in her studio until her death. Rie developed a wide range of button designs and employed six people, including Hans Coper, in her studio to support production. Rie also developed a range of innovative glazes that contributed to the development of her distinctive later glaze textures and colours, that she’s so well known by.

The more elaborate and expensive buttons were aimed at the couture market and were laid out on presentation panels so that visitors to the studio could pick out designs. Leading fashion designers of the period also sent fabric samples to the studio, and within a few days she would have to produce buttons to match. In 1980 Rie met the Japanese fashion designer Issey Miyake, and their friendship resulted in the 1989 exhibition ‘Issey Miyake meets Lucie Rie’ at Tokyo’s Sogetsu Gallery. In the same year, Miyake also used several of her wartime buttons in his collection.

Rie later extended the range to include a variety of jewellery, umbrella handles, and frames for mirrors. For her, the business represented a pragmatic approach to generating an income during the war. However, today the buttons represent a fascinating insight into this lesser-known aspect of Rie’s highly documented career.

Katharine Malcolm, April 2023

https://www.vam.ac.uk/.../lucie-rie-a-secret-life-of-buttons

https://www.apollo-magazine.com/lucie-rie-ceramics.../

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heartbreakgrill · 1 year ago

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Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 2- "You're in my head..."

The beginning two weeks on tour were spent in the city of London, which I easily grewattached to. For the first handful of days, I fell into a comfortable routine of simplicity- I’d wake with Sam, have breakfast in the hotel with the rest of the band (avoid Oliver); set my sights on a few attractions; spend time in Hyde Park, catching up on my reading list; then return to the hotel in the late afternoon for dinner with Sam and the band. Most often, Oliver wasn’t there for those evening meals, said to be off somewhere, writing music, or having a smoke (thank God). I didn’t see him much outside of those breakfasts considering I was always off doing something and he had rehearsals. And I honestly liked it that way.

During the first two weeks in London, I tried to be nice to Oliver. I’d greet him every day at breakfast with a kind smile, a gentle, “Good morning, Oliver.” And he’d just ignore me. None of the others really considered it, or else I think they’d have said something to him. It was subtle enough that I could only ruminate over it in silence.

But, boy, did I notice the shitty behavior he exhibited towards me, that when I’d laugh too loudly at Max’s jokes or start up a conversation- breathe, basically- Oliver’s shoulders would tense. He’d sigh, just soft enough that I could hear it across the table. And, he’d become distant from the group, eyes glazed over, silent. If someone- other than me- said something to him, he’d respond. But, God forbid he say anything on his own accord.

From what I gathered, he had gotten to know me and, I guess, he just didn’t like me. Why he had covered up the time we had spent together on the roof, I did not know. Why he felt the need to completely ignore me- I really just didn’t understand it. And I didn’t think I wanted to. I was having the time of my life, catching matinees on the West End, spending time in the Natural History Museum, riding the London Eye. I wasn’t going to play cat and mouse or sparring enemies during this time in my life.

Usually, at least, back home, I was always too nervous to go out by myself, afraid I’d see family friends or exes I was trying to avoid. Here, I didn’t have to worry about that. I was a whole new person- a whole new woman. I could go anywhere, do anything, be whoever I wanted. Sure, it was lonely sometimes, shopping or discovering new coffee shops all by myself. But, it was healing, too. I was learning to enjoy my own company.

At the beginning of the second week, however, I had run out of things to do. Due to my newfound luck, rehearsals had ended for the band Saturday, and they had the week off- save for Friday, when they’d perform, and the weekend, when we’d be heading up to Newcastle for the next show. But for now, Sam had an open schedule.

We toured the city together for a few days, spending more time together in those short hours than we had in nearly five years. We had a pretty close relationship, but due to our conflicting schedules and busy lives, it was rare that we found space to be with each other like this. It was cathartic- catching late lunches together, touring museums, art galleries, tourist attractions. Mom would’ve really loved to be there with us, in such a dream city, and I know we both held that thought close to our hearts for the entire week.

I didn’t attend their concert that weekend, involved with my own plans. I wanted to come see them perform at some point, but I almost wanted to spite Oliver by not going, too. It was, after all, his band, his music. So, instead, I planned on going to a local dive bar that was holding an open mic night. In such a vast, diverse city, I was sure to find fun there.

That morning, though, at breakfast, I almost changed my plans.

I sat down beside Sam, a plate of toast and eggs in my hands. Max looked up from his phone, where he had been texting someone, and grinned at me, “Morning, lovely. Sleep okay?’’

I nodded appreciatively, “I’ve gotten used to the time change already.”

“Just wait,” Sam stabbed at his stack of pancakes. “Italy is in a week. It’ll fuck you up again.”

“Oh, it’s worth it. I’ve gotten to do so much these past two weeks. It’s insane.”

Cy took a sip of his coffee before adding in, “Oh, to see London through the eyes of a tourist. I’m sure it’s nothing short of magical.”

“Gonna have a hard time leaving, that’s for sure,” I bit off a piece of toast as I replied.

Oliver and Adam joined us now, Adam rattling off some guitar notes to the singer. Their conversation was just background noise to ours, as Sam then spoke to me, brushing his hands free of crumbs from his toast, “Listen, I have your stage pass in my bag. You have to wear it to get into the venue or go backstage, okay? Don’t lose it. I won’t be able to check my phone much today, so I can’t help you out if you do.”

I looked up from my plate, a guilty frown settling into my face, “Oh. Um…I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m gonna go tonight.”

Everyone turned their attention to me fully, even Oliver, though he seemed to look past my head, avoiding my eyes. Their expressions weren’t necessarily confused, but wondorous, curiously surprised by my declaration.

“You’re not coming?” Max asked, his tone a bit hurt.

I shrugged slowly, “I’m so sorry. I had plans to go out. But, I can- I can always change them-?”

“No, don’t do that,” Cyrus waved me off, defending my choice, “you’re allowed to do your own thing. You’re not obligated to come see us.”

“I mean, I will…eventually. I just…there’s so much I wanna do, ya know?” I stuttered a bit, my face flushed from my guilt. I knew they weren’t mad, but I felt like I was letting them down.

Max pouted as he crossed his arms, “So, we’re just not as important, love? I see how it is. Here I thought we had something special.”

“I’m so sorry! I promise I’ll come to a show sometime. I’ll pencil it into my busy schedu-” I chuckled slightly through my words to make the point that I was being sarcastic. But, then, someone interrupted me.

Everyone glanced at Oliver as he stood, chair scraping against the ground. He was pulling a cigarette from an emptying pack, balancing it between his lips. Then, he walked, so quickly, yet so casually, away from our table, towards the exit.

“Even Ollie’s hurt,” Max pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.

Funny thing is, I don’t think Max was too far off with his observation. Why else had Oliver stormed off like a child, leaving a full plate of food where he had been sitting?

Our first travel day was hectic. We had to wake up, bright and early Saturday morning, in order to board the tour buses waiting outside of the hotel. I was a little nervous to spend the next two days inside of the vehicle, eating, sleeping, and basically living within its confines.

But then it came easy. I slept in late, finding my bunk to be a lot more comfortable than it looked. Cy had joined our bus for that first morning, he and Sam working on some drum rhythm for a new song, or something of the sort. On our bus, too, was Ronnie, Sam’s close friend- he insisted- the band’s tour manager, whom I was growing to love.

She was all tattoos, colored hair, and bad-ass energy. She swore like a sailor, said whatever came to mind, and treated the boys like stupid little teenagers. I loved it. I found myself giggling at everything she said, especially when the boys would be too loud at a gas station, and she’d scold them. Whenever Oliver would grace us with his presence on these outings, he’d glare at my laughter, as per usual.

Anyways, I think I was a difficult pill for Ronnie to swallow at first, being so feminine in comparison to her more masculine demeanor. But, we began to really bond that first afternoon on the bus.

While Cy and Sam occupied the back room, drum pads rattling beneath their sticks, Ronnie and I took up the couches towards the front of the bus. I had just gone out for a cup of tea, hoping it would wake me up and encourage me to read or something. Instead, I ended up playing countless rounds of Mario Kart with Ronnie. I was never really into video games, but playing with her was so fun, and we just couldn’t stop. She teased me for being such an amateur, for choosing Princess Peach when she played as Bowser.

But, then we got to talking- about my favorite Taylor Swift songs, ex-boyfriends, childhood trauma. She was wise beyond her years and a comforting, womanly presence to have.

“Sam told me a little bit, but I never got the full picture. What are you going to school for?”

I glanced over at her, nearly crashing my kart because of the sharp corner I had to cut. “Oh, yeah, um…counseling. To get my LPC, so I can practice.”

“A woman in STEM,” she nodded slowly, a slight smile on her face. Her eyes were focused on the tv screen, but they held a glint of humor. “Hey, I respect it. That’s a difficult job. You like it so far?”

“I liked undergrad,” I shrugged. “I’m kind of scared about my master’s, though.”

She elbowed me softly, in an attempt to offer up some semblance of encouragement, “Don’t be. You’re not dumb. You’ll figure it out.” She was the type of person to not really compliment others, so it was sweet that she was trying for me, someone she barely even knew.

“Thank you,” I grinned over at her as our match ended.

She met my eye, fought back the wide smile itching at her face, and rolled her eyes, “Cmon, peaches. I wanna kick your ass on rainbow road.”

We continued on bantering, chatting about whatever came to mind. I knew then that she’d be a rock to turn to this summer, this suspicion exemplified by the fact that she even said she’d listen to one of the songs I mentioned, though she was a metal-lover, through and through. I was becoming like an exception to everyone, a bright, soft spot of sunshine in the black-clothed masses of this touring crew. It was heartwarming to be so beloved, even if no one would say those words directly (besides Max, of course).

So, what if Oliver didn’t like me? All of his fucking friends did.

So, things were coming up Daisy. I was making friends- most notably, Max, Cyrus, and Ronnie. Sam was right- Cy was incredibly smart. We spent a lot of time on the bus that weekend- and the next, when we traveled further up England- discussing school, psychological theories, cognitive studies. He knew a lot about a lot and it was stimulating to get to have such intelligent conversations.

Max was a handful, of course. Again, Sam being right- Max loved to flirt with me. I think it got on my brother’s nerves, but I found it to be a fun little game. At breakfast, back in London, he’d greet me every morning with a pleasant grin, a compliment on my hairstyle for the day or my lip stick color.

Of course, it would be followed by, “Would look better on me.” To which, I would laugh hysterically and Sam would try to fling eggs at his boss.

When this particular flirtation had been spent, I glanced around the group, giggling, when my eyes landed on Oliver. He was actually looking up, and at one point, he met my eyes. My bright grin did not falter, not until his lingering stare turned into a roll in his eyes. He looked back down at his phone and I decided then and there that I would not spend another minute ruminating on him and his negative energy.

Adam and I got along, but we weren’t super compatible, which I didn’t mind. Not everyone always matched with one another. We shared pleasant greetings and didn’t mind sitting next to each other at breakfast. He seemed to just keep to himself most of the time, anyways. Not that he didn’t spend time with the group. He just- was quiet, reserved.

We’d finished up the tour dates scheduled in England during those first three weeks. It had felt like a year long journey but, in reality, they’d only performed about six concerts in that time. We still had two and a half months to go. I was elated. Time on the bus was relaxing, passing by quicker than I thought it would. Though Cy’s bunk was on the other bus, he spent most of his time with us, with Sam. Max would even bus hop, opting for group movie nights with us or games of poker. We sometimes roped Adam into it, but Oliver never budged. His band mates would call him lame, tease him for being such a n introvert, but gave up once he’d roll his eyes at them.

I wondered how they put up with his shitty attitude all the time. It must be frustrating, this annoyance only made worse by the fact that he was so fucking talented. I refused to listen to their music anymore than what Sam had already shown because I just didn’t want to give Oliver the satisfaction, even if he wouldn’t know about it.

IdontcareIdontcareIdontcare. I had to remind myself that a lot.

The next two stops were in Italy, where we’d be for just a week and a half. The evening before we boarded the plane that would take us there, however, we all decided to get out for a big dinner. It was the first time I’d really be hanging with the entire group, outside of our bus and hotel breakfasts. I wanted to look good, knowing they were used to seeing me in sweats, hoodies, jeans, so I spent a bit of time getting myself ready.

Sam barely dressed up, opting for jeans and a nicer jumper, black Vans a staple to all his outfits. I picked out one of the nicer dresses I’d packed, blush pink, with a square neckline, sheer long sleeves, and a length that cut off above my mid-thigh. I wore my black platform boots, gold jewelry, and did my hair up in this silk bow I had purchased back in London. This was the first time on this trip that I felt really good about how I looked. Oliver’s burning hatred for me only made me more insecure than I already was. Not tonight.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, awaiting me, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when I opened the bathroom door, my boots noisy on the carpeted floor. A sweet smile came across his face. He slid his phone into his pocket and stood to take me in. His head tilted to the side.

“What?” I rubbed my hands down the front of my dress, feeling overanalyzed by his gaze.

“I don’t tell you enough Daz, but you’re beautiful,” Sam nodded, just once. Usually, I’d make fun of him for being so cheesy, so affectionate. But, this summer was bonding us more.

Instead, I grinned at my brother, but still reached out to playfully punch his arm. “Thanks, Sam-Ham.”

“Hey, you’ve done pretty well at not using that so far. Think the guys forgot about that one time.” We headed for the door now, back on our bantering like usual.

I shrugged at his comment, countering with, “Maybe I should remind them of it, then.”

Sam held the door open for me, but, as I said those words, he tried to shove it close on my moving body. I yelped at the impact and then dug my heels into the carpet as I pushed back against his weight. He laughed, heartily, before giving up on shutting me in. Because I was pushing so hard, I toppled out into the hallway, breathless, nearly falling on my face. Sam caught my shoulders and pushed me back on my feet.

As I looked up, I saw Oliver, standing outside of his own room, a quiet smile on his face. He had been observing our antics, passively, with an amused glint in his eye. I grinned back at him, my stupid heart feeling hopeful for some semblance of a spark to catch between us. As if he realized it was my eyes he was looking into, he turned his head.

But, then, just as quickly as he peeled his gaze away, he put it back on me. On my boots, fiery brown eyes dragging themselves up my body. They lingered over the curve of my hips, the peaks of my breasts, my glossy lips and, then, my eyes. He seemed to smirk at me, flashed his eyes, then turned on his heel and headed for the elevator.

Sam hadn’t noticed the longing gaze Oliver burned into me because Ronnie was approaching us from down the hall. She didn’t really go to breakfast or dinner with us because she was always on the move. But, luckily, she was able to make it out tonight. And, whenever Ronnie was around, Sam was more than distracted.

I was too focused on Oliver, myself, staring at his retreating back with a slack jaw. Goosebumps littered the skin exposed on my chest, my legs, a chemical reaction eliciting itself from his burning eyes. What the fuck was that? I knew, deep in my soul, that I shouldn’t have been surprised. He was literally just a stupid man, and I was dressed in little to no clothing. As long as a vagina had legs, men would fuck the most insufferable of women. That was just it- right?

I didn’t have time to focus on my own racing thoughts, however, because Ronnie was talking to me now, teasing me about my dress, which I knew, for her, was just a hidden compliment.

“Jesus, it’s like Princess Peach in real life,” she chuckled, eyeing me up.

I turned to the two of them, licking my lips as if to snap myself out of my lucid trance. “Huh? Oh…uh- insert funny Princess Peach line,” I shook my hands around, forcing a smile upon my face, as I tried to banter back.

“Something like, ‘save me, Mario!”’ Sam mocked the character in a high-pitched voice.

This finally distracted my brain enough. Ronnie and I shared a humorously surprised expression, eyed Sam, before bursting out into laughter.

“That was fucking terrible!” Ronnie exclaimed, smacking Sam in the bicep. “I loved it.”

We made our way to the elevator, still teasing Sam for his terrible impression. He tried to save himself by acting like Mario, but that was just another train wreck, in and of itself.

“I’m-a sorry! Please-a forgive me-a!” He lifted his arms in a strange manner as he made another horrid impression. Ronnie held a finger up to her lips, “No, no. Shhhhhh…no, just…no.” I giggled into my hand.

We were supposed to meet the others down in the lobby, where we would take a pair of taxis down the street to some five-star restaurant the boys had recommended. I was lucky to have saved up so much at my job back home, to be able to do stuff like this all summer. I don’t think I’d ever been to such a fancy place before. I was more than excited.

When we stepped off the elevator, we spotted our group by the front doors. Max was in a sweater, jeans, hands stuffed in his pockets as he spoke to Adam, who was also dressed nicer than normal. He looked over the guitarist's shoulder as the elevator dinged and spotted me immediately. Max gawked at the sight. He interrupted his band mate’s conversation in order to whistle. I flushed red, eyes rolling, though I secretly appreciated all the attention I was garnering with this little outfit.

“Oh, my god,” Ronnie murmured to herself, pressing a hand to her forehead as though he was stressing her out. She and Sam moved off, out of the way, as Max approached.

He brushed past Adam, looking me up and down. He reached out for my hands, taking my fingers in his large hold. He lifted my arms up, as if to get a better examination of me. “Love, you look fucking gorgeous!”

I shook my head, grinning at the compliments, and it ruffled my hair over my shoulders. It drew Max’s attention to my intricate hairstyle. He moved his hand to touch my neck, softly, and turned my head to admire the hairstyle.

“Wow, love, just; wow!” Max appreciated me some more, settling a blush across my cheeks.

Then, he pulled me to stand beside him, looping my hand through his arm, laying it around his bicep. “Come on, love; you’re my date for this evening. Yeah?”

“Sure,” I patted his bicep. “Whatever you say.”

Max groaned, head tilted back, eyes shut. “Don’t say that! That’s dangerous-“

“Watch your fucking mouth!” Sam called from his spot beside Ronnie, a finger pointed warningly at Max. I hung my head, giggles falling from my mouth. Ronnie looked amused at the confrontation.

Max raised his own hand in defense, “Okay, okay. I’ll even admit that one was a little…out there.” Sam nodded firmly with a disapproving smile. Max tilted his head down towards me, his expression more polite now, words close to my ear. “Sorry, love.”

I leaned into his arm, winking slightly, “Don’t be. I liked it.”

“Oh! That’s my girl,” Max tapped my nose sweetly.

I was on top of the world. I looked good- even Oliver thought so- I felt good. I was in the most beautiful country, surrounded by people I was forming tightly-knit relationships with. Nothing could ruin my elated mood.

I didn’t even care that Ronnie, Sam, and Adam had piled into the one taxi, leaving Max, Oliver, Cy, and I to share the other. I didn’t care that I’d have to share such a small space with the most insufferable man in the world.

Cy chose to sit up front, cutting off Oliver, who had most definitely been headed in that direction. Cy didn’t notice, though. His action was sacrificial for everyone else, not intentionally manipulative towards his band mate. Oliver, however, seemed to take it to heart, frowning deeply at the rejection and fisting his hand into his hoodie pocket.

I watched all this occur as Max opened the door to the taxi, helping me inside the back seat. “You okay in the middle?” He asked, head dipped inside the vehicle.

I nodded, “No worries.” I only realized after I saw Oliver round the car that this meant I’d be sitting flush against him.

I didn’t care. Though my face flushed with anticipatory anxiety, I didn’t care. I didn’t care- was that his cologne in the air- nope. Don’t care.

Max piled in, softly shutting the door behind him, leg and shoulder pressed up against my own. I buckled myself in just as Oliver opened the door. I tried to offer a sweet smile, still choosing kindness over returning his awful behavior. He didn’t mirror any gesture in return. My smile faltered.

No. I wouldn’t let him ruin this for me. Tonight was going to be fun, whether he wanted it to be or not. If he chose to sulk in my presence, then that was his problem. I shook my shoulders about, basically shaking him off of me. Though, it would be my problem during the car ride. He slid into the seat next to me and I swear I could feel his negative energy fill up the car. Besides, he was tall, legs and arms long, shoulders wide. I know he was trying to shove himself up against the door, but he couldn’t just not touch me. His thigh was warm against mine, his shoulder tense. I leaned into Max to try to give him more space, but that was unfair to him.

The bassist shifted in return, looking down at me, apologetic for thinking he had taken up too much space, “Sorry, love.”

“S’okay,” I looked away from Oliver, focusing my attention on the road before us as the driver pulled out of the parking lot. I tried to sink into myself. But, I was still flush against either man.

I could smell Oliver’s cologne, too. It was sweet, musky. It overwhelmed my senses. Though I tried to process Max and Cy’s blossoming conversation, appeal myself to them and only them, all I could think about was Oliver. How he smelled. The curve of his thigh.

Oliver’s large hand on his knee, slender fingers curved over top of the limb. Oliver’s chest, in the corner of my eye, moving up and down slowly, in a controlled rhythm of breathing. Oliver’s scent, so strong to my senses, so…distracting. He smelled so damn good.

I shifted in my seat again. My thigh pressed up against his more. I squeezed my legs together to avoid his, but there wasn’t enough room. I glanced at him, an apologetic smile on my lips.

He looked down at me, lips pursed slightly. I held his eyes for a moment, trying to read his expression. Just as I went to turn my head away, his eyes dipped down, over the peaks of my breast again.

Okay, he was not helping the situation. The way he looked more over was just making him seem more attractive to my stupid brain.

I flushed, skin spotting with color from the red blush. I took a deep breath, chest rising and falling as I tried to control the heat in my body. I saw from the corner of my eye that Oliver was still staring at me. He shifted this time, tugging his hoodie down his belt. I furrowed my brows at the movement, flicking my eyes over his lap, where the hem of his jacket had now settled. Oliver coughed, large hand holding the edge of his hoodie down over where he had moved it to. I did a double-take, realizing after a moment what that meant.

He had a boner.

He had a boner because of me.

Oliver had a boner because of me.

Oh, God.

I couldn’t think straight. I clutched the edge of my dress, knuckles white from the pressure in them. My chest only fell faster, breathing short, goosebumps littering my flushed skin again. I could feel Oliver look over at me, over and over. He just couldn’t look away. He shifted countless more times, thigh pushing against mine. It sprouted a wildfire across my skin.

I didn’t want to play games, but he was making it impossible to be the neutral position in this narrative. One day, he hated me, rolling his eyes at my laughter. Then, the next, he’s checking me out, battling a boner in the seat beside me? So, maybe I should just choose a side. Maybe I should play back.

I spread my legs, only a centimeter due to the lack of space I had, pressing my thigh into his more. It was noticeable to him, and him only.

He felt the pressure, eyes dragging down my body to my leg. The hand he still had curved over his leg squeezed his knee cap, knuckles flushing white, like my own. I smirked to myself, though I knew he could see the expression on my face. He let out a breathless huff, as if he was struggling to get air into his lungs.

Eventually, we made it to the restaurant. I continued pushing my leg into his, though he slowly began to cower into the corner of the car, knee turning towards the door. I felt victorious, confident in the way I had made his body react.

Though my hands still shook from the heat of the moment. The game paused during dinner. Oliver went back to ignoring me, eyes trained on the menu or his lap. I knew it was partially because he didn’t want to have a boner in front of our friends. Though, he conversed a bit more tonight, to Ronnie about tour dates, to his band mates about the setlist, to Sam about some stupid bit they were all involved in. I knew it was just because of the camaraderie between everyone.

Everyone had a really good time, myself included, though I was sweating. We were all laughing, sharing stories over numerous glasses of wine. Of course, my hand was a little heavier than the other’s when I’d poured myself some of the maroon colored liquid. I needed to drink in order to get through this painful plane of existence. This was not how I thought the night would go, but there was no going back now. I needed to make him uncomfortable, needed him to see me. He couldn’t ignore me any longer. Not now, not when I knew that I had him in such a taunting way. When dessert was brought out- slices of chocolate cake- I stepped back into the game. I was a little more brave now, encouraged by the wine. I was tipsy, sure, but I also knew exactly what I was doing.

Oliver was seated right across from me, accidental on either of our ends. But, lucky, nonetheless. I pushed my feet out underneath the table, taking up more space than I needed to. Eventually, the toes of my boots hit the tips of his black converse.

He had been eating his cake, eyes trained on the white cloth of the table. But, when I knocked our shoes together, his eyes flinched up, towards me. His brows furrowed. He dipped his head down and lifted the cloth up slightly to look at our shoes under the table. Oliver met my eyes again. He rolled his eyes and went back to his cake. I smirked to myself. He thought I was just being stupid, stretching my legs out. No- I was a smart girl. I knew what I was doing. This was all intentional. I hated him, but he thought I was hot. So, I could finally get back at him for all of his shitty behavior. Could use my good looks to my advantage.

I put my boot atop one of his converse. His foot wriggled beneath mine, in an attempt to knock it off. But, I pressed down, keeping it there. Oliver looked back up, annoyance evident in his face.

I took the opportunity to have a bit of my cake, slipping the fork between my lips slowly, tongue flicking out to swipe the bottom of it seductively. Oliver’s eyes widened as I drug the utensil from my lips. I twisted it around in my mouth, cleaning off every inch, lips pursed. He sat up in his seat.

I had his full attention now.

I scooped more cake onto my fork, though I didn’t bite into it this time. Instead, I licked the fork, dragging it down my tongue. Oliver’s eyes watched my mouth, his own tongue flicking out over his lips.

I swallowed, noticeably so. He shifted in his seat, hands in his laps now. I set my fork down, leaned back in my seat, and crossed my arms. I let myself grin at him, having successfully made his dick hard again. He was a stupid, easy boy. It didn’t matter who I was- so long as I was wearing skimpy clothes and being sexy- he was weak. Sure, he probably still couldn’t stand me- but his dick was hard.

Oliver’s jaw clenched. He tilted his chin up towards me, as if to say, “Okay. I see how it is.”

I flicked my brows at him, reaching out for my wine glass, and maintaining eye contact as I took a long swig. “Should we go out for drinks?” Max asked from his end of the table.

I glanced down at him, my wine glass empty now. Sam wiped his mouth clean with a napkin, searching everyone’s expressions. “Could be fun,” I shrugged. “Yeah, I could go for some beer,” Adam shrugged from his seat.

Ronnie nodded, too, “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

Cyrus raised a hand to motion to the waitress that we needed our checks. I reached around to the back of my chair as she approached, ready to grab my wallet. Though we had already laid out how the checks would be split, she never gave me mine.

I furrowed my brows as she passed over me, handing out bills to everyone else. But, then I saw Sam laying his card down on his bill and nodded to myself. When we left the restaurant, and began walking down the street to the closest bar, I caught up to him and Ronnie. I looped my arm through his, gaining his attention, “Thanks, Sam Ham.”

He looked confused by my gratitude, but didn’t have time to focus on that because he was too busy being offended by my choice of nickname. He moved to fuck with me, to tickle my waist or something, but I quickly ran from him. Max and Adam were walking a few feet ahead of us. Laughing loudly, I headed to them, running in front of Max. The wine I had drank was making me loud, silly. I appreciated the ability to relax, unwind. Be myself without any filters holding me back.

Max nearly tripped over me, but when he heard Sam calling out, trying to get to me, he quickly grabbed me by the waist. “Leave my girl alone, you monster!” Max shouted, tossing me over his shoulder and racing further down the street.

I clutched onto his arms, yelping at the hectic movement. We reached the bar before everyone else, Sam having given up on chasing us after he nearly tripped on the curb. I watched them all approach where we stood from over Max’s shoulder, breathless.

I patted his back and said, “Okay, thanks, but you can let me down now.”

“Mhm,” Max turned towards the group. “Appreciating the view, love.”

“Max,” Ronnie was even getting protective over me. She moved in front of us, an annoyed look on her face, “You’re disgusting.”

Max huffed, and replied, “Okay, okay, here,” before settling me back on my feet. He grinned down at me, booped my nose again before heading into the bar with Adam, Ronnie, and Sam.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Cy and Oliver, having been trailing behind our group. Cy smiled kindly, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. I noticed Oliver was looking up at the sky. I trailed my eyes down over his body, towards his crotch curiously. His black skinny jeans looked just a liiiiittle bit tight, again.

I smirked to myself. “Cmon, Cy,” I pushed Oliver gently out of the way in order to grab onto his friend’s arm. We walked into the bar, leaving Oliver in the dust. I made sure to swing my hips just so for his gaze, which I was positive was glued to my ass.

The game was back on. And he would lose.

Max handed me yet another drink, a sweet, drunken smile on his face. “Here you are, lovey.”

“Thank you, friend!” I wriggled around on the bar stool happily. I lazily wrapped my lips around the thin black straw in the glass I now held tightly in my hand. The bitter taste of alcohol, diluted by the cherry grenadine and orange slice clipped onto the rim of the glass, flooded my tongue. I shut my eyes as I enjoyed the taste, drunk enough that it didn’t actually matter how gross vodka was.

I set the glass back down upon the bar, then twisted my stool around to observe the small dance floor. It was some local dive bar we’d settled on, a place Max had been to loads of times before. It was getting crowded, especially as the night wound down. Every seat at the counter was full, the tables were occupied, and everyone on said dance floor was pushing up against each other. The couples dancing there were sights for sore eyes, all sloppy hips and wandering hands.

I moved my head side to side, with the rhythm of the song playing, lips pursed. I knew some of the words, mostly just the chorus, so I sang along when I could. I glanced over to the pool tables when I heard Sam and Ronnie cheer loudly. They were playing against Adam and Cy, who seemed to be losing quite badly. I giggled to myself as Sam chest-bumped with Ronnie.

Max, who had been talking to Oliver, who was sitting- sulking- beside us, turned his attention back to me. I was still his ‘date’ for the evening, so he had refused to let me buy my own drinks. This was incredibly dangerous. Not including the two glasses of wine I’d had back at the restaurant, I was already on my fourth drink. The liquor was making my stomach warm, my limbs loose. As for Oliver…I had been too busy enjoying myself in the bar to play with him. I was feeling like just giving up, satisfied with what I’d accomplished, growing bored of him as the alcohol filled up my attention. Besides, the man seemed uninterested in anything anymore.

“I still owe you a dance, don’t I, lovely?” Max’s voice was low in my ear, his cheek brushing against my hair.

I grinned up at him, “I think you owe me at least two.”

Max dipped his head back to swallow the rest of his drink before offering me his hand. As he did, Whitney Houston began playing. My mouth opened wide in excitement. I hopped off the bar and drugged him behind me, jumping to the rhythm with each step I took towards the floor. I sang to Max, holding onto his hand, pointing with every lyric, popping my hips. He swayed, but mostly let me have my moment. He pulled me every so often and my hair would whip past my shoulders.

“Spinning through the town- ah!” I squealed as Max spun me towards his chest. I clutched onto his shoulders as he dipped me, hands low on my back. As I hung there in the air, I burst out laughing, my head falling further backwards.

When I opened my eyes, I caught sight of Oliver, now turned in his stool to face the dance floor. He wasn’t smiling, no, he was basically incapable of doing so. But, there was a small curl in his lips, a glint in his dark eyes each time the flashing lights burned his pupils. Nevermind. I was back in. I was so back in the game that it was probably unhealthy, and I’d probably regret it. The song ended, and, to my luck, S&M by Rihanna began playing. I grinned at Max as my back straightened up, my chest pressed against his.

He tilted his head at me with a playful smile, “I have a feeling Sam won’t like this.”

I wrapped my arms around Max’s neck, pushing myself flush against him. I stood on my tiptoes, glossy lips barely ghosting his earlobe as I whispered, “I don’t care.”

As I pulled away, I watched Max throw his head back and roll his eyes. “You’re killing me, love!”

“Good!”

The chorus began thumping through the speakers. I pushed Max’s leg through my own, feeling his boney hips against mine. I rolled my waist to his, tossing my hair back, leaning into his hands. He pushed his touch lower, over the curve of my tailbone, dangerously close to my ass. We danced through the song, pushing into each other, hips rolling. As it reached the bridge, Max pushed me away, still holding my hand, encouraging me to dance on my own for a moment. I did, jumping around, screaming the lyrics, hair whipping over my face. Max then spun me back into his chest.

When I thumped against his body, I knew I was going to puke. Vile pushed up my throat and I slapped a hand over my mouth. I stumbled, ripping my hand from Max. He was speaking to me, asking if I was okay, or something of the sort, but I couldn’t hear him.

I needed to get away- get to the bathroom, get fresh air, something. I didn’t know where the ladies room was, so I b-lined for the front door, tripping through the crowd, until my fingers touched the push bar handle. My knees scraped against the pavement as I fell into the curb, retching the contents of the dinner I’d had into the bushes outside the bar. I tried to brush my hair from my face, but it was sticking to my face in bunches, sweat acting as a bondant.

Out of nowhere, I felt someone else’s warm hands on my neck, fingering my hair back into their fist, peeling strands from my cheeks and lips. I braced my hands against the dirt of the curb and some of it lodged up under my fingernails. My knees were burning, probably all cut up from my crash landing.

After a few minutes of relentless gagging, my stomach was finally empty. I pushed myself back onto my ass, tears dripping down my cheeks, black mascara smudging all the way down to my neck. My back pressed up against the stranger’s chest. I felt my shoulders shaking from the exertion my body had just gone through.

“It’s okay,” they were shushing me throughout it all, their voice now processing in my ears. They wrapped an arm around my waist, hugging me to their chest as they swayed us slightly. Their other hand continued brushing my hair from my face soothingly, coaxing me down from the high of the moment. “It’s okay, Daisy. You’ll be okay.”

“I wanna go home,” I sobbed slightly, words slobbered from my salivating lips.

“I know, I know, s’okay,” they continued soothing me. “Think you can stand?”

I glanced down, looking over the hand that was helping me. Silver rings adorned the person’s long, slender fingers, and their pale wrist led into an arm that disappeared under a black sweatshirt. As my brain processed their voice, their sweet smell of cologne that was encasing me, my eyes widened.

“Ol-” my voice cracked, “Oliver?”

He peered over my shoulder as I looked back at him, managing to meet his eyes. “Yeah? You okay? Think you can stand, darling?”

I wanted to be angry, to jump up and yell at him for being so fucking weird, for acting like my existence was a burden, but falling to his knees whenever I was in danger. But, I couldn’t right now. I just wanted to go home. Back to the hotel, curl up in bed.

“N-no,” I admitted guiltily, brows furrowed. “I…don’t feel good.”

“S’okay. Shhhh, it’s okay. Here,” Oliver braced my back with a hand as he stood, ensuring I wouldn’t fall over onto the sidewalk. When he settled onto his feet, he pulled his phone from his pocket, shot a quick text to someone. Then, he crouched down, scooped me up, easily, into his arms. I lazily wrapped my hands around his neck.

The crevice of his shoulder was warm, so I nuzzled my head there. I could hear his heartbeat, thumping rapidly through his hoodie. I focused on the sound as he began walking. My eyes, unwillingly, fluttered shut. I didn’t know where we were going or, honestly, what the fuck was happening. But, I couldn’t care. I just needed my world to stop spinning. Besides, being so close to him felt…good. I didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want it to be true. But, he was…he felt good.

Eventually, I guess, we made it back to the hotel. I came to from my sleepy trance when I heard the elevator ding. I took in a sharp gasp of breath, lifting my head from Oliver’s chest.

“Doing okay, Daisy?” He looked down at me. I felt us shift as the elevator lifted up on its track. I shook my head, only having enough energy to do so once, frowning deeply, “Not really.”

“S’okay, darling, we’re almost there,” Oliver assured me. My brows furrowed when I heard the pet name pass through his lips. “What?” I questioned. I suppose he’d used it a few times now, but this was the first I’d noticed it. It was…entrancing.

Oliver glanced back at me, having trained his eyes back on the doors before us, “Said we’ll be there soon, yeah?” “Darling,” I whispered, mostly to myself as I lay my head back into his neck.

I heard him chuckle softly, as though he heard my inquiring tone. The noise rattled against my cupped ear, deep, hollow in his chest. I liked the sound. I wanted to hear it more often. I cooed and felt Oliver’s chest constrict beneath my chin, as though he was taking a deep breath. We were moving again, down the hallway, towards mine and Sam’s room. Oliver stopped outside of it and shifted me in his arms. “Okay, darling, need your help here. I’ve got your purse. Could you get in it, get your key? Can you do that for me, beautiful?”

My mind was so rattled by his free use of the sweet names that I struggled to focus on the task at hand. Jaw slack, I stared up at him, hypnotized. He smiled down at me, still humored by my shock.

“Darling? Please? Your purse.”

‘‘Purse,” I nodded slowly. Then, somehow, I managed to reach for the pink strap slung over his shoulder. I fished my purse into my lap, dug around, trying to find my wallet. As I continued to search for it, I began to grow frustrated. I just wanted to close my eyes, go to sleep. “Can’t find it.” I began to cry again, sniffling lamely.

He soothed me with soft hushes, “S’okay. Darling, s’okay. You can just..” he huffed as he tried to come up with a solution. He peered down the hallway, towards his room. “You can just stay in my room. Don’t cry, Daisy. S…okay.”

He seemed to be trying to reassure himself more than me. He backtracked down the hallway, stopping before his door now. “Okay, just one more favor, darling. Can you do that for me? One more?”

“Yes,” I slurred.

Oliver tapped his fingers against the underside of my thigh. It released a net of butterflies in my stomach. “Can you reach into my back pocket, get my wallet? Yeah?”

I shifted in his arms, straining my arm over his shoulder as I reached for the wallet he spoke of. With a few soft groans from me, and the help of Oliver, who lifted me up further so I could reach, I retrieved it. I flipped it open, eyes immediately drawn to his driver’s license in the clear slot.

“You’re cute,” I muttered to myself, rubbing a finger across the picture. “December 22. Your birthday is seven months away.”

“Yes, it is, darling,” he chuckled down at me. “Now, listen-“

“My birthday is next month,” I tilted my head back, pointing my glazed smile up at him.

“Oh, yeah?” I watched as his grin grew upon meeting my eyes.

“The 12th,” I moved my hand from the wallet to his cheek, touching it softly. “You’re cute.”

His face grew hot beneath my touch. “So are you, darling. You wanna get to sleep, yeah?”

The words drew a yawn from my throat. I arched my back into his hold, nodding lazily.

“Would you take the hotel key out and press it against the handle, please? Daisy-“ he demanded my eye contact. I gave it to him, easily. I would do anything he asked, I knew at this moment.

“Yes.”

I unlocked the door, pushed it open for us. Oliver moved through the threshold, pressing a kiss to my temple shortly. When he spoke, his lips were so close to my ear that I felt his words in my legs. It vibrated through my veins, like the music at the bar had. He said, “Good girl.” I managed not to make a guttural noise.

Oliver carried me to his bed, gently laying my body down over the covers. I immediately curled up into myself, shivering at the cold in the air, eyes squeezed shut. I’d forgotten any conversation I’d started with him in the hallway. I was too focused on getting to sleep.

Oliver sat down beside me, laying a hand on my shoulder. He shook me, softly, “May I take off your shoes?”

I groaned in response, hoping it came out as a positive signal for him. He laughed again, before moving his touch down to my calves. He was so warm.

Oliver lifted my one leg, just slightly, unzipping each boot before sliding them down and off my feet. He leaned over the bet to set them on the floor.

When he straightened up, he leaned in to get a closer look at my knees. “Scraped yourself up pretty good.”

I hissed as his fingers dabbed at a cut. He apologized, softly, before adding, “Let me get a cloth, okay?” His hand was on my cheek now, thumb brushing away some of the mascara that was dried on my face.

I gave him a thumbs up, my hand hitting his shoulder. He took my fingers in his and lay it back against my chest. I held his hand there, snuggling my cheek to it. Oliver sighed at the action, but then took his hand back. I heard him get up. I heard the faucet run. Suddenly, he was back, pressing a warm, damp cloth to my face.

‘‘C’mere, darling,” he sat down again. Oliver’s fingers cradled my cheek as he lifted my head up and lay it in his lap. His fingers were rough from playing the guitar, but it was nice to feel them brush the hair away from my face. He was cleaning the makeup off my face now.

Meanwhile, I was far too drunk and tired to notice the way my body reacted to his touch. Butterflies ate away at my stomach, heat sprouted from every ghost of his fingers. Goosebumps covered every inch of my skin, eating away at me like acid.

He moved his focus down to my knees, using some alcohol pads to wipe off dried blood on my legs. He bandaged them with whatever he found in the bathroom.

“Would you like to change out of your dress?” Oliver then asked. He was still stroking my cheek now, but the cloth was abandoned. There was no makeup to take off. He was just…touching me, just for the sake of touching me.

“Please,” I peeked open my eyes. His face was so close to mine, it almost made me flinch. But, I was taken back more by the brightness of the lights glaring down on me.

When my squinting eyes met his gaze, he grinned, “Think you can sit up for me, darling?”

I nodded, a smile forced onto my face from his beautiful expression. Oliver braced my back again, large fingers splayed out over my waist, helping me to lean against the headboard. I wanted his hands all over me. I hoped I didn’t say it out loud. I didn’t think I did, but who knew at this point.

“Would you like a hoodie? T-shirt? Pants?” He glanced around the room as he spoke, hoping to find something for me.

“Hoodie,” I murmured in response, staring at the blank, black screen of the tv.

Oliver went to stand, but I reached out, fingers grasping at the strings of his jacket. He settled back onto the bed, brows furrowed as he looked down at my touch. He pointed to his chest, “This hoodie?”

“Please,” I stared at the string as I played with it. Oliver chuckled, again, before tugging his arms from the sleeves, peeling the hoodie up and over his head. My eyes glued to his chest as his shirt rode up, revealing his toned stomach, the line that I knew led to his dick. His hair was all ruffled from the movement, too, only making him more attractive to me.

“Wanna keep staring at me or go to bed, darling?” Oliver touched his pointer finger to my slack jaw, drawing my eyes to his.

I met his dark stare, flushing red. I smiled, “Both.”

“One thing at a time. We have all summer,” he shook his head, the volume of his words lowering as he spoke, like it was a secret we were sharing with each other. What the fuck did that mean? That meant something. That meant…everything. What the fuck?

I managed to lean forward so Oliver could unzip my dress, though my mind was somewhere else. It was racing, especially as his fingers brushed down my spine. My back arched into his touch. Heat sprouted like a garden on my skin. I needed…

Oliver pulled his hoodie over my bare body. When my head popped through the opening, we shared a sweet grin. Oliver glanced up at my hair, then ran both his hands over the mess, patting it down. He cradled my head in his hands, his large, warm, hold simply gazing into my eyes.

The pace of my breathing sped up, heart thumping rapidly in my chest. I wanted to kiss him. I needed to kiss him. I didn’t care that he was confusing, that he was an asshole 99% of the time. I didn’t care that he probably tasted like cigarette smoke, that I’d puked thirty minutes ago, or that he was my brother’s boss.

I needed his lips on mine. He had been the center of my thoughts these past few weeks. And he was finally right there for the taking.

I pushed forward with so much effort that I tackled Oliver onto the bed. I grabbed the neck of his t-shirt, guiding his lips to mine. He made a noise as his back hit the bed, the air knocked out of him. I straddled his waist, somehow, sloppily kissing him.

For a moment, just a brief moment, Oliver touched my waist and kissed me back. Then, he braced his hands against my shoulders, leaned his head back far enough into the bed that he could get away.

“Daisy-“

“Oliver, please!” I tugged at his shirt, whining like a child who had their candy stolen.

Oliver laughed at my puckered lips, squeezed-shut eyes. He sat us up, me in his lap, his hands moving to my waist. The movement forced my eyes open, my lips coming to a frown on my face. I furrowed my brows, puppy-dog eyes staring up at him with a pleading in my pupils.

“Daisy, you’re drunk,” he touched my cheek, trying to ground my gaze to his, hoping the explanation would make sense to my drunken mind.

But, it didn’t, of course. Besides, this was rejection. Rejection from the guy who rolled his eyes everytime I spoke. Rejection from the guy who got hard because of my thigh pressing against his leg in the car. The confusion of the situation was overwhelming me.

And the only thing I could think to say was, “Why don’t you want me?”

Oliver’s gaze softened. He didn’t even have to think of his response. It came so naturally, “I do. I…I do want you.”

His voice was soft, a whisper passed between just our breaths. My grip on his shirt loosened as I relaxed in his lap. I was still frowning, though, still confused, “Then why…why are you so mean to me?”

“It’s complicated, darling,” he searched my face, worry in his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I’m sorry. I just…let’s just get you to bed, okay? We can have this conversation when you’re sober. Can we do that, darling? Besides, we have a plane to catch in five hours.” I nodded, though it was slow, unsure. Oliver helped me under the covers, tucking them up to my chin sweetly. He brushed my hair back again, eyes lingering on my fluttering-shut eyes. I mumbled, barely coherent, slurred words, “Please lay with me.”

Oliver shook his head, “I can’t do that, darling.” “Why?” I pouted my lip.

And, though I forgot a lot of details about this night, his response was something I would never, ever let slip from my memory.

“If I lay down next to you, I don’t think I could keep my hands to myself.”

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unitedshopfronts581 · 10 months ago

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Understanding Curtain Walls: Unveiling Benefits and Versatile Applications

Introduction

In the realm of modern architecture, curtain walls stand as a testament to innovation and aesthetic appeal. We, as experts in the field, embark on a journey to unravel the intricacies of curtain walls, exploring their myriad benefits and versatile applications that redefine the landscape of contemporary construction.

Defining Curtain Walls

Curtain walls, in essence, are non-structural facades that envelope a building, serving as its outer skin. Crafted from a combination of glass, metal, and other materials, these walls are meticulously designed to withstand environmental forces while allowing natural light to permeate the interior space.

The Evolution of Curtain Walls

Over the years, the evolution of curtain walls has been remarkable. From their initial use in commercial buildings, they have transcended boundaries to become a staple in residential constructions as well. The metamorphosis has been driven by the fusion of cutting-edge technology and architectural prowess.

Benefits of Curtain Walls

1. Architectural Aesthetics

One of the foremost advantages of curtain walls is their ability to elevate the architectural aesthetics of a structure. The seamless integration of glass panels provides a sleek and modern appearance, creating a visual allure that captivates onlookers.

2. Energy Efficiency

In an era where sustainability is paramount, curtain walls play a pivotal role in enhancing energy efficiency. The use of advanced insulating materials ensures optimal thermal performance, reducing the reliance on artificial heating and cooling systems.

3. Natural Light Optimization

Curtain walls act as conduits for natural light, flooding interior spaces with sunlight. This not only contributes to a vibrant and inviting atmosphere but also reduces the need for artificial lighting during daylight hours, aligning with eco-friendly architectural trends.

4. Structural Lightweighting

Unlike traditional load-bearing walls, curtain walls are lightweight, minimizing the overall structural load on a building. This characteristic allows for greater design flexibility and opens avenues for creative architectural expressions.

Applications of Curtain Walls

1. Commercial Spaces

Curtain walls found their initial acclaim in commercial spaces. The transparency they offer creates a dynamic and inviting environment, making them ideal for corporate offices, shopping malls, and other public structures.

2. Residential Marvels

In recent years, the adoption of curtain walls in residential constructions has surged. Homeowners now seek the fusion of elegance and functionality, and curtain walls deliver precisely that, transforming houses into modern architectural marvels.

3. Institutional Buildings

Educational institutions, museums, and cultural centers have embraced curtain walls for their ability to merge form with function. The transparency of these walls fosters a connection with the surroundings, promoting a conducive learning and experiential environment.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the curtain wall has emerged as a beacon of architectural innovation, redefining the skyline of our cities. Its benefits, ranging from enhanced aesthetics to sustainable practices, make it a cornerstone of modern construction. As advocates for cutting-edge architectural solutions, we celebrate the versatility and functionality that curtain walls bring to the forefront of the industry.

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bijouxcarys · 8 months ago

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𝑷𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏' 𝑮𝒖𝒚 - 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑵𝑬

Masterlist

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟐

“𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐡𝐮𝐧.”

I looked across at Emma, who was already into her third glass of Rosé. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine and from the excitement in the air. She swirled the liquid around her glass, lifting it to catch the light as she did so. The rim was wet from where she had licked it earlier, and she ran her tongue over it again, but there was no moisture to lick up this time. I knew I would be slipping on excess liquid at some point the next day, my kitchen tiles sprawled with wine glaze like a Jackson Pollock painting.

It wasn’t exactly a huge flat, but it was what we could afford at the time. I had to hop across the floor to avoid stumbling over random items just to get to my Converse without twisting my ankle. Emma was dancing and singing to our favourite song at the time: Immigrant Song by the ever-amazing Led Zeppelin.

“I swear there is nobody… nobody… better than Zed Leppelin,” Emma slurred slightly, one Doc Marten short.

My best friend.

“Yes, I love Zed Leppelin…” I answered bluntly, but inevitably laughed at her. I propped myself up onto the kitchen counter, face to face with the mirror on the wall ahead of me, applying the rest of my make up on with attempted precision. It looked the best it could do at that point.

I was able to get a sip of Emma’s drink at one point, but not nearly enough to be as wankered as she was.

“Maria! This is my favourite bit! Ahhhh!” Emma whined, her voice flat and unsteady.

As I hopped off the counter, she started to belt out the lyrics, her voice rising and falling in all the wrong places. I could hear muffled conflict through the floorboards beneath me from my downstairs neighbours. They were once again arguing about money or sex or something else that would make them both miserable for an evening. Next time they would have to find something new to argue about because we had heard it all before.

Emma was oblivious when she got like this; slowly going down with a ship full of happy people who did not appreciate life nor each other.

It was difficult to lead her in the right direction as we made our way to the local pub. She was such a mess when she was drunk. I had no idea what I would do if I got that drunk. With it being student night, it was only 60p a pint. So, I wasn’t laying any bets on me not getting somewhat drunk.

It didn’t help that Emma insisted that her leather jacket was indeed a weather bucket. Seeing her this drunk diverted my desire to be on that level. A level that already had her eye makeup smudged, making her look like an escapee from a rave rather than someone going to get cheap drinks on a Friday night.

But that’s what we were hoping for. Cheap drinks and good company that made you feel like you’d rocked yourself hard in a discotheque the morning after, just so we did not have to be alone with our thoughts of university.

The good thing was that as soon as we got to the pub, we’d be away from any roads, so I no longer had to be responsible for Emma’s destructive actions. I wasn’t used to being the one to look after the other. Emma had always acted as a mother figure to me, even throughout our couple of years at college.

The bright lights of the local pub beckoned to Emma and me through the cold London night sky. The scent of hops and wheat beer was a familiar comfort during late nights like these, when you needed something to calm your nerves before you went home to study or work on an assignment. I kept my hands in my pockets as we walked towards the doors, feeling the crisp air burning my nose and condensing into ice crystals.

It was warmer inside than I had anticipated. The wooden ceiling tiles let through a yellow light, warming the room. People talked at low tones, some played pool at one of the tables while others stood around chatting in clusters. It was always a popular way to forget the stress of your studies, especially since it was so hard to make a living in London.

We sat down at the bar, where Emma immediately ordered two shots of tequila from the bartender, who gave us a curious smile.

To many, events management wasn’t even a real thing to study. I admit, it is a weird thing to get a degree in, but it was interesting to say the least. It had its moments. I was just glad I could break up those moments with a night of sitting with Emma drinking cheap beer.

I sighed and shook my head as she instinctively made moves on the bartender. She needed it, the poor thing. She needed a good shag, to be honest, there’s no other way to put it.

I, on the other hand, now felt very awkward. I’d never been left alone in a pub before. But I didn’t want to risk ruining things for Emma and the bartender, so I walked over to the other bar that was stood directly next to that one.

A few drinks, and I should be fine.

After ordering my pint, I turned around and leaned on the bar so that I could get a good look at my surroundings. I noticed the stage was cleared of tables. Another student band, it seemed. A lot of the bands formed at Imperial weren’t exactly original, in all honesty. It wasn’t necessarily bad music; it just wasn’t anything worth buying in to.

After 3 and a half pints, my nerves had soothed out and I was confident enough to move myself over to an empty table. I did look around briefly for Emma, but I noticed she was now sat with another guy, at the other side of the pub.

That girl, I swear to God.

I would have ventured for someone else that I knew, had the student band not made their entrance. So, I just stayed where I was, finally being able to occupy myself with listening to music rather than sitting alone and drinking.

“We’re extremely thrilled to be here tonight!” The frontman, evidently tipsy, announced to everyone. Some people had intentionally stopped what they were doing in order to get a better view. A group of girls giggled as they pointed at their favourite band member. Some people had pulled up chairs and were sitting side by side while they drank and chatted together. It had me wondering, were they anything special?

“I’m Freddie, I’m the important one who makes sure you all have a beautiful night, you beautiful people.” He chuckled into the microphone, which was attached to a dissected stand. “John Deacon on bass,” he pointed over a meeker looking male, stood towards the back. “Of course, we have blondie on the drums!” Freddie hissed, as the blonde at the back stood up. His arms drummed out a rhythm from behind his drumset and made it sound like he was giving instructions to follow him into battle.

“What a tart, Roger.” Freddie teased, before excessively gesturing towards the last person to come on stage.

He was much taller than the rest of them and his hair was voluminous to say the least. He was also extremely thin, but he made up for it when he held his guitar in front of him.

“And this is Brian May on the gee-tar!”

“Tequila shots?? Only 50p each!” A bartender held out a circular tray with shot glasses scattered out amongst it.

I really shouldn’t, I thought, remembering I had a meeting with my professor the next day. But alas, I have never been good at self-control – especially when it came to alcohol. I bought two shots and downed them almost instantly. My throat almost closed at the strong taste; mimosas are more pleasant in comparison. I was not used to it at all.

I coughed and stifled my outburst with my hand, eyes riveted on the band onstage. The four of them were all attractive in their own intriguing ways. The sound of the drums was punctuated by the enthusiastic beat of Roger’s drumsticks. He had a certain kind of charm about him that made him almost larger-than-life. But it was the guitarist who truly stole my heart away with his displays of raw passion as he strummed chords that resonated perfectly with each other. He had intense dark eyes that seemed to bore into the fretboard of his guitar as he played with furious intensity, each riff powerful and precise. I must admit, they gave other bands a run for their money.

The song they performed seemed familiar—like it could have been an old classic that I couldn’t quite remember the name of. All I knew was that it filled me with an intense nostalgia and joy all at once. As soon as it ended, I felt a pang of regret settle within me. Alas, the song that I did not know the name of stayed in my head for the rest of the night. Whatever it was, it was a real banger.

“Maria!”

Startled, my head snapped towards the voice, spotting Emma walking towards me with a deep flush to her face.

“Where have you been?” I asked her, a slight slur to my voice as she took the seat beside me. But before she could answer, I rushed over her response. “And why is your face red?! Are you bleeding?!” My screeching voice echoed around us; I stood up hastily, knocking over my chair with my clumsiness, trying desperately to inspect Emma’s face for any signs of wounds.

“No! Oh… No…” Emma shook her head with a dopey smile. “It’s the lipstick… Got a bit smudged.”

“But you don’t wear—” Hiccup. “You don’t wear stiplick… Uh, lipstick.” I would have laughed at my own cock-up if it weren’t for the fact that I was a hair off of vomiting a bit of alcohol back up. Two drinks and I had hit rock bottom.

Drinking alcohol had always been something fun to do with friends in the past – a happy social experience without any undertones of depression or jealousy or whatever other emotions you could get when you drank alone.

I looked around and saw that people in surrounding groups were cheering loudly when the leader singer threw a towel at a specific group of girls stood at the side of the stage at the climax of his performance.

“We should probably go home… unless you want to meet the guys who were just up on that stage thing,” Emma waved roughly in the same relative directed as the stage. “Oh my God, that blonde drummer was so pretty!”

“No, we should go home. I have a meeting with Professor Ross tomorrow, remember?” I sighed sadly with a pout, guiding myself carefully towards the door.

“You know,” I heard Emma coming up behind me as we stepped out into the cold air. “Sometimes I think you should just shag the professor… That’s the closest you’ll get to a boyfriend, Maria…”

That was one thing about Emma: she said what was on her mind without pity or malice, but she really couldn’t control herself when she got drunk, which made for comedic situations that reminded me why I loved her so much.

“You always take yourself so seriously, Maria… Like your life is super hard and everything… on planet Earth right now is soooo bad! It’s not… you should just let loose every once in a while. Maybe, like, try some different makeup or something. Or shag someone—you could be having proper sex instead of snogging lampposts!”

I rolled my eyes as we made our way down the gravelly street.

“That band didn’t seem so bad… I’d shag all of them!”

I practically screamed at Emma’s words, as we both stumbled in the direction of our flat.

“Emma, I think I have a thing for guitarists now. I—” I would have finished my thought, only I hurled over into a bush, vomiting aggressively some of the alcohol back up. My mouth puckered from the taste of undigested alcohol and saliva; it was horrible. The sharp smell of vomit stung my nose, but I didn’t care about anything but getting as far away from this bush as possible. Emma held me under one arm, supporting me with her softness and absolute lightness. She helped me walk out of the bush and to the path toward home.

She tried her best to get my hair out of the way of my mouth, but it was already infused with my vomit. What a lovely sight I was.

Emma chuckled, squeezing me with her arm.

“Hey, maybe guitarists are into lightweights.”

I scoffed and groaned, already feeling the hangover approaching.

“What a wonderful world that would be.”

My head felt like it was being crushed by a giant hammer. Overwhelming pain and fatigue mixed with the sound of fizzing that rumbled in my brain. An agonising groan flew from my mouth, as I stirred from my unconsciousness to find Emma placing an aspirin on the coffee table.

“Maria, hun, it’s 10:30.” Her voice echoed through the fog of my hangover. Even the slightest ray of light felt like needles piercing my eyes.

“I need some sunglasses,” I muttered painfully as I pulled myself up from the sofa. My actions had been carefree last night, but I never intended to get so drunk. If only I could take back the control that slipped away too easily.

“What time did you say it was?” My voice was hoarse from the night before, and my limbs were stiff from sleeping on the sofa. I stumbled to grab the glass of aspirin, steadying it as best as I could with my trembling hands as Emma plopped down next to me, handing me a plate with a slice of toast on it.

“Half 10. What time is your meeting?” Emma said through her own morning grogginess. I looked at her, my eyes growing by the second.

Shit! The meeting!

I quickly swallowed the aspirin and took a bite out of the toast, leaping to my feet. Unfortunately, all of the sudden movement made me feel dizzy, and my vision became blurred for a moment.

No, no… Steady yourself!

“I won’t be too long, um,” I scrambled for my converse as I tried to tame my dishevelled hair. “There’s some pasta from the other night in the fridge, I gotta go, love you.” With that, I left Emma alone.

The walk from my flat to Imperial’s main campus felt like an eternity, despite how close it was. If only I had a car. Or at least knew someone who did.

It was one of those walks where your calves burn, really burn. When you know just how long you have left to walk, but your feet can’t seem to take you there fast enough. When your brain is just filled of nothing but determination to get to where you’re headed – even if it isn’t even that important. Yeah, walks like that stressed me out big time.

With only a few minutes to spare, I walked through the double doors of the college atrium, heading straight for the lift. There’s no way I’m walking up 5 flights of stairs feeling like pure death.

Much to my dismay, when I held out my finger to press the button, there was a piece of paper, with ‘out of order’ written on it.

Great, I thought.

As I made my way up the steps of the third flight of stairs, I had to resist the urge to burst into tears. My legs ached, I was so hot that it felt unbearable, and I felt like I could faint at any moment. My intoxication from the previous night had only made the situation worse.

I managed to make it to my professor’s office, which doubled as our lecture hall. It was decorated with images and accomplishments of some of the most successful music managers and publishers. My studies for the year focused on John Reid and his collaborations with Elton John. He was an incredibly important figure in the record industry, with him being so young, and coming from a humble background. Those simple facts made his accomplishments seem all the more remarkable.

As I predicted, I spotted my professor seated at his desk, absorbed in stacks of papers before him.

“Ah, Maria. You’re late.” The scolding tone I had been expecting was enough to let me know that my tardiness was a mistake, arriving to our meeting some twenty minutes after the scheduled time.

“Yes, Sir, I apologise. I must have overslept,” I replied meekly, making an attempt to smother my strained panting.

“Take a seat.”

Grateful for the reprieve from standing, I placed my bag on the ground and perched myself on the edge of the chair.

“Maria, I have to be straightforward and let you know that I’m an incredibly busy man,” my professor began. My initial dear was that he would go on a lecture about how I should be looking for a job and stop relying on student funds. Instead, he went on, “Since I’m based in London, there are too many opportunities available but too few people to fill them. And when I’m not running twenty minutes late because of certain students…” My cheeks burned. “I am often being offered job postings.”

I shifted forwards, massaging my throbbing knees. “Really?”

“Indeed,” he responded. “What you may not know is that you’re one of our top students in the course at Imperial. Which is why I have a proposition for you.”

A swirl of questions rushed into my mind: Was I finally receiving a job offer? Would I be able to repay all of my debts? Could I now proudly inform my parents I had landed a job?

Instantly, my posture was held upright in anticipation as I leaned forward in the chair, eager to listen to what my professor had to say.

“It’s been a challenging process lately with a lot of people in our area trying to make it big in the music business, becoming the next rockstar.”

In response, I injected a hint of light-heartedness to our discussion, remarking, “Yes, Sir, that’s certainly a good way to make a lot of money.”

“It could be,” he continued. “There’s a group here that I want you to look after and get the most out of their experience. You can earn some of it back, but there won’t be much money coming your way. It’s just the way of getting some valuable experience in the music business.”

My already sinking spirits were doused further when he added this tid-bit, for I could not hope to survive off of the meagre sum. Sinking back into my seat, I could not help but be overcome by my heavy fatigue from my recent hangover.

Free work? Absolutely not, Sir.

“This isn’t exactly the next Rolling Stones here,” he clarified, attempting to alleviate the sour atmosphere in the room. “These musicians aren’t even from the music department. All I need you to do is mentor them a bit and book them some local gigs if possible.”

Reluctantly, I came to the realisation that I had nothing to lose by accepting this opportunity. With nothing to risk and potentially something to gain, it was certainly worth the try.

I had been expecting a little time to contemplate my decision, however, due to arriving late, I was only given two minutes to make my choice. It wasn’t as if I had much of a choice, besides, this was an opportunity to aid me in getting a degree.

Every single second seemed to be stretched out into an eternity, leaving me feeling weary and nauseous, my tiredness deciding to abruptly fail me in the worst possible time. The moment I heard voices approaching from the outside, coming closer, I knew I was in for a ride.

“What do you mean, it’s my fault the lift isn’t working?” A shrill voice sounded, sounding slightly out of breath, at the same time the door opened to reveal the blonde-haired drummer boy from the pub, looking just as arrogant as I remembered. I couldn’t believe my eyes when Freddie and Brian, the singer and guitarist from the night before, followed shortly after, sending my already weakened state into further disarray.

My professor stood up, pointing to me and saying, “This is Maria, she’ll be making sure you book the correct gigs and gain enough publicity.” After shaking away the effects of my hangover just enough to properly introduce myself, I couldn’t help but feel comforted by locking eyes with Freddie. Roger however, seemed quite excitable, an observation which had me instantly pondering how he would get on with Emma.

Lastly, Brian, with his hair looking like a poodle's, was standing in the corner with his hands shoved into his pockets, giving me a slightly unsure look. It was then that I noticed my throat was becoming drier by the second and that I was struggling to breathe properly.

The guitarist’s eventual smile was enough to send my stomach into an uproar, although I couldn’t quite tell if it was due to my anxiety or hangover. My mind felt blank for a second as Brian waited for me to introduce myself.

“Erm, sorry. I’m…” My voice got caught in my throat, somewhat unable to finish my sentence.

I heard Freddie’s mischievous chuckle fill the room, his voice laced with playful amusement. “Have you forgotten your name already, darling?” he teased, his eyes dancing with mirth. Meanwhile, Roger, his blonde locks framing his face, couldn’t help but join in, a soft giggle escaping his lips as he adjusted his hat.

A wave of nausea washed over me, compelling me to rush towards the bin tucked away in the corner of my professor’s room. With each heave, I found myself yearning for Emma’s presence, someone to hold my hair back and offer comfort. Yet, to my dismay, they all stood there, mere spectators to my torment, their gazes fixed upon me without offering any aid.

When the ordeal finally subsided, I gingerly wiped my mouth with my sleeve, attempting to compose myself as best I could. Despite the undeniable evidence of my body’s revolt, I fought to maintain an appearance of normalcy, as if I hadn’t just expelled the contents of my stomach.

Roger, taken aback by the insinuation that they were the cause of my sickness, voices his offence, “Jesus, we’re not that bad, are we?” Brian, sensing the need to defuse the situation, swiftly nudged him, effectively silencing his protest.

Feeling a pang of guilt, I conjured up a lie, unwilling to reveal the truth about my indulgence in excessive drinking the previous night. “S-sorry… I guess I’m not well,” I stammered, my words cloaked in falsehood, fearing the judgement that would accompany any glimpse of my perceived irresponsibility.

Brian’s voice, quiet and reassuring, offered solace amidst the turmoil, but his words were eclipsed by the deep sigh emanating from my professor. Expressing concern for my recent behaviour, he advised, “Maria, I think you should go home and come back tomorrow with a stronger mindset. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately.”

Burdened by shame, I hastily gathered my belongings, my footsteps hurried as I attempted to escape the situation. However, my escape was interrupted as Freddie’s hand clasped around my arm, a sympathetic smile gracing his lips. “It’s alright, darling, we all get pissed sometimes,” he consoled me, a touch of laughter colouring his words. With a gentle release of his grip, he allowed me to continue on my way.

As I made my retreat, a lingering sense of embarrassment enveloped me, casting a shadow over the encounter that would remain etched in my memory.

Brian

I observed Maria’s departure from the room, her face filled with embarrassment. It was evident that the professor’s attitude had done little to make her feel welcomed. What a prick, I thought, casting a disdainful glance at him. Sensing Maria’s unease, I turned my attention back to the professor.

“Are you sure she’s going to be able to handle us?” I inquired, picking up on her anxious exit.

Roger chimed in, his voice tinged with a hint of arrogance. “Yeah, we’re not exactly easy to be around. We want a lot from this experience, you know.”

Rolling my eyes, I interjected, not impressed with Roger’s comment. “I’m sure you do, Rog,” I retorted, well aware of his intentions when it came to meeting a new girl.

“Ladies, please, we can fight in our own time,” Freddie scolded us, his tone laced with exasperation. “Deacy doesn’t like the fighting, darling. How could you possibly be this childish?”

“It’s a good thing he’s not here then, isn’t it?” Roger shot back, revealing his immaturity.

The professor interrupted our verbal clash, clearing his throat. “That’s a point. Aren’t there four of you? Where’s the other one?”

“The other one, my dear, is our bassist, and he’s more than ‘the other one’. Furthermore, he doesn’t come here,” Freddie retorted sharply, striding toward the professor, and clasping his hands behind his back. It was evident that someone had irked Freddie with such a response. “He doesn’t mix with scum, darling.”

“Fred, chill,” I interjected, attempting to diffuse the tension as I offered a warm smile to the professor.

Freddie took a step back, relenting. “So, we’ll take the girl’s number and say no more about it, yes?”

“Of course,” the professor replied dryly, jotting down Maria’s number on a small piece of paper. Before the professor could even pick it up, Freddie snatched it from him, turning around and heading for the door.

“Remember she’s an unpaid student. Don’t be too ambitious, and don’t stress her out too much, boys,” the professor cautioned.

Roger smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t worry, we only need a little push, and we’ll be on Top of the Pops in five years.”

“Five years, darling? Try two years!” Freddie proclaimed with confidence, opening the door for us all to exit. As we left, I could have sworn I heard the professor mutter, “You wish.”

“You can’t keep your mouth shut, you two,” I snapped at Freddie and Roger as we made our way down the stairs.

“What are you complaining about?” Roger countered. “One girl is going to be spending a lot of time around us, four guys. This is the best opportunity of our lives, Bri!”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “The only opportunity you think you’re getting is to get in her pants, which will not happen, by the way. You can’t mix up business with lust, Rog.”

Roger stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow mischievously. “Let’s hope she has a hot friend, then!” With that, he skilfully slid himself down the banister of the staircase.

“You wish, Blondie,” I murmured under my breath, trailing behind Roger down the stairs.

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