#if you just step into the halls of power you'll be an equal with the other players and can affect change

[deathbind]

And it's not as if different groups aren't represented in Meket, although certain groups are certainly underrepresented. No nation is perfect. But their monarch is guided by an elected council formed by representatives from every region of the nation. I'll get into specifics on the government [hand waves] later. The point is every group in the nation is, ostensibly, represented and has a say in how the nation is run. How that shakes out in reality is another matter. It does mean, though, that weaker powers who have become dependent on Meket may become frustrated enough by their lack of influence on Meketi affairs that they meld with them in order to earn a position on the council. They believe this will strengthen their position, give them more usable power. In some ways it does but never as much as they were led to believe.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

first off, happy happy birthday to you!!!! Thank you for spoiling us on your birthday.

That being said, my heart is feeling angsty so I wanna request the prompt "Stop pretending that you care! We both know you don't." for a fem reader x Kid (NSFW)!

Again, happy birthday lovely! :3

Hello! @limitlesstildil thank you sooo much for your birthday wishes and for your awesome prompt! Now, I've taken some liberties with it, but I do hope you don't mind! It's now a three part fic of Highlander!Kid, sharing the spotlight with another prompt (to be seen in the last chapter). The NSFW part was pushed forward too, okay? I hope this is still okay! Thank you so much for participating! ❤️

Source for Pic

Mine to Protect

Word Count: 4969

Tags for the whole story: Highlander!Kid; Fem!Reader; Alternate Universe - Scotland 13th century; Gore; Blood; Violence; Death; Mild Angst; Fluff; Nudity; Cursing; Sexual Tension; Explicit Sexual Content; Protective!Kid; Possessive!Kid; Soft!Kid; Feral!Kid; Jealous!Kid; Happy Ending; Sort of Enemies to Lovers; Teasing; Banter; NSFW; MDNI; Mature Audiences;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Your father and his allied clans are at war, and you're a liability. When you're assigned a guard to protect you - against your will - you do everything in your power to infuriate him. The problem is that he can be more infuriating than you, as you're about to find out.

Notes: Okay... it's finally here! I coudn't hold out any longer. It turned out to be 16k words, so I've divided it in three (not equal parts because the splitting would be weird, obviously). I edited the first part and plan on editing the rest soon. I will have the entire fic out by the end of the week! Gosh... I'm very proud of this one, I do hope you enjoy, let me know!

Part 1 of 3

|Masterlist| | |Part 2| | |Part 3|

“I don't need a guard!” Your angered cry echoes down the halls of the keep, but the stationed guards at the entrance barely even flinch at your outburst since it’s a regular occurrence. 

You have been at odds with your father, the laird, since early morning and, as night approaches fast, he’s tired of arguing with you. But no matter how much you argue like a wild thing, plead as if he were a deity or present your arguments politely as a lady, he doesn’t budge.

“You need a guard!” Your father says with a firm growl of your name. “We are at war and you're an easy target, daughter!” You scoff, outraged at the insinuation. You might be a lady, but you know how to defend yourself and you’re a feisty creature. “I don't want to hear any more of what you have to say! Out with you! You'll meet your guard later.”

With a screech so loud it could make a banshee blush in embarrassment, you leave the chamber, stamping your feet like a bratty child, feeling much like one since, apparently, you need nannying. And, well, if you’re to be nannied like a baby, you might as well act like one, while you still can.

Passing by the kitchen, you grab a hemp sack and fill it with anything you can get your hands on: bread, fruit, salted meat and grains. It weighs like hell but you couldn't care less. You have a point to prove. 

You don’t need a guard. You can handle yourself.

Night falls quickly and you use the waning light of the sickle moon to guide your steps, the same ones you’ve taken since you were a child. The only difference is that now you’re facing wartime and the streets aren’t as safe as they used to be.

But the people need you and you won’t sit idly by while children starve.

-*-

He was supposed to introduce himself to you as soon as he arrived at the keep, but Kid likes to observe first, so he stuck to the shadows. Despite being big, bulky and muscular, he can move like one. When Kid spots you leaving the keep just as the moon appears in the sky, he realises you're going to be trouble. 

Kid’s sick and tired of being a nursemaid to stuck-up, entitled ladies who think they alone rule the world. Yet, here he is again, his body too broken to be a proper warrior, but not broken enough to be able to retire peacefully. 

With a heavy sigh and a curse, Kid follows you into town, all the while realising just how reckless you’re being with your actions. Your father hired him because of the war, which means nowhere is safe. Especially after nightfall. Especially if you’re a noble lady.

But you don’t seem to care.

He follows you around town while you knock on doors, delivering food and even some jewellery. He hasn’t even spoken to you and your actions are already intriguing him. He’s never met a noble lady who would willingly part with jewels, let alone give them to townspeople. 

Yet, he doesn’t let that cloud his judgement. You think you’re being inconspicuous as you parade around town wearing your expensive velvet cape, with an air about you that clearly states you’re regal. No town girl would have such perfectly braided hair, and fair skin, poised grace, and natural beauty, as well as an elegance to your movements. You’re a dead giveaway for who you are.

And that’s dangerous in these streets.

Tutting silently, Kid watches as you traverse a dark alleyway and, immediately, a group of brigands follows you, their eyes already glinting with greed and something else. Kid approaches, ready to intervene as he’s being paid to do. What he doesn’t expect, however, is the way you pull out two daggers from your thighs and start fending them off.

A grin pulls at the corner of his mouth as he realises you aren’t as defenceless as he thought you to be.

Slicing your way through the brigands, you manage to cut one on the arm and another across his torso, which only makes them more enraged, but Kid nods approvingly from the shadows. There’s more to you than just a pretty face. 

Then you make a mistake. You lose sight of the largest man in the group and he gets behind you, locking your arms and incapacitating you immediately. With a grunt, Kid pushes himself off the wall he was leaning on and grips his Lochaber axe with his good arm. Time to intervene.

It takes only the blink of an eye for him to reach you. His weak arm slams a punch to the jugular of the man pinning you, causing him to let go and fall to his knees, gasping for air. Pivoting, Kid slices another brigand with a swing of his long axe, his guts splashing to the floor with a sickening sound as the man screams himself into shock. With a thrust of the weapon, Kid immediately kills the remaining brigand by piercing his neck. 

He didn’t even break a sweat. 

“I’m not scared of you!” You say, breathing hard, pants escaping your parted lips and Kid can clearly see your fists trembling as you grip the handle of your blade. You mistook him for another brigand. Smirking, Kid takes one step forward and you gasp. “Don’t come any closer.” Your voice is firmer now, a hint of aggression in your words. Good. 

He still takes another step, and with a swing of the axe, he lunges. You shriek and tense up but open your eyes as soon as you hear another sickening slice and the unmistakable gargle of a man drowning in his own blood. Kid sliced the neck of the brigand who had pinned you at the beginning of the skirmish and was getting ready to run away.

“I said back away!” You lunge, place your foot wrong and throw your weight like an amateur. Kid scoffs and easily disarms you, raising an eyebrow as if asking if that’s all you’ve got. You huff and puff like a wild beast and lunge empty-handed this time, landing a punch on his chest which he barely feels. He chuckles again and you seethe, swinging again, trying to hit his jaw, but this time he stops your mid-air, twisting your body and pinning your arm behind your back.

“Yer swingin’ like ye’ve never thrown a proper punch, lass.”

-*-

You blush from the tips of your ears to your flaming cheeks as the man twists your arm further, making you wince. Who is he? He easily took down the brigands who attacked you, but he doesn’t look like a common thief. He moves like a warrior, even though his left arm seems slower and heavier. 

“Let me go!” You hiss, feeling his taut muscles press against your back.

“Ye did alright with the daggers, but there’s a lot to be said about yer footwork. Also…” His large, calloused hand reaches out as he pulls the hood of your cloak down, his fingers brushing against the skin of your neck. “If yer gonna walk the streets of a war-torn town at night, ya better do it dressin’ like a commoner, no’ a noble, aye, lass?”

The nerve!

“Who are you, trying to tell me what to do? Let me go, right now!” He twists your arm more, and your hiss turns into a groan, but you refuse to scream in pain. You’re not going to give him that satisfaction, though it almost feels like your arm is about to fall out of its socket. 

“Who am I?” He chuckles. “That’s rich. I’m the one who just saved yer spoiled ass from gettin’ robbed. Or worse, lassie.”

You lower yourself, sensing a slight give in your arm as he loosens his grip, and elbow him hard in the stomach as you manage to break free from his grasp, hearing him grunt slightly. “I didn’t ask for your help, you brute.” You take two steps back, swiftly scanning the floor, hoping to find your fallen dagger. Since you can’t locate it, you focus back on the enemy, and your eyes widen as you finally take a good look.

He’s huge. Tall, bulky and built like a warrior, full of scars. His eyes and his hair are what make your breath catch in your throat: they’re fiery red. 

“Ye did no’, but ye sure as hell needed it.” He grins and takes another step forward, just to see you falter. “I’m no’ gonna harm ya, lass. I’m yer new guard. Yer da hired me.” He picks up the dagger you’ve been looking for but missed and hands it to you, handle first, along with the one he took. “Eustass Kid, at yer service.” 

By the resigned sound of his voice, he’d much rather be anywhere else but here. You snatch the daggers from his hands with a scowl. You’d much rather he be anywhere else as well but, alas, here you both are. 

“I don’t need a guard.” You grimace as you manoeuvre around the dead bodies, your stomach already used to the stench of blood by now, walk around Kid, and out of the alley, not even bothering to see if he’s following you. 

But of course he is. How is he so silent when he’s built like an Angus?

“Ya sure about that, lass?” His voice is clipped and dripping with sarcasm which just makes you grit your teeth as you quicken your pace. “Seemed like ya needed one back there, nae?”

“I had it covered!” You snap back, hands balled into fists as you stomp your way back into the keep. 

“Aye, I saw. Maybe I should’ve let ya finish, then. Were ye gonna use yer witty words on them? Pray they let ya go just because ya have a sharp tongue?” He scoffs and you stop abruptly, pivoting with a finger in the air, your eyebrow raised high.

“I don’t appreciate the mockery, you don’t even know me.”

He leans down, his face inches from yours with that infuriating grin on his lips. “Aye, I know ya well enough tae paint a pretty picture, lass. Stubborn, reckless, proud.” His hand rises and he stabs a finger against your forehead, pushing you back with just the strength of that one digit. “Prancin’ around a war-torn town in fancy clothes, screamin’ yer noble and ready tae be robbed… aye, real smart, lass!”

You swat his hand away with the swing of your arm, growling as your temper flares. “You don’t know shit!”

“Ohhh.” He laughs, this time, a hearty laugh that sends a tingle down your spine. “Witty and foul-mouthed? What cannae that tongue do?”

“What am I supposed to do, then? Behave like a proper lady and stay in my keep, filling my belly while my people die of starvation? I don’t think so.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you raise your chin high, defying the infuriating man to say something else. 

“No’ what I’m sayin’, lass. But at least have some sense about it.” The grin fades and his voice hardens as he becomes serious. “There’s a war ragin’ and the street’s nae place for a noble woman. And there’s a difference between bravery and stupidity. Guess which one yer tippin’ on, right now?”

Is he serious? 

You don’t even grace that remark with a proper answer. There’s no use fighting with this man. You told your father you didn’t need a guard and he went and got you the most infuriating one of the lot!

Just my luck.

-*-

You’re so pissed that  you have a shadow following you everywhere, that you don’t leave your room for the next three days, hoping he gets bored and just leaves. 

He doesn’t.

On the fourth day you’re the one who’s bored so as the sun rises, so do you. You take your breakfast in peace, your guard nowhere to be seen because you’re in the keep where it’s safe. You can almost feel him as you walk around your own home. It’s a prickling at your nape, a sensation that makes you want to caress your neck. It tingles.

Days pass and you avoid making conversation with him at all costs. You keep running away from him, trying to evade his ever-present shadow, but you fail every time. More than once you think you finally did it, only to find him leaning against a wall –trademark, infuriating smirk in place– or for him to appear whenever you're about to be robbed. 

That is also why you now avoid going into town delivering food. The increase in attacks gives your guard the satisfaction of saving you and it only infuriates you. He shadows you everywhere, always wearing that smug smirk or his infinitely bored expression. He’s insufferable. 

The morning breaks like many others but you’re so frustrated you need to vent. So you pick up a sword and decide to take your anger out on the dummies in the courtyard. The sword feels heavy in your hands since you’re more used to daggers, but the recent attacks got you thinking that perhaps the gruff guard made a valid point. It’s wartime. Two measly daggers aren’t gonna save you. The sword might.

You start swinging, hitting the dummy but not making real damage, and then you sense him watching you. That damn prickling again, it’s like a pressing need at your nape. You let out a growl paired with a curse, and a bit of straw flies out of the dummy as you strike it again. 

“Ya swing that sword like yer holdin’ a broom.” You stop, take a deep breath and don’t turn around, going for the dummy again and trying your best to ignore the annoying prick. “Yer form’s all wrong.” He continues and so do you. Whack, whack. “That’s a good way tae get killed, lass.”

Pivoting around to face him, jaw clenched and knuckles white from gripping the sword, you show him your best leave me the fuck alone look. “If you have nothing useful to say, then stay quiet!”

“Feisty.” He replies with a chuckle and you grunt in exasperation. 

You give him a few more moments of your time, eyebrows raised in defiance as you wait for more remarks, but he raises his hands in the air and you turn your back to him, continuing your dummy slaughter. 

It doesn’t take long for him to speak again. “Yer still holdin’ it wrong. Yer gonna hurt yerself first before ye hurt someone else.” You sense him approaching but don’t turn. “But, aye, let’s just be stubborn as a mule, that also works.”

Your head whips back so fast you’re certain you pulled a muscle. “Are you calling me a mule?”

“Just sayin’ yer as stubborn as one.” He takes another step, his head leaning to the side as he observes you and you feel yourself flush under his gaze. “Yer too stiff, relax yer grip on the handle.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice.” You bite back, venom in your voice and fire in your eyes.

“Lucky ye, here I am offerin’ it just the same.”

“Screw you.” You mutter but still relax your grip on the handle as he says.

“Maybe later.” He grins as you scoff, then invades your space, his hands pushing your shoulders down, the touch sending a shock through your system. “I said relax, no’ stiffen more, lass.”

You shoot him a sideways glance but still do as he says, relaxing your shoulders and your hands. 

Then he nudges your feet with his own, spreading your legs into a wider stance. “Open yer legs wider for me lass, will ye? Now try again.” You flush crimson at the insinuation but still do as he says, though you keep grumbling. When you swing though, the hit actually cuts through the dummy and you gasp. “See? Yer actually capable.” You grin, a small smug smile curving your lips. “It’s no’ that yer a good student, I’m just a great teacher.”

And there goes your good mood.

“Insufferable.” You bite back.

“That too. But damn good.”

You stop your swing mid-air and turn to him, lifting your blade to his chest. “You know, maybe I should stop practising on dummies and start practising on you.” The smirk you give him is devious. 

“Ye cannae take me, lass.”

Glaring at him through lowered lashes, you raise your chin. “Try me.”

His eyes darken and the tingling sensation at your nape intensifies tenfold. You see him tense up but you don’t wait to see what he does next. You lunge forward, sword raised, relaxed grip and a wide stance –like he taught you just now– and he easily swings out of the way. 

With a frustrated grunt, you pivot to swing your sword to the left, where he dodged, and he evades you again, a small smirk tugging the corners of his lips. You suck a deep breath through your nose before letting it out slowly through your mouth, centering yourself. Then you swing again, leg planted firmly on the ground for support.

Kid hits your elbow from below, twisting your arm and disarms you with a quick flick of his hand –the sword clatters to the floor– then, in a second he has you in his grip, your back flushed against his chest, one of his hands at your throat and his other arm pinning you against him, rendering you immobile. 

Damn.

He’s intoxicating. His scent lingers everywhere and the warmth of his body against yours crackles and burns. 

“Yer easy.” He whispers against your ear and it’s a caress that travels down your neck, through your nipples and into your throbbing core. Fuck.

“Let me go.” Lacing your voice with authority doesn’t get you far, as your words fall empty and shaky. 

“Make me.” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, sending goosebumps down your neck. “Yer no’ as tough as you think, lass.” He’s well aware of the effect he’s having on your traitorous body, and he’s using it.

Two can play that game.

You turn your head to the side and tilt your chin up, your movements slightly constricted by the hand on your throat, and brush your lips against the exposed skin of his neck. “I’m not what?” Your hot breath fans his skin and you notice how it prickles before his jaw tightens and he loosens his hold. You use that opening to your advantage and shove him, taking a step away from him and almost gaining your freedom back –he doesn’t let you.

With a swift movement his arm envelops your waist and he pulls you to him again as you let out a frustrated groan. “It’s over, lass. Yer done.” There’s more gruffness in his voice now.

“I’m not done until I say I am.” You bite back, struggling to free yourself but he’s not even making an effort to hold you against him. 

“Yer stubborn.”

“Aye! We’ve established that already. It also means I’m tenacious!”

“Ya dinnae know when tae quit, nor when tae ask for help.” He twists you in his arms with surprising ease and now you’re facing him as he places his hands on your shoulders. “Ye need tae learn tae trust someone besides yerself.”

“Trust you?” You begin and thank the gods your voice is still stable.

“Aye. I’m here tae protect ya.”

You scoff and turn your eyes away from him, his words hitting too close to the mark, making you uncomfortable. You don’t need guards and you definitely don’t need Eustass Kid as your guard. 

“You’re the last person I would trust.”

Kid removes his hands from your shoulders and takes a step back. His jaw ticks and clenches as he nods. 

“Understandable. I’ll be around, anyway, lass.”

He turns to leave and your body suddenly feels cold, though it’s still tingling from the earlier blaze. His words hang heavy in the air around you. Trust. How can you trust somebody other than yourself if you’ve been doing that your whole life?

-*-

Weeks pass and you’re getting more used to Kid being your shadow. You fight like cats and dogs. He’s insufferable and you’re, in his words, a brat. No accidents have happened while you deliver food and money to the surrounding towns, but you know that’s because nobody dares to attack you while Kid is around. His imposing figure is threat enough for any brigand who wishes to rob you. 

You train a few more times with him watching but he doesn’t give you any more pointers and you start to think that maybe it was your trust comment that got him angry at you. 

Like I care.

You try to fool yourself, but you do care. He’s not the best company but he’s not the worst. If you take away the amused snickers, the mocking undertones in his words, or his gruffness, he’s perfectly tolerable. Though he gets under your skin like no one else.

That, and the tingling sensation that doesn’t seem to go away. To add to it, there’s also a throbbing of need in your core that nights alone, pleasuring yourself, cannot push away. You hate the fact that you loathe your guard almost as much as you desire him, and that alone drives you insane. You're hyper-aware of the way his muscles flex as he moves, the grunts he releases when he exerts himself and his strong scent of steel, sweat and leather. Even worse, all you can think about is how those muscles would flex as he handles your body, or how his grunts would sound as he sinks deep into you and how you'd be smelling him on yourself afterwards. It's overwhelming. 

There's the heat and throbbing again, at your core, in your nipples, everywhere! Fuck. 

“Lass?” His voice near your ear almost releases an unbridled moan from you, since you were lost in thought, so you groan and get up from the dining table where you were reading some letters, stomping your foot. 

“I’m going to bed!”

You don’t even look back at him. 

-*-

You retired early but sleep doesn't come easily. You overheard your father's meeting today and learned that there's been unrest at the borders and another clan abandoned your cause to join the opposing army. 

You're concocting a plan to gather information from the warfront that could tip the scales of the war, and if all goes well, you'll have it by the end of the week. 

You toss again in your bed, kicking the covers off with a loud groan. It's unusually hot for the middle of the night. The window is open but there's hardly any breeze, making it difficult to sleep. It doesn't help that your mind keeps drifting to an insufferable redhead –and how there's just a wall separating you. 

Eventually sleep claims you, and you drift into a dreamless slumber. 

You're jolted awake by a calloused hand clamped over your mouth, as another rips the front of your nightgown. You try to scream as you open your eyes, meeting the lecherous gaze of a scrawny, dark-haired man. He’s trying to grope you as his filthy fingers press against your lips with such force, you're sure they will leave bruises. 

If you survive. 

“Aye, bonnie lass, keep thrashing. I don't like it when lasses lose their fight.” He's untying his breeches with one hand, pinning your arms beneath his legs, his weight pressing down on your torso, and panic floods you. You need to make noise. It's the only way to alert Kid. “I was gonna just rob ya, but ye looked so pretty with yer legs bare. I had to touch ya.” 

His hand leaves his pants to grope your bare thigh and you whimper. Then you remember that you can fight back and bite down hard on the hand that's covering your mouth. He yanks his hand back with a yelp, and – gagging at the lingering taste– you take advantage of the distraction and unbalance him. Grabbing the oil lamp from the bedside table, you smash it against his head, scattering scalding oil over his head, your hand, and legs.

The pained groan that escapes your lips brings tears to your eyes as your skin begins to burn and blister. The bastard is in worse shape, but you don’t look too long. Swinging your aching legs to the side, you try to get up and away from him, but he pins you again, spittle flying from his mouth as he leans closer, the angry red welts from the oil are already forming blisters across his face. 

“Burn me ya bitch? Ye’ll pay for this!” 

But before he can act, the door crashes open, nearly flying off its hinges, and Kid enters, his eyes burning with rage as soon as he sets eyes on the scene unfolding in front of him. He’s shirtless and you can’t help but gasp at the enormous scars covering his torso and left arm –a continuation of the ones trailing down his face and neck, scars you hadn’t yet seen. 

“Get the fuck away from her.” His growl vibrates low and deadly and you sense the man shiver for a second. He yanks you up, his filthy hand clawing at your exposed chest, forcing your back against him as he cowers behind you. A small dagger presses against your throat, and you immediately feel a trickle of hot blood running down your neck.

Kid growls again, a feral sound that bristles the hairs in your body and you smell urine as the man behind you leaks his bladder with fear. “Don’t come any closer!” He squeaks, pressing the dagger harder and you whimper softly at the sting of the blade.

Kid hesitates, then stops. One hand grabs his Lochaber axe, the other, a small dagger. You lock eyes with him and then you lower them to the dagger he’s holding, a steely determination purses your lips and you hope he understands you. “Kid, I trust you.” 

He exhales a breath, flips the dagger in his hand, catching it by the tip, and throws it in your direction. It takes a blink of an eye for you to hear the sickening thud as the blade pierces the man’s skull through the forehead, killing him instantly. Then it takes you another blink of an eye to waver forward and away from the man’s crumpling, smelly body, but in less than that time, Kid is by your side, holding you, pulling you against him with another one of his wordless grunts that, somehow, tells you much more about his relief than his words ever would. 

“Lass, yer alright?” His clipped tone masks the slight quiver in his voice, but it’s there, barely noticeable. You nod, still too shocked with what happened to do much more and Kid sits you on the bed, settling beside you. The man must’ve entered through the open window, you think, as Kid fumbles with your bedcovers, pulling a blanket loose and draping it over you. It dawns on you that your breasts were exposed and you should care, but you don’t. 

As the fabric brushes the blisters on your hands and legs, you hiss, jerking slightly. Kid’s eyes trace the red welts marking your skin. Each new one he finds just deepens his scowl. “Fucker.”

“It’s fine.” You say. “I’ll put some honey and knitbone poultice on it. It will heal.” 

“Lass…” His tone softens as his rough hands gently touch your cheeks on the area near your mouth, clearly seeing the beginnings of the bruise the man’s fingers left there. He tips your chin up to inspect the small cut the man’s dagger left on your throat. “Ye did well, but ye’ve been through hell. Let’s get ya cleaned up.” He tries to move you but you shake your head, your breath coming in gasps as the shock sets in. Kid grips your shoulders, trying to ground you. “Oi, oi, it’s over, look at me lass. Look at me.”

Tears stream down your face, blurring your vision, but you focus on his fiery eyes, your lifeline in the midst of a violent storm. “Ye did well. Ye defended yerself. But I’m here for ye, I told ye.” His hand moves up, the caress lingering softly against your cheek, a gentle contrast to his usual harshness. “Dinnae try tae do everythin’ yer own. Ask for help. I’m here for ye.”

A ragged sob makes your lips tremble and you shake your head, swatting his hand away with more force than necessary. “Stop pretending that you care! We both know you don't. You're just a hired sword and I’m a spoiled brat. So stop trying to make me feel better!”

Your breathing quickens as your heart hammers in your chest. The tears don’t stop, everything hurts and you feel so alone. You decided to trust him and he didn’t fail you so why do you feel like this? 

Because he’s paid to protect you. He’s paid to take care of you. He doesn’t really care.

Suddenly Kid leans forward, pulling you against his chest, his hand cradling your head as his lips brush the crown of your head. You cry, releasing hot tears against his bare skin. 

It’s comforting.

“I care.” He says softly, barely a whisper against your hair. “Yer mine tae protect.” A few moments pass in silence and comfort, only broken by your sobs and sniffs. The keep is quiet. You thought you’d screamed loud enough to wake the townspeople, let alone the whole house. But you must’ve been quiet, for only Kid heard you.

Kid cares. 

He cares for you.

To Be Continued...

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia

|Part 2|

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today, November 18th, 1975 - Queen Story!

Bristol, UK, Colston Hall (two night)

'A Night At The Opera Tour'

This article chronicles the second show in Bristol.

🔸Sounds, November 29, 1975

Queen triumphant

Report by Jonh Ingham, pictures by Kate Simon

QUEEN ARE the type of group that make a man want to abandon rock writing. They pose questions and never provide answers. They exist in their own space-time continuum, visible and audible but keeping their secrets to themselves.

On the surface they couldn't be a nicer bunch of people, but they carry English reticence to an epitome. It isn't, as Geoff Barton said two weeks ago, that they're boring, it's just that they're reserved. Or in writer parlance, they don't automatically provide colourful copy. All my instincts as a writer tell me that there is a great story in that band, but after two nights with them I'm hardly any the wiser.

Skin tight

That their insularity has a lot to do with them being one of the most amazing heavy-metal and/or rock bands in Britain - with all the signs that they'll end up monsters on the order of Zep - is fairly obvious, but just how much bearing it has on the matter is hard to say. The enigmas they might pose mightn't even have answers.

Is there any logical reason why they present an image and persona straight out of the Beatles school of interlocking chemistry?

John is reserved, almost nonchalant on stage, as if it's all in a small, personal joke. When asked how he saw himself within the framework of the band he replied, with a small smile, "I'm the bassist".

Roger is his opposite, the cheeky sidekick in a Clint Eastwood movie, and attracting a lot of cheesecake attention in America and Japan.

Freddie is an original - one of the most dynamic singers to tread the boards in quite a few years. His attraction is obvious.

Brian is perhaps the biggest enigma of all. What is this seemingly frail, gaunt astronomer doing on that stage, striding purposefully and blasting diamond-hard rock? They're all equally strong personalities - like the Beatles there's no one major focal point. Ask four fans who their dream Queen is and you'll get four different answers.

Queen have been busy lads these past few months. Having disassociated themselves from their former management and joined with John Reid, the fourth album was seen to. Reid decided that a tight schedule wouldn't cause them undue harm, and figured on two months to record before embarking on this current tour.

Only Queen are driven to better each previous album - which at this stage of the game is obviously producing some excellent results - and 'A Night At The Opera' turned into a saga - culminating in 36-hour mixing sessions in an effort to allow at least a few days for rehearsal. In the end they managed three and a half days at Elstree with four hours off to videotape the promotional film for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

Their first few dates had not been without errors and the quartet were still not feeling totally comfortable their second night in Bristol, fourth night of the tour. You'd never know it, though.

Like all other aspects of the group, the stage is sophisticated. A black scrim provides a backdrop bounded by a proscenium of lights both front and rear. At each side the p.a. rises like a mutant marriage of Mammon and Robby the Robot. Amp power is readily evident but the most extraordinary is Brian May's subtle set up: nine Vox boxes stepping back in rows of three. The only packing crate visible is holding a tray of drinks, and you may rest assured that no roadie will rush, crawl or lurk across the stage while the show is in progress unless it's to rescue Freddie's mike from the clawing crowd.

As the auditorium darkens the sound of an orchestra tuning up is heard over the p.a. The conductor taps his baton on the music stand and a slightly effete voice welcomes the audience to A Night At The Opera. The Gilbert & Sullivan portion of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' follows, a brief glimpse of Freddie is allowed, and then in a blast of flares and white smoke the blitzkrieg begins.

Roger is barely visible behind his kit, just his eyes and tousled locks. John is wearing a white suit and playing the-man-who-must-stand-still-or-it-will-all-blow-away. Brian is slightly medieval in his green and white Zandra Rhodes top, while Freddie is...

Around his ankles his satin white pants flare like wings - fleet footed Hermes. Everything north of the knee is skin tight - tighter than skin tight - with a zip-up front open to AA rating. But further south, definitely in X territory, lurks a bulge not unlike the Sunday Telegraph.

There have been sex objects and sex bombs, superstar potency and the arrogant presentation of this all-important area, but never has a man's weaponry been so flagrantly showcased. Fred could jump up on the drum stand and shake his cute arse, leap about and perform all manner of amazing acrobatics, but there it was, this rope in repose, barely leashed tumescence, the Queen's sceptre. Oh to be that hot costume, writhing across the mighty Fred!

Phallic

Freddie is not pretty in the conventional sense of the word; like Mick Jagger of '64, he is his own convention. Also like the Jagger of the time, his stage persona and action is unlike anything else. Although it borrows - like most of the group's plagiarisms - slightly from Zeppelin, in tandem with Freddie's supreme assurance and belief in himself - he always refers to himself as a star - it explodes into something that is a constant delight to watch.

He reacts to his audience almost like an over-emotional actress - Gloria Swanson, say, or perhaps Holly Woodlawn playing Bette Davis. At the climax of the second night in Bristol he paused at the top of the drum stand, looked back over the crowd and with complete, heartfelt emotion placed his delicate fingers to lips and blew a kiss. Any person who can consume themselves so completely in such a clichéd showbiz contrivance deserves to be called a star.

Freddie's real talent, though, is with his mike stand. No Rod Stewart mike stand callisthenics here, just a shortee stick that doubles as a cock, machine gun, ambiguous phallic symbol, and for a fleeting moment an imaginary guitar. He has a neat trick of standing quite still in particularly frantic moments and holding the stand vertically from his crotch up, draw a fragile finger along its length, ever closer to the taunting eyes that survey his audience.

Their show contains lots of bombs and smoke, lots of lights, lots of noise. They fulfil the function of supremely good heavy metal - i.e. you don't get a second to think about what's going on. When they do let up for a few minutes, it's only so you can focus in on the bright blue electric charge crackling between your ears.

Bulldozer

Dominating the sound is Roger's drumming, a bulldozer echo that bounces like an elastic membrane, meshing with your solar plexus so that your body pulses in synch with the thunder. Tuned into that, everything else is just supremely nice icing.

For three days rehearsal, after eight months off the road Bristol was extremely impressive. In speculative mood I quizzed people on how long they thought it would take to headline Madison Square Garden. I was thought a radical at a year and a half. John Reid smilingly assured me it would take a year.

That Queen should end up with John Reid is an entirely logical proceeding. Everything about Queen demands that the world eventually kowtows at their feet in complete acquiescence - so big that bodyguards have to accompany them at every step. Well, no - they found that an annoyance in Japan, but, you know, huge.

Such status demands a Reid or a Peter Grant, and whatever the causes for their leaving Jack Nelson and Trident, an elegant group like Queen is going to look for a man with class. Reid found the idea of managing a group interesting, and having to deal with four strong personalities a challenge. He only concerns himself with their business and ensuring that the year ahead is mapped out. In January they begin a jaunt through the Orient, Australia and America, by which time it's March and they begin preparations for the next album.

Reid's prediction of a year was proven highly credible the next evening in Cardiff. The band had still not paused from the rush up to the tour and spent most of the day relaxing and sleeping - no doubt a factor in their near recumbent profile. Also, unlike most groups, they were keeping their dissatisfaction with the show to themselves.

They stopped off at Harlech TV on the way to see a cassette of the video for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. The general consensus was quite good for four hours, with much laughter during the operetta. Brian finds film of the group educational - the first time he saw himself was a Mike Mansfield opus for 'Keep Yourself Alive' - "It was 'All right fellows, give it everything you've got but don't move off that spot.' It was terrible." You don't like Mansfield, eh? "Oh, I hate him - we all do... I was horrified when I saw it - I couldn't believe we looked that bad. I looked very static - seeing myself has taught me a lot about stage movement. Some of the things I do are planned for effect, but it's mostly just feeling the audience and communicating that back to them."

Arriving at the motel - several miles out of town - Freddie immediately fell asleep, John held court of a sort, joined later by Brian, while Roger went jogging, a daily event when touring. Tuning in to rock via Bill Haley and Tommy Steele, he became a drummer because he was better at it than guitar. All through school he was in bands; he only went to dental school out of "middle class conditioning, and it was a good way to stay in London without having to work". His mother thought it a bit strange when he opted for a career as a rock star, but she doesn't worry too much now.

The concert starts in much the same manner as the previous night, but there are signs that tonight is work, with posing an afterthought. The endings to most of their songs are magnificent and majestic, especially 'Flick Of The Wrist' and the rapid harmonies of 'Bad Boy Leroy Brown'

➡️ keep reading on http://jonh-ingham.blogspot.com/2007/02/queen-riot-at-opera.html?m=1

[holidayspackagesglh]

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Must Read : Experience Down Under: All-Inclusive Australia Tour Packages

[super-winchester-spn]

Summary: What if only one person could actually use Ruby's demon killing knife and that person was you? Part 1 Part 2 

Masterlist

Dean Winchester x reader

There was a firm and methodical knocking on your apartment door. You turned the TV off and left to open it and there stood a handsome man in an impressive looking suit. He had a young face, too young to be looking so official, he seemed to be your age after all. There was a confident look in his bright green eyes that made up for any inexperience he might have for his young age. You met his confidence with equal stubbornness and crossed your arms at him. 

"Hello ma'am. I am agent John Bonham of the FBI." His deep voice sent a chill down your spine. He pulled out an authentic looking federal badge to verify his position. You eyed him cautiously as you mulled over his name. You knew it was the name of a Led Zeppelin's drummer. He was giving you a fake name and a fake ID. Last time you checked only top ranking criminals were cocky enough to pull something like that off. You stopped yourself from making such a harsh accusation and decided to just monitor his actions. 

"Are you (y/n) (l/n)?" He questioned in a firm tone. As he put his badge away you noticed his left coat pocked hung lower than the other; an obvious tell for someone caring a small hand gun. If he was an agent, maybe that was a good thing, but still you felt your stomach become unsettled at the thought of him pulling that out on you. FBI agent or not, you could not trust him with such a deadly weapon on his side. You had to play along and call the cops once he left.

"Yes. I am (y/n). What's wrong agent Bonham?" Your words burned your tongue as you forced them out as naturally as possible. 

"You'll have to come with us. You're in danger." He stepped aside and motioned for you to step into the hall. You stood firm and challenged him openly. 

"If you want me to follow you, I deserve an explanation." 

"At least walk with me as I explain." He said, trying to meet you halfway. You decided to give him one last chance. If he gave you a convincing answer, you would willingly go with him. He set a fast pace as you moved down the halls, clearly in a rush to retrieve you. Despite his long legs, you were able to keep up with him by increasing the speed of your steps. You could tell he was thinking out every turn and move he made as he navigated the hall. He was tense and did not start explaining himself until you reached the lobby.

"You're special and because of that we believe someone is after you."

"How am I special?" He slowed down long enough to open the front door for you and continued at a slower and less suspicious pace. 

"There is a...dangerous group out, attacking innocent people around America." He cut himself off before he talked again on another tangent. "My partner parked the car a couple blocks down to avoid being recognized." 

"You know your explanation is getting pretty cryptic." You pressed him, needing more information. You follow him down hidden side streets and waited patiently until you entered an alley way. "Agent Bonham!" You demanded his attention and tugged on his jacked to get it. He looked down to you with slight surprise on his face.

He was use to people being flustered and tongue tied around him; scared beyond belief due to the dangerous nature of the situations he was usually in. You, on the other hand, were not phased. At the moment he was not sure why he was so impressed by your reaction, but now looking back, he knows everything about you impressed him.

"Look sweetheart. You're special because you can kill demons and we need someone on our team like that. Problem is the demons are now trying to kill you first--" You missed the rest of his explanation as alarm bells rang out in your head. He was the definition of psychotic or maybe a sociopath.  

You put all the weight and power you could muster behind your fist as it landed right on his jaw. He stumbled back in shock and you heard him curse under his breath as he rubbed it. His cursing only got louder when you ran off. Based off his delayed reactions and mumbled curses, you would have guessed running off was only a mild inconvenience to him. You were nothing to really worry about, just an easy catch.

You ran out of the alley and took a hard left to get away from the man and your home. Your home did not feel safe anymore, it felt tainted and you could not return to it with a clean conscience. Not long after your escaped you ran into another man of impressive stature and build. 

"Sir! Can you please call the police? There is a crazy man chasing me." The warm comfort of security was quickly stolen from you the moment you locked eyes with the man. His eyes went black and were filled with malice intent. Heavy waves of hatred flowed off the man and hit you like an overwhelming force. A teasing smile appeared on his lips as he looked down at you with pity.

"And here I thought you would be smarter than this, running away from the only person who could save you." He pulled out a black spear head knife that was over nine inches long and looked it over with a smile, before he focused on you. "Thanks to you and your brilliant decisions, it looks like your only options are to die by my hand or come with me. Need a second to choose?" 

All you could do was take small steps back as the rest of your body locked up. You would have liked to blame your reactions on the demon, but deep down you knew you were freezing up because you were afraid. The situation, the information and the threat all being real was too much for you to take on at once. You slowed your breathing and mustered the most confident voice you could, though you were sure it was shaky just like your stance. 

"I'd rather die than help someone evil like you." You stared him down and looked straight into his burning eyes.

Another sharp blood covered blade brought the demon to his knees as it forced its way though his chest. A deep yell was ripped from his throat as he gripped the blade and slowly started to pull it through his own chest. Behind him stood the man who tried to warn you about this whole situation. 

"Hurry! It only stuns him." His command ripped your focus off the wounded demon. The fear fell right off of you as you ran just behind him, towards a black Impala. Behind the wheel was an impatient looking man with short brown hair and brown puppy dog eyes. 

You crashed into the back seat since you jumped into the vehicle aimlessly. The pain from the impact traveled right up your spine. You struggled to sit up right as the car sped off and easily threw you to the other side of the vehicle. Agent Bonham already sat upright and was buckled in while you scrambled for the seat-belt. You needed something, anything to make you feel safe. 

The moment you were upright and settled in your seat, you looked back at the demon you could barley recognize in the distance. You watched the man open his mouth and a dark cloud fled out of the body in a dark torrent. The body and knife that was plunged into him fell to the ground uselessly. You stared at the knife and guilt and fear came over you as you realized all you had done. 

"Sorry about your knife...and punching you in the face." The driver let out a sudden choke, from being caught off guard, then laughed in response to the humorous statement. Agent Bonham just grumbled at him to "shut up". You tugged at the end of your shirt sleeves in response to your sudden feeling of embarrassment and kept your eyes on the ground. 

"Don't worry about the knife, we can pick it back up and as far as Dean goes, I am sure he deserved it. Probably came off too strong or aggressive." The young man reassured you with a smile.  "I am Sam by the way and this is my brother, Dean Winchester."

"(y/n), but you already knew that." You replied in a joking fashion. Sam kindly smiled at your bad joke, while Dean ignored you completely. Noticing the discomfort, Sam stepped in to start a happy conversation.

The moment the car stopped the peaceful tone Sam had instilled in you dissipated. The comfort and trust had vanished the moment the audible click of a hammer on a gun sounded. Dean held the gun, a small but intimidating hand gun, and aimed the barrel at you. He kept it at his eye level for a moment to make a point, before lowering it to hip level. You immediately stiffened and glared at him, completely forgetting about the gun. 

"I thought you were here to help me." A harsh accusation of deceit underlined your statement in an attempt to make him feel guilty. Sam opened the passenger side door for you, so you could leave. 

"We are. We need to know we can trust you first." You scoffed at his statement and found it to be very ironic.

"Trust is usually a two way street, wouldn't you say?" Dean seemed to already be done with your words as he rolled his eyes and had a bored look on his face. His voice took on an intimidating husky tone as he spoke. 

"Yeah, but I have a feeling you'll get over this, so come on Sweetheart. Just makes it easier on us." He sounded so sure of himself. At the time you did not realize he was speaking from experience since he had went through this routine many times with other people and always had the same result; forgiveness and trust. Despite his confidence, you highly doubted you could brush off such an encounter. 

He motioned with his gun for you to get up and you obeyed. You followed Sam, who opened any doors that impeded you from getting to your destination, and Dean stood behind you to coax you to move with his gun. 

They shut you up in a small box of a motel room. It was obviously a cheap one, with thin walls, outdated appliances and the smell of cigarette smoke embedded in the room. You sat in the only chair in the room and waited for them to explain to you what the hell was going on. Instead, they left you to run "errands". 

[thewidowsghost]

The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 17

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Harry manages not to shout out, but it is a close thing. The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears, and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls and for some reason, Harry associates the green of the creature's eyes with (Y/n)'s green eyes.

As they stare at each other, Harry hears Dudley's voice from the hall.

"May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

The creature slips off the bed and bows so low that the end of its long, thin nose touches the carpet. Harry notices that is wearing what looks like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm - and leg - holes.

"Er - hello," says Harry nervously.

"Harry Potter!" says the creature in a high-pitched voice Harry is sure would carry down the stairs. "So long Dobby wanted to meet you, sir . . . Such an honor it is . . ."

"Th - thank you," says Harry, edging along the wall and sinking into his desk chair, next to Hedwig, who is asleep in her large cage. He wants to ask, "What are you?" but thinks it sounded too rude, so instead, he says, "Who are you?"

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," says the creature.

"Oh — really?" says Harry. "Er — I don't want to be rude or anything, but — this isn't a great time for me to have a house-elf in my bedroom."

Aunt Petunia's high, false laughs sounds from the living room. The elf hangs his head.

"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," says Harry quickly, "but, er, is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir," says Dobby earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir . . . it is difficult, sir . . . Dobby wonders where to begin . . ."

"Sit down," says Harry politely, pointing at the bed.

To his horror, the elf bursts into tears - very noisy tears.

"S - sit down! he wails. "Never . . . never ever . . . "

Harry thinks he hears the voices downstairs falter.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything -"

"Offend Dobby!" chokes the elf. "Dobby had never been asked to sit down by a wizard - like an equal -"

Harry, trying to say Shh! and look comforting at the same time, ushers Dobby back to the bed where he sits hiccoughing, looking like a large and very ugly doll. At last, he manages to control himself, and sits with his great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery adoration.

"You can't have met many decent wizards," said Harry, trying to cheer him up.

Dobby shakes his head. Then, without warning, he leaps up and starts banging his head furiously on teh window, shouting, Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Don't - what are you doing?" Harry hisses, springing up and pulling Dobby back onto the bed - Hedwig had woken up with a particularly loud screech and is beating her wings wildly against the bars of her cage.

"Dobby has to punish himself, sir," says the elf, who had gone slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir . . ."

"Your family?"

"The wizard family Dobby serves, sir . . . Dobby is a house-elf - bound to serve one house and family forever . . ."

"Do they know you're here?" asks Harry curiously.

Dobby shudders.

"Oh, no, sir, no . . . Dobby will have go punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir -"

"But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?"

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby will have to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments . . ."

"But why don't you leave? Escape?"

"A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set Dobby free . . . Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir. . . ."

Harry stares. "And I thought I had it bad staying here for another four weeks," he says. "This makes the Dursleys sound almost human. Can't anyone help you? Can't I?"

Almost at once, Harry wishes he hadn't spoken. Dobby dissolves again into wails of gratitude.

"Please," Harry whispers frantically, "please be quiet. If the Dursleys hear anything, if they know you're here -"

"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby . . . Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew . . ."

Harry, who is feeling distinctly hot in the face says, "Whatever you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I'm not even top of my year at Hogwarts: that's Hermione, she -"

But Harry stops quickly, because thinking about Hermione is painful.

"Harry potter is humble and modest," says Dobby reverently, his orb-like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named -"

"Voldemort?" asks Harry.

Dobby claps his hands over his bat ears and moans, "Ah, speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!"

"Sorry," Harry apologizes quickly. "I know a lot of people don't like it. My friend Ron -" Harry stops again. Thinking about Ron is painful, too.

Dobby leans towards Harry, his eyes wide as headlights. "Dobby heard tell, he says hoarsely, "That Harry Potter and (Y/n) (L/n) met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago . . . that Harry Potter and (Y/n) (L/n) escaped yet again."

Harry nods and Dobby's eyes suddenly shine with tears.

"Ah, sir," he gasps, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he is wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already. But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he doesn't have to shut his ears in the oven door later . . . Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

There is a silence, broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Uncle Vernon's voice.

"W-what?" Harry stammers. "But I've got to go back - term starts on September first. It's all that's been keeping me going. You don't know what it's like here. I don't belong here. I belong in your world - at Hogwarts.

"No, no, no," squeaks Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flap. "Harry Potter must stay where his is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"Why?" Harry asks in surprise.

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispers Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"What terrible things?" says Harry at once. "Who's plotting them?"

Dobby makes a funny choking noise and then bangs his head frantically against the wall.

"All right!" cries Harry, grabbing the elf's arm to stop him. "You can't tell me. I understand. But why are you warning me?" A sudden, unpleasant thought strikes him. "Hang on - this hasn't got anything to do with Vol - sorry - with You-Know-How, has it? You could just shake or nod," he adds hastily as Dobby's head tilts worryingly close to the wall again.

Slowly, Dobby shakes his head.

"Not — not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir —" But Dobby's eyes are wide and he seems to be trying to give Harry a hint. Harry, however, is completely lost.

"He hasn't gotten a brother, has he?" Harry asks.

Dobby shakes his head, his eyes wider than ever.

"Well then, I can't think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts," says Harry. "I mean, there's Dumbledore, for one thing - you know who Dumbledore is, don't you?"

Dobby bows his head.

"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's  powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, sir" — Dobby's voice drops to an urgent whisper — "there are powers Dumbledore doesn't . . . powers no decent wizard . . ."

And before Harry can stop him, Dobby bounds off the bed, seizes Harry's desk lamp, and starts beating himself around the head with earsplitting yelps.

A sudden silence falls downstairs. Two seconds later, Harry, heart thudding madly, hears Uncle Vernon coming into the hall, calling, "Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!"

"Quick! In the closet!" hisses Harry, stuffing Dobby in, shutting the door, and flinging himself on the bed just as the door handle turns.

"What - the - devil - are - you - doing?" says Uncle Vernon through gritted teeth, his face horribly close to Harry's. "You've just ruined the punch line of my Japanese golfer joke . . . One more sound and you'll wish you'd never been born, boy." Uncle Vernon stomps flat-footed from the room.

Shaking, Harry lets Dobby out of the closet.

"See what it's like here?" he says. "See why I've got to go back to Hogwarts? It's the only place I've got - well, I think I've got friends."

"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter," says Dobby slyly.

"I expect they've just been - wait a minute," says Harry, frowning. "How do you know my friends haven't been writing to me?"

Dobby shuffles his feet. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best -"

"Have you been stopping my letters?"

"Dobby has them here, sir," says the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry's reach, he pulls a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase  he is wearing. Harry can makes out Hermione's neat writing, (Y/n)'s neat scrawl, Ron's untidy scrawl, and even a scribble that looks as though it is from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid.

Dobby blinks anxiously up at Harry.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry . . . Dobby hoped . . . if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him . . . Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir . . ."

Harry isn't listening. He makes a grab for the letter, but Dobby jumps out of reach.

"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby is word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No," says Harry angrily. "Give me my friends' letters!"

"Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice," says the elf sadly.

Before Harry can move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom door, pulls it open, and sprints down the stairs.

Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Harry springs after him, trying not to make a sound. He jumps the last six steps, landing catlike on the hall carpet - feeling like (Y/n) for a moment - looking around for Dobby. From the dining room, he hears Uncle Vernon saying, " . . . tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason. She's been dying to hear . . ."

Harry runs up the hall into the kitchen and feels his stomach disappear.

Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and sugared violets, is floating up near the ceiling. On top of a cupboard in the corner crouches Dobby.

"No," croaked Harry. "Please . . . they'll kill me. . . ."

"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school —"

"Dobby . . . please . . ."

"Say it, sir —"

"I can't —"

Dobby gives him a tragic look.

"Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."

The pudding falls to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Cream splatters the windows and walls as the dish shatters. With a crack like a whip, Dobby vanishes.

There are screams from the dining room and Uncle Vernon bursts into the kitchen to find Harry, rigid with shock, covered from head to foot in Aunt Petunia's pudding.

At first, it looks as though Uncle Vernon would manage to gloss the whole thing over. ("Just our nephew - very disturbed - meeting strangers upsets him, so we kept him upstairs . . . ) He shoos the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promised Harry that he would flay him within an inch of his life when teh Mason's had left, and hands him a mop. Aunt Petunia digs some ice cream out of the freezer and Harry, still shaking, starts scrubbing the kitchen clean.

Uncle Vernon might still have been able to make his deal - if it hadn't been for the owl.

Aunt Petunia is just passing around a box of after-dinner mints when a hug barn owl swoops though the dining room window, drops a letter on Mrs. Mason's head, and swoops out again. Mrs. Mason screams like a banshee and runs from teh house shouting about lunatics. Mr. Mason stays just enough to tell the Dursleys that his wife is mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and to ask whether this is their idea of a joke.

Harry stands in the kitchen, clutching the mop for support, as Uncle Vernon advances on him, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes.

"Read it!" he hisses evilly, brandishing the letter the owl nad delivered. "Go on - read it!"

Harry takes it. It does not contain birthday greetings.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place or residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to preform spells outside school and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence under Section 13 of the Internation Confedeation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk Improper use of Magic Office Ministry of Magic

Harry looks up from the letter and gulps.

"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school," says Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "Forgot to mention it . . . Slipped your mind, I daresay . . . " He is bearing down on Harry like a great bulldog, all his teeth bared. "Well, I've got news for you, boy . . . I'm locking you up . . . You're never going back to that school . . . never . . . and if you try and magic yourself out - they'll expel you!"

And, laughing like a maniac, Uncle Vernon drags Harry back upstairs.

. . .

(Y/n) runs up to the front door, and bursts inside the house, tackling Hermione in a tight hug.

Hermione throws down her book, and bursts into tears, hugging (Y/n) tightly.

(Y/n)'s emerald eyes soften, and she hugs Hermione tighter, the brunette's tears eventually stopping after a minute or so.

"You're home?" Hermione asks, her eyes still watery.

"I told you I'd be back soon," (Y/n) murmurs softly, smiling at her adopted parents sitting on the couch across from them, and Jean and Tom smile back.

Then she glances over to the door to see her father carrying her trunk, and setting it just inside the front door.

Tony walks over to the elder Grangers, and, with a quick word, the three adults walk outside.

Suddenly, (Y/n) is knocked out of Hermione's tight embrace and off the couch. (Y/n) lets out a yelp as her head slams into the coffee table, Marvel weaving excitedly on (Y/n)'s stomach, rolling around, shoving her face into the crook of (Y/n)'s neck, and nuzzling her face.

Hermione wipes her tears away, laughing at the black-and-white cat.

"There's my cheery sister," (Y/n) says with a grin, clambering to her feet, Marvel clutched in her arms.

Tony and the elder Grangers walk back into the house, Tony standing at the door and looking meaningfully at (Y/n).

Understanding the meaning of the look, (Y/n) follows, Marvel jumping up to perch on (Y/n)'s shoulder.

"Have a good school year," Tony tells his daughter softly. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Tony Stark says something that makes (Y/n) tear up a little. "(Y/n), you remind me so much of your mother."

(Y/n) steps forward, hugging her father tightly. "Thanks Dad. I love you," she murmurs, and Tony smiles softly, his brown eyes sparkling.

"I love you too, kiddo," Tony says softly, and after a moment, the billionaire steps back. "I'll write at least three times a week."

And, with that, Tony Stark walks to his car, waves, and gets inside, driving away.

A Month Later

The room is growing dark. Exhausted, stomach rumbling, mind spinning over the same unanswerable questions, Harry falls into an uneasy sleep.

Harry dreams that he is on show in a zoo, with a car reading UNDERAGE WIZARD attached to his cage. People goggle through the bars at him as he lies, starving and weak, on a bed of straw. He sees Dobby's face in the crowd and shouts out, asking for help, but Dobby calls, "Harry Potter is safe there, sir!" and vanishes. Then, the Dursleys appear, and Dudley rattles the bars of the cage, laughing at him.

"Stop it," Harry mutters as the rattling pounds in his sore head. "Leave me alone . . . cut it out . . . I'm trying to sleep . . ."

He opens his eyes. Moonlight is shining throuh the bars on the window. And someone is goggling through the bars at him: a freckle-faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.

Ron Weasley is outside Harry's window, ready to whisk Harry off to the Burrow - The Weasleys' home.

Word Count: 3005 words

[silentmajesticfox]

Falling In Love With Chrollo Lucilfer

Part one:

Part two:

Panic Room



As Fred, Rose, and Daisy made it to the mansion. Rose looked at her surroundings, telling herself, I just have to hold him off til Chrollo's here. What a suicide mission this will come out to be, Daisy I hope you understand I can only save one of us this time.. Rose glanced at Daisy winking her eye and opening the door for her. Daisy would be an actress If she could. She giggled, "Yay!! We're finally home, I can wait to go to bed with my teddy bear!" She ran in, not unusually fast since every time they would get home, she would practically run to her bed. Before Rose could step out, she felt a tight grip on her left arm by her hand, and a few cracks emanating from there. Fred had already planned to confront her. A deadly gaze staring into her ice blue eyes. Rose held in a yelp, sure than the cracking was probably her bones.

"Who do you think you are? Talking to another man, showing him more affection and attention than you've givin me this past year, wish I knew I married a whore. I would like to have a word with you inside, Rosalie." Rose knew this couldn't be good, for he never used her real name, and for however long it took Chrollo to get here, she'd have to deal with it. She could feel his blood lust, and the fact he already had the advantage on her, her nerves kicked up. She just nodded her head, knowing soon this would be all over. She wished right then that she had her book, inevitably he would die if she did.... As she got out the door once he let go of her arm, with a fired up Fred behind her. She looked down the street they had came from. Please don't let me down Chrollo. She turned her head towards the mansion and walked through the doors. She felt his Nen get stronger, a hitch in her breath as she started to panic. He was a minute behind her, but she could make a run for it to her room and make sure Daisy was ready. The deadly aura making it hard to breath, she was going to do exactly that. Once she made it through the door, she turned around and latched the door closed. Soon a hard pounding was heard, but as Fred was a Enhancer, he was going to have no problem knocking that door down. With every hit, she started to feel a whoosh of power with every blow. Rose rushed up all the stairs, nearly tripping on her feet, turning the corner right before she heard a big boom, the door spiraling across the room and a manic laugh coming from Fred. "Aw... Rose, don't be like that. You know I'll find you. I told you I wanted to talk!" He screamed. She ran to her and Daisy's room they shared, busting it open and soon turning around to lock it and push the chair near by, under the door knob. Daisy was sitting on the bed with all her things in a backpack, and her favorite stuffed animal, her bear. Hearing Fred slowly stomp down the hall, busting open the doors as he went by, one by one. Rose realized she had less time than she calculated..

"Daisy, are you ready?" She asked her baby sister, her sister nodded and as about to say something, Rose could tell she had been crying. Rose put her finger up to her sisters mouth, shaking her head and mouthing no. "Here's my phone. You need to leave. Now Daisy.." she grabbed her sisters arm gently after daisy put the phone in her backpack pocket, leading them to the only window In the room. Rose unlocked it, and quietly lifted it open. "Don't let him see you through the window, ok? I love you." She hugged her sister very tight, before hearing a roaring pound at the door now. More tears fell from Daisy's eyes, as she nodded staring at Rose, quickly exiting the room from the window, waving to Rose. Rose waved back and blew a kiss to her, then signalling her hand for her to sit on the specific part of the roof as discussed.

Glancing at the street below, she turned around when the door was buses open. She was thinking quick on what to say and what to do, Fred huffing as he walked up to her. He walked up closer, how hands going to her throat and holding her against the wall. Her hands went to his forearms as she struggled to breath. "Stop.. please.." she pleaded. She had only one option. If she wanted to live, and as her consciousness faded in and out. Memories flashing all the way from when she was little. Chrollo was always by her side. In a way, she knew Chrollo would never love her the way she loved him..

Chrollo and Rose were sitting on top of the garbage pile, the highest one they could find. Holding each other closely watching the sunrise together. "Now wait. Soon the sun will make it look like a city of diamonds and jewels. This is what I've been telling you about, I know you'll love it.." Chrollo's words were happier than normal when he spoke about this so Rose was convinced it was something great if he loved it. She set her head on his shoulder, grabbing his hand. "Chrollo, do you think when we're older, we can be together?" Rose slipped those words out. In the heat of the moment. Chrollo tensed up a little bit, but that went away as soon as the sun rose. Before her eyes, what he said was true, who knew a city so bad, could have such a beautiful view. "You were right Chrollo, thank you for showing me this.." she said lifting her head from his shoulder. He turned around to face her, grabbed her chin, and kissed her with passion. Once they parted, chrollo spoke. "Maybe one day... I know you can find someone better than me when you make it out of here.. realistically I can't see it, us being together. I like you, but who knows how we'll feel years later, you know?" Rose would have cried, but Chrollo stood up, taking her hand and pulling her up. "But there's nothing wrong with having what we have now.." He kissed her again, she wrapped her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist, and maybe that's when she fell in love with him.

When Rose came back to reality, she knew she still had things she needed to be here for. She had to fight. She released her hands from Fred's arms, and went for his face. Poking as hard as she could towards his eyes. Kicking as hard as she could. He dropped her and she gasped for air. "please stop Fred.." she quickly came to her feet, cornered and not sure what to do. Glancing around, she looked at the lamp. She quickly darted, fred attempting to grasp her, hot on her tail. She picked up the lamp and threw it at Fred, it stattering at he deflected it with his arms. Just enough time to run. And that she did.

"You're funny Rose.. you think you can out smart me? Take me for my money? You really are stupider than I thought.." she heard him, she ran out the room, running down the hall and going to the staircase, running up all the steps which felt like a million years. She heard Fred's foot steps and felt them rattle the staircase. Rose was now wheezing, but couldn't let herself get tired, not yet. Soon she was on the third and last level. She sprinted as soon as she saw the big doors, in which was the safe where her book was. Rose backed up, and ran into the door to break it open. Yet it did not open. She started to panic, and kept ramming herself. The wood started to splinter, and after four times of brute force, it broke opened. By then, she had seen Fred come around the corner, so she ran over to the vault. She starting pushing in the code, getting denied every time. Fred was walking up to her at this point, a low laugh coming from his chest, gasping she turned around. "I changed it. Unfortunately you won't be getting it back ever. Why do you hurt me Rose?.." He was calmer, but his blood lust was rising.

"Because you wanted to be with her instead of me, you wanted me to give you this so it'd be equal, yet you feel it's okay to hit me when your in the wrong, and you have your nen?" She was trying to hit him on a personal level so he could apologize and maybe this would pass. Not this time.

He walked up to her, "because I fell out of love with you. The instant I saw you never stopped writing him... " She couldn't believe Fred at this moment. This was a new thing he had brought up. "So why should I care to fix this? when every woman I've been with, has been so much better? Fills all my needs, and actually wants me. Also, I could make alot of money for your book." Rose was letting her anger get the best of her, tears started streaming and she went for it. She got a few punches in, before he grabbed her arm.

"Then end it. Since i am nothing to you and this world, take me out of this miserable life!!"  And with that, Fred hit her and she had went flying into the wall. Laying in the debris, she was gasping. Fred had walked up to her, and picked her up by her hair. If she could, she'd scream. But the impact before had broken ribs, so she just stared at him, before being thrown to the wall again. Blood started coming from her mouth, she was ready for this. Daisy crossed her mind and she smiled, knowing she was in good hands.. her life fading and things went black, she heard alot of booms and yelling going on, and someone picking her up.

"Please hang on Rose.. stay with me..." She heard Chrollo say to her softly touching her face. She drifted off into a peacefulness of black, knowing Daisy was alright, and she could finally let go of this life for good.

--

A/N: sorry it's short and kind of meh, I had a major writers block and this is definitely getting edited. Lucky not alot of people have read this- but if you do thank you for supporting me!! Much love. If you feel open to request something for the story or pitch ideas I'm all ears!! This is the last part I have on wattpad. Might be a minute til I can write the next chapter, of course when it gets a little intense. 💀

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Colston Hall in Bristol, UK - November 18, 1975

x

The photos could be from either night.

This article from the November 29 issue of Sounds chronicles the second night in Bristol.

Queen triumphant

QUEEN ARE the type of group that make a man want to abandon rock writing. They pose questions and never provide answers. They exist in their own space-time continuum, visible and audible but keeping their secrets to themselves.

On the surface they couldn't be a nicer bunch of people, but they carry English reticence to an epitome. It isn't, as Geoff Barton said two weeks ago, that they're boring, it's just that they're reserved. Or in writer parlance, they don't automatically provide colourful copy. All my instincts as a writer tell me that there is a great story in that band, but after two nights with them I'm hardly any the wiser.

Skin tight

That their insularity has a lot to do with them being one of the most amazing heavy-metal and/or rock bands in Britain - with all the signs that they'll end up monsters on the order of Zep - is fairly obvious, but just how much bearing it has on the matter is hard to say. The enigmas they might pose mightn't even have answers.

Is there any logical reason why they present an image and persona straight out of the Beatles school of interlocking chemistry?

John is reserved, almost nonchalant on stage, as if it's all in a small, personal joke. When asked how he saw himself within the framework of the band he replied, with a small smile, "I'm the bassist".

Roger is his opposite, the cheeky sidekick in a Clint Eastwood movie, and attracting a lot of cheesecake attention in America and Japan.

Freddie is an original - one of the most dynamic singers to tread the boards in quite a few years. His attraction is obvious.

Brian is perhaps the biggest enigma of all. What is this seemingly frail, gaunt astronomer doing on that stage, striding purposefully and blasting diamond-hard rock? They're all equally strong personalities - like the Beatles there's no one major focal point. Ask four fans who their dream Queen is and you'll get four different answers.

Queen have been busy lads these past few months. Having disassociated themselves from their former management and joined with John Reid, the fourth album was seen to. Reid decided that a tight schedule wouldn't cause them undue harm, and figured on two months to record before embarking on this current tour.

Only Queen are driven to better each previous album - which at this stage of the game is obviously producing some excellent results - and 'A Night At The Opera' turned into a saga - culminating in 36-hour mixing sessions in an effort to allow at least a few days for rehearsal. In the end they managed three and a half days at Elstree with four hours off to videotape the promotional film for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

Their first few dates had not been without errors and the quartet were still not feeling totally comfortable their second night in Bristol, fourth night of the tour. You'd never know it, though.

Like all other aspects of the group, the stage is sophisticated. A black scrim provides a backdrop bounded by a proscenium of lights both front and rear. At each side the p.a. rises like a mutant marriage of Mammon and Robby the Robot. Amp power is readily evident but the most extraordinary is Brian May's subtle set up: nine Vox boxes stepping back in rows of three. The only packing crate visible is holding a tray of drinks, and you may rest assured that no roadie will rush, crawl or lurk across the stage while the show is in progress unless it's to rescue Freddie's mike from the clawing crowd.

As the auditorium darkens the sound of an orchestra tuning up is heard over the p.a. The conductor taps his baton on the music stand and a slightly effete voice welcomes the audience to A Night At The Opera. The Gilbert & Sullivan portion of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' follows, a brief glimpse of Freddie is allowed, and then in a blast of flares and white smoke the blitzkrieg begins.

Roger is barely visible behind his kit, just his eyes and tousled locks. John is wearing a white suit and playing the-man-who-must-stand-still-or-it-will-all-blow-away. Brian is slightly medieval in his green and white Zandra Rhodes top, while Freddie is...

Around his ankles his satin white pants flare like wings - fleet footed Hermes. Everything north of the knee is skin tight - tighter than skin tight - with a zip-up front open to AA rating. But further south, definitely in X territory, lurks a bulge not unlike the Sunday Telegraph.

There have been sex objects and sex bombs, superstar potency and the arrogant presentation of this all-important area, but never has a man's weaponry been so flagrantly showcased. Fred could jump up on the drum stand and shake his cute arse, leap about and perform all manner of amazing acrobatics, but there it was, this rope in repose, barely leashed tumescence, the Queen's sceptre. Oh to be that hot costume, writhing across the mighty Fred!

Phallic

Freddie is not pretty in the conventional sense of the word; like Mick Jagger of '64, he is his own convention. Also like the Jagger of the time, his stage persona and action is unlike anything else. Although it borrows - like most of the group's plagiarisms - slightly from Zeppelin, in tandem with Freddie's supreme assurance and belief in himself - he always refers to himself as a star - it explodes into something that is a constant delight to watch.

He reacts to his audience almost like an over-emotional actress - Gloria Swanson, say, or perhaps Holly Woodlawn playing Bette Davis. At the climax of the second night in Bristol he paused at the top of the drum stand, looked back over the crowd and with complete, heartfelt emotion placed his delicate fingers to lips and blew a kiss. Any person who can consume themselves so completely in such a clichéd showbiz contrivance deserves to be called a star.

Freddie's real talent, though, is with his mike stand. No Rod Stewart mike stand callisthenics here, just a shortee stick that doubles as a cock, machine gun, ambiguous phallic symbol, and for a fleeting moment an imaginary guitar. He has a neat trick of standing quite still in particularly frantic moments and holding the stand vertically from his crotch up, draw a fragile finger along its length, ever closer to the taunting eyes that survey his audience.

Their show contains lots of bombs and smoke, lots of lights, lots of noise. They fulfil the function of supremely good heavy metal - i.e. you don't get a second to think about what's going on. When they do let up for a few minutes, it's only so you can focus in on the bright blue electric charge crackling between your ears.

Bulldozer

Dominating the sound is Roger's drumming, a bulldozer echo that bounces like an elastic membrane, meshing with your solar plexus so that your body pulses in synch with the thunder. Tuned into that, everything else is just supremely nice icing.

For three days rehearsal, after eight months off the road Bristol was extremely impressive. In speculative mood I quizzed people on how long they thought it would take to headline Madison Square Garden. I was thought a radical at a year and a half. John Reid smilingly assured me it would take a year.

That Queen should end up with John Reid is an entirely logical proceeding. Everything about Queen demands that the world eventually kowtows at their feet in complete acquiescence - so big that bodyguards have to accompany them at every step. Well, no - they found that an annoyance in Japan, but, you know, huge.

Such status demands a Reid or a Peter Grant, and whatever the causes for their leaving Jack Nelson and Trident, an elegant group like Queen is going to look for a man with class. Reid found the idea of managing a group interesting, and having to deal with four strong personalities a challenge. He only concerns himself with their business and ensuring that the year ahead is mapped out. In January they begin a jaunt through the Orient, Australia and America, by which time it's March and they begin preparations for the next album.

Reid's prediction of a year was proven highly credible the next evening in Cardiff. The band had still not paused from the rush up to the tour and spent most of the day relaxing and sleeping - no doubt a factor in their near recumbent profile. Also, unlike most groups, they were keeping their dissatisfaction with the show to themselves.

They stopped off at Harlech TV on the way to see a cassette of the video for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. The general consensus was quite good for four hours, with much laughter during the operetta. Brian finds film of the group educational - the first time he saw himself was a Mike Mansfield opus for 'Keep Yourself Alive' - "It was 'All right fellows, give it everything you've got but don't move off that spot.' It was terrible." You don't like Mansfield, eh? "Oh, I hate him - we all do... I was horrified when I saw it - I couldn't believe we looked that bad. I looked very static - seeing myself has taught me a lot about stage movement. Some of the things I do are planned for effect, but it's mostly just feeling the audience and communicating that back to them."

Arriving at the motel - several miles out of town - Freddie immediately fell asleep, John held court of a sort, joined later by Brian, while Roger went jogging, a daily event when touring. Tuning in to rock via Bill Haley and Tommy Steele, he became a drummer because he was better at it than guitar. All through school he was in bands; he only went to dental school out of "middle class conditioning, and it was a good way to stay in London without having to work". His mother thought it a bit strange when he opted for a career as a rock star, but she doesn't worry too much now.

The concert starts in much the same manner as the previous night, but there are signs that tonight is work, with posing an afterthought. The endings to most of their songs are magnificent and majestic, especially 'Flick Of The Wrist' and the rapid harmonies of 'Bad Boy Leroy Brown'.

Maniacal

The audience, seeing their faces in town for the first time, are vociferous in their appreciation. Guys know all the words to every song, yelling enthusiastically at every effect and solo. The band picks up, Freddie receiving the crowd beneficently, telling them they’re beautiful.

As the show builds it is obvious that things are gelling more. The previous night Brian had seemed totally out of place, not moving too much, taking solos with the weirdest half blank half possessed stare, talking to himself; cocking ear towards guitar. He was the proverbial stranger in a strange land, one step removed from the plane inhabited by you and me.

Tonight he moves fluidly, the gonzo lead guitarist of a gonzo band. His expressions are just as maniacal, but it only makes him look more demonic. His solo in 'Brighton Rock', an exposition in riffing and echo, is a treat because of his physical response to both music and audience, complete with ham acting. Freddie gets into the same game on 'The Prophet's Song', where he conducts an acapella madrigal with himself. It's a pretty commanding moment.

It’s soon after this that Madison Square seems reasonable. About a minute into 'Stone Cold Crazy' it becomes very obvious that Queen have suddenly Plugged In. Found the metal music machine and Connected. Freddie's movements explode in perfect unison with the music, the lights and surroundings go crazy, and the audience goes berserk.

Freddie asks for requests and receives a roar out of which one can vaguely make 'Liar'. Fred walks along the stage, nodding, agreeing he will do this one and that one while the kids roar on. "I'll tell you what - we'll do them all!"

'Doing Alright' opens slow and portentously. Queen's variation of light and shade is one of the major factors in their popularity, but even so the quiet sections frequently find the audience's mind wandering. One kid starts getting a joint together, totally forgetting it when everything blasts off again; guys talk among themselves, only to instantly leap to their feet, fists flying to the beat.

'Doing Alright' changes into a cha-cha beat, Freddie snapping his fingers, the coolest hipster in town, and then instantly drops into faster-than-light drive - the whole row next to me leaps to their feet as a man, rocking back and forth as Brian roars into a blinding solo.

Two songs later, in 'Seven Seas of Rye', the kids break - very fast - and in five seconds half the audience is a seething mass in front of the stage, climbing on each other in pyramids, sudden openings appearing as a splintering seat sends a few bodies to the floor.

The rest of the show is equally intense, especially for a couple of minutes during 'Liar; where Fred and Brian merge into a tight little triangle with Roger while John stands in front of the bass drum, staring out with his small smile.

Freddie has treated his encores - 'Big Spender' and 'Jailhouse Rock' - differently on successive nights, once appearing in a kimono and in Bristol with rather rude tight white shorts, giving the song title new emphasis. In Cardiff, though, he doesn't bother to change at all. Later it transpired that Brian had twisted his ankle during 'Liar'. While he’s attended to, kids out front pick up chair slivers to keep as mementos.

On the bus back to the hotel Brian sits quietly at the back, chatting with two girls. John sits at the front, as always. Freddie stares out of the window, lost in his own world. Roger bounces around, starts a pillow fight with Brian - which stops as soon as Brian scores a direct hit to the face - then discovers an eight track of 'Sheer Heart Attack', punching it through the channels as he conducts the group. The two hours towards which they have channelled the day's energies are spent.

Ambition

That Queen have become a top attraction through a fair degree of plagiarism is amusing. Stealing is nothing new in rock (or any art for that matter) and mostly Queen use the borrowed material better than the originals. That they would be big I don't think anybody really doubted. All four have immense desire to be successful, and that kind of ambition will keep them slogging until they achieve it.

But there are popular heavy metal bands and there are popular h-m bands. From watching Queen's audience it is apparent that Queen speak for them in a way that bands such as the Who and the Stones and the Beatles spoke (and continue to speak) to their audience. Uriah Heep may be great at what they do, but five years after their demise who'll remember them? Creedence Clearwater Revival demonstrate the same thing - who remembers them? And yet five years ago they were the largest band in the world.

Queen will probably always be remembered, because as their tour is beginning to demonstrate, they have the ability to actualise and encompass the outer limits of their sense of self-importance. Queen and their music, presentation, production - everything about them says that they are more important than any other band you've every heard, and who has there been, so far, who has objected? Certainly not the 150,000 people (plus 20,000 a day) who bought 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in the first 20 days of its release. Certainly not me.

See you at Madison Square Garden.

[text © J. Ingham 2007; photos © Kate Simon]

~ You can see the photos which was mentioned on the article, from the link on the title. ~

[waywardscorpio]

Chapter One: You're Our Omega And We're Your Alpha's

Tag List: @phoenixoffiretwo @scuzmunkie

Redue it because I forgot the tags and photo. I deleted the other so, I could redue it.

Warning: SMUT + FLUFF, LITTLE SAD PART, LIGHT SPANKING, FINGERING (FEMALE RECEIVING), MASTER, SIR, AND DADDY KINK <BECAUSE I CAN. HEHEHE>, LIGHT CHOKING, CUNT EATING, POSSIBLE MATING <YOULL HAVE TO READ TO FIND OUT>, POSSIBLE PREGNANCY ON FIRST HEAT WITH ALPHA DEAN, ALPHA SETH, ALPHA ROMAN AND OMEGA READER.

Nine months later

Third person POV*

It had been nine months since Y/N, got injured. She was ready to get back into the ring and fight again. She just gotten the news earlier today that she has been cleared to enter the ring again and her shoulder is completely healed and doing good.

Y/N POV.>

I was sitting on my couch watching The Shield VS, The Hardy Boyz and Randy Orton. My phone goes off with a text message

Text message:

From Becky Lynch

To: Y/N

How are you doing sis?

Y/N, texts her sister back smiling as she was listening to the match.

From Y/N

To Becky Lynch

I'm doing fine. I've been cleared to wrestle. I just got the news from the doctors earlier today. Steph and Triple H, know and I'll be back on Raw, next Monday night. I'm so, happy I get to come back. I've missed fighting.

From Becky Lynch

To Y/N

Wait really you're cleared? Omg yes, my sister is gonna be back. I have a match against Sasha Banks and Brie Bella and I need a tag team partner. Would you be my surprise tag team partner? Wait does the guys know and Lana and Rusev know?

From Y/N

To Becky Lynch

No, they don't. I want it to be a surprise. Stephanie said her and Triple H, are gonna keep it a secret. Yes, I would damn well love to be your partner sis. I'm gonna get my payback on Sasha Banks.

From Becky Lynch

To Y/N

Yes. Okay I won't tell anyone. Got to go sis. I have a singles match against Nikki Bella, and I need to get ready. Love ya sister.

From Y/N

To Becky Lynch

Okay sis. Love ya too. Good luck and kick ass.

I set my phone down and looked at the screen and smiled as Reigns, superman punched Randy in the jaw. He pinned him as I screamed at the TV "1...2...3. Yes, that's my boys" I said. I've always called them my boys and I'm their girl. Though we aren't together. I love all three of them boys equally and more than just friends.

"And your Winners are, The Shield." The ring announcer said into the mic. "We have a message for our favorite girl, Y/N. Y/N, you're our best friend and we love you. You'll be back in the ring soon enough, Baby girl" Seth said. I tear up a little smiling happily as I spoke softly "I love you too, boys." I went to bed that night with a smile from hell on my face.

*Time skip to next Monday night*

I snuck into the arena and to mine and Becky's shared locker room and got ready for our match. I went to the gorilla pin and waited. Becky went out first with a mic and stood half way down the ramp. Nikki and Sasha were already at the ring waiting. Becky held the mic up with a devious smile on her face. "Y'all are probably wondering were or who my tag team partner is right?" The crowd started to cheer. "Well it is none other than my best friend and baby sister. Guess who's back ladies and gentlemen?" She said as my music came on and a went running down the ramp and stood next to her. I had my eyes dead locked with Sasha and a devilish smile on my lips. Becky hands me the mic "I'm back." Is all I said.

Becky and myself, got into the ring and waited for the bell to ring. As soon as the bell rang I grabbed Sasha by the hair and slammed her to the ground. The match went on for about twenty minutes. As the match was going on Dean, Seth, and Roman were all watching me smiling as I beat the hell out of Sasha like I promised I would. The Shield was happy I was back, because they had there girl with them once again. I hit Nikki, with a spear and pinned her. The referee counts "1...2....3!!!!" I stand up and hug my sister. I turn and see Sasha, arguing with the referee. I walked over and grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back. Which in turn caused her to hit the mat hard. I got on top of her and started hitting her repeatedly. Cesaro and Shameus, came running out to help Sasha.

I was grabbed and thrown into the turn buckle by Shameus. Before Shameus could get a hand on me again I heard my favorite song come on signaling the Shield boys, are coming. Dean, Seth, and Roman slid into the ring. Seth grabbed Shameus and pulled him off me while Becky safely got me out of the ring. The boys triple power bombed The bar. Dean grabs a mic and speaks first "this is a warning for anyone male in the locker room." Seth takes the mic "if you so, much as touch our girl, we will and can break you." Roman spoke last "Y/N, come here" I quickly obliged and got in the ring. "We have something to ask you." Roman says. "What is it?" I asked trying to fight off a blush and the heat pooling between my legs. I looked at them and smile the best I could so, they wouldn't notice. "Will you join the Shield?"

"Yes, I would love that" I said with a smile on my face. They gave me, a big group hug with my sister hugging me too. I had to stifle a whimper because of my now soaked panties. After the hug we all walked in the back. I made a b-line for mine and my sisters shared dressing room. They were all confused. That was until they're almost knocked over by the sweet smell of me and the slick slipping down my legs. Seth, Dean and Roman, all let a deep growl out of arousal as there eyes went dark with lust and love, and their nostrils flared. Which ment that the only one that could cause and Alpha to almost hit his or their knees from the smell of slick and arousal, was their omega and mate. Becky looks confused until she sees that same look on their faces, that her alpha and now mate gave her two years ago.

"Shit no, this isn't happening." I said to myself. Becky came in quickly locking the door, right as I fell to the ground whimpering in pain and need. I heard foot steps closing in and their smells through the door and down the hall way. I started to become in a daze. But not only was The Shield near, they're are two other alphas near as well. I let out an unintentional whine of need. My sister walks over and hugs me rubbing my back. "I know sis. We have to get out of here and to the hotel okay?" She said as she hoisted me up. I learned on her. The Shields smells were so, intoxicating that it left me whimpering for more and they haven't even touched. Becky put me in a cold shower and it stopped. That's when I realized right then and their that Seth, Dean and Roman, were what I've been looking for.

Becky got me to the car after she was able to get the three males away and make sure the other two males were contained.  "Becky it hurts" I whimper in the front seat. "Need my Alpha's" I pant. "Sis, I don't know if it is a good idea." She said to me. "Why not? I need something." I whimpered again. She got me up to my hotel room and helped me lay down, after locking the door. "Becky, their smells are getting closer. Please, need them" I said. "Are you sure this is you talking and not the sexual need?" She asks. Becky has always been very protective of me. I nodded my head looking her dead in the eyes after the pain had passed long enough for me to think straight. "Yes, I'm sure. This is what I want." I could hear them outside the door and deep growls which caused me to whine out "Alpha's. I want you." I said. "Let us in Baby Girl, an we will take good care of you." I heard Dean growl softly through the door which made me moan softly.

Becky nods and stood up walking to the door. She opens it to see three males. "You three better not hurt her in any way shape, or form or all three of you are dead." She warns. "We wouldn't ever harm her." They said to Becky. She nods and leaves. I squirm on bed pulling my clothes off. I put a pillow between my legs and grind my hips. I mewl at the friction its causing. The pillow was yanked from between my slicked coated thighs and pussy. I whine looking at them. "Daddies..... please need you" I pant.

They stripped down completely and they got on the bed. Seth got between my legs, Dean on my right and Roman on my left. Their smells all overwhelming me making me shudder. I open my legs and rubbed my clit moaning. Seth removed my hand. He loved seeing that but he wanted to taste me. "Now tsk tsk Baby Girl. You didn't ask us to touch yourself" Roman whispers in my ear, his hot breath fanning over my neck. As his breath is hitting my neck I moan in pleasure without even a touch of his lips. I arch off the bed when Dean, wraps his lips around my parked up nipples, my right hand went up and gripped Dean's hair "Daddy Dean" I breathlessly moan out.

Seth, laid between my legs as he left small kisses up my legs until he got to my slick covered core , and without a warning his lips latch onto my clit causing me to arch my back off the bed yet again at the pleasure. "Master Seth" I pant out which only cause a groan to emit from his attached lips on my core making my head roll back. Dean worked on my neck, Seth works vigorously on my pussy, and Roman is kissing me and playing with one of my nipples. I was getting close to letting go. All it took was Seth to enter a three fingers and curl them just right to make me start shaking. I pulled away from Roman's lips as I moan out each word "I'm. Going. T-t-to. Cu-cum. Oh fuck please, let me cum" I begged. All three males smirked. "How bad do you want to cum, Princess?" Roman asked. "Really bad, Sir Roman" I could tell he liked to be called Sir, by the way he groaned. His lips attached to my left nipple, Dean on my right one and Seth latched on to my clit and moved his fingers faster. "Cum Baby Girl." Seth said before sucking my clit harder and fingers curl a little more, while the other two worked on my nipples. I scream as I came, my hands clenching Roman, and Dean's hair.

I was a hot mumbling and mewling mess as I came down from my first high. Seth hums at the taste "you two should had a taste." He said to the other males. Which now were spreading my legs more and lapping at my core. All three looked down at me. "You think you can take all of us, Baby Girl?" Roman asks me as I settled my breathing. I look down at their cocks and bit my lip. They weren't small by no, means. But I felt I could take all three. Hell I practically got turned on picturing all three of them in me at once. I nodded my head I subconsciously rolled over and got on my hands and knees. They groaned as they looked at one another deciding who went first. After a moment Roman entered first as I gasped and loved the feeling. Roman pulled me flush against his chest and grabbed under my thighs pulling them apart more for Dean to get between them and enter me, Seth got on the side and spread my right ass cheek so, he could enter. "This may hurt a little bit, Baby Girl. I promise it will feel good after adjusting too. Okay?" He said. I nod my head as he pushed his cock in along side the other twos cocks. I let out a small whimper. Dean kissed me to help distract me from the pain.

After a few I nodded my head for them to move. All three set the same pace. My head lollies back against Roman's shoulder, as Dean, put his hand around my throat lightly and I mewled at the feeling. "Does our Little Princess, like Daddy'shand around her throat?" I moaned "Yes Daddy" I moaned more. "F-faster please?" I pant out stuttering in pleasure. They happily obliged. I scream in pleasure when they found the right spot. "Right there. Fuck. Please, don't stop" I said panting.

"We found it!" Roman hums happily. They kept hitting it as I moaned. I could feel their knots getting bigger. "We're gonna knot you so, good. Would you like that Princess? Huh? Want us to knot you so, good?" Seth groaned in my ear and that's all it took for me to cum again "y-yes. Please, knot me." I pant. Seth kisses me as Dean and Roman, suck on my neck.

After their paces got sloppy and a few more thrusts their knots all pop, the tips of the cocks latched onto my womb, and lock me to them as hot cum spewed into my womb. Dean, Seth, and Roman all bit my neck or shoulder marking me as their mate. Dean rubbed my clit as I whine. "N-no, Daddy. Can't I'm to sensitive." I said. "Yes, you can. Come on Baby Girl. Just one more time and that's all. I promise." He praised and encouraged me. I nod as his pace picked up the pace. I pant getting closer to the edge again. My head laid back against Roman, as they reached licked their individual mating marks they left on my neck or shoulder. Seth nipped my nipple cause me to mewl in pleasure while Dean coaxed me to my last orgasm.  "Like when I nip your sensitive hard nipple?" He said in my ear. "Yes, feels good Master" I mewl. Roman grabbed me by the hair and turns my head to kiss him. I came for the last time when my hair was pulled cause that's all it took besides Dean quickly rubbing my clit, an Seth nipping and sucking my nipple.

After that they carefully and gently laid us down. How we did I do not know.

*Third Person P.O.V*

-Little time skip. A few hours-

After The Shield and Y/N, had mated, and their knots went down, they all took a shower after helping Y/N, take a bath. They were now cuddled on Y/N's bed sleeping. They all slept till morning.

Y/N woke up and yawned as she stretched. She looked around and on both sides of her were the three men she loved the most sleeping soundly. She quietly got out of bed but was careful cause her legs were shakey from last night. She made it to the bathroom and brushed her hair, did a light make up look after brushing her teeth. She put on some clothes and shoes, and quietly walked out of the room after grabbing her keys, wallet and sunglasses. She was sure to make her mating marks visible for all alphas to see. She passed Becky in the hall. Her sister sees the marks. She smiles at her little sister. "Going to get food?" Becky asks Y/N. "Yes, would you like to ride with?" She asks. "Yeah" Becky replied following her.

Y/N, walks to her car and drives to get some breakfast with Becky, to get food for her and the boys. While she was gone unknowingly she forgot her phone and the boys had tried to call her when they woke and didn't find their mate still in bed. Becky's phone went off. "Hey Seth. Why didn't you call Y/N's phone?" She asks Seth. Y/N, felt for her phone and face palms herself mentally. Becky hands her the phone so she can talk. "I forgot it. I thought I grabbed it. Seth I...." Seth cut her off his voice was deep with anger and fear. "You left without telling us? Y/N, answer me?!?!" His voice boomed through the phone. Y/N whimpered when her alpha yells at her. "I just-just wanted to surprise you, Dean and Roman, with-with breakfast in b-be-bed" she squeaks out. Roman was pacing worried and mad. Y/N could hear Dean in the back ground. "Seth calm down you're scaring her. The last thing you want is her to be afraid of you." Seth sighs "we will talk about this when you get back" he said and hangs up. Becky knew she could intervene even if Y/N's her sister. For the fact the alphas had a reason to be upset. She knew her sister was knew to the whole omega rule handbook. But that didn't mean she would warn them to not hurt her sister or scream at her.

After they got food they went back to the hotel and went upstairs. Becky gave her warning and then left but made sure Y/N, didn't need her to stay. After the door shut Seth looked up from the bed. Y/N, set the food down and stood there at the foot of the bed. "Look at us, Princess" Roman said calmly. "No, let names she did wrong" Seth said glaring at the other male angry. Y/N looks at them clearly shaking a little. "Seth enough you're scaring her. It was an accident she left her phone" Dean said. He stood up and stood infront of Y/N. "Baby Girl it's okay. He's just upset you didn't say anything or leave a note." He rubbed her cheek. "I-I'm sorry. I-I just wanted to su-supr-suprise you" She said whimpering a little because she didn't like the boys being angry with her. She had tears in her eyes. "You still should of left a note. But Princess, it's okay. You're new to all this." Roman said. Seth sighed and stood up walking to the bathroom and slamming the door shut. Seth didn't get why the other two didn't see the point. Y/N could of been hurt, or kidnapped or worse. Y/N made a yelpin' noise and began to cry. "He hates me" she whispered. She ran out the room scared. Dean went after her while Roman got off the bed and banged on the bathroom door. "Seth get out here now." Roman said. After ten minutes Seth walks out the bathroom.

"What is wrong with you? She didn't mean to forget her phone. We three understand that something could of happened. But thank goodness it didn't and on top of it all you scared her by yelling at her, slamming the door and she thinks you hate her." Seth's heart broke. He didn't hate her he was just upset cause he overreacts sometimes and this is one of those times. "Fuck!! Why did I have to overreact today of all days. I need to fix this" he said. "You need to calm down first of all." Roman said sternly. Seth sighed sitting on the bed leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.

After an hour Dean was able to get Y/N to calm down and come back to the room. Seth got up and walks over to Y/N. He felt a pang in his heart and frowns as soon as he sees Y/N, cower away from him. "No Baby Doll, please don't. Don't be afraid of me. I'm sorry I yelled at you and overreacted. I don't hate you Baby. Please, come here?" He said. She slowly stepped toward him. "Y-you don't hate m-me?" She asks still a little scared he would yell. "No, Baby Doll. I just panicked when I seen you didn't take your phone after I called it and heard it was ringing on the night stand." He replied his alpha side whimpers seeing its omega scared of him. He reached for her softly pulling her to him. He nuzzled her neck with his face. "I'm sorry i caused you to panic, Alpha" she said. She wasn't scared when she realised he wasn't gonna hurt or yell at her. Y/N, felt him calm down and his alpha to relax in since of his mate being not afraid. Roman and Dean walk over to the two others and hugged them into a group hug.

After the group hug and everyone ate Dean and Roman went to the gym, an Seth and Y/N stayed in the hotel room. Y/N, was curled up against Seth with his arms wrapped tightly around her. "Baby Doll?" He says softly to her. "Yes, Master?" She replies softly. "Please, don't every be afraid of me, okay? It pains my heart seeing you afraid of me. I really am sorry that I overreacted." He said softly as his eyes soften looking into her eyes. "I can't promise anything. I will try though." She said back. "That's better than nothing, Baby" he said to her.

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 35)

"That FUCKING Jacket...."

@lovemythsworld

@creatureofthen1ght-v3

Ashley and Dom hit Colson's early Tuesday morning. They're all in the kitchen.

Colson and Dom making phone calls, working out last minute details for I'm Ok. They're gonna shoot the video tomorrow.

Ashley and Luna deal with promotion and other things regarding Nightmare. Confirming it's up and streaming, that sketches of their merch have been received and that they'll have proto types of them before the end of the week. Finishing up by scheduling a meeting with Randall Marshall from AL's chapter of the ACLU for next week.

The girls sweetly tell Their Boys goodbye before they leave for a radio interview at KISS FM.

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"THIS is gonna be FOOKING SICK!!" Dom declares hopping around the kitchen like a jumping bean. Laughing, Colson agrees as he looks for his weed.

"Hold on man, I'll be right back." He tells Dom, heading upstairs. Looking around his room, Luna's leather catches his eye hanging on the knob of the closet door.

"I hate that FUCKING thing." He thinks to himself, fire flashing inside of him as he grabs a mason jar of bud.

Back downstairs Colson asks Dom if he thinks Ashley would mind doing him a favor. "I don't see why not, Mate. What is it?" He asks as Colson explains.

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The interview is fun and engaging. Ryan praising them on Nightmare's instant success, it's empowering message and insane video. Applauding their efforts for wanting to help AL as they mention the merch donations. The girls are delighted and proud. Ashley mostly talks as Luna chimes in when she wants to.

"Now, I have to ask. Shot by a woman, all female cast, written and sang by 2 powerful women. Was it an all female production from top to bottom too?" Seacrest asks.

"No." Luna steps in. Her next words surprise Ashley. "We're backed and produced by MGK and his Guys."

Ryan pulls his head back "Are you who he's dating, Brooklyn? I've been hearing rumours." He leads.

"The idea was to flip that old saying 'Behind every great man, is a great woman.' Here you have a strong group of men backing strong women." She responds, completely side stepping his question. "We're not looking for separation or dominance, Ryan. We WANT support and equality." She finishes firmly.

Ashley smirks as Luna shrugs her one shoulder to Seacrest's annoyance. They chat a bit more about the project and the women involved. Ending the interview with Thank Yous as Nightmare plays them out.

Off Air Ryan says to Luna shaking his head "You're never gonna give me anything On Air are you, Loons?"

"Nope." She confirms with a smile to his laughing hug before she leaves.

"Tell him I said Hi." He yells down the hall to her laugher as she skips away.

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Back in Ashley's Wrangler, she looks at Luna. "I thought you were gonna out yourself for a second."

Luna looks at her sideways. "Psh. Yeah right." She laughs "Just giving credit where credits due." As she fires up a joint.

"Clever cover up." Ashley accepts it from Luna.

"I thought so." Both girls laughing, getting stoned as they head to Ashley's favorite nail salon. Luna needs a manicure after NY.

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Ashley and Luna walk into Colson's to quick kisses and Colson pulling Ashley back out the door. A confused Luna grabs a beer and heads upstairs to change. She's going to sit by the pool, burn, hang out with Dom, Benny and Rook. Trying to make sense of the dozens of lyrics rolling around her head

🎶Out on the West Coast//They got a saying//If you're not drinking//You're not creating//And I've//Found the music//Yeah, I've got music//Boy Blue//Without you🎶 She writing a love song about CA to NY. Knowing in her heart, it's metaphor.

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"Thanks for your help." Colson tells Ashley as they get back into his Rover. He's lighting a joint.

"I'm telling you, Kells. She'll like this one, and you might have a chance if you explain it to her well. She may even tuck the other away for you, but she'll never get rid of it."

"I know, Ash." He sighs. "I can't fucking stand seeing it though, especially with her shoulder the way it is."

"Welcome to Life With Loons, Kells. You wanted a rider, you got one." She takes the joint from him.

"I know...." He sighs again with a groan.

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After taking a shower Luna throws on a thin short, blue flannel dress with fishnet thigh highs, chunky, heeled booties and a solid red lip. Her blonde hair loose. Colson watches her get dressed. He loves the way she moves. They're headed to his friend Logan's for a party. She grabs her leather to his dismay.

"Kitten...." He starts. "Can I talk to you for a sec." She looks at him concerned. Sitting next to him on the bed, leather in her lap. "I don't know how to say any of this." He tells her, thinking of Ashley's words.

"Just say it, Colson." Luna's part worried, part becoming annoyed.

"I hate that fucking jacket." He spits out, without thinking.

"What." Her lip is cocked, eyebrows furrowed. Confused.

He grabs her leather and holds it up in front of them. "All THIS." He cirlces the safety pins securing the bullet hole. "I fucking hate THIS." She's silent, looking at him sideways. She flips her right arm over. Exposing the cockroach on her right forearm again. He gives her a nasty look back.

"I knew she was gonna be a fucking cunt about this." He thinks annoyed.

********************************************

"Mothersfuckers steady be trying to tell me what to fucking do." Her mind flashes angrily.

She breaks her silence, trying to choose her words. "We're new, so we're gonna be careful here. I get that you don't like Jax and I's relationship. And me getting shot while on a job with him only amplifies that. But you need to look at THIS." She circles the bobby pins on the jacket "As not of him, but of ME. I didn't need him to save me. I dropped that cop, MYself. I had enough time and adrenaline to get me AND my shit the fuck up outta there. On my own. He was a simple helping hand, a reason why you don't do a job alone." She states matter of fact. She puts her hand on the side of his face, looking into his blue eyes. "The jacket isn't a big deal to me, but, you trusting me and respecting what I do is, Bunny. I will always take your opinion into consideration. But, please don't ever think you can tell me what to fucking do, Colson. Ever." She leans up and kisses his silent lips.

"I feel like This Bitch just mind fucked me. And that I should feel bad for not seeing her strength in it, the way she does." He thinks confused with himself.

She stands up, tucking it in her bag. "I'll grab a new one tomorrow." She says nonchalantly.

"No. Don't." He finally tells her. "Wear whatever you want, Kitten. You're right." He stands up, pulling it back out of her bag and her into his arms. Giving her a deep, understanding kiss. His touch makes her body flush and lips plump, any annoyance slipping away. "I love you, Loons. Every fucking little piece of you." He tells her after the kiss. "I did get you something though." He kisses her on the mouth before letting her go to pull a box out from under the bed.

She laughs loudly, blue eyes sparkling as she opens the box to find a FABULOUS black leather jacket with studding and small red details.

"THIS MOTHERFUCKER." Her heart bursting.

"You weren't playing, hunh?" She asks continuing to laugh as she slides it on.

"No." He laughs sheepishly with her.

"You're a fucking maniac." She tells him, laughing still as she jumps into his arms and throws her arms over his shoulders. "I love it, tho. Thank you." Kissing him. 🎶And then She had 2🎶 She sings to him, both of them laughing. Kissing each other passionately, her legs are wrapped around his waist as his hands grip her thick ass. She squeezes him tightly with her body as he slides his middle finger inside of her, making her moan out. Kissing hard, bucking against his hand. "FUCK me." She begs him into his ear.

He slides her down his body, whipping her around quickly, his cock is throbbing for her. Bending her over, he runs his hands up her ass, pushing her flannel dress up before he slides her black patties down to her ankles.

"Fucking black." He smiles to himself.

❗SLAP❗ He spanks her hard with his large hand before running his finger along her soft pussy lips. Dropping his pants, he stands behind her red ass, dick bulging. "You want this?" He teases her. She begs Yes, before he slowly pushes into her moans. He groans pulling her back by her hair "FUCK, KITTEN!!!" He calls out, gripping her hip, fully entering her. Beginning to fuck her hard.

She bounces her ass off his dick, walls clenching around the size of his huge cock. Seeing stars.

"Who's dick is this?" He demands.

"MINE." She pants at him.

"WHO'S DICK IS IT?" He pulls her hair tighter.

Slamming into him, she moans loudly with authority "MINE! It's MY FUCKING DICKKK." Her cries make them both explode for the other.

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Walking into the party, Colson introduces Luna to a couple of his friends. Logan, his brother Jake and Jake's fiancé, Tana. Colson and Luna sit sharing a beer with Them, Mod, Phem, Benny, Rook, Slim and a few others. He pulls her intimately into him, by the neck. Kissing her on the forehead just before Tana yanks her away to both of their disliking.

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Colson continues to bust it up with The Brothers. Talking about Jake's upcoming wedding.

"You guys seem to really got IT." He tells Colson, commenting on him and Luna. "Think you'll take the plunge, Bruh?" He asks him.

Colson chuckles, looking down. "I don't know if she'd let me lock it down like that, Dawg. She's something else...." He trails off. "She DID get tatted with me tho."  Colson beams, proudly showing off their matching ink to The Brothers.

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Looking for Luna a bit later reminds Colson of his birthday. He's on a balcony looking down, trying to find her again. Then he remembers what Tommy did. Leaning over the rail, just the same, he bellows "BROOOOKLLYYYYYNNNN!!!!!" Searching for THAT bangled wrist. He finds it and her eyes. They stare into the other, mesmerized, locked in silence with only them, The World raging outside their bubble. He throws his arms up with his cigarette burning, grinning at her for a moment before he goes to get her.

"Damn, she looks good in that jacket." Colson stared long at Luna before heading down to meet her. "I fucking love her." He thinks, happy she chose to wear his.

********************************************

A smile breaks out onto Luna's face as she hears Colson holler for her. "Oh, thank Fuck." She sighs in relief, like their first night. Lifting a freshly painted, black fingernail, she finds him. Tana finally goes silent to Luna, once they lock eyes. All she can hear is her love for him

🎶I see🎶My Bunny🎶Swaying🎶His Newport is on fire🎶His hands are up🎶From the balcony🎶He's calling "Brooklyn"🎶I think🎶Move Bitch🎶Move Bitch🎶I'm in love🎶I'm in love🎶I'm in love🎶

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Sitting at the table playing Dominos, Colson watches Luna walk to grab them 2 more beers. He fires up a joint as he sees a Dude walk over to her and put his hand on the small of her back, making Colson's blue eyes go dark. She moves away from Dude, shaking her head, saying something and flashing a quick smile before walking back towards him with their beers. Colson stands up quickly when he sees Luna stop abruptly. She throws words over her shoulder before continuing to walk back towards him, rolling her eyes.

"What the fuck was that?" He asks her as she sits down next to him. Opening their beers. He passes her the joint.

"Nothing, she sighs, taking it. Handing him his beer. He looks at her. She knows he's not accepting that. "He tried to hit on me, I politely declined, he called me a cunt." She throws her hands out. "It's whatever, Bunny, don't sweat it." She says giving him a reassuring kiss.

He kisses her back, checks out his hand but keeps an eye on Dude.

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As Slim, Rook, Benny and a slightly drunk Colson leave the party, he's holding Luna's hand. Walking passed Dude, Colson hears him say "Yeah, THAT'S that stuck up cunt."

THAT'S all it takes.........

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To be continued.......

[lynchkavinskyparrish]

songfic prompt that no one asked for? for any combination of Ronan/Adam/Kavinsky I guess: " I know you - I walked with you once upon a dream; I know you - the gleam in your eye is so familiar a gleam; and I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem; but if I know you, I know what you'll do - you'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream."

(I’ve never written a songfic before so i had no idea what i was doing but i did my best - thanks for the ask!!)

It was the strangest andsaddest thing Kavinsky had ever seen. Ronan had brought the scholarship boy tohis substance party. The dusty interloper didn’t fit in like Ronan did but,then again, no one had ever fit in at his parties quite like Ronan Lynch did.That didn’t stop Ronan from staring at Adam like he held the answers to all thequestions of the universe.

The worst part – theunforgiveable part – was that Kavinsky was beginning to agree. He’d neverinteracted with Adam beyond the occasional exchanging of glares, but recently,he’d become a common sight in Kavinsky’s dreams. Whether it was Ronan’sobsession rubbing off on Kavinsky or something else entirely, Kavinsky couldn’ttell. The thought of Adam Parrish being significant alongside Ronan was onething, the idea that he could be important independently was terrifying.

But, whenever Kavinskyfeared something, he embraced it. He would rather be a reckless fool than acoward, so he walked towards where Ronan and Adam were sitting. With a knowinglook on his face, Kavinsky sidled up to the pair and let his words fallsmoothly from his lips. “Look what the cat dragged in. Dick’s second favoritepet.” Adam’s response, a blunt“Kavinsky”, didn’t disappoint. Kavinsky could have predicted that exactresponse. In fact, he had before, in his dreams. 

He was filled with a sense ofperverse pride; being able to forge someone he didn’t know was more than skill,it was pure magic. Maybe Parrish was simply easily understood, nothing morethan trailer trash, but it didn’t feel that way. The feeling of pride soon gaveway to an unnerving feeling. He’d only met dream-Adam but Kavinsky felt like heknew real Adam Parrish.

I know you - I walked with you once upon adream

Ronan was immediatelyperturbed by Kavinsky’s expression. More accurately, he was disturbed that itwas directed at Adam. Kavinsky frequently leered at him but now he went almostunnoticed. The intense coil of anger Ronan felt at this simple exchange wasprobably unwarranted. And he couldn’t react in anger without giving away morethan he was willing.  

A disproportionatereaction on Ronan’s end would result in, at best, Ronan looking possessive ofAdam and, at worst, possessive of Kavinsky. Neither of them were necessarily false butRonan didn’t want to parse out the web of emotions that had formed seeing Kavinskyand Adam interact.

He never agreed to havefeelings for either of them; having feelings for the both of them wasunimaginable. Apparently, Kavinsky was reaching the same conclusion. Wherebefore Ronan saw his lecherous grin, akin to the look a predator gives itsprey, he now saw what could only be described as fear.

Ronan had never seen thelook on his face before but he recognized it nonetheless. He must have beenwearing the same expression. It was an expression borne from the overwhelming,crushing, realization that the potential, beautiful, tangible future from yourdreams was never going to be realized. Sometimes, Ronan thought, it was worseto wake up from a good dream than a nightmare.

I know you - the gleam in your eye is sofamiliar a gleam

Adam was equally wary ofthe look in Kavinsky’s eyes but for a different reason. He may have been amagician, but he couldn’t walk among dreams the way Ronan and Kavinsky did. Thecomplex expressions that flited over both Ronan and Kavinsky’s faces spoke moreof their shared dreaming than anything else had so far. Usually, Adam had nodesire to be a dreamer, but he didn’t much enjoy being left out.

He may not have knownKavinsky, but he was beginning to know Ronan and they were more alike thanthey’d admit. Or maybe they’d admit it freely; Adam wasn’t fluent in theirlanguage just yet. Even so, he could tell that they were exchanging chargedmessages, and for some inexplicable reason, they included Adam. He should havebeen disgusted by the very idea of Kavinsky’s attention, and on some level, hewas.

All he knew aboutKavinsky came from Ronan’s rare and undecipherable comments and Gansey’s, morefrequent, disparaging remarks. Gansey had once said Kavinsky was unredeemable,worthless. He rarely said anything as outwardly condemning, so Adam took it toheart, but not in the way Gansey had intended. Before those comments Adam had aview of Gansey as having a saintly level of forgiveness and acceptance. It wasone of the things Adam had appreciated the most about his friend.

Unfortunately,afterwards Adam knew that Gansey’s judgement-free appearance was, at leastsomewhat superficial. This made Adam even more paranoid that he was constantlybeing judged and found wanting. Ironically, Gansey’s comments pushed Adam toreserving judgement on Kavinsky. The small amount of discomfort he felt at theidea of Kavinsky was wiped away by incredibly-human look Adam imagined he sawpass over Kavinsky’s face.  

and I know it’s true that visions are seldomall they seem;

There was nothingKavinsky liked more than being one step ahead, and nothing he liked less thanbeing caught off guard. He would have expected that having learned about AdamParrish in his dreams would have left him powerful, but instead he was filledwith an unwelcome sense of vulnerability. Kavinsky may not have had completecontrol over his dreams, but he prided himself in always being able todistinguish between dream and reality. His impromptu meeting with Adam andRonan was challenging that.

Originally, Kavinsky hadbeen pleased at how accurately he had predicted Parrish’s behavior, but now hewas overwhelmed. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t psychic. That left twopossibilities. Either he had dreamed Adam or Ronan had. The first wasimpossible and the second extremely unlikely. The silence that had descended onthe trio served as a reinforcement of Kavinsky’s unease. He was faltering, andit was showing.

He was about to saysomething, anything, to regain balance but stopped short. He was struck by athird possibility. Kavinsky was a firm believer in nothing. It wasn’t that helacked belief, rather that he believed there was no point. He didn’t believe ina cosmic purpose or karmic retribution. Furthermore, he believed that those whobelieved in those things were naïve idiots, unaware of the absence of justice.That made the third possibility, not impossible, but irreconcilable with hisworld.

There was no way thathis least unpleasant dreams were premonitions of a possible reality. In hisdreams involving Adam and Ronan, shameful as they were, he was happy. They werehappy together. And in no lifetime – in no imaginable universe – did JosephKavinsky get a happily ever after. Fairytales were for children.    

but if I know you, I know what you’ll do -you’ll love me at once,

Kavinsky’suncharacteristic silence was not lost on Ronan. Had Kavinsky been wearing histrademark sunglasses, Ronan would not have been able to piece together thereason behind the silence. As it was, Kavinsky had chucked them into a burningcar earlier in the evening in a show of dramatics. That meant that Ronan sawthe confusion and calculation that colored Kavinsky’s face as he stood insilence.

It was probably unwiseto jump to conclusions, but Ronan valued his intuition. He’d recently beenhaving dreams about Kavinsky and Adam. Separately, they were nothing to writehome about. However, they increasingly been about KavinskyAndAdam. Unusuallynon-abstract visions of unnervingly mundane interactions. The look on Kavinsky’sface made Ronan think they’d been sharing in the dreams.

That, in and of itself,was unusual. Maybe when they attempted, in person, they could manage a vaguedream-based collaboration. They hadn’t attempted it, but he felt on a baserlevel that it was possible. While he knew it was possible, he’d never imaginedthat it would have occurred unintentionally. Especially with dreams as soft asthe ones he’d been having lately. He knew Kavinsky, and the Kavinsky he knewhad no softness to him.

But there wasn’t anotherexplanation for the strange dreams and Kavinsky’s even stranger reaction toseeing Adam. All of it was nonplussing, leaving Ronan bereft of words.The most surprising reaction of all, however, was Adam’s. There was absolutelyno way Adam had shared in their dreaming, yet he didn’t seem as put off byKavinsky’s presence as Ronan would have predicted. Instead he looked defensiveand closed-off but, more than anything, interested. He hadn’t written Kavinskyoff. It was almost like he was unconsciously mirroring dream-Adam and theirdream-meetings.        

the way you did once upon a dream

Adam had never been moredaring and idiotic than when he’d been with Ronan. He’d also never been morefree. It may have been that same, infectious, idiocy but he felt that Kavinsky wasa similar force. There was a magnetism about him. Simultaneously repulsing anddrawing Adam in. It was stupid; Kavinsky had done absolutely nothing to convinceAdam that he was anything more than the rumors. But, then again, he’d neverdone anything to Adam that validated the rumors either. And Adam knew that thehalls of Aglionby held many rumors about him as well; all untrue.

It wasn’t easy, sparingjudgement of the likes of Joseph Kavinsky, but Adam tried. An unfortunate sideeffect of this was that Kavinsky’s magnetism became less repulsive. Adam stoodin the fragile silence and wished that Kavinsky would say something. He knewthat if he opened his mouth he’d be able to walk away. Kavinsky’s insults wouldinevitably break whatever spell had been cast over Adam. However, Kavinsky wasa contradictory creature; he never did what people wanted or expected him todo.

Instead of speaking heturned on his heels and headed back to the center of the party. He resumed hisusual revelries and virtually ignored Adam and Ronan for the remainder of thenight. Adam looked at Ronan, an equally contradictory being, and saw himlooking at Kavinsky. Ronan’s unease shouldn’t have comforted Adam, but it did.It felt nice, knowing that Ronan and Kavinsky were equally unbalanced by whatshould have been an exceedingly forgettable interaction.

Had they been lessaffected, Adam could have convinced himself that he’d imagined everything. Hecould have moved on, forgotten Kavinsky altogether. But now he was stuck. Hestood by the BMW, exchanging stolen glances with Ronan and Kavinsky. Standingin a twilight-zone esq present, envisioning an even less understandable future,Adam Parrish felt more and less knowable than ever.