#ik its because of the collar but it barely works half of the time anyway.

[empyreansentinel]

angel's phaseshift ability was really underutilized in BL2. she should have been able to toss the BNK3R like a frisbee.

[ursoself-satisfying]

an OC sneak peek [2/?]

ok heres another w the accompanying oc!!! its ginger n maryanne 4ever!!!!! i lov them sm!!!!! but anyway heres another excerpt from around the same time n its MORE angst n I hope u like my vagueness lol,, PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK!!! LEMME KNO WHAT U THINK!!!! ilyall enjoy ::””)) IM GONNA PREFACE THIS W THE FACT THAT IK IRL BRIAN IS A PURE MAN N THIS WOULD NEVER HAPPEN N ANITA IS A GODDESS BUT THIS IS JUST FOR THE DRAMA ITS TOTAL FICTION I MEAN ABSOLUTELY NO DISRESPECT TOWARDS ANY OF THEM its got some cheating ig so be aware that anita is my mom n the loml pls dont call me out ::(( 

---

“Anything to drink?” He asked casually, causing the girl to squirm in her seat. Her discomfort was amusing to him, as she was the one who had traveled out in the first place. She was present of her own volition but acted as though her emotions had such an irresistible hold on her, or rather Brian did, that she was there out of a primal need rather than any conscious decision.

“No- No, I’m ok, thank you.” The tall man glanced back at her with a soft, sad air about him. This feeling often came with their interactions as of late, despite their past. He averted his gaze from her body and turned his attention on pouring himself some tea instead. They existed in simple silence for a few moments, the only sound in the small kitchen was that of the kettle on the stove and the pouring of boiling water in his cup. He stood at the counter and took a long sip before turning slowly to sit across from his unsolicited guest. A feather soft smile graced his lips as he took her in. Even in an unfortunate situation, she was unbelievable, the same as ever.

The woman bit her lip before leaning forward and uncrossing her tense legs, “So, uh, wh-”

Brian set his drink down with a small clink on the table, the sound meant to interrupt her question. He just stared into the hot earthy contents for a moment and stirred it slowly. “Anita’s at her semi-annual retreat this week without me.” He cleared his throat, “I couldn’t spare the time between the post-production bustle and having to prepare for the cosmos convention.” His smile was thin and he took a sip of his tea before continuing, “I’m home alone for a while,” his eyes traced the woman’s silhouette before meeting her gaze as she was doing the same to him, “but I think you knew that.”

“Look-” She started quietly, but ultimately she could maintain the eye contact long enough to finish and slouched for a second instead. Ginger looked down at his comment, avoiding the aim of his accusatory glance. With a huff, she sat up and turned to face suddenly face him directly. “Maryanne kicked me out for the night.”

The elder of the two raised his brows and put his cup down with a concerned expression. “She kicked you out?” He asked incredulously.

The redhead swallowed, “Shes ‘moving on’.” She spat her words at him with a clear distaste for her lovers choice of actions as well as words.

The long fingers of the guitarist slid across the table and laid open for an embrace. Ginger glanced up at him cautiously before deciding his soft eyes held genuity and she laced her hand in his. The tips of his digits wrapped around her like they were made to fit with one another. Her hands in his caused a wave of emotions to ripple from the contact and Brian could barely handle it. He sniffled and slowly let his thumb slide over the never aging skin of the woman he once adored, and though he would tell himself otherwise, he still adored.

“I'm sorry,” he began, but she shook her head violently with an angry frown. She unintentionally squeezed his outstretched hand but he squeezed right back.

“Don't be. She’s just-” Ginger sighed, “She's different now, you know?”

Her aura slowly shifted from that of deep warm hues to softer cooler tones, from red and oranges to blues and purples like a dying flame coming down from its hottest point. Brian could feel the shift shoot through her and he prepared himself to stand and hold her the minute she needed him to.

Ginger looked up to meet Brian's sympathetic stare. He had always been the key to their emotions and it unlocked some kind of flood gate in her. She could feel it rush all at once in seemingly every part of her body. “I just don't wanna lose her, Brian!” She let it our like a gust of wind from her mouth, a storm of repressed worried. “I can't-! Not like I lost you!”

Just as he knew he would be needed, the man stood and went to her side. She stood as he approached and let him engulf her in his long arms as tears escaped and ran down her already red cheeks. She was shaking, having no way to handle or process the realization their return had thrust upon her. Brian held her sobbing head close in his chest, stroking her short hair and tightening his limbs protectively around her warm body. She could feel him place a small kiss on her head, whispering and cooing to her as he once had long ago, “Hush now, it'll all be alright, my darling girl,” his voice would waver now and again as he calmed her, “my sweet, beautiful, darling, darling, girls.” The smaller hands of the woman held dependently to the collar of his sweater and she choked back a final sob before attempting to speak again.

Her small voice came out with a rasp, raw from her cries, as she tilted her head back to meet the eyes of her familiar love, “We made things work, Brian. Why can't we just be like that again?” She pleaded with shining green eyes that took the man to another scene for a moment, one of discovery and firsts, one full of ecstasy and elation, but one so different than his present. “We were happy, Harold. Why can't we be happy again?” A weak attempt at a smile graced her lips at the loosening of her tongue, unfolding the old name like opening an old scrapbook.

Had her hands not been traveling up his changed face to tether him to his physical body, her use of his other name, so intimate and exclusive, would have had him lost right then and there in the sensation she provided. She cradled his face and her shaking lips begged to be kissed, tangling her fingers in his grey curls to entice him. Drifting closer and closer until he was bent to breathe down her neck, the temptation became too much.

It may have started at the neck but it moved in hot streaks from the necks to jaws to lips on lips. While Ginger's hands were preoccupied with the buttons of his shirt, Brian’s were holding her as close to him as he could, sprawled out on her back dangerously close to her ass. She mapped out his chest with the tips of her nails while her tongue did the same with his mouth. Nothing needed to be mapped, really, because for her it was like walking down a road to your first home. Even after you've left it, you'll always remember how to get there, no matter how much shrubbery grows over the path or how long it goes unattended. Brian was their home and they always seemed to find their way back to him, regardless of the distance put between them.

Brian thought she was exactly the same. Everything about her physically was just as she was when she left him. He then pulled away at the reemergence of that memory. As he separated from her, she mewled in protest, the loss of connection cold on her. That was right, though, she had left and he had stayed. Years and years had gone by and he had made a life for himself, more of a life, or in the very least a life without them.

“Brian,” Ginger moaned, trying to snake her arms back around his neck, “baby, what's wrong?” Her eyes were closed and her shirt was half haphazardly pushed up but her exposure only made Brian suddenly feel sicker.

“You know what's wrong, my love.” His languid fingers worked to pry her needy form off him with much difficulty. Her pouts turned to frowns and he gently, if not reluctantly, pulled her clothes back in place on her but she swatted him away as he spoke. “Ginger, darling, all of this is what's wrong.”

He motioned to them, to the empty house, to the hairs sticking to her face like sunny, golden, cherubic looking locks. She was glowing, but wasn't she always? She was in his eyes but that only made it all harder. “What?” She spat, “That- That I still love you? That's wrong?”

So much of it hurt him but he- He had to. It was really the only acceptable course of action. The teenager in him beat on his heart like Roger on a gong and begged and pleaded for there to be another way, for him to run away with her like he was 17 again, but he was old and his heart no longer reverberated in his chest like it used to. “You're the most intelligent creature I've ever encountered, my love. You know why all this is wrong.”

The tears returned and rolled down her face in record time as she bit her lip. “Why can't things go back to the way they were? It was perfect-”

He sighed, “The world is always changing-”

“I love you, Brian Harold May! And you still love me! I know you do! Isn’t that what you taught us?” With calculated steps, she aimed to close the distance between them but the older man kept her at arms distance now. “If we're in love then we should be together!” With every word, her speech became less and less intelligible through her sobs. “I just- I don’t understand!”

His heart shook as it shattered in his chest at her final words, a final crash to end an epic saga. “Things are a lot more complicated now, Ginger. You'll understand someday-” He held back his own tears and watched her pace the floor in front of him.

“Don't be so fucking condescending!” She snapped, stopping to look him in the eyes, the same eyes she saw when she first arrived. They were the only consistent thing in her long life, the love he held in his gaze. It softened her against her will. She wanted to be angry, not for the first time ever, but for the first time for personal reasons.

Brian paused at this. He had never seen her exhibit this much emotion before especially not aggression. All this time and he wasn't sure if he’d ever seen her this mad. “I'm sorry-”

“Don't be.” There she was. She was back to being cold. Face dry and slack, she was a woman of logic and decision. She collected herself and her things, jackets, and bags scattered around the room, refusing any help or assistance offered by Brian.

He didn't do a thing to stop her in the end. He knew she would find somewhere else to go, to stay, someone else to keep her warm. He had no doubt about that. She was well loved and well read, but ignorant in the ways of society. He worried but he couldn't have stopped her if he’d wanted to anyway. He desperately wanted to, but he knew the second his skin sparked on hers again he wouldn't be able to stop this time. No one in his life deserved that, his kids didn't deserve a father like that and his wife, God, she deserved more than he was being right then.

The door closed with a slam and Brian watched from the window as she got in her car but she didn't leave. She just sat there, hunched over her steering wheel and what he could only assume was yelling. Her mouth was wide and her eyes were shut tightly. He hadn't even realized the tears falling from his own eyes. He didn't wait for her to leave, he couldn't take the site of her any longer, not here not like this.

Behind some of his amps, Brian kept a box. It was filled with old photos, some bits of clothing, and all sorts of pieces of art. His favorite, of course, was the photos though. There they were, all together, smiling and in love. The three of them, they were- They were unstoppable, untouchable. It was golden with them, always. God, he thought how did it come to this? How could their story have arrived at this conclusion? And all Brian could assume was that this simply wasn't yet the conclusion.

[kuchee1]

meet me in the middle

2k / stan/kyle fluff / on ao3 🌲

summary: A pleasant evening, a terrible choice of snack, and some enlightening conversation.

(OR I was so ill that I felt sappy enough to write a got dang marriage proposal lmao)

The wind whips sharp around Kyle’s head as he walks down towards the edge of the water. It feels like his ears are going to fall off. He probably should have brought his hat, and he can definitely (well, almost) see the logic in the mop of hair he used to have as a kid; in its protective qualities, at least. It’s March, but years of living in the city has dulled his intuition a little about how cold it can be in the ass end of nowhere, namely South Park. Stan is probably feeling the same next to him, his steps a little too bouncy from the chill.

Kyle had asked him to come down here, take a break away from both their families. Not that he doesn’t want to be spending time at home (he does miss his parents and especially Ike, when he’s in Denver) but there’s been something very Stan-related on his mind lately - for a long time now - that he needs to get out.

There’s really no reason to be out by Stark’s Pond in the evening except out of some sense of childhood nostalgia, which is usually Stan’s forte, not his. Well, that's kind of why Kyle wanted to come here. He wants to do this somewhere that the sentimental part of Stan will see the value in. The right setting will do half the work for Kyle - something he really needs, considering how bad he is at this stuff.

He’s not gonna ask right now - of course not. But he wants to scope out where they stand. It’s been a while since the topic has come up, and Kyle has thought and over-thought every aspect of his feelings to a stupid point since then.

They’ve skirted around it enough. He needs Stan to know just how okay he’d be with it. Marriage, that is.

Stan runs ahead, and in a matter of moments he's skipping stones on the water. Kyle decides to stay back. He's not sure his hands are steady enough for that right now, despite how nonchalant he’s trying to feel. He automatically opens the bag of chips he's carrying to keep them busy. Cheesy poofs. Definitely not his first choice, but he didn't really get a choice. Ike’s been is back home, too, on spring break, and he devours the snack cabinet with admirable speed. Kyle can't keep up with that anymore. He probably shouldn't be eating crap right before his mom's dinner, anyway, but he rationalises it with the fact that he's on vacation.

So here they are, one of the few bearable places in the least bearable vacation spot. Kyle finds an empty patch of ground, brushing a few sharp stones away with his hands. It's completely dry, uncharacteristically, no rain or snow in sight for the few days that they’ve been here.

Stan comes and plops his ass down next to Kyle after a few minutes, raising his eyebrows at Kyle’s snack of choice. “That’s not really romantic, dude. You couldn’t have gotten, I don’t know, strawberries or something?”

Kyle laughs lightly. “Oh, we’re here to be romantic?”

Stan shrugs with a sheepish smile, shoving his hands into his pockets and drawing them taut. “I don’t know,” he says, sing-song. “The sun’s setting.”

It is.

Stan goes to stick a hand in the bag, but Kyle snatches it away, earning a flick against his temple.

Kyle ducks away. “Ow. Dude.” But Stan’s playfulness does ease the tension a little bit. He offers Stan the bag for real now, and they sit for a while, just munching and watching the colours bleed in the sky. Kyle digs the toes of his boots into the dirt.

He can do it. He can bring up the fucking topic. It’s conversation; it’s just conversation. (But it isn’t).

Stan bumps a shoulder gently against his. “Are you okay? You seem a little agitated.”

Kyle leans his head against Stan’s in reply, catches the scent of his hair and his cool skin. It makes him jittery right now, despite how the familiarity of it usually calms him. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

When Stan puts an arm warmly around his back, he decides to turn and look at him properly. “Actually, there is something I wanna talk about.”

“Yeah?”

“You know... what we said before… about, uh, getting married and stuff.”

What Stan knows, and what they’ve decided again and again in the course of long night-time conversations over the years, is this: they’re fine without it. It doesn’t have any bearing on the fact of their life together - this is the real deal, for both of them. How could it not be? They don’t need to get married (though Stan really wouldn’t mind it), because what’s the point of complicating something that’s worked so well for so long? When they know where they stand with each other anyway?

Or, that’s how Kyle thought he felt.

He continues, “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, because - well, I know how you feel about it.” He adds quickly, struck with a sudden apprehension, “Actually, wait - can you just remind me?”

Stan’s brows draw, a little puzzled, and his eyes are getting wider, but he rushes in as soon as Kyle says the words. He seems confused at having to state those feelings again, apparently so randomly. “How I feel? I’d want to. You know that I would.” Kyle eases instantly, feeling equally stupid and relieved.

Stan looks down at the ground, a small smile playing on his lips. He continues, looking at Kyle’s collar. “And I know you think that it’s super outdated or unnecessary or heterosexual or whatever -” He rolls his eyes with humor, but it’s betrayed by a tremor in his voice in his next words, and Kyle’s heart rushes because he knows that it’s not from the cold. “But I like the idea of being married. To you.”

Kyle’s aware that his heart has probably leapt into the fucking water.

Stan holds his gaze with earnest eyes.

He’s known that Stan has wanted to get married one day practically since they were twelve. Like a life goal or something. Rarely spoken, but it was obvious to anyone who knew Stan well. Definitely obvious to Kyle. He’d never doubted when they were kids that Stan would grow up and marry some girl and be the perfect husband, kids and dog and maybe even a picket fence. It’s just how Stan’s brain worked. Though he’d never admit it to anyone except Kyle, on account of it being, well, totally gay.

Truthfully, the idea back then had never made Kyle feel as jealous as he thought it would. It only created a certain distance - a mercifully stark sign that he wasn’t supposed to be with Stan, in the end; a reminder of reality that would help cut the cord of his longing for however many days. Because that was one thing Kyle just couldn’t imagine for himself. It was old-fashioned. He thought, as cleverly as any teenager did, that marriage was only designed to make people pop out babies while thinking about God.

And being older, still, it didn’t appeal. The nagging feeling in the back of his head told him that much: it wasn’t for people like him.

Well, he was too much of a realist, anyway.

He looks at Stan now. Thinks about how the span of the last four, five years could change his mind so completely.

He’s usually stubborn, he swears it.

Stan is still looking at him with conviction, and Kyle can hardly feel the pebbly ground under him, or the breeze around him. He looks at Stan’s expectant eyes, feels overcome with the admission in them: there’s something soft and something daring and something totally unguarded in him, in a way Kyle only wishes his own feelings could be. Stan is nervous, but he doesn’t let that get in the way.

Kyle could give him this.

He could let himself have it.

He starts, shakily, “I mean - I sort of know what you mean, now. I think I get it. It makes sense with where we are, and you really want to, right? And I guess it’s not like anything would really have to change, and, there’s tax breaks and all that, obviously.”

And, and, and. Kyle wishes he could slow down the rush of words coming out of his mouth, but the way Stan is looking at him now, head tilted and eyes widening again, is not helping. “You know what I’m trying to say, right? It’s a good idea? Fuck, dude, help me out here -”

At that, Stan exhales with a nervous laugh, and Kyle can do nothing but join him in relief. The pure joy in his face now is what’s enough to make Kyle stop in his tracks. He feels embarrassed at how he let his nerves run, words as superfluous as usual.

“Stan,” he says quietly now, pleading, because his brain jumped in too, for all the good it’s doing him now. “Am I making sense?”

Stan doesn’t reply, eyes still wide. Kyle dumbly offers him the bag of chips again.

Stan shakes out of it, digging the last cheesy poof out of the bag eagerly. He looks so fucking happy, staring at it like he’s forgotten what you’re supposed to do with food.  

Kyle’s head is full of the words when Stan clears his throat, takes them from him, and speaks them for him.

“So, do you wanna marry me?”

“I was gonna say that part! Dude!”

For half a second, Stan looks incredulous. Then he falls backward, laughing like crazy, barely managing not to hit the ground.

“Kyle! Seriously?! That’s your reply?”

But Kyle’s grinning like a madman when Stan comes back to him. They both are. Stan puts their faces close, hands resting around Kyle’s neck, the question still hovering in the air between them.

Kyle breathes in sharply. He can’t think of anything he wants more in the world. It feels like a punch in the gut.

Stan says again, softer, “Do you?”

The rush of affection flattens Kyle like a wave. He puts the bag down, opens and closes his mouth noiselessly before stammering, “Fuck, of course,” around the treacherous lump in his throat. He kisses Stan clumsily, finds his lips and his cheek and the corner of his jaw, over and over and over. Stan’s palms are clammier than he would have expected when they wind tighter around the back of his neck, and his cheeks feel hot cradled in Kyle’s trembling hands. Kyle blinks hard and fast.

He backs away, just to take in the sight. Stan looks elated, eyes sparkling. Kyle can’t remember the last time he saw an expression like that, if ever. He can’t imagine ever having felt a shred of doubt over whether this was a good idea.

He snorts, “Wait, you have something on your - sorry, that’s probably my fault -” and he’s giggling hard, and Stan is too, as he brushes cheesy poof dust off Stan’s cheekbone and the shoulder of his coat. “See, this is really romantic.”

Stan only pulls him in again. “I love you so much, dude,” he says, still half-giggling, and he drags the back of his hand over his eyes with a sniff before resting their foreheads together. Kyle wants to give him the whole world.

It’s getting dark. Kyle shivers, but it’s not an unwelcome feeling. The cold feels like a blanket of secrecy around the two of them now, bring him blissfully to Stan and away from the rest of the world. He says quietly, trying to keep his voice even, “You know, getting engaged wasn’t part of the plan today.”

Stan smiles. Kyle knows that he’s taken those words for their true meaning: a declaration, of the sheer, exhilarating weight of Kyle’s feeling.