#like you ask for oat milk but he brings it with coconut milk and it just tastes better? and you’re like I didn’t even know I liked this???

[kingkatsuki]

One of my absolute favorite “cliche” tropes is amnesia fics where reader has been dating character for years, but they forget and then they can only remember dating their ex. So it’s like they go back to the ex because it’s all they’ve ever known, and their current love has to cope with seeing the love of their life in the arms of another guy.

I could read that trope a million times over and never get bored or think it’s too repetitive.

[oatflatwhite]

Kiss prompt 35? 😘😘

and that’s a wrap on all the kiss prompts in my inbox <3 thank you so much for indulging my silly little domestic fantasies for these silly little boys!

as requested by an anon after i posted that very first prompt... i give you firehouse proposal :’)

35. a kiss that leaves you breathless

ao3

“Should I just bring the list with me?” Buck asks with his head poked inside the fridge. “We can swing by the store on our way home—we finished the eggs last night and I think I’ve run out of oat milk too?”  

He closes the fridge, takes a step towards the pantry to check.

Eddie swallows his mouthful of dry cereal. “You have. It’s already on the list.”

Buck detours to press a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head instead. “Thanks, babe. I was thinking spaghetti and quesadillas and this sriracha cauliflower that looks real easy—oh, and we need to make something for Christopher’s bake sale, too.”

“Oh, we need to, do we?”

“Eddie.” Buck looks at him, imploringly. “You know what those PTA moms are like. I couldn’t say no!”

“You literally run into burning buildings for a living.”

“Yeah, and I’d rather do that.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Uh huh, and what does that say about you, then?” Buck’s gone to the pantry after all, and is rummaging through their supply of canned veg. “You’re the one who puts up with me.”

“It’s not.” Eddie’s throat sticks. It’s this fucking cereal. “It’s not some—hardship, Buck, you—you’re not something I put up with.”

“Sure.”

“Buck.” His boyfriend looks up from the spice rack, a certain softness to the furrow in his brow. Eddie wants to smooth it away and kiss the faintly sun-spotted skin in its wake.

“Hey, no, I know,” Buck says, hooking his ankle around the chair beside Eddie’s and tugging it out from the table to sit, a tangle of limbs and long lines. He takes Eddie’s hand, the one not holding his spoon, and laces their fingers together, criss-cross. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie manages to say, and thunks their foreheads together, just this side of too rough, and folded into a pair of Captain America socks in the corner of Eddie’s dresser is a velvet box he hasn’t opened since the day he bought it, three weeks ago, and every time he’s looked at Buck since those words have sat, tingling, jostling like horses out from the starting gate, on his tongue. Every touch, every glance, feels like he’s giving it away but Buck carries on, oblivious, or otherwise a very good liar, and the racing in his coltish heart dies down, just a little, enough to tilt his head and press the corners of their mouths together like the dog-eared page of a book Eddie already knows the ending to. “What’s new?” he asks against Buck’s lips and feels, more than sees, Buck’s grin.

“Oh, I see how it is. Just for that,” and Buck pokes him in the arm, “you can take the next PTA meeting.”

“Ouch.”

“You have no idea.”

I do have some idea, Eddie wants to say, but the words get stuck somewhere in his throat. I do have some idea because for years I went to those meetings alone, and I sent Chris to school with store-bought sugar cookies I read the allergen notice on ten times before buying, and I didn’t think about all the pieces in my life that were missing until you filled them without question. Until you brought home baking powder and almond meal and cooking chocolate and desiccated coconut and showed me how to fold in the flour, your hand over mine on the wooden spoon. Until you kissed me in our kitchen, choc chip batter in your hair, and clutched at my elbows so tight you creased my shirt.

“Hey,” Buck says, in that same kitchen, pressing his knee into Eddie’s like it belongs there, “where’d you go?”

Home, Eddie wants to say. “Nowhere. Just thinking.” Buck hmms. His hair looks blonde and so fine, like Christopher’s, in the stuttering filtered sunlight. “You want the rest of my cereal?”

They do bring the grocery list with them to work, tucked securely inside the leaves of Buck’s wallet. Eddie drives, for a change, tapping out Kendrick on the steering wheel. Buck sneaks in a nap, head pillowed against a folded sweatshirt he’d dug up from the backseat, and Eddie spins the volume dial down low. Buck’s hand is splayed on his thigh, knuckles dry and on their way to cracking. Eddie imagines the ring, silver and simple, picked out by Christopher, against Buck’s pale skin.

The shift goes easily enough. A couple house fires, a dog stuck beneath a porch. Lucky, three-legged, one-eared: Buck cradles her to his chest as she’s pulled gently from the crawlspace, scratching her under the chin and making soft cooing noises that do really weird fucking things to Eddie’s chest. Chim nudges him, none too gently, in the side. “You’re making googly eyes,” he notes, disgusted, but Eddie can’t bring himself to care.

The ring, the ring, he thinks, as Buck kisses Lucky’s brown-spotted snout.

Bobby starts on a stir fry for lunch once they get back from the call and sets Buck on the carrots. Eddie should probably go take a nap, or work out, or call Carla, or work on the half-written proposal speech in the notes app on his phone, the sixth version of it since he bought the ring.

But Buck is talking to Bobby about mushroom spores, and pressing the gills flat onto paper to make a print to tell if it’s poisonous or not, and Eddie finds himself on one of the stools at the kitchen counter instead, resting his chin on his hand and his elbow on the countertop and he probably couldn’t look more lovesick if he tried.

“Hey, Eds, we should get some broccolini later,” Buck says over his shoulder as he peels. “There’s this butter and white wine sauce I wanna try.”

“Sounds good.” Bobby gives Eddie a look over the rice cooker. “Hey, you need me to do anything, Cap?”

“Nice of you to ask,” Bobby replies dryly. “There’s some bok choy that needs rinsing.”

“I can do that.” Buck makes room for Eddie by the sink. He flicks on the faucet and runs the leaves under, pulling each stem apart piece by piece. They knock elbows and Buck grins at him.

Bobby flicks on the radio. A strong synthesiser beat begins to play, nigglingly familiar. Buck begins to hum along, endearingly tone-deaf, and it hits Eddie: Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics. Adriana would blast it from her room while studying until their mom almost had to knock down the door.

“I travel the world and the seven seas,” Buck croons, terribly, switching the peeler for a knife and beginning to julienne the carrots.

“I’d stick to the humming.”

“Yeah?” And the look Buck gives him is not much different to any other look Buck’s given him but it cuts Eddie at the kneecaps all the same. It’s mid-afternoon. Bobby is two feet away slicing the beef to stir fry and Hen is over on the couch reading her textbook. Buck is in his LAFD tee and there’s a tiny nick in the divot of his chin from shaving in their bathroom this morning, because Eddie had bumped his elbow while brushing his teeth and kissed his apologies into his skin, profusely. They’re going grocery shopping after their 24-hour because Buck is the type of person to make grocery lists and Eddie will sneak in the sugary cereal he pretends Chris likes but they both know Eddie’s the one who eats it and Buck will roll his eyes but he’ll let him, and they’ll spend five minutes in the long-life milk section while Buck debates over the sale prices of different brands of oat milk before getting the same one he always gets and Eddie won’t say a word about it, and they’ll drive home with their groceries packed neatly into their green reusable bags and at every red light Buck will lean over the gearshift to kiss Eddie on the cheek because it’s been 24 hours and they’re still so in love they’re stupid with it. And they’ll go to sleep on the bed Buck lugged over from the loft when he first moved in, made up with the forest-green sheets Eddie picked out from Bed Bath & Beyond, and in the afternoon they’ll pick up Christopher and take him out for a late lunch and Eddie will order Buck’s caramel oat latte and they’ll talk about Percy Jackson over their tuna melts. And in the evening Buck will lean into Eddie on the couch and drool a little on his sleep-shirt in front of a movie neither of them end up watching, and Buck will slip in his mouthguard before they fall asleep and in the morning they’ll wake up tangled together and do it all over again.

And there’s a velvet box in the corner of Eddie’s dresser and Buck is looking at him like he has no idea about the words pushing against the roof of Eddie’s mouth and it’s been three weeks and he had vague plans for a beachside picnic or a candlelight dinner or a sunrise hike and his speech is barely half-written, half a million drafted ways to say I love you.

And Buck is looking at him, knife in hand, poised over the sliced carrot, and he has their grocery list tucked inside his wallet beside Christopher’s last school photo and his licence with a change of address sticker plastered on the back.

“I love you,” Eddie says, and out of the corner of his eye sees Bobby pause, mid-slice, over the beef.

Buck squints at him. “…I love you too?”

There’s a lone bread tie on the counter. Eddie picks it up, twists the plastic-coated wire into a loop, and Buck’s eyes go wide like Bambi.

“This is, um, temporary,” Eddie says, and hopes to God nothing unsanitary is spilled on the tiled floor as he gets down on one knee, “I swear I have the real thing at home and I was waiting for the right time but—every time’s the right time with you, Evan, because it’s you, and you’re right for me.”

Buck has, thankfully, put down the knife.

“I don’t really—know what else to say, except that I love you, I’ve been loving you, and I kind of want to keep doing it forever. If you’ll have me.”

“Eddie.” Buck’s eyes are shiny, and Bobby is definitely filming this behind them, and Eddie’s knee is getting sore. “You actually have to ask.”

“I know that,” Eddie, who had, in fact, forgotten, says. “Evan—Buck. Will you marry me?”

Buck’s yes is almost drowned out by Chimney’s hollering from the loft staircase, by Hen’s cheers at the dining table, by Bobby’s quiet, shaking sobbing right behind them, but Eddie hears it clear as a bell. He lets Buck pull him to his feet: those hands, so big, so steady, those hands which have built their life together brick by brick. The bread tie fits when he slides it on and then Buck’s kissing him, urgent and fierce and blinding, and Eddie’s chest is heaving, the kiss leaving him breathless, and he thinks, bizarrely—although maybe not, maybe not at all—that they’ll need to add champagne to the grocery list.

[your-miss-right]

Caller Number 9

Summary: Because let’s face it, your girlfriends won’t tell you when the boy of your dreams isn’t interested. So what’s left? Calling the late night radio show host known as Min Suga is a good option right? He’ll tell you how it is and ruin you while fixing your love life. Counterproductive? Definitely.

Masterlist

Chapter 2: Meet-Not-So-Cute

Normal people sleep eight hours, eat wholesome breakfasts made with oats, low fat milk, and a serving of fruit. Normal people have friends who stay away until it’s an appropriate hour to visit. Normal people don’t turn their kitchen table into a makeshift bed.

Normal…was something nonexistent in her world.

Y/N should’ve been upset about this, but then again it was six in the morning and she was sitting in a mound of blankets at her tiny kitchen table eating pastries and cheap coffee with her friend. She honestly couldn’t bring herself to care too much. Especially after her little radio show melt down. Thank god she didn’t give her name or else she might consider moving to a whole new state.

“So…did you hear from Jay?” Somehow she could tell her already knew the answer.

“Not exactly…”

“Oh?” There it was…that tone when he knew he had called it right. She knew it wasn’t out of cruelty. He had been concerned for her, asking her to be cautious. He hadn’t been wrong, Jay had gotten out of a relationship and the last thing he probably wanted was to jump back into one.

“Don’t look at me like that…” her grumble was somewhat smothered by the cloth of her long sleeve. She wasn’t looking up, but she could definitely feel his gaze.

“You don’t even know how I’m looking at you right now…” she didn’t have to look up to know he was checking her over, as if to make sure she was in one piece.

“Yes I do, I know that you’re trying to to act like you’re not judging my choices,” Y/n grumbled.

“Ok so I might have been judging you. At least tell me you know why? I told you that kid was no good. I mean what person uses a shirtless shot as his profile picture?” His nose scrunched in disgust and Y/N snorted at Hobi’s face.

“I know…” she leaned on her hands and watched as Hoseok pushed a steaming cup of cheap coffee towards her and a chocolate bun on a napkin.

“I don’t have much of an appetite…”

“If you don’t eat it, I will,” he warned her as he popped the last bit of his pastry into his mouth.

She glared at him, but he just smiled through his mouthful of bread-y goodness. Normally sweets made her the happiest person, but after stressing over her assignments, her late night phone call, and confirming that she’d be rejected, she wanted to sleep all day.

“Did you sleep at all?” Hoseok asked, this time his voice latent with concern.

“Like an hour maybe?” She munched on the pastry slowly. Hoseok didn’t miss her happy feet as she chewed. Y/N always danced in her chair when she was enjoying her food. He wondered if she was actually a college student sometimes.

“No wonder you look so exhausted. I thought you had went to bed though after your last text? Something keep you up?”

“That good looking piece of trash, homework, and…other stuff.” she pouted and took a bigger bite of her pastry aggressively. Her face flushed when she thought about her late night call.

“Well now you know he isn’t worth it. I hope you learned your lesson. You’re too cute for him anyways,” Hoseok chewed thoughtfully and added, “I also get the feeling you’d kind of eat him alive eventually, the girls he likes are too soft.”

Y/N said nothing, but nodded. She probably would, someone once told her she was high strung, too much. She looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, “Still though, ignoring someone who sucks would be so much easier if they really were the worst human alive.”

Hoseok thought for a moment and replied, “He’s the worst dancer on the team if that makes you feel better. He can’t keep count to save his life. It’s almost the same thing.” 

Y/N felt a wide grin part her lips. Hoseok had been the first friend she’d made at her university. She’d been walking up to her apartment after a long study night when she found him lying out in front of her apartment complex in the parking lot with his roommate, Taehyung.

Apparently they had locked themselves out and their landlord wasn’t going to be coming back until tomorrow morning. She’s not sure how, but she ended up sitting in the parking lot with them until six in the morning. In that span of time she learned several important things; she learned Hoseok was a dance major and Taehyung was going into veterinary.

Hoseok laughed so loud it made you giddy, Taehyung had a smile that could grow flowers, according to Taehyung the perfect milkshake is made with a scoop of ice cream and coconut milk, Hoseok likes his eggs baked because they’re fluffier that way, and according them, there definitely needs to be a class that teaches you the principles of being happy. Because let’s face it, life takes itself too seriously and people need a break.

It took her four cups of coffee and an energy bar to get through the next day, but it was worth it. After that she found the pair making a small spot for themselves in her mundane life. There were no complaints on her end.

“You should be proud of me though, he did eventually call last night and I told him off,” Y/N offered a tired smile and Hoseok’s mouth fell open.

“How did this change of heart occur?”

Y/N flushed at the memory and was extremely thankful that she didn’t use her real name when on air. It would’ve made her life only that much harder if everyone knew she was the caller who got into it with DJ Min Suga. He might not be the nicest guy around, but she did to get the truth. She hated being sensitive sometimes, it made being taken seriously that much harder.

“Let’s just say some cold hearted jerk was very honest with me last night,” Y/N scrunched her nose cutely and cringed inwardly.

“He sounds like a keeper,” Hoseok waggled his eyebrows at her, earning a soft punch to the arm. His pouty expression did nothing to soften her mock glare.

“Yeah well I probably won’t ask for Prince Charming’s advice anymore. He’s a horrible human being,” Y/N picked at a loose thread on her oversized flannel.

Hoseok’s face lit up like he had an ingenious idea and Y/N was curious so she leaned in closer, “Maybe he’s just right for you. You always pick nice guys that turn into sleazy guys. It’s worth a shot, I mean your taste in men can’t get worse right?”

“Goddamn it, Hoseok,” she hid her face in her sleeves. Her dating life was a mess.

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“You did good last night. I liked your sets,” the voice came from his side where his friend was sprawled out on his bed, flipping through a men’s fashion magazine.

He was trying not to fall asleep considering he had class soon and his journalism teacher was kind of uptight and actually took roll call. It made them feel like five year olds, but he quickly realized dignity takes second place, especially with a grade on the line. It’s funny how you realize you’re kind of willing to do anything when you actually start paying for schooling.

“Thanks, I actually had more fun than usual, did you hear it at the beginning?” He turned his head to look at his blonde friend, his hair was a mess and he looked just as tired as he did. Exam season was relentless and unforgiving to everyone, even geniuses as it turns out.

“I tuned in a little late, why? Did you get a crazy fangirl again?” He raised a brow at the pale boy who was flashing his signature gummy smile.

“This girl called in and got really pissed off, she called me an asshole. I haven’t had one like that in a while.”

“Who would’ve thought that Dj Min Suga is a masochist? I never thought you’d be one for verbal abuse,” Namjoon snickered at his friend.

Yoongi shrugged, he liked his job. Being a late night radio show host often provided for interesting stories. Unfortunately, this also meant a weird sleep schedule and often times was caught napping at the oddest hours and strangest places. Once he went on a date and dozed off while the girl went to the bathroom. She wasn’t exactly very pleased when she came back.

He couldn’t help it if he was tired and he would admit she had bored him a little. It was mutual because as soon as he mentioned his photography, she zoned out. He’d made up his mind about her, by the time she’d pick up her phone to answer a text, mid-conversation.

“It was funny and she’s a bit naïve, you don’t find them like that anymore Namjoon. Although I do feel a little sorry for her, she cares too much what others think.” Yoongi wasn’t trying to be cruel, not really. Yes, he could have his fun and say outlandish things, but he really did want her to understand what he was telling her.

People really don’t get to treat you poorly because they feel like it and you shouldn’t take it either.

“Bless the girl that falls for you,” Namjoon shook his head.

“Whoever she is…she’s going to need all the help she can get,” Yoongi chuckled.

The pair fell silent for a moment, as if letting the weight of the words actually settle in. Yoongi could already feel the question creeping up on him before it left Namjoon’s mouth.

“Do you really not believe in relationships and all that?” Namjoon wasn’t the most romantic person in the world either, but at least he still had a romantic side to him. The fact that he was too busy and career driven was a whole different subject that often intervened in his almost nonexistent dating life.

But him? Did he just not care? He wasn’t quite sure.

“I do believe in them, just not right now,” Yoongi shrugged. He really wasn’t even sure if he did believe in such feelings. Every time he’d attempted it, the situation would blow up in his face. There was always a problem and he wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but somehow he always felt the common variable was himself.

He cared too much and the girl got fed up, didn’t care enough, and the girl would leave. He tried being different and somewhere along the lines it would get so stifling that he wasn’t sure who he was pretending to be. Then he tried being himself and that just seemed to confuse people. Yoongi wasn’t sure, but at some point he started feeling defective.

It wasn’t until he met Namjoon and began making other friends, that he realized he wasn’t the problem, other people were. So how do you solve that? You cut them off. It might’ve been a bad way to handle things, hell, he was 98% sure it was. But frankly, it’d made his life a little easier. He didn’t feel like he needed to blame himself anymore. If people didn’t like him, then to hell with it.

It had been working out for him just fine. However when Namjoon questioned it, which he had a nasty habit of doing, it was in those moments that Yoongi would find himself feeling like he’d temporarily lost his footing. He’d find his stomach curling uncomfortably and his mind reeling for a brief moment before answering curtly or changing the subject.

“We should get going, I have to get those morning shots for that media class.” Namjoon didn’t say anything as his friend got up, leaving Namjoon with his question unanswered. He should’ve been used to this by now.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

“It’s way too early for this class,” Y/N pulled her black beanie over her head, squishing her hair over head and hiding her eyes from the world. Not that it really mattered considering Hoseok was the only person with her and he’d already seen her at her worst. Under eye circles weren’t a shock to him anymore.

“Just turn it in and leave, no big deal,” he shrugged and tried to console her. He had to wonder if one day she would just keel over from lack of sleep. She needed to take better care of herself.

“I should, but I have other projects to take care of before I can rest. How are you though? I haven’t even asked how your classes are going? Are you having showcases that I should go see?” She was suddenly brighter. If there was something she really liked, it was seeing Hoseok dance. It still made him blush when she cheered him on.

“I’m fine. My exams haven’t been as bad, but I think I do need to stay focused. I’m tired and we do have a showcase coming up soon,” he stopped and lit up as if remembering something important, “You should totally go! You know that radio station you listen to? With that DJ with really good sets? They’re supposed to be there covering the event.”

Y/N flushed, the heat creeping up her neck and to her cheeks. She hadn’t exactly given Hoseok the exact details of last night’s phone call and she wasn’t about to.

“Oh? That’s cool. I actually haven’t listened to him in a while. Kind of lost interest,” Y/N shrugged making Hoseok raise a brow.

“Really? Oh…well I still want you to go. Taehyung is going too!”

“I will, let me know when and I’ll be there,” Y/N gave him a goofy grin and thumbs up that made him mess up the beanie on her head.

“Well I should get going now, you can walk the rest of the way right?” Hoseok stopped, they were several yards from the arts building where the majority of Y/N’s classes were.

“Hobi, I’m not five,” she deadpanned.

“Yeah, but you are sleep deprived. Take care of yourself ok?” Hoseok patted her head and let his hand rest there for a moment.

“Fine, I will,” she nodded making his hand slip from its place. He gave her a small wave before taking off down the sidewalk and back towards his place. She waited for a moment, watching her bright friend disappear around a corner and down the street.

“Why can’t I meet someone as cool as that?” She mused out loud. Y/N wasn’t attracted to Hoseok, but she did wonder why she never met someone as interesting or worthwhile as him.

She turned around ready to head into her class when she found herself staring at narrowed brown eyes and copper hair hidden beneath a beanie, he was carrying a camera in his hands, and his mouth was pulled into a tight frown. The scowl on his face was intimidating for a guy with a small build, the oversized scarf that was threatening to swallow him up made him look even smaller. The reality of it though was that he was still taller than the average height.

“You know talking to yourself is a sign of insanity,” he commented bluntly.

“Thanks…for that I guess…” she raised a brow at him and tried to side step him.

“No, no, thank you for ruining my shot,” he replied.

She halted in her steps and mustered the most offended look. It was too early for this.

“You’re welcome, now if you don’t mind I have somewhere to go,” she snapped.

“You could at least apologize,” he mumbled as he watched her climb the steps. He hadn’t actually planned on her hearing him, but her sudden stop and the tension in her shoulders told him he’d messed up.

“Excuse me?! Do you know what time it is? It is seven in the morning! I have been up all night killing myself over homework and stupid girl issues and the last thing I need is some snarky skinny guy with a camera telling me how I should behave!” She was standing in front of him, chest heaving and face flushed, but the boy didn’t seem offended.

If anything he looked amused.

“Uh…am I interrupting something?” A deep voice cut the thick tension in the air. Y/N shot the tall blonde a glare. He was carrying a couple of coffee cups and staring nervously between the pair as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

“I hope your shot is ruined…” she muttered angrily before stomping off.

Yoongi should’ve been offended, but he said nothing as he took his coffee and flicked through his pictures.

“She seemed…nice…”

“A real sweetheart…”

It didn’t go unnoticed when his friend skipped past her picture without deleting it, but Namjoon said nothing.

Yoongi always did have strange taste in women.

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A/N: Reposted this because the original had been deleted. Also the last few chapters or so are under construction, some parts of the story have been edited/rewritten. Hope to have the last updates up soon.

[ronniesshoes]

Keep Yourself Alive

Previous

Here we are again! It’s been a very long wait but this chapter is both the longest yet and absolutely packed so I hope it’s worth it! Huge thanks to everyone who interacts, I love you & couldn’t do it without your support, patience and encouragement! And thanks to @theseasofrhye for your massive help and for being an inspiration every day 💛 Enjoy!

Brian doesn’t remember how or when he returns from the party, but when he wakes up the next morning, he almost wishes he hadn’t. His mouth tastes like something has crawled in there and died, and his head feels stuffy and achy, though whether it’s from his hangover or the cold he’s still nursing is anybody’s guess. The groan that leaves his abused throat sounds pitiful even to his own ears, and when he forces his sticky eyelids open, Freddie and John, curled up in Freddie’s bed, are looking at him with poorly concealed amusement. 

The pair of them look annoyingly fresh-faced and impossibly cosy, and Brian sends them a hateful look before he forces his heavy body out of bed. He trips over his shoes and is momentarily confused as to what they’re doing in his room. His stomach lurches unpleasantly. 

As quickly as his aching body allows him to, he gets to the loo, but when he crouches in front of the toilet, nothing comes up, and he settles for a morning piss instead. He winces when he catches sight of his pale reflection in the mirror as he reaches for his chewed up bamboo toothbrush in an attempt to remove the taste of death from his mouth.

He doesn’t think he can stomach breakfast so soon after waking up, but he gulps down two glasses of water and samples a vitamin from each of the bottles in the cupboard. Remembering Freddie’s warning on Solaray on an empty stomach, he returns the multivitamin to its proper bottle and swallows down the remaining five pills with a third glass of water. He can’t pretend to know what Damiana is good for, but he probably needs it.

Putting on the kettle, he leans against the worktop but jumps back when pain shoots down his thigh, and he tugs down the waistband of his boxers, revealing a dark bruise blooming over his hip. He carefully prods a finger at it, trying to recall an event from the night before that could have possibly led to it, but comes up short. Sighing, he picks out a mug and drops the last bag of English Breakfast in it, folds up the cardboard and throws it in the bin. He tugs at the sleeves of his jumper in a fruitless attempt to cover his freezing fingers. Now that Christmas and New Year’s are over, there’s nothing to distract him from the dull coldness that seems to have seeped into his bones, robbing him of the ability to concentrate on anything for long. If only it had been raining—or better yet, snowing—but the sky is overcast and mute, the ugly building on the other side of the street barely visible through the heavy fog.

The hiss of the kettle pulls him out of his thoughts, and he opens the fridge, his eyes stinging ridiculously as he discovers he’s out of oat milk. The two cartons of regular milk seem to mock him from their place on the shelf, and for a moment, he rests his head against the cool edge of the door. He could do with a proper cup of tea—black with milk and one sugar—but all the stores are closed today, and even if they weren’t, the thought of putting on clothes makes his head hurt. He stares at the milk until the fridge starts beeping and he peels his forehead off the door and closes it.

Nausea rolling in his stomach, he picks up the kettle and fills his mug with water, idly dunking the teabag with his spoon. Perhaps he really is uptight and in dire need of loosening up a little, but so far the consequences don’t seem to be worth it.

His chair is littered with crumbs when he brings his mug to the table so he opts for Freddie’s usual instead and tucks one foot beneath him. He puts his hands over his tea until they’re damp and warm, then wipes them on his jumper and gazes wearily out the window. He misses summer, misses being able to study in the sun outside uni or hop off the tube a stop earlier and walk the rest of the way. He misses dad and their annual one-day camping trip to go stargazing and he misses not being tired all the time. His thoughts skirt the topic of Tenerife; glittering Lonely Planet guides in Foyles and his bookmarked The World’s Best Stargazing Spots.

Mentally shaking himself, he wraps his hands around the hot ceramic of his mug and keeps them there until they sting. The decision has been made, and even entertaining the idea of changing his mind is a waste of time and energy. He has plenty on his mind as it is, and so does professor Harrison, he imagines—he’s not about to make a nuisance of himself just because he’s feeling a little hungover.

Through the slowly dissolving fog, Brian makes out the already sinking sun. It looks angry, Brian thinks; spilling sickly red over the paling horizon. He swallows down his tea, bitter without milk to sweeten it, and his heart suddenly aches for someone to talk to. He doesn’t want to go back to his room and disturb Freddie and John, and he doesn’t think he can handle the confusion that seems to be ever-present when he talks to Roger. On the outside they’re fine—Roger’s apology seemed genuine enough even though Brian suspects it was not offered entirely voluntarily, but sometimes he’ll look at Roger and remember his words, and petty anger will claw at his insides.

He knows Roger will never understand his relationship with his parents—the fact that he knows his mother had desperately wanted a daughter instead made it complicated from the beginning, but Brian supposes that's his cross to bear. His coming out was another blow, he thinks, and of course his sudden illness not five months later that almost cost him his life. He doesn’t blame his parents for their worrying and their aspirations on his behalf. They’ve always wanted what’s best for him.

Quelling the sting of loneliness, he reaches for his planner and begins flicking through it. Try as he might, he can’t force excitement when he looks at the handful of gigs spread over the months of January and February. And on the 23rd of February, penned in with more force than the others, the lines thick and graphite, the entry only says Tenerife. The rest of the month is empty.

He stares at the page for a long while, then reaches for a pen and slowly strikes it out, once, twice, keeps going until the word is illegible. He closes his planner with more force than necessary and stretches to steal a pink sticky note from Freddie’s pile of sketchbooks and stationery to write himself a reminder to plan his tutoring sessions with Liam, Ben, and Kate for the upcoming months.

Brian leans back in his chair with a sigh. A new year, and if anything, the prospect of dragging himself through it seems even more impossible than it did just a few weeks ago. He can’t for the life of him understand why he’s not feeling more optimistic, why he doesn’t have his resolutions in bold letters above his bed, why the prospect of going on tour fills him with dread. Tomorrow they’re going to evaluate, and Brian doesn’t know how to explain to them that he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care about their performance yesterday, doesn’t care about the upcoming gigs, doesn’t care about anything other than catching a fucking break. If only time could stand still for a little while, give him an hour or two to pull himself together, to sort out his buzzing mind.

John’s laughter from the other side of the wall startles him out of his thoughts. He wonders if Roger is up yet because he fears that if he doesn’t talk to someone, he might genuinely lose the plot.

Filled with sudden determination, he pushes back his chair, cringing at the ugly scraping sound, and makes for Roger’s room.

Just as he passes the bathroom, the door swings open, and Brian almost jumps out of his skin. Roger’s laughter is loud in the empty living room, and Brian glares at him to distract himself from his racing heart.

“How long have you been out there?” he demands, determinedly not looking at the way the water beads on his shoulders or the hair plastered to his forehead, taking years off his face. He briefly wonders if being so caught up his own thoughts that he has failed to notice the water running should be a cause of concern, then decides it’s best not to dwell on it.

Roger shrugs, securing the towel that hangs indecently low on his hips. “40 minutes? Freddie taught me how to make a body scrub using sugar and coconut oil,” he says, holding out his arm to stroke the damp skin, “it’s supposed to scrub away the last year. Load of bollocks if you ask me, but satisfying all the same.”

He drops his arms and smiles up at him. Brian scowls.

“You did it on purpose.”

“What, scared you?” Roger asks, raising his eyebrows in question. Brian nods, not caring that he doesn’t make sense. “Yes, I’ve been standing here for ten minutes waiting specifically for you to pass just so I could scare you. Like I don’t have better things to do. The floor is wet.”

“Do you?” Brian wonders out loud, stepping back to allow Roger to pass.His feet leave wet prints on the floor.

Roger puts his hand on the door handle to his room but doesn’t enter. “Course, I have at least ten New Year’s resolutions I intend to break.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d made any,” Brian says, amused and secretly curious.

“Nothing I intend to keep,” Roger says dismissively, pushing down the door handle, “still, it’s tradition. Don’t let me keep you. Bathroom’s free.”

“Actually,” Brian says just as Roger disappears into his room. He pauses in the doorway. “I wanted to, um, chat. If you’re not too tired. Or busy. And when you’ve got dressed, obviously.”

“Oh,” Roger says, “come in, then.”

Brian hesitates but follows him inside, shutting the door behind him like Roger tells him to. The difference in temperature is staggering.

“Good to know where all the heat goes,” he comments drily. He attempts to determine which messy bed looks the least uninviting, and ends up on the edge of John’s.

“I’m sorry your king-sized beds and lush bedding can’t keep your skinny arses warm,” Roger shoots back, opening his closet doors wide.

Brian snorts softly and then almost chokes on his breath when Roger loses the towel around his waist and starts drying his hair while he studies the contents of his closet.

Roger turns around at the sound. “Alright?”

“I’m fine,” Brian says weakly, silently grateful that the closet door blocks most of the view. Still, that’s a lot of skin.

He shakes himself. It’s not like he’s attracted to Roger, or ever has been. There’s no reason he should be—Roger has plenty of flaws, and as he picks them out—his skinny legs, the dumb mole that’s shaped a bit like a small heart, and the tattoo he spies when Roger reaches for a shirt—Brian feels slightly better. It’s not about looks, anyway, and personality-wise, Roger is annoying at best and constantly driving him to the brink of insanity at worst. As for last week … well, he was just helping out a friend.

“Wouldn’t you say these two shirts are the exact same shade?” Roger asks. His wet towel lies forgotten on the floor and he is stepping out from behind the closet door holding two shorts.

“Uhm,” Brian says. His eyes hurt with the effort of not looking down.

“Freddie seems to think this one goes with my tat and the other doesn’t. I’m pretty sure he makes it up.”

“Roger.”

“What?”

“Please put some clothes on.”

“But I’m not dry yet,” Roger reasons.

Brian’s entire face hurts. “Underwear will do, just—please.”

“Keep forgetting how much of a prude you are,” Roger says, but he does put on a pair of boxers, and possibly the most garish pair Brian has ever seen; tiger-striped in pink and silver. He grins. “I believe you’ve seen it all already. On multiple occasions, in fact.”

“Can we not talk about that?” The question comes out a bit more harshly than intended, and Roger frowns.

He sits down on his bed opposite of Brian and looks him in the eye. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Brian's heart sinks. “No, Roger, it doesn’t bother me, it’s just—” He pauses to drag in a breath, then throws out the first thing that comes to mind in the tangle of confusion that seems to have taken permanent residence in his brain, “look, I know John and maybe Freddie made you apologise to me, and I don’t know if you even felt like you had anything to apologise for, and I just … I wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings.”

Roger looks slightly taken aback. “No hard feelings.”

Brian forces himself not to fiddle under his stare.”I just mean that … I shouldn’t have made you fool around with me, and I’m—”

“Hold on,” Roger interrupts him. He leans slightly forward, eyes pinning Brian to the spot. “You—I flirted with you for ages, you did not make me do anything. Come on, Brian, that’s ridiculous. Give me some credit.”

Brian’s mouth feels impossibly dry. His empty stomach aches. “I shouldn’t have said yes.”

“Didn’t you want to?” Roger throws back, and Brian knows he’s gonna regret everything he says in this room, but he presses on nonetheless.

“It doesn’t matter what I wanted or didn’t want at the time,” he says, hurrying to continue as Roger opens his mouth to argue, “it was not your fault and it won’t happen again, I promise. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I know you probably wish it didn’t happen and that’s fine, I promise not to tell anyone.”

“Brian,” Roger says, looking slightly bewildered, “relax. It’s just sex.”

“We didn’t have sex,” Brian reminds him.

Roger scrubs at his hair and grins. “Seemed pretty sexy to me.”

Brian rolls his eyes in an attempt to cover the wave of relief that crashes over him. “So you’re not upset?” he asks, just to make sure. He doesn’t look it, but if the roles were reversed, Brian’s not sure he’d be quite as forgiving.

“It’s fine,” Roger says with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I’ve bedded a bloke now, I can cross that off the list.”

“Flatterer,” Brian says drily.

Roger tilts his head. “You said you didn’t fool around with friends, right. I had fun but I’m not asking for your hand in marriage.”

“Right.”

Roger rearranges himself on the bed so he’s lying on his side, head propped up on his elbow. He looks at Brian with drowsy eyes and a lazy smile. “So how’d you find the party last night?”

“I had fun.”  He’s lying, of course—he’d spent most of the night alone in a corner, surrounded by obnoxious art and literature students he didn’t care for and who most certainly did not care for him, but for some reason, he can’t tell Roger the truth. He’s not sure why it matters. “Got chatted up by this bloke.”

“Oh?” Roger says, looking at him with interest, and Brian wants to claw the lie back.

“Yes, in the loos,” he continues, at the same wondering what it’s going to take for him to shut up. 

“Good place, the loos,” Roger says with a grin.

Brian nods. He’s not sure it looks convincing. “And did you have fun?” he asks tentatively.

“Was alright, wasn’t it? Good show, free drinks.” He sends Brian a sly smile. “Clean loos.”

The implication is not lost on Brian, and he forces a smile. 

Before he can think of a suitable answer, Roger throws him off with a new topic. “I can’t believe Fred and Deaks are together.”

Brian shrugs. In all honesty, it annoys him a little—just knowing that the two of them are having a cuddle fest in his room makes him exhausted.

“I’m amazed I didn’t see it coming, really,” Roger continues, “makes sense when you think about it.”

Brian hasn’t. And it’s not that’s he’s not happy for John and Freddie—he is, definitely—but he can’t say he’s put much thought into their compatibility or been dying to congratulate the happy couple. “I suppose.”

“Wouldn’t kill you to show some enthusiasm,” Roger says with a wry smile.

“It might,” Brian says, “and I better not risk it.”

♛ ♛ ♛

He leaves Roger’s room feeling cautiously optimistic. So much in fact that he sits down next to his abandoned cup of tea and pulls a book from his bag.

It’s fine for the first few pages. Then his concentration starts to waver, and thoughts creep in between the words on the page, unbidden.

If he’s honest, he doesn’t feel better at all. Mortifying as his conversation with Roger was, he felt more at ease in his company, was able to forget himself for a few moments. Now that he’s alone again, he doubts they made any progress at all. He knows Roger is a big boy, that he can make decisions for himself, but Brian can’t quell the worry that lingers in the back of his mind. The whole mess is his own fault, and it doesn’t matter that Roger assures him it’s fine—it clearly isn’t.

He presses the heels of his hands against his dry, tired eyes, letting a groan slip out because he’s alone and there’s no one there to judge or pity him.

He just wants everything to go back to normal. He doesn’t like this new feeling he gets around Roger, this feeling of unease, the way his heart beats faster with fear of another argument. And all because he wanted to go to Tenerife. Because that’s the root of it, he thinks, that’s how it all started—suddenly everyone was afraid he would leave, give up the band, his friends.

There’s a tight ache in his chest, and he wants to gather them all and apologise. Tell them he never wanted to go, not really, that it was a stroke to his ego but no more than that. He knows he made the right decision, and he’s sure he would have come to that conclusion even if Roger and the rest had not expressed their concern. After all, the band is what he really wants, and his study … If they do make it, he can put it on the shelf. At least for a few years.

He pushes his chair back and lowers his forehead to his open book on the table. Unbidden, a memory of Freddie’s birthday all those months ago enters his mind. The weather had been unusually warm for September, and they had gone for drinks in a rooftop bar in Mayfair, pretending they could afford the overpriced drinks. He remembers the walk back from the station, the pleasant buzz and the silk-like fabric of Freddie’s jacket brushing against his bare forearm, John’s laughter and Roger’s smile, bright and pleased because he had made his friend laugh.

The liquor they consumed back at the flat had been cheap and dreadful, drunk out of mugs and water glasses, and the contrast between that and their first drinks of the evening had been almost comical, but Brian had thought to himself that he much preferred their own living room and Tesco’s cheapest vodka—there he could listen to the hum of the voices of the people he loved the most, his head pillowed on Roger’s thigh, deft fingers gently scratching his scalp.

For a fleeting moment, he is reminded of a similar occasion, but before he can catch the memory, it’s gone again.

Lifting his head from the table, he rolls his shoulders and gets up. He passes Ziggy who’s asleep in his favourite chair, and he pauses to stroke the soft fur. The cat makes a disgruntled sound, stretches, hops off the chair, and leaves.

The fridge is depressingly empty so he sits down again, drinks his cold tea. The sun has long gone down, but he feels disinclined to get up again and switch on the lights. He thinks about what Roger said, about their hookup not being a big deal. And Brian suspects it isn’t, but at the moment, everything kind of feels like a big deal, and he wonders what’s wrong with him, if this is how he’s going to feel for the rest of his life.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there in the darkness, but when the door to his room opens, he winces. He barely has time to adjust his eyes before they’re assaulted once again when Freddie switches on the overhead lights in the living room.

“Could you maybe warn me next time?” Brian asks, squinting at the pair.

“Sorry darling, didn’t mean to disturb your gloom.”

“Well, you did.”

“What are you doing here all by yourself anyway?” Freddie asks, briefly putting a hand on his shoulder as he passes. He instantly misses the touch.

“I was just thinking,” he says, watching John cross the living room to rap at the door to his own room.

“Terribly unhealthy for you, dear,” Freddie says, and Brian turns in his seat to look at him. “Are we all out of tea?”

“There’s some of your herbal stuff somewhere, I think.”

Freddie stands on his toes to rummage through the contents of the top shelf, letting out a small “ah!” when he finds the brightly patterned box. “Would you like a cup?”

“No, thanks,” Brian says, distracted by the reappearance of John, this time with Roger in tow, playfully draped all over him, arms around his neck.

“Alright, Bri?” Roger greets, and Brian feels his lips pull into an automatic smile. He lets go of John and throws himself on the couch, effectively startling Ziggy. “I’m starving!”

“We’re waiting for you to make the call, love,” Freddie says, pouring boiling water into two cups and releasing fragrant steam into the air.  

“One day you three need to learn how to make a phone call,” Roger advises, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Why would we when you seem to enjoy it?” John asks, accepting the proffered cup from Freddie.

“We’re on first-name basis,” Roger says, but whether it’s supposed to be an argument for or against is unclear to Brian. “Fine. I’m going out for a smoke anyway. The usual?”

“Will you ask if there’s eggs in the noodles?” Brian asks.

“On it,” Roger says, shrugging into his jacket. “See you in a bit!”

Brian looks up at the sound of a chair being pulled out. John smiles at him. “How are you feeling?”

Brian doesn’t even know where to begin.

“You look a bit worn out is all,” John continues after a beat.

“I’m fine,” Brian says with a tight smile.

John says nothing, and Brian instantly feels bad. It’s not John’s fault he feels like he’s spiraling down into insanity, or that he’s fighting just to stay afloat. “Think I had a bit too much last night.”

“Yeah,” John agrees, expression unreadable. Brian decides it’s best ignored instead of attempting to find meaning behind it.

“I think I’m gonna go back to sleep, actually,” he says, scraping his chair back.

Freddie is behind him in an instant. “Oh no, you aren’t. We’re gonna sit down, have a meal, and discuss last night.”

Brian’s heart thuds. He searches his brain for anything he could have done last night that could possibly lead to an intervention from all three of them. “What happened last night?”

Freddie walks around his chair to look at him. “We played a concert,” he says slowly.

“Oh,” Brian says, “that.”

“Yes,” Freddie says, giving him a strange look. “And now we’re gonna evaluate, talk about what can be improved. Like we do every time we’ve played a concert.”

“Right.”

“But if you’ve got any stories, we’d love to hear them,” John chimes in. 

“I don’t,” Brian says tonelessly. 

He doesn’t miss John and Freddie’s exchanged glances. Annoyed, he pushes his chair back and leaves them to their looks and their being in love to sprawl on the couch. 

A few minutes later, the front door bangs open, followed by a small crash and Roger’s shout of “I’m back.”

“We heard,” John says.

“Food should be here in about half an hour,” Roger says, appearing in the doorway, cheeks flushed with cold.

Brian is surprised and slightly alarmed when Roger steers towards him with impressive speed and a manic grin; he doesn’t have time to prepare himself, let alone get away, before pressed against him on the couch.

“Feel how cold my hands are,” Roger says, and before Brian can stop him, he has reached up to put his freezing hands on Brian’s neck. Brian jerks away. “You didn’t feel it.”

“I did,” Brian says, rubbing at the skin of his neck, “and it was highly unpleasant.”

“Are you not gonna help me warm them?” Roger asks, all faux innocence.

“No,” Brian says, edging away from him. “Were the noodles alright?”

“Totally egg-free,” Roger says, getting up to target John instead. 

John rolls his eyes but obediently takes Roger’s hand between his own. Brian looks away.

“Should we watch a movie?” Roger asks.

“Depends on the movie,” Freddie says.

Brian tucks his feet under him. “Seconded.”

John lets go of Roger’s hands and gets up to crouch in front of their impressive DVD collection. “There’s Mamma Mia, of course.”

Roger puts down John’s tea. “I’m too straight to watch it twice within a month.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“I’m with Roger,” Brian says, glancing at him where he’s seated next to Freddie, “not to the straight part, mind.”

“Rocky Horror? Titanic? Mr. Fantastic?”

“Which one is that?” Freddie asks.

“Viggo Mortensen lives in the woods with a bunch of children and teaches them to fight.”

“Isn’t that Lord of the Rings?”

John sends Brian a long-suffering look, and Brian hides a smile.

Freddie leans forward eagerly, almost knocking his tea off the table. “We should watch Harry Potter!”

“They’re so bad,” Brian says, “nothing like the books.”

“Go read a book, then,” Roger says.

Brian scowls. He knows Roger doesn’t like the movies either. 

“How about a Disney movie?” John asks.

“No more Disney movies.”

“I think Harry Potter’s a good idea, actually,” Roger says, putting his feet in Freddie’s lap.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” John says, and Brian can’t help but feel just a little smug.

“Aladdin?”

Freddie covers a yawn. “Fine.”

“You should’ve seen my pull last night,” Roger says, “looked like Jasmin, actually.”

“Roger,” Freddie says, exasperated.

“What? I’m not being racist,” Roger insists. Pauses. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Freddie says bluntly. Brian’s skin crawls with discomfort.

Roger scrunches his nose up guiltily. “Sorry. I’ll do better.” 

Freddie almost smiles. “Was there more to the story?”

“Not really,” Roger admits, moving past his mishap with an ease Brian could never match, “except she had these huge tits.” He cups his hands to illustrate. 

Freddie’s eyes light up with intrigue. “Did you ask her?”

Roger frowns. "I just met her, I can't just ask her that."

"Why not?” Freddie asks, hooking his foot around the ankle of John, who has since given up on the movies and returned to his seat. “You shagged her."

"It's impolite to ask someone you've just met if you can fuck their tits," Roger opines. 

John’s face is a picture of distress when he catches Brian’s eye. "Are your ears also bleeding?" 

"The images in my mind are much, much worse," Brian says, trying valiantly to suppress the disturbing scenario.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," Roger says knowingly.

Brian makes a face. “I think I will.”

♛ ♛ ♛ 

“I think it went alright,” Roger says between mouthfuls of egg rolls, “not terrible. I’m almost positive we were celebrating when Veronica drank me under the table. Just wish I hadn’t lost my shoe.”

Freddie folds his hands on his crossed legs. "The crowd seemed pretty receptive.”

"Really?" Roger swallows his mouthful. "Not from where I was sitting."

"It was a subtle eye contact thing," Freddie tells him. 

"Bugger," Roger says with a grin, "can't believe I missed out on that!"

"Better than that concert we played in September," John says, looking up from where he’s inspecting a noodle, "at least there were no drunken offenses this time."

Brian hands Freddie his glass of water, pushes Roger’s feet off his chair, and reclaims his seat. 

"So our audience wasn’t exactly successful," Freddie says, "that doesn't mean we weren’t."

"I thought they seemed to have a good time," John says, and Brian has to agree even though he can’t muster up much enthusiasm, "they made noise. Our friends did, at any rate."

"Ugh," Freddie says, "this truly is traumatising. I'll be glad once we make it and get to play for bigger crowds."

"Let's get signed first, eh?" Roger says, "self-publishing albums is all very well, but it'd be nice to have someone reach out to us."

"Well, they won't," Freddie snaps. Brian suppresses a sigh and pokes at his food. "We've got to put ourselves out there. Did you call that venue in Brixton?”

"I did, yeah," Roger says, stealing a spring roll from John's box. Brian makes sure his own is well out of reach. "I'm not gonna repeat what they said because they were not very polite."

Brian lets out a snort, and Roger grins at him. 

"There must be something else we can do," Freddie muses, "all this waiting around is not good for my health."

"These next few concerts will probably help," John says. He's not usually one to offer empty platitudes, and Freddie looks at him with suspicion.

"Why would you say that?"

"The concert went well. If we keep playing like that, it's just a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Someone will discover us, and soon."

"That's not you," Freddie says with narrowed eyes, "that's one of those horrible women speaking!"

"Chrissie told me the same thing," Roger says, "but I was, er, a bit busy. Or about to be."

John groans.

"What did you say to her?" Freddie wants to know.

"That she could maybe come back later."

"Not you! John, what did you say to her?"

"I didn't say anything," John murmurs. He taps his fingers against his can of coke, then admits, "I just told Veronica it was frustrating, a bit. That we all feel it. We're so close."

"I heard her and Chrissie talk," Brian offers, "I think it's Chrissie’s project."

"That little minx," Freddie groans, "the last thing we need is someone trying to cheer us up when what we need to do is work."

“Jesus,” John mumbles.

"I think it's nice they support us," Roger offers.

"Do you know how many times I've heard this from Mary? We wouldn’t be where we are if we’d listened to useless shit like that."

"Alright, Fred," Brian sighs, “what do you suggest we do, then?"

"We'll keep practicing, keep making music, keep reaching out," Freddie says, moving his food far enough out of reach that Roger can't get it. John steals a spring roll and sticks out his tongue at Roger. Brian pushes his leftovers towards him. "We have a decent following on SoundCloud, and we got around 30 new likes on Facebook since last night. Did we have some video we can put up?"

"That's pretty good," Roger says, putting his feet in Brian's lap. Brian shoves them away, ignoring Roger’s pout.

“We do have a few videos,” John says, “but I haven’t received them yet.”

"We need to get into the spotlight," Freddie says, apparently too caught up in his vision to hear the answer. Brian and John trade glances. "We need to really utilise this next month where we don’t have classes."

Brian doesn't think now is the time to mention he's already picked up some extra shifts at the bookstore.

"I watched these classes on skillshare this morning," Freddie continues, “and—”

"Morning," Roger interrupts with a groan, "you went home half-past three."

"And I still got six hours of sleep.”

Roger gives him a long-suffering look.

"We seem to be doing much of it already, " Freddie continues, "of course these people are nobodies and we'll surely surpass them once we get going, but some of their tips did stand out to me."

"Let’s hear it," Brian says, failing to put much enthusiasm into his voice.

"Right," Freddie says, launching into a lengthy monologue. 

Brian nods along in an attempt to look like he cares, but he’s distracted by Roger picking up a banana fritter, spilling powdered sugar over his trousers. Brian gazes at him warily as he attempts to brush it off, only succeeding in spreading it further, then shrugs it off and looks back at Freddie. He can’t understand how Roger’s got the energy or attention to be listening, and he watches him as he eats the last of his dessert, tongue flicking out to clean no doubt sticky lips. Brian swallows in an attempt to lubricate his dry mouth, forcing himself to look away when Roger licks his fingers.

"Sounds doable," Roger says, effectively reclaiming Brian’s attention. "I can get Instagram."

"Watch out," John whispers, catching Brian’s eye and smiling. Brian weakly returns it.

"Unfortunately their guidelines prevent too much nudity,” Freddie says, “but I think we should still be able to post our new pictures."

"What a shame," John comments and receives an elbow in the side for his trouble.

"If only we could warm up for someone," Roger says, leaning his elbows on the table, "someone who's good, who knows what they're doing."

"No one cares about the warm-up act," Brian says, beginning to tear up a piece of kitchen roll.

"It’s still exposure," Roger says. "I always check out the band afterward, unless they're shit of course."

"Most bands are," John opines.

"So we want to warm up for a real band so people can talk about how shit we are?" Brian wonders aloud.

"We're different, darling," Freddie says, "you know we are. We have something no one else has. And I think the world is ready for glam again. Just look at people like Adam Lambert and Harry Styles—it's finally in to be fab." 

Brian wishes he believed him.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

Despite the exhaustion weighing his body down, Brian lies awake for long, lonely hours. He can’t seem to quiet the whirring in his mind, and pillow he’s wrapped himself around is cold and shapeless.

At last, he slips out from under his covers and pads across the room, careful to mind the squeaking door handle.

He’s surprised he can’t see his own breath when he enters the living room, and he has his hand on the radiator before he remembers last month’s bill and lets it go with a shudder. There’s a threadbare blanket carelessly thrown over the arm of the couch which he hasn’t seen before, and he picks it up and wraps it around his shoulders. It’s got a bit of a weird smell, but he figures it’ll do. 

Not fancying Freddie’s herbal tea, he rummages through the cupboards and after a bit of a search, he finds a beat-up pack of strawberry tea whose origins are dubious to say the least. At least it’s warm, he thinks as he pours hot water in his cup and a sickly sweet scent arises.

He brings the cup with him to the couch, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. It's not three hours since they all sat there, the living room filled with chatter and brightly lit. Now it's cold and dark, the single lamp he's switched on making the room appear more gloomy than cosy, and he wishes he’d appreciated the company while he had it. 

Drawing his knees up, he takes a sip of his scalding tea, lets the too-sweet liquid warm him up from the inside. This day has been so fucking long, he thinks, just one long train loaded with dread and disappointment and a loneliness he just can’t seem to shake. He doesn’t remember feeling this when they were on stage 30 hours prior; he remembers a thrill and a sense of purpose, of unity, but it seems to achingly far away; a vague, glittering dream.

A door opens, and Brian spills tea all over himself, wets his tee and the front of his pants. He scrubs at his thigh and wipes his hand on the armrest, looking up to see Roger, ruffled and sleepy, eyes squinting against the light. He smiles faintly and yawns, playfully tugging at Brian’s hair as he passes him on the way to the bathroom.

He doesn’t bother closing the door; Brian hears the clang of the toilet seat and the sound of piss hitting the bowl.

Brian puts his empty cup on the coffee table and sinks deeper into the couch until his spine and shoulders create a C shape that hurts his neck. The toilet flushes, the sound so loud in his ears he’s amazed it doesn’t wake up Freddie and John.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" Roger asks as he reappears to settle on the couch, close to Brian but not quite touching. Brian wishes he would.

"Couldn't sleep."

"I think Freddie's got some supplements, some kind of herb," Roger says, picking at his too-big ABBA shirt. Brian is not sure if he's joking.

“Good to know.” 

He wishes he were brave enough to ask for a hug or fingers in his hair, even brave enough to move that inch closer so their arms press together, but he isn’t, is too afraid of what will happen if he gives in again. He’d hoped their trading of orgasms would satisfy his need for touch for a few days at least, but if anything, it has just made it worse, and he wonders if it’ll ever go away.

Roger yawns, wide and obnoxious, sticking a hand inside his collar to rub his shoulder. He looks at Brian with eyes that are more heavy-lidded than usual, lips curving into a smile. “Bored tonight?”

“Tired,” Brian says, and it’s not a lie.

“Not used to you being so quiet.”

Brian forces a smile. “Exhausted.”

“Bit silly to sit out here, then,” Roger says, blinking slowly like he can barely keep his eyes open. “Especially when you’re sick.”

Brian sits up, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his hands around his freezing feet. He closes his eyes. “Going back in a minute.”

“‘kay,” Roger says softly. Brian feels the cushion move when Roger gets up, but he keeps his eyes closed, waiting for a parting touch that never comes. “I’m going back to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Brian whispers, opening his eyes only when he hears the door handle being pushed down. 

His spilled tea has cooled but not dried, and Brian shivers every time he inhales and his stomach touches the wet fabric.  

At last, he gets up, folds the ratty blanket, brings his cup to the sink, and switches off the lamp. The walk to his bedroom is too short; too soon he’s standing in the doorway gazing at his huge bed, the one mum had lovingly presented him just before he moved out because he was an adult now, and that even though his moving out was to a soon to be messy flat with three other blokes. He’s grateful for it, of course, but sometimes he feels lost there, misses the solid presence of a wall to knock a knee into.

He can’t go back to bed. A knot of fear pulls tight at his chest, and before he can stop himself, he’s grabbing a warm shoulder and shaking Freddie awake.

A soft groan issues, then Freddie pushes himself up on one elbow and squints up at him. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs, voice soft and confused. 

The knot tightens in Brian’s chest. “I can’t get out of my head.”

Freddie lowers himself back onto the mattress and scoots back. “Come lie down, hon.”

Brian does as he’s told, crawling into a bed that’s warm and comfortable and smells like home. 

“Just give me a minute,” Freddie whispers, closing his eyes. The words come out slow and thick, like spoken through syrup, and Brian wishes he’d let him sleep.

He tightens his hold of the duvet around him, relishing the heat Freddie’s body radiates. It’s the first time he’s been in Freddie’s bed like this, he thinks, Wonders if it would have made a difference if it wasn’t.

Freddie sighs, brings up a hand to rub at his eyes, and rolls over to face Brian. “Sorry,” he says, “I’m here.”

Brian looks at him, picks out the familiar features in the dark. “It’s all too much,” he whispers, surprised by how easily the words come, “nothing excites me, the band … I don’t care, or I do, just not—what if I’ll feel this way forever?”

“It’s okay,” Freddie says, scooting closer to run fingers through his hair. Brian shivers with pleasure. “You’re working yourself too hard, love.”

“I’m not,” Brian insists, turning away to cough into the crook of his elbow. When he’s settled, Freddie’s fingers return to his hair. “I just need more time.”

“Time for what?”

“Time to think,” Brian says, closing his eyes, “to sort myself out.”

“You don’t need more time to think,” Freddie says softly, “you need to ask for help.”

“I’m not very good at that.”

“I know.”

Freddie is studying him when he opens his eyes again, but it doesn’t feel intrusive. He just feels cared for. Safe, for once. 

“Do you think I made a mistake in hooking up with Roger?”

Freddie’s lips curl into a small smile. “No,” he says, “I think the mistake was all that happened afterward.”

Brian sighs. “I wish everything would go back to normal. I shouldn’t have dragged him into all of this.”

“Brian, I say this with love only, but sometimes you are tragically clueless.”

“Thanks,” Brian murmurs. The touch and proximity are making him feel wonderfully drowsy.

“You need to focus on one thing,” Freddie says, “then the rest will follow.”

“And what do you suggest I focus on?”

Freddie smiles again. “Come on, Brian, you’re smarter than that. You know this already.”

Brian suspects he’s beginning to.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

The next day, it clear to him that he definitely does not know what he should be focusing on.

One thing he does know—it’s not work. He supposes he should be grateful for that realisation.

It’s getting dark when he steps outside the second-hand book store to trudge through the slush filled London streets to the Tube. The Christmas decorations have long since been taken down, but fairy lights still glitter overhead, and a few places patches of white snow stubbornly cling to eaves. 

At the station, he waits nine long minutes for Circle, blowing at his hands and thinking about his earlier interaction with a particularly difficult customer. He hopes John is home—when it comes to complaints about customers, he can always count on him to listen with sympathy and eye rolls in abundance. 

He’s lucky enough to find a seat on the Tube, but drops his bag on the floor so all his stuff falls out. Bending down to pick it up again, he accidentally steps on his book, his boot leaving a streak of dirt on the front cover. Embarrassed, he picks it up and wipes it with the sleeve of his jacket before quickly stuffing the rest of it in his bag, watching as the apple he forgot to eat rolls away from him to disappear under the seat in front of him. His earphones are a tangle of black at the bottom of his back, and when he eventually untangles them, he finds that only one ear is working. 

He's quietly relieved when he steps inside the flat and lets his boots join the pile of shoes on the floor. The flat is unusually quiet, and when he enters the living room, only John is there, sprawled in the armchair, Winnie the Pooh socked foot bopping along to the beat of the record he’s put on.

"Hi, Brian," he greets with a warm smile. "Wanna play a round of Mario Kart?" 

"Not really," Brian says, picking up a stack of window envelopes from the kitchen table. "Does anyone have plans for dinner?"

"Freddie and Roger are out," John says, "but if you want to, we can make some together."

Finding that none of the letters are addressed to him, Brian puts them down again. "Yeah, that sounds great."

"Great! Let's play Mario Kart first."

Brian makes a face, but he doesn’t really mind. "Fine, just let me make a cup of tea."

He hums along to the record as he walks into the kitchen, trying to remember the name of the song. Without thinking, he opens the fridge and is just about to close it again when he notices an unopened carton of oat milk. Mouth dry, he looks over at John, who’s setting up the Wii. 

“Did you—?” He asks, gesturing uselessly to the open fridge.

John looks up. “Yeah. Is it not the right brand?”

Brian nods slowly, words stolen by the ridiculous surge of affection he feels for his friend. John quirks an eyebrow and turns back to the Wii, one corner of his mouth turned up in amusement, and Brian sets about making his cup of tea, unable to wipe the smile off his face. 

Later, when they're sitting on the couch with steaming plates of pasta, the initial exhaustion he’d carried with him from yesterday and his trying day at work has seeped out of Brian. He’s lost two rounds of Mario Kart to John, which came as no surprise, but his competitive streak ensured he didn’t have time to think about anything but winning the game.

He’s looking at John now, licking tomato sauce from his lip, and he looks so relaxed and at ease. He’s wearing one of Freddie’s shirts, and Brian can’t believe how uncomplicated their relationship seems to be—he knows Freddie still blames himself for what happened to Jim, knows there’s a hurt there that never healed, how Freddie for years has engaged in casual sex in an attempt to make the pain go away, much like Brian himself, but perhaps Roger is right. Perhaps it does make sense, the two of them being together. Perhaps John makes Freddie feel anchored. 

Brian wonders if he will ever find someone who makes him feel that way. “John?”

"Hm?"

He doesn't have much more to say that that, doesn't know how to put words to his feelings, wonders if his questions are too intrusive. “Nevermind.”

"How was work?" John asks instead.

"It was quite eventful today actually," Brian says, spearing a piece of pasta on his fork. "Not in a good way of course."

"Never in a good way," John supplies with a grave expression. "What happened?"

"A customer," Brian says, punctuating the air with his fork, "came in today to complain about the fact that the copy she'd bought yesterday appeared to be creased."

"Right," John says, "hate when that happens. Don't want my used books to have been used by anyone before me."

"It gets worse," Brian says, "because this was a first edition, not a book I was familiar with but of course it'd been quite expensive still. Usually we check the books beforehand and price accordingly but she was very adamant about this apparent crease."

John nods, a painful expression on his face. God, how he loves John sometimes. No one seems to get it quite like John.

"So I asked her where the crease was, and lo and behold, when she opens up the book, there was nothing. I swear, not a single crease, no spots, no nothing. So I ask her very politely what the problem is—"

"I would've told her to fuck off," John interrupts.

"That's why you don't work behind the counter."

"No, thank fuck for that."

Brian laughs. "Anyway, this lady is really insistent now, you know how you can just feel when a customer is about to throw a fit? And she points to, and by God, I wish I were kidding, she points to the stitching."

John buries his head in his hands. 

"She points to the stitching," Brian repeats, unable to hold back a smile at the absurdity of it all, "and she tells me she hasn't paid for these to be here, that it makes a crease appear, and I tell her that this is what holds the book together, and she gets offended! She wants me to remove them because she thinks they're ugly. Honest to God, John, I'm quitting."

"Oh I would've," John says, “I hate customers so much, but this might just be the worst."

"Worse than 5 pence Petra?"

John drags his hands away from his face, helplessly laughing. "How could I forget 5 pence Petra?"

"Didn't she ask you out once?"

John groans. "You promised you would never mention it again!"

"Don’t tell me if you don't want me to remind you," Brian says with a shrug-

"I should probably take your advice, but at the same time, I need to share with someone who understands the pain. Freddie claims he’s never had an annoying customer, can you believe that?” John says, and Brian looks at him in disbelief. “By the way, did I tell you what happened last week?"

"No, what happened?" Brian asks, curious. He scrapes the last of the sauce onto his fork.

"This very drunk lady, she was Scandinavian I think, came in, bought a birthday card and asked if I could keep an eye on her plastic bag which contained at least a dozen bottles, and tried to pay me in cigars."

"You're joking.”

"Oh I wish," John says, putting his plate down.

“Did you accept it, then?”

“God, no. Might have if she’d offered one of the bottles instead.”

“She sounds like someone who’d be open for negotiation, I’m sure you could’ve just asked,” Brian says with a grin.

“Always miss my chance with those ladies,” John sighs.

Brian kicks him lightly, and John smiles wryly. “Better luck next time.”

♛ ♛ ♛ 

He's stretched out on the couch a few days later, still caught up in the disappointing ending of the book he just finished, when the front door opens followed by a shout of “busy?”

Brian twists around to watch Roger kick off his boots and step out of his snowsuit. "Not at all," he says, "why?"

"I've had this riff in my head all day,” Roger says, kicking the snowsuit closer to the wall. When he steps into the living room, he’s red-cheeked and slightly out of breath. “I want to use it for one of my songs."

"Oh," Brian says, interest piqued, "sure, let's see what we can make of it."

"Great," Roger enthuses, "now?"

"You're very energetic," Brian says, stretching lazily. 

"I'm afraid I'll forget it! Do you know how difficult it is to keep a song in your head when you're trying to make people care about human rights?"

"No," Brian says, amused, "but do tell me."

Roger sticks his tongue out at him. 

“Have you done something with your hair?” he asks, thinking Roger looks different somehow.

“No,” Roger says, looking puzzled. 

“Oh,” Brian says. He studies him for a moment—the fringe that falls into his eyes in quite a charming way and the hair at the back of his neck that brushes the hood of his hoodie—and wonders how he has failed to notice how much his hair has grown in less than two months. “Nevermind.”

Roger sends him a curious look, so Brian gets up from the couch and opens the door to their makeshift studio. “Coming?”

The smile Roger sends him is strange, and Brian hides his confusion by leaving Roger to himself and going inside.

Roger follows shortly, starting to rifle through a pile of loose sheets on top of his drums. Brian picks up his guitar to tune it but finds that he can’t help glancing at Roger. 

"Right," Roger says, stepping closer with a piece of paper in hand. Brian instantly spots one of his trademark Ys. “These are the lyrics so far. Could use some improvement, but here's so you get the idea."

Brian looks at him, surprised. Roger never shows anyone his lyrics before they're done—Brian knows he scraps double the amount of songs than he ever shows them.

He looks back at the sheet in Roger's hand, scans over the lyrics. Tries to ignore the warmth from Roger's shoulder pressed against his.

"The melody is quite simple," Roger says, handing him the paper to plug in the keyboard, "well, at least until the middle part." 

Before Brian can think of anything to say, Roger has sat down in front of the keyboard and started playing. The words on the page swim before Brian’s eyes.

“It’s nice,” Brian croaks when he’s done. He clears his throat, musing that this cold may never leave him. "What are you thinking with the drums?".

"Quite energetic," Roger says, twisting in his seat to look around the cramped room. "Where'd I put my sticks?"

Brian looks at him wordlessly. He really does look … quite handsome today. 

“Oh, here's one," Roger says, getting up to collect a drumstick from behind his kit. "Where's the—oh, it's behind you."

"What?" 

"My drumstick. Right behind you. Chuck it over here?"

Bewildered, Brian turns around, and there it is, next to John’s bass. Not trusting Roger's ability to catch it he steps over to where he has settled behind his kit. Their hands brush when he hands it over, and there's an odd tingly sensation in his hand afterward. He wipes it on his trouser leg. 

Roger starts a quick beat, and Brian forces himself to join. It doesn’t sound right. When Roger stops, he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. 

"So for the riff, "Roger says, "it would sound something like this."

He vocalises the riff, and Brian tries to copy it, but he can see it’s not what Roger’s after. Brian feels warm—usually he prides himself in being able to catch on quickly, to be so in tune with the other three that he can easily translate their ideas; after all, that’s what makes their playing together so special.

"Bugger,” Roger says, wiping his brow. “Wish I had my guitar."

Brian hesitates, swallows the annoying lump in his throat. He pulls the strap off his shoulder. "You, uh. You can borrow mine."

Roger looks at him, surprised. His fringe gets in his eyes, and he pushes it away. "What?"

"You can use it," Brian says, feeling silly, "I mean, if you want to."

He hands it over to Roger, who wordlessly accepts it. He looks up at Brian, eyes searching, and something tugs painfully at his heart. Has he been so distant that his best friend is surprised he hands over his guitar willingly? Ridiculously, he wants to reach out to touch Roger, but then Roger is smiling and pulling the strap over his shoulder, adjusting it a little before he experimentally runs his fingers over the fretboard.

Brian watches him, face a picture of concentration, and suddenly, it makes sense; he gets it now, anticipates each note almost before it’s played. Every once in a while, Roger looks up as if to check in with Brian, and each time, it startles him just as much. He tries to remember the lyrics, but can’t bring himself to look down at where he’s holding them in a too-tight grip, can’t look away from Roger. 

He breathes in deeply, desperate to get air into his lungs.

"What do you think?" Roger asks. 

The question startles him. He can’t recall a time those words have ever been directed at him inside this room—he knows the others talk about him when he's not there, knows they think he's being a pain, and Roger in particular is not afraid to voice it. Freddie will ask for his opinion occasionally, but not the other two. Never Roger.

He could tear him down if he wanted to, Brian realises. He's asking for it, almost. But the way Roger looks at him, guarded but with a glimmer of hope, makes something expand inside his chest, press against his insides until he forgets to breathe.

He breathes in deeply, exhales messily. Smiles tentatively. “It definitely has potential.”

♛ ♛ ♛ 

Inspired by their jamming session, Brian sits down after dinner with pen, paper, and a vague idea he hopes to turn into a song. Freddie is making his own dinner and John and Roger are in their room so it's quiet enough, and the dining table has much better lighting than their small shared desk in their room. 

The melody he gets down quickly enough, but he struggles to find words to go along with it, and pauses to chew at the end of his pencil. He watches Freddie put his instant soup—organic and supposedly healthy, but instant soup nonetheless—in the microwave, then stares hard at his sheet of paper in an attempt to force the words. 

A moment later, Roger and John appear, and Brian listens with half an ear to their discussion about garlic bread until suddenly, inspiration strikes him, and his handwriting becomes a messy scrawl as he attempts to keep up with his brain.

When he looks up again, hand cramping from the tight hold on his pen, the others have gathered around the dining table as well and seem to be halfway through their meal. 

”You're quite a good kisser, though," Freddie says, removing his elbows from the table so John can reach over to clean his empty soup bowl with a piece of garlic bread. 

“How can you tell, you’ve been piss drunk every time,” Roger says, “but you’re right, I am a good kisser. Years of practice, kids.”

“You make me sound so unromantic,” Freddie says. John snorts softly.

Brian looks between them, trying to process what he’s just heard."What?"

Roger glances at him. "Hm?"

"Did you—” He starts, then catches Freddie’s eye. “How do you ... How would you know?” 

"I talk from experience, darling,” Freddie says, “I would never make guesswork of something as serious as that."

Roger lets out a soft snort.

"You've—Freddie and you? You’ve kissed?”

"Er," Roger says. “Yeah?”

"How can you—doesn't this bother you?" he demands, turning to John.

John shrugs. "Not really. I already knew."

"You knew?"

"Brian, they're not exactly subtle. Surely you've seen them kiss before?"

Brian sits back. "When?"

“It’s not like I stuck my tongue down his throat just yesterday,” Roger says, “it’s months ago.”

Brian stares at him, trying to formulate a response. He can’t picture Roger and Freddie together; it’s not right. His brain won’t go there. 

“Still,” he says, mind whirring, "how can you talk so casually about this in front of John? That's bad form."

Roger glances at Freddie and John. “He just told you he doesn't care. It didn't mean anything. We were drunk."

Three pairs of eyes turn to Brian, and he glares back.

"Have you really never seen us kiss?" Freddie asks, looking at him with a curious gaze.

"No," Brian says, crossing his arms. "When?"

Roger shrugs. "At parties and such.”

"So what else has happened? John performs strip teases in public?"

"Didn't the last time checked, but he's got the body for it," Roger says. Freddie nods energetically.

"These hips don't lie," John deadpans.

"I just didn't know you were that kind of friends," Brian says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Ah, he's jealous!" Freddie says. "Are you sad you're the only one who hasn't got a taste of the famous Freddie Bulsara, darling?"

John dissolves into helpless laughter. 

Brian rolls his eyes and says, with as much dignity as he can muster, "I was just surprised, is all.”

"Aw, darling, don't be like that,” Freddie says, leaning forward, “we're only joking!"

Brian frowns, then makes a show of ignoring them as he stares sullenly at his paper. He can’t say he cares too much about John’s feelings on the matter, but hearing them talk so casually about it makes something bitter and unpleasant rise in his throat. 

He knows there’s no such thing as a casual kiss, and it’s not that he’s jealous, but he thinks Roger could have told him that he was into kissing other men—a public service announcement, really, so Brian doesn’t end up looking like an utter tit when it’s inevitably sprung on him. 

A light kick to his ankle makes him look up. Roger’s smile is tentative, and something like confusion bubbles in his chest.

"Alright?" 

Brian nods slowly. 

Roger drags his chair closer and pokes him in the side. "You're all quiet."

"I was just thinking," Brian says, squirming away from Roger's prodding finger.

"We were just having fun," Roger says, letting his hand fall to his side. "You're not gonna leave, are you?"

Brian glances at Freddie and John, but they seem to be deep in conversation and are not paying attention to him at all. He lowers his voice. "I’m not leaving. It was just a surprise."

"What, me and Freddie?" 

"Yeah," Brian says, hating the way Roger says it so casually. "I didn't know."

"It didn't mean anything," Roger says, expression earnest. "We were drunk and silly. You know how it is"

"I'm not sure I do,” Brian says, because he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to kiss his friends, drunk or not.

Roger smiles. "Hm, no, I can see that. But you gotta admit kissing is nice." 

Brian's eyes drop to Roger's mouth entirely without his permission. He swallows. "Perhaps," he allows, "if one is into that sort of thing."

Roger puts his elbow on the dining table and rests his chin in hand. "You never told me why."

Brian looks away. "I did."

"Remind me again?"

"It makes me become attached."

"And is that so bad?" Roger asks, eyes searching Brian’s face.

Brian laughs, a strangled, bitter sound. "Are you never afraid to burn your fingers?"

"Sucks the fun out of life, doesn’t it? Being afraid."

He’s suddenly very aware that Freddie and John have fallen silent, and when he glances at them, they are watching their conversation with interest.

“Do you mind?” he asks them. When he turns back to Roger, he’s gazing calmly at him, and Brian takes in the familiar features, lets the trust and safety that come with years of friendship wrap around him. His voice is weak when he says, “I don’t know.”

Roger’s eyes soften. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen.”

Brian closes his hot, stinging eyes. He wishes he could believe him.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

 Despite the light from his bedside lamp, a soft blue glow still emits from the bottom drawer of his nightstand when he sits down on his bed and opens it. He can’t help but let out a soft snort—he’d almost forgot about it. 

The cock ring is smooth and cool in his palm when he picks it up, and he turns it in his hands as he thinks back on how angry and, for a second, humiliated, he’d felt when he unwrapped it in front of Freddie and Roger. Perhaps he should’ve seen it coming—Roger’s like that, he knows, always taking his jokes too far—but right after their awful hookup? If touching him hadn’t been the last thing he wanted at that moment, Brian would have strangled him. And then his eyes had dropped to the certificate, and he’d hated Roger, hated how he couldn’t even stay angry with him because he wasn’t just a regular prick, he had to be a thoughtful prick. 

Brian puts the cock ring down on his nightstand and reaches for the certificate, scanning the coordinates and his name in big letters on a glittering, starry background. He hasn’t visited his parents since Christmas, but when he does, he’ll have to set up his telescope and see if he can find his star. 

No one but Roger could come up with something so at once ridiculous and thoughtful, and it makes Brian ache when he thinks about it, so it’s rare that he does. He can’t help it now, and he unbuttons and pulls off his trousers and crawls into bed.

He thinks about their time in the studio earlier, how it had felt like a punch in the stomach when he’d watched Roger play, the strange feeling in his chest that’s been there all day. And he thinks that maybe he wants Roger, and the thought makes him feel warm and prickly. He can’t recall the last time he’s allowed himself to want something and he’s not about to start now, not when his friendship with Roger is at stake, not when he knows Roger’s only looking to experiment.

He thinks Roger’s curiosity has been sated, that those two times were more than enough, but maybe he’ll decide he wants to go further one day, and Brian can’t bear the thought of it, is afraid he’s going to hook up with a stranger in a club, somebody who doesn’t care he hasn’t been with man, who doesn’t know him like Brian does.

Stomach tightening with sudden anxiety, Brian is halfway out of bed before he remembers himself. He can’t just go in there and tell Roger not to hook up with other men. He’s a big boy, Brian knows that, but he’s also chaotic and reckless and far too nice. 

If only he didn’t care—it’s not like Roger cares about Brian’s hookups, and maybe if Brian put more energy into finding someone to blow off steam with, he wouldn’t have to think about any of this.

By the time Freddie lets himself into their bedroom and starts undressing, Brian has almost calmed down enough to go to sleep.

He closes his eyes, returns Freddie’s goodnight, and listens to the sounds of Freddie crawling into bed; the rustle of the sheets and the click of the lamp. 

It’s quiet for a moment, then comes Freddie’s “where the fuck does that light come from?”

Brian opens his eyes, momentarily confused by the soft, blue light coming from his nightstand, before he suddenly realises what it is. Struck by horror, he grabs the cock ring, throws it into the still open drawer, and forcefully closes it.

“Was that—?” Freddie says, losing a splutter of amusement.

Brian’s cheeks burn, and he turns to his other side. “Goodnight, Freddie.”

♛ ♛ ♛

The next morning, Brian wakes up from a vague dream that leaves him confused and impossibly horny, mind whirring and dick aching.

It’s inconvenient, to say the least—he doesn’t have time to be horny, nor does he have time to analyse why his subconscious thought it a good idea to put him in weird, uncomfortable lingerie at Roger’s request. 

Quietly horrified with himself, he gets out of bed and puts on his robe. He fully blames the unfortunate incident—trauma—last night for his fucked up dream, but he’s still hard, and finding the cause does nothing to soften it.

Securing his robe, he slips out of his bedroom, mind filled with strong hands in his hair and a bright smile that makes him ache. He’s disappointed to hear John dueting with Bonnie Tyler in the bathroom, and is just about to go back to his bedroom for a long, luxurious wank, when a door opens and Roger appears in old man slippers and the Marlboro windbreaker John got him for Christmas, eyes small with sleep.

"Are you heading out?" Brian asks, even though the question is quite obviously yes. 

Roger nods, holding up his lighter and pack of cigarettes as a way of explanation.

"Mind if I go with you? I could do with some fresh air."

"Sure," Roger says, throwing glances at him like he's grown an extra head. Brian doesn't blame him; if he's not going to work or uni, he prefers to stay inside.

“Let me just put on some trousers,” he says, hurrying back to his bedroom to pull on trousers and two woolen jumpers.

Logically, he knows no good can come out of this, and he almost pauses, but then he remembers Roger’s words from the night before, and he doesn’t want to be afraid, not anymore.

And if he’s rejected, well. At least he’ll know.

Outside, Roger shakes out a cigarette and puts it between his lips, turning toward Brian to shield the flame from the wind. There’s a small furrow between his eyebrows as he flicks the lighter and his eyelashes seem impossibly long. Brian can't help but stare.

"Slept well?" Roger asks conversely, rubbing the crust out of his eyes.

"Um," Brian says, distracted by Roger’s eyes on him. He really needs to just go for it. "I did, thanks. Listen—" 

He takes a fortifying breath, racking his brain for a way to word his proposal that doesn’t make him sound like a loon. Considering that he hasn’t spent a minute thinking it through, he’s not too optimistic. 

"What's up?" Roger prompts.

"Right," Brian says, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket, "I've been thinking and ... I'm sorry if this is blunt, but ... I was wondering ... Do you maybe want to fool around?"

"What?" Roger lets out a laugh, and when Brian looks at him, his face is a picture of disbelief.

"Do you want to shag?" He's not sure that's much better, but at least now it's out in the open.

Roger rubs his face with the hand holding his cigarette. It makes Brian nervous. “Uhm,” he says. “I suppose..?”

“Right,” Brian says, stomach dropping, “convincing.”

“No, I just—I suppose I don’t need to remind you of last time. I’m a little apprehensive. I don’t know what you want.”

“You,” he says before he can stop himself, “for real this time.”

Roger swallows. “Why? I mean … I thought you didn’t—”

“I do,” Brian urges. He pauses, scratches the side of his nose with his middle finger. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday.”

Roger takes a long drag of his cigarette. “It’s unlike you to make a decision so fast.”

“I know,” Brian says. The conversation feels surreal. “It’s been a long time coming, I think.”

“You want to have sex,” Roger says, “with me.”

Brian chances a step closer. He reaches out to brush his thumb over the back of Roger’s hand. Roger looks down, then his eyes snap to Brian’s. 

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Brian admits. “I want to know what it feels like when you fuck me.”

He doesn’t think he imagines the hitch of Roger’s breath. “That’s a lot to process this early in the morning.”

“You don’t have to decide yet,” he says, touching Roger’s arm and wondering just when he became this fucking bold. He steps back. “I’m going back inside. See you in there?”

Roger’s voice is hoarse when he replies, “see you.”

Brian turns around and walks inside, mind spinning. He doesn’t think he’s ever been that blatant before, but as he replays their conversation in his mind, he has a sneaking suspicion that he might have been missing out.

♛ ♛ ♛

As it turns out, Roger is quick to decide. 

"Please, John," Roger is saying not 10 minutes later, "it's a tiny favour I'm asking you."

"I'm not doing it," John says, hanging his wet towel over the back of a chair. "It's freezing outside, and besides, it's your crap."

"John!" Roger's voice has taken on a decidedly whiny tone, "just this once."

John folds his arms over his chest. "Give me one reason."

"You'd get to spend the entire day with your boyfriend!”

"No, give me a reason why you want me to do it."

"I'm—" Roger's eyes flick to Brian. "I'm getting a cold." 

"You're never sick," John says with narrowed eyes. "Though God knows you should be suffering from horrible vitamin C deficiency."

"Well, you go out for a smoke in your underwear, see how you fare," Roger says, adding a sniff at the end of his sentence.

“He does look a bit pale,” Brian says, thinking he should probably attempt to help.

John ignores him. "Unless you have a fever, I'm not even gonna consider it," he says, picking up his tangle of earphones from the dining table and walking into the kitchen to start on the dishes. 

"I do have a fever," Roger insists, "come, feel my forehead, I'm burning up!"

"I'm not gonna feel your forehead," John says, "take a couple of paracetamols if it's so bad or talk to Freddie, I'm not going."

"I can't believe you hate me," Roger says sullenly.

John puts his earphones in.

Roger turns to Brian, an exasperated look on his face. He does a little toss of his head towards his room. Brian follows him. 

"Sorry, really thought he'd go," Roger says when they’re inside and he’s closed the door behind them.

“It’s okay,” Brian lies, disappointment mingling with the slow slide of arousal in the pit of his stomach. "We'll do it some other time." 

Roger steps closer until Brian is pressed against the door. He lifts his hand to trace Brian’s jaw, then latches a soft mouth over his pulse point. 

Brian closes his eyes, greedily inhales the sweet scent of Roger’s hair. He wants to say something, but no words leave his mouth.

“Really want you,” Roger murmurs into the skin of his neck, his hands low and tight on Brian’s hips.

Surprise unsticks his throat. “Really?”

“You’re funny,” Roger says, looking up at him as he presses closer, a delicious hardness against Brian’s thigh. “Wanted you for so long, I don’t think I can—please don’t change your mind again, I can’t—”

“I won’t,” Brian promises, gasping as Roger smiles and sucks a line of kisses up the column of his throat. 

“Good,” Roger says, breath catching as Brian grinds against him. “I wanna fuck you.”

“Don’t,” Brian groans, his hands coming up to push against Roger's shoulders. "If you don't stop, we'll do it here, I don't care. Freddie and John can watch."

“Kinky,” Roger says, smiling up at him. His hands stroke Brian’s sides, and Brian’s exhale is messy. He wonders if Roger can feel it on his face.

His eyes drop to Roger’s mouth entirely without his permission, and he wants to give in so, so badly. He wonders what he tastes like, wonders how their mouths fit together, but he can’t, knows that if this is going to end well, he has to keep himself in check—Roger clearly doesn’t have any qualms about tempting him into things he’s surely going to regret later.

“Freddie will wonder where you are,” he whispers, hands sliding down to rest on Roger’s upper arms. 

The disappointment he expects on Roger’s face doesn’t come, and Brian feels a strange drop of his stomach when he merely squeezes his sides and steps back.

Brian thinks he should be able to breathe again but for some reason, it’s harder without Roger pressed against him.

"Are you gonna think about me?" Roger asks, annoyingly charming grin in place as he puts his hand on the door handle when Brian steps away.

Brian swallows. He doesn’t trust his voice to lie so he says nothing. 

Roger presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

The blood in Brian’s veins thrums in approval.

♛ ♛ ♛

When the front door slams a few minutes later, Brian unpeels himself from the door and slips into his bedroom to collect a towel. He sends a weak smile John’s way when he passes him in the living room and tries not to look like he’s up to something when he hurries to the bathroom. 

Making sure to lock the door, he strips off his clothes, giving his cock a quick squeeze as he waits for the shower to warm. He doesn’t think—he lets out his breath when he steps under the spray, lets the water warm him up as he reaches for his shower gel. Catching sight of the bottles, he hesitates, and then, quelling the spike of guilt, takes Roger’s instead.   

He has a vague memory of Roger saying he'd stolen it somewhere because it smelt so good, but Brian is not sure he believes it, and if it is, he really doesn’t want to know. His soapy hands slide easily over his skin, the honeyed scent of the lather flooding his senses with images of Roger pressed against him, of strong hands on his hips. Closing his eyes, he trails a hand down his torso and closes a fist around his cock and groans, recalling Roger's expression as he'd sucked him off, the sounds he’d made, the quiet inhalation. The tiles are shockingly cold against his back, and he wonders what would have happened if Roger had convinced John to go, if he'd been on his stomach right this moment, and he can't stop the stuttering moan that leaves his mouth. His hand speeding up, he grinds back against the wall, needing to feel the solidity of it, and wishing it was warm and soft flesh instead of cold, wet tiles.

Roger's words run through his head; of want and need and wanna fuck you, and Brian feels the build in his groin, lets his head fall back against the tiles while he slows his hand, panting softly. He looks down as he comes, on his flushed cock, on the come that is quickly rinsed away by the spray of the shower, and he can barely believe what he’s just done.

He waits for the guilt to come but oddly, it doesn’t. Catching his breath, he pushes himself away from the wall, uncaps his shampoo and works it into his hair, thinking about Roger and Freddie at the stall and wondering whether Roger has thought about him at all. 

It scares him how much he wants now that he's allowed himself to, but he does, and he supposes there's no use in denying it anymore. He wants to feel Roger's mouth on him, wants to get fucked into the mattress, wants a lot of other things he's not allowed to think about yet.

He can't stop picturing Roger's smile, can't stop thinking about his words. He thinks about it as he rinses the shampoo out of his hair, thinks about it as he dries off and puts on clothes. He's still thinking about it when he waits at the bus stop, is reminded of it again when he opens a message from Roger after his tutoring, thinks about it when he goes to bed at night.

When three days have passed, Brian thinks he might actually, genuinely go insane. He can’t pretend he’s not bothered, not when Roger is there, not when he knows, when he uses every excuse he can to touch or brush against him. The whole thing is endlessly frustrating, and Brian has resorted to wanks in the shower—he might’ve worried about using too much water, but has found that he finishes embarrassingly quickly lately.

His cock stirs at the thought, and he shifts on the couch; the movement causes Roger to look away from the television screen and up at Brian, a soft smile on his lips. 

Glancing at Freddie and John curled up in the armchair and finding that their attention is on the screen, Brian slides his fingers into Roger's hair and doesn’t think he imagines the sound of Roger's breath hitching a little. Unthinkingly, he scratches his scalp lightly, and Roger presses into the touch, cheek pressing against Brian’s thigh.

Heart in his throat, Brian extends his thumb and tentatively brushes over the shell of Roger's ear, causing him to still. He turns slowly, enough to look Brian in the eye, and Brian feels suddenly shaky with want. Mouth twisting, Roger turns back to look at the screen, and Brian tries to relax, to enjoy the movie and the company of his friends, but the only thing he can think about is how close his cock is to Roger's head, and how good his mouth felt around him. 

"Right," John says half an hour later, getting to his feet with impressive ease considering the depth of the chair and the fact that he’s got one Freddie Bulsara wrapped around him, "I should be going."

"What time is it?" Freddie asks, following John with his eyes and hugging a pillow to his chest.

"A quarter past, and my shift starts at noon."

Freddie pouts. "I'll miss you."

John smiles. "I'll keep that thought for when I'm about to commit arson."

"You're exaggerating," Freddie says, getting up to follow him to the door. Brian knows he most likely isn't.

He listens to their quiet bickering in the hallway, trying his best not to squirm, but Roger’s head seems to have moved from his thigh to his crotch, and his dick has unfortunately taken an interest.

The front door clicks open, and Roger waves in the direction of the hallway even though Brian doubts he can see anything from his reclining position. "Bye, John," he shouts, "don't kill anyone!"

"I make no promises," John yells back. The door slams, and they both listen for a while for Freddie to return, but he appears to have followed John outside. 

"You've got to move," Brian whispers, "you're driving me nuts."

Roger smiles, slow and sly. "I'm driving you nuts now?"

"Stop it," Brian says, pushing at his shoulder, but Roger just grins, easily resisting.

“Am I turning you on?” he asks, looking very, very pleased.

Brian scoffs. “Of course not.”

“Liar,” Roger whispers and grabs his wrist.

Brian’s pulse thrums against Roger’s fingers.

“You’re not—” Roger begins, but Brian doesn’t get to find out what he isn’t, because just then, the door opens, and a moment later, Freddie enters the living room.

“Don’t the two of you look cosy,” he comments, picking up his iPad from the dining table.

Brian flushes. 

“Oh, we are,” Roger says, stretching out on the couch. 

“I’ll let you get on with it, then,” Freddie says, an amused glint in his eyes.

Brian swallows. "Don't you wanna stay and watch the movie?"

Freddie wrinkles his nose. "It's dreadful."

Roger snorts. "See you later, Fred."

The second the door to their room has closed behind Freddie, Roger sits up, bringing his face close to Brian’s. "Wanna come to my room for a cuddle?" 

Brian swallows. He can only think of one way this could possibly go, and suddenly he's afraid. Roger leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. His skin tingles.

"Okay," Brian whispers, and follows him into Roger's room.

He almost regrets it when he discovers the floor is barely visible underneath clothes and uni books, but then Roger is bouncing on his bed and gesturing for Brian to lie down. 

Brian does, stepping over piles of clothes to press their bodies together, to line kisses up Roger's throat. Roger sighs and Brian reaches for his belt.

“No,” Roger says, and Brian stills, almost thinks he’s misheard.

"What's wrong?"

"Not in here."

Brian stares at him, uncertain. "What's wrong with in here?"

Roger picks at a loose thread on Brian’s jumper. "It's not fair to John."

"That we have sex and he doesn't?" Brian ascertains, just so Roger can hear how ridiculous it sounds.

"No, that he'll have to start thinking about whether he can enter his own room or not. I promised him long ago I wouldn't bring people home."

"It's not like we're doing it on his bed,” Brian says, desperate now, “he’s not even home.”

Roger shakes his head. "Brian, I don't want to do it in here."

Brian suppresses a groan. Where else can they go? Rent a hotel room? "We might not get the chance again."

"I promise you we will," Roger says, brushing his hand over Brian’s cheek. 

Brian closes his eyes. He can’t stand Roger this close, can feel the pull of his lips and is suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to lean in and kiss him, and it startles him a little. He wonders if it would make Roger change his mind. 

He opens his eyes again, presses his cheek against Roger’s palm. “Okay,” he says. Sighs, knowing he can’t possibly stay. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

♛ ♛ ♛

On Thursday afternoon, it finally happens. There’s a gorgeous sunset outside their window, shining large blocks of golden orange on the couch Roger’s stretched out on, and Brian is sitting at the kitchen table, valiantly trying to pay attention to the book he’s reading. So far he’s not succeeding.

The door to his room opens, and Freddie appears with John in tow, both heading straight for the hallway. Roger looks up from his phone to peer curiously at them. 

"Behave, darlings," Freddie says, popping his head in again a moment later, now dressed in fur coat and heeled boots. John appears behind him in a charming windbreaker in pink and blue. 

"Are you leaving?"

Freddie lets out an exaggerated sigh. "We told you this, dear. Remember that play Chrissie’s in? Or not in, she works there. I’d wanted to go anyway, but then she invited me along, and Deaky darling was kind enough to offer his delightful company."

"That's very kind of you, John," Brian says, remembering absolutely no such thing and deciding to focus on the one thing he understands. John's eyes crinkle as he smiles. "Are you gonna be home for dinner?" He aims for casual, but his heart is beating fast suddenly.

Freddie looks to John. "I think we're eating at theirs, yes."

"Right," Brian says, voice faint.

He doesn't dare look at Roger. Thinks he might combust if he does. 

"Say hello to Chrissie from me," Roger says, sounding decidedly cheerful, "and Veronica if she's around."

"We will," Freddie promises, waving at them over his shoulder. John grins at them and follows. 

For long, painful seconds, neither of them move. The front door closes, and Brian listens as two pairs of feet descend the stairs, then hears the creak and slam of the other door. His heart thrums painfully as he reads the same sentence over and over, his body tense and alert.

The couch creaks when Roger shifts, but Brian keeps reading, more desperately now. He tries to ignore the soft padding of Roger's feet on the hardwood floors, tries to control his breathing, but it's not until Roger is standing next to him, warm hand on the back of his neck, thumb lightly caressing the skin until the fine hairs stand on end that he stops pretending. 

He exhales long and slow, closes his eyes against the caress. It's like warmth spreads from that touch, leaving his whole body tingling and desperate for more. Roger kicks out a chair, lets his hand slide off. 

Brian looks at him. 

"Do you still want this?" Roger asks, expression open and genuine. 

Brian swallows. "Yes."

A gorgeous smile spreads on Roger's lips, one that makes his heart beat faster in his chest. His lips feel heavy and hot. 

"I don't know what to do now," Roger admits, scrubbing at his hair.

This makes Brian snap out of it. Sex is something he knows, something he can relax into, and that no matter if it's a stranger or his unfairly good looking friend. 

He grabs Roger’s wrist, thumb brushing over the inked skin. His pulse thrums. 

"My suggestion would be the bedroom," he says, "depending on how adventurous you're feeling."

Roger laughs, a bright, startling sound. "Not very. I prefer the bed."

Brian smiles. "Me too."

When they enter his room, he’s embarrassed to note that his bed is unmade and there’s a pair of boxers that didn’t quite make the hamper, and he casts an envious glance on Freddie’s half of the room, on his huge, pristine bed. He opens his mouth to apologise, but before the words come out, a gentle push from Roger makes him sit down on the bed. 

“Don’t apologise,” Roger says, looking down at him with amusement.

“I wasn’t going to,” Brian lies, his hands moving to Roger’s hips on their own accord. He can scarcely believe he’s allowed to touch now, and he experimentally lets them slide down further, over Roger's backside. 

The hitch of Roger’s breath makes his own stutter in his throat, and his fingers are clumsy and uncooperative as he reaches for Roger’s zipper. Warm hands on his face steady him, and he pushes Roger’s trousers down, runs his hands up his thighs, stares, dry-mouthed, at the semi visible through the thin cotton fabric. 

Roger's fingers caress his cheek, run over his lips. He smiles.

Lowering his gaze, Brian pushes his hands under the hem of Roger's jumper, lets his hands slide over the warm skin. He presses kisses to Roger's stomach, mouths at the edge of his boxers. Roger's hands slide into his hair, and Brian doubles his efforts, kisses the visible bulge, and Roger cants his hips forward, exhaling messily. Brian's own cock twitches at the sound, at the thought of taking him into his mouth, of finally getting fucked, and he has to force himself to remain seated, to not let Roger take him right then and there. 

“Fuck,” Roger breathes, pulling at his hair. Brian’s breath catches. “Been thinking about your mouth.”

Brian removes his mouth from the damp fabric and looks up at him, at his flushed cheeks and blown pupils. He can't stand it much longer. 

"Yes," he rasps, and Roger's hands slide down his neck; a warm, solid weight there that sends shivers down Brian's spine. 

Mouth filling with saliva, Brian swallows and lets go of him, unbuttons his trousers and pushes them down over his hips along with his underwear. Pulling off his socks, he glances up at Roger again, stilling when he finds he’s just standing there, staring. It makes Brian feel warm all over, and he’s quick to scoot back on the bed, pulling off his jumper and his tee and shivering slightly as he’s exposed to the cool air. 

As their eyes meet again, Roger seems to shake himself and follows quickly, ridding himself of socks, jumper and boxers. Once he’s naked, he slowly lowers himself onto the mattress, and lifts a hand to skim down Brian's side. Brian suppresses a shiver as it follows the curve of his arse.

A faint smile on his lips, Roger dips down his mouth to kiss him, and Brian is just about to jerk away when he stops himself, places an apologetic hand on his arm.

“Sorry,” Roger says, “it’s just—I don’t know how to go about this without kissing. It’s so impersonal.”

Brian scoots back to look at him properly. “Does it have to be? It’s not a problem if we don’t make it one.”

Roger looks like he’s going to argue, and Brian feels a spike of annoyance. Then Roger idly swats his arm. “You’re such a prostitute.”

Brian relaxes. “You couldn’t afford me if I were.” He imagines it’s the kind of thing Freddie would say, and feels a bit silly, but it has the desired effect when Roger laughs.

“Because I’m dirt poor or because you’re that good?”

“Because I’m that good, of course.”

Roger runs a hand up his thigh. “Sounds very promising.”

Hiding a smile, Brian turns to his nightstand to retrieve lube, condoms, and baby wipes. The condoms and wipes he carelessly throws on the bed, but the lube he uncaps and squeezes onto his palm before passing the nearly empty bottle to Roger. 

“So you do this a lot, then?” Roger asks as Brian is slicking up his fingers, turning the bottle in his hand. 

Brian snorts gently. “Have sex? Occasionally.”

“No, I mean—” Roger waves the bottle uselessly.

“I didn’t know you were so prissy.”

“Shut up,” Roger says with an embarrassed grin. It’s a good look on him.

“Hurry up, then—no, grab me a pillow first.”

“I have tried anal before, you know,” Roger says. Brian looks at him doubtfully.

“With girls,” he clarifies.

"Hopefully this will feel a bit better for both parts,” Brian says, suppressing a laugh when he sees Roger’s put-out expression.

He takes the pillow from Roger and lies down on the bed, lifting his hips to push it underneath him. When he’s settled, Roger scoots closer to sit between his bent legs.

“Move,” Brian says, slick fingers hovering over his entrance, “I need more room if I don’t want to bump my hand into you every time.”

“Sorry,” Roger says, scooting back a bit, “I’m not wearing my contacts.”

This strikes Brian as terribly funny, and he can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes him. The expression on Roger’s face doesn’t help matters, and Brian dissolves into helpless laughter.

“Have you quite finished?” Roger asks, going for unimpressed but ending up with a grin stretching his lips.

“Sorry,” Brian says, even though he doesn’t feel sorry at all. Then his eyes drop to Roger’s erection, and, inhaling deeply through his nose, he slowly works himself open. 

Roger watches him, enthralled, and a warm hand drops to Brian’s thigh, the other wrapping around his own flushed cock. It’s intense and impossibly arousing, the way Roger is looking at him like he’s a delectable treat while he fingers himself open. 

“God,” Roger breathes, “you’re so fucking gorgeous. Can barely contain myself.”

The words make Brian’s head spin, and he chokes out a moan as his fingers press against his prostate. He feels desperate to be filled, and the fact that he can see the tight fist around Roger’s cock doesn’t help matters.

Carefully, he removes his fingers, and Roger drops a kiss to his bent knee. Brian returns the caress with his dry hand and rolls over on his stomach.

"What are you doing?"

Brian twists his neck to look at him, surprised. "I'm getting ready for you to fuck me."

"No."

"No?" Brian repeats, incredulous. He suppresses the urge to grab Roger by the shoulders and shake him.

"I don't want you on your stomach," Roger says, flushed but determined.

Brian sits up again. "It's much easier this way," he says, aware that “pull yourself together and fuck me” probably isn’t the best way to go about it in a situation like this.

"No."

"Roger, come on."

"No."

"Stop repeating yourself and give me a proper answer," Brian says, losing patience. "Why don't you want me on my stomach?"

"It's too impersonal," Roger says, "we're not strangers, are we?"

"You're putting too much into this."

"If it doesn't matter to you, why don't you want to be on your back?" Roger says, crossing his arms. Brian thinks he looks ridiculous.

"Because it really isn't the ideal position for anal sex!" he says, and it's no lie. Missionary is just weird, besides.

Roger picks up the pillow he used before. "Let's just use a pillow underneath your hips."

"You can tie me up if you want to," Brian says instead.

"I don't want to tie you up! Why are you being so weird?"

"Why are you so stubborn?" Brian snaps, stung.

"I'm not doing it if you're on your stomach," Roger says, face set.

"Christ," Brian says, dragging a hand over his face. "You lie down, then."

Surprise flickers across Roger's face. "What?"

"On your back," he says, pushing gently at Roger's chest, "I'll be on top."

"I—"

"I'll ride you, alright?" he says, "Christ, you do know how to kill the mood."

"What, because I want to see your face?" Roger says, but he scoots back on the mattress, his hands skimming over Brian's sides as he climbs on top of him.

"You really are a sap," Brian says.

"And you're impossible," Roger says, but his hands are warm and sure on Brian's hips. "Not complaining about the view, though. Or the fact than I can just lie back and watch."

Brian lets out a snort. "Of course you don't." 

He grabs hold of Roger's cock then, and Roger inhales sharply through his nose. He lifts his hips and guides the tip to prod at his entrance, balancing precariously on his knees on the mattress. 

Roger’s eyes flick over his face. Brian pauses. "Are you alright?" 

Roger shakes his head, tightens his hands on Brian's hips. "A little nervous. You look so fucking good."

Brian’s not sure what to say—he can't imagine Roger being nervous about anything, and especially not something as simple as sex. Concerts, maybe, in the form of an obnoxious amount of jokes and tapping on every available surface, but sex? 

"No need to be," he says, and impales himself on Roger's cock, slowly, and God, how good it feels to be filled. 

"Fuck," Roger says, stroking his sides with strong, sure hands.

Brian stills for a long moment, reveling in the light touch and the feeling of fullness. It feels like he can breathe again, like he can finally relax, which is ridiculous when he thinks about what they’re about to do. 

Once he’s adjusted, he experimentally lifts his hips, and the hard flesh of Roger’s cock slides deliciously against his sensitive inner walls. 

“Gorgeous,” Roger says as Brian lets him fill him up again. 

It’s not long before Brian’s panting and his thighs are starting to ache, and he folds himself over to catch his breath. He's almost forgotten how much work it is.

"Your hair is getting long," Roger says, brushing it away from his face, and Brian’s heart squirms uncomfortably in his chest.

As if feeling Brian’s discomfort, Roger starts kissing up his neck, along his jaw, presses a kiss to his chin, to his cheek. Brian jerks away. 

"Relax,” Roger mumbles, “I’m not doing anything." He lifts his hips, thrusts into him slow and shallow. 

Brian moans and grinds into it, causing Roger to swear. He's panting already, and Brian doesn't think he's ever looked better. His chest is flushed, hair sticking to his forehead, and his pupils are blown. He's also smiling, and really he shouldn't look that good when fucking someone, and Brian tightens around him just to have his face contort. 

"Fuck, do that again," Roger says. His hands tighten on Brian's hips, run up his back to lay possessively behind his shoulder blades. 

Brian does as he’s told and is rewarded with a particularly deep series of thrusts that steal his breath away. He's awash with sensation, and he has to slow down, save his thighs and the orgasm that is nearing with alarming speed. 

Sliding his hands up Roger’s chest, he rocks gently back and forth, leans forward to suck kisses up the line of Roger's throat, to the corner of his jaw. There he pauses, nose almost touching Roger's. He can feel his breath on his face, and he wants to lean in, he really does, but knows he can't let it happen if he wants this to stay a one-time thing. Chest tight, he slowly straightens, starts a slow roll of his hips in an effort to coax grunts and swears out of Roger to distract him from the tangle of feelings that seems to have taken permanent residence in his stomach.

“Hold on,” Roger says, hands tight on his hips. “Let me sit up.”

Brian’s heart hammers. He knows what it means, and he doesn’t think he can contain himself if he does. He shakes his head, puts on a smile he hopes looks sexy. “I think I rather like you on your back.”

Roger frowns slightly. Not so sexy, then.

He hates that Roger has this much power over him, that he makes Brian doubt what he wants, and it almost makes him want to start a fight.

Focusing on that frown, he opens his mouth to snarl at him, but then Roger grins, almost embarrassed, and the irritation seeps out of him at once. “Yeah?”

Brian trails his fingers over Roger’s chest, brush over a peaked nipple. “Very much so.”

“I don’t think I’ll last long,” Roger admits, “but I want to, because God, you’re so lovely.”

Brian thinks they both deserve for it to last if this is going to be a one-time thing, but he’s impatient, has wanted this for days now. 

“Me neither,” he whispers, “but it’s alright, isn’t it?”

Roger nods, strokes his sides, and Brian thinks he’ll miss it. He lifts his hips again, this time aiming for his prostate, and moans thinly when he hits it. 

Roger meets him halfway, hits his prostate with pinpoint accuracy, and Brian hurls towards his orgasm with alarming speed. 

It’s rare that he’s on top, and this time, there’s a chance he gets to come first. The thought spurs him on, and he wraps a hand around his cock, making Roger swear and his mouth falls open.

“Brian—” “No, don’t come, don’t come,” he chants, one hand braced against Roger’s chest, the other tugging at his cock. He’s so close, his orgasm within a hair’s reach, and he so badly wants it, just this one time—

His hips come down again, and he chokes out a moan, the double stimulation too much, and then he’s bending over, spilling his load over his hand and Roger’s stomach.

Completely spent, he rolls off him and lets himself fall back on the bed. He doesn’t want to move in a million years. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Roger pull off the condom and throw it in the waste bin. Brian lies still, heart slamming against his ribcage, and Roger settles next to him, one leg thrown over Brian’s hips. 

“Brian,” Roger whispers between kisses to his neck. He starts a slow grind against Brian’s side. “Brian.”

“In a second,” Brian says, sighing as Roger nips at his earlobe.

“No,” Roger says, getting up to straddle his chest. He nudges his cock towards Brian’s mouth. Brian laughs tiredly and bats him away. 

“Alright,” he says, sliding his hands over Roger’s arse. “Wanna try something fun?” 

“Are you joking?” Roger says, crawling off him to give space to get up.

“Lie back, then,” Brian instructs, searching between the sheets for the bottle of lube, “where’d you put the lube?”

Roger stills, his eyes searching Brian’s, and Brian is reminded of his own first time, of the reassurance he needed but never got.

“Relax,” he soothes, briefly touching Roger’s arm before uncapping the found bottle. “You remember how much I was into it, don’t you?”

“I doubt I’ll ever forget that!”

Brian slicks up his fingers. “You won’t forget this either.”

Nodding his head once, Roger grabs a pillow and places it under his hips. His legs instantly fall open, and Brian kneels between them.

“I know it feels weird at first, but try to relax,” he says, rubbing a slick thumb over Roger’s entrance to test how tight he is. Roger lets out an appreciative moan. “Feels good?”

“Mhm.”

Brian pushes his finger past the ring of muscle. Roger stills. 

“Okay?”

Roger looks like he’s not sure what to think. He meets Brian’s eyes and huffs out a laugh. “It does feel weird, a bit. But in a good way. You can go on.”

Surprisingly, Roger doesn’t tense up, and Brian slides his finger in easily. It’s been a long time since he’s had a finger up somebody’s arse, and it’s gloriously hot and tight. He checks Roger’s face for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, he slowly fucks him with his finger.

“Uhh,” Roger breathes. Brian lightly tugs at his balls. “Feels so good.”

Brian’s cock twitches. Roger bites his lip.

"More," he says, and Brian adds another finger.

He can't stop watching him; the light lashes and colour high on his cheeks, the twist of his mouth and how he rocks into it, and it scares Brian how easily he gives into it, how open and trusting he is.

He keeps his pace achingly slow, longs to prolong the moment even if it feels like something is breaking inside of him. Roger's knuckles go white around the sheets.

"Do you want lube?" Brian asks, voice dropped low, hand already hovering over the bottle. 

"Please," Roger says, gasping and empty when Brian removes his fingers. Brian knows how he feels.

He squirts a bit of lube out in Roger's outstretched hand, and Roger envelopes his dick in a loose fist.

"I've never been this strung up," he says around a breathless laugh. Brian runs a thumb over his twitching opening. "I feel like I'm falling apart."

Brian looks at him then, really looks as they begin a slow rhythm. Roger is hot and tight around his fingers, his cock heavy and glistening in his hand, but it's his eyes that draw him in, and Brian can't look away.

Roger falls to pieces with a quiet noise, and Brian helps him through it until he receives an accidental knee in the side and Roger slumps back into the sheets, completely spent.

Brian very carefully removes his fingers and locates a box of baby wipes from his bedside drawer, cleaning first himself and then Roger. He feels slightly dazed which he thinks is good because otherwise, his emotions would threaten to overflow. Discarding the used baby wipes in the wastebasket, he carefully lowers himself onto the spot next to Roger.

Roger's chest is still moving a little too fast but his eyes are drowsy and his smile looks like it could give way to laughter at any second. 

Brian leans in and kisses him.

Roger stunned noise gets lost between their mouths, but Brian feels the vibrations in his throat where his hand has moved to on its own accord, feels the slide of Roger's thigh against his own, the chapped lips and a tease of tongue. 

Roger smiles into the kiss, which is a ridiculous thing to do, and one that Brian can’t help but mirror.

"So you do kiss on the lips," Roger says when they break apart, followed by the less romantic, "I would murder for a smoke right now."

Brian skims a hand down his side, buries his nose in Roger's shoulder. "You're so dramatic," he murmurs against warm skin. "Crack the window open."

Roger lets out a soft snort and slides out of his embrace. Brian watches him as he saunters towards the door, completely unbothered by his state of undress. He throws a pillow after him.

"Put something on," he says, "it worries me how comfortable you are walking around naked. Idiot."

Roger sticks out his tongue and slips out the door.

When he reappears a moment later to settle in the windowsill with his smoke, Brian has curled up in bed. There's a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach, and he knows he should have thought this through, knows he shouldn't have rushed into having sex with Roger, and he definitely shouldn't have kissed him. It's not like Roger hasn't had girlfriends before, but Brian knows he loves being single, loves the freedom and the adventure of it, loves knowing he can get anyone he wants. That Roger has decided to live out a fantasy with Brian is lovely, is a stroke to his ego, but no more than that, and he thinks he needs to hear that, even if it hurts.

"Roger?"

Roger looks down at him, eyes warm. The winter sunshine spills over his naked, goosebumped skin. 

Brian just looks for a moment, tries to find comfort in the familiar features of his friend. He doesn't know what to say—he feels like he should apologise, or ask what this all means.

"It was a really shitty thing to say about my parents," is what leaves his mouth instead.

Roger’s eyebrows rise in surprise. He takes a drag of his smoke and looks out the window, shivering slightly in the cold. Glances back at Brian. "I know," he says. 

"I was pretty shitty, too."

"Is that an apology?"

"I don't know how to navigate this,” Brian says, smoothing a hand over the duvet. “I know you were only looking to experiment, but—”

“What?” Roger lets out a sound of disbelief. “I never said that.”

Brian looks up, surprised. “You did. Before Christmas. We were in my room, you asked if I knew someone.”

Roger stares at him. Then he drags a hand over his face and lets out a small groan. “That was a come on, Brian.”

Brian looks down at his hands. “Oh.” 

He’d suspected, of course, that it might be, but it’d felt good to have the upper hand for once, to tease, and he hadn’t put much thought into it. Still, now that they have slept together and Roger has surely had his fill of experimentation, Brian can’t think of anything more he can give. He takes a fortifying breath. He might as well ask. 

“Will you want more?"

Roger looks out the window again. Brian’s hand tightens on the duvet. 

There's silence for a while. Roger takes a last drag and stubs out his cigarette, depositing the butt on the pavement. "I do."

Brian’s heart thrums madly in his chest. "What sort of things?"

"Whatever you want to give me." Roger hops down from the windowsill. “Just don’t shut me out again.”

Brian lifts the duvet so Roger can crawl in. The smell of fresh smoke hits his nostrils and he wrinkles his nose.

“Sorry,” Roger says, “I smell.”

“It’s okay,” Brian says, allowing Roger’s freezing, heat-seeking limbs to wrap around him. He shivers. “I won’t shut you out. But I’m scared.”

“What for?”

"If I become attached and it doesn’t work out, what’s gonna happen then?”

Roger rubs his thumb over Brian’s spine. “You’re so much in your head,” he says softly. “It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Of course it would,” Brian snaps, frustrated that Roger doesn’t seem to understand the seriousness of his concerns. “It’ll ruin our friendship, it’ll break up the band—”

“Freddie and John seem to be doing alright.”

“Freddie and John are very different people,” Brian says. “Come on, Rog, you’ve got to admit this would never work. We’re too different, we don’t have time to make this work. I have my work and my studies and you have yours, and besides, you love single life. And I couldn’t—we should stop this now. It’s gonna be a mess, I know it will.”

“You don’t know anything,” Roger says, but his voice is soft. He removes his hand from Brian’s back to thread their fingers together. “You’re getting ahead of yourself again. I want this, and I think you do, too. We’ll find a way to work through it.”

“You’ll get bored with me,” Brian whispers, shutting his eyes briefly, “you’ll miss being single, you’ll miss women, you’ll—”

“Stop telling me how I feel,” Roger interrupts. “You don’t know. Just relax. Why are you so afraid of getting hurt?”

Brian withdraws his hand and shifts onto his back, eyes finding the ceiling. “I don’t know. Suppose I’ve always feared it.”

“Inevitable, isn’t it? Getting hurt,” Roger says, voice soft. “What is it you think will hurt you?”

“Losing people.” Roger slides a hand over his stomach, pauses to trace the scar there. “It only got worse after what happened to Freddie.”

“That was a terrible, terrible accident,” Roger says, “but the risk of something like that happening is practically non-existent.”

Brian knows that’s not true, but he doesn’t argue. “I wonder how he’s doing,” he says instead, thinking of the many months after the accident where Freddie had been almost unrecognisable, guilt eating him up like poison. “Does John even know?”

Roger’s hand stills. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you think he’ll tell him?” Brian doesn’t blame him for keeping it a secret—he’s certain he would, too.

“Eventually.”

They’re silent for a while. Roger resumes his idle caress, and Brian looks at the ceiling, mind wonderfully silent even though he has thousands of things to think about. Then Roger speaks.

“Brian,” he starts, clearly hesitant.

Brian turns his head. “What?”

“Have you thought about … have you ever considered therapy?”

Brian’s stomach tightens. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. He’s not sure what there is to say.

“I just don’t want you to feel this way,” Roger says softly, “I worry about you, and—maybe if we’re gonna try this, now would be a good time to start. Might help you with your worries.”

“I’m sorry,” Brian whispers, shutting his eyes to avoid Roger’s concerned expression.

“Why are you sorry?” Roger says, lips brushing over his jaw.

“I’m sorry I’m like this—God, even talking about this is …” He trails into silence.

“I care so much about you,” Roger whispers, pressing himself impossibly closer. “All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I know,” Brian says, and almost means it. 

“Just think about it,” Roger says, taking his face in his hands and gently tipping it so he can press a kiss to his lips. 

Brian’s heart stutters, and he opens his mouth around Roger’s, kisses him long and indulgent.

“Do you really want this?” he asks when they break away. His whole body is thrumming, and he wants nothing more to press their mouths together again, to reach for Roger’s hardening cock, but he knows that this conversation is an important one. 

“I do.” Roger’s eyes are bright and honest. “But keep in mind that it’s all new for me, this. You did say I’m comfortable enough with my sexuality to fool around with whoever takes my fancy, but I do have feelings, too.”

Brian winces. “I know. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You’re not wrong per se,” Roger says. “But there’s more to it this time, isn’t there?”

Brian looks into pale blue eyes. “We'll fight a lot."

Roger cracks a smile. "I think we'll fight no matter what." He works a hand into Brian’s hair, and Brian closes his eyes and hums. “I don’t want us to, though. Not about the important stuff.”

“Me neither,” Brian says. He’s not sure it can be avoided, no matter their intentions, but he keeps that to himself. “Don’t you think it’s too easy, though? This?”

Roger’s hand stills. “It took me two months to get you in bed and you think taking it further is too easy?” 

He sounds so incredulous that Brian can’t help but laugh. He opens his eyes and draws Roger in for another kiss. 

“We don’t have to rush,” Roger speaks between their mingling breaths. He finds the inside of Brian’s wrist. “But I think this could work.”

“Yeah,” Brian whispers and brings his hand up to cup Roger’s face.

♛ ♛ ♛

The next morning, Brian gets up early to take a detour to uni before work. A recent graduate agreed to meet up and sell their used books for the upcoming semester for cheap, and by the time he stops by one of the coffee vending machines, books secured under one arm, Brian feels wonderfully accomplished.

He's just put his coin in when someone taps him on the shoulder, and he turns around to find Tim looking slightly harassed but with a friendly smile on his face. 

Brian instantly returns his smile. "Tim! What are you doing here?"

Tim's smile turns wry. "Study group."

"Already?" He's not even surprised. Where university is concerned, Tim's work ethic has always impressed him. Brian feels a spike of worry—classes are still four weeks away, but the upcoming semester is going to be a tough one from what he’s heard. He suddenly feels stupid for not having begun studying yet.

Tim shrugs. "I like to get ahead, you know." He peers at the books under Brian's arm. "New books?"

Brian punches the button for a cappuccino. He suspects it doesn't make much of a difference—all the variants contain too much milk sugar and a minimal amount of actual coffee. "Yeah, got them pretty cheap. Got time for a cup of coffee?"

"Sure.”

The machine is unusually slow today. Brian pushes the button again.

“How’s Freddie?” Tim asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “And … everyone else?”

“Good,” Brian says distractedly, pushing buttons at random now, “they’re good—the machine took my coin!”

“There’s a Starbucks nearby,” Tim offers, drumming his fingers on the side of the coffee vending machine.

Brian resists the urge to kick it. “I’m not gonna pay 6 pounds for a coffee when I can get it for 50 pence here!”

“Right,” Tim says.

“What’s wrong with it?” Brian asks, getting increasingly frustrated. He’s paid for it, god damn it.

“You know what?” Tim has pulled out his phone. “On second thought, I am in a bit of a hurry.” He claps Brian on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around. And, eh … good luck with your coffee.”

When Tim has turned the corner, Brian gives into the urge and kicks the machine.

♛ ♛ ♛

“Hey, babe." 

Brian looks up at the sound of Roger's voice and finds a warm smile for him. He closes the door to the store behind him. "What are you doing here?"

Roger smiles brightly. "Thought you might need some company on the way home." He holds up the two to-go cups he’s holding. "I brought you coffee!"

Brian feels warm with gratefulness. Then a thought strikes him, and he hesitates.

He doesn’t want to be rude, he really, really doesn’t, and it’s not Roger’s fault, but he thought of drinking milk again makes him sick. He can’t do it. But at the same time, he can’t not drink it when Roger’s gone through the trouble of buying and bringing it.

“You look like I just handed you a cup of poison,” Roger says. “It’s just coffee, don’t worry. I got it with soya for you. No animals harmed, I promise. Look, the cup is even made from recycled cardboard!”

“Thank you,” Brian says, weak with relief and suddenly shy. Their fingers brush when Roger hands the cup over.

“Do I get a kiss for the trouble?” Roger grins. “When we get home?”

Brian rolls his eyes, doing his utmost to control the smile that tugs at his lips. He covers it with a sip from his coffee, which is scalding hot and foamless, just as he likes it.

“Maybe,” he allows, starting to walk towards the bus stop.

Roger smiles as he falls into step with him. "You seem happy today.”

"Sorry," Brian says, "won't happen again."

Roger gives him a light shove. "Come off it."

Brian laughs and almost spills his coffee.

They’re lucky enough to find seats opposite of each other on the bus, and their knees knock together until Roger loops his legs around Brian's and pulls.

"Behave," Brian warns him, sitting back in his seat but allowing Roger's legs to press against his own; a wonderful, solid warmth.

He looks out the window but can feel Roger's eyes on him.

“Would you quit staring at me,” he says, covering his self-consciousness with a scoff. He’s not used to this much attention, and while it's not exactly unwelcome, it’s vaguely unsettling all the same. 

"Can't help it," Roger says, "you're so bloody gorgeous."

"Well, do something about it, then. Therapy or something. It freaks me out."

Roger laughs but relents. "Wonder what Fred&Deaks are up to," he says after a moment. "John told me Fred wanted to take him to this strange gallery."

"Good for him," Brian says, distracted by an email notification on his phone.

"Reckon you'd hate it," Roger continues, seemingly unfazed by his less than enthusiastic reply, "full of paintings of ladies and that. Not exactly your thing. Seems to be Freddie's at times."

"Just because he doesn't want to shag them doesn't mean he can't appreciate them," Brian says, "you're so black and white at times, it’s astounding really."

Roger nudges his knee. "I'm black and white, huh?"

Brian gives him a withering look. He suspects it’s not entirely working. "Whatever it is you're implicating ..."

Roger grins. "You're so suspicious of me."

Returning his smile, Brian leans onto his elbows, balancing on his knees. "I can't stop thinking about yesterday,” he confesses. “Reckon it's the best I've had in ages."

"You weren't too bad yourself," Roger says with a grin, "but my memory's terrible, I might need a repeat performance before I can give you a proper review."

Brian lifts an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Roger leans back, looking pleased. “Yeah.”

♛ ♛ ♛

Brian looks up from his attempted songwriting at the sound of a soft but fervent “yes”. He glances at the screen of Roger’s phone and is not surprised to see he’s still playing Candy Crush. Perhaps he’s finally reached next level after being stuck for two days. 

Shifting slightly on the couch, Brian puts his hand on Roger’s thigh and exchanges amused glances with Freddie, who has paused his sketching to curiously peer at Roger. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the armchair, one of John’s legs at his side. Roger, too engrossed in his phone, doesn’t look up.

As Freddie returns to his iPad, John's hand drops to his hair, his fingers lightly scratching his scalp as he reads Lord of the Rings for the umpteenth time, and Freddie closes his eyes, his face a picture of wellbeing. Smiling to himself, Brian removes his hand from Roger’s thigh to pick up his hand instead, idly playing with his fingers as he tries to come up with the next line of his song.

In his peripheral vision, the corners of Roger’s mouth turn up, and Brian swipes his thumb over the Leo constellation on the inside of his wrist, follows its pattern of stars. Unthinkingly, he picks up his uncapped pen and carefully marks down the stars of his own Cancer constellation next to the tattoo. Roger’s smile is closer to that of a smirk when he turns his head to inspect the new addition to his wrist, and Brian is mortified with himself. 

"Sap," Roger simply says, dropping a kiss to Brian’s hair before he resumes his Candy Crush.

Brian doesn't dare look up, but when he does, a mischievous pair of grey-green eyes is trained on him. Catching his eye, John slowly lifts an eyebrow, looking very, very pleased. Brian promptly flips him off. 

A moment later, Roger pockets his phone and yawns widely. "Gonna go out for a smoke and some groceries," he says, putting his newly decorated hand on Brian’s knee to lever himself to his feet. "John, you ready?"

Brian can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips as John and Roger disappear into the hallway to put on their coats and boots. “Don’t forget the shopping bag,” he says, listening to the creak of the floorboards and accepting a kiss from Roger on the way out.

At the sound of the front door slamming, he stretches out his legs, glad to have the couch to himself. Freddie covers a yawn and gets to his feet.

“Cup of tea?” he asks, and Brian hums in reply, closing his eyes as Freddie gets up to clank around with cups and spoons. 

Brian is not sure when he last felt this happy and relaxed, and quietly resolves to do what he can to hold on to this feeling. He’s beginning to suspect that how he felt over Christmas and New Year’s is not entirely normal or healthy. 

He feels around for his pen between the cushions and picks up his notebook from where it’s ended up on the floor, and manages to get a few more lines down before Freddie presents him with a steaming, perfectly made cup of tea.

Brian thanks him with a smile, greedily inhaling the fragrant steam, and watches him take his own cup to the dining table to sit down with a loose sheet of paper, presumably inspired by Brian’s own songwriting.

Brian finishes his tea around the same time he finishes his song, and has just got up to get his book when the phone rings, mum’s name flashing on his screen.

"Hi, mum," he says, glad she called on a day where he feels as good as he does. He should visit them soon. "How are you?"

"Brian." Something in her tone of voice makes Brian pause. His heart thuds against his chest.

"Hi, mum," he repeats, uncertain. The line is silent for a while. "Mum?"

"Do you want to come have dinner with dad and I, honey?" She sounds strange, and Brian swallows a sudden sting of fear.

"I'm sorry, I already planned to eat at home." He pauses. “Mum, you sound so strange. Is everything alright?"

"Nothing's wrong, honey," she assures, voice slightly hysterical, "nothing that can't wait. Are you free tomorrow?"

"Mum," he says, putting on his best stern voice. "Something is wrong and I want to know."

"I really shouldn't tell you over the phone."

"Mum." He resists the urge to stomp his foot. Anxiety thrums under his skin.

"Alright." She sighs, and Brian doesn't think he imagines her shuddery intake of breath. "Brian, you remember how dad's bronchitis has been worse lately, don’t you?"

"Yes," he says, voice coming out as a whisper. He tightens his grip around the phone. It's nothing, he tells himself. Bronchitis is not dangerous, mum is just overreacting as usual. "Did he see a doctor yet?"

"He went before Christmas, we just got the results." Her voice breaks now, and Brian feels sick.

"Mum."

"It's not bronchitis," she says. She's crying now. "It's cancer."

[prongsno]

I’ll just slip into the moonlight (and catch a trail of stardust in your eyes)

JILY CHALLENGE | @prongsno vs @petalstofish disney + "but i would be so much happier with just you, i dont need the title or your money - though the elephant is pretty cool i must say" aladdin au read on AO3, wc: 8588, chapter 1 of 2

Lily Evans was not a thief, she only stole what she couldn’t afford. And she only took things that people wouldn’t generally miss.

One loaf of bread here, a tomato or apple there. With a simple and quick distraction, caused by Mary MacDonald - who was always one for the dramatics, Lily would be able to slip something up her sleeve unnoticed in less than seven seconds.

Mary was currently scavenging around the area for bits of scraps, hoping to find a few things to sell for the next day, which meant it was Lily’s turn to go through the markets, alone.

She loved to walk through the market streets in the mornings. The sweet scent of bread rose through the stalls and danced around in the wind. The spices, mixed with lemon and jasmine always managed to set her senses on fire. The market never slept, it was always full of life - no matter the time of day. But in the mornings, with the air a little cooler and the sun slowly rising in the pale blue sky, it felt as if there was magic all around her.

“No dawdling!” yells the apple vendor, ushering past her as he tends to a customer. He barges past rudely, knocking her into the table that’s to her left.

Lily scowls and, when she’s sure the vendor isn’t watching, slides an apple down her sleeve.

It’s then that something glimmers, and she stops dead in her tracks. It glows again, catching the light of the bronze pots in the sun, shining so bright she has to shield her eyes with her hand.

For a second she thinks it’s a trap, someone must have caught her stealing and now they’re ready to catch her. But the markets buzz by in the usual morning rush, nobody else seems to notice her. Everyone is oblivious around her, undeterred by the bright light that had blinded her for a second.

She scrambles through the crowds as calmly as she can, keeping her eyes set on the furthest corner.  She comes across a pile of broken junk; smashed pots and bowls, bent utensils and old children toys. But then she sees it - a small golden lamp, hidden away underneath a wooden train with one wheel and a flat teddy bear with no stuffing.

She gasps, pulling the lamp out of the pile as quickly and quietly as she can. It doesn’t seem broken - in fact it looks brand new. It’s so polished, she can make out her grubby face in the reflection, down to the soot mixed with grime that clings horribly to her hair. Around the edges lies an intricate pattern of delicate flowers, trailing along a path of thorns.

The more she stares, the more convinced she is that some of the flowers are moving, the petals breaking off the stems and falling down the lamp before they vanish in a puff.

She blinks, her fingers shaking as she brings the strange object closer to her face.

A crash in the marketplace, followed by the sound of smashed glass, makes her jump up. The lamp, all of a sudden, feels hot and heavy in her hands. She doesn’t know what on earth she has just found, but there’s no way she’s ready to part with such a unique item yet.

She slides it into her cloak, hugging it safely to her chest with her free arm. Then, with a slow and steady breath, she hurries back into the crowd. She gets the feeling that someone is watching her, her skin tingles and heart bangs anxiously against her chest. She lowers her head and keeps her eyes on the floor, careful not to draw herself too much attention.

It’s when she turns a corner that she realises someone is following her. 

They’ve been tailing her for a while; she had first noticed the heavy footing not five minutes ago, but had quickly dismissed it as the crowds were still heaving with people. But they’re definitely following now, of that she’s certain. She quickens her pace and turns left instantly, hurrying down the busy street that’s full of the vendors selling hot foods.

Her body aches for her to stop but she rushes on, her legs burning. The food smells delicious - hot oats mixed with maples, pumpkins and chestnuts cooked in sweet saffron and sliced mangoes, served with hot coconut milk. It feels like she hasn’t eaten in months, and the markets make her dizzy with hunger.

A hand grabs her by the shoulder and, before she can manage a scream, pulls her into a quiet alleyway.

She notices her kidnapper in an instant - an old man with a long, white beard stares at her in amusement.

“Dumbledore?” Lily gasps. “How did you find me?”

The man brings a finger to his lips, and she finds herself holding her breath as he watches the crowds pass by suspiciously.

He eventually returns back to her side, but he keeps his voice hushed to an unnerving whisper.

“They can smell him.” His voice sends a shiver down her spine. “People from all over will be able to sense him - anywhere you go.” He speaks urgently and he continuously glances behind them. “You found him, didn’t you?”

Around them, the market stalls are loud with laughter and aimless chatter, and Lily has the horrible feeling something isn’t right. Dumbledore wasn’t the one following her at all.

Her hand shakes against the strange lamp, still hidden underneath her cloak.

“No,” she stammers. “I didn’t find anyone.”

He knows she’s not telling the truth - and she knows it. The way his eyes twinkle, a little too knowing, and his smile, that forces her to look anywhere but him.

“Curiosity,” the old man says, “is not necessarily a bad thing.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gold coin, it shimmers in the sunlight for a second before he places it into her hand. “But you have to be careful.”

It warms instantly in her hand, and feels unusually heavy for such a small thing.

“I can’t take this,” Lily gasps, shaking her head. “We didn’t trade. I don’t have anything to give you-”

“Next time, Miss Evans.” Dumbledore says with a small smile. “I think you’ll be needing it more than me.”

A child laughs in the distance and Dumbledore looks up in a hurry.

“Did anyone see you?”

She shakes her head.

“Were you followed?”

Her heart skips a beat. “I…” She swallows, her throat burning. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

The old man seems disturbed and shakes his head, muttering quietly to himself.

“Dumbledore, what’s going on?”

“You can’t trust anyone! Not with what you just found, you have to keep it secret. Everyone will have heard it."

She opens her mouth, ready to ask what he means, when he hurries away down the alleyway - lost in the crowd in seconds.

The lamp feels heavier than ever, and it burns her hand as she takes it out of her cloak. It looks bigger, the flowers much larger than she noticed before. Something tickles in the atmosphere, a strange buzz. Her ears tingle and she blinks, unfocused.

It’s like the lamp is speaking to her. Whispering her name through the soft hum of the wind. Her hand shakes, but she inches her fingers forwards and hesitantly rubs her thumb against the trail of thorns and flowers.

Then the lamp glows, brighter and brighter and brighter until it’s so bright that she drops it in surprise, shielding her eyes.

Then she notices two things. The first is that she’s in an unfamiliar room. And the second, is that she’s not alone.

Before she can manage a scream, the stranger beats her to it. But he doesn’t scream out of fear, it’s excitement.

“I never thought I’d see the light of day again!” The stranger exhales, bending his knuckles and rolling his shoulders back. Bones and joints click and crack, like the strange boy has never moved before.

Lily stares, shocked. The boy looks to be around her age but he walks with his back hunched, like he needs a stick to lean on. Like he’s not stood straight in a long, long time. He stretches his back and, when there’s a click, finally straightens.

There are so many questions buzzing about in her head, her brain feels fuzzy. The world tilts around her, her head swaying as she tries to focus.

“Sorry about that,” the boy twitches his nose. “I forget sometimes that not everyone can apparate. I mean, jump from place to place.” He scratches his chin and gives her a funny sort of look. “We were being followed.”

It takes her a moment to notice the small bangle that’s wrapped around the boy’s left wrist. It’s the same deep gold colour as the lamp that lies by her feet. She picks it up, noticing how light it feels.

“Dumbledore,” she stammers, not letting the boy leave her sight. “He was talking about… he was talking about you, wasn’t he?”

The boy lets out a half shrug, surprisingly casual and complacent given the strange circumstances.

“What are you?” she asks. “Some sort of genie? A fairy?”

He laughs at that. “I’m a wizard, actually.” He clicks his fingers and the room is suddenly bright with candle light. “I never did like that name - genie. Wizard is more, well, fitting for me.”

“Is there a difference?”

“A wizard can do magic and a genie grants wishes. And I can do both.”

“Is that even possible?”

He nods his head and a flower shoots up from the ground, instantly blooming in front of her. “Anything is possible.”

He reaches out his hand and, now that she’s closer to him, she notices the strange bangle looks more like a handcuff. “I’m Sirius. Your personal wish granting wizard. For a limited time, anyways.”

“Lily. Nice to meet you.” His fingers are terribly callused, rough and hard against her own.

“Now, to business,” he says, bringing back his hands as he claps once.

Her clothes, once tattered and frayed, are now decorated with fine stitches and embroidery. Beautiful satin and lace, mixed with soft cotton. She feels like an empress.

“Do you have any wishes?” He leans back, suddenly sitting on a comfy looking armchair. With his legs crossed and his arms folded, he looks like he’s interviewing her for some kind of job. “Three, in fact. I never understood the meaning of three. But three it is.”

“You’re pulling my leg, right?”

He’s silent for a second, then his eyes wander to her feet. “I can assure you - I am not.” He waves his hand in her face, and she swats it away with a small laugh.

“You seriously grant wishes?”

“Well,” he shrugs. “There’s a bit more to it than that - there are a few terms and conditions. But I won’t bore you with the details.”  

She wonders if that’s why he ended up in a strange golden lamp, but the boy seems too delighted and she can’t bare to ruin his mood with such a morbid question.

“Anything?”

“Within reason, I guess. What about gold? Wealth beyond imagination?” He turns into a banker, putting an enormous amount of cold coins on a tiny weighing scale that tips up at the immense weight.

“That’s very kind of you but-”

Sirius snaps his fingers, the money scale vanishing and in its place lies a castle in clouds. “Your own kingdom, perhaps?”

“Not really-”

Now there’s a small child with red hair, looking upset as she looks around the room. Lily feels her heart tighten, a strangled breath escaping from her burning lungs.

“What about a friend? You seem awfully lonely.”

“I have friends,” she replies, a little sharper than she intends. The girl looks up and vanishes in an instant.

“Okay,” she bites her lip, refusing to meet Sirius’s gaze. “I have a friend. But that doesn’t matter - we stick together. She’s like a sister.” Lily breathes in, scratching her nose. “Closer than a sister, in fact.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Sirius apologises with a small shrug. “But I’m glad. It’s always nice to have someone you trust. I forgot what that was like.” He’s silent as he scratches his chin. “Keep your wishes for now. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

A bang from outside makes them both jump and Sirius runs to the window, looking out of it cautiously.

“Dumbledore said you were smelly.”

“I could probably do with a bath.” He laughs again as he turns back to her. “But that isn’t quite what he meant.”

“People can smell you ,” she says. “Smell your magic?”

He nods. “Y’know, some folk devote their entire lives to finding a genie. The idea of having that much power, it drives people nuts.” Sirius lets out a shudder, and Lily’s skin tingles. She can’t even imagine what it must have been like for him. “Let’s just say, there’s a pretty big price practically tattooed to my forehead.”

“So whoever it is… they know what you can do?”

“And what you can do. You have the key, right?”

Lily shakes her head. “I don’t have anything.”

Sirius flexes his hands and does a strange movement - like the twirling of his wrist, a flick once to the left. A red satin fez, vibrant and as bold as the sun, sits upon his head and his feet, which only a few seconds ago were bare and dainty looking, are now dressed in sturdy brown sandals.

“You must, how else would I be here?”

“Good timing? Luck?” She shrugs.

“I always did have perfect timing,” he grins. “But to unlock a genie you need a key. They vary in size and shape, but each key is unique solely to each genie. The key will get hot when it’s near the right lamp.”

The only thing in her pockets, apart from the stolen apple that she stares at guilty for a fleeting second, is the coin that Dumbledore had given to her just moments before.

“This?”

“That’s the one,” Sirius nods. “Looks shinier than when I last saw it. Dumbledore must have polished it.”

“But why did he give it to me?”

Sirius hesitates, he opens his mouth for a second and then snaps it shut. “He must have thought it’d be safer with you,” he says carefully after a few moments.

The air is tense and unsettled around them. But Sirius clears his throat, forcing a smile back on his face. He hums and a small pebble on the floor turns into a bed.

“I need to get back to my friend, she’ll think I’ve run off again.”

Sirius nods, blinks and a cloak, the shade of sand, falls into her hands. “You’ll be less noticeable with this, though I can’t guarantee it’ll shield you from everyone.”

The cloak is soft in her hands, like pure cotton. “Thanks. I’ll come back for you, soon.”

“No need,” he’s already made himself comfortable on the bed. A bookcase now stands near the wall, painted red and gold. “It’ll be safer if I come to you, that way this place and I stay hidden.” He gestures around the room and the wooden beams on the ceiling straighten and mend, now the dark blue shade of the night sky decorated with dozens of tiny stars.

“You just need to call my name, and I’ll be there. Ready to do what you will.”

Lily frowns. “I’m not going to order you around. You’re my friend, not my slave.”

Sirius is eating what looks like cake now and, when the word friend falls out of her mouth, he chokes once before looking at her like she’s the queen.

“I haven’t had a friend in years. You can’t take it back now, you’re stuck with me until…” he pauses, looking slightly uncomfortable for a second. “Until, well - until you get sick of me.”

“That won’t be any time soon,” she grins. “I feel bad, leaving you here though. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

He’s back to scoffing cake again, his mouth too full to speak so he gives her a thumbs up instead.

“I’ll just make sure Mary - my friend - is okay and you can travel with us. We’ll get out of the city, somewhere safer.”

She clings the cloak tightly around her, shielding her face as she hurries out of the building. The market stalls aren’t too far away and so she turns right, away from the district, into the small town where the buildings are stacked high against each other.

Two lefts, a sharp right, forwards until she sees the red potted plant and then another left.

Their door is wedged open, broken and hanging off the seams.

There’s a faint hint of gas in the air as Lily kicks the door down, screaming out Mary’s name. The room is in ruins, the table and chairs toppled onto the floor, broken pots and pans everywhere.

Mary is nowhere to be seen.

The window is wide open and Lily dodges over the broken pieces of glass, leaning out of the window as much as she can. There’s no sign of her.

Her heart skips a beat.

“Sirius?” Lily calls out frantically. “Sirius!” The air tingles around her.

He appears suddenly, not like a puff of smoke but like the breaking of the sun through thick clouds, like he was there all along - she just didn’t notice him until now.

“Redecorating, are we?”

For a moment his humour calms her, but she gulps down the laughter like it’s acid in her throat.

“Mary’s gone. Someone’s been here, someone’s taken her.”

She spots a letter stapled to one of the toppled chairs, and rips it off.

“A life for a life. Give the genie and she may be spared.”

“May? How generous of them,”

“Please be serious,”

His lips flicker into a small smirk. “I am.”

The clock, hung on the wall with a scrap nail Mary once found in a pile of rubbish, chimes. It seems to be the only thing in the room to be fully functioning.

“How did they know we live here?”

“They’ve probably been watching everyone here very, very closely.” Sirius crumples the letter in his hand and drops it. “We’re not safe here, at all.”

This whole… situation is so strange for her. Lily Evans is a thief, she’s a nobody in this dreary town. She picked through rubbish piles and sold junk pieces to merchants. Her hands and nails were sore and dirty. And yet here she was, a strange boy who could do magic at her very command.

“I don’t get it though,” she says with a gulp. She’s tired, her body is aching and her mind is numb. “You’re so... valuable to these people - to, well, anyone who has you right?”

Sirius nods. “But?”

“But - you were in plain sight.” It’s rather strange, now that she comes to think of it. It’s unsettling, and despite the humidity in the air she’s shivering. “Next to broken toys and old pots. I don’t understand why they - whoever they are - didn’t just take you when they could? Why wait? Why wait for me to get to you first?”

Sirius is quiet for a moment, then he lets out an aggravated sigh and scratches his head.

“There’s a lot of politics involved. You don’t just need a key, there’s other things. It’s a little complex.” He taps his index finger on his lip, thinking hard.

“What, don’t think I’ll be able to understand?”

“On the contrary, you’re smarter than you give yourself credit.”

“Then tell me, you have to-”

“They’re here!” The door smashes open, completely breaking off the hinge and smashing even further.

She doesn’t manage to catch a glimpse of them; Sirius is already grabbing hold of her arm and then they’re spiralling, flying through the atmosphere until they stop. Her stomach flops up and down as she steadies on her feet, toppling onto the floor and landing onto a wet patch of grass.

“Sorry,” he says. “You get used to it after a while.”

“Where are we?” She marvels at the grass, threading her hands through the thin stems and curling it around her fingers. “It’s not rained in Cokeworth for months.”

“Godric’s Hollow,” Sirius says as he pulls her up. “I had to take us where we wouldn’t be followed.”

“I always wanted to come here,” she says, looking up at the sky with a small smile.

In Cokeworth you were lucky if you spotted a single, wispy, small cloud amongst the vast scorching blue sky. But here, in Godric’s Hollow, it was so different.

Everywhere she looked and turned there were clouds. All of them big, deep and grey. There was a thunderstorm coming. A distant echo of thunder, miles away, rumbles above her.

Cokeworth is so far away.

Mary is so far away.

“We have to go back.”

Sirius shakes his head, his eyes hard.

“We can’t.” He speaks slowly, like she’s a time bomb just waiting to explode and he’s expecting it at any second. He looks fearful, watching her so carefully.

She lets out a frustrated yell, pulling at his arm; she can feel the desperation clawing its way up her body.

“Mary’s back there, we need to find her!”

Lily kicks against him but Sirius holds her back.

“We will, we will - I promise.”

An invisible force, gentle but firm, pushes her back, a barricade blocking her from him.

“I promise, we will.”  He says again, louder this time.. “But they’ll be waiting for us and if we go back right now we’ll walk straight into their trap. We won’t be rescuing your friend, we’ll be in the same situation as her.”

She doesn’t move an inch, but curls her fingers into a fist. “I could just demand you take me there right now. Wish us there, right?”

Sirius lets out a shaky breath. “You could.” His movements are slow as he leans back against the nearest tree, legs slumped and marking the dirt. “It wouldn’t be very sensible, but… You could. Yeah. Will you?”

The thought dashes through her mind and the word burns against her tongue.

She could say the word right now, and Sirius would be forced to listen to her. Forced to obey her.

She could change everything in one second.

So why can’t she bring herself to?

Sirius watches her, fear in his eyes.

She can’t do that to him, it would make her no different than the people who had last locked him in the lamp.

How long had he been imprisoned for? Pressured into fulfilling selfish human ambition? How long had he been alone for? Wishing that someone could help him?

“No.” Somehow, she always knew that would be her answer and a peacefulness settles in her fingers. She feels the absence of the barricade, a gentle wind lulling her forwards. She puts a hand on his shoulder, hoping it speaks for her. She’s too ashamed to speak.

Sirius looks relieved, though he can’t meet her eyes. “Good. We’ll find a way to help her. We just need a plan.”

The ground underneath them shakes, and they only have a moment to look at each other before they’re suspended in mid-air, caught in a giant net.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” Sirius says rather flatly. He grasps at the net, pulling the material tight around him. It’s no use - it’s as strong as steel.

“Tasty food!” A troll grins, poking out from behind the clutter of trees. It licks its lips hungrily and prods a grotesque looking finger into Sirius’s side.

“Oi!” Sirius huffs, looking rather repulsed. “Watch it!”

“It needs more meat,”

The troll pokes at Sirius again, and he falls backwards against the netting. His red hat topples off his head and tumbles through one of the gaps, despite Sirius all but lunging to the base of the net and flailing his arms about through the holes.

It’s no use, the hat plunges into a muddy puddle and the troll picks it up, fascinated.

“My hat!”

“Is it tasty?” A second troll asks, stomping over from a newly lit bonfire.

As the two trolls argue about if the hat has a flavour or not, Lily shifts nervously.

“I think,” she says with a little gulp. “I think we’re food .”

Sirius nods, grimacing as one of the trolls give his hat a precarious lick. “I have to agree with you there.”

“I’m sorry, okay? About what I said before-”

“It’s fine. You were upset. Friends?”

“You don’t even need to ask, you numpty.” The look on his face, the pure joy and relief is such a happy thing to behold. And for a second she almost forgets about the trolls underneath them, talking about how delicious they’ll be.

“Can you get us out of this?”

He shakes his head. “My normal magic won’t cut it, the net or this whole situation.”

“What do you mean?”

The troll obviously finds the taste of the fez revolting, it shudders and throws the hat into the fire.

Sirius lets out a sigh.

“I’m not really supposed to do any magic unless you wish it, I wasn’t even supposed to apparate us here without you wishing it. And I tried to just before, but this stupid thing-” He grasps tight of the net, shaking it violently as if just pure anger alone will break it. “It’s got some sort of magic charm on it. Essentially, my magic won’t work until we’re out of this.”

“So, I guess we’re food then.”

“Which one shall we have first?” The troll who threw Sirius’s fez into the fire asks. It prods Sirius again and then turns to Lily and does the same.

“The funny looking one,” the other troll replies.

“Good choice, I was thinking that one too.”

A shiver shoots down her spine. “Which one of us do you think they’re talking about?”

“You, obviously,” Sirius says with a grin. “I’m definitely not funny looking.”

The troll grins, steps forward and pulls out a very long, a very pointy knife. “We’ll cut off it’s legs first, the legs are the best bits.”

The knife swings forwards and Lily feels her heart plummet to an icy stop. Sirius sucks in a breath, clinging onto her hand so hard it feels numb.

A howl scatters through the nearby trees, and the troll drops the knife to the floor.

“What was that?”

The trees sway and a cat dashes from the bushes.

“It looks tasty!” The troll says gleefully. It steps towards the cat, but the cat - clearly irritated by the disturbance - trots off.

“I’ll go get it. A tasty dessert. Come here crunchy.” The troll stomps away and the remaining one picks up the knife.

“I don’t think your fire’s hot enough.” Sirius says in an instant.

The other troll frowns. “What? It’s fire.”

“I don’t know about my companion here,” he says with a nod towards Lily. “But - I know I’d taste ten times better once my skin is - um - crispy enough.”

The troll is silent for a moment and grunts. “True.”

Then it turns around and uses the knife to swing and hack at the trees, branches fall like an avalanche to the floor and the troll bends down, hurling them onto the bonfire with ease.

And then, as if the arrival of a large ginger cat hadn’t been weird enough, out from the shadows emerges a boy.

His sudden appearance doesn’t seem to shock the troll, unlike Sirius and Lily - who wave their hands and plead for help.

“More food!” is all the troll says with a happy grin, stepping over the mound of branches to reach for the boy.

“Sorry to disappoint,” the guy shrugs, reaching a hand over his back to draw a sword of his own. “But I’m not on the menu.”

The troll pauses for a second, eyes drawn cautiously to the sword the teen holds in his hands. It clambers forwards, hoping to catch the boy with its hands.

The boy’s feet are quick, he dodges the attack effortlessly and swings his weapon against the troll’s legs. The troll lets out a howl and brings up its injured knee, hopping backwards… straight into the pile of branches.

It howls out again, tangled in the branches and twigs. Then, it falls to the ground like a limp fish and the boy does a running jump, screaming out a manic war cry as he knocks the troll unconscious with a blow to the head.

Its eye roll back and its tongue slips out, hanging like a dirty, slimy snake as it falls.

“That, was AWESOME!” Sirius lets out a hoot and clambers over Lily, knocking her off her feet, to give the boy a high five.

“Please.” Lily grumbles, glaring at Sirius’s feet. “Can we just get out of this now?”

“Oh, sorry.” She hears movement, then the sound of rope being slowly cut into with a small blade.

The boy whistles as he slices through the ropes, like there’s not an unconscious troll a few inches away.

“I’m James, by the way.” James says happily.

“I’m Sirius, and this is Lily.”

“Are you two, like, together?”

Lily barks out a laugh. “Are we heck.”

“I’d rather be eaten by trolls, thank you.” Sirius replies.

“So you met by, what, coincidence?”

“Sort of,”

“You could say that,” They say at the same time.

It’s like they’re sitting around eating cucumber sandwiches and drinking sweet, pink lemonade. Lily rolls her eyes, though she can’t help the smile that follows after.

And, finally, the rope snaps. Then, the tree groans and the net comes crashing down onto the floor, smashing branches as it tumbles downwards.

She meets the ground with a thud, her face planted into the wet, muddy grass.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Sirius grins as he gets up off her back. At least he has the decency to give her a sheepish smile, then bends down and grabs her elbow, pulling her up.

“Yeah,” she says with a scowl. “A right walk in the park that was.”

She can feel grass in her mouth and she starts spitting it out, desperate to get the gross, earthy feeling off her tongue.  She stops when she feels two gazes almost piercing through her and turns around, grass dribbling down her chin.

“ What? ”

Sirius is trying his hardest not to laugh. He gestures to his own chin and she follows, wiping the lower part of her face with her sleeve.

“You’ve got - um - a toad in your hair.” The stranger, James, says.

Her hand flies to her hair, brushing out the slimy toad with her fingers. She turns around, and instantly mouths out a frantic, ‘ OH MY GOD ’ to herself.

She hadn’t been able to see him properly through the net - he was shockingly and annoyingly handsome. How does someone like him turn up, at random, in the woods and save her by man eating trolls?

Fate was having a right laugh. It was giving her too many hands for her to handle at the moment.

She bends, pushing the toad gently off her hand and onto the ground. She takes a moment to recollect herself, smooths her slimy hands down her pants and, after a few moments of cursing under her breath, turns around.

“So uh,” James lets out a little laugh as he brushes a hand through his hair. “This may sound a little awkward and random but - have you guys seen a cat around here?”

Lily feels her limbs freeze, and Sirius catches her gaze, eyes wide.

“A cat?” He coughs. “Why would a cat be out here?”

“We were going on an errand - of sorts - but I got hungry. And while I was distracted Algernon, he - my cat - ran off.” James is a mumbling mess, arms wild and open as he talks fast.

Sirius scratches his head. “Did we err see a cat…”

“I just hope there aren’t any more trolls about,” James says with a small sigh. “Trolls will eat anything.”

He gestures to the pile of logs, trying to change the subject and hide the fact that he’s very close to crying. “Anyways. I’ll just, um, grab some of these smaller branches, we need to move from here. It’s getting dark.”

She’s still frozen, too frightened to even think of the possibility. She had always wanted a cat. Sirius stares at the floor, scratching his ear absently.

“I wish Algernon comes back,” she says as casually as she can, trying to catch Sirius’s gaze.

“Yeah,” Sirius mumbles as he stares at a dandelion. “Me too.”

“Me three.” James sighs.

She kicks at Sirius’s foot and, when she finally has his attention, nods towards James.

“I wish Algernon comes back,” she says again, whispering.

“ Oh! ” Sirius’s lack of subtlety is astounding, but he manages to clear his throat and lowers his voice.

“Lily… are you - are you sure?”

She nods in an instant and shoots James another quick glance. “A hundred percent.”

Sirius looks a little worried. “It’s just… I should have mentioned it before. My terms and conditions. I can’t bring people, things back from the dead.” He clears his throat. “If the cat is… gone then it won’t work.”

“Try it anyways, you have to. Look at him .”

It’s like Algernon is James’s life line, because he is a complete mess without the ginger cat. He trips up countless times, dropping his branches everywhere so he has to start all over again.

Sirius nods his head and she holds in a breath, waiting.

Nothing happens.

The clouds are darker than ever, and the thunderstorm is so close Lily can almost taste the electricity in the air.

“I tried, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

The two of them watch, wracked with guilt, as James continues to pick up bits of wood. When his hands are full he turns back, a little surprised he has an audience.

“Let’s go this way,” he says, nodding left. “There’s a cave nearby.”

“You want us to come with you?” Sirius asks a little suspiciously.

“Safety in numbers, right?” James shrugs. “Unless you’d rather stay here.”

It’s almost poetic how the heavens open at that moment, when James’s body begins to move lifelessly and Lily and Sirius follow after him, shame tormenting them into a horrible silence.

She’s never seen rain before, but she can’t bear to look up at the sky. If it was any other situation maybe she’d start dancing - but the dread she feels in her stomach is all too real, and the empty look in James’s eyes is a constant reminder that life is severely unfair.

Sirius trips up and falls face first into a puddle, and when he stands his hair falls like wet curtains down his cheeks.

The rain pelts down mercilessly and by the end of the walk they’re all soaking, shivering, hungry and low in spirits.

James spots the cave first, pointing down by the river where a small alcove drops into the ground. What’s unusual, however, is the strange bright orange light, like fire, shimmering out of the cave.

“Someone’s in there?” Lily asks, stopping so instantly that she bumps into James’s shoulder.

James shakes his head. “That’s impossible, no one knows about this cave apart from a few of King Fleamont’s most trusted allies.”

“And you are?”

“What?” James casts her a glance, his gaze weary as he meets her eyes.

She takes a deep breath. “One of ‘King Fleamont's Trusted Allies ’?”

He shrugs and takes out his sword. “I know some people, you could say.”

On Sirius’s count of three they all enter the cave, treading carefully in the hopes of catching the enemy unaware.

They expect a fight, but what they actually find is rather surprising. There, waiting on a fluffy cream rug, sits Algernon. The ginger cat is surrounded by food, and three chairs that are placed around a roaring (and somehow) contained fire.

James drops his sword in surprise, but Algernon is already running towards him and the boy throws his arms around his cat, scooping him up.

“What the heck is all of this?” James asks Algernon, who meows once and begins to purr.

“Indeed,” Lily bites, side eyeing Sirius.

Sirius is trying his hardest not to laugh, and he walks further into the cave to inspect the sizzling pot of food that is perched on a small table.

“Sausage anyone?”

“Do you think we should?” James’s stomach growls as soon as he asks the question.

“Why not?” Sirius asks, mouth full already from two sausages. He licks his fingers and lets out a satisfied hum as he does so.

“Because they’re not ours, we could be ambushed at any minute by whoever owns all of this.”

“Finders keepers,” Sirius shrugs, not bothered at all as he stuffs another sausage into his mouth.

“It does smell pretty good,” Lily admits, and when she grabs a handful James is following right behind her.

The food is hot, and it warms up their toes all the way up to their ears. The rain batters down outside, but the cave keeps the uncanny group of four safe and sound.

“You know the King of this land then?” Sirius asks once they’ve scoffed up all of the food and they’ve retired to the comfy looking chairs around the fireplace.

“King Fleamont,” James says. “I do.”

“Could he help us? Or anyone. We need a lift to Cokeworth.”

“ Cokeworth ? Why on earth would you want to go somewhere so dreary?”

“As if Godric’s Hollow is saintly, it’s raining buckets out there,” Lily says with a tight glare. James raises an eyebrow at her. “I’d rather see the sunshine and feel the heat of it on my back than none at all.”

“We get the sun,” James grumbles, embarrassed. He turns in his chair, turning his back away from them as he tries to get comfortable. “Just not as much.”

“Back to what I was saying,” Sirius says with a wave of his hand, though he’s clearly enjoying the back and forth banter. “Could someone get us into Cokeworth, unnoticed?”

“The King’s ill, poisoned. The entire court’s in disarray, I don’t think anyone would be able to help - even if they wanted to.”

His back is hunched, and Lily wishes dearly she could see his face.

“Poisoned?” she asks. “So who’s in charge? The Queen? A Princess? Prince?”

“The family’s being held in the Kingdom. Lord Voldemort is running all affairs.”

“By his own doing, I gather.” Sirius says darkly. “Selfish human ambition never ceases to amaze me.”

“What about you? Can’t you at least help us?”

“I’ve got my own set of troubles to worry about.”

The fire crackles and James seems to shrink even further into the chair. He doesn’t say anything else.

“You like him, don’t you?” Is the first thing Sirius asks, rather smugly, when James announces the next morning that he’s going to wash in the river.

She stops stroking Algernon immediately. “ No !” The cat gives her a haughty look before pattering out the cave.

“That blush on your cheeks says differently, love.”

Lily swats away Sirius’s poking hand. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“The sausages, fire, warm rugs and Algernon safe and sound? That was all you.” He folds his hands against his chest, rocking to and fro on his legs.

“It was you. I can’t do magic.”

“But, it was your wish.”

“And that matters?”

He nods. “On rare occasions. Passion and feeling can affect a wish so much that the result sort of,” Sirius gestures around the cave with a grin, giving Lily a sly wink. “well, intensifies.”

“So you’re saying-”

“You used your first wish for him, it’s quite obvious really.”

“I do not have a crush-”

“Algernon! Give that fish back or so help me.”

The cat in question lets out a yowl as it scurries back into the cave, a fish hanging from his mouth. James is by his tail, clothes messy like he threw them on in a hurry, his hair an erratic mess like he’s been blown about in a typhoon.

Lily blinks, taking him in. Water droplets drip down from his ears and splash down onto his white shirt like paint on a canvas.

“Cheeky git! That wasn’t for you.”

“I don’t think the cat cares,” Sirius regards Algernon with a snort, who sits down in the corner and eats the fish with his back to the rest of them.

“Guess not,” James glares at the cat and turns his handmade fishing rod in his hands. “Suppose I’ll have to go and catch some more. We can’t do anything on empty stomachs.”

He turns to leave and, when he does, Sirius throws one of the plump cushions at Lily’s face.

“What?”

“You’re staring, it’s embarrassing.”

“It’s just,” She sighs, tugging at a strand of her hair. “He’s got these eyes that just - and that hair! Wow. And - his smile ?”

Her cheeks are red as she mumbles, a bright and dreamy smile stretched on her lips.

“Could not agree with you more, what a pretty boy,”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not! Just saying - if you’re planning on using a wish to woo him then it won’t work.” He’s picking at his nails when Lily turns to him. “I can’t make anyone fall in love.”

“I’m not asking you to. It’s not a crime to find someone attractive is it?”

“No,” he says with a smile. “It’s not.”

James manages to catch them all a fish eat, and they sit around the fire, waiting for it to cook. Algernon’s grooming himself rather contently and James gives him a gentle pat on the head as he turns the fish over.

“I wanted to apologise for what I said last night,” he says finally.

“About Cokeworth?”

“Not really, I still stand by that.” He laughs, giving her a smile that makes her heart flutter. “But I am sorry for belittling your problems, everyone has their own battle and I shouldn’t have shut you both down like that.”

“So you’ll help us?”

“Better than that - I’m coming with you.”

“Oh, that’s not really necessary-” Sirius starts.

“But before I make up my mind, I need to know why you’re so desperate to get to dreaded old Cokeworth.” The fish sizzles and they take one each. “ Unnoticed, I might add.”

“We’re going to save someone we love.”

“She loves, not me-” Sirius says quickly. “I’ve never even met her.”

“But you will love her. Mary is a darling.”

“If you say so,”

“So it’s a rescue mission?” James asks, grinning.

“Well, I guess so.”

“Then say no further, Lily. Count me in.” James says proudly. “I’ve always wanted to go on a rescue mission.”

“What’s changed your tune? You seemed pretty against it all last night.”

“There’s nothing for me here,” James tells Sirius, who leans back in his chair lazily. “My errand is hopeless and Godric’s Hollow is a lost cause. I need to leave here, as soon as possible.”

“But King Fleamont isn’t dead, the kingdom still has hope.”

James shakes his head. “Not for me it doesn’t.”

“What you’re asking for isn’t easy, boy.”

They had walked for hours, eventually stopping at a small village that was on the outskirts of the Hollow where James asked around for safe passage into Cokeworth.

“I can give you ten galleons.”

The man in front of them bites his lip. Soft brown hair, like caramel, falls into his eyes as he looks the three of them down. Algernon, who’s scooped up in James’s arms lets out a purr and the man looks slightly taken back by the sight of the giant cat.

“Okay. I’ll do it,” he says finally. “But you gotta do something else for me. The money is a deposit, if you’re that desperate to get out of Godric’s Hollow then you’re all going to do me a little favour.”

Lily squirms next to James. “What is it you want?”

The man reaches a hand into his inside pocket and Lily feels James tense next to her. He takes a deep breath, time seems to freeze around them. The man fumbles around in his pocket for a second until he pulls something out.

Sirius squints at what’s in his hands. “A rose? What do you want us to do with that? Plant it and start a garden?”

“I want you to give it to someone. A lady, called Andromeda.”

“That’s it?” Sirius raises an eyebrow.

The mans nods. “That’s it. You give this to her, and I’ll take you there.”

“Where can we find her?”

“Hogwarts Inn, ten minutes walk down that way. But one of you stays here, with me. Not being rude but - just in case, right?”

“Of course,” James says in an instant. “I’ll stay.”

“No, I will.” Sirius replies, picking Algernon up from James’s arms. “You’re from this place right? We need someone who knows their way around.”

“I don’t really know this area of Godric’s Hollow that well,” James with a nervous laugh. “I won’t be much use.”

“I thought you looked familiar,” The man says after a moment, and digs his finger into James’s shoulder. “Haven’t I seen you from somewhere before?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

The man doesn’t look convinced. “But you’re from here-”

“Yes but-”

“Then you can go, with your lady friend. We’ll wait here. Please, I’m not asking much.”

“What if she asks for your name?” Lily takes the rose with a smile.

The man shrugs, but a blush does creep onto his cheeks. “She’ll know who it’s from.”

“I don’t get why he couldn’t just give the stupid thing himself,” James grumbles five minutes later. He keeps his head down, staring at the ground when people pass by. The village is small, and only a handful of people are around.

“I think it’s romantic,” Lily says, sniffing the rose fondly. “He’s confessing his love.”

“By making someone else do it. That’s not love, that’s slothfulness.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons,” She grins and elbows his side.

He looks up in shock and she feels a strange tingling in her toes when he meets her gaze. He clears his throat and turns away, pointing to the inn that’s to their left.

The inn is small but beautifully decorated, with a cobbled thatched roof and dainty looking stained glass windows. The door creaks as James pulls it open and a woman, with wild, black hair, gives them a dirty look.

“We sell rooms for sleep, not pleasure. Go and do somewhere else.”

“We’re not-” James gasps, spluttering out as his ears tinge with red.

“We’re here to see Andromeda,” Lily says. She places what she hopes is a comforting hand on his shoulder, and gives him a small smile.

The lady sneers and stomps away. The entrance to the inn is deathly quiet, but there’s singing and laughter in the next room so loud that it feels like they’re in the centre of it all. The lady comes back after a minute with what looks like her sister.

“I’m Andromeda,” The sister says. Her hair is less wild, soft looking curls fall down to her shoulders. She gives them a kind smile as the other sister gives them a glare before stalking away.

“Sorry about Bella,” Andromeda says with a sigh. “She’s hated these coronation parties.”

“Coronation?” James asks, craning his neck to look into the room. His eyes are panicked at the word, and he wipes his hands onto his trousers.

Andromeda nods, looking at him carefully for a second before turning back to Lily. “The King is dying and, with the prince in prison, the title passes on to Lord Voldemort.”

“On whose authority? That’s treason!”

“James! Calm down!” She has to grab at his arm, pulling him back. He’s breathing deeply, fingers curled around her wrist so tightly it stings.

“Voldemort cannot rule,” his voice is shaking with anger but he whispers the words, his breath fluttering hot on her skin.

“We’re leaving, we’re leaving Godric’s Hollow - remember? You’ll be gone.”

He stares desperately into her eyes for a moment, his body still shaking desperately. He only gives her a quick nod, and swallows slowly before taking his hand off her. Her wrist is red, swollen.

“I’m so sorry, your wrist-”

“We were told to give you this.”

Andromeda sighs as she takes the rose.

“Oh, Teddy,” she smiles. “Thank you, for this. Please, tell him: ten o’clock. He’ll know what I mean.”

They walk back in silence, James kicking at stones moodily behind her.

“What’s gotten into you?” When one of the stones flies at her and hits her back she turns around with a glare. “You’re going to be leaving, isn’t that what you wanted?”

He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t understand,”

“Then just talk to me! Help me to understand.”

His face is dark like thunder as he tries to blink away angry tears. But suddenly he grabs hold of her hand, pulling her behind the nearest trees.

“Don’t,” he says softly, pleading as he puts a finger to her lips.

There’s a group of five soldiers walking down the main pathway, clad in the royal crest, holding swords as they inspect passersby.

“Please, just stay quiet.” His face is so close to hers, he only needs to breathe out the words for her to hear him.

She nods, and his hands settle on her shoulders.

Her weight is pushed into him, and his into the tree, and they stay in silence for what feels like an eternity.

It doesn’t feel too bad - staring into his eyes, picking out the different shades of greens and browns that make up the beautiful hazel colour. She can’t pinpoint what it is, but there’s something about him. Like she could trust him with anything.

Finally he moves, dropping his hands off her shoulders as he takes a step back. “They’re gone, let’s go. Quick - before they come back.”

Sirius, Algernon and Teddy are waiting when James and Lily return.

“Well?” Teddy asks, crossing his fingers.

“She said ten o’clock ; she said you’d know what that means.”

“Aye, that I do.” Teddy smiles in relief, shaking Lily’s hand energetically. “Hagrid is waiting down the lane for you all with the carriage. You can’t miss him. It’s a three days ride, if you don’t want no trouble. Now excuse me - I’ve got my wedding to sort out.”

True to Teddy’s word, Hagrid waits for them. The man was right, you couldn’t miss him - for Hagrid was actually a half giant, standing tall at 8 foot 8.

“Don’t let me height scare ya, and the kitty’s coming in the front with me. I love cats.” Hagrid coos at Algernon, who purrs delightfully as he scratches behind the cat’s ears. “We all set to go?”

The sun is starting to set and Lily squints up at it. “The sun shows up, just as we’re about to leave. Typical.”

“Plenty of sun in Cokeworth,” Sirius shrugs and jumps into the cart. “You coming in or what?”

James nods, but doesn’t move an inch. “Sorry, yeah I’m just…” He looks back behind him, there’s just trees around them for miles and miles, but James acts like there are people all around them. “Just got a funny feeling.”

[loafseat0-blog]

Chewy, Crunchy, Crisp & Soft: 8 Christmas Cookies Using 1 Cookie Recipe!

A swoonworthy box of Christmas Cookie goodness is within easy reach Dear Reader! This entire box of Christmas cookies is made with a twist. With this recipe you can make 8 delicious cookies with 1 recipe! Whether you love crisp, chewy or soft cookies, there's one for you! Best of all this whole box (and then some) can baked within a couple of hours.

I've had this idea kicking around in my head for a month or so. Actually it has probably been longer because every year I want to make one of those lovely cookie boxes full of assorted cookies but every year I get too tired to do so and I make one cookie type and call it a Christmas day.

But then I got to thinking. What if I could use one cookie recipe to make a whole range of cookies? Surely it was possible? I suspected it was because I tend to mess with recipes, adding things and flavours when I see fit or where greed or hunger leads me and nothing really terrible ever happens and you sometimes end up with something tasty. So one afternoon I got testing.

As long as the cookie dough texture is not too wet or dry I think you can add your favourite flavours - I added some sticky peanut butter and to balance this I added some oatmeal which would make it less sticky. Similarly when I added tahini I balanced it with cocoa powder so that the texture would be pliable and rollable and not too sticky.

Texture of cookie dough

I was so surprised at how tasty these cookies were and how distinctly different they were too. My favourites were the white chocolate and coconut ones, the pistachio crunch ones and the chocolate chip cookies edged in raw sugar. I gave Mr NQN a box of these to take to work and he was swarmed by his colleagues. The lovely girl that looks after Mochi sometimes ate 10 cookies! He works at a great company full of really lovely people and they were very nice and fast with the feedback.

I sometimes wish that I worked with other people. Because I work for myself I don't tend to hold a Christmas party but when I was invited to bring a friend along to a bar to enjoy Sydney's harbour view I asked Nina along as we both work for ourselves. We both got dressed up and had a great night out with our own Christmas party while the boys had their respective Christmas parties.

Nina told me that they've been told that Marley their dog is overweight. And it's not just Marley but Garth too. You see they've been having regular cheesy crackers and cocktails after work and the result is that Garth now needs new pants.

However Nina has told Garth in no uncertain terms that she won't let him buy new pants which was his solution - instead he has to lose weight. She has told him that once he moves up to a 34 inch waist then he may have to find himself another fiance! So when I came along offering them some cookies from my large stash of them for the first time they had to refuse. But then Nina came back and asked for a single cookie. For herself ;)

So tell me Dear Reader, what sort of cookies do you like the best-crisp, chewy or soft? And which cookie do you like the sound of the most? Will you be baking Christmas cookies? And would you buy new pants or would you lose the weight if you were in that situation?

8 Christmas Cookies Using 1 Cookie Recipe!

An Original Recipe by Lorraine Elliott

Preparation time: 45 minutes

Cooking time: 1 hour 15 minutes

180g/6ozs. butter, softened

200g/7ozs. caster or superfine sugar

180g/6ozs. brown sugar

2 eggs, at room temperature

2 teaspoons vanilla

2.5 cups plain all purpose flour

1 teaspoon bicarb

1/2 teaspoon fine salt

Step 1 - Beat the butter and two sugars together for 3-4 minutes until it becomes pale in colour. Add the eggs, one at a time and the vanilla. On low speed add the flour, bicarb and salt and mix until it becomes a dough (do not overmix).

Step 2 - Divide the dough into 250g/8.8oz portions. You should have enough to make 6 portions of 250g/8.8oz of dough. What I did was make smaller half lots of some of them so that I would have 8 types of cookies.

Cookie 1: Classic Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies

Add 175g of milk or dark (or do half half) chocolate chips to the 250g dough and mix. Use a small ice cream scoop to portion cookies and place 5cm/2 inches apart on a cookie sheet. Bake at 180C/350F for 8-10 minutes.

Cookie 2: Chocolate Choc Chip Tahini & Sesame Cookies

Add 125g/4ozs. of milk chocolate chips to the 250g dough along with 1/2 cup of cocoa powder and add 1.5 tablespoons of tahini. Shape into small balls and roll in 2 tablespoons of sesame seeds. Place 5cm/2 inches apart on a cookie sheet. Bake at 180C/350F for 8-10 minutes.

Cookie 3: Peanut Butter & Oatmeal Sandwich Cookies

Add 1/3 cup of rolled oats, 2 tablespoons of peanut butter and a fat pinch of salt to the 250g of dough. Divide this dough in half. You'll use half of this to make these cookies and the other half to make the PB&J cookies below. Roll out into small, flat cookies and flatten gently. Use a flour dipped fork to make a hatch pattern. Bake at 200C/400F for 9-12 minutes or until firm and crispy. Match like sizes together.

Make the peanut buttercream filling by processing 60g/2ozs. of soft butter, 60g/2ozs. of peanut butter and 1 cup of sifted icing sugar in a food processor. Fill a piping bag with a large star tip and pipe onto one half of the cookies and sandwich together.

Cookie 4: PB & J Thumbprint Cookies

Use the peanut butter and oatmeal dough above. Roll out balls of cookie dough and flatten. Use the lid of a wine bottle and press out round depressions in the centre and use a fork to make patterns around the outside. Fill with strawberry jam. Bake at 200C/400F for 10-14 minutes or until firm and crispy (these can be soft if not baked long enough).

Cookie 5: White Chocolate & Coconut Rolled Cookie

Mix 2/3 cup of white chocolate chips and 2 tablespoons desiccated coconut with 250g of the cookie dough. Shape into a log around 5cm/2inches in diameter and freeze until firm. Slice rounds and place on a baking tray an inch apart (they won't spread that much) and bake at 180C/350F for 12 minutes or until golden and set.

Cookie 6: Chocolate Chip Crunch Sugar Cookie

I made a half batch of these. Add 1/4 cup of cocoa powder and 50g/1.7ozs. of milk chocolate chips to 125g of the original cookie dough. Knead and then shape into a log shape around 4cm/1.6inches in diameter. Place 1/4 cup of raw sugar on a plate and roll the cookie dough roll in this, coating the outside well with sugar. Place the cookie dough roll in the freezer until firm. Cut into slices and bake at 180C/350F for 8-10 minutes.

Cookie 7: Kid's Candy Gingerbread Cookie

Mix 1/2 teaspoon gingerbread spices with original cookie dough and make into small rounds (I made these quite small as kids cookies). Press red and green m&m's or smarties on top. Bake at 180C/350F for 8-9 minutes.

Cookie 8: Pistachio Crunch Mini Cookies

I made a half batch of these but I wish I had made a full. Mix half a batch or 125g/4ozs of batter with 1/4 cup finely chopped pistachios and 2 tablespoons raw sugar. Place 1/4 cup raw sugar on a small plate. Shape into small balls and dredge both sides in the raw sugar. Bake at 180C/350F for 10 minutes or until crisp.

Source: http://www.notquitenigella.com/2018/12/11/all-purpose-cookie-biscuit-recipe/

[tonguetiedmag]

interview: Milkk

After making their way through a blizzard to play a house show with a last minute venue change, indie 3-piece Milkk sat down to chat with me about upcoming music, celebrity crushes, and the time lead vocalist Pat Kiloran was convinced to dye his hair yellow after a show. From the non-stop teasing between the trio to their effortless ability to finish each other’s sentences, the men of Milkk clearly share a light-hearted and special bond that only adds to their likeability.

Let’s kick things off with some fun. If you could have any celebrity star in your next music video, who would you choose?

Kiloran: “I love Ellie Goulding, she’s my secret crush. But.. on the other spectrum, I have my man crush on Jake Gyllenhaal, naturally. So let’s bring Jake in...and I don’t know what he’s doing in the video, but just looking great, being Jake. “

I love that! Strawberry milk, chocolate milk, or white milk?

John Ogelby(Percussion): “Chocolate.”

Kiloran: “Chocolate’s like a treat, I guess on a day to day [basis] I’m more almond milk. In my coffee I like to put oat milk or coconut milk.”

Jack Vondrachek (Guitar): “Strawberry.”

Kiloran: “Why?!”

Ogelby: “Comes out of nowhere, I love it! Right when you think you know him...”

What’s your favorite place to eat, on the road specifically? A roadside restaurant, if you will.

Ogelby: “Consistent, Chick-Fil-A.”

Kiloran: “Chick-Fil-A and Chipotle, probably.”And on Sundays its Chipotle, right?

Ogelby: “On Sundays we break into Chick-Fil-A. I love.. I think it’s called ‘Pok Pok’ in Portland?”

What kind of food?

Ogelby: “It’s like vietnamese fusion, but they have these wings that are just.. I don’t know what the secret is, but its amazing. The spices and seasoning, it’s like nothing I’ve ever had -- I don’t even like wings, but I love these.”

Kiloran: “There’s this tamale place in Indianapolis that I’ve been several times that I love.. There’s this deli in New York called ‘Katz deli’ that’s famous, but it lives up to the hype. It’s like twenty dollars for a sandwich, but it’s so worth it. There’s a place in Ft.Worth, Texas called ‘Joe T. Garcia’s’, it's this big patio mexican place and there’s like two things on the menu. You can just pay and they bring it to you, and it’s just a good vibe.”

Ogelby: “I feel like there’s a lot of places we’ve all hit up separately, but because this is only our second tour, we’re figuring it out. We’re pretty much on the same page though as far as food goes..”

Kiloran: “I don’t think anyone’s too picky. Obviously sometimes if we’re driving quick we have to get fast food, but we try to keep it relatively healthy-ish.”

2018’s almost over-- what have been your favorite album releases this year?

Kiloran: “I liked Lany’s new album, its good.”

Vondrachek: “I liked new Kanye. It was weird but, I liked that.”

Kiloran: “I love the Fickle Friends album. I know they’re a little smaller but it’s super good.”

What have you guys been listening to on drives lately?

Kiloran: “Senses Fail, Underoath, all the old crap that we grew up on. Hawthorne Heights, Silverstein, Chapel. We listened to One Direction today. We did a couple, mostly off of “Four”. We did ‘Steal My Girl’, ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go’, ‘Stockholm Syndrome’, we did ‘Drag Me Down’.”

If you could set up your ideal tour, what bands would you want to tour with?

Kiloran: “That's a hard question because I think there are a few different ways to answer that. I think there’s ‘What would the DREAM tour be?’, and I think at the end of the day for me, the dream tour is, getting to the point where we’re the headliner and just doing headline tours. Obviously, I think a lot of people want that. But, if we were opening for someone, on the dream tour level... the last several years I got into bands in the more indie pop world -- some of the staples, like The 1975 or Lany, I just genuinely like those bands. Even though they’re so popular, I like them. Those are some I would enjoy as far as that, but then there’s the other level of next year, just on a realistic rise, ‘Who would we tour with?’ ...It would be really cool to do some co-headliner smaller support stuff with.. we’ve been talking to Chapel a lot and I’m hoping we can work something out with them, because I know we’re both interested in that. It’s kind of a hard question -- I think as long as..it’s artists that are similar in vibe to what we’re doing, and that make sense as a tour, and that are just doing something that’s cool...I think that’s what matters as far as touring with someone. We’re just kinda trying to do our own thing, and so if someone else is doing their own thing and it’s cool, and it fits together, then I feel like its a good tour.”

Ogelby: “It’s always awesome, too, when personalities just work out, ‘cause it just sucks touring with people that you don’t get along with.”

Kiloran: “We’re doing some on the west coast coming up, but we’ve done a handful of dates this year with that band The Stolen, its co-headline stuff, and they’re really nice guys. Musically they’re a little more rock than us, but it’s similar enough that it works and the hangs are good. So really, those are the things you look for.”

I know you guys haven’t toured much, but have you had anything particularly odd or funny happen to you while traveling?

Kiloran: “We did a show in upstate New York.. out in the mountains, and me and Jack ended up staying up til like 2am, and that’s when the yellow hair happened. Someone dyed my hair yellow and we just hung out by a fire pit and chilled. It was super cold, I was half asleep and had zero brain cells left -- it wasn’t odd or weird, it was just a non-traditional tour experience, because I feel like house shows, in general, are not as common in our genre. We just got to hang out with the people who came there to see us which was really fun and cool, and then it ended up..dying my hair outside and getting sprayed with a hose trying to wash it off, and getting bleach all over my pants and shoes...it was just a funny experience.”

Ogelby: “I thought of something. We played in Philly at this arts center, and it was a good point in the tour where we were hanging out with The Stolen a lot and it was good, it was friends. So we’re loading in and setting up, and the sound guy introduces himself..he’s pretty nice, but all of a sudden --

Kiloran: “--you could tell he was a little bit of an anarchist punk type.”

Ogelby: “--and I’m like ‘I don’t care, that’s awesome!’, but then he starts playing this music....I listen to a lot of music, but this was creepy, gutter-like--”

Kiloran:”--it was just like... weird groaning.”

Ogelby: “And it’s LOUD. It’s not ‘Oh, I’ll just play this in the background’. We were setting up and there were people there to help with merch and take photos, and other people outside of our band, and we’re looking at each other like, ‘How do we ask him if we can somehow play our own stuff?’ We literally had to do it right before doors opened because we were afraid people were going to get freaked out and leave.”

Kiloran:”It was in a mausoleum, so it was even weirder. That was pretty bizarre.”

On to more music related things, the phrase “welcome to my headrush” has been pretty prominent on your socials, and it flashed at the end of the “Thinkin’ Bout U” music video. Can you tell me more about the significance of that, or what it means?

Kiloran: “I guess all I can say for now is that you’ll ..see. Because it’s all part of the plan, it’s just a piece of the puzzle...We’re working on leading up to our first album so everything’s kind of coming to a head with that stuff.”

Should people be expecting another EP next or a full-length album?

Kiloran: “Full length.”

Very exciting!

Kiloran: “They can probably be expecting a couple songs from that album first.”

Do we know when we might be expecting new music?

Kiloran: “Some very soon, and some soon enough. The album won’t be till next year, that’s all I can say.”

Right --I’d be impressed if it was this year, considering it’s almost over.

Kiloran: “Plus music dies after Thanksgiving. No one in the industry answers their phones, it’s just done.”

Vondrachek: “Unless we do a holiday record..”

Kiloran: “Yeah, let’s do a Christmas album!”

Ogelby: “Cookies and Milkk.”

What would you say is different about playing house shows? (vs clubs)

Kiloran: ”I enjoy it, it’s a totally different thing. It’s not really the way you would necessarily expect to hear our music. I think what’s cool about it is it allows the songs to be played in their raw form because a lot of our songs have a lot of production, and stuff going on. I don’t think we’ll do much more of that [house shows], it’s just for this first year to get us from point A to point B. The thing I do like about it is that it does allow us the opportunity to connect with people on a little more laid back level -- there’s no venue, no other bands playing, no security, it’s just really laid back. We’ve had some that are small like this one where there are 10 people, and we’ve had somewhere 30 people show up to it, and it’s just fun in that way; it allows a more personal connection. If it’s just us, it’s most often people who came specifically because they like our songs. When you go play a club.. on a tour with someone else, some people are there for you, some people are there for them, and you never know what’s going to happen — if they’re going to dig what you’re doing or not --, but doing a show where it’s just a couple dozen people and they’re there for you, then we know they’re gonna be stoked on it, and it gets you into it, and then you can spend time with them after and hang out. It’s a good connecting point on both ends, I think.”

What’s it been like playing new markets?

Kiloran: ”It’s always nerve-wracking because you literally never know. We had played Chicago before and we did one of these house shows there, and we saw people come back, so that’s always cool. Sometimes you go in thinking, ‘This is gonna suck, I don’t know who’s gonna show up’. Then there’s a full room and you’re like ‘Oh, sweet!’. Other times you literally have no idea, and there are 10 people.. and you’re like, ‘Cool!’-- It’s just part of it. It’s definitely a little scary, but it seems like there’s been at least a handful of people everywhere, so as long as there’s that it’s like, ‘Ok cool. We’re here.’”

You guys aren’t all from the same place--what’s it been like for you guys’ creative-process wise, being separate but together?

Ogelby: “The internet. Lots of emails back and forth.”

Has it created any difficult obstacles for you?

Kiloran: “Jack and I are producers by trade, so we do what we need to do and send the files back and forth.”

Vondrachek: “It is definitely ideal to be together, though”.

How do you guys all know each other?

Kiloran: “Me and Jack grew up together..we’ve known each other since junior high in Minnesota. Then I moved around a bunch and met John just playing gigs in Nashville the past couple years. When I asked Jack to start this project with me, it was just going to be a duo thing-- but then John and I were on a gig together one time, back when I was doing solo stuff before Milkk ....and it just kind of organically fell together.”

What do you want fans to know about your music?

Kiloran:“I would say I’m probably the principle writer, especially as far as lyrics go...It started as a fun project, just writing songs that sounded cool, and as we’ve went it’s gotten more personal, and the stuff on the album is definitely very much more just straight from my own perspective.”

Ogelby:”Except for the one you wrote about the girl I dated but named it after—“

Kiloran:”-after a different girl?” *laughter* “Yeah okay, so there’s some mutual perspective, that’s fair. I think at the end of the day, as long as someone can connect with it and relate with it and it gives them some sort of feeling, I don’t really care what feeling that is, cause I think that’s the point. I think good music or art just evokes something. So when people are like ‘I HATE this band’, or ‘I hate that band!’, I’m like, ‘Well, sounds like they’re doing something right, they made you feel something.’ When people have told us that we suck, I’m like, ‘Cool1 It evoked something that stirred up a reaction in you.’ It’s better than hearing ‘Yeah, it’s fine.’ I love hearing ‘You suck’, or ‘You’re awesome’.

How has future music evolved from previous releases? What can people look forward to?

Kiloran: “I think it’s getting more and more unique; more personality, more personal. I think it’s steering away from the typical indie pop and some stuff is veering a little more pop. A lot of the stuff that’s coming together, I haven’t heard stuff like it that’s out there right now. I’m not saying it’s drastically crazy or different -- it’s not this weird avant garde thing --, it’s still pop music, but I think there is some sort of unique quality to it. It’s very song focused; song writing. We’ve been trying to write really good songs, and then take the production around that to fit the song.”

Where have you pulled inspiration from for unreleased music?

Kiloran: “Sonically and sound wise, we’re just trying to do what we like and not worrying necessarily about ‘this person’s doing this’, or ‘this person’s doing that’..It’s more of a.. ‘this sounds good to me. ’ ..I’d say the whole point of this album from a lyrical perspective is to open up the mind of an artist to a listener, in the sense that I feel like a lot of times bands or artists sometimes put up a persona, or have a wall there. What I wanted to do is..have this concept of peeling away those layers of the social media, and the photography, and the production and just let it be. ‘This is what it’s like to be a fellow human person who’s doing this weird career., the emotions that go along with that because of it, and also from other life things.’ It’s supposed to open up a little more of the humanity of the ‘glorified artist’ mentality, because I think ‘celebrityism ’ is so common and I think that’s really dangerous. ..What I’m trying to do is connect with people -- like ‘Hey, I know you like what I’m doing, but that doesn’t have to be blown up’. I hope a bunch of people like it, and I hope we can sell out a bunch of stuff, I wanna do all that , but I just like the aspect of that personal connection, and letting people see inside.”

And to close with Tongue Tied’s signature question, How would you describe your music to someone who’s never heard music before?

Ogelby: “It’s like you’re tapping your foot, but you’re wondering why you’re crying. A sad bop.”

Check out Milkk online:

https://wearemilkk.com

https://twitter.com/wearemilkk?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor

https://soundcloud.com/wearemilkk

https://www.facebook.com/wearemilkk/

Article by: Liz Holland

[junkcereals]

Junk Cereals: Most vital ranking of 19 Cheerios flavors

Cheerios is the biggest, most popular cereal brand. General Mills has marketed four varieties for multiple generations. More recently, more than 15 flavors have been released to give fans almost anything they want. Many are still on shelves, although Peach Cheerios recently left and Cheerios Protein Almond departed last year because General Mills faced a lawsuit because it had less protein than it claimed. Following is a ranking of Cheerios flavors. The large majority are good, which forced some tough choices.

19. Apple Cinnamon Cheerios

I may have eaten Apple Cinnamon Cheerios once as a child and wanting to believe it was good enough to eat again. But my mom knew better. Evidently, this has 12 grams of sugar, which explains that and is a total waste because you wouldn't recognize all that added sugar from a bite of it. All you taste is some apple, a hard it of cinnamon, maybe some more apple. Or maybe not if you've been a smoker for any extended stretch of you're life. I never was and never will be because I satisfy my need for instant gratification with healthy stuff like cereal that has at least three grams of fiber like this stuff. By the way, this cereal has lower vitamin enrichment than some Captain Crunch varieties. Did the captain steal vitamins?

Maybe Apple Cinnamon Cheerios only resembles something I should like because its hearty, woody look and feel appeals to basic masculinity.

18. Regular Cheerios

Cheerios have been around since 1941 when they were called Cheeri Oats, but didn’t become Cheerios until General Mills decided this cereal had earned a better sounding name.

SInce then, Cheerios have been the morning staple of people who just want to get on with their day, as well as those who just want to focus on reading the newspaper rather than whatever ripples or odd spots may appear in their cereal.

Some say vanilla is their favorite ice cream flavor because anything can go in it. Cheerios is the vanilla of cereals. Consumers slice various fruits into Cheerios, such as bananas, strawberries, peaches, blueberries and mango. Avocado? Sure. Other things can go in Cheerios, like chocolate chips, yogurt, peanut butter and M&Ms. No one has yet been bold enough to make an M&M cereal, so put them in Cheerios. Before the explosion of different Cheerios flavors, Danny, who was supposed to be the main character in “Caddyshack,” poured sugar in his Cheerios. He looked like he knew what he was doing, although the plot of the movie suggested otherwise.

17. Multigrain Cheerios

A couple of things stand out about Multigrain Cheerios: its variety of colors, the sound it makes when the O's collide against each other and how it's been around this long. I guess when it came out, it competed with Total because Total was touted as the most healthy cereal ever. But General Mills pointed out that you want 100 percent DV of nine vitamins and minerals in circular form because if you want to be a Lion King, your nutrition is a circle of life.

The name certainly doesn't compel anyone, especially since no one could name the grains in it until recently when it put them on the back of the box (corn, oats, millet, sorghum and rice). Cheerios is too mature to make a game of it. By the way, all those colors in the cereal are real, none artificial. The entire Cheerios brand is consistent about that. Only lower-tier General Mills cereals get food dyes.

16. Toasted Coconut Cheerios 

This is the most Whitey McWhite Person cereal to be done. They toasted coconut to put in this. The flavor is totally coconut. Can other fruits be toasted and put into cereal form? What about mango? That would have a more pronounced taste than Toasted Coconut Cheerios. But we don't want our fruit toasted if we really want to eat it. The back of the box features vacation destinations where you may be able to eat real coconuts. But no getaway contest in which to enter. Thanks, General Mills. Please bring on Mango Cheerios and I'll forgive you.

15. Fruity Cheerios

What does Fruity Cheerios give? A general fruity flavor, real nutrition, consistent appearance and taste throughout the bowl. What does Fruity Cheerios not give? An abundance of color, tons of added sugar, a cheerful cartoon character swooping in to slap the well-being out of you. I can’t hold it against Fruity Cheerios that it displays earth tones instead of primary and secondary colors. Product developers obviously deemed Cheerios undeserving of large amounts of food dye and artificial flavors. Besides, there are fruits with earthtones like avocados. People like avocados, so they must be willing to give this a chance.

Fruity Cheerios aims to be a healthy alternative to Froot Loops, and achieves that to a moderate degree.

14. Peach Cheerios

Within this cereal, one finds a fair amount of flavor and peach puree. Like peach crayons, it doesn’t give enough color or anything else you want from peaches.

13. Chocolate Strawberry Cheerios

This limited edition of the great Cheerios franchise, which was released weeks before Valentine's Day 2021, tested how well love could be manufactured in cereal form.

The aroma upon opening the box is so romantic and lovely that a person may want to kiss the nearest person 1,000 times. Hopefully, that person is worthy of the hypnotizing scent.

This cereal possesses a wonderful chocolate flavor. However, since the strawberry aspect is an artificial flavor, it falls short of other Cheerios fruit flavors. Not that you and your partner can't swing your arm around other's in a love bite fashion as if you're eating chocolate strawberries together.

12. Cheerios Oat Crunch Oats 'n' Honey

Did you know there are oats in this cereal? You may also taste honey. The taste is quite juicy and deep, but not as beautiful as the alternative COC flavor.

11. Frosted Cheerios 

Cheerios marketers walked into the upper management suite, located the right executive office, pounded the desk (ever so politely) and said they wanted to frost their cereal. So they did with sugar oat bran and corn starch. In order to stay "simply made," as they say, they stuck to that and kept it to nine grams of sugar. The color is solid and frosting complete. Someone ran into the room and said not to let the color fade in milk, so they didn't. See how that works.

No color is lost in milk. A bit of powdered sugar taste hangs in the milk at the end.

10. Pumpkin Spice Cheerios

This is the type when you ask, it says, "I throw straight fastballs."

What else?

"I throw straight curveballs."

This pumpkin spice cereal gives you the pumpkin and the pumpkin spice, coming right at your face with what you want and need. Pumpkin puree coats the stuff while the cinnamon and nutmeg round out the flavor.

As far as pumpkin spice cereals go, it does better than some by working harder.

9. Very Berry Cheerios

This cereal looks and tastes like freckled lemonade. The bar for fruit flavor has been lowered for this in a way it wasn't for most Cheerios products. Instead of various purees, it has powders of blueberry, strawberry, cranberry and raspberry, as well as vegetable and fruit juice. I hope you get all those flavors on your buds. I got two or three. The vitamin content is reasonable because they had to get it in before all the fruit walked away from being powdered. 

But they couldn't get acai berry or pomegranate involved, which is too bad. 

8. Honey Nut Cheerios Medley Crunch

Let's say I want to have Honey Nut Cheerios and Honey Bunches of Oats in the same bowl, but don't want to put the effort into buying both. Hey, this stuff takes half the shelf space. And it has giant oat blocks. So much variety here. And no lack of honey.

7. Banana Nut Cheerios 

At first, when I found this, I thought, Oh, this like if banana Nut bread were cereal, but without the nuts, which I guess is good for some people because having nut in a cereal name is usually a lie, except for people with allergies who have to take everything very seriously because you never can say it wasn't made on the same machinery as something just because of the smell."

Actually, the ingredient list plainly says it has pecan ingredients (not just pecans).

The Cheerios brand is just walking out here informing the world it can beat all the banana-flavored cereals by laying down a bunt. Remember Nilla Banana Pudding Cereal? This stuff doesn't make you gag. Isn't that fun?

Also, it doesn't treat its fruit flavor like a serial killer. There's a reasonable proportion of banana flavor to cinnamon. Meanwhile, Apple Cinnamon Cheerios is not so even.

Apparently, Banana Nut Cheerios appeared before, but it must be better now because of technology, improved weightlifting regimens and other stuff that have generally boosted its athleticism over previous generations. 

6. Cheerios Oat Crunch Cinnamon

This cereal is gruff, but not rough. The cinnamon hits you for real, but is balanced with honey, sugar and various grain flavor so that you don't feel overwhelmed. It's also not as hard or thick as other cereals. This justifies having 40 grams of carbohydrates and 14 grams of sugar by boasting four grams of fiber. Oh, and actual flavor, unlike Multigrain Cheerios. 

This combines hardiness, taste and adventure in a way matched by few.

5. Maple Cheerios 

This was introduced at the peak of fall, just when maple harvesters started thinking about what they probably should be accomplishing  (maple season is not when you might expect, as tapping season occurs from February to April). Maple Cheerios slaps your tastebuds hard. No one has ever tasted a fuller, more saturated syrup-flavored cereal. At no point in the bowl does the flavor stop. This is complete, tasty and … healthy.

4. Honey Nut Cheerios

I have probably eaten more than 10,000 bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios in my life. Every single one was honey-smacking and vaguely nutty, leaving behind a respectable honey milk at the end (which the Bible promises in various verses to those who trust in the Lord, ostensibly meaning Honey Nut Cheerios is the cereal sent down from heaven). Honey Nut Cheerios is every bit as healthy and heart-happy as regular Cheerios, but no one ever felt beset by blandness after polishing off a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.

3. Blueberry Cheerios

Like other real fruit flavors of the Cheerios brand, nothing flavors this but real blueberries (and a couple other natural flavors; believe me they're so natural they'll tell you). This comes at your tongue with thick blueberry taste. Blueberry Pancake Crunch was soft on blueberry aura, while this goes hard. Blueberry Cheerios don’t give up until you give up. Also, it’s truly odiferous. If I weren’t so high on the smell, I’d use a softer adjective.

2. Peanut Butter Chocolate Cheerios

Smoothness and fullness of flavor are values to be demonstrated in a peanut butter chocolate cereal. This stuff has that, unlike Peanut Butter Chocolate Corn Pops (which is a lie, as far as any cereal can be). The chocolate flavor in Peanut Butter Chocolate Cheerios is resonant and blends well with the peanut butter flavor. The cereal goes down easy and can be enjoyed endlessly. No question, you will eat it in the bowl in the morning (but don’t detract from the flavor by pouring chocolate milk on it) and scooping handfuls in the afternoon. Both ways are equally pleasant.

1. Chocolate Cheerios

When General Mills introduced chocolate into Cheerios, it brought love into the world. Chocolate brings character to everything it touches, and it blesses this form of Cheerios in the utmost. No shortcoming in taste can be found. Afterwards, the cereal leaves a milk that is almost as fervent as actual chocolate milk. This cereal was so satisfying that I ate three-quarters of a box on a long drive.

[fascistslooklike-blog]

The oldies

Mike Pence looks like he chose the wrong grail. mike pence looks like wax and powdered milk. Mike pence looks like the ghost of Christmas yet to come. But the part of Christmas where you are at Best Buy trying to return a DVD copy of the second season of CSI:Miami that your uncle got you. Mike pence looks like you were painting a fence and accidentally painted a stick bug. Mike pence looks like a ghost of a shart. Mike Pence looks like if Slim Jim decided to make a vanilla flavor meat stick. Mike pence looks like someone tricked him into smiling once and he's been trying to undo it ever since. Mike Pence looks like he is sustained by children's sadness. Mike Pence looks like an over cooked Lima bean. Mike Pence looks like one of those cyborg people in the opening credits of Westworld. 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But really he just relates to rock salt mixed with ice on a spiritual level. Mike Pence looks like he says things like "the only good minority is the 1%". Mike Pence looks like the inside of a coconut. Mike Pence looks like a sculpture my child did in first grade Mike Pence looks like he really loves third wave ska, except for all the guitars and horns and drums and stuff. Mike Pence probably used to look like a young Brad Pitt. But then he saw a man kiss another man and it shocked him into the apparition he is now. Mike Pence looks like he looked into the Ark of the Covenant. Mike Pence looks like he chose the wrong grail. Mike Pence looks like he got voted into office because he was running against "beheading all of your loved ones". And people just thought they were picking the lesser of two evils. Mike Pence looks like he says "now we all like a good joke, but this is going too far" every time he passes a mirror. 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Mike Pence looks like he would use the urinal right next to you even though there are 2 empty ones on each side of yours ‪Mike Pence looks like Michael Graves was his favorite Misfits singer. ‪Mike Pence looks like he would love to take a hot bath but is afraid he would just turn into a dead skin bath bomb. ‪Mike Pence looks like he dozes off each night mumbling"ANCIENT SPIRITS OF EVIL TRANSFORM THIS DECAYED FORM TO MUM..um MIKE PENCE"#thundercats‬ Mike Pence looks like Senator Kelly from Xmen after he turns into a mutant and becomes water ‪Mike Pence looks like he got "his" and "hers" pillows for him and his wife. And sometimes...He makes her sleep on the "his" pillow. #kink‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he googles porno by typing"STRAIGHT sex where female human isn't allowed to talk or be seen and is actually male"‬ Mike Pence looks like he is a huge fan of male competitive endurance tickling. Mike Pence looks like a racist unmasked Scooby Doo villain. Mike Pence looks like he irons his tshirts. Mike Pence looks like he is stoked to become president in (vegas odds) one year when Trump is impeached. Mike Pence looks like the stains you would find on a mattress on a hotel if you used a black light? Mike Pence looks like the whitest part of the outside of the box of generic saltine crackers Mike Pence looks like grated parmesan cheese when viewed at 500x under a microscope. Mike Pence looks like the black sheep of the Quaker Oats family. Mike Pence looks like he likes his steaks "extra well done". He's probably one of those people that will send it back if it's not burned enough. Then puts ketchup on it. Mike Pence is so white he doesn't have to wear a robe at a Klan meeting Mike Pence looks like he doesn't cast a shadow. Mike Pence was surprised to find white rice in a box of Uncle Ben's Mike Pence shocked that Colonel Sanders actually not a Colonel. Mike Pence looks like he cans his Christian farts like your grandma cans tomatoes. 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Mike Pence looks like a taco bell dollar menu option: a stack of flour tortillas with a side of sour cream. Mike Pence looks like he respected Sarumon the White until he saw him standing a little too close to those dark-skinned Uruk-Hai.

[erectiledysfunc]

omega 3 and erectile dysfunction

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[travelonlinetips-blog]

New Post has been published on https://travelonlinetips.com/everything-you-need-to-know-about-epcot-food-and-wine-festival-plus-disney-recipes-3/

Everything you need to know about Epcot Food and Wine Festival (plus Disney recipes!)

They didn’t serve a lobster roll at the Epcot International Food and Wine Festival once.

Once.

“My second year here,” says Executive Chef Michael Deardorff, “the culinary director decided to change things up. We made a killer lobster mac-and-cheese instead.”

Disney guests, he quickly found, are fiercely loyal – not only to the park and festival, but to favorites deemed sacred.

“We heard about it every day as we walked out to Hops & Barley,” he laughs, lesson learned. “As long as I am working here, there will always be a lobster roll over there.”

Imagineering, apparently, extends into Disney’s culinary realm, as well. Tinkering can and does happen.

“Different parts of New England have different styles with their lobster rolls,” Deardorff notes. “Some make it as a salad, some do it cold. This year, we’re serving it warm, poached in butter with a nice aioli on top. We re-imagine dishes all the time.”

Even so, says Deardorff, each year brings with it all-new creations for guests to taste. “About 30 percent,” he estimates. While dishes like the jerk-spiced chicken lollipop, a popular item from the Islands of the Caribbean marketplace returns this year with a re-imagined spin. Others, like the charred chimichurri skirt steak (recipe below) from Flavors from Fire, are brand new.

The process, says Deardorff, begins in a boardroom, not a kitchen, where festival chefs converge.

“We sit around and blue-sky ideas,” he explains. “Flavors from Fire was new last year, and so we ask, ‘What proteins do we need out there? Do we need steak? Pork? This marketplace isn’t bound by nation. Danny (Sous Chef Daniel Contreras) came up with [the skirt steak dish]; but with just about any dish, we lay them out and talk amongst ourselves and decide which we will push forward.”

Executive Chef Michael Deardorff and Sous Chef Daniel Contreras show off the charred chimichurri skirt steak at the 23rd Epcot International Food & Wine Festival — Photo courtesy of A.D. Thompson

Along the way, each recipe is tweaked – aioli changed, herbs added – until it lands at what guests will experience at the festival.

“We had a dish with a corn cake last year,” Deardorff notes. “This year, we smoked the corn, then made the cake, adding a layer of flavor to the end product.”

It doesn’t always work that way, though. The Active Eats energy bar bites (recipe below) were born as a project at Sunshine Seasons, a food court inside Epcot’s Land Pavilion.

“We wanted to make our own energy bar, so our pastry chefs came up with this version, which is really quite ingenious,” Deardorff notes, rattling off ingredients. “It’s dairy-free, gluten-free – made with dates, coconut milk, chocolate and peanut butter chips, sunflower seeds, almonds, pistachios. It’s very decadent, so it really gives guests that dessert feel.” (Vegans take note: the bites contain honey.)

Chefs’ inspiration, he says, literally comes from everywhere – TV shows, meals out with family, something stumbled upon in a home kitchen, a magazine article. And Epcot’s robust event schedule ensures no winning dishes go untasted.

“Now that we have four festivals, something that doesn’t work for Food & Wine could be a great one for Festival of the Arts. If it’s plant-based, perhaps we hang onto it for the Flower & Garden Festival. It’s nice that we don’t have to shelve so many things anymore.”

And it’s always a team effort.

By the time Contreras’ chimichurri concept was ready for its close-up, it was pieces and parts of the festival chef collective.

“When a dish like this gets selected,” says Deardorff, “everybody wins.”

And the figurative trophies come on the days the chefs walk the festival.

“We just step off to the side and watch and wait for the guest to take that first bite. And when you see that smile, that desire to share it with someone – ‘Hey, you have to try this!’ – that’s where the personal satisfaction happens. It doesn’t mean anything until that guest says, ‘Nice job!'”

Flavors from Fire: the skirt steak dish is an all-new Epcot offering this year — Photo courtesy of A.D. Thompson

Charred skirt steak, corn pancakes and jicama slaw

Yield: Serves 6

Marinated Skirt Steak

3 tablespoons chopped flat-leaf parsley 3 tablespoons chopped cilantro 1/4 teaspoon dried oregano 1 teaspoon minced garlic 1/2 teaspoon chopped Fresno or jalapeño pepper 1/4 teaspoon chopped serrano pepper 2 tablespoons diced red onion 1 pinch coarse salt 1 pinch freshly ground pepper 1 pinch smoked Spanish paprika 1 pinch chili flakes 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar 1/4 cup canola oil 1 pound skirt steak

Jicama Slaw

1 cup peeled jicama, julienned with mandolin 1/2 cup peeled carrots, julienned with mandolin 1/4 cup red onion, thinly sliced, about 2-inch-long pieces 1 teaspoon finely diced Fresno or jalapeño pepper 1 cup white vinegar 1 teaspoon coarse salt Pinch freshly ground black pepper 3 tablespoons sugar 2 teaspoons canola oil 1/4 teaspoon chopped flat-leaf parsley

Cilantro Cream

1/4 cup sour cream 1/2 cup mayonnaise 1 to 2 tablespoons chopped cilantro 2 tablespoons lime juice 1 teaspoon minced garlic Pinch coarse salt

Corn Pancakes

2 large ears yellow corn, shucked 1 large egg 3 tablespoons water 3 tablespoons whole milk Pinch coarse salt, freshly ground black pepper 1/2 cup masa harina 1 teaspoon canola oil, more as needed

Directions

For marinated skirt steak:

Place all ingredients except steak in blender and purée until smooth.

Taste and adjust seasonings.

Put steak in large zip-top bag and add marinade. Refrigerate several hours or overnight.

For jicama slaw:

Julienne jicama and carrots with mandolin and place in glass bowl. Add onion and diced pepper.

Blend vinegar, salt, pepper and sugar at medium speed in blender.

With blender running, slowly add oil.

Stir in parsley and adjust seasonings. Pour dressing over slaw.

Transfer to glass bowl or zip-top bag and marinate in refrigerator at least 4 hours.

For cilantro cream:

Combine all ingredients in blender and purée until smooth. Adjust seasoning if necessary.

Transfer to bowl, cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.

For corn pancakes:

Smoke corn over hickory wood chips at 220°F degrees for 20 minutes. Remove from heat, cool and cut kernels from cob. Divide into 2 equal portions.

Purée egg, water, milk, salt, pepper, and half of corn in food processor until smooth.

Transfer to medium-size bowl and fold in masa harina and remaining corn.

Heat canola oil in a medium-size skillet over medium-high heat. Pour a heaping tablespoon of batter into skillet and spread to about 1/4-inch thickness. Cook for about 4 minutes or until golden brown, flipping halfway through. Cook in batches and keep warm until ready to serve. (This step can be done while steak is resting.)

To serve:

Remove steak from marinade and grill over charcoal to medium rare. Remove from heat and rest 10 minutes. Slice thinly against grain.

Place pancake on serving plate, top with steak, slaw and cilantro cream.

Cook’s Note: If you don’t have time to make the corn pancakes, you can serve with store-bought corn tortillas – fry them in a heavy skillet over medium-high heat with 2 tablespoons hot oil for about 10 to 30 seconds on each side until browned and cooked (they will still be pliable). Drain on paper towels and keep warm until ready to serve.

What to drink: Pair with a cool margarita served over ice in a salt-rimmed glass or agua fresca made with fresh melon, lime, sugar and mint.

The Active Eats energy bites have a dense mouthfeel made sweet by a base of dates — Photo courtesy of A.D. Thompson

Active Eats energy bar bites

Yield: About 30 bites

14 ounces dried dates 1/3 cup water 1/3 cup chopped toasted pecans 1/3 cup chopped toasted almonds 1/4 cup cocoa powder 1/3 cup pumpkin seeds 1/3 cup dried blueberries 1/4 cup chocolate chips 1/3 cup peanut butter chips 2/3 cup oats 1 1/2 cups shredded coconut

Directions

Combine dates and water in a shallow dish. Cover with a plate and microwave 2 minutes. Set aside 10 minutes. Strain dates, reserving water.

Place dates in a food processor and purée. Add reserved water as needed to form a thick paste.

Combine pecans, almonds, cocoa powder, pumpkin seeds, dried blueberries, chocolate chips, peanut butter chips and oats in a large bowl. Add date paste and mix until well combined and uniform.

Refrigerate 1 hour.

Use a 1-tablespoon scoop to scoop out balls; roll between hands until smooth. Place coconut in a bowl and roll balls in coconut to cover.

Store refrigerated in an airtight container.

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[lifewiththeboyds]

½ Flirty, Whole30

June 30, 2018

Mid-drive to a family function and post morning fruit-and-grain bar, I turned to Kyle and said, “My stomach hurts. It’s all crampy.” In the next 30 seconds we spontaneously decided: we’re starting Whole30 next week. It’s true that in the weeks prior I had been having some stomach cramps come up randomly and Kyle has always had trouble consuming dairy. We also thought it might be helpful for me to cut dairy while nursing our daughter, Maisie, since our son, Oliver, has a dairy allergy. So with that limited amount of decision making, we thought we’d just go crazy and try Whole30.

For any who are interested, here’s how we did it, what we learned, my new favorite recipes, a few Whole30 resources, and how we’re eating now. (Be warned: this is long.)

½ Flirty: How We Did Whole30

I wasn’t faithful to the Whole30 program; I flirted with some foods that were on the “do not eat” list. Since I started Whole30 one month postpartum with my second child, I wanted to make sure I was eating healthy for my body as I recovered and healthy for my baby as I nursed. A little bit of research taught me that whole grains do a lot for your milk production, so instead of sticking to the Whole30 rules, I kept whole grains in my diet. While on Whole30, my whole grains included: old-fashioned oats, whole grain bread, and whole grain and/or wild rice.

I also kept beans in my diet because I reasoned “they’re just beans!” I also kept honey in my diet; first because I didn’t know it was to be cut from your diet, but once I found out it wasn’t supposed to be eaten, I again reasoned “it’s just honey!”

Kyle (except for a slip-up or two) stayed true to the Whole30 rules.

Breakfast Kyle had scrambled eggs with ham, peppers, spinach, and green onion. My breakfast was scrambled eggs with peppers, spinach, and green onion with a slice of whole grain bread with coconut oil.

Lunch Kyle had leftovers from dinner. I had what I termed a “salad sandwich”: homemade mayo (I know, Whole30, ug), green leaf lettuce, spinach, cucumbers, avocado, and sea salt between two slices of whole grain bread. Sometimes I had it with turkey (breaking the rules) and sometimes I had it with a mashed up hard-boiled egg, but mostly I had just the veggies.

Dinner Our successful dinners rotated through these meals (I’ve included recipes later in this post):

Bun-less burgers topped with lettuce, avocado, and sugar-free ketchup served with a side of roasted veggies (potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots)

Aidell’s Chicken and Apple Sausage served over roasted veggies (carrots, peppers, broccoli, and peas) with whole grain and wild rice

Italian meatballs with tomato sauce served over butternut squash noodles with a side salad packed with veggies and homemade dressing

Marinated chicken served with roasted veggies (carrots, broccoli, peppers, potatoes)

Snacks I had a morning snack of my own homemade granola (see below for recipe) topped with frozen blueberries in coconut milk. In the afternoon and/or evening, I’d have a snack of sliced apple dipped in sunbutter (we are a peanut-free and tree-nut free household, as Oliver has peanut and tree nut allergies) and topped with raisins.

Some Whole30 participants claimed that RX Bars and Bare Chips were essentials. We didn’t want to buy these, largely because of the cost, but also because of the mentality you have while eating them: they still feel like a processed snack for when you just want to munch. We wanted to avoid that habit. We only ate an RX Bar once—on a drive home from the mountains when we were starving—and we actually didn’t like it.

Dessert After dinner we would have dates and apple juice. It was surprisingly satisfying.

What We Learned

Kyle completed Whole30 in order to test which foods upset his stomach (especially to see how much of a trigger dairy was). I completed Whole30 to relieve my stomach of odd cramps and to see if cutting dairy while nursing would be helpful for Maisie (saw no change there good or bad), but also to remind myself that food is not all my comfort and all my joy. I love sweets and I really enjoy eating, but I wanted to gain self-control over my eating habits and overall enjoy the energy (momma of two here!) and image benefits that eating real food can bring to your body. Overall, we learned:

What Are Feelings, Anyway? Despite the day-by-day breakdown of how you’ll be feeling on the program, we actually stayed afloat with no noticeable ups or downs—aside from me experiencing some stomach cramps about halfway through, which I contributed to eating too much meat, which I then cut back on. Sadly, Kyle saw no difference in how he felt off of dairy. We took away that we must have been eating pretty healthy prior to the program, and I think we were.

Make Veggies A Big Deal We learned to incorporate veggies whenever possible—peppers and spinach in scrambled eggs, butternut squash noodles on spaghetti night—and to just constantly ask: how can I incorporate more veggies?

Serve Fruit As Dessert Waiting to eat fruit until the end of the meal made it more fun, and we also ate more than we would if it had been a side with dinner.

A Satisfied Full (Kinda) I was happy to feel a satisfied full after meals, while Kyle, well, not so much.

Team Up We found it was really fun to be doing something new together. Experiencing this as a team was great for our friendship and our marriage.

Meal Planning Made Easy For me, meal planning on Whole30 was really easy: grill or cook a meat + roast some veggies = done. It helped me to simplify my meals and to eliminate the brainpower and time it takes to make sauces, casseroles, etc. It made grocery shopping easier, too! I love cooking, but in this season of life with two little ones, less time in the kitchen is a win for everyone.

Sweets Should Be Sweet: Watch for Hidden Sugars Sugar is hidden in so many condiments, sauces, marinades, dressings, and other cooking items. I learned to read labels and not purchase items if sugar was included when we thought it wasn’t needed. Sugar-free ketchup actually tastes great!

Don’t Eat Cheap Grains Graham crackers, Ritz, fruit-and-grain bars, cereals: these are all cheap grains in the sense that they don’t fill you up. It’s amazing how many times prior to Whole30 I would have just a little bit of Oliver’s cheap grain snacks during my everyday. I’ve learned to veer away from those in my diet and to keep them as a much less frequent snack in Oliver’s. The good news is he loves apples and sunbutter just as much as his momma. :)

People Are More Important Than Food The rules of the Whole30 program will tell you otherwise, but let’s remember that food is just food and people are, well, people. Maintaining a healthy relationship with your friends and family is more important that sticking to diet rules. This is why I still ate whole grains and why in the future I’m not going to let guilt creep in when my food expectations take a turn in the name of a healthy relationship—be it nursing my daughter or enjoying a dessert at a family celebration.

People Relate to Food In Different Ways Kyle doesn’t crave food and really doesn’t think about it except when food is placed in front of him. He eats what he is served and doesn’t daydream about what to have at the next meal. I wish I was like that! I think about food a lot. I really like to eat and I love sweets. For me, completing Whole30 helped to show me how to eat healthy, how to control food cravings, how to indulge, and how to just let it go sometimes and stop thinking about food so much.

How We Eat Now: Guidelines

The most frustrating thing about Whole30 is that it isn't a diet you should live on. It honestly makes me feel ridiculous for even doing it in the first place, as you should be eating grains. It is fine to eat dairy. Sugar isn’t a no-never-not-ever food. Now that we’ve been off Whole30 for almost three months, here’s what we’re eating.

Choose When To Indulge: Sweets I learned that off of Whole30, I should strive to make treats a treat. In the diet of my dreams, I would love to have two servings of dessert every night, but that isn’t healthy. What is healthy is to choose when to indulge. I have a printed calendar of the year taped to the inside of my kitchen cabinet. I���ve circled the days when I’ll be indulging in sweets—holidays, birthdays, bridal and baby showers, weddings, friends in town, date nights, vacations—it’s amazing how it all adds up. There are plenty of days when I’ll be enjoying sweets! And the big bonus there is that I’m enjoying sweets in the company of loved ones, which is a simple way to help bring joy to relationships. And if life contains a surprise—like homegrown cherries gifted to us by a co-worker last week—then I gratefully make a cherry pie, invite friends over, and enjoy that treat of a day I wasn’t expecting.

Yes: Whole Grains We now buy whole grains: oats, whole grain pasta and rice, and whole grain bread.

No: Cheap Grains We really are steering clear of cereal, crackers, graham crackers, chips, and the like. Will we eat a s’more with friends? Yes. Crackers as appetizers at a wedding, shower, or holiday? For sure. These are not “don’t eat” foods for us but rather “don’t buy” foods for us—or, buy as minimally as possible.

Choose When To Indulge: Baked Goods I have an amazing recipe for honey rolls and every time I make them, the compliments abound. My husband has grown up loving pancakes and biscuits. I also love to bake! So instead of cutting these delicious carbs out of our diet, we’ve kept them in moderation. Knowing that we are “only” eating whole grains, we really are aware of when we indulge in a good roll, breakfast item, or baked good. And we enjoy it all the more.

Yes: Fruits and Veggies We are still eating loads of veggies, incorporating them in our main dishes and as large sides, and aim to keep that going. The best barometer is at dinner: do I have a pan of veggies roasting in the oven as a side? We have fruits throughout the day, making those our snacks instead of cheap grains, and also have fruit after dinner.

Choose When To Indulge: Cheese I realized that the cheese I was buying was so...flavorless. I’d rather save the money I was spending on cheap cheese and instead indulge in a lovely hunk of parmesan for a special pasta night or Flagship Beecher’s Cheddar to serve with crisp apples when friends come over. Not eating the cheap cheese—in my sandwiches, on top of my eggs, in my spaghetti, or on my taco—is honestly not missed flavor-wise. And now I can see why people love cheese so much; when you buy a quality piece, it really does feel decadent.

Yes: Coconut Oil While we still buy butter, we use it way less frequently. Instead of butter on toast and rice, we use coconut oil. It’s even great on biscuits!

Grateful Eaters Above all, we want our attitudes to be of gratitude toward a meal, and to know that all this silliness about food is a first world concern. What happens when food is served to us that falls outside of our healthy rules? It was served to us—we eat it with a thankful heart and enjoy!

How We Eat Now: Meals

Meal planning and grocery shopping is extremely easy for me now. I have an Excel spreadsheet with the items we buy and what day of the week we are eating each meal. In the grocery store, I hardly pass through the middle aisles, which makes for a less hectic trip.

Breakfast We have scrambled eggs and whole grain toast with coconut oil. I will have a morning snack of homemade granola topped with frozen blueberries in coconut milk.

Lunch Kyle still has leftovers. I will have my salad sandwich as described above or leftovers as well.

Snack Once or even twice a day I’ll have a sliced apple with sunbutter and raisins. Our grocery story has a great deal of five apples for $2, so we stock. up.

Dinner We rotate through these meals each week:

Chicken salad on whole wheat bread with lettuce and sliced cucumber served with veggies

Marinated chicken with honey rolls (choosing to indulge here) and veggie-packed salad with homemade dressing

Aidell’s Chicken and Apple Sausage served over roasted veggies with whole grain and wild rice with a touch of coconut oil

Italian meatballs served over a mix of whole grain spaghetti and butternut squash noodles with homemade tomato sauce and a side of roasted carrots

Pancakes (choosing to indulge here, with butter and a healthy-ish version of maple syrup as well) served with veggie-loaded scrambled eggs

Kielbasa with whole grain rice and beans served with veggies or a salad

Burgers with whole grain buns and sugar-free ketchup served with roasted veggies, salad, and homemade baked beans

Tacos (seasoned ground beef) with black beans, onion, and bell pepper served with roasted sweet potatoes and red bell peppers, lettuce, green onion, and sour cream on a corn hardshell

In the past, I’ve rotated through what I call “seasonal meals”: a set of meals that fit the season. The meals above work well for summer, but I’ll switch most of these out for more fall-inspired meals come September. I’ll try to post those once the season rolls around!

Dessert Most nights we will have one or more of these: fruit, dates, apple or orange juice, and a sliced apple with sunbutter and raisins. For a sweet, Kyle has whatever he likes—mostly Oreos. I enjoy one square of dark chocolate with a half glass of milk. The desire for sugar is strong in me, and this is really helping to maintain a healthy balance.

Recipes

Beth’s Burger Seasoning (for four patties) 1 tsp. each of salt, pepper, garlic powder, dill, and chives

Grill. _______________

Italian Meatballs 1 lb. ground beef 1 egg 1/2 tsp. garlic powder 1 Tbs. parsley salt and pepper

Roll into a dozen balls and bake at 400 for ~20 minutes. _______________

Tomato Sauce 1 14.5 oz. can of crushed tomatoes 1/2 tsp. garlic powder 1 Tbs. Italian seasoning _______________

Marinated Chicken (for five breasts, sliced lengthwise for a thinner cut) Coat breasts with equal parts salt, pepper, and thyme, then marinate in: 1/2 cup olive oil 1/4 cup lemon juice 2 Tbs. dijon mustard 2 Tbs. honey

Cook on stovetop. Freeze remaining breasts. Reheat in oven, wrapped in foil. _______________

Beth’s Granola Mix: 1 cup old-fashioned oats 1/4 cup sunflower seeds 1 tsp. chia seeds

Then coat with: 1 Tbs. coconut oil 1/4 cup honey 1 tsp. vanilla Bake at 350 until golden, ~10 minutes. Then mix in: 1/2 cup raisins 1/2 cup unsweetened coconut flakes Best enjoyed when topped with frozen blueberries in coconut milk.

Phew! That was a lot. Thanks for reading!

[fashiontrendin-blog]

Smoothie Bowls and Meal Prep: A Brooklyn Nutritionist’s Money Diary

https://fashion-trendin.com/smoothie-bowls-and-meal-prep-a-brooklyn-nutritionists-money-diary/

Smoothie Bowls and Meal Prep: A Brooklyn Nutritionist’s Money Diary

In this edition of MR Money Diaries, Sydney, a registered dietitian and Brooklynite, documents her expenses for a week.

My dad didn’t believe in credit cards. He was a cash guy, always and forever. He traveled with dollar bills strapped to his ankles and stashed under his cowboy boots; this was his normal.

When I was a teenager, he made me keep $60 in my wallet at all times, “just in case.” On a few occasions, I spent said money on clothes (as any 16-year-old might) and he lectured me about the irresponsibility of not having cash on hand.

Fast-forward nine years and things have changed. My slim wallet currently contains 72 cents, a debit card and a credit card. Now I’m a registered dietitian who works at Middleberg Nutrition, a private practice in Manhattan on 56th Street between Park and Lexington Ave. Most of my money these days is spent on food. Though I like to look nice while discussing food, I’d rather put that $60 in cash toward organic produce than a fancy dress. I covet Vitamixes now, not trendy handbags.

I live with my dog, Charlie, and my partner, Jordan. I am the primary grocery store shopper in my household and 99% of my shopping is done at the Park Slope Food Coop. I guess you could say I’m one of those “crunchy granola Brooklynites.” Here’s a week of my receipts as proof:

This was a pretty standard shopping day for me. I go veggie-heavy when I’m grocery shopping and I look for products with minimal packaging. I also choose one to two proteins that can be stretched throughout the week (like ground turkey, chicken or eggs). 70% of the produce at the Coop is local and it all looked so good today.

Splitting groceries with my partner is very convenient and if you factor the total out over the week, it brings our meal totals to less than $15/day per person. A random Amazon purchase like today’s dog food and beeswax food savers usually gets made every week. Let’s hope this is the only one.

I didn’t spend a dime until 5:48 PM. I had overnight oats for breakfast and a big-ass homemade salad with Safe Catch Wild Tuna for lunch.

I used to go out to dinner all. of. the. time. NY Eater’s “Heat Maps” were my bible. When I was in college, I would drop money at Whole Foods and then barely use half of my groceries. (I will shamefully admit that I was a big food waster.)

These days, I save my dinners out for the weekend (or if my best friend is in town from LA, as was the case here). It’s rare that I don’t use all my groceries, and on the off chance I don’t use something, I save it to be composted. (I really am “crunchy granola.”) My $34.39 dinner could have been spent at a tastier spot, but tonight it was all about the company.

This is a pretty normal day for me. I ate a makeshift breakfast today. (It was a little bit of everything, including an almond breakfast cookies from Clean Eating Magazine, which was amazing. Here’s the recipe.)

I had to do some recipe testing at the office so I snacked for an hour, then came home and made a little salad for lunch. Dinner was organic chicken breast plus roasted asparagus and fennel. Here’s how to make it:

Marinate a chicken breast (or two to three chicken breasts if you want to have more for later) in balsamic vinegar, avocado oil, salt, pepper, Italian spices for at least 30 minutes. Place the chicken on a baking sheet and roast at 400F for 25 minutes, flipping halfway. Midway through the chicken’s cooking, put the veggies on a tray, spray them with avocado oil and sprinkle them with pepper. Let those roast for the next 12.5 minutes.

While the chicken and veggies were roasting, I meal-prepped some mini egg frittatas. (Whisk together six eggs, add in any veggies you have and then pour into muffin tins; this makes six muffins. Place them in the oven at 350F for 20 minutes or until cooked through. Store in tupperware for up to four days, and when you’re ready to eat, either microwave for one to two minutes, or reheat for five minutes in the toaster oven.) I will get three breakfasts out of this little recipe and each muffin costs about $2.00. I have early clients tomorrow and won’t have time to make a smoothie, so 25 minutes of my time to save myself $11.00 on a smoothie seems reasonable.

On a shittier note, my dog may or may not have fleas. 🤔😷🐶

I made coffee at home and brought breakfast (egg muffins) to the office. For lunch I ate leftover chicken and roasted veggies over spinach. For dinner I ate the rest of the leftover chicken and avocado in a Siete Tortilla with a side of — you guessed it — roasted veggies.

If you are wondering WTF a Siete Tortilla is, it is a grain-free, corn-free tortilla and it is delicious AF.

I don’t usually get massages midday on a Friday but I was feeling super sick today so I hit up one of Park Slope’s best-kept secrets: Sunshine Best Body Work. Their acupressure massages are cheap and more torture than luxury but I always walk out of there feeling like a new human.

For breakfast I ate another egg muffin and a homemade smoothie. Lunch was bone broth and avocado. For dinner: Turkey tacos. I also finished up the rest of those roasted veggies.

While waiting for the check at dinner I looked at my girlfriend and was like, Shit, I love this human; I am going to buy her dinner.

I ate breakfast and lunch at home and I made homemade chocolate bark today. Here’s how: Mix 1/4 cup melted coconut oil with 1/4 cup cacao powder. Add in dash of cinnamon and sprinkle of sea salt. (I added in crushed almonds for some crunch.) Then pour onto parchment paper and freeze.

I ate breakfast and dinner plus a snack (Wasa crackers and turmeric hummus) at home. My girlfriend paid for lunch. For dinner, I made a makeshift taco bowl (spinach on the bottom, roasted veggies, turkey meat, avocado, sauerkraut and salsa.

Today was another no-spend day! I made my own lunch (eggs and avocado) and dinner (a big salad). For breakfast, I made a smoothie bowl. This recipe serves two!

Smoothie Bowl: – 2.5 cups unsweetened almond milk (pour this in first) – 2 cups frozen kale – 1/2 frozen banana – 1/4 cup frozen blackberries – 1/2 cup frozen zucchini – Cinnamon – Optional: Protein powder (I added Vital Proteins) – 1 tbsp. Chia seeds. – Any other toppings (I added shaved coconut, sunflower seeds and almonds)

You may have to blend a few times to get to your desired consistency.

_______________________________________________________________

Keeping track of my spending while writing down my meals every day was definitely interesting. I ask all of my clients keep a food journal and then I review it in-between sessions so it was cool to be on the other side of journaling. I think 16-year-old me would balk at how I spend my money in NYC but adult me is pretty pleased with the total. My weekends are lamer than they once were but I’ll take a simple burger and a movie over standing on a couch at the club any day. And hey, if most of my money goes toward quality food that nourishes me and supports small farmers, I’ll take it.

My dad, who sadly passed away two years ago, used to mock me for going food shopping in my free time. I think he would be happy to know that not much has changed without him — and then he’d lecture me for this cashless life I have since adopted.

Photo by Madeline Montoya.

[lotsofdogs]

Splashing, Swimming and Sunshine

Hello party people! We’re halfway through the week and time is flying. This week is a fairly full one and I have a feeling the next few days will pass in a bit of a blur as well. Before we blink and Friday arrives, I wanted to share another quick day-in-the-life recap with you guys and dive into our Tuesday.

Let’s get to it!

Morning

My morning began at 5 a.m. when I made a batch of superseed oatmeal. My random concoction was inspired by a hybrid of recipes from the How Not to Die Cookbook that I created in an effort to incorporate a bunch of Dr. Greger’s Daily Dozen foods (aka the foods he says we should strive to eat daily for optimal health) into one bowl. I’ve been making this particular combination regularly and loving it. It’s packed with flaxseeds, chia seeds, oats, cacao nibs, berries and cinnamon and tastes great!

I know this picture makes the oatmeal look like cat puke, but if you guys want me to share the full breakdown of the recipe, let me know and I’ll do my best to make it look appealing for ya and eliminate words like “cat puke” when describing it in the future.

As I ate my oats, I dove into my daily devotional and then parked my butt at the computer to work until Chase was up for the day a little before 7 a.m.

Once Chase was awake, we eased into the morning by curling up in his room with a few library books before digging into whole wheat pumpkin muffins and a banana. With breakfast in his belly, Chase was ready to rock and kicked off morning playtime with some pants-free toy car driving!

We played at home for a bit until it was time to head off to boot camp. I knew going into the workout that I would likely be modifying many exercises but I still wanted to go and move my body because I always feel better when I do!

The Burn Boot Camp workout of the day included two 14-minute stacks that looked like this:

To complete a stack, you begin by completing the first exercise and then complete the first exercise and the second exercise before beginning at the top and completing exercises 1, 2 and 3… and so on until you complete all of the exercises in the stack in a row.

I ended up completing two 14-minute stacks that looked like this:

STACK ONE

20 Bodyweight Squat with Alternating Leg Lift

20 Heismans

20 Medicine Ball Squat to Overhead Press

STACK TWO

20 Medicine Ball Slams

20 BOSU Burpees (no jump + walking my feet in and out)

20 High Knees

You may notice my stacks did not include a fourth exercise and that’s because I ran out of time in the allotted 14 minutes. Also, I walked instead of running in between the exercises where it says to sprint or run a lap.

Once my workout was done, I scooped Chase up from childcare and we headed off to Birkdale Village to pick up gift cards for Chase’s preschool teachers. Today is his last day of school for the year and I’m feeling waaay more emotional about it than I thought I would! Chase absolutely loves his school and even though he’s only been going to school two mornings a week this year, I’m sad he’ll no longer regularly see his two beloved teachers and hate for him to miss something he looks forward to so much every week. We are doing a couple random camps at his school sprinkled throughout the summer that I know some of his friends will be in but we will thoroughly miss Miss Debbie and Miss Carrie!

While we were at Birkdale Village, we noticed that the splash pad is officially back in action for the summer and there was a zero percent chance we were going to be able to resist that exciting and oh-so-wet temptation!

Chase and I popped into Starbucks for a quick snack and a green juice (Chase shockingly drank a couple sips of mine!) and then Chase splashed around in the water for a bit before we had to head off to swim lessons.

We had so much fun swimming which I fully attribute to Chase’s great mood. He was just so darn playful and excited to splash around and I, yet again, found myself thinking about how much of our one-on-one time will be coming to a close so soon. Gah! The hormones!!! On one hand I am so ridiculously ready to have our baby – really and truly – and on the other hand, I find myself noticing little moments with Chase that I cherish that I know will inevitably change in the blink of an eye. It’s all a VERY good thing but I’m riding an emotional rollercoaster on the regular right now.

Afternoon

After swimming, we headed home and Chase played with his toys while I did a little food prep. Chase eventually asked to join in the cooking fun so we roasted some broccoli and sliced a few veggies to have on hand for the week ahead.

And then, after all that veggie prep, my child ate blueberry waffles for lunch. (He did have some tiny bites of broccoli and a bunch of fresh blueberries, too, so it wasn’t a total fail… right?)

While Chase ate his lunch, I used the roasted broccoli we made together in a stir fry for myself that included onions, mushrooms, edamame and shrimp prepared in a sauce I modeled after this garlic ginger stir fry sauce from Pinch of Yum.

After lunch, Chase went down for his nap and I grabbed a quick shower before making myself lunch 2.0 which looked like a big chocolate smoothie made with banana, frozen cauliflower, light coconut milk (from a can), chocolate protein powder, cocoa powder and almond butter.

A winning combination!

I drank my smoothie while working on the computer until Chase was up from his nap and ready for attention. We had one main project on the agenda for the afternoon and that included making a sweet treat to bring to Chase’s end-of-year preschool party tomorrow. Chase and I made a batch of brownies together but after I let them cool and tried to slice them into smaller toddler-friendly squares, they looked horrible. They still tasted great – Ryan, Chase and I definitely ate our fair share last night – but they didn’t hold up very well once they were sliced so I guess I’ll be running out to the grocery store to quickly buy some cookies or brownies or something from the bakery before the party today.

While the not-so-perfect brownies baked, we hung out in the backyard, played fetch with Sadie and splashed at the water table until Ryan arrived home from work and our appetites told us it was dinner time.

Evening

Dinner last night was a no-brainer thanks to our latest Blue Apron delivery. (Full disclosure: Blue Apron is a long-time blog partner of mine but we ordered and paid for this delivery on our own.) On the menu was another vegetarian success: Gnocchi with zucchini, roasted red peppers and a creamy yellow tomato sauce.

Gnocchi needs to happen more often in our house because I was ALL about that dinner. YUM.

After dinner, we did the whole night time wind-down routine and then I face planted in bed with my book. I am about halfway through The Tuscan Child by Rhys Bowen which I’m reading because I absolutely loved In Farleigh Field by the same author. It really began to pick up about a third of the way through the story and is a decent, easy read if you’re looking for something interesting but not overly intense. It doesn’t keep me up all hours of the night reading because it’s crazy suspenseful but I definitely look forward to curling up with this one at the end of a long day.

Now Wednesday morning is here and it will be a bit of a whirlwind! On the agenda for today: A dentist appointment (yep, I chipped my other front tooth… again), a preschool party at Chase’s school and trying to find time to squeeze in some work so I don’t miss a deadline I have looming over my head. Have a great day, my friends!

[Read More ...] https://www.pbfingers.com/splashing-sunshine-and-sprinkles/

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Very best Variety of Most suitable Treats for the entire Household

Very best Variety of Most suitable Treats for the entire Household

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Trader Joe’s Newest Products in 2018, Reviewed

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Trader Joe’s Newest Products in 2018, Reviewed

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Trader Joe’s has it all figured out. The new products, they just keep coming. We’re on a hare-brained mission to try every new product at TJ’s in 2018. Trying. A noble pursuit, a “good use of time,” “what is this, an ad?”, call it what you will. New this week—Valentines gummies, coconut clusters of fun, pretty good chicken sausage, and more.

Organic Oven Roasted Turkey Breast, $4.99These floppy shingles of roasted turkey are a lunch meat staple, though I’ve never tried to bind two pieces of paper with them. Instead, I roll them with sliced Swiss cheese and dip them in mustard like the grown adult person with an expired license I am. A subtle, roasted flavor elevates the turkey from its natural state of taste (soggy meat Kleenex) to a whisper of Thanksgiving leftovers. Good product. Reliable sandwich material. Real meat. Gluten-free. Protein. Precisely circular. Not salami.

Gummy Xs & Os, $2.99In time for Valentine’s Day, we have a big bag of gummies. The ”natural flavors” flavor reminds me of rosé–supposedly grapefruit, strawberry, and mixed berry—but they all blend together to me in the way you’re pretty sure gummy bears are different flavors for different colors but are they, really?? All I know is that the Xs taste better than Os. The big downside–sorry, gummy enthusiasts—is that the texture is too soft. Like that moment you’re making out with your Valentine and finally come to terms with the fact that he’s a body pillow named Ted. Gummies need a little bit of chew, some struggle, a reminder that it’s not gonna be easy all the time. A nice metaphor for love if you ask me.

Electric Buzz Coffee Cups, $5.49I drink coffee the old-fashioned way—by pouring off-boiling water into a filter directly in my mouth—so I enlisted a guest reviewer for these TJ branded K-cups that are supposedly EXTRA CAFFEINATED! “It’s no special cup of mud,” texted my friend Keith, a man who puts plastic cups in a machine expecting roasted bean juice to come out. BA’s Alex Delany described these coffee pods like he does beer, ridiculously: “It tastes like someone walked across your tongue with brand new dad sneakers on. Rubber soles.” Did he really need to offend all of dadkind like that? Probably yes.

Organic Sweet Italian Chicken Sausage, $5.99Like many chicken sausages, it tastes like chicken sausage. Throw in some garlic powder and basil particles and poof, Italian. Out of the package, they have a slimy smooth, bouncy hot dog texture because the casing has been removed. I don’t get how this works, but I‘ll try anything once. A sweet, kind cashier with a striking resemblance to my Uncle Manny (RIP) said he loves to make sausage and peppers with them, so that’s what I did. I mean, we’re practically family. The sausages are smaller side, more the size of Ball Park Franks, and crisp up in the pan as intended. Two people in my household ate the entire package of five links, dipping each bite in mustard and trying to find something more meaningful to say about something as mundane as chicken sausage. Notes of peppercorn tingle the tastebuds. Solidly Not Bad.

Coconut Sesame Seed Clusters, $1.99These are little shards that aren’t quite granola and yet aren’t anything else. Purgatory snacks! They’re crunchy pieces of toasted coconut covered in sesame seeds, sealed together with coconut sugar and tapioca syrup. Okay so they’re candy. Serving suggestions include: casually eating out of a hollowed coconut shell, on ice cream, but more likely, by the handful until you read the nutrition facts and realize the bag is empty but hey, at least they’re gluten-free? If this isn’t impulse purchase material, I don’t know what is.

Previously

The Week of January 22

Churro Bites, $2.49The only thing these churro bites share in common with hot-off-the-oil churros is a coating of cinnamon sugar. Other than that, these crunchy nuggets are their own category of cookie-chip. They have a near-velvet outer texture, the combination of shiny hardened butter and sandy sugar, like when you dropped a doughnut hole at the beach but ate it anyway, because seagulls. (Because you’re a monster). Sort of like giant Corn Pops, rolled cinnamon sugar. I won’t even begin to describe what they visually resemble (😺 💩). The cashier at TJ’s looked at the nutritional details and then slowly raised her eyes to mine. Me: “These are not good for you.” Her: “Then why are you buying two?”

Gluten Free Oat Cranberry Flaxseed Cookies, $2.99As a general life principle, you should never trust a cookie with more than three names. These gluten-free-oat-cranberry-flaxseed-cookies seem to think that they can trick us into believing they’re some kind of health food but we know, ohhhh we KNOW. These are cookies. With plenty of butter and sugar. Because of that, I have some great news: They taste like cookies! Like a very good grocery store oatmeal raisin cookie, with a surprisingly soft and chewy texture (I see you, molasses and rice flour.) They crumble a little, but then again who doesn’t in this current political climate? Still not sure what a flaxseed is, but I’m already starting to see definition in my abs.

Thai Green Curry Simmer Sauce, $1.99This so-called simmer sauce is the pale minty green of my grandmother’s bathroom walls, with much more flavor (and a lot less lead!). Even though a simple green curry is easy to make, at this price, it costs the same as just the can of coconut milk, and there’s Kaffir lime peel in here. It’s fragrant with lemongrass and ginger, and super creamy, a little sweet—overall, delicious. You cook some protein or veg, add the sauce, serve over noodles/rice. What does this sauce have in common with a certain presidential marriage? There’s absolutely no heat. BYO-chile if you need to spice it up.

Tahini, Pepita & Apricot Slaw Kit, $3.99Inside one plastic bag you get four more little plastic bags! It’s like a Russian nesting salad of environmental doom. Or something. The slaw is a combination of veggies from the aisle-land of misfit produce. Spiky broccoli stems. Faded carrots the color of construction cones abandoned by the highway. The curly split ends from a kale haircut. Cabbage. Unfortunately the dressing, a sweet honey tahini (try this one!), which is pretty good, can’t mask the musty taste of the veg. The pepita and apricot sprinkles are a nice idea, but like hoping the 14 throw pillows on your couch hide all of the cat hair, they can only do so much.

Previously

The Week of January 8

Photo by Chelsie Craig

Frosted Sugar Cookies, $2.99Trader Joe’s imitation of Lofthouse’s iconic packaged cookies is the best thing they’ve brought to the new year. The freakishly smooth, delightfully underbaked sugar cookie is topped with frosting and randomly distributed purple-pink sprinkles. Whoever was in charge of sprinkles appears to have sneezed them out, some gather along the edges, holding on for dear frosting life.

But they really did it. It’s mythic, and it dissolves into dust the second it touches your saliva. The minute you bite into it, you forget it was ever there. And it’s everything you’ve missed since the last time you had one, stoned at 10 p.m. in Kroger with your middle school friends who’ve all had babies on Facebook by now. It’s a cookie that will send you back in time, in memory, in a sugar-induced nostalgia nap.

Photo by Chelsie Craig

Cocoa Almond Cashew Beverage, $2.29Who doesn’t love a beverage? AKA the FDA-approved term for milks that aren’t milk. Remember milk? Pause to pour out some beverage in the memory of milk. Those days are over.

This incredibly silky not-milk is chocolaty and sweet, with a vaguely nutty aftertaste, like a burp after too many bar peanuts. The creamy texture, thanks to the beautiful food science that is locust bean gum and other emulsifiers, ends on a near slimy note, reminiscent of the inside of the cardboard chocolate milk carton. It would be nice in a banana smoothie, heated as faux cocoa, mixed into iced coffee, or given as a bribe to children who have never known the cult of cow.

Photo by Chelsie Craig

Italian Marinara Sauce with Barolo Wine, $3.49Have you ever spooned straight marinara sauce into your mouth? It’s acidic and sweet, smooth save for the little toenails of tomato skin here and there. The saltiness left my chapped lips burning and tingling, like I’d exfoliated them with French fries. The addition of Barolo seems to say, “I know wines other than red,” while the black-and-gold Deco packaging suggests a Gatsby-themed party at the Olive Garden. It tasted like pretty good pizza sauce. Sign me up.

Organic Fruit and Seed Granola, $3.69These little clusters of organic seeds, held together by plasticky tasting tapioca syrup, are nuggets of health. I think. No pesky oats here, just seed bombs that I imagine are only slightly larger than what well-fed pigeons expel. The sharp and crunchy texture is appealing to parents who bring healthy snacks to the movies. They’re also the perfect snack for mindful eaters, as you will mindfully spend every bite doing tongue yoga to get chia seeds out of your molar fillings from the 90s. There are surprise bites of sweetened dried cranberries that will make you exclaim, “SUGAR, for MEEEE?” Somehow you will eat the whole bag.

Stay tuned for more, next week.

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