#no comment about that marc crash I’m ignoring it

[kingofthering]

Academy front row lock-up in front of Vale in Misano 😵‍💫

[waru-chan8]

I’m the anon that asked about Pecco and the factory vs satellite bikes, I just finished my hospital shift and I’m literally sat in my car right now cuz I’ve been waiting to read your answer since I got the notification on my phone that you posted, and I just want to say that I will never get why some fans love putting riders or drivers on a pedestal and say that they never do any wrong, they ARE in fact human even if some feel like they aren’t -Marc I’m looking at you- but yeah they are human and make mistakes and they should apologise and never repeat it, but what pissed me the most about Pecco is him driving while drunk cuz as a trauma surgeon I will never forgive anyone who knows that they are drunk and make the choice to drive, and then his comment about periods; kindly shut the fuck up Pecco, I love you and support you as a rider but that made me lose some respect I have for him as a person, women don’t whine when they have their periods: I just finished being on call for 24 hours while I’m on my first day and wanted to die when I was doing a surgery and my back and stomach were killing me but I never complained, so for him as a man who never experienced period pain to come and say that he was in so much pain that he complained like a woman on period.

and I just realised that this is a long ask but thank you so much for being a safe space and hold the riders accountable when they do mistakes cuz they are human and we all make mistakes no matter how we try and not make any mistake it’s how we learn to grow as human; so yeah if my favourite driver or rider said or did something bad I will talk about it and hold him accountable and not forget about it like some fans do

Hi again anon 👋👋👋👋. I hope you had a good shift in the hospital and not too many Emergency surgeries.

People really have notifications for when I post? Really? I mean I'm just a regular girl in my corner making silly post and ranting. It seriously flatters me.

I think the difference is being a fan or a hooligan. A fan or a true fan understands that behind the PR there's a human and they either understand or ignore it. A hooligan will actually defend them because they have put them in a pedestal. I don't understand why people just refuses to believe they little guy is capable of bad things, but as we have been saying all day long, they are human and they make mistake. I hope he learned from them, which is the important. And apology, which not everyone did.

My guess is because it was summer break and Ibiza. I find it incredible is that Spanish police let him off the hook because of who he was. If I did that (I'm Spaniard, or for the matter anyone), we lost points in or driving license and have to pay fines, jail time even depending on the implications. We have to thank he didn't get injured, and that he crashed in a roundabout, because he could have crashed into a house, or a cliff, or worst killed someone.

About the period comment, I'm just going to say there a general misbelieve that women are the weak sex, and I love to see men try the period cramp simulations. At level 1 some of them are already crying. I do know that pain tolerance is something that varies from person to person, but generally speaking, women have a higher pain tolerance than men. I'm a women, and lucky I've never suffer on my period, but I head is like 10x a quick in the balls, and we all know how much guys complain and need to recover from that. So next time, try to use that.

This just reminded me of the meme with football players with a male on the floor crying and asking to be changed and a stretcher BECAUSE ANOTHER PLAYER STEPPED ON HIM , while a female is asking the coach to not change them when she is actively bleeding. Which just illustrates that maybe are guys the weak ones.

Hey don't worry, unless you are being on purpose an ass of coming with hate, this will always be a safe space. It will always be a space open to discussion (with respect) when we don't share opinions because I love to learn other people's point of view or different opinions or informations.

[writingsfromhome]

Nuclear Family III

Part 3: Family Meals

A/N: This one gets a little bit more complicated for Y/N, feelings are definitely involved. Thank you everyone for reading/liking/reblogging/commenting!!! <3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

---------------------

The next day goes by without incident. Harry takes Charlie to the park as I stay home and catch up on missed work. Around 3 in the afternoon, with the sun shining brightly, I leave the flat with an itch in my leg. I'd spent too long indoors. I text Harry saying that I was stepping out.

"Y/N?" Someone calls as I'm about to leave the building. I spot a familiar face and shout out in excitement.

"Marc! I forgot you lived in the same building oh my god!"

"I knew you were in London but I wondered why you never callled...you're living with Harry?" He asks tentatively.

"Yeah," I laugh awkwardly. "Mixup with the air bnb my first day, so we're all here. It's great though, a little hectic but great. Charlie loves it."

"I bet she does," he grins. I forgot he was so handsome. The thing with Marc and I was, we were friends but ever since he came down to LA last year we sort of redefined our friendship to include a few perks. But it worked with us, we only saw each other once in a blue moon. And we were chronically single-me being too busy with being a mother and Marc too busy because directing a magazine meant no time for relationships. So because we got along so well, and we enjoyed the time we spent. We decided to live a little and do something risky. It paid off.

"You should come over some time! Charlie would love to see you too, she still talks about the day we went to Disneyland." Marc crashed at my place last year and Charlie took to him immediately. Maybe because he had the same accent her dad had.

"Maybe I will...and maybe you and I could catch up too sometime if you're free..."

"I'm free now, Marc," I laugh at his attempt to sound discrete. Staying at Harry's, it might get complicated if I invite Marc over. At least until after Charlie's birthday. There were too many things going on until then.

Marc joins me for a bite and by the time I get home Harry and Charlie are home and playing with a new toy she'd gotten. I watch fondly and feel a sense of relief. Charlie loved her time here and that was all I needed to see. A big concern staying with Harry was confusing Charlie where we stood but we were all good so far.

The next couple days go smoothly too. Harry goes out some evenings with his girlfriend and spends most of the days with Charlie, unless he's working. Charlie and I see a play and visit some old friends and we settle into London quicker than expected.

"Are you busy tomorrow evening?" Harry asks that morning.

"I was just going to make dinner at home, big day on Sunday." I take my reading glasses off to focus on Harry.

"My family was thinking of coming tomorrow."

The statement lands with a thud on my chest.

"Oh. Well...I'm sure Charlie will be glad to meet them!"

"You've got to be there. Please Y/N? They're staying for Charlie's birthday on Sunday."

"I..." I glance at Charlie who's curled on the sofa with her stuffed animal. I'd have to see them either way now that I was living here. "Alright. I'll be there."

"Perfect," Harry reaches out to squeeze my hand and I have to remind myself not to jerk it away.

Yes-the last few days have been well. Logistically. But emotionally, I was just as confused and angry at feeling that way. Harry went on dates with his girlfriend but during breakfasts we shared, his gaze would linger. His hand would brush mine, as he showed me something funny on his phone. Or when Charlie forced us to sit with her and play with her stuffed toys, he would make up silly scenes that forced us to be closer. The vibes between us felt tense sometimes and other times it felt like I could lean over and kiss him and the three years apart would disappear.

"I'll let them know." Harry continues about settling the date. "It works perfectly because Gemma was suggesting tomorrow too, and Miranda's free too."

"Miranda?" I ask. Had I heard correctly?

"Yeah. She's got to fly out Sunday for a shoot next week so I won't be seeing her all week. Tomorrow works."

"Miranda's coming to the family dinner?" I ask again, my voice sounding hollow to me. Was Harry an absolute idiot?

"Yeah! My whole family knows her-she's been around for my mum's birthday and Christmas."

Harry really was an idiot. He didn't notice my tone of voice or how ridiculous that was.

"I'm quite tired," I close my laptop screen. "We'll talk later?"

"Yeah." Harry pauses, picking up on my abrupt excuse. "I'll-yeah..."

I don't let him finish. I head to my room and toss my laptop onto the bed, combing my hand through my hair and sighing. I had to stop getting worked up about Harry and Miranda. They were a gorgeous couple and there was no way Harry still wanted me. He was only this nice to me because of the daughter we shared-there were no other feelings involved. I think about inviting Marc, but decide it's too petty. This was about Charlie and maybe I really should just get serious about finding other living accommodations.

***

Charlie sits in front of the TV as I get ready for dinner. The nerves in my stomach are more knotted than a pair of headphones in a handbag. I smooth down my green blouse and look down at my slacks. Maybe I should wear a dress; I looked like I was going to a meeting.

"You look nice," Harry's voice comes from the open doorway.

"I don't look like I'm going to give my first big corporate presentation?" I ask. He shakes his head but I watch his eyes skim over the outfit. He bites his lip to keep from laughing. "Ugh! I knew it. I have to change!"

"No you don't," Harry says, catching my arm on the way out. "You look great in anything."

I roll my eyes, "I know I look great in anything, but I'm having a dinner and I need to find something more appropriate!"

Harry chuckles but follows me back to my room where I toss through the closet. "It's just my family, they don't care what you look like."

"It's not that simple,” I rant, untying the knot around my neck. Why did I even bring this top? “I can’t just throw anything on and call it a night! I have to feel good in it too!”

He steps into the room and tracks my frantic movements from closet to dresser to suitcase. He stops me on my second round to the closet and takes the blouse out of my hands to hold them. "I think you’ll look great in anything, pick something and get on. Just tell your nerves to fuck off.”

“Harry!” I scold, I didn’t want Charlie hearing or she wouldn’t stop saying it.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, a small smile on his face displaying his dimples.

Noticing it, I’m suddenly aware of how we’re standing together. His hands still hold mine, and when I look into his eyes, they’re watching me. This. This is what I meant. Everything was fine living together, but Harry’s gaze, every time I caught it, it would be on me. And it was a heavy gaze. He always seemed like he was deep in thought yet noticing every little detail about me, conflicted, but thoughtful. It usually made me feel self-conscious.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I give it a shot.

“What?”

“You got so serious,” I try again. “What are you thinking about.”

“You want to know?” Harry seems surprised, which surprises me. Why wouldn’t I want to know what he was thinking about? I nod, and he lets go of my hands. “I was just thinking about you giving a presentation in that outfit, I would-ouch!”

Harry rubs his shoulder where I’d pushed him. I cross my arms, “That’s what you get for making fun-”

“I wasn’t making fun!” Harry swears. “I was trying to say, what I wouldn’t give to sit in on that presentation.”

Heat rushes to my face, I look away from Harry back to my closet. This was too much. "Okay. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'll just...wear...this." I pull out a simple black dress with a pretty neckline and hold it out in front of me, as if it would stop Harry from walking over to me again. When I think he’ll stop, he continues so I take a few steps back until my back hits the closet door.

“Good choice,” he says but his eyes leave a heated trail from my untied blouse up to my lips and then my eyes that are wide in panic.

He’s incredibly close, and I’m freaking out so I nervously tell him I should get dressed. When he doesn’t back away, I lift the dress up in the little space between us. “Harry, I need to change. Are you going to watch me or give me some privacy?”

That seems to snap him out of whatever headspace he was in. He quickly backs up and the pink blush creeps into his cheeks. “I’ll be outside with Charlie.”

A part of me wished he stayed.

***

I join Charlie in front of the TV as we wait for dinner. When his family came in, it wasn't awkward at all. They greeted me like I was still part of their family, and catching up was effortless. They fawned over Charlie and she adored it. It helped Gemma brought her boyfriend (bf), I wasn't the only non-Styles here.

"Is everything alright?" I ask as my eyes scan the room and find Harry typing furiously at his phone.

"Uh yeah," he responds. "Just Miranda. Had something planned later tonight and she didn't realise dinner would be this late."

"Well your family is coming from outside of London," I say, already regretting asking in the first place.

"Yeah," Harry mumbles, still typing. I was clearly not needed there so I join Harry's mom who's trying to arrange the bouquet Gemma brought. We talk as we work, setting up the table even though Harry was throwing this. His mom waves his help away when he finally realises and he easily goes back to Charlie who's showing off all her stuffed animals.

The mood shifts when Miranda appears with her bottle of wine and a suitcase. I try to ignore the sting I feel when he pulls her into an embrace and takes the bottle from her, I try not to compare myself to her. To the way Harry acts with her, and with me in private. I try not to think about what it meant, and try to focus on the dinner instead.

Harry's family remains just as nice, but the problem is it goes from having a family dinner for Charlie's sake to hosting a dinner. It's only when everyone is busy with their glass of wine that Gemma leans into me and says, "I told the idiot not to invite his girlfriend to a family thing but he said there was nothing wrong with that."

"He told me pretty last minute," I respond.

"Don't get me wrong-she's lovely, but it just makes something like this awkward."

"I'm alright," I lie through my teeth.

"Sure," Gemma winks at me before her attention is pulled away by her bf. At least there was one Styles that understood me without me having to say.

•••

"I'm starting school in September," Charlie informs the table halfway through dinner.

"You're growing up so fast," Harry's mum smiles at Charlie.

"That's a big step," Miranda comments and as much as I hated to admit it-she wasn't so bad with Charlie. She made a solid effort and Charlie responded well to her. She was her boyfriend's daughter though, and she usually avoided speaking to me unless Harry was involve, but I was okay with that. 

"Then I'll be five next year!" Charlie continues. I explain to the table how obsessed she was with turning five.

"Because that's when she gets to drink coffee right darling?" Harry nudges Charlie and she grins.

"Coffee!" She shouts and we all laugh but as she soaks in the attention she begins shouting it louder.

"Charlotte," I warn. She glances at me and then looks back at her plate.

"She's just excited we're all here," Gemma comments. "Isn't that right Ms. Y/L/N?"

Charlie beams at being called by her last name, like a teacher would.

"Has she not taken on your last name?" Miranda suddenly asks Harry and it goes silent at the table except for Charlie's humming.

"Uh no," Harry scratches his neck. The rest of the dinner table busies themselves in their food.

"She's always lived with me," I clarify, trying to sweep away the sudden awkwardness. The awkwardness comes from how Harry and I broke up because he didn't know what to do with himself when he realised he was having a baby. There was no way he was ever raising her alone. Not at first anyway, that was when I insisted she keep my last name. "So it makes sense."

Miranda glances between us but bf breaks the silence. "Gemma wants our kids to have her last name, I said hyphenating it wouldn't be too bad."

"It gets too confusing," Gemma says. "Styles is a nice, simple, last name."

"Always in Style," Harry exclaims at the same time I say something similar. We laugh which confuses Charlie enough to tug on my sleeve. She asks for more mashed potatoes and I give them to her. Soon after, Harry's mum brings out the dessert she brought and we all enjoy it with more wine. As the night nears, Gemma and her bf stay behind with Miranda. When Charlie begins cuddling into me on the couch, I put her to sleep, but she whines when I leave so I tell the group I was calling it a night and wash up while Charlie stands with me as I wash my face. She was being unusually clingy but I figure all the attention and new interactions were exciting but also exhausting for her. She just wanted her mum and that warms my heart.

"Did you want anything before you put her to bed?" Harry pops his head in as I'm tucking Charlie's toys around her.

"I'm alright," I smile. "Tonight was nice. Thanks for putting it all together."

"Thanks for staying," Harry moves into the room and kisses the top of our kid's head. I remember the other night when he did the same to me. "It was really nice with you, Charlotte, my family-it meant a lot."

"For her too," I look to our daughter who is finally settling into sleep knowing I had stayed and changed for her. "Although I'm paying the consequence being forced to sleep at 10pm."

Harry chuckles. "Best get your beauty sleep then."

"Yeah," I peel back the covers and wait for Harry to leave but he pauses with his hand on the doorknob and turns back to me.

"Tonight reminded me of old times," Harry says and I can tell he's lost in time as he smiles at the floor. "I haven't felt this happy in a while." His statement makes me sad, and when he looks up at me his expression is tinged with regret. But he forces a smile and nods. "See you tomorrow."

"Harry," I don't know what it was that makes me stop him. Maybe the way he looked at me with the unbearable sadness, or the fourth glass of wine I drank, or feeling the same immeasurable amount of happiness he did tonight. But I walk towards him and wrap my arms around his neck. I indulge myself and bury my nose in his neck and almost cry at the familiarity; the way his hands were always cold as they wrapped around me too, but warmed as they squeezed me to him. His fresh laundry smell mixed with the sandalwood perfume he favoured. Or his body and the way he engulfed me into his chest, like I could carve a home out of it and stay there again.

He sighs as he pulls me tighter, "Y/N-"

"Mom?" A tired voice asks behind me and I rip myself away from Harry to look at Charlotte. She's propped herself on her elbow and is looking between me and her dad.

Shit. Why did I do that? Why did I just make things complicated? Harry's girlfriend was right outside! Our daughter was in this room! I couldn't afford to confuse her or myself. Jesus.

"I'm coming to bed!" I walk towards her to soothe her and I hear Harry slip out of the room.

"She's having a hard time falling asleep," I hear Harry lie from the living room and my heart sinks further in my chest. If he was lying over a shared conversation, a shared hug, then something was wrong and I would have to make it extra clear tomorrow that we were nothing more than polite. Especially as it was Charlie's fourth birthday tomorrow. It had to be perfect.

•••

A small finger pokes my cheeks, "Mommy?" I had no idea what time it was but my head rings with a hangover. I hadn't drank this much in a while. I realise I wasn't having auditory hallucinations when Charlie's voice comes again. "Mom?"

"Charlie what time-" I try to crack an eye open and the clock says 6am. I groan and pull Charlie towards me, eyes still closed. "Why are you up so early birthday girl?"

"Mommy?" When Charlie doesn't respond to the mention of her birthday I know something might be wrong. I force my eyes open, Charlie stares up at me with sad baby doll eyes. My mom alarm starts ringing.

"What's the matter?" I ask, noticing the door was open. She must have woken up earlier.

She shakes her head and buries her head into my chest. I clutch her to me, unsure why she was upset. I'll ask her later, right now, I try to cheer her up.

"My baby is such a big girl now. Hey, what's the matter?"

"Does daddd love us?" She asks innocently. I'm startled by her question, so out of the blue.

"Of course he does. He loves you more than anything in the world. And I love you too. Although I would also love a bit more sleep." I tease her. She wraps her arms around my neck. "Happy birthday, Charlie. I love you."

"I love you too," she surprises me by getting under her covers; once Charlie was up, she never fell back asleep. Maybe this was a birthday miracle, but I snuggle into the warmth. Charlie's behaviour still niggles away at the back of my mind but I eventually drift off to sleep and just pray the rest of her birthday would be happier.

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Seven

Read it on AO3: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Seven

“Aren’t you done yet?” Luka half laughed, half groaned, banging his head against the bathroom door.

“Perfection takes time,” Adrien informed primly from within. “It’s my first show. I want to make a good impression.”

Luka clicked his tongue. “Perfect Fifth, they’re going to love you, but you take longer in the bathroom than my ex, and I still need to do my makeup.”

There was a beat before Adrien tentatively asked, “…Are we at a point where we can make jokes about your ex?”

Luka contemplated this for a moment and winced, admitting, “No. No, I actually don’t think we are.”

“…Okay. That’s okay,” Adrien assured, opening the bathroom door.

Luka, still resting his head against the door in question, nearly fell over into Adrien.

Afterwards, he was equal parts glad and disappointed that he hadn’t crashed into his roommate because, if he had, Luka would not have been able to control himself.

As things stood, Luka got an eyeful of Adrien in ripped, black skinny jeans and punk couture topped off with messy, wild hair and a generous helping of eyeliner.

Luka’s temperature shot through the roof as all the blood in his body rushed south.

A frown slowly knitted Adrien’s eyebrows together as he watched his friend closely for a reaction and didn’t seem to get a positive one.

“…How…do I look?” he pressed tentatively, beginning to shift his weight uneasily back and forth, fidgeting under Luka’s intense gaze.

Luka was preoccupied with fantasies of pushing Adrien up against a wall and sticking his tongue down Adrien’s throat.

…Better yet, Adrien pushing Luka up against a wall and sticking his tongue down Luka’s throat.

“Is it that bad?” Adrien demanded, beginning to panic as he took the shocked silence the wrong way. “Did I put on too much eyeliner? I’m sorry. I should have asked for your help, but I thought I knew what I was doing because I’ve seen the way you dress, so I thought—”

“—Sorry. What?” Luka cut him off, managing to shake himself loose from his daydreams. “I’m sorry. I spaced for a minute there. What are we talking about?”

Adrien blinked twice slowly. “…Um… Do I look bad? You were staring.”

“Oh! No! Nonono,” Luka assured, waving his hands in an attempt to clear up the misunderstanding. “Sorry. NO. You look great. I was just…”

Some of the blood deigned to come back up into his face to make him look like a cherry tomato.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’m a little out of it. You look perfect. I love you—your eyeliner. And the hair,” Luka covered, mentally smacking himself.

“Oh,” Adrien responded uncertainly. “Thank you? I was kind of going for a Chat Noir vibe.”

“You look amazing.” Luka finally got it together and replied with an earnest smile. “You really nailed it. Jacob and Josie are going to coo and fuss over you.”

“Are you going to coo and fuss over me?” Adrien hummed, resting his forearm on the wall and leaning so that he very much resembled Chat Noir: lithe and predatory and very dangerous to Luka’s sanity in such tight clothing.

“I don’t think your ego really needs it,” Luka countered, “but I’ll consider it if you don’t make us late and we have a few minutes before we need to leave for the show.”

Adrien pulled out his phone and winced at the time. “Looks like my ego will have to wait to be stroked because we’re cutting it close as is.”

“Pity,” Luka sighed, not sure if he’d dodged a bullet or been deprived of an opportunity.

 True to Luka’s word, Josie and Jacob did, in fact, coo and fuss over Adrien when he and Luka arrived at the bar where they’d be playing.

“Look at him!” Jacob exclaimed, showing Adrien to Marc like a prize being revealed on a gameshow. “He’s so precious! He looks like a real baby punk!”

Josie shot Luka a lascivious grin and quietly teased, “So, how are you holding up with him wearing those pants?”

Luka took her by surprise by answering honestly: “I’m going out of my freaking mind. Thank you for asking.”

The smirk promptly dropped off of Josie’s face to be replaced by a look of concern. “Luc, are you okay?”

Luka shook his head. “Adrien is the guy Marinette never got over, and Adrien had feelings for her too in the past, so when they meet up again, I can only guess at what will happen.”

Josie winced. “That…really sucks.”

“Yeah, so there’s no point in letting my feelings for him come back only so he can break my heart too,” Luka sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Kind of hard with him looking like that.”

“Everything okay?” Marc called out, drawing Jacob and Adrien’s attention to Luka.

Adrien’s eyes narrowed, and he came over to touch Luka’s cheeks and forehead, testing for fever. “Are you still feeling out of it, Orpheus? You do feel a little warm.”

Adrien’s hands on Luka’s skin only served to make Luka’s temperature jump an additional degree or two.

“I’ll be all right. Thanks,” Luka lied, slipping out of Adrien’s reach. “Probably just a twenty-four-hour bug. I’m going to go start the equipment check.”

Jacob opened his mouth to comment, but Josie caught him by the sleeve and whispered in his ear.

Marc quirked an eyebrow, and Josie repeated what Luka had told her for him as well.

Collectively, the group grimaced.

“What’s going on, guys?” Adrien inquired, looking back and forth worriedly between Luka’s retreating back and the rest of their bandmates.

“He’s just feeling a little depressed and hopeless right now,” Marc explained with a sad but kind smile. “We’ll have to figure out some way to make him feel better and lighten up a bit.”

“We should do something fun together,” Jacob agreed, going to sling an arm around Adrien’s shoulders. “No need to worry about it now, though. Right now, we just need to get through the show.”

Adrien nodded as Jacob led him over to the equipment to prepare for the performance.

 “That was amazing!” Josie squealed, throwing her arms around Adrien as soon as they made it off stage.

“I can’t believe we pulled that off without a hitch,” Jacob laughed giddily, carding a hand through his spikey hair.

Marc rolled his eyes, giving everyone pats on the back. “I mean, we have been practicing every day this week for hours.”

“Still, Adrien was incredible,” Luka chimed in, giving Adrien’s arm a squeeze. “That was flawless.”

“Not completely flawless,” Adrien protested sheepishly. “But thank you. Seriously. Everyone…”

He looked around at his bandmates with an enormous, grateful grin. “Thank you so much for your patience with me this week. Thank you for letting me be a part of your group. This was really a team effort, and I never could have done it without you.”

“Aww. He’s so modest,” Jacob chuckled, pulling Adrien into a side hug and ruffling his hair.

“You could have managed without Jacob,” Josie snickered, giving the bassist a teasing elbow.

“Josephine, play nice,” Marc sighed in exasperation, shaking his head with a fond smile.

“We should celebrate!” Josie announced, pointedly ignoring Marc’s reprimand. “Who wants to get some drinks and dance?”

“Me!” Jacob’s hand shot up, and he proceeded to bounce up and down in place. “Me-me! Me!”

Luka winced. “I…can’t. I drove over here, and I need to be able to get Adrien home safe.”

“I could get you guys home,” Marc volunteered. “I need to bow out so I can go tuck my little girl in, but I can come back later and drive you home.”

“Hold up,” Adrien demanded. “You have a daughter?”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t shown you pictures yet,” Josie scoffed.

“Her name is Antoinette,” Marc gushed, beaming with pride. “She’s two years old, and she’s the best thing I’ve done in my entire life.” He whipped out his phone and navigated to his photos.

“Aww,” Adrien cooed as he looked at the picture of a pale toddler with ink black hair and even darker eyes in a green party dress with her arms wrapped around a fluffy white Maltese. “Marc, she’s adorable!”

“Thank you,” Marc preened. “I wish I could take the credit, but that’s all my wife Wakana.”

“Her smile is yours, though,” Adrien observed.

“You are the sweetest thing,” Marc laughed, patting Adrien on the shoulder before turning to Luka. “I should be back in about an hour, but you can stay later, if you feel like it. You feeling emotionally well enough to drink responsibly?”

Luka’s teeth sank into his bottom lip. “Maybe?” he fibbed.

Honestly, he was on the edge and could easily go either way. It could turn out to be a fun night with friends or the start of another drunken grief spiral.

Marc pursed his lips.

“Don’t fret so much,” Jacob chided, clicking his tongue as he slung his arm around Luka’s shoulders. “You’re no fun, Maman. I’ll look after Luc.”

“This does not inspire confidence,” Marc sighed.

“I’ll keep an eye on Luka,” Adrien volunteered. “I don’t drink, so I can play babysitter and make sure everyone’s okay until you get back, Marc.”

“Thank you,” Marc replied, only slightly exaggerating his relief. “I feel better leaving an adult in charge.”

“You don’t drink?” Josie pressed, ignoring Marc’s slight as she looped her arm through Adrien’s.

Adrien shook his head and smiled in embarrassment. “Yeah…I kind of don’t like not being in control. It’s dangerous, making yourself vulnerable like that. It would be different if we were somewhere safe and it was just people I trusted, but…”

Josie’s eyes narrowed. “Chéri, are you okay? Who hurt you?”

Adrien shrugged, averting his gaze, still not quite ready to admit that he’d been on the streets until just a few days prior.

Luka broke away from Jacob and went to Adrien’s side, resting a hand on his shoulder and looking him in the eye intently. “We don’t have to stay, if you’re uncomfortable. Just say the word, and I’ll take you home. It’s totally fine, Perfect Fifth. I don’t mind, honestly.”

“No, no,” Adrien assured, waving away Luka’s concern with one hand. “It’s good. I’m not uncomfortable, but thank you so much for always being so considerate. I appreciate it. No, I like dancing, so I have no problem hanging out with everyone.”

Luka let go of the breath he’d been holding, and the tension slowly faded from his body. “Okay. Good. Just let me know if you start feeling uncomfortable, though. Any time. I want to make sure you feel safe.”

Adrien smiled brightly, gratitude and affection filling his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Can we meditate for a moment on the fact that he calls him ‘Perfect Fifth’?” Jacob demanded, unable to hold in his laughter. “That is the sappiest thing, and I’m kind of jealous because I never got a cute pet name like that when I was dating him.”

“Ouch,” Adrien snickered, pulling away from Josie to wrap his arms possessively around Luka. “Sucks to be you. Guess Luka just loves me more.”

Marc shoot Luka a pitying look as he wondered if it were really okay to let Luka drink that night after all.

Meanwhile, Jacob cackled. “Ow! I am wounded. Even more so because it’s probably true.”

“So…if you’re Luka’s perfect fifth,” Josie puzzled, “does that make Luka your tonic?”

Adrien hummed softly in thought, not noticing as Luka tried not to spontaneously combust in mortification.

Not for the first time, Luka thanked the heavens that he was taller than Adrien so that Adrien couldn’t see the look on Luka’s face as Adrien embraced him.

“I mean…yeah,” Adrien replied softly, resting his head on Luka’s chest. “Luka’s always been my ‘tonal center’ in a way. Whenever I felt frazzled or lost as a teen, I knew I could go to him to help me find my way again…so I guess he is my tonic.”

“Aww,” Josie cooed. “That’s adorable. I was teasing, but you are just too cute.”

“Yeah,” Jacob sighed with a shrug. “I know when I’ve been beat. You win, Adrien. I could never say something that gooey with a straight face. You and Luka deserve each other.”

Adrien made a move to pull back to reply, but Luka hugged him in tighter, afraid that how he felt for Adrien was written plainly all over his face and that if Adrien saw it, he wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing a flat with Luka anymore.

“Sorry,” Luka whispered, burying his face in Adrien’s hair. “That’s…That’s really sweet. It means a lot to me that you think of me that way.”

“Of course,” Adrien chuckled, not minding the affection in the least. “You’re one of the few people in my life I’ve always been able to count on.”

“Okay, seriously,” Josie huffed. “Who hurt you? Who do I need to go beat up?”

Adrien broke away from Luka and turned to placate Josie. “It’s really not that bad. Please don’t assault anyone on my behalf.”

Luka turned away and quickly attempted to compose himself.

Marc gave him a questioning look, a silent offer of assistance, but Luka shook his head.

Jacob quirked an eyebrow.

“I reserve my right to assault whoever I determine deserves it,” Josie insisted indignantly, reaching out to ruffle Adrien’s hair.

Adrien gave up and submitted to Josie’s attentions with a small sigh and a reluctant smile. “Thank you, but I really am fine.”

“You’ll never convince her of that,” Luka informed, briskly changing the subject. “Let’s go get some drinks, shall we?”

 Luka had regrets.

At that moment, his regrets were named Whiskey and Adrien.

More specifically, Adrien’s dancing.

Adrien dancing like that while wearing skinny jeans that reminded Luka how he had worshipped Chat Noir’s butt back in the day.

Luka didn’t really dance, but Jacob and Adrien had hit the dance floor, and seeing them together made Luka irrationally jealous, so he’d gone over there and started dancing with Adrien…and the alcohol in Luka’s blood was trying to convince him that it would be a good idea to tug Adrien in gently so that their bodies were pressed flush together and then kiss him for all he was worth.

Objectively, Luka knew that this was a very, very bad plan…but the way Adrien was swiveling his hips gave Luka ideas that would be easier to shake if he were sober.

And Luka was not sober.

“Where did you learn to dance?” he asked over the music in an attempt to distract himself from the bad ideas.

Adrien’s face flushed. “Mostly Chloé. She had alternating phases where she was really obsessed with pole dancing, belly dancing, and burlesque.”

“Oh,” Luka replied dumbly.

“Alya taught me a little too, though. Nino tried, but our styles are different,” Adrien elaborated, body flowing like liquid to the beat as he spoke. “I don’t think all of my lessons in ballroom and Latin dance count, but…I’m sure you’ll recognize where I stole this cute butt wiggle from.”

Luka did indeed recognize Marinette’s patented butt wiggle, and it made him feel all kinds of things he didn’t want to feel.

“Is that Marc over by the bar?” Luka asked, craning his neck as if trying to get a better view.

Adrien frowned and stopped dancing to look too. “…I don’t…think I see him?”

“I think that was him,” Luka lied. “You go ahead and keep dancing with Jacob and Josie. I’m going to meet up with Marc and take a seat.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Adrien inquired uncertainly. “Want me to walk you?”

Luka shook his head, needing to get away so that he could stop feeling so much. “Nah. He’s just over there. I can make it across the room by myself. You keep having fun, Angel.”

“O…Okay,” Adrien replied, still uneasy as Luka smiled reassuringly before turning to go.

Luka was quickly swallowed up by the crowd, and Adrien couldn’t quite relax after losing sight of him.

Luka made a beeline for the bar, numbing himself with more alcohol.

Fortunately, Marc really did show up within a few minutes and found Luka before too much harm could be done.

“I take it the evening took a turn for the worse?” Marc sighed, gently taking Luka’s glass away from him.

Luka groaned, resting his forehead on the counter. “I’m in love with him. I never stopped loving him, and now he’s going to start dating Marinette, and I’m going to have to pretend to be okay with this, to be happy for them, and I can’t do it. I can’t do this.”

“I think you’re catastrophizing,” Marc informed softly, reaching out to rub soothing circles between Luka’s shoulder blades. “I know it feels hopeless now, but hang in there, okay? Things will look a little less dark in the morning. You’re going to get through this.”

Luka shook his head.

“Shhh,” Marc cooed, giving Luka’s shoulder a squeeze. “Yes, you will. You’re strong, Luc. You’re tough, and you’re going to make it if I have to drag you out the other side.”

 “What happened?!” Adrien gasped, stunned at the state he found Luka in fifteen minutes later.

Marc winced. “I think the alcohol suddenly hit him all at once.”

“Luka, are you okay?!” Adrien was at his side, fussing and carrying on, in seconds.

“No,” Luka moaned.

“He’ll be okay in the morning,” Marc promised through a doubtful grimace. “Or…at least by tomorrow evening. He just needs to throw up and sleep it off.”

Marc’s reassuring words did nothing to loosen Adrien’s pinched frown.

“Don’t worry,” Marc soothed, reaching out to rest a hand on Adrien’s upper arm. “He’s going to be okay. Trust me.”

Slowly, tentatively, Adrien nodded.

 They packed Josie and Jacob into a cab to Josie’s house to take care of one another for the night and then loaded Luka into the backseat of Luka’s car, most of his weight supported by Adrien.

“You’re beautiful,” Luka purred as he played dazedly with Adrien’s hair. “So pretty.”

“Thank you,” Adrien replied self-consciously, not sure how to respond. “You’re pretty too.”

“You’re going to-to hurt me,” Luka chuckled darkly.

Adrien gave a start. “No, I’m not. I would never do anything to hurt you, Luka.”

“Not on purpose,” Luka hummed, dropping his head to Adrien’s shoulder. “Not on purpose…porpoise.” He laughed at that.

“Not on porpoise,” Adrien agreed, still feeling like he was on shaky ground.

“…I love you,” Luka snickered, giving Adrien’s neck a wet kiss.

Adrien gasped, his nerve endings lighting up as his stomach flipped involuntarily.

It wasn’t like the other times Luka had said those words or given Adrien a platonic kiss on the cheek or temple or forehead. It felt different and wrong and right all at the same time.

Adrien wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“I…I love you too, Luka,” Adrien answered in the most conversational tone he could manage.

Luka only laughed, further unsettling Adrien.

When they got back to the apartment building, it took both Marc and Adrien to awkwardly trundle Luka up the stairs, down the hall, and into his bedroom.

That accomplished, Marc turned to Adrien with a delicate smile.

Adrien recognized it as the kind of smile he’d often received when the person smiling was about to attempt to manage Adrien.

His defences automatically went up.

“I think I’ve got it from here,” Marc informed with a tired sigh. “Thanks for your help.”

Adrien blinked, thrown off balance. “Uh…you’re welcome. I was actually about to say the same thing to you. I think I’m okay now, if you want to go home.”

Marc shook his head. “It’s okay, Adrien. I’ll stay with him.”

It sounded like a polite implication that Adrien should leave, and Adrien wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Luka had repeated over and over again that this was Adrien’s home now as much as Luka’s, but, suddenly, Adrien was feeling like an intruder all over again.

He turned to Luka. “Orpheus, do you want me to stay with you, or do you want Marc?”

“Marc can stay,” Luka grumbled out from under the arm he had tossed over his face. “Go ahead and go to bed, Perfect Fifth.”

Adrien pulled away, averting his gaze and wrapping his arms around himself. “Well…okay, then. I guess I’m no use here, so…um…I’ll just be in the other room if you need help finding things or something.”

“Thank you, Adrien. I’m pretty familiar with the house, though,” Marc replied with a strained smile.

“Right. Of course,” Adrien muttered, cheeks bursting into flames of humiliation. “Sorry. I’ll just…I’ll get out of your way.”

He’d gotten halfway to the door before Marc caught up and caught Adrien by the shoulder.

“You are not in the way, Adrien,” Marc assured gently, quietly so that Luka wouldn’t hear. “I have no doubt you’d do an amazing job of taking care of him. It’s not about you being capable or not. It’s just that he’s going through some stuff, and he wouldn’t want you to see him like this. He cares about what you think of him, and he doesn’t want you to see him as a mess.”

Adrien’s eyes rounded as he saw the sincerity in Marc’s expression.

“He doesn’t care if I see him gripping the edges of the toilet seat and puking his guts out,” Marc explained, “but he’d die if you saw him like that. He wants you to respect him and think he’s cool and all that.”

Adrien gave a soft snort. “I do respect him and think he’s cool.”

“Good,” Marc chuckled tiredly. “I’m glad to hear that…but he probably still wouldn’t want you to see him like this…you know?”

Adrien stuck out his lip in a pout but begrudgingly nodded anyway. “I just want to help, though.”

“You have been helping,” Marc assured, resting his hands on Adrien’s shoulders. “Everything you’ve done for him since you moved in has been tremendous. Trust me. I’ve seen him before and after you coming back into his life, and he has been doing so much better these past few days. You are a miracle worker…but I think it’s best if I take this one tonight…if that’s okay?”

Reluctantly, Adrien agreed. “…Yeah. I don’t like it, but I get it. I’ve…I’ve not reached out for help before when I needed it because I was afraid to let people see how bad things had gotten, so I do get it.”

“Good.” Marc gave Adrien’s shoulders an encouraging squeeze before pulling back. “You can help out again in the morning. He’ll need breakfast and aspirin and plenty of water. I’ll turn him over to you in the morning, but I’ll go ahead and take the night shift, all right?”

“All right,” Adrien affirmed, finally feeling a little better about it all.

So long as Luka still needed him. So long as Adrien wasn’t in the way.

“Perfect Fiiiiiifth,” Luka groaned deliriously.

Adrien was back at his side in an instant. “I’m here. What’s wrong? What do you need?”

“I love you,” Luka choked, and it sounded more like a lament than an affectionate remark.

“Love you too,” Adrien answered anyway, leaning in to press a light peck to Luka’s forehead. “Marc’s going to take care of you now, so you be good, okay? See you in the morning.”

“I love you,” Luka repeated balefully.

Adrien gave Luka an encouraging smile and patted him on the shoulder. “I love you too. Feel better, Orpheus.”

On his way out, Adrien sent Marc a worried look.

Marc did his best to inspire confidence and optimism, but Adrien wasn’t easily convinced.

Needless to say, no one slept well that night.

[fafulous]

Stay (Marc Antony x Y/N)

Prompt: Marc Antony falls sick hehe. 

(Made it Y/N because Main Character names keep changing so enjoy hehe)

--

"You're back so quickly."

Her fellow courtesan walked in with a fading look of disgust on her face as if she had seen a horrendous sight right before setting afoot inside the Scholae. Her face immediately turned into a scornful look, for Y/N's bitter comments never failed to irritate Xanthe especially when she was found in a compromising position.

"What is it ought to you?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows, "Envy my position do you?"

"Dare I say I do?" said Y/N bitting her cheeks for maybe she did, "Although I do remember you clearly mentioning it to me how you highly anticipated in surrounding yourself today with powerful patrons, especially a man like Antony."

Xanthe huffed, ignoring Y/N's comment at her.

"Looks like your session with him lasted lesser than my bathing time," she grinned.

"Oh, you can stop gloating! If you were in my position, you would have fled his estate as well."

Her sardonic grins fell right of her face at Xanthe's statement and resumed to walk away. What could have possibly happened?

--

She adjusted her Olive tunic while walking up to the villa and slowly recalled the incidents that led her to this state.

Xanthe succeeded in hosting the victory games with Antony by stating Y/N’s intentions to plot against Caesar along with Cassius. She remembered the bitter feeling of how he chose Xanthe over her, her ego crashing to the floor.

But right now she had a chance, a chance to make up to him. She had no necessity to make it up to him, but she wanted to. Y/N would also be lying if she said if she wasn't worried about the situation too.

"I've come to see Antony."

Guards had no hesitation, for the whole of Rome knew Marc Antony's woman, or as they called her that. Her steps echoed as she walked into the walls of his estate. She looked upon the ostensible white and gold marble statues with distaste, lined up where ever there were huge walls and columns. The estate was a striking contrast to Antony, not surprised since she was convinced that she didn't know the man as well as she had thought.

A couple of servants ran in front of her, one of them stopping midway as she realized there was a familiar guest. She looked startled, her hands filled with a soaked cloth of what looked like spoiled food. Before she could even open her mouth, Y/N interjected her.

"Where is Antony?"

Her eyes shot rightwards, directing her to another hallway. She immediately ran off hurriedly, not even giving Y/N the chance to say thank you.

As you entered the large room, you noticed Antony lying on the headboard of his king-sized bed propped up with white cushions. He restlessly tossed and turned right after ingesting a glass of what looked like medicine. Servants and handmaids were scuttling around his bed in a beeline with towels and basins of water, both steaming and cold. His eyes were closed, taking ragged breaths in and out.

"My goodness-"

Even though it was a mere whisper, it triggered Antony's eyes to open in snail's pace to see the courtesy of the new voice.

He let out a huge sigh that was laced with tiredness as he finally saw the only woman who was running on his mind the whole time, in spite of pushing her away. Despite the state he was in, he decided to maintain the same tone of their last conversation.

"Why are you here?" he asked curtly.

Not surprised by his snippy question, she modestly ignored it, "You tell me, Antony, why do you think I'm here?"

He snapped his fingers which were sufficient for his maids and servants to comprehend that they were forced to stop whatever they were doing and leave the room. Y/N approached Antony slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. His body appeared to be covered in a thin film of sweat. She noticed how loosely the Toga was draped on his bulky frame of a body. It almost resembled the aftermath of the intense lovemaking they both would endure in. Only this time, she believed that wasn't the reason.

"Let me guess," he said in a low gruff voice, "my courtesan leaves to her scholae, stirs up an air of disgust about me and yet, somehow managed to pique your interest to bring yourself here."

"You forgot to mention the part where she also stirred up an air of annoyance but that will do good," she said earning a weak breath of shortlived laughter from him. His grin immediately faded.

"But really tell me, why are you here?

"Exactly as you guessed above,"

"Your intentions are never as direct as they seem Y/N,"

She sat on the bed beside him trying to hide the irritation she felt, "I wanted to know why Xanthe fled from you, looking at the scene she created. I thought something had happened,"

She gently placed the back side of her palm on his forehead for a few moments, right after trailing it down to his neck to check his temperature, realizing he was burning. It was clear he was breaking into a sweat.

He looked over her furrowed eyebrows. "Taking care of me for future benefits are we?"

Her concerns turned into a complete feeling of irritation, her facial features contorted to annoyance, realizing it was completely redundant for her to stay here with a man who kept questioning her. Y/N took her hand away from him in an attempt to leave his presence.

But he wouldn't get rid of her so easily. Antony pulled her towards him at the right time, making her place her palm on top of his bare chest. Y/N noticed his instant change in behavior, his crooked smile replaced with a soft one.

"Stay."

An irritated Y/N made one more attempt to leave the bed but in vain. He tugged her closer than before, his palm finding her face to caress her. He traced her soft, pink lips with his thumb slowly, while he licked his own lips unconsciously.

Y/N closed her eyes upon his touch and inched closer to his face. He looked too raw and handsome since his toga was almost undone. Both of their breaths fawned on each others lips deciding who would make their move. But she realized, he wasn't the only one who could have the ability to taunt.

She lifted his chin with her index finger and whispered, "I'm not about to kiss a man who is burning hot,"

Antony was left perplexed, staring at her as he went fell back to his pillows. He looked at her currently retrieving the cold water basin and the cloth. He could be angry that he was teased, for no courtesan would ever dare to. But he didn't. Instead, he felt the powerful feeling to have and want her for himself. Only for himself.

"Isn't that the whole point of life? Kissing burning hot men?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, patting Antony's shoulder playfully yet softly.

"I don't want to fall sick to fail in entertaining my other patrons," she said with a coy grin, knowing the effect the statement had on him.

"Oh, Cassius can go to the wasteland," he said, holding on to her palm, "you are mine."

She giggled coyly at his wink, feeling happy that the tension has ceased, "I may reconsider that if you tell me what actually happened in here," she said with her eyes twinkling with mischief.

She dipped the white cloth into the water and placed it on his forehead right after dripping the excess water.

"Oh you know, I may have retched upon the charming Xanthe while she attempted to maintain an easy small talk on politics,"

Y/N clutched onto her stomach for her dear life. Hearing the words Xanthe, Retch, and Politics in the same sentence was too much for her.

"Fortunately she dodged my sickness. I didn't expect her to stay back after this and I wouldn't say I am disappointed with the result," he grinned, still looking at Y/N recovering from her laughter. Apart from feeling warm from the fever, her company also provided him with a warmth that made him feel better.

She noticed how his eyes were waiting to be closed, slowly patting his chest to soothe him. Y/N stood and pulled up the sheets of his bed to him and covered him and carefully removed the wet cloth from his forehead. She wiped off the excess sweat lingering on his muscular torso and brought her lips near his ear.

"You need sleep," she said, making Antony lift his eyebrow with a false suspicious smile, "I'll be right here when you wake up."

Without any time to waste he closed his eyes, the tiredness taking over his body. The assurance of Y/N comfort was enough to bring a stop to his restlessness. There is indeed no other woman like her in Rome was the last thought that flooded him before falling asleep.

                                                     -x-x-x-

A/N: Lol I hope that went good haha. (Open for small drabble requests so feel free to inbox me!)

Taglist: @regina-and-happiness

[queenslasharchive]

For @anotherrstateofmind

It is the Wednesday before Christmas, and the flat is a glittery mess already. Roger and John have taken the car to go get new strings for John’s bass, Freddie is trying on a possible stage outfit that looks like something Marc Bolan might wear for New Year’s Eve, and Brian is on the couch, leafing through the magazines he got from his mum in the hopes that John has left a crossword unsolved somewhere.

“What do you think?” Freddie asks, turning around for Brian to see. The movement catches the rays of the sun sifting through the window, and Brian is almost blinded by the reflections, speckles of light dancing all over him whenever the singer moves.

“There’s glitter all over the floor,” he states, pretty sure his honest opinion on Freddie’s outfit won’t be appreciated, and briefly wonders for how long he can pretend not to care about the mess on the floor before giving in and sweeping it up.

“I know! Isn’t it brilliant? I feel like a big fucking fairy!”

Brian doesn’t comment on that, because what is there to say, really, and he downs the rest of his coffee instead, grimacing at the horrid taste; too bitter and scratchy to be anywhere near decent, not at all like his mum used to make it.

A moment later, the door slams open, and in come Roger and John, grins in place and their cheeks and noses red. Roger drops his plastic bag to the floor, shrugs off his coat and kicks off his boots, and Brian has no time to get up before cold hands are on the back of his neck and sliding down his shirt collar. A violent chill runs down his spine, and he tries to squirm away, but Roger just laughs, and Brian pulls him down onto his lap and pokes him in the ribs until he is squirming and twisting in his lap.

“Stop, stop,” Roger pleads, breathless, and Brian steals the last of his breath with a kiss.

“Mmpfh,” he protests, breaking away to look at Freddie, and Brian sighs, his arms slipping around Roger’s waist, chin resting on his shoulder.

“They didn’t have sparklers in any of the stores we went to,” Roger says, ignoring the way Freddie’s brow creases in distress, “and before you ask, yes, we went to all the usual stores, even drove all around town.”

“You were gone for less an hour,” Freddie says, “clearly you haven’t been looking.”

Roger shrugs, clearly disinterested in getting into an argument. “You are more than welcome to look for yourself but I suggest waiting until after Christmas.”

Freddie opens his mouth to answer, and Brian wonders if their constant bickering is as tiring to themselves as it is to him. Probably not, he thinks.

He is only half listening to the conversation between drummer and frontman, instead watches as John, bless him, appears with broom in hand.

“—get drunk on champagne, we need some proper liquor.”

“��decorations from last year-”

“Hey, Deaks, do you still—”

Brian ignores them all and presses a kiss to the stretch of skin not covered by Roger’s collar, right where neck meets shoulder, and then proceeds to nuzzle his neck, the scent of his cologne comfortingly familiar.

He manages to distract Roger for all of a second, his only response being the slight jerk of his head, before he continues, indignant: “Sixteen ARE too many, Fred!”

John has long since left the room, and Brian has started to envy him, bored by the conversation and with legs that are most certainly falling asleep. He slides his hand up Roger’s sweater, and the skin there is warm and soft.

He is content to sit like that for a while, feeling Roger’s irregular breath as he argues, noticing how very different it is when they’re alone together—the steady rise and fall of his chest; breath slow and deep, or fast and shallow with a madly thrumming heart.

The thought makes him smile into Roger’s shoulder, and his hands shift, one thumb rubbing over the trail of hair going from his belly button to disappear into his jeans.

Roger goes quiet, and Freddie scoffs. “If you must jerk him off in the living room, at least have the decency to wait ‘til you’re alone.”

Brian’s cheeks heat up, but there’s a sparkle of humour in Freddie’s eyes, and Roger, unperturbed, shoots back, “a bit rich coming from you, isn’t it? Those stains on the couch are never coming out.”

He sends Freddie a disgusted look, but the singer, completely unbothered, gets up from said couch with a wry smile on his lips. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Roger blows him a kiss. Brian thinks he might die.

***

“I got you a present,” Roger says, later, when they’re lying in a tangle of limbs and sheets. He’s tracing patterns on Brian’s skin, fingertips warm and rough, and it seems like too much trouble to open his eyes.

“Christmas’s days away,” Brian murmurs, not inclined to get out of bed even at the promise of a present.

“I know,” is the light reply, followed by a kiss pressed to his jaw and Roger rolling over and sitting up, legs swung off the side of the bed. He reaches for his jeans and shimmers into them, and Brian sighs and buries his face in his pillow.

Roger is gone for five minutes, and when he returns, Brian’s attempt at moving his clothes within reach by the force of his mind alone has so far proven fruitless.

“It’s raining,” Roger says, working a hand through his hair, “fucking freezing, it is.”

“This is why we don’t leave the bed,” Brian says. Where Roger found the energy to go outside voluntarily he’ll never know.

Roger laughs. “And what a treat to return to.”

Brian thinks he should lob a pillow at him but he’s too comfortable to even lift his middle finger.

Roger is carrying a sizeable box and Brian almost jumps off the bed when it’s thrown at him.

“Careful,” he scolds.

Roger just laughs and kicks off his jeans before crawling back into bed. Brian attempts to inch away from his freezing, heat-seeking limbs.

“Are you going to open it?” Roger asks, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Mhm,” Brian says but makes no move towards it.

“You are without doubt the laziest person I’ve ever known and loved,” Roger sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Mhm,” Brian says, but there’s a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

Roger sits up and tears open the box for him, body practically vibrating with excitement.

“Oh,” Brian says when Roger pulls out a pair of skates. “Is that—”

“Skates! There’s the new ice rink downtown.” Roger scans Brian’s face and continues, hesitantly, “do you like them?”

He thinks telling Roger that he would rather have his arm ripped off than trust his awkwardly gangly body with a pair of skates may be a bit much, and Roger’s looking so hopeful there’s no way he’s going to ruin it.

“I love them,” he says firmly.

It may be a lie, but he does loves Roger. And more importantly, he’s confident Roger will have forgotten all about it in a few days.

***

Roger does not forget.

It’s why Brian finds himself at the breakfast table the next day, far earlier than he’s entirely happy to be, and with a stream of incessant chatter coming from Freddie and John who, apparently, are coming along to watch him humiliate himself.

“Hurry up,” Roger says, mouth full of toast, “soon it’ll be too crowded!”

Brian stifles another yawn. “It’s not even half past ten yet.”

John snorts and Brian lazily flips him off.

***

The drive is much shorter than anticipated, and way sooner than Brian would have liked, he finds himself on the edge of the ice rink, clinging to the railing..

How he’s supposed to move without falling arse over tits Brian’s not sure, and Roger gentle attempt to make him let go of the railing proves fruitless.

“Come on, love,” Roger’s saying, gently tugging at his hand. Brian doesn’t miss the amused glance he sends John. At least the bassist’s face remains carefully neutral, and Brian supposes he has that to be thankful of.

John soon turn his attention back to Freddie who’s practising pirouettes in the middle of the rink, and Brian doesn’t miss the way Roger keeps glancing back at him, too, clearly itching to join.

After a few steadying breaths, Brian slowly lets go of the railing, one hand hovering close in case he should fall. With the other, he grabs hold of Roger’s.

When he feels certain he can stand on his own, he takes a tentative step forward.

“There you go,” Roger cheers. Freddie waves and gives him a thumbs up.

Feeling a bit more confident but still clinging to Roger’s hand with all his might, Brian takes a few more steps. Roger follows easily.

“Don’t stomp your feet like that,” he says, “you have to trust yourself and slide forward instead. You won’t fall, I—”

A heavy body collides with Brian’s, and he only just catches a distant ‘sorry, mate’ before he hits the ground.

“What a bastard,” Roger says, following the skater with his eyes for a moment before looking back at Brian, a hint of concern on his face, “you all right?”

“I’m not,” he grumbles, ignoring Roger’s outstretched hand and attempting to pull himself to his feet with the help of the railing. He skids on the ice, and for a moment he’s sure he’ll fall over again, but he manages, rather gracelessly, to stand upright. His side throbs painfully.

“We’ll just take a break, babe,” Roger says, hand finding the small of his back as Brian clings to the railing.

Brian is careful not to answer before he’s stepped off the ice rink. “I’m not going back there,” he says, dropping down onto an unoccupied seat to untie his skates, “it’s just not happening.”

“Come on, Bri. You just need to rest for a bit.”

Brian shakes his head. “I hate ice skating, I knew I would. Now I’ve tried it, and I promise you, I’d rather fight 4000 wasps than go anywhere the ice again.”

Roger’s face falls. “Oh. I just, I thought it’d be nice.”

Brian feels a pang of regret, but it’s not strong enough to change his mind. “And I appreciate the gesture, really, I do, but go have fun with Freddie instead. It’s less likely to end in disaster.” He says the last bit with a smile, but it does nothing to ease Roger’s frown.

It takes Freddie to crash into him from behind to make a ghost of a smile appear on his lips. Miraculously, they both stay on their feet.

“Come on, darling, let him sulk for a while,” Freddie says, slinging an arm around Roger’s waist, a precarious move considering that they’re both on thin ice as to say so. “You’ll make up soon enough. A blowjob later should suffice in clearing that frown.”

Despite his grin in Freddie’s direction, Roger is clearly reluctant still. Brian hates apologising, especially in front of other people, but reaches a hand out to touch him, fingertips grazing the back of Roger’s hand.

Roger grants him a small smile and lets Freddie pull him out on the ice again. Soon they’re chasing each other, black and blond hair whipping behind them. Brian rubs his sore behind and carefully lowers himself to the seat next to John.

“They’re like children,” Brian says, “or dogs. We should bring them here more often to run off their energy.”

John keeps his eyes on the rink, specifically Freddie, who is practising pirouettes again, but smiles at Brian’s words.

Brian looks on with slight envy. It does look fun. Then Freddie falls over.

Roger’s laugh is carried through the air, and Brian’s heart flutters like it always does when he hears that particular sound, momentarily distracted from Freddie who is still on the ground.

Brian worries his bottom lip. “Do you think he’s hurt?”

“I think he’s being dramatic,” John says, amusement evident in his voice. Brian glances at him and notices that he has pulled a thermo flask from his bag and is pouring hot chocolate into a paper cup held in place between his knees. “Look.”

Brian does. Roger has pulled Freddie to his feet, still laughing, and they’re racing towards the stands where Brian and John are sitting.

“Come on, you two!” Freddie shouts, coming to an elegant halt before the fence whereas Roger, arms outstretched, plonks into it.

“Is that hot chocolate?” Roger asks, scrambling to get into the stands when John confirms.

His cheeks are flushed with cold and exertion, and he’s wearing a happy grin. Brian aches to pull him onto his lap and wrap his arms around him. He accepts a steaming cup from John.

“My ears are about to fall off,” Roger says, covering his ears with glove clad hands while his cup is precariously balancing on his thigh. John grabs it before it’s too late.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Johnny,” Freddie gushes, tongue poking out to catch a drop of hot chocolate.

Brian sips his drink. It’s strong but sweet and easily warms his cold fingers.

“You two are easy to impress,” John remarks, taking the cup from Roger for a refill at his silent request.

“Either that or your cooking skills are outstanding,” Freddie says easily. “Come on, darling, it’s time to put on your skates.”

Roger lights up. Brian braces himself for the inevitable.

“You too, babe!”

Brian squirms, not wanting to repeat himself. “I’m not sure I can even walk.”

Roger rolls his eyes. Brian looks away, stung.

“Look after my stuff, will you?” John asks, tying the laces of his skates.

Brian nods, absently. Roger is clattering down the stairs and gliding onto the ice.

“God, I haven’t done this in years,” John says with zero self depreciation.

“Don’t worry, darling, Roger and I are professionals, right, dear?”

“Most certainly,” Roger says in a tone that makes Brian worry for John’s safety.

“If you trip me you will be sorry,” John promises darkly, slowly making his way onto the ice, Freddie right behind him.

“The insinuation hurts me deeply,” the singer says, “that you would even think such a thing! A bit of faith wouldn’t go amiss.”

John seems too busy to keep his balance to listen. He tentatively slides forward, Freddie and Roger hovering on each side of him, then speeds up as he gains more confidence.

So apparently Brian’s the only one who’s useless. He busies himself with the hot chocolate, and when he looks up again, Freddie and Roger have grabbed John’s hands and are pulling him along with impressive speed.

For a few minutes, Brian is fine with watching them. Then he grows terribly bored. He occupies himself with surveying the stands, mostly empty but with a few proud mothers watching their children and one young couple with their tongues down each other’s throats. Brian wants to gag.

His fingers are near frozen and his bum quickly going numb, and so he picks up his skates, John’s bag and Roger’s forgotten gloves, and makes his way down to the edge of the rink.

Roger lets go of John’s hand and hurries towards him. “Are you joining?” he asks, red-cheeked and slightly out of breath.

Brian shakes his head. “I’m gonna go home. Here’s your gloves. Where should I put John’s bag?”

Roger’s smile disappears instantly.

“I’m sorry, love, but I’m cold and everything hurts and you clearly don’t want to go home yet. Stay here and have fun.”

Roger presses his lips together and leaves him then.

***

Brian is halfway through a new song and doesn’t look up when the others return. He’s vaguely aware of Freddie greeting him but doesn’t respond for fear of getting distracted and forgetting his idea.

When he looks up a good ten minutes later, Freddie and John are on the couch, cups of tea in hand.

“Where’s Roger?”

“Sulking in his room, I should think,” Freddie replies, “you might’ve missed out on the fun, but so did he.”

Brian’s stomach twists uncomfortably. He doesn’t have to look at John to imagine the unimpressed expression on his face.

“Fine,” he says, because it’s clear his friends thinks he’s a shit, “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Remember what I said about a blowie,” Freddie calls after him. Brian ignores him.

He stops in front of their bedroom door and knocks softly, feeling decidedly silly in doing so. When there’s no answer, he pushes open the door and pokes his head inside.

“Hey,” he says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. Roger looks up from where he’s spread out on the bed, a bored expression on his face. Brian’s nails dig into the palm of his hand. “Roger, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Roger’s voice is flat, and his eyes flicker away after a second.

Clearly it’s not. Brian hesitates at the end of the bed, absently picking at the hem of his shirt. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

Roger ignores him. Brian crawls onto the bed. “Roger.”

Roger rolls over to his side to avoid his touch. Brian watches his turned back for a long while.

“You didn’t even try.”

Brian opens his mouth. Closes it again. Shrugs helplessly.

“You could’ve at least tried,” Roger says, a slight catch in his voice.

“I’m not good at stuff like that,” Brian says, aware of the defensiveness in his voice but unable to stop it. It feels much easier.

“You don’t have to be good, you just need to try,” Roger says, features softening despite Brian’s tone of voice, “you know, for fun.”

“It did hurt,” Brian says, because he feels like it needs to be said.

“It’s not the end of the world though, is it?”

Brian looks at Roger and realises with some reluctance that he’s being something of an arse.

“One time,” he allows, and any regret he might’ve felt evaporates when Roger smiles his sunny smile, “an hour, and that’s it.”

***

”I’m not sure this is a good idea,“ Brian is saying the next morning, clinging to the handrail so hard his knuckles go white. His side throbs in painful reminder.

”It’s a wonderful idea,“ Roger says, impatiently tugging at his arm, ”come on.“

It’s so early in the morning the sky is still dark, but it’s gently snowing and Roger’s made coffee and sandwiches to eat in the car. Neither was nowhere a culinary experience, but Brian appreciates it all the same.

”Alright, just, hold on—stop pulling my arm.“ Roger sighs loudly, fingers drumming impatiently against the side of his thigh. Brian carefully shifts his weight so he’s not supported entirely by the strength of his arms and lets go of the railing with one hand first, then the other. ”There you go,“ Roger cheers, and it almost doesn’t sound mocking at all. ”Now what?“ Brian asks, about to cross his arms until he realises he rather needs them should he fall again. ”Now we skate, love,“ Roger replies, grabbing the ends of his scarf and slowly skating backwards, and Brian flails his arms in panic. Roger laughs an angel’s laugh and steadies him with a arm around the waist. “Calm down, babe. Here, take my hands, I promise I’ll catch you if you fall.”

“There’s no way you’ll be able to do that,” he grumbles.

Roger smiles and presses a kiss to his palm. The harsh yellow lighting from the nearby lamp post makes him look out of this world. A snowflake is stuck in his lashes, and despite it all, it makes Brian smile. He leans in for a kiss, but Roger ducks out of the way. “Na-ah, not before you’ve at least tried.” Brian sighs. He knows how stubborn Roger is and knows he should’ve given in long ago. “Want to practice falling first?” Brian frowns. “I’d rather refrain from falling if at all possible.” “It won’t hurt if you learn how to do it right,” Roger explains and then proceeds to show him. “Look how I’m bending the knees. And here, it’s easier to get up again if you place one foot at a time between your hands.” “It looks ridiculous.” “I know you’re trying to put this off by being difficult,” Roger says, “but it doesn’t get you out of this. I’ve got all day.”

Brian knows he does. “Alright,” he says at last, grabbing hold of Roger’s gloved hand. Despite his reluctance, he does trust Roger. “Teach me to skate.”

He thinks Roger’s smile lights up the whole world.

[havanaland]

My rambling, un-edited thoughts on Spiderman: Homecoming!

I LOVE Tom Holland's Spiderman. He's so charming and dorky and he's so much more believable and multi-dimensional as Spiderman than previous iterations were and I loved his character arc in the movie!

One thing that always resonated with me about Spiderman are the patriotic undertones of the movies. Wisecrack did an INGENIOUS philosophical analysis of the Spiderman movies and highlighted how the Spiderman movies were always direct reflections of American culture at that time. In short, Raimi's Spiderman depicted the new hope blossoming in immediate post-9/11 America. In both Spiderman 1 & 2, there are scenes of New Yorkers banding together to help Spiderman. Marc Webb's Spiderman focused less on Peter's economic hardships (as the 2008 crash was still too fresh a wound at the time) and instead, focused on Peter's technical genius, which reflected the skyrocketing technical advancements in both mainstream consumer products and entrepreneurship. (See both Moviebob's "Really That Good?: Spiderman 1 &2" and Wisecrack's "Philosophy of Spiderman" for a deeper look at this)

So when it came to Homecoming, I was viewing the movie through the same lens. This movie seemed to focus a lot more on the generational struggles, attitudes, and issues that are unique to, for lack of a better term, millennials and "Generation Z." Peter Parker is smart and dorky but that doesn't completely isolate him like the nerd tropes of the 80s and 90s. He longs to prove himself in this "internship" and even though he held up well in Civil War, no one trusts him to do the job right, his every effort is discredited, and he is largely ignored. However, he is not infallible and the movie did a great job avoiding the "Young and in Charge" trope where the child is smarter/wiser than the adult when he does make a mistake that ends up costing his Spiderman suit. I think it was a brilliant bit of writing that made his character arc really interesting. I admit, I totally teared up like . a dork when he was tearing up over losing the Stark internship. 😭😭😭😭

I also think another reason why I feel the "generational struggle" is a theme here is because it seemed like they were very deliberate about diversifying the supporting cast. Most of the time, big blockbuster films like these have 1 or 2 roles with a person of color in the ENTIRE MOVIE but I was really impressed that in several scenes in Homecoming, Peter Parker was often the only white kid on screen. Also, even "Michelle" made some comment about the Washington Monument being built by slaves .. and I have a hard time believe that line was not deliberate. I know people of color and especially black Americans have talked about these issues FOREVER and it's not some new thing but I DO think it's a uniquely millennial thing to be so mainstream when it comes to these convos. However, I am totally willing to admit that I could be living in my own little progressive web-fueled social justice bubble and maybe those convos aren't as commonplace outside my bubble. Anyways, I did think it was noteworthy. Very curious as to what other people thought about that aspect.

So I hit a bit of conundrum. Though it is VERY clear that the character development, writing, humor, and action are better than previous movies, I have to say I am still not sure if I love it more than the original Raimi movies. *dodges objects thrown at her*

I think that the Raimi movies are just so much more personally resonate and important to me. The first Spiderman was my foray into the superhero world and that movie is what made me fall in love with the genre. At the time, I also related to Tobey McGuire's Peter as I was really cringe-ingly awkward. Plus, I could SO relate to Peter's nerves around Mary Jane bc they made me think of the nervousness I would feel whenever I talked to a girl I liked.

One of the things I *LOVED* about Raimi's Spidey movies was the relationship bw Peter and MJ. People give me flack for that shit but man, I was SO into that couple back then. The little push and pulls in their relationship just put me on the edge of my seat as a teenaged girl and I just did not feel that same chemistry with MCU's Peter Parker and Liz. I did not dislike Liz ... I thought she was a cute character but .. there wasn't really any depth or connection between the characters in the movie. And I get it, romantic build-ups aren't really MCU's thing but man, that honestly was one of the things that really drew me to Spiderman in the first place. Cheesy, I know lol But I'm a hopeless romantic. And I don't believe that MCU can't do it -- I was totally hooked on the Tony and Pepper romantic arc in the Iron Man movies.

And ALSO cheesy: I really did love those scenes in Raimi's Spiderman flicks where the New Yorkers came together to help Spiderman. I can't put my finger on why those scenes elicited such a strong emotional response from me, but they did. lol

Those Spiderman movies were also personally important to me bc that was the *first* (and only?) time that my mom and I ever had intersecting interests in geekdom. My mom got way into it and for a good couple of years, I got to be a nerd with my mom. She never got into any other superheroes but I was always happy we had Spidey. 💖

Anyways, I really honestly loved the new Spiderman though. It's better in almost every way, and I think this Peter Parker is well-rounded and much more believable as a kid. I also respect the writing decisions too! They actually trusted the audience and didn't spoon feed us everything. One example that comes to mind is when Peter told his friend, "Don't tell her! After all Aunt May has been through?? I don't want this on top of all that!" I thought that was a masterful way at referencing Uncle Ben without spelling it out for the audience and still conveying the emotional weight of that event. UGH SO GOOD where tf do they find their writers lol

I was also shocked that they had the "best friend reveal" so early! That totally caught me by surprise. The part where Peter goes up to the door to get Liz and Vulture answers the door instead OMG 😱 I think I literally gasped. And I also clenched up during the car ride as he and Peter talked back and forth and you can see the realization creeping up on his face. Again, such GREAT writing and great acting too! The execution through the movie was amazing.

ALSO I LOVED THE SURPRISE HANNIBAL BURRESS AND DONALD GLOVER CAMEOS 😍😍😍😍They were nice surprises and I think I went "Whaaa~aaat!! <3" in the theatre.

And of course, I enjoyed that there were also clips from my favorite Chris sprinkled throughout the flick hehehehehe 😘

Anyways, definitely seeing it again! <3