#so it turns out...if i had tried to crop these for just taylor the size would be all wrong and wouldn't upload

[quilly72]

One thing was for sure you loved the new pill your girlfriend was on, she just switched to it today and already her mood had spiked. As soon as you got home she dragged you upstairs and gave you a moment you will never forget

Now you scurried back downstairs as you finished getting all nice and tidy it wasnt often you both were in the mood anymore so you had to make sure to take advantage of every moment even if that moment was right before her parents were about to come over for dinner.

You could hear Taylor from down in the kitchen struggling to find the clothes you had so haphazardly thrown across the room earlier. She was still moaning and trying to catch her breath from what you could hear as she started to make her way down the stairs. You started to plate the table as you heard a scream come from the entryway staircase. "Oh my Gooodd what is happening Ooo. Ooo. Oooohhh FUCK."

She moaned and groaned as you heard her shaky breaths drag in and out. You couldn't help but stare waiting for her to turn the corner and admire her.

You continued to finish up the table as you saw her finally rounding the corner a look of concern on her face. Then you finally saw what the look was for. Two reasons actually.

"They weren't that big 5 mins ago" You stammered as you looked at Taylor's considerably larger chest. "I don't know either " she shrugged I was just coming down the stairs and they just came in. Like they grew"

You stared at her as you drew closer her former shirt now appeared more like a crop top as her tits dragged it up.

You heard a knock on the door as your eyes widened with hers "ummm okay roll your skirt up so they don't see your midriff and uhh maybe they won't notice the new developments you have.

"They've known me for 20 years and you don't think they will notice my new boobs"

I don't know what else to do Taylor just try to cover them up I guess.

With that you made your way to the door and invited her parents inside. The usual conversations and pleasantries happening. Shake a hand shake another hand. Smile pretend to like her dress. Usher them inside. Usher them inside again. Pretend to laugh at insanely bad joke.

You led them to the kitchen and luckily for you Taylor had managed to find a crop top jacket to drape herself with. It definitely made it less noticeable but a quick glance from her mother definitely let everyone know that she recognized them.

You quickly sat everyone down and helped dish up supper when she asked.

"So Taylor you guys have any news for us anything exciting"

Taylor batted it down as you couldnt help but notice her new tits stretching her shirt. You could also tell she wasn't used to her new size as she kept bumping into the table or into the serving bowls and plates. You also couldn't help but notice her face starting to contort and her breathing picking up. Her voice quivering a little as she started to clench the table cloth in her hand.

"Taylor are you okay" you whispered as she tried to nod. Her eyes clenching shut as she started to moan through gritted teeth. Her body swayed back and forth as you all watched her hit her high her jaw dropping as she let out deep breaths of relief. If Taylor's orgasm In front of everyone wasnt embarrasing enough her sudden change in center of gravity was. It was almost instantaneous as you all watched her chest engorged outwards. Her body growling as it stretched out

What the fuck was that Taylor" Her mom piped up first everyone staring at her obviously larger chest. It was impossible not to notice her shoulders reddened from the bra straps digging in. Her white shirt barely covered her tits as it lifted off her body. You weren't even sure they made a cup size for how large she was now.

"Uhmm I'm so sorry I don't know what's happening its just they got bigger before you came and now they are huge and ohh gosh...fuck I think it's happeninnng.." Taylor stammered as her eyes clenched shut Her breathing picking up and getting higher in pitch by the breath. You tried to comfort her but it was useless as her eyes started to roll back. Her muscles tensing as she felt the pressure build up wave after wave. Her face twinged with pleasure as she climaxed again. You got up from your seat as her body surged out in waves of growth.

Taylor let out a scream as her body spasmed her legs slid out from under her across the table kicking her mother's chair as her parents struggled to get up. You watched as her back started to coil up higher Into the air. Raising inch by inch as she groaned and gasped for air. Her eyes widening as her body continued to reach new heights of ecstacy. Her chair groaned under her expanding ass as you noticed her skirt that formerly met her knees was now stretched barely covering her thighs and butt threatening to burst in half.

"Taylor stop this ,this Instant" Her mother cried as they pulled across the kitchen

She merely only contorted her face as her body braced and twinged with energy.

"What..do you..think..I'm trying..To DoooOOoo."

Another surge sent Taylor flying up and flailing backwards. Her chair snapping as her knees hit the bottom of the table. Her necklace now choker snapped off her neck into a array of flying jewelry. Her shoes bursting off of her As her shirt and skirt tore off her expanding body. You had to dodge as she failed backwards. Her body slamming the ground as you watched her grow against the ground. She was massive. Easily 8 9 ft tall. Her breasts the size of basketballs.

You didn't stay to watch as she started to orgasm again. Her body surging foot after foot now. Her cries growing in pitch and speed as her body rose up higher and higher. Her feet knocking the table off its legs her body scattering broken fragments of wood across the ground. You gathered her parents as you watched Taylor's head press against the kitchen island. The wood groaning as her head braced and tried to dislodge it. Her feet and legs quickly sliding the length of the dining room.

"Time to go I don't think it's stopping" you muttered

Taylor tried to stop you in her fear but her massive body was too big too control. Her movements stunted especially as she orgasmed again and again. Twitching and losing control of her muscles again and again.

You ran for the front door as you heard Taylor behind scream and holler. The sound of wood snapping as you figured the kitchen island finally gave way. You looked back as you ushered her parents out the door to see taylor bare legs tremble or from the kitchen her knees shaking and buckling as they stretched onto the living room.

Gathering your senses you ran out into the driveway as on the inside you heard the furniture and walls start to give away. A crack there a thunder there. The sound of glass blowing out as Taylor's screams of ecstacy grew. You backed up to the street as the house shook. Suddenly a giant drop being heard as her arm came tearing out the side of the house crumbling your fence to the ground. Another tear and two legs burst down the other end and into your neighbors yard. You watched in terror as her head bobbed up thru the attic roof as she finally came down from her high.. the house crumbling around her as she gave off an awkward smile.

Sorry mom. As she covered herself up with the wreckage of your old house.

[likesummerrainn]

ROH Final Battle | 12.11.21

[tinytonysnark]

Hi Nisha love, Stevetony for #40 (Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh) in the 50 wordless ways to say I love you prompt list if you're so inspired? <3

40. Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh. 2.1K words, stevetony, fluff, tw: Howard Stark’s A+ Parenting

six

The first thought Steve ever has about Tony is, he looks sad.

He’s making his way into the school by himself, cause he’s grown now — his Ma’s car is still at the drop-off where he can see her still blowing kisses at him through the window, but who’s gonna know — when his eyes land on them. 

There’s a man standing in front of a boy who looks smaller than Steve does, something he didn’t even know was possible — and the boy looks sad, shoulders hunched in and staring at the ground while the man seems to be scolding him, like his Ma does sometimes when he gets into a fight with the boys down the road. 

But unlike Steve, the boy doesn’t stare back and let it be known that those boys had it coming for talking like that with his chest puffed up because he’s mad — and not at all because he’s pulling in big gulps of air. 

Steve can’t see what the man’s face must be like since his back is to him but he imagines it must be angry and that just makes him angry  cause the man seems like a big old bully and Steve hates bullies.

If the man wasn’t a grown up Steve might have just gone over there to tug the boy away and yell at the man about maybe picking on somebody his own size, but he promised his Ma he wouldn’t get into trouble — well, not on the first day at least. 

So instead, he sticks his tongue out at the man, blowing a raspberry at him that he doesn’t hear.

But the boy does. 

He looks, eyes darting up and around the man to stare at Steve who must have a silly look on his face because the boy looks a little shocked and his ears go red but there’s a smile, there and gone before he quickly looks back down at his feet. 

Steve decides then and there that this boy is going to be his friend and he waits for him, the man leaving with a dismissive wave as he walks over to his very shiny car. 

The boy watches him leave before making his way over to Steve, shoulders still hunched but not staring at the pavement anymore. “Hi. You - you didn’t have to wait for me.”

“Course I did,” Steve says with a shrug. “You and me are gonna be friends. I’m Steve Rogers,” he says, sticking his hand out for a shake. 

The boy stares at his outstretched hand for a moment before taking it with sweaty hands, “I’m Tony Stark and I - I really want to be your friend.”

“Well good, cause we’re going to be best friends,” Steve says confidently, dragging Tony through the front doors. “Come on, we can’t be late on our first day.”

[continue on AO3] or

***

twelve

“I’m just sayin’ that if you don’t come over for blueberry pie after Ma specifically baked it with you in mind, she’s gonna throw a fit,” Steve tells him, feet swinging under him because these benches were so high. 

Not because he’s short. 

It’s not. 

Tony’s hands are fidgeting, his fingernails plucking at the skin of his nail beds and Steve doesn’t even think about it when he reaches over to pry them apart. 

Tony just moves on to biting at the skin on his bottom lip. “Howard will be really mad if I miss dinner. He says the people coming over could really make or break the the company and he wants to make a good impression.”

His laugh is derisive when he tells Steve, “We have to be the picture perfect family complete with the great businessman but who’s also a loving father, the doting wife and mother with me staring as the golden son. What could possibly go wrong?”

Steve’s face must have morphed into the strange expression he does whenever Tony mentions anything about his home life because when he looks up from the plate of fries he’s not eating he gives a snort of laughter which only makes him embarrassed, covering his mouth like that would force it back in. 

“Shut up, you didn’t hear that,” Tony says, cheeks going pink. 

“Hear what?” Steve grins, swiping a handful of fries.

“Hey!”

“What? You’re gonna come over to eat my food so now I’m stealing yours,” Steve tells him. “Listen, you’re coming over today. Ma can be scary when she wants to be and not even your dad can stop her.”

Tony goes back to chewing on his lip. 

“Hey, trust me,” Steve says, grabbing at Tony’s hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

Tony looks down at their hands before looking right at Steve. “Okay.”

It doesn’t occur to him until much, much later that he and Tony held hands all through lunch and neither one had said anything. 

***

fourteen

They’re sitting in Math class — and why Tony is even in this class confuses Steve considering how smart he is — when he realises Tony isn’t paying attention to a single thing Mr.Vanko is saying. 

He’s staring at his phone, hidden behind his open textbook and he’s taking a selfie that Steve is just going to assume he’s sending to Rhodes because —

Because the other option is assuming he’s gonna send it to Stone who is a senior and all around jerk and Steve kinda wants to bash his head in whenever he sees the douche hanging around Tony and — well, Tony seems to enjoy Stone’s attention but there’s something not right about that guy and Steve —

Steve is not biased. He isn’t.

He makes a face at the camera when Tony angles the phone again and Tony doesn’t even notice until he looks at the picture.

He stifles a laugh into his hand but Mr. Vanko’s hearing is scary good and he always seems to have it out for Tony anyway so he turns away from the chalkboard to glare at where Tony sits. 

“Something funny, Mr. Stark?’

“No, no, just that you wrote out the equation wrong,” Tony says, shutting his book, his phone wedged between the pages.

“I doubt it,” Mr. Vanko sneers before looking at the board then scowling when he realises Tony is right. 

Steve tries not to roll his eyes because of course Tony is right. 

When he checks his messages later he sees that Tony had sent him the picture, with Tony front and centre but the perspective makes it look like Steve is popping right up from his head with a goofy look on his face.

He makes it his screensaver because really — who’s even going to know?

***

seventeen

Steve says the only reason Tony tries out for cheerleading is to be a rebel and to effectively drive Steve insane. 

Tony tells him that he does it so he can stay in shape since now he has to keep with Steve’s insane growth spurth over the past year and so he can be flexible and Steve — well, Steve tries not to go completely red at the implication in Tony’s tone. 

For all the years they’ve been friends, for all the dancing around they did about how they felt for each other — this, this is still new and real and Steve is completely terrified of messing this up. 

Losing Tony - that’s not even something his brain can comprehend. 

But when he shows up to practice, already making his way over to where the cheerleaders are to say hello and maybe steal a kiss, he thinks that Tony is trying to put him in an early grave because he’s standing there wearing the cheer uniform just —

The crop top and the skirt are fitted so well.  

For some reason, Steve’s brain latches onto the fact that Tony’s belly button is out.

He’s an innie. 

Steve must look an absolute fool right now because the cheerleaders burst into giggles around him, Tony included, who walks up to him and sweet jesus -

He shaved his legs and Steve thinks maybe there’s glittery body oil on them because there’s no way —

“Hi, handsome,” Tony smiles up at him. “You’ve got a real dumb look on your face so I’m assuming you like the uniform.”

Steve tries to say something back but his mouth just feels bone dry at the moment and he has to clear his throat to choke out a simple, “Yeah, baby. I really, really do.”

Tony kisses him, hard and fast -they’re lucky their teeth didn’t clack together - before pushing him off to the field. “Go on number 29! I can’t cheer for you if you’re terrible.”

“Thanks for that,” he says before hauling Tony in to kiss him once more, deeper and leaving him dazed before he runs back to his team. 

He gets a pom-pom thrown at him.

***

twenty-two

There’s a Taylor Swift song blasting from the speakers to commemorate Tony’s birthday but Steve — Steve can’t find Tony anywhere in this strange house he got off-campus that Steve is nearly certain is haunted because why else would it be so cheap it practically a robbery. 

Rhodes had mentioned to check the workshop but that had been the first place he looked anyway and he’s gone through the whole house at this point.

He’s standing by the kitchen before it comes to him and he’s off like a shot up the stairs, nearly bowling people over in his haste. 

He gets to Tony’s room, places the bag on the table and climbs through the windowsill when he spots him, sitting cross-legged on the roof. “Tony?”

The surprise on Tony’s face honestly makes the 4 hour long journey entirely worth it. 

“S-Steve? Ohmygod, Steve!” He yells, jumping up to crash into him and they nearly go skidding off the roof.

“Why don’t we head back in -”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tony interrupts, “Let’s just sit out here.”

Steve isn’t really one to deny Tony anything, let alone on his birthday and definitely not when he’s beaming like that. 

He tugs Steve down, his back to Steve’s chest. “I - I got worried when you didn’t call. Thought maybe you forgot.”

Steve frowns, “Forgot? Baby, in these last 16 years I have never not once forgotten the most important date on my calendar and I ain’t gonna start now.”

He brings Tony’s hands up to him and places a kiss on the palm, “There was a slight hold up. Just, wait here.”

“There’s only one exit.”

“You say that like you haven’t rolled off a roof to prove a point before,” Steve tells him, reaching through the window to snatch the bag before coming back to sit in front of Tony. 

“Courtesy of the best bakery in New York,” Steve tells him, holding out the cupcake. “Bucky’s kitchen.”

He lights the candle he brought with him and sticks it in the middle. “Make a wish, Tones.”

Tony stares at him with a look so full of love with the flickering of the flame reflecting in his eyes that all the air rushes out of Steve’s lungs.

He blows out the candle before then promptly taking it out and smears the cupcake into Steve’s face that frosting goes up his nose. 

Tony laughs so hard when Steve just stares at him that he nearly does roll off the roof.

Tony makes it up to him by licking up all the frosting though. 

***

twenty-seven

Steve’s hands can’t stop shaking. 

He can’t believe that after months and months of planning, they’re finally here. 

That in just a few short minutes, he’s gonna get to call Tony his husband.

The doors open and Steve thinks his heart might have just stopped as he watches Tony walk towards him, resplendent in his tux and he just knows that the camera is recording his slack jawed expression because Tony is grinning at him as he makes his way down the aisle.

When they’re declared husbands, Steve kisses that grin right off his face and the camera catches their stupefied expressions. 

***

thirty

Tony drops the blanket, yelling out, “Peek-A-Boo!” 

Peter, completely amused, claps his tiny little hands from inside the crib. 

“The betrayal I feel right now is overwhelming,” Steve calls from the door of the nursery. “This is my favourite game.”

He crouches down next to Tony, both hiding behind the blanket before dropping it again, making silly faces. 

“Peek-A-Boo!”

Peter’s shriek of laughter can be heard all through the house.

[wheresmybuckyhoes]

Truth or Dare

Summary: Your college roommate Roger and his friend Brian insist on playing truth or dare. Obviously, it takes a different turn...

Pairing: Brian May + Roger Taylor + female reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut, 18+ (obviously), suggestion of oral, threesome, anal, double penetration, drinking

Note from me: This is my second fanfic! If you want me to write about a specific scene you thought of just message me and I’ll write it asap <3 p.s. I just read it and it’s so bad so no judgment please xx

You lazily walked into the small kitchen of your shared apartment in small pyjama shorts and a tight cropped vest top. Although it was already 2 in the afternoon, you had just woken up, as you usually did during holidays. You poured some water into the kettle and flipped the switch on the side to boil the water. Making yourself some coffee, you hummed the song you heard Roger and his friend Brian singing last night during their practice for their band ‘smile’. They didn’t really have a large fan base but you had to admit, they were pretty damn good.

As you added milk and sugar to your coffee, you flicked through a magazine which Roger had left on the table. It was this weeks copy of playboy, and the woman on the front was gorgeous. You admired her body and felt a small flicker of jealousy as you continued to roughly page through the magazine.

When you had almost finished your coffee, you heard keys being rattled and watched as the door swung open. In walked the blonde with the drumsticks and the gorgeous blue eyes followed by the tall brunette with the mane of curly hair. ‘Hey Bri’ you smiled as Brian gave you a friendly wave and threw his jacket on the sofa. You turned to face Roger as he flung a drumstick at Brian, narrowly missing and earning a low grunt of annoyance from Brian. ‘How many times have I told you to stop leaving your weird naked magazines out’ you scorned Roger. ‘Maybe I woudn’t need the magazines if my roommate just walked around naked?’ he replied playfully, brushing past you to grab some beers from the fridge.

You and Roger always joked around in that way. You made out a few times when you were drunk as fuck but nothing more ever happened between you two as you were such good friends. You weren’t as close with Brian but he always made you blush with his flirtatious remarks and meaningful compliments, and you were growing close with him.

‘Is that for me?’ you questioned as Roger pulled out 2 beers from the fridge. He rolled his eyes dramatically and threw one to Brian who was spread out on the couch. He opened the top with his teeth and chugged it down like water. ‘Here you go y/n’ Roger winked at you before handing you the empty bottle. ‘Dick’ you muttered, loud enough so he could hear.

The three of you settled into the couch and watched Netflix well into the night, talking and laughing and barley even paying attention to what was playing on the tv. Now it was 10pm, and you had pulled out the vodka.

‘You know boys, no play date is complete without a hangover’ you smirked as you sat down between them, vodka in hand. ‘This doesn’t usually end well y/no’ Roger said playfully as the three of you took turns taking big gulps from the bottle, passing it around. You shrugged and turned to face Brian. ‘I’m sure it will be fine Rog’ Brian said, laughing.

After the equivalent of a few shots each, Roger’s face suddenly lit up. ‘Let’s play truth or dare’ he said brightly. You raised your eyebrow in question.

‘What are we 10? Oh Brian, I dare you to do 5 press-ups’

‘No y/n, not that shit. I mean the you know... adult version’

‘Seriously Rog?’

‘Yes its an excellent idea’

‘I think Roger’s onto something y/n’ Brian chirped in eagerly.

You sighed and reluctantly opened your mouth. ‘Fine. But I’m not going first’

Roger smirked and pulled both of you of the sofa to sit in a circle on the floor. You crossed your arms and looked between the 2 boys sat in front of you.

‘Ok I guess I’ll go first then. Truth or dare, Bri?’ Roger asked as he took another sip from the vodka. ‘Truth I guess’ Brian replied. ‘Have you ever thought about fucking y/n’ Roger asked quickly before moving back quickly to escape the brief attack from you. ‘That’s so lame Roger. It’s ok if you don’t want to answer Br...’

‘Yes’ Brian replied, looking you up and down and cutting you of. You were taken back. You had never thought that Brian would see you in that way. You were sure he had plenty of other girls to think about. You blushed and tucked a loose stand of hair behind your ear. ‘Erm ok, Roger truth or dare?’ you asked nervously, looking at the floor. ‘I’m not a pussy, so dare’ he said confidently. ‘Ok I guess... take of your shirt?’ you suggested. He didn’t have to be told twice and quickly and swiftly removed his shirt to reveal his toned abs and slightly visible v line. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt an ever so slight stir in your downstairs lady friend.

‘Like what you see princess?’ he slurred, leaning in slightly. You rolled your eyes and huffed. ‘Right. My turn now’ declared Brian. ‘y/n truth or dare?’

‘Dare’ you said, making brief eye contact with Brian. ‘I dare you to get completely naked’. Your eyes widened in suprise and you looked back at Roger. ‘You don’t hav...’ Brian began before you stood up and began to remove your clothes one by one, until you were entirely naked. Brian and Roger coudn’t take their eyes off you.

As the game progressed through the night and you all slowly got more drunk, you had already given Brian a blowjob, kissed Roger and gave both of them a lap dance. Now you had reached the point of no return. Roger pulled you into a deep, rough kiss (the boys were also both naked by now) and felt his hands move all over your body, feeling your boobs and squeezing your bum. Brian moved behind you as you straddled Roger and kissed your neck, leaving marks behind to make sure you woudnt forget who had done this to you when you woke up tomorrow. I’m between moans, you spluttered out ‘I dare you both to f...fuck me. At the same time’ you giggled from the alcahol and began to lightly grind against Roger, earning a deep and sexy moan. You got up from Roger’s lap and turned to shove your tongue in Brian’s mouth, pulling his soft hair and massaging his cock with your hand. God they were both so hot.

Brian lifted you up with ease and sat up on the couch without breaking the kiss. ‘You sure baby?’ he hoarsely whispered in your ear. You nodded and bit your lip before gently sinking onto his enormous cock. You screamed from the pleasure and but down on his shoulder to stop you from waking up the neighbours. Roger moved in behind you kissed your neck, making you shudder. ‘Lube... in... draw’ you managed to say while pointing to the kitchen draw.

As Brian began slowly thrusting into you as you adjusted to the size you felt slick fingers enter your other hole, causing you to arch your back against Brian. ‘Shh baby, if you want us both inside you your going to have to be more quiet then that’ Roger spoke as he fingered you, sending shivers up your spine. Suddenly Brian pulled out. You whelped at the loss of pleasure and tried to hump him to get your release. ‘No baby, I want to try the other hole’ he spoke. You whined and pulled Roger towards you, climbing onto him and immediately fucking him. ‘Holy fuck y/n, that feels amazing your so tight. Shit’ Roger moaned hoarsely as you moved your hips against his. Just as you started to get a good speed, you felt Braian enter your second hole from behind.

‘FUCK BRIAN HOLY FUCK’ you screamed only to earn Brian’s hand on your mouth, muffling your screams. ‘You ok?’ both the boys asked as your eyes rolled back at the feeling of being completely filled. You nodded desperately. As soon as they both began to thrust you lost it. You were in ecstasy. With each thrust you felt yourself get closer and closer to your orgasm, and after a few strong thrusts from Brian and both the boys cumming inside you and filling you up with hot white cum, you felt the built up please release all at once in an explosion as Roger whispers ‘come for me princess’ into your ear. His voice alone could make you finish.

As they pull out, you collapse onto the coach, breathless. But luckily for you, that wasn’t the end. ‘I dare you... to kiss.. eachother’ you panted, biting your lip and looking between them as they got up and looked at eachother. You knew you woudnt get away with this normally, but they were both pissed. Roger ran his hand through his hair and Brian bit his lip. They kissed, to your suprise, very gently. Their bodies pressed up against eachother, panting and holding each other’s faces. They pulled apart eventually after a few hot minutes and looked at you, blushing. ‘Thank you y/n’ Brian said as collapsed onto the couch next to you and closed his eyes. ‘Yeah, thanks beautiful’ Roger said as he fell on the other side of you, wrapping his arms around your waist. ‘For what?’ you laughed, closing your eyes and smiling. ‘For giving us the best night I think we’ve ever had’ said Brian. The three of you soon fell asleep in eachother’s arms.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine

Erik and Reader are best friends and Reader is the best freaky love for Erik but he doesn’t know how freaky she is. He finds out when he sees her at a heels class dancing to Beyoncé- Rocket.

“Deep down, everyone doubts themselves. Sometimes, I think I’m not good enough but at the end of the day I know I’m the fucking shit. I pray you quit overthinking, replaying failed scenarios, feeding self doubt & seeing the good in everyone but yourself you deserve more, ma.”

He passes Y/N the blunt, licking his full lips with a quick swipe of his tongue, and showing off his gold canines. Taking a puff of weed, Y/N watches Erik scratch the side of his defined torso over a tattoo that says Fuck Reality in that cursive lettering she loved to see. He yawns, blinking his sleepy eyes a few times before looking over at Y/N. She couldn’t help but look at his face.

“Make yourself a priority, Y/N. For real. Stop settling for these toxic lame ass niggas. When you meet a real nigga you gon’ realize you was never asking for too much.”

Y/N passed the blunt back to Erik while staring out of his bedroom window from his king sized bed. She knew her worth, she really did, but she always ended up going back to the same fuck boys.

“You’re too fine to be giving all your time and energy into him. Too fine. My bestfriend needs to know her worth. You looking at me like that but I’m being honest, shit, when was the last time you felt appreciated? When was the last time a nigga did something for you and didn’t expect something in return? Called to check up on you? Texted you back? Ate your pussy because he knows you had a rough week and you just need your pussy ate? Some good sex? When?”

Her carefree bestfriend with his tapered dreads and full beard and mustache. His sincere whiskey colored eyes and messy brows that he always talked with. Raising them, creasing them. He smooths a hand down his solid and sculpted chest before resting that hand over his abs. The gold rings on his fingers against his brown skin was just as beautiful as the sun setting before them.

“I can’t remember. I’m embarrassed to say,” Y/N finally speaks. She heaved a sigh, unzipping her velour pink hoodie, a white form-fitting shirt underneath, “I know I deserve more. Ugh, now I’m going to be single and lonely for Valentine’s.”

Erik sat up on his elbows, the hue of the sunset against his russet skin, “I’m your valentine now. i’ll be there at 10pm climbing through your bedroom window with flowers. Dahlias right? Cool, I’ll see you later tonight?” Erik gave Y/N a teasing smile. She knew he was trying to make her feel better but it didn’t change the fact that it sounded so...honest? Like he wanted to do and say that.

“Scary movies and chill? That romantic movie shit is played out. We can snuggle close with some popcorn with Freddy Kruger on the screen.”

“Your obsession with 80s slasher movies is amazing,” Y/N laughs, “Why must you mix Valentine’s with blood and gore, Erik?”

“Why not? Instead of bleeding your heart out because you’re heart broken, you can watch a heart actually bleeding out,” Erik chuckles before he ashes out the blunt in his ceramic ashtray that Y/N made for him with 4/20 carved into it.

“Should I dress up?” Y/N played along.

“Just keep those same straight backs in your hair and wear those little stripe linen shorts that make your ass look nice. Oh, and that mini white T-shirt that says Daddy on it in pink letters. Can’t forget the mix match ankle socks either.”

“You can wear a durag with a pair of grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt. The ones you wear that’s all loose fitting on you because you refuse to wear a tighter one? Yeah, and a pair of Vans.”

“What time for our little date, ma?”

“8. And don’t be late either.”

“To a date with you? Never.”

“Okay, I have a question,” Y/N turns towards him, “what’s your idea of a perfect night with your girl?”

“Hmm,” Erik rolled his moistened lips in deep thought, “Dick rubs and intellectual conversations. Head in a comfortable bed. Falling asleep with my head laying on her crotch so I can just pull her panties to the side and eat her pussy. Honestly, give pleasure by just being there. We don’t even have to talk or fuck. Presence is just comforting.”

“That sounds amazing,” Y/N never had those things but that’s what her bestfriend likes? She wished she had that same treatment.

“Those chill, nice nights with someone you feel comfortable with.” Erik spoke in a low tone while twirling a single loc, “I crave that.”

“I know, ugh, me too, Erik,” Y/N laid back against the bed, “I have to go to class today.”

Erik gave her a questioning look, “What class?”

Y/N turned around to lay on her belly, “A heels class. Remember I was telling you that I started doing this like a month ago?”

“Shorty, I have other things going on with me right now I didn’t focus on that,” Erik gives her a sad look, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been working on a routine. I think I have it down. It’s gonna be real sexy.”

“Sexy? Who you tryna impress with this class?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Y/N teased.

“Ah, man. That ain’t fair, ma. I’m your bestie.”

“You are but I don’t need to tell you my business,” Y/N rolls her eyes into her head.

“It’s cool, cuz I’m coming there with you.”

Y/N’s face flushed.

“What? I can’t come-“

“NO.”

She didn’t want Erik to watch her dance. Being surrounded by those women made her feel like she was in her room dancing in the mirror. They all connected because they related to each other. If Erik came there she would probably mess up her routine since he would definitely be watching her move. It was a heels choreography class and Erik is a man, he’s going to watch. Y/N wore either a pair of black high crotch panties with fishnets and a cropped t shirt or a form fitting leotard with black sheer stockings. Six inch heels on her feet with a skinny heel since she’s gotten better. Popping her ass and hitting splits to the music. Erik never saw her like that. What would he say and do when he did?

“It really ain’t that deep, ma,” Erik jokes because Y/N was spaced out, “I promise I won’t laugh at you. I don’t have shit else to do but sit around so let me come with you.”

Y/N pondered while staring down at her hands before heaving a sigh of defeat, “okay. You can come.”

“I knew you would say yes,” Erik gave her a half smirk, “You can’t tell me no even if you tried.”

“Don’t embarrass me in there, Erik,” Y/N spoke to him with a warning in her voice. She knew he could be silly and fuck with her but when she danced, it was her time to shine.

“Teh, girl, you really think I would do that?”

Erik got closer to Y/N, leaning on his elbows while his face got closer to hers, “I’ll be on the side lines cheering you on. I promise, okay?”

Y/N looked up into his eyes, giving Erik a weird look before turning away from him, “Okay.”

He was acting very...strange. Not like his usual self but Y/N could be overthinking it. She sat up on her knees, lifting off the bed to put her sneakers back on before picking up her velour jacket and her PINK gym bag that carried all of the things she needed for class.

“Put on a shirt and come on, Erik.” She picked up a shirt that was wrinkled and balled up on the floor before throwing it at him, “I’m not trying to be late!”

“Calm that shit the fuck down, Y/N. Don’t give me attitude before I really make you late for this class.”

—————————-

“You calm down yet?” Erik asks Y/N while following behind her to the dance studio that held her heels class. The closer they walked, the more Erik could hear the deep base to the sensual music that vibrates the walls. He’d sit back and watch a bunch of women shake their ass in heels. Erik looked at his bestfriend walking ahead of him as she lead the way with a sway of her hips. Those tantalizing hips. Erik looked up at the back of her head as if she had eyes back their and could see him checking her out. He couldn’t help himself. Like he said back in his room, she’s too fine.

“Are you going to behave?” She looked back at him over her shoulder with a brow raised, “Well? Are you?”

“Yes ma’am,” Erik said with a husky voice, “whatever you say.”

Y/N rolled her eyes before making a left turn, opening the double doors to a dimly lit studio with a pink neon sign of a woman in heels that read dance. A few chairs rested in the corner of the room, mirrors were placed on one side of the wall so that the ladies could watch themselves. A guy stood off to the side in deep conversation with a short plump girl about 5’ 3 dressed in a mesh leotard with red fishnets and heels. He was fumbling with a camcorder that Erik assumes is used to record the ladies do their routines. On the polished hardwood floor, directly in the middle, were all the ladies doing stretches. Some were down in a split stretching out their legs, others were bending over to touch their toes, stretching out their backs. Erik recognized the music. It sounded like Teyana Taylor & Kehlani- Morning.

“Okay, I gotta get myself changed, I’ll be back, alright?” Y/N spoke with a whisper to him.

“Yeah, I’ll be over here,” Erik pointed to a black chair with a leather cushion to sit on.

“Cool,” Y/N gave Erik a silly smile before walking away, waving to a few ladies as she made her way over to the dressing room. Erik rested his hands in the pockets of his black cargo pants that he wore. The wrinkled shirt wasn’t the shirt he had on. He was wearing a muscle tee with the sides cut really low, giving you a view of his muscles and scars along his ribs down to his hips. Black boots on his feet and gold around his neck and on his fingers. Erik scratches his scruffy facial hair while looking around the class. When he did this, eyes were on him, wondering who this handsome guy was that came with Y/N. He entertained their looks for a minute before taking his phone out of his pocket to scroll through pointless apps.

“Oooo, Y/N, what routine are we gonna start out with today, honey?” A tall mocha skinned girl with a large curly bush and a black catsuit on asked. Erik looked up at the mention of her name. His eyes seemed to widen and gawk at Y/N. Erik was in a state of stupor. Stupefied but mesmerized at the same time.

“I have something I’ve been working on all week but that can wait for tomorrow. I gotta have a guy to do the lap dance with. When is Montell coming back?”

“Girl, why use Montell when you can use him?” The tall chick pointed at Erik. Erik looks over at Y/N, watching her eyes grow wide.

“Erik? No,” Y/N laughs, “He’s just here to watch until I’m done.”

The chubby chick that was talking to the camera guy came over to intrude, “Isn’t that your boyfriend though?”

“No. He’s my bestfriend and he’s just going to watch.”

“Well, can I use him for my routine then? I put a little something something together to Ciara- Body Party and I need a nigga to pop this ass on. He so cute, Y/N. Hi bestfriend!” The pretty chubby girl waved at Erik who returned the wave with a smile on his full lips.

“He is cute. How can you just be friends with that?”

“Dominique,” Y/N was referring to the taller chick, “Erica,” She looked over at the short plump girl, “I’m using him for my routine.” Y/N spoke with finality. Wasn’t no chick in that class gonna put ass on him if it wasn’t her.

“Oh? Why the change of heart?” Dominique folded her arms while giving Y/N a sassy smile. Y/N didn’t say a word as she walked away, looking over at Erik before sticking her tongue out at him. He was in a fit of laughter, clutching his chest and everything.

Y/N was dressed in a black thong with sheer black stockings that had tiny rhinestones on it, a tiny black and gold wrap top that made her breast sit high and black stilettos on her feet. All that ass out and bouncing each time she walked. Erik knew his bestfriend has body but damn, he never saw her like this. Y/N was fumbling with a wall audio system that was installed to play throughout the studio. She found the song she wanted, pausing it, then grabbing a chair to bring in the center of the dance floor. The other ladies crowded around and the camera guy set up so that it was facing her. Y/N then walked over to Erik, a roll of her eyes while trying to fight a smile. She got down in front of him in a squat, talking closely with him. Erik leaned forward on his elbows to hear her.

“Okay, so I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that but,” She sighed, “I’m gonna need you for my routine.”

“Hmm,” Erik smirked, “What I gotta do?”

Y/N licked her lips, “All you gotta do is sit in that chair for me. You’ll be in that chair while I do all the work, alright?”

“Let me ask you something,” Erik narrowed his eyes, “Why did you change your mind so quick?”

Y/N rolled her eyes away from him before kissing her teeth, “You gonna do that for me, or what?”

“You ain’t off the hook, ma,” Erik stood up, while looking down at Y/N who was still in a squat position while staring up the valley of his body to connect with his eyes, “You gon’ tell me after this class.”

“Whatever,” Y/N finally got up, grabbing Erik’s hand with force, walking him to the middle of the dance floor. He wasn’t nervous one bit. He wanted to see what his bestie could do.

“Sit.” She instructed, earning oooo’s and ahhhh’s from the ladies around them. Erik raises his brows at her before taking his seat real slow, legs wide and one arm stretched over the back of the chair. He motioned with his head for Y/N to get started, his eyes intense and heated. Y/N motioned for one of the girls she started the class with to play her song.

Beyoncé- Rocket began to play.

Let me sit this ass

On you

Y/N sat down real slow on Erik while looking back at him. She wound her hips, back arching and ass moving up the length of his crotch nice and gently. She did a spin on his lap, her leg going up and over his head so she could straddle him. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders before pulling on his shirt to bring him closer to her. She made him watch her while her hips moved over him. Erik has to hold onto the sides of the chair.

Show you how I feel

Let me take this off

Will you watch me

Yes, mass appeal

Don't take your eyes

Don't take your eyes off it

Watch it, babe

If you like

You can touch me baby

Do you

Do you wanna touch me baby, ooh

Grab a hold, don't let go

Let me know

That you

Ready (ready)

Erik looked at her with eyes so deeply filled with desire there was no denying his attraction to his bestfriend. Y/N held those eyes with her low ones, before grabbing his jaw to tease him. She almost touched his lips with hers but she pulled away before Erik could even get a taste.

I just wanna show you now

Slow it down

Go around

You rock hard

Y/N stood up, getting down on her knees in front of Erik while running a hand from his chest down to his crotch that was indeed rock hard.

I rock steady

She bounced up and down in a squat to demonstrate how steady she would rock on that hard dick. A few chicks wolf whistled at that, cheering her on.

And rock right up to the side of my mountain

Climb until you reach my peak baby, peak babe, peak

And reach right into the bottom of my fountain

Y/N pats her kitty kat to indicate where that fountain he needed to find was.

I wanna play in your deep baby, your deep baby, deep

Then dip me under where you can feel my river flowing and flow

Y/N went back on the floor, her legs coming all the way up to rest on each side of her head. She was open like the peace sign. Her hands ran up her body, eyes still on Erik to show him that she was nothing to play with. He gave her a sly smirk that showed off a single dimple. So this how she got down? She danced all freaky like this? Showing him where she wanted him to go with his hardness?

Hold me 'til I scream for air to breathe

She grabs her neck, body arching from the floor. Erik could feel his dick growing stiffer.

And wash me over until my well runs dry

Send all your sins all over me, babe, me baby, me

Rock it…

Y/N got up from the floor, swaying her hips. She stared into the camera, moving in those heels like she was wearing a pair of sneakers. Erik didn’t know she was this flexible. When she arched her back to pop her ass, getting into a split stance while running her hand on her crotch he wanted to lift from that chair, pick her up, and hold the back of her neck while making her pop her ass on his hard crotch. He had to have restraint because this is her routine but FUCKKK, was it hard.

Rock it 'til waterfalls

Rock it 'til waterfalls

Rock it 'til waterfalls

Bathe in these waterfalls

She grinned her hips into the floor before bringing her legs up from behind, her heels almost touching the back of her head before rolling over to lift a single leg in the air, grinding her hips forward. She was showing him what that body could do. She was showing him exactly how freaky his bestfriend could be.

I do it like it's my profession

I gotta make a confession

I'm proud of all this bass

When you put it in your face

She stood, arching forward, and grabbing her ankles while looking back at Erik. Her ass popped and swayed from side to side.

By the way, if you need a personal trainer or a therapist

I can be a piece of sunshine, inner peace, entertainer

Anything else that you may read between the lines

You and I create rockets and waterfalls

“YES HUNTY!” One of them yelled out while snapping their fingers.

“THATS IT Y/N!”

Erik nods his head in approval. He found himself rocking to the beat while tapping a single foot and grinding his hips in the chair. She rode that song with so much ease. Beyoncé’s voice mixed with her sensual moves had everyone in that room watching in complete silence now. The song played on and then that’s when it became really intense...

I can't help but love the way we make love

Daddy, daddy

Ooh child, ooh now

Yes, Lord, damn baby

She was going crazy. Popping her ass, arching her back, looking at Erik with her mouth hanging open. Swinging her head from side to side, running her hands over her breasts before jiggling them. That continuous Daddy, Daddy, has Erik losing his mind. The self control was unraveling.

You driving me cray, cray, yeah

You ain't right for doing it to me like that daddy

Y/N crawled towards him. She was staring at him like she wanted to rip his clothes off and show some attention to the hard dick that she felt growing in his pants. When she made it over to him, she got into a handstand, her legs widening into a split, before descending back on him, her legs wrapping around his waist while Erik pulled her forward with his hands on her hips.

Even though

I've been a bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad girl

Y/N bends her body back while grinding on him so hard and forceful that Erik couldn’t help but to grind up into her on that chair. His hips were lifting from the chair.

Tell me what you're gonna do about that

He wanted to do something right fucking now. Y/N was driving him crazy. His growls and moans were trapped in his throat because of everyone surrounding him.

Punish me please

Punish me please

Daddy what you're going to do with all of this

Ass

Y/N turns around, her ass rubbing along his chest. Erik moves his hands down her back before slapping her ass, causing Y/N to gasp and everyone around them to cheer and clap.

All up in your face, yeah

Hell yeah

Love me so deep

Ooh my shit's so good it ain't even right

This shit wasn’t fair. She bounced on his lap in a continuous rhythm to the freaky beat. Since she wanted to give him a little lap dance to this beat she was definitely going to fuck him to this song. Bestie or not.

I know I'm right

Hell yeah you the shit

That's why you're my equivalent

So sexy

To Erik’s disappointment, Y/N got up from his lap, circling him in the chair before standing behind him. She lowered her arms over his shoulders from behind, taking her fingers to drag his muscle tee up to reveal his chiseled body. Abs flexed, skin so smooth even with the raised scars, her nails clawing lightly at his ripped abs all the way up to his chest. Her lips lightly touched the side of neck, giving him a lick there while the song faded out. The room erupted with applause at her routine. Y/N wrapped her arms around Erik’s neck, rocking him back and forth with a big smile on her face. Erik grabs her arms, holding them with a grin on his lips. Y/N did her thing.

“Girllllllllllll,” Dominique shouted while coming over to hug Y/N, “You had your bestfriend ready to hop off this chair and handle you, girl.”

“Oh? Really?” Y/N spoke into Erik’s ear before giving him a quick peck on the cheek, “I’m sorry I put this ass on you and you couldn’t do anything about it.”

Erik clenched his jaw. She only fueled him more.

“Nothing to say? Hmm?” She dragged on.

Erik looked up at her with a tilt of his head. She knew those hard domineering eyes meant one thing and one thing only: she was going to get it for sure. He had something for her after this class.

[dawnie1988]

Summary: So many thoughts can crop up when one is trying to make an important decision. For Birdie, it’s bringing up all the regrets she has in regards to the way she has chosen to live her life. Or, in which fear and complacency can be a slippery, downward slope.

Words: 4,656 

Pairings: Platonic Dean x OFC (not actually named after sir jensen’s pup, just a name i’ve always liked)

Tags: Angst, One Sided Pining, Pity Parties and More Taylor Swift Song References Than Would Have Been Deemed Necessary

A/N: This is my entry for Sabrina’s - @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ - Make Me Swoon 250 Followers Writing Challenge. I can say with much certainty there will be no swooning going on here though. My prompt was:  “If I knew it was going to hurt this much I wish I never laid eyes on him.”

Big, big thanks and love to the ever amazing @there-must-be-a-lock​ for taking the time to go over this and doing some big time beta work, not only saving any potential readers a nightmare load of grammar errors but also for the many helpful tips and suggestions along the way and helping to shape this into a more manageable and thought out piece. Seriously, this thing was nearly 10,000 words of nonsense before she started dusting her magic over it. You’re incredible, and I adore you 😘

=======

Athens, Ohio - 2011

- can i come by?

The text had come in about an hour ago, just as Birdie was ushering the last patron out for the night. She didn’t have the time - or the emotional strength - to deal with it at the moment, so she did what she did best: ignored it.

She took her time wiping down the counters and table tops, washing out all the glasses and drying them with care. She stacked all the chairs on top of the tables, took out the garbage and emptied out the cash tills, counting and recording that night’s take. She finished up her nightly routine by double checking that all doors and windows were locked and secured before turning off the lights and making her way up the old creaky staircase to her loft above the bar.

After allowing herself several moments in the shower to wash the day off, Birdie slid into some soft sweats and an old Mickey Mouse sleep shirt. She grabbed an apple to munch on, as well as the stack of papers. She needed to make a decision, and was quickly running out of time to do so. 

She settled into her favorite overstuffed chair by the window that overlooked the city, enjoying the peaceful quiet of the night, before skimming through the contract in her hands for what felt like the hundredth time.

A month ago, a lawyer had come into the place (Jacob something or another the Third) inquiring about buying the bar from her. He worked for some mid size fast food chain that was looking to expand. She had scoffed at the idea in the beginning, told him she wasn’t interested, but he was a persistent little weasel, that was for sure. He kept in touch and eventually got her to the stage of accepting the very contract she held in her hands to look over. 

It was a fair offer. In fact, it was more than fair, which had made her leery at first that she was getting screwed somewhere. But she had visited three separate lawyers, and after combing through it, they all agreed there were no secret loopholes, just a company who badly wanted a specific location and were willing to pay extra to get it.

Jacob what’s-his-name would eventually call back, giving her a whole speech about how he could appreciate what a tough decision this must all be for her, but that they would need an answer by the end of the month or else the company would officially be withdrawing their offer.

She had two days left and was nowhere closer to a final answer than she was when he first brought the proposition to her. Every time she felt like she was leaning one way, a new thought would crop up that would have her tilting the other way. On the one hand, this was a lot of money they were talking about. If she wasn’t responsible for this place any more, maybe she could finally take a chance on the little flower boutique she had silently dreamed about owning since she was a teenager. Every time she started thinking like that though, she would immediately start spiraling down the rabbit hole of how this bar was her home.

Except… was it really? Was it honestly her home, or just a place where she worked and lived? How much of it all was just the obligation she felt to her Uncle to keep the place going?

It was never meant to be a permanent thing. She had just graduated college with her MBA, the only thing she ever did in her life that she was truly proud of, the only thing that required hard work that she ever stuck through and completed. The courses were grueling, but she pushed through, mostly motivated by her father insisting she’d never last. Well, she had shown him. 

She refused to end up like him; it was what fueled her through it all. Her dad had gone bankrupt three times, every time he tried, and ultimately failed, at a new business venture. 

And not only did she complete the courses and graduate, but she ended up Valedictorian of her class at Ohio University.

She had been undecided on where she wanted to work afterwards, still riding the high of actually earning her degree and halfheartedly submitting résumés just for the hell of it and to get some feelers out. It was her Uncle Grant who stepped in to help out while she worked on getting a real game plan together.

He was the original owner of this bar, a decent sized roadside style place in the city. From the outside it wasn’t the kind of place that really grabbed your attention, but it always supported a large gathering of misfits. 

The deal was pretty simple in nature. He was sixty-one, with two bum knees from a nasty motorcycle accident five years prior. It should have killed him and almost did. It was getting increasingly harder for him to take care of the place, despite his little staff of two, and retirement was looking more and more like a better idea. But he was dead set against the idea of selling the place. So, he presented her with the prospect of taking over the majority of the office and business side of things.

“Put that fancy degree of yours to good use.”

That’s what he had said. And of course he would need her to pitch in with the more physical, daily tasks that came with running the place. For that, she could stay in the small loft above the bar. Plus he even supplied her with a small salary, just enough that she could take care of necessities. All under the table, of course. He was very against mixing family and taxes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get her by until she moved onto her next phase in life. 

It was a pretty sweet deal. What was not to like?

Except, her next phase of life never really came.

She found more and more things that she quite enjoyed about running the bar. The mundane practices were almost like a form of meditation for her: preparing things every morning to be ready to open by 4:00pm, and tedious office work. It lulled her into a sense of security, that one thing she always needed to have in her life in order to function like a real adult. Sure, her Uncle’s name was still on everything, but for all intents and purposes the place was hers. And when he died in 2007 from liver failure, it became hers entirely. She never knew he had a will, let alone that he intended to leave the place to her. 

It was now her name on the lease, and her responsibility to make every call and decision.

She never meant to stay forever, but she became seduced by the comfort of knowing what to expect. Year after year passed and it became easier to stay with the known than to venture out, to try something new just to fail, to crash and burn. Then she’d have to come crawling back to all the jeers about Miss Smarty Pants thinking she was too good to stay here.

Birdie took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before blowing it out slowly, trying to calm her racing mind. As her thoughts started wandering in circles again, so did her eyes as they landed on her phone she had tossed on the side table when she first came up.

- can i come by?

Such a simple sounding question. It should have an equally simple yes or no answer, but it wasn’t simple. Nothing about Dean Winchester — about her and Dean Winchester, to be precise — was simple. 

Their history began nearly ten years ago and all the dirty, dark secrets she had learned about him since only complicated things more.

She was still just getting her feet wet working for her Uncle when this boy came strutting into the place: young, oh so tall, with a pair of enchanting jade green eyes, a smile she was sure could charm the pants off of just about anybody, and a whole lot of arrogance. 

The cocksure attitude, like the world was his oyster, was enough to keep her from transforming into a drooling, giddy mess. She managed to ask him his order without making a fool of herself.

There was some minor chit chat while she fetched his first beer of the night. She had definitely never seen him around before so she hit him with her standard ‘coming or going? business or pleasure?’ questions. It would take years for her to peel back the many layers that made up one Dean Winchester and learn the true nature of his illustrious family business and what he actually did for a living.

They kept in touch through it all, good, bad, and the ugly, and he was her truest constant in life, after the bar of course. It was during his last visit, however, that things changed drastically and for the worse. At a time when he needed a friend the most, she had ruined it by putting him in jail for something he didn’t do. All because of her history of backing out.

=======

2010

Birdie was awoken in the middle of the night by the all too familiar rumble of the Impala. Groggily, she stumbled out of bed and over to the window to take a peek outside. She was already making her way downstairs when his first knock came, so much softer than usual. The moment she unlocked and opened the door and got her first good look at him, even bathed in the night’s shadows, she could see how utterly broken he looked, how close he was to cracking.

In that moment she just knew. He didn’t need to speak a single word.

They had finally won the war, on their own terms, but it had cost them dearly. It had cost him Sam and she didn’t know how, or if, he ever would be able to recover from it.

She grabbed his hand gently and pulled him in before relocking the door. As she turned back around she saw that he was still just standing there, at a loss. With a hand on his back, she guided him over to the bar where she fully enabled him to drink his sorrows down. Or try to numb them up some, at the very least. 

One of the very first things Birdie had ever learned about him was that he wasn’t the fondest of talking out his feelings, and it was always best not to push and just to let him open up on his own time. So she didn’t try to talk him through things, didn’t try to recite lovely sounding messages of time will heal and Sam was in a beautiful, peaceful place now, that he had single handedly raised the world’s greatest hero never known. She just continued to let him drink in peace and kept a hold of his hand. And when she reached the point that she could no longer refrain from hugging him, she allowed him to hold onto her like a lifeline, even when it felt like she could feel every bit of his broken heart in that crushing hold.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered the soft apology several times, alternating between kissing his temple and running gentle fingers through his hair. His grip tightened every time the words passed her lips.

She eventually got him dragged up to her loft with her.He lay down while she settled in behind him, playing the role of big spoon, continuing to hold him as tightly as she could, as he ultimately gave in to his tears and anguish. He held her left hand tightly in his own over his heart and she placed her forehead between his shoulder blades, silently crying along with him.

As morning came around, when they finally decided their grumbling tummies needed to be attended to, he held her in place a moment longer, bringing their still joined hands up to his lips to breathe a kiss over her knuckles before releasing it.

It was a quiet affair, their usual eggs, bacon, toast and coffee combo being picked at and pushed around by both, forcing small bites down here and there. 

“So,” Birdie ventured out hesitantly. “What…what now?”

She gave a wince at how casual the words came out, but it went unnoticed by Dean as he was still staring intently at his plate.

After several moments of near suffocating silence for Birdie, he finally answered.

“Gonna head to Lisa’s.”

Birdie suddenly felt like time had frozen. 

“…Lisa?”

“Yeah, the one with the kid I told you about before. In Michigan.”

There was nothing but silence for a few moments. Dean finally looked up at Birdie to see the slack-jawed expression on her face.

His own face drew up in confusion. “What?”

She tried to get her mouth working, but her tongue felt so heavy now, trying to block the onslaught of words that wanted to come spilling out.

“I…” She paused to clear the forming lump at the back of her throat. “Why are you going there?”

Dean tilted his head slightly and cleared his throat before answering.“Sam.”

Birdie raised a questioning brow, urging him to elaborate, even though he was clearly uncomfortable. She wasn’t feeling very concerned about his comfort level at the moment.

“I…promised Sam that when all this was over, that I’d walk away, try to live a normal life for once.”

It was like the air had been physically pulled from her lungs.

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t spending such a painfully raw and intimate night together just for him to hit the road to another woman the moment he had a chance. But then, what did it matter? He wasn’t hers, she certainly wasn’t his, they had never had that sort of relationship or even discussed the possibility of one. She knew it wasn’t fair, to harbor any bad feelings or ill will towards him when she never once tried to divulge the deeper feelings and emotions she had developed towards him over the years. Why should he be blamed for something he never had any knowledge over?

“It ain’t like I got any place else to go.”

That one sentence snapped something inside of her that was long out of her control before she had time to try to reign it in.

“Here!” she all but shouted, slamming her hands down on the counter and actually causing him to flinch. “You idiot, you could have stayed here!”

He held his hands up, almost as if to placate the raging storm of emotions that seemed to be building within her. With his chin dipped down so he could capture her line of sight fully, he slowly asked the one question he was unaware would send everything into a full on tail spin.

“Why would I stay here?”

She threw her hands up in exasperation, “For me!” she let out in what could only be described as a cross between a grunt and a sob. She turned away from him when it all dawned on him and the realization hit. 

Years and years of feelings pushed aside and pining from afar, revealed in two simple words. She wiped angrily at her face when she felt the wet trails beginning to track down her face. “You would stay for me,” she concluded, not able to face him fully in her ultimate admittance.

The ensuing silence was near deafening, the loudest she had ever heard in her life.

Of all the ways for this to have come out in the open, why did it have to come out like this? Every beat of silence, every second that went by that wasn’t filled with the sound of his gravelly voice, was all the confirmation she needed: she had been right to stay silent all these years. 

And yet, there was still that glimmer of hope that had been buried down deep within her. The hope that one day this would happen unexpectedly, except in that version it would be like the movies. He would make some overly grand gesture of kissing her silly before informing her that he was just as crazy about her as she was about him, at which point they would laugh at how stupid they had been for wasting so much time, before vowing to make up for it every day for the rest of their lives together.

But this was no movie. It wasn’t a fairytale in disguise, she wasn’t the princess he would sweep off her feet and lead her up the stairwell, and she would be getting no happily ever after. There was no changing this ending.

“Bird, I…" 

She raised her eyes slightly, watching his reflection in the mirror behind the bar and admiring, even now, how beautiful he looked. The early morning shadows peeking through the covered windows were dancing across his face in a near mesmerizing fashion.

He looked utterly lost again. "I never knew…”

Birdie had to close her eyes against the sting of fresh tears building up, not able to stand the shame and self loathing she could already detect in his voice. He was putting this on himself. Classic Dean. He saw her hurting and instantly took ownership of it. She hated that. She hated that he was blaming himself for the mess she had caused. 

It was bad enough this was happening at all, but how selfish could she be for letting it play out now? After everything he had just lost, she was fulfilling her duty to him as a friend by pulling the rug out from under him, making him feel guilty for something that (by her own design) he knew nothing about? What kind of friend was that? She wasn’t worth any more grief than what he was already dealing with.

“You should go,” she mumbled.

He was running a hand over his face when her words halted his movements completely. "What?”

“You should go,” she sniffed, attempting to gather herself as she busied her hands, getting out the little bowls from under the counter that would later be filled with nuts and pretzels. “You’ve got a pretty decent drive ahead of you,” she continued, as she then stacked up their dirty plates. “If you leave now you should be there in time for dinner without even having to break the speed limit. Maybe you can even find a nice scenic route to help decompress…”

She had nearly made it to the kitchen when he cut off her path, taking the plates from her and placing them out of the way before laying his hands on her shoulders to keep her in place.

“No Birdie, we…we can talk, we should talk, and…”

This time she stopped him by placing a hand over one of his.

“No, Dean, really. You should go. It’s fine.” She did her best to keep her tone light, to smile as best as she could, even though it felt more and more like she was about to crumble. 

He grabbed her chin then, forcing her head up so she would have no choice but to actually look at him. She could see on his face that she was nowhere close to coming off as ‘ok’ and she scolded herself for it, wishing she could be as good as he was when it came to turning off the emotional switch. She looked him in the eye, shrugging it all off with an air of 'what can you do?’.

“It’s fine. Go. Go do something for yourself for once. Take a break big guy, you earned it.” He still looked torn, like he wanted to stay and fix things, or like he felt like he should stay. She gave him a wobbly smile. “Please.”

She gave an internal sigh of relief when she saw the resignation finally color his features. He didn’t try to say anything else; they both knew it was a moot point. Instead he pulled her in close, in one of his patented bear hugs that she always cherished so much. They were always like a cocoon of warmth and safety and everything good. Birdie could physically feel him trying to transfer all of his own feelings through that one hug. To let her know how much he truly loved and cared for her, even if it may not have been in the same vein as her.

When he eventually pulled away, he left a lingering kiss on her forehead before backing away and slowly making his way to the door.

Birdie’s mind whirled the whole time.

Don’t go. Stay with me. Pick me. Turn around.

The closer he got to the door the heavier her chest felt. Could she really just let him leave like this? Why couldn’t she ask him to choose her now? Why couldn’t she ask him to try to make things work with her? Why shouldn’t she?

This is a mistake. Don’t let him go. Don’t let him leave like this.

Just as his hand was on the doorknob, her voice broke out to stop him.

“Dean.”

He turned around, waiting to hear what she had to say. And the words were right there on the tip of her tongue, ready to be let free, when suddenly she thought of Sam. That’s why Dean was doing this, to fulfil some sort of dying wish to his baby brother, and that’s what stopped her. Who was she to try to infringe on something like that?

No one. She was no one.

“…drive safe.”

Something unclear settled in his eyes. He dropped his head momentarily before throwing her a weak smile and walking out the door.

The sound of the Impala’s engine starting and fading away would haunt her for a long time to come.

=======

That had been roughly a year ago. A long, lonely year filled with the occasional call to catch up. Her unintended declaration may not have ruined their friendship, but it certainly changed it. Now here she was, mind bouncing back and forth between the documents in her lap and the phone in her hands, trying to decide what to do. 

But she already knew what she was going to do. There was a part of her, subconsciously, that knew from the very beginning what she would do in regards to both situations. 

She would fold. She always did. 

She always put the bar first and she always put off taking a chance in any aspect of her life. She was a creature of habit. It was simply easier to go the path of least resistance, because the idea of failing or losing something was far too terrifying. She’d rather sleepwalk her way through a life that was comfortable enough than risk not having the security of a roof over her head. She wasn’t brave enough to really take a chance in any area of her life. 

It didn’t make the regret and longing hurt any less, though. 

The worst part of it was that it wasn’t even that hard of a fix. It wasn’t as if she was in her twilight years, too old to start over… not even close. It just always came back to the fact that she was too much of a chickenshit. 

Her parents’ mistakes and failures had ingrained a fear of uncertainty within her, as if it was printed in her very DNA. She knew that was why she clung so desperately to the guaranteed security of Dean’s friendship and why she always bailed at the last minute when it came to taking a chance on her own dreams. She needed that safety net of a sure thing after watching her mom and dad fall without one so many times. 

Plus there was the obligation side of things. That was something Dean had always understood. Even when he would try to encourage her to do something that would truly make her happy, he still empathized with the idea of feeling like you had to stick with and honor your family. They were peas in a pod in that sense. Her uncle had generously given her this place, all so she would be set in life and so he could keep his beloved bar in the family. Wouldn’t it be ungrateful of her to sell it off now herself? To her, it felt like a slap in the face. One she didn’t have the heart to make.

She glanced around her little loft, eyes falling on the corkboard that was filled with postcards Dean had sent her from every city and town he visited. They were all the standard ‘Greetings From..’ type that you could pick up at any local gas station. She tried to imagine not being there and she couldn’t. She couldn’t imagine not hearing that creaky sound of the old stairs as she walked up and down them each day. She couldn’t imagine not being able to observe the vast amount of colorful characters she met while working. It may not have been the life she wanted or would have chosen, but it wasn’t a bad one by any means.

As her uncle would always say, why fix what isn’t broken? 

But maybe it wasn’t about fixing things, maybe it was about enhancing them. Once more her thoughts drifted to Dean. She’d bet he was still up. She wondered if he ever did this: perched himself in a chair somewhere by a window where he could look out over the night sky, thinking about her in some way like she always seemed to be doing. 

Maybe she shouldn’t answer this time. Maybe it was time to give up the ruse of being fine with the way things were. She’d come close once, a drunken night with her mom that loosened her lips just a little too much.

“If I knew it was going to hurt this much I wish I never laid eyes on him.”

That’s what she had said, but as much as Birdie wished it was the case, it simply wasn’t true. She didn’t understand it, how compelling he could be. How his smile could light up your world for a while, how he could make you feel like you were the most important thing when he gave you his undivided attention. How she could tell him absolutely anything, regardless of how silly or stupid she felt about it, and he would still make her feel like the old cardigan that nobody else wanted but that he still appreciated. Or how his very existence made her feel whole, somehow, even if it wasn’t in the way she truly desired. She didn’t understand it, but she knew she needed it as much as she needed this bar.

The sudden beep of a new message alert brought her back to the real world. She lifted her phone again to look at the screen.

- Bird, please

He rarely called her Bird. 

She had learned over the years it was like a safe word of sorts for him. If he called her Bird, it was his way of sending out the S.O.S and asking for help. It meant he really needed her. And wasn’t that what friends were for? Wasn’t that what she had been telling him for ten years now? If he ever needed anything, just call.

This was him calling.

Birdie rose from her chair and headed to her dining area, tossing the contract in the garbage bin before typing out a quick message.

- i’ll leave the light on for ya

[angrylizardjacket]

Holding Court In A Crown {Roger Taylor}

Sequel to And All The Queen’s Men {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 3630 words. Giselle is fun to write and I love her. Another article style, based off of many conversations between @ginghampearlsnsweettea and I. Let me know what you think.

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

HOLDING COURT IN A CROWN - GISELLE TAYLOR in conversation with Vogue UK about her fashion evolution through the decades. (Published June, 1991)

When stepping into the Taylor home, it becomes immediately apparent that this is a home in which public image has always been very important. Gold and Platinum albums alike line the front foyer, shining reminders of the achievements of both artists who reside here. It’s surprisingly modern, hardwood floors and large windows that allow light to stream in, though the house itself is smaller than one might expect. Giselle herself greets me in the front hall, looking carefully casual in a flattering, warm yellow summer dress, that hits just above her knees, and a pair of matching yellow slip on shoes.

I’m lead through the house, past closed doors, one of which I’m told is a personal recording studio, into a open-planned kitchen-dining area. It’s a strange marriage of two aesthetics, no pun intended, the German-inspired open planned living with the dark counters, appliances, and features that make the space feel a little smaller, though it comes together to make something modern and chic, and perfectly suited to both Giselle and her husband’s images.

“Roger’s with the girls,” she tells me, referring to her daughters, pouring us both a glass of water in some of the fanciest crystal glasses I’ve ever seen, “not that he wouldn’t jump at the chance to talk about his “fashion choices”,” her air quotes, not mine, “but I thought I’d spare you the half hour argument about the wine stain, and all the other, sundry fashion choices of mine that he likes to take credit for.”

Giselle herself admits that she’s always been very fortunate in terms of fashion, “I mean, I look good in everything,” though there’s an air of self deprecation about it, “Actually, I’ve had a certain liberty with my work attire that not a lot of people have, unless you’re in the entertainment industry.” What began with a rented cocktail dress bloomed into one of the most influential fashion timelines of the 70s and 80s.

Beginning her career in an establishment modeled after American prohibition-era speakeasies, Giselle started off wearing cocktail dresses rented from the pub itself. “I actually did start off as a waitress, but for that you just had to provide your own black pants and white top, you know, wait-staff attire.” When the pub’s regular singer leaves, Giselle auditions to be her replacement, “they were just grateful I could fit into her dress, I could lipsync for all they cared.” Except, as well all know, Giselle can sing, and begun to make a name for herself in the community that frequented the pub.

Pulling out a polaroid of herself and music industry giant Ray Forrester, she shows me the only proof she has of the dress that started it all. It’s a rather ill-fitting, wine-coloured, sateen slip dress, it looks cheap, and according to Giselle, “it itched like crazy, it was cleaned once a week, and I was just glad that I was the only singer, some of the members of the jazz band had interchangeable costumes.” We both shudder at that, and she puts the photo on the counter.

As soon as she was given some modicum of control over her wardrobe, she took full advantage of it. Without a coherent aesthetic solidified by the release of her first album, Giselle admits she used the tour for Velvet Roses to experiment with both fabrics and styles. I personally have always favoured the midnight blue, velvet bouffant-style dress she wore during her stops in Belfast and Paris, but she goes on to praise the white, silk slip dress she had during her stop in West Berlin.

“Silk! Oh the silk, I dream about that dress sometimes,” she laughs a little, and now that we’ve begun to discuss her tour outfits, she leads me upstairs, “at the time it was the most comfortable thing I’d worn… ever; being able to work, to perform in something so luxury? It was a blessing.”

Her closet, at least the closet she stores her tour garments in, is separate from her bedroom, and locked. She’s got the key in her pocket, prepared, of course, for the interview, and as we step in I can hear the hum of a dehumidifier, and feel the chill of the air conditioning.

“It’s my one real extravagance.” As she turns on the lights, we’re greeted to the sight of a room, approximately four meters deep and half as wide, lined with railings that are practically stuffed with garment bags of varying sizes, and the end of the little room has a built in area for her jewel toned and bejewelled shoes alike. Three mannequins pose in the ample amount of space in the centre of the room, each wearing one of her most iconic outfits.

Each section of the racks around the side are carefully labelled by year, and it takes only a moment for Giselle to go through the section labelled 1971 before she’s pulling that same white dress from a garment bag. It still looks pristine, and when she offers for me to feel it, I understand what she’s saying.

“I’ve always tried to keep a very high standard in term of the materials I wear,” it was the first part of her aesthetic identity that was formed. “I’d never really had access to luxury on this scale before; I’d lived in sweaters and jeans for most of my [university] days; I was one of those girls in the little skirts and beaded tops at clubs- I lived my life in gogo boots every weekend of my first year.” Apparently she still has her favourite pair in the back of her personal closet, but seems hesitant to show me.

When asked what prompted her aesthetic shift, she reveals her passion for luxury stage-wear was only part of the decision. “I’d go on stage in silk pyjamas like Hugh Hefner if I could, but it’s not my brand.” Forrester was a big motivating force behind her solidification as the picture of elegance.

We get to the first of the mannequin dresses now, the fitted, black, off the shoulder cocktail dress, shining with sequins and beads, a perfect frozen reminder of her performance on Top of the Pops. To see it in person, still pristine, I get hit with just a hint of nostalgia, as does Giselle herself it seems. Marvelling at it with arms crossed over her chest, I’m granted a closer look at what was quite possibly the most iconic outfit of the 1972 lineup on the hit British musical program. The gloves themselves are more intricate than first imagined; what was assumed to just be red glitter is actually hand stitched, red sequins from the tips of the finger all the way to the wrist where it fades to chunky, red glitter, glued on and somehow width standing the test of time, to then dissolve into fine and sparsely scattered red glitter from the mid-forearm to the elbow. The beads and sequins on the dress itself are affixed with barely noticeable, shiny red thread, that gives the dress dimension up close. Giselle cites Gothic Romanticism as an inspiration to add depth to her jazz-bar persona, as well as the theatrics of musical theatre, going so far as to called the dress the ‘Merry Murderess’ despite the fact that the musical Chicago premiered almost three years after the dress’ initial debut.

Despite this look being regarded as one of her classics, and therefore setting the standard for her public image for the years to come, there’s no denying that Giselle didn’t enjoy experimenting with her outfits.

“I’ve never technically worn pants on stage,” as we move further into the room, she begins to pull various garment bags from the racks seemingly at random, “skirts, skorts, shorts - which some might argue are close enough - dresses, and even full jumpsuits, but never actual pants; I’ve always been worried that they were too masculinising for my act.” Moving on to the rack labeled 1975, she pulls out a particularly slim bag, and from it she pulls a pair of shorts made of what looks like liquid gold, but I know is made of velvet, with suspenders to match. It hangs over a sheer, flowing, cream crop-top with bell sleeves.

This outfit is cited as the first time she had deviated from her skirts and dresses, though the outfit itself is still exquisite and has an air of regality. “I was in Phoenix in ‘74 when I wore this; I’d had it included in my repertoire for the Hand Held Heart tour in case it became especially hot,  which, being Arizona in the summertime, it was.” It’s here we start to see the influence of other artists bleed into her work; the occasional feathery flamboyance borrowed from Elton John, the avant-garde pattern and makeup work popularised by David Bow, and of course, the extravagance and glitz of Queen’s Freddie Mercury.

“You always have to specify that it’s [Freddie Mercury],” she’s very serious on this point, holding up her iconic, short, incredibly sheer white, long-sleeved fitted dress, marbled with red sequins to protect her modesty. It’s reminiscent of the red and white shorts Mercury had been known to favour on tours. “The others, while, yes, they could be well dressed on occasion, [Roger Taylor]’s lime green jeans aside, they never had the flair or audacity that Freddie had to be truly influential.”

After recording a cover of Queen’s Jesus for her third album, Giselle entered into an unofficial partnership with the band, which she tells me included a collaboration with Mercury himself on their costumes.

“I’d spent a long time trying to merge my style and my musical origins with modern aesthetics; I worked very closely with a designer, since it’s not technically my strong suit.” She pauses for a moment, and we make our way to the mannequins again, this time to the second, a floor-length, evening-gown style dress in lilac, capped sleeves, looking as though it’s tie-dyed with blackcurrant glass beads instead of fabric dye. “Getting to collaborate with the band was easy enough; I did talk with [Jim Beach] regarding the use of the song, but he ultimately he ruled that it was up to them, and so once that connection was established, I actually asked Freddie to help me with some tour outfit designs.”

People often assume Giselle is referring to her team contacting Queen’s lawyer, but she goes on record now to explain that it’s not true. “I’m a lawyer, my own lawyer, and I also work for several big-name bands in the music industry today. EMI picked me up halfway through my final year, but I still continued to go to [university], and I did actually intern under (sic) [Beach] while writing my second album. “ I’m assured that she had just regular suits in her personal closet; three, in grey, black, and cream, well fitted, ‘but not why you’re here’ she adds with a self-deprecating smile.

The lavender and blackberry dress was one designed by Mercury himself, the pale lavender representative of elegance and femininity, while the darker blackcurrant is used to bring depth to the dress the same way Giselle’s unwavering, calculated persona brings depth to her performances. It was Mercury’s idea to interweave the two in the tie-dyed style, keeping Giselle’s traditional aesthetic through the glass beads and the cut of the dress.

As we continue along the timeline, it’s clear to see the effect Mercury had on Giselle’s stage wardrobe, the use of geometric patterns coupled with bold colours, and more glitter and sequins than you can shake a stick at becoming more prominent throughout the late 70s, somehow still managing to keep in line with her traditional aesthetic simultaneously.

“I refuse to wear print.” She’s adamant about it when the possibility of wearing a garment like Mercury’s vest with his cats painted on it comes up. “Geometric doesn’t count; the texture in my wardrobe is always going to be,” she pauses for a moment, searching for the right word, fingers brushing through the fur of the fur-cuffs of a long-sleeved purple velvet number, “diegetic.” She settles on, and it’s clear what she means; patterns on her clothes are always wrought through beads or diamonds or fur or other things attached. “It’s the reason I have it locked, [Lilith Taylor, 7] has left the ‘indiscriminately grabbing things that feel nice’ stage a few years ago, but Rosie [Rosemary Taylor, 4] is just at the tail end of it. They’ll have free reign of this place one day,” she looks around at the fashion legacy she has built for herself, she wears an expression of pride, though it’s more focused on her daughters than the clothes themselves, “but for now I want to keep choking hazards and expensive furs out of danger.”

Around the very end of the 70s to the beginning of the 80s we see a return to form, with the resurgence of her form-fitted cocktail dresses. “There was a lot of change happening in my life at that time, and as much as I enjoy experimenting with my looks, it helped me feel secure to know I was in what was objectively my strong suit, pun not intended.”  According to her, she’d just begun seeing Roger Taylor, and she used her fashion choices to exercise control in her life that she felt she was losing.

“My private life has always been very private, now here I am with the man who trashes drum kits and throws TVs out window; I was so afraid that every time people took a photo of me, or even looked at me, they’d think I was compromising my morals or integrity - which I’m not, and I wasn’t then.” She quickly clarifies. “Our personal history is not void because of where we are now, but Roger and I have also changed as people, and we’re allowed to have our feelings change. I’m honestly a little offended people think I we would have gone through all we did for mere publicity.”

Speaking of Roger, I’m a little surprised her wedding dress isn’t one of those on the mannequins, but I understand her choice, and we’ll certainly get to that soon. Her wedding dress sits at the back of one of the racks, carefully distant from any of the year labels. As she removes it from the garment bag, she gives it a softly nostalgic smile, brushing the fabric gently. “This should really go in my own closet.” It’s unlike most of her other outfits here, such a pale cream it’s almost white, floor-length and sleeveless with a Roman-inspired cinched waist topped with what I hesitate to even call ruffles, their drapings so loose it’s reminiscent of curled hair rather than a traditional ruffle. The material is so soft and light that even on a hanger it looks a little ethereal. It’s simple, elegant, and the very sight of it brings joy to her face.

“’81.” The year is surprising, as is the revelation she shares about how they celebrated their tenth anniversary a few months prior. Putting the dress away, we move to the early eighties, and it’s almost cyclical the way we’re brought back to the ‘Merry Murderess’ aesthetic with the lineup from her ‘The Bend Before The Break’ tour. 

“Everyone and their mother seems to have read the article [All The Queen’s Men, Rolling Stone, 1985] and figured out I was in a shaky place at the time; it’s again about having that modicum (sic) of control. Part of me reverted to portraying myself in the way when I felt like I was at the height of control in my relationships and career. It’s a pretty aesthetic,” she gently pulls a velvet, wine-coloured cocktail dress from the rack, giving it a gentle pat, “it made my stage presence feel good, honestly.” It doesn’t sound bitter, but she puts the dress back. 

Apologising for a moment, she explains the large gap between ‘82 and ‘84, with her Finally, Sunlight tour. “After coming home from the [The Bend Before The Break] tour, I took some time to myself; I was, of course, still writing, but I couldn’t really perform or make any big public appearances after like, July in ‘83, because I was quite pregnant, and, again, I’m a private person.” The Finally, Sunlight tour is known for two things, Giselle wearing gold, silver, and copper, in any and every way she could, and the Atlanta Breakdown.

“I wore metallics because Finally, Sunshine is about my baby girls, and they are so precious to me.” As was made clear in the Rolling Stone article, Giselle and Roger lost one of their twin daughters to illness in Autumn of 1984, though Lilith survived, it took a devastating toll on the couple. Moving past that, we’re finally brought to the crown jewel of the collection; her Live Aid dress.

It’s almost the antithesis to the ‘Merry Murderess’, though it shares a similar neckline and off-the-shoulder style. The Live Aid dress, which Giselle calls ‘Queen Midas’ for reasons I’ll get into later, has a white, crushed velvet bodice with an inbuilt corset, and basque waistline. Beneath the waist is a enough layers of thin and flowing georgette to become completely opaque, like a waterfall from the waistline, the colours fading from a bright, sunshine yellow at the hip, to a rich, sunset orange by the knee, and finally to a smokey, warm-toned charcoal where it brushes the ground, with gold jewels dotted around the bottom and creeping almost to the knee in some sporadic places, reminiscent of embers in a fire. Her gloves are white velvet, and just like with the first of her most iconic outfits, it’s gold sequinned fading to actual glitter and diamonds. 

“I took a hard look at where I was and what I had achieved, and... whether or not I can help it, I effect people, through my music, my actions, through what I wear, and can be a double edged sword. Sometimes it can hurt, or I can hurt others by saying or doing the wrong thing, but sometimes I find myself wanting for nothing; everything I’ve held close has turned to gold. I wanted to show that, to be able to be a part of something that gives back to the world where it’s given me so much.”

With all her most well-known outfits having been covered, there’s one more that comes to the top of my head; the jacket of 1980. The tabloids had a field day with her choice of wardrobe as she stepped out of a car with the rest of Queen wearing a salmon and green floral, double breasted suit jacket, with silver buttons and silver stilettos, with sheer, thigh high white socks held up by a garter belt, hair fashionably messy, but makeup pristine. The deviation from her usual pristine image had shocked both paparazzi and public alike, however the daring outfit had quickly been lauded as one of her best, many publications who ran photos even citing it as the entertainment industry’s hottest innovative look of the decade. Even since it has stood the test of time, and has been attributed to the rise of patterned and bold suit jacket purchases by men and women alike, with the outfit have been cited as inspiration for more than one celebrity’s red carpet look. 

Now, however, something, possibly amusement, possibly annoyance, crosses her face, and she tells me it’s not here. The jacket is Mercury’s. “We were on our way to a party being hosted by [Elton John], and I’d only been with Rog for a few months at this point; so we’re in the back of the limo with the other [members of Queen] and Roger’s spilled his wine on my nice, white cocktail dress.” It seems like a bittersweet memory, and she reminds me of her earlier comment about the ‘wine stain argument’. “In hindsight, everything worked out, but at the time I was absolutely livid; very nearly killed him in that backseat. Poor [John Deacon] literally had to drag me off of him. [It] took both him and Freddie to hold me back when Roger got out once we arrived, and they had the driver circle the block again so I could change into Freddie’s jacket, which he so kindly lent to me.”

From her tone, and her following comments about how her husband likes to bring it up, it seems as though it’s a well worn argument of how Roger Taylor enjoys taking credit for the look, though Giselle doesn’t seem like she enjoys giving him the satisfaction.

“My image has always been about how much I can control what people see of me, and to have that control taken away by a careless action, it really hurt. A man like Roger, in the entertainment industry, is never going to face the kind of scrutiny that I do, it’s the reason you’re here at all, talking to me about fashion rather than say, how difficult it is to be a practicing lawyer in the music industry while raising two beautiful daughters. And I still write music on occasion. But people remember what you show them, how you present yourself; my tour wardrobe is a reflection of the persona I let interact with the world, and it’s beautiful, and a legacy that will probably outlive me to some extent. 

“Do I regret any of my fashion choices? I don’t really have the liberty to, do I? And either way, they’re part of the reason I’m where I am today; I made a niche for myself that was built initially on my aesthetic, if I’m being generous, so I suppose I’ll always be grateful to it.”

[cubetoasty]

One-Horse Town

The town of Pittsburgh was less a town, and more a collection of buildings next to the train station. There was just the one street, boasting a general store, a saloon, a hotel, and a stable. Everything was covered in dust.

Despite himself, Zhenya felt his heart sink. In Russia, his family had been farmers. He was used to a lot of open space, but he wasn’t yet used to how new everything in North America was. Out here, they were literally carving a space for themselves out of the wilderness. Hell, even the wooden planks of this train station looked brand new.

Still, maybe that was for the best. He hadn’t had any luck in the busier cities of the east coast. They said that anyone could make a place for themselves out west, if they had a little bit of luck and a lot of grit. Zhenya could supply the latter. All he needed was the former.

He had just decided to head to the saloon to get a bite to eat and to inquire about how one would go about purchasing land, when the sound of raised voices stopped him.

Just outside of the station, a man had clearly been in the process of loading goods from the general store into a wagon when the altercation began. The man who had accosted him was handsome enough, if you liked that sort of thing, but Zhenya thought he looked rather—smug, maybe—for his tastes. He was dressed to the nines, and his shoes were shiny, despite the dust that covered everything in this little town. The other man, though—the other man was breathtaking.

He had dark curly hair just long enough to brush his chin, and a wide full mouth. He was wearing simpler clothes than the other man, but the clothes did nothing to hide his full, strong figure. Zhenya’s mouth went a little dry.

He drew close enough to hear what they were saying.

“—really, Sidney, you can’t keep this up forever.” The smug man was holding the other’s arm, and was leaning a little too close for Zhenya’s liking. “Just you and Taylor alone out there, on that big farm? You know you need a man to take care of you.”

The other man—Sidney—clenched his jaw and seemed to instinctively lean away from the smug man. “Thank you, as always, for your concern, Todd, but I’ve told you again and again that I’m not interested.”

Todd tutted condescendingly. “It was terrible what happened to your parents, but you know, and I know, that you can’t keep that big farm running forever. It’s too much for you to handle. Think about Taylor. Doesn’t she deserve better?” He leaned in closer and rubbed his thumb along Sidney’s arm. Sidney shivered in disgust, looking sick. “I’ll take real good care of the farm, and of you.”

The man’s lecherous eyes were making Zhenya sick to watch. It was clear that there were men everywhere who would seek to profit from others’ misfortunes. It surely didn’t hurt anything for the man that Sidney was beautiful.

“Sidney, be reasonable—” Todd continued, but Zhenya had had enough.

He stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Excuse me?”

Both looked up at him. He was significantly taller than them both, and he stretched to his full height to make sure that Todd understood that.

“Who are you?” Todd said belligerently.

Zhenya just smiled. The smile had teeth.

“Evgeni Malkin. New in town.” He extended his hand, which forced Todd to let go of Sidney’s arm to shake it. Zhenya squeezed. Tight. Todd winced and pulled back.

“Time for you to go, I think,” Zhenya suggested.

Todd scowled and opened his mouth, but then took another look at Zhenya’s face, and size, and seemed to realize that it wasn’t really a suggestion. He turned to Sidney and said, “You can’t keep putting this off forever. I’ll see you soon.”

“Goodbye, Todd,” Sidney said firmly, but when Todd turned and stomped away Zhenya saw the hopeless look on his face.

“You alright?” Zhenya asked.

Sidney shook himself, and put on a smile that Zhenya could tell was fake. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry about that, Todd and I were just having . . . a discussion.”

“Look like you not want that discussion.”

Sidney winced, but before he could say anything a little girl ran out of the general store. She looked about six and had two blonde braids. Her pinafore was worn-looking, but clean.

“Sid!” she shouted excitedly. “Look what Miss Vero gave me!” She was holding up a small length of bright blue ribbon.

A brown-haired woman came to the doorway of the general store and Sid gave her a weary, grateful look, to which she responded with a nod. She had clearly seen everything that had been going on outside, and had kept the girl inside.

“That’s lovely, Taylor,” Sidney said. “Did you thank Miss Vero?”

“Yes!”  Taylor stopped and looked up, and then up, at Zhenya. “You’re new. Who are you?”

“Taylor!” Sidney scolded. “Be polite.”

Zhenya grinned. “Is okay.” He crouched down to be more on Taylor’s level. “Yes, you’re right, I’m new to town. My name is Evgeni Malkin, but you can call Geno. Maybe little more easy for you to say.”

Taylor made face as she tried and failed to pronounce “Evgeni.” “You sound strange,” she said.

“Taylor!” Sidney looked red, now. “Don’t tell people they sound strange.”

Zhenya just chuckled. “Is okay, I do sound little strange, to her. I’m from Russia,” he told them, standing back up. “I’m here to start a farm, maybe.”

Sidney looked thoughtful. “It might be a little tricky for you to get land around here; most of it’s been bought up already. You might have more luck further west.”

“Oh, I see, you want me to leave?”

“No!” Sidney turned bright red. “That wasn’t what I meant, I just—oh. You’re teasing me.”

Zhenya let himself laugh. “Sorry.”

Sidney glared at him, ears still red, but Zhenya could see the smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. Zhenya turned to Taylor. “Does store have candy?” he asked her.

“Yes, lots of kinds.”

“Will you pick favorite and buy for me?” He handed her a few pennies. “Get one for you, too.”

Taylor bounced up and down. “Really? I mean—” she threw a look at Sidney. “Thank you.”

Zhenya grinned at her. “No, thank you.”

Taylor went into the store, and then Zhenya turned to Sidney with a more solemn look. “That man before—he bother you lots?”

Sidney looked stricken. “Oh,” he said quietly. “You did hear all that.”

Zhenya grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, not mean to pry. Just—worried. He want your farm?”

Sidney sighed. “We have a good bit of land, right by the creek. And well—” he flushed becomingly. “I don’t think that’s all he wants.” He looked tired, all of a sudden.  “He’s an unpleasant man, but he’s not wrong. Taylor and I can’t do this alone for much longer.”

“You need help with your farm?”

Sidney gave a tight smile. “You could say that, again. After my parents—” he swallowed “—passed, it’s just been me and my little sister, Taylor. One person can’t run a farm alone.”

Zhenya thought quickly. He was here to get his own land, but, well, Sidney was right. It would be really difficult to run a farm alone. And Sidney had just suffered the death of his parents, so he was vulnerable right now. That, plus his looks, surely drew unscrupulous men like flies to honey. He could use someone to keep those scavengers away.  Zhenya could do that, for a little bit.  Once Sidney and Taylor were set up better, he could find some land of his own, or, failing that, he could always move on further west.

His mother always said he was too spontaneous, but, well, once he made up his mind he wasn’t the kind of man to change it. “You want help?”

“Pardon?”

“You need help, with farm? You say is no land here.  I could work for you little bit, before I go more west.”

“Oh, I—” Sidney hesitated, eyes wide. “I couldn’t pay you.”

Zhenya waved a hand impatiently. “Is okay. Just food and place to stay is fine with me. I’m in no hurry. Also, never farmed here in America. Maybe is different from Russia, little bit. Would be good to learn.”

“Well—” Sidney bit his delicious bottom lip. “The crops probably are slightly different here. Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, okay. Another set of hands around would surely help.” Sidney smiled at him. This was the first time Zhenya had seen Sidney smile, and the effect it had on Sidney’s already-beautiful face almost knocked him back a pace. Zhenya’s heart abruptly turned over with a hard thump, and then sunk to his boots.  Maybe his motives in offering his help hadn’t been as altruistic as he thought. But if Zhenya took advantage of this situation to make advances on Sidney, he would be just as bad as Todd. He absolutely could not do that.  He would just have to behave as an honorable man and keep his distance.

“It’s a small place, but we’d be glad to have you,” Sidney continued. “It’s only a two-room. You don’t mind sharing with me, do you?”

Oh no. He might have made a terrible mistake.

[thatbluegibson]

CH 23

“You literally live two houses away?” Liz asked, dropping her helmet on the seat of the sidecar.

“Yep,” Dave replied, watching the garage door close behind them. “And Taylor lives three houses down. We like to wave to each other from our decks.”

“Bunch of goddamn dorks,” Liz said just loud enough for him to hear.

Dave just smiled and held the door to the house for her. She tried to appear impassive, but every bit of her was on edge. Finding herself in a hallway, she watched Dave close the door behind them and walk right past her into the dark. A moment later, the room was flooded by several bright overhead lights causing Liz to shut her eyes tight.

“Shit, sorry,” she heard Dave mutter and the sound of light switches being flipped.

She opened one eye to see Dave standing in a starkly bare kitchen, his hand still adjusting a dimmer switch. Looking around, she was surprised at how normal the house was. The hallway she was in opened into a small front entry that led to the kitchen and dining room. Beyond the dining room and on the other side of the hallway wall was a living room with a couch, a stack of half empty boxes and a single acoustic guitar leaning against the wall. A staircase to the upstairs was directly across the entry way from the hallway Liz was in.

“It’s a little depressing,” Dave admitted, looking around. “I haven’t had time to find anything more permanent since I lived between a fucking airplane and bus all last year.”

Liz remained in the hallway, not sure what to say. She had just gone through all this herself, uprooting, relocating, readjusting… it all fucking sucked. She tried to imagine what she would want him to say if she had brought him over to her little farmhouse when it was empty and sad, then remembered it was just her that was empty and sad. Before she realized what she was doing, she ran up to Dave and wrapped her arms around his waist with such force that he staggered backwards into the counter behind him. She leaned her head into his chest and sighed.

Dave looked down at the top of Liz’s head, momentarily stunned by her embrace. He slowly draped his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on her head. They stood like that for awhile before Liz took a breath.

“At least you have a dishwasher,” she muttered.

Dave lifted his head and looked over at the stainless steel appliance next to them.

“You don’t have a dishwasher?” he asked, bewildered.

Liz shook her head against her chest. “I’d have to knock out an entire bank of cabinets and I’d rather not do that in the dead of winter.”

“Do you live on a fucking commune?” he asked. Who didn’t have a dishwasher?

He felt her laugh a little. “I live on a farm, dummy!” she looked up at him, but didn’t release her hold on his waist.

Dave’s eyes went wide for a second. “I’m just now realizing that I know very little to nothing about you, Liz.”

“All right,” Liz said, pulling away from him and leaning against the island across from him. “What do you want to know?”

Everything, he thought. “Start with this Farmer Liz business.”

She shrugged. “I bought a little farm north of my hometown. The schools are good, the neighbors are far away and the tractor came free.”

“Do you like, grow shit?” Dave was not prepared for this conversation, at all.

“No, the neighbors ‘grow shit’,” she laughed, “They have cattle and chickens.”

“Do you have chickens?” Dave leaned forward, for some inexplicable reason he was excited about the prospect of Liz owning chickens.

“A few! Just for the eggs and the bug control. I haven’t had to butcher one yet,” she explained as if it were a normal thing in the San Fernando Valley.

Dave made a face at the mention of butchering, but went on. “So you grow, what? Crops?”

Liz nodded, enjoying every look on his face. “Mostly alfalfa, but I have fruit trees, a good size vegetable patch and a greenhouse.”

Dave narrowed his eyes at her, “What’s in the greenhouse, Liz?”

“Weed,” she said simply.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

“I’m a licensed state producer!” her voice sounded a little defensive.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Dave said, stepping closer to her.

Liz just shook her head, now worried about his reaction.

He took a deep breath, “First I find out that you’re related to my bass player, then I find out that you’ve had some mystery plastic surgery, which I’m working up to so don’t think you’ll be skirting around that, Elizabeth,” she smiled as he poked her shoulder with his finger, “and then you decide to just drop the fucking nuclear bomb that you’re a goddamn weed farmer?”

Liz smiled at the incredulous look on his face. “It’s good weed, too,” she said quietly.

Dave threw his hands in the air, “I bet it fucking is!” he cried.

“You wanna hear about the brewery or should we leave that one for another day?” she laughed.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dave shook his head. “We’ll get back to that one in a bit. I have a mental list I’m trying to get through here.”

“Okay,” she said, pulling herself onto the island she was leaning on. She felt instantly more at ease at his eye level. “Let’s go.”

“Plastic surgery,” he pointed at her, “Go.”

“Boobs. I was 25 and it was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. Next.”

Dave hesitated a moment, his mouth hanging open, trying to register what she just said. “They don’t look fake,” he said, glancing down at her white shirt.

“Not all boob jobs are triple D’s, dude,” she replied, looking down her own shirt.

“I’d like to come back to that one, but let’s move on” he said slowly. “What the fuck does your dad do to know DeGrasse Tyson?”

“Budget manager for a science foundation. He allocates federal funds into the proper ch-,” she stopped short when Dave interrupted her.

“Okay, that’s too complicated for me right now. Any tattoos? Felonies?”

“Yes and no. Next.”

“No, not next,” he waved a finger in her face and moved the one step closer so he was touching her legs. “Tattoo showdown. Now. Let’s go.”

Liz felt herself panic a little, then shoved her wrist towards him. Dave grabbed her forearm and ran his thumb over the delicate black feather on her wrist he had noticed the night he met her. She gently pushed him back a step and slid off the counter. Pulling up her shirt, she turned a bit so he could see Paul’s handwritten ‘Blackbird, fly’ lyric on her side just below her black bra strap. She felt a chill up her spine when he placed his hand on her rib cage and dragged his thumb over the ink.

“What, are you checking to make sure they don’t wipe off?” she quipped, trying to steady her breathing.

He ignored her question and traced the tattoo again, “Are they all Beatles related?”

She shook her head and dropped her shirt, but Dave kept his hand on her ribs. He slid his free hand under her jaw and pulled her to him. Just as she was about to kiss him, she whispered against his lips.

“I have all the lyrics to Rainbow in the Dark on my lower back.” She watched as his eyes half opened to look at her. “I really love Dio,” she breathed, still pressed against him.

Before she knew what was happening, he had her spun around and bent her over the island. He gripped her right forearm and used his left hand to move her shirt, exposing her tattoo-free lower back. Liz’s breathing faltered when she felt a distantly familiar heat pool between her thighs at his simultaneous aggression and gentleness. She laid her head against the cool counter top and closed her eyes. “You’re pretty aggressive for someone that played with Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem,” she muttered. 

“It wasn’t Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem, it was The Moopets. And you’re pretty fucking sassy for a Disney princess,” he replied, pulling her back upright.

Liz made a face at the princess reference, “Any other questions for me, Mr. Letterman?”

Dave put both his hands on the island on either side of Liz so his face was inches from hers.

“Tell me your name,” he tried, but Liz only smiled.

“Okay… What gang is Travis in?” he had overheard Nate earlier and didn’t like the sound of any of it.

“It’s not a gang, per say,” she shrugged. “My grandfather and his brother started a motorcycle club after the war and it turned into a… thing.”

“Hell’s Angels?” he felt a little nervous at the prospect of Liz being involved in something like that.

She laughed, “Fuck no. Just a bunch of guys that love bikes. They race and have chapters, but have no business other than charity stuff.”

“So your entire security team is a bunch of dudes with motorcycles.”

“Out of six, three of them are ex-military. Travis was a SEAL,” she said quietly.

Dave made a mental note to look all this up later. “Are you in this… what?… club?”

“Nope. No girls allowed,” she shrugged. “One of the original rules, ‘No dope, no dukes and no dames.”

“The fuck is a duke?”

“I was told it meant rich men that avoided the draft, but I think it evolved into meaning Ducati, since only allied-made bikes are allowed in.”

Dave stayed quiet, absorbing all the new information.

“Pops, my mom’s dad, taught me how to ride on a dirt track when I was six,” Liz said, her voice almost a whisper. “I crashed hard when I was nine, totally fucking up my side and Pops freaked out. He wrote my sister and me into the books and now every member, whether they know us or not, makes an oath to look after us. … which we hated,” she laughed a little, “Try going on a date when five massive Harley owners in leather vests are sitting in the next booth.”

Dave looked over her shoulder to his front door, “They aren’t here now, are they?” he feigned worry.

“No, Travis and I have a… comfortable agreement,” she laughed softly.

He searched her face for a moment. “Who was that kid next to you in Nate’s photo?” he asked quietly before immediately regretting it.

Liz’s eyes dilated before looking straight to the floor. She crossed her arms in front of herself and her breathing sped up.

“Whoa,” Dave stepped back, moving his hands to hold her upper arms. “We’ll skip that one, okay?”

Liz nodded quickly and shook her head. “Sorry,” she breathed, desperately fighting off a looming panic attack. She took a few deep breaths, her eyes still on the tile floor in front of her, then looked back up. Her green eyes were wide and a little afraid, Dave made a mental note to ask Nate who that kid was and what he did to cause a complete 180 in Liz.

“Better,” she forced a smile.

“We okay?” he asked, watching her eyes slowly return to normal.

She closed the space between them, put her arms around his shoulders and kissed him.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, we’re good.”

[kariachi]

@thenixkat commissioned some Martin Mystery fic, and so she receives it.

How a paisley skirt got Martin in with a sorority

First order of business when he got back to Torrington, apologize to Diana for ever giving her shit about how long she took to shop. Getting the cheerleader outfit had been easy, all the sports uniforms were ordered out of the same catalog and it was easy to get a hold of one, all he’d had to do was order the largest size they had available and he was golden. Sure, there had been no way he was going to fit into the top, his shoulders were too broad and he didn’t have enough tit to fill it, but the first decent-looking crop top he’d grabbed at the thrift store had worked like a dream.

Apparently, he’d gotten very, very lucky on that one, because actually shopping for these things was proving to be a nightmare.

He’d gone for an actual store this time, assuming that that would mean a better selection of things that actually looked good. It had seemed reasonable at the time. All the skirts and dresses at the thrift store had ranged from ‘prom dress’ to ‘went out of style twenty years ago’ to ‘I could not tuck my junk enough to make this work’ to ‘holy shit that’s ugly’, which he had assumed was why they were donated. Theoretically an actual serious store would have better options.

As near as he could tell it did not have better options. He was just doomed.

“Hold up, Martin? Martin Mystery?” A quick turn revealed a pair of girls a few displays over, ones he recognized from school. It was like flipping a switch, one instant he was leafing through a display, the next he was stood beside one of the girls- with short, red-dyed hair, wearing a leather choker- a skirt still in one hand, pouring on every ounce of charm.

“Hey! Ivy right? Fancy meeting you here…” Ivy was distinctly unimpressed.

“Lesbian,” she said simply and Martin briefly deflated before turning his attention to her blonde-haired companion.

“And Tessa-” She put a hand on Ivy’s shoulder.

“Girlfriend.” Martin frowned, shoulders slumping.

“Damn. So close…” The girls just shook their heads, each in a different stage of smirk.

“Not really, no.” Ivy reached out and grabbed away the skirt in Martin’s hand. “Tell me you weren’t going to buy this? Paisley went out of fashion like, thirty years ago.” Truth be told, Martin hadn’t entirely been planning to, it was not a good-looking skirt, but…

“There’s not exactly a lot that fits around here.” The girls’ lips quirked into slight frowns and each looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He raised one of his own in challenge- he was still a bit miffed about M.O.M. gasping at the sight of him in a skirt and raring for somebody else to dare start. Comebacks had been planned. After a moment, Tessa seemed to put the pieces together.

“You’re buying skirts, for you?” she asked in a tone that bore no judgement but did seek clarification. Martin smiled at her.

“What can I say,” he said, shrugging, “they’re comfortable and I make them look good.” That got a laugh out of them. Okay, more an amused snort out of Lily and a hidden chuckle from Tessa, but it was the most success he’d had with a girl in a month and he was going to roll with it.

Figured that it’d be a pair of lesbians that found him funny.

The girls looked him over appraisingly, Ivy resting her chin in her hand. A few seconds in she nodded, grabbed Tessa’s arm, and led her a few feet away. Immediately they fell into a huddle. Martin snuck after them to listen in.

“I saw him in that cheerleader outfit, he does have some curves.”

“It’s not curves I’m worried about, it’s those fucking shoulders.”

“Okay, point. So, we avoid sleeves.”

“Look around you, sweetheart.” Ivy’s head popped up just long enough to get the lay of the land and give Martin a Look for following them, then went back down.

“I’m beginning to see how he ended up at the paisley.”

“Exactly.” She chewed her lip, then both get quieter as they continued their conversation. By the time they finished Martin had turned around and begun going through a nearby display of tops. Blouses, definitely not his thing.

“Martin.” He looked back up, smiling as Ivy called him. She continued before he could get his mouth fully open. “Meet us up front in five, we’re hitting a different store.”

~~

“Oh God, never let me hold anything purple up to him again.”

“It wasn’t that bad…”

“It made him look like he’d crawled out of a crypt!” Sighing, Tessa shook her head.

“Sorry Martin, looks like the royal color just isn’t for you.”

“I did say I look best in reds and yellows,” he said, gesturing at his familiar shirt. “It looked nice otherwise though.” Ivy nodded.

“Yeah, fit and flair might just work for you.”

“Okay then,” Tessa grinned as she spoke, “we’re looking for things with fitted tops then, in warm colors and neutrals. Some of the girls back at school know how to alter shit, so we shouldn’t have to worry too much about any excess boob room. Sound like a plan?” Martin and Ivy grinned back at her.

“Sounds like a plan.”

~~

Martin was fairly certain the dress was too short for him as soon as he put it on. An opinion that was confirmed as soon as he stepped out of the dressing room, when Tessa clapped a hand over her eyes and Ivy’s went impossibly wide.

“Okay that, that’s too damn short,” she said, patting her girlfriend’s shoulder comfortingly and he nodded in agreement, trying to pull the dress down some.

“I’m, just gonna go put on some actual clothes,” Martin said, heading back into the dressing room. Tessa whimpered quietly.

“I’ve gone blind.”

“That is a good idea, Martin…”

~~

“You are not bringing Martin Mystery in here.” Normally Martin would’ve been overjoyed to be partially dragged into a room full of hot girls, but even he was given pause by the stern look the new blonde was giving them.

“Martin, this is Sarah, President of the Psi Psi Psi sorority,” Ivy said, one hand on his arm and the other holding one of the many bags the three had managed to accumulate. Martin had the rest. “We needed back-up, Sarah, his hair is impossible. Sit down.” Tessa had dashed off to get him a seat and Martin followed the command readily. He’d been on his feet all day, and on Center work half the night, the chance to take a load off was more than welcome. The other girls looked around the cleared classroom at each other. Sarah’s head fell into one hand.

“Do I even want to know?” she asked as Ivy stepped away to talk a curly-haired brunette into helping tame Martin’s mane. Tessa shrugged at her.

“I’m not entirely sure,” she responded, “one minute we were helping him find skirts that fit and the next Ivy’s trying to make his hair follow the laws of gravity. By the way-” she grabbed one of Martin’s bags and held it up “-Eva, you know how to alter clothes, right? Think you could make these tops, not need tits to look good?” As if she was pretty sure she was dreaming, another brunette Martin had to assume was Eva stood up and took the bag.

“I’ll, see what I can do?”

“Thanks.” Meanwhile, the girl Ivy had been speaking too- Taylor- had come over and started looking at Martin’s hair.

“What do you do with it?”

“Nothing,” he said, “it’s just sorta like this. My dad’s too. It’s a family thing.” She stared at him, then at his hair, then back at him.

“You are so weird…” Shaking her head, she turned to Ivy. “I’m going to need a brush, some hair spray, any clips and accessories you can find-” she stole another glance at Martin’s hair “-and possibly some holy water.”

“On it.” As Ivy gathered Tessa up and left to find the required items, Sarah sighed.

“Are we really doing this?” she asked nobody in particular. “And with this moron?”

“Hey!” A redhead put her hand on her shoulder, shrugging with a smile.

“Well, we were trying to decide on something to do.”

~~

“-but what a lot of people don’t know,” Martin said, surveying his small audience, “is that male selkies are just as hot as their sisters and they can control the weather. There’s one village that got wiped right off the coast because they pissed off a selkie family and they pretty much dropped the sea right on top of them.”

“Cool!” He had to admit, he was having fun. Yeah he got whacked with a hairbrush every time he tried to flirt, and sometimes he’d say something and half the girls would throw pencils and things at him, but it turned out there was a sizeable portion of the sorority that were more than happy to talk monsters and mythical beasts with him. Besides, how could he not enjoy alternating his time between standing there with pretty girls measuring his chest and holding dresses up to him and sitting there with three pretty girls crowded around his hair?

“Okay, here’s a question, would you put Asian dragons in the same category as western dragons?” Martin thought about it a second, leaning back.

“Related, but not the same. Cousins maybe.”

“...makes sense.” A few of the girls nodded and Martin did so with them, only to get another knock upside the head.

“Stop moving, Mystery, getting your hair flat’s hard enough already!”

~~

“That’s it, we’re shaving his head!”

“Darcy no!”

~~

By the time he left, he had a bunch of clothes, four movie recommendations, three book recommendations, and a list of suggestions in case he ever decided to try out make-up.

Also, a contract stating that he’d keep his wig, wear it, and spare any other poor souls from trying to style his fucking hair, which he had every intention of getting framed.

~~

Huffing, Martin stared down at the tube top in his hand, fingers wriggling through the massive hole in the side. The Center had called the day before and he hadn’t had time to change completely- he had no intention of going in front of M.O.M. in a mini again- so he’d just thrown his usual shirts on over his top. It had worked fine, nobody was left waiting around, he was dressed appropriately, it was great.

Then he’d felt the seam pop.

Turned out this particular top was not made to withstand athletics. At least not when Martin was wearing it.

After giving himself a little more time to wallow, he huffed again, got off his bed, and headed out the door with the top balled up in his fist. First things first, he swung by the student office to check what dorm he was heading for, then beelined, being extra cautious once he made it to the right hall. Diana’s room was one of the earlier of the girl’s dorms and if she found him past it he was pretty sure she’d take his head clean off his shoulders. And then tell their mom. It was a threat he kept in mind even as he found the right door and knocked.

“Martin,” Jade asked when she opened the door, head tilting as she eyed him suspiciously, “what are you doing here?” He flashed a toothy smile at her, and at the handful of other Psi Psi Psi girls in her dorm, holding out his top.

“I was wondering if you knew how to fix a split seam.” She took it and looked it over, raising an eyebrow at him when she found the hole. “Don’t parkour in a tube top.” With a snort of laughter, she rolled her eyes.

“It’s an easy enough fix,” she said, then looked back into the room and at the girls and hesitated. “We were about to start a movie marathon,” she finally said, with small motions of tentative approval from the others, “if you want to join?” Martin grinned wider and slipped in passed her.

“Sure!” Aria and Sophia scooted aside on the bed so he could flop down between them, smiling at him as he got comfortable. “What are we watching?”

~~

“I’m telling you, the whole thing would’ve made a lot more sense if she’d turned out to be a moleman!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…”

“No, no, I’m with him on this one-”

~~

“Marty!” Lil grabbed his arm halfway down the hall to Biology, a massive grin on her face and a thick black book in her hand. She shoved it at Martin as he smiled back at her.

“Uzumaki?” He flipped through the pages curiously. It was a manga, a thick one.

“I saw it at the thrift store yesterday,” Lil said, “and I’ve already got it but I thought ‘Junji Ito is right up Martin’s alley’. So, I got it for you.” Martin nodded.

“Thanks, Lil,” he said as he put it into his bag, “I’ll try to read it tonight.” If anything she smiled wider.

“Awesome,” she said, turning back down the hall. “See ya, Marty. And try not to fall asleep in class today?” He gave her a brief wave as she went.

“No promises.”

~~

“Why didn’t you warn me, Lil? Those poor snail-people!” Lil blinked the sleep from her eyes, supporting herself on her half-open door.

“I take it you’re enjoying the manga, Martin?”

“They didn’t even do anything!” He was clutching the hardcover to his chest, as he had been since he’d started his trek to the girls’ dorm to confront Lil about the affront to basic humanity that had occurred in it. “All they did was run away and have babies! That’s it!”

“Glad you’re having fun.”

“And that, fucking monster goes and destroys their nest! Why?! Just because they’re snail-people?! Who does that?! Those eggs were completely innocent!”

“Goodnight, Marty.” The door slowly shut.

“Innocent, Lil!”

~~

By the next morning, Martin had left her twelve missed calls.

~~

He met up with Madeline outside the empty classroom where the sorority held their meetings, and where he’d been waiting for fifteen minutes for the last one to finish up. Even he felt a little bit skeevy lying in wait for her, especially given what he wanted to discuss, but it wasn’t worth interrupting a meeting for and she kept busy enough to be hard to get a hold of the rest of the time. So, Martin’d waited, flashed the other girls smiles and exchanged quick hellos as they passed, then fell into step beside her.

“We might have a problem,” he said, and she raised a curious eyebrow.

“Oh?” He nodded.

“I’m worried about your new thing with Anthony.” She stopped there, swinging around to stand in front of him. Her eyes were narrowed and her mouth a thin line.

“Hold up, you’re going to warn me off my boyfriend?” Martin reeled back at the incredulity in her voice.

“Hey, what’s with the tone,” he demanded, “I’m just trying to help!”

“We all like you Martin,” Madeline said, raising a brow, “but no girl with a brain is going to take any sort’ve boyfriend warning from you.” He was hurt, truly, honestly, as she turned around and kept walking.

“He was talking about putting another notch in his belt in the locker room before gym,” he said as if she’d never shut him down in the first place. She stopped and looked at him with suspicion. “I was gonna just challenge him to a duel, you know, Highlander, ‘there can only be one playboy in this school’ style, but I left my sword at home during the last break. So, I figured I’d just tell you.” She couldn’t resist chuckling when he pantomimed a swordfight, and shook her head with a sigh.

“See you later, Martin.”

~~

It was four days later when she grabbed his arm in the middle of the courtyard and began dragging him towards the cafeteria, snarl on her face and tears in her eyes.

“You are buying me ice cream and then you are going to explain why you boys are all such dicks.” He blinked at her and let himself be pulled along.

“Sure thing, Maddie.”

~~

After forty minutes in the feminine hygiene aisle of the local drugstore, two confused employees, six calls back to confirm that yes Darcy needs these, no nobody else can get them, just get the damn things already what’s taking so long, and the slowly dawning realization that there was no ‘Panda’ company that made pads, Martin stormed into the Psi Psi Psi meeting room only to be greeted by a crowd of laughing girls. He made sure to glare at each and every one of them.

“You are all, every one of you, an asshole.” Shaking in her laughter, Sarah walked across the room and pulled him into a side hug.

“Takes one to know one, Marty.”

~~

“Martin Mystery, stand up.” Martin blinked, looking around at the girls, before complying. Sarah, Paige, and Arianna were standing at the head of the room, straight-backed and serious, and he was suddenly concerned about having been invited to this meeting. “The Psi Psi Psi council has thought a long, long, long time, had many discussions on this topic, and have finally come to a hard-made decision.” She went quiet, looking around the room at the other girls. Martin adjusted his dress for the sake of fidgeting. After an eternal second, Sarah smiled at him.

“We’d like to formally invite you into the Psi Psi Psi Sisterhood.” He froze. What? ‘Formally invite…’ For real? A grin broke over his face. Cool. Taking a moment to let it sink in and plan his response, he gave her a toothy smirk. It was too big an opening not to take.

“See, I knew you girls couldn’t resist me.” A chorus of groans broke out around him and he was immediately bombarded with everything from snacks to paper balls to hairbands. But, when the chaos died down, all the girls were smiling. Including Sarah.

“And of course, now,” she said, “your first order of sorority business.” Her smile took a sinister, teasing turn. “The next time you flirt with a sister we’re shaving your fucking head.”

[schraubd]

Boxing Roundup: June 1, 2019

Haven't done one of these in awhile! But it was a big night of fights, even though I missed the PBC show on FS1. Oh, I recorded it -- it's just that virtually all of it ended up airing on FS2 because some college baseball game ran long, and then the main event came out after the bloc was already scheduled to have concluded. So quickly, before moving on to the far more interesting DAZN card.... Willie Monroe Jr. (24-3, 6 KOs) UD10 Hugo Centeno Jr. (27-3, 14 KOs) We knew a lot more about Monroe coming in than we did Centeno. Monroe is a slickster who can generally outbox anyone on the B-level of the division, but really can't hang with the top dogs. Centeno was someone whose only losses came to some pretty elite fighters -- Maciej Sulecki and Jermall Charlo -- and so the question was whether he was an A-level fighter who happened to lose when matched at the very top, or was a B-level fighter who'd already seen his peak exposed. Looks like it's Door #2. This is a good win for Monroe, but it doesn't really change his position -- someone with basically zero chance to beat a Canelo or a Golovkin (who already smoked him), but might get the call to step-in as a semi-credible tune-up during a lull period. Ivan Redkach (23-4-1, 18 KOs) KO6 Devon Alexander (27-6-1, 14 KOs) Mild upset here. Alexander actually looked to be on the rebound after a long layoff battling painkiller addiction, which is an odd thing to say about a guy who was 0-1-1 in his last two fights, but most people thought he deserved the W against both Victor Ortiz and Andre Berto. Redkach was a one-time prospect who already seemed to have hit a ceiling and was seem more as a fun but limited action guy. But he caught Alexander good in round six, putting him down three times and earning the knockout. This probably ends Alexander's career at anything close to the top level, but it honestly doesn't make me feel ready to reevaluate Redkach just yet. Okay, with that out of the way, onto ... DAZN! Joshua Buatsi (11-0, 9 KOs) TKO4 Marco Antonio Periban (25-5-1, 16 KOs) A good step up for Buatsi against a former title challenger, albeit one who hadn't fought in two years. Periban tried, but he Buatsi was way too big and probably always too skilled to really ever be threatened. Periban is probably a permanent gatekeeper now, assuming he even decides to step back into the ring, which is far from clear. Buatsi is by no means a finished product, but he's got a lot of upside. Chris Algeri (24-3, 9 KOs) RTD8  Tommy Coyle (25-5, 12 KOs) Well, well. Someone finally let Chris Algeri out of the cage. After a long retirement lay-off following a beatdown from Errol Spence, Algeri looks rested, refreshed, and maybe a little more powerful than he did during his spotlight years following his upset win over Ruslan Provodnikov in 2014. He survived a bit of a scare in round two, and the body shot he put Coyle down with in round four was positively wicked. A fun action fight while it lasted, but Algeri definitely put his stamp on it. Can he compete with the top welterweights. No, it'd be the same slaughter we've already seen. Would, say, a fight against fellow Long Islander Cletus Seldin (assuming he gets past Zab Judah -- yep, that Zab Judah) be a fun time for all? I think so. Coyle was already sounding like he had one foot out the door on his career, and this loss probably will hasten that process. He might do a farewell fight back home in the UK, but I suspect that'll do it. Josh Kelly (9-0-1, 6 KOs) D10 Ray Robinson (24-3-2, 12 KOs) Robinson spoils an up-and-comer for the second straight fight, and comes out of it with a draw for the second straight fight. Kelly seems like one of those dime-a-dozen Prince Naseem Hamed wannabes that always seem to be coming up the ranks. It's not that he has no skill (he does) or no athleticism (he does). But he's just not as good as he thinks he is, and it showed against Robinson. I wasn't judging too closely, but I might have thought Kelly nonetheless deserved the edge even as he clearly faded late. But I have no quarrels with a draw (and I know many other observers thought it was Kelly who got lucky here). Callum Smith (26-0, 19 KOs) TKO3 Hassan N'Dam N'Jikam (37-4, 21 KOs) Callum Smith is widely considered the best of the "fighting Smith brothers" (that'd be Callum, Liam, Paul, and Stephen). He certainly impressed here, although I'd say he pretty much did as expected. N'Dam -- who lacks a nickname as a fighter, which to this day baffles me since he should obviously be dubbed Hassan "Bam Bam" N'Dam N'Jikam -- is the real-boy equivalent of one of those punch-a-clown dummies. He goes down easy, but he always gets back up. He went down six times against Peter Quillin, was quite competitive during the rounds he stayed on his feet (I remember quipped at the time that "he's doing pretty well except for the times he's getting his ass kicked"). Anyway, Smith -- who had size and skill advantages over N'Dam -- put him down in each of the first three rounds. The third knockdown was particularly vicious, and while N'Dam naturally got to his feet, the referee waved it off. Unlike Willie Monroe, I think Callum Smith would make a genuinely interesting match-up against Canelo Alvarez if the latter felt like fully moving up. Katie Taylor (14-0, 6 KOs) MD10 Delfine Persoon (43-2, 18 KOs) There is an emergent narrative about women's boxing today, one I largely subscribe to. Basically, it holds that the women's amateur game right now is leaps and bounds ahead of where it was even a decade ago. Hence, the incoming crop of "prospects" coming out of the amateurs -- folks like Katie Taylor and Claressa Shields -- are just on a different level than even the "experienced" champions in the professional game. They're better schooled, they're stronger technically, and they've fought more consistent high-level opposition. We saw the difference when, in a highly-anticipated unification matchup, Claressa Shields ended up just running over long-time champion Christina Hammer. Yes, Shields is that good. But also her generation of fighter is just better than the one that came before, and that, as much as anything else, was what was on display in Hammer vs. Shields. That narrative explains why Katie Taylor came in as a huge favorite against Delfine Persoon, despite the latter's glittering record and near-decade long title reign. Yes, Persoon was undefeated for the past nine years. But as Teddy Atlas would put it -- against who? Against who? There was probably nobody on Persoon's resume with skills anywhere close to the top amateurs Taylor had fought regularly. Yet Persoon did her darndest to upset the story. And most observers -- myself included -- thought she ultimately deserved the nod, or at least a draw. Katie Taylor was very lucky to come away with a victory. And Delfine Persoon showed that she was every bit on the level of the very top, elite women fighting today. To be sure, it was clear that Taylor was the more skilled and well-schooled fighter in the ring. But Persoon came in with an aggressive, gritty gameplan that sought to disrupt Taylor's rhythm and turn the fight into a brawl -- which she was successful at over large periods. Taylor was most effective when she could keep distance and run Persoon into check hooks on her way inside. But Persoon, though a bit dirty and more than a bit awkward, wasn't some mindless aggressor either -- she made adjustments, and by the end of the fight really had Taylor hanging for dear life. There's a fair case that, if this was a 12 round fight over 3 minute rounds, Persoon could have gotten a stoppage (side bar: women's boxing should have 3 minute rounds and the same number of rounds as the men's game. Full stop. The 2 minute round set-up is just the most prominent example of patronizing sexism that afflicts the women's game). But let's not mislead: this wasn't the story of the talented but inexperienced starlet looking lost against the cagey, grizzled veteran and then getting gifted a decision. Taylor had a gameplan too, and had more than her share of moments. What we had was simply a great fight, perhaps the best fight we've seen to date in high-level women's boxing. Persoon was absolutely crushed when the scores were announced, and left the ring almost immediately in tears. It was hard not to feel for her -- she had been toiling in obscurity for years, ignored while fighters like Katie Taylor got all the accolades and fortune. This was her big chance, and from her vantage (and many others) this should have been her night. She put on a hell of a performance, only to have it torn away from her by the judges. I'm not going to say it was a flat robbery, but the consensus view definitely saw more observers giving Persoon the win. I've seen plenty of draw cards as well, but very few folks (other than the two judges) score it for Taylor. The good news is there's a strong case for a rematch. It was a great fight, a close fight, and one where there's still definitely unfinished business. There also aren't so many big money opportunities in women's boxing that a fight like this -- which now is pretty easy to market -- should be muscled out, though Taylor did mention a potential fight with Amanda Serrano instead. No disrespect to Serrano -- who is a great fighter in her own right -- but I hope she waits her turn. Persoon absolutely deserves a rematch, and it should come next. Andy Ruiz Jr. (33-1, 22 KOs) TKO7 Anthony Joshua (22-1, 21 KOs) A monster upset, as Ruiz becomes the first Mexican or Mexican-American fighter to win a heavyweight championship. Was it as big as Douglas over Tyson, as some commentators were breathlessly exclaiming after the fight? No. Joshua was very good but not viewed as an invincible destroyer as Tyson was at his peak, and Ruiz was more of a known quantity than Douglas was. But putting that unreachable height aside, this was a giant upset -- assuredly 2019's upset of the year. Ruiz was a substitute for Jarrell Miller, who failed a drug test and thus lost his big break, but he still got a decent amount of time to train. Of course, with Ruiz it's always "who can tell?", as the guy just comes into every fight fat. I don't mean that as an insult or anything, and he'd be the first to agree -- Andy Ruiz is chubby around the middle. For pretty much any other fighter -- no matter how much they talk about being "comfortable at the weight" or whatever -- that's a big problem. Chris Arreola, the last Mexican-American to make a run at heavyweight glory, always made light of his weight, but it really did hold him back. But for some reason Andy Ruiz is different. He's got genuinely fast hands for a heavyweight -- like, not just in the "you'd think as a fat guy he'd be a plodder, but he's actually deceptively quick", but objectively fast hands measured against any heavyweight you can think of. Ruiz throws really good combinations, quickly and accurately, and that was known coming into the fight. Of course, we knew Joshua pretty well too -- a powerful guy who'd shown both skill and resilience in his breakout fight against Wladimir Klitschko, coming off the deck to knockout the aging legend in 11 rounds. I did not think the fight against Ruiz was quite the afterthought that most were making it out to be -- yet another detour from the Joshua-Fury-Wilder merry-go-round -- but I certainly thought Joshua would win it. I was prepared to be proud of myself when Ruiz made a better accounting of himself than expected. Instead, we got a really impressive performance that included a strong round-of-the-year contender in round three. That's when Joshua dropped Ruiz and most people thought he was about to move in for the kill. Instead, Ruiz caught Joshua swinging wide and almost immediately returned the knockdown favor. A second knockdown towards the end of the round had Ruiz firmly in control and Joshua looking wobbly, fortunate to hear the bell ring. Ruiz left Joshua off the hook, it seemed, in round four, and the question was whether he had missed his chance. But instead, Ruiz knocked down Joshua twice more in the seventh -- again, precipitated by Joshua landing a decent shot and then being countered in-between when he got a little too free going for the finish. The last knockdown saw Joshua's mouthpiece go flying, and Joshua retreated to his corner clearly expecting time to be called to replace it. The referee was not obliging, insisting that Joshua come out to fight with no mouthpiece, and I do think that resulted in some confusion as to why Joshua didn't "come forward" to make crystal clear he wanted to continue. But nonetheless, that's on Joshua, who had his arms draped over the ropes and wasn't making any motions towards stepping back into the fight. He was clearly surprised by the stoppage, but not too upset by it. And on that score: I'm not wild about how Joshua reacted to the end of the fight. Yes, he was very classy in defeat, making no excuses and giving all due credit to Ruiz. Which is great, I like class. But it was a bit weird to see just how little Joshua seemed to be bothered by losing. It's not like I wanted to see a meltdown or anything, but there was a sense as the fight's tide turned in Ruiz's favor that Joshua kind of lost interest once it started to get hard in there. That doesn't really jibe with the heart he showed in the Klitschko fight, but it's something to keep an eye on going forward. Boxing is a tough business under the best of circumstances; it tends to chew up guys who -- however much natural talent they might possess -- have lost that inner drive to press back against adversity in the ring. Anyway, Joshua losing actually simplifies things in the heavyweight division going forward. His next fight will be a rematch against Ruiz, and meanwhile Deontay Wilder and Tyson Fury are scheduled to fight each other assuming both get by their next opponent -- Luis Ortiz and Tom Schwarz, respectively. But a note of warning should be sounded there as well. I don't know anything about Schwarz, and frankly I expect Fury to truck him. But the Ortiz fight -- which got a lot of moans and groans because it wasn't Wilder facing Joshua or Fury -- is very much a real fight. People forget that the first fight between Wilder and Ortiz was really good and, more importantly, really competitive. It wasn't controversial, because Wilder ended up winning in a knockout, but Ortiz very easily could have taken it. He had Wilder badly hurt and nearly ready to go. For me, I saw a fight where, if you ran it back again, I could very easily see a different man end up on top. So I wouldn't be too blase about Wilder necessarily coming out on top in the rematch. He'll be the favorite, and deservedly so, but Ortiz is a very live dog in there. Wilder/Ortiz is not just some medicine we have to take until we get to the good stuff, and the outcome of tonight's fight should give us all pause before writing the conclusion as foreordained. via The Debate Link http://bit.ly/2HOrFRD