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illfoandillfie · 3 years ago

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A Different Kind of Education: I Is For Impact Play (Chapter 8)

ADKoE MASTERLIST

Pairing: Professor!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Series Summery: After being broken up with for not being kinky enough, Reader seeks out her professor to give her some private tutoring so she can win her boyfriend back.

Chapter Summery: A new week and a new lesson, but also a new challenge. How can you possibly find the courage to talk to your professor about your period?

Warnings: Modern AU, smut (18+), slow burn romance, dom/sub dynamics, dom!roger and sub!reader, professor x student sex, dialogue heavy, conversations about and mentions of menstrual cycles/periods, discussions of impact play including: spanking, kicking, slapping, punching, floggers, paddles, crops, whips, and canes

Words: 10,391

A/N: Better late than never, right? Big apologies for taking so long to get this one up! Once again I've had to split a single topic into multiple chapters lmao. This one is mostly the theory part of the lesson and a bit of an info dump, but the next part will focus more on the actual smut.

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini

@80s-roger @libsterslobsters @okilover02 @cjand10 @dealorgirl32 @youngpastafanmug @onceuponadetectivedemigod

You knew it was something you’d have to deal with eventually, that having your period would affect your lessons with Roger. But still you felt reluctant to broach the topic with him. It wasn’t something you generally discussed with people, especially not your professor (even if you were regularly sleeping with him). And you could already hear the lecture he’d give you about why you shouldn’t be embarrassed to tell your sexual partner about your cycle, and about how he’d taught reproduction enough to not be phased by it. The problem was you weren’t really sure how you felt about having sex during it and you knew even less about whether Roger would want to. You were definitely going to have to talk to him about it, no matter how much you didn’t want to. So, wondering when the best time to bring it up would be, you checked the curriculum he’d written for you. Impact play. That was the topic for the week. Roger might consider you clueless about kink (as you’d learnt during the previous week’s munch), but you at least knew enough to know that impact play meant spanking. For a moment you were distracted from your worries about the conversation you were going to have, rather excited by what you’d just read. Spanking was one of those things you’d been expecting to try. When you thought about BDSM, spanking was the second thing to come to mind after bondage. It was one of those things Dylan had hinted at being into. A couple of times during sex he’d given your arse a slap and, though you’d never really asked for it you also hadn’t told him to stop. He never hit too hard and it added a bit of excitement so there was no harm in it. And you suspected he might be interested in pushing it further if you ever suggested as much. So, to know that Roger was going to run you through the basics of it and show you how it felt, you couldn’t help but be a bit excited. And maybe you’d be able to keep things over the clothes to start and you wouldn’t have to tell Roger about your period after all. The good thing with having an implant was that it reduced the duration of your period. It would have been nice if it stopped it entirely but at least it shortened it and made it a little lighter. So maybe you could organise a second session later in the week for the more hands on part of the lesson, and not have to explain at all. You left your apartment feeling happier and excited to see Roger that night. But you didn’t have to wait so long to see him.

You’d barely taken two steps inside when a familiar voice called out Ms Y/L/N and you found Roger walking towards you, his hand raised in a lazy wave. “Hi Professor,” you smiled, surprised but happy to see him, “I’m just on my way to class, what’s up?” “Oh, in that case,” he glanced over to a group of students ambling past you, “do you have time for a meeting before you leave this afternoon?” Your heart rate sped up at the serious way he looked at you over his glasses, “Umm sure.” “Good. I’ll see you this afternoon then. Don’t forget.” You nodded but a new worry had taken over your mind. There was only one reason he could want to talk to you. Your degree. If it was anything to do with his tutoring sessions then he would have just said it when you got to his place that evening. No, it must be to do with your class work. Maybe something had been wrong with your last exam? Possibilities were turning over in your mind as you resumed your path to your first class, each worse than the other. Maybe you’d misunderstood a question and gotten it completely wrong. Maybe he’d had to fail you. Maybe your overall grade had dropped. Maybe he was going to call the whole tutoring thing off because you’d gotten too distracted and done so badly on your recent assessment. You spent the entire day trying not to get too worked up about it, trying to tell yourself that if your work had slipped even a little he would have called to talk about it earlier, that if it really was as bad as failing his subject you’d have discussed it long before now. By the time your last class of the day ended you were somewhere between terrified about what Roger was going to say and relieved that you were about to find out.

Your hand was shaking as you knocked on Roger’s office door and pushed it open at his word. “AH, Ms Y/L/N, shut the door please and take a seat.” he said, shifting a stack of papers to the side of his desk. It was only once you were sitting that he seemed to look at you properly, “Are you alright? You look a bit pale.” “Professor I’m so sorry, I swear if something was wrong with my last exam then it wasn’t because of our lessons and I promise I’m not letting them distract me at all. I put so much time and effort into studying and if-” “Woah, woah, hang on. No one said anything was wrong.” Your breath caught in your throat and it seemed to take you twice as long as it normally would for you to understand what he’d said, “There’s not? Then....why am I here?” “It’s about tonight’s tutoring session.” “Oh?” “I wondered if you’d be okay making a small change to the plan.” “S-so nothing's wrong with my work?” Roger shook his head, “Your work is impeccable Ms Y/L/N. Sorry, I didn’t realise you’d assume the worst. I had no intention of worrying you like that. I was intending to mention it this morning but you seemed to be in a bit of a rush and I didn’t want anyone to overhear so...” he gestured vaguely towards you with his hands. You let out a relieved chuckle, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders, “What was the change you wanted to make?” “Do you know what we’ll be focusing on this week?” “Impact play, Professor.” “Very good. And do you know what that entails?” “It’s like spanking isn’t it?” “Spanking is definitely part of it, yes.” “Cool. But you’re not wanting to switch topic are you? Only I’ve been kind of looking forward to this one since it’s like proper BDSM stuff....or like, not that other things aren’t I just mean that spanking is part of what I initially imagined, y’know?” Roger held up his hand to quiet you, “I understand what you mean Ms Y/L/N. And it’s not that I want to change the topic, I just wanted to change where the lesson would take place.” “Okay...” you were a little surprised by that. Where else could he have in mind when your lessons were supposed to be secret. “I thought we might have the first lesson here.” “Here?!” “Keep your voice down, Ms Y/L/N. Not here exactly, not this office. In the first-year bio room actually.” “Why? Isn’t that kind of risky? What if someone saw?” Roger shrugged one shoulder, “It might be, but I think what I intend to show you could be covered as a biological experiment. Let me explain,” he said upon seeing your confused face, “So, as you no doubt remember, first years do a lot of dissection of various animals, working their way up to human.” You nodded, remembering hours spent bent over various carcases and cadavers. “Well, I thought it might be beneficial to show you some of the impact play tools we can use, demonstrating how they work and what effects they can have, but I don’t want to demonstrate them on you straight away. Luckily, it just so happens that one of the animals my first years are studying right now is pigs, so I thought we might use a pig carcass instead. Pig and human flesh are quite similar so you should get a decent sense of how being spanked with various tools will look and the impact they would have on your skin. We can compare being spanked by hand to flogging to a crop and so on. All without experiencing any pain at all. Of course, it is a dead pig so it won’t be exactly the same and you probably won’t see the same levels of bruising you would on a living human being, but it’s a good starting point. Plus this way you could try wielding the tools too, so you can get a sense for how they feel to use them and how much force is required to make them work.” You were taken aback by the explanation and had to stop your jaw from falling open as you listened. But Roger waited patiently for you to think it over and you quickly concluded it was a good plan. You could easily write it off as related to your dissertation if anyone saw and asked what was going on. It wasn’t at all related but Roger was about the only person who knew what topic you were researching so no one else would pick up the lie. “Okay then, let’s have the lesson here.” “Excellent. You really don’t mind hanging back?” “Not at all.” “Good. I think we should possibly wait until a little later before we start, just to let the place clear out a bit. Perhaps we could get some dinner and eat it in here before we head down to the room. You can tell me how you’re getting on with your dissertation.” “Okay, I like that idea.” “Shall I duck out and get us some food then? What would you like?”

After what could only be described as a minor argument about the merits of Mexican food, you and Roger eventually settled on a nearby Greek place. He tapped the order into Uber Eats and then went to wait for the delivery out on the street so the driver wouldn’t have to find their way through the numerous carparks and laneways on campus. You ducked out to your own car to drop off your bag full of books, though you kept your laptop to make notes on. It would also make your story seem more legitimate if anyone did stumble onto the lesson and ask what was going on. The thought of the lesson made you smile. Partly because you were keen to learn about the topic but also partly because you knew there was no way sex would be part of it. Roger would definitely draw the line at fucking his student in his classroom where anyone could catch you. And if you were going to be spanking a dead pig then you wouldn’t be asked to remove clothes or anything like that. So you wouldn’t have to discuss your menstrual cycle with Roger at all. You’d just say you were busy until later in the week when your period stopped and organise the follow-up lesson then and Roger wouldn’t be any the wiser. It was perfect. That, in addition to knowing nothing was wrong with your actual schoolwork, put you in a very good mood and you could have whistled with joy as you made your way back to Roger’s office.

By the time you’d finished eating, the sky outside the window had changed from a mix of warm pinks and yellows as the sun set and was gradually darkening the longer you watched. It was only when Roger glanced at his watch and saw that it was a quarter to seven that he decided the building would be empty enough for your lesson to start. He grabbed his own laptop as you grabbed yours and then led you along the corridor and down a set of stairs, taking you towards the back of the building where the hands-on biology lessons were held. Roger made sure the door was shut and locked before dumping his belongings onto a desk. “Can you give me a hand?” he asked, before moving to the door to a walk-in freezer at the back of the room. Together you hoisted a large pig carcass onto a cart and wheeled it out into the main room. Roger then ducked back into the freezer returning, after a little rummaging, with what looked to be a child’s toy crate. It was made of yellow plastic and seemed light enough that Roger had no trouble hoisting it onto one of the desks, but it was not full of children’s toys. You couldn’t see everything immediately but poking out of the top was a long black handle with a leather flap hanging off the end. “Is that what we’ll be using then?” You were eyeing the box warily. “Yup,” Roger began pulling the items from the box one by one, laying them out on the desk, “I brought the box in earlier and hid it down here so no one would stumble onto it. I didn’t want any awkward questions. Or to have any of them stolen since they’re mine,” he added with a chuckle. You looked over the collection with interest, some of the objects familiar to you and some only vaguely recognisable, “Is that a hair brush?” “It is,” Roger winked playfully, “Kink can be very D.I.Y and the back of a hairbrush makes for a good makeshift paddle. The front of the hairbrush can be fun too actually. Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m going to go through everything individually, explain what they are and what sort of effect they have and I’ll demonstrate them on our piggy participant. There’s also a few things I don’t have which we can run through at the end, sound good?” “Sounds great.” You sank into one of the nearby seats, pulling your laptop towards you, ready to take notes. “Right well. Impact play is a BDSM practice where one partner strikes another for sexual gratification. As you rightly said earlier this includes spanking but there's a little more to it than just that. You can slap your partner, punch them, kick them, whip them or flog them. There’re numerous ways to play with impact and as with all BDSM it’s important to negotiate what you want before you start. Being struck can leave marks of course. Brusies, welts, scratches, right through to cuts that draw blood. For some people, the marking aspect is an important part of their enjoyment, and they might go so far as to intentionally make the marks more apparent. But whether or not you want visible marks might be influenced by your job or the season or your social life or any number of other things. Personally, the marks are secondary to why I enjoy the forms of impact play I partake in. But my feelings aside, the nature of our lessons and the secrecy required, means I won’t intentionally be marking you anywhere that isn’t easy to cover up. If you even want to try it out. You might see everything today and decide it’s not for you and that would be okay.” “I don’t think there’s much danger of that Roger. Dylan’s spanked me a little before and I’m interested enough to try more.” “In that case then, you should know that physical pain is part of impact play no matter what aspect you try. And it can bring up more mental pain too, depending on the individual. Which is why I want to start with testing some implements on this pig. We can go through a few things and you’ll get a sense of them and then we can talk about what you might actually want to try or if any of it seems wrong for you. I’m also going to be much more diligent with your safe word in these lessons than any before. So what is your safe word?” “Pizazz, Roger,” “Good. Remember you can use it whenever you need to, even today. If things get too much for you I want to know.” “I know. I promise I’ll use it.” You were struck by how serious Roger’s tone was but understood it, after the conversation you’d had during your previous lesson. And, for the first time, you wondered if this would be a topic Roger would find hard to teach. “Thank you. I’ll check in with you every so often, especially when we move onto the practical lesson and you’re experiencing it firsthand. So, if I ask you what your safe word is, I need you to respond as loudly and as quickly as you can. It’s a way for me to gauge how well you’re coping and to make sure you’re still capable of using it.” “That makes sense.” Having assured himself of your understanding, Roger took a deep breath and smiled again, “Well, I have a range of different implements you can use here today but we’ll start with the most basic,” he held his two hands in front of him, palms towards you, fingers wiggling, “Hands.” You smiled at his showmanship but your gaze lingered on the offered view. His hands had always seemed quite lovely, even when he was just teaching you biology. The way they moved so delicately as he demonstrated necessary scientific processes for the class, or rapidly twirled pens around his fingers to impress new students. Of course, you’d felt them too since you’re first private lesson, the way he caressed you and held you. His fist tightening in your hair and his fingers plunging into you and making you moan and the way he’d gently stroke your skin as you were both regaining your breath. You were excited to feel the power in them as he spanked you. “Spanking is entry level impact play. Everyone and their mother has heard of it. It’s a common thing to see in pornography and even in Hollywood movies when they want to show sex as kinky. And because you don’t need more than your hands it’s easy to experiment with. Do you want to see what it looks like?” You nodded and Roger stepped closer to the pig, angling himself so you could see. Suddenly there was the sound of a clap as Roger’s palm hit the pig’s flesh. “See how my hand was open and my palm was flat?” Roger demonstrated again but slower so the hit barely made a sound, “But what if I do this?” He hit the pig again but changed the position of his hand. The sound of his hand colliding with the pig was deeper the second time around, “If you cup your hand, curve it slightly, you can change the way the spank feels and sounds. Just like clapping.” You experimentally clapped your hands together, first with open palms and then with each hand cupped so that the fingers wrapped around the back of the other. “Now you give the pig a try.” Feeling a surge of nervously excited butterflies, you got out of your seat and took your place at the pig. With a breath and a swallow you quickly brought your hand down. The slapping sound seemed to echo in the quiet room but it wasn’t as crisp as the noise Roger’s hits had made. With a look to Roger for permission, you tried it again, creating a slightly more impressive sound. “Good, now cupped?” You did it again, curving your fingers in a bit and bringing it down again. It felt more awkward than the open palm hit had so you repositioned yourself to hit the pig from a slightly different angle and tried once more. “Don’t be afraid to pull your arm back further. The more your rear back, the more force will be in the spank. Like this,” he pulled his hand back past his ear and swung down hard, the spank echoing around you. “Of course, you can also spank from a nearer point too. Spanking, and a lot of impact play, is best if you mix it up a bit, don’t stay in one rhythm too long, do some spanks with your fingers spread, or change how hard or fast they are. I might give a sub two or three hard hits each with a pause between but then I’ll switch to a more rapid series of spanks that don’t have as much force behind them but come faster.” You nodded and experimented with taking your arm back further, testing out ways to change the strength of each spank, until Roger finally called you to stop. “How did that feel?” he asked as you took your seat again. “My hand tingles.” “That’s normal,” Roger laughed, “in fact it’s one thing I really enjoy about spanking by hand. The sub isn’t the only one who feels the spanks, the dom gets some of the pain in his hand too, especially if the intensity ramps up or there's a section of quick-fire spanks. And that can a) help the dom understand what the sub is feeling and work out how long the scene should go and b) brings a sort of intimacy to the scene that is harder to achieve with a tool.” You hummed as you noted down what he’d said, “Have you ever spanked someone so much you injured your wrist or anything?” “No.” Roger shook his head, amused by the question, “My wrists are pretty sturdy. But a few times I’ve been left with a stingy, tingly hand for an hour or two. Which brings me to an important note about pain. There are two main types of pain you can experience in impact play. We refer to them as thuddy and stingy.” “Thuddy and stingy? What is this, an afternoon kids show?” Roger rolled his eyes, “The names are simple but they explain exactly what they mean. Some types of impact will have a stingy sensation which is usually superficial. It won’t go deeper than the first few layers of skin and probably leaves the skin feeling warm and a little tingly or like sunburn, y’know? It’s typical of spanks and slaps. Thuddy pain is deeper, it gets into the fat and muscles and tissue and aches more. And I’ll go through which tools cause which sort of pain as I get to them. Generally though, people who enjoy impact play have a preference for one or the other.” “And your preference is what?” “Thuddy. Definitely. Although I prefer inflicting stingy.” You hummed thoughtfully. “Now, I’ll go into details about ways to actually incorporate spanking into a scene later. We can talk about it while we’re negotiating our scene. Today is just about the practicalities and sensations involved in the different types of impact play. So are you okay to move on?” “Yup, definitely.” And then, sensing Roger might ask, you added, “Pizazz.” feeling pleased when you saw him smile.

“I don’t expect us to delve too deep into them but I think I should touch on kicking, punching and slapping. Kicking and punching are things I’ve not done. They can, obviously, be quite painful. But they’re pretty self-explanatory. From what I understand about it, and what I’ve heard others who enjoy that kind of thing say, kicking and punching can both be very intimate, similar to the way spanking by hand is, but in a more primal or animalistic way. Punching is, of course, done without any accessories but kicking often includes footwear of some kind. A lot of time it’s something like a steel-toed boot or something with a bit of weight to it.” “That isn't something I want to try.” You’d learnt a lot about how far kink went so weren’t completely shocked that some people would enjoy something as forceful as kicking, but it did take you by surprise to hear Roger talking about it. “What about slapping?” “How is that different to spanking?” “Well, you’re right, they are similar. But slapping generally refers to slapping on the face whereas spanking is usually on the, uh, derriere. Of course you can slap or spank other parts too. For clarity’s sake, if I say slapping assume I mean on the face whereas spanking is anywhere else on the body.” You thought about it for a second, “I’m not sure if I’d be game to try it but I do want to know more.” “Slapping can be fun. Again, it’s not one I do a lot but I have played with it in the past. It comes in handy for particular scenes and there’s a fairly bratty sub I’ve worked with who responds really well to it. The most important thing to know is that if you are slapping someone’s face only ever aim for the cheeks. There’s a lot of fragile places around the face and it’s close to the brain so you need to be careful not to do any lasting damage. Never hit the temples because you hit them with enough force and it can kill a person. Nose and ears are off limits too, anything that is important. You knew enough about biology to know Roger wasn’t making those rules up for fun. Noses were easy to break and hitting an ear too hard could damage someone’s hearing. But face slapping did still intrigue you.

“Well, I’d say the next – let's call it the next level – of impact play is paddling.” He picked up what looked to be a wooden plank with a handle. It was an inch or two longer and wider than his hand with small holes cut out in a repeating pattern over the flat side so you could look right through it. “They don’t always look like this. Paddles come in lots of different shapes and sizes. This is a wooden one but they’re also frequently made of leather and sometimes the leather ones will have one side that’s a little more padded than the other. That gives you a bit of versatility with the pain. You can start off lightly with the padded side to get you in the zone and then during the scene switch it to the firmer side that hurts more. Or, if you don’t have access to a paddle at all, you can substitute a hairbrush.” He picked the hairbrush up and waved it back and forth. “And that-” you pointed at the hair brush, “will feel the same as that?” you pointed at the wooden paddle, not quite able to reconcile the two in your mind. “Not exactly the same but close. Honestly you can get really creative with impact play and not spend any money to get nearly the same results. I mean a plastic hairbrush might take a few extra hits or a little more force to really bruise someone but they’ll still end up sore from it. Or, if the hairbrush doesn’t do it for you, dig through your draws and see what else you can find. Wooden spoons, cutting boards, rulers, leather belts, spatulas, rolling pins, ping pong paddles, anything you can get your hands on. Just be mindful of how easily they’d break or them causing more pain than you expect.” Again, you weren’t necessarily surprised by the lengths people would go to for sexual gratification, as Roger had put it, but it was a bit astounding. Still, you noted it all down just in case. “Now a paddle generally falls under the stingy category but you do tend to get a deeper bruise than with your hand. Different factors could alter the way it feels too. If you put less force into it the pain will fall more on the thuddy side, same goes for if your hits are slower. But the pain call also be influenced by the size of the paddle, the material it’s made out of, the texture of it.” “Texture?” “Sometimes paddles have added texture, so they aren’t just a smooth, flat board. They might have metal studs that are more raised than the surface of the blade – the part you hit with – or ridging that will imprint the skin. This one has holes in it which definitely changes the feeling, makes it more intense. As you strike and the blade hits, the holes do two things. They stop any air cushions forming that would lessen the impact and they sort of push the skin into the holes which means the pain isn't completely even along where was hit. Plus it also leaves these cool circle marks behind which is fun.” You realised you’d held your breath through the explanation, eyes following the paddle as Roger waved it through the air and ran his hands over it unconsciously. You hoped he had something more beginner friendly at home, though you couldn’t pretend you weren’t turned on by the way he wielded his weapon. “Using it is quite similar to spanking but your hand isn’t hitting, it’s holding onto the paddle handle. So you just pull back,” Roger’s arm went back and the paddle swung backwards,” and then hit,” he swung his arm forward, the paddle cutting through the air and landing directly against the soft flesh of the pig. It made a satisfying thwack sound on impact and when Roger’ brought it back again you could see the circular patterns he’d talked about. He demonstrated a few more times before he handed the plank to you. It was heavier than you’d been expecting, solid wood, but the handle fit into your palm comfortably. You ran your hands over the flat part, what Roger had called the blade, and felt the holes with your fingers. The weight made it a little hard to swing but not impossible. You managed to mark the pig as well, stroking the circular imprints with your fingers. “Try the hairbrush,” Roger said, swapping it for the paddle. Its handle wasn’t quiet as long, but it was lighter and you found your hits were harder with it, without you even trying. “Something to be aware of if you use an ordinary household item, or even just a different sort of impact toy. Because it’s lighter you can pull it back further and swing harder. A dom has to be aware of how much is going into each hit and how much their sub can handle.”

“So what’s after paddles?” “Floggers.” Roger picked his up off the table, “This is a fairly typical flogger. As you can see it’s made of black leather. It has the handle which is the thickest part and then a number of smaller tails. The tails is where you get the most variation which can be a stylistic choice or just a side effect of its price and overall quality. There’s a trick for knowing if a flogger is good quality or not. It should be pretty evenly balanced between the handle and the tails, so you should be able to do this,” he held out a finger and balanced the flogger on it carefully, the handle pointing out one way and the tails dangling over the other. You thought for sure it would tip forward onto the tails and tumble to the ground but it hung there perfectly. “Sometimes there will be more tails or they'll look different but no matter what, it should be balanced.” Roger gave a practiced flick of his hand so the flogger leapt into the air and he was able to catch the handle before it fell. “From a more stylistic point of view, you could get a flogger with less tails but they’ll be made of braids of leather which makes them heavier and thicker. Braided tails are also likely to have knots in the ends which can be a bit scratchy and even draw blood. They don’t have to be made of leather either. Rubber floggers are also popular. The tails on them tend to be more rectangular in shape, still flat but they have more edges and it actually feels like you’re being hit with more tails then there really are. And if you’re looking to really fuck someone up you can get hemp floggers. Sometimes they’ll look similar to this leather one but hemp is fairly stiff material and sometimes the tails will be shaped so that they’re sort of squiggly rather than flat lines. The squiggles hurt like a bitch, especially if they have knots at the end. Definitely start off with simple leather and work up once you’re more experienced.” Roger dragged the ends of the tails over his hand as he spoke, “I’d say this falls into the more thuddy type of pain. It can cover a large area of your body since the tails spread out and each of them creates an individual pain point. And because you’re being hit six or seven or nine or however many times at once, you can build up quite a rapid movement over a short period of time.” You eyed the dancing tails as Roger moved his hand through them, “How long are the tails? Isn’t it a bit dangerous to have so many bits flying in all directions?” Roger laughed, “Well yeah, kinda. I mean, that’s BDSM for you though, it gets dangerous which is why we’re all obsessed with safety. It’s a good thing to have noticed though, well done. The tails on this one are on the shorter side but some floggers will have much longer ones which means the dom can stand further back and still inflict a lot of pain. But you’re right, you do have to be mindful of the length and where they’re flying because a longer tail can potentially wrap around to somewhere you aren’t intending to hit. For instance, if you’re standing behind a person and flogging the back of their shoulder, you don’t want one of the tails to fly past their shoulder and around their neck. That would be incredibly painful and probably not what they expected or wanted from the scene.” “So you have to take into account the length of the tails when you’re negotiating the scene then? And know where on the body to focus the hits so you don’t risk causing the wrong sort of pain and ending it early.” “Exactly. That’s why negotiating the scene is important. Then both the dom and the sub will know what they want to achieve, what they want to get out of the experience, and they can tailor things to fit better. A lot of doms who are into impact play are likely to have multiple versions of their favourite toys – I myself have a few different paddles at home, I just didn’t bring them all in with me today – so by talking through what you want they’ll be able to choose the style of toy that will best fit the scene.” “So how do you use a flogger then? Is it the same as spanking and paddling where you just swing your arm forward?” “Sort of. Floggers have a few different ways to use them. There is of course the single strike option where, yeah, you do just hit them like you would with a paddle. I find that you don’t need to bring your arm back so far though, the movement comes from your elbow more than your shoulder.” Roger bent his arm so his hand and the flogger were roughly head height and then brought it down on the pig, “And you can change the angle of your single strike so that you hit them overhand or underhand or from one of the sides.” He demonstrated each direction as he said them, first bringing the flogger down from above, then swinging it up from below, then from the right side and finally a backhanded hit from the left. “But you don’t have to just pick a side to hit from. Paddles and hands are limited in how you can swing them but floggers have more movement. One way to use them is to swing them in a circle.” He moved back towards the pig to demonstrate, standing side on so that the tails whipped around and struck the pig, “I like starting off with circles because you can keep the pressure quite light. The tails sort of brush over the sub as they pass and it can be a good way to slowly build up. And then you can move into a figure eight as you get a bit harder.” Roger shifted his circles so they made a sideways eight in the air, subtly adjusting his stance so that the tail swished over the pig’s skin on both the forward and back motion. You watched, awe-struck by how easily Roger swung the flogger, falling into a rhythm quickly. It wasn’t hard to imagine how he’d suddenly change the speed or the force of the swing when you were least expecting it.

You were brought back to the present by Roger clearing his throat as he stilled the flogger, “The figure eight is why you should practice your backhand swing as much as any other. Because the tails will hit the sub on both the forward and back swings and you want them to be as even as possible.” He flipped the flogger in his hands, holding the handle out to you. It felt smooth and cool in your hand, lighter than the paddle had been. You swished it experimentally, trying to get a sense of how it felt in motion.” “Show me your overhand hit.” Roger said, leaning back against the nearest desk to watch. You tried to imitate how he’d swung it, elbow bent, flogger raised. It must have been good enough because Roger nodded and said, “how about underhand?” He kept calling out different directions for a while, testing your reactions but you felt it helped you get a better grip on the toy and you found yourself adjusting how you held it so your movements became more fluid. Roger watched you as you tried to keep up, his eyes locked onto your hands. Had you been looking, you might have caught sight of him subtly adjusting himself in his pants. Finally, he seemed satisfied that you could successfully single strike from any direction and asked you to try the circle and figure eight motions. They were harder to start, more awkward as you tried to work out the best way to move the flogger, and you caught Roger chuckling.” “Oi, stop laughing,” “Do you want some help?” he was still smiling but his request was genuine and when you nodded he stepped towards you. One of his hands moved to your waist as the other lay over yours on the handle of the flogger. You tried not to grin too much as he did exactly why you’d hoped, and you felt him so close behind you. “Like this,” His arm gently directed yours, the flogger beginning to move in a smooth circle. “Oh, not so hard then,” you laughed, half turning to face him, “Y’know if someone walked in now this would be pretty hard to explain.” His eyes darted to your lips, “Good thing we locked the door then.” You hummed, waiting to see if Roger would close the gap. He did a few seconds later, leaning in to kiss you softly. But the movement caused you both to forget about the flogger, your hands falling out of rhythm, and the tails whacking against your outstretched arms as they fell. “Ow,” you both groaned, Roger stepping away from you. It was disappointing but the disappointment was a little confusing. Surely you weren’t hoping for your professor to kiss you when you had no intention of sleeping with him that night. Roger laughed, “Maybe that’s enough of the flogger today.” “Might be for the best. Good thing I was so bad at it, otherwise we might have been really hurt.” “You weren’t that bad. You actually looked good with it before I brought in the circles. Quite sexy really.” “Thanks,” you said softly, trying to hide how pleased you were at that praise, “What else is there then?”

“There's only one more that I can demonstrate but then there’s a few others I’ll touch on quickly too. So the last one I own is a crop.” He picked it up off the table, his fingers sliding along the length of it’s handle as he spoke, “This one I would put in the stingy category. It’s fast and sharp. Again, you can get crops in a few different styles. They will all have a handle like this, long and thin and probably with a slightly thicker point towards the end that’s easy to hold onto. The difference will be in the bit you hit with. This one is based on the sort of riding crop that's used on horses, so it’s quite plain. There’s just this loop of leather which hangs off the end. But others can be more decorative. I’ve seen crops which had ends shaped like hearts or that had studs pushed into them. Some of them are padded and some have a more rounded shape. We like our variety.” “It looks scarier than the others I think,” “Yeah, they’re quite intimidating aren’t they. And if you do it right, it’ll make a noise through the air, which just adds to how intimidating it can be.” “Can you show me how to swing it now?” “Absolutely. Now, you want to stand a bit further back with a crop because there is such a long handle. And the magic is in the wrist with these. You just flick the wrist and...” You could hear the whooshing sound of it flying through the air before it cracked against the pig. “Now some crops are more bendy and some are more stiff so, if you get one, you’ll want to practice swinging it a bit before you use it on a person, to get a feel for it. The flexibility of it might dictate how you stand or how strong the swing has to be. Give this one a go though.” You felt oddly powerful as you took the crop and tightened your fist around the end. For a moment a vision of you decked out in leather dominatrix gear popped into your head and you nearly laughed. Unfortunately, the intimidating whooshing noise Roger had achieved was not as easy for you to make as you’d hoped, and the imagined power soon dissipated as you struggled to make the weapon sing. Roger however was not disappointed. “It takes practice,” was what he said when you lamented your inability to create the sound, “And you don’t have to have the sound to make a good hit. It’s just kind of cool.” When you still seemed disappointed he sighed. “If it’s any help, I can’t always make the sound either. And besides, I wasn’t intending to use that one on you, unless you really, really want to. I mostly brought it to show you as an interesting part of your theory lessons. And so you’d have a sense of what a cane is like, even though I don’t have any of them to demonstrate.” “A cane? Like....caning? Like what Victorian kids used to have done if they misbehaved or whatever?” Roger laughed, “Kind of, yeah. It does have a history in corporal punishment. Which, might I add, wasn’t just for Victorian kids. It was still a thing when I was a kid. We didn’t get caned, more likely to be whacked over the knuckles with a ruler, but still. I don’t think it really left schools until the 80s.” “Jesus,” “Yeah. Occasionally I do wish I could bring out a ruler to shut a kid up,” he winked in jest, “Anyway, caning for BDSM is similar and uses the same sort of tool. A cane, funnily enough. Canes are long and thin like a crop but without the leather flap at the end or the more padded handle area. Traditionally they’re made from rattan which is a type of plant, but you can also get synthetic canes which are covered in leather. In my experience synthetic canes are actually harder. Not to use, I mean in the way they feel when you’re hit with them. The traditional rattan ones require a lot of maintenance though. You have to water them between uses, literally soaking them in a bath of water so they don’t dry out and break. But the benefit with a rattan cane is that if you get it home and realise you’d like something a bit shorter, you can cut it off yourself and just sandpaper down the rough edge and it’s good as new.” “So are there any different version aside from synthetic? All the other toys had lots of variety.” “Hmmm, not really. Most of the difference will be in how thick the cane is, which can effect the feel of it a lot. A thinner cane will sting when it hits and the force will make the skin hug the cane so it leaves these long marks behind. A thicker cane though might sting less but it’ll still hurt a lot, just more thuddy. And you tend to get more bruising from the thicker ones.” “And do you use it the same as a crop?” “Mostly, yes. The biggest difference is that you can use a larger section of a cane. The crop has the specific bit at the end to hit with whereas a cane doesn’t have that limit. The most important thing to remember is to try and aim a little short of where you want to hit because if you hit with a part of the cane six inches down, those top six inches are going to hit as well, and with force behind them they will wrap around the person’s side or arse or whatever until they make contact. But other than that, it’s a similar motion from the wrist and uses a similar amount of energy. And canes can make the cool whippy noise too.”

“Is that everything then?” “One last one, really quick. Whips.” “Oh yeah, I’ve heard of whipping in kink.” “Yeah, it’s one of those things that gets mentioned a lot even if comparatively fewer people are actually into it. But everyone’s heard the phrase chains and whips in relation to BDSM. There's a few different varieties of whips but I don’t really know enough about them to know the difference. They all look like whips to me. Very cowboy. But they’re one of the more intense versions of impact play. The pain they cause is quite sharp and stingy and will be very localised to a specific point because they have the one tail, as opposed to floggers which have multiple tails. Whips are very capable of breaking the skin though and feel very intensely painful. I do not recommend them unless you discover you’re a masochist and you’ve tried everything else impact play has to offer.” “No need to tell me twice, Professor. Definitely do not want to try whips any time soon.” “That’s very reasonable. And that is all of the impact play options I wanted to go through. There’s a little more to cover regarding safety before I let you go for the night, but how about we put the pig away and hope no one notices it’s been marked by crops and floggers.” You chuckled and quickly moved to help Roger push the trolley back towards the freezer, locking the dead pig away securely, and to help pack up his toys. When everything was tidy again you re-took your seat, Roger taking the one beside you. It made the end of the lesson feel less like a lesson and more of just a casual chat, the topic of which happened to be BDSM. “The most important thing to remember when trying impact play is which parts of the body are safest to hit.” He paused for a moment, considering you, “But you’ve been studying biology for a while now, Ms Y/L/N. Care to guess which parts are safe and which parts you should avoid?” You hadn’t expected to be asked so took a moment to consider your answer, “Well, the arse obviously. Ummm.... I guess I’d assume the best places to hit are the bits with more meat on them.” “Very good. Entirely correct. There’s a reason most people think about spanking on the arse and that’s because it’s one of the best places to spank. Well, that and the fact that spanking is used so frequently in punishment scenes where you bend the naughty girl over your knee. But, yes, hitting the arse is good. Hitting the thighs can also be good, though the bit just under the arse cheek where it connects to the thighs hurts a lot. Which isn’t to say don’t ever spank there, just be mindful that it’s going to hurt more than directly on the arse cheeks. The pecks or breasts can be good places to hit, even the upper back where the shoulder blade is can be good. What about places to avoid hitting? Any ideas what those might be?” You hummed in thought, “I’d imagine you wouldn’t want to hit the spine since it’s so important.” “Right again Ms Y/L/N. The spine is definitely something to avoid. I don’t like hitting on the back much at all because there's too much important stuff there but I do know some others who don’t mind using a flogger there, especially while warming up before things get too intense. There are also the kidneys to watch out for,” he moved his hand to press against the spot on his own back, “because, as you no doubt know, part of the kidneys stick out under the ribcage so aren’t fully protected. Then a little lower down, just above the arse, is the tailbone which should also be avoided. “What about the neck? That would be bad to hit too, right?” “Yup. And that’s something to watch for if you’re doing anything on the shoulder blades. The spine of course runs all the way up the back of the neck and hitting there can do some very serious and lasting damage if you’re not careful. I know some people who will only flog the shoulder blades if the sub is wearing a collar because that adds a bit of protection around the C5 and C6 vertebrae but even so, better safe than sorry in my opinion. The front of the neck is also not good to hit since that’s where the vocal cords and all that is.” “Which is why you have to be careful with a flogger’s tails, right?” “Right. But what about on the front? Is there anywhere else you’d avoid?” “Pussy,” you said with a laugh. Roger laughed too, “Actually, depending on how it’s done, spanking a pussy can be quite enjoyable.” “Wait really?” “Yeah. I prefer doing it with my hand since you can feel when it makes the sub wet but it’s not totally unusual to use paddles or crops or even floggers down there too. I’m sure some people whip as well.” You gulped at the thought. “The biggest area to avoid on a person’s front side is the diaphragm and middle of the chest. There’s a lot of important stuff in there and a lot less tissue than elsewhere.” “Do people get badly hurt doing impact play?” you glanced over the list of places Roger said to avoid. It made it seem like almost any spanking was running the risk of more than just some bad bruising. “Sometimes.” Roger said seriously. He paused for a moment, thinking, and then continued, “Things can go wrong. And when you’re playing with intentionally hurting someone, things going wrong can be very serious. I won’t pretend there aren’t stories of people trying impact play and ending up paralysed or worse. But if you’re careful, if you pay attention and only hit certain areas and are mindful of how hard you’re hitting, then you’re going to be fine. And that’s why we come up with safe words and talk through scenes before we do them. So that you can minimize those risks and have a chance to communicate any worries or concerns.” “But how can safe words help if you say them after you’ve already been hurt too much?” “Well, for one, even if you’ve been hurt badly, using your safe word can stop things from being made worse. But you don’t have to wait until you’re hurt to use the safe word. Yes, if I spank you four times in a row and the fourth one feels so bad you can’t go on, then you should use your safe word before I give you a fifth. But you could also use it after the third hit when you aren’t sure if you want the fourth. And safe words aren’t just about physical pain. If you start off excited but then feel anxious after two hits you are well within your rights to safe word. You don’t have to wait until the damage is done. And, obviously, it’s not always easy to tell if that one hit more is going to be enough to make you want to stop. You can’t always know if the next hit is going to catch your neck wrong and do serious damage. But if you feel at all worried that it might, speak up. Not just worried either. If you feel distracted or you think I’m not paying enough attention to how I’m spanking you, or if I move to spank and area you don’t want me to touch, tell me. There is no wrong reason to use a safe word, even if we’re only a few minutes into the scene. I’ve said before that I’d rather you tell me to stop than for us to go on and you not feel comfortable, and I mean it.” “I know, I guess I just never really thought about it being for mental stuff as well as physical.” “Mmm, I should have checked that.” “Well, let’s face it, you probably tried and I just didn’t pay attention. But, y’know, you’re very good at reassuring me when I start to get nervous.” “I hope that’s a good thing.” “It definitely is. I think if I didn’t have the reassurance, I’d chicken out of some things.” “As long as you’re aware of the difference between some healthy nerves and anxiety that could be a sign you should slow down. And that you keep telling me how you’re feeling.” “Of course I will.” “Good girl.”

An understanding seemed to pass between you as you sat in near silence, eyes on the other. Until Roger drew in a long breath and stood up. “Right well, I think that’s just about everything. Obviously we weren’t able to see the levels of bruising that different implements can cause but it’s kind of dependent on the individual anyway. Everything can influence the severity of bruises and other marks. Tell me what a bruise is.” “It’s broken blood vessels under the skin which cause discolouration.” “Bingo. Now, obviously being spanked with a hand will leave less obvious bruises than being hit with a crop will and usually a paddle will bruise less than....i don’t know, a leather belt. But there's lots of factors to consider. The sub’s age, diet, the colour of their skin, their hydration level, how much sun exposure they’ve had recently, stress levels, hormones. And the biggest of all is how much stimulus they receive on that part of the body. The more you hit a spot, the deeper it will bruise. So, don’t expect bruises and marks to appear exactly the same every time you make them. There are some ways to heighten or lessen marks left during BDSM, but I’ll go through those when you’re ready for our practical lessons. And we’ll also go through some ideas for popular scenes and positions before we settle on what our scene will look like.” Roger seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, “Of course, it’s not so late we have to stop. If you did want to start testing out some light impact play, or if you wanted to revisit a previous topic, you’re more than welcome to come back to mine.” “No,” you said much too fast, the suggestion catching you completely off guard. “Okay, no problem,” Roger said, his eyes downcast. “I didn’t mean...just that tonight’s not great timing.” You’d really thought you’d got out of having to talk about it but you could see Roger was going to ask what you were talking about when on a regular tutoring night you’d likely still be in his bed. All the same you couldn’t quite make eye contact as you explained, “My period started last night, that’s all. Makes things a bit awkward.” “Oh is that all?” You shrugged, “Yeah.” “Well there’s no need to feel awkward or embarrassed about that. And there’s no reason to hide it from me. Aside from the fact that I’ve been married and had kids, I’ve also been teaching biology for longer than I care to count, so I’m very familiar with the reproductive processes and the reality of the menstrual cycle.” “I knew you were going to say something like that.” “Because it’s true. And besides, periods are important to factor into our lessons because they can change how you’ll respond to various kinks. Fluctuating hormone levels can change how much you enjoy or desire sex, as well as the physical sensation of different forms of touch. A lot of women find breast stimulation uncomfortable in the lead up to their period because their breasts become tender at that stage of their cycle. It can also make vaginal sex undesirable, at least in the first couple of days if not longer, whether because of a physical discomfort or pain, or just because it makes sex messier and more annoying to clean up after. The hormonal shifts in a menstrual cycle can also effect libido too, either stopping you from feeling aroused or causing hyper arousal. And all of that is important to consider, especially when we get to other things like orgasm denial. So, don’t feel you have to hide your periods from me, okay? I want to know if something is going to effect how enjoyable these lessons are for you. And plus, I factored periods into the timeline, remember? If you want to postpone for a week we can. His little speech did put you at ease a bit, the weight of admitting the truth no longer as heavy now that he knew, but it still wasn’t an especially comfortable conversation, “Well, I should be okay to go in a few days.” “Would you be up for having sex on one of the last days of your period when your flow is a little lighter? Or would you rather wait until after it was finished?” You tried not to cringe too much upon hearing Roger talk about your flow, “After I think. I don’t know. How do you feel about it?” Roger shrugged, “If we were just having sex without the kinky stuff I’d be okay with period sex. It’s a little more effort since we’d need to put towels down and all that but I’m not completely opposed to it if we’re both in the mood. However, I think since we’re playing with BDSM it’s probably a good idea to wait.” You nodded, glad the topic was almost settled, “Yeah, that makes sense. I think I’d feel too self-conscious to enjoy any period sex but you’re definitely right about the BDSM stuff. Just makes it easier for my first time trying things out if I’m not worrying about, um, bleeding everywhere.” Roger gave you a reassuring smile which made your heart flutter, grateful he hadn’t made things too difficult or drawn out, “That’s settled then. We can put a pin in all of this for now and come back to it when you’re ready.” “Thanks. Will Friday suit? I think I should be right by then.” “Friday sounds great.” “Really? You don’t have to, like, pick up the kids or anything?” Roger shook his head, amused, “No. It is technically my weekend with them but they’re both staying at friend’s placed over night so I won’t see them until Saturday. Friday we can start testing some things and if we need to, we can come back next Monday and go through more. And I finish a bit earlier on Fridays so maybe we could start a bit earlier.” “Yeah that works for me.” “Great. I guess we should get out of here then.” Roger ushered you from the classroom and walked beside you all the way to the carpark, your footsteps echoing down the corridors. He chatted to you quietly about non-kinky topics, as if you’d merely ended up walking the same direction by accident, just in case anyone was looking. You were almost sad to reach your car, drawing the conversation to an end, “This is me.” “One last thing, Ms Y/L/M.” “Mmm?” “For homework-” “Homework?” “Yes. For homework I want you to watch some porn with impact play in it. You’ll find a few examples linked in a document I’ve dropped in our folder but feel free to find your own too. It can be spanking by hand or flogging or any other form of impact we discussed today, whatever turns you on most. Because I want you horny when I see you on Friday. I want you to spend all week thinking about naughty sluts who get spanks, knowing you’ll soon be one of them. I want you excited to be hit and wet at the thought of me spanking your arse and cunt while I fill your holes with cock. Is that clear?” Roger had leant closer as he talked and your stomach did a backflip as he stood up. All you could do was nod, completely lost for words as Roger chuckled and walked into the dark towards his own car.

#my writing #my fics #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine #gonna try and get the next one written a bit quicker lmao

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paradisetemporarilymisplaced · 3 years ago

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Book recs: Similar to but less sad than TSOA

Hello everyone! @lordeteams requested some book recommendations that are not as sad as The Song of Achilles so here we go. I read a lot of books and since 2019 I've kept a running list of what I've read so honestly I'll take any excuse to subject people to my interests🤗 List is below the cut, not in any particular order (except from the first entry which is my current favorite), and includes NA, YA, and adult fiction. If you're curious about the distinction I'll refer you to this (sadly, now-deleted) tweet from Maggie Stiefvater:

One Last Stop (Casey McQuiston, NA): This one is brand new and instantly became a favorite. F/F romance in which August Landry, newly transplanted to Brooklyn, meets Jane Su on her morning commute. Turns out, Jane is stuck on the train and has been since the 70s, but has no memory of how it happened or of her old life. Part romance, part time-travel mystery, but entirely a love letter to queer communities everywhere. Found family trope abounds with August's roommates and coworkers, which include drag queens, people of every flavor of queer, and a real life psychic, all of whom are ready and willing to help solve the mystery of why Jane is on the train and how to fix it. In the process, August learns things about her own family, as well as events in American queer history that few people remember today. I really cannot express enough how much I love this book. Please read it.

Red, White, and Royal Blue (Casey McQuiston, NA): Odds are, if you've heard of Casey McQuiston, it was because of her first book (this one). M/M romance about Alex, son of the first female US President, and Henry, prince of England. Enemies to friends to lovers, featuring queer self-discovery, coming out, PR/corporate closeting (hello, larries!) and just a delight. This is a very different queer story from OLS - OLS is a romance, but more plot-heavy and the romance isn't the entire focus. In RWRB, the romance is the plot and it reads like fanfiction which is very fun.

The Raven Cycle (series, Maggie Stiefvater, YA): This series is a character-driven, coming-of-age, found family story about a bunch of weird-ass teenagers (affectionate), magic, prophecy, and Welsh kings. This is the rare story in which every single main character plays a critical role in the plot and grows and changes with the story. You will fall in love with all of them and their relationships with one another. Plus, the worldbuilding is incredible and has such an intricate mythology that you'll want to reread just to get the details. Followed by the Dreamer Trilogy, of which two books have been published, but I've only read the first one so far.

All for the Game (series, Nora Sakavic, YA): This is the series that got me back into reading for fun five years ago and as such it holds a special place in my heart. The plot is wacky and convoluted - college athletics, a made-up sport, a kid on the run from his mob boss father - but don't let that discourage you. Hella found family. (Are you seeing a pattern?) I will warn you, this deals with some pretty heavy stuff, including torture, abuse, addiction, sexual violence, and more. Here's a comprehensive list of trigger warnings, with detailed descriptions at the bottom. It's intense, but the friendships and romances make it worth the read imo.

Grishaverse (series, Leigh Bardugo, YA): This is actually three series: the Shadow and Bone trilogy, the Six of Crows duology, and the King of Scars duology (which I haven't yet read). If you've seen Shadow and Bone, the S&B trilogy covers the Alina storyline, while SOC covers Kaz, Inej, Jesper, Nina, and Matthias. S&B is a chosen one/coming of age story, while SOC is found family committing heists. It's great.

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (Benjamin Alire Saenz, YA): Coming of age M/M romance. Set in the 1980s in El Paso, it describes the friends to lovers journey of Ari and Dante over several years, as well as Ari's journey of self-discovery. It is the most beautiful book and one of my comfort reads. There's some themes of homophobia and violence, but with a happy ending.

Carry On (Rainbow Rowell, YA): This is basically Harry Potter fanfiction, but better because (a) it doesn't take itself too seriously and (b) the author is not a violent transphobe. Seriously, this book is so fun. It's a twist on the chosen one trope because Simon, said Chosen One, is just spectacularly bad at what he is supposedly destined to be. Plus you have an enemies to lovers storyline, which is my personal favorite trope. Followed by Wayward Son, which is literally a road trip AU, and Any Way the Wind Blows, which will be released next month.

The Queen's Thief (series, Megan Whalen Turner, YA): Fantasy series centered on Eugenides, who is very proud of being a great thief but also wants to be famous, two goals which are not really compatible. This series is interesting because every novel is told from a different character's point of view in an increasingly zoomed-out lens such that you're seeing how Eugenides' influence grows over time and space. The setting is vaguely based on the ancient Mediterranean region, but with a mythology all its own.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo (Taylor Jenkins Reid, adult): This is a frame story in which aged Hollywood star Evelyn Hugo, famously tight-lipped about her personal life, hand selects a young journalist, Monique Grant, to finally tell her story. Evelyn tells Monique all about her life - how she became an actress in the mid-twentieth century, how she got involved (and uninvolved) with all seven of her former husbands, and who was the true love of her life. There are some sad moments for sure, as it's a retrospective on the very long and very full life of an actress at what she knows is the end of hers. But it's such a good story and worth the bittersweet tones.

This Is How You Lose the Time War (Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone, adult): Sci-fi novel told by Red and Blue's letters to one another across time and space. They are on opposing sides of the Time War and as they perform their respective missions, they leave letters for the other to find. Their letters start out as "I'm coming for you, you better run" but then eventually turn to friendship and then love. Ultimate enemies to lovers. It's a short novel but you'll read it again and again to pick up more details. It's so good.

The House in the Cerulean Sea (TJ Klune, NA): This book feels like a warm hug. Linus Baker is essentially a child protective services worker, overseeing the orphanages housing magical children. He is then assigned to the most remote orphanage in the system, in which six dangerous children reside, to determine whether any or all of these children are capable of bringing about the end of the world. Once more, with feeling: FOUND FAMILY. Also nice because it's a metaphor for queerness that also features canon queer characters.

#book recs #queer lit #lordeteams #look if you don't know by now that i am incapable of writing anything short then i don't know how to help you #these are similar to tsoa in that they are all queer and/or coming of age and/or chosen one stories #but they are not tragedies #some are kind of sad at times but all have happy endings #here's hoping i've regained your trust lmao #also if anyone out there reads anything on this list and like it you have to come back and tell me #both for the validation and so that i have someone to scream about it with #my recs

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years ago

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When We Went From Friends to This - a. beauvillier

One day late, but here it is! I’ve been studying for the LSAT, but finally took it today, so I’ll have some more time to be writing more regularly now. Title is from Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings. I loved getting to write this, so please please let me know what you think, my inbox is always open! Reading the tags is one of my favorite things to do, and reblogs help me know people are liking my work.

word count: 7.7k+

September 18 (sat)

Astride Leclair was the kind of person you always wanted on your side. She’d drop anything for a friend, always be the first to reach out, and would never give up on something — or someone — without a fight. She was also incredibly stubborn. Astride had also always had a penchant for adventure, which is how she found herself in a new job 600 miles and one international border from her hometown. And she hated asking for help, it really didn’t matter the circumstance. Which is how she found herself alone, trying to heft an armchair up the stairs of her new apartment building after being very rudely informed by the width of the elevator door that it wasn’t going to fit.

The lump sum her firm gave her for relocation was enough to cover a fair amount of the furniture for her new place and she tried to bring as much as she could on the drive down, but it wasn’t like she was about to rent a U-Haul and there was only so much a Honda Civic could hold. And Astride was still her father’s daughter, still would rather step on a rusty nail than pay Ikea for assembly, so by God she was going to do it herself. And “doing it herself” apparently meant dragging an 80 pound box up three flights of stairs in 90º heat in September, when New York City seemed to have not quite yet gotten the memo that the rest of the Northern Hemisphere was now in fall.

Astride finally managed to get the chair in the door, propping the door open with one of her moving boxes, unceremoniously pulling the box through the entryway as she scooted backwards into the living room. The 600 square foot expanse of her apartment was covered in boxes, more boxes, and for good measure, extra boxes. There were moving boxes, furniture boxes, shoeboxes filled with anything except for actual shoes. There was her guitar leaning against the microwave, three suitcases worth of clothes in the barely-assembled bedroom, and her dog in a crate in the corner, who had started to whine.

“I know, baby, I’ll get you out soon,” Astride said, shooting a sympathetic glance towards the beagle mix. She had adopted Poutine a little over a year ago, soon after starting her first job out of university. It was never a question whether or not she would make the trip with Astride, and thankfully it was much easier than she anticipated to find a dog-friendly apartment in Brooklyn. It wasn’t too long a walk to Prospect Park, a little under a mile, and she was looking forward to getting out with Poutine later in the day. If, that was, she actually finished unpacking enough boxes to function like a normal human being. She had picked up her mattress-in-a-box earlier in the day, but it was still sitting in the corner of her bedroom and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to a night on the hardwood floor.

---

Three hours later, Astride had finally gotten all of the boxes out of her car and began to make decent headway on assembling the chair, finally having let Poutine out of her crate. The beagle trotted around the apartment, sniffing the baseboards, boxes, and single bag of groceries Astride had picked up from Whole Foods earlier in the day. The rest of her Ikea order was coming the next day, the actual bedframe and couch along with a couple of other larger furniture pieces that she had had to leave in Montréal. Whatever she couldn’t order online she’d find at a thrift store.

Astride looked tiredly over at the kitchen. She really wasn’t in the mood to cook, and was in even less of a mood to dig through all the boxes until she finally found her set of pots and pans. She really should have taken her mom’s advice and labeled everything, but Astride was stubborn as a mule, and once she was stuck in her ways, there was precious little anyone could do to convince her otherwise. Pulling out her phone, she navigated to her Uber Eats, feeling a tiny pang in her heart as she switched her location to New York. Not the language, though. Astride was so hungry that she literally clicked on whatever place could get there the fastest, which ended up being a Chinese place a mile or so away. After placing her order — she got an extra box of chow mein so she wouldn’t have to deal with breakfast the next day — she settled back into the hair, the only fully-assembled piece of furniture in the whole apartment. Her finger hovered over her Instagram for a moment before she clicked on it, liking a few photos before going to post one of her own. It was a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge as she crossed it that morning, Poutine’s head lolling out the front window. One tap and one caption later, it was posted.

---

Anthony flopped onto his bed, his duffel landing with a satisfying thump on the floor beside him. Training camp had just ended, and while he’d certainly been keeping up on his workouts over the summer, the hours upon hours of skating had nevertheless made him more than a little sore. He grabbed his phone, opening up Instagram and scrolling through the new posts, only half paying attention. Astride’s new photo caught his eye.

Sometimes, needing a change means a new haircut. Sometimes, it means a new country. Very excited to start this next chapter in my life. Salut, New York! Anthony quickly clicked onto her profile page and read her bio. International economics analyst. Eating my way through the world one pancake at a time. BCom McGill. MTL-NYC. He read the last line over and over again. MTL-NYC. He swiped back to the photo; she had tagged herself in Brooklyn. Brooklyn. She was less than an hour away, not even thirty if the traffic wasn’t bad. But she hadn’t told him, she hadn’t said anything. Anthony felt a pang in his heart. Astride knew who he played for — obviously — and she knew that of course he’d want to see her any time they were even remotely in the same place. She knew that. Right?

He spent the next twenty minutes typing out a message to her. Then deleting it. Then retyping it. Then continuing the type-delete-retype cycle until his head was spinning. This was his best friend. Why was he so nervous to talk to her? Because she was his best friend, and as much as he hated to admit it, he really wasn’t sure where they stood. He hadn’t been sure for a long time. Hey Asty! He internally cringed at himself at the use of her old nickname. I saw you moved to New York, that’s amazing! I’m over on Long Island, so I’d love to catch up with you for coffee or something when you get a chance. It’s been too long :)

It might have been a little petty — scratch that, it definitely was petty — but Astride didn’t respond to his text that night. She didn’t have read receipts on, thank God, but it sat in her messages, without response, like something she was too scared to confront. And she didn’t even know why. Okay, fine, she knew exactly why. She had moved and suddenly they were in the same city for the first time since they were kids and he was, had been, her best friend, but why now of all times? It’s not like he was never in Montréal during the year, or like they couldn’t have committed to a weekly FaceTime or something, or at least texted more than once a month. He could have done something. And that something, that lack of a something, was what kept her from responding until the next morning, tapping out a text as she halfheartedly made her way through a bowl of oatmeal. Hi, Tito, just saw your text! Lie. I did, an opportunity for a transfer came up and I decided to take it. I figured you were pretty close by, so it would be great to catch up. I don’t start at the office for a week, if you’re free any time between now and then. That much was true. She wasn’t stupid, she knew the Islanders played on, well, Long Island, and as much as she wanted to still hold a grudge against him, her heart ached at the prospect of finally being able to see him again.

Anthony responded almost instantly, Astride having just closed the door to the dishwasher — a luxury in New York, she was told — before seeing her phone light up with the telltale bubble. I’d love to, we just finished up training camp so I’m more or less free aside from practices. A second later. Is brunch still your favorite meal?

Astride laughed. It didn’t surprise her that he remembered, but it was still touching to see him say something about it. It is.

How about Tuesday? I’ll send you the directions. It’s this little café in Flatbush, I think you’ll love it.

I’m counting on it.

September 26 (sun)

Brunch had turned into dinner, which had turned into going to a Broadway show — Anthony had insisted the moment she told him she’d never been — which had turned into him coming over for Saturday night movies, an old habit of the pair’s from their days back in Québec. Which had turned into two movies and two bottles of wine, which had turned into Tito sleeping over on the couch instead of driving the thirty-odd minutes back to his apartment. Poutine sniffed him curiously, nudging one hand with her head. Astride stifled a giggle, opening the door to the balcony. “He’s very sleepy, Poutine. It’s not good manners to wake up your guests.”

“Even when they fall asleep on your couch and steal all your blankets?” Anthony said sleepily from behind.

Astride wheeled around, greeted by a half-awake Anthony Beauvillier, who was indeed bundled in all of the blankets she owned that weren’t actively on her bed. “Tito! Oh my God, you scared me. How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged. “Not bad, about as well as can be expected.” He tapped his phone, cursing when he realized it was dead. “Do you know what time it is?”

She glanced down at her watch. “8:52, why?”

Anthony jumped up, throwing his shirt back on and grabbing his still-dead phone. “I’m supposed to meet Mat for breakfast at 9:30, and the place is,” he paused for a moment, running through the grid system in his head, “probably half an hour away? I’m never the late one, can’t break that streak now.”

“Gotcha.”

He grabbed his keys, looking back at her. “Why don’t you come? You’re already dressed, and you remember Mat, right?”

She wiggled her hand. “Kind of?” She crossed the room, letting Poutine back in. “You only want me for my charged phone and navigation system.”

“You got me,” he said, laughing.

---

“You named your dog Poutine?” Mat snickered, taking a bite of his eggs.

“Would you rather I named him Tim Horton?” Astride deadpanned. “He’s a good Canadian boy with a good Canadian mom. He needed a good Canadian name.”

Mat raised his coffee mug, tilting it over towards her. “Touché.”

Anthony waved his hand in front of Mat’s face, trying to catch his attention from where he was utterly preoccupied with destroying his sourdough toast. “Hey, Mat.”

“Mmm?” He glanced up.

“Did you know that Astride lives right by Barclays? Like, right by Barclays?”

His eyebrows rose. “No way?” Astride nodded. “That’s a great area, would have been awesome if you were here a couple of years ago. Short walk to the games.”

“That’s what I told her yesterday,” Tito responded.

---

“You’re kidding,” Anthony said, looking up at her building, then across the street to Barclays, then back to Astride, one hand tangling through his hair. “We used to play right across from here.”

Astride laughed. “I thought about that,” she said. “You know I still watched your games, right? Even after we fell out of touch?” Anthony shook his head. “You were still someone I cared about, are still someone I care about, even when we only talked a few times a year.”

Beau stood there, unable to formulate a complete sentence. As far as he knew, the last Islanders game she watched had been the 2016 opener, his NHL debut and her first year at McGill. Why did he assume that? Why did he assume the worst? You can care about people even when they’re not in your life anymore. And sometimes, if you get really, really lucky, they come back.

October 9 (sat)

“Ebs is having a barbeque thing over at his house this weekend, just stuff to celebrate the beginning of the season if you wanted to come. No pressure if you’ve got plans already, though,” Anthony said over the FaceTime.

Astride nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great, I’d love to come! Just let me know when to show up and what to bring, and I’ll be there.”

It was almost a fifty-minute drive for Astride from her apartment in Prospect Heights to the house in Garden City, but there wasn’t too much traffic and besides, she had always liked driving. So she set off in her Civic, plugged her music in, and headed down 495. Anthony met her outside of the house, greeting her with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek as he cocked his head towards the backyard. “Party’s this way. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Astride dutifully followed, trying not to let her nerves take hold of her. Everyone might have already been Beau’s friends, but she didn’t know them, or the dynamic of everyone’s relationships, or really, what to expect at all.

He noticed her apprehension, stopping her with a feather-light touch on her arm just before walking through the back gate. “Hey, Asty. What is it?”

She let out a little huff, still upset that he could read her like a book even after all this time. “I’m just worried that I’ll feel like I’m intruding on everything, like everyone already has their friends and a group and everything, and here comes some random Québécoise who’s a friend of Tito’s—”

He laughed, turning her around to face him. “Astride, they’re going to love you. As long as you’re the hilarious, witty, caring person I know you are, they’re going to love you as much as I do, and you’re going to fit in just fine. Do you trust me?”

She gave a tiny nod. “Yeah.”

He smiled, squeezing her hand. “Good, now come back, everyone’s waiting.”

They walked through the gate, greeted by a crowd of smiling faces as Anthony brought her around to everyone to make their rounds. There was Anders, he was the captain, and his wife. There was Jordan and Lauren, and she already knew Mat, and JGP — who was excited to have another person to speak French to — and a dozen or so others, along with their respective partners and children. Anthony had gone over to talk to Mat and some of the other players, while Astride had wandered over to the drinks table. Some of the other women were chatting nearby; one of them caught Astride’s eye and waved her over to join them.

“Beau didn’t tell us he was bringing anyone!” one of the women said, pulling her over to the group with a bright smile and handing her a glass of sangria.

“Mhm,” she replied, taking a sip of the drink. “I’m new to the city, obviously, so I think he wanted me to have some people I know outside of just work.”

They all nodded. “How long have you two been together, though?” another asked. “I didn’t even know he was seeing anyone, did you?” She looked around at the others, who shook their heads as Astride’s eyes bulged.

“Together? No, no, we’re not together. We’ve been best friends for ages, but,” she shook her head.

“Could have fooled me,” Lauren said with the smallest of winks.

Astride suddenly became very interested in the floating berries in her sangria. She looked over at Anthony, who was throwing his head back, laughing at something one of the rookies had said, and smiled. But Lauren’s words kept lingering in the back of her mind. Could have fooled me. Okay, it wasn’t like it was the first time they had been mistaken for a couple; whenever she’d make the trip up to Shawingan to visit him when he was in the QMJHL, more than once she’d have to explain to his teammates that no, she wasn’t Beau’s girlfriend, they were just best friends who had known each other forever. Just best friends.

Astride had always equated her lingering feelings for Anthony to the nostalgia of a childhood crush, the safety and security that came with remembering something from a time that seemed so simple and so easy. But childhood crushes didn’t last for ten years. And that wasn’t something she hadn’t wanted to come to terms with, something she’d been putting off for years if she was being honest with herself.

“You didn’t tell me Astride was coming,” Mat commented, seeing her mid-laugh in conversation with the other girls.

Anthony nodded. “Yeah. She didn’t have any plans for the weekend and I thought it would be nice to introduce her to everyone. I remember how shitty it felt to be in a new city away from your family, don’t want her to be lonely. Plus, I genuinely think she’ll fit in great with everyone.”

Mat hummed his agreement. “She’s changed since Switzerland, don’t you think?” he asked appreciatively, referring to over five years ago, the last time he had seen her in person.

“Don’t even think about it,” Beau mumbled to Mat, seeing his eyebrows go so far up they were hidden in his hairline.

“I see a hot girl, I appreciate a hot girl,” Mat shrugged. “But don’t worry, I won’t try anything. I know she’s off-limits.”

The rest of the afternoon passed quicker than she would have thought, and after a few hours and more good conversations, it was time for Astride to leave. “Have a safe drive back,” Anthony said, giving her a hug.

“I will,” she responded.

He opened the driver’s side door for her. “I’m really glad you came, you know. Everyone liked you, you fit in great.”

“It wasn’t all me,” she said, sliding into the seat, turning her head to Anthony to continue the conversation. “Everyone really did seem to go out of their way to make me feel included, I think they understood the feeling of moving to a whole new place without a big support system and wanted to do what they could to help mitigate that for me.” Astride consciously left out Lauren’s little comment, four words that had been bouncing around in her head for hours since they had been said. He didn’t need to know. She didn’t need him to know, it could confuse him and complicate things when they were just getting back into the rhythm of friendship, of being each other’s person.

Anthony tapped his fingers on the car door. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

Beau went to sleep that night, Mat’s words bouncing around in his head. “I know she’s off-limits.” It’s not like Cass was his sister or something, someone who would inherently be barred from his best friend’s dating pool. But Mat seemed to know right away, without having ever been told, that she wasn’t someone he could ever even consider pursuing. Why? And what did Mat seem to know that he didn’t?

November 12 (fri)

It was early November, and Anthony and Astride had just settled down at a table in Prospect Park, coffee cups warming their hands through the late fall chill. “How do you feel about last night?” Astride asked teasingly. He had a three point game, two goals and an assist in a 4-1 win over the Canes, so there really wasn’t any question that he was still riding on the high.

Beau rolled his eyes. “Good, obviously. It would have been nice to get a hat trick, but I know that’s asking for a lot and I didn’t want to tempt fate too much. They made a really good push late in the second.”

“But you won,” she said, poking his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her mocha.

“But we won,” he agreed. He suddenly got quiet, the kind of quiet where, if you know the person well enough, you can tell that something’s up. That they’re thinking of something. And Astride was right. “Do you ever think about Switzerland?” he asked.

Astride looked at him from the side, knowing right away that he wasn’t asking about the country. “All the time,” she admitted.

---

It was the spring of 2015, and they were in Lucerne. By they, Astride meant her, Tito, and the rest of the 2015 Canadian U18 World Cup team. And by in Lucerne, she meant crowded into someone’s hotel room with no adult supervision. Anthony wasn’t sure where any of the coaching staff had gone, but if he was being honest, he was riding on way too big of a high to even care. They had clinched the bronze medal earlier that day, celebrating with the family and friends who had made the trip out, gotten dinner, and then packed into the first team room they came to. Well, technically, Astride, Tito, and Mat had made a stop at the grocery store before meeting everyone else back in the room. The drinking age in Switzerland was 16 for everything but spirits, and everyone was planning on taking full advantage of that. The cashier gave them a look as she took her and Anthony’s French licenses and Mat’s English one, but the charge went through just fine, and fifteen minutes later they were walking back through the doorway with three cases of beer and a few bottles of sparkling wine for good measure. Astride had never been so grateful to have her own checking account.

“You ever drink before?” Mat asked her as they opened the cases.

Astride shrugged. “Not really. A glass of wine every now and again back home with my parents, but nothing too crazy.”

He held out a bottle for her, fishing around in his pocket for the bottle opener they had picked up at the store. “Have fun.”

And have fun Astride did. She had finished off two of the beers, and one of the younger teammates — she didn’t remember who — had popped open the wine. In his slightly inebriated state, it took longer than it should have to twist off the muselet, which then led to foam all over the floor and fifteen sixteen and seventeen-year-olds running to the bathroom to grab towels to try and mop it up with. And then running back to the bathroom to get the water glasses because they needed something to drink it out of, right? And then to everyone else’s rooms because they quickly realized that two cups definitely wasn’t enough to go around, and then everyone was back in the room, on the beds and around the beds, finally letting themselves celebrate. Astride was just finishing her glass when Mat spoke. “Anyone up for never have I ever?” Nobody said otherwise, so two minutes later, they were all arranged in what could very generously be called a circle, fresh drinks in hand. After a solid five minutes of repeating the rules — there was always at least one person who seemed to genuinely struggle with the idea that you drank if you had done the thing, not if you hadn’t — they were slowly but surely making their way around the circle.

Questions ranged from the mundane — “Never have I ever gotten detention” — to the raunchy — “Never have I ever had my parents walk in on me” — neither of which Astride or Tito drank to.

By the time it was Mat’s turn, he had had plenty of time to think, looking around the group with a conspiratorial grin. “What is it?” Tito asked skeptically.

He shrugged. “Never have I ever...kissed anyone in the circle.” As expected, nobody drank, but apparently that wasn’t expected, not for Mat, at least. He looked between Anthony and Astride incredulously. “Seriously? You two have never kissed?”

Anthony shook his head. “Nope.”

“How? You’ve been friends for, like, a million years, not even when you were little or anything?” he asked.

“Never,” Astride said. “Kind of hard to kiss your best friend when you haven’t kissed anyone before.” She barely even realized that everyone was still listening in.

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” Anthony asked, surprised.

Astride looked down at her hands, sipping her beer. “Nope.” She gave him a brief smile. “I know it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but no. Just hasn’t happened yet.”

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe it was feelings buried so deeply in Anthony’s mind that he didn’t think would ever see the light of day, let alone have to be confronted, that made him say what he did next. “I could—if you wanted—you don’t have to, but—” he stammered.

Astride laughed, looking at him curiously. “What is it, Tito? You’re not normally one to stumble over your words like that.”

He picked at his fingernails, an old nervous tick from his childhood that his mother was never quite able to get him to break, keenly aware that the whole room had decided to listen into their conversation. “I was just trying to say...I could do it, if you want. Kiss you, I mean. If you just wanted to get it over with, or whatever. I just figured. You know me, you trust me, you’re comfortable with me. Better that than some idiot at school who doesn’t care about you.”

Her cheeks burned as she looked over at him, but even though it took her nearly a minute to respond, she had her answer after five seconds. “Why not?” Astride flashed him the purest, gentlest smile, the kind that let him know just how much she cared about him and how deeply she trusted him. And the look on her face meant the world to him.

Anthony leaned in, his hand coming up to rest on her shoulder, his fingertips just barely touching her cheek as their foreheads leant together. “You sure about this?” He needed her to be sure.

She nodded. “I’ve had a couple of drinks, and I never imagined my first kiss would be in front of an audience,” she paused to giggle at the rest of the team, who were giving the scene their full attention in a way that somehow wasn’t uncomfortable at all, just wholesome and supportive, “but yeah. I’m sure.”

That was all the permission Anthony needed to lean forward, pressing his lips against hers, in a kiss that was soft and sweet and somehow everything Astride needed all in one. He pulled back after a moment, a goofy smile on his face. “How was it?”

Astride couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Good, it was really good, Tito. Thank you for that.”

“What are friends for?”

---

“Friends are for kissing each other, apparently,” Astride giggled, leaning into Anthony on his couch.

He laughed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over her arm. “Did you ever think something was going to happen between us?” Anthony asked curiously.

Astride shrugged. “At some point, yeah. I think it was kind of hard not to, with our parents and literally everyone we spent time with saying we were destined to fall in love.” She looked down at her hands, trying not to give away the fact that at one point, she had believed them.

November 30 (tues)

“Do you want to come over Friday?” Anthony asked, sprawled out across her couch on one of his rare nights off. He had made the drive over to Astride’s apartment, cooking salmon and roasting vegetables while she took the much more daunting task of picking what to watch on Netflix. She settled on Back to the Future. “I can order in Thai, I know we’re trying to work our way through the Mission Impossibles.”

Astride grimaced. “I actually...kind of have a date Friday night,” she admitted.

Anthony made a hum of surprise. “You do?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so shocked, Tito. There are men in this city of nine million who want to take me out.”

He sputtered. “It’s not that that shocks me, Asty. You’d have men lining up around the block for you if you’d give any of them a second glance. It’s just that. You never seem to bother actually going after any of them. What made this one different?”

“I mean, honestly hour?” Astride said, shrugging.

“Honestly hour.”

“I haven’t been on a date since I left Montréal, you know that. It had been a few months there too. And I’ve loved hanging out with you more, getting to know Mat and the team and everyone’s partners, but...I needed something different, too. Something that felt like a part of my life that wasn’t directly connected to the team. Which, don’t get me wrong,” she added hastily, “I love them, and it’s been so nice to be a part of that group, I just…” Astride trailed off.

“You can’t let that be the only part of your life. I get it,” Anthony added helpfully.

“Yeah,” Astride agreed. “So enter Cole. He works in a different division of the IE department, I’m obviously Europe and he’s Asia, mostly does work with Taiwan and Singapore. Um,” she said, her eyes turning towards the ceiling, “he seems really nice, did international business at UPenn, which is a great program. Speaks fluent Mandarin, uh, I think he mentioned he’s got a few fish at home.”

Anthony snorted. “What’s wrong with fish?” Astride asked defensively.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with fish,” he said. “Just seems like an odd choice. Maybe his building doesn’t allow pets or something.”

“Maybe,” Astride responded. “I wouldn’t know, he lives in Manhattan, over in Tribeca. Bikes to work.”

Tito laughed again. “I don’t trust people who bike to work in New York City, Asty. They have zero regard for their own lives or safety.”

She giggled. “That might be true. But I’m looking forward to it, the date, I mean. I really am. It’s been a while since I’ve really put myself back out there, and I’m ready for something good. Something real.”

He gave a half-smile from his side of the couch. “I’m happy for you, Astride. I hope you have a great time, and I hope he treats you right. If he doesn’t, just let him know that you can sic an entire professional hockey team on him with a single phone call.”

“I will,” she said. “I’ll call you when it’s over, tell you how it went.” “

I’ll be waiting,” he said.

Anthony thought back on the conversation as he sat on the corner of his bed that night, about to go to sleep. He turned his phone over and over in his hands, his eyes fixating on the chip in the crown molding that he hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. He wasn’t lying to Astride when he said he was happy for her. He was, of course he was, who wouldn’t want their best friend to be happy? But while he wanted nothing more, nothing more, than to be able to give his full-throated support for her date, and the potential the future held for her and this Cole guy, he couldn’t do it. There was something stopping him. And the worst part of it all was that Anthony was starting to realize what it was.

---

Astride had said that their dinner reservation was at 7, some brasserie in the West Village. “That’s a French thing, right?” Cole had asked.

“It is,” Astride responded, gearing up for her translation skills to be used for the first time in months. She spoke almost exclusively French around Tito, and with JGP and Brassard, but the majority of her day was spent in English. Cole said that the restaurant had come highly recommended from one of his Wall Street friends, something that should have been the first red flag.

“Never trust the finance bros,” Reese, a German specialist and one of her friends at the office, had said. “They all think they’re God’s gift to mankind when I can guarantee you they ain’t shit.”

She had said it was at 7, so Anthony wasn’t expecting to hear from her until much later; honestly, he would have been surprised if she had called before 10. He tried not to think about what it could mean if she didn’t call at all that night. She had said it was at 7, so when he heard a knock at his door at half past nine, he practically jumped out of his skin before scrambling to open the door. His eyebrows rose when he saw Astride on the other side of the door, then his face contorted into a look of sympathy as he saw the sad smile on her lips, her jacket slung over one arm.

“Can I come in?” she asked. He nodded without question, holding the door while stepping out of the way. He padded to the kitchen, bringing out a bottle of Moscato and two glasses. Astride smiled gratefully at him as he uncorked the bottle and poured. He knew that she couldn’t do red wine when she was upset, and she was upset.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked tentatively.

Astride shrugged, sipping the wine. “Not much to tell other than it was probably the worst first date I’ve ever been on.”

That piqued Anthony’s interest. He’d never be happy that she was upset, but something told him the story wasn’t quite that simple. “What about it was so bad?”

“Where do I begin?” she sighed. “He was on time, but that’s pretty much the only thing Cole did right the entire night. He was rude to the waitress when we had to wait all of ten minutes until our reservation was ready, because the couple ahead had gone long. Then he ordered the most expensive bottle of red wine they had, without even asking me to see what I wanted. He really just was trying to show off that he could afford it. And it was a Sangiovese, and you know I hate dry wines, so I was just trying to choke the whole thing down. And then he insisted on ordering for me, which is probably the most chauvinistic thing I could think of, I mean, who does that anymore?” she asked incredulously.

Tito shrugged. It was disrespectful, absolutely, but more than that, it was just weird. If women have mouths that work, then they’re more than capable of doing something as simple as ordering their own food.

“And he kept trying to pour me more wine after the first glass, even when I told him a million times I was good.” Anthony’s grip on his glass tightened. Astride rubbed her temples with her free hand. “He just kept going on and on about work, and this big promotion he’s insisting he’s going to get even though I know for a fact that they want Maria for it. I could barely get a word in edgewise. That’s when I just decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I faked that Jean-Claude was calling, grabbed my jacket, and caught a cab over here.” She looked up at him, the same disappointed expression she had worn when he opened the door. “I was really hoping this one would pan out, Tito.”

He felt an ache in his heart. He may have been less than thrilled about the prospect of Astride going out on a date, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less to see her so despondent. He leaned over, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen loose. “I know, Asty. And I’m sorry it didn’t.”

December 13 (mon)

Anthony and Mat were the last ones in the locker room after a morning practice. “I found this new place nearby last week that’s got great smoothie bowls, want to get one after you finish packing your stuff?” Anthony asked, looking over at Mat.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, Sounds good,” Mat nodded, half-listening.

Anthony glanced over at him, a weird look on his face. “You good, dude? You sound distracted.”

Mat spoke abruptly, looking over at Tito with a laser-focused expression. “How long have you been in love with Astride?”

Anthony’s eyebrows jumped a foot. “In love with Astride? Why would you think that?”

Mat gave him a look, the kind of look that let Anthony know he was dead serious about what he was saying, and more than that, that he believed it. “Tito, I’m dumb, but I’m not stupid.”

Anthony leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “It’s that obvious?”

“Yep,” Mat said, popping the p.

“Do you think she knows?” His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Mat said, shrugging. “I don’t think so, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to really be able to know about something as big as that and not address it. Doesn’t like to keep things bottled up, it’s not really her style.”

Anthony nodded. “It’s not.” He raked one hand through his haid, his head still leaning on the other one. “God. How do you tell your best friend you’re in love with her?”

Mat put one hand on Beau’s back, comforting him as best he could. “I don’t know, Tito. I wish I could help. What I do know,” he said, “is that you’re going to have to eventually. Because it’s going to tear you up if you don’t.”

December 18 (sat)

Astride tossed one final empty can into the garbage bag. “I think that’s it,” she said, giving his living room a cursory look. What had looked like a warzone only less than an hour before now more closely resembled the somewhat-messy but perfectly respectable bachelor pad of a man in his 20s, like it should have. With the holidays approaching, Anthony had decided to take it into his own hands to host a party — alongside Astride, who he had practically begged for help — intent on showcasing his newly-acquired skills by playing bartender the whole night. He was surprisingly capable, Astride had thought, if her Sazerac was anything to go by.

He smiled at her. “Thanks, Asty. And thanks for staying and helping clean everything up, you really didn’t have to.”

She tied the bag off and set it by the door with the other one. “I wanted to. And besides, I’m staying over,” she said, looking over at Anthony, “so what did you think I was going to do? Lock myself in the guest room while you cleaned up the whole apartment by yourself? What kind of a woman do you take me for?” she asked in mock offense.

Anthony laughed, sitting down on the couch with a satisfying thump, pulling Astride into his side when she settled next to him.

“I’m so glad we got back in contact,” she said, muffled against the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m so glad we’re friends again.”

He felt guilty; more than that, he knew that the guilt, at least some of it, was deserved. “I should have done more,” he lamented. “I should have done more to keep in contact, more to show you I cared, more so you’d know that your friendship is one of the things I value most in my life.”

Astride gave a small smile. “It’s a two-way street, Tito. Sure, I won’t lie and say that you really put all that much effort into keeping in contact. You didn’t.” He winced, she shot him a sympathetic look. “I love you, but you know me. I don’t mince my words. But I definitely could have done more than text you congratulations or leave a thirty-second voicemail on your birthday. We both could have done more. We both should have done more,” she said, correcting herself. “What do you think happened, though? Where did we go wrong?” As much as she might have hated it, Astride was that kind of person. She went through every bad decision in her life with a fine-toothed comb, needing to know what went wrong, needing to know what she could have done differently.

“I think,” he began, “that it was just so easy to get distracted from ‘back home’ things. From our friendship, from my relationships with my family. From the important things, the things that I should have made an effort to prioritize even when the season got hectic and games got hard. And I’m not trying to make excuses,” he added quickly, “but there was just something about where I was, physically and mentally. I was 19, a rookie in one of the biggest cities in the world, and I think I just lost sight of things. Between the practices and games and going out and community events and trying to get in more than five hours of sleep a night, it was a lot,” he admitted. “It was stressful, probably weighed on me more than I wanted to admit. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I’m well aware I was — and am — living a life thousands of kids would kill for, but there’s a lot that goes on behind the scenes that you don’t really understand unless you’ve been through it. I don’t have many regrets from my rookie season, or really many in my career so far. Don’t regret moving for minors, don’t regret going to the Isles, don’t regret any of the contracts I’ve signed or plays I’ve made. Well,” he smirked, “maybe a few. But the one big one? The only real regret I’ve had? Letting you go.”

Astride swallowed hard, choosing her next words carefully. “What do you mean, letting me go?”

Anthony let out a hard sigh. He’d put it off for long enough. He couldn’t do it any longer. “Never telling you how I feel.”

“How you feel?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, her fingers tangling in the fringe of the fleece blanket that was slung over the couch cushions.

“Like I love you so much my heart could burst.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “How long have you known?”

He looked at her with a soft smile. “Ever since Switzerland.”

“Six years?”

“Six years.” He reached out slowly, so slowly, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear when she didn’t move back. They sat in silence for a moment, and when Anthony spoke again, his voice wavered. “Asty? Say something.”

Astride’s lifted her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I knew since I was 15.”

His face split into a grin, wider and wider until she was sure she’d never seen a bigger smile. “You did? You do?”

She nodded, leaning forward so their foreheads were touching. She put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat fluttering butterfly-fast underneath her fingertips. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since I knew what love was, Tito.”

He pushed forward, pressing his lips against hers for the first time since 2015, the first time since Switzerland. It was gentle and meaningful and somehow communicated all of the love and emotion that had been built up between the two of them in the past six years. Anthony pulled back after a minute, his lips pink and slightly puffy. “Tell me where your head’s at, Astride.”

“Is it too cliché to just say that this might be the happiest I’ve been in years?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Not at all.” But there was something that she wasn’t quite letting go of. “What is it, Astride?”

Astride sniffed. “I want this. You and I, I want it so mad it hurts. I just hate the idea that we’d turn into some sort of cliché. Childhood friends who grow up and fall in love, but something goes wrong and they split up and suddenly the dynamic of everything is messed up and I don’t want that, Tito. I don’t know if I could deal with you hating me because of how things ended.”

“But things don’t have to end, Asty. Every broken heart, every date where some asshole has stood you up has led you to know that you deserve more. You deserve so much more, Astride, you deserve the sun and the moon and someone who would hang them in the sky for you. It doesn’t have to end in heartbreak. It doesn’t have to end at all.”

Astride had always been someone who was cautious, someone who thought before she acted and never spoke without thinking through every possible outcome. But this was one of the times that she couldn’t do that, one of the times when, as much as she may have hated it, she needed to take a leap of faith. And so she did. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Anthony asked, his voice lifting.

She nodded, the happiness on her face unmistakable. “Okay.”

And as Astride and Anthony FaceTimed her parents to break the news, her mom slapping her dad’s shoulder, claiming that she had “called it” back in 2014, Astride was filled with a sense of undeniable, irreplaceable joy. The kind of joy that the poets write about and artists put brush to canvas trying to depict, the kind that most people go their whole lives only hoping to get a glimpse of. The kind that made Astride more certain of one thing than she had perhaps been in her entire life. It didn’t have to end in heartbreak. And this one didn’t have to end at all.

And as they stood two years later in a little church in their hometown, promising in front of their family and friends and the entire New York Islanders to love each other for the rest of their lives, Astride finally believed it.

#anthony beauvillier #hockey smut #hockey writing #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl smut #nhl writing #new york islanders

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writeraquamarinara · 4 years ago

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as with everything else in life, I’m late to making this post. I tend to make one around Jan 1st every year, but it’s now a few days after that, and all i can say for myself is that time is non-consequential during a pandemic, right? right.

anywho, this is my usual “thank you for keeping me going this year” post, but with even more fervor. 2020 would not have been nearly as tolerable without you all in it. and when i say all i really do mean all. thank you to anyone who follows me here or has read and supported my work on AO3 or has sent me a message or an ask or even just likes my posts. you can never know how many people’s hearts you’ve touched, lives you’ve made better, but i’m telling you now: you made me smile and laugh and feel love in a year that could have easily stolen all that. thank you for sticking around.

a few more specific shoutouts are under the cut to keep from flooding your dashes. i hope you’re all having a wonderful start to the new year.

much love, mari

to @anniemurphys: ria, i cannot thank you enough, for so many things. you played such a vital role in turning this year around for me. your friendship, and the friendships you’ve helped me make through book club, kept me smiling from week to week. i never wanted to leave our meetings, no matter how long they’d already gone. I could listen to your literary analyses and life advice for days on end. you’re such a kind, patient, loving person, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life. here’s to another year of freaking out over taylor swift albums and the power inherent in voluntarily turning oneself into vegetation.

to @bigdsgirl: heidi, you’re one of the sweetest, most hard-working people i know. you amaze me, and you graciously humor my latest hyper fixations—somehow always knowing, always reblogging content related to what i’m obsessing over at the moment. you give such great advice and have such a calming presence that i love being in chats and on calls with you. i cannot wait for more zoom movie nights in 2021.

to @hellodinoflower: raptor, you’ve supported me for so many years now, and whenever i feel down about my writing i’ll go back through the comments on some of my old fics and yours always make me tear up. you’re so thoughtful and kind and excited about my work that i cannot help but be the same. i hope you enjoyed the little dino reference in pride & publishing—i tried my best, i really did—and i hope you’re doing well. sending you so much love.

to @soyforramen: soy, i promise i’ll get to your head canon asks some day. i promise i haven’t forgotten them; i’m just uncreative and uninspired, but what else is new. you, however, are brilliant and kind and thoughtful, and your guidance in making both life and fic-writing decisions has been so important to me this year. wishing you so much luck with school this year, and even more happiness.

to @ithoughtyoulikedmereckless: rach, where to even begin? you’re the person i talk to when i’m feeling happy or sad or annoyed or angry or pretty much anything, really. our FaceTime convos are my favourite, no matter what time of day we have them at (somehow, the ones at 10pm are just as crazy as the ones at 3am, and i don’t really understand how or why, but i love that for us). i’ve learned so much about myself through my conversations with you, and you keep me level headed when i start doubting myself too much. you understand me on such an amazing level and i’m so lucky that you reached out to me so many years ago. i’m so lucky that we just happened to find each other on here and just so happened to move near each other this year. i still cannot believe i get to see you in person and go on walks in the woods with you. you’re such a talented photographer, writer, painter, baker, and all around artist; an incredibly kind and funny person; and i aspire to be you. i’m rambling now, but just know that i love you.

to @catthecoder: lav, my light, my love. seeing your icon and username on my dash makes me smile so hard. you just give off the best vibes and chatting with you always leaves me feeling like i’ve been basking in the sunlight for the past few hours. we need to make a resolution to sprint with each other more often this year, even if 2021 is going to be as hectic as ever, as i find so much joy in reading your snippets as we go along. you’re such a wonderful writer, and i often read your gift to me from years ago for inspiration and comfort. i hope you’re doing well and am sending so much love.

to @stirringsofconsciousness: stirrings!! i know you’ve had a super busy year, but you still made time to chat with me and i’ll be forever grateful. i often think about the advice you’ve left for me and the thoughtful responses you’ve given to my personal posts and find so much inspiration in your own words and actions. i also still cannot get over the time when you sent me a post of artful vases because you thought of me when you saw them. mortifying ordeal of being known who? anyways lol, i just wanted to thank you for being in my life and wish you a happy 2021.

to @heavy-lies-the-crown: alex, i just wanted to thank you for putting your time and energy towards answering my incessant questions this year. you’ve been an inspiration to me as a writer ever since i first found your work, but you’re also an inspiration to me as a person, and i’m always thinking about the advice you’ve given me. i hope you had a wonderful end to 2020, and that 2021 brings you even more joy than seeing your posts on my dash brings me. much love.

to @stonerbughead: maria, you brought so much happiness to my 2020. your support for my work took my breath away every time, and I swear I nearly cried when I saw your latest comments on pride and publishing. you put so much time and energy into this fandom, and into supporting the people in it, and I hope you know that it doesn’t go unnoticed. we all love you, and we’re so lucky to have you; your fics are brilliant, your podcast highlights are a joy to read, and your disdain for ras is hilarious. thank you for being you. sending lots of love.

to @sullypants: sully, it’s been years and i still marvel at how lucky i am to know you. you’ve taught me so much, from how to be more thoughtful to how to navigate therapy and self-love to how to be a kinder person in the world. you introduced me to ask polly and you send me really nice asks and you’re one of like four people who interacts with my posts on a consistent basis, which makes me feel a little less alone in the world, if that makes any sense. i’m going to stop myself from rambling on or else i might cry, but i just wanted to thank you for—here comes the cliche—changing my life (doesn’t everyone we meet change our lives, in some way or another? but you’ve changed mine considerably, and for the better). sending you so much love (in the form of both yellow and blue heart emojis)

to @justcourbeau: mel, our paths cross less frequently now than they used to, but that doesn’t mean i don’t think about you and the conversations we’ve had, or smile when i come across your posts on my dash, or when i happen to open up instagram once in a blue moon and see you’ve posted on your story. please never stop sending me sparknotes memes—especially cask of amontillado ones. your words of advice from the night i called you, distraught, a few years ago live in my brain rent free, and i will continue to carry them into 2021 with me. i hope 2021 treats you well, and that you achieve all you want and more. sending you an immense amount of love.

to @protectorofthesmoll: your string of comments on pride and publishing made me cry multiple times, i swear. i still read them back every so often, when i’m trying to muster the courage to start up on the new chapter. your support means so much to me, and it amazes me how far back it goes: I’m pretty sure I have at least two asks of yours sitting in my inbox, from back in 2018 when I had barely any followers or supporters, both of them writing prompts that I never filled. i promise i’ll get to them one day. anywho, i just wanted to thank you for your support this year, and every year before that. wishing you so much love and happiness in 2021.

to @panalegs27: 2020 was the year of figuring out that we have so much in common: a hatred of dating apps, confusion over tumblr’s obsession with the raven cycle, and an attraction to logan lerman with gray hair. thank you for chatting about all of these things, and more, with me; seeing that you’ve sent me a post always makes me smile, and our conversations make me laugh. wishing you even more love and laughter in 2021.

to @indiebughead: maria, it’s been so lovely getting to know you more over the course of this year. i love listening to your stories and living vicariously through you, lol. (i want updates on new neighbor boy, asap!) thank you for listening to my petty rants and for encouraging me to make bad decisions and be salty on main when i want to be. i couldn’t have asked for a more supportive conspirer ;) sending lots of love.

to @redundantoxymorons: iz, you’re one of the smartest, most eloquent, most supportive people i know. i know 2021 will be both stressful and exciting in many ways, and i wish you all the best. i know you’re going to thrive wherever you end up, and i’ll cheer you on as you navigate this new world, just as you’ve done for me all these years. i’m so lucky to have you as a friend, supporter, and beta, and all of our conversations bring me so much joy. pls continue to gush about taylor swift and rec books and send uquizzes with results that make me feel Known in 2021. i love you very much <3

to @cracklr: leda, i’ve missed your passive aggressive smiley faces, but your gushing insta comment more than made up for that, i promise :) sending you so much love and happiness in this new year <3

to @dottie-wan-kenobi: dottie, the posts we send each other make me so upset, but in a good way—the “if i just had to see this nasty shit then so do you” kind of way—and i love that about our relationship. who else would understand how disgustingly hilarious something is other than my wife? no one, that’s who. i often think about how you were the first friend i made in fandom, and i’ll be forever grateful for that: i couldn’t have found a better person. i love you so much, and am sending you all my love.

this list of shoutouts is really much shorter than it should be, but my brain is currently friend and i cannot seem to think properly anymore. therefore, i’m going to call it a day and reiterate my above statements that I love you all, and I hope you have a fucking amazing 2021.

#i can't find my 2019 one of these so i've decided i need to start tagging them with something so i can read them back #so for posterity:#end of the year appresh #anywho #none of this is edited or read over #so if it's embarrassingly cheesy or there are typos... welp

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astraeagreengrass · 4 years ago

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exile [the woods part 1]

When you wake up in the floor of your apartment, you have no idea of how much the world has changed

Word Count: 2.708

Warnings: angst, mentions of death and death-related themes, PTSD, brief allusion to a panic attack.

A/N: A month ago, Taylor Swift released her eight studio album folklore and, unsurprisingly, it took over my life. The stories Taylor beautifully narrates in her songs inspired me to write something of my own: the woods is a four-part, post-Endgame story, with some slight changes to the canon, featuring Steve Rogers. Updates will be every Friday. Thank you to @xbuchananbarnes for proof-reading this and @thegetawaywriter for encouraging me to write. The banner picture was found here. Dividers are from @writeyourmindaway. Here is exile. I hope you like it ♡

i think i've seen this film before and i didn't like the ending you're not my homeland anymore so what am i defending now? you were my town, now i'm in exile, seein' you out i think i've seen this film before so i'm leavin' out the side door

Being pieced back together was like a hangover.

Like drinking too much wine one evening and then waking up on a foreign bed, not knowing how you got there. It was a pounding headache, a churning stomach, a dry throat. The back of your teeth were sensitive and the sound of sirens rung too loudly on your ears.

In the aftermath of your intoxication, the city is deafening.

You groaned at the light - you must’ve been so wasted if you’d forgotten the blinds. Every breath took a toll of your lungs, stretching your muscles beyond their strength, creaking your joints as you exhaled.

Someone gasped, startling you.

The familiar floorboards of your apartment greeted you when your eyes opened. Timeworn almond timber, the New York staple. Craning your neck, you saw a foot. Shit. You weren't one to bring one night stands home, or actually have them in the first place. Little ol' you was a little too square, a little too cautious, struggling to keep her trust issues from spilling out of her hands. Definitely not the best candidate for loose-stringed affairs, but your grandma always told you there was a first time for everything.

The foot’s owner nudged you, and you groaned again.

“Miss?” they said. “Are you alive?”

I don’t know.

Your gaze focused and you noticed the person was a boy of eleven or twelve, with a beautiful dark mop of curls and soft brown eyes. What the...

“Who are you?” you managed to croak. There was an ashy taste in your mouth, as if you’d swallowed dust.

The boy looked up and across, and you noticed that, on your left side, his father was crouching beside your body. He looked just like the kid, except a couple of decades older, so you assumed he was the father.

“My name is Cal,” the man said, spacely, as if he’d might frighten you if he spoke normally. “This is my son Daniel. We’re not going to hurt you.”

"Nice to know the invaders won't hurt me," you tried to say, but it came out a jumbled, messy current of words, like a baby first learning to communicate.

"Invaders?" the boy exclaimed, insulted. "We live here!"

"Daniel!" his father chided. "Miss, what is the last thing you remember?"

You pressed a palm to the ground, trying to lay your weight on it so you could stand up. You weren't about to answer an unknown man's questions while laying face-down on your own apartment floor. You might be hungover, but you had more dignity than that. When your body crumpled like a twig under a boot, Cal held you up, helping you to a seating position facing the window.

Craning your neck to shield your eyes from the sun, you noticed it.

Golden brown leaves.

Golden brown leaves that shouldn't exist in May.

You clearly remember opening the windows yesterday to green, lively foliage. New York was many things - loud, chaotic, more often than not dangerous - but it’s seasons were consistent, enduring. Through the tempests and disturbances, nature persevered in her year-long cycle, living and dying and living again.

These particular leaves belonged to October, perhaps even early November, never May.

Something was terribly wrong.

“What day is it?” you whispered, wide eyes going from the window to the man aiding you.

Cal grimaced. His boy was suddenly very quiet.

When you were a child, you used to have nightmares: a ghost in the attic, a wolf haunting the woods outside your house, an IED blowing up your father's convoy in Iraq. They'd trap your consciousness, suffocating your mind with fear and panic, and no night light or teddy bear could stifle the onslaught of relentless screams that rattled the walls and hallways of your childhood home, until your frantic grandmother shook you awake. The reality that greeted you on the floor of your apartment was that Twilight Zone all over again.

“Please,” you pleaded, perhaps to the man, perhaps to yourself.

Cal sighed.

“Today is October 17th, 2023,” he said and you learned that the only thing scarier than a nightmare is life itself. “You’ve been dead for the past five years.”

“We could go to the house in the woods,” you mumbled to the warmth of Steve’s chest.

He tightened his hold around your body, pressing a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head.

“Whatever you want,” he said. “You’ve got me for the weekend.”

“The whole weekend?” you smiled at him, finding the reassurance you needed in his indigo gaze.

Steve kissed you again, a fierce press of lips this time. Mouths and tongues and teeth intertwined, your hand finding hip, his hand finding you thigh.

“The whole weekend,” he breathed in the shell of your ear, right before the two of you became nothing more than a mess of pillows and sheets, drowning in love and want and lust. “And then forever.”

When the world ended, several hospital units closed down due to lack of patients.

When the Avengers managed to reverse the effects of the Snap - no one knew how they did it, but everyone knew it was them because of course it was - the mayor of New York declared the interruption of all kinds of activities in the city in order to help those returning. It was in a campaign hospital in Bryant Park that Steve Rogers found you, sitting up cross-legged and wrapped up in a grey blanket, having your temperature checked by one of the volunteers.

Wearing dark clothes and a cap, Steve was nothing more than a shadow behind the woman's shoulder. A lesser-trained gaze would glide past his figure in a quarter of a second, but not you. Never you. You'd recognize him in a sea of people, as if the blood that sustained you and the bones that built you knew exactly where to find him.

Steve had the decency to wait until the woman was done to approach you. With slow, clearly measured steps, he came closer, taking a seat at the foot of your stretcher. If he reached out his arm, he'd touch you, but he refrained and you were glad he did. In your mind, you saw him days ago, but reality told you differently. The calendar at the nurse's station, the newspaper you got a hold on, the constant broadcast of news: all of them mocked you, tormented you. Five years had gone by - more time than you’d ever had with the man across from you. And if there was ever any lingering doubt in your mind that this was some elaborate trick to fool you, they faded when you noticed the modest signs of aging that nothing but time and grief could inflict on a Super Soldier.

Again, a lesser-trained gaze probably wouldn’t catch them, but that would never be you when it came to Steve Rogers.

The two of you stayed in silence for minutes, watching a CNN report of a family reuniting in Idaho. The mother snapped right after the birth of her daughter - now a little girl with ginger pigtails, hugging her legs and kissing her hands. Everyday since you woke up on the floor of your apartment, there'd been thousands of stories such as this: parents finding children, husbands finding wives. The fallen - that's what the press called people like you, the dead that weren't really dead - all had the same lost look in their eyes. You supposed that's what happened when your clock was five years too late.

“What happened?” you finally asked when the broadcast changed to twin brothers reconvening in Hawaii. “What went wrong?”

Steve didn’t look at you, instead he kept pulling at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.

“He was too strong,” he sighed. “And I thought I could fight him without Tony, but…”

You nodded.

“One of the nurses said he was badly wounded in the battle upstate,” you mentioned.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “But he’ll recover. Banner is looking after him. He’s got a kid now, you know? Tony. Her name’s Morgan.”

“Wow,” you smiled genuinely. “That sounds unbelievable and incredible at the same time.

“She’s a good girl,” Steve said. “Keeps Tony on his toes.”

On the TV, the two brothers embraced with a beautiful sunset as background.

“What about Sam and Nat?” you wondered.

Steve's fidgety hands stilled. With the left one he rubbed his mouth and chin until his skin was reddish.

"Sam was like you," he muttered and the implicit words hurt more in his voice than anyone else's. "Natasha… She didn't make it."

She didn't make it.

Natasha Romanoff. Natalia. Your mentor, your friend. The strongest woman you'd ever met. She didn't make it.

"What?" you gasped. "What do you mean 'she didn't make it'? Didn't she come back?"

Like Sam and the mother in Idaho and the twins in Hawaii. Like you.

Steve shook his head.

"It wasn't like that," he said. "She survived the Snap. Spent years trying to find something, anything, even the smallest possibility of getting everyone back and when we finally did… She sacrificed herself so we could have the Soul Stone."

"Sacrificed herself? For a stone?" you were extremely agitated now, the grey blanked falling from your shoulders as you looked at Steve searching for any sign of emotion. "Steven, look at me!"

His eyes were glazed, a big blue sea threatening to spill over in waves of sadness.

"It wasn't a simple stone, Y/N. I'd rather not explain to you here, people can't know about this," he whispered, looking over his shoulder for anyone that could be listening.

"You mean they can't know why they disappeared and were brought back together like broken toys?" you exclaimed. "Toys that the Avengers can grab and then toss aside however they please? I'm not your toy, Steve!"

You knew you could be cruel. Ruthless. A child yelling ferociously at the top of her lungs until she got what she wanted. An angry teenager. An intelligence officer with obscure morals. But even when he left you without a goodbye, you'd always kept your forked tongue away from Steve Rogers.

Until now.

"Please," Steve pleaded. "Let's go home. I'll explain everything to you when we get there."

"I have no home," you spat. "I had a home three days ago when you came in saying something bad would happen, only to leave me again. Now I have nothing!”

Your tears were hot when they streamed down your face.

“I don't even know myself anymore,” you admitted and somehow that was worse than knowing you were alone in a world you didn't recognize. "All I know is dust. My bones were dust and now they're not. My heart was dust and now it's not. Everyone keeps telling me that I'm safe and that 'it's all over', but what is?"

You gasped, trying to breathe in some tranquility and breathe out some of the agony twisting your insides, but all that came out was a distressing wheeze.

"How do I know that I will not disappear again?" you cried and there was no more Steve, just a curtain of water contorting his figure, like one of those paintings he loved and you never understood the meaning.

The stretcher creaked when Steve pulled you to him, rubbing your arms back as he whispered your name.

"Breathe, Y/N. Breathe."

But you were so scared of breathing. So scared that you'd taste ash again and your lungs would collapse in dust, leaving not a shred of the person you were for people to remember you by. So scared of losing a game you didn't even know you were playing.

"Steve..." You weeped, gripping his shirt tightly.

"I'm here, my love. Just breathe."

You weren't expecting him.

After two years, the hope that kept you up at night waiting for him grew tired, dwindling until it was mere utopia. So you shut the windows, changed the locks and turned off the bedside lamp. Perhaps that's what brought him to your door, you thought. Maybe, wherever he was in the world, he felt your devotion waning, so he returned to haunt you.

You had to admit, though, that of all the ways you imagined Steve Rogers coming back to you, him ringing your doorbell at midnight wasn't one of them.

He looked handsome, with shaggy blonde hair curling at his ears and a beard, and it hurt like a punch to the stomach.

It's hard when the one that hurts the most you looks so unfazed, meanwhile you're just a shell of what you used to be.

"You've lost weight," was the first thing he said, as if he'd left to grab groceries instead of becoming an international criminal.

"What are you doing here?" you replied, ignoring his greeting. If that could even be a greeting.

He sighed, mentioning with his head to the hallway behind you.

“Can I come in?”

You stepped aside, letting him walk through. You didn’t bother turning the key because if anyone really wanted to get to him they wouldn’t be worried about leaving your door in one piece. Steve stood in the middle of the living room, his hands on his waist. An onlooker would never guess that he once belonged there.

“Did you hear about Tony?” He asked when you sat down at the armchair next to the window. The one you bought together in Ikea and Steve insisted he could assemble on his own.

“Yes,” you said. Tony Stark went missing after an alien ship appeared in Midtown. It was exactly the kind of disaster that would bring Steve Rogers to New York. “Have you found him?”

“No,” he replied. “But the same aliens that took Tony attacked Vision in Edinburgh. We managed to stop them from killing him, but he’s badly wounded. When he heard about Tony we flew to the Compound.”

You nodded. It was strange how you could feel so detached from these people- Vision, Wanda, even Tony in a way. They were once your friends, your colleagues. Now they just felt like characters in Steve’s tale - no longer part of your life, only his.

“And why are you here?” you asked.

Why did you come to the home we used to share? you meant to say. Did you miss it? Did you miss me?

He shrugged.

“I thought maybe you could’ve found something on Tony and…”

“If you went to the compound it means you saw Rhodey and Rhodey has most definitely told you that I quit my job when the Avengers split,” you interrupted him. “I have no tech, no machinery, no means whatsoever to find Tony here, nothing that Rhodey has at his disposal Upstate. So why are you really here?”

He was a stranger. Cold and detached, like the house that once trapped him. There was no tenderness in the blue of his eyes.

“Something bad is coming, Y/N,” he said. “I’m not sure what it is yet, but I… I wanted to see you. I wanted to know that you were safe.”

You thought Steve Rogers was done breaking your heart. You thought that when you stopped expecting his return you’d go back to who you were before him, even if you couldn’t find that girl amongst the mess he made of you. You thought you’d be safe from love, and trust and kind soldiers with blue eyes, but you’d never be safe from him - your fellow and your foe.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” you croaked, holding back the tears swimming in your throat with a cough.

Steve fisted his hands, and for a moment you swore that he was stopping himself from holding you. But he just hung his head, tearing his gaze from where you were sitting by the window.

“Just stay home, ok?” he stated. “Try not to leave the house until this situation is resolved.”

Then he turned around and left again.

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fan fiction #marvel fanfic series #my writing #corneliabarnes #the woods

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asphalt-cocktail · 5 years ago

Text

For the Sake of Content- Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Medici Ivory and Coral Clay

Summary: After walking in on your long-term boyfriend, Harrison, cheating on you and then losing your job the following day; your find yourself broke, jobless, and single for the first time in a long while. In order to make ends meet, your best friend since college, Freddie, suggests you start soliciting explicit photos of yourself, not only to help boost your confidence but to help pay the rent for his band mate’s apartment you just moved into.

A/N: Hey cuties! Back at it again with another chapter! Thank you for your patience! I honestly am so thrilled with all of the lovely comments and likes/reblogs I have been getting. I even go through and read the tags because i crave validation. But for real though, they are all seriously so sweet and I love all of the support and want to thank you all for it! I do have some angst planned for future chapters though, got to make some young discourse to keep thing spicy, but don’t worry, I want to keep this story light and funny so it wont be anything too bad! also PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DM me if I have missed your tag! I feel like I am missing some people in my tag reblogs.

Pairing: Roger Taylor x F!Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex work, smut, fluff, some friendly banter between roger and reader, consensual recording, not proof read

Word Count: 3k

18+ if you are a minor do NOT interact with this post. This is fictitious content and I own nothing.

Freddie’s dark brown eyes practically gawked at you, “You what!” He grinned. Your face flushed and you swirled around your bottomless mimosa, “I knew you would start doing live streams,” He eagerly stabbed his fork into the yolk of his eggs Benedict, cracking it and causing the yellow liquid to ooze down the sides of the biscuit, “I knew you would; how are your clients? Do you have regulars? Do they ask you to do anything- kinky?”

As Freddie rambled on, your eyes zoned in on his egg yolk, the viscous liquid slowly oozing out of the broken egg and falling down his plate. Should you tell Freddie about Roger? No you couldn’t, that would bring on another series of questions you were definitely not prepared to answer no matter how many bottomless mimosas you had at your biweekly Sunday brunch.

“[Y/N]” Freddie spoke, his tone somewhat sharp, “Are you paying attention? I want to know the details.” The curious glint in his eyes hadn’t dampened.

You gave him a shy smile, “Yeah, I have a few regulars, they’re all nice, some are a little creepy, but I never show my face,” Well, that was a lie. Tonight, was going to be the first night you showed your face on camera and was also the first night you and Roger would film together.

The two of you hadn’t had anything special planned, you were going to change your tips around to reflect different actions people could pay for. It was bound to be fun, right?

You couldn’t shake the nervous jitters from your mind even after your brunch with Freddie and his probing questions. You loved him dearly, but he was often too nosey for his own good. He wouldn’t dare tell a soul the information he knew, but it was as though his very being needed the substance to survive. His head was full of knowledge and he just soaked it up like a delicate sea sponge in an ocean of information.

When you returned to your apartment, you were surprised to see the furniture moved around and a large tarp covering the floor closest to the walls in the living room, “Uh, Roger?” you called out, hanging your keys on the shelf, surely you didn’t drink that much… right?

You closed your eyes for a few long seconds and reopened them, yup, this was real all right, “Roger!” You called louder, “What’s up with the living room?” You kicked your shoes off and walked further into your home before you stopped in the kitchen.

Surprisingly enough, Roger was dressed in a pair of sweatpants and an old faded tee shirt; it was sloppy even for your low standards. Roger looked up at you from his bowl of pasts, mid bite, “What?” He asked with a mouth full of noodles and sauce.

“You’re disgusting.” You mumbled, “What’s up with the living room?” You repeated your question from earlier.

“What do you mean?” He asked, clueless as ever.

You let out a puff of air in frustration, “The living room Roger, everything is all moved around and there’s a tarp on the floor. What are you doing? Opening a mud wrestling pit?” The annoyance in your voice was very evident.

“Oh, I picked up a few buckets of paint so we could finally paint the paneling, the mud wrestling is a good idea though, you think we could charge for it?”

You rolled your eyes at his joke- you hoped it was a joke- and a small smile graced your face, “What colors did you pick out?” You couldn’t help but feel giddy at the prospect of changing the drab, old, and dusty wood paneling that encased your living room walls.

“You know that cream color you were talking about? It turns out it’s actually called Medici Ivory, so I got a few buckets of that and a bucket of this nice red color called Coral Clay.” He finished up the last fork full of his pasta and got up, rinsing it in the sink, “We can paint right now if you go change.”

You looked down, realizing you didn’t want to get your brunch clothes dirty, “Right, I’ll be right back.”

After you quickly changed into some sloppy clothes you and Roger set out to paint the wood paneling, “You know I realized I said you get two walls and I get two, but there are really only three wall in the living room.” Roger pointed out, “I mean, we could paint the little parts of the wall outside of the kitchen, but then I would want to paint the kitchen too.” He thought out, chewing on his plump lower lip.

You swallowed thickly, distracted by the way his pretty pink lips popped out from his mouth after he sucked on it, “Well you can have two and I’ll have the accent wall.” You offered.

Roger looked at you as though you were a moron, “You cant have an accent wall as the lighter color,” He said in a matter of fact tone, “I’ll take it and you can paint the other two cream.”

After a few more minutes of planning, you and Roger finally decided upon who was getting what walls, Roger pointed out it didn’t matter what color the walls were, his decorations were still going to be hung back up. So, he got one wall to paint Coral Clay, and you got the remaining walls to paint Medici Ivory.

You connected your phone to the Bluetooth speaker before Roger could beat you to it and shuffled your favorite playlist on Spotify. Take Me To The River by the Talking Heads began to flood your apartment. You hummed along to the song and began to paint, long even brush strokes on the wall, staining the ugly wood paneling Medici Ivory. As your playlist cycled and paint began to coat the walls you glanced over at Roger’s side of the wall, there were uneven splotches and awkward shapes that coated it. No cohesion at all.

You frowned, “What are you doing to the walls, Roger?” You frowned, “You can’t paint like that.” You scolded him.

Roger pulled away, allowing the brush to loosely hang from his hand, gobs of Medici Ivory dripped onto the tarp making a soft pitter patter noise that blended in with your music, “What? You’re doing better than me?” He asked.

You looked at him in disbelief, “Yeah, I am.” You said pointedly, “This is how you’re supposed to paint,” You said, demonstrating with long even brush strokes, “This isn’t finger painting.”

Roger scoffed and flicked his brush at you, your clothes staining the creamy off-white paint, “I suppose it isn’t.” He responded in a huff.

Your eyes narrowed “Real mature, Roger.” You said going back to painting next to him.

Roger continued to defy you, painting in big circles on the wall and ignoring the clumps and uneven layering that covered the wood panels. You turned towards him and flicked your brush at him, this time little spots of white paint speckled his face causing him to close his eyes and jump, “Oh, you’re going to get it now.” You heard Roger mumble as you turned away from him.

In the blind of an eye you felt cold liquid smearing and staining your skin. A shiver ran through your body feeling Roger’s calloused fingers roughly rub across your cheek “Roger!” You shrilly yelled, bringing your hand up to wipe the paint off, only to smear it.

You swiped your hand across your brush, coating it in the goopy, off white liquid and lunged at him. Roger stumbled backwards and fought your hand as it tried to smear the paint on his face. Your brush had fallen, mushing between your two bodies and covering your shirts in paint. Your legs were firmly planted on either side of Roger’s waist as you straddled and fought against him, still trying to palm the off viscous substance onto his perfectly soft skin.

“Come on, [Y/N],” Roger whined, trying to hide is laughter, “You’re dropping it in my hair!”

“You’re dropping it in my hair!” You mocked in a dopey voice.

Roger gaped at you, “I do not sound like that!” He protested, a shock of laughter rumbling through him and causing his guard to drop.

Your hand came down, smearing Medici Ivory onto his cheek, your hand slickly gliding off his skin. Before you had time to react Roger flipped the two of you over and within a few minutes the two of you were covered in stripes of paint, “You arse!” He was breathless from laughter, still straddling you, “I have to shower now.”

You hummed back laughter of your own and wiggled underneath him in an attempt to break free. Roger wasn’t having it, so you stayed trapped beneath his warm, out of breath body. Suddenly, you were aware of the closeness of your two bodies. His hot breath puffed against the paint that stained your skin causing you to shiver. Roger cleared his throat. The tension in the room was thick. Roger’s erection pressed against your thigh, when did that get there? Your ears felt like they were ringing, the music but a muffled sound that filled them.

“I should get in the shower, the we can do that camera stuff, yeah?” Roger asked, suddenly leaning up. Cool air flooded your clothed chest. It worked in tandem with the paint and caused you to shiver

You swallowed thickly and nodded your head, “Did- uh,” you couldn’t find the proper words to come out of your mouth, “Did you want me to wear anything specific?” you asked.

Roger settled back, his hand tracing soft patterns on your knees, “You could join me, you know, to save on water…” He trailed off, not looking at you.

You shifted and nodded your head, “Yeah, to save water.” You said, suddenly nervous, “Do… Do you want to film it?” You knew very well that the two of you would just be showering.

Roger looked up at you, his typically bright blue eyes now dark and filled with a naughty glint, “Yeah, we can your phone in and see what happens.”

It didn’t take long for you to find yourself pressed against the cold tile of your small steam filled shower. You hissed against Roger’s mouth as the contrasting temperature bit into your skin and arched your back against him. He roughly sucked your lower lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth across it as he pulled away and allowed it to plop back into place.

It was obvious to you that this was going to be different from the first time you and Roger had sex. He was rougher, needier, more dominant with his touches. You didn’t know if it was the amount of steam from the scorching hot water or his touches that caused you to feel dizzy and your brain to spin. Roger quickly turned you over, his hands smoothing over the globes of your ass. You quickly got the message and braced your hands on the wall in front of you.

You swayed your hips from side to side, impatiently waiting for Roger to do something. “Fuck” He silently cursed to himself, “What’s your password?”

Oh right.

You were supposed to be filming this to put on your snapchat. Was your phone waterproof? What if Roger dropped it? How was he going to plow you into next week and hold onto your phone?

The series of questions that flooded your brain was cut short by Roger lightly tapping your cheek, “Come on, before I lose my stiffy.”

“Oh, it’s uh 2580.” You answered, thankful that Roger couldn’t see your embarrassment.

Roger scoffed, “Really? Right down the middle?” He chastised.

“It’s fine- Oh fuck” You hissed out feeling Roger’s thick fingers filling you up, pumping in and out of your throbbing core. You hummed with pleasure and pushed back against his fingers, but as quickly as they filled you, they were gone.

Roger roughly filled you up with his cock, you gasped, feeling him stretch you open. He didn’t leave much time for you to adjust to his still unfamiliar size before he sharply snapped his hips against yours. Your back arched and you kept your hands firmly splayed against the wall. Your legs spread further apart, and your mouth fell open as sinful noises began to spill from it.

“Fuck.” Roger grunted, his hips slapping loudly against yours, “That feel good baby?” He said as he grabbed the meat of your ass and kneaded it in his hand, spreading it apart and getting a perfect view of his cock disappearing into you.

Roger’s calloused hand came down, roughly smacking your cheek. He bit his lip and watched it jiggle under his hand. The water amplified the stinging sensation that rang through your bones. You let out a breathy gasp, “It feels so good,” You slurred. Your mind was drunk with pleasure, “Fuck me harder.” You preened, pushing your hips back against him.

Roger shifted behind you, “You want me to fuck you harder?” He asked, roughly grabbing your hips and pulling you flush against him. Your face now rested against the cool tile as you sat up on an angle. Rogers sharp and methodical thrusts caused you to rhythmically jolt forward, the sensitive skin of your breasts occasionally brushing against the cool tile. The flood of sensations caused every nerve in your body to stand on end.

“Yeah, fuck me harder, Rog.” You practically purred his name, letting it roll off your tongue like honey.

Roger pressed his back against yours. His lips latched onto your shoulder, biting at the soft skin and running his tongue over the teeth marks he pressed into you. One of his hands snuck around to your chest, groping and fondling your painfully ignored tits in his rough palms while the other remained on your hip, pulling you against him at an even pace.

You let out soft breathy moans “Ah, ah, ah” each one getting higher and higher in pitch as the coil in your stomach tightened and threatened to break under the pressure that had begun to build until finally it snapped. You arched your back painfully against him, the muscle in your back cramping from the awkward angle. Your walls, pulsating out of him, coaxing Roger to his own release as he chased it, frantically and unevenly thrusting into you before he pulled out and painted the perfect skin of your plump ass white.

Your chest heaved and your arms shook lightly as you came down from your high. After a few moments to regather your brain you let the water wash you clean of the mess.

After your shower you found yourself curled up in your bed. Without bothering to knock, Roger opened the door to your room, his towel still loosely hanging over his shoulders and a pair of boxers hanging comfortably off his hips. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight of his light blond hair dripping small water droplets and littering his pale skin with moisture. Fuck, you want to lick them off, what the hell was wrong with you?

“Can I help you?” You croaked out. You voice gave away your current struggle.

Roger cluelessly grinned at you, “I want to see what I filmed!” He said plopping down next to you on your bed.

Your face flushed with heat, “You video taped what happened in the shower?” You gaped at him, shifting the blankets so he could get comfortable.

Roger responded with a nod and flatly held his hand out for you to place the phone in his hand, “Yeah, come on we have to pick the best ones to upload.” He responded. Right this was for professional purposes.

When you grabbed and opened your camera roll you saw sure enough, there were several saved short clips and a few pictures in it. Heat began to build in your belly upon seeing the little thumbnail previews. You had to take a moment to remind yourself that watching the sex tape you and your roommate made was strictly for business purposes and not for personal pleasure.

But when you clicked on the first video and caught a perfectly angled shot of Roger entering you, your back arching, the steam of the shower beginning to fog and cloud the camera your mind went blank. You stared at the image before Roger nudged the volume button, turning it up, “We have to make sure it sounds okay.” You almost missed the deviant glint in his eyes that hid behind Roger’s focused features.

The cheeky bastard knew what he was doing.

Your breathy sighs and moans filled your room, Christ, that was what you sounded like? You blinked at the short clip when it was over, “What do you think?” You didn’t dare look at Roger. You didn’t even want to think of what his stupid smug face looked like right now.

“I think it looks even better the second time around.” He confidently retorted back to you.

“Fuck off,” You couldn’t help but smile and let out a little laugh before swiping to the next little clip.

“Fuck” Roger’s husky voice rang against your ears, giving you flash backs to what happened only moments earlier.

SMACK the crisp sound of Roger slapping your ass echoed through your brain just like it did in the bathroom.

“That feel good baby?” Your walls throbbed, hearing Roger’s commanding tone and watching his hand kneading the meat of your ass as it bounced against him.

The tension in the room was beginning to settle and surround the two of you once more. You swallowed thickly almost positive Roger could hear your audible gulp. “That one looks good too.” Your voice sounded shaky. Your skin felt like it was on fire and Roger simply sat next to you, seemingly unfazed.

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #ben hardy!roger x reader #ben hardy!roger taylor #ben hardy!roger taylor x reader #roger taylor series #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor fanfic #queen fanfic #queen x reader #queen smut #queen series #borhap #borhap series #borhap fanfic #borhap random #FSC fic

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brianamorganbooks · 4 years ago

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The Tricker-Treater

This is a teaser of the titular story from my upcoming horror collection. You can learn more about the project and help me bring it to life here!

Moira kicked spilled candy corn off her front step. The remnants of another weeknight massacre. This time, all in the name of a holiday.

She’d stopped keeping track of the holidays.

They meant nothing, after all. Just another day full of shit, another day without Norman in it. What was the point?

She looked over at the garden gnome that Norman had polished every St. Patrick’s Day. The ghost of an old conversation floated back to her as she picked it up from where the kids had knocked it over.

Moira closed her eyes and savored the memory.

“It’s a gnome, Norm. Not a leprechaun. It’s not his holiday.”

“I know that! But don’t you think what matters is doing it?”

In the present, Moira sighed. This St. Patrick’s Day, she’d grab a rag and polish the years of grime away. So far, she hadn’t had the strength.

It was the day before Halloween. She’d picked up trash all week, and if those damn kids tried their tricks tonight, she’d give them more than treats.

Movement on the sidewalk at the mailbox caught her eye. Riley stood there, all tousled blonde hair and sleepy brown eyes. His hand-me-down sweatshirt needed elbow patches. She’d see to that soon.

“Don’t stand there gawking at me. C’mon.” She waved him forward, but he looked at his shoes. She put her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter with you?”

“He’s coming here tonight to get you,” he said.

She squinted in the morning sun. “Who’s coming to get me?”

“The Tricker-Treater,” Riley said. “He’s coming here tonight. I made a deal with him.”

“What?” Riley never spoke in riddles. He wasn’t one to loiter at the end of her driveway either. “Peanut butter cookies inside. Tell me later.”

“No, he’ll be here later. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Moira frowned. “Stop listening to your brother. Come inside and have some cookies with me and we’ll go from there.”

Without waiting to see if he’d follow, Moira headed back into the house. She went straight to the kitchen. The storm door slammed shut not too long after, and Riley pulled up a chair at the kitchen table.

Moira carried the plate of cookies over to him. Up close, he looked like the same old Riley as always. All she saw was the haunted glint in his eyes he got from spending time with Taylor. Now school was back in, all he had was Taylor until their mother got home from work. Retail was hell, Moira remembered. When Riley’s mother got home, the last thing she’d want to do was scold Taylor for tormenting his little brother.

Norman would have scared Taylor shitless, given the chance. He would have protected Riley.

Norman had always been better with kids.

“Lots of trick-or-treaters coming here tomorrow,” Moira said. “So what makes yours so special? Why’s he coming here tonight?”

Riley froze with his hand halfway to a cookie. “Not trick-or-treater. Tricker-Treater.”

Moira shook her head. “I said that.”

“No, like… hang on.” He scooted the chair back from the table and dashed across the room to where the landline rested. There was a small pad of paper beside it. He snatched up the paper and a pen and ran back to the table. His brow furrowed in concentration. Sticking out his tongue, he leaned over the paper and spelled out the difference for her:

T-R-I-C-K-E-R

T-R-E-A-T-E-R

He set down the pen and waited for her to read his writing. Moira shook her head again. He didn’t know how to spell it.

“No ‘or,’” he said. “Tricker-Treater. He’s both.”

Something icy pricked the back of Moira’s neck. She brushed her fingers over the spot and found nothing. Her gaze drifted back to the paper.

“He’s both?”

“Mmhm.” Riley grabbed a cookie and took a bite. He devoured it, careful not to make eye contact with Moira. It was a sophisticated strategy for a seven-year-old.

Moira leaned on the table and stared at him. “Riley.”

He scooted his chair away. “I gotta use the potty.”

“Do you, or do you not want to talk to me?” she asked.

He stuffed another cookie in his mouth, and when he spoke, he sprayed crumbs everywhere. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“You mean the Tricker-Treater?”

“Yeah.” He choked on the cookie and coughed. Moira grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the sink. She patted him on the back and slid the glass to him.

Riley chugged the water and still couldn’t stop coughing. Moira took the plate of cookies from him, because no way in hell was he going to choke to death on her watch. Not if she could help it.

“You’d better head on home,” Moira said. “You’ll worry your mother sick.”

Riley scooted back from the table again. “Don’t call her. She doesn’t know.”

“She doesn’t know you’re here? Did you stay home from school, or did you skip?”

“I...”

His eyes darted to look over her shoulder. Moira spun around. Nothing there. When she turned back to him, he was heading for the front door.

“Riley!”

“I messed up, I messed up!”

She lunged for his sleeve and missed. He was through the front door and across the yard before she had time to try again. Damn it. What was wrong with that boy? He’d been in no hurry minutes before with a plate of cookies in front of him. The minute she’d mentioned his mother though…

Moira sighed and leaned against the door frame. Something was off with Riley, and she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight until she got to the bottom of it.

When he returned a few minutes later, Moira stood between him and the front door. “Riley, please. Tell me what’s going on.”

He chewed his bottom lip. “I don’t wanna. I’m scared. It never goes well.”

“What do you mean, ‘it never goes well’?”

“Every time I tell you, it… I messed up,” he repeated.

Moira sighed. She was getting nowhere fast. Whatever he had on his mind, it upset him so much he wasn’t making sense. If she couldn’t get him to focus, she would never figure out what was going on. And, seeing as how it involved her…

“Riley.” Moira grabbed his shoulders and held him there, stooping to look into his eyes. “Whatever you think is going to happen, I can face it better if you tell me about it, okay?”

His lower lip quivered. “Even if it’s bad?”

“Even if it’s bad.”

Riley gulped. “The Tricker-Treater is gonna stop by your house tonight. You gotta meet with him and do what he says, or else.”

Moira quirked an eyebrow at him. “Or else?”

He hesitated. “Like I said, I’ve told you about him before, and he… he always makes sure to catch you. Even if you run away, he finds you and he…” Riley’s voice trailed off into a sob. Shiny, fat tears bubbled over his lashes and rolled down his face. Moira pulled him against her and wrapped her arms around him.

Shit, she hadn’t meant to make him cry. Jesus Christ, that was the last thing she wanted.

Moira’s chest tightened. “It’ll be okay, Riley. We’ll figure it out together, all right?”

Riley pulled away from her. He shook his head. “I dunno.”

“I’m older and wiser. Humor me, huh?”

He sniffed and wiped his nose. Moira debated getting a tissue for him, but it was too late—he was already rubbing the snot with his sleeve. As perceptive as the kid could be, he was still a kid, and he was gross.

Sometimes she wondered what it would have been like to have children. Sometimes she watched Riley and was glad that time had passed her.

“You should run home now,” Moira said again. “Even if you did skip school, your mom won’t be angry as long as you’re safe.”

His gaze jumped over her shoulder again. She waited for him to refocus. He’d come there in such a hurry, and now he kept drifting away. The urgency had waned. That was good.

“Are you feeling all right?”

Riley nodded. “I’m… a little better now.”

“No more getting upset over the Tricker-Treater, okay?”

Hesitation, then another nod. A slow exhale. “Okay.”

“You want a few cookies to take home? You can share them with Tyler.”

Riley wrinkled his nose at the mention of his brother. “He doesn’t deserve cookies.”

“I suppose he doesn’t.”

Moira patted him on the head and went back into the kitchen. She eyed the half-empty glass in a pool of condensation, the cookie crumbs Riley had sprayed on the table. She looked back at Riley, still standing where she’d left him, and her chest ached. She flattened a hand against her collarbone.

She and Norman could’ve tried a little longer.

“Riley?”

His head jerked up. “Huh?”

“You still want those cookies?”

“Um… no thanks.” He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his sweater again. “I’ve never stayed this late before. I don’t wanna see him.”

The poor kid was talking in circles again. Better send him off to someone much more qualified.

Moira propped a hand on her hip. “Go on, get outta here before I call your mom. And be careful tomorrow.”

Riley cast a long look at her before putting his hand on the doorknob. That was all it took? No fight? No begging her for cookies, saying he had changed his mind?

She should have insisted he take some.

If he’d still demanded some, that would have been proof things were normal.

Instead, Moira frowned at the back of his head as he walked out and left the door open.

* * *

Moira tossed popcorn into her mouth and watched Bill Murray fail to woo Andie MacDowell. There was no reason for the network to broadcast Groundhog Day on October 30, but she wasn’t complaining. It had been one of Norman’s favorite movies. They’d gone to see it in theaters the day it came out, which seemed so long ago now.

Without Norman, time dragged on. How had it only been a year since his death?

Watching a movie she’d seen more than a dozen times soothed her ragged nerves. That the movie was itself a perpetual, familiar cycle was not lost on her. In fact, that was a large part of Groundhog Day’s charm—especially tonight, when there was so much on her mind.

Riley’s behavior had left her shaken and confused. Sure, he was a kid, but he’d always been perceptive, and she trusted what he said. He usually meant what he said. At that age, it was rare for children to have ulterior motives. Whatever Riley thought was going to happen to her, it was worth considering.

The Tricker-Treater was coming to get her tonight.

Moira’s gaze jumped to the glow of the streetlight that permeated her closed blinds. Outside, the air was cold and crisp. Inside, she was cozy.

She drew the knitted afghan tighter around her midsection. Andie had slapped Bill. Normally, the moment made Moira laugh. Normally, she wasn’t wound up like a coiled snake.

The chiming of her doorbell made her jump out of her skin. She jostled the bowl in her lap, spilling popcorn everywhere.

Why was she so jumpy? It was likely Riley and his mother, coming to check on her after their talk. Riley’s mom Adriane was nice—she apologized for Riley with baked goods and wine. When she wasn’t working, she tried to come over for tea and pour out her soul to Moira.

In another life, they could have been mother and daughter.

In another life, Norman might still be alive.

Another ache struck Moira’s chest. The doorbell chimed again, demanding her attention.

She set the bowl aside and stood. Whoever it was, they were insistent. She doubted they’d go away if she ignored them.

Probably some damn kids, anyway. God willing, they wouldn’t egg her when she opened the door—for their sakes as well as hers.

She didn’t feel forgiving.

Moira crept over to the door and pulled back the curtain on the window beside the door. She had to see who had come knocking.

There was no one there.

Puzzled, she let the curtain drop and stood on tiptoe to look through the peephole.

No one.

Moira stepped back. She flattened a hand against her chest.

The doorbell chimed again.

Icy dread stuck its fingers down the back of Moira’s shirt. Her hand settled on the cold metal doorknob. After a breath, she twisted it and pulled the front door open.

And gasped.

The man—if the thing could even be called a man—stood at least seven or eight feet tall. It had to double over to fit under the awning of her porch. Pale red skin stretched tight over pointed features, most notably a bear skull. At least, she thought it was a bear skull. Norman would have known for sure. Norman always—

Coal-black eyes glittered at her as the thing bared its teeth—razor-sharp—in some semblance of a smile.

It wore nothing but a top hat, which it tipped before it spoke.

“I hope you were expecting me.”

His voice was low and smooth, like a jazz singer’s, and she shivered. Moira supposed she should have fainted or had a heart attack by then, but once he spoke, all her fear disappeared. It was like he had swallowed it up with his words.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Riley didn’t tell you? I’m the Tricker-Treater. Would you mind if I came in?”

Moira froze with her hand still on the doorknob. What was she supposed to do? The Tricker-Treater offered the illusion of a choice. Was it merely that—an illusion—or would he let her decide how the evening would progress?

Moira let her gaze wander over the creature’s form again. He had the gaunt, emaciated look of a feral dog, and the tightness in her chest only tightened even further.

Nothing about him made her think he’d give her any choice.

“C-come in,” Moira said.

The Tricker-Treater kept his eyes locked on her as he stepped over the threshold and into the house. Moira swore he brought the smell of decay inside with him, but a moment later, it was gone.

Rotting pumpkins, she thought. That was the smell.

Moira gestured for him to sit on the couch. Eldritch horror or not, he was a guest.

The Tricker-Treater sat, bones creaking and popping as he did so. Moira tried her damnedest not to wince at the noises.

She sat in Norman’s favorite armchair and waited for the Tricker-Treater to speak.

“Has Riley… told you all about me?” he asked.

Moira paused. “How do you know Riley?”

“We made a deal. He’s a special child, isn’t he? Perceptive. Tenacious.” The Tricker-Treater flashed her another chilling smile. “Fragile.”

The blood dropped out of Moira’s face. “What are you getting at?”

The Tricker-Treater steepled his long, bony fingers. “It would be a shame if any danger were to befall Riley. If you could prevent such a tragedy, wouldn’t you want to, no matter what the cost?”

Moira rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. “Don’t you dare hurt him.”

“We made a deal,” the Tricker-Treater repeated. “He asked for money so his mother could be around more often. I told him I could give him anything he wanted—such as money—for a price.”

The Tricker-Treater’s eyes made Moira’s head swim. She broke eye contact. “So that’s why you’re here. You’re going to kill me.”

She should have known this was how she would die. Norman, with all his superstitions and wonder of the paranormal, had died of a stroke in the kitchen. A nice, normal death. Meanwhile, here she was, whisked away by a monster for the sake of a child’s wish.

“Not quite,” the Tricker-Treater said. “Well, only if I must.”

Moira’s head snapped up, and she met his gaze again, even though it dizzied her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The Tricker-Treater tapped his claws against the coffee table. Click, click, click. “If you play by the rules, everything will be all right.”

The sinking feeling in Moira’s gut returned. “What rules?”

The Tricker-Treater’s unnerving smile returned too. “Every game has rules, Moira. Do you want to play?”

Her stomach had dropped to her ass, and she didn’t think it would resurface anytime soon. Whoever this man—or creature—was, he wasn’t going anywhere until he got what he wanted from her.

“What happens if I don’t want to play the game?” she asked.

“You lose.”

“And what happens if I lose?”

“Then Taylor wins.” The Tricker-Treater’s smile tore across his face. “And I take you away forever.”

Moira’s throat constricted. So he did want to kill her. Even if he acted like she had a choice, she didn’t.

Riley had already chosen for her. He had sealed her fate.

But what did Taylor have to do with it?

“Taylor?” she asked.

“To fulfill Riley’s deal, I must receive a sacrifice. He had to present me with someone he loves and someone he hates to play the game. I balance the scales. The loser dies.”

Jesus Christ, she thought, what had Riley done?

“He’s too young to make a deal like that,” she said. “You’re taking advantage of him.”

“I don’t discriminate,” he said. “A wish is a wish, and I must grant it. You must play the game, or die. These are my conditions.”

“What if Taylor and I both refuse? You only need to kill one of us, right? And you seem reasonable. You wouldn’t kill us to prove a point.”

“No.” The Tricker-Treater’s smile twisted into something darker, more feral. Moira wanted to scream, but panic kept her gaze fixed on his face. “In the case of two refusals, I take the wish-maker instead.”

Moira gulped. “You’d kill Riley.”

“Kill is such a boring word for what I do, but yes. Riley would become the sacrifice.” He steepled his fingers again. “But of course, you always have a choice.”

Did he think she’d let Riley die? She must have been Riley’s “someone he loves,” which meant the Tricker-Treater had to know she loved him too. She couldn’t damn him.

Only one thing to do.

“I’ll play,” Moira said.

“Wonderful. Let’s go.”

The Tricker-Treater snapped his fingers, Moira felt a tug, and the whole world went dark.

* * *

The reek of iron pulled Moira from unconsciousness. Her eyelids snapped open, pupils unfocused as they sought the light. Only a spare bulb hung overhead, struggling through the shadows. A familiar teenage form swam into view, fastened to a chair by ropes.

Taylor.

A shadow skulked off to Taylor’s left, and Moira’s gaze floated over to it. A long, lanky figure broke from the blackness and formed a solid shape. Sharp teeth glittered in the light as the creature grinned.

The Tricker-Treater.

He snapped his fingers again, and the lightbulb shattered. Moira went to shield her face from the exploding glass, but ropes restrained her. The Tricker-Treater had tied her down too.

A brilliant light enveloped the room, blinding Moira for a minute. The light faded to a ball that hovered over the Tricker-Treater’s head. It was small, but somehow bright enough for her to make out everything in the room, including Taylor.

She looked back at the boy. Blood dripped from ragged scratches in his cheek and stained the front of his shirt. That must have been the source of the iron smell—Taylor’s blood.

Moira looked to the Tricker-Treater for an explanation.

“He struggled,” he said, “so I had to be rough. But he’s learned his lesson. Haven’t you, Taylor?”

Taylor groaned and twisted against the ropes. The Tricker-Treater clicked his tongue and wagged a finger at Taylor. He froze.

“Think it’s time for me to explain the rules of the game to you both,” the Tricker-Treater said. “But no cheating. Is that understood?”

Moira still didn’t know what was going on, but she nodded nonetheless. Whatever game he had in mind, she had to win, for Riley’s sake.

She didn’t know what would happen to Taylor, except that he might die. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

Across the room, Taylor grunted.

The Tricker-Treater gave a wet, hacking cough. Moira watched it rattle his prominent ribcage. Had he not been so frightening, she might have worried for him. As it was, she wished the cough had been worse.

The Tricker-Treater pulled another chair away from the table. It scraped across the floor with a sound that bit Moira’s eardrums. She flinched.

He lowered his long body into the chair and removed his hat, exposing his shiny, red baldness.

“I will now explain the rules, and I will not repeat myself. You both must pay attention if you want to win.”

“I don’t give a shit about winning,” said Taylor. “I don’t even want to play. I don’t give a shit about Riley.”

A muscle jerked in Moira’s jaw. What an asshole. Did this kid understand what he was saying?

“That’s not what you said to me earlier,” the Tricker-Treater said. “You agreed to play the game because you wanted him to live.”

Moira almost didn’t believe it, but the Tricker-Treater had no motive to lie.

The Tricker-Treater stretched a hand toward Taylor, and Taylor’s eyes widened. The Tricker-Treater’s razor claws glittered in the light.

“You’ll play,” he said, “or Riley dies.”

Taylor shut his eyes. “Okay, okay, but please don’t hurt me.”

“It isn’t me you should worry about.”

Moira swallowed a curse. As much as she hated to cooperate with this… thing, it seemed like they had no choice. If she didn’t play the Tricker-Treater’s game, Riley would die. She wouldn’t let that happen.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

The Tricker-Treater's smile widened. Moira withheld a shiver. Taylor flattened himself against the back of the chair, trying to get as far away as possible.

"Once I untie you both," the Tricker-Treater said, putting his hat back on, "you'll have fifteen minutes to choose a weapon and determine the sacrifice."

Moira frowned. "Kill each other?"

"So vulgar," he replied.

"I don't want to kill an old lady," Taylor said.

Like he even could if he wanted to, Moira thought. In her own way, she agreed—she didn't want to kill him, and she didn't want to die.

Riley couldn't die, either. She'd do what she could, whatever she had to. It wasn't a choice.

"Where are the weapons?" Moira asked.

Taylor gaped at her. "We don't have to do this!"

“I detest idle chatter,” the Tricker-Treater said. “Such a waste of precious time.”

Moira stiffened at his words. Did that mean they’d started? Were they supposed to get going? Why was she still tied up, then? The Tricker-Treater had said—

A click of his fingers and her bindings dissolved. Fuck, she had to get moving. She liked the word fuck, although Norman never had, and the way his face used to scrunch up when she said it to him—

“Moira,” the Tricker-Treater warned. “You don’t have time for reminiscing.”

She chose not to dwell on the discomfort of having him inside her mind in favor of finding a weapon.

But where the fuck were they?

Taylor was squealing something she didn’t care to listen to because she didn’t care more than for any other reason. She didn’t want to kill him but they would soon be out of time, and if she didn’t do anything—whether he killed her or not—Riley was in danger.

Moira dragged herself out of the chair and looked around the room. It was still difficult to see, with the only lighting coming from the flames conjured by the Tricker-Treater, but they were surrounded by several different boxes of all shapes and sizes.

Taylor leaped up from his chair and dove headfirst into the box behind him, digging like a dumpster-diver in search of castoff treasures. Shit, she had to get a move on or he’d kill her with whatever he found.

Moira started with a box on her left, plain cardboard on the outside, unassuming enough. As she dug through a pile of moth-eaten clothes, the sharp edge of something bit the palm of her hand. She cried out. Upon further, much more hesitant, inspection, she discovered the source of the wound—a Japanese samurai sword.

That’s a katana, Norm corrected in her head.

Moira didn’t have time to smile. She wrapped her fingers around the base of the sword and pulled—

Right as Taylor came sprinting toward her with a hatchet in his hands. The metal glinted as he brought it down, right as Moria darted out of the way.

“Jesus, Taylor!”

“Stand still!”

He lifted the hatchet and swung it down again, with Moira only narrowly dodging it this time. She was close enough to hear the whoosh of the blade as it came down past her face. As she ducked to the side, so did Taylor. His third hit struck her shoulder. White-hot flames lit Moria’s muscle fibers and leaked pain down her arm. Warm blood dripped off her elbow.

Jesus fuck, that hurt.

Movement caught the corner of her eye and she whirled around, still clutching her injured shoulder. Taylor had raised the hatchet again. She had to get out of his way.

Still carrying the sword, Moira feinted left. Taylor took the bait and swung. She moved right, raised the sword, hesitated—

The light went out. Moira couldn’t see one inch in front of her face. Distantly, the Tricker-Treater’s claws clicked against a hard surface. Dragged against it, more like.

Moira shivered.

Mooooiiiiraaaaaaaaa…

She jabbed with the sword, wincing as the blade bounced off the wall. She was almost relieved that she hadn't hit Taylor.

Something rough brushed her calf. She jerked back, swallowing a cry. Something metal clattered to the ground, and Taylor yelped.

"Don't move, Taylor."

"Are w-we out of time?" As brave and seemingly bloodthirsty as he'd been moments before, there was no denying the way his voice shook. Hatchet or not, he was only a kid. He had his whole life ahead of him.

And she'd tried to kill him.

Moira let go of the katana. It, too, clattered to the floor. "What's up with turning the lights off, huh? Not fucked up enough as it is?"

"I assumed it would be easier for you to kill him with the lights off," the Tricker-Treater said. "That way, you wouldn't have to see him."

"Whose side are you on?" Taylor countered. His voice had an edge to it that scared her, sharpened by fear into pointed rage. It made him sound dangerous.

She didn't think he had the strength to kill her, but fear could drive someone to do the unthinkable.

And she'd let go of her weapon.

"I believe in leveling the playing field," the Tricker-Treater said. "Moira is, shall we say, more experienced in life, and Taylor has more energy. We correct this discrepancy with darkness."

Moira swallowed. In theory, everything he was saying made sense. But all she could think about was that there must be something she’d overlooked—something the Tricker-Treater had overlooked. In other words, a loophole.

Some way to save Riley without having to kill his brother.

She had to pick up the katana again. Without it, she was powerless. And, there was still a chance that Taylor would rediscover his bravado, would run toward her again with the hatchet raised, would bring it down and—

The Tricker-Treater chuckled in the gloom, and Moira knew he’d been inside her head again. Shit, that was… inconvenient, to say the least. How could she try to find a loophole if he was listening in on everything she thought?

Get the fuck out of my head, she thought.

Again, the Tricker-Treater chuckled. “Manners, Moira. But… I would be remiss not to heed your request, as vulgar as it might have been phrased. All you had to do was ask.”

Moira gaped at him in the darkness—or, at least, she gaped in what she assumed was his direction. It was still impossible to see anything, and though the Tricker-Treater had claimed he was just leveling the playing field, Moira couldn’t understand how this was supposed to help her.

Distantly, Taylor whimpered. Could he be afraid of the dark?

“Please,” he said. “Turn on the lights.”

The Tricker-Treater’s claws clicked together as he contemplated Taylor’s request. “Moira, what do you think?”

What did she think? She thought this whole twisted game was a goddamn mess. She thought it was ludicrous that this… demon expected her to kill a child, or the child to kill her. She thought she would do almost anything to save Riley because she loved him, but she wasn’t sure she could do this.

Most of all, Moira thought she had already lost. She had to change her mind somehow, or else she really would. Find the loophole, she reminded herself. There had to be an angle she hadn’t yet considered.

Moira shuffled her feet. The point of the katana bit into her shin and she fought the urge to cry out. Warm liquid seeped from the wound—not too much, but not too little to escape her notice. The darkness heightened everything. Tentatively, she bent over and fumbled around for the handle, praying her fingers wouldn’t graze the blade. At last, they closed around fabric—the binding on the handle—and she pulled it up with both hands as she rose to a standing position.

“Moira,” the Tricker-Treater prompted again. And… the idea came to her.

If she could kill the Tricker-Treater, she could end the game. She’d win, without killing Taylor, and Riley would be safe.

Of course, she knew next to nothing about the Tricker-Treater’s fortitude, although he seemed like a formidable foe. She had to give it a shot. Anything was better than plunging the blade into Taylor.

“Turn on the lights,” Moira answered.

She tightened her grip on the blade and widened her stance to give her more stability. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck. Her heart beat so loudly it threatened to deafen her, but she stayed grounded. She didn’t have a choice.

The Tricker-Treater snapped his fingers, and the lights flickered on again. Moira coordinated her attack with the fluorescent flash. She ran full speed, katana thrust forward like a jousting lance. Taylor gasped, eyes widening in horror—until Moira jabbed the sword into the Tricker-Treater’s gut.

“Shit!” Taylor yelled.

The Tricker-Treater didn’t flinch. He didn’t scream, nor did he give any other indication that he had been struck. Instead, he wrapped his clawed fingers around the blade and looked right at Moira. The twisted grin he produced was the worst thing she’d ever seen.

“Well, now. Isn’t this exciting?”

Moira trembled, but she didn’t let go of the handle. If she did, she was afraid he’d find a way to turn the blade on her. Taylor crept closer to the scene, face ashen. He was trembling, too, even as he reached out to take the sword from Moira.

She shook her head vehemently. “You’re not responsible for this. Taylor, if anything happens—”

“It isn’t polite to speak about others as though they aren’t there,” the Tricker-Treater chimed in. He was still holding onto the blade, still the picture of tranquility even as the sword stuck out of his stomach and black blood dripped from the wound onto the floor. “I wonder if you two have forgotten your manners.”

“Fuck you,” Taylor spat.

Moira had to agree, though she couldn’t find the words. All she could focus on was the blood, the way it poured from the Tricker-Treater’s stomach even though the wound was technically still sealed up, and—

The Tricker-Treater flexed his claws, and his grin widened. The blade slipped out of Moira’s hands.

“Taylor!” Moira shouted.

The blade shot backward out of the Tricker-Treater’s stomach and whirled around to point at Taylor. He reacted a second too late. Moira stared in horror as the black-bloodstained tip pushed into Taylor’s chest. He stiffened, limbs flying out, mouth open, eyes the size of galaxies—

And then, his body dropped. It made a sick thwack as it landed.

Moira turned her head and puked. When she turned back, the Tricker-Treater was hunched over, holding his hat in his hands. He had the decency not to grin.

“Oh, dear,” he said. “This is… less than ideal.”

If she weren’t so afraid, she would have smacked him. “‘Less than ideal’? A child is dead! You fucking killed him, you son of a bitch.”

“If I hadn’t, you would have.”

“I wouldn’t have,” she insisted. “You’ve been inside my head. You must have known I wouldn’t.”

“Hmph.” The Tricker-Treater twisted his hat in his hands. He was having trouble looking Moira in the eye. “Well, this does present a challenge.”

She wrangled the urge to strangle him. “What are you talking about?”

“The rules of the game were clear. To save Riley, there must be a sacrifice.” He paused, as though waiting for her to remember the rules. “One of you must kill the other.”

“But we can’t now. Taylor’s dead.” Realization dawned on Moira, eclipsing the fear. “You killed him. That’s the loophole.”

“So it would seem.” If he was upset about Moira’s admission of looking for a loophole, it didn’t show. If anything, he was so lost in contemplation he paid her no mind. She could have attacked him then. Taylor’s hatchet lay on the floor not far from his body. If she leaned forward a little—

But what would happen to Riley? If she killed the Tricker-Treater, would she forfeit the game? She couldn’t wager Riley’s life on a spur-of-the-moment choice.

Instead, she had to bide her time and see what the creature decided.

“Unfortunately,” he said. “Riley must perish.”

All the blood drained from Moira’s face. Like hell he must, she thought. “What are you talking about? I played your stupid game. Taylor… well, that means I won. Those were your rules, remember?”

“Alas, Moira, that isn’t the case.” The Tricker-Treater clicked his tongue. “Neither of you did as I asked, as was required of you, so there is no winner. And, as there’s no winner, Riley’s life is forfeit. I’m afraid those are the rules.”

Moira’s stomach roiled. There had to be another way. She had to save Riley somehow, otherwise, Taylor had died for nothing. She refused to lose Riley, refused to let his mother bury both her sons.

“Take me instead,” she pleaded.

The Tricker-Treater hesitated. “That wasn’t part of the deal. Your life is only forfeit should the other participant take it. As the other participant is dead, there is no reason for your life to end.”

His logic and politeness made her want to tear her hair out. “Taylor shouldn’t have died. I didn’t kill him. Doesn’t that change up your shitty rules somehow?”

Again, he hesitated. His face twisted up as though he were in pain. “I concede that Taylor’s departure was unnecessary, given the game’s objective. Reckless, even. However… there must be some punishment for you.” The Tricker-Treater looked pointedly at the hole in his gut. “You also broke the rules.”

“You never said I couldn’t attack you,” she argued.

His mouth twitched. “Fair enough. Hm… let’s do this. What do you think I should do to you, Moira? What sort of fate would be equitable?”

Moira’s tongue sat like lead in her mouth. How was she supposed to make such a strange decision? The question wasn’t one she’d planned for. He wasn’t in her head anymore, so she wondered if she could just throw something out there, something far from “fair,” in terms of extremity. Or, perhaps he already knew what he would do to her, and he was just playing another sick game?

“Tick-tock,” said the Tricker-Treater.

Moira swallowed. Hard. If Norm were here, he’d have the perfect idea. He was always so wise, her Norm, even when he was being silly. The last time they’d watched Groundhog Day together, he’d said—

Groundhog Day. Yes, that was the answer. It was the only way for her to atone, while still paying homage to her husband. And, it was the only way to make sure Riley’s mother got her son back—and got to keep Riley, too.

It wasn’t a fate Moira looked forward to, but it was a fate she accepted.

She gave the Tricker-Treater a watery smile. “Have you seen any Bill Murray movies?”

* * *

When Moira came to, she was covered in sweat. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, and birds chirped outside. Jesus. She felt like she’d been run over by a train.

Out of habit, even after a year, she rolled over to look at Norm’s side of the bed. She smoothed a hand over the blankets and sighed. “Miss you more than ever, hon.”

Outside, the distant hum of a mower pierced the air. She must have slept in much later than usual. A glance at the clock on her nightstand confirmed her suspicions, and she groaned. That would teach her to go through a whole bottle of wine by herself.

A weird pain flared in Moira’s shoulder. When she reached for it, the feeling vanished. She checked under her shirt. Nothing.

Must just be part of getting old, she thought.

It seemed like it was going to be a nice day, what with the birds chirping and sunlight and all. Maybe she’d crawl out of bed and do something fun for a change, bake some cookies to give to the neighbor kid, Riley. Maybe he’d share with his overworked mother. The poor dear was working more than she was home, and Moira knew she was exhausted.

An hour later saw Moira dressed and pulling fresh cookies from the oven, the smell filling the house like a bug bomb—albeit a delicious one. While she waited for the cookies to cool, she slipped on her shoes and went outside to fetch the paper.

Moira kicked spilled candy corn off her front step. The remnants of another weeknight massacre. This time, all in the name of a holiday.

She’d stopped keeping track of the holidays.

tag list: @bauliya, @howdy-writes

#writeblr #writerblr #ttaos #horror #my writing

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paging-dr-bowen · 5 years ago

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Tips for Interview Season

Congratulations on your invitation to interview at the residency programs of your dreams! The time period between submitting your ERAS and awaiting your first invitation to interview is nerve wrecking. You might get bombarded with a couple rejection letters in the first few days (some programs even make errors by sending their rejection letters 3-4 times…like okay okay I get it it’s not you…it’s me…haha but don’t get discouraged your perfect match is still out there). But what do you do before this time period? Here are some tips below:

1. ERAS photo – This is most likely your first business headshot ever. Or at least it was for me. Go to a photo studio like J.C. Penny (they have affordable Group On deals for $20 and under for a couple headshots) or grab a friend with a decent camera and some good lighting. Photo should show a welcoming smile (this is not a mugshot or a passport photo). Attire should be simple, no distracting patterns or jewelry. Think grays, blues, blacks, and calm pastels. For men I’ve noticed a tie is a must. For women a blouse or a button up is fine, no cleavage. Wear your hair how you will wear it during interviews because they will use the photo to reference you. Hair up or down is fine just keep it neat. I wore my hair in braids/twists and wore it loose and to the side. Background of the photo should be a neutral color, try to avoid white. 2. Interview attire – Focusing on the ladies for this one, fellas interview attire is pretty standard across the board (business suit and business shoes). Aim to get about 3 outfits to cycle between especially for those weeks you have multiple interviews. Pants suits and skirt suits or a dress and a blazer are the go-to outfits. If opting for a dress or skirt length should at least be to the knees when sitting and wear nude/black stockings. Colors you should aim for a navy blue, gray, black and I even saw a candidate in a really nice forest green pant suit. The idea is to get neutral colors and offset it with a nice pop of color that isn’t too distracting. Limit the jewelry to simple pieces (stud earring and a simple necklace is fine, avoid bangles and bracelets that make noise). Comfortable shoes are a must, I bought a 1.5inch closed toed-pumps and half way through interview season I resorted to just wearing my business everyday flats I wear on my clinical rotations from Clarks (got a lot of compliments too…I’m just like this old thang?). Just like your ERAS photo, wear your hair up or down is fine, just keep it neat. Nice companies to buy clothing from are Ann Taylor Loft, Express, Banana Republic, Macy’s, Gap etc. You can bring a leather portfolio or a simple black leather tote (small to medium) to store a note pad, pen and a bottle of water and any other essentials like your wallet. For outerwear, a nice pea coat or trench coat pairs well with business attire. Don’t over think it, most of the program directors I encountered have said they don’t really care about your attire so don’t break the bank on your medical school income (non-existent) but just put yourself together nicely.

3. Work on your elevator pitch. School? Hometown? What is your passion within medicine? Why do you want the field you’re applying to? What are you looking for in a residency program (all the curriculums look generally the same due to AAMC requirements but what additional factors are important to you – is it location? Close to home? On-call hours? Specific elective opportunities? Why would they want you? Having a concise statement to answer all of these questions in a minute or less in a way that doesn’t sound scripted will prepare you for interviews as well as networking opportunities outside of your interviews. 4. Homework to do before your interview: Know the resident profiles of the residency – read about their values, experiences and interests to see how you’d fit in. Re-read your personal statement if it might have been a while since you read it. Re-read your CV you submitted on ERAS to make sure you remember every activity or research you inclluded in case it is a conversation piece. Do some research on the faculty and the program director that will be interviewing you (think of it as the equivalence to some light facebook stalking…you wouldn’t reiterate all their accolades but it’s nice to know to causally drop in a conversation when you have nothing to talk about so you can get them talking about theirselves) 5. What do they ask you on interviews? Anything …really. The most common questions I was asked in every interview were: Tell me about yourself. Why do you want to be a ____doctor? Why our program? What are your strengths and weaknesses? What are your career plans for after residency? Beyond these questions it was really casual conversation. The number one question you are guaranteed to be asked a million times are: Do YoU hAvE aNy QuEsTiOnS fOr Me? …you might want to say no but please don’t. Before your interview you should review the program’s website and make note of things you’d like to ask questions about. If you think you know there is everything to know about this program you can restate facts about the program you love and ask them to elaborate further or just simply try your best to form a question…it shows interest (they say it’s okay if you don’t have any but please try to have 1 or 2). You are interviewing them just as much as they are interviewing you. 6. How will your interview day be structured? Most programs send you an itinerary the week or a few days before the interview telling you how long each portion is and with whom. If they don’t, you can request it politely but you still might not get it until the day of the interview (which sucks because you can’t do your research on your interviewers but it’s okay). On average interviews can range from 15minutes-30 minutes per interview and you can get anywhere from 3-5 or more of those per day. Interview day is long but you will get used to it. At some point there will be a tour of the hospital given by a resident (this is where comfy shoes come in handy). After a while you’ll be over seeing another hospital because let’s be honest every ICU looks the same for the most part but your job is to stay tuned in and again…ask questions because the hospital tour is an interview just like everything else during the day. Be friendly and get to know the other candidates, you might make friendships that last beyond interview day and who knows you might end up at the same program. The programs are also taking note of how you interact with people and whether or not you’re a good fit for their program. 7. So its October/November and I still haven’t heard from the program of my dreams rejecting me or inviting me to an interview. Or maybe I haven’t heard from any programs at all? Here’s where a polite letter of intent comes in handy. Some programs use filters to help them sift through the thousands of applications they get. You might have been lost by the filter. Send a letter of intent and make it as personalized as possible to the programs you haven’t heard from stating why you think you’d be a great fit for their program and what you love about their program and if they would review your application for an interview. Late November, I haven’t heard back from one of the programs I desired and I sent them an email and was offered an interview a few days later. So I can say it definitely is worth doing. 8. Expenses. Interview season is expensive. You may need to take out extra in your student loans than you do usually. Things that will cost you extra money are the ERAS application fee which increases the more programs you apply to, gas for your car for interviews you drive to, Uber/Lyft or other rideshare, air fare for interviews you may have to fly to, hotels for overnight stays that aren’t covered by the residency program (I lucked out because Family Medicine programs on average love to wine and dine us and reserved nice hotels for me to stay in free of charge ). My entire interview season costed me about $6,000. The AAMC estimates that for students the range is anywhere from $3,000-$7,000. It varies depending on how many interviews are local or how many programs you applied to. Sooo much money I know…but if it makes you feel better you get free lunch on interview day and even a three course dinner if you opt to go to the “optional” pre-interview social the night before (Take advantage). You might also be visiting a new town or city, if you can explore the area a bit before going home it’s a nice mini trip and way to see if you could imagine yourself living there for the next 3+ years. 9. Pre-interview dinner – is it optional? It is but if you can go, I’d say go. It’s a nice chance to get to know some of the residents outside of work without the faculty around. You also get to eat like a king on someone else’s dime. They won’t scrutinize you for not going but it does look nice if you went. If you do go, don’t just sit there and eat, please be social because although the residents say its casual…your impressions do matter. 10. Cancelling interviews. If you have been blessed with a decent amount of interviews and you can confidently say you are at a comfortable amount with all the programs you desire going to scheduled then by all means cancel. Cancel as early as you can so it leaves room for other applicants who may have wanted to interview there to accept the offer. Generally, 1 week to a month in advance is preferred. Be polite when doing so because it does reflect on your school. 10 interviews scheduled is the average comfort zone (so they say). I was paranoid and went on way more interviews beyond that because I wanted to be sure of my choice in the end. I’m happy I did that because if I were to cancel interviews without going to see the program in person I’m sure I’d miss out. On that same note, don’t be afraid to reject interview offers from places you know you absolutely would not want to end up (this may happen if you applied broadly just to have some options) – only do this if you have a decent amount of interviews scheduled. 11. What do I do after interview day? Most programs will say do not reach out with a thank you note. If they don’t say this you are free to send a thank you note if you wish. I did not send any thank you notes and I don’t believe it negatively affected me. Interview season is very busy for the program coordinators scheduling interviews…they don’t need to read my generic thank you note/email that I will be sending to every program. However, if I did have a question that wasn’t answered on interview day I would go ahead and reach out. 12. How do I make my Rank Order List? Only rank programs you interviewed at because only those programs have a chance at ranking you. Only rank programs you would like to end up at. Rank them in the order of YOUR preference not how you think they might like you. Go with your gut. I advise you send a letter of intent as you make your Rank List to the program directors of perhaps your top 5 programs. I sent a letter to my number one program telling them I will be ranking them number 1. To programs #2-5 I told them I was ranking them highly. You might not get any response (that’s okay), Match rules say programs can’t tell you they’re ranking you and they can’t ask you if you’re ranking them but there aren’t any rules against you volunteering the information. Be careful of wording, I would NOT tell my number 2 program that I am ranking them number 2 (no one wants to hear that). Make sure to tell them what you love about their program as well and why you’d be a great fit. 13. How will I know if I will match? You don’t. You may have feelings. Programs might tell you they think you’d be a great fit. You might get a post card or a letter from programs or a phone call follow up. They might hint and nudge and wink at you. With all this being said…you still don’t know for sure what the outcome of Match Day will be. All you can do is hope, pray and have faith that the feelings you got from those interactions are genuine.

#medical school #medical student #medical studyblr #ms4 #residency #thematch #interviewseason

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

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I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 49

Chapter Summary - Tom spends time with his family while Danielle spends time alone.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

I doubt the real Emma Hiddleston is like this, but we will just go with this for now.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @lys-syl @youcantcatchafallingstar

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

“So, how was sharing the bachelor pad with a woman?” Tom frowned at his sister. “No one, not even the world-famous Taylor Swift, was allowed stay there more than a weekend, yet Danielle remained there for over a fortnight, and your words earlier were, and I quote, ‘to not let her get sick of you’ meaning you were completely at ease with her being there.”

“Well, for the record, Taylor never even went to my house, we came straight here, and you are making me sound like some sort of philanderer.” Tom retorted. “It is not a bachelor pad, I just didn’t want just anyone invading my home.”

“Ah, so good then?” Sarah smiled. “I’m glad. For the record, she is the first woman in years that I actually think is good for you.”

“She is the only woman in years other than Taylor, I haven’t had a relationship in quite some time.” Tom pointed out.

“Stop it, Tom, you know what I mean, she is ambitious but not in a way where she will ever use your name to get ahead, she is smart and she can see through Bull and call people up on it.” Sarah looked out on the water. “It’s all you could want.”

“She is more than that, fun, funny, happy, careful yet carefree, and she just...there is something so soothing about being around her. There is so much noise and bright blinding lights in my world, yet she just somehow manages to sit there and when I am with her, it doesn’t seem to overwhelm me as much.”

“Aw, my brother is smitten, it’s actually so nauseating.” Sarah joked. “Well, in case you didn’t know, the feeling appears to be mutual.”

“Wait, did she say something when you were shopping?”

“Say, no, she said nothing. Her demeanour and smile, however, said everything.”

“When was this?”

“After your joke about her being the underpaid minion forced to do your shopping, she was smiling like an idiot at the phone, unable to stop herself, it was adorable,” Sarah informed him, laughing slightly when Tom’s face lit up at her words.

“Elle?” Tom walked in the back door of Danielle’s home with a well walked and happy Mac by his side. He could see from the used plates that she had eaten something, which was something of a relief to him. Listening intently, he heard her shower upstairs, so he decided to go and collect the rest of his things to bring over to his mother's. When the shower turned off, he smiled, imagining Danielle dripping wet and smiling as he hoped she would be, being back at home and having all of her work completed. “Elle, I’m in the hallway,” he called out, not wanting her to get startled if she heard him.

“Okay.” was her reply. “You going to your mum’s?”

“Yeah, I am going to catch up with everyone for a while.”

“Good, have fun.”

“Are you going to come by?”

“Maybe in a little bit,” the door opened and she stood in front of him with only a towel on, trying to get the excess water out of her hair. “It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, so I need to sort out a few things here, sort the electric bill and all, post a few things that need to be done by New Years and get a bit of a shop done, I may have eaten everything in the fridge.” she smiled.

“You haven’t paid your bills?”

“I have, they are all direct debit, but I like to organise them all because I am a weirdo who likes to see where I spend my money.”

“My accountant would love you, in fact, he would get down on bended knees and ask you to have a stern word with me.” he grinned, leaning down to kiss her. “So, will I see you this evening?”

“More than likely then,” she nodded, smiling back at him. “Had you guys a nice walk?”

“Great, we had Sarah with us too, and for the record, you are still “Ellie”.”

“I was hoping she wasn’t calling me that still.” Danielle grimaced.

“She is the Duchess, she calls anyone anything and all we can do is accept it.” Tom smiled. “She thinks it is ‘Euch’ that we kiss now, but is far happier about this.”

“That’s because I don’t call her stories stupid and allow her some time with her uncle unsupervised. Speaking of which, go have some time with your family.”

“I will talk to you in a small while, alright?” Tom kissed her again, smiling happily before turning and going down the stairs with his suitcase.

When she heard the door close, Danielle inhaled deeply, the smile she had forced onto her face long disappeared and went into her room to get dressed.

“So when is Elle coming over?” Diana asked after Tom had polished off three cups of tea and two slices of cake.

“Later, she wants to organise the house and get some shopping in,” Tom responded, putting his plates in the sink.

“Better to do it today than tomorrow, the town with be hectic.” Sarah agreed. “You not going with her?”

“She looked like she wanted some time to herself, she has been so busy with work that I think she hasn’t had time to just relax for ages, the closest she had to it was going shopping with the two of you and the week before Christmas on Oxford Street is not what you would call relaxing.”

“We had a good time.” Diana smiled, “But it is healthy to spend a few hours apart too, not be stuck on one another. Remember last summer, the furthest you were allowed go when you were here was to the shop with Jack to get some barbeque meat. That is not healthy.”

“Can we not mention the farce that was last summer?” Tom grimaced. “I am trying to pretend I didn’t almost lose my marbles.”

“Good plan.” Jack agreed.

For the first winter in years, it wasn’t stormy or freezing cold coming into Christmas, it was, however, wet. Danielle cursed herself for not hiring a car for the Christmas, since knew she would never drive the Jag and now with giving time for Tom to spend time with his family, it meant she had to cycle to and from the village, something that would not bother her, had it not been for the rain that seemed to be in extortionate abundance around her.

She knew Tom would be spending time alone with his family, and in truth, she wanted to have some time to herself too, but Emma’s almost demanding it caused her to feel upset, not knowing what to do about it all. When finally she got home, she brought in the bike and looked at the water dripping from it onto the floor, her vision blurred. She liked being alone, she was used to it, she was an only child after all, but she had seldom felt lonely, but at that moment, as she placed her shopping on the table, she felt very much isolated.

Looking at her phone, she noticed there was a missed call from Tom and then a message,

Tom - I hope you are having a lovely day Darling, we are going to be having a few drinks and probably a movie later, come over when you are done, everyone cannot wait to see you. Xxx

Danielle just looked at the text before turning her phone on standby and continuing to unpack her shopping. When she had that finished, she went upstairs and walked into the study room and stared at the bookshelves, inhaling deeply, she decided to reorganise them, she had new plans, and that meant an overhaul, it also meant she could keep her mind of Tom, Emma and the Hiddleston’s in general.

She had been so lost in thought, Danielle never realised her phone was ringing, clicking the answer button, she put it to her ear without checking who it was. “Hello?”

“Hello beautiful, how is your day going?”

“Fine, yours?” she put the phone between her ear and her shoulder and continued putting books on the shelf.

“Wonderful, it is so good to finally have some time alone with my family again.” Danielle froze at those words. “When you are going to town, let me know, I’ll drive you. It’s too wet out.”

“I already went.”

“What?”

“I went already, a couple of hours ago in fact, actually, I need to dry the bike, I completely forgot about it.”

“Why didn’t you ask one of us to drive you in, Elle you must have gotten soaked.”

“It’s fine.”

“Did you have a shower after?”

“No.”

“Elle…” her nostrils flared slightly at his scolding tone. “You should have said something, darling.”

“I needed the air.”

“Usually I would agree, but it has been bucketing all day, you cannot do that, you’ll catch your death.”

“You don’t get sick from being out in the wet Tom.”

“You know what I mean, it can’t help.”

“I am actually sort of in the middle of something here, can I call you back later?” she asked, not wanting to talk on the phone any longer, hearing his voice made her lonely for him.

“Sure, when you're done, come over, alright?” Tom had to force himself to control his voice to not show how taken back he was by her cold demeanour.

“Yeah, I just have my head in something here and I want to get it done, I will come over then,” she replied, doing everything she could to not sound so distant. “Have fun with your family, Tom.”

Tom did not get to say anymore before the line went dead, leaving Danielle looking at the device in her hand as the screen faded from ending the call. She simply looked around for a moment before going back to the job at hand.

“Is Elle coming for dinner?” Diana asked as she was plating up food for her children and their husbands.

“I’m not sure,” Tom admitted, half forgetting about Elle and her slightly odd behaviour since he knew when she was organising, she became somewhat one-track minded and having spent an hour playing card games with his niece.

“Well check.” His mother ordered.

Taking out his phone, he realised it was four hours since he had spoken to Elle and pressed the redial button on her number.

“Yes, Tom?” Her voice was distant and echoing as though on loudspeaker, the music in the background confirming it, as well as the sound of plates moving around.

“Hey.” He smiled on hearing her voice. “You having a mini-concert for yourself there?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, the sound of her sucking on something interrupting her words. “Sorry, burnt my thumb on my lasagna dish there.”

“The music,” He explained, “No worries darling, I was just ringing because mum was asking if you were going to join us for dinner.”

“I already ate, I am just putting the leftovers into different boxes for freezing,” she stated. “I am actually feeling sort of tired, I am going to head to bed early, I will see you tomorrow, alright?”

“Elle, it’s only eight, you were in bed until near midday. Are you okay?”

“Yes, you goof, I’m just trying to catch up on sleep.” she laughed slightly. “But thank you for worrying.”

“Do you want me to come over when I am done here?”

“Tom, spend some time alone with your family. I will still be here tomorrow. I know my bed is comfy, but I am sure your one there will do you tonight.” her tone light. “Will you really miss me that badly for one night?”

“I think I may,” he admitted.

“Well, I won’t lie, that’s a nice thought, you missing me. Goodnight Tom, have a fun evening with your family. I love you.”

“As I do you.” He returned. “Get some good sleep.”

“I will with you not hogging most of the covers.”

“I do not.” he declared indignantly.

“Yes, you do.” she began to laugh, but then it turned to a yawn. “Night Tom.”

“Night, Elle.” he waited for her to hang up and looked at the phone.

“Tom?”

“She had dinner and is catching an early night for herself, she said she will come over tomorrow,” he responded getting up from the table and going to the back door and going outside for a moment, looking over at Danielle’s.

“Hey,” he turned to see Sarah looking at him from the back door, “you okay?”

“Yeah, I just am worried about her.”

“Why, because she is going to bed early and wanted a day to organise herself? You’ve never been one to be stuck to another person.” She looked at him.

“She’s listening to sad songs.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Danielle is a person who shows her emotions to music, she is listening to sad songs, meaning something is bothering her,” Tom explained. “The fact they are sad love songs is making me worry.”

“Are you sure it is not just the radio playing random songs that just so happen to be those?” Sarah challenged. “You said yourself today that she has been pulling twenty hour days trying to get her paperwork done, she is probably exhausted, you cannot recover from that in one sleep in, especially when you did not get here until what time last night?”

Tom nodded, knowing it was true. “You’re right, I just don’t want to overwhelm her, but I really want her to know if there is something she is worried about, she can come to me. I think sometimes that she is scared I will cast her aside if she tells me things. ”

“Well then tomorrow, when you see her, tell her that. Telling your big sister while you stare at her bedroom is not how you deal with this, now get in and get some dinner and stop staring at her window, it’s weird.”

“Yeah.” Tom nodded, sighing loudly, before going back into his mum’s.

On the other side of the fence, in the other house, Danielle placed the lasagna dish to soak and covered the different portions of lasagna and put them in the fridge for the following days before taking her phone off the counter where she had placed it after Tom had called her and walking over to her laptop, x-ing off the youtube page she had been using to play different songs, as she looked around her empty house, where she only had her dog as company, after getting used to Tom’s presence for the two weeks previous, feeling a little lost in herself.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 49 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

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thegoldenyears-memories · 5 years ago

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♕ GLAMOROUS, a lucinda talkalot mix ♕

“i just took a dna test, turns out i'm 100% that bitch.”

( listen )

01. YOU SHOULD SEE ME IN A CROWN de billie eilish ( bite my tongue, bide my time, wearing a warning sign, wait till the world is mine. you should see me in a crown, i'm gonna run this nothing town. watch me make 'em bow one by one by one one by one by. you should see me in a crown, your silence is my favorite sound. watch me make 'em bow one by one by one one by one by one. )

02. BRAVADO de lorde ( 'cause i was raised up to be admired, to be noticed. i'm faking glory, lick my lips, toss my hair and turn the smile on. i was frightened of every little thing that i thought was out to get me down, to trip me up and laugh at me. but i learnt not to want the quiet of the room with no one around to find me out. i want the applause, the approval, the things that make me go oh, oh, oh, oh. )

03. CONFIDENT de demi lovato ( it's time for me to take it, i'm a boss right now. not gonna fake it, not when you go down. 'cause this is my game and you better come to play. i used to hold my freak back, now i'm letting go. i make my own choice. bitch, i run the show. so leave the lights on. no, you can't make me behave. so you say i'm complicated, that i must be outta my mind, but you've had me underrated, rated, rated. what's wrong with being, what's wrong with being, what's wrong with being confident? it's time to get the chains out, is your tongue tied up? 'cause this is my round and i'm dangerous. and you can get off, but it's all about me tonight. )

04. FOCUS de ariana grande ( i know what i came to do and that ain't gonna change. so go ahead and talk your talk, cause i won't take the bait. i'm over here doing what i like, i'm over here working day and night. i can tell you're curious, it's written on your lips. ain't no need to hold it back, go ahead and talk your shit. i know you're hoping that i'll react, i know you're hoping i'm looking back. just come and get it, let them say what they say, 'cause i'm about to put them all away. focus on me, fuh, fuh, focus on me (you know i like it when you focus on me). )

05. JUICE de lizzo ( mirror, mirror on the wall, don't say it 'cause i know i'm cute (ooh, baby). i'm like chardonnay, get better over time (so you know). heard you say i'm not the baddest, bitch, you lie (haha). it ain't my fault that i'm out here makin' news, i'm the pudding in the proof, gotta blame it on my juice. no, i'm not a snack at all, look, baby, i'm the whole damn meal (ooh, baby). )

06. FANCY de iggy azalea ft. charli xcx ( i'm so fancy, you already know. i'm in the fast lane, from l.a. to tokyo. i'm so fancy, can't you taste this gold? remember my name, 'bout to blow. )

07. PRIMADONNA de marina ( primadonna girl, yeah, all i ever wanted was the world. i can't help that i need it all, the primadonna life, the rise and fall. you say that i'm kinda difficult, but it's always someone else's fault. got you wrapped around my finger, babe, you can count on me to misbehave. beauty queen on a silver screen, living life like i'm in a dream. i know i've got a big ego, i really don't know why it's such a big deal, though. )

08. FASHION! de lady gaga ( fashion! looking good and feeling fine. fashion! step into the room like it's a catwalk. fashion! singing to the tune just to keep them talking. fashion! walk into the light, display your diamonds and pearls in mine. fashion! married to the night, i own the world. look at me now! i feel on top of the world in my fashion! fashion! make up on your face, a new designer dress. )

09. LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO de taylor swift ( the role you made me play of the fool, no, i don't like you. but i got smarter, i got harder in the nick of time. honey, i rose up from the dead, i do it all the time. i've got a list of names and yours is in red, underlined. i check it once, then i check it twice, oh! ooh, look what you made me do, look what you made me do, look what you just made me do. the world moves on, another day, another drama, drama. but not for me, not for me, all i think about is karma. and then the world moves on, but one thing's for sure, maybe i got mine, but you'll all get yours. )

10. TENNIS COURT de lorde ( don't you think that it's boring how people talk? making smart with their words again, well i'm bored. because i'm doing this for the thrill of it, killin' it. never not chasing a million things i want. getting pumped up on the little bright things i bought. it's a new art form showing people how little we care. we're so happy, even when we're smilin' out of fear. )

11. WASABI de little mix ( love to hate me, crazy, shady, spit me out like hot wasabi. love to hate me, praise me, shame me, either way you talk about me. i love the way you talk about me, look at how far it got me. ooh, baby, you (yes you), i can feel you hatin' on me. you, baby, you (yeah you), i'm glad to be your inspiration. who, baby, who's (guess who) the topic of your conversation? i-i-i am (i am). all the ugly things you say come and say 'em to my face. watchin' me, i ain't watching you (watchin' you). what you see, i hope you like the view (check it out). best believe you'll never get into me. all these words run through me. )

12. MR. KNOW IT ALL de kelly clarkson ( when somebody tells you something 'bout you, think that they know you more than you do, so you take it down another pill to swallow. mr. bring-me-down, well ya, ya like to bring me down, don't you? but i ain't laying down, baby, i ain't goin' down. can't nobody tell me how it's gonna be, nobody gonna make a fool out of me. baby, you should know that i lead not follow. 'cause baby you don't know a thing about me. )

13. CASTLE de halsey ( sick of all these people talking, sick of all this noise. i'm headed straight for the castle, they wanna make me their queen. and there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying that i probably shouldn't be so mean. i'm headed straight for the castle, they've got the kingdom locked up. and there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying i should probably keep my pretty mouth shut. there's no use crying about it. )

14. BURNING GOLD de christina perri ( looking for an exit in this world of fear, i can see the path that leads the way. looking through the window to a world of dreams, i can see my future slip away. honey you won't get there if you don't believe. i wish the wind would carry a change. i've had enough, i'm standing up. i need, i need a change. i'm setting fire to the life that i know, let's start a fire everywhere that we go. we're starting fires, we're starting fires 'til our lives are burning gold. looking back i see i had the flame in me, i'm the wind that’s carrying change. )

15. MEAN de taylor swift ( you, with your words like knives and swords and weapons that you use against me. you have knocked me off my feet again, got me feeling like a nothing. you have pointed out my flaws again, as if i don't already see them. i walk with my head down, trying to block you out 'cause i'll never impress you. i just wanna feel okay again. but the cycle ends right now, 'cause you can't lead me down that road and you don't know, what you don't know, someday i'll be big enough so you can't hit me and all you're ever gonna be is mean. why you gotta be so mean? )

16. DONATELLA de lady gaga ( 'cause she walks so bad, like it feels so good, listen to her radiate her magic even though she knows she's misunderstood. what do you wanna wear this spring? what do you think is the new thing? what do you wanna wear this season? i'm gonna wear designer and forget your name. )

17. WORK BITCH de britney spears ( don't stop now, just be the champion. work it hard, like it's your profession. watch out now, 'cause here it comes. no time to quit now, just time to get it now. you wanna live fancy, live in a big mansion, party in france? you better work bitch, now get to work bitch. )

18. 7 RINGS de ariana grande ( buy myself all of my favorite things. been through some bad shit, i should be a sad bitch. who would have thought it'd turn me to a savage? i see it, i like it, i want it, i got it. whoever said money can't solve your problems must not have had enough money to solve 'em. they say, "which one?" i say, "nah, i want all 'em." happiness is the same price as "red-bottoms." my smile is beamin', my skin is gleamin'. the way it shine, i know you've seen it, you've seen it. i don't mean to brag, but i be like, "put it in the bag." )

19. BITCH BETTER HAVE MY MONEY de rihanna ( bitch better have my money! y'all should know me well enough. bitch better have my money! please don't call me on my bluff, pay me what you owe me. don't act like you forgot, i call the shots, shots, shots. )

20. HOMEMADE DYNAMITE de lorde ( i'll give you my best side, tell you all my best lies. yeah, awesome right? our rules, our dreams, we're blind. blowing shit up with homemade dynamite. our friends, our drinks, we get inspired. blowing shit up with homemade dynamite. )

21. ANGELA de the lumineers ( but you held your course to some distant war in the corners of your mind. were you safe and warm in your coat of arms, with your fingers in a fist? strangers in this town, they raise you up just to cut you down. oh, angela it's a long time coming. )

22. THE OUTSIDE de taylor swift ( so how can i ever try to be better? nobody ever lets me in. i can still see you, this ain't the best view, on the outside looking in and i've been a lot of lonely places, i've never been on the outside. you saw me there, but never knew, that i would give it all up to be a part of this, a part of you. and now it's all too late. so you see... you could've helped if you had wanted to. but no one notices until it's too late to do anything. )

23. SORRY NOT SORRY de demi lovato ( now i'm out here looking like revenge, feelin' like a 10, the best i ever been. now payback is a bad bitch, and baby, i'm the baddest. you're fuckin' with a savage. can't have this, can't have this. and it'd be nice of me to take it easy on ya, but nah. baby, i'm sorry (i'm not sorry). being so bad got me feelin' so good. feeling inspired 'cause the tables have turned. yeah, i'm on fire and i know that it burns. )

24. CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF MYSELF de santigold ft. bc unidos ( if i wasn't me, i can be sure i'd wanna be. i'm pretty major and i'll say it out loud. living a living a fantasy, live in, i live in my vanity. all i wanna do is what i do well. ain't a gambler but honey i'd put money on myself. i'll tell you that i can't get enough, i'm on a roll, i keep turning it up. i'm my biggest fan and i can't get enough. i can't get enough, i'mma say it, it's true, i can't get enough of myself. )

25. CIRCUS de britney spears ( there's only two types of people in the world: the ones that entertain, and the ones that observe. well baby i'm a put-on-a-show kinda girl, don't like the backseat, gotta be first. i'm like the ringleader, i call the shots. i feel the adrenaline moving through my veins, spotlight on me and i'm ready to break. all the eyes on me in the center of the ring, just like a circus. )

26. I’M EVERY WOMAN de chaka khan ( i'm every woman, it's all in me. anything you want done, baby, i'll do it naturally. i ain't braggin' 'cause i'm the one, you just ask me ooh and it shall be done. and don't bother to compare, 'cause i've got it, i've got it, i've got it. )

27. APPLAUSE de lady gaga ( i live for the applause, applause, applause. live for the way that you cheer and scream for me, the applause, applause, applause. (a-p-p-l-a-u-s-e) make it real loud, (a-p-p-l-a-u-s-e) put your hands up, make 'em touch, touch. )

28. STILL SANE de lorde ( hair is dripping, hiding that i'm terrified, but this is summer, playing dumber than in fall. everything i say falls right back into everything i'm not. riding around on the bikes, we're still sane. i won't be her, tripping over on-stage. hey, it's all cool, i still like hotels, but i think that'll change. hey, promise i can stay good. (everything feels right) i'm little, but i'm coming for the crown, i'm little, but i'm coming for you. (chase paper, get it) i'm little but i'm coming for the title held by everyone who's up. all work and no play, never made me lose it. all business all day, keeps me up a level. only bad people live to see their likeness set in stone, what does that make me? )

29. GLAMOROUS de fergie ft. ludacris ( if you ain't got no money take your broke ass home. g-l-a-m-o-r-o-u-s. poppin' champagne, livin' the life in the fast lane. wear them gold and diamonds rings, all them things don't mean a thing. chaperons and limousines, shopping for expensive things. i'm not clean, i'm not pristine. i'm no queen, i'm no machine. i got problems up to here, i've got people in my ear telling me these crazy things that i don't want to know (fuck y'all). )

╰ ❄ feliz navidad y año nuevo, ale.

—; de: andy ( @dorcasdoemeadowes )

—; para: ale ( @talkalotxl )

Ale:

Siempre que me tocas, me quedo como: meep, help, ¿qué pongo? Porque sabes que tiendo más a mandar mensajes enormes a las 3 de la mañana llenos de mis sentimientos, a algo que me propongo, pero vamos a intentarlo. <3

Primero que nada, espero te guste tu mix :3. La verdad es que adoro a Lucinda, es hermosa y me encanta como la llevas. La foto de la portada es precioooosa, tenía que ponerla, y la contraportada obvio teníamos que ponerle su coronita. Busqué captar como la llevas tú, desde su aburrimiento por el mundo purista, hasta como la trataron mal y eso la hizo la persona que es ahora, pasando por su amor por la atención, el dinero *oso que lanza billetes*, su lado vengativo, su pasión por la moda, cómo finge cual buena hija purista, su ambición, su sentido de superioridad y al final, en la última canción, cómo sabe dentro de ella que en realidad estos lujos y ser parte de los "puristas", no significa nada, que es vacío. Disfrútalo muuuuuucho, bebé. Gracias por traer a Lucinda al dash, we luv her.

Bueno, ¿qué puedo decirte? Eres mi mejor amiga. Gracias por serlo. Gracias por ser la persona a la que puedo contarle las cosas más raras, que más me hacen odiarme, las que escondo de la vergüenza que me dan, y que aún puedas ver todo lo bueno en mí; gracias por soportar todo el dolor y ansiedad que he cargado conmigo estos años, por tratar de entender lo mejor que puedes mi enfermedad, por hacerme ver que a pesar de que yo no siempre lo note, voy mejorando, y por ser tan paciente; gracias por esos momentos donde me llamaste la atención porque sabías que no tenía que ir por algún lado, o me estaba lastimando, por decirme cuando meto la pata, porque eso hacen las verdaderas amigas; gracias por protegerme del mundo y de la gente que ha querido lastimarme, me siento muy segura contigo, incluso si estás a muchos kilómetros de distancia; gracias por no hacerme sentir ridícula, por escuchar sobre mis gustos y pasiones, por empujarme a seguirlos, por recordarme mi valor, y en especial por verme como la persona que soy. Me conoces mucho mejor que la mayoría del mundo, y el hecho de que veas en mí tantas cosas buenas, y me las recuerdes cuando yo no puedo, es algo que te agradeceré siempre.

Ale, sabes que vamos de la mano en este mundo, que la vida no es fácil y lo hemos entendido, pero también es hermosa, fantástica, y nunca estamos solas. Espero este año consigas verte como yo te veo: Una mujer sumamente inteligente, que no se deja pisotear por nadie, que no se queda callada, ni se conforma, con una fortaleza enorme (eres de las personas más fuertes que conozco, en verdad), que cae y siempre se levanta porque para ella no existe opción, una persona admirable, una chica hermosa, alguien de quien aprendo día a día, que me ha enseñado a respetarme más, a no conformarme, a ser más amable conmigo misma, me has ayudado a crecer, y que felicidad haber crecido contigo y continuar creciendo. Espero este año tú seas más amable contigo misma, que perdones tus errores, que entiendas que está bien si un día no te sientes bien, que veas más cualidades que defectos en ti, que lances a la basura todo el odio que tengas en tu corazón para ti misma, que te ames y sientas que nadie te puede detener, y que nadie puede decirte que no vales la pena, porque tú sabes que sí. Más que nada te deseo felicidad y tranquilidad contigo misma.

Todo va a estar bien. Sé que es algo cliché que normalmente digo, y que yo veo el mundo más rosado, pero al final está bien. El tiempo cura las cosas, el mundo tiene bondad (tú misma eres muestra de ello), no somos la opinión de otra persona, lo que nos define es lo que está en nuestro corazón (y en el tuyo hay muchas cosas hermosas), y que más que tener miedo al futuro, debemos emocionarnos, porque cosas buenas vienen, gente que nos hará sonreír, veremos lugares hermosos, viviremos cosas geniales y sanaremos. Si ya estamos en este punto, imagina todo lo que podemos lograr. Espero siempre sepas que nunca estás sola, Joanna y yo estamos ahí siempre. Juntas estamos en esta vida y sabemos que todo es mejor cuando tienes en quién apoyarte. Gracias por permitirme estar a tu lado.

Te amo muchísimo. Así mucho, mucho, mucho. Muuuuuuucho. Mucho, mucho, mucho. A lot, mucho, muchísimo, mucho, mucho. MUCHO. Mucho. :)

Feliz Navidad atrasada y año nuevo. Eres una mujer fuerte, poderosa y hermosa, nunca lo olvides. Mereces el mundo.

Con todo su amor,

— andy ♡. 🎅

#lucinda #santa secreto 2019 #mix

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istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 6 years ago

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anonymous said: Hiya!! Could you please possibly do a roger imagine where him and the reader are bestfriends but one night, the group goes out together and it’s supposed to just be queen and her and roger brings a groupie and the reader gets really jealous and starts drinking a lot and then tries to leave because she gets pissed and he follows her and tried to convince her to let him take her home and just a bit angsts as she confesses her feelings and then fluff please and thank you?

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, yeah?”

Had you heard those words from Deacon, or Brian, as you sat there double-fisting some fruity drinks you’d long forgotten the name of, bought for you by Freddie, who you’d ditched a minute ago – you might have listened. You might have let them hail you a cab, send you back to yours, or even crashed at their place.

But those words crossed Roger’s lips, not theirs. And somehow, that simple sentence being uttered by your best friend pissed you off more than anything else had this whole night.

Slamming your drinks down on the table, you shot Roger the most scornful look you could manage, then scoffed at him and the glazed brunette tucked under his arm.

“I don’t think that’s any of your fucking business, Taylor,” you deadpanned, your eyes heavy with the liquor doing a number on your system. You were drunk, yes, and you’d probably had more than enough to drink, but it was essentially Roger’s fault you were at this point. “Why don’t you just mind your own? You’ve got your newest fix for the night, why should I matter to you? This isn’t new to me.”

You hadn’t planned on drinking tonight. Actually, you were supposed to be the monitor tonight, to make sure the boys didn’t get out of hand as they had to pack for tour the next day. They didn’t want to be packing with a foggy mind, so you promised to keep an eye on everyone.

Everyone, you thought, just meant the four boys, and maybe someone like Ratty. So you weren’t at all fazed whenever Freddie, Deacon, and Brian were there to greet you when you finally made it into the pub Freddie had chosen. However, you were less than pleased to find Roger there with his arm slung over the shoulders a strange woman with long brunette hair and beautiful, plump red lips. She had a leg draped over his lap, and he barely took his eyes off her long enough to give you a quick hello and a wave.

A hello and a wave? From your best friend of years? That didn’t settle right with you at all. It weighed on you quickly, a heavy tension in the air as Freddie took note of your mildly offended expression. Roger had rarely ever snubbed you this hard, and when he did this, he usually got good earful about it right away. But tonight, this didn’t instill plain anger in you. It incited something else, more possessive in nature, more selfish.

Freddie pulled you down to sit by him immediately, his perceptive nature and fondness of you willing him to strike up a conversation with you to try and distract from what was happening directly across the table. Although they weren’t practically all over each other, you were still thoroughly miffed at the fact that you didn’t even exist to Roger tonight. You had been Roger’s closest friend far longer than this bimbo had even been a thought in his mind, and here you were taking backseat to her, like you did every time a groupie latched onto him.

“Fred, I’m sorry, I can’t pretend like I’m all here,” you abruptly stopped him after a minute or two of conversing. There wasn’t an ashamed look on your face, and you glanced over at Roger and the groupie before looking back to Freddie, who smiled sympathetically and nudged you towards the end of the booth.

“Here, let’s go get you something, on me. I’ll be mother hen tonight, you look like you could use a drink.” You smiled fondly at Freddie and climbed out of the booth, wrapping your arm around his waist as he did the same to you, and you both strolled over to the bar. Freddie ordered you both a glass of white wine and you sat at the bar, enjoying the glass with your back to the booth where everyone else was seated.

At this location, it was easier to forget about Roger’s disregard for you tonight, but it still continued to nag at you as you shot the shit with Freddie, who was worried about how much he needed to pack tomorrow. The nagging image of Roger’s limp wave irritated you so much that you kept ordering drink after drink, just to try and drown it out. However, it just floated around in the vodka and wine, buoyant and taunting you as the hours drug on. You tried to keep up with Freddie’s conversation, but it was taking all of your energy. Plus, your mind was reeling from all of the alcohol soaking deep into your body.

Why was Roger treating you like this? It was like a vicious cycle – you were his constant focus for the longest time, his best friend, and he never made you feel like you were underappreciated, but the moment a groupie or an old fling entered the picture, he acted like you were a stranger. Gone was the goofball blonde who always called the seat next to you on the plane. In his blue eyes, there were reflections that were alien to you. He didn’t even look as if he was the one who always went shopping with you – he would not let on that he had countless memories with you, cuddling, partying, going to catch a film, cruising. Nothing. They were distant, unreadable. They were not Roger Taylor’s eyes.

That was the worst part, because his eyes had always been your undoing. Wherever those alluring blue eyes were involved, you were completely under his spell, and it had taken you so long to come to terms with the fact that maybe it was more than just an affectionate friendship. You wanted more, but did he? That question plagued you, and your drunk mind started panicking as it tried to reckon with the thought of Roger possibly not actually caring for you in even remotely the same capacity that you cared for him. He was a proud man, and he sometimes failed at showing his emotions unless he knew he could completely invest and be safe.

On drink number 6 – or was it 8? You’d lost count – Freddie was momentarily distracted by a friend who called his name, and you took the opportunity to grab your drinks and slip away. When you landed on your feet after sitting on the barstool for so long, you felt the room spin and you snorted at how drunk you truly were. Classic.

And fast forward to being here, now, leaning over the table and sneering at the charming blonde who was supposed to be your best friend. He looked very uncomfortable at your words, the insinuations speaking volumes about how much you wanted to backhand him for treating you like he had tonight. Moving the woman’s leg off his lap, he sat forward so that she was somewhat out of earshot, then gave you a warning look. “You’re drunk, Y/N, stop being such a cunt. You don’t mean it.”

“What if I do?” you asked, giving him a sardonic smile and grabbing your coat. “Fuck right off, Roger. I’m going home.”

“Y/N, perhaps we better get you-“

You cut Brian off abruptly, your intoxication erasing any remorse you’d regularly feel for treating him like he didn’t have a voice in the matter. “I can handle myself, thank you, Brian. You-“ you pointed at Roger, shoving a finger against his forehead, “Can fucking shove off.”

With that, you pulled your coat on and walked – or rather, stumbled – over to the door, where you shouldered your way outside and started off down the sidewalk. You were headed the wrong direction, but your pride willed you to carry on, regardless of where you ended up. It was at least a block or two before you felt a familiar hand grab ahold of your elbow, and you scowled as you turned suddenly, Roger almost knocking you down with his momentum. That being said, it wouldn’t have been hard for a small child to knock you off balance at that point.

“Y/N, Christ!” he cursed, catching you and himself before you both fell. You quickly pushed his arms off of you, then looked around to find that the brunette woman from moments ago was nowhere in sight. “What’s up with you tonight? Can’t I fucking tell my best friend she’s drunk?”

“God,” you muttered, pulling your coat closed around you and hugging yourself as you looked at him with disdain. Although a bit blurry to you, he was ruffled, half in and out of his fashionable car coat, and he looked visibly upset. “Where’s the girl? Is she getting a cab so you can help this poor nutcase go home?”

“What are you on about?” Roger asked, but the raising pitch in his voice gave away that he was on the defensive all of the sudden. You narrowed your eyes, and Roger sighed as he pulled on the other sleeve of his coat, buttoning it up. “Let’s just get you back home, alright?”

“No. Go back inside, Roger, I’m fine.”

“Is that why you’re going the wrong way?” he quickly fired back, making your cheeks flare up because you knew he was right.

“I was taking the long way,” you lied poorly, Roger easily calling your bluff and raising an eyebrow.

“Out on your own, in the middle of London, at 1 am? You’re mental if you think I’m going to let you do that, Y/N. Now come on,” he demanded, firmly grabbing your arm and leading you towards the road, where he hailed a cab quickly. He made you get in first, and you complied, accepting defeat but turning away from him in the seat and crossing your arms.

After he got in behind you, he easily rattled off your address to the driver and it became silent as the cabbie began to make his way to your flat. You refused to talk first, staring at the door handle so that the world moving by outside the cab wouldn’t make you dizzier than you already were.

“You embarrassed me, Y/N,” Roger said softly, unable to handle the negative space between the both of you. That made your blood boil, and his words unlocked a spew of heated emotion that you’d been bottling up since the very first groupie you’d taken second place to.

“You know, Rog, I may be drunk, but you were disrespecting me tonight! You always think about your happiness before mine, and you always ignore me when you get a girl for a quick fuck.” Roger was quiet, unsure how to react as you laid it all on him, picking him apart piece by piece. “We’re supposed to be best friends. Tonight, I got a ‘Y/N, you’re finally here! Hello!’ and a ‘Hey.’ when I showed up,” you slurred, raising your hand for a weak imitation wave with the latter part of the sentence. “You want to take a fucking wild guess at who said what? Because it sure wasn’t Brian who treated me like a right cunt.”

“I was… busy,” he defended weakly, but the look on his face betrayed him. It was guilty, and he avoided eye contact with you as he set his jaw, knowing you weren’t even close to done.

“That’s what m’talking about, Roger, you prick!” you nearly cried, your voice cracking and slurred as you realized alcohol-fueled tears were quickly on their way. “I’m your best friend, I don’t get why you have to pretend like I’m a nobody every time you’ve got another girl on your arm!”

“Sounds like somebody is jealous.” He was turning it around on you, which was honestly not a new low for him. You loved Roger, but he tended to be a blame-shifter to avoid the emotional weight of things. But even drunk you could recognize this, for it was far too central in his personality/character to be ignored.

“Yeah, I actually am jealous!” You didn’t really plan on saying that, but it was too late to take it back as Roger looked at you, bewildered by your confrontational statement.

“What? What the fuck do you have to be jealous of?” he sputtered out, still looking confused.

“God, Roger, am I really this fucked or do you really not know why I’m jealous?” you laughed, a tear springing out of your eye and rolling down your cheek as you looked at him. His face softened as he realized you were crying, but you kept an unwavering look of pity for Roger’s ignorance on your face. “You’re the coolest guy I’ve ever met, and being your best friend is like a dream. Just goofing off with you? My favorite thing to do. I don’t know if this is making any sense, but I just… It seems like I value us more than you do. Like you don’t need me as a friend. And that groupies are more important.”

Roger let out a feeble laugh at that, shocked that you’d even suggest the idea. “No, it really doesn’t make any sense, Y/N! I care about you, and I don’t know why you think I don’t!” The cabbie, genuinely uncomfortable at this point, pulled up to your flat building. Roger paid him, and you climbed out in a huff, not caring if you were on the side of traffic or not. “Y/N, are you fucking crazy?” Roger yelled as he got out of the cab, running around to your side and ushering you back onto the sidewalk as he cursed under his breath. “Why are you being so difficult tonight?”

“Get back in the cab, Roger, I’ll see you in a couple days,” you mumbled coldly, handing him some money so he could pay his way back. The money in your hand wasn’t making sense to you at this point, a blur of notes, but you pushed it into his chest and started to wobble your way into your apartment building, angrily wiping away the betraying tear that you’d shed in front of him.

Roger wasn’t having it. He crumpled up the money that you’d forced on him and stormed after you, following you all the way down the hall to your apartment. “I’m not leaving until you tell me why you think I’m such a bad friend,” he stated fiercely, taking your keys from your hands and unlocking the door for you when you struggled to do so, for tears were blurring your eyes just as much as the alcohol was at this point. You pushed the door open and started pulling off your heels, pissed off at both Roger and yourself as you threw the shoes haphazardly into your closet and walked down the hall, ignoring Roger completely as he locked the door behind him. “Y/N!” he screamed after you, catching up quickly and making you turn to face him as you tried to get yourself a glass of water in the kitchen.

You were tear-stained, but furiously angry, and once again ripped into him with all the drunken courage you could muster. “You’re fake sometimes, Roger! That’s why you’re a bad friend. And I’m not just mad at you! I’m mad at myself too, for letting myself think for a second that you even needed me half as much as I need you! God damn it, Roger, I really like you, more than a friend probably should, but as soon as you turn around and ignore me like tonight, it makes me feel like shit!”

Realization dawned on him as he processed what you’d said, his face completely changing gears while you glared at him, royally pissed off. You didn’t even realize that he was leaning in for a kiss until his lips were already against yours. You wanted to cry, scream, continue arguing, or anything that would logically make sense in the situation, but your heart abandoned logic and your arms snaked around his neck as you kissed back, putting all of your remaining pent-up energy into it.

His right hand gripped your side as the left rested on the counter behind you, and it felt like you’d been pressed against one another for ages before you finally pulled away for air. Lips still brushing against one another, you tried to hate yourself for being so weak and kissing him despite being mad at him, but you had just kissed him, and that was something you’d been wanting to do for ages.

“I guess,” Roger started, pulling away a bit so he could look at you properly, but still close enough that you could feel his breath on your lips. Wiping away your tears with his thumbs, he sighed. “I should apologize-“

“Hold on,” you interrupted, the sight of a slightly flustered Roger making you want to kiss him one more time. So you did, pressing a kiss to his swollen lower lip and lingering for a moment before pulling away again. “Ooookay, sorry, go ‘head. You’re still not off the hook.”

He smiled slightly and bit his lip for a second, then glanced down at your lips before looking back up at you. There was something in his eyes, softer than the fire that had been there less than a minute ago, and far more affectionate. “I’m sorry for making you jealous, Y/N. I didn’t know you felt that way about me, honest, or I wouldn’t have brought all those girls around. I didn’t care about them, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Roger, it’s not about the girls, I get that you need to get off every once in a while.” You cringed at the way you worded it, but only a sober mind would have afforded you a more intelligent way to express yourself. “It’s how you treat me when they’re around. It’s like I’m a throwaway… and it’s not your fault that you didn’t know about my stupid feelings for you, I sort of ignored them because I was scared. But when you treat me like that, it makes me hate that I have feelings for you at all.”

“Stupid feelings?” Roger asked, chuckling a bit and rubbing your side slowly. “They’re not stupid. Sure, you’re stupid for not telling me sooner, but you shouldn’t have been scared. I don’t bite.”

Roger, not emotionally unavailable or intimidating to talk to about feelings with? You had to laugh. “Rog, no offense, but I would just as soon talk to Ratty about my feelings than let you give me hell about them. You kind of suck at emotional stuff.” He was about to protest, but then he thought about it for a moment longer and grumbled incoherently. You were right, and he knew it. He didn’t mean to be such an arse about it, but he was too focused on his own image a good portion of the time to talk serious about your crushes, especially if they were on him.

“Okay, fair. I should probably work on that.” He leaned his head back for a second, then exhaled long and slow before grabbing the glass you’d been filling with water and letting go of you, filling it up for you. You were anxious, partly because you’d just admitted you wanted to be more than friends with Roger, but mainly because he literally hadn’t said anything to reciprocate or deny mutual feelings. He’d kissed you, yeah, but was it just to shut you up? “Here, drink this while I get you some Tylenol.”

Hesitantly, you brought the water glass up to your mouth after taking it from him, watching him retrieve the medicine from the cupboard as you sipped at the drink. You held it with both hands, afraid that you’d drop it otherwise, and Roger sat two pills on the counter beside you before heading out of the kitchen and to the hallway as he pulled his coat off. Your anxiety spiked, and you shakily took the pills before downing the rest of the water.

“You coming?” Roger asked, popping his head around the kitchen doorway and raising an eyebrow at you. “It’s emotion time.”

You couldn’t tell if it was because you were plastered or because he called it ‘emotion time,’ but you burst out laughing immediately and covered your face, sinking down to a crouching position. That had tickled your funny bone, and Roger groaned as he realized he’d have to drag you to the couch. “Emotion time!” you cackled, laying down and gasping for breath as a your eyes watered from how hard you were laughing. Roger, who was pouting at this point, took your hand and just dragged you out to the living room, sliding you across the floor on your back.

Once you got there, you crawled onto the couch, still giggling at emotion time. Roger said a lot of moronic things, but that one took the cake. He grumbled as he sat down on one end, and you rested your head on his thigh as your giggles quieted. “S’not funny,” he mumbled, and you giggled once more before patting his thigh and just grinning.

“I’m sorry, Rog, it really was. But I’ll stop, I swear!” He took your hand and encircled it with his own, which prompted you to lay on your back so you were looking up at him. He fought an embarrassed grimace off his face when he saw you were still grinning.

“Y/N, come on! I didn’t know what to call it!” he whined, and you burst out laughing again, hiding your face behind your hand that was intertwined with his.

“Sorry, sorry! I had to, one more time.” You made yourself quiet, a couple giggles escaping as you readjusted yourself so you were more comfortable. Looking up at him, you forced your smile away and instead just focused on looking at him. He was undeniably beautiful right now, as he always was, and you couldn’t help but get a bit distracted by the soft, feminine features of his face. You were entranced by the flutter of his long, full eyelashes, and the shaggy, shoulder length hair that curled just around his cheekbones at the front and came to a jagged stop just below. His soft, petite lips were pursed at the moment, indicating that he was waiting for you to allow him to speak. “Okay, emotion time,” you said seriously, suppressing a delirious giggle, and Roger gave you an annoyed look before he shook his head and started.

“I’m glad you finally told me about your feelings for me,” he said slowly, as if he was choosing his words carefully so he wouldn’t say something hilariously bad again. “Because I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I think I fancy you too.”

You smiled slightly, unable to contain your happiness as you squeezed his hand. “You better not be saying this just to make drunk me happy,” you warned playfully, and Roger laughed as he shook his head. Relief washed over your body, and you chewed on your lip to control how wide you were smiling as you let him continue.

“No, I’m serious!” he swore, smiling sincerely and playing with your fingers as kept his eyes solely on you. “Brian and I talked about it – we had our own little emotion time – on last tour, when I hadn’t really gotten to spend much time with you near the end. He noticed I’d been bummed, but I really hadn’t figured out why until I got mad when Deacon said you and him had went to grab lunch without me.”

You struggled to recall last tour, and when you’d grabbed lunch with Deacy, most likely because it hadn’t registered as a significant day for you at all. It took a few seconds, but then you nodded as you recalled the faintest memory of it. “Deacy and I got pizza, we were craving and nobody else had finished soundcheck or something like that. Was good pizza.”

“Well, either way, I got jealous – and then I got mad at myself for getting jealous because I thought you liked Deacon more than me.” Roger looked delightfully flustered, and you smacked yourself mentally for enjoying his discomfort this much.

“Deacon?” you laughed, slapping your free hand to your forehead. “He’s so… Deacy. He’s soooo Deacy… I’d never prefer him over ol’ Blind Melon Taylor. Even if he is a proud bastard.”

“I know, I know, I was being silly, it was my fault,” he chuckled, closing his eyes for a moment and trying to erase the memory. “I was scared too, I guess. So I used those girls to hide behind.”

“Awww, scared little Rog,” you cooed, kissing the back of his hand as you grinned up at him. He rolled his eyes and pouted again, which made you backtrack. “Nooo, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it! Hey, I was scared too! It’s just as much my fault, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being an annoying jealous drunk bitch tonight and I’m sorry you had to deal with it. But you’re right, I’m glad we’re finally talking about this.”

He looked pleased as you said that, the corner of his lip twitching upward as he looked forward, towards the curtains on your window. You both were vulnerable at the moment, and for the first time in a long time, that didn’t terrify Roger completely. Both of you were invested, and both of you had made an ass of yourself tonight, so Roger’s pride no longer stood in the way of his affections. What was ahead was figuring out how in the world to act on these affections. “So… where do you think we should go from here?” he finally asked, kissing your knuckles before looking back down at you.

“Go? To sleep,” you yawned, stretching and gaining a laugh out of Roger as he picked your head up out of his lap and readjusted so that he was hovering over you, peppering your face with kisses to wake you up. You giggled loudly and tried to push him off of you, but you both knew that you didn’t actually mean it. Nothing could be better than this right here, right now.

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#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #queen imagine #roger taylor

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truthbeetoldmedia · 5 years ago

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The 100 6x10 “Matryoshka” Review

You know, when I was assigned this episode to review, I wasn’t expecting to be discussing a moment like THAT (you all know what I’m referring to), so please, be kind while I process by obsessively refreshing Twitter and try to put my thoughts together.

There’s definitely a lot going on in this episode, some of which I LOVED (take a wild guess on what part that is folks), and some of which I was less than fond of. It’s all high tension and high stakes, even more than the last. I’m a big fan of the moves they made to set everything into place; this is probably one of my favorite episodes of the season.

Action and Reaction

Here’s the thing. Putting almost all of your characters in one place forces conversation and development, which can turn out fascinating, or it can illuminate the truly unnecessary plot points and characters that have been hanging on all season.

Raven and Abby are back from space and being taken prisoner like the rest of the Arkadians when Simone, angry about the loss of both the synthetic nightblood and the mind drive they used for Kane, tells Abby that Clarke is dead. As the audience we know that this isn’t exactly true, but Abby has no reason to think she’s alive, since every other host body is completely taken over by whoever’s mind drive is put in that body.

I was pretty peeved with both Raven and Abby’s reactions to Clarke’s “death,” even though it’s been an ongoing joke online that Josie!Clarke could basically say and do anything and Abby still wouldn’t notice that something was up with her daughter. Raven’s been mad at Clarke for the entire season, so I guess I understand a lack of reaction on her part — but Abby? Her lack of reaction is only so off-putting because just last episode we saw an absolute outpouring of grief over Kane. It makes no sense that the news of her only child’s death wouldn't even garner 10% of that.

The thing is, that’s poor characterization either way. Failing to show an emotional response that makes sense is a failure of the writing, and making her grief over Kane much more significant than over Clarke on purpose only highlights how far gone she is. That’s not a character worth keeping around, especially if this difference in emotion and priority is never addressed (and I don’t think it’s going to be). If the writers room is so keen on keeping her around they need to put some effort into showing the audience why that’s worthwhile. I know there are people who like Abby, but when it comes down to plot, what purpose does she serve? In a cast so large they need to trim loose ends or suffer for it, and I think hanging onto Abby for so long is an example of that. What has she done all season besides hole up in the library looking for a way to heal Kane, who’s been technically dead since the Season 5 finale? You could argue that they need her for the synthetic nightblood, but giving Becca’s notebook to Raven and having her do it also makes sense, especially since Abby doesn’t even leverage that ability when she should. Case in point: when Russell decides to burn them all at the stake after Simone’s murder, Murphy is the one who brings up being able to make nightblood from bone marrow, thereby saving everyone from a super vintage execution (for now).

While we’re at it — I can’t believe Abby is actually mad at Murphy for helping the Primes, even though he and Emori explain that they both thought Clarke was actually dead and nothing could be done about it. Sure, what Murphy did was a little cold and sketchy at best, but it’s right on brand. Clarke’s dead? Nothing can be done about it? Better leverage this to my advantage. Self preservation, baby. That’s much less than Abby did literally ONE episode ago, being fully complicit in Gavin’s murder and actually recruiting him to host Kane’s mind drive even though she knew exactly what would happen.

That’s exactly why these scenes with everyone felt stale: not every character is pulling their weight, and when that happens the scene gets bogged down with unnecessary interactions. There’s too many characters that really only take up space. Characters like Jackson, Miller, Niylah, and even Echo are dead weight at this point. Again, I know that these characters have their fans. That doesn’t change the fact that as far as the narrative is concerned, they're all relatively useless. Just being a named character doesn’t automatically give them significance, that significance has to be shown. What exactly does Miller bring to the show? Or Niylah? Even if they were once important that importance is dwindling if not non-existent. Miller could have been a compelling character: he was Bellamy’s right hand man in Season 1. He’s one of the original hundred. They could have done more with him, but in reality he’s replaceable. If you took Miller, Jackson, and Niylah out of the show, nothing would change. You could even say the same for Abby and Echo; they have more screen time than the rest, but Abby’s continued presence on the show feels forced and Echo is far from a developed character. Their “skills” can easily be transferable to other characters. Characters like Jordan and Emori are MUCH more compelling.

Another thing that drags the episode down (and the season, if I’m being honest)? The whole “Sheidheda” making Madi a murder princess. I absolutely cannot fathom WHY grounder culture is still a thing on this show. They are on another planet, over a century later, with a thousand better things to focus on. I understand that Madi’s nightblood is significant, and the flame might be as well (from a technology standpoint). But why introduce this “dark commander”? if they wanted Madi to go full assassin, the pain of losing Clarke would have been enough to justify it. Also, what point does Madi/Sheidheda being so threatening towards Gaia serve? Having to listen to anything about the commanders is honestly exhausting, and it’s holding the show back. They’ve moved on (literally) in almost every capacity, and the show’s tendency to beat a dead horse only ever backfires.

Not to sound too harsh, but that feeling I get whenever someone calls Madi “heda” is the same feeling I get if I’m at a party and this one person can only talk about how great high school was. This again? We’re in our late twenties. High school wasn’t great. Please, let it go.

With that being said, they are setting up the next episode in a way that makes me think they might take the flame out of Madi for good, so we’ll see how that goes.

Now, there are some compelling pieces here: it was nice to see Raven go back to being sciencey and a little bit philosophical after almost a full season of nothing but self-righteousness. Her conversation with Murphy about morality, not immortality, as a way to avoid hell was well done. The 100 loves a good morality conversation, and with things getting more dire in Sanctum and the growing comparisons between the Primes and Arkadians I’m sure that’s not the last we’ll hear of it.

Getting almost everyone in one place, setting the stage for getting the dark commander out of Madi’s head, and setting up one last ditch effort to appease the Primes was great. The pacing in this case was well done and well executed, despite the issues that I did have, and I know that the final showdown will be epic.

The hold that the Primes have over Sanctum is disintegrating, to put it mildly, and my guess is that a mass witch trial-esque execution isn’t exactly the way to put the populace at ease.

There’s even an internal rebellion being incited by Ryker, who tells Delilah’s parents and another man that their loved ones aren’t “one with the Primes,” that nothing is left of the original host when the Prime’s mind drive takes over, and they’ve been lied to for decades. I’m curious to see the reaction when everyone in Sanctum learns the truth.

The Primes are Dead. Long Live the Primes.

Here’s the thing about the Primes and the Arkadians — they’re so concerned with not being like each other that they conveniently ignore or justify what they’re doing. Russell is hellbent on not ending up like the Arkadians, but how, in any way, are the Primes better than the Arkadians? At their current positions, I’d say that the Primes are decidedly worse. Here’s the thing, though — they’ve had time. Josie said it herself — she wasn’t always like this. Give the Arkadians a few centuries, and who's to say they wouldn’t devolve into something similar?

The driving force for both groups has always been taking care of “their people.” What’s not usually discussed is that in order to put your people first you need to put other people last. Someone almost always suffers, it's just about prioritizing that suffering.

It circles back around to that question of trying to save humanity but never bothering to question if it even should be saved. Sure, the Primes can live forever. Should they?

Clarke even gets a glimpse of Josie’s morality, or the morality she used to have, as their minds start to disintegrate and Josie’s memories bleed into Clarke’s mind space. We see Josie in love with Gabriel, watching that memory fondly until she absolutely has to let it go. In another episode, Clarke already discovered that memory of Josie’s from that diner on Earth.

Finally, when Gabriel and Octavia find Bellamy and Clarke/Josie and Gabriel is about to take out her mind drive, almost all of her memories are gone. Eliza Taylor absolutely kills this whole scene, and I actually could have shed a tear for Josie when she speaks through Clarke, saying she can’t remember, but she’s sure she did terrible things.

Josie had morality. Josie lost it.

The entire run of the show has been exploring morality and what it means — no simple task, I know. I think, however, that Gabriel really embodied that when he let Josie die. He said it himself, he’s been in love with her for centuries. But he needs, everyone needs, the cycle to stop. Putting an end to using hosts is the only way to do it.

That’s Love, Bitches

I mean… come on. Come ON.

This scene was everything. Well acted, well written, well directed. I cried, you cried, everyone cried. Twitter imploded. I’ll go to my grave being adamant that Bellamy and Clarke’s relationship is THE best and most well done thing about the show. The entirety of the sixth season is built on Clarke being gone and Bellamy fighting for her to come back. Love, sacrifice, forgiveness — all are main tenets of The 100, and all are wrapped up in Bellamy and Clarke.

It’s crystal clear that they’re paralleling Gabriel and Josie with Bellamy and Clarke. Josie dies, Gabriel letting her go while saying that their time is over, only for Bellamy to immediately bring Clarke back? Josie and Gabriel’s time is over, and Bellamy and Clarke’s is starting. A literal new life.

They really threw every romantic trope at them this episode. Clarke’s heart stopping in front of Bellamy and him pleading for her to come back? Bellamy saying he needs her? The CPR? The remnants of Josie try to kill Clarke, and she only comes back when she hears Bellamy’s voice? The first thing she sees when she comes back is Bellamy’s face? Octavia’s smirk in the back? The audacity.

This scene was lead up to with a full six seasons of development — from the beginning they were the head and the heart. Gabriel said it, the heart needs the head to tell it to beat. Clarke, clinging to her mind space, only came back because Bellamy restarted her heart. He’s her literal heart, guys.

Bellamy has thought Clarke was dead three times now — the first was during Praimfaya, the second when he discovered Josie was inhabiting Clarke’s body. Both of those times he could only witness and not do anything, so you better believe he wasn’t going to let Clarke die if he had anything to say about it.

There is a clear stage for romantic Bellarke being set here, and anyone who says otherwise is not watching the same show. You don’t have to like it, but it’s happening.

Honestly, anything I could say about this has already been said. Just know that this episode killed me, and I’ll be watching the next one from the afterlife.

Alyssa’s episode rating: 🐝🐝🐝🐝

The 100 airs Tuesdays at 9/8c on the CW.

#The 100 #Matryoshka

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rogersdrumkit · 6 years ago

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i’m with the drummer - part 9

a/n: sorry this took FOREVER! hope it was worth it.

warnings: a little language, references to sex, miscarriage.

previous parts:

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

You woke up to Roger mumbling softly in his sleep, “Don’t you hear me...calling you...” You smiled softly and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, then attempted to slip out of bed, careful not to wake him up, but he pulled you back on top of him. “Mmm,” he hummed. “Stay with me.” Roger knew what he was doing. He wanted you to stay in bed all day, and whether he wanted to just cuddle or if he wanted more was unbeknownst to you.

But ever since the miscarriage you hadn’t been too physical with each other. “Rog,” you warned. He was trying to get you to miss work, but now that you had graduated and started a job as a real nurse, you couldn’t be late.

“Come on, doll, we don’t ever get time anymore,” he protested. And he was right. If you weren’t sleeping or working, you were in the nursery sulking, even though he hated you being in there (he saw what it did to you).

If you were feeling alright, then typically he wasn’t. It was a vicious cycle of playing babysitter for each other; you made sure that the other was eating, sleeping, and showering when they were too sad to want to do anything

You thought about staying, but got out of bed and made your way into the bathroom to get a quick shower before work.

You stripped as the room filled with steam, then got in when the temperature was right. A few moments later, you heard the curtain open, and Roger stepped in. “I don’t have time to-” you started.

He cupped your face, “Can’t I just take a morning shower with the love of my life?”

You blushed, and then pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “No funny business,” you said, and he saluted, mocking your serious tone. You turned away from him to grab the shampoo, and you felt him slap your ass. “Rog!” You yelped and turned back around to face him.

He was looking around with a cheeky grin plastered on his face, as if you were talking to someone else. “Who, me?” He asked in faux confusion. You giggled and playfully swatted his chest.

Roger helped you wash your hair, and when he wasn’t doing that, he had his arms around your waist and was whispering sweet nothings into your ear. “I love you...you’re so beautiful, love...you’re my world...I love you so much y/n...” he mumbled into your ear, your back pressed against his chest. This was one of the first truly intimate moments you two had shared since returning from the hospital. You were hardly sharing deep kisses, and when you slept you rarely even faced each other. Neither of you were mad at the other, it’s just that you were both hurting.

Roger wanted to see the old you. He missed your smile, your laugh, and you cracking dirty jokes with him no matter who else was around. He wanted to hold you, but not just when you were crying. He wanted to feel you, not just your presence from the other room. Roger missed you.

Your mind was racing a mile a minute too. You wanted to be happy with him again, but it was so hard. You had always said that Roger had your entire heart, but now there was a hole that was supposed to be reserved for Oliver. You reassured yourself that Roger would be there for you the whole time, just like he always was. You felt awful that you hadn’t been communicating with him a lot recently, but you just didn’t know how. The only times you really expressed emotions anymore was when you sobbed into his chest, crying about your baby. You also felt guilty, because you didn’t want to make it all about you. Roger had lost a child too, but here he was trying to put on a smile just to make you feel a little better.

You turned around so you were facing him, but kept your vision locked on his chest, unable to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry for not talking to you,” you said quietly. You couldn’t imagine how lost he must be feeling. Up until about two weeks, you had hardly uttered a word, except for a few ‘I love you’s’ before work and bed.

He sighed. “You don’t have to apologize y/n. It’s going to be hard, but I know we can get through it together, okay?” You nodded and Rog pulled you to his chest, swaying ever so slightly. You wrapped your arms around his waist as he continued, “But please, baby girl, don’t shut me out. I’m here for you, yeah? You know I’d drop everything in an instant if you needed me. It’s always you.”

He pulled away from the embrace to lift your chin up, so you were looking in his eyes. “I love you,” you whispered. And he pulled you in for a kiss.

“I love you too, but I’m afraid I’ve made you late again, Miss May,” he said, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear.

Your eyes widened as you realized how much time had passed since you got in the shower; you had been so caught up in your thoughts to notice earlier. You hurried out of the shower to get dressed and dry your hair, and Roger had even made you a coffee and grabbed a muffin for you. “But it was worth it, right? You got to see me, naked, in the shower,” he said with a smirk as he handed you your keys.

“You think I’d rather take a hot shower with you than be on time to work?” You joked. “Uh huh, in your dreams, Taylor,” you said with a smile, then kissed him on the cheek, and you were on your way.

+++

Work was dreadful, as always. You were currently working on the pediatric floor, which didn’t make your day any easier, but thankfully the head nurse on your floor knew about your situation and would let you take a break if she noticed you weren’t doing too well.

Right now was one of those times. You were in a supply room, wiping a few stray tears off of your face and trying to focus yourself enough to get back out to work. You took a deep breath, redid your ponytail, and opened the door, only to hear a familiar voice.

“Yes, that is me,” you heard the person say, and you turned to see Roger standing down at the end of the hall, talking to one of your coworkers. She put a hand on his arm, but he quickly brushed it off and said in an impatient voice, “Actually, I was looking for my girlfriend, y/n. Would you-?”

He caught sight of you walking towards him and smiled happily. He greeted you with a quick kiss and pulled a bouquet of sunflowers and red roses from behind his back.

You gasped and took the flowers. “Rog...you really didn’t have to,” you said, but you couldn’t hide the big grin on your face.

“Of course I did! I’m taking you out to lunch!” He took your hand and led you to the nurses station.

“Press the call button in your room if you need assist-” Susan, the head nurse started in a monotone voice, still looking down at the chart in her hand. “Oh, y/n...and Roger Taylor?” she asked, blushing slightly (something that happened a lot when people saw Roger). A few of the other nurses’ ears perked up when they heard Rog’s name.

“Ah, wonderful, you know me!” He said with a fake smile plastered on his face. “So I don’t have to explain the whole...dentist turned rockstar thing!”

Susan laughed, even though it was an awful joke. You knew what he was doing now. He was trying to use his status as Queen’s drummer to get what he wanted. And you knew exactly how to play along.

He continued, “Well you know I’m very busy with the band, and y/n here is actually helping a lot right now with our new album! There’s a big meeting at the record company today,” he lied through his teeth. “so would you mind if I borrowed her for the day?”

Susan looked at you, then Roger. You spoke up, a sweet smile on your face. “The boys are just under so much stress right now, trying to get out another album. And I want to do everything I can to make sure they aren’t worried about meetings, but much rather focused on talking to fans like yourself. I’m going today with them to answer any questions that they don’t want to.”

You saw him wink at her out of the corner of your eye, and you were going to tease him for it later, but for now, it was definitely helping your case.

Susan looked awestruck as she said, “Yes, yes, of course...you can even have tomorrow off if you need it too, y/n. I wouldn’t want to keep Queen waiting.”

You thanked her, then headed towards the lift, still holding Roger’s hand. As soon as you got on and the doors closed, you started laughing. “Are you kidding me? Dentist turned rockstar? Says the man who doesn’t let anyone call him a dentist!” You mimicked him.

He grinned cheekily at you, then said, “That was better than ‘much rather focused on talking to fans like yourself’’! You don’t even talk like that!”

“Oh yeah...what about that wink I saw?” you nudged him. “Are you gonna leave me for Susan? You might have to settle for grandpa instead of dad in that case!” You laughed, then realized what you said.

“Y/n/n...”

“No, Rog, it’s okay. You said we’re going to get through it together. And we are. We’re going to have kids one day,” you said, smiling as the doors opened to the main floor of the hospital.

You walked off, then turned back around to see Roger not moving. “Are you coming or what? I don’t even know where we’re going!” you said, watching him stare back at you with an unfamiliar expression on his face. It almost looked like he was relieved.

Roger walked towards you and snaked an arm around your waist. You looked up at him and he looked back with a toothy grin. “It’s so nice to hear you say that out loud,” he said softly, then kissed your forehead and led you out to his car.

+++

He was bringing you to the studio, where the boys really were recording another album, A Day At The Races. Brian had told the other boys at another meeting about the miscarriage, and Roger was going to first, but couldn’t finish his sentence without breaking down, he had told you later.

Roger was the last to arrive to the meeting that day, something unusual for him, but he had stayed at home late to make sure you had eaten your food instead of just throwing it out because you ‘didn’t feel well enough’.

He sulked into the studio, lots of thoughts running through his mind. Of course he was distraught about Oliver, but he was worried about you the most. You could make more babies, but he didn’t know what he was going to do if he lost you too. When he opened the door, Freddie had greeted him with a hug, much to Brian’s dismay (he knew why Roger had called the meeting and what he was about to tell the other boys).

Roger had pushed Fred away and sat down on the couch, tears still in his eyes from the car ride.

“Roger...what is it? Come on, you and y/n get into a fight?” Fred asked jokingly. You and Roger hardly ever really fought, but mostly bickered like an old married couple.

Brian shot him a death glare.

“Y/n and I...um...we...” his voice broke and tears started rolling down his face. “We...” He looked up from his lap and up at Brian.

“It’s alright Rog, I’ve got it,” your brother had said in a gentle voice. “About a week ago, y/n and Rog had to go to the hospital in the middle of the night, and they...they found out that they lost the baby.”

John and Freddie turned to Roger, but he was staring blankly at the wall. “I just, I don’t know what I did wrong,” he said, almost sobbing.

Deaky had spoke up, “No, Roger. You can’t blame this on yourself. It’s nobody’s fault.”

“You weren’t there! She was screaming in pain, and, and throwing up because of the pain too! Then they took him out of her, and she got to hold him...and I saw her heart shatter into a million pieces! She’s never going to be the same again!” He said, his eyes bloodshot. “It might not have been my fault!” He stood up and started pacing. “But...but all I could do was watch! I watched as she laid in bed in agony days after that, refusing to eat. She doesn’t even look at me anymore.”

He stopped, then turned towards the boys again. “You know what she told me? She said that she was sorry and that she should have done better...she thinks that she did this...”

Freddie had wrapped Rog in a hug, and the blonde had stopped yelling and was now crying into his friend’s chest.

Roger hadn’t told you all of that, of course. “Ready, y/n?” he asked before you two walked into the booth.

You squeezed his hand, nodded, and stepped inside, drawing the attention of the others.

“Y/n! Come in, darling! So nice to see you again!” Fred said as he hugged you.

You chuckled and hugged him back. “Hi, Fred!”

John stood up from where he was sitting with Veronica, who had her hand on her ever-growing belly. You looked at John, then Ronnie, then back at the bassist. You put a smile on your face, and Roger noticed your grip on his hand had tightened.

“Deaky! How are you?” Rog said, breaking the small silence.

“We’re great! Bri’s in there getting ready to do the solo for ‘Somebody to Love’, then you can get in there and do your part for ‘Drowse’, if you want,” John suggested.

You looked into the box and Bri waved at you.

While he recorded, you sat on the couch, Rog in between you and Ronnie. He saw the look you gave her earlier and was afraid you were going to rip her hair out if she said one thing about her kids. You two made small talk about your work and Rog had his hand on your thigh to comfort you.

Then it was his turn to go in the box, and him and Bri traded spots. You chatted with your brother about the album, and even though you had your brother next to you, it was better when Rog was there.

You tried to steady yourself by taking a few deep breaths, but it was too much when Ronnie said, “Robert misses you y/n! He keeps asking when you’re going to babysit again.”

It shouldn’t have bothered you, but it did. You swallowed and stood up. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Y/n...” Brian said. He knew Veronica didn’t mean anything by it, but babysitting was your and Roger’s thing to do together, and it made you feel like you already had a kid.

Roger saw you leave mid-drum solo and he stopped playing. He rushed out of the box and asked, “What happened?” No one answered, so he followed you down the hall and into the women’s bathroom, where you were standing in front of a mirror.

You turned around to face him, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I freaked out.”

He held your face in his hands and wiped the few tears off of your face. “It’s alright, you don’t have to apologize love.”

Back in the booth, Veronica said dumfounded, “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know, it’s just going to be hard for her at first I think,” Bri said softly. “I’ll go see where her and Rog are.” Bri left the room and roamed around the studio, followed by the other boys (against his will) until he heard your voice in the bathroom. He motioned for the others to be quiet as they listened.

“It’s just, Ronnie and John are gonna have two perfectly healthy babies, and we’re struggling to even have one!”

Roger sat you down on the counter and brushed your hair away from your face. “It’s gonna happen for us, y/n. It will. We can try again, if you want.”

Outside, Bri’s eyes went wide.

You tilted your head up to lock eyes with Roger.

“I mean, we don’t have to, if you don’t want...and I know we said we were going to wait until we got married for another baby, but if you-” he rambled.

You cut him off by kissing him, and when you pulled away, he was a bright shade of red.

“We can try again, Roggie.”

He scratched the back of his head, smiling, as you hopped down from the counter. “I just want a family with you, y/n. And we can try for however long it takes, I promise.”

You stuck out your pinkie and he shook it with his. “You think we can get of here to go get a head start?” you asked with a smirk, and Rog snickered as he put his arm around you.

“We can most definitely try, baby.”

Bri was standing there with crossed arms as you opened the door. “You promised you’d wait until you had a ring-”

You and Rog kept smiling as you jokingly poked you brother’s chest. “’Scuse me, Bri.”

“But you said you’re going to try for another baby!”

You and Rog looked at each other and shook your heads. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, mate,” the drummer said.

“Roger...” Bri warned.

“Hmm?” He asked in a confused tone as him and you stepped around Brian.

“I don’t see a ring on her finger!”

You giggled as Roger picked you up bridal style. “Sorry, Bri!” You said as you waved goodbye.

“Where do you think you’re going?” your brother asked.

“I’m going to put a baby in your sister!” Rog said, and Bri stood there grumbling as Fred and John tried to get him back in the booth.

+++

Four hours later, and you and Roger were tangled up on the bed, exhausted.

You traced his jawline gently as you looked at him with soft eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, y/n. More than you’ll ever know.”

You kissed his cheek and hopped up from the bed, wrapping a blanket around you. You walked over to your dresser, where your record player and records were displayed.

Roger sat up and watched as you put a Beatles record on and set it to the song “Til There Was You’.

There were bells on a hill. But I never heard them ringing, no I never heard them at all, til there was you.

You hummed to the song as you pulled out one of Rog’s t-shirts from the top drawer and put it on.

“You’re beautiful.”

You turned around and blushed, then held out your hand to Roger. “Come dance with me.”

He got out of bed and put his boxers on, then embraced you. He sang along to the words quietly. “There was love all around, but I never heard it singing. No I never heard them at all, til there was you.”

He held you as you danced for the remainder of the song. Your head rested on his chest and you listened to his heartbeat.

After the song, you let the record continue playing and led Roger into the kitchen. He watched, confused, until he realized what you were doing. When he saw you open the liquor cabinet, he opened a drawer and pulled out the corkscrew.

One of your favorite things to do with Roger was drink. Just you two together at home, dancing around the house and jumping on the bed. And it always made your night. Roger opened the bottle of wine and took a swig, then passed it to you.

An hour later, and you and Rog had already drank a full bottle together. ‘Twist and Shout’ was playing and you were jumping around the kitchen. Roger was using spatulas as drum sticks.

“Twist and shout!” You sang into the whisk, which you were using as your microphone.

“You know you twist so good!” Roger sang, smirking at you.

“You know you twist so fine!” You sang, pointing at him and winking.

“Come on and twist a little closer, yeah!” You shouted as you jumped around, then shrieked as you felt Roger pick you up.

“And show the world that you’re mine!” He said, laughing.

“Roger!” You said playfully as he carried you into the bedroom. “Bring the wine!”

He snickered and turned back around to grab the second bottle. In your room, he sat it down on the nightstand and put you down on the bed, then disappeared out of your room.

You took a few more swigs as you waited for him. When he came back in the room, he was wearing his iconic colorful wig. He posed and motioned to his hair. “You like it?”

You stood up on the bed, stumbling and laughing. “Yes! You’re very pretty Rog!”

As the rest of the record played out, Roger joined you on the bed, laughing.

+++

Freddie and Deaky finally complied and let Brian storm over to your house (only accompanied by them) to try to talk you and Roger out of any more baby making, regardless of the fact that it was too late.

He stomped up to the door to your flat and didn’t even hesitate to walk straight in, followed by the others.

Brian expected to see you curled up on Roger on the couch or on the bed, but instead he heard you squeal from the corner of the room when he walked in.

“Brian!” you giggled. You were still wearing Rog’s t-shirt, but now you were also wearing the wig, and you were sitting on Roger’s lap behind the drum kit, trying to play.

Roger’s chin was resting on your shoulder and his arms were wrapped around your waist as he greeted your brother. “Hello Bri!” he said cheerily and completely shitfaced.

“I need to talk to you two,” Brian uttered.

You motioned to the couch. “Well go ahead and sit down! We’ll talk!”

He remained standing as he said, “You guys can’t try again for another baby. You’re not ready.”

“Brian,” Freddie warned.

“Oh, yes we are,” Roger said, and you nodded.

“Brian, the miscarriage was almost five months ago! You should be happy. Me and Rog are now! And we’re learning how to feel better and, and he makes me happier. And he’s helping me be better,” you said, slurring your words.

Brian mumbled something to himself that no one else could hear, and then said softly to you, “I don’t want to see you go through the same thing that happened with Oliver. I can’t see you shut down for months at a time, y/n, and I just want what’s best for you.”

You smiled as you stumbled out from behind the drums while tossing the wig to the ground and lazily hugged your brother. He could smell the alcohol on you. “Christ, how much did you two drink?”

“Enough,” Roger said with a smirk as he snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you back from Brian. “Bri, I’m gonna marry her. We’re gonna have lots of babies. We just don’t want to wait any longer, yeah?”

Brian pursed his lips.

“Aw, come on,” you pouted. “You’ll be an uncle! It’s gonna work out, I promise.”

He looked down as you stuck out your pinkie.

“Hey! That’s our thing!” Roger complained.

Brian shook his pinkie with yours and ruffled your hair. “Hey!” you said as you swatted his hand away.

You turned to Fred and John, who had taken a seat on the couch, exasperated from trying to calm your brother down. “Would you guys like to stay for dinner?”

“I think if either of you tried to cook right now, this building would end up in flames,” Freddie teased.

“Come on, don’t be a bore!”

“How about this: you and Roger sober up while we cook for you?” John suggested.

You thanked him on your way to the bedroom to get dressed, Roger trailing closely behind. He slapped your ass, much to the horrification of Brian, before cheekily saying, “I know the perfect way to do that...”

“Roger! Not right now!” you scolded.

“Oh, you can be quiet.”

“Taylor!” Brian shouted from the kitchen, leaving you and the drummer a giggling mess.

a/n: do I like this? idk. some parts of it yes, and some parts no. I've just been super stressed with school lately, but now I've developed a schedule for writing so there should hopefully be one or two parts out each week! hope you’re buckled in because this is a long story.

tag list: (let me know if I accidentally forgot you!)

@16wiishes @cheyismaxi @ohfxxkitsme @excusememecouldyoupleaseleave @laubluered @simplyvictoria-93 @wowicantbelieveitsnotgay @mrsmazzello @fsociety00da1 @jamespottev @bitemerog

psa: I would like to thank all you fools who have stuck around through my non-edited chapters, the chapters that literally take me a month to write, and the chapters that I don’t feel confident in. thank you for being patient with me and supporting me. you guys are why I keep doing this. I love you all! :)) let me know what you think of this part!

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findtheloveofmylife · 6 years ago

Text

Something Stupid (VI)

Pairing: Roger Taylor x OC (Lily Hathaway)

Summary: He was not the type to pine or whatever you wanted to call it. It usually was the opposite, they pined for him, they wanted to be with him, which is probably why he was way out of his element with her.

Author’s Note: Hello, does anybody remember this story? I honestly would not blame you since it has taken me forever with it. I am so sorry this took forever!! I had to focus in school for a while and not to mention, this chapter just wouldn’t end. Every time I thought I was done, I saw a small mistake and had to add something. It was a vicious cycle, which led this to be the longest chapter so far, almost 6k words.

But I finally finished and for anybody that is still interested, here it is! I really like this one, I had fun writing it because it is pretty much fluff, but oh boy, the next chapter, not so much fluff.

Also, this weekend I am planning on posting a one shot of Joe Mazzello, so if anybody’s interested in reading that, keep an eye out for that.

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

—=—

There were many occasions were Roger would spend time alone with Lily, but there was something about pubs that always stood out of all their interactions. Maybe because he was always filled an adrenaline rush after a performance or because alcohol was included or a combination of both.

It really was stupid for him to go back to those moments because nothing really ever happened, they didn’t bond over their mutual love for alcohol or he suddenly realized that she was the best thing in his life. Most of the time they talked about everything and nothing.

He could clearly remember how frustrated he would get that Queen was still playing in pubs. He wanted to go play somewhere bigger, with a crowd that wasn’t half drunk and paid more attention to what they were drinking when they would perform.

But no matter how much he grumbled and threw things out of windows, there wasn’t much he could do. He had to be patient and continue playing, according to Brian, and keeping hoping the band would get their big break one of these days.

“Hi Roger!” a girl called out his name as he entered the stage. He had no idea who that was but he smiled, loving the attention.

“Hi John!” another girl called out and that time, Roger knew exactly who it was. He shook his head in amusement as he took a seat in front of his drums. He couldn’t see her, with the glaring lights and the crowd, but he could already imagine Lily waving wildly at John.

Queen might not be famous yet, but at least they could count with their number one groupie (although if he ever said that out loud, Lily would throw his drum set through the window).

“Ready, Roger?” Brain asked him, making him quickly forget about everything around him.

“Ready,” he said confidently and then looked over at their lead singer. “Ready, Freddie?”

“Always, darling,” Freddie said and that was the signal for Roger to count off. Once they started playing, Roger immersed himself in the show and the crowd’s energy. Too quickly for his liking, they finished their show and were being praised by the crowd’s loud applause.

“Woohoo! Go John!” he managed to hear Lily shout over the clapping and yelling. When she wanted, as she had proven when she got drunk, Lily had a really loud voice. He could see John wear a pleased smile. Roger could say whatever he wanted about her, but he could never take away what a loyal friend Lily was.

Once they got off the stage, Roger chose to follow John, mostly because he was heading to the bar. He wasn’t surprised to see Lily waiting for them already, but was to see two drinks for them ready.

“As congratulations for doing an excellent job,” she said handing John his beer and then Roger.

“Hmm, I finally see the use of you,” Roger teased, making Lily try to take his beer away but he was quick to lean back and take a drink from it. “Hmm, thank you, Lily.”

“If you think that’s going to stop me from taking it from you, you are sorely mistaken,” she warned him and tried to get it again but that time was stopped by John. He grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back into her stool making her almost lose her balance. Roger was quick to grab her from falling and help her sit back down properly.

“You’re welcome,” he said, giving her an expectant look when she said nothing.

“It was your fault I almost fell,” she argued.

“I was about to leave you two alone but I changed my mind,” John said. “I clearly can’t you two alone. You are like children.”

Roger and Lily shared equally offended looks.

“I was being nice and then he had to act like an asshole,” Lily accused Roger, throwing him a dirty look, although it had no malice.

“I wasn’t the asshole. You—“ Roger stopped talking, realizing they were not helping their case and shook his head. “Fine, whatever.”

“Children,” John repeated, shaking his head at them in exasperation, and then looked around, frowning. “Why are you alone, Lily? Where’s Matt? I thought he was going to come with you?”

Lily’s smile slipped slightly but it came right back. “He was busy with studying. He says that next time for sure he will be here.”

“I bet he will,” John said, giving her a smile that didn’t seem genuine, which made Lily give him a look that Roger wasn’t sure what it meant. They shared another silent look that made feel Roger like he was the third wheel.

The longer he knew John and Lily, he began to understand their strange but close friendship. No matter how much he and Brian had given shit to John in the beginning, it was clear that those two were simply friends. They might clash in many things, from small to big, but were friends nevertheless.

“Did you know Matt is studying biology like you?” Lily asked Roger out of nowhere, finally breaking her staring contest with John and looked over to him.

“Oh really?” Roger said without much interest, but privately glad that she had invited him in the conversation. He was seconds away from walking away and chatting up that brunette girl who hadn’t stopped staring at him at the end of the bar.

“Yes, you two have a lot in common if you bothered to talk to him.”

“Yeah, okay, next time, I’ll give him all my attention,” Roger said, humoring her. She looked at him suspiciously but didn’t say anything to him, making him sigh. Why wasn’t when he wanted to rile her up, she would act like the adult and not take his bait.

“Why are you even studying Biology anyways?” she asked curiously.

“He’s going to be a dentist,” John pipped in, earning him a harsh shove. “What? It’s the truth.”

“Really?” Lily said unable to mask her shock.

“Yes,” Roger admitted reluctantly. “Why is that so hard to believe? What do you think I would be studying?”

Lily looked flushed, trying to explain herself. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Roger,” John warned him, knowing him well enough to know he was close to being an asshole.

“Sorry,” Roger said. “But I do want to know why are you so surprised?”

“I mean, you seem so determined to make it big with the band, be a rockstar. So I never really thought you had another career for yourself.”

“Roger is actually pretty smart,” John told Lily. “Would be top of his class if he didn’t spend more time flirting than paying attention in class.”

“But I’ve passed all my classes and that’s all that matters.”

“Why do you want to be a dentist?” Lily asked.

“Don’t answer the question,” Roger warned John who was going to answer for him again.

“I wasn’t going to answer it,” John said, but his mischievous grin told Roger otherwise. John leaned into Lily and whispered loudly, “He wants to do it for the money.”

“John,” Roger snapped. “I’m never telling you anything again.”

“Ah, come on, everybody knows that you’re a one track mind. You want something, and you make it happen. No matter how stupid your end goal is.”

“Thanks, John,” Roger said dryly and quickly finished his beer.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, I wasn’t finished.”

“Oh really?”

“I was trying to say that so, what if you’re in the in the money? You knew what you wanted and you’re getting it.”

“And the fact that you’re willing to spend to take incredibly hard classes and spend many years in school, that’s impressive,” Lily added and raised her beer. “So, here’s to Roger and his ambition. May it take you everywhere you want to go.”

“I’ll drink to that,” John said, sharing a grin with Lily. Roger shook his head in disbelief at the two of them but couldn’t help and grin.

“Nice save,” he said dryly.

“Damn, with one studying astrophysics, another electrical engineer and now one wanting to be a dentist, add the heavy load of being in a band, it explains why a lot of you guys don’t have proper friends,” Lily said.

“What about Freddie?” John asked her, noticing he omitted their lead singer.

“Like school would get in the way for Freddie to make friends,” Lily laughed. “He could go to the loo and he would come back with a new best friend.”

“Pro―I have friends,” Roger defended himself, more annoyed that she thought they were friendless losers.

“Oh really, who?” she asked mockingly

“John’s my friend.”

“He doesn’t count,” Lily said at the same time of John mouthed no. Roger looked at the person he thought was his friend in disbelief.

“Okay then, next time you need someone to pick you up when you’re drunk and bring you a ham sandwich don’t be calling me at one in the morning.”

“Roger,” John hissed, his eyes darting at Lily, and giving him a subtle shake with his head, but it was too late. Lily was looking between the two men.

“What?” both Lily and John said at the same time, but in different tones. One displeased and the other one like they had no idea what was wrong.

“You were drunk and needed a ride and didn’t tell me?”

“It happened barely a few weeks ago,” John played it off as not a big deal.

“Alright then, why did you call Roger instead of me?” Lily asked, looking slightly bothered.

“You were with Matt, okay? I didn’t want to bother you,” John said quietly and after giving Lily a reassuring nod, she proceeded to move on to her next question.

“Fine, but why didn’t you―”

“No, wait, I have a question myself,” Roger cut her off and turned to John. “I’m not your friend?”

There was an off chance that John was being his usual sarcastic self, but he had said no so quickly that it made Roger doubt their friendship. He was confident that all four of them were friends, with how much time they spent on and off stage. Sure, John could still be considered the new one of the band, but Roger and he had gotten to know each other really well.

“Roger, obviously I was joking,” John said, breaking Roger from his doubts. “Of course we’re friends. Why did you think I called you that night? I knew, even when I was drunk of my mind, that you would have picked me up at any time of the night. And I would have done the same thing for you.”

“But why Roger?” Lily asked. “Brian has a car too.”

“Brian would have probably told me to call Roger,” John said jokingly. “Only Roger would do crazy things for a friend at one of the morning.”

“Yeah, like bringing you a sandwich for your drunk arse,” Roger reminded her, grinning slightly.

“Which my drunk self appreciated, so here’s another one for you Roger,” John said raising his beer, making Roger roll his eyes.

“I need new friends,” he muttered to himself, making John laugh. Lily, on the other hand, was frowning.

“Why ham?” she asked. “You don’t like ham.”

“I didn’t have turkey,” Roger shrugged.

“I always have turkey,” Lily muttered childishly making Roger make a face at her.

“Hey,” John said, stopping them from getting into another petty argument. “Why isn’t Olivia here?”

It took a minute for Roger to realized that the question was directed at him.

“Couldn’t make it,” he said forcefully. He was pretty sure that Olivia had a school thing to attend but he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Olivia couldn’t attend and that was fine with him. She didn’t need to come to every show of his, they weren’t a couple. They hadn’t even shagged.

“Oh, so both of you are on your own,” John said. Roger glanced at Lily, expecting to hear her say something but she didn’t seem to be paying attention, her gaze somewhere else in the bar.

“It looks like it,” Roger said and smirked. “But not for long.”

Lily looked over him, rolling her eyes. “Are you always this cocky?”

“Yes, all the time,” John said, sounding exhausted at the reminder of Roger’s large ego.

“Well,” Roger said, and tilted his head, pretending to think about it. “The second I got off stage, a decent looking girl gave me a free drink. I didn’t even have to make an effort.” He looked back at her and flashed her a smug grin. “So, yes, I can afford to be cocky.”

“Decent looking girl? You―decent looking girl?” Lily looked outraged to Roger’s delight. “You’re so full of yourself. Not every girl that you come across with is going to fall in love with you.”

“Trust me I know,” Roger said. “I’ve met so many girls that hate me the moment they met me. They think I’m arrogant, selfish, have nothing but my looks…”

“Obnoxious, unpunctual,” John unhelpfully adds.

“Thank you, John,” Roger said sarcastically. “You’ve made your point.”

“I’ve got your back, Rog. Are you sure you don’t need anymore? I can go on.”

“Anyways,” Roger said loudly, ignoring John’s offer. “As you can see, the list goes on.”

“Well, are they wrong?” Lily asked, raising one of her eyebrows expectantly.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Roger shot back.

“So, far you haven’t done a good job to make me think otherwise.”

He scoffed, knowing that Lily liked him, and was just being hard on him.

“That’s fine. Like you said, I don’t expect for everyone to fall in love with me,” he shrugged, earning a look of what appeared to be disgust from Lily. “Don’t look at me like that, at least I can be a man about it and admit it.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“Never said it was.”

That moment, someone called out John’s name, making him look over the crowd. He looked over at his two friends, that were still fighting over the beer. Lily noticed his hesitation and smiled encouragingly at him.

“Go, Deacy. We’ll be fine, we’ve been alone before and I haven’t killed him. I won’t kill him now, I promise. Besides I’m going to find Mary any second.”

“See? We can be alone. Lily and I are…” Roger trialed off, not sure what to say.

“Mates,” Lily filled in for Roger. He thought about it for a second before he raised his beer towards her and with a clink, they solidified their friendship. John didn’t seem to entirely convince but looked back to where he was wanted and sighed.

“Behave,” John warned Roger, who gave him a look of disbelief. To Lily, Roger didn’t hear because he leaned and whispered something quickly before he left. Roger instantly was suspicious at how amused Lily looked.

“What did he say?”

“That you should buy me a drink cause you were rude for calling me decent looking,” she said, giving him an innocent smile.

“I only buy drinks to girls that I plan to… well let’s just say that unless you and I are going to get busy in a bathroom stall…”

Lily made a face of disgust. “Please tell me that you’re joking.”

Roger raised his eyebrows, questioningly.

“Have you really shagged someone in a bathroom in a pub?”

Roger laughed, not really surprised that’s what bothered her more than him making a blatant pass at her.

“It’s fun. You should try it with your American, maybe he’ll loosen up.”

Lily looked at him in confusion. “Why would he need to loosen up?”

“I’m studying biology yet I’m here. Why isn’t Matt really here?”

“He likes to study ahead of tests. He struggles with memorizing important concepts. Also, he’s not much of pubs. Which is a shame. He’s missing the authentic experience of being in England.”

“He’s never been to one?”

“No, he has been to one once. That’s how we met.”

“Lucky, Matt,” Roger said dryly. “First night out and he snags a girlfriend.”

Lily seemed to remember something else because she perked up. “Actually, I met him the night John performed with you guys for the first time. Oh my God. That is so strange. Imagine if John hadn’t joined you guys, I wouldn’t have met Matt.”

“You were at Deacy’s first show?” Roger frowned, not remembering seeing her or even John mentioning her. Granted, he had been more focused at berating Freddie afterward for messing up one of their songs than checking out who was with their newest bassist.

“Of course I was there. What kind of friend would I be and not support Deacy’s first performance? He was there because of me after all.”

“You were the one that forced him to audition?” Roger asked. Now that he did remember. John had admitted during his audition that he was only doing it because a friend of his had badgered him to give it a chance. He should have known that was Lily.

“Yes, aren’t you thankful for me now?” she said, nodding and getting distracted by a new song that started playing. “This is a good song. I wonder who plays it?”

Roger looked at Lily, his mind still on her forcing John to try out for their band. He wouldn’t tell her, but he was honestly was grateful for her persistence at that moment. If it weren’t for her, John would have never joined their band and they would have been in even worse shape.

“What?” she said when she caught him staring at her.

He cleared his throat and tried to shrug it off. “Uh, just thinking what is an American doing here? In England?”

“Ever heard of foreign exchange student?” she asked him.

“I’m not stupid,” he said shortly.

“Never said you were,” she said, grinning at him. “But that’s the reason why Matt is here. He’s studying for a year and then he’s going back to the US.”

“And what’s going to happen to him when he has to go back? Are you going to break up?”

Lily did not look amused at that question. “No, we won’t. We’ll still be together,” she said and didn’t add anything else in the matter. Roger realized he hit a sore topic. He was about to say something but Lily said, “I really enjoyed your performance. Especially your drum solo in the last song. Keep Yourself Alive, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the songs name. You liked my solo?” he asked, feeling the familiar pride whenever someone complimented him or the band. He would never grow tired of hearing them.

“Yes, you’re very good. I remember you guys played that song in Freddie and John’s first performance.”

Roger nodded. “Yeah, we play that song in many of our performances.”

“I know, I think the second time I saw you guys, you played it,” she said and frowned. “No, the third time. I was with Olivia when you played that song. I came along the second time.”

Roger tensed up at the mention of Olivia, but Lily didn’t say anything on the matter. She continued talking about their performance and how she loved it. While he typically, he didn’t mind hearing about their performance, he was more distracted by the fact that Lily hadn’t brought up Olivia. He knew Lily was aware of the two of them, Olivia had told him herself the last time he saw her.

Almost an entire month had passed since he had met Olivia and things surprisingly had been going slow. He will admit a part of it had to be was that he didn’t want to deal with Lily nosiness. He knew that if things between Olivia and him passed the flirtation phase, any second Lily would be pestering.

“I can’t believe I am saying this,” he said, interrupting her mid-sentence, “but why haven’t you said a word about me and Olivia?”

Lily looked taken back at that and put down her beer. She looked thoughtful before speaking. “I know that in the past I have been nosy about your… flings,” she said and made face at her choice of word.

“Flings works,” he said. “And yeah, that’s an understatement of you being nosy.”

She winced. “Right, I was overbearing and I know that is not a good thing. I can’t help it sometimes. I just, I guess that’s just how I am. And I realized that it wasn’t a good thing so I am trying to be less nosy and just mind my own business. I honestly don’t know how Deacy does it. Did you know that not once had he said something about who I dated?”

“Really?” Roger was a little surprised, but honestly, he shouldn’t be. John always minded his own business and avoided getting involved in the fights that he, Brian and Freddie would get during rehearsal. Why wouldn’t he do the same in other aspects of his life?

“Yes. He says it’s not his place to tell me who I should and shouldn’t date. He's not my father, he's my friend.”

“Must be nice.”

Lily gave him an amused look. “I deserve that. But from now on, I am going to try to be a little like Deacy and mind my own business.”

Roger snorted at that. “How drunk are you?”

“I am serious. I am not going to say anything about anyone’s business.”

“Sure,” Roger said mockingly.

“You know what, Roger? I am trying here to be a better person but you’re just being an asshole,” Lily said defensively. “Fuck you.”

“Shit, I think that’s the first time I have heard you say fuck.”

“Fuck off.”

Roger laughed at her choice of words and shook his head.

“Alright, alright. I’m being an asshole but you don’t have to worry about that. I don’t know how much Olivia has told you but we’re not together, just to make it clear,” he said, putting it out there.

“Oh, I know that, and I’m not going to say something, no matter how much I want. I crossed a line with Kathy and I don’t want to do that with Olivia, despite that she’s my friend. You two can do whatever you want… well, as long no one ends up getting hurt.”

“Really?” he said doubtfully

“Yes, but just be honest with her. If you want her to be your girlfriend, then let her know. If that’s the opposite of what you want, be clear with her.”

“I don’t want a girlfriend,” Roger found himself saying, and Lily didn’t seem appeared bothered to hear that.

“That’s alright.” Lily shrugged. “But like I said, just be honest with her.”

The turn of the conversation was not what Roger expected but didn’t mind it. He honestly expected Lily to force him to stay away from her friend or meddle between him and Olivia.

“I mean, but just a warning, if you decide to date Olivia, I am going to basically know everything that happens between the two of you.”

Roger did not like the sound of that. “Um, sorry, what?”

“You do know that girls like to share pretty much everything? Especially about their relationship. Mary talks to me about her and Freddie all the time. I do that same with me and Matt. So, don’t be surprised if I know what’s going on between the two of you.

“Oh, great,” Roger said unenthusiastically and drank from his beer. “What exactly does that mean?”

“You know, what goes on the streets and what goes under the sheets. Like how I know that nothing has happened in the sheets. Which made think that Olivia was talking about someone else for a second.”

“I can be old fashioned,” Roger said shortly, making her grin at him.

“Good to know.”

“Wait, wait,” Roger said, something coming back to him. “Did any of the girls I have been with ever said something to you?”

Roger could recall seeing a few of the girls he had brought to rehearsal, talking to Lily and Mary. He never put much thought about it, figuring they talked about meaningless things, like clothes or weather or whatever they had in common but now he was having his doubts.

Lily shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Yes, it did matter, Roger wanted to tell her but he didn’t. He bit his tongue and continued drinking his beer. Maybe he was better off not knowing what his past flings had said about him to Lily. They didn’t matter, he had moved on from them. Also, Lily didn’t look too disgusted by him so it probably wasn’t all that bad what had been said about him.

Unfortunately, Olivia didn’t exactly fit in with the other flings. One, because they hadn’t even done anything, simply flirted (and kissed a few times). But he knew the biggest problem was that every shitty thing he would do, Lily would find out and he just didn’t want to deal with all of that.

Lily, as if being able to sense Rogers uneasiness, spoke up. “If it makes you that uncomfortable, I will tell Olivia that I am not interested to hear about you two. I’ll tell her it’s a conflict of interest.”

Roger smiled at her wryly, even though he was slightly relieved at hearing that. “I appreciate the sentiment but let’s not jump to conclusions. I don’t even know if I even like Olivia.”

Lily made a face that he had come to know pretty well.

“What?” he sighed.

“What do you mean?”

“Just say it. I’m afraid if you don’t speak you might explode and somehow that is going to be my fault.”

“No, no. I am no longer going to say anything to you regarding your romantic life. I made a promise and I am going to stick to it. No matter how much is killing me in the inside.”

“That is not going to last at all,” Roger said which prompted into them into an argument that honestly was pretty ridiculous. They would take a break to order more alcohol, and the more they drank, the more stupid their arguments would become.

“Are you joking?” Roger scoffed when he learned of Lily’s favorite drink.

“Are you joking?” Lily mocked him. “Nope, I am very serious.”

“Why do I even talk to you?”

“Cause I believe we just established our friendship.” She then ordered another round for the two of them, giving the bartender her most charming smile. Roger was impressed that she managed to get the bartender to hand them their drinks quickly. “Here’s your drink and shut up.”

“Just for that, you’re buying the next round,” Roger told her.

“I just did,” she said, making Roger snort. “I have been paying for most of them. When are you going to order one?”

“Next round,” he promised and grunted when he felt someone bump into him, making the beer get on his clothes. “Dammit.”

“Oh, I am so sorry,” a girl said, giving him an apologetic smile. Roger glanced at her and waved her off.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said and turned back to Lily who was doing a poor job to hide her laughter. “Shut up, next round is on you.”

“You just said you were paying for the next one.”

“That was before beer went all over me,” he grumbled, still trying to dry his shirt.

Lily shook her head in a condescending manner. “She did it on purpose. She’s been trying to catch your attention for the past ten minutes. I thought you were just playing hard to get.”

“Really?” he said and looked back but saw that the girl was still lingering. She brightened when she caught his eye. He gave her a faint smile looked back at Lily. “What can I say? They just love me.”

“Or you can say you're just full of yourself,” Lily said, making him laugh.

He wasn’t going to admit it but Roger had become so caught up arguing with Lily about how disgusting rum tasted with coke that he had missed that girl had been trying to get his attention for quite a while.

(Roger should have known that wasn’t going to be the last time he would forget about everything around him all because of Lily.)

“You can go,” she said, dismissing him sloppily with her hand. Roger had lost count how much they had been drinking, but one thing he did know was that Lily was definitely drunk. “I don’t want you to be throwing it to my face that I was the reason you didn’t have any fun tonight. Even though I am very fun. Super fun.”

“Thank you for being considerate,” he said, smiling. “But I will pass that offer.”

“Really? Why? You don’t like brunettes? I know you do cause Olivia is a brunette.”

“No, not because of that.” He hesitated for a second before saying, “I’m staying because while I am not officially with Olivia, maybe I will at one point. So why should I be looking for other girls.”

When Lily didn’t say anything, just stared at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher, he added hastily, “Also, you’re very drunk, I am not leaving you here alone with these heathens.”

He wasn’t the only one that had noticed the attention the other one was drawing. Quite a few men had stopped by them, and done terrible jobs to hide their stares towards Lily. Roger hadn’t brought it up because there was no harm in staring and Lily wasn’t uncomfortable by their stares.

“You’re a really good friend,” Lily said with an intensity that made Roger slightly uncomfortable. He was sure the drinks had messed with Lily’s emotions.

“Calm down, I just don’t want Deacy at my throat,” he said, trying to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. “Don’t… do that. It’s fine. You’re also paying for my drinks, so… I’d rather be here with you.”

“Good, I like that you’re keeping me company.” Lily smile grew so big, he was sure it was going to hurt her cheeks. “Oh, I keep forgetting to tell you, but I really like that top you’re wearing.”

Roger tilted his head in amusement. That was a sudden change in conversation but he didn’t mind. He preferred to stick to light topics, and they had been slowly edging to a place he wasn’t comfortable with.

“I really like what you wear,” she continued, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt and admiring it. There wasn’t anything special about the shit that he was wearing, it was just a bright yellow shirt with some flowers around the edges. He honestly thought it was one of his more simpler outfits. “You have a very unique fashion sense that I admire. Not a lot of people I know would wear very this type of unique clothes.”

Roger snapped his fingers. “Then I must introduce you to our lead singer, he will blow your mind away. He’s actually kinda hard to miss.”

“Don’t be rude,” she said, smacking his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t holding onto his shirt. “But I stand with what I said: it’s really nice.”

“Thank you,” he said, unable to stop himself from smiling at the compliment. “If you ever want to use it, you can just ask me.”

Lily brightened at that. “Really? That’s so great. You’re so nice, Roger, so nice.”

Roger had decided that he preferred drunk Lily, she was much nicer to him than sober Lily, which was saying something because sober Lily was always nice to him but not at this extent.

“Let me get you another round,” she said loudly and waved over the bartender. “Can you please get us two beers, one for me and my very good friend… um, what’s your full name again?” She got momentarily distracted and looked over at Roger expectantly.

“Roger Taylor.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have a middle name?”

“No, I do.” He sighed at the expectant look on her face and reluctantly admitted, “Its Meddows.”

“Meddows? Roger Meddows Taylor?” she repeated and he nodded shortly. “Oh my God. I love it. Meddows. I love it. It’s so much better than mine. Mine is Jane. It’s so boring. But Meddows, that one is so pretty. God, why everything about you is pretty?”

“Are you going to get something?” the bartender asked her impatiently.

“Oh! Yes! One rum and coke for me and a beer for the blond guy. He’s the drummer from Queen, the band that just played,” she stated proudly. “Roger Meddows Taylor is my mate.”

Roger cringed and shook his head. He wasn’t that worried, though. She was drunk and would most likely to forget about it the next morning.

—=—

Roger underestimated Lily’s memory because she did not forget.

The next time they saw each other, Lily had greeted him cheerfully, “Hi, Meddows!”

Honestly, he might have might have claimed to be irritated at her for the remainder of the day, but even he knew back then, there wasn’t much that Lily could do that would ever piss him off.

She could break his heart and he would still want her. And so far, that was turning out to be true.

—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—

Tag List:

@the-freak-cassie-131, @goingslightlymaaad, @verkyun, @16wiishes

#roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #ben hardy as roger taylor #ben hardy! roger taylor #ben hardy #bohemian rhapsody

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