#the older fans do turn up unexpectedly at the sight of the familiar | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bikerjongho · 3 years ago

Text

welcoming song | song mingi

genre: supernatural, horror

characters: vampire!mingi ft. vampire!jongho

description: After a millennium of imprisonment for crimes, the dark, powerful, and vampiric Lord Song returns home and catches up with his life that passed him by.

word count: 4.5k

warnings: violence, murder, explicit mentions of a dead body, blood

author’s note: happy birthday mingi and welcome back from your hiatus!! I hope your day is amazing, special, and you enjoy it to the fullest <3 and now onto evil vampires.

taglist: @itsapapisongo @mangomingki @irehlevant @blueprint-han @doievoir

For thousands of years, the Song mansion had withstood the test of time. Nestled in the dead-center of a lush forest, the mansion had proved itself to have incognito techniques as only few ever found it. Lucky travelers and explorers would get to experience the towering and magnificent architecture of the home, the addicting fragrances of the flowers that seemed to never die, and the unnaturally clear pool of water that looked to be the drink of the gods. All of this was available for them to drink in, and yet they were still thirsty, for if the outside was as glorious as it was, surely the inside would prove similar.

No sooner did these travelers step foot on the marble staircase leading to the doorway did the hidden arrows built into the bird feeders release and rob them of life. Wild bears and decomposers alike took delight in the delicacy of human flesh lying quite literally at their front door. When the mess was cleaned by the hungry animals, the stage would again be set for another unsuspecting victim to be drawn in by the beauty of the mansion. Because while the mansion had the looks and was clearly adept at drawing people in, the mansion was not to be entered by anyone other than the owner. And he hadn't stepped inside in over a thousand years.

The travelers were correct in assuming that the inside of the mansion was beautiful. Much like how the outside of the mansion lured in curious travelers to the front porch only to be transported to the doorstep of the afterlife, the inside swarmed with even more beauty. But this beauty was not soft and warm like the outside. It was as sharp as a blade, and just as piercing as an animal's teeth gnawing on meat.

There were over fifty vampires in this mansion, each adorned with fangs and priceless clothing. The vampires had been living inside the Song mansion since the days where it was new, and they worked hard to conserve its attractive looks. Though their hearts didn't beat, they moved with the swiftness of the most nimble humans and worked endlessly for the hope that one day, Lord Song would return.

Every golden piece of pottery was glimmering at all times, and the floors were like mirrors because of how reflective they always were. Cleaning in this household was no issue because of the sheer amount of vampires that were in this mansion, but there was also never anyone to mess up any of their work. The pillows were always too fluffed and the fireplace too kindled, and this was like that because of the hope that Lord Song would return. The mansion had to look spotless and perfect, to tell him that even after a thousand years, his servants were still as servile to him as they had been before he had been taken from them so unexpectedly.

But unbeknownst to the vampires, the anniversary of one millennium had passed and the prison sentence for a man was finally lifted. Black and buckled boots made their way through the forest, a cloak of the same color billowing behind the wearer. The traveler inhaled sharply when he saw the immortal beauty of the mansion, and increased his speed to the front porch. As usual, the sharp arrows shot out from their hiding places to pierce the newcomer, but the newcomer knew of this trick. After all, he was the one that had installed it.

A pale hand shot out and caught the sharp arrow. His eyes swiveled to the left to glance at the point of the arrow that was only inches from his face, inspecting it. Then, with a swift flick of his wrist, the arrow was snapped in two.

Mingi Song had arrived home at last.

His knock at the door sent reverberations across the entire mansion, and every vampire snapped their heads to the direction of the sudden noise. There hadn't been a knock at the door in a thousand years.

A small child with a mop of black hair and eyes as big as tennis balls clung to his mother's dress and stared at the door. His small fangs dug into his teeth and he huddled in close to his mother in fear. "Did the arrows-" he whispered, but his mother cut him off.

"The arrows never miss."

She said this with a shake in her voice, and all of the vampires could hear it. All eyes, red, black, yellow ones, were glued to the door and this mysterious visitor that had somehow bypassed their impenetrable security.

Finally, a vampire woman with long and silky black hair stepped forward towards the door in a move of bravery. Her hand shook as she grabbed the cold handle of the brass doorknob. She turned around and looked at her vampiric brethren. When Lord Song had been taken to jail because of his war crimes, none were given an estimate of when he would return. Many thought he had died. The majority held it within themselves that he would return someday. This person at the door, whoever they were, was not just some traveller. They could have been another vampire from the Song family taking ownership over them, or an entirely different vampire that wanted to kill them all or take them for their own.

But none of them truly expected Lord Song to be at the doorstep.

The all-familiar sight of his crimson red eyes caused most of the children vampires to burst into bloody tears. Mothers and fathers gathered them in a hug to soothe them, but couldn't close their mouths while they gaped at their Lord Song.

Prison had hardened him, but in the same way that polish on metal made the hard material shine even brighter. Despite being immortal, he looked older, but he had a new glint to his sharp, red eyes that suggested that the recklessness of his youth had subsided. His hair had been a tangy orange upon his arrest, and now it was a dark and jet black that rested over his forehead. He was tall as ever with a commanding presence that was frightful to enemies and comforting to friends.

His crimson eyes glanced over all of the vampires in his walkway. Some had been on the second floor and were frozen over the banister at his sight.

"Lord Song," a vampire finally said. "You've returned."

Mingi held out his arms and enveloped a child running towards him, smiling as he spun her around and she giggled with glee. "You all seem well," he said, and many of the vampires began to fan themselves to stop tears from running.

He placed the child back into the ground and walked forward. His knee connected with a small and wooden table by the entrance to the foyer, and the potted plant that had been placed on it tipped and shattered onto the floor.

Mingi's eyes were wide with shock, but this only caused even more tears and happiness within the crowd of vampires.

"Lord Song, I'll clean it up!" a woman cried.

"I will! It's my pleasure!" Another sobbed.

A millennium of meaningless dusting, sweeping, and wiping for anticipation of Lord Song now had meaning. And for the vampires of Lord Song, cleaning was the least they could do to show their admiration and loyalty to him.

A child pushed away from his mother and, disregarding a dust pan and broom another vampire had ran in with, began picking up the glass pieces with his bare hands. Blood prickled on his palms before spilling out onto the floor as he cleaned.

Mingi, surprised only moments ago, was grinning at the child. "Why, thank you," he said softly, then stepped over the child like he was a toy in the way of his steps. His long and black cloak brushed over the child's head without concern. Some of the vampires had fallen to their knees. Others averted their gaze to hide the tears of happiness in their eyes.

"Lord Song," a man sobbed. "I've missed you. You've returned."

"Tell us of your troubles that you faced while you were gone so that we might soothe you," another suggested, wiping away their bloody red tears with a white cloth.

Mingi surveyed all of them with his eyes, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants. "I'd like that," he said after a minute. "You all have kept this home in perfect condition. Let us have a drink while I tell my tales." He smiled with a glimmer in his eyes. "There's much to say. A millennium, however short that is in our lifetime of forever, is still long."

The beautiful and enormous dining hall, which had been bare and dull for a millennium, was waking back up with Lord Song's presence. The vampires cracked open aged blood and ushered Mingi into the hall with the grace of a palace servant. One pulled out his seat for him, while another was unfastening his traveling cloak and black gloves. The rest ogled at him like he was a magnificent piece of art in a museum.

Fancy glasses that hadn't seen light in so long were shining by the light of the chandeliers and candles. The cool, crimson liquid in the glasses swirled around as the vampires amused Lord Song with stories and tales that had been thousands of years in the making. A little boy excitedly told Mingi about the new species of bacteria that had spread around the mansion in the course of six months over three hundred years ago, and his mother told the story of the wild pack of bears that had nearly ransacked the house, stopped only by the mansion's poisonous and lethal breed of ants that lived in the lawn. But it all ceased when the binder of suitors was brought to the table.

A vampire with a monocle and poster straighter than a board dumped a six inch binder in front of Mingi with no preamble. He adjusted his tie while Mingi raised his eyebrows, and the rest of the vampires grinned at him with their fangs expectantly.

"Much time has passed during your absence," the monocled vampire began, and Mingi recognized him as one of the sparse British vampires in the mansion because of his accent. "We had grown bored of boredom during your absence. Days and years passed us by with a wink. Isolation can make you do many things," he said, and tapped the binder with his pointer finger.

"This is a matchmaker binder," he began, and Mingi's eyes widened as the vampire flipped it open and he was greeted with tens of faces on each page. There must have been thousands of pages. "We weren't sure if you liked men or women, or both, so we have everyone," he said casually, and flipped from a grouping of women to a section of men.

"My God," Mingi breathed. "Pray tell, why-"

"She's pretty, isn't she?" The vampire asked and pointed to a woman in the binder with dark hair down to her shoulders.

"Yes," Mingi began, but the vampires were too excited to let him speak.

"I like this one," cut another one, pointing to a man with blonde hair and a large smile. "He's also a Lord. I would marry him if I wasn't so low class."

"This one looks like he could kiss me until the sun rises," a girl sighed and pointed to a man in the binder. "And then we'd evaporate together. That's love, isn't-"

"Enough," Mingi said abruptly, pushing away the binder from himself and silencing the vampires. "Enough," he repeated, rubbing his brow.

"What's the matter?" The original vampire that had given him the binder asked. A hundred pairs of eyes leaned in closer for his response.

"Why did you do this?" Mingi sighed, looking at all of his vampires with contempt. He lifted the glass of blood to his lips and took a long drink. A hundred pairs of eyes watched every last drop dribble into his mouth, and then he set down the glass. "This is childish."

At that, many of the vampires sunk into each other in embarrassment. The monocled vampire coughed. "You are a fine man," he said simply. "We thought it would be a good idea to get you interested in the vampires available so you may extend the Song family for millennia to come. Many vampires of your class in recent years have found that marriage is a wonderful experience to behold in life."

"And as soon as I got back from my imprisonment was your best time to tell me about this?" Mingi snapped and the monocled vampire bowed his head in shame. "I was hoping to share my stories, not engage in some mindless and useless talks about love."

The vampires hung their heads. "I'm sorry, Lord Song," the monocled vampire lamented, sliding the enormous binder off the table and securing it in his arms. "We won't bring it up again."

A little vampire, a girl that looked no more than eight years old, appeared next to Mingi. "Lord Song," she spoke in a voice that was small but had hundreds of hidden years behind it, "tell us your stories now."

The room hushed and chairs squeaked across the floor as the vampires leaned towards Mingi. A thousand years was not even a twentieth of a vampire's lifetime, but it was still long. Eager ears awaited to hear the experience that Mingi had gone through during his time in jail.

Mingi cleared his throat and surveyed them all once again. Jail had been terrible and boring. It was the price he had paid for the crimes he had committed as a younger and reckless vampire, but he couldn't say that he regretted doing any of it. Mingi had taken himself and all two hundred of his servants to town after town, mowing through houses and draining the residents of their blood. The screaming of the townspeople had only made their own blood curl, and blood with adrenaline tasted richer. Despite being a dead being, Mingi had never felt so alive in that moment. It had been a display of power, a display of the awesome and terrible Song family that had roamed for eons.

But no one else had found it funny, especially the supernatural council that had reigned at the time. Mingi's name protected him from the worst of punishments, but not even he could squirrel himself out of an extended period behind bars. His servants had been sent back to his home and had been locked in with no idea of when Mingi would return, and Mingi had rotted in a cell for a thousand years. It wasn't all bad, though - there were vampires like him, burning with the desire to escape but burdened all the same with exhaustion and the cage that surrounded them. Mingi had lots of time to reflect on his actions, and he had come to the conclusion that if he was to do such an event again, he'd have to be much more discreet about it.

But now he was home. Mingi described the bad conditions of the jail to his enraptured crowd, preached about the terrible clothing he had to have on his back and vocalized the terrible treatment that the jail had given him. With every word, the shock on the vampires' faces melted into anger and sadness.

"Lord Song," many of them sobbed, "we are so sorry you had to go through that."

"What's done is done," Mingi murmured. "Stop crying. It's over now. Rejoice that I'm back."

And amongst the sudden cheers that yes, Lord Song had returned, Mingi smiled. A sliver of fear had baked inside of him when he had been released. He had been concerned over the thought that his brigade of vampires had deserted him. After all, a thousand years inside of a house with nothing to do was not an enjoyable time. But his stupidly obsequious servants had stayed locked in the house all the same.

The arrows at the front of the mansion only hurt those coming towards the mansion. They could have left any time they wanted to. But Mingi relished in the idea that they knew fully well of the arrows that were awaiting if they ever decided to come crawling back. His servants were locked in, and Mingi now knew with confidence that the leash he had on them was tighter than a double-knotted knot.

He raised his empty glass and savored the multiple vampires that tripped over chairs and table legs to reach his glass and refill it. He had them wrapped around his finger.

The next week allowed Mingi to be acclimated back into his home. The couches he rested on gave him peace and restfulness that he had forgotten he could feel during his time on the rock-hard floors of the prisons. The constant vampires that were begging to wait on him was also a complete change from before. But while his servants entertained him and kept him company, Mingi longed to talk to someone on his own caliber. So the next day, Jongho was on his back doorstep.

Only friends knew that the back door was the correct door to enter if they liked to keep their brains inside their head, and even then Lord Choi was smart. "Mingi," Lord Choi exclaimed when he was brought to the dining hall by Mingi's servants and saw him at the table. "It's wonderful to see you once again."

Like all vampires, Lord Choi hadn't aged a day since Mingi had last seen him. The only noticeable difference in his features was his now slicked back dark hair that gave him a more mature look, a look he never would have attempted thousands of years ago. He still had muscle on his arms, if not more, and his black and large eyes that seemed to catch every visual in Mingi's mansion had grown softer, more tempered. Something had tethered him down, and Mingi was curious to find out what it was.

The two of them circled one another in a hug, patting each others' backs as they laughed at their reunion. "How long has it been?" Jongho laughed when they broke apart. "A thousand years?"

"A thousand years," Mingi repeated. "What have you gotten yourself into?" He asked as Mingi's servants led the two of them to their seats at Mingi's long dinner table and sat them down. He expected Jongho to launch into a terrible and exciting story about a murder spree - he was famous for those when Mingi had last known seen him.

But Mingi was wrong. Jongho was more than happy to talk about his disciplined and mild travels he had done around the world. While a glass of red liquid was poured out for him and Mingi, he talked about his travels around Europe, Asia, and most recently, North America.

"I was most impressed by the humans' ability to be clean," he said as he took a long drink of his blood. "A bit of a shame because blood was so much easier to obtain when humans threw the carcasses of each other outside of doorsteps when plague raged. And I quite enjoyed the phase of blood-letting. But now, at least there's no more human feces for me to step upon when I stroll through the neighborhoods in London. I call that a win."

"You'll have to tell me about that," Mingi said and raised his eyebrows. Vampires didn't need to use the bathroom or sleep, but Jongho was glad to explain the modern wonder of indoor plumbing.

"And I think Ireland was my favorite place to visit," Jongho continued. "I was there about two-hundred years ago. Met some interesting humans, I had a book written after me as well. You may know of the book."

"Quite highly of you to think that I was allowed to read in prison," Mingi said, not unkindly, and Jongho laughed.

"Just a little book about vampires. Written by Bram Stoker."

"Never heard of it," Mingi said, and Jongho once again shook his head.

"We need to go on a trip together at some point," Jongho smiled. "To get you accustomed to the new world. You would be surprised how much human innovation has happened in the millennia you missed."

Jongho went on to continuing his life story that Mingi had missed, and Mingi was amazed to listen. Prison had been hard. It had been boring and harrowing, but he had survived, in the end. But he couldn't help but feel a pinprick of jealousy as Jongho described his tales and freedom he had, even if his adventures weren't as violent as he would have guessed. Jongho, like Mingi, had taken his vampire servants many times through towns for blood feasts. But Jongho had perfected the art of subtlety and remaining underneath the radars of watchful vampire councils that made sure none of them stepped out of line. He had found a way to let his innate vampire desires tear through himself and never subject himself to the horrors and pain of prison.

Mingi listened, but his ears turned greener as Jongho continued on about his life.

It wasn't until Mingi's servants arrived with that too-familiar courting binder of vampires did Jongho stop talking. Mingi opened his mouth to shoo them off, but the book was placed in front of Jongho and the vampire that had placed it cleared her throat.

"We hope you don't mind, Lord Choi, but we've come up with a few potential suitors, both male and female, that you may be interested in," she said, giving a bright smile to Jongho. Jongho's mouth twitched and he burst into laughter.

"Lord Choi?" The vampire asked, gasping. "Is something wrong?" Mingi looked at his servant and Jongho, equally as confused as she was.

"No, nothing," he said, "it's just that I'm married already."

"You're what?" Mingi choked and the vampire flushed with what little blood she had left in her body.

"Married, like I said, you missed a lot," Jongho said and reached in his coat pocket for a piece of paper. He threw it on the table, and it was a photo of a bright and smiling woman with blonde hair. "This is Analise, my beloved of almost seven-hundred years."

"Seven-hundred years?" Mingi gaped. The female vampire that had given Jongho the binder was already dragging it away from him, her face hidden by her hair.

"Yes, and she's wonderful," Jongho said casually, shrugging. "It's simply the way of life. I'm sure you'll find someone."

Mingi made a mental note to go back to his own binder later. "I never thought you'd get married," he said, and Jongho smiled.

"And neither did I. But sometimes, you just meet someone," he sighed, then looked at Mingi. "I haven't felt the need to go out and ravage towns or humans now that I have her. She keeps me occupied and happy."

Mingi's question as to why Jongho seemed more calm was finally answered, but it was accompanied by bubbling discomfort. "She must be truly amazing," he said through his teeth.

"She is," Jongho sighed, and then went into stories about her. The stories warped back into tales about his travels around the world, and soon night had fallen across the sky. Jongho couldn't have left the mansion earlier because of the sun and he hadn't brought a cloak, but now the moon could aid him in walking back into town.

"Be sure to come with me to Australia," Jongho said and hugged Mingi before he left. "It'll be lots of fun." And then he smiled, and Mingi's heart broke at how soft he had become.

"Of course," he said, giving a painful smile. Jongho grinned and left the mansion through the back door.

Mingi was back with his thoughts. He watched Jongho walking away through a window and retreated to his study. He sat down at his desk to write something on a piece of paper with a quill. When he realized all of his ink had dried up over the course of a thousand years, he begrudgingly took his glass of blood from earlier and wrote one phrase onto the paper using it: never to be sanguine.

It was a phrase that he and the rest of the vampires at the prison had learned and repeated to each other. Because while sanguine meant blood-red, it also meant that a person was blindingly optimistic and cheerful. And Mingi ached to never, ever, become like that. To be optimistic, to be sweet and kind and cheery, was to ignore the inhumanity of being a vampire. It was to align with humans more than vampires, their own kind. He had lost Jongho to the sanguine nature.

"Not like Jongho," he said, his hand shaking as he finished the end of the word sanguine. "Never like him." Because if prison had taught him anything, it was to be patient, it was to be quiet.

It was to be unassuming. Mingi rushed to his vampires. He must have seemed shocked, because the vampires nearly fell to the floor into a bow. "I need that matchmaker binder," he said. "My binder. The one you tried to give me a few days ago."

"But Lord Song," the vampire said, quivering, "you didn't even want-"

"I want it now," Mingi growled and the vampire shook. He left and came back a minute later with the book in his hands. Mingi yanked it from his arms and stormed back into his study.

Analise had made Jongho soft. The vampire council must have seen this, they must have known this. He flipped through the book until he found a page of attractive people.

A partner was exactly how Mingi could keep going with evil misdeeds and remain under the radar of the council that could reprimand him. The council must have had the impression that a partner would tame him, just like Analise had done with Jongho. And even if his partner ended up hating him for who he was and the actions he did, he could pay them a handsome sum to keep quiet. It was the perfect disguise.

"Marriage," Mingi murmured, and looked at his bare ring finger. A ring would allow his greatest diabolical plans that he had thought of in prison to come to life. He stood up and walked out of his study with the proposal of proposing in his mind. "The secret to staying hidden is to hide in plain sight."

74 notes · View notes

nalu4emily · 4 years ago

Text

The Unexpected Reward - Chapter 15

Summary: Natsu and Lucy go on a job together, but what they bring home is something neither anticipated. Forced to make a life changing decision, they have to adapt quickly, but that's never easy, especially given the circumstances. As they work together on their toughest adventure yet, they find themselves drawn to one another, in ways they never realised. Nalu/cute/fluff/multi-chapter.

The moon had come out to play by the time the Heartfilia girl finally stirred from her slumber. Casting shadows across the bed she found herself in, she carefully sat herself up and promptly took in the familiar sight of her bedroom. Goosebumps scattered across her skin as the covers fell from her shoulders. Catching a glimpse of herself, she noticed her clothes were not the same borrowed items she'd worn previously, but a slinky night top instead, one that barely covered much of her midriff and a pair of butt-hungry underwear.

Adjusting to the dim glow peering in through the large window, her eyes pored over the room in hope her memories might return should she find what she was searching for, not that she knew what that was, of course. There was something—something important—she knew, but what? It was right there, staring her blankly in the face, so close she could almost touch it…

"Haru!" She yelled, eyes widening when the events of the previous day came flooding back.

In a blind panic, she scrambled to get herself out of the bed, battling with the covers that didn't seem to want to let go. Cursing at them in her haste, she attempted to swing them off of her and felt the frustration rise when she'd accomplished nothing more than nearly tumble out of the bed. Luckily, a single warm hand reached from behind and grabbed her around the wrist, guiding her back onto the mattress just as she was about to face-plant the floor.

"Lucy, what're you doing? You'll wake everyone up with the noise you're making." Natsu's gravelly voice reached her ears from behind.

Turning around, she noted that he had also just woken up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning loudly. She stared long and hard at him, like she was searching for answers to questions of which she'd not asked yet.

"Natsu…" Tilting her head in confusion, she hadn't even noticed him there. "Where's Haru? Is he okay?"

"He's doing just fine; warm and comfy last time I checked." Natsu grinned, trying to ease the worry that was clear in her expression. "Why don't ya come lay down with me? Then you'll be warm and comfy too!"

"But, I-I…" She hesitantly pulled away from the fire mage, who'd been gently coaxing her back into bed, and walked over to the bedroom door. "I need to peek in on him and see for myself, or I'll never get back to sleep."

Truth be told, when she cracked open his bedroom door, little Haru was fast asleep. A milk bottle still hung from his mouth and a little milky drool had trickled onto the mattress. Lucy stood by his crib side for a moment, drinking in the sight of her son sleeping so peacefully after his ordeal. Smoothing a few wispy black strands away from his eyes, she smiled, relief over taking all sense of dread that had reeked havoc on her and relaxed a little.

Yawning herself, Lucy left the baby's room to return to her own, slipping down under the plush covers. A calmness washed over her, allowing sleep to pull her back in. Her peaceful disposition was quickly ruined when she felt a ruffling of the covers. Her eyes pinged open when two very strong arms came to wrap around her middle and draw her into a muscular torso, one she all but melted into.

"See, I told ya he was fine. You worry too much." The fire mage spoke into her hair, smirking as he nuzzled his head against the top of Lucy's.

"It's not that I didn't believe you; I just needed to see for myself and you were right. He is fine—more than fine—he's perfect!" She confirmed, snuggling into Natsu's firm hold, eyes level with his collar bone. "That was some incredible power he dispelled though, don't you think? It was enormous! I definitely wasn't expecting that!"

"You're telling me, it was awesome! He's gonna be so much fun to spar with when he gets older; I can teach him all kinds of cool stuff!" Natsu beamed in his enthusiasm, already making plans for the little boy.

"You want to teach him your magic? But I thought it was too dangerous? If it weren't for Igneel and his plan, you and the others would have dragonized by now." The blonde pointed out, wondering if the man next to her had thought about the consequences of his magic type.

"Yeah, so? He doesn't have to be a dragon slayer to learn fire magic."

"O-Oh… right. Well, what if he doesn't want to learn fire magic? What if he wants to be a celestial mage, like me?" She asked uncertainly, half expecting him to scoff at the idea.

"Then he'll learn celestial magic… duh! Honestly, Luce, I thought you were the smart one here?" Natsu smirked and Lucy simply rolled her eyes back at him, secretly impressed by his answer.

"What about ice-make magic?" She suggested oh-so innocently, grinning to herself as she heard the displeased growl emanate from Natsu's chest.

"Okay, now you're pushing it…"

Lucy chortled, in turn making Natsu do the same. They turned to each other, moss green peered down whilst chocolate brown gazed up, grinning like idiots no less—like best friends did—just the two of them for the first time since the fire mage had returned from his mission.

Lucy was so contented to have him back in her arms again. The same old dragon slayer that brought joy wherever he went and to whomever he met. A truly pure-natured and beautiful person was he, inside and out, that she really didn't know where her life would be without him.

"I've missed you, Natsu, and I'm so glad you're home now, everything feels normal again." She leaned up to gently caress his cheek with her thumb and felt him move closer, his breath now fanning softly against her mouth.

"I've missed you too, Luce, but I thought about ya everyday!" He gently placed his forehead on hers and relished in her wondrous scent, allowing it to seep into his pores and overtake his senses. "That job was such a drag without you there, it's just not the same."

"At least you had Happy to keep you company. How did it go anyway? I never did get to ask you." She asked, feeling guilty for being so distracted at the time.

"You're gonna wish you hadn't either." He shrugged nonchalantly, obviously not interested in talking about it.

"Oh… Like that, huh? My little wake up call was well received then?" The girl smirked, flicking her nose against his.

Hearing his chuckle rumble through his chest sent a shiver down Lucy's spine. She had certainly stirred something within him. The hunger evident from the way he licked his lips. His tongue glided from one curved corner to the other so fluidly, so intentionally, that he appeared almost predatory. With his face so tantalisingly close, she felt her breath mingle with his. The slight quirk of his lips formed into a knowing smirk once she'd surrendered under his fiery gaze.

Pushing forwards, the lustful dragon welded their lips together, pouring three weeks of needy desire into her mouth for her to swallow down. Lapping it up desperately, a tingle ran from her lips straight down to the heated area between her legs, eliciting a small hum from the pleasant sensation.

He flicked and swirled his tongue across hers, reminding her of all the times he'd done that exact action in other, more intimate places to bring her to the brink of ecstasy. The very thought had her clenching her thighs together to calm the arousal that was surely building. But, she had to pull away all too soon, stifling a yawn that'd rudely interrupted them.

"Oops, sorry!" She heard him snigger this time, clearly amused by her body's impeccably shit timing. "What a way to ruin the mood…"

"Nah, you could never do that." He murmured close to her mouth, looking her dead in the eyes as he spoke so huskily. "I'm always in the mood to fuck you."

Nearly choking on her own spit, she hadn't expected him to be so crude. "Natsu…" She blushed, giving him exactly the reaction he wanted. "You're so dirty! It's a shame I'm too tired to teach you a lesson."

"Is that so?" He smirked, grazing his mouth along her jawline, planting open mouthed kisses all the way along it. "Maybe I need to try a little harder then…" The young man whispered into her ear as he sucked on her lobe, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "Call it, returning the favour."

Using his teeth to nip at her sensitive neck, he deployed his hand to graze languidly down towards her ample chest, lightly brushing over her nipple peeking through the fabric of her top on its journey towards her panties.

"A-And where does your hand think it's going?" She gasped, a vault of electricity shooting down to her groin as he tweaked the erect nipple once more.

"For a little wander…"

His hand delved under her chest and lightly brushed along her curves. Upon settling between her hips, it had one final hurdle to overcome—her panties. He pushed the heel of his palm down into her lower tummy to tuck his fingers inside and slide them deep below the lacy material.

Lucy's eyes flew wide open the moment his heel dug too deeply and unexpectedly shot upright, gasping loudly. Clutching hold of her belly with both hands she looked down at it in shock; a moan of discomfort passed her lips as she felt a wave of nausea hit her straight in the gut.

Her stomach had felt fine not a few moments ago, but now it was twisting and churning unpleasantly. With gritted teeth, she winced, clenching her hands tighter around the tender area in the hopes it might pass.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Natsu asked surprised, sitting up with her to have a closer look. He noticed instantly that her expression was pained and distorted. Her fingers gripped at the hem of her top and seemed to tighten every time her face winced. Was she in pain? Did he hurt her somehow? He didn't remember doing anything to cause such discomfort. "Did I hurt you, Luce?"

"I-It's not yo-" The poor girl covered her mouth with a slight groan, feeling something other than words about to spew out of it.

Natsu placed his hand on her shoulder, feeling her skin begin to warm and moisten under his touch. Honestly, he wasn't all that sure what was wrong or what he could do to help, except to try and offer some sort of comfort. About to ask what he could do for her, the blonde groaned much louder this time and hurried off of the bed, using her legs to push off of it like a slingshot and catapulted out of the door.

"Lucy?!" Natsu exclaimed more urgently, moving quickly to follow after her.

Before he could even reach the bathroom door, the offensive sound of his partner throwing chunks showered his ears. In all the years he'd known Lucy, she'd rarely got sick and he'd very rarely seen her vomit, so this was a new one for him. Unease and, dare he say it, curiosity filled him as he made his way to the bathroom, not fully prepared for the sight that greeted him. The poor blonde was kneeling on the floor, her hunched form hugging the toilet bowl with vomit coating the bottom of it.

Taking the initiative, he knelt down behind her and gathered her hair away from the danger zone. Applying a light pressure, he placed a warm hand on her back and rubbed it in small circles, just like she did for him when he had motion sickness. She continued to puke until there was nothing more to bring up, retching and heaving instead until her ribs and stomach began to ache.

"Ugh! This is so gross… I'm sure this isn't what you meant by repay the favour." Lucy chuckled lightly whilst panting, earning a small half smile from the fire mage.

No, it most definitely wasn't… He'd seen their night going very differently. Not a few minutes ago he had been complete horn dog, now that couldn't be further from the truth.

She leaned herself against Natsu's upper body and placed the back of her sweaty head on his shoulder. Inhaling rapid, shallow breaths through her dry mouth, she closed her strained, watery eyes, knowing the nausea wasn't quite through with her yet.

"Did you eat something funny or what? You don't just throw up like that for no reason." The disconcerted man asked, dragging the clumped, blonde bangs away from her clammy forehead. He was trying to work out just what the heck could be wrong with his sickly girlfriend and what, if anything, they could do to cure it. "Are you in pain, Luce?"

"A-A little… My head is pounding, but it's my stomach that hurts the most. I don't think I've eaten-" The thought of food in that moment twisted her stomach in knots, enough to land her head back in the bowl.

"It's alright, Luce, I gotcha." He quickly gathered her hair again and began running his fingers through the ends, trying to bring her some comfort at least.

She could only describe her stomach pains as something similar to period cramping, but instead of bleeding, it was accompanied by the need to force more and more bile out of her system. With barely enough time to catch her breath in between heaves, her chest had grown tight and heavy causing even more discomfort than before.

The stellar mage didn't know how long she'd spent vomiting in the end; after what'd felt like hours, the nausea finally subsided. A sense of euphoria came over her when she could finally breathe again and Natsu, ever so gently, pulled her back into his chest.

"My chest is so sore!" Hands clasped between her breasts, gulping down as she fought to fill her lungs with needed air.

"I know, you've been at it for a while, Lucy. Do you think you're okay to come back to bed? Some sleep will do you good." She nodded and went to stand. Natsu jumped to his feet first and reached a hand out to carefully bring her up onto unsteady legs. "Take it easy there Luce, you don't wanna make yourself hurl again."

Smiling appreciatively, Lucy grabbed a wash cloth from beside the sink and soaked it with cold water to cool her skin, washing the sweat off in the process. She brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth out to get rid of the nasty taste that lingered there. Once she felt a little fresher, she straightened herself out and took one last glance in the mirror.

"Do I look different to you?" She asked curiously, staring down at her exposed abdomen, not sure if it was just her eyes playing tricks on her.

"Obviously…" Natsu answered, watching Lucy whip her head around to glare at him, giving him scary Erza vibes. "You're all sicky; you're not gonna look normal after all that!" Then she relaxed again, thankful for Natsu's obliviousness to such matters. "Do you need me to get you anything? Water? A bucket?" He sniggered at the last suggestion, earning a playful smack to the arm by an amused but overly exerted blonde.

"Water would be great, thanks." He was gone in a flash.

With an exaggerated yawn and stretch, her jelly-like legs traipsed back to their bedroom. Perching herself on the edge of the bed, Lucy leaned her head down at her sensitive stomach and stared at it curiously, grazing her hands ever so gently over it to test how far she could push without feeling sick again.

She didn't understand what was wrong with her; why was she so sick? Could it have been something that she'd eaten? Or maybe she'd caught a stomach bug? Whatever it was, it seemed to come in bouts and was made worse when she felt tired or drained, like when she'd used her magic. She'd never felt so sick in her life, the odd cold here and there but that was about it.

In general, Lucy felt that she was pretty healthy, she ate well, looked after her body, stayed well hydrated, so to be struck with an unknown sickness like this had knocked her for six, that was for sure.

"Here ya go, Luce." Natsu said, walking into the room. He passed her the water and watched her swig it down in one. "You must've been thirsty! Are you feeling alright now?"

"I don't really know. It's my stomach; it feels… weird, I guess?" Lucy steadily reached over to place the empty glass down on the bedside, careful not to make any sudden movements that might land her back in the bathroom.

"Hmm… You mean like you can't touch it?" Natsu asked, not really understanding what 'weird' meant in this context but took the initiative to go off what he felt like after vomiting.

"Yeah, kinda. Every time I do, I feel sick again. It's super sensitive right now." She sighed dejectedly and let her head fall lazily onto the pillow, bringing her legs up to get comfortable while Natsu got in beside her. "I hope this feeling goes away soon. Maybe I'll feel better in the morning after some sleep?"

"Maybe. But if you don't, I'll look after ya, so you ain't gotta worry." He said, planting a small peck on her cheek and then turning her face with his fingers to place a longer, more loving kiss on her lips. "G'night, Luce."

"Thanks, Natsu, good night." She felt the warmth from his body envelope hers, comforting her sore muscles as his hand laid carefully on her hip and stroked the exposed skin there, relaxing under his touch.

The young slayer waited for her to fall asleep before relaxing completely, exhaling a large sigh as he took in the events of the previous day. He really did hope that Lucy wasn't coming down with some nasty bug, that's all she needed after dealing with Haru being so poorly. If Natsu was being completely honest with himself, he wasn't sure what to think. From what he'd seen so far, he was sceptical to say the least; was this some unknown ailment? Or something else entirely? He didn't know.

Sure she felt nauseous; was vomiting; complained of headaches and fatigue; which were all indications of illness—he knew that. However, something just felt different about her symptoms compared to other times he'd seen her under the weather, the boy just couldn't figure out what.

Lucy had told him she'd spent the better part of the past week awake all day and night feeling stressed about Haru, which would tire anyone out. He deduced that that might explain her fatigue and headaches, but the nausea and vomiting—that he couldn't explain. Not to mention her sensitive stomach and the cramping. Nor could he decipher why she'd struggled so much when using her magic; a bug wouldn't usually interfere with that.

He was no expert on these sorts of matters, hell, it was rare the hot head ever found himself unwell in the first place, so really, what would he know?

But there was an inkling. A hunch you might say or conception, ironically. In the deep recesses of his boggled, clueless mind, he knew he'd come across this sort of thing before. Not all that often but around town, on jobs, even in the guild hall he'd heard mutterings between fellow members and guild mates alike, he'd just never taken the time to care before now.

Now he kinda wished he had…

With his lack of knowledge, Natsu had no idea what his suspicions meant and whether he was actually on to something or just barking up the wrong tree. His brain, unable to make any sense of it, was beginning to hurt from all of the over thinking he was doing and decided to dismiss the idea completely.

Nestling his head into the back of Lucy's hair, he inhaled deeply, her floral scent invading his nostrils and allowed the tiredness to overcome him. Closing his eyes, the slight pang of disappointment didn't go completely unnoticed before he drifted off to sleep.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay while I'm gone?" Natsu asked outside the bathroom door, not overly pleased that Lucy had locked him out. Hearing more vomit hit the pan, he cringed and wondered how much longer she was going to be. "Because I don't wanna leave you like this…" He heard the flush go and the water run, then finally the lock on the door clicked and it swung open, revealing a ghostly pale and zombie(ish) looking Lucy, "Luce, you're looking awful!"

"Thanks, Natsu, always the charmer…" She croaked out, throat sore from throwing up her breakfast. She'd been in and out of the bathroom all morning, puking her guts up, looking more and more, as Happy put it, like death warmed up. "I was kinda hoping I'd feel better today, but I just feel like shit…"

"Maybe you just need some more rest? I could always ask Wendy over?" He suggested, forgetting the young girl had left for a mission that morning. "Oh, actually forget that, what about Porlyusica instead?"

"No, please not her! I think she saw enough of us yesterday and I really don't feel like being shouted at today, my head can't take it." That woman could be frightening at the best of times, it was better to avoid her unless absolutely necessary.

"But Luce, you've been in the bathroom all morning, you gotta see someone about it!" Natsu tried to make her see reason, he didn't want to see her sick any more than she wanted to be sick, but Lucy was stubborn.

"I'll wait for Wendy to heal me; I'm sure I can manage until she comes home."

If Lucy was going to have anyone help, she wanted it from Wendy. The sweet, young dragon slayer was always eager to assist anyone and far from being intimidating or dismissive, unlike the old dragon woman. No matter how well versed Porlyusica was in magical ailments and medicines, particularly potions, she had a hot temper and a dislike for humans, so it was best to take her in small doses.

"You never know, I might feel better by then." Lucy smiled at the fire mage in a weak attempt at easing his worry.

"If you say so, Luce." Realising he wasn't getting anywhere, Natsu sighed. He'd have to figure out another way to help her instead.

Once back in the living room, Lucy slumped onto the couch and smiled at the little one playing on the floor with Happy. The sight of Haru finally acting like his usual self again was enough to brighten her up a bit. He'd been perfect all morning—happy, playful and cheeky, just the way she liked him.

"Hey, Lucy, this'll cheer you up!" Happy gestured to the baby, catching both Lucy and Natsu's attention. "Right Haru, just like we practised, say, Mama!"

Haru looked over to Natsu, who was smiling encouragingly at him, and then to Lucy, who was waiting patiently. It was the one word, he'd been reluctant to say since he'd started trying to speak, but Lucy could hope.

"Mama. Go on, you said it earlier." The cat encouraged.

"He did?" Lucy asked, surprised to learn that she'd missed it.

"He sure did!"

The baby looked apprehensive, sucking on his fingers, it seemed he needed a little extra push now that there was an audience. Happy flew over to Lucy and pointed at her, repeating the word again.

With a smile forming on his face, Haru crawled over to Lucy's feet and yelled at the top of his voice, "Mama!" whilst attempting to clamber up onto her lap.

"Yay! You clever boy, you finally said Mama!" Lucy beamed, picking the little one up and supporting him to stand on her lap.

"Good job, little guy!" Natsu grinned, coming to lean over the couch where Lucy was sitting and pretended to high five the baby. "Next we gotta get you saying Happy."

"Yeah, then fish, then fishing, then yummy fish-"

"Naturally…" Lucy hummed sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the cat.

"Anyway, I think we better head off. What do ya say fella?" Natsu said, picking the small boy up from his mother and placing him on his hip. "I think this little guy can come with me to the guild. It'll give you time to rest and me some time to catch up with him."

"Oh, er… okay." She smiled, liking the sound of having a few hours to herself. "That'd be nice."

The young man smiled down at the pale girl and kissed her cheek, gesturing for Happy to follow him as he walked over and opened the front door. "Catch ya later, Luce!" And off he went, locking the door behind him, leaving the blonde in peace.

"Is Lucy gonna be okay on her own?" Happy asked, flying along beside the dragon slayer. "She's really not looking too good."

"She'll be fine, she just needs some rest, that's all. If she needs me, I'm sure Loke will sense it and come looking for me. Lucy's a tough one; she don't need us pandering to her and getting in the way." He dismissed it knowing fully that Lucy's 'sickness' didn't seem to be as simple as that, but alas, this was the best he could do for now.

The journey to the guild was a pleasant one as they strolled leisurely through the busy streets of Magnolia. Entering the bustling main hall, Natsu quickly slipped passed the unknowing mages drinking away at the bar, not wanting to be cornered by one of them, and made his way to the back room where Master Makarov was waiting for him. The old man had asked to see him about something and the fire mage hoped it wasn't about the destruction Haru had left yesterday. Without knocking, the boy with the baby and flying cat walked in, announcing his presence with a bright smile.

"Natsu, there you are! I didn't think you were gonna show." The short man perched himself on the table and gestured for Natsu to sit amongst the piles of papers that made up the man's office. "How's the little one today? I heard he's had a rough time of it recently?"

"Yeah, but he seems back to normal now. Don't ya, bud?" Natsu grinned at Haru, who'd been eyeing the old man's beard since they'd entered the room. The little boy grinned back and began repeating sounds like 'da' and 'ba' as if he were joining in on the conversation.

"Good, I heard about what happened. Magnolia's Mayor has been here all morning giving me an earful about some woodland that had been… decimated, I think he said. You wouldn't know anything about that now, would you, Natsu?" The old man stared at the young man, his brow and lip raised simultaneously whilst waiting for an answer.

"Well, Natsu?" Happy teased, revelling in the slayers fluster, finding it rather funny and in turn making Haru chuckle too.

"Er… I-I don't know what you're talking about… M-Must've been some one else?" Natsu's voice raised in octaves and he began to sweat profusely, not sure what hell awaited him for what his son had done. Was this now going to become a regular occurrence?

"That's what I thought." The Master said, smiling knowingly, a chuckle passing his lips at the state the fire mage was getting himself into and decided that was punishment enough for now. "However, I did mention that should it have been a Fairy Tail mage responsible, I would personally see to it so that it doesn't happen again."

"R-Right… Sure, Gramps." Natsu stuttered, thankful he wasn't going to suffer the consequences because little Haru had destroyed the woodland. It suddenly dawned on the poor dragon slayer that this was, in fact, almost definitely going to become a regular occurrence, he could just feel it in his bones.

The baby, not knowing the trouble he'd caused, had been too focused on the Masters facial hair and was reaching his chubby little hands out to touch it, but with no one paying him any attention, he did the only thing he knew would work—whine. It was a quiet little noise but enough to catch his father's ears.

"What's the matter, little buddy? Whatcha tryin' to reach for?" Natsu asked, following the baby's line of sight, landing on the old man's face. Furrowing his brows, the slayer looked back at the small boy, "You want Gramps' hat? Alright, kiddo."

The fire mage plucked the hat off of the old man's head, much to Makarov's annoyance, and gave it to the ten month old. Although not what he'd originally wanted, Haru settled for the strange item in his hands, sticking the material straight in his mouth and began to suck it, effectively stopping his whimpers.

"You know I expect that returned, without infant dribble on it?" Makarov stared at the clueless dragon slayer and sighed; who was he kidding? He was never going to see that hat again now that Haru had claimed it. "Oh, and before you head off, Natsu, there was another reason for calling you in here. A job has come through asking for you personally again. You're quite popular it seems." The Master gave him the request paper, watching the fire mages eyes light up with excitement.

"Awesome! This one better be cooler than the last one!" Natsu read through it quickly. It appeared to be the typical 'unknown monster raiding my garden, need help!' sort of request, a stupidly easy one by the looks of it. Reaching the bottom of the paper he saw in big bold writing: the reward. A figure so great, his eyes nearly flew out of his skull.

"Whoa! They're offering that much?" Happy exclaimed, not even knowing what to call a number with that many zero's at the end of it.

"Yes, they are willing to pay that much at the request that it is you, Natsu, that attends. Obviously you don't have to go alone, you can take whoever you want with you."

"Wait 'til I show Lucy the reward, she's gonna be so pumped! That money would last us forever!" He exclaimed, beaming with excitement, wanting to run home and show it to her right away.

Then like a ton of bricks hitting him all at once, he remembered.

Lucy…

As if reading his mind, Happy was the first to speak, "But, Lucy, she's not-" He whispered.

"Yeah, I know, Happy." He looked up from the paper and without any hesitation went to hand it back to the Master, a serious face replacing his excited one. "Sorry, Gramps, but I can't do it this time."

"That's not like you, my boy, is something up?" The bearded man asked, concerned for the fire mage. "What's this about Lucy? You can take her if you want, it's up to you."

"No, I don't think I can, Gramps. She's really sick at the moment and I don't know why." Natsu said sombrely, mindlessly stroking the infants back as his eyes faced the floor.

More time away from her and Haru was definitely not something he would consider; who knows how long this job would take? Taking her with him could've been an option if she'd felt up to it, but with her magic being all weird, he wasn't willing to take the risk.

"Yeah, she's been spewing her guts all morning and yesterday she could barely summon any magic without it tiring her out. What kind of illness does that?" Happy blurted out without thinking.

"Is that right? Have you spoken to Porlyusica about it yet?" Makarov asked.

"No… Lucy told me not to…" Natsu sighed, not knowing who else to turn to. "She said she'd wait until Wendy returned, but who knows when that'll be?"

"It'll be about a week before that happens. There are other doctors she could see in the town, but if it's affecting her magic then I doubt they'll be of much use. The only other option is you go to Porlyusica and ask her yourself, Lucy doesn't have to know you've been." Makarov could see it was getting the fire mage down; he'd always been fiercely protective of his friends and particularly Lucy. He absolutely loathed it when he couldn't make her feel better. "I'm sure it'll work itself out, my boy, Lucy's strong enough to get through it, whatever it is."

"Yeah, Natsu! Lucy's beaten worse than some sickness bug before, she'll be fine!" Happy chirped in, his eager expression popping up in front of Natsu's.

"Your right, come on then Happy, let's go. See ya, Gramps." Natsu feigned a smile for the old man and left the room, his lips dropping into a frown the moment the door slammed shut.

It wasn't that he didn't believe them, he knew Lucy could cope, that wasn't the problem. His issue with it all was that it didn't seem to be acting like any ordinary ailment. It affected things that it shouldn't and that made him feel even more incompetent than he already did, but worse than all of that, he felt helpless.

The dragon slayer was desperate to get some answers to what was wrong with his pretty blonde and there was only one way he knew he could do that. If he went to the old woman healer to ask for advise, that would go directly against Lucy's wishes; but on the other hand, could he really sit around and watch her suffer the way she had been?

If she would just let him ask for her like Gramps had suggested, she'd be better in no time. They'd even be able to go on that job together, he knew how Lucy was with money and that was one hell of a reward he'd just passed up.

All this crap was doing his head in, he needed some fresh air, some time alone to think things through before he made any rash decisions. Happy had wanted to stay behind at the guild. Glad the cat could see he needed space, Natsu headed out of the door, ignoring his guild mates shout out to him, they were but a buzzing sound amidst the chaos in his brain. Not up to explaining it all to them, he continued forward, legs guiding him towards the park.

It'd been hours, well, it'd felt like hours since he'd been sat there, in the same spot, entertaining the little one who was playing in the grass. Haru had a way of making everything bright in the dullest of moments. His little face was so cute and his smile so happy, it was hard not to mirror. Seeing the world through the infants eyes was both refreshing and simple, with everything so new and exciting, Natsu found himself getting excited for him. But that usual happy, contented feeling had been duly quashed by everything else on his mind and it was starting to irritate him.

"Whatcha got there? A stick? If that's really what ya wanna play with then go for it, buddy." Natsu chuckled, watching Haru try to pick up a stick twice the size of him was a sight to behold, settling for munching on it instead, spurring Natsu into 'daddy mode'. "I wouldn't go eating that if I were you! That's gotta taste nasty and Mama's not gonna like it if she finds you with splinters in your mouth. Let's chuck it away and find something else to play with, how does that sound?" Natsu took the stick out of the baby's mouth and coaxed it out of his hold. Launching it in a random direction, he'd failed to notice the horror-stricken expression on Haru's face.

It began with a whimper, with his bottom lip jutted out and quivering, a full on wail came next, piercing the poor slayers ears, shocking him and making him wince. "Hey, no, don't cry! Daddy didn't mean to throw your stick away, er…" Struggling to find something to replace it, Natsu whipped his head in every direction, finally settling on giving his scarf.. "Here ya go, that's much better. You can suck on that as much as you want."

"Huh… So you do know how to parent, who'd have thought?" A low male voice mocked from above. Glancing up, Natsu saw none other than the ice-make mage himself standing there, half naked as always, smirking down at him.

"Well, duh! That's because I am one!" Natsu rolled his eyes like Gray was the stupid one.

Huffing at his friends idiocy, Gray ignored him and sat down, greeting little Haru with a smile and a wave. "You're looking much better now little guy, everyone was worried about you yesterday!" Ruffling the baby's thick hair, the young man chuckled, in turn, receiving incoherent babbles back. "Although you on the other hand…" He turned to Natsu, "What're you doing out here by yourself? It ain't like you to want peace and quiet."

"What's that supposed to mean? I like it every now and then; there's nothing weird about that." Natsu had avoided eye contact with the raven haired mage since he'd sat down. He knew he was acting odd, but he just couldn't help it.

"When it comes to you, Flame brain, it's very weird. And you didn't answer my question." Gray knew something was up, regardless of how often they fought, they were very in tune with one another, some would say in a brotherly capacity. "If you're not gonna tell me, I could always guess? And from where I'm standing, it looks like something to do with Lucy, am I right?"

Natsu tsked, pretending not to be impressed by the half-naked man's insightfulness. Gray waited patiently for an answer, a smirk ever present on his face. But he received nothing from the suspiciously quiet Natsu, which, in itself, was his answer. "Right, so it's about Lucy, that's obvious. Did she finally kick you out?"

"What? No, why would she do that?" Confused, the pink haired man turned to his rival and knitted his brows together.

"Alright, well, I thought maybe she'd come to her senses, ya know." Gray cocked his brow up teasingly as he took great enjoyment in seeing the annoyance rise within the fiery tempered slayer. "Well, if it isn't that, then… huh… I got nothing… Just tell me why you're here, Natsu?"

"Well, why're you here, Snowflake? You don't have to be; you could always go bother someone else." Natsu bit back, not wanting this sort of interrogation and especially not from Gray Fullbuster, of all people.

"I could, but they're not as fun to annoy and I have my own reasons for wanting to see you."

The ice mage leaned forward to grab Haru and hold him in his lap, doing that funny baby talk thing and laughing when the infant responded. Natsu watched their small exchange, confused that Gray actually wanted to see him about something other than brawling. Intrigued, he waited for the topless man to start speaking.

"I actually came here to, er… well, apologise for something." He stuttered, placing his hand on the back of his head, whilst looking slightly embarrassed.

Natsu remained quiet, speechless in fact, not sure whether the guy was being serious or if this was some elaborate prank. Gray had never apologised to him before, so this was definitely a peculiar experience for the both of them, one to be cautious of.

"You don't gotta look at me like I've got two heads or somethin', I can be mature to admit when I'm wrong… sometimes." Gray added, not entirely keen on the shocked gawk he was receiving from the fire mage. "It's about yesterday actually. The way I reacted about helping Haru and our fight because of it; he's your son after all and it wasn't my place to say those things. I can't imagine how I made Lucy feel, she was struggling enough already without me making it worse. It was wrong of me to do that, so I'm sorry."

If he was being honest, Natsu had forgotten all about that, putting it to the back of his mind like he did with all of his bickering with Gray, it was the least of his worries at the moment. But the ice mage did have a point, their disagreement had gone beyond the boundaries of their usual rivalry banter, having brought not only Haru into it, but Lucy as well.

"I didn't mean to explode like that, I've kinda had a lot going on and I took it out on you guys." Gray added, his earlier smirk gone and mood now dampened.

Natsu could see the man was troubled; something was bothering his friend deep down under that hard exterior, but was reluctant to say what. He'd been eyeing him carefully; he knew him apologising smelt off and now he just needed to know why?

"Yeah, so quit broodin' and spit it out." Natsu said, not wanting to give away too much that he was concerned for his frenemy, but also completely clueless as to what he might tell him.

Sighing dejectedly, Gray answered, "Natsu, what's it like?" He couldn't bring himself to look at the fire mage, his eyes trained on the infant in his lap.

"What is what like?"

"You know, this." He gestured to the infant playing with his father's scarf, still comfortably sat in the ice mages lap.

"You mean having a kid?" Natsu asked, garnering the attention of said child when he spoke. "It's the best thing ever!" The young father exclaimed with his usual, vibrant enthusiasm, lightening the mood without even meaning too. "Why'd you wanna know?"

At first Gray stayed quiet, not knowing how to answer that question without it all becoming too real for him. He was worried for sure, scared of the unknown, not knowing if he was prepared enough for such a life changing experience, yet now, he really had no choice and it didn't take long for Natsu to cotton on to what was going on.

"Oh! I get it! You're just worried that your kid ain't gonna be as great as mine." Natsu smirked at Gray's dumbstruck expression, chuckling as he turned his attention to Haru briefly, "Did ya hear that kiddo? You're gonna have a new buddy to play with!" Sniggering, Haru gave one of his 'Natsu' grins and decided to crawl his way over and sit in his fathers lap instead.

"Whoa! Hold on a second! I never said that; who said I was having one? Maybe I was just asking out of curiosity?" Gray began fidgeting, his eyes shifting between Natsu's knowing eyes and his smug grin.

"Uh-huh… And if I were to go to Juvia right now…"

"No! Okay, you're right!" Gray panicked, waving his hands to stop Natsu from getting up. "Please don't do that, she didn't want anyone knowing until she felt well enough to return to the guild. She wanted to be there to tell everyone herself. Which is fine but what a pain it's been having to pretend she'd caught some weird bug on her last mission and that's the reason she hasn't shown her face recently."

"Why is she sick?" Natsu asked, curious to find out more. He didn't know a whole lot about what women went through when having a baby, he'd never experienced that with Lucy—they'd skipped that part. "The baby makes her sick?"

"Well, yeah, and a bunch of other stuff. It's like living with a bag of hormones at the moment. One minute she's normal, then she puking her guts out, then she's crying for whatever unknown reason. Honestly, man, I don't know where my head is at right now, I just can't keep up!" Gray sure did look frazzled, now that he had openly said it out loud, his own mood swings and weird behaviour made a bit more sense.

"Hasn't Juvia always been like that? Apart from the blowing chunks bit."

"I guess so, but now she's even crazier."

"Aren't you happy about it though? 'Cause I'm sure Juvia is." The slayer asked, curiously.

"Yeah, sure I am, but I'm terrified too. It's just weird ya know? And with her magic acting up lately, she hasn't been able to go on any jobs with me." Gray shrugged, not seeming too bothered by it.

"Wait, what did you say?" Natsu's mind had gone into overdrive the moment those words left the demon slayers mouth. "The baby… It affects her magic too?!"

"Yeah, it drains her, makes her sick and tired. Although, Porlyusica said that's a symptom that eventually wears off." Gray said, eyeing the dragon slayer as his eyes became like two saucers, a gaping mouth to match. "What? Did I say something?" Not having a clue what was going on, the ice mage stared at his friend, not knowing what he'd said wrong.

"N-No, it's, uh, L-Lucy, she's… I gotta go!" The pink haired boy hopped to his feet and as quick as lightning he was in the distance, yelling his thanks behind him.

"Wait, Natsu! You never told me… what was wrong with Lucy?" Already out of sight by the time Gray had finished speaking, he sighed and shook his head. "That idiot…" He muttered under his breath, ignoring the horrified stares of the people around him as he took himself out of the park, never looking down to see that he'd lost his trousers now too.

#nalu #Natsu and Lucy #nalu fanfiction #fairy tail nalu #natsu dragneel #natsu #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #happy (fairy tail)#fairytail #fairy tail 100 year quest #fairy tail 100 years quest #fanfiction #nalu fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction writing #natsu x lucy #lucy heartfilia #daddy natsu

64 notes · View notes

falling-fineline · 4 years ago

Text

Thin White Lies/Lines

Summary: Luke's mind was unwell, it told Luke lies, these empty sounds and endless stories that filled his mind until all he heard were lies, lies, thin white lies.

Warnings: self-harm, alcohol, marijuana

:readmore:

Luke hasn’t stopped drinking ever since he got the text from her, in which she ended their relationship abruptly. The message had read:

“It’s not you, it’s me. I moved out when you were gone on tour. Have a good life, babe! Xx”

Just getting home from tour, suitcase in hand, a breakup text was the last thing he thought he’d get when he caught up on his messages on the car ride back to his own place.

He had entered his house, now empty of any life. Just like the text message had said, everything of hers was gone from every room.

A familiar numbness settled over Luke as he dropped his suitcase by the door. His footsteps echoes against the tiled floor as he padded over to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a hefty shot of tequila, downing 3 shots as if he was drinking water. The evening sun began to set, light shining through the kitchen curtains as he mixed himself another larger drink and carried it out onto the deck in the backyard. Walking past the microwave, the red digital numbers read 7:12pm. Saturday.

Now 2:23pm, Tuesday, Luke spent the last 3 days alternating between hefting drink after drink into his system and smoking a joint whenever he remembered in his drunken haze that he actually has some beside him.

The news had gone around of Luke’s breakup the day after the text. Luke’s phone had been blowing up with worried texts from Calum, Ashton and Michael, among others. Luke had shut his phone off on Sunday morning, tired of pretending to be ok.

Luke can vaguely tell that he’s going through the stages of grief. The denial was easy to move on from, the text message from her had been final.

The anger hit him like a pale of ice-cold water was unexpectedly poured over his head. The ugly heat burrowed deep into his mind poured from up above, down his neck, across his broad shoulders and manifested itself in tension all throughout his body from head to toe. The anger soaked into his clothes until he stank with it. The anger manifested itself as Luke’s old bad coping mechanism: cutting.

Luke had stumbled up the stairs, making the short trek from the kitchen to his washroom though his wobbly legs almost gave up half way up.

In his drunken state, he shouldn’t be mixing substances. But that’s what he goes to do, reaching for the half empty bottle of ibuprofen to hopefully stop the pounding in his temples. He swallows it dry, only washing it down with a handful of tap water when he begins to cough from the dry pill dragging down his throat. The pain wakes him up a bit.

In the bathroom, Luke takes a pair of scissors from the drawer and goes in search of a razor. He finds a new one in its packaging in the next drawer down. After successfully disassembling the thin metal blades from the razor, he hold it up to his face for close examination. Eyes fixated on the shiny blade, it takes him a while for his eyes to refocus on the background. It was then that he realized he was now staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. Luke didn’t recognize himself. He looked small, thin, clad in his acid wash Rolling Stones t-shirt and his briefs. The same clothes he wore when he landed in LA a few days ago. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes. He grew some facial hair in his wake. His hair greasy with dirt and smoke. He was a sight alright.

The bargaining stage began when Luke sat on the edge of his bathtub, his left leg hiked up on the toilet seat across from him, a thin razor blade in his right hand.

Luke's mind was unwell, it told Luke lies, these empty sounds and endless stories that filled his mind until all he heard were lies, lies, thin white lies.

The voices sounded just like him. But they said things that he wouldn’t usually say. The voices told him he was worthless, unlovable, unwanted. The voices sang songs about how lonely Luke felt, the words rattling around in his mind, making him go mad.

Luke moved the cotton material of his briefs up his left leg, revealing pale skin that had faded scars scattered in a somewhat orderly fashion. One, five, ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty. Red beads of blood began to flow out, like some twisted game of dominos, out from each cut one by one. One after the other. Until they all bleed red. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. He cut deeper than he thought he would. It was as if he was entranced by the blade, the cold slide of the razor against breaking skin.

Luke slides down the side of the bathtub, until he sat on the cold tiled floor, feeling the cool temperature radiating off the tiles. His back pressed against the tub as he looked down, his briefs that he hiked up now damp with blood.

Despite how panicked he should be feeling right now, the weed he smoked earlier and the whisky he drank when he woke up at 1pm numbed him. Enveloping him in a cocoon of pseudo warmth, the numbness was welcomed anyway, anything so he doesn’t actually feel the physical pain he should be feeling right now and the mental anguish that he’s been feeling for a while now.

Luke reaches out for his phone that’s beside him when his vision blurs for a moment.

////

“Hello? Hello? Luke? Wassup man? Was actually about to call you, buddy. I wanted to see how you were doing. Luke? Are you there?” Ashton held his phone closer to his ear, stopping his meal and standing up, giving kaykay a confused look. They were dining outside at a little café a block from their neighbourhood, about a 10min walk, 5min sprint from his place.

Silence filled the other end. Ashton takes the phone away from his ear to see the screen light up, indicating that he’s still on a call with Luke.

Ashton’s about to hang up to redial when he hears Luke. A quiet “Ash…” filled the phone line and into Ashton’s ear.

“can you… come over, right now? I need…help.”

Fabric sounds muffle the receiver from Luke’s end as Ashton begins to panic.

“Luke? What happened? Are you alright? Talk to me bud.” Ashton runs a frantic hand through his long locks as he waits for Luke’s response. As the older lad turns to tell his girlfriend that he’s got to go right now, Kaykay’s already waving him off, concern clear on her face.

A sob breaks out from Luke’s end as Ashton begins sprinting the 8 minutes it takes to Luke’s house from the café.

“I don’t think I like me anymore, Ash.” Luke said, tears evident in his voice. His voice is echoed, so Ashton guesses he’s in the bathroom.

Ashton all but slams through the front door once he got his keys out. One hand still holding his phone to his ear, the older lad starts yelling for the blond, rushing to the bathroom up stairs.

The sobs from the phone become clear as day as Ashton climbs up the staircase two at a time. Ashton reaches to open the bathroom door only to find it locked.

Hanging up his phone, Ashton knocks.

“Luke, you in there?”

No response. Just sobs can be heard from behind the door.

“Buddy you gotta let me in so I can help you. C’mon. Lemme in.” Ashton softly says through the wooden door. A moment passes before a thud, then footsteps, then a click of the lock.

Immediately swinging the door open, Ashton his shocked to see the younger lad standing upright. The shock quickly grows to concern when Ashton’s eyes flick down to see red blood seeping from Luke’s left thigh.

“Luke…” The older lad has unfortunately seen this sight before. Years ago, when they were still teenagers touring with One Direction.

The older lad all but scoops Luke into a hard embrace, not minding the blood that must be spreading on his own jeans right about now. The younger lad feels frail in his arms and Ashton’s heart breaks at the sight of one of his best friends.

Luke all but collapses into Ashton’s arms squeezing him tight.

“You’ll make it out of this, buddy. I know you will. You’ve survived this before, and I know you’re strong enough to make it out of this time too. I love you, Michael and Calum loves you, the fans adore you, we’ve got our families back home in Auz. that love you. Its all gonna be alright, Luke, it’ll be alright in time.”

#luke hemmings #5sos #5 seconds of summer #one shot #drabble #fanfiction #thin white lies #self harm #alcohol #marijuana #TWLL #lashton #my work

17 notes · View notes

wwitbeyondmeasure · 5 years ago

Text

Summer At The Burrow - r.w. fan fiction

Previous Chapters

Introduction

Author’s Note

Chapter 1: The Journey to The Burrow

Chapter 2: Hidden Letters

The beaming face of Mrs Weasley was one of your favorite sights in the world.

"Oh my dear!" She exclaimed, bustling towards the Ford Angelia. She wiped her hands on her floral apron before crushing you into a tight, loving hug. Glaring at her sons over your shoulder (she still didn't approve of them flying the car), she smoothed your hair down and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you so much for inviting me this summer, Mrs. Weasley," you said once she let you go.

"Of course, dear! I know Ron was so excited to have you stay with us," she told you as she gave both her sons a quirk, yet terse, kiss on the cheek. The mention of Ron's name made the twins wiggle their eyebrows teasingly as you felt your face heat up.

"Come on, dinner's almost ready," Mrs Weasley announced, "Percy is working, and Ron is out, as you know, but the rest of the family is here so we will need to set up the large tables outside." Mrs Weasley snapped her fingers at Fred and George who were hoisting your trunk out of the back of the car.

"You two," she directed, "I'll magic her trunk upstairs while you set up the tables. And remember- no funny business. I've had it up to here with your tricks and pranks and the summer's barely started!" she exclaimed.

Giggling slightly as Fred stuck his tongue out at his mother, you turned to watch Mrs Weasley in awe as she raised her wand. Your trunk started lifting gently into the air, flying towards the house. As she focused on her spell, you watched as Mrs Weasley directed your trunk through and open window a few floors up in the house.

It was astonishing to see magic used so casually around a household. You weren't allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts yet and since your parents were Muggles, this was a new sight for you. No matter how strange it felt, you found yourself excited. A whole summer full of magic and your best friends, what could be better?

"Dear, you'll be staying in Ron's room until he returns, is that alright with you? It'll only be for a couple days," Mrs Weasley told you.

You nodded quickly, "Yes that's great, thank you again for letting me stay."

After she reassured you that it was really no trouble, Mrs Weasley led you inside The Burrow. Your jaw dropped as you took in their home. Magic seemed to be pouring out of every item in the house. The dishes were washing themselves, a pair of floating needles were knitting a scarf, and a peculiar clock was hanging on the wall that had all of the Weasley's faces on it. The clock had each family member pointed to a different location. As Mrs Weasley said, all of them were facing "home", except for Percy which was pointed at "work" and Ron who was facing "Diagon Alley."

"What's Ron in Diagon Alley for?" You asked out loud in the living room. "Is he buying something?"

"It's a surprise," came a familiar voice. You spun around to see your close friend, and roommate at Hogwarts, Ginny.

"Ginny!" You yelled as you ran to her and engulfed her in a warm hug. She returned the gesture and laughed at your enthusiasm. Even though it had only been a few weeks since school let out, you feel like you hadn't seen your friend in forever.

Although Ron was your best friend, it was nice to have your girl friends as well. You always looked forward to nights staying up late in your dormitory with Hermione and Ginny where you could freely gossip and joke without the boys listening. They, unlike the twins, were very understanding of your hidden feelings for Ron and didn't try to pressure you into confessing them.

A loud thud, followed by boisterous laughter, broke you out of your thoughts as you and Ginny rushed outside to see what the commotion was. Lying flat on his back, a large wooden table pinning him to the ground, was none other than Bill Weasley.

The first time you had met Bill was when the Weasleys had come to visit Ron at Hogsmead in your second year. That day was unforgettable. It only took one look, and you had your first crush. He was tall, lanky, with long hair and a dragon tooth earring, and you were done for. You spent a majority of the next few months pestering Ron with questions about his mysterious older brother. After a while, he got so annoyed with you that anytime you even said Bill's name, Ron would threaten to write home and tell his brother that you were secretely a half-goblin.

Your crush on Bill eventually faded and from there on out your feelings for him disappeared with it. He was still your first crush, and your heart still rattled against your ribcage when he winked at you from underneath the wooden table, but you knew nothing would ever come of it.

The twins fell into another fit of laughter at the sight of Bill splayed on the ground, obvious that he just lost a mid-air table fight that Ginny said were common at the Weasley household before dinner time.

After the tables had been assembled properly and you helped lay out the plates, Mrs Weasley brought the food to the table. The sight of fresh salad, roast potatoes, chicken-and-ham pie, and meatballs with onion sauce made your mouth water as you realized how hungry you were. Once the food hit the table, forks and spoons were already digging into the delicious meal.

You were so pleased to be eating with the Weasleys that at multiple points at dinner you felt yourself gazing around the noisy crowd, beyond thankful for the millionth time that day to be staying with them the whole summer. You grinned as George put two breadsticks under his mouth to look like a walrus, which earned a laugh from both Fred and Ginny. Mrs Weasley and Bill were arguing about Bill's earring again, and Charlie and Mr Weasley were deep in conversation about the next Quidditch match between the Falmouth Falcons and Holyhead Harpies.

Once dinner was finished, you helped clear the table and went to the kitchen to ask Mrs Weasley if she needed any more help. You offered to do the dishes, but she only laughed as she waved her wand and the plates started bubbling with soap and scrubbing themselves.

The family said goodnight to each other as the sun set and you followed Ginny up the stairs, parting with her once she pointed out where Ron's room was. You thanked her as she trudged up the stairs to bed and you slowly pushed the door open. Once or twice you've caught yourself wondering what Ron's room looked like, but no amount of thought could have prepared you for the vast amount of violent orange that hit you once the door opened.

You walked into the room, spinning in a circle as you took in the decorations. Covering every inch of the walls and ceiling were Chudley Cannons posters. You knew the Cannons were his favorite Quidditch team but this was really some dedication.

The messy pile of school books and parchment shoved in the corner of Ron's room made you laugh. You knew this summer you were going to have to pester him to complete his summer work or else it will never get done.

Closing the door behind you, you set your trunk on the bed, the sheets also a bright orange color, and pulled out your pajamas. You hastily changed into them, feeling quite odd to be taking off your clothes in your best friend's room, and then put your trunk back down on the floor.

The bed sank underneath your weight as you sat down, pulling the covers over yourself. You took a deep breath in and smiling subconsciously as you realized the sheets smelled like Ron's shampoo.

As you reached to turn off the light on the nightstand table, something caught your eye. Hidden underneath the table was a light brown shoebox, labeled with what looked like your name on the side. Before you could even think about it, your hands were reaching down and pulling the box onto your lap. Sure enough, "y/n" was scrawled onto the box in Ron's slanted handwriting.

Was it an invasion of his privacy to open this box? You wondered to yourself. It's in his room, obviously hidden under the nightstand so nobody except him could find it. But it has my name on it, so surely I'd be allowed to look at it. Right?

In the end, curiosity got the better of you and you flipped the lid open.

Inside were hundreds of pieces of parchment, with black inked handwriting sitting inside. Upon closer inspection, you realized every piece of paper was from you. Every sly note passed in Charms class, every silly cartoon you drew of Snape, and every letter you ever sent Ron was sitting in this box. Your cheeks flushed as you picked up a longer letter you wrote him.

Last June, when your parents unexpectedly left for another foreign trip again, you confided in Ron about how lonely you felt. That summer, you and him exchanged long letters constantly, talking about anything and everything. The fact that Ron had saved all of those letters, just as you did in the drawer in your room, made your heart warm.

Sighing lightly, you put the letters back into the box and put it in its place under the nightstand. You turned off the light and soon were met with just your own thoughts to keep you company.

You drifted to sleep with the thought of Ron's hidden letters, wondering if this meant he felt the same way about you. Pushing the thought out of your mind, you hated to get your hopes up, you flipped to your other side and tried to go to bed. But Ron's smell was still on the pillowcase and you fell asleep with the freckled, red haired boy on your mind.

#ronweasley #ron #ronald weasley #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley fan fiction #ron weasley imagines #ron weasley imagine #ron weasley oneshot #ron weasley oneshots #harry potter #harry potter fan fiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter oneshot #hogwarts #wattpad #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction

151 notes · View notes

mo-mo-and-porkchop · 5 years ago

Text

Freedom is a state of mind

Vikings Fan Fiction

Chapter 10 (Chapter 9 here)

*I do not own any part of the Canon Vikings characters. It is simply my interpretation. I make no profit off of this.

**I do own the original characters and everything associated with them.

Tagging for updates: @whenimaunicorn , @captstefanbrandt , @kenzieam , @mblaqgi , @wish-i-was-a-mermaid , @microsmacrosandneedles , @babeyouareenough , @youbloodymadgenius , @yourpurplequeen

She finished taking care of him for the night before making her way away from his room, stopping in the doorway. Nervously she glanced back at him.

“If there is nothing else, I will return in the morning to change your dressings,” she added flatly.

As she waited for him to break the silence she felt as she would be sick. Her stomach did flips and her heart raced. Her fingers trembled as she held to the frame of the door. The memory of the raids and what she'd lost had gripped at her heart, squeezing it mercilessly. She hadn't been hit with such grief since the tragedy had struck and desperately wished to be relieved of her duties for the night. Thankfully he waved her off in dismissal.

He shifted an arm up under his head as he laid in bed after she'd left. He still felt that initial tug in his gut every time she was near. It was a puzzling feeling. One he had neither felt nor understood any better as the months passed. He couldn't help but wonder what it was that pulled him to her the way that it had.

His mind wandered over the possibilities as sleep began to weigh against his eyelids. Ivar's eyes fell to the doorway as he rolled over and for a fleeting moment she stood before him. A smile tugged at his lips as slumber washed over him.

------

Ivar's brothers couldn't help but notice he, more often than not, was off in the forest and that she was also m.i.a. along with him.

"Where do you think he goes?" Hvitserk asked Ubbe, nodding in the direction of their brother as he caught sight of him crawling from town.

Ubbe watched until he disappeared among the trees. "I don't know," he offered simply.

"He is different, yes?" Hvitserk asked turning back to his brother, his curiosity getting the better of him.

He couldn't deny the change in Ivar's behavior. One most would never notice, but the sons of Ragnar were brothers and saw things hidden to the rest of the world. It hadn't taken him long to notice Ivar's calmer demeanor. There had been no outbursts. No instigation. Not even an arguement between him and Sigurd.

"He has been much more quiet lately, yes," Ubbe agreed.

A wide grin spread itself across Hvitserk's face. He'd been wanting to figure out the mystery ever since the air had begun to change around Ivar. Asking Sigurd was out of the question, the youngest brothers' relationship already shaky at its best, but he wanted help.

This was his chance.

Ubbe's eyes finally found Hvitserk. Whenever he got that glint in his eyes they always ended up in trouble. He doubted now would be any different.

"No," Ubbe said firmly, though it was hard to resist the urge to go along with whatever scheme Hvitserk was planning.

His grin deflated immediately. "No what?" Hvitserk asked feigning ignorance to Ubbe's presumptive denial.

"No to whatever it is you are plotting," Ubbe said definitively.

"What are you denying our brother now?" Sigurd asked casually as he came upon his brothers at the market.

"Nothing," Ubbe lied, his eyes staying with Hvitserk a moment longer. Regardless of Hvitserk's involvement in any mischief, the eldest son of Aslaug knew absolutely nothing good would come from Sigurd finding out about Hvitserk's offer and tagging along.

"Then let him do whatever it is he wants to do," Sigurd offered in defense of Hvitserk.

Hvitserk's eyes caught sight of a familiar, raven-haired slave headed off in the same direction and quickly sided with his older brother.

"Ubbe is right," he said with a quick smile. "It is nothing."

His brother looked at him quizzically, but declined to dig further into his sudden change of heart, hopeful he had listened to him for once.

"I have found something much more entertaining to do anyway," he lied with a sly smirk, motioning to Maragrethe as she walked past through the crowd.

Sigurd and Ubbe followed where he pointed; Sigurd smirking deviously and Ubbe's jealousy creeped up knowing what the two would end up doing. Hvitserk left in her direction, but changed his path for the woods as soon as he was clear of his brothers' sight

------

"No. Like this. Ég er Glohg-ving-uhr ehld-hoos-feef-uhl pah-kah-roif."

"Ég er Gløggvingr eldhúsfifl bakrauf," she repeated with a prideful smile. Ehrlana felt she now knew enough to pass for any other Northerner thanks to Ivar. Surprisingly.

"Good," he said with a slight chuckle.

"What?" she asked growing suspicious.

"It means I am a stingy good for nothing ass," he admitted letting his laugh grow.

"Ivar!" she said feigning offence.

She pulled a bit of grass out and tossed it his way, but laughed all the same. He batted the blades away, his laugh dying down.

"You know enough. What else is there to teach you?" he asked with a shrug.

"I guess nothing," she said convincingly with a sigh, lying back on the ground. "You are useless now."

"I am not useless," he started angrily.

She didn't fight verybhard to contain her laughter.

"That is not funny," he said with a slight pout in his voice.

She shifted an arm under her head and watched as the clouds drifted by in the early evening sun. "I was only joking," she admitted.

Ivar was the one thing that kept her safe among Kattegat and its residents. Everyone feared his wrath and wouldn't dare touch what was his. Including her. But it wasn't his protection alone that made him useful to her. It was their unspoken friendship. He was the one person who, ironically, made her feel normal. Declan was a friend and an ally, yes, but he still treated her as her father's daughter - as a fragile princess. Ivar simply let her be and she returned the favor.

"I know that. I am not stupid," he countered; though a smirk tugged at his lips.

Their ease had been an unexpected side effect of his lessons. One he hadn't fought. He wouldn't deny it felt good to have at least one person seemingly accept him. He also wouldn't let it cloud his judgement of her however. She was after all a slave. He knew what levels they would stoop to in order to gain their freedom. Ehrlana hadn't yet tried anything near as disgraceful as Margatethe, but he wasn't letting their budding friendship distract his knowledge that one day she would. They all did eventually.

-----

The scene unfolding before Hvitserk was far from what he had expected - though he hadn't been one hundred percent sure of what he would have found, but Ivar getting along with her was the last thing he'd imagined.

-----

Ehrlana watched the clouds as they drifted by. "You could teach me the ways of your Gods," she offered as a solution to their educational plateau.

Ehrlana had been watching as the others participated in the celebrations. She’d always been warned about the pagans and their violent nature. While the sacrifices were brutal, she began to understand why they did the things they did. She wasn’t sure if it was the shock to her system at such brutality or the passion they all seemed to share for their rituals, but whatever the reason, their steadfast belief in the Gods fascinated her.

"Won't your Christian God become jeslous," he added with a laugh.

Her family, their people, the neighboring countries…all of them practiced Christianity. But Ehrlana was different. She always had been. As she grew, her need to question her path in life had grown along with her. A non-believer was valueless to her father and he had been furious with her after voicing the curiosity; making sure to keep her aversion well hidden and contained - never surpassing the initial defiance.

"This my home now, yes?" she replied, ignoring his mocking inquiry.

Unexpectedly his heart jumped with her words. Excitement sent a slight chill over him. "Is it?"

She sat up and looked directly in his eyes. It had been long enough that she knew she was here indefinitely. Even with the scare of being discovered, her family had yet to show. If Kattegat was not her home by now it never would be.

"I have not left." Though they both knew as a slave she had no power to decide on travel plans. "I have been here long enough to accept your city as my own. Kattegat is home. You have taught me your tongue well. Now I wish to learn your customs. Of your Gods. The harvest celebration will soon be upon us and I want to be a part of it. I can think of no one better to show me how," she added playing to his ego.

He forced the smile that attempted to show itself away. He would never allow her to see how excited he was to convert a Christian; even if it was just Ehrlana.

"I will think about it," he said with a shrug and slid from atop his rock to leave.

Ehrlana smiled, knowing he would eventually agree. "Then I will wait eagerly for your decision," she said playfully as she stood and followed him. Both unaware of his brother's prying eyes.

-----

As the weeks turned to months Ehrlana’s paranoia over discovery relaxed more and more, eventually fading away. But it would soon return.

She was back at the market restocking ingredients for another batch of Ivar’s balm, it now a part of their nightly routine. And even though he never admitted it, she saw how well it was working. His had pain visibly lessened and she’d been forced to wake him each morning. It was a small victory, one unacknowledged, but a victory nonetheless.

Addis caught sight of her familiar face and followed Ehrlana from stall to stall. His breath nearly caught when she turned his way. He'd been right. Ehrlana was in alive. And here, in Kattegat.

As she made her way to the next stall his voice called out her name, just as Ivar crawled around the corner of a nearby building. The unknown man rushed over to her spouting off something about raids on her homeland and her father. Declan's warning of her discovery and the fear she'd felt came flooding back.

This is who Declan had warned about!

She desperately wanted the man to stay quiet. She grabbed him by the arms to stop his excited movements. He continued rambling on as her eyes darted around looking for Ivar. He had slowed to a stop, hidden and watching. “Ní rachaidh do chabhair ar aghaidh,” she said with a rushed smile.

Speaking her native tongue was the only way to ensure Ivar wouldn’t understand anything if he was near. Her voice was soft and feminine, but there was a ferocity behind it that conveyed her seriousness.

"Ach ní féidir linn labhairt anseo. Buailfimid anocht. Seolfaidh mé focal. Anois téigh.” Her gaze eventually left him and found Ivar. “Téigh!”

Her chest tightened. She could feel the heat of her skin as it flushed with fear.

Her eyes found his and she wrestled it into control and tried her best to prepare for what was to come next.

She glanced over her shoulder at Addis while he rushed from the square. She couldn’t help but notice he left in the direction of Declan’s as he disappeared behind one of the many buildings. When she turned back she fully expected to be met with a barrage of questions from Ivar, but he'd continued on toward the Blacksmith's. Strangely he had decided not to confront her, though she knew he'd seen them.

------

Addis fled to find Declan to tell him of his news. "Declan! Declan, she is here!” he said between breaths when he’d caught up with him. “Ehrlana….I have found her,” he finished, closing the gap between them.

His voice fell to a whisper. As if the two were conspiring against the Queen of Kattegat herself. But this was their way out of this place. This was their way home. He didn’t need listening ears to ruin his plans of leaving.

Declan’s heart dropped. His mind went blank, desperately trying to find a way around all of this. “In a few months time you and I will be in the King's hall, feasting on our behalf,” Addis continued excitedly before Declan could speak. "I’m sending word tonight."

Then, just like that he’d gone, leaving Declan more worried than ever. He had no idea what to do. He'd tried his best to keep Addis from seeing her. He'd run circles around the two for weeks now. The man had no clue just how much danger he could be putting her into. Declan knew Addis was only thinking of the wealth and fame that would come along with such a rescue. He knew the man would spin a tale of some damsel in distress that he valiantly saved. He may have been his father's friend, but he was a storyteller first. Addis could make shoveling manure sound impressive. Especially if it would give his reputation a boost.

-----

Ivar's attention was grabbed with the initial shouting Addis had done. It was the same man who'd been with Ehrlana earlier. He met with someone Ivar had never seen before. His watchful gaze remained focused on the two men when her name was mentioned. From his perch in the blacksmith's he could see everything. He only wished he could hear them.

Sparks flew from the blade he was sharpening, landing in nearby piles of hay unnoticed. Smoke slowly began to rise.

"I do not wish to burn alive today," Sigurd said to his brother as he handed his axe to the smith. Only Sigurd's irritating voice could pull him away from the scene unfolding before him. "Perhaps you should stop staring at your boyfriend and pay attention to your work," he added pointing out at the two men.

Ivar sneered at his brother. Only Sigurd could manage to pull him from the scene. Thanks to him he missed most of their conversation.

"Jealous?"

Sigurd huffed and turned his attention to the smith, watching as his axe was sharpened. Ivar's eyes went back to Addis and Declan, but they had already disappeared. He would simply have to ask Ehrlana later who he was and what exactly he was up to.

17 notes · View notes

rhythmsectionbros · 5 years ago

Text

You Should Have Been There | a present QUEEN fic

current/present era

not shippy but multi-friendship Brian/Roger/John

PG-13 ~for language

words: 8.4k

summary: Jim Beach’s call was unexpected, perturbing Brian’s & Roger’s preparations for the coming 2020 European Tour, but it did pique their curiosity –or how an unexpected change is going to disturb their perfectly planned coming months (for the context of the fic, they didn’t talk to John in years -yes, i refuse to believe this is true irl but let’s say in fiction, it is!)

warnings: mention of death and fatal illness **if you are uncomfortable with such topics even in the world of fiction, please don’t read it**

A/N: sooooo my first ‘long’ fic (and likely my last!). This is, of course, 10000% fiction and I feel very insecure about it for plenty of reasons –you will understand when you will read it. In advance, I am very sorry if I offend anyone! AND THANK YOU TO MY LOVELY BETA ♥

you can read the fic on Ao3

and here a playlist i made on youtube to go with the fic

10th December, 3:20 p.m.

“Maybe it’s about a second movie?”

“For fuck’s sake Brian. I hope not!”

There is a ‘ding’ before the doors open and the two men walk out of the elevator towards Jim ‘Miami’ Beach’s office. His call earlier that week was unexpected, perturbing Brian’s & Roger’s preparations for the coming European Tour, but it did pique their curiosity. The remnant snow on their shoulders melting, Brian brushes the rest out of his white hair while Roger removes his scarf and rubs his nose with his thumb and forefinger, groaning quietly.

“It is Disney we are talking about Rog,” Brian continues and casts a glance over his bandmate who is still wearing sunglasses even in December. “They can do whatever they want. And without our approval.”

Roger rolls his eyes and snorts.

After a few more steps (and a few more cuss words from the drummer), the two men catch sight of Miami pacing back and forth in the corridor leading to his office. The producer spots them. “Hello, guys!”

“Hi Jim,” Brian answers with a smile, offering his hand, and Roger does the same.

“Hello, Jim.”

“Glad you could come even with the bad weather. Surprising for an early December, right? I know this invitation is unplanned but it’s always a pleasure to see you both.” There is an unusual tension in the older man’s voice, and a smell of cigarette around him despite having quit years ago. “When was the last time?”

“For the celebration of… something?” Roger jokes.

“Exactly,” the guitarist nods with a smile, white curls following the movement.

“Really?” He asks but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Hmm, please. Follow me.”

The three men pass by a receptionist, dozens of unknown faces and more gold albums hung on walls to finally reach the polished oak door of Jim’s office.

Without any warning, he stops and turns, Brian nearly running into him. “Look! I– it was not my idea, but I couldn’t really say no, you see.”

“Oh no,” Roger whispers under his breath as he takes his glasses off. “Brian, I think you were right.”

“What?” Jim frowns and shakes his head. “No, no. Look… Just, don’t hold it against me, alright?”

Their attentions are piqued once more.

The hinges creak lightly as the producer opens the door and the two musicians step into the office. This time, Roger is the one who nearly runs into the tall guitarist, all of sudden frozen. “What the…!” He looks up at his companion for a laugh but changes his mind when he sees Brian staring with intensity at something on the opposite side of the room. With interest, he follows the gaze. And he stops breathing.

There, standing across the table, a ghost.

“John.”

Brian’s voice is barely a whisper, but the name hangs in the air, out of place.

“Hello, Brian.” The reply is simple, short, almost absurd. Then, a light smile appears on his lips, and his eyes turn. “Hello, Roger.”

Silence is the answer from the drummer, who still doesn’t know the proper reaction to have. All Roger can manage is to bite the inside of his cheek, to prevent whatever feeling is about to come out.

In some way, Brian and Roger are not aware of the passage of time -their schedule relatively the same for 50 years (fewer parties tho), with concerts, rehearsals, tours, fans screaming their names… the pattern didn’t really change. And yet, now facing John, they feel the weight of those years in their very marrow. Their ex-bandmate looked the same, but oh-so different. John still has that smile and tooth gap, those unreadable greyish eyes surrounded by crow’s feet at their corners, that voice light like a cartoon character but sharp enough on its corners to cut you. However, he looks paler and shorter. The voice, raspier. No more hair, except on his temples. A little round belly and a weary face. Like theirs.

“This is a… surprise, to say the least.” Brian was always the diplomatic one, keeping his composure during interviews or answering questions when the other ones didn’t want to, and, well, he enjoys talking. So today, he decides once more to wear the UN Blue helmet.

John nods. “Nice euphemism Brian. I appreci-”

“I just remembered I have an important appointment,” Roger cuts John off, without sparing him a glance, “Like, right now actually.”

If eyes are truly the window to a person’s mind, then the drummer is literally reading in Brian’s eyes ‘What the actual bloody fuck Roger?!’ But instead, his older friend placidly asks: “An appointment?”

“Yeah, I can’t move it. Ophthalmologist,” he points at his eyes with a tattooed hand. “You know how long it takes to have a consultation.”

Behind Brian’s shoulder, Jim remains silent, way too familiar with Queen’s dramas to know when to step aside. The guitarist insists. “Seriously Rog’?”

“Yes, seriously Brian! I will call you later. Bye Miami.”

About to leave, his hand is on the door handle when he hears him.

“Roger.”

His good ear twitches at the sound and he turns to face his ex-colleague. “I have to leave your company, sorry. And maybe, oh I don’t know, you will never hear from me again,” Roger claims, a constricted grin on his lips, “But I imagine you are familiar with this concept, John.”

And then, he disappears, letting the door hiss quietly shut behind him. There is a moment of silence, a moment for the three other men to process what just happened. Once in a while, Brian too still tastes the sour vestiges of resentment and frustration, but he understands –oh yes, he understands so well why the younger musician decided to move away, and in all honesty, he has no right to judge him. “Sorry about that, John.” Brian talks first, and a wave of nostalgia hits him when he sees this old John shrugs nonchalantly.

“It’s okay. I expected such a reaction from him.”

“Well yeah… you know Roger.”

“No.” The pause after this word seems endless, “I don’t know him anymore.”

John’s trademark. The naked truth of what he is thinking, no matter if it hurts him or the one in front of him.

“And what reaction were you expecting from me then?”

“I hoped you would stay Brian.”

“I am staying.”

“Good.”

It’s not like these two men have never cared or loved each other. They are, reciprocally, both part of an interlude of 25 crazy years in each other’s lives, through thick and thin. Sure, conversation between them was not always easy –it happens between similar personalities, even if none of them would admit that fact. But now, in their twilight years, it seems that John is more inclined and at ease to talk with Brian, and such unanticipated development makes him smile.

“Okay, since the storm passed, I suggest we all take a seat,” Jim says and walks behind his desk to sit down.

John is about to follow suit and sit around the meeting table, but he stops mid-motion, noticing Brian is walking towards him. Unexpectedly, the taller man leans forward and wraps an arm around his ex-bandmates’ shoulders, drawing him into a short hug that’s awkward but, to John’s surprise, welcome nonetheless. He reciprocates, one hand resting on his back. “Did we already hug before?”

They pull apart and Brian takes a few seconds to consider the question. “I think we did, yes. Many times!”

That prompts a giggle from John, and both men eventually sit down around the table.

“So?” the guitarist starts with interest, “I guess you are not here to make small talks about families and such. Not that I wouldn’t love to hear about them.”

“Am I that transparent?” he jokes. “You’re right. They are all good by the way! But no, no. Actually, I have a favour –well, that is not the right word. I have something I would like to do but I won’t without your approval,” John explains, fingers running over the edge of the round table.

“Yeah, sure Deaky,” the old nickname slips out like it was never confined into the archive of Brian’s mind.

“It’s about my royalties. And my part in Queen’s legacy.” The words make Brian frown curiously but John carries on. “I no longer want to be the beneficiary of it. I want Veronica to be the exclusive recipient of any future income. I want her name to appear on any legal paper concerning Queen instead of mine from now.”

Silence.

“Really?” Jim abruptly asks from behind his desk.

John nods. “Yes. Look –it won’t change a thing for the other beneficiaries, you know? This modification won’t interfere with your royalties. Or Roger’s. Or anyone else. It’s just about my piece of the cake you know? And, I want it to be Veronica’s from now.”

The atmosphere changes in the room, just as the light in Brian’s eyes. “Right…”

“Brian look, do not think this request is about me denying or repudiating all I did with you. No. You’re wrong,” he explains, “…once more,” and adds with a sardonic smile the guitarist knows too well –that same mocking smile which often provoked feelings of homicidal rage from Brian decades ago. The vision is oddly soothing.

Brian smiles back. “I know Deaky.”

“And, I won’t do anything without your approval. Or Roger’s.”

“Well… as you said it changes nothing for us. So, I don’t see why I would have objections. And I think Roger wouldn’t be against it either.” Brian looks over his shoulders. “Miami?”

The manager holds his palms up in a show of agreement. “Sure. If everybody agrees… I guess you can come back in a week John. I will ask the lawyers to prepare them and the papers will be ready. Your presence is needed for the signatures though. Your wife’s too.” Jim flipped his datebook, nodding to himself. “What about next Thursday in a week, same time?”

A nod. “Alright,” the former bassist consents, quite pleased by the unanimity. “In a week. We will be there.” It seems like he wants to add something else, but his gaze gets drawn to his fists, both clenched and resting on the table.

“May I be curious?” The older guitarist asks after seconds of silence, “Why such a decision? Did you find some kind of trick to pay fewer taxes or…?”

John laughs gently, his reputation of being practical with money or even tight with it not forgotten. “I wish. But no, no it’s just—”

The sentence ends with a gap, so uncharacteristic of John. The man, behind his mask of quietude and composure, has one of the sharpest mind and tongue Brian knows -a talent that can make you want to curl on the ground and cry in two seconds. So, if John has difficulties to finish a line, it means something is very wrong. Brian instinctively holds his breath.

“I have cancer. Pancreatic cancer.” John states. “A quite aggressive one.”

Everything becomes much too quiet around them, and the only sound heard is a gasp from Jim.

Brian blinks and his intellect starts working quickly, as always, connecting the dots to remember what he heard about the disease and its possible outcomes. And what comes to his mind looks more like a noisy alarm siren with red flashing light than a formal report: Low survival rate. Between one to three years. Terminal.

His voice is nearly a whine. “…what?”

John stares at him for a moment, speculating what exactly the ‘what’ stands for, and decides. “I am at stage 4 to be more specific. They gave me between ten months and one year. And that’s why I want Veronica to be the exclusive beneficiary. I want to settle things, to protect my family,” he explains with a displaced monotonous tone. “I was diagnosed a month ago.”

No. Brian blanches. He feels the blood leaves his face and rushes to form a knot in the center of his chest. “How– why– Deaky, I…” He starts but doesn’t finish. “John did… how long…”

With a small smile, the former bassist takes pity of the guitarist and cuts him off. “I was diagnosed a bit late. I didn’t read the early signs properly I guess.” There is finality in his voice. “Cigarettes didn’t help either.”

And John shrugs.

He shrugs.

As if this didn’t really matter, as if he was talking about some restaurant that he didn’t like, and Brian only wants to grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him like he did a couple of times decades ago. Because no no no no no no it can’t be happening. Not again. In Brian’s rational mind, he is supposed to be the one dying next. The natural order. The oldest one. Not the youngest one!

“There is only a five percent chance of survival with surgery and very brutal chemo. And the survival is only of a few more months,” John continues steadily, “So I decided: no surgery or chemo.”

“Deaky! You can’t-”

“Don’t worry, I am not irresponsible,” he interrupts. “I have medication.”

Brian stares John over, lingering on his face, on how his hands rest on the table, rubbing his right thumb over the left hand’s knuckles; and maybe it’s cliché or not even true, but he’s now noticing how thinner and paler he looks. Not obvious signs, but there anyway.

“I had a very great life. I couldn’t have asked for anything more,” John continues, “Well, maybe the tiny regret for not having spent more time with a couple of friends,” he adds, chuckling humourlessly.

A blow in the guts would have been less painful, and Brian takes a deep, measured breath. “H-how has your family handled it?” The question sounds hollow, even to him.

“They have no real choice actually. The kids are dealing with it as best as they can. And Ronnie–” John pauses, feeling like a stone got stuck in his throat, and he swallows down. “–she has always been the strongest one. The rock of this family. I know she will endure and survive.”

“And you?”

“I am surprisingly fine. Tired, yes. But that’s all for now. The upcoming months… are going to be the hardest ones.” Again, a shrug. “Yeah, you really don’t need the details.”

They’ve gone from radio silence to nostalgic normalcy in the span of just ten minutes, and while they’ve been through too much to ever truly become strangers, Brian doesn’t expect to play the confidant yet.

“John–”

“It’s okay Brian. Look, I am not here to ask you or Rog or Jim anything, you know?” he says while observing the manager who is still hopelessly silent behind his desk and turns his attention back on his ex-bandmate. “I just thought that after everything we went through, the good and the bad, during years —I felt that I owed you that. I had to tell you, face to face.”

Loyalty. John decided to come out of loyalty. A hackneyed word nowadays, twisted and perverted in many discourses or ideas, but a word the three aging men understand at their very core.

“Could you tell Roger?”

“Deaky, I think… you should be the one telling him.”

“Well, I just tried,” John retorts with a tightening in his throat. “And I know you will handle him better than I, so… Could you tell him for me please?”

Brian nods, white curls bouncing around his shoulders, and John smiles. “Thank you.”

In a need of contact, the older man puts his hand on the younger one’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. Hazel and grey eyes meet and the moment lingers comfortably.

Eventually, John clears his throat, in fear that his voice would break the next time he opens his mouth, and speaks: “Okay, huh, that’s enough attention on my insignificant self for one day,” he says, hands on the armrests to stand. “I have to go anyway. A doctor’s appointment at the hospital.”

John gets on his feet. At the same time, Brian moves forward and before John can escape it, wraps his arms around him in a tight embrace. The youngest of the old men stands stiffly but relaxes eventually, his hands finding the guitarist’s back to return the hug. He tries to remember the last time they held each other like this, and the memory of Freddie’s death comes to John’s mind. It makes his full body contracts, and Brian pulls him closer.

“I can’t remember if I’ve ever said it—”

“Don’t,” John warns, aware of what is coming. “No Brian. You really don’t have to.”

“—I love you Deaky,” Brian finishes, his voice trembling from suppressed sobs.

They don’t say anything during the next seconds, words pointless. Too many years and too much practice of silence between them taught the two men when there isn’t really anything to add. John bites down on the inside of his cheek to prevent tears from falling down, but the grey eyes are already glassy.

“I was- I am an awful friend,” he confesses against Brian’s shoulder.

Tightening his arms around John one last time, the guitarist pulls back.

“Of course you are!” He smiles. “It’s because you’re not a simple friend Deaky. You are a brother. You are family. And family can be such a pain in the ass!”

The two men giggle and take advantage of this interlude to wipe away what remains on their moist cheeks.

“I –it never was my intention, to hurt you or Roger, you know?” John whispers, and Brian’s only reaction is his hand finding his friend’s shoulder again. “Never. And if I did with my distance or silence. I am very sorry. It’s just— I had to.”

“We know that.”

“Sorry.”

“No. Don’t.”

“Okay.” Another shrug, and if it is not from the red in his eyes, it would be hard to guess the tears John shed seconds ago.

“I would like to see you again,” Brian says with hesitation. “If you are okay with that of course.”

“Don’t feel obligated Brian. You and Roger own me nothing, and I don’t want to be a bother.”

“What? No. Of course you’re not. Look, I am not suggesting deep and long conversations –unless you want it– but, I don’t know… maybe next week, after you signed the papers with Veronica, you could both come for tea time at my place? Or maybe for dinner?”

The slight frown that appears on John’s face convince Brian to be more specific. “It will be just you, Veronica, me, and Anita. She will be pleased to see you both. Just a simple dinner. Nothing fancy. The four of us.”

And at his own words, the guitarist turns to the manager, remembering his presence. “Sorry, Jim.”

“No problem.” he replies and raises his hands in a sign of support.

“So… is it that okay with you John?”

The former bassist manages only a one-sided grin, sort of crooked and almost a frown but his features eventually soften. “Yes, why not? A simple dinner.”

“The simplest one, yeah,” Brian confirms with a reassuring smile and his hand leaves John’s shoulder. “Great.”

As the meeting is clearly coming to an end, Jim coughs and joins the two other men standing by the table. He offers his hand to John, who takes it happily. “So, John, you can come back in a week. Same day, same hour. Or anytime, really!” he specifies. “But in a week, everything will be ready for you and Veronica: papers, contracts, ink…”

“Thank you, Miami.” The man smiles and Jim returns it, before walking towards the door to open it.

“I promise I will make an effort for the menu.”

John looks at Brian as they walk to the exit and he shakes his head with that smirk. “Meat?”

“Well…” A pause. “I will find something. It will be edible. I assure you. Pizzas maybe?”

“Finally! I was running out of battery.”

The way the three men freeze on the threshold and turn in synch is almost funny to Roger. Almost.

Brian’s hazel eyes widen slightly. “Rog’.”

“You stayed?” Jim continues.

“As you can see Miami! But don’t worry, I was not eavesdropping at your door,” he says and points at the red leather sofa behind him, “I was just there, on this very uncomfortable couch, reading magazines or the news on my phone, waiting patiently.” He crosses his arms over his chest: “Your door is too thick anyway…”

“And your appointment?” Brian asks only to unsettle the drummer

“Well, I mixed the days. Blame my poor old brain.”

“You could have joined us.”

“Oh no, I didn’t want to trouble this heart-warming reunion between you,” he turns, casting a side glance at John. “To be honest I am stunned that you stayed and didn’t vanish in the middle of this reunion to disappear, as you know how to do so well.”

“Roger.” Brian snaps.

“It’s okay,” John cuts him off, “I guess I deserve it.”

Such a reaction was unanticipated, and Roger’s answer is silence, disbelief written all over his face.

John steps closer but doesn’t extend his hand, preferring to look rude and impolite than endure another rejection. He stands still and presses his lips together, weary eyes lingering on his ex-bandmate, silently trying to sear into his memory a last glimpse of Roger.

This is it. As simple words as they are, his throat tightens up around them.

“It was good to see you, Roger.” A silent beat. “Goodbye then.”

He gives a smile and a nod, and turns away.

A tiny voice in Roger’s head tells him to stop John, to ignore the last decade, to offer him a pint of Fullers and to catch up the time wasted. But a much bigger voice starts to list the ignored messages, the months and years of silence, the distance he unilaterally chose to put between them… After deciding to turn his back on what they created, Roger knows he won the right to do the same now. A fair giving-back. Right?

“Can we get inside?” the drummer heads to the office without waiting for an answer.

Jim follows, and Brian doesn’t move, wearing an unreadable expression on his face as his eyes are still lingering on the now-empty corridor. “Sure Rog’…”

The three men enter the office: Jim finds again his place behind his desk, Brian prefers to stay up, looking outside the window, and Roger, without knowing it, sits down on the chair formerly occupied by John.

“So,” he begins with irritation, “it’s not that I am curious, but what did he want? He was there to ask something, right? So?” Only silence follows. “Hmm, Miami?”

The direct inquiry startles the manager and he straightens up on his chair. “He –wanted to talk about his royalties.”

“What? Why?”

“He, huh, wants his wife to be the exclusive recipient of them,” he explains, fiddling with the edges of his notebook. “He said that it changes nothing for you or Brian or anyone else. And he is right! But he wants your approval. Both of you.”

Roger shifts slightly in surprise and his stare searches for Brian for clarification but his friend is still by the window, his back to him.

“Yeah… yeah,” he pauses. “Right. It changes nothing actually. So, yes, I have nothing against that. He can do as he wants. I don’t care. But why though?”

“You should have been there,” Brian whispers, looking outside as melted snowflakes cling to the glass.

There is a hint of something in his old friend’s voice that Roger doesn’t like. Steadily, he turns in his chair to look up at him who still staring at the cotton wool clouds.

“Well, I wasn’t Brian.” And it is not even an excuse. “So… that’s it? He only wanted to talk about business and cash?”

After years of distance and silence, John decided to return into their lives to talk about money? Incredible. Out of frustration, Roger releases a sigh despite himself.

“He wanted to say goodbye.”

A frown flickers across the drummer’s face.

“Goodbye?”

After seconds in which Brian seems to debate his options, he turns around, facing now his bandmate. “He is ill. Very ill.”

Roger stares at him blankly.

“Pancreatic cancer. Stage 4.”

And something like ice floods Roger’s veins.

“You know what it means Rog’.”

Yes, he knows what it means.

He looks up at Brian, then back to Jim, then back at Brian and –his brain may have short-circuited a little, the only thought crossing it being ‘not again’. He can’t follow the shape of his own thought, can’t understand what he heard. It makes no sense! John was standing in front of him one minute ago. He looked perfectly fine! “You… must have heard wrong.”

“I was there,” Brian says.

“So was I,” Jim confirms.

And Roger was not.

Once the computer error in his brain fixed, he opens his mouth but no sound comes out, a solid weight in his stomach making him want to curl.

“What—” his big blue eyes take a look up at the guitarist to find some support. “What did he say?”

Brian exhales, taking a few steps to pull out a chair, and sits down by his friend’s side.

“He talked about his illness. He said that he was diagnosed a month ago, that… there is zero to five percent of chance of survival with a very damaging treatment, so he won’t do it,” he explains carefully, and Roger doesn’t realize he’s shaking his head all along. “He has between 10 months and one year. More or less.”

It feels like every last nerve in Roger’s body is white-hot as his blood runs cold.

Brian goes on. “He said that after all the things we went through together, he owed you a face to face conversation. He is not asking for anything… he just wanted us to know.”

Another deep breath and the guitarist rests his elbows on his knees, hands together as if he is about to start praying at any moment. “He said that he regrets to not have spent more time with us. He said that he didn’t want to cause us any hurt. He said that he was an awful friend.” With each additional assertion, a new wisp of hurt flashes into his voice.

“He said that he was sorry,” he whispers now. “You… you should have been there Rog’.”

Yes. He should have been there. Another bad decision he can add to the list of bad decisions taken in the haste of extreme feelings. Roger’s face remains stoic, and if it weren’t for his eyes growing slowly reddish and glassy, you’d almost think he hadn’t heard a word.

He feels dazed.

“I must see him.”

“Not today,” is Brian’s response, and Jim nods silently along. “He has an appointment at the hospital.”

The drummer sighs out at last and looks down at his hands. They are shaking.

“Call him tomorrow. I know you, Roger… You need a night to sleep on it, before you decide what to do or to say, without regrets.”

This paternalistic tone is really not what Roger needs to hear right now. He rises, muttering something under his breath, and starts pacing around the table like a caged lion, until he stops, and is, in turn, the one at the window. No doubt that all the eyes in the room are on his back.

“I was wondering,” the guitarist breaks the silence, “Our coming tour is—”

Roger’s whole body instantaneously spins. “Are you really thinking about the tour right now Brian?!”

“Yes, I am Roger!” he retorts as fast. “Because if I count properly, and I know I do, we will be on tour when he will—”

The line remains incomplete in his mouth, too consequential to finish it, and Brian grimaces at his own words. Roger feels nauseous.

The two friends held a silent conversation, eyes locked, and neither looked away until there is a tiny, choked gasp from the drummer. “I have to get out there. I need a walk…”, he mumbles. “To clear my head.”

Brian stands up, looking over his shoulder at Jim who nods, and starts to pull on his coat. “Yeah me too. I’ll come with you.”

11th December, 4:37 p.m.

The snow is falling in heavy clumps and the house is quiet. Veronica is having lunch with a distant cousin, the kids are out for christmas shopping and John listens to the rare silence. He likes silence.

Then a clatter of metal and the man sighs. Walking the few paces to the couch where he previously left it, he picks up his phone, and read the name of the caller. Roger. He looks at the screen again, almost seeming to ignore the call and to let Roger leaves a message to a metallic voicemail. Knowing his reluctance to anything hi-tech, this prospect sounds truly tempting -but John decides to slide the green button.

“Yes?”

A sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a long silence. “Hello. I–”

Silence again, and John furrows his brow. “Yes?”

“This… this isn’t easy.” Neither is this conversation. “I mean, I– I’ve always preferred face to face exchanges.”

“I imagine.” It’s so…diplomatic. Roger is a lot of things in the memory of the former-bassist, and diplomatic is not one of them. But people change.

John makes his way to the bay window. Snow swirls in the air, smothering the flowers on the house’s facade with a blanket. But a navy blue form against the white stands still by the house’s doorstep and catches John’s attention. The sides of his lips tilt upwards.

“Sorry Roger, I have to hang up. There is a Jehovah’s witness at my doorstep.”

Without waiting for an answer, he ends the conversation and pulls back the curtains of the window to enjoy the scenery.

Outside, standing immobile at the front door, Roger’s expression passes from surprise to confusion and then pure irritation in a matter of seconds. John even read along ‘what the fuck? what the fuck?’ on his lips. It is hard to say exactly how long he has been out, in front John’s place, waiting for the right moment, but by the substantial amount of snow on his hat, a good 10 minutes.

Roger’s vindictive monologue with the door is interrupted by a tapping on the window. He turns his face and finds John’s amused one through the pane. Oh shit… He shouldn’t have come. He should’ve lied. No! He shouldn’t have called John in the first place. After decades of crazy decisions taken in hast, Roger seems to have learned nothing from them.

But the front door opens too quickly to turn around.

Roger straightens up his stand. “Huh. John.”

“Roger.”

“Can I come in?”

Stepping aside, John lifts one hand in the air to emphasis his point, “After you,” and closes the door behind the unexpected-guest,

Prudently, Roger makes his way in the entrance, shaking the snow from his hat and shoulders, and unwraps the scarf from his neck. He’s clearly tense, blue eyes darting around constantly as if to ensure he is in the right house. And he is, the moments he once spent here bursting in his memory through a vault he thought locked tight.

“This place didn’t change. At all.”

“I like that,” John says as he steps into the living room, where Roger already laid his coat on an empty chair. “It is reassuring to have the same stable foundatio- ”

“Were you really not going to tell me?” Roger interrupted.

“I tried to tell you.”

“Well, you should have insisted more!”

Everything is quiet around them. Not a sound comes from the house or the street, every noise muffled by the snow, and all both men can hear for a moment is Roger’s breath.

John sighs. “Look… if you came here only to be angry at me or to expound the many reasons for your hate for me, you should leave.”

“Hate?!” Roger face twitches like he’s trying hard to hold in a sneeze. “I don’t hate you! I wish I did though.”

“Okay… I guess?” To be honest, nothing is going on particularly okay. “So, huh, do you want to drink anything? Scotch? Water? Hemlock?” A white eyebrow raises at him. “Come on, you’re a biologist. It’s funny!”

“I’ve never b—” Roger suppresses a groan and John, a laugh. “Water would be fine for me.”

His answer is a smile and John disappears into the kitchen.

Hands in pockets, the old drummer shuffles alone into the living room, and he seems unsure how to proceed. He feels like an intruder. Out of place. Christ, this is awkward. The room is pleasant, elegant, and the furniture of good quality yet simple. Nothing too fancy or too modern -definitely not decorated by John. There is a table large enough to seat eight near the windows, and a corner sofa by the veranda, most likely placed there to take advantage of the light. He catches what he thinks is a dog bowl in the garden but John never has been very fond of pets, right? Or maybe his old eyes are playing tricks on him once more. And, in a corner, a Christmas tree with lace ribbons and ornaments.

“There is nothing in this living room indicating you were in a band,” Roger claims loud enough for John, a very slight tone of blame in his voice. “Or that you are even a musician.”

“There is a piano in the veranda,” he answers from the kitchen, “but it is Ronnie’s.”

“Hm.”

John returns in the living room, two glasses of water in hands. “You know, I keep one picture with the four of us, in what I consider my office.” Roger’s eyes narrow a fraction at these words. “My basement-slash-garage, where I tinker with my electronic clutter or do my correspondence. And, yeah? I think there are an acoustic and a Fender as well? Somewhere?” John hands the glass to his guest, who seems unable to tell if the last statement is a hoax or the truth. “Your water.”

Silence again, and John tilts his head to look at Roger like he’s actually waiting for something.

“Huh…thank you.”

“It must be hard.” The words come out with amusement but the jab is ignored. John sips, observing Roger over his glass’ rim. “Why are you here Roger?”

“Brian told me.”

“I already guessed that.”

Why is he here? No evident answer crosses his mind. He just felt that he had to come, something in his guts. Like when salmons swim back to the upper reaches of the river where they began their existence only to die there. Nothing logical. Only instinct.

“You cannot die!” Roger shouts, almost a command, and it rings almost comical.

“Why’s that?”

“You are the youngest one. You should be the one burying us all!” His voice is getting angrier with every word, and this is absolutely not what he planned to sound like.

John wants to be mad. He wants to abhor Roger’s presence for just showing up out of nowhere to yell at him -or worse, for coming to give his pity. But, he can’t. Disliking Roger always has been impossible.

He smiles. “Don’t be that pessimistic Rog’. We have a few months ahead before I’m gone. You may traverse the street tomorrow and be run over by a car?”

“Oh shut up Deaky,” he snaps, the affectionate nickname escaping his lips and Roger regrets this weakness right away. He closes his eyes… “It is your fault, you know.”

“The cancer?”

… and opens them again only to roll them in an excellent imitation of an exasperated teenager. “No, John! Not the cancer. The silence. The distance. The time wasted. The rest!”

It isn’t graceful, or polite, or remotely empathetic. The words are brash and a bit shaken, and John almost grimaces when he hears them. Decades ago, this could have been ignored with a ‘We all make mistakes!’ or ‘Shit happens…’ or ‘Fuck you Rog!’, and it would have ended with pints of beer –they threw at each other much worse insults. But after years of silence, and distance, and time wasted, John isn’t so sure anymore how to read Roger’s remarks, and Roger doesn’t know how to talk to John anymore.

Greyish eyes stare back into blue ones, before they fall on the glass he is still holding in his hands.

“Okay,” John says, “I really don’t need that right now, so…I will ask you to leave Roger.”

Without a sound, he passes by the drummer, walks towards the armchair in front of the coffee table, and sits down there. As his demand remains ignored, he reiterates it, pointing at the front door. “Please?”

Roger is a lot of things, but he has never been a coward –he’s never stepped back from responsibilities or desire or crazy ideas. Sure, fear has been there often, but never sufficient to make him flee, particularly for a friend. His fists clench. A friend.

Time seems to stand still as the two old men stare defiantly at each other, until Roger, notably, is the first to give up and to look at his feet. His breath comes out with a rare measure of apprehension and he decides to move, yet not towards the front door.

A half dozen steps and he is in front of John. He eventually sits down on the coffee table and opens his mouth only to close it, bearing a striking resemblance to a goldfish.

The two men barely spoke or interacted in the last decade, with the exception of small talks about business and money. It seems Roger has no idea how to start what it seems a difficult conversation and John can see his mind working towards some sort of complex solution.

“Roger?”

“Wait! I-” his index raises between them. “I’m thinking.”

“Okay.”

And they go awkwardly quiet again.

Roger leans forward to relieve some of his weight from the table, his fingers drumming nervously against its edge, and big blue eyes glance around as though the words may come from mid-air. By the fifth minute of silence, John comes to the conclusion that the duty to open the discussion falls on his shoulders.

“Look Roger, you owe me nothing,” he starts, calmly. “If you don’t want to be there, then just go. Do not feel obligated to do or to say anything. I don’t need your pity. And to be honest, I would really prefer your hate.” A faint smile lifts the corner of his lips. How typical.

“I could nev-”

Roger stops immediately. Another round of silence stretches into the air and he stiffens.

“Years ago, I… made a promise, Brian too, to someone very dear to me. And very dear to you. He has always known that you were the most fragile one. And even during his last moments he—”

He can’t finish the line, because even after almost 30 years, it is still impossible to wrap his tongue around any sentence involving Freddie and Death at the same time. He sighs through his nose and slams his eyes shut before reopening them. “I made the promise to look after you. To look after our little brother. And I… it feels like I didn’t keep this promise.”

The concept makes John frown. “Roger, there is nothing you could have done for what is happening to me.”

“I am not talking about that. I am talking about the rest. I…” Roger’s demeanour faintly eases, eyes finally showing something other than the sourness that filled them from the moment he stepped across the threshold. “We lost you.”

He clears his throat, another nervous reflex. “John, look! I know, I know, you needed that. You needed distance and time and to step away. Yes! And we accepted it. But in the end, it… it felt like we lost you. We lost another brother.”

A sincere, even affectionate, look begins to steal over his face. “And, and, and, maybe I am wrong, but I have the feeling you lost a tiny part of yourself as well with this silence. I don’t know. Perhaps it is selfish! Maybe, I’m overthinking, it’s just—”

He pauses to choose his words carefully. “I miss you. Not all the time! Not every day, but… I do. From time to time, I think ‘Oh I wish Deaky was there’.”

There’s a long break during which they just stare at each other. John smiles, close-mouthed but genuine, eyes dangerously glassy: “I miss you too you know? From time to time. Hell –I even miss Brian!” He jokes and swallows hard before breathing again.

There is the ghost of a grin on Roger’s lips. “It’s silly but, even if I know you retired, that you didn’t want to play anymore, that you put Queen and music behind you… I still had, deep down, hidden under tons of concrete made of facts and realism, I still had this insignificant, senseless, ridiculous hope that, maybe one day, you would want to play with us again. And now—” This is risky territory, and he knows it by the tremor in his voice. “—now this tiny hope is gone. For good.”

His eyes burn hot, and a sob tears from his lips but he isn’t crying. He isn’t. It’s like all his tension, all his resentment, all of his love is trying to escape him at once. It’s too much for tears. Roger just wants to bloody scream.

“Fuck, I… I don’t want you to die!”

John snorts at the request. “Me neither.” Without thinking about it, he places a wrinkly hand on his chest, like if trying to catch this failure, trying to control this bomb inside of him. “I am terrified.”

The unforeseen vulnerability of this confession deflates Roger’s composure. And tears finally start to spill out.

Christ, they are both fucking idiots.

“Why did we have to wait for such an event to talk to each other again?”

“I don’t know, really,” John breathes and wipes his nose with the back of his fist. “A few months ago, I wanted to see you, you know? I thought ‘maybe I could write to Brian? Or call Roger? Just like that!’. But yeah, I changed my mind I guess.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know… I thought, with everything happening to both of you now, maybe you didn’t c–” he stops, mid-sentence, like it’s getting too weighty for him to deliver another word.

The drummer remains still, quietly sniffing, until it dawns on him.

“–maybe we didn’t care?”

The only answer from John is a shrug. And Roger’s heart drops.

For a second, he wants to be angry again. How hard is a phone call, or an email, or a card to confirm if they indeed do not care about him? Hell, he was the one who stepped away, the one who said he w— This doesn’t matter. Something restrains those feelings: the idea that John imagined Roger and Brian ceased to care about him is devastating.

His lips part, grasping for words, and as they find they have none, Roger pulls himself to his feet. The move is fast, making John lean backward in the armchair to look up at him.

“Get up Deaky.”

A frown. “Are you going to punch me?”

“For fuck’s sa… I’m gonna hug you! And I can’t do it with you in this armchair without throwing my back out.”

“Look, you really don’t have to. Brian already hugged me twice yesterday.”

“Precisely. Up.”

After a sigh, John obeys.

The pair face each other until Roger moves forward and gathers the other man in a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around him. Chin on his ex-bandmate’s shoulder, John stands stiff. It is easy to let Roger envelop him with his affection and natural cheer, for he always had this mysterious gift to get people comfortable and warm, to drag them in his welcoming aura like a giant sun.

They’re still for a moment until John slowly places his arms around him in return. All the feelings rise again dangerously to the surface and threaten to pour out of him in a tidal wave of emotions.

Imperceptibly, Roger tightens his embrace. “No matter what,” —he hates how his voice sounds watery— “You’re my little brother. The only one I will ever have.”

Shock robs John’s senses for he isn’t sure if he imagined these words or not. He swallows and presses closer, clinging on tight as tears start to run over his cheeks. Maybe with this embrace, he will make clear that his distance was never against him or Brian. That he masks all his fears and hurt with spikes of silence and sarcasm because it’s easier for him to handle.

They remain locked in their embrace a few seconds longer. Looking at it from the exterior the scene may be strange, but these two weepy old men really don’t care.

They eventually pull back, both red-faced, cheeks tearstained.

Roger mumbles: “We’re too old for that.”

“Particularly you.”

“Please.” Despite the gravity of their prior conversation, the drummer can’t help but smile, and the knot in his chest starts to untie itself. He rubs his nose with his palm. “You know what? I could really use a scotch now.”

“Okay.”

Promptly, John walks across the room to reach a small cupboard and takes out a bottle of scotch. “Directly from Scotland,” he explains, the voice is still unsteady, and pours the liquor in Roger’s glass. “My son sent it to us. Be my guest.”

An offer hard to refuse. Roger lifts the glass and sniffs the sweet perfume before taking a sip: “Hmm, you don’t want to join me?”

“No. I quit.”

The drummer’s (still red) eyes widen slightly, for this is the farthest thing he expected. It is not a secret that John went through tumultuous and self-destructive phases, with excessive boozing and partying leaving him feeling depressed or hollow. But people change, for good or bad reasons. And the decision to quit alcohol seems to definitely be part of the good ones.

Even though there is this lethal sword of Damocles hanging over his head, John looks fine. Appeased. With a smile, Roger places a hand on the younger man’s shoulder to squeeze it slightly before pulling away.

His glass now empty, he places it on the coffee table. “So, Brian told me he invited you and Veronica for dinner, next week.”

“Indeed.”

“I was wondering… can I come too?”

“You are asking for my permission?”

“I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Roger admits. “If a dinner for six is too much, I would understand.”

His face is impossibly affectionate –to the point where John frowns, but he doesn’t avert his gaze. He has the impression that if he said ‘no’, Roger wouldn’t argue, would just accept the verdict without raising his white eyebrows or his voice.

“Are you sure you want to come?” John questions with a grin, and the drummer looks over at him with an expression clouded by anxiety. “I mean, who wants to have dinner with a sociopath?”

All the air leaves Roger’s lungs. “What?! No no no John, I’ve never…Well, I did but –Look! This wasn’t my intention. I-I was just–” he stammers, and the more he does, the more John’s smile grows, until a laugh bubbles out of his throat.

“It’s okay Rog’,” he says to save his friend from his ramblings. “I mean; I call you ‘that blonde blind bitch’ daily.”

“Oh shut up Deaky.” Again.

And with that, all the pressure in the room fades away.

“Of course you can come,” John speaks, “I think I can survive a diner of six, but… please Rog, could you both not talk about music the whole time?”

“Fine! I will let Brian make the conversation,” he retorts and crosses his arms over his chest in a scornful way that doesn’t augur any good outcome. “Prepare yourself for hours of ecological issues and useless details about wild animals.”

A laugh, this time shared by both men, and a weight lifts from their shoulders the exact second they reach this familiar territory of jokes and comfortable bantering. It is like coming back to a favourite place you were gone from for so long, but never truly forgetting which parquet-floor boards creaked.

“Alright, since we’re having this heart to heart conversation, I need to ask you the real question.”

The frisky tone makes John curious.

“Did you see the movie?”

He nods. “I did.”

“And? What did you think?”

Greyish eyes narrow a fraction, and Roger fights back a smile. Simply because that irritated look John is currently giving him is so John.

“Well,” John pauses, “The music was good.”

A short but genuine laugh escapes Roger. “Yes, yeah… the music was okay I guess.”

“Barely decent, actually.”

They keep talking like this for about an hour, exchanging anecdotes or little jokes. So many things happened during the last decades that functioning in a normal friendship is a back and forth struggle between small talks and unintended reminders of the past.

But they both believe that they are at the middle ground, and Roger is silently hoping that during the coming weeks, John will permit him to gain back a place in his life. But he has his doubts.

Only when John’s phone buzzes, that he checks the time. “Ronnie,” he says, looking at the message with a soft expression. “She’s asking me what I would like for dinner.”

John seems to think over his options as he quizzically stares up at Roger. Then, a frown, but a slightly annoyed one. “Huh… would you like to stay?”

It’s an innocuous sort of question but asked only out of politeness. And Roger knows it. No matter what, John is well aware of the social conventions when you have a guest -thanks to the 50’s strict upbringing- so he asks, because he had to, not because he wants to.

Roger shakes his head and grins.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I have a life you know?” The jest is light but true. Two of his children and Sarina are waiting for him at home, and he knows that he will need their love after the draining afternoon he went through. “And, we have a dinner planned soon, right?”

“Right.”

Both men stood in the vestibule; the drummer pulls on his coat carefully, then ties a scarf around his neck, and John remains silent, those inscrutable grey eyes observing his ex-bandmate.

“See you next week Rog’.”

With his hand on the door handle, Roger’s face turns with a smile. “Next week Deaky.”

~ f i n ~

PLEASE DON’T JUMP DOWN MY THROAT FOR THIS FIC!! this is a work of fiction and tbh, my main focus is on the reconcialiation and the dynamic betwen the three old men. if i offended any one, i am sorry!! in the end, i hope you enjoyed the reading anyway… feel free to tell me what you think of it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#brian may #roger taylor #john deacon #maylor #dealor #breaky #YES I USE THE SHIPS TAGS BECAUSE YOU CAN USE THEM FOR FRIENDSHIP RIGHT???#this fic was sooo hard to write tho #it took me more or less three monthes lmaooo #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction #queen #fanfic #You Should Have Been There #tears tears tears tears

106 notes · View notes

hungarianrhapsodyof1986 · 6 years ago

Text

Seven’s a Lucky Number (part three)

Night Three

When Ben woke, he was in the same cab with the same man beside him: Joseph Francis Mazzello III.

“What the hell is this?” Ben muttered. He could’ve sworn it was the exact same dream he had the previous night. And he didn’t even wake to see the morning. What the hell was going on?

“Ben? You okay?” Joe asked, turning to him, his features scrunched in a look of concern. “Is it jet lag? Déjà vu? What?”

Ben placed his fingers against his temples to massage it. Oh, he was getting a headache. “No, no. I’m fine. It just feels as if I’m repeating the same night over and over again.”

Joe patted him on the shoulder. “I know how that feels, buddy. Must be boring, huh?”

“Not boring,” Ben said his arms extended, bent at the elbow. He shook his hands as he said “it’s confusing.”

“Huh, must be like Groundhog Day for you or something.”

“Ground—what?” Ben asked, clueless of whatever the heck Joe was talking about. It sounded familiar, but he just couldn’t get a grip on it.

“Groundhog Day. You know, that nineties movie?”

“Must’ve forgotten about it,” Ben said, taking in deep breaths. He felt odd. He felt as if he wanted to throw up. This was all too much to grasp, and he was desperate for answers.

“Okay, so. There’s this weatherman dude who’s supposed to—okay, whatever. Basically, the day just happens all over and over again until he does something that ends that cycle.”

“Huh. Sounds like an interesting movie, but is that even possible?” Ben asked, confused by how he was hoping Joe would say ‘yes’. It seemed impossible to him still—nothing but the stuff of fantasy—but he was desperate, and a desperate Ben was an illogical Ben.

“Could be, buddy. Could be...”

Ben took a deep breath and felt Joe’s heavy gaze on him. It was weighted for a reason he couldn’t guess, but he couldn’t think about that now. All he could think was if it was possible, if that phenomenon could happen even outside the land of imagination and creativity.

To test that theory, Ben recalled the events of the first night, asking Joe “enjoyed Catalina, didn’t you?”

Joe perked up at that and replied “yeah, sure did.” He smiled. “Especially the boat ride.”

This is impossible, the still-rational portion of Ben’s mind told him. But Ben was willing to give in to the irrational part of it all.

Yet not too quickly.

“We are not talking about the boat ride,” he said. Joe just laughed, obviously recalling how he had practically tricked Ben and pushed him off the boat and remembering how Ben was screaming curses at Joe as he treaded to keep himself afloat. “Yeah, dunno how to feel about that.”

Ben took off his blue hoodie, not seeing how Joe watched the very motion.

The sad thing was, Joe had turned away and pretended to yawn as soon as he was back in Ben’s sight.

“It was hilarious,” Joe said, and Ben was stunned into silence. So this was really happening. He never thought it possible, but it was happening. “But I guess I still had to feel sorry for it.”

What could possibly end this cycle?

Ben hummed noncommittally and nodded his head, looking out the window, thinking of what he could do until he felt Joe shift beside him. Joe was leaning on his shoulder, snoring peacefully as he rested, and Ben could not help but card his fingers through Joe’s hair, the ginger strands yielding to his digits. It was a sweet moment, truth be told, and Ben found himself succumbing to lulling pull of sleep, Joe’s somewhat-feminine-smelling perfume adding to slumber’s call.

Ben welcomed the darkness.

***

Ben and Joe were in Ben’s living room.

Joe was seated on the couch while Ben was standing, gazing lovingly at the older man. It was like when he had joined Joe near the drum set, his head resting on his hip. Joe didn’t seem to notice.

“You want some wine, Joe? I’ve got some red in the refrigerator, lessened only bit,” Ben said. Joe nodded his head, his smile tired but extremely sweet. It made Ben’s heart clench in his chest.

“Sure thing,” Joe said sleepily. Ben chuckled.

“You sure?” Ben asked. “You seem like you’re gonna collapse before I enter the kitchen.”

“Nah, nah. Just go get us some wine.”

Ben brought the entire bottle back to the living room and placed it on the coffee table, sitting beside Joe. The latter’s sleep-mussed hair was entirely endearing to him, but he would tidy it if only Joe asked. After all, Joe’s wish was Ben’s command.

Ben poured the two of them a drink, and they toasted, toasting to the wonderful time they had in Catalina.

“Sure did make the fans rave, didn’t we?” Joe asked, and for some absurd reason, Ben felt hurt. Is that what all that was about? Was there not anything special behind his intention? Nothing at all but to please the fans?

He tried to keep the growing rancour out of his voice. He hid it with a short laugh. “Haha, yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. He stared off into the distance, fighting the urge to clench his jaw.

“Anyway, I guess I’ll be returning to New York tomorrow morning,” Joe said blandly.

Ben returned his attention to Joe. He was acting oddly. “Tomorrow morning? You must be joking!”

“You alright, Ben?” Joe asked. “You sound a little disappointed.”

Thinking about it, Ben did. But it wasn’t purely because he didn’t want Joe to leave. Who in their right mind would do that? He asked exactly so.

“Well, Ben, I’ve gotta return home sometime,” Joe drawled, as if it was incredibly obvious (it was, sort of).

The fight leaving him (only because he didn’t want to argue with Joe), Ben said “fine.”

The two spent their time in silence, drinking glasses after more glasses of wine. They didn’t need to say anything to each other, and the air was charged with a strange energy Ben could not identify.

Now, neither of them were lightweights, much to Ben’s surprise. Joe could handle his glasses as well as he could, and both of them were well into their second bottle of red and fourth glasses when Ben felt emboldened (unexpectedly) by the silence.

“Joe?” he called. Joe turned his head from where it was facing (out the window) and said “yeah?”

“I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Oh no,” Joe said, eyes widening. It seemed he already knew what Ben was going to say. “Oh no, no, no, no, no. Ben...”

“I lo—“

Joe raised a hand, interrupting Ben before he could say anything more. This time, Ben clutched his chest, the thin, loose white shirt he was wearing creasing underneath his fingers. “Don’t say it, please,” Joe said.

“I’m not drunk. I swear,” Ben said.

“I know you aren’t. It’s just... I don’t feel the same way.”

“You don’t feel the same way,” Ben said, then buried his face in his hands, utterly mortified. “You don’t... feel the same way.”

“I’m sorry.” Joe said, an air of finality in his voice. There was a moment’s pause before he continued. “I... I guess I should leave now.”

The couch’s cushion no longer dipped under Joe’s weight and Joe had already placed his wineglass back onto the coffee table. It was there when Ben knew Joe was serious about leaving. “No, no, Joe...” he said, “don’t leave. It’s alright. Really.” He reached out to grab Joe’s hand, but he stopped himself, realising it might be an awkward gesture for Joe.

“No, really, I think I gotta go.”

“Joe? Joe? Joe, no, please.”

But Joe was already grabbing his luggage and opening the door. Ben chased him down as Joe walked onto the road, hearing the sound of a car tire’s screech a second too late.

“JOE! NO!”

A flash of white, then Ben woke, triggering the event of his own accident. He had barely registered waking before he lost consciousness again due to the strong impact of another car against their cab.

***

A weak whisper. “Ben...”

Joe? What was happening? Why did the car stop? Were they home yet?

“Ben...”

It was dark, and Ben could not see anything; could only feel a warm liquid gush from Joe who was beside him. Joe was breathing heavily, his every inhale and exhale sounding like a weak wheeze. A cough, then another gush of wet warmth. The odourous smell of metallic blood wafted through the air.

Joe was bleeding. Quickly.

“Ben, I don’t want to die.” Joe sounded completely frightened, and that sparked a cold, cold fear within Ben.

“Joe, Joe, you’ll be alright,” Ben said, panicking. “You’ll be alright. Just hang on.”

“Be—Ben, I...” Joe coughed again. “I d—d—don’t th—think I’ll la—last long...”

Ben tried to place a hand against Joe’s cheek to reassure him, but once he tried moving his arm, a great pain lanced through him, and he cried out. He swore. He could feel blood trickling down his own cheeks, and he could now register the unbearable hurt that coursed through his body, causing his breathing to grow erratic and his heart to speed its beating.

“Joe. Listen. You’re g—going to make it—t—t. He—hear me?” Ben said, talking through the pain. “You’re going to make it.”

“Ben... I... Ben...” Each word was growing fainter. Joe was dying. Joe was dying just right beside him, and he couldn’t do a single thing about it. Nothing could possibly hurt him more than to see Joe in the scene of the accident; be beside him, totally helpless.

“No, J—Joe, no. K—k—keep talking, b—buddy. Keep talking.” Ben said, just as helpless as Joe who was already giving into the darkness of death.

“Ben.” It was nothing more than a whisper now. “Ben...”

A heavy weight fell onto his lap, and Ben registered it to be Joe. He had collapsed, and Ben dared to reach out to him, going on despite the pain and placing his ear against the back of Joe’s chest, dismayed to feel nor hear no beat coming from within.

Joe was dead. Again.

A tear slipped from Ben’s eye as he closed both, welcoming the delightful darkness as a thought passed his mind.

He had failed.

***TO BE CONTINUED***

Just a note:

The scene wherein Joe tells Ben “I just don’t feel the same way” is nothing more than Ben’s nightmare. This is will influence the flow of the next nights. Thanks for reading! :)

#joe mazzello #ben hardy #hardzello #hardzzello #fanfic #don’t worry part four’s coming very soon!

13 notes · View notes

misssophiachase · 6 years ago

Note

Mini Prompt - Klaus kisses Caroline at midnight on NYE and it leaves her a bit flustered, although she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it.

Thanks anon! I wish I had this for Klaroeve. I hope you like my take. It’s based on lyrics from New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift, one of my faves. As per usual I’m not too good at sticking to the whole ‘mini’ premise of a drabble, must be your amazing prompt!

New Year’s Day

Hold onto the memories…

PresentDay – Austin, TX

Caroline Forbes hated New Year’s Eve.

Well, since five years ago.

It had become a well-known fact within her family andclose circle of friends both in her hometown of New York and now more recently in Austin. Thankfully no one had dared to askwhy she’d changed her tune so suddenly and that was just fine.

So much so that she insisted upon being left aloneevery year. And for the most part they did so because she was like an extremelygrouchy bear with a sore head. Obviously December 31st, 2018, was anotherstory altogether. Her friends had bravely, or stupidly, decided to poke said bear.

Caroline had bought the supermarket out of ChunkyMonkey and was preparing her first movie. Who didn’t want to watch the Notebookon New Year’s Eve? It wasn’t like the occasion could get any moredepressing, right?

“Ohgod, kill me,” she heard that familiar voice before she saw its owner. “Talkabout depressing.” It was like she could read her mind.

“Idon’t know, Ryan Gosling isn’t too bad to look at, Kat,” the other familiarvoice offered.

“Weare trying to get her out of this sick and twisted situation not remind herthat Ryan Gosling is hot and a totally worthy reason for staying home on New Years.”

“Wayto convince her to come out,” Bonnie drawled, sarcastically.

“Yourealise I can hear you both, right?” She murmured, chomping on some butteredpopcorn and not bothering to turn around knowing her best friends were standingimpatiently in her kitchen. “And while we’re at it, remind me toconfiscate your keys to my apartment.”

“Canyou just drop this whole hostility act, it’s not attractive, Care,” Katherinechided.

“Saysthe girl who is crashing my private movie marathon?”

“Youneed an intervention, enough is enough,” she huffed, her high heels clicking onthe floorboards. Caroline didn’t have much time to react given her supposedbest friend had stolen the television remote and turned everything off.

“Youdidn’t just do that, real mature Pierce. Who are you anyway? The fun police?” She snapped, a comment more than a question. Katherinelifted the remote above her head so she couldn’t snatch it so easily.

“If you think she’s the fun police, you really do need help,” Bonnie added. “This whole, weird tradition needs to be broken.”

“Ithought you were on my side, Bon?”

“Notsince you decided that outfit was acceptable even behind closed doors,” shesuggested. Caroline looked curiously at her combination of pinksweatpants and a blue and orange Knicks jersey and decided it was just fine.

“Iknow you’re a Spurs fan Bonnie but even that comment is low.”

“Justplease stop being snarky and put this on,” Katherine drawled, holding up whatlooked like a small, black garment.

“Byitself?” Caroline baulked.

“It’sa dress, Caroline,” she shot back.

“Areyou sure it’s not a belt?”

“Howold are you again?” Caroline narrowed her eyes in her friend’s direction. Shewas on the older side of twenty-seven but there were moments her Great Aunt Mabel decided to takeover her body. Caroline chose to think this was one of those occasions.

“I’mnot getting off this couch until you tell me what’s going on?” She scoffed.

“Fine,”Kat replied gruffly, relinquishing the dress (or belt) momentarily. “Youknow that guy I was telling you about?” Before Caroline could mentally trawl through theoptions, Bonnie interjected.

“No,not the Italian model, the Australian magician or the Scandinavian fisherman,” sheclarified. “This one is an art critic.”

“Wow, those are the hardest nuts to crack,” Caroline replied knowingly. She was a singer by trade, doing mostly small gigs around town but had met a few of those in her time performing at art gallery exhibitions. “ And I reiterate my previous observation,” she whistled thinking back to the most difficult of them.

5 years earlier…NYC

It was that ominous New Year’s Eve five years ago when she met a difficult art critic for the very first time. While his suit was impeccable, his attitude and supposed manners were grating on her last nerve. She was hoping to escape as soon as their set was finished.

The room was full, barely enough space to breathe in fact. Caroline had finished her song and made her way to what she thought was the back exit for some air but obviously took a wrong turn.

Caroline didn’t consider herself an art expert but she was neither excited nor moved by the works on display. She’d walked in circles, not expecting to meet someone obviously worked up and pacing the length of what looked like a back room.

“Sorry,” she offered, his eyes meeting her gaze unexpectedly. Caroline would be lying if she wasn’t aroused in that moment by his sinful, crimson lips and a stray dimple. “I took a wrong turn.”

“Do you like the art?” His question blind sighted her briefly. Caroline knew exactly what she thought but given they’d never been introduced formally and this guy was the artist paying her bills she was reluctant to speak.

“Well, um…”

“This work is rubbish don’t you think?

“Well, it’s not really my place…”

“Why, cat got your tongue?”

“Fine. If I’m being honest, it seems kind of forced.”

“How so?” She paused, wondering why this guy was so eager for her amateur opinion. “The truth, please,” he implored, she couldn’t miss the desperation in his tone and those pleading eyes.

“Honestly? It has no heart, it’s cold and unfeeling,” she admitted. “But please don’t tell the artist, I’d like to be able to pay my rent next month.”

He’d stared at her for a good few minutes and she wasn’t sure what he was going to do next. Turns out he didn’t have to say anything. She’d obviously said too much and kicked herself mentally. Caroline always spoke without thinking and this instance was no different.

The chants from the art gallery increased in volume and they could hear each number as it was articulated for countdown purposes. Still their eyes never lowered or deviated.

8….

“I hate New Year’s Eve,” Caroline murmured trying to break the tension.

“Me too,” he replied, a slight and unexpected grin tugging at the ends of those lips. “Even more than gallery showings when you hate the work your publicist has chosen without permission.”

6….

“You’re the artist?” She squeaked, “I thought it was the rude guy in the suit.”

“No, that’s my older brother,” he murmured. First she’d insulted his art and now his own brother. “He’s an art critic and thinks he knows everything. My sister is the publicist.”

“Well, I’d be firing their incompetent asses now, unless it makes things awkward at Christmas, of course.” she smiled, hoping a bit humour would dig her out of this big hole.

4….

“Who says it wasn’t awkward beforehand? I know you’re a singer but if there’s any chance you want to be my publicist let me know.”

“I’m not the nagging type but I’m also not the kiss-your-ass type either.”

3….

“Why? Don’t you like my ass?”

“If I was your publicist right now I’d say that ego is not attractive,” she shot back slyly. “And it might be difficult for me to lie if I was asked to deny it.”

1…

“I wouldn’t want you to lie, love,” he murmured. “Your honesty is the best part about you.”

As the countdown ended and the cheers sounded out, it was as if an invisible magnet pulled them together. She thought he was a bit of an ass and he seemed to be going through an artistic crisis, but their kiss lasted much longer than the prescribed time.

And it felt good.

So good.

Caroline didn’t want to enjoy it or him but the idiot had messed with her resolve. She pulled back, trying to find her balance and bearings as she did. “I’ve got to get going and sing some Auld Lang Syne.” She couldn’t miss the disappointment as it crossed his face.

“Thank you,” he offered as she walked away.

“For what?” She couldn’t resist, turning around briefly.

“For being honest.” She smiled briefly, the warmth flooding through her body before heading towards the make-shift stage.

She left not long after her set finished making her way from the venue. She hadn’t seem him again, probably best because guys like that weren’t her type. It was only when she passed him conversing with a very annoyed brunette who was questioning his absence during the countdown that Caroline realised he had a girlfriend but was kissing her instead. Her instincts were obviously right.

Unfortunately she hadn’t stopped thinking about him or that kiss since. He’d sparked something inside that Caroline hadn’t expected. Bastard. She’d even shamefully looked him up on the internet and realised he had multiple girlfriends around the place. She really should have known.

Caroline had always hated New Year’s Eve but now she decided it was best to avoid it at all costs. It was too much trouble.

They will hold onto you…

“He’sholding a party tonight at a place called the Original Gallery. Ineed to be there,” Katherine pleaded, choosing to ignore herindiscretions. “I think this guy is my soulmate Care, I can just feel it.”

“Andthis is your way of convincing her to come, how?” Bonnie rolled her eyes.

“You know art, Care. It would help if you were there as my wing woman.”

Granted she loved to visit galleries in her spare time and had recently enrolled in an art history course at UT but it didn’t make her an expert. Far from it, in fact. This was most definitely a stretch on Kat’s part, not that she was surprised.

“How about no?”

“How about you think about it and lose some of that Creature of the Black Lagoon act, you know hating everyoneand everything in your wake?”

“Another stellar reason for her to agree,” Bonnie observed.

“Please Care, you can stay in the corner of the room away from all people if that helps.”

“And Ihear the Hors d'oeuvres are going to be phenomenal if that’s anyconsolation,” Bonnie suggested.

Caroline bit her lip, torn between helping her annoying friend and the comfort of her couch. If she had any doubts, they were sealed when Katherine removed the remote control batteries and placed them securely in her purse.

“You are officially evil,” Caroline scowled.

“Howabout we talk about this while you change,” she smirked, throwing the dress (orbelt) in her direction. She was tempted to wipe the triumphant expression fromher face but decided to leave that for when she needed it most.

“Ihate you.”

“Ilove you too, Forbes.”

Fastforward three hours and Caroline was attempting to pull down her dress withoutmuch luck, it was still too short for her liking. If she had something else She was gladat least that Katherine and Bonnie seemed to be otherwise engaged.

Turns out Katherine had a thing for the art critic she’d met all those years ago. He still looked good in a suit but if anyone was a match for his disdain it was Katherine. His brother Kol, an indie film director, was in deep conversation with Bonnie.

It gave her chance to peruse the artwork, and it was some of the most brilliant she’d ever seen. What she hadn’t expected on entering was it to be at his show.

Of all people.

Caroline had no intention of seeing him again. She wasn’t some groupie even if his work was suddenly brilliant. She also noted that the clock was moving freely past midnight and the lastplace she wanted to be was in a big group of strangers.

Carolinetook the opportunity to escape towards the toilets. In her haste shemissed the marked doors and found herself in what seemed like a makeshiftstudio. It wasn’t her first getting lost, after all.

The lights were dimmed but she could make out the canvases lined upagainst the walls and the easel in the centre of the room which caught herattention.

Carolineshivered slightly, not sure whether it was the cool temperature or thespectacular art stealing her attention. She noticed a white, paintsplattered shirt hanging nearby, slipping it over her barely theredress without much thought. Suddenly she felt extremely comfortable, it didn’thurt that the familiar scent emanating from the collar was the perfect mixture of spiceand soap.

Shemade her way towards the easel, her hand reaching out and tracing the longbrush strokes.

“Doyou usually break and enter and steal people’s clothes?” She couldn’t see him but his crisp, Britishaccent was messing with her concentration. Mainly because of just how familiar it was, even after five years.

“Itook a wrong turn,” she shot back. “And it’s pretty cold when your bestfriend decides you should wear a belt disguised as a dress.”

“Funnyyou mention it, I have that problem all the time.”

“I’llbet you do,” she laughed. It was nice to let loose for a change. As he came into view it was difficult not to react. The semi insecure artist from years ago was oozing confidence in dark jeans and a grey henley. “I’m sorry to tell you this but your work is kind of…”

“Kind of?” A low, self-conscious growl emanated from his throat.

“Is someone worried?”

“You were the one who made me better before but if I need a kick up the ass I’m willing to take it.”

“Well, given our history, you know I’m not a fan of your ass,” she teased. Apparently he was an ass but it was so difficult not to react to his banter.

“I signed up to the gym straight away, my New Year’s Resolution,” he shared. “I also tried to track you down but you never returned my messages. I’d be lying if I said you didn’t give me a complex and not just because of the body shaming.”

“Says the guy who was absent from sharing a midnight kiss with his brunette girlfriend. I saw you two when I left.”

“I didn’t have a girlfriend,” he murmured, his mind obviously racing. “Hayley and I had a brief thing but she turned up that night insisting we get back together. I haven’t thought about anyone but you since that night. She was never really my type.”

“And what is your type exactly?”

“Smart, beautiful, feisty and outspoken. Tells me my work is bad, tells me my family are overbearing and that I’m an arrogant ass. And looks far better in my shirt than me. All of it factually correct.”

“Was there any question? But also….”

“Hang on, I wasn’t finished,” he interrupted. “You were the only person who was honest about my work. You saved me.”

“Now, I think you’re being a little dramatic,” she murmured, hoping he wasn’t. “Why are you here of all places?”

“I’ve been trying to track you down for years,” he said before clarifying. “I hate New Year’s Eve but you made it better five year’s ago and I’m hoping you’ll consider..”

“Consider what?”

“A truce of sorts.”

And I will hold onto you…

#ask #answered #thanks anon #klaroline drabbles #misssophiachase #new years day

27 notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 4 years ago

Text

Jupiter’s Legacy: Leslie Bibb and the History of Lady Liberty

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This article is presented by:

Leslie Bibb successfully made the transition from modeling to acting, making her television debut 25 years ago in the TV series Pacific Blue and on the big screen a year later in Howard Stern’s Private Parts. Since then she’s appeared in more than two dozen movies and a wide variety of TV shows, including the main cast of The Big Easy, Popular, Line of Fire, Crossing Jordan, GCB, Salem Rogers: Model of the Year 1998 and the forthcoming Home Movie The Princess Bride.

Fans of the superhero genre will undoubtedly recognize her as reporter Christine Everhart in Iron Man (2008) and Iron Man 2 (2010). Now she gets to don the superhero costume to fight evil as Grace Sampson/Lady Liberty in Netflix’s Jupiter’s Legacy, and in the following exclusive interview she details her road to discover who Grace is as a person and the experience of shooting the series.

VITAL STATISTICS

NAME: Grace Kennedy Sampson

ALTER EGO: Lady Liberty

POWERS AND ABILITIES: Super strength, speed, and sight; power of flight; some level of invulnerability; knows when people are lying.

NEED TO KNOW: Wife of Sheldon Sampson, mother to Brandon and Chloe, and founding member of The Union. She’s the glue that holds the Sampson family together.

What’s it like to wear a superhero costume?

When I put it on, I was, like, “This is pretty badass.” Listen, I felt that maybe I’d missed that window to be a superhero, so to get to do it … well, I feel really lucky and excited. And to be able to do it on this level, because Netflix really wanted to do it right, is amazing. What attracted you to the show?

I like just getting to kick ass and all that, because it’s fun. But there has to be a story to it, otherwise who gives a shit and who’s going to come back if there’s not something that pulls you in to it? I remember when I read the first couple of scripts thinking, “Hmm, I’ve never read this sort of take on a superhero show.” I mean, there was the family dynamic—it felt Shakespearean a little bit and it felt like a family drama. And then there was the aspect of all of us in the beginning of the story, in the 1920s, where it felt like Mad Men meets Justice League or something.

How did you find Grace?

My mom passed away unexpectedly a couple of years ago, and I remember being struck with how I saw her change; how fearful she got as she got older.

Was it fear of her own mortality?

Fear of mortality, how she changed ideals—I just watched her change drastically, and she was so different. To watch that change was heartbreaking and confusing and scary. Because I saw fear, I saw perhaps regret, I saw all of these things. I got the show right after she passed away and what struck me about it were these characters, especially The Union. You see them when they’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in their 20s and so idealistic. And then, when they’re older it is such a difference and you don’t usually get that perspective.

It reminds me of what Coppola did with The Godfather and The Godfather Part II with the flashbacks. I’d never really seen a TV show do it, let alone a superhero show, but you get to see them change and how cool to create that moment where it starts to change.

One of my first big jobs I got was this movie called The Spouse and I had a picture of Natalie Portman that I cut out of Vanity Fair or something, and there was a quote with it that said, “Be the fearless girl your mother warned you about.” That quote always stuck with me, and when I got this part, it really resonated with me, because Grace, as you’re seeing her in the present day, has forgotten the fearless girl she was.

On this show, I really love that they created this character who, in 1929, works in a male-dominated world when women weren’t working; they were getting married and having kids. But she was the captain of a wrestling team. She didn’t have time for relationships. She was very career driven at a time when that wasn’t common for women. And she was a truth seeker, and vibrant and alive and didn’t take shit from anybody.

Did you tap into that fear?

What I incorporated, probably subconsciously, was the moxie she had when she was younger. Her fearlessness in a world that was very male-dominated. This is especially true for the first season, where it’s so important to show the idealism they once had.

I always said my mom was like a cat on a hot tin roof; she always landed on her feet. Grace is that way, too. Even if she’s scared, she’s going to talk her way out of it or find a way out of it. She’s going to figure it out. And looking at my mom led me to Grace’s beginnings. Also inspiring were people like Katharine Hepburn, Rosalind Russell, and Amelia Earhart.

I always have a lot of photos of my friends around, so wherever I go, I feel like I have family and friends with me. My trailer always has loads of pictures of them, but also incorporated are characters and people like Amelia, Kathy Hepburn… everyone laughed that I had Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones up there. I just find it inspiring to see all of them around you and they give me those things I thought was important to set up in the first season. Again, the idealism of where they started.

Is this a world you’d been very familiar with?

Comic books are not my world and I didn’t appreciate them, because I didn’t realize the artistry, storytelling and depth that go into comics. Now watching people talk about comics, I get very excited. For normal folk like myself, if somebody just said, “Oh, it’s like Game of Thrones or Boardwalk Empire,” you see that it’s all the same character breakdowns and it’s the same drama happening in these little worlds.

As always, the script is the thing.

The most important thing!

How would you say Grace evolves?

What you see with Grace, especially in the present day, is a woman who has the weight of the world on her shoulders, which is becoming more difficult, because her husband is digging his heels in and there’s no bend to him. But the world isn’t the same as it used to be. We’re bringing knives to a fight where people have drones. As a result, there’s a ripping at the seams and, at the end, her not toeing the company line, not standing in a unified front with her husband.

At the end of the day, they’re a married couple, and they’re a married couple who work together and live together. After a pandemic, everybody understands how hard it is to be with somebody 24/7, you know what I mean? It’s like, this is what this woman and this man have been dealing with.

Which represents quite the change.

By the end, she’s finding her voice and asking herself, “Where’s the fearless girl I used to be? What have I given up for this that maybe I don’t agree with anymore?” The set of rules that worked in 1929, just don’t work anymore and she experiences an awakening.

And it’s fascinating to see them questioning the beliefs they’ve always held, which is yet another reflection of where we’ve been in recent years.

That’s the beauty of comic books. It’s like Captain America coming in and saving the day or Lady Liberty coming in and taking the robbers away, making the world safe and it’ll be okay. But what we’re realizing is that you can be the strongest person in the world and be so weak when it comes to your children. You can be the smartest person in the world, but you can’t figure out love. Nobody is infallible. We all have an Achilles heel and none of us have the answer. Yet we think that we do. We think we know the right way. And there’s something interesting in that gray area with the show.

Any particular highlights for you of the filming?

The thing about the show is that it’s constantly morphing and reinventing itself. I want people to stick with it, because when we get to the island where they get their powers, it will be impossible for you to not think it’s the coolest shit you’ve ever seen. I just remember when we were filming it, it was weird, because the weather was really crazy. We were supposed to be on a little island. Puerto Rico had just been struck by a hurricane, so we lost that location.

Then we were going to shoot on an island in Toronto, but we ran over because of other things, so we couldn’t do that. So we had to make an island out of Toronto—our production designer was amazing. Anyway, we were filming one day and it was 60 degrees, gorgeous, sunny. We were, like, “It’s great that we’re going to be here.” And literally the next day there was a snowstorm. Our director, Mark Jobst, said, “We’re using it. This is what the island would do.” It was almost like suddenly art was imitating life.

When we were at a beach and we’d just landed, a rainstorm came in and then there was all this mud, so it was crazy. But the six of us truly felt so bonded during this whole experience that it just enhanced the chemistry. I know that we all felt like we’d been through a war together in this filming, because of the environment. It was just so out there.

So for an audience unfamiliar with the Jupiter’s Legacy comic, what do you think the power of the show will be for them?

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", mediaId: "1c23121b-6a7f-48bc-a21a-1c03021b2c78" }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

It’s really this epic, Shakespearean family story. It’s about human beings and power struggles. Plus, I think we’re all kind of our own superheroes right now. Our doctors and nurses on the frontline are superheroes. Families who are losing their jobs and pivoting are superheroes. We’re not going through a Great Depression, but that’s where our show starts and with the idea of having to reinvent yourself when the world gets turned upside down. So I hope the human story of it translates, because that’s really what we wanted people to see: these human beings and what they’re going through. And it just happens to be that their day job is that they wear capes and save the world, but they’re going through the same things that we all are.

The post Jupiter’s Legacy: Leslie Bibb and the History of Lady Liberty appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3tYQ1hc

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

0 notes

hiruma-musouka · 7 years ago

Text

Of Magic and Masonry

@fandommaniac2401 asked me almost two months ago for my thoughts on a HMC/Naruto fusion. I hadn’t replied because after reading her post and remembering past discussions on @blackkatmagic‘s blog about just such a verse, I had a lot of thoughts of my own and I meant to sit down to write it.

Well, I finally made myself do just that this week, so here’s a late Winter Holiday or early New Year’s present to everyone.

Title: Of Magic and Masonry [AO3 link] Series: Naruto, Howl’s Moving Castle fusion Summary: In which the Royal Witch Mito Uzumaki has a professional request for Wizard Madara and sends four of the king's retainers to convey it.(aka: In which Kagami can be partly faulted for their presence on this expedition, and Torifu begins to understand why the man is never taken aback by any tale of eccentric relatives.)

"I've heard that he eats people's hearts," Torifu said bluntly.

The four blue-clad soldiers stared up at the castle sitting near the northern mountains of Folding Valley.

It should have been almost picturesque really. A gleaming river wound its way through the foothills of the fertile valley. Trees were just beginning to turn gold and red with the advancement of autumn. Upper Folding sprawled across the land downstream, straddling the river at a sufficient distance to obscure the less lovely facets of a human town. Market Chipping was even farther off, barely visible as chimney smoke on the horizon, and the castle overlooked it all from its pride of place, settled high among the hills like a bird of prey alighted delicately on a branch.

Of course that perception required one to overlook the unnatural facts that this castle belonged to no lord, had none of the proper roads which a functioning castle would rightfully require, and, oh yes, had been twenty miles west of its current position this very morning.

It had certainly been something to witness a fortress made of countless tons of stone and masonry raise itself up under the influence of some black-orange hellfire which permeated the mortar and streamed from some unseen chimney. It was only made more unnerving by dint of its manner of relocation - which had involved four semi-translucent legs spontaneously manifesting from that same magic and carting it off. Even as they warily eyed the castle, its legs shifted slightly as if seeking greater comfort where they were folded sedately along its foundations.

The sight explained quite nicely why their horses had hours ago rebelled a mile past Upper Folding's outermost farmland and refused to carry them further.

"In fact," Torifu continued in a casual tone, interrupting the second round of Hiruzen and Danzo's lowkey disagreement over whether it was chicken or fox legs attached to the castle, "I've heard the wizard embeds his name on people's hearts, manipulates them as puppets, and then eats them."

"I'm certain he can't be as bad as rumors portray," Hiruzen said from the front of their group, standing next to Danzo and staring consideringly at their goal. He had thus missed how Torifu (who was standing behind him) had made all his statements while staring unwaveringly at the side of Kagami's head. "You know how gossip among the working class gets out of hand. They don't even get the gender of the Wizard of the Wastes right and he has occasionally been present at His Majesty's court."

"We should go up in a smaller group," Kagami suggested from his seat on the ground, panting heavily from the long climb. "We wouldn't want to- to give the wrong impression and cause offense if Wizard Madara mistakes us as a show of royal force."

"He has a patriotic duty to the country," Danzo said disapprovingly, glaring up at the enchanted stonework. "He is bound to offer his assistance when called upon."

Kagami and Torifu exchanged a look built on long familiarity before Kagami waved a hand towards their companion, smiling winsomely up at the older Akimichi. The other man sighed soundlessly but refocused on Danzo.

"It would be more diplomatic to politely request that he add his skills to the attempts to locate Prince Indra," Torifu advised. "If you'll recall, Witch Uzumaki was quite clear that we were to secure a solid agreement for that assistance before pursuing Lord Nara's alternative order. And nothing good comes out of making a great magician feel like they're being pressured, Danzo."

Especially when we are trying to conscript them into a service contract to the Kingdom.

Not that anyone would bother saying that to Danzo. He and Hiruzen both believed, from the bones outward, in personal service to a higher cause and the value of sacrificing for it. Which wasn't to say that Kagami and Torifu didn't value public service —Kagami had been the first of his family line to join the Royal Military Academy in decades and Torifu's noble house had valued military service for longer than many cities in Ingary had existed— but Danzo in particular found it difficult to accept that other people held to standards divergent from his ideals.

It made him something of an asshole at times.

"That's a good point," Hiruzen affirmed, turning halfway towards them. "Kagami, if you'll wait here along with Torifu, Danzo and I will make our way up for an initial introduction. If things go poorly, hopefully the two of you will have more luck speaking with the wizard or letting His Majesty know there's been a complication."

Kagami gave a wordless salute from the ground while Torifu nodded.

The two men watched their fellows climb up the steep hill. Coincidentally enough, as soon as they'd moved far enough away to be outside easy listening distance, Kagami stopped breathing so heavily.

Torifu sent him an unimpressed look. "Finished recovering are you?"

Kagami rolled his eyes, bracing his arms on his knees before wincing, stretching out his spine, and leaning backwards on his elbows. "Did you want to traipse up the hill with the friend I personally vote most likely to offend a magic user into cursing us? Oh, and Hiruzen too."

"Speaking of which," Torifu said, knocking a foot against Kagami's outstretched ankle, "and I mean this in the most platonic and offensive manner possible: fuck you and your big mouth sincerely, Kagami."

"Torifu! You're breaking my heart here." Kagami frowned with false hurt and genuine annoyance. "Besides, I wasn't the one who lost track of our thick-headed friend and his weirdly specific inadequacy issues in time for it to all bite us in the ass once again. You were supposed to keep Danzo out of my curls and away from Witch Mito long enough for me to get Hiruzen set up for this assignment."

"You don't have any curls; you have a mop," Torifu countered, ignoring Kagami's blithe claim of blasphemy at the insult. "And it would have been helpful to know that in advance if you had actually wanted Danzo distracted rather than shoving him at me with a 'introduce him to women for me before he gets married to his own sword.' I am never forgiving you for that mental image."

Kagami stared at Torifu blankly until the Akimichi raised his eyebrows meaningfully. It was obvious when Kagami finally got the euphemism too because he snorted with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose. "That's your own terrible fault not mine, ugh. Ugh. Oh that's wretched. You have just— You have ruined so many things for me, damn you, Torifu. You owe me good liquor for this."

"I owe you nothing. If you hadn't tried to set up Hiruzen so he would be landed with this duty, we wouldn't be here alongside him."

"Hey," Kagami defended, pointing accusingly up the hill at the distant figures. "That is entirely Danzo's fault for butting in unexpectedly. I had told Witch Mito —rightfully!— that Hiruzen was the most charismatic among us who had any experience with magicians. Danzo somehow persuaded her to send the lot of us instead of just that guy and Homura!"

"Did you happen to wax poetic about Hiruzen while speaking with Lady Uzumaki?" Torifu asked rhetorically.

"Why did you have to phrase it that way? We are supposed to be friends, Torifu. Never say that again and what do you think I did?"

Torifu sighed, shaking his head and sitting down on the grassy hill next to Kagami. He removed his cap and gloves and ran fingers through his hair, welcoming the slight breeze from the east. "Well that explains why Danzo felt the need to involve us in this endeavor. Now why were you so determined that we do otherwise?"

"Look at this," Kagami gestured grandly, arm outflung to indicate Upper Folding and its environs. "Look at this quaint, charming, backwater beauty filled with nature and quietude, countryfolk, cow pies, and curses! And all for the very reasonable price of far too long on bloody horses and a guaranteed blemish on our reputations when we fail the King's request. What's not to love?! Especially in comparison with remaining in the capital where we could enjoy Kingsbury's accommodations while pursuing an investigation into that murder spree of minor practitioners. Why, I'd even rate it above traveling to Porthaven to make the same request of Wizard Jenkins—" There was an oddly cynical emphasis on the name "—and that's also bound to failure. However, I suppose being consoled by days on horseback while listening to our dear friends is much preferred to visiting a few of my hospitable relatives who've settled in that seaside village."

"I take your meaning," Torifu said, slapping his cap against the buttoned front of Kagami's wool uniform, stopping the torrent of drama. "Now without prevarication, explain why you're certain we'll fail."

A slight pause. "Well you can't expect success when the man's ignored all messages from His Majesty's Royal Witch before, now can you?"

Torifu yawned, fanning himself with his blue cap and bracing an arm on his knee as he stared at Kagami.

It took a few minutes before Kagami sighed, glancing over his shoulder towards Hiruzen and Danzo's position before looking skyward. "He might... be a cousin of mine."

Torifu considered that. "You are related to Wizard Madara of Folding Valley's Moving Castle?" he asked, seeking confirmation. Kagami shrugged, rubbing the nape of his neck. "You inherited a remarkably modest portion of the family sense of drama, haven't you?"

"Oh ha. You haven't even met any of my family outside my mother. We definitely don't have the same drama surrounding us that perfumes your noble house's politicking, Heir Akimichi," Kagami countered. "Madara's mostly an outlier. He, his foxfire demon, and his new freaky live-in tenant don't count."

"You do realize that Hiruzen at least will notice your family resemblance immediately once the man answers his door?"

Kagami looked terribly unconcerned as he laid down fully, arms folded behind his head. "That requires Madara to actually be there to answer the door, doesn't it?"

"Kagami," Torifu began slowly, temper beginning to surface. "Did we just journey across half the country because you wouldn't tell us the man is traveling elsewhere?"

"Exactly how was I supposed to let you know that without Witch Mito - and the royal family through her - learning that my extended family produced a wizard of Madara's caliber?" Kagami asked skeptically, unperturbed and unrepentant.

"There's no shame in that. Magicians are of great status and use to—" Torifu cut himself off, realization dawning as Kagami stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Ah."

" 'Ah', indeed!" Kagami exclaimed. "You are perfectly correct that magicians are of great use to the crown! They have such respect and influence that King Hagoromo had to entice the Uzumaki to immigrate to Ingary in order to find a magician willing to take his endorsement as Royal Sorcerer after he finally locked up his lunatic mother!"

Kagami shuddered, blanching a bit at the thought of what his grandmother —frail or not— would do to him if it got out that the Uchiha still had magicians sprouting up here and there. It may have been forty years since the crazy Queen Mother had last had a magician disappeared to do... whatever horrors it was she inflicted on them before their murder, but she was only in seclusion, not dead. The backstreets of the capital still had persistent rumors started by frightened maids that Kaguya looked as young as the day her sons had dethroned her.

If Kagami ruined all of his grandmother and her siblings' past work at getting the magic users of their family to bend to using pseudonyms, he'd be up a creek without a paddle. At best, he'd never hear the end of it. At worst, he'd end up ostracized or turned into some sort of farm animal and left to an undignified life in a pasture or pen owned by one of his mess of cousins.

Kagami had too much to live for to end up as poultry or pork.

"Anyway!" Kagami said, waving a hand and hurrying to move on from the unpleasant topic. "What's done is done. We're all here, Madara is safely off visiting a newborn niece or nephew, we've got some fresh air and sunshine, you'll please never mention this to anyone, and all will be well."

"Fine, but you're getting your lazy self up," Torifu informed him, rising to his own feet. "I'm not clear on why you faked exhaustion to avoid knocking on an empty door but..." Torifu shaded his eyes with a hand and squinted up at the castle. "I thought you said the wizard was absent? They just entered through the front door."

"He is," Kagami confirmed, brushing off his pants. "The creepy cursed tenant must have stayed behind as I expected he would. And for your information, that's why I didn't want to knock rather than laziness - the hill isn't that steep, thank you."

"Cursed?"

"That's what Hikaku says and my cousin's apprenticed under Madara." Kagami shoved his hat back on, folding his arms. "Apparently it's some nasty piece of work - woven through every last wrinkle and hair on the elderly man's body. Lord knows how the fellow actually hiked his way up to the castle. Anyway, Hikaku's got a deft touch and Madara's, well—" Kagami motioned to the enormous, bespelled castle "—he's Madara, but neither of them can pry the curse off the guy or even off his voice box. The first attempt sent him into heart palpitations serious enough that Hikaku's pretty sure it's a death curse twisted from its purpose. Although it's beyond me how a mutated death curse could throw Hashirama Senju back out the door from twenty feet away."

Torifu frowned at that. The Wizard of the Wastes certainly wasn't a lightweight by any means. Torifu had only met him the once when the man had started paying court to Lady Uzumaki, but no one who's trying and beginning to succeed in the ludicrous endeavor of recovering The Wastes into fertile, arable land could be minor hedge wizard. "Could it be related to the Kingsbury murders?"

Kagami started to shake his head but abruptly stopped, licking his lips. "We're halfway across the country," he said slowly, "and the man's supposed to have red eyes which would throw out eye color as a second commonality among the victims. But that's all I know of the case from Homura and Koharu unless they mentioned more details to you...?"

"Just that they all had a touch of magic," Torifu said as he started to climb. "This tenant has magic, right?"

"He has something creepy at least," Kagami muttered behind him. "Hikaku doesn't start drinking so he can falsely complain about reanimated spines crawling up the stairs and dead mice walking themselves into trash bins while teacups instantaneously transport to the creepy man's elbow. I have no idea how he and Madara live wiTH—"

Kagami choked on his words, grabbing the back of Torifu's jacket and shaking him violently. Torifu spun, caught sight of Kagami's aghast expression directed towards their right, and then looked for himself.

The... thing that was squirming up the footpath might have been a scarecrow once upon a moon. Might. Whatever it qualified as now was some bastardized melding of that and something living. Unnatural shifting lumps were half hidden under its tattered, royal blue suit jacket. Vines swung and curled from the cuffs of its ripped shirtsleeves. Thick mobile roots emerged from its jacket in place of a scarecrow's wooden shaft, carrying it swiftly towards them in an undulating movement.

And in horrifying pride of place, replacing the hay-stuffed sack that should have served as its head, a twisted pink bud grew, sharp leaves engulfing its base and wrinkled petals contorted into a distorted face.

The stink of cursed magic wafted off the warped sapling-scarecrow like a chamber pot as it ran at them. They both lunged off the path and out of its way, nearly falling down the hill in their urgency.

"What is that?!" Torifu demanded.

"Why are you asking me?! I don't have magic!" Kagami yelped.

"Your cousin—"

"Distant cousin, distant! And Madara sets things on fire and triggers dramatics with gunk and shadows when he gets aggravated! He doesn't do whatever thoh shit..." Kagami breathed, eyes widening.

Madara's Moving Castle, regardless of the absence of its master, had apparently taken note of the approaching malicious construct. It didn't look too happy about it either, which was not a thought Torifu had ever imagined having about a building before. Numerous windows on the upper levels of the towers had lit up blindingly with the same unnerving magic that was propelling it up onto its crouched legs once more. However, the windows were backlit by a bleeding luminous red glow rather than a black-orange shade, and two openings were left dark in the centers of the glass clusters like gigantic pupils on artificial eyes.

The castle door opened onto sheer nothingness.

"DOWN!"

They both dropped flat to the ground as a fiery tongue-like protrusion shot out of the entrance. It wrapped around the scarecrow and then hurtled back inside with its captive, recoiling at lightning speed. The door slammed, reopened onto the vague image of an entryway, illuminated by the same black-orange light, and with a malicious inhuman cackle that echoed among the hills, three balls of magic were catapulted across the sky.

Two of the fireballs were screaming as they flew towards the horizon. They sounded familiar.

The castle door stayed open for a brief moment as Torifu and Kagami stared wordlessly. There came the faint sound of an old man yelling disapprovingly from inside —something about hospitality and respect— but it was barely audible over the laughter that seemingly emanated from the stonework itself.

Eventually the door snapped shut, but the snickers continued, an undertone of foxlike yips and crackling wood in its voice as the castle casually meandered away.

With caution, they stood up.

"I don't suppose," Torifu started calmly, still staring at the departing castle, "that the sibling your wizard cousin is visiting happens to be nearby?"

"Izuna, uh, Izuna lives nearby in Market Chipping to the south," Kagami replied numbly, staring after the fading smoke trails, two of which had to have been Hiruzen and Danzo. "But it's one of the others having the babe. I don't remember which but they're not here. Do you... do you think it would be faster to return to the capital and ask Witch Mito to borrow those Seven-League Boots prototypes she's working on?"

"Can we track them through the sky?" Torifu asked, pulling his uniform straight.

Kagami eyed the castle's previous location, traced the path the different magic spheres had taken through the sky, and squinted into the distance. "... probably," he conceded.

"Then we'd be better off getting started. You start walking; I'll fetch the horses."

(Review and reblog if you enjoyed yourself - AO3 link)

#naruto #howl's moving castle #uchiha kagami #akimichi torifu #sarutobi hiruzen #shimura danzo #background characters #crossover #my writing

30 notes · View notes

mustangtaisa · 8 years ago

Text

Through Eyes of Flame

This rest of this fic can be read on Fanfiction.net and AO3.

Pairing: RoyxRiza, hints of EdwardxWinry, HavocxRebecca, and LingxLan Fan Genre: Adventure, Action, Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Drama Word Count: 97,879 out of ? - (This fic is incomplete and still being written.) All future chapters will be posted on the FFNet and AO3 links above. Summary: The story of Fullmetal Alchemist, told as if Roy and Riza were the main characters. Includes the years before and after the series. Slow Burn. Heavy on the Royai. Based on the manga, with just a bit of Brotherhood.

-----------

Prologue - Central City, 1895

It was a quiet evening at Madame Christmas’ Bar. The regular patrons had already filed out into the Autumn night, leaving a lone figure sitting at the bar nursing a glass of whisky on the rocks. The girls that worked and lived there retired to their rooms a while later after bidding the older gentleman a good night. Being friends with a woman like Chris Mustang certainly had its perks. Besides being privy to some of the juiciest information in Central, the man also got to spend time with some very lovely ladies. The same ladies that gathered and gave him said information, at a fairly steep price, of course. You can’t get something for nothing, after all.

The windows rattled lightly as the wind picked up outside and a roll of thunder sounded, heralding the beginnings of a storm. The man finished his whisky as the last of the girls left for the evening, the older ones that didn’t live with the Madame. They hurried out once they heard the thunder, hoping to get home before the rain started. With all of them having gone to bed or back home, Madame Christmas finally directed her attention to the man remaining at the empty bar.

“Good to see you tonight, Major General.”

Grumman grinned and fiddled with his mustache.

“Likewise, Madame. The girls are lively and lovely as ever.”

Chris chuckled and refilled Grumman’s glass.

“On the house, my friend.”

Grumman lifted his glass in thanks and took a sip. Chris nodded and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, but before she could light one, the door to the upper floors of the bar opened and a little boy with a mop of black hair shuffled toward them, yawning.

“Aunt Chris?”

“What are you doing up, Roy-boy?” she answered him, putting her cigarettes back into the drawer behind the bar where she kept them.

Roy noticed Major General Grumman and stopped walking toward his aunt. He straightened up and noticeably became a little nervous.

“Oh! S...sorry! I didn’t know anyone was still here.”

He scurried back to the door in an attempt to retreat. He was not supposed to be down here, especially when there were customers.

“It’s fine.” his aunt reassured him and Roy relaxed, walking back to her. “What’s wrong, Roy-boy?”

Roy shrugged and looked at his feet.

“Nightmare.” he replied after a few moments of deliberation. He seemed embarrassed to say anything, especially with a man he didn’t know very well in the room. “I had a nightmare and I can’t go back to sleep because of the thunder…”

He didn’t need to elaborate anymore. Chris knew that thunderstorms made him nervous. His parents died in a car crash in the middle of a storm five years prior and the boy had been afraid of thunder ever since.

“It’s fine, go get yourself a glass of milk and come back.”

Roy nodded and all but ran to the kitchen in the back room. Grumman turned back to Chris once the boy was out of sight.

“How old is he now?”

“He turned ten this year.” “Already? My, how time flies.”

“That it does. They grow up so fast. In fact, he’s taken an interest in alchemy. Found some of my brother’s old books on the subject. I can’t get him to shut up about it sometimes. Every time he finds something interesting he just has to come tell me and the girls about it.”

Grumman laughed.

“You say that, but I’m sure you all fawn over him.”

Chris grinned.

“Ah, you know me too well.”

Roy came back into the room moments later, placing his glass of milk at the end of the bar and hoisting himself up onto a stool. Silence filled the room as Roy drank his milk, eyeing Grumman as the older man finished his last glass of whisky for the night.

“Thank you Madame, it was nice chatting, but I feel I should be on my way. We’ll save our conversation for tomorrow, perhaps.”

Chris knew what he meant. With Roy having come downstairs unexpectedly, an information exchange would have to wait. “Of course, Major General. Wouldn’t want you to be caught walking home in that storm.”

“Yes, yes, I best hurry along.”

Grumman got up from his seat and made to leave, eyeing Roy thoughtfully. Instead of turning to the exit, he turned back to the Madame.

“You know…” he began, seeming unsure about voicing whatever he was about to say. “I do know someone… An alchemist.”

This seemed to get Roy’s attention and the boy turned to face Grumman, suddenly interested in the conversation. Chris remained silent, staring at the Major General, wondering where he was going with this.

“In fact, he’s a remarkable alchemist. A genius even.” Grumman sounded almost disgusted as he said this, but also impressed. His tone was very peculiar as he spoke. “The military has been trying to recruit him as a state alchemist for years. The stubborn man refuses vehemently, but I think he would be willing to take on a student, if you were interested in that sort of thing.”

It took a moment, but once Roy understood what Grumman was saying, his face lit up with excitement.

“Really?” Roy asked, turning to fully face Grumman while still sitting on the bar stool.

Chris sighed. She should have known that was what he was getting at. The crafty old bastard. She cared for Roy as if he were her own son and she wanted nothing but the best for him. His happiness was her priority, but to send him away to study alchemy? She wasn’t sure she’d go that far. She would be worried all the time. It made it a little better knowing that it was someone Grumman was familiar with, though the tone of voice he had used to describe this genius alchemist made her unsure.

“Who exactly is this alchemist?” Chris asked, her tone of voice clearly conveying her doubts.

Grumman set his focus back on her.

“Berthold Hawkeye.”

Ah, so that’s why he was reluctant to speak well of the man. It was a known fact kept between them that Grumman hated Berthold Hawkeye. His dislike had mellowed out slightly over the years, but it was obviously still there, festering in the back of the Major General’s mind. And from what Chris had gathered, Hawkeye had also disliked Grumman. In the end, Berthold Hawkeye and Grumman’s daughter had eloped and never spoke to either of their families again, moving to a location Grumman only discovered because of the military’s interest in Berthold’s abilities as an alchemist. When word came back that Hawkeye wasn’t even speaking to the military any longer, holing himself up in isolation because of his wife’s death, Grumman’s detest had soared. It had been three years since then and it still seemed like Grumman was still full of bitterness for the man that took his daughter.

The sound of Roy’s voice broke Chris from her thoughts.

“Aunt Chris, I want to go!”

Chris frowned.

“It will be a lot of work. Alchemy is not a game.”

Roy nodded quickly at his aunt’s warning.

“I know, but I want to try. I know I can do it!”

Grumman laughed at the boy’s enthusiasm.

“Well, it’s up to your aunt, but I’ll bet you’d make a great alchemist some day.” he could see the fire in the boy’s eyes. Alchemy certainly did seem to excite him.

Chris grumbled and looked from Roy to Grumman and back again, thinking hard. She felt Roy was too young to jump into this. He had only taken an interest in alchemy a year ago. Perhaps he would grow out of it. It might have just been a phase. But the look on Roy’s face was enough to make her relent. He clearly wanted to study alchemy with a master.

“All right,” she started, and she was sure Roy was about to explode from happiness until she continued. “I have a condition though.”

Roy visibly deflated, but his look remained hopeful.

“If you do well in your schooling, I will let you go study under this Berthold Hawkeye when you turn fifteen.”

Roy groaned, his eyes pleading as he looked at her.

“But that’s five years away!” he whined.

“That’s my condition, Roy-boy, and you can either take it and learn alchemy eventually, or leave it and never get to study under a master.”

The fire returned to Roy’s eyes and he jumped off the bar stool, crossing his arms.

“Fine. I’ll be the best student. You’ll see.”

Filled with determination, he turned and walked back to the door that led upstairs, his posture straight and proud, like a soldier’s. He stopped just inside the door and turned back to the Madame.

“Thanks Aunt Chris.” he grinned before running back upstairs to go to bed, confident that the promise of learning alchemy someday would help him sleep through the storm raging outside.

0000000000

Hey guys. I’ve been wanting to write a multichapter Royai fic for a while now, but I couldn’t come up with anything other than a fic that told the FMA story as if Roy and Riza were the main characters. I know it’s been done a bunch before, but I still wanted to try my hand at writing something like that. This will be based on the manga, with a bit of Brotherhood thrown in.

Here’s just some things you can expect from this -

I will be including things that happened in the missing time frame between the Ishval war and FMA proper, as well as maybe some flashbacks to them as kids, but I’m not a fan of young Royai, as the impression I got from the manga is that they weren’t close friends when they were younger. They knew each other, obviously, and might have been friends, but I feel like Roy was probably too busy studying alchemy to make friends in the time he was studying under Hawkeye. And Berthold certainly would have never allowed any romantic feelings between his daughter and apprentice anyway. They didn’t appear to become close until after Roy learned flame alchemy.

Anyway, that’s why I will not be doing much young Roy and Riza and instead I will focus on Roy learning flame alchemy, their time in Ishval (maybe), and the years before they recruited Ed and Al, along with the things we missed happening to Roy and Riza during the series proper, and then I plan to end it with what happens post-series. I also plan to maybe change a few things once I get to the point in the timeline where the canon series officially starts. If I just wrote a recap of everything from the viewpoint of Roy and Riza, it might get boring. So I won’t be doing any major changes to the plot since I am a stickler for canon, but I might change around some minor things in the timeline and whatnot.

Yes, this will be long and probably take me quite a while to finish, but I’m definitely going to try get through it. Roy and Riza deserve a series all their own, and if Arakawa won’t do it, then I will.

Sorry for the long author note. I hope you enjoyed this little intro. Feedback is loved and appreciated.

#royai #fma #fmab #fanfiction #royai fanfiction

16 notes · View notes

drink-n-watch · 6 years ago

Text

Genre: Everything that Irina Loves

Episodes:23

Studio: White Fox

It’s amazing how quickly something can seep into your normal. You repeat the same actions under the same circumstances a few times and just like that, it’s a ritual. Comforting and familiar. You miss it when it’s not around. Before you can even notice, it’s a little part of your life, and tiny little spec of what makes you, you.

Since April 12, 2018, every Wednesday evening I’ve come home to watch an episode of Steins;Gate 0, then I savoured it. I took it in my mind with me and let it settle as I drifted off to sleep so the next day, I could try to tell you all about it. I truly wanted to share the experience with you in an unvarnished, honest way. I wanted to give you all of my thoughts and feelings and to heck with pretence and pride. It often came out in a jumble of passion and directionless enthusiasm.

On Friday evenings I would relive the episode in stop motion form to capture images and put it all together, ready to publish by Sunday. Even after a long week, I enjoyed taking this time, screencapping away.

Like most of my episodic posts, my Steins;Gate 0 reviews have had relatively modest success. But that’s fine too. It made sense that such personal and intimate posts would be seen by the few close readers that have gotten to know me best. That was comfortable…and familiar.

where have I heard this before?

And so, for some time now, Steins;Gate 0b has become a part of my reality. It’s made a tiny mark on me. I’m the girl who looks forward to Wednesday evenings. The girl who’s a little quieter and pensive on Thursdays and a little too contempt on Monday mornings. The girl that mumbles El Psy Congroo under her breath and giggles in her head. I have come to enjoy being that girl. Today, I’m going to be that girl for the last time. I couldn’t have asked for better company.

Steins;Gate 0 has been a ride! If you want a proper review, I’m sure you have plenty of options. This isn’t going to be one. I probably couldn’t write one even if I wanted to. I’m a little biased…

WordPress’ digital editor always screams at me when I start sentences the same way. It’s an issue with drinking games… This is why I put this little buffer in before continuing. Steins:Gate 0 is a series that trades and relishes in nostalgia while betraying the expectations built upon those memories. I don’t think you need to have seen the original to enjoy this season, but it certainly adds a ton to it. In any case, although the story is different and the themes almost opposite, it’s pretty safe to say that it will likely appeal to the same audience.

good pertinent cap, right? so proud!

This is a time travel story meant to take you back in time. Back to the original, which is still beloved by so many fans. It’s clearly pandering and I bought it hook, line, sinker, rod and probably part of the fisherman’s glove. This show was written for me. It did exactly what it was suppose to. It took me back to a time when I was a little anime lover and time travel otaku who had no friends to share those particular passions with and stumbled unto a fan patched version of the visual novel. To a time where I was completely engrossed in that world. For months, I live in Steins;Gate’s version of Akhibara.

I remember once overheating my laptop while playing and having it unexpectedly shut down and refuse to start up again. My only concern was that I might not be able to find the game and mostly the English language patch again. I couldn’t care less about the computer itself, everything else on it or my progress. The first time I found Steins:Gate, I found a place where all my disjointed passions came together in a format that was my preference. I found a home.

A decade later, fearful and suspicious, I stepped back into that world that had meant so very much to me. I was suspicious and defensive. How can you possibly catch lightning in a bottle twice? And then, I was home. Only this time, for the first time, I get to invite friends over.

little Suzu is the embodiment of adorableness

I told you this was not going to be a review…. OK this is the deal, Steins;Gate 0 is a lot like the original and also very different. By now, enough has been said on both that my post is unlikely to either sway or inform you. Instead, this post serves as a place to hold all my feeeeelings about the season but also to tell you a bit about this final episode.

Shocker: I liked it. What can I say, I’m a girl in love. It’s not as if I’m completely blind though. I realize there were some issues. We never got back to the second Reading Steiner. Judy’s role was useless and a lot of the characters are dreadfully underdeveloped. Farris the great is lost forever in the folds of time. That’s just tragic. The darkest future lacked the narrative connective tissue to make the emotional impact it could have. Why was Moeka with Maho in the first episode? You can tell that in the editing process meant to adapt a multi branching VN narrative to a basically linear one, some plot threads where excised not quite a cleanly as they could have. I don’t care, I loved it.

And really, the final episode wasn’t perfect either. Those directorial choices were plain to see. This was a story cut down to fit the format and the director obviously had to pick what would stay and what would go. The action is streamlined and half skipped over. Only a few characters get to grab unto the spotlight. These were hard decisions but the fact is, if you want to get somewhere, eventually you have to pick a path. Steins;Gate 0 picked the prefect one.

cried when I watched it, cried when I got the screencap, cryin’ now…

Visually, the episode opens as a parallel to the ending of the first season. Okabe backlit and depressed in the streets of Akhibara. The episode itself twined around and intermeshed with the ending of the original Steins;Gate in one glorious Ouroboros. We finally got the full view of how both stories fit together, crossing paths for only one second and changing the future for eternity. Cynically you could call it a huge load of fanservice for fans of the original. At least at first sight. I call it beautiful.

Thematically though, it was quite different from Steins;Gate, and that’s what I adore about it. We never saw Kurisu again and Amadeus is gone forever. This time, the difficult choice is made. This is the worldline where love doesn’t conquer all. It’s also the worldline where decisions have eternal consequences. If Steins;Gate was about having it all, Steins;Gate 0 is about the importance of compromise. But closing one door in order to open another is a powerful gesture. There’s something deeply comforting about that. A sense of purpose and urgency that brought out the very best in everyone.

only Mayuushi can save Mayuushi!

Mayuushi was a force to be reckoned with. This is a character that was essentially a walking, talking damsel in distress trope. And yet, our eternal little victim saved absolutely everyone through sheer strength of will and never faltered for a second. The damsel in distress was allowed to pick up the sword and become a hero. It took a decade to get there, and it was well worth the wait.

The unfortunately underused Moeka was given a sliver of agency and more importantly hope, for a second she looked like a real person and not a puppet. Moeka has always been one of my favorite characters and generally favorite villains. The idea of an average someone being so deeply broken that they willingly make themselves into a weapon as it is less painful than being a person, was as terrifying as it was sad. Her every appearance in Steins;Gate 0 send a shiver down my back. Giving her a chance at a different life, brought a smile to my lips.

As for Kagari, her trajectory is similar. In essence she’s also nothing but a tool. But Kagari had something Moeka never had. A mother who loved her. As we bid goodbye to the season we also saw Kagari as her best self. A small child longing for her mommy.

now that’s quite the ensemble

And Suzu… My dearest Suzu. It’s not that much longer to type out Suzuha but I always shorten her name. It’s a nickname, you see. We have a rapport Suzu and me. Few characters have endured more. It would have been easy to write her as an ultimate badass having sacrificed all emotions in order to survive. She tries to pretend sometimes. But Suzu did manage something amazing in the eleventh hours. She actually figured out how to be vulnerable without being weak.

This was an episode full of heroes.

Somewhere along the twisting and turning timelines…uhm worldlines… Steins;Gate matured. 0 is no longer the insecure kid that needs it’s leading man to be everything to everyone. It’s secure enough to spread the glory around. It can handle ambiguous relationships that aren’t clearly defined and long term friendships that don’t lead to dating. It’s also grown up enough to trust us, the audience. To let us figure out what it was saying without over explaining everything. That’s what happens when you get older, you learn to let go.

I think so too!

I adored that no one got the girl. In the end, there’s no real indication of who “the girl” even is. This time that’s not what it was about. Everybody got a turn at the wheel. For everything it failed to do, Steins;Gate 0 finally gave the little girls lost a chance to chose their path and find themselves. That’s worth a whole lot in my book

But where would Steins;Gate be without the Mad Scientist of the hour! Few characters have gone through as much growth and regression and regrowth as Okabe Rintaro. The man has his faults. Many, many faults… He can be frustrating, annoying, unbearably selfish. When he’s not being a cringe inducing doofus, he’s a complete downer. Who could blame you for being over the guy? But you still got to admit, that Hououin Kyouma’s got some swagger!

‘Cmon, don’t tell me you did cheer out loud when his silhouette came into view at the last second. Now that was an epic Big Fat Hero moment.

I mean it… don’t tell me. In my worldline we all applauded and cheered, laughing loudly. We hugged and danced around the living room. Buddy watched us, confused. It was a great moment. Don’t take it away!

I had a great time these past few months. I was really happy you were there too. If ever you want to take a stroll back down memory lane, you can relive the good times with me:

Steins;Gate 0 Ep1 – In Memory of Things That Never Were

Steins;Gate 0 Ep2 – Kindred Spirit

Steins;Gate 0 Ep3 – Little Girls lost

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 4 – Confabulation

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 5 – The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 6 – The Best of Times and The Worst of Time

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 7 – Strange Bedfellows

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 8 – Okabe And The Real Girl

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 9 – The Comfort of a Familiar Ache

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 10 – Space Time Oddity

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 11 – Anti-Thesis

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 12 – MEAMs

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 13 – Discrepancy

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 14 – The Disapearance of Kagari Shiina

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 15 – Hope for the Future

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 16 – Those Who Fail to Learn From History…..

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 17 – The Second That Lasts Forever

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 18 – Never Trust A Professor

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 19 – Meaningless Consequences

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 20 – The Once and Future Okabe Rintaro

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 21 – Going Back to Yourself

Steins;Gate 0 Ep 22 -A Nostalgic Sorrow

I’ve been reducing the number of pics. They slow down my site. Also Crunchy roll has recently changed making image capture much harder. Still I couldn’t resist this week. Here are a ton of pics. Doesn’t that Mayu and Suzu pic have slight yuri vibes?

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Steins;Gate 0 – Time Heals All Wounds Genre: Everything that Irina Loves Episodes:23 Studio: White Fox It's amazing how quickly something can seep into your normal.

#action #drama #friends #Mystery #sci fi #Steins;Gate #Time #wow

0 notes