#typing like my mother tonight lads

[fairywithgremlintendencies]

if we were monsters what would we be wait omg we could be princess and the frog or more realistically townie and the frog or smth wait i thougut you were 5h3 fr9g oh ot is lqte hut i want to be in a fairu tqil with uou you are sosos pretty and i think you should be a frog bc fr9gs like lillynpads and then there are the waterliloes wihcnyou lpve and also i would stillnlove you if you were a frog i would be a bit scared but you would be a talking fr9g so i wpuld be less concerned about poison you see bc in australia everytjong os deadly so you cannot touch anything :((

"You are so pretty and i think you should be a frog" is the funniest thing ive ever seen

Wait id be talking therefore youd be less concerned about poison because everything is poisonous? The logic is logicing. No not really. Im lost. u sent this late too right? Very creative 10/10

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I have the most random and oddball question... What would be some expletive type language in Welsh?

I'm playing a dragon in my D&D group who is from this fantasy world's equivalent of Wales and I want to add some flavor when he is fighting that he starts using bits of his mother-tongue instead of Common.

It's easy enough to find a random list of words, but without cultural context I have no clue what would be a proper equivalent of, for example "fuck off you asshole"... I probably am putting "too much" thought into it, but I'm a cultural anthropologist, so it bugs me to not think too much about it.

A funny quirk of Welsh is that we actually tend to swear in English when we need to - because one of the social arenas it survived in was through the chapels, the closest you'd get are things that in English you'd probably associate with your granny saying, or those sad little Christian youth camps in America. One of my favourites is Nêfi blŵ, which is literally just the Welsh transliteration of the words 'navy blue' said in a Welsh accent. Why is this a swear? Unknown. I presume someone somewhere hated the colour.

However, there are a couple:

Sweary

Sguthan/ysguthan: this is probably equivalent to 'bitch', it's certainly gendered the same way and has similar weight. Except much as 'bitch' literally just means a dog, sguthan means 'woodpigeon'. Why is this a swear? Unknown

Cach i fant: fuck off. 'Shit off', literally. Tbh though I don't actually know anyone who would actually use this. Mileage can and will vary wildly (keep an eye on the notes for other Welsh speakers chiming in), but this one always felt a bit like a sheep's eyeball to me, to use a Pratchett-ism. Like something Golwg would use to Appeal To The Youth. But, it is real, and does work.

Dos i ffwcio dy hunan: go fuck yourself. Now THIS one I use

Twll tin bob ____: Every ____ is an asshole. Naturally, the phrase in Wales is 'Twll tin bob Sais', but substitute Sais for the group of your choice.

Cêr y diawl: go to hell. Literally, 'go to the devil', with devil there being a reasonable stand-in for any devil you wish, not just, like, Satan.

And of course, Wenglish can provide:

Be'r ffyc 'dy hwnna: what the fuck is that

Pwy'r ffyc 'dy hwnna: who the fuck is that

etc

Non-Sweary

Bois bach a mawr: okay listen this is going to sound like I'm joshing you but I swear this is real. It's used by an older generation, admittedly, but even younger generations will say 'Bois bach' sometimes. It, uh. It literally means "Big and little boys". Or just "little boys". Just a sort of general mild exclamation. Or what you say when you sit down and your knees complain. Um.

Ych a fi: gross. Can also be Wenglished to 'Ych a ffycin fi' which is, you know, fucking gross.

Be' ti 'di 'neud?: what have you done?

Be' sy'n bod 'da ti?: What is wrong with you?

Cô ni off, bois!: Off we go, lads (gender neutral)!

There's probably a million I'm forgetting and will think of as I try to sleep tonight, but hopefully these will tide you over. Keep an eye on the notes, I expect others will chime in with further suggestions!

[mauvecherie-writes]

the kaleidoscope theory: l.hamilton.

• pairing: lewis hamilton x kalani halloway.

• chapter warnings: infidelity.

• ru’s 💌: i won’t be giving out chapter summaries for this story as I genuinely want this story to the kind that you engage with without any hints given. if this story is a success, who knows what the future could be for it 😉. don’t forget to comment, reblog and like 💋.

• tip: kofi | paypal

• w.c: 1.03K

PROLOGUE

JUNE 2022.

The Thompson Hill youth football club the ‘Thompson Tigers’ had won their away match against another local rival team so their energies were still high as the group of young teenagers congregated in the Nando’s restaurant. The team took space at the back of the building but their table had a good view of the high street outside.

“How can you call yourself a Nigerian but you’re ordering lemon and herb?!” Tyrique, the goal-keeper of the team, criticised Michael - one of the defenders. “You’re a disgrace to your ancestors.”

“First of all! I’m half-Nigerian and two, not all of us were born with the devil’s arsehole for a mouth.” The remark caused an eruption of laughter throughout the restaurant.

Emil, who had been quiet in his corner with one headphone covering his ear just chuckled to himself and shook his head as he turned back his attention to the video that was playing on his phone. The footage was of him at the recent match. He had scored twice, his last one being the deciding the goal of the match.

It was something that he was proud of but there had been too many missed opportunities but the rival team had put on a good defence and were quite aggressive with their offence. However, he felt like he could have done more. If he was going to get scouted, he needed to be better.

“Right Emil, what am I getting you lad?” The Thompson Tigers’ head coach. Raymond Wright asked the young boy.

“Erm, just a quarter hot spice chicken with spicy rice and coleslaw . Refill drink please.” Emil ordered his food.

“Any desert for the man of the match?” Emil felt his cheeks warm at the statement. Everyone had agreed that he had deserved the badge of honour. Throughout the entirety of the match, Emil was the man lifting the spirits of the other players, keeping them going.

“No, I’m okay. Thanks coach.” the older man patted his shoulder and then walked towards the counter. As Emil turned his attention back to his phone, a message popped up.

Mum ❤️: Coach just sent me videos of the match! You smashed it honey and I’m so proud of you! I’m sorry that we couldn’t make it. But I will be making your favourite food tonight. Love you baby boy.

The message caused him to smile. His mother was always expressive and she did not care that he found it a little embarrassing and cringe, especially when they were out together in public.

He quickly typed a response back.

Emil: Thank you mum you only missed this one match and that’s only because Titi is sick. As long as I get the most plantain on my plate, we’ll be okay.

Exiting the message thread, he clicked on the thread that he shared with his father. The last message that he had received from his dad was in the morning and it was a google luck text. Emil was a little disheartened but he knew that once his father knew about the results of the match, he would reach out.

Emil shook his head as he locked his phone and took his headphones off so that he could join in conversation with the rest of the team.

Coach and a couple of teammates returned to the table with some refill glasses and cutlery. Emil was focused on cleaning his fork and knife when his name was called out.

“Wassup?” He acknowledged his teammate, Jamal, who had called out to him.

“Isn’t that your dad?” He used his head to indicate towards the window. Outside on the high street was a parked uber and outside of the vehicle stood a man. Emil observed the man. The man’s back wasn’t particularly large, he was just tall. The back of his shoulders stretched out the fabric of the fitted suit and it was in a colour that was typical of the navy blue colour that his father would wear for work. Whilst Emil took after his mother’s rich dark skin - his father was more of a lighter brown that, when it got too hot, he would tan.

And it wasn’t until Emil spotted a tattoo of a small bird behind the man’s ear did it full recognise in his brain that the figure was his father.

Without a further thought, Emil shot out of his seat and rushed towards the exit of the restaurant without a care. His dad was outside and the joy riddling his young body was uncontainable. Months of not having his father not being able to turn up for any of his games, him making that extra effort when his mother was home bound with his little sister meant the world to him.

He swung the door of the restaurant open and only slowed down to cross the road, Emil ran over. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks and frowned in confusion at the sight a few feet ahead of him.

Just a few steps in font of him, Emil watched as his father, not even turn to face him, but to open his arms as a woman get out of the fashion boutique they were standing in front of. It was a woman he recognised but in that moment, Emil could not put a name to it.

The woman jumped in his father’s arms and embrace him the way that he had witnessed his mother do so many time before. Emil’s brain was trying to catch up with what was happening but his body was already reacting.

He felt his heart pinch with an acute pain that made it harder for him to breathe. Then tears began to well behind his eyes as the pain was becoming too much as the confusion mounted.

And yet, it wasn’t until his father kissed the woman did that confusion and hurt manifested into a deep betrayal and a furious anger.

His quick feet propelled him forward until he felt his hands pushed against the bodies of the adults, breaking them apart.

“What the fuck Dad!” He yelled as the older man stared down at him with a panicked look washing over his face.

reading list: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @saturnville @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @bluesole16 @chaneajoyyy @emjayewrites @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @sapphireheaven @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @samiwzx @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew @henneseyhoe @perfecttrashface @alianovnaromanovanatalia @leilaxaliel

[lauramkaye]

oh no I just realized that if this song was ever translated into Mando'a it would probably be called Nar dral'shya!

And then my brain would not. rest. until I had translated it.

Yes I really translated this song into the made up Star Wars Armor Guy Language I'm so sorry my brain is just LIKE THAT

(my special interests, let me show you them... under the cut)

(also I welcome alternate translations for some of these lines from others because I'm just winging it here)

In the interests of space I won't list every repetition, but:

Ah... push it = ke'nariti - to make this scan you'd want to kind of run the first two syllables together, so it would come out something like "k'na" on the "ah" and "riti" on the "push it"

push it good = nar dral'shya

push it real good = ke nar dral'ne - where "nar dral'shya" is put/do/act more powerfully", "nar dral'ne" would be "put/do/act THE MOST powerfully". The "ke" makes it imperative, which is kind of understood in the phrase already, but adding it in here makes it more emphatic and also the right number of syllables for the song.

Ooh, baby, baby = oooh, cyare, cyare - this fits perfectly. Note that "cyare" is pronounced SHAH-ray. You could even do the "ba-baby baby" thing. It would sound like "shah-shahray SHAHray."

get up on this = ke shaadl'at ni (come towards me). An elided way to say "ke shaadla at ni" that will fit the scansion.

Salt N Pepa's here = Translating this really depends on if you are assuming that Salt N Pepa are recording a translated version of their song (in which case you'd either leave it as is or use "Salt bal Pepa") or if you are trying to come up with some kind of AU Mando version of Salt N Pepa. Seasoning and spices are actually huge in Mando culture and there are a number of words to choose from; the main issue is going to be getting the scansion right. "X is here" in Mando'a is "X cuy olar." However, the verb "to be" is usually dropped in Mando'a and you get a lot more latitude on contractions in poetry and songs, so I would probably translate this line as either "Salt bal Pep'olar" (assuming the band keeps their name) or "Hetiklyc olar" if it was an AU band. Hetiklyc means "spicy", with the particular connotation of a particular sinus-burning type of spiciness prized in Mandalorian cooking.

Note: for the verses I don't have the time to make everything scan so I'm going to say that the rapper should freestyle appropriately so it fits, okay?

Now wait a minute, y'all = pare sol, ad'ike (using "ad'ike" in the informal sense of "guys" or "lads" here)

This dance ain't for everybody /Only the sexy people= Anade nu’redalu /Shi Copyc’ad redalu jii (Everybody doesn't dance - only attractive people dance now)

So all you fly mothers, get on out there and dance. Dance, I said! = Jor'bic an copyc’ad, ke redalu. Redalu! (therefore all attractive people, dance. Dance!)

Salt N Pepa's here, and we're in effect = [use however you've decided to translate "Salt N Pepa's here" above], bal mhi tsikala

Want you to push it, babe = Vercopa nar dral’shya, cyare

Coolin' by day then at night, working up a sweat = Kih’ciryc ibi’tuur, projor tal’onidi ibi’ca (A little cold today, then giving it our all tonight)

C'mon girls, let's go show the guys that we know/ How to become number one in a hot party show = Okay this one was tricky but I ended up going with K’olar, ad’ike, tengaana anade mhi lise /Cuyi parjii o’r akaan be copad - (Come on, guys/lads/friends, we demonstrate that are are all able to/become the winner in a war of desire). You could also use vode instead of ad'ike; rapper's choice, I'd say.

Now push it = ke'nariti again here

Yo, yo, yo, yo, baby-pop= I'd use "cyar'ika" for "baby-pop." for the "yo, yo, yo" you could use "su cuy" or possibly, for better scansion, something like "oya, oya, cyar'ika"

Yeah, you, come here, give me a kiss = Lek, k’olar, ke murcyu ni

Better make it fast or else I'm gonna get pissed = Ke shaadla iviin’yc ra gar ni skana’din - essentially "move fast or you will infuriate and annoy me"

Can't you hear the music's pumpin' hard like I wish you would? = oh geez this one was HARD. I ended up going with bes’laar nar ori’dral sa vercopa gar nar dral’shya? (the music does it very hard, like I wish that you would do it harder)

Now push it = ke'nariti or you could substitute nar dral'shya for emphasis

Boy, you really got me going = Cyare, gar ni vercopa’din (you make me feel desire)

You got me so I don't know what I'm doing = Gar ni lararyc’din ganar gar (to try to get the tone I went with a less literal translation here - something like "I'm drunk from wanting to have you". I feel like I should have a copaani in there somewhere but it didn't seem like it would fit - maybe it could get a poetic contraction like "copaa'ganar gar" or something)

[whatudottu]

I love having a job that doesn’t require thought, it let’s me think about aliens as I go about cleaning other people’s messes (and getting a good grade in floor cleaning that is both normal and possible to achieve)-

On tonight’s agenda, let’s talk talpeadans and Poiana Lüncas, this time a little bit on worldbuilding and sociology!

I’ve been here screaming at the top of my hill that among the obvious reference to armadillos and pangolin that talpeadans would take after (and the somewhat excuse of techno organic construction lads), I have made myself clear that I like my aliens weird and given some ant bullshit to work with. Originally the whole idea of talpaedans with ant biology was to source in extra different construction machine types and spread them all out in one megacity of a union, literally a colony of workers all under the family name.

What I kind of forgot after making those ideas is the evolutionary reason for it in ants both socially and biologically... and given how real world ants are territorial and absolutely vitriolic towards another colony...

Hmm, I shan’t say it, but I did not like the implications.

But, this was not a dead end; let’s work on the overall culture of Poiana Lüncas before moving into the why because that will set the context for my idea.

Poiana Lüncas, a planet of deserts, rocky plains and a terrible terrible problem with tectonic activity, houses the many families of talpaedans, who live in united megacity sized colonies named after their matriarch/boss/leader. When young talpaedans are given their name, they are also given the name of their city - of their people’s queen - as their family name. And with that family name came with it a deep ingrained sense of ‘us vs them’ amongst the colonies where loyalties lie only in the blood of another’s veins. With cities expanding across larger and larger regions, there was eventually no more room to simply ignore the other colonies and their queens buried deep within, stepping on other’s toes became inevitable.

Taken from how ants hate the utter fucking shit out of each other, I think that a full colony of ant armadillos with built in mechanics would absolutely go apeshit with an almost literal arms race of (what was at first) construction technology to full blown ‘i can no longer stand the sight of you’ weapons technology (and testing) warfare. Perhaps indeed to the point where some aspects of the land have forever been changed (big fucking trench equivalents for a burrowing species, war scarred plains now turned artificial desert) which leads to this;

i’ll get to that when i get to that, but galapagus saying ‘by addwaitya’ means something and i have thoughts

But eventually, wars do end- even if the tensions on Poiana Lüncas are so fucking thick it serves as bullet proof glass. And with that ending of at least one major fucking war between the family colonies (even humans couldn’t stick to one world war, let alone the many had before and after), arrangements had to be made to keep the peace.

Let’s bring in the biology, boys; this is where I add lions to my talpaedan headcanons.

Because of the haplodiploidy of ants being built to increase genetic diversity (and operate on the point that they will not be seen with another colony alive), there is a little bit of built in self sustaining in colonies, because lads born and assigned males do not have any genetic sons nor fathers due to being born without fertilsation. Since ladies are born through a mother and father, where guys still have genetic connection with their mother even if they have half the DNA the ladies get, there’s bound to be something happening that can be interesting for an alien but also I don’t particularly want to think about- I’ve come too far to take back my ant headcanons though so-

What if because of that already baseline male/female unrelatedness of 50%, the major trade off for times of peace - no matter how temporary or tense the peace may be - would be to further increase that diversity by sending off their youngest but otherwise mature generation of sons off to another colony and then getting some new lads of their own. It’s a little less than a natural social behaviour that lions would follow - given that they’re regular mammals who don’t do it like colony insects and have a very clear relation to mother and father - perhaps it’s also a little sleazy too. But, much like ants, female talpaedans were already predisposed to do tons of work for the queen and the colony, to the point to being built to do those jobs the best (perhaps more construction vehicle mechanics rather than tools like jackhammers), while males were left to do other stuff more routed in the city.

With the trade of fresh blood with new little quirks that the colony didn’t have before, newly mature talpaedan blokes are sent to rough and tumble it across the quite literal dead man zones between the megacities, traveling together as a group to cover their bases. Originally, all talpaedans followed the tradition of [given name] [family name], but it was with these new trade trails that a new one had come into development. The queens of each colony named the city and named all those that are born under or even by her, but talpaedans assigned female at birth retained the same [given name] [family name] tradition, and for those assigned male at birth would instead have a trio of names; [given name] [family name] and now [trade name], where they upon arrival to their new colony are given their last name to now swear allegiance to.

And with these headcanons, I believe I have found a very ample opening for Aggregor to snipe out a talpaedan sample for his little treasure hunt. Instead of going toe to toe with a megacity of family members - those who are staunchly against outsiders of other talpaedans let alone a full on alien - and coming away successful with a lad to absorb, a very convenient troop of young men on a trade trail, across lands scarred with warfare and full of creatures predator or prey, surely no one truly expects every tradesman to make home safely to their new home.

I mean, if the deal is already sealed, why doesn’t Andreas have his third name?

[corneliastreetapartment]

Feels like pt 4

Niall horan x Yn swift

Story Masterlist

PT4 IS HERE, A LITTLE HEARTWARMING SCENE HERE! AND IM GONNA MAKE LOUIS AND Y/N BESTIES, THEY JUST HAVE MATCHING ENERGIES!

also she goes to college in london! Zendaya and tom holland here too!

Hope you like it!

In Today’s episode:  “ I’m sad” “suffer in silence” “No I’m really sad, the type that”s worse than, my cat doesn’t like the scarf i knit her”

twitter

Instagram

Y/nofficial ✔︎

liked by Taylorswift and 4,718,725 others

Y/nofficial I might be considering being a professional cat sitter after college

view all 29,132 comments

Taylorswift I leave you both alone for 1 day, ONE DAY and you dress up my child

Y/nofficial IM HER AUNT, I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO!

Selenagomez SHE HAS EVERY RIGHT TO ! @Taylorswift 

Teddysphotos The real question is, how did you get her into a picture?

Y/nofficial Im covered in scratches, that’s how

Signofthestyles Lmfao I love her

Y/nfan02 omg i told you the cap would top it off!

Y/nofficial you were right!

Taylorswift @Y/nfan02 Molly don’t encourage her!

Ryanreynolds @Blakelively CAN WE CAN WE PLEASE?

Blakelively No

Ryanreynolds But just look at her!

Blakelively Fine😑

messages

The Lads

Public enemy - harry

mother hen - Liam

Zippy - zayn

Lola - louis

Gorgeous brunette- niall

God - y/n

Mother hen: Who changed the names?

Public Enemy: Guess who

God: Me bitch

Zippy: Does anyone else think that Y/n is a bit biased towards certain people

God: Nah i don’t see it

Public Enemy: of course Niall is happy isn’t he ?

Gorgeous brunette : Anything to stay in god’s good graces

Lola: HEY don’t make my new friend faint AGAIN

God: IM BACK IM BACK, Austin just put a bucket of water on me

God: LOU WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN LOCA?

Zippy: Am i the only one that finds this friendship highly disturbing and possibly causing the apocalypse?

Lola: Watching Smurfs

Lola : Because my kid won’t let me watch anything else.

God: Zip it, zippy !

Gorgeous brunette : I’m convinced that was the whole reason behind calling him zippy now

Messages

    Sugar and spice and everything Hideous 

Bubbles- Austin

Blossom- Taylor

Buttercup- Y/n

Blossom: Im sad

Buttercup: suffer in silence

Blossom: No im really sad, the type that”s worse than, my cat doesn’t like the scarf i knit her

Bubbles: Y/n you gotta give in, they were trying to figure out a way to tell you

Blossom: Cmon Y/n there’s only a few days left till you start your semester in london I don’t want to say goodbye like this

Buttercup: You hid it from me

Buttercup: I’m your sister, and you hid it from me.

Blossom: ik you despised him when we broke up but i just cant live without him. I finally feel like I’m meant to be with someone for once. Like its a  a love that is really something, Not just the idea of something.

Buttercup: I really love you, you know

Buttercup: Plus that is a really good line! you should add it in the new album tour somewhere!

Bubbles: Im not the one crying, your all freaks.

Buttercup: your.literally.crying.everyday.

Blossom: awww guys lets meet up tonight

Buttercup: You can invite harry, i know you think i’ll kill him but i’ll try to control my murderous tendencies, unless he starts singing sweet home Alabama, then nothing can save him 

Blossom: I love you Y/n/n

Buttercup: I sometimes manage to tolerate you

Buttercup: Ew affection

[lu-undy]

A Sniper/Medic Short

I took part in a Secret Santa and my giftee wanted a Sniper/Medic short with cuddles in front of a fire or exchanging gifts. I did both :) Here it is!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28489524

"Gosh, it's freezing." 

Sniper woke up in his van on that cold morning of late December. He rubbed his eyes and pressed a switch to turn on the heating in his campervan. Engineer had been kind enough to fix him a button next to his bed that connected with the electric radiator. So the Aussie stayed in bed for an extra half an hour to wait for the van to warm up to an acceptable level. He could afford the wait as that day was off for both teams. 

In fact, the mercenaries enjoyed two weeks off at the end of the year's holidays.

Sniper looked at the time and took a deep breath. 

"Right, should probably get up now." 

And he followed his morning routine. He put some clothes on with warm socks and a season coat. It was thick and lined with synthetic yet warm fur around the hood. He put on a scarf and gloves. When the Aussie finished slipping in his boots, he opened the van's back door and the ice cold air bit his very skin. 

Everything was covered in a thick layer of white snow and as he jumped down to the ground, he landed in a muffled thud and sunk to the middle of his legs in snow. He hissed and winced. The kangaroo wasn't much of a fan of the feeling of cold wetness on his legs in the morning, or at any other time of the day either.

He locked up his van's backdoor and walked back to the base's main building. He entered and shut the door before feeling the drastic change of temperature. 

"Crikey, it's hot in here…" 

Sniper pulled back his hood, removed his coat and unrolled the scarf around his face. He placed all his clothing items on the coathanger there and proceeded to the kitchen for breakfast, where he found most of his colleagues, as usual. 

"Mornin' Sniper." Engie waved. 

"G'day." 

The rest of the team present in the kitchen nodded to the Aussie who went straight to get a warm mug of coffee. As he reached the coffee pot, he stuck his frozen hands on it and let it sizzle his skin nicely. 

"Here, your coffee." 

The white mug marked '#1 Sniper' slid on the counter to him and when he raised his head, he saw a lab coat float away, back to the table. He smiled. 

He took the mug and resumed his usual seat around the table to partake in the usual morning debates. Well, partake was a big word, maybe just listen in and nod from time to time. He liked his colleagues' banter. It had taken some time for his head to stop hurting at it, but now he was fully used to it and he even appreciated it. He listened to it like the radio and watched it like TV. He would sometimes add his grain of salt to the conversation but he much preferred to listen and watch. 

"Hey, fancypants! Not wearin' a suit today? What is it, Christmas?" 

Spy entered wearing a knitted jumper that went up his neck, to the color of the team and a dark, matching pair of trousers.

"Very observant." He answered and went to the coffee pot to help himself. 

"Funny, eh, my Ma' knitted me the same kind of sweater!"

"Funny indeed." The Frenchman answered and the rest of the team sighed gently. 

"Any plans for today, guys?" The Bostonian asked.

"Today is a great day. You will all respect and celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ!" Soldier exclaimed. "And if I catch one of you numbnuts not partaking in the festivities, it will be extra physical training and scrubbing duties!" He raised an authoritative index finger. 

"Calm down, laddie, what about a snowball fight? The snow's nice and fresh." Demoman suggested. 

"Yes, Sir!" 

"Right! Can me and Pyro join you guys?" Scout asked. 

"Of course, lads! The more, the merrier!"

"Heavy, you wanna join us?" Scout turned to his impressively built colleague. 

"Nyet."

"Come on, Stalingrad! Let me give you a Second Cold War!"

"Aye, c'mon, Heavy, what are you gonna do inside, eh? It's Christmas and there's snow!"

Heavy rolled his eyes and smiled behind his crossed arms. 

"Fine." He yielded and the mercenaries rejoiced. 

"What about the support club?" Scout turned to Medic, Spy and Sniper. 

The Frenchman was reading a newspaper while Medic and Sniper looked briefly at each other. 

"Spy, d'you wanna-"

"Non."

"C'mon, Spy-"

"Non."

"But-?"

"Non." 

"Why?" 

The old French man sighed. 

"I am busy."

"What will you be doin'?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"C'mon, what could be better than a snow fight? Join us!"

Spy sighed from his side of the newspaper. 

"A phone call with your mother would be incomparably better than a snowball fight."

The mercenaries tensed around the table and their eyes all shifted to Scout. 

"Yeah, well, you're not gonna get it anyway so c'mon!" 

They facepalmed and rolled their eyes. Scout was remarkably oblivious. 

Little by little, the mercenaries left the table. Sniper's eyes rose from his final bit of toast when the flapping of the white lab coat caught his attention. Medic was leaving the table. The Aussie finished his breakfast but stayed a bit longer in the kitchen. He helped for the dishes, as he owed it to Engie.

"Wanna help me prepare lunch, Sniper?" 

"Sure." 

"If you'd rather go with the others in the snow, that's fine by me, eh." 

"Nah, it's fine. I'll give you a hand."

At the other end of the building, Medic was filling some paperwork that he had been putting off for too long.

There was a knock at the door. 

"Ja?" 

"Uh, it's me, Doc'."

There was the noise of a chair moving and footsteps before the door opened. 

"Hey there."

"Hallo, Sniper."

"Mind if I join?" 

"Please." 

Medic shut the door after his guest. 

"What brings you here?" 

"Van's freezing." 

"Ah, so you're just here for the radiator?"

Sniper chuckled. 

"Yeah, nah…"

"I was about to stop and take a break. Shall we go to my living room? I will make some coffee."

"Sure." 

Both mercenaries went through a corridor and Medic opened the door in the end. Medic, like Spy, had his own suite, which consisted of a living-room, a kitchen, bathroom and his bedroom. They were all a few doors away from his workplace.

"After you."

"Thanks, mate." 

"Make yourself at home, I will set the coffee."

"Right." 

Sniper entered and removed his old boots right at the door. The floor was carpeted and he didn't want to give his friend some extra work cleaning it. He slipped his coat off and hung it on the coat-hanger before proceeding to the sofa. He sat down and made himself comfortable as he heard his German friend busy in the kitchen. 

"Hm." 

Sniper soon got off the couch and went to the kitchen door. He gave it a few short knocks. 

"Need some help with anythin'?" 

Medic turned to him, who was peeking from the door. Sniper's eyes fell on the tray that the medical expert was preparing. 

"No, I should be fine, danke, Sniper."

"You sure?"

"Ja, go get yourself warmed up in front of the fire. I will be just an extra minute." 

"Alright, gimme a shout if you need me, ok?"

Medic smiled.

"Will do." 

The Aussie turned and went back to the sofa. In front of it was a coffee table and a fireplace against the wall. It was lit up and Sniper could feel its heat diffuse to the sofa, slowly. 

"Here, coffee and some cookies." 

Medic brought the tray and sat down next to Sniper. 

"Cookies?" 

"Ja, Pyro baked them for me the other day after I fixed his arm."

Sniper stared at the star and heart-shaped cookies with multicolored sprinkles. 

"Guessed as much."

"Did you?" Medic asked, handing Sniper his mug. 

"You don't come across as the heart shaped cookie bakin' type…" Sniper leaned his arm on the back of the sofa.

"Very perceptive you are." Medic leaned his head on the Aussie's shoulder and they chuckled. 

"Should take a break like the others, y'know, ease out on the work."

"Experiments don't carry themselves out unfortunately." 

"Guess so. But what if I ask you to take a break?"

"Why?"

Sniper put his now empty mug away and looked down at Medic. He held his chin between his index and thumb. 

"Cause I wanna spend time with you, darl'." He tilted the German's face upwards and stared into his eyes, through the thin pair of glasses. Sniper smiled. "Please." 

Medic's eyebrows rose up and he grinned back. He removed his gloves and threw them away on the sofa before wrapping an arm around Sniper. 

"Hard for me to refuse when you plead me with such beautiful eyes." 

"You got some pretty eyes too, eh." 

"Flatterer." 

"Nah, just sayin' what I'm thinking."

"Mmh." Medic buried his head under Sniper's jaw, on his chest and he felt his arms wrap around him. 

"Missed you, luv'."

"So did I." 

They stared at the dancing flames of the fireplace and their breaths synced slowly, Medic's head was rising and falling to the rhythm of Sniper's calm breathing. 

"Oh…?" Medic's surprise escaped his lips as he felt Sniper's fingers slide between his. 

"I wanna spend a bit more time with you, y'know. Sometimes, I don't go to your office not because I care about what people would say or because I don't want to. It's cause I don't wanna bother you but…"

"But?" Medic asked. 

"But I miss you, I really do…" Sniper tightened his hug and clenched his fingers between the German's. "I wish we could spend a full day together and…"

"I thought you were wary of the others learning for us?"

"I'm sure Spy knows, the rest will, one day or another. Besides, I just wanna spend the winter break with you." 

Medic raised his head to his lover. 

"Me too, Sniper…" 

Their lips met in the quiet and dark room, the warmth from the fireplace hardly rivaling with the hot touch of their hands brushing past their clothes. 

"Please…" Sniper asked, sliding a hand behind Medic's head, through his hair. "Please stay with me tonight." 

Medic bit his lip. His hands slid on Sniper's collar and up to his rough, scruffy cheeks. 

"I will."

Sniper's delight came out of him in a silent gasp and a wide smile. He pulled Medic's face again to kiss him, for longer this time and they dived on the sofa, the German on top of the Aussie, ruffling his brown, short hair as their lips brushed, nipped and pulled. 

"Give me more than one night… Wake up next to me, please…"

Sniper curled a leg behind the white lab-coat and pulled the man below it flush against him. Their kisses went more heated and their lips were wet and slightly swollen from all the attention there. 

"I will." 

Medic removed his lab-coat and threw it away. Sniper pulled the blanket that was hanging on the back of the sofa and covered them both. The German just lied on top of the man that kept him safe after a long day of work. Sniper understood him, wordlessly. He knew when to ask for attention and when Medic didn't have the strength for it. 

That day, all the German wanted was affection. Affection and strong arms to hold him. He lay on Sniper, his head on the Aussie's chest and he felt long fingers play with his black, short hair. 

"Thanks, luv'. I know I might be askin' a lot from you but… You have no idea how good it feels to wake up with you instead of just, y'know, a big empty bed…"

"I do apologise, Sniper. I should spend more time with you."

"It's alright. I understand, you like your work, it's fine."

"Yes but…" Medic raised his head to look Sniper in the eyes. He smiled. "I love you and I would much rather spend my evening with you than with paperwork. You are right, my love."

"About what?" 

"Let's make this winter break all about us."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean that you can bring a bit more clothes here and stay with me for a couple of weeks…?"

"Seriously?" 

"Ja, I can spend my days and my nights with you."

Sniper's face radiated with a wide smile. 

"You'd do that? Really?" 

"Ja, we all deserve a break and I could do with a bit more affection from you." 

"Well I got loads of it for you, eh." Sniper's hands brushed Medic's back slowly under the blanket. 

"Perfect…"

"Uh… Would you…?"

"Would I what?" 

"Would you… have some… for me, maybe?" Sniper blushed and his eyes darted left and right in embarrassment. He wasn't so good when it came to words but had an incredible intuition when it came to moves...

"Of course." Medic pushed his lips on Sniper's and let his tongue brush past the hunter's chapped lips, which pulled a low growl from the wild man.

"Gosh… I'm so happy, I… Thanks, really." 

"You are welcome, Sniper." 

They snuggled up under the blanket and in front of the fireplace, they both warmed up nicely. 

"I got you somethin' for Christmas."

Medic's eyes snapped wide. 

"Did you?" 

"Yeah."

"Why? I mean… I didn't."

"Yeah, you did." 

"What?" Medic asked.

"You're spending a couple of weeks with me. That's… Better than Christmas…!"

"Saying things like that makes me realise even more how much I neglected you…"

Medic raised his head with his now ruffled hair and they exchanged a kiss.

"So please, show me what you got us…?" Medic asked.

"Want it now?"

"Ja, why not?"

"I guess I can… I've been carryin' them on me all the time for you not to find them by accident or anythin'."

"Oh…" 

Sniper slid a hand in his pocket and retrieved his secret gift. 

"Alright, you're ready?" He asked, putting his still clenched fist in front of Medic's face. 

"Ja." 

Sniper opened his hand and two bracelets lay in his palms. 

"Oh… They look lovely…" 

"I made them m'self." 

"The wooden pearls you carved yourself?"

"Yeah." 

"Oh, and what is this pendant?"

"Look at it. Carved it myself too. I had to go and get a book from the Teufort library to do it, cause I didn't really know what it looked like."

Medic held one of the bracelets. 

"It looks like an anatomically correct heart with an arrow piercing through it, but that's only the left half of it…" 

"Look at the other bracelet, luv'."

Medic took the other one and looked at the pendant. 

"Oh mein Gott… That's the right half…!"

"Yeah, I carved a little wooden heart, lookin' at an anatomy book, then carved the arrow, then cut it in halves. You get one and I get the other. Looks less ridiculous than a classic heart and it makes sense."

"Ja! And I guess the heart represents me and the arrow, you?"

"Yeah, you got it."

"I am… Speechless… It must have taken you hours to make them…"

"Who cares? It was fun and it made me think about you for hours. C'mon, wear it and show me!"

Medic slid one around his wrist and put one around Sniper's. 

"I feel like a little boy again…" The German doctor chuckled. 

"Yeah, bit childish maybe but uh…"

"Nein, please, I didn't mean it in a bad way, on the contrary. I guess this is the true spirit of Christmas." 

"Yeah, sort of." Sniper slid his fingers through Medic. 

"I love you, Sniper. Thank you so much for your gift."

"You're welcome. Love ya too, oh, mmh…" 

Medic slid up on Sniper to take his lips again. The flames of the fireplace danced as their bodies followed another choreography. The doctor and the hunter took their time that night. Maybe it was Christmas, maybe it was the gift, or maybe they had yearned for each other that much. 

That year, they did spend a Merry Christmas indeed.

[captainrexisboo]

In A Single Night Chp 2

Here it is ❤️❤️❤️ Link to Previous Chapter (in case you missed it)

I’m not gonna say anything about it, except no warnings apply ✨

Tag list in the replies, please let me know if you would like to be tagged, and All Comments Are Welcome!!! Enjoy my lads, ladies, and lovers!!!

Edit: link to chp3 🥰

You banged on the thick, almost black oak door, knowing he was awake despite the hour, “Commander! Commander, please, open up, we need to-”

“Y/N!” he hisses through grit teeth as he swings open the door, still fully clothed as you expected in the same white uniform Rex was donning earlier that night, with deep bags under his eyes and dark curls sticking up, out of their usual well-kept place from running his fingers through it too many times, “The Captain isn’t here, so please, my dearest liege, if you could keep it down-”

“Of course Rex isn’t here, Cody, he’s out galavanting in the woods without a thing to cover his backside except blasted blond fur,” you seethed as you pushed through into the dim candlelit office, your now-tattered cloak trailing behind you, “How long has your brother been a werewolf?”

He stared at you, brows furrowed and lips pulled into a tight grimace as if you had sprouted two heads. His gaze switched from you to glare defeatedly at the full moon that hung outside his window, illuminating the room even more than the candles. He shook his head, stiffening his back as he brought up two fingers to rub at his scarred brow, “My...he...walk me through this. What happened?”

You shuffled on your feet, clenching and unclenching your fists as you cleared your throat, “Rex...wanted to see me tonight. During patrol. And before I could reach him, he…”

Good lords, you sounded mad. You bit your lip as you stopped talking, not finding it in you to continue, tearing your gaze off the floor to look up into Cody’s signature deadpan expression, as if you could project into his mind exactly what you had seen. He stood straight, hands folded behind him, tired eyes still actively surveying your form, precise and calculating. At your extended pause and fidgeting shoulders, he clicked his tongue, “You know, canoodling with any soldier, regardless of rank, isn’t allowed while they’re on duty, your grace.”

“Cody!” you whined, stepping up to him to place your hands on his shoulders, “This isn’t about that! It’s about Rex! He turned into a-”

“I know,” Cody sighed, gently taking hold of your wrists and pulling them off of him, “I had suspected this, I was going to prepare for it, but-”

He groaned gruffly, letting go of a wrist to scrub a hand over his face and covering an obscene yawn, “I guess I lost track of the moon cycle.”

You could only stand there, mouth agape. You pulled your other wrist away, a bewildered scoff exhaling from you, “You knew!?”

He nodded, his exhausted demeanor making his stoic expression all the more bored, as if this was just another debriefing of the low level muggings that took place over the weekend.

“Why didn’t either of you say anything!”

“What makes you think he knew?”

You paused, the question putting you through such a loop you momentarily forgot you were in hysterics. You shook your head, furrowing your brows low as you groaned, “Well why wouldn’t he know?”

“Well, this is a quite a recent development-”

“Commander!” you couldn’t stand the idle chatter that he seemed intent on keeping, “I would love to be casual and catch up some other time, but right now your brother, my love, our Captain is out there somewhere, going crazy with bloodlust-”

“As opposed to what other type of lust?”

“Cody!” you screeched, not bothering if the entire castle heard you two bickering at this point. The infuriating smirk he wore made you want to tear your hair out. You stamped your foot and pointed to the blanket of tall, thick trees that stretched across the starlit landscape outside his office window, “You need to go out there, right now, find your brother, and throw his clothes at him!”

You never thought you’d see the day that Commander Cody Fett, of the Republic Aegis, laughed. Not his normal, brief, smug chuckle that made all the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes go weak in the knees and swoon under his cool facade. No, this laugh was deep, and building, he was taking large breaths in between, clutching at his diaphragm, until he was howling not unlike his brother, barely an hour ago. 

It made you furious.

You ground your molars, tightening your fists, nearly twitching with your anger. You could feel your cheek stitch up as your eyes narrowed, a thrumming growl coming from the back of your throat. You let out a huff, hands flying up to the dark metal clasp of your cloak, a beautiful thick charcoal wool with royal blue velvet on the bottom hem. It was a gift from Rex about a year ago, after coming home from a diplomatic visit, and it immediately became your favorite thing to wear. You kept it clean, and stored it safely in the warmer months- now it was dirt smeared, ripped in odd places from falling onto scraggly rock, and torn from where his claws had pierced next to your head...and you were noticing now, his back claws had pierced the fabric that had bunched around your knees as well when he had you pinned underneath him. 

As you were inspecting your cloak with puffy red eyes, Cody was coming down from his bout of hysterics. You could hear his weakening breath, and you held out the cloak, not wanting to meet the taunt you were sure he held in his stare, “He attacked me. Pinned me to the road before running off…”

Cody grunted low, clearing his throat of the remaining bit of humor as he took the thick, warm material in his hands. He breathed deeply as his fingers traced the irregular tears, blinking heavily as he squeezed the bridge of his nose, coming down from madness as he looked back up at you. You refused to look at him, but his tone was surprisingly somber, “Look, I’m sorry, truly. As you can imagine, I’m very tired...you walk in here telling me my brother is a werewolf, and that the solution is to throw clothes at him? Where did you even hear such a thing?”

You finally looked up at him, expecting more brutish teasing, but instead finding a morbid, genuine curiosity. You clenched your jaw, taking a shuddering breath, “My grandmere...she lost her suitor to the soul of the beast. I didn’t really think about it before, but it makes sense now.”

Your eyes stung with the realization, voice choking with emotion, but no tears were able to fall. You looked at Cody, he was leaning against his desk, cloak folded beside him and listening intently. His eyes were focused on you as he folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head towards you in a silent request to continue. You cleared your throat of emotion, speaking low, “She was already with child at the time, my mother- his daughter, but… only the purest love can change the wolf back to a human. Giving them clothes, leading them back to a warm bed. Well, it turns out he didn’t love my grandmother like she thought. He attacked her, giving her claw marks down her shoulder and over her chest. The only reason she lived was because her father and his hunting party followed her with their rifles, driving away the monster.” 

You paused, a quaking breath wracking through you. Your throat was tight, and you were starting to get dizzy from the irregular breathing, “She lived in heartache for the rest of her days, the scar a reminder she wasn’t enough. Whatever love she thought she had was an illusion- he was only marrying her out of a sense of duty to the child he sired. I’m obviously not pregnant, Cody, I don’t even have that delusion to give me strength-”

“You want me to go out there instead of you,” Cody interrupted, piecing together your last bit of thought for you so you could focus on your breathing, “Because you’re unsure of his love towards you?”

You nodded, choking back dry, sobbing breaths, “I mean. What’s more pure love than the bond between brothers? He hasn’t even asked for my hand yet.”

“If you weren’t in the middle of a panic attack, I’d start laughing again,” Cody sighed heavy. You opened your mouth about to scold him again, when he held up a hand, “I knew he was asking you to meet with him tonight. He’s been hounding me all damn week for my opinions on ‘Will Y/N prefer this coat on me, or my cape? What time of day should it be? Does this sound okay as an opener?’ on and on and on- meanwhile there’s a war about to brew if Skywalker can’t sit still for a moment, Kenobi’s insistent on visiting with daily tea no matter how much I have on my plate, I have troops to train, and I had to research on  how to keep Rex’s wolf in check- and you know how well that faired- don’t even get me started on the pot that Sir Palpatine is intent on stirring-“

“Commander.”

He looked to you, snapped out from his exhausted ramblings at your clipped tone. You waved your wrist loosely, asking him to get to the damned point already. He coughed lightly, “Ah, right.”

He stood straight again, wrapping his hands behind his back and clearing his throat, “Your graciousness Y/N L/N of the Established Republic, Captain Rex Fett of the Republic Aegis was planning, tonight, to ask for your hand in marriage. Under the light of the full moon, ‘because the atmosphere would be just perfect’-”

You tuned out right as the word marriage was spoken. Cody’s voice rang clear in your head, the word turning itself over and over in your mind.

Your love. Your dearest Captain. Him. Rex. He was going to propose tonight. Tonight was supposed to be wonderful, given celebration, filled with purely blissful feelings and warmth- he would’ve proposed tonight. You would’ve stolen him away from his “break on patrol” and taken him back to your quarters for proper celebration, expected protocol be damned. You were supposed to be in the arms of your love right now, letting each other’s heartbeats lull each other to sleep as you shared lazy kisses of simple adoration, but instead you were listening to his sleep deprived twin wail on and on about something or other that didn’t really matter right now because he would’ve proposed.

But instead. He attacked you with gnashing fangs and a snarling maw. He held you beneath him, claws spearing the rock by your head, intent on having his slaughterous way with your flesh-

But instead. You whispered his name. A broken plea. A pathetic whimper… and he heard you. He listened. He threw himself off of you and didn’t look back. It wasn’t the beast- Rex had heard you.

Your love was still in there. 

And you were going to be the one to free him.

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Ikhrêkh Gabalî

Part 2 of ‘A Deep Misunderstanding’.  Who know how many more parts are going to follow...  Link to Series Masterlist.

Thorin falls for a Dwarrowdame raised by Elves, and tries to make know his feelings, but accidentally offends her, which leads to another and another misunderstanding between the two.

Based off of @immawriteyouthings​ ‘Falling Stars’

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Word Count:  1,442

Warning(s):  Swear words, someone thinking they are getting called rude names.

Translation(s): Ikhrêkh Gabalî:  Painful Words

~~~~

Things were going south far too fast for me.  Already, we were being pursued by Orcs mounted upon Wargs.  

Of course, I wasn't idiotic enough to not expect trouble on a quest such as this, but I had figured we'd run into Wargs a bit closer to Erebor perhaps.  Not within the first two weeks of our journey.  

"Run faster!"  Thorin bellowed at me as we sprinted along, and I would have yelled some choice words back at him, but I was too out of breath to do so.  Honestly, he was just doing this to be snippy.  

I was in the lead as we sprinted through the grass; he was at the back.  Who was the better runner?  Obviously me.  I hadn't been raised by Elves for nothing....  

Finally, we reached a boulder and hid behind it for a moment, trying to catch our breaths.  Where had that blasted wizard run off to now?  Wasn't he supposed to be helping us get out of this mess in the first place?

Thorin must have shared my unspoken thoughts as he grumbled something about stupid wizards underneath his breath.  Glancing over at him, I noticed the way his tangled dark brown hair tumbled messily down onto his shoulders.  His mouth was opened as he panted lightly, steely blue eyes darting around as he scanned the horizon for more Orcs.  I would be lying if I said that the sight didn't send a convoy of butterflies through my stomach.

Why wouldn't my heart just forget about him?  He obviously didn't want me around the first place; he'd certainly made that clear.

"Over here!"  Our heads snapped up to look around at the source of the voice.  Gandalf stood by a rock, waving at us with his staff.  "This way!"

I bolted towards him, deciding to put my trust in Gandalf.  Eru knew Thorin didn't know where the Mordor he was going.

I stepped lightly through the dry grass of the meadow, feeling it slash at my trouser legs as I darted through.  I just knew it would be torn by the end of this.  Believe it or not, grass was sharp.

But then I tripped over something and found myself flat on my stomach; all the breath knocked clear out of my lungs.  I gasped like a fish out of water, unable to move until I could force oxygen into my body.

Bodies flashed by me on either sides as dwarves passed me, running towards Gandalf.  

Glad to know they cared about me.  

I resigned myself to my fate of being eaten by the Warg I just knew was probably pursuing them when burly arms snagged me and lifted me into the air, tossing me over a furry shoulder.

An arm grasped tightly around my lower waist, and I prayed they wouldn't adjust their grip any lower.  That would be awkward.

But then my mind registered just who was carrying me, and things suddenly became much more awkward anyways.  

Why was the Dwarf who complained about me the most the one saving me?  

Next thing I knew, my jostling ride stopped as Thorin entered a dark cavern, and slowed to a walk.  I expected to be put down, but he instead kept me slung over his shoulder as Gandalf began to lead us through a series of cracks within the ground.

"Thorin, put me down right now."  I said, fisting his fur coat in my hands in an attempt to not fall face-first off his shoulder as the path angled sharply upwards.  

"No.  You're just going to slow us down again."  He grumbled, and I rolled my eyes.  How would I slow them down?  We were walking.  

"I can assure you, I can keep up with you all just fine."  I said, wriggling in his grasp in an attempt to get him to release me, but he just tightened his grip around my waist.

Curses.

"Somehow, I doubt that after your performance, Miss Estel."  He said, and I could have almost sworn that there was just the slightest hint of mischief in his gruff voice.  

"Uncle just wants to have an excuse to--"  Kili's cheeky voice pipped up suddenly from somewhere ahead of Thorin, but his uncle quickly cut him off.

"Kili, be quiet."  He ordered severely, and Kili obeyed quickly.  I didn't blame the lad.  If I had an uncle like Thorin, I would have done the same.  

But still, Kili's words wouldn't leave me.  What did Thorin want an excuse for?  Did it have something to do with me, and why was Thorin so touchy about whatever it was?

At last, we reached what I recognized to be Rivendell, and Thorin finally set me down as he realized just where in Middle Earth we were.  The company and him formed a protective circle around me and Bilbo as a sudden commotion emerged.

Peering over the hairy heads of the Dwarrows, I caught sight of Lord Elrond and a few soldiers as they returned in full armor that gleamed in the bright rays of the sun.

Gandalf persuaded Thorin to let us stay here in Rivendell for a few days to regain our strength, which gladdened me more than I would admit to Thorin.  I had sorely missed the company of intellectuals.

Also, it would be a nice change to converse with others in Elvish once more.  I didn't dare speak a word in it in front of any of the Dwarves for fear they would figure out my past and Thorin would throw me out of the Company.

But first I had to get away from a suddenly clingy Thorin.  It was strange, he didn't outright stand beside me.  He just, hovered around me.

As we began to settle in to our new quarters, he suddenly approached me, and I took in a deep breath, wondering what in Eru's name he needed.  Vaguely, I could see everyone else pause in their activities to watch us.

Weird.

Thorin's brow was furrowed as he walked up to me, his gaze scanning me up and down, taking in my torn trousers and skinned up palms.  Then his gaze landed on the small scratches and cuts I had gained on my face from landing face down in the grass, a frown appearing on his face.  

Great, now was he going to say that I was ugly now too?

"Are you alright, Amrâlimê?"  He asked suddenly, and I puzzled over the unfamiliar word he used when referring to me.

I could hear the titters coming from the group around us, and Thorin's cheeks suddenly gained a faint dusting of pink.  

"That'll show her, Uncle!"  Kili's voice carried over the unintelligible mutterings of everyone else, and I began to gain an inkling of just what the unfamiliar word meant.  

And that realization hurt.

"Didn't think he'd ever work up the courage to say that..."  Bofur's voice met my ears next, and I quickly made up my mind.  Obviously, the word was an insult of some type and I was not going to stand to be treated like this.

I shot a hurt look at Thorin, grabbing the bedroll I had started to unpack and beginning to repack it.  I would sleep somewhere else tonight.  Somewhere far away from this Dwarf that disliked my company so much.  

"I'm fine, thank you."  I muttered through clenched teeth, looking at Thorin with a fake smile on my face.  "I suppose you think it's funny to insult other people in a language they can't understand, huh?  But I'm not going to take that from you.  It just shows how much of a stupid, insensitive arse you are."  I said, blinking away the tears that rose in my eyes.  No matter how much I could try to pretend otherwise, it hurt to be called names.

The mutters suddenly died as I spoke, and Thorin's eyes widened.  "Miss Estel--" he started, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.

"I don't want to hear another word out of your filthy mouth.  I'm going to sleep somewhere else tonight so you don't have to deal with my obviously intolerable presence."  I said and hurried off before I could burst into tears, leaving a stunned silence behind me.

Maybe this would teach them not to speak badly about other people in their presence.  I mean, if you couldn't say the word straight out in Common to the person's face, then perhaps you shouldn't say it at all.  That's what my foster mother had taught me.

But these were crude, cowardly Dwarves.  What did they know about other people's feelings?

Nothing, it appeared.

[marauder-exe]

The second time Sirius Black felt his heart stop.

The second time Sirius Black felt his heart stop, he was 14 years old. It was the middle of your 4th year at Hogwarts. The Tri-wizard tournament had come and gone soon enough. But accompanying the Tri-wizard tournament, was the Yule ball. A time for girls and guys to get dressed up, ask each other out, and dance the night away. Unfortunately for Sirius, the second step wasn't as easy as it sounds. He could get dressed up easily. Had learned dancing from a young age, from his parents frequent Balls and Galas. Hell he could probably charm his way into the pants of any girl (and boy for that matter) at Hogwarts. But you where different. When it came to you he was a bumbling mess. You didn't mind though. He wasn't as bad as he was first year. For the first few months he couldn't speak a word to you. But now, you guys where friends, close friends. He had come to terms with his love for you last year. When he had punched a guy for standing you up on a date. He said it was his protectiveness, but he was just jealous. You guys where friends, so why was it so god damn hard for him to pluck up the courage to ask you. You where beautiful, he was in love with you. That's why.

He had enlisted the help of James Potter and Remus Lupin to help him ask you to be his date. Which, in all fairness, was probably the worst idea he'd ever had. They both had conflicting ideas. Get her flowers. Don't get her flowers. Treat her like a queen. Treat her mean, keep her keen. Sirius rolled his eyes at that one. He was so utterly conflicted on how to handle it. You where possibly the best person he had ever met, and one wrong move, then everything would go out the window. This was the one time everything had to be perfect. It had to.

He had it all planned. Buy you some flowers. Some chocolate (Thanks for the suggestion Remus) and he would ask you to take a walk around the black lake with him, something you would often do together. And he would ask you to be his date to the ball, under that one pink Sakura tree you really loved. And so the plan was set into motion. James had distracted some of your other friends, by of course flirting with them. They where useless when boys where around. And Remus would take peter and they where going to charm the Sakura tree so flowers would fall as you and Sirius would stand under it.

So they did. And the plan went ahead much to Sirius’ liking, and Lily's disliking. Sirius had bounced up to you as you sat in the common room, reading a new book you had bought.

“Hello, my absolute favourite person on earth” He smiled towards you and sat down on the couch, throwing an arm over you, like always. You had always had that type of relationship, well after first year, even though it left you both red in the face.

“Hello, Sweetheart” You smiled back, nuzzling into his arm, continuing reading. His mouth moved closer to your ear and whispered.

“Fancy a walk around the black lake, we can visit the Sakura tree.” At this you immediately jumped up and kissed his cheek, then ran to go put on your shoes and a jacket. Sirius laughed inwardly at your excitement. After you'd put your needed stuff on, you set off to the black lake. And he was so very nervous. You talked and talked as you walked around the black lake, until the dreaded subject came up.

“So, who is Sirius Black, Hogwarts charmer, winner of every girls hearts taking to the Yule ball?” Your heart thumped in your chest, hoping he would say anyone.

“Uhhh, I haven't really got a date yet” yet. You had desperately hoped he'd wouldn't ask anyone, and if he did it would've been you.

“Enough about me though. Who is, (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N), Half Veela, daughter of the Minister of Magic, Hogwarts charmer, taking to the ever glamorous ball” he mirrored your earlier phrase, He upped the dramatics of course. He desperately hoped no one had asked you. But he knew they had. He'd seen them. They asked you out right in front of his yes most of the time. You always said no. He just hoped you kept saying no, unless it was to him.

“Ah, haven't found the right lad to go with yet” yet. You kept in conversation from a little while longer, but steered the conversation away from the Yule Ball.

You had eventually arrived at your favourite tree, and to your surprise, flowers where falling from it, giving it a beautiful affect. You shouted Sirius over, excitedly talking about the trees. He just stared in awe as you danced underneath them, looking happier than ever. You where so god damn beautiful.

“(Y/N)?” He asked, as you stopped dancing. “Go to the ball with me?” Okay it wasn't exactly how he planned, but he couldn't stop himself. “O-oh I got you flowers and chocolate too.” He accioded the flowers and chocolate, as you just smiled at him.

“Of course ill go to the ball with you, idiot!” You jumped into his arms and gave him a huge hug. You hugged him with so much force you practically knocked him onto the floor. And there you sat, giggling on the ground, with the love of your life, and you couldn't be happier.

The happiness didn't last long though, it was soon replaced with nerves, as the day of the Yule ball came. You had put your best dress on, something your mother had made for you. It was White and Pink, ruffles and flowers sprouting everywhere. You looked beautiful, you really did, and no one could deny it. You stared into the mirror. What If he didn't like it? You had one chance and you didn't want to mess it up.

Sirius was equally nervous in his dorm. He wore a black and white Tux. Simple but affective. He stared into the mirror. What if you didn't like it? His mates assured him you where head over heels already, but he didn't quite believe them. He brushed off his nerves and hoped everything went well tonight. And the Marauders headed to the ball.

The Marauders had been there for roughly 20 minutes and the ball was already in full swing. But you where no where to be found. Sirius tried looking for you, but you where no where to be seen, until silence filled the halls and everyone gaze turned toward the stairs into the ball. Sirius whipped around to see what the cause of silence was and his heart stopped. He felt his heart stop and simultaneously beat out of his chest all at once. For the first time since he was 11, the second time in his entire life, his heart skipped a beat again, and it was because of you. He, just like everyone, was so in awe of you, as you made your way down the steps. You gave a shy wave to some people looking at you, before making your way over to the boys.

“Alright, shows over lads, return to your dates” Remus shouted toward all the boys staring at you. He was very protective in a big brother way. Sirius probably would've shouted it too, had he not been gawking at you. You just giggled at his staring.

“How did I get so lucky?” He whispered.

“I honestly don't know mate” James patted his back before rushing of towards Lily.

“i ask myself the same thing” You smiled. That smile he loved. “Come on, lets dance, loser!” And with that you excitedly pulled his hand onto the dance floor.

He was happy. So so happy.

[sif-the-tsunami]

Ropes and Roses part three

Summary: Elizabeth Rosehill is a talented dance instructor and a force of nature that beguiles her famous student. Events in her life, however, have led her to search for more creative ways for her to keep herself afloat. What will she do to keep her dreams secure and what will it mean for her blossoming relationship.

Warning: this passage contains some drunken shenanigans, heavy petting, making out, self deprecating humor, stripping down to ones underwear, sexual frustration, some insecurities, and angst. Oh and the beginning of Elizabeth showing her dominant side. If I missed anything please let me know

Word count: 2500

A/N: If you read it and like it, it would mean a lot to me if you could say something nice!

“And what will the lady be having?” The handsome bartender asked from behind the wooden top.

“Gentleman Jack, two fingers, neat. Please and thank you.” Elizabeth had her face all smooshed up in her hands, cradling her own head, resigning to the feeling of utter defeat. Gregory Chapman had called her and told her that the movie had lost its funding. The promises he made her were now as empty as the glass in front of her. As was her bank account. At least the bartender quickly remedied the empty glass problem. Henry saw her sitting there, her perfect posture was replaced by the pose of someone who wanted to be as small as possible.

“Oh shit, you are taking the news way harder than I thought you would. I also had no idea you liked whiskey.” He saw that her eyes were puffy, she had rubbed the winged eyeliner tip off on one of her eyes. He took the hand closest to him and gave her a gentle squeeze. The best part of having had their lessons was they had grown comfortable with touching each other. He appreciated the intimacy they shared, even if he though it had been platonic on her part. “Cancellations happen pretty often, don’t beat yourself up too much.”

“You were getting so good too.” Her voice came out as a whine, she took a sip of her liquor.

“I was mediocre at best, I just happen to look good while you dance around me.” The gold tinged light above them made her eyes and the drink the same color. Everything about her right then seemed angelic to him, even with her sad expression she glowed. “My only regret is that I won’t get to see you as much. I’ve enjoyed our time together.”

“That is very kind, Henry.” Elizabeth laced her fingers with his. “It was a pleasure to teach you.”

I love how she says my name, he thought. “So, what happens next for you?”

“I have to work harder to try to keep my dance studio open.”

“What do you mean? You have some great teachers, you have full classes.”

“Greg had told me that once he was given the funding he planned on investing in the dance studio with some of his earnings. I’m not sad about the movie being canceled, I’m just sad that this is just one more thing to have gone wrong this year...” she trailed off.

“Want to talk about it?”

“If I start, I will not shut up, I’m sure you don’t want to listen to me bitch and moan for an hour. Don’t you have more important things to be doing?”

“I could listen to you complain all night. Besides, nothing is more important than us getting drunk and possibly finding people to snog with tonight,” he said with the intention of making her laugh, but with a quick look around the pub, it looked like the their options would be limited. “I bet you could charm the pants off that lad at the end there.”

The lad was an older gentleman wearing a newsboy hat and a sweater with patches on the elbow.

“Oh Mr Cavill,” she said in a dreamy, playful voice, “he’s just my type. Do you think he’ll like me?”

“I don’t know Ms Rosehill, you might have to show him a little clevage.”

She pretended to pull the top of her dress down a little, big shit eating grin on her face, “How’s that? Better? Oh please, sir, notice me. Please come tap my ass like a keg!”

The remark caused Henry to choke on his drink. After a deep gasp of air he looked at her incredulously “never mind, you’ll kill the man. Give him a heart attack talking like that.”

The two talked, Elizabeth told him about how earlier that year she had gone through a bitter divorce, her ex had left her with more debt than she would be able to handle by herself and then her mother had passed away. She felt like she was drowning and the first life raft that had been thrown her way was being pulled from her.

“But you know what? I am a pretty damn good swimmer, and my momma didn’t raise no bitch.” She stated. She sat back sagaciously for a moment, “I think that might be the whiskey talking.”

Henry chuckled to himself. They were both a few drinks deep into their conversation and she was feeling it. He paid their tab and took her with him, “Come on, you lightweight, let’s go put some food in you so you don’t black out on me.”

Trying to get the teacher to do anything while she had been drinking was like trying to get a cat to cooperate. Every time they walked for more than a few minutes, she would wonder off some where distracted by anything that caught her attention. He stood there the fourth time when she stopped to look at display of macrons in a window.

“Are you like this every time you drink?”

“No, only when I forget to eat during the day before hand, I’m so hungry, I would perform unspeakable acts if I could get my hands on some fried pickles right now. Are those even a thing here?”

“Fried… pickles?” He responded moderately concerned for her sanity. “Why?”

“Do you want the drunk answer or the athlete answer?”

“Both. Oh my god woman, would you get off of that. You are like the worst version of the worst mission in video games. No, no, no, you wrap your arm around mine right now, I will get you food, I promise. Stay with me, Lizzie, tell me about the pickles.”

“Drunk answer is that they taste good, you know what takes a sandwich from eh to great. Pickles.” She tucked her arm right into his, with his other hand gently resting on top of her arm ready to guide her along. “Athlete answer is that they help re-hydrate you, after work outs, after drinking. Drinking pickle juice always cures my hangovers. Although chips work too, especially with salt and vinegar.”

They found a place still open that was serving delicious smelling fried food. He was together enough to set her down on a curb. “Please stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She leaned against him as soon as he sat down and handed her their snack. It was beginning to get late and a chill in the autumn air was starting to creep in. “You called me Lizzie earlier, I haven’t been called that since I was a little girl.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you still are a little girl. Well, compared to me anyways.” He nudged her with his elbow a little to get a smile out of her. “I hope you don’t mind, I won’t call you that again if you hate it.”

“It is totally fine, I’ve gone by Liz, Lizzie, Lizbeth, Beth. Just please don’t call me Libby. My middle name is Louisa, my ex would call me Libby-Lou, knowing how much I hated that nickname. Made me feel like I should be living in Whoville, waiting for the Grinch to steal my Christmas dinner.”

“They can be the worst, ex’s. They always know where they can jab at you with a mean joke or poke at an insecurity. One of mine would make comments about what I was eating, especially if I was between jobs.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and felt her whole body shiver.

“I’m sorry, you never deserved that.” She said softly. He looked into her eyes, the eyeliner had somehow gotten more smudged, she looked as exhausted as she sounded.

“No, neither did you. I don’t know what all he did to you, but you deserve better too.” His voice came out low and husky. “Do you want to come back to my place, I live pretty close by and you look like you are about to freeze.”

“I don’t know, Mr Cavill, I seem to remember you mentioning something about finding someone to make out with tonight, will I find one there?”

With the straightest face he could possibly muster, “As long as you don’t eat all of my pickles.”

***

A twenty minute walk later, they were in Henry’s home. They were both greeted by a very excited Kal, who snuffled and snorted at his daddy’s new friend. A warm welcoming glow came from the living room where the lights had been left on for his dog. He offered her one of his hoodies to help her warm up and planted her on the couch so he could take his boy to do his business outside. He came back as quick as he, honestly expecting to find her asleep. Instead, she was looking at him with her whiskey colored eyes. He had wanted another drink, and brought them both another glass of the liquor. He sat down at the other end of the couch, trying to respect her space. “Are you comfortable, can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m warming up well, thank you. You have a beautiful home, it’s nice and cozy.”

“Thank you, I like it here a lot, it is just enough for me. And Kal, for that matter.” His furry buddy was pressing as much of himself against the spot Elizabeth sat on the couch. She was delicately rubbing the area between his eyes and cooing at big beast, his fluffy tail wagging happily. “I think he likes you.”

“Oh good, I’m glad His Lordship approves of me.” She moved her hands to rub his chin. “You are just a big softy aren’t you? Good man, Kal.”

Henry watched them get acquainted, allowing himself to melt into the couch, legs spread apart. She turned her attention to the beautiful man before her. Maybe the booze was making her feel more bold than usual, but damn did she want him. Her mind was still swimming from their earlier adventure. Hopefully, it was an invite to climb between his powerful thighs. She shot back her glass and put the empty cup on his side table. He reached over to her and pulled her close. She positioned herself to face him and straddled his lap. His breath caught in his throat for a moment.

“If I’m being to presumptuous, I can stop. I will go sit on the other side again.” She said quietly.

“No, I want this. I want you.” He reached up, fingers were gently touching the back of her arms.

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his, “Before you... we… whatever it is here that we are doing, I need you to know that I don’t know what all I can give to you right now. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I think you are worth the risk,” he whispered to her and they connected.

Henry had wanted this from the first time he placed her hands on him. Every nudge, posture correction, hand offered to help him, whenever he felt her skin on his he felt the current between the two of them and it was electrifying. He felt himself grow hard as she invited him to explore her body. His hoodie was off was off of her body as soon as they started, and then shortly after came her black dress. They continued to make out as she unbuttoned his soft flannel shirt.

He fingers searched the back of her bra for it’s clasp. She broke off their kiss long enough to lean back and unhook it from the front. Henry could feel the pressure building in his jeans as he looked at her body.  All she had left on were knee high black boots and a pair of silky purple panties. Elizabeth gave him a lopsided smile as she leaned back into their embrace. Her fingers danced and tickled down his chest running down to to the bottom hem of his shirt. Henry stopped himself before she removed the cotton undershirt, ever so gently. “Before I take this off, I want you to not be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” she asked breathlessly.

“I don’t look like Geralt right now. I’m in my off season, and I don’t know what kind of expectations you have...” Elizabeth slowly ran her hands back up his chest.

“I like you, Henry: your beautiful, overthinking, intelligent mind; your sweet nature; your burning passions. You as a person.” peppering his neck and face with tender kisses, her hands tangling in his hair. “Everything else is just sprinkles on a cupcake.”

“Sprinkles on a cupcake?” he smiled. She nibbled on his ear and he moaned, hungry for more.

“Cupcakes don’t need sprinkles to be delicious, I have never refused a cupcake because it didn’t have sprinkles on it.” She ran her fingers back down to the bottom of his shirt. “So, Mr Cavill, do I have permission to take your shirt off?”

“Yes, Ms Rosehill, you do.” The woman on top of him pulled the garment off, never breaking eye contact. After it’s removal, she kept a firm grip on his arms, inching ever closer to his wrists. With her hands on them, Elizabeth pressed her weight against his wrists and pinned him as best she could to the back of the couch. She ground her pelvis against his as she started nibbling and kissing his neck, her torso against  his. Appreciating the nuzzling and nibbles on his neck, he closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for her to continue.

All he felt was her soft breathing against his skin. A moment later her hands dropped from his wrists. Henry tried to move himself to see what what was going on when a soft snore came from his would be lover. He rubbed his face, not believing what had just happened.

“Liz… Lizzie… wake up, sweetheart.” He tried kissing her cheek to wake her. The only response she gave was tucking her arms to her chest and adjusting her head on his shoulder. He groaned, but knew what he had to do. Elizabeth was as limp as a rag doll, so he guided her arms through his flannel shirt, placed her down gently on the couch and prepared his guest room for her. Making sure his warmest duvet was on the bed, he left a bottle of water and some Tylenol on the bed side table for her. He carried her to the room and tucked her into bed, making sure a pillow was wedged behind her back to keep her on her side.  Henry then went to his room, fell face first into bed and yelled directly into a pillow. 

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Colston Hall in Bristol, UK - November 18, 1975

x

The photos could be from either night.

This article from the November 29 issue of Sounds chronicles the second night in Bristol.

Queen triumphant

QUEEN ARE the type of group that make a man want to abandon rock writing. They pose questions and never provide answers. They exist in their own space-time continuum, visible and audible but keeping their secrets to themselves.

On the surface they couldn't be a nicer bunch of people, but they carry English reticence to an epitome. It isn't, as Geoff Barton said two weeks ago, that they're boring, it's just that they're reserved. Or in writer parlance, they don't automatically provide colourful copy. All my instincts as a writer tell me that there is a great story in that band, but after two nights with them I'm hardly any the wiser.

Skin tight

That their insularity has a lot to do with them being one of the most amazing heavy-metal and/or rock bands in Britain - with all the signs that they'll end up monsters on the order of Zep - is fairly obvious, but just how much bearing it has on the matter is hard to say. The enigmas they might pose mightn't even have answers.

Is there any logical reason why they present an image and persona straight out of the Beatles school of interlocking chemistry?

John is reserved, almost nonchalant on stage, as if it's all in a small, personal joke. When asked how he saw himself within the framework of the band he replied, with a small smile, "I'm the bassist".

Roger is his opposite, the cheeky sidekick in a Clint Eastwood movie, and attracting a lot of cheesecake attention in America and Japan.

Freddie is an original - one of the most dynamic singers to tread the boards in quite a few years. His attraction is obvious.

Brian is perhaps the biggest enigma of all. What is this seemingly frail, gaunt astronomer doing on that stage, striding purposefully and blasting diamond-hard rock? They're all equally strong personalities - like the Beatles there's no one major focal point. Ask four fans who their dream Queen is and you'll get four different answers.

Queen have been busy lads these past few months. Having disassociated themselves from their former management and joined with John Reid, the fourth album was seen to. Reid decided that a tight schedule wouldn't cause them undue harm, and figured on two months to record before embarking on this current tour.

Only Queen are driven to better each previous album - which at this stage of the game is obviously producing some excellent results - and 'A Night At The Opera' turned into a saga - culminating in 36-hour mixing sessions in an effort to allow at least a few days for rehearsal. In the end they managed three and a half days at Elstree with four hours off to videotape the promotional film for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

Their first few dates had not been without errors and the quartet were still not feeling totally comfortable their second night in Bristol, fourth night of the tour. You'd never know it, though.

Like all other aspects of the group, the stage is sophisticated. A black scrim provides a backdrop bounded by a proscenium of lights both front and rear. At each side the p.a. rises like a mutant marriage of Mammon and Robby the Robot. Amp power is readily evident but the most extraordinary is Brian May's subtle set up: nine Vox boxes stepping back in rows of three. The only packing crate visible is holding a tray of drinks, and you may rest assured that no roadie will rush, crawl or lurk across the stage while the show is in progress unless it's to rescue Freddie's mike from the clawing crowd.

As the auditorium darkens the sound of an orchestra tuning up is heard over the p.a. The conductor taps his baton on the music stand and a slightly effete voice welcomes the audience to A Night At The Opera. The Gilbert & Sullivan portion of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' follows, a brief glimpse of Freddie is allowed, and then in a blast of flares and white smoke the blitzkrieg begins.

Roger is barely visible behind his kit, just his eyes and tousled locks. John is wearing a white suit and playing the-man-who-must-stand-still-or-it-will-all-blow-away. Brian is slightly medieval in his green and white Zandra Rhodes top, while Freddie is...

Around his ankles his satin white pants flare like wings - fleet footed Hermes. Everything north of the knee is skin tight - tighter than skin tight - with a zip-up front open to AA rating. But further south, definitely in X territory, lurks a bulge not unlike the Sunday Telegraph.

There have been sex objects and sex bombs, superstar potency and the arrogant presentation of this all-important area, but never has a man's weaponry been so flagrantly showcased. Fred could jump up on the drum stand and shake his cute arse, leap about and perform all manner of amazing acrobatics, but there it was, this rope in repose, barely leashed tumescence, the Queen's sceptre. Oh to be that hot costume, writhing across the mighty Fred!

Phallic

Freddie is not pretty in the conventional sense of the word; like Mick Jagger of '64, he is his own convention. Also like the Jagger of the time, his stage persona and action is unlike anything else. Although it borrows - like most of the group's plagiarisms - slightly from Zeppelin, in tandem with Freddie's supreme assurance and belief in himself - he always refers to himself as a star - it explodes into something that is a constant delight to watch.

He reacts to his audience almost like an over-emotional actress - Gloria Swanson, say, or perhaps Holly Woodlawn playing Bette Davis. At the climax of the second night in Bristol he paused at the top of the drum stand, looked back over the crowd and with complete, heartfelt emotion placed his delicate fingers to lips and blew a kiss. Any person who can consume themselves so completely in such a clichéd showbiz contrivance deserves to be called a star.

Freddie's real talent, though, is with his mike stand. No Rod Stewart mike stand callisthenics here, just a shortee stick that doubles as a cock, machine gun, ambiguous phallic symbol, and for a fleeting moment an imaginary guitar. He has a neat trick of standing quite still in particularly frantic moments and holding the stand vertically from his crotch up, draw a fragile finger along its length, ever closer to the taunting eyes that survey his audience.

Their show contains lots of bombs and smoke, lots of lights, lots of noise. They fulfil the function of supremely good heavy metal - i.e. you don't get a second to think about what's going on. When they do let up for a few minutes, it's only so you can focus in on the bright blue electric charge crackling between your ears.

Bulldozer

Dominating the sound is Roger's drumming, a bulldozer echo that bounces like an elastic membrane, meshing with your solar plexus so that your body pulses in synch with the thunder. Tuned into that, everything else is just supremely nice icing.

For three days rehearsal, after eight months off the road Bristol was extremely impressive. In speculative mood I quizzed people on how long they thought it would take to headline Madison Square Garden. I was thought a radical at a year and a half. John Reid smilingly assured me it would take a year.

That Queen should end up with John Reid is an entirely logical proceeding. Everything about Queen demands that the world eventually kowtows at their feet in complete acquiescence - so big that bodyguards have to accompany them at every step. Well, no - they found that an annoyance in Japan, but, you know, huge.

Such status demands a Reid or a Peter Grant, and whatever the causes for their leaving Jack Nelson and Trident, an elegant group like Queen is going to look for a man with class. Reid found the idea of managing a group interesting, and having to deal with four strong personalities a challenge. He only concerns himself with their business and ensuring that the year ahead is mapped out. In January they begin a jaunt through the Orient, Australia and America, by which time it's March and they begin preparations for the next album.

Reid's prediction of a year was proven highly credible the next evening in Cardiff. The band had still not paused from the rush up to the tour and spent most of the day relaxing and sleeping - no doubt a factor in their near recumbent profile. Also, unlike most groups, they were keeping their dissatisfaction with the show to themselves.

They stopped off at Harlech TV on the way to see a cassette of the video for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. The general consensus was quite good for four hours, with much laughter during the operetta. Brian finds film of the group educational - the first time he saw himself was a Mike Mansfield opus for 'Keep Yourself Alive' - "It was 'All right fellows, give it everything you've got but don't move off that spot.' It was terrible." You don't like Mansfield, eh? "Oh, I hate him - we all do... I was horrified when I saw it - I couldn't believe we looked that bad. I looked very static - seeing myself has taught me a lot about stage movement. Some of the things I do are planned for effect, but it's mostly just feeling the audience and communicating that back to them."

Arriving at the motel - several miles out of town - Freddie immediately fell asleep, John held court of a sort, joined later by Brian, while Roger went jogging, a daily event when touring. Tuning in to rock via Bill Haley and Tommy Steele, he became a drummer because he was better at it than guitar. All through school he was in bands; he only went to dental school out of "middle class conditioning, and it was a good way to stay in London without having to work". His mother thought it a bit strange when he opted for a career as a rock star, but she doesn't worry too much now.

The concert starts in much the same manner as the previous night, but there are signs that tonight is work, with posing an afterthought. The endings to most of their songs are magnificent and majestic, especially 'Flick Of The Wrist' and the rapid harmonies of 'Bad Boy Leroy Brown'.

Maniacal

The audience, seeing their faces in town for the first time, are vociferous in their appreciation. Guys know all the words to every song, yelling enthusiastically at every effect and solo. The band picks up, Freddie receiving the crowd beneficently, telling them they’re beautiful.

As the show builds it is obvious that things are gelling more. The previous night Brian had seemed totally out of place, not moving too much, taking solos with the weirdest half blank half possessed stare, talking to himself; cocking ear towards guitar. He was the proverbial stranger in a strange land, one step removed from the plane inhabited by you and me.

Tonight he moves fluidly, the gonzo lead guitarist of a gonzo band. His expressions are just as maniacal, but it only makes him look more demonic. His solo in 'Brighton Rock', an exposition in riffing and echo, is a treat because of his physical response to both music and audience, complete with ham acting. Freddie gets into the same game on 'The Prophet's Song', where he conducts an acapella madrigal with himself. It's a pretty commanding moment.

It’s soon after this that Madison Square seems reasonable. About a minute into 'Stone Cold Crazy' it becomes very obvious that Queen have suddenly Plugged In. Found the metal music machine and Connected. Freddie's movements explode in perfect unison with the music, the lights and surroundings go crazy, and the audience goes berserk.

Freddie asks for requests and receives a roar out of which one can vaguely make 'Liar'. Fred walks along the stage, nodding, agreeing he will do this one and that one while the kids roar on. "I'll tell you what - we'll do them all!"

'Doing Alright' opens slow and portentously. Queen's variation of light and shade is one of the major factors in their popularity, but even so the quiet sections frequently find the audience's mind wandering. One kid starts getting a joint together, totally forgetting it when everything blasts off again; guys talk among themselves, only to instantly leap to their feet, fists flying to the beat.

'Doing Alright' changes into a cha-cha beat, Freddie snapping his fingers, the coolest hipster in town, and then instantly drops into faster-than-light drive - the whole row next to me leaps to their feet as a man, rocking back and forth as Brian roars into a blinding solo.

Two songs later, in 'Seven Seas of Rye', the kids break - very fast - and in five seconds half the audience is a seething mass in front of the stage, climbing on each other in pyramids, sudden openings appearing as a splintering seat sends a few bodies to the floor.

The rest of the show is equally intense, especially for a couple of minutes during 'Liar; where Fred and Brian merge into a tight little triangle with Roger while John stands in front of the bass drum, staring out with his small smile.

Freddie has treated his encores - 'Big Spender' and 'Jailhouse Rock' - differently on successive nights, once appearing in a kimono and in Bristol with rather rude tight white shorts, giving the song title new emphasis. In Cardiff, though, he doesn't bother to change at all. Later it transpired that Brian had twisted his ankle during 'Liar'. While he’s attended to, kids out front pick up chair slivers to keep as mementos.

On the bus back to the hotel Brian sits quietly at the back, chatting with two girls. John sits at the front, as always. Freddie stares out of the window, lost in his own world. Roger bounces around, starts a pillow fight with Brian - which stops as soon as Brian scores a direct hit to the face - then discovers an eight track of 'Sheer Heart Attack', punching it through the channels as he conducts the group. The two hours towards which they have channelled the day's energies are spent.

Ambition

That Queen have become a top attraction through a fair degree of plagiarism is amusing. Stealing is nothing new in rock (or any art for that matter) and mostly Queen use the borrowed material better than the originals. That they would be big I don't think anybody really doubted. All four have immense desire to be successful, and that kind of ambition will keep them slogging until they achieve it.

But there are popular heavy metal bands and there are popular h-m bands. From watching Queen's audience it is apparent that Queen speak for them in a way that bands such as the Who and the Stones and the Beatles spoke (and continue to speak) to their audience. Uriah Heep may be great at what they do, but five years after their demise who'll remember them? Creedence Clearwater Revival demonstrate the same thing - who remembers them? And yet five years ago they were the largest band in the world.

Queen will probably always be remembered, because as their tour is beginning to demonstrate, they have the ability to actualise and encompass the outer limits of their sense of self-importance. Queen and their music, presentation, production - everything about them says that they are more important than any other band you've every heard, and who has there been, so far, who has objected? Certainly not the 150,000 people (plus 20,000 a day) who bought 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in the first 20 days of its release. Certainly not me.

See you at Madison Square Garden.

[text © J. Ingham 2007; photos © Kate Simon]

~ You can see the photos which was mentioned on the article, from the link on the title. ~

[readerinsertfanfiction]

White Lie

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Character: Arthot Conan Doyle

Prompt: I promised someone ( @nuttytani​ ) to write them a bedtime story with their favourite ikemen. It so happens that Tani loves Arthot. 

--- Definitely not my proudest work. The only thing I believe I did justice was his mischievousness, but I did not nail down his thotiness and I fear I shall never. 

Arthur only knew of two ways to get through the night. Two methods, always proven to be highly effective against the constant murmur of his mind that plagued him, whispering of regrets that he held from before he had gained his fangs.

The first method was by far the least favoured of the two. While Arthur loved to write he hated how it seemed that it was only Sherlock that he could write and write well. The grim reminder that he went down into history overshadowed by this bloke of fiction, that even his own mother seemed to prefer the pompous detective over her own son. It all left a bitter taste in his mouth for Arthur knew that it was absolute nonsense that Sherlock was his best work.

The second method was thus, by default, his preferred way of prowling through the night and it was spent with a warm body or two. Bodies of willing subjects that delighted in a night of sin, like he did. Nothing that could silence his mind as superficial intimacy did, but it never lasted. There was always an end and that ending always left his thoughts so much louder.

It seemed, however, that the decision of the night was already made for him. With the rain pouring down harshly there was no way that the man could go out tonight. A fact that he found so hard to take that he actually found himself on the porch, listening to the rain. It was obvious from the way he acted that Arthur had no intention of writing tonight.

But, eureka! It suddenly came to him, when he saw a figure move in the windows, still up late at night and finishing up work, shaped so delightfully, so unmistakably female, woman. There was a warm body in the house he could borrow! And might she not agree with all he wanted to do, he knew that he could at least charm her into innocently helping him to sleep. Innocently, for the purpose of writing another masterpiece of fiction.

It was just a small white lie, one he would eventually turn into a truth, sometime, somewhere, when he would think of it again. Ah, this dastardly mind of his, how wicked his genius was.

“[Name]~” the male sang, approaching you in the hallways. A coincidental meeting that he had not planned out at all. None of such nonsense from a man who grew famous for his great wit and detectives. The absurdness of it!

Your eyes squinted at the writer, clearly suspicious from the first second as he had appeared. Smart woman, but Arthur would not be Arthur if he had no counter for that, his smile growing wider as he neared.

“Just the person I was looking for,” he smiled, already getting closer to test his waters. “I need the mothering warm hard-working type for a change, care to help this lad out?” he mischievously started, his eyes already glittering at the idea.

If he flipped his intentions he could argue that it was a reward of sorts. Not only would he get inspiration, but you would get some well-deserved rest. See, he wasn’t a selfish hedonist! Not entirely, yet.

“So, how about it? Care to be my little experience experiment?” Arthur offered, though from a mere glance he could already tell that he had won you over, your eyes already giving away your answer. What a delight! Just a little push, to cement the fact.

Ah, what sweet dreams he was to have! A warm body to accompany him to the land of fairies, and some inspiration for later, to make it up for the trickery. Perhaps it was fate that had made it rain, after all.

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 2

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 2 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 1 / Part 3

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: swearing, slight sentiments of sadness

Historical Inaccuracies:

I realise that ‘Time Waits For No One’ was partially a composition by Dave Clark, and not only by Freddie, but I’d imagine that he’d have liked that whole concept anyway, before Clark came along with his musical.

The picture below is from Christmas Eve, 1969, but we’re going to pretend that it’s from February, 1975 :)

Word Count: 4.3k

‧⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧

You awoke with a terrible sadness in your heart, and heavy-limbed, you climbed out of bed to the sound of rain and somebody making coffee in the kitchen. With a look at your alarm clock and a start, you realised that it was already ten minutes past eleven.

You traded your pyjamas for slacks and a jumper Heather had once knitted for you, wondering why melancholy overwhelmed you as you combed your hair from your eyes.

Dazed by sleep, you wandered into the kitchen with a yawn shuddering your frame. You blinked blearily at the shirtless blonde in your kitchen who was drumming his fingers on the counter along to the tune he hummed.

“Roger?” you said, confounded.

He spun around with an equally bewildered expression, his hands raised as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.

His features broadened into a smile. “Y/N! You live here too?”

“Too?” you said. “Who else do you know here? And put on a shirt, Rog. You’re dressed if you’re in my kitchen.”

Roger stuck out his tongue at you, but pulled his shirt from where it’d been slung over a barstool.

You returned his lovely expression and he rolled his eyes at you in good nature.

You’d known Roger since you’d started at Imperial College and he’d started at London Hospital Medical College; you’d met him at the stall he kept in Kensington Market, selling clothes. Always talking about cars and his love for them, Roger was funny and charming, and quite intelligent, though the latter was a thing he downplayed in favour of his looks. You had never understood why boys thought that girls didn’t want a smart boyfriend, and when you’d mentioned it to Roger off-handedly once, visiting on a day he was working at the stall, he’d simply shrugged. “I’ll get them one way or another,” he’d winked.

Then, a sophisticated, sunkissed lad who was folding clothes had snorted from behind a clothing rack. “You won’t get her,” he’d said, referring to you. He’d then introduced himself with, “Freddie Mercury, darling. I can tell you where to find the nice boys, because Rog here isn’t one of them.” Freddie, of East Ealing Art College, was shy but creative, fashionable, and utterly lovely. He had known Roger since before school, and, aside from the clothing stand with Rog, was also in a band with him and a couple of others. Roger played the drums, and you knew that Freddie was an incredible vocalist, because you’d once caught him humming to himself and demanded he sing you more. You had fit right in with Roger and Freddie since day one, with your sharp wit and passionate romanticisms, and the three of you had quickly become good friends.

“So who’s the lucky lady?” you said, putting the kettle on for tea. For some reason, you didn’t feel like coffee this morning. The thought of its bitterness suddenly drew bitterness from you. “Or should I say ladies?” you trilled.

Roger smirked, leaned against the kitchen counter. “No, just the one lady. Think she’s still asleep, though, so try to keep it down,” he shushed.

You shook your head at him. “If she knows what you look like, she knows what you’re like, Rog. Don’t think you’ve got anyone fooled.”

“You’re such a good friend, Y/N. So supportive,” he drawled sarcastically.

“Funny,” you said, “I was told exactly the same thing last night, but I think he meant it, at least.”

Roger winced. “No getting down for you, then?”

You lobbed a coaster at him, but he caught it. “You need to stop just throwing things when you can’t think of anything to say, Y/N.”

“Stop being a prick, then,” you sassed him back.

“Okay, grumpy girl. Just because your little friend didn’t like you back.”

“For your information, he was actually very tall.”

A soft padding sound reached you from the doorway, and you glanced over to see Heather appear in the doorway, her mane of hair sticking up to one side and her pyjama top only half-buttoned.

“The hell is it with you people and shirts?” you muttered. “You’d think your mothers never taught you how to dress yourselves.”

Roger laughed at your comment, and Heather looked between the two of you.

“You know each other?” she said.

“Heather, honestly?” you scoffed. “My friend Roger who works down at the stall in Kensington?”

“Oh,” she said. “Same Roger?” You just blinked at her. “Common name,” she shrugged.

“You two know each other?” you gestured between her and Roger.

Roger’s smile was easy; he turned to Heather and his eyes ran over her, his lower lip between his teeth. Heather’s body language was obviously responsive.

“Ugh, no!” you said, rubbing your eyes. “Not a good image.”

“I thought we looked quite good together,” Heather flirted to Roger as you shuddered.

“Please don’t. Least not before breakfast,” you groaned, sliding off of the barstool as the kettle boiled.

Heather giggled, and you could still see Roger looking at her in your peripheral vision.

You busied yourself with making tea and pouring it into a thermos. Roger had walked over to kiss Heather, and you couldn’t get away from the sight of your two friends necking fast enough.

“I’m going out,” you said, grabbing the thermos, your keys, and boots.

“Oh, any chance you’re going to see Freddie?” said Roger from the doorway to the hall, arms around Heather.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

“Got a message for him.”

“Could you not just telephone him?”

“There’s no phone at the stall.”

“Later, then?”

Roger frowned. “It’s important, please?”

You sighed heavily. “Fine, but only because I’m such a good friend,” you mimicked his words from earlier. “What is it, then?”

Roger grinned. “Tell him Clements says okay and eight o’clock sharp.”

Your puzzled expression seemed to amuse him. “I was going to tell you, but I’m sure Freddie will.” He waved a hand. “I haven’t got time right now.”

“You haven’t— oh forget it.” He’d gone back to snogging Heather, and there was simply no point in nagging him when it would be faster just to find Freddie.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Fred?” you poked your head around the stall, trying to spot him between the racks of colourful jackets and corduroy trousers, but failing for the life of you.

He popped up from underneath the table and you nearly leapt from your skin.

“Oh, hello, darling! How lovely of you to visit me,” he beamed, smoothing hair back from his face. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Jesus, Freddie, you scared me,” you exhaled laboriously, still recovering from your shock.

“Sorry about that, dearie. I’m afraid I’ve upset the moneybox and spilled it all under the table,” he said with an expression of dismay. “Help me look?”

You eyed your already questionably-clean trousers. “Yeah, alright then,” you said, squeezing into the stall beside Freddie. “Any idea how much was in there?” you asked as you sank to your knees.

Freddie lifted the cloth covering the table and threw it to the side. “Afraid not. Deacy usually handles finances and all that, after Norman Sheffield’s fuckery at Trident, y’know.”

You knew the soft-eyed, cheeky John Deacon as well. As the bassist in Freddie and Roger’s band and student of electrical engineering, Deacy (as he was known) was simultaneously the most well-mannered boy you’d ever encountered and also the greatest connoisseur of dirty jokes. Despite being only a year younger than you and Roger, Deacy was Freddie’s protegé, in a way, because Freddie had taken the younger boy under his wing in matters both of the musical world and of the world in general. You were quite sure that Freddie believed Deacy to be an innocent in need of protection, and that Deacy intended to keep his precious mentor fooled, particularly because some of the disco nightclubs that John had shown you and Rog suggested rather the opposite of his supposed personality. All in all, he was as dear to you as Freddie and Rog.

You laughed. “Freddie, this is just little coins. I’m sure you would’ve been okay to look after that.”

“Yes, well, not much time to count money when the most handsome men in London seem to stroll through this here market almost constantly,” Freddie huffed indignantly and you smiled in amusement. “Are you looking?” he said.

“Yes, yes,” you assured him, hastily picking up the coins in your immediate line of sight before beginning to scavenge for those which had rolled farther away on their escape routes.

“So, why are you here? I know you like our lovely little shop, but you’re usually studying on Saturdays.”

You sighed. “I probably should be. But Roger’s shacked it up with one of my housemates, my roommate, actually—”

“Heather?”

“Yeah, Heather.”

“Oh yes, he’s definitely her type,” gushed Freddie, spotting another coin and tossing it into the moneybox gleefully.

“He’s hers?” you said.

Freddie peered at you. “Well, really, Y/N. Roger’s type is everyone.”

“Fair enough,” you nodded. “And, oh,” you remembered, “I have a message for you, from Rog.”

“Ah. What’s it, then?”

“Uh, it seemed kind of cryptic, but he said you’d understand.” Freddie motioned for you to go on. “Let’s see. ‘Clements says okay and eight o’clock sharp’,” you quoted.

Freddie paused in his treasure hunt and clapped, “Oh, excellent!”

“Fill me in?” you pleaded finally, weary with excitement for that which you did not know.

Freddie clasped his hands. “We’re playing a gig, tonight, at the Union Bar!” he exclaimed. “We normally don’t play that small any longer, what with our increasing popularity, but we thought it would be nice to do a bit of an intimate concert once more, before we shoot for the stars and lose that privilege entirely.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic!” you said, knowing you were free tonight. You’d always wanted to see their band Queen, but the circumstances had never really lined up for you to do so, though Freddie had even offered for you to sit in on their rehearsals many a time.

“And you can finally meet our last puzzle piece!” said Freddie, his eyes alight. “Oh, he’ll adore you. Have I mentioned he’s studying some sort of science too? Maybe even similar to what you’re doing. I always seem to forget the name of it, though Bri is quite particular about it. He’d positively kill me with that glower of his if he knew I’d forgotten the name of it again. Oh, bugger,” Freddie went on. “It’s something to do with space. It’s on the tip of my tongue, I swear—”

But something had clicked inside of your head, and your palms felt oddly sweaty.

Freddie and Roger and Deacy had always referred to their fourth bandmate as simply ‘Bri’ or ‘Brimi’, or, in Fred’s case, ‘that bitch’, and so it had not occurred to you. You hadn’t known what he’d looked like, or anything about him, really, other than that he was a talented guitarist of a short temper and a motherly heart. But now you realised, with a fluttering sensation to accompany the thought, that you knew precisely who Brimi was, and that you had practically memorised his smile from seeing it nearly every morning of the past semester. Now, suddenly, the calloused fingers you had held in your own made perfect sense— Brian, the guitarist.

“Astrophysics,” you murmured softly.

“I’m sorry?” said Freddie, who had only just stopped in his flood of excited words.

“Astrophysics,” you repeated more loudly.

Freddie’s brow creased. “Yes, yes that’s it. I’d better commit it to memory, now. But how’d you know that? I’m sure I’ve never actually managed to tell you. I would’ve remembered such a momentous occasion.”

Your head felt suddenly quiet, though the thrum of your heart was sure to replace that silence with its own deafening beat.

You looked away, combing your fingers through your hair. “We’ve got the same morning class for our major,” you said, “and, uh, yesterday evening, when Heather went off with Roger, Brian and I had a drink together.”

Freddie gasped so vehemently that your eyes flashed back to him to be sure that he wasn’t suffering a fit or something.

“In that case, I’m sure he adores you already.”

“Freddie!”

“Think about it, Y/N! You’re both besotted by an absolutely absurd science that makes no fucking sense, and you’re friends with me and Roger and Deac already, so you must’ve gotten along like wildfire and a dry forestscape!”

“Freddie, that’s a horrible analogy.”

“That may be so, darling, but from the light in your eyes, you know what I mean.”

A strange blush engulfed your cheeks and you touched your fingers to your face, willing the flush to disappear. It didn’t.

“No idea what you’re on about,” you said.

“There’s still time.”

“Still time for what?”

Freddie threw his hands into the air. “For things to happen.”

“Nothing did and nothing will,” you countered, a little sternly.

“You’ll be lying to me before the month is through. I’ll find you more time with him, if that’s what you need.”

You ignored Freddie’s suggestive comments. “Time waits for no one,” you remarked instead.

“Now that’s a good line, isn’t it? Do you use it often, or would you mind terribly if I made something of it?” Freddie inquired.

“Pretty sure it’s a rather common expression, but I’m sure you’ll make something wonderful of it,” you said fondly, knowing his poetic habits.

Freddie winked at you. “I’ll certainly do my best. Now, I think we’ve got all the coins, so I say we get off of this filthy floor that the dust bunnies appear to have taken over, or what’s your view on the matter?”

“Time to depart the good Realm of Floor,” you agreed, stretching your creaking legs and giving Freddie a hand up.

“So you’re coming tonight, yes?” Freddie brushed dust and lint from his velvet trousers.

“Of course,” you said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“You’ve missed all the other times, though,”

“I know, Fred,” you exhaled softly. “But I—”

Freddie’s hand covered your shoulder. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, darling. We’re friends, remember?” he smiled comfortingly.

“And friends will be friends,” you responded, as you and the others had taken to saying, originally as a gag, but now as a sort of mantra to keep you going through the harder days.

Freddie smiled again. “Are you busy, or do you fancy going for lunch?”

“Sounds good,” you said. “Where were you thinking?”

“Just the pub. You know how much I enjoy their fish ‘n’ chips.” He meant Kensington Pub.

“Oh yes,” you recalled it very well. “I know.”

“Excellent! Well, I’ll just tidy up quickly and close, and we can be on our way.” You nodded, helping him to rearrange a few out-of-place things before he waved you off. “You don’t work here, dearie. We can talk about dear ol’ Brian while you wait for me, if you like.”

“Clearly, you’re the one who’s obsessed with him.”

“I won’t dispute that. He’s rather nice when he’s not attempting to control every little note of our music.”

“Which is... often?” you said.

Freddie nodded with ardour. “He’s got taste, mind you, but sometimes that taste just gets overbearing, if you know what I mean,” his tone was cheeky.

You folded your arms and leaned against the wall. “No, Freddie, I’ve entirely no clue what you mean.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

After lunch, the two of you took the tube from Kensington Station to Freddie’s flat.

Freddie opened the door to several different cats meowing at the return of their human, and he greeted each one by name, rubbing fluffy backs and scratching behind waiting ears as he passed.

The cats had encountered you many times before, and though many had at first been apprehensive at the presence of an outsider, they now greeted you as one of their own.

“I thought maybe you’d like to borrow a couple of our records to listen to before the concert tonight,” Freddie said, tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter and making his way over to where his record player and vinyl collection resided. He gestured to the crates and stacks of records, encouraging you to take a look while he retrieved Queen’s own works.

Despite the fact that your household contained a total of eleven people, Freddie’s music collection was far more impressive than that of your residence. Jimi Hendrix, Elvis, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, and Aretha Franklin seemed to dominate the collection, but there was a heavy presence of classical and operatic compositions too, from Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet to Chopin.

“You have so many records,” you said, wishing there was more room in your monthly budget to spend on records, music that you could replay as much as you wanted, rather than waiting for— hoping for— the radio to cycle through your favourites.

“I’ve spent many years building up my collection,” Freddie told you, as though he knew what you were thinking and wished to remind you that such collections were not accumulated overnight; there was still all the time in the world for you to develop your own reserve of records.

“Ah, here we are!” he slid three volumes from a shelf, smiling fondly at the covers. “We’re not The Beatles, but I daresay we’re quite fantastic all the same.” He handed you the records, and you took them with care.

The first was mauve in colour scheme and depicted a person hoisting a sheared microphone stand into the air, illuminated by a singular dramatic spotlight. The second was a highly-contrasted rendering of all four members of Queen in (once more) spectacular lighting, and diamond formation. The third and final was all of them again, lying in a strange circular heap, eyes intense and skin shining with what was likely supposed to be sweat.

Your eyes strayed to Brian on the cover of the third album, the neck of his shirt pulled open, his lips parted and his eyes dazed. The image was suggestive, and Brian was attractive.

Blinking stray thoughts away, you tucked the last album behind the others and cleared your throat as subtly as you could manage. But Freddie had not thought you subtle; he grinned at you astutely.

“Rock and roll, then?” you said, though you already knew the answer. The point was, you were trying to change the subject.

“Rock ‘n’ roll,” Freddie emphasised. “We’ll have you educated in no time, don’t you worry. Homework is listening to those records. Come back again soon and I’ll swap you some Led Zeppelin and Aretha Franklin.”

“Varying taste,” you commented, desperately trying to coerce your mind from its previous focus.

“We’ve got to expand yours,” Freddie said. “Now go home and listen! We can’t have you standing mute and still in the crowd tonight! I plan on making sure you get up front, but I need energy from you for that to be justified, Y/N.”

“Okay, Mercury,” you smirked. “Such high standards, so demanding.”

Freddie sighed, “Got to be, darling. How else would I augment the quality of my music?”

“I’m definitely out of my depth here, Fred.”

He patted your shoulder. “Get out and go home and listen,” he said.

You made a face and Freddie stuck out his tongue at you. “See you later, dearie. Tell Brendan Clements when you arrive and he’ll get you past the crowds.”

“Fab. Later, Freddie.” You gave him a wave as you departed and he blew you a kiss.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You supposed there was one good thing about Heather and Roger’s newfound relations. Well, maybe two.

The first was that you knew Roger and he knew you, and he knew that you would dye his hair permanently peroxide green if he ever hurt Heather intentionally.

The second was that, after this morning, Heather and Roger had headed off to Roger’s place for a few days, meaning that you were free to dance around your room to whatever music you wished without suffering shyness and embarrassment about your moves when you were inevitably discovered. Your other housemates worked most days, and conveniently, your shifts at the local cafe did not coincide with the absences of your household; you would now have the house to yourself quite a bit.

Having abandoned your boots by your wardrobe, you picked up the first record, simply titled Queen.

“Memorable already,” you murmured, feeling oddly exhilarated.

The record was on the deck by your bed within moments, and you flopped down atop your covers to enjoy the music in one of the purest ways you knew how— by lying back on your bed and spreading your arms and letting the melodies carry you away.

The energy kicked in immediately, and to the vivacity of the music you would have sold your soul.

Freddie’s voice was unrelentingly powerful, and unmatchable in beauty. You caught hints of Roger and Brian singing between the thrum of Deacy’s bass lines, their own instruments, and Freddie’s lead vocals, and the effect of the four of them together was unforgettable, astronomical, meant to make history.

Their talent as musicians was riveting if appreciated on its own, but Queen were artists too. How they could have thought up the stories they told, both through lyrics and without any words at all, you did not know.

Record after record, their voices rose together like waves, rushing over you and tossing you in their midst. You felt you were made of stardust, not only in the sense that everything of the past was still atomically part of everything present, but also in the metaphorical way; you felt light and heavenly, like you were floating above the ground, dancing on clouds.

Most of Queen’s songs, to your delight, made you want to dance— the best music made one want to dance. The songs that didn’t make you want to dance made you feel other emotions entirely— they moved you to tears.

By the time ‘In the Lap of the Gods… Revisited’ had signalled the end of Sheer Heart Attack, you had curled up on your side, gazing unblinkingly at the slowing vinyl. It wouldn’t have been too far off to say that listening to Queen's music felt like a transcendental experience.

When the needle passed the final break in the record’s surface and met the space between the break and the record’s central label, you leapt up. Immediately, you swapped the last record for the first, so as to begin the cycle of listening again. You wanted to, needed to, hear it all again.

How lucky you felt, to be going to the concert of such artists the very same night, and how serendipitous it felt to not only know, but to be friends with these artists.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You had dabbed your eyelids with silver and outlined them in black, the way Freddie had taught you to, though you had never worn your makeup so until now. Your dress was a cotton-tulle mix, black and bell-sleeved, and spotted with flecks of silver like little stars; the effect was somewhere between casual and glam. A good balance, if you should be so bold as to say. Platform sandals completed the regalia, which you felt was a fitting way to describe the outfit which one wore to the concert of a band named Queen.

Between your third and fourth cycles of the three Queen albums, Heather had rung the telephone in the hallway across from your room.

“Hello, gorgeous!”

“Hiya, Heather,” you greeted her cheerily.

“I’ve been out all day, so I’m sorry if you’ve tried to get hold of me.”

“I’ve been out for a good many hours as well. Hope you didn’t miss me too terribly,” you sniggered.

“Pish posh. Not in the slightest. Been making out with Rog—”

“Stop right there, Heather.”

She made kissing sounds on the other end of the line.

“Remind me why you’re calling again?” you said, half-jokingly, half-seriously. Half-seriously because it was getting dreadfully close to eight o’clock, to Queen playing at the Union Bar. “And where are you, anyway?

“Calling to tell you Roger and his band are playing at the Union tonight, and to ask if you’re coming. I’m currently at said drummer’s place getting ready to tag along for said concert.”

“‘Course I’m coming,” you said. “Finest new musicians I’ve heard in years.”

Heather snorted. “You sound like my grandfather— top of the morning to you— finest musicians!” she laughed.

“Just because you haven’t actually heard their music yet,” you reprimanded her.

“About to. So this Freddie told you about the concert, like Roger said he would.”

“Yeah, our friend Freddie.”

“Oh. Oh god, Y/N, I’m fucking stupid. It’s the same guys as you usually talk about. I forget that. It’s like my mind thinks they’re part of some alternate reality, or something.”

“Please tell me you’re not on LSD.”

“No! I promised you I wouldn’t do anything silly for a month. You said LSD counted as silly, so despite being surrounded by all sorts of rockstars, I’m currently stone cold sober in every sense of the word.”

“Unfortunately, it appears you’re still under the effects of Roger Meddows Taylor,” you laughed.

“Shush, Y/N. He’ll think I’m some wacko already in love with him on day one.”

“You are a little bit, though, aren’t you?”

You could almost see her roll her eyes, see yourself respond with a knowing smile toward the insight that she was forever downplaying her emotions to seem less of a romantic than she was. But she was a romantic. Very much so. And she got her heart broken far too often for someone who loved as much and as wholly, as unconditionally, as she did.

“See you in a bit, mwah,” Heather kissed the phone and you cursed her loudness. She laughed at your string of obscenities and put down the phone.

With a final look in the mirror, hoping that your fashion choices had not been too bold, you swept out the door and into the night.

‧⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧

A/N: hello beautiful! thanks for reading this. just send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

taglist: @melting-obelisks  @stardust-killer-queen  @hgmercury39​ @topsecretdeacon

Masterpost / Part 1 / Part 3

[larryfanficwriter98]

Chapter Seventeen

*Fake It Until You Make It Real*

Monday morning was thankfully uneventful. Harry woke them up with breakfast grinning brightly talking about having Maddison the entire week. Louis had to remind him that Maddison would be in tutoring on Tuesdays and Thursday which had him making a face. Then despite Harry really wanting to he did not drive them to Reception and work and instead kissed them both at the car before waving goodbye. When the final bell rang Louis headed over to Maddison’s pick-up area and was hugged immediately by the little excited girl.

“How was school?” Louis asked taking a hold of her hand as they hurried across the parking area to the car.

“It was fine. I got yellow carded because the new boy in my class kept throwing paper balls at me, so I threw it at his face and told him to stop.”

“Well did he get in trouble too?” Louis asked.

“Nope. The teacher said boys will be boys and I should learn to ignore it. I told her she should do her job and learn how to control the students in the classroom and make them behave in an orderly fashion.” Louis’ eyes widen as he definitely remembering saying something similar to a teacher that Maddison just happened to be near.

“And uh…where did you learn that from sweetie?” Louis asked.

“You. I heard you say it to Mister Marcus back in September.”

“Right. Yeah…I did say that didn’t I? Perfect.” Louis said as he pulled out of the parking space shaking his head, “Your dad had to pick up Freddie early today because he’s sick, so we have to run to the shops for medicine. I will buy you a candy if you promise to not tell your dad where you learned it from.”

“Three candies.”

“Two Candies.”

“Two candies and we get Nando’s for dinner.” Louis turned around and stared at her as he came to a stop to leave the school, “Well?”

“Deal. Two candies and Nando’s and you don’t tell your dad where you learned that.”

“Yes!” Louis drove the short trip to the shops, helped her out of the car, then led her all the way to the medicine aisle. Louis had to open his messages from Harry to find the symptoms Freddie had and the recommended medicines Harry cent because he was officially in doctor mode apparently in regular cold syrup wasn’t good enough. It took well over ten minutes and a few too many curse words and one or two complaints about Harry’s doctor language until Maddison found it and handed it to him.

(Now for these next few lines that Louis says y’all gotta read them in a very thick Louis accent like it doesn’t work any other way you’ve absolutely got to imagine the accent and the heaviness his accent forms on some of the words alright. Alright carry on.)

“Fifty pounds for a medicine pack for a child is he insane? What’s the difference between this one and that one?” Louis said exasperated as he grabbed his usual brand and looked at the ingredients, “Literally fucking nothing.”

“This is the kind Daddy always buys.” Maddie said pointing to the one Harry wanted.

“Your Daddy let his medical school go to his head. Come on I’m getting both. Let’s go pick out your candy bar.”

“Nuh-uh LouLou you said Candy never said candy bar.” Louis stopped walking and looked at the smug little girl in shock, “You should also call Daddy and tell him we’re getting Nando’s tonight. Actually, it’s okay I’ll tell him when we go home.” Louis’ jaw dropped at he followed Maddison to the candy aisle.

“You fucking little shit. You played me.”

“I know.” Louis watched as Maddison looked through the candy picking out a bag of chocolate Aero’s and a Cadbury chocolate bar. (alright you’re good you can continue reading it however you like)

“How about you pick something out for your daddy too? We can surprise him and when Freddie feels better, he’ll have candy waiting for him.”

“Okay.” She looked really concentrated as she looked at all the choices while he grabbed another bag of Aero’s for Freddie. Louis was about to ask her if she needed help picking something when he was interrupted.

“Louis?” Louis turned confused when he saw the familiar man walking up to them until he realized.

“Charlie hi.” Louis said shifting slightly, “What are you doing here in Manchester?”

“I don’t live here I’m just getting snacks.”

“Fun. Maddison have you picked something out for your father?”

“Um…Yes.” She said shyly stepping up and handing him a Galaxy raspberry chocolate bar, “Daddy doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but he likes those. We share them all the time.”

“Perfect.”

“I thought we- you had a boy?”

“I do. This my fiancé’s daughter, Maddison.”

“You’re engaged?”

“I am. If that is all, I need to get home. Come on Maddison.”

“Actually, can we talk one day?” Despite really really wanting to tell him to fuck off he had already promised himself and infant Freddie that he would never be that parent so with a sigh he nodded.

“Yeah sure. Just um…” Louis faltered he absolutely did not want to give this man his phone at all.

“Here just put your number in my phone.” Louis pressed his lips together as he took the offered phone and typed in his number making it into a contact, “Thanks.”

“Yeah. Come on Maddison.” Maddison was quiet as they headed to the register, “You okay sweetie?”

“Yeah. Thank you LouLou.” She said as she took the offered bag after Louis paid for everything.

“You’re welcome Sweetie.” The car ride was quiet and maybe it was just Louis, but it felt weird. When they did get home, Maddie grabbed her bags and the shops bag then headed inside with Louis, “Maddie is something wrong?” Louis asked setting his bags down by the front door while they took their shoes off.

“I thought you were different.” Maddison mumbled before she ran upstairs leaving Louis confused as Harry came downstairs then the door slammed closed.

“Well alright not the warm welcome I was hoping for. What was that about?” Harry asked.

“I have no idea. I literally bought her candy.” Harry chuckled as he looked back up the stairs, “Seriously we were having a good time then the last few minutes has been really quiet and just now she told me she thought that I was different then ran upstairs.”

“Different from who?”

“I have not a clue. It is too soon to blame hormones?”

“Just a tad too early. Want me to try to talk to her?”

“I don’t know I just- I didn’t do anything. I took her to my car, we went to the shops, I complained about your medicine choice, we went to the candy aisle, then I saw – I know what it is. I ran into Freddie’s biological father, Charlie and he asked if we could talk. I already told you that if he ever asked, I wouldn’t say no because well obviously anyway he gave me his phone and I put my number in it. We didn’t share more than a few words to each other, and I told him I was engaged and that she was my fiancé’s daughter so in my head it was perfectly clear I was taken.”

“But her mother is who she is so to Maddie you giving the guy your number was like her mother.” Harry said making Louis nod, “Does he want to be a permanent fixture in his life?”

“I don’t know I didn’t ask I figured I’d talk to him first and find out what I should tell Freddie. If he just wants to see him once a year, I probably won’t tell him until he’s older and can understand it better, but if it’s going to be a regular occurrence then Freddie will obviously know everything. Honestly, I don’t think he is much of a father type so I’m not expecting anything long term.” As he spoke his phone dinged, “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Louis mumbled as he grabbed his phone and looked at it.

“From him?”

“Yeah, he says ‘’Hi this is Charlie. Just wanted to clear some things up. I am not planning on anything permanent I think I just want to meet him even if it’s just as an old friend of yours. Rather not confuse the lad if he is already use to your fiancé being his dad. Thanks again. Bye.”.”

“Well least he’s civil and honest.”

“Yeah, he’s always been the blunt type. Even when we were dating if we spoke about kids, he always said one and done if any at all. Of course, that conversation didn’t start until further along in our relationship, so I was already gone for him by the time that came up I was willing to overlook it. Why are teenagers so stupid?”

“Because we think we’re adults when we’re not.” Louis chuckled nodding.

“I’ll go talk to her and clear that up before she-“

“Daddy.” They turned to see Maddison coming down the stairs with the shopping bag and her arms folded over her chest.

“Yes princess?”

“Louis is cheating on you.”

“Sweetie I’m not cheating on Harry.”

“Yes, you are I saw it and mommy told me not to tell Daniel when she cheats but I’m telling on you to my daddy. Daddy Louis gave some man his number.”

“I know he did. Come sit down.” Harty said taking Maddie’s hand and leading her to the sofa where they sat  beside her on opposite sides, “You know Freddie isn’t my biological son right?”

“Yeah, he’s Louis’.”

“Right well I carried Freddie, I gave birth to him for that to have happened I needed to be with a man unlike your dad who was with your mom.”

“Okay.”

“I got pregnant by the man you saw today, he left when Freddie was a baby however, so Freddie doesn’t know anything about him except that he exists, and his name is Charlie. He asked me if we could meet up so he could see Freddie.”

“But he doesn’t get to. Daddy is Freddie’s dad now, right?”

“Well in a way yes, but Charlie is still Freddie’s dad too.” Louis said looking over at Harry.

“Maddie you’re still a bit too young to fully understand everything for this situation, but I promise you Louis isn’t cheating on me.”

“Nor will I ever cheat on him. Your dad and I are combining a family together and I know your mother and Daniel isn’t the best role model for how that goes, but I promise you I will never cheat on him. No one is worth breaking up a family for.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and I’m sorry you thought otherwise.”

“And you won’t cheat on him right daddy?” She asked looking at Harry who grinned shaking his head glancing over at Louis.

“Never. Like Louis said we are making a family and one day we will build this family with babies. You’ll get a baby brother or baby sister hopefully in about two years.” Her eyes widen as she grinned.

“Really?!”

“Not anytime soon, but definitely one day.”

“Okay I’m sorry LouLou.”

“You don’t need to apologize, but next time how about to talk to me first alright? I promise there will always be an explanation for something even if it’s one you don’t understand or like.”

“Okay. I promise. I took my candy out just in case you took the bag from me.”

“Oh well one I would never take something from you like that and um thanks for the bag back. You have homework though so before you head off to play how about you go get your bag and bring it back down here so we can do that.”

“I hate homework.”

“It gets worse the more you age. Go on.” Maddie pouted but stood up and slowly dragged herself up the stairs.

“Well glad that has been cleared, however I see a uh galaxy bar in there?”

“Oh, do you? I don’t know if you’ve earned it actually. You were ready to feed me to the wolf.” Louis said holding the bag out of Harry’s reach for all of five seconds before Harry had him pinned underneath him.

“Now unless you want me to go tell my daughter that we need like…thirty minutes. I’d suggest you give that to me.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“I am, aren’t I. Well, it could be worse.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Hey Maddie?! How about you go play for an hour before we start your homework! Louis need a bit of a nap!” Harry shouted.

“Okay Daddy!” Louis’ jaw dropped as Harry grinned at him wiggling his eyebrows.

“Absolutely not. No. Get your greedy hands off of me Styles.” Louis said slapping Harry’s hands away from him as he ran off.

“Come on we only got an hour Louis.” Harry whined before he grabbed Louis’ waist and carried him upstairs and into their bedroom closing and locking their door as he pressed Louis against it.

“You’re a fucking dick.” Louis said even if his hand involuntarily started pulling at Harry’s shirt. What happened next was obviously not Louis’ fault at all it was entirely Harry’s and Louis was completely innocent. Really it was completely Harry’s fault that Harry’s shirt was pulled off of his body and entirely Harry’s fault Louis pushed him towards the bed and straddled his thighs when he sat down.

“Wait what about Freddie?”

“He’s napping come on I promise I won’t make you cum more than once. Doctor’s honor.”

“You’re an idiot.” Louis, “We are very irresponsible parents. We really shouldn’t-“

“Who is going to know we are having sex with one child napping and one playing downstairs in her playroom completely distracted? Are you going to go online and tell everyone what we are doing? No? Then stop thinking and just let me have my wicked way with you.”

“Like I said…an idiot.” Louis said before he was kissing Harry, pulling his hair back as he pushed him onto the bed rolling his hips down to meet him, “We seriously had sex two days ago.”

“Honeymoon phase.” Harry said as his hands pulled at Louis’ pants, “Wait you know what that means?” Harry asked grinning up at him.

“Oh god what?”

“This honeymoon phase and the real honeymoon phase is going to be back-to-back.”

“I’m going to need a break somewhere in these phases.”

“You get like eight hours of a break at night and another eight for work and a few more before bedtime. I think you’ll be fine.”

“I disagree I think like every three times should be like a five-day break for me ass.”

“Then you can fuck me. See compromise.”

“Insatiable.” Louis said shaking his head as he cupped pressed a kiss to Harry’s lip, “You are insatiable.”

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

secret son part 3

A/N: please let me know what you think! If anyone has any requests please send them to me! 

Summary: Matt is performing for his schools talent show, which Myra will also be present for.  

It’s excruciatingly hot in the car, sweat dripping down Richie’s face making his body feel clam and gross, while he’s almost panting like a dog. It’s not summer yet, but it’s June and that means that it is summer in Richie’s mind, but even he hadn’t been able to predict this type of weather. 

The sun is shining scorching hot, burning almost anything she touches, not a giving way to even a slight breeze, and it fucking shows. Normally, the trip from their house to Matt’s school is only a half-hour, but today, it seems all the odds are stacked against them.

Everyone collective decided to go on a trip this weekend apparently, causing a blockage of cars as far as Richie can see it, and they were late to begin with. Eddie’s gripping the steering wheel between his fingers like a vice, vibrating and his face a dark shade of bloody red, but that might not have anything to do with the heat. For a moment, his mouth turns into a sneer again, opening his mouth to yell at the drives before them, but then he shakes his head and takes a few deep breathes.

Richie contemplates calling Myra again, to let her know that they’ll be late so she can let Matt know, but that will most likely send her into another tirade, and that is the last thing they need right now. As they stop for the third time in 3 meters, Richie vows to buy Matthew a phone, whether it be against Eddie’s wishes or not.

The twenty-first annual middle school talent show is hosting its show tonight, and Matt had asked Richie and Eddie to show up. They said yes, of course, both of them more than excited to see their son perform on stage, even if the show itself will just be a bunch of middle-schoolers, dancing and parading.

Their son, a voice repeats in his head. Not deter by the atmosphere hanging around him and his boyfriend, Richie’s heartstrings pull together, making Richie feel breathless for a second. Cause that’s what Matt is to him now, his son. Maybe not biologically, but in every way that it counts.

Matt called his pops a few times as a joke whenever Richie would mirror Eddie’s ministration, like warning him to be careful in the park, or not to go with strangers, a testimony to how many times he had overheard Eddie say it, and a habit developed from there.

Sure, Matt still calls him; ‘Richie’ sometimes, mostly when Myra is around, or when they’re taking playful jabs at each other, but all in all, Richie has become pops. The name suits him, Eddie told him, but it still seems a little unreal to Richie, that he trashmouth Tozier, is a dad to a wonderful kid. Said kid also wants to spend as much time with him as possible, spending every week and weekend with them, expect a weekend every two weeks with his mother.

That’s a fair deal in Richie’s books, considering that it was Matt who wanted the arrangement to be like that, but Myra had to audacity of claiming that Richie poisoned his mind against her, and that he was the one manipulating Matt to make these claims. He hadn’t expected her to forfeit like that straight away, but he also hadn’t expected her to do everything she could to make Matt have to go to her. She fought Eddie for full custody, ignoring all of her sons own pleas to her.

She lost, but the whole thing resulted in Eddie being more aggravated to her, for trying to take away his son, whereas before, he was content to leave her be as long as she didn’t interfere in his life.

‘Motherfucker’, Eddie mumbles under his breath angrily, a grunt-like sound originating from him as he watches the car in front of them skid to a halt again, his face turning more sour by the minute.

Experience has taught Richie that he best lets Eddie rage inside his mind for a little way, at least until he has inwardly yelled at everyone and everything in his mind, before attempting to talk him down.

They’ve both gotten much better at that, both Eddie and Richie. Richie so he can stop his motormouth running a mile a minute, spouting out whatever comes to mind to stop the situation from exacerbating, usually leading to the situating exacerbating, and Eddie has accumulated hos behavior, not lashing out at people who don’t deserve it.

‘Hey fucker,’ Eddie seethes when they reach a crossroad, a car coming in from the left and cutting them off, even though that won’t make him get to his destination any faster, the flow of traffic still blocked like Eddies mom’s underwear.

‘Was that so worth it asshole? What you gonna do now? Speed away?’

Richie places his hand on Eddie’s arm that’s still wrapped around the gear stick that’s off no use, rubbing what he hopes are comforting circles on his upper arm.

Eddie’s eyes turn to his, a sigh escaping him as he takes his hand of he wheel, one of them interlocking with Richie’s hand.

‘You’re right, you’re right Rich. But I don’t wanna be late to my sons performance. You know how Myra is going to have him agitated, and I wish we could be there to calm him down.’

Richie does know, which is why it sucked balls that Matt was going over to her house this weekend of all times. Compromising had been no use, Myra kept insisting that it was her time and they weren’t going to take that away from here, even when Eddie promised her that Matt could go the weekend after.

A call from Matt’s teacher had informed them that Matt was in fact not present during rehearsals on Friday after school, and that told Richie and Eddie all they needed to know.

Contacting Matt was off no use, since he had no phone and Myra refused to let them interact with one another. Again, Richie made a mental note to gift Matt an iPhone or something alike, and no one was stopping him.

‘I know Eds, but that guy is not responsible for that. Stop reacting to other people in daily life like you do during our sexy times.’

The punch to his arm is hard, but he sniggers regardless.  

Taking another peek out the window told Richie they were getting nowhere, so he exhaled harshly, preparing himself for the worst.

‘Okay, do your best Eds, give it to the speeding brake like I gave it to your mom every night.’

Richie expects a retort back, an angry fuck you maybe, or a middle finger, but instead he is gifted the sight of speechless Eddie, his mouth open in shock.

‘You’re serious?’ He asks, even though Eddie has already made up his mind, and is fastly shifting into speed gremlin mode.

With his head thrown back, Richie releases a loud groan, rumbling from all the way in his chest. ‘Yes, now hurry up before I regret it, lay it all on me Jesus.’

A menacing smirk that threatens to overtake every other feature in Eddie’s face, Eddie presses a short kiss to his mouth, pulling back before Richie even has a chance to reciprocate, and speeds off to the emergency lane on their right side.

Eddie is a monster while driving, which is why it’s Richie that drives most of the time, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The clocks ticks on unforgivably, striking three pm exact when Richie looks at it, and let that be the exact time when the show is supposed to start.

They’re too late to wish Matt good luck, but at the very least he’ll see both of them in the audience in their designated seats, right next to Myra. If he doesn’t, Richie fears that he might panic.

Driving on the emergency line is highly illegal, but Eddie brushes that aside as he propels his way to the parking lot.

It takes the barely five minutes after that. They got honked at countless of times, but they made it on time, so Richie counts it as a win anyway. Jumping out of the car before it has even come to a complete stop is dangerous, but discarded on the side when they rush inside the school.

The show has started, but Matt was not the first one on, thankfully, so all they’ve missed is the speech that the principal always gives at the beginning of these kind of events, and a kid who thinks she can play the flute, but really all she’s doing in blowing air into the instrument.

Richie claps animatedly anyway, her moment over when they get in, since he knows what it feels like to be laughed at for something you like the do, and she’s also a kid, so she deserves a pass.

Eddie claps too, snorting when he sees the absolute ridiculous movements his boyfriend is making.

‘What the hell are you doing Rich?’

‘I’m just granting this little girl what you and the rest of the losers deprived me off. Validation for my talents.’ Eddie whips around lightning fast, his laugh loud and uninhabited while he raises his middle finger to Richie.

‘Do those talents include humor?’ While they’re talking, both of them carefully tiptoe around other parents and grand-parents, trying to find a way to get to their seats. He nearly steps on someone toes, offering them a short apology and hopes they except it, but he is too busy avoiding every one else to see if they’re angry or not.

‘Well yes of course Edward. You as young lad should have seen the absolute hidden potential that was harvesting in me.’

Eddie laughs so loud that his knees nearly buckle, several people shushing him even though there’s no one left on stage, and they’re waiting for the next person to make an appearance.

‘Oh please, you’re still not funny now what makes you think you were then?’

In their haste, the knowledge that they would have to spend the entire late afternoon with Eddie ex-wife had disappeared off into the background, but then Richie makes eye contact with her, and it back with much vigor.

Richie wants to slouch, dread already pulling him down towards the ground, but he refuses to let Myra drag him down, and he has Eddie with him anyway, so it’s not that bad.

As soon as their eyes meet, Myra, like a cliche, turns her nose up and looks away, acting as if she is the one that is ashamed of them. There are two empty seats next to her, who will be occupied in a second by them, but Richie still searches for another vacant spot, without luck.

It’s ridiculous anyway, since the seat were granted two weeks before today. It’s a mystery to Richie who organized the seating arrangements, but man did they fuck up bad.

Eddie, who is walking in front of him, reaches out to grab Richie’s hand, squeezing two times for strength and asking Richie for protection, despite him not needing any. His not fearful of his former wife, but she gets under his skin, and not in the good way that Richie can, make him struggle to remain his composer.

Remorsefully, Richie says goodbye to his sanity, a polite and cheerful face covering him like a mask, even when all he really wants to do is yell in her face.

He stills Eddie by placing two of his large hands against his arms, effectively stopping him from walking any further, and moves to stand closest to her.

Someone else has made his way on stage, this time the kid is dancing, and his music is loud enough that Richie can speak in a normal voice, which still means he has to keep it down.

He ploughs down in the middle seat, right in between Myra and where Eddie will be in a second, like a wall between the two of them. Eddie shoots him a grateful smile, sitting down in his chair much more gracefully than Richie, with his hands in his lap.

‘Hello Myra,’ Richie greets her, to establish to her that they were not planning on being rude to her. If anyone was going to start a ruckus, it would be her.

‘Richard’, she greets, followed by ‘Edward.’

Hearing his full name sound absolutely ridiculous to Richie, but he ignores to avoid creating an argument, god knows Myra only needed one slam word and she would blow off.

‘Myra’, Eddie too nods at Myra, Richie bites his lips to stop himself from making a fool of the situation, but by the knowing look in Eddie’s eyes, he knows that Eddie knows what he wanted to say.

After the boy, there are two more children, then a group, and then a little girl comes up. Boredom is starting to take it’s toll on Richie, who can’t sit still if it could help save his life, so his knew has been insistently bouncing since the dancing act.

Eddie helps somewhat by hooking his leg under Richie’s, their ankles linked while his hand plays with the bracelet on Eddie’s wrist, made by Matt when he was being babysit by Ben and Bev.

The girl is shaking all the way through her body, the microphone she’s holding swaying dangerously. Her face is ashen white, and she looks about two seconds away from vomiting, which Richie can relate too. Being on stage is scary, especially when you’re that young, a pang of sympathy for the girl embracing him in it’s warm hold.

The song she has chosen to sing was let it go from frozen, but she only made it past 1/4 of the song, when she forgets her lines and makes up her own lyrics.

The lyrics do not make any sense, she’s mostly naming things she can see, ranging from things like curtains, to teachers, the mortification on her face revealing how embarrassed she is.

It’s that that makes Richie stand up resolutely when the final note dies out, leaping to his feet to applaud her as much and as loud as he can.

‘This is I folks, the best act of the night. Nothing can top this. The way that she improvised is a talent that is rarely seen in anyone ever before.’ Richie whoops, preening when other parents join in on the applause, and the little girls face lits up like a Christmas tree.

He’s only half kidding. He’s going to find Matt the best no matter what, call it a part of fatherhood, but the girl was really inventive, and she did not give up. Besides, seeing the tears in her eyes blinked away is enough to make Richie smile in delight.

When everything dies down and he retrieves his seat again, a woman taps him on the shoulder. She’s holding a camera in her hands that she puts away and grins.

‘Thank you. That was my daughter, I can’t tell you how happy this will have made her.’

Richie is touched, but he also can’t take credit for something he has nothing to do with.

‘It was all your daughter ma’am, she’s a natural.’ Eddie presses a kiss to his cheek, conveying what he’s not saying out loud; ‘I’m proud of you.’

‘Are you always like this?’ Myra inquirers curt, her face stuck in a permanent sneer. Eddie tenses beside him, but he won’t allow her to ruin the afternoon before they have even seen the person they came for.

‘What do you mean Sonia?’

‘My name is Myra.’

‘Same difference. Am I always this awesome and funny and caring towards others?’ He’s not being serious, but to Myra that doesn’t matter. She opens her mouth to say something else, but Richie has already turned his back sideways to here, his entire being focused on Eddie when the latter taps on his arm.

Eddie is staring at the stage however, and when Richie follows his gaze, he sees why. It’s now Matt’s turn, the boy scorching over every head in room, until he finally spots Eddie, Richie and Myra and grins from ear to ear.

He never told Eddie nor Richie what his act would be about, saying that it was supposed to be a surprise, so Richie has no idea what to expect.

His clothes, a yellow t-shirt with a cat on it, and blue jeans that look a bit to dirty to be knew does not seem like something Myra would have let him wear. If anything, Richie was expecting to see  him in something not unlike a suit.

His suspicion is conformed when he hears Myra complain next to him. ‘That’s not what I dressed him in.’

‘Hi, my name is Matt, and today I’m going to be telling you a bunch of jokes my pops taught me.’

Even though Richie will adamantly deny it, and Eddie will confirm it to anyone who asks, Richie starts crying.

He hasn’t even heard any of the jokes, but he already loves them and he loves him.

‘Jean goes on a walk with grandma in the park’, Matt begins his story, ‘and on the way back from the park, he sees a banana peel. When he goes to pick it up, his grandma tells him that he can’t do that, because everything that’s on the ground is dirty and he shouldn’t touch it. Two days later, Jean and his grandma go back to the park, and his grandma trips over the banana peel. When jean’s grandma asks him to help her up, Jean says that he can’t do that, because everything that’s on the ground is dirty, and he can’t touch it.

It’s not even that funny, but Richie loses his shit regardless. The laughter pours out of him relentlessly, making him shake from trying to hold it in.

When Matt thanks the audience for listening, indicating that his act has come to an end, Richie still can’t stop cackling. Eddie is in the same state as him, holding his stomach like it’s hurting and actual tears stream down his cheeks. They’re a stark contrast to Myra, who’s sour look has only worsened, and is just clapping politely like the rest of the parents.

Matt has never been prouder of himself, bowing once and then waving while he gets of the stage, just like Richie does.

When he gets himself under control, a few children later, Myra is has yet to stop her dead glare which is pointed his way.

‘Pops? He calls you that? You are not his father, you’re nothing but filth that has corrupted my Eddie bear and my son. A boy should spend more time with his mother, not with a confused father he thinks his’, she chokes over the words. ‘gay.’

Richie is stricken, hurt despite him knowing that that is just the person Myra is. A hurt emotion that he tries to keep under wraps at all times peaks it’s head up from the darkest part of his soul, but before it has any chance to come up and out, his head is turned, and Eddie connects their lips.

It’s a bit messy, Eddie having knocked his lips on the first area he could find, causing the kiss to be a little off balance, while he brushes at the nap of Richie’s neck. Richie replies by setting his arm on top of Eddie thigh, not high, just above the knee.

They’re in the same position as they were in when they shared their first kiss, and it makes Richie a little dizzy with love and devotion.

Eddie pulls back first, chuckling when he sees the hazy look Richie’s eyes have, and then steels his expression to address Myra.

‘I’m not confused. I’m gay, and yes Matt calls Richie pops, because he wants too, not because we asked him too. Why don’t you wake up Myra? Neither Richie not I are trying to replace you. You’re his mom, no one can do that, but if you continue to be disregard him, he might not be as friendly in the future.’

Then, Eddie stands, pulling Richie up with him, who still dreamily is unaware off what’s happening, his brain not being up to speed yet.

‘Come on Dickwad, pull you head out of your ass, we’ll wait outside until Matt comes.’

He shifts his gaze to Myra; ‘I’ll see you in two weeks.’

Outside, Richie laughs breathlessly. ‘I can’t believe you just did that in front of all these people.’

It’s still insanely warm, but it gets ever warmer when Eddie leans up, and presses his forehead to Richie’s.

Suddenly, Richie is transported back to many summers ago, when Eddie and him were still kids and they had yet to confess their feeling for one another. They shared a moment like that one too, where it was so hot yet they still huddled together.

Richie had thought then that that would be the peak of his life, smelling the scent of warm water and grass, and Eddie colon that stuck to every piece of clothes item he was wearing.

He was wrong, adding Matt to the equation, made it only better.

They must have been there for a long time, but Richie was unaware of that, until he heard Matt call out to them.

‘Dad, Pops, I missed you.’

He leaps into Eddie’s awaiting arms, just small enough for Eddie be able pick him up, while Richie envelops both of them in his arms.

‘We missed you too bud.’ We’ve missed you our entire lives.