#you can vote in the replys or tags if you feel like it. no pressure to do so ofc they're just little lesbian cents

[plasticsandwich]

if two centipede girls were to hold hands and do yuri together, would they do so as shown in image A, or image B? the hearts represent the contact points between the two cents (or yuri points, if you will)

image A: classic yuri, single-hands style

image B: long yuri, multi-hands style

Centipede yuri:

vote for whichever style you think suits them better :>

fake poll because tumblr supports homophobia. but do not be afraid to make your voice heard

[dvasva]

I have a sincere question.

How will not voting for Biden help? Threatening not to hasn't worked to make him do anything to stop this monstrosity and I'm sure Trump will be (however slightly) worse.

I'm just wondering what you're proposing as a solution here? Are you just saying that it's selfish or something to care about how much worse things will get in the us while there's a genocide going on, or is there some alternative to voting for Biden that will actually help because I want to help whatever I can to stop the genocide.

/genuine

I'm gonna be genuine and honest when I say this; at this point, if you don't already dislike Biden and feel the same way I do, I doubt anything I will say will convince you one way or another, and I can tell your question is coming from this fearmongering rhetoric that was born during the 2020 election of 'Vote Blue no matter who', that I didn't agree with back then and I definitely don't agree with now.

I'm gonna level with you right up top, answer your question first, tell you what I think about all of this, even though it's not the most cheery thing. I don't think there's anything that will make things better. I think we are living in a rotting corpse that is like at most 6 months away from exploding from the built up pressure of gasses. I honestly don't know why you even asked me of all people. I can only really support community outreach, community building and mutual aid to mitigate the inevitable harm this whole clusterfuck, either way, will cause to the most vulnerable people, and can only urge you to do the same. We cannot have any political action until people start building community outside of online spaces. That is the biggest flaw of modern leftist political praxis, the lack of community. This is why the college protests are fantastic, because it is a small scale general strike amongst students, with people organizing and providing mutual aid to make organizing easy for the most amount of people possible. That's my solution. Mutual aid.

And, despite how I feel about questions like this, (especially considering aside from a few replies in various posts, and a generally active reblog and tag life about Palestine and Biden, I haven't made any original posts about this and I'm like... a rando with like less than 200 followers, so it's weird that you're coming to me with this question) I will treat this like a genuine question.

That being said, I did vote for Biden in 2020, despite my reservations. So, anything that happened during his presidency puts blood on my hands as much as anything.

I'll kind of start with saying that I am a hispanic, mexican, nonbinary person with a uterus and disabilities from Texas. My current governor is Greg Abbot and a lot of the most heinous conservative bills and debates regarding immigration, police, free speech, lgbt issues, abortion, etc, have taken place in my state where I live, and I am distantly related to Linda Coffee, one of the Roe v. Wade lawyers.

So, I'm not like. Some cishet white guy from Wisconsin who has never seen or witnessed oppression and who doesn't have any stake in any of this, and thinks the edgiest thing I can do is not participate in the system.

I come at this issue from multiple angles, and these are not like... the official political opinions of everyone who has ever agreed with me, this is just mine.

To start with, 1. I'm still voting in local and state elections, and 2. I don't believe in rewarding bad behavior. You said 'Threatening to not vote for him hasn't done anything to change his behavior' and so I'm going to carry through with my threat. Consequences and all that. Not that it really matters what I vote in presidential elections anyways. I live in Texas, a winner take all state. As we have seen multiple times, the popular vote is meaningless, and the only thing that matters is the electoral college. Texas is gerrymandered to all hell, and it's districts are drawn in a way that will always favor republicans. Until our corrupt ass state can finally manage, by some fluke, to vote in a non-republican who is actually willing to redistrict the state and prevent gerrymandering (which they wont do cause they're all chickenshit), all of Texan electoral college votes will go to the Republican candidate. I know we're not supposed to say our vote doesn't matter cause 'every little bit helps' but my vote literally does not matter in a real, tangible, way.

I know a lot of people are scared of having their rights stripped away, sure, but none of you have listened to POC, especially to POC living in southern states. All of this stuff that Trump is threatening? The more police, the border stuff, anti-trans bills, abortion? It's already happening in this country. I don't have abortion rights, I don't have freedom of speech on college campuses, I don't have a right to form a new union, I don't have trans rights, and if the police wanted to, they could pull over anyone in my family and arrest and deport them simply because of the color of their skin, regardless if they're actually an immigrant or not. Cop Cities are popping up around the world, the police is militarized and think it's ok to violently arrest peaceful protesters on college campuses. Meanwhile, the rich keep getting richer. Rafah was invaded last night, tanks placed on the border preventing anyone from leaving into Egypt anymore, and all the while the richest fuckers in this entire country, many of whom have voiced open and intense support for Israel, all met up with their tickets that cost 75k to take pictures in their pretty outfits and ignore the ongoing genocide.

All of this stuff is already happening regardless of who's in charge, and the only difference between Trump and Biden, to be honest? Northern Liberals will actually care about what's happening if Trump is in office. If Trump did everything that Biden did, there would be mass outrage about Palestine from every single Vote Blue No Matter Who person who's around. It's easy to blame the people whose rights have already disappeared for the threat that your rights might disappear as well. This Vote Blue No Matter Who thing is a cry for comfort. It is the people who are not feeling the effects of the crumbling empire we live in crying out, screaming 'Let me feel the comfort for a little bit longer, I don't want to be subjected to the things that others are already subjected to! I just want to be comfortable for a little bit longer!' And I honestly am not interested in voting for white northern comfort just because the other guy is threatening to take that away too.

And you are right. I do think it's selfish to try to focus on your own comfort while ignoring the active genocide of Palestinians, the ethnic cleansing being done with American Money, the thing that puts blood on every taxpayers hands, a true example of Taxation without Representation. Palestine is not the sacrificial lamb that we are entitled to trample over to ensure that we are comfortable. To think so is so monstrously dehumanizing, to say 'I can't focus on that cause I have to worry about me' while actively funding it. That's the biggest catching point for me. We have a responsibility to oppose Biden, to not vote for him and to actively call for him to step down and allow a different person to run, if not dismantling the system entirely, because this blood is on our hands.

Other people have said a lot more clever things about this than me, but Palestinian oppression is directly linked to all oppression around the world. Police in the US train with IOF soldiers, use the same methods on american citizens as IOF use on Palestinian citizens. This is not a case of 'two random countries that have nothing to do with us duke it out'. Israel is acting with the direct and explicit blessing of Joe Biden and the United States Government. He is, even for the standards of Democrats who like to say pretty words while bombing brown people, a warmonger. Like, violently so. Biden is legitimately more dangerous than anyone is giving him credit for, and is actively and openly funding blatant and obvious war crimes. That should honestly get him arrested and tried in an international criminal court.

Anyhow, that's all that from an American perspective. If you wanna really figure out what to do to help, seek out voices who actually know what they're talking about instead.

I recommend Imani Barbarin:

Also, check out my pinned post for ways you can provide a bit of support or learn more about the active ongoing genocide and ethnic cleansing of Palestine.

Especially check out Esims for Gaza. Aid has been inconsistent at best, but if you can't find anything else to do, send esims to help keep Palestine connected to the world.

[orange-peony]

Thanks for tagging me on Wednesday @artsyunderstudy and @hushed-chorus.

I'm still working on chapter 2 of my speed dating fic. Here's a snippet from chapter 1 (Baz's POV):

“Hmm,” he hums, searching through the pocket of his jeans until he fishes out a small pen. He reaches for my palm and writes something on it. My eyes widen, thinking that this is like one of those American films. He’s writing his number on my skin, and then he’s going to tell him to text him. But then I notice that it’s actually a string of letters and numbers.

A postcode.

“Is this—”

“Where my café is,” he replies, looking a little awkward as he lets go of my hand and rocks on his feet. “I mean—we don’t make posh drinks like Starbucks, and the food is very down to earth, so don’t expect buckwheat risotto with porcini mushrooms or some ridiculous shit like that—”

“I’m going to come,” I say, interrupting him, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest as I watch his eyes widen and the corner of his lips curl up into a smile. “I’ll come.”

“You’d better,” he murmurs, standing on tiptoes and brushing our noses together. His face is so close, and he smells so good. “Because I’m not done with you, Baz.”

My breath hitches in my throat, and my eyes flutter shut as I feel his warm breath on my skin. I lean forward, our lips touching for the briefest moment, and I wonder if I’m dreaming.

“I’m not done with you, either,” I murmur before I press my mouth to his.

I’m kissing him.

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m kissing him.

Tagging (no pressure and sorry if you've already done it, and I've somehow missed it): @avenueofesc, @pato-roldnart, @bubble-gumhead, @fatalfangirl, @alexalexinii, @hushed-chorus, @j-nipper-95, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @larkral, @letraspal, @littlewinnow, @rimeswithpurple, @cutestkilla, @martsonmars, @thewholelemon, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @blackberrysummerblog and @tea-brigade.

In case you've missed it, I'm running a survey to find out which snowbaz fest to organise. You can vote here.

[spicysix]

Make me write!

i was tagged by @eriquin @patchworkgargoyle and @steves-strapcollection thank you babes! ♡♡

THE RULES

Make a 24hr poll listing the titles of every WIP you want to work on. (It's fine if you only have one, still make a poll for the vote count)

Tag anyone you think might also enjoy this game (No pressure of course)

Whichever WIP title gets the most votes, write 1 sentence for every vote received.

If somehow that completes the fic or reaches the end of a chapter, move to the WIP with the second highest votes and continue where you left off on your sentence/word count. Repeat until you reach your goal.

(Optional) Share what you wrote in a new Tumblr post with a link to the poll or in a reblog!

WIP list here with their tropes and more details about each fic if you want to see it before deciding!

i have a very serious thing going on with parentheses apparently

no pressure tags: @keerysquinn @stobinesque @inairbinad @wormdebut @roykentt and whoever else wants to play! tag me in your replies if you join in so i can vote!! ♡

[cheerscoops]

Help Me Plan My Winter Writing Challenge pt. 2

One word prompts with a mix of romantic and platonic stories won the first poll, so we'll be doing a challenge that looks similar to the one I put out last year. The words I choose will be ones that can inspire both romantic and platonic stories for the most part, but I might throw in a couple that are strictly romantic just for fun.

While this is a Countdown to Christmas challenge at its core, I'd like to make it more inclusive for those who don't celebrate Christmas if that's something you guys would want. This year could be rebranded to more of a winter themed challenge instead with prompts that don't necessarily allude to any holiday if that's what everyone would like to see.

Feel free to leave your reasoning in the tags or in a reply to this post! I want as many opinions as possible going into planning this!

No pressure tags for some of beloved mutuals who might wanna vote: @quinnkeerys @spicysix @heartscoops @roykentt @heroeddiemunson @rodneywaber @reysorigins @corrodedcoffn @iero @justhere4thevibez @sexybabystevie

[badassxbirdy]

March Activity Update - Pinned Post

It’s time once again for an activity update! If you’re new here: these posts help me to keep track of what the frick I’ve been doing, particularly when tumblr breaks or the brainfog strikes. This one includes posts and drafts for January and February. Everything else can be found in previous updates under this tag. There’s also the full thread tracker here.

The full activity update (along with OOC house keeping) is below the cut. Bold text = links.

If you want to see all IC interactions without the other stuff, click here. If you’d like to start something new, there are opens and memes, or you can just hit up the DM’s. You can also add Ty on Wire for IC texting.

Now onto the update!

Housekeeping

My beloved Rookito has set up a gofundme. Please go and take a look!

New year, new avatar. Thanks to all who voted in the poll.

Thank you for the lovely birthday messages and pet pics! ❤️

I scored a cheap laptop in the boxing day sales! 🥳 As well as it making a lot of things in my life generally easier, I’ll now have proper access for those months I spend away from home.

I’m so still getting notifications for old tags instead of getting newer ones. See this post. If you tag me in a thing, please also DM it.

I've made some changes to the guidlines page, primarily about FC's. Please take a look, or see this post.

Still figuring out meds and other treatment, and still dealing with some intense irl responsibilities, so thread replies will happen when they happen. I’m trying to put less pressure on myself, but as an anxious human and chronic people pleaser it’s a struggle. 😂

Threads, replies, and other IC interactions:

(In alphabetical order by username)

@astormymind

Library ghost with Finn (queued)

@beastbitten

Awkward first meeting is awkward. (link)

@demonstigma

Threatening speech workshop? 😂 (link)

@demcnsinmymind

At the motel (link)

Now kisth! (queued)

Taking Lance on a hunt (queued)

Azzy proves a point (queued)

Doing Lance’s hair (queued)

An unwanted visitor, and Ty finds out the boy has powers (queued)

Car trouble (queued)

@derschwarzeengel

Vampire Damon (link)

Damon actually talks about his trauma! 😱 (link)

Sick Tyler = sulking Tyler (link)

Judging 50 shades (link)

“She’s a ghost AND a bitch!” (link)

@destroyerscved

Magical bean juice (link)

@discipulusmaleficus

Abandoned house (link)

@florafound

Important hot sauce discussions (link)

@hvbris

Tyler really said 👁️👄👁️ at Wednesday (link)

Tyler meets Hook (queued)

An appointment with Dr. Soliman (queued)

@imprvdente

FBI!Fish and human!Ty at the motel (link)

@innerwar

Jokes with charm (link)

Attempting to babysit Jude/the Doctor (link)

@kxllerblond

Attempted bribery (link)

@loyaltyguided

Birthday cuteness! (link)

@magaprima

Demon problems (link)

Demon problems part 2: electric boogaloo (queued)

@nightiingaled

The return of Moros (link) (link) (link) and (link)

Injured Killian (link)

Proteus is baby (link)

@pantslessoptimism

dumbass teens and canniball ghosts (link)

@thatslayer

Ty and Faith both say 😠 (link)

@vyrulent

Ty meets Orobus Jones! (link)

Headcanon, dash games, and assorted silliness:

How adorable are you? (link)

Thread commentaries (link)

Tag! - TyMel mischief (link)

What does love feel like to you? (link)

I think that’s everything! I may actually be up to date for once??? This hasn't happened in around a century, I'm in shock. As always: please let me know if I’ve missed something. I never intentionally drop threads without notifying, rest assured that if it’s not here I am either having a brain fart or I simply have not seen it. Remember to be kind to yourselves, and stay safe! ❤️ — Em

[somethingforsenro]

ok so this is the first post ive ever made that's actually been noticed by a decently large audience. i only posted this thing a few hours ago and it already has more than 50 notes! (and rapidly rising as i write this – i've already gotten like 2 more in the last five minutes lmfao)

so, it seems like a lot of people really like my silly little thoughts on this silly little what if question! and i'm glad, because i put a lot of thought into this, and i'd like to think i made something kinda interesting – so tysm to everyone who's taken notice of my stuff!

this post is still new, but the ideas behind it are something i've been thinking about for a long time. see, i'm an amateur theorist, but also an amateur author! now, this may be a bit more serious than you're expecting, but i think it needs to be said – i just wanna take this opportunity to talk to all the other splatoon writers and roleplayers out there, because this is something that would have been really valuable to me a long time ago.

when i was first starting out in the splat writing community, i always felt kinda pressured to put squidbeak in the middle of everything. that's what got clicks, after all – everyone wants to see the player characters in there somewhere; they're the ones most commonly used by a long shot. i actually ran a poll on a big discord server not that long ago where i asked writers and roleplayers what canon characters they were most comfortable writing, and the agents had, like, TWICE as many votes as the others (and yes, you could pick multiple!) so there's definitely a bias towards them in the writing/rp scene.

but have a look at what i came up with here! sure, there are technically some agent characters, or at least people EQUIVALENT to agent characters, but they're not really the CORE of the post. marie could have rescued callie on her own just as easily as recruiting a random kid on the street; it's not like she couldn't fight for herself.

and by FAR the most interesting part of the post – at least based on the replies – is my take on return of the mammalians, the only section where squidbeak had absolutely no part at ALL! i mean, OCTAVIO was the protagonist there – that's some Bowser's Inside Story type beat…

so, i guess what i'm trying to say is… don't be afraid to write stuff without squidbeak in it! this was just my idea, but there are a lot of writers here on tumblr who are WAY better than me. i'll be watching the tags – i feel like we can make something big here! ;p

anyway, i hope that little ramble i just did somehow helps someone broaden their writing horizons. stay silly, y'all.

splatoon without the splatoon

(the splatoon franchise without the new squidbeak splatoon)

so, i was scrolling through amino, the world's worst social media platform, when i found a very interesting question:

What would happen if the Squidbeak Splatoon disbanded after taking down Octavio during the events of Splatoon 1? Would that change anything down the road?

well, i looked at the comments and saw people basically all agreeing that it would be a complete and utter apocalypse. the world would end, like, three times over.

but if there's one thing i know about the internet, it's that people are stubborn little buggers who'll find their way around just about anything. so, i don't think that's right. i think life would find a way.

here's why.

‎‎

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🐙~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

first of all, octo expansion wouldn't happen bc agent 3 wouldn't be there to fight eight before the dlc's start. in fact, eight might not be freed at all, because we know that only happened AFTER callie was brainwashed (just look at callie's mem cake in oe) and therefore happened during splatoon 2. i say ‘might not’ for a good reason, which i'll get to in a minute.

anyway, no 10008 means that tartar wouldn't find the perfect subject (at least, not with eight) and his plan would be delayed for the foreseeable future. that means octo expansion wouldn't happen, or at least wouldn't happen so soon; if it did eventually happen nonetheless, it's possible that the oe-equivalent protagonist of that timeline would find another way to stop tartar's plans, so i would hesitate to say that inkopolis is doomed in this scenario. i'll talk about that more in a minute, but first, let's get back to that ‘might not’ from earlier and have a chat about hero mode 2.

okay, hot take: even without squidbeak, i think callie would STILL be rescued either way, and the squid sisters would still perform the spicy calamari inkantation. squidbeak or no squidbeak, it's not like marie's just going to stand back and LET her cousin be kidnapped, and she still would have all the same information she does in the normal timeline. (we know that no one was around to help her when callie got kidnapped, so she figured it all out on her own.) she would still recruit agent four to help her (although she wouldn't give them that title or the agent uniform), and they would still rescue callie, so that happens more or less the same way.

however, cap'n cuttlefish and three still wouldn't be out there to fight octarians, so i still don't think oe would happen either way. that also means eight never loses their memories, never becomes a test subject, and never meets pearl or marina. even if you subscribe to the "agent eight is a clone/lab engineered" theory, then they would just wake up alone in the metro, be inducted as 10008, and then… (imho) not be special at all, because eight is only so successful through the help of pearl, marina, and cap'n cuttlefish, and pearl+marina only contact eight through the cap'n's phone. so, eight would still be a test subject, but probably wouldn't be exceptional.

but let's say you disagree. let's say they still WERE exceptional. well, then – they would just get blended and added to the ooze, at which point tartar would presumably create the perfect lifeforms as he planned. but since there's no eight escaping to the surface, he wouldn't have to resort to taking all the ooze he worked for 12,000 years to create and immediately blasting it out of the cannon. i theorize that he would invade inkopolis with the "Perfected Sanitized Army" first, and only use the mega death cannon as a last resort/when he's about to win, at which point pearl and marina would probably have figured out what was going on and take action on their own, eight or no eight.

so, all told, i don't think the world ends in splatoon 2. splatoon 3? well… let's have a look.

no cuttlefish means new 3 never checks out the manhole. there's no heroes looking for the great zapfish. so, the world is totally screwed, right? WRONG.

y'see, there is at least ONE person who exists independently of squidbeak, who also is an enemy of grizz from the start. ONE person who has ALSO lost something dear to them because of the bear's schemes, and who knew to go to the Crater and investigate more deeply. that person is none other than DJ fucking Octavio.

grizz stole his army, so he went to the crater – so CLEARLY he knew WHERE his troops went, he just didn't know who took them. in our timeline, he thought squidbeak did it, but here, because squidbeak doesn't exist, he knows there's something else afoot. he would take the refurbished octobot king out there, and because new 3 isn't clearing out the stages, he would see his fuzzified troops in full force crawling all over the crater. and octavio would be PISSED as HELL.

so, i theorize that octavio would be the protagonist of this alternate return of the mammalians. he would fight to free his people, fall/break into alterna, and beat up deep cut. he might humor them and give them the "treasure", he might not – if he didn't, they wouldn't show up to help him later on, but… that doesn't really matter.

either way, he'd eventually make it to the rocket, and just like in the original timeline, he'd go to space to fight grizz for the sake of his army and the entire world as he knew it. it would be a lot more drawn-out, but i think octavio COULD have taken grizz on his own, especially with the added motivation and anger he has in this timeline. so i say octavio beats grizz to a pulp, and the world is saved.

now, all that leaves is side order, so…

side order spoilers ahead. proceed with caution.

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side order might still happen, because it's focused on pearl and marina, who aren't affected by the whole squidbeak thing. EDIT: however, as comments are reminding me, the memverse was made to cure sanitization. no oe means no experience with sanitization, no memverse, and no side order. if you think some variant of oe would still happen in the 6.5 years between s2 and side order, and pearl+marina would still be involved, then adapt accordingly.

but EVEN IF side order happened, because agent eight doesn't exist (or never met them, at least), there would be no side order protagonist. but – and this is gonna sound familiar at this point – that doesn't NECESSARILY mean order prevails, just that the fight is closer and takes a lot longer.

acht was fighting on their own before eight and pearl came. in OUR timeline, pearl spent a while trying to wake eight up while acht fought and got injured in the spire. but here, she doesn't have anyone to wait on, so she goes straight to the spire of order. it's possible, i think, for her to catch acht BEFORE their injury, and to give them the dualies and her support (after a confused argument, at least). i think acht could then beat the spire with pearl's help, freeing marina, and the rest would go on basically just like the dlc.

however, that one is DEFINITELY the most situational. there's no guarantee that pearl would be fast enough, and if acht WAS injured regardless, there wouldn't be anything to stop order. in that case, it would probably stay in control of marina for a lot longer, at least until acht healed (which could take weeks or even months).

even in THAT situation, acht would still eventually get back into fighting shape. but would they be too late to save marina? it's definitely possible. however, we DO know that greyscaling is reversible – eight managed it. so, it's POSSIBLE  that they could free marina, even in THIS timeline.

and even if they COULDN'T free marina, they could still free (almost) everyone else. marina would be gone, but they would most likely be able to take down order EVENTUALLY, if much slower.

the only real killstate there is if order managed to greyscale acht and pearl. and if you ask me, the two of them seemed pretty fine and dandy the whole time, especially pearl – i mean, this is MARINA'S simulation, after all, so she WOULD give the people she cared about some level of protection or even enhanced access. (acht might even be able to hack into the simulation a little, although she wouldn't be nearly as cracked at it as marina is.)

so, i don't think order would succeed either way – although it might permanently greyscale a considerable number of people, including marina and possibly four. (remember, marie still recruits four's help, even if she doesn't technically call them agent four. they wouldn't be called agent four, but they still exist.)

so, that's definitely a bit more dire than in the main timeline, at least – but far from apocalyptic, i'd say.

…except for pearl. pearl would be pretty fucked up.

[katyasrussianaccent]

i don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips (corpse x reader)

Summary: Corpse suggests you flirt with each other to mess with the fans. What happens when you suddenly catch feelings?

Authors Note: This has been in my brain for so long so I decided to write it. May or may not write a part 2, im not sure. Lemme know what you think! My requests are open for fic/headcannons aswell 💖

It should have been simple.

Flirt, mess with the fans a little, sit back and relax.

It should have been simple.

You remember Corpse coming to you with the idea.

“Why would we do that?” you had asked, frowning at your phone screen. It had been another late night phone conversation with him; something that was starting to become a regular occurrence.

You pictured him shrug as he answered. “Fun?”

“Are you so bored you wanna make a fake relationship with me?”

“Not a relationship. Just do what we do now, but like, more.”

You had agreed before your brain had even registered it. On paper it was straightforward. You already flirted a little anyway, you were naturally a flirtatious person, and so was he. It made sense; or at least you had told yourself that it did. You knew the fans already shipped you together, you saw the things they tweeted as you occasionally lurked the ynhusband tag on Twitter. It was just innocent fun right? No-one was going to get hurt.

For a little while that was true. For a little while he called you baby and you called him darling and it meant nothing. Your face didn’t feel flush when he commented on your latest Instagram post and your heart didn’t do a little flip when he would call you just to see how you were. The phone conversations were your favourite; curled up in bed with the phone on your pillow, trading secrets into the night. He had suddenly become this constant in your life, this almost routine familiarity like brushing your teeth or going to get milk.

You weren’t sure what changed, when it had gone from being innocent fun to meaning something. It was like someone had flicked a switch, and Corpse was no longer a warm glow but this bright, blinding light that hurt your eyes to look at too long. It was almost cruel, the way you wanted something so unobtainable; the universe’s idea of a joke had no humour in it. The thing with Corpse was he was so unaware of the power he had. He was mysterious yes, but he was faceless among a sea of faces; of course people were drawn to him. And you were just another.

You started to pull away. You played different games with different people, you ignored his tweets. It was easier, if you never interacted with him, you could pretend there was nothing but shallow feelings instead of the crashing waves that threatened to pull you under. The fans had started to notice; your streams were filled with questions that you refused to answer.

“Where’s Corpse?” you read aloud as you scrolled down the chat. “Probably in his house? Go ask him.” Your tone was bitter even to you and you inwardly cringed. He hadn’t contacted you in 2 weeks, and while you were thankful, you were hurt by it. It was stupid and hypoctritical of you to be upset by something that was your own doing, and you weren’t sure what you had expected from him. He had other friends, other people to talk to, why would he have cared about you anyway?

Your phone lit up next to you, and you ignored the pang of disappointment at Rae’s picture flashing up.

Rae: Among Us???

You hesitated for a second. The likelihood of Corpse being there was high, but you knew deep down he wouldn’t say a thing to you, not on stream or in front of your friends. You could just ignore him, like you had been doing and it would be fine. You weren’t sure you believed yourself anymore.

“Guys, you want to watch me play Among Us? I’m not sure who’s playing, other than Rae.” You looked at the fast flowing stream of affirmatives and emojis. Guess you had to do it now. You opened up the game and joined the lobby.

“-yeah she looks really fucking cute,” you heard Corpse say as you logged in. You looked down at your outfit,; he definitely wasn’t talking about you in your oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. You had been on stream for a few hours now; your eyeliner was smudged a little and any lipstick had worn off with the constant drinking and licking your lips. No, he definitely wasn’t talking about you.

“Hey guys,” you said tentatively, swallowing down the feeling of jealousy at Corpse’s previous words.

A chorus of greetings hit you, and you smiled at their enthusiasm. You had played with Rae, Sykunno and Toast a few times before, but Felix, Jack and Ash were new to you, though you knew of them.

“Hey Y/N,” Corpse said. You had hoped after 2 weeks he wouldn’t still affect you so much, but the way your stomach turned said otherwise.

“Hey Corpse,” you replied, hoping your tone was casual.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, how are you?” he asked.

“Oh. Uh yeah, I’ve been a bit busy I guess, how are you?” You looked down as you answered, picking at your nail polish. You glanced at the chat that was filled with messages.

corpsesbaby: You can always tell when someones lying coz they look down” llamadelrey: why is this so awkward lmao arent they friends??” simpsforrae: This is like is a breakup i swear

“I’ve been okay, thanks” Corpse answered, drawing your eyes off the chat and back to the game. You nodded as you muted your mic to go back to your stream.

“I hope I don’t get imposter, I always suck at that so much.” You watched as the screen counted down and the word IMPOSTER flashed up alongside Corpse’s name. “Guess I jinxed it guys.”

Great. Not only were you imposter, you were imposter with Corpse, which meant you would have to actually speak to him. Maybe you wouldn’t have to.

You both followed Rae as she walked up towards Greenhouse, and you cornered her while she did her task, killing her quickly.

“Everyone seemed to go right, so we should vent back towards cafeteria to avoid suspicion,” Corpse said.

“Okay,” you answered. You vented together, and you muted your mic to laugh. “This is kinda cosy guys.” You said to your chat. You briefly imagined what it would be like in real life to be so close to him.

You moved to Admin where Toast was doing his task. Before you could say a word, Corpse had already killed him and you both vented outside Cafeteria. “Fuck, that was so close,” you muttered, chuckling a little.

“Don’t worry, I got your back,” he replied, making your heart sing a little.

“Oh my hero,” you said, making a point of swooning to your chat, your voice high and airy. “How will I ever repay you?”

He chuckled, “You shouldn’t ask questions like that.”

You flushed at the suggestive tone he had taken, and you hoped it wasn’t noticeable but judging by the comments in your chat, it clearly had been. This was another issue you had with Corpse; he always made these type of comments with you and it was really annoying. You knew there was no chance he was being serious, and sometimes you wished he would stop it purely because it got your hopes up.

delilah: shes BLUSHING dreamofme: uWu yn uWu

You opened your mouth to respond when Dead Body Reported flashed up, bringing your thoughts back to the game.

“Toast and Rae are dead,” Sykuuno said. “I found Rae in Greenhouse and Toast in admin.”

“I was in balcony, I went there from the cafeteria,” you said confidently. You hated being Imposter, especially being teamed with Corpse, who was so good at the game, you had a lot of pressure to do well.

“I was in MedBay, I didn’t see you YN,” Ash accused.

“You only see if they enter through the left door. She entered through the other door,” Corpse answered for you.

“And how do you know that?” Felix asked.

“I was in Cafeteria,” Corpse replied.

“You could’ve vented YN,” Jack said.

“No I couldn’t have, if Ash was in MedBay, she would have seen me. Unless she wasn’t in MedBay,” you suggested, smirking to your cam as you muted. “It’s not going too bad I don’t think? Always feel like I’ve been arrested when I’m Imposter.”

“Little sus of you Ash to say you were in MedBay when you weren’t,” Corpse said. You gaped a little at how easy it was for him to manipulate the situation, it was almost scary.

Ash argued as the other players began to agree and discuss among themselves. You smiled in success at the text on the screen.

Ash has been ejected.

You split up this time, and while you hadn’t really spoken during the game, you kind of missed Corpse’s astronaut next to yours, and you said that to your chat. “Haha, our colours did look cute together, I agree.”

Any previous trepidation you had had disappeared as soon as you had heard his voice; and you realised how much you had missed him. You would simply just need to deal with your feelings; they would go away eventually anyway. You just hoped it wasn’t too late for you to start again with him.

You walked to MedBay with Skyunno, making small talk as you did.

“I’m glad to see you playing with us, it’s been a little while,” he said and you felt bad that you would have to kill him. As you turned towards him, ready to kill as he did his task, Jack walked in. You mouthed oops at the cam.

“What’s going on here?” Jack asked, suspicion in his voice.

“I was just saying how nice it was to have YN here,” Sykunno replied. You stood and faked your task, watching the green bar fill as you did. It would be too risky to kill here.

“Ah yeah, Corpse has been asking after you constantly,” Jack said. You blinked at the response, it had caught you off guard.

“Oh?” you replied simply. You mentally shrugged it off. Of course he would have asked about you, you were friends, that was all.

DEAD BODY REPORTED

“Felix was dead in Reactor,” Corpse announced. “Oh Corpse, you’re taking a risk here” you said to your chat.

“I was in MedBay with Jack and Sykunno,” you replied, smiling as they agreed. “Where were you Ash?”

She sighed sadly. “I was in Labs, but I was doing a task, I swear!” You all agreed quickly that Ash would be the next voted out.

“2 to go,” you said triumphantly. “I thought I was gonna drag Corpse down, but it’s going okay!”

The round started again and you could feel yourself getting tired. Hopefully this wouldn’t be too much longer to finish the game.

You circled round Corpse a few times, hoping that he would understand your signal. Luckily he did, and you both vented to Decontamination where Skyunno and Jack were. The room had already started to emit steam, making it extremely easy for you both to vent unnoticed and kill them both.

You grinned at the Victory message that flashed up.

“Good game guys!” you said. The others congratulated you and Corpse on your win and you smiled at the sound of your names together. You had it bad.

“It was all YN,” Corpse said.

“Pfft you ssh being humble, it was all you,” you replied, taking your hair out of your ponytail and running your hand through it.

“Your hair looks nice,” Corpse commented and your eyes widened. Your heart started to beat a little quicker. How long had he been watching your stream?

“It’s bad to watch someone’s stream without telling them,” you replied, making a show of pouting for the camera.

He laughed a little. “What can I say, I’m a bad guy,” he said, singing the last words. You laughed at the sudden Billie Eilish.

“Guys, either play another game, or get a room,” Felix interrupted. You blushed a little and rolled your eyes, the chat going crazy from the corner of your eye.

“And that’s my cue to exit,” you said, yawning. “Bye guys, have a good night!” You wished everyone and your chat goodnight before closing the stream and leaning back in your chat. You couldn’t believe Corpse had been watching you. You hadn’t said anything too incriminating, but still.

You prepared for bed, settling back into the softness of your pillows as you grabbed your phone - a terrible habit you really needed to stop.

Corpse: Can I call you?

You gulped at the message that appeared on your screen, a gnawing feeling of nervous clung to your throat as you typed yes. His name came up almost instantaneously and your hand shook as you pressed to accept the call.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even while your heart beat erratically in your chest.

“It was nice playing with you again,” he commented.

You sat up a little as you held the phone against your ear. “Did you call me to tell me that?”

“I haven’t spoken to you in a while.”

You sighed a little. “Yeah, I’ve been a bit busy, sorry - “

“You’re lying to me and I don’t know why,” he replied. You had never heard his voice like that before; so angry and hurt. You tapped your foot against your mattress as you thought what to say.

“I -”

“Did I do something?” he asked. You had been so selfish; blocking him out to avoid being hurt, but you hadn’t thought about his feelings. He was more popular than you were, you had assumed he would be fine, that he wouldn’t care if you were around or not.

“No, you didn’t do anything, I swear -”

“Then what? Because I thought we were friends, close friends and then suddenly you pretty much disappear. But you’re still streaming with other people. It’s pretty shitty of you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked up, the sting of tears threatening to fall. “It was really shitty of me, I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” he asked. “Please just tell me.”

“I don’t know what I’m meant to say,” you replied softly.

“What do you want to say?”

You blinked, the anticipation of unspoken words caught in your throat, making it hard to swallow. The taste of them was bitter on your tongue. “I...I have feelings for you.”

There. You had said it. There was no taking it back now, and you felt like your heart was about to shatter with every single second of silence that passed. You could hear him swallow on the other end of the phone. “Are you saying you’re in love with me?”

You bit your lip, taking in the meaning of the question he had asked. It wasn’t something you had thought of, you hadn’t conceptualised your feelings for him, not put them in a box labelled love or anything. “I don’t know. I feel something for you. And it kinda sucks being your friend and having those feelings. So I pulled away.”

“Why does it suck?”

You laughed bitterly. “Why wouldn’t it? Feeling something for someone that doesn’t feel the same is fucking shitty.”

“I asked you to flirt with me YN -”

“Yeah, for fun,” you interrupted.

“No, I said for fun, but really I just wanted you to,” he replied. “I feel something for you too. How could I not? Has anything I’ve ever said to you sounded like it was just for fun?” You smiled at his response, your heart no longer on the fit of breaking, but suddenly doing flips and soaring through your chest, radiating warmth through your body.

“Oh,” you said, your brain was overloaded with thoughts, and was apparently no longer capable of coherent sentences.

“Oh? That’s a great response, thanks,” he teased, but you could tell he was smiling as he spoke.

“I wasn’t expecting you to say that, I don’t really know what to say honestly,” you replied.

“Well, baby, how about you say yes to a date?” he asked.

“Yes.”

[thefanficmonster]

You Never Notice

Sykkuno x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

Summary: The center of someone’s world is never aware of their importance even when everyone else is in the know. People are hard to understand, no denying, but if we all spilled our truth like how Y/N admitted her feelings to Sykkuno, mutual understanding would be achieved a lot more easily. JK, she needed an eternity and maybe a thousand pushes. What’s important is the result though, right?

Requested by Anon. You are my first Sykkuno request and I wish I could thank you with a tag. Instead, I’m gonna thank you with a fic in which I put my all. Thank you for the request, hope the final product doesn’t let you down. 🥰

Here we go again. Sykkuno’s love life is brought up. This time it’s more frustrating cause I can’t shout how wrong he is about himself and the effect he has on the people around him. He has no room to speak, he hasn’t experienced what I have - one of your best friends living in your head rent-free because you’re just that whipped by them. That’s right kids, some of us never grow past the middle school crushes - they are a constant for some. That can be a good or a bad thing, it completely depends on how you view it.

Currently, him and Rae are addressing some dating rumors that started spreading about them earlier this week while Felix, Sean and I are kicking each other’s butts in Party Animals. We’re not all playing together, actually, we were all playing different games when we hopped into the call and just grouped together after playing solo got boring. Rae and Sykkuno are playing Among Us on a random server, her being the only person who’s streaming right now. She said she just wanted to clear up the dating rumors cause they were annoying to see popping up on her feed on every social media platform she’s active on.

“It’s ridiculous, really. People just look for online personalities to put in imaginary relationships. Are they that bored? I know quarantine is getting to everyone, but damn“ Rae says, laughing a bit to take the edge off her words but I know she’s bothered by this ordeal more than she’s letting on. I know how much it bothers her when people ship random youtubers and streamers together, even when she’s not involved. 

And I agree. Ever since I started streaming I’ve been shipped with my friends left and right. First Corpse, then Dave, Joel...you name them. It gets kinda gross cause these people are legit like siblings to me. Unlike Rae, though, I don’t waste my breath trying to clear those ‘talks of the net’ up. I don’t know if it’s for better of for worse that I remain silent on the issue when I’m involved but am willing to stand up for my friends when they find themselves in a similar situation. Some people think the reason I don’t share my thoughts is because the rumors are true, but the hint is most often taken, resulting in the ship ending. Well, that ship ending, there’s always a new one popping up. As Rae said, it’s ridiculous.

“Why does everyone think I am ever dating anyone? I’ve already commented on this: no one would date me.“ Sykkuno says through a sigh-like laugh.

“Why are you so sure?“ I blurt out without as much as a second thought

My eyes widen just a bit, just a bit. I’m not too surprised with myself. I am slowly losing control of my raging emotions and I’m afraid of what I’ll turn into when all my restraints snap. A mess, that’s the most likely answer.

“Well....“ Sykkuno trails off, clearly more than a little nervous, “I don’t have a girlfriend right now, and I haven’t had one in a while...Nor has a girl shown any interest to be more than friends with me in what feels like forever.“

“I’m sure you just don’t notice the hints girls drop. We can be pretty subtle.“ I try to sound as nonchalant as possible while I’m still in my panicked animal mode. And by animal I mean a cub. A scared cub that is now showing confidence but will run and hide right afterwards. I silently thank the universe that I’m not streaming right now. I can feel the heat on my neck and cheeks which is pure embarrassment and would have been more than evident on-camera.

“Yeah Y/N’s right, Sykkuno. Girls can be very subtle, but they will always let you know if they like you, even through the smallest of gestures. You gotta keep your eyes open.“ Rae backs me up reassuringly.

“Guys never notice anything.“ I say, rolling my eyes. I feel the pressure lessen thanks to Rae’s involvement in the conversation.

“That’s not true.“ Sean protests, “We pay close attention, especially to girls we are attracted to.“

“Yeah!“ Sykkuno pipes in again, “I’m pretty sure I would notice if a girl was dropping signals that she likes me.“

Now that stings. That legit makes me wince and cringe as though his voice delivered an actual physical hit to my chest and stomach. It’s really unpleasant, painful even.

“You never notice.“ There’s something about this triple opportunity - proving him wrong that he’d catch onto a girl’s signals; proving him wrong that girls aren’t attracted to him; coming clean about the biggest emotional struggle I’ve experienced in recent years; - that snaps my last emotional restraints. I will totally regret this later, but after the regret comes the relief which is 100% worth it. 

“What?“ He sounds very puzzled. I can just about imagine him frowning as he tries to wrap his brain around something even I can’t wrap mine around.

“You say you’d notice a girl’s hints of attraction. OK.“ I nonchalantly throw Felix off the submarine in Party Animals while I keep talking, “Would you notice if a girl purposely doesn’t kill you in Among Us when she’s impostor? Or would you notice that a girl always sends you links to videos she finds funny? Or that she always shares music and movie recommendations with you and you only?“ 

Dead silence ensues. I feel like they have all glitched, considering Sean didn’t even try to put up a fight when I lifted him and threw him in the ocean as I previously did with Felix’s avatar.

Maybe I was a tad too specific and made the whole situation hit a little too close to home for me. 

Sykkuno and I have become really close friends and we chat and play games regularly. As I mentioned, I give him movie and music recommendations and I only recently started acknowledging the fact that I’ve never killed him in Among Us. Natural instinct I guess. In fact, I feel the need for vengeance when he’s killed. I refuse to even vote for him unless it’s absolutely necessary.

Now that I think about it, it’s not his fault he has no clue. I just don’t know how to properly drop hints.  

“Um...I mean, I guess I would notice but I’d never think they are that type of hints.“ He finally replies.

On point there, dear. On damn point.

“What does it take for you to be convinced that a girl is into you?“ Who cares that a bunch of people are about to witness this outpour? It’ll make it more real, yes, but it will also help me believe that it happened so I don’t try to crawl back to the point where return is an option. No return now. You’ve already passed two thirds of the way. The last one will set you and your mind free. 

“The only way I can be sure is if she tells me, really.“ He sounds so nervous and shy, like he’s trying to draw as little attention as possible.

He doesn’t have to worry. I’m about to pull all the attention on me.

“Well in that case....you leave me no other choice.“ My screen displays me as the winner of this round of Party Animals - an easy one considering my friends are glitched in real life. “I like you, Sykkuno. I like you a lot. And I know you will see it from every context except the one its meant to be in so I’ll be even more head-on - I’ve liked you, as more than a friend for quite some time now, but buddy, you can be sooo oblivious sometimes. Anyway...“ Here’s that regret I was talking about, it’s already creeping in. “Don’t feel the need to say it back. I don’t wanna hear it if you don’t mean it. And Rae,“ I can’t help but laugh at the thought, “Sorry for making your chat go crazy. Peace!“

And I disconnect from the Discord call.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?“ I say out loud, staring at my desktop. “The cat’s out of the bag and you can move on now.“

I push myself to get some work done in order to get my mind off the mess I’ve created. I’m afraid of thinking about it, I know I’ll get too upset to do anything with the rest of my day if I do.

Suddenly, just as I’m about to open my email, my phone chimes. My brain doesn’t bother to stop my arm from automatically reaching out and checking the notification. A message.

From Sykkuno.

~ I knew you didn’t suggest me ‘My Best Friend’s Wedding’ for no reason

Me ~ So...?

~ So, I’m not the only oblivious one here, Y/N

Me ~ Wait WHAT?

~ ‘Nick And Norah’s Infinite Playlist’?

Me ~ Oooohhhh...I see

It takes him a few seconds to reply, the bubble with the three bouncing dots popping up and disappearing a few times now. I just now feel my heart banging against the inside of my ribcage, my pulse echoing in my ears.

He did seem a little too eager for me to watch that movie...

~ So, movie date?

I laugh, wholeheartedly and honestly. Genuine joy running through my veins.

Me ~ So it is.

The grin that is now decorating my features promises to stay there for the rest of the day. I bite my bottom lip at the thought that pops into my head.

Me ~ Phew, I can stop sparing you in Among Us from now on

He sends me three cry-laughing emojis in return, but I don’t need those. I can just imagine him laughing as he usually does with one hand covering his mouth. And here I thought my grin couldn’t grow wider.

 Imagining him happy makes me smile. His happiness makes me happy. He makes me happy.

Even better...

I think the feeling’s mutual.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

72 Hours In Montreal [Part I]

A/N: Many moons ago, the incomparably lovely @im-an-adult-ish​ pitched a Montreal concert fic idea (jokingly, I think), and quite a few of my followers fell in love with it. They were even kind enough to vote on which Queen member should be the love interest, and there was a clear winner: John! 

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and at last, here is the first of three chapters of this new mini-fic. I’m going to tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. 💜

Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. Y/N is a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. They’ll only ever have three short days in Montreal together...or will they??

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (not graphic). 

Word Count: 6.8k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @escabell​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​ @deacyblues​ @tensecondvacation​ @brianssixpence​ @some-major-ishues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @youngpastafanmug​ @simonedk​ @rhapsodyrecs​ ​​​ @joemazzmatazz​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​ @namelesslosers​​ @inthegardensofourminds​​ @sleepretreat​​ @hardyshoe​​​ @sevenseasofcats​​ @jennyggggrrr​​ @madeinheavxn​​ @whatgoeson-itslate​​​ @herewegoagainniall​​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​​ @pomjompish​​ @allauraleigh​​  @bluutac​​ @johndeaconshands​​ 

The obnoxious British men are still laughing. The one with the mustache, suspenders, and illogically tight red leather pants is standing on the tiptoes of his equally red Adidas shoes to paw candles off the top shelf so he can sniff them. The blond one has no less than eight jars balanced precariously in his wiry arms. Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing is billowing through the shop speakers.

“Oh my god, he’s gonna break something,” you moan in a whisper, covering your eyes but peeking through your fingers. Your apron is suddenly too tight around your waist; your cheeks are roaring with blood as you envision the inevitable confrontation: Sir, unfortunately you ruined some of our giant tacky overpriced candles and so now you have to pay for them. So sorry. Paper or plastic? We take Mastercard.

“Who?” Kevin asks. He’s holding a broom in one pudgy, pinkish hand and a dustpan in the other. He has surrendered.

“That one. Suspenders and moustache guy. Red shoes guy. Dorothy without Toto.”

Kevin cracks a smile. “That is frighteningly accurate. He is rather whimsical, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll click his heels and disappear back to London or wherever.”

“We aren’t in Kansas anymore,” you mutter in commiseration. Actually, to be perfectly literal, you’ve never been to Kansas in your life.

“Wait, I think I might have met that guy before somewhere.” Kevin squints with great concentration. “He looks oddly familiar…”

“Hm.” You check your eyeliner wings in your reflection in the cash register screen. From what you can tell, they’re every bit as tragically asymmetrical as you remembered. Spectacular.

“Staring won’t make it better,” Kevin notes, very unhelpfully.

“I know,” you reply, miserable, toying with your bangs so you can hide behind them.

“How does that even happen? The right one is practically a 90-degree angle. The left one looks like you drew it on with a Sharpie.”

You groan. “I’ll try to scrub them off during my break.”

“If you’re not too busy helping me sweep glass off the floor, sure,” Kevin says. “I told you, I took an electrical engineering class as an elective once. I could totally take a look at your bathroom.”

“I thought you said you failed that class.”

“No, I said I got a D in that class. Ds aren’t failing.”

“Well now you’ve convinced me.” You scrutinize your reflection again, frowning. You rent a rather dilapidated one-bedroom apartment above a bakery just a few blocks from the Yankee Candle shop. The apartment always smells like powdered sugar and baking bread, which you like. What you don’t like is everything else about it: the peeling paint, the low water pressure, the windows that you can’t wrestle open, the occasional mice, the shoddy electrical wiring. On any given day, there’s an approximately 27% chance that the bathroom light won’t turn on when you flip the switch. This morning you had been on the losing side of those odds, and with the only mirror in the apartment being the one mounted over the sink—and the overcast November skies outside offering painfully little natural light—you had haphazardly guesstimated your way through your makeup routine before dashing off to work. Your guesstimation skills, apparently, are not all that great.

“If he’s The Wizard of Oz...” Kevin points his broom handle from the snickering moustached man to the gangly, poodle-haired one who has been trying to decide between two candles—Christmas Cookie and Cinnamon Stick—for twelve uninterrupted minutes. He’s wearing a parka spotted with patches: a NASA emblem, a soaring rocket, a smiling green extraterrestrial face, Saturn and its rings. “That guy’s gotta be Star Wars.”

“Or Alien,” you suggest, clutching your chest and pretending to die melodramatically.

Kevin laughs. “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

“Close Encounters of The Third Kind.”

“What about that one?” Kevin nods to the guy who has large blue eyes and bleach-blond, fried tufts of hair sticking out in every direction and a grin that is simultaneously childish and foxlike. Under Pressure comes on the shop speakers, and the British men all start cheering and high-fiving each other, leaving their candles momentarily tucked under their arms or quivering precariously on the edges of wooden display tables. You are entirely mystified. “God, he’s gorgeous.”

“Bye Bye Birdie,” you decide. “Beautiful. Charming. Beloved by all. Perhaps a little dangerous. I can picture teenage girls sobbing themselves to sleep as he gallantly marches off to war.”

“You think he’s gay?” Kevin asks hopefully.

“I don’t think he’s dressed well enough for that.” The blond man is wearing a shapeless, polka-dotted sweater that has ‘NIVEA’ spelled across the front, for reasons that are difficult to fathom.

Kevin sighs, crestfallen. He suffered a nasty breakup with his boyfriend Patrick two weeks ago, and is enthusiastically on the hunt for a rebound to distract him. “You’re probably right. Okay, last but not least.” Kevin aims his broom handle at the fourth and final British stranger. “What shall we call him?”

You consider the man who has wandered away from the others. He’s wearing Levi’s, a black bomber jacket, aviator sunglasses, a mop of unwrangled auburn hair, thoughtful lines that break around the corners of his hidden eyes. He is browsing unhurriedly, perhaps even distractedly, through the fruit-scented candles. He picks up a jar of Macintosh Apple, sniffs a few times, then sets it back down precisely where he found it. He even spins the jar so it’s label-side-facing-outwards again. You warm to him immediately.  

“One of the James Bond movies?” Kevin offers. “He seems…enigmatic somehow. Esoteric. Yet still clearly leading man material.”

“Casablanca,” you say, not tearing your gaze from the stranger. “I can imagine him waving off some old flame on a foggy, night-draped airport runway, breaking hearts with sparse words of wisdom. Can’t you?”

“Oh, that’s exactly right!” Kevin sighs again, dreamily, yearningly. And whether he’s yearning for his ex-boyfriend Patrick or Bye Bye Birdie a.k.a. NIVEA-sweater man or passion or sex or love or maybe just the ineffable high that accompanies the beginnings of things, you couldn’t say.

You peer at your reflection in the cash register screen once again, feeling more self-conscious than ever. “Maybe if I—”

“Freddie!” Star Wars cries, and you whirl just in time to see The Wizard of Oz, whizzing around and giggling and preoccupied with teasing NIVEA-sweater man, stumble into the six-foot-tall tower of Christmas Tree-scented candles and send countless jars crashing to the tile floor.

“I knew it!” you unleash in a rush of misery and exasperation, the biting threat of tears in your eyes and the back of your throat. And of course, it isn’t just about the mess on the floor, it isn’t just about having to tell your manager and hoping to God he doesn’t fire you. It’s about your derelict apartment, it’s about your fucked up eyeliner, it’s about everything that’s happened in the past eighteen months; it’s about the never-ending feelings of helplessness and inertia and predestined ruin, it’s about not being able to get fifteen meters down the street before life throws up another red light, another jagged sinkhole gaping like ravenous jaws. And none of that is these ridiculous British men’s fault; yet still, in that moment the fury you feel towards them is overwhelming.

“Jesus christ,” Kevin mumbles, stepping out from behind the counter to survey the damage, his hands still clutching the broom and dustbin.

“You couldn’t just mosey around and ask which candles are on sale and maybe sniff one or two like a normal person?!” you explode. “You had to come in here acting like goddamn animals and destroy like a third of our inventory?!”

“I’m so sorry,” The Wizard of Oz sputters, looking at you and Kevin with wide, profusely apologetic dark eyes. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man are helping him to his feet, albeit with very spirited chidings. Kevin is grudgingly asking if he’s alright. Casablanca is already trying to sort through which candles are broken and putting those that survived aside. And when he casts furtive glances from behind his aviator sunglasses, they’re directed not at Kevin or The Wizard of Oz but at you.

“Freddie, bloody hell,” NIVEA-sweater man laments.

“I’ll pay for them all,” The Wizard of Oz tells you. “I’m so, so, so terribly sorry, you’re absolutely right to be cross with me, and I’ll pay for everything. Here, let me get my wallet…” He digs around in the pockets of his preposterously tight red leather pants.

“Uh…sir…” Kevin begins uncertainly, not wanting to break the bad news.

“It’s going to be hundreds of dollars,” you inform The Wizard of Oz. “Maybe over a thousand. You’re really going to pay that? Or are you just going to wait until we start sweeping up and then sprint out the front door the first chance you get?”

“Hey,” Kevin warns you quietly. He wants you to keep this job probably even more than you do. You are, by his own admission, far and away his favorite coworker.

“No, no, darling, please, let her scold me, I deserve it.” The Wizard of Oz at last locates his wallet. He sashays to the counter, brushing nuggets of glittering glass off his clothes, and counts out two thousand Canadian dollars in hundreds. “Will that do? You can keep the change as compensation for the inconvenience. And we’ll help clean up as well, has anyone got an extra broom?”

As you stare down at the money, shocked into speechlessness, three hulking men dressed in black come barreling into the shop.

“Lord in heaven, Freddie, what happened?!” one asks. He has a thick beard and an Irish accent and closely resembles a grizzly bear.

“I made a complete ass out of myself and am now trying to win the affections of this marvelous creature,” The Wizard of Oz replies, flourishing a hand towards you. “Is it working, dear?”

“Kind of,” you admit, still stunned.

“Oh my god.” The broom tumbles out of Kevin’s grasp and clatters on the floor. He points at The Wizard of Oz. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You…you…you’re Freddie Mercury, right?”

In reply, The Wizard of Oz only flashes an enormous, toothy, dazzling grin.

“Oh my god,” Kevin says again, a starry, awed smile rippling across his round face.

“Please don’t make his ego any bigger,” Star Wars pleads.

“And you’re Brian May!” Kevin replies. “And you’re…” He turns to NIVEA-sweater man, snapping his fingers, trying to remember. “Robbie…no, Ronnie…uh…Ricky…?”

“Roger Taylor.” But it comes out like ‘Rogah Taylah.’ NIVEA-sweater man extends a hand for Kevin to shake, not the least bit offended. “It’s a pleasure. Sorry about the candles.”

“No problem, sir!” Kevin squeaks as he takes Roger’s hand, beaming. The men in black—the band’s security, you’ve gathered—have descended upon the crime scene, confiscated Kevin’s broom and dustbin, and are rapidly clearing glass and chunks of candlewax from the floor and discarding the mess in a trash bin that usually collects only chewed gum and unwanted receipts.

“So I guess I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you tell Freddie Mercury guiltily, all the venom in your voice evaporated. You’re no Queen superfan, true, but everyone knows the words to Bohemian Rhapsody and We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions. And Another One Bites The Dust. And Killer Queen. And Crazy Little Thing Called Love. And Somebody To Love. Your thoughts are suddenly a racing, indecipherable blur. Your knees are boneless. You’ve never met a celebrity before. Well, not unless you count professional hockey players, which you definitely don’t.

“No, you absolutely should have,” Freddie retorts. “I was dreadfully discourteous. I’m positively mortified about it. I should be punished severely. Have you got anything behind the counter to whip me with? A riding crop, perhaps?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not that I know of. I’m sorry I called you an animal.”

“I’m sorry about the candles. There, now we’re even. Wait, not quite yet.” He calls over to Kevin: “Darling, how would you and your friend like front row seats at our show tonight?”

The squeal that bursts out of Kevin is not human.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Freddie Mercury says, very pleased.

“This is really too generous of you,” you protest, although your heart isn’t in it; Kevin might legitimately strangle you if you screw this up, and you’re finding that you want to see Queen in concert too. It’s something to interrupt the powerless, unrelenting monotony; it’s like something that might happen in a movie or a dream.

“Nonsense!” Freddie announces cheerfully. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man—or, rather, Brian and Roger—are chatting with the security guys and nodding along as the bearlike Irishman reviews the day’s itinerary.

You peer over at Casablanca. Now that the floor is mostly clear, he’s migrating towards you and Freddie. You glance apprehensively down at your reflection. “Goddammit,” you mutter, manipulating your bangs again, wishing you could disappear. “I meet a rock star for the first time ever and I look like this.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kevin says, obviously lying.

“I like it,” Freddie tells you, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his knuckles. “It’s very goth raccoon chic.”

“My bathroom light wouldn’t turn on this morning and I was late for work and I guesstimated and that was clearly a poor decision.” Poor decisions are my expertise, you think instinctively, and feel a tug of something you don’t quite have the words for. Shame, grief, disappointment, a raw sting like a flame beneath your palm, a dread like a child who’s lost their mother’s hand.  

“I’ve offered to take a look at the wiring!” Kevin exclaims. “I told you, a D is passing!”

“Kev, babe,” you reply. “I really, truly appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ll probably just make it worse. And then my landlord will hate me and keep my security deposit and write me awful references and I’ll have to live in an endless string of ancient, hideous apartments until I die.”

“It’s an electrical problem?” Casablanca asks, pushing his aviator sunglasses up into his unruly hair. His unveiled eyes are a blueish grey—they remind you of one of the candles, maybe Beach Walk or Bahama Breeze—and very direct. He stares at you and you stare back, and at some point you realize that everyone is waiting for you to answer.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so. Sometimes nothing happens when I flip the switch. That’s the extent of my handyman knowledge, unfortunately.”

Casablanca nods. “I could take a look, if you like.”

Not Beach Walk. Not Bahama Breeze. Warm Luxe Cashmere, maybe. “Now that really is too generous. I couldn’t possibly put a rock star to work on my terrible apartment.”

“John’s got a degree in electrical engineering, that’s right in his wheelhouse,” Brian counters.

“Yes,” Roger says, grinning, teasing in a way that has absolutely no malice in it. “He’s more of an engineer than a rock star anyway, isn’t he?”

“Seriously?” Casablanca—John, you mentally correct yourself—doesn’t seem much like an electrical engineer. But Roger’s right: he doesn’t really seem like a rock star, either. What John seems like is steady and abiding and perceptive, attentive, unflinching. He studies you like some people study paintings, like you once studied paintings; not in a passing-by-in-a-crowded-hallway type way but in a patient way, a methodical way, with the quiet that comes from knowing that vision in the frame is older than you will ever be and will still be hanging on that wall when you’re bones in a box somewhere.

Freddie lights a cigarette and puffs on it decadently. Smoking definitely isn’t allowed inside the Yankee Candle shop, but you aren’t about to snap at Freddie Mercury for the second time today. “Oh, let him tinker around in your flat, darling. It’ll make his day.”

“Is it far?” John asks you.

“No, really, Casa…uh, I mean, John, I appreciate the offer more than I could possibly express but I—���

“It’s just a few blocks north,” Kevin says, and tosses you a wily smile.

“How convenient!” Freddie trills. “When does your shift end, dear?”

“Not until 5:30.”

“She can take a long lunch break.” Another smile from Kevin. “Honestly, there’s not much to do around here now that the Great Candle Massacre of 1981 has been remediated.”

“Splendid!” Freddie says, radiant.

You shake your head, very slowly. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“Then you clearly haven’t lived enough,” Freddie quips.

“Fred!” Roger presses. “Are we going to the bookstore down the street or not? That was the whole deal, we suffer through your candles, you suffer through our books.”

“You didn’t seem to be suffering,” Brian says.

“Of course I’m suffering. That cashier over there almost murdered me,” Roger slings back.  

Freddie sighs and rolls his large, dark, expressive eyes. “Yes, darling, of course, don’t give yourself an aneurism. We’ll go to the bookstore, John can rendezvous with us later.” Now he turns to you. “We’ll send a car to your flat at 7 to pick you and Kevin up for the show tonight. Don’t let John leave without knowing your address. Wear something deliciously opulent. Lots of sparkle. Maybe furs.”

“I make eight dollars an hour,” you tell him.  

“Or you could just wear nothing.”

“Sparkle and furs it is.”

Freddie chuckles and turns to the men in black. “Chubby, my dear?”

The towering bearlike Irishman replies: “Yeah, I’ll go with John. Don’t wreck anything else while I’m gone. Don’t get yourselves deported before the show. EMI will have your heads on spikes.”

Freddie pretends to be scandalized. “Causing destruction? We would never.” He saunters towards the shop door, jingling the bells as he swings it open, and waves like royalty. “See you tonight, darlings!”

“Bye!” Kevin shouts after him. And then, after Freddie, Roger, Brian, and the two non-bearlike men in black have departed: “Oh my god I just met Freddie Mercury and he’s amazing and he knows I exist and he spoke to me and tonight he’s sending a car to take me to a concert and I’m going to have front row seats and what if he invites me to have a drink afterwards oh my god.”

John, evidently unaffected, prompts you: “So your place is just a few blocks away?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my coat…”

The man in black—Chubby, as Freddie had introduced him—fetches your coat off the rack by the door and holds it up so you can slip inside it. No one has ever done that for you before.

“…Thanks…?” You button your coat, feeling a little like royalty yourself at the moment.

John pulls open the door, the tiny metal bells jangling, and gestures out into the streets of downtown Montreal. He’s wearing his aviator sunglasses again; the November wind gusts through his hair. You catch threadbare ghosts of cigarette smoke and cologne that the breeze lifts from his skin like pages of a book. And he smiles, just barely. “After you.”

You walk north together along the path of the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets, your breath fog in the cold, weaving through the bustling crowds of tourists and holiday shoppers, Chubby trailing not far behind and displaying his talent for keeping watch while not letting on that he is. To even your own horror, you can’t seem to shut up.

“John, this is so kind of you, this is completely unnecessary, you really shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything because Freddie already paid for the candles twice over and I was totally unprofessional for yelling at customers, even annoying customers, and Kevin and I are already getting a free concert tonight and so—”

“Okay,” John says firmly. “You have to talk about something else now.”

“I can’t talk about anything else. All I can think about is how ridiculous this is.”

“Have you lived in Montreal long?” he asks, very casually, as if you’re strangers in line next to each other at Starbucks.

“My whole life.” Minus a little over three years, but you don’t need to get into that. “My parents live over in Verdun, right on the St. Lawrence River.

“Sounds scenic.”

“It certainly is.” You’re trying not to look at John, because every time you do it’s hard to stop. You look at the cars rolling by instead. “This is super embarrassing, and I don’t mean to offend you, but what exactly do you do in Queen?”

He’s not offended; he thinks it’s hilarious. “I’m the bassist.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, bassists are quiet and reliable or whatever. Bassists don’t terrorize Yankee Candle employees.”

“You’re not a Queen fan?”

“I’m a casual and appreciative listener, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan. I couldn’t pick any of you out of a lineup, clearly. Roger is the drummer, right?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Drummers are feral, almost universally. Which means Brian must be lead guitar.”

“And what do you think of lead guitarists?”

“Word on the street is that they are brilliant yet micromanaging egomaniacs, but I don’t want to bash your friend or anything.”

John chuckles, like there’s some joke you aren’t in on yet. “No, please, bash away. So you prefer bassists.”

And finally you do look at him, and you regret it immediately; because now you’re caught in the thoughtful crinkles around his eyes and the barely-there stubble of his cheeks and the playful curve of his lips and how the wind ruffles his auburn hair the same way it steals leaves off of slumbering trees. You almost walk right past the bakery. “Oh, wait, we’re here.”

You lead John and Chubby upstairs to your chronically irritating apartment. John removes his sunglasses, inspects your bathroom light switch, then asks if you have a specific kind of screwdriver. You bring him the toolkit that has lived beneath the kitchen sink since before you moved in and he roots around, finds what he’s searching for, and unfastens the light switch plate from the wall.

“Please don’t electrocute yourself,” you fret, as Chubby meanders around in the living room and tries not to intrude. “If you die your groupies will never forgive me.”

“Who says I’ve got groupies?” John replies, amused.

“I just assumed all rock stars do.” Your eyes flick down to his hands as he fidgets with the wiring; and you notice randomly—or, maybe, not all that randomly—that he’s not wearing a ring. You’re still ruminating over that when he returns the light switch plate to the wall, secures each of the four screws with a few deft twists of his wrist, and performs a test flip. The light turns on immediately.

“Mission accomplished,” John says mildly.

“What?! No, no way, no freaking way.” You flip the switch again. The light turns off and on obediently. You try it at least five more times. Perfection. “…How?!”

“Just a few loose wires. No great hardship.” He tucks the screwdriver back into the toolkit.  

You gape at him. “That took you…like…two minutes.”

“Aren’t you glad my band wandered into your candle shop and almost demolished the place today?” He rests his hands on his waist; his sturdy, skillful, ringless hands. “Anything else I can fix for you?”

“Definitely not.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He stares at you. You stare back.

“Stop looking at my fucked up eyeliner.”

John laughs. It’s a delightfully clear, disarming sound. “That’s not what I was doing.”  

“I should fix my makeup and go back to work now. And you should probably go help your friends burn down the bookstore or blow up a Starbucks or do whatever else is on your agenda for today.”

“Soundcheck and dinner, actually,” John says. He slides the toolkit back beneath your kitchen sink, meets Chubby by the front door, and pauses there to give you one last lingering, laden gaze. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“In my best furs,” you purr in your most convincing Freddie Mercury impression.

“Or nothing at all,” John suggests levelly. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

It turns out better than you thought it would. Your tan, knee-high suede boots are celebratory without being too uncomfortable. Kevin brings you a faux fur jacket that he stole from Patrick during the breakup. You find a glittery black dress in the back of your closet that you once loved, then couldn’t stand to look at, then forgot existed entirely; but tonight it’s like you’re seeing it with brand new eyes. It fits even better than you remember. In the mirror, you look like a stranger and a hauntingly familiar acquaintance and yourself all at once.

Chubby arrives in a black limousine at precisely 7pm, parks along the curb next to the bakery, and honks the horn twice. You and Kevin dash down the narrow steps and climb into the backseat, finding complimentary cigarettes and bottled water and chilled champagne. As the limo rolls though Montreal under changing traffic lights, Kevin prattles on about the band, their history, their albums, their tours…and John in particular. He tries to tempt you. You resist valiantly…for the first fifteen minutes, anyway.

Finally, you sigh in capitulation. “Okay. Fine. I get it. What do you know about him?”

“I know he’s divorced,” Kevin says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I saw it on the cover of a tabloid a while back. Very contentious, spicy stuff. He’s got like eight kids.”

“He does not have eight kids!”

“Okay, maybe not eight. But he has a lot,” Kevin insists.

You rearrange your hair with deliberate flippantness. “What do I care if he’s divorced?”

Kevin grins. “You know why you care.”

“Stop,” you plead.

“Look, all I’m saying is that he definitely likes you. And you like him. And I haven’t seen you like anybody, ever, in the…wait, let me count…the nine whole months that I’ve known you. When was the last time you even had a boyfriend? When was the last time you got laid? Oh my god, it hasn’t been nine months, has it?! That’s way too long to go without sex. No wonder you’re so serious all the time. It all makes sense now. You poor thing. You’re in dick withdrawal.”

“Assuming that’s my problem—which it isn’t, by the way—if I wanted to get laid there are far easier ways to accomplish that.”

“Sure,” Kevin says. “But you don’t want just any dick. You want British bassist dick. John Deacon dick. Casablanca dick.”

“This friendship is terminated.”

Kevin cackles, pouring himself a glass of champagne that bubbles over the top and spills onto the limo floor. “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I’m glad we can do this together.”

You fill a champagne flute with bottled water and clink your glass against his, smiling. The limo is turning into the parking lot of the Montreal Forum. “Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The backstage room that Chubby escorts you and Kevin to after the show is full of chatter and heavy smoke and roadies and fans and musicians and journalists, trays of hors d'oeuvres, wine and Stella Artois and vodka and tequila and rum, the electric promise of things that will go unmentioned in the morning. There are stacks of stereo speakers in the corner rumbling out Another One Bites The Dust. You and Kevin camp out on a green velvet couch—making small talk with each other to avoid making it with anyone else—until the band arrives.

John is still wearing his concert outfit: blue pants, blue shirt, a black leather jacket that gives him an edge like a knife. He passes out a few polite nods; but Freddie and Roger are undeniably the suns in this room, and the guests their planets. Freddie is soon surrounded by a constellation of followers and whisks Kevin away with him. John, meanwhile, comes straight to where you’re sitting on the couch and stands in front of you with his messy hair and his veil of cologne and his mystery-candle-blue eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks in that calm, measured way that you’ve learned he has. “Rum and Coke? Moscow Mule? Hurricane? I’ve been on a mojito kick recently.”

“I don’t drink.” And you wait for the inevitable awkwardness that usually follows that sentence, when he says why? or seriously? or maybe just oh in wilted disappointment.

Instead, what John says is this: “No problem. Rum minus the Coke?”

You smile up at him. You can’t help yourself. “That would be perfect.”

There are innumerable drinks already poured on a table, dark carbonated liquid trembling in red plastic cups as the bass from the stereo speakers quakes through the crowded, droning, smoke-hazed room. John moves from cup to cup, taking tentative sips before shaking his head and putting them back down on the table. After each attempt, he casts you a rueful smirk before continuing on to the next cup. At last, he finds two unadulterated Cokes and brings them to the couch: one for you, and one for him. He sits beside you with one of his legs crossed over the other, a lit cigarette in his right hand, a red plastic cup of Coke in his left, and his eyes on you in a way that isn’t hungry or arrogant or restless but merely, benignly contemplative. You find yourself thinking of paintings in museums again, you even start to feel a little like one; and you wonder what colors he sees in you, what types of brushstrokes, what signatures scribbled in the corners of the canvas, what shadows painstakingly penciled in to mimic the angles of the sun.

You tell John about growing up in Montreal, about autumn strolls along the St. Lawrence River, about snowfalls and Mont-Royal and Chinatown and the Notre-Dame Basilica, about the exhilarating turmoil of the Summer Olympics in 1976. You tell him about how Kevin is in his last year at Concordia University and works part-time at the Yankee Candle shop for money to invest in his hair gel and travel fund. You tell him so many things he doesn’t notice all the parts you leave out. In return, John tells you about himself; not about John Deacon the bassist of Queen, but about the understated man who likes cars and electronics and the Beatles and tea in the evenings beside a roaring fireplace. And when his arm comes to rest on the back of the green velvet couch, and then across your shoulders, and then around your waist, it doesn’t feel strange at all. You lean into him as you exchange stories and clandestine giggles until you’re nearly in his lap, and that doesn’t feel strange either. And you haven’t had a drop of alcohol—you haven’t in almost a full year, in fact—but you feel a little drunk tonight, because your cheeks are hot and the room is blurry and the world is brimming with a pure, rose-gold, uncomplicated happiness.

The other band members periodically stop by to say hello, clutching their drinks and making stilted pleasantries as you and John smile drowsily up at them, looking nothing like the soberest people in the room. Chubby and the rest of the men in black are simultaneously omnipresent and scarce, which you are beginning to think is a requirement inked into their job description. Kevin, having been fully absorbed into Freddie’s entourage, is beaming and flushed and extremely, blissfully tipsy. And they all watch you and John not with scandalized sideways glances but with warm approval swimming in their gleaming eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you yet,” you tell John when you are alone again. “For improving my dreadful apartment. So thank you. You really didn’t have to do that. I hate that I marred your time in Montreal with unpaid labor.”

He shrugs it off. “I like fixing things. It’s what I’m best at.”

“Besides being an internationally acclaimed rock star, you mean.”

“I’m honestly not so sure I’m cut out for the rock star life.”

“You are, though. I saw you. I watched you all night.”

John just stares at you, and then he leans in even closer, inhaling deeply. You can feel the heat of his breath on your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck; goosebumps spring up across your skin like stars at twilight. “What the hell is that? Perfume? Lotion? Shampoo?”

“It’s probably sugar and baking bread, because I live on top of a bakery.”

“Does Yankee Candle make anything that smells like you?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “They definitely do not.”

“They should,” John murmurs. And with the rough whirlpools of his fingertips he turns your face to his so he can kiss you.

It should be kind of humiliating, right? Making out with some guy you just met on a green couch in front of thirty strangers, your hands getting tangled in each other’s hair, your lips meeting again and again, taunting darts of the tongue and quick painless bites and stifled moans and grasping tugs at clothes that you’re starting to wish weren’t there at all. It should feel embarrassing, you should feel overexposed, here in this land of unfamiliar expectations and accents and faces. But no one seems to be watching too closely. This must be so tame in the world of rock stars, it occurs to you; almost wholesome. And you can’t remember a time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“There’s a pool table in the next room,” someone says, startling you, and you break away from John to discover Roger perched on the arm of the couch, grinning coyly as he sips his emerald glass bottle of Stella Artois. “I mean…you know. If you’re into that. John’s got all sorts of moves, we played for days at a time at Ridge Farm. You could challenge him to a round or two. Place bets. But be warned…he’s a total pool shark.”

“Is he?” you ask mischievously, clasping the lapel of John’s leather jacket. Even if you freed him, he shows no indication of retreating. He’s raking his knuckles back and forth along the length of your thigh that your little black dress leaves exposed, never venturing above the hem.  

Roger winks. “Just thought you might want to know.” Then he hops off the couch and disappears into the crowd again.

John is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours, and no lower. He’s trying to not be even vanishingly forceful. He’s trying not to sway you. But you know exactly what he wants. “Do you…?”

“Show me how to play pool,” you whisper. And you lead him through the shuffling bodies and boisterous, increasingly intoxicated laughter and cumulus clouds of cigarette smoke to the door on the other side of the room.

Beyond the threshold you find a pool table and not much else. It’s terribly unceremonious; it’s absolutely perfect. You can hear Blondie’s Call Me playing back in the packed room where the rest of the band is still reveling, the bass crawling through the walls to radiate in your eardrums, your bones. You lock the door and reach out to flick off the harsh florescent lights, but John stops you. You don’t have to ask him why. He wants to be able to see you. He asks if this is okay—again, wordlessly, with the forthright blue of his eyes—and you nod. And then he kisses you as you drag him in, breathing in his cologne and nicotine, tasting the virgin Coke on his lips that he drank just for you.

John tears off his leather jacket. You toss the faux fur that Kevin lent you to the floor. You climb up onto the pool table, and John follows you. You yank off his shirt, link your suede boots around him as he positions himself between your naked, down-soft thighs. And then John stops.

“Look, I have to be honest,” he says. His hands tremble as they cradle the small of your back, just barely. “I’m newly divorced, and I’m really out of practice, I mean really out of practice, and this is not at all my usual way of doing things, and if I’m total rubbish or only last like thirty seconds or something I just want to apologize in advance and swear that I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make this worth it for you. Because I like you. I really, really like you.”

“I’m a little rusty too,” you confess with a small, sheepish smile. But he doesn’t need to know exactly how rusty you are, or in how many ways, all those layers of blood-hued ruin that spin webs from the skin down to the marrow.

John seems relieved. “Then maybe we’re even.”

You’re not even, you’re nowhere close; but it’s comforting that he thinks you could be.

John kisses you again. His hands find the zipper on the back of your dress, and then the tiny metal clasp of your bra, and then the black lace of your panties…and then everything else as well.

~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you return together to the green velvet couch in the next room, not with bashful swiftness but with your hands entwined, your eyes satiated and calm, your clothes unapologetically rumpled. The partying is winding down. The song pouring through the stereo speakers is In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. And now you and John don’t talk very much at all; you just sit there with fresh cups of Coke, your head resting against his chest, his left arm draped around you, watching the rest of the universe spin on like a carousel as your feet stay rooted to the earth.

“So you’re the smart one,” you say eventually. “You must be, with an electrical engineering degree.”

“You’d be surprised. We’re rather erudite, as far as rock stars go.” He smiles drowsily down at you. “Freddie’s got a degree in graphic art and design. Roger has one in biology. Brian has the better part of a PhD in astrophysics. He might even go back to finish it one day. He probably will, just to be able to lord it over us.”

“Wow,” you reply, distantly, suddenly feeling very small.

“What did you study?” he asks you.

In truth, you never finished college; but you aren’t going to tell John that. “Something useless.”

John is intrigued, and perhaps a little concerned as well. His brow furrows with grooves like lines of fortune in an open palm.

“I wanted to be a painter,” you explain, smirking at the absurdity. “But the world doesn’t need painters anymore. They have pictures and videos that are just as clear as real life. They don’t need my fantasies or interpretations. They have reality.”

“I think we still need painters,” John disagrees, his calloused fingertips tracing lazy circles around your bare shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah. For when reality requires improving.”

You let a few moments of silence tick by. And then you put on your faux fur jacket, finish the last of your Coke, stand and find your balance on the low heels of your boots with exhausted, shaky calves.

John jolts upright, somewhat alarmed. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

“This was great, John. This was the best night I’ve had in a long time. So thank you for that. But I have to go home now.”

“Okay.” He studies you, processing. “Okay, okay. I’ll have Chubby drive you.”

“That’s really not necessary, I can get a cab…”

But John has already waved Chubby over, and the massive man appears serendipitously with an impossible degree of stealth. Kevin finds you, staggering, babbling breathlessly about all of his adventures, showing you where Freddie and Roger and Brian signed his chest with a black Sharpie, repeating the same stories on an identical loop every few minutes. As you leave, you offer John a brief parting wave; and he returns it, like a reflection in a mirror, but he’s wearing a pensive frown and eyes dark with thought. Then again, maybe you are too.

Chubby leads you and Kevin outside to the waiting limousine. You slip into the backseat, ply Kevin with bottled water, open the sunroof so moonlight and cold, reviving November air can flood in like a river.

Kevin is coming down now from the high of the champagne and the concert and the carousing with Freddie Mercury. He blinks, soaking you in, really seeing you for the first time in hours. “Wow, you had a good night with Casablanca. You had a really good night.”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, resting your head against the window and watching the stars and streetlights pass by above like seasons. “And it will never happen again.”

[caveiratimida]

I'm going to reply like this if you don't mind I find it easier plus no character limit :') I get why people might feel the comfort to ask that but then again I feel like yearning/build-up is sometimes such a missing part in a lot of fics. Like, the older I get the more I appreciate it because it fleshes everything out so much more even with our previous knowledge of the characters. There isn't any rush and whilst some characters might even go for/ search for something quick I imagine that given the age range of these guys, and you know their maturity/life experiences, it takes time to bond and get to know someone. Personally, I also think this is also related to the exponential growth of fandom communities and as such also the massive rise in demand and expectation of writing content. Which... sucks because first and foremost like you have mentioned previously and other's before, writing should be fun, for you and not pressured. This isn't by far anything new but given that I have lurked around for a few years there's definitely less respect when it comes to the "when is THIS coming?" or "why do you take so much time to do X when what we really want to read is Y?". Fics are so much fun by seeing what you guys as authors play around with them! The explorations, the "oh I wonder how they would act in this situations" and the "what's best way to play with their personalities and readers?" etc. You stick to your guns because really they are great and again, fun comes first! Given the amount of research and care you give each fic waiting is really the least we can do. I hope things become less chaotic for you - one day at a time am I right?!? Lastly, thanks a lot for that vote of confidence at the end with my own fic. I will definitely tag you in it if I post it! It is super daunting but I feel like I really wanted to see what it would be to focus on creating something that focused on the importance of connections and how Jackson as a community would work. I haven't been able to stop thinking about how it would feel for an originally non-U.S. person to be visiting the States when the breakout happened and what sort of scars/fears/behaviours that creates. Especially in terms of bonds and being "away" from things you knew although society wasn't really that different either. Like also what happens if that is really when you are in those late teen years - technically 20 years later you are an adult but you can't tell me that the outbreak wouldn't stunt some emotional/mental growth. This then brought me to think about how Ellie would also be struggling with Jackson and then understanding she isn't the only one really feeling this disassociation. Meanwhile, how does Joel deal with his own rusty social/trust skills? That's what I have so far really. I wish you a lovely week back too Rachael! And again - chapter 5 is still in my mind ☀️

You queen!! Chapter 5??! Such a good build-up!! I really can't help but treasure the care and time you give to world building and all the small details it is just uff!!! So much joy in re-reading. Whatever order you post the rest I will be reading anyway so don't you worry hahaha. Especially excited for the Joel one. (I can't figure out paragraph seperation here at the moment sorry!) I have been inspired by you try and write out a Joel, Ellie and Platonic!Reader idea I've had it's scary but fun!

I'm really glad you enjoyed the 5th chapter! There are a couple people that have flat out messaged me to ask when they're *finally* going to take this somewhere else physical, so to know that there are others that just want this - the slow, building YEARNING on both ends - makes me happy that I'm sticking to my choices and not trying to rush anything.

This story in my mind, relies on the immersion of the readers into Tim and Reader's world, so I'm adding in all the background and environmental stuff ... they have to have a world for you to jump into, right? 5 was proof of that - especially since it's the longest they've ever spent together while awake, and it's an entirely new experience for them. I'm so thankful to know that you'll read whatever I post in whatever order I post it in ... things are a little chaotic here, so we'll see what happens. and when/if you post your Joel/Ellie/Reader, please feel free to tag me - I'd love to read it! It is super scary to write and post something that you've never done before, but it's so much fun to have content out there and know you that you're telling the story you want to tell!

have a great rest of your week!

[whereisten]

Cat and Mouse

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 Preview

Warning: knife play

“You’re squirming like there’s something inside you..maybe we should get it out.” Taeyong reaches over for something on the small table beside the bed.

He raises the shiny object to his face and smiles widely. “Let’s play doctor.”

His husky voice lets out.

He brings a scalpel to your chest with the sharp blade just barely pressing into it.

You take in a sharp breath, your chest collapsing at the feeling of the cold metal on you.

“Taeyong..”

“Taeyong? It’s doctor to you.”

“Doctor..what are you doing?” You gulp.

Taeyong’s mouth tilts upward into a smirk as he watches the scalpel dance on your skin, threatening to break into it if he just applies a bit more pressure.

“How does this feel, little mouse?” He draws the scalpel along your trembling thigh now, stopping just before your folds.

“Is it cold? Does it hurt?” Taeyong pauses before continuing, looking into your large eyes and glancing down at your swollen, parted red lips.

He then looks down to your beautiful skin and hums lowly. “Mmmmm I like the way your skin is reacting.”

Your arms and neck are littered with goose pimples, every slight touch from the knife makes you shiver, but you’re even more turned on for some reason.

“Can you feel the edge when I press it into you?”

Taeyong looks into your eyes as he presses the scalpel a little harder onto your belly.

“Y-yes, I can feel it, Doctor. Please, don’t hurt me.” You bite your lips.

Taeyong chuckles. “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m in control, just relax. I haven’t actually cut you..yet.”

—————

Oh man...Ive made Taeyong (Cherry) bad like really bad this time...💀whew, Part 3 is going to be a RIDE

But its coming along lovelies! Thank you again to everyone that has voted and sent messages!! I read them all and smile stupidly every time😭 thank you❤️

Pls reply or send a message/ask if you would like to be added to a tag list!!!

[ye4gerismarchives]

the bachelorette chp 5, part 2: connie’s proposal

an: hey yall 😛 i'll be posting another q&a before the final elimination chapter comes out. the day after that, i will close the poll, so make good choices! if you wanna change your mind, do it NOW! if you haven't voted, NOW is your chance😁 also, once again, i had to add an extended part to the connie family chapter because the full thing did not upload :( if the extended part helps you change your mind on connie, let me know! also, i really like this chapter because i could properly write a beach story! i went to a beach last week for the very first time and now i won't sound stupid when writing (and i'll never beat around the bush again!) link at the bottom!

tags: fem, black reader

tag list: @taybird

Unlike Jean, Connie did give you an idea of where you were going. He told you to bring some sandals and a light outfit and "not to worry about swimming because I know you don't want to mess up your hair- or makeup". There was a high chance you would be going to the beach where you had your first solo date. It was also the first time you talked about Connie being your husband. He said something about being "wise" about your decision. Now that you think about it, there was a pattern of Connie trying to avoid the fact that you two would have to be in love. You wondered if he'd bring that up again while proposing to you. You wouldn't want to say no to Connie if he did that but the whole friend zone thing is a BIG turnoff (y'all's words, not mine 😉)

But there was a positive side to this maybe? You already knew Connie and he had a higher advantage than Jean. You wouldn't even have to think about building a connection with him because you already had one. But the problem was love. You knew would enter a relationship with Jean, y'all would be lovey-dovey BUT you would need to build a friendship too.

Damn, this was hard. But this would all be over soon. You'd get a big wedding and if you didn't like Connie or Jean, you could move on. It's not like you're signing papers at the televised ceremony.

But anyways 😭 let's starts Connie's date. No time for analysis!

Connie had texted you that he was outside. You grabbed your purse and left the mansion. When you got outside, Connie was leaning on his car, being handsome and all.

"Hey," you greet him. You hold your arms out, hoping for a hug or even a kiss. Connie steps forward leans towards you but his head goes to the side and he's hugging you. Would this guy wait till the possible engagement before getting romantic with you or would the rest of your marriage be like this?

Connie pulls away. "I'm really excited," he says. You want to yell at him right now but the day just started. Maybe he was doing all this to lead you on and make sure you want to fight for him. To be real, this was getting tiring. Connie better be doing something big!

"I'm really excited to see what you have in store for me as well," you reply. Other than seeing Connie's next moves or his proposal, you were excited about the food. You knew Connie could cook, it was in his genes and he did cook for you multiple times throughout the show. As Connie opens the passenger seat for you, you begin to ask him what was on the menu today.

"Well, I've noticed how nauseous you get when under the pressure, so I made egg sandwiches and I packed juices and water. I hope that's alright. When we get engaged, I'll make you a big meal. I promise," Connie says before closing your door.

You thought it was sweet that Connie took note of that. When he got into the driver's seat, you gave him a small smile before opening your mouth. "Thank you, Connie. I really appreciate the fact that you thought about that."

Connie starts the car and begins the drive to the venue. There wasn't much talking done, probably because you would bring up the whole friendship thing. You wanted to get that settled but you also wanted to see what Connie has planned. These two dates weren't just about you saying yes or no but it was a way to see how much Jean and Connie wanted you. If there were problems in the past, they would try and fix them now.

Minutes later you were at the beach (you were right😁). Connie found parking and got out of the car to get the food. You got out on your own. It was weird not having someone rush to your side to open your door. Connie met you on your side of the car and offered you his hand. You can't remember him doing that before (if he has, forgive me yall🧍🏾‍♀️). But his hands felt nice, so you couldn't complain.

The same table from your solo date remained there. "Hey, Connie, just for you, I'll get in the water," you suddenly say. "Huh?! Really?!" he explains. 'Gosh, what a kid,' you think. "You just made this better, y/n! Thank you!" Connie continues. "Just my feet though. I didn't come here to get baptized or anything."

Connie places the picnic basket with all the little things he packed for you. He then proceeds to pull a chair out for you. When you sit, he pulls out one egg sandwich for you. "Juice or water?" Connie asks. "Um, (juice/water)," you reply. He places the drink of your choice in front of you and finally sits down. Connie sets up his food and is ready to dig in until he notices that you haven't touched any of your food.

"Hey...is everything alright? You feel sick?"

You shake your head. "Connie, we need to talk."

Connie sits up slowly. "What's up?"

You liked that Connie was able to see that something was up. This would be useful if you got married.

"How long are you going to friendzone me?"

Connie chokes in his spit. "What?"

"I mean sure we've been lovey-dovey but I still don't feel that romantic connection. If I do say yes to you, I expect us to start acting like a couple. I want you to be my husband, not my friend."

Connie is silent for a minute and then he opens his mouth. "But people who are friends-"

"Oh, shut up. You can be my friend but I want a husband! Please, stop bringing up those statistics and love me!"

You never thought you would be throwing a mini tantrum over a man. Is this who we are? Is this what we represent?

"Come with me," Connie says. You're hesitant to get up until he offers his hand to you. You take it and he pulls you up from the chair.

Connie slowly leads you down the water and you start to freak out mentally. Was he going to drown for telling him off? Connie wasn't that crazy right?

As you walked, you felt yourself slipping out of your shoes. The sand didn't hesitate to fill in the gaps of your toes and tickle your feet. The further you went, the deeper you were. Connie was just walking like it was nothing. You reached the water and Connie came to a stop. For a moment, he stared out into the ocean. You just stared at your feet. The waves pushed the water on your feet causing you to sink more into the sand. This was the world. You were on the edge. You weren't going to live for long, so you had to make the best of it.

"y/n, I hear your cries for love and I'm willing to give it to you. Marry me. I'll work on myself and you'll work on yourself. I promise you, I'll do anything to grow old with you."

Connie’s ring didn’t come in a box. He just pulled it out from his pocket. It was a diamond covered band with a halo shaped sapphire right in the middle.

damn, wonder who y’all gonna choose🤒 LINK

if you’re curious about how these rings look like, here:

connie (left) jean (right , however, his doesn’t match the description i wrote😒)

also, sorry for the white hand. i took a buzzfeed quiz

[stxphxn-strange]

This is a Soap Opera | A Shrimp Gremlin Villain!Stephen fluff/angst fic

A/n: why is everything i write just fluff/angst? why not right? i tried to make this one kind of funny too lmao, ft. Steve being a little bitch (so this isn’t Steve friendly) and i have nothing against natasha i just needed someone else to be rude and i don’t love how she treats Tony

The Avengers’ Compound (Upstate NY), 4:31pm

Stephen stumbled blearily through the portal, a few disjointed thoughts rattling around in his mind like loose change. He had to find Tony and he was in need of a hug, nothing else was worth a damn in that moment.

Once he saw the genius, he sat and allowed himself to go limp, collapsing into Tony’s arms.

“I’ve taken no less than six (6) fucking Advil today, I can’t,” Stephen complained.

In his tired stupor, he chose to overlook the open hostility of the other Avengers in the room, snuggling closer to Tony. It also didn’t dawn on him, until a few moments later, that almost none of them knew that he and Tony were still together.

So yeah! That was kind of awkward.

Tony hummed, massaging Stephen’s scalp with the lightest grounding pressure. “Have you been drinking any actual water today, or just lots of tea?”

“We’re in the middle of a meeting—”

“Which can wait,” Tony replied. Stephen didn’t know who he was even talking to, he didn’t bother looking up. “Steph?”

Stephen shrugged. “Both. Probably more tea, though.”

“Not surprising. Why don’t you lay down?” Tony suggested, his voice soft. “Your lack of sleep might be catching up to you… sound familiar?”

Some discontented muttering broke out in the room, but Stephen ignored it. Despite the fact that 70% of the people in the room hated him, Stephen still felt loved and warm in Tony’s presence.

Tony ignored the muttering as well. “Don’t fall asleep on me now. Come on, bed.”

Stephen felt Tony gently maneuvering him into a standing position and leading him from the conference room.

“Stark, we’re in the middle of a meeting!” Steve snapped.

Stephen winced at his volume, pressing himself against Tony’s back and hiding his head on his shoulder

“Be quiet Steve. It’s not like this meeting is a big deal, nobody’s even taking minutes,” Tony replied. “I’ll come back, but pardon me for prioritizing my boyfriend’s health over this get together.”

The door to the room remained open as Stephen and Tony walked down the hallway, allowing them to hear Steve ranting about how nobody took his meetings seriously.

“Thor, you’re supposed to be taking minutes!” Steve yelled.

Inside the conference room, Thor shrugged. “But ‘Days of our Lives’ is on.”

“I work with a bunch of idiots. Some more likeable than others,” Tony commented, opening the door to his room.

Okay, it was more like his own wing of the building. Why shouldn’t it be? Tony built it and owned it, and the Avengers were famously bad for his work-life balance. Stephen was grateful that he could sleep in peace, especially once Tony blocked entry into the wing. He laid on Tony’s bed, the Cloak wrapping around him like a blanket as he disappeared in a pile of pillows.

Tony put a glass of water on the nightstand and sat beside Stephen.

“Sorry for bursting in. Now they know,” Stephen said. “If they didn’t before, I mean.”

“I care more about you,” Tony replied softly. “I also don’t give what most of them think. Their responses won’t matter much, the people who really care us and love us are supportive and happy for us.”

Stephen leaned back further into the pillows on the bed. “I’m lucky to have you, you know?”

Tony smirked. “Yeah, you are.”

“Tony!” Stephen gave him an affectionate push.

“I’m kidding. I love you,” Tony replied, kissing the crown of Stephen’s head. “You know you talk about shrimp in your sleep, right?”

“It’s good luck,” Stephen said with a yawn. “I love you too. I wish you could stay.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Tony promised. “Riposati, amore.”

Stephen nodded. “FRIDAY, how about some Food Network as background noise?”

FRIDAY turned on the TV, adding a pleasant, “It’s nice to see you today, Sire Shrimp.”

Tony rolled his eyes at the nickname, giving Stephen one last fond look before closing the door and heading back to the meeting. He wasn’t surprised to see the whole team talking about him, a stern look on Steve’s face. Thor, who was still watching “Days of our Lives,” was now consequently weeping with his head on Bruce’s shoulder.

So yeah, this meeting really wasn’t a big deal.

“Were you going to TELL us that you’re a no good, double crossing traitor?!” Steve snapped.

“Get out of my face,” Tony replied, pushing past him and returning to his seat between Rhodey and Thor. “What I do after hours is none of your business, and it’s not up to you to tell me who I am and am not allowed to date. Stephen and I never broke up after he left the team, I never promised we would! Furthermore I really love him and it’s in my best interest and great for my happiness to continue our relationship. Does anyone have questions?”

Natasha raised her hand. “Did you think we didn’t notice you were less pleasant to us? Strange makes you unpleasant.”

“Stephen treats me like I’m more than just an ATM.” Tony replied.

“How is Tony giving our secrets to some shrimp-obsessed VILLAIN permissible?!” Steve snapped, speaking to the room at large.

“What secrets? You mean that there are more things you haven’t told me? You don’t want Stephen knowing that you bully and belittle me whenever you feel like it?” Tony replied.

Steve was silent, angrily looking between Tony and the team. “Does anyone else see what’s wrong with this?”

Clint, Scott, and Natasha raised their hands.

“I don’t think we need to vote to agree that Stark’s conduct calls for immediate removal from this team,” Steve continued.

“You need me more than I need you,” Tony said. He was calm, despite the fact that his fists were shaking. “After all, who’s going to give you free stuff at your beck and call if you let me go? Where are you going to get all of your shiny suits and arrows?”

“As the leader of this team, I move to kick Tony out,” Steve declared.

“What is this, a playground clique? Who put you in charge?” Rhodey muttered, loud enough that only Tony could hear. To the group, he said: “We have to have a vote to bench anyone, as stated in the new Accords. And given that those Accords state that you are NOT the leader of this team, you absolutely cannot bench Tony. I say that as his best friend and as someone who ranks higher than you and earned it. I move to dismiss this meeting.”

“Oh thank god,” Tony quipped.

“But—”

“Enough. We’re done here.”

Tony was out of his seat and down the hall before anyone could say another word.

++++

5:49pm

Stephen was a light sleeper, always had been, and woke up the minute he felt Tony’s presence in the room. Shelving the dream he was having about eating shrimp on the beach, Stephen reached out for Tony and pulled him close.

“You’re shivering,” Stephen whispered, shifting so that he and Tony were both under the Cloak. “What’s wrong?”

“The rest of the meeting was just a shitshow, that’s all. It’s not important right now. How are you feeling?” Tony asked.

“A little better. I want to avoid taking any more Advil if I can, so I’ve just been trying to rest. I know I’ve fallen asleep a few times,” Stephen replied, hugging Tony closer and playing with his hair. “Now it’s your turn to rest. I’m okay, I promise, and I don’t need or want anything from you right now. I just want you.”

Tony sighed, melting into Stephen’s hug. He didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was upset, pressing his head against Stephen’s chest as he sought warmth and love.

“Hey,” Stephen began. “Let your shoulders drop, okay? It’s just us now, you can close your eyes.”

Stephen’s voice was effortlessly soothing, and Tony followed his instructions without hesitation.

“How was your day?” Tony asked, his voice already getting gravelly with tiredness.

Stephen smiled and kissed him softly. “It was fine. I tripped going down the stairs and dropped a plate, and Wong had to bribe me to take a break when I got to my sixth hour of studying.”

“No wonder your head hurts,” Tony remarked, snuggling closer to Stephen. “What did he bribe you with?”

“Coconut shrimp and talk show reruns,” Stephen admitted.

“Oh of course, because the way to a man’s heart is through reality television,” Tony said.

“The way to this man’s heart is being Tony Stark,” Stephen replied.

Tony blushed as red as a strawberry, tucking his head under the cloak. “Stop that.”

“I’m just saying!” Stephen bantered.

“How dare you flirt with me while we both have headaches!” Tony snickered. “Smooth bastard.”

Tags: @stark-strange-love @daisypoisonpen @ayyy-its-an-idiot @kiwidino @leoachilles @chocopiggy

[absentlyabbie]

@emmarcberts replied to your post “i just saw a few minutes ago some commentary explaining that some...”

it just sounds lame nothing more

and you’re entitled to feel like it’s lame, and if it were indeed “nothing more” cool, that’s literally what my last tag on the post was talking about. here’s where you can practice not giving a shit and compassionately minding your business about something that you don’t relate to that other people enjoy and has nothing to do with you and harms no one

@a-witchy-bitch

replied to your post

“i just saw a few minutes ago some commentary explaining that some...”

I'm literally on the cusp '21' and it just feels like a waste of time. Of course you're adulting, we all have to. We go to work, pay taxes, pay bills, and have the same issues doing it too. I honestly don't see the point in saying things like 'i adulted today.' I used to say it and then I realized being so constantly performative is such a waste of time. We're depressed too, but we know whining about every day life if you're not trying to fix things is a waste of time.

Like yes fuck this godawful system we're in, but actually do something. Fucking vote, raise awareness, make an effort. Being an adult sucks ass but we have to actually stop and make efforts to make a change if we want a change otherwise the sentiment about being an adult sucking ass means nothing.  

If you have an actual problem you're mind dealing with, that's different mind you (racism, being disabled, religious violence, lgbtq+ issues) that's valid to complain about. Fuck i have to deal with some of that shit myself, but fucking get over yourself if you're going to complain about shit for brownie points and a pat on the back. Life sucks, and we can't change it if we just keep complaining. We have to make that change ourselves.

Also, to be clear: this is not aimed at anyone in particular. More of a personal vent on the subject.

this is not a healthy mindset, i want you to know that, and please understand i’m saying this with genuine concern. people can complain, whether or not you feel like their complaints or problems are “actual problems.” people should complain. it’s healthy. the same way you acknowledge you’re venting here, complaining is often a healthy venting of frustration or negative feelings.

yes, it’s good also to work towards changing the things that make us complain (even in the cases that the change needed is to our own mindset or perspective, or how we choose to deal with our reactions to things.) but sometimes all you’ve got the energy for is to complain, to let off that bit of pressure, and sometimes it helps to do it in way that adds a positive (a feeling of fun with the language you use about it.)

to you language like “adulting” may feel performative, in which case, by all means, don’t bother with it. but for others it may be fun or useful or just how they choose to express themselves. and even if it is performative for them, if they’re choosing that performance, so what?

it does no harm. if the net bad of people using that kind of language to express themselves and communicate with each other is that you or others find it annoying, that’s not an actual negative, because it has no impact on the world itself or on others that isn’t in their own power to control.

and just. honestly, this is more to do with what you touched on than the point of my own post, but sometimes, for some of us, complaining, venting, expressing dissatisfaction with our lives or the world or today’s situation, sometimes that is the doing something of the moment. because it’s keeping us participating in our lives, keeping us going to vent, keeping us from drowning in the shit we swallow for fear of too loudly complaining. sometimes that’s its own defiance, its own action.

you don’t know what others are suffering, or dealing with, their motivations or challenges. especially in semi-anonymized online spaces, you don’t know if they are fighting against a chronic condition, or mental illness, or racism or ableism or anything else. you can’t know, and no one is obligated to have their right to complain or otherwise express themselves vetted by a committee of their online peers. focus less on whether those around you are pitching in as much as you think they should or deserve to feel how they feel. focus more instead, maybe, on your own actions and life, how you want to live, what changes you want to see and take part in.

in a world with all the ills we’ve both brushed against in this discussion, how is the way other people choose to perform connection or speak or express themselves a problem worth bludgeoning each other about?

[freddiesaysalright]

Dancing With Ben Week 6

A Ben Hardy x Reader Series Trio Night - Salsa

Summary: Reader is one of the pro dancers on Dancing With the Stars. It’s her second season on the show, and this time, her partner is none other than Ben Hardy. Will they win the Mirror Ball? Maybe they’ll win something even more meaningful!

Word Count: 3.8K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @twigleektribute23, @ionlyhavepicturesofflowers, @asquiresofftime, @caborhapch, @iwasnothingbutacityboy, @a-kind-of-magik, @anxious-diabetic, @royalblueviper, @toms-irish-girl, @doingalrightt, @borhapqueen92, @angiefangirlworld-2, @ziggymay, @pink-lemo, @riddikuluslypotter, @wearewiththebands, @i-was-born-like-this, @prince-lucifer-v, @mariekuuuuuh, @teenwolflover28, @minigranger, @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls, @theprettyfandom   If you want to be added, let me know!

A/N: Alright, some serious pining happens in this chapter but *slaps fic* this baby is what we call a slow burn. Also, SPECIAL GUEST JOE MAZZELLO GIVE IT UP!!

Week 1  Week 2  Week 3  Week 4  Week 5

Week 6 here we go!!!

You were in the studio alone. James had gone home the day after the show and you were a little relieved that the pressure was off, even though he and Ben ended up friendly by the time dinner was over. However, because the upcoming week was going to be a little extra challenging, you decided to get to rehearsal early and work out something more of a routine than you had. You were trying out a step when Ben came in. 

“Hello!” you greeted brightly, but you frowned when you saw his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you see what they did on Good Morning America this morning?” he asked. 

You shook your head. He pulled out his phone and opened YouTube, pulling up the clip of Gleb and his partner’s interview. Every eliminated couple did a GMA interview after being voted off the show, but you wondered what Gleb’s interview had to do with you and Ben. He skipped toward the end of the video. 

“So, Y/N and Ben Hardy,” said the host. “Are they smushing?”

Gleb choked on the sip of water he was taking and looked, astonished, at her. 

“Well,” he began. “What they do off the show is none of my business, but as far as I know, Ben and Y/N are just friends. Like all the pros are with their partners.”

“But their chemistry is crazy,” said another host. “Especially that rumba.”

“Like I said,” Gleb continued. “I don’t know, but part of our job is to put on a show. To tell a story. If people believe what they’re saying through their dance, then they’re doing their jobs.”

“Come on, there has to be -” began the first host, but  Gleb cut her off.

“Look, we came here to talk about our experience this season,” he said firmly. “Not to gossip about our friends. What they do or don’t do behind closed doors isn’t my business, and it’s certainly nobody else’s.”

You felt a rush of affection for Gleb as Ben stopped the clip. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Ben said. “Should we say something?”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course not. That’ll only make it worse. The best thing to do is ignore it, and it’ll blow over.” 

“I dunno,” he said. “I’d like for people to be talking about the dancing, not our relationship.”

“We can’t control other people,” you told him. “All we can control is how we conduct ourselves.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded. 

“I’ve got something I know will cheer you up,” you said, taking his hand and leading him further into the studio. 

“Ah, the big surprise,” he returned. “What is it?”

You checked your phone. “It’s gonna be here any second.”

At that moment, the door to the studio opened. You and Ben both turned to watch the newcomer poke his head in. Ben gave a boyish cry of excitement and bounded over to the door as Joe Mazzello came through it. 

“Joe!” Ben shouted and barreled into his friend.

Joe beamed and embraced Ben warmly as they fell to the floor in a laughing heap. You couldn’t help but chuckle as well while you watched. They cuddled on the floor and giggled when Ben kissed Joe’s neck. 

You turned to the camera. “That is true love right there.”

After a few minutes of them gushing over each other, Ben got up and helped Joe to his feet as well. They were all smiles as Joe came over to you. 

“Nice to meet you,” you said, pulling him into a hug. “I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he replied, kissing you on the cheek. “I’m Joe.” 

“I know,” you returned. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“If they’re from Ben, they’re lies,” he joked. 

You laughed. “Well, why don’t we start dancing, guys?”

“What are we doing this week?” Ben asked.

“We’ve got a salsa,” you told him. “So get ready to move those hips.”

“I’m so excited,”  Ben said, hugging Joe again. “I can’t believe you’re our partner.”

“There was no way I was turning it down,” Joe said. “Although I don’t know if I can keep up with you, man, you’re incredible.”

“Well, I’ve got the best teacher in the world,” Ben replied, smiling at you. 

You beamed back and Joe raised his eyebrows as he looked between the two of you. 

Rehearsal started smoothly, but most of the first day you worked with Joe to get the basics down. He actually moved really well, and once again you were impressed. The routine you were forming was going to be pretty complex, but you quickly became sure they could handle it. By the end of the first day, you had the basic steps down. You were confident in Joe. 

Also, Joe was a ton of fun to work with. He was hilarious, and kept you and Ben laughing all through rehearsal. He would miss a step and quickly blame it on you or Ben, which was always amusing. He and Ben had a great back and forth that often left you in stitches. What was best was that they never made you feel excluded from them. You were part of every joke, every conversation, and they paid close attention to your instructions. 

You went to dinner together after rehearsal. When the hostess led you to a table, Joe and Ben sat down. You excused yourself to the restroom, but told Ben to just get you water in case the waitress came by. Joe took this opportunity to catch up with Ben. 

“So, man, who knew you were a freaking ballroom dancer?” he teased.

Ben smiled. “Really, it’s all because of Y/N. She is such a great teacher. She taught me to foxtrot. She can do anything.”

Joe gazed seriously at Ben. “So, you’ve got it pretty bad for her, huh?”

Ben’s face flushed. “Don’t tell anyone, but yeah, I sort of have a massive crush on her.”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” Joe assured him. “But I could tell by the way you look at her. Like she just...hung the moon or something.”

“She is so amazing,” Ben continued. “Like, every time she holds my hand or we sleep in her bed, my heart skips a beat.”

“Sleep in her bed?”

Bed explained the night you were drugged at the bar and the night after watching a scary movie. Joe smiled. 

“If it helps, I think she feels the same way,” he said. “It’s the way she looks at you too. There’s...something there.”

“Thanks, mate,” said Ben. “It does help, actually. I don’t really know what to do about it. I mean, this is only a limited time we have together. Then I’m going back to England, and I think she’s gonna go on tour with the rest of the pros from the show.”

“Don’t worry too much about that,” Joe advised. “Enjoy what you’re doing right now, and feel it out some more. It seems to me like she might be worth the distance.”

Ben didn’t have time to answer, as you returned from the bathroom, taking a seat beside him. His arm subconsciously slid around your shoulders. Then the waitress came over and you ordered your dinner. 

Within the next two days, you were getting to rehearsing the lifts of the dance. There were a few and you knew they would require a lot of practice. The first was for the opening part of the dance. 

“Okay, so you guys are gonna be on either side of me,” you explained. “I’m gonna hold one hand, and with the other you’re each gonna grab the inside of my thigh and flip me backwards.” 

Joe moved to start, and you didn’t catch Ben shooting him a warning glare. Joe’s hand landed just above your knee. Ben’s was only slightly higher. 

“I appreciate that you’re both gentlemen,” you said, amused. “But you’re gonna have to grab from higher than that.”

You brought their hands up your leg. You missed Joe sending Ben an apologetic look. Carefully, they flipped you, before stepping into the rest of the routine. They did well, so you decided to do the hardest lift of the dance.

“Ben, on this count, you’re going to throw me up over your head, and backwards into Joe’s arms,” you said. 

“Jesus,” Ben breathed. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I trust you,” you said. You looked at Joe. “Both of you.”

“Do not drop her,” Ben warned Joe.

“I won’t, man,” Joe replied. “Not on purpose anyway.”

You giggled, but Ben frowned. 

“Oh c’mon,” you said lightly. “You dropped me once before, remember?”

“So I’m allowed at least one,” Joe joked. 

“As long as you don’t drop me on show day, I don’t really care,” you said.

“I do!” Ben protested. 

“Okay, let’s just practice,” you said,ignoring him.

You explained the exact mechanics of it. You practiced it once, Ben sending you soaring up. You spread your legs above him and then carefully fell back into Joe, who caught you without a problem. 

“Yes!” you cried, beaming at them. “That was great! Let’s do it again!”

You went through it another three times. On the fourth, it faltered. Joe caught you perfectly, but you didn’t close your legs right and you landed on your ankle at a bad angle. You started to go into the next step with Joe but you cried out at a sharp pain. 

“Stop!” you said. 

“What happened?” Joe wondered, steadying you. 

Ben was instantly at your side as you reached out for him. They both held you up as you whimpered.

“I landed wrong,” you said. “I think I rolled my ankle.”

You tried to put some weight on it, but your muscles screamed in protest. You hissed at the pain and Ben turned accusing eyes on Joe. 

“What happened?” he demanded. “Did you catch her?!”

“Yes!” Joe insisted. 

“It was my fault,” you interjected. “Ben, relax. I just landed wrong. But I think I’m okay.”

There was a nurse from production that they called. She came to the studio, where Ben and Joe lowered you to the floor. They stepped out while she treated you. She gently moved your foot around to gauge the severity of the roll. You winced as she examined you. 

“I don’t think it’s sprained or anything,” she said, and she retrieved a wrap and began to bandage it. 

“Can I still dance?” you asked.

“Yes, but don’t put too much stress on it,” she said. “Maybe break for a while before trying to start again.”

You nodded. 

Meanwhile, outside, Joe and Ben were tense. Ben was pacing. Joe could feel Ben’s irritation.

“Hey,” Joe said. “Can you chill out? I’m not trying to make moves on Y/N, okay? This is just the dance and you’re acting like I’m trying to take your place.”

Ben looked at the floor, ashamed. 

“I’m sorry, mate,” he said. “I just - I met her partner from last season and already feel like I’m competing with him.” 

“You’re not competing with me, Ben,” Joe reminded him. 

Ben nodded stiffly. “You’re sure you didn’t drop her?”

“I’m sure,” Joe said. “She didn’t even know she was hurt until after.”

“Okay.”

They waited outside when the nurse fetched them and told them it was okay to resume rehearsal. They came back and sat down with you. The nurse left, and you thanked her. 

“So I’m okay,” you told them. “No sprain. Just a roll. But we’re gonna forget the lifts today and work on the other steps. Tomorrow, we’ll work on the lifts some more.”

You guided them through the rest of rehearsal, and you were able to do a few things in hold but for the most part, you helped them. You didn’t notice that Ben’s brow furrowed whenever you put your hands on Joe’s hips or shoulders to help him move. Joe did, and tried to give Ben a significant look, which Ben accepted. He was trying so hard not to be jealous, but now that he had admitted his feelings, out loud, it was more difficult to disguise them. 

When rehearsal was over, Ben helped you home, allowing you to lean on him as you made your way to your apartment. Joe had already gone back to his hotel. Ben opened your door and you looked at him in admiration. 

“Ben, you’re practically carrying me,” you said. “You don’t have to do that. I danced today and everything.”

“I don’t want you to stress it any more than you have to,” he insisted. 

He assisted you to the couch. You eased yourself down onto the cushions while Ben got you some water. He handed it to you and you thanked him. 

“You are incredibly sweet to me,” you said. 

He joined you on the couch and you draped your legs over his lap. He placed a warm, soft hand on your wounded ankle. Then he began to gently rub your feet. You hummed and relaxed back, closing your eyes to the comfort of him. 

“Tired, darling?” he asked.

You nodded. “You can turn on the TV or something. But I think I’m gonna go to sleep.”

“Well, don’t fall asleep out here,” he said. 

He scooped you up and you squeaked with surprise. He carried you to your room and placed you in the bed. You grabbed his hand and pulled him down to join you. 

“You wanna have another sleepover?” you offered. 

He smiled. “Oh, always.”

You rested on his chest and he wrapped his arms around you. 

“Joe is so much fun,” you said. 

Ben smiled. “He is great, yeah.”

Ben thought about what him and Joe talked about at the restaurant and for the few minutes outside the studio after you’d rolled your ankle. He wasn’t upset that he told Joe his feelings, but now could not remove the idea from his mind. He looked at you as you closed your eyes against him, his gaze trailing down your face, really taking in the details. The feeling of your smooth skin. Your thick hair falling around your shoulders. The sound of your breathing. He wanted desperately to kiss you. But he held back. He knew he had to consider things after Dancing With the Stars. 

Your breathing evened out and he knew you were asleep. He ran his finger across your cheeks and down your nose. Your lips were slightly parted as you slumbered against him. He felt his heart rate quicken at the sight of you. He considered that it might be more than a crush he was feeling. The closeness he felt to you was not something that had ever happened to him before. Dancing with you every week made him happier than he knew he could be, and it wasn’t the dancing that made it so. It was you. 

As he held you that night, he thought about what it would be like to share every night with you. Then he sighed. The remaining weeks were going to be rough for him.

The next day, your ankle was rested enough to try the lift again. You kept a brace on it just to be safe. You were putting the whole routing together now, and you could almost do an entire run through of it without stopping. Tweaks had to be made, of course, but it was really getting there.

You were currently in hold with Joe.

“One, two, three, four, step, turn, dip me now,” you instructed before he lifted you and spun you into Ben’s waiting arms.

“Very good!” you praised. “Don’t stop moving, Joe, come with us.”

Finally, you made it through the whole routine without stopping. As a reward, you took a water break. You smiled at both of them.

“We’re killing it, guys!” you said. “I was a little worried since we have salsa, but I really think it’s gonna be great. Len might not like it, but everyone else will.”

“Why won’t Len like it?” Joe asked.

“Not a lot of it is in hold,” you explained. “Which he is particular about.”

“Well, so what?” he replied. “It looks cool as fuck.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” you said, high fiving him. 

You spent the afternoon perfecting it. You only had one more day before dress rehearsal and camera blocking, so you wanted to really get it down. As you wound to a close, Joe got a text from Rami.

“Ben, Rami wants us to come to dinner tonight, what d’you think?” Joe asked.

“Well, what about Y/N?” Ben returned.

“That’s very sweet, Ben, but you don’t have to spend every moment with me,” you assured him. “I mean, we spend every day together. Go have fun with your boys.”

“Are you sure?” Joe wondered. “I don’t think Rami would mind.”

You shook your head. “Go. I’ll see you guys in the morning. Really, really good work today.”

They gathered their things, and Joe gave you a quick hug goodbye. Ben embraced you, then looked hard at your face. You searched his eyes for what he wanted, but you couldn’t quite place it. He leaned forward, as if to kiss you, and you tried to think of how you should react to that, but he hesitated. He instead went with a customary forehead kiss and a squeeze of your hand before telling you goodnight and departing with Joe. You felt  your heart pounding in your chest and it wasn’t from rehearsal.

You were pulled from your thoughts when Clark, one of the producers spoke.

“You look really good,” he said. 

“Oh, um, thanks,” you said, brow furrowing with confusion. “Everyone says Ben and I look good together, but I don’t really see how we look different from the other couples.”

“Well, you and Ben dance well together,” he clarified. “I just meant you, in general, look good.”

You cocked your head to the side before grabbing your bag and water bottle. “Yeah, uh, thanks again. Have a good night, Clark.”

You clapped him on the arm and left the studio. You glanced back to see him sigh and shake his head. But you didn’t wonder about that just now. All you could think about was that look on Ben’s face before he left. The more you thought about it, the more you were convinced he had wanted to kiss you. 

On one hand, you were glad he hadn’t. You didn’t want your first kiss with Ben to be some passing thing after rehearsal. On the other, you wondered why you would consider it your first kiss. Why did you even want to kiss Ben? You’d thought about it the morning after he slept over the first time, but you chalked that up to physical attraction. Now, you were pretty certain you wanted something more. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you slid into the driver’s seat of your car. 

“Get a grip,” you told yourself as you turned the key and started the engine.

When you got home, you showered and got into bed. You checked Instagram, looking at everyone’s stories. Sasha and Emma posted their dog, Ruby. Sharna was out with some friends. Witney was snuggled up to her husband. Ben’s story popped up, which was unusual since he didn’t post very much. It was just a simple selfie of him, Rami, and Joe, smiling. Joe was kissing Ben’s cheek. You tapped it and held your thumb down to just look at the photo and focus on Ben’s face. His eyes, even behind a screen, stole the breath out of your lungs.

You groaned, closing your phone and laying back on the bed. 

“Get a grip, Y/N!” you scolded yourself again. 

But as you settled in, pulling your covers up to your neck, you couldn’t help but miss the weight of Ben’s arm around your waist.

Dress rehearsal went off without a hitch. All the trios looked really good, but you were always impressed with the other pros and their choreography. And then, it was showtime.

You, Ben, and Joe were going last, closing the show again. You were excited, though, because you were certain you had the most exciting dance of the night. Joe didn’t look nervous until right before it was your turn. But he hid it well.

Then, they started your video package, overplaying you rolling your ankle of course. You held Ben and Joe’s hands, helping them to ignore it so they would come in right on the beat. Just as it faded to black, you took your places before you began. 

The dance was so exciting. The crowd surrounded you all as you, Ben, and Joe moved all over the dance floor. The lifts went just right. They both stayed on the beat, and they looked incredible. Joe kept up nicely, and didn’t miss a step.

When it was over, you pulled them in for a group hug. Tom ushered you over to get the judges comments. Carrie Ann adored it and praised Joe for his ability to keep up. Len said exactly what you predicted, that he wished there was more of the dance in hold. Bruno shared Carrie Ann’s sentiments. You then went to the skybox to talk to Erin before receiving your scores.

“So, Y/N, what was it like working with these two handsome guys?” Erin asked.

You chuckled. “They are kinda handsome, aren’t they?” you teased. “Actually, both of them are so great. Joe fit right in with us and picked up on everything really easily.”

“Joe, how did you feel coming in to this?” she asked him.

“Honestly, I was just excited,” he replied. “I’ve never done something like this, and to come in and support my friend was really cool.”

“You didn’t feel like a third wheel?” she pressed, and you resisted a brutal urge to roll your eyes.

Joe shook his head. “No, never. If anyone was a third wheel, it was Y/N,” he laughed. “Ben and I can get really wrapped up in each other.” He cupped Ben’s face. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Everyone laughed. Erin turned to Ben.

“Anything to add, Ben?” 

“Not really,” he said. “We did good work, Y/N miraculously didn’t get hurt, and I got to spend time with Joe, so no matter what the scores are, I had a perfect week.”

Luckily, the judges scored you tens again. You jumped into Ben and Joe’s arms and celebrated with them. You were at the top of the leaderboard again, and couldn’t be happier. Even better, you survived elimination without even being in danger.

When the show closed, you went to change, but Ben remained outside to talk to Joe some more. You didn’t ask why, but let them be.

“Thanks, Joe,” Ben said. “For doing this and listening to me be stupid about my feelings.”

“They’re not stupid,” Joe assured him. “Honestly, Ben, if you want my real advice when it comes to Y/N, it’s go for it. I just think you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Ben considered this. He already regretted not kissing you before leaving the studio or when you woke up after that first sleepover. How much would he regret it if he left this show without ever taking the chance with you?