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angrylizardjacket · 6 years

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sweet chaos {Brian May}

Anons asked (in a roundabout way, I lost the original prompts): Brian/Reader where she has a crush on him but he thinks she’s into another one of the band members, and when he confronts her, he tells her he has feelings too? Also, Brian/Reader where they meet in the studio and there’s flirting and they end up together.

A/N: 3640 words. Something about Brian just makes me wanna write a lot apparently. Y/N is just.... so chaotic. ANYWAYS, so this is the fic I wrote last night and then lost, but I’ve managed to salvage it, and I’m happy with how it turned out. I’m so sorry to the two beautiful anons whose prompts were lost to my mistake last night, just know this goes out to you.

“Deaks, when did you get cool?” You gaze around the studio with an almost awed expression, hands shoved in the pockets of your jacket, before finally turning your grin on John, who was crouched by his bass case, looking up at you with a singular raised eyebrow.

“I’ve always been cool.” John was adamant about this, pulling out his bass and clicking the case shut. “You just don’t appreciate me.” After a moment, in which you rolled your eyes at him, he secured the strap on his instrument and looked up at you with an amused smile. “A year ago.” He conceded, and your eyes went wide.

“A ye- John Francis Deacon-” You cut yourself off, spluttering in surprise.

“Not my middle name.” He interjected, though you just talked over him, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“You’ve been in a band for a year and you didn’t think to tell me? I’ve been living with you for like a week!” You crowed, and your theatrics had earned both a chuckle from John, and the attention of the three other boys in the room; the rest of the band.

“You care to introduce us to your friend?” The blonde one asked, eyebrows raised, confusion clear on his face.

“If I must,” John gave you a long suffering smile, before turning on his heel to face the others, “Roger, Brian, Freddie, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Roger, Brian, and Freddie, the band.” He gestured between you all, and it takes a moment for him to finally finish processing everything you had said. “How have you known me this long and not known my middle name?”

And, okay, he did have a point; you’d grown up living next door to each other, had been practically joined at the hip since some kid had tried to push you off the swing beside him, and so you’d pushed the kid back, yelling ‘go away, he’s my friend’. You been through primary school and high school together, and it was only when John went to uni and you took a year to backpack across Europe, that you really spent a meaningful amount of time apart.

“Is it Jonathan?” You asked, feigning innocence, and John had to actually stop, where he was tuning his bass to suppress a smile. You couldn’t look at him, if you did, you knew you would just break into a fit of giggles. Instead, you took the moment to really give a good look at the band. The blonde one behind the drums, Roger as he’d been introduced, didn’t seem to know what to do with you, and instead just went back to setting up his equipment. Freddie, who had been quietly warming up his voice on the other side of the room, had paused for the moment, analysing you with a serious look before his gaze came up to meet yours. He gave an approving nod, and went back to his work, already bouncing with energy and anticipation. The guitarist, Brian, just seemed amused by the banter, looking between you and John with a loose grip on his guitar.

“Yes, my mother named me John Jonathan.” His words were practically dripping with sarcasm, but you kept your composure, not even cracking a smile.

“I’ve met Lilian, I wouldn’t put it past her..” You clicked your tongue, raising your eyebrows at John. After a beat, his eyes went wide and he tried to protest, but your facade cracked and you chuckled fondly at his exasperation, and you hear Brian laugh too, before he goes back to also tuning his guitar. “I’m kidding, Deaks, you know I love your mum,” your waved him off with a fond smile, making a move to leave the recording studio, but thought better of it, turning back with a mischievous grin. John’s expression immediately became suspicious. “And of course I know your middle name; it’s Dick.”

“Richard.” He corrected automatically, the word accompanied by an eyeroll. You heard Roger snort out a laugh.

“How do you get Dick from Richard?” Freddie asked with a confused frown, stopping his pacing. The moment the words left his mouth, you’re pretty sure you can see John spontaneously form a headache, and your grin sharpens.

“You ask him nicely.” You hear both you and Brian say at the same time. There’s a beat of silence, and you both look at each other, sharing an amused moment of camaraderie, much to John’s exasperation.

“I like this one.” You say, voice firm, pointing directly at Brian. His smile widened before he ducked his head, going back to his guitar. John had just started shaking his head at you, but he was smiling so you knew you weren’t in any real trouble.

In the sound studio, the tech they had on, as well as the other two girls, Mary and Kristin, they introduced themselves as, greeted you warmly enough, and thus started one of the longest and best nights of your life so far.

John was good at bass, much better than you had realised, much better than he had any right to be, at least that’s how you phrase it in your head when you’re resting your chin on his shoulder, listening to the playback of his latest version of the song they’d been working at for about half an hour. Eyes glassy, your mouth remained shut as the boys bandied about musical terms and ideas that you didn’t really understand, though you knew you’d appreciate their end product. John sort of loved that about you, your ability to walk the fine line between irritating and lovable, yet also knowing when to keep your mouth shut if you didn’t think you could contribute to a conversation as well as you’d like.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, what do you think, Y/N?” Brian’s smiling up at you from where he’s sat in a wheelie chair they’d co-opted from the office in the next room. Snapping back to reality, you take a step back from John, looking to the now-empty studio, and then to your best friend.

“What do I think?” It takes all of your effort not to just blurt out exactly what you had been thinking; I watched John eat a worm once and now he’s making kick ass music and I don’t know how to consolidate those two mental images of him in my mind. “Great.” You answer instead. “I think it sounds great.” After a beat, you duck your gaze, laughing a little self consciously, “I don’t know a lot about music so I can’t really offer much feedback.”

“Well, if you stick around, we can probably teach you a think or two.” He shrugged, but there was clearly an offer in his words, and you smile, before turning and raising your eyebrows at John, as silent question asking if you could stay.

“He’s the one who made the offer, not me.” John just put his hands up in mock surrender, pushing you a few steps closer to Brian as he maneuvered around you to head back into the recording studio. “She’s your problem now, Bri.” He called over his shoulder, giving you a sunny smile, which only served to make you irritated.

“Problem?” You huffed, before stalking over to the sound desk, leaning over it as you turned on the microphone. “Don’t disrespect me like that, John Jonathan, I watched you eat a worm!” And to that, John, along with the rest of the band and those in the sound studio, laughed, and you felt the tension leave you as you cracked a smile. After a moment, you see John pulling up his bass, and there’s a gentle tap on your left hip, and you turn, seeing the sound technician waiting with pointedly raised eyebrows. Stepping back quickly, you move to make room for him, promptly falling right onto Brian, who was the one who had been trying to get you to move in the first place.

John’s started playing again so no-one else hears Brian’s quiet grunt of discomfort at your landing. Scrambling to stand up and apologise, you hear him quietly laugh, reaching out to take hold your wrist, not to keep you there, more like a reassurance.

“It’s fine, you’re my problem, after all.” And despite the fact that you resent being called a problem at all, the way he’s smiling at you, the way he says it, well maybe it didn’t sound too bad.

The sound got more experimental as the night wore on, and once they’d reached the tipping point while recording the tenuously titled ‘Seven Seas of Rhye’ the night became electric. You spent your time often on your feet, bouncing around the space, listening with a grin as the others would suggest a new, eclectic ideas. If you weren’t in Brian’s lap in the wheelie chair, which you’d claimed as your seat for the night, you were dancing with Mary, or John, or even Roger and Kristin, you’re pretty sure you’ve been a part of something truly extraordinary by hearing this album being created.

“Alright, alright,” when the night wraps up and John comes to collect you, you’re with Brian, chatting to Mary with his chin on your shoulder, “time to head home, dear.” Mary excused herself from the conversation, heading off to find Freddie, while you turned and gave John’s outstretched hand an unimpressed look.

“You cut me loose, Deaks, I was in the market for a new best mate and you pushed me at poor Brian here,” shaking your head, you lay the faux disappointment on thick, crossing your arms and leaning back just a little further against Brian, who was grinning with amusement at the whole situation, “this is really all your fault.” You added, but John just rolled his eyes, smiling exasperatedly at you.

“It’s fine by me, I’d love to have you off my sofa, but I just thought I’d let you know,” and he cast his gaze towards the recording studio, “Brian lives with Roger.” He said pointedly as Kristin’s high, sweet laugh rang through the air, and you saw Roger was grinning confidently, showing her how to twirl a drumstick in favour of packing up his drum kit. Standing abruptly, you took John’s free hand.

“Yeah, probably a good call.” Brian’s expression soured, but then he turned back to face you, smiling brightly. “Lovely to meet you, though; we’ll be seeing you again, right?”

“You guys play gigs?” You asked, and he nodded. “Well then, now that John’s let me in on this dirty little secret of his, I think you’d be hard pressed to stop me.” And with a final, playful wink, you loop your arm through John’s and leave the studio.

And, well, you do see them again. You see them a lot; you’re there every weekend, at gigs, sometimes in rehearsals, you become as regular of a fixture as Mary. The boys liked having you around, you were friendly and bright, and you actually seemed to bring John out of his shell a little. In general, you found it easy to be around them, being close to them, and soon enough, you’ll find yourself comfortable enough to just lean against them when you’re standing close, at bars or during a break in rehearsals. Casual hugs, arms around shoulders, it’s a staple of your existence with the band, which you love because - yay! Human contact! - but with it comes a pretty big detractor.

It’s damn hard to establish whether or not the goofy guitarist who smiles like goddamn sunshine, and who you may have an enormous crush on, is even remotely interested in you as more than anything more than a friend. You’d really tried not to like him like that, for John’s sake at least; he was your best friend, you couldn’t jeopardise your friendship with him, and his band mate, but the heart wants what it wants, and yours wants Brian to never stop smiling at you the way he does when he’s on stage and he sees you cheering for them in the crowd. He’s always the first to hug you when you arrive to a show, never one to brush you off when you tuck your arm into his when you’re both waiting for drinks at the bar, he plays along well when you’re doing a bit, and he’s always the first to drag you away whenever you’re about to get in a scrap with Roger.

That was the main problem you had with the band; Roger was far too easy to wind up, and you were far too willing to kick that hornet’s nest whenever the whim struck you. He respects you well enough, likes you well enough, is even willing to share the armchair in the hall outside the rehearsal room when you two are the first ones to arrive, and the others show up and you’re both arguing over an article in the paper but he’s got an arm around you for stability. It’s not that you don’t get along with Roger, it’s just sometimes fun to watch him get worked up over a joke. Like when you’d told him you’d seen better drumming in a high school marching band. You’d almost copped a drumstick to the face for that one, but you’d caught it just before it had landed, and after a beat of silence in which the both of look a little impressed at your reflexes, you both break out into unintelligible arguing, drawing the attention of both John and Brian who had been chatting at the side of the room.

You’re about a foot away from the drum kit, brandishing the drum stick and threatening to shove it somewhere unpleasant, and Roger was standing, looking a little like he was two seconds from crashing directly through the drum kit to tackle you, when you feel a pair of arms around you, and you’re being dragged away. Looking around, you see John advancing on Roger like he’s a spooked horse, trying to calm him down.

Once you realise it’s Brian, you stop trying to get away, and simply let yourself be walked backwards until the two of you are near the door, and he turns you, arms still around you, so he’s blocking Roger from your sight.

“Why do you have to rile him up like that?” Brian asks, and you turn around so that you’re toe to toe.

“It’s not my fault he doesn’t know how to take a joke.” You grumbled, crossing your arms awkwardly as they’re trapped between the two, though Brian doesn’t loosen his grip, in fact, he seems rather endeared by your antics.

“Can I have that?” He asks, eyes dropping to the drumstick in your hands, and you snorted. You can hear Roger in the background angrily murmuring that he’s fine.

“I caught it, it’s mine, fair and square.” You say, voice lofty. “It’s a trophy.” You added, and that set Roger off again, just as Freddie walked through the door.

“It’s a trophy, my ass! Give me back my drum stick, you knob!” He hollers, and you use the element of surprise to shift both yourself and Brian to face the enraged drummer, though he doesn’t let go of you. John’s got his arms around Roger, but he’s not being held nearly as securely as you.

“This trophy will go up your ass! Call me lazy again!” You dared at the top of your lungs, even as you were being hauled backwards. “Let go of me, Brian!” You protested as Roger broke free of John and started wrestling one of his cymbals from it’s stand, to both John and Freddie’s shouted protests. “You throw that cymbal and I’m keeping it too!” Are the last words you get in before the door to the rehearsal space shuts and you hear it lock, presumably by Freddie. Brian lets go of her and promptly sat himself on the armchair in the hallway, looking like he was trying to process what had just happened.

With your back against the door, you twirl the drumstick absentmindedly, a skill you’d picked up quite by accident, simply by virtue of having seen Roger show off so much. It’s not something that goes unnoticed by Brian, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“Why?” Is all he asks, and you finally look up. When your gazes meet, you lob the drumstick gently over to the side of the room, already bored with it.

“He was being a dickhead.” You sighed, as if it were answer enough, letting the tension out of your shoulders and resting your head against the door. Silence stretched between you, and when your gaze shifted from the ceiling to look at Brian, he was waiting with a half-smile for an elaboration. “Rog told me that if I was going to just laze around I should start looking cute or being helpful,” already your explanation made far too much sense, and Brian chuckled. “So I said I only help out people with talent, and that the rest of you were fine-” you don’t know what to make of his pleased little smile, but you’re already getting to your feet and making your way over to him, “and of course he feels the need to prove himself.” You say, sitting down on Brian’s lap. Sitting sideways, you hang your legs over the arm of the armchair and rest your cheek on his shoulder. It’s automatic, the way he rests a hand on your thigh, the other coming to wrap around you in support.

“Wouldn’t have mattered what he’d played, would it?” You can hear him smiling, and he already knows your answer.

“He implied that I was lazy and not cute.” You made a face, like you couldn’t believe it, even after the fact. “Me!” Brian couldn’t help but chuckle at that, though his heart wasn’t in it.

“I have to ask, is this some weird, passive-aggressive flirting technique you’re using on him?” And when he says it, you sit bolt upright, frowning deeply, flushing with embarrassment; he thinks you’re flirting with Roger of all people?

“I don’t know how to flirt with people I do have a thing for, let alone Roger.” But as soon as the words left your mouth, you felt your face heat up further, and you scrambled to a standing position. “What makes you say that?”

“Well you do talk about his butt a lot.” Brian himself seemed unable to look at you, and you started pacing.

“I threaten his ass a lot, I’m not- Is this about what I said about the drum stick?” You asked, eyeing the singular wooden drum stick where it’s lying on the floor. You don’t pick it up.

“You also- the spinny thing he does with it. It’s a thing he does to show off, like his signature, I just-” He’s floundering a little bit, and you find yourself smiling despite the situation.

Coming to a halt, you stand, facing the chair, fond smile on your face as you see where he’s a little flustered. Heartbeat thumping in your ears, you throw caution to the wind, just a little.

“If it was just as easy to learn guitar as it was to twirl a single drumstick, I’d’ve been Jimmy Page months ago from watching you.” You half smiled, heart in your throat. He finally looks at you, radiating pride despite his bashfulness, which is a sweet look on him, and you gently step forward, settling back down into the chair and curling up by him.

“I like seeing you in the crowd, you know?” He murmured, tapping out a gentle rhythm with his fingers on your thigh.

“I like watching you play.” You respond, before admitting. “It’s one of my favourite things in the world, seeing you up there, all confident; you’re very talented, you know-” and you look up to gauge his reaction, but he cuts you off with a kiss. Relief floods through you as you kiss him back, indulging in what you’d been hoping for for what was months at this point, since the first studio recording.

“Y/N-” John unlocks and open the door in quick succession, takes one look at where you and Brian had just broken apart, caught absolutely red handed, and immediately shuts the door again. You and Brian take a moment to look at each other, processing what had just happened, before bursting into laughter again, which quickly devolves into more kissing, until he’s gently moving you off of him, reminding you that he still had the rest of band practice to attend.

John is smug during the entire drive back to his house where you’re still crashing on his sofa, a few days away from the paperwork for your own place being finalized.

“I knew it.” Is all he says when you finally snap and tell him that smug, righteous asshole wasn’t a good look on him.

Freddie caught on almost directly after John; he’d picked it up from context clues, and also because at your next gig, Mary seemed to know without you or Brian barely speaking two words to each other. She’d leaned over to Freddie during one of the breaks and asked how long the two of you had actually been together, saying that she’d meant to ask before but it’d never been so obvious. When Freddie tells you this, you almost do a spit-take.

��You’re joking.” You respond, eyes shining with amusement. “What? Is he looking at me differently?” You cheeks flush as you look over your shoulder at where he’s waiting by the bar, and he looks back at you, shooting you a bright grin that made your heart flutter. Looking back, Freddie’s wearing a knowing smile.

“No, he’s always looked at you like that.”

#brian may #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #queen #queen imagines #queen imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #borhap imagine #john deacon #roger taylor #freddie mercury #mary austin #the angry lizard writes

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kj-nixon · 5 years

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happy v day

On any other day, it would be nearly impossible to wake KJ up before 10am. You would have to fire a gun next to her. It was actually a major concern of her family’s, but she had always been more of a night owl than an early bird.

But today was Valentine’s Day. And this year she was going to do something fantastic for Hunter.

Last night, she had stolen his Apple Watch after he had fallen asleep and set the alarm to vibrate on her wrist at 7. She hated the thing because she felt the radiation from it would lead to arthritis. Bailey had tried to explain that that wasn’t how arthritis worked, but KJ was still skeptical. Regardless, it was the only way she could think of setting an alarm without also waking up Hunter.

God damn, 7am. Any later and Hunter would probably wake up on his own and ruin the surprise. Why did he have to be such an adult?

KJ grinned at that. That’s why she loved him.

As gracefully as she could manage, which wasn’t all that graceful if you knew KJ, she slipped out of their queen sized bed and tip toed to the kitchen. Their apartment was more of an open loft. A giant, brick square with only the bedroom and tiny bath distorting the shape by jutting out to the side. Looking at the floor plan, she had never quite been able to figure out how it interlinked with the other apartments, but really, did it matter? It suited them perfectly. The kitchen was as much a part of the living room as it was the dining room.

Open concept, open vibes.

They had it decorated as some combination of industrial modern and cozy, and the kitchen was pretty much the same. The tricky part was that KJ so rarely actually opened their cabinets that it took her a few attempts to find the pans she needed. Eventually, though, she got the bacon onto the gas stove and started on making breakfast in bed.

Hunter was, hands down, the best thing to happen to her. She knew she said it a lot, but it was just facts. Without him, she would probably be chasing yet another degree that she wouldn’t complete. He rescued her. Of course, he’d never admit it, but KJ and her siblings knew that she was kind of worthless without him.

And she was worthless, no doubt about it. Worthless against conventional standards. She couldn’t keep a job, her temper kept her from really being too great a people person, and without help her living space would be a dump. But she thrived in a space where you could let her be expressive, and Hunter provided her that. He encouraged her to be as creative and goofy and obnoxious as she wanted. And, somehow, they had figured out how to monetize it online. The cookie crumbled perfectly in that way.

She wanted to get lost in all the different ways she loved him, but it was almost impossible to actually start a list. Because as soon as she thought of one detail, it was almost immediately replaced and forgotten with another. He was just.... her world. She was obsessed with him. And she was pretty sure he was equally obsessed with her.

She assumed. She hoped.

KJ wasn’t actually a secure person. Some would even dare to call her insecure. And she felt justified in her anxiousness. Comparing herself to others was one of her most developed skills, and she never could measure up. So, if by some chance a girl who was just as pretty as she was, but twice as responsible came along, was there really any doubting that Hunter would take an interest? He was actually the perfect, functioning adult. One day he’d realize he was tired of babysitting a grown child. She just hoped it was on his death bed. Because KJ quite actually couldn’t live without him.

They’d be together forever if she had any say. And if you know any Faline, they have a lot to say.

And so what if they weren’t legally linked? KJ loved being with him no matter what. Did she sometimes dream about having the big wedding? Sure. Did she ever wonder if he even thought about asking her to get married? Yeah. Was she kind of concerned that he hadn’t asked yet because he didn’t want to permanently link himself to her in such a way that it would be difficult to leave her when he was ready? Who the fuck asked you?!

KJ’s brain snapped back to the kitchen when she smelled the smoke. While zoning out, she had splashed bacon grease onto the range and started a fire. Fucking ADHD.

What were you supposed to use on a grease fire again? All she could remember was not water, but she needed to put it out before the alarms went off and woke Hunter up.

Um.

Ummmm.

Flour!

Kj had no idea where they kept flour, or if they even had it, but the pancake mix sitting on the counter was the next best thing. Without giving herself a moment to second guess it, she dumped the box of powder onto the stove.

Well... on the stove, in the pan, and on the floor, technically.

She stared at it, willing it to not be all over the place. But, alas, there it was.

Kayla Jane, you’re an idiot.

But at least the apartment wasn’t up in flames.

Sighing, she dropped the empty box on the counter and skated to the corner deigned the living room in her socks. Her sleep tank and shorts were covered in mix now, but when was she ever put together? KJ picked up her phone and quickly ordered Postmates from their favorite diner, like the proper millennial she was. Should’ve done it in the first place, but she wanted to be romantic.

The second phase of the morning was cute enough anyway. It didn’t take her long to get her computer hooked up to their TV and get started on touching up the final bits of editing for her next video. KJ had become pretty savvy with anything techy since her career on YouTube took off. Not that she understood a single thing about engineering or how any of the machines actually functioned, but she could put it all together and operate it pretty easily if you gave her twenty minutes and a 5 Hour Energy to figure it out.

The doorbell rang and she ran to grab their food, knowing full well that he’d definitely get up for that. If he hadn’t smelled the smoke already.

Sure enough, Hunter stepped out of their room just as she finished unpacking their breakfast. KJ would never get over how insanely tall and good looking he was. Like, it wasn’t even fair.

But she sure did appreciate having the injustice in her bed.

He smiled at her and chuckled, probably laughing at how messy she was.

“Don’t go to the kitchen,” she warned, pointing a finger at him threateningly.

“It kind of smells like I should,” he replied.

“You absolutely should not. You should come kiss me and get your present instead.”

“That does sound much more pleasant.”

He graciously leaned down so she could stand on her toes and give him a peck on the mouth. She guided him to sit in front of the television and placed his food in front of him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sunshine.”

Patience wasn’t really a Faline trait either, so she only gave him enough time to take two bites of food before she climbed into his lap and face the TV. “Okay, I made something.”

“You did? For me?”

“For you.”

“I’m touched.”

“You will be.”

“So will you.” He winked.

She licked his cheek. Then she pressed the enter key on her keyboard.

The video went live on her channel. A shaky close up of Hunter’s forehead came on screen. You could hear KJ’s laughter over the speakers as the camera zoomed out and you were able to see the picnic set up from one of their earliest dates. Minute by minute, the video played through a compilation of vlogs from the last four years of their relationship. Some were of their travel adventures, others were at home where Hunter was obviously unaware that she wasn’t filming. Two consisted of KJ being home alone, lamenting her state of abandonment while Hunter was on a business trip. Every clip, every piece, was carefully chosen to show how perfect they were.

KJ had been on social media for the last three years, but she had never made her relationship public to her audience. Anything regarding Hunter was posted to her private accounts that only friends and family could see. Even her family was often used as clickbait. But Hunter had been reserved as a secret, or marketed as just a friend. And she had never quite been able to explain why.

Part of it had been that she was afraid of karma. If she put them out their publicly, then maybe they’d break up and she’d have to announce to the world that she was alone and her person had left her. Or maybe it was because she was selfish and didn’t want him to get any attention outside of her (and Simon.)

But, around Christmas, she had decided that she wanted the entire planet to know how mad she was for her. She wanted her audience, people she loved and was inspired by, to see how lucky she was.

And she would cut any bitch who tried to bat a single eyelash at him.

The video was only about five minutes long, nowhere near the length of her usual challenges and vlog segments, but there was four years of love pieced throughout it. And she prayed to the universe that he got the bigger picture.

That she loved him more than anything on the entire planet.

It ended and she stretched her head back to see his expression, a proud smile on her face. For a moment, he just continued staring at the screen.

She knew it would take a moment to buffer in his brain. They had discussed forever ago that they’d never go public and he was okay with that. Hunter had never cared one way or the other, but KJ had insisted.

Now...

He looked down at her and she saw his blue eyes glisten. It made her smile wider. He was such an emotional tall man.

Climbing around to wrap her arms and legs around him, she sat up to look him directly in the face. “You’re my person. I’ve staked my claim across the globe now. So if any skanks try to make a move on you while you’re wherever your stupid job sends you, you now have live proof to show them that I will hunt them down and burn their eyebrows off.”

“Oh, it’ll have them and their eyebrows shaking in their kitten heels.” He grinned.

She kissed him. Hard.

“I love you, Green Giant.”

“I love you too, Thumbilina.”

KJ tucked her head into the crook of his neck and gave a happy sigh.

“So... What did you burn?”

“Oh my god, SHUT UP!”

#mood

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that-buckley-gal · 5 years

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Powerless - Chapter Six

June 22, 1943

When I woke up in the morning, sunlight was poking through the otherwise thin curtains. I was grateful that I wasn’t fully exposed to the sun this time. I yawn and stretch and kick my blankets to the floor, instantly regretting it as the cool apartment air gave me a sudden chill. Moaning softly as I shivered, I curled up into a ball and rolled over to my side. My eyes focus on the clock staring back at me, showing that the time was 8:04 AM.

“It’s not like me to sleep in,” I told the clock, my voice thick with sleep. “But I did have a rough night, right? Oh what do you know? You’re just a clock.” I doze off again only to wake up six minutes later, this time more alert. I need to get up. Steve’s coming home and the place is a mess. Add to the fact that I haven’t worked in nearly a week, I felt like a wreck. Cleaning made it easier. I dipped into the bathroom for a moment to make myself look decent; house chore clothes and hair pinned back. I wandered back to the kitchen and began tossing out random items that looked like garbage.

Time obviously flew by as the apartment got tidier and started to smell fresher. Before I knew it, it was already nearing four in the afternoon when I decided I’d take a break. All I had to do was the bedrooms, and Steve’s would just need to be aired out after being left alone for almost a week. I think I should’ve cleaned his sheets or something. Then I decide I should wash them. I get up and enter the room, heading straight for the window for two reasons. The first was to open the one, large window that was in there. The second was to see if old, grouchy Mrs. Craw was putting her stuff on the line in the back; she was. Cursing silently to myself, I move and grab Steve’s blankets and raise them up and shake them a few times and repeating the action with his pillow. I then remake the bed as neatly as I could before moving back out to grab the broom and start sweeping up any and all dust that has collected over the week, not that there was a whole lot to start with. As the dust was collected and promptly thrown into the over-filled garbage can, I set to work scrubbing the place. I supposed that if I was in this position around this time last year and Steve and Bucky walked in, they’d correctly assume that I was ridding myself of the dark place. It wasn’t something I was even remotely fond of, as I knew that the darkness looming over me made me an emotional time bomb. One moment I’d feel perfectly fine alone then I’d feel lonely. If Bucky or Steve showed up, I would become immediately irate with them and they would leave, making me feel lonely once more. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I’d be either really glum about everything, or I’d be really excited for everything: there was no in between. When I was really off, I’d get really hot and bothered just at the thought of Bucky, but I never acted on those impulse instincts, instead berating him for being too handsome and would lock myself away until I was either glum or excited again, pushing away the thoughts of my unwanted thoughts. Cleaning usually helped to ward off the darkness, but not always. It’s still here now, I can feel the moodiness creeping up on me, but I continue to do my work in silence, myself being the only companion at the moment. If Steve wasn’t coming home today, then I knew I’d be calling on my girls to be with me, even if just for an hour. My boys were at war, this they knew, and I was alone. I just plopped back down onto the couch when the apartment door creaked open. I turn to the sound, painfully aware that I am weaponless and exposed. My relief is instant when I catch sight of Steve…or who I believed Steve to be. “Steve?” I ask in disbelief. “Hey, Mads,” he said. His voice was the same. Eyes, facial structure, basically everything was the same. The only painfully obvious differences were in height and build. He was huge! It worked I thought idly as my eyes took in the new appearance as I slowly approached him. He didn’t move as I approached and I briefly wondered why before I realized he might’ve realized I was cleaning. But that shouldn’t automatically cause him to think that I was in the dark – even though I was – for all he knew I could’ve been cleaning as a way of saying “yes I can live alone if I really needed to” and in this case I did. I kept the place from burning down. The same couldn’t be said for Bucky’s apartment. I should probably go check on that later. “I met Peggy,” I announce as I back away. Hugs were going to be reserved for another time when I was sure he wouldn’t crush me. I could see Steve’s brows furrow as he thinks back as to when, why, and how Peggy came to see me. Questions he’d have to find the answers for out on his own later. “And I really like her. She’s pretty, tough…English. I think you two would be really good together.” I take a breath and smirk at my brother. “Not as good as Buck and I, obviously, but a close second for sure.” Steve laughed that deep, genuine laugh of his, and I knew that he was my brother still on the inside. It was exactly like Dr. Erskine said: his good qualities were now great. And his new physique would allow him to go overseas and fight for good like he always wanted to and I was happy for him.

Steve and I spent the night talking about his changes, and I let him know that Peggy spilled the beans about Project Rebirth, which worried and relieved Steve. He also let slip the fact that Dr. Erskine was killed yesterday by a man who Steve gave chase to. “His last words were ‘Hail Hydra’,” Steve explained. “Hydra?” I asked. “Well, that’s original.” “You think so?” Steve asked. “I think that’s dangerous.” He didn’t speak as he finished off the last of his food. I’d finished my own plate a while ago. “You should ask about getting paid for being a test subject,” I said. “Especially now that you’ve torn through everything that was in the fridge.” Steve gave me an impish look before his face fell. “Have you checked out Bucky’s place at all?” “It’s too painful,” I said in a dejected voice. I snuck a glance at Steve to see he looked at the table, lips pursed in thought. “I miss him.” “I know. I do, too.”

We fell into a brief silence before Steve perked up.

“Did you ever get your present from my closet?”

“Um,” I honestly forgot about his note. “No? I’m sorry, this past week has been insane.”

“Understandable,” Steve smiled. “Wait here.” He took off towards his room and I sighed. He returned as quickly as he went, holding a box wrapped in navy wrapping paper with a opal white bow. “Here ye be, happy belated birthday.”

“Thank you,” I said accepting the gift. I practically tore the paper to shreds, revealing the cardboard box underneath. I opened it to find a letter with my name on it, a slightly larger envelope beside it, a small box, and an even smaller velvet box inside. I opted for the velvet box first and opened it to reveal a silver heart-shaped locket.

“Oh, this is beautiful, Steve,” I said and opened it. I could feel my eyes get misty when I saw a picture of my mom holding me when I was a baby on one side, and a picture of her, Steve and myself on the other. “Wow.” I closed it and inspected the locket closer to see there was some kind of symbol engraved on the back of it. “What does this mean?”

“I don’t know; mom wanted to give you the necklace and the letter on your twentieth birthday.”

“Then why…” I didn’t need to finish. Steve didn’t think he was going to come back. “Well thank you, I guess.” I took the letter from mom and went to open it, but stopped. “I’m going to wait to open this.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked. I could tell he wanted to know what it said as well and I nodded.

I took the other small box out next and opened it to find a grey and red scarf with matching beanie and gloves in it. “Wow, Steve. Thank you!” I laughed and put the gloves on right away to see they fit perfectly. I also draped the scarf around me. “This is great; exactly what I need for the winter.”

Steve smiled. “Well I know you weren’t too happy when you found out me and Buck lost your other set on that snowman. I figured it’s better late than never to replace that.”

“You are simplifying it, brother. But thank you.”

I opened the card next to find a handmade card from Steve, with $25 inside. I tried to give it back to Steve, insisting he earned it but he said it was for me and that he wouldn’t take it back, so I begrudgingly put it in my purse. I thanked my brother with a final hug before retreating to my room for the night, with the letter from my mother weighing me down.

#powerless #bucky barnes #steve rogers #captain america #the first avenger

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apsbicepstraining · 7 years

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Steven Caulker:’ I’ve sat here for years hating myself … This year was almost the end’

The QPR defender talks powerfully about his strives with mental illness, his addictions to gamble and drinking and why “he il be” thankful still to be alive

Steven Caulker has a fable to tell and, as hard as it is to hear, it is best plainly to listen. His stream of consciousness veers from scoring on his England debut less than five years ago and the excite at potential being realised to the frightening mental health issues a matter that have almost terminated it all in the period since. A actor who, from the outside, emerged consecrated with endowment and opportunity speaks of frantic nervousnes and self-loathing.

He entertained killing himself in his darkest instants with his path one of self-destruction. Endeavors at escapism rate him hundreds of thousands of pounds, compensations frittered away in casinoes. Then came the drinking is targeted at numbing the sting. The 25 -year-old notes himself recalling the times spent in custody watching CCTV footage of his misdemeanours, his lawyer at his slope, and not recognising the infamous being on the screen.

Football is still coming to terms with mental illness and Caulker, an international and a last-place linger remember at Queens Park Rangers of financially misguided dates as a Premier League club, has been an easy target. He is not was striving to make excuses or acquire sympathy. These are details he knows unpleasant to narrate. Ive sat here for years hating myself and never understand why it is I couldnt only be like everybody else, he says. This time was almost the end. I seemed for large spans there was no light-footed at the end of the passageway. And yet “hes not” residence a gambling since December, or stroked alcohol since early March. The healing process that can rehabilitate him to the top level is well under way, with this interview, one he attempted out, potentially another step on the road to recovery.

A little under a year ago Caulker had spoken to the Guardian about a life-changing week spent in Sierra Leone, of humbling yet invigorating benevolence work with ActionAid that had rendered him with a sense of view. He returned to be galvanised under Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink at Loftus Road and, having invested the previous season on loan at Southampton and Liverpool unfulfilling stints which fuelled his latent dangers was ready to give his all. Early season recitals against Leeds and Cardiff indicated confidence had been rebuilt, reward for a summer of incessant fitness work.

The trigger that they are able to mail him spiralling to rock bottom would be injury. He snapped his groin at Barnsley and played in pain for weeks, dreading a incantation back in rehabilitation, before succumbing to an accompanied hip objection. I owed it to QPR to try, he says, but I was naive thinking I could still perform with the weeping. He has not played since last-place October, with the period celebrated by personal ferment and, simply of late, resurgence. Talking publicly, he advocated, may place younger participates towards seeking assist if they find themselves trampling the same itinerary, or knowing the same gumption of desertion, in a merciless industry. The real hope is the activity, as gallant as it is, may eventually prove more cathartic for Caulker himself.

He recognises his football ability as a gift but likewise a swear. It took him from Sunday League at 15 into the Premier League four years later, to the 2012 Olympics with Great Britain and into Roy Hodgsons England side for a friendly in Sweden later that year. His talent has persuaded some of the most respected directors he is worth engaging. Yet, while he could still get away with it on the pitch, he lived in denial. It was more than six years into his busines before he admitted he necessitated assist. You always think you can rein it back in again and the money plies a inaccurate sense of security. But at Southampton I realised, mentally, I was extend. I wasnt playing, my job was going nowhere and I had to reach out to someone. Medical doctors there tried to help me but others were just telling me got to go on the tone and express myself.

There was no understanding as to what was happening in my leader. I know theyd returned me in to do a job and they werent there to be babysitters. Just like at QPR, I needed to justify the money they were paying me but I was in a state and, at some place, there has to be a duty of care. Football does not deal well with mental illness. Maybe its changing but the support mechanisms are so often not there. Ive spoken to so many actors who have been told to go to the Sporting Chance clinic and theyve accepted because they know, if they take time off, theyll “losing ones” neighbourhood in the team. Someone gradations in and does well, so youre departed. That dissuades parties from getting improve. You feel obliged to get on with things.

I would urge cubs to speak to the PFA, to speak to their director, and not be scared about being stopped if they are experiencing like I did. Be brave enough to say you need improve before its too late. The feeling Id ever involved something to take the edge off. Football was my flee as a kid but that changed when I was chucked into the first team as a adolescent and abruptly football came with distres. My behavior of to address it, even in the early stages of my career, was gambling. Im an addict. Im addicted to triumphing, which people say is a positive in football but certainly not when it extends to gambling. I was addicted to trying to beat the system, because you reassure yourself there is a plan to it and you can beat it. You can never get your brain around why you arent.

Steven Caulker, here celebrating after scoring on his England debut in 2012, says his football ability is a gift but too a affliction. Photograph: Michael Regan/ Getty Images

He has played 123 ages in the Premier League and for eight teams with the same, horribly familiar hertz of insecurity and self-destruction seeking him to each. There is always a catalyst to the nosedive. The sleepless darkness, sat up till 5am replaying every bad decision Ive ever became in my life, perturbing what will be next Tottenham moved me to Bristol City on loan at 18 and they set me in a flat in the city centre surrounded by nightclubs, two casinos opposite, the various kinds of coin Id never seen in my life, and no counseling whatsoever. I was plucked formerly by a member of staff and told Id been recognized in the casino at 3am but their posture was: What you do in your free time is your business. Just dont gave it affect your acts out on the pitch.

At Swansea a year later it was an injury which created it all to the surface, and Spurs communicated me to Boasting Chance to sort myself out while I was recovering from my knee but I wasnt ready. I hadnt experienced enough agony to form me want to stop. I was gambling heavily when I went back to Tottenham, biding up to crazy hours of the darknes in casinos. I guess never feeling good enough played a big part in that. I never appeared I was on the same degree as any of the first-teamers but a big win in the casino and fund in my back pocket might change that. Being stopped sounds me even more because football was what I had relied on to make me feel better. So then the gambling was every single day. The pain of forgetting all my fund, combined with the pity and guilt, ingest away at me. So Id drink myself into oblivion so I wouldnt have to feel anything. I was numb but I was out of control.

The chairman, Daniel Levy, eventually attempted him out on a post-season trip-up to the Bahamas. He just said: The room you act is phenomenal. You either sort yourself out or lead but I can assure you, if you leave, youll be going down , not up. I was young, stupid. I took it as a challenge, a chance to prove him wrong. I was so immature. So I went to Cardiff and, for six months, everything was amazing. I was chieftain, the manager, Malky Mackay, knew I had some issues but offered to be there for me. I experienced wanted, so there was no gambling , no heavy binges but the second largest he was sacked, all the beasts came back. Thats all it took. Even before we played the next game, Id persuasion myself good-for-nothing would be the same. Thats the kind of cataclysmic envisioning Ive had to address.

Steven Caulker, here playing for Tottenham against Arsenal in 2010, says he made a big mistake leaving Spurs. Photo: Tom Jenkins for the Guardian

I pointed up at QPR that summertime, 2014, trying to hold it together, but the prompt there came in the second largest recreation when we were pummelled 4-0 at Tottenham. That detecting coming off the tone at White Hart Lane, knowing marriage been humiliated and that Levy was sitting up in the stand thinking: I told you so There was no disclaiming it any more. Id made a big mistake leaving Spurs. I should have stayed and sorted myself out. I required the ground to swallow me up. It just pounded in my psyche: dejection, unhappines, bitternes. From that instant I was run, even if I never wanted to accept it, and there is nothing that intensified. Id go for days without sleeping. I dont known better I endured it. That time was an absolute nightmare.

It was a vicious circle. Wed lose at the weekend and the love would get at me, and Id be interrupting. I really wanted to help us get results but we werent good enough and Id walk away taking responsibility in my head for the whole crews flunks. I couldnt sleep, are concerned about what had happened. The only comfort I acquired was in booze. It would silence the tones of indecision and self-hate, temporarily regardless, but Id be too intoxicated to go into teach, and the blackouts Id have no remember of anything. It could be Monday and Id have no remembrance of what had happened since Saturday night. Id wake up, roll over and look at my phone, and thered be texts from people saying: Did you really do this last-place darknes? The director want to talk to you. It was petrifying because I didnt know what had happened.

There were occasions where reference is would wake up in a police cell. He pouts when asked how often he has been arrested, upset to admit the above figures, but the drunk and disorderly offences would flare up from London to Southampton to Merseyside. Sometimes Id be sat there with law enforcement agencies and my solicitor, watching the CCTV footage of what Id done, and I didnt recognise myself. I couldnt conceive the person or persons I was. Its so hard to accept I could be like that. In Liverpool I was waking up in the middle of the nighttime throwing up, people were blackmailing me, association proprietors and bouncers: Offer money or well sell this story on you. And I had no meaning what Id even done on those blackouts. I eventually told the sorority I couldnt function and needed to go back into rehab.

Things might have improved last-place season under Hasselbaink had the hip hurt, diagnosed as a week-long edition that became a complaint which induced five different diagnosis , not interpret him powerless is again. Id expensed the organization 8m, was one of the top earners and one of the few left from the Premier League, and beings had no explanation why I wasnt acting. Why I was absent. It ended up as my toughest year ever. I couldnt learn. My girlfriend lost her mother and was grieving while living with someone struggling with craving. My son, who lives with his mother in Somerset, is still in academy so Id go months without recognizing him. He had always been my safe place. There was no release.

QPR and my agent tried to push me towards Lokomotiv Moscow in January, saying it would be a fresh start. Portion of me contemplated the money they were offering could solve all my difficulties but why would being on my own out in Russia help? I had no feeling how to separate the cycle and is available on Moscow while still disabled only appeared a recipe for disaster. The director, Ian Holloway, was actually tell people to stand. Id been in his office close to rips, so he said: How anyone could feel sending you there would be a good theme is beyond me. You need to get yourself right. I realized him for that but, for the sorority, I can see why it was appealing to be shot of me but I was in no fit district to move and eventually pulled the plug on it.

Id had one last-place gamble and lost a blaze of a lot of money in December. A last blowout. It was at that point I lastly countenanced I could not win; that there was no quick fix , no more fantasizing I could save the world through one good nighttime on the roulette wheel. It was all a fantasize that took me away from having to feel anything. I entertained suicide a lot in that stage. A dark era. Everything Id gone through in football, where had it taken me? All the remorse, the shame, the shame, the public humiliation in the working paper and for what? I could cling to my son, to what Id done in Africa, or the dimensions Id bought their own families, but Id blown everything else. I calculate Ive lost 70% what Ive payed. When “were losing” that amount of money, the guilt thats so many lives you could have changed. There was no flee , no way out, other than to leave.

Steven Caulker says: In Liverpool I was waking up in the middle of the darknes throwing up, parties were extorting me, club owneds and bouncers. Picture: Sarah Lee for the Guardian

But, in the moments of clarity, I knew I couldnt do that because of my son. I havent gambled since but the drink crowded the void for a while. I was frightened and didnt feel like there was anywhere else to transform. Rehab didnt production before so why would it work now? I stupidly took convenience in the alcohol but it objective up deepening the depression. It was relentless from every slant. Until 12 March. Thats the day I lost my “drivers licence”. Thats when I realised my life had now become unmanageable.

Caulker was ordered to pay 12,755 in penalties and costs at Slough magistrates court at the end of March and was banned from driving for 18 months, having refused to blow into a breathalyser after police were called to a parking lot near Windsor Castle. I knew I was over the limit, I knew Id get the ban but I didnt want to tell my parents Id fucked up again. What if I had driven the car out of the car park and killed someone? No, that was it. Ive been up before a adjudicate four or five times. No more second probabilities. Its a incarcerate sentence next. I was still injured and unable to play, so I signed off sick. I went to see a specialist who diagnosed me with depression and nervousnes. He prescribed me medication and we put together a design where I would take some time away to sort myself out.

He and his lover travelled to Africa and India, is contributing to orphanages, homeless shelters and academies where the bear was exposed and obvious. He has attended countless Gamblers Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous gathers, and has reached out to support works in video games such as Clarke Carlisle for advice. He has not touched alcohol since his arrest in March. He takes medication, a feeling stabiliser is striving to match my high-priceds and lows, and address that substance inequality which draws my practices so cataclysmic, twice a day. Golf is a new, most constructive vice.

People say Ive done all this because Ive had too much money shed at me but I know teenagers without a penny who have the same addictive characters as me. Whether I played football or not I would still be suffering from this illness, precisely without the public pressure and mortification. Addiction does not care. I am a man of extremes. Parties dont find me doing the additional training, feeing right, going to the reserve every night to get fit, were represented at the anonymous convenes, doing the donation make. That is still me. That is who I am. But I get fucked by these other demons and I desperately necessary something in the middle. I feel like Im getting there now, that things have finally changed.

Im doing interesting thing merely to prompt me to stay on track. I could be relying on taxis to get me everywhere while Im banned but Im exploiting public transport. Im living in one of the owneds I own in Feltham, back where I grew up, to stir me recollect how hard I had to work to get out of here aged 15. Its a remember that, if I continue to unravel, I wont improve my statu again. Money considers the fissures. It can be evil. It prolongs the agony.

QPRs musicians reported for pre-season last-place Friday but Caulker, who has one year to run on his contract and has been improving all summertime with the former conference player Drewe Broughton at Goals centre in Hayes, had been signed off until July. Life at the golf-club had degenerated into an incessant flow of internal disciplinary hearings and, despite Holloway having become clear his desire to retain the centre-halfs business, his future will not is currently under Loftus Road. What happens next is all a bit perplexed, all a bit uncertain, he says. The manager has texted me several times offering his support and “says hes” misses me at the club but my brand-new representative has been informed by the owners Im not welcome back.

For too long Ive disliked everything about myself and I needed to learn to affection myself again. I miss video games like crazy. I dont detect as if Ive experienced playing football since Cardiff. I dont want to type my identify into Google and just see a roster of humbling narrations. I want people to remember I am a footballer who was good enough to represent his country at 20 and still has 10 years left in the game. At 40% of my ability, I was playing at the highest level. Now I feel good mentally and I want the chance to show people, including my son, what I am absolutely capable of. Wherever the opportunity starts, Im exactly appreciative still to be alive.

In the UK, the Samaritans can be contacted on 116 123.

In the US, the National Suicide Prevention Hotline is 1-800-273-8255.

In Australia, the crisis support assistance Lifeline is on 13 11 14.

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

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of comfort and joy {Ben Hardy}

Anons asked: can you write Ben as a dad / imagine staying up late to wrap presents for yours and Ben’s kids (the original prompts have been lost i’m sorry, but this goes out to you guys)

A/N: 1562 words. So this is my second attempt at this. I lost both the prompts but they weren’t super complicated, and this fills both very nicely.

Ben’s so careful as he slides the door shut to the kids’ bedroom, the hour just edging past eleven. He winces at the sound of the door latching closed, and he waits for a few moments, listening for the telltale sounds of laughter or the thump of little feet, but all was quiet on the other side of the door, and he let out a sigh of relief, coming to join you where you’d surrounded yourself with gifts that needed to be wrapped at the last minute.

“They’re asleep.” His voice was soft as he rested his head on your shoulder, sitting beside you on the floor with the sofa at your back, legs kicked out in front of him and resting on a stack of assorted labels and gift tags.

“My hero; how’d you manage that?” You asked wryly, concentrating on where you’re writing ‘To Abby, From Santa’ on a soft package that contained a Harry Potter robe and wand for your eldest daughter; Ben had been reading them the series as a bedtime story for the past few weeks, and Abby, who was always in awe of her dad, was adamant that she was a Slytherin, just like him.

“Bribery.” Ben yawned, looping one of his arms through yours, tucking himself closer to you. “The boys were okay, I mean, they’re too young to really know what’s going on, but I had to tell Abs that Santa would only write her a letter if she goes to bed on time.” And you laughed softly at that, putting the finishing touches on the label before putting the present onto the pile of wrapped gifts sitting neatly beside you.

“So how many chapters did you end up reading?” You asked, letting yourself relax for the moment, leaning against him, your head resting against his. The light from the Christmas tree showered the whole room in a warm, multi-coloured light, shining off of ornaments and the screen of the TV which was muted, playing an old black and white Christmas movie.

“Only two; we got up to the Death Day party and she was out.” He sounds so fond when he says it, warm and kind, and he yawns again, letting out a low hum of contentment. He relaxes further against you.

“Honey, there’s still so much wrapping to do, you can’t fall asleep yet.” You say, gently shaking him, and he groans, before he moves to actually turn his head and look at you.

“You’ve been working so hard to get all this ready, can we just relax for a little bit?” He asked, so wide and bright you can see the lights from the tree reflect off of them.

“Just for a bit.” You could never say no to him.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close to him, and you rest your head on his shoulder, letting yourself relax in his arms. You turn up the volume on the TV enough to be able to hear the end of the movie, but not enough to wake the kids. The heater in the corner of the room has you feeling warm and blissful, even as you watch snow flutter down onto the town outside through the window behind the television. It’s hard to find in the holiday season, but you’re going to hold onto this moment of peace and love with everything you’ve got.

When the movie ends, Ben gently untangles himself from you, standing, stretched, and turning the TV off.

“I’m gonna make us some hot chocolate, give us a boost to wrap the last of these presents before we head to bed, okay?” He says, and you reach out, taking his hand and squeezing it in wordless thanks. When he squeezes your hand back, smiling fondly, you can feel your heart flutter like it did when you’d first started dating all those years ago.

“You’re so good to me.” You murmur over the lip of your mug, eyes falling closed as you bring the warm drink close to your chest, inhaling the aroma of chocolate that rose from it. Ben pets your knee softly, and when you open your eyes, he’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, one hand on your knee and the other holding his own mug. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, haloed by the tree, expression so full of unbridled love and affection it’s almost overwhelming.

“’cos I know how lucky I am to have you.” He says, and it’s moments like this that remind you why you married him in the first place. Gently, you take his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles.

By the light of the Christmas tree, the two of you go about wrapping presents for your friends and family. The majority, of course, are for your kids; wrapping them at the last minute was easier than worrying that they’d tear into them before Christmas, or try and sneak a peak. Abby, the oldest, almost seven and forever a daddy’s girl, loved anything Ben did, also Frozen; Micha was four and has never met a robot he didn’t want to marry, though he didn’t understand what the word meant when he announced it on a daily basis while holding hands with a transformer action figure; Roan had just turned two and liked the colour red.

“Do you think Abs is old enough for a present hunt?” Ben asks where he’s sorting stocking stuffers. Looking up, you’re confused, and he looks a little shocked, “you’ve never had a present hunt?” When you shook your head, his mouth split into a nostalgic grin. “We had them when I was a kid; you hide a series of clues around the house and the kids follow the clues to find a hidden present.” His laugh was fond, which turned to a thoughtful hum as he reminisced, “I rode my bike all around the neighbourhood one year, dad really went all out.”

“Maybe not around the neighbourhood.” You grinned, and his whole face lit up when he met your gaze. He’s up after that, so giddy he’s practically bouncing as he swans around the house with the sticky tape, writing and hiding clues as he went, ending up with Abby’s gift stashed in the back of the pots and pans cupboard next to the oven. When he comes back, he tapes one last clue to a bauble, hanging it at the back of the Christmas tree, proclaiming it to be the starting point. After that, he settles back in, filling the stockings that hung over the mantle, and helping you wrap the last of the presents.

When everything’s done, you feel the exhaustion settling into your bones, and you take a long moment to stretch. All the presents are wrapped, sitting neatly beneath the tree, and the heater’s been turned off, and all that’s left to do is put all the wrapping paper, tape, and labels that you’d commandeered for the occasion.

“You head on to bed, I’m just writing this letter for Abby.” He said, looking up from where he was leaning over a notebook, to see you waiting for him in the door. With a soft smile, you nod, and head to your bedroom, quickly getting changed into your pyjamas and sliding into bed. He follows not long after, but instead of getting changed, he sits onto the bed beside you, grinning and holding out a neatly wrapped box with your name on it.

“Merry Christmas, love.” He says gently, and you look from the box to where he’s smiling at you, nervous and excited. You’re lost for words, heart overwhelmed with love as you start to unwrap the present.

It’s a photo frame, silver, with metal vines decorating the outside, and space enough for two photos. The photo on the left is from when you first visited him on the set of X-Men Apocalypse, probably taken by a crew member. You’d never seen the photo before, but you know it’s the two of you; he’s got his arms around you, the two of you all but nose to nose and so blindingly happy. He’s in costume, wearing a leather jacket with his hair long, curled and teased, and you’re pushing a small strand behind his ear. The two of you are so wrapped up in each other, and he’s grinning at you like there’s literally nowhere in the world he’d rather be than in your arms.

The photo on the right is from your wedding day, in the same position as the other photo, his arm around you, you with a hand holding his cheek. It’s as if you’re not even aware of the photographer, blissful and elated and in love.

“This was so long ago.” Voice soft and awed, you look up from the wedding photo to see him looking at you with that exact same smile you remember so clearly from when the two photos were taken; the smile that made you feel like the only person in the world. “I love you, Ben.”

“I love you too; there’s no-one else I’d rather by my side to raise our family with.” He says, and you think you’re about to cry, so overwhelmed at the sincerity and sweetness that it’s all you can do to lean forward and kiss him.

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #borhap cast #borhap cast imagine #family fic #kid fic #the angry lizard writes

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apsbicepstraining · 7 years

Text

Steven Caulker:’ I’ve sat here for years hating myself … This year was almost the end’

The QPR defender talks powerfully about his strives with mental illness, his addictions to gamble and drinking and why “he il be” thankful still to be alive

Steven Caulker, here celebrating after scoring on his England debut in 2012, says his football ability is a gift but too a affliction. Photograph: Michael Regan/ Getty Images

Steven Caulker, here playing for Tottenham against Arsenal in 2010, says he made a big mistake leaving Spurs. Photo: Tom Jenkins for the Guardian

Steven Caulker says: In Liverpool I was waking up in the middle of the darknes throwing up, parties were extorting me, club owneds and bouncers. Picture: Sarah Lee for the Guardian

In the UK, the Samaritans can be contacted on 116 123.

In the US, the National Suicide Prevention Hotline is 1-800-273-8255.

In Australia, the crisis support assistance Lifeline is on 13 11 14.

The post Steven Caulker:’ I’ve sat here for years hating myself … This year was almost the end’ appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

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apsbicepstraining · 7 years

Text

Steven Caulker:’ I’ve sat here for years hating myself … This year was almost the end’

The QPR defender talks powerfully about his strives with mental illness, his addictions to gamble and drinking and why “he il be” thankful still to be alive

Steven Caulker, here celebrating after scoring on his England debut in 2012, says his football ability is a gift but too a affliction. Photograph: Michael Regan/ Getty Images

Steven Caulker, here playing for Tottenham against Arsenal in 2010, says he made a big mistake leaving Spurs. Photo: Tom Jenkins for the Guardian

Steven Caulker says: In Liverpool I was waking up in the middle of the darknes throwing up, parties were extorting me, club owneds and bouncers. Picture: Sarah Lee for the Guardian

In the UK, the Samaritans can be contacted on 116 123.

In the US, the National Suicide Prevention Hotline is 1-800-273-8255.

In Australia, the crisis support assistance Lifeline is on 13 11 14.

The post Steven Caulker:’ I’ve sat here for years hating myself … This year was almost the end’ appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2wBPG5y via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress

0 notes