#freddie quell imagine

[darknessisafriend]

I just watched The Master and was fascinated by Freddie

I was curious, imagining master had another daughter (a single one) if he would let Freddie anywhere near her. He loves him obv since he keeps bringing him along despite his families distrust of him, but he also knows how erratic and crude he is so idk how he'd react if he found out one had feelings for the other or saw Freddie eyeing her.

What are your thoughts?

Hey interesting question!

At first I would think he wouldn't let Freddie apporach his daughter. But at the same time he likes to experiment and demonstrate, so what better than his daughter to apply the precepts he taught her and observe how it works on Freddy? a bit like a test subject, he wouldn't force her though but he would encourage them getting close.

However if she had feelings for him he wouldn't oppose and would control a lot the relationship, he loves to guide and get into people's intimacy as this sort of 'doctor'

#joaquin phoenix #the master #freddie quell imagine

[kirk-says-wah]

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

This is the final chapter of this fic ✨

This was originally posted on ao3, but I'm cross posting all my fics onto here so more people can read them. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think

//////

(Chapter 1 + 2)

Pairings: Kirk/Lars, Kirk/Cliff (past)

TW: drugs, blood, violence, dubcon, self injury, attempted suicide, vomit, homophobia

Cliff’s mouth is moving, all abrupt and jagged, stilted like a stop motion film. It’s repeating, snagged afresh in buried memories. His body ebbs and rots, gets caught between his teeth, swaying between corporeal and spectre, bleeding into thin blots and ink stains. 

Kirk tries to grasp ahold of him but his fingers come up empty. 

Cliff’s body loses form, his words crackle and spit, lost in emotional debris. 

Kirk knows he’s not there. He knows . But he can’t help but hang onto this mirage of him like it’ll bring him back. 

Cliff speaks again. Kirk doesn’t catch what he’s saying. Or he’s ignoring him. 

He bends in half, hands to his knees. Heaves. 

He imagines Cliff standing next to him, hand on his back, bell bottoms brushing his legs. He imagines Cliff telling him to get his shit together, to man up. 

Fucking take the hit. 

He heaves again, mostly because he needs the air, and manages to blink away the whitening edges of his vision before pushing Cliff aside and clawing himself up and away to the next best thing. 

Lars is only a few steps ahead, circling things on a Hamburg brochure in thick marker pen, and Kirk is quick to grab him, hooking his arm into Lars’s bent one. 

Lars startles, looks over at him, eyebrow raised. 

Kirk says nothing, and instead points to the paper Lars is holding. 

Dude, is that the Beatles?  

— — 

Kirk’s a fan of movies. Most specifically, horror movies. 

Horror movies he knows; the monster is always right behind you, when you least expect it. The ghosts are always easier to watch than to see. 

All horror movies are based on real events. That creaky pipe? Ghost . That scratching under the floorboards? Monster . 

It’s textbook, and Kirk knows textbook. 

But this is different. 

A hallucination? Maybe. Illusion? Probably. 

Thinking about a bus overturning on the back streets of some cold European country is one thing, but inventing ghosts when there isn’t one is pure self-destruction. 

And he knows that, he knows, because Kirk knows horror movies, and he knows them well. 

But this? It’s not textbook. It’s not a ghost story. 

It’s just a lonely man facing a part of himself he’s rather keep hidden, one where he thinks about the dark and the blood and the ice. One where he pictures himself instead of his best friend covered in blood. 

So maybe the ghost is him. Maybe he’s a spectre in a world full of ghosts. 

And he’ll hide this as much as he can, try and cram as much of the dark inside him, and maybe he won’t turn out like Freddy or Jason. Maybe he’ll just disappear. 

He knows full well he can’t keep this from Lars. Not the darkness, nor the pain. Or the ghosts. 

Lars already knows all his secrets. 

— —

Even the one where he loves him. 

— — 

Sometimes, he’ll go quiet, drag his feet. Float in and out of venues high off of his fucking face because he doesn’t want to face what it’s like to be sober. Doesn’t want to feel the ache of being alive when he doesn’t want to be. 

Most of the time, no one notices, and he’s strung along behind the rest of them to idly play a role he doesn’t know how to do, but he does it anyway because it’s the only way for him to survive. Those days are when he finds the only way to quell the pain is to lock himself in his hotel room with a baggie and the sharp edge of metal against skin. 

And then sometimes, Lars notices. 

He’ll give him water and sit him down, pull him close around the waist and lay his head on his shoulder. Kirk pretends he doesn’t mind, like it’s not eating him up every time Lars pretends. Because that’s what he’s doing. 

Pretending . 

Pretending everything’s okay. 

And he hates what he’s become. Hates that he can’t stand himself. Hates that he lets Lars love him. 

hates hates hates.  

But this version of him hadn’t always been there. It emerged; was carved by cutting away pieces of himself, hollowing himself into a husk that will get the job done onstage but will ultimately disintegrate if more pressure is added. 

So, on the days when Lars notices, Kirk goes against his better judgment and lets him, mostly because he’s selfish. 

Possibly, because he’s so alone. 

— — 

James is drunk. Again. As usual. 

That’s nothing new anymore. He’s a fucking monster at drinking, so much so that the three of them can’t catch up with him anymore. 

They’re backstage, Kirk and Lars settling in their bathrobes after showering, the gig making them tired and restless, eager to get back to their rooms when they know they’ve got to get up early tomorrow. 

James and Jason are still lingering in the showers when Lars leans over, slings an arm around Kirk’s waist, pulling him in closer into his side as they sit on the small couch. 

I’m so fucking tired. 

Kirk hums, leans his head onto Lars’s shoulder, hand wandering onto his lap. 

We’ve got two more gigs before a night off. 

Fucking great. 

Kirk smothers his laugh in Lars’s hair. Squeezes his thigh. 

Lars faces him then, their noses brushing, eyes focused. Kirk’s chest leaps a little at the intimacy, and he can’t help leaning forward just a little bit to pull him into a kiss, hand coming up to cup his jaw. 

Lars smiles into it, hand wrapping around Kirk’s neck, before pulling back. They’re still close enough that Kirk can feel Lars’s hot breath against his lips. 

What the fuck?

The both of them snap their heads to the side to find James, slouched over, supported by the wall, hair still damp. 

He’s glaring at them, which would be a lot more intimidating if he wasn’t swaying on his feet. 

Kirk almost jumps to his feet, distancing himself from Lars. He can feel the threat high in his throat. 

James, it's not what it looks like. You’re drunk. 

He attempts to help him to stand on his own. James doesn’t hit him away but he glares daggers at the two of them, and Kirk almost regrets trying to help him. It’s only in an attempt to cover up what they were doing anyway. 

James grunts, wobbling in Kirk’s grip as he takes a long gulp of bud. 

I knew it, he says. Both a bunch of fags, he says. 

Kirk bristles, steps back, lets go. 

James droops forwards, hand to the wall, takes another swig of beer. He doesn’t wipe it away when it trickles down his chin.

I fucking knew it. 

Well, if you fucking knew it why didn’t you say something? 

That’s Lars. Kirk can only just hear him over the ringing in his ears. His skin prickles. 

James staggers forwards like he’s gonna hit him, but must think better of it for he instead just towers over Lars and spits fucking homo.  

Lars swings then, punches James hard around the jaw, and Kirk finds his footing, grabs Lars, pulls him back. 

It’s not fucking worth it. He’s drunk. 

Which is true, James hopefully won’t remember this tomorrow. But they definitely will. 

James snickers, rubbing a hand over his bruising jaw. 

Fucking hit like a fairy too. 

Lars lunges but Kirk’s quick to pull him back, arms around his middle. 

Fuck you, man. Fuck you. 

And Kirk feels it, the aggression, the torment; every single time someone’s called him a queer just for looking how he does or some other shit, and it spikes as he watches James grin, satisfied at Lars’s reaction. 

Kirk’s not sure if it’s coke or adrenaline, but he lets go of Lars, steps forwards, swings, then punches James square in the nose. 

It sends the singer hurtling back into the wall with a grunt, hand coming up to his nose that’s starting to gush blood. 

Kirk abruptly grabs Lars by the arm and pulls him past James, both of them ignoring the singer as he curses, holding his head back to try and staunch the flow of blood dribbling down his chin. 

Kirk doesn’t stop pulling on Lars’s arm until they’re in some room by themselves, and he quickly pulls him in close, grappling at the back of his tshirt, tucking his face into Lars’s neck. 

I’m sorry, he says after a moment. 

Lars huffs a laugh, strokes a hand over the back of his head.  

I never thought the day would come where you actually punch someone. Besides me, but that doesn’t fucking count. 

Kirk hugs him tighter.  

I’ve been in fights before.  

None that I’ve seen. You’ve got a good fucking punch though I’ll tell you that. I know from experience. 

Am I gonna get sacked for decking the lead singer? 

Lars leans back a little to look at him, his face incredulous. 

If anything, it should be him who’s sacked. And besides, if you were you wouldn’t be the only one. 

Kirk hums at that, threads his fingers through Lars’s hair. 

I don’t like him speaking to you like that.  No one should ever speak to you like that. 

Lars smiles, the corners of his mouth raising just a little. 

Next time, I’ll try not to punch him if you don’t. 

Kirk laughs. 

Deal. 

— — 

“Fuck, what happened to my face?”

“I dunno man. Must have gotten into a fight at the bar. Do you not remember?” 

“No. I don’t remember a fucking thing.”

— — 

Take the fucking hit like a man. 

— — 

The bar is dark and cramped and Kirk finds he has no fucking clue where he is. 

He shifts a little in his seat as awareness curtly whips him around the face, notices there’s a woman in his lap and a glass of some green stuff he hopes isn’t absinthe on the table, and panic settles steadily between intercostal muscles because he’s alone . 

He flicks his gaze, spots James at the table over, steadily downing a beer, table littered in bottles. He’s leaning half off of the booth, blonde hair hanging off of his shoulders as he sways slightly. Lars is not too far away, sat between two girls, idly chatting them up between seductive glances and downing shots. 

Kirk fidgets, tries to move the girl from off of his lap, but she merely shushes him, presses his mouth into a long kiss. He tries to push her away but his arms feel like lead, anchoring him to to booth, holding him hostage. 

He blinks the spots from his vision, feels hands wind and tug playfully in his hair. It’s stuffy and hot, and Kirk licks at his dry lips, squints up at the girl under the overhead spotlights. 

She thumbs at his cheek, a smile painting her face, before she grabs the drink from the table, tipping it to his lips. 

He doesn’t want it, can hardly think as it is, but he’s in no position to move, and just accepts what she gives him because he’s too exhausted to do anything more. His head feels like it’s being cleaved into two parts and put through a meat grinder, but at least when the liquid passes his lips, it dulls the dry feeling in his throat, even if it does burn. 

She hums as he drinks it, then replaces the glass with her lips again before he can even finish swallowing.

It all too overwhelming and he still doesn’t know how he got here. The alcohol mixes poorly in his stomach and he wants to puke, maybe pass out. 

Possibly both. 

Eventually though he musters the strength to push her away, mumbling something only half coherent as he staggers towards his nearest bandmate. 

James is too inebriated to really help him, and in his dazed state Kirk finds him passing the guitarist anyways, tripping into tables as he looks for the sign for the bathroom. Or a sign for a way out. Anything. 

He doesn’t even make it to a stall before he’s throwing up, a mix of liquor and bile splattering against the floor. He presses a hand on the wall, keeps himself on unstable feet, bends over in the middle. It hurts, his stomach spasming, but eventually he’s able to catch his breath and he becomes acutely aware he needs some fucking help. 

Awareness leaks in and out as he teeters out of the bathroom, forearms guiding his way along the walls because he can’t get himself to stand up straight anymore, head swimming. 

He finds himself back where he was before, he thinks, he hopes, but the world is swinging in double vision, and he’s not even sure if he’s on his feet anymore. Or if his feet are even his feet. 

Are they? He doesn’t remember these sneakers. 

A familiar face comes into view then, obscuring his line of sight, and Kirk squints, eyes straining as he tries to figure out what they’re saying over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. 

“Kirk?“ 

It’s Jason, all innocent and anxious, hair pushed from his face, and Kirk nearly misses the concern in his voice, too busy trying to figure out which one of them is crouched over the other. 

“Kirk, man, what the hell’s going on?” 

Kirk wishes he knew, merely blinks as the bassist frowns at him before tugging on his arm. Kirk’s arm is pulled over Jason’s shoulders as he’s hauled from the sticky bar floor, and it’s then that he concludes it was in fact him who was sprawled on his ass this whole time. 

Kirk groans as he’s pulled to his feet, a hand moving to grip him around the waist as the other holds his arm steady. Jason’s saying something but it’s sounds like nonesense to Kirk because he can’t decipher anything that’s being said. 

Instead of dwelling on it, he lets Jason drag him across the bar and out into  fresh air, relishes in the cold breeze that skates around his bare arms. Jason’s grip is painfully hard, and Kirk guesses it’s probably because his feet are starting to not cooperate at all, and he hopes wherever they’re going isn’t too far. 

They stop for a second and Jason hauls him back up onto limp feet with a few expletives that Kirk doesn’t quite catch, but he’s distantly aware that Jason is practically carrying him now through the dark, dirty parking lot. If he were alert enough, he’d probably be embarrassed at the way he’s being manhandled, but his legs just don’t seem to want to hold his weight. 

When they arrive at his hotel room, Kirk finds that he again doesn’t know how they got here. He comes to, still held up with his arm around Jason, his head lolling to the side, a puddle of drool sticking to his chin where it’s pressed into Jason’s shoulder. 

His first thought is that he must have passed out, but Jason’s still got him on his feet, which means he must have walked here somehow. 

He’s pretty sure it’s his motel room; not as sure that it’s his bed though that Jason all but drops him onto. 

He’s thankful it’s a double because he’s promptly rolled on his back, and his limbs fall lifeless beside him because he can’t seem to do anything more than crimp his fingers into his sides. 

Jason comes back into view, bushy hair slightly obscuring his face as he says “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Kirk’s not sure if he answers, but Jason continues to stare down at him like he’ll crack if he looks away. Kirk just wishes he could get his mind together, be able to form at least one coherent thought. 

He thinks Jason’s talking, so he lolls his head to the side, cheek pressing into a scratchy pillow. 

He must definitely look like he has no idea what Jason’s saying because the bassist sighs, pats his cheek. 

“I said, don’t fall asleep.”

Kirk hums an approval, and then Jason disappears, and he’s distantly aware he’s alone. 

It could be minutes, hours, fucking years, but eventually he becomes conscious of someone cupping his jaw, another hand smoothing over the hair on his forehead. 

He remembers that Jason told him not to fall asleep. Which he didn’t. He’s just resting his eyes. 

Fuck, what the hell’s wrong with him? 

That’s definitely Lars. His voice is quiet, only inches away from Kirk’s face. 

I don’t know, I found him on the fucking floor. 

Did he? He doesn’t remember being on the floor. 

The hand on his jaw moves, twists, two fingers flitting to the juncture of his neck. 

Hey-- hey Kirk cmon baby--

Awareness drizzles inconsistently like thick honey, and he can hear Lars speaking but he’s not all that sure what he’s saying. 

What’s he saying?

I have no fucking clue. 

Kirk bats away the hand at his neck, or at least tries to, but it just results in him feebly scraping at the arm above him. It does the job, at first, until those same fingers splay over his chest and keep him firmly planted. 

Open your eyes, Kirk.  

Do as you’re told, Kirk. 

Don’t make me say it again, Kirk. 

Don’t be a pussy, Kirk. 

Open your eyes. 

He slits his eyes open, gaze foggy, but he makes out Lars in front of him. 

Nothing makes sense and he feels ill and he’s so fucking scared and he just wants to let Lars hold him. 

So he does. 

Lars lies next to him, holds him against his chest, stroking over the soft skin of his back, murmuring softly in his ear. 

Awareness still seems to slide the slippery slope Kirk been ploughing down for a while, and he wiggles, just to get comfy, lets his back hit the mattress. 

It’s brief, Lars rolls him swiftly back onto his side. 

He says, why? 

Lars says, you’ll fucking choke. 

And isn’t it then ironic that Lars is saving him from a death he doesn’t even realise Kirk wouldn’t mind succumbing to. 

Kirk lets him though, even if he’s not that apposed to choking on his own vomit in his sleep. 

Lars’s breathing is stuttery and sharp, but Kirk lets it lull him to sleep anyways, wrapped around his lover, head pillowed against his chest. 

Lars doesn’t say anything. 

Kirk’s okay with that. 

He thinks. 

— — 

Lars nearly flies off the handle the day he finds Kirk’s stash of heroin. 

It’s not even that much, just a little bag that girl had given him a while ago when she’d handed him some to smoke. 

He doesn’t do it often. 

But when it goes missing, he can’t help but have a mini fucking heart attack. 

He can’t ask Lars, he knows he can’t, because then he’ll have to admit that maybe he’s treading water in the deep end now. 

But still, as the itch grows, so does the need, and so he fills up the hole with what he can. 

Mostly, that being coke. 

He’s not really sure how much he’s taken today, how many hits, but he’s in deep enough that he’s not really caring what he’s saying anymore. 

It’s late, the curtains are shut. Lars is lying next to him. 

Where is it? he thinks he says.  

Where is it? 

And Lars snaps. Completely breaks in two. 

He pushes Kirk away, stands. 

Fuck you. 

Kirk’s too out of it to comprehend what that means. 

It means, fuck you. Fuck you. 

Lars is shouting at him. It’s making his head hurt. 

I mean, smack? Really? That’s a whole other fucking ball game, Kirk. 

Kirk mumbles something about just smoking it. It’s not like he’s shooting up. It’s not like it’s dangerous this way. 

Lars keens a little, hands pulling in his hair. 

I fucking need you, Lars says. I fucking need you. I can’t do this alone, Lars says. 

I’m just sick of peeling you off the fucking floor when you’re too out of your mind to not drown in your own puke.

Then don’t.

His mood’s sour now. Lars throws his hands up. 

No, yknow what? I’m not gonna fuel your little pity party.

Kirk watches as Lars stalks across the room, reaching into his jacket pocket. 

You want this? he shouts, holds up the baggie he’d stolen from him a few days ago. It’s not coke, not this time. 

Have it. See if I fucking care.

He throws it and it lands next to Kirk’s chest. Lars turns them, goes to walk away, and instinctual panic skins Kirk alive. 

He reaches out, roughly grabs ahold of Lars’s arm. 

No, don’t go. Please don’t leave me.

He’s ashamed at how desperate he sounds, and Lars looks down at him with compassion, like he’s doing him a favour when he sighs and lets himself be dragged down. 

Kirk smothers his face in Lars’s tshirt, tells himself it’s so the drummer won’t see him cry, but it’s really because he craves the feeling of his touch. 

He doesn’t want to think about what will happen if Lars lets go now. 

I fucking need you. 

— — 

I’ve got nothing left. 

— — 

I hate it when you say things like that , says Lars. 

— — 

It’s starting to slip. That is, probably, the world is starting to slip, starting to tilt. Marginally towards uncaring, specifically backwards against outland. 

This is not his home and this is not his life. 

And this is not real. 

At least, most days, it feels like it’s not. He drifts between nausea and solitude because he doesn’t need to pull the string to find the end of the week when it has no problem barrelling him into next month. 

It’s a blur. 

And he wants to die. 

He’s got a new guitar. 

And he wants to die. 

But see, the thing is, he’s found his way of grounding, of touching back down in the planes of reality, and it’s only ever with his arms around Lars. 

He feels him, all of him, corporeal (and delicate because sometimes he’ll crack open and scatter, - a flash of a younger Lars with hopes and dreams and a fucking Gemco kit that doesn’t stick around because the cymbals keep falling over). 

And he’ll hold him, feel Lars tense when his cheek brushes against his chest. Then he’ll melt, go soft in his arms, scooping Kirk up in his own, and everything feels real, feels familiar, and Kirk’s okay. 

He’s okay. He thinks. 

Then Lars will pull away and everything will go back to black and white, like he’s watching a clip show, untethered. 

The second he lets go, he’s not sure of anything anymore. 

— —

Fucking take the hit , 

says his father. 

— — 

She’s not the type he would usually go for; she’s loud and laughs too much and he knows her only purpose for the evening is to get fucked by the band. 

By the end of the night, he’s high on a mix of alcohol and coke and something else he snorted in the bathroom from some dude with a baseball hat and a goatee. 

His head hurts like a bitch and reality seems to warp with each breath, but he allows himself to be dragged back to the room, lets the girl’s long red nails scratch at his skin as she pulls him along by the hand. She’s way too overzealous, but Kirk finds he doesn’t really give a fuck. 

He’s sure that she was actually after James and ended up settling for him anyways. 

He sits on the bed, lays his top half out flat, boots still on the floor. She slinks over to him, leans down and kisses him, all sloppy and wet and he’s sure she’s smudging red lipstick over his face. 

He can feel her unbuckling his belt, sliding his jeans down with delicate hands. He’s too out of it to really care, lets the warmth of her fingers press his hips into the mattress. 

When she pulls his cock out he’s still soft but she doesn’t seem to mind all the much, takes him into her mouth, tongue lapping at the head. 

His hips shift a little at the sensation, but the room’s still spinning and he finds he’s not really feeling all that much. 

She pulls off of him after a moment, tries jacking him off, doesn’t bother to try and get him to even sit up. It’s not working anyways. 

She lets go of his cock and stands up, kicks at his ankle, calls him pathetic and useless. Expendable . 

He twists a little, manages to catch the repulsed glint in her eye. He sags onto his side with his elbow under him and calls her a slut. 

She punches him, hard, and he’s sent sprawling back onto the bed, face throbbing and awareness barely functioning. 

He’s not sure when she leaves, but after a while, when his mind has finally cleared itself up enough to know what he’s doing, he stuffs himself back into his boxers and clumsily makes his way to the bathroom, tripping on his pants still wrapped around his ankles. 

The skin around his eye is red and puffy, tell-tale signs of a forming black eye, and he prods at it with his finger, grinds his jaw at the pain. 

There’s lipstick smeared along his mouth, dark craters under his eyes. He turns the tap, splashes his face with shaky hands, manages to wipe away any reminder of his previous encounter. 

He eyes the razor, longs for the feeling of it dragging over his skin. Before he can think too much, he’s pressed it into his palm, enclosing it into his fist, and  he shuffles out of the bathroom, turns off the light. 

He grabs a beer from the fridge, then locks the door. 

— — 

What the fuck happened to your face?

Some chick went full Rocky on me.

PCP crazy hookers will do that to ya.

— — 

He can’t sleep. 

His vision is still splotchy - - dark is dark is dark - - but he moves anyway, hinges at the waist, runs fingers through his hair. 

It’s not so strictly that he can’t sleep, he just doesn’t want to. And he doesn’t want to go through another night of embarrassment where Lars has to shush him back to sleep like a toddler. 

He scrubs a hand over his face, swivels, tilts over the edge of the bed enough for the pads of his feet to hit the floor. 

He leans forwards, rests his elbows on his knees and lets his head hang, blows out a long breath. He hiccups. He ignores it. 

A warm body presses itself against his back after a while, thighs wrapping around his own, nose nuzzling into the hair against his neck. 

Kirk sighs, lets himself be pulled back, embraced in strong arms around his chest. 

Lars’s breath is hot against the crook of his neck, melting him to the bone. Kirk wants to tell him, this , this means absolutely everything to him. He doesn’t though. He doesn’t want to face the guilt Lars will dish. 

Lars mumbles against his ear, presses a kiss to his temple, squeezes him around the waist. 

He hates when Lars does this. Hates when he says he loves him. Like he isn’t gonna wake up in the morning and pretend it never happened. Like he’s not gonna score some groupie to fuck tomorrow night instead of him. Like his answer isn’t going to be nothing when James asks what the fuck is going on between you two?

He hates it and he hates Lars. He hates him. He loves him. 

He wishes he didn’t. For both their sakes. 

— — 

He hears the whispers sometimes. In the middle of the night. On the tour bus.  When he’s ripping through a guitar solo in front of hundreds of people. 

When it’s over, they say. 

It makes him falter, fumble over loose notes and his mind jumpstarts a little too easily into thinking maybe the voice has a point. 

He continues nonetheless. Sleeping. Chugging beer. Finishing the solo in Fade To Black like he’s not distantly contemplating the logistics of living while you die. 

Because that’s what he is. Dying . 

He feels it in his lungs, in dormant capillaries, in the way he moves without feeling, in the way the whispers torment him in more than his dreams. 

When the music’s over, they say. 

That’s it. You’re done. 

He never was a fan of Jim Morrison. 

And he thinks he’s reaching the dip now, the edge of the cliff, the tunnel at the end of the highway, and he wants to make a clean break and say he’s given everything. Because he has. 

His life. His money. Cliff . 

It’s all been for Metallica. 

Everything has always been for the fucking band and he wonders at which point he stopped being a single organism and instead merged into the four headed beast that can serve better metal on their bad days than most bands can. 

Kirk’s got nothing left. 

— — 

Just tell me how much more. 

— — 

Some days Lars will look at him like he’s seeing him for the first time; a freshness and clarity that strikes a familiar match in Kirk’s chest, because they’re not being pushed and pulled away for once, and it like 1983 all over again. Lars looks at him and he sees . 

This is not one of those days. 

Lars is hanging off of the neck of some chick in his lap, licking into her mouth with vigour, and Kirk looks away, downs the two shots that Jason passes him. 

He knows that when Lars looks over at him it won’t be with meaning. It won’t be with affection or acknowledgment or with any implication. 

It’s not Lars’s fault, Kirk knows this. It’s not Lars’s fault that every time he tries to talk to him about anything important, Kirk will push him away, preferring to try and stay afloat than be pulled from the water entirely. He doesn’t mean to be fatalistic, he’s just slightly semicidal. He wouldn’t be all that saddened if he let himself drown. 

He wonders if it’s the drugs too; if maybe they’re both too accustomed to a world they don’t actually live in, a world where there’s no feelings and you don’t feel like death warmed up and you don’t have to grieve for a brother that’s only been gone four months and six days. 

Four months and six days. 

Or maybe it’s just that Kirk’s becoming more forgettable, more expendable; the weakest link. 

Jason nudges him, points at a Winger poster on the bulletin, rants about glam and eyeliner and Aqua Net, and how it’s just not fucking metal dude , but all Kirk can think about is that it should be him with Lars instead of that girl. 

It should be him. 

It could’ve been him. 

He downs another shot. 

— —

He thinks this is it. He’s got nothing left. 

He guesses he’s already held the knife too tightly. Too close. And it’s only a matter of time now before it stabs him in the back. 

He sits with his back to the shower cubicle. The glass is still wet. He holds up the knife. 

He’d managed to pinch it at some point on tour, he’s not really sure when, but it’s been riding shotgun in his suitcase ever since. 

Kirk presses it to his wrist. Not hard enough to hurt. Just to feel the pressure. It’s not unlike all the other times, when he’s sure the cool steel will be the death of him, but this time he knows. 

And he knows this is where he dies. 

He’s tried to be quick, but it hurts a lot more than he thought it would. Hot white flashes behind his eyes but he keeps going because he has nothing left. 

He presses down harder, harder, until he finally reaches the pit of his elbow. 

He lets go, lets the knife clatter beside him. 

His head lolls back against the tile. He licks his lips. All the panic, the grief, is starting to settle, and he can’t help but let himself be swept away in the feeling. 

He goes to close his eyes but thinks better of it. 

He needs to make sure he gets the job done. 

He picks the knife back up, slippy in his weak grasp, and tries to jab at his other wrist, though it uncoordinated, and it’s nowhere near as deep as the first one. 

He tries anyway, breath harsh as he digs the edge into his flesh, his grip weakening by the second as blood starts to coat his skin. 

He digs deeper and deeper and -- 

“What are you doing?” 

The knife is pried from his grasp, clatters to the floor off to his side. He jolts, scrambles to his knees to try and get it back, but hands roughly push him back against the shower cubicle, bony fingers digging into his chest. 

Kirk twists his gaze away from the weapon, finds Lars is in front of him, panicked, frightened. His hands are still forcing Kirk back into the glass. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Kirk can only look back at the mirrored despair in Lars’s eyes, feels shame and  humiliation whip at his skin, fingernails sharp on his collarbone. 

Lars is searching his face, for what Kirk’s not sure, but eventually he shakes his head, looks away. 

Kirk pretends to ignore how his eyes shine, how his face flickers through emotions, contorts his cheeks into sharp angles, lips pulled tight. He looks broken. Like all this dreaming, all this hope Lars had for the two of them has shattered, like it was for nothing. 

Nothing. 

     Nothing. It all meant

                                   Nothing. 

Kirk gasps, convulsing as his body tries to fight for air, but he can’t get his lungs to move from out their dormancy when he’s found out his and Lars’s last contingency plan has fallen through.

I fucking need you. I can’t do this alone. 

Fingers grip and pull him forward, and he leans against Lars, choking on nothing as he struggles to hang on, arms lying limp at his sides now. 

He’s gasping and gasping and he can’t hear anything over the rushing of blood in his ears and his lungs burn and everything hurts and yet he doesn’t feel anything at all. He’s numb, stuffed with cotton instead of lungs and wool instead of a heart, sewed shut without anything beating and it feels like he’s already dead. 

Arms enclose around him, keep him warm and bundled up, squeeze him tight enough that the thrumming of his heartbeat subsides a little and he can finally hear Lars murmuring in his ear. 

“Just breathe it’s okay, you’re okay. Just breathe.”

He’s still gulping on air, fingers turning fizzy as the world starts to spin, but he manages to rock forward a little, hides his face against Lars’s chest, and finally breathes. 

Lars is all around him, everyone and everything, a personification of everything Kirk’s ever wanted in love and yet he feels like he’s hanging onto him by the skin of his teeth, swinging into an abyss that he’s never felt before and it’s terrifying and yet he wants nothing more than to let go and dive in. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Which is how he finds himself in this situation in the first place because ultimately he knows he doesn’t deserve it. 

Ultimately he knows nothing comes without consequences. 

He wipes his face against Lars’s shirt, smears snot and drool and tears, and he hiccups, tries to ignore the fact that he can’t feel his fingers anymore. 

It’s strange that now he’s kind of glad he was found, that maybe Lars was meant to find him after all. But the nagging feeling in him that he doesn’t deserve any of this, that his life isn’t really his anymore, that life hasn’t been life since the accident, still itches the unsteadiness of his hands and the searing pain in his arms. 

Lars moves after a moment, jolting like he’s been shocked, like he’s finally realising Kirk’s fading, cringing at the amount of blood that’s starting to pool on the floor underneath him, soaking steadily into their clothes. 

Kirk doesn’t look, but he can hear Lars curse under his breath, a litany of fuck oh fuck Kirk shit shit shit that flows like a jilted melody, until he manages to snag a fresh white towel from the hook on the back of the door next to them. 

He presses it to Kirk’s arms deliberately hard, and yet Kirk hardly feels it, allows his weight to sink into the body holding him up, ignores the blood oozing like a calm river in a storm. 

He shivers, shuts his eyes as the world careens and bends, feels goosebumps rise as Lars presses the red towel down harder. 

You’re not meant to be here, he says. You were never meant to be here , he says. 

Lars doesn’t acknowledge him, too preoccupied with the gaping wounds on Kirk’s arms and the knowledge that there’s a knife mere inches away from them. 

When Kirk manages to pry his eyes open again, Lars is tying the towel around his left forearm, the worst one, muttering under his breath, though it’s too quiet for Kirk to hear and he’s too tired to figure it out. 

A hand strokes over his head, blood smears, flattens his hair, keeps him close and safe and Kirk finds he doesn’t want to be anywhere else. 

Which is why he starts to groggily protest a little when Lars tries to get him to stand. 

“C’mon Kirk, I can’t lift you by myself,” Lars says, hooks his shoulder under Kirk’s armpit to try and get him up, but it’s no use because Kirk’s got no strength left, falling limply like a rag doll. 

Lars tries anyway, manages to drag Kirk a little ways out of the bathroom, smearing a bloody trail behind them. 

“Don’t you fucking do this,” Lars grits out, teeth clenched as he pulls Kirk’s limp form into his lap. 

“Don’t you fucking do this to me.” 

Kirk just lets his head rest against the steady weight of Lars’s chest, breathing starting to slow now. And he’s cold. He’s so fucking cold. 

Lars manages to bat the phone off of the side table, punches out the emergency number whilst still having an arm around Kirk’s middle. 

Kirk doesn’t really hear much of what Lars says, instead closes his eyes, lets the numb feeling take over. 

That is, until fingers press harshly into his chin, yanking his head upwards. 

“Open your fucking eyes, Kirk.” 

Kirk can’t help but do as he’s told, even though he wishes he didn’t. 

Lars is looking down at him, blood smeared across his face, and his expression alone makes Kirk want to curl away. Only, his body isn’t really cooperating all that much anymore. 

Lars is still speaking on the phone. 

Kirk closes his eyes again. 

This time when Lars shakes him, he doesn’t have the energy to open them, no matter how many times Lars tries to prod and poke at him. 

He’s done. He’s finished. He just hopes Lars knows that too. 

His arms feel wet. Lars is warm. He sleeps. 

— — 

The back of his eyelids are pink and bright, belying his assumption that he’s dead. 

He wakes up to the sound of beeping and the smell of antiseptic. 

His mind feels numb but he manages to pry his eyes open, blinking owlishly under the artificial light. 

“Oh thank god.” 

Kirk nearly misses it, but then a hand is circling his own gently, another cupping his jaw. 

Kirk’s eyes keep trying to close again but he works to keep them open, slowly trailing his gaze from the ceiling, finding Lars hovering over him. 

“Hey,” Lars says, voice quiet, hand smoothing over the hair on Kirk’s forehead. 

Kirk smiles a little, until he notices that Lars’s eyes are red and his hands are shaking and oh god oh god fuck fuck fuck--

He squeezes his eyes shut, tilts slightly out of Lars’s grip. 

He doesn’t want this. This isn’t what was meant to happen. 

Lars’s hands pull away. 

“I don’t- I’m not-“ Kirk doesn’t really know what he’s trying to say, melancholy making his throat close and his voice falter, but Lars just shushes him gently, takes his hand back into his own. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” 

Kirk’s chest stutters, his vision clouding as tears start to pool, sliding down his face. 

“Are you- why haven’t you-“ 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lars murmurs, thumbing away Kirk’s tears. 

Kirk doesn’t get it, isn’t this a way for Lars to get out? Isn’t this better for both of them? 

“You’re not leaving me?” 

Lars’s face warps incredulously. 

“What the fuck makes you think I would?”

He wants to say because he’s not worth it. He wants to say because he watched his dad pull out the driveway and never come back. He wants to say they dropped Dave at a greyhound bus station one night with no warning, and what makes him different? What makes him special enough to keep on living a life he doesn’t deserve? 

He gets to keep something he’s always dreamed of, and yet the ice doesn’t crack in his chest and he can only stare back at Lars. 

Lars’s emotions paint his face in a twist of watercolour until it turns red, a mix of watery anger and bewilderment and maybe betrayal making him stand, turning his back, hands tightening in his hair line. 

“What did you- ,” Lars pauses, wipes at his cheek where unseen tears shred his dignity, before he says “after all this time, what do I have to do to make you fucking realise.”

After all this time. 

After all this-

A fist shatters against the wall, bone smacking through layers of skin, splintering under force. Kirk flinches, ducks down further into the bed. 

Lars punches and he punches, blood circling his knuckles, leaves a crimson smear on the wall as he attacks, hitting out in a way Kirk knows well when everything hurts. 

Kirk doesn’t know whether to stop him, doesn’t know if it’s his place, but eventually a rather harsh jab to the wall makes knuckles crack and Lars swears, cradles his abused hands, heaving and sobbing and Kirk wants to hold him, wants to tell him he’s not worth getting so upset over, but he knows it’ll probably just make things worse. 

After a few seconds, Lars turns to him, cheeks marred scarlet and tears slipping from red-lined eyes, and he says 

you mean too fucking much to me to let you go, 

and its all Kirk ever wanted to hear, ever wanted to know, because he didn’t want to believe it before if it meant Lars falling away eventually and leaving him at a greyhound bus station. 

Kirk doesn’t know what to say, can only look on as quiet sobs hiccup in Lars’s chest, can feel anxiety push at the boundaries of his ribcage. 

He tries to reach out, frail fingers skirt over soft skin but Lars jerks from his grasp with a small don’t, scrubs at his eyes. 

“I’m going, James and Jason should be here soon.” 

Kirk jolts, his body fading numbly, desperately seeking a way to claw back what he’s losing, can feel his wrists throb in time with his rapid heart, his head feeling full and cottony. 

Lars just looks at him, face softening. 

“I’m coming back, Kirk,” he states like it’s obvious, all low and slow like he’s talking to a child, and Kirk wants to say I know that , but he knows that he didn’t, and so he just nods, feels his chest start to unfold when Lars’s lips curve up a little. 

He wants to tell him to get his hands checked, wants to tell him he needs to not do anything stupid, but his mouth is dry and his tongue doesn’t cooperate, synapse signals lost amongst historical debris and the fear of being left alone. 

“I promise,” Lars says, and he means it, Kirk can tell he means it, but he doesn’t want him to leave. He tries to reach out again but his hands are limp where they’re concealed in thick wads of bandages and gauze, and the pain is steadily mounting higher to the point that his ears are starting to ring. 

Lars goes then, vanishing down the stale, clinical hallway, and Kirk wants to cry. He never meant for this, whatever this is, and the guilt is starting to boil over, his insides thawing until he’s just a bundle of pain and fire. 

He thinks he shouts, he thinks he cries, but what he is sure of is that someone must be giving him something because within minutes he’s plummeting out of reach and his vision tunnels into nothing. 

— — 

Lars doesn’t come back for a while. Kirk’s mind kind of halts at that. Everything’s not making sense, like the clouding haze in his brain has made him numb, and the path forward looks skewed, like a smudged painting, like water’s been dripping on it so long the corners are starting to curl. 

Lars doesn’t come back for a while, but James and Jason appear at some point.  

The morphine haze means he’s not all that sure when they got here, just that now James is looking at him with some kind of twisted anger, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. Jason looks like he saw this coming. 

Kirk goes to scratch at his wrist, but the twinge of pain that settles under his skin when he tries to move his fingers has him halting. He rolls his gaze away from the others. 

“Fuck you,” James says after a moment. 

Kirk doesn’t answer, doesn’t even acknowledge him. Jason clears his throat. James seethes. 

“Fuck you, man. You don’t get to do this to us.”

Kirk wants to say this isn’t about them, but then again, when isn’t it? Because anything he does affects the others, but isn’t that why he’s here in the first place? 

He sighs through his nose, flicks his gaze back over to them. 

James’s eyes are uncharacteristically wet. He’s still staring at Kirk. Jason’s gaze is fixed on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” is all he says, though he’s not. Not really. 

They can probably tell because James stands, looks like he’s deliberating saying something, before walking out without another word. 

Jason sighs, scoots up further in his seat towards Kirk. 

“Don’t worry about him. He’s just upset,” he says, reaches out, lets his fingers skate across the sheets near Kirk’s arm. 

“Are you okay?”

And.. well no one’s asked him that. Not for a long while. And he finds he doesn’t really have an answer when his emotions are swirling around, muddling together, never tethering him to one singular feeling. 

So instead he says: “where’s Lars?” 

Jason shrugs a little. “He’s downstairs I think. He’ll be up in a bit.”  

It’s obvious by the look on his face that Lars isn’t doing so well. Kirk doesn’t blame him. He has a habit of drowning people along with himself. 

Kirk yawns, lets the morphine start to do its work again. 

“Wake me up when he’s here.” 

— — 

Lars is there when he wakes up again. There’s thick, white bandages crisscrossing his knuckles, a splint holding up a thumb. 

He’s dozing in the chair next to the bed, hand holding Kirk’s, though the grip is loose, not really there at all. 

Kirk doesn’t shake him awake. He doesn’t tell him he’s sorry. 

He lets Lars’s fingers warm his own and dreams of a place where the darkness doesn’t feel so suffocating. 

— — 

The tour gets postponed for a month. 

He thinks he’s okay. 

He has to get physio to get full movement back in his left hand. 

But he thinks he’s okay. For now. 

Lars never leaves his side as soon as they vacate the hospital. Follows him home. Sleeps in his bed. Even watches him piss. 

He’s never alone. Which is okay. 

Until it isn’t. 

Lars is short, his temper easily triggered, and Kirk finds himself walking on eggshells around him when he thinks it probably should be the other way around.  

So he lets Lars cook him meals he doesn’t want to eat, and he lets him push him into the shower when he doesn’t want to. But he does it because the fight seems tedious now, not when Kirk really isn’t hiding anything anymore. He doesn’t see the point, Lars has already seen the very worst of him, and for some fucking reason has stayed put anyways. 

Kirk thought it would’ve been the last straw. But Lars stays. 

And he washes Kirk’s hair for him and changes the sheets when Kirk’s been stewing in bed for a week and he does everything Kirk doesn’t want him to. 

And Lars hasn’t broken. He hasn’t shattered since that night in the hospital. Hasn’t done anything but tell Kirk to do as he’s told. 

It’s over a week since the accident, and Lars has let Kirk shower by himself if he keeps the door open, so he does just that, relishing in the few minutes he gets alone. He knows he shouldn’t be so surprised at Lars’s behaviour; he knows there’s not really any trust there anymore. 

Lars doesn’t trust him. And that hurts more than the stitches up his arms. 

He towels off and gets dressed slowly, mostly one handed, and when he turns the bathroom light off he’s swamped in darkness. 

Lars must not be in bed yet, but Kirk deems it okay to go ahead himself. He yawns and shuffles over to the bed in the dark, though he’s quick to notice the human size lump on the other side of the bed. 

He frowns but crawls in anyways, hissing slightly when he puts a little too much pressure on his bad wrist.  

“Lars?” he whispers, a hand coming up to wrap around Lars’s waist. 

A sniff is his only response. And he realises Lars is shaking. 

“Hey,” he says softly, leans over a little, but Lars’s face is obscured by the covers. 

“Hey, Lars-… Lars youve got to speak to me.” 

Lars shakes his head, curls into himself tighter, so Kirk sighs, brings Lars in closer by the waist, leans his chin on his shoulder.  

And he holds him. And Lars sobs for the first time in over a week. 

Eventually he turns over, smothers his face into Kirk’s chest and clings onto him so tight his knuckles turn white. 

And Kirk scoops him up without saying anything, because he doesn’t know what to say.  

He knows an apology won’t be accepted, and he can’t tell him everything’s okay because it’s not. 

So he just holds him tight until Lars starts to settle, cheek wet and smushed against Kirk’s shirt. 

“Don’t you fucking do that to me again,” he says, anger lining the outskirts of his words, but they’re mainly filled with grief. Which at least Kirk is familiar with. 

“Don’t you ever fucking leave me.” 

He doesn’t look up at Kirk, but he holds him tightly, fingers digging into his back. 

Kirk nods, hand coming up to stroke through Lars’s hair. 

“I won’t.” 

And as soon as he says it, he knows it’s a promise. And although he doesn’t know what the future will bring, he knows he’ll try to be with Lars for as long as possible. 

Lars sniffs, moves his chin to look at him. 

Kirk gives a small smile, one which Lars returns, before Lars reaches up to kiss him gently. 

“I love you.” 

It’s the first time it’s ever been said, it’s the first time those words have ever been laid bare between them, and Kirk finds his chest stuttering. 

And as he looks down at Lars, he knows there’s nothing else out there for him. Lars has been trying to repair the Cliff size hole in his heart, but he’s ended up filling it with himself instead. 

Tears prick at Kirk’s eyes and he smiles, properly now, feeling Lars squeeze him tighter. 

And he knows they’ll be okay. 

“I love you too.” 

He’ll be okay. 

Fin  

#metallica #metallica fanfiction #painkiller #kirk hammett x lars ulrich #kirk hammett/lars ulrich #kirk/lars #lars ulrich #kirk hammett #james hetfield #jason newsted #cliff burton

[porciaenjoyer]

i think i told you which colors i would dress them in (using this phrasing because it implies they are our silly little fashion dolls) but i don’t remember if you told me what you would do im so curious actually…. ALSO i want to know are you open to a happy ending post canon or are you a “i want them to suffer forever and be alone” person… (NO judgement either way i oscillate between the two…)

i don’t think i did tell you because it’s such a difficult decision as if my life depends on imaginary costumes for these characters!!!! i do agree with you about pink florence—i imagine her wearing purple & pink though.. i have a vague idea in my mind. would you hear me out about freddie wearing mustard yellow or something?? i’m imagining one of those 1950s suburban american dream illustrations i know he’s not from the 50s but that’s my vision.. anatoly still seems like he would just wear black. to me. OR actually i have this navy blazer (one of the buttons is falling off urgh i just remembered that) maybe he could wear something like that… i like that actually. i agree that the arbiter would just wear black and white for arbiter reasons. molokov and walter can do whatever they want but i think it’d be funny if they were matching. svetlana seems green (limiting myself to only one green character!!! i love green!!!!) or something.. i don’t know this is all subject to change and very difficult for black and white truthers

i also oscillate.. i would say i lean towards a happy ending to quell the psychological damage chess has given me but also i can support a suffering forever ending.. good thing it’s a time loop so we never have to decide <3

#epistulae #chessposting

[theart2rock]

King & Motorbreath

KING (Queen Tribute) Imagine a meeting between Freddie Mercury and Metallica… Imagine Another one bites the dust or Fat Bottom Girls played at the speed of fury… Imagine John Deacon playing with the bass sound of Iron Maiden… Imagine more distortion effect on Brian May’s guitar and his brown curls headbanging … Imagine Roger Taylor playing on a double bass drum… What you get is KING ! KING is a band of professional musicians who are all huge fans of the most iconic rock n’ roll band of the 70s and 80s, namely QUEEN. But they have chosen to not just play their songs, but to adapt them into what they might have sounded like 15 years later. A recipe for success. The energy of the band is so communicative that the audience naturally move their heads to the music and sing along. KING is the best band to light the audience on fire. Be they young or old fans of the original songs, everyone will love what they will hear, even the most demanding music lovers. Motorbreath (Metallica Tribute) Motorbreath wurde im Sommer 2005 gegründet. Die schweizweit einzige Metallica-Coverband hält in punkto Qualität locker europaweiten Massstäben stand. Von Motorbreath darf eine powergeladene Live-Performance erwartet werden, die seinesgleichen sucht! Die eher unkonventionelle Bühnenaufstellung (Leadsänger am Schlagzeug) wird bei manch einem für Erstaunen sorgen. Es werden Metallica-Songs der ersten 5 (!) Alben mit einer Wucht dahergedonnert, die sich vor dem Original nicht zu verstecken brauchen. Diese Show darf sich kein Metal- und Metallicafan entgehen lassen…! Quelle: Met-Bar   Lesen Sie den ganzen Artikel

[joa-quin-phoe-nix-fan]

The Television Show-Freddie Quell FF

The Television Show

Freddie and Y/N hurried home, not wanting to stay outside after the chilling tale they had just saw on the television with their friends that night. It was based on the book of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Y/N had read it before but had never had it read aloud to her, let alone demonstrated and it shook her to her very core. Freddie on the other hand, had not read it before and despite the irony of his personality and the possible comparison of how quickly he could change said personality, to the idea of a man that is literally separated between good and evil, it scared him terribly. Neither of them, however wanted to admit to the other that they were petrified.

They advanced through the night, keeping close to one another, shivering, both trying to convince the other that the reason that they wanted to keep close was because it was just simply too cold to be alone and not because they were scared. Relaxing only a bit when they were near a lamp-post, but still fearfully hurrying along. They knew they were supposed to be too wise to admit it but they both feared that the brutish Mr. Hyde might be chasing them down. Trying to kill them. Every sound that echoed through the empty streets made them jump. A trash bin being closed, shouting from far away, the clinking of glasses from bars, all these sounds felt 5 times louder and much more frightening to them. Like rabbits being hunted by predators, they hopped from one road to another, never taking the direct way home, in fear of being followed and then hunted in their one sanctuary.

When they finally got home, both of them practically melted into the sofa. Thankful that they had gotten home safe and that they hadn’t been killed by Mr. Hyde. After a brief moment of relief, they decided to make a quick dinner and retire to bed early.

They both made their way to the kitchen, deliberating on what they should make that would be simple and quick. They decided on a small salad (despite Freddie's bellyaching and grumbling) mashed potatoes and sausages. When the dinner was just about done, Freddie thought he heard a noise outside the house. Although realistically it could’ve been a neighbourhood cat or maybe even a bird outside, the high-strung Freddie was certain it was the bloodthirsty Mr. Hyde, after him and his girl. He grabbed one of the kitchen knives, with Y/N not noticing and lunged for the back door, opening it hurriedly and yelling out “We know you’re out there! Get outta here!” Y/N obviously heard this and ran to the back door to grab him and pull him inside.

“You’re going to wake the neighbours! Get inside now scaredy-cat!” That got him, he turned around, facing Y/N and yelling,

“I ain’t a scaredy-cat, you’re the scaredy-cat! The way you were holding me and shuddering on the way home!” Y/N scoffed, “You were doing the exact same thing, hypocrite! Now pull yourself together, dinner’s ready!”

The spirit of the room was very cold at dinner, both Y/N and Freddie keeping to themselves, barely talking. After a certain amount of time, Freddie started talking,

“It doesn’t matter if you’re scared, baby. It quite a...thrilling...story...” Y/N shot him a glance from across the table that was a mix of indignation and fearful agreement.

“Yes...it sure was something, huh? Imagine if that was real, though...that would certainly be terrifying.” They looked into each others eyes trying to silently convince the other to tell them that it was all fake and that they had nothing to worry about, but neither of them could say that. “

Well...I can’t be sure...but the television showed us a real man. So maybe he is...” Freddie didn’t want to finish that sentence. The thought of that possibility chilled him to his very core.

“Well, I did read the book...who’s to say that it isn’t biographical? It all sounded so scientific and real.” Y/N was thinking hard, trying to find an excuse, trying to find a part of the story that she could pick apart and say that it was fake. After a couple minutes she realized that she couldn’t. She couldn’t find a way to comfort Freddie or herself.

After dinner, they decided against doing the dishes that night, and went straight to bed. The darkness that night was engulfing so they also decided to leave a small lamp on in the hallway and excused it by saying that they might need it to go to the toilet or to get some water, despite having lived in the same house for almost 5 years and never having this problem before. They got dressed quickly and crawled into bed, not wanting to look scared but just wanting to be safe. For the first 5 minutes, they stayed on opposite sides of the bed, shaking from fear and not daring close their eyes for more than a minute. Slowly, Y/N started to shift and squirm closer to Freddie, seeking his warmth and comfort. When Freddie felt Y/N’s warm back meet his, a warm feeling of relief washed over him, but he didn’t want to seem to eager. “You alright Y/N?” he mumbled, pretending that he had actually been asleep this whole time. Y/N breathed in slowly, as if she had just woken up and didn’t know that she had moved,

“hmm?” she asked “whadidya say honey?”

“Oh yeah, I just wondered if you were okay, since you kinda moved onto my side.” Y/N felt around, putting on the act that she had no idea what had happened,

“Hmm...seems that I have moved, sorry honey I’ll move back-”

“Please don’t.” whispered Freddie. Y/N was taken completely by surprise, she had never heard him talk like this since the war. He sounded genuinely terrified and almost like a small child, very quiet and with a quivering tone. Y/N turned to face him, she hadn’t noticed that Freddie had turned to face her. She held Freddie's hand gently and crawled back to the middle, pulling him there too. Once they reached the middle, Y/N let go of Freddie’s hands and held him close, hugging his middle like a child that just found their parents after being lost for days. Freddie did the same, his long arms wrapping themselves around Y/N, giving both of them comfort and safety together. They stayed like this the entire night, no longer feeling scared but feeling love and care from one another, and from then on, even though they had gotten over their fear of Mr. Hyde and learned that television is not reality, they slept like this every night, especially if one or the other had a bad day.

#freddie quell #freddie quell imagine #freddie quell x reader #joaquin phoenix imagine #joaquin phoenix #abbe de coulmier x reader

[terry-perry]

SO I am proving my lack of self-control here 😂 but I was thinking about Freddie Quell today and I got to thinking what it'd be like if he ever found a girl to settle down with and had a family with her 🤔 So, could I pls ask for something where him and his girl are celebrating their kid's first birthday, maybe? It's an interesting concept but I don't blame you if you can't make it fit bc he's even less of a type to settle down than Charlie 😂 But ugh, we know how sweet Charlie is with Bonnie 😭

Sorry you had to wait for me to get this out and that it’s kinda short. Not used to writing for Freddie. Especiall Dad!Freddie. 

Hope you still like it!

You stepped out of the kitchen after putting the cake in the oven to check on your two boys. Your face lit up when watching the way Freddie lifted George over his head, making the little boy giggle. Then bringing him back down onto his lap to play with him some more. 

“Happy Birthday, tough guy,” Freddie said to George, kissing the top of his almost bald head and getting your smile to stretch out.

It would just be the three of you celebrating today. Almost all of his family was gone, and you hadn’t heard from yours for quite some time after they kicked you out. Neither of you cared, though, and had more than enough love to give to your child.

“While the cake is being made, why don’t we open up some of Georgie’s presents?” You suggested.

Freddie had done all of the birthday shopping after managing to put George down a little early than normal for a nap. Giving him the chance to slip out and come back with his arms loaded with gifts. Making you just as curious as your baby about what these colorfully wrapped items might be.

“Sounds like a plan,” your partner agreed, transferring George over to you to get up. “But let me get my camera first!”

 After he did that, he took several pictures to commemorate the day. Some with George sitting on his own on the floor surrounded by his many presents, then with you by his side before having him on your lap as he took more photos of the two of you opening each of them. Wanting to capture each sweet reaction. 

#Joaquin Phoenix #imagine #freddie quell #x reader #drabble #oneshot #request #The Master #2012 #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #father's day

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

please imagine keyleth needed surgery or something, minor but still scary, and the entire time Vax is just sitting there all dissociated cause he genuinely Cannot lose her. Vex is talking trying to keep him occupied, but he doesn't answer at all, Percy sitting next to him just as out of it cause of obvious reasons. He holds her as close as he can as soon as he can.

No matter how many times Keyleth tells him it's a minor surgery, he still doesn't believe it. She's getting surgery on her heart how the fuck can that be minor? But Keyleth just shakes her head and reminds him that she's had so many heart surgeries in her life, this is the one with the least risk involved.

She tries to tell him that he doesn't need to be at the hospital, that Percy can drive her there, but Vax puts a stop to that right quick. He's going to be there. He almost regrets that decision when he sees Keyleth lying in the hospital bed before surgery, wearing a starchy gown, looking far too pale in the florescent lights.

She smiles at him and squeezes his hand, "I'm going to be fine, Vax."

"I know," he rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. "But you know me, Keek. It's all worst case scenarios up here right now," he taps his temple. Her can't stop himself from leaning down and pulling her into a tight hug, one hand on the back of her head. He squeezes his eyes shut, memorizing this feeling just in case.

When he pulls back he kisses her softly, "Freddy and I will be waiting, okay?"

"Okay." She squeezes his hand again. "Don't let him drink the hospital coffee, it's disgusting."

Vax laughs, "Will do." When the nurse comes in, he leans down and kisses her head, "I'll see you in a little bit. I love you, Kiki."

"I love you too." She smiles at him. He hates to pull his hand away, but the nurse is ushering him out with a understanding smile.

When he gets to the waiting room, he sees that Percy is hunched over on himself, jogging his leg anxiously. Vax plops down into the chair next to him, "They're taking her back now. The nurse said they'll be done in two to three hours."

Percy nods, "Vex will be here any minute, she stopped to get us something to eat."

Vax says nothing as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. When Vex arrives, she takes one look at the two of them and sighs, "You two are going to worry yourselves sick. Keyleth will be fine."

When neither Percy nor Vax reply, Vex gives them both a stern look, "If you won't talk to me, I'm going to call Grog to make both of you go home."

"I'm staying," Vax and Percy say at the same time.

"Oh boy," Vex sits down next to Percy. "This is going to be a fun few hours." She takes her boyfriend's hand. "Don't get too in your head, either of you."

Vex keeps talking to them, but Vax doesn't hear it. The hours pass in a blur of anxiety. Vax eats the sandwich Vex pressing into his hand, taking sips of water. But none of it seems real until a doctor walks out and calls Keyleth's name.

Him and Percy are both on their feet in an instant, but the smile on the doctor's face manages to quell the growing anxiety. "You guys family?"

"Yes," Percy tells him.

"She did beautifully," the doctor says. "Everything looks good, we took care of what we needed to and she's in recovery now. You'll be able to see her in just a bit."

"Thank you, doctor." Vax says with a smile.

A while later, the three of them are taken to Keyleth's room where she's just waking up from the anesthesia. She blinks and then smiles up at them. She's wearing a nasal cannula and is hooked to a heart monitor, the beeping filling the room.

"Hey, Kiki," Vax says softly as he sinks down into the chair beside her bed, Percy standing on her other side. "How do you feel?"

"Floaty," she hums, closing her eyes. "I want to go back to sleep."

He chuckles, "Then go back to sleep, we'll still be here when you wake you."

She smiles almost drunkenly, "Yay..." And her eyes fall closed again, but Vax's chest loosens for the first time since she told him she was having another surgery.

#my fic #critical role #vox machina #vaxleth #modern au

[highdwightofmylife]

Oh, um, hi! I saw the Quentin imagine you posted and I loved it so much! There aren't many of us Quentin fans out here, so any Quentin fans I can find I follow! If you don't have too many requests backed up, can I request the Demogorgon saving Quentin from freddy? And happy sleepy cuddles after? I think that demo wouldn't be so bad if someone was nice to it, and Quentin is the nicest boi. I need to feed my ANOES and Stranger things obsessions, and this basically kills 2 birds with one stone. Thanks so much for your time, have a great day!

Hello I love you quentin is my COMFORT CHARACTER I just look at him and feel a pang in my chest bc I can :))) relate to a lot of his tendencies :)))

Anyway my love I only write x reader stuff but I love quentin and never get to write for demopuppy either so I'm gonna do it, just gonna... slip a reader in there too a little bit

Quentin, Y/N, and their Weird Violent Demogorgan Pet

Honestly, Quentin has seen some weird shit. When he came to the fog and saw this fucking giant naked molerat ass looking creature? Barely surprised. Demo was just another killer that he had to contend with.

Killers can actually interact with survivors outside of trials. Can't harm them physically, but harassment? Sure. Freddy takes every chance he can get to fuck with Quentin. Won't let him have two minutes peace. Fortunely for Quentin, Demogorgan thinks Freddy looks like quite the meal. So imagine Demo diving on Freddy out of no where and Quentin's just lying on the floor like what the fuck

And when Freddy has disappeared, yknow, like he does, Demo and Quentin are left just. Looking at each other. And outside of trials, the Entity tends to quell the bloodlust and primitive emotions of her beasts to prevent unwanted casualties. So Demogorgan just vibes. Feral, wild. But not starving and not particularly wanting to unalive Quentin. Think of him like a black bear. Just roams the woods and does bear things but doesn't really pose that much of a threat to the survivors.

Quentin shakily thanks it. It just tilts it head. Start of a strange frienship.

Enter you.

You find Quentin sat alone in the woods. You think he's just vibing on his own, so you ask if you can join him. He happily let's you.

Maybe you're dating, maybe you're not, who knows. Up to you. But either way he likes you a lot and he forgets, for a moment, that you're probably going to be running away in a few moments. He just gets distracted because you're hear and he's happy to see you.

And then there's a loud roar and it all happens so fast. Next thing you know you're being pinned down by a hellbeast and Quentin is shrieking. You think this is the end for you, and are about to say your goodbyes to sweet sweet life, but...

"No! Down! Down, dog! Uh--- Woof! Fuck. Can you even understand- Puppy! Down!"

And Quentin manages to pull him away and you're sat there, dazed, staring at Quentin scratching the Demogorgan's stomach like an overgrown retriever.

Your first meeting with Demopuppy was traumatic, but could have went worse.

Fast forward.

Now, Demo has accepted you more as a friend. It's still very more attached to Quentin, but he will chill out by you and let you scratch him.

Demo likes the warmth that Quentin radiates, so often falls asleep on him. And then Quentin falls asleep holding onto this big ass monster.

Demo has fallen asleep in your lap too though! And whenever Quentin sees this he always gets this adorable little smile on his face.

You and Quentin can be snuggling and you just hear Demo making noise and he buries his face in your neck and sleepily tells you, "it's your turn to play with the dog".

You guys just gave a dog now that's it.

Every time Demogorgan kills Quentin or you in a trial, you both always get a little on edge around him when you're back outside. But... Demo doesn't realise this. He sees you both and immediately bounds over, and he gets sad when he doesn't understand why you're hesitant to pet him.

You have to stop him from eating bad things. He's like a shark. This thing will consume anything it can fit in its mouth. You find a numberplate from a truck in Gas Haven wedged in his mouth.

Imagine the horrifying feeling of watching Quentin, who's ENTIRE arm is in Demogorgan's mouth. You're worried he's gonna lose the arm but Quentin is just like "YOU GIVE THAT BACK THATS MINE YOU CANT EAT THAT" as if he's hasn't got his arm inside a demons throat

Look he's chaotic dog and you have to deal with it. Yall adopted the thing, this is on you.

Also if you kiss Quentin, Demogorgan usually starts trying to bite your foot. It could be in defence of his favourite human but it could also be because in his mind he's copying you who knows

#dbd headcanons #quentin smith #dbd demogorgon #demo is a pUPPY

[freddiefiction]

Jimercury Advent Calendar (Day 10)

Glad Tidings We Bring 🥣

Freddie had really gone all out for Christmas this year.

He had always been rather prone to over decorating the house during the holiday season; so much so that Garden Lodge often looked like Santa Claus himself had thrown up over it by the time he was finished. But this year, he had truly outdone himself. 

You could barely see the walls for all the wreathes and tinsel and paper snowflakes hung about from room to room. The tree in the lounge was so large, it touched the ceiling, laden down with various baubles, candy canes, clip-on ornaments and even little chocolates from the Quality Street tin Phoebe had bought for their party guests. The presents were all carefully wrapped and prepared, sitting in neat individual piles so there could be no awkward mishaps (like last year, when Graham Hamilton had received the Cartier rose gold bracelet intended for Mary, and she in turn got a pair of sterling silver cufflinks.)

Everything was in place for what was to be a Christmas like no other.

Then, on the morning of the 25th, Freddie woke up and found he couldn’t stop shivering.

An emergency visit from Doctor Atkinson – who was remarkably forbearing despite being called out on Christmas Day – confirmed their worst fears. Freddie had the flu and a bad case of it at that. Despite his insistence that he was fine, they all knew that any sort of social gathering was now completely out of the question; with a heavy heart, Freddie agreed to cancel the party and spend the day in bed as the doctor had ordered. The look of complete and utter devastation on his face almost broke Jim’s heart.

‘How is he?’ The Irishman asked softly, carefully stirring the large pot of soup he had prepared on the stove as Phoebe walked through the kitchen door with an empty glass.

‘Fast asleep.’ Phoebe replied, going to the sink to re-fill the glass with water. ‘Poor thing. He was so looking forward to seeing everyone today. I can’t imagine how gutted he must feel.’

Jim sighed and put a lid on the pot to let it simmer, wiping his hands on a tea towel. ‘We can’t let him spend his Christmas cooped up in bed all day. Surely there’s something we can do?’

‘Gordon says he needs to keep warm and get plenty of rest if he wants to be better by New Year. I hate this as much as you do, but the doctor knows what he’s talking about.’

Jim knew he was right, but that didn’t quell his frustration. He simply couldn’t allow his husband to miss out on the Christmas he had been so looking forward to. His stubborn brain simply wouldn’t allow it.

Joe popped his head round the doorway, looking haggard and carrying a large cardboard box. ‘That’s the last of the guest list. Everyone sends their love to Freddie, and Mary said she’ll pop by in the evening with the homemade mince pies she made. Peter will probably drop in too.’

‘Freddie will love that.’ Replied Jim, relieved. ‘Soup’s almost ready. Let him sleep another hour but we’ve got to get some food in him.’

‘Good luck with that.’ Joe chuckled and he shifted the box in his arms. ‘I’m going to stuff these leftover decorations in the attic before I get started on dinner. No point letting all that good food go to waste.’

Having a full Christmas dinner with all the trimmings while Freddie was stuck with soup felt like betrayal in Jim’s eyes. But Joe was right, there was no point letting it go to waste; in fact, Freddie had insisted the three of them make the most of the day despite his ailment, which was typical of him. Always putting others before himself.

He glanced at the box in Joe’s hands, overflowing with tinsel and baubles and many other brightly coloured absurdities Freddie liked to hang about the house. A thought suddenly sprang into his mind.

‘Hold off on dinner a while, Joe. I think I have an idea.’

--

As soon as Freddie opened his eyes, he let out a violent shiver.

He sighed and buried his face into his pillow, willing himself to fall back asleep again so he didn’t have to focus on the constant aching in his muscles or the dull throb in his head. If God or any deity existed, they definitely hated his guts; weeks and weeks of planning and preparing had all been for nothing, and now he’d be spending Christmas Day stuck in bed with the worse case of flu he’d ever had. He could do without the presents, and the music, and the food; but the loneliness was unbearable. The others were keeping their distance, lest they end up in the same predicament. He couldn’t even enjoy a cuddle with his husband.

He quickly blinked back tears before they could spill over. Merry fucking Christmas, indeed.

There was a soft knock at the door, and he was tempted to tell whoever it was to go away and let him die in peace. But then he heard Jim’s voice and immediately shot up, despite the agony this caused his bones. It was only then that he noticed the room.

Everything, from the dresser to the foot of the bed, had been decked in tinsel and garland. Several ornaments – including the little Nativity scene Freddie had fallen in love with during a trip to Selfridges – had been assembled on various surfaces, so everywhere he looked there was a snowman or a rosy-cheeked elf waving cheerily at him. Someone had even gone to the trouble of bringing up the miniature Christmas tree that was usually reserved for the conservatory; it sat comfortably in the corner, a pile of presents tucked safely underneath.

Freddie was so distracted trying to figure out when and how this had all been put together, he almost didn’t hear the door knock a second time. ‘Come in, dear!’

There was a loud rattling of cutlery, as Jim came through carrying a small tray and the familiar scent of red pepper immediately hit Freddie’s stuffy nose.

‘Soup’s up, my love.’ The Irishman said gently, setting the tray down on the nightstand before leaning down to kiss Freddie’s temple. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Like complete and utter shit, darling.’ Freddie replied with a grin. ‘What on earth have you done to our bedroom? It looks like Santa’s Grotto in here!’

‘We thought you could use some cheering up. You were down for the count, so Joe and I got the decorations sorted out and Phoebe brought the tree up. I never realised what a heavy sleeper you could be.’

‘Feeling like death will do that to you, I suppose.’ Freddie said as he leaned back against the headboard. Despite how ill he was, seeing all the effort his family had gone to made him feel significantly less awful than he had felt that morning. He reached over and grabbed his husband’s hand, kissing the back of it. ‘Thank you for this, Jim. Even if this isn’t how I planned for the day to go, I couldn’t have asked for a better alternative.’

‘You know I’d give you the world if it was possible, pet.’ Jim squeezed Freddie’s hand back. ‘I can’t take all the credit though. This wouldn’t have been possible without Joe and Phoebe’s help.’

‘You better believe it!’ Joe chimed as he came through the door, Phoebe following closely behind. ‘If it wasn’t for me being so naturally light-footed, we’d never have got those damn decorations up without waking you.’

‘We’re blessed to have you, Liza.’ Jim reached over and lifted the steaming bowl off the nightstand, blowing on it carefully. ‘Mary and Peter are coming over later, so you’re going to need all the energy you can get. If you’re good and finish all your soup, we might let you open a present.’

Freddie rolled his eyes but obediently ate a spoonful regardless, the warm liquid somewhat soothing his sore throat. It might not have been a very traditional Christmas dinner, but he couldn’t complain. He ate another spoonful and leaned his head against Jim’s shoulder, safe in knowing that he didn’t really mind the idea of being trapped in bed for the entire holiday season, so long as the people he loved most were right by his side.

#jimercury #jimcury #jimercury fanfiction #jimercury advent calendar 2021 #my writing #she's a killer queue

[elysiashelby]

In Another World - T.Shelby Imagine Ch. 15

Paring: (Eventual) Thomas Shelby x Aliena Welsh (OC)

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Word Count: 8,982

WARNINGS: Fluff, Cursing

Summary: Aliena is doing better. She’s found some happiness again. But now she has a new worry, is she going on her first date with Thomas Shelby? 

MASTERLIST  CHAPTER 14  CHAPTER 16

A/N: This chapter is a fluff! Nothing but fluff! You guys deserve it ‘cause... It will only last for so long. Also, please check out this post-- it will clear up a lot of things and I’d love it if you guys could respond.

“Hello, my love!” I shrieked as I ran to Karl. I picked him up from his cradle into me arms. He was gumming his hand. I made all sorts of noises at the sight. It is purely because I found babies so adorable! I bounced him in me arms as I walked over to Ada, who was busy fixing herself up.

“Thank you so much for doing this, Ali!” Ada shouted. She was prettying herself up in the mirror. 

I shook me head as I pinched Karl’s chubby cheek. He grumbled ‘n swatted me hand away. I laughed as I replied. “It’s no problem really! I mean I am the Shelby Family’s maid, after all.”

Ada turned ‘round to me with a pout on herself. “I’m a Thorne now, Ali. I’m not a Shelby.”

I scoffed. “So, your brothers are not your brothers anymore. You’re a Thorne, afterall.”

“What?” Ada exclaimed as she was applying eyeshadow. “No, that’s not what I meant.” 

I turned Karl over in me arms as I sat down. Had him sitting on me knee, facin’  his mum. As I began to bounce him, I quipped. “Well that’s how it came out.” I sighed, defeatedly. “No, no. I get it. You’re a Thorne now. But remember Ada in the world that the rest of your family lives in, you’ll always be the sister to the big bad Thomas Shelby of the Peaky Blinders. Not to mention that you’ll be listed as a communist ‘cause of Freddie.”

“I’m not a communist by association, Ali. I’m an actual member now.”

I averted me gaze and gave a secret tight lipped smile. Karl lifted one of me fingers into his mouth and I gasped. “Ada, Karl has a little tooth growin’!” 

Ada scoffed as she turned ‘round while fluffing up her hair. “You don’t have to tell me that! I feel it every time I feed him.” I think she rubbed her breast, subconsciously.

We both let out a small laugh. 

She sighed before walking closer to us ‘n took Karl into her arms.

I wiped me finger on me skirt then dusted off me hands. “You still breastfeeding Ada?” I asked as I reached over to pull down Karl’s shirt that had ridden up.

She nodded. Ada was patting his back. “Yeah. I’m planning on breastfeeding him until he’s one. But, don’t worry like I told you when I telephoned ya— Freddie and I bought formula for days like this.” Ada handed Karl back to me and then walked off.

I rose to me feet and followed her into the kitchen. I’m guessing she wanted to show me where she kept the formula at. I held Karl’s arm me hand, and I waved it up and down. 

Ada reached into a cabinet and showed me the formula. She showed me how to make the bottle. 

I actually knew to make a bottle of formula because I helped me sister make bottles for her daughter, but I wasn’t confident abar it now. Different times, different amounts. 

After she made the bottle, she handed it over to me. “He’s probably getting hungry by now.”

I took it then we walked back into the living room. We sat down. I positioned Karl’s head to be in the crook of me left arm while his body laid across me lap then I put the bottom in his mouth. 

Ada reached over to Karl and smoothed out his clothes. She sighed. “He’ll drink that then fall asleep. When he wakes up, wait a little while ‘cause if you change him when he wakes up— it’ll all be for nothing.”

I glanced over at her ‘n nodded. “Okay.”

We fell into this comfortable silence as we stared at Karl. That ‘til I heard Ada suck in a breath. Me head snapped in her direction. She was red in the face. 

“Ada,” I asked. “What is it?”

She fanned her eyes before waving me off. “It’s nothing. I just hate it when I leave him.”

I gave her a small smile. I knew what she meant. He’s been her solace in crazy times, I’m sure. But, I laughed— hoping to quell some of her worries. “Haven’t you left him with babysitters before. Geez, Ada! I swear he won’t die on me watch!”

She laughed a little then finally scooted back into her seat. We fell into another comfortable silence. The clock and Karl’s gulping were the only sounds audible in the room. He eventually let go of the bottle and I brought him to me shoulder. I made sure to suppress the urge to bounce him as I patted his back.

“When is Freddie coming?” I asked Ada.

She hurriedly rose from her seat and walked closer to the clock. While playing with her necklace, she replied. “Any second now.”

Any second was actually twenty minutes later. Freddie ran in, grabbed Ada, and they both ran out of here like a bat out of hell. I scoffed to meself as I repositioned Karl in me arms. I was cradling him in me arms. I got up and walked over to the rocking chair Ada had in the living room. 

I just sat there with him as he was napping away. Staring at his face. It’s been such a long time since I held a baby in me arms. I couldn’t help but trace his features. But, he didn’t like that and started squirming ‘round. I stifled a laugh and muttered an apology. I dropped me hand and used it to support his bum. I patted his bum as I began to rock us. 

I debated humming a song, but I couldn’t decide which one. Plus, I didn’t want to wake him up. I decided to just look around the flat. It was little. Adequate enough for a little family with a newborn, in me own opinion. However, I could only stare at the room  for so long.

When I was sure Karl was deeply sound asleep, I rose to me feet slowly and walked to his cradle at the same pace. I held me breath, and when I was abar to set him down— I couldn’t help looking over his face. 

I felt like a mother who had lost her child…

I shook me head and laid Karl down. I wiped me hands on me skirt, then walked ‘round the flat. It had little life. Barely any photos on the walls, the colour of the walls were this muted grey, and there were hardly any furniture or utensils. It was like they were prepared to run at the first sign of trouble. But, it was theirs. 

I sighed while walking into the kitchen. I leaned against the counter, me palms were digging into it. Then, I folded me arms and was just with me thoughts. I was thinking abar Cillian Murphy’s filmography. All the movies he was in. 

It felt weird now ‘cause of Tommy. But, the two movies that stood out to me the most were The Edge of Love and Sunburn. The Edge of Love gave me an, probably, unrealistic idea of how Tommy was before the war. 

I smiled at the idea. I, subconsciously, raised two fingers to me lips. I looked down in shock before me hand slapped over me mouth. I stifled a chuckle which came out as a snort. 

I fluttered me fingers to rid meself of the absence of a ciggie. Then, I lifted meself onto the counter.

Sunburn was a movie I was fond of. A very young Cillian Murphy is all I need for me justification. His character was not very honorable, but when are men ever. When are people ever! 

The movie was flashing through me head, but it felt wrong. It felt dirty, in a way. Made me chuckle, not gonna lie. I didn’t even catch meself when I began comparing Cillian’s characters to Tommy himself. 

I bit me lip and hopped off the counter. I clapped me hands together softly before rubbing them together. “Let’s clean, shall we?” I whispered.

Ada didn’t ask me to clean, but I’d figured that I’d just clean up whatever I found. I wasn’t going to go into any rooms. Since that was an invasion of privacy. But, did everythin’ else. I dusted off the walk-in carpet, then swept up the ‘ole house. When I was done with that— I wiped down the tables in the living room ‘n kitchen. 

I raised a hand to me temple as I used the other to support me weight, all while leaning on the table I finished wiping. I looked over at Karl’s cradle and stood still. It’s not like I could hear his breathing, but he wasn’t fussing either. 

I tsked, dropped the towel on the table, ‘n then walked over to the fireplace. Ada and Freddie had a collection of books on the overmantle. I looked over the titles and chose the one I was most familiar with. Tess of the D'Urbervilles, it was. I had the biggest crush on Gemma Arterton and Eddie Redmayne, ‘n I watched a TV show they starred in that adapted the book. 

After watching it, I read the book soon after. So, this wouldn’t be me first time crackin’ this story open. 

“When was the last time you read a story, Aliena?” I asked meself as I brought the cross pendant to me lips and ran across me bottom one. It was the one Tina got me all that time ago. I opened the book and began readin’ aloud while slowly pacing.

‘Cause I only remember growin’ up in America, I spent most of me life with an American accent. I adapted the accent when I moved to me second middle school. I just tried it for shits and giggles, but found that me existence there was so much easier when I did so. I didn’t ‘ave to deal with people asking me to repeat meself every time I held a conversation. 

It didn’t help that me ma’ was the scouser while me pa was from Boston. The only reason I didn’t develop a Boston was due to me ma taking care of me for the majority of me early childhood. Me pa was working morning till night. 

I didn’t feel like a true scouser nor a true American. But, I can affiliate more with my upbringing in California. It’s what I can remember. 

Anyway, the point I was getting to was that— I do different accents. American, me own, Irish, Russian, and Scottish. I never said they were any good, but I did them. And I did them when I talked too much for a long time, or when I was reading.

I was in the middle of a line when I heard a little whimper. Me eyes darted to the page number I was on ‘n I hoped I could remember it. I threw it on the couch and shuffled hurriedly to him.

Tears were welling up in his eyes. I cooed and took him into me arms. “It’s alright, Ka-.” I cut meself off as I felt wetness on me midsection. I sighed and looked ‘round for extra diapers and towels. When I couldn’t find any, I whimpered and just had to take the bullet. 

I held him closer to me and practically ran to the bathroom. I shifted ‘round in there and found some. They weren’t really diapers, not in me own opinion. I set the clean nappy on the sink before getting the rag, throwing it in there, and letting the water get warm as I ran it.

I sighed while looking down at Karl. “Your mummy is a proper divvy, Karl. Forgot to leave your nappies with me.” I huffed while pinchin’ his cheek softly. “Let’s get ya changed, love.” I stroked his cheek as tears fell down. I felt the water and I deemed it warm enough. I turned off the faucet and wrung some of the water out before I held it in one hand while the other grabbed the diaper.

 “Okay, love. Let’s get you cleaned up now.” I was looking down at Karl the whole time as I walked back into the living room. 

Me gaze, finally, shifted up ‘n standin’ there was Tommy. A frightened yelp escaped me and I clutched Karl tighter.

“For-! For goodness sake, Tommy!” I shouted. I huffed before I continued me hurried shuffle over to the couch. I laid Karl down ‘n began changin’ him. 

“So, this is where you were. Had to find out from Polly. I need to talk to you.” Tommy said while looking over his ciggie. Titling it in his hand.

I scoffed. “You’d know where I am, if you’d let yourself have the time for a chat once in a while. Do you remember the last time you rested, Tom?” I blew a strand of me hair out of me face as I gave him a teasing glance. I bundled up Karl’s soiled nappy and held it up for him to take. “Go on before you ask me this favor, do one for me.”

With his hands in his pockets and leaning back, he scoffed at me. Tommy rolled his eyes before taking it out of me hand ‘n walkin’ away to throw it in the bin. Hurriedly, I took off me jumper when I was done dressing Karl then I took him into me arms. I was bouncing him in me arms by the time Tom walked back in. 

He cleared his throat, tsked, and then pointed at me. "I wanted to know if you’re feeling better.” Tom sniffed, flicked under his nose, and then looked up at me.

Disbelief was no doubt written all of it. I scoffed as I bounced Karl in me arms.

“Tommy Shelby, you-!” I scoffed again before it turned into a cackle. “You did not come here to ask me that! Why’re you blaggin’ for?” I continued to cackle long enough ‘til me knees grew weak ‘n I started folding in on meself.

Tommy’s tongue prodded the inside of his cheek as he tried to fight off a grin. He sighed loudly before walking toward me and the baby. “Fine. Ada expressed her worries to Polly the other day about you taking care of Karl, and I offered to come ‘n help.” He held his arms out and waved me to give Karl over.

I looked at ‘em up and down. “You? You are gonna help me take care of a baby?” 

Tommy gave me a look before wedging a hand between me chest to grab Karl. “I have taken care of one before.”

I threw me head back in a giggle. “Who?” I shouted. “John?”

He nodded. “And Ada. And Finn. And fucking Arthur, too.” Tommy turned Karl ‘round in his arms, so that Karl was snug against his chest. Then, he lifted the boy in the air.

“Oi! No swearing ‘round Karl. Ada will have us both for it.” I dusted me hands off before I wiped them on me skirt, and then I sat down. Tommy was still playing with Karl, throwing him up in the air. 

When I felt Karl’s head was too close to the ceiling, I whimpered. “Oh, do be careful!” He snickered. I couldn’t deny that Karl’s giggling was like music to me ears. It truly warmed me heart.

Tommy caught Karl one more time before he crashed on the couch and let Karl sit in lap. Karl began tugging on the lapels of Tommy’s coat. I watched them ‘til it was painfully that I was being stared at too. 

I met Tommy’s gaze and we held it. We held it for a while ‘til I couldn’t take it anymore. With me face heating up— no doubt, giving away me feelings, I jutted me head out with widened eyes before I started giggling. I rose to me feet and walked over to Ada’s phonograph. 

I picked a random record and put it on. “I can’t stand silence.” I said while not looking back just yet. I turned ‘round with me hands locked at the fingertips. “Are ya hungry? I can make you something.”

Tommy’s eyes flickered to me, but he looked back at Karl. “Have you eaten yet, Ali?”

I rolled me eyes while me hands dropped to me waist. I could lie and say no, but if I forced meself to eat— it could end badly for me. But, perhaps while I’m cooking I’ll get hungry again.

“No, I haven’t. So, I’ll check what they have.” I said while walking off. I looked through the cabinets and found some canned food. I could replace it another time. 

I was sitting down in a chair while I watched over the pots. I was waiting for the bubblin’ or whistling. I heard footsteps behind me and there was Tommy with Karl.

He handed him over to me which I happily obliged to. “Hello, little one. Your uncle finally decided to hand you over.” Karl just began to babble in reply. 

I looked over at Tommy, who had just finished settling himself in the chair opposite of me, and asked. “So, how is that tattoo of yours healing?” 

He finished lighting up his ciggie and said. “Nicely. I reckon that it’ll be fully healed within the week.” 

I hummed while bringing my attention back to Karl. Tommy got a tattoo some weeks ago. It was a rose intertwined with a horseshoe on his left bicep. I had a hold on Karl’s hand and I was making him punch the air between us. I made fighting sound effects as I did so. I leaned forward and made him punch me cheek softly. I threw meself back at the contact which made him laugh.

“How evil!” I exclaimed. “Why are you laughing abar that? Huh!” I hugged him as I pretended to eat his neck. His giggles never stopped as he flailed abar. I sighed and hoisted him on me hip as I got up. I walked over to Tommy, took his ciggie from his mouth, and handed him Karl. “Hold him, yeah?”

I put the ciggie in me mouth and took a puff. I used a spoon to check if the soup was burning at the bottom ‘n all that. As I turned off the stove, I took another pull. I walked over to the cabinet that had the plates and bowls in it ‘n took two out. I poured in the soup then walked carefully back to the table. 

I sidestepped, wiped me hands of me skirt, took the ciggie from me mouth ‘n placed it back in his before I took Karl into me arms. I walked back to me seat and settled down. I looked up Tommy who had just finished taking a drag.

“Should I be worried that you don’t cough anymore, Ali?” Tommy quipped.

I shrugged. “No?”

He scoffed as a small smirk graced his face. Tommy leaned forward, stubbed out his ciggie, and gripped the spoon. “Ya know, if I knew you were going to cave this early about my smoking and drinking— I would have saved meself the stress.”

I gasped, exaggeratedly horrified. “Do you know how hard I did try! You just go on and smoke the moment you’re not in me sights. Pssh. Don’t even get me started on your terrible drinking habits. You drink alcohol like it’s water! If I’m not the one giving you water, you won’t drink it!” I shocked me head and grumbled under me breath.

Tom snickered. “Watch what you say, Ali. What if Karl learns it?” He threw me a teasing glance before looking back down at his soup. 

I tsked. “I didn’t even curse, so shut your piehole!” I groaned loudly. “You’re so lucky that there’s nothing here I can throw at ya. And that you’re so far away!”

Tommy’s lips smacked before he asked. “So, you’d hit me with Karl in your arms? Show him your violent ways?”

Me eyes practically came out me head. I snorted. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you! But, yes. Yes, I would.” 

I focused back on Karl. I let him teethe on me finger for a while ‘n I was just watchin’ him. I was just reminiscing that fact that me baby niece used to do that same when she was younger. I mean, of course she did, she was a baby herself!

I shifted me eyes back at Tommy’s and he did the same. A snicker escaped the both of us.

Tommy and I ended up taking care of Karl for abar three more hours. It definitely was a sight. I mean I knew he cherished family a lot, but I never thought of him as a “family man.” I just didn’t think he’d help me out with Karl as much as he did.

I mean wasn’t it more of a big deal in the 50s and 60s? Abar the whole absence of the father in the family dynamic. The father figure just being the either overbearing brute or the couchpotato? I don’t know. All I can say is that we both tuckered out Karl. Once he was asleep— Tommy and I caught up a little more. Just talked abar the simple stuff.

Right now, I was busy adding up some numbers in the shop while Polly was talkin’ to me. 

“I’m just saying! When are you gonna be bringing home a lad?” She was smiling down at me while nursing a ciggie.

I rolled me eyes as I smiled too. I scoffed. “Polly, I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s not for me own lack of trying!”

Polly shoved me shoulder while she whispered. “It’s ‘cause you still fancy Tommy.”

Me head flashed to her direction as I stifled a loud gasp. I swatted her leg as I exclaimed. “Polly!” I resorted to spluttering for words as she cackled. Me hands were covering me forehead. I sighed deeply. “I’m tryin’, Pol. I really am. I’m trying to stop caring for him.”

I dropped me hands and looked up at her. I gave her a solemn smile to which she did the same. Polly tsked before she hopped off me desk ‘n caressed me cheek with her thumb. Polly awed before she cradled me head to her stomach.

She whispered. “You’re too good for him anyway. My sweet little one.”

I didn’t dare stop the smile that took over me face. 

“Aliena!” 

Polly and I detached from each other to see who was calling out to me. 

“Aliena, Tommy sent me to come fetch ya!” Finn shouted with a red face. 

Polly and I both sighed. We gave each other a look. A look that said, “This damn kid. Shoutin’ like we were miles away from ‘em!”

I rose to me feet and before I could start tidying up me station, Polly took me face in her hands. “Go on.” She said. “I’ll take care of this.”

I gave her a quick grin as I reached for me coat.

“God only knows what he wants with you this time!” Polly chimed as she dusted off the shoulders of me coat. Polly stepped over to Finn, licked her thumb, and wiped the dirt off his face. He shirked away while I cackled at his expression.

I sighed as I tugged on me gloves. “C’mon, Finn! Can’t have your brother waitin’ long or he’ll throw a fit.” When I was done, I put me hand on Finn’s shoulder and we began our journey.

When we were some ways away from the shop, I decided to break our little silence. 

“So, Finn,” I began. “are you still studying?”

He began to groan exaggeratedly while he attempted to rest his head on me shoulder. I scoffed.

“All right!” I shouted. “Just remember, Finn. I’m not the one you’re hurtin’.” Under me breath, I muttered. “At least you know how to read and write.” I looked back at him. Finn was already me height. We were standing shoulder to shoulder. “Oh, come ‘ere you!” 

I threw me arms ‘round his shoulders ‘n pretended to put him in a headlock. 

He protested, more like begging me to stop. I didn’t stop teasing ‘em ‘til we got to the office, company headquarters, whatever. Just a few men work here. Men who were intelligent enough to handle the legal stuff and keep their mouths shut.

Finn and I marched right to Tommy’s office. Finn knocked on the door and Tommy shouted for us to come in. 

“I brought her, Tom.” Finn said as he took off his cap. Looking just like the eager little lad he was. 

Tom looked up at us. “Good job, Finn. Now, piss off.” Tommy motioned to the door with his ciggie. “Aliena, come here.”

I turned to Finn and pinched his cheek before walking over to sit in a chair. I settled meself while taking off me gloves. I let out a deep breath before I asked. “So, what am I doing ‘ere, Tom?”

He didn’t answer me yet. He was still working on whatever paperwork that was in front of him. So, I took in his appearance.

Tommy looked tired yet not. Like a boy who was not gonna admit to being tuckered out since he was having so much fun. He wasn’t any thinner or bigger. So, I think that’s a good sign. Tommy had his coat hanging, but his suit jacket is draped ‘round his chair. 

I looked away after a couple of seconds of staring. I resorted to admiring me fingernails and humming a random song. 

When Tommy, finally, cleared his throat— me head snapped back to him. “I had Finn get you ‘cause I wanted to tell you…” Tommy intertwined his fingers as he leaned back into his chair. “That I’m taking a day off tomorrow.”

I blinked.

And then I began to blink rapidly. 

And then me hand slapped over me mouth as I tried to desperately stifle me laughter. 

Very strainiously, I asked. “Why the fuck did you need to tell me abar this?” I giggled loudly. I took a deep, calming breath before I sat up straight ‘n looked Tommy in the eyes. He had such an amused look on his face. “I was fucking working, Tom! What the hell is this about?”

Tom leaned forward, resting his clasped hands on the desk. “It’s simple. I’m taking a day off to rest and I want you to rest with me. Tomorrow’s your day off too, so unless you have plans… You should be available to join me.”

I can’t deny that me eyes widened a little before me face contorted in confusion. “What are you up to Thomas Shelby? Huh? Why aren’t you planning a boy’s getaway or somethin’?” 

Tommy averted his gaze to the left while dropping his jaw a smidgen ‘n widening his eyes. “Because I want to spend the day with you.” 

I glared at him. I trusted this as much… You know what, I don’t have a metaphor for this feeling. It felt like he was asking me out on a date, but he wasn’t asking me out— like directly! Tommy would have explicitly said this was a date, no? I think he just wants to hang out then.

I sighed as I fell back into the chair. I rested me right elbow on the arm of the chair and rubbed me forehead. Me eyes flickered to Tommy’s. “Fine. Yeah, alright.” 

Tommy pursed his lips a little before he nodded. “Good, it’s settled then. Be ready by 10.”

I scoffed, me jaw dropped dramatically. “Is Tommy Shelby plannin’ on sleeping in?”  

He rolled his eyes as he muttered. “Shut up.”

I stuck me tongue out at him and then relaxed again. “So, is there a dress code for this occasion or what?”

Tommy rubbed his fingers together as his gaze dropped to the side. He looked back at me and said. “I could care less. Just don’t come in your work clothes.”

I glared at him again. Me gaze dropped to his little bar cart as I asked. “Do you have a plan as to what tomorrow entails?” I started picking at me skirt. Picking it up and smoothing it out repeatedly.

Tom tutted. “I was thinking we would walk around London. I’ll take you shopping or something like that. Then at 12:30, we are going to eat at a fancy restaurant called The Barge.” He gave me a pointed look as he continued. “Is that alright with you?” 

I gave him a tight-lipped smile as I nodded. I tsked and sighed as I rose from the chair. “Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow. At 10. Not wearing me work apparel.” I turned ‘round and waved him with the back of me hand. “Night, Tommy!”

“Night, Ali.”

I had a smile on me face the whole walk home. I couldn’t help it. It felt like a date. 

It felt like a date. But, it wasn’t. Right?

I ran into the house ‘n immediately darted for the phone. I phoned Cassie. 

“Ali, what’s up?” Cassie asked once the operator put me through.

I stumbled with me words. I didn’t know how to phrase this. The word “date” just kept running through me mind. “I-uh! So, Tommy…”

“Dear God, Ali! Did you both get into another fight? I told you I didn’t want to hear it if this happened again!”

I scoffed and shouted. “No! Cassie, no! We didn’t get into a fight. On the contrary, Tommy has asked me to spend tomorrow with him.” 

Cassie got quiet. “What?” She whispered.

“Yeah.” I said breathily. I brought one of me hands up to me forehead. “He didn’t explicitly ask me out. Like he didn’t say the word date, but it feels like he asked me out on one.” I squealed as quietly as I could into the phone. “Oh, Cassie! What if this is actually it?” 

Cassie sighed, quite defeatedly— might I add. “Aliena, sweetie. Let’s not throw this out of proportion just yet. Did he tell you this was a date?”

I sighed as I turned ‘round and rested against the wall. “No.” I quipped childishly.

“Then, it’d be safer for you to go in this without that kind of mindset.” 

There was a silence between us.

“I don’t want you to get excited then get your feelings hurt, Ali.”

I tsked as I closed me eyes and held me forehead again. I ran that same hand through me hair as I said. “Yeah, your… You’re right.” I shook me head as if I was shaking those thoughts out of me head. “So, ever heard of The Barge?”

Cassie scoffed. “Of course, I have. I go there sometimes for seafood.” 

I hummed. “Okay. Well, what kind of setting is it? Actually, don’t answer that. Lemme guess, aristocratic.”

Cassie laughed, dryly. “That’s a nice way of saying only rich people eat there. But yeah, it is. So, I would suggest wearing something semi formal. You know something that would not-!”

I rolled me eyes. “Yeah, I know what semi formal is, Cass. I wear something that would make Angie suck her teeth, but not tell me to go and change.”

“That sounds good.”

I huffed before saying, “Thank you for helping me. And bring me back down to Earth.”

“Anytime, babes. I hope tomorrow goes well for you.”

I laughed dryly while looking up at the ceiling. “I do too.”

I hung up the phone not too long after ‘n went upstairs to shift through me clothes. I had decided on a black dress with puffed long sleeves, a square neck cut, and a slit on me right thigh. I wore decent sized heels and I was going to keep me hair down. As for makeup, I was going to keep it light.

A nude lip, foundation, winged eyeliner, mascara, and some white in the corners of me eyes. I was debating putting some white on me lids too. I decided against it after I tried the look out. 

The next morning, I woke up ‘round six ‘n made meself breakfast. After that, I took a bath and washed me hair. It was fucking baltic, la’, but I fucking did it! After I was done, I kept me hair wrapped in a towel as I got ready. 

I put on me matching black undergarments. Bra, panties, and I almost put on a garter belt— but then I remembered the slit in the dress. When I had those two on, I lathered me legs and arms in lotion ‘n then focused on drying me hair. I just kept wringing the water out of me ends as much as I could. 

I, then, brush out me hair which caused me to repeat the whole wringing me ends process. After that, I hurried to begin putting on me makeup. It took up more time than I thought it would since I kept fucking up the eyeliner. I’m blaming me nerves. Any other time, I’ve been perfectly steady-handed.

I threw me lipstick down and checked the clock. It was 9:45. I groaned exaggeratedly as I rose to me feet. I quickly put on me dress as carefully as I could manage ‘n then put on me heels. When I was done, I went back to me desk and brush out me hair one more time. I took a deep breath.

“I feel like somethin’s missin’.” I muttered to meself. I snapped me fingers as the idea came to mind. ‘Jewelry!’

I dropped to me knees and pulled out me box of jewelry. I debated between me ma’s set and me papa’s set. I, ultimately, decided on the pearl set. I struggled to put them on as I stumbled to me feet. 

I was putting on me right earring when there was honking outside. Jitters shot through me body. I took a deep breath. I finished fastening the earring in and I smoothed out me dress.

I hurriedly grabbed my clutch and ran down the stairs. I was putting on me coat when Tommy honked for the fifth, sixth, seventh time. I huffed before shouting, “Hold your fucking horses!” I opened the door and flailed me arms out. “Jesus, Tommy!” 

I walked over to the passenger side, his head following me the whole time. I slid into the car with a loud sigh. “Good mornin’, Tommy.”

He didn’t reply. He was still lookin’ at me up and down. I gave him a goofy grin in return. 

Tommy cleared his throat. “Good morning, Aliena.” And with that, he started up the car again ‘n we were out.

I fiddled with me coat as I asked. “So, where are we headed first?”

Tommy scoffed while tilting his head to the side. “ How about you stop worrying about it and you just sit there ‘n look pretty.”

I rolled me eyes and tried to stop the smile that wanted to envelope me face. I cocked me eyebrow as I looked at him. “So! You think I looked pretty.” I teased in a sign-song tone. I threw me head back as I laughed. But, then I quickly sobered up and said. “You can’t take it back!” I looked back down, picking at me coat while humming.

Tommy looked at me, emotionlessly. I gave him a toothy smile in return before me hand smacked over me mouth and I looked away. 

Tommy sighed. “Do you ever not laugh?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know.” I tilted me head in thought. “Huh.”

‘When was the last time I didn’t laugh? Like I used to not laugh this much. Does it have something to do with my mental illnesses?’ I thought.

“Well, come out with it.”

I looked at Tommy and shook me head. “Is nothin’. I’m just a giggly person.” There was a short silence between us before I broke it. “Wait, ‘ang on a mo’! Haven’t we known each other for abar three years now? Why are you complaining abar me giggling now?”

Tommy replied, calmly. “I have aired my grievances before.”

I tsked while crossing me arms. “So, why are you still complaining abar it?” I grumbled.

Tommy looked at me before ruffling me hair. “‘Cause you still give me the same vague answer.”

I gasped horrified and scrambled to fix me hair. 

Eventually after a very animated car drive, we made it into the city. True to his word, we strolled ‘round for some time. It wasn’t ‘til I clocked some very nice looking shoes did we stop and go into the shop.

I tried preventing him from buying me the red heels, but he wasn’t having it. It was confusing the hell out of me, to say the least. And once we went in that store, we were going into every other store. I’d say he bought me like two new dress, four new work blouses, four skirts to match, two new pairs of stockings, and a necklace.

“Tommy! Enough now! What are we going to do with all these bags at the restaurant?”

Tommy gave me the most mocking facial expression as if the answer to me question was so obvious! “Stop fussing, Aliena.” Tom turned ‘round and motioned his arm in a wave, like he was calling someone over. And he actually was. Two men walked up to us with peaked caps.

Immediately, me hip dropped to the side and me arms folded. Tommy handed them all the bags in his hands then took the bags I was holding ‘n gave ‘em to them too.

Tommy cleared his throat curtly ‘n pointed his finger at them as he gave them orders. “Now, boys, take these to the car and drop them off at the betting shop. Tell Polly to put these in Aliena’s room.” He waved his hand, turned toward me, gripped me by me arm, and then we walked. 

“Why were they here, Tom?” I asked, slightly miffed. 

“Well, the more obvious answer is for protection. You know that.” 

I rolled me eyes. “Of course, I know that. You think I don’t know you ‘ave men following me ‘round sometimes when I’m out of the city with me mates. Well, I do. But, what I don’t get— is why they were here if you’re here?” 

Tommy sighed. “I only called them here, so that they would get the bags.”

I squinted me eyes and attempted to playfully put me finger in his face. “That better be the truth. Or I’ll kick ya shin.”

Tommy scoffed while throwing his head back. “Deal.” Tommy pulled out his watched and read the time. With his grip still on me arm, He sighed ‘n said. “Right, come on. Don’t want to be late for our reservation.”

I shook his hand off, to which he gave me a pointed look. “Don’t give me that look. Give me your arm right, will you!” I wrapped me arms ‘round his and we continued walking.

I could tell we were finally at the restaurant ‘cause of the huge ass sign. I let out a sign of relief. “Finally, we can sit down.” I whispered to meself. 

Tommy hummed in response. Not that I was looking for one. 

We walked up to the receptionist. They asked us for a name to which Tommy gave him and we were shown to a booth. A rather secluded booth. Red flags were popping off in me head, but I didn’t want to seem paranoid— so I kept it to meself.

Tommy motioned for me to enter the booth first, so I was going to— but I had to take off me coat first. Tommy helped me as I took it off. He held it for me and kept his hand out for me. I tucked me dress under me bum as I slid into the booth.

Another flag was raised as he chose to sit so very close to me. Hardly had any arm space. So, I slid over a little more. 

The waiter gave us each a menu and said they’ll be back when we’re ready. I looked it over and debated just getting a salad. Ya know for… Appearance sake.

Then, I saw there was a lobster dish and caviar. I was sold. I. Was. Sold. As for drinks, there is no soda! So, I’m going to leave that up to either Tommy, or I’m getting water. Do they serve apple juice here? No.

Because I was making jokes in me head, me hand kept flying to me mouth to both stifle me giggles and hide me smile. Luckily, I wasn’t audibly giggling. Time and place, Aliena!

I looked over to Tommy ‘n asked. “Do you already know what you’re getting?”

Tom sniffed before replying, “Yep, have you figured out what you’re having?” 

I nodded, but then I began to double-check the prices of everything. Getting the lobster dish and the caviar was like getting two main courses, right? It was, actually, pretty expensive. So, maybe— I should just pick one. Unconsciously, I started to nibble on me fingernail. Not trying to bite it off or anything, just biting down on it softly, repeatedly.

Tommy grabbed me hand and took it into his. “What are you fussing about now? Show me what you want.” 

I pointed to the two dishes while being hyper aware of the fact that he was still holding me hand. Oh, was I fucking freakin’ out in the inisde!

“Right then. We’ll order both.” Tommy let go of me hand and settled himself in his seat. While reaching for his ciggie case, he muttered. “Not like I’m paying for it.”

Me eyes practically bulged out of me head ‘n I had to will me hand not to slap over me face. I leaned into him and whispered. “Thomas Shelby, are we doing a runner?”

Tommy smirked as he placed his ciggie in his mouth. “Not exactly.” He lit the bloody thing and closed the lighter with a loud snap.

I furrowed me eyebrows in confusion as I tried to think of another possible reason. While I was thinking the waiter came back.

“Can I take your order?” He asked.

I was abar to say yes when Tommy cut me off. “We’re not ready quite yet. But, we’d like to order some white wine.” 

I rested me left elbow on the table, me thumb ‘n pointer finger were shaped in an L-shape as I used it to support me head. I looked at Tommy with an eyebrow raised. I waited ‘til the waiter left to ask. “And why are we not ordering yet? We were ready.”

“It would be rude to have our food be done first.” He looked at me, deadpan.

It finally clicked. “You doin’ a deal, Tom?” I asked, full with spite.

“A little one, yeah.”

I sucked on me teeth and looked away from him while I cradled me temples with me right hand. I wanted to be more upset, but I wasn’t. This was just typical Thomas Shelby behavior. I dropped me hand after I let out a calming breath. 

“Right.” I said. “So, am I to be eye-candy during this deal or do I have job? Have to seduce him or something like that? Follow him out of this place.”

Tommy shook his head as a little chuckle escaped his mouth. “Nope. You’ll be doing none of that. I’m just killing a bird with a stone.” 

I snorted at the expression. Me hand went to covering me mouth. “That’s not-!”

“I know.” Tommy quickly replied. “I asked you to come out with me today because you mentioned we haven’t talked like we used to, and you’re right. This was the perfect opportunity to do so… While sweetening my deal with Mr. Daniel Taylor.”

I smiled as I shook me head. I locked me fingers, rested both of me elbows on the table, and then rested me chin on me hands. “So, this is what you meant when you said I should sit here and look pretty.” 

A smile tugged at the corner of Tommy’s mouth. “Yes.” 

I watched as Tommy took a drag from his ciggie before I dropped me arms and straightened me back. 

It took Mr. Taylor quite some time before arriving. The wine came before him, for Christ’s sake. 

Tommy placed his hand on me back, signaling for me to stand with him. 

“Mr. Taylor, nice to see you again.” They shook hands then Tommy motioned his hand toward me. “This is Ailena Welsh, my companion this evening.” 

I shook Mr. Taylor’s hand ‘n exchanged greetings. I’m happy to say we ordered not too long after. I did just as Tommy told me too. To sit here and look pretty. I didn’t jump in the conversation nor did I maintain eye contact with the man. It seemed that this was “Danny” from season three. The future leader of the Birmingham City Council. Just like mentioned in the episode, Mr. Taylor had interests in steelworks in Cradley Heath. Tommy offered to help him get his products to carmakers.

That’s the jist of it. After tuning into those parts of the conversation, I focused on the expensive meal in front of me. I absolutely loved the caviar. It suited my tastes perfectly. I had to contain me joy, though. Didn’t want to look comical in front of the client, after all.

“Oh, we’ve been chattin’ up a storm, Mr. Shelby. I don’t want to leave your missus out of the conversation. How is the meal, dear?” Mr. Taylor asked me.

I covered me mouth as I hurried to swallow down the bite of scran I just took. I only spoke once I was sure me mouth was clear. I dropped me hand ‘n said. “Oh, it’s lovely.” I nodded me head for emphasis.

“How is the caviar? Have you had it before today?”

I shook me head. “No, today was my first time tasting it. I thought it was delicious.” 

“Oh, well. I’m glad that it suited your taste.”

I nodded and gave him a polite smile. Tommy reached under the table and squeezed me hand. Almost reassuringly. Luckily, after that little “inclusion,” the conversation ended ‘n it was back to only them. Fine by me, to be honest. 

It seemed that this meeting was coming to an end when a man walked up to Mr. Taylor and whispered something into his ear. Mr. Taylor stood up as did we. “Well, looks like I’m needed elsewhere. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Shelby.” They shook hands ‘n then he took my hand. “And it was nice meeting you, Ms. Welsh.”

I let out a little, “Likewise.” 

Mr. Taylor let after that. Me eyes darted to Tommy and I asked, discreetly. “He’s still paying the bill, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, thank God.” And with that, we sat back down. “That seemed like it went well.” I chimed.

Tom was busy lighting another ciggie. “Yes, it did.” 

Now I was busy debating whether to ask him if he knew there was a loo in this joint, if I should just walk ‘round ‘til I found one, or just hold it.

“If you need to use the restroom, there’s one for ladies ‘round the corner.” Tommy muttered. 

Me head snapped toward him. “Huh?”

He sighed before smiling. “I said if you need to use the lavatory, then there’s one over there.” He pointed to a door, which a woman came out of.

“Oh.” I looked back at ‘em with a pout. “I knew that.” I got up and walked to it. 

 After I handled me business, we left the restaurant ‘n began walking again. On the way, I had to beg Tommy to go through the park. I just admired the scenery, honestly. I’ve been in the park loads of times with the girls. But only the lord knows when I’d get a chance like this again.

I was walking a little bit ahead of Tommy. I was taking big steps while twirling ‘round. “Oh, come on, Tommy! Live a little!” I shouted as I was still twirling.

“I live plenty.” He rebutted.

I rolled me eyes as I said. “Boo!” I put me thumbs down for emphasis, but it ended up making me laugh. I twirled front and started teetering me head from left to right with me hands locked behind me back.

Just as I turned me head ‘round, a gust of wind blew through me hair. A very picturesque moment, if I do say so meself. If only I had a hat.

I hurried to fix me hair which made Tommy laugh. “Oh, do one!” I shouted. I swatted his chest once he walked up to me. Tommy was still laughing as he helped me fix me hair. I stuck me tongue out at him.

“You know. I’d say you are more petulant than Ada and Finn combined.” He quipped as he was still helping me.

Me jaw dropped slightly. “Isn’t that just a sophisticated way of calling me the biggest brat you’ve ever met?”

Tommy snickered with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Can never get one passed you, can I?”

I glared at him. “No. No, you can’t.” I shook me head before I bursted into a fit of giggles. 

After that whole fiasco, I made sure to stop twirling ‘n stuff. I walked side-by-side with him. I had a really strong urge to hold his hand, but I fought it. I’m just used to doin’ that is all. I hold all of the girls’ hands whenever we’re out. Angie tried fighting me off at first, ‘cause— manners. But I broke her down! Tina just went along with it, though. I’m guessing she just wanted to avoid conflict.

We made small talk, but mainly basked in the silence. It was nice. I was focusing on kicking a pebble when I heard Tommy scoff.

“What?” I asked while not looking up.

“What did the pebble ever do to you?” He asked in a teasing manner.

Me head shot up and I stopped kicking the pebble. I shouted in surprise since I walked ahead of the pebble, but sighed in defeat as I decided to just keep walking. 

Tommy shook his head.

I pouted. “You made me lose it.”

“There’s plenty more. Choose another.”

I pouted harder while crossing me arms. “No, that one was mine.”

Tommy sighed while shaking his head. I could see his grin from the corner of me eye which made me smile as well.

The moment we exited the park, Tommy made it clear that we were going home. I shrugged and accepted it. The car ride was, for its majority, silent. I had me eyes closed and I was letting the wind flow through me hair.  

I like it when the wind froze me ears. My comfort action wasn’t sucking me thumb rather I played with me ears. I played with me pa’s ears too. I missed being able to do it from time to time.

When I felt that we were near the house, I sat up straight ‘n opened me eyes. Tommy parked in front ‘n I opened the car door.

“Well, thanks for the day out. And for the fancy meal. And for the new clothes.” I was abar to step out of the car when I remembered a certain promise I made. I pivoted me body ‘round and kicked his shin.

He hissed. “The fuck!”

I cackled as I jumped out of the car. “Said I’d do it, didn’t I?” I skipped over to the pavement and then twirled ‘round to get one last look at him.

He was shaking his head. “Ali!” He called out to me. 

I threw him a mocking look. “What?”

He beckoned me with two fingers ‘n I’d be lying if I said that that didn’t have no effect on me. So, I walked up to his window ‘n repeated meself.

I stared into his eyes as he said. “Your hair looks better when it’s down. I wanted to tell ya that.” I blinked in response. Flabbergasted, I was. “I had a nice time too. Night, Aliena.”

I whispered. “Night, Tommy.” He started up the engine and I instinctively stepped back. I watched as he drove off before a hand came up to me hair ‘n I stroked a strand of it. A smile creeping up on me.

I ran up to me room soon after ‘n threw meself on the bed. Me thoughts were racing a million miles per hour. 

What the hell was today? Why did he decide to spoil me of all people? He could’ve taken out Polly, no? Or, his brothers? But it wasn’t just a free business lunch, he bought me clothes and a necklace. 

Oh my god, the necklace! It was a simple locket necklace, but it was jewelry from him, nevertheless! Whose picture would I put in it? I would have put me parents in it, but…

And I can’t bloody well put Tommy in it! Maybe I should put Polly and Cassie. 

I twirled a strand of me hair ‘round me finger.

Maybe I should start wearing me hair down more often. 

I grabbed me pillow ‘n squealed into it while kicking me legs.

You know, this could be boiled down to an inferiority or superiority complex. I have rich friends who shower me with expensive gifts ‘n maybe this was a show that he could do it too now.

I shrugged me shoulders with an facial expression to match.

Who cares. His attention was practically all on me today ‘n it felt like a date.

Even though, it really wasn’t.

I began squealing in me pillow again!

TAG LIST: @amirahiddleston @nemesis729​ @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @tlfshelby1 @halepea @lilymurphy03 @marsfireeyes @masumiyetimziyanoldu @i-love-superhero​ @thatweirddaydreamer​ @xxbeckybeexx-blog

#in another world #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fluff #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x oc

[darknessisafriend]

hiii could you write a headcannon about freddie quell being jealous/possessive?? thank you

Hey dear !!! sorry for the delay but here it is ^^ I hope you'll enjoy !

From the start it’s quite obvious for you that Freddie is a possessive man. In fact, at your first date you noticed it, this way he had put his hand on your lower back as you headed to the restaurant, the way he looked around, his gaze defying any man to dare looking at you.

Freddie would always refer to you as “my girl”, “my lady”, “my baby” or “my girlfriend” to others, to make sure they heard you belonged to him. It always made you smile and pinch your lips together, you loved people knowing you were his girlfriend and you would often show the same towards him. Freddie, despite his thin shape, attracted women.

Also, Freddie would always make sure to leave visible hickeys and biting marks on your skin, usually your neck, his marks, for all to see. Sometimes you were a bit embarrassed about them because they were so noticeable but then it was part of his personality.

The truth is that he was afraid to lose you to a better lad, richer, more muscly, a better mood or anything else that Freddie didn’t have. Yes, there were perhaps ‘better’ guys out there but Freddie was your best, you had learned to handle his moods and sooth him, enjoying his playfulness and affection.

Unfortunately, that also means that Freddie gets easily jealous, too easily, over friends, strangers, any man. He feels easily threatened and provoked, but that hides a great insecurity of his.

So you let him show his possessiveness. You didn’t mind, except when it was excessive, especially when you were hanging out with male friends, or inviting them home, Freddied tended to be a bit paranoid and get childish, asking questions to your friends, trying to defy them or piss them off.

Freddie has very clear signals when he gets jealous. He would put his arm over your shoulder or around your waist, clenching his jaw, fidgeting his leg and balancing his weight from one leg to the other, his eyes never leaving his ‘enemy’, ready to fight for you.

Since he is quick to anger and easily gets into a fight, you would pay a lot of attention to those warning signs and try to reassure him, leaning against him, squeezing his hand. But sometimes that wouldn’t be enough and what you were doing would be cut short.

Which means that you would scold him, making him understand that he shouldn't and can’t be so jealous of your male friends, that he has nothing to fear and instead he is pushing your friends away and you don’t want that. The argument could get pretty heated since Freddie is hot headed and always very childish but he needed to understand the limits in your relationship to make it healthy for the both of you. Thankfully, with time he would understand and control himself better, even getting along with your friends!

Tag list: @skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @charlie-sisters @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @pinkbay-love @yukis-writing @nina-phoenix

#joaquinphoenix #freddie quell imagine #freddie quell #freddie quell x reader #joaquin phoenix

[five-miles-over]

Joaquin Phoenix Characters as Comfort Foods

(Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or images. This is just a fun listicle, not designed to offend anyone. As always, please feel free to leave comments and/or constructive criticism below. I’m always happy to learn more about various dishes and cuisines. Thank you, and without any further ado, please enjoy!)

Characters in this List: Arthur Fleck, Joker, Theodore Twombly, Jimmy Emmett, Doug Holt, Doc Sportello, Freddie Quell, Johnny Cash, Max California, Merrill Hess, Ray Elwood, Bruno Weiss, Abbé de Coulmier, Joe, Lucius Hunt, and Emperor Commodus.

Also, most of the foods in this listicle are savory, so let me know if you want me to do a listicle with sweet comfort foods too!

 Arthur Fleck from Joker: Fairy Bread

Fairy bread is a treat from Australia, made with white bread, butter (or margarine), and sprinkles (or as they call them in Australia, hundreds and thousands). Just like Arthur, this comfort food is quite simplistic but it’s extremely cherished. Plus, the colorful sprinkles would appeal to the inner child inside of Arthur Fleck.

The Joker from Joker: Prawn Mee

Prawn mee (also called hokkien hae mee) is a spicy street food from Malaysia made with prawns (of course), pork slices, noodles, and water spinach. 

Much like Joker’s antics, this noodle dish is never dull with its spicy and savory flavors. In fact, there are many variations to this dish, with some adding eggs or squid along with different kinds of vegetables.

(Plus, I chose this dish keeping in mind a scene from The Dark Night Rises in which Heath Ledger’s Joker eats a piece of shrimp while crashing a party.)

Theodore Twombly from Her : Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese (aka Cheese Toasties)

I’ve mentioned before how the color red seems to be quite significant to Theodore in this film - he wears it a lot, many of his things are red. So the tomato soup is a good fit.

Also, the warmth of this dish (and the gooey cheese) is a perfect analogy for the way Theodore wears his heart on his sleeve. He can be quite a mushy romantic, and often feels nostalgic for a simpler time of love.

Personally, this dish also brings nostalgia because I used to love it when I was twelve.

Jimmy Emmett from To Die For: Chili Dogs

It’s quite ‘grungy’ in appearance, much like Jimmy Emmett. And the intensity of the bold meat flavors and cheese do quite represent the intense obsession that Jimmy has with Nicole Kidman’s character.

(And I’ve heard it’s a great hangover/munchies food best served with potato chips)

Doug Holt from Inventing the Abbotts: Matzo Ball Soup

Matzo balls are soup dumplings made of unleavened bread flour, that are usually added to chicken or vegetable broth. Just like Doug Holt, they are absolutely wholesome and comforting no matter what.

Doc Sportello from Inherent Vice: Omurice

Omurice is a Japanese dish that combines an omelette and fried rice, which sounds like a nice representation of someone who combines the best of both words, being a private investigator and a hippie.

Also, out of all of Joaquin’s characters, I’m pretty sure Doc would be totally down to try this as an alternate breakfast or snack.

Freddie Quell from The Master: Drunken Noodles (Pad Kee Mao)

One of the running storylines in The Master is Freddie’s interest in alcohol - and getting drunk off of it. He mixes various chemicals and substances to create concoctions (that may not be for everyone) to get a buzz. So it only makes sense that his comfort food comes from the word for ‘drunkard’.

These noodles don’t actually contain any alcohol, but the flavors of black pepper and red chile give it a distinct hotness. (Kind of like how Freddie’s hot-headed nature can be quite dangerous at times.)

Johnny Cash from Walk The Line: Fried Catfish

Fried catfish is quite popular in Kingsland, Alabama - Cash’s hometown - so it would be a nice choice to represent this iconic singer. Also, the movie showed fishing as one of Johnny Cash’s hobbies.

Max California from 8 MM: Poutine

Emerging in the 1950s, poutine is a Canadian dish made with french fries, cheese curds, and brown gravy (usually beef or turkey-flavored). The word ‘poutine’ itself comes from the French word ‘poutine’ (meaning “pudding”) and was used to describe the “sloppy” appearance of this dish.

Much like Max California’s job as a porn vendor, poutine can look quite messy on the outside. However, it has a comforting, warm taste that matches how genuine Max really is on the inside. 

Also, I can imagine Max’s work costing him some long nights that call for fast food (meaning fries!).

Merrill Hess from Signs: Philly Cheesesteak

Philly cheesesteaks are named for the American city Philadelphia, which is quite close to Bucks County, Pennsylvania (the location for many of the scenes filmed  for Signs). 

This greasy sandwich made of steak, onions, peppers, and (lots of!) cheese is an integral part of American cuisine, just like how baseball - Merrill’s passion - is fondly known as “America’s pastime”. 

Also, I can imagine Merrill having quite an appetite, so a cheesesteak would satisfy him.

Ray Elwood from Buffalo Soldiers: Beans on Toast

While being a staple in the United Kingdom, beans on toast would probably suit a soldier like Ray Elwood. Given that the ingredients are nothing more than canned beans and bread, it would be the best choice of comfort food for someone always staying in an army bunker.

(Not to mention, it’s pretty easy to make - he could make this while taking a break from shipping illegal drugs around Berlin)

Bruno Weiss from The Immigrant: Schnitzel with Mushroom Gravy

Bruno Weiss may seem like a hedonist on the outside, being a ruthless pimp and entertainer who will do anything to make a profit. However on the inside, his character craves for warmth and affection. 

Schnitzel is a German comfort food consisting of a piece of meat (or cheese) that is breaded and fried before being coated in a flavorful gravy. Much like Bruno himself, schnitzel has quite a hard, distinctive exteriors and a tender interior.

Abbé de Coulmier from Quills: Ratatouille

(This dish has a fun name, I’m not going to lie) What better choice for a French priest than a summer entrée that originates in Nice, France? Ratatouille is a vegetable stew made with various types of squash, tomatoes, zucchini (or courgette), and eggplant (aka aubergine). 

Much like Abbé, this dish may seem quite simple (based on its ingredients, which are primarily vegetables) but it is quite filling and comforting. This dish is surprisingly warm during cold nights, just like how Abbé’s presence brings warmth to Charenton.

Joe from You Were Never Really Here: Spaghetti Alla Norma

Spaghetti is already a popular comfort food in itself, but Joe’s maturity as a character definitely calls for a slightly elegant version of pasta. Spaghetti alla Norma is made with fried eggplant, cherry tomatoes, and basil to garnish. The eggplant definitely adds a meaty component to this dish, just like Joe’s complicated past makes his storyline in the film quite compelling.

Lucius Hunt from The Village: Minestrone

Minestrone is an Italian vegetarian soup usually consisting of carrots, celery, beans, and pasta in a tomato-based broth. The herbs (thyme, rosemary, oregano) flavoring it definitely offer a rustic type of taste. Not to mention, a warm bowl of this soup does wonders after a long day of walking through the woods.

Emperor Commodus from Gladiator: Chicken Tikka Masala

As always, my favorite is saved for last. *sighs* Honestly, I think the rich, creamy nature of the gravy, along with the blend of spices, makes this perfect for an emperor’s lavish and robust palette. Also, it is by far one of the most popular dishes around the world (especially in the United Kingdom) - just like how Commodus is one of Phoenix’s most iconic roles. 

#joaquin phoenix #arthur fleck #joker #joker 2019 #theodore twombly #her 2013 #doug holt #inventing the abbotts #to die for #jimmy emmett #lucius hunt #the village #walk the line movie #doc sportello #inherent vice #freddie quell #the master #merrill hess #signs movie #you were never really here #abbe de coulmier #quills 2000 #ray elwood #buffalo soldiers #max california #8 mm #bruno weiss #the immigrant #commodus #gladiator

[queen--kenobi]

Kinktober Day #3

Listen, I know this is a day late. Time is an illusion.

Mind control is the prompt with Hannibal!

Given the prompt, this is a dark fic! The reader is in an altered state of consciousness for this, so you know...That being said, no sex occurs in this, but it is implied/going to happen

Trigger warnings: non-con/dub-con, manipulation, gaslighting, drug use

Hannibal hands you the mug, and you accept it gratefully. The warm porcelain feels nice in your cold hands. You take a moment to look at the seemingly innocuous liquid. He’s added sugar and some milk, explaining that the milk will make it less bitter and more palatable. 

“It’s quite alright.” Hannibal’s voice is both matter-of-fact and soothing. It wouldn’t take a trained psychologist to sense your hesitation. “You have my word as both your psychiatrist and friend that I will not allow any harm to come to you in your altered state.”

His words quell some of your fears but not all of them. “I’m... I’m scared of what I might see. What I might experience.” Your voice is soft to your own ears. Hannibal makes a noise of understanding.

“That’s a perfectly natural sentiment. That is also why I am here.” He gently reminds you. “My promise applies to both internal and external harm. I will not allow anyone to hurt you, whether they are physical or merely a product of your mind.” He pauses for a second. “We both know that this will be beneficial for you, allowing you to deal with some of your more difficult issues.”

His words make a lot of sense. With a slow nod, you take a long sip from the mug. It’s not bitter at all, the milk and sugar masking the taste of whatever herbs he added to the tea blend. It actually tastes really good. It doesn’t take too long for you to finish the drink. You can feel Hannibal watching you with approval. You set the cup down gently on a coaster. You don’t want to leave a ring on any of the furniture.

“How long will it take to kick in?” You ask. You feel slightly floaty, but you imagine that’s more of a placebo effect than it working just yet. Hannibal looks at his watch.

“In about 30 minutes, you should begin to feel some of the effects. It will take at least an hour before it truly does anything.” He walks out from behind the kitchen island, motioning for you to follow him. You do so, and he leads you into the living room. It made more sense to do this in his home; his office was far too public, and you hated to think of someone like Freddie Lounds finding out what was happening. She had already attempted to spy on sessions with some of Hannibal’s patients before you. 

“Please. Sit.” Hannibal indicates that he wishes for you to sit on the couch. You do so, and he sits in the arm chair across from you. You wonder if this set-up was intentional or not. He seems to know what you were thinking because he speaks. “This set-up was merely designed to better entertain a group. It forms a more social atmosphere when the space is open and people can see each other better.”

“Ah. That... that actually makes a lot of sense.” You let yourself sink into the couch. It’s soft and comfortable. Not enough that you could fall asleep in it but enough that you feel safe. Normally, you might try and sit ramrod straight, trying to be proper. However, getting comfortable seems more like a good idea, given the circumstances. Hannibal adjusts in his seat. He’s watching you intently, and it’s... unnerving. He always makes sure that whomever he’s talking to has his undivided attention, and you did just take some sort of drug to alter your mental state. He’s probably just trying to gauge how you’re doing. You can’t shake the feeling you see something dark glittering in his eyes.

“Tell me.” He clasps his hands together. “Your reticence to do this seemed a bit strong to be just worried about what might happen to you. I’m curious as to why that is.”

“I don’t like to lose control.” The words slip out of your mouth before you can think about them. “I’m afraid of what might happen.”

“To you?” 

“To me. To other people.” You let out a huff of laughter. “You know why I’m afraid of that.”

Hannibal leans forward ever-so-slightly. “Do you truly think that you might have been the monster in the situation? That you had some hand in what happened?”

“I’ve been called manipulative more than once in my life.” You respond. “I’m not saying I’m a puppet master, but it doesn’t feel like I’m exactly innocent.”

“You are not responsible for that individual’s actions.” His tone indicates there’s no argument. “While you may have had some influence, you are not the one who decided to take those actions. He did.”

“I don’t know if I believe that.” You whisper. “I don’t think I can.”

Hannibal considers you for a long moment. “I understand your desire to not lose control.” He finally speaks. “No one ever wants to do so completely. However, there are many situations that exist outside of an individual, and we cannot control those.”

You relax further into the couch. His voice is soothing, despite the stern edge to it. Your eyes feel as if they want to flutter close. “Logically, I know that. Emotionally, I don’t.” You retort. It feels like a losing battle, keeping your eyes open. You consider shaking yourself, but you figure that this must be part of it.

“Eyes on me.” Hannibal’s tone isn’t one you’ve heard from him before. It makes your eyes snap open, and you right yourself without even thinking about it. You sit up completely straight. Whenever he’s talked to you, there’s a certain undertone to it. A logical and practical undertone that drew you to him in the first place. You didn’t want a psychiatrist who acted like they understood everything from the beginning, you wanted one who took the time to ask questions and bring things forward. This tone was different.

“Yes sir.” The words slip out of your mouth, and you frown. You were never rude and always used your manners, but where did that come from? Your eyes never leave Hannibal’s face. That darkness you saw in the kitchen is there. It doesn’t flit across his face this time but stays.

“You are a particularly hard person to figure out.” He comments, as if he’s talking about the weather or the latest sport’s game. “On the surface, it would appear that your empathy is what got you into trouble. Much like Will Graham. That would explain how you fooled so many people, yourself included.” Hannibal leans forward even more, the leather of his chair creaking as he does so. His expression is incredibly intent. Predatory. “Of course, you could not fool yourself entirely. You were never given the blessing of ignorance like so many others.” He pauses. “Stand up.”

You move without thinking, standing to your full height. You frown. You hope that he’s just testing whether or not the drugs worked, but you also knew that hope was foolish. He was right. You were never given that blessing. You knew what was likely to happen as soon as he suggested this session. Hannibal motions for you to come forward, and you do. You’re not sure how much you try to stop yourself. You know it would be futile to try, but you feel like you should.

“Stop.” His voice is still commanding. You stop just in front of him. He points towards the ground beside him. You kneel down beside him, which makes your frown deepen. Why did you do that? He never said those words specifically, and nothing from his tone indicated that’s what he wanted you to do. Hannibal regards you for a long moment. Something darkly pleased has settled into his expression. 

“I do not believe you came to me to be cured.” He looks at you. “Did you? Do not lie to me.”

You want to tell him that of course you did, you want to get better, you don’t want to live like you are right now. Instead, when you open your mouth, nothing comes out. You try again. It’s like the words can’t form. Tears well up in your eyes when you realize that you won’t be able to speak unless you speak truthfully.

“No.” You whisper. You try to look at the floor, but you can’t. It takes you far longer to realize that’s because of his earlier order than you want to admit. Hannibal smirks. You can almost hear a pleased noise coming from him, like a lion that’s cornered a particularly troublesome hyena. 

“Did you think that you could take advantage of me, as you have others?” 

“I- I don’t know.” Your confession is quiet. “Probably not, but it seemed like it might be fun.”

Hannibal nods in understanding. “The earlier thrill was not enough.” He says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Stand up.” He pats his thigh. Again, your body moves without your consent, and you find yourself balanced on his thigh, both hands wrapped around his neck for stability. 

“You cannot find that thrill from me, but I can help you find it from others.” His voice is full of a dark promise. “Would you like that?”

“Absolutely.” You’re taken aback by how delighted you sound at the idea. Hannibal looks far too pleased.

“You of course understand that you have to be punished. We cannot let you proceed under the illusion that you are the one in control here.” Those words send an unpleasant shock of alarm through your system. The expression on his face can only be described as a smirk. “You knew that this is what would happen.” He chides you. 

“What are you going to do to me?” You hate the tremble in your voice. Hannibal regards you for a long moment.

“Normally, for your transgression, I would have disposed of you.” His tone is matter-of-fact. “However, I have grown a sort of fondness for you.” He pauses. “I determined that a suitable punishment for you would be a lose of control entirely.” Your heart rate picks up to an unpleasant speed, and now, now you can tell you’re trying to fight your body. You don’t want to be here. He chuckles softly. “Relax. I will not have you do anything that you do not wish at all to not do. I am a man of my word.” He points towards the floor between his spread legs, and your body moves of its own accord. You kneel there, eyes still trained on his face. You won’t deny the fact you’ve thought of this before but not under these circumstances.

“As apart of both of my professions, I have learned to read people out of necessity. That includes when attraction is present.” Hannibal explains. “I also believe in doing thorough research. I will not have you do anything that you would find repulsive. I am not that type of monster.” He pauses for a second. “I am merely removing a societal barrier for you.” He looks at you expectantly, and God. You aren’t sure if you’re doing it because of the drugs or because you’ve wanted to for a while now, but you start working on opening his pants. “You have no need to worry. I feel as if I understand what you want very well.”

#Kinktober day 3 #hannibal lecter x reader #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw gaslighting #nsft #I'm putting that tag because you know there's about to be sex even though I didn't write it happening

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 10

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 10 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 9 / Part 11

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

Warnings: swearing

Historical Inaccuracies:

Crystal did not join Queen until November of 1975

There is no attic bedroom at Ridge Farm

Word Count: 6.6k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Before you knew it, it was June, and you were packing your suitcase with the last of the things you were taking home for the summer holidays.

You were absolutely ecstatic to have this year’s exams finished, especially because you’d made very high marks on Carmichael’s final assessment. Brian had done well too, turning around excitedly in his chair when he was handed back his test, waving the paper in your direction with a brilliant smile as he pointed to the percentage marked in red. You’d made a clapping motion in his direction, and he’d mouthed thank you. The gratitude shone in his eyes, and happiness bubbled up inside you at what an improvement you’d helped him to make.

Today, however,  frazzled nerves replaced elation, your insides tumbling and your hands unable to stay steady for very long at a time. Today was the day that you would go with Freddie, Roger, Deacy, and Brian to your home at Ridge Farm. Today was the day that you would join two halves of your life, and having never imagined that they would coincide, you were anxious about how it would go.

The day after the expedition to Zandra Rhodes’ flat, you had called your parents to discuss the notion of Queen coming to stay and to use the studio. Your dad had been thrilled, overjoyed that a real band was coming to use his studio, a studio he’d worked so hard to design and to build and to maintain. Your mum was pleased too— it was a long time since you’d had friends over, and she was happy to finally be meeting the people you now spent the majority of your time with, to put faces to names. Your brother would be home too, but, your mum said, “As he’s not yet got up and it’s two in the afternoon, he gets no say in the matter.” And so it was decided that Queen would be spending the summer of ‘75 at Ridge Farm.

Heather, Veronica, and the often-elsewhere Mary Austin would also be joining the party, and plus two roadies, your number totalled to ten. Roger, as the only one with a car, was taking himself, Heather, Freddie, Mary, and his roadie Chris— though everyone called him Crystal— up to the farm. You, Brian, Deacs, Veronica, and John Harris— another of Queen’s roadies— were to take the train.

It was a quarter past one in the afternoon when you shut your suitcase, tossed on a pair of sunglasses, and bid your other housemates goodbye for the summer. Heather, who was to play the role of navigator for Roger, had gone on ahead to his flat because it would take a little longer to reach Surrey by car than by train. You were headed to the Waterloo Station to meet the others in time for the train’s departure at 13:39 for an estimated arrival at Epsom, Surrey, at 14:23.

When you opened your front door, you were surprised to find none other than Zandra Rhodes with her hand raised to knock.

“Oh, hello!” she said brightly. “I was just coming to find you.”

“Me?” you laughed. “How do you even know where I live?”

She shrugged. “Freddie.”

“Ah.”

“Quite.”

You hesitated. “I’d say come in and have a cup of tea, but I’m actually on my way to the train station,” you winced apologetically.

Zandra waved her hand. “It’s fine. I’m busy myself. And I assume today is the day that the band goes off to the countryside? Freddie mentioned,” she explained.

“Yep, off to write an album!”

“Must be so exciting, all that musician stuff,” Zandra mused, shaking her head. “Anyhow, I’m here to give you this.” She handed you a soft parcel wrapped in plain brown paper and tied up with white string. “Go on, open it. You may want to take it with you.”

You looked at her questioningly before setting down your bag so as to free your hands. You pulled at the string and it fell free of the package, which in turn fell open. Inside lay a swath of sparkly black fabric.

Lifting it up from the wrapping paper, you admired what Zandra had turned into a blouse. With a deep v-neck slit, little buttons down the abdomen, a cinched-tie waist and long, cinched sleeves, the blouse was the picture of elegance. It reminded you of the night sky.

“Zandra, it’s beautiful,” you smiled at her. “Thank you. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” she said. “But, you owe it to yourself to try to impress a certain someone, wearing that top.”

“I haven’t got anyone to—”

“Oh, sure you do!” she exclaimed, such great spirit that it did not cross your mind to contradict her again. “Let me know how it goes when you get back to London, yeah?”

You pressed your lips together. Nothing was going to happen. Nothing ever did.

“Will do,” you said. “And thanks again. Truly, it’s lovely.”

“I know. Have fun!” she waggled her fingers in a wave and looked both ways before striding across the road.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

From Camden you made for Waterloo, and shortly after you arrived, you spotted Brian.

At the familiar sight of gangly limbs paired with a slim figure and a mass of curly hair, standing on the platform with his head bowed over whatever it was he held in his hands, relief spread through you like a warm cup of tea on a cold day. Everything would be okay. This was Deacy and Ronnie and Roadie-John you were bringing to your home. This was Bri— this was your friend you were bringing to your home, not a stranger.

Strangers did not make you feel like this.

Approaching, you found the others close by, chatting and laughing and sharing bags of crisps. Deacy and Ronnie waved at you and John Harris grinned.

Brian looked up when you neared him, and he flashed you a bright little smile, which you couldn’t help but return— his cheeks were rosy and his eyes crinkled, and you would have died for that smile.

Then he raised his Polaroid camera in your direction and clicked the button.

“Brian!” you exclaimed, knowing that there was no way that photo could have turned out well. “Why’d you do that?”

He pulled the photograph from where the camera was spitting it out, shaking it lightly and letting the camera strap hold the camera for him as he shielded his face from the sun with his other hand.

“Candid,” he said happily. “First of many.”

“Not on my watch,” you narrowed your eyes. “Let me see.” You snatched for the photo, but tall and long-limbed as he was, Brian simply extended his arm above his head and held the Polaroid out of your grasp.

His smile was amused when you glared at him for his betrayal, but you weren’t about to give up. You jumped and reached, but he stepped sidelong and shook his head.

“No. You’ll never let me keep it,” he said, sticking out his bottom lip in a rather petulant pout.

At the idea of him keeping a photograph of you— why? did he think of you?— a tingle ran down your sides, but you quelled all straying thoughts when you remembered that you probably looked terrible in said photograph.

“Bri,” you crossed your arms obstinately, “it’s mine. Give it to me, please.”

He continued to pout, but then sighed. “Fine.” he said, lowering his hand and holding the photograph out to you. You took it slowly, cautious not to let your fingers brush his. “But really, don’t throw it away. You look lovely.”

Before you could hide the blush that rose to your cheeks at his remark, he winked, and turning away, he called out for the other three to smile!, taking the picture before anyone could react.

You pushed your sunglasses up onto your head and squinted at the Polaroid picture in the sunshine.

Your gaze had been directed upwards, toward Brian, your chin was lifted in a manner that looked almost proud, or in the very least confident. Your sunglasses had briefly slipped down your nose at the moment the picture had been taken, and so your eyes could be seen, bright and animated in the warm light of the sunny afternoon, and the hair was blown away from your face— sunlight emphasised the dips and planes of your features. You’d worn a sundress because the weather was for once for it, and it had rustled in the wind, sweeping around your legs; you were painted in elegance.

Brian was right.

You looked lovely.

But perhaps the craftsmanship of the photo played a part as well. Despite being a hastily-snapped candid, the photo was framed perfectly, and the light that illuminated your figure was well-contrasted. It was art, in yet another form; Brian seemed inherently capable of creating art in any and every moment. And he certainly knew how to pick his moments. In photography, at least.

“Y/N!” John called to you, and all the others turned to you expectantly. “Train’s here.”

Sure enough, the clock hanging above the platform matched the departure time printed on your ticket. You hurried over with your bags, which was quite a feat, given you had your messenger bag, your guitar in its case— Brian had encouraged you to bring it— and your suitcase. The others were equally badly off— Deacy carrying his bass, Brian with not one but two guitars, Roadie-John with packed-up amplifiers and cords, and everyone carrying suitcases. Deacy in particular looked strained, having insisted upon carrying some of his wife’s things so that her load would be lessened, but subsequently, his own was significantly worsened. You made quite the group.

You caught up with the others and with a few quick hello’s the five of you shuffled alongside the rest of the crowd toward the train carriages.

Brian was at your side and nudged your elbow. “Guitar looks heavy,” he said.

“Mmm…” you murmured. “Some idiot suggested I bring it along.”

He chuckled warmly, and despite the sunny weather, you longed to move closer to his warmth. “I’d offer to carry it for you, but I’m rather decked out myself.”

You sniffed. “I suppose it’s the thought that counts.”

Just then, a man in a time-worn jacket jostled you, and you stumbled.

“Excuse me,” you muttered. But the man continued to try to push past you, past anyone who stood in his way.

You glanced over at Brian to roll your eyes at the man’s behaviour, but Brian’s face had taken on a peculiarly pinched look. He looked angry.

“Oi, mate,” Brian raised his voice slightly. The man didn’t react. “Hey,” Brian said when you got shoved for the third time. He stepped forward. “Hey, watch it!”

The man whirled around with an equally angry expression, but Brian was taller, and he made that fact quite obvious, leaning down and glowering at the other man. Shoulders stiff and eyes dark, though he had no hands free with which to defend himself should the situation take a violent turn, Brian glared with such scorn at the man who’d run into you that anyone would’ve rightly wilted beneath his gaze.

“Bri,” you said, hoisting your guitar onto your back, “let it go.” Brian didn’t move, though the other man bared his teeth. He stared past you like you didn’t exist. Then the rugged man spat on Brian’s clogs, and Brian lurched forward in fury, his bag and cases landing on the ground.

You were quick to step between the two men, placing your palm firmly against Brian’s chest. That caught his attention— his heartbeat quickened beneath your splayed fingers.

“Let it go,” you repeated.

Brian’s eyes flickered, then met yours. You stared down his intensity, unwilling to back down, though your lungs and their rapid intake of breath were inclined to disagree.

His eyes were melted toffee, and beneath them, you could have melted as well. But then Brian inhaled carefully, and with a gentle touch, pried your fingers off of his chest.

He nodded to you in promise to not antagonise the other man any further, then let go of your hand.

You would have intertwined your fingers with his and held them there, if the crowd hadn’t begun moving again.

And if you’d had the courage.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The train sprinted along the tracks from Waterloo to Epsom, and the journey passed quickly. Your arrival in Surrey was perfectly on time, and this day, the weather in your home county was no less pretty than that of London.

From Epsom Station to Ridge Farm was another half-hour or so, but luckily, your dad owned a minibus and was waiting at the station to pick you and the others up.

“Y/N!” your dad called when he saw you.

“Dad!” you rushed forward and dropped your bags, flinging your arms around him. You hadn’t seen him for months, and had spoken to him only every few weeks; you weren’t going to be embarrassed for being happy to see your dad.

“Missed you, love,” he squeezed you tightly.

“Missed you too.”

Then you stepped back so as to introduce the others.

“So we’ve got exactly half of the band here, and the other half I think we’ll intercept on the way home,” you said. “This is John Deacon, bassist and vocalist—”

John laughed. “No no, I can’t sing, Y/N. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Andrews,” he shook hands with your dad. “This is my beautiful wife Veronica,” he beamed upon introducing her. The two of them were so in love, it was ridiculous.

“Hi!” Ronnie said, hardly taking her big eyes off of Deacy.

“Hello there,” your dad greeted them.

“And this is our second John, who crews and just generally is a great help,” you said as Roadie-John strode forward.

“John Harris. But everyone just calls me Roadie-John, to sorta prevent confusion with Deacy over there,” he jabbed his thumb in Deacy’s direction, and your dad laughed amicably.

“So they call you Deacy, then?” he asked John, John Deacon.

“Yeah, or Deacs, or something like that. Seems to have stuck.”

Your dad laughed again, and you smiled, pleased. It seemed he and Deacy would get along well.

Then Brian caught your eye timidly. He looked a bit lost, like meeting new people wasn’t his strong suit. It probably wasn’t— Brian very much conformed to the initially-shy-and-awkward stereotype of an astrophysicist.

“Oh dear, sorry Bri,” you apologised. “Dad, this is Brian.”

“Hello,” Brian said, extending his hand. Your dad shook it.

“So what do you play, Brian…”

“Brian May, Mr. Andrews.”

“Brian May. What do you play then, Brian May?”

“Oh, I play guitar.”

“Any good?” your dad inquired.

“I—”

“Very good,” you interrupted. “He’s actually been helping me to learn to play,” you said, pride in your voice.

“Has he really?” your dad muttered in an odd tone. “My Y/N’s been having quite the trouble learning.”

“Dad…”

“Really? She’s a natural!” Brian smiled disarmingly, but your dad’s expression was set.

“We’ll see,” your dad responded, and you thought he looked rather standoffish. Brian’s shoulders seemed to droop.

You frowned.

“Uh, sha’ we get going, then?” Roadie-John stepped in.

“Yep, yeah, sounds good!” you patted your dad’s shoulder and he made a noise of agreement. He took your bag for you, and took one from Ronnie as well.

“Thank you. Those things are heavy,” she said.

“I’m not actually a rotten husband,” Deacy added, “I’ve just already got my hands full.”

“No one thinks you’re a rotten husband,” Ronnie pulled her arm around Deacy’s waist and leaned her head on his shoulder as you all followed your dad toward parking.

“Well thank goodness for that,” Deacy responded, and Veronica brushed his hair away from his face.

You were so distracted by how Deacy and Ronnie looked at each other, with such unyielding affection and warmth, that you didn’t notice Brian until he was next to you, the sleeve of his cream-coloured jacket brushing your hand.

“Hey,” he murmured, and you slowed your pace, guessing correctly that he wanted to talk apart from the others.

“Hey,” you said back. “What’s up?”

“Um… I don’t… I don’t think…” He stopped, then tried again. “What did I say wrong?” His eyes were soft and pitiful, and he looked so genuinely crushed that you almost threw your arms around him. “To your dad,” he continued. “I think I said something wrong.”

“Brian, what could you possibly have said wrong?”

His curls bobbed as he shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure, but I don’t think your dad’s pleased with me, all the same.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” you said. “He gets like that sometimes, when I introduce my friends. He’s a bit protective of me, I think.”

Brian bit his lip and made no response.

“Cheer up, Bri,” you nudged his side. “You can’t possibly look so sad when you get to spend an entire summer with me.”

“Half. Half a summer,” he corrected you. “D’you think I’ll last that long?”

His grin was brazen and his tongue poked out between his teeth.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re on thin ice, Brian May.”

He only went on smiling.

And you’ll surely melt the rest with that sunny smile of yours.

But no, you had it wrong. He would not melt the ice. He would melt you.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The car ride from the station to your home was mostly uneventful, but as you’d predicted, Deacy and your dad got on like a house on fire. Your dad had studied electrical engineering, which John was studying now, and he played many instruments, including bass guitar. The two were currently occupied discussing electric pianos, and the one that your dad owned, which Deacy now wanted to learn to play.

Veronica and Roadie-John spent the journey playing weird road trip games, half of which you’d never even heard of. You resolved they’d made a few of them up on the spot.

You’d stared out the window, watching the landmarks of your childhood pass you by, pointing out a few of them to Brian who sat beside you. He appeared very interested in it all, to understand where it was you’d grown up, and he asked a multitude of questions concerning your school, an ice cream parlour you’d frequented ever since you were little, and finally, about the lush woods that surrounded the wealth of land that was Ridge Farm. You were happy to answer his questions, and to ask your own of him. He told many stories, and he told them well, upon one occasion eliciting so much laughter from you that your dad raised his eyebrows at you in the rearview mirror.

When the minibus finally rolled up the drive to the main house, your mum stood waving, and your family’s dog, Selkie, bounded back and forth with his tail wagging madly.

Then, Roger’s shiny red Alfa Romeo pulled up beside the minibus, just as you were getting out. Music was blaring, and everyone’s hair was thoroughly windblown.

“Did you even remember sunscreen?” Brian called to the passengers, pulling his guitars from the boot of the minibus.

“Nice to see you too, Bri,” Roger responded, giving Heather a hand out of the car.

“No,” said Mary, trying in vain to comb her hair into some semblance of a ponytail, “we definitely forgot sunscreen.” Gingerly, she touched a finger to the tip of her nose, which was looking rather pink, and winced. “Definitely forgot,” she muttered.

“You’re all pasty-pale,” Freddie laughed, fixing his hair.

“Well,” Crystal returned, “aren’t you lucky, Fred?”

“To be honest,” Heather was swaying slightly on the spot, “I’m not feeling too great. You drive too fast for me, I think, Roger.”

He kissed her cheek. “‘Course I don’t! Have a glass of water and you’ll be perfectly lovely again.”

Heather whacked his arm. “Cheeky.”

Your mum approached the scene, smiling with amusement at the various interactions going on around her.

“Mum!” you said, hugging her tightly. “You’re not at the pub?” Your mum ran the local pub— The Plough— and could thus be found there quite often.

“Hello my darling,” she kissed your cheek. “No, I got your brother to cover for me. It’s good to see you.” She pulled back from the embrace and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “You don’t call nearly often enough.”

“Sorry,” you winced, crouching down to scratch Selkie behind his big, floppy ears as the golden retriever panted happily, having run to you upon seeing you.

“You’re here now, so no need to be sorry!” She smiled her bright smile, the one that never failed to cheer you up, to comfort you, and you knew that she meant what she said. Your mum always meant what she said. It was both a blessing and a curse.

A whirlwind of introductions followed, and apologies too, because your mum worried she’d forget the names of nine new people as quickly as she’d been told them. Of course, no one minded; there would be plenty of time for everyone to get to know each other. Six weeks, to be exact.

Then there was the matter of accommodation. Your parents had yielded the main house to you all, preferring themselves to retreat to the smaller building farther up on the farm. Frank had his granny flat down the path from the main drive, so that left you, the band, their partners, and the roadies divided amongst six bedrooms.

You had your childhood bedroom, Freddie and Mary took a room, Roger and Heather took another, Deacy and Veronica a third. Meanwhile, Brian, Roadie-John, and Crystal drew straws to see who would be sharing and who would get their own room. In the end, Roadie-John and Crystal drew the shorter two straws and ended up in the bunk-beds of the room that your two brothers Frank and Billy had once shared. Brian had looked much relieved by this turn-out, because, as he told you— “My legs wouldn’t have fit on that bed!”

“Well, good you got the room to yourself,” you’d responded. “Though, you could easily have guilted me into giving up my bed to you.”

Brian had laughed, rather nervously. A blush rose to your face when you’d realised how your remark must have sounded. Deacy had then made the incident twenty times worse by turning to you and saying “Y/N, was that an innuendo? I’m proud of you!”

This had resulted in further blushing on your part, and in Brian stuttering out some weak-reasoned excuse about going to unpack.

“What’s his problem?” Crystal had asked, and Freddie had snorted.

“Think for a second, Chris,” Roadie-John had cuffed the back of his mate’s neck.

“Yeah thanks John, that’s going to help me think, you idiot.”

“You don’t need to think, Crystal,” Roger had shaken his head. “It’s pretty bloody obvious.”

“If it’s so bloody obvious, Rog,” you’d interrupted, crossing your arms, “then would you mind pointing it out to me?”

“Oh, darling,” Mary had said to you, almost pityingly, while Roger had laughed.

“No, Y/N, Roger sha’n’t tell you, and nor shall anybody else,” Freddie had put it plainly. “You’ll be blind a while yet.”

And with that cryptic comment, he had wrapped an arm around Mary’s shoulders and dragged the others with him to explore the house and grounds.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

When the sky turned orange and all the land below it golden, your dad had tea ready. He loved to cook and had thus created a masterpiece of salads, grilled vegetables, barbecue, homemade bread, and a variety of dips.

Summer was finally setting in, and so, even in the glow of the six o’clock evening, the sun would not set for at least another three hours.

You and the others had spent the afternoon unpacking, and setting up instruments in the studio. You’d managed to keep everyone’s attention for long enough to show them around said studio, but then Freddie had insisted on more “exploring”, and the others had followed excitedly. You’d offered to give them a tour, but Freddie argued that exploring was more fun, and everyone had agreed wholeheartedly. Except Brian. He’d been lost in his thoughts, sitting in a corner, tuning his guitar as though he intended to begin a songwriting session then and there.

Heather had then tried, and failed, to convince you to join in the exploration. Failed on account that you needed an hour or two to yourself— hanging around nine people, plus your family, was really quite draining. And when you’d looked about the sunlit studio fondly before leaving it for your own room, Brian was nowhere to be found.

When teatime rolled around, you had not seen him for several hours, and he remained elusive even as your mum, your dad, the others, and even your brother Frank who’d slept the day away, gathered in the dining room.

“Oh, this looks delicious,” said Roger enthusiastically, eyeing the food piled up on the table.

Murmurs of agreement echoed all around, but your dad frowned. “Where’s that Brian May got to?”

“Sebastian,” your mum chided. “It’s been less than two minutes since you called us all in. He’s probably just upstairs or something.” Your mum turned to you. “Y/N, would you go look? I’ve just got to let Selkie out.”

“Yep, sure.”

You left the kitchen and bounded up the stairs, smilingly taking two at a time, now that your legs were long enough. You’d always tried to take them two at a time when you’d been little, but you’d never managed more than one set at a time before falling over your own feet.

It was quickly obvious that there was no one upstairs.

Poking your head into the kitchen, you announced, “He’s not upstairs, but I’ll just check outside. You might as well start.” Your dad looked to your mum for approval, and she shrugged.

“Bon appetit, then,” he said.

You slipped on some canvas shoes and jogged down the main path and to the end of the drive, where you stopped.

“Where’ve you gone, Bri?”

Your eyes fell to the green by the path, where tufts of grass had been pressed down in the memory of footprints. Beyond the grass, there was mud, and there too were footprints. And they really were footprints— the person who had made them did not seem to have been wearing any shoes. You set off following the trail.

Down the hill, skirting a meadow, and through the sand by the bank of the river, you stepped with your shoes into the footsteps that had been left.

Finally, you caught sight of the owner of the footprints.

He stood knee-deep in the river, his back to you and his face turned to the canopy of the trees about him.

Birds streaked across the sky above, merely silhouettes against the bright colours of the sky, and the air glittered as ordinary dust turned to stardust in the golden light of the sun.

The river babbled in an almost talkative manner, greeting you— hellohello slosh rush hellohello— and the creatures in the wood had realised your presence, pausing in their activities no matter how careful you made your footing upon the ground. Brian had not realised anything.

A thrush knocked a seedpod against the base of a tree, and other birds twittered merrily in the branches above. The trees whispered their secrets, rustling and passing their leaves along one another’s boughs like notes, and the grass shone in glory green, dotted white flowers conjuring an aura of magic.

You crept along the edge of the clearing by the river, careful not to let Brian notice you. You wanted to notice him first.

His face was expressive— his parted lips, the soft line of his chin in contrast to the sharpness of his wide hazel eyes. His hands hovered by his sides, slim fingers and wrists, the already lightly-tanned skin of his arms showing where he had pushed up his sleeves. His curls were tossed by the breeze and he stared up to the sky with reckless abandon, as though his entire existence hung upon the breath of starlight that would steal across the sky this night and every night after, as though he would give up anything, everything, to be a star as well.

And you understood that he would, because you would too. Without thought, without a single hesitation. Oh, to be a star.

Brian spun around, the water protesting with splashes about his calves, his shoulders tensed and his eyes now wider than ever.

Oh, you’d said that out loud.

“Y/N,” he said, relaxing almost instantly as he recognised you through the rays of sun that streaked across the clearing. “Yes, I’d like to be a star. What a vantage point that would be. I wonder what I might see differently from up there.”

“Everything,” you said. “You’d see everything differently.” You stared up at the sky, the waning crescent of the moon faintly visible in the glow of evening. But Brian was still looking at you; you could feel it. Your skin prickled.

“Would you come with me?” he asked. When you returned your gaze to him, his smile was gentle.

“Oh, but you wouldn’t need me out there, Spaceman. You know it so well.”

“Maybe,” he said, “but it’s lonely out in space.”

You shook your head. “You’d be a star. You wouldn’t think of loneliness. You wouldn’t think at all.”

“Well, while I still have my thoughts, I think that would be preferable to have someone there with me.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. In an instant you realised that you had been wrong; you didn’t want to be a star, you wanted to feel how starlight looked— ethereal and inspiring, yet powerful. And the closest you’d ever been to feeling how starlight looked was when Brian looked at you.

“You’d give it all up?” you said, and still he gazed at you.“Really you would?”

He hesitated, then said, “Some days, yes. Others, no.”

“Today?” you asked.

There was that gentle smile again. “No,” he exhaled softly, as though he had been holding his breath. “Not today.”

You smiled. “Then hurry up and come back inside. Tea’s waiting, and my dad’s an excellent cook. If you want to get on his good side, then compliment his food.”

“Do you think it’s still possible for me to get on his good side?” Brian began to wade back to the riverbank. “He seemed rather to have made up his mind, this afternoon.”

You held out your hand to Brian as he approached, planting your feet firmly in the sand. “Careful. The rocks are slippery,” you told him. “And no, I think there’s still hope. He’s not as bad as he seems.”

“Oh, he’s not bad, it’s just—” Brian had not heeded your warning and pitched forward. You grasped his hand just before he fell, and he smiled at you gratefully. His fingers were warm where they curled around your own. “It’s just me. I don’t think he likes me.”

“Brian,” you guided him around a particularly mossy rock, “why on Earth does this bother you so much? I’ve never heard you talk like this,” you said honestly.

He finally made it to the riverbank, and the sand dusted his toes, his cuffed trousers dripping water, soaked through because he hadn’t folded them up far enough. “Clearly, you haven’t spent enough time with me. Not to worry, though. Soon to be remedied.”

“Brian.”

He huffed. “Because it’s you, Y/N,” he said, and your heart rose to your throat. “I don’t usually care who doesn’t like me, but they’re your family and you’re my friend.”

Your heart sank.

Once, your insides had warmed when he’d called you his friend, but now things were different. You wanted more from him than just that, and you could admit as much to yourself, even if you couldn’t admit it to anybody else.

But his hand still rested in yours.

Take what you can get. It’s all you’ll ever have.

Your hand curled more tightly around his long, dainty fingers.

He glanced at you, and you realised that you had not said anything for a while. You’d been walking through the wood for minutes and you had not spoken a word, only held his hand, as though you had a right to. You didn’t though, did you?

You pulled your hand from his, and it felt like a severance when he let go.

“Shoes,” you murmured.

“Sorry?”

“You’re not wearing any shoes,” you laughed at the silliness of it.

He looked down at his bare feet and laughed too. “No, I’m not.”

“Why on Earth not?”

“Why on Earth should I?”

“Why not on Earth should you not?”

“Why not on Earth should I not not wear shoes?”

You stopped walking. “You’re absurd.”

He grinned. “And you’re an angel.”

“Oh, so I’m that far gone, am I?”

“Not as far as me.”

“It’s lonely out in space,” you repeated his words from earlier.

“You know,” Brian began as the two of you crested the final hill that led up to the house. “Think I’ll stay around.”

The breeze rustled his curls, and his eyes were bright, his profile illuminated by the sun. A small smile rested on the curve of his lips, and you couldn’t believe that he was real.

You were breathless; he took your breath away.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Tea was not the awkward affair you had expected, with your dad and Brian skirting around each other. It was instead talkative and homely, like the nine extra people at your table had always been a part of your family. It was a shame your brother Billy had decided to stay abroad with his mates this summer; he would have loved all this.

The table itself was taking the meal quite well— it held up, despite the great amount of food and plates and cutlery and glasses and bowls and napkins and trays piled atop its oakwood surface.

It was quite an arrangement, thirteen people around the same dining table, and chairs had been fetched from all over the house, from stools to desk chairs. Perhaps the feeling of closeness amongst you all had been achieved through literal closeness, seeing as the dining table was not meant for more than eight people, and certainly not for thirteen. Knees and elbows knocked, and you had the fortune to be seated next to Bri, whose hand or thigh bumped yours quite often as he reached for something or picked up his knife and fork. He apologised frequently, and every time he apologised and you assured him that it was fine, your stares grew longer and his eyes grew softer.

You could have gazed at him forever. And spoken to him forever, too.

The occupants of the table both roared with laughter and listened attentively as stories both utterly silly and quite serious were shared. There were tales from childhood; tales of Queen from before your time, when they were known as Smile; tales you already knew; tales you had experienced as they had happened, including the recent story of how Roger had plotted and executed his master plan of locking you and Brian in the kitchen. You laughed harder than anyone at that story, because in hindsight, it just seemed so silly, so ridiculous, how angry you and Brian had both been, not at each other, but at being locked into the kitchen with one another. Brian had been sure to describe— in detail— the look on your face when you’d realised that Roger, John, and Freddie had left you in the kitchen, to your own devices.

Your face ached from smiling, and your stomach hurt from laughing, and it was the best pain in the entire world. You wanted to feel like this forever, both young and old at once, young in spirit but wisened by nostalgia and an already great wealth of memories.

And with every glance you stole at Brian, to gauge his reaction to a particular story, or indeed, to nothing in particular at all, you were closer to reaching over and taking his hand in yours again, sliding your hand over the smooth skin of his wrist and palm, and along his slim fingers.

But you didn’t do it. His hands were not yours to hold.

When tea was finished, yawns began to make appearances between words, because it was good and well eleven o’clock at night. You all helped to clear the table and stow leftovers into the fridge, the chatter never ceasing as you communed between the dining room and kitchen. Your dad even broke into song at one point— he’d probably had a little too much to drink— and Roger joined in without hesitation, which led to Heather’s participation, and Ronnie’s, and Deacy’s, and yours, until the entire house was filled with the melodic tune of thirteen people singing ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining’. Your dad swung your mum around the kitchen and she laughed as they danced, and you couldn’t remember the last time your parents had been so carefree. Something about the dynamic of the people around you was extraordinary, and irreplaceable.

It was midnight when you had bid your parents, Frank, and the members of your entourage that had the downstairs bedrooms— Freddie and Mary, Roger and Heather, Ronnie and Deacy— a good night.

Upstairs you trudged alongside Roadie-John, Crystal, and Brian, the former two of whom were arguing about who was to sleep in the top bunk, and who was to sleep in the lower bunk.

At the top of the stairs, Crystal and Roadie-John departed to the left.

“Night,” they chorused, and you and Brian responded in kind.

You made for the last set of stairs that led to your attic bedroom, which you’d always favoured because of its view to the open sky, but you stopped on the first step. You had remembered the polaroid Brian had taken of you, and it burned through your pocket.

You turned back.

“Brian—”

“Yes?”

He had turned back too. Eurydice and Orpheus. If they had both been obligated not to turn back. And had turned back all the same.

The words left your lips in a breathless rush, “Your photograph.”

“My photograph?” he wondered aloud.

You descended the step you’d climbed and walked toward him. His eyes trailed you, and your skin felt warm beneath his gaze.

You held the polaroid out to him, and it felt as though you were handing him your soul. “Have it.”

He blinked at you. “But I thought—”

“You thought I hated it? Yeah, I thought so too. But it’s art. Just like everything else you do. And it belongs to you.”

His lips parted and the world was suspended in that moment.

He took the photograph from your hand, but he barely looked at it. He was looking at you— like he was going to do something.

But of course he wouldn’t. You and your overactive imagination.

“Good night, Bri,” you whispered, and swept up the stairs.

There was no reply.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: the sheer amount of love i have received on this fic is just mind-boggling, not to mention incredibly touching. thank you <3

taglist: @melting-obelisks​​ @stardust-killer-queen​​ @hgmercury39​​ @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz​ @perriwiinkle​​ @brianmays-hair​​

Masterpost / Part 9 / Part 11

#tina's writing #starstruck #brian may #brian may x reader #brian may x y/n #brian may x you #queen #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #queen fanfiction #1975 #1970s #fic

[pop-punklouis]

Hi hope! I saw someone mention nocturnal animal as a similar film to dwd and I was wondering if you had any film recs? I’m not too familiar with the genre and I wanna know what kind of film it’s gonna be 😁

hi! yes of course. i’ll rec some films that i feel will be in the arena/vibe of this movie even though we know very little.

• Nocturnal Animals

A successful Los Angeles art-gallery owner's idyllic life is marred by the constant traveling of her handsome second husband. While he is away, she is shaken by the arrival of a manuscript written by her first husband, who she has not seen in years. The manuscript tells the story of a teacher who finds a trip with his family turning into a nightmare. As Susan reads the book, it forces her to examine her past and confront some dark truths.

• Enemy

A mild-mannered college professor (Jake Gyllenhaal) discovers a look-alike actor and delves into the other man's private affairs.

• empathy inc.

A venture capitalist discovers the sinister plans for a new, cutting-edge technology called Xtreme Virtual Reality.

• Swallow (mainly for the suppressed woman character arc with overbearing husband)

A young housewife with a seemingly perfect marriage and life develops a disorder that gives her an irresistible urge to eat inedible objects.

• The Master (for cult-like vibes)

Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) is a troubled, boozy drifter struggling with the trauma of World War II and whatever inner demons ruled his life before that. On a fateful night in 1950, Freddie boards a passing boat and meets Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), the charismatic leader of a religious movement called the Cause. Freddie tries hard to adhere to Dodd's weird teachings and forms a close bond with his mentor, even as other members of Dodd's inner circle see him as a threat.

• Mother!

A young woman spends her days renovating the Victorian mansion that she lives in with her husband in the countryside. When a stranger knocks on the door one night, he becomes an unexpected guest in their home. Later, his wife and two children also arrive to make themselves welcome. Terror soon strikes when the beleaguered wife tries to figure out why her husband is so seemingly friendly and accommodating to everyone but her.

• Infinity Chamber

Locked up in an automated prison, Frank Lerner undergoes an interrogation process that forces him to relive the same day over and over. When a war erupts on the outside, he must find a way to escape from a computer system that won't let him go.

• Mr. Nobody

A boy stands on a station platform as a train is about to leave. Should he go with his mother or stay with his father? Infinite possibilities arise from this decision. As long as he doesn't choose, anything is possible.

• Primer

Four friends/fledgling entrepreneurs, knowing that there's something bigger and more innovative than the different error-checking devices they've built, wrestle over their new invention.

• Us

Accompanied by her husband, son and daughter, Adelaide Wilson returns to the beachfront home where she grew up as a child. Haunted by a traumatic experience from the past, Adelaide grows increasingly concerned that something bad is going to happen. Her worst fears soon become a reality when four masked strangers descend upon the house, forcing the Wilsons into a fight for survival. When the masks come off, the family is horrified to learn that each attacker takes the appearance of one of them.

• The Invitation

the tension is palpable when Will shows up to his ex-wife Eden and new husband, David's dinner party. The pair's tragic past haunts an equally spooky present: Amid Eden's suspicious behavior and her mysterious house guests, Will becomes convinced that his invitation was extended with a hidden agenda. Unfolding over one dark evening in the Hollywood Hills, The Invitation blurs layers of mounting paranoia, mystery, and horror until both Will-and the audience-are unsure what threats are real or imagined.

• Disturbia

When a troubled teenager (Shia LaBeouf) on house arrest becomes transfixed by a neighbor he suspects is a serial killer, he uses his free time at home to obsess over what may be happening across the street. But spying on the neighbors proves to be nothing but trouble.

• Burning

This Korean-language film seems innocent on the front end, but when a writer goes to the airport to pick up his high school friend, everything begins to change when he sees her with another man who has a really strange side project he likes to do: burning greenhouses. The film, which has received critical acclaim, shouldn't be ruined by elaborating any more...

• Cam

Madeline Brewer plays an enterprising camgirl who discovers that she's somehow been replicated in various videos that have been uploaded to her own website in this Internet-inspired horror thriller

• The Perfection

When troubled musical prodigy Charlotte seeks out Elizabeth, the new star pupil of her former school, the encounter sends both musicians down a sinister path with shocking consequences.

#grey #movie rec #obviously all of these arent the same fit but when i read the synopsis and first draft of the film today #all these movies came to mind

[terry-perry]

Hi!! Could I please request a Freddie Quell drabble/one-shot where the reader is Lancaster's daughter and she and Freddie fall in love and she ends up running away with him when he decides to leave? Or they decide to run away together, whichever fits better! This just popped into my head and it won't leave me alone. 😂 Thank you!!! 💖💖💖

“I ain’t never met a man like you,” you murmured, your breath fanning his face as you continued to catch it.

A tiny smile crept up his lips. “You should be counting your blessings then about that. Fellas like me…well, we’re just always asking for trouble.”

You scooted closer to him so that he could wrap an arm around you.

“Is that why you slept with me? To get yourself in trouble?”

You reveled in the way he brushed some of your hair away to the back of your ear, resulting in him cupping the side of your face.

“Nah. I just think you’re really nice. But if we have to keep this secret, that does kinda make things more fun.”

That was the first of many secret encounters the two of you would have with each other. Like a lot of the members of The Cause, you wondered about Freddie Quell since his inclusion of the group. But you seriously doubted that he was a spy or a sex fiend like some of your family thought. You didn’t find him dangerous. He may have had a temper to him that came with his checkered past, but you didn’t believe him to be beyond help.

You found him fascinating, especially as he went through the many tests your father and mother made him take. His responses were different from anyone else’s you had witnessed in the past. The things he felt and saw when going back and forth to the wall and window, his reactions to the mind games he was a part of. He was more human than anyone you knew. Which was why you had to have him for yourself.

“Your dad’s taking me out tomorrow to do something else,” he told you during another night together.

You turned on your side to look at him, feeling his still warm seed on you while pressing your legs together.

“He asked if I ever had any experience riding a motorcycle,”

“He does this with some members,” you explained. “He’s going to take you in the middle of nowhere and tell you to pick a place to drive off to as fast as you can. It’s a way to test your loyalty.”

“Have any of the people that did it ever take off and disappear?”

“Yeah. Dad’s lost a lot of good bikes that way.”

You both shared a laugh at that, but it didn’t stop you from wondering about tomorrow. 

“Are you planning on disappearing?”

He hesitated for a moment, not exactly sure how to answer that. He had been contemplating about leaving The Cause for the past several days. After struggling with the tests and conditioning he was going through, he was starting to wonder if this was really for him. Now an opportunity was planning to come before him. Was he prepared to take it?

If he was being honest, the main reason he had stayed was because of you. 

“Only if you come with me,” he requested.

It was your turn to show some hesitation as your heart stopped and your words caught in your throat. The Cause was all you knew. When this had started, convinced yourself that you were going to still be able to be the same girl you were before he came into your life. But it had become inevitable; you had become his girl through every kiss, embrace and touch that had branded you as such. 

“You really want me to go?”

He nodded. “I’m not ready to let you go just yet. I left behind a special girl once, I don’t want to do that again.”

Instead of thinking of the consequences that could come with leaving everything behind for this man you’ve only known for a short amount of time, a smile formed on your lips and moved them to kiss his forehead.

“I’m not ready to let you go either. Wherever you’re going, I’m going too.” 

#Joaquin Phoenix #freddie quell #x reader #imagine #drabble #the master #2012 #oneshot #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic