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shhh-no-ones-home · 3 years

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through the green glass door (*) loki laufeyson x reader

+++++++++ Guess who watched the first Thor movie 😁😁

(*) - leads to smut but it doesnt go all the way. but like, its super suggestive lol

Song: lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off by panic at the disco

@cynic-spirit +++++++++

"do you have any idea what the consequences will be if i get caught?!"

i exclaimed as quietly as possible, my three friends giggling as they huddled around me.

"y/n, youre the most agile person we know. and we've all been dreaming of the fruit off that tree for ages. please."

Lenore said and i rolled my eyes.

"if i get caught im taking you three down with me."

i said, gripping the tree bark on the outside portion of the wall.

"we believe in you."

she said as i began climbing. i couldnt believe id let them talk me into this. but they were right, we had all been wanting the fruit off this tree for a very long time. it was forbidden to any outside the palace walls. something none of us had ever or would ever have the pleasure of enjoying. until now i suppose.

"im at the top."

i called back down to them still on the ground. they all cheered and clapped, jumping up and down as they giggled. but i wasnt triumphant just yet. i could see the tree, barely touching the branches of the one i was in. just over the garden wall.

"youve got this."

i whispered to myself, stepping as lightly as i possibly could towards the wall. there was a creaking and i paused, taking a deep breath. it was fine. this was fine. so i kept going, jumping onto the top of the garden wall as the edge of the branch snapped. i took a staggered breath, still hidden within lots of leaves. but there, like a light in the distance i could see the golden fruit. i plucked one off the branch, its smell as it got closer becoming sweeter and sweeter.

then i saw another, plucking it too and tossing both to the ground below. there i saw the three of them, rushing over and picking them up. i grabbed another that was close enough to reach and dropped it down, so each of them could have one of their own. they all celebrated with happy noises of content as they devoured them. as i looked back up to grab another fruit i noticed there were none left nearer to me.

"drat."

i complained, seeing one of the golden fruits just past the wall, barely out of reach. i knew i shouldn't be greedy but i went through all this trouble, it would be a shame to not have one for myself. so i stepped further, to the edge of the wall. i found a branch sturdy enough and planted my foot on it. i took one step, then another, and so on until i was nearing the trunk of the tree and the fruit i had seen from the wall.

"finally."

i whispered, plucking it off the branch and sinking my teeth into it. it was just as sweet as it smelled and i was glad i had continued on my journey over the wall. that was at least until i took one wrong step, another branch breaking under me. then it was one branch after another, falling straight on my face in the grass below the tree. i groaned, lifting my head and my eyes going wide. there in front of me was a pair of black leather boots.

"um, i can explain."

i started, looking up and pausing again. there in front of me was the young prince, holding a book in one hand and a pear in the other, looking just as surprised to see me as i was to see him.

"im sure thats one hel of an explanation having dropped from the sky."

he stated and i moved to my knees quickly, bowing in front of him.

"yes, my prince. i am truly sorry."

he laughed and i looked at him confused.

"please, stand."

he said and i did as told, bowing my head.

"i have not seen you before."

"my prince?"

i raised a brow, watching him as he leaned against the tree.

"where do you come from?"

i cleared my throat.

"outside the palace my prince."

he laughed again.

"do you think me an idiot?"

he asked and i stopped breathing.

"of course not, how could you? you are but a peasant."

then i drew my brows.

"now you wait just a minute! i may not be of noble birth but that does not mean you will disrespect me. arrest me, for all i care, but i will not be spoken to like a-"

"relax."

he said and i stopped.

"relax?!"

he shook his head.

"what is your name?"

i opened and closed my mouth a couple times. then i inhaled sharply.

"y/n."

he stood off the tree, tucked the book under his arm, and offered me his hand.

"well y/n, i am of the impression that you are in need of a new dress."

i looked at him funny before looking down at my outfit. i was dirty and my skirt had torn when i fell out of the tree.

"you arent going to arrest me?"

i asked hesitantly and he smiled.

"i am not."

he said and i slowly took his hand.

"my prince i, i dont believe-"

"you dont need to believe, just trust me."

he said and i nodded. i followed him blindly inside, walking openly past the guards up the stairs and down a long glimmering hallway. it didnt necessarily feel right, but something about him made me want to keep walking. to keep following him.

"my prince-"

"call me loki."

he interrupted.

"um, loki, right. uh where are we going?"

he squeezed my hand before pulling me into a room.

"my chambers."

he said and i froze, the door closing behind us. then out of nowhere a woman appeared, bowing her head.

"bring us one of my mothers old dresses. my guest is in need of some new clothes."

he said in a suave tone, the woman walking past me and out the door.

"i dare say, my prince, i am not worthy of wearing the queens garb."

he looked at me and smiled, pulling a chair out from under a small golden table and sitting at it.

"i think she would disagree."

i smiled back in amusement and joined him at the table.

"why are you being so nice to me?"

i asked and watched as he took a drink.

"it has been a long time since someone has been able to get over garden wall and not get caught. i admire that."

i raised a brow.

"so you like that im mischievous?"

i questioned and he smirked.

"exactly."

i made a small noise of disbelief.

"i should have guessed. the midgaurdians call you, what, the god of mischief? it only makes sense you would like someone sneaking into the palace garden."

"my lord."

i heard from the door and both our gaze turned to the girl, holding a blue dress.

"ah yes, a perfect choice."

i watched as he took it from her, shooing her away afterwards. and then he started towards me, making me more curious.

"for the lady."

he said, offering it to me and i smirked at him.

"care to help me put it on?"

i made a face, realizing what i had just asked and almost couldnt believe myself for being so bold. but part of me also didnt regret it. and i couldnt help notice the knowing smile across his face as he led me to his bed. there he laid the dress out and moved to help me.

"a bit intrepid for someone who believed me to want to arrest them."

i looked over his face for a moment.

"theres something about you i cant get off of my mind."

"and that is?"

he asked, stepping behind me and undoing the top op my dress slowly. i just stood and stared ahead as he did so.

"though i know we could both be in large amounts of trouble with the king if he were to find out i am here, i still feel like i can trust you."

i said, looking at him over my shoulder and we both examined each other. his face was soft. softer than before. and the golden light peaking in over the terrace railing made him look more ethereal.

"i can trust you, cant i?"

i asked and his gaze shifted down my face.

"you can trust this."

he said calmly before capturing my lips in his. it was gentle and i could feel my heart knocking a my rib cage to be let out. i was kissing the boy prince. the heir apparent. and gods did it feel great.

"loki."

i whispered when he pulled away, looking between his eyes for any reason not to trust him and coming up with nothing.

"do you still wish for my help?"

he bargained and i nodded.

"i wouldnt want anything else."

it was said in such a hushed tone im sure no one else would have been able to hear it had they been in the room. i stood there as he stripped me slowly. He began with finishing the top of my dress, letting the lacing down and pushing the fabric down off my shoulders. as the dress pooled at my ankles i was left there in my sark, a small shiver traveling up my spine as his fingers traced up my arm.

"may i?"

he asked, placing his other hand firmly at my waist, tugging at the fabric. i swallowed hard, almost feeling like i shouldnt be doing this.

"yes."

i said quiet and bold.

"you are quite the woman."

he noted, pulling the sark up over my head and dropping it to the floor with my dress. i should have felt more exposed standing there naked but my back was still to him.

"Thank you my prince."

I said with some form of sincerity. He kissed my shoulder.

"I told you, call me Loki."

He whispered into my ear, sending goosebumps over my skin.

"Loki."

I half moaned, leaning back into him as his hands found their way to my hips again.

"May I touch you further?"

He questioned and I nodded against him, feeling his hand trail up my torso painfully slow. He kissed across my shoulder, up my neck, and onto my jaw before spinning me around swiftly. I gasped at the sudden movement, looking over his face as he stepped closer to kiss me properly. When he pulled away I noticed his clothes had also vanished, gone in a flash of green.

"May I make love to you?"

He asked, barely gracing my lips with his own.

"Please do."

I whispered against him before kissing him, again and again, until my back hit the soft silk of his bedding.

#wattpad #x reader #Loki Laufeyson #marverl #imagines #one shots #342 #loki #smut?#idk not really but kinda #smut

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robinisaghost · 3 years

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animatic ideas :0 (ramble away, i would love to hear them!!)

mk thank you for enabling me, i will now be yelling

anyway

this is gonna be so obnoxiously long i am so sorry

can you add read more's on asks? eeeekkkk because this got so damn long lmao

mild dsmp spoilers obviously

this is the playlist, by the way

-im sorry boris (wilbur soot)

i think it would work really well with mmm slightly post lmanburg niki. andby slightly i mean. well when she leaves (that is the whole thing of the song gdfjkhgsdf) also side note at like 1 minute 11 on that song theres a discord notification really subtly in the background and it makes me paranoid every time i hear it. anyway god its such a nice song. even for just like. the end of lmanburg. not necesarily paired with a character, just the sense of leaving a place that was so highly populated before it got blown up twice and was like. the main part of the smp. yeah. anyway also the lines "they'll knock down the pubs before helping you...they'll let you jump under trains before helping you" yeah those four lines have big niki vibes but also i think the song could work well with exile tommy or actually even with the finale when tubbo is about to sacrifice himself? mmmmm yeah

-this is home (cavetown)

mmmm got exile tommy vibes innit. a lot of these have exile tommy vibes tbf i just like sad songs and also exile tommy. plus the song has a lot of like. the message is sort of like. changing yourself to appeal to others? like with "ill cut my hair to make you stare" but also the repeated thing of "ill figure out a way to get us out of here" which is clearly the main character of the song trying to help everyone when they are clearly not in a good way themself. yeah thats got big tommy vibes in general tbh but more like. pre finale tommy. i think he got a bit more independant after that.

-soldier poet king (the oh hellos)

ok this is self explanatory and has been done to death already but d a m n its kinda funky. anyway i had thoughts and actually started this but then lost motivation and deleted it all lmaooo. the only proof of its existance is a shitty storyboard in my draw which will hopefully never see the light of day again (unless anyone wants to see it :eyes:) anyway i had the thought of like. sbi? so soldier techno poet wilbur and king tommy. but tbf tommy and techno are kinda interchangeable with that, cos while techno is obviously the better fighter, tommy is used a lot, especially in lmanberg era and also i think he probably will be now that wilburs back

-pyjama pants (cavetown)

ok so i honestly dont remember why this is on the playlist but tbf this could go well with a bunch of characters. thinking like. phil and wilbur? or wil and tommy, or tubbo and ranboo are two that like. i know for a fact that i did not put the song on the playlist specifically for them but god thinking about it now it works so well with them

-boys will be bugs (cavetown)

OH BOY THERES A LOT OF CAVETOWN ON HERE HUH (i feel like that probably says something about me but shhhhhh we dont need to talk about that) ANYWAY

I think this could probably work really well with tommy? because of the whole like. trying really hard to come across as not caring about others, but really being like. very vunerable. but at the same time it could go really well with wilbur for the same reasons. also the song fucks ok cant deny it. to be fair i think it works better with tommy, because he's younger and also he really likes bugs (unless i am mistaken) which is just a cool coincidence but still)

-brother (kodaline)

FUCKKKKKKKKKKK THIS WORKS SO WELL WITH SO MANY CHARACTERS AND IS ALSO ***SO ANGSTY*** WHAT

anyway

i added it because of tommy and tubbo because holy shit, but also it could work very very well with wilbur and tommy, techno and wilbur, probably techno and tommy, and oh my god i just thought of this but this would work so well with phil and techno!!!! but yeah i originally thought tommy and tubbo because i thought it was a funny coincidence with exile tommy waking up underwater, and theres a line that says "if you were drowned at sea, id give you my lungs so you could breathe" and like. just thinking about the compasses especially. me gusta.

-feel better (penelope scott)

fundy. that is all.

no ok this works well with fundy but also probably karl sapnap and quackity, and also very much wilbur, like it works well with both. just mainly fundy idk why its got big fundy vibes tho. very poggers.

-as the world caves in (matt maltese)

ok but like this goes very very well with the explosions of lamberg. either of them. i think probably the first one is better, but i think it goes well with both. probably the first one, because it was way more emotional i think? cos it was the first time that their homes had been destroyed and everything, but also because it was so personal, because wilbur was the one who did it. i think that also it would work well if it was set during the explosion but also focussed on different facets? so like. one bit about wilburs perspective, one bit about tommys, one about phils, one about fundys maybe? idk just a bunch of lmaburg citizens' povs for this. its good. as the world caves in is a song that can be so gender tbh.

-do you hear the people sing? (les mis)

obvious obvious obvious...... but like..... also tbh it goes well with a bunch of things. like, mmmmm wilbur in pogtopia. the butcher army. lmaburg independance war (obviously ghdskj) but yeah. also this song just goes so hard like b r u h

-wolf in sheeps clothing (set it off, william beckett)

SO MANY OF THESE ARE LIKE. PRETTY OBVIOUS IF YOUVE HEARD THE SONG

but yeah. it would go so well with like. well any betrayal basically. so eret, from tommys pov maybe, or about wilbur from nikis pov, or wilbur from anyone pov tbf, or quackity from charlie/purpled/foolish/sams pov, or sam from tommys pov, really it works well with so many people which says a lot about the characters tbh but shhhhhhhhhhhh

-need you here (idkhow)

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

mk mk mk mk FUNDY AND WILBUR THO

like b r u h that works so well with them

also i started this one as well but didnt like it, theres a story board in my draw as well for it because like. oh my god its such a good idea i just am shit at animating and don't have a decent enough program :')

also also

the line "daddy has to go, and that makes me sad, but daddy will always come back, he promised" fuckkkkkk that works so well with like. say for example, idk, when they're celebrating schlatts death and wilbur leaves to press the button? the sheer fucking angst of that is enough to kill any one person istg that is in fact the entire reason why i started the animatic in the first place. just that line. also all the lines sung by the child voice. fuckin angsty as hell. also ust generally a banging song, as is every idkhow song

-green (cavetown)

another cavetown song huh. ok sure.

mk so wilbur and sally and fundy. like. for a start, the imagry of a fish at the start? boom sally.

anyway the lines "you looked so good in green, i hope you're well, and you look so good with him, (schlatt ig?) and I'm proud of you still (wilburrrr and fundyyyy) i miss your perfect teeth, i was too blunt, i hope you feel happy, that's all I want"

FUCKKKK

the whole song is about missing someone you used to love and only hoping the best for them!!!! and wishing that they are happy and safe!!!!!!!!!!! and hoping they still think about you!!!!! but even if they dont its fine because all you want is for them to be happy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

-achilles come down (gang of youths)

OK I THOUGHT IT COULDNT GET ANGSTIER

so like. tw suicide but thats what the entire song is about and bing bang boom i just think it works so so so so so so so well with not only exile tommy (who obviously did try to kill himself) but also wilbur in a slightly more metaphorical way? so like. his self destructive habits leading him to a point where he had no choice other than to kill himself and to take his country down with him. and its all about other characters trying to help them and persuade them not to but also near the end there is a second voice trying to persuade them to go along with it, which im thinking like. if its wilbur, either dream or maybe just himself. his own brain persuading him to continue down the path that would inevitably lead to his and his countries destruction. also it works well with schlatt for the same reasons, except he doesnt want to die. maybe (since the song is so goddamn long) like. one verse for tommy one for wilbur and one for schlatt? dead gang poggg but also like. the verses cover fairly different things which work with one character but not so much the others, for example the first verse would be tommy because its mainly about persuading the person to not kill themself (which tommy did himself but shhh) the second for schlatt because its literally about drinking and smoking away your problems, and the third for wilbur since its more of a fight between the "good" and the "bad" sides, which is obviously what wilbur was experiencing. also obviously i have a soft spot for this song because its string instruments and french, basically my favourite combination ever (also i like his voice idfk lmao)

ANYWAY THATS ALL THE SONGS ON THERE SO FAR

i literally thought of another song while i was in the shower today but i dont remember which it was but a n y w a y the playlist will most definitely be getting longer, especially since there are so many more songs that are good for this but i just havent added them yet lmao. anyway ive been writing this for like an hour gsdfjhgdhfsg but still oh my god this was fun to write

#long post #tw suicide #only a mention at the end but still gotta be safe :)#dsmp #dreamsmp #dsmp animatics #robin talks #ask #thank you so much for the ask tho cos like. i dont wanna be annoying or anything? but also like. i really wanted to talk about this gsdfkjg #god i hope the read more worked or this is gonna be annoying to everyone ever #its fine probably maybe not really

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voidselfshipp · 4 years

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|insert clever title here|

DISCLAIMER

I havent seen TLOK

Theres a bunch of oc shit in there

And some suggestive stuff

《Okay to rb and Gush,please tell me y'alls opinion on this it makes me super happy,ILY》

<|♡♡♡♡♡♡|>

--Are you absolutely sure its the right path?

Jer asked while alleyson observed the map.--Yeah, yeah im sure

Jerico sighs and looks up, since when the earth republic became so big--Romina Will see we are late and shes gonna give us shit about it

The Man rolled his eyes,both Friends Walked to a nearby restaurant to eat lunch.

--Dude!you totally have a crush on her!

Korra said,smiling from ear to ear.

--Dont say that she could hear you!

--Come onnn--korra said--go talk to her! Youve been giving her bedroom eyes since she got into the meeting!

Bolin rolls his eyes-- as if !

Its true,the earth bender had been staring at the terran woman during the meeting they had previously.

_bolin thought that the meeting would be not too interesting, who wakes up so early to talk about politics?_

_but then she came through that door, their eyes met for a brief moment and he felt his heart jump out of his chest_

_nobody told him terran women were so beautiful_

Korra kept giving him shit until alleyson needed to leave, jerico sat on the table,alone, tapping on the wooden surface.

She eyed at the nearby crow who seemed to wink and fly away.

_she still had those words engraved in her brain_

_this trip was making her very homesick_

*jerico was at the flight orders mainquarters to say a final goodbye*

*it was gospel day apparently since owla was singing at the top of her lungs while the Masters,apprentices and Scouts were dancing*

*she got up that stage and owla, singing the same song jer heard since her childhood grabbed her for a dance*

*--Miss froggy May I have a Word?--Jerico chuckles and nodds--you a tough one thats what I heard-- jeri rolls her eyes-- your father was a lovely Man,family through and trough, you your daddies daughter, what he had in him you have in you,you gotta dig a little deeper!*

*jer clutched her necklace with Rays photo in it and smiled*

Why did those lyrics stuck so much in her head.

--U uh hi jer!

She looks up to meet Bolins eyes--oh hey

--mind if I sit?

Jerico shakes her head and the Man sits with her.

--I see you kinda aloof,everything fine?

Jer stops holding the necklace and looks away--yeah Just remebering past thats all

His brows furrowed as he leans into the small table-- its tough , man, I cant imagine how hard has to be missing your parents like that...and being so far away

--Yeah,but us terrans Belive that our family Is always with Us in one way or another--the womans eyes look up to an eagle who was eating stolen food.

_seriously?_

__hey!I was hungry!_

_ray you are unbelivable..._

_when youll kiss him?_

Jers cheeks heat up and sinks into her oversized outfit.

--You okay?

--Uh yeah yeah

Bolin seemed oblivious to all of It --mind if uh...if I scort you to your hotel?

Jers eyes seemed to lit up as she grabs her backpack-- yeah sure!

The Man Is taken back as a baby Pink blush graced his cheeks.

They both walk the busy streets their hands painfully brushing against the other.

Bolin couldnt seem to get his eyes off of her, and hers couldnt stop looking at the city.

--familiar?

--Hmm, terra Is something like this, only taller and made of ivory

--i gotta ask--he said--where in gods name did you guys got all of the ivory needed for all your capital?

--mostly earth benders,a long long time ago,others suggest that they were made off of elementus laughter

--And what do you Belive in ?

--You wouldnt Belive me

Both meet gazes and laugh.

And they go back into silence.

-- s so-so,where did you get that dragonbreath gemstone?

--oh this?--She said holding the ridiculously big gem that was in her choker-- dad gave this to me,I can pop it out of the socket and theres an engravement behind it.

--What does it say?

--"the tears of a dragon are shed when needed,remeber always to look up, because im there even when you cant see me"

-- the first part I dont get it

--its his way of saying"dont cry over the things that you shouldnt be crying about " but more poetic

And then silence Blooms again.

Finally they are at their destination, the classy hotel is there,some people come and go, and finally their hands Grab the other.

--Ill see you in tomorrows meeting I suppose

Bolin said, holding her hand, as they both got closer to the other.

--i guess so yeah...

Their lips meet for a brief moment as they close their eyes.

When parting their lips they let out a sigh kissing again for another Fleeting moment.

--Actually,would you like to stay for dinner?

Jers free hand grab the collar of his shirt.

Bolin blushes madly as his other hand find their way to Jers waist.

--Id love to

And so they dissapear into the hotel.

--They are gonna fuck arent they?

--Yeah,dont get defensive about it Ray

--When a himbo wants to fuck your kid you let me know void

--bugger off

#f/o community #f/o #romantic f/o #f/o x s/i #self shipping #my f/os #self ship #self insert #f/os #f/o tag #f/o fic #selfship #my s/is #s/i #s/i community #s/i x canon #s/i stuff #s/i tag #bolin

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

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sweet chaos {Brian May}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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tobacconist · 4 years

Text

my house got hit with a nasty strike of bad luck last night, all at once, i think around one o clock till about half past; i blame the full moon in scorpio (i believe saturn, venus, and pluto were retrograde at the time too. not sure if they still are)

i didnt feel like writing it at the time because i was too upset

had a really good day before then too. dads been depressed recently and wed sat out in the sunshine n had a smoke n laugh. we played dominoes later on.

ill say it started with my dad gettin absolutely wankered, like really fuckin drunk n stoned, the kind of wankered where you think youre completely fine but you aint and you wont listen to anyone telling you to sit the fuck down or go to bed

anyway, mum went to bed about 11, told us both to get to bed early (because she is the only sensible person in this house) dad said he was going soon after he’d finished his wine (like he does every night) but he filled his glass a few more times and stayed up.

eventually he went to bed, i told him not to keep coming down to pester me and that id go soon after. of course he came down a few times (its like an incredibly unfunny farce every night) to eat crisps and drunkenly ask me why i wasnt in bed ‘give me some fuckin peace and i’ll likely go to bed sooner!’ i said its a farce

i was trying to think about designing an expanded dominoes set which also functions as a jenga set, and perhaps could be used as some kind of analog calculator a bit like an abacus. i was looking up variations on the game of dominoes and thinking about the esoteric significance of the game

of course i couldnt think about it in peace for long, cus dad came down once again to ask me why i wasnt in bed yet ‘because you wont let me have any fucking peace to think!’ i said ‘the sooner you go to bed the sooner i go to bed!’ it really is like this every fuckin night

‘alright, alright, im going to bed. dont be too long’ he said. then i heard the dog coming down the stairs ‘fuck sake! dont wake mum up for fuck sake, she’ll come down and yell at both of us!’ i thought then he said (to the dog) ‘oh, do you need a wee?’ n then i got a real bad feeling that i couldnt really place, like everything was going to suddenly go wrong.

i hide his wineglass because for fuck sake if he comes back downstairs im not gonna get any peace hes bumblin around makin a load of noise, then he shuts the door so i presume the dogs inside.

then he comes to me! asking me where the dog is, i say ‘didnt you just let him out? is he inside?’ he shouts to my poor mother, who is just trying to sleep ‘is the dog up there with you!’ she yells back ‘NO! YOUVE JUST LET HIM OUTSIDE YOU STUPID BASTARD!’ or words to that effect. she’s really angry and im like ‘hhhhhhhhhh fuck sake’

i start panicking, for personal insane paranoid reasons (basically a picture of my dog taken that day had a strange lense flare from the sun that, sorta, yknow in the film the omen where they take a picture but theres a weird streak on it and then later the person gets impaled by a huge steel beam. looked sort of like a downward swung scythe to me. praying its just the light, but yeah i got really paranoid.) so i was suddenly like ‘holy shit holy shit is something going to happen to my dog’, i grab my torch and sprint into the garden with my shoes on the wrong feet. i hear my dog suddenly yelp and im genuinely prepared for the worst.

mum had come downstairs now and was yelling like fuck at my dad, who was barely lucid, like, not even understanding why she was angry, and that jus made her angrier)

thankfully, my dog was okay. hed found a hedgehog in the garden, once again, and was once again trying to beat it up and play with it. i grab his collar and send him back inside. i look at the hedgehog. its all curled up, and i can see that its bleeding. its breathing still though, breathing really heavily. i half cover my torch so as not to frighten it any more and watch it for a bit.

i go back into the kitchen and my mum asks whats wrong, i hesitate for a moment and then tell her dog was being nasty to a hedgehog. i should tell you that hedgehogs are my mums favourite animals, she collects ornaments and paintings of hedgehogs. she really loves them

i dont really know what to do, so i go to the fridge and get an egg and crack it half open, i go back outside and leave it nearby. i notice that mums come outside too, and she asks where it is. i dont want to scare it anymore by getting too close so i just shine the torch on it for a few seconds and point out where its bleeding.

we go back inside, now both feeling really sad. dad is wandering around the house demanding to know where his wine glass is not at all aware of whats happened. mum says shes gonna go for a cig and then try to go back to bed.

i shut the dog in the back room with the curtains closed, i only do that when hes really bad. was too sad even to yell at him. left him in there on his own for atleast an hour an d a half. really disappointed in him. i hope he realises what he did was bad, and i hope he never does it again. hedgehogs are friends.

i went into the living room and sat down and had a drink. dad was still wandering round looking for his wine glass. i say ‘you know the dog just really hurt a hedgehog’ he says ‘dont tell me that right now, i dont want to hear it. where have you put my wine glass!??’ hes just madly looking around calling me a thief, i tell him i havent stolen it, just moved it, but hes drunk too much anyway’ this is another another weekly farce.

he finds it eventually, and sits down. my mum comes in the room now, and i can tell she’d been crying. she says maybe we should put it in a cardboard box or something, i say i dont want to disturb or traumatise it anymore, and it wouldnt want to be in our house anyway. we discuss it for a while, dad keeps making suggestions about what takeaways are open or something because hes half asleep and not actually listening to what were saying.

eventually we decide that i’ll check on it in a few hours to see if its still there or dead or what and if its still alive then i’ll put it in a box and see if we can take it to the vets in the morning (not likely, since theyre only open for emergencies atm)

she goes to bed, dad goes a little while after, still smugly talking about how i should be in bed and mumll be upset if im up to late, cus hes completely out of it

then, just as i put youtube on to distract myself, the internet goes down for like 15 minutes.

i jus sit there refreshing the page. it comes back on after a little while.

i idly browse but cant enjoy anything. i think about writing a tumblr post about it (as i am doing now) but it feels wrong at the time.

i open omegle and tell the first person who’ll listen jus to get it off my chest, theyre very kind, and then we idly chat about some shit. i start to feel better.

then i go have a look in the garden; the hedgehog is gone and the egg is unfinished. i dont know if that means a fox got it, or whether it shuffled away somewhere to die or if it was ok and it wandered off thinking ‘never fucking ever coming to this garden again!’ hopefully the last, but thats still sad. i know hedgehogs are pretty resilient animals. i hope it was okay

i let the dog out of the room about 2 because he started scratching at the door. i didnt say anything i just sent him up to bed. he had an ashamed face. i hope he never does it again.

then i stayed on omegle all night until about 6am. stupid thing to do but i felt better after a while.

i feel the evil energy was gone in the morning. the moon has begun to wane and moved into sagittarius. mum seems alright. dont know if dad remembers anything from late last night. im feelin okay, jus real hungover. drank a lot more than i meant to

dont think im gonna proof read this so it might be a bit rambling. jus wanna get it off my chest

#long #long post #jus a string of bad luck all together

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starkerforlife6969 · 5 years

Text

Starker, Hades Stark

TW uh...it’s a bit dark? Just watch out cuties. Mild Dubcon. Abuse of authority.

“Stark?” Comes a voice.

Tony doesn’t turn around just yet. He lets the voice delight the fire in his bones as it sinks down through his body. Oh how delightful, a voice. For once, no meaningless screaming from the demons, no tortured groans of agony from the dead- no, this is something different. This is- a voice.

He turns, smirk changing in a look of- disbelief.

That’s a mortal.

It’s a- a mortal, in- in Hell, in his country, but- how-

Tony drinks in the sight of him. His eyes flash crimson as he takes him in. “A human,” he breathes, and the boy trembles in the face of his immensity. “Not even a demigod, not even half…” he crosses the stone hall in a flash and the boy lets out a shriek but he doesn’t move. Tony leans down and presses his nose against the boy’s throat, breathing in the scent of his blood. Not even an enchanted mortal. This boy is pure. “Oh,” Tony purrs, tracing a clawed fingernail over the boy’s cheek. “I think you have quite the story to share, don’t you?”

The boy swallows hard, but stands his ground. “If you’ll hear me, Hades.”He offers, sweet as anything.

Tony grins. Sharp. White. Too many teeth. “How many of my names do you know?”

He lifts his chin and looks almost brave when he says: “Enough.”

“Well, you have my attention and my ears,” he sighs, trying not to betray how thrilled he is. It’s not Steve, or Zeus, or whatever he’s going by these days, coming down and lecturing him again. It’s not a goddess from Olympus demanding leniency from the fates, it’s not another boatful of writhing corpses, no this is a human. A very, very pretty human. Tony never gets to see them for very long in this state. Alive. He wants to treasure it. “But here is not the place.”

He transports them, in a whirl of fire and flame, into his palace.

The walls glitter with crystals, the floor is studded with gems, and Tony glides to his throne, and waves a hand, lighting a path of the floor on either side of the mortal with ashy, whisping smoke. “Begin.” He orders.

The trembling mortal nods. “My name is Peter Parker,” he begins, and he has very lovely brown eyes. Tony marvels at them. “My Uncle- my Uncle Ben, he- he-“ his voice shakes and Tony raps his fingernails against the throne’s arms. This is boring. Oh, he’s heard this plea before- Peter seems to notice and tries to hurry through. “He died.” He spits out, “and I- I heard that you- that you sometimes show mercy-“

Tony wants to laugh. “Darling boy,” Tony purrs, “you’ve been cruelly misinformed, I’m afraid.”

Peter barrels on. His skin is milky white, his hair is silken and wavy and Tony could study him for centuries. Have mortals always been so beautiful? He thought that was reserved for gods like him and the other Olympians. “I also heard that you make deals against formidable beings. Was that wrong too?”

Tony eyes him with a grin. “Are you a formidable being, Peter Parker?”

Peter doesn’t smile. “I made it here, didn’t I?” He hisses, and Tony lifts his eyebrows and waves him on. He has to give the human that. “I found the entrance in the mountains- I came down into hell, and I found your river. I tricked the man with the boat with fake gold, I jumped off half way and swam through the Styx, I navigated the realms and I’m here. I found you, with no one’s help. I am formidable.”

This is…true. Tony tips his head consideringly. The boy has made it here. He snaps his fingers, and the smoke disappears. The crystals twinkle iridescently. He likes this boy. He likes the supple, human form. They can be so pretty when they last. “And what would you like to make a deal on? Sweet Uncle Ben, I assume.”

Fierce brown eyes glitter up at him for taking the name in vain, before Peter gets down onto his knees very slowly. Purposely. And Tony leans forward to drink it in. God, he loves it when they beg. Peter must know this. “You made a deal with Orpheus.” Peter whispers, “When he played the harp for you, you let his wife come back from the dead.”

Tony licks his lips in anticipation. That one act of kindness seems to make everyone think he has a soft spot. Oh, they’re wrong. “Don’t you remember what happens next?” He whispers eagerly. Orpheus and his wife are down here too. In agony somewhere. He should pay them a visit.

“You had a condition. You always have a condition.”

“You humans,” he purrs approvingly, leaning back, “you get smarter every time I see you.”

Peter doesn’t blink at the compliment which is graceless. Tony will train that out of him. “I want my Uncle Ben to be allowed back to Earth. Happy, alive, well. Return him unharmed and do not harm him once he’s free. Do you understand that? Can you…” a little more hesitantly, “...can you do that?”

Such things are child’s play. “Without lifting a finger, little one. Be assured. But what do I get for such an act of kindness?”

“It must be lonely,” Peter muses with faux-idleness, looking around the glittering palace. If he’s impressed by the millions of diamonds, he doesn’t show it. He looks clever and calculating. “All alone down here. No one to talk to.”

Tony bites. “You’re offering to stay?” He asks, just a little impressed. It’s not the first time someone has made the trade, but it’s been a long time.

“I am.”

Peter looks assured, like this is a deal he’s sure Tony will take and Tony- well, like he said. It’s not the first time. “This has been fun, little human,” he sighs, whistling, so two of his most deformed monsters, with too many bones at awkward angles appear and grab hold of Peter’s arms. “But I’m afraid I’ll pass. My friends here will see you out. And you’d best not come back if you know what’s good for you. Tell your friends about me.”

Peter yelps, struggling against the hold determinedly, his eyes wide as saucers. “What would you accept?” He screams in desperation.

Tony flies across the room and stops just before his face. Nose to nose, he looks deep into the whirlpool of the boy’s eyes, and sees his own face reflected back at him. “Letting me set the terms?” He growls, using a clawed nail to slice open the mortal garment that covers Peter’s chest. His torso is pretty just like his face. For now. The boy nods. So young. Barely a man. Tony’s lived for eons. “Human life is…far too short.” He says thoughtfully, “I’d have a…companion in you for barely a blink of an eye.”

Peter frowns, “how can that be helped?”

“Oh, it can be helped.” Tony murmurs, and he lifts up his hand. In it, he conjures the glass vial full of ambrosia, and Peter stares at it in awe. “This is ambrosia, sweet boy.” He strokes his free hand through Peter’s hair and the two demons gibber excitedly like goblins. “One sip, you’re a god.” His fingers tickle down the boy’s throat, over to his chest and resting over his heart. “Mine not just for your life, but for eternity.”

The vial gleams and Tony presses it into Peter’s hand, stepping back and gesturing for the demons to release him. Peter slumps once he’s released, staggering to find his footing and staring at the vial in shock. “Eternity?” He breathes, “you want me for-“ he rapidly changes tactic. “One million years.” He offers.

Tony laughs, a full booming laugh, it’s been so long since he’s had one of those. “Very clever boy. I know how much you humans love an end in sight, but this is not that story. If you want your precious Uncle Ben to rejoin- your darling Aunt May, is it?” Peter’s eyes widen, and Tony smirks. “There’s nothing I don’t know,” he whispers. “When I want to know it. If I’d wanted to- I would have known when you found the door and how you made it through, but when you get to my age…” he chuckles, “a little surprise is a good thing, right guys?”

The demons chort and snuff.

Imbeciles.

“What happens if I drink the whole vial?” Peter asks, lifting it up curiously. He doesn’t sound upset. He’s considering it. The possibility of a companion- of a companion in his bounds- so beautiful, and only enhanced in beauty by the ambrosia has Tony desperately keen. His fingers seem to thrum with hope. What a human emotion.

“The more you drink, the faster it happens, that’s all.” The more painful it will be. “It’ll hurt less,” he whispers enticingly, because he wants to see the boy cry in pain.

Peter licks his lips and looks him right in the eye. “You’ll free Uncle Ben?”

Tony grins and draws a silver cross in the air. It twinkles and dissipates. “He’s already free.”

Peter pulls the cork, and downs the whole vial.

Tony and the beasts howl with glee.

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

Note

Come he’ll or high water is excellent can you please write more I love it 🥰 please thank you 🙏🥰🥰🥰👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

Claire comes back to the past with Brianna and arrives at Helwater looking for Jamie—but must confront the Dunsanys first.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Come Hell or Helwater - Part Eight

Rain pattered against the window while Brianna sat at the table in the corner with Isobel working through a set of simple mathematics problems. She didn’t have the heart to tell Isobel that she’d mastered both multiplication and long division two years prior. Instead she worked her way through them slowly, allowing herself the fun of observing the others in the room while they thought she was thoroughly engrossed by the numbers on the page.

Brianna had found soon after her arrival at Helwater that she couldn’t help but like Isobel—she couldn’t have borne pretending she was so far behind in her studies otherwise. But Isobel’s sweetness could become grating if not for the presence of her sister, Geneva. It was Geneva who knew exactly how to push Isobel’s agreeableness to the brink, to coax a few less-than-kind remarks out of Isobel—and then offer reassurance that she hadn’t been so unkind as to require begging anyone’s pardon.

There was more to Geneva that Brianna found mesmerizing, however. Quiet moments when she managed a glance at the older girl and it was clear Geneva didn’t realize she was being watched. In those moments she looked the way Brianna had felt when Mama and Daddy had told her the great and terrible Truths of her life—first, that Daddy wasn’t going to live with them anymore, he was going to live with his special friend, Sandy, and, just a short time after that, when her mother informed her that Daddy wasn’t her “real” father. From what Brianna could tell, it was partly Geneva’s parents who were causing her to look that way, but not because they were breaking up. No, the lady Geneva was going to be married soon and anyone could see she didn’t want to get married.

But that was why there were beginning to be so many extra people at the estate. They were guests visiting for the upcoming wedding. Several older relatives of the Dunsanys had taken to sitting with Lady Dunsany in the main sitting room while the younger guests preferred to gather in the drawing room. It was in the adjoining library that Isobel was giving Brianna her lessons but the door was kept open so Isobel might pop in and make her necessary appearances every so often. Brianna thought Isobel perhaps preferred the quieter library to the group in the drawing room.

Brianna enjoyed peeking up at them through the doorway. She could only see a portion of one setee and a fragment of the floor to ceiling windows behind but Geneva was partial to planting herself on that setee and as the bride to be, she frequently had company beside her—usually one of the two British soldiers who had startled her mother in the forest that day they’d arrived. The younger of those two often turned to glance through the same open doorway at her, which always made her flush and look down at her paper. Or was he looking at Isobel? Brianna peeked up to see Isobel looking flustered as well, no doubt aware of the soldier’s piercing gaze.

Even if Brianna could convince herself that the young man was paying his attentions to Isobel, all it took was Geneva seeing her sister’s blush to throw a wrench in Brianna’s plans of going unnoticed.

“Isobel,” Geneva called rising from the setee and floating to the door. “Aren’t you going to join us? As the sister of the bride it’s part of your duties to help me entertain my guests,” she teased with a playful giggle and glance over her shoulder. “John, Hal, won’t you help me coax Isobel into joining us?”

Isobel sighed but smiled at Brianna before pushing herself up from her chair at the table. “You’re doing wonderfully,” Isobel assured her. “Keep working on this set of problems and I’ll be back shortly to check your progress.”

Brianna nodded and then watched as Isobel glared at her sister who stood in the doorway with a satisfied grin on her face.

“Really John, you must ask Isobel about her latest obsession with playing governess,” Geneva continued, the conversation still drifting in for Brianna to overhear since the door between the rooms remained open. “It’ll be something to keep her occupied when she no longer has me around to entertain her.”

Isobel spoke too quietly for Brianna to hear but from Geneva’s subsequent, “Oh come, I’m only playing,” she assumed the young lady had rebuked her.

“It is the curse of younger siblings to always be tormented by the older,” John remarked, lightening the mood even as he too scolded Geneva.

Brianna set her pencil aside and leaned forward over the table, straining to see if she could catch a glimpse of them but they must be standing near the fireplace. The rain outside was unrelenting in a spring that was already slow about taking root. That was one of the things about this time that Brianna found most frustrating and quietly terrifying—how cold it was without proper, modern heating and how afraid she was that she would get too close to the hearth or that she’d knock over a candle and go up in flames.

“I know Isobel’s attempts to improve the poor child arrive from the best of intentions,” Geneva assured the others and Brianna could hear the eye roll in her tone. “I just think that when it comes to the staff and their families, it’s not our place to interfere. They have their lives and we have ours.”

“And the fact that their livelihood depends upon our whims doesn’t matter?” Isobel challenged more vocally, clearly surprising the others.

Brianna rose from her seat and tiptoed closer to the door to hear better and maybe sneak a better angle through the door so she could see them while remaining hidden in the shadows. If she was truly lucky, there’d be a mirror on one wall that would let her watch their reflections—she couldn’t remember if there was a mirror in the drawing room though.

“So long as they’re paid for their services, I’m not sure I understand to what you might object,” the older one—Hal, Geneva had called him—said gently.

“They require decent pay to support their families,” Isobel agreed, “and sometimes they’re compensated in other forms—for instance, housing or their meals—but what about their other needs, especially for their children? Is it not our duty to guide them towards being productive members of society where their parents are either lacking the means or the opportunity?”

“And what makes you think the Mackenzies are lacking the means and opportunity?” Geneva countered. “Did you ask them if they wanted it when you asked for their permission? Shall we ask the little lady now?”

Brianna panicked for a moment as she heard Geneva’s footsteps crossing toward the door but her instincts quickly kicked in. She started walking for the door herself and nearly collided with Geneva.

“Sorry,” Brianna muttered, backing away. “I was just coming to ask Miss Isobel if she might excuse me to go help my mother. Miss Isobel should be spending her time with your company, not with me just now.”

“I don’t mind at all, really,” Isobel insisted but Geneva made a dismissive gesture, keeping her eyes on Brianna.

“The child is quite right, don’t you agree, John? It’s terribly rude of Isobel first to ignore your presence and then to ignore her young charge’s. If she had a nursemaid, we might turn her over to so she doesn’t inhibit her mother in her work. Should we engage one for her, Isobel?” Geneva asked, looking over her shoulder at her sister. “Would that be more of the means and opportunities that our hired servants are lacking? I suppose we’ll just have to keep an eye on her ourselves then. Come child,” Geneva turned back to Brianna with an overly sweet smile. “Join us in the drawing room and we’ll try not to bore you too terribly.”

Brianna stood her ground, staring expressionlessly at Geneva.

“Geneva…” Hal said quietly, stepping toward her.

“Quiet little thing, aren’t you,” Geneva murmured, her attention still fixed on Brianna. “Do you speak at all?”

“I’m ten, not two,” Brianna replied, unamused even as the color began to rise in Geneva’s cheeks. “And my mother always told me if I didn’t have anything nice to say I shouldn’t say anything at all. I’d rather spend my time somewhere I can have a conversation. Thank you, Miss Isobel, for the lesson. I’ll see myself out.”

Brianna kept her ears pricked for their reactions as she turned on her heel and went to the table to retrieve her things before exiting through the door at the side that led to the servant’s passage and from there down to the kitchen. She heard one stifled chuckle (Hal) and Isobel’s gentle, “You were the one who provoked her.”

The sound of a slight commotion drew most of the others back into the drawing room—a footman announcing the arrival of another guest.

“Daniel,” Hal exclaimed in joy. “It’s a miracle you made it in this weather. You ought to have stayed at your inn until it cleared.”

“If he did that he might not have arrived in time at all,” Geneva declared, brushing away the awkwardness of being put in her place by a ten-year-old girl. “The way it looks now it could rain through the next fortnight and my wedding’s one week away. He knew I’d never forgive him if he wasn’t here.”

“Always said Gordon was like a brother to me so I see it as my brotherly duty to make sure everything stays on schedule,” a new voice chimed in.

“Well you might’ve been as a brother to Gordon but you’ve hardly been a brother to either of his sisters,” Geneva objected with a laugh. “You haven’t written a word to either Isobel or myself in over a year.”

Brianna snuck one final peek through the door to the drawing room.

John, the soldier who had come walking through the field with her mother that day, was the only one watching her as she made her exit.

“Bree,” Claire gasped as her daughter barged into the cottage, dripping wet from her brief run through the rain from the main house. “For heaven’s sake, what are you doing here? I was going to fetch you back after your lesson was finished. You’re soaked to the bone.”

“Well you might wind up back there later treating their latest guest. Sounds like he rode a ways through the rain and I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes down sick from it,” Brianna said, shaking her hair like a wet dog.

“Sassenach,” Jamie called from the cottage’s back entrance. “Do ye have anything hereabouts we could eat? Thought it might be nicer to have our midday meal alone together rather than trek through the muck to the main house. And as Bree’s occupied there with Miss Isobel…”

Claire cleared her throat loudly soon after he began and spoke over him, “We’re in here, Jamie. Bree’s just got back too. We hadn’t addressed the subject of lunch yet.”

Jamie came around the corner, his face pink and dripping with the rain that had soaked his hair.

“Bree,” he said with a smile. “Is it wet enough for ye out there? I ken I must look and feel like a half-drowned cat.”

“Well it is raining cats and dogs,” Brianna remarked without enthusiasm.

“Why don’t you fetch some dry things from your trunk and change in our room,” Claire offered.

“I suppose we won’t be using it after all,” Jamie whispered in her ear as he brushed a kiss against Claire’s cheek.

“I had brought a leftover side of ham from the house after tending the cook the other day,” Claire continued, ignoring Jamie, “and there’s cheese I had set aside as well. We’ll see what kind of meal we can make with that and maybe it will let up enough tonight for a larger meal with the others at the main house.”

When Brianna had closed their bedroom door behind her to change, Claire turned into Jamie’s arms and stood on her toes to give him a kiss.

“When the wedding’s over and their guests have gone home, things will calm down enough that we’ll have a little more time for ourselves,” she whispered, pulling away from him as his hands drifted down to her backside. “Not just the two of us, but the three of us.”

“Except for when we have time just the two of us to get back to work on making that three of us into a four, aye?”

“Aye,” Claire smiled and blushed. “Though by my watch we’ve spent a fair bit of time working at that already.”

#the next installment will have more of Jamie and Claire (at least at the beginning) I promise #Anonymous #;mod lenny #come hell or helwater #featuring: bree #featuring: geneva dunsany #featuring: isobel dunsany grey #featuring: john grey #featuring: hal grey

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istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 5 years

Text

Write It Down

strawberryfields-forever said: Ok so I absolutely LOVE your writing!! I was wondering if you could another roger Taylor Imagine where the reader gets really drunk and ends up at Rogers Place and he takes care of them and then she ends up confessing her feelings and you can take it from there? Please and thank you! Xxx

(a/n: i’m SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG I CAN NEVER HELP MYSELF FUCK also this layout might be fucked when i first post it but i’ll try to fix it ASAP)

“Roger, it’s barely midnight, you’ve got to be fucking with me!” you complained, nearly tripping over yourself as he pulled you out of the pub and away from the guy who you’d just been chatting with. “Just one more pint!”

Roger ignored your incessant complaining as he got out onto the sidewalk, the pub door swinging shut behind you, and he began to look for a cab. Cursing at the lack of cars around, he quickly realized there was no way you were making it all the way back to your flat, not tonight. “My place, then,” he mumbled, letting go of your wrist to wrap his arm around your waist, starting to lead you towards his flat that was just over 7 blocks away.

“My flat is the other way!” you protested, almost being dead weight against his side as he used all of his strength to guide you down the street. “Where are we going, you silly goose?” you laughed, leaning even more on him and making him chuckle at how sloshed you were.

Despite your embarrassing situation, you were quite enjoying Roger’s arm around you. Of course, you were using all of your willpower left to keep your mouth shut, because even in your inebriated state, you knew this was not the time to clue Roger in on your little crush.

“Goose? Is that what you think of me?” he teased, helping you across the street and flipping off a car that honked at you both. “We’re going to my place, you can sleep there.”

“OoooOooOh,” you drew out, wiggling your eyebrows. “I get to go to the goose’s nest tonight!”

“My God,” he laughed, trying not to drop you as he continued to lead the way down the sidewalk, your arm wrapping loosely around his shoulder.

As he walked the 7 long blocks with you, you blabbered on and on about the guy at the bar. He had to hear about how he was an old friend from primary, and how he’d bought you drinks and asked if you’d been to a late night chips place down the road. You said you told him you hadn’t, so he offered to take you but you didn’t want to leave, and that’s about the time the “big boss Roger” showed up to end the fun.

As you walked up to the tower block Roger was living in with Brian and Freddie, you sighed dramatically and leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I tried to make you stay longer,” you mumbled, slurring your words quite a bit, but Roger already knew how to decipher your drunken ramblings. You loved that about him. In fact, there were quite a few more things you loved about him that you hadn’t told him before. It was a pity you’d become such close friends, because you reckoned that was the only thing preventing you from telling Roger how you felt about him.

He chuckled and shook his head as you both approached the stairs, Roger wondering to himself how he’d get you up to the 4th floor. “Hey, let’s crawl up the stairs, that’d be fun, right?” he suggested, hoping you’d take to the idea. You groaned before starting to crawl up them, knowing the alternative was being carried and that would kill Roger before you got to the 2nd floor.

Roger followed, snickering a bit at the state of you, but encouraged you all the way to his floor, where you decided to lay down. “Rog, I’m beat,” you complained, pressing a hand against your head and closing your eyes. “I think I’m going to sleep here.”

“No, no, Y/N, don’t be a drama queen, that’s Fred’s job,” he ordered, grabbing ahold of your hand and pulling you up to what could be considered a standing position. Throwing your arm over his shoulder, he managed to drag you down to his flat as you apologized for trying to sleep. He then unlocked the door kicked it open gently, calling out for his roommates.

You decided to join in. “Freddieeeee,” you sang, your eyes still halfway closed and heavily lidded as you laughed at how terrible you sounded. “Briaaaann, come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Roger carefully sat you down on the sofa, patting your head gently before heading off to their rooms to find them empty. They must have decided to stay longer at the pub than they had originally planned, which made Roger groan softly. He was alone in getting your drunk ass to bed.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” he said as he came back into the front room, where you’d managed to pull off your shoes and sprawl out on the couch. Your heart fluttered as you realized you were truly alone with Roger, and anything could happen. Jesus, I must be really drunk if I’m thinking we’re going to do anything but go to sleep tonight, you thought. “Let’s get a glass of water in you, eh?”

You nodded once, smiling lopsidedly up at him before closing your eyes and humming to yourself. As Roger grabbed a glass of water and some Tylenol for you, he heard you start to quietly sing off-key, then suddenly, you stopped. After a pause, you called out to him. “Rog, come sing your harmony, you bastard!”

You then began to sing Doing All Right unbearably loud, Roger trying to shush you and try not to laugh as he reminded you of the upstairs neighbor who hated how loud they were. As if on cue, the upstairs neighbor stomped on the floor, which made you shut up and look at Roger with an impish grin. He looked adorable tonight, and you hated yourself for noting that. He was supposed to be your best friend and confidant, and now here you were wondering why you hadn’t made out with him already.

As you admired him, he couldn’t help but grin back at you. Shaking his head, he helped you sit up, handing you the water and Tylenol before sitting next to you and pulling his shoes off. You gratefully took the pills and water, then sat the glass on the nightstand next to you before laying down again, sprawling over Roger’s lap and making him raise an eyebrow at you. “I’m sorry for being loud,” you practically whispered, running a hand over your face before giving him a guilty look. “I promise I’ll be good now.”

“You’re awfully apologetic tonight,” he remarked, relaxing back against the couch and spreading one arm out along the back while the other hand rested on your stomach lightly. “How come you never want to apologize to me when you’re not a shitfaced mess?!”

“Oh, fuck off and die,” you automatically replied, reaching out to smack his chest playfully. As soon as you did it, your jaw dropped and you began apologizing profusely, becoming a babbling mess again.

He began to shush you again, laughing in between shushes and finally resorting to putting a hand over your mouth. Quieting again, Roger gave it a moment before moving his hand to play with a strand of your hair instead. “I think it’s time you went to bed, sweetheart.”

“No, I’m finnne!” you swore, though your drooping eyelids told him otherwise. He gave you a look, which made you whine and roll off his lap, crawling to the floor and starting to make your way towards his bedroom. “You’re such a bully,” you whined as you slowly crawled your way down the hallway, Roger following close behind and rolling his eyes.

“Do you want to sleep on the floor tonight?” he warned, which made you crawl faster and scramble into his bed when you got to his room. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’m sorry, Rog, I didn’t mean it,” you whined, crawling under his covers and peeking out at him as he started to get ready for bed. “Thank you for taking care of me tonight,” you added, wanting to get back on his good side. “I really ‘preciate it, honestly. You’re the best.”

“That’s my job,” he reassured, pulling off his shirt and tossing it in his dirty laundry as you watched him. You admired his remarkably slender build that contradicted somewhat with his status as a drummer. He didn’t have any remarkably prominent muscles on him, but he was still toned, and though his hair was longer, he didn’t seem too feminine to you in the dim light that was coming through his blinds from the city lights outside. Though, would it matter if he did look feminine? You found yourself thinking that Roger was attractive to you in any state, drunk or sober, angry or happy, mean or nice, any way, any day.

“You’re my faaavorite, Roggie,” you said affectionately, overwhelmed with admiration for him all of a sudden.

Roger laughed at that, glancing back at you before going over to his closet. “I’d bloody hope so.”

“You don’t have to take care of me, like this, you know?” you mumbled, still watching him as he searched for some pajama pants in his piles of clothes. “I know I can be a bit much, and you’re soooo fucking wonderful for putting up with me,” you continued on, Roger smirking at that. He found a pair of pajama pants, which he started switching into, so you looked at the ceiling out of courtesy and started to close your eyes. “I mean it, Rog. You’re the best, you treat me wayyyyy too well. There’s nothing keeping you here-”

“Well, it’s my flat,” he interjected, making you open your eyes again and shoot him a dirty look. “I’m sorry, go on about how I’m the best,” he laughed, starting to crawl into bed with you and making you scoot over as he laid on his side next to you, watching you expectantly with his head propped up on one hand. You were suddenly nervous, Roger no closer than he’d ever been to you before. You’d slept in the same bed before, but you’d never felt so much love for him all at once while in such close proximity. Unable to filter yourself, you continued.

“I meant, like, I’m just me and that’s alright, I guess, but there’s no reason for you to stick around and take all my bullshit like you do. Like, you’re not my boyfriend or anything,” you rambled, both you and Roger not sure where you were going with this. The alcohol still coursing through your body propelled you, however, and you kept talking. “But I’on’t know, I always thought you’d end up my boyfriend, as much as you put up with me, but I’ve pretty much just given up that idea. You keep sticking around anyways, honestly kind of scamming yourself, you are,” you admitted, avoiding eye contact with Roger and instead looking at his collarbones as you played with the duvet nervously. You knew you’d started to say too much, but your stupid feelings wouldn’t stop coming out because you were so nervous and Roger being right there made you even more nervous.

“You thought we’d end up dating?” Roger asked, no hint of emotion in his voice to suggest he leaned either way on the issue. He was asking more for a clarification, which made you even more shaky as you tried to compose a response that wasn’t horridly revealing. However, that worked out about as well as it could, considering the amount of alcohol you’d consumed before leaving the bar.

“I guess, yeah,” you mumbled, still afraid to look up at him. “Fred’s always teasing me about when you’re going to ask me out, so I guess after a certain point… I didn’t mind the idea of it anymore?” The last part of the sentence came out as more of a question, and you squeezed your eyes shut, mentally smacking yourself for sounding so terrified. Fuck it. I’m already this far gone, why not just let it all out? “No,no, no, not I guess. I know I don’t mind the idea anymore. Actually, I’m a bit bummed you still haven’t asked me out. What’s with that?”

“Very subtle, Y/N,” Roger teased, reaching up to replace a stray hair that had fallen into your face. “Fred’s been bothering you about me, has he? I’ll have to tell him off tomorrow.”

“Oh, please don’t!” you begged, quickly looking up at him with a desperate look in your eyes. “He’ll know that I told you that I fancy you and then I’ll never hear the end of it!”

“Well, now there’s news,” Roger commented, a blush creeping on to your cheeks as you realized how stupidly you’d just told him how you felt about him. Shit, you’ve done it now, Y/N. “You never said you fancy me, love, not until just now. What’s with that?”

“Oh, forget it,” you groaned hopelessly, rolling over to face away from him and pulling the covers over your head. The room felt like it was spinning as you laid there in the dark, and you took a few deep breaths to calm down. “Forget I even said that, I’m sloshed and don’t know what I’m doing.”

Roger began to laugh, tugging the covers back down and booing you. “Oh, boo you, I was just taking the piss. Look at me, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again.” You reluctantly rolled back over, giving him the stink eye as you kept the covers pulled up to your shoulders, trying to hide as much vulnerability as possible. “Now, back to the asking you out thing, when did Fred start to bother you about this?”

You wracked your brain, struggling to pull memories through the muddle of alcohol and embarrassment, but you finally recalled at least an approximate date and managed to choke it out. “A couple months ago, maybe?”

“Damn! He was supposed to keep his mouth shut,” Roger cursed, mainly to himself. “Also, you’ve been taking this from him for two whole months?”

“Yeah,” you admitted reluctantly, sounding ashamed. Then, your brain latched on to what he said before, and starting racing as you tried to figure out what he’d meant. “Freddie was supposed to keep his mouth shut about what?” you pried, suddenly propping your head up on one hand too.

Roger chuckled, then shook his head and laid down on his back, his eyes lazily tracing around the ceiling as he answered nonchalantly. “Well, if you must know, I told him I’d been thinking about asking you out a couple months ago, when we were recording one night. But I’d honestly been having so much fun and going out with you anyways these last few months, I didn’t even think about it anymore. I thought he’d zipped it, but that worked about as well as I should have expected… Lead singers, they have such big mouths.”

Your face broke out into a wide grin as you processed what he was saying. “God, I better be sober enough now to remember this in the morning,” you murmured, rubbing your eyes to stop the room from spinning and hardly believing what had just went down.

“I’ll convince you it was a dream,” Roger taunted, looking over at you only to receive more stink eye from you.

“I’m going to write it down right now so I don’t forget,” you stated, climbing over him and out of the bed in a determined fashion, Roger trying to grab you to keep you from leaving but failing. You clumsily made your way over to his desk and grabbed a pencil and his journal that he wrote songs in, flipping through the pages to find an empty one while Roger untangled himself from the duvet that you’d gotten him wrapped up in.

“Hey, don’t read that!” he exclaimed, nearly falling off the bed as he tried to scramble over to you, so you ran out of the room, nearly slipping in the hallway as you made your way to the bathroom and locked yourself in. Roger got there two seconds too late, banging on the door as you leaned against the other side, knowing the lock wouldn’t hold long if he had a key. “Are you mad, Y/N? Give me my song book!”

You ignored him, figuring he genuinely didn’t want you to remember what he’d confessed, and kept going through the pages. On your quest to find an empty one, something caught your eye as you flipped through quickly, and you stopped. Going back, you realized that it was your name that had gotten your attention, and you got back to the page to find a song titled after you.

Curiosity got the best of you and you started reading his scribblings as best as you could. You realized it was a love song, and your heart soared as you smiled wider than you figured you ever had. Roger liked you as much as you fancied him, and now you had proof.

You heard Roger start to unlock the door with a key so you unlocked it anyways, swinging it open to find a disheveled Roger. His hair was unkempt, the duvet still caught around his foot, and he was looking at you wildly as he tried to rationalize what to do next. You were just smiling at him, his song book still open to the page you were just reading, and you held it up to show him.

Visibly deflating, he snatched the song book from you and put a hand on your upper back, pushing you firmly but gently in the direction of his room like you were a small child in trouble for getting out of bed past bedtime.

“I didn’t write that,” he lied lamely, just making you giggle and laugh as you entered his room, crawling back into his bed. “It was… Brian. Yeah, Brian borrowed my journal and wrote that about you! Right weirdo, he is. I don’t write that mushy crud like him and Deacy.”

He leaned on his desk with one hand to reach down and unwrap the duvet from his ankle, and when he looked back up at you, you were still grinning and giggling at him. He sighed, mainly at himself, and came back over to the bed, tossing the duvet over you before reluctantly crawling back into bed with you and laying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Whatever you say, Rog,” you finally replied, Roger groaning softly as he refused to recognize he was on the embarrassing side of things now. However, when you curled up against his side and draped your arm loosely over his stomach, he didn’t push you away.

In fact, as you drifted off peacefully, he even smiled a bit and wrapped an arm around you protectively, drifting off himself as he realized that, no matter how embarrassing, he’d finally gotten what he’d wanted after all this time – you.

#roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #queen imagine #i did this instead of doing homework hahaha #oops #roger taylor

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sweetboybucky · 5 years

Text

Dreamers

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2600

Warnings: Infinity War compliant. Aka - a lot of sads.

Summary: In the time he is gone, one thing remains.

A/N: My piece for the Marvellous Writing Challenge, hosted by the angel @bucky-at-bedtime, who was so kind as to give me an extension. (Jess - I love you so much, I hope you know.) My prompt was “Saudade”, and what was originally going to be a sequel to my one other angst fic, Golden, turned into this. Please don’t kill me.

Taking a page out of @evanstarff‘s book for this one and going with a reader adopted into a Wakandan family. There are also a few notes at the end, if you want to read those.

My Masterlist

*** A war was waged.

The aftermath sits in front of you.

Rests there, in the ocean blue eyes of a soldier you have only just begun to know. The one you’d once only heard stories of.

The man with more burdens to carry than you could ever imagine. With the weight of an ungrateful and unforgiving world on his shoulders. The world he’s worked to save so many times.

A silent apology.

A wish for things to be different.

Tears.

You find them there, in that harrowing expression on a face that should never wear it.

You don’t ask.

You know.

***

There is a space between the world you know and all of the others you’ve come to discover in your time. Those realities that hold the souls of all that have been lost. The souls you still have yet to meet. A mirror image of the life you know.

You find him there, in the night.

His voice calls out to you, where you rest in that hazy middle ground. And it’s strong, like it always was. Strong even when it had no reason to be, even when he wasn’t. It pulls you into the inky night with its soft timbre, your name spreading tendrils of awareness through you.

It wakes something within you. Something raw and real and aching as you search for him. As you reach blindly into that darkness. Hoping and hoping and hoping.

But he’s just beyond your grasp. A breath away, whispering to you. Your name falls into the dark from lips you want to see more than anything. Lips you want to trace with your fingers, kiss until the world has finished turning.

You whisper back to him, voice desperate and pleading through the darkness.

***

Ochre light brings a new day.

It flecks across walls and floor and sheets. Sheets that should hold him beside you, the man who laid his soul out to bare for you on them in memories tinged with a certain fondness.

Memories that don’t flow like fire, the way they once had.

Memories that sting in the aftermath.

That careful ember, the one he’d lit within you, has left the hollow in your chest. Lit the sun, instead. Forced a new morning into your hands. A world he no longer breathes in.

And your heart aches with strangled sobs, body curling around his pillow and pressing into the sheets that still smell like him. Eyes close, shut out the view of the home he made in the quiet.

But reality exists without him, now.

That fact is carving itself into your bones.

***

Many hours later, once dawn has truly broken and everything has settled heavy into your heart once again, you find your self on a trail he showed to you.

Green folds around you. Leads you to the little hillside he found, sitting just to the side of his farm. Above the lake. Another corner of the world he could almost call his own.

The place he still wanted to share with you.

And it feels wrong, settling into the grass on your own. Tracing trembling fingers through dark dirt instead of threading them through chestnut hair. Resting in that quiet place he first showed to you. Before everything began.

Before the end.

Blue sky and soft clouds roam overhead. Sparkling waters lie still beneath you. Trees brush together in the breeze, echo against the emptiness of the space. In your heart.

It’s a view you’ve seen so many times. A place you’ve spent so many afternoons, with a man far more beautiful than any sunset could ever be. And even before he came to you, the sky was still there.

It feels different now. So unlike the other days you spent underneath it.

Sitting on the grassy hill with the absence of that warm arm around your back. Lips against your skin, a rumbly voice finding its own special place within your heart.

It feels final.

***

Every night is the same.

Dark and cold. Lined with wanting. Frenzied thoughts and soft confessions and an ache so real it nearly eats you alive.

His voice speaks back to you, quiet but strong as ever. Soft in that way it always was, affection bleeding through every word he murmurs to you.

And then morning falls onto you once again. Draws muted light to your eyes and a desperate plea from your lips as fingers search for the body that should lay beside you against cool, threadbare sheets

But morning is an ever present thing.

Light always washes him away.

***

For weeks, Bucky’s voice finds you at night. In the dark.

One day, in the hours the sun claims, a different voice is there.

It’s a soft whisper. A careful, “Hey,” as he settles in the grass next to you. Watches the way the lake shines with the light of midday.

You turn to him for a moment. Notice the dulled expression on his face. See the way his once golden hair falls against his face, unkempt and dark. The set of his jaw, the line of his mouth, not even a hint of a smile tugging at the edges.

He’s worn. More so than you.

He’s lost. Same as you.

Ocean eyes stay trained on the sky. But his lips part enough to murmur, “He talked about you.”

Bucky’s face comes into your mind, easy as anything. And surprise lights through you at Steve’s words, pained and heavy.

Lashes shield irises filled with regret. “He talked about you all the time.” Eyes flick to you, just for a moment. Burn through your mind and body and soul. “I don’t think we had one conversation where he didn’t bring you up.”

His face tips down, gaze falling to callused hands in his lap. There’s a ghost of a smile in his voice as he adds, “I always teased him about it. How crazy he was about you.”

Tears gather around your eyes, warm and wet and burning through the last bit of your resolve.

Steve glances at you, expression just a little softer once its aimed toward you. “I’d never seen him that way. Even before - before everything.” He bumps his shoulder into yours, a fond, cautious gesture. “There were girls, but none of them were you.”

And that hurts more than it should. More than you think he meant it to. Coming from the man your love trusted with anything, defended at every turn. Spoke of like a vision, a dream he was so lucky to live in.

Tears slip down your face in the silence. As Steve turns away, face twisted and creased and pained. You can see the slump of his shoulders. Feel the inhale he takes, steeling himself his next words. For what’s to come.

“It never hurts any less,” he tells you, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard. An echo of the heartache he keeps locked away. Fingers trace over a blade of grass. “But it gets easier to manage. Just takes time.”

A hand reaches for yours, firm and rough and trembling just a little, fingers squeezing against your own. And his voice is so sincere, so real as he breathes out one last sentiment. Something that is both the balm for your soul and everything you don’t want to hear.

“But, wherever he is, now, he loves you just the same.”

***

That hollow spaces fits against you, the same way it has every other night since the end.

For a long while, the stillness of it washes over you. Inky black and completely silent.

But you can feel him. You can always feel him.

Is it true?

It’s a question breathed into the quiet. One torn from your chest, filled with longing.

He doesn’t ask what you’re referring to. He doesn’t need to.

There’s only a soft sigh. The feeling of him as he answers.

Always, he tells you, reverent and final in the way you need. Always.

***

Time is such a cruel thing, now.

It moves against you. Presses into your skin, falls into your mind with a terrible kind of determination. It pushes the world on, pushes you on. Forces you to watch the new reality you live in try to rebuild itself.

It brings you to your apartment.

Months have passed since you’ve seen it, his hut serving as your home and your hell in that time. But you know that you can’t stay there forever. You can’t bear to sleep in a bed of ghosts any longer.

The lock clicks the same as it always did, the door creaking in that familiar way. It gives way to the living room, small kitchen just adjacent to it.

Everything is in its place. Nothing has changed.

And yet - it has.

There’s no soft greeting waiting for you, anymore. No feet to slide along the floor, no arm to curl around you and tuck you against his body. Lips to kiss away the crease in your brows, the ache in your bones.

But his book sits on the table. His favorite blanket is tucked into the corner of the couch. A worn pair of sneakers near the door. The dark green mug he always used in the sink.

The remnants of him are still here. Scattered around one of the only other places he’d been able to find refuge.

***

Phantom memories find you in the dust of your apartment.

Chestnut hair mussed in the morning. The smell of his favorite tea. Soft socks and all of the sweaters you stole from him. Pressing into this side, holding his hand at the market. Whispering to him when the ice crept back into his heart.

The stories he told you. Stories of the sky, the stars.

The same stars under your tired gaze now.

And even after everything, even in the absence of the man who loved them most, those stars remain the same. Unchanged by the rest of the world’s decisions.

They shine among inky blue. Glisten in the darkness, mapped out along an impossibly big sky. Absolute and so unknown. Arranged in their intricate patterns.

He spent more nights than you could count studying them. Resting near the large bay window of your apartment in a city still so unfamiliar to his weary heart. A city he grew so fond of. A city that grew so fond of him.

And he held you in the night. Brushed his lips against your skin and whispered about a constellation you couldn’t see. A woman given a beautiful crown, written into the stars once she’d passed. A reminder of who she was.

A reminder that, more than anything, she was loved, even after she was lost.

So much longing lies within you. Grief you never imagined you would feel. A fierce kind of sadness that takes over your mind and heart and soul and leaves you aching.

But more than anything, there is love.

You close your eyes against the sky those gray eyes loved to see and wish him into the stars.

***

Seasons pass. Come in with the cold and leave with the warm. Draw in new breezes and heady air and fleeting thoughts. Fleeting images of pale cheeks flushed with cool wind, with summer air.

And with every passing day, that face is a little harder to remember.

The line of his nose. The little wrinkles near his eye, those that only appeared in the face of his smile. Gray eyes sliding open in the morning, sparking with the possibility of a new day.

It grows fuzzy, the image of him, the sound of his laughter, as years that hardly feel like years drone on. As life moves on despite it all.

Anger festers within you. Rivals with the grief that still lives on, even after all this time. Even after the exact shade of his eyes isn’t as easy to conjure in your mind anymore.

But that soft affection you felt for him. That fierce kind of fondness, blinding and overwhelming and so strong.

That remains.

Even as years wane. As time spans on and life without him shifts into something close to normal.

The way he made you feel - the way he always makes you feel - never dies down. Never shrinks in the face of a new sunrise, as dawn falls onto the world and his voice slips away.

It only grows stronger.

***

The hollow still finds you in that strange place between your reality and his. Dark and cold and full of him. So close you can almost feel him. So real it hurts.

And his voice is still there, murmuring things you don’t really listen to. Echoing around the empty space he should be, that soft little place you made for him in your heart.

It’s a blessing, to know he’s there. To know he’s somewhere.

It’s a curse, to know he’s somewhere you can’t reach him. Not really.

So you hold onto his voice. Try to grasp the threads of it in your fingers. Close your eyes and let it fall over you, gentle and calm and beautiful as it is.

***

It’s a rising tension in the air. A shift in the world, so similar to the one you felt years ago. Before the end.

Another war has begun.

***

The night he doesn’t visit you, his favorite stars do.

They gather you up in their impossibly soft embrace. Hold you close, keep you warm. Shelter you from the darkness and the grief, even if only for a few moments.

In the space between the lines, the thin veil of reality you’ve been able to find, where he is close and still so far, they whisper to you.

A story forms through the haze of their voices. One of two lovers set in the sky, separated by a river of stars between them. Close enough to taste each other. Destined to be apart.

But for one night, the heavens open up. And the two are offered the gift of time. Allowed to be together, even if only for a moment.

Bucky’s voice permeates through it all. Parts the dark of the sky, the river of stars lying between you. He calls out your name, fierce and desperate and full of love. So much love.

He’s close. You know he is. You can feel him, drawing toward you with every passing second.

***

You wake to tense air and soft light. Something strong beating within you, like the tap of his pulse has settled into your skin.

He’s so close.

Rumpled sheets gather in your hands, those that have long since lost any trace of his smell. Eyes close against the fabric, breaths shudder through a weary chest.

For the first time since the end, you hope.

***

The world has crumbled once again.

Been marred by the jaws of fate. Splintered in ways no one can ever hope to repair. Developed cracks that you know can never be filled.

But as the dust settles, he is there.

His face is worn but soft in that way it always was. Warm and open and kind, fixed with the bright smile that had grown fuzzy around the edges in your hazy memory. Slate eyes find yours through the distance, across the grassy patch of his home.

An eternity has passed.

And yet, no time has drawn between the two of you at all.

Fondness rings through you, clear as anything. That sting of grief, the ache of longing fades into something achingly familiar. Gives way to the one feeling that never left, even on the darkest days. Even in the moments you were sure it would.

Love.

It sings in the air, fills your heart and mind and soul and pushes you forward a step. Then another. Until he’s right in front of you. Broken and ragged and different.

But still.

He’s beautiful.

Grin grows. Teeth flash. Lines spark up near his eyes, so small and so sweet.

Bucky holds out his hand.

You take it.

***

Notes:

Title taken from ‘Rainbow Connection’ by Sleeping At Last.

I took another page out of @evanstarff‘s book and made a playlist for this fic, which you can find here.

The constellations used in this piece are Corona Borealis, or The Northern Crown, and the story of Altair and Vega. (The interpretations I went by are not the only variations of this story, just those I thought fit best.)

A huge thank you to the incredible Star Queen, @fangirlfiction, for lending me her expertise in the space things for this fic.

One more thank you, to my beautiful love, @marvelous-avengers, who read and cried before posting, who is always there when I need her - I adore you more than you could ever know. Thank you for everything.

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huphilpuffs · 5 years

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chapter: 25/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 3065 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: a huge thanks goes to @obsessivelymoody for beta reading this for me!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Dan wakes up on Thursday to a heaviness in his chest.

He groans before he even opens his eyes. His face is squished against a pillow, his ribs pressed too harshly against the mattress. Stabs of pain burst between them, make his muscles spasm and send his breath escaping in a stutter. He has to count, one, two, three, four to keep it from happening a second time.

It eases some when he rolls onto his back.

And he tries to comfort himself further by counting out how long it’s been since he’s been able to sleep on his stomach. Too long, probably.

He’s been getting better, though. Even staring at the bedroom ceiling through his tears, Dan knows that. Knows the he’s helped Phil with dinner the last few nights, and managed to handle the curtains being open for a few hours yesterday.

His hand smoothes across his sternum, and he pokes at the painful spots in his sides until the sharpness dulls.

It’s enough to let Dan sit up, then stand on shaky knees. He tosses Phil’s pillow back to where it belongs and tucks the duvet into place to prove the voice in his head, wondering why he’s suddenly worse again, that he’s fine.

And to ignore the second voice, telling him it’s anxiety that causes your pain, over and over again.

His appointment is in a day.

Dan’s hardly slept for three.

He tries to swallow back a sigh. Whatever rush of adrenaline had dragged him out of bed has faded, left fatigue settling heavy in his bones again. He could drag himself to the lounge, curl up in his blankets and continue his new daily routine of watching people on YouTube for hours.

But his body aches and his eyes burn, and he crawls back into bed instead.

The voice in his head grows louder.

Dan grabs Phil’s pillow, clutches it ot his chest and presses his face against the fabric, breathing deeply.

It smells like Phil.

He holds it until he falls back asleep.

---

The afternoon drags.

It’s past two when Dan wakes up again. The flat is still empty, the bed unmade again. He crawls out without bothering to fix it, makes himself a sandwich, and settles back on the sofa, where he can rest his head against the cushions and ignore the tightness around his heart.

Every time he turns on his phone, it’s too a notification reminding him he has an appointment tomorrow that has his muscles seizing, making it ache to breathe.

And to a reminder he half regrets setting, since he’s ignored it for days.

Call mum.

There’s only a few hours to follow through with it now.

He glances back at the clock that tells him it’s just ticking past three. Twenty-five hours left, says the voice in his head. It sounds like the last GP he saw, who looked him in the eyes and told him to try acting like he had more energy, who told him it would help.

You should try it, his mum had said afterwards. You never know unless you do.

Dan’s thumb swipes across the screen. He finds her contact, sucks in a breath, and hits the call button.

He doesn’t breathe again until she picks up on the third ring.

“Hi, Dan,” she says.

He hasn’t heard her voice since he decided to stay here. It feels like a lifetime ago, suddenly.

“Hi, mum.”

There’s silence for a long moment. He can hear her breathing over the line, low and steady, and wonders if she can hear the shakiness in his.

“How are you?” she asks

“I’m okay,” he says. “I, uh, have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

He swallows, nodding even though she can’t see him. “Just with my new GP, but I’m hoping he might be able to help me,” he says. “With, well, you know.”

“I hope he can.”

She sounds sad. It’s been a long time since Dan’s heard that.

“Me too,” he says. And then, because he can’t handle the silence: “But, uh, I was hoping you could maybe help me figure out my medical history, to prepare? I don’t remember all of it from when I first got sick.”

Back when she was responsible for it, he doesn’t say. Back when anyone could keep track of all of it.

“I’ll text it to you, okay?” she says. “I know your memory isn’t always the best, and your wrists tend to ache from writing.”

“Really?” He slams his mouth shut, the click of his teeth probably audible over the phone. “I mean, thanks.”

She chuckles, quiet, distant, like he can hear the miles between them. “I’m not always heartless, you know,” she says.

Dan’s breath comes out in a rush. Guilt bursts in its place, painful, bringing tears to his eyes. And he wants to tell her he never thought she was, but he can’t. She knows he can’t. He doesn’t even know what he thinks about her now, crying, hands shaking as he clutches his phone too tightly.

“Can I ask you something?” she says. “Without you getting mad?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you doing?” she says. “I know you don’t think your problems are with your mental health, and I’m not implying they are–” the not this time goes unspoken “–but I know you’ve had bad experiences with doctors and you’re my son.”

His breath catches. A tear rolls down his cheek, and he wipes it away with his hand.

This is his first appointment without her, he realizes. The first one in six years that she’s not driving him to, waiting outside or sitting next to him for the length of it. The first time she won’t smooth his hand over his knee in the waiting room, telling him it’ll be okay, that doctors can be trusted, even though they’d been proving otherwise for so long.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Phil’s coming with me.”

“That’s good,” she says, like she means it. “I am glad you have him, you know.”

He almost reminds her what she thought of him living with Phil last time they spoke, but his heart aches and his eyes are stinging and he doesn’t want to fight, not this time.

“Me too,” he says. “He’s the best, mum.”

She sounds like she’s smiling when she says: “I’d love to meet him, one day.”

Dan swallows. He can hardly picture it, bringing Phil back to a house filled with terrible memories and people he still doesn’t trust entirely. And yet there’s a tug in his chest, a bittersweet image forming in the back of his mind.

He doesn’t say anything.

Neither does she, for a while.

“I should get going,” is what she ends up saying. “As long as you’re okay? I’ll text you your medical information in a little bit.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

She hums. “And Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“You should call your grandma. She misses her sofa buddy.”

He chuckles. It aches. Suddenly, he’s exhausted again. “Okay. I will,” he promises. “And mum?”

“Yeah?”

“No news is good news, okay? If I don’t call you after the appointment, I mean.”

“Okay,” she says. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead.

His head falls back against the cushion and his phone drops onto the sofa. Tears are rolling down his cheeks, and he’s not entirely sure he knows why.

Or maybe he just can’t untangle all the many, many reasons.

---

Phil’s quiet when he gets home.

He takes the smoothie Dan didn’t touch and sets it on the coffee table before dropping onto the empty cushion. His arm is draped across the back of the cushion, his hip just inches from Dan’s, as he turns his gaze to the open laptop, lit up with another Smosh video.

Dan’s been watching them mindlessly since his tears dried on his cheeks.

“This is a good one,” says Phil.

It’s an older one, the production value a little cheaper and humour a tad outdated. Probably more similar to what Phil had watched back at uni, Dan thinks. He tries to imagine it, a younger version of Phil, one with longer hair and a slightly narrower frame, sitting in a uni room like the one Dan moved out of before coming here.

He hardly can. Maybe because his mind is still muddled, hanging onto words he said during the phone call, onto all the things he should have said but didn’t.

“It is,” he says, just as the video ends.

He doesn’t start a new one.

Phil’s fingers sweep across his shoulder. In Dan’s peripheral, he can see Phil turn to look at him, but he doesn’t look back.

“Are you okay?” asks Phil.

Dan swallows. There’s a lump in his throat, a pressure behind his eyes so harsh it aches.

“Didn’t sleep very well,” he says.

Phil squeezes his shoulder. “I know.”

That makes the corner of his mouth quirk up. Of course Phil knows. He was there, arms wrapped around Dan as he fidgeted, tossed, and turned. His hands had combed through Dan’s hair, and his quiet questions about if Dan was okay were mumbled against his shoulder, his reassurance felt in his touch.

Phil usually falls asleep pretty quickly, Dan’s learned. Last night, he didn’t.

The hand at his shoulder tightens. Dan finally turns to face Phil.

“Is that all that’s bothering you?”

His eyes are soft, almost sad, as his hand rubs gentle circles against Dan’s skin. He knows. He must know something’s up. Dan has to remind himself that Phil’s seen him after countless sleepless nights, curled up in soft blankets on the sofa and dozing when his mind gets too tired to keep racing.

Today isn’t like that.

Dan reaches out to rest a hand on Phil’s knee, needing to feel grounded, as the first tear rolls down his cheek. Phil draws him closer, so Dan’s head is by his shoulder, his tears dripping down onto the fabric of Phil’s shirt.

There’s no pressure, none but the weight of Phil’s hand on his shoulder, when Dan says:

“I called my mum.”

Phil goes tense. “Oh,” he say. “How did that go?”

Dan swallows. “I don’t know.”

He really doesn’t. His chest feels too full with contradictions, the weight of past accusations crashing up against her understanding tone and he doesn’t know what to think anymore. He’s never been sure how to exist around her, not since pain first settled in his bones and she told him it was growing pains, it would pass, it would get better.

And it never did.

“I haven’t talked to her since I told her I was staying in Manchester,” he says, maybe as an afterthought, maybe because it’s felt heavy on his shoulders since he answered the phone.

“Was she nicer this time?”

He nods. Another tear falls. “She’s texting me my medical history,” says Dan. “She offered, because she– she knew I had trouble writing and remembering.”

Phil hums. His breath has gone even again. His mouth is close to the top of Dan’s head. He sounds hesitant when he speaks. “It sounds like she cares.”

Dan feels that, sharp and painful in his gut. Another tear rolls down his cheek, and his breath catches, and Phil holds him tighter like he’s scared Dan will fall apart.

Maybe he will.

It’s been so long,

He’s been so that sure she doesn’t actually care.

Now, he doesn’t know what to think.

---

His mum texts him.

Dan almost cries. His teeth dig into his lip and his ribs ache and he stares, wide-eyed, at the list of diagnoses and unexplained symptoms he’s had over the years. There’s the migraines they never treated at the beginning, the lightheadedness it took them four years to explain, the instructions to do more exercise that dot the whole six years that he’s been ill.

The first time he went to therapy, and the antidepressants they put him on, and the second time he went to therapy.

And every time he told his doctor he was still sick after that.

Phil’s hand lands on his wrist, gently pushing the phone from Dan’s line of sight. His voice is barely a whisper when he says: “Are you okay?”

Dan swallows. His throat aches.

Laid out like this, it doesn’t look that bad, a distant voice in his head that’s haunted him for too long tries to remind him that maybe he’s just making it all up. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. But Dan can remember the A&E doctor who turned him away because it was growing pains. Can remember the so many times his blood pressure was low before anyone bothered to point it out.

The time his doctor looked at him and said–

“Can we do something?” says Dan. “I want to– I need a distraction.”

Phil nods. In Dan’s peripheral, his phone screen goes black. The knot in his chest loosens, just a bit.

“Wanna play video games?” says Phil.

He shakes his head. “Wanna go out. It’s been too long.”

Phil’s brows furrow, like he’s about to point out that there’s a reason it’s been so long, about to warn Dan that he doesn’t want to make himself sick before such an important day.

Except part of Dan does. He’s done it before, forced himself to be in pain because maybe that way the doctors would actually see that he wasn’t lying. Not that it’s ever worked.

“Please?” he says.

Phil squeezes his wrist. “Okay.” His thumb drifts across Dan’s, careful and comforting. “Where do you want to go?”

---

Dan squeezes into his skinny jeans, even though the fabric burns his legs. He pulls a shirt over his head for what feels like the first time in forever. Though his knees are shaky, he bends down to tie his own laces, as Phil watches from where he’s leaning against the door.

“Are you sure about this?”

He reaches out, without a word, to help Dan stand again.

“I’m sure,” says Dan. “And don’t worry, you won’t need to take me to A&E this time.”

The corner of Phil’s mouth quirks up, and Dan knows he’s forcing it. He can feel his worry in the too-tight clench of Phil’s hand around his, the way his gaze trips over Dan legs when he wobbles as he stands.

He squeezes Phil’s fingers, forcing a smile of his own, as he opens the door.

It’s warm outside. The sky’s going purple as the sun sinks below the city. Dan realizes, staring up at it, that he hasn’t left the flat since he trip to A&E, hasn’t enjoyed being outside in far too long.

If his joints would let him, he’d suggest they walk around a bit. Instead, he stares up at the clouds and reminds himself to spend more evenings, when the sun won’t burn his eyes, on their little balcony, just to feel the wind against his cheeks again.

Phil tugs on his hand when the cab pulls up in front of them. They pile in, side by side in the back seat. Dan doesn’t put on his seatbelt. He can’t be bothered to deal with the harsh rub of fabric against his ribs.

His chest is still tight, the quiet buzz of anxiety at the back of his mind growing louder. He can still feel his phone, heavy in his pocket, can still imagine the text he hasn’t yet responded to. He can remember their last movie night, laughing and gasping and falling asleep with Phil’s hands trying to massage the pain away.

They hadn’t even gone out last time.

Dan stares out the window and hopes he can keep his promise that it’ll be okay this time.

They slip out of the car at the cinema. Phil pays the driver. Dan leans against the wall as he waits, wondering if the lines inside are long. It’s been so long since he’s been to the cinema, he can hardly imagine it anymore. The screens usually hurt his eyes and the audio gives him a headache and he doesn’t care today.

“You okay?”

Phil’s smiling at him, standing by the door. He holds it open for Dan, and buys their tickets for a random comedy neither of them particularly wanted to see. He lets Dan go find a seat as he buys them popcorn, soda, and a chocolate bar to share. He hands it over, in the darkness of the theatre, with a smile.

Between them, their knees bump together as the film starts.

---

They’re holding hands when it ends.

Dan’s eyes are starting to burn and his chest aches from laughing, but the voices in his head have dulled just enough that he can breathe a little easier. He doesn’t think about the appointment he needs to show up to tomorrow, or the doctor he hasn’t met yet who might dash his hopes all over again.

He stares at their joined hands as the cinema empties, smiling.

“You ready to go home?” says Phil.

Dan shrugs. He probably should give his spine a break by sinking into the sofa again, close his eyes against the bright lights of the city before a headache wells in his temples. But he doesn’t want to sit in the dark and wait until tomorrow, letting his fears return.

“Can we get pizza?”

“You up to walk?”

He nods. Phil helps him to his feet and leads him out of the cinema. He knows Manchester better than Dan does, and tells a story about coming to watch movies with Ian when he was younger as they find the nearest pizza place. Dan listens, maybe more attentively than he needs to, to keep his mind from going hazy as the city moves around him.

There’s still a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Dan wonders if him of a few years ago would have believed that he’d end up here.

The restaurant they end up in is small and quiet, and they slide into a booth in the corner of the room. Dan sinks back against the cushion, realizing that Phil’s smiling, too.

His chest feels warm. His fingers twist in the tablecloth, because part of him misses holding Phil’s hand.

“Thanks for tonight,” says Dan. “I had fun.”

Under the table, Phil knocks their feet together.

“I did too,” he says.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #flares #callie writes words #sorry I haven't been online much #turns out when irl is going either better or worse than just fine i don't find much tumblr time

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spn-rewrites · 5 years

Text

01x12 (part 1)

Season One Episode Twelve: Faith

A/N: Alright, a quick note. my computer is effed up. The updates may start to slow down unfortunately until I can figure out how to fix this mess but they’ll still come, I promise. I love hearing from you guys, so please keep the feedback coming! Let me know of any ideas you guys have for future episodes, storylines, ect and as always, please REBLOG if you enjoyed.

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: a hunt gone wrong, hospital beds, and another call to John.

`“What do you have those amped up to?” Sam asked as Dean rummaged through his trunk for the taser guns.

“100,000 volts,” Dean grinned, handing one to you and Sam and taking one for himself.

“Damn,” you commented, moving it around in your hands. You were careful with your

inspections and Dean filled his backpack up with any extra supplies you may need but truly, this was the one and only thing that could actually kill this thing.

“Yeah, I want this rawhead extra freakin’ crispy,” Dean mumbled and then looked at you, pointing the butt of his taser gun at you and dancing it between you and Sam. He was really only talking to you and you knew that. “Remember, you’ve only got one shot with these things, so you better make it count.”

“Yeah, I remember,” you mumbled with a little attitude laced in your voice at his reminder. You accidentally fire one of these prematurely once and you’ll never live it down. Dean closed the trunk to the Impala and you snuck your way into the old, creaky, house. It seemed to be abandoned for the most part, the floors hardly kept up with, garbage everywhere. You made your way to the basement, guns pointed and flashlights ready.

It was quiet until it wasn’t and there was a bang coming from one of the walls. All three of your flashlights instantly went to the noise and you crept closer to it. On the count of three, Dean pulled open the little door that you assumed led to a little crawlspace. You jumped when he opened it but relief flooded you when you saw it was two little kids.

One boy and one girl, shaking with their knees pulled to their chest. “Is it still here?” Sam asked, loosely looking over them for any obvious injuries. The boy nodded to his question and you gestured for them to stand up and get out of the crawlspace.

“Grab your sister’s hand. We’re gonna get you out of here,” Dean said. You put your hand on their backs, carefully walking them over to the stairs with Sam and Dean guarding your back. You and the kids made it to the landing but Sam’s groan was too loud in your ear and then there was a thud and some screaming and Sam tumbled down the stairs. “SAM!” You and Dean both called out for him. Dean shot his taser gun in the direction that he must have seen this thing but he missed.

Sam quickly got up and ran back up the stairs to you, tossing his taser gun at Dean. “Take this!” He ordered. Dean caught it easily, nodding towards you and his brother before you disappeared behind the corner and ran out of the house. Sam told you to stay put, guarding the entrance to the house while he secured the girls in the car.

You couldn’t hear much coming from the basement but you were anxiously waiting. Dean could handle himself was the mantra that you repeated over and over again while your leg shook in anticipation. “I’m gonna go back down there!” You called for Sam. He didn’t say anything, just waved a hand at you to give you the go ahead and you whipped around, running back down the stairs trying not to make too much noise but the second you saw Dean lying in the corner of the basement, unconscious, you ran.

You could feel a pulse on your fingertips but you didn’t know if it was his or just yours from your heart beating so quickly. He wouldn’t wake up, no matter how much you tried to shake him awake or slap his cheeks or begged him to. You knew you couldn’t carry him up the stairs alone and it felt like an eternity, you sitting there, checking for pulses on his neck and his wrists while crying out for Sam until he eventually showed up. He ran to your side, doing all the same steps that you just did until he grabbed him and helped you carry him to the car.

Getting the kids to safety was your first mission but it felt insignificant to you as you cradled Dean’s head in your lap in the front seat of the Impala. You tried not to cry now that you weren’t alone and you didn’t want to freak the kids out so you sniffled to yourself quietly until the kids got out of the car and then Sam and then Dean to take him into the hospital. It wasn’t until you were left alone in the car while Sam delivered him to the ER that you let yourself really, really cry. Like snot shooting out of your nose, not being able to tell the difference between snot and tears on the back of your hand, whole body shaking kind of cry. When you were done and your eyes were bloodshot and your nose was rosy, you went in to join Sam.

You and Sam were at the reception area, trying to figure out how to pay for this mess when the lady gave you a solemn look, “there doesn’t seem to be any insurance on file.” Sam mumbled a few words to himself, grabbing his wallet out of his pocket. He was just as shaken up as you, maybe even more but he was handling it much better. You hadn’t seen him cry but that didn’t mean he wasn’t and he handed the lady a credit card - stolen. “Okay, mister Berkovitz,” she said, reading the name on the card.

You looked over your shoulder at the policemen waiting, watching, staring at you. You pulled on Sam’s jacket after the lady went to run the card and made your way to the policemen. They gave you another solemn look and you were already tired of all the pity looks you were receiving from people. You wanted to be left alone. “We can, uh, finish this up later,” the policeman offered.

“No, it’s okay,” Sam told them, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket. “We were just taking a shortcut through the neighborhood and our windows were rolled down. We heard some screaming when we drove past the house, and we stopped and ran inside,” he explained the fake version of it all. The civilian version it.

“And found the kids in the basement?” The officer finished, you and Sam both nodded. “Well thank god that you did,” he said, offering you a proud smile. This was one of the more friendlier encounters with the police you’ve had in the past few years and you were disappointed that it was under such grave circumstances.

You heard a door opening from behind you and you excused yourself from the officers, Sam quickly following. The policemen yelled a thank you down the hall as you ran up to the doctor. “Is he-” You started but the doctor held out a hand, suggesting that you calm down. You took two deep breaths and then the doctor smiled.

“He’s resting,” he said.

“And?” You pushed.

“The electrocution triggered a heart attack - pretty massive, I’m afraid. His heart is damaged,” the doctor explained. You felt like your heart was damaged hearing that news. You felt Sam’s body tense up.

“How damaged?” Sam asked and you braced yourself for the worst news possible. You could see it in the doctor's eyes that that was coming. You wrapped your arm around Sam’s, leaning into him for comfort.

“We’ve done all that we can. We just need to try and keep him comfortable at this point but I’d give him a couple weeks at most, maybe a month,” he explained. You thought that you had cried all of your tears but more threatened to come. Your heart was pounding so hard in your chest you thought that you were going to vomit all of the doctor’s white coat.

“No. There’s gotta be more that you can do,” Sam protested, his face falling and there they were: the tears. “Some kind of treatment,” Sam suggested.

“We can’t work miracles. I really am sorry.” Your lips parted and you could feel the tears streaking down your face and you felt paralyzed in that hallway with that doctor but Sam pushed you off of him and pushed past the doctor and into Dean’s room where the TV was lightly humming.

When you entered the room, Dean was mumbling something about daytime TV with his raspy voice that cut deep into your skin and left you bruised. You popped up behind Sam, who sighed and let out a sharp exhale. “We talked to your doctor,” he said.

“That fabric softener teddy bear. I wanna hunt that little bitch down,” Dean said, pursing out his lips as he changed the channel of the TV.

“Dean,” you warned. He rolled his eyes, putting the remote down on his lap.

“Looks like you guys are gonna have to leave town without me,” he said bluntly.

“What are you talking about? We’re not gonna leave you here,” you said, stepping out from behind Sam’s back, getting braver and braver but it was hard to see him in this condition. It was heart wrenching.

“You better take care of that car,” he warned. “I swear I’ll haunt your ass.”

“I don’t think that’s funny,” Sam said and you agreed but you bit your lip to prevent yourself from smiling.

“Oh come on, it’s a little bit funny.” You couldn’t help but let out a little laugh and Sam smiled, looking down at his feet. The room fell silent then and Dean let out a sigh. “Look, Sammy, what can I say, man? It’s a dangerous gig and I drew the short straw. That’s it, end of story.”

“Don’t talk like that, alright? We’ve still got options,” Sam pleaded with his brother. You knew just as well as Dean that there were no options but Sam would play the devil’s advocate until Dean died. He would always beat the horse too thin. Pray for a miracle that would never come.

“What options? You got burial or cremation,” Dean deadpanned.

“Hey,” you warned, shooting him a glare. He licked his lips, raised his eyebrows at you apologetically and then sighed again.

“I know it’s not easy but I’m gonna die. And you can’t stop it,” Dean said. He was the first one to really say it out loud. In those words. Sam’s face was scrunched up and red and you saw the tears pooling in his eyelid but you knew he wouldn’t let them fall around Dean. You put your hand on his forearm briefly and then sat on the edge of Dean’s bed.

“Watch me.”

The next few days were spent searching the internet and calling everyone in John’s journals to figure out a way to fix this, but Sam wasn’t sleeping and he wasn’t crying and you felt like maybe he was holding back for you because even when you were hiding in the bathroom, waiting for him to do something while he was alone - there was nothing. You couldn’t even hear him crying in the shower.

You were perched on the edge of the bed, the laptop on your lap while Sam tried John’s phone. No answer. “Hey dad, it’s Sam. Uh… You probably won’t even get this, but, uh, it’s Dean,” he started, his voice shaking and cracking. You closed the laptop and pushed it to the side. “He’s sick and the doctors say there’s nothing they can do.” He paused, his face scrunching up in pain. “But hey,” he chuckled, “they don’t know the things we know, right? So don’t worry, cuz I’m, uh, gonna do whatever it takes to get him better.” Sam kept hitting his ankle that was crossed over his knee and playing with the frayed ends. “All right, just wanted you to know.” Sam hung up and you were angry at John for not answering and not being here and making Sam do this alone.

“Hey,” you whispered, putting your hand on his shoulder. He jumped at your touch, almost like he forgot that you were even there but he softened when he looked at your face. You gave him a weak smile. “We’ll fix this, okay?” You promised him. It wasn’t something you could promise or that you should have promised but you did it anyway to make him feel better.

He pushed off the bed and started to pace around the room, running his hands through his dirty hair. He looked like such a mess. You could almost see the anger building up inside of him on his face. The way he squeezed his eyes shut, the way his lips were tight against each other. Sam turned around and in one swift motion, he cleaned the table clean of all the magazines and take out menus that littered it.

You jumped to your feet and put your hands on his biceps, coaching him to look at you. Begging him to look you in the eyes. When he finally did, you gave him another weak smile. “Breathe, okay? Please?” You asked. Sam licked his lips and then took a deep breath, nodding at you but when he let it out, he shook his head and crashed his body into yours.

You wrapped your arms around him and he squeezed you so tight you thought your head was going to pop off but you didn’t mind because that was Sam and you were willing to hold him for as long as he needed or wanted you to but a knock at the door broke the moment.

You sat him down on the bed and got the door yourself. “Dean?” His skin was pale and he was sweating even though it was cold outside and his body was pressed against the doorframe. “What the hell are you doing here?” You scolded him for leaving but the smile on Sam’s face when he saw him, made you regret it.

“I checked myself out,” he smirked, limping into the room, holding himself up with the chair.

“Are you crazy?” Sam asked but his face was filled with relief and joy that his brother was here with him. You knew just how crazy it made him think about Dean in that hospital bed, alone, watching daytime TV that he hated.

“I wasn’t going to die in a hospital, especially where the nurses aren’t even hot,” he joked as you closed the door behind him and helped him sit down in the chair. Neither of you laughed at his joke, but Dean still thought it was funny and he chuckled.

“You know, this whole “I laugh in the face of death” thing is crap. I can see right through it,” Sam told him, trying to scold or be serious but he was still smiling a little bit.

“Yeah, whatever, dude,” Dean rolled his eyes and adjusted his jacket so that he was comfortable and you couldn’t imagine that he was but he was putting on a brave face despite the fact that he looked like he was dying. “Have you even slept? You look worse than me,” he teased.

“He hasn’t,” you answered for Dean but giving Sam a glare. You had been begging him the last few days to just get a few moments of sleep and you would do the research for him but he insisted on staying up until he found a solution for his brother. Even as you slept, you could feel his body stirring next to you.

“I’ve been scouring the internet for the last three days. Been calling every contact in dad’s journal,” Sam explained, sitting down on the bed across from his brother. You sat next to him, pulling out the laptop and opening it up. There weren’t many solutions out there, but the one that you had so far, was pulled up on the computer.

“For what?” Dean groaned, visibly uncomfortable.

“For a way to help you. One of dad’s friends, Joshua, he called me back. He told me about a guy in Nebraska, a specialist,” Sam explained. You pulled up all the reports of the guy that you could find online, up, spinning the computer to show Dean. All the articles you could find showed nothing but good things. This guy healing people from even the brink of death.

Dean scanned the screen and shook his head, “you guys aren’t gonna let me die in peace, are you?” He asked.

“We’re not gonna let you die, period. We’re going.”

tagged: @matchamendes @stuckupstucky @sillydecoy @kaelyn-lobrutto24@liztorr1212 @icanreadbookstoo @rachael-mae @jessewa26

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paladin-andric · 5 years

Text

An Even Game

Hey, everyone! After finishing Blackheart I had a few ideas for some shorts, so I think I’ll be posting some! This one’s about a bunch of mercenaries taking some time off to play some rather elaborate games...

Sofia’s entrance into the company hall was far from silent, but with the boisterous shouts coming from the table, it might as well have been.

None of the group of five could hear her coming as they laughed and complained, the sound of rolling dice and shuffling paper being heard.

“It’s nonsense is what it is!”

“You’re just mad you’re losing!”

“Hey, I’m only losing ‘cause you stacked the game, you rat!”

The woman was a member of the Drakebloods, a mercenary company that had been successful enough to found their own hall. While small, as the company was, it was a pretty massive achievement for them.

It appeared several of the members were using their downtime to play games at the hall, all of them crowded around the round, wooden table and sat in cheap wooden chairs.

Sofia, a soldier within the company, chucked her things onto an empty table as she made her way to the end of game room. Ahead of her they sat, a massive map, a mess of cards and papers, and dice and miniature figurines taking up the entirety of the table.

“Hey boys,” she said casually, most of them turning to look at her.

“Oh, hey Sofia!” David answered, a notable chipperness in his voice.

David was one of three humans at the table, the others being Michael and Emanuel. The fourth member of the group was a koutu, one Sofia knew very well as Con. Though his true name was Conchobhar, enough of the company called him by the simpler nickname that he was now known by both.

The final man at the table was a saalik, one of the lizards from the desert kingdom across the seas. He was Bahim, one of the largest and most intimidating warriors in the whole company. His great size, plainly apparent strength, and frightening reptilian visage did little to show his true nature.

Emanuel smiled at her. “Hey, wanna join? We’re short a player!”

“Pona Federation’s still not taken,” Michael added, sounding a touch irritated.

“Uhh, actually I’d just like to watch, thanks,” Sofia answered, hands on her hips.

“Come on!” David said, trying to egg her on.

“We’d love if you joined us!” Conchobhar said cheerfully, clutching onto a slip of paper.

“Really, thanks but I don’t want to. I don’t even know what you’re playing.”

“We could teach you,” David said softly, a playful grin on his face.

“That’d take ages.” Michael’s voice was low and carried frustration in it. “This game’s already an hour in and we’ve barely done anything. Can we get a move on?”

“Hey...if she doesn’t want to play, we shouldn’t make her,” Bahim’s voice was quiet and meek, as it usually was. Quite a mismatch for the brutish-looking warrior.

“Tsk, whatever,” David said with a roll of his eyes, “If you say so…”

Sofia pulled a chair from another table and joined them, leaning over the massive map and piles of papers. “What in the world is this game, anyway? What needs THIS much work to play?”

“Deacan Kings!” Conchobhar said excitedly.

“Deacan Kings…?”

“You mean to tell me you’ve never played it?” Emmanuel asked, his tanned face staring at her in confusion.

She shook her head. “Never heard of it.”

“Wow…I thought everyone in the whole damn company played this at least once,” David mused.

“Not me. What IS it, anyway?”

“Deacan Kings is like playing history!” Conchobhar cried. “Err...well, like playing how history could have been, anyway. You pick a nation and try to manage your kingdom, and build up the administration, deal with court intrigue, and conduct politics with other plays, forge alliances, scheme, and try to conquer all of Deaco! It’s wonderful!”

Sofia crossed her arms and frowned. “Manage politics and administration? Sounds complicated.”

“Oh, it is!” Bahim said, a sort of shy happiness dancing on his face. “B-but it’s really fun! Once you learn everything, there’s just so much you can do! There’s so many different paths for you to take your nation! There’s dozens of laws you can change your stance on, and nation get their own bonuses, and your ruler gets personality traits that change things and limit what you can do, and how the game goes…” The large lizard stared off into the distance, lost in his joyful recollection of the rules like a child telling his parents about his favorite play.

“Hey, speaking of ruler traits…” David tapped the map. “Turn 20. Time for everyone to get one.”

The group all grabbed for a stack of notes in the corner, each taking one off the top one by one. As they looked at what trait their ruler now had, varying reactions came from all over the table.

“Oooh, I got workhorse!” Conchobhar said excitedly, “Yes!”

“Ah, whatever,” Michael said angrily, tossing his card to the table.

“What, what'd ya get?” David asked.

“Soft-hearted.”

“Hey, that’s not bad at all!” Conchobhar said, “That’s amazing for the endgame!”

“Yeah...for when you have a massive empire,” the irritated human said, “I’ve got two regions, man. TWO. All cause David’s mad that I’m better than him.”

“Aww, what are you talking about? I thought you were GOOD at this game!” David laughed mockingly.

“Literally no one plays the kobold tribes, you ass. They get annexed by turn three, tops.”

“Michael’s the best Deacan Kings player, basically ever,” Conchobhar explained to Sofia in a low whisper, “Whoops everyone here every time we play. David complained so now he’s handicapped.”

The woman nodded, now understanding why Michael seemed so annoyed. He was too good to play with, so they had given him a nation so outgunned it would be hopeless to win in most other players’ hands.

“Oh, and soft-hearted boosts happiness and lowers unrest in every region,” the birdman added, “Pretty amazing when you’ve got dozens of places to keep under control.”

The woman nodded, becoming more interested in the game. “I see…God, this is complicated. Interesting, though...”

“And yet here you are at turn 20. I don’t see what you’re complaining about…” David was grinning like mad.

“Cause you’re BAD,” Michael said, flashing a grin of his own, “Five thousand tribal warriors, and you just can’t stamp me out.”

“Tsk. You got lucky!”

“Nope. Learn about terrain and maybe your massive army could beat a couple of kobolds with sticks,” he shot back.

“I’m gonna kick your ass!” David shouted, “Just wait til ya-”

The man’s eyes went wide as he stared down at his card, his mouth freezing in place.

“Oooh, I think he got something good,” Emmanuel said, looking over at the other man.

“What? What did you get?” Conchobhar asked, trying to peek over his card.

“...GENIUS!” David announced triumphantly, “King Bohem is now a genius!”

“Horseshit,” Michael grumbled. The others all chattered in excitement as he tapped the table, deep in thought.

“That’s a good trait, I’m guessing.” Sofia said, the others turning to look at her.

“Are you kidding?! It’s the best trait in the whole game!” David answered, still ecstatic.

“It lowers civil unrest, boosts tax and trade revenue, increases your military command, gives a nationwide boost to prosperity, and makes you able to change laws three times as fast!” Conchobar explained giddily.

“I haven’t seen anyone get genius in a long time,” Emmanuel said quietly, “Speaking of which...I’ve got agriculturalist now.”

“Aww, come on!” Michael complained, “Did EVERYONE but me get a good trait?!”

“Soft-hearted’s a good trait, just-”

“Just not for the current situation, yeah yeah yeah,” the increasingly frustrated man cut Conchobhar off, “I know.”

“A true ruler serves the people,” the koutu said with a sly grin.

“Chieftain Stonebark giving his slaves hugs doesn’t really matter when they’re all about to die, does it?” Michael said with a roll of his eyes.

“...ah.” Bahim’s eyes rose from his card, a sullen expression on his muzzle. “Err...cheer up, Michael. Stonebark’s got it better than the Sultan.”

“Oh dear. Get one of the negative traits?” the man replied.

“Ahaha...you know how David got the best trait in the game?” the large lizard smiled sheepishly. “Err...Sultan Venhim is now...insane.”

There was a brief pause, the entire room bathed in oppressive silence for a moment...before everyone erupted into laughter.

Sofia watched them all lose it, confused by their reactions.

“O-oh, God!” David slapped his thigh. “Oh, WOW!”

“Rest in peace, Abinsil,” Emmanuel said, trying not to laugh.

“Oh dear...that just leaves the kobold tribes as allies to the Koutu Kingdom,” Conchobhar said with a notable amount of worry.

“Tsk...sounds like I might need to sail down there and take a few regions, Bahim,” Emmanuel said.

“W-what?! Aww, come on!”

“Hey, my back’s been against the wall this whole game! I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do,” the human answered back.

Michael’s anger seemed to have evaporated. “Huh. I guess things really could be worse…”

“Uhh...why are you all talking like he’s just out of the game?” Sofia asked, “Is it really that bad?”

“Yes, and he basically is,” Conchobhar answered.

“Insane makes you roll the dice at the start of every one of your turns,” Michael explained, “If you roll lower than 20, every one of your actions, changing laws, moving troops, diplomacy and troop movements...is decided randomly by rolling to see what happens.”

“Insane rulers basically flail about doing nothing until their entire nation is wiped out, since they can’t even move their troops to defend or attack anything,” Emmanuel added.

“That sounds...really, really dumb and unfair,” Sofia said, rubbing her chin.

“Yeah, but it makes civil unrest skyrocket too.” Conchobhar flashed a scrap of paper with lists of names and traits. “If they survive long enough there should be a civil war, and since the player usually can’t respond in any way they’re beaten and overthrown quickly...not that anyone should TRY to keep an insane king in power! Once they roll for their new monarch they can start playing again.”

“Ugh...PLEASE don’t invade me,” Bahim whined, “I don’t wanna get kicked out now!”

“I don’t know…” David gave the lizard a predatory grin. “You’ve been developing your regions SO well. They’re so rich…”

“Aww, come on! Don’t! Pleeeaaase?”

“Hmm...I’ll send you a marriage proposal!” Conchobhar announced, “Then we can form an alliance and I’ll take the heat off of you!”

“R-really?! Wow, thanks!”

“Don’t thank him yet, your loony king still has to roll to accept,” Michael noted.

“I’ll just keep trying til we succeed!” the koutu said happily, “Then I can deploy in your regions!”

“Hey, now everyone’s in a coalition against me!” David cried, “No fair!”

“Hey, you’re the one who picked the overpowered nation,” Michael said with a grin, “It’s only natural.”

“Bah! I’ll just deploy dragons against you all!”

“Once my capital gets to the next prosperity level I can summon dragons too,” Michael said, “You’d better watch out…”

“Argh! I won’t let you live that long! I’m attacking you!”

Michael shifted miniatures as David did the same, the two of them moving their “soldiers” into lines across their borders.

“Better hope that this doesn’t end up like the last assault…” the kobold player said with a grin.

“Whatever!” is all David, the Geralthin player managed in response, grabbing a sheet of paper. “Pah...forty to one, you see that?! You’re hopelessly outnumbered.”

“Than it’s an even game.”

Sofia leaned back as she watched them all go, everyone shouting encouragements and playful insults as the two players prepared for battle.

Perhaps I should learn how to play, too…

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink, @fluffpiggy, @elliewritesfantasy, @homesteadhorner, @laurenwastestimewriting, @elaynab-writing, @the-ichor-of-ruination, @disheveledcorvid-deactivated201, @reya-writes, @bexminx

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flamewyrmz · 6 years

Text

a late night rant from twitter im putting in one place, because its a trainwreck of several threads there. mostly copy/paste and still not proofread, but a collection of thoughts on gender, sexuality, personal identity, and love and support within the lgbtq community. i do really lay myself bare here so id like to ask that if you disagree or have criticism you do so respectfully and with that in mind, thank you <3 and if this means something to you itd mean the world to me if you shared it

dunno if ive said this here before but like. if you think you might be bi/pan but youre on the fence cos maybe youve never had a crush on a nonfictional guy or get more crushes on guys than on girls and you find yourself tied up in knots like "well im gay but im also attracted to nonbinary people unless theyre mostly woman-aligned but i dont wanna say im bi/pan because then people will think i like girls and like i like them theoretically but--" let go. just say fuck it! im bi/pan!

try it out and if it doesnt feel right it doesnt feel right and thats fine and in the end no matter what youll have learned a little about yourself. this is actually my advice on any gender/sexuality dilemmas you might be having. go wild. try it out. see how it feels. dont feel like you have to confine yourself to something just because youve stuck with it for some amount of time.

if youre questioning dive right into the deep end! no matter how it goes youll be a better swimmer in the end. its all not quite rigid and a little fluid anyways (for some more than others obv) so if youre unsure, man... go for it. its ok to backpedal

this is important advice to me because ive struggled with it multiple times in the past and this has only recently clicked and i really wish it had sooner. first it was with being... not straight in general. like i was actively dating someone of the same gender and i never considered that that meant, uh, im not straight. always "do you like boys or girl?" "uhhhhhhhhh. uh. UH"

then with being in the range of aro/ace spect. then with being nonbinary! then with being nb but primarily male. and then goddammit im just a boy. accepting that God I Love Men And Only Men (and with it that i *wasnt* aro or ace in ANY capacity) and then, very recently (like up until a couple months ago. like im p sure this year. not 2017), going back on that and admitting i was bi. it is so so freeing to just say "fuck it" and test those waters!

hell, you find something you resonate with but looks a little silly? go for it! use those bun/buns/bunself pronouns. go with stargender! ace-flux demibiromantic? hell yeah rock that shit! it can always change and you can always decide its not right and go back! h4y dudes

all of that especially goes for teens who dont know what the fuck theyre doing. im only 20 yea and barely 20 at that but man i wish id heard this sooner

and please dont take that as me saying "well if youre a lesbian sexuality is fluid and maybe youre actually bi"! hell no. if youre a lesbian and you KNOW youre and lesbian and couldnt ever be anything else then rock on you funky little lesbian! but if you id as a lesbian but are teetering on something like "well im attracted to some fictional and theoretical men but not any real ones and maybe its just compulsory heterosexuality but im not sure and--" dont be afraid to try a different label. its all what feels right to you and theres absolutely no harm

people bash on like. """mogai genders""" and nounself pronouns and the split attraction model and all that and like. yeah! those things can hurt people! personally i struggled with the split attraction bit combined with how broadly people define the ace spectrum. it can be used to hurt. and it is used to hurt. sometimes its deliberate, sometimes its not. but the hurt is there. but its not inherently good or bad.

and yeah, some of it sounds silly. hell, it sounds silly to me sometimes! but to some people hearing that label makes everything click into place, even if just for a little bit, and i take that very seriously. it is one of the best feelings in the world and i want as many lgbtq people (of any age) to experience it.

for some people it feels right to zoom waaaaaaay in and section it into lots of little bits and for others its "fuck it! i dont know shit! im just queer!" and those are both equally valid (that words been thru 12 garbage disposals but i cant think of a better one) maybe you go back n forth and thats fine too! as long as youre open to it changing or being wrong it cant hurt and, like i said, its one of the best possible feelings to have it click like that

as an aside: being bi can *totally* mean "im attracted to men and nonbinary people are long are they arent primarily woman-aligned" or it can mean "im attracted to everyone fuck it" personally? i use bi over pan because i feel like it better encapsulates that i *do* have preferences (i say this all the time but God I Love Men) but ultimately gender doesnt really matter to me cos everyones cute and hot and generally attractive and im not leaving anyone out because im just a little more inclined to kissing boys. but thats me!

as Another aside: i do still to some degree identify with uhh this is gonna sound contradictory but agender boy? or more like boy agender? boygender with left none? i just dont personally feel like its worth taking the time to explain over n over. but it used to be, for me, n i dont regret that a single bit! i wouldnt regret that even if i *didnt* still feel that way in any capacity. honestly?

i dont regret any of the ways ive identified in the past even though feeling stuck and cornered into some got a little harmful to me (and if youve gone through somethin similar and DO regret it and wish youd never heard whatever term you used thats good too. im very strongly advocating for "use whatever labels you want and if it dont fit it dont fit" here but if they did hurt you and youre still hurting about it i understand 100% just dont use it to pull others down. if it concerns you say your piece and let them decide)

this is personally a little hard to admit so bear with me here

honestly? ANY sort of strong identity didnt start developing in me until i was.... 14 or so? and very slowly at that. like gender evened out around 18 and sexuality just a few months ago LMAO. but up until i was a teenager i didnt really feel much of anything re: gender or attraction (and the attraction thing is pretty normal for kids and even teens tbqh!)

and i just.... didnt really think about it! i had This Name and apparently was a girl and i didnt really get what it was like to BE a girl but thats what people said and i didnt know there were other options so i went with it! the name didnt bother me either (except for when people made jokes about a Certain Historical Figure with the same one. just thinking about that i get tired)

and when it came time to actually grapple with the whole concept of being *into* people i just kinda... slunk away! no joke until like 10th grade if someone started a rumor that i was dating x or y had a crush on me i would start to avoid them entirely. lost a friend in 4th grade that way but then in hs hed turned into a TOTAL DICK so no loss there. i think part of that was also people making the assumption that i was straight though? big shrug!

i didnt even realize attraction was a thing i had until i got asked out and just kind of "oh wow??? that sounds so nice??? i feel the same??? yes??" and thats WHY i went thru varying aro/ace labels. cos it unfolded slowly (which again is totally normal if youre a teenager, so dont worry about it if youre going thru that. roll with the punches. and if youre a teen and youve got it figured out? thats totally normal too!)

and the gender thing was similar once i learned that it was an actual possibility (especially being nb, and ESPECIALLY especially being agender) i slowly just... poked at it until i figured something out (fun fact: what set me off to finally go "fuck it im not a girl at all" was being stuck in an awful hair salon chair while my mom got a haircut that took FOREVERRRRRRRRR and i was having godawful period cramps. like i knew not being a girl wouldnt DO anything about them but i made that decision then n there n didnt look back!)

and then i kept pokin at it and watching it like the seed id planted finally started to sprout and i realized i didnt actually know what kind of seed it WAS. i guess ive always been very nebulous in those aspects and its just now forming into something solid. like i said, its a little hard to admit and i... dont think ive actually talked about this in this depth before to, like, anyone?

because the "oh ive always known" narrative is the only one you ever see in popular media and sometimes even from the community itself! and theres nothing wrong with having always known! but theres also nothing wrong with being like me! but i still feel a little anxious talking about it like it somehow means im a sham.

hell, id even go so far as to say i WAS a girl as a kid! i WAS varying shades of agender and nonbinary and ???? as a teen, and i AM, like, 95% a guy right now! maybe in a few years ill be something else. none of those things contradict each other. things like that can change! its not set in stone (but like i said: for some people it is! or, like, set in slime that you left out for 5 years so now its pretty much a rock but if you really try it still squishes into something else?? none of these things invalidate the others! were all unique).

i wouldnt say that at any point ive been cis or straight, cos even when i just went with being a girl and stuff it was always a little ??? but, yknow. even if i HAD been those things at some point it wouldnt matter to me? things just are the way they are and were the way they were

im making myself really vulnerable here and my thought process is a mess and i ramble and repeat myself and my memory and attention span is like 2 seconds and i dont proofread but. its important i think. i dont have a lot of followers and fewer still thatre active but... that really doesnt matter.

maybe someone will retweet at least one of these messy, messy threads. maybe link it to a friend. maybe screenshot it and post it on tumblr [note: LMAO YEAH AND ITS YOU DUMBASS], or to keep for themself. if any of my words help anyone out even a little then it matters and honestly? then its the most important thing in the whole danged world. if even one person sees any of the things ive said tonight and it means *anything* to them, even if just "oh, im not alone in this" then ive succeeded here.

i dont want any of us to ever feel trapped or alone because shit! lifes too fuckin short for that! its goddamn hard being anything but cisgender and straight! sometimes it sucks! like really sucks! there have been so many times ive broken down completely over being trans and felt like, for myself, its the most awful thing in the world. its why prides so important. its why community is so important.

because even when the pressure of the world brings you down so low you think youll never escape theres something or someone there to take your hand and pull you back up, put you on your feet, and say "i know its hard. and itll get hard again. but i believe in you, and youre strong enough for this, and im here with you through every step". that goes for anyone but especially goes for us. and im not just talking about lgbtq youth here. all of us. which is *why* im laying myself completely bare here.

most of this stuff? ive either never talked about or only vaguely mentioned. but im putting it out there. because there was a point where i needed it but didnt have it, and even if its just one person, i want to give someone this advice so at least they dont have to deal with the same stuff i did. and if youre reading this? i love you. im here for you. im my dms are always open and if for some reason they arent its almost definitely an accident and if you say something ill reopen them.

and if youre someone who hates me? maybe even mutually? if it came down to it id let you come to me at your lowest moment, no questions asked, no judgement held, and at the end of it still be the same kind of enemies we were before and never speak again. there are some exceptions of course but honestly ill forgive a lot for someone who needs that kind of support. and if youre one of the people this applies to, i know youll probably never take me up on it. i dont expect you to. i dont expect you to even for a second be comfortable with that idea. thats fine. but if for some reason you ever need it, its there.

i can count on one hand the ex friends that i wouldnt give that to and thats ONLY because theyve legitimately hurt me and left lasting damage (and for some of them? its mutual. and im sorry for that, regardless of how i feel about your treatment of me im truly sorry for my actions. that probably sounds fake and anyway i digress)

and if youre a complete stranger? someone who follows me but has never interacted with anything ive posted? a mutual i havent spoken to yet? im here. and im bumbling, and awkward, and not the best at comfort but you can always come to me if you need someone. im only one man and im under a lot of stress but i swear ill do the best i can, even if its only reading and replying 3 days later and even then just listening and offer whatever gentle comfort or reassurance youll accept.

because thats important to me. thats the impact i want to leave on this world. i dont ever want anyone to feel as small, as scared, as worthless, as alone as i have. im no fighter. im not going to lead any revolutions and hell im too anxious to even go to protests but im here for support. im here to help and heal. and thats important too

and if you listened to that? thank you. if you just skimmed? thank you for that too. if you shared it with someone? thank you (so much). and if you dont? thank you anyways, just for the time

just know this: i love you. i dont care who you are, if youre reading this i love you and im behind you 100%. im here if you need it. stay strong, do something that makes you smile if only for a moment. take that leap of faith. dont restrict yourself for even a second

i meant to go to bed at least two hours ago so goodnight <3 be safe, drink some water, if you have any kind of pet give it some love. take care of yourself. youre the most important person in your own world and never forget that, even if you dont think you are. even if theres something or someone you treasure above everything else. dont diminish your own worth! you are alive, and you are here, and theres nothing more important than that, really. the things you love matter more than anything else. hold them close

#sorry for all the linebreaks i want this to be as easy to process as possible #this is definitely ok to reblog and if you feel even the slightest urge to i encourage it

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strawberryspeachy · 4 years

Text

I wonder if im about to get fired again

Last year i got fired because a teacher who acted like he wanted to be my friend hated when I reciprocated that want.

Ive worked with about 55 other teachers since him and none of them

Ask about my weekend every week. Ask about my friends. Ask about my personal life. Stare at me in the office. Lean over me and touch me. Come look through my folder that im holding to just point out the paper im looking for (they just offer me a new one if they think i dont have it)

But. I was totally stalking him. And got fired.

Now im working at 2 schools

One with 4/5 horrible teachers

The other with 4/5 wonderful teachers

At the horrible teacher school one has been (and i dont say this about people often. Actually ever. I assume ppl hate me... but this woman has bee - well)

K so i made a newsletter for the schools. The good school put it out for the students and that was that. The bad school told me i could distribute it. So i asked this teacher where

She took me into the hallway and showed me a board. She told me to put the papers on those walls. And then she gave me pins. So i did.

Then she told my company i put papers up without permission

Ive worn the same clothes to all 7 schools ive worked at plus two camps. Never got a complaint. Until now. She complained about my skirt and socks

She said in a fly away statement when i started that because were teachers we cant travel because of corona and must stay home - it irriated me because i clearly understood that she was telling me that i need to stay home when im not working. Fuck that! But i just agreed with her. Her first question after my summer break was “you had a long vacation, did you go anywhere”

She asked in a happy voice - pretending that was wanted to hear about something exciting. But. Bitch i have a good memory. I told her i mostly stayed home and only went to a nearby town.

K so like. Thing is. She knows im probably lying (cause im young and not from this country. No one would stay home for a month) so the way she responded was kinda pissed off that she cant prove me wrong or report me or anything - then in the middle of class she asked about my housemates

1) i have no control over them

2) your first question was already invasive and this is stupid

3) youve asked me a question that i cant answer correctly. If i say i dont know youll say i might have corona because my housemates probably brought it home. If i say they went out - same thing. If i say they stayed home - another obvious lie. I told her that they are all students and had class so I think they were home. Again. She was annoyed by this answer

She constantly makes side remarks about “foregners”

She wont translate the questions that students ask her to ask me - and when i understand them and answer she acts flustered and annoyed

Shes bad at english and writes shit incorrectly - gives it to me to cold read - then gets mad when i trip over shit thats written incorrectly

She changed the song early last month because I liked it

She talks to me like im a clown hindering the class - walking over and telling me (a person standing quietly waiting for instruction) that now the students must study - the way a parent would tell a 7 year old not to bother the sleeping dog.

I TRIED to have a normal conversation with her because she seemed to be trying and i felt bad. She said it was hot and cold off and on and told me what temperature it would he the next day in celcius. I just said oh. And felt the tention. So i tried to ease it by chuckling and telling her “sorry. You know how america uses Fahrenheit? I dont really understand celcius.” She immediately —- wait hold on

This school makes us write down our temperature in the morning as though that does ANYTHING to stop corona - they dont even check - she harrassed me upon walking in the door to WRITE DOWN MY TEMPERATURE

—- k so no. No easy conversation. She immediately got serious and went how do you understand celcius for your body temperate then??? I told her i convert it.

A couple periods late she inturrupted another teacher talking to me about class and stopped me from going to class to ask me ‘if you dont know celcius how do you write your temperature down in the morning?!?’’ I told her i have a japanese thermometer and just write down what it says. Then she tried to play if off and chuckled like - oh ha i was just wondering. Whats the difference (her face was like enraged before that btw) she asked what the average temperature in Fahrenheit is and i quickly spit out 98.6 while grabbing my book to leave for the class i was now running late for

Shes full on feuding with a boy who “CANT SPEAK JAPANESE” and is “NOT JAPANESE” she tried not to bitch but also bitch about him to me - through this i learned that his mom is Australian. He was born in Japan. Also if her english didnt suck so much she would know that hes not fluent in english

She like the other teachers ask me questions that they dont want answers to. And sometimes is not even just - i wanna write this sentence wrong - does it make sense

No. It doesnt (correct answer- anything you write is correct. Dont worry. Dont ask me. Your perfect)

A couple weeks ago she told me that the song the other teacher chose is a japanese song that was translated into english. She asked it its gramattically correct. I told her that songs dont need to be grammatically correct so its fine. Then she asked me if it makes sense. I told her that its a bit vague but its fine.

She didnt know what vague meant. She asked me to write it down so she could look it up later. Not sure how she took that as an insult but Im sure she did.

And the song is vague. Id figured out that it was a song that was either written for a weird tv show or translated from something else before she even told me

Shes always late for class. She doesnt even leave for class until the bell rings. If she walks in and i was talking with the students - she looks highly uncomfortable - so ive stopped talking to them before she arrives

She wont let them ask me questions. Only her (these past two points go for the other crappy teachers too)

She cant make up her mind whether she wants me to say hello first or her. She cant make up her mind on what she wants me to read or whether she wants me to stop at commas or read full paragraphs or what - and she gets annoyed when i cant read her mind avout it —the others do this too

She reads sentences she wrote (incorrectly) out loud even more wrong - but apparently (going from her face) even though she doesnt know the word for fucking SENTENCES - and calls them “englishes” she heard me add the s to a word that should have been plural but she wrote as singular. She never says the fucking plurals or adds them where they shouldnt - but of course she heard my quick slip of adding an s onto a fucking word

- which really just shows thats she pays way more attention trying to find me doing something wrong than literally ANYTHING ELSE she does

Theres more. Im tired. And so very stressed. Tomorrow i have a meeting after school which i told my company rhat if they want my time they should pay me for it and told them theyre welcome to come to my schools (the one i like and normally can he stress free and get home early from) station

They made up bs as to why they can pay others but not me but did say theyre gonna come to the station

Last tome with the fucking “hanging stuff up without permission” i was of couse told i was in the wrong (BECAUSE JAPANESE CAN DO NO WRONG) and forced to say that i need to communicate better 3 times

Howd i start this? Watch me get fired? Yea i was fired on like the 23rd last year. Watch me get fucking fired again - for again. One racist ass peice of shit teacher

“Well you just gotta suck it up and accept where you are on the food chain” k look. Do you know how much easier and less stressed id be if i was able to do that?! I just. CANT ok. I refuse to think that i am less of a person than any other person. People can treat me that wat and do all they want. But i refuse to think that i am lesser. I am a person. And if i have to respect them they should respect me. Its a reciprocal fucking thing i cant fucking kiss ass

I lived in a house with a woman who wanted me to kiss her ass - and i basically chose not to be treated like a dormat and pike she was my lord. And thus got mentally and emptionally abused for 24 years.

I cant fucking kiss ass. I can be polite. But i cant kiss fucking ass dude. I just cant

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