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fishnets-fingers · 7 months

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sparklers, stutters & sweet treats

a/n - happy deepavali! it's been a while since i wrote layla and harry, so i'm nervous posting this. in six months, layla accompanies her folks to visit family in chicago to celebrate. so, i thought i'd bang out this blurb because i'd regretted not writing about the two celebrating. as always reblogs and comments are appreciated! happy reading :)

MASTERPOST (if you wanna read more of Layla and Harry)

…

The drawing room of Vasanth’s and Abi’s home looked like a hurricane ravaged it. It started with the boxes and packing tubs piled into the guest bedroom on the ground floor. Now those boxes were open; bubble wrap, packing peanuts, old gadgets, clothes, crockeries, baby gizmos, and Abi’s old shoe collection spilled over. “It’s only getting worse,” Abi groans, face heating up from exertion. She padded back to the loveseat, sighing in relief as her back hit the cushion. The room was littered with things the couple had accumulated over the duration of marriage.

“This was a bad idea,” Layla agrees, voice muffled from the handkerchief she’s tied around her head to cover her mouth and nose. Her makeshift mask didn’t help. She sniffled as she was going through the cardboard boxes.

“Got another box,” Vasanth announces, climbing down the stairs holding a food processor box.

“No, come on, I’m done,” Layla complained. “My back hurts. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

“Deepavali is only two days away. We don’t have time, kutti.” Vasanth makes his way to the two, tripping over the things split over from the boxes.

“Vasanth, Layla’s right. Let’s just call it. Maybe we lost the box of decorations during the move,” Abi says.

“It can’t be lost. I was the one who loaded the box in the moving van in Cary.”

“Maybe the moving people stole it. We’ve gone through every goddamn cardboard box in this house.”

“Why would the movers steal a box filled with lamps, string lights, and fake garlands?” Vasanth shakes his head, reaching to get the knife.

“Maybe they were feeling particularly festive that day?” She shrugs.

Abi snorts at her niece’s retort, hand absentmindedly rubbing her swollen belly to calm her active baby.

“Don’t encourage her, Abi.” He opens the box he’d carried downstairs and frowns when he’s met with Abi’s DIY beading kits. “There are three more boxes upstairs. Get them.”

Layla whines and Abi injecterjects before Layla speaks, “We do have a baby coming in three and a half months. I think people will cut us some slack if we don’t decorate.”

“What will our guests think?” Vasanth asks the two women.

“What guests? It’s three people. Anne, Harry and Earl aren’t gonna judge. Plus we could tell them that people don’t decorate much for Deepavali. They’re not gonna know,” Layla voices her support for her Aunty’s idea.

“You two are such bad influences.” Vasanth mutters as he considers stopping the task at hand. “No, we’re decorating. It’s bad enough to be thousands of miles away from our family for every holiday,” his voice firm.

“Vasanth,” Abi coos, eyes softening at the sight of her husband, sitting up to put a hand on his shoulder and giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“சித்தப்பா (Uncle),” Layla pouts. “Are you homesick?”

“No, I’m not,” he tells her, squaring up defensively. “Didn’t I ask for the boxes from the attic to be bought down here?”

“Are you really going to make your pregnant wife climb up and down three flights of stairs?” Layla asks.

“Didn’t ask her. I asked you,” he raises his eyebrows when she huffs.

“Fine but this is child labour, I tell you.” She stomps her way to the staircase.

“I’ll take my chances in court,” her uncle replies, making Layla stick her tongue out at him.

////

“Hey there, dickhead,” Harry calls out, rolling down his window.

“Harry!” Layla waves from where she’s sat on the front porch steps weaving together fairy light on the marigold garland. “How did the meeting go?” Harry had been stressing about his meeting with the college recruiter for days on end.

He pulls up the driveway, quickly tossing his shades on the passenger side. “Pretty good,” he replied, making his way over to his girlfriend. “She asked me a lot of questions about my time in the Arctic.”

“That’s nice. How lucky that she happened to be coming to Chapel Hill!”

He grunts as he lowers himself next to her, clipping his keys to his belt loop when his car beeped locking shut. “Recruiters usually do that,” he says quietly.

“You’re disappointed with yourself,” Layla narrows her eyes as she looks at the way the corner of his lips pulls downward imperceptibly.

Harry shakes his head. “What's all this then?” He motions towards the garlands and the lamps scattered on the floor.

“Decorations for Deepavali.”

“Did you text me last night saying that you guys didn’t find the box with stuff?”

“We didn’t.” Layla chuckles. “Took us hours to pack and put everything back. I went to bed at 3am, only to be woken up in three hours by a call from தாத்தா (grandad).”

“Where did you get all of this then?”

“சித்தப்பா (Uncle) was moping around all homesick this morning, so I looked around after they’d both left for work. Found it in the closet of my room, behind my suitcases. Aunty is coming back after her lunch meeting. We’re going to surprise him with a decorated house.”

“Want a hand?”

“You’re changing the subject,” Layla notes.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you don’t like to admit that you messed up. You’re clearly miffed about it,” she points out.

“The recruiter asked me about the break in my CV,” Harrys says, voice despondent.

“Oh,” Layla replies quietly. This was the question he was dreading. He’d prepared an answer for it, of course - a very diplomatic answer, but he still felt like he’d fallen behind his peers.

“I fumbled,” he ran his hands through his hands in exasperation. “I mean I had a script and everything. Still managed to fuck it up. I gave her the answer but it came out all shaky.”

“You aren’t going to be the only applicant who’s taken gap years. Everyone is doing that now,” she reassures with a kiss to his cheek.

“But I could have been more confident with the answer. It’s early acceptances and they’re very-”

“Did you stutter throughout the interview? Was she displeased?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “It went well. I made her laugh twice. She seemed very enamoured by my fellowship stories.”

“See! You’ve charmed her! She seems impressed. I know this is a competitive program and all; I’m certain your application will stand out. People stumble all the time, especially in high pressure situations. She’s probably seen many applicants stumble. Don’t make a good interview experience all about one small indiscernible moment. One she’s probably not going to remember after a few minutes.”

“Yeah. That makes sense,” Harry sighs. “You’re good at this.” He turns to see her with one eyebrow cocked up and explains, “This talking thing.”

“Hmm,” she smiles. “It’s not like I spent five years training to be a therapist, only to hate it and move to researching the brain.”

“The world was robbed,” he chuckles, throwing his arm around her shoulder.

“Well, if my smartest boyfriend says so,” Layla giggles, leaning forward to kiss the corner of Harry’s mouth.

“Hey! I’m your only boyfriend,” he stitches their lips together, hand coming to stroke her cheek.

“Guess, you’ll just have to take my word for it.” She laughs, pulling him to her mouth by his collared shirt. “Now, come on, help me with the door,” she murmured against his panting mouth.

It look them thirty minutes for the two of them to finish decorating the door. Harry passed her pieces of cut up tape, while Layla stood on the step ladder trying to make the marigold garland hang in perfect U. Harry asked her questions about how they celebrate the festival back home as they’d folded shiny gold craft papers to make paper rosettes.

“Can you text Aunty, please? My phone’s inside the house. Ask her to pick up a pack of lithium button batteries on her way home,” Layla says, blowing on the paper to check if they are holding up.

“Hmm.” Harry can’t help but smile, when he looks up from his text. Layla’s crop top had ridden up - with the way her arms were stretched up - revealing the soft skin of her belly. She’s rolled down the waistband of an oversized basketball shorts, making the pudge under her belly stick out. He takes two steps towards her, tucking his phone in his pocket, hands coming to rest firmly on her hip. An innocuous gesture that he’d done many times during the course of their decoration to steady her on the ladder that Layla didn’t pay much attention to. He flicks his gaze up and sees her with furrowed eyebrows straightening out the fairy lights. His thumbs caresses the warm skin above the band of her shorts before he leans in and nips her belly.

Layla shrieks in response, and Harry’s hands tighten around her hips so she doesn’t lose her balance.

“Harry!” She giggles, when he peppers kisses below her bellybutton. “What are you doing?”

“Loving on you,” he mumbles, tongue trailing her flushed skin.

She laughs, “Maybe you can love on me after we’re done with this,” she juts her chin out to the garlands in front of her.

He steps back, looking at the flowers hanging around the top of the doorframe. Making a show of his inspection, with an arm behind his back and this other perched on his hip. “Looks done to me,” he shrugs.

////

“Ugh,” Layla grimaces, from her spot on Anne’s kitchen island. “They’re not sweet,” she points to the packet of dried rose petals.

“Stop eating the ingredients,” Harry scolds, swatting her hand away from the bowl of cream cheese with his spatula. He was baking an eggless Pistachio Kulfi Cheesecake.

“Pch, you’re no fun,” she rolls her eyes, dangling her legs. “I thought the cheesecake was for me.”

“It is not for you.” He places the spatula in the bowl of his cream cheese and spice mixture and leans against the island with his hips. “I’m making this for Deepavali. Plus, mum would not be a fan if we show up empty handed for dinner tomorrow.”

“All I’m hearing is: ‘Yes, Layla baby, the cheesecake is for you to eat.’”

Harry laughs. “Yes, Layla baby, the cheesecake is for you to eat-”

“Exactly,” she claps, interrupting him. She reaches for the bowl again, only for Harry to push it away from her reach.

“Nuh uh,” he tuts, wrapping his hands around her wrists and pins them behind her back. He moves to stand in between her legs, bending down to press his forehead to hers. “The cheesecake is for you to eat.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “But after dinner tomorrow. Besides, I'm making it without eggs, so it can be an offering when we pray.”

“I don’t believe in God.”

“And I don’t believe in disrespecting traditions.”

“You’re an annoying idiot.”

“Nice comeback, dickhead.”

“You’d deny your girlfriend some sweet treats?” She purses her lips.

“I got some sweet treats right here,” he whispers, grabbing her hips and pulling her to the edge of the marble counter.

Their kisses start slow, gentle and brief; Layla nips his bottom lip, making him giggle. She grabs his chin and slowly licks into his mouth. Harry responds by kneading her ass and grinding his bulge against the warmth between her thighs. He pants into her mouth, chest heaving with every breath he takes. Layla crosses her ankles around his hips, drawing his body closer, mewling at the way he suckles at the sweet spot of her neck.

The loud ring from Harry’s phone makes them jump apart. Harry mutters a curse as he silences the device, grabbing the now set crust from the fridge. “Stupid bloody phone,” he mumbles, adjusting his pants.

“Guess we both won’t have our sweet treats today,” Layla smirks.

////

Layla never imagined that she'd be celebrating a major festival away from home. She’d braced herself for the wave of homesickness since the minute she’d woken up. She was fully expecting to cry when she’d talked to her parents and grandparents. But it never came. She misses home, there was no doubt about that. But under the buttery streetlight, the sight in front of her warms her heart. Vasanth holding onto Abi’s hand guiding her to light up the fuse of a flower pot. Anne’s face glowing with a multitude of colours as the firework ignites. Earl holding a rocket, waiting his turn. Other Indian families dressed up, laughing as the colourful fire went off.

She feels more at ease when a familiar tattooed arm wraps around her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’ve got this look on your face,” Harry observes. They both hung back, refraining from the fireworks from parking with fireworks.

“I’m happy,” she says, gazing up at him adoringly.

“Hmm, you should be. Iniya deepavali nalvazthukal,” he tells her, slowly, stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables. He’d practised wishing her a ‘Happy Deepavali’ in Tamil all morning.

Layla’s jaw drops in surprise, eyes shining as she gets on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “இனிய தீபாவளி நல்வாழ்த்துக்கள் to you too, Harry.”

When he produces two long sparklers from behind his back, Layla looks up at him questioningly. He’d cared about the planet, she didn’t expect him to join in and she hadn’t burst crackers since her visit to the firecracker factory.

“Thought we’d light just the one in honour of our first Deepavali together,” he explains and she nods.

They joined the four in front of them, lighting up their sparklers with Earl’s, smiling when the crackling pop accompanies the golden hue. A perfect reflection of warmth and light they were feeling on the inside.

…

#six months #harry styles imagine #harry styles #indian!oc #camboy!harry #fishnets-fingers #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #blurb #sparklers stutters and sweet treats

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moochou-eats-paper · 11 months

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Here is one of my little writings

So idk if you’ll think it’s good but here is one of my stories

May I have this dance?

I sat down on a luxurious velvet chair. How easy it was to live life as a prosperous person of power. I sighed ,daydreaming, then opening the curtains, letting golden warm sunlight into my spacious room. A glint of silvery golden lettering caught my eye and I traced it down to an ornate handwritten envelope on my desk. The letter inside read,

‘𝚃𝚘 𝚈/𝙽 𝚘𝚏 (your faction), 𝙸 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚔𝚘 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚍𝚘𝚖. 𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢٫ 𝙶𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍.’

I grinned uncontrollably as I read his name. George has been a dear friend to me and has been since a very young age. I excitedly scribbled a reply, my mind racing. What should I wear? Should I bring a gift? Wine, perhaps? Why am I this excited? I stopped abruptly thinking about that last question. Why am I this excited? I pondered for a moment before looking at the details and making a mental note of them.

Timeskip to the just before the ✨dance✨

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, thinking I looked just perfect with each and every one of my hairs in position and my fine clothing sitting just right. I smiled to myself knowing I would have good night.

Or am I just excited to see George?

I ignored that thought as I walked quickly to Kinoko kingdom itself. It was lit up with colourful paper lanterns and light poured out onto the street as people opened their front doors in the clear night. The smell of fresh, sweet, exotic foods wafted through the air making my eyes widen in delight. Laughter, chatter, music and cheering filled the air. I smiled and made my way to the centre where people danced and twirled in the orange glow of the lanterns and the blue glow of the moon. “Y/n?”, I hear a familiar voice say.

“George!” I laugh, running to him.

“Hey, don’t kill me.” He does him famous ‘gogy giggle’ and we walk alongside each other, talking about how we’ve been. But George seems distracted and I start to panic. Did I say something? But my thoughts were cut off as George says something.

“Y/n, I have to go and speak to another friend. I’ll talk to you later, ok?”

My face drops as he walks over to a young man, tall and dirty blonde. I realise that as soon as the man talks to him, George loosens up. He did seem tense. I walk away dismayed and appetite lost. I…. I feel jealous? I get that we were friends and he was with another friend but I felt jealous in a way I have never before. I wanted to snatch him away for myself and hold him close. I stutter to myself,

“I- I think I’m in love.”

Timeskip to 11pm. Everyone is dancing in the centre

I had cheered myself up earlier and I bought some of the most delicious treats I had ever tasted. I even shared some of my honey-glazed buns with some dear children who were playing with sparklers.

Now though, I headed to the centre waving goodbye to those children and waited to greet George again. I stood towards the side and I watched the happy couples dance, swaying in the dim moonlight and laughing, enjoying themselves. Oh, how I wished to have love like that. Where you could delve into someone’s heart and look into their eyes and see their yearn to hold onto you forever. In the corner of my eye, a flash of green and a smiley porcelain mask came to a beautiful boy in blue. George. My George. I hear them chuckle and the man in the smiley mask say in a soft loving voice, “May I have this dance?”

Giggling, George said, “Of course, anything for you”

My heart felt like it was slowly breaking, chipped but still fixable but now it had crumbled beyond recognition. My George. I felt a lone tear make its way down a rosy cheek. And then the man in green looked at me and smiled. It was the kind of smile in which you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or smug or a threat. And so I smiled weakly back and then I ran. I just ran. As fast as I could. Before I knew it, I had crumpled into an opening in a forest surrounded by beautiful flowers. I sobbed uncontrollably, my eyes puffy and my face covered in pinkish blotches. I grew quieter, sniffling, reaching for a rose.

I smile sadly as I admired its velvety petals. But my finger bled because of the thorns piercing my hand’s skin.

I whisper to myself, “Love is like a rose. At first it is beautiful and can stay that way, but many get hurt by the thorns of heartbreak.”

“Y/n…”

I hear a soft gentle voice and I whip my head around.

“Y/n, that was beautiful.”

It was George. He looked immensely relieved as though he had been panicking just a second earlier. He took deep breaths before saying weakly, “Oh, Y/n I was looking for you. I was so scared.”

I started to tear up. “Why would you be scared? Why would you look for me?”

“You always asked loads of questions, even when we were small.” He smiles.

“George. Please answer this truthfully, I need you to.”

“Anything for you, Y/n”

“Who was that man in green?”

George laughs. He laughed like he used to when we were small.

“That’s just Dream. Or Clay. What, did you think he was my boyfriend?”

He says the last words in a singsong voice but I slapped him lightly on the arm playfully. He can see that I mean yes. He lies down beside me and we watch the specks of glitter we call stars shine in the endless black night sky. A meteor shot through the sky as I whispered, “Would you like to make a wish, George?”

“Yes.”

I gaze into his brown eyes and I sigh contentedly. He rolls over closer to me, so close that I can feel his hot breath on my ear as he says,

“My wish is for you to be mine.”

I sit up and stare at him. I felt like I melted.

“Of course, my love. Anything for you.”

We both smile as many meteors zoom across the sky, granting us unneeded wishes because right then all of our dreams had come true.

#dream smp #dsmp #gnf #georgenotfound #gnf x reader #fluff #oneshot

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wanderingstormjen · 3 years

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Little piece about my Quiz and her favorite (and only) Tevinter brother.

******

Dorian woke to a dull, throbbing headache. His body felt tingly and weak and faint nausea rolled across his stomach. His mouth was dry and felt gritty, as though he’d inhaled sand, and he was assaulted by a bitter, acrid taste and smell that did nothing to help his nausea. He couldn’t quite recall how he’d come into this sorry state and, after a moment of trying to remember that only succeeded in making his headache worse, he decided the best course of action was to see if there was someone around who could tell him.

He was relieved at least to see he was laid out on his bedroll in an Inquisition tent, a warm blanket half tossed over him. He could hear the usual sounds that accompanied the camp, the footsteps and low voices of the guards, the crackle of the fire, and the soft nickering of the horses. Beyond it, he could hear the sounds of the world around them, the Exalted Plains if he remembered correctly.

“Well its about time, Sparkler.”

Dorian looked over to find Varric sitting on his own bedroll, tinkering with his crossbow. The dwarf pushed the weapon off his lap and picked up a water flask. Dorian took it and drank a few swallows, clearing the dryness from his throat so he could speak. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember? Figures. Happened so fast I’m not surprised. We were headed out to see if we could find that Templar Cassandra’s been trying to track down. Pretty sure we were on their trail when we were attacked. Couple guys with swords and one fast little prick who popped up out of nowhere and tossed this at you.” Varric picked up a small leather pouch with a strange mechanism attached. “Poison bomb near as I can tell but it’s not a design I’ve seen before. Hit you in the chest and you caught a load of powder to the face. You were down before we could make a move.”

“Poison?”

“Yeah. Nothing deadly at least. I think they were trying to take you alive. Well...not you actually. Her. They messed up. Someone hired them but we’re not sure who yet. We found a note that said to watch out for us and that the Inquisitor was a mage. They must have seen you and figured you to be the one they wanted.”

“Lucky me,” Dorian huffed, “Is the Inquisitor okay?”

“She’s fine. Worried about you.” Varric chuckled. “Damn if Sunshine doesn’t have one hell of a right hook since she learned that Rift Punch spell or whatever it is. She’s quick too. I think the guy would have flown twice as far if he hadn’t slammed into those rocks. Anyway, he’s dead. She doesn’t mess around when she’s pissed off. I think the Seeker’s rubbing off on her.”

“Where is she?”

“Outside. She watched over you until about an hour ago. Finally convinced her I’d keep an eye on you so she could get some rest but you know her. She’s not going to relax until she knows you’re okay.”

The sun was nearly touching the horizon as Dorian stepped from the tent. It meant that, based on the last thing he could remember, he’d been out most of the day. Cassandra stood with one of the camp guards by the makeshift table, discussing something on the map. The Seeker inspected him silently, nodded, then motioned with her chin.

“Quite the view,” he said a moment later as he joined the Inquisitor under a tree at the edge camp. The Plains stretched out before them, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.

Solana turned from where she’d been watching several wild halla as they grazed along the riverbank. “How are you feeling?”

“Perfectly fine, thank you.” He decided that as the headache and lingering weakness would be likely gone by morning, he could let her think it was true. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” She sounded anything but. She turned back to the halla.

“Now, now. Enough of that. You keep frowning like that and Varric’s going to have to come up with a new nickname for you.”

It managed a half-smile, for a moment at least. “I was...worried. It all happened so fast. You...I thought you were...”

A surprising surge of affection coursed through Dorian. She really had been worried about him. It was still an unfamiliar feeling to him.

“It’s going to take a lot more than some half-rate bandit with bad aim to take me out, I can assure you.” He caught a flash of green from her palm as her mark sparked to life for a second. “It does that a lot, does it?”

“A little. It’s all right. It doesn’t hurt.” She closed her hand. “The guards said they got word there’s a rift not too far away. I suppose it’s reacting to that. We’ll have to take care of it tomorrow.”

“Delightful.”

She finally turned to him again. “You’re sure you’ll be up to it? If you’re not-”

“Solana, I’m fine. Certainly well enough to go traipsing off after a few demons. Must earn my keep, after all. Besides, I’d rather think a certain former Templar would be rather cross with me if I let anything happen to you. Especially now when he’s finally managed to do more than stutter any time he’s in your presence.” He grinned. “You really are adorable when you blush, you know. Your cheeks almost match your hair.”

It finally earned him a laugh. He stiffened as she leaned up against him and laid her head against his shoulder. He glanced back at the camp, sure he’d be on the receiving end of a few disapproving glares for daring to allow or encourage the Inquisitor to be so relaxed and at ease around him. A second later, he decided he didn’t care. He shifted and draped his arm around her shoulders.

He’d never had friends. Not really. He supposed he could count Felix as one, but he was gone now. He’d had few others. Just like everything else in Tevinter, Dorian had always seen friends come with a price. Friendship was a commodity you used to get what you wanted, to get ahead, or to see someone else take a fall. Friendships lasted only as long as it took to outmaneuver or outgrow someone and then you moved on to the next. Maker forbid you embraced pariahhood as Dorian had for much of his adult life.

He’d never expected to find friendship here of all places. He’d expected to be treated with distrust and suspicion. A lot of people did, of course, though he was surprised at the number of people who didn’t seem to care. About any of the things that had made him an outcast in Tevinter. He’d expected to be used as a resource, a tool, a font of knowledge, an extra staff when needed but nothing more. And when whatever this was was over, he’d be sent off with a thank you at best.

Yet, here he was. Sitting on a hillside watching a sunset with the last thing he’d expected: a friend. This impossibly sweet and kind, charming, and brave woman, thrust into role she hadn’t asked for but had somehow managed to embrace wholly without losing any of her grace and compassion. Who asked for and expected nothing from him save perhaps his friendship in return. And what was more? He found himself wanting to return it. He just hoped he could remember how.

“Dorian? Are you all right?”

“Quite all right. Sorry. I was just...thinking.”

“About anything in particular?”

“Nothing of consequence. Shall we enjoy this sunset? Who knows when we may get another chance.”

#dai #dragon age inquisition #dorian pavus #lavellan #dragon age

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disabled-queen-hc-blog · 5 years

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This blog is beautiful and your writing makes me joyous, you’re incredibly talented ❤️ Could I please request some Autistic!John joining the band and the rest of Queen inevitably falling completely in love with him (platonically or not)? Basically anything painfully soft ❤️

“How’re you liking the new guy?” Roger asked, poking his elbow into Brian’s side.

Brian made a contemplative face before shrugging. “As long as he can play the bass and not get in the way, I don’t really care if he’s, uh, weird,” he said, head tilting a little as the two of them watched John in a far off corner. He flapped his hands a bit before plucking some notes on his bass, looking at the music sheet before him. He’d have to let out some more flaps before he could finish what he was practicing.

“I’d say a bit more than weird,” Roger said with a sneer only to whine when Freddie, who was passing by slapped his head proper.

“He’s not going to want to stay in the band if you two keep gawking at him,” Freddie hissed, proceeding to slap Brian’s head too. Brian’s curls were a buffer, but he still frowned rubbing the back of his head.

“Now go talk to him like normal people rather than sitting back and gossiping like old maids,” Freddie continued, his dark eyes nearly black as he squinted at them.

“We’ll play nice, jeez,” Roger replied, hands up defensively.

But none of them went to talk to John. Not that John noticed, too busy focusing on learning as many songs as possible.

♚

“Brian!” John called, a glow on his face and in his voice when the taller walked into the room.

Brian was pulled from his day dreams, blinking as John approached him, fingers wringing and wriggling excitedly.

“Hm?” he said, rather disinterestedly, wanting to go fiddle with Red Special than talk with John. He talked funny.

“I saw you struggling with your amp, so I fixed it,” John said while practically beaming, his gap toothed smile wide.

Brian recoiled internally at the though of John fiddling with his gear. The bloke couldn’t know how to deal with electronics, right?

Tentatively, Brian put on a forced smile and said, “D-Did you?”

John nodded, making fists to steeling his excitement.

“Yeah! A few wires were rusted and the circuit board was a mess, but I patched it all up for you. It sounds even better now,”

Brian’s smile grew faltered, worrying about the state of his amp. Through grit teeth, he asked, “Where is it?”

Without hesitation John led him to his amp, plugging it in and connecting it to his own bass. He strummed a little melody before messing with the dials, playing again to show off it’s versatility. Also showing off that it in fact was working significantly better than it was yesterday.

Brian’s jaw dropped, staring at the tiny amp making impossibly stable and loud sounds and then at John, who couldn’t get that ridiculously sweet smile off his face.

“You..fixed it? You fixed it! Brilliant!” Brian said, almost unable to wait to plug in his old lady and hear her sing.

“Yes! For you!” He continued to strum idly.

Brian’s brain stuttered on the words ‘For you’, his own smile disappearing.

He hadn’t been a very good band member, always dismissing and ignoring John. Like he had this air of superiority just because he wasn’t ‘weird’. Even though Brian was. He was a geek. An outcast in school. And here he was doing the same thing but as an adult.

He shook his head clear of those thoughts, a hand going to John’s shoulder.

“Thank you, John. I appreciate you thinking of me,”

John just let out a small giggle before unplugging his bass and running off.

Weird guy with a sweet heart. The sweetest Brian’s ever seen.

♚

“What are you doing, darling?” Freddie said, eyebrows knitted, having stopped in the middle of belting out a song to himself when he saw John gesticulate weirdly.

“Do you not like my singing?” he added, not really serious nor joking.

John stilled his flapping hands and shaking head, eyes growing wide. He begun to shake his head, not happily, but in the negative.

“N-No! I love your singing! A lot, actually,” John said, internally confused as the why Freddie had stopped singing. He wasn’t being distracting, was he?

“Oh. Uh, well, with all that hand flailing I couldn’t be sure,” he laughed awkwardly. “What’s up with that, anyways? The…” Freddie flapped his hands to finish the question, head cocked to the side. He always saw John doing something strange with his body. Squeaking, flapping, mussing up his hair. He could never quite understand what any of that meant.

It took John a second to get the question, perking up once he did. That was a common question he got and while it could be phrased viciously, Freddie asked politely. Somewhat at least. So he was happy to answer.

“Sometimes I feel something so much that I have to let it out or I’ll get distracted by it. Like my stomach can only hold so much sadness or happiness that it needs to be drained every once in a while,” John explained, hoping Freddie was following.

“Or sometimes I do it to keep focused. If not a lot’s happening, my brain will focus on like the wind instead of my assignment or what have you,”

“But right now, I was doing this,” John flapped, a grin stretching onto his lips, “Because you sing so beautiful, Freddie. Like an angel, I think. Never heard an angel, but I think you’d sound like one. And my stomach started to feel like fireworks were going off and sparklers. Hundreds of ‘em. So I just..” He flapped harder, shaking his head from side to side, his fluffy hair swooshing and swaying as he did so.

Freddie couldn’t help but to smile too, his heart suddenly feeling mushy from the compliment and the younger mans display of enjoyment.

“An angel?” Freddie asked, his gaze gentle on the youngest who couldn’t stop wiggling.

“Yeah. An angel,” John managed to say despite his wild shaking.

Freddie hummed, his face going warm.

He certainly had a new favorite band member.

♚

“Oh, there you are! Roger, can you help me?” John asked, pointing to Freddie’s indecipherable music sheet.

Roger stopped his trek to the back room in search of drum parts and nodded, steering himself over the the table John was hunched over.

“What’s the matter, John?” he asked as he pulled a chair close to the other and sat down, peering onto the music sheet.

John threw his hands up, frowning. “Everything! None of this makes sense. Starting with, this,” he said, pointing to the beginning of the first bar.

“That’s a bass clef, John,” Roger said, his voice suddenly slow and over enunciated.

The hairs on John’s body stood up, his stomach flopping. It was a tone he was all too familiar with. That condescending tone teachers and strangers put on when they wanted to explain something to him, as if he had the cognition of a 3 year old.

John cringed, but assumed it was a mistake. Allistics seemed to be unable to help those random outbursts of baby talk when it came to him.

“I k-know. I mean the key signature. What is that supposed to be? A natural and sharp hybrid?” his finger was on the monstrosity of a key.

Roger glanced at the sheet and laughed. “It’s a sharp! That’s how Fred writes it. You’ll get used to it,”

John breathed out heavily and continued with his questions. “And that?” he asked, pointing to the time signature that appeared to be 0/4 or 8/4, both of which were impossible.

“That’s a time signature,” Roger said again in that stupid voice.

John felt his face go red, his hands going cold and pale.

He’d suffered years of people treating him like a child because he was different. Thinking he was less capable because he talked funny and did things weirdly. He had to bite his tongue for years, having a left a scar on it. But not anymore. Not in his band.

“I bloody know what a time signature is, Roger! I do know how to read music, you know. And you know that I do. Or have you forgotten because you think I’m a retard?” John hissed, gray eyes growing stormy.

“I know I’m not normal like you and the others but I’m not stupid! I’m not stupid! I’m not! Stupid!”

He didn’t mean to blow up, he really didn’t. But he didn’t feel bad in the slightest, especially when he crumbled up the paper and threw it into Roger’s stunned face.

Brian was distant with him. Freddie was mostly confused by him. But Roger was the worst of all. Thinking of him more as a child than an adult. It made him seethe. Ripple with anger.

John stormed out of the room, fingers starting to thread into his hair, yanking and tugging at his brown locks.

He didn’t even notice the blond trailing after him until his shoulder was touched, the sensation like needles to his skin. He jumped, slapping the hand away.

He turned on his heels to look at Roger, his face wrought with shame, eyes so big he could see the whites all around.

John didn’t say anything, teeth working on his bottom lip, hands in his hair.

Roger’s mouth open and shut uselessly, words failing him for once. Or perhaps he decided he wanted to think them through before speaking. For once.

“I-I- uh, John. I’m sorry. I’m really, deeply sorry. I don’t know what came over me to talk to you like that. I...Something came over me,” he said, slowly, only because he was speaking carefully.

John recoiled, wounded further. “Nothing came over you. You just think I’m a spaz.”

Roger tried to say something but John cut him off.

“You do. You have a subconscious bias about me or whatever. But I’m 19 years old and despite how I come across, I think like a 19 year old. I’m getting a degree in electronics and my GPA is higher than you could say for your own degree. Your unfinished one, might I add.”

Roger reeled backwards, blinking at John’s ruthless onslaught. John just fumed, fists now at his side clenched. He was intelligent and he hated that he had to defend that every single day.

There was a grand silence between them, Roger’s face shifting every few seconds from anger to shock and then finally, to a wide smile.

“You’re a cheeky bastard, John,” he said, letting out a gigantic laugh, like he did with the others. Not the meek laugh he used to pity John. A gut busting laugh that brought tears to his eyes.

The rage melted from John’s bones, fighting his lips to stay neutral, but they tugged upwards anyways.

Roger was hunched over, trying to catch his breath, wiping at his eyes. “Mate, you did me dirty,” he let out a loud whew before straightening up. “I’m real sorry for being an ass. Can we start over?” he asked, extending out a hand.

John hesitated before stretching his hand out, grabbing Roger’s and giving it a firm shake.

“I’m John Richard Deacon. Bassist for Queen. The most intelligent of the lot,” he said with his chest puffed out.

“I’m Roger Taylor. Drummer. Dumbass extraordinaire,”

The broke out into cackles, Roger wrapping an arm around John’s shoulder.

He was going to fit in perfectly. Only if they gave him the chance, which they all were from that moment on. Roger would see to it.

♚

There was music playing on the record, sunlight pouring into the tiny flat. Brian sat at the dining room table of Freddie’s and Rogers flat, filling out a crossword puzzle, tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration.

Roger sat on their ratty old couch, arms stretched out over the top, legs splayed out in front of him. He looked up at the ceiling, wondering which pub he’d want to visit that night. There were far too many and so little time.

In his lap laid John- or the top half of him at least- fingers working furiously on the knotted tassles that adorned Roger’s crop top. A fashion disaster of a shirt he’d burn in a fire in 5 years time.

Everyone was content and quiet in their own little worlds, dotted with the occasional question from Brian.

“What’s a 4 letter word for a nobleman?”

“Earl,” John said without so much as a thought, continuing his fiddling with the tassles.

Brian nodded to himself before scribbling that down.

Just then, the door burst open, Freddie walking in with his arms filled with shopping bags.

“Boys! Mama brought home some goodies!” he chirped, closing the door before settling the bags down on the ground.

“You have an addiction!” Roger said, imagining how all those bags put a dent into Freddie’s half of the rent.

“You won’t be saying that once you see what I’ve bought you all,” Freddie quipped with a flair, dropping to his knees to dig through the bags.

He pulled out a pair of sunglasses, round with dark pink lenses. Roger’s tune immediately changed, making grabby hands at them.

“Thought so, bitch,” Freddie murmured before handing them over.

Freddie continued rummaging, pulling out a hunk of metal.

“For my Jimi Hendrix!” he announced, leaning over to give it to Brian.

Brian smiled, holding the mystery object in his hand. “Thank you, Fred. W-What is it...?”

“A telescope thingy! I found it at the market! Isn’t it so lovely and antique? Only costed me 2 pounds,” Freddie said flipping his hair.

“Jesus that’s cheap,” Brian said as he examined the thing that probably wasn’t a telescope.

“Yeah, ‘cuz it’s broken,” Freddie said seriously and then continued to look through his bags. Brian deadpanned, setting whatever the hell the thing was aside and proceeding to finish his crossword puzzle. Freddie had too much money for his own good.

“And finally, for my darling Johnny boy! A rubber duckie!” He held up a fist sized rubber duck, painted in rainbow stripes with big blue eyes. John let out a ear piercing shrill, rolling off of Roger’s lap with the grace of a truck driver, landing (thankfully) on the rug, snatching up the duck, immediately beginning to play with it. It made the most delightful whistling noise when he squished it, the glossy top coat an addicting sensation on his finger tips.

Freddie sat back, watching his friends play with, wear and ignore his gifts, a smile on his face, a sentimental hand on his chest. “Who says I don’t treat my children good?”

“We’re not your kids, Freddie,” Roger said as he wiped the lenses on his glasses clean.

“He does remind me to take my vitamins...” Brian added to the conversation.

“Don’t worry, Fred, you can be my mum,” John said, a little distantly as he was too absorbed by his new toy.

Freddie threw his hands up with a laugh. “That’s why your my favorite kid, Deacy!”

The room grew silent.

“He can’t be your favorite. He’s my favorite,” Roger said, eyes squinted.

“Well, you’re both wrong since he’s my favorite,” Brian said, slamming his pencil down.

“Both of you bitches need to back down. I literally gave birth to him,” Freddie snapped, holding a finger up.

“Freddie, that’s disgusting,”

“Impossible since that’s what I did,”

“Oh now you’re saying you gave birth to him?”

“Perhaps,”

“You know wh-”

All the while, oblivious to it all, John played with the duck, listening to it whistle and looking at the colors. He was thinking of a name for it. He’d ask his friends but they were busy fighting, as usual. He loved them dearly, something he was so happy he could finally say, but they talked far too much. He liked to drown them out every once in awhile. Like right now. The duck let out another long whistle, making him laugh.

#Anonymous #tw ableism #r slur #tw r slur #longpost #long post #john #autistic!john #sassy john: unlocked

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