#and jack's leg. and no other band members. and no other equipment

[baomien]

cass rockin’ out [ for @tffo ] 

#tffo #baobart #and jack's leg. and no other band members. and no other equipment #[presses this into your hands] take this. now farewell [dissolves into mist]

[melisa-may-taylor72]

Record Mirror- 08-25-1984

Ministry Of Works

Did you know that Freddie Mercury wants to make a reggae record? And that Roger Taylor would be selling flowers if he wasn't in Queen? Read on for more fascinating facts

MAYHEM IN Munich! Freddie Mercury is cavorting with a scantily dressed transvestite and it's only three in the afternoon. Are you man or woman enough to read on? Then swallow your vitamin pills and follow me.

Queen are limbering up for their forthcoming tour in Germany and to celebrate another single rising majestically up the charts, they're holding a little press bash in Munich's P1 club. A place even more decadent than the South Finchley Whiskey A Go Go.

The ghost of Adolf Hitler probably wanders around here on dark nights, as The Fuhrer used to store his paintings and other plunder in the club and the building next door. Unfortunately there's nothing left around today.

Instead, the club has gems of another kind. A selection of Queen's videos including the notorious 'Body Language' — and champagne and wine flowing like Niagara Falls.

The cabaret is Freddie's own idea: a group of well passed it drag artists, so outrageous in G strings and lingerie that they make Divine seem as tame as Marjorie Proops. Freddie's more than willing to join in when one of the girls does a rendition of 'I Want To Break Free', but the rest of the members of Queen look on shyly from the comforts of the bar. Everybody, but everybody is here to witness the event, including a film crew from the US air force, tramping around in full combat gear making a nuisance of themselves.

Freddie's doing well considering he's in quite a lot of pain. He remains tight lipped about the full details but he injured his leg after an incident in a club. A physiotherapist has been pummelling at it nearly every day.

"This c+ + + kicked me," says Fred. "I'm hoping my knee will be ready in time for the tour, but it's still giving me a lot of trouble. It might mean I will have to cut down on some of my more elaborate gorgeous stage moves."

FRED'S ALSO been hobbling around a Munich recording studio putting the finishing touches to his first ever solo album which should be out in January. Gadzooks, could this be the start of a split with Queen? Is it true Limahl's going to take over?

"Not at all. I've wanted to do a solo album for a long time and the rest of the band have encouraged me to do it. Some of them are even featured doing a few bits and pieces to help me out.

"There are a lot of musical territories I wanted to explore, which I couldn't really do with Queen. I wanted to cover such things as reggae rhythms and I've done a couple of tracks with a symphony orchestra. It will have a very rich sound."

Fred's also done some work with Michael Jackson, but he still doesn't know when this is going to see the light of day. They've done a selection of tracks together in Michael's home studio. For a while, Fred was even in the running to do 'State Of Shock'.

"I was out of town at the time so Mick did it instead," he says. "I don't mind at all. I'd like to release something with Michael because he is a really marvellous person to work with. It's all a question of time because we never seem to be together at the right time. Just think, I could have been on 'Thriller'. Think of the royalties I've missed out on.

"Michael has been a friend of ours for a long time. He's been to our shows and enjoyed them. We make a great team."

One of Fred's songs 'Love Kills', is being used on the soundtrack of the reactivated 'Metropolis' film and he hopes to make a 20 minute video using four or five of his own songs.Freddie and all the members of Queen have a long standing appreciation of 'Metropolis', which originally came out in 1927. Their stage set, in the shape of a futuristic city, has been inspired by it.The lighting rig measures 74ft by 50ft and the original design was so heavy they had to change it because it was in danger of bringing theatre roofs down. What a way to go, crushed by your own equipment.

AFTER THE European tour. Queen will be taking the whole shebang down to South America, headlining a 10 day festival in Rio. The place they will be playing is an amphitheatre down by the sea that can seat 300,000 people a night. It all makes Castle Donington seem like just another night at the Marquee. A local radio station in Rio held a survey to see who the most popular bands were and then some local promoters went out and booked them for the extravaganza. Naturally, Queen came out top.

Queen will also be doing some shows in South Africa. This is more than just a little bit controversial. Especially with the memory of Nelson Mandela still very warm.

"We've thought about the morals of it a lot and it's something we've decided to do," says Brian May. "This band is not political, we are not out to make statements, we play to entertain anybody who comes to listen. The show will be in Botswana in front of a mixed audience."

The band wanted to play Russia but the authorities objected. This situation might change now though, considering that Iron Maiden have been let into Poland to wreak havoc. *

"The Russians still think we're very decadent," confides Roger Taylor. "We want to play China as well, and Korea. John and I spent a holiday in Korea and it's a fascinating place. They're finishing work on the Olympic stadium for the next games!

Perhaps the Ruskies heard about Roger's high living on Ibiza. He's bought a house there and enjoys powerboat racing. Play time is over for the time being, though. After their two year break. Queen have been working more than 12 hours a day rehearsing.

"It's strange how rusty we are, and so we're trying to blow the cobwebs away," continues Roger. "It's taking a lot of work. Usually we rehearse until about nine and then we eat together and decide what we're going to do in the evenings. The clubs here are really fun. Something to cater for every taste or perversion.

"On the tour we'll be playing a lot of the old material and we'll be giving the audience what they want. A lot of the music I hear in the charts today doesn't interest me. I just can't see how anybody can get excited over Spandau Ballet. It doesn't send shivers up my spine. I like listening to Bruce Springsteen."

They might be old stagers, but Roger claims that tickets for Queen's British shows sold oul in three hours flat and they could have easily played another 12 nights here.

"We still have the rock and roil gypsy mentality," he says. "Even after 12 years without a line-up change we still really enjoy the buzz from playing live and the fact that we have hit singles. Some bands in our position might take it all in their stride, but we're still like kids, we get very excited.

"You've got to have a laugh haven't you? If Queen wasn't any fun, then I'd jack it all in and go and sell flowers."

Robin Smith

@natromanxoff, @mephisto92, @moviestorian, @x5vale, @39-brian, @onegoldenglance, @crosmopolitan, @an-abyss-called-life, @his-majesty-king-mercury, @i-live-for-queen, @brian-39-may, @toomuchlove-willkillyou, @brimaymay, @sail-away-sweet-sister, @drummerqueenrmt, @old-fashioned-roger-boy, @briianmaay, @inui-mycroft, @deacytits, @iminlovewithrogscar, @drowseoftaylor, @brianmayislongaway, @balticlover, @astrophysicist-guitar-god, @miez-lakatz, @brianmayoucease, @jesus-in-a-life-boat, @aslongasthereismusic, @silapril, @sherrifanciesfriskyfreddie, @tenderbri, @brianmydear, @thosequeenboys, @millionairewaltz-carpediem, @painandpleasure86, @bribrifrenchfry, @xlucylennonx, @a-night-at-the-abbey-road, @inthedayswhenlandswerefew, @madformeddowstaylor, @queenrogertaylorfan, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @queen-for-life, @rethought, @drivenbybrianmay @mymakeupmaybeflaking, @old-but-still-a-child, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @warriorteam1924, @funnydressesweirdhairanddance,  @thefanhuman13, @yourtieddownmother, @hgmercury39, @brimi-stardust, @thefairyfellermercury,  @sailawaysweetbrimi, @sophiaintheskywithdiamonds, @holybrianmaywritingbear, @lydiannode, @39-yellow-daffodils , @ure-gonna-loveme-when-u-seeme, @kaykaybeachgirl, @foxmonkey, @deakysgurl, @redspecialandclogsandcurls, @briansrainbowsocks-deactivated2, @delilahmay39, @ohmybribri, @bless-the-queen, @everythingaboutfreddie, @doitforthevine67, @recordsoftheseventies, @rhysjoejoshtomfarisblog, @tenementfunsterwithpurpleshoes, @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band, @beatlegirl1968, @maylorsqueen, @autumnscenemcyt, @gralto, @alittlepeoplemagic, @rainbowsockbrian, @frejudy, @drivenbybrimay, @yourlocalmusicalprostitute, @saik-ava, @omb-xx, @sassymaylor, @somekindofroger, @starlightmay, @freddiemercuryismylife, @sunshine112, @chrysochromulina, @glitteryloveravenue, @deakyislife51, @0-primejive-0, @just-a-skinny-lad, @bluewillowmom, @sassiesillie, @stesichoreanpalinode, @mrfahrenheitmercury @tayloredofqueen, @0-my-fairy-queen-0, @scandalacious @izzy-is-slightly-mad @39-volunteers-to-space  @zodiacaldust, @deakytaylor, @queenband70s, @deakyeveryday, @drivenbybrimay, @70smay, @brianharoldmay39, @everybandsnotqueen, @johns-diqi  @oneandthreeseventh

#Queen #article

[starlightsoulwriting]

L’appel du Vide

Cliff Unger x Reader

L'appel du Vide (n.) The unexplainable desire to jump when on the edge of a cliff Call of The Void AO3 Link

Porters are going missing. You and Fragile are at each other’s throats, and you’re still reeling from your incident ten months ago. And, on top of all your shit, life decides to drop a Cliff on you.

[Prologue][x][2]

Part One

Eight Months Later

It started with one.

One porter going missing on his way back to Mountain Knot Waystation.

It wasn’t uncommon - bad things happened to people out on the mountains. Even a small injury could turn deadly out there. What was strange, however, was that GPS and communications went dark in the middle of a call. He’d been cut off mid-sentence with a scream. A search call had been issued as soon as his team lost contact - there’d been no time to waste. Whether he was alive or dead, they were on a clock.

They searched for a week and a half.

There was no Voidout, no BTs, no crater - no porter. Bridges had even swept through with whole teams of people to make sure the MULEs weren’t up to something more shady than usual. There was nothing there either.

He had just vanished.

You couldn’t find him, either - and you’d tried. Even with all the Bridges cameras you hacked into borrowed and every facial recognition software the world had salvaged. The last trace of him was at his delivery. As soon as he stepped out sight, he was a ghost.

Then came the next two.

A small-town medicine runner in Capital Knot vanished a month later, and then only a week later it was a civilian. No-one had heard from any of them since they vanished. Some were theorizing it was something new - some new DOOMS phobia, or even theories of BTs that wouldn’t cause Void-outs. Others thought they had been taken by some psycho group like the now disbanded Homo Demens. There were lots of bad people out there.

But then a boy from your town went missing, and you were faced with the task of joining a search party.

Rami was a teenager with dreams of saving the world by making sure everyone had what they needed; he practically idolized Sam, and asked for an autograph every time he saw you. You didn’t have any, of course, but you could tell him what an amazing job he was doing, and that people like him were the backbone of the UCA.

He’d liked it when you told him that.

You hated the thought of him being stranded somewhere alone, with the threat of timefall and BTs still looming, no matter how rare. Even without that it would be hard - it was a long way from a Bridges medical center from here. Everyone in town had emergency medical training - but there was only so far that would go without more equipment - equipment Bridges hasn’t let you print because you’re independent, and only UCA gets high-level printing privileges.

The team of doctors was a few days out, minimum.

So if Rami was hurt, he would be dead soon, terrified and alone. Winter was closing in fast. Nighttime would bring hypothermia, and with it a trip to the beach. And if he was already dead? It was a sure thing Voidout - one that would catch you and your family. Either way, bad news.

It wasn’t often you poked your head out of the shelter for anything but your greenhouse, but you scrambled into your timefall gear and strapped on your (fav color) Odradek nonetheless. Anxiety writhed in your chest, a pit gnawing its way through to your stomach. He was such a nice kid. You wanted desperately to find him, but were also all too aware that you probably wouldn’t - twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. He was probably just as disappeared as the others. You went out hoping you were wrong.

Others in your group scattered, too. There were only about twenty of you out there - one person missing was a huge deal.

You tried not to think of how lonely he must be out there. Your hands shook in your gloves, warmth beginning to flood your system. Your eyes watered as you remembered yourself growing cold on the back of Sam’s bike. Almost dying.

But now wasn’t the time to think about that.

At the edge of your sensor line you paused and stared at the thin holographic strip that separated you and the rest of the world. It kept you safe - kept out intruders. Outside, all you had was yourself and your Odradek. This would be the first time in three months you stepped outside the comforting watch of your security system.

You were terrified.

But you had checked the security feeds this morning. There was nothing out here but your home group, a few MULE Camps and some BTs. Nothing that you hadn’t dealt with before. You’d been wandering like a porter by the time you were ten. But outside… was not looking very friendly at the moment. Not with people going missing. Not with Higgs still alive.

Cool wind on your face. Fall mountain air. The plastic crinkle of your suit. The soft ping of your Odradek. You focused on these things instead of your thoughts. He couldn’t get you out here. He had no reason to.

You stepped over the line.

Now for the hard part. You were out of shape, but the terrain was the same you’ve been scrambling on since you were young. You knew which ridges were steeper than they looked, or which caves made the best shelter from the rain. You knew which ones led to cliffs, or which were best treated like a slide on the way down. Your breath came out as puffs of mist and your lungs were cold but you felt home for the first time in months. If only it would last for more than just the day. But as soon as you found Rami reality would settle back in and you would hide again, this much you knew for certain.

Sometimes you could see people searching in the distance, but a quick ping said they were just other members of the search team. Even the MULEs were looking for him - you saw a few wandering - they knew just as well as anyone they were fucked if he necrotized. You wondered idly if your old friend Gurao was out searching with his band of gremlins. Probably. He was a thief but he kept his people safe.

Although maybe he would just want to jack the cargo Rami was carrying. Who knows. Probably both.

Either way, more people was a good thing.

You huffed up over a particularly annoying ridge - one you’d broken your leg on when you were twelve - and you paused, straightening.

Something was wrong here. Like someone had just repatriated - DOOMS wriggled around your senses, like a bunch of worms made home in your stomach and then took LSD.

This particular type of warning wasn’t like the one for BTs. No, this felt like the rippling waves that ran through the beach when Sam died and forced his way back. A pit opened up in your chest, and you started pinging your Odradek faster than was useful. It wasn’t picking up anything, but someone was out here! You could feel it. It wasn’t Rami - he wasn’t a repatriate - but it was still somebody who’d just died. Someone confused and hurt.

Well, if your Dek couldn’t cut it, then you would just have to find them yourself.

You sat down, closing your eyes. There was no sign of anyone, at least that you could see. But you could find them, you knew it. You just had to be fast before you lost the thread. It was like knowing where someone was speaking from, even with a blindfold on - except much fainter, harder to discern. You made a face, eyebrows furrowing, trying to find where it was the strongest…

There!

You shot to your feet, almost toppling over, and jogged-stumbled down the slope, catching yourself on rocks as you let gravity do the work for you. But it didn’t matter, you were running as fast as was safe. Repatriation was a horror show on a good day and literal, actual hell on a bad one.

You hoped today was a good day.

You turned a corner and into a shallow cave, heart racing. There he was, in mismatched protective gear, with no Odradek to be seen. He had containers of food and medicine with him, ID chips torn off the side.

You knew of these types. Desperate souls not in association with anyone - MULEs or Bridges. No permanent shelter, always moving. The type of people that ended up either dead or a villain with a tragic backstory, taking what lost cargo they could find and surviving. Of course he wouldn’t have an ID ping on your Dek, he didn’t have an ID to begin with.

He was still unconscious when you got close to him. He had obviously been here a while. There was blood puddled on the floor. His hood was up and he was just soaked in blood. So… so much blood. Blood on your hands, on the floor, it was everywhere…

You swallowed and pushed those thoughts away. That wasn’t helpful now. You could have a nervous breakdown later. (You also ignored your thoughts of the stories you’d heard about repatriates getting caught in death loops.)

You knelt next to him, pulling a med scanner from your belt with shaking hands. It wasn’t as accurate or comprehensive as the Bridges kit, but it would do. There was obviously a lot of blood loss, which you looked steadfastly away from - but it was in survivable range now. The magic of repatriation, you supposed. There were no open wounds or internal bleeding. Bones were fine.

It was when you lowered his hood that you had the shock of the year.

It was Cliff!

How the fuck had that happened? He’d been dead for forty years!

Was there a time limit on repatriation? You didn’t know. Shit, you needed to call Heartman and ask.

You hesitated to touch his face to see if he had any lingering scalp damage - a lot of the blood had come from his head. Your awkwardness got the best of you and you went back to the scanner, mind going about a hundred thousand miles an hour, and your heart going about three times that. Who would you call first? Sam or Heartman? Sam deserved to know - but wouldn’t it be better to talk to Heartman first and get a grip on the situation before involving Sam and risk upsetting him if this was just some cosmic “fuck you”?

You stood up and walked out of the cave, taking a deep breath of the crisp, foggy, miserable fresh air. This was so fucked up. You pressed your hands to your face and forced yourself to calm down. Fucked up afterlife shenanigans or not, you would help him get back to wherever he set up his camp. You could do that. You helped randos out every once in a while, why would this be any different?

You ignored the voices that told you all the reasons this was stupidly, horribly different.

So you sat down opposite Cliff in the cave, fiddling with your comm after you had made a call to the search captain. You tried to push down your nerves and guilt. You really hoped they found Rami okay.

You tried to call Heartman, but it fell through. After waiting four minutes, you tried again. Still no dice. So, then you went to Sam’s contact… You hovered your thumb over the call button for a good five minutes, of two minds over calling him.

In the end, Cliff woke up violently before you made a decision, rolling onto his hands and vomiting slimy, black beach sludge everywhere. Euch. Smelled like rotting seaweed. Now this cave was double-gross.

You backed up from him, just to give him space, but as soon as you shifted and made a noise, you were met with a pistol in your face. You shrieked and recoiled, falling clumsily onto your ass.

He was in perfect shooting posture, still as a statue.

You didn’t move, heartbeat pounding in your ears and drowning out the wind outside. You blinked hard to keep yourself from seeing a mask instead of a bloody, confused face. There was a long, tense pause, before recognition bloomed in his eyes and he slowly lowered the gun to his side.

He didn’t let it go, though.

And you were crying.

“What are you doing here?” He rasped, disbelief coloring his voice. You weren’t sure if he was quiet because his throat was sore or if he didn’t want anyone to hear the two of you. You found you didn’t really care one way or another, you felt like were were going to shake yourself apart.

You swallowed, still eyeing the gun and not answering. He finally holstered it after ejecting a round from the chamber. Had it been racked the whole time? You hadn’t even noticed it on his belt! You were such an idiot!

“I’m sorry for the gun. I thought you were the thieves that shot me.” He held out his hands in a placating manner. “Are you alright?”

Yes, you were safe and you should be the one asking him if he was alright.

No, you were on the verge of a massive fucking panic attack.

You were both okay and not okay.

But you nod anyway, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Never. Do that. Again.” You said in the most authoritative voice you could muster. It was still pathetic and shaky, but the point got through nonetheless. You were freaking the fuck out.

He looked sorry, though, he really did. And when he spoke, his voice was soft. “I would never dream of it.” He held out a hand to help you up. You took it. “I don’t make a habit of pointing guns at friends.”

“Good,” You gave him a wobbly smile. “‘Cause then I would have to kick your ass.”

That got a laugh from him, at least. “So, what are you doing here? I didn’t think you’re the type to steal from random, unconscious men.” If he noticed his legs were wracked with tremors, he didn’t act like it. He’d lost a lot of blood - not everything was back to normal yet. You didn’t like the thought of leaving him alone like this.

“I was looking for a lost porter when I found you. Made sure you weren’t bleeding out or something.” You said, trying to keep your voice light.

It was funny, that was how you’d met on the beach, too.

“I thought I had hidden myself rather well, but I guess blood loss will do that.” He looked down.

There was an awkward moment.

“You’re lucky it was me that found you and not someone else,” You look outside again, anything else but his face. “Anyone else would have stolen your cargo.” You licked your lips awkwardly. “Do you have a base camp set up or do you need to crash somewhere?”

He started gathering his things. “No thank you, I really have to be moving on,” He glances at you for a moment with a sad smile. “Thank you for caring, though.”

Oh no, he wasn’t. You had to stop him from leaving. You knew to the core of your soul that if you let him go now, you would never see him again.

“I’m a friend of Sam’s.” You blurt out, before immediately flushing. You’d sounded a lot more panicked than you meant to.

It worked, though, stopping him in his tracks. He turned around with a heartbreakingly soft look on his face, like he was afraid to get his hopes up. You could feel the relief come off him all at once from where you stood. “You know my son?”

God, that sappy look on his face was going to kill you. You nodded and looked away, hugging yourself. You felt like someone else was ten times more qualified to tell him all this, like you were intruding on something private. But you were the one there.

“He lives out by Mountain Knot City with Louise.” You looked back at him for a moment before looking away again. “His daughter he adopted in spring.”

He broke out into a grin, entire face lighting up. “Really?”

This was too much, seriously. If he started crying then you would start crying and there were more important things you had to do than cry.

You were already blinking back tears when you answered him. But that smile was contagious, and you started smiling, too. You felt like you couldn’t help yourself. “Yeah, really. She was his BB. Saved his life, too. And he saved her right back. He’s been keeping a low profile, though.” You double checked no one was listening, and turned off your comm just to be safe. “He disobeyed an executive order to do it, too. Die-Hardman has ignored it for now, but if other people knew and started asking questions…” You shook your head and sighed. You didn’t need to elaborate on bad PR forcing Sam to be arrested or something. Can’t show preferential treatment to people committing treason or whatever. “I can call him, if you want.”

Cliff nodded and looked out at the landscape, looking somewhere between wistful and upset. “Yes, please.” Both of you ignored the way his voice broke.

He levels you with a calculating gaze suddenly, as if just now thinking of something. “You’re not with Bridges, are you?”

“No, I’m not. I try to stay away from them, actually.” You shrugged, acting more relaxed than you were. “They have a bad habit of listening in on conversations.”

It seemed like that was the answer he wanted. “Can you call Sam, then?”

You nodded and pulled up the call.

And it went straight to voicemail. Were he and Heartman messing with you?

Damnit.

You sigh and put your hands on your hips. “Listen, Cliff. Sam doesn’t answer unregistered IDs. I can leave him a message and try calling him back later, but if you try to call him yourself he probably won’t answer.”

“I don’t have a comm, anyway. But I can go find him now. And meet my grand-daughter. Thank you.” He rested a hand on your shoulder for a moment, before turning away.

Was he seriously trying to leave again?

“Are you seriously just going to leave and walk there all by yourself?” You speed-walked after him - he was way ahead of you already. You cursed his long legs. “You don’t have and Odradek! Or supplies, or even a tent!”

“I’ve been fine so far, y/n.” His tone was dismissive, like he was a teenager waving of his mom’s concerns. The nerve of him! You weren’t going to be waved off! There were easier and faster ways across the continent than walking off by yourself with almost no supplies.

You planted your feet and crossed your arms. He wasn’t going to be this stupid, was he? You knew he knew better than this. “Can you tell where BTs are? Do you know where to hide and how to avoid them? Have a weather map? Know the locals and how to negotiate with MULE camps - which ones even can be negotiated with? Do you know the mountains like you know yourself? Because I do. And going out alone without GPS and comms is just stupid.”

“No,” He stopped, turning to you. He didn’t even look insulted! Did this guy fancy himself invincible just because he’s a repatriate? “But it doesn’t matter; I’m going to see my son. I’m not stopping now that I finally know where my family is.”

“I’m not trying to stop you,” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m suggesting that you could stay for a few hours. I can call Sam as many times as I need to to get through to him. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been looking for so long, but if you rush into this you could cause a Voidout, even if you repatriate, and people will end up dead because you were impatient. So either you cool your jets and wait while I make dinner, or I follow you across the damn Rockies and be a general nuisance.” . You really didn’t want to follow through with that threat, but whatever. You would do it. “Besides, there’s a friend of mine that can take us there almost instantly, if she has the time to visit. Then you wouldn’t even have to risk the trip.”

It only took a moment’s hesitation before he looked away, seeming miffed, but he relented anyway. “How could I say no to a warm meal.” He said, as if the food was what convinced him to stay and not the possibility that the month-long trip through the mountains could be completely skipped.

It took the rest of the hike back home to work up your nerve and speak. “Look, Cliff…” You sigh as you approach your shelter. “Do you like. Need to crash on my couch for a few days? I have plenty of food, you can use my shower, I can get some clothes that aren’t, like. Super bloody. I keep supplies on hand for wanderers that might need them.”

You focused or unlocking your crazy number of locks instead of looking at him, a flush taking over your face and ears. You tried not to make assumptions, and it would be really embarrassing if he took your offer as an insult, but Cliff looked… rough. Judging by how Sam handles things, he would refuse you out of politeness alone. Something about not wanting to be a burden. You looked back at him, your lips pursed in thought.

You opened the door, speaking up again. “You’re definitely changing your clothes, actually. I traded a lot of good shit for my furniture and I don’t need blood on it.” There was no room for argument here.

At least now he was laughing. “You’re too kind, thank you. I promise I’ll be just the one night, really, I’d hate to impose.”

Called it.

You showed him the bathroom and pulled out some simple, soft, black clothes for him. You were paranoid, yes, but you always made a point to keep extra everything in case anyone nearby was injured or needed help. You hadn’t used them since you made your new shelter, though. “It’s no imposition, really. My nickname with porters is the Innkeeper,” You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “Stiched up a good number of folks in my time and sat through blizzards with a few more.” You smiled at him, hoping to make him feel welcome. “Besides, Sam would kill me if he got here and you were already gone.”

You would have pat him on the shoulder on your way out, but he was still covered in an obscene amount of blood, and you didn’t need that on you. Especially not on your hands. Ich. So instead you settled for a simple “Don’t use all the hot water,” as you left.

In the hallway back to the main room, Rocky came up to you, chirruping impatiently. You scooped him up and held on to him for a minute, letting him calm you down. His soft fur and rhythmic purring grounded you. You knew you were being silly, but you were a rubber band ball of anxiety, threatening to snap. Cliff was a good man. You knew that. Sam had told you about his memories when you had brought gifts for Lou. You knew this. He had died saving him. He was a goofy dancer who loved christmas and space and sang lullabies.

Didn’t stop your hands from shaking, though.

You didn’t let people in your shelter anymore, not even your parents.

But for Sam, you would deal with your shitty mind for the night.

So you sat down at your computer, opening up your usual programs. There was only way you would calm down anytime soon and you knew it.

You checked your own video feeds first. No-one outside your local shelter group was in the area. Everyone’s phone pinged back with the normal list of IDs. Your perimeter was fine - It had only seen you for the past week, and then Cliff this afternoon.

Next was the Bridges security feeds. You tapped into the full network of cameras and ran a facial recognition search for about the hundred millionth time in eight months. Higgs, last time the cameras had seen him, was still just hanging out past the tar belt with a bunch of MULEs two weeks ago. Yukking it up with a bunch of thieves.

He didn’t look miserable, which made your blood boil. But he wasn’t anywhere near you and that’s the important part. You were safe for now. There was no way he could make it across the tar belt and all the way out here in that time, right? And besides, his beef wouldn’t be with you. He had no reason to ever come back here.

But your gut churned even in the presence of cold hard facts. You felt like you were gonna puke.

Trauma was a real son of a bitch.

Still, the probably-unhealthy surveillance had reassured your safety. That was what mattered. Your trembling hand hovered over your scar for a moment, not daring to touch it.

Making dinner would be a welcome distraction. Guests always were.

-

Cliff was hesitant to accept your offer, at first.

He knew this was the smart way to go about things. Getting to Sam was his priority, even if he had to risk trusting you. Which was hard, even if he considered you a friend.

Friends had stabbed him in the back before.

He hadn’t trusted anybody since he woke up next to the lake, freezing in the early spring winds, with nothing, not even clothes on his back.

Going to Bridges had been out of the picture - it didn’t matter who was in charge now. He had no idea what to expect of them - if they were just as untrustworthy as before. He wasn’t willing to stake his life on the chance that the company had changed. He wasn’t trusting them a second time.

So he stayed alone, chasing rumors of his legendary son and where he had disappeared off to. But he was a ghost. As soon as he came across someone who knew him, they just as quickly told him they had no idea where he was. With the UCA you would think these people would know how to find each other, but apparently the public didn’t have access to location records, and Sam had kept himself off the map.

He had been close to caving and finding John when you had found him, roughed up and shot at by MULEs after his measly supplies. He was a good soldier and knew how to pick his battles, but they’d had a truck and a seemingly endless amount of bullets.

He’d only had a handgun.

So he would stay with you, for now, and find is son, and then everything would be okay. You didn’t seem the type to betray him. (But then again, neither had Bridget, until she had.)

But he had enjoyed your visits when he was trapped on the beach. He had been so desperately lonely and then you were there, with soft smiles and corny jokes and you let him tell you about the stars. You kept him sane in purgatory.

And here you were again, saving him, and he was still just trying to find his son.

And he was still horribly, terribly alone.

A/N:

Cliff’s Alive! Yay! Get ready for a wild ride guys, cause I’m just getting started! Who knew a Kojima game would end up being my muse, huh? I sure didn’t.   This was my first week of the new semester so I didn’t get to write as much as I wanted but I’ve gotten at least some more stuff on the master doc. I hope you guys enjoyed it, don’t forget to R&R!

Edit:Removed mention of M/C’s parents.

@paanchu786

#cliff unger #death stranding #death stranding cliff #death stranding x reader #mads mikkelsen #x reader #l'appel du vide #longfic

[angrylizardjacket]

and then there was light [4] {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 5060 words. part 4? part 4. it’s a bit of a darker one and before you ask, there will be a part 5, you know i wouldn’t end it on a cliffhanger and do you dirty like that.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

The moment Roger steps foot into the meeting about the design of the shows for the upcoming American legs of the ‘Night at the Opera’ world tour, he’s pretty sure he’s already mentally checked out. Freddie’s doing all the talking, to literally no-one’s surprise; the man has big ambitions for his own costumes, and knows the other guys will pipe up about their own needs when they get to meet with just the costume designer. John Reid brings up the technical requirements, Roger’s got the ‘galileo’s from Bohemian Rhapsody playing on repeat in his head as he stares into the middle distance, and it’s Deaky who sits forward.

“We’ve got a pretty solid idea for the lights; Freddie and I have been consulting with a designer in America; she’s freelance, used to work for EMI, she’s reliable.” He assures, and Roger’s thinking ‘hey that sounds familiar’ but Reid seems satisfied and they’re already moving on to the staging and sound equipment needed. 

Roger doesn’t connect the dots at first; it’s been almost four years since that fateful American tour, and they’ve had other tours come and go since, and as far as the others are concerned, they’re pretty sure he hasn’t spared you a thought since arriving home at the end of that tour. But he does, even if he doesn’t mean to.

The tour after you’d quit working for EMI, someone drops a parcan side of stage, and his heart is in his throat when he realises he was waiting to hear you yell ‘okay that one wasn’t my fault’ or something similar. All he hears is a faint apology, and a call from someone to get a broom. The scheduling’s different this time around, he can’t even have a cigarette in an empty theatre without some stagehand buzzing back and forth, or a band member trotting across the stage as they practice. It would be so much easier to lay on the stage if the rest of them were confined to one place while they played, like he was behind the drums. It’d be boring as shit, he would be the first to acknowledge that, but it would mean he would get stepped on less during lunch, and that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make with the toe of Freddie’s shoe poking at his waist.

Nothing serious had come his way in that time, or rather, he’d never found anyone who could hold his attention for more than a week or two. People became dreadfully boring when all they wanted to do was faun over him and fuck him; not that it wasn’t fun at first, it was always fun at first, but there was a lack of variety, a sinking sensation that these people were more attracted to the idea of him that left a sour aftertaste.

But now he’s here, new company, new album, second leg of the new tour, new chance to sample all different women across this great nation. He’s already a little tipsy from his multiple jack and coke’s on the plane when they land, and he’s passed out on the tour bus before it even gets to the first tour stop. Once in Conneticut, he’s dragged from the bus, and informed that as soon as the tech crew had finished their meeting, they could start loading in their instruments. 

“How long have they been here?” Brian asks the stage hand, and the guy shrugs. 

“A couple of hours; the Floor Tech wanted the drum risers set up before she gave the brief.” He tells them as he lead the band in to the theatre, where most of the crew were milling about on stage. 

“She always did have a flare for the dramatic.” John says with a grin where his eyes were trained on the stage, and Freddie hums in agreement, which only serves to confuse Roger further until he sees an all too familiar figure climbing the drum risers with a clipboard in hand.

“Alright guys, can I have your attention, please?” Even after all these years, the sound of your voice hits Roger square in the chest. “I wanna make this as quick and painless as possible, so after today we can bump in and bump out without any hassles.” You addressed the crowd with an easy confidence from your place at the top of the drum risers, tapping your nails against the back of the clipboard in your hands, wearing the overalls he’d seen you in so many times before.

“You can call me Spotlight; I’m the Head Floor Tech for the tour, as well as lighting designer; those of you on my lighting team, you’ve got a copy of the lighting plan, and I’ll be talking to you about how we’re gonna run it after this. Next time, I’ll get some help from the stage hands to set up the drum risers, I had a few people help me today to get them set up early, but that’s just because I like being tall.” With a sharp grin you pause as a titter of laughter spreads around the group, “stage management team, you’re in charge of making sure side of stage is set up with anything the band needs, and that it’s clear of unnecessary clutter and people, and running cabling for the sound guys; they’ll tell you what they need.”

After a beat, you look around the gathered crowd, and nod firmly, a gesture which a few of them return.

“If you have any questions, remember; find your Light.” You point directly at yourself. “We break for lunch at one, but until then we’ve got a lot to get through; let’s get rockin’.” Grinning brightly, you hop down from the risers into the crowd of crew members, ushering a bunch, each holding a sheet of paper, off to the side, as the others scattered like cockroaches under light.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Roger finally finds his voice where he’s still standing, a little dumbstruck, alone in the aisle of the theatre where the others had left him behind.

“Didn’t you hear her speech? Spotlight’s our lighting designer.” Freddie calls over his shoulder, eyes wide and innocent, as if he hadn’t set this all up without thinking to mention it to Roger.

“Our what now?” He splutters, jogging a little to catch up to the other band members as they made their way towards the stage. He’s not quite sure what he’s doing, or what will happen when he gets their; the last thing you’d said to him was that you were stupid to think he was above his reputation, while you were in tears, and then it had been three years of nothing. He’s not going to run, at least he’s pretty sure he’s not; he’s self aware enough to know he was in the wrong last time you spoke, that he was an asshole, but he’s not going to be a coward. Not again.

“That was quite the speech.” John waits patiently until the crew who made up the lighting team had dispersed before addressing the familiar face at the centre. You turn, eyes bright and smile brighter, casually making your way towards him and the rest of the band.

“Yeah, I really feel in my element, you know?” It’s with an easy familiarity that you pull John into a hug, giving him a firm squeeze. “Good to finally see you again.” And then you’re hugging Freddie, and then Brian, and you stop short in front of Roger. It’s a stalemate, neither one wanting to be the first to look away, but both unsure of what to do. In the end, you don’t even offer him a handshake, just nod, and you turn back to the others.

“How’s Pippin been?” Freddie asks, and you’re about to answer, but Roger cuts in.

“Hang on, can someone fill me in here? Lovely to see you, by the way, just a little confused as to how you got here.” He says, and you’re lost for words, just blinking rapidly, trying to process the whole situation.

“Did you not tell him I was working with you guys?” Your words come out incredulous as you turn your gaze upon John and Freddie, who seem just as bewildered as you.

“I thought he’d cotton on when I mentioned an American designer who used to work for EMI.” John mused, turning his gaze on Roger, who frowned, thinking back to the initial meeting he’d just mentioned.

“I did,” Brian piped up, before casting a smile at John and Freddie that was just a little bit confused, “though I wasn’t a part of this little setup.” He tried to reassure the drummer.

“In my defense,” Roger started, before his gaze dropped, “I wasn’t paying attention, design isn’t exactly my forte.” He admitted, and you had to shake your head at that, exasperated and already a exhausted.

“Pippin’s good.” You go back to John’s initial question. Pippin isn’t so much a person as it is a touring version of a Broadway musical that had opened a year ago, to great success.

It turns out a written letter of recommendation from both the lead singer, and bass player of Queen goes rather far in the industry. After taking some time for yourself, you call up EMI to beg them not to fire you, however it turns out you needn’t have; both John and Freddie had given glowing reports of your work ethic and skill, and the man on the other end of the line is just eager to know when you were next available. 

The moment you’re on site next, they tell you you’ve been promoted to Floor Tech; they hand you a roll of gaff tape and a drill and a whole new set of responsibilities, heaped onto your usual load. You don’t even remember who had been performing, the tour had only lasted a month, all you know is that they were calling you Spotlight from the moment you’d arrived; apparently it was what Freddie had called you, and John had to clarify.

John is the first to contact you again, through EMI of course, and he becomes something of a comfort when you consider taking your career beyond the company that kept you firmly in the one position on tour. Freddie calls you less often, and never about business; it’s John who gives you the courage to leave EMI, and he’s the one who helps set up as a freelance theatre and event crew member. 

People had been head hunting you from tour to tour, beyond even EMI, some smaller acts even giving you the full Lighting Designer role. They expect you to sit back, let a stage hand or an assistant to take care of it, but every time you watch someone else focus a spot, your fingers itch to be doing it yourself. Dedicated to a fault, Roger had once called you, you think about it every time you climb an unsteady ladder, and think perhaps that he’s right.

The moment Pippin announces it’s tour, and puts out calls for crew, you’re first in line for the job, putting your hat in the ring for lighting, but happy enough to take any crew role. Not that you don’t love working with bands, but there’s a certain finesse that comes with theatre lighting that you can’t get anywhere else in the world. After two years, and the support of both John and Freddie, you find yourself as the assistant Lighting Designer, as well as Head Floor Tech, and once you step foot onto the tour bus, everything else becomes history.

Speaking of history, later in the day, after the rest of the crew have broken for lunch, you’re wedged under the drum risers, running some cables, when you hear someone climb up them, taking a seat at the drums.

“If you play one beat-” You’re cut off by Roger’s yell of surprise, as he’s so startled he almost falls off his chair.

“Holy shit, who is that?” He’s breathing heavily, voice panicked, and for a moment you take pleasure imagining clutching his hand to his chest like a delicate, little grandmother.

“Take a wild stab in the dark,” you mutter, unwedging yourself from beneath the structure, raising an eyebrow as you look at him. Almost immediately he’s frowning, and you’re thrown back to the moment almost three years ago where you’d been here before, looking up at him from behind the drum risers after you’d changed out the light mid-show. Clearing your throat loudly, you break the moment, getting to your feet and making your way to the side of the stage.

“What are you doing here?” He calls, watching idly as you go about counting out fly lines until you get to the one you’d been looking for. You’d gotten here early to go through the fly-line procedure with the Duty Tech for the venue, and now you lowered the LX bar it was attached to with ease after making sure there was no-one in the way. Your focus made something in his chest tighten, and he feels like he’s being taken back in time; you’re beautiful when you work, passionate and skilled, meticulous, that hadn’t changed. Roger has to look away.

“My job,” and you just sound tired when you say it, already securing the meticulously placed lights onto the bar you’d just lowered, going along and fixing them to the metal in a neat line. An uncomfortable silence spreads between you, punctuated only by the scrape of metal against metal, and the rattle of the safety chains.

“What are you doing here?” You don’t even try to hide the snippiness from your voice, not even turning to look at his as the accusatory words hang in the air.

“I’m having a smoke in what I thought was going to be relative peace, it’s something I do, okay?” Voice defensive, you hear the rustle of cardboard and hear the click of a cigarette, your annoyance growing with each passing moment.

“No, it’s what I do. It’s what I did three years ago, you just started showing up. You stole my relative peace.” You snapped, turning to him, a blazing fury in your eyes at his words, before your lip curled in disgust, “And you don’t even do anything with it.” You scoffed, and he went quiet, sulking behind his drum kit. Sensing he wasn’t got to talk back you turn back to your work.

The moment you turn away, he sees the way you heave a sigh, angry tension draining from your shoulders, a little hunched as you concentrated. Your hands shake a little as you fiddle with the safety chains. There’s still that confidence there, the ease with which you moved about the stage, but unlike around other people, when it was just Roger - though he suspected you were pretending he wasn’t there - you just looked... weary.

After that first town, he keeps his distance for a few stops, though the other band members look to keep you company on occasion. But then... he’s there again. Quiet this time, he just watches where you hold yourself like royalty at the top of a rickety ladder, so sure of yourself. He’d forgotten the sight of you in your element, and it hits him like a truck.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You snap when you chance a glance down and see his awestruck expression looking up at you. The shock comes when he actually looks abashed, averting his gaze, picking up his drumsticks and tapping out a rhythm that you’re pretty sure you recognise.

You’re both too stubborn to give the other one the peace of the theatre at lunch, however, while you’re content with stewing in silence as you worked, Roger, to no-one’s surprise, is not.

“How’ve you been?” He brings himself to ask. You stop where you’re replacing a gel on one of the drum riser lights, taking a long moment to consider your words carefully.

“Busy.” Tired. The subtext comes through loud and clear, despite your short answer, and once you’d finished with the light, you stand, before taking a moment to stretch your back out from behind hunched over.

“Working a lot?” I can tell. He answers after a long pause, almost sympathetic, and you know he’s not really responding to the words you’d said out loud.

“Yeah, non stop.” No subtext, just responding at face value, before your eyes up to the mostly finished rig. Afternoons were for last minute fixes and focusing, there wasn’t much left you could do, unless you were willing to ask for Roger’s help.

“When did your last thing end?” He asks, and you click your tongue as you turn on your heel, burned out gel in your hand, heading for a bin.

“Two days before this one.” You admitted. When you’re met with silence, you turn, and Roger’s frowning at you, almost disbelieving.

“You’re not still sleeping on the tour bus, are you?” He asks, and you roll your eyes before you tell him your accommodation is paid for this time around. You’re the first to leave, for the first time since everything had started, you leave halfway through to actually eat lunch, leaving Roger to himself.

When he’s drunk after the show, leaning against some local pub, with a girl leaning against him, heavy enough that the two of them would have tipped over if it wasn’t for the counter, he can’t get you out of his mind.

“I didn’t ruin her career.” His eyes go wide as the words, with something akin to revelation, escape him, and the girl makes a noise of confusion, her fingers ghosting over his chest, but he can’t even bring himself to enjoy it.

“I didn’t ruin her career!” He announces, excited and pleased in his inebriated state, sitting himself so forcefully on the arm of Freddie’s chair that he spills part of his drink. Freddie makes a noise of confusion, looking up at the blonde, and Roger gesticulates enough to spill more of his drink, ignoring Freddie’s yelp. “Spotlight! She said I’d ruined her career!” 

“When?” Freddie asks, just as John pops out from seemingly nowhere.

“Well you certainly didn’t help it. That was me.” Roger doesn’t care that John’s drunk, the way bassist says it, so serene and matter-of-fact, makes it sting just a little bit worse. His mood instantly flips.

“Can you piss off? Go be her best friend somewhere else.” Roger snapped, and he knew he’d regret being so sharp with John the following morning, but it seemed John himself knew that Roger was in a mood, and obligingly fucked off, seemingly not taking it to heart. “When we broke up, she accused me of ruining her career.” And he realises too late, when Freddie’s eyes go wide with realisation, that he’s said too much.

“Is this where you tell me exactly what went down between you two?” He asked, tapping Roger’s leg with excitement. The blonde, however, stood abruptly, glower on his face.

“No. Fuck off.” 

Roger spends almost fifteen minutes banging on the door of the tour bus before he remembers that you’re not in there, and falls into bed alone, fully clothed.

“The fuck did you say to Freddie last night?” The moment he steps foot onto the stage at lunch, you’re waiting for him, already livid. He’s tempted to turn and walk right back out the door. “Apparently he doesn’t know the real reason that I went home last ti- !” 

“Of course he doesn’t!” Roger snapped back, on the defensive without a moment’s hesitation. “It makes me look like a fucking wanker and he’d kick my ass; he adores you!” And that was enough to shock you into silence, grip loosening on the gaff tape in your hands. “They all do.” He said, and your expression turns unreadable.

“I know.” You finally said, a new, strange quality to your voice, it’s something akin to shock, but not quite, and Roger doesn’t know what to say next. “What about you?” You finally ask, voice a little defensive. It hurts to see you look at him with such a judgemental eye, though he’s well aware he deserves it.

“Doesn’t matter, does it? I could apologise a thousand times and you’d still be pissy.” He huffs, and you cross your arms, cocking your hip.

“At least once would be nice.” You level a cold glare at him and his gaze snaps back at yours, surprised. “You never once apologised, you know that?” And your voice is low, hurt and honest. “Are you even sorry for what happened?”

“It was three years ago-” He sighs, but you cut him off, shifting your weight to your other foot, swallowing thickly.

“So that’s a no. Glad to see where you stand.” And you turn to cross the stage to where you’ve already got the ladder set up, but he makes his way to you in three long strides, making to grab at your upper arm. The moment he does, however, you whirl around, slapping him, hard. “I told you to never fucking touch me; did you think I forgot?” And he sees why you were so eager to leave; there’s tears in your eyes, so close to breaking and streaming down your cheeks, your lip trembling. Something about your voice is so raw, it hurts worse than the slap.

“I am sorry.” And he sounds so fucking sincere, but you just glare at him, unashamed where the tears have begun to track down your cheeks. 

“You had your chance to say sorry; you had your chance to beg for forgiveness, but you told me I could leave; so I did, and so did your fucking opportunity.” But you can’t bring yourself to step back, frozen in place where he’s less than a foot away. Every fibre of your being is betraying you, wanting to be around him, close to him, after what he did.

“I’m sorry what happened between us;” his voice is so level, carefully controlled, you know he’s think hard about what he’s about to admit, “I fucked up, I know that; I’m sorry. It was three years ago but I’m still sorry. I’ve been sorry for a long time now.”

“Since it happened?” You asked, and he didn’t drop your gaze, answering without flinching or hesitation.

“Since I started worrying I’d lose you; I know what I’m like, I knew what I’d end up doing.” He admitted, and the words clearly didn’t have his intended impact as you stumble back, free hand clutching your chest.

“And yet you still-” And quietly, so quietly you’re not even sure he hears it, the words come out as more of a defeated whimper than anything else; “How could you not tell I was in love with you?” 

He’s in shock, and you barge past him, leaving as you can no longer contain your aching heart, and you head to the hotel you were staying at down the road, taking the rest of the lunch break to cry.

When you return, the rest of the crew has filtered in, Roger looks guilty, and Freddie and John look about ready to commit violent homicide, which was unsurprising for Freddie, but there was something comforting about Deaky wearing the expression too. In less than a week, the whole crew knows, and wherever you go, you feel yourself followed by pitying stares, which won’t go away, no matter how hard you throw yourself into your work.

“You’re working yourself into the ground.” Roger tells you a week later, watching the way your arms tremble as you focus a light, and it takes you a moment to blink blearily at him. “Don’t forget the security chain.” He adds, and you scowl, before looking at the light itself, and hurriedly affix the security chain to the rig. You insist that you’re fine, making your way down the ladder to scoop up another parcan, but you almost immediately drop it. 

“I just need some food.” You try to insist, your hands shaking as you leave the light where it is.

You don’t come out after shows, and it’s not gone unnoticed. The rest of the crew think you’re just dedicated, personable for the most part but prone to bouts of standoffishness.

“Oh you should have seen her on our first tour,” Freddie muses to an enraptured crowd at an afterparty, a few crew members listening with a bright-eyed attention, “that woman risked life and limb for our show.” And he sounds so proud when he says it, but something twists uncomfortably in Roger’s gut.

Cracks don’t show around other people, Roger’s noticed; you’re smile’s bright enough and your voice is loud enough that they don’t see the way your hands shake. Or how tired your eyes are. But then there are moments, you stand as if in the eye of the storm, gaff tape and drill in hand, watching as people follow your instructions without question, and you look up to see Roger tweaking his drums, and the two of you share a look. It’s a little indecipherable, he’s concerned and you’re just... tired. He wants to offer to help, but as soon as the moment arrives, it’s passed, and you’re off to the next task.

The air between the two of you has lost it’s angry tension; after saying your peace, after hearing his apology, there’s no fight left. Just a lingering disappointment, a quiet like the moment after a world-weary sigh. You don’t have to pretend around Roger, you both know he’d see through it if you’d tried.

“You should come get a drink after; you look like you need it.” Roger laughs, but there’s no humour in it. Without missing a beat, you decline, you don’t even bother coming up with an excuse. 

“I’m worried about you.” The tour is almost three weeks in, and you’re asleep against the proscenium arch when he walks in. You wake with a start at the sound of his voice, reaching out for the light you’d been fiddling with before you’d passed out. When you look to him with confusion, he repeats himself slowly. “I’m worried about you; are you sleeping okay?” 

“As if that’s any of your business.” You snapped back, and Roger kept quiet. It only takes him a day to figure out that sleep isn’t really a luxury you allowed yourself; you were the last out every night after bump out, sometimes staying until two in the morning, and from what the crew said, you were always the first up, running through check lists, accident reports, and going over anything that needed maintenance. 

When Freddie asks you to come out with them after a gig, you find it difficult to say no, he helped get you this job after all, but you’re there for barely half an hour before Roger sees you slip out the side door, drink untouched.

John asks if you’re okay one afternoon when you drop a stack of gel frames without warning, jumping almost a foot in the air and looking like you’re about to break into tears from shock, but seems content when you explain you’re just tired. Tired doesn’t even begin to cover how overworked you are.

The night you finally decide to relax a little, bump out having been miraculously fast, you’ve got the next day off. The others cheer you on as you down drink after drink, the alcohol hitting you hard and quickly, and the world gets blurry as you find yourself on the dance floor. It’s easy to drink too much, because for the first time in a long time, you’re relaxed, not worrying about the pretty, dickhead blonde who worries about you when he really shouldn’t. 

You’re drunk enough to admit to yourself that part of you likes the attention he’s giving you, it feels like vindication for the heartache you went through all those years ago. Part of it’s not even vindictive, part of you just likes the way he looks at you, the way his smile made your heart beat just a little faster; you call that part a fucking traitor and have another drink.

You don’t remember leaving the bar, but you come back to your body when you’re leaning against a streetlight for support, halfway through telling someone to fuck off.

“Ya’ not my caretaker, Roger,” you sneer, “you don’t need to look after me or whatever this is. Go help groupies home or to hotel or whatever.” You spit, and push off from the light, turning on your heel, almost topple over, and right yourself.

“Light, that’s the wrong way.” He calls, exasperated, and you turn again, this time actually crashing to the ground and grazing your hand on the way, before you get to your feet. He’s come over to try and help you, but you swat him away.

“You don’t get to call me that.” You stalk ahead of him in the direction he had come from, back toward the hotel, and he follows only a few steps behind.

“Fine, Y/N; you’re legless, let me help.” And after a moment of intense eye contact, in which you try to weigh up your options, you begrudgingly loop your arm through his.

“You’re still on my shit-list.” You inform him, and he hums in acknowledgement. “Why are you doing this?” You follow it up with.

“I’m not the asshole who fucked you over three years ago, and I’m not gonna let you get yourself killed for this show.” He said through gritted teeth, and you just smiled, a little dreamily.

“But what a way to go.” And he came to an abrupt stop. It took you a moment to realise, and looking back, you tugged on his arm to keep him moving. He just frowned at you, a little concerned. “Fuck, I didn’t mean it.”

“If I have to fire you to get you to take a break-” He threatened, and you scoffed, expression turning bitter.

“I’ll drop a light on you.”

“You’ll drop a light on me by accident before then anyways!” He crowed, and your expression fell, contemplative. “Just let me help; what do I have to do to make you actually rest? What do I have to do to prove myself?”

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #freddie mercury #john deacon #brian may #and then there was light #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #the angry lizard writes

[ashtontomyirwin-blog]

Ashton Irwin || The Outcasts || Part 2

Previous parts: Part 1

Full title: The Extraordinary Story of The Outcasts

Wordcount: 1947

Author’s note: Sorry this chapter took so long. It has been crazy busy at work. 

Let me know what you think of it!

Masterlist - Requests

It could’ve been anyone I saw in the crowd. After all, it was only a split of a second before the two faces disappeared into the jumping and cheering mess of people. And therefore I decided that it must’ve been my imagination running wild. In fact, I had already forgotten them when the night was over and the band and I were cleaning up the stage. Packing up the drum kit, mics and other equipment into the storage room.

“I swear you guys are getting better and better every month,” Jack was beaming from behind the bar. He put down our complimentary beers. I gladly took one and took a seat next to Jessica. We were already deep into an intense conversation about the likeliness of an alien attack here in Seattle instead of New York City.

“I’m telling you, we’re safe here. Plus we’re close to water and I don’t think aliens can swim,” I told her.

“Dude, I don’t think you’ve thought this through.” Jessica seemed to be ready to win this discussion. She was all about the supernatural and science fiction. “One, there is water in New York City as well. And two, ha-” Unfortunately for her, she got cut off by Jack.

“Oh, by the way, two guys have been asking for you,” he said pointing at the other end of the bar. I expected it to be about the bands of this evening or about the next New Sound Night. But as soon as I turned towards the direction in which Jack was pointing, my mouth dropped from bewilderment. At first I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but it were really the exact two faces I thought I saw during our set. My first response was to get Jessica’s attention by slapping her arm.

“Jess! It’s Calum and Ashton over there,” I said excitedly. Luckily there was enough murmur going around the café that it drowned out my excitement, only for Jessica to hear.

“Who?” She was confused for a moment. That was until I pointed at them. They had their backs towards us and seemed to be engaged into conversation.

“Oh my god, no way!” Jessica suddenly exclaimed. Like I was, she was a fan of the world famous band they were in, although we never had the pleasure of seeing them live.

“I’m gonna talk to them,” I said as as I was already making my way over to the guys.

“Dani, no!” Jessica called after me. I knew she was trying to prevent me from saying something stupid, but she could never shield me from that in any kind of situation.

 -

“So out of all the big high-end clubs you could’ve gone to, you chose the old rotten rock café in a deserted harbor.” I was standing behind the guys with one beer in my hand and the other one leaning on the bar. It was clear that they weren’t used to being approached like that as they both look a little out of place when they turned around. I had no idea how much of some spoiled attention seeking brats they were in real life, but to make them feel a little uncomfortable made me grin. It felt like establishing dominance of some sort.

Their demeanor quickly changed into a relaxed one. Both of the chuckled a little bit as they didn’t seem to mind my approach.

“Well, we heard that they played good music over here,” Calum was the first one to speak, though Ashton soon followed.

“It seems that they were right. Especially, the last band was awesome.” Ashton mimicked my grin.

“Oh really?” I said, deciding I would play along with his little game. “I wouldn’t know them.”

“Too bad, the lead singer was pretty cute,” Ashton replied. Before I could react to it, I felt a sudden blow on my back and shoulders. Knowing this happened on a daily basis, I didn’t budge anymore and accepted the fact that Kyra jumped on my back again. I even caught her legs around my waist with my one free hand.

“Are we still up for drinks at my place?” Kyra asked me, to which I nodded in agreement.

“Wow, plot twist,” Kyra suddenly mumbled. Apparently she had finally realized who I was initially talking to. Even if she weren’t as big of a fan of them as Jessica and I were, it was still a big deal to meet someone that famous.

Ashton, Calum and I did nothing but laugh at Kyra’s unfiltered reaction. I finished the last of my beer, put the glass on the bar and hoisted Kyra a little better on my back.

“Nice to meet you too,” Calum said to Kyra and raising his glass.

“Oh, I like him,” Kyra immediately said with a big smile and continued, “Why don’t you join us. It’ll be fun!”

 -

I don’t know how Kyra managed to convince half of 5 Seconds of Summer to come with us as they seemed a little reluctant at first. Then again, Kyra could be very persuasive. I was watching her walking a few feet in front of me. She was walking next to Ashton, but they were just a little too far away to catch their conversation clearly. From the looks of it, it was another folly story as I recognized Kyra’s wild hand gestures. Still, Ashton seemed to make an effort in paying attention, trying not to be rude. It made me smile, knowing that at least he and Calum didn’t let the attention get to their heads.

“Alright, since no one is asking it, I will,” Jesse suddenly started from behind me.

I turned around and started walking backwards, taking my chances in not falling over. I was walking next to Calum and behind us were Jesse and Jessica, their hands intertwined.

“What’d ya think of our gig?” he asked. I was so caught up in meeting the band, that I hadn’t even thought about asking about our performance. But now that it came up, I was nothing but curious for their judgement. Somewhere I expected a generic answer like ‘It was alright’ or something, but what followed was definitely not what I had predicted.

“It was really good. It’s still weird to hear people singing our songs, but you guys did a great job.” Calum genuinely seemed to mean what he said. I remembered covering Rejects earlier this evening and realized how strange that would have sounded. Especially since we had done our own version of it.

“Really good? You guys rocked it!” Apparently Ashton and Kyra had re-joined the group and Ashton was clear to make his statement. “It was awesome to see how the crowd reacted to your energy. They sure made a lot of noise for such a small group,”

For a moment I was at a loss of words. Hearing these words from professionals meant so much to me that I couldn’t do anything but broaden my smile.

“Man, sometimes I miss those small gigs,” I hear Ashton suddenly say more to himself than the group. My words immediately came back to me as I laughed a little.

“Yeah, because playing at sold out venues must get boring after a while,” I said sarcastically with a playful grin on my face. Ashton caught the grin and returned it with an innocent shoulder shrug.

 -

“Is everyone out tonight?” I asked as soon as we entered Kyra’s living room, expecting to see at least one of her family members. This place has become more a home to me than my own place. During my middle- and high school years I stayed over quite often when my parents were on one of their many business trips. When they figured out I was more at the Martins family than at home, they stopped bothering with hiring a nanny.

“Yeah, my parents are at this conference this weekend, Gene sleeps with friends and I don’t know where Evan is,” Kyra mumbled as she went up the stairs to drop her bags. Gene was Kyra’s younger brother and Evan was her older. Both of them had turned into my own brothers during the years.

Hanging out with each other through the years had caused certain routines to develop between us. Kyra made sure she got a guitar for jamming; Jessica was in charge of food; Jesse took care of drinks, and I … my only consisted task during these sessions seemed to be finding the one person who I could annoy the most. Which I was always happy to fulfil. That was until I got a sight of the garden at the back of the house. As I walked closer I could see the more brighter stars appear in the night sky. Considering it was mid-July, this would be an ideal circumstance for a little garden party. A grin started to spread across my face. I opened the sliding doors of the house and made my way across the garden right towards the shed. It was a shed Kyra’s dad had built for his daughter when she finally found a way to deal with her anger issues and needed a place to put the drum kit in. It was solidly isolated and probably the most soundproof room in Seattle; also being the best place for band rehearsals.

Upon entering the shed I went straight for the stack of firewood in the corner. Somewhere around there was supposed to be the key element of my plan.

“Need help?” I suddenly heard a voice in the shed with me. Not having expected company, I couldn’t control the short shriek I let out.

“Holy shit, ever heard of knocking?” I laughed as soon as I realized that it was Ashton. I rarely felt awkward; in fact, the last time I felt awkward or embarrassed was when I tried to kiss this guy in ninth grade and he pushed me away.

“Sorry,” I heard Ashton mumble. As I looked at him I noticed that he seemed a little awkward as well, but why? What did he have to be awkward about? In fact, what did I have to be awkward about?

“So this is where the magic happens?” Ashton was trying to break the silence and relieve the tension in the room.

I looked around to the two guitars in the corner and the drum kit positioned against the wall. A smile crept upon my face. Having someone calling the music we made ‘magic’ gave me some sense of pride. It was exactly what we were trying to achieve as a band.

“I guess so,” I said, not averting my eyes from the instruments.

“Guys, here I am, thinking you went to get a guitar,” a sudden third person had entered the shed. Kyra’s presence could never shock me anymore. So when her head popped into the doorway, I merely looked away to lock eyes with her. With that movement, it felt like I was being sucked into reality again. It wasn’t just Ashton and me anymore.

“Yes, right,” I said, trying to remember why the hell I was here. “Right!” I suddenly exclaimed as I turned around to the pile of firewood. I grabbed a few sticks and threw them right at Ashton, expected him to catch them. He was caught off guard and only managed to catch one pathetic twig.

“What?” Ashton and Kyra were both confused by my action, but as soon as I managed to find what I was looking for, it all seemed to fall into place.

“Let’s light this baby on fire,” I said with a huge grin on my face, holding up the brazier.

 Taglist: @drummerboy794 @lukes-curls @lashtonsdimples @calsdemons @tirednotflirting @babylon-cal

#5 Seconds of Summer #5 Seconds of Summer Imagine #5 Seconds of Summer One Shot #5 Seconds of Summer Fanfic #5 Seconds of Summer Fanfiction #5SOS #5SOS Imagine #5SOS One Shot #5SOS Fanfic #5SOS Fanfiction #Ashton Irwin #Ashton Irwin Imagine #Ashton Irwin One Shot #Ashton Irwin Fanfic #Ashton Irwin Fanfiction #Ashton irwin Fluff #Ashton Irwin Smut

[bnhaambitions]

ATTENTIOOOOOON LISTENEEEEERS!!!

If I could have your attention, please! The mods in Ambitions have noticed some wicked bad problems for mobile links and a few things we just gotta fix to get things a little more smooth-sailing for all you lovely, lovely little listeners out there looking to join the band! Apologies for that! We'll be doing a blog maintenance thing ASAP to get everything back in working order so none of you will have too much more to worry about! Gotta get you back in your groove, ya dig?

Now! In the meantime, I, everyone's FAVORITE (or second favorite if you're more of an Earphone Jack fan) radio host, have decided to make this post with every intention of getting you every bit of info you'll need to get going in this party!

Now, without skipping tracks, let's take it from the tizzity top, ladies and listeners!

1. AU Description!

First off, let's take a look at just what this whole thing's got going! What's the general theme? What's the vibe this pretty little group's gonna be throwing off? Thanks for calling in with your question, listener, because I'm about to tell you! If you're on laptop or if you open up Tumblr in your web browser on your mobile device, you can go to this link:

https://bnhaambitions.tumblr.com/Au-Description

If you can't do either of those, here's what you should see:

From there you'll move on toooooo--

2. Rules!

Now, just 'cause we like to party doesn't mean we don't have a couple ground rules just to keep the waters smooth and the people smoother. Most of it's just a lottle bit of common sense and stuff, y'feel? But take a look at them at this link (on Google Docs! Accessible on mobile or laptop.):

https://bnhaambitions.tumblr.com/Rules

Now, if you just can't go to Google Docs, this is what you'll see:

And that sliiiiides us right on into our next section!

3. THE MASTERLIST!

All our taken, reserved, and open characters are here! Our fantastic cast is just as poppin' and stylin' as always and you can find the full list here (It's on Google Sheets! A red X means taken, green O means open, and a yellow / means reserved!):

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1iDJw21vLb66mjSMykQg0zW7bCaZz4yDcjWbdnYoreNo/edit?usp=drivesdk

Once again, if you can't open it up somehow, I'll make it a little easier on you.

Taken/Reserved Characters Are: (X means Taken, / means Reserved. Anyone not listed is open!)

Class 1-A

X Ashido Mina

/ Asui Tsuyu

X Bakugou Katsuki

X Iida Tenya

X Jirou Kyoka

X Kaminari Denki

X Kirishima Eijirou

X Midoriya Izuku

X Sero Hanta

X Todoroki Shouto

X Tokoyami Fumikage

X Uraraka Ochako

X Yaoyorozu Momo

Class 1-B

X Awase Yosetsu

X Shiozaki Ibara

/ Shouda Nirengeki

X Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

/ Monoma Neito

The Big Three

X Togata Mirio

X Hado Nejire

X Amajiki Tamaki

Other Classes

X Shinsou Hitoshi

X Hatsume Mei

Teachers and Staff

X Aizawa Shouta

X Thirteen

X Yamada Hizashi

Shiketsu Students

X Shishikura Seiji

X Utsushimi Camie

Villains

X Bubaigawara Jin

X Dabi

And then we have plenty of OCs to go around!

And on into steeeeep

4. Reserve your character!

Take a quick look over at this link to where you can ask any questions or reserve your character:

https://bnhaambitions.tumblr.com/ask

If you can only use the mobile app and you don't quite know how to ask questions, go to our blog and click:

That happy little button on the top right of the screen, yo! From here you can click "Ask us stuff!" Send in all your beautiful questions, your reserves, all those good things you wanna know about.

From there it's pretty simple! Once your reserve is responded to and in the clear, you move on to the next step, where you'll have 48 hours to submit before we remove your reserve!

5. The Application!

Here, you can find the application at, where you can also coincidentally submit it at: (Once again, on laptop or if you open Tumblr on your mobile browser.)

https://bnhaambitions.tumblr.com/submit

Unless stated otherwise on the app, all of it is necessary to fill out! Any app that's inappropriately filled out, we typically reject.

If you can't see the application, this is the full application:

Note: Please keep this information saved for if you are accepted.

Original Character / Canon Character

Name:

Alias: (Hero name if any.)

Age:

Gender:

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Affiliation: (Such as any agencies they might work under, internships, etc)

Branch: (Branches are listed in Au desc; You make work under multiple branches.)

School Affiliation: ( If they attend school.)

Quirk: (Quirk name and description of what it does.)

Strength(s):

Weakness(es):

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• Power: /

• Speed: /

• Technique: /

• Intelligence: /

• Cooperativeness: /

Equipment(s): (Hero costume or fighting equipment.)

Extras: (Any other information you wish to add.)*

Height:

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Description: (Appearance. Min. 1 Paragraph)

Faceclaim: (If any. Feel free to add your own art or reference art.)

Likes: What are they?

Dislikes: What are they?

Personality: (Min. 1 Paragraph)

Background: (Should be detailed)

OOC Portion

Mun name:

Pronouns:

Age:

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Discord handle: (eg. neon.christmaslights#2385)

Writing Sample: (Must be written for your character, needs to be literate and at least 2 paragraphs. That’s 10 full sentences at minimum.)

Fill the application out and submit it on our submissions page! Not sure how to submit things on the Tumblr App? Here's how!

Click that handy little button from earlier:

And then click "Submit application here."

There's where you can submit it!

We'll get back to you ASAP, so good luck! And breathe, listener. No legs are breaking on this stage! Metaphorically, anyway. Hero work is dangerous.

We'll be fixing all the issues ASAP! For now, sorry for the inconvenience, but it's all here!

Happy RPing, Listeners!!

[sunsetinmyvein]

Just Off the Key of Reason - Chapter Ten - Been Looking Forward to the Future

Friday, 6th of April, 2007 - Detroit, Michigan

Now that Patrick had his precious Gretsch back in his hands, the show sounded flawless. Nobody messed up, the vocals were perfect, and there were no more accidents involving Pete punching equipment. They weren’t quite sure if it was actually the guitar or just Patrick being willing to perform better from behind his favourite instrument, but everyone was glad to be back in the groove. The crowd went wild for them and that only filled the band with even more adrenalin than what they already had.  Only one more night and they’d be back at home. The label hadn’t booked them a hometown show until the end of their tour when they came back for the second leg, but they had already had a few close friends ask for garage gigs to fill the void until they went back on tour in June. They gladly accepted. After their show in Michigan they had decided to go out for a few celebratory drinks at the closest bar to the venue. This was the last show of this leg and they had nowhere to be the next morning, no responsibilities until they got back to Chicago. They also had a bed each for their final night on tour which made going home drunk all the sweeter. Joe had said it was his aunt’s place but the grungy decorating style and stench of weed made that seem unlikely. Regardless, it had five bedrooms, a functional television and more than enough food to feed them for the 24 hours they’d be there. The plan was to start the four hour drive back home once they were sober enough to drive the next day. A few die-hard fans had already made the trip to see them play, they were faces that Joe had recognised and invited out to the bar with them.

 Pete had offered to buy everyone a round of drinks as soon as they got there, instantly becoming the fan favourite and drawing the attention of other patrons. Andy rolled his eyes as he ordered himself water instead. He shouldn’t be surprised by Pete’s love for attention from strangers by now, but it sometimes made celebrating a successful show a bit harder.

“A toast!” Pete shouted, holding up his glass. Everyone turned to look at him and did the same. “To the album, the tour and going home!” He grinned, taking a large mouthful of the drink. The small crowd shouted in agreement as the band shared a collective look of pride. Regardless of Pete’s attention seeking ways, they were still happy to celebrate how well their first ten shows had been. After the toast, the drinks were flowing pretty fast; probably because Pete kept buying them for people. People quickly congregated around the man who was all too happy to take his wallet out while the other four members of their group found a quieter table in the back to celebrate with a little less grandeur. Andy and Joe had very quickly gotten into a debate about who was more excited to go home. The former arguing that he had a girlfriend waiting for him and the latter pointing out that being at home in your own bed is better than staying in someone else’s, regardless of if you get sex in that bed or not. Patrick found himself looking at the girl sitting across from him, thinking that maybe tonight was the night to ask her on a date before they got home and parted ways for nearly two months. But whenever he tried to his heart felt like it was sitting in his throat, stopping the words from coming out.

 “So… what are you gonna do when you get back home?” She asked finally, staring into her half empty glass. He sighed in relief, glad to have something to break the silence as the other half of the table continued to argue.

“Probably mess around with some music. We’re on a bit of a break from writing and recording at the moment until we finish the tour, but I’ve got some ideas of my own.” He shrugged. She looked up at him curiously, urging him to continue. “I uh… produce music sometimes. Sometimes write my own stuff, play the instruments and all. The lyrics aren’t as good as Pete’s but the music is pretty good. Or I think so, anyway.” He admitted sheepishly.

“That’s so awesome, Pat! I’d love to hear it sometime.” She beamed up at him. “How do you manage it all yourself?”

“I have this… huge switch board thing? It… It’s hard to explain.” He laughed, “But it lets me mix all the sounds and stuff. It would be better to show you to explain it, then you can see what it does. I’ve got it at home, I’ll just show you once we’re back in Chicago.” He nodded, giving her a small smile. The thought of hanging out outside of band-related work made her pulse pick up ever so slightly. It sounded like a good step in the right direction.

“Sounds like a plan.” She grinned, holding her glass up. He tapped his to it and took a sip, an excited glint in his blue eyes. The familiar ringtone of her phone suddenly broke their conversation. She fished the phone out of her pocket, seeing her manager’s name blinking across the screen. It had been a while since she’d heard from the label, but she wasn’t expecting to hear from them until they were back in Chicago next week. “Sorry, I’ve just gotta take this.” She excused herself, pushing her way through the small crowd that had formed and into what looked like an unused coat room.

 “Hey, boss.” She answered with a laugh, trying to keep the mood light in case she was being told off for something she wasn’t aware of. Fireworks instantly came to mind.

“Hi, just calling to check in and see how it’s all going?” His voice echoed down the line.

“Excellently! The shows are going off without a hitch other than the guitar damage you are already aware of, and everyone is doing pretty well for themselves.” She found herself nodding, even though she knew he couldn’t possibly see that.

“Good to hear.” The sound of chatter and shuffling papers could be heard in the background, she assumed he probably just got out of a meeting and was asked to check in. “So Peter has been behaving since the incident on stage with the guitar?” He asked. She paused for a moment, thinking back to the lamp at the party and the interview a few days ago.

“Yep.” She lied.

“Great, I’m glad that our investment in hiring you is paying off. Hopefully soon enough he’ll stop acting out all together and you can be back here in Chicago!” His words hung in the static air for a moment as she tried to process them.

“You mean… go back to my old job?” She asked with a frown.

“Well, maybe not your old job. There’s talk of giving you a promotion for how well you’ve done with this!” He was trying to make it sound like her being back in their stuffy office would be a good thing, but that was the last thing she wanted. In the background she could hear him continue to talk about what the promotion would mean for her, but the thought of not being on tour with the guys anymore was all that ran through her mind. She didn’t want to leave; the thought hurt a lot more than she was willing to admit after only having known them for about a month. It was just too easy to fall into their routines, and they were far too easy to get along with. Even Pete had turned out pretty good in the end. His ridiculous antics normally brought humour to their days, not that she’d ever tell him that. Eventually she heard her name being called through the phone and tried to snap back to reality.

“Sorry, what did you say?” She asked, scrunching her eyes up and trying to push the thoughts to the back of her mind.

“I said drive safe and we’ll see you when you get to Chicago.” He laughed lightly as the line went dead.

  His words echoed around her head: she’d have to leave the band. It shouldn’t have come as that much of a surprise, she should have known that eventually she would be leaving the band, it wasn’t like she was going to tour with them forever. But it wasn’t something that had crossed her mind. As much as she missed her family and friends, this new life on tour was one she had already grown used to. She’d be losing four friends and going back to a job she hated. And Patrick- Patrick. Her head spun. She had only just accepted that she might have feelings for him and it was so quickly ripped out from under her. If something happened between them and then the label decided that her job was done and she needed to be back in the office, it would be heartbreaking. She couldn’t do that to him. She found herself pacing the small room, trying to think of a way out of being assigned back to a desk job. He’d called it a promotion, so maybe if she did a terrible job they wouldn’t promote her? But then they’d probably just hire someone else to be Pete’s impulse control. Maybe she could just quit? But that was too risky, what if the band didn’t want to keep her around? She’d have no reason to be there if she quit. Heading back into the bar right now seemed like a bad idea, she needed time to process this information and work out the best course of action. She sent Pete a quick text to say she would see them back at the house and left.

 “What do you mean she left?” Patrick asked with a frown as he finally cornered Pete at the bar.

“I dunno man, she just texted me saying she was going back to the house.” Pete shrugged, taking his fifth jacks and coke from the bartender greedily. He was nowhere near drunk enough to deal with the fact that people he knew had driven up to Detroit to see them play and had then followed them out for the night. Entertaining them on stage and in this bar was too much pressure for a sober Pete. But a drunk and cash-happy Pete was someone everyone loved, and being able to distract himself with stranger’s affections was something he always enjoyed.

“Why?” He pressed.

“I don’t know.” He repeated as he took a mouthful of his drink. “Why don’t you go ask her for yourself?” He asked with a sly smile.

“Well, obviously none of you are going to.” He huffed, finishing his drink and setting the glass on the bar.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” Pete winked, pushing Patrick’s shoulder lightly.

“Shut up.” He grumbled, pulling his cap low over his eyes as he left the bar.

 She couldn’t remember the last time in the past month that she had privacy, proper privacy. Not just a room to yourself, but a whole house to yourself. By the time the taxi had dropped her off back at where they were staying for the night it was about two in the morning. Knowing how the guys liked to party and the fact that they didn’t need to leave first thing the next morning, she assumed she’d probably have a couple of hours to herself until they drunkenly stumbled through the door. At first the silence had been nice. The space and quiet had been room to think, to breathe and try to get a grasp on what might happen in the break before their second leg. She assumed it was fairly likely that she would hold her position until the end of the tour and then things would be reassessed, but that depended on what happened in the month the band was at home. Maybe in light of that Pete hadn’t cost them anything in a while they wouldn’t let her go on the second leg of tour to save on the hotel rooms and bigger tour bus. They might consider that a better cost saver than hiring her to watch Pete for another month.  If they made her keep the desk job, she might not see the band again. They’d almost certainly lose contact when they went back on tour. She found herself chewing at the side of her nail anxiously and decided maybe this house was too quiet. Maybe being left alone with her thoughts was not as an excellent idea as it had been at the bar. A few minutes later she had the TV on loud enough to be a decent distraction and a bag of potato chips in hand, deciding that it was an issue that could be dealt with later.

 The minutes dragged on into what felt like hours, and soon enough her brain was slowly starting to give way to sleep and forget about the thoughts that had been worrying her; until a knock at the door abruptly pulled her back to reality. She grudgingly pulled herself up to her feet and looked through the peephole in the door, seeing a familiar sideburn and cap clad singer on the other side.

“Pat?” She frowned as she opened the door. “You’re back early.” She moved to the side, letting him into the house.

“Yeah, Pete told me you left so I thought I’d just make sure you were all right.” He explained before shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the table next to the front door. His eyes were instantly drawn to the flickering of the TV and the half eaten bag of chips on the couch. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Something like that.” She nodded, moving back to the couch to retrieve the bag of chips and put them back in the cupboard.

“Did you want company?” He offered, taking a step closer. The warning bells went off in her brain straight away: getting close with him meant that inevitably it will all get taken away.

“Uh, no. I might just go to bed actually.” She rushed out. He stared at her in confusion. “It… it’s pretty late.” She tried to lie, feeling like her face was probably betraying her with how red it felt.

“Oh, okay.” He swallowed hard at the hurt that pooled in his chest. She went to walk past him in the direction of the bedrooms but he caught her wrist in his grip. “It, um… I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asked anxiously as she turned to look at him. “Just you left right after we talked, and-”

“No, it���s not you.” She answered. “It’s just work stuff.”

“All right…” He nodded softly. “I know you work for our bosses and all, but if I can help all you need to do is ask.” The amount of genuine care in his eyes was enough to push her over the edge. Instantly she felt the tears threatening to spill, so she mumbled a thank you before quickly retreating to her room. Leaving him standing in the hallway alone.

#Patrick Stump #Patrick Stump x Reader #sunsetinmyvein

[god7072therescue]

Zen and Rock MC pt. 2!

Thank you guys so much for taking and interest in my head cannons and I just wanted to get this out as fast as I could! I hope you guys like it! @reifromrfa enjoy!

Zen was nervous as hell when he realized that he would have to meet the rest of MC’s band in the next few days

He knew how cut throat musicians could be with one another and he didn’t want them to look down on him for pursuing musical theater

MC assured him that it was going to be fine because she was a theater kid in high school as well

Zen fell in love with her a little but more after hearing that

But Zen knew better

MC was in a band with all wolves men

With his luck, all of the members would view her as a younger sister, or worse

one of them could be in love with her

Zen’s blood boiled at the thought

He narrowed his eyes as he watched MC get dressed to go meet her band mates

He wasn’t one to be controlling over what she wore but he did not want to watch those men ogling at her the entire time

of course she decided to wear her leather skirt today 

his favorite

keep the beast in your pants Zen

Zen goes back to the fridge to grab another beer to let off some steam

this was going to be a loooooong day

MC had to remind herself to keep her hands off of Zen because he decided to wear his leather jacket that day

He also insisted that the two of you take his motorcycle to the recording session

MC knew Zen was just trying to show off but hell, she wasn’t complaining 

It was a nice excuse to cling to him as much as physically possible 

When the two of them arrived to the studio, MC could barely contain her excitement at the thought of finally seeing her band mates after so long!

She hops off the bike and runs for the entrance like a bat out of Hell 

Zen scowls and gets off of his bike, using the reflection from his helmet to make sure that his hair still looked okay;;;

He follows in behind MC and walks in to find three massive men holding MC up as they all shower her in hugs and “I miss you” s and just being too damn affectionate for Zen’s taste

MC sees that Zen has walked through the doors and starts to tap on one of the men’s arm signaling she wants to be put down

“Chad put me down I can’t breath!!”

Zen nearly popped a vein in his forehead when he heard that. 

The man who was supposedly named “Chad” put MC down while glaring at Zen from across the studio

“MC,” Chad states as he walked closer to Zen to get a better look at MC’s new “boyfriend”, “You never told us he was an albino.” 

 that was IT 

Zen narrows his eyes as he states through clenched teeth, “I am NOT an albino.” 

“You are pale, have white hair, and you have red eyes. You’re an albino.” 

MC quickly put her hand on Zen’s arm to keep him form charging at the jack ass with a smug grin on his face

Mc laughed nervously as she looked between the two men, “Alright lets settle down,” she gestures to the man in front of Zen, “Zen, this is Chad.” She gestures to Zen as she looks at Chad, “Chad, this is Zen.”

It was pure hatred at first sight

The other members saw the instant tension between the two so they decided to be a bit nicer to Zen for MC’s sake

The entire session was a competition to see who cared for MC more

MC was thirsty? They were both tripping over themselves and each other in order to get her some tea or water 

MC was cold? They took off their jackets as swift as they could and basically flung them at her 

MC was hungry? They would both pull out her favorite chips from their pockets and glare at each other as she went to grab both bags of chips

Any time MC would be near Zen, he would make a point to put his hand on the small of her back or to have his arm thrown around her shoulders 

Zen could sense the other man’s irritation and her reveled in it

In turn, Chad would always do their secret handshake anytime she sang a high note really well or he would recount old memories with her while they were on break

“I’m still glad you’re wearing the skirt I got you for Christmas MC!” 

Zen broke the pencil he was holding while writing notes on his sheet music 

Zen really tried to enjoy the experience of making music with MC but Chad was making it impossible

Anytime Zen and MC would be having a conversation Chad would find a way to interrupt it 

By the end of the day, Zen was exhausted from the effort of holding himself back from punching Chad the entire session

MC looked like she was genuinely having a good time so Zen decided he would just suffer through this week until they could finish recording

The week was hell 

The more days that went on, the more bold Chad got with MC 

The poor chat room was filled with an angry Zen almost every day

jaehee could be complaining about a stubborn client from work then Zen would chime in 

“You want to know who else is an asshole?? CHAD” 

Zen made it his mission to take as many selfies with MC as possible

You two were going on a jog together? sefie. You two were cooking together? selfie You two were sitting in a bubble bath together? selfie that selfie was only sent to the group chat but he would make sure Chad would see that one later 

Zen was high strung and tense the entire time he was with the band but he persevered because he knew this meant a lot to you and he wanted to sing a sing with you

Hell he wanted to make an entire album with you 

so he would deal with chad much to the RFA’s horror and things finally started to settle down 

That is, until the managers decided the song needed a music video

MC was ecstatic because this was a great excuse to dye her hair again and she got to star in it with her stupidly attractive boyfriend

Zen wasn’t thrilled at the thought of spending even more time around Chad but he was excited that the entire world would able to watch him kiss his girlfriend and to be able to make out with her in front of Chad 

Zen had to remind himself that they were in front of people when MC walked on to the set with her newly dyed purple hair and skin tight leather outfit on

down boy

After the first day of filming Zen went to MC’s dressing room to express how fond he was of the purple hair

MC also had a difficult time considering Zen was wearing leather pants 

RIP MC

There wasn’t a lot of talking but MC forgot that she should probably be quiet when Zen knelt down to put his face between her legs

“Good, I HOPE Chad heard her screaming my name”

Zen;;;;

The video included the two of you singing to each other, riding his motorcycle, sitting on his lap in the bar, etc. 

Basically every rock star’s paradise

Zen was having the time of his life unless Chad was around. 

He could tell Chad was getting impatient with MC, he obviously didn’t think Zen was going to stick around for that long

I hate to tell you Chad but Zen is in this for life;;; 

Chad would try and steal more and more moments with MC alone while there were on set

On the last day of filming, Zen could not find MC anywhere 

He was about to call Seayoung to get him to help him search for her but when he walked by MC’s dressing room for the fiftieth time he heard her muffled cries. 

Zen stopped in his tracks and quickly opened the door to see MC covering her mouth with her hand as she tried to cry quietly

Zen rushed to her side and he knelt down in front of her to see what could have made her cry 

Zen has to sit beside and try to coax it out of her until finally she confesses that Chad revealed his feelings for her

Chad I hope you run far away because there is not a God that can save you from Zen now;;;

Zen remained by her side and comforted her until she decided to go find her other band mate Jack to rehearse some music to take her mind off of the situation

Zen let her go with a gentle kiss to the forehead as he stated, “Everything is going to be alright, princess. Trust me.” 

Zen watched her walk down the hall then he walked in the other direction to go and find that bastard Chad 

He found Chad standing near the van that the band keeps their equipment in smoking a cigarette

Zen walked up behind him the grab him by the shirt collar to shove him up against the side of the van

“If you ever, EVER, make MC cry again because of your selfish feelings towards her, “He leaned in closer to the man to where their faces are merely inches apart, “I will destroy you. She trusts you to be her best friend, That is exactly what you are going to be for her.” 

Zen let go of Chad then punched him across the jaw, sending the man stumbling to the side while clutching his jaw as he looked at him with wide eyes

Zen glared at the man as he shook out his hand to rid him of the familiar pain that shot through his fist 

He swore to him self he wasn’t going to be the man he was in the gang so he wasn’t going to start now. 

he left that part of him behind after he quit the gang then met MC 

She deserved better than this. 

Zen walks back on set to finish the music video and was glad to see MC feeling better after having her jam session with Jack

After the shoot, Chad went over to apologize to MC for being selfish and he wanted to see if they could go back to being friends 

MC said yes, of course

Zen was relieved after the entire shoot was done so he could just spend his time off relaxing and rehearsing lines 

Much to both of the managers surprise, the new song and music video were a m a s s i v e hit 

Thus the managers decided that after Zen’s musical they were going to record an entire album together 

working on an album meant that Zen was going to be able to go on tour with MC 

Suck on that, Chad. 

Let me know which member you guys would want me to write for next!!

#woooooow #this is forever long AGAIN #Jesus christ #I hope you guys like it!! #I got randomly angsty towards the end #huh

[verwelktesgedicht]

Purple Stone “Panic Panic!” Interview (English Translation) - Part 1

Original Japanese Source: Cure v-splash Vol. 34 Published: July 2016 Part: 1 of 2 Translation: VerwelktesGedicht Note: Magazine interviews are always exhausting but I tried my best! Have fun reading it!

- First of all, please tell us where your band name comes from! Keiya: It comes from a purple stone called amethyst. It’s said that it’s a stone that protects you, a talisman. People believe that this stone has the power to turn bad into good. So this band name means that we want to create songs and give lives and take all the bad things and all the pain in everyone’s daily life and turn it into something good.

- Do you have a band concept? Keiya: The origin of our band name is our main concept. We’re active in this Visual Kei scene but we don’t want to act like this or that because “This is how Visual Kei is supposed to be”. We want to be able to think about us and the things we create: “This is so cool!”, so we’re producing our sounds without any limits.

- Purple Stone includes various sounds. Don’t you want to tell us something about your roots when it comes to music? GAK: I was influenced by T.M.Revolution, so I wanted to compose music like this on my own. That’s how I found my way to music. In the beginning I created songs on my computer. But later I thought it would be better to play the guitar and so I started to learn playing the guitar. Now I’m in this band, playing the guitar. Fuma: Music got my attention thanks to B’z. Back then there were times when I thought that it’s not cool to like Jpop, so I went over to punk, loud rock and hard core music and then to R&B, then to the hard rock of the 80ies and then back to Jpop. Among the punk music I listened to were also Visual Kei bands. I liked darker bands and Kuroyume-san, L’ Arc~en~Ciel and Laputa. Keiya: I like vocals who sing in a cool way. I always liked Takajima Takui-san. His songs gave me strength again and again. It made me think that I also want to sing songs that give other people strength. Speaking of my roots, I think it was Siam Shade-san, L’ Arc~en~Ciel-san and Kuroyume-san. It’s said that if the melody isn’t good, the music itself isn’t good.

- Purple Stone’s music and melody is quite special as well, isn’t it? Keiya: That’s because we three decided all together: “If the melody isn’t good, we won’t do it.” We’re composing every day, thinking about how we can make the melody better if it isn’t good.

- Your on August 17th, 2016 released single “Panic Panic!”… What kind of songs are featured on it? GAK: We started thinking about it without speaking about what kind of sound we want – until we were talking about the lyrics and point of view. We wanted to make people think something like: “Is this really Purple Stone’s new song??” So we composed a song that combines the recently popular EDM dance music and our own Visual Kei rock sound. I composed almost the complete first chorus, gave it to the members and they agreed to it. So we started writing the lyrics, fixed the melody and released it.

- Who wrote the lyrics? Keiya: This time it was Fuma-kun. Fuma: GAK-kun used quite strange words in his demo. I thought it’s interesting, so used some of it.

 - What is the topic of this song? Fuma: The topic is “Summer Halloween” but the song itself is quite party-like, so I thought if the lyrics will be super party-like as well then we’ve just created a party-song (laughs). I like Zombies a lot, and they are set to be self-developed human beings coming from the end of the world, so I thought I want to write about something like that and did it. Keiya: We started from the point where we wanted to include some Horror. Halloween is in October but somehow we ended up a bit early and thought: Wouldn’t it be funny to celebrate Halloween in summer? Speaking of our artist shoot, the CD cover and the usual jack o’latern, it was a usual pumpkin but then we thought we’ll play around and made it a watermelon [on the CD-cover].

- Watching the MV, there’s a lot of Furi and Dance moves and it seems to be fun. Are you doing them together with the fans? Keiya: I didn’t especially think about dancing together with the fans but when we tried doing it live everyone wanted to dance as well. Seeing that it made me think: “Well then, let’s dance together and have fun together!” With this song I got the impression that our fans are teaching us a lot and things are changing.

- And for fans that haven’t been to your lives yet, this is a song that easily function as entrance to your music, don’t you think so? Keiya: I do! I think it would be nice if this song makes people that aren’t listening to Visual Kei music being interested in Visual Kei. For us this is the reason to compose music. In the end even the Bangya who are Bangya today weren’t born as Bangya. They became it because they watched various bands and thought they are good. I think for all of you there are bands that made you think that way. It would be nice if we can become a band like that. I’d be happy if this song became a step for it.

- I see! Going with this title “panic panic!!”, nobody likes to panic. What are the things you are bad at (= that make you panic)? GAK: I hate the sound of Velcro fastener. It makes such a ripping sound. Keiya: Wha~~t! I didn’t know that! GAK: (He uses the Velcro fastener on his own outfit) That sound… I can’t stand it. Fuma: You just did it yourself! (laughs) GAK: Well, only like this is okay. But if you do it on your shoes, I really just go: “uuuh……”. If you compare it, the sound some people make on a blackboard is more bearable for me. Fuma: Eeh~!? What about [working for] a Velcro fastener company? GAK: A metallic sound is fine but when it comes to Velcro fastener, I don’t like it. I really can’t stand it when people do it near to my ear. Fuma: Long ago I went to my grandma’s house and there was a spider that had feet as long as alien hands. My grandma went to get a broom and hit it but somehow it didn’t die. With broken legs it left through the entrance. I was so scared back then. That’s why in my childhood I thought that when spiders become big they can’t die. That was a trauma for me. Keiya: I hate the sound of scratching over metal or frosted glass. At our office at the entrance there is a place where you can bring in your equipment but when we come back from our tour and want to bring back the equipment there is this backdoor made of metal and the ground is stone pavement. When you open it it makes a horrible “Giiiiii!!“-sound. Everyone already knows that, so we try to open it soooooftly but sometimes, when we’re very drunk and exhausted, we open the door and it makes this “Giiiiii!!”-sound and everyone goes “Aaaaa~~~~!!!” and it feels like you lose a part of your life force. I hate that. GAK: I can’t understand that at all. I like the sound of metal. I also like the sound of a drill when you go to the dentist.

 - What do you think about including that sound in music? GAK: I can’t understand at all how you can like that in music… Keiya: So next time, let’s include the sound of Velcro in the intro of our new song! GAK: That would be so hard (laughs)

______

Read Part 2 here!

#purple stone #keiya #fuma #gak #panic panic! #purple stone translation #purple stone cure vsplash #my translation #interview translation

[angrylizardjacket]

ask your destiny to dance [16] {Roger Taylor}

[masterpost]

“I can’t speak to her.” Roger’s got his head on a bar in a pub that’s not Ash’s.

“Can I go back to pretending I don’t know what was going on?” Brian asks, taking a long sip of his drink and gazing out at the crowd. It’s been over a week since Ash had stayed over, and they hadn’t seen her since. It’s not like she’d even asked about him, or made a move to contact him; sometimes they go a full fortnight before seeing one another, but Roger’s been fretting for almost eight days internally, and for the past twenty minutes externally, since he’d finished his first drink.

“She said she loves me.” Roger groaned, lifting his head to weakly order another pint. 

“From what you’ve told me, she wasn’t even fully conscious; it’s not like it counts.” Brian had never seen Roger downright distressed like this, it would be funny if it wasn’t bordering on annoying.

“No, that means she was extra honest,” Roger groaned, downing half his beer in on go, to which Brian could only roll his eyes.

“Or she was still asleep and thought you were Jack Nicholson.” After a beat, Brian goes back to watching Roger brood over his glass. “Boo hoo, Rog,” he shoved the blonde lightly, to which Roger just leveled a glare at him, “a girl you’ve been seeing for months maybe has feelings for you. It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

“It’s only been since I broke up with Kristin,” he’s adamant about that and Brian lets him have it, for now. In retrospect, he feels like an idiot for not seeing it sooner; Brian’s not sure when it started, but it’s definitely a lot longer than Roger’s willing to admit. “And it doesn’t mean nothing, but it also... it’s never meant something. Like it’s something but it’s not something. It’s just fucking around and having fun.” And Roger swivels on the bar stool, joining Brian in looking out over the crowd, before they spot Freddie crashing through the door, making a beeline for them once he’d spotted them.

“Alright, what did I miss?” Freddie asked, though the other two were quiet as he ordered a beer. Before either could get a word in edgewise, Freddie props his chin on his hand on the bar, and announces; “Roger you look like shit, what’s wrong?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s in love with Ash, and he thinks she’s in love with him.” Brian says blithely, and Freddie nods with understanding as Roger tells them to both sod off, and he stalks through to join the crowd on the dance floor. “She said she loved him in her sleep.” Brian explains, taking the chair Roger just freed, sliding into place beside Freddie.

“I’ve never seen him this worked up about someone before.” Freddie admitted, and Brian nodded in agreement, the two of them barely able to see his blonde hair for the crowd, and they lost sight of him soon enough.

“What do you think? Has Ash said anything?” Brian’s gaze slides to Freddie’s who just rolls his eyes.

“I think my dear Ash has never in her life loved a man who’s deserved it,” Freddie mused, though his lips twisted into a smirk, “that’s not to say she’s a saint, far from it, but compared to the others, Roger is a breath of fresh air.” 

“Isn’t that a sad thought.” Brian said faintly, before heaving a sigh. “Well, I know we haven’t been here long,” he got to his feet, finishing off his drink and looking around for his housemate, “but if I don’t drag him home he’s going to do something stupid in his current state.”

“Like that pretty, brunette thing over there?” Freddie asks, pointing to where Roger’s already got his lips on a wavy-haired brunette at the side of the room. Freddie’s pretty sure he sees Brian’s soul leave his body for a moment, and watches everything play out like a terrible Shakespearean comedy for which he was the only audience member.

“He’s a danger to himself.” Brian takes Freddie’s drink from his hands and takes a long gulp before passing it back, though Freddie doesn’t seem likely to complain.

“He seems rather fine,” Freddie watches Roger go in for a hickey on the girl with a morbid, voyeuristic interest, taking another sip of his drink, “and you know he and Ash aren’t technically exclusive.” 

“Yeah but there’s three options here; Ash finds out and gets pissed and I have to hear about it because apparently now that I know I’m all in on this disaster,” Brian lists on his fingers with a theatricality Freddie had rarely seen from him before, though he’d rarely seen Brian this exasperated before, so perhaps it was merely that, “two, Ash isn’t pissed, sleeps with someone else, and Roger gets pissed because he’s in love with her-”

“Which is unfair, what a tremendous double standard.”

“Yes, we all know Roger’s a hypocrite.” Brian sighed, casting a glance over his shoulder at Roger, before turning back to Freddie.

“And three?” The other man prompted, and Brian picked up his empty pint glass.

“I kill him with this glass because I’m sick of his sulking.” He says bluntly, and Freddie’s all for the third option, but he begrudgingly helps pull Roger away, to which the drummer complains the whole time.

“Where are we going?” Roger demands to know when they head in the opposite direction of his apartment, a sentiment that Brian mirrors, though he doesn’t seem inclined to question Freddie’s direction outright. Freddie always had a plan. The man in question wrapped an arm around Roger’s shoulders.

“You’re going to confront your problems, Rog.” He sounds so decisive, as if it wasn’t a plan he’d come up with as they were leaving the bar, and Roger tries to scramble his way out of it, but Brian’s fed up enough with Roger’s complete inability to do anything but run from his problems that he’s willing to take Roger’s arm in an almost iron grip.

“It’ll do both of us a world of good.” Brian tells him as Roger glowers at his housemate.

“You don’t get to decide what’s good for me; what’s good for me was that girl at the bar, she smelled nice and was about three minutes away from banging me in that bathroom.” Roger snarled, wrenching himself out of their grips, though he didn’t run this time, crossing his arms over his chest as he walked with them.

“Rog, we’re not gonna let you ruin a good-” But Brian’s gentle sigh was cut off by more of the blonde blustering.

“That’s so presumptuous!” He stopped in his tracks, scowling between both of his band-mates. “You’re both wankers, selfish fucking wankers. This is kidnapping.” He snaps.

“Fine; if you want to leave, we’re not stopping you.” Freddie offers, gesturing freely at the path behind them. “We’re just trying to help.” 

Roger stomped the entire walk to Ash’s apartment. 

“What the fuck, guys.” She opens the door with her hair in a messy bun, wearing a pair of sweat pants and a ratty, oversized Beatles shirt. “How did you get in?” 

“Your RA let us in; sorry for the interruption, just had to deliver this idiot.” Brian gave Roger’s shoulder a nudge. Roger is looking at anything but Ash. His latest drink had hit him about the same time as he got to her block, and now that he can smell the vanilla candle she likes to burn in her room just beyond her, he just wants to curl up and go to sleep under her duvet. Or fuck her. He’s not quite sure.

“Can I return to sender?” She asks without hesitation, and Roger rolls his eyes. Freddie shoves him forward.

“No.” 

Ash doesn’t move, just frowns as Roger stumbles into her space, and she’s automatically got a hand on his chest to steady him. Roger doesn’t seem like he’s there completely of his own free will, but he doesn’t move away from her, even as both Brian and Freddie leave, muttering something about him being ‘her problem now’.

“Care to explain?” She asked, gently walking him backwards and closing her door behind herself. The two of them make their way to the common area, and Roger sits up on the kitchen counter as Ash pours him a glass of water.

“Not really.” He said, sipping the water loudly and swinging his legs so his heels kick the cupboards below. Ash looks like the very sight of him exhausts her, but she rests her hands on her thighs, pressing herself against his legs to still them. “We can fuck whoever we want, Ash.” He says, seriously, and he sees the exact moment she realised the reason for his forced meeting, and he watched her expression fall.

“Yeah of course.” She agrees, crestfallen expression turning quickly to faux apathy. “Did you have fun?” But her heart wasn’t in it.

“They pulled me away, brought me here before anything really happened.” He huffed, taking another long sip. Ash stepped away, yawning loudly and sinking into a chair at the dining table. After a beat, Roger hums thoughtfully. “Ash, what do I mean to you?” And it’s so nonchalant it actually hurts Ash a little.

“I think that’s a really shitty thing to ask right now.” Her answer is automatic, she can’t look at him. “And I think you’re drunk.” 

“Ash...” It does register in his mind that he’s said the wrong thing, and it breaks his heart to see her too tired to repress her emotions like she usually would in this situation. Perhaps she assumes he won’t even remember this tomorrow. “Ash, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Yeah, I know.” She says softly. “You’re always sorry, and I’m always sorry, and there’s always someone else that feels like a mistake, even though we don’t technically need to apologise.” Shaking her head, she sighs deeply. “This isn’t the time for this conversation.” She admits, and standing, she takes his hand. “Come to bed, Rog.” 

When they’re back in her room, she pulls off her sweat pants and offers them to him without even thinking about it, and he’s quiet, forlorn when he takes them, changing into the borrowed pyjamas. Ash is already tucked into bed when he turns back, back to him, pressed as close to the wall as she can get with her head pillowed on her hand, not even attempting to co-opt some of the pillow for herself. There’s sewing equipment out, obviously still in use in the corner of her room, a blouse half sewn and still in the machine where it was left when it’s creation had been interrupted by a knock at the door.

When he slides into bed beside her, reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder - an apology? a reassurance? just a need for human contact? - she shrugs him off, murmurs a quiet ‘don’t’. 

“I panicked.” They’re back to back, and the bedside lamp has been turned off. Roger isn’t even sure if Ash is still awake. He speaks into the silence, made honest by the hour and his inebriation. “You told me you loved me and I panicked.”

“Roger... I never said that.” Ash’s voice was confused in the darkness, and Roger feels like his whole world has fallen out from under him. He’s spent over a week considering whether or not she’d remember; if it had been real, whether she’d really meant it, but he’s never quite sure which answer would hurt more.

“You... were mostly asleep.” He admits, and he can feel the way Ash sighs heavily, the shift of her back against his as she tries not to hear it.

“Wow, imagine what kinky shit you and the girl from the bar would have gotten up to if I’d meant it.” She just sounds tired, as though she was trying to end the conversation, as though she hadn’t just shattered Roger’s heart. After a beat, she laughed humorlessly. “What are we doing, Roger?”

“I think Brian’s right.” And his words are enough to startle a weak laugh from Ash. “I want this to be about more than sex, I think.”

“You’re drunk and panicking; don’t worry, I’ll still work with the band if this goes south.” Ash says. Roger won’t take that, can’t let himself fall into the trap of panicking like he’d already fallen into that night. Turning, Roger presses his lips to the back of her neck, and Ash doesn’t like to think about how good it makes her feel.

“I’m sorry-” He tries, but she cuts him off.

“I heard you the first time.” Voice terse, she crosses her arms awkwardly over her chest. “Roger the idea of being with you fucking terrifies me.” She admits, raw and honest, glad he can’t see how conflicted she was. “You were so worried that I was in love with you that you almost slept with someone else, and for what? Were you worried you were losing control of your life? Didn’t want to be tied down?” Roger’s got an arm on her shoulder, rubbing comfortingly as she speaks, and he can feel her shaking.

“I know I’m not a saint, okay, love?” Roger admits, and Ash takes a long moment to consider his words, leaning back a little into his touch, before answering.

“Neither of us are, Roger, and that’s why what we have is so good right now.” Her voice has softened, and Roger stays quiet. “We can talk about it tomorrow.” She says gently, before reaching to link her fingers with his where he’s got his hand on her shoulder. She pulls him closer, and Roger makes a low hum, pressing a quick kiss to her shoulder.

When the morning comes, things are quiet and golden. Neither one knows what to say to the other, but Ash still gets him a cup of tea in the morning, and when he sees the cup with the little cat face on it, Roger feels something tighten in his chest. 

“Let’s try this, please.” He asks, expression sincere when he looks at where Ash is tucking herself back into bed, pressing herself against his side. The look she gives him is confused, and then it blooms into something hopeful. “I’m not fucking around here, I mean it.”

When she kisses him, her hand is warm where it had been holding her teacup, and she’s smiling against her lips. There’s a tension in her shoulders, and he can’t stop playing her words back over again in his head, ‘the idea of being with you fucking terrifies me’ and it’s clear that feeling hasn’t vanished over night.

But she’s willing to try.

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[martynefrain-blog]

We have no idea what day it is or what we doing tomorrow

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