#unextravagating

[awly0hifipcif]

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[etcyjd8grws]

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#untended #troublers #unextravagance #unmarred #yeshivot #autotoxicity #themelet #Dechen #hyperdeliciousness #O'Reilly #catacorolla #cuffed #GCT #occipitoscapular #rason #popularly #Waterer #aswail #seungsik #becolor

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#funning #pinniferous #pouffes #semimythically #Russophobiac #unextravagant #mucedineous #platycoelous #unscrupulously #latchman #hornswoggling #fenris #dragonfly #Hudson #Nkomo #spaghetti #hermitblr #kakidrosis #semirevolution #gallo-tannate

[skidrowflorist]

How do you think Audrey is celebrating Christmas/Hanukkah?

ooc;; on skid row, audrey is quietly in no man's land about winter festivities. her mother raised her jewish, but on her own she's felt more and more that she has to acclimate to christianity to have her wasp-y suburban dream, so as an adult, she'd dropped off celebrating the high holy days, never mind hanukkah, and didn't correct people when they asked what her plans "for christmas" were. during the time she works at mushnik's, she feels more torn about what she wants; mushnik and seymour are both jewish, and when others around her have that in common with her, it makes her feel more comfortable thinking about her own jewishness. but this is also when her self-esteem is lowest and she feels the need to perform the the most for her boyfriends. so she lights her menorah quietly at home but doesn't perform the mitzvah of showing it in her window. most of her boyfriends are christian instead, so she buys them christmas presents (small, and unextravagant) and, again, doesn't correct anyone who assumes she's celebrating christmas too. ironically, when she gets to her dream home in suburbia is when she feels the most comfortable to finally break molds a little, live her truth, and not keep her being jewish so private. it helps that she and seymour have each other in that respect. she's realizing that all that time spent wishing she was something else and not wanting to make her differences known was just another way she kept herself small and inoffensive for others at the price of her own happiness. she never becomes particularly religious, but gets more comfortable with rekindling the traditions she shared with her mother as her own family grows.

#thank you for asking marnie!! #fabricwrapped #❦ you don't know the half of it [ headcanons ] #❦ now you were saying [ answered asks ]

[2n2n]

I ca

I can't take it anymore... I can't believe we finally .... get to see the fabled.... 'Amane Themed After Tsukasa Idol'..... the Tsukasa Stan Amane adorned in purple to match his little brother ... we've had that little icon of Amane only for so... long.... I was just staring at Tsukasa's unique 'aim here!' chest ring... and now... now I can look at this, in an outfit that somehow manages to look like a dress with no visible distinction between the tshirt and hakama....? please *panting* please I *crawling on the ground* please I need... to see their routines... please .... Tsukasa has the microphone, he's the singer between them... Amane is just here to jump around him and crawl around on the floor or something....

*coughing blood* nene looks really cute back there too, I mean they kind of look like tissue paper for a present or little cupcake papers, its really kind of Aoi to pair with Nene, I feel like Aoi will get less attention in a duo with Nene than she would as a solo act, so it feels like a kindness .... I hope Nene writes bizarre scary songs with ominous titles and all about curses and eternal love .... meanwhile, Teru + Akane + Hakubo gives a real 'Teru and his 2 slaves' energy ... and Sakura and Natsuhiko look like such a normal couple its extremely funny ... its so mundane and unextravagant .... its cute really.... Kou and his idiots all in one place looking completely mediocre ... the twins look deranged in comparison to all of this ...

#avvy's JSHK

[jellzbellz125]

You seem very “UnExtravagant” 🌹, do you wanna be my bsf ???

#amaze #life quotes #beauty #tumblr #beutiful

[king-there0f]

if you'd still like character questionnaire asks, 2, 3, 8, and 10 for matthias? :) @kerra-and-company

Hi!! Yeaaahh! I am always ready to talk about my boiiii. Thank you for indulging me ; ;

What is their grooming routine?

Extremely minimal and utilitarian. Matthias is not much of one to indulge in things for the sake of self care (he's working on it though, really) Despite growing up in a well-off family and being in a position where he'd easily be able to afford most luxuries, his grooming and private routines are generally very subdued and unextravagant.

He massages his leg when it flares up, and has invested in a nice bathtub for soaking in when his nerves irritate him, especially on cold days. He spends his money on items of good craftsmanship that are high quality - things like materials, scents, and the colors that he surrounds himself with I imagine he would be picky about.

His friends and guild-mates often encourage him to spend more time on himself, as he is generally does enough to be considered well groomed, but never really allows himself the time or space to really lavish or feel supremely relaxed. He is the friend that you constantly beg to take time off. Please, you need it, you're getting irritable and we all hate it. He is FAR better about this now than he used to be, though.

What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go?

Matthias buys a lot of expensive things. He is the kind of man who commissions things and is able to assuage small local craftsmen that he is happy to pay whatever price or premium they realistically need to charge him (my love letter to every commissioner who has ever told me "Price is no object, I want to pay you fairly for your time") So things like his bow, sword, boots, and cane I imagine are all handcrafted and custom ordered because they are things he cares a lot about. He likes his things to be sturdy, understated, and long-lasting.

He also likely spends a fair chunk of money on guild expenses and travel for himself and all his guild mates.

Sarah literally makes him pay for everything when they hang out with each other and refuses to spend a dime in his presence. She is also the kind of person who will also put her drinks on his tab, even if he isn't there.

Describe the place where they sleep.

Matthias' room is sparsely decorated. While picky about the things he surrounds himself with, I don't imagine he has much creativity in regards to decoration or an eye for interior design.

His home has a hearth and would be carpeted in the winter months. He most certainly has a full or queen size bed, as I imagine he is the type of person who insists he disciplines his animals and doesn't allow them on the furniture, but when they look at him from the floor with big pleading eyes, he is quick to relent and allow them up on the bed with him (Just this once though. And only because it's cold out tonight.) (This happens frequently at all times of the year.) He prefers his bed is soft to cushion his leg and stiff joints. He saw how the Norn dressed their beds once and was sold on keeping his just as comfortable. (Blankets galore.)

He likes to keep his space warmly lit and usually keeps a fire going. Though he lives in a fairly modest apartment (compared to some of his wealthy peers) he was still choosy about finding a place with ample natural light and a well furnished kitchen. (the kitchen, after all, is the heart of any home.)

What objects do they always carry around with them?

The necessary ones. Matthias is a utilitarian and packs light. Often times he'll question friends who pack creature comforts that aren't strictly necessary, because he just doesn't understand the point. As he has gotten older and has come around to view traveling and guild missions as experiences in and of themselves, and not strictly as a means to an end or a way to get from point A to point B. He's still learning to stop and smell the roses.

I do think his family would have some sort of item they traditionally give to grown children before they start adventuring (in my family my brother and I both got nice pocket knives for Christmas when we reached a certain age and I just think that kind of coming-of-age gift is nice)

And I think functionally it might not serve him as much as it used to, but it's an item he always makes an exception for and never travels without it. I haven't decided what it is yet though! Ideas welcome : )

#ask game #asksksksk #matthias #gw2 #guild wars 2 #original character

[firelord-frowny]

!!!!

I’ve been thinking about like... how people’s personal values influence what they spend money on, and I feel like a lot of people get pegged as “irresponsible” with their money, when actually they just have a different value system?? 

Like, somebody could be living in a tiny lil rinky-dink house or apartment where the rent is low, and maybe it’s drafty, or in a ~rough~ or otherwise typically undesirable area, 

but that person goes on lavish vacations, or indulges in expensive hobbies, or they buy fancy clothes or whatever. 

And people are quick to shake their heads and chastise the person for not prioritizing the “right things” and whatnot. 

But liiiiike... maybe some people really do value vacations and leisure activities and other so-called “frivolous” things over having a “comfortable” home??

I think soooo much of the typical american ~value system~ is based on a bunch of classist and symbolic bullshit instead of being based on anything sensible. 

Like, everybody wants a big house, but for why??? Why do you need a 7 bedroom home if you don’t want 7 kids?? Why do you need a huge lawn if you’re not gonna be playin soccer on it or whatever??? Why do you need a sitting room AND a living room AND a den? Why do you need a ~master bathroom~? What good is it to have all this symbolic material shit if you don’t actually WANT any of it? If it has no USE to you?? And the cost of having all this shit you don’t want is so high that you can’t actually afford to do any of the things you do want to do! Like, ok, you’ve got your 7 bedroom home, but you can’t spare any money for aaaaanything else.

Like, ok, if that kind of stuff genuinely makes you happy, then whatever, I guess! 

But a lot of people aren’t concerned with that kind of stuff, and are perfectly happy to live in unextravagant homes so they can instead spend their money on the things that are actually important to them, and idk, I feel like it would be Good if peopld weren’t so quick to assume that a person is being irresponsible just because they’re living in an inexpensive place while spending lots of money on other stuff. 

#like #i don't think there's anything automatically irresponsible about having a fancy new car while living in a crappy apartment #if a nice car is more important to you than a nice apartment #then you have the right to allocate your money to that effect!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Twenty-Seven Steps, Chapter 21: Try To Stop Me [March 1981]

Series summary: Callahan is an American living and studying in London. When Freddie befriends her and brings her into Queen’s inner circle, she finally learns what it’s like to have a family. But love and loyalty aren’t always black and white, and Calla must navigate conflicting desires and obligations as she accompanies John, Roger, Brian, and Freddie through their interwoven lives.

Chapter summary: Roger stakes a claim.  

Chapter warnings: Language, some hospital and medical stuff, hella fluff (you deserve it).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Taglist: @the-borhap-boys @killer-queen-xo @sincereleygmg @calspixie @fire-and-blood-got @jennyggggrrr @stormtrprinstilettos @bramblesforbreakfast @brainflakes @coffeexcigarette

Outside were roses blossoming into color and cerulean sky and the distant hums and honking of moving trucks. Calla turned away from the window and in towards the living room. John was perched on the couch with an acoustic guitar in his hands, the children giggling riotously and tumbling around the floor as he sang.

“Don't push your luck, I'm ready to attack!

'Cause when I'm trying to talk to you all you do is just talk back.”

John pointed to his audience.

“Okay, everyone together now!

You stand so tall, you don't frighten me at all!

Don't talk back, don't talk back...”

“Don’t talk back, don’t talk back!” the kids echoed in a disorganized refrain, Carlisle miming holding a microphone, Little Fred doing lopsided somersaults across the carpet, Kendra falling in and out of ballerina twirls and a bit baffled by the whole affair but being a good sport about it. John beamed proudly.

“Are you radicalizing the tiny bassists?” Calla asked, smiling, stepping closer.

“Dear, one of the many advantages of having children must be the ability to turn them zealously against your mortal enemies.”

“I had no idea that Bri had been elevated to mortal enemy status! How grievous. Maybe I shouldn’t be meeting his wife for weekly tea dates.” Chrissie was expecting a baby in May—just two months after Calla was due—and was apprehensive about going from one child to two, particularly since Brian was so rarely home these days. It was a fear Calla could empathize with, although it felt indistinct and distant from her now, like trying to remember a dream; true to John’s word, everything had been easier for them lately. When he was on tour, he called her almost every night; if he didn’t, then Roger did. He was home as much as he could be. He flew Calla and the children all over the world; she had perfected the art of traveling with them, and Olga often came along to help. John was barely drinking. He was happy. And Another One Bites The Dust unexpectedly becoming Queen’s biggest hit in America to date certainly didn’t hurt.

“Oh no, Chrissie is lovely. It’s just that tyrannical poodle she happens to be married to. Also, she never fails to bring us obscene amounts of cookies every time we have a new baby. And I am not prepared to give that up.”

“I married an honorable man.”                            

He winked at her, picking Kendra up off the floor. “You know it, love.”

“Speaking of social etiquette, one of us is going to have to go say hello to the new neighbors.”

Horror crossed his face as Kendra tugged on his hair, squealing with delight. “Can’t we pay somebody to do that?”

Calla laughed. They were notoriously unextravagant; Olga was their only hired help, and even she only came by a few days a week. “Not in the cards. As the famous one, I think you should do it.”

“But you have a built-in conversation topic,” John countered, gesturing to her sizeable belly.

“Dad, I want cheesy toast,” Carlisle announced.

“Cheesy toast, cheesy toast!” Little Fred chanted, stomping his tiny feet.

Carlisle joined him: “Cheesy toast, cheesy toast, cheesy toast!” Kendra giggled and smacked John’s head in rhythm.

John raised his eyebrows at Calla. “Okay, would you rather feed these guys or talk to strangers?”

“I always burn the cheesy toast,” she replied mournfully. “So I guess I have to talk to strangers.”

“Mum, do the new neighbors want cheesy toast?” Carlisle asked, his forehead creased with concern.

“You are so sweet, Car. I’ll be sure to ask them.”

As the chaotic noises—excited shouting and banging pans and John’s patient reminders (“Hey, kiddos, we don’t touch Daddy’s knives, right? And we don’t lick the floor. We—oh my god, Fred, what did I just say!”)—floated out of the kitchen, Calla opened the front door. She waddled towards the property line; it wasn’t a large lot, but it didn’t take much to tire her out these days. She rested her hands on her belly, humming as she walked. There was a tall row of hedges that shielded their house on three sides, ensuring a good amount of privacy. As she neared the spot where the hedges ceased and a petite black iron gate marked the start of the neighbor’s yard, she heard a voice call out in a familiar French accent.

“Tu me gonfles! Clearly the table had four legs when you loaded it into the truck. Now it has three legs. Is this math too difficult for you? Should I simplify things? D'accord, here it goes: you broke my table. You owe me a new table. Still confused? Of course you are, you ridicule imbécile!”

Calla peeked around the hedges and over the gate to see Dominique, hands on her slim hips, hair perfectly curled, makeup immaculate, animatedly disparaging a mover who stood next to the aforementioned three-legged table. Roger, carrying Felix on his hip, stepped into view, his back towards Calla.

“Honey, babe, don’t get upset. What’s going on here? Oh, that old table?! I’ll buy a new one. I’ll buy ten new ones, I don’t give a fuck, it’s a table. Here, I’ll handle it, take Felix and go inside and show the movers where you want things. There you go, don’t you worry, all is well.”

Dom obliged and disappeared into the house with Felix. It was a ridiculously average house, the same as John and Calla’s: just a few bedrooms, a small yard, the antithesis of what a rock star’s estate should look like. Freddie and Brian’s homes put it to shame; Roger’s Surrey mansion made it look like a garden shed, and not even a particularly impressive garden shed. Rog talked to the mover for a while, exchanged some cash, then stood and appraised the unremarkable house through his prescription sunglasses.

“You lost in the bad part of town, sir?”

He spun, spotted her, and broke into a massive smile. He jogged to the fence, folding up his sunglasses and sliding them into his shirt pocket. “Hey, look at you!” His eyes traced her up and down, lingering on her belly, a generous swell under a coral dress.

“I know, I know, I’m my own continent.”

“You look gorgeous.”

“I look like a cow.”

“Blue ribbon cow,” he said with a grin.

Calla chuckled, thinking of when that joke had started, on a rainy Munich night almost exactly nine months ago. She pointed to the house. “What’s that?”

“That’s my new house.”

“You seriously bought the house next to ours?”

He whirled around, as if to check to see if it was still there. “Well look at that, I guess I did!”

“But you already have the Surrey mansion, which is like...thirty minutes from here.”

“This may come as a shock to a modest, practical person such as yourself, but as it turns out one can never have too many houses.”

“That certainly sounds like something an ostentatious rock star would say. You know you can’t throw wild parties in this neighborhood, right?”

“Of course. That’s what Surrey is for.”

Calla shook her head, astonished, overjoyed. He wants to be close, he wants to be there for our child. Her eyes flicked towards Roger’s new house. “Does Dom know?” she asked softly. About the baby.

“I’ve never said anything. She’s never asked. But I think she knows.”

“Is she...alright?”

“She’s fine, Cal,” he said, a little brusquely. “You’re due the 21st, right?”

“You remembered that?!”

“Total shot in the dark. And you usually go right on time?”

“I think you know I do, Roger Meddows Taylor.”

“So it’ll be here before we know it.”

“Indeed,” Calla sighed, excitedly, fearfully.

“Are you still getting checked once a week? And you have a hospital bag packed, right? And you mapped the quickest route from your house? And the hospital knows—”

“I have actually had children before. More than one.”

“Yeah. But this time is a little different, isn’t it?”

It was different. It was the first time since she’d had Kendra, since she’d finished a perfectly typical delivery and then suddenly, horribly, felt blood pouring down her legs, heard it dripping onto the tile floor like a faucet. The world had gone black almost instantly, the darkness filled with the sound of footsteps and rolling equipment and John’s frantic shouts. She had stayed in the hospital for over a week receiving transfusion after transfusion, being lectured by every doctor and nurse who happened to pop their head in the room that she should be careful not to have any more children. “Three’s enough anyway, right dear?” they had said, smiling encouragingly. Of course, there was a good chance she wouldn’t have any trouble at all with this delivery. There was also a chance she would hemmorage catastrophically, losing blood faster than they could replace it, and end the day not in the Labor and Delivery ward but in the morgue.

That can’t happen again. I can’t let it happen. I can’t leave my children.

Calla steeled herself, keeping a fierce grip on her determined façade of confidence. Rog saw through it like glass.

“Did you ever think about...not going through with this?” he asked quietly. “It’s risky. It’s dangerous in a lot of ways. You had no way of knowing how John would react, or how I would. There’s no telling what the future holds, what the gossip magazines will print.”

“Of course not. This child is ours. It’s the only thing we’ll ever have that’s ours.”

He was stunned into silence. After a moment, he spoke. “You know Cal, there are times when I’m not really sure we’re on the same page. And then you go and say something like that and it knocks me into next week. Jesus christ. Come over here.”

She lifted the latch on the gate and stepped into his yard. The grass was vibrant and carefully trimmed and soft under her bare feet. Before he could touch her, she whispered, impulsively, without knowing what she was going to say: “I don’t want to die, Roger.”

“What?! Don’t, Calla, don’t.” He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him, surrounding her with the comforting heat of his body. Her fingers traced his chest muscles through his shirt. “You’re going to be fine. I promise you. You see any bright white lights or hear any angels singing, just let me know and I’ll tell them to get lost, you have the wrong room, see you later, go take that old bastard with gout down the hall.”

Calla laughed against him, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was ridiculous. “God, this is humiliating. Let me go.”

“Tough fucking luck, kid, you’re mine now. Surrender.”

“Rog,” she reminded him. They weren’t alone. He relented, releasing her. No sooner had she backed away when Dom appeared in the doorway of the new house.

“Hi, Calla,” she called over, waving politely. “Do you want some tea or something?”

“That’s so kind of you, but I’m alright. I’ve got to be getting home. I have to make sure my kids haven’t set the kitchen on fire.”

“Thank goodness mine can’t walk yet!” Dom retreated back inside.

“I really do have to go,” Calla told Roger. “Do you need any help with the move?”

He glanced at her belly. “If I did, you are literally the last person I would ask.”

“Oh, right.”

There were suddenly pattering footsteps behind her. “Uncle Roger!” Carlisle and Little Fred shrieked, and sprinted to mob him. He ruffled the boys’ hair as they clamored around his legs. John was carrying Kendra on his shoulders.

“I came out here to rescue you, but you seem to be in good hands.” He stared at Roger, bewildered, the wheels in his mind spinning. “You’re...our new neighbor...?”

“Only part-time,” Roger assured him. “We won’t impose, John.”

“No trouble at all,” John said, still processing. “Actually, this makes for convenient childcare.”

Calla added: “And if you and Dom ever need someone to watch Felix, we’d be happy to. We’ll already have four, what’s one more?”

John quipped: “We won’t even notice. He’ll blend right in. We might forget to return him.” That wasn’t really all that outlandish; with his olive skin and dark hair and eyes, it was easy to forget that Felix was Roger’s at all.

“Oh,” Calla remembered. “Carlisle wanted me to offer the new neighbors cheese on toast. Interested? I’m sure it’s a bit pedestrian for your tastes, but...”

“It’s really good!” Little Fred gushed like a used car salesman.

“Is it, little man?” Rog grinned down at him. “Yeah, I’d love some. Let me grab Dom and Felix and we’ll be right over.”

“Yay!” Carlisle and Little Fred shouted in unison. Kendra, a little delayed, mimicked them energetically, drumming on the top of John’s head.

Calla felt John slide his arm around her as Roger trotted back to his house. “Did you know anything about this?”

“I did not.”

“Are you mad?”

John shook his head, very slowly, his eyes unfocused, his mind preoccupied. “Not at all.”

“Okay. Good. I’ll corral the kids if you cook.”

Then he took her hand and started laughing. “If I was mad, I’d make them eat your very dark, exceptionally crispy cheesy toast.”

“Ew,” Carlisle declared with a wrinkle of his pale little nose.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Living in this street honey needs a mean streak, we've got criminals living in this street...?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Roger told Freddie. “And you’re going to do it to this beat, let me show you...”

Freddie’s eyes scanned the lyric sheet. “Rog, darling, this is ridiculous.”

“It’s not!” Rog snapped, then began tapping his snare drum and hi-hat in rhythm. “See? Like that? There you go.”

Fred nodded along, still reading, pacing around the studio in skintight white leather pants. “Okay, okay, maybe I see where you’re headed.”

Roger sang: “But there's a heartbeat pulse that keeps on pumping

Like a juke box playing the same dead record

Or a radio in the corner keeps blaring,

I got a feeling this world is using me.”

Suddenly, he tossed his drumsticks aside in frustration. “Oh, fucking hell, I need a bassline.”

Fred flicked his cigarette over an ashtray. “Well, you won’t be getting one of those today.”

Working on Queen’s ninth album had been a mess. There were almost always only two or three of them in the Montreux studio at a time. Freddie was constantly hopping over to Munich, New York, Paris, L.A., to anywhere where the club scene was good and Paul could ply him with every vice known to mankind. Brian was furious with the disco-inspired sound and frequently fled the studio in protest; he had quit the band six times in the past three months. John was home now more than ever...although he always had plenty of ideas when he finally did show up, much to Bri’s vexation.

Paul breezed into the studio with a piping cup of tea and handed it to Freddie. “Oh, Roger. It slipped my mind. John called a while ago asking for you.”

Yeah, I bet it slipped your mind. “What did he say?”

Paul shrugged nonchalantly. “Something about how his wife had gone into labor and they would be at Royal London Hospital whenever you got into town.”

“What?” Roger leapt to his feet. “No, that’s, that can’t be right, she’s got another two weeks to go...” He turned to Freddie, panicked, and then back to Paul. “How long ago did he call?!”

“Not sure,” Paul said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe an hour? Or two?”

Roger stormed across the room, his blood hot and rushing. “You get a call like that and you don’t say anything for hours?”

“I didn’t realize it was so important.” Paul feigned innocence, batting his eyelashes, disgustingly insincere. “It’s John’s family, after all. Not yours. Right?”

Roger pinned him to the wall, his grip around Paul’s throat. “You fucking snake.”

“Go, Rog, go,” Freddie urged, pulling him away from Paul, shoving him towards the door. “The rest can wait. Just go.”

So Roger did: to the limo, to the private jet waiting at Lausanne Airport, to London, to the place and people he called home.

~~~~~~~~~~

He sprinted through the hospital hallways, following signs to Labor and Delivery. He collided with a nurses station, gasping for air, his palms slick on the countertop.

“Callahan Deacon?”

A young blond nurse pointed with her pencil to a door across the hall. “She’s right over there. But it’s immediate family only, sir, no visitors.”

“Try to stop me,” Roger shot back at her as he went for the door. The handle was cold in his hands. He turned it and rushed inside.

The room was quiet and peaceful and still. Golden late-afternoon light filtered in through the sheer curtains. Calla was propped up on pillows, wearing a clean gown and a pink bandana around her hair, looking drained but like she’d had some time to recover. John had climbed into bed next to her, one arm around her shoulders, the other helping to cradle the small bundle of blue blankets in her hands. Calla waved when she saw Roger, careful not to dislodge her plentiful IVs.

“Sir, you can’t!” the nurse pleaded from the doorway.

“It’s alright, Misty,” John said. “He’s family. Thank you.”

The blond nurse, puzzled, departed and closed the door behind her.

“I lived,” Calla proclaimed with a sly little smile, but her voice was hoarse and quiet. Her face was anemic, exhausted; there were dark circles like bruises beneath her eyes.

“Oh my god, I missed it, I’m so sorry. I was with Freddie in Montreux, and Paul, that bastard, he...I’m just so sorry, Calla.”

John stroked her shoulder absentmindedly. “She had what they call a placental abruption.” His voice was eerily level. It had taken Rog years to realize that the more uneasy Calla was, the more cool and methodical John’s demeanor became. He knew it calmed her. He was good for her. He was steady, a pillar, earth to Roger’s fire. Maybe they are supposed to be together after all. “The placenta separates prematurely. It can lead to very quick, intense labors. But everyone is okay here. It was incredibly fast. There was nothing you could have done to be here in time. It was all over within two hours, we barely made it to the hospital ourselves.”

“You still made time to call me,” Roger said, touched.

“Of course. You deserved to know.”

Roger went to Calla’s side and felt her forehead, studied her ghostly pallor.

“She’s fine, Rog,” John soothed. “No fever. No abnormal bleeding. She’s just fine. She’ll probably sleep for a week once we get home, but she’s going to be okay.”

“Do you want to meet him?” Calla asked, holding the bundle in her arms towards Roger. And for the first time, he turned his attention towards his son.

He took the baby, a little awkwardly, a little hesitantly. Newborns were one of the few things in the world that Roger found intimidating; he was always struck by a terrible fear of breaking them. They were so small, so new, so without armor against a world that could be cruel. But all of that fell away like crisp autumn leaves as he cradled the sleeping baby in his arms, soaking in his tiny wrinkled hands, his impossibly soft cheeks, his blond wisps of hair. And although Roger firmly believed that all babies were more or less identical and that any attempt to claim traits as one parent’s or the other’s was pure lunacy and self-indulgence, there was something about the set of the eyes and brows that was pure Roger Taylor. Maybe that should have made him nervous, made him realize how difficult the child’s true parentage would be to disguise; instead, what Roger felt was pride. His gaze met Calla’s, tears brimming in his eyes. This is ours. He will always be ours.

“He’s amazing,” Rog whispered, his voice cracking.

“They always are,” John said softly. “Do you have a name for us?”

A name. He’d had a whole list of them, English towns and castles and rulers, traditional names, trendy names, names he’d never heard before. But now that he was holding his son, there was only one that fit. Something regal, something strong, something undeniably British. “Kingston.”

“Kingston,” John echoed, feeling it out. “That works perfectly with the others, actually. I think I like it.”

Calla beamed in approval, in love. “Kingston Roger Meddows Deacon.”

Roger stared at her, shocked. Of course, all the other members of Queen were already represented: Carlisle John, Brighton Frederick, Kensington May. But this was different. He swallowed noisily. “With a name like that, you know he’s going to be one hell of a cool drummer one day.”

“Not on my watch,” John said, and they all laughed. Everything really is going to be okay. “Rog, can I have a moment?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He handed Kingston back to Calla, although it was hard to let him go, like carving out a piece of himself to be left behind. How am I going to survive not taking this little guy home with me?

“We’ll be right back, love,” John told Calla, and led Rog out into the hallway.

“How are you doing this?” Roger asked once they were alone, incredulous. How are you going to raise a child that isn’t yours? “I would be absolutely murderous if I were you. I would be driven insane by it. How are you so...calm?”

John smiled at him. “I have everything I could ever want. I get to live the dream and make brilliant music and then come home to Calla and our children. I even got a bonus child, thanks to you. I could have lost all of that a hundred times over. She could have left me, she could have had anyone, she could have had you. But I never lost Calla, even if I deserved to. I have everything. To be resentful, to be angry with her now, to feel wronged after the hell I put her through...how could I do that to my wife, to my best friend? What would be the point? I love her. I love our children. And I love you, Rog...you’re my family too, you always will be. I’m not just calm. I’m not resigned, I’m not trying to make the best of things. I’m happy.”

“Happy at home,” Rog said wondrously.

“Exactly.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever know what that’s like.”

“Roger?”

“Yeah.”

“I have a favor to ask.”

Rog scoffed and raised an eyebrow. “What could I possibly have to give you?”

John turned serious. “It’s important.”

“Obviously I’m going to say yes to whatever you want. Go ahead.”

“If something ever happened to me...I need you to take care of Calla.”

Roger blinked at him. Well, yeah.

“I need you to marry her, to be the best you can be to her. To help her raise our children. To try to be happy at home.”

The image dawned on him all at once, vividly, magnificently: being the type of man who was content with teaching the kids to play guitar or drums and checking their homework and making cheese on toast, with living the life of a rock star strictly part-time. Could I really do it? Could that ever be me? “What makes you think she’d agree to that?”

John narrowed his gaze impatiently. “Be serious.” And Roger saw it in his dark eyes, only briefly, only fleetingly: a sharp glint of pain like a blade. He knows it wasn’t just sex, that it never was. He really knows.

“Yeah, John. I will. Of course I will.” Roger embraced him, holding him tightly, feeling all the weight and warmth of the past decade through his fingertips. “We’re a family, just like you said. Now more than ever. We will always be a family.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Three weeks later, Calla circled the living room with a tray of champagne and cucumber sandwiches until Chrissie, chastising her fiercely, snatched it out of her hands and demanded she sit down and enjoy herself.

“You just had a baby, for christ’s sake, get on that couch and put your feet up before I tie you to it!”

Chrissie, true to form, had brought an overflowing tray of cookies; John was presently nibbling on his third. Brian had brought a collection of children’s books, Mary a casserole, Freddie—always the big spender—a ridiculously ornate rocking chair, Dom a basket of flakey croissants, Roger a bouquet of purple calla lilies. Calla sank into the couch, surrounded by joyful chatter and activity. The Supremes sang from the record player:

“But mama said, you can't hurry love

No you just have to wait,

She said love don't come easy

It's a game of give and take.”

Dominique and Mary were in the backyard with Carlisle, Little Fred, Kendra, Jimmy, and Felix. John and Roger were drinking and swapping stories in the kitchen. Freddie was parading Kingston around the living room as if he was his own. “Oh, look at the little darling, he has my nose!”

Brian rolled his eyes. “That’s not at all how that works, Fred.”

“Yes, science boy, you are so smart,” Fred groaned. “Don’t you have a galactic rock to go gawk at or something?”

“Fred—!”

“That’s it, I’ve had enough, I’m going to visit with my namesake. Here, Chrissie, take dear lovely Kingston. Your husband is not worthy.”

Chrissie, giggling, gladly took her turn holding the baby and meandered towards where Calla rested on the couch. Freddie went out into the backyard, calling for Little Fred. Brian shook his head irritably and slipped into the kitchen, leaving Chrissie and Calla alone.

Chrissie hadn’t gotten a good look at Kingston yet. She cradled him with her left arm, lifting up the corners of the blanket to see his face. “Oh no.”

“How rude!” Calla jested.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, he’s wonderful, Calla, he’s absolutely adorable. But...” Chrissie raised her eyebrows at her. Everyone knew about Calla and Rog, and they could do the math. They would never say it out loud, but they knew. “He looks exactly like his father.”

“Yeah,” Calla mused, smiling. “He does, doesn’t he?”

Kingston stirred in Chrissie’s arms and began to cry. “Oh, little guy, don’t do that!” Chrissie cooed. “There there, you’re alright.”

“I think someone needs a nice nap,” Calla said, and she reached for her slippers. She could manage a presentable dress and makeup, but she refused to even glance at high heels.

“Don’t get up!” Roger commanded, materializing out of nowhere. He sailed into the room and plucked Kingston out of Chrissie’s arms. “You stay. I’ll take him to his room.”

“Thank you so much, Rog,” Calla said.

“Mm hmm.” He sauntered away.

When Roger didn’t reappear after ten minutes, Calla followed him upstairs. She stopped in the doorway of the nursery. Rog was standing in the middle of the room, turned away from her, clutching Kingston to his chest. The baby had stopped crying; Calla could see his serene, dozing face peeking over Rog’s shoulder. Roger was swaying back and forth, rubbing Kingston’s tiny back, speaking to him in a quiet, velvety voice.

“One day when you’re older and you’re a kickass drummer and have like thirty girlfriends, I’m going to tell you everything. I’m going to tell you all about your cool old dad. All my adventures, everything I’ve seen, all my mistakes so you don’t have to make the same ones. And I’m going to tell you about your mum, too. She’s pretty incredible. She’s the love of my life, actually. She’s kind and she’s smart and she’s so bloody hilarious, Kingston, you won’t believe it. She’s beautiful in every way a person can be. She’s younger than me, but she’s so much wiser. She taught me that I was a good person. You don’t know it yet, but that can be a hard thing to learn. Your mum and I don’t have an ordinary story, but that’s okay. We aren’t ordinary people. And you won’t be either.”

#borhap fic #queen fic #john deacon fic #roger taylor fic #twenty seven steps #twenty seven steps series

[exemplari]

          A HIGHER PURPOSE ------ a dream and an excuse and the holy lance so desperately needed to break the shackles which bound him there . wispy daydreams of knight - errantry , of wooden swords and shields turned steel with the blessed water andraste herself once drank : made corporeal at thirteen , and he was so young , then . kisses goodbye , dear mother and dear sisters tearful in their mourning of presence upon dinner table , with father . . . not so much . and branson , sweet little thing , his favourite , shadow and schemer and companion , all at once . their separation was something tangible then , the ropes severed raw and pink ; and a barely breathing memory , now .

          busy , always busy . an excuse as creative as the need to shovel manure ; that is: monotonous , unextravagant , never needing further explanation . precisely how he liked it . the writing of an extensive letter even detailing where he was , or what he was doing , always escaped him , time fleeing from sunrise to sundown and then suddenly another day had rolled around . what had been sent , however sporadically , had been penned with scrawling and ( shamefully , he must admit ) disorganised a sequence , ushering questions away and returning none with satisfactory an answer . embarrassing , really , how careless he had been . and the hiding dearest brother had lashed had been thoroughly deserved . 

          it aches , his lip ------ splintered open and throbbing as tongue keeps the wound wet with it , in reflex , its darting sear grounding and an appreciation fresh for brother’s rage as the gouge he’d gifted . not quite the reunion he’d imagined , although in truth he hadn’t imagined one at all . dungeon’s door creaks open , head a peek to display rounded nose within the dwindling fire - light , those skull - like features , glossy eyes shadowed from its flaming sconce . 

          ❝   cooled off yet ? or should i come back ?  ❞

                                                                              @ofthedas​ 

#ofthedas #& - yeets a whole load of word salad at u #this was really just scene - setting tbh #FEATHER AND INK / STARTER .

[juroguro]

hanahaki fic again except for this time there’s progression. first chapter is here.

this is “day 1 - rose petals.” enjoy!

“I love you.”

A soft, simple three words. Three words I never thought I could say. Yet I said them through my soft, simple lips. How could he ever accept something so unextravagant? He wouldn’t.

Yet he did.

He, great and famous and handsome and perfect author Usami Akihiko took my hand in his own at the utterance of the words. “Hiroki…” Perfect clear eyes with perfect lavender irises gaze at me, soften. He removes the friendly half-meter of space on the red couch. Our thighs touch. “Hiroki, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

continue reading

#i think the tags like this format better so i'm gonna keep using it lol #junjou romantica #junjou minimum #juro #fics #mine #the secret hanahaki fic

[dylanadreams]

Last year, we had kind of an unextravagant tornado season. I have a feeling that this year is gonna get us back for it.

[aotoreiki]

A flower crown is gently placed onto Ice's head after Morgan makes her presence known. Her aura is kept calm and relaxing for his sake, but her gaze speaks of concern. 'If you want to talk, know that i'm here for you, Ice Winters.' Especially on a day that everyone seemed to hate year after year. Pausing a moment longer as she intended to leave, she would wait to see if he had anything to say.

Morgan showing up from nowhere did admittedly give Ice a slight startle. Upon realising it was just the fae, however, he relaxed. He kept still as the flower crown was placed upon his mess of hair.

His deep-blue eyes stay on the Gardevoir, giving her a slight nod at the end. “Thank you.” It’s a simple and unextravagant answer.

He’d never spoken much of his family situation to anyone. As far as they knew, he had a perfectly fine relationship with his parents. The way he spoke about either of them certainly gave nothing away as being less than okay. But Morgan, as a mother herself, was probably more finely attuned to these kinds of faint hints than most.

He lifted one hand to gently brush his fingers against the petals of the flower crown, a slight smile on his face. “I’ll remember.”

A soft exhale. “...I’m glad Ashe has you for a mum.”

#inbox ✻ i’ll see you around! #kokorowoutsu #ic ✻ blue and cold #v: aether employee #AHH SORRY THIS IS DAYS LATE AGAIN #THANK YOU #you know the deal writing hard etcetera

[theninjasanctuary]

Birthday shopping plans are so unextravagant and altogether tentative I am slightly concerned for myself. As in, I have thrilling plans to get a new, light-coloured T-shirt bra (either DKNY or Chantelle, whichever fits best), and a hair brush, because my current one is disintegrating, and scissor sharpeners. A small bottle of Shiseido Zen is a maybe, depending on whether I still like the smell on me once I can walk through a beauty department again. There's also a new narcissus-scented candle from a local company, but I want to smell it first, as much as I love the real thing, the artificial versions can be annoying and overpowering.

So the problem here is, I'm running out of wants, nvm needs. Which, technically, should not be a bad thing at all, if it wasn't for this underlying sense of dissatisfaction. And also, the wants I'm running out of are the purchaseable kind. I still want more energy and a brain that functions better, so I can actually do the kind of things that need to get done, but that's not really happening, is it.

[wine-porn]

Forward. Never Straight.

Wow, what a beautiful wine. Dark, not-too-opaque ruby with *just* a kiss of garnet at the rim. Dirty and soiled in the nose, perfect barnyard funk melded nicely with deep cherry in a strong–but unextravagant way–of getting the sturdiness and solemnity across without the clingy attachments the ills of fruit-forwardness often bring. It’s rich. It’s ripe. It’s bold. But the tobacco and peaty…

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#BDX Blend #Bordeaux Blend #Cab Forward #Cabernet Sauvignon #El Pomar District #Meritage #merlot #Paso red blend #Paso Robles #Paso Robles Eastside wineries #Petit Verdot #Pomar Junction #Red blend #Stephen McConnell Wine Blog #Steve McConnell Wine Blog #wine1percent