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love-toxin · 3 years

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cw: injuries, yandere tohma, gn! reader

"so...how long do I have to play along with this little game of yours?"

the question spills out of his mouth without warning, yet each word is methodical, careful, like he's practiced it a thousand times before. the teapot clutched in your hands nearly slips out and shatters over the table you've laid out for the two of you, but the warmth of the porcelain fortunately keeps you steady enough until you can set it down in the space between you two. Tohma was kind enough to bring you a gift after spending awhile away, tending to his duties--so it's only natural that you would take him out for some tea in exchange. it's courtesy. it's expected.

but his question certainly is not.

"I...I have no idea what you're talking about, Tohma."

"really?"

he's sat cross-legged for some time now, waiting as you ordered the tea and offering you some idle chit-chat befitting a pair that haven't seen the other in a while. Tohma has always been your friend even when you were young, but as is custom in a place like Inazuma, your relationship has evolved throughout the years. there are things you can't say anymore, things that would ruin your life if you were caught doing them...and now, you fear, the glint in Tohma's eyes may be an omen that he's about to commit one of those unholy acts.

"come on now, sweetheart, everybody can see the truth for what it is. there's no need to hide it any longer."

he's purposely tiptoeing around the question, waiting for the pieces to click in your mind. he need not say anything at all, however--the way he looks at you in this moment, and the purpose with which he stands from his place at the tea table is enough to set your jaw tight and your eyes to darken.

"you know that I was always meant to be your husband. to be there for you through thick and thin, to care for you when we're both old and gray-"

he takes a few quick steps around it to get to you, to kneel at your side and reach out his hands to pull yours into them, and it's all you can do not to flinch away and risk the image of impropriety. but you've endured this lecture before, and the only thing screaming inside your head is for you to resist--just resist, don't listen to a word he says, and bite your tongue of any insult until he finally gives up and gets the hint.

"Tohma, stop."

"-to treasure you like no one else will. I understand your point of view, I really do--we're still young, and the world outside of Inazuma seems so big and grand...but you have to realize that the time to settle down is coming for us."

he rubs his thumb over your hand and smiles in your direction, but you can't meet his eyes. and then it's slipping out of your grasp and raising up to your face, and you feel yourself stiffen all over as Tohma gently cups your cheek, his gaze lowering towards your mouth as if he has an idea of what he wants to do. but that would be grounds for you to shriek for a guard, and you're entirely certain that that's the only reason he bites his lip to stave off the desire.

"you were always meant to be mine. you believe in fate, and you've always put your trust in me...so why not let me help you?"

that last part comes as a whisper, the tearoom private but the walls still thin. one of the many secrets you've entrusted to Tohma over the years is your disagreement with Inazuma's strict laws, as well as the etiquette that comes with being a member of the higher class. you've always despised being noble, and Tohma has always understood you, at least you thought so....but ever since he's gotten this ludicrous idea in his head, you've known even less peace than usual.

"I've said it a dozen times, Tohma, and I won't say it again. I'm not marrying you."

you do your best to spit the words out with as much venom as you can muster, yet you still feel the twinge of anxiety at snapping at him so informally. it could spell the end for you quite easily, but when your eyes are drawn back to Tohma's expression, all you can see is bliss written all over his face.

"...even laced with contempt, my name sounds so sweet on your lips. you've so much wit, so much grace, and your beauty leaves me breathless...I know how little you think of me, but-"

fury shoots through every vein of your body, and you know it's the wrong move when you slap his hand away from your face, the smack like a thunderclap in the small space of the little tearoom.

"enough, Tohma! enough. do yourself a favour and stop speaking to me--in fact, I dearly hope you never say a word to me again."

each finger on his hand twitches, only to close in a tight fist and sink back down to his lap. you try to avoid his gaze in this moment, but even turning your head away you can still feel his eyes staring right into your soul.

"you know I can't make that promise. you know that I love you."

that word makes you stiffen, your grip lock on your noble dressings, your blood turn to ice in your veins. you've avoided that for so long but it follows you like a demon, and it's eyes glow a verdant green as Tohma's words melt into your skin and eat you alive from the inside out.

"this feeling of yours....it's not mutual, Tohma. just leave it, and leave me."

you say so, but you're the one that stands from the tea table in the end, and Tohma jumps to get to his feet to follow you. he trails on your heels as you step with purpose towards the door and slide it open, the cool chill of Inazuma city in the night prickling your exposed skin. the blond hurries to get in front of you, and the moment you spot a few other citizens on the path this late at night, you tilt your head down and pray to the gods that Tohma won't force you into impropriety.

"...I see. you won't budge on this, then...I will have to accept that. but may I at least escort you home? I can't in good faith allow you to wander alone in the dark. I still care for you."

he looks down on you with a softness to his features, and you hate how easily you buckle under any sort of pressure from him. you prided yourself on not giving in before, but when you're not alone it's not nearly as easy--you have to piece your words so carefully together, and by the time you think of an excuse it will already be too late for you to reject his offer. so with as subtle of a huff as you can manage, you speak softly under your breath that you suppose that's fine, and grit your teeth as you thank him for the offer. and Tohma is all too relieved to stand beside you as you walk down the hill and leave the prying ears of the city, the silence near unbearable between you as you meander through the path cut down the middle of the farmer's fields.

"seems there's no one around. not a surprise for this time of the night."

it's not a terribly long walk back to your family's estate, but Tohma still evidently feels the need to speak up as you reach the end of the gently sloping hill. Konda village lies within sight in the distance, and you feel the tension weigh heavy on your heart as you count the steps closer and closer to safety. relative safety that is.

you're so focused on paying him as little attention as possible that you don't even take notice to his hand drawing closer to yours and his eyes wandering up and down your figure, practically salivating as the flames in his chest burn hotter and hotter, until the moment he can't take any more and he grabs you by the shoulders to stop you and force you to look him straight in the eyes.

"now, you're going to listen very closely. I'm going to give you a little gift, because I love you so very much. you get a minute's head start."

the shock catches you off guard to the point that you bite your own tongue, fear and panic shooting through you like icicles that make you freeze in place. Tohma's expression is so intense he nearly appears feral, pearly teeth glimmering in the light from the moon as he grins down at you like a predator examining their prey.

"here's the deal, sweetheart--if you can run all the way past Konda village, you win. but if I catch you, I win, and you must uphold your promise and marry me in a month's time. and if you win, you'll get your wish--I'll never speak a word to you again."

terror grips you even harder than Tohma is, and at his proposal you whip your head towards the village in the distance and then back to him. if he's seriously not making some kind of sick joke, then there's absolutely no way you would ever make it. you're not a fighter, you don't even know how to hold a sword much less have a vision, and you've seen the kinds of things Tohma is capable of....he'll catch you before you make it anywhere close.

"Tohma-"

his gaze lingers on you for a moment, before he turns you in the direction of the village and pushes you forward, only hard enough for you to stumble a bit. you want to question him, to try and talk him down from such an insane idea, but once you hear him start counting down aloud your feet move on their own and you take off in a pitiful run down towards your target. the night air whips by your face as you try to sprint as best you can, yet your robes that give away your nobility get caught on your sandals and trip you up enough that it makes your heart jump into your throat. your heart pounds in a cage that feels too tight, the air heavy and raw in your lungs the longer you fumble your way forwards in the night. even your tears feel cold as they stream down your face, and if speaking wouldn't expend your precious energy then you would surely be wailing for Tohma to stop, please, he's scaring you. especially once you hear his footsteps take off, and it feels as though his warm breath is right on the back of your neck.

but even so, you look up within moments to find yourself in the middle of the quiet little village, the lanterns dim and only the glow of the moon casting light on the humble little buildings. the panic ceases but resurges just as quickly when you remember that you're not safe yet, that the entrance to the village is still a few hundred metres away--and you can hear Tohma panting now, at a distance close enough that he'll make a grab for you long before you'll ever get there. but there's something you know that he probably doesn't remember, and it might just be your saving grace as you duck into the shadows and skirt around the mayor's house just as he skids into the path of the village. you fear in the pit of your stomach that getting the top off the well that you used to play near as children would make a great deal of noise, but you hurry forward and find it open--and just as you swing a leg over to climb inside and pray that Tohma doesn't think to look for you here, your foot slips on the stone that's still damp from the rain and your world is overturned as you fall through the air. it's not far enough that you can scream or grab for purchase on something, but when you land you hear the sickening crack of something breaking and pain that shoots through your leg so quick that it almost makes you black out.

but something worse is yet to come, and it's Tohma's voice calling out your name, before you look up to the sky and your heart just sinks as you watch his face pop into view over the side of the well.

"oh, archons--baby, are you all right?! did you hurt yourself?"

he hops over the edge quite easily and falls steady on his feat, not even having broken a sweat from chasing you as he hurries to your side and props you up in the crook of his arm. and despite still feeling that twinge of discomfort and panic from him touching you, the agony sets in so deeply that you cling to him without realizing as tears pour down your face and you struggle to breathe.

"let me see...yeah, that's definitely broken. c'mere, I'll help you up.."

just brushing the pads of his fingers over the rapidly-swelling skin of your calf makes you flinch and cry out with pain, and it's obvious by the deep bruising how bad you've hurt it--you wouldn't be able to climb out of here if you tried. but Tohma finds so little trouble in heaving you up into his arms that it's laughable....it would be funny how sincerely you thought you could get away in the first place, if you weren't experiencing the consequences now. and only now is it starting to sink in that you lost, even though he isn't rubbing it in your face. yet.

"poor thing--that was scary, wasn't it? aren't you glad I was here?"

despite how despairing you look, he rubs his cheek against yours as he holds you tight. you realize now how much he's always wanted to do this, and how he's dragging this all out while he has the chance to do it without anyone watching....it's such a rare opportunity, but you don't feel nearly as lucky as he does.

"I'll always be here, sweetie....in sickness and in health, right?"

he murmurs into the shell of your ear, before pressing a kiss to it right afterwards as he reaches out to get a foothold so he can lift you out of here. all you can think about now is how your chance of escaping him has slipped away....and now, your status is a death sentence in the hands of the man who saved your life, and will ask for nothing in return but your gentle hand in marriage. how romantic.

#tohma #tohma x reader #tohma genshin impact #thoma x reader #thoma genshin #genshin impact #yandere tohma #yandere thoma #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader

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withoneheadlight · 3 years

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| billy & will + pre-harringrove | full fic in spanish |

There’s an in-between. The high school and the middle school. A bare piece of land, yellowed from the lack of grass and the rough kiss of the sun and, right in the middle, an old shack.

It's a shabby thing that accumulates lack of re-paintings and excess of humidity but that’s out of sight, in that way of things that are just there but no one wastes time looking at anymore are.

That's where they meet.

Billy lights up a smoke. Slides his ass up an ancient, long retired desk, pasture now of the damp and rot, and leans against the peeling wood. Front and back-row seat to the long column of trees the wind’s rippling along on the other side of the wire fence. The ember warms up his lips as he inhales a deep puff and exhales a,

“You’re getting soft, Billy Hargrove”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, ears on that ceaseless chirping of the bids that sews together the slow-passing hours of the days and nights of Indiana, and on the delighted screams from the middle-schoolers, remembering that, somewhere in there, there's a bunch of kids who will still be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. That maybe even Max could be one of them, if Billy hurries. That maybe he will too, if Billy is able to control that instinctive reaction that pulls his skin inward and screams at him to stopstopstop, that the soft skin shreds, falls apart so easily.

But maybe it can be both of them, if Billy manages to clench his teeth hard enough and keep on softening.

‘Cause soft skin hurts when it breaks but,

"Hey!"

Sometimes it’s worth it.

Will’s smiling wide. Stops running, abruptly, and then just stands in there, panting. He’s got a funny nose and giant eyes. The kind of bangs that make you wanna blow them out of his eyes even though what they're is too short, actually, and Billy’s always thought he'd do better in life if he didn't. Notice things. If he didn't see that widewidewidewide smile and could read it so easily.

"I've been dying to show you this!" Will kneels down into the grass, chopping out the words in between exhalations. Pulls at the zipper of his backpack, chest heaving, and he doesn't realize he's going to get dirt on the knees of his jeans or that Billy can read it. His relief. Of finding him in here and not just an empty desk. Of how for a kid every single day more means 'You care’.

(About me)

It was early December. Friday right after last period and one of those silly things that only happen in movies. Something so like scripted and choreographed that Billy nearly considered looking up at the ceiling to make sure John Hughes wasn't silently watching them, taking notes from above. They crashed in the middle of a corner. Billy sped up ‘cause he was in a hurry and the only way to catch Max in time lately was to intercept her right out of class. Will ‘cause he's always going like that, Billy knows now. Always a thousand miles per hour. Always verging on time-jump speed to then being the kind of kid who seems so quiet it's scary. They crashed. Hard. In the middle of that corner. Papers flying all over and a curse (Will) and a muffled groan (Billy) and they ended up pulling at the same paper one from each corner. A drawing. Trolls and wizards and a castle and an emerald-green light. A star in the distance, auguring bad omens. Billy forgot to be frightening and Will must have forgotten he was supposed to be frightened when he blurted out a,

"Fuck, Byers. This is frikin’ fantastic."

No fear or reticence or that way he sometimes has of bumping into words and stumbling, just a "Really?" eyes huge and bangs brushing against his eyelashes as he blinked when Billy also forgot he was also supposed to― well, supposed to be Billy Hargrove.

"’Got more?"

So now he skips English instead of Algebra, every Tuesday and Thursday. Sneaks off to that in-between place he knows no one wastes time looking at anymore to light up a smoke, same time as Will has his recess. And the kid doesn't always manage to shrug off of his flock of nerds but he’s lucky, some days.

And he brings the drawings.

Orcs and goblins and enchanted mountains on the northwest and it seems to Billy that there are more princes than princesses and that if there are any, they’re almost always sorceresses, almost always queens and that your attention gets hooked on their burning eyes, not in the clothes they’re missing and Billy feels like it's a small grain of sand, this thing they’re doing. Knows that someone’s already keeping a solid ground under Will's feet ('Joyce' he says it’s her name. And it stings, the way he manages to fit so much love, into such a tiny word). But it also seems to him that maybe it doesn't take much more, for Will, just a few grains of sand, to replace those that being a strange kid in a small town sick with apprehension for what it finds strange, takes every day away from him.

So Billy’s gotta have to clench his teeth ‘till his gums start bleeding ‘cause is that, or let his skin toughen up again. Is that. Or fucking everything up.

And ave María, Billy doesn’t want to fuck it all up again.

So he sucks on his cigarette. Hooks up an eyebrow. Waves his hand to hurry the kid up.

“Mmm. That’s how good you think it is, dickwad? ‘C’mon, got my next class in twenty”

Will flies over the papers. Head nodding and fingers skimming fast. Finds what he’s looking for and yanks it out, raises it up triumphantly in his hand. It’s the sword in the stone and he carries it up to Billy with wet knees and just a little mud-staining. It’s February and the sun’s burning brightly over all the wetness the night’s spent crying. The drawing is a huge dragon, wings made of leather and cartilage, spread out in eclipse in front of the moon, only a few silver rays illuminating the dark knight in front of it. Blue eyes lined in black, blond curls cascading down his back and Billy was clenching his teeth but they part now, ‘cause the figure looks too much like him to be a coincidence. A smile devours his whole mouth. Soft. A joke itching on the tip of his tongue. He grunts a,

“I’ve been called many things. But never this, Byers”

Only half his expression’s visible, eyebrows covered with those thick bangs, and Billy has to once again fight the impulse to blow them out.

“¿Hum?”

“Knight” he says, drawling the teasing tone out “In shining armor”

And It’s such a loss, all that hair. Because it’d pass unseen, if you don’t know him. The way his eyebrows spike up underneath and it burrows in between them, the eagerness of teasing back. But Billy’s lucky, ‘cause it’s been more than two months like this and Billy―

Knows him. Well enough at least. So it doesn't pass unseen to him.

“You know the drill, William. Spit it out. Can see you’re holding it up from miles”

Will purses his lips out tight. Looks like he’s trying but. Nah.

“Wouldn’t be that shiny '' scrunches his nose. Throws a meaningful glance at Billy’s disheveled looks. More thoughtful than not, way more intentional. But that's something he'll figure out when he grows up.

Billy cackles. Will's smile widens, satisfied. Hops onto the desk next to his. Billy offers him the cigarette.

“And―this?” Will shrugs inwardly. Glances up at him. Then down, at the exchange between their hands. Takes the cig in between two fingers and it doesn’t burn but he barely presses them against the filter, anyway, as if he’s afraid it would, all of a sudden.

"Retaliation," Billy half grunts, half laughs, and Will huffs, but swallows a deep breath to gather strength. Exhales. Takes a tiny puff and―

"Argg," coughscoughscoughs "This is. Ugh. It's awful. I don't know how you―” almost throws the cigarette back to him "Ufff, what a―" he hesitates "Yuck"

Billy snorts. Thinks about Max inhaling deep, no more than two weeks ago, eyes pining his in place. Breaking into a violent cough only a second later.

Billy pats Will’s back too.

“That’s good” he says “You better not like it” Will scrunches his whole face “And this too” Billy adds, shaking the drawing a little “This is good, too. Amazingly good, man”

Will. Stares. At him. One. Two. Three long seconds. And Billy hurts a little. With every single one. Three sharp stabs with that newly freed sword. A different kind of ' you care' each one: 'it seems so impossible to me (that you care)'. 'If you think so, maybe it's true (and I do care, that you think it)’. 'Thank you (for caring)'. And then. Those hidden eyebrows. Will’s cheeks puffing out a little when he bites the tip of his tongue and―

"Billy?" his eyes glint, heavy with ill-contained malice.

"Uh?"

"You're the dragon"

"You fucking ass―!"

Billy shoves him sideways. But Will just sways. He doesn't lose footing on that firm ground he’s standing on. Looks back at the drawing, hunches a shoulder up.

"But you’re the knight, too"

He says it in a tone that cuts straight through Billy’s chest Thank you he thinks, even though his soft skin is hurting. And he still doesn't blow hard on that bowl fringe from where it covers Will’s whole forehead but―

Stirs up all his hair instead.

“Eh!!”

“Hey, shitbird. Wanna see the one I’ve made?”

Will nods quickly. All contained-speed and reverberating and sometimes Billy doesn't know how so few people can see it, how big he is for his own skin and he thinks I wish, wish he'd accumulate enough grains of sand to raise up that firm ground under his feet, and get really, really high.

“Sure!”

He keeps it tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket. Folded in upon itself. Same way he keeps everything else. Folds and layers and at the bottom of pockets no one ever looks at but.

He unfolds it to show it to Will Byers.

“Wow” Will says, and smiles up at Billy like Two months since we crashed against each other and I feel like I know you a little too, Billy Hargrove and Billy hit rock bottom but now at least Max and him sing AC/DC in chorus on the rides back home and Will's voice sounds like 'You're good' as he runs his fingertips over the graphite outlines of the skull and repeats, "Wow"

“Gonna have it done” Billy inhales a deep drag of Marlboro and 'Four Months to Eighteen' and for a moment it’s like he could feel the smoke curl up inside his lungs before blowing it out. The image is as pretty as it’s stupid. He glances at the open jaw of the drawing and thinks maybe he'd like a drag too "Have it healed for summer and―"

“What’s happening here?”

Steve.

Harrington.

Hand on his hips, preppy pastel polo lapels up, Ray-Bans holding up that way his hair swirls without really taming it. The twelve o'clock sun is shining sideways from his back and he's pretty. Painfully pretty. And Billy’s sure it's impossible that this redneck raised on corn and money amassed in dubious moral business is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen but sometimes he forgets. That it is impossible because. Fuck. It so seems like it. Light flicking on the ends of his hair where it curls. Under his ear. In the long curve of his neck. And the world doesn't halt and the birds don't stop chirping and the clouds don't part and no preternatural shit happens because this is the black hole where all the world's shit goes, Indiana. But. It so seems like it and,

Billy.

Knew how to breathe but that’s another thing he keeps on forgetting. Every time Steve Harrington passes him by.

He’s gotta force himself. To nod. To stop choking. When Will looks up at him with those big eyes. Questioning.

Apologizing.

Billy Hargrove, from freshly crowned local terror to―

“I was―” Will starts. Inhales. Presses his lips together right before blurting out the truth ‘cause he knows it's the only real way out "Showing Billy my drawings. Sometimes we―"

―the softie whose pride goes high up in his throat every time an eleven-year-old kid says 'Billy, this is good. It's very. Very good, Billy’.

"Sometimes we. Uhm. We―"

Will's already huge eyes get bigger, rounder. As if he’s just realizing that where he's stuck his foot keeps getting muddier, trapping himself all the way in. And Billy smiles lightly at him, sideways, so it’s hidden. From Steve Harrington. From all the world beyond. ‘Cause of that thing about facades and how hard they’re to maintain, when on one side is pressing what you're supposed to be and on the other, relentlessly, what you're hiding.

But Steve’s asking,

“Sometimes―what?” and Will’s eyes are fixed on Billy, two wide-open I’m sorrys and Billy thinks Fuck it, Hargrove. C’mon. Stop hiding.

So he’s the one who says,

“We share our drawings, Harrington”

And Steve.

He’s got those eyes.

They're like a troubled ocean in the heart of winter, those eyes. Hard, hard, hard. Imposing. But soft. So fucking soft. When something catches him off guard. Rolling stones in the breaker. And Billy wants to get swept up in them, like falling along the curve of a wave. Steve looks at him, and at the drawing in his hand, his eyes a swirl and, when he looks up, the calm. And Billy feels as those times when it seemed to him the waves wanted. To wrap around him. To catch him. Soft as the reflecting clouds. And Billy feels as those times when he’d let them. Carry him. Drag him to the shore. Safe and sound.

“Is that yours?” Steve frowns. When he does that. He looks the prettiest. And Billy's heart breaks. In tiny tiny pieces. Thinks This is what it takes, thinks Fuck, thinks, This is how things hurt when you let your skin get soft.

What you don’t have. What you want. What you could―

Fuck.

What you could love so bad you'd rip your own skin off, so they could touch your heart right with their own hands.

Billy nods. Will smiles. Steve’s frown softens and― waveswaveswaves. On an autumn morning. Waves lapping at the surface of an ocean of calm.

And now. Billy sings AC/DC with Max. His heart taking on water when his voice falls off-key and she clutches at her lungs, choking on laughter. Now, he sits in the back of an old shack halfway between who he is and who he should be and so, so very carefully turns at the pages of Will Byers' sketchbook.

And Billy Hargrove hit rock bottom one day in late October. Hit rock bottom and beat into pulp that pretty face he can't stop seeing in his dream. When he's asleep. When he's awake. Hit rock bottom and that's where he's going to stay. It's either that. Or risk coming up to the wrong surface. And it's easier, here at the bottom. Easier to see what matters, when you look up.

Here, Billy takes a breath. Deep. Deeper. Holds onto that air so he has something keeping him alive underwater when Steve snatches the drawing off his hands. Studies it carefully. Says,

"It's―Uhm. Well―" Grins "It's not. Beautiful. Like, conventionally." He eyes cut back to Billy and something in them breaks into whitewater, into that softness he can't help, as if everything else is as much of a lie as 'Billy Hargrove' and all those imaginary walls "But―"

He says ‘But’ and then. The bell goes off.

"Oh!" Will bounces on the spot "I have to―" he yanks the backpack shut "Class!"

He takes off. Running. Turning around right before the corner of the shack to wave at them, flashing one of those smiles Billy has involuntarily categorized as 'the good ones', wide and already almost panting again, before disappearing at the speed of light towards school and to, Billy hopes, be one of those few kids who are still going to be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. If they’re lucky.

(If Billy’s lucky)

Steve Harrington is still there, planted in front of him when the alarm stops.

"Can I bump one of those?" he asks, chin pointing to the smoke Billy's squeezing between his fingers. In the drift of his hair the Ray-Bans stay afloat, capsizing.

Billy bangs the base of the pack against his thigh, pops out a cigarette. Offers it to him. Scrapes his thumb along the wheel when Steve takes it to his lips, leaning forward and― It's broad daylight but in the thin glow of the flame it almost feels like it’s that exact instant when the world begins to fade, darkness turning wide-open spaces into narrow little universes: Steve Harrington and his red lips around the smoke and a small ache in the pad of Billy's thumb from keeping alive the fire and from wanting things with a bigger kind of ache, his heart cauterizing from holding inside the rage of knowing he's never, ever going to have them but―

"But?" Billy asks.

Steve grabs his wrist. Hollows out his cheeks. Inhales deep. Takes him a moment when he pulls away. To let go. Long enough that his fingers could read the way Billy's pulse is raging in his wrist, if he wanted to.

“But” And he’s smiling. Lopsided. He slips into Will's seat and stretches his neck toward the sky. Prolongs the wait. Exhales. "It's cute."

And then his gaze cuts down and he’s searching for him, with those eyes of his. For Billy, who can never stop looking at him so, when he finds him, finds him looking back already.

And Billy―

Billy.

"Cute?"

Billy. Blinks. His hand stops halfway from getting his own cigarette to his mouth. Stops his heart and it feels like time’s stopping too, in this narrowness Steve's presence has reduced the moment into. And he’s smiling big now. His eyes soft. Soft. So fucking soft. And Billy thinks,

You're getting soft too, Billy Hargrove. You want to let him shred off your skin, when Steve says,

"You," snorting a soft laugh, sun melting in his eyes like honey "With Will. Drawing."

Billy wants him to never stop looking at him like that. Wants to lean in, and kiss him.

"Shut up and smoke your fucking cigarette, Harrington" he growls.

And Steve rolls his eyes in a way that screams 'Gotcha, Hargrove', but leans his back against the peeling wood of the shack.

And does as he’s told.

(Next Tuesday, it's not just Will who shows up, when the bell starts ringing)

i just finished translating this and, since i had originally written this part as and stand-alone thing. here it is. idk if it's worth the work of translating it whole, or if i really feel like it but, we'll see!. i've been at war with life and writing this past few weeks but i've been missing you so much, fandom <3<3<3. hope you've been doing well.

also billy + will + drawing is one of my fav hcs and there are a few tiny things more that i wanna write? hopefully i will 🌟

#harringrove #billy hargrove #will byers #steve harrington #stranger things #billy x steve #steve x billy #billy & will #xharringrove

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flying-coffeebean · 5 years

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In 2007, I met Neil Gaiman during one of his book signing tours in Forbidden Planet, London. I managed to get there early enough that I was only about 30th in the queue, which was fortunate as it was a typical, drizzly British day.

I was a little nervous. I'd loved Gaiman's work for a long time, and had dithered over which books I wanted him to sign as the limit was two. Eventually, I settled on Stardust and Fragile Things - as it was the Fragile Things tour (if I remember correctly), and Stardust had a special place in my heart.

As soon as I stepped inside, I realised there was absolutely no reason to be nervous. There was this chilled out, completely at ease guy with a leather jacket and curly hair. He smiled at his fans. He actually talked to them, and was actually interested in what they had to say, not wanting to hurry them along. I took a (very bad) picture while he signed someone else's book.

Then came my turn, and my nerves completely vanished. He asked for my name, and I spelled it for him as Richelle is quite unusual.

"That's a really cool name," he said, "Where did your parents get that from?" I explained it was my aunt's middle name. "What does it mean?" He asked. I told him I didnt know, but that it was the French feminine of Richard, after my great grandad.

"Ah, that makes sense, with the Ri..."

He signed both books, and drew me some lovely little doodles. ("I drew a cracked heart for you.")

(I don't have a good enough memory to remember this so clearly by the way, but I blogged about it immediately when I left the shop, and I've been able to refer back to it)

What a lovely man, I thought.

A few months later, I went to a Terry Pratchett book signing during his tour for Making Money. Again in Forbidden Planet, there was a two book limit, and as I'd already promised a friend in the USA a signed copy of Making Money, that meant I had one book for myself. Then I remembered Good Omens, and kicked myself for not thinking of bringing it to the Gaiman tour a few months before. Oh well, I thought, there's always next time.

The first thing I saw of Terry was his hat. Then I noticed his laugh, which was very infectious. He signed Making Money, dedicated to my friend, and then he spied my copy of Good Omens. "Ah, this old thing." He grinned and signed away. I saw the dedication and laughed, and stepped away, feeling like he knew something I didn't.

That's that, I thought, I'll wait for another Gaiman signing.

I had to wait a little while, as it turns out, until his signing for The Ocean at the End of the Lane in Ely cathedral in 2013. This time, I wasn't so lucky. My friend and I drove from London to Cambridge, and there was an accident on the way. By the time we got there, there were hundreds upon hundreds of people in front of us.

This signing also included a talk, and Gaiman spoke about his childhood, his experiences as an author and answered lots of questions. He also read a passage of his book, Fortunately, the Milk, and the audience were in hysterics. Seriously, no matter how old you are, you'll love that book.

We queued up to sign in the order we arrived, and we queued for a long time. The girl standing in front of my friend and I was obviously very excited, and she struck up conversation with us. She told us she was heavily dyslexic, but she'd read every single Neil Gaiman book. She enjoyed his work so much, that even though reading was difficult for her, she devoured his books and they made her love to read.

When it came to our turn, Neil had been signing for hours, it was late. He must have been tired. But he was still genial and pleasant to the people in front of us. The girl in front of us stepped up, and she was so overwhelmed, she couldn't speak properly as he signed her books. She was almost panicking, but she still managed to tell him about her dyslexia and despite it, her love of his books. Neil put down his pen, and spoke softly, kindly. "Would you like a hug?" She nodded, and laughed and cried and hugged him so tightly.

When it came to my turn, I said he was very kind, and he smiled. He quickly signed my copy of The Ocean at the End of the Lane, and then spied the next book I'd set on the table, open to the page where Terry had signed. His smile widened. "Ah," he said, dipping his pen in his ink, "I almost never get to finish this joke any more, as Terry no longer does signings."

He drew an asterisk next to where Terry had signed, drew an arrow to the bottom, and then finished the joke.

@neil-gaiman, thank you. Thank you for bringing my favourite ever book to the screen, and thank you for dedicating it to Terry.

#neil gaiman #terry pratchett #good omens

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the-green-maiden · 3 years

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Supernatural Fair Fight Livestream Recap with timestamps

(based off of the notes I took while watching live. any errors are mine and not the fault of the cast or abrams)

21:01 Panel Starts. Misha introduces panel- Stacey Abrams, Jensen Ackles, Jared Padelecki, Erik Kripke, Berto the ASL interpreter.

21:02 Stacey Abrams talks about how she got into SPN. Talks about running for governor(?) in California(?), having trouble gathering support/campaign funds. On a particularly bad day, ends up watching SPN in her hotel room. Loves it, ends up watching the whole show after this. Quotes “Even if it’s hard we can’t stop” and “who else is going to do this” and talks about keeping going.

21:05 Kripke: “Wow”

Ackles: “That’s one of the most beautiful interpretations of what we do, how we tell the story.”

21:06 Kripke: “Grateful we could provide inspiration”

21:07 JarPad: *reiterates above* joke about how “Kripke’s writing is questionable at best.”

21:08 Misha: “The reason we tell stories is to inspire people” creates an allegory about the ‘invisible enemy’ of voter suppression with the invisible enemy trope common in storytelling. “As we made the show, we were taking inspiration from [Abrams]”

21:09 Kripke asks Abrams to tell more about Fair Fight

21:09 Abrams talks about a secretary of state(?) [whose name I didn’t catch but who JPad refers to as ‘Lucifer”] who was in charge of voter registries in Georgia who wrongfully removed thousands of voters from lists, closed essential polling locations, and prevented people from voting, which disproportionately impacted POC and youth voters, and led to 8+ hour wait times in remaining locations. Abrams tells of how her and FF acted to fix this and change the whole system for the better. “If this becomes about politicians, no one is going to care, but when it becomes about people’s [list of basic rights and essential services]...” “...Patriotic belief that democracy means that if you’re eligible to vote, you get to be heard. Fair Fight is committed to ensuring that every voter in the US has the right to vote, and we are pretty good at it.”

21:16 Misha voices concerns about Trump’s attempts to make the 2020 vote counts seem unreliable.

21:17 Abrams gives an in-depth history of voter suppression in the US, committed by both parties at various times, including restrictions on mail-in votes, ID laws, and something about the voting rights act.

21:18 A bunch more panelists join in, including Jake Abel, Felicia Day, and a number of other SPN cast members.

21:19 Abrams says that in Texas a gun license is a valid id to vote, but a college id is not. “Everyone should get to participate, not just the chosen.” Mentions that she has not seen the final 3 episodes yet, request no spoilers until she logs out.

21:22 Kripke thanks Abrams for her political work.

21:22 Felicia Day says she was very excited to meet Abrams at Dragon Con.

21:33 Misha and Kripke try to move panel along to comply with Abrams limited time availability.

21:24 Rachel Miner “We all admire you [Abrams], you’re our hero.”

21:25 JPad gives a long speech thanking Abrams that was too fast to write down verbatim. “It’s important that everyone have their own voice” says it’s an honor to meet Abrams.

21:26 Bob Singer asks a question about Purdue(?) not showing up to a debate.

21:27 Abrams gives a detailed answer about swing states, swing voters, the lack of swing voters in Georgia, and the relatively small impact that Purdue(?) missing a debate would have on his numbers. Long speech about mail-in voting.

21:29 Sebastian Roche asks a question about run-off votes. Abrams answers.

21:30 Rachel Miner asks a question about voter registration descrimination against people w foreign names.

21:31 Abrams talks about how this has happened and what Fair Fight is doing to combat it, and how Fair Fight’s legal actions have managed to significantly reduce the amount of mail-in ballots thrown out for having difficult to understand names on them.

21:33 Shoshanna Stern thanks Abrams for her efforts in making voting more disability accessible.

21:34 Abrams answers, gives more info on the subject and the importance of having accessible voting locations.

21:36 Jim Beaver says it’s wonderful to be able to talk to Abrams, etc.

21:37 Abrams realizes her time has just about run out, and says thank yous and good byes. Mentions that tomorrow is her birthday. Multiple members of the cast wish her a happy birthday. More goodbyes from everyone, and thank yous to and from Abrams. Abrams exits call.

21:39 Kripke and Misha encourage people to donate to FF

21:41 Misha and Jensen rib each other, joke about an open bar.

21:41 Misha “Now we’re just going to waste your time for half an hour now that she’s gone”

21:42 Curtis Armstrong tells a short story about his mother, who was a voter activist in Detroit and Switzerland, and how nice it was to see Abrams talk.

21:43 Trivia intro. Multiple jokes made at the same time about state capitals.

21:44 Jim Beaver “When my kid was 7, I asked her the capital of Vermont and she said V”

21:44 Kripke asks semi-serious question about what JPad wore as protection in the ball-crusher Japanese game show scene in Changing Channels.

21:45 JPad “A thimble. A mini-thimble. No, a cup.” says something else about the cup.

21:46 Ackles “Our special effects team likes to go above and beyond”

21:46 JPad comments about real fear in that scene

21:46 Misha tries to get trivia back on track. “Without powers, what does Dean say Cas is?”

------[Baby in a trenchcoat]

“Other name of the Impala?”

Julie McNiven guesses “A special place”. Someone calls out “baby”

-----[Metallicar]

“Name of Sam and Jess’s friend who goes with them to the bar in the pilot?”

Even JPad, who was in the scene, does not know. Kripke comments that it was named after an irl friend of his from Tiuanna, named LUIS.

“5 works Kripke ripped off for SPN?”

Everyone guessing at once, including: Animal House, On The Road, Good Omens, Constantine, Star Wars, and several others.

“What herpes medication does Sam have to do a commercial for?”

[Herpexia]

21:52 JPad and Julie rib each other about herpes meds, and argue whether the term is prescription or subscription for medication. One of them brings up the example of having a subscription to dog food.

21:52 Jake Abel “What if your dog has herpes?”

Misha “I only hope that Stacey Abrams has tuned in”

Seb makes another joke about state capitals, then asks JPad the capital of Albania.

Jared has no idea, guesses ‘new albania’

Seb “Tirana” talks about having lived on a boat, presumably near Albania.

Rob Benedict: “Thanks for tuning in”

Bob Singer asks who knows the story of Seb getting a massage at VAncouver airport.

Jared (paraphrased) “We all fly through Vancouver airport a lot. Just past security there’s a massage place [with the chairs where you face the floor].” One day JPad and Ackles went through security and saw Seb getting a massage. They go over, convince the masseuse [who knows them all at this point] to let JPad take over. Seb does not notice, despite the fact that the masseuse is a small woman and JPad is holding his hands weird to try to make them smaller. JPad says he put his hands down Seb’s back and up his shirt, and Seb still did not notice, just making a noise and saying ‘very nice’. JPad gets as far as groping Seb’s ass before Seb notices anything is up. This is still the middle of a busy airport.

21:58 Seb “It was strangely sensual. Thank you, Robert, for bringing that up.” “I was perturbed for the whole flight back.”

Ackles “Another highbrow story”

Seb “It’s really fun being on that set. It really is” Claims they are also serious sometimes, to which there is laughter in response.

Ackles “It going to be like that on The Boys, Krip?”

Kripke “No massages to completion”

Seb “Wait there was no completion”

Krip “Saw photos of [Ackles’s] supersuit today”

Multiple jokes from several people about Ackle costume for The Boys being assless, crotchless, entirely made of paint, and cowboy-themed.

22:01 Misha “time for about 5 minutes of outtakes”

Someone jokes about adding ‘give Seb a massage’ as a donation tier.

Misha thanks the fans, says he loves and misses all the cast. Asks Rob B to sing.

22:02 Rob B “tune into my radio show” [for singing]

22:03 Misha announced that $225,000 has been raised for charity so far in the stream.

More thank yous from everyone to everyone, including the zoom team.

22:04 Seb “Vote out Mitch McConnel:

Jensen “Such as British accent to tell us who to vote for”

Seb “I’m half French half Scottish”

Jensen and Seb joke about scottish and french alcohols, and how they can’t be mixed.

22:05 Kripke thanks the fans for 15 years. Everyone else joins in on thanking fans for 15 years.

Jake Abel “There was a big gap in there for me somewhere”

Seb asks if Jake was in the first season.

22:06 Jake “3rd, 5, and 15”

Seb gives long thank you speech.

Jensen talks about how the cast is sticking together “This group is not being dispersed”...”I take comfort in knowing this” jokes that they’re stuck together whether they like it or not.

Misha “Like herpes”

Felicia “Genital or otherwise”

22:07 gag reel begins, including Misha’s ‘on-camera finger, Jensen falling off a chair “furniture could use some work”, Jensen failing to pick a lock for a very long time and Jared asking ‘Cas” to open it, Jensen saying ‘hail misha’ instead of ‘hail mary’, Misha failing to keep a straight face while looking at Alex Calvert, Jensen eating something too hot(?), and more that someone has probably already uploaded in full anyway.

21:13 stream ends.

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i-love-you-all · 3 years

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Aftershocks pt.2

Hey, this is a continuation of the first part of this story which can be found here. The bad ending shows up before the good one so if you want to skip one or another, feel free! Also should mention that I kinda got this idea off the lovely anons who send Sova/breach hc’s to @ninadrawsstuff. I normally don’t write angst when it comes to this ship but...

Rated M, ~2k words, Breach/Sova, implied death.

It went wrong when Skye pulled him away as soon as the debrief ended.

Breach was so bored just moments before with thoughts of Sova’s smile and warm hugs muddling his brain. Not that he was obsessed with Sova, but it had been weeks since he had seen him, or even exchanged words. It didn’t worry him at the time because Sova was on his own mission, and probably couldn’t find the time, and as cliché as it was, he didn’t want a poorly timed text message to ruin Sova’s plans. And either way, it was Sova. The man was a soldier in every sense of the word. He could beat Breach in close quarters combat, had the stamina of a workhorse, and possessed the conviction of one of those superheroes Breach liked to compare him to. Sova was a superhero. Breach didn’t need to worry about him.

He should’ve been worried though.

“Breach…”

He should’ve known in advance too just from that tone of voice. She never approached him with such regret What she said next made him take a step back, chest tightening, and fists clenched. Because…

Because there was no way that Sova, the man with that radiant smile and bright eyes, the man with the soothing voice and stubborn confidence in his team – in Breach – was gone.

“…I told him he wasn’t the hunter of anything but…” He left Skye without finishing his poorly constructed sarcasm.

No way.

Adjusting would’ve been hard for anyone in his situation. It was worse when no one else even knew how deeply they were connected. Skye… She tried, but even the nature girl wouldn’t be around to keep Breach safe from the comments about his behaviour forever. People judged him for a lot of things in his past. Here, they judged him because of his rough words and arrogance. They judged him for his insults on all their characters, but mostly Sova. Apparently, he wasn’t allowed to mourn the loss like the rest of them. They didn’t even bother updating him on any plans or news about Sova. And the worst part of all was that he had to go along with it.

Skye would tell him otherwise Sova probably would’ve told him otherwise, but a small part of him wondered if he was the reason why the mission had failed. From the moment he confessed to Sova that he had indeed felt the same way about him to now, Breach had grown softer. He could feel it. Sova’s patience and kindness was rotting Breach’s abrasiveness and contempt. A lot of things had changed. He didn’t call Killjoy “nerd” anymore unless he was genuinely teasing her. He hadn’t called Omen a freak since the day Sova called him out on it. And he was listening to Brimstone more often while talking back less. Or as much as he could stand. And if Sova’s genuine goodness was soaking into his everyday life…

Please for the love of… anything – everything… Sova wouldn’t take risks that he didn’t think would work in his favour, right? There was no way Breach had infected his core morals because Sova had to have been too strong for that. Sova wasn’t reckless, he wasn’t cocky. But it still nagged at the back of Breach’s mind when he wondered if Sova had made a move that only Breach could’ve lived form.

And if he did, why couldn’t Sova have just… thought? Why would Sova just throw himself at death? People loved him – people other than just Breach. Was he so willing to throw away their feelings so he could play a hero? Or why couldn’t Sova have gone with backup? One person missions were rare for a reason these days and for a good reason. Why would he agree to something so risky – especially when he knew that Breach needed him more than he needed to breathe.

Breach cried for the first time in years. And it happened regularly to the point where others assumed he was drinking himself under every night. In the mornings, he would get up and realize there was no one to hold, no one to kiss and whisper good morning to, and it would make him plop back onto his bed. Even while sprawled on his back, it hurt because he knew that if things were normal, he wouldn’t have the room to starfish like this. He would just lay there until Skye came by and physically dragged him out of bed. Eventually, Brim must’ve caught on and thought that Breach was bored. The next day, he got ready for another mission.

He didn’t think about how the last time he did this, Sova was here to finish the braid. Nor did he think about how warm Sova’s body was when he leaned back into his boyfriend. He definitely didn’t think about how the smell… it just wasn’t there. There was nothing to smell but the oil from last nights tuning.

But the mission did offer him clarity. Clarity in the form of revenge.

“What did you do to him?”

Breach stared down at his double. He had managed to disable the other’s arms rendering him near useless, and, if they were the same, likely panicked.

“Make me ask that again, and I’ll shoot right here,” he growled, pointing his gun down at the point between other Breach’s legs.

The other clenched his teeth. “Protective, aren’t you? This show you’re trying to put on is just pathetic.”

“Talk.”

Other Breach tensed when Breach fired a couple rounds just below the intended target.

“He walked through a rift. I sent him back through it as a puddle to god knows where.”

And just the thought of it… Breach knew the kinds of messes he could do with his arms… If this Breach really did that to Sova—

“Worried over that weakling?”

Breach took aim and shot, ignoring the howl of pain and whimpers. “Learn your lesson. That Sova’s mine.”

Other Breach was panting, hand covering the wound and glaring back up at Breach. “Was. That Sova was yours.”

He just needed one bullet to shut him up. He had his answers. Brim was not impressed with how he got them, but they were a place to start.

One day and three hours. That’s how long it took for KJ to track down the recent record of rifts and located the one nearest to where Sova had been deployed. From there, Breach could do nothing but pace in his room while waiting for news. Others apparently cared more about Sova than him, and while that was laughable, it was what they had decided. By minimizing his feelings though, it forced him to consider the possibility of… he didn’t want to say.

Bad ending:

The news was almost worse than not knowing. When the returned, Skye wouldn’t even let Breach into the same room where Sage was working. Radiants had a limit to their powers. The more powerful it was, the more rules it generally had, and Sage’s resurrection abilities required a mostly intact body.

Sova’s did not qualify for that.

That was all Skye told him.

There was never a point in his life where his body felt like it belonged to someone else. Right now, his body was fine. It went through the same routine as he did every day, and as far as others could tell, it was normal. Breach was fine. Except he wasn’t. He was trapped, unable to do anything but think about how lonely he was now while his body just kept moving without intent.

And in that low moment of darkness, despair, and anguish, he made a vow to both himself and the now empty room three doors down from him. That other Breach was going to taste the absolute emptiness that Breach was feeling now. His missions were going to be impossible, and… It’d be hard, but Breach was going to punish the other Sova like how his was treated. Maybe with enough rounds and missions, he would properly return the favour that other Breach had done.

Because no one should’ve been able to touch the Sova now being prepared to be sent back to his motherland. Only he was allowed to…

That Sova was his, and he’d make the other Earth agents wish that his Sova was still here.

Good ending:

It’d be close. That’s all he was told

Skye kept him away from the med bay and surprisingly also off of missions. It forced Breach to agonize over the possibility of it not going the way he wanted it to. And while he felt sorry for Skye and Sage, the fact that they were still working meant something. He wouldn’t deny the fact that he was much nicer to the two women over that week.

Finally, one night, he was woken up by a knock on the door. To his surprise, it was Sage who had come to bring him to the room where Sova was being kept for now.

“Yours was the first name he said,” she told him, holding the door open. “I will not ask why but go see him.”

He nodded, and walked in, hearing the door click close behind him.

Sova was so bandaged up that he almost didn’t recognize him.

“Sova,” he gently called, reaching out for his hand.

He froze when he saw Sova flinch away from him. Right. It was his clone after all that did this. “It’s me.”

He sat at the edge of the bed, hands resting on the mattress but not touching Sova. Breach sat there for minutes, not saying a word, just taking in the view of his lover… alive and in front of him. Eventually, he saw Sova reach for his hands, and he finally leaned in closer, taking in the smells of chemicals, rubbing alcohol, and dried blood. He pecked Sova’s cheek and smiled at how the other man tried to chase him as he pulled back.

“You had me worried there for a moment,” Breach murmured.

“Perhaps I should die more often. You’re very quiet for once.”

It was a joke. He knew that. But it didn’t stop him from taking a deep inhale and clenching his fists. Going forward, this was a topic neither could joke about. That’s what his reaction meant. Sova reached out for his torso, right where the ribs were and pressed it softly against him.

When he leaned in again to fully place his lips on Sova’s, he heard the other man whisper, “I did not mean to make you worry.”

“The next time you meet him,” Breach growled, “Remind him that you’re mine. And what he does to you, I’ll do to him times a hundred.”

“I was not aware I was something that could belong to you.” Sova was whispering so quietly it was hard for Breach to hear. That, and there was hardly a second for him to speak while Breach was so intent on lavishing him with attention, keeping his mouth occupied.

“You belong to me until you say otherwise.” He looked Sova in the eyes and realized that he could not possibly convey the absolute despair that he was almost sent to when Sova didn’t come back. “But I’m so great that you won’t want to leave.”

He returned to give him small pecks and kisses to make Sova smile until he passed out again. Sage found him resting with his head leaned all the way back and hand still linked with Sova’s. His initial panic at being found out was quelled with a soft hand on his shoulder.

“This is not my secret to give away.” Her looked turned more apologetic. “I’m sorry. I thought at first that…”

“It’s fine, Sage.” He kept his voice quiet as to not wake his sleeping beauty. “Skye’s been giving me updates on him. As long as he’s ok… thank you.”

He woke up in his own bed again, but this time with the familiar blue cape draped over Breach like a blanket, and for the first time, he could smell the scent of Sova’s shampoo mixed with his cologne. It wouldn’t be one last memory with Sova until he left for good. And he hadn't left for good. Not yet, and not while Breach was still breathing.

#valorant #valorant fanfic #Breach #sova #Sova/Breach #my writing #angst #possible happy ending #also a bad ending #hope there aren't too many mistakes/typos lol

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musedblues · 4 years

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Call It Fate Call It Karma

summary: In which your band gets signed to the same label as Queen, and Brian May takes a whole bunch of fun out of your new musical journey.

a/n: Here’s what to know… There’s an age gap! This takes place sometime in the 1980s and reader is in her twenty’s. There are also mentions of sex / sexual situations. (Not 18+ just be aware!) Here’s what’s been dubbed as The Bitchy Bri Fic! Title from this song!

w/c: 10k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Everything changed as you’d started to lose hope. And you owed it all to Jim Beach.

It was the afternoon you and your bandmates managed to sneak past the receptionist desk at EMI and present the reel of tape you called you an EP to a bored producer called Watts; Jim Beach was already occupying his office. By then, you’d been to every other record label in the city and were prepared to be kicked out of this one all the same.

But then the producer agreed to listen to your tape. Watts sat with his feet on his desk and a glazed over look in his eye as two of your only three songs played. Jim spoke up from the back of the room when your third and final song started to crackle to life.

“Well, aren’t you going to give them a shot?” He asked, in a warm, gentle tone.

“What are you three called?” Watts asked.

“Loba.” Wilda piped up, picking her nails in place of her guitar.

“It means ‘she wolf’ in Spanish.” Joane pointed out, twisting strands of her pale fringe as she perched on the edge of the bench at your side.

“Can you lot throw together the couple hundred bucks it takes to record, by the end of next week?” The producer asked.

“Yes.” You spoke up, though you weren’t sure how you’d get the money, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Beach! Manage these lady wolves, will you?” Watts dragged his feet back to the floor with a thud.

“Me? I-I well,”

“You’ve got Queen, and who else? No one.” Watts exasperated. “McCartney has half our staff on lockdown this month and Iron Maiden has already gotten our three best workers to quit. You liked this mediocre garage rock well enough to say something…” The producer gathered your tape and tossed it to the manager with kind eyes and a smile under his furrowed brow. “Now everyone leave my office.”

You’d barely processed the life changing news as Jim turned toward you and your band with a grin that just kept growing.

“What do ya say, girls? Wanna make a record?”

///

You worked overtime and Joane got a second odd job to come up with the money to make a real-life record. And in a matter of a couple of months, you had an all new stage show, a new shiny Fender bass, and your very own album.

Well, almost. The record was in the final processes of being pressed. Watts helped put it together with his feet propped on the soundboard he manned. Past his usual cigar, he mumbled suggestions and even some encouragement; as you Wilda and Joane perfected the songs from your EP and threw together a couple more. Joane was praised for tightening her drum kit and bringing back up sticks. Wilda’s method of retuning her prized guitar worked without a hitch. You sang all your worries away with your bass playing in time. It was as easy as ever to work together, and one thousand times more terrifying all the same.

Jim lingered by on days like those, and on nights you’d booked gigs at local pubs and places of the like. On tea breaks, and in storage closets turned green rooms, Jim helped you and the girls make plans for the future. He carried around a pad of paper to jot down every time one of you thought up a new goal or two.

You went on and on about the sounds you heard in your head, and how you dreamed of bringing them to life. Of the words you longed to share with the world, and your favourite old tunes that never failed to inspire and excite.

Wilda dreamed of parties and people and places, the things she’d say on guest appearances and press tours. She dreamed of stages much more grandiose than the rickety old ones you were so familiar with now.

“We’d quite like to be as big as that other band of yours, one day.” Joane quipped, to a smiley Jim Beach. She was always going on about Queen. Bet she never dreamed of being graced with the assistance of her favourite band’s very own manager.

“No worries there.” Jim chuckled. “You ladies are a well-oiled machine compared to those four old bats. You’ll see for yourself tomorrow at the party.” He seemed to raise a brow like an omen but you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

///

Your first ever album had been slowly climbing the charts since it’s release at the start of the week. When your single aired for the first time, Joane parked her old beaten down truck outside of your flat and turned her car’s radio up all the way. You dismissed your neighbour’s pleas for peace and quiet by hopping in your drummers ride and speeding away to EMI, squealing along to your very own song the whole way there.

You met your guitarist outside of the company’s biggest office. Inside, the three of you hurried through a few pages of papers, and scribbled your signatures along odd dotted lines. Just like that, you were signed.

Even though Loba was gifted a bottle of champagne and a couple of snapshots to prove it, the label decided a proper party was in order to welcome you. Apparently, EMI liked to use every excuse they could to make use of their loft and it’s impressive bar top that wrapped around nearly every wall.

So no sooner than you’d shuffled into the head office, you were escorted out and up to the very top floor. The party, Jim said, was already in full swing.

And that’s when you met his other band. Though he never said so outright, you could tell Jim was most excited to introduce you to the only other group he’d had the pleasure of working with till now. Behind poorly placed streamers and the backs of people too busy carrying on conversations to notice you, there was Queen. All lazily huddled together against a spot at the long and winding bar.

When Jim made his presences known, you and the girls stopped in your tracks and traded a few nervous glances.

Freddie Mercury was all of a sudden shifting his weight before the lot of you, casting a sweeping gaze across each of your faces.

“Miami, are these the children you’ve adopted now that we’re all grown up?” Freddie asked, greeting the manager and turning his oxen eyes to your band. His champagne sloshed in the glass he held near his chest as he threw one arm around Jim’s shoulders.

“Awe, you talk about us?” You jabbed an elbow toward the manager though you couldn’t quite reach where he stood. As his grin only grew, the rest of the band shifted closer.

“Boys, meet the girls.” Jim smiled, introducing you each by name.

But you couldn’t be sure if Roger even heard the manager’s introduction. The blonde floated up to your guitarist like he’d been supernaturally dragged across the room to meet her. Wilda stood before him, trying desperately not to pick at her nails, and smiled. You wanted to laugh, but you wanted to hurl. It was just too much, the way Roger seemed to drool at the simple sight of her, like Pepe Le Pew.

“What are you lovely ladies called, again?” He asked in a voice just as rasped as you’d come to recognize over the radio. Wilda blanched and seemed to go shy all of a sudden, but you weren’t.

“Loba.” You shrugged speaking in the drummer’s direction.

“What?” John asked, stepping closer to the other side of you, standing taller than you expected him to be.

“It means she-wolf.” Joane piped up, reciting her favourite and well-practised line. It always saved her from going too quiet, that fact.

“Uh-huh.” Roger seemed to agree, shifting to stand at Wilda’s side instead of ogling her head on- holding her gaze all the same.

“Better than their almost name. Guess what it was, lads.” Jim raised a brow to Freddie. Oh no. With Joane likely having shut down at the mention of her old idea, and Wilda entirely preoccupied with whispering to Roger, everyone turned to glance at you- Left with no choice but to bury your embarrassment and answer.

“Doin’ Alright.” You admitted through a smile, because if you didn’t laugh, who would? It was your drummer, resident Queen fanatic’s idea, one you talked her out of shortly after joining.

“How bloody un-o-fucking-riginal,” Brain huffed and crossed his long arms over his chest.

You had barely officially met the guy. He loomed near the back of the gathering and stood in silence, till then. And you might have thought he’d only been joking if it wasn’t for the way his stoic expression remained unchanged when your eyes met his for the first ever time.

“Hate to break it to ya, but your name was already sort of taken, too.” You pointed out, giving a weak mocking curtsy at the vague mention of her majesty. Queen’s guitarist’s glare remained.

“Oh, I like this one. Good ear, Miami.” Freddie sauntered over and nudged you away from Brian’s burning gaze. Roger was pointing Wilda out to the balcony, where a rowdy group grew larger every time you glanced out beyond the open glass doors.

“Don’t mind him.” John cocked his head toward the sulking guitarist, and handed you a bubbly drink. “He’s in the middle of a divorce and a midlife crisis, it’s really quite the combination.”

“Poor thing.” You stuck your lip out on your turn in Brian’s direction, as Freddie yanked you toward the balcony, laughing all the while. The wild-haired guitarist watched you leave with an expression you couldn’t quite understand, though you wanted too.

But before the lot of you could spin your separate ways and dance until sunrise, one of the men from the head office stopped in front of everyone with a smile.

“Nice to see you’re all already so well acquainted.” He said, in a sickeningly posh tone. Roger draped an arm across Wilda’s slim shoulders as the rest of you hummed in agreeance.

“So how would you like to tour together, then?” The man grinned. Freddie flourished, making a grand gesture and saying something about how that was the best idea he’d ever heard in his life. Joane turned to you, not even attempting to hide her squeal of excitement. Jim shared a look with John, like a proud father.

“Good. Because that’s what the label wants.” The man nodded and turned to Jim with instructions to phone him to start planning. Freddie swept you away to kick off a night of fun, and when you turned to see if Brian cared at all, he was gone.

///

Your single topped the charts in the US. Jim came into your work, feigned an emergency and gathered the rest of your band to share the good news over a celebratory brunch. You might have won over the yanks, but Queen had stolen the hearts of billions long before you’d written your first tune. So it was naturally decided your band would open for the much more renowned group.

You turned your two weeks notice into your job, and blew your last paycheck on an all-new wardrobe. If you were going to prance around America with the likes of Queen, you had to look the part. Some platforms and a few dazzling dresses found their way into your suitcase a week before it was time to go.

By the time you met up with the other band at the airport, you knew Roger well enough to stick out your tongue as a greeting. He’d come around your flat once, trailing behind Wilda to crash a night out you’d been planning all week. And again to steal her away from your last band meeting. When you, Joane and Wilda sleepily trudged through the waiting gates, he stole your guitarist away for the third time, and you wondered what might become of them.

You were still dazzled by Freddie, charmed by his laugh and stunned when he insisted on sitting next to you on the plane ride over, to share gossip. All of his friends seemed just as taken with the ethereal singer, too. John sprung up from his catnap to go help Freddie find the best snacks the airport had to offer. And while Jim sat going over the schedule with Joane, Brian sat across from you with his arms crossed and his legs a mile apart.

“Are you excited?” You wondered because you really wanted to know if someone who’d done this a time or two was still thrilled by it. But mostly, you wanted to get the lanky guitarist to open up a little. If you were going to spend a whole month and a half near each other, wouldn’t it be nice to get to know the guy a little?

“I’m tired.” Brian nodded, his hazel eyes fluttering toward the windows.

“Lighten up Mr. May. You could have my job. Was just sent to phone Fred’s cats and we haven’t even left home.” A man as gangly as Brian shuffled to sit at your side, adjusting the sunglasses on his head that did little to hide his thinning hair.

“I’m Crystal, that’s Ratty.” The guy pointed across the lounge to another slim, long-haired fellow bent over an open acoustic guitar case.

“We’re everyone’s personal lackeys and will be glad to lend you ladies a hand all the same.”

You thanked the guy with a chuckle and felt charmed enough by his sudden kindness to admit your growing nerves. But then Freddie and John were back, and the plane was ready, and it was time to go on tour.

///

The first week flew by in a flash. You were jarred by the size of every new arena and crowd that filled the seats. You lost yourself entirely to the music that blared from the speakers at your band’s command; but never got used to hearing the songs you once plucked away at in your bedroom, fill stadiums.

Going from entertaining grotty pubs to seas full of people wasn’t something you ever expected to happen. The sound of their collective cheers directed to your band didn’t seem real. All you could do was play on, and sing with your friends until the time came to rush to another green room, catch your breath, and a glimpse of the headlining act.

You usually only saw Queen in passing- in revolving hotel doors or shuffling about the same backstage halls. If you weren’t on stage, your band was hauled off to radio stations for interviews while Queen partied on. And if your band had an afternoon to do as you pleased, Queen was off signing records and privately touring art museums.

But there were the rare occasions your paths crossed for longer than a minute or two. John would always make a point to ask after you, from time to time. He said you and the girls seemed to be handling the road like old champs.

“I’m too busy to be bothered with stage fright.” You laughed, when John asked how you looked so at home in front of the crowds that had started to sing along to the songs you played.

Where most of Queen felt like friends your parents warned against staying out past curfew with, John felt like your older brother; who waited up to sneak you back home with a kind word.

Freddie always invited you to the after parties and nights out, even when he knew Loba was meant to do a photoshoot one city away. And when you failed to show up, the singer would always say he’d missed you. And you believed him, because of the nights he’d sneak in your hotel room to share the last of the liquor that had knocked the rest of his bandmates cold. Freddie went out of his way to include you and the girls more often than not.

But Roger seemed to include himself in your groups circle any chance he could get. He trailed behind Wilda, sure, but he seemed genuinely fond of chatting away with you and Joane all the same. And when your guitarist and Queen’s drummer partook in their weekly game of playing hard to get, you were awarded tiny moments with just Roger.

Like the time everyone crashed before midnight, and the two of you stayed up by the quiet hotel poolside, with an acoustic. It wasn’t long before your goofing around turned into some kind of jam session, and you were writing a song together. Roger insisted you keep it to use, and left the cocktail napkin full of scribbled lyrics tucked between the strings of Wilda’s guitar that you’d been left in charge of.

Then, there was Brian.

He strolled ahead of you off of the riverboat where both of your groups had been invited to enjoy a day off, cruising around somewhere in America’s deep south. You couldn’t help but watch Brian’s figure move as it seemed to tower just over all the people at his side. It was time to head back to the hotel, or at least, time for your freshwater adventure to end. Everyone was glad for the easy-going ride, still tired from the night before.

Maybe that’s why he was so quiet all afternoon. Brian usually was, but there was something more to his silence today. And you didn’t know the guy well enough to figure, or dare ask why. The weather was nice, and Queen was received with reverence every place they went. Brian had no reason to sulk- none you could possibly understand.

A slew of people with cameras and questions flocked to the boat docks as the one and only Freddie led the way, pretending to introduce Crystal as some kind of rockstar in his own right. The roadie ate up the attention as Brian’s pace set your own. You couldn’t move until he did. And while he stalled, cameras flashed and a desperate middle-aged man held a skinny microphone toward the band.

“Brian, how are you finding America?” They asked in a mousy pitch.

“Oh, it’s lovely here, as always.” Brian politely grinned, curling his fists in his jacket pockets, from what you could see.

“How’s touring with another group? Queen usually don’t need the support of an opening act.”

“Right.” Brian seemed to agree in a curiously cynical tone.

“They’re called Loba, and we quite like having them around.” Roger was suddenly shaking your shoulders like an overzealous coach. You chuckled at his antics as Brian dared to glimpse at the commotion.

He turned his gaze over his shoulder to look at you for a moment. It might have been the most exciting part of your whole day, considering how Brian hardly ever looked your way till now. But why did it have to be like that? What did you ever do to the guy?

The best you’d ever gotten from Brian was an empty hum when asked if he cared if you sat in the only open seat at his side, during some dinner. And over that meal, he chattered away with the likes of his band, and even yours. And maybe it was because you became utterly paranoid by his silence to break it with all of the questions you had for the guy. But he never spoke to you. The seat at Brian side seemed a void in his peripheral. And you were growing a bit anxious by the thought of actually being invisible to Brian. So you started speaking up.

When Freddie asked you with help on matching one of his many jackets with a pair of trousers, you’d already made up your mind, but twisted around to ask what Brian thought. His brows upturned in a painfully confused expression as he hesitantly gave his answer to Freddie’s clothing debacle. You got your own answer too, that at least Brian heard a voice coming from the space you existed in.

When both tour buses stopped for gas one random midnight; Roger raced you into the convenience store and distracted you from buying anything in place of dancing to The Cars tune crackling from the overhead speakers. Your spontaneous party was broken up when Brian breezed by with his freshly purchased candy bar in hand.

“We are on a schedule you know?” He glared your way on his turn to leave.

“I’m sorry you weren’t invited to the dance party Bri.” You mused, stopping the guy in his tracks, who turned to look at you in the way he did. “We’ll let you sulk in the corner of our next one, since it would obviously kill you to actually join in the fun.”

But all that got you was a roll of Brian’s hazel eyes and a cackle from Roger. That was the norm. Brian either seemed to pretend you weren’t there, or traded you bone chilling glares like you’d wronged him in a past life. But you’d never known less of a person than you’d known of Brian May, and you were beginning to wonder if going about finding out more was worth it.

///

By the time your next soundcheck came, Queen had nothing better to do than bop about the stadium to wait their turn. You and the girls rushed through your usual set up but decided to change things around for your second to the last song. And while you started to unplug it was decided Joane would have to turn a certain drum fill into a solo while Wilda rushed off stage to retune her only electric guitar to properly close out the show.

Brian overheard, from the place he stood arguing over an amp with Ratty, who’d kindly agreed to stick close by your band during times like now. The roadie shuffled over to take your bass away, while Brian issued a complaint.

“You’re going to retune? Just use a bloody capo and don’t waste everyone’s time.” Brian shifted his weight, furrowing his brow your way. Though you weren’t the guitarist in question, you seemed to be the one and only person Brian felt most comfortable yapping at.

“There’s more than one way to do things, you know?” You pointed.

“Yeah,” Brian shrugged, agreeing with you in a breathtaking turn of events. But then again, not really… “The right way and the wrong way.”

“Christ no wonder you’re divorced.” You shook your head in the guy’s direction. His eyes might have been pretty if they weren’t burning into yours with such disdain. Then you both made a show of storming past each other. You were getting really sick of his attitude, and what it did to yours.

///

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no!” You cried, cradling your bass that had fallen from the stand to the concrete floor below. The neck was ever so slightly cracked and a tuning peg was bent and your heart was near stopping. When you looked up from the ground, you saw Ratty cursing out one of the stadiums impish young stagehands. The kid had blown an amp and sent it smoking, and your guitar flying off the stage in his rush to run from the trouble he’d stirred.

You clutched your one and only instrument to your chest and hurried away for help. Ratty was wrestling the broken amp, Crystal was nowhere to be seen, and John was off phoning home. You recalled the sights of the city from yesterday’s afternoon off. There was a guitar shop across from the Chinese place where you stopped for lunch.

So you raced past Joane and shouted that you’d be back in an hour. The exact amount of time you had until it was time to go on stage.

You ran down the city streets with your bass in your arms like a wounded child. The guitar shop appeared like a beacon.

Inside was blaring a song by Led Zeppelin you might have wanted to sing along too if your heart wasn’t in your throat. There was a mass of teenaged boys crowded the counter. You waited, held your breath and checked the clock as it ticked away at a frightening speed. By the time the boys buying strings and straps shuffled away, you threw your broken baby to the older man behind the counter. He assured you the fix would be a breeze and tried to sell you an overpriced Gibson while you waited. You stood drumming beats on the sales counter and tried not to scream when the clock showed you’d only had ten minutes left to waste. A couple more later, your bass was in your grasp. You threw an extra bit of cash to the guy and ran off in a flurry, praying to make it on time.

You’d never ran so fast, certainly. You didn’t even have time to apologize to a kid on a bike who had to swerve out of your way. You burst through the back doors of the stadium, much to the shock of the doorman. When he shouted at you to take it easy, you ceased running to walk as fast as you could toward the green room.

Brian was the first familiar face to greet you after the nerve-wracking scene.

“So nice of you to finally show up.” He let out a mocking cheer from the place he kicked back on a torn leather sofa. So relaxed in his gloom. Your heart used to ache at the thought of his troubles. At the sight of his far off gaze as his friends joked on around him. When Freddie would drunkenly whisper to you details of Brian’s trying year. But the guitarist’s sneers your way were getting old, and the ache in your heart for him was slowly growing cold.

Freddie spun to greet you, let out a sigh of relief like an anxious mother, reaching out to adjust your shirt collar skewed under the strap of your instrument.

“Well, my guitar had to get fixed one way or the other. And unlike you, your highness, we haven’t got a gaggle of roadies to call upon.” You swatted Freddie away and snapped toward Brian.

“No, but what’s ours is yours. Next time ask for help.” John spoke like a stern father, tossing you a bottle of water and pointing toward the clock on the wall. You had about a minute to run out on stage.

“Let her learn the hard way, Deacy. She seems to like it that way.” Brian rang. You dashed away before you had time to curse him.

“Brian, stop being such a bitch, I mean, my God.” Freddie whined as you stormed off, glad for once that someone else seemed fed up with the guitarist’s sharp tongue, too.

///

When the show was over, John insisted you hop along his band’s tour bus back to the hotel. The other two-thirds of your band were still enjoying the amenities of the afterparty, and you were in the middle of trading bass themed horror stories with Deacy. So he kept on talking as you walked to follow him, settling near the front of the ride as it travelled to your latest hotel.

As Queen shuffled to cross the bleak lot to get to the grandiose lodge, Brian was the last to leave. He shouldered past you with that same old sullen pout. His eyes caught yours for a moment before he took another step, but something about the usual interaction was the final straw for you.

“What the hell did I ever do to you?” You demanded to know, as Brian’s bandmates disappeared inside the hotel. Brian stalled reluctantly and turned to face you with pursed lips and the smallest shake of his head.

“Look,” He began, as you stood ready to get to the bottom of whatever this was. “I’ve really never meant to be so cross with you. And I’m sorry my temper’s been so easily getting the better of me. I am sorry.” Brian nodded. He looked exhausted, like this was the millionth time he’d had to give a similar speech, but he did so in such a genuine manner- that you could only stand and trade a perplexed gaze to the lanky guitarist.

“It’s… it’s best if we just keep to ourselves, yeah?” Brian concluded, turning away with one final nod. You didn’t get the chance to agree, or disagree, or understand what just happened before Brian was on his way, and you were on your own.

///

After the tour was said and done, a new year was just kicking off. And the label was pushing for another album right out the gate. You and the girls had two months to throw together a collection of new songs, and were struggling for most of the time to do just that.

The song Roger helped you write was the best one you had to offer, and Joane was nearly crippled under the stress of being creatively confined to a certain amount of time. You’d never had such a hard time working together before, and the pressure was building up between each of your bandmates in a way you were afraid of.

When Watts strolled in to take control of the soundboard you’d been fiddling with all morning, you couldn’t help but to warn him against changing any of your settings. You and the girls were finally making some kind of progress, albeit bickering along the way. Poor Jim could only sorrily sigh each time one of you turned and ask for his help. This bit of work was a little outside of the managers league.

And Watts only seemed to egg you on, pressing the few buttons you asked him not to.

“You want to control this soundboard so bad, have at it.” He stood in a huff, “I only strongly suggest you don’t fuck this up.” The producer hissed before slipping out of the door. He smiled a smile that made you queasy, and you nodded knowing full well you were on thin ice.

Jim left you and the girls to fight over tempos and key changes and came back from the studio’s kitchenette with an unexpected announcement.

“Brian is coming.” He said, matter of factly.

“What’d you call him for?” Joane groaned from the floor, where she laid fiddling with her kit.

“Because Queen is the best help I know. But Freddies in Barcelona, John’s with his family, Roger is MIA and Brian is right down the road. You lot have a day left, and I’m running out of helpful ideas. And quite frankly, you girls are in need of a lot of it.”

“Yeah, maybe, but now nothing will get done.” Joane countered. “Not with the way he and y/n square off like old alley cats.”

“He’ll be here in five. Come on lady wolves… Claws up, plugs in.” Jim pointed as he sat back down on the studio sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Wilda shot into a speech, begging you over and over to keep it cool. The sooner you started, the better. She was right, and you wanted nothing more than to get this record finished. So with a nod, you accepted your fate.

Brian strolled in the studio right on time. His eyes looked desperate for sleep, and his already wild mane seemed even more unkempt. His small smile Jim’s way made you want to reach past the wall Brian put up, and shake his shoulders, and tell him it was okay to be actually happy once in a while.

Maybe it was the time that had passed since the tour. Maybe Brian forgot that he’d cared so little for you, and that’s why his faint grin lingered when his eyes met yours, past the glass of the recording booth. You willed your own weak smile his way, weary of this new civility, but just as tempted to take it in stride.

“Hello, ladies. Let’s see what you’re working with so far, shall we?” Brian leaned in and spoke just to you, it seemed. Maybe it was because you were closest, front and centre before the guy in a little glass box.

You’d felt more vulnerable than ever, under his forest coloured gaze. There was no place to run off and hide. You were right in Brian’s line of sight, right under his thumb, as he pressed a button stopped your band from playing to suggest a few dozen changes.

You knew he was here to help. And Jim looked so hopeful, tapping his foot to the beat in the corner of the room. So even though your throat was going dry as Brian settled his eyes on your bass- you played on. When he stopped you again, your blood began to boil.

“Please tell me you plan on adding a keyboard? A harmonica, something else?” Brian grimaced.

“We only play on the record what we can play on stage as a three-piece.” Joane raised a drumstick to make a point.

“Yeah well, it’s sure sounding that way.” The older and wiser musicians voice crackled through the speaker.

“Fuck you, that sounded good!” You hissed into the mic, wielding your bass like a weapon. That might'a been the best take you’d done all day.

“Yeah, but it didn’t sound great. If I turned my car radio on to that I’d fall asleep at the wheel. Joane, try using your snare on the bridge, instead of the cymbals. Y/n… from the top.” Brian sighed, sitting back in his chair like an exhausted parent.

You sighed too, adjusting your headphones and tossing Wilda a glare, a sign that you couldn’t keep your cool much longer.

You tried harder. But Brian kept stopping you. And every time he did, you couldn’t be stopped from cursing him just a little. If he’d only give you just one chance to find your rhythm, you might’ve made a whole record by now. When you told him as much, he let you play on for almost half a song before he’d stopped you again. When he did, you nearly exploded. But Joane snapped first. She got up from her kit, chucked her headphones, and stormed away. You slung your bass away to follow after her, but Wilda was quicker and raced out of the back to chase Joane down.

That left you with time enough to break out of the glass box and give Brian a few choice words.

“Way to fucking go, drill sergeant.” You gestured toward the guy who was slow to rise from his place before the soundboard.

“It’s not my fault she decided to-”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks for showing up and doing fuck all.”

“I came here to help you, and I could do if you’d stop acting like a damn child.” He pointed a finger your way, and the fire in his gaze sent a chill down your spine for the first time ever. You weren’t afraid of him. You were only stunned by the way he spoke to you. The way he always had. Why did Brian bother showing up here tonight?

“We might be able to take some of your suggestions if you stopped stopping us! Why don’t you just stick to pissing your own band off? You do it so well.”

You’d heard him trade sharper words with Queen. Roger told you that Brian was just working through some things. John said he’d always been like this. You just couldn’t understand why you got the worst of it.

“Well, it’s clear you’ve got more than enough hell to give your own group. You might sound less like the second place winners of your primary school’s talent show if you learned to stop making so many executive decisions.”

“I have a suggestion for you.” You decided, “Why don’t you take all your bleeding suggestions and fu-”

“Yeah, alright, let’s all take a break.” Jim intervened as you let out an exhausted sigh that doubled as a frustrated cry. The manager waved Brian over and the two men started to share a word as you stormed out of the back from fresh air and a clearer mind.

“He’s right you know. We sound like a washed-up wedding band.” Wilda shouted your way as she stayed leaning back against the hood of her car with a cigarette in hand.

“Where is Joane?” You asked, already knowing the answer. Wilda glanced at the empty parking spot where your drummer’s new mustang was earlier today. Great. Just what you needed.

“Right. Let’s forget everything, and finish. We’ll just… get it done.”

And so that’s what you did. Brian was gone when you ventured back in, and his absence left a familiar little ache in your heart. You didn’t like shouting at each other like cross siblings. You’d wanted to be his friend more than anything, at the start of all of this. The stars that might have aligned for that chance were all askew by now.

Jim left you and Wilda to go fetch some takeaway. Then he sat around the small table in the studio and shared dinner and some words of wisdom with the two of you. You thanked your manager for being so kind, and forgiving of your antics thus far. He chuckled and said something about having witnessed and dealt with much worse. Jim stayed a while longer, while you and Wilda worked together, and it was you who had to encourage the guy to go home and get some rest.

He entrusted the key to the place to you and your bandmate and left you to finish up for the evening. And you did, eventually. You and the eager guitarist listened back to the tapes and added in riffs and fills, and even a few of Brian’s suggestions; until well past midnight. But right on time for the label.

You could sleep soundly knowing you’d finished when you were meant to. But your dreams were full of worry that the record still wasn’t good enough.

///

“You did what?” Joane shrieked in the hall of your flat.

“We had to finish, Joane. You never came back, what else were supposed to do?” You yelled back, worry saturating your tone. It was far too early to be having this fight.

“You were supposed to wait for me!” Joane shouted, looking to you with big sad eyes. You rushed to remind her that you were out of time, and she could have shown back up and helped you finish, but she didn’t. And in her typical fashion, the drummer spun on her heels and stormed away, fringe flying far behind her shoulders as she shouted something about never coming back.

The girl had been known to fly off the handle on occasion. There was the time she drove your van away from a sketchy Welsh pub you travelled miles to play in, because Wilda called the drummers shoes ugly. Or the time she nearly chucked her cymbals from your third story flat window. You prayed that this episode was like the others you’d endured as you shut your door and rushed to get ready. It was time to take your record to the head office.

No one was particularly happy to find your three-piece only consisted of two when you showed up with Wilda to present your latest creation. Jim flashed a couple of smiles as the tracks played on, but all you noticed were Wilda’s shrugs. The record was done. But under unexpectedly trying circumstances and lacking a lot of help from your drummer. It wasn’t what you’d envisioned. The label still decided it was good enough, and sent you to fill a couple of talk show slots before the week was up.

You went with your guitarist to a couple of press junkets, and watched as your dazzling friend gave away answers she’d been practising since before you’d played your first gig. The only thing that made her umber eyes glow brighter was the sight of Roger Taylor waiting up after a certain interview. He invited her back to wherever it was he’d run off to, and Wilda had the decency to look toward you with a furrowed brow.

With a sigh, you agreed to handle the rest of the press on your own. Because she deserved to have the fun she’d been wishing for with the capricious drummer.

Four talk shows, three guest appearances, and one very hectic game show later, it was time for your record release. Roger phoned to assure he’d bring Wilda back in the nick of time. But Joane wasn’t answering her phone. You’d hoped after a bit of space that your drummer would come back around. But she wasn’t any place you’d gone to look. You spent until the witching hour driving to the places you knew she might have been and came up short.

When the time came to get ready for the party, half of your time getting ready was spent trying to hide the dark circles under your eyes. Before you left home, you took a couple of shots and prayed tonight wouldn’t crash and burn around you.

///

The mansion belonged to the head of the company, a place he’d invite people to when celebrations were too grandiose to fit in EMI’s loft. You wondered if you were the last to arrive when you opened the massive carved doors to find the stunning home littered with faces most of whom you didn’t recognize. One you did finally emerged from the crowd.

“Thank God you made it, I feared I’d have to put on a show instead.” Freddie chuckled, greeting you with glee. You ruffled the boa around his neck, thanked him for showing up, and wondered where you could find the drinks.

“I’ll take you round back dear, but you’d better hurry. The old important men are tired of waiting.” You could have explained how you’d waited up in hopes that Jonae would phone. And how when the phone did ring, it was Wilda worrying that she’d missed the only flight back home. But you only gave Freddie a sorry smile and spun into the garden. There was a bar in the veranda, where a handsome man made a show of mixing you a drink, making little passes along the way.

The time you thought you were stalling by answering all of the dude’s dumb questions was very soon interrupted. All of a sudden a towering guitarist was casting a shadow over you, and swiftly excusing the man behind the minibar.

“It’s about bloody time you showed up.” Brian rang in a mockingly sweet timbre. And as your stomach fluttered with nerves, you knew time was up. But how could you release a record without the rest of your band?

When you started to argue as much, Brian clamped his fingers around your arm like a vice and yanked you away from the bar and the drink you didn’t even get to try.

“Saving the day again, are you?” You rang dryly, as he towed you away. Brian’s face was set in its usual frown, one you’d become so familiar with that his smile on magazine covers made you look twice. He said nothing as he marched you out of the yard and into the mansion. You figured he’d part ways from you once you passed through the doors, but his grip didn’t loosen on the way down the empty marble hallway.

“Let me go.” You struggled, huffing out the words as you fought his grip and won. Before you had time to storm away, Brian spun to face you.

“Would you grow the fuck up? There is a room full of people depending on you and you’re acting like a fucking child, like always.”

“I’m not a child.” You hissed, curled your fists and glared up at Brian as he loomed over you. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His feet and fiery eye’s pointed to back you into the corner. But you wouldn’t let him get to you. “I’m trying my best it’s just not fucking good enough.”

A bit of a waver passed through your tone, as you targeted the words through your teeth. You watched Brian bend at the knee to look right in your eye, and pretended not to hold your breath.

“No, you aren’t.” Brian pointed a finger right at you and spoke in a low, unnerving rumble. “I’ve seen you at your best and I can guarantee you’re far from it, tonight.” He snarled, glaring you up and down with those dangerous hazel eyes. They raked over the span of your figure before landing on yours once more. “You look a bloody mess.”

“Because I’ve been running around till two in the damn morning, trying to find Joane! And when I couldn’t, I had to finish everything all on my own again. Because Roger took Wilda away and bought her nice pretty shoes and put her in good graces with all the higher-ups, and unlike her, I have to earn that shit myself.” You yelled, the dam holding back your bottled up emotion had crumbled in the overflow. You could feel the threat of tears stinging the backs of your eyes as Brian stood gaping at you in your outburst.

“So now I’ve lost my voice from all the interviews and the lack of sleep and I probably won’t be able to sing on tour to promote this shite album with a single you’ll switch off when it comes on the radio, anyway!”

And before you’d even stopped shouting, it seemed, Brian had his hands on either side of your face, and his lips pressed to yours. Your back was pushed to the wall and it took great effort not to melt down it with the way you were consumed by an all new kind of fire; mixed among the usual. But above it all, you were too shocked to kiss him back. Then you parted from each other, and past his unbuttoned top you watched the rise and fall of Brian’s chest while he caught his breath and stared at you.

“What the bloody hell was that?” You asked in a stunned hush. Brian blinked and shook his curls.

“I’m, I- I don’t- I didn’t mean-”

“You think you can just kiss me and, I don’t know, that everything is just magically going to be okay?” You wondered in a fluster, knowing there was nothing that could be done about the blush burning your cheeks. After months of frowning every time the two of you passed each other he kisses you?

“No. No I- I’ve always wanted to kiss you and I just thought I knew better than to do it.” Brian held up a hand like he was swearing not to come closer. Talk about some seriously mixed messages.

“What?” You asked in an embarrassingly high squeak.

“I wanted to kiss you before I even knew your name. And it just seemed like the entirely wrong thing to do. So I shut you out, and my ire kept getting the better of me, and that’s not an excuse, just the truth,” Brian sighed, at what seemed like a sudden loss for words as his eyes searched yours.

“Well, you’ve gone and done it now.” You pointed out with the faintest laugh despite everything. Brian shook his head, asking, in a way, to understand what you were on about.

So you shook your head too, and latched onto his loose collar. You yanked Brian closer because you weren’t angry. You were actually feeling fine all of a sudden about everything. Only sure that you had to kiss him again good and proper. It was your first kiss with him, really, as your mouths moved together. Brian’s fingers were wrapped around your arm again, less claw-like than moments ago. And he didn’t seem too keen to break away from pushing you a little closer to the wall, a second time around.

But just as you lost yourself to the feeling of Brian’s frame moulded against your own, your name was hollered from somewhere down the hall. Music grew louder over the speakers that reached out to the sparsely decorated hall. Brian let you go, and you released your latch on his shirt to wipe your lips in a hurry.

But before you could scurry away, you watched Brian watch you prepare to bolt, and couldn’t help the small smile blooming across your face. He smiled, too.

You looked a mess. You were a mess. And you might’ve been one step away from fucking this whole thing up. But for the first time all year, you accepted it.

///

Your second record, somehow, was praised by the label and adored by the steadily growing following you’d gained. The old burnt out hippie man who ran your home town record store stood from his torn leather stool and applauded you, the day you came in to buy the Talking Heads new record.

“You’re really finding your sound, man.” The old hippie grinned. You told him to sit back down and thanked him despite your embarrassment. He asked you to autograph the cash box and gave you a discount on the album you bought.

After your single reached the top five in the charts, you talked Joane back around. It wasn’t easy. You had to promise you’d keep a cooler head, and she did too. She started stopping over every Sunday with a book of songs for you to think up a tune to, and turned the radio up every time one of your hits came on air. You laughed when she danced around your coffee table like it was the first time she was hearing your band name on the lips of a local dj.

Wilda cut all her hair off and wore the shoes Roger bought her everywhere. She talked about him after every breath, but you knew she hadn’t talked to him in months. Queen were busy planning a tour of Europe and trying to save the families that hadn’t already slipped through the cracks at the homes they bought but hardly visited.

You knew because you called Freddie to ask after Brian.

“Why are you asking about Brian?” You could hear the smile in Freddie’s voice, after he’d finished gabbing about the others.

“I want to know how all you boys are, naturally.” You panicked, realizing how lame your excuse was as you spoke it into the receiver. Freddie only hummed after a beat, and let another silence linger before speaking up again.

“I know you both secretly care for each other. Just give him time love, he’ll come around.” Freddie chirped before giving you a sweet farewell and hanging up.

Throughout your ever-changing year, Freddie had been more than kind to you. He’d become your friend. He gave away secrets like a kid at a slumber party. And when Brian came up in his conversation, Freddie always got serious. When the singer told you about the rough year Brian had been through, and the state of his well being, Freddie seemed to look at you with all of the seriousness in the world. Like he was desperate for you to understand. Did he know you were desperate to understand? Did he know Brian kissed you?

You could have phoned Brian. But you were too busy secretly hoping he’d ring you.

///

Your only notable call came from Jim, who gently nudged you to agree to being Queen’s opening act, once again.

“It’s what the fans want, according to the label. It’s what the label wants.” Jim explained, in the soft, kind, way that protected the guy from ever receiving a glare or harsh word from you, or Brian, you realized.

“We’ll do it, if the royal court isn’t up in arms.”

“Freddie said, and I quote, 'Beg her on my behalf and tell her I’ll fly home from Barcelona to do it myself if she even thinks of saying no.’”

So you called your band, packed a bag and showed up to the airport at five in the bloody morning with a smile on your face.

And then you were off. For the first week, a local band had been chosen from each new city, to open for Loba. By the time you, Wilda, and Joane took the stage, each audience of what seemed like billions were more electric than the last. You’d never had more fun, jumping around to the music you’d worked your ass off to create with the girls. You each ran off stage, changed in a flurry and ran back to the sidelines to watch Queen light up the black ink night. And like the last time, that was about the only time you’d see much of them- till one show got delayed when a wicked storm showed no signs of passing.

Roger took Wilda to dinner, and she followed his burning trail after about a minute of pretending she wasn’t at all interested. Joane made a speech about everyone catching up one sleep, before she crashed in your bed with her shoes still on. After unlacing her heavy boots and tossing them aside, you went to find your favourite band of boys gathering in the lobby with plans to go out.

“Now the party can really start.” Crystal grinned, reaching to wrap a strong arm around your neck as he pulled you to follow the gang to the limo in waiting. You broke loose of the roadies hold and shoved him into the back of the car before crouching in yourself.

A couple of girls you’d never met sat on either side of Freddie, and cast their doe eyes to John who scooted over to make room for you. And holding the bassist’s attention was Brian, who had yet to look your way all week. Ah, just like old times. You both had been busy. But you couldn’t stop from wondering if there was something more to it…

Had you upset Brian beyond your wildest dreams, when you kissed? Did he smile at you after it happened in the way people who were so angry did, that their furry appeared in a mask of calm?

Or… did you finally get him to shut up for good? Did he realize how unremarkable you were? That you weren’t even good enough to bicker with any longer? Pushing his buttons was one thing. But you always hated the times you and Brian paired harsh words with those deadly glares. Now that you were getting the silent treatment though, you’d take his arguing with you with a relieved smile.

Freddie pulled you along into a club adorned in sickening green uplighting. The purple-tinted insides held a crowded bar and a dance floor where patrons overflowed toward the restrooms. Some tune by The Velvet Underground was pulsing through the speakers as Freddie spun you around, dancing you both closer to the mass of people doing the same.

You noticed members of your group beginning to lose themselves in the crowd when you decided a drink was in order. The bar was packed, so much so that you nearly couldn’t turn to see who you’d wedged yourself against until you felt him tense up.

Brian kept his eyes on the wall decorated with drink options and dared not move as you shifted to notice him. His hip jabbed into your side, his white knuckles rested on the ledge of the bar brushed against your arm as he drew his hands together.

“Aren’t we going to talk about it?” You asked all of a sudden. If it were up to you, you would have cornered Brian like he’d cornered you, that night. But the tour had been so busy, and this was the closest you’d been since the night he pushed you against the wall… And you couldn’t take it anymore.

Still, Brian kept his eyes pointed front and said nothing.

“You kissed me first, ya know?” You spoke plainly, desperate for a response.

The barman shoved a tall drink toward Brian’s chest just then, at the same time Freddie reached past a few strangers to yank his guitarist toward the dance floor. As he was pulled away, Brian’s eyes swept over yours, and they were prettier than ever.

///

You’d nearly forgotten all your troubles that weekend, as everyone rushed to make up the cancelled show with two in a row, and one another city away with no time to sleep, not really.

After a montage of screaming crowds, ringing guitars, and squirming in and out of too-tight clothes, a three day break awaited the lot of you at long last. You trekked behind familiar faces down a lime green hotel hall, and dreamed of sleeping until you were good and ready to wake up.

Freddie waved as he twirled into his room, and Roger followed Wilda all the way down the hall. And while you watched your feet move toward your room number a few dozen doors away, you were stopped in your tracks.

You grinned when you recognized the feeling of the fingers around your arm, and the way Brian dragged you in his tow. You didn’t have far to go, just behind the door he was already closing in one swift move…

And in a flash, the door was shut and he was kissing you like how he did before, without a word, all of a sudden. Like he was trying to suck the life out of you. You kissed him right back, like you’d been dreaming of doing since you knew how nice it was.

And then you shoved him away. Because you wanted this, but not like last time.

“You’re not going to leave me in the quiet after tonight are you? I might at least be able to stand the radio silence if I knew what it was all about.” You searched Brian’s face in the dark. All the while, you kept ahold of his shirt sleeves and slowly found your way to his haphazardly made hotel bed.

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d treated you with all the interest of a passive-aggressive house cat since the day you met. Brian went quiet as you guided him to sit on the mattress, leary to close the space between you until he spoke up again. Though his long fingers fell feather-light against your hips, you only kept yours on his shoulders and held his gaze, silently hoping he’d speak up again.

“Of how desperately I’ve always wanted you.” He whispered while his fingers curled to grip you the slightest bit closer. “There were about one thousand reasons I was afraid of ever kissing you, and they all seemed even scarier after I did.”

Brian let his eyes rake up your figure before meeting your own. His lips were close enough to brush yours now. It made such sense, now. All those looks weren’t really glares. All those bitter words weren’t so malice. The tension that lied between you and Brian was all to do with how badly you’d wanted to be this close all along.

Maybe he was afraid to cross that line, because of all the love he’d so recently lost. Or maybe it was because of how young and dumb you really were. And maybe it was because of something you wouldn’t come to find out for a while, yet. You decided there wasn’t time to worry over why, tonight. That could come later.

“I hope you realise now, there’s nothing to fear.” You wrapped a hand around Brian’s neck and watched his eyes search yours in the dark. Then he nodded, softly bumping his head against yours. He pulled you closer between his legs and kissed you. You pushed him to lay down and started on your mission to show Brian just how fond of him you really were.

“I’m still pissed that we could have been doing this ages ago.” You breathed a laugh as Brian’s teeth grazed your neck.

“Never could handle not getting your way, could you?” He hummed against the skin you’d started to expose.

“I mean it.” You chuckled, tugging at a few of Brian’s highlighted curls. His head lulled until he was looking at you again. Brian stayed perfectly fitted against you while his eyes peered into yours. You recognized the uncertain look on his face, but it was different than before. Softer. Sadder, maybe.

“You really want this?” He asked in a soft timbre.

“Yes.” You nodded, tracing the length of his nose just because. A bit of quiet lingered after your assurance.

“But do you want me?” Brian asked in a hush. His sweet voice saturated in a worry you didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah,” You nodded again, searching his pretty hazel eyes as you placed both of your hands on the sides of his lovely face. “I want you Bri.”

The kiss you shared then was one that meant more than you knew a kiss could. There was something about Brian, a part of him you’d always longed to know. You felt closer than ever to that side of the guitarist now, when he deepened the kiss, and you felt him smile.

///

You woke up with a song in your head. A melody left over from a dream. But instead of rushing to find a pen and paper, you rolled over to covet the warmth of your unexpected company.

Brian draped an arm across your middle and hummed in delight when you nuzzled closer. You stayed like that, perfectly content in the tangled up sheets, watching the patterns of the sun through the window on their slow shift across the room.

“We’re going to have to leave this bed at some point you know?” You sat up a little after dozing off for the third time in a row. Brian stayed happily tucked close to your side. “And someone is more than likely going to figure this out.”

“That’s fine by me.” Brian shrugged, peering up to you from the pillows you leaned against.

“We’re supposed to hate each other.” You reminded through a sleepy chuckle. Brian only grinned and blinked, conjuring up a thought.

“I never hated you. I might always be sorry for picking such fights. I did always want the best for you, I just had a nasty way saying so.” Brian murmured thoughtfully.

He caught your eye once more and the corners of his mouth turned up when he looked to find you were already staring at him, trying to memorize the perfect outline of his profile against the bright sunlight. You inched lower to meet his gaze, and said,

“I think we might’ve finally figured out what’s best for both of us.”

And the way Brian looked at you then sent a chill down your spine that raced back up and shot through your heart in one go.

“S'Just, sometimes you’re a real bitch.” You joked to fight the way your heart was beginning to beat like a drum. Because you weren’t quite brave enough to fall all the way in love yet. But you decided just as quickly that Brian was probably worth falling for.

“I know. And sometimes you’re fucking unbearable.” He countered with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You noted with a laugh. You had it real bad for this guy. And that kind of scared the shit out of you. How could this have happened so quickly? How had you failed to see it coming? What if it was over no sooner than it began?

“But…” The only thing that broke through your hesitancy was Brian’s long fingers slowly trailing across your jaw. "Do you want me?“ You echoed his statement from the night before, in a hush. You’d only just realized the depth in asking so.

"Yeah.” Brian said, wrapping a lean arm snug around your middle without a moment’s hesitation. “I want you.”

And he said so like he was trying to encapsulate all the things that made you whole and wonderful and unbearable all at once. And even then, you giggled before leaning in for a kiss.

You spent the rest of what was left of that morning doing all the things you’d done the night before. And when you decided to finally get dressed, you and Brian hopped into your clothes while squabbling over what and when to tell your friends.

You hoped you’d get to hear his maddening whinging on for the rest of forever. Because if it ever became too much, at least you’d finally discovered some pretty effective ways to shut each other up.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

#Brian May #brian may x reader #brian may fanfiction #brian may imagine

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abigailnussbaum · 3 years

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The Watch 1x01 - 1x02

The first two episodes of BBC America’s The Watch aired this weekend, and I’ve seen basically zero discussion of them on my twitter and tumblr feeds. Which I assume is because most of the people I follow are Pratchett fans who have been horrified by the press releases and the trailer (or, for that matter, the lackluster reviews) and decided to write the show off before it even started airing. To be clear, this is an entirely reasonable approach, but there’s nothing else on right now and I was bored.

Quick verdict? It’s not dire, but also not so interesting that you’d feel compelled to keep going with it. In fact, my most powerful reaction after the first two episodes is puzzlement - I can’t understand who the intended audience for this show is. The thinking seems to have been “everyone will be interested in a brash, in your face, rudely comedic fantasy cop show!” And maybe that’s true, but The Watch isn’t particularly brash, in your face, or even that comedic, so what’s left are fans of the genre(s), who are reasonably spoiled for choice right now (the show The Watch most closely resembles is Carnival Row, which is not amazing but still has a greater depth of emotion and a more interesting world). Why anyone would go out of their way to watch a show that seems to be working so hard to stamp out anything original about itself is a question the creators don’t seem to have asked themselves.

More thoughts below the cut.

First, something positive: I quite like the look of the show. There was obviously a lot of pressure from previous adaptations, not to mention the famous illustrations associated with the books, to strike out in an original direction, and I think the show really found one. Instead of fantasized-medieval-through-Victorian, The Watch’s Ankh Morpork combines those period and genre elements with modern ones. So The Mended Drum is now a seedy nightclub with DJ lighting and an open mike stage, and the city’s walls are covered with graffiti tags. The more distinctive settings - the Patrician’s palace, the Unseen University library - are not as interesting, possibly because the budget wouldn’t stretch to make them look really spectacular. But the core approach of the series, that Ankh Morpork is an old but modern city where there are also a lot of fantasy elements, is a fun and refreshing one.

Second, despite all the prevarication and spin in the run-up to the show, this is a Pratchett adaptation. It isn’t merely “inspired by” Pratchett’s novels, as the show’s title screen insists. It isn’t taking Pratchett’s ideas and making its own things with them. I can only assume that these claims were made in response to the backlash against stuff like “Sybil Ramkin, young, hot vigilante”. But despite changes like that, this is actually a fairly straightforward adaptation of Guards! Guards!, which also incorporates elements from Night Watch, plus some rather deep cuts from the rest of the Discworld corpus (the second episode, for example, implies that the ultimate villains of the series are the Auditors of Reality). So yeah, The Watch doesn’t have the excuse of being its own thing. It is a Discworld adaptation, but a bad one, that fails to understand a lot of fundamental thing about the world and the characters.

Third, I think the thing that most strikes about the show is how low-energy it feels. Despite billing itself as something outrageous, and despite some work on the visual front (and in Richard Dormer’s Jack Sparrow-esque performance as Vimes), the show itself feels almost bland. You see this in particular when it comes to the humor. It’s not that The Watch isn’t trying to be funny. There are jokes, and a few of them - mostly the ones original to the series - are mildly amusing. But when it comes to Pratchett’s own humor, the show simply has the actors deliver the gags and references in the most low-key way, and unsurprisingly the result is that hardly any of it lands.

Now, to be fair, this has been a problem with Pratchett adaptations since the 90s. Most of Pratchett’s humor is based in what his third-person narrator tells us about the world, and is hard to convey in a dramatic presentation (Good Omens tried to solve this problem by putting a lot of Pratchett’s narration in its voiceover, with only limited success). But even the dialogue-based jokes are so arch and stagey, that to deliver them successfully would require committing to a lot of very specific, demanding choices from the actors and writers (off the top of my head, the only show that even comes close to that kind of humor is Brooklyn Nine-Nine). It would have to be a high-concept, meticulously executed sitcom, whereas most Pratchett adaptations have been fantasy dramas with jokes.

So it’s not entirely The Watch’s fault that it isn’t managing to convey the zany energy of Pratchett’s novels, but at the same time, it also clearly isn’t trying to. Its attitude seems to be that simply the existence of things like troll cops or assassins’ guilds who leave a receipt are funny in their own right. And sure, even in a media landscape in which fantasy has been mainstreamed by Harry Potter, the Lord of the Rings movies, and Game of Thrones, not a lot of fantasy settings have an orangutan librarian who only says “ook”. But what makes The Librarian funny isn’t that he’s a librarian who is an orangutan. It’s that he’s a librarian who is an orangutan who still behaves exactly like a librarian (while also doing ape things like swinging from the bookshelves and eating bananas), and that “ook” can convey almost any concept in existence. The Watch doesn’t seem to realize this. It seems to be assuming that just putting that stuff on screen, or parroting Pratchett’s lines, will be hilarious in and of itself, while leaving out a lot of the specificity of setting, character, and tone that made the books sing.

You see this also in how it handles its characters. Everyone fixated on Lady Sybil when the promos came out, because that’s the most egregious misreading of the original (and rooted in the most boring assumptions about what audiences want and will respond to). But it’s everywhere. Take Carrot, for example. In the books, Carrot is fascinating because he’s never entirely what you take him for. He’s innocent, but not naive. Principled, but not a zealot. A goody-two-shoes, but not a prig. He’s always a lot smarter than you think he is, and most importantly, he genuinely likes and is interested in people.

The Watch delivers none of this, and instead makes Carrot your basic hothead rookie who just wants to take down bad guys and sees the more seasoned, cynical officers who keep trying to slow him down as hopelessly corrupted. There’s none of Carrot’s openness, or his genuine love of the city, in this character. Instead he’s sullen and judgmental. And look, we could have a long conversation about which one of these characters is more useful to us and our ongoing conversation about policing (as well as a much shorter conversation about which one of them is truer to the ideas Pratchett was trying to convey about policing). But what feels more important to me, when coming to evaluate a new series that is trying to make an argument for why you should keep watching it, is the simple fact that there are a million places where you could find a character like The Watch’s Carrot, and hardly anywhere where you could find one like Pratchett’s.

Again and again, it feels as if, in the pursuit of what it thinks of as outrageous, risk-taking storytelling, The Watch jettisons the unique characters from the books and replaces them with ones that we’ve seen a million times before. Angua in the books is kind of neurotic, and extremely thoughtful about the way her condition can incline her to see other people as objects to be used and consumed (which Pratchett later develops into an aspect of his theme of monsters-as-aristocrats). In the show, she’s obsessed with how her lycanthropy makes her “the real monster”. Oh boy, I’ve never seen a werewolf worry about being a monster before! I’ve never seen a scene where they send their friends away just as they’re about to transform! This is cutting edge stuff, I tell you. And while we’re on the subject, it gives me no pleasure to report that Anna Chancellor as Patrician Vetinari is thoroughly meh, because no effort has been taken to convey the character’s intelligence, near-omniscience, and constant scheming. Vimes is intimidated by her because she’s his boss and she’s posh, not because of anything specific to her. She feels almost identical to a million other posh rulers whose job it is to infodump to and threaten scrappy, working class heroes.

Which brings me back to my original observation: that I do not get who this show is for. It’s not for Pratchett fans, because it deliberately drops a great deal of what made his writing and characters special in favor of the most generic, predictable choices. But I can’t help but feel that anyone who is into this sort of extremely familiar cop story will be put off by the dragons and the wizards and the orangutan librarian, not to mention Dormer’s gurning performance. The whole thing is almost fascinating to watch - a work that clearly believes itself to be boundary-pushing and different, when really it’s just dull but with dragons.

#the watch

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lcdrarry · 4 years

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LCDrarry 2020 Master List

Dear lovely Participants, Creators, Alpha and Beta Readers, Commentors, Cheerleaders, Readers and Fans of our fest,

Our 2nd installment of LCDrarry is coming to an end, and we'd like to thank you all for taking part in our little fest, for creating so many amazing new Drarry works for us all to enjoy, for commenting on your favourite creations, for sharing and recommending the LCDrarry gems with your friends and blog followers, and for making this fest another amazing experience for us mods.

We hope we could bring you some joy and diversion in these trying times and send you lots of love, strength and perseverance wherever you are :*

Under the cut, you can find out who created what ;D The works are listed in the order they posted during the fest.

Happy reading & squeeing & don’t forget to follow your favourite creators!

~Your LCDrarry Mods Tami @celilasart and Suzi @erin-riwen

PS: Reblogs are very much appreciated <3

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Love, Actually, is All Around

Prompt: #180 | "Love, Actually" - 2003 - Richard Curtis Author: punk_rock_yuppie Word Count: 9,975 words Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Wizarding Politics, Discriminiation, Slight power imbalance

Summary: It's Christmastime, and Harry has just started as the new Minister of Magic. It just so happens that Draco happens to work in his office as well, a holdover from Kingsley's tenure. Naturally, love is in the air.

Read "Love, Actually, is All Around" now on AO3.

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Drarry on Ice

Prompt: #150 | '"Yuuri!!! On Ice" - 2016 - Series Artist: RunningOutsideTheLines Art Medium: Traditional Art Rating: General Warnings: none

Summary: Harry and Draco find love on the ice. I love Yuuri on Ice and Harry and Draco seem like such a perfect fit for Victor and Yuuri. I'll leave it up to your imagination as far as which is which. This image is from the final scene when the two of them do a exhibition skate together.

View "Drarry on Ice" now on AO3.

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Boats, but Not the Ocean

Prompt: #203 | "Groundhog Day" - 1993 - Harold Ramis Author: p1013 Word Count: 15,551 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Very minor mention of suicide, some mild horror

Summary: If Draco ever gets his hands on this Bill Murray character, he's going to kill him.

Read "Boats, but Not the Ocean" now on AO3.

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When I Put My Eyes On You

Prompt: #193 | "The Way He Looks" - 2014 - Daniel Ribeiro Author: Zzzara Word Count: 31,155 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary: When a hero defeats a villain, there's supposed to be a happily-ever-after... but when did anything ever happen to Harry Potter the way it was supposed to? Having sacrificed himself to the greater good, Harry is left alone in the darkness, blindly groping for the shreds of the life he knew. When the enemies meet, how is the story supposed to go, once they learn there's more to it than the eye can see? A story of pain, hope and things we discover, once we stop looking for them with our eyes.

Read "When I Put My Eyes On You" now on AO3.

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Spellbound

Prompt: #113 | "Overboard" - 1987 - Garry Marshall Author: mortenavida Word Count: 15,878 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Amnesiac Draco Malfoy, Widowed Harry Potter, past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Dub-Con due to Amnesia (Only Kissing)

Summary: It’s been years since Harry left with Ginny to get away from the bad memories of war. The small town of Elk Cove, Oregon, had been a perfect place to raise their children. Now widowed, Harry works hard to make sure his children never want for anything. When an old rival steps into his life, everything changes and Harry finds the perfect opportunity to get back at Malfoy for everything the Slytherin did to him -- if he doesn’t regret falling for him first.

Read "Spellbound" now on AO3.

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Of Labcoats and Animagi

Prompt: #97 | "Queer Eye" - 2017 - Series Author: meandminniemcg Word Count: 10,868 words Rating: Mature Warnings: mention of past abuse, panic attack (tw at beginning of chapter, can be skipped)

Summary: Fashion icon Draco? That's long past. After the war, he never bought any new clothes and lives in his labcoats. When he doesn't feel confident enough to meet his pen friend Prongs in real life, Luna decides to stage an intervention with a little help from the Fab Five.

Read "Of Labcoats and Animagi" now on AO3.

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Title of Their Sex Tape

Prompt: #112 | "Brooklyn Nine Nine" - 2013 - Series Author: Cibee Word Count: 12,428 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: None

Summary: What are the Wizarding world's most elite law enforcers doing when they aren't catching criminals? It seems Auror Malfoy is often caught throwing food into Auror Potter's mouth when he's mid-yawn. This story isn't about Draco throwing food at Harry. What it does have is: Undercover! Heists! Draco pining for Harry! Harry being oblivious, but also can't help noticing how good Draco smells! Banters and jokes! That's about it.

Read "Title of Their Sex Tape" now on AO3.

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Harry Potter and the Beast

Prompt: #204 | "Beauty and the Beast" - 1991 - Gary Trousdale Author/Artist: Miakagrewup Word Count/Art Medium: 5,655 words/31 illustrated pages Rating: General Warnings: None

Summary: Arrogant prince Draco is cursed to live as a terrifying beast until he finds true love. This fairy tale consists of 31 fully illustrated pages.

Read "Harry Potter and the Beast" now on AO3.

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So Open Up My Eyes, Tell Me I'm Alive

Prompt: #191 | "Secret Garden" - 1993 - Agnieszka Holland Author: mycucumbereyes Word Count: 12,865 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: trauma, canon typical violence, homophobia, use of f-g/f----t, mention of suicidal thoughts, character with a disability

Summary: When Draco Malfoy comes to live at Godric’s Hollow, he finds it full of secrets. One night he hears the sound of crying…

Read "So Open Up My Eyes, Tell Me I'm Alive" now on AO3.

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i demand to dig my own grave

Prompt: #10 | "Psych" - 2006 - Series Author: M0stlyVoid Word Count: 20,836 words Rating: Mature Warnings: None

Summary: Draco finds himself in hot water with the Aurors, and in a burst of panicked inspiration manages to wiggle out of it by claiming to be a Seer. There's just one little problem– Senior Auror Harry Potter, the Prat Who Lived, who's known him for a decade, knows full well Draco doesn't have a single psychic bone in his body and seems determined to pull him up for it. Now, the Department is demanding he help them solve cases, Potter's looming over his shoulder at every turn, and worst of all, he hasn't had a shag in weeks because of all this bother. What's a pseudo-Seer to do?

Read "i demand to dig my own grave" now on AO3.

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As You Wish

Prompt: #37 | "The Princess Bride" - 1987 - Rob Reiner Author: Pineau_noir Word Count: 21,917 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Canon-typical (Harry Potter and The Princess Bride) violence, mention of suicide, canon-typical character death

Summary: Draco was raised on a farm in the small country of Witshire; his favourite pastimes were flying on his broom and tormenting the hired farm boy. Though his name was Harry, Draco never called him that. On Harry's forehead there was a scar shaped like a lightning bolt, so Draco called him Scarhead. Nothing gave Draco as much pleasure as ordering Harry around.

Or a story about fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, True Love, and miracles.

Read "As You Wish" now on AO3.

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Queer Eye for the Drarry Guys

Prompt: #97 | "Queer Eye"- 2017 - Series Author: blowfish_diaries Word Count: 18,201 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: none

Summary: Teddy's dads are great! Really! They just need a little push from five *fabulous* gays to get them to see what's right in front of them.

Read "Queer Eye for the Drarry Guys" now on AO3.

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Casecation

Prompt: #112 | "Brooklyn Nine Nine" - 2013 - Series Author: Mfingenius Word Count: 4,293 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: AU, canon-typical discussion of heavy topics, discussion of mpreg

Summary: "Draco Malfoy, I swear to God-” Hermione snaps under her breath, causing Draco to laugh lowly as he ducks under a hanging plant pot. “Draco Potter, ‘Mione,” Harry murmurs with a helpless grin; they’re not really supposed to be speaking – they're walking through the halls of Antonin Dolohov’s beach house, on their way to arrest him – but Harry can’t help marking the difference, even a year after they got married. “Be quiet,” Ginny says, rolling her eyes. “If he hears us and escapes-” Draco signals at them, and they all steel themselves for when he throws the door of the bedroom open. “Shit!”

Read "Casecation" now on AO3.

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Don't Blink!

Prompt: #179 | "Dr Who" - 2007 - Series Author/Artist: Gnarf Art Medium: Digital art Rating: General Warnings: None

Summary: Harry had always had exceptionally bad timing. It's not different this time.

Read "Don't Blink!" now on AO3.

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A Demon and an Angel Visit the Ritz

Prompt: #167 | “Good Omens” - 2019 - Series Artist: ravenclawkward Art Medium: Digital Oil Painting Rating: General Warnings: None

Summary: Harry the demon and Draco the angel just finished saving the world. They've earned their celebration, wouldn't you say?

Read "A Demon and an Angel Visit the Ritz" now on AO3.

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Change on the Horizon

Prompt: #57 | "Shameless (US)" - 2011 - Series Author: static_abyss Word Count: 118,645 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Character with depression, mentions of not wanting to exist and lethargy, though no actual suicide or mentions of suicide. Unhealthy coping mechanisms, specifically not taking prescribed medication for depression. Internalized homophobia, and general homophobia from parental figures, though there is a happy ending. Casual relationships.

Summary: A canon AU drarry fic based on the relationship between Mickey and Ian from Shameless. A story about the aftereffects of the Second Wizarding War and how Draco and Harry come together and break apart over and over. How maybe, somewhere along the way, they find a way to live with themselves.

Read "Change on the Horizon" now on AO3.

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The Thrill of the Chase Moves in Mysterious Ways

Prompt: #192 | "Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries" - 2012 - Series Author: VeelaWings Word Count: 32,569 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Heavy Drinking, Smoking Cigars, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Kidnapping, Non-Graphic Violence, Gun Violence, Poisoning

Summary:

“Do you have a personal interest in this case, Malfoy?” Harry asked, arms crossed and blocking the view of the body behind him.

“Not at all.” Draco smiled sweetly, cuddled into the side of tonight’s date. “Although I did briefly own that painting until it proved to be stolen.” He helpfully pointed to the Renaissance portrait a few metres to their left.

“Why is it always so complicated with you?”

+++++

Some people might argue that Draco didn’t have very good ideas. That was a lie. Draco had fantastic ideas, however, due to mankind having free will, the planning and execution of those ideas didn’t always pan out in his favor.

(Or — Draco solves crimes that don’t technically belong to him and Harry tries not to fall in love. Co-Starring: Hermione, High Heels, and Hiccups along the way. #dat 1920s lyfe)

Read "The Thrill of the Chase Moves in Mysterious Ways” now on AO3.

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Burn Your Life Down (but look back to me)

Prompt: #202 | Casablanca - 1942 - Michael Curtiz Author: Triggerlil Word Count: 35,910 words Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: Alternate Universe - World War II, Film Noir, Self-Medication, Alcohol, Infidelity (not between Harry and Draco), Smoking, Mention of Slavery and Human Trafficking

Summary:

It's been years since destiny walked into an apartment on Rue Azais, and Harry is over it. Really, he is. He has Blaise, he has his work, and if necessary, he still has his memories. But with the onset of WWII, the foundations of his life are crumbling, and suddenly a certain blond man is walking back into his life, asking Harry to make important, and dangerous, choices.

Read “Burn Your Life Down (but look back to me)” now on AO3.

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Super Rich Kids

Prompt: #24 | "The Bling Ring" - 2013 - Sofia Coppola Author: Thusspoketrish Word Count: 81,000 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Thriller, Murder, Dark Humour, Angst, Depression, Nihilism, Existenialism, Jealousy, Hurt/Comfort, Gaslighting, Very Brief Instance of Suicidal Ideation, Immorality, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence (not between Harry and Draco), Abusive Drug Use, Manipulative Behaviour, Heterosexual Sex, Threesomes, Candaulism, Possible Infidelity Due to Unclear Relationship Status (please read the tags on AO3 carefully, this list is not exhaustive)

Summary:

Draco Malfoy has become disillusioned by the glitz and glamour of the scandalous lives of the Post-Second Wizarding War Pureblood Elite. Enter: one existential crisis, one group of cynical friends, and several terrible, terrible decisions.

Read “Super Rich Kids” now on AO3.

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We Built This Right

Prompt: #48 | "Yuri on ice" - 2016 - Series Author: remy_writes5 Word Count: 15,344 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Homophobic Language, Anxiety, Strained Relationship with Parents

Summary:

At last year's Grand Prix Final, Harry had an accident that left him with a lightning scar on his forehead, a concussion and a twisted ankle. Now everyone is waiting to see if his career is over - including former rival, Draco Malfoy.

Read "We Built This Right” now on AO3.

***

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ingravinoveritas · 3 years

Note

So great Michael & David won tellyaward. David is truly an amazing and experienced comedic actor. He shores up Michael - who's great but can go a bit wild, where David knows how to dial it up AND rein it in. That balance is essential in comedy, so I give David the edge in making it all work. But they are both wonderful. As for "holding him up" - no comment. Y'all let your imaginations run amok! :) But we can definitely say that David really seems like Michael's go-to comfort human/safe place.

Absolutely yes, in regard to Michael and David’s much-deserved win for the I Talk Telly award, and everything you said sums up their dynamic beautifully, Anon.

That balance is exactly why they worked so well together in Staged. Even in the I Talk Telly acceptance speech, we can see them doing just what you described--Michael going big with the “Ahh! So me and my sidekick!” and David being so completely and hilariously restrained in response. And it’s not the kind of restrained where he’s holding back a larger reaction, but where the restraint is the reaction, and it serves the secondary purpose of bringing Michael back down to Earth.

The other interesting thing is that, even though they’re playing exaggerated versions of themselves in Staged (and in that clip, when they’re doing the bit), I think that balance also extends to Michael and David’s dynamic in real life. We saw it a great deal during the Good Omens press tour last year--most notably during that one photo shoot that they both hated which Michael mentioned being so grumpy during, yet also said how lovely David was and how that helped him get through it.

All of which ties into the excellent final point you made, Anon, about David being Michael’s go-to comfort human/safe space. I absolutely could not agree with you more and I got that vibe so strongly during the ITT acceptance speech. The “holding him up” particularly speaks to this, and when Michael joked about that being how they managed to win the award, I very much got the sense that he wasn’t just thanking David for helping him get through the filming of Staged...but for helping him get through that period of time overall. That David was an integral part of helping Michael cope with the quarantine, the isolation, and the loneliness...figuratively (and also possibly literally, as @fckedupnerd and I were delightfully imagining) holding him up. And I can’t think of anything more beautiful than that.

Michael truly seems to open up and feel safe around David in a way he doesn’t with anyone else, and it’s visible in the way his face lights up around him, as it did in the ITT acceptance speech. By the time it got to this moment (right after the “old Michael”/”young David”), where they were leaning so close together like two people who somehow managed to find each other out of the 7 billion humans wandering around the planet, I was swooning so hard that I basically turned into Harvey Fierstein in Mrs. Doubtfire:

So, yes. No question in my mind that David is Michael’s go-to comfort human/safe space, Anon. And no doubt we will continue to let our imaginations run free, as these two lovely men keep giving us so much to speculate on and enjoy. Thanks for writing in! x

#anonymous #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #staged #or 'Brokeback Mount Him' which is what i am referring to Staged as from here on out #Michael seemed so happy during the filming of GO #but the only time he's looked that happy recently is when he's with David #i love the go-to comfort human idea so much #like David is a pillow Michael snuggles up to when he's feeling overwhelmed #where is the lie though #tell me again that they're not a couple #amazing #good omens rpf #discourse

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pitiless-achilles-wept · 4 years

Text

2020 Can Take My Hair, But Not My Hope

My hair started falling out on election night.

I thought at first it might be the anxiety, that I was literally pulling my hair out with worry over numbers I already knew were not going to be definitive before the night wore into morning but which I stayed up until 3:30am watching anyway. I tweeted rapidly, reassuring my jittery timeline that not only had we all known that the night would bring no results but that we had even expected Trump to lead in key states because of the greater number of mail-in ballots from urban areas that would largely count for Biden. We knew. We all knew. But we were all terrified, flashing back to 2016 and already dreading another four years of living life on high alert, in constant survival mode.

I posted a selfie with a tweet that read, "Could be the last presidential election I vote in (blah blah stage 4 cancer blah blah) and I wish it were better and clearer than this but it's a crucial privilege to have voted. Remember, whatever the outcome, the last thing they can take from you is your hope."

To me that last sentence has been a mantra for these years and for my treatment. I have consistently refused, despite overwhelmingly terrible odds, to lose hope. The story of Pandora's Box tells us that the very last thing left inside was Hope--that even once all the demons were out in the world there was that tiny, feathered creature left to hang on to. It hasn't been easy, but I am one of the most stubborn people you will ever meet (and if you doubt this just ask anyone who's ever fought me on anything!) and it has turned out to be a saving grace rather than an irritating personality trait. Feeling like the world was trying to take my hope away made me angry. And when I get angry I will fight back.

I know I'm not alone in feeling like we entered some kind of alternate nightmare timeline on election night 2016. To that point, despite periods of immense personal difficulty, nothing truly terrible had happened to me. Then, in short order, my marriage ended and I was diagnosed with and began being treated for a terminal illness, all against the backdrop of a regime so deliberately hateful that it was truly incomprehensible to me. Then, a global pandemic and national crisis swept away the small consolations I'd found in my new life with cancer. The temptation to feel hopeless was strong and I struggled with it, particularly in the isolation of quarantine. I'm struggling with it now, facing a winter of further lockdowns, social isolation, continued chemo, and the added indignity (and chilliness!) of not having any hair. But somehow the coincidence of my hair loss with election night seemed like a good omen for the future, if a sad thing for the present.

I heard the news that they had called Pennsylvania for Biden at a peaceful Airbnb in the Catskills after stepping out of a shower where lost hair in handfuls. It felt oddly like a sacrifice I had made personally. I joked about this with friends on the text chains that lit up and that (despite my promise to myself and my writing partner that we'd "go off the grid") I responded to immediately. Instant replies, with emojis and GIFs, participated in the fiction: "Thank you for your service!!!"; "We ALL appreciate your sacrifice!"; "Who among us would NOT give up their hair for no more Trump?". The feeling was real for me, though. It was as though the good news demanded some kind of karmic offering. You never get something for nothing, I thought, and really it was a small price to pay.

The rest of the weekend passed too quickly, with absorption in the novel I plan (madly, given that I also work full-time) to work on for "National Novel Writing Month" (NaNoWriMo), walks in the unseasonably warm woods, and nighttime drinks on the back deck under the stars, watching my hair blow off in fine strands and drift through the sodium porch light. My friend and I read tarot and both our layouts contained The Tower, the card for new beginnings from total annihilation, the moment of destruction in which (as the novel's title says) everything is illuminated. "This might sound dumb," he said, "but maybe yours is about your hair." It did not sound dumb.

[shaved heads, the 2020 election, and a couple pics under the cut]

There is probably no more iconic visual shorthand for cancer than hair loss. It happens because chemo agents target fast-proliferating cells, which tend to inhabit things that grow rapidly by nature (hair, fingernails), or that we need to replenish often (cells in the gut), as well as out-of-control cancer cells. But not all cancer treatments, not even all chemotherapies, cause hair loss. In my 20 months of being treated for cancer and my three previous treatments (four, if you count the surgery I had) nothing had yet affected my hair beyond a bit of thinning. This despite the fact that my first-ever treatment (Taxol) was widely known to cause hair loss for "everyone." I had been fortunate with this particular side effect in a narrow way that I have absolutely not been on a broader scale. "Maybe," I had let myself think, "I can have this one thing." The odds were in my favor too; only 38% of people in clinical trials being treated with Saci lost their hair. I liked the odds of being in the 62% who didn't. But--as we all felt deep in our gut while they counted votes in battleground states--odds aren't everything.

I had come to treat the "strength" of my hair as a kind of relative consolation (though as with everything cancer "strength," "weakness," and the rhetoric of battle have nothing to do with outcomes). I treasured still having it, not just out of vanity (though I have always loved my hair whatever length, style, or color it has been) but because it allowed me to pass among regular people as one of them. I had no visible markers of the illness that is killing me, concealed as first the tumor and then the scars were by my clothing. "You look wonderful," people would tell me, even when I suffered from stress fractures from nothing more than running or sneezing; muscle spasms in my shoulder and nerve death in my fingertips; nausea that I swallowed with swigs from my water bottle that just made me look all the more like a hydration-conscious athlete; and profound, constant, and debilitating fatigue. Invisible illness had its own perils but I would take them--take all of them at once if necessary!--if only I could keep my hair and look normal.

It was not to be. A part of me had known this, since a lifetime with metastatic cancer means a lifetime of treatments a solid proportion of which result in hair loss. But I had hoped. And I had liked the odds.

The hardest thing for me is having to give up this particular consolation before knowing whether or not my new treatment is also working on my cancer. Unfortunately, there really isn't a correlation between side effects like hair loss and effectiveness of treatment. If it is working then I will feel that--like the election to which I felt I had karmically contributed--it was all completely worth it. Yet, even in this best case scenario, there's a new reality for me which is that while I am on this treatment I will stay bald. When you are a chronic patient you hope for a treatment that will work well with manageable side effects. And if this treatment works--and if the other side effects are as ok-ish as they are now--then I will remain on it.

It's that future that I am furious about more than anything else. I want to continue to live my life, of course, but I don't want to have to do it bald! In part that is because I don't want to register to people constantly as an archetypal "cancer patient" when I know that I am so much more. It is also in part because I don't want to think of myself as being ill, and living every day having to disguise my absent hair will make that all the tougher. I have already noticed that I feel, physically, as though I am sicker because of my constantly shedding hair. How could I not, in some ways, when every move I make and every glance at myself (including in endless Zoom windows) shows me this highly visible change?

For that reason, I'm shaving my remaining hair tomorrow (Wednesday). It's a way to feel less disempowered--less like hair loss is happening to me--and wrest control of the situation back. I will try to find agreeable things about it: wigs, scarves, cozy caps, bright lipstick, statement earrings, and a general punk/Mad Max vibe that is appropriate to 2020. But I don't want anyone to think for a second that I find this agreeable, or even acceptable, or that I don't mind. I mind a whole hell of a lot. My hair was my consolation prize, my camouflage, my vanity, my folly, and my battle cry.

I dyed it purple when I was first diagnosed because I knew (or thought I knew) that I would be losing it soon. I didn't, and I came to cherish it as a symbol of my boldness in the face of circumstances trying to oppress me, to make me shrink, to tempt me to become invisible. I refused and used it to "shout" all the louder in response. Because of what it came to mean to me, I'm nearly as sad about losing the purple as I am about losing the hair itself. It both symbolized the weight I was carrying and also that I would not let that weight grind me down. It was my act of resistance and my sign resilience all at once.

I sent a text to my friends, explaining this and offering, as an idea, that I could "pass the purple" to them in some way, small or large. It would feel more like handing off a torch or a weight (or the One Ring) than anyone shaving their head in solidarity. (After all, if they did that it would just remind me as I watched theirs grow back that, in fact, our positions were very different.) You're welcome to do it if you'd like too, internet friends, with temporary or permanent dye or a wig or a headband or one of those terrible 90s hairwraps or whatever. But I don't require that anyone do it because I feel support from you all in myriad ways, all the time. (But if you do, please send me pictures!)

It's November 2020. The election is over and Joe Biden has won. I still have cancer and I'll be bald tomorrow. I hope it's a turning point, both personal and global, because it feels like one. We've given up a lot in the last four years and I cannot say that I feel in any way peaceful or accepting about having to give up yet one more thing. But in losing my hair I absolutely refuse to also give up my hope.

(On our walk we did also seem to find a version of The Tower, all that was left of an abandoned house)

#life update #my life as a cancer patient #stage 4 #mbc #metastatic breast cancer #losing my hair #unfair things #election 2020 #I just have a lot of feelings #the tower #us politics

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seawitchkaraoke · 4 years

Text

Looking fetching

Ao3 link in the notes, spoilers for A Killing Frost.

Simon hadn't meant to lie to October, not really. It's just that it hadn't seemed important and by the time Acacia asked if he was Sylvester's fetch, he didn't want to interrupt their search for his daughter with long explanations, which would undoubtedly have been needed, had he answered "yes".

And it hadn’t truly been a lie. He had never once described Eira as "his" firstborn, merely the Daoine Sidhe firstborn and when he told Acacia he was Sylvester's brother, it was true. October would understand that, she called the Lady May her sister as well after all.

So yes, he had excuses and he hadn't technically lied and surely October would understand. It had been drilled into him never to tell anyone his true nature after all, he had long since learned to mirror the magic of the Daoine Sidhe as much as possible and if he was better with transformations than he had any right to be, well, he was simply talented.

And yet.

And yet when October said, again, that it wasn't his fault, he couldn't have resisted Eira, her being his firstborn after all, and Dianda and Patrick, his Patrick, who he had never told, were right there.... He knew it didn't matter. If he wanted a chance at redemption, he had to be honest.

So.

"She isn't my firstborn"

Silence. Dianda and Patrick stared at him. So did October and supposedly Tybalt, though the king of cats wasn't in his line of sight.

"what do you mean? You know she's the Daoine Sidhe firstborn, you said so yourself?" October sounded like she was contemplating dragging him back to the sea witch to fix him, since he had clearly lost his mind.

Well. Better explain then.

"Yes, she is the Daoine Sidhe firstborn. She is my brother's firstborn and my father's firstborn, but she isn't my firstborn"

Deep breath. This wouldn't make them hate him any more. Probably.

"I don't know who my firstborn is, but I know it is not her. I- I am not Daoine Sidhe”

He took another breath. Best to just say it, “I am a fetch. Sylvester's fetch, though you could have guessed that I suppose. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, it never seemed like the right time and my parents taught me never to tell anyone and I didn't-"

He was babbling, he knew. Somehow, he couldn't stop. He was still holding Patrick's hands, but he couldn't bring himself to look at him, why had he never told him in all the years they had known each other? October might forgive him; she had forgiven worse and they had not, in truth, known one another long but Patrick? Patrick be should have told ages ago

"I'm sorry I misled you, truly, I understand if this changes things, there's really no excuse, I should have told you centuries ago-"

"Simon"

That stopped him. Patrick didn't sound angry, but he didn't exactly sound happy either, and Patrick rarely sounded angry even when he was and-

"Simon, please, look at me"

He couldn't disobey that voice, so soft and insistent and unbearably calm. So, he lifted his head, slowly, and looked into Patrick's eyes, expecting anger or disappointment or betrayal.

All he found was love.

"I never loved you for your species you know?" Patrick smiled wryly "of course I would have preferred it if you had told me - and you really should have - but if I can forgive you turning my son into a tree-"

Simon winced, glancing towards Dean who was a little way away, talking quietly to Quentin "I really am sorry about that"

"as I said, if I can forgive that, I can forgive you not telling me about being a fetch - and sweet Oberon, if I didn't know you so well I'd think you were playing a joke, HOW can you possibly be a fetch?

"yes!" October had finally found her voice "HOW are you a fetch? Shouldn't I have seen that in your memories? Shouldn't Sylvester, you know, be dead?"

"I'd like to know that as well" Tybalt spoke, now, seemingly calm "I've known you an exceedingly long time, and you never showed any indication of being your brother’s death omen"

Simon was about to answer, when Dianda, suddenly snorted.

And then laughed.

And then kept laughing.

And then lost control of her legs and landed on the beach on her long shimmering tail.

“Um”, said Simon, intelligently “are you alright?”

Dianda tried to answer but couldn’t – she was still laughing too hard – so she held a hand up signalling them to give her a minute.

After several minutes, that they all spent staring at Dianda and that Dianda spent trying to calm herself down, only to look up at Simon and lose it all over again, she managed but kept her eyes resolutely away from him.

“of course, you are a fetch”, she said, “why not? I don’t even need an explanation, this is Faerie, this might as well happen”

“….well I’d still truly appreciate an explanation if it is of no inconvenience to you”, said Tybalt.

“okay okay, yes, so. Um.”, Simon stuttered, not really knowing where to begin, “so. You know where fetches come from, right?”

“Yes”, said Tybalt and Toby. “No”, said Patrick and Dianda. They stared at each other.

“Hey, it wasn’t my secret to share!”, Toby held her hands up, warding off Dianda’s stare and taking a step away from her tail – as if that would really save her.

“Alright”, Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, “as far as I know we come from nighthaunts who drink living blood… does that match what your Lady Fetch told you, October?”

“Err, yes but what do you mean ‘as far as you know’? Don’t you remember? Because May remembers, it’s really useful sometimes but also kinda creepy”

“No, I don’t remember…. I didn’t even know I was a fetch for a while. I appeared when Sylvester was still very young – I believe there was an assassination attempt, my father killed the assailant but some of my brother’s blood must have gotten mixed in his - and so his… my… our parents changed my memory and adopted me. Don’t ask how or why they did this; I could only speculate. Possibly they believed that if I could not remember being a death omen that Sylvester would survive”

Toby interrupted at that “but wouldn’t you have noticed? Didn’t your appearance change to match his or you could feel danger and all those…”, she waved her hand, “funky fetch powers?”

Simon sighed, “maybe if I had been older, yes, but I was very young at the time. The only memories I had were Sylvester’s, which I imagined to be my own, and he was just a few years old, only a toddler.”

Toby frowned “okay, never mind that imagining you two as toddlers is just weird, but wouldn’t you have realized as you grew up?”

“I would have yes. I did, in fact, but not in the way you appear to imagine. You know we grew up with your mother –“

Toby nodded, a frown on her face.

“- well. One day we were playing and Sylvester… he fell. He fell and he hit his head and he didn’t get up. My sister and I didn’t know what to do, she ran for our parents and I…”

“you faded.” Toby spoke up again, realization on her face, “you faded, and my mother told you to stop. But… but how did she save Sylvester? She saved me from elfshot by changing my blood, but she couldn’t have done that to him”

“She did not, no. But she- She was only a child but she grabbed the nearest rose and drove the thorns into her skin and when that did not make her bleed as much as she desired, she grabbed more roses and then she grabbed my knife that I used to make little wooden figures and she… she bled. She bled a lot. I don’t know what she did or how it could have been possible, but Sylvester woke and the nighthaunts didn’t come to call either of us home and when my parents arrived they found a lot of blood but no dead child.” He took a breath, “If I did not already love your mother, I think this may have been when I fell. She was so sure and so beautiful and so fearless, and she saved my brother, one of the most important people in my world”, he grew quiet, “at the time, at least”

They took a moment to digest that. Then Patrick, dear Patrick spoke up “that may have been the only selfless thing Amandine ever did. I’m glad she saved you, and him, for your sake, but Sylvester never deserved you”

Simon sighed, “he was a child, Patrick, dearest. We all were. There was no resentment yet in those days, no mistakes that couldn’t be taken back, just four children”, he glanced at Tybalt, “four children and a prince of cats who seemed to appear at random intervals”, he tried to pour amusement into his voice. The others simply stared at him, clearly not impressed by his attempts at joking.

“Be that as it may” Tybalt drawled, clearly unembarrassed by Simon’s mention of him, “pray, continue with your recounting. After this event, did your parents tell you what you were?”

Simon nodded, “they did. They didn’t have much of a choice. Perhaps they could have claimed that the fading of the one when the other died was normal for twins – they are exceedingly rare in Faerie after all – but I would have questioned why my magic was different or perhaps met some other pair of twins eventually. I suppose they deemed it wiser to tell me, so I could learn how to hide as a Daoine Sidhe as best as possible”

“but your magic!”, October burst out, “you can do blood magic and I’ve never seen May do that! I don’t understand”

“Have you ever seen her attempt blood magic, October?”, he asked, but before she could answer, he shook his head and continued, “but no, you are quite right. I am not very good at blood magic. I can do some – just as you are capable of illusions despite having neither flower nor water magic at your disposal – but I am not good. I am however decent at alchemy which can achieve many of the same results. True, I vastly prefer having some time to make a potion out of blood but once I have done so, no one ever questions whether or not what I am doing is truly the result of blood magic as such. I look and act Daoine Sidhe after all and who has ever heard of a fetch existing long enough to learn deception?”

“And you are, as we have seen, surprisingly adept at transformations”, Patrick mused. Simon winced again and glanced towards Dean – still walking along the beach with Quentin – but Patrick did not sound angry, “really I should have seen it ages ago. You never did show me all that much blood magic, but you transformed scraps into new suits on a far too regular basis, when the old one would truly still have served me fine”, he was smiling now and finally Simon allowed his shoulders to sag. Patrick really had forgiven him for the deception.

“you never did learn how to properly dress yourself”, he sighed but was smiling too now, comfortable in the centuries old banter.

“Well, that’s why I married a mermaid”, he grinned, “clothing is really rather optional down there. What’s the point, truly, if it will only get wet?”

Toby exclaimed in protest that when she had been in the undersea, everyone had been clothed, Dianda laughed and backed her husband up that no, it was true, they barely knew what clothes were in her realm, and Simon allowed himself to breathe.

He didn’t know what was to happen to him next. He assumed he would be sent to sleep for a hundred years and he truly could not say he did not deserve that and worse. But at least he could do so, knowing that no more deceptions stood between him and the people he loved so dearly.

#october daye #toby fic #dianda lorden #patrick lorden #toby daye #simon torquill #seanan mcguire #tybalt #simon is a fetch theory #a killing frost #a killing frost spoilers

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thegoodomensdumpster · 4 years

Text

ABOUT SHADWELL AND TRACY

OK so. This is probably going to be the meta nobody asked for + the meta that has already existed for 30 years ( I read a bunch of it before the show came out, but I never found one tackling what I’m going to talk about, so chances are it exists but I missed it and now it’ll be impossible to find ). I’ve been wondering, a lot, how exactly the relationship between Tracy and Shadwell was narratively useful. (Especially Shadwell, what is up with Shadwell, really??? Why did he have to be ... the way he is???) Don’t get me wrong : I know perfectly well how nearly everything / everyone in Good Omens mirrors something / someone else. The Four Horsepersons / The Them obviously, a perfect mirror of humanity’s problems (self made be it for Death ) and how to fix them ( with hope, courage, love, and proper education for newest generations who are dealing with passed mistakes… )

And then all the duos echo each other and act as informations about every character . Crowley / Aziraphale Newt / Anathema Tracy / Shadwell So I had the nagging suspicion that Tracy and Shadwell would, perhaps, make more sense to me if I started comparing them to each other and to their counterparts.

After all, that’s how me (and dozens other meta writers) have managed to understand Newt and Anathema.

Newt is reasonable and rationnal, and he is also free and questionning. Anathema has lived a life devoided of surprises, all according to the Great Plan prophecies of a long dead ancestor she can not directly talk to.

Newt and Anathema get together because of the prophecies, but STAY together because they chose to, and Newt is the one to bring that choice to Anathema. Do I need to say which of them echoes Crowley and which of them echoes Aziraphale ? What about Shadwell and Tracy then ?

Welp. Let’s dissect them, shall we ?

Madame Tracy is, arguably, the most formidable character of the lot. OK, I may be a bit bias, I adore the woman. But with good reasons !

Deep down, she’s got one of the – if not the – strongest moral compass of the whole characters cast. She has confidence in her morals and ethics enough to trust a supernatural entity who just invaded her body( after being rightfully offended and scolding him a little ) AND to then go against said entity, an angel of the Lord, when he’s about to do something reprehensible.

Badass. But on the surface, what is she ? She’s a marginal, a prostitute, a con artist (something that I’m not entirely happy about as I find it morally reprehensible, but it is very likely she pretends to be a medium to be some sort of cheap psychiatrist to people who can’t afford it so… I’ll allow it. But anyway, it is also important that she’s not a parangon of pure unaltered virtue, so this makes sense). She is all the things Shadwell says she is, and in his mouth ( as well as in the eyes of society) they are insults. Worse : she exudes femininity, she is comfortable in her sexuality, she’s a businesswoman, she’s self-sufficent and financially independant (she’s even the one who gives money to Shadwell…). None of this is bad, but most of it is (or, hopefully, was) regarded as bad.

Ok, we got Tracy figured out. Let’s try to understand Shadwell now. Shadwell… Is also a marginal, in a way (he has been to prison, after all, if we include TV Omens canon). But he’s another kind of marginal.

He is not financially independant (again, see : asking money to Tracy, and also, scamming Crowley and Aziraphale for years, which is a way bigger and morally reprehensible con than whatever Tracy is doing with her fake medium act. But tbh, I’m so impressed he scammed not one, but two supernatural entities for funding the same useless organization, I can’t be mad at him. Not for that, I mean.) He isn’t nice, he isn’t polite, he … seems to be everything Tracy isn’t. And, as Tracy is a beacon of light and kindness, it makes sense Shadwell would be a rude blackhole of hatred. But, more than being a lightsucker, Shadwell’s opposition to Tracy makes sense if we shift the way we look at them. Tracy is what society deems morally reprehensible but she isn’t immoral, and more than that, she is very modern. Confident in herself. Taking her fate into her own hands. Turned towards the future.

Meanwhile, Shadwell is entirely turned towards the past, so much so that his traditionnalism is too much by present’s standards, and that is the bit that makes him the most marginal. He wears his sexism and his homophobia as badges of honor, and runs A WITCHFINDER ARMY. A very definitely outdated organization that has for goal : BURNING WITCHES. And gays, too, but mainly witches. This is an activity that was once considered ethical, necessary, ultimately good, but isn’t anymore. Heaven approved of the Witchfinders’ Army on these « morally good » premisses, and Hell approved of it on the cruelty and horror it was actually responsible for. Society has moved on. Shadwell hasn’t. At least in surface . Because, just like Madame Tracy’s activities as a prostitute and self-made woman can raise eyebrows but ultimately don’t define her as a moral person, Shadwell… hnnngh, this is more difficutl to say this about him, but when time comes for him to act on his rotten outdated thrown in our face moral principles, he is actually siding with Tracy. He protects her, he refuses to shoot Adam, he chooses to do what he finds to be morally good, and he and Tracy share the same morals.

(Also the one time Shadwell thinks he has killed someone he is genuinely shocked, so he is far from being a cold blooded killer. Only when he wants to protect Tracy or prevent Armageddon - and after Aziraphale has shown he isn’t really dead - does he threateningly raise his finger again. ) ((But homophobia and sexism aren’t a good look on him. Or on anyone else, for that matter. It’s not charming. Tracy, why were you charmed ???? WHY ???? ))

And we can only suppose that Tracy, beacon of light that she is, able to see the best even in the scum of the Earth, already knew that Shadwell and her agreed about what was ultimately important. They’ve had, possibly, years of interactions before the plot of GO kicks in, and maybe Shadwell hasn’t been so consistently horrible all this time and showed her a better side ? I hope ??? But, anyway, the thing is : these characters, Tracy and Shadwell, are made to mirror some of the best and worst things coming out of humanity. Tracy being kinda the worst possible carreer and personnal choice for religious bigots, and Shadwell being so deep into bigotry that it made him terrible even by bigots’ standards. Shadwell’s speech would have made him a hero a few centuries ago, now he’s just a lunatic. Tracy would have been burnt at the stake for her life choices. Now she’s… well, not in danger, at the very least, and besides Shadwell, all the GO characters seem to respect her. ( Or fear her, as is the case for Newt. ) ((I’m joking, I think he likes her, but confident people intimidate him.)) So. We’ve got Tracy who has built herself her own moral compass and is confident in the choices she made despite the hostility and difficulties she may have encountered, and Shadwell who lives according to a bunch of bigotted outdated rules he doesn’t actually believe in all that much. HA. Why does that ring a bell, I wonder… For the sake of not letting any ounce of ambiguity floating in the air, I’m going to spell it out :

Shadwell and the Witchfinders’ rules echo Anathema and her prophecies, and Aziraphale and Heaven’s indoctrination. Meanwhile, Tracy echoes Newt and Crowley for their marginality and self-made moral code (ok it’s less obvious for Newt especially if you haven’t read the book but he is the kind to question stuff constantly, to the point he hesitates a lot and has troubles finding his place in the world, but his – tiny - character arc is that he becomes able to question correctly and make decisions and help others make decisions).

The interesting thing is, in a way, Shadwell embodies the worst surface aspect of being a bigot blindly obeying outdated rules, while Tracy is the best possible outcome of a marginal making a life for themself. Newt and Anathema place somewhere in the middle, Anathema being able to let go of the thing that was ruling her life, and Newt is in the process of learning who he is, getting comfortable with that person and finding a place for himself in the world.

As for Crowley and Aziraphale, their long lives has thrown them in morally grey areas for a looong time, but at the end of GO, once freed from Heaven and Hell -but especially Heaven as Aziraphale has the most work to do to also get rid off his endoctrination completely- they are free to join Tracy, Shadwell, Newt and Anathema into finally becoming the most blooming versions of themselves. It is not too late, no matter how dark or how far back they’re coming from.

But !!! I am not entirely done.

The sword. And the gun. Both weapon given - more or less – to humanity by Aziraphale. The flaming sword, given at the very beginning to Adam and Eve hoping they’d use it to protect themselves, and that ends up in the hands of War. The thundergun, not given but required by Aziraphale to be put to use, right as the Armageddon is about to put an end to humanity, and to be used, this time, to kill someone. And, as I mentionned, both Shadwell and Tracy refuse to shoot.

Aziraphale cannot make humanity obey him, now can he ? Because that’s what it is, ultimately. Humanity. And, as always, free will. Because Tracy and Shadwell represent certain extremes and a lot of grey areas of humanity’s morals and diversity of personnalities, they are -almost- perfect ambassadors of humanity as a whole. Good and Evil bear no meaning around them, they refuse to fit neatly into any category, especially when scrutinized through the lenses of different places and eras as ethics shift constantely. Shadwell shows that even garbage trash men can show empathy, Tracy is the most merciful and kind person, which doesn’t prevent her from being surprisingly strong and adamant when needed. Shadwell and Tracy are part of each other’s life, against all odds, and even if it might have been just because they were neighbours at first, they ultimately chose to remain together. All duos chose to stick to their counterpart in the end. All of them represent the many contradictions of humanity, and how love is the ultimate way to live along together. And they use their free will for love. And while I would not, ever, EVER want to interact with a Shadwell IRL, I now see why it was important to make him the way he is depicted. From a narrative point of view, it was important to make him seemingly irreedemable, only for the one character he harrasses the most to trust and love him, because Tracy knows he, actually, isn’t as bad as it may seem. Because people who might seem horrible are not necessarily the ones who are. Because even Shadwell can love and be loved. And because everybody can improve.

Now, I do not know why the sexism and the homophobia had to be the main choices to convey how much of a bigotted idiot Shadwell was (No, I mean, I think I know why: probably because killing witches and gays were the Witchfinders’ Army main goals, but still, it’s tough on modern audiences - whether this should be taken into account by authors is... quite a debate to have, and maybe the main reason it bothers me? idk idk, I’ve already thought too much at this point). Because despite the fact that some of his lines and his excellent actor made him nice to see on screen (or read in the book for that matter), I have a very hard time liking his character. But that might be the point. I don’t know. Only Tracy can love him. But at least now, it makes more sense to me.

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kirbychan234 · 4 years

Text

Something Lost, Something Found

Read it on AO3

A fic based on @abnormallynicehere‘s older au. Their art is fantastic, so you should all give it a look!

Neku groaned and rubbed his temples; he could already feel the impending headache.

He loved Shiki, really he did, but it was way too early in the morning for her bubbly personality. And the ringtone Neku had picked out for her suddenly made him regret every life decision he ever made in his life. “What?”

“Sheesh, good morning to you too, Mr. Grumpy-pants.”

Neku double-checked the time on his phone before he put it back to his ear. “Shiki, it’s like 7:30 in the morning. You know I’m not a morning person.”

“Yeah but you don’t have classes today, and I wanted to catch you before you got too busy!” The excitement in her voice would have been charming if he wasn’t still half-asleep. “You’re free later, right? Can we get together? I wanted to show you and the others something.”

The others – meaning Beat and Rhyme probably. And if they were going, then he probably didn’t have a choice in the matter. “Besides, it just…feels like we should do something today, you know?”

“Why?”

There was a brief moment of silence on the other end of the line. “Neku, don’t you know what today is?”

This was getting dangerously close to something he had a feeling he wasn’t ready for. “Uh…”

“Come on. It’s the five-year anniversary of when we came back to life.”

Oh.

Neku was suddenly a little more awake. He finally sat up in bed. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. And it’s been way too long since the four of us hung out together, so…”

Right. Despite his lingering irritation, Neku couldn’t help but smile. “I get it,” he replied. “Usual spot at the usual time?”

He could picture Shiki beaming so easily. “Yeah! We’ll see you there! Thanks Neku!”

Neku couldn’t help but think there was no reason to thank him when they hung up. It wasn’t like he really did or said anything special. This day was kind of a big deal after all, so of course he’d hang out with his friends.

Still. “Five years…damn.” 1,826 days since he was revived, and 1,802 days since he’d seen…

‘No, don’t go down that road again, Neku,’ he reminded himself bitterly. ‘You’re past this. You’ve moved on.’

But goddamn if it still didn’t ache.

Neku glanced out the window. ‘I wonder how you’re doing…’

“Look!” Shiki proudly sat Mr. Mew on their shared table.

“Oh, you found your pig,” Neku joked, and promptly received an elbow jab from Shiki in retaliation. It made him laugh anyway. Making fun of Mr. Mew never got old, no matter what Shiki said.

“’s cool you found ‘in,” Beat said in between bites. It was pretty disgusting, and Neku wished desperately that Beat would learn to stop doing that after all these years. Ugh.

He was surprised when Rhyme actually ignored Beat’s bad manners. Instead, she beamed at Shiki. “Yeah, that’s great! Where did you finally find him?”

“So you’ll never believe this-” Shiki cut herself off with a laugh. “He was flopped over in the back of my closet. I don’t even remember going in there with him!”

For a brief moment, Neku wondered if Mr. Mew could still move on his own…nah. That wasn’t possible, not in the RG anyway, right? “Oh, and that’s not all!” Shiki held out her hand and all eyes were drawn to the ring on her thumb.

It looked incredibly familiar. “Hey, isn’t that…”

“Yeah! I finally found the ring Eri gave me!” It was just one of her simple silver bands, but the sentimental value couldn’t be measured in words. Shiki had been beside herself when she had lost it, and she couldn’t look at Eri in the eyes for weeks. “I thought I lost it for good, but you know what? Mr. Mew was lying right on top of it when I found him!”

Huh. Maybe he spoke too soon, Neku mused. “Whoa. That’s like some UG shit or somethin’, ain’t it?” Beat finally had the decency to swallow his food before speaking. “Maybe?”

“Maybe,” Shiki replied with a shrug. “But I dunno. Mr. Mew’s always been kind of weird like that. Whenever something happens with him, I always feel like…”

“Premonitions, right?” Neku spoke up as he sat down his chopsticks. “You told me about them before.”

Beat and Rhyme’s eyes were drawn back to Shiki, and she nodded after a bit. “Yeah. But I think this is a good omen this time. Finding something you lost can never be bad, right?”

Maybe. It was hard to say, but Shiki hadn’t ever been wrong about this sort of thing before. Neku sighed and sipped his drink, quietly listening to Beat and Rhyme asking her questions.

Well, whoever the omen was directed at, hopefully they’d appreciate it.

Neku probably should have learned by now to trust Shiki’s instinct.

The scramble was as busy as ever, and it was a miracle Neku had even seen him at all. Or maybe it wasn’t…

He only saw him for a brief second, but to Neku, it felt like time had stopped. Those eyes, that smile – Neku cold never forget them for the rest of his life, no matter how hard he tried. “J-!”

But as soon as the second was over, his target was swallowed by the crowd of people. Neku knew he did it on purpose, the bastard. A second wasn’t nearly enough time, but now…

No. Not again. He wasn’t getting away that easily. “JOSHUA!”

He broke away from his group of friends, ignoring their surprised calls to him, and dashed through the crowds. People yelled, some might have even gotten knocked over, but Neku ignored them too. This was way too important.

The bastard kept walking, but Neku didn’t give up. Finally, he managed to grab a thin and familiar wrist, and the both of them stopped in their tracks.

The people around them stared, and neither moved. But eventually, slowly, Joshua turned to face the other with a small smile. “Hello Neku.”

Neku felt his heart lurch. He looked – and sounded – exactly the way he remembered. “It…it is you…”

The crowd had started moving again, and Neku could faintly detect Shiki, Beat, and Rhyme all behind him. Right now though, all he could focus on was the one he hadn’t seen in five whole years.

Joshua hummed, and then looked Neku up and down. “You’ve certainly gotten taller,” he said, tone bordering on amusement.

That was all he had to say? Seriously? “I-” Neku wanted to be mad. He wanted to be so goddamn pissed at the asshole who vanished for five years, then suddenly reappeared like nothing ever happened.

But…he couldn’t. Instead of anger, all Neku felt was relief. “You-”

Without warning, Neku pulled Joshua’s wrist forward before tightly wrapping his arms around him. He felt Josh freeze in his hold, like he was expecting something else. Hitting probably, but Neku couldn’t bring himself to do that either. “Oh?” Josh’s soft voice carried through the crowd of people. “A public display of affection, Neku? How unlike you.”

Neku only held him tighter. “Shut up, you asshole!”

A small chuckle rang out. God, he’d even missed that annoying laugh of his too. Neku felt himself start to tremble, despite his grievances. “Neku, are you…crying?”

He was. Neku realized this was the second time he cried in front of Joshua. He hated it. “No…”

With another laugh, Joshua finally started to relax in Neku’s hold. Slowly he rose his hands up to rest on Neku’s back, and Neku sighed in relief. He was here, he was real.

A full fifteen seconds passed with neither man letting go nor saying anything. Finally, Joshua shifted, and one of his hands fell back to his side. “Are you going to let go of me?” He asked.

Neku wondered if Josh could feel how fast his heart sped up at those words. “If I do, are you just gonna vanish again?”

On his back, Joshua’s remaining hand twitch, like Neku had struck a nerve somewhere. Good, served him right for all he put him through. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What the hell do you think it means?” Neku pulled back but kept his hands on Josh’s shoulders. He couldn’t let him go, not yet, not until he was certain. His eyes were red and puffy, and dried tear streaks stained his cheeks, but he was determined if nothing else. “You’re smart. Use your brain.”

Joshua didn’t look amused, but eventually he sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk later.”

“Why not right now?”

“Well I do have a city to run, Neku,” Josh replied with a smug smile, one that make Neku’s heart do flips. “I’m not even supposed to be here right now, but I did want to congratulate you on five years.”

So he remembered. For some reason that made Neku happy, and the mental image of Mr. H tracking down the runaway Composer only made it better. “Thanks,” he said, and he truly meant it. “So I’ll see you soon then? When you’re not so busy?”

“Yes.”

“Promise me, Josh? You won’t disappear for another five years, right?”

Joshua was quiet for far too long, and Neku almost feared the answer. But eventually, Joshua’s smile turned sincere, and he nodded. “Promise. I won’t disappear without warning again. You can expect to hear from me soon.”

That was all he could ask for. Reluctantly, Neku let his hands drop from Josh’s shoulders. “Okay.”

“Don’t look like such a kicked puppy. I said I’d be back soon, didn’t I? You can at least take my word on that.” For now, that was all Joshua seemed to be able to say. If Neku didn’t know any better, he almost looked shaken up, and that honestly made him feel pretty damn proud.

Josh gave a small wave and faded back into the crowd. Against his better judgement, Neku believed him. Damn that charming smile of his.

“You’d better keep your promise…”

#Kirby writes #the world ends with you #twewy #joshneku #joshua kiryu #neku sakuraba #abnormallynicehere #my writing is extremely rusty #but i hope this brings a smile to your face :>

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darknessisafriend · 4 years

Text

Your only chance for hapiness Part2

Part 1 here !

It’s finally here after so much time, I finally wrote it, I hope you will enjoy it, a Part 3 is planned ^^ @forensic-aep second part of your request^^

After getting dressed, the two of you headed to the Saloon where was Eli and Mayfield. Adrenaline still running through your veins, you intended on making her pay, the people here will remember you and the Sisters Brothers.

“Eli!” called Charlie, looking around for his brother.

“Up there!” he answered back, the two of you quickly headed in the direction of his voice, up to the office of Mayfield, as you arrived you noticed that Eli had tied her to a chair, she didn’t seem afraid enough to your taste, wasn’t she aware of their reputation?

“Well, you two took your time!” grumbled Eli, you cleared your throat, images of what had happened in the barn coming back to your mind, a slight blush creeping on your cheeks.

“I had some important things to care of…” smirked Charlie, turning his head to look at you and winking, ‘the bastard’ you gave him a punch in the shoulder, flustered.

“Ouch!” he exclaimed exaggerating, Eli let out a noisy sigh, and he was right, you should be focusing on Mayfield, being lovebirds will be for later.

“So, did she say anything?” asked Charlie, leaning his back against the deck as he looked at Mayfield right in the eyes, but you could see it in her eyes she wasn’t afraid, not yet; she knew some men like Eli couldn’t bring themselves to hit a woman, so you took the initiative, throwing her a punch on the forehead with the grip of your gun, she yelped with a mix of surprise and pain; Charlie whistled pleased by your gesture.

“She doesn’t deserve any special treatment Eli.” you told the older brother, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if she could, so he shouldn’t either.

“Oh my God, Warm told me he was looking for an investor for his prospection business, I didn’t get everything, I took him for an idiot but when I saw Morris, I told myself that if the Commodore was interested, it must have been serious...” Charlie went to sit behind the desk, looking in the drawers for objects of value.

“Did Morris leave a message for us?” asked Charlie.

“No... he traveled with Warm and that’s it.” She answered honestly.

“Oh really...” Charlie gave you and his brother a ‘I told you so’ look, you clenched your jaw, Morris turning is back on you wasn’t of good omen.

“Why did you want to kill us?” you asked her coming to stand next to Charlie, you stood close to him, you hip brushing against his shoulder, any notion of personal space was useless now, you felt Charlie, discreetly move his right arm, his hand coming to caress the back of your thigh, if he wasn’t doing business right now his hand would have went up to your ass, you actually found it quite exciting, to pretend like nothing was happening. With the other hand Charlie opened a music box that was in front of him, the nice lullaby contrasting with the whole situation

“I repeat, after, I start hitting.” threatened your lover.

“When I understood that Warm had something of value, I put my men after them, to bring it back to me…”

“You mean now there’s other guys after Warm?” cut off Eli with a hint of nervousness.

“Alright...very well Mayfield. You’re not gonna like what’s about to follow but that’s the price to pay when we meddle in our business...open your safe.” Ordered her Charlie mischievously.

“No... never.” you saw a sadistic smile form on Charlie’s lips, he truly had a problem with violence but for business you could accept it. So, he got up, his warm hand leaving your body to reach for his gun, he walked around the desk and directly pointed it at Mayfield’s temple, she jumped at the contact of the cold metal against her skin.

“Listen. Tell us how to open your safe or my partner here will blow your brain out with great pleasure.” you threatened her with a confident smile.

“Mayfield...” started Charlie, impatience growing inside him.

“You know...if you die right now, you won’t be just losing your fortune but also everything you’ve built here, your town, your men, your people...” you listed and it seemed to make her think, she was way too arrogant to let her small ounce of power crumble for a couple of objects of value.

“Alright, alright...the code is 7300956.” she finally said, Eli finally managed to open the safe, you smirked, it had been so easy to make her talk, you jumped as Charlie suddenly pulled the trigger.

“Was that really necessary?” you sighed, looking at her lifeless corpse.

“She could have sent other men after us, right Charlie?” replied Eli, his brother nodded as he went to look inside the safe; you nodded too they made sense; as your eyes saw what was inside the safe, you immediately forgot about the little annoyance you had, that Mayfield had gotten herself quite a treasure, with that you could live for several years without having to work!

“I’m gonna get our saddlebags.” you told them, quickly ruining to get this fortune out of the safe before the inhabitants came inside. With the two brothers, you did your best to share equally before heading to your horses.

“Y/N” called Charlie behind you as you were heading downstairs, you turned to listen to what he had to say, he held in his hand a silver necklace, with a small pendant made of diamond, a truly beautiful piece you had to admit.

“It would suit you.” he spoke with affection in his eyes, a small smile formed on your lips as you understood it was a gift from his own share, he put it in your hand and continued his way outside. Apparently public demonstration of affection wasn’t his thing but that, was a very romantic thing which you absolutely loved.

However, you were taken aback as you arrived outside to see the whole town looking at you and the brothers, they probably wanted to know what had happened.

“Find something to tell them.” Charlie said to you and his brother, why wasn’t he saying something?

“Well...something happened, hopefully you’ll be happy about it? And now...your turn to say something Eli” he looked at you, mouth agape, how dared you, you hid a smile, amused.

“Following a series of dramatic events... for which she bears full responsibility...Mayfield’s dead!” you couldn’t help but chuckle, he had struggled so much to find something better to say.

“No, no! Not like that! Don’t you have something positive to say?” added Charlie as he climbed on his horse.

“Well, please do Charlie!” you replied arching an eyebrow at him.

“My partners and I have good news; you can change the name of your shit town!” he joked. Before giving a quick to his horse, you did the same galloping, in case the people would react badly, from afar you heard music, well apparently, they were happy, at least you did something good today.

You rode until the morning lights, you struggled to stay awake, thankfully your horse followed those of the brothers, you didn’t know how they could stay awake especially Charlie after drinking so much. Once again you felt your eyelids getting heavy, you will close your eyes just for a few seconds, wouldn’t hurt anyone; you didn’t realize your horse slowing down to stop and eat grass. But Eli, felt like something was different he didn’t hear your horse behind; he turned his head to see.

“Hey Charlie...” he started keeping his voice down.

“What?”

“We should stop for a bit; I think she’s tired.”

“Who are talking ab-” your lover stopped talking when he looked in the same direction as his brother, your horse was happily eating grass, while you were fully laying on its neck, soundly sleeping. Charlie let out a soften smile.

“Alright, we have to bury our pay anyway, should be good close to those woods.” he indicated with his index the forest a few hundreds of meters away. Eli went to pick up the reins of your horse to let you sleep. Charlie looked at you tenderly as they got closer to the woods, you were so beautiful when you were asleep, he could see himself wake up next to you every morning.

“Seems like things got settled between the two of you…” insinuated the older brother with a knowing smile.

“Yeah.”

“And?” pushed Eli, he was curious to know what had happened.

“None of your business bro.” answered Charlie avoiding his brother’s gaze.

“Oh really, so you can ask me about the stole I have but I can’t ask you about the woman you’re lovesick about!” argued Eli, annoyed.

“I’m not lovesick.” Objected Charlie irritated, why was Eli so inquisitive right now?!

“Yes, you are. Since you came back from wherever you two where, you have that big goofy grin on your face” Charlie’s hand went up to touch his face, was he being so obvious?! He got down of his horse.

“I don't have a big goofy grin....” he muttered, taking a tool to start digging a hole to bury his share and answers Eli inquiring on Warm.

While Eli continued to bury his share, Charlie went to you, you were still sleeping on your horse, he rested his arm on the neck of the animal and tenderly looked at your sleepy face, he almost felt bad that he had to wake you up. He quickly verified that Eli wasn’t looking at him, then, gently his thumb went to caress your cheek, you must have been exhausted not to jump awake, or maybe you just trusted them now. You groggily opened your eyes at the touch, you directly met Charlie’s green orbs, he was looking at you tenderly, a small smile playing on his mouth.

“Feels nice.” you murmured your voice hoarse with sleep. Your lover chuckled silently before leaning forward to kiss your lips, how good it felt when he kissed you, you lifted your hand to caress his jaw, however when your tongue went to tease his lips, he broke away from you.

“Not here sweetheart.” he told you, throwing glances at his brother to be sure he didn’t catch him. Frankly you didn’t understand why he wanted to hide your relationship, maybe he feared teasing from Eli but the man was the kindest you had ever met.

“I’ll remember that.” you flirted, rubbing your eyes; he grinned in return.

“C’mon you have to bury your share; I dug a hole for you. Then, we’ll eat and rest for a bit.” He explained, resisting the urge to kiss you again.

“Alright” you straightened up and got off your horse, your balance wasn’t at its best, so Charlie briefly caught you, his hand lingering on your back, you were craving to be in his arms, and he was too.

“Here.” he said gently, handing you a plate full of stew, your fingers touched his, you made eye contact with him, you both froze for a few seconds, the time in”the barn had been way too short, if you could simply kiss him or cuddle with him you’d be happy but Charlie was still reticent to show his affection for you publicly.

As you ate, Charlie kept looking at you achingly, until he couldn’t help but take one of your loose strands of hair to put it behind your ear, you looked at him with a small blush on your cheeks, he gave you a shy smile, you had to admit that it was quite a unique sight, Charlie being shy. On his side Eli hid a knowing smile, he was happy to see his brother care about someone and be tender.

Eli was soundly snoring after eating; and you weren’t against a nap either. Charlie was simply laying down, maintaining his gun. Yeah, a nap with him would be even better, you smirked as you approached him. As you sat down next to him, he watched you curiously. Then, you sat on top of him straddling his legs with yours, he quickly checked that his brother was asleep before smirking, you leaned forward to kiss his lips, he let go of his gun, his hands coming to caress your butt, you deepened the kiss, tasting the tabaco of the cigarette he had recently smoked, you smiled as his tongue joined yours, how bad you wished to go farther, but Eli was there and you were exhausted; at least this could help you to wait for more intimacy, so you broke the kiss and rest your head in the crook of his neck, closing your eyes and sighting happily.

“What- hey I’m not your goddamn pillow!” whispered Charlie grumpily, you chuckled, he didn’t expect that.

“Not my fault if you’re warm and super comfortable...” you murmured, planting a kiss against his throat. He sighed in defeat, when you were asleep, his fingers went to trace circles on your back, it actually felt nice, to feel your heartbeat against his chest, and to have someone caring for him, even though he doubted you would protect him at any cost; maybe all of this was just an affair and when the job will be done, you will leave. He passed a hand on his eyes; he shouldn't think this way, and in any case, he had a good time with you.

Of course, when he saw Eli starting to wake up, he pushed you off of him as gently as he could and got up pretending to tend of his horse. You opened you’re eyes groggily.

“What in the-” you muttered; it took you a bit of time to understand that Charlie had again hid his relationship from Eli. You sighed; it had been barely a few hours and it was already pissing you off, it was just his brother, nothing bad.

As you rode again, Charlie was ahead, you saw Eli coming closer to you, he looked upset.

“Did you know about the formula of Warm and the torture?” he asked with hint of anger in his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s also why I was teamed up with you two, torturing a good guy like Warm isn’t my thing, I don’t mind to do it on other criminals but that...I couldn't, the Commodore knew you wouldn’t mind; well Charlie doesn’t apparently” you looked at Eli, he seemed even more upset now.

“Wait, you mean you didn’t know about this?” you exclaimed, confused; Eli nodded.

“Charlie told me that the Commodore ordered him not to tell me, asshole.”

“It doesn’t make sense...” you wondered, you started thinking, it’s true that Charlie was enjoying violence, too much, he was enjoying killing; the opposite of Eli who only did it when it was necessary; could it be linked to their troubled childhood?

“You think the Commodore is using Charlie’s...trauma for his own ends? Like manipulating your brother?” you asked him in a murmur, worry growing in your chest.

“Well no- wait, now that you’re saying this it would actually make sense...fuck! if I could put a bullet in that bastard´s face right now...” cursed the older brother, hate filling his eyes.

“We’re stuck in this whole thing now; we have to finish the job-”

“But I don’t want Charlie to do this” objected Eli, you sighed, you had to find a way to prevent this from happening.

“And I don’t either. Look, I don’t know the full story but it seems Charlie went through some tough shit and he’s rooted deep into violence but torturing people will only drive him crazy, we have to do everything we can to make Warm talk without having Charlie to torture him.” You said upset.

“We can find a solution and help Charlie.” You appreciated Eli’s optimistic side.

“I hope so...I might sound stupid but I don’t want to lose him...” you confessed, voicing for the first time your feelings for him.

“You don’t sound stupid; you know it’s the first time I see him care about someone else than himself…I’d love it if you became part of the family, I’m sure my mama will love you too” you chuckled, it was a bit early to talk about such thing as marriage but it’s was nice to hear that.

“Thanks Eli, you’re sweet.” You smiled sincerely, looking at him in the eyes.

“Eli! Don't you have your teacher waiting for you?” called Charlie from afar, looking at the two of you.

“What the hell are talking about Charlie?” you couldn’t help but laugh, was Charlie really being jealous right now? That’s when Eli understood.

“Can’t even talk with my business partner anymore, you idiot.” grumbled the older brother.

And Charlie for the first time started to feel jealous and possessive over you. And he wasn’t able to resist the urge to touch you much longer, he was sick of waiting to be out of sight of his brother, he was an impulsive man, he didn’t like when something or someone resisted to his will. You were so addictive; he had never felt this before, and maybe he feared to lose you to someone else even his brother.

When you stopped for the night. You were all sitting around the fire; he scooted closer to you, his shoulder brushing against yours; he gave his brother a look meaning ‘don’t you dare make a comment’, Charlie hated to show his vulnerability, he couldn't be vulnerable just like Eli, otherwise he would have never saved his mother from his dad. Eli shook his head in annoyance, Charlie was being so silly right now.

You were reading your book, and ignored Charlie’s presence, he was too proud or ashamed or whatever it was to show publicly that he was with you; and that upset you more than you imagined.

“Y/N?” he softly called your name; you sighed in frustration.

“What Charlie? Why do you keep interrupting my reading?” it came harsher than you meant it to be, a hint of hurt passed in his eyes.

“Wait, when did I interrupt you before?” you looked at Charlie raising an eyebrow, who was he kidding? But you saw he had a pure look of innocence confusion on his face, he had probably forgotten with the amount of alcohol he had that night.

“Anyway, what do you want?” you asked, not being able to resist him.

“Well I was wondering if you could read that book of yours out loud.” He admitted almost grumpily like he wanted to play bad boys, but he was just being cute.

“Oh yes please Y/N, it would be so nice!” added excitedly Eli.

“Well it’s asked so nicely” you replied sarcastically throwing a quick look at Charlie.

“Thank you” he mimicked his brother, you tried to hide your smile, he was an idiot but an adorable one. Making yourself comfortable against your saddle, crossing your legs, you cleared your throat and started from the beginning of the book.

“Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world.”

You felt Charlie carefully crawling closer to you to finally lay his head on your lap, you briefly stopped reading surprised, but you quickly got back to reading, you wouldn’t want him to go away, even though he came on his own will, you could feel he was on the defensive. As for Eli, he was so happy to see his little brother in love, it gave him hope for their future.

After a bit, one of your hands left your book, so that you could run your fingers through his hair as you continued to read out loud; you particularly loved his hair, thick and soft, Charlie closed his eyes in appreciation, lulled by your voice.

After, Charlie got more comfortable with showing you affection in public and he liked how it showed that you were with him. Every night, when you were camping outside, when Eli had fell asleep, you would hear Charlie shift under his covers until he got up, bringing his bed against yours, then he would lie down next you; you could feel the warmth of his body, his calm breathing, each time for a few seconds he wouldn’t move as if he feared something bad would happen in return; then, gently he would slid his arm around your waist, bringing himself closer to you, his warm breath tickling your neck, sometimes without a word you would simply join your hand with his, entwinning your fingers, the both of you quickly falling asleep afterwards.

But most of the time you would turn to face him, looking at him the eyes, you could tell he still felt conflicted about how he cared for you. You never spoke to each other in those moments, the suffering in his eyes was more explicit than any word, you would exchange a few tired kisses, until Charlie would snuggle against your chest, holding you close.

The travel was long, you had to cross mountains and plains, riding from dawn to the night, without encountering any ounce of civilization. You were eager find it again, even a small village would be perfect, especially so far from Oregon City; you had heard so many stories about the new giant cities building on the West Coast, you wondered what it looked like, how the people were dressed, what did they do for fun? Would a woman with your lifestyle be more accepted?

Today you reached the ocean, how splendid it was, it wasn’t your first time seeing it, once for a job further in the north you had reached the ocean to stop some guys to take a boat and flee to Mexico. But it seemed it was the first time for the two brothers, they had stopped their horses on top of the dune, looking at this water as far as the eye could see, they had big happy smiles on their faces, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the sea air. When you reopened them, Charlie was staring at you, his eyes shining.

“Beautiful” he said, you smirked.

“Are you talking about me or the ocean?”

“Both, although I might have a favorite...” he flirted, winking at you, you shook your head in disbelief, he could be so sweet sometimes.

“Sweet talker” you chuckled, before starting to descend the dune on you horse, you rode for the whole day on the beach, enjoying the wind on your face and the sound of the waves; you even decided on camping on the beach for the night, and you couldn’t resist any longer, you were going to go for a swim, nothing better to relax your muscles after days of horse riding. The sunset was truly magnificent, it was the perfect time.

“Wanna come with me for a swim?” you asked the brothers as you got up, taking your hat and boots off.

“In there?!” exclaimed Charlie looking at you as if you were crazy, who knows what creature was under the surface...

“Eli could you turn for a minute please?” you asked the older brother who instantly turned slightly blushing. Charlie watched you as you took off all your clothes, you were fully naked now, his mouth was slightly agape, what a sweet sight it was, it reminded him of that time in the barn, he didn’t have such intimacy with you since then because of the presence of Eli; but now he felt desire rise into him, he couldn’t wait for it to happen again. You smirked at him as you headed into the waves, Eli finally turned catching a glimpse of your bottom as the water reached your hips.

“What a woman...” he marveled.

“Did I tell you that you could look?!” scolded Charlie with jealousy “What are you doing?” he exclaimed as Eli got up, starting to take of his clothes.

“I’m going in, it looks very nice”, he watched his brother getting naked too, he couldn’t believe it, his brother naked and you too, he couldn’t let that happen, you were his and his only.

“C’mon Charlie, the temperature is really nice!” you called him from afar as you were joined by Eli, he was doing little jump, how fun it was to float like this.

“Charlie, come! It’s like flying!” laughed Eli, excited like a kid.

“Goddammit!” he groaned, irritably taking his clothes off, the truth is that he was genuinely scared of going in, but he was too possessive to let you naked with Eli. You laughed as he joined you with a grumpy face, he relaxed a bit when he noticed how easy it was to float, Eli was right, it was fun.

“AAAAH SOMETHING TOUCHED ME!!!” you squealed clinging on Charlies back wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

“What!? Where!?” exclaimed Charlie looking around, securely grabbing your thighs, you pinched you lips together, trying not to laugh.

“She got you!” cackled Eli, understanding you had pranked his little brother; Charlie groaned in exasperation, you planted an apologetic kiss on his shoulder. Before he made you fall in the water laughing with Eli.

That day you really had fun, the three of you playing in the waves like children, laughing, forgetting about anything else, and you loved seeing Charlie smile, those genuine smiles of happiness were so rare compared to his sadistic ones. You hoped that it was helping him to realize that life by your side could bring him satisfaction. Eli was the first one to get out of the water, he wished he could have stayed more but he started to feel cold. You and Charlie stayed a bit more. Charlie was looking at you with a happy smile, and as if he wanted to tell you something but something refrained him from doing so.

“What is it?” you asked trying to get him to talk.

“Nothing. I’m just glad to be here” he answered briefly avoiding your gaze with shyness ‘with you’ he added in his mind, he didn’t know how good it felt to hear him say this, you had never heard a man say such thing to you since you started your new life, you caressed the back of his head.

“You make me happy too, Charlie” he swallowed down at your words before closing the gap between the two of you.

Each day that passed you were more in love with him, he had this vulnerability, this sweetness that you wanted to fully unveil. Sometimes you wondered if you were attracted to him because he was as broken as you, but if you could make each other happy, then it was a good thing.

When you both went back on the beach, you felt teasing. Eli had his back turned to give some intimacy. Charlie had put his pants back on and was looking for his shirt.

“Now, where’s my-” he stopped when he realized you were wearing it with a proud smile, how nice it was to see you wear his clothes.

“I need my shirt back sweetheart.” He spoke, trying to hide how pleased he was at this vision.

“Then come and get it” you teased, he smirked and slowly approached you, looking at you like a predator would on its prey and damn that was arousing. When he was close to you, he started to undo each button, pleasantly realizing you were fully shirtless under it, his fingers came to caress your nipples, how he craved to taste them, he chuckled capturing your lips once more as he took his shirt off of you.

“Hey, I'm still here you know.” muttered Eli embarrassed by the sounds of kissing behind his back. You broke the kiss, he was right, the poor man had to bear this.

“Sorry Eli” you giggled, looking for your own clothes.

The rest of the night went by in a good atmosphere, Eli and Charlie even singing bawdy songs around the campfire, and this time you were in Charlie’s arms, settled between his legs, your back resting against his chest, sharing a cigarette.

That night Charlie wanted more than just cuddles and kisses with you, you had spent your time teasing him today after all. And you wanted it, but Eli was still there, you didn’t want him to see or even hear. Then, you felt Charlie’s hand slide in your pants and underwear to settle between your legs, you felt goosebumps form on your skin, you wiggled your hips, you had missed his touch so much, you didn’t want to resist, you wanted to give him, and give yourself to Charlie once again.

“Don´t worry he´s asleep” he murmured against your ear, feeling your worry. You closed your eyes as he nibbled your earlobe, you will do your best to muffle your moans of pleasure and not awake Eli.

“Charlie…” you moaned, feeling his hard manhood against your butt, you both wished you had been alone, you will have to pleasure each other in another way in the meantime. You turned to face him, sliding your hand beneath his shirt to feel his warm skin, he needily exhaled under your touch before taking possession of your mouth; as his tongue caressed yours, his hand went you massage your breast, his fingers teasing your nipples, earning a few hushed moans from you.

Your hand traveled down his pants, taking his erection in your hand, he growled realizing how hungry for your touch he had been and even more as you started to slowly move up and down. His hand went back between your legs, teasingly caressing your folds, you nuzzled closer to Charlie, closing your eyes in delight.

Your movements became faster and faster, Charlie’s forehead against yours, mingling your rapid breathing, trying to conceal your moans of pleasure.

“Y/N…I’m gonna come…” panted Charlie against your lips, he increased his circling around your clitoris making you cry out in pleasure, forgetting how quiet you tried to be. You and your lover soon reached climax, muffling it each other’s mouth. Charlie kept you in his arms the whole night, often planting tender kisses on your face; sometimes he wondered if all this was just a dream, and if not, he hoped your presence by his side will never cease.

The next morning as you departed from the beach in the direction of San Francisco; you noticed that Eli was sleepy, his eyes closing and opening, constantly yawning on his horse, and his brother noticed it too.

“What’s wrong, had a bad sleep?” he asked, thinking Eli might have had nightmares again.

“How did you want me to sleep after the noises you two made last night…” he grumbled with irritation. You were blushing so much as you understood what he implied, gosh you felt so embarrassed that he had to witness that and for once Charlie felt a bit awkward too.

“You told me he was sleeping!” you kicked his calve with your foot, he chuckled at your embarrassment.

“Well he was! It´s not my fault if you’re the noisy type!” your mouth formed an ‘o’ you were outraged at his comment.

“Of course it´s your fault! you´re the one who made me go noisy!” you realized too late what you had said, now Charlie had big goofy grin on his face, and now Eli was laughing his ass off, you rolled your eyes and sped your horse to go ahead of the two brothers.

San Francisco

“Fuck me it’s Babylon here!” exclaimed Charlie in wonder as he looked at the giant city full of life in front of him.

“Amazing...” you breathed looking at the buildings and the lights, and there were so many people around you that you could lose yourself in a few seconds. Speaking of which, people had passed between you and the brothers; Charlie had realized that too and was now pushing past them to get back to you.

“Hey, wouldn’t want to lose you sweetheart” said Charlie, relief washing over his face as he reached to grab your hand so he wouldn’t be separated from you again.

“If we find Warm, no need to look for a quiet corner, there’s none.” Commented Eli in wonder.

“Who gives a fuck! We can kill anyone we want. Look at them, all busy doing something!” replied Charlie with excitement.

Then, you stopped in front of a grand building, chic people wearing costumes at the latest trend of Europe, so many lights inside, crystal chandeliers, what a place.

“An hotel?” you wondered, you had never seen such a big building and so well decorated.

“Let’s go.” Said Charlie not even bothering to hide his excitement; you had to admit it was very tempting, a once in a lifetime experience.

“Must be very expensive.” Commented Eli, this time you agreed with your lover, Eli should loosen up a bit.

“Exactly.” Replied his brother already marching towards the entrance.

“Let’s have a bit of fun Eli! And we all deserve some nice place like this after what we’ve been through!” you added excitedly, hurrying to catch up your lover.

“Here are the water-closet, the bathroom with warm running water and finally your bedroom gentlemen; miss, yours is right here in front of theirs.” The suite was so well decorated and all fancy, it was just like a house for a family, you had never seen such thing before! You squealed as you entered your bedroom, letting yourself fall on the mattress, smiling at how soft it was, you couldn’t wait to get yourself in those soft and warm sheets.

As Eli went directly to the bathroom to take a warm bath, all excited to try warm running water; you felt Charlie’s gaze on you, you lifted your head to realize he was leaning against the doorframe looking at you with a tender smile.

“I hope you don’t plan on staying in your room the whole night…” you flirted, he smirked in return, leaving his spot to join you on the bed, taking off his hat and coming on top of you, his fingers caressed your face, his thumb brushing over your lips.

“Your wish is my command, sweetheart.” He replied with a smirk before capturing your lips, you buried your fingers in his hair, closing your eyes, his touch was intoxicating, each time you yearned for more and feared that all of this was just a fling.

When the time for dinner came, you all dressed nicely for the fancy restaurant of the hotel. It was your first time wearing a dress in years, it felt strange, and you were nervous about Charlie’s reaction. You knew he was going to like it, but you feared he might want you to stick with this type of outfit. When you came out of your room both brothers stopped talking and looked at you with their mouth slightly open.

“What? I’m not the first woman you see wearing a dress.” You joked uneasy at the attention you were getting. Charlie snapped out of his trance and took your hand in his to kiss it in a very gentlemanlike way.

“You’re beautiful.” He added softly; you detailed his appearance and he looked dashing with his hair perfectly slicked back, his black and red outfit that highlighted his warm tan and green eyes.

“Thank you, Charlie. You are quite a sight yourself.” You replied looking at him in the eyes, he smirked pleased at your compliment. “Very elegant too Eli.” He smiled shyly, bowing his head at you. You took your lover’s arm as he escorted you at the dining hall.

“But don’t expect me to wear this every day.” You informed him, leaning closer to his ear. He chuckled in return.

“No matter how gorgeous you are looking at the moment, I enjoy you daily outfit too; nothing better than a pants and shirt to highlight your curves…” he smirked, throwing you a glance full of lust, you chuckled, relieved he liked you the way you were.

“A little comfort in a moment of uncertainty” sighed Charlie taking a drag of his cigar, you smiled, it was true, that this type of place was quite relaxing after weeks on horse and sleeping in the wild.

“You know, I was thinking about something…we could go back to Oregon city, and say we didn’t find them.” Suddenly said Eli, his tone careful.

“What do we say to the Commodore?” you asked genuinely curious, why did he wanted to drop the job all of a sudden? Because of the conversation you two had?

“The truth. Morris left with Warm, destination unknown. They can’t ask us to find them without any clues to guide us. And we don’t know if Mayfield’s men didn’t catch them already…” he explained, this time with more confidence.

“Alright. What are you getting at brother?” asked Charlie wanting his brother to go straight to the point.

“With what we got in Mayfield, the money we saved at home and the rest we have enough to dump the Commodore once and for all.” Clarified the older brother; he was right, maybe it would be best to stop here and have a life with your lover, at least it was your wish.

“Sounds feasible, we’ve got a lot.” You said, supporting Eli, who flashed you a quick thankful smile.

“Why would we do that?” asked Charlie clueless, his brother sighed, as for you, you could feel Charlie was already losing patience.

“Have you ever thought about quitting work?” added Eli, more straightforward this time.

“But to do what?” asked again your lover, stunned.

“Don’t know…we could open a store just the two of us, Y/N could also come with us…” suggested the older brother, hoping this idea might be interesting.

“What store?!” replied Charlie getting annoyed by the whole conversation.

“Listen, both of us, we’ve had a hard time, we’re still alive, still young and we even have love from two wonderful women, it’s a good way out!” clarified Eli, his tone getting desperate, he looked at you for support.

“A store. A way out. What the hell is this bullshit?” exclaimed Charlie, Eli truly felt hurt by the reaction of his little brother and lowered his eyes, he didn’t know what else to add. On your side, you looked at your lover with pity, he truly thought he was good at nothing but killing.

“At least we know you want out, so quit.” He added coldly.

“What does that mean? That if I stop you continue?” replied Eli who was also starting to be angry at his little brother.

“Of course, I continue, I’ll still have Y/N as my new partner.”

“Charlie, at least consider what your brother says…” you intervened gently, briefly touching his hand but now he was fully irritated and looked at you as if you had betrayed him.

“Alright then, Rex asked me for work, there also Sanchez.” He spoke with hurt in his eyes, he didn’t want to give up his life, the reputation he had built, his importance.

“C’mon Rex and Sanchez you can’t trust them, they won’t protect you.” Objected Eli trying to show him he only meant his well-being.

“Oh because you protect me?” reproached Charlie, you understood his words had a deeper meaning, it wasn’t all about the current job, something older, a deep wound that never healed and you were pretty sure it was linked to what happened with their father.

“That’s what you tell yourself, to stay the nice Eli…but we’re the Sisters brothers, you and me, the goddamn Sisters brothers.” Charlie’s words were cruel, reflecting how traumatized he was “Fine, you took your decision, fine by me and I can tell you that the Commodore will like it too.”

“Charlie…” you tried, his mean words towards Eli were unnecessary.

“Y/N stay outta this.” He cut you off, avoiding your gaze; he wished you supported him instead of his brother “So, we finish the job, and split up.” He concluded; his tone final.

“Why are you saying it like this?! And after we split up?”

“What do you want me to say? If I stay with the Commodore and you-you open your store…”

“What you mean is that we won’t see each other again…”

“Of course not, every time I’ll be in town, if I need somethin’ like a shirt or shorts…” he answered with arrogance, now you felt anger rise in your chest, Charlie was being a dumbass, not even trying to consider the possibility of changing of life.

“Why are you saying this with such meanness?! Those words, why are you taking the conversation to such a low level! Cause you’re drunk!?” this was too much for Charlie who slapped his brother right in the face, the people in the room gasping, outraged at the scene. Every eye in the room were looking at the three you, you could felt their disapproval and felt ashamed to be in the company of someone who couldn’t control his emotions, he needed to learn to behave like an respectable adult.

Eli left to his room, feeling humiliated. As for you, you were angry at Charlie, why did he have to behave in such puerile way!? So, you got out of the restaurant, you intended to give him a piece of your mind, it wasn’t going to be pretty, but he had to hear this. You found him by the entrance, pacing back and forth, angrily smoking his cigar.

“Why did you have to be such an asshole!?” you exploded, looking at him severely, you were done being nice and soothing with him, he had to understand how childish he had behaved.

“Oh, you too now?” he replied bitterly.

“Yes, Charlie I’ve never seen a grown man behave so immature!”

“Did you hear him!? I’m not my father! I’m not drunk! In fact, I didn’t drink since we fucked for the first time!” he confessed raising his voice, ignoring the people around hearing him. You were glad he had given up alcohol but that will be for another time.

“You know very well what I’m talking about Charlie! Eli had a good idea; we won’t be so good at this job for many years more! And we’ll end up killed if we don’t settle somewhere!” you spoke urgently, you wanted to save him from his dark mind, offer him peace.

“Oh what now? You want me to become a seller! ‘Good morning to you mam’ you should buy this soap it’s real fuckin’ good!’ Bullshit Y/N!” fumed Charlie with sarcasm, still being stubborn.

“Oh because you think killing and torturing will make you feel better?! That you’ll have bright future ahead? I thought you were the smart one, apparently I was mistaken” you snapped back, hitting him right in the feels. He clenched his jaw at your words, looking at the ground as you left him to go back to your bedroom.

Charlie wandered in the city for several hours, trying to gather is thoughts, trying to understand his brother’s words and yours. Finally, he arrived in front of a brothel, the girls were the prettiest he had ever seen; but for once he couldn’t go inside, it didn’t feel right, and he didn’t feel any desire for them, all he could think of was you, he didn’t want just any woman, he wanted you…he felt…upset that you were mad at him. In that moment he finally understood, he was in love with you.

He had to get back to you and ask for your forgiveness. He rushed back to the hotel and knocked at your door, he didn’t care if it was late in the night, he had to talk to you. You were not asleep, your fight with Charlie had upset you; suddenly you heard someone knocking at your door.

“Y/N please, let me in...” you heard Charlie’s voice. You pinched your lips together; you were not sure you wanted to answer him. The only way to build something solid with Charlie was to settle, otherwise one of you would get killed, but Charlie refused to see that, he needed to understand that he could be happy and that he could be good at something else than killing. He knocked again, his voice more upset this time, you couldn’t resist to his plead and went to open your door.

Relief washed over his face as he saw you, he stepped in, closing the door behind him. He nervously passed his tongue over his lips.

“Y/N forgive me, I should have listened.” He started, he swallowed down as if it took him all his strength to admit this; you didn’t answer, he was sincere but what bothered you even more was why he came back to you, if it was just for fucking or to be his comfort only when he asked for it, you didn’t want him back; no matter how much it would hurt you.

“Before one of us gets heartbroken, is it just about sex or are we having something more?” you suddenly asked, you needed to know, he seemed taken back by your question, he looked to the side, he was tense as if he feared the answer, yours and his.

“I…What Am I to you Y/N?” he asked you back, still not looking at you, his heart was racing. You wished he would have answered first but if it enabled you to finally know the truth, you will answer first.

“I care about you Charlie, it’s hard to say because it never happened to me before but I think I love you…” you felt like your heart would explode in your chest, waiting was killing you, Charlie finally looked at you in the eyes, he seemed moved, very moved by your confession “What about you Charlie?” you urged him.

“I’d like this to work, very much…I want to stay with you and take care of you.” he admitted with nervousness, he had tears in his eyes, as if it was taking all his will to admit this, all the pain he must have went through to end up like this, you thought. He hadn’t told you he loved you, but his words meant the same. You released a relieved smile, taking his face between your hands, closing the gap between the two of you, he wrapped his arms around you, burying his fingers in your hair.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” he asked you against your lips, you smiled, guiding him to the bed. Tonight, together, your bodies intertwined, you will finally be complete, naked and your feelings bare, for the first time truly loving each other.

The next morning”

“I’m starting to think we’ll never find Warm; this city is so damn huge” sighed your lover, taking another drag of his cigarette

“We should check concessions offices...” you muttered sleepily; your face half buried in your pillow, one arm resting on his belly.

“You can stay here a bit more sleepyhead, I’ll go first.” he replied softly, getting up. You yawned, struggling to not fall back asleep as you watched him get dressed.

“You should talk to Eli.” you added; he sighed as he put his hat on his head, then he approached the bed.

“Yes ma'am’” he answered leaning forward to place a loving kiss on your shoulder.

As he closed the door on his way out, you brought his pillow closer to your face so you could breathe in his scent. You were happy, Charlie wasn’t the perfect man but so were you, and you both found comfort in each other’s company.

When you were finally fully awake, you quickly dressed up to help your lover but as you came out of your room you bumped into Eli, he was on his way out too carrying his saddle bag.

“Eli, what are you doing?” you asked him surprised.

“I’m leavin’” he answered, his tone low and frustrated.

“You’re leaving? Eli, your brother did something really stupid last night, but he didn’t mean it…”

“Well he didn’t apologize to me, didn’t he?” he cut you off grumpily.

“Not yet but I’m sure he will before the end of the day.” You insinuated, thinking about the conversation you had with Charlie.

“You don’t know him as well as I do Y/N. He probably spent his night in a brothel, drinking and now he’s sobering up in a back alley” continued Eli, going downstairs, you followed him.

“Well...”

“Please Y/N I know you mean well but I can’t take his childish and arrogant behavior anymore” he cut you off tiredly, you lifted your hands in the air, he needed time to think, he will probably come back as quickly as he left.

You headed outside anyway, you had to find Charlie and help him. But as you walked in the streets you recognized your lovers voice, he had found Eli, and was probably trying to convince him to stay. You decided to stay at a distance, waiting for them to settle their argument; you scoffed at your lover, how he pretend not to remember anything, with time you had understood he always did this rather than face problems. Then, you arched an impressed eyebrow and grinned as Eli threw him a heavy punch in the face, making his little brother fall on the floor, he deserved it.

When Eli laughed, you decided to join them, it was time to leave this part of the city anyway. Charlie was still massaging his jaw, you approached him pretending you didn’t see anything and pressed a big kiss where he had been hit, he winced at first still in pain, but then your touch calmed him, reminding him of the night he had shared with you.

“What do we do now?” you asked them, putting you hat on your head.

“Apparently Charlie knows where they are.” Started Eli, tightening the saddle on his horse.

“Yep, you were right about the concession sweetheart; at the name of Morris, American river, Folsom Lake.” Charlie announced proudly, you grinned in return. As Eli got on his horse ready to depart, you came to stand a few inches from your lover, placing your lips upon his, he leaned into your touch, putting his hands on your hips to bring your body closer to him.

“You did good Charlie.” You assured him, looking at him in the eyes, you were glad he tried to behave, and listened to your advice. He smiled in return, slowly blinking to thank you, if he was rewarded this way each time he behaved, he will do it more often, he thought.

You left for the concession, it wasn’t too far from San Francisco and it shouldn’t be too complicated to find them. You rode for a full day, and had to spend the night in the forest, by tomorrow morning you will get to them. Charlie didn’t wait anymore for his brother to be asleep anymore to be by your side, you were snuggled against him, both of you asleep in each other’s arms.

You jumped awake at a sudden groan coming from Eli and before you could do anything else you were pulled away from Charlie, someone holding you from behind, you realized your lover didn’t move, you instantly feared he had been killed, you struggled trying to break free but a second man came in front of you, Morris. They had the advantage on you, chucking you on the floor, Warm put his knee on your back, blocking your arms while Morris tied your legs together, then your wrists and finally putting a gag on your mouth to prevent you screaming for help.

“Now, let’s kill them!” urged Morris making sure his gun was fully charged. You kept looking at Charlie ‘please be okay!’

Tag list: @skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @charlie-sisters @niniitah-ah @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @welcometomyhiddlesfandom @rajacero @sanguinandoscrivo (also tagging those who enjoyed part 1 @arthurismybby @jokerismyhubbie @lindemannhiddles @lephantom)

#The Sisters Brothers #charlie sisters #charlie sisters x reader #charlie sisters x you #charlie sisters imagine

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