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fanficimagery · 2 years

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Dangerous Woman

You're a pretty popular singer/songwriter and you're finally back home in Mystic Falls. You reunite with family and friends, piss off an ex, and meet some new interesting people.

Words: 8.6K Author's Note: The songs in this imagine are taken from Billie Eilish and Ariana Grande. I could never take credit for their masterpieces. Haha. Enjoy!

Never in a million years did you think that singing covers of songs and posting them on the internet would land you a record deal. The music label who had shown interest in you just thought you had an amazing singing voice, so they hadn't counted on you being able to actually write your own music as well. So when they wanted you in New York just as you were on the verge of turning sixteen, it took a lot of legal documents being signed and assigning you a temporary legal guardian for you to be able to go. And in between writing and recording, you were homeschooled in order to keep up with your education.

You've been away from Mystic Falls for a little over a year now, making a music album and graduating a few months earlier than expected. Elena was still set to graduate and you were fortunate enough to be able to go home for a brief break and to see your sister walk the stage before you were to leave again.

You had wanted to surprise your brother and sister, so you texted your aunt Jenna for everyone's whereabouts. They were at Mystic Grill, of course, but Jenna was swamped with papers that needed grading and couldn't meet you there. So instead, you dropped by your childhood home to briefly visit with her before freshening up and heading for the Mystic Grill after making sure with Matt that your sister was still there.

Mystic Grill parking lot is nearly full, but you find a spot and then jog to the back entrance. You text Matt that you're there and moments later he's opening the back exit.

"Matt Donovan," you muse, grinning. "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

"YN Gilbert." He grins back, opening his arms for a hug. "It's been too long."

As you pull back, you ask, "So what's going on? I noticed all the vehicles out front."

"Oh yeah. It's karaoke night. It's become quite the popular activity among the highschoolers and slightly older folk around here."

You perk up at that knowledge. "Karaoke, you say? What a perfect way to surprise 'lena and Jer. Anyone else here that I know?"

"Care and Bonnie are with Elena, and Jeremy's playing pool with Tyler and a few other friends." Your nose wrinkles and Matt chuckles, too polite to try and smooth things over between you and your ex. "Uh, the girls are there with some new friends of theirs as well. Not really good people, if you ask me, but the girls are friendly with them so we tolerate them."

"Oh yeah? And who are they?"

"Klaus and Elijah Mikaelson," Matt says. "The Mikaelson family rubbed a bunch of us the wrong way almost as soon as they got into town, but apparently the girls have forgiven them for what they've done. Fortunately three of them left to explore the world, but we can't quite get these last two to leave as well."

You chuckle. "Be nice, Matty. If 'lena, Bonnie and Caroline can look past whatever they've done, I'm sure you can as well."

He rubs the back of his neck, sighing. "It's not that easy, YN."

"Yeah, yeah." You push on his shoulder a bit, grinning. "Well enough about these supposed terrible men. I want to surprise everyone. Have any idea?"

"One," he slowly grins. "Are you up to karaoke your own song?"

"Always."

"Come on then. Tyler won't like this, but we only have one of your songs in our books."

You laugh. "Not to brag, but that particular song has become quite the anthem among the female population. I feel bad already."

"Do you?"

"Nah. Now let's go, Donovan. I wanna see my siblings."

Matt leads you inside, sneaking you around until you're standing on the side stage and listening to some unfortunate soul butcher one of the latest popular songs on the radio. Then when that person's turn is over, he takes the stage.

"Alright, Mystic Grill, how's it going tonight?" Several people drunkenly cheer and you can't help but laugh off to the side. "So normally I'd call up the next person, but I have a special treat for you guys tonight. A friend of mine, most of ours really, has come home. She was a giant pain in my ass, most of our asses really, and I'm pretty sure she set someone's cat's tail on fire. On accident, of course," he amends when there's a scandalized gasp from the crowd.

You can hear a bunch of squealing then, your sister and friends realizing you're home.

"So, Mystic Grill, please give it up for YN Gilbert!"

In the crowd, Elena, Bonnie and Caroline cheer and clap the loudest. Even Jeremy's whooping and hollering, expression ecstatic as his sister takes the stage.

"Sister?" Klaus muses, looking past Caroline and directly at Elena. "How did you hide that from us?"

Elena grins, shrugging. "She took a stage name when she left Mystic Falls, and Isobel and John were smart enough not to mention her when they realized you only knew of me."

"I can't believe she's home," Caroline gushes. "And right before graduation too."

The music starts and the crowd calms, the girls giggling at the song.

"Oh, Tyler's going to be pissed," Bonnie says.

Elijah, who'd been too busy staring at YN Gilbert, frowns as he glances at Miss Bennett. "And why would that be?"

"Because she wrote this song with him in mind." Elena smirks. "Just listen. You'll see."

YN steps up to the microphone and gently cradles the mic on it's stand as she sings, "You called me again, drunk in your Benz. Drivin' home under the influence." Several people wolf-whistle, Bonnie and Elena included.

Caroline turns to Klaus. "They were too young to be in a toxic relationship, but it happened. He wasn't too happy when she left him behind to go record her album, so they tried long distance but it just wasn't meant to be."

Intrigued, Klaus turns in his seat to see the temperamental werewolf glaring at YN on stage and gripping his pool cue in a white knuckled grip

"I don't relate to you. I don't relate to you, no. 'Cause I'd never treat me this shitty. You made me hate this city." She pulls the mic off the stand, walking to the edge of the stage as she pours her heart into the song. "And I don't talk shit about you on the internet. Never told anyone anything bad. 'Cause that shit's embarrassing, you were my everything. And all that you did was make me fucking sad."

It's Elijah and Klaus' turn to chuckle when it appears every female inside Mystic Grill screams the lyrics along with YN. They watch as her presence fills up the stage, the patrons of the establishment whooping and hollering by the time the song is over.

Elena is anxious to get to her sister, but she stays put while the locals have their go at her as she hops off stage. She signs a few napkins and takes several selfies, and it's Jeremy who gets to her first while wrapping her up in a hug that lifts her feet off the floor. They have a quick chat before he ruffles her hair and leaves to join his friends, and then YN is making her way towards Elena's table.

You laugh as your sister hurriedly gets up, making her way around the table and throwing her arms around your neck. "You're home! Why didn't you tell me? Does aunt Jenna know?"

"Of course she does. I stopped there before coming here." Elena is soon replaced by Bonnie and then Caroline, and you chuckle as you take a seat at their table. "So is anyone going to introduce me to the newbies?"

The better dressed of the two clears his throat and offers his hand over the table. "Elijah Mikaelson. It is a surprise and pleasure to meet you, Miss Gilbert."

"Oohh. Fancy," you muse. "It's nice to meet you as well, Elijah." Then turning to his companion, brother really, you say, "Which makes you Klaus. Hello." Klaus smirks as he shakes your hand. "So, what have I missed? Tell me everything."

Bonnie chokes on her drink and Elena's eyes twinkle as the table's occupants glance at one another warily. "You haven't missed much. Not really."

"No? Then where are your boy toys? Do I have to play nice?"

"Oh I think I quite like this Gilbert," Klaus drawls. "You may be my favorite Gilbert."

"Of course I am. I'm adorable." You flutter your eyelashes at him, laughing. "But in all seriousness, do I have to play nice with the Salvatores? I'm not their biggest fan."

Elena groans. "Just.. be nice. To their faces, at least."

Your sister pouts and you kick her lightly under the table. "I'll be nice to Stefan, but at the first sign of snark from Damon all bets are off."

Bonnie nudges her friend. "Come on, Elena. That's fair and you know it. Damon lives to rile up anyone and everyone."

"Fine."

"Right. Well can someone flag down Matty and order me a bacon cheeseburger and fries with a Coke? I need to visit the ladies room."

Bonnie is already flagging down your friend as you quickly vacate the table, heading towards the bathrooms in the back. There's a few people in front of you and you politely wait your turn, taking even more selfies with apparent fans before it's your turn in the bathroom. Then after washing and drying your hands, you exit the bathroom.

However, you don't get too far before a hand is wrapping around your bicep and yanking you back around. You roll your eyes when you meet the angry gaze of your ex-boyfriend. "What do you want, Tyler?"

"Do you think it's funny to sing that stupid song of yours here?"

"What?" You frown. "Matt asked me to sing a song and that was the only one of mine in the books. If you have a problem with it, take it up with management." You try to pull your arm free, but Tyler merely squeezes tighter. "Ow. Let me go, Ty. You're hurting me."

He steps closer to you, lowering his voice though the anger is blazing in his eyes. "You know everyone knows you wrote that song about me. I don't know where the hell you got off smearing me like that. Our relationship wasn't even that bad."

"Really?" You deadpan. "Well my family and our friends think otherwise. Now let me go."

"Listen-"

"I believe the young lady wishes you to remove your hand from her person." Elijah's voice sends shivers down your spine and you stiffen at the way Tyler's expression turns absolutely livid as he looks up over your head. "Remove your hand now before I do it for you."

Tyler sneers, but he smartly releases you. You stumble back, only to have Elijah's hands land gently on your shoulders. "Really, YN? You're chummy with a Mikaelson now?"

"I've only met them less than ten minutes ago, but in the time I've been introduced to them they've been nothing but kind. So if that makes me chummy with them, then yeah. They're a hell of a lot better company than you are."

He scoffs. "Mark my words, Gilbert. These assholes are going to get you killed."

"That's enough, Mr. Lockwood," Elijah says. Tyler glares one last time at you and Elijah, turning on his heel and making his way towards the exit. You sigh and Elijah walks around so that he's in front of you. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." You clear your throat to keep your voice from cracking. "I'm good. Thanks for stepping in."

Elijah smiles and leads you back to the table with the others. The girls are staring at you worriedly, but you wave them off with a chuckle. Bonnie tells you that Matt's working on your food and you try to get comfortable, but your arm is suddenly bothering you. So shimmying out of your jacket as best as you can, you stare down at the arm that's bothering you and frown at the bruise that's already forming there.

"Jesus!" Elena exclaims. "Did Tyler really have to grab you that hard?"

"Well it appears his anger didn't get any better," you say. "Thank God I dodged that bullet."

"He can have a tragic accident on his way home, love. Just say the word and I'll make a phone call."

Caroline gasps at Klaus' declaration and you laugh though Elijah, Bonnie and Elena suddenly look disturbed. "As much as I find that hilarious, you look like the kind of man who would follow through. So for now, we'll table the maiming until he does something that really pisses me off."

Klaus pouts. "Very well."

"So onto a lighter subject," Bonnie finally speaks up. "How long are you here for, YN?"

You look towards Bonnie, grinning. "If you're wondering whether or not I'll be here to see you walk across that graduation stage, I will." She wiggles in her seat happily. "I'm also here to relax and possibly write a couple new songs since my manager says my best songs are inspired from here."

The girls chuckle.

"Are you excited for your tour?" Elena then asks.

"Yes and no," you admit. "I'm excited to travel and see places, but I'm not too excited to be alone on that bus. I'd rather have a friend or two."

Matt chooses that moment to set down your food and drink, and you thank him before he takes his leave.

"We could always take a gap year," your sister suggests.

"And ruin Caroline's carefully concocted plans? I think not." You take your burger in both hands, taking a bite out of it and groaning as the taste explodes all over your taste buds. Then after swallowing and taking a sip of your Coke, you say, "Besides, it's not that long of a tour. I can be a big girl and deal with it."

The first weekend you're home, you spend all the time you can with your family and friends, and meet your aunt Jenna's boyfriend Ric. You meet Damon and Stefan Salvatore, and while Stefan is perfectly tolerable, it's Damon who rubs you the wrong way with his sleazy innuendos and constant flirtation with his brother's girlfriend.

Then Jenna goes back to work while everyone else goes back to school and you're left all on your own. You get yourself reacquainted with Mystic Falls, revisiting all your favorite haunts and shops. And now that you've been introduced to the Mikaelson brothers and Damon, it's like they're everywhere you always seem to find yourself to be. Klaus and Elijah are a delight to be around, whereas Damon always has you coming up with an excuse so you don't have to spend much time with him.

You get yourself a journal and attempt to write, but as you pace around your house you can't seem to find any inspiration. So instead, you grab up a few belongings and head over to Mystic Grill to pick up some food and a drink before heading over to park in the middle of town.

Some fresh air has always done you good, so you pick a picnic table under the shade of a tree and take a seat. Then with your chicken wrap in one hand and a pen in the other, you doodle and write and hope that inspiration will strike soon.

"Why is it that every time I happen upon you, Miss Gilbert, you have food in your hand?" You glance upward, smiling at Elijah as he stands there opposite you with one hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks.

Taking a rather vicious bite of your wrap, you huff a laugh and have to quickly set down your food and cover your mouth while you chew and laugh. Once you wash it down with some soda, you say, "Have you ever heard the saying 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach'?"

His lips twitch in amusement. "Yes. I believe I have."

"Mhm. Well the same can be said about a woman. Get a woman her favorite food and we'll be putty in your hands. For about an hour or so."

"Oh? And what food happens to be your favorite?"

"Chicken wings," you answer without missing a beat. "Boneless and with fries." You pop a fry into your mouth, humming and wiggling happily in your seat. "I love food."

"I can see that." He chuckles as he takes a seat across from you, looking at your opened journal. "Are you getting some writing in?"

"Trying." You shrug. "Nothing's really happened that would make for good music."

"And how important is it that you come up with new material?"

"Not important at all. My manager suggested I come up with one or two songs, but if I don't then it's fine. I wouldn't mind surprising what little fans I have with new content though."

"Well in that case, come along with me. I'm meeting Niklaus a few towns over and I'm sure his tall tales shall inspire something."

"Tall tales? Why Mr. Mikaelson, you speak as if I don't know about all things that go bump in the night and your part in the creation of some of these things."

Elijah goes quiet and the way he's now looking at you makes you feel as if maybe you shouldn't have told him. "Elena told you," he realizes.

"Of course she did. She's my twin." You grin at his still dumbfounded expression. "Elijah, who do you think it was that convinced Elena it was in her best interest to come to an agreement with Klaus? As much as she's in love with Stefan, she doesn't want to be a vampire. She wants all the human experiences and I convinced her that the only way she would have all that is if she had someone very powerful protecting her."

"And you would have that protector be my brother?"

You shrug. "Why not? He needs her blood to make his hybrids and she's easily capable of donating a blood bag every other month. And besides, it pissed off Damon so it was a win-win in my eyes."

"And what of your thoughts on me and my family?"

"You guys had a messy beginning and I'm kinda mad I missed all the drama, but I'm also glad I was out of harm's way before Elena had that talk with Klaus." Elijah doesn't look convinced at your ease with such a secret. "I harbor no ill thoughts towards you and yours. If I did, I'd be bitchy with you like I am with Damon. Honest."

"Who all knows that you know?"

"My family and now Caroline, Bonnie and you. We can let Klaus know that I know so he may speak freely around me, but can we please keep Damon and Stefan in the dark? It's quite fun to see them struggle with censoring their words around me."

"I must admit that I was a bit apprehensive of you knowing about our misdeeds since we've stepped foot in Mystic Falls," Elijah says. He slowly starts to smile then. "But now I find myself quite relieved that you know."

"Mhm. Now how long do you think we can trick your brother before he realizes I know you're all a bunch of bloodsucking fiends?"

His smile drops. "Charming, Miss Gilbert. Very charming."

"I try." You flutter your eyelashes, chuckling as you finish off the last of your food.

Much to your surprise, you find yourself spending more and more time with Elijah. Your family doesn't think much of it since they don't really know, but on more than one occasion aunt Jenna has caught you having lunch with the original vampire.

And the one day they do finally realize just how often you speak with Elijah is when you and your family are brainstorming dinner ideas, and someone rings your doorbell. You answer it and are surprised to see it's a food delivery. Confused, you tell the delivery boy no one at the house had ordered, but he only chuckled and told you there was a note inside. You thank the boy as you take the bags and he tells you not to bother with a tip because he's already been generously paid. Then when you walk back into the kitchen, you set the bags down and slap away Jeremy's hands when he smells the food and reaches for a bag.

The note inside reads: I recall a conversation of ours where you said this was your favorite. I found it impolite to just buy you dinner, so I bought enough for your aunt and siblings as well. I hope you find it quite appetizing. - xx Elijah.

Elena and Jeremy had been absolutely gobsmacked, but they didn't deter you from pursuing the friendship, and aunt Jenna was just amused by the whole situation you found yourself in. And then after texting Elijah to thank him for dinner, you also asked him why he was suddenly sending you food. You had a feeling he had a favor to ask and you were proven right when he invited you to some museum opening that Klaus was eager to go to. Elijah was eager to go too, but he wasn't too eager to listen to his brother blather on about the history they already lived through.

So that's where tonight found you, attending a museum opening on the arms of Elijah and Klaus, but spending most of the night off to the side with just Elijah as he gave you your own history lesson.

When Elijah pulls up to your house later that night, you smile sleepily as he uses his vampire speed for the first time in front of you in order to open your door. He offers you a hand to help you stand up from the passenger seat and then tucks your hand into the crook of his arm as he leads you up the sidewalk and then the porch in front of your house.

"Thank you for accompanying me tonight, Miss Gilbert. I had a wonderful time."

"No. Thank you," you tell him as you turn so you're facing one another, letting your hand fall from his arm. "I absolutely loved hearing the stories from your past. And how many times do I need to tell you? Call me YN."

"YN." Elijah bows his head just a bit as he says your name, lips twitching. "I know we spent all day together, but do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

"I do." You frown before your nose wrinkles. "My producer secured some time in a music booth and I will start recording tomorrow."

His eyebrows raise a little in surprise. "You've found some inspiration?"

"Mhm." You nervously chuckle. "It's a total different vibe than what I'm used to, but-"

"I'm sure it'll be lovely," Elijah's quick to assure you. You can't help but smile at him, this man having absolutely wrecked you for any future romance with anybody else in just the one month you've known him. He grins, no doubt picking up on a semblance of your thoughts and then chuckles when you blush and avert your gaze. "Well since you'll be busy, call me when you're free. We'll grab dinner."

"You spoil me, Mr. Mikaelson." You huff a laugh, shaking your head in amusement. "Be careful or a girl could get used to this treatment."

"Maybe a girl should." His words make you freeze and your eyes subtly widen, and he has the audacity to chuckle. He reaches for your hand then, raising it up to his lips and your breathing ceases altogether. "Until next time," he murmurs before pressing a kiss to your knuckles and then dropping your hand.

Elijah turns and takes his leave, and you watch him the entire time up until he's driving off. You sigh longingly, a stupid grin taking shape as you bite back a squeal. Then turning around, you enter your home and stop short at the sight of Jenna smiling like a loon at you.

"Tell. Me. Everything."

"What? There's nothing to tell."

"Really?" Jenna's right eyebrow raises as she smirks at you. "That blush says otherwise."

You scowl at your aunt and she laughs, and you lighten up a bit as you brush past her. "He's a thousand year old vampire, Jenna. He's not interested in some seventeen year old girl."

"Yeah? Well the amount of times I've caught you two out and about together says otherwise as well," she says. "If he wasn't interested in some seventeen year old girl, then why spend all this time with you and getting you your favorite foods?"

You open your mouth to retort, but promptly shut it a moment later as you stop on the stairs. Huh. Aunt Jenna does have a point. But the longer you think about it, the more it just doesn't make sense. Elijah is a very handsome man and you're just- you're you. "He spends time with me because he's a nice man," you end up telling her as you turn around to look down at her. "And he's in need of some company who isn't his brother or isn't afraid of him for what he's done in the past."

"If you say so," she singsongs. "I want to be the maid of honor at your wedding. I'm going to give the best I told you so speech."

You snort, shaking your head. "I'm going to shower and then to bed. Wanna grab some breakfast before I head out for the day?"

"Of course. Goodnight."

"Night."

The day of your eighteenth birthday arrives and you couldn't be more ecstatic. Jenna was more than happy to host a get-together there at the house, but Klaus took it upon himself to throw the party at his mansion. So instead, you spent the morning with Elena, Jeremy, Jenna and Ric to have a birthday breakfast and lunch before going shopping with the girls for a bit of pre-party fun.

Elena, Bonnie and Caroline know that you have a surprise for everyone, but they don't know what it is. You're anxious, yet excited at the same time, and you decide to surprise your friends even more by dressing like they've never seen you dress before. So when you get home, you pre-snack with your family and friends before you decide to shower and then take over Jeremy's bedroom to get ready.

You pair a black sheer lace crop cami top with a pair of faux-leather, high rise shorts and a pair of ankle booties that give you another four inches. Your eye make-up is a little more smokier than usual and your lipstick a deep maroon color, and you leave your hair in loose waves framing your face. You're checking your reflection in the mirror, moving a strand of hair here and there, and you feel like you're missing something. Your outfit looks good, but as you head over to Jeremy's closet to rummage through his shirts, you grin as you find a dark red plaid flannel. You quickly take it and wrap the sleeves around your waist, tying them in a knot and then looking at your reflection once more.

It's perfect. You're ready.

Mentally preparing yourself, you give yourself a moment before leaving Jeremy's room.

"Are you girls ready? I'm ready to go!" You say as you enter Elena's room. All three females who'd been in the midst of adding some last minute jewelry to their outfits freeze and look you up and down in surprise. "What?" You ask when they don't say anything.

"Where the hell have you been hiding this bod?" Caroline breaks the silence.

"And who are you trying to impress with it?" Bonnie wonders, slowly smirking.

You roll your eyes, chuckling. "It's a special occasion. I wanted to do something different."

"Well keep doing it because you are hot!" Caroline says. "Like seriously hot. We all knew you were pretty, but this? This is-"

"You're definitely getting laid tonight."

"Okay!" Elena laughs, smacking both her friends on the arms. "Leave her alone. YN is stepping out of her comfort zone for once and you're not helping matters."

"It's fine," you assure your sister, "but can you please hurry up? I have a surprise for all three of you in the car."

At hearing there's a surprise for them, the girls hurry to finish getting ready. But then Jenna stops all of you as you're coming down the stairs and has you and Elena pose for some pictures. There are cupcakes she has for you with a single candle in each one and she takes video as you and Elena blow out the flame. Jeremy's already gone, and Jenna tells you that she and Ric will be there later.

It's dark out by the time you and the girls all pile into your vehicle.

"Okay. What's our surprise?" Caroline asks as soon as all the doors are shut.

"So, um, you know how I was supposed to write a new song if inspiration struck?"

"Yeah."

"Well.. it struck. It struck hard," you say. Gathering up your phone, you plug it in and scroll to the finished song that the producer had sent to you just yesterday. "And I want you three to hear part of it first and give me your honest truth about it."

"Why? What's so different about this song that it apparently has you squirming?" Elena asks.

"Let's just say it's different. A lot different than what I've put out so far."

Before anyone else can say anything, you hit play. The music starts and you hide your face in the palms of your hands at how sultry it sounds.

Caroline squeals. "Did you write a sex song?" You groan. "You did! Oh my god."

"Caroline, shut up. I need to hear this," Bonnie says.

You let the song play up until after the first chorus and then stop it. The car is quiet.. and then the squealing starts.

"Your range! Oh my god."

"Who the hell inspired that song?"

You glance at your sister and you bite the inside of your cheek when you see her knowing grin. "Has he heard it?"

"He? There's a he?" Caroline perks up. "Spill it right now, young lady!"

"First off, it's just a crush," you say. "I can't help what comes out once I've been inspired. And secondly, thoughts?"

"Uh," you sister huffs, "amazing! I obviously knew you could sing, but this? This was so good!"

"It's definitely different, but it's a good different. I hope whoever inspired this song inspires more because it's hot!"

"You need to make that available online because I need to download it asap," Caroline says.

You chuckle. "The fans will hear it first while on tour and it'll be available afterward. But.. I am singing the song tonight at the party." The girls cheer. "Klaus is the only one who knows because I got him to compel the guests to not record when I sing."

Elena starts to smile. "Has Klaus heard the song?"

"No. If he had heard it beforehand, he'd never let me live it down."

"Never let you live it down?" Caroline frowns. "Why would- oh my god! Elijah? You wrote that song about Elijah?!"

Bonnie's eyes widen and you groan some more, and Elena takes it upon herself to fill them in the live-action slowburn between you and the Original. There's lots of squealing, teasing and laughter, but when it dies down some you take the moment to finally start driving.

When you get to the Mikaelson mansion, you groan at all the vehicles already lining the driveway. Apparently Klaus didn't get the memo that you wanted a small party.

"Caroline, I'm going to kill your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend, YN. He's just- he's Klaus."

"Well it looks like your Klaus or whatever invited the whole goddamn town." You frown. "How the hell am I supposed to have fun when Tyler's glaring at me the entire time?"

"Tyler's still giving you trouble?" Elena asks.

"He pretty much leaves me be, but if he sees me out with Elijah or Klaus he turns into a wrathful prick."

"Typical," Caroline huffs.

"Well whatever," Bonnie says. "Tonight is your and Elena's night. If he starts trouble, I'm flinging his ass out of the party and putting up a barrier so he can't go back in."

Feeling a little bit better about the situation, you park and lock up your vehicle as soon as everyone's out. Bonnie and Caroline walk ahead, arm in arm, and you do the same with Elena. The music is already thumping and though you're excited, you're kind of dreading singing your song now.

As soon as you enter the house, you keep walking because the party is in the backyard. And when you get back there, you're surprised at the crowd that's already dancing under twinkling lights that've been strung up. There's a makeshift dance floor that's been put together atop the lawn and a DJ doing his utmost to keep the crowd going.

Almost immediately Caroline and Bonnie disappear into the crowd, and Stefan steals your sister away after wishing you a happy birthday. You wave at a few friends, accepting hugs and cheek kisses as you walk around looking for a familiar face that you're happy to spend some time with.

Surprisingly, it's Klaus you find first.

"Went a little overboard, don't you think?" You muse as you sidle up to him.

Klaus turns to you, smirk forming as his eyebrows raise in surprise. "Well, well. Don't you look-"

"Don't. Just don't." He chuckles and you shake your head, grinning.

"I like it. And I think my brother will like it too."

"Who said I care about what your brother thinks?"

"It's all in your heartbeat, love. Always gets a little faster when you're with him." You manage to hold it together for a few seconds before your shoulders sag. Klaus slings an arm around your shoulders and tucks you into his side. "I don't know why you're so worried. He's trying for you too." He points at something in the distance and you follow to where he wants you to look.

It takes you a second to realize who you're looking at and your eyes widen at what you see. The usually prim and proper Elijah Mikaelson is now in a plain dark tee with its sleeves pushed up to his elbows and dark washed jeans. There are a gaggle of girls who can't seem to keep their eyes off of him, and even one brave individual who attempts to speak with him.

"Who gave him the right?!" You quietly seethe. Klaus shakes with suppressed laughter and you absentmindedly swat at him. "Normally he looks like a snack in those suits of his, but right now he's looking like a goddamn full course meal!"

He barks out a laugh then and it surprisingly catches his brother's attention. You freeze when Elijah meets your gaze head on and then you nervously wave at him. He smiles before saying something to the girl who's trying to gain his attention and then steps past her to make his way towards you.

"And that's my cue to go."

Your head snaps up and you try to grip onto Klaus' shirt, but he easily pulls out of your grasp. "You're a dead man, Klaus. I'm telling Caroline you're an asshole!" But he merely laughs at you before winking, turning around to disappear into the crowd.

"Do I want to know what Niklaus has done this time?" You straighten up at Elijah's voice and paste on a smile. You manage to hold it for three seconds before you laugh and shake your head, Elijah then chuckling along with you. However, his gaze drops as he looks you up and down, and you curse your heartbeat for speeding up. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." You blush. Then wrangling your feelings together, you say, "And you look- very handsome. I don't think I've ever seen you out of a suit."

"Well even though I am the oldest here at your party, I didn't want to look the part of a chaperone. I wanted to.. blend in, I suppose."

You look him up and down, subtly gulping. "Well this look is definitely working for you. Kudos, Mr. Mikaelson, for looking like a snack."

"A snack?" He muses. "Not a full course meal?"

You freeze as your gaze snaps up to meet his own and you find him smiling. Your face flames and he chuckles. "You, uh, you heard that, did you?"

"I did."

"And Klaus knew you could hear me, didn't he?"

"He did." Your eyes widen as you're about to curse his brother, but his next words stop you in your tracks. "And he wasn't wrong. About me trying for you too."

"W-What?"

Elijah merely smirks, producing a wrapped present from his back pocket. You stare at it until he tells you to take it and open it, and you're pleasantly surprised at the blue moon locket inside. As you lift the silver chain and smile fondly at it, he takes it from your hand and has you turn around so he can put it around you. The locket settles right above your cleavage and you touch the pendant as a fond smile forms.

You turn to face Elijah, a thank you on the tip of your tongue, but he brushing your hair behind your right ear has your voice completely abandoning you. He smirks as you blush yet again. "Happy birthday, Miss Gilbert." He then leans in and you hold your breath as he kisses your cheek. "Now go have fun. We'll speak later."

Elijah turns and walks away, a certain swagger in his step that has you staring a little longer than necessary. Then once he's out of sight, you walk around in a daze until you spot Klaus and Damon having a conversation that looks as if he's slowly riling up the Salvatore vampire.

Walking towards them, you grab Damon's drink from his hand and down it in one swig. You grimace at the burning and then hand him the empty glass while addressing Klaus. "Your brother is a goddamn tease. I'm gonna climb him like a tree."

Klaus snorts inelegantly, leaving Damon an opening. "Like hell you are."

Your gaze slides to Damon's put out expression. "And why not? I mean it's not like he's going to seduce me, fuck me, feed off of me and then compel me," you say a little too innocently. "That's a Damon Salvatore special, isn't it?"

Damon rears back in shock. "Caroline told you?"

"No. Elena did," you say. "She's kept me up to date with everything almost as soon as it happened. And you, Damon, are not my favorite person so if I were you, I'd tread carefully."

His shock morphs into disbelief. "And the Mikaelson's are? You don't know what they've done, YN."

"Quite the opposite, Damon. If Elena hadn't told me everything, then Klaus and Elijah sure did. I'm quite impressed by everything they've seen and done."

"And you're just okay with it?"

"Well yeah. After that little hiccup with Elena's sacrifice, who do you think it was that convinced her to talk to Klaus and come to an agreement?" Damon shakes his head as if he can't believe what he's hearing. "My sister refuses to become a vampire, Damon, and I'll be damned if I let you or your brother turn her without her consent. So what if she has to donate one bag of blood every other month? At least she now has Original protection so she can live a happy, human life."

"You're unbelievable."

You shrug, expression stony. "I'm just looking out for my twin. Jeopardize her standing with the Mikaelson's and I'll stake you myself." Then smiling, you look at Klaus and wiggle your eyebrows. "Give me about an hour or so to blow off some steam and then it's my time to shine. The girls already know and have already heard part of the song."

"And?"

"I'm either gonna die of embarrassment or end the night as one happy girl."

Klaus laughs as you then take his drink, walking off to finally enjoy your party.

You hadn't planned on letting Damon know you knew all about the supernatural, but there was no going back now. The cheerful atmosphere of the party is infectious and you can't help but join in as you slide between a couple of your classmates. The music has you swaying and grinding, and you down the drink in hand before passing off the glass to someone else.

You don't know how long you've been dancing when Caroline finds you, hurrying you inside and into a bathroom. She tells you, you need to freshen up if you plan to seduce Elijah and then proceeds to wet a hand towel and wipe you down. You're laughing the entire time, but Caroline really knows what she's doing and makes you feel like you aren't a sweaty mess. Then when her job is done and you find yourself outside once more, Elena and Bonnie are waiting for you.

"Is it too late to be compelled?" You ask.

"Yep." Both Elena and Bonnie hook their arms with yours.

"No time like the present to get over that stage fright," Bonnie says.

"I don't have stage fright," you mumble. "I have Elijah fright."

"Relax." Elena squeezes your arm. "You're freaking out for nothing."

"Maybe."

As you make your way to the DJ's booth, Klaus is there to greet you with a microphone. Smirking, he hands it over. "Is this something I'm going to want to record?"

"Only if it doesn't end up on the internet. This is a brand new song that isn't supposed to be unveiled until I'm on tour," you say.

"Excellent. I just need something to send to Kol and Rebekah. They're going to be upset they missed this."

You chuckle. "Mhm. Let's just hope this is something actually worth capturing on video first." Klaus leans over and mentions something to the DJ, and the music lowers. Mumblings of confusion start to erupt because the entertainment has suddenly gone away and your sister nudges you forward. Raising the microphone to your mouth, you say, "Hey, guys. So, uh, I know birthday parties are all about guests giving presents, but I thought I'd give you all a little something instead."

Several people whoop and cheer, and you smile as Jenna and Ric push themselves to the front of the crowd. They're not the only familiar faces though because you spot Jeremy, Tyler, Matt, Stefan and a clearly annoyed Damon dotted all along the front lines.

"I was instructed to write a new song or two and I'm happy to say I've actually written one. But- But!" You say a little louder as the crowd gets excited. "It's new and I'm not supposed to be singing this, so if you aren't my sister or my aunt or my best of friends, then please do not record this. I can't afford to have this song hit the internet before I'm ready to release it worldwide."

The crowd seems to murmur their agreement, Klaus' compulsion no doubt kicking in and making them not go for their phones. As a last minute decision, you have everyone step back some off the dance floor. You have your friends bring in some chairs, placing them in front of the crowd and then take a single chair for yourself as you face them. Then spotting Elijah, a wicked idea comes to mind.

Suddenly feeling very bold, you smirk across the dance floor at him. "Elijah," you purr into the microphone, "why don't you come up here and take a seat?"

Elena and Jenna grin at one another, Bonnie gapes, and Caroline's hands come up to cover her mouth as she squeals. Damon, Stefan, Matt and Tyler all tense, but you only have eyes for Elijah who narrows his eyes at you but whose lips twitch in amusement.

As Elijah walks across the dance floor, you turn the chair so that when he sits the whole crowd will see his side profile. He stops just in front of you before turning and taking his seat. "What are you up to, Miss Gilbert?" He asks as he looks up at you.

You wink. "Just sit there and enjoy the show because this is only happening once." Then looking up, you inhale and exhale deeply to calm your nerves. At the forefront of the crowd sits Elena, Jenna, Klaus, Caroline and Bonnie. The rest of the boys stand behind them or to their sides, eagerly awaiting just what you have in store for them. "So this new song is.. different," you tell the crowd. "You all got to listen and jam out along to my teenage angst, and now you get to hear something from me that's a lot more grown up than what I'm used to."

Bonnie wolf-whistles and Klaus readies his phone to record the performance. You chuckle and then look towards the DJ, giving him the signal to start the music.

The beat starts and Jenna's eyes widen, she snapping her attention to Elena. "Yep. I know," Elena says, grinning. "But just listen. It gets a whole lot sexier."

YN walks her fingers along Elijah's shoulders, letting a completely different persona take over for the duration of the song. "Don't need permission. Made my decision to test my limits. 'Cause it's my business, God as my witness, start what I finished."

Jeremy leans down between his aunt and sister. "Uh, did either of you know YN could sing like this?"

"Nope." Both answer.

"And we're all okay with her apparently seducing a Mikaelson?"

"Yep."

He shrugs. "Okay then."

YN's left hand stops on Elijah's left shoulder before she slides it down his chest. "All that you got, skin to skin, oh my God. Don't ya stop, boy." She quickly walks around, throwing her leg over his lap and straddling his thighs. Her free hand immediately goes to the back of his head, grasping his short hair and pulling his head back as she leans in close. "Somethin' 'bout you makes me feel like a dangerous woman. Somethin' 'bout, something' 'bout, somethin' 'bout you makes me wanna do things that I shouldn't. Somethin' 'bout, somethin' 'bout, somethin' 'bout.."

"His hands are gripping YN's hips awfully tight." Ric grimaces.

"Sexy bruises." Caroline waves him off. "Leave it alone." She whistles as her friend practically gives the Original vampire a lap dance in front of a crowd of people.

"I am definitely not letting Elijah live this down," Klaus says as he continues to record.

YN sings some more, dancing around Elijah or sitting on his lap when there's a growl from behind them. Klaus tenses as he sees Tyler take a step forward in his peripheral vision, but surprisingly the Bennett witch is the one who speaks up.

"One more step, Tyler, and you will regret it." The wolf freezes and glances down at his friend in shock. "YN made her decision a long time ago. It's time for you to move on."

"Are you seriously okay with her pursuing whatever this is with Elijah knowing what he is?"

Bonnie raises an eyebrow at him. "YN knows very well what Elijah is. In fact, she knows what we all are. You included."

His expression slackens and Klaus goes back to enjoying the performance. Though he's plenty happy with what he has with Caroline, he has to admit that the Gilbert girl has a set of pipes on her.

By the time you finish singing, you're sitting in Elijah's lap with one hand gripped in his shirt. You're panting a little heavily- one because you're a little out of breath and two because adrenaline is still coursing through your veins- and you freeze in place as Elijah's hands grasp the sides of your face to pull you into a heat searing kiss.

The crowd erupts and you smile against his mouth before tilting your head to let him deepen the kiss. But ever the proper gentleman, Elijah ends the kiss with a chaste peck to your lips. "To be continued," he murmurs, sending a shiver down your spine. He smirks since he actually feels it.

"Mhm. Yeah. Sure."

"You still have to cut your cake."

"Pft. Cake? I don't need cake."

Elijah's lips twitch. "My brother is still recording."

His words bring you up short and clear away the haze that had settled over your mind. You tense in his lap before turning to find his brother in the crowd. "Niklaus Mikaelson, you better stop recording right this instant."

Your girls all laugh as Klaus pouts and lowers his phone. "Take all my fun."

You stick around Mystic Falls long enough to see Elena, Caroline and Bonnie walk the stage, splitting the time between your family and friends, and Elijah. You even get to meet Kol and Rebekah who rushed back to Mystic Falls in order to meet you after Klaus sent them the video from your birthday. Kol was a little flirt, but finally took the hint you would never be interested after Elijah pinned him to the wall and threatened him with some mystical dagger. And Rebekah was just happy to see her usually poised brother let loose a little.

You had wanted to help the girls move into their shared dorm at Whitmore College, but your time was cut short and you needed to get ready yourself. You knew leaving your family and friends was going to be hard, but you hadn't counted on becoming so attached to Elijah so quickly.

"Do not fret," Elijah says as you stand outside the bus, hands gently holding both sides of your neck with his thumbs pressed under your chin to have you looking upward. "I'll drive out to a few of your concerts when I'm able to."

"Yeah, yeah. So you've said."

He grins. "Go say goodbye to your family. There's a surprise waiting for you on the bus."

You're eager to see what surprise he has in store for you, but he's right. You need one last goodbye with your family. So you walk towards where your family and friends wait, rolling your eyes at their smirks and wiggling eyebrows. Aunt Jenna is the only one who cries, but Ric's there to comfort her and assure her that you're a smart kid and would stay out of trouble. Elena, Jeremy, Bonnie and Caroline all hug you, wishing you a fun and successful tour.

"Well it's been fun, but I think I should get going," you say.

Suddenly the bus door swings open and Rebekah Mikaelson stands there. "It's about bloody time! Come on then. Let's get going."

You gape at the blonde Original and then turn towards an amused Elijah. "My surprise is your sister?"

"Yes. She finds that she quite likes our music and I find that I don't like you being all on your lonesome."

You purse your lips at him, grinning a moment later. "Well it could be worse. My chaperone could be Kol."

"He wanted to come," Rebekah muses, "but Elijah and I forbade it. However, I wouldn't be surprised if he purchases tickets for every concert just to be a nuisance."

You laugh. "That's fine. But are you sure you want to come with? I'm sure it'll be quite boring while on the bus, not to mention the rather cramped sleeping quarters."

"Positive. Besides, I've always wanted a sister." Your eyes widen and Rebekah laughs as Elijah pinches the bridge of his nose. "Now come on. We've got to get on the road so I can tell you everything embarrassing that's ever happened to Elijah."

#elijah x reader #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #tvd imagine #the originals imagine #to imagine #elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #elena gilbert #tyler lockwood #caroline forbes #bonnie bennett #the vampire diaries #the originals

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1ddotdhq · 4 years

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💀Wed 28 Oct ‘20🏡

Zayn is back, Louis has pink hoodies (sort of), Liam is tik tokking like a pro, Harry feeds fish, Simon Cowell’s surgery recovery has stalled and is going poorly (great! couldn’t have happened to a more deserving human), but we’ve got too much real news to waste anymore time on that asshole!

We ended last night with ZAYN SINGING TO US!! Beautiful black and white footage of beautiful Zayn and his perfect voice; he shows us little snippets of himself crooning James Bay's Hold Back the River and Paolo Nutini's Last Request (not for the first time on this one, he did this song before in the lead up to Icarus Falls... more on that in a minute) while reading lyrics off his phone, captioned 'Cover Sessions.' Good god but I have missed his ethereal warbling! The post alone is an unexpected blessing and a gift but the implied promise of more to come?? YES PLEASE I CANNOT WAIT. Some wonder if it could be for a Spotify Sessions, others are screaming about how Icarus Falls' drop was preceded by weeks of black and white cover song videos on instagram (when asked at that time if he was releasing something he said “yes why else do you think I'd be on here singing for you??” LOL, adore this man, but also, hello!) Anyway yesterday we got not only music and the promise of more to come, but also interaction! He chatted in comments, offering a coy 'maybe' to a comment saying 'acoustic', posting laugh cry emojis at his own jokes (“no YOU stop”), and sending love back to his happy zquad, who were of course overwhelmed and over the moon. He's cut his hair off but with all he's given us today can we be sad? It's a small price to pay. James Bay reposted the cover of his song-- “nice one man x.”

Then, Louis officially dropped his Kill My Mind Lyric drop (on the 28th!!!): the lyric being represented is “the devil in my brain”, and it is indeed a skull with a tophat over a cauldron. The new stuff features the cute little logo embroidered on various black cold weather wear items (including a sweater!) and says 'lyric drop 2' inside the collar of the shirts. BUT! There’s more! We’ve got some more wavy walls hoodies in pink lettering, as well as fuzzy red lettering and a marble red and pink design. Love it! However, it was discovered that this new merch does not ship to India or LATAM (except Costa Rica) and honestly?? RUDE!! Louis’ LATAM fans are the FUCKING BEST (no I’m not biased wdym???). They do, however, ship to Vatican City for some reason so catch the Pope in his Walls merch! Louis did respond to this issue on twitter, though, and said, “I’ll get more info on this ASAP. Anywhere else?” so dioceses all over the world will soon be able to rock out in their KMM merch. Celebtm also came back for round three to tell everyone that they were removing themselves from the narrative until January (good riddance), but not before leaving a message from Michael Straus (ugh) to Louis and his “son” (the quote marks are theirs, not mine, in case you’re wondering where they stand on the issue). Straus’ last hurrah included claims that Briana gets a direct deposit from Louis (or his team) on the first of every month, spends it all immediately and is left destitute for the rest of the month, and that neither Briana nor Freddie have health insurance. He then offered to help Louis get custody of Freddie. Um, right. I’m sure his help would be invaluable. Also, we all agree that he’s a liar and likely doesn’t know shit and is trying to make himself seem like the hero instead of the gross misogynist he is right?

A story was also released about Harry’s car breaking down in the UK over the summer. He did what anyone would do (I suppose?) and knocked on someone’s door to see if they could help. Well, it turns out their daughter is a fan, so they invited him in for a cup of tea, and allowed him to snoop around her room. They even took a picture of him feeding her goldfish! The photographer who took the picture is (coincidentally?) a professional, who has worked with Kasey Musgraves before. The fan did not get to meet him, but he signed her album, and left her a note promising to meet her at a concert, which he would be inviting them to. Harry has done some other cool things in the last few days (being politically active IS cool), and has started filming DWD in Palm Springs. He was spotted by a fan (though no pictures were released) and he signed her phone cover - it reads “Golden” with a little heart.

Harry also ignited discourse by *shuffles papers,scratches head in confusion* his endorsement of Joe Biden? Well, there were a few layers to this condemnation. The first were the people who... thought he might be a Trump supporter and were disappointed that he was not? Well, uh, clearly they have not been paying close attention, because this man has been seen this year in a BLM rally, has shouted “fuck Boris, fuck the government”, and has waved multiple different pride flags (including the trans flag!) at his concerts. IDK how that screamed Trump supporter to some people. And then there were the people who were angry that he captioned the tweet “I would vote with kindness”. The words I have seen thrown around are “disingenuous” “privileged” and “this is not enough.” Well! Harry has often been criticized for encouraging fans to simply “vote” without talking specifics; now he's endorsed a candidate, just as requested! And while no one actually LIKES Biden there is no question (in any world except absurd fandom wank circles) that this endorsement is the correct one out of the viable candidates. He is not saying that Biden is himself kind, which yes would be weird, he is saying that voting for Biden is the kinder choice and you know what? He is correct. If you think that we at 1ddotd are gonna condemn him for taking a stance against a fascist, uh, THINK AGAIN!

It was confirmed that Liam’s mystery collab is Dixie D’Amelio, of tik tok fame, and I’m going to refrain from commenting until I hear the song! Liam continues to lean into both Christmas and Halloween by doing his spooky tik toks and NOT putting jump scare warnings in ANY OF THEM, thanks so much for that one Liam, love it loads! His fun, spooky, dorky ones (in full AWESOME looking makeup thanks to MUA Abby Roberts who’s quickly becoming a regular) are amazing though, and I will miss it when Halloween is over. And Niall was on the Elvis Duran show, mid-golf game with his cousin actually, to talk about them about his concert, the venue, the cause (calling his crew “like family”), and calling out the government (go Niall!)! He ALSO took to twitter and said, “I wish I could vote”. He would also not be voting for Trump, in case anyone actually needs that spelled out.

#zayn #louis #harry #liam #niall #hey ive seen some misinformation going around from my research from yesterday #if you agree with my theory that Louis both sign and rescinded VDP forms then the central premise #is that the money he's them is NOT CHILD SUPPORT in the legal sense its SOMETHING ELSE #based on the info we're seeing this IS whats happened and this matters because in this picture he CAN'T be the father #and for all the questions of 'why hasnt louis taken briana to court'#MY question is 'if louis has paternal rights why hasnt BRIANA taken HIM to court???'#also if youre like me in quarantine I recommend checking out a youtuber called Blake McClain #especially his Walls lyrical breakdown #because for the whole like two hours hes trying to get around saying that all the songs are about Harry because he KNOWS #but also doesnt want to say it on main and its very funny to try and watch him work around that #i wont spoil how he handles it BUT ITS AMAZING #anyways!#song of the day!#Forgetting You by Cam #im not kidding when i say that Changes is one of the things i am most looking forward to this weekend #also Discourse wrote Zayns part because she had THINGS TO SAY and I LOVE THEM ALL

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lulu-zodiac · 3 years

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Title: You'll Know All I Haven't Said

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: Fluff, First Kiss, Pining, AU

Summary: Cas has always had an unnerving knack for knowing what Dean wants the most, even before Dean knows it himself.

If you want to be added to my fic tag list, let me know! <3

Cas always gives the best presents.

Dean knows it’s something to do with his unnervingly observant nature, the way he’s so tuned into the people around him. Or maybe just Dean. The thought makes something unfurl in Dean’s stomach that’s feels a bit like fear, or anticipation maybe. It happens a lot when he thinks of Cas, these days. Which is a lot, if Dean is being totally honest. Cas is his best friend, has been since they were both eight years old, so it’s normal that he occupies a lot of space in Dean’s head. It’s just that these days – sometimes it’s so much that it scares Dean, just a little. Because he knows there isn’t much time left where Cas will be a daily fixture of his life; next fall, they’re both heading off to college and everything’s going to be different.

That’s why, Dean tells himself, he’s spent so much time trying to think of what to give Cas this Christmas. It’s hard to top Cas’s gift-giving skills. He has always had an unnerving knack for somehow knowing exactly what Dean wants, even before Dean knows it himself. Not that Dean would tell him, but all his most treasured gifts over the years have all been from Cas. A wonky, handmade wooden impala car Cas made in his Dad’s workshop when he was twelve. Zeppelin concert tickets the Christmas they were both fifteen. Last year, an anthology of Neruda with Cas’s scrawling writing on the opening page, which Dean has read more than the poems the book contains (not that he’d admit that to Cas).

The only problem with Cas being so amazing at choosing gifts is that Dean always feels under pressure to match Cas’s presents, give him something that he’ll treasure as much as Dean treasures the gifts Cas gives him. And the thing is, Cas is hard to buy for, hard to read, a lot of the time. Even though Dean spends more time with Cas than anyone else, and spends even more time thinking about Cas, he’s never quite sure what’s going on in his head. And that makes it difficult, because Dean so wants to make this last Christmas before they both go their separate ways special.

The thought of not being around Cas every day makes his whole chest ache, so Dean tries not to do it. But sometimes it just creeps up on him and it’s like having a bucket of ice water poured over him, a constant knife in his chest that twists deeper and deeper as it gets closer to the time he knows they’ll have to say goodbye. It’s not just about parting ways – Dean knows there’s no way he and Cas won’t stay best friends. But it's like there's also something that Dean's always been waiting for that might not get to happen, that graduating and leaving for college might get in the way of, and even though Dean has no idea what it is he’s waiting for, the idea that it might get pushed aside, might never happen, is somehow unbearable.

After a week of agonising over options, it’s finally Christmas Eve and Dean is standing on Cas’s doorstep, breath clouding out in front of him in the frosty air. There’s small parcel in the pocket of his leather jacket that he fiddles with nervously as he waits, feeling the bumps of his own bad gift-wrapping skills. His stomach flips over inexplicably when the hall lights flicker on there’s the sound of keys in the lock.

“Dean,” Cas smiles, quiet but sincere, and stands back to let Dean in. Dean is hit, as he is not infrequently these days, by how good-looking Cas has become. He’s not built but he’s lean, strong-looking, with a kind of grace about the way he carries himself. Tonight, he’s wearing an indigo knitted sweater that he got in a thrift store with Dean last year, and it makes the blue of his gaze feel infinite as it sweeps over Dean, familiar and warm.

“Hey,” Dean smiles stupidly, suddenly feeling self-conscious as he steps into the hallway. It’s warm and smells faintly of incense and home-baking, but they don’t linger, heading straight up the stairs to Cas’s room as usual.

“Very festive,” Dean remarks as Cas closes the door behind them, noting the multi-coloured fairy lights Cas has strewn around the window, glowing softly and casting the room into muted colours. Dean secretly prefers Cas’s room to his; he’s spent so much time in it over the years that it feels just as much like home, maybe even a little more because it has Cas in it.

“Thanks,” Cas is standing by the door, arms folded across his chest as he watches Dean inspect his bookshelf, run his fingertip along the spines. “There’s a new one there for you, if you want it.” His expression is uncharacteristically unreadable. Not that Cas is easy to read – not by any stretch of the imagination. But Dean’s spent a long time mapping out his different expressions and mannerisms, and it’s not often these days that he’s faced with one he can’t place at all. This one is not unfamiliar, though. It’s one he’s noticed playing across Cas’s features increasingly often in recent months, generally when he glances up and catches Cas off guard. It’s an expression that niggles away at the back of Dean’s mind when he’s trying to get to sleep at night, gets under his skin.

Dean looks reluctantly away from Cas and back to the shelves, eyeing them more closely. His hand pauses on an unfamiliar hardback, Bluebeard by Vonnegut. “This?”

“If you want it,” Cas says, and Dean thinks he detects a note of apprehension beneath the warmth, a kind of distraction, as though he’s thinking about something else, which is a sharp contrast to his often unnerving focus that’s usually directed Dean’s way.

“Thanks,” Dean takes the book of the shelf and flips through the pages, catches a few flashes of Cas’s dextrous scrawl.

“Don’t – don’t read my notes now,” Cas crosses the room, takes the book from Dean’s hands and closes it. “Not when I’m here.”

Dean eyes him curiously. One of his favourite things about Cas lending him books all the time is getting to read Cas’s private thoughts filling the margins. “Is this my Christmas present? Not like you to forgo the fancy paper and the chance to upstage my gift-wrapping skills.”

A smile pulls at the corner of Cas’s mouth, his eyes crinkle with quiet amusement even though the nervousness doesn’t dissipate, Dean notes. “No, it’s not your present.”

“Then where is it?” Dean asks, glancing around the room – but there’s no sight of a gift. Just the soft glow of the fairy lights and Cas’s notebooks on his desk, a couple of jumpers hanging over the back of his chair, the little cactus Dean gave him for his birthday two years ago sitting stoutly on his bedside table.

“You’re very demanding,” Cas admonishes, handing the book back to Dean and crossing the room to sit down on one end of the window seat, curling up like a cat. There’s a twinkle of amusement in his blue gaze, but he pulls the sleeves of his jumper down over his hands, something Dean knows he only does when he’s nervous. The thought makes a pang of nerves curl through Dean too, although he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why it feels like they’re waiting for something.

“Well, you’re very mysterious,” Dean counters, flopping down on the other end of the window-seat and pushing one of his socked feet playfully at Cas’s. “And unnervingly good at presents, which is why I’m so particularly demanding today. I’m expecting great things. How is that you always seem to know exactly what I want?”

“I very much hope that’s true this year,” Cas says, quiet in a way that makes Dean catch his breath, inexplicably nervous too. He’s looking down, still fiddling with the stray thread from the cuff of his jumper. His expression is uncharacteristically vulnerable in the soft light, messy dark hair and wide eyes so blue that they make Dean’s heart fumble a beat in his chest when Cas suddenly looks up, holds Dean’s gaze. It’s very quiet, the space between them. Dean feels very aware of his heart, doesn’t know why it’s suddenly going quite so fast. “You go first,” Cas says, low, eyes intent and full of something, and it takes Dean a moment to remember what they’re talking about.

“Oh – yeah, okay,” he stutters, feeling his cheeks flush as he fumbles in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out the package he’d wrapped earlier. “Look – don’t get too excited. You know I’m not great at presents, but I wanted to do something special, because you know –” he breaks off, trying to push down the sudden sharpness in his chest, “This might be the last Christmas we spend together, and I don’t want you to go forgetting me when you’re off being all genius at some school I’d never be able to get into.” He thrusts the present unceremoniously at Cas. “Badly wrapped as usual, sorry,” he adds, as an afterthought.

“Dean,” Cas is holding the wrapped present, but he’s not looking at it. He’s looking at Dean with the kind of familiar, earnest sincerity that makes Dean’s heart ache, that he’s going to miss so much. “There is no chance of me ever forgetting you,” Cas says slowly, and the something in his gaze deepens, turning into something that makes Dean feel simultaneously as though he wants to look away and never look away again. The space between them suddenly feels intimate, theirs. Just the two of them, the way Dean always aches for when it’s not.

“Thanks,” Dean says, gathering himself, but his voice sounds unsteady to his own ears, like he suddenly feels. Off-kilter, dizzy, like they’re both spinning into orbit. “Okay, okay, open the goddamn present already,” Dean mumbles, awkward, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Cas keeps looking at him like that, and he’s afraid of how much he wants to find out.

Cas looks at him a beat longer, before dropping his attention to the present, unwrapping it carefully with his long, dextrous fingers. There’s a moment when he pulls the leather-bound album out of the shell of wrapping where Dean feels hot all over, embarrassed by his own sentiment. He digs his nails into his palm, watches as Cas opens it and goes still, reading Dean’s inscription. There’s a long pause, and then he turns the first page, and then the next and the next, looking at the photos of him and Dean that Dean has collected from over the years: the two of them togged up in winter coats and red welly boots, making snow-angels in Dean’s back garden; Cas aged ten with a tearstained face, watching as Dean puts a band-aid on his grazed knee; both of them on their first day of middle school, Cas moody with pins all over his jacket and scruffy converse sneakers, Dean grinning with his letterman; Cas, windswept and smiling two summers ago, lying on a sandy beach and gazing up at Dean with that a hint of that something Dean can’t get out of his head now.

Cas finally looks up at him, eyes so blue it hurts to look at them. “Thank you, Dean,” his voice is slightly hoarse. “This –” he breaks off, swallows, turning the album over in his hands. “This must have taken you ages.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean mumbles gruffly, cheeks heating up. His heart is racing, and he wants to change the subject, take the focus away from how intimate the present suddenly feels now that Cas is holding all their memories in his hands. “Anyway, enough of that. I’m glad you like it, but you know I can’t handle chick flick moments. Come on, your turn. Where’s mine?”

The unreadable look is back on Cas’s face with more intensity, combined with something Dean definitely recognises as nervousness now. Cas’s chest is rising and falling more rapidly, eyes wider than usual, cheeks slightly flushed as he holds Dean’s gaze, almost like he’s steeling himself for something. “Okay,” he says, seemingly more to himself than to Dean. Okay, close your eyes.”

“What?” Dean blinks.

“Close them,” Cas says, with slightly more authority, but Dean can see the way Cas’s fingers are trembling where he’s still holding all of their memories, their whole friendship in his hands. Cas glances down at it unreadably, like it’s suddenly fragile, and then back at Dean. He swallows, repeats, “Dean,” quietly imploring.

Dean closes his eyes. Cas’s gaze and the fairy lights all fade into to soft shadow. Vision gone, Dean suddenly feels very aware of the proximity between them, the almost imperceptible warmth of Cas beside him, the way their thighs are pressed lightly together. Dean has a sudden urge to nudge his closer to Cas’s, to close all the gaps and feel how warm Cas really is. He breathes in, suddenly breathless, and is overwhelmed by the smell of Cas’s skin, familiar and musky, a hint of the patchouli incense he always burns when he’s working. The smell of home. Dean’s heart is suddenly racing so hard it hurts. “Cas?”

Cas is silent. There’s a pause that might be a single heartbeat or the whole last ten years, and then there’s warm, tentative pressure against Dean’s mouth. Cas’s lips, silken soft and hot, brushing tenderly, slowly, against his. Cas’s hands cupping his face, rough and warm and trembling, holding him still as the world spins away into nothing. Cas’s breath, gentle and unsteady against Dean’s mouth, punctuating the kiss.

Dean’s eyes fly open, and the first thing he sees is blue. Deep, exhilarating blue. Like the sky at that moment just between dusk and darkness. And then he’s drowning. He ducks forward and captures Cas’s mouth again with his, stomach somersaulting at the stifled sound Cas makes, like he thought Dean wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t want this. The heat unfurling deep Dean’s chest intensifies at the way Cas’s hands grab at the front of Dean’s shirt, clumsy and desperate, the way Cas shifts closer, all warmth. Cas’s mouth is hot and wet and perfect, tongue twining with Dean’s as they kiss, pressing so close together that their noses nudge together, that Dean’s not sure who’s heartbeat belongs to who anymore.

When they break apart for breath, Cas’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dark and shining. He’s so beautiful Dean aches with it.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Cas says, voice low and heavy in a way that makes arousal curl through Dean. His eyes are full of quiet happiness, and that something that Dean hasn’t been able to get out of his head for months. It’s wonderful to finally know what it is, to know that it is this. Dean feels like he’s floating.

“Merry Christmas,” Dean echoes, dazedly, and his voice sounds as rough as Cas’s. He shakes his head, smiling in disbelief. “I told you that you always know what I want before I do,” he pauses, “Though, amazing as all the others were, I think this present might just top the list.” Dean is vaguely aware that he’s grinning giddily, heart still pounding.

“I wasn’t sure you’d like it,” Cas admits, looking down, and Dean catches a hint of the nervousness Cas was full of earlier, that makes sense now. Dean feels a rush of warmth for him at the courage it must have taken to cross that line, to take a whole ten years of friendship in his hands and do what Dean never had the courage for.

“Hey,” Dean reaches out, twines their hands together. It’s reassuring the way he can feel Cas trembling a bit too, reminding him they’re both in this together, it’s just the two of them, the way Dean likes it best. “Cas. It’s the best present I’ve ever had,” he says, honestly. Cas looks up and smiles at him, brighter than the lights above them, than anything Dean’s ever known – and Dean suddenly has to rethink his words, because Cas looking at him like that, so full of love and happiness, is better than anything Dean could ever have imagined.

#reorganising all my destel fics onto tumblr!#feedback makes me very happy <3 #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #destiel fluff #dean winchester #castiel #spn #supernatural #spn fanfiction #spn fandom #my stuff #my posts: fanfic

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yanderepuck · 3 years

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PIRATE AU

Okay. You're probably wondering what's got me on this pirate kick. Well it's Karliene's album The Legend of Anne Bonny.

And well. While listening to it, it got me thinking. Did any famous pirate make it to a ripe old age???

Not that I can think of so you know what that means.

Now yes. Leonardo and the crew are privateers, aka Pirates with a boss basically.

But. They are still considered pirates out on sea, and eventually a pirate's life has got to end.

Now if we want to go tragic like any other pirate, they are getting hung.

They were out at sea, not even doing much illegal things this time around. They were importing some goods for Comte who yes I made Spanish I don't care. Beside of the task at hand they didn't keep as close of a watch as they should have. They weren't stealing the goods. Comte had everything paid for. They had to go to England for the goods however. The British Navy knows to look out for them.

The guys loaded the ship and stayed on land for a few days before heading back to Spain. They don't even notice they were being followed until it was too late. Since they weren't raiding a ship, they thought they wouldn't have to worry about other ships close by in the same fleet. Besides. They just fixed the ship up, its nearly unrecognizable from before.

Jean was the one on deck steering the ship that night. It evened up simply being bad timing. There's so much fog he can't see very far, and the waters weren't smooth. It wasn't anything he hadn't dealt with before. Next thing he hears is a whistling in the air. The entire boat shakes as a cannonball hits the side of the ship. There is basically no time for the small crew of theirs to get ready on such short notice like this. The other ship is already so close.

It wasn't long after that Leonardo came up on deck. He told Jean to keep on the wheel, while ordering everyone else to do something. Mozart and Isaac are scared out of their minds. Theo was trying to get the cannons ready but by that time the other ship was too close to fire the cannons without their ship getting damaged in the process.

Once the crew of the other ship got on board theirs, the fight didn't last long. They ended up being way out numbered. Mozart quickly grabbed papers he thought would be helpful to get them out of the situation. To show that they were hired to do what they are doing. They might have been able to get out of it if it wasn't the British they were facing.

Even though they had been so close to Spain, they were taken back to England. It was decided there was no need for a trial. Even though they don't fully understand why, Isaac and Mozart were spared. Mozart demanded for Comte to travel over to defend them, but they weren't given enough time. By the end of the week they were to be put on the gallows, and there's no way Comte would be able to make it in that short amount of time.

Leonardo knew there was no point in trying, but most of the crew were trying to figure out ways to get out.

"Capt'n you can't just give up!"

"I'm not your captain no more," no one has seen Leonardo so depressed. He imagined he'd go down with his ship, as he should. But he watched his own ship get raided and torn apart.

They all knew this was a possibility when agreeing to this life. They all knew what their fate could be. Mozart and Isaac had to stay in a cell up until the hanging so that they couldn't try to get them out. They watched the hanging. It was the only way they'd be able to pay their respects to them, its not like they would get a proper burial.

The two went back to Spain to report what happened. Comte was not pleased to here this, especially that he's too late to do anything.

I would like to think them getting captured had something to do with Vlad, only because that would be a good twist, but ike.

BUT THIS DOESN'T MEAN ITS THE END OF THE PIRATE AU EITHER

Masterlist

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #pirate au

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hlupdate · 4 years

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The relationship between A-list muse and lauded designer is nothing new. But few have been as serendipitous that of Harry Styles and Alessandro Michele: the pop star’s solo career coincided neatly with the designer hitting his stride as the game-changing creative director of Gucci. Theirs is a mutually beneficial partnership that has elevated the former to new echelons of style, while the latter has become something of an icon to an unexpected fandom.

Unlike the large-scale productions of recent show seasons, Michele first presented his vision for Gucci with a quietly confident collection on 19 January 2015 — reportedly pulled together in just five turbo-charged days. The collection had all the signifiers of the retro-inspired aesthetic that has since become Michele’s beat, introducing the fur-lined loafers, pussy-bow blouses and florals that still form the backbone of his work today. A 20-year-old Harry, meanwhile, was still a long-haired One Direction member set to embark on the band’s biggest ever — and as it turned out last— tour. Just as One Direction’s days were winding down, Michele was picking up speed. Gucci reported a five per cent rise in sales in the last three months of 2015, amounting to 1.1 billion Euro in the final quarter.

Stylist Harry Lambert, who had been working with Harry for a few years by then, decided it was time for the boy-bander to try something new. A floral suit – that floral suit – from Michele’s spring/summer 2016 collection would be just the ’fit for the American Music Awards in November 2015, they decided.

Looking back it was a “very bold move,” Lambert admits. Styles was the first to take one of Michele’s full menswear looks from the Gucci catwalk and wear it on the red carpet. “It was very exciting to see everyone’s responses, but also how great he looked in it,’’ Lambert told Miss Vogueof what he still views as a turning point in his client’s fashion journey. This winning suit encouraged Styles and Lambert to pull more Gucci, and Harry gave his final performance as a member of One Direction wearing a suit in the retro petal print that defined Michele’s early collections.

In fact, Gucci was just about the only thing that the 1D alum carried over to his solo career. Even his shoulder-length curls were shorn. The music videos that accompanied Styles’s eponymous number one album, released in April 2017, all incorporated Gucci, as did his appearances on the promo trail. A navy tailored coat floats through the sky in the video for “Sign Of The Times”, and he wears floral tailoring in the clip for “Kiwi”. When the time came for Harry to take his record on the road, he wore countless bespoke Gucci suits on stage. Most were floral brocade with flared trousers, and paired with pussy-bow shirting.

By June 2018, the relationship had been formalised. Styles was revealed – in a series of photos taken by Glen Luchford in the suitably English setting of a chip shop – as the face of Gucci’s tailoring campaign. Two more campaigns followed, in which Styles models the most exuberant of Michele’s creations without ever sacrificing his schoolboy cheekiness, not even with a lamb slung around his shoulders. The campaigns, two by Luchford, a third by Harmony Karine, helped to usher in a new dawn in menswear advertising.

A year later Harry was unveiled as part of a diverse line-up in the campaign for Gucci’s Mèmoire D’une Odeur — the near century-old house’s first gender-neutral scent. Yes, he was the main event, but Styles shared the spotlight with other creatives in what became an unavoidable campaign, covering buildings, beauty counters, column inches and iPhone wallpapers across the globe. Styles has since quipped that he wears it to bed,making a bottle a necessary purchase for even half-dedicated Harry fans.

That Harry’s work with Gucci has proved so popular with his dedicated fanbase is a key component in the success of their collaborations. Though — and again, this is likely owing to Harry’s own allegiances — his followers do tend to have a keen interest in fashion compared to other fandoms, it’s down to their idol that Harries know the artistic director by his first name alone. “It is really exciting for us fans to see another facet of Harry as a creative individual, and his Gucci partnership cultivates that and gives us an even more in-depth perspective of who he is,” Nadhila, a 26-year-old fan in Indonesia told Miss Vogue.

Nadhila, who has been a part of the team behind the Twitter account @HSNewsUpdate since 2011, believes that the fluid nature of Michele’s vision has contributed to the interest in Harry’s Gucci looks. “There are no boundaries on what he might come up with, so fans are always excited to see what look [Harry] might step out in next,” she says. Styles’s efforts to be a fan-focused, ethical pop star – his motto is “treat people with kindness” – are relevant, too. “He has inspired us to be bold, unique and unafraid to experiment when it comes to fashion,” she adds. “He has shown us that there is no such thing as too feminine or too masculine, we can be both and we can be ourselves.”

Another of Harry’s biggest fan accounts, @TheHarryNews, is run by four women in their mid-twenties: Annie, Océane, Lena and Rachel. “You can really see the confidence he’s gotten from working with Gucci,” they share collectively over email. “[He’s] taking more risks and letting more of himself show… In a lot of ways we’ve seen Harry really come into his own. I think that really resonates with people, especially his fans, who get tiny pieces of [who he really is] through fashion.”

Two fans who have an almost encyclopedic knowledge of this fashion partnership are the transatlantic duo behind @HSFashionArchive. Since April 2016, London-based Lu and Washington DC-based Alex have documented every look worn by Harry in meticulous detail, all to act as “a resource for fans”. Its posts lets his followers know how they might go about procuring these items, but also sheds light on key house codes – thus enabling fans to quickly identify which of Harry’s looks are Gucci, and which aren’t. “We have noticed that fans buy the Gucci pieces that Harry has worn,” 29-year-old Alex explained. “Though some pieces are pricey, we’ve seen people buy the loafers, boots, and bags that Harry has sported over the years. Lots of our followers bought the £34 Gucci lipsticks he wore in Beauty Papers.”

The pair believes that the relationship works because Gucci is able to offer Harry such a broad spectrum of looks to choose from. “Gucci’s looks range from wearable to outrageous, so Harry’s continued partnership with Gucci guarantees both attainable style and flashy moments. There’s nothing like seeing him in a wild new outfit that we couldn’t have anticipated.” And though one might assume the scene-stealing suits are most popular with fans, according to Nadhila, they like his low-key looks best, given that “they show a more casual and intimate look into who he is as a ‘normal’ person”.

Of course, there is a notable exception: the 2019 Met Gala. For the opening evening of the “Camp: Notes On Fashion” exhibition Michele and Harry acted as co-hosts, and arrived on the pink carpet together. “After such a colourful tour wardrobe it was nice to do something a little unexpected,” Lambert told Miss Vogue of the black blouse Styles wore. “[It was about] taking traditionally feminine elements like the frills, heeled boots, sheer fabric and the pearl earring, but then rephrasing them as masculine pieces set against the high-waisted tailored trousers and his tattoos. Camp, but still Harry.” Lambert explained at the time: “We met up earlier this year to share mood boards with the Gucci team. We had pages of printed references all on the table from Alessandro, myself and Harry, then we edited them down.” Today, the @HSFashionArchive duo agree the night “was a massive deal amongst fans”.

There was the now pearl earring-wearing fashion darling of the music world, standing alongside the closest thing to a rockstar the fashion industry has at present. “I love dressing up and he loves dressing up,” Michele told The Face in 2019. “The moment I met him, I immediately understood there was something strong around him. I realised he was much more than a young singer. He was a young man, dressed in a thoughtful way, with uncombed hair and a beautiful voice. I thought he gathered within himself the feminine and the masculine.”

Since the Met, the relationship has continued to go from strength to strength. Styles wore a custom look on the cover of his second record, Fine Line, shot by Tim Walker, and Michele and Styles collaborated on a T-shirt to coincide with it, with a percentage of the sales going to the Global Fund For Women. Gucci’s high-waisted trousers, cropped blazers and dazzling shirting now takes up even more space in Styles’s wardrobe, and bring as much attention to the star as his sophomore record’s commercial and critical success.

Sightings of Styles in Gucci have become a source of comfort for fans in a turbulent 2020. From his Mary-Janes at the Brits to his oversized turquoise blazer and crochet gloves in the “Golden” video, by way of outré sunglasses and floral sunglasses in the clip for “Watermelon Sugar”, Harry’s recent sartorial choices have managed to be pleasingly familiar, while simultaneously keeping his followers on their toes.

A bit like the chicken and the egg conundrum, the question remains: is Harry very Gucci, or is Gucci very Harry? The verdict is out. But without each other, both might be missing a little something.

#harry styles #articles #111120

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quicksilversquared · 4 years

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A Very Jagged Take-Down Ch 1: Dissonant Chord

Marinette knows Jagged Stone, everyone knows that. She's his favorite niece, never mind the fact that they aren't actually related. And Jagged Stone is really famous, the exact kind of person that Lila loves claiming connections to.

That was never going to end the way Lila wanted it to.

(a collection of one-shots)

links in the reblog

Jagged Stone could admit that sometimes, he was a little bit oblivious to how other people were feeling. He was a little too boisterous, too distractible, too caught up in his own thoughts and ideas and plans. It caused problems, sometimes- Jagged had butted heads with more record managers than he cared to think about because his artistic vision differed from theirs, and sometimes he didn't come off particularly well in interviews because he was too busy thinking about other things to notice an interviewer trying to ask a different question- but he was working on it, and if he was oblivious to something, well, he did have Penny to clue him in.

Still, Jagged Stone had been trying to improve. Penny had been pretty stressed out on several occasions recently, and he had wanted to ease some of her load by being at least a little more observant. He had thought that he was doing really well.

Considering that he had apparently missed his niece's upset mood during his last visit to commission a stage outfit from her, he apparently wasn't doing as well as he wanted to.

"What do you mean, she was off?" Jagged Stone implored Penny again. "Penny, if I'm going to learn..."

"She was hiding it pretty well, to be fair," Penny assured him. "Especially when you were looking. But when your back was turned, she looked kind of stressed."

Jagged Stone frowned. That wasn't a good thing! Maybe he could help, though. "Do you know what she was upset about?"

"Do I- no, Jagged, I cannot figure out what people are upset about by looking at their body language!" Penny exclaimed, clearly exasperated. "And I didn't want to pry, not when she was trying to be professional with coming up with ideas for your commission."

Jagged Stone considered that. Then he perked up. "Do you think that you, just maybe, could sneakily bring it up with Marinette when you go over with my measurements tomorrow? If I can help my niece with anything, I want to!"

"Yes, yes, I can try," Penny promised, and then she sighed, rolling her eyes. "And we've talked about this, Jagged Stone. Marinette is not your niece."

"Who says that she isn't?" Jagged Stone demanded, planting his fists on his hips. "My niece in rock-n-roll! Her CD cover and glasses and the songs they inspired put me back at the top of the charts. I am an artist, she's an artist- family in actually kickass artistry!"

He didn't understand why Penny was rolling her eyes. Really.

Penny returned the next day with several design sketches and barely hidden anger bubbling away under her professional demeanor. Jagged Stone picked up on it right away, ushering Penny into their room at the Grand Paris and getting her settled with a platter of her favorite chocolates.

He was rather proud of himself for that, really. He was learning! He hadn't missed Penny's stress!

"I found out what happened," Penny told him, inhaling a chocolate in one bite. She chewed angrily, then swallowed. "A week before we went over for brainstorming, Marinette got expelled from her school after getting framed for cheating, thief, and hurting another student. The other student walked back on her claims the next day," Penny added hastily before Jagged Stone could grab his guitar and storm over to Dupont to bash their blundering principal over the head. He hadn't been impressed by the man the one time- or was it two times, he really couldn't remember- that they had met, and clearly there was a reason for that. "And her expulsion was retracted. But she's still facing some skepticism from her teachers and classmates over the whole thing."

"Who would want to frame Marinette?" Jagged Stone demanded, thoroughly baffled. "Marinette is fantastic! They'd have to be a cruel, heartless soul to do such a thing."

"Yeah, well, that's kind of what this girl sounds like, honestly." Penny took another angry bite. "Marinette was telling me all about her. It's the daughter of a diplomat- or that's what she claims, at least- who keeps making up all of these stories about things she's done and people she's met. Marinette is one of the only people who doesn't believe a word she says, and the only one willing to call Lila out."

Jagged Stone nodded in approval. "Calling out bullies and liars is very rock and roll!"

"Less so when it gets her framed and expelled, but yes." Penny flopped back in her chair, then perked back up. "Something Marinette said- well, it sounded almost as though the liar girl was claiming connections to you. She stopped herself before I could get much more out of her, though."

He nearly exploded with indignation at that. "The liar girl is trying to use me to boost her status? How dare she! And going after my niece while she does-"

Penny sighed in exasperation. "No matter how often you say it, Marinette isn't actually your niece-"

"I'm going to put a stop to this nonsense," Jagged Stone announced, surging to his feet as a surge of energy hit him. Maybe he wasn't going to be in Paris for the next couple of weeks because he was on tour, but, well, that just gave him time to plan. "No liar will use my name to hurt Marinette! Now, if I can grab my computer-"

"We're meant to be heading to the train station to go to London in twenty minutes," Penny reminded him. "For a meeting in London with the new record company you were considering switching to."

"Of course! Penny, I would be lost without you." Jagged beamed at her, then dashed across the room. "I can bring my computer on the train! Plenty of time to think there, no problem. We have a private compartment, so I won't even be interrupted!"

Behind him, Penny could only sigh.

It wasn't hard to find more information on the liar in Marinette's class. All it had taken was going to Marinette's social media, going to her Ladyblogger friend's page, and from there finding Alya's personal blog.

He felt a bit strange flipping through a teen girl's personal blog and it certainly wasn't something he would ever do normally, but Jagged Stone was on a mission and Alya's blog was a veritable treasure mine. Not even three minutes after he first found the blog, Jagged Stone had learned who the liar girl in question was and had found several of the claims that she had made, all so absolutely outrageous that Jagged Stone had to wonder how anyone believed them in the first place.

But outrageous or not, they had also given him an idea.

Lila had claimed that she had saved his cat, and that he had written a song for her in thanks. Now, he definitely wasn't going to be thanking her for anything, but he could certainly write a song about her.

It wasn't going to be flattering, and it wasn't going to call Lila out by name- Penny had helpfully informed him that doing so would probably land him in legal trouble, even before he had been able to voice the idea (which was super rock-n-roll, actually, that they were so much on the same wavelength!)- but the details that he was going to refer to, courtesy of the blog, would mean that anyone familiar with Lila would know exactly who he was referring to.

Jagged Stone already had some lyrics scribbled out on a sheet of paper and a couple bars of music to go with it, and it was going to be a banging song. Like, top-of-the-charts, definitely-on-the-radio, impossible-to-miss banging.

"The main problem I'm foreseeing here is that it takes time to release a song," Penny reminded Jagged as she bundled him and Fang into a town car and then got in herself. "You need at least seven songs usually in an album, and then there's the studio time, you know that, and-"

"So it'll get released as a single for now," Jagged Stone told her, because obviously he wasn't going to leave Marinette hanging for longer than he had to. What kind of uncle would he be if he did that? "Singles take less time! I can probably have a demo by the end of the week, and then if we can get a recording studio in any of the cities that we actually spend some time in, then I can get the tracks recorded and all ready for mixing and- oh!" Jagged froze, struck by the most perfect idea. "If we can get Marinette to do the cover art for the single, that would be perfect! Then she gets her bully taken down and some money besides- yes, I'll tell her about it right away and work around her schedule, Penny, I already know that- and I get some more awesome art!"

Penny rubbed her forehead, right between her eyebrows, but didn't protest further. "All right. But you know that if you want a cover that'll go along with the single, Marinette needs some direction. I just don't know how you'll keep it all a surprise."

"She can get the background demo tracks and a prompt list of words," Jagged Stone told her at once, because he had already considered that. He had been working on getting better at not leaving all of the thinking and planning up to Penny, too, even if she hadn't quite gotten used to that yet. "That will help her come up with a cover. And look, I've already started!"

"I...see that."

By the time they had boarded the train and were halfway to London, Jagged had gotten the main part of the song written down. The lyrics just needed tweaking, the drums could probably be shaken up, and he wanted to add a few more backing tracks and play with some effects, but he had been inspired and it showed.

"I'll check it against your other songs after the meeting and make sure that you're not accidentally borrowing from an old song," Penny told him as he enthusiastically tapped his pen against the seat of his chair, trying out different drum beats with the tune. "And then I suppose we can start work on demo tracks, if you're so determined to get this out fast."

Jagged Stone grinned. "That sounds perfect."

In what was surely Jagged Stone's fastest turnaround time ever, he was ready. The song was written, the demo tracks had been polished up into the final tracks and had been professionally recorded and mixed, Marinette had gotten the single's art done (and it was amazing, of course, somehow absolutely perfectly fitting the song even though Marinette hadn't heard the lyrics yet), and everything was ready, all within a month's time.

(His new record company was none too thrilled that he hadn't given them time to promote it, but, well, he was big enough to drop a new single out of nowhere and have it succeed, so did it really matter?)

And then it dropped Monday morning. By mid-morning Paris time, it had exploded all over the radio and thousands of people had bought it already. His new record label was applauding it as a huge success, all of their complaints about the lack of promotion forgotten, critics were already praising both the song and the cover art-

-and Jagged Stone didn't care. He was more focused on if the song had done its work and had gotten rid of Marinette's liar problem.

"You are not allowed to call her up and beg to know what's going on," Penny instructed him sternly. "Marinette is in class right now, and you know that she'll reach out and keep you updated when she can. Now either sit down and stop pacing, or go give Fang a bath. Heaven knows that that will keep you busy."

"Oh, I suppose." Fang deserved a bath after putting up with their most recent bout of traveling, after all. Travel grime was ugh, even on a crocodile. "But let me know as soon as Marinette texts! I won't be able to check my phone, since my hands will be all wet, but I wanna know!"

"I promise. Now go, shoo- you're distracting me!"

Jagged shooed.

Marinette had been a bit distracted all morning, and for once, it wasn't because of Adrien or her Guardian duties.

Ever since Jagged Stone had told her that he was going to be dropping a new single soon and asked her to do the art, Marinette had been looking forward to the song coming out. She didn't know what the song was about, exactly- Jagged Stone was being strangely cagey about getting any more specific about the lyrics- but he had sent along a basic demo track along with a few prompt words for her illustration and it sounded amazing. She could only imagine how awesome the final version- properly mixed, with all of the instruments ironed out and vocals and everything- would sound.

(And now it had some pretty awesome art to go along with it, if Marinette said so herself- dark, seething greens in the background stood in stark contrast to the trails of shimmery gold dust in the forefront. It was more abstract than some of her other covers, but Jagged Stone had proclaimed it the coolest thing ever and tossed her a bonus on top of the already-generous commission price, which was amazing.)

And then, right before lunch, Nino gave a shout of surprise.

"Jagged Stone just dropped a single!" Nino announced, waving his phone at everyone. "I didn't even know that he was thinking about releasing anything! Lila, did he tell you?"

"Well, yes, but he asked that I keep it secret," Lila said at once, pressing a hand to her chest. It was a common look on her, faux-humble in a sickly sweet way that made Marinette want to gag. "I even got to listen to it before it got released, and it's fantastic."

"This art is sick!" Nino exclaimed. Marinette peered over his shoulder, and- yup, Nino was already in the process of buying it. "'Not All That Glitters is Gold- man, I gotta get a poster of this art, I bet that the non-digital version actually does glitter!"

Marinette hid her smile. It did, actually.

"Yes, they're a fantastic artist, aren't they?" Lila bragged. "They're a very private person, but I introduced them to Jagged Stone- I thought that he might want a professional artist for this song."

All eyes shot to Marinette, waiting with bated breath to see her reaction. After a second, Lila gasped dramatically, hands flying to her mouth. "Oh! Not- not that there was anything wrong with the album cover you did, Marinette, just that-"

"It's funny that you say all of that," Marinette said, her voice icy-cold. "Because I did the cover art for Jagged's new song, and I have the art- with all of the layers, in case you want to claim that I just downloaded it- plus the in-progress demos that I sent to Jagged Stone, plus the invoice for that commission to prove it."

The class went silent.

"And you didn't introduce me to Jagged Stone, he reached out to me," Marinette added on. "And I have the emails for that, too. So you can cut it out with the lies now."

"Oh, silly me, I must have gotten the single mixed up with Jagged's next full album," Lila tittered hastily. "The professional that I recommended to him must be doing the full album, and I just misunderstood."

Marinette was pleased to see that this time, not everyone looked entirely convinced.

"Ms. Bustier, can we please listen to Jagged Stone's new song?" Nino asked as their teacher entered the classroom, shoving his hair up into the air. "Please? Marinette did the art, and Lila's already heard it because she's friends with Jagged!"

"Well, I suppose you can put it on while I get the lesson set up and collect the homework," Ms. Bustier said with a laugh. "That's so exciting, you two! Nino, you know how to connect to the room's speakers so that we can all hear it? At a reasonable volume," she added hastily as Nino got up. "If we get any more noise complaints, then we won't be allowed to have any music on for events for the rest of the school year."

"Got it, Ms. Bustier!"

"I can't believe that you got to do another cover for Jagged Stone!" Alya said excitedly as Nino hooked up his phone. "And you didn't say anything!"

"Of course not. Some of my commissions are secret-"

Marinette was cut off by the oh-so-familiar opening chords of Jagged's newest song, and she trailed off. The accompanying horns were new, and definitely attention-catching and fantastic. Marinette's breath caught in her throat, already blown away.

And then the lyrics started.

At first, Marinette didn't really hear anything out of place. Then she caught a mention of kittens on a runway and sat up straight. All around her, murmurs gave away that other people had heard the same thing and everybody sat up and listened as the song swung around into the chorus.

'Not all that glitters is gold! Hiding behind lies that were told

A dollar-store gem trying to pass herself off as a diamond!

Claims of connections abound, but none of her stories are sound

A liar, through and through!

Adrien spun around in his seat to look back at Marinette, just as Marinette realized what Jagged Stone had done and clapped her hands over her mouth in silent glee. He quirked an eyebrow at her, mouthing a silent did you ask him to do this? and Marinette shook her head.

No, she hadn't asked. She had mentioned Lila to Penny, though, after Penny had asked about why Marinette had been so down. Her parents had probably said more, if she was really being honest, and Penny had no doubt told Jagged Stone, who then came to the very logical and oh-so-Jagged conclusion that the best way to deal with the problem was by writing a call-out song. A call-out song that, by the sounds of it, included references to more than a few of Lila's lies, not just her ones concerning Jagged Stone, so there was no way to mistake who the song was referring to.

She definitely hadn't mentioned all of those to Penny.

In the back, Lila had gone white. More than a few classmates had turned around, sending her disgusted looks. Alya had frozen in her seat before whipping around, murder in her gaze. Even Ms. Bustier was looking incredibly suspicious as she made the connection between the lyrics and all of the stories that Lila had told over the months.

Lila's reign of lies had come to a very abrupt end, heralded by the sound of horns.

"You didn't even know that he was going to do that, did you?" Adrien asked her as soon as the song came to an end. "You looked so surprised!"

"He didn't let me hear the lyrics at all!" Marinette exclaimed, and wow, now she knew why. She was honestly starting to feel teary, because Jagged Stone had written this song for her, because she had been upset after Lila's expulsion attempt, and she knew just how much work went into making a song, and it- this was incredible. "Or really anything beyond vague prompt words. I knew that he knew about Lila, because Penny asked why I was feeling down and I told her, but this..."

Marinette would have assumed that just bursting into class would be more Jagged's style, over-the-top and impulsive and immediate, but maybe he had just been too inspired by the topic and the idea of a song to think of that. And whether or not that was the intention, the song was so catchy, so bound to be popular, there was no way that Lila would be able to escape it. She would be hearing it on the car radio, playing in the train station and on the bus and in the mall. If Lila was on her own, she could leave, or turn it off. But if she was with classmates, or her mom- assuming that her mom didn't actually know what Lila had been up to all this time- then Lila would have to sit and stew.

...maaaybe that wasn't a great thing if she was going to be staying in Paris, but with any luck, it would drive Lila so mad that she would leave.

"That's one heck of a call-out by Jagged!" Kim cackled loudly, breaking through the muted muttering. "Wow, how ticked off did you have to make him for him to go out of his way to write and produce a song calling you out?"

"No, it's not what it looks like- I swear, he's just, uh..." Lila was floundering. There really was no easy way to get out of this, but clearly she was going to try anyway. "You know not all song lyrics are literal! I did save his cat, and he did write a song for me, it's just that-"

"What's the name of the so-called song Jagged Stone wrote for you called, then?" Nino asked sarcastically. "'Clinging to the coattails of fame without any dignity'?"

Marinette choked on a laugh before hastily trying to hide it. Across the aisle, Chloe was far less subtle as she cackled in delight, clearly thrilled by Lila's messy downfall.

Marinette wasn't surprised. Chloe was far less impressed by connections and tall tales than a lot of their peers, but she was absolutely the sort of person to be bitter about how much attention Lila had been getting. It meant less attention on Chloe, and that just couldn't stand.

"Okay, class, please settle down!" Ms. Bustier implored. She was glancing around the classroom, clearly trying to figure out a path forward. "Ah, Lila, let's step out to talk to the principal and call your mom."

"No, but a song from a rock star is hardly considered any sort of reliable source, surely!" Lila cried, still not willing to give up and come quietly. "He's met thousands of people, why would everybody assume that he's talking about a real person? That he's talking about me?"

"Lila. Now."

Finally looking properly wilted, Lila gathered up all of her things in a rush, stuffing them roughly in her bag before heading out the door in front of Ms. Bustier. All around Marinette, whispers started up, some people comparing notes on stories Lila had told and finally (FINALLY) looking them up, others looking up the lyrics to the song. Marinette ignored them all, fumbling for her phone and pulling up Jagged Stone's contact number.

Seriously, how was she supposed to thank him? He had gone to so much work, gone so far out of his way, just for her. Because it was for her, Marinette knew that. Jagged Stone had plenty of over-eager fans that sometimes went overboard with things, and of course there were tabloids that loved to make up stories about him. Jagged Stone ignored all of them the best he could- well, until they got too intrusive, at least, like that one photographer- instead of slapping back. There was no reason for him to go out of his way just for Lila, when she looked at it that way. Lila and her lies wouldn't even appear on Jagged Stone's radar, if it weren't for Marinette. But that hadn't made a difference to Jagged.

Seriously. Best. Uncle. Ever.

(Well. Best not-technically-an-uncle ever. After all, Penny always insisted that Jagged Stone couldn't just adopt Marinette as his niece, no matter how much he wanted to.)

With shaky fingers and happy tears blurring her vision, Marinette texted a quick thank-you to Jagged, hoping that he could feel all of her gratitude through the few simple words that she managed to pull together. Without the constant threats from Lila hanging over her head- either because Lila would be gone or because she would be so thoroughly discredited by everyone that she would be powerless- and without having to constantly be at odds with most of her friends about Lila and her lies, Marinette's days at school would be much more enjoyable and relaxed.

Penny glanced at Jagged Stone's phone for the fifty-seventh time in an hour and a half. His phone kept lighting up with all sorts of messages- from his new producers, from celebrity and non-celebrity friends alike, from his family members- and she had kept checking it, noting messages that needed to be responded to as she did.

It was exhausting, especially since Penny had her own correspondence to attend to- questions about integrating the new song into set lists, requests for interviews about the new song, and an ongoing back-and-forth with Jagged Stone's lawyer to make sure that he wasn't going to get in legal trouble for the song (since no names were mentioned, he was in the clear as long as he didn't call out Lila during any interviews, but she just wanted to be prepared). Frankly, Penny was tempted to put Jagged's phone on mute and just ignore it for a bit before checking to see if Marinette had reached out. After all, she would be in school right now, so the likelihood of Marinette and her classmates being able to listen to the song before lunch was, well, rather low-

Message from: Marinette Dupain-Cheng

-but Penny supposed that it wasn't entirely impossible.

"Message from Marinette!" Penny called out, and there was a yelp and a clatter as Jagged Stone dropped the broom he was using to scrub Fang to dash out to the main room and snatch up his phone. He grinned at the message, whooping in triumph.

"They listened to it in class and all of her classmates figured it out right away!" Jagged announced. "And the liar girl got carted off to the principal's office and her mother is being called, so she's dealt with. Score!"

"Yes, good job," Penny told him, resigned to hearing about it for the next month, at least. Jagged Stone was going to be too caught up in the euphoria of his success to be much use, so she would have to deal with all of the setting up appointments. "Your idea worked, Marinette's bully has been dealt with. Can you relax now?"

Jagged didn't seem to hear her. "You know what, I'm going to call up room service and we can all have a feast to celebrate! And- oh, I should text Marinette back, 'cause I wanna get any more updates! I just want to make sure that the little eel doesn't manage to slither out of punishment again. I doubt even she can get out of it now, but I gotta follow through!"

Penny could only sigh as Jagged Stone bounced away across the room. As he went, Penny could hear him singing under his breath.

Tea with a prince, talking about charity

She's too kind, too good to be

Working to save the world, she always tries

Except everything she says are self-serving lies!

Not all that glitters is gold! Hiding behind lies that were told

A dollar-store gem trying to pass herself off as a diamond-!

#Miraculous Ladybug #my writing #A Very Jagged Take-Down #Jagged Stone #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste

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stopeatingwhales · 4 years

Text

“dance with me,” x noel gallagher

this was one of my earliest requests and i’m so unbelievably sorry it’s so overdue! i honestly went all out with writing this (it’s the longest fic i’ve ever written from this date). my honest face by inhaler helped me write the ending/the last part to this, so thank you inhaler anons ;) x

Pairing: high school noel x reader

Warnings: low form of assault, but it’s very brief (from another character - not noel) + A LOT of softness :)

Word count: 4.772

Requested by anon, I’m so sorry it’s so late <3

༉‧₊˚✧

“No, I want you, she’s so heavy is the best song!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air, a repulsive look plastered on my face. “Imagine thinking that Polythene Pam was the best,” I added, my loathsome expression increasing in disgust.

I was at Noel’s house, sitting on his bed in his shared room, accompanied by his younger brother Liam as Abbey Road by the Beatles blasted out of his record player. The atmosphere of the space was extremely calming - Noel sometimes joining in on Oh! Darling as it spun around on the player, his guitar strumming the notes lightly projecting the song louder, whilst his knee bounced up and down to measure the beat. I laid down on his bed, adorning his scent whiffed all over the sheets as I played with a few of my hair strands, humming along to Paul McCartney’s voice quietly, not interrupting the soothing sounds escaping from Noel’s guitar. The occasional curse word slipped out of Liam’s mouth - his eyes pinned on the simple question written on his homework sheet. He hadn’t done any of his work for the past two weeks, receiving multiple detentions - to which he didn’t attend - until the headteacher of our school decided to threaten him with an expulsion. During the time I was with them, I had slightly helped on a few of the questions littering his maths sheet, hinting at the answers so he would be able to properly figure them out himself. However, trying to teach a naughty 12-year-old how to do long division was exactly like being able to balance a spoon on your nose whilst laughing. Completely and utterly impossible.

Me going over to Noel’s place wasn’t unknown; I tended to go over to theirs once or twice during the week, most times after school because I had nothing better to do. We usually hung out in his room, mainly because we were both drained from how exhausting school always was, and plus, we didn’t need to go anywhere to have a laugh together, we always did. No matter where we were, we somehow found a way to brighten everything up - perhaps by smoking a joint together in a plain field, watching the sunset as we impatiently waited for another rave to pass by us, or by spending our evenings in relaxing moments like these, listening to our favourite albums without a care in the world, the occasional argument slipping out of our mouths about which was the best song - usually ending up in Noel ignoring me for the sum of 10 minutes before I gave in and apologised for my stupid remark. There’s no best song by The Beatles, they’re legendary for a reason.

“Shut it, otherwise I’m ignoring you again,” Noel replied, staring at me with both his eyes squinted together. I lifted my head up from his pillow, scoffing. Knowing this was going to happen, I didn’t reply to his silly remark, dropping my head back down onto his pillow once again. Despite the groggy feeling partnering in the room due to the heater being on, his scent was sweet. He smelt like a packet of heavy Marlboro cigarettes, whisked in with cheap aftershave from the shop down the road because he’s skint from buying too many cigarettes and ‘forgot to buy one the other day’. Nevertheless, it was alluring. I adored his scent, mainly because it reminded me of how the littlest things in life can mean the most to you. It continuously reminded me that doing simple things like these add to the empowering lifestyle of being a teenager in a dying city; Manchester was left to rot due to the prime minister focusing all her time and dedication to unimportant things, rather than helping the poor and lower class. It gave us a sense of freedom, that without the higher class evoking their worry in our troubles, they forgot about everything and let us be. We could do whatever we desired now, whether it be partying until you’re unable to walk for three days, or skipping school because you can’t be bothered to see people that only retaliate at you for petty reasons. It was the bittersweet rivers of life, we were poor but we had fun with it, dancing until our last breath before dawn.

“Noel,” Liam said, lifting his head up from his crinkled worksheet. “Don’t you have that school dance soon?” he added, the temperature of the room now feeling like it was upped one hundred degrees due to my cheeks reddening. Since me and Noel didn’t have that big of a friendship group, and both of us having somewhat a troubled love life for our age, our minds never brushed past the thought of going to the leavers dance. It was itching towards the end of the school year, meaning that we were going to leave school, so going and taking part in the fun of a last dance was quite hyped up. My mind sometimes brushed the idea of me and Noel going together, but we were only friends. Plus, wouldn’t that just be weird?

I tried to subtly raise my head to look at Noel, my eyes trailing from the plain white ceiling to his slim-structured body. The neck of his acoustic guitar was gripped gently by his left hand, his right caressing the strings softly as his playing came to a close from the question hanging in the air. He shifted around in his seat a bit, adjusting where the guitar sat, before clearing his throat and answering the question. I was tempted to ask him the same thing too, my curiosity over the subject now being the only thing pitted in my mind. “Well, yeah but I haven’t got no one to go with, init?” He said, staring straight at Liam, then the piece of paper lying in front of him on his bed. My heart sank a little as that sentence launched out of his mouth abruptly, my thoughts now following on with unspeakable things of what I could’ve answered to that. I knew he really wanted to go with someone, but there wasn’t anyone who would be willing to go out with him, even for just one night.

“Couldn’t you just go with Y/N?” Liam asked, turning his head to look at me. My eyes widened expeditiously, my crimson cheeks now turning to fire as I chewed on my bottom lip. The heat bubbling in my body caused me to feel a slight tingle at my lower back, the feeling of sweat beginning to form on all the spots that weren’t visible to both boys - the skin I owned underneath. “Unless you’ve got someone to go with, but I doubt that,” Liam added, chuckling after his words.

Ignoring his comment, I stayed silent for a few seconds, my eyes darting to my fingers as I fiddled with them - figuring out what to answer. “I mean, we could just go as friends I guess?” I said, now staring straight at Noel. He stared back at me, his eyebrows shifting around a bit, contemplating the idea that was now punctured in his brain. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” I added, reassuring that I did feel the same way at first - friends shouldn’t be going together - when it’s no harm dressing up and having a couple drinks with your best friend, we do that all the time anyways.

“I suppose so,” He replied, nodding his head as he darted his head back to the record player, reaching out for the opened water bottle placed by the record player - taking a short sip of it before carrying on his sentence. “But you have to admit Polythene Pam is the best song,”

~~~

As I walked through the school gates I was for once welcomed with a feeling which wasn’t dread. I gazed around the mundane, dimmed colours of the school’s front whilst anticipation filled my veins whole, adoring my body like a little child, after begging and begging for minutes on end for their guardian to buy them a treat they had been eyeing at for what felt like a year, their carer gives in from the child’s immediate persistence, causing the kid to be on a cloud-nine-level of euphoria and exhilaration. For once, I felt excited; apprehension for the tales ahead buzzed through my body, for my usual, stale state taking a departure once my eyes made contact with the known building for once. Tonight I was going to enjoy myself, even if I despised the majority of the people who were attending. This was one of the last chances I got to enjoy myself at school - and since we’re going for the its-the-last-day-of-the-world vibe - I might as well make the most of it while it lasts.

Walking up to the main building, I saw bright, flashy colours being projected from inside the large hall, reminiscing me of the many raves I had hazily attended with Noel whilst we were drunk off of our heads. The sparkling lights, the huge domes of crowded, drunken teenagers - just like me and him - trying to find a place to fit in, accidentally stumbling into an open, warm embrace to another dimension crammed with unknown faces, an introduction to the exact same embrace they’d be entangled in when they go back home to their parents in the middle of the night - whom were sick to their stomach in worry because they didn’t know where their child was. You belonged to your families, but you refused to believe that life was as bland as it had become; there’s more to life than studying for exams, everyone says. You don’t want to end up like the small percentage of people who refuse to live their lives because it's the only one they’ve got. You want to live your life because it is the only one you’ve got.

My shoes echoed a light tap on the concrete as I paced slowly, my mind entranced in thought, wondering the crowds I’d be exposed to once I set foot inside the chattering room. As I made my way to the glass door, I stared at my reflection briefly, adjusting my hair a little bit due to it falling out of place from the small gusts of wind that had accompanied me on my way to the school. A rush of nervousness focused on my mind until I gripped on the handle, pushing the door open, revealing the view of teenagers dancing about, drinking, laughing or slobbering on each other's faces. My anxieties were cleared when I saw every girl dolled up in dresses; the one I was currently engulfed in wasn’t that nice - it being the only dress I’ve had in my wardrobe for a couple years (since I wholeheartedly have a brutal hate for dresses). I was forced to keep it in my closet in case there was a time and a place I needed it, for unexpected times like these, a leavers disco, my date being my one and only best friend Noel Gallagher. I was astounded to realise it actually sat on me the same as it used to, only a little bit shorter due to me growing in height. I was the same height as Noel, yet we would always have arguments over who was taller - always being shushed by Liam as he was figuring how to write a paragraph describing what happens in Act 5 of Macbeth. Get a room, you two.

Wandering on the sidelines of the grand hall, I picked up on the little decorations which had been ripped off the walls from careless students. The colour of the room was a simple blue, making it quite hard to study everything from the human eyes. Bits of what seemed to be silky red ribbon - the flashing lights of the room making it quite hard to figure out what shade it was - ripped up tissue paper, and a few bursted balloons. Music was playing, blasting out of huge Marshall amps, stacked upon each other on the main stage, where years worth of plays and performances were repetitively played almost every half term, my mind reminiscing on the first play I did in year 7 as a side character. The many screams that escaped people’s mouths as the chorus of Boys Don’t Cry by the Cure, prevented me from living out the memories for the last time as I set foot in the hall. Humming along to the melody, I waved my arms around in the air - not too far out, in case I accidentally come into contact with someone rushing past me - my fingers twiddling together as I spun myself around slightly. The ambience of the room felt very uplifting, reminding me of, yet again, those fun times I had experienced with Noel on the many late nights of the summer holidays.

My eyes briefly caught contact with a table as I was walking - the drinks stand. It sat straight ahead of me, yet it was positioned facing the crowds of people mingling about singing along to the new song that began playing. As each step began bringing me closer to it, I attempted to analyse what was suited up for options, squinted my eyes together. There were four fish-bowl-like tubs, with nothing but flavoured beverage inside them, all of them being a different shade - one lighter than the other, one darker than the other. Once I made it to the table, I continued to vary my choice, my eyes completely enthralled by the options. Bowls were left almost empty, some fully empty. As I placed my finger on the one which had the most drink in it, I squinted my eyes together again, wondering if it was the best choice.

“You come here alone?” chirped up a voice in front of me, behind the table. As I raised my head up, I met eyes with the person, noticing that it was one of mine and Noel’s mates. There were stacks of paper cups lined up behind him, along with one small stack sat on the wooden table beside his stood body - for easy access when having a lot of customers, especially at the start of the dance, when all the people attending want is a drink to murder the awkward atmosphere building up in the place.

Laughing lightly, I smiled. “Well, I’m supposed to be here with Noel,” I said, quickly scanning the room after to see if he had made it yet - clearly not. “But he doesn’t seem to have arrived here yet,”

I heard a laugh escape the boy's mouth. “You and Noel?” he asked, grabbing a spoonful of the drink I was eyeing merely seconds previous, snatching a paper cup from the pile lined up perfectly beside him, gathering some of the drink before splashing the liquid into the cup. “I was wondering when that was going to happen,” he added, more or so mumbled, as if he was trying to hide it from me. I noticed he rolled his eyes slightly, his eyebrows furrowing together as he dropped the spoon he was pouring the drink with back into its original position - inserted into the bowl.

“Sorry?” I asked, confused by his comment. He handed me the drink after swishing it around in his hand a couple times - perhaps to check if there was enough to the point it wouldn’t spill, or maybe because he was stunned by my upfront approach against his words, mustering responses in his head before spitting back at me. It felt like there was a lot on his mind - a lot he wanted to say, most likely things to me.

His eyes wandered around the table separating us. Fixating both his palms on the table, keeping it steady, he sighed, sucking in one side of his mouth before exhaling. “Well, he’s more of a pretentious twat if I’m honest,”

I was shocked. My jaw was practically on its way to drop to the ground and smash at full force - as if it were being thrown off the tallest tower in the world. Why did he say that? “Plus, he’s your best mate, are you that lonely not to go with anyone else?” he scoffed, clearly aiming the question towards why I hadn’t gone with him. There was speculation of him liking me between conversations I had with our small friend group at school, but I tended to avoid bringing it up in conversation; I got too uncomfortable. We weren’t close, he was always there simply whenever we hung out at school. Apart from that, we barely ever saw him, let alone know anything about him.

“Come on Y/N, let’s dance,” he said, circling the table, walking round to where I was standing, my eyes facing the bowls. He grabbed my arm roughly - turning me to look directly at him. “You deserve better than that fucker!” he exclaimed, attempting to drag me closer to him, as he pulled us to the middle of the room, where everyone was dancing. Gripping onto the beverage tightly in my free hand, I pulled it close to me, in case I’d manage to spill anything on the floor, becoming the cause of someone’s injury from slipping and ripping their clothes. His body language seemingly began to turn more aggressive as we made it to the centre of the room, the pressure being put on my wrist getting more and more tight. The idea of me and Noel dancing in the room played on his mind as it did with mine too, noticing the amount of people dancing with their significant others. Perhaps the reason he kept adding so much strength was because he was jealous, the same sort of jealousy when you find out two of your supposed best friends had gone out together and forgot to ask you to come - when without a doubt deliberately did it since they didn’t want you attending. His grip was slowly seeming out more pain in my body.

My hand began to ache; the force he was pushing onto my wrist was causing my hand to tingle from the lack of blood circulation. The idea of throwing my drink at him, knowing I wouldn’t drink it anymore due to what he was doing to me, “Get off of me, you bitch!” I shrieked, jittering my hand around in all ways possible, causing him to turn his face to look at me, scold me perhaps, until I took the chance and threw my drink straight at him - aiming for the eyes like pepper spray gauging to the root of your eyes, blinding you in immediate pain. I heard him shout, instantly releasing his hold from my hand, as I headed to leave the room straight away. Practically everyone had their eyes glued to the pair of us, staring both of us questioningly, the sound of my heels clanking against the wooden floor ringing through my ears painfully as I exited the immensely tensed stiff room.

~~~

Walking outside of the building, I made my way towards the gate I once entered, couching to lean against the wall that was placed beside it. The aged wall felt cold, the little bumps of hardened cement sticking out of the bricks digging into my dress, eventually into my back. The contrast of my heated body against the freezing wall brought a feeling of relaxation - the stressful situation that had previously occurred just moments ago finally began departing from its connection to my thoughts. I held my face in my hands, slowly feeling my wrist go from its numbed state to a softened feeling of fuzz; I moved it around a little bit, noticing I had somewhat control of it now. The past tingly feeling I felt on my hand had come to my head instead, as I started to weave myself into thoughts about what people would take and think from the situation. I was almost certain someone was going to mention it to everyone and everywhere imaginable - casual teenager gossip, a girl got assaulted, spread it around!

As the skies unfolded newer, darker shades, welcoming the night, the stale breeze picked up on itself, cluttering my hair, throwing it to other parts of my face - like how it was before I had entered the building, this time as if I had rolled down a mountain and stood up injury free. Collecting my arms in an embrace to warm me up, I leaned my head back against the brick wall, staring at the twinkling night sky. It was surprising how much light the moon emitted. You didn’t need that many lamp posts at all, unless you were walking in an area where the moon was unable to shimmer its colours: a dull alleyway, where there's only one small light hanging on the wall, basically broken, a flickering light flashing out of it, just managing you to get through the dust and dirt cascaded around you. Almost telling you that, you’ll be able to survive your hardships, as long as you believe in the light to keep shining.

Staring at my shoes, I admired the little sparkles glimmering from my shoes. They were small, short-cut heels that I put on to make myself look fit for the part of a schoolgirl ready to depart from her beautiful teenage life and enter a world of womanhood. I was growing up, and I just hoped that the future that was slowly unravelling itself to me was going to be better than I anticipated it to be. Tonight went to shit, though.

“Y/N?” a voice said, speaking up as it walked through the gate’s entrance. Straight away I was able to know who it was. Noel.

Moving my head from the view of the night sky, I locked eyes with Noel - who was standing in front of me, concern miffed on his eyes. He was clothed in a cheap looking suit, perhaps one he found in his mother's closet which belonged to his father previously, or maybe one he stole from a friend. It fit him perfectly, as if the brand tailored to his bodily structure. His hair looked as if he had done it properly for once, rather than having it in its usual, worn down state. “Why are you sitting alone, and outside in the freezing cold?”

I scoffed, recalling the situation. However, I avoided mentioning it; it would only make the rest of the evening more dreadful to experience. “Rough night,” I mumbled, turning my head to the glowing skies again. “Where were you?” I asked, attempting to change the subject expeditiously. Thankfully, it worked.

“Thought it started at ten,” he replied, walking to lean on the wall beside me, but not sitting like I was. He shuffled his feet a little bit, small, minuscule rocks causing a scraping sound to ripple out from underneath. It was a soothing sound at first, the coarse scratches against the floor reminding me of walking in the middle of a sea of leaves in a park in autumn, completely emptied, without a soul to be seen when there's not a single tree alive and blooming anymore. A ghost town, when in summer would be compressed with thousands of people trying to get past the sweaty, sticky air causing you to cough a couple times. You walk through, stomping on whatever leaf your shoe comes into contact with, a crisp, crunchy sound mounting from it. You slow your pace, wanting to breathe in the cool air, capture the moment before it’s too late and you’re getting your keys to unlock your front door. “Guess not,”

Sighing, I shook my head. “It’s fine, don’t worry, really,” I answered, my eyes trailing to the school building once again. “It’s not like you missed out on anything,”

As if on cue, once my eyes made contact with the place, the loud music that was being projected out of it came to a halt - cutting off mid song, forming goose bumps on my arm out of frustration. You don’t cut off a song halfway, patience, please. I’d always say to Noel, when he got sick and tired of listening to I want you (She’s so heavy) for the fourth time. We’ve listened to it four times! Regardless, you twat. You don’t cut off good music.

I heard Noel snicker lightly, knowing I would get bothered - even if I didn’t physically show it. What was replaced with the rasp, echoing sounds of some random dance song, was the music I was silently waiting for all night. The slow dancing song. The most memorable moment of the night. In all honesty, the song that was playing was bad - but that’s not the point.

As the music progressed on, I imagined myself in the hall, slow dancing with Noel. Tonight made me realise something: over the past year and a bit of mine and his friendship blossoming, he became someone that I needed in my life, in my future. Like how tea needs its milk and sugar. Like how to write you need a pen. You couldn’t take one or the other out of the equation; it wouldn’t make sense - at all. It was weird enough knowing we used to hate each other in class, not because someone said something to the other to piss them off, neither of us really didn’t know. We just hated each other’s presence - until we both shared a spliff together one morning before school; I had forgotten my last cigarette at home, and him - not exactly knowing why he did it - offered to have a hit of his.

“Dance with me,” he said, lifting his body off off the wall, once again standing right in front of me.

“What?”

“Every girl deserves a dance,” he started grabbing my hand, preparing himself to pull me up. Our eyes made stale contact, his brunette eyes interlocking with mine. They had a certain shine to them under the moonlight, a certain twinkle I was never able to notice before. “Especially you,” he added, dragging me up from the icy, dirty floor.

My heart fluttered as he pulled my body close to his, his hand adorning my hip as his other held my hand and pulled it closely to his chest. My grin was as wide as the sun in 360 degree view, heating up my face in a light blush, not noticeable in the dark. A part of me felt as if he noticed; his small smile widened slightly when the rush of warmth embraced my skin. I placed my free hand on his shoulder, allowing my fingers to feel the cheap fabric he was wearing. I didn’t care how expensive or how low-priced, all I needed was Noel, no one else. He knew me like no one else did.

Pulling Noel closer to my body, we began swaying, the soft sounds of the music playing in the background. I’m sure everyone else in the town would be able to hear the music at one point; they used an unreasonable amount of amps for the songs. I hugged his body, adoring his scent once again. The same, cheap, worn down smell, whiffed with what smelt like a hit of weed, perhaps to calm himself down. He looked quite nervous when I first saw him. He was nervous, for me.

“Y/N,” he said, causing me to lift my head from his shoulder. I stared into his obscure, enthralling orbs, my heart softening. His pupils were dilated, his bottom lip sank into his mouth. He seemed anxious, worried about what was happening, until he exhaled his breath, a breath seeming like it was meant to escape decades ago, and cocked his head to the side, leaning in.

Heart pounding, I did the same, as our lips brushed against one another's. The kiss felt extremely overdue, as if it was meant to happen on the morning we first bonded on our new knowledge of our shared habit. He tasted exactly like how I imagined: sweet. Sweet with a hint of honey. Sweet with a hint of hunger, as if this was needed far, far long ago. This kiss was a response to every conversation we ever had, every lock of the eyes, every embrace. We continued swaying whilst our lips adventured on the feeling of something new. Love.

So when you ask me, how was your school dance? Because you like to push your nose into everyone else’s business, I’ll tell you, it was the best night of my life, like the end of all things usually is.

#noel gallagher x reader #liam gallagher #noel gallagher #oasis #britpop #music #90s #imagine #bandimagines #bands #fluff #smut #angst #writing #my writing

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nostalgic-pancakes · 3 years

Text

Room 73- Chapter 4/8

Summary: D&D is planned, two characters get their very own breakdowns, Thomas reminisces, and Virgil has one good day

Pairings: (eventual) QPP’s Remus and Patton, Pre-Relationship prinxiety, sibling-y Virgil and Original Character, Creativitwins

Read on AO3

Word count: 3326

Warnings: Questionable parenting, period-typical homophobia, the foster system, semi-graphic (?) depictions of violent death, rage breakdown, nervous breakdown, minor arson.

Other notes: None!

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Logan quite frankly had no idea what Janus meant by ‘friendly hissing’. All hissing was a warning sign to potential prey, and wasn’t friendly in any incarnation! How could certain kinds of hissing be friendly? They all sound the same!

This was a level of insanity nearly topping Neil DeGrasse Tyson playing Merlin in the fucking Sharknado movies. But not really. That would top everything. Either way, Janus, someone who also hissed rather often (information citation being Patton) was likely the superior authority in tonal hissing. Logan’s a bit too sleep-deprived looking up resources for ghosts and surviving midterms to care too much.

Either way, the Dungeons and Dragons planning session was starting today. Everyone would be there at lunch this time and that meant that one, he would get to see his brother for the first time since homeroom (no common classes on Wednesdays was not ideal), and meeting with the rest of their newfound friends.

(Logan had never had anyone other than Virgil, and the rest seem to be alright. Janus knows, anyways, and he didn’t hate Logan for it, so it’s probably alright. He hopes it’s alright.)

“Lo-Lo!! Over here!” comes a friendly voice from his northeast. It’s Patton, who’s waving at him, glasses crooked, big smile. Logan fixes his glasses, and tries to smile back. It works, and even feels real.

Patton from up close certainly looks a bit tired, but he’s still happy enough, so Logan refrains from pointing it out.

When they reach the lunch table tentatively labeled as ‘theirs’, Virgil scoots over to let Logan slot between him and Roman, while Patton curls up next to Janus, relishing being with their siblings again, as much as friends are ‘neat’.

(Maybe he’s been getting back into Welcome to Night Vale. Maybe Amma cried and hugged him, calling it progress and Mom sat next to him and listened to her own show, the Magnus Archives and held him close. Maybe Virgil squeezed him tight and brought out the ‘What the Fuck is Happening in Night Vale’ board they’d made when they were twelve. He’d never tell)

Remus starts to hand out sheets of paper, asking everyone to draw their characters while he and Virgil work on plot, and it’s quiet in that little space of three pairs of siblings sketching out D&D characters, later talking about little things, big things and everything in between in the courtyard because the senior kids had exams and therefore none of them had last period. It was pleasant, and they’d all be paying their third ever group visit to Thomas later in the afternoon, too.

This was nice.

…

“Hey, Vi?” Hildi asked from behind him. They were sitting back-to-back, on her bed listening to a new album from All Time Low. The name didn’t matter too much yet.

“Yeah, Di?”

“Wanna do low level arson?” she asked, turning to face him and reclaiming her earbud. This was probably a terrible idea, but Hildi was the one person he wasn’t scared of acting out horrific ideas with. He smiles, and it’s reflected in Hildi’s eyes, dark green like the forest she lives in.

“Sure, why not?” he gets up, and Hildi turns around again for him to take his binder off and put on a sports bra, before putting his jumper (that Patton had given him for his birthday last week) back on, and patting his jean pockets for his phone. Once he knew everything was there, Hildi turned back to him, took his hand and led him outside. - “Okay, so how did you possibly, in any fucking timeline convince me to set fire to your old ‘Secret Diaries’ in the middle of the very flammable woods as if it was, at all, anything REMOTELY RESEMBLING a good idea?!”

“The power of friendship, Virge. Don’t fret, the damages are going to be well hidden in a week.”

“Oh my god but this is how forest fires start, were we crazy?!”

“Virgil calm down, nothing is more than slightly scorched, nothing is dead, and we caught every last ember! You’d know!”

“How would I know? Isn’t that more your department?”

“Spend enough time with a witch, and this is what happens. I regret nothing.”

“I regret so many things.”

“Sadness.” - “Hey, scaredy-bro, Love you.” Hildi whispers into the night, and Virgil remembers nights like this in middle school, when he started to realise that not everyone was as scared as him all the time, and he’d become more scared because everyone was watching, and laughing, and--

And Hildi had been there, a casual acquaintance from primary school becoming his best friend becoming his kind of sister because what other word is there (?), offering him trash earbuds that made the grunge music sound that much grungier, and holding him close on the nights Logan came home, unable to speak, covered in bruises, never letting Virgil tell their parents even though Logan was their twin and Virgil was so scared-- She caught him as he fell, and he hopes that she knows that he’ll forever be grateful for it.

“Love you too, you fucking danger noodle.”

Hildi chucks a throw pillow at him. It misses by at least three feet, falling off the shared bed. They both giggle, loud enough that Hildi’s mum ‘ssh’’s them from her own room, audible even with the closed door.

Three hours later, knowing full well that Virgil’s been on tumblr this whole time, Hildi whispers again.

“Hey, let’s look for Kelpies in the creek tomorrow”

This is an awful idea. But it has fewer environmental ramifications.

“Sure, why not. After December break?”

“Fuck yeah.”

They don’t last a lot longer after that.

…

Virgil wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find when he went to check on Roman, after it was ten minutes past final bell and he still hadn’t shown in the chemistry room after going back to pick up his papers.

Having a minor breakdown was not on that list, even though murder was. Virgil’s brain needed new priorities.

“Ro-Ro, Roman, what’s happening?”

“I-I can’t Virgil, I can't do it, please, I’m sorry” Virgil’s hands clenched tighter onto Roman’s shirt collar, knuckles white from the worry.

“You can't do what, Roman?” he asks, as gently as he can

“I-I’m so scared, Virgil. Mom’s not doing well, Dad’s doing the opposite of helping, and Remus and I don’t know what to do, Virgil. They keep f-fighting. The last time we tried to tell, it was by accident, and Mom had gotten so mad, and she’d said “If you keep talking about how Mom and Dad fight, then there won’t be a mom and dad’ and I can’t-- I can’t live without her, I can’t, Virgil!” Roman blubbers into his shirt, staining his hoodie and and pressing against his (currently unbound, but no big deal) chest, but Virgil literally could not give a shit about his hoodie right then, pulling him closer and cradling Roman’s head in the crook of his neck, one hand in his (fluffy, holy shit is this cotton?) hair, the other cradling his back. Roman smells like wood and some kind of flower.

“Have you told her any of this, Ro?” Virgil asks, and Romab lets out a bigger sob, burying himself into Virgil’s torso. Virgil knew that Roman’s parents weren’t on the best of terms right now, even though they kept trying to be good parents, but this? This was new.

“I c-can’t because-hic- She’ll get more upset, and she’s alsways so close to snapping and i can’t tell dad because he’ll get angry and I can’t tell Remus because he knows but he doesn’t, he doesn’t---fuck”

“Doesn’t?” prompts Virgil, softly into Roman’s hair, muffled by the soft chestnut curls.

“know, not same as I do, he doesn’t get sad, he gets mad, and he doesn’t want to become like dad but he stops talking and locks himself in rooms to not yell at people and I don- I don’t wanna make it worse.” he says softly, and Virgil starts stroking his hair, as a way to try and calm Roman down, trying not to cry a bit himself. He wishes, in a horrible way, that this was a panic attack. He doesn’t know what to do here.

“Could you find a way to maybe more quietly tell her to stay, perhaps?” asks Virgil again, even quieter this time. Roman more feels the words than he hears them, a soothing sort of humming.

“But it’s so selfish, isn’t it? That I think that? She deserves to be happy, and if being without us is happy, then she should, right? But I can’t do this with just my dad- he’s trying, but I can’t, help, please.”

And Virgil doesn’t know what to do, or what to say anymore. So he just holds Roman tighter in that very small corner in the 9-D classroom, and Roman clutches back until he’s cried it out entirely, and is ready to face everyone else. It’s been a few minutes, but they can clean up real quick.

Virgil takes out his spare hoodie and changes into it, Roman with his back turned in the boy’s bathroom, while Roman fixes his hair and washes the drying tear tracks off of his face, which were starting to feel like a mask on his face. He tries for a smile, and it’s small, but at least it’s real.

Virgil passes him a granola bar, and Roman hesitates for a second, before smiling again, taking it in hand and pocketing it. Roman offers his hand for Virgil to take, and he does, feeling the softness of Roman’s hands in comparison to his own, long and calloused with fidget rings on both hands. He squeezes.

Virgil looks up at Roman again, and they share a small smile, before walking out of the bathroom, hand in hand.

Wait- why are his hands glowing?

“Fuck you, Hildi.” he muttered under his breath.

“Huh, what?” Roman looked back at him, questioningly.

“Uh, nothing. Just thinking. ‘Cmon.” he smiles again, and he means it. With Roman, it feels like all his fears can be kept aside for another day.

…

“Oh my god, Remus, no you cannot make yourself a dwarven stripper this is a PG-13 D&D game oh my god--”

Remus looks up from the (probably very gory) conversation he’s having with Patton to reply to Virgil. “And why not? Minnie could be a stripper in the way back!”

“Just… no, thanks.”

“UUUUUGH, you’re no FUN, Virgey.”

“C’mon Bro, you could be… I dunno, a taxidermist?” Remus gets the manic glint back in his eye, snatching his sheet back from Virgil to add in the new information, scribbling frantically. His handwriting is already nigh impossible to read on a good day, so he’d better be able to read his own character sheet.

“Hey Thomas, what do you want to be?” asks Janus, undoing his loops to start a new string game, having finished his character profile- a Tiefling Wizard, about ten minutes ago while Logan became his work partner and roommate (Oh my god they were roommates), a human wizard. Virgil was the DM, therefore without a character other than an ominous voice with anxiety and a god complex at the same time, and Patton and Roman were both Elves, though Patton was an Artificer and Roman was a Bard.

Logan quickly jotted down Thomas’s responding morse code, chuckled, and read it aloud. “He says, and I quote: Can I be the thing that goes bump in the night? But also offer tea and biscuits to wayward travellers.”

Virgil smiles in Thomas’s vague direction, trying to make eye contact with the static. He fails, but Thomas thinks it’s quite nice of him to try.

“You’re too nice, T. I’ll write it down for you.”

You’re too nice

He was too nice to not let them get away with it, to stop them from killing him, to stop them from--

”Oi! You fruitcake, too nice to go running to your boyfriend, huh? Get a taste of this and see whether you’re nice enough to take it.”

He was. He didn’t object to the stuff in the bottle going down his throat, burning up his organs and destroying his body from the inside.

He didn’t have enough vocal chords left to scream, even as the other boy, final year, shook him as if trying to see whether he’s wake up, even as a hole formed in his throat, bleeding and burning and burning and burning--

It’s the last thing Thomas remembers.

“Thomas? Thomas? You’re making static-y noises again. You okay?” it’s Virgil, and it’s been nearly a hundred years and they’re dead and he’s dead and there’s nothing left of anyone he remembers but memories and he pushes aside his last memory, the worst one, to try and think of Valerie, his amazing sister who got to go to his school, sit in the same chemistry room once it was converted into a public school. Terrence, his family friend who came to his gravestone specially when segregation ended, and he could finally come and visit.

Everett, his boyfriend, who kept visiting, every day at four P.M on the dot until he was twenty and left town for college. It feels better to remember them as they were, in loose clothes playing in the woods, hide and seek and dolls and Valerie-the-Nurse and Everett-The-Soldier and Thomas-The-Film-Star and finding ways to get Terrence away to play with them too, as Terrence-The-Mechanic who could fix anything, even emotional problems as their Mom’s tittered and their fathers scowled but they didn’t matter because they were having fun.

He snaps out of it proper when Virgil manages to locate his hand, semi-visible ...

Patton’s pulling at his hair, not enough to fall out but enough to hurt, Sarcastrophe by Slipknot raging through his headphones and he knows that this is bad for his hearing, but at this point if it can drown out the absolute rage pounding in his mind, then going deaf is worth it.

He doesn’t even know why he’s mad. It’s just there and he’s screaming into his sleeves, tears caking on his face for moments before the anger arrives again and there’s a new layer of saltwater on top of it, endlessly endlessly going and he can’t stop it and why can’t it just stop--

There’s someone calling. It’s Remus. And Patton has to be happy and he thinks he might just implode with the… everything building up in him, but he has to do this so he picks up the phone.

“Hi Patty-Cakes!” The nickname makes him want to puke, even though he doesn like it, but he swallows the imaginary bile in his throat and replies.

“H-Hey, Remus.”

“Patton? You alright?” No, not at all he wants to scream and kick and cry but also freeze and never move again and his head hurts and there’s a pit in his stomach that won’t go away!

“YEAH! Uh, yeah. I’m good.” he sniffles, and he hopes Remus didn’t pick up on it. Judging by the silence on the other end, he probably did.

“Pat, please, tell me what’s wrong. I won’t say anything. Just let it out. It usually works for Roman and I, but just- see for yourself, okay?” Remus sounds a little concerned, a little desperate, and Patton thinks Remus can hear him trying to stifle his crying. He tries a little harder and all that comes out is one long moan with hitches for cries and the tears are drying, and Remus starts again, concerned, but Patton can’t hear, because the tears are catching up again and he’s screaming again and his fingernails have cut little red crescent moons into his cheek and it drips a little and Remus is still talking, soothingly and Patton latches onto that voice like it’s the only thing that could possibly carry him through this because it damn well feels like it.

He hears footsteps but not really, too focused on trying to regain control of his breathing, following Remus’s count.

When it's been a few minutes of following the count, and Patton’s breathing has evened out, he wipes off his face in his old faithful broom skirt, always ready for days like these, and he buries himself a little further into his hoodie, covering with it the phone on his ear.

“Patty--”

“No, not that, please.”

“Patton, Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes, actually, but he doesn’t really see the point, since nothing lasts for him. He’s a fucked up foster kid ™ style. Good things don’t happen to him. (Maybe to Janus. Janus deserves good things, good people, better than him--)

“Why wouldn’t this last? And you’re a foster kid?” fuck, he said that aloud? Well, rest in fucking pieces, brain to mouth filter.

“Yeah, f-foster kid here.”

“Janus too?”

“Yeah.” he whispers, throat too tired for anything else. He’s not ready for the universal ‘how’ question, but he’s not been prepared for any of this so far, so maybe he should just not bother.

“Okay. Do your foster parents show any signs of wanting to let you go?” no, not really. In fact, he’d seen Remy and Emile trying to quickly hide a sheaf of papers any time Patton or Janus entered a room, and Patton’s been pushing down the hope as much as possible, even as he sees Janus start to believe it eventually. Patton has to be ready for something to go wrong, he can’t afford to let down his guard, lest he can’t protect Janus anymore. He has to make sure nothing can faze him.

But he wants. He wants so, so badly that sometimes he lies in bed for hours, pushing down the want and trying his best not to cry, until it’s morning and he’s waking Janus up even though he could barely push himself out of bed. He says this to Remus, because he still wants. He wants to stay near Remus forever, recite oddly dark facts and binge-watch the Sharknado movies again while Logan and Janus screech in betrayal and huddle up close and he wants to have this. He wants this so badly.

“Pat, I didn’t know how to say it, but I want to be with you forever too. You like my weird facts, and you stay by me when I’m mad and I want to be there when you’re sad, Patton. I want this too.”

“R-really?”

“Of course, Patton. I don’t lie. Especially not to you.” Patton laughs, somewhat wetly, and Remus’s tone brightens when he hears it, and Patton can feel the smile on the other side of the line, manic-looking but inherently full of kindness, and everything feels a little more okay.

The hurt isn’t gone, but at least he isn’t forcing it down into his large intestine anymore.

“Thanks, Re. I-I’ll talk to Emile and Remy when they come home, okay? I’ll tell you what happened. See you in school tomorrow?”

“Course, Patton. Now I’m gonna go get something for Roman to eat before his stomach acids digest his entire body, eyes and all.”

Patton laughs. “Okay! Just don’t miss your therapy appointment, okay?”

“Never do. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The call finally cuts off, and the timer reads 37:19:73, and he probably spent a good chunk of that time having a breakdown, but strangely enough, Patton doesn’t feel super bad about it. The want is there, and he’s still not super sure about what to do with it, but he knows that he wants it to be real, and even if something does go wrong, he’ll still have Remus’s number.

The door swings open as Janus enters the house, and creaks closed downstairs, and Patton flops onto his bed, eyes still a little red, putting his phone on charge to take a nap. He’ll have emotionally charged conversation, but after this nap, thanks.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #prinxiety #intruality #tw foster system #tw homophobia #vee's writing #series: room 73

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inkofamethyst · 3 years

Text

June 29, 2021

Okay so Paramore has been my default favorite band/artist for years now (probably since seventh or eighth grade) mostly because they had my favorite album, Brand New Eyes. But, like, that’s literally the only Paramore album I’ve listened to in its entirety. A travesty? Yes. Will I go back and listen through their albums? Yeah, at some point, probably.

The Crane Wives, though? They’ve got me singing again. I--

Today I’m thankful for The Crane Wives because they’ve got me singing again. I haven’t been singing this much in... since... probably not since spring musical rehearsals my senior year, probably.

I know I went on a whole thing about Icon for Hire a few months back and their songs are still on my playlist, yes, but even then I only liked a select few of their songs. I can practically go through any of The Crane Wives albums and pick a song and feel at home.

It’s been a bit of a running joke over the past two weeks, me mentioning The Crane Wives in nearly if not all of my posts in some capacity. Since I’ve listened through all four albums, and I’m still working on getting their songs down on the uke, I think I’m going to close out that little joke. I’ll still be enjoying (and analyzing) their music (a ton) though, don’t get me wrong. But I guess I just wanted to take the opportunity to explain part of why I’ve been so excited over this group these past few weeks. I think I’ve discovered my new favorite band, guys (though, my favorite album of theirs is probably a tossup between the first two at this point).

Y’all I wonder what songs/albums/artists are gonna round out my 2021 Bops list. I mean, I know we’re a solid half year away from that point, but my “current” playlist is already so different from last year (mostly, it’s gotten longer. Many of the songs from the 2020 Bops list are still on there, I just don’t listen to them as much). How much more might it change in the next six months??? Part of me is excited by the prospect of finding more new music, but I’m also really enjoying where I am right now.

On the sewing front, I’m thinking about making some additional alterations to the McCall’s 8181 pattern I’ve been working on over the past few days. I don’t think I want the ultra puffy shoulder that view C (the one I’m making) has. I think I’d prefer the shoulder of view A with the cuff of view C, so I might have to slim down the sleeves I’ve cut out to make them into bishop sleeves instead of the Edwardian-lookin puffy shoulders (I think they were called mutton sleeves?) that they have. Luckily, it’s easy to go from more fabric to less fabric, so it shouldn’t be that terrible of an alteration. I should note that I also altered the neckline from a sweetheart neckline to a square neckline (I saw someone do that in a YouTube video and adored it (I might actually make another one of the 8181s, but further modified based on that video to have a smocked back (though, honestly, I love how the smocking trend makes clothing fit, but I really don’t like the look of it at all, so I doubt I’ll participate, actually))). Hopefully I haven’t made it too deep of a neckline, but I’ll see.

Also,,,,, I am in the midst of three sewing projects: the green patterned shirt that needs buttons, the black circle skirt that needs a lot of things, and I still wanna start on a waistcoat lol. I’m even considering ironing out some pattern paper tonight to get that started, but we’ll see. I’m even considering, like, I know I’d intended for that brown houndstooth to be for a reversible coat, but not only am I considering its use for a waistcoat, but also, perhaps, for a matching skirt? I have 4 yards of it, so I can use whatever remains for a half circle skirt, perhaps?

Speaking of clothes, I am dressed super ~light academia~ today omg. I’m wearing the loose white top and the beige silk pants (note: they do not go in the regular wash!!!!) I got out thrifting last week with the brown belt I got thrifted a few months back, and wheew if I wore my brown oxfords out with this?? I kinda look like an adventurer/treasure hunter, actually. The trousers are ever so slightly too long, like, by half an inch. So they’re wearable in the state they’re in, but not quite as nice-looking as they could be (unless I wear heels which... at the moment isn’t an option, but I’m looking into some possibilities along those lines).

OH OH OH hehehehehe my puzzle-friend has been successfully snagged into watching Critical Role!! He’s starting C2 on his own, and he’s going to join in on our Exandria Unlimited “watch parties” with me and my dnd-friend!! We intend to start E1 this Saturday and potentially have a weekly watch day on Monday evenings. He’s sort of like the target audience for this kind of stuff, and we’ve been promoting it for ages to him especially, it’s all about wearing them down :D

Last thing, and this probably won’t make sense at all even to me in a few years, but I’m really proud of myself for downloading cygwin all by myself today? Like, I thought I was going to be behind because I needed to go through all the steps on the new computer, but I took good notes and had a decent enough memory that I was able to do it all by myself without disrupting the “class” thing that’s part of my internship. I don’t completely understand the whole command line thing, but I do feel like a hacker in a movie when I use cygwin, and I suppose I appreciate the exposure to it and all.

Today I’m thankful for (~bonus thank~), idk, I suppose the hilarity of me and my dnd-friend double-teaming our other friends with Critical Role. I know it’s a few days away, but I’m excited to see how “EXU” is going to be. My dnd-friend who is firmly on CR tumblr has heard positive things all around.

alright, goodnight.

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marmolady · 3 years

Text

Home for Christmas (Estela x MC)

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC

Summary: Endless Ending. It's Taylor's first Christmas off La Huerta, and the beginning of new traditions with her found family.

Word Count: 6127

Chronology: carries on from ‘Date Night’, and ‘When the Fight is Over’, precedes ‘A Proposal’.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove

“We’re home!” Taylor called as she stepped through the front door, immediately hit with a wall of warmth and the smells of spiced candles and fir tree. “Happy Christmas Eve, everyone!”

Diego practically bounced to the door, and wrapped his friend in a hug. “Wait, does this mean you’re the gift? Talk about cheap.”

“Hahaha, you’re hilarious. Actually, you should be grateful to have me. I could be helping myself to seconds of Tio Nicolas’ natilla right now. Sadly, airlines don’t tend to let you bring custardy leftovers on board.”

Estela grinned, wiping her snow-covered boots on the mat. “It’d be mush by now anyway. I’m sure Tio will take much better care of it.”

A year ago, everything was so different. Christmas had been, at best, a bittersweet occasion, the shadow of all that had been left behind in a burning world. It had been Taylor’s consolation prize; she’d die in a matter of weeks, but at least she had a semblance of a proper holiday season with the ones she loved.

The share house, purchased by Estela with what had been Aleister’s inheritance passed on, had been somewhat emptier than usual; most of the Catalysts had been desperate to spend the season close to family after having thought them lost forever for so long. With all the space going spare, Aleister and Grace had taken up residence, forsaking their apartment so they could keep Diego company during what was a difficult time for him. Estela and Taylor had, of course, been in San Trobida with Nicolas, sharing a family Christmas Eve-- the first Estela had actually celebrated with her uncle since just a few short days before her mother’s murder. It had been strange to let the occasion be happy, but as the day wore on, she settled into the feeling, warmed by the clear joy in Nicolas. By the time they’d flown all the way back to the States and driven back from Northbridge airport, it was getting on for midnight… almost Christmas Day.

Grace came skipping down the hall, Aleister a little way behind her.

“Merry Christmas, you two!”

“Happy Christmas!” Taylor opened her arms wide, accepting another tight hug. “I can’t believe you guys all stayed up. We said it was gonna be late….”

“Oh, don’t be silly! We’ve missed you. So much I almost don’t feel bad about tearing you away from all that San Trobidan sunshine.”

Estela hugged Grace, who barely came up to her chin. Her sister. “Christmas is for family. Tio is Colombian, so it’s all about Christmas Eve for him… it kind of works well now that my family’s a little bigger.”

There was sadness in Grace’s eyes… deep and profound. Estela saw it there, and it made her heart hurt. She had a lot of things she’d like to say about Grace’s mother, but none that had their place here and now. How anyone could remain cold after over a year of separation-- a disappearance no less-- boggled her mind. But Grace was Estela’s family now, and that came with no expectations, no strings attached. Perhaps someday Blaire Hall would see what exactly it was that she’d been missing out on, but in the meantime, Grace would be given all the familial love she could ever need.

Taylor turned around from hugging a typically awkward Aleister to catch Diego’s eye. “Hey, if you want to check out your actual gift, try the back door.”

“Uh, Tay… what have you done?”

“Just go look! Jeez, so ungrateful….” Taylor exchanged knowing glances with the rest of her companions once Diego was safely down the hallway.

“Oh. My. God!” came a cry from the back room. “Ohmygod. I think I’m gonna cry… oh my-- Varyyn!”

Grace chuckled. “I think you guys just won Christmas!”

“I know, right?” Taylor said, grinning broadly. Having brought Varyyn to San Trobida a couple of days prior so he could fly into the States with them for Christmas was a big undertaking… but somehow they’d managed to keep the secret. “Whoever’s got Diego for Secret Santa is gonna have to bring it.”

Grace and Aleister followed after Diego, excited to reunite with a friend they’d not seen in months. For all intents and purposes, Varyyn was the thirteenth Catalyst-- and as far as anyone was concerned, as part of the family as anyone else. It would take some assistance from Iris’ wizardry with holographic disguises, but Varyyn would be kept safe, and given a holiday to remember.

Listening to the joyous chattering of her best friend as he hurriedly got the full story of Varyyn’s surprise visit right from the source, Taylor smiled to herself as she slumped against the wall, exhausted. Late nights were something she still struggled with since her recovery from Vaanu’s essence leaving her-- though the slew of parties that came with moving into a house with half the Catalyst gang had built up her resilience a little. She noticed a sprig of mistletoe hanging over the doorway to the hall, and sidled over. All those kisses she’d shared with Estela last Christmas… they’d been goodbyes. Taylor didn’t ever want to kiss Estela goodbye again; she wanted to kiss her to say ‘I love you’, or ‘I’m yours, forever’, or ‘sling me over your shoulder and carry me to bed’. Anything but ‘goodbye’.

Estela caught Taylor’s eye, and a smirk. Just a flash of a tease-- a dare. Such a freaking dork. And, of course, she had to go to her. She would always go to her.

Taylor swayed exaggeratedly, a pout on her lips, as she glanced --with all the subtlety of an army tank-- at the mistletoe above their heads. “So… are you gonna ki--?”

No further prompting was needed; Estela covered Taylor’s mouth in a searing kiss, while her hands roamed along her sides and back, holding… feeling. It was all she could do not to quirk a satisfied smile at the moan against her lips as her tongue swirled against Taylor’s. She could do this for… well, she could go without breath for fourteen minutes, but that could never be enough. How could she need air when she had this?

“I fucking love you, Taylor….” she gasped when she finally came away.

“...Buh…?” was the wordless sound that fell out of Taylor’s mouth as she wobbled on the spot. It took a moment for her to bring herself back to her senses, to return to earth from whatever heavenly realm she’d just been swept into. “I love you, Estela. I love you.”

She took Estela’s face in her hands, and kissed her hard, relishing the force, the passion with which her lover reciprocated. It was fierce and triumphant, all theirs after coming so close to it all being snatched away. My Estela. I’m yours, forever.

“Aw, what?” Diego exclaimed as he came into the hall, Varyyn’s hand clasped in his. “We’ve got a mistletoe traffic jam! Come on, Tay-- I haven’t seen him in weeks. Pretty, pretty please?”

Coming away with a little groan, Taylor looked into the disgruntled face of her best friend, at had to smile. It wasn’t possible to resent the interruption when She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Someone should’ve bought more mistletoe….”

“Hey! My expectations for kissing were so low--”

Taylor laughed, perhaps a little intoxicated by the lingering buzz of that kiss. “Oh, we’ll get out your hair. There’s some things best done with a little more privacy.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Estela, who was still looking at her as if oblivious to the presence of anyone else. All shining tenderness. It made her damn near melt on the spot. “Shall we?”

Estela nipped in for one last quick peck to her wife’s lips. “Okay… done.” She glanced to Diego and Varyyn with a slight smirk. “You two have fun. Before you have to fight off Grace and Aleister.”

Having dumped their backpacks unceremoniously to the floor, Taylor and Estela fell onto their bed in a mess of loving touches and joyous giggles.

“Happy Christmas, sexy lady,” Taylor purred.

Estela blushed, glancing away momentarily before stealing another kiss.

“Te deseo con el fuego ardiente de mil soles. Eres mia, amante. Mi todo.”

“I have no idea what you just said… so why do I have shivers going up my spine?”

With a breathy laugh, Estela snuggled into the crook of Taylor’s neck. My everything. She could never take for granted what she had, some miracle that had meant Taylor could stay, that this was not, in fact, a dream. But she woke up each morning, and there Taylor was, and it was a balm for every hurt she’d ever been dealt.

“Hey?” she murmured.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“And… before we went to sleep… I wanted you to have something. Seeing as we’re actually doing gifts this year.”

Taylor quirked an eyebrow, playing cool when all she really wanted to do was dive in her drawer and bring out her own gift. She’d been working on it a long time. “Okay-- just give me a moment. I’ve got something for you too. I’ll just change into my PJs first; gotta be comfortable.”

While Estela quickly got into her pyjamas, she glanced over at Taylor, unable to hold back a smile. God, she was beautiful. Estela reluctantly turned away to rummage for her gift.

“Happy Christmas, Taylor,” she said, leaning in to kiss her lover’s cheek as she handed over the carefully wrapped parcel.

A warm smile spread across Taylor’s face. After the heartache the previous Christmas had come with, this was so wonderfully comfortable.

“Happy Christmas, ‘Stel.”

Taylor delicately pulled off the tape, trying not to rip the paper, and revealed a fat hard-cover book. It was heavy in her hands, full to bursting, slithers of paper peeking out the edges. A photo album.

“Wow, Estela… how did you do this?” she asked as she began to turn the pages. On the first page, the group selfie Michelle had taken just before the confrontation with Rourke-- which had been recovered from IRIS’ data bank-- and what followed was a chronological record of Taylor’s two years on Earth. There she was… holding a mewing pink kitten, a Valentine’s Day present… wind-surfing with Varyyn… dressed up to the nines for what had become the traditional Catalyst New Years-Multi-Birthday extravaganza. She’d not even seen most of them before. This must have been the complete repository of every photograph her friends had ever snapped on their phones during their year on La Huerta. Beside the photographs, her friends had scrawled notes and captions.“I mean, how did you get all these? Was everyone in on this?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Of course, you ask for help with these people and they go crazy with it. So it’s a little bit bigger than I first had in mind.”

More and more pictures. More and more memories. Taking her back to herself at her most weak and vulnerable, recovering from the release of Vaanu’s essence that had almost killed her. Friends crowded around her sick bed… then the celebrations that followed.

“There’s still room in the back,” Estela said. “For whatever it is next year brings.”

“Bring on 2020,” Taylor laughed. “I don’t think there’s anything it could throw at me I can’t handle; not now.” I’ve got you, don’t I? She looked up into Estela’s smiling face and loved her, her own eyes welling. “Thank you-- so much. Looking at this… I must be the luckiest person who ever lived. Nothing’s ever gonna be the same-- thank god-- but this time in our lives has been incredible, and this is just gonna keep it all with me. I love it. I really love it.”

Estela’s cheeks flushed. She could never tire of making Taylor’s face light up like that; glowing with joy. “Good. Because I love you.”

“And I love you too-- my starlight.” Taylor edged closer until she could tug Estela into a tight snuggle, and planted a soft kiss to her lips. Bliss. Then, she reached behind her pillow and brought out a squashy-looking present. “For you, my lover.”

Estela giggled and stole another kiss before accepting the gift. “It’s okay, I won’t have a meltdown this time.” Out of the wrapper fell a soft woolen bundle of dark blues and purples, accented with stars. An infinity scarf, homemade and endearingly lumpy.

“Taylor, it’s beautiful.” Estela hugged the scarf to her chest. She could feel the love interwoven through the whole thing, and the symbolism of the stars… and their forever.

“I tried to arrange the stars roughly into our constellations. Limited success, but if you squint--”

Estela hooked the scarf around her wife’s neck and tugged her in for a kiss. “It’s perfect, you dope. I absolutely love it. And I love you-- to the furthest star in the universe and back.” She took Taylor’s hands, and saw those stars in her eyes, shining just for her. “This just… feels like a dream. Like if a year ago, we’d wished and prayed to who and whatever the hell might have been listening… this is more than I could have dared hope for.”

“A scarf?”

Estela playfully swatted Taylor about the head.

“No, I know,” Taylor laughed airily. She leaned in and kissed Estela’s nose, her cheeks, her full, tender lips. This holiday season wasn’t an effort in consolation, it was a foundation being laid for a full, human life. Moments that would become traditions. “It’s everything I never thought I could have,” she said softly. “And I am just so, so excited to have this with you, year after year.”

“Me too.”

Leaving her scarf on, Estela snuggled under the heavy blanket and nestled in against Taylor. She yawned, happy-tired. It was a wonderful feeling, running from her head to her toes. She let her hands roam; caressing Taylor’s chest, torso, then venturing beneath her pyjama pants to settle between her legs.

Taylor let out a pleasured hum, but kept herself together enough to reciprocate; she did love a challenge. Her movements were slow, purposeful; knowing exactly how to elicit the whimpers that told her she’d got Estela coming apart in the best way.

The two lovers touched, caressed, kissed, until they lay, spent, in one another’s arms. Estela surrounded Taylor like a blanket; a protective shield. She’d gotten… better. No longer did Estela hold her wife in a vice-grip through the night, fearful that she’d be somehow ripped away. But the touch, close and persistent… she couldn’t settle without it. Someday, they both hoped, the sense of security in their new lives together would be enough. In the meantime, Taylor could sleep safe and utterly loved, her Estela keeping her close.

“Mmm… you ready to call it a night?” Taylor murmured.

Estela closed her eyes and nuzzled against her wife’s neck. “Mmhmm.”

“Ha. Sweet dreams, babe. And Merry Christmas.”

“You too, querida… night-night.”

_______________________

Christmas morning was slow and easy, with all three sets of couples content to take their time in rising. Between warm beds and tender arms… and no real reason to rush, it was inevitable that the share house would remain quiet long into the morning.

When everyone did rise, the atmosphere was incredibly relaxed; the quiet enjoyment of the company of close family refreshing. It would be soon enough that the share house would be once again bursting at the seams and pulsing with the sounds of another rowdy Catalyst gathering; saving up energy for what was to come was wise… and the pace suited everyone present. Rugged up in festive pyjamas and lounging before a roaring fire, the small family passed the hours with board games-- purposely bypassing the tantrum-inducing likes of Monopoly-- and giggling through ever more extravagantly acted out rounds of charades. It was all new to Varyyn, and he soaked it all up like a sponge, throwing himself into everything to the point where he was nearly matching Aleister for dramatic flair. Estela’s ability to act out absolutely anything with a perfect deadpan had the whole group in stitches.

This, Taylor was certain, was what her holidays were going to be all about. Her and her band of misfits had everything they needed in one another.

Taylor, dressed after having enjoyed a brunch so late it might as well have been lunch-- and not an early one at that--, found Grace on the front porch, sitting with a steaming mug of cocoa and just taking in the distant sounds of children at play a few doors down. On the snow-covered front lawn, Furball was gamboling around merrily. If Varyyn was going to be joining them for Christmas, it had only been fair to make it an open invitation, and the little magic fox had been too excited to see old friends to not be brought along. Taylor was now grateful that Grace had the company, even as she took a quiet moment.

“Are you okay out here? Al said you gave your mom a call earlier. I figured that might have been… stressful.”

A warm smile jumped to Grace’s face at the arrival of her friend-- her sister. The care there had the effect of lessening those stresses, fading them into the distance, where they no longer truly mattered.

“Hey, Taylor,” she said. “Yes, I got that call out the way; I didn’t want the worry to be hanging over me all day. We kept it short. It’s gotten more difficult to find an understanding, you know?” She gave a little sigh, and shook her head. “To Mom, it looks as if I’ve given up, stopped trying. But the only thing I’ve given up is chasing the approval I’ll never earn. All I can do is hope that someday, she’ll look and see the real me; and love that person.”

Taylor put an arm around Grace. “You know, I really think that will happen. Someday. It’s got to take a bit of adjustment for her….”

“And she’s not exactly used to being the one jumping through hoops,” Grace chuckled. “Even jumping through hoops that should take minimal effort. In the meantime, I’m happy. Really, truly happy. We never had Christmases like this-- she never had the time. This is nice. It feels like a real family Christmas… spending all morning in our pyjamas, siblings squabbling over something stupid….”

Taylor laughed. It was all good-natured, if occasionally little bit heated. Estela and Aleister were well-practiced at butting heads by this point, and Taylor had strong suspicions that Estela liked getting a rise out of him just to tease. She absolutely exasperated him. And they loved each other.

“Yeah,” she said, “maybe this is what our Christmases are gonna be. Our little family, glued together from all these broken pieces and somehow fitting just right. It’s weird; just about everyone has been shaped some way by their childhood memories of these holidays… I don’t have any of that nostalgia, or old sore spots… just this, now. I guess these days are what I’m going to end up all sentimental about.”

“I know it sounds strange, but… me too, Taylor,” Grace agreed, smiling as her husband’s voice floated out from the house, seeking her out. She couldn’t say when the last time was that someone had truly wanted her company at Christmas was, but those days were a thing of the past. “And right now, I think I want to be back in there, soaking it all up. Come on.”

“Should we put a movie on while we’re waiting for everyone?”

“Tay, you know my response to that. Maybe Home Alone or something. Should go down better than Muppet Christmas Carol did the other day….”

“Good god,” Aleister scoffed, “that was a mistake. Poor Charles Dickens, rest his soul, his timeless tale could not have been more lost on--”

Estela strode into the room, as if on cue. “The fucker, Scrooge knowingly killed so many people-- including that future version of Tiny Tim, which we can safely assume because it was the bastard’s ‘change of heart’ bullcrap that saved him.”

“Well, Tim wouldn’t have lived if Kermit-- I mean, Bob Cratchit-- hadn’t embraced the changed man before him. The point is redemption. ”

“Yes, he would. Scrooge was so desperate not to die himself that he’d keep the whole damn town fed and housed. Doesn’t mean you’d invite the cockroach in and share dinner with him. Those people were idiots!”

“You might even say they were… muppets,” Diego piped up, a glint in his eye.

Aleister groaned heavily, so utterly done, while Taylor snorted with laughter.

“Home Alone it is, then,” he muttered.

The main event, the full Catalyst family gathering, would be taking place later in the evening. Even with families at home to re-connect with over Christmas, the pull to be together was present in each and every one of them. No one else-- no one at all-- could ever truly understand. The sense of belonging, of security found in those who’d weathered the same storms, created a need that was deep and profound. Stepping away would be gradual, and for this first Christmas home, that the twelve would not remain parted. Raj only had a short flight from his grandmother in New York, so he was first to arrive back home. Both the duos-- Craig-and-Zahra and Michelle-and-Quinn-- had longer flights between home and the families they’d shared most of the holiday with, but arrived in at Northbridge airport at near the same time, so Sean had pre-arranged to play taxi after a Christmas dinner with his mother and brother. Jake would be the straggler. Louisiana was rather more of a trek, and after all those years in forced isolation from his family, he would not be rushing for anyone.

The backyard had been transformed into a nighttime winter wonderland, a snowy playground adorned with lights that changed colour to the beat of Christmas songs piped out into the winter air. A snowball fight stretched across the hours, and carols were easily drowned out by the accompanying shrieks and shouts of laughter.

When Taylor crashed down into the snow beside her wife, she was soaked and shivering from taking hit after hit, and still grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, you put up a valiant fight,” Estela laughed. “Especially because Sean is, you know, pretty much a professional at throwing stuff. If you like, I’ll get back out there and avenge your honour… for a price.”

“A kiss?”

“Well, that would be hard to resist.”

Estela leaned forward, catching the warmth of Taylor’s breath on her lips as she moved in for a tender kiss. When Taylor came away with a happy sigh, they pressed their foreheads together.

They settled down, side by side, looking out over their friends as they laughed and played. The energy was different. Emotions were running high, everything felt on a new level, one that no one beyond this found family could ever understand. No one else knew just how much was being celebrated that Christmas… no one else knew all that had once been lost.

For Taylor, it was validation for the leap of faith she and Estela had taken together, the one that very nearly had cost their future together.

“Michelle was just telling me,” she said, “her mom flew out to Colorado to have Christmas with Quinn’s parents. Quinn’s parents like… together, in the same room, actually getting along. And it was three years, Meech said, since she’s seen her mom at Christmas. She just looked so happy.”

She snuggled close, tucking her arm through Estela’s, and nuzzling against her cold cheek. On a night like this, she couldn’t have any regrets. On a night like this, she could rest her so often troubled mind and know, they’d made it. She whispered kisses through Estela’s hair, against her ear, red with cold, her rosy cheek, the edge of her knowing smile.

“It’s going to be okay now, Estela. My starlight,” she said softly.

“I know. It’s like something you can physically feel. Like everyone’s just floating on a cloud. That kind of pure relief.” Estela hadn’t even felt that when the war ended, when the son-of-a-bitch Salazar took his own life and in doing so set his country free. She’d had her own wars still to fight, both against Rourke and within her very soul. When Taylor had awoken after her sacrifice to save the world, the fear in her had lingered on. Time was Estela’s healer; time allowed her to trust that life could be kind to her, that she was not inevitably hurtling towards darkness and despair and loss. Sometimes, things just got better.

She found Taylor’s fingers, surely as painfully cold in the night air as her own, and squeezed.

Diego came running up to them. “Hey! I’m just about to head to the airport with Varyyn. I should be an hour, tops.”

Taylor’s face registered surprise. How late was it? “Shit, Top Gun’s landing soon!”

“Ha, yeah… that’s my point. Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun?”

“We could come with if you like.”

“Thanks, Tay, but I actually wanted to take the time alone with Varyyn. Make the most of what we have-- and it’s dark out, and hardly any traffic; it’ll be nice for him to get out and see the town without too much risk.”

Taylor nodded, understanding. “Okay. But you drive safe, you hear? If you end up dead in a ditch because you can’t keep from kissing him for five minutes, I swear I---”

Diego cut her off with a hug. “And you, don’t drink too much. You are the world’s biggest lightweight.”

Estela sniggered. Taylor’s ability to stand up to the effects of alcohol had been one of the hits she’d taken as a side-effect of her giving back Vaanu’s essence. “I’ll say. Now the driving’s taken care of, I’m pretty sure I’ll be needing to hold her upright within fifteen.”

“Oh, you two are hilarious. Fine. I’ll be good if you will. Now get out of here and bring our pilot home-- Craig is desperate to get Secret Santa started!”

Secret Santa was the big event. The one everyone had been waiting for. It had taken Taylor a good deal of scheming and bribing and trading, but she’d managed to secure for Estela the ideal Secret Santa recipient for the brilliant couples gift that she had in mind. For hours upon hours they’d toiled together on their secret project, with Taylor enthusiastically teaching Estela to knit for the purpose. It was only a couple of nights ago that they’d finally finished off their respective masterpieces.

Taylor was practically skipping when she presented her gift to a distinctly nervous-looking Zahra.

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

“Open it, Z!” Craig exclaimed.

Estela hurried over, her own worryingly lumpy parcel in hand. “Hey, Craig! You should open yours too. It’s kind of a set.”

“Why do I have a very bad feeling about this?”

An eager crowd formed, jostling to see what it was Zahra was fussing about.

She pulled open the wrapping, determined to witness whatever disaster awaited her before Craig opened his… and found in her hands a very large bright red Christmas sweater, ‘Player One’ emblazoned in big woollen letters on the front, and ‘P1’ on the back.

“Um, Taylor… you remember when you almost killed yourself restoring the world, right?”

“Kinda sticks in the memory, so… yeah.”

“ I stayed up all night, with Estela in the worst possible mood-- have you met bad-mood-Estela?-- making sure you didn’t drop dead; three long, soul-destroying nights in a row… and this is the thanks I get?”

“Bro! I love it!” Craig hollered, holding up his ‘Player Two’ sweater. “Best freaking present ever-- when I die, Imma get buried in this thing!”

“So, uh… mixed reviews?”

“If you think I’m gonna wear this---”

“Put it on! Put it on! Put it on!”

Zahra glared at Taylor, then Estela, while Craig’s chants were taken up by the whole group. For fuck’s sake. I knew friends were a mistake. I should have stayed dead in that goddam temple.

“Put it on! Put it on!”

Jake barked a laugh, offering Taylor a gift of his own. “Nice one, Princess! You’ve set the bar high-- as if there was ever any doubt-- but I’m pretty sure you’ll like this.”

She opened her heavy present to find a gently-used old sewing machine. Her eyes lit up. It had been a passing, passing mention that with so much knitting under her belt that she’d wanted to give sewing a try as well, but apparently it hadn’t gone unheard.

“Oh my god!”

“Ma hadn’t used it for ages, and when I told her I was after something for you, she wanted you to have it. Consider it a thanks from both of us for all you did while we were dealing with the courts.”

Taylor found her eyes stinging. She didn’t need thanks, he was good as a brother to her. “Wow, Top Gun. This is…. surprisingly--”

“...surprisin’ly thoughtful?”

“That’s it. Surprisingly thoughtful,” she laughed. When she looked up and caught Jake’s eye, though, she knew he got it. There was nothing surprising about it, after all they’d been through together, she’d never expect anything less than thoughtful-- but she’d be damned if she let the old joke die.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the present-exchanging horde, Sean handed to Estela a small, soft parcel. “Happy Christmas! I hope you like it.”

“Thank you, Sean, I really appreciate it. I’d say you didn’t have to but… Secret Santa… I guess you’re probably expected to actually get your person something.” No doubt she was flushed red, awkward as ever, but accepting gifts was another thing she was slowly getting better at. She unwrapped her gift carefully, saving the paper and appreciating the care that had gone into the neat wrapping and embellishments.

Sean chuckled, not unkindly. “That is the general gist. But it’s my pleasure, really.”

Estela unfolded a lightweight muted green and grey Hartfeld University sweatshirt. She couldn’t help the smile that lit up her whole face. “I guess this means I’ve got to stick around?”

“You’d better.” Sean grinned as Estela put her arms around him, laughing. Damn, they’d come a long way. “I know you never intended coming here to be anything other than a means to get closer to your goal, but really, that’s why everyone comes here. If anyone’s a Knight, you are.”

“Thanks. Really… I love it.”

“KNIGHTS!” Craig boomed.

“Uh, yeah,” Estela said. “That.”

With gifts and hugs exchanged all over the place, everyone began to wind down. For most of the gang, the day had been an exhausting one, crammed with emotional family get-togethers and flights across the country. As mattresses and sofa pillows hit the lounge room floor, there was a shared relief, and tired Catalysts began dropping like flies.

Huddled in a couple of beanbags, Taylor nestled into Estela’s chest and the soft fabric of her new sweater, wrapping her arms around her and sighing with contentment.

“Happy Christmas, lover….”

“Mmm…,” came Estela’s sleepy reply. “Happy Christmas, mi alma…. Love you.”

“Love you too. Always.”

Within moments, Estela was slumbering peacefully, her little snores making Taylor’s heart near burst with affection.

Through half-lidded eyes, Taylor looked upon her family around her, yawning or already dead to the world after one insanely hectic holiday. It wouldn’t always be this way. It couldn’t be. Over the years, they would drift their separate ways, cherish the time spent with loved ones elsewhere as old traditions and new played out. But Taylor was certain that they’d never truly grow apart. Some things were just far stronger than the tests of time.

From across the room, Varyyn exchanged a knowing look with Taylor, smiling wistfully as he continued to gently stroke his fingers through a sleeping Diego’s hair.

“G’night,” she mouthed, then let go of an exhale of contentment.

It didn’t matter how long this lasted; what was important would remain. As long as she had Estela in her arms, and her family loving her from however far they had to be, she’d always be home for Christmas.

#catalyst family feels #estela x mc #endless summer #playchoices #estela montoya #variego

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yandere-society · 5 years

Note

Could you please do a reverse idol au where the Reader is an idol and they are her sasaeng fans and they finally get to see & talk to her at a fanmeet (also she calls them cute and accidentally brushes her hand against theirs if that's okay) for Taehyung, Jin and Yoongi please. Thank you

Reaction to Meeting You at a Fansign

Admin: @nomnomsik 🎉

Trigger warnings: unhealthy obsession, yandere-themes, stalking, and unhealthy daydreaming.

A/N: Gender neutral as always. Also, this is just food for thought, but a fansign is what we typically think, the idol goes to sign your album, you talk to them, hold hands, etc, etc. But a fanmeet is different than a fansign. It’s like their Musters, the ones they have in Japan and such. It’s a concert, but more personal and they have their skits. They’re quite different!

Taehyung

Taehyung could not stop moving, waiting in line like all the rest of the fans for his chance to have a one on one conversation with you at your fansign. He remembered how loudly he shouted with joy when his number was drawn, a confirmation sent to him afterward that said he could go to the fansign.

Taehyung had three weeks to prepare before he would meet you, brainstorming questions on what to ask as well as what he would say. He contemplated memorizing a script but pouted instead when he realized how unnatural that would be. The worst thing he could do was to make you think negatively of him.

“Ahhhh,” Taehyung whined. “Why does this have to be so difficult? Why can’t it be love at first sight…” He had sighed, rolling around in his bed as he pouted unhappily.

Now, with your album in his hands, he was two spots away until it was his turn. He was jittery, unable to resist the large smile on his face and the thought of holding hands while he talked to you or the intense eye contact.

“Next person please.” The staffer spoke, ushering Taehyung forward who quickly kneeled down to meet you, almost like an excited puppy to see its owner.

“Hello,” You smiled, accepting his album and signing it near the page he had bookmarked. Taehyung replied back happily, his eyes sparkling as he finally, finally, talked to his idol. As you placed the marker down, you outstretched your hand like you did to all your fans, Taehyung immediately reciprocating and holding onto it.

He played around with your hand, swaying your arm back and forth as he vibrantly chatted away, asking you all sorts of questions about your personal taste with compliments sprinkled in.

“You said your name was Taehyung, right?” You smiled, to which he excitedly nodded up and down. “Well Taehyung, I think you’re very cute. You seem more excited about my job than I am.” You joked, only causing Taehyung to heat up with embarrassment.

Did he annoy you? Oh god, what if you thought he was annoying. You seemed to notice how Taehyung’s smile wavered, suddenly realizing how your comment could have seemed insensitive, especially to a dedicated fan.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” You quickly apologized. “That was supposed to be a compliment. I know I sound really sarcastic no matter what I say, but yeah…”

It was then that the staffer alerted Taehyung his time was up, the man quickly handing his letter over to you and giving your hand a squeeze before leaving. As he exited the building which held your fansign, he was breathless, completely winded.

You thought he was cute? You complimented his appearance? Was this a dream? With his cheeks tinted pink, Taehyung smiled to himself, a grin spreading on his face. He touched his features, whispering to himself.

“She liked how I look… Am I… actually cute…?”

Jin

So many goddamn peasants everywhere.

Being the wonderful and spoiled brat he was, Kim Seokjin, heir of his father’s company got the tickets for the fansign, his family being a sponsor for your agency.

Jin didn’t need preparation for the fansign, he was going to wing it like he did everything in life with his gorgeous looks. A lasting impression on you is ten times more effective than anything that were to come out from his mouth. Why words when he has looks?

So Jin stood impatiently in line, arms crossed as he side-glared everyone that passed him. He gave several eye-rolls to the people that whispered about his bad attitude, completely oblivious to who he was.

Jin was only the second person in line.

When the first person finally finished their little chitchat with you, Jin proudly stepped forward, sleekly dressed and hair styled by his stylist at home. He made sure to spray his favorite and expensive cologne on his suit, knowing how spraying alcohol on his face would only dry his skin and age him faster, his only fear in life.

“Good morning.” You called to him, as he kneeled to meet at eye-level. Jin nodded shyly, handing over his album that he had tightly clutched to his chest. “What’s your name?”

“K-Kim Seokjin…” Jin replied, keeping eye-contact as you nodded and wrote his name as well as signing his album. When you finished and closed his album, you looked up at him, marker still in your hand as you awaited his question. Jin cleared his throat, getting embarrassed as he shamelessly stuck out his hand.

“Oh!” You realized, placing your marker down and locking fingers with his. “Sorry about that.” You gave a sheepish smile to which he only nodded. “It’s been a while since I’ve done a fansign. I forgot, oops.” You giggled, swaying your arms back and forth.

Jin could barely get all of his questions in, being a stuttering and flustered mess throughout it. His two minutes were up in a flash as he was kindly instructed to move on and proceed to the exit.

“Jin, try to relax more.” You had teased him. “Although I find you cute when you’re flustered, it’s okay. Relax next time.” You waved to him as he quietly left, until breaking into a fast sprint until he was outside. His cheeks were red as he let out several curses outside, stomping on the concrete.

“I can’t believe…! I’m not cute. I’m handsome. HANDSOME!! Not… whatever.”

Yoongi

“Ahh, where’s my camera? Camera? Oh, oh, oh! Here. Here it is.”

Yoongi scrambled in his room, remembering just as he was about to close the door to his apartment, his camera. Picking up the thousand dollar DSLR, he checked the SD card and picked up his assortment of lenses before sprinting out the door.

He kept a continuous smile on his face as he traveled to the building the fansign was taking place. It was only 6 am, but he waited outside the building, one of the first people in line. In the matter of a few hours, the line went across the block, waiting for doors to open at 8 am.

When Yoongi’s papers were checked and scanned, he was let in, his feet immediately sprinting to the center of the room and setting up his camera.

Being a fansite was a competitive job, but one that he loved doing. Seeing you printed out on clean, glossy paper did wonders to his heart, his fingers over tracing over you. Ah, those banners too.

Yoongi didn’t mind not being first in line. As long as he got video footage, and most importantly, the best shot, that’s all that mattered to him. When you finally walked in and took your seat, all your fans cheered, including Yoongi as he was surrounded by other fansites who were seething with jealously at his view.

It relieved him greatly that security didn’t find him suspicious or familiar. After all, he was the fan that conveniently bumped into you last night and followed, camera in hand. Bless those surgical masks.

As the fansign neared its end, Yoongi began to pack up his things as he saw staff cleaning up in the back and the way you restlessly moved and talked. His heart sped up, the thought of you unable to rest because of him. It was him that made you stay up at night.

As all the fans waved outside as you unloaded the gifts and your belongings into your van, you spotted the small boy waving at you. You squinted, not remembering his face. He had certainly not come up to you today. Odd.

But Yoongi didn’t need to, he already had the plans written on your schedule for the month.

He would be seeing you again tonight. And in a much more personal setting.

#yandere bts #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts reaction #yandere yoongi #yandere jin #yandere taehyung #taehyung x reader #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #yandere yoongi x reader #yandere jin x reader #yandere taehyung x reader #bts jin #bts yoongi #bts taehyung

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rhythmsectionbros · 5 years

Text

You Should Have Been There | a present QUEEN fic

current/present era

not shippy but multi-friendship Brian/Roger/John

PG-13 ~for language

words: 8.4k

summary: Jim Beach’s call was unexpected, perturbing Brian’s & Roger’s preparations for the coming 2020 European Tour, but it did pique their curiosity –or how an unexpected change is going to disturb their perfectly planned coming months (for the context of the fic, they didn’t talk to John in years -yes, i refuse to believe this is true irl but let’s say in fiction, it is!)

warnings: mention of death and fatal illness **if you are uncomfortable with such topics even in the world of fiction, please don’t read it**

A/N: sooooo my first ‘long’ fic (and likely my last!). This is, of course, 10000% fiction and I feel very insecure about it for plenty of reasons –you will understand when you will read it. In advance, I am very sorry if I offend anyone! AND THANK YOU TO MY LOVELY BETA ♥

you can read the fic on Ao3

and here a playlist i made on youtube to go with the fic

10th December, 3:20 p.m.

“Maybe it’s about a second movie?”

“For fuck’s sake Brian. I hope not!”

There is a ‘ding’ before the doors open and the two men walk out of the elevator towards Jim ‘Miami’ Beach’s office. His call earlier that week was unexpected, perturbing Brian’s & Roger’s preparations for the coming European Tour, but it did pique their curiosity. The remnant snow on their shoulders melting, Brian brushes the rest out of his white hair while Roger removes his scarf and rubs his nose with his thumb and forefinger, groaning quietly.

“It is Disney we are talking about Rog,” Brian continues and casts a glance over his bandmate who is still wearing sunglasses even in December. “They can do whatever they want. And without our approval.”

Roger rolls his eyes and snorts.

After a few more steps (and a few more cuss words from the drummer), the two men catch sight of Miami pacing back and forth in the corridor leading to his office. The producer spots them. “Hello, guys!”

“Hi Jim,” Brian answers with a smile, offering his hand, and Roger does the same.

“Hello, Jim.”

“Glad you could come even with the bad weather. Surprising for an early December, right? I know this invitation is unplanned but it’s always a pleasure to see you both.” There is an unusual tension in the older man’s voice, and a smell of cigarette around him despite having quit years ago. “When was the last time?”

“For the celebration of… something?” Roger jokes.

“Exactly,” the guitarist nods with a smile, white curls following the movement.

“Really?” He asks but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Hmm, please. Follow me.”

The three men pass by a receptionist, dozens of unknown faces and more gold albums hung on walls to finally reach the polished oak door of Jim’s office.

Without any warning, he stops and turns, Brian nearly running into him. “Look! I– it was not my idea, but I couldn’t really say no, you see.”

“Oh no,” Roger whispers under his breath as he takes his glasses off. “Brian, I think you were right.”

“What?” Jim frowns and shakes his head. “No, no. Look… Just, don’t hold it against me, alright?”

Their attentions are piqued once more.

The hinges creak lightly as the producer opens the door and the two musicians step into the office. This time, Roger is the one who nearly runs into the tall guitarist, all of sudden frozen. “What the…!” He looks up at his companion for a laugh but changes his mind when he sees Brian staring with intensity at something on the opposite side of the room. With interest, he follows the gaze. And he stops breathing.

There, standing across the table, a ghost.

“John.”

Brian’s voice is barely a whisper, but the name hangs in the air, out of place.

“Hello, Brian.” The reply is simple, short, almost absurd. Then, a light smile appears on his lips, and his eyes turn. “Hello, Roger.”

Silence is the answer from the drummer, who still doesn’t know the proper reaction to have. All Roger can manage is to bite the inside of his cheek, to prevent whatever feeling is about to come out.

In some way, Brian and Roger are not aware of the passage of time -their schedule relatively the same for 50 years (fewer parties tho), with concerts, rehearsals, tours, fans screaming their names… the pattern didn’t really change. And yet, now facing John, they feel the weight of those years in their very marrow. Their ex-bandmate looked the same, but oh-so different. John still has that smile and tooth gap, those unreadable greyish eyes surrounded by crow’s feet at their corners, that voice light like a cartoon character but sharp enough on its corners to cut you. However, he looks paler and shorter. The voice, raspier. No more hair, except on his temples. A little round belly and a weary face. Like theirs.

“This is a… surprise, to say the least.” Brian was always the diplomatic one, keeping his composure during interviews or answering questions when the other ones didn’t want to, and, well, he enjoys talking. So today, he decides once more to wear the UN Blue helmet.

John nods. “Nice euphemism Brian. I appreci-”

“I just remembered I have an important appointment,” Roger cuts John off, without sparing him a glance, “Like, right now actually.”

If eyes are truly the window to a person’s mind, then the drummer is literally reading in Brian’s eyes ‘What the actual bloody fuck Roger?!’ But instead, his older friend placidly asks: “An appointment?”

“Yeah, I can’t move it. Ophthalmologist,” he points at his eyes with a tattooed hand. “You know how long it takes to have a consultation.”

Behind Brian’s shoulder, Jim remains silent, way too familiar with Queen’s dramas to know when to step aside. The guitarist insists. “Seriously Rog’?”

“Yes, seriously Brian! I will call you later. Bye Miami.”

About to leave, his hand is on the door handle when he hears him.

“Roger.”

His good ear twitches at the sound and he turns to face his ex-colleague. “I have to leave your company, sorry. And maybe, oh I don’t know, you will never hear from me again,” Roger claims, a constricted grin on his lips, “But I imagine you are familiar with this concept, John.”

And then, he disappears, letting the door hiss quietly shut behind him. There is a moment of silence, a moment for the three other men to process what just happened. Once in a while, Brian too still tastes the sour vestiges of resentment and frustration, but he understands –oh yes, he understands so well why the younger musician decided to move away, and in all honesty, he has no right to judge him. “Sorry about that, John.” Brian talks first, and a wave of nostalgia hits him when he sees this old John shrugs nonchalantly.

“It’s okay. I expected such a reaction from him.”

“Well yeah… you know Roger.”

“No.” The pause after this word seems endless, “I don’t know him anymore.”

John’s trademark. The naked truth of what he is thinking, no matter if it hurts him or the one in front of him.

“And what reaction were you expecting from me then?”

“I hoped you would stay Brian.”

“I am staying.”

“Good.”

It’s not like these two men have never cared or loved each other. They are, reciprocally, both part of an interlude of 25 crazy years in each other’s lives, through thick and thin. Sure, conversation between them was not always easy –it happens between similar personalities, even if none of them would admit that fact. But now, in their twilight years, it seems that John is more inclined and at ease to talk with Brian, and such unanticipated development makes him smile.

“Okay, since the storm passed, I suggest we all take a seat,” Jim says and walks behind his desk to sit down.

John is about to follow suit and sit around the meeting table, but he stops mid-motion, noticing Brian is walking towards him. Unexpectedly, the taller man leans forward and wraps an arm around his ex-bandmates’ shoulders, drawing him into a short hug that’s awkward but, to John’s surprise, welcome nonetheless. He reciprocates, one hand resting on his back. “Did we already hug before?”

They pull apart and Brian takes a few seconds to consider the question. “I think we did, yes. Many times!”

That prompts a giggle from John, and both men eventually sit down around the table.

“So?” the guitarist starts with interest, “I guess you are not here to make small talks about families and such. Not that I wouldn’t love to hear about them.”

“Am I that transparent?” he jokes. “You’re right. They are all good by the way! But no, no. Actually, I have a favour –well, that is not the right word. I have something I would like to do but I won’t without your approval,” John explains, fingers running over the edge of the round table.

“Yeah, sure Deaky,” the old nickname slips out like it was never confined into the archive of Brian’s mind.

“It’s about my royalties. And my part in Queen’s legacy.” The words make Brian frown curiously but John carries on. “I no longer want to be the beneficiary of it. I want Veronica to be the exclusive recipient of any future income. I want her name to appear on any legal paper concerning Queen instead of mine from now.”

Silence.

“Really?” Jim abruptly asks from behind his desk.

John nods. “Yes. Look –it won’t change a thing for the other beneficiaries, you know? This modification won’t interfere with your royalties. Or Roger’s. Or anyone else. It’s just about my piece of the cake you know? And, I want it to be Veronica’s from now.”

The atmosphere changes in the room, just as the light in Brian’s eyes. “Right…”

“Brian look, do not think this request is about me denying or repudiating all I did with you. No. You’re wrong,” he explains, “…once more,” and adds with a sardonic smile the guitarist knows too well –that same mocking smile which often provoked feelings of homicidal rage from Brian decades ago. The vision is oddly soothing.

Brian smiles back. “I know Deaky.”

“And, I won’t do anything without your approval. Or Roger’s.”

“Well… as you said it changes nothing for us. So, I don’t see why I would have objections. And I think Roger wouldn’t be against it either.” Brian looks over his shoulders. “Miami?”

The manager holds his palms up in a show of agreement. “Sure. If everybody agrees… I guess you can come back in a week John. I will ask the lawyers to prepare them and the papers will be ready. Your presence is needed for the signatures though. Your wife’s too.” Jim flipped his datebook, nodding to himself. “What about next Thursday in a week, same time?”

A nod. “Alright,” the former bassist consents, quite pleased by the unanimity. “In a week. We will be there.” It seems like he wants to add something else, but his gaze gets drawn to his fists, both clenched and resting on the table.

“May I be curious?” The older guitarist asks after seconds of silence, “Why such a decision? Did you find some kind of trick to pay fewer taxes or…?”

John laughs gently, his reputation of being practical with money or even tight with it not forgotten. “I wish. But no, no it’s just—”

The sentence ends with a gap, so uncharacteristic of John. The man, behind his mask of quietude and composure, has one of the sharpest mind and tongue Brian knows -a talent that can make you want to curl on the ground and cry in two seconds. So, if John has difficulties to finish a line, it means something is very wrong. Brian instinctively holds his breath.

“I have cancer. Pancreatic cancer.” John states. “A quite aggressive one.”

Everything becomes much too quiet around them, and the only sound heard is a gasp from Jim.

Brian blinks and his intellect starts working quickly, as always, connecting the dots to remember what he heard about the disease and its possible outcomes. And what comes to his mind looks more like a noisy alarm siren with red flashing light than a formal report: Low survival rate. Between one to three years. Terminal.

His voice is nearly a whine. “…what?”

John stares at him for a moment, speculating what exactly the ‘what’ stands for, and decides. “I am at stage 4 to be more specific. They gave me between ten months and one year. And that’s why I want Veronica to be the exclusive beneficiary. I want to settle things, to protect my family,” he explains with a displaced monotonous tone. “I was diagnosed a month ago.”

No. Brian blanches. He feels the blood leaves his face and rushes to form a knot in the center of his chest. “How– why– Deaky, I…” He starts but doesn’t finish. “John did… how long…”

With a small smile, the former bassist takes pity of the guitarist and cuts him off. “I was diagnosed a bit late. I didn’t read the early signs properly I guess.” There is finality in his voice. “Cigarettes didn’t help either.”

And John shrugs.

He shrugs.

As if this didn’t really matter, as if he was talking about some restaurant that he didn’t like, and Brian only wants to grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him like he did a couple of times decades ago. Because no no no no no no it can’t be happening. Not again. In Brian’s rational mind, he is supposed to be the one dying next. The natural order. The oldest one. Not the youngest one!

“There is only a five percent chance of survival with surgery and very brutal chemo. And the survival is only of a few more months,” John continues steadily, “So I decided: no surgery or chemo.”

“Deaky! You can’t-”

“Don’t worry, I am not irresponsible,” he interrupts. “I have medication.”

Brian stares John over, lingering on his face, on how his hands rest on the table, rubbing his right thumb over the left hand’s knuckles; and maybe it’s cliché or not even true, but he’s now noticing how thinner and paler he looks. Not obvious signs, but there anyway.

“I had a very great life. I couldn’t have asked for anything more,” John continues, “Well, maybe the tiny regret for not having spent more time with a couple of friends,” he adds, chuckling humourlessly.

A blow in the guts would have been less painful, and Brian takes a deep, measured breath. “H-how has your family handled it?” The question sounds hollow, even to him.

“They have no real choice actually. The kids are dealing with it as best as they can. And Ronnie–” John pauses, feeling like a stone got stuck in his throat, and he swallows down. “–she has always been the strongest one. The rock of this family. I know she will endure and survive.”

“And you?”

“I am surprisingly fine. Tired, yes. But that’s all for now. The upcoming months… are going to be the hardest ones.” Again, a shrug. “Yeah, you really don’t need the details.”

They’ve gone from radio silence to nostalgic normalcy in the span of just ten minutes, and while they’ve been through too much to ever truly become strangers, Brian doesn’t expect to play the confidant yet.

“John–”

“It’s okay Brian. Look, I am not here to ask you or Rog or Jim anything, you know?” he says while observing the manager who is still hopelessly silent behind his desk and turns his attention back on his ex-bandmate. “I just thought that after everything we went through, the good and the bad, during years —I felt that I owed you that. I had to tell you, face to face.”

Loyalty. John decided to come out of loyalty. A hackneyed word nowadays, twisted and perverted in many discourses or ideas, but a word the three aging men understand at their very core.

“Could you tell Roger?”

“Deaky, I think… you should be the one telling him.”

“Well, I just tried,” John retorts with a tightening in his throat. “And I know you will handle him better than I, so… Could you tell him for me please?”

Brian nods, white curls bouncing around his shoulders, and John smiles. “Thank you.”

In a need of contact, the older man puts his hand on the younger one’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. Hazel and grey eyes meet and the moment lingers comfortably.

Eventually, John clears his throat, in fear that his voice would break the next time he opens his mouth, and speaks: “Okay, huh, that’s enough attention on my insignificant self for one day,” he says, hands on the armrests to stand. “I have to go anyway. A doctor’s appointment at the hospital.”

John gets on his feet. At the same time, Brian moves forward and before John can escape it, wraps his arms around him in a tight embrace. The youngest of the old men stands stiffly but relaxes eventually, his hands finding the guitarist’s back to return the hug. He tries to remember the last time they held each other like this, and the memory of Freddie’s death comes to John’s mind. It makes his full body contracts, and Brian pulls him closer.

“I can’t remember if I’ve ever said it—”

“Don’t,” John warns, aware of what is coming. “No Brian. You really don’t have to.”

“—I love you Deaky,” Brian finishes, his voice trembling from suppressed sobs.

They don’t say anything during the next seconds, words pointless. Too many years and too much practice of silence between them taught the two men when there isn’t really anything to add. John bites down on the inside of his cheek to prevent tears from falling down, but the grey eyes are already glassy.

“I was- I am an awful friend,” he confesses against Brian’s shoulder.

Tightening his arms around John one last time, the guitarist pulls back.

“Of course you are!” He smiles. “It’s because you’re not a simple friend Deaky. You are a brother. You are family. And family can be such a pain in the ass!”

The two men giggle and take advantage of this interlude to wipe away what remains on their moist cheeks.

“I –it never was my intention, to hurt you or Roger, you know?” John whispers, and Brian’s only reaction is his hand finding his friend’s shoulder again. “Never. And if I did with my distance or silence. I am very sorry. It’s just— I had to.”

“We know that.”

“Sorry.”

“No. Don’t.”

“Okay.” Another shrug, and if it is not from the red in his eyes, it would be hard to guess the tears John shed seconds ago.

“I would like to see you again,” Brian says with hesitation. “If you are okay with that of course.”

“Don’t feel obligated Brian. You and Roger own me nothing, and I don’t want to be a bother.”

“What? No. Of course you’re not. Look, I am not suggesting deep and long conversations –unless you want it– but, I don’t know… maybe next week, after you signed the papers with Veronica, you could both come for tea time at my place? Or maybe for dinner?”

The slight frown that appears on John’s face convince Brian to be more specific. “It will be just you, Veronica, me, and Anita. She will be pleased to see you both. Just a simple dinner. Nothing fancy. The four of us.”

And at his own words, the guitarist turns to the manager, remembering his presence. “Sorry, Jim.”

“No problem.” he replies and raises his hands in a sign of support.

“So… is it that okay with you John?”

The former bassist manages only a one-sided grin, sort of crooked and almost a frown but his features eventually soften. “Yes, why not? A simple dinner.”

“The simplest one, yeah,” Brian confirms with a reassuring smile and his hand leaves John’s shoulder. “Great.”

As the meeting is clearly coming to an end, Jim coughs and joins the two other men standing by the table. He offers his hand to John, who takes it happily. “So, John, you can come back in a week. Same day, same hour. Or anytime, really!” he specifies. “But in a week, everything will be ready for you and Veronica: papers, contracts, ink…”

“Thank you, Miami.” The man smiles and Jim returns it, before walking towards the door to open it.

“I promise I will make an effort for the menu.”

John looks at Brian as they walk to the exit and he shakes his head with that smirk. “Meat?”

“Well…” A pause. “I will find something. It will be edible. I assure you. Pizzas maybe?”

“Finally! I was running out of battery.”

The way the three men freeze on the threshold and turn in synch is almost funny to Roger. Almost.

Brian’s hazel eyes widen slightly. “Rog’.”

“You stayed?” Jim continues.

“As you can see Miami! But don’t worry, I was not eavesdropping at your door,” he says and points at the red leather sofa behind him, “I was just there, on this very uncomfortable couch, reading magazines or the news on my phone, waiting patiently.” He crosses his arms over his chest: “Your door is too thick anyway…”

“And your appointment?” Brian asks only to unsettle the drummer

“Well, I mixed the days. Blame my poor old brain.”

“You could have joined us.”

“Oh no, I didn’t want to trouble this heart-warming reunion between you,” he turns, casting a side glance at John. “To be honest I am stunned that you stayed and didn’t vanish in the middle of this reunion to disappear, as you know how to do so well.”

“Roger.” Brian snaps.

“It’s okay,” John cuts him off, “I guess I deserve it.”

Such a reaction was unanticipated, and Roger’s answer is silence, disbelief written all over his face.

John steps closer but doesn’t extend his hand, preferring to look rude and impolite than endure another rejection. He stands still and presses his lips together, weary eyes lingering on his ex-bandmate, silently trying to sear into his memory a last glimpse of Roger.

This is it. As simple words as they are, his throat tightens up around them.

“It was good to see you, Roger.” A silent beat. “Goodbye then.”

He gives a smile and a nod, and turns away.

A tiny voice in Roger’s head tells him to stop John, to ignore the last decade, to offer him a pint of Fullers and to catch up the time wasted. But a much bigger voice starts to list the ignored messages, the months and years of silence, the distance he unilaterally chose to put between them… After deciding to turn his back on what they created, Roger knows he won the right to do the same now. A fair giving-back. Right?

“Can we get inside?” the drummer heads to the office without waiting for an answer.

Jim follows, and Brian doesn’t move, wearing an unreadable expression on his face as his eyes are still lingering on the now-empty corridor. “Sure Rog’…”

The three men enter the office: Jim finds again his place behind his desk, Brian prefers to stay up, looking outside the window, and Roger, without knowing it, sits down on the chair formerly occupied by John.

“So,” he begins with irritation, “it’s not that I am curious, but what did he want? He was there to ask something, right? So?” Only silence follows. “Hmm, Miami?”

The direct inquiry startles the manager and he straightens up on his chair. “He –wanted to talk about his royalties.”

“What? Why?”

“He, huh, wants his wife to be the exclusive recipient of them,” he explains, fiddling with the edges of his notebook. “He said that it changes nothing for you or Brian or anyone else. And he is right! But he wants your approval. Both of you.”

Roger shifts slightly in surprise and his stare searches for Brian for clarification but his friend is still by the window, his back to him.

“Yeah… yeah,” he pauses. “Right. It changes nothing actually. So, yes, I have nothing against that. He can do as he wants. I don’t care. But why though?”

“You should have been there,” Brian whispers, looking outside as melted snowflakes cling to the glass.

There is a hint of something in his old friend’s voice that Roger doesn’t like. Steadily, he turns in his chair to look up at him who still staring at the cotton wool clouds.

“Well, I wasn’t Brian.” And it is not even an excuse. “So… that’s it? He only wanted to talk about business and cash?”

After years of distance and silence, John decided to return into their lives to talk about money? Incredible. Out of frustration, Roger releases a sigh despite himself.

“He wanted to say goodbye.”

A frown flickers across the drummer’s face.

“Goodbye?”

After seconds in which Brian seems to debate his options, he turns around, facing now his bandmate. “He is ill. Very ill.”

Roger stares at him blankly.

“Pancreatic cancer. Stage 4.”

And something like ice floods Roger’s veins.

“You know what it means Rog’.”

Yes, he knows what it means.

He looks up at Brian, then back to Jim, then back at Brian and –his brain may have short-circuited a little, the only thought crossing it being ‘not again’. He can’t follow the shape of his own thought, can’t understand what he heard. It makes no sense! John was standing in front of him one minute ago. He looked perfectly fine! “You… must have heard wrong.”

“I was there,” Brian says.

“So was I,” Jim confirms.

And Roger was not.

Once the computer error in his brain fixed, he opens his mouth but no sound comes out, a solid weight in his stomach making him want to curl.

“What—” his big blue eyes take a look up at the guitarist to find some support. “What did he say?”

Brian exhales, taking a few steps to pull out a chair, and sits down by his friend’s side.

“He talked about his illness. He said that he was diagnosed a month ago, that… there is zero to five percent of chance of survival with a very damaging treatment, so he won’t do it,” he explains carefully, and Roger doesn’t realize he’s shaking his head all along. “He has between 10 months and one year. More or less.”

It feels like every last nerve in Roger’s body is white-hot as his blood runs cold.

Brian goes on. “He said that after all the things we went through together, he owed you a face to face conversation. He is not asking for anything… he just wanted us to know.”

Another deep breath and the guitarist rests his elbows on his knees, hands together as if he is about to start praying at any moment. “He said that he regrets to not have spent more time with us. He said that he didn’t want to cause us any hurt. He said that he was an awful friend.” With each additional assertion, a new wisp of hurt flashes into his voice.

“He said that he was sorry,” he whispers now. “You… you should have been there Rog’.”

Yes. He should have been there. Another bad decision he can add to the list of bad decisions taken in the haste of extreme feelings. Roger’s face remains stoic, and if it weren’t for his eyes growing slowly reddish and glassy, you’d almost think he hadn’t heard a word.

He feels dazed.

“I must see him.”

“Not today,” is Brian’s response, and Jim nods silently along. “He has an appointment at the hospital.”

The drummer sighs out at last and looks down at his hands. They are shaking.

“Call him tomorrow. I know you, Roger… You need a night to sleep on it, before you decide what to do or to say, without regrets.”

This paternalistic tone is really not what Roger needs to hear right now. He rises, muttering something under his breath, and starts pacing around the table like a caged lion, until he stops, and is, in turn, the one at the window. No doubt that all the eyes in the room are on his back.

“I was wondering,” the guitarist breaks the silence, “Our coming tour is—”

Roger’s whole body instantaneously spins. “Are you really thinking about the tour right now Brian?!”

“Yes, I am Roger!” he retorts as fast. “Because if I count properly, and I know I do, we will be on tour when he will—”

The line remains incomplete in his mouth, too consequential to finish it, and Brian grimaces at his own words. Roger feels nauseous.

The two friends held a silent conversation, eyes locked, and neither looked away until there is a tiny, choked gasp from the drummer. “I have to get out there. I need a walk…”, he mumbles. “To clear my head.”

Brian stands up, looking over his shoulder at Jim who nods, and starts to pull on his coat. “Yeah me too. I’ll come with you.”

11th December, 4:37 p.m.

The snow is falling in heavy clumps and the house is quiet. Veronica is having lunch with a distant cousin, the kids are out for christmas shopping and John listens to the rare silence. He likes silence.

Then a clatter of metal and the man sighs. Walking the few paces to the couch where he previously left it, he picks up his phone, and read the name of the caller. Roger. He looks at the screen again, almost seeming to ignore the call and to let Roger leaves a message to a metallic voicemail. Knowing his reluctance to anything hi-tech, this prospect sounds truly tempting -but John decides to slide the green button.

“Yes?”

A sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a long silence. “Hello. I–”

Silence again, and John furrows his brow. “Yes?”

“This… this isn’t easy.” Neither is this conversation. “I mean, I– I’ve always preferred face to face exchanges.”

“I imagine.” It’s so…diplomatic. Roger is a lot of things in the memory of the former-bassist, and diplomatic is not one of them. But people change.

John makes his way to the bay window. Snow swirls in the air, smothering the flowers on the house’s facade with a blanket. But a navy blue form against the white stands still by the house’s doorstep and catches John’s attention. The sides of his lips tilt upwards.

“Sorry Roger, I have to hang up. There is a Jehovah’s witness at my doorstep.”

Without waiting for an answer, he ends the conversation and pulls back the curtains of the window to enjoy the scenery.

Outside, standing immobile at the front door, Roger’s expression passes from surprise to confusion and then pure irritation in a matter of seconds. John even read along ‘what the fuck? what the fuck?’ on his lips. It is hard to say exactly how long he has been out, in front John’s place, waiting for the right moment, but by the substantial amount of snow on his hat, a good 10 minutes.

Roger’s vindictive monologue with the door is interrupted by a tapping on the window. He turns his face and finds John’s amused one through the pane. Oh shit… He shouldn’t have come. He should’ve lied. No! He shouldn’t have called John in the first place. After decades of crazy decisions taken in hast, Roger seems to have learned nothing from them.

But the front door opens too quickly to turn around.

Roger straightens up his stand. “Huh. John.”

“Roger.”

“Can I come in?”

Stepping aside, John lifts one hand in the air to emphasis his point, “After you,” and closes the door behind the unexpected-guest,

Prudently, Roger makes his way in the entrance, shaking the snow from his hat and shoulders, and unwraps the scarf from his neck. He’s clearly tense, blue eyes darting around constantly as if to ensure he is in the right house. And he is, the moments he once spent here bursting in his memory through a vault he thought locked tight.

“This place didn’t change. At all.”

“I like that,” John says as he steps into the living room, where Roger already laid his coat on an empty chair. “It is reassuring to have the same stable foundatio- ”

“Were you really not going to tell me?” Roger interrupted.

“I tried to tell you.”

“Well, you should have insisted more!”

Everything is quiet around them. Not a sound comes from the house or the street, every noise muffled by the snow, and all both men can hear for a moment is Roger’s breath.

John sighs. “Look… if you came here only to be angry at me or to expound the many reasons for your hate for me, you should leave.”

“Hate?!” Roger face twitches like he’s trying hard to hold in a sneeze. “I don’t hate you! I wish I did though.”

“Okay… I guess?” To be honest, nothing is going on particularly okay. “So, huh, do you want to drink anything? Scotch? Water? Hemlock?” A white eyebrow raises at him. “Come on, you’re a biologist. It’s funny!”

“I’ve never b—” Roger suppresses a groan and John, a laugh. “Water would be fine for me.”

His answer is a smile and John disappears into the kitchen.

Hands in pockets, the old drummer shuffles alone into the living room, and he seems unsure how to proceed. He feels like an intruder. Out of place. Christ, this is awkward. The room is pleasant, elegant, and the furniture of good quality yet simple. Nothing too fancy or too modern -definitely not decorated by John. There is a table large enough to seat eight near the windows, and a corner sofa by the veranda, most likely placed there to take advantage of the light. He catches what he thinks is a dog bowl in the garden but John never has been very fond of pets, right? Or maybe his old eyes are playing tricks on him once more. And, in a corner, a Christmas tree with lace ribbons and ornaments.

“There is nothing in this living room indicating you were in a band,” Roger claims loud enough for John, a very slight tone of blame in his voice. “Or that you are even a musician.”

“There is a piano in the veranda,” he answers from the kitchen, “but it is Ronnie’s.”

“Hm.”

John returns in the living room, two glasses of water in hands. “You know, I keep one picture with the four of us, in what I consider my office.” Roger’s eyes narrow a fraction at these words. “My basement-slash-garage, where I tinker with my electronic clutter or do my correspondence. And, yeah? I think there are an acoustic and a Fender as well? Somewhere?” John hands the glass to his guest, who seems unable to tell if the last statement is a hoax or the truth. “Your water.”

Silence again, and John tilts his head to look at Roger like he’s actually waiting for something.

“Huh…thank you.”

“It must be hard.” The words come out with amusement but the jab is ignored. John sips, observing Roger over his glass’ rim. “Why are you here Roger?”

“Brian told me.”

“I already guessed that.”

Why is he here? No evident answer crosses his mind. He just felt that he had to come, something in his guts. Like when salmons swim back to the upper reaches of the river where they began their existence only to die there. Nothing logical. Only instinct.

“You cannot die!” Roger shouts, almost a command, and it rings almost comical.

“Why’s that?”

“You are the youngest one. You should be the one burying us all!” His voice is getting angrier with every word, and this is absolutely not what he planned to sound like.

John wants to be mad. He wants to abhor Roger’s presence for just showing up out of nowhere to yell at him -or worse, for coming to give his pity. But, he can’t. Disliking Roger always has been impossible.

He smiles. “Don’t be that pessimistic Rog’. We have a few months ahead before I’m gone. You may traverse the street tomorrow and be run over by a car?”

“Oh shut up Deaky,” he snaps, the affectionate nickname escaping his lips and Roger regrets this weakness right away. He closes his eyes… “It is your fault, you know.”

“The cancer?”

… and opens them again only to roll them in an excellent imitation of an exasperated teenager. “No, John! Not the cancer. The silence. The distance. The time wasted. The rest!”

It isn’t graceful, or polite, or remotely empathetic. The words are brash and a bit shaken, and John almost grimaces when he hears them. Decades ago, this could have been ignored with a ‘We all make mistakes!’ or ‘Shit happens…’ or ‘Fuck you Rog!’, and it would have ended with pints of beer –they threw at each other much worse insults. But after years of silence, and distance, and time wasted, John isn’t so sure anymore how to read Roger’s remarks, and Roger doesn’t know how to talk to John anymore.

Greyish eyes stare back into blue ones, before they fall on the glass he is still holding in his hands.

“Okay,” John says, “I really don’t need that right now, so…I will ask you to leave Roger.”

Without a sound, he passes by the drummer, walks towards the armchair in front of the coffee table, and sits down there. As his demand remains ignored, he reiterates it, pointing at the front door. “Please?”

Roger is a lot of things, but he has never been a coward –he’s never stepped back from responsibilities or desire or crazy ideas. Sure, fear has been there often, but never sufficient to make him flee, particularly for a friend. His fists clench. A friend.

Time seems to stand still as the two old men stare defiantly at each other, until Roger, notably, is the first to give up and to look at his feet. His breath comes out with a rare measure of apprehension and he decides to move, yet not towards the front door.

A half dozen steps and he is in front of John. He eventually sits down on the coffee table and opens his mouth only to close it, bearing a striking resemblance to a goldfish.

The two men barely spoke or interacted in the last decade, with the exception of small talks about business and money. It seems Roger has no idea how to start what it seems a difficult conversation and John can see his mind working towards some sort of complex solution.

“Roger?”

“Wait! I-” his index raises between them. “I’m thinking.”

“Okay.”

And they go awkwardly quiet again.

Roger leans forward to relieve some of his weight from the table, his fingers drumming nervously against its edge, and big blue eyes glance around as though the words may come from mid-air. By the fifth minute of silence, John comes to the conclusion that the duty to open the discussion falls on his shoulders.

“Look Roger, you owe me nothing,” he starts, calmly. “If you don’t want to be there, then just go. Do not feel obligated to do or to say anything. I don’t need your pity. And to be honest, I would really prefer your hate.” A faint smile lifts the corner of his lips. How typical.

“I could nev-”

Roger stops immediately. Another round of silence stretches into the air and he stiffens.

“Years ago, I… made a promise, Brian too, to someone very dear to me. And very dear to you. He has always known that you were the most fragile one. And even during his last moments he—”

He can’t finish the line, because even after almost 30 years, it is still impossible to wrap his tongue around any sentence involving Freddie and Death at the same time. He sighs through his nose and slams his eyes shut before reopening them. “I made the promise to look after you. To look after our little brother. And I… it feels like I didn’t keep this promise.”

The concept makes John frown. “Roger, there is nothing you could have done for what is happening to me.”

“I am not talking about that. I am talking about the rest. I…” Roger’s demeanour faintly eases, eyes finally showing something other than the sourness that filled them from the moment he stepped across the threshold. “We lost you.”

He clears his throat, another nervous reflex. “John, look! I know, I know, you needed that. You needed distance and time and to step away. Yes! And we accepted it. But in the end, it… it felt like we lost you. We lost another brother.”

A sincere, even affectionate, look begins to steal over his face. “And, and, and, maybe I am wrong, but I have the feeling you lost a tiny part of yourself as well with this silence. I don’t know. Perhaps it is selfish! Maybe, I’m overthinking, it’s just—”

He pauses to choose his words carefully. “I miss you. Not all the time! Not every day, but… I do. From time to time, I think ‘Oh I wish Deaky was there’.”

There’s a long break during which they just stare at each other. John smiles, close-mouthed but genuine, eyes dangerously glassy: “I miss you too you know? From time to time. Hell –I even miss Brian!” He jokes and swallows hard before breathing again.

There is the ghost of a grin on Roger’s lips. “It’s silly but, even if I know you retired, that you didn’t want to play anymore, that you put Queen and music behind you… I still had, deep down, hidden under tons of concrete made of facts and realism, I still had this insignificant, senseless, ridiculous hope that, maybe one day, you would want to play with us again. And now—” This is risky territory, and he knows it by the tremor in his voice. “—now this tiny hope is gone. For good.”

His eyes burn hot, and a sob tears from his lips but he isn’t crying. He isn’t. It’s like all his tension, all his resentment, all of his love is trying to escape him at once. It’s too much for tears. Roger just wants to bloody scream.

“Fuck, I… I don’t want you to die!”

John snorts at the request. “Me neither.” Without thinking about it, he places a wrinkly hand on his chest, like if trying to catch this failure, trying to control this bomb inside of him. “I am terrified.”

The unforeseen vulnerability of this confession deflates Roger’s composure. And tears finally start to spill out.

Christ, they are both fucking idiots.

“Why did we have to wait for such an event to talk to each other again?”

“I don’t know, really,” John breathes and wipes his nose with the back of his fist. “A few months ago, I wanted to see you, you know? I thought ‘maybe I could write to Brian? Or call Roger? Just like that!’. But yeah, I changed my mind I guess.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know… I thought, with everything happening to both of you now, maybe you didn’t c–” he stops, mid-sentence, like it’s getting too weighty for him to deliver another word.

The drummer remains still, quietly sniffing, until it dawns on him.

“–maybe we didn’t care?”

The only answer from John is a shrug. And Roger’s heart drops.

For a second, he wants to be angry again. How hard is a phone call, or an email, or a card to confirm if they indeed do not care about him? Hell, he was the one who stepped away, the one who said he w— This doesn’t matter. Something restrains those feelings: the idea that John imagined Roger and Brian ceased to care about him is devastating.

His lips part, grasping for words, and as they find they have none, Roger pulls himself to his feet. The move is fast, making John lean backward in the armchair to look up at him.

“Get up Deaky.”

A frown. “Are you going to punch me?”

“For fuck’s sa… I’m gonna hug you! And I can’t do it with you in this armchair without throwing my back out.”

“Look, you really don’t have to. Brian already hugged me twice yesterday.”

“Precisely. Up.”

After a sigh, John obeys.

The pair face each other until Roger moves forward and gathers the other man in a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around him. Chin on his ex-bandmate’s shoulder, John stands stiff. It is easy to let Roger envelop him with his affection and natural cheer, for he always had this mysterious gift to get people comfortable and warm, to drag them in his welcoming aura like a giant sun.

They’re still for a moment until John slowly places his arms around him in return. All the feelings rise again dangerously to the surface and threaten to pour out of him in a tidal wave of emotions.

Imperceptibly, Roger tightens his embrace. “No matter what,” —he hates how his voice sounds watery— “You’re my little brother. The only one I will ever have.”

Shock robs John’s senses for he isn’t sure if he imagined these words or not. He swallows and presses closer, clinging on tight as tears start to run over his cheeks. Maybe with this embrace, he will make clear that his distance was never against him or Brian. That he masks all his fears and hurt with spikes of silence and sarcasm because it’s easier for him to handle.

They remain locked in their embrace a few seconds longer. Looking at it from the exterior the scene may be strange, but these two weepy old men really don’t care.

They eventually pull back, both red-faced, cheeks tearstained.

Roger mumbles: “We’re too old for that.”

“Particularly you.”

“Please.” Despite the gravity of their prior conversation, the drummer can’t help but smile, and the knot in his chest starts to untie itself. He rubs his nose with his palm. “You know what? I could really use a scotch now.”

“Okay.”

Promptly, John walks across the room to reach a small cupboard and takes out a bottle of scotch. “Directly from Scotland,” he explains, the voice is still unsteady, and pours the liquor in Roger’s glass. “My son sent it to us. Be my guest.”

An offer hard to refuse. Roger lifts the glass and sniffs the sweet perfume before taking a sip: “Hmm, you don’t want to join me?”

“No. I quit.”

The drummer’s (still red) eyes widen slightly, for this is the farthest thing he expected. It is not a secret that John went through tumultuous and self-destructive phases, with excessive boozing and partying leaving him feeling depressed or hollow. But people change, for good or bad reasons. And the decision to quit alcohol seems to definitely be part of the good ones.

Even though there is this lethal sword of Damocles hanging over his head, John looks fine. Appeased. With a smile, Roger places a hand on the younger man’s shoulder to squeeze it slightly before pulling away.

His glass now empty, he places it on the coffee table. “So, Brian told me he invited you and Veronica for dinner, next week.”

“Indeed.”

“I was wondering… can I come too?”

“You are asking for my permission?”

“I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Roger admits. “If a dinner for six is too much, I would understand.”

His face is impossibly affectionate –to the point where John frowns, but he doesn’t avert his gaze. He has the impression that if he said ‘no’, Roger wouldn’t argue, would just accept the verdict without raising his white eyebrows or his voice.

“Are you sure you want to come?” John questions with a grin, and the drummer looks over at him with an expression clouded by anxiety. “I mean, who wants to have dinner with a sociopath?”

All the air leaves Roger’s lungs. “What?! No no no John, I’ve never…Well, I did but –Look! This wasn’t my intention. I-I was just–” he stammers, and the more he does, the more John’s smile grows, until a laugh bubbles out of his throat.

“It’s okay Rog’,” he says to save his friend from his ramblings. “I mean; I call you ‘that blonde blind bitch’ daily.”

“Oh shut up Deaky.” Again.

And with that, all the pressure in the room fades away.

“Of course you can come,” John speaks, “I think I can survive a diner of six, but… please Rog, could you both not talk about music the whole time?”

“Fine! I will let Brian make the conversation,” he retorts and crosses his arms over his chest in a scornful way that doesn’t augur any good outcome. “Prepare yourself for hours of ecological issues and useless details about wild animals.”

A laugh, this time shared by both men, and a weight lifts from their shoulders the exact second they reach this familiar territory of jokes and comfortable bantering. It is like coming back to a favourite place you were gone from for so long, but never truly forgetting which parquet-floor boards creaked.

“Alright, since we’re having this heart to heart conversation, I need to ask you the real question.”

The frisky tone makes John curious.

“Did you see the movie?”

He nods. “I did.”

“And? What did you think?”

Greyish eyes narrow a fraction, and Roger fights back a smile. Simply because that irritated look John is currently giving him is so John.

“Well,” John pauses, “The music was good.”

A short but genuine laugh escapes Roger. “Yes, yeah… the music was okay I guess.”

“Barely decent, actually.”

They keep talking like this for about an hour, exchanging anecdotes or little jokes. So many things happened during the last decades that functioning in a normal friendship is a back and forth struggle between small talks and unintended reminders of the past.

But they both believe that they are at the middle ground, and Roger is silently hoping that during the coming weeks, John will permit him to gain back a place in his life. But he has his doubts.

Only when John’s phone buzzes, that he checks the time. “Ronnie,” he says, looking at the message with a soft expression. “She’s asking me what I would like for dinner.”

John seems to think over his options as he quizzically stares up at Roger. Then, a frown, but a slightly annoyed one. “Huh… would you like to stay?”

It’s an innocuous sort of question but asked only out of politeness. And Roger knows it. No matter what, John is well aware of the social conventions when you have a guest -thanks to the 50’s strict upbringing- so he asks, because he had to, not because he wants to.

Roger shakes his head and grins.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I have a life you know?” The jest is light but true. Two of his children and Sarina are waiting for him at home, and he knows that he will need their love after the draining afternoon he went through. “And, we have a dinner planned soon, right?”

“Right.”

Both men stood in the vestibule; the drummer pulls on his coat carefully, then ties a scarf around his neck, and John remains silent, those inscrutable grey eyes observing his ex-bandmate.

“See you next week Rog’.”

With his hand on the door handle, Roger’s face turns with a smile. “Next week Deaky.”

~ f i n ~

PLEASE DON’T JUMP DOWN MY THROAT FOR THIS FIC!! this is a work of fiction and tbh, my main focus is on the reconcialiation and the dynamic betwen the three old men. if i offended any one, i am sorry!! in the end, i hope you enjoyed the reading anyway… feel free to tell me what you think of it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#brian may #roger taylor #john deacon #maylor #dealor #breaky #YES I USE THE SHIPS TAGS BECAUSE YOU CAN USE THEM FOR FRIENDSHIP RIGHT???#this fic was sooo hard to write tho #it took me more or less three monthes lmaooo #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction #queen #fanfic #You Should Have Been There #tears tears tears tears

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ohblackdiamond · 4 years

Text

the end of the world tour (kiss/endgame crossover, r) (part 4/5)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

In this chapter: Final preparations for visiting Tony Stark, including, in order of importance, paying up to find his location, deciding how to state their case, and determining what outfits to wear.

Or, four washed-up former rockstar superheroes don the spandex of old in a last-ditch effort to save an already half-gone world. They just need a little support from a billionaire who’s not too keen on KISS interrupting his private life. Somewhat Endgame compliant.

“Do you think we’re ready now?”

Paul said it out of nowhere, while they were all lounging in front of the T.V. Well, Gene had his ipad out, if only to fact-check the cast list for the horror movie onscreen. None of them were watching it. Ace had been shuffling in and out of the living room, bringing in popcorn and soda refills, looking a little antsy, but now he was sitting next to Peter, arm draped nonchalantly around his shoulders, feet propped up on a leather ottoman. On the couch opposite theirs, Paul was laying on his back, one ankle resting on his raised knee, occasionally reaching for the popcorn bowl on the floor, with Gene occupying what little room remained. It was comfortable, quiet. It reminded Peter of the rare times on tour that they’d have more than two days off in a row. No, better than that. Serene.

But with that single question, the serenity crumbled. Three pairs of bleary brown eyes were on Paul in an instant. Naturally, Paul started to hesitate, pulling both his knees up.

“I mean, really. We got all our powers back. What do we have left to work on?”

“Besides finding Stark’s location?” Gene set the ipad on the floor. “That’s it.”

“And that shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”

“And about a million dollars,” Gene said dryly. “The man’s wiped himself off the map.”

“So we pay it, that’s fine.” That mild anxiousness was beginning to sink into Paul’s expression. Any minute and he’d be shifting around in his seat like a twitchy grammar school kid. Peter watched, too used to it to feel more than mildly vindicated, as Paul moved to lay on his side, knees still bent. Gene hadn’t yet taken advantage of the extra legroom. “But other than that, we’re done. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not counting on us, I dunno, waking up faster than a speeding bullet if we do a few more pushups.”

Ace stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth before responding.

“We’ve got to chart it out.”

“Chart it out?” Peter echoed. “What, are we sailing?”

“Astrology charts.” Ace took a large gulp of Pepsi. “Figure out what day’s best—I looked into it a little bit, I think the 27th would be good…”

“Are you serious, Ace? Just because that’s your lucky number doesn’t mean there’ll be any difference—” Gene started.

“It’s not just that! I checked all our horoscopes and that’s the only day that’s gonna be positive for all of us at once!” Ace looked aggrieved, stuffing another handful of popcorn in his mouth, chewing as he spoke. “I couldn’t get it positive with Stark, too, so that was the best I could—”

“What sign is he?” Paul asked, distractedly.

“Gemini. Totally incompatible.”

Paul exhaled, brow furrowed. Gene just rolled his eyes. Peter looked over at Ace, for once unsure on whether or not to back him, or if it mattered.

“That’d give us two weeks,” Peter said finally, shrugging. It was probably the most neutral statement he’d made in awhile. Gene shot him a mildly aggrieved look. “It’s fine as long as nobody chickens out and keeps trying to put it off.”

“Nobody’s gonna chicken out, Pete, don’t you worry.” Ace was nodding as he spoke. “I’m gonna check with my tarot reader tomorrow, too, just to make sure.”

“You still go see her?”

“Well, yeah. Though sometimes I’m starting to wonder.”

“What, if she’s stealing your money?”

“No, no, I just think her clairvoyance is getting cataracts or some shit.” Ace shrugged. “She said we were gonna tour again.”

Gene started to laugh. An utterly disgusted look crossed Paul’s face before he pressed half of it against the armrest.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding! Not in so many words, but she said something about change and great spectacles and crowds, so—”

“The only way I’m going back on tour is if we get sued,” Paul said flatly.

Ace hesitated.

“About that, Paulie…”

God. Peter knew exactly what was next. A whole half-hour round of rambling and shooting the shit, and by the time they all realized how far off-course they’d gotten, no one would even be in the mood to discuss their meeting with Stark. Ace’s ability to delay and distract had gotten way too much practice over the last five years. Luckily, Gene was immune.

“We’ve got other logistics to deal with here,” he said, a little curtly.

“Like what? This ain’t a gig—”

“Are you kidding? Ace, this might be the biggest gig of our lives.” Gene’s voice was as quiet and intense as usual. To Peter, it was a relief. “If Stark knows what really happened—”

“There’s no way that bastard doesn’t. You don’t make that kind of money without your fingers in everybody’s pie,” Peter interrupted. “We’ve been over this.”

“It’s not all about the money. It’s the type of superhero work he did.” Paul had raised his face from the armrest, finally. “I mean, the Avengers were dealing with threats from alien planets. That’s more than we ever did.”

“You think what happened five years ago is on account of aliens, Paul?”

Paul shrugged as much as he could while lying on the couch.

“You piss off a lot of people crimefighting.”

“Like Devereaux.” Peter snorted at the memory, but he kept going. “The guy gets fired and then he decides to make fucking robots of us to destroy the whole amusement park. And we didn’t have anything to do with it!”

“We did a concert at the park,” Paul said dryly.

“But it wasn’t our fault he got canned!”

“Well, no, but…” Gene said, before clearing his throat. He grabbed the remote, turning off the television. “We’re not getting anything done talking about Devereaux. We need to be talking about how to approach Stark.”

“Easy. With an ultimatum,” Ace tried to deadpan, only to ruin it with a laugh.

“With a plan.”

“Okay, okay. First off, what outfits? We’ve gotta coordinate.” Paul, unsurprisingly. Peter could’ve practically done a timeline of Paul’s recovery over the last five years by how much interest he showed in what he looked like. The first morning Paul had come downstairs for breakfast both shaved and dressed in something that wasn’t pajama bottoms or jeans was the morning Peter knew he wouldn’t be stuck living with a corpse that vaguely resembled KISS’ frontman.

“I dunno. Whatever we go with, I’ll still be sweating,” Ace said. “None of them are comfortable.”

“Mine are comfortable—”

“That’s ’cause yours don’t usually have a top, Paul.”

“We could do suits,” Gene offered halfheartedly. Despite his earlier complaint, Ace looked mildly appalled at the suggestion.

“No suits. I dunno if Stark’s old enough to remember the Dressed to Kill album cover,” Ace said. “He’ll think we’re trying to negotiate a business deal.”

“We are.”

“Y’know what I mean, Gene. No go.”

“Then what tour?”

“Anything but Dynasty. I’m not dragging around that green fucking shag carpet again,” Peter said.

“I loved Dynasty. We were wearing actual colors.”

“Black and silver are actual colors, Paul.”

“What about Love Gun? Fairly easy outfits to move around in, cohesive… lots of nostalgia for a Generation Xer like Stark…” Gene trailed. Ace nodded.

“I like it. Yeah.”

The next day, Gene made about a dozen calls and moved half a million dollars out of a Swiss bank, while Paul got out his checkbook, looking markedly less blasé about shelling out the money than he had when it was only a point of discussion. Peter was determined not to let the hangdog expressions on both their faces compel him to donate (“the man’s location ain’t worth forty bucks, and you know it”), but Ace, yanking out his own wallet with the affability of an old gambler, shamed him into it with a single sentence.

“It’s only paper, Cat.”

So half an hour later, once Ace had wandered off for his tarot reading appointment, Peter wrote out a check for thirty grand. Every step towards Gene’s office—really just a rolltop desk and a rolly chair conveniently parked outside the kitchen—felt like slogging around in mud. The last time he’d given Gene any money, he—no, wait, he’d never given Gene any money. Unless he counted licensing. He was trying not to count licensing.

As soon as Peter walked in, Gene spun around in his chair to face him. Peter held up the check, feeling like he was fleecing himself out of part of his own retirement. That old glint in Gene’s eye was there almost immediately, and he didn’t hesitate, taking the check as soon as Peter offered it.

“Is that a reimbursement?”

“It’s a payment, asshole. Don’t make me change my mind.”

“You didn’t make it out to anyone.”

Peter snatched the check back and wrote “Gene Simmons” in capital letters across the for line.

“There. Just put it towards finding that bastard, that’s all I care about.” He paused. “How much did Ace give you?”

“More than you did.”

Peter groaned.

“And you let him? Gene, you know he blew all his Reunion money as soon as he made it—and he never did earn that much off his solo albums. Don’t let him bullshit you, he ain’t got more than a million, I’d be surprised if he’s got half that—”

“He wanted to help out.”

“Don’t bankrupt him over this shit, Gene.”

“I’m putting half of it back in his account.” A pause. “But—now correct me if I’m wrong, Pete, but you’re a little more, ah, fiscally responsible, on average—”

“If you put half mine back, I’m moving out. I’m serious. I’m not having you and Paul hang who paid what over my head if this works.”

“All right, fine, fine.” Gene folded the check and stuck it in his pocket.

“I mean it, Gene, I watch my bank account.”

“Spoken like a true divorcé,” Paul called out from the kitchen. The usual tinny crack to his voice when he spoke much above normal volume wasn’t there yet. Peter scowled.

“I didn’t spend half as much on either of mine as you did—"

“I told you both to do prenups,” Gene interrupted. Peter shot him a put-out look, while Paul kept yelling out from the kitchen.

“I tried! Pam started crying when I suggested it!”

“Yeah, that should’ve been your first indication.” Gene was biting back a laugh. Peter elbowed him. “Anyway, I’ll go get everybody’s checks deposited and—”

“You can do that online,” Paul said, only half-audible over the sound of the egg beaters. Whatever he was in the process of baking, Peter didn’t hold too much hope for.

“What?”

“Just take a couple pictures of the checks and you can do it online.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You don’t gotta go over there anymore.”

Gene looked at Peter. Peter shrugged.

“First I’ve heard of it. I dunno.”

“Huh.” Gene’s forehead furrowed, and he called back out to Paul. “Front and back of the check?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t really trust that,” Peter mumbled, watching as Gene took the checks out of his pocket, spreading them on the desk (Peter noted, almost wryly, that Paul had failed to add the obligatory star to his signature. Ace, though, had doodled his usual card, strange as it looked next to “Paul Frehley”) before pulling his phone out. “I bet nobody’s looking at the damn pictures.”

“Hang on.” Gene’s lips were pursed in concentration. “Shit, I forgot my password.”

The din of the eggbeaters ceased, a put-out sigh coming from the kitchen. A few seconds later and Paul was in the office with them, leaning over Gene’s phone.

“Which account is it again?”

“The, uh, local one.”

Another sigh. Paul typed something in and handed the phone back.

“There. You’re in now.”

“Thanks.” Gene fidgeted, smoothing out the checks again before starting to take the pictures. Peter stared at both of them.

“You’ve got the passwords to his bank accounts.”

“Well, yeah, he never remembers.”

“Are you sure you’re not married?”

Gene’s head shot up immediately, caught expression written all over his face. Paul gave Peter that wide-eyed, innocently baffled stare that had stopped being attractive somewhere around the second term of the Clinton administration. Only it quit being baffled and sunk right over to embarrassed within half a second, Paul’s gaze drooping to the desk. Peter ignored the hint and kept staring.

“Well?”

“I’ve got to check on that meringue,” Paul said suddenly, and slunk out of the room.

Two hours and three-quarters of a million dollars later, Gene had Tony Stark’s location pinpointed, coordinate by exhausting coordinate. Ace confirmed, once they’d punched those coordinates into google maps, that he could teleport them there, no problem. Pretty disgusting, really. It turned out that the guy hadn’t even left New York.

Ace also confirmed that his tarot reader had told him the 27th was a perfectly viable day for any and all world-saving plans. Not a surprise. Even if Ace wasn’t much more than a millionaire, if that, Peter figured she was still probably getting paid way too much to argue him over dates.

And so that was it. That was really it. The last real chink in their plan, resolved. All over but the enacting. Sitting around the kitchen, eating the chocolate pie Paul had whipped up earlier (he’d overbeat the meringue on top), it felt—weird. Back on the precipice of something grand and great and terrifying. Just spinning their wheels. Just waiting.

Gene reached for another piece of chocolate pie. Paul leaned over and cut it for him, neatly setting it on his plate.

“Thirteen days, boys,” Gene said through a mouthful of meringue. “Thirteen days and we’ll save the world.”

“Hopefully,” Paul corrected.

“No hopefully. We’ll save it.” Gene’s self-assurance was usually more frustrating than bolstering. But right now, Peter appreciated it. “We’re in the best shape we’ve ever been in—”

Beside Peter, Ace burst into laughter.

“Well, I mean, in costume—in costume we’re untouchable,” Gene corrected. “Stark’s an intelligent man. He’ll recognize what an asset we are.”

“Gene, saying Stark’s an intelligent man is like saying Genghis Khan was a pretty good warlord.” Paul shifted, and Peter watched, mildly surprised, as he got another piece of pie for himself. Usually, the guy ate less the more stressed he was. “But I don’t think it’s gonna be a problem getting him on our side.”

Peter felt himself nod.

“We got a lot going for us.”

“We need to talk approach, though.” Gene looked pensive. Peter tilted his head. Across from him, Paul mumbled “oh, boy” under his breath. “No, I’m serious. Coming to his house in costume is ballsy, but the message is what’ll really get us in.”

“What do you wanna do, Geno? Ask him whose dick you have to suck to get in on the world-saving gig?” Ace asked blithely.

“I can’t believe you remember me saying that,” Gene said.

“I don’t. But I had to do research for my memoir.” The corners of Ace’s mouth tilted up. “I get that it’s serious, but—”

“It is serious. That’s why I need to do the talking.”

“Oh, come the hell on, Gene—”

“Paul, I’ve met him. I’ve had dinner with him. I think that’ll give us some extra leverage—”

“What, you think the rest of us are just gonna make asses of ourselves?”

“Absolutely.”

“Gene!”

“Paul, c’mon. You’ll be snotty, Pete’ll get pissed, and Ace’ll tell him about Jendell. You all need to leave the talking to me.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Peter said it before Paul could. He could feel Paul’s glance on him, approving for the first time in years. Ace’s, too. “We’re not going to be sitting on our asses while you try to schmooze up Stark.”

“Then—”

“I think we’ve got to just be honest with him,” Ace said. “We don’t need to bust out the resume. ’S not big enough to be all that impressive anyway. Just tell him we wanna help.”

“You think it’s that simple?”

“Yeah, I think it’s that simple.” Ace was tugging his fork along his plate, scraping up the tiniest remnants of his piece of chocolate pie. Peter, sighing, cut another piece for him, dropping it on his plate. “The Avengers don’t get a lot of volunteers.”

“Do you think we ought to…” Paul trailed, wiping off his mouth as he spoke. “Try an emotional appeal. Would that work on him?”

“Would it work on you?” Gene asked.

“If Tony had tits, it would.”

“Then that’s a no.”

“Hold on. What kind of emotional appeal are you talking, Paul?” Peter asked.

Paul looked a little surprised Peter was pushing for more when Gene had just shut him down.

“Like Ace said, be honest. Tell him we lost out on everything. We could even tell him about our work with FER.”

Peter barely managed not to roll his eyes at Paul qualifying those fifty-three pregnancies as work. Gene had finished his second piece of pie, and Paul was pushing what was left of his own towards him on automatic.

“The only trouble with that is, he’s heard it before,” Gene said. “He’s donated millions to the government to clean up after what happened. There’s probably thousands of charity organizations sending him orphans to sponsor.”

“But he hasn’t heard it from us.” Paul’s lips were slightly pursed. “You’re right, it may not make much of a difference. But Stark does know who we are.”

“Everyone knows who we are,” Gene countered.

“No, Gene, it—it means something to him. He’s just old enough that he remembers when we were superheroes.”

Peter wiped his mouth off with a napkin.

“Remember how they billed us, starting out?” Paul pushed.

“Sure,” Peter said. “The seventies’ answer to Captain America.”

“Then we ended up the Me Generation’s answer to Captain America,” Ace added dryly.

“And Stark’s old man was big buddies with—”

“Captain America.” Gene nodded, expression brightening. “He would’ve had to have been very well aware of us—”

“Exactly. Gene, did Stark ever tell you anything, when you met him? Did he say he’d been to KISS concerts?”

“I don’t remember. He might have.” Gene scooped up more of Paul’s piece of pie, taking a bite as he spoke. Same rotten table manners as ever, but Peter had long since stopped minding. “I’ve only seen him at a few functions. He never struck me as a fanboy.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not one,” Paul countered. “There are a lot of fans out there still that don’t advertise it.”

“If it turns out Stark’s got a KISS cave in one of his mansions, I gotta say I ain’t buying the playboy bit out of him,” Ace said.

“I think he got married. But look, just—we’ve got to use whatever we can to our advantage. Even if we’re still playing on nostalgia.”

Peter nodded in agreement. Ace reached over, snagging the last piece of pie before Gene’s fork could reach it, and smiled.

Over the next twelve days, everyone was filled with nervous energy. It seemed to almost ping-pong back and forth between them, the bond getting strong enough that Peter was finally starting to distinguish between the rest of the guys’ feelings, instead of it all being an indiscernible lump of emotions. He’d never been great at it. Paul was easiest to tell apart from the rest, probably because he was so anxious naturally, ribbony swaths of mauve and purple in his mind’s eye. Gene and Ace were always a little less defined. Peter was worried about Ace in particular. The deep blue field of feelings, like an oddly starless sky, seemed—deeper, like there was something beneath the surface. He’d mentioned it a bit, late at night in bed, but Ace always brushed it off. Peter, figuring Ace was just afraid their discussion with Stark would all go wrong, hadn’t pushed him too hard about it. If he wanted to talk about it, he’d say so.

They had just finished one last workout and were lying around on the couches, transformed back to normal but still sweaty. Ace had gotten everyone water bottles from the fridge; Paul had deigned to pass out towels, and they’d all ended up pouring the water on the towels and wiping off their faces with it, too tired to bother with proper showers yet. Gene was self-assured to the point of cockiness, the red tendrils of emotion creeping into Peter’s subconscious like infiltrating vines.

“Almost there. Tomorrow’s the day.”

Paul, who had his legs propped on Gene’s lap on the couch, but still looked strained, nodded in assent.

“You nervous?”

“I’m dosing up on Xanax before we leave.”

“Paul, c’mon,” Gene said, and then he looked over at Peter and Ace. “You’re ready, aren’t you?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Peter said dryly. Ace offered a thumbs-up.

“You’re killing me. Where’s Bill when you need him?” Gene shook his head. “Don’t be so damn worried about how things are gonna go. I can feel it from here.”

It was hard not to be worried. They hadn’t discussed what they’d do if Tony Stark turned them down, if there was no way they could fix their world. It had been easy to say they had nothing to lose when their powers had been in terrible shape and teaming up with the Avengers was just an idea to reach for. But now, powers restored, less than twenty-four hours from being face-to-face with Stark… it was different. It was wracking. And Gene was trying to take over the job of every manager they’d ever had, and pump them up like they were back on tour.

“C’mon, boys. The last thing that stopped KISS was a concept album.”

Ace’s mouth started to twitch up at his words. Noticing it, Gene shot him a broad smile and continued.

“We’ve talked what we’re gonna say and do tomorrow to death. Let’s look past that.”

“Look past that?” Peter repeated.

“Yeah. Let’s go around the room and talk about what we’ll do after.”

“Well, after we’ll either go home or end up in that Avengers tower,” Paul said dryly. Gene poked his leg.

“After we succeed, Paul. After we get him on our side and save the world. What’s next on our agenda?”

“I still gotta take you guys to Jendell,” Ace said.

“Yeah, but besides that. C’mon. True story time. Let’s all come out with it, all around the room.” Gene’s boisterousness was the exact opposite of infectious, each bandmate glancing nervously at the others, but he didn’t seem deterred. “Do I have any volunteers? Paul?”

“I, uh…”

“Go ahead. What’s the first thing you’re going to do after we save the world?”

“Probably have sex with my wife.”

Gene’s expression shifted into a wide grin.

“Me, too. Peter?”

“… Probably just kiss my wife.”

“Aw, Petey, just let Gigi touch your tits some and you’ll be able to get it back up—”

“Oh, shut up, Ace—”

“What’re you going to do, Ace? Rachael?”

“I dunno.” Ace was gnawing at his bottom lip, teeth sliding up and down the skin. “I think… I think I wanna try to patch things up with Jeanette.”

“Really?” Peter blinked. “You haven’t even lived together in at least twenty years.”

“I know. I know that. But we never got divorced. Her health’s been real bad, I didn’t wanna do that to her. And me and Rach… I dunno. Rach helped me get clean. Jeanette could’ve, too, if I’d let her.”

Peter didn’t know how to answer that. Oh, there were all the old sayings he half-remembered from his own rehab stint, how an addict, any addict, could have the best support team in the world behind him and it wouldn’t matter until he wanted to change, but none of that felt right. None of that felt meaningful.

“But you guys helped me stay that way,” Ace finished off. “So I guess on that basis if you wanna go all-in on a four way marriage, then—”

“No,” Gene said flatly. “One partner’s expensive enough.”

“Aww, been breaking my heart for over forty years, Geno,” Ace lilted, licking his lips, smirk spreading across his face. “’N’ I just keep coming back. Glutton for punishment, man. How the fuck do you do it?”

Gene just snorted, but he was starting to smile. Next to him, Paul shifted awkwardly.

“Don’t say it, Paulie. I know you’ve got the rings on backorder at Kay’s—”

“Kay’s? Don’t insult me like that!”

“Okay, okay, so you went to Tiffany’s. Get your lamps and your engagement rings at the same time, good deal.”

“Damn it, Ace, I just wanna—”

“I’m staying out of this,” Peter mumbled, starting to get up, only for Ace to grab him by the arm and tug him back to the couch, cackling.

“You’re way too late for that one, Cat. When was it, ’95…”

“I just wanted to ask if anyone wanted to jam downstairs!” Paul burst out.

“Jam?”

They hadn’t had a jam session since before Paul and Gene had gotten out the talismans for their ridiculous FER liaisons.

Peter remembered the first session they’d done. Maybe three, four months after moving into New Haven properly, after Gene had taken care of—or had someone else take care of—closing deals on all four of their houses. Moving everyone’s personal memorabilia, everything from gold and platinum albums to old costumes to stupid, useless shit like newspaper clippings and black-and-white passport photos, into storage units. Most of the stuff they’d wanted at home got boxed up and put either in the attic or downstairs, instruments included.

Peter had found himself in the basement, looking for something still in storage. An old corduroy coat of Lydia’s. One he’d about begged off her boyfriend a month or two after the blip. He knew he didn’t have a right to it forty years out, but he could smell the faint traces of her perfume on the fabric, could see that old greasepaint smear on the corner of one sleeve, from when she’d cupped his face in her hands for a kiss after a show. He’d been so desperate to grasp at anything of hers, any reminder she’d ever been real and ever been his. Gigi, too, only he had her things, almost twenty years’ worth. Her dress from their wedding, her name tattooed on his shoulder. He’d had nothing of Lydia’s.

He never found that coat again, no matter how much he searched the basement. Instead Peter had found Gene’s old bass, the one Gene had given him after he’d been fired from the band for the first time, that old memento. Even when he’d gotten down to his last few grand, back in the early nineties, he’d held onto that bass. It was out of tune now, badly, but Peter had kept strumming at it until he heard Ace wandering down the stairs, then watched him step into the basement. Ace hadn’t even blinked at the sight of Peter with the bass.

“You wanna play something?”

“No, it’s—”

“C’mon.”

And somehow they’d both lugged Peter’s old drumkit out of storage, and one of Ace’s Les Pauls, and before long they were playing again. Couldn’t do much with a two-piece band. Ace had gone all in on “Parasite;” Peter had started “Strange Ways,” and halfway through the chorus, Paul had come in. Peter had bristled, expecting Paul to tell them to can it, but Paul had just watched quietly, leaning against the door like he thought he still looked cool. Not realizing that he only looked like a little kid hoping he wouldn’t get picked last for baseball.

Ace had waved him over with a jerk of his thumb. Paul had dug around awhile in the storage room before picking out one of probably two or three guitars he had in there, tuning it, anxious look on his face. The three of them finished up on “Strange Ways,” and then Peter’s gaze had gone to Paul, waiting, out of long-ago habit, for the next suggestion. Paul took awhile to make one.

“‘Hard Luck Woman,’” Paul had said finally.

“You don’t wanna sing?” Peter had asked, unthinking. Paul looked away, and Ace just plowed into the intro in attempt to save Paul some face. But Peter didn’t pick up his sticks, deliberately missing his cue to sing.

“Pete, just go ahead, would you?” Paul had said, voice quiet. “Just go ahead. I want to hear you.”

“I wanna hear you.”

By the time Gene came downstairs, Ace and Peter had coaxed Paul into starting on the first verse of “Strutter,” each note weak but true. Gene hadn’t even hesitated, strapping on his bass like a minuteman attaching his bayonet, adding that last piece to their ensemble.

That night, they’d been tight. Tighter than they’d been in so many years, feeding off each other’s playing in—in almost a round. Not weaving in and out seamlessly like Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood—KISS just wasn’t that good, and never had been—but it felt better than comfortable. It felt fulfilling. Looking back, Peter realized that night had been the start of that old connection between the four of them beginning to mend.

That session had been the best by far. The jam sessions after were a mixed bag. Oh, they’d all start out well enough, charging through the old setlist staples like “Black Diamond” and “Detroit Rock City” at an insistent, heady pace, but then, inevitably, things would fall apart. Peter’s arms would go from just throbbing to straight-up murdering him, Ace’s encroaching deafness would get in the way of his ability to follow Peter’s tempo, and Paul’s voice would start cracking to the point he’d just quit singing entirely and glare at the others as if daring them to utter a single word.

Gene was the only one who didn’t really falter much—until they got to any actual jams, at least. Then he was dead in the water. If it hadn’t been on at least the last ten setlists, it wasn’t a song Gene actually remembered. Peter had found that out the hard way when he’d suggested a rendition of “Mainline,” only to garner a blank-faced Gene and an off-kilter but trying Ace and Paul for his troubles. The bassline not being the most important factor in that song didn’t ease Peter’s irritation any. Not given that Peter had done the lead vocals.

“Wait, you really want to jam, Paul?” Gene asked. He looked a little baffled. Paul would go along with jam sessions, but he’d never been the one to suggest them before. Too embarrassed about the state of his vocals. It was like the guy honestly expected to be made fun of. Maybe once, five years ago, Peter would have, seeing it as karma for how Paul had treated him during the Reunion. But not now. Not ever.

“Well, yeah. Get some of the nervous energy out before we go to Stark’s.” Paul shrugged. “Look, if you guys don’t want to, it’s fine, I just thought…”

“Let’s do it.” It was Ace, in all his weirdly lazy affability. But his eyes were bright and focused. “Dress rehearsal before the performance. It’s good luck.”

“It’s good luck to have a bad dress rehearsal, Ace,” Gene corrected, though he was nodding. “Pete, you want to?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m game.”

“Cool.” Paul visibly relaxed. The purple ribbons in the corner of Peter's mind seemed to lighten. Ease. “C’mon.”

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #peter criss #ace frehley #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley #ace frehley x peter criss

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darkpoisonouslove · 4 years

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Sparks of Life Actual Trivia

As the title suggests, I will do my best to try to keep this to things that are actual trivia and not the outlines of fics (even though, let’s be real, I could turn anything into story material). Here we go.

- Valtor’s most used emoji is a blue heart that he is always sending Griffin. He barely uses any of the other emojis and that one somehow always appears as the most recently used as well as simply the most used. Griffin finds it cute even when she jokes that her most used emoji is for certain the one that is facepalming. Not just when she’s texting with him but with the twins, too, and sometimes, yes, even with Faragonda (though, that is usually when the conversation steers to something Hagen did XD). Her actual most used emoji is the one with the sunglasses because she is a badass bitch. (All of this is totally Zarathustra’s fault as she is the one that gave Griffin the opportunity to use literally every single emoji there is (and annoyed her into doing it).) Her second most used emoji is the one that blows a kiss. That one can be used both ironically and unironically. She might be a sassy bitch but she is a sassy bitch that really loves her people and even shows it from time to time. XD

- Valtor bought Griffin a waterfall incense burner:

and she has not been able to recover from that gift ever since. It meant a lot to her since she immediately fell in love with the idea of a waterfall incense burner when she first saw it but she didn’t think of buying one for herself since Valtor has a delicate sense of smell and strong scents irritate him easily. She needs to be careful when she buys scented candles and perfumes (or she’d end up giving them to the twins, again) and she didn’t think it a good idea to have one of those as she rarely burned incense anymore because of his sensitivity. She was very touched when he bought one for her and absolutely loves watching the smoke cascading down like it’s water. They still have to maneuver with it sometimes but it’s all good.

- One time Emalyn had brought out the old albums with whatever photos she and Griffin’s dad had managed to take of their daughter. She and Valtor were going through them while Griffin was fussing on Valtor’s shoulder (no need to let go of him just because she’s not thrilled about his curiosity). Valtor noticed the bowl of gummy bears in one of the photos and asked about it. Emalyn laughed before telling the story about how for one of Griffin’s birthdays in college Ediltrude had made vodka gummy bears since Griffin really loved eating the things when she was little and, well, it needed to be appropriate for the celebration at hand so just ordinary gummy bears wouldn’t cut it. Valtor listened intently but Griffin could tell there was something making him sad as he wasn’t talking a lot after that. So she picked up a packet of gummy bears next time they went shopping and that was the first time Valtor ate gummy bears (and the first time Griffin ate gummy bears ever since those vodka soaked ones) as well as, quite possibly, the last. He wasn’t a fan and tried not to antagonize her about loving them. He made sure to buy her a packet once in a while instead. He also might have gotten her a gummy bear bouquet for her birthday.

- Valtor and Griffin love to train together. There is a fitness room in the penthouse and they do spend some of their together time in there even if Griffin rarely uses any of the equipment in it. She might use the treadmill occasionally but that’s about it. She prefers to do yoga while Valtor does his exercises. Their background music choices might have clashed a little as she basically needs hers to be soothing spiritual music while Valtor prefers more energetic tunes. They solved that with wireless earphones. The matter of getting distracted while watching the other (and even pulling the other into that distraction as well) has been harder to resolve but they love spending time together even when they are both absorbed in their own things and it is only about feeling the silent presence of the other so they keep it up. They even spar together as Valtor used to take martial arts lessons and he might have taught Griffin as well so that they can have all that fun together. You know, pressing each other into walls and pinning each other to the ground. ;) They love their training sessions.

- Bathroom commodities are a bit of a nightmare. Griffin has her vanity - luckily for her because otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to get to a mirror most of the time with Valtor is the way. He is not as much vain as he is a perfectionist and also self-conscious (thanks to his mothers) and he spends ages in front of the mirror. So does Griffin, though hers is more from vanity. Yet, she was the one saying she was surprised Valtor didn’t have mirrors in every room. They still have the regular weekly fight about the bathroom as a lot of the time it looks like one of them is only waiting for the other to come out so that they can go in. It’s a bit frantic in the morning which is a factor in why the bathroom issue is one of their biggest sources of conflict when they are still sleepy and irritable or running late. They also tend to love sharing it when they are truly sharing it, however. Joined bath is one of the most relaxing activities they can imagine, especially when they help each other wash their hair. And it is perfect for cuddling and all that good stuff. ;)

- They have a fireplace in the penthouse that they both love dearly. Valtor finds the crackling of the fire and the warmth soothing and Griffin loves curling up in front of the fireplace with a good book and a cup of tea. Even more so if Valtor is there although most of the time he has paperwork to attend to. She doesn’t mind if she can lean on him and read into the evening. Winter nights have never been cozier or warmer. Though, sometimes the atmosphere turns competitive when they play chess in front of the fireplace. They happen to play other games at times as well but chess is their favorite and the heat of the fire kind of adds to the intensity. It satisfies their craving for theatrics as they are both drama queens so it is certainly a favorite thing of theirs. They even had a “picnic” in front of the fireplace once. It was fun, though they almost managed to push one of the dishes into the fireplace so they had to estimate a safety distance there.

- Griffin bought Valtor pens in different colors to help him color code his schedule and know what is important and what is less so. It was really useful even if Valtor wasn’t really feeling the idea at the beginning. Once it started saving him time that he could spend with her, however, he was quickly on board with it. He’d also use them to draw Griffin pics on stray sheets of paper during the day while he was talking on the phone or having to wait for a document to get sent to him. He really started loving the idea. So much so that he didn’t notice he was signing paperwork with the pink pen until his secretary pointed it out. They had to print out all of it anew and he wasn’t thrilled about having to repeat the whole process. Griffin laughed - very uncharacteristically and unsympathetically of her - when he told her that evening and he wasn’t quite playing offended just to get her kisses. He didn’t mind that part, though, and he did keep the pens since they were useful and made his day somewhat brighter.

- They love to travel when they can. The weekends are usually free and even if that doesn’t leave them a lot of time for long trips, they still love exploring the “local” are. They just grab the car keys and some spare clothes and drive for as long as they can before they have to start coming back or until a town catches their eye. They sometimes pick a destination beforehand, though that is left to luck. Valtor usually lets Griffin pick it as they lay out a map and whatever she points to becomes their destination. It doesn’t really matter where they’ll end up when they are together. They even managed to get a little further away a few times when Valtor hired a private jet. It was a good way to see something new when they’d already explored a lot of the closer places and to add something different in their lives. And even if they had to come back too soon, they still have the memories and those magnets Griffin loves to buy from the places they visit instead of taking photos. Photos of them, at least. They end up with plenty beautiful shots of scenery. And one or two of Griffin when Valtor manages to catch her off guard. She has snapped loads of pics of him, though, as he would even pose for her (and she might have one or two framed in her office at work plus some more in the penthouse).

- Once they were on a date (before they moved in together), Valtor took her to a ferris wheel which stopped working right as they were at the very top. Valtor is still not over the crisis he had back then (nor the fit of rage) but it ended up being Griffin’s favorite date of theirs. Sure, they were stuck for about an hour and she needed to go to the toilet which might have been thanks to the low temperatures and the wind up there that had her freezing, but it wasn’t so bad when Valtor was with her. They watched the stars that they could see despite the city lights and they cuddled into each other for warmth. Well, she cuddled into him as he was still warm like an oven and she wasn’t sure how he was doing it. And of course, cuddling turned into kissing which also got intense. They both had to fix their clothes and button what had been unbuttoned when the wheel started again most unexpectedly. Griffin still looks on that date fondly and Valtor can be swayed into admitting it went quite well considering the circumstances when she reminds him about after the wheel when they were warming up.

That’s about it... Nine points for the 9th... of June. (I have connected the dots. XD)

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #sparks of life #trivia #trivia tuesday #emalyn sylvane

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