#Ridge x Taylor

[tvshowscouples]

If you love Ridge&Taylor (Bold and the Beautiful) and you want reblog or like,this is the link of my reblog couples :)

thank you!

[bannersbylinda]

Taylor & Ridge doing the dance...

 #Tridge #BoldandTheBeautiful 10/6 and 10/07/22

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

This Love Left a Permanent Mark

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria (Whisperers Arc)

Warnings: Pregnancy discussion/issues, suggestive/sexual themes

Summary: Things are starting to feel domestic and you are enjoying every second of it with Daryl. It feels so easy until it isn’t.

A/N: Part three of this little thing I have going and can’t seem to stop. Part one is Help Me Hold Onto You and part two is I’ve Been the Archer, I’ve Been the Prey. There will be one or two more parts. Definitely one at least.

*Click here to be added to taglists.

It was moments like this you could almost forget that the world had essentially ended. The sun on your face. The wind, albeit frigid, in your hair. The crunch of snow beneath your boots. The view from the ridge was breathtaking and you couldn’t help but tilt your face toward the sky and close your eyes, just drinking it all in. Instances of peace had often been taken for granted before the turn. Now, they were everything. 

No sign of the whisperers for a while now. Your people were safe for the time being. The Kingdom had relocated, split between the other three communities. It meant more mouths to feed, more illness to treat, more shelter to build, but it meant more people. The communities would thrive with a little effort and a little time. 

As for you? You had everything. Your baby was growing strong in your belly. Your friends were safe. And your archer? You’d love to say he was hunting for food for Alexandria. But that would be a lie since you knew if you turned around, he’d be sitting somewhere nearby, watching you. He never let you out of his sight when you were outside of the walls. Normally, you’d be annoyed. But Daryl had missed so much time with you, so much of the pregnancy. What he was doing, you found endearing. 

Daryl was doing all he could for your people and you. He split his time between making sure you were doing as Siddiq recommended, spending a lot of time inside the walls. He helped with construction, mostly, but did just about anything that was asked of him so he could remain close to you. 

When Michonne or Carol could be with you, he would go hunting or on runs. But now that you were in the final weeks of pregnancy, he was a constant shadow. He had asked you to stay home today but he knew better. You had already ‘nested’ and finished the baby’s room— meaning he finished it while you sat in the rocking chair and gave instructions. Now you needed air. You’d be within the walls for a while after the baby came, so you took any opportunity to roam while you still could. 

“You’re not sneaky.” You smiled, keeping your eyes straight ahead as you waded through the snow to the treeline. You saw him step out from the corner of your eye. 

“Wasn’ tryin’ ta be.” He fell in step with you easily, considering you waddled more than walked these days. “Ya feelin’ okay?”

“I wouldn’t be out here if I didn’t, Daryl.” You weaved your arm through his. “I didn’t go far, like I promised.”

“N’ I kep’ a eye on ya, like I promised.” He countered, earning your elbow to his ribs. “Ya gotta stop in ta see Siddiq on the way home.”

“I know. Are you coming with me?” You already knew the answer but hearing him say it always made your heart flutter. 

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

That night found you and Daryl sitting in front of the fire, Dog sprawled out under your propped up feet. The archer cleaned his bolts, glancing over at you every few moments. He failed to hide the curl of his lip. There was a jar of peanut butter on one side of your rounded belly, a jar of pickles on the other, and a small bottle of hot sauce sitting between your breasts. You were happily crunching away at your favorite snack when you caught his eye. 

“You really should try it before you knock it, sir.” You swirled a pickle in the peanut butter and shook a little hot sauce over it before holding it out to him. Daryl reared back as if it was threatening to bite him. 

“Nah. S’okay. Had a big supper.”

You tilted your head and chuckled. “I made your dinner, Daryl. I know what you ate and it wasn’t that much.” You waved the snack back and forth. “Come on, just one bite. Your baby loves it! They’re kicking up a storm.”

That had his attention. 

“Righ’ now?” He asked, his eyes lighting up while the rest of his expression remained stoic. 

“Yep. And if you take one bite, I’ll give you unrestricted belly access.” He had that anyway, and he knew it. But after the rocky patch the two of you had gone through, the man would walk barefoot over a bed of hot coals to see you smile. 

“Fine.” He drawled, placing his bolts on the table. He rounded it and came to sit by your hip, moving the peanut butter out of the way. When you brought the pickle close to his mouth, he moved his head back, earning a raised brow from you. “M’gonna do it. Just… preparing muhself.” It took another 3 minutes before he finally opened his mouth.

You quickly shoved the pickle spear in, nearly gagging him. “Now you know how that feels.”  He took hold of the end and bit it half, handing the other half back to you with a sarcastic sneer. You thought he’d make a comeback of some sort but then he started chewing and you watched his face morph into something desperate. Was he turning green? “Okay, okay! Spit it out!” You laughed and tried to get up to aid him, but your stomach wouldn’t allow for it. Daryl was already dashing toward the downstairs bathroom anyway. 

You could hear him spit and then the tap started, he gargled, and the cycle went on three more times. All the while, you smothered your laughter behind your palm. “I’m sorry, Daryl!” He emerged with his tongue still out, looking as if he may scrape it with his nails. 

“How can ya stand tha’?” 

“It’s so yummy!” You placed the lids on everything and he took them to the kitchen. When he came back, he stopped short and leaned against the doorframe, watching you try and fail to get up from your spot on the couch. “Okay, little bean, I think it’s almost time to serve up an eviction notice!”

“Lil’ bean, huh?” He smirked when you gave him a pleading look and did a grabby hand motion. 

“Help, I’m a whale and I can’t get up.”

“Y’ain’t no whale.” Daryl took your hands and helped you stand, looking over you with the fondest smile while you continued to list off the things pregnancy had done to your body. “Tha’s enough’a that.” With a large hand now splayed across your belly, he bent to press his lips to your neck, smiling when goosebumps rose under his attention. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Daryl.”

“Don’ worry, sunshine. M’gonna make sure ya finish.”

You still couldn’t believe Daryl had asked Siddiq if sex was safe at this point in the pregnancy. When the medic had told him that it was actually encouraged, well… you didn’t get much sleep last night. 

You woke up sore, a dull throb between your legs and a periodic ache in your lower back. Daryl would only give you that sly grin when you’d pout at him. That is, until you asked to go hunting with him. 

“Nah.” He shook his head and looked back down to the bag he was packing. 

“Come on! It’s only a few miles out. We won’t go further than that.”

“No. Yer gon’ stay here and Carol’s gon’ come check on ya.” The archer accepted some bread and cheese in a container, noticing there was enough for both of you but not commenting on it. “I’ll take a radio. Anything happens, I can be back in less than a hour.”

“We can both take radios and make sure Carol has one. If anything happens, which it won’t, we won’t be far enough out for a problem.” You handed him two canteens of water. 

“No.” When he grabbed the straps to shoulder the pack, you placed your smaller hands over his. Daryl sighed and met your gaze. 

“Please, Daryl. My hormones are going nuts and I feel like I’m going to lose my mind if you are away from me right now.” An image of Daryl leaned flush against your back, thrusting into you from behind in slow, languid movement flashed behind your eyes and you almost moaned. You weren’t lying. You needed to be near him today. With an exaggerated sigh, you dropped your hands to your belly. “If you let me go with you today, I promise I won’t leave these walls again until the baby is at least 6 weeks old and I’m all healed up and given the okay from Siddiq.” 

Daryl froze, his eyes narrowed. “Ya promise that?”

“Yes.” 

It was obvious that he was really thinking about it, those pretty blue eyes flicking from your face to your stomach and back. 

“Fine.” The bowman rolled his eyes at your adorable little victory dance but smiled just the same. “But ya pack ev’rything ya might need in my bag. Ya don’ carry nothin’ but yer weapons n’ a radio. Ya stay righ’ with me, no wanderin’ off.” You were nodding enthusiastically, waiting for him to finish so you could get ready. With another roll of his eyes, he waved you off. “G’on.” 

And you were off in a rushed waddle so adorable that he couldn’t help but chuckle. 

You took a deep breath of the fresh air, spreading your arms as you walked just behind Daryl. He kept his pace slow so that you could keep up. You intended to do everything he had asked of you. Neither of you needed any more stress with the impending birth just around the corner. You just wanted to enjoy this day with him and then you would keep your promise and stay home. 

Dog stayed right at your side, whining quietly and sticking his nose into your palm. “You want pets?” You obliged with a skritch behind his ear. “You should be helping daddy hunt, lazy bones.”

“Ain’t his daddy.” Daryl huffed, stopping to look over the ground for tracks. 

“Are so. And I’m his mama.” You stated matter-of-factly, shooing the canine toward Daryl. He seemed reluctant but followed the command. With a moment to rest, you pressed your hands into the small of your back and shuffled over to a log to sit down heavily. “You did a number on my back last night, Mr. Dixon.” The smug expression he wore did not go unseen. “Maybe you can do it again. Soon.”

When he looked at you questioningly, he found you eyeing him with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “Ya mean now?”

You nodded. “I mean right now.”

“Ain’t fuckin’ ya in the snow. Yer pregnant.”

“Never said in the snow.” You jerked your chin toward the right, over his shoulder, where a little cabin sat seemingly abandoned. “We’ve been on this trail a million times. No one lives there.”

Daryl drummed his fingers on his thigh for a moment while scrutinizing the small structure. Once he stood and started walking toward you, you pouted. The look on his face said you weren’t getting what you wanted. The archer kneeled in front of you, cupping your face with a gloved hand. His bare thumb rubbed across your jutted-out bottom lip. 

“When I getcha home, I’ll fuck ya til ya can’ walk but s’not safe to do it like this.” His hand lowered to rub the side of your belly. “Not like this.” 

His soft voice. The way he was looking at you. The way he loved and protected your baby before they were even born. You nodded, smiling at him with tears in your eyes. The desire that had been building was gone and now you just wanted him to hold you. “At least kiss me?” 

“Never hafta ask fer that.” He stood but remained bent at the waist so you didn't have to adjust at all. He wouldn’t risk you being uncomfortable. You sighed against his mouth, parting your lips for his tongue to dip in and taste you. Too soon, he pulled away, pressing one more kiss to your mouth and then your forehead. When he straightened, he offered you a hand, knowing you’d never get off that log by yourself. 

With a chuckle, you accepted. Back on your feet, the two of you continued on the trail. 

An hour passed. You were at the end of the area he’d chosen to hunt in today, not wanting to go more than a few miles away from Alexandria. You had chatted and laughed and he’d look around an area while you stopped for a rest. It was a great day. Except for the periodic, nagging back pain that continued to worsen. Now when it happened, it felt like the muscles in your abdomen were seizing up. 

“We can circle ‘round. See wha’ we find over there before headin’ back.” Daryl wasn’t looking at you while he spoke but he did when you didn’t answer, finding you leaned against a tree with your head tilted and a perplexed expression on your face. “Y’alrigh’?”

“Huh?” You quickly looked up, finding him and Dog watching you. “Oh! Yeah. I’m good. Just needed a minute.” You straightened slowly and when nothing happened, you smiled. “Ready!”

You kept up pretty well considering the worsening pain. When it began to force you to stop and breathe, you knew it was time to say something. But before you could even open your mouth, you felt a pressure you didn’t know was there just release and your pants were suddenly drenched. Oh shit. 

“Um…Daryl.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t look up from the tracks he was studying, but did shoot a sidelong glance at Dog when the canine began to whine in earnest. “The hell’s wrong with you?” Dog laid down but continued to whine. 

“Daryl, don’t panic.”

He instantly felt panic, a vibrating anxiety in his chest before he even turned around. You were standing with your hands on each side of your belly, your light maternity jeans soaked. Now, logic told him that there were two things that could have happened. Before he could say anything, you doubled forward with a pained expression, breathing hard through your nose. “Fuck.”

“I think…we need the radio now.”

After radioing ahead, Daryl hoisted you up and carried you through the woods toward home. What Siddiq was certain were contractions were now steadily becoming more painful in your abdomen while the pain in your back dulled. 

“Daryl.” You whined, unable to do anything else. 

“I know. S’gon be okay. I gotcha.” 

You breathed through each episode like Carol had taught you. It didn’t alleviate the pain but it did help you focus. And when something changed, you knew it. 

“Daryl.”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s that cabin?”

“‘Bout a quarter mile ahead. Why?”

“Go there.”

His steps slowed enough to be able to look at you while you breathed through another contraction. He was terrified to ask but he knew he had to…

“Why?”

You took one more deep breath and looked at him with more fear in your eyes than he’d ever seen before. 

“This baby is coming now.”

[astrophysicist-guitar-god]

Queen At Ridge Farm Studio (MANDATORY CREDIT Watal Asanuma/Shinko Music/Getty Images) Queen at Ridge Farm Studio during the recording of their album 'A Night At The Opera', Surrey, United Kingdom, 14th July 1975. Brian May, Roger Taylor playing tennis. (Photo by Watal Asanuma/Shinko Music/Getty Images) (x)

[graffic17]

Lung!

This guy took me longer than I thought it would (mainly because I caught Covid for the first time, which killed my attempt to build up a backlog of art), but here he is!

Lung has to be one of my favorite antagonists in Worm. Not only does he have a fun power, but an entertaining personality as well. Kenta's interlude is one that I often revisit, purely because his perspective is just plain interesting.

I've heard that he appears in Ward as well, just another reason to look forward to it.

Design notes under the cut

Figuring out his dragon form was a trial. I wanted to try and make it reflect his muscular nature and it having a basis in human anatomy, just gradually altered. I wasn't entirely sure how to implement the x-shaped mouth he's described as having, so I went with the idea that the transformation here is still progressing and while his split jaw is there, the full formation of his dragon head isn't yet there, with some presence of his human skull shape there (such as the brow ridge, his stretched out nose, and his still present hair).

As for his human shape, that was an easier feat. And it was a good chance to practice drawing and shading muscle. I went with the idea that even in his base form there is still a slight presence of his dragon transformation under the service, so claw-like nails and slit pupils. Designing his tattoos was painful because I tried to base it on Yakuza style tattoos, and those have a very intricate style that I had trouble even attempting to replicate. I ended up simplifying it from my original plan, though I still think it looks rather good.

I might draw him again, though I'm not looking forward to drawing the tattoos again. I've been trying to practice drawing backgrounds (something yall will see in an upcoming piece and have seen with my Khepri piece) so I might draw something from his initial fight with Taylor. Maybe.

[usafphantom2]

Painting depicts Australian Sir Gordon Taylor, 66 Squadron's Sopwith Scout 7309 victorious over an Albatros two-seater above Messines Ridge 7 June 1917. Art by Sir Gordon Taylor.

@ron_eisele via X

[liptonwashere]

requests for edits are always open!

about me

My first name is Samantha. I go by either Sam or Lena; whichever one you like.

I'm a 21 year old self-taught editor from Venezuela. I made BoB and The Pacific edits while trying to survive life, yaaay :)

INTJ 4w5. Aquarius.

Spanish / English

I love calisthenics, Carwood Lipton, music, baking, reading, economics, and editing ofc :)

edits

bob lookscreen

winnix - american teenager

speirs - be agressive!

bob - skyfall

bob - battle of the bulge

speirton

bob - soldier by fleurie

bob - i ain't worried

bob - spanish sahara

speirs - maneater

bob and the pacific parallels pt. 1

george luz - i'll be around

eugene roe - l'enfer

the beauty of band of brothers

john basilone and lena riggi - the ghost of you

masters of the air - in the air tonight

interests/fandoms

🎵 music (all over the place): the smiths, radiohead, dpr ian, kendrick lamar, elvis presley, nothing but thieves, mac demarco, arctic monkeys, muse, taylor swift, lady gaga, nf, conan gray, onerepublic, mitski, taemin, my chemical romance, queen, paramore, troye sivan, hozier, frank sinatra, agust d, jungkook, gemini, monsta x, one ok rock, sabrina carpenter, lana del rey, natalia lafourcade.

📚 books: all quiet on the western front, testament of youth, goodbye to all that, storm of steel, poilu (louis barthas), sassoon's poems, the great gatsby, poe's short stories, crime and punishment, no longer human, the brothers karamazov, frankenstein, the art of war.

📺 tv shows/animated series/anime: band of brothers, the pacific, generation kill, hannibal, sherlock, the legend of korra, arcane, hxh, snk, peaky blinders, castlevania, the boys, silo, only murders in the building, brooklyn nine-nine, the office, true detective, the punisher, daredevil, hawkeye, the mandalorian, andor.

🎥 fav movies: the pianist, the godfather, top gun maverick, spirit: stallion of the cimarron, a knight's tale, blade runner 2049, the grand budapest hotel, the dark knight, jojo rabbit, 1917, knives out, sound of metal, parasite, the gentlemen, kingsman, into the spider-verse, hacksaw ridge, sicario, the big short, whiplash, prisoners, inglourious basterds, the winter soldier, good bye lenin!

TikTok

Instagram

Ko-Fi

that's a wrap!

[keira-kaz2y5]

Hi! Welcome to my blog, everyone is welcome!

I don’t write fics but I love to read them <3

My name is Keira, I’m female (she/her), bisexual

and I’m currently studying music at college. I’m British and have strong Welsh heritage 💪🏼🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿, but I was born and brought up in England.

I’m currently obsessed with: The Rookie, Marauders, 9-1-1 (& 911 Lone Star), Marvel, X-Men, Good Omens, Supernatural, Doctor Who (2005-2024), Sherlock, Criminal Minds, Merlin, Percy Jackson series, Hannibal, Marauders, Outer Banks, Agents of SHIELD and Moon Knight

I’m a musician in training so feel free to ask any questions!

My biggest ships: Buddie (9-1-1), WolfStar, Destiel, JohnLock, Merthur

Films I love: Atonement, Dead Poet’s Society, Little Women, Hamilton, Hacksaw Ridge, Nowhere Boy, Knives Out, Gifted, Tick Tick BOOM!

Top artists are Noah Kahan & Taylor Swift

But I really love Hozier, Dermot Kennedy, Billie Eilish, Reneé Rapp, Lizzy McAlpine, Gracie Abrams and Mumford & Sons

I listen to lots of genres but my main would be indie, folk/alternative, pop, soul and rock.

I especially love when every now and then I’ll find a fanfic like Loki x pianist!reader or rockstar!marauders fic and stuff. As a pianist myself I love this and would love to see it represented, so I am more than happy for u guys that are writers (or just curious) to ask me about this like the industry, or live sound (I’ve seen on tiktok lately people thinking every performer has a metronome in their monitors, this isn’t always correct, there’s a lot more to it) or even all the jobs you take on within the industry like session musicians, library musicians etc.. so I’ll quite happily answer questions or help people out if they plan on writing fics with musicians as main characters or au’s so please please please don’t hesitate to ask! I go all nerdy for this stuff I think it’s pretty cool

Thanks for finding my page and reading all of this, if you got to the bottom, thank you so much I love you <33

Have a great week babes xx

For anyone interested, I’m on a Pop Music course and I’m study the music industry in business classes, with theory (boring as hell) classes too and I have recording sessions, music history & context lessons and on Fridays we have perfomance workshop, where we pick a song to learn in the morning and practice with a band or solo or whatever is needed, then by the end of the day we have an hour of tech set up and then we perform it to the rest of the people on the course. It’s a lot of fun but hard work, we have tech students doing live sound and someone from tech doing the lighting and stuff. Feel free to ask me any questions about it!

My posts:

Buddie 911 s7 theory/reaction https://www.tumblr.com/keira-kaz2y5/743347204314497024/i-know-no-one-will-read-this-but-omfg-so-today-i

Harry Potter marauders fancast rant https://www.tumblr.com/keira-kaz2y5/723047186541232128/jkr-can-fight-me

Tumblr did a thing

Happy news

[amourdereves]

Verse..

I think the more I grow up, the more I value my alone time, and these things mentioned is things I can't live without. I swear, I can't make this up.

Grew up in the family who is really fond with music, I listen to a lot of 70s to early 00s song, including Indonesia's musicians work. I love blues especially, which leads me to love rnb to this day! I'm crazy about classical music too, I can talk about it for hours. I also love K-pop, of course.

Some musicans I adore are Ariana Grande, Billie Holiday, Chet Baker, Ella Fitzgerald, Laufey, Arctic Monkeys, Jesse Barrera, Daniel Caesar, Mistski, Lauv, Taylor Swift, Tori Kelly, Sabrina Carpenter, Beyoncé, Jeff Bernat, The Weeknd, Frank Ocean, Metro Boomin, Cigarettes After Sex, Zayn, Chase Atlantic, Post Malone, keshi, NIKI, XXXTENTACION, A Rocket To The Moon, My Chemical Romance, Sleeping At Last, Novo Amor, Mac Ayres, RINI, DEAN, Red Velvet, aespa, KAI, Baekhyun, Yerin Baek, Taeyeon, IU, Le Sserafim, New Jeans, Blackpink, NCT, Tulus, Kerispatih, Chopin, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, and a lot more that can't be mentioned here.

I do watch a lot of movies, but I'm afraid, I can't give you series recommendation because I rarely dig into them. However, if you love psychological thriller, romance, musical and adventure film, here is the Allura's Version!

Dead Poets Society, La La Land, The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men, Gone Girl, The Devil Wears Prada, Interstellar, The Princess Diaries, Coco, Tangled, Shutter Island, I Care a Lot, The Social Network, Barbie, Hacksaw Ridge, Studio Ghibli, Black Swan, Prisoners, Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, The Basketball Diaries, Rocky V, The Hunger Games, The Maze Runner, Me Before You, The Notebook, etc.

With that being said, I would love it if you can suggest me a lot of film, series or the K-Drama to finish.. or! Books will be lovely as well since I love writing when I'm bored. Don't ever hesitate to hit me up if you want to discuss anything if we happen to share the same interests. Honestly, if you happen to need someone to ramble about anything.. I don't bite and I will try to be the listener you needed (warning: I'm kinda honest.. not too brutal, though, I promise)!

[red-riding-wood]

Heroes - Chapter 11

Chpt. 1 , Masterlist

Pairing: Sgt. Elias Grodin x Female OC (Alexis Ryder)

Fandoms: Platoon (1986), Cherry (2021)

WARNINGS: I'm just going to put down a blanket for the entire book/all chapters: graphic depictions of violence and gore, torture, explicit sexual content, attempted sexual assault, language, marijuana use Notes: Final chapter in Heroes, so... massive spoilers below cut!

“Barnes!” I hollered to the empty forest as I trudged almost deliriously, insensibly through its thicket. I followed the ridge down to the forest, and started looping my way back around, like Elias had said he’d probably done. Maybe I should’ve stayed quiet, like a hunter would, but I needed to expel this awful pain in my chest, this hot-blooded rage that boiled in the pit of my stomach. My finger trembled above the trigger of my rifle.

“Barnes!” I screamed again, and nearly choked this time, my mouth dry. I needed a drink of water, but I didn’t dare take even a moment to stop to fish my canteen from my rucksack.

A twig snapped behind me, and I spun wildly on my heel, panting my breaths against the unruly strands of blonde hair that fell in wisps over my face. I blinked, looking through my red dot, but I could see nothing but a squirrel that darted up one of the trees.

I lowered my gun shakily and wiped my hair from my face, smearing both Taylor’s and Elias’ blood across my cheekbone, and I winced, nearly gagging on the metallic odour.

My manhunt was leading me to a higher elevation, back up to the mountain on which we’d fought the Taliban soldiers. I was still far enough that I couldn’t be heard, if my platoon hadn’t ventured any farther out.

“Barnes,” I panted out, still seeking him in the brush, still hoping that he’d hear me and think I was trying to regroup – but terrified that he’d hear me, and that I’d meet the same fate as Elias.

A tear rolled down my chin, stained red by blood, and I blinked furiously, trying to keep my vision sharp.

“Ryder?”

My heart skipped a beat or two in my chest upon hearing the gruff notes through the brambles ahead, and my finger slipped down over the trigger.

A broad shape bulled through the brush, brambles snapping around him like wire, and my gut churned as those cold, blue eyes, framed by macabre scars, met mine. And like my bloodlust that I had seen mirrored in Bunny’s eyes, I could see my rage mirrored in his.

“What the fuck are you doing out here, Ryder? What the fuck were you thinkin’, defyin’ my orders?” Barnes growled at me, those icy blues scouring the blood that painted my hands, uniform, and cheeks, and tinged my wild, unruly strands of hair. I must’ve looked like I’d gone mad, my chest still heaving where two pairs of dog tags hung around my neck. Elias’ letter and his headband were tucked into my rucksack.

“Barnes,” I breathed, formalities and politesse long forgotten. “Where’s Elias?”

Barnes’ eyes narrowed into two, icy slits, and he tensed, the ropes of his veins bulging beneath his arms.

“He’s back there,” he said, nodding behind me. “Damn Afghanis got us on the cliff-side. He didn’t make it.”

My chest felt as if it were about to combust, overcome by the rage that leapt like a wolf against my ribcage, snapping its jaws at my flesh.

“Get the fuck out of my sight, Ryder,” Barnes snapped at me, lip curling over his teeth before he turned a broad shoulder to me and began making his way over the crest of the forested slope.

“Barnes,” I growled, as I rose the stock of my rifle to my cheek, and when he turned to face me, those blue eyes sat to either side of the red in my sights. Though shaking, I held it in place over his skull, my finger squeezing gently against the trigger.

His brow furrowed, and his eyes danced not with fear, but with anger.

And as I braced myself to pull the trigger, something froze me in place, stole the breath from my tired lungs.

The woman in the mirror, back at Kandahar, dark bags sunken beneath eyes that stared not like a human’s, but an animal’s, into her reflection. Feral, dangerous, dead. Like the ones that stared at me from the sight of my rifle.

And when my breath was finally returned to my lungs, I panted it out in a whimper, shakily lowering my gun to the forest floor. I couldn’t let myself become that woman – couldn’t let myself become the man who stood in front of me, no matter how much that wolf inside of me gnashed at my ribs like bars on a cage.

Barnes studied me for a moment or two, and then his gun was raised, and I was staring down its barrel.

I dashed to the right, and pressed my back to the gnarled bark of a fir tree, breaths coming quicker now, and my barrel pointed at the sky as bullets ripped through the bark.

I lunged for another tree, this one woven more tightly with the rest, and another spray of bullets littered the air behind me, and out of the corner of my vision I could briefly glimpse the fiery flash of his barrel.

Though I often associated Barnes with being loud and abrasive with his words, he was deathly silent, like a predator, as we did this little dance around the trunks of the trees. The second I poked from hiding or switched cover, a barrage of bullets would follow.

One, two, ten, eighteen, twenty-something.

Counting my heartbeat was useless. I was going to die, and whether I did it calm or terrified, I stood no chance against the seasoned sergeant. Even Elias had fallen to him, and Barnes bore not a scratch.

I trembled against the bark of one of the trees as another volley of bullets tore through the brush around me, and I closed my eyes for a moment, and breathed, “Dad, forgive me.”

It was not what he would’ve wanted, I thought to myself, for me to die like this. In this lawless land, not for my country, but to be a hero, like him, and I was a coward, hiding like a wounded animal from a hunter.

As the array of bullets ceased, and puffs of dust and bark settled around me, worming their way into eyes that I fiercely blinked, I heard the drop of a magazine against the forest floor, and with a sharp exhale, I steeled myself, and rolled my shoulder against the bark of the tree, the barrel of my rifle swinging around to glimpse movement past the eerily-gentle sway of a fern.

On the apex of my next exhale, I pulled my trigger back, and crimson splattered the ferns, a groan splitting the air and the elbow of the man disappearing behind the tree.

I moved position again, attempting to flank him, my boots a flurry against the forest floor.

And that was when I felt as if my ribs had collapsed inward, as if someone had landed a punch beneath my breast, and their fist hadn’t stopped, had somehow been swallowed by my flesh and muscle. My exhale was strangulated of breath, nothing but a horrific, squealing gasp, and I scrambled madly to duck behind the next tree.

Once my back was pressed to the bark, I looked down at my breast, at the red that was slowly seeping past the fabric of my uniform. I clawed at the wound, and my fingers caught on the hole in my FLAK, my lungs still gasping desperately for air. My head was suddenly light, but I didn’t feel any pain, other than the intense pressure that built behind my ribs. Numbly, I grabbed hold of my gun again and pressed on, emerging from behind the tree with my jaws bared in a soundless screech and the butt of my rifle slamming against my shoulder with each bullet that I cast to the trees.

Still, I felt no pain – if anything, my muscles moved with a renewed vigor, and my actions were fueled not by my fear or my mind, but my heart; it beat louder than it ever had in my ears, commanding me and my rage, encouraging it like the beating of a war drum.

Icy blue eyes flashed in my vision as a rifle barrel was raised to me, but I noticed it waver, and my body lurched as what must have been another bullet graze my side; I was sprinting forward so quickly that I was nearly on top of him when I sent the bullets into his chest, his shoulder, his neck – anywhere that I could see.

My rifle kicked one more time against my shoulder, as I stared, wild-eyed, down at the dead man.

And then my head rolled back, and I stumbled, catching myself against the coarse bark of another tree. Blood streaked against it, though I wasn’t sure if it was my own.

I pushed myself from the tree, and followed the golden beams of light that reached for me through the lurid streaks of the boughs in the forest, that filtered through the feathered ferns that blurred in soft brushes of green like messy paint on a worn canvas.

My rifle hung limply from the arm that held itself to my torso, warmth cascading around each finger. The sensation was familiar – achingly so, but I couldn’t quite figure out why.

And as I reached the treeline, the fading sunset striking my retinas in a brilliant display of freckles, like that of a soldier’s face that I had come to adore, I collapsed onto my knees, the potent scent of wildflowers piercing the metallic odour that seemed to consume me, and violet-hued petals brushed the torn fabric of my khakis.

My eyes fluttered, and I still desperately gulped down whatever oxygen I could – the bullet must have hit my lung, I surmised, the pieces of what happened slowly trickling through my mind as if through a funnel with the world’s tiniest egress.

The sun was finally being claimed by its own demise, the last tendrils of honey snaking over the peaks of the mountains, and as I focused below it, I caught sight of a creature, its big, dark eyes settling on me and its fuzzy, cone-shaped ears batting against its narrow skull. Its jaw stilled, where a few wisps of grass hung from its black mouth, and then it was gone, bounding with an otherworldly grace through the meadow, its tail bobbing and blurring across my vision until it was no more, and I was alone.

I was alone, and I was dying, and I had no one to sing to me.

And then the pain hit me; an intense burn – far worse than the one that I had experienced from the hot iron – started beneath my breast, and spread across my body like fire. I looked down frantically, expecting to have been lit like a match, but I could only see rich, red blood still pouring around my fingers and splattering across the petals of the pastel flowers.

I tried to scream, but I couldn’t; the sound came out mangled, distorted, and my spine buckled. I let my rifle drop to the grass beside me, and swung my rucksack down, trembling, bloodied fingers reaching madly for the zipper. They brushed against something coarse – paper, Elias’ letter – and grasped the fabric of his headband.

I let myself fall against my rucksack, so that I could still glimpse the sunset as it made its descent past the jagged peaks, dark clouds crowning brilliant streaks of magenta and marigold, and I let my wound bleed freely now, instead dragging my fingers across each letter of the headband.

My breaths were growing thinner, my head lighter, the world a blurrier canvas, and the dark crown of the sunset was collapsing upon it, because everything was dimmer, less colourful.

And on my final inhale, as my eyes fluttered shut, and the world spun on its axis, I breathed in the lovely perfume of wildflowers, the musky tincture of sweat and earth, and the fire that inundated me became a steady, comforting warmth, like the touch of a lover in the darkness.

Faintly, a saccharine voice echoed in my skull, “Ryder. Are you injured?”

“Elias,” I breathed, and the final thread of my mind snapped, and I allowed his warmth to seep through my every pore like honey, to claim me even in this horrific darkness, to guide me as I sank lower, and lower, until eventually, I was weightless, no thought in my mind, no right or wrong left in my shattered bones – like a star, in a black, hollow sky.

[poetic-smoking]

milyen év is van?

szerintem csinálok első körben egy mit olvastam az idén listát, be fogtok sz*rni.

Louise O'Neill - Te kerested a bajt 10/10

Stephanie Garber - Finale 10/5

R. F. Kuang – Bábel 10/3

Lisa Jewell – A megmaradt lakók 10/4

Isla Madden – Mills – Drága Ava! 10/5

R. F. Kuang – A lnágoló isten 10/10

Ava Reid – A tündérkirály rejtélye 10/6

Caroline Kepnes – Te szeretsz engem 10/8

Katherine Arden – A boszorkány éjszakája 10/10

Penelope Douglas – Punk 57 10/10

Holly Black – How the King of Elfhame learn to hate stories 10/9

Rainbow Rowell – Csak így tovább 10/4

H. D. Carlton – Haunting Adeline 10/5

Alison Cochrun – The charm offensive 10/10

Marie Aubert – Igazából nem ilyen vagyok 10/7

Samantha Shannon – Csontszüret 10/5

Pierce Brown – Vörös lázadás 10/10

Megan Abbott – Majd megismersz 10/10

Deveny Perry- Indigo Ridge 10/2

Gordon Reece – megtorlás 10/4

James Patterson – J. D. Barker – A madártollas gyilkosságok 10/5

Alexis Schaitkin – Saint X 10/8

Pierce Brown – Arany háború 10/10

Taylor Jenkins Reid- Evelyn Hugo hét férje 10/7

Olivie Blake – The Atlas six 10/9

Charlotte Rixon – Aki elmenekült 10/6

Krista & Becca Ritchie – Addicted to you 10/8

Rachel Hawkins – Árnyékfeleség 10/4

Hannah Grace – Wildfire 10/6

Colleen Hoover – Emlékek róla 10/5

Tarryn Fisher – A feleségek 10/6

Ella Fields – Hozzáférés megtagadva 10/10

Alice Hoffman – A tizenharmadik boszorkány 10/10

Taylor Jenkis Reid – Szikrázó Malibu 10/7

Pierce Brown – Hajnalcsillag 10/10

H. D. Carlton – Does it hurt? 10/1

Sarah Pinborough – Halott vagy 10/5

Karin Slaughter – Az elfeledett lány 10/7

Holly Bourne – Normális vagyok? 10/6

Ella Fields – Pretty Venom 10/10

Roddy Doyle – Méregzsák 10/10

L. M. Chilton – Jobbra húzva 10/4

Elle Kennedy – The Deal 10/7

Emma Noyes – Ne mondj le róla 10/8

Ella Fields – Bittersweet Always 10/10

Pierce Brown – A káosz évei 10/10

Elle Kennedy – The Chase 10/9

Elle Kennedy – The Mistake 10/9

Sasha Laurens – Youngblood 10/9

Riley Sager – Három lány 10/7

[urbeatlemaniac]

when i met him a Roger taylor x oc story - interducion to the characters and author (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1425500392-when-i-met-him-a-roger-taylor-x-oc-story?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=davyjoneswife abigale jones was a a quite a normal teenage girl like any other whose parents owned a recording studio called ridge frams studios and then one day she met roger meddows taylor                   i made a fanfic on wettpad my user is at @davyjoneswife if your interested i will appriciate all the reccomendatios likes and comments on this fanfic of mine of wich im going to start writing the first chapter rn 

[sunkern-plus]

Okay but with the bold and the beautiful pushing old woman yuri (brooke x Taylor) and old man yaoi (bill x ridge) I have to say: I shipped Neil and Jack from sister show the young and the restless ever since the episode where Neil saved Jack from pill addiction

[bannersbylinda]

Some Ridge and Taylor from #TheBoldandTheBeautiful

  07/06 & 07/08/22 episodes

[debdarkpetal]

Ridge Farm, 1975.

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 4

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 4 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 3 / Part 5

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: swearing

Historical Inaccuracies:

Brian did not live just down the road from Freddie, at least not in 1975, as far as I’m aware :)

Word Count: 7k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The next morning, Sunday, you woke up in a sunny mood, which was a great contrast to the melancholy of the previous morning. Maybe it was because you’d actually been able to fall asleep last night. Or maybe your dreams had been better, or something. You didn’t quite know, but it was a lovely feeling to sit up in your bed and breathe in the morning air contentedly.

The air this morning smelled of rain, and looking out the window, you could see that your senses had not betrayed you; your mood may have been sunny, but the ground outside was dark with water. Droplets of rain pattered against the roof of your building and the neighbouring ones.

You had the impression that you’d slept in, and your alarm clock confirmed your suspicions, reading 10:37, midmorning.

Throwing off your covers, you looked over to see if Heather was still wrapped up in her usual cocoon of blankets. But you quickly remembered, with a smirk, that she was presently sleeping at Roger’s, though the amount of rest they actually got was up for debate.

“Y/N? Are you up yet?” It was one of your other housemates, Kate, wrapping on your door.

“Yeah, I’m up!”

“Can I come in?” asked Kate.

You glanced at your navy blue pyjamas. Decent enough. “Yeah.”

“Sorry,” said Kate as the door opened to reveal the small girl with her mousy brown hair and gentle manner. “I’ve got a Freddie, uh, Mercury on the phone for you?”

You smiled. Some day, one day, no one would stumble over that name. It would be as commonplace as John Lennon or Frida Kahlo.

“Sorry, I’m not sure why he called the house phone. I told him my extension. I’ll be right there.”

Kate waved a hand. “It’s fine. Men, right?”

Your smile grew wider. “Not what you’re thinking, Katie.”

Kate crossed her thin arms. “So he’s not the reason why you’re suddenly acting like a morning person?”

“Ha! No. I’ve known Freddie for years, and no one, not even him with his energy, is going to make me into a morning person.”

“Okay, then,” said Kate, but her tone was still dubious. “Your unusually good mood shall remain a mystery… Phone in the kitchen.” She disappeared down the hall.

In the kitchen, you picked up the receiver, absently winding the coiled cord around your fingers. “Freddie?”

“Y/N, darling?”

“This is she.”

“Whyever have you just gotten up? Your musical education is going to take effort, you know.”

“Really, Freddie,” you said. “It’s only ten in the morning.”

“Half-past ten,” Freddie sniffed. “I’d like my records back, and I’d like you to take some of my other ones in exchange.”

“Oh, yes,” you remembered. “Though I still don’t see why you’re calling this early. We never discussed a day or time.”

“Now’s as good as any, dearie. Get dressed and skip on down to my flat, will you?”

“How did you know I was still in my pyjamas?”

“Intuition. Just hurry up. I’m bored,” said Freddie and you heard him put down the phone with a click.

“Ridiculous,” you told the silent line, putting down your own phone. You shuffled back down the corridor to your room to change so that you could gobble a slice of toast, down a cup of tea, and be on your way before the impatient Mr. Mercury tipped over the edge.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You had taken the tube as per usual, and were glad of your raincoat, umbrella, and wellies, because the streets of London were a puddled mess and the sky remained tearful and grey as ever.

Leaving Kensington station, you pulled your hood over your head, because the rain was really so aggressive now that the umbrella simply was not enough on its own.

Halfway to Freddie’s place, you noticed a miserable soul across the street from you.

The fellow had neither rain-suited shoes nor an umbrella, only a velvety jacket that clung, drenched, to his skin in the same manner that his curls were matted to his forehead— wait a second…

“Brian!”

He raised his poodle-y head toward the sound of your voice, his face and gait nearly as dreary as the weather he walked in, but his posture improved greatly as he spotted you.

“Y/N!” he said happily.

Scanning for cars, you found the street clear and hurried across, one hand pressed against the satchel in which you carried Queen’s records.

“Oh, you’re soaking,” you looked him up and down.

“I guess it’s just rain and I’m not made of sugar, but you’re not wrong.”

“That poor jacket has been through so much already,” you said, hoisting your umbrella higher so that its protective shield also extended to Brian, “what with keeping you warm in lieu of your scarf the other day. I still have that by the way. Oh, this isn’t really working, is it?” You frowned at the way the water still ran in rivulets down Bri’s face because your reach wasn’t far enough to hold the umbrella properly over his head.

“No, not particularly,” he said with faint amusement, brushing a raindrop from where it had splattered directly onto his eyelashes. He held out a hand for the umbrella. “Here, let me take that—”

“What? And let me get my lower half completely drenched?” You were joking, but he shook his head in earnest, little droplets of water flying from his hair in the process. You almost laughed; he really did look like a poodle now.

“Absolutely not. Take my arm.”

You blinked at him, not quite understanding how this was going to work out.

“Y/N,” he sighed, pulling the umbrella handle from your grip. He linked his left arm in your right, transferred the umbrella to his left hand, and used his right to place your hand on his forearm. “There,” he said cheerfully, with the pleased air of someone who had just completed an arduous task.

You rolled your eyes and began to walk along, your side nestled against his in a little pocket of warmth away from the coldness of the world.

“Where are you going, anyway?” you asked. “This is all good and well, but if you’re going in the opposite direction to me…”

“I was on my way to Freddie’s, actually, so if you’re not busy, maybe you’d like to join me for a bit?”

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion. No doubt Freddie had invited the both of you along at the same time, all part of his strange master plan to get the two of you to spend more time together.

“You know,” you said, “that’s precisely where I was going too.”

“Really?” said Brian. “How odd. Rather nice coincidence, though. Maybe you can give me some derivative pointers along the way,” he nudged your side with a grin.

“I’m beginning to think the only reason you keep me around is to leech off of my incredible brain power,” you sighed dramatically.

“Oh fuck.” He peered at you guiltily. “You’ve seen through me.”

“If there was a wall to push you off of, I would’ve made use of it by now,” you answered dryly.

“Honestly, Y/N,” Brian patted your hand with slender fingers. They felt like butterfly wings upon your skin. “I should be asking why you keep me around.”

You pushed him rightwards to prevent him from stepping into a rather deep puddle; it was clear his clogs weren’t made for this weather, though you doubted they made for fashion either.

“Thank you,” he murmured as you pulled him back to your side, having cleared the treacherous dip in the path.

You squeezed his arm. “Isn’t it obvious why I keep you around?”

“Hm?”

“For warmth, m’dear.”

His laughter tickled your rosy cheeks.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Why, hello darlings,” Freddie already held the door open as you left the main path for his little front garden. “You two look cosy.”

“Necessary evil,” you said, winking to Freddie.

“You don’t look cosy, Fred,” returned Brian, eyeing the rain that was angled by the roof so that it had begun to soak the floor just inside of Freddie’s flat.

Freddie shuddered. “No, and I don’t quite feel it either. Got another one of your favourite scarves to spare?”

You looked at Brian. “You lent me your favourite scarf? And it’s still winter! Have you got another one? You can have the rainbow one back on Thursday, I promise.”

But not even a whisper of Brian’s supposedly legendary temper rose at the fact that you had not returned a belonging of his. He was all nonchalance.

“You make me sound like a child. Of course I have another scarf, and I’m not in the slightest worried about getting the other one back. You don’t exactly strike me as a kleptomaniac,” he said.

“Helloooo?” Freddie waved at the two of you where you stood idly between his snowdrops and cyclamen. “Seeing as neither of you are willing to lend me a scarf, please get inside because it’s just too fucking cold out here.” Freddie disappeared into his house, leaving the door ajar for you and Brian.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Brian muttered and you stifled a laugh. “Go on in,” he said to you. “I’ll just shake out your umbrella.”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that. My umbrella, y’know.”

“Which I so ungraciously borrowed. If you so covet the warmth as you say you do,” he spoke theatrically, “go inside and I’ll attend to the umbrella.”

Sliding your arm from his, it only felt right to bow your head in gratitude. It’s only right, it's only right. “My lord,” you said, joining in his dramatics.

His character nearly slipped; the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“My lady,” he answered with equal regality, and you followed the path Freddie had taken through the house.

You found Freddie in the living room where he resided often, reclined on a settee that afforded him as much nobility as any king or queen. Montserrat Caballé poured her heart out to you from the record player, and Freddie had his eyes closed as he listened to the music.

“Hiya—”

“Hush a moment.”

You snapped your mouth shut immediately.

Caballé’s voice reached a beautifully quavering crescendo, and Freddie mimed conducting.

You heard the front door close, and wooden footsteps before Brian’s voice behind you.

“He’s doing it again, isn’t he?” Bri whispered, standing awfully close to you. You didn’t mind his proximity, though; he radiated that undying warmth of his.

You nodded slowly, then assumed a low voice. “Here we see a Freddie in his natural habitat, frolicking amongst the opera singers and the royalty like a peacock, because essentially, that’s what he is.”

Brian snorted in laughter, and Freddie opened his eyes abruptly.

“You come into my house and you laugh at me,” he said.

“You, on the other hand, don’t even go to people’s houses,” Brian said. “You just laugh at them on the spot.”

Freddie pouted. “I hate you, you know.”

“You may hate me, but I’m not wrong,” Brian asserted, departing your side and selecting one of Freddie’s many armchairs to curl up in.

“Just another reason for me to hate you, Brimi,” Freddie replied easily. You could tell that this was a regular occurrence, the two of them snapping retorts at one another in good humour, though an outsider might have mistaken their bickering for actual disagreement. “Sit down, dearie,” Freddie addressed you, gesturing to the extensive options of sofa-like furniture housed in his living room.

You looked across the sea of overstuffed armchairs and patterned sofas slung with colourful crocheted blankets. None stood out to you in particular, until you saw a large wingback chair, upholstered in a deep blue velvet and accentuated by pins that were silver, like stars.

It was only an added bonus that it occupied the space beside the armchair Brian had cuddled into.

Making your choice, you slid into the chair, and Freddie, sitting across from you and Brian, smirked as though he were reading a book in which he understood the dramatic irony that you and Brian, as characters, did not.

Taking off your messenger bag,  you remembered why you’d brought it with you.

“Records,” you said, standing. You made your way over to Freddie and handed him Queen’s records.

“Did she take good care of you?” Freddie asked the records.

“‘Course I did,” you said, returning to your chair. “Music is art, and who the hell is careless with art?”

“Did you hear that, Brian? She called us art!”

“Good taste,” Brian nodded at you.

You rolled your eyes. “The arrogance—”

“Confidence, darling,” Freddie corrected. “It’s confidence.”

Brian slipped off his clogs, tucking his socked feet beneath him where he sat. “Did you have any favourites? Song from our albums, I mean.”

You grimaced. “I don’t know that I can pick favourites. Everything you guys have written is just amazing. I’ve never heard anything like it,” you said honestly.

“Oh, indulge me,” said Brian. “Top six? Two from each album?”

It was lucky you’d memorised the tracklists by now. “Alright, then. But don’t murder me, either of you,” you cast them pointed looks.

“No promises,” came the chorused reply.

“It’s a wonder I am indulging you, Bri,” you mumbled.

“Start with the first album,” Freddie said giddily, as though he were opening presents instead of waiting for your opinion on his music.

“Okay…” You thought a moment about what songs had stood out to you. “‘The Night Comes Down’, and… ‘Son and Daughter’.”

Freddie eyed you peculiarly. Brian’s face remained neutral.

“Second album?” asked Freddie.

“‘Seven Seas of Rhye’, definitely—”

“Ha-HA!” said Freddie.

“—and ‘White Queen (As It Began)’.”

Freddie’s expression dampened, but it was now Brian’s turn to smile curiously. His fingers brushed the side of his nose.

“Third album?” said Freddie, tone dry.

You thought they were both being rather odd. “‘Brighton Rock’ and ‘Now I’m Here’,” you finished cautiously.

“Fuck if that’s it, darling.”

Brian burst into laughter.

“What?” you said finally.

Brian’s laughter turned into a sputter which then became a cough, and Freddie grumbled,

“It’s not funny, you prick.”

“What?!” you said again.

Brian continued coughing, patting his chest. At last, he took a proper breath. “All but one,” he said.

“All but one what?”

Brian smiled. “All but one of those are my songs. Fred’s just grumpy that only one of six was his.”

“You’re right I am,” said Freddie pettily. “The betrayal, Y/N!”

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m musically uneducated,” you quoted Freddie’s own words, and he perked up.

“Oh yes, obviously! Fantastical that I didn’t think of that before,” he said. “I think this is the perfect time at which to give you some other records.” He sprang up from his sofa and began rifling through his grand collection.  

“Musically uneducated,” Brian scoffed. “Y/N, did I not just say you had good taste?”

“Shush,” commanded Freddie. “What Aretha Franklin record should I lend her?”

Brian sighed, then ambled over to help Freddie pick a record. “This one,” he said, selecting one from a crate. “And then that one,” he pulled another record from the midst.

“Ooh, good one,” Freddie agreed. “And then this one.”

Freddie approached you with three records. “There you are. Have them back in a week? We’re going to need rigour if we’re ever going to get you up to speed.”

“Okay, Freddie,” you said, accepting your fate. There was no use arguing that you already did listen to a variety of music.

In your hands you now held Lady Soul, Imagine, and Let It Bleed.

Tucking the records into your messenger bag, you asked the joking question you’d wanted to ask for days. “So, how was the pyjama party at Bri’s the other night? You know, the one you didn’t invite me to.”

Brian shook his head and Freddie sighed. “The brawl, which I’m sure Brian’s already told you all about, was the ticket to the party. No fight, no rest.”

You raised your eyebrows. “What happened to no rest for the wicked?”

“I certainly didn’t get any sleep,” Brian broke in, “what with you lot repeatedly getting up during the night to raid my kitchen cupboards for painkillers.”

“You never sleep anyway,” Freddie shrugged. “And besides, fair is fair; you didn’t fight either.”

“Nor did you!” said Brian.

“Well, the fight was about me, so that counts,” Freddie asserted.

Brian blinked. “Does not.”

“Does too.”

“Here we go,” you said, to no one but yourself. And to a cat, it would appear. One of Freddie’s many pets had wandered into the living room to see what all the ruckus was about, and she— her collar read Dorothy— mewed up at you from the floor.

“Does not!” repeated Brian.

“Does TOO!”

“Does NOT!”

The cat mewed at you again.

“DOES—”

“Hey!” you swept the cat into your arms, pressing her to your chest. “You’re upsetting the cat.”

“Oh, precious Tiffany,” cooed Freddie, reaching out his arms.

“Uh, pretty sure her collar says Dorothy, Freddie.” You petted the cat in your lap; you’d earned the privilege of a cat’s presence. Freddie would have to wait his turn.

“Oops,” said Freddie. “That’s definitely Tiffany. Must’ve given her the wrong collar.”

“You’ve got too many cats,” said Brian.

“Nonsense!” Freddie cried. “You simply haven’t got enough cats to empathise.”

“You have cats?” you asked Bri.

“Had one cat in my childhood. Used to have another, early on after I’d moved away from home. Never more than one at a time, though.”

“Oh, don’t ask about his cats,” said Freddie. He continued in a stage-whisper, “He’ll just get all upset about Pixie…”

“Pixie?”

“Do you have any pets, Y/N?” Brian turned the conversation to you.

“My family has a dog named Selkie,” you said slowly, suspicious of the sudden change of subject, “but I’ve always wanted to get a cat, maybe a black one, and call it Gravity.”

“Gravity?” Freddie said. “Oh, you are a scientist.”

“Astrophysicist, actually,” Brian amended Freddie’s statement. “She’ll be an astrophysicist.”

“Why would you call a cat Gravity?” Freddie ignored Bri.

You smiled. “Because when you told that cat off, or called it, everyone around you would have a good laugh. Can you imagine— Gravity, no! Bad Gravity!”

Brian laughed, tipping his head back. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I’d get a kick out of that, for sure.”

“Maybe we’ll have to co-parent a cat, or something,” you laughed.

Brian smiled at you, hazel eyes warm with amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place. His teeth caught on his lower lip. “Maybe,” he said.

“Good god,” said Freddie. “Stop flirting right in front of me.”

“Excuse me?” you said at the same time as Brian said “What?”

“No, don’t look at me,” Freddie lifted his hands. “Look at each other. But then please get out of my living room.”

You took no notice of most of what Freddie said, seeing as he was being ridiculous, only shrugged, feigning a hurt tone when you spoke. “If you wanted me to leave so badly, then you should just have said so.” You pet Tiffany once more, then deposited her gently in yet another cosy chair on your right. You pushed yourself up from your own chair. “Friendship is built on honesty, Fred.”

“Where in the world do you think you’re going, Y/N?” said Freddie, now in all seriousness. “You do know I was only teasing, darling, don’t you?”

“Of course, Freddie. But I’ve actually got things to do. Can’t just sit around all day, as much as I’d like to,” you smiled apologetically.

“What’ve you got to do?” Freddie asked. “Studying?”

“Mm-hm,” you nodded, slinging your messenger bag over your shoulder again.

“Bet Brian could help you with that.”

“I’m right here, you know,” said Bri, and you looked at him.

“I don’t know, Freddie…” you tilted your head to one side. “He’s terrible at maths, poor thing.”

“HEy,” said Brian indignantly. “Bad at derivatives, not maths in general; give me at least a little credit!”

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, still surveying Bri. “Hm, do you deserve it, though… What do you think, Freddie?”

“Mm,” Freddie pretended to consider. “It’s certainly a topic for discussion.”

“Still here,” said Brian.

“Yes, you are, aren’t you, darling, but maybe you should bugger off so that Y/N and I can have a proper chat.”

Brian crossed his legs and folded his arms. “About what, exactly?”

Freddie winked at him. “That’s for us to know and for you to… well, not.”

Brian pursed his lips, and in the slant of his mouth you wondered now if that legendary temper would arise, provoked by Freddie touching on some invisible pressure point with a joke taken too far. You decided to find out.

“Oh, Freddie, he looks so sad with those big eyes… Can we keep him, please?”

“Very funny, Y/N,” muttered Brian, brushing fallen curls from his eyes with a slender hand. “Very funny.”

“Don’t know if there’s room in the budget, dearie,” Freddie teased.

Brian threw his hands into the air and you were surprised by the grim set to his face. “Oh, have it your way.” He got up and strode from the room.

“Oh no, don’t, Bri,” you called, eyes following him as he brushed past. “We were only joking.”

“Y/N,” said Freddie, and his manner was oddly serious as he picked up Tiffany, who had wandered over.

“Yes?”

“I’d go after him if I were you. Sometimes these things get to him, jokes or not, and it’s hard to tell what sort of day he’s having.”

You frowned, tugging on the strap of your bag. “Is he… Is he alright?”

Freddie’s jaw twitched. “Y’know, lovey,” he said, “sometimes, I just don’t know.”

Something twisted in your chest. “Can I help?” you asked.

“I think you’d be just the person,” Freddie gave you a small smile. “Run along, then. And enjoy your records.”

“Thanks, Freddie. I’ll bring them back soon.” You patted the fabric of your now-heavy bag.

“And I’ll have a whole new stack for you!” Freddie gestured dramatically, and Tiffany’s eyes grew wide at the motion.

You waved and he blew you the usual kiss.

In the hall, you grabbed your raincoat from the coat rack, and your umbrella from where it had been carefully leaned against the wall. The person who had taken such care to ensure the safety of your umbrella was nowhere to be found.

“Why didn’t you take the umbrella, silly,” you said to the empty hall. “It’s still pouring.”

You hastened back out into the rain with your coat not quite buttoned, hoping to catch Brian before he disappeared completely.

Through the heavy downpour you squinted, and the water began to plaster your hair to every part of your face. Finally, you spotted him, on the other side of the road once more.

You dashed across, barely looking both ways.

“Not exactly boots made for walking, Brian!”

He stopped, and you hurried to catch up with him before some flight of fancy changed his mind. Not that he would change his mind; he had no reason to be cross with you, or anything.

You made it to his side and pushed the umbrella into his hand, drawing your arm through his again. “You didn’t think I’d let my warmth get away so easily, did you?”

He accepted the umbrella, though you supposed you had rather forced his hand, and he opened it above your heads. “Hoped you’d be a little more persistent than that,” he said, and you smiled up at him.

Then you remembered why you’d chased him out here. Evidently, whatever it was that had occupied his thoughts was still on his mind, because he hadn’t yet begun walking again. He seemed distant, though your hand rested upon his arm. “Is everything okay?”

“I— yeah. Everything’s alright.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” you said, without missing a beat. You could have answered your own question, though, because he wasn’t meeting your eyes.

“Because no one ever really means that everything is alright when they say it is,” he answered with surprising honesty.

You hesitated, then decided to trade honesty for honesty. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Nor would I. Shall we walk?”

You were baffled. You’d really never known anyone to speak so plainly.

All you could do was nod, and so Brian started walking.

You walked with him in silence for but the reliable rain and the echoing sound of shoes on cement.

At one point, you wondered why the expression was head in the clouds and not head in the stars, because had you had to describe Brian, those would have been your words.

Then abruptly, Brian halted.

“What is it?” you asked, seeing his contorted expression.

He raised his arm to point to a small shabby shadow that lay by the kerbside.

“Bird,” he said softly. He handed you the umbrella and dashed forward, crouching by the little bird and murmuring quietly. He pulled off his jacket, then scooped the creature into his hands and nestled it into the velvet.

You walked forward slowly, so as to not frighten the bird which Bri now cradled in his arms.

“Broken wing,” he told you, and the sadness in his voice was palpable. He looked at you. “Come with me? I live just down the street.”

You nodded, and he set off quickly in the direction you’d already been going before.

You jogged a little to keep up with him. His legs were most of him, really, and he set quite the pace.

Not two minutes later, you followed Bri through a garden gate and past low-hanging tree branches. You rounded the corner of a white-brick house with a red door whose colour was bright, even in the gloom of the weather.

Brian stopped at the doorstep of the back entrance, the rain running down his face.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, this is inconvenient…” He grimaced. “Um, my keys are in my pocket.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Which pocket?”

“Front left trouser pocket.”

“Could’ve been worse,” you said.

“What? Don’t feel like running your hands all over me?” His smile was debonair.

“Brian!”

“Okay, okay, that was a bit cheeky,” he conceded. “Would you get the keys for me, please? It’s not so much that I’m soaking wet, it’s just, our birdie here seems to be rather in a state of shock, so I’m not too willing to set her down right now.”

You deposited the umbrella on the ground and approached Brian. You didn’t look at him as you lifted the material of his shirt, blushing slightly when your fingertips brushed soft skin, when he inhaled at your touch; you didn’t look at him as you withdrew the keys from his pocket.

You unlocked the door, tugging off your wellies before you went in and held the door for Bri.

“Thank you,” he said and you shut the door behind him.

“Now what?” you said. You’d never rescued a bird before, but Brian seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

“We’re going to need a shoebox and a small towel, to start,” he said. “Bird duty or gathering duty?” he asked you.

You considered. Brian knew his house better than you, obviously, but he also still held the shivering bird in his hands. You discarded your raincoat over the back of a dining table chair.

“Birdie seems to like you,” you said. “Tell me where to find things and I will.”

“Right,” he nodded. He gave you rapid-fire instructions, “Bathroom’s just down the hall, first right. It’s joined to the laundry room, and if you go in there, the towels are in the cupboard by the sink. Take one from the left of the stack because those are smaller. Then go back to the hallway and go into the first room on the left. There’s a shoebox on the desk, filled with papers. Just take out the papers and leave them on the desk.”

You almost thought he’d say go, but that much was left to your imagination.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, and began the treasure hunt that was finding specific objects in another person’s house.

You found the bathroom easily enough, the laundry room, the cupboard, the towels, and then returned to the hallway to seek the second room.

The door was only slightly ajar and seemed to rest on old, heavy hinges, so you gave the wood a hefty shove and entered.

The first thing you noticed about the room was the fact that the ceiling was covered in plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars, hundreds of them. It seemed that there were intricate constellations and solar systems and galaxies patterned out above you. You could actually identify a few of the constellations. There was Aquila and Lyra and Orion, Draco and Cassiopeia, Cancer, Virgo, and Leo— in fact, oddly, Leo seemed to be depicted twice.

Then there was the fact that books lined nearly every surface. Volumes were properly arranged on floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, stacked in enormous piles on the floor, leaning against one another in the windowsill, lying on the bedside table, lying on the bed.

This was Brian’s bedroom.

Where there weren’t books or stars, there were records or plants, or developed photographs, and it appeared that everywhere you looked, another piece of Bri’s soul was laid bare.

You smiled upon seeing the three Jimi Hendrix posters above his bed, the Beatles poster above his desk.

And in the corner, between the window and the bed, there sat a collection of guitars.

There was a black Fender Telecaster, an acoustic guitar crafted in caramel coloured wood and adorned with an opal-like pick guard, and finally, another electric guitar, cherry toned and beautiful.

The Red Special, Freddie had told you.

Your fingers itched to pick up the guitar, but you disliked people touching your guitar, so you imagined that Brian would hate people touching his.

“Y/N?” Bri called. “Are you lost?”

You’d completely forgotten about the shoebox.

“Uh, no! Just a second!” You picked the shoebox up from the desk and gently placed the papers atop a stack of books. The papers, you noticed in passing, were drafts of songs.

You left the room with a sigh, feeling like a child who’d been discouraged from exploring. You’d have to ask Bri about his stars and his books and his records and plants and photographs and guitars some other time.

You hurried back down the hall and found the kitchen, setting the shoebox on the small dining table and lining it with the towel because you’d read enough books to know to do as much.

“Thank you,” said Brian softly from where he sat in an aged rocking chair in the corner. “Don’t think Birdie liked me yelling much,” he stood up from the creaking rocking chair.

“Don’t think anyone likes you yelling much, Mister A Bit Of A Temper,” you joked.

“Don’t you start,” grumbled Brian. With a gentle hand, he separated the bird from his jacket, easing the injured creature into its new cocoon.

“If we don’t make fun of you, who will?” you said.

“I don’t know,” Bri murmured, placing the bird’s broken wing against its side and wrapping the bird in the folds of the towel. “Maybe you should all just appreciate me for a change.”

“May-Bri,” you continued to wind him up.

He sighed, and you remembered Freddie’s comment about Brian’s changing dispositions.

“I appreciate that you’re going to help me become as godly at guitar as you,” you winked when he looked up from the bird.

He smiled. “Well, thank goodness I have you, Y/N.”

Warmth spread through your chest; you had such lovely friends.

“What now?” you asked of the situation pertaining to the bird. Brian closed the lid to the box, which you saw already had holes punched in it, as if he rescued animals in distress on a regular basis. He probably did. His personality seemed to house a tendency for selfless heroism.

“Well,” he crossed the room and turned on the tap in the kitchen sink, “I’ve got a friend who works at an aviary, actually. I’ll give him a call, and he’ll take the dear little thing in.”

“How come you know so many interesting people?” you wondered aloud.

“I could ask the same of you, to be quite honest. Friends with an entire rock band? And with an up-and-coming fashion designer?”

“Ah, you’ve been talking to Roger.” The fashion designer was Heather, who specialised in silver-threaded embroidery and all sorts of glamorous grandeur.

“Mm,” said Bri. “Talks about his girlfriend an awful lot.”

“They’re that invested?”

“Yes, it’s rather out of character. For both of them, I gather.”

You nodded. Heather and Rog were of the type to love— and to lust— easily, and rarely stuck with the same person for very long at a time.

“I’ll just make that call,” Brian gestured to the orange phone that hung on the wall, and you nodded again.

The call was quick, and when it was finished, Brian announced, “He’ll come past to pick up our little friend in a couple of hours.” He transferred the bird to his laundry room, “away from too much noise”, and left it with water and birdseed.

When he came back, he regarded you from the doorway. You must have looked rather dishevelled and from the rain because he said, “I’d offer you to borrow my hairdryer, but it’s broken.”

You scoffed. “How does a rockstar, with such magnificent hair, not own a working hairdryer?”

He lifted his chin ever-so-slightly at the compliment. “Oh, a tragedy, I know. May I offer you a hot chocolate instead, to warm up?”

“That sounds wonderful,” you said.

“Lovely. I’ll do that, then.” He set to retrieving cups and cocoa powder, and you thought you heard him humming to himself as he pottered about the small kitchen.

“Here you are,” he said soon enough, handing you a steaming cup that radiated as much warmth as he himself normally did. You thanked him. “Living room?” Brian gestured down the hall.

“Yes,” you said, “I’d like to see the only room I haven’t visited.”

“There’s actually another bedroom, but it’s just filled with boxes,” he informed you. “No skeletons in closets here.”

“Oh, but I didn’t check…”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Come on, Y/N.” His fingers curled around your forearm lightly, and he steered you down the hall.

In the living room, he took one sofa and you took the one that faced it.

“Wow, imagine having this much space in a house all to yourself,” you said, stretching your legs out on the couch and wriggling your socked toes.

Bri chuckled. “It’s honestly too quiet sometimes. Needs more people, at least one. Maybe children.” His tone was wistful.

“You want children?”

He nodded. “I’d like to be as good a father as mine was and is to me.” He swirled his hot chocolate. “Even if he doesn’t approve of what I’m doing.”

That was a surprise. His father didn’t approve? You couldn’t imagine a parent who had more reason to be proud of their child than Brian’s.

“Does he not?” you asked gently.

“No, he doesn’t. Mum’s always told me to do whatever I felt was right, but dad... not so much. I’ll change his mind, though.” Brian flashed you a small smile, but you could see that his pain lay close to the surface.

You decided to change the subject. “You obviously love animals though, so why not get a pet, another cat maybe, while you wait for somebody to love?”

“I’m sure Freddie would agree,” Brian said. “Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll name it Gravity,” he winked.

“So you’re not the type to name succeeding pets the same name? No Pixie the Second?”

“You’re on thin ice, Miss Andrews,” he warned at the mention of Pixie.

“Oh no,” you said sarcastically. “Talking about Pixie is off the table, then?”

“Eh, not anymore. Freddie was just being dramatic. I did love that cat, though.”

“A lot?”

“A lot,” he nodded emphatically. “I never had any siblings. Pixie was the closest thing I had, really. She was my confidante.”

“Confidante?” you said, amused.

“Yeah, y’know. I’d tell the cat my worries, my hopes and dreams…”

“Oh, no one tells their siblings that,” you laughed.

“You have siblings?”

“I have two brothers. One younger, Billy, and one older, Frank. Billy’s off at boarding school, but Frank lives in Surrey, on our parents’ land.”

“Oh?” Brian said, blowing on his hot chocolate before taking a sip. “Your turn, then. Tell me about your family.”

“Well,” you began, “it’s me and Billy and Frank, and mum and dad, and chickens and cows and horses and that sort of thing.”

“You grew up on a farm?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Ridge Farm, in Surrey. My parents and Frank still live there, and Billy, when he comes home.”

“But then you went off to live in the Big Smoke?” Brian asked. “That’s quite the change of scenery.”

You shrugged. “I felt like an adventure, and if I wanted to study astrophysics, it seemed that Imperial College was the place to do it.”

“That’s very lucky indeed,” Bri mused.

“How do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, “I would certainly never have met you, if you’d stayed in the countryside.”

“And how the hell else are you supposed to learn to derive those bloody derivatives?” you grinned.

“If you were sitting over here, I’d shove you,” he said.

“What’d I do?”

“I said to give me a little more credit; maybe you should afford yourself some too.”

You touched a hand to your heart. “That’s the most considerate thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Brian shook his head. “You have terrible friends.”

“I don’t know about that… You’re all quite glamorous.”

“Doesn’t necessarily make us good friends, though.”

But your thoughts had wandered down another path entirely. “If the four of you, as Queen, continue this way… Well, there’s no telling what you’ll become. To think, you could be anything, anything at all.” You finished your hot chocolate with a sigh.

“You know what I think?” said Brian, pulling his legs to his chest.

“No, Bri, what do you think?”

“I think that’s the absolute loveliest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he murmured, resting his chin on his knees as he looked at you. “To us,” he corrected himself.

But you held his eyes. “To you,” you corrected him. “You’re the only one here.”

For some reason, your words felt heavier than their face value. Yes, Brian was the only one there, but somehow this felt significant, like there was a reason he was the only one there. This was something other than circumstantial, something effervescent, cosmic.

And there was an otherworldly serenity in Brian— you noticed now because it seemed to amplify the unearthliness of your words. Serenity resided in the curve of his mouth, the arc of his brow, the crescent moon shape of his nails against his fingers, in the way he held himself, as though he were not really touching the ground.

You could only stare.

Brian’s lips parted and you felt dizzy. Your thoughts would not remain linear; they spiralled around non sequentially. Your breathing had grown shallow, and you found it hard to return it to normal— your breathing, like everything else around and about you, felt suddenly out of your control.

Brian stammered, “I—I’d better go check on Birdie.” Unable to respond, you bobbed your head in a poor imitation of a yes. Bri swung his long legs off of the couch and departed the room, not meeting your eyes again.

Unsettled by whatever it was that had just passed, you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, pulling at a little thread that had for the life of it done no wrong but come loose.

When Brian returned, your gaze caught on his eyes, and he looked away.

You found that it was time to leave.

“I’ve, uh, got to go. I promised my mum I’d call her today, and I need to get some studying done before then.”

You weren’t lying, but you weren’t exactly divulging the whole truth either— you would be calling your mum much later, and studying precisely now was not strictly necessary. But the mellow atmosphere of Brian’s home seemed suddenly claustrophobic, and your breathing was still off, a little laboured. You wondered if perhaps you were coming down with something.

“Of course,” Brian nodded understandingly. He was always so understanding. Right now, it frustrated you. You had to get out.

“Thank you for the hot chocolate.”

“Thank you for sharing your umbrella with me.” His manner was almost shy now, his shoulders bent, his hands winding around each other, his head bowed. Then, his discomfort became painfully obvious when his finger brushed over the side of his nose.

“See you Thursday?” you said tentatively.

“Yes— wait, no.” He passed a hand over his eyes and the shadows beneath them. “I’m sorry, I’m having dinner with my parents this Thursday.”

“Oh.”

“Next Thursday, though?”

“Yeah, what time?”

“Hmm. You know what? I’ll call you before then. You can give me your address then, too. I don’t think I can remember the way from when I walked you home.”

“It was rather dark,” you provided his excuse.

He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Though not nearly dark enough to see all the stars we wanted to.”

An involuntary smile stole across your lips. “Not even close.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You walked home in the rain alone. You didn’t even take the tube. Subsequently, it took you nearly two hours to get home.

And when you shut the door behind you, you felt you had shut out the world.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: as usual, send me an ask or a message if you’d like to be added to the taglist! also, please give me feedback, if you have the time; validate me 🥺

taglist: @melting-obelisks​ @hgmercury39​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @topsecretdeacon

Masterpost / Part 3 / Part 5